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ii«i

KIN<; EDWAHD VII,

"Kcw Brunswich ■Kca^cr0

THE

FIFTH

READER

Presifihed by the liiird of J:ii.itatii>n fur usr in //.•■ Si /nio/s of
Si'iv Brunswirk

W. J. GAGE & COMPANY, Limitkd

TORONTO.

'''"^S)r"'''J",'.''*vt?."' •'."' ' '"•"'*"'«-"^ «' ••"•■"'l'^ 1" the year J!..1. 1„
UK. 0,.I..c nr „.., Ml,a«t.r„f Atfricullun,. I.y XV. J. O...K & Co.. Llmitcll"

PT^EFACE.

N tlio prpparntiori of this volume tho „im \ u
for pup.,, i.. „„va„ee., .,o.Tn T ,;7 ''" "T" ^.f''°^'^«

varied. „..d interes,.,.,, anthology T.-ehy""""'
hu« been dict,.a„l primarilv , , ""^ °' '*''*^'°'"'

train t,.., j ... Jt ""//..'"/"'"'''"'''' ^''^•

i.a,in..tiono.',:'.;r :,tr^^^^^^ ''"V^"'^'- ^»'«

"fe When U.y „. lef. ^ l,r^':;l::^.:i-V" ^

wm .ad .. .....ion. T,.e..u,uJt;z^::':j-

T u . '"^^'•f'-npl..h t,.e pu,,«se in view.

ThouKh the ,,roso 8e,eotions are fewer in number th«„ »K
F-....S t,.ey amount in the aggregate to a,.u oT.^L.f of h!
reaH...K matter. Severn, of them are inde. ndent nl V
or monographs and when t,.e use of exc t l„ h 7

care has been taken to make them a, art "t t ""''^'"l^-'-
r-ib.e. T,.e pn.se lesson, of .«.th k d wii JT^ "
Jnva,uub,e aid in tl.e to.,.!.; , ^ ^'-""** «"

the variety of s ,e tH '' '"""'"-'''^'•'" "" '-^'^^unt of

--d.o..ono,,e.der::;S-'.:rt^^^^

thorne, and Burrou.'hs on the otl.«. . . ^' *^"

»m»wh„t ■„, „.«:.„: ;'::i'r: :,: ;:,:"";"".''"'"' ■>'

from their writi,,.,, .i., |„ , ? ' "" »l«i™ ma*

All three kinds of {xx-try-lyric ei.ip -nW a
reoresentpH ;„ tu- .1 . "^ ' ' *°^ dramat c— are

represented ... this anthology, thn last chiefly bv snoh H

tic monologues as Tennyson's " Ulysses "and R T^'

"Italian in England." Both no«.. . Browning's

ijiuaa. ijoth poets w ie extensive use ol this

Preface.

literary form, and the selections hero inserted aro highly charac-
teristic of their authors. Their more popular and suitable
compositions have b-en utilized to an unprecedented extent,
a matter of exceptional importance in the case of poets who
were indisputably foremost in the latter half of the last
century, and who will not be soon or easily deprived of
their pre-eminence during the present one. It is unnecessary
to mention here the names of the many other poets from
whose writings have been culled a large number of surpassing-
ly beautiful gems of literature. Not the least i.iteresting or
valuable are the poems by colonial authors, both Canadian and

Australian.

One aim in the compilation of this Reader has been to
keep down the number of authors and make more extensive
selections from the works of those whose writings are suitable
for this purpose. It h.s in this wiiy been rendered possible to
make a special study of the works of each of several authors,
such as Addison, Scott, Irving, and Macaulay in prose, and
Tennyson, Browning, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Longfellow

in poetry.

With a view to affording facilities for the comparative
study of literature, irresjiective of authorship, the selections
have been arranged in groups about a s(!ries of general ideas.
Obviously many of them might have been with ecjual justifica-
tion placed in groups other than those to which they have
been allotted. Some suggestions in relation to this extremely
interesting and important subject will be found in the Api)endix,
which contains also essential or helpful information respecting
some of the selections. In the case of excerpts the works from
which they have been extracted are clearly indicated.

The utmost care has been taken to make this Reader
as nearly as possible a {lerfect specimen of the book-making
art. In every essential resix>ct it will compare favorably with
any collection of literature ever previously published. It is in
fact as well as in name a "twentieth century" product.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

On My Mother's Picture. .

I)ora

Elegiac Stanzas

To a Brother

The Irish Emigrant

The Little Midshipman . .

David Swan

Maud Miiller

In Memoriam

Rip Van Winkle

The Ancient Mariner

Rosahelle

Crusader and Sarareii
Cavalry Charges at Balaklava. .

The Kide to Aix

On Horseback

A Proud Pedestrian

King Richard and Saladin
King Richard and Rohin Hood
The Glove and the Lions . .

The Glove

The English Language . .
Spelling and Derivation . .

Change in Language

English Speech

The English Language . .
The Apology of Socrates . . . .
The Death of Socrates

Thanatopsis

Address to a Mummy

Mortality

The Iniitat on of Christ . .
King Robert of Sicily
The Vision of Sir Launfal
Lady Clara Vere de Vere .

What is Time '1

Ode to Duty

The Happy Warrior
Life, Death, and Immortality
The Tragedies of Birds' Nests.
The Birds of Killingworth
The Cuckoo at Laverna . .
The Blackbird

niilinm Cou'per 9

Alfred Tennyson 1.3

William Wordnworth . . .. 18

Alfred Tenvyion 20

Lady l)nferin 21

Jenn Iwielow 23

Nathaniel HawthoniK . . . 31
John Gre.enle.af Whilfier . . 41

Alfred Tennymn 45

Waxhiwjtoii Irvinij . . . . 47
Samuel Taylor Coleridge . . 75 "i*

Sir Walter Scott 97

Sir Walter Scott 99

William Howard Runsell . . 105

Robert Broiniinij 113

Edwin Paxton Hood . . . . 116
Oliver Wendell Holmes .. 117

Sir Walter Scott 118

Sir Walter Scott 124

James Henry Leiyh Hunt. . 130

Robert Broioninij 132"'

Joseph Addison 137 —

Richard Chenevix Trench . . 143
Friedrich Max Midler . . 147
William Wettnore Story . . 149

J. G. Lyon '. . . 153

flato 166

Plato 163

William Ctillen Bryant . . 169

Horace Smith 172

William Knox 175

Thomas a Kempis . . . . 177
Henry W. Lon;ifelloiv . . . 179 ^
James Russell Lowell. . . . 186 •

Alfred Tennyson 193

John Howard Marsden . . 195
William Wordsworth. . .. 197 "^
William Wordsworth . . 199 —

Alfred Tennyson 202

John Hvrroughs 205

Henry W. Longfellow. .. 216 a*
William iVordsworth. . .. 224
Alfred 2'ennyson . . . . , 228

if'

Table of Contents.

To a Skylark

To the Cuckoo . . . . . . . .

The Green Linnet ..

Ode to a Nightingale

To a Nightingale

The Song- Sparrow

The Whitethrottt

The Canadian Song-Sparrow . .

The Death of Arthur

The Passing of Arthur . .

The Tomb of Arthur

Sir Roger de Coverley

The Country ( Jentleman . .

Lord Chesterlield . . . .

Daniel O'Connell . . . . '.'.

The Italian in England . .

The Lotos- Eaters

Ulysses

Village Characters

The Angler

The Brook

The Sleeping Beauty

The Bleeping Beauty

The Fairies

Lord Clive

Ode on the Death of Wellington

The Mountain of Miseries .

Discontent

Contentment

Peace of Mind

The Changed Cross

Canada and Great Britain .
Canada and the United States.
Canada and the Empire . .
Canada and the Empire .
The Queen and the Empire . .

The British Flag

The First Dominion Day. .
The Canadian Confederacy

A Song of Cariada

Canada to Columbia

Canadians on the Nile

Hands all Round

Kin Bejond Sea

Commonwealth Day

The Austral Months

Perry Ryuuhe Shelley. .
William Wordsworth. .
William Wordsworth

John Keats

William Wordsworth . .
Alfred Tennyson .
Edward William Thomson
Theodore Harding Rand .
Sir James Edgar .
Sir Thomas Mulor^ . . .
Alfred Tennyson .

Aubrey de Vere

Joseph A ddison

Washington Irving

Samntl Johnson

Wendell Phillips .
Robert Broicning .
Alfred Tennyson .
Alfred Tennyson .

Olirer Ooidsmilh

Washington Irring
Alfred Tennyson .

Jacob Orimm

Alfred Tennyson .
Thomas West wood
Thoma.1 B. Macauluy .

Alfred Tennyson

Joseph Addison

Horace

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Sir Edward Dyer

A nonymous

^jV John Macdonald

Joseph Howe

Sir Wilfrid Laurier . .
Sir Charles Ttipper . .
Sir Wilfrid Laurier

Joseph Howe

John Reade

Charles George D. Roberts .

Robert Reid

Lyman Cyrus Smith . . ..
William Wye S7nith .. ..

Alfred Tennyson

William Ewart Gladstone. .
George Essex Evans
Henry Clarence Kendall . .

PiSC.

. 229
. 233-
. 234

235-
. 238
. 239
. 239
. 240
. 241
. 242 -7
. 247 -
. 256
. 261 -
. 267
. 269 —
. 272
. 276
. 281 *.
, 283 *>

285
. 289

294

301

306

313

314^

329"*

335

343

344

347

350

353

360

363

366

371

376

377

379

380

382

383 j,

385 ^
387
392
394

Appendix _ _ ..403

INDEX OF AUTHORS.

F'AOE.

Addlaon 13;, 261, 335

A Kuuipis ];7

Browniu;,' .... ux 132, '.'Tfi

Bryant |,.,j

Burroughs .t^^

Coleridge 75

Cowper ()

Do Vcrc 256

Oufferin, Lady .... oj

^>'<^'' .'.'.".' 347

Kdgar on

Evans og.^

Glalstone 3^-

Goldsniith 380

Griuim nn,

Hawthorne 3.

JJ"'"""* 117, 344

Hood jjg

Horace ' o.™

!!°"<' • ' .' Jfii), 376

"""t .130

Ingelovv, J(!aii .... .j3

^"■'"Sr .' 47, '267, 289

Johnson .w«

Keats .^

Kendall ... wi

Knox . . ,..
llO

^""'^^ 363.371

, PAGE.

Lionfrfcllow . , , . 170 .11,.

I^"""" I8.i

^-y"" 15.';

Macanlny gj^

•Miicdonald 353

Malory ........' .' 242

Marsden jg^

Max Mailer ........ uj

Phillips .vg

P'*'" '.'.'. 'lafi, 163

!^"d 240

Iteade 3--

Reid • ... 380

Roberts '3-9

«"«««» ■■■■'■'.'.'.'. m

?f°" !':. 09. 118. 124

Shelley g-jg

Smith, Horace ] J72

Smith. L. C. . ■ ■ • <

Smith, U'.\K ^

'^'"■•y ." ' .■ 149

Tennyson. . . 13,20,45,133,
202, 228. 239,
-'47, 281, 283,

_,^ -"SI. 306, 329, 385

1 homson ogg

Trench 113

Tupper ' ogg

Westwood ... 01,

whittier ; ; ; ^^

Wordsworth . . I8, 197, 199,

224, 233, 234, 238

(^^^ J^Mc-w^

The above is a facsimilr of Kipling's manuscript of the first two
stanzas of the " Recessional." The text of the remaining three stanzas
will be f omul in the Appendix, in coniuxtion with the annotation's on
Tennyson's "Hands All Hound."

FIFTH READER.

ON MY MOTHERS PICTURE.

O THAT those lips had languag,. ! Life has passed
With me but roughly since . hoard thee last.
Those lips are thine -thy own swee-, smile I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me ;
Voice only fails, else how distinct they say,
"Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away !"
The meek intelligence, of those dear eyes
(Blest be the art that can immortalise,
The art that baffles Time's tyrannic cllim
To quench it!) here shines on me still the same.
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,

welcome guest, though unexpected here !
Who bidst me luMior with an artless song.
Affectionate, a mother lost so long,

1 will obey, not willingly alone

But gladly, as the piecept were her owr. ;
And, while that face renews my filial *rrief,
Fancy siiall weave a charm for my relief, '
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,
A momentary dream that tliou art she.

On My IMother's Picture.

>Iy luothf r ! when I Icurnofl tliat thou wast dead,
Spy, wast thou conscious of tho tears I slied ?
IIovercKl thy spirit o'er tliy sorrowing son,
Wretch even then, life's journey just begun?
Perliaps thou gavest me, though unfeit, a kiss;
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss —
Ah, that maternal smile ! — it answers — Yes.
r heard the bell tolled on thy burial day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away.
And, turning from my nursery window, drew
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu !
But Avas it such ? — It was. — Where tliou art gone
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore.
The parting word shall pass my lips no more!
Tiiy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern.
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return ;
What ardently I wished I long believed.
And disappointed still was still deceived,
By expectation every day beguih'd.
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child.
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till, all my stock of infant sorrows spent,
I le.ir»u'd at last submission to iv lot.
But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot.

Where once we dwelt our name is heard no morej
Children not thine have trod my nursery floor;
And where the gardener, Robin, day by day
Drew me to school along the public way.
Delighted with my bauble coach and wrr.pped
In scarlet mantle warm and velvet capped,

.-'L^^'^m.

On My Mother's Picture.

Tis now become a history little known

That, once we called the pastoral house onr own

Short-lived possession ! But the record fair

That memory keeps of all thy kin.h.oss tluTe

St. II outlives many a storm that has effiuvd

A thousand other themes less deeply trace.].

Thy nightly visits to my chamln-r ma.l,,

That thou mightst know „,« safe an.I warmly lairl •

Thy morning bounties ere I left my honu-,

The biscuit, or confectionery plum •

The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowod

By thy own hand till fresh they shone and glowe.1:

All this and, more endearing still than all,

Thy constant flow of love that knew no fall,

Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks

That humor interp<,sed too often makes ;

All this, still legible in memory's page

And still to be so till my latest age,

Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay

Such honors to thee as my numliers may,

Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,

Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed here

Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the h„ur
When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers.
The violet, the pink, and jessamine,
I pricked them into paper with a pin
(And thou wast happier than mvself the while
Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and 'smile)
Could those few pleasant days again appear.
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here?30
I would not trust my heart ;-the dear delight
Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.— °

*#?

On My Mother's Picture.

T5ut no — what here wo call our life is such,
So Htm to 1)6 loved and thou so much,
Tiiat I should ill reijuite thee to constrain
Thy unlmund spirit into bonds again.

S Thou, — as a galhmt bark fiom Albion's coast

(The storms all weathered iid the ocean crossed)
Shoots into port at some wt-ll-havened isle,
Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile,
There sits quiescent on tlie floods that show

10 Her beauteous form reflected clear below,
While airs impregnated \"ith incense play
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay
So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached t'.e .^'.lore
"Where tempests never beat nor billows roar";

15 And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide
Of life long since has anchored by thy side.
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,
Always from port withheld, always distressed, —
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed,

20 Sails rii)ped, seams opening wide, and coir;i;xss lost.
And day by day some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.
Yet O, the thought that thou ait safe, and he !
That thought is joy, arrive wliat may to me.

'.'5 My boast is not that I deduce my birth

From loins enthroned and rulers of the earth ;
But higher far my nroud pretensions rise, —
The son of parents passed into the skies.
And now, farewell, — Time unrevoked has run

30 Hid wonted course, yeu what I wished is done
By contempliition's help, not sought in vain,
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again ;

Dora.

To have renewed tho joys that once were min«
Without the sin of violating thine;
And, while the wings of fancy .still mo fr...,
And T can view this mimic form of tlipe,
Time has but half succeccJerJ in his theft,—
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.

—WILLIAM rowPER.

DORA.

With Farmer Allan at the farm abwlo

William and Dora. William was his son

And she his niece. He oftei, look'd at them

And often thought, "I'll make them man anrl wifp." ,o

Now Dora felt her uncle's vill in all

And yearn'd towanl William ; but the youtli, Invause

He had been always with her in the house,

Thought not of Dora. Then there came a day

When ^Jlan call'd his son and said, "My son, 15

I married late, but I would wish to see

My grandchild on my knees before I die,

And I have set my heart upon a match.

Now therefore look to Dura : .she is well

To look to, thrifty too beyond her age. 20

She is ray brother's daughter; he and I

Had once hard words and parted, and ho died

In foreign lands, but for his sake I bied

His daughter Dora; take her for your wife,

For I have wish'd this marriage night and 'any 25

For many years." But William answer'd short :

"I cannot murry Dora; by my life

I will not marry Dora." Then -he old man

Dora.

•x

Was wroth, and doubled up his hands ond said,
"You will not, iK.y ! you riare to answer ihuH !
But in my time a father's word was law
And so it siiull be now for roe. Lcoit to it;
Consider, William; take a month to think
And let me have an answer to my wish,
Or by the Lord that made me you shall pack
And never more darken my <'oors again.'

But William an.s\ver"(J madly, hit his lips,
And broke away. The nujre he look'd at her
The less he liked her, and his ways were harsh
But Dora bore them meekly. Then lieforo
The month was out he left liis father's house
And hired liimself to work within the fields,
And lialf in love, half spite, he woo'd and wed
A laborer's daughter, Mary ^lonison.
Th,n, when the bells wer3 ringing, Allan call'd
His niece and said, "My girl, I love you well,
But if you speak with him that was my son
Or change a word with her ho c .lis his wife
My home is none of yours. My will is law."
And Dora promised being meek. She thought,
"It cannot be; my uncle's mind will change!"

And days went on, and there was born a boy
To William; then distresses came on him,
And day by day he pass'd his father's gate
Heart-hruken, and his father helped him not.
But Dora stored what little she could save
And sent it them by stealth, nor did they know
Who sent it; till at last a fever seized
On William, and in harvest time he died.
Then Dora \yent to Mary Mary sat

Dora.

Am? Jook'd with tear, upon l.or lx,y and thought
Hard th,„fiH ,.f Dora. Dora came and .aid
"I have olH.yd n.y up-'m until now,
And r have sinnd for it wa.s alf thro' „,o
This evil came on William at the first
But Mary, for the sake of him that's gone
A».d for your sake, the woman that he d.ose
And for this orphan I am come to yo„ • '
You know there has not Ix.., for these h^■e yoars
So full a harvest ; lot me take the Ix^y
And I will set him i.. my uncle's eye

Of the full harvest he may see the hoy

And bl.vss him for th. sake of hi.n that's ...... '

And Dora took the child and went her way"
Across the wheat and sat upon a mound
That was unsown, where many poppies grew.
far ott the farmer came into the field
And spied her not, for none of all his men
l>are tell hin, Dora waited with the child •

And Dora would have risen and gone to him

But her heart fail'd her; and the reapers reap'.,
And the sun fell, and all the land was dark

But when the morrow came she rose and took
The child once more and sat upon the mound
And n,ade a little wreath of all the flowers
That grew alx,ut and tied it round his hat
To make him pleasing in her uncle's eye.
Then, when the farmer pass'd into the field,
He spied her and he left his men at work
And came and said, "Where wero ^ou yesterday!
Whose child IS that? What a. ,oing here?"

1.-.

DOBA.

So Dora cast her oyps u|mn the ground
Vnti niiHwoiVl softly, "Tliis is Willium's child!"
"And did I not," Maid Allan, "did I not
Forbid you, Dora?" Dora 8<iid n^ain,
" Do with nu' m you will but take the child
And bless him for the Hake of him that's gone!"
And Allan waid, " I see it i.s a trick
Got up l)etwixt \<)u and the woman there.
I must l)e taught my duty, and hv you !
You knew my word was law and \,t you dared
To slight it. Well for I will take the boy,
But go you hence and never see me more."

So saying he took the boy that cried aloud
And struggled hard. The wreath of flowcr-s fell
At Doras feet. Sh<' bow'd ui»on her hand.s,
And the boy'H cry came to her from the field
More and more distant. She bow'd down her head
Remembering the day when first she came
And all the things that had been. She bow'd down
And wept in secret, and the reapers reap'd,
And the sun fell, and all the laud was dark.
Then Dora went to Mary's house and stood
Upon tlie threshold. Mary saw the boy
Wa^ not with Dora. She broke out in praise
To Go<l that help'd her in her widowhood.
And Dora said, " ]My uncle took the boy ;
But, Mary, let me live and work with you :
He says that he will neve** see me more."
Then answered Mary, " This shall never be,
That thou shouldst take my trouble on thyself;
And, now I think, he .shall not have the boj
For he will teach him haniness and to slight

Doha.

Hun.oil,..r, therefore thoH a,..| I „i|| .,..

A" wm ,..vo ..., ».^ „,.,, ,,. ,^ ,^,^ ;^^

An,J w.II l..^ of |.i,.. u. tuk.. ,1 '..k.

«>.t .f |.e will „..t tako thee Wk a«ai„ '

T"? ''"'" f"' ' "" '^■" ^^•^'"" -•' '--

And ...Kfo,WilW.sclul.Ju,.eil la, «,...«.,
Of H«o to help us." So the wo..,e„ kis.'l

B"h other and set out and reach'.! the fan..
The d<K,r was off the Jatch ; they p^epVl «„,i "^^

^ '><0^ -t up Mwixt his gran,Mn.Un....

>VlK> thrust hun in the hollows of his ann

And dapt hin. on the hands and on the cWs
Like one that loved him; and tlie ' ul .„ .7V

;);..i^^;i>iedforthe,o,;„j:j':::'-'''^

Tent, a.,ei,,,„,,,^^^

H.S mother ho cri.-d out to co.ne .o h... •

O father !-,fvou let me call ^ou so _
1 never came a-U..^g,„. f„, ,„^,^,^^

Or Wi,ii.a,. or this child; but now Lome
^ur Dora; take, .er back; she loves you well.
Witt :,r VUhan. died he died at peace

^.thal, men; for I asked him. and he said
H oould not ever rue his marrying „.e-
I hud been a patient wife; but. Sir. he said
Tha he was wrong to cro.ss ,.i« f.^.er thus •
'jod bless lim'' be «oiM < j

H faceandpass'd_unh:.ppythatlam!

Bu now S.r ,et me have my boy. for you

W II make ,nm ,.ard and h^ wi„ ,earn to s,.,,.

jj- —.J., '• :f».k :-'''

Elegiac Stanzas.

His father's raeraory, and take Dora back,
And let all this be as it was before."

So Mary said and Dora liid her face
By Mary. There was silence in the room
And all at once the old man burst in sobs :
"I have been to blame — to blame. T have kill'd my son;
T have kill'd him— but I loved him -my dear son.
May God forgive me ! — I have been to blame.
Kiss me, my children." Then they clung about
The old man's neck and kiss'd him many times.
And all the man was broken with remorse.
And all his love came back a hundredfold.
And for three hours he sobb'd o'er William's child
Thinking of William. So those four abode
Within one liouse together ; and as years
Went forward Mary took another mate.
But Dora lived unmarried till her death.

— ALFKK.D TENNTSON.

ELEGIAC STANZAS.

I WAS thy neighbor once, thou rugged pile !

Four sununcr weeks I dwelt in sight of thee;
I saw thee every day, and all the wliile

Thy form was sleeping on a glassy sea.

So pure the sky, so quiet was the air !

So like, so very like, was day to day !
Whene'er I looked thy imago still was there:

It trembled but it never passed away.

How perfect was the calm ! it seemed no sleep,
No mood which season takes away or brings :

I could have fancied jhat the mighty deep
Was even the gentlest of all gentle things.

Elegiac Stanzas.

Ah !THEx,,f„..ne had been the painter's ..and
To express what then I saw, and add the glean,

The hght that never was on sea or land. '

Ihe conserrati„n and the poet's dream,

I would have pl.„ted thee, thou hoary pile
Am.d a world how different from this - '

Beside a sea that could not cease to smile
On tranquil land, beneath a sky of blisa

A picture had it been of lasting ease
Elysmn quiet, witi.out toil or strife'-
No motion but the moving tide, a bre'eze,
Or merely silent Nature's breathing life.
Such, in the fond illusion of my heart

Such picture would I at that time have made-
Ana seen the soul of truth in every part, '

A steadfast peace that might not be betrayed.

.-o onee it would have been -tis so no more;
I have submitted to a new control •

A power has gone that nothing can restore;
A deep distress hath humanized my soul.

Not for a moment could T now behold

A smiling sea and he what r have been.
The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old;

Tins, which I know, I speak with mind serene.

Then, _l^aumon, friend: who would have been the

If he had lived, of him whom T deplore,
This work of thine I blame not, but commend-
Ihis sea m anger and that dismal shor*.

To A BllOTHER.

Oh, 'tis a passionate work ! — yet wise and well,
Well chosen is the spirit that is here ;

That hulk which labors in the deadly swell.
This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear.

5 And this huge castle standing here sublime ;
I love to see the look with wliich it braves.
Cased in the unfeeling armor of old time,

The lightning, ♦lio fierce wind, and trampling waves

Farewell, farewell, the heart that lives alone,
10 Housed in a dream, at distance from the kind !

Such happiness wherever it be known
Is to be pitied, for 'tis surely blind.

But welcome fortitude and patient cheer.

And frequent sights of what is to lie borne !
16 Such sights, or worse, as are before me here —
Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.

—WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

TO A BROTHER.

"More than ray brothers are to me," —
Let tliis nut vex thee, noble heart !
I know thee of what force thou art

To hold the costliest love in fee.

But thou and I are one in kind.

As moulded like in Nature's mint;
And hill and wood and field did print

The sbme sweet forms in either mind.

The Irish Emigrant.

For us tJie same cold streamlet curl'd

Thro' all his eddying coves ; the same
All winds that roam the twilight came

In whispers of the beauteous world.

At one dear knee we proffer'd vows,

One lesson from o,.« hook we learn'd

Ere childhood's flaxen rinylet turn'd '
io black and brown on kindred brows.

And so my wealth resoml)Ies thine •

But he Wits rich where I was poor,
And he supplied my want the more

As his unlikeuess fitted mine.

—ALFRED TKNNV80N.

THE IRISH EMIGRANT.

I'm sitting on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat side hv side'
That bright May morni'ng long ago

\\ hen first you were my bride
The corn was springing f.osh and green.

I he lark sang loud and high,
The red was on your lip, Ma'v,
The love-light in your eye.

The place is little changed, Mary,

The day is bright as then,
The lark^s loud song in in my ear,

The corn is green again.

The Irish Emioeant.

But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,
Your breath warm on my clieek,

And I still keep list'ning for the words
You never more may speak.

I'm very lonely now, Mary, —

The poor make no new friends ;
But, oh : they love the better still

The few our Father sends.
And you were all T had, Mary,

My blessing and my pride ;
There's nothing left to care for now

Since my poor Mary died.

I'm bidding you d long farewell,

My Mary kind and true.
But I'll not forget you, darling.

In the land I'm going to.
They say there's bread and work for all.

And the sun shines always there ;
But I'll not forget old Ireland,

Were it fifty times as fail'.

And when amid those grand old woods

I sit and shut my eye-,
My heart will travel back again

To whore my Mary lies ;
I'll think I see the little stile

Where we sat side by side.
And the springing corn and bright ISIay moin,

When first vou w^ie mv briflc

— LADV DUKFERIN.

•■>»^iK\XfVM^r^ iixm- vif m

The Little Midshipman.

THE LITTLE MIDSHIPMAN.

Who is tins ? A careless litflo midshipman,
Id ing about in a groat city, witli his po.-kots
full of money. He is waiting for the coach:
It comes up presently, and he gets on the top
of It and bocrins to look about him 5

They soon leave the ohimney-fops behind
them ; his eyes wander with delight over the
harvest-tields, he smells the honeysuckle in the
hedge-row, .nd he wishes he was down among
the haze -bushes that he might strip them of,o
their milky nuts.

Then he sees a great waggon piled ui. with
barley, and he wishes he was seated on the
top of It ; then they go through a little wood,
and he likes to see the checkered shadows of ,5
the trees lying across the white road ; and then
a squirrel runs up a bough, and lie cannot
forbear to whoop and halloo, though he cannot
chase it to its nest.

The passengers go on talking,- the littler
midshipman has told them who he is and where
he IS going. But there is one man who has
never joined in the conversation ; he is dark-
looking and restless; he sits apart; he has
heard the rattling of coin in the bov's pocket, o,
now he watches hi,n more narrowly than
■x'e.

■.^i

The Little Midshipman.

Tho 1;h1 lijis told tlio otlicr passengers that

his fatliei-'s liouse is tlie parsonngo at Y ;

the coach goes within five miles of it, and he
means to get down at the neai-est point and
5 walk, or rather run, over to his homo thronjrh
tlie great wood.

The man decides to gc^t down, too, and go
through the wood. lie will rob the Httle mid-
shipman ; perliai)s, if lie cries out or sti'uggles,
10 he will do w-orse. The ooy, ho thinks, will
have no chanco against him; it is quite im-
possible that he can escape; the way is lonely,
and the sun will be down. It is too light at
I)resent for his deed of darkness and too near
i^tiie entrance of the Avood, but he J:nows that
shortly the path will branch otf into two, and
the right one for the boy to take will be dark
and lonely.

But what prompts the little midshipman,
20 when not fifty yards from the branching of
the patli, to break into a sudden run ? It is
not fear,— he never dr<^ams of danger. Some
sudden imi)ulse, or some wild wish for home,
makes him dash off suddenly with a whoop
25 and a bound. On he goes as if running a
race; tbo path bends and the man loses sitrht
of him. "But I shall have him vet," he
thinks; "lie cann.jt keep this pace up long,"
The buy has nearly reached the place where

The Utti.t. ArTi.siin^MAN. 95

th.. p;ah ,livi,l„s wl.on l,« start., „,, ,, ,,,„„,,

"•'."". o"-' ♦I'"' - — ly fly, ,„'„1 i' ; t
whnTn,jt along elo.so t„ ,|,„ «,,„„„, ,,„f„,,, ^. ,,

' '"'• ^,""' ''« g-'« tl'o start „«,,:„; tl.ov ,

goes <!„«•„ the wm,,. o„e. Tl,o to„„„a.
'"'" '° """- '« t"" -"ti-MR to b„ ,.esist«l. He
knows that s„,„o«l,ere, .leei, i„ tlie woo,I, there
.» a e,,,s., traek by ,vl,i,.h he ea„ get i,Uo the,.

foste-, a,„Ihew,llbeat home ueaHv as soon.
On benches, the path takes a ben 1, and he
.s ,„st out of si,ht .-h..„ his p,„.s„e',. ;lt

the light; the n,an takes the h-ft, and the faster
th^- bo h run the farther they are asun.h.r.

«ood but he runs on. O httlo .ni.Isbimnan -
wb- dKl you ebas,. that owl , Jf vou ,,„ , ™,;^
;■' tl- I-th wi,b the dark man' behin,i vm
here was a cbanee that yo„ might have ou,!

™».h™;or,if he had overtaken vou, some
passing wayfarer tnight have beard ;„u er,r

and eome to save yon. Now y„„ a,; running,
on straight to your .leatl,, for the forest wat.r

Ob tint'";; ■""■' ■-' •"" """""' "' »'- '""•
U o you '"^"" ""'"'' '"'^•^ -^ --i ^"ow

Tin: LiTTLr: Miushipman.

The moon is luidcr ti thick cunopy of heavy
black cIoikIs, and tlicro is not a star to glitter
on the water an<l make it visible. The fern is
soft nnd.M- his feet as he runs and slips <lown
5the sh.j.ing hill. At hist lie strikes his foot
against a stone, stumbles, uiid falls. A second
more and he will roll into the black water!
"Il.'vday!" cries the boy, "what's this? Oh,
how it tears my hands! Oh, this thorn-bush!
i.'Oh, my arms ! I can't get free! " He struggles
and pants, "All this comes of leaving the
path," he says; "I shouldn't have cared for
rolling down if it hadn't been Pa- this bush.
The fern Wiis soft enough. I'll never stray
lain a W(»od at night again. There, free at last!
And my jacket neurly torn off my back!"
With a gi'ctit deal of patience and a great
many scratches he gets free of the thorn which
arrested his progress when his feet were
20 within a yard of the water, manages to scramble
up the bank, and makes the best of his way
through the wood.

And now, as the clouds move slowly onward,
the moon shows her face on the black surface
25of the water, and the little, white owl comes
and hoots and flutters over it like a wandering
snow-drift. But the boy is deep in the wood
again and knows nothing of the danger from
which he has esca ;^d.

rS?.-.vV::

■■■ "1 .

The Little Mii>smi>M.\.v.

AH this tinio tho dark pass.n;,oM- fnllou-.s the
mmn tra,.k and holi.v.s that his ,.r..v is hofor.
-"• At h.st he l..a,.s n .,-ashin. of ^h,.,!
boughs, and presently tho little n.i.lshipn.an's
voice not m-ty yards h.fore him. Y.s • it is -
t<>o tnie; the boy is in the m.ss tra.k. U, '
will .soon ,.ass the ootta;,e in u.e vvoo.l, nn.l
after that his pursuer will come upon him.
11-3 boy bounds into the path, but as ho

P--tl. cottage he is so thirsty and so hot.
hat he tlunks he musr ask the occupants if
they can give him a glass of water. He enters
without ceremony. " Water ? » says the woo<l-
nian, who is sitting at his supper, " vos • we
can give thee a glass of water, or periiap; mvn
wite will give thee a drink of milk. Come in ''
So he goes in and shuts the door, and while
he sits w^.^tlng for the milk footsteps pass.
They are the footsteps of his pursuer, who goes
on angry and impatien that he has uot yet.
come up with him. ^

milk, and the boy thinks she is gone a long
'me. He drinks it, thanks her, and takes his
leave.

Fast and faster the man runs, and as fast"
as he can the boy runs after him. It is veTv
aai-K, but there is a yellow streak iu the skv
where the moon is ploughing up a furrowed

'■■ :Y,l;*:-;*:av?'''v. ■jaW'^v

Tjik Little M[I)shifman.

niiiss of gray cloud aiul ouo (»r two stars are
blinking tlnonifli the Imuiclios of tho tro«^s.

Fast th(, boy follows, and fast tho man runs
on with n stake in his hand for a woapon.
•■. Suddenly ho hears the joyous whoop — not
before Imt behind hitn. He stops and listens
breathlessly. Y,>s ; it is so. He pushes himself
into the thicket and raises his stake to strike
when the boy shall pass. On he comes, running
10 lightly with his hands in his pockets. A sound
strikes at the same instant on the ears of both,
and the boy turns back fi-om the veiy jaws of
death to listen. It is the sound of wheels and
it draws rapidly nearer. A man comes up
15 driving a little gig.
^^ "Holloa!" he says in a loud, cheerful voice.
" What ! benighted, youngster ! "

^^ "O! is it you, Mr. D ?" says the boy;

"no, I am not benighted; or at any rate I
a. know my way out of the wood."

The man draws farther back among the
shrubs. -Why, l>less the boy," he hears the
farmer say, " to think of our meeting in this
way ! The parson told me he was in hopes
a5of seeing thee some day this week. I'll give
thee a lift. This is a lone place to be in at
this time o' night."

"Lone!" says the boy, laughing. "I don't
mmd that; and if you know the way it's as

Thk Lrm.F Mii..sh[I'man. 29

safe as tl.o qua.te.-.lo.k.' So ho p.fs |„to „,.
furinoi-s g,g, an.l is oucv m,.,o our „f .va,-!. ot
the imrsiu'i'.

But the man knou-s that tho farmo.'s l,o„so
IS a quarhM- of a niilo ,,<.,,,.,• ,h.-u. th- par...,,- «
age, and i„ that qua.to,. c,f a n.il,. thnv is v.r
a chanc'o ,.f winniitti.i^f tho rohl,..,v. II,. dotn-
inmos still to make tho a,t.„,,\t a,.<l mu
across tho vvoo,l with s.u-h .api.l st.id.s that
he .-oaohos tho fa,„K.,'s gate just as tlio gig,„
drives up to it. ^

"Well, tha.,k yo„, fa,n,o,-," savs tho mid-
shipman as he i.,-epa,-os to get dow„.

"I wish you good night, gonth^non," savs
the man when he passes.

"Good night, f,-iond,"tho fai-mt-r roplios "l"
suy, my boy, it's a da.k night enough, b'ut I
have a mind to drive you o,i to tho parsonage
and Iioar the rest of this long tale of vou^-s
about the sea-sei-jient."

The little wheels go on again. Thov pass""
he man and he st.nds still in the .-oad to
isten till the sound dies away. Then h,. fli„.s
his stake into the hedge and goes haok again
His evil purposes have all b.eu fVusti-ated,—^
the thoughtless boy has baffled hini at ovorv
turn.

xNow the little midshipman is at home,-the
joyfo lueeting has taken place; and, when they

The Litti.f, Midhmii'man.

luivo nil udniiicd his growth, and iiu'iisuml his
luM^'ht on tho wiiHlow-fnuiio, himI klhmi him mi
his siippor, they h.';jin to qii.'stion him ahout
his n<lv«'iitiiros moro for tho pleasure of lieur-
«injf him talk than from any curiosity.

"A<lvontur.>s!" suys tho hoy, seated hotween

his father and mother on u s< .fa, " why, mother,

I <lid write you an nceount of the voyage, and

there's nothing else to tell. Nothinir "hai.pened

10 to-day, —at least nothing,' particular."

"Nothing particular!" If they could have
knoAii, they would have thought lij^htly in com-
parison of the «langers of "the jil»-l.oom end
und the main-top-mast eross-trees." But thev did
isnot know any monj than we know the » ngers
that hourly beset us.

We are awai-e of some few dangers and we
do what we can to provide against them, hut,
for the great(n- portion "our eyes are held
20 that we cannot see." We walk securely under
His guidance without whom "not a sparrow
falleth to the ground"; and, when we have had
escapes at which the angels have wondei-ed,
we come home and say, perhaps, that "nothing
25 has happened,— at least, nothing particular."

—J PAN INOKLOW.

"Think well over your important stops \n life. and. h.ivino'
made up your minds, never look lieliind."

—Ilughea,

1>AH1) S«AN.

DAVID SWAN.

W ha. „,,,„,,,,,,,, I,, „i,,,D„vi,lS,™,,,„,,il
we ,,Unm ,„„„.„.„„,• ,„,,„

who,-,, his ,.,„.|,, „ , II ,,„„|„,. |„ ,1^,, ;

';""' ™^ •" '"!<•■ '"'■■ l-lm..l ,„„,.,.. „;. „

>> ""„„«h t„ s„y ,|,,„ |„, „,„ ,^ ,„„.^,. ,^^. ^.^ ^^ ■
"""""^ '""" "•■ '■•■"I I'll'l.' I...v,„«, ,„„1 l„.,l

: '■•■'"•'1 ■"; "'■'""-■>• -1 1 ■■.i"-ii,„ „,,h „

I'r"'." "■>-".™"'"M'ii,n„n,„„A „,v

,tr„T''"' •'"'" "" *■""*'•'■•""» 'i- li" n-.riv,„

noon „t a s„„„„,.rv ,l„y, his w..„n,„..... ,„„| ,1,;.

■noivas,,,^. h,.,-,t ,],,,,•„ him.„si,,l,„v„i„,h.,

ft.-s .•,Mn-™i..„t sh.,,1,. „,„1 ,„v:,it ,h,. ,i,„,„„

o.„ h,.s ,„„.,- ,.■1,. .As if plan,,.,, „„,„„;„.

for h,m, th,.,-„ s,,,,,, a, ,, a li„|,. ,„• ,„•,,

maples w„h a ,l..|i„„f„l , ,,, i,. „,„ „.J ''

"-1 s«,.h a frosh, l„,l,l.nn« siai,,.- thaMt «.,.,„.,

On^ , fe,va„. A„.g„, o,. „„t |,<. |,i,„.,| „ ,^..,
"« l'"-.^.v lips, a„,I ,hc.„ /lu„. ,,i,a,„|,. „|„„,, „

e.nnk,p,I.nvn,„ his hc.a,i upon «,,,.,. shi,.,s'
■>'H .' pan- of pantaloons ,i,„l „,, j,, „ ,„• ,

cotton handk,.,-chi,.f. Th.. sunl.ean,s ,.,„„,, „
aeh „,„, t,,.. „„| .,|„ „„, _^^, , .^^. ^,.^^_^^ ;^

oa<] after the lu-av, vain of vesto,,!av and ,-
h.sg,.as,vh,i,. suited the yonng „an " le "'
".an a be,l of down. The spri,,. ,„„,„„„,„,

David Swan.

drowsily beside hiin; the l»ra!ielies waved dream-
ily across tlio blue sky overhead; and a deep
sleep, pei-chaiieo Iiiding <lreanis within its depths,
fell upon David Swan. But we ai-e to relate
5 events which he <lid not <h'eam of.

While he lay sound asleep in the shade, other
peojile were wi<le-awake and passed to and fro
afoot, on lioi-sel)ack, and in all sorts of vehicles,
alone: the sunny road by his bed-chainher.
loSonie looked neither to the ri-ht hand nor the
left and knew not that he was there; some
merely glanced that way without admitting the
slumberer among then- Imsy thoughts; some
laughed to see liow soundly he slept ; and
i5several, whose hearts were l)riniming full of
scorn, ejected their venomous supertluity upon
David Sv,\in. A middle-aged widow, when no-
body else was near, thrust her head a little
way into the recess and vowed that the young
20 fellow looked charming in his sleep. A temper-
ance lecturer saw him. and wr.)ught poor David
into the lecture of his evening's discourse as
an awful instanc<' of <lead-drunkenness by the
road-side. But censuiv, praise, men-nnent, scorn,
'.'oand inditferenc(> were all one, or rather all
nothing, to David Swan.

He had slept oidy a few moments when a
brown carriag(>, drawn by a handsome pair of
horses, bowled easily along and was brought

f"-^*^m^i^MkI.M^

David Swan.

to a star stii; uv:-v' ■ iu froi.f ,.f n • i,
"'g-pl"«. A lnM./.p in '■'''•

pemmt«l.,..,.,,. ,,,,';■' '■•''■';'' ""' "■"'
ri... Wheels to slide off, T}u>

*«nuge .„» slight and oe«,.,i™„„i ...o-ol • "

eanugo Wlule the ,.,ad„„a„ „,„] a servant
Z: -P'-'f ♦!- whcl th., 1,,,,,. an,l g

: ,7 ' '"'" "'" >"«-cliant t,-,Hl as lirfitlv

David .,„„,.,., tart „,,a,i„';:::^.r"'^""
gentfe:;;r''r'''-*r'""-'''^p^'-^''-'>i')

Lt Z b,,.atl ""L,:?"", ^' '"">"■ '■« "-aws
ou with,,,,, • ''""P "" """ brought

i .,.1 i ^^' """""'■ *■"'• i' ^"M suppose

iiealth and an unt,'„ul,led mind "

"An,! youth besides," said the kdy. "Healthv
;"'<'.<i'"«t age does not sleep thus. Ou st™

l-..snou,ore>i.ehisthauo„rwaJui,sX
The longer they looked the more did this

u ' ;;:t,^ ^'i, '""•'•-'"' - «- -ifnow,

jouth, to ,il,oiu the wayside and tlie manle
shade were as a secret ohan.ber witl, ZtiX

'.h-s ■"^M.^mmj

David Swan.

gloom of damask curtains brooding over liira.
Perceiving that a stray sunbeam glinim* , d
down upon his face the lady contrived to twist
a branch aside so as to intercept it, and
shaving done this little act of kindness she
began to feel like a mother to him.

"Providence seems to have laid liini here,"
whispered she to her husband, "and to have
brought us hither to lind him after our dis-
loappointment in our cousin's son. Methinks I
can see a likeness to our d.'parted Henry.
Shall we waken him ? "

"To what purpose;'" sai-l the merchant,
hesitating. "We k.tow nothing of the youth's
15 character."

"Thcit open countenance!" replied his wife
in the same hushed voice, yet earnestly. " This
innocent sleep ! "
While these whispers wei'e passing, the sleep-
L'lier's heart did not throb, nor his ]>reath become
agitated, nor his featm-es Ijetray tlu" least token
of interest. Yet Foitune was bending over
him just ready to let fall a burden of gold.
The old mei'chant had lost his only son and
25 had no heir to his wealth except a distant rela-
tive, with whose conduct he was dissatisfied. In
such cases people sometimes do sti-anger things
than to act the magician and awaken a young
man to splendor, wUo fell asleep in poverty.

David Swan.

"Shall we not waken him?" repeated the
lady, persnasively.

bewld '"""^ '' '■""'■■' ""■•" "'''"^ "'" ''•'■■™"'.

The oM cotiple started, ved.Iened, and hnrried =
a™y mntnally wondering, that they .honld
ever have dreamed of doing anything so verv
ndienlous. The merchant threw himself haek
"1 tlie carnage and occupied his mind with the
plan of a magnificent asylun, for nnfortnna.e,,
men of husmess. Meanwhile David Swau
enjoyed his nap.

The carriage could not have gone above a
along , trip,,„,j, p,,,,^^ ,^.|,.^.|^

cisely how her little heart was dancing i.Uier
bosom. Perhaps it was this merry kind o
motion that ca„.sed-is there any ha.™ in sa^-

W *|7 -a ^'"'"■,*" ^^"'' "" ""'"*■ Conscious
that , he ..liken girth, if silk it were, was rela.x-.

mg Its hold, slie turned aside into the shelter of

the maple-trees and there found a young man

asleep by the spring! Blnshing as red as aity

.o.se that .she should have iutr„,led, she was

about to make her escape on tiptoe. Bnt there^

was pen, near the sleeper. A monster of a bl

h»rf been wandering oveihead-l,n.z, buzz, buzz

-now among the leaves, now flashing through

the stnps of sunshine, and now lost in the da^k

David Swan.

sliafle, tUl finally he appeared to be settling on
the eyelid of David Swan. The sting of a bee is
sometimes deadly. As fi-ee-hearted as she was
innocent, the girl attacked the intruder with
sher handkerchief, brushed him soundly, and
d ove him from the maple-shade. How sweet
a picture! This good deed accomplished, with
quickened breath and a deeper blush si e stole
a glance at the youthful stranger, for whom
i"she had been battling with a dragon vl the
air.

"He is handsome!" thought she, and blushed
redder yet.
How could it be that no dream of bliss grew

15 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

20 soul, according to the old and beautiful idea,
had beer 3evered from his own and whom, in
all his vague but passionate desires he yearned
to meet. Her only could he love with a per-
fect love — him only could she receive into the

2s 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,

^^^~~mmmmMT^mm:^

David Swan. 37

but did not trip along the mad so lightly as
when she eanie.

Now this girl's father was a thriving rountry
merchant in the neighborhood, an«l happened
at that identical time to be looking oui for 5
just such a young man as David Swan. Had
David formed a wayside acqnaintanc«; with the
daughter, he would have become tlie father's
clerk and all else in natural succession. So here
again had good fortune-the best of fortunes— 10
stolen so near that lier gai-ments brushed against
hun, and he knew nothing of tue 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, 15
which were di-awn dt)wn aslant ovei- their brows'
Their dresses were shabby, yet they had a cer-
tam smartness. These were a couple of rascals
who got their living by whatever the devil
sent them, and now, in the interim of other 20
busmess, 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

David Swan.

first, " that tbo oliu]) lias cither a pocket-book
or a siiuff Httlo hoai-d of stnall chaiitr,. stowed
away amongst his shirts. And if not thei-o, we
shall find it in his i)antaIoons' po('k(>t."
5 "But how if ho Wilkes ?" said tlio 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 un(!ons('i()us David, and,

10 while one pointed the dagger towai-ds his heart'

the othei- began to seai-ch the bundle beneath

his head. Their two faces— gi-im, wiinkled, and

ghastly with guilt and fear— bent over their

victim, looking horribly enough to be mistaken

15 for fiends should he suddenly awake. Nay,

had the villains glanced aside into the spi'ing,

even they would hardly have known themselves

as reflected there. But David Swan had never

worn a more tranquil aspect even when asleep

2«ou his mother's bi'east.

"I must take away the bundle," whispered
one.

" If he stirs, I'll strike," nmttered the other.

But at this moment a dog scenting along

25 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 t" said one villain. "We can do

D.\vi[> Swan.

iiothiii- MOW. The dojr's muster must he "lose
hehiiid."

"Let's take a (h-ink and he oil'," said tlie
other.

Tli.^ mail with the ihig^ov tlinist baek the r,
W(>ai.<)ii into his ))os()m and „rew forth a
pocket-pistol, hut not of that kind wliieh kills
by a sin-le dischar-e. It was a Hask of liquor
with a l)lo(.k-tin tuml^ler screwed upon the
mouth. Each drank a comfoi-tahle dram, audio
h'ft the siK>t with so many jests, and such
huighter at their unaccomplished wickedness,
that they mi.i^ht Ix' said to have ^oue on their
way rejoicinjr. In a few liours they had for-
gotten the whole affair, nor once imagined that is
the recording angel had written down the crime
of murder against their souls in letters as dur-
able 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 20
glow of i-ene-A-ed life when that shadow was
withdrawn.

He slei)t, hut no longer so quietly as at first.
An hour's repose had snatch.Ml from his elastic
fi'ame the weariness with wliicli many hours of 25
toil had burdened it. Now he stirred-now
moved his lips, withont a sound -now talked
m an inward tone to the noonday spectres of
his dream. But a noise of wheels came rattling

.^..*.

David Swan.

louder and louder ulon^^ the r..nd until it dashed

tlirough the dispersing mist of David's slumh.M-

-and there was the staKe-ooach. He staited

up with all his ideas about hini.

5 " Holloa, driver! Take a passenger ? " shouted
he.

" ^o*^'" on top ! " answered the drivei-
Up mounted David an<l howled awav merrily
towards Boston without so mneh as a parting,
'«^Hanee at that fountain of dream-like vieissitiule
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 mur-
mur, nor that one of Death had threatened to
isorimson them with his hlood, all in the brief
hour smee he lay down to sleep. Sleeping or
waking we hear not vhe airy footsteps of the
strange things that almost happen. Does it
not argue a superintending Providenee that
20 while viewless and unexpeeted events thrust
themselves continually athwart our path, there
should still be regularity enough in mortal life
to render foresight even partially available ?

—NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.

" Vigilance in watchinjr opportunity, taot. and darincr i,. seizins,
upon opportunity, force and persistence i„ cn.wd.n. ol.,«rtu ity
to ,t,s utmost of p<,ssil.le aolnevnment-theHe Jr the nl' iS
virtues which must command success."

-Phelps.

Maud MuLLEii.

MAUD MULLER.

Ma,-d Ml'llkr on a sumi.i.Ts ,Iay
Kake(J the rm-udoNvs swoet witli li.iv.

Beneath l.er torn hat slovvrd d,o ^vonhh
Of sitnplt. l«.iuity and rusti,; h<^ihh.

'Singing she wrought, and in n;orry gl.-e
The mock-l.ird echoed from liis w.v.^

But, wht-n she glanced to th<, far <.fT town
White from its hill-slope looking down,
The sweet song die<i, and a vague umvst
An.l a nameless longing filled her hreast-
A wish that she hardly dared t., own
For something Letter than she had known.

The J,„!.e rode slowly d..wn the lano

Smoothing his horse's chestnut mar,e.

He drew his bridle in the shade

Of the apple-trees to greet the maid,

And asked a draught from the spring that flowed
Tnrough the meadow, across the road.

She stooped where the cool .spring bubble,! up
And filled for him her .small tin cup.

And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet so bare and her flattered gown.

•'Thanks .."said the Judge; <'a sweeter draught
J^rom fairer hand was never quaffed."

Maid MVu.ku.

'^:

•

Ho s|...k.' of the ^vasH and tli.- Ilowors h,„J tives,
Oi the singing birds and the hununin" Jw-es

Th.'i. talked of the haying, und wun,!,,-,.,! wh..th..r
The cloud in the west would hring foul weather.

And Maud forgot h.-r hri.M' l<.rn guwn.
And her grateful ankles bare and brown,

And listened, while a pleased surprise
Looked from her long-hish.-d hazel eyes.

At last, like one who for delay
Seeks a vain excuse-, he rode away.

Maud Muller looked and .sighe<i : "Al, nn- ■
Tlhj, T the Judge's l)ride might Im" !

He would dress me up in silks so lim-,
And praise and toast me at his wine.

My father should wear a broadcloth coat
My brother should .sail a painted boat.

I'd dress my mother so grand and gay.

And the baby should have a now toy each day

And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor,
Ard all .should bless me who left our door."

The Judge looked back as he climbed tlie hill,
And saw Maud Miiller standing still :

"A form more fair, a face more sweet,
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet,

And her modest answer and graceful air
Show her wise and good as she is fair.

WiSmmmsPfs^^i^

Maid MrLLFij.

Like \wr, ,i harvoHtor of !,ay :

No douUful balance of n.hts and wrongs
Nor weary lawyers with endless ton.M.,.s'

But low of catUe and son^fs of birds.
And health and ,,ui..t and loving words."

But Ju, thought of his sister proud and eold,
And h.s mother vain of her ra,>k and gold.

«o. '--losing his heart, the Judi/e r^nJe on
And Maud was left in the field alone.
But the lawyers smiled that afternoon
^Vhen he hummed in court an old love-tune;

And the young girl mused In^side "the well.

A«ll the rain on the unraked clover fell.

He wedded a wife of richest dower,

Who lived for fashion us he for power.

Yet oft in his marble hearth's bright glow
He watched a picture come and <.o

And sweet Maud M.iller's hazel eves
Looked out in their innocent surprise.
Oft. when the wine in his glass was red,
He longed for the wayside well instead,
And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms
To dream of meadows and clover blooms ;

And t.e proud man sighed with a secret pain,-
An, that I were free again !

^11V-V« c

Mii W^l

44 Ma I'D MiiLLER.

Free as when I nxJe that day

When> tl» barefoot maiden raked tlie liay."

She woflrltnl a man unlearnfd and poor,
And many children played round her door.

But caro and sorrow and childbirth pain
I^ft their traceH on heart and brain ;

And oft when the summer's sun ahone liot
On the new -mown hay in the meadow lot,

And she heard the little spring-brook fall
Over the road-side, through the wall,

In the shade of the apple tree ayairi
She saw a rider draw liis rein,

And, gazirijr down with timid grace.
She felt his pleased eyes read he. face.

Sometimes her narrow kitchen wails
Stretched away into -lately halls :

The we.iry wheel f.. a spinet turned,
The tallow eandl(= .in astral burned :

And for him who sat by the chimney lug
Dozing and grumbling oer pipe and mug,

A manly form at her side she saw,
And joy was duty, and love was law.

Than .she took up her burden of life again
Saying only, ' It might have been."

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge,

For rich repiner and household drudge!

.■% 4rv?

In Memohiam.

OckI pify them Ix.fli! and piry ns all,
Who vainly Mip Hrmms of y„„r|, PMCttll ;

F..r of all sad words of ton^iiP or iH>n,

TI.P .saddest aro the«- " \t m.omt mav'k rkkn !"

Ah, well for us all some sweet hope lies
Deeply buried from hunuin eyes,

And in the hereafter angels may
Roll the stone from its grave away.

Jons liUKt.VLEAK WIIITTIirR.

IN MEHORIAM.

One writes, that "Other friends remain,"
That "Ijohs is common to the race "—
And common is the commonplace,

And vacant chaflF well meant for grain.

That loss is common would not make
My own le.s.s bitter, rather more:
Too common ! Never morning wore

To evening but some heart did break.

O father, whereso'er thou l)e.

Who pledgest now thy gallant son :
A shot, ere half thy draught be done,

Hath still'd the life that beat from thee.

O mother, praying God will save

Th.y sailor,— wiaie thy head is bow'd
His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud

Drops in his vast and wandering grave.

46 In Memoriam.

Ye know no more than I who wrought
At that last hour to please him well;
Who mused on all T had to tell,

And something written, something thought.

Expecting still his advent home,
And ever met him on his way
With wishes, thinking, "here to-day,"

Or "here to-morrow will he come."

O 8(jmewhere, meek, unconscious dove,
That sittest ranging golden hair.
And glad to find thyself so fair.

Poor child, that waitest for thy love 1

For now her father's chimney glows

In expectation of a guest;

And thinking "this will please him best,"
She takes a riband or a rose ;

For he will see them on to-night;

And with the thought her color burns;

And, having left the glass, she turns
Once more to set a ringlet right;

And even when she turn'd the curse
Had fallen, and her future Lord
Was drown'd in passing thro' the ford,

f)r kill'd in falling from his horse.

25 O what to her shall l)e the end?

And what to me remains of good?
To her perp(>tual maiflenhood,
And unto me no second frien<l.

- Al.rRFD TKNNT80N.

Rip Van Winkle.

RIP VAN WINKLE.

Whoever has made a voyage up the Hud-
son must remember the Kaatskill mountains.
Ihey are a dismembered branch of the great
Appalachian family, and are seen away to the
west of the river, swelling up to a nobles
height and lording it over the surrounding
country. Every change of season, every change
of weather, indeed every hour of the day pro-
duces some change in the magical huls and
shapes of these mountains, and they areio
regarded by all the good wives far and near
as perfect barometers. When the weather is
fair and settled they are clothed in blue and
purple and print their bold outlines on the clear
evening sky; but sometimes, when the rest of .5
the landscape is cloudless, they will gather a
hood of gi-ay vapors al)out tlum- summits
which, in the last rays of the setting sun, will
glow and light up like a crown of glory.

At the foot of these fairy mountains the 20
voyager may have descried the light smoke
curling up from a village, whose shingle roofs
gleam among the trees, just where the blue
tints of the upland melt awav into the fresh
green of the nearer landscape. It is a little 25
village of great antiquity, having been founded

Rip Van Winkle.

by some of the Dutch colonists in the early
times of the province, just about the beginning
of the government of the good Peter Stuyves-
ant (may he rest in peace !), and there were
5 some of the houses of the original settlers
standing within a few years, built of small
yellow bi-icks brought from Holland, having
latticed windows and gable fronts surmounted
with weathercocks.

In that same village, and in one of these
very houses (which, to tell the precise truth, was
sadly time-worn and weather-beaten), there lived
many years since, while the country was yet
a province of Great Britain, a simple good-
i.-inatured fellow of the name of Rip Van
Winkle. He was a descendant of the Van
Winkles who figured so gallantly in the chival-
rous days of Peter Stuyvesant, and accompanied
him to the siege of Fort Christina. He inherited,
20 however, but little of the martial character of
his ancestors. I have observed that he was a
simple good-natured man ; he was, moreovei-, a
kind neighbor and an obedient henpecked
husband. Indeed, to the latter circumstance
20 might be owing that meekness of spirit
which gained him such universal popularity;
for those men are most apt to be obsequious
and conciliating abroad who are under the
discipline of shrews at home. Their tempers,

Rip Tan Winkle. 49

doubtless, are rendered j-Iiant and malleable in
the iiery tnrnaoe of don.esti<, tribulation, and a
eurtani leeture is worth all the sermons i, e
world for teaching the virtues of patience* and
ong-suffenng. A termagant wife may, there- -.
tore m some respects be consirlered a toler-
able blessing and, if so, Rip Van Winkle was
thrice blessed.

Certain it is ,l,at he was a g.-eat favon.e
amoug all the g„„,i „.;,„, „, ,„„

as ttsua w,th the a.niable .ex, took hi/part in'
all lamily .squabbles, a,„l „eve,- fail,<l, when-
ever they talked those „n.tters over in theii
evening gossipings, to l„y „„ t,,^ blame on
Datne Van Winkle. The children of the vil-„
lage, too, would shout with joy whenever he

T^Tt «« ''^-'«' «* "-i-Wts, made
then playthings, taught then, t,> fly kite.s and
shoot marbles, and told ,|„.,„ long .stories of
ghosts, witehes, and Indian.s. Whenever he.
«ent dodging about the village he was sur-
rounded by a tro,.p of then, hanging on his
.ski.ts, elambenng on his b„ek, and plaving a
thousand tricks on hi,,, with hnpunitv, and
not a d,,g would ba,.k at Inn, throughout thea.
neighborhood.

The great error in Rip's composition wa«
an msuperable aversion to all kinds of profit-
able labor. It could not be from the want of

Kip Van Winkle.

assiduity or perseveraiiee, for lie would sit on
a wet rock with a rod as lung and licuvy as
a Tartar's lauco, and Msh all day without a
murmur even though ho shouM not be eii-
5couragod by a single nibl>le. He would eaiTy
a fowling-i)ieee on his shoulder for h..ui-s
together, trudging thi-ough wcjods and .swain[)s
and up hill and down dale, to shoot a few
squin-els or wild i)igeons. He would never
10 refuse to assist a neighbor even in the rough-
est toil, and was a foremost man at all country
frolics for husking Indian corn or building
stone fences. The women of the village, too"^
used to employ him to run their errands and
16 to do such little odd jobs as their less obliging
husbands would not do for them:— in a word,
Rip was ready to attend to anybody's business
but his own; but as to doing family duty and
keeping his farm in order, he found it im-
20 possible.

In fact he declared it was of no use to
work on his farni ; it was the most pestilent
Httle piece of ground in the whole country;
everything about it went wi-ong, and would go
25 wrong in spite of him. His fences were con-
tinually falling to pieties; his cow would either
go astray or get among the cab]:)ages; weeds
were sure to grow thicker in his field than
anywhere else; the rain always made a pomt

eSi

Rip Van Winkle.

ItlhJV'V :"''''''''''' ^''^ patrimonial
estate had duindJea away nndor his nj,,,.,^^

ment acre by acre imh-] ♦! ,- "^•*"'^^^-

lelt than a m.ro patch ,>f Indian corn and a

pot^oes, yet it was the worst conditioned n^'
m the nei^rhborhood.

asTf'tLef I'T' "■"; ""'■" ■■'■' '■---"-' -"I wild
a.. Urdu., |,eg„t,,.„ i„ Us own lik,.„es^ ,„

cr.:r'"^""'^' ■"''-'"- '>--■'"

Rip Van Winki., „ ^-eve,-, was one „f those
happy mortal, „f „„„,, ^^ '^o «

tioiis, who take the «-n,.u msposi-

bread or I,,., , ! ""'*>'' <'•'" white 20

least thought or tro„l,le, and would rather
starve on a penny than work for a jK.nnd I
eft to h,mself ho would have whistle,! life
away ,„ perfect eon.entment. but hi wiL

Morning, noon, and night her tongue was

Rip Van Winkle.

incessantly going, and everything he said or
did was sure to produce a torrent of household
eloquence. Rip ha<l l)ut one way of replying
to all lectures of the kind, and that by
5 frequent use had grown into a hahit. He
shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, east
up his eyes, but said nothing. This, however,
always provok<'d a fresh volley fi-om his wife,'
so that he was fain to draw off his forces and
intake to the outside of the house— the only side
which, in truth, belongs to a henpecked husband.
Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog
Wolf, who was as much henpecked as his
master, for Dame Winkle regarded them as
15 companions in idleness, and even looked upon
Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause of his
master going so often astray. True it is, in
all points of spirit befitting an honorable
dog he was as coui-ageous an animal as ever
20 scoured the woods;— l)ut what courage can
withstand the ever-during and all-besetting
terrors of a woman's tongue ? The moment
Wolf entered the house his crest fell, his tail
drooped to the ground or curled between his
25 legs, he sneaked about with a gallows air
casting many a sidelong glance at Dame Van
Winkle, and at the least flourish of a broom-
stick or ladle he would fly to the door with
yelping precipitation.

Rip Van Winkle.

Times gre\7 worse and worse witli Rip Van
Winkle as years of matrimony rolled on : a tart
temper never mellows with age, and a sharp
tongue is tlie only edge tool that grows keener
with constant use. For a long while lie used s
to console himself, when driven from home, by
frequenting a kind of perpetual club of 'the
sages, philosophers, and other idle personages
of the village, which held its sessions on a
bench before a small inn designated by aio
rubicund portrait of his Majesty George ' the
Third. Here they used to sit in the shade
through a long lazy summer's day, talking
listlessly over village gossip or telling endless
sleepy stories about nothing. But it would 15
have been worth any statesman's money to
have heard the profound dis(;ussions that some-
times took place when by chance an old
newspaper fell intc their hands from some
passing traveller. How solemnly they would »
listen to the contents as drawled out by Der-
rick Van Bummel the schoolmaster, a dapper
learned little man Avho was not to be daunted
by the most gigantic word in the dictionary; and
how sagely they would deliberate upon public 25
events some months after they had taken place.
The opinions of this junto were completely
controlled by Nicholas Vedder, a patriarch of
the village and landlord of the inn, at the

Rip Van Winkle.

door of which ho took liis seat IVoni morniiig
till night, just moving sufficiently to avoid the
sun and keep in tho shade of a large tree, so
that tlie neighbors could tell the hour })y 'his
« movements as accurately as by a sun-dial It
IS true he was rarely heard to speak, but smoked
his pi] . incessantly. His adhe.-nts, howexer
(for every great man has his aclhe.-euts), per-
tVctly understood him, and knew how to .^ather
10 his opinions. When anything that was" read
or related displeased him, he was observed to
smoke his pii)e vehemently an<l to send forth
short frequent an<l angry puffs, but when
pleased he would inhale the smoke slowly and
i.^ tranquilly and emit it in light and placid
clouds; and sometimes, taking the pipe from
his mouth and letting the fragrant vapor curl
about his nose, would gravely nod his head in
token of perfect api»robation.
20 From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip
was at length routed by his termagant wife
who woiiM suddenly break in upon the tran-
quillity of the assemblage and call the members
all to naugiit; nor was that august personage
:« Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the daring
tongue of this terrible virago, who charged him
outright with encouraging her husband in habits
of idleness.

Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to

krSJWTJ. .11*

Rh' Vax Winkle.

despau-, nnd Lis ouW alt.M-Mutivo, to osmuo
fro,,, tho ].,1k„- „f tho f,„-,n un.l ..lamor of his
wit.., was to tak«. ffuu iu Imn.l an.l st,-oIl away
"'to fl,. woods. IT.M-o l.o w.,uM somotinu's seat
'"'Msrir ,t tl.o foot or a tn.o an«l sha.-o tho .
I'oMtoi.ts of Lis wallet with Wolf, with who,,,
ho syi.ipathizrd as a felI<,w-surtV'i-er i„ i,e,-so«.,i-
tioi.. "Poo,. Wolf," ho u-ouM sav, "thy
inist,vss k.Mls thee a do-'s life of * it • but
neve,- ,„i„d, ,„y lad, whilst I live thou'shaltio
iievei- wa„t a f,.ie„d to stand by theH.f"
Wolf would wa<,r his tail, look wistfiillv in his
T,iastei-'s face, and if dogs ea,i feel pity'f vo,ily
l>t'liove he ,-ecip,.oeated the se„time,it with a'l
his heart.

Ill a long ,.a,Tibln of the kind 0,1 a fine''
antu,iinal day Ki^, had unconscionslv sn-an,!,!..!
to one of the hi-hcst i)a,-ts of the Kaatskill
mountains. II,> Avas afto,. his ...s'o,-,te spoi-t of
.sqiiiiTel-shooting, and th,. stih soHtudos had:»
<'"hoed and ,.,-eehoed with the ••epo,-ts of his
,i,nin. Pantin- and fati-n.'d he th,-ew hhnself
late m tlu. afte,-noon on a g,-een knoll eovei-ed
with mountain luM-baKO that e.-owned the bi-ow
of a pi-eeipi,.,^ Fi-o,n an opening between the 25
trees he could ovc-look all the h.we,- country
for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw
at a distance the lo,-dly Jfudson far, far below
him, moving on its silent but majestic course,

Rip Van Winkle.

wi h the ,eflo.fion of a ,,„rplo H<m.l or the
sail of a lagging. l,a,k Jhm-o an.l tl.om sl.vpi„g
on Its glassy bosom, and at last losing itself in
the bine highlands. **

» On the other .side ho looked down into
a deep monntain glen, wild, lonely, and shaggv,
the bo^ton. filled with fragments fron. thelm-
pendn.g <.liffs, an.l seareely lighted by the reflect-
ed rays of the setting snn. For son.e time Rip
•olay mnsn,gon the.eene; evening was gradually
advancing, the nu.nntains began to throw
their long blue shadows over the vailevs- he
saw that it woukl be dark long before he* c^uld
'■each the village and he heaved a heavy
'^sigh when he thought of encountering the
terrors of Dame Van Winkle.

As he was about to descend, he ,ear<l a
voice from a distance hallooing, - ,„, Van
Wmklel Rip Van Winkle!'' He 'L. 3d Ud
20 but could see nothing but a crow winging it
solitary flight across the mountain. He
thought h,s fancy must have deceived him
and turned again to descerd, when he heard
the same cry nng through the still evening
2.air: «R Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!"-a^
the same time Wolf bristled up his back and,
giving a loud growl, skulked to his master's
side, lookn.g fearfully down into the den
Kip now felt a vague apprehension stealing

Rip Van Winkle.

over him; ho Io„k.Ml anxioiislv in tho san.o
direction un.l perrMMve.l a sf,an^,^o fi^uro sl<»wlv
t-il'M^' up the rorks and h.ndir.^^ un.l.r th*..
weight of soni.'thin.- he came,! on his l,a<.k
He was surprise,] to see any human being in' .
this lonely and unfrequented pj,,,.,., Imt sup.
posing It to bo some ono of tlie neighborhood
"1 need of his assistance, he hastened down to
yield it.

On nearer approach ho was still more sur-.o
Pnsed at tho singularity of the stranger's
ai>pearanc.e He was a short square-built old
ellow, with thiek bushy hair and a gn.zle<l
beard. His dress was of tho antique Duteh
fashion-a doth jerkin strapped round the.,
waist, several pairs of breeehos, the outer ono
«t ample volume, decorated with rows of
buttons down the sides and buttons at the
knees. Ho bore on his shoulder u stout keg
hat seemed to contain li.p.or, and made signs ^
or Kip to approach an<l assist him with the
oad. Though rather shy and distrustful of
this new acquaintance. Kip complied with his
usual alacritv and, mutually relieving each
other thoy clambered up a narrow gully, ap-^
purently the dry bed of a mountain torrent

As they ascended, Kip every now and then
heard long rolling peais like distant thunder
that seemed to issue out of a deep ravine, o^

Rip Van Winkle.

rnWwr cleft, l.etwr.'u h.fty i„,.ks toward which
th.ir ruro-,..t Mj.th coiMliictwl. Ilo pauHMl r,,r
an i!, tnjit '.u su|)jM)siiig it to Ik* the iimttcr-
ing ot M' ,,/ thoso traiisiont thmi(l.M--show.MN
.'.which (, h .. !;i ;o phico in niountain-hcijrhts, ho
l.rocoedr'. V-.. '<\ug through tiic mxiiic they
cume to . ],...,.- . . 11 small aniphithcatro
sniToniiMi. i'"Mdicuhir prccipicj's, over

the In-ink of .pciKhng trees sliot their

lohrandies, ,o f)..,, y,^ only .•aught glinipscM «,f
the azuit^ sky and tho bright evening cloud.
During tho wliolo timo Rip and his companion
had labored on in silence, for thougli tiie
former marvMled greatly what could be the
iM)bject of carrying a keg of li.juor up this wild
mountain, yet there was something strange and
incompi-eliensible about the unknown that in-
spired awe and cliecked familiarity.
On entering the amphitheatre new objects of
20 wonder present<'d themselves. On a level spot
in the centre was a company of (xhl-looking
personages playing at nine-pins. They were
dressed in a (puiint outlandish fashion: some
wo,-e short doublets, others jei-kins, witli long
i« knives in their belts, and most of them had
enormous breeches of similar stjie with that
of the guide's. Their visages, too, were
peculiar: one had a large head, l)road face,
and «mall piggish eyes; the face of another

■^w

Rip Van Winkle. 59

seemwl to consist entiivly of noso, nii.l was
Hiinnount...] hy n wliito suj^'ur-l .af liat s<.t off
with a littlo ml cork's tail. Tli..y all lia.l
Ix'ards of various sha]>«^s and <'olois. Thorn
was on« who scorned to ho tho <.oMiTnaiidor. s
He was a stout old gontlenian with u woathcr-
beaten count.'nance; he won> a iaood do..}»lot,
broad })elt and lumger, hi-h-c-owno.l hat and
f<'nther, red stockings, and high-liceled shoos
with roses in them. Tho whole group ro-,o
min<lod Rip of the figmes in an old Flemish
painting in tho parlor of Doniinio Van Shaick,
the village parson, and which liad heej
brought over from Holland at the time of the
settlement.

What seemed i»articulai-ly odd to Kip was
that, though these folks were evidently atnus-
ing themselves, yet they maintained the
gravest faces, the most mystei-jous silenc.., and
were, withal, the most melancholy partv ofjo
pleasure he had evei- witncss.'d.' Notiiing
interrupted the stillness of the scene but the
noise of the balls which, whenever they were
rolled, echoed along the mountains like
rumbling peals of thundei-. ^

As Rip and his companion approached them
they suddenly desisted from their play and
stared at him with such fixed statue-like gaze,
and such strange uncouth lack-lustre coun-

Brp Van Winkle.

tenances, that l,i., I,e„rt turno,! within hi,,, and
h,s knees smote t«getl,e,-.. His eo,„„„nio,. now
™pt.ed the contents of the keg into la,-ge
fl..gons, and made signs to him to wait upon
.ae company. He obeyed with fear and fern-
b"gi they quaflfe,] the liq„„,. i„ „,„„„,
silence and then returned to their game

By degeos Rip-s awe and appi-ehensi;,, sub-
sul«i. He even ventu,-ed when no eye was
■ofixed upon him to taste the beve,^e, which
he ouud had much of the tiavo,- of'e'xcel It
Hollands. He was natmally a thirsty soul
and was soon tempted to repeat the d,-aught.
One taste p,.ovoked anothe,-, and he reite,-ated
.»h,s vs,ts to the flagon so often that at length
h,s senses we,.e ove,-powe,-ed, his eyes swam in
his head, h,s head gi^adually declincl, and he
leii mto a deep sleep.
On waking, he f„u„d himself on the g,-een
.knoll whence he had fl,.st seen the old mL of
tlie glen. He ,.ubbed his eyes-it was a bright
su.my mo,.nmg. The bi,-,ls we>-e hopping and
tvv„te,mg among the bushes, and the eagle
was wheehng aloft and b,-ea.ting the pu,.e
^mountain b,-ee.e. "Su.ely," thought Rip "r
have net slept he,e all night." He recalled the
occm-rences befo.^e he fell asleep. The strange
man w,t^h the keg of liqaor-the mountaf^
ravme-the wUd retreat among the rocks-

Rip Van Winkle. qi

the woe-begone party at iiine-pins— the flagon
—"Oh! that flagon! that wicked flagon!"
thonght Rip; "what excuse shall I make to
Dame Van Winkle?"

He looked round for his gun but, in place 5
of the clean wdl-oiled fowling-piece, he found
an old firelock lying by him, the barrel
encrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and
the stock wo.-m-eaten. He now suspected that
the grave roysterers of the mountain had put a 10
trick upon him and, having dosed him with
liquor, had robbed him of his gun. Wolf, too,
had disappear. \ but he mighf have strayed
away after a squirrel oj- partridge. He
whistled after him and shouted his name all 15
m vain; the echoes repeated his whistle and
shout, but no dog was to be seen.

He determined to revisit the scene of the
last evening's gambol and if he met with any
of the party to demand his dog and gun. As 20
he rose to walk he found himself stiff in the
joints and wanting in his usual activity.
"These mountain bods do not agiee with me"
thought Rip, "and if this froli(, should lay me
up with a fit of rheumatism, I shall have a 25
blessed time with Dame Van Winkle." With
some difficulty he got down into the glen; he
found the gully up which he and his com-
panion had ascended the preceding evening,

Rip Van Winkle.

ta, LI '•■"""^'"'•nt a „,o™tai„ stream
was now foannng down it-leaping from rook
to rock and Ailing the glen wim babbHng

"P « «iH working his toilsome way
throngh thickets of birch, sassafras, and wild^
ha.e and sometimes tripped up or entangled

Mkmd of net-work in his path

At length he reached to where the ravine
had opened throngh the ..liffs to the amphi!
theatre, but no tra.-cs of such opening re-

« The rocks presented a ,n4 impend

«t.able wall over which the torrent came

umbhng m a s!,eet of feathery foa.n, and Z

•nto a broad deep basin black from the

^adows of the surrounding forest. Here then

» called and whistled after his dog; he was fX
-wered Iv the cawing of ft,::;: Tdt
crows sportn,g high in the air ab«,t a dry
tree that overhung a sunnv precipi,.e and
who, secure in their elovation', sclneclto lolk

What was to be done? The morning was
passmg away and Ri,, fdt famished fo. warn
of h,s breakfast. He grieved to give up hi!
dog and gun; he dreaded to „„4 Ms wife-

'^SBklmL

.-i?^llft.2..'.«i;t

Rip Van Winkle. 53

but it would not do to starve among the
mountan.s. He sh„ok his head, shoul.le.vd the
rusty firelook and, with a heart fidl of trouble
and anxiHy, turned his steps homewar<i

As he approached the viMa-e he met a nnni- 5
ber of people l)ut none wliom lie know, wliich
somewhat surprised liim for l,e had thought
hnnself acquainted with every one in tlie
country round. Their dress, too, was of a dif-
terent fashion from that to wliicli lie was a.-.o
customed. They all stared at him with equal
marks of surprise and, whenever thev cast
then- eyes upon him, invariably stroked their
chins. The constant recurrence of this gesture
induced Rip involuntarily to do the same^.s
when to his astonishment he found his beard
had grown a foot loiiir'

He had now entered the skirts of the Wl-
age. A troop of strange children ran at his
heels hooting after him and pointing at his«)
gray beard. The <logs, too, not one of whom
he recognized for an old acquaintance, barked
at him as he passe.l; the very village was
altered: it was larger and more populous.
There were rows of houses which he had never^s
seen before, and those which luul been his
tamihar haunts had disappeared. Strange
names were over the doors-strange faces at the
wmdows-everything was strange. His mind

Rip Van Winkle.

now misgave Iiini; he l)egan to doubt whether
both he and the world ai-ound him were not
bewitched. Siuvly this was liis native village
which he had l(>ft l)nt tlie day Ix'fore. There
sstood the Kaatskill niouiitains— there ran the
silver Hudson at a distance— ther«> was <>very hill
and dale precisely as it had always lu'<.n. * Rip
was sorely perplexed. " Tliat flagon last night,"
tlKmght he, "has addhnl my poor head sadly l'"
10 It was with some difficulty that he found his
way to his own housvi, whirli h.^ approached
with silent awe expwting every moment to
hear the -shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle.
He found the house gone to decay— the roof
isfallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors
off the hinges. A half-starved dog that looked
like Wolf was skulking about it. Rip called
him by his name, but the cur snarled, showed
his teeth, and passed on. This was an unkind
2ocut indeed— "My very dog," sighed poor Rip,
"has forgotten me!"

He entered the house which, to tell the
truth. Dame Van Winkle had always kept in
neat oi-der. It was empty, forlorn, and ap-
25parently abandoned. The desolateness over-
came all his connubial fears; he called loudly
for his wife and children; the lonely cham-
bers rang for a moment with his voice and
then all again was silence.

■fipr-.^.

Rip Van Wrinkle.

He now huiTiod forth and hastened to his
old resort, the village inn-l>ut it too was gone
A large Hcketty wooden building stood in its
Plciee, with great gaping windows, some l,roken
and mended with old hats and petticoats, an<I 5
over the door was painted, "The Union Hotel
by Jonathan Doolittle." Instead of the great
tree that used to shelter the (juiet little Dutch
inn of yore there was now reared a tall naked
pole with son.ething on the t..p that looke<l ,„
like a red nightcap, an,l from it was fluttering
a flag on which was a singular assenihlage of
stars and stripes; all this was strange and in-
comprehensible. He recognize<l on the sign
however, the ruby face of King George, undei' ...
. which he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe-
but even this was seriously metamorphosed!
Ihe red coat was changed for one of blue
and buff, a sword was held in the hand in-
stead of a sceptre, the head was decorated 20
with a cocked hat, and underneath was painted
in large characters, Gexej-al WASiiiNGTON.

There was, as usual, a crowd of folks about
the door, but none that Kip recollected The
very character of the people seemed changed.^
There was a busy bustling disputatious tone
about It, mstead of the accustomed r.hleo-m
and drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain
for the sage Nicholas Ved.ler, with his broad

JJ^L -■ ' '■^1

Rip Van Winkle.

face, double chin, and long pipo, uttering
clouds of tobacco smoke instead of idle
speeches; or Van Bunimel, the schoolmaster,
doling forth the contents of an ancient nevvs-
s paper. In place of these, a lean bilious-look-
ing fellow, with his pockets full of hand-bills,
was haranguing vehemently about rights of

citizens — elections — members of congress

liberty— Bunker's Hill— heroes of seventy-six—
10 and other words which were a perfect Baby-
lonish jargon to the bewildered Van Winkle.

The appearance of Rip, with his long, grizzled
beard, his rusty fowling-piece, his uncouth
dress, and an army of women and childi'en at
15 his heels, soon attracted the attention of the
tavern politicians. They crowded round him
eyeing him from head to foot with great
curiosity. The orator bustled up to him and,
drawing him partly aside, inquired "on which
20 side he voted ?" Rip stared in vacant stupidity.
Another short but busy little fellow pulled him
by the arm, and rising on tiptoe inquired in
his ear "Whether he was a Federal or a
Democrat?" Rip was equally at a loss to com-
25prehend the question, when a knowing self-
important old gentleman in a sharp cocked
hat made his way through the crowd, putting
them to the right and left with his elbows as
he passed and, planting himself before Van

Rip Van Winkle. qj

Winkle with ono arm ,,kirnl,o, fho other rest-
niK o„ Ins oune, his keen eyes h.mI sharp hat
ponetratm- as it wen, i„to his very soul de-
mauded ,u an austere tone, "What brought
h.ra to the eleetion with a gnn on liis shonlder 5
u.:d a mob at his heels, and whether he meant
to breed a riot in the vilhige!" »AUis' g,Mi
tlemen," eried Rip, somewhat dismayed, "I
urn a poor, quiet man, a native of this place
aiHl a loyal subjeet of the king, (}o<l bless ,0
him!"

Here a general shout burst fr.,m the bv-
.standers-"A tory! a tory! a spy! a refugee!
hustle him! away with him!" It was with
great difficulty that the self-important man in ,5
the eoeked hat restored order, and, luiving as-
sumed a tenfold austerity of brow, he demande<l
again of the unknown culprit what lie came
there for and whom he was seeking The
poor man humbly assured him that he meant 20
no harm, but merely came there in search of
some of his neighbors who used to keep about
the tavern.

"Weli, who are they ?— name them"'

Rip bethought himself a momei;t and in- 25

quired, "Where's Nicholas Vedder?"
There was a silence for a little while, when

an old man replied in a thin pipir.g voice,
Nicholas Vedder! why he is dead ..nd gone

■^i^-um'-'i rjmi:,..

TS^StHS

Rip Van Winkle.

thoso eightppn years! Tliore was a wooden
toiiihstoiie in tlio churchyard that used to tell
all about him, Init that's rotten and gohe too."
"Where's Brom Dutcher!"
5 "O, he went off to the army in the beginning
of the war; some say he was killed at the
storming of Stony Point, others say he was
drowned in a squall at the foot of Antony's
Nose. I don't know — he never came back
10 again."

"Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster!"
"He went off to the wars too, was a great
militia general, and is now in Congi-ess."
Rip's heart died away at hearing of these
15 sad changes in his home and friends, and find-
ing himself thus alone in the world. Every
answer puzzled him too by treating of such
enormous lapses of time and of matters which
he could not understand : war — congress — Stony
20 Point. He had no courage to ask after any
more friends, but cried out in despair, " Does
nobody here know Rip Van Winkle ! "

" Oh, Rip Van Winkle ! " exclaimed two or
three. "Oh, to be sure! that's Rip Van Winkle
25 yonder, leaning against the tree."

Rip looked and beheld a precise couni .art
of himself as he went up the momiiJn;
apparently as lazy and certainly as ragged.
The poor fellow was now completely con-

-y.jT

11- If.

Rip Van Winkle.

founded. lie douht*^! his own identity, and

whether he was himself

or anoth«T man. 1

man in the

the mi<lst of liis bewilderment the

cocked hat demanded who he was and what

was his name. ^

" God knows," exclaimed he, at his wit's end ;
"I am not myself— I'm somebody else— that's
me yonder— no— that's somebody else got into
my shoes— I was myself last night, but I fell
asleep on the mountain, and they've changed lo
lU'v gun, and everything's clianged, and I am
changed, and I can't tell what's my name or
who I am ! "

The bystanders began now to look at each
other, nod, wink significantly, and tap their is
fingers against their foreheads. There was a
vsrhisper also about securing the gun jind keep-
ing the old fellow fi-om doing mischief, at the
very suggestion of which the self-important man
in the cocked hat retired with some precipitation, jo
At this critical moment a fresh comely woman
press'.'d through the throng to get a peep at
the grey-bearded man. She had a chubby
child in her arms which, frightened at
his looks, began to ciy. "Hush, Rip," cried sa
she, "hush, you little fool, the old man won't
hurt you." The name of the* child, the tone
of her voice, all awakened a train of recollections
in his mind.

Rip Van Winkle.

"What is your iiniuo, my good woman?"
asked he.

"Judith Ourdenier."
" And your fath«M's namo ? "
fi "Ah, poor man, Kip Van Winklo was his
name, but it's twenty years since he went away
from liomo with his gun and never has been
heard of since; his dog camo houM^ without
him, but whether he sliot liimsch", or was
loearried away by the Indians, nobody can tell.
I was then but a little girl."

Rip had but one question more, but he put
it with a faltering voice:
"Where's your mother?"
15 Oh, she too had died but a short time since;
she broke a blood-vessel in a fit of passion at
a New-England pedler.

There was a di-op o{ comfort at least in
this intelligence. The honest num could con-
20 tain himself no longer. He caught his daugiiter
and her child in his arms. " I am your father!"
cried he— "young Rip Van Winkle once— old
Rip Van Winkle now!— Does nobody know
poor Rip \'au Winkle ? "
25 All stocKl amazed until an old woman, totter-
ing out from among the crowd, put her hand
to her brow and peering under it into his face
for a moment exclaimed, " Sure enough ! it is
Rip Van Winkle— it is himself! Welcome

Rip Vax Winklf.

home apain, old iKMj,'hboi-.~Wliy, whor.) have
you been thoso twonty lonsr voais'"

Rip's story was soon tol.l, f(M the wliolo twenty
years had been to him but as one night. The
noiglibors staivd wh<Mi thoy limrd it; somes
were seen to wink at eacii other and put their
tongups ill fhci,. ,.h«.,'ks; and the self-important
man in the corkrd h.it, who when the alarm
was over had rcturn^-d to the fi»qd, screwed
down the conu'is of his mouth and shook hisio
head -upoi/ wliich there was a general shaking
of the head thr()U;rhout the assemblage.

It was d«'t«M-niiiu'd, iiowever, to take the opin-
ion of old Peter Van<lerdonk, who was seen
slowly advancing l^^ the roa<l. He was a de-w
seendant of the historian ot that name, who
wrote one of the earliest accounts of the pro-
vince. Peter was the most ancient inhabitant
of the \'illage and well versed in all the w,jn-
derful events and traditions of the neighbor- 20
hood. He recollected Rip at once and corrobo-
rated liis story in the most satisfactory manner.
He assni-ed the company that it was a fact
handed down from his ancestor the historian,

that the Kaatskill mount,

lins had always been

haunted by strange beings; that it
firmed that the great Henchick
first discoverer of the river and
a kind of vigil there every twenty

was
Hudson,
country,
ears

the
kept
with

If!''

Hii' Van Winkle.

his ,-rew of tl.o nalf-,n<>un, hoin^r ponnift.'d in
this way to tvvjsjt tljo scoiios of his ontorprise
and keop u ^nianlinu oyo upon th«> river and
tho ffront city callrd Uy his nniuo; that his
ofathor had onco se«m thcui in thojr old Dutch
drossos ]>laying at nino-pins in n liollow of the
mountain ; and that ho hitnself had hoard ono
summer afternoon tlio sound of tiieir balls like
distant peals of thunder.
10 To make a lf)n^' str)ry short, tho company
broke up and returned to the more im[.oi-tant
concerns of the election. Rip's daujfhter took
him home to live with her; she had a snug
well-furnished liouse, and a st.ut cheery farmer
16 for her husband, whotn Rip recollected for one
<»f the urchins that used to climb upon his back.
As to Rip's son and heir, who was the ditto of
himself, seen l.-anin^^ a«,'aiiist th.i Uu^f^, he was
e!r.ploye<l to woik on the farm, but evinced an
iohereditary disposition to attend to anythinj,' else
but his business.

Rip now resume<l I, is old wi.lks and habits;
he soon found many of his fornun- cronies,
though all rather the woi-se for the wear and
2otear of tim«s and pivforred making friends
among the risin/^ genei-ation, with whom he
soon grew into great favor.

Having nothing to do at home, and ])eing
arrived at that happy age when a man can be

■^iMPfMl

^^ii^

Hii' \'\N WivKr.F. 73

Hlo with in.puMity, l.o took Lis plap« onr^
'"'"'" '"' ^'''^ '^*'"*l' "'^ tlH' iiM. ,loor, nnd was
rm'.M-oi.cod ns omo of ,|.o patria.vl.s of tho .'il-
lapo and a c.lironicl.M- of t|... oM timos "hofo.v
the war." If was srm.o tinio l>oforn ho rouM ^^ot i
into tho n-nlar tnu-k <,f ,.ossip or rouM l>o
ma.lo to .■ou.prol.e.Ml the .,ra„po thin-s that
hH.l takon pi., -o durin- ),is torpor; how that
thoro l,a.l ho<.n a n^vohitiouarv war-thaf the
<'ountry ha<l throw,, of] tho voko of oM E„-,o
m,<l, a„<l that insto.n.l of hoi„i. a M,hjr..t of
his Majesty Oeo,-^.,. tho Third h,. was '„ow a
free <Mtize,i of th<' Vmtod 8:;, 's.

Hip, in fact, was „o ]x>li(i,.un. : the r-han-os
ot states an.l e,„,>i,-es ri.ado l.„t litti. i,np,-ossion ..,
on him; but then- was one spon.-s of desfwitism
under whiW. lie had Um^r groa,...l, ,n.d that was
-pettieoat ^n.vernn.ent. Happily that was at an
ond; he had f?ot his ,,oek out of the yoke of
niatrunony and could jro iu and out whenever „
he pleased witliout dr-endin^ the tyranny of
Dame Van Winkle. Wh<.,ever her name' was
mentioned, howeve,-, he shook his head, sh.'U-
ged his shoulders, and cast up his eves, whirii
might pass either for an exp,-essi(,n of i-esii^nui- ^
tion to Ins fate or joy at his delive,-auce.

He used to tell his sto,y to eveiy st,-anger
that arrived at Uv. Doolittle's hotel. He was
at first observed to vary on some points every

^^^\

Rip Van Winkle.

time he told it, which was doubtless owing to
his having so recently awaked. It at last
settled down to precisely the tale I have re-
lated, and iiot a man, woman, or child in the

5 neighborhood but knew it by heart. Some
always pretended to doubt the reality of it,
and insisted that Rip had been out of his head,
and that this was one point on which he always
remained flighty.

10 The old Dutch inhabitants, however, almost
universally gave it full credit. Even to this
day they never hear a thunderstorm of a
summer afternoon about the Kaatskill but they
say Hendrick Hudson and his crew are at their

15 game of ninepins; and it is a common wish of
all henpecked husbands in the neighborhood,
when life hangs heavy on their hands, that
they might have a quieting draught out of Rip

Van Winkle's flagon.

-WASHINOTON I R VINO.

"He who knows most grieves most for wasted time."

liante.

" Dost tlioii lovo life ? Then do not s(|uander time, for that

is the stufi life is made of."

— Franklin.

" Believe me when I tell you that thrift of time will repay

you ill after life with a usury of profit iKjyond your most

sanj^uine dreams, and that the waste of it will make you dwindle.

alike in intellectual and moral stature, beyond your darkest

reckonings."

-Oladatont.

' .'0m^}^'S^^'.

^#.n~_}2S^S2l:"

TuE Ancient Makinek.

THE ANCIENT MARINER.

PART I.

It is an Ancient Mariner,

And he stoppeth one of three.

" By thy long gray beard and glittering eye

Now wherefore stopp'st thou ni.' ?

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 sliip," quoth he.
"Hold off! unhand me, gray -beard loon!"
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

He holds him with his glittering eye—
The wedding-guest st«KKj still
And listens like a thrtH! years' child :
The Mariner hath his will.

The wedding-guest .sat on a stone:
He cannot choo.se but hear ;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner :

"The ship was cheered, the harbor cleared,

Mer.ily did we drop

Below the kirk, below tl. > hill,

Below the lighthouse top.

The Ancient Makineb.

•' 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.

ft " Higlier and liigher 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,
10 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 ;
U And thus spake on that ancient man,

The bright-eyeii Mariner :

" And now the storm-blast came and he
Was tyrannous and strong :
He struck with his o'ertakiiig wings
ao And chased us south alonir.

" With sloping mast and dipping prow,
As who, pursued with yell and blow,
Still treads the shadow of his foe
And forward bends his head,
2S The sliip drove fast, loud roared the blast,

And southward a^e we fled.

" And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold,
And ice mast-high came floating by
80 As green as emerald.

The Ancient Mariner.

"And through the drifts the snowy difts
Did send a dismal sheen ;

Nor shapes of men nor lieasts we ken

The ice was all between.

"The ice was here, the ice was ther*-.

The ice was all around ;

It cracked and growled and roared and howled,

Like noises in a s wound !

"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 pla}-

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 moonshine."

" God save thee, Ancient Mariner !
From the hends that plague thee thus!-—
Why look'st thou so?"— "With my crossbow
I shot the albatross.

2.")

The Ancient Mariner.

PART II.

"The sun now rose upon the right:
Out of the sea came he
Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into the sea.

" And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners' hollo !

" And I had done a hellish thing,

And it would work 'era wo(i :

For all averred 1 iiad killed the bird

That made the breeze to blow.

' Ah, wretch ! ' said they, ' the bird to slay,

That made the breeze to blow ! '

" Nor dim nor red, like God's own head.

The glorious sun uprist :

Then all averred I had killed the bird

That brought tiie fog and mist.

'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay

That bring the fog and mist.

" The fair breeze blew, the white foam Hew,

The furrow followed free ;

We were the first that ever burst

Into that silent sea.

•' Down dropt the breeze, tlie sails dropt down ;

'Twas sad as sad could be.

And we did speak only to break

The silence of the sea !

The Ancient Mariner.

" All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloorly sun at noon
Right up alK)ve the masi did stand,
No bigger than the moon.

" Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion :
As idle as a painted siiip
Upon a painted ocean.

" Water, water, everywhere.
And all the boards did shrink ;
Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink.

" The very deep did rot : O Christ !
That ever this should be !
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

" About, about, in reel and rout
The' death-fires danced at night ;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green and blue and white.

"And some in dreams assured were
Of the s{)irit that plagued us so ;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.

"And every tongue through utter drought
Was witliered at the root ;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.

2."!

,,: j;

i-iU

I fa

The Ancient Mamner.

" Ah ! well a-day ! what evil looks
Had I from old and young !
Instead of the cross, the albatross
_^About ray neck was hung.

PART III.

"There passed a weary time. Each throat

Was parched, and glaze<i each eye.

A weaiy time : a weary time !

How glazed each weary eye,

When looking westward I Ijeheld

A something in the sky.

" At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist ;
It moved a?id moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.

"A speck, a mist, a shape. T wistl
And still it neared and neared :
As if it dodged a water-sprite
It plunged and tacked and veered.

" With throats unslaked, with hlack lips baked,

We could nor laugh nor wail ;

Through utter drought all dumb we stood !

I bit my arm, I sucked the blood.

And cried, ' A sail ! a sail ! '

"With throats unslaked, with black lips baked.
Agape they heard me call :
(Jramercy ! they for joy did grin,
And all at once their breatii drew in,
As they were flrinking all.

The Ancient Mariner.

"'See! see! (T c-riecl) she tmk. no more t
Hither to work uh weal,—
Without a breeze without a tide
She steadies with upright kool ! '

"The western wave was all a flamo,

The day was well riii,'h don.- !

Almost upon the western wavo

Rested the broad, bright sun.

When that strange shape drove sufl.Ietily

Betwixt us and the sun.

"And straight the sun was fleoked with bars,
(Heaven's Mother send us grace '.)
As^ if through a dungeon-grate he peered
With broad an(J burning face.

"'Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears !
Are those her sails that glance in the sun.
Like restless gossameres J

"I Are those her ribs through which the sun
I>id peer as tlirough a grate ?
And is that woman all her crew?
Is that a Death? an.l are there two?
Ts Death that woman's mate i '

" Her lips were red, her I.wks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold :
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Nightmare Life in- Death was 'she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold.

aHKfei

82 The Ancient Mariner.

"The uaked hulk alongside name,
And the twain wore casting dice ;
'The game is done! I've won! I've won!'
Quoth she, and whistles tlirirc.

• "The sun's riin dips, the stai« riisli out,

At one stride comes the dark ;
With far-heard whisper o'er the sea
Off shot the spectre-bark.

*' We listened and looked s-deways up '
10 Fear at my heart, as at a cup,

My life-blood seemed to t i|i !

The stars were dim and thick tiie niyht.

The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white,

Prom the sails the dew did drip —
U Till clomb above the easicrn bar

The horned moon with one bright star

Within the nether tip.

"One after one by the star-dogged moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
ao Each turned his face with a ,diastly pang

And cursed me with his eye.

" Four times fifty living men,
(And I heard nor sign nor groan),
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
2S They dropped down one by one.

"The souls did from their bodies fly, —
They fled to bliss or woe ;
And every soul it passed me by
like the whiz of my cross-bow ! "

The Ancient Makineb.

PAKT IV.

" T FEAR thee, ancient Mariner I

I fear thy skinny lianfl !

And tho„ art long anrl lank and brown,

As is the ril)J)od st-n ^(and !

" I fear theo and t}.y -littering eve,
And thy skinny h.uid s„ l)r.)wn."
"Fear not, fear not, thou wedding-guest I
This body dropt not down.

" Alone, alone, all, ail alone,
Alone on a wide, wide s.^a!
And never a .saint took pity on
My soul in agony.

" The many men, .so beautiful »
And they all dead did lie ;
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on, and so did T.

" I looked upon the rotting .sea
And di. w my eyes away;
I looked upon the rotting deck.
And there the dead men lay.

•T looked to Heaven and tj;^^ed to pray;
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whi.sper came and made
My heart as dry as dust.

" T closed my lids and kept them close

And the balls like pulses beat :

For tlH. sky and the sea. and the sea and the sky

i^y iike a load on my weary eye,

And the dead were nt my feet

84 The Ancient Martver.

"The cold sweat melted from tlit'ir liiuba,
Nor rot nor reck did they :
The look with which they hniked on me
Had never passefi away.

C " An orphan's curse would drag to h< 11

A spirit from on high ;
But oh ! more hor rible than that
Is the curse in a dead man's eye !
Seven days, seven nights F saw that curse,
10 And yet I could not die.

"The moving moon went up the sky,
And nowhere did abide :
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside.

10 " Her beams bemocked the sultry main,

Like April hoar-frost spread ;
But where the ship's huge shadow lay
The charmed water burned alwav,
A still and awful red.

20 " Beyond the shadow of the ship

I watched the water-snakes :
They moved in tracks of shining white
And, when they reared, the elfish light
Fell off in ho ary fl akes.

as " Within the shadow of the shij

I watched their rich attire :
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coiled and swam ; and every track
Was a flash of g olde n fire.

The Ancient Mauinek.

"O happy living things! no tunguo

Their Ijeauty might dwlare :

A spring of lov gushifl fiorn my hoart,

And T bit'swd them unuwiin' ;

Huvi- my Kind saint t<M>k pity on nie,

And ! l)ie.s.swj them unaware

" Th« wlf-.sanie monwiit I nmld pray;
And from uiy n»'ck no frt'o
The albatross fell off and sank
Like lead into the sea.

HART V.

" Oh slet'p ! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole I
To Mary Queen the praise Ije given!
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven
That slid into my sou!.

The silly buckets on the deck
I hat had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were MU-d with dew,
And when 1 woke it rained.

" My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments ill were dank ;
Sure I had drunken in my <ireams,
And still luy body dr.uik.

" I moved and ould not feel my limbs :
I was so light- almost
I thought that I had tiiecJ in sleep
And was a blessed ghost.

K-^^v^i^

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lANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2)

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:^S Rochester, New York '4609 USA

^= (716) 482 - 0300 - Pncre

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asM^' -u" 'J u w m m.

86 The Ancient Mariner.

" And soon I licaid a roaring winci :
It did not coino anear,
But with its sound it shooi< the sails
That were so thin and sere.

5 " The upper air burst into life !

And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about ?
And to and fro and in and out
The wan stars danced between.

10 " And the coming wind did roar more loud,

And the saiL did sigh like sedge,
And the rain poured down from one black cloud,
The moon was at its edge.

" The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
U The moon was at its side :

Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and wide.

" The loud wind never reached the ship,
20 Yet now the ship moved on !

Beneath the lightning and the moon
Tha dead men gave a groan.

" They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Nor spake nor moved their eyes ;
25 It had been strange even in a dream

To have see i lose dead men rise.

" The helmsman steered, the ship moved on,
Yet never a breeze up blew ;

The Ancikxt Mariner.

Tlie

mariners all 'nun work tiie r

opes

Where tlicy wore wont to d.

They raiseci their limbs like lifeless tools^

e were a

ghastly

crew.

The Ixuly of my brother

s son

►Sto(xl by me, knee to knee :

The bo'ly and T pulled at one rope,

But ht said nought to me."

"I fear the(<, ancient Mariner!"
"He calm, thou wedding <,'uest ;
'Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
Whicli to their corses came again
13ut a troop of spirits blest ;

" For when it dawned-they dropped their arms
And clustered round the mast ; 15

8weet sounds rose slowly through their mouths
And from their bodies passed.

" Around, around, flew each sweet sound
Then darted to the sun ;
.Slowly the .sounds came back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.

"Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the sky-lark sing ;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they seemed to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning !

"And now 'twa.s like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute.
And now it is an anf^Vs song
That makes the heavens be mute.

itt

The Ancient Ma.

t.ii.

" It coased, y,.t still the saiU iwi,h on

A ploasant iiois*' till ikkhj,

A noise like of a lii.lden hrook

In tlic leafy tnuntli of June,

That to the sleeping woods all night

Hingeth a quiet tune.

"Till noon we quietly sailed on,
Yet never a hreeze did breathe :
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved onward from beneath.

" Under the keel nine fathom deep
From the land of mist and snow
The spirit slid, and it was ho
That made the ship to go.
The sails at noon left off their tune,
And the ship stood still also.

"The sun right up above the mast
Had fixed her to the ocean ;
But in a minute she 'gan stir
With a short uneasy motion -
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.

"Then like a pawing horse let go
She made a sudden bound ;
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell down in a swound.

" How long in that same fit I lay,
1 lia\e not to declare ;

•i-i^i^fmm!^^'

The Ancient Makiner.

But, ero my living life returnecJ,
1 heard and in my s(>ul discerned
Two voices in the air.

'"Is it he?' quoth one, ' Is this the man?
By Him who died on cross,
With Ills cruel bow lie laid full low
The harmless albatross.

"'The spirit who bideth by himself
In the land of mist and snow,
He loved the biid that love<l the man
Who shot him with his bow.'

"The other wp^ a softer \oic'e.

As soft as hon^ dew ;

Quoth he, ' The man hath penance done,

And penance more will do.'"

PART VI.
FIRST voroK.

" ' But tell me, tell me ! speak again,

Thy soft response renewing

What makes the ship drive on so fast?
What is the ocean doing?"'

SECOND VOlrE.

'"Still as a slave before his lord,
The ocean hath no bla.st;
His great blight eye most silently
Up to the moon is cast

"If he may know which way to go;
For she guides him smooth or grim. '

■V jJii

ill

90 The Ancient Makiner.

See, brother, see ! liow graciously
She looketh down on him.'"

FIKHT VOICE.

" ' But why drives on that ship so fast,
Without or wave or wind < ' "

HECOND VOICE.

5 " ' The air is cut away before,

And closes from beliind.

" ' Fly, brother, fly ! more hish, more high !
Or we shall lye belated :
For slow and slow that ship will go
10 When the Mariner's trance is abated.'"

" I woke, and we were sailing on

As in a gentle weather :

'TwHs night, calm night, the moon was high ;

The dead men stood together.

" All stood together on the deck,
For a charnel-dungeon fitter :
All fixed on me their stony eyes.
That in the moon did gliiter.

" The pang, the curse, with which they died.
Had never passed away :
I could not draw my eyes from theirs.
Nor turn them up to pray.

" And now this spell was snapt : once more
I viewed the ocean green,
as And looked far forth yet little saw

Of what had else been seen —

The Ancient Makiner.

•'Like one that on a lonesome roacj

Doth walk in fear and dreacJ,

And having once turned rouu.l walks on

And turns no more his head,

Because lie kn..ws a fri|^'lit.ful fiend

Doth close l)ehind him tread.

" But soon there breathed a wind on me,
Nor sound nor motion made:
Its path was not upon tiie sea
In ripple or in sharJe.

"It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek
Like a meadow-jjale of spring -
It mingled strangely with my fears
Yet it felt like a welcoming.

"Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
Yet she sailed softly too :
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze-
On me alone it blew.

" Oh ! dream of joy ! is this indeed
The lighthouse top I see?
Is this the hill ? is this the kirk I
Is this mine own countree?

" We drifted o'er the harb<.r-bar,
And I with sobs did pray—
O let me be awake, my God 1
Or let me sleep alway.

" The harbor-bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn !
And on the bay the moonlight lay,
And the shadow of the moon.

S»

92 The Ancikxt Majuxer.

"Tho rook shono hright, the kirk no leas,
That HUirids iilM)ve tlie rock :
The moonlight steeptni in ailentn*- :.
Tlie steady w. itherc(x;k.

"And tlie bay was white with silent light

Till, rising from the same,

Full many shajH^s that shadows were

In crimson colors came.

" A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were •
I turned my eyes upon the deck—
Oh, Christ ! what saw I there !

"Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
And by the holy rood !
A man all light, a seraph-maL ,
On every corse there stood.

"This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
It was a heavenly sight !
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light ;

"This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
No voice did they impart-
No voice ; but oh ! the silence sank
Like music on my heart.

" But soon T heard the dash of oars.
I heard the pilot's cheer;
My head was turned perforce away,
And I saw a boat appear.

«!£1CF£'-J-J''

■tismm^m''

'jt

Thi: Axcif.ni Makin

ER.

"The pilot and the pilot's hoy,
T hcarfl them cf»niin|S,' fast :
Dtar Lord in Ii«'av«'n \ it was a joy
The dead nifri could not hiast.

"T saw a third f h.ard his voice:

It is tho hermit gnod !

He sinyeth hjud his ^odly hymns

That he makes in the wo(h].

He'll shrieve my smil, he'll wash away

The albatross's blood.

PART VII,

"This hermit good lives in that wmxl
Which slopes down to the sea.
How loudly his sweet voice lie rears !
He loves to talk -ith marineres
That come from a t... countree.

" He kneels at morn and noon and eve

Ke hath a cushiim plump :

It is the moss that wholly hides

The rotten old oak-stump.

•' The skiff-boat neared ; I heard the-M talk :
' Wiiy, this is strange, I trow !
Where are those lights so many and fair
That signal made but now?'

'"Strange, by my faith!' the hermit said—

' And they answered not our cheer !

The planks look warped ! and see those sails,

How thin they are and sere !

I never saw aught like to them,

Unless perchance it were

•X

\ % i^'>:/.

Thk ANrrF.NT Makixer.

h ■

"•Brown skrl.-tons of leaves that lag
f y for<'^ iiiMok along,
When tlie WyUnl is heftvy with snow,
Ami the owlet wh<M>pH to the wolf h^-low
Th.it oats tii»j slu.-wolf's youriK,'

"'I)t'ar Tiorrl! it hath a tiomlish I.k^,1< '
(The pilot mndf i-eply),
' r am a fcarf.l * ' Push on, push on ! '
>Saifi thu hermit eheerily.

"The lM)at came closer to the ship,
But T nor spake nor stirred ;
The hoat eame close f>eneath the ship,
And straight a sound was heard,

" Under the water it rumbled on
»Stil! louder and more dread;
It reached the ship, it split the bay,
The ship went down like lead.

" Stunned by that loud and dreadful .ound

Which sky and ocean smote,

Like one that hath been seven flays irowned

My bcxly lay nft .at.

But swift as dreams myself I found

Within the pilot's boat.

" Upon the whirl where sank the ship
xhe boat spun round and round ;
And all was still save that the hill
Was telling of tlio sound.

"I moved my lips— the pilot shrieked
And fell down in a tit ;

Thf AN( rKNT AfAHINER.

The holy li.Timf rais,..j |,i, ,.y,.^^
Ami piaycl wli.n- In- did sit.

" r f<H,k tip. <.;if> ; til.- piluts Im.V,

Who iiMsv diitli iTii/v I,'..,

I^tuj.'lhd l..iid and Inn;;, and ail fi.e uhjlo

Mi*; "vrs w.'Tit to and fro ;

'Ml : lia!' ,,uotli h... •full plain [ ,.,•..,

The flf\il knows how to row,'

" And now, all in my own coiintn-e
I st(MMl on tlu) firm land I
The lu'vmit ,stfp|».d forth frn,„ tlu- FM^af,
And sc-arc-ely ho loiild sfan.J.

'"O shrieve me, shrL-v , ,■, holy niau ! '
The hermit crossed his hrow.
'Say quick,' .pioth hf, ' F hid thee say—
Wliat luantior of man ait thou ? '

" Forthwith this frame of mint- was wrenched

Wit}) a \vf)ful ayony

Which forced me to lH-;,'iri my tale,

And tlien it left me free.

"Since then at an uncertain hour
That agony returns,
And till my ghastly tale is told
This heart within me burns.

" I pass like night from la'<d to land ;
I ht. e strange power of sn<iech •
The moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must he,ir me:
To him my tale I teach.

»5

1.5

,«!■!

( 'i

■» ^- m.t\

9f;

TllF. AMfFNT MxiaNKR.

" ^^ luif liiiid iipr'.Mi- l.iir>|s frnni tli;it (l.».r

Till' Wfflililii; i^iiists ui<' tllilc ;

r>iit ill tli«> ^'.ikIcm liuwcr the li-iile

Ami liriilf iiiiiiilH .siii;,'iiiir nn- :

Ami hark I lie little v.-simt Im-II,

VV'liii'h lii'Mitli iiif til piaviT !

•'O wcddiny jrncsi ' tliis sutil luis Kfi'ii
Alutif on II wiili' vii,j,. si'ii :
S<» liiiii'ly 'tw >iat (Ji.ll himsflf

Scarce NtM'int' : ■' n* to In-.

'O 8W('«'t.r tliHii the miirriaj(e-fcaHt
Tis sweeter far to iiie
To walk to;,'elher to the kirk
With u gooilly eotiipaiiy ! —

"To walk together to the kirk

And all together pray,

While each to his great Father l)eiiils,

Old men, and hatxs, and loving friends.

And youths and niaidenn gav !

"Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou wedding-guest !
H«^ prayeth well who loveth well
Both man and hinl and beast.

" He prayeth Ix'st who loveth l)est
All things both great and small ;
For the dear God who loveth us-
He made and loveth all "

The Mariner, whose eye is bright
Whose beard with age is hoar,

yST'-

'^T2T

Turii.'d In.,,. ||„. l.ii,|,,,M,„„n-s .|,,.,r.

"•■ "t '''^■'- '" flM( i.> , I....... ,,,nui.-.|

Ami is of NfiiM' foiluti! ;
A .sadder utid u wi ,.,. ,„.i„^
Ho lose the iiKiriow innin.

— MAMC-fl. rwlDIt < OI.KHIIK.K..

ROSABELLE.

O LISTKV, listen, liulics ifiiy I

N.» lian-lity tVut of aims F tell :
.Soft is tlic not." and sad tlio lay
That inouiiis th.' lovely Hosabelh'.

" M(K)f, moor the bar-e, ye gallant crow,
And, «vntle lailye, deign to stav !

Host the.- in Castle Havensheueh,'
Nor i,.,u{,t liie .stormy firth today.

"The hhukeniiig wave is edged with white.

To ineh and nuk th(* .sea-mews tlv ;
The fishers have heard the VVater-Sprite

Whose screams foreljodi; that wivk is nigl
"Ljist night the gift(Ml 8eer (Jid view

A wet .shroud swathed round lacJye gay ,
Then .stay thee, fair, in Ravensheueh :

Why cross the gloomy firth today?"

'"Tis not becau.se Lord Lindesay-s heir
To-.iight at Rjslin leads the ball,

Rut that my ladye-riiother fheio
Hits lonely in her castle-hall.

•>7

i; ;■

¥y '• ■' li

98 RoSAliELLE.

" 'Tis not IxH-ausc tlic rint,' tlu'y ride,
Ami Lindi'say at tlie riiij; rides well,

But that my sin; tlio wine will ciiido
If 'tis nut filled by Uusabelle."

6 O'er Rosliii all that dreary night

A w(»ndr()iis blaze was seen to irleam :
'Twas liroader than the watch-fire's Hj,'ht,
And redder than thi; bright niounbeam.

It glared on lloslin's castleil roek,
10 It ruddied all the copsi'-wood glen ;

'Twas seen from I)ryden's groves of oak,
And seen from caverned Ilawthorndeu.

Seemed all on fire that chapel proud
Where lloslin's chiefs uneoHined lie,
U Each baron, for a sable shroud,

Sheathed in his iron [)anopIy.

Seemed all on fire, within, around,

Deep sacristy and altar's pale ;
Shone every pilhir foliage-bound,
ao And glimmered all the dead men's mail.

Blazed battlement and pinnet high,

Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair —

So still they blaze when fate is nigh
The lordly line of high St. Clair.

85 There are twenty of lloslin's barons bold

Lie buried within that proud ehapelle ;
Each one the holy vault doth hold —
But "the sea holds lovely Rosabelle !

Crfsader and Sakacen.

An.I <.,.u.|, S,. Clair was l,uri...| ,|,oro

With cau.lle, with huuk, a„d with k,.,-!! •

Biit the s.a-.av..s nu.. an.l the wihl w,„.ls s„n«.
The du-e of lovely Ko.sal)elIe.

— SIU W.M.TKK SrOTT.

ill,

CRUSADER AND SARACEN.

A soLiTAHv jo.u-noy maffon'd liftlo to the .,
C^msa.l.M-, who u;,.s m..ust„„„.l to .....sidn- Ins '
g<-.l sw<.r,l .-.s his safest <...ort and d.vout
iK.ughts as Ins best companion. Nature Im.l
however, hot- .hMnantls for rofreshment and y.l
pose oven on th. iron tVamo an<l patient .lis- to
pos.tioti of the Knight „f the Sleeping Leo-
p.-'r.l, and at noon, when the Detid Sea kiy at
sonie d^tanee on his right, ].e joyftillv hailed the
s.^ht ot two or three pahn-trees which arose he-
side the well assigned for his mid-day station. .
His good horse, too, uhieh Inul plodd(.l forward

^^.h the steady endurance of his maste., now
I'ttod his head, expan.led his nostrils, and
quickened Ids pace as if he snuffed afar off
the living waters which marked the pla.e of.
repose and ref.-eshment. But labor and danger"
were doometl to intervene ere the horse or
iiorseman reached the desired s|)ot

As the Knight of the Couchant Leopard
continued to fix his eyes attentively on the 25

100

Crusader and Saracen.

yet distant cluster of palm-trees, it seemed to
liim .as if some object were movin<? among
them. The distant form sepai-.ited itself from
the trees which pai-tly hid its motions, and
advanced toward the knight with a speed a
which soon showed a mounted horseman, whom
his turban, long spear, and green caftan float-
ing in the wind on his nearer approach
proved to be a Saracen cavalier. "In the
desert," saith an Eastern proverb, "no manio
meets a friend." The Crusader was totally in-
different whether the infidel, who now ap-
proached 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, w
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
thft loft, waked his horse's mettle with the spur, 20
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 25
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

' ■»*: ^ ■ "vnt.vi i ,r ' A*f. . . /;

Crusader and Saracen.

101

of the rhiiiocoros oni;irn«Mifo(l with silver loops,
which he wore on his arm, s\viii<riii<^^ it as if he
meant to opi)ose its slender circle to the foi--
midal)le thrust of the western lance. His own
5 long sj)ear wns not couched oi- levelled like
that of his antagonist, but gi-asped by the
middle with his right hand and brandished at
arm's length above his liead.

As the cavalier appi'oached his enemy at full
locareer he se«Mned to expect that the Knight
of the Leopard would j.ut 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
15 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 power-
ful cliarger would give him suthcient advan-
-■otage without the additional momentum of rapid
motion. Eijually sensible and ai)prehensive of
such a probable result the ISai-aceu cavalier,
when he had approached towards the Christian
within twice the length of his lan(!e, wheeled
•-'ohis steed to the left with inimitable dexterity
and rode twice round his antagonist, who, tui-n-
ing without quitting his ground and presenting
his front constantly to his enemy, frustrated
his attempts to attack him ou an un^arded

-J

...iwf »'.;

102

Crusader and Saracen.

point, so that llio Siiiacoii \\lit'»'lin«r his Ijorse
was fain to rotroat to the distance of a hun-
<h'ed yards.

A second time like a liawk attacking? a
lioron the hoathon renewed tl.e clwirire and a 5
second time was fain to i-etreat without com-
ing to a close stru^ijgle. A third time he ap-
proached in the same manner, wlien tlie Chris-
tian knight, desirous to terminate tliis ilhisory
warfare in which he might at length have 10
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 un-
erring aim hurled it against the head of the
emir— for sitch, and not less, his enemy ap-io
peared. 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 foi-ced the buckler
down on his turban, and though that defence 20
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 fi-om the
ground and callin-- on his steed, which in-js
stantly returned t' s side, he leaped into his
seat without touchnig the stirrup and regained
all the advantage of which the Knight of the
Leopard hoped to deprive him. But the latter

Crfsadeu and Sahacen.

103

had in tlie m(3an\vliil»» recovered liis maoo, and
the Eastern cavalier, wlio reni.'rn1)ored the
strenjrth and dextci-ity Avith which his antas?-
onist liad aimod ir, soenu'd to keep cautionsly
5 out of i-cacli of thnt weapon of whicli lie had
no lately felt the force while he showed his
purpose of wagin<j: i^ distant warfai-e with mis-
sile weai>ons of his own. TManting his long
spear in the sand at a distance fi-om the scene
10 of comi'at he strung with great address a
short bow which he carried at his Lack and,
putting his horse to the gallo]), once mon; de-
scril)ed two or three circles of a wider extent
than formerly, in the course of which he dis-
lo charged six arrows at the Christian with such
une-rring skill that the goodness of his harness
alone sa\-ed him fi-om being wounde.; in as
many places.

The seventh sinift apparently found a less
•jor>erfeet pai-t of the armor, and the Christian
di-opped heavily f)-om his horse. But what
was the surprise of the Sai-acen w^lien, dis-
mounting to examine the condition of his pros-
trate enemy, he found himself suddenly within
25 the grasp of the European who had had recourse
to this ai-tifice to bring liis enemy within his
reach! Even in this dea<lly grapple the Sara-
cen was saved by his agility and presence of
miud. He unloosed the sword-belt in which

jS^^^^^^^^^^^^K^^^^^^^^^^^

'liwm

104

Crusadek A\n Sarapen.

the Kiiij^lit of the Looi.ai-.l hful fix<'.l liis hold
and, thus ehidinn: his fatal grasp, mounted his
horse which seemed to wateli his motions with
the intelligenee of n human l.cing, and again
rode off. But in the last en.-ounter the Sara- -.
cen had lost his sword and his cjuiver- of
arrows both of whioh 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 toia
a truce: he approached the Christian with his
right hand extended but no longer in u men-
acing attitude.

"There is truce betwixt our nations," he
said in the lingua franca commonly used fori-,
the purpose of communication with the cru-
saders, "wherefore should thei-e be war be-
twixt thee and me f Let there be peace betwixt

»»

"I am well contented," answered he of the 20
Couchant Leopard, "but what security d,>st
thou offer that thou wiU observe the truce ! "

" The word ' a lollower of the pi-ophct was
never broken,^ answered the emir. "It is
thou, brave Nazar.iie, fi-om whom I should de-25
mand se.'urity did I not know that treason
seldom dwells witli courajre."

The crusader felt that the confidence of the
Moslem made him ashamed of hi., own doubts.

zjir^fvor^' ita,Mti^Jsssaruia»,^

CaVALHY CriARfSKS AT BALAKf.

AVA.

le-

Rv tl

\o <'ross (.- my sword," li

• ' sail

liis haiMl (.11 the woa^mn as ho siK.ko "I

1, laying

be t

nio companion to IIm'o, Sar

fortu
treth

lie wills that w

will
n'»'M, While (.til-

er,

remain in (•()mi)aiiy t(.-

"By Mohammed, prophef of God, j.Md I..
Allah, (}nd of ih,. proplu't," replied his late
foeinaii, "there is ,h, trea<-hery in my heart
towards the.'. And now wend wo to 'votider
...fountain for the Imnr of rest is at hand, and
the stream had hardly touched mv li], when I
was called to batth' by thy a).pi.,ach."

The Kni-ht of the Couchant Leopai-d yielded

a ready and courteous assent, and the late

•■•-foes without an an^n-y lo„k or ^-esture of

doubt rode side by side to the little cluster of

palm-trees.

— WIK W.M.TKK HCOTT.

CWALRY CHARGES AT BALAKLAVA.

TrTE cavahy who hav<' .,'en i,ursuing the
Turks on the ri<,dit are coining up 1o thel-idge
•-■obeneath ns, whi.-li conceals our cavalry from
view. The heavy brii^^ade in advance is' drawn
up in two lines. The li-ht cavalrv bri-ade is
on their left, in two lines also. The silence is
ressivo: between the cannon bursts one cuu

ihear the chan

sables iu the \alley below

iig of bits .'ind the clink of

•i

>iW<

•-It'.

•af^ ■'•.■;«

I! I

lit

10(3 Cavalry Charoeh at Balaklava.

The Russiuii.s on tlioii- loft divw hivatli for
a moment nnd then in one giand line dashed
at the Highlanders. The ground flies beneath
their horses' feet. Gathering speed at every
sstriiie they dash on towards that thin re<l stieak
topped with a line of steel. The Turks Hre 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
wrings a rolling volley of Minie nmsketry. The
distance is too great: the Russians are not
cheeked, but still sweop onward through the
smoke with the whole force of horse and man,
here and there knocked over by the shot of
15 our butteries above. With breathless suspense
everyone awaits the bursting of the wave upon
the line of Gaelic rock, but eie they como
within a hundred and fifty yards another deadly
volley flashes from the leveled rifles and carries
20 death and terror into the Russians. They
wheel about, ojien files right and left, and
fly back faster than they came. " Bravo, High-
landers! well done!" shout the excited spec-ta-
toi's.

25 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 re-
ceive that tide of horsemen. "No," said Sir

Cavalhy Chakgeh at Balaklava.

lo:

CohnO.M.pMl,"Idulnotthinkil worthwhile
to torn, th.ni even four deep!" The onJinarv
British ]nus two deop, was quite sutficMent to
repel the attaek of these Muscovite .avahers
Our eyes were, however, tun.e.l in a n>o„,ont ,

on our own eavah y. We saw Bri^a.iier-G -al

S«'arlett rule along in fr„nt of l,is ,„asslv.
squadrons. The Russians, evidently corps ^Miir
iH'ir h^dit blue jackets embroidered with .silver
iHC'e, were a<lvanelng on their left at an easy.„
grnllop towards the brow of the hill. A forest
of lances glistened in th.-ir rear, ar.d several
squadrons of gray-conte<l dragoons „K>ved up
quickly to support tiiern as they rea^-hed the
sumnnt The instant they can.e in sight the.
trumpets of our cavalry gave out the warn-
nig blast which to)u us all that in another
moment we should see the shock of battle be-
neath our very eyes. L.>rd Raglan, ail his staff
and escort an.l groups of otfic.rs, the Z<,uaves,.
Fi-en(;h generals and officers, and bodies of Frcn.-h
infantry on the height we.-e 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 c-hangcd to a trot,
and at last nearly halted. Their first line was

^^v,*?t^::w2reaB'

*f^

A-

;! f

CaVALUY f'HAU«JKS AT BaLAKLAVA.

at loast doultlc tli<» Iriij^th of oms — it was three
tiiru's jis (l«»('p. Bcliind thoni was u similar lino
equally strong and rojnpact. Tln\v evidently
<1('spis(»(l tlit'ir ijisitrnifi«'aiit looking I'licniy: Itut

•'-tlicii' tiiiip was coint'. The trunijK'ts raii^ oHt
ajraiii thronuli the valloy, and tin- fin'vs and
EFiniskilloiMMs wont ri«;ht at tlni «'»'ntro of tli«^
Russian oavalry. The spao' l)«>tw«^«'n tlu»ni was
oidv a f(nv luuidivMl vaids; it was scar<'»>lv

nM'noufJCli to It't tho horses " i^atlu'r Wi-y," nor
had tiio men quite spj •<> surtici^'nt foi- the full
play of their sword-arms.

The Russian line hrinjijs forward each winj? as
our eavalry advance, and threatens to annihilate

i-ithem as they pass on. Turni,i«i: a little to their
left so us to meet the Russian right ilie (^reys
I'ush on with a cheer that thrills to evejy heart
— the wild shout of tht? Enniskilleners rises
through th<> air at the same instant. As lightning

I'otlashes through a cloud the Greys and Enniskil-
lenei-s piei'ced through the dark masses of Rus-
sians. The shock was but for a, moment. There
was a clash of steel and a light play of sword-
bladcs in the air, and then the Greys and the

asred-eoats disapj>eai- in the midst of the shaken
and quivering 'ohunns. In another moment
we see them emerging and dashing on with
diminished numbers .-iiid in l)i()keii order against
the second line, which is advancing against them

'n' ^:z^3i^::^^'^^

CaVALUV ('maIKIKS at HAFAKr.AVA.

10!)

n fa>f us it <-aii to n-tiifvo t, • fortiiiio of tlio
<"i :!•<;.>. If wiis u t('i-ril>N' imomi' iii. "(;.m| 1„.||.
til in! th.'y art' lost ! " was tl rxrlamation of
rn< H' tlian ohh man ami tli«- iiotiirlit of j

n;ui\

'''• ifli iniahatt'd lire, tlic ii. ol." ln-arts <lasli.'«l at
the oiiciiiy. It was H fij;li! <>f hcnu's. The lirst

)»'»'H sjiiaslM'd
K'^ ai ii had (I.-d otf at oiip

liiu' of Kussiaiis -which had }
nttoHv bv our rhai

flank ind towards th»' ccnf

!•('- \v»M'«' corninir

I ►acK

sheer

■ swaliow lip ouj handful f m.'ti. By
.■- ••♦>1 an<l sheer coura'^e Knniskillener

uii 1 !S<M were winnin«f their (h'sperate way ri^dit
thi iii^'i t',i,> enemy's sciuadrons, and already
array hor>»'S and red coats hud ai>i»eured right

■ It th

It* r"j. I 'f tin? second mass, wl

le.'i.

witl

iij

-til.ie tV'ce like a liolt from a how, the

•"<•*.( d Ime of the heavy brigade rushed at

i •• M-miuints of the first line of the enemv.

w»'fif 'urough it as though it were made of

■iH».ird an<l, dashing on tl

le se(M)iid Ixxly of ju

* ->i{u s as they were still disordeivd bv tlie
t*- rible assault of the Uivy.s and their com-
mons, j»ut th(Mii to utter rout.

i*.

lip

And liow^ occurred the melancholy cutustro])he

which his us all with sorrow. It

the Q'artermuster-Genei-al, Bi-l«'ad

appears thataa

ler

Hiiuk

ing that the ]iy;ht

i'uvairv

had

not

LH-ey,
gone

far enough in front when the enemy's horse

110 CaVALHV ClIAlUlES AT HaF,

hiid fl.><l.

akf.ava

I.'.l, ^'jiv.» ail ordor in wrifin^r to C.ipfuin
Nuhiii to fako to T.onl Liican, .liivctin;: ins
lonlsliii* "to !i(lv!iiic.." liis nivaliy n.-aivr to
th.' t'licmy. Lord Luraii, with n'liwtaiKM'. ^r-ive
Mil.' order to Lord Car.jijraii to a<lvaii.'.. upon
tlip ^nuis, <on«-.'iviii^ that his orders conipejled

hiiil to do so.

• It is inaxiui <.f war that "cavahy nover

ftft witiioiit a support," tluit " infantry" should

I" he elose at han<l when cavahy cany jruus as

the effect is only instantaneous," and that it is

' ''^sary to have on the tiank of a line of

cavalry some s«|uadj-ons in eohiinn the attack
ou the flank hein;,' most dan^n.,.r>,,s. ^ The oidy
15 support our li^dit cavahy had was tho reserve
of heavy euvahy at a j^reat distance behind
them, the infantry and <;uns l)ein;,' far in the
rear. There were no sijuadrons in column at
a!i and there was a plain to chai-,<re over,
au before the enemy's guns could be nuiched, of a
mi.c- and a half in length!

At ten minutes past eh'ven our light cavahy
brigade a.lvaneed. The whole bi-igade scarcely
made one effective regiment acci.rding to the
25iium]jei-s of continental ai-mies, and yet it was
more than we could sj.ai-e. As tiny rushed
towards the front the Kussians opened on them

from the guns in tlie rodou])t

with volleys of musket

on tho ri'fht

ry and rities. They swept

r •:'''«2V-:?VM

.:,.'JM

Can Ai.iiv riiviidFH at B\r.\K

r.\v\.

proitflli

ull 111,. |,ri.i.. jiimI .s|.l..r(l..r ..f w; r.

^^' "'•' ^••••"vrly lM.|i,.vv f,.<. ..vi.l.M, f

our .s.n>..s. Siiivly timt I,,,m.I|iiI ,.f m..-i. ...n
not K'-iii^' t.. rim.-,. ,,n juMiv i„ jM.siti.ui ' -.
Alas! ,t was I.,,! f„u fni... Tl.-ir ,1..,,,..,,,,..
valor kiirw no ImmumIs, jwi.l tar in,!...-! w,,s it
'•«'i.H.v,..l rn.ni its s.M.all,.,l iM-n.-r part ,|i...n-
tion. Tli..y a.lvan.M-,1 in tw., Ium>, .,Mi.-k.nin-
th.'ir par,, as th.-y .•|.....,1 „,„,„ ,| „..,„^. ^ ^,^

"""■" ^'''^"■*'"' N ta,-!,. was n..v..r u itn:......i ,|,..,n

l.y thos,. who i„.i„.i,i ,1,^.,^. j,,.,.^,^.^ nj^lijn- to
the arms of i>,.ath.

At th,. .listan.M. „r t\\,.lv,. lmn.lr...l vanls tlw.
whoK> lin. of tlu. ..n.H.y Im-I.-I....] ,oV,h fionn-,

thirty iron moufhs a 11 1 of sn.ok,. and Man..

tlm.uirl, svUrh ln...Mi tl... ,|,,„||v i.-.n^ Tli,.ir
Jli^'l.t was ,narl<,..| l.y instant -aps in our ranks
'••' '''''■'*^ ""■" ''"'l l'">s.'s, hv st,.,.,Is Mvin-.
wound,.,! ..r ri.|,.rl,.ss ar/oss 11,,^ plain. Tlio"lirsr,.
line IS l,r..k,.n -it is j,.in<.,l l,v tl... Mvon.l -th.-v

iH^vor halt or ,.h,.,.k th.-ir >, 1 a,i Ins.a.:

With .Imnni.lu.,] ranks tliinn-.l l,v tl..,.,. tl.ir.v
guns whi.-h tin. Knssians ha.l lai-l with th. mo^,
d^'a.lly a.M.u.acy, with a halo of flashin- .f....I..5
above their hoads, an.l with a rho.v whii-h w .s
;''")y a nobl.. f,.||ovv's ,|,.ath-,-rv th.v tl,.w
into the smoke of the l.att,.ii,.s, luit ere th.-v
were lost from view the plain was strewii with

.S"i

*i^Kar^\,M^km

*=„■ V'Kf.^ii

mrw-

'fWf

112 Cavalry Charges at Balaklava.

tlu'ir Ixxlics and wiili tlic ('ai'('ass<'s of horses.
Tlii'V wci'H expos»'(l to an oliiiciuo firo from tlio
luittcries on the hills on Itotli sid^^, as \v<'ll as
to a direct fire of inuskclrv, Thron<j^h the clouds
.•>of smoke we ('<»uld sff their sahi-cs flaslun*^ as
they ro<h' up to tlif <;inis and (hislied into their
midst, cutting down the gunners where they
stoo<L We saw them I'iding tiirough the guns,
as 1 have said: t<> oui- deligjit we saw them

10 returning after l>reaking through a column of
liussian infantiy and scattering it like chatt",
when tJH^ flank fire of the batteiy on the hill
swept tht'm <lown scattered and l)i()ken as they
were. Wounih-d men and riderless horses fiy-

loing towards us told the sad tale. Demi-gods
could not liave done what they liad failed to
do.

At the vei'v moment when they wei-e about
to retreat an enorm«^us mass of Lancers was

-i» hurled on tlieir fiank. Colonel Hhtnvell saw the
danger and I'ode his tew men straight to them,
cutting his way through with feaifid loss. The
other regiments turned and engaged i i a des-
jKM'ate encounter.

25 With courage too great almost for credence
they were l)i-t>aking their way through the columns
which enveloi»ed them, when there took place
an act of atrocity without parallel in the modei-n
warfare of civilized nations, The Russian

The Ride fkom Ghent to Aix. 113

guiinors, wIr'u the storni of cavalry passed, ro-
tunied to their gxuis. They saw tlieir own cavahy
mingled with the troopei's who luid just ridden
over them, and, to the etei-nal displace of the
Russian name, the mis(M-eants poured a murdei- a
ous volley of gi-ai»e and canister on the mass
of struggling men and horses, mingling friend
and foe in one common ruin !

It v.as as much as our heavy cavalry could
do to cover the letreat of the m'sei-abfe i-«Mn-io
nants of the ban<l of hei-oes as they returned to
the ]>lace 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. -wlu.vm ..ow.uu kusskll. ^

THE RIDE FROM GHENT TO AIX.

I Hi'KANu to the stirrup, and .Joris, and he ;
I j,'all"!,..d, Dirck galloped, we ,^^dloped all three; .
"Good-speed!" cried the watch as the gate-bolts un-
drew ;

"Speed!" echoed the wail to us galloping through;
Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, 20

And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

Xot a worfl to each other; we kept the great pace
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our
place ;
8

-fc

frm

114

The Ride fkom Ghent to Aix.

I turned in my sa<l(lle and inado its girths tight,
Then shortened each stiirup and sot the pique right,
Rebuckled the cheek-stran, cliained slacker the hit,
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

s'Twas nioonsot at starting, but while wc drew near

Ijokercn the cocks crow and twilight dawnod clear ;

At Boom a groat yellow star came out to see ;

At DufTi'id 'twas morning as plain as could hi-;

And from Mecholn church stooplo wo hourd the lialf
chime,
loSo Joris broke silence with, "Yet thoro is time ! '

At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And against him the cattle stood black every one
To stare through the mist at us galloping past,
And I saw my stout galloper lloland at last,
15 With resolute siiouldors each butting away
The haze as some bluff river headland its spray,

And his low head and crest just one sharp ear Ijont

back
For my voice and the other pricked out on his track,
And one eye's black intelligence —over that glance
.'oO'er its white edge at me his own master askance!
And the thick heavy spinne-tlakos which aye and amui
His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

By Hasselt Dirck groaned, ami cried Jf)ris, "Stay

spur !
Your Roos gallo[)ed bravely, the fault's not in her,
25 We'll remember at Aix" — for one hoard the <juick wheeze
Of lior chest, saw the stretched neck and staggeiing
knees

115

The Ride froaf Ghent to Aix.

And sunk tail and h,.r,il.l,. luvivo of th.- flank-
As down on |„.r hau.icl.es sho shuddeml a,.d sank.

So w,. w,.re l..ft galL.pin- Jo,is and [,

Past Loo. and past T-.n^-n-s, „„ Hou.l 'in tl... skv

Tho I.road sun ahov,- laujrhe.l a r,i,i|,.ss l.„„h ' '

Till ov,.,- In- DaliuMH a do-n.-spire sp.an,^ whito
And ' (Jallup," gasp.MlJons, "for Aix is i„ >,i^,,^-'

Kol led n...,.k and croup ov..-, Uy ,U,ui as a ston. •
And tlK.,v was n,y Poland to In.u- tho whole wH^ht
OMhe news which alone could save Aix f.on. h.,. f,te,

^V.hlnsnoslnlslikepitsfullof Mood tothehrhn
An.l with circles of red for his eye.s,K.-kets' rim.

Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall, «

Shook off both my jack-hoots, let ^o heic ar.d all
Hood up in the .stirrup, leaned, pa„ed his ear,
Ca.l,.d my Roland his p<.t nan.e, n,y horse wi,h<.ut p.er,
tlappe.l my hands, laughed an.l sang, any no.se, had or
good,

Till at length into Aix llolan.l gailope.l and s,oo,l ! ^

And ail T remember is friends flocking roun.l
As I sat with . :s head 'tnixt n.y knees on the .round,
And no vo.ce bu. was praising this Roland of n.ine
As I poured down his throat our last n.easure of wine,
\\ Inch (the burgesses voted by common consent)
^Vas no more than his due who brought good news from "^
*.inent.

—ROBERT BHOWNIVO.

W-v>

|W*"

116

On Horseback.

ON HORSEBACK.

Hurrah ! for a ride in tlie morning gray

On the back of a bounding steed ;
What, pleasure to list how the wild winds play :
Hark ! Hark ! to thtnr music, — away ! away I
5 Gallop away with speed.

'Neath the leaf and the cloud in spring-time's pride
There is health in a morning's joyous ride.

And hurrah ! for a ride in the sultry noon
When the summer has mounted high,
10 'Neath the shady w<iod in the glowing .June

When the rivulet chantetli its lullaby tune
To the breeze as it wanders by ;

Quietly down by the brooklet's side,

Sweet is the sumn. jus ride.

15 And do you not love at evening's hour

By the light of the sinking sun
To wend your way o'er the widening moor
Where the silvery mists their mystery pour
While the stars come one by one ?
20 Over the heath by the mountain's side,

Pensive and sweet is the evening's ride.

I tell thee, O stianger, that unto me

The plunge of a fiery steed
Ts a noble thought, — to the brave and free
25 It is njusic and breath and majesty, —

'Tis the life of a noble deed ;
And the heart and the mirid are in spirit allied
In the charm of a morning's glorious ride.

Reflections of a Proud Pedestrian. 117

Then hurrah ! for the ring of the bridle-rein, —

Away, brave horse, away !
Tlie preaclier or poet may chant his strain,
The bookman his wine of the past may drain,—

We bide not with them to-day,
And yet, it is true, we may look with pride
On the mental spoils of a morning's ride.

-r E. HAXTO.V Houn.

]

REFLECTIONS OF A PROUD PEDESTRIAN.

I SAW the curl of his waving lash

And the glance of his knowing eve,

And I knew that he tiiought he was cutting a dash
As his steed went tlmndering by.

And he may ride in the rattling gig,

Or flourish tlie Stanhope gay,
Ard dream that he looks exceeding big

To the people that walk in the way;

Uut he shall think, when the night is still.
Of the stable-boys' gathering numbers.

And the ghost of many a veteran bill
Shall hover round his slumbers :

The ghastly dun shall worry his sleep
And constables cluster around him,

118 King RicirAnD and Saladin.

And lie Nliiill crvcj, from tliti w.mmI liolo deep
Wlicic tlioir spectre i-ycs liavc found him!

Ay! gatliiM- your reins luul rviwk your tlion"
And I)id your steed ^'o faster ;

He d(M',s not know, as Ik; scramljles alori"
Tiiat he lias a fool for liis master.

And Imrry away on your lonely ride

Nor deij,Mi from the mire to save me;

I will j)addlo it stoutly at your su]e

With tin; tandem that natiue jfave me!

— OLIVKIt WENOEI.l, I10UME8.

KING RICHARD AND SALADIN.

There wns no jiood of fut-flior introdiictiou.
The two lioroic moimi-chs, for su<-h tlicy lioth
were, threw tlieniselvcs .-it once frotn liors(^])aek,
and, tlie troops hnltini,' and the music suddenly

iseeasinj,', they advanced 1o nieet each other in
profonnd silence, and aftei- a courteous in( lina-
tion on either side tliey eni))raced as l)rethren
and ecjuals. The jxnup and display upon both
sides attracted no further notice; no one saw

aoaught save Kidiard and Saladin, jind they two
beheld nothing ]jut each other. The looks with
whicli Richard surveyed Stiladin were, however,
mor(3 intently curious than those which the

KiNd KlCHAlil* AND SaLADIN. 119

Soklaii n.\<'(| up,,,, ],i,„^ .,,„] ,],^ Soldau also
was tilt' (ifst ft) ]>yt'iik silciirc.

"Tile Mcl.M'h Hw is wri, .,,„„> to Saia<li,i as
water to this (h^si'vt. I t,-nst Im' hath no disti-iist
of this iim„»M-ous array. Except iii<r tho armed s
slav.'s of ,„y hoiis.OioId, those who siuroniid
you with ey.-s of woiidei- and of welcome are,
«H-en the hund.lest of tjiejn, the pi-ivileged
nol.les of my tlH.nsaiid trihcs: fo,- who that
conid claim a title to 1».> pivsent would remaiiuo
at hom,. when such a pi-ince was to bo seen
as lli.-hai-d, with th.> tcToi-s of whose name
even on th(* sands of Yvunm the nurse stills
her child a-id tlie five Aral^ subdues his restive
steed! But will not my brother pass to theio
tent whicji his sei-vant hath prej.aivd for him?
My princi])al black slave hath taken oi-der for
the reception of the prin.-esses, the otticers of
my household will att(Mid your followe,-s, and
oursrlf will be the chamberlain of the royalao
xtichai'd."

He led the way accordingly to a splendid
pavilion where was everything,' that royal
luxury could devise. De Vaux, who was in
attendance, then lemoved the chappe icapa),25
or long riding-oloak which Richard wore, and
he stood b( fore Saladin in the close dress which
showed to advantage the strength and sym-
metry of his person, while it bore a strong

120

Kino Riciiahi) and Saladin.

oonfrast to tho flo\viii<; ioIm's wliidi disjLjiiisctl
tho tliiu fnime of the Eastern iik.iuu'cIi. It
■was Riclianrs two-lmii(l»Ml sword tluit cliiofly
attracted the attention of tlu^ Sarju'rii, a broad
sstraight blade the sooiniti^j^ly unwieldy hMij^lh
of which ext«md('d well-nigh fi-oni the shoulder
to the lieel of the wearer.

"Had I not," said Saladin, "seen this brand
flaniijig in tlio front of l)attle, like tliat of

loAzraol, I had scai-ee believed that Initnan arm
could wield it. Might I request to see the
Meleeh Ric sti-iko one blow with it in peace
and in pure trial of strength!"

"Willingly, noble Saladin," answei-ed Richard;

15 and looking around for something wh(M-eon 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

20 wood.

The glittering broadsword, wielded by l)oth
his hands, rose aloft to the king's left shoulder,
circled round his head, d(v^cended with the
sway of some terrific engine, and the bar of

25 iron rolled on the gi-ound in two pieces, as a
woodsman would sever a sapling with a hedg-
ing-bill.

" By the head of tho Propliet, a most won-
derful blow!" said the Holdan critically and

KiN<j Rkhakd and Satvlin

1-Jl

awunifply .'x.-miiMiiiji: tlio iron l.ar wliidi I.,h1
Ix'^'ii cui iiHiti.l.-r, .•uhI tho l.la.l.^ of the swonl
was so u.ll t.'itipoivd jis to cxliil.it not (h,.
I<*ast token of liaviiii,' stiff.Mvd l,y tlio f<';it it
liJid i).'rforni..(l. He tli.Mi took tlir kin-'.s ]unu\ .
and, lo(.kin-r on tlio nIzo juid muscnlaf stnMi<;ili
wlii.'li it oxhilutcd, ]an,iili(..l j.s }„> i-l.-MMMf it
l»'si<l.' Ills own, so iMiik and tliin, s.. inf<'ri<>r in
• )i"a\vn and sinew.

^^ "Ay, lo..k w.'ll," said Do Vanx in Eiiirlish ; m
"it will 1m' loii,!,^ CIV yonr I..,,.,^ ja.-kanaiu.-s
lingers do sn<-li a fVut with yonr fine gilded
reaping-hook there,"

"Silence, De Vanx," said Riehanl ; "l,y Our
Lady, ho nnderstands or gnesses thy meaning;,,
he not so hroad, f ]»i-ay thee."

The Soldan, ind.'od, i>i-esently said, "Some-
thing I wonld fain attempt, though wln-refore
should the weak show their inforiority in pres-
ence of the strong? Yet eaeii ]an(l hatli its,.
own exercises, atid this may l.e Jiew to the .Afeleeh
Kie." So saying he took from th(; tloor a
•'ushion of silk and down an<l i.jaeed it upright
o'l one end. "Can thy weapon, n.v hrotlii-r.
8,n-er that cushion?" he said to King Kiehard.o^

"No, surely," replie.1 the king; "no sw.>rd on
earth, were it the Excalibr.r (^^ King .'u-thur,
can cut that which oi)poses no steady resist-
ance to the blow."

4111

122

Krxa RrciFAHn and SALAnm.

f-?~r:

" .\rm-k, tlH'ii," said Salatliii, and tiinkiiii; nj)
tlio sit't'vo of his ^^owii s1i<»\v<m1 his aim, thin
indt'i'd and spare l»iit \vhi<'h (•(•iistaiit ('X«'i<'is«>
liad hai'ih-rit'd into ji mass consist iii^jf of naiii:;ht

.ilmt l>on»', hiawii, aii<l sinow. lit; inislirathcd
liis Kcimitai', a curved and iiavrow Khidc, which
glittered not like tlu' swords of the Fi;inks hut
was, on the c(>,,tn»rv, of a dull Muc color
niJii'kod with ten millions of meandejiiij;- lines

If" which showed Imw anxiously the metal had
been Welded 1 y th(^ aiinorer. Wieldiiii; this
weapon, apparently so inerticient when <'om-
p.ired to that of Richard, the Sohhin stood
restinu liis weiifht upon his left foot which

i:.was sli;L?htly advance<l ; lu' halanced himself a
little as if to steady his aim, then stepping;
at once forwai-d drew the scimitar across the
cushioji, ait]>lyini( the edge .so dexterously and
with so little a[)i»arent effort that the cushion

211 seemed rather to fall asunder than t(» be divided
Ity violence.

"It is a jugulei-'s trick," said I)e Vaux dai't-
ing forward and snatching U[» the [»<>ition of
the cushion which had been cut off, as if to

iiassiire himself of the reality of the feat ; "there
is gi-amaiye in tliis,''

Th.e Soldan see'ued to comprehend liira, for
he undid the soit of veil which he had hither-
to worn, laid it double along the edge of his

Kino RKirviU) and Sm^adiv. 123

mhvc, .'Xtriid.'.! tl).' weapon .m|;;..\v.ivs in tho
air, ami dniwin^' it siidrL^niy tliinii-li tli." v.-il,
ultli(.u.u:h ii Ininjr en (1,,. h|.„|,. ..ntiivly Innv.'
sovTivd that also int., two pails wlii.-li lloat.'.l
In (litTcivnt si.lrs ..f tli.> tent, .'.,.,;,lly dispiav- ,
i»i^ Ih.' oxtivini' tcmprr and sliarpn.-ss of liio
weapon and tin- exquisite dexterity of him who
used it.

"Now, in frood faitli, my htothof," said
Kicliard, "thou art even matchless at the triek lo
of the sword, and right peril.»us were it to meet
thee! Htill, liowever, I put some fajth in u
downri,i,dit Kn-Iish l.low, and what we ..annot
do l.y sh'ight we eke out hy strength. Xever-
theless, in truth thou art as expert in inlli.-tinfr,.-.
wounds as my sage Hakim in curing them. ?

^•■"•'^^ J •^''•»Jl- tJ.e learned I h, [ have much

to thank him tor and had hronght some small
present."

As he spoke, Saladin exclianged liis tiu'haujo
for a Tartar cap. He had no soon.T <lone so
tiian I)e Vaux opened at once his extended
mouth and his large roimd eyes, and l?i«-hai'd
gJi-ed with .. ,ce less astonishtnent, while the
S^.uan spr- - in a grave and altered voice-^
"The sick man, sayeth the poet, whil(> j„. is
yet infirm, kuoweth the physician i)y his step;
l)ut wlien ho is recovered, he know.'t'h not oven
his face when he looks upon him."

,Tl

124 KiNd RrcHAiin and Robim Hood.

"A jniriM-l<'! a iiiiriK'h.!" ('X.'liiim«'<l Kidiiinl.

"Of iMiiliMiind's vvorkinjjr, doiihth'ss," said
ThoiniiH do \'aux.

"Tliat r should loso my Icaniod Ilakim,"
ssnid liicliard, ''iiicrcly l»y alts('n.c»' of his cap
and ioIm', and that I .-^hotild find him a^'ain in
my royal ln-otlicr Sahidiii! '

"Surh is oft th»' fashion of tho world,"
answoH'd tho SoJdan ; "tho tuttored roho
10 makes not always tho dorvish."

— Bltt W.tLTtK HL-OTT.

KING RICHARD AND ROBIN HOOD.

At tho j)oint of thoit- jonrnoy at which we

tak(^ tiiom up, this Joyous pair woro «'n<:aurod

in sin^'inj,' a virolai, as it was called, in \vhi<'h

. th«' clown l)oro a mellow buidon to tho hotter

isinsti-uctod Kiii«j:ht of tho Fottoi-]ock.

"I would, Waniha," said iho knight, "that
our host (.f Iho Tiysting-tro(^ hoard this thy
ditty in piaiso of our blutli" yooman.*'

"So wotiid not I," said Waniha — "hut for
JO tho horti that hangs at your baldric."

"Ay," said tho knight, "this is a pledge of
Locksloy's goodwill, though I am not like to

need it. Thi-oo mot

s on this huplo wilh I am

assured, hring round, at

5 of yonder honest yeomen."

our need, a jolly baud

Kino IJnuMtn ani.« Rokin Him.d. 1i»;,

T Would

jesti'i

sjty, ;ip}iv..n roir.'iMi," .sii.i fi,

', W.TH If llof llliit t|,;,f l.-.ir .rift

ph-dn;.. tln.y Woill.l |,.f us pj.ss |M..„.r;,l.|i

IS a

ly, What Ui.'uur^t tlioii .'" siii.l flioKni-lit

'fhink.'st thou tlmt l.iit \\,v this j.l,..!-,. ,,f f,
owsiiip tli.-y would n>s;iiili ns ? "
"Nay, tor mo I say nothinir," said Wauil
for ^n'<'»'ii tivos |ia\
walls. And ycf tli.-n- I
far more dan.ir.'i-oiis for lrav||,.r< to mc-f f|

((

• ' cars as ur

as slorit

X' ••oiii|iaiiioiis wli,, ai.>

yonder oMtIa

tail HI

ws.

And wl

'o may flH«y Im', f.-r voii ],av.. jmmj:

tK'ars

nor woKvs, j trow.'" >aid tli.. kidirl
Marry, sir, hut vc have .M

It.

arms/' sai<
in time o^
wortli h l»;

1 •

•a

"oisin s Kit-n-at-
iind j.-t 111.. t,.jl vuii that

'I" a half sen.' of tl

K'Sl 'S

.v»'s at aiiv t

!IH'

o\\.

pray you, Sii ,.ht. what woiild vo,, do if

wo mot two of fh,.„i ?"

<' i>

I'iii tho villains tot) arth with mv |j

VVand)ii, if thoy offnod
" But what if fhoro

inco. ji

"Thoy should di-ink of tl
sworod tho knii^dit.

IIS any itii|icdiiiicnt.'
woro four of thoin .' "

lo .saiiio oujt," an-

What if si

X,'' oontinuod Wan

loa.

IIhI WO;

as wo now aiv. i>arolv t

romomlMM- Lockslov's horn'"

wo — Would vou Uijt

What!

sound for lid," ox.-laimo.] th.. kni.ijht.

against a score of such m.s,aiHc us tli

oso

' *f;»

f**^

:^'-^jsmik^t^.

126 King Richard and Robin IIood.

whom Olio goo<l kniglit could drive bofoj-o liim
as the wind drives tlie withered h'jives ? "

"Nay then," said AV^imha, "I will pi-jiv vou
for a close sight of that same horn that hath
SRo powei-fid a l)reath."

Tli(? knight undid the clasj) of tht; l)al(h-ie,
and indulged his fellow-traveller who immedi-
ately Inmg the bugle round his own neck.
"Now that Folly wears the horn," said the
10 jester, "let Valor rouse himself; for, if 1 mis-
take not, there are company in yonder brake
that are on the look-out foi- us."

" What makes thee Judge so ?" said the knight.

"Because I have twice or thrice noticed the

laglance (»f a moiion from amongst the gi-een

leaves. Had tht'y been honest men, they had

kept the i)ath."

"By my faith," said the knight, closing his
visor, "I think thou be'st in tin; right on't."
'io Riding straight to tin' thicket he was met
by six or seven nien-at-ai-ms, who I'an agaiiist
him with their lances at full career. Three of
the weapons sti-uck against him and splintered
with as little effect as if they had been driven
25 against a tower of steel.

"Ila! Saint Edward! Ila! Sauit George
said the Black Knight, striking down a m
at every invocation, "Isavc wc ti'aitors here

» "

i9 J1

is opi>onents, desperate as they were, bore

..?«:•• .-^iiKK;

x-*."va\

Kiscr RirriARD and Robin IIood. 127

back I'n.in an ana u hidi ..anic.i death in ovm-
Mow, and it mvih.mI as if iho terror of his
siM-Ie .streii-lh was al.oiit to oaiu tho battle
against surh o.l,ls, whn, u knight in bhie armor
who had hithert.. kept hiniself behin.l tl.e otj,,.,' ,.
assailants, spnrivd forward Avith his lance, and
takinu- aim, nut at the ri.ler but at the steed,
\.-ounded th.' n..l,|,. animrd mortally.

"That was a fel(m stroke!" exclaimed the
Black Knight, as the steed fell f. tlieeartlno
beunng ]iis rider along witli liini.

And at this mom.Mit Wamba winded ih.> huw-l,.^
for tho whole had pass..! ..,, si^vdily that\e
had not time to d,> m) sooner. The sudden
sound ma.h^ the munhMvrs hear hack on.-e more,,,,
and Wamba, though so itniM-rfeetly weaponed,'
(lid not hesitate to rush in and assist the Black
Knight to rise,

"Hhame on yt>, false cowards!" exclaimed he
i" the l,lue harnos, who sceme<l f. lead the.,
assailants: ",h, ye fly from th.. empty blast (,f
a horn blown l)y u jestei-?"

A.dmat.vl by his avoi<Is they attacke.l tiio
Black Knight anew, wh.)se best refuge was now
to place his back against an oak and defen.I-
linnself with his swotd. The felon knight, who
had taken another spear, watching the moment
when hi> fornudabie antago.iist was most closely
pressed, galloped against him iu hopes to uail

!':1

mMi

.iJ^.^^

128 KiN(i Richard and Rorfn FTood.

him witli liis laiico a<raiiist th(» trco, wIk'ii his
jmrpost' was .(gain intercepted l»y AVainlia. The
jester, makiiig up by aglHty tlie want of
strength and little noticed by the men-at-arms,
5 who wei-e busied in their more imitortant o})jeet,
lii»\-ered on the skii'ts ot' the fight and etfeetu-
ally ehecked the fatal carcei- of the Blue Knight

• by hani-sti'ingiiig his horse willi a stroke of
his sword. Horse and man went to tlu^ gi'ound;

10 yet the situation of the Knight of the Fetter-
lock coiitinueil very i)recarious, as he was
]»i-essed close ]»y sevei-al men completely armed
and l)egan to b(^ fatigued Ity th<' violent exer-
tions necessai'v to defend himself on so many

I.-. [loints at nearly the same moment, when a gi'ay-
goose shaft suddenly stretched on the earth
one of the most formidable of his assailants,
and a band of yeomen broke forth from th(^
glade headed by Locksley, who, taking ready

•.iiaiid effectual part in tin; fi"'">y, soon disposed of
the rullians, all of whom lay on the spot dead
or mortally wounded. The Black Knight
thanked his deliverers with a dignity that they
had not obser\ed in his former l)eai-ing, which

i">hitlierto had seemed rather that of a blunt

bold soldier than of a itersou of exalted rank.

'Let this knight have a steed, Locksley,'' said

he, "for T sec your men ha\'e caiiiz:]it those which

were ruuuing loose, and h^t i..iu go unharmed."

King KrcHAHn and Rums JIooi,. 129

"But that I Ju,l^.o r iist.u tn a vm.., uhosb
behests nuist n..t l..> disimto,]," ansu-.n.l tho
y..onian, "iM-ouMsend a shaft aff-r il...kulk
mj,' villain that sIh.uI.I spam him th. lal.or of
a long ioiii-iH'v.*'

"Thou boarest an Engjisl, Jn-art, Locksloy"
said the Black Knig-ht, "an.l av.II <l.,.st jnd-'o
thou art tlu^ nioiv l,„un.I to (.l...y niy l,t.hest--I
am Itichard of Phi<^dand!''

At tlu-se words, iTonoun.-od i„ ,, Unu^ „f,o
majesty suit.d to ll.o hij,di rank, and no lo.s
'listin-uisJied Hiaractor, of C(Pur-d».-Liun the
yeomen at once kiKM'l,.] down befor.^ liin. ' and
at tho same time tendered their allegiance' an,l
implored x^nh.n for their offences.

"Rise, my friends," said Ki,.],ard, in a, graci-''
ons tone, looking on thenx with a countenance
ni Avhich his habitual good-humor had already
-nquered the bla/e of hasty resentment, and
whose features retained no mark of the late^o
desperate conflict, excepting the flush arising'
h-om exertion,-" Arise," he said, "my friends'
Vour misdemeanors, wheth(>r in forest or field
have been atoned by the loyal services you ren'
dered my distressed subjects an<l the rescue you 25
have this day afforded to your sovereign.
Arise, my liegemen, and be good subjects in

future. And thou, brave J.ocksley »

"Call me no longer Locksley, my liege, but

ilji

■ H

mfmm..-:m

130

The Glove .\\i> tfie T.ions.

know mo iiimIci- tlif iijuik' wliii-h, I i'oiiv, fame
hath l»l(»\vii too \vi<l»'ly not ti> liavc i'«'a('h«Ml
oven youi I'oyai cars — I am i\oliin Ilood of
Sherwood Forest."

5 " Kinj; of outlaws, and jtrincc of ^ood fel-
lows!" said the kin/jj; "who hath not heard a
name that has hecn horne as far as Palestine?
But V>e assured, brave outlaw, that no deed
done in our ahsenee, and in the tui'hulent times

10 to which it hath <;i\'cn lise, shall be remem-
bered U) thy disadvantage."

THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS.

Kino F. ^;'CIs was a lu'arty kinj,' ami lov'd a roval

sptn't,
And one day as his lions strovi' .,at luokiiij,' mi llic

COlU't.

Tlio nobles till'd the hciiclics round, tlit- ladies hy ilit'ir

side,
loAnd 'inongst t'lcni (.'ount dc Lori^c with one he hoped

to make iiis hiide ;
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 hoiiid lanuliinu jaws;
They bit, they glaied, gave blows like l)ean)s, a wind
went with their paws ;

The Glove and the Lions. 131

''"1::";,:,:''' •"""■' ""' '■■"■•■' "- "-^ -"•" <-

The i,,,..|, f,„„, „,„,, „,„ ,„„ ^.^„,,, ^.,_.^^.^^^ ^^ _^^^^

•seenid tlio sanif. -^

She th,,„sht. "TI,o c„„„, „y w, i, «, t,,,„ ., ,„^,^

-^ .s.ndy^woul.l do desperate things to show his Jove
K.ng. mdies. ]ove,.s, all U.k on : the d.anee is wonnroua

■She rin„pp.,n,or g,„ve t„ prov. his ,,„.„, the,, l.^ky „„
him and R„,ile<l ; « u on

lie IxiWd a„d in » ,„o„,..„i l,.„p.,| ,.„„„„ „,^ „„„, ^..,^

-JAMES HENRY LEIOH HUNT.

■f -

132

The Glove.

THE GLOVE.

I ,

ii .'I

" Heigho," yawnod one flay Kin<^ Francis,
" Distanoo all valiio enhances !
When a man's busy, why, leisure
Strikes him as wonderful pleasure.

9 'Faith, and at leisure once is he,
Straightway he wants to be busy.
Here we've got peace and aghast I'm
Caught thinking war the true pastima
Is there a reason in metre?

10 Give us your speech, master Peter!"
I who, if mort^il can say so.

Ne'er am at i loss with my Naso,
"Sire," I replied, "joys prove cloudlets-
Men are the merest Ixions,"

15 Here the King whistled aloud, "Ijot's

. . Heigho . . go look at our lions !''
Such are tlie sorrowful chances
If you talk fine to King Francis.

And so, to the court-yard proceeding,

20 Our company Francis was leading,

Increased by new followers tenfold
Before he arrived at the penfold —
Ijords, ladies, like clouds which bedizen
At sunset the western horizon.

2S And Sir de Ix)rge pressed 'mid the foremost

With the dame he professed to adore most.
Oh, what a face ! One by fits eyed
Her and the horrible pitside,
For the penfold surrounded a hollow

The Glove.

133

Which led wliore the oy,5 scare,, d.itcd follow,
And shelvod to the cliainber sccludf,!
Where Bluel)oar(], the great li.,n, hrooded.
The king liailed his keep«'r, an Arab
As glossy and hiac;k as a scarab, $

And bade Iiim make sport and at once stir
Up and out of his den tiie old monster.
They opened a hole in tlie wire- work
Across it and dropped tbere a tin-work
And fled ; one's heart's beatii.- r.-do.iblt-d ; w

A pause wbile tlie pit's mouth was troubled,
The blackness and silence so utter,
By the firework's slow sparkling and s{)utter;
Then eartli in a sudden contortion
Gave out to our gaze lier abortion.
Such a brute ! Were T friend Clement Marot
(Whose experience of nature^ but narrow
And whose faculties move in no small mist
When he versifies David the Psalmist)
i should study that brute to describ*; you »

Ilium Jiula Leonnn de Tribu.

One's whole blood grew curdling and creepy

To see the black mane vast and heapy

The tail in the air stiff and straining,

The wide eyes nor waxing nor waning ^

As, over the barrier which bounded

His platform and us who surrounde(J

The barrier, they reached and they rested

On space that might stand him in best stead ;

For wiio knew, he thought, what the amazement, 30

The eruption of clatter and blaze meant,

And if in this minute of wonder

ii.il

^^w '

134

The Glove.

•»

No outlet, 'iiiiil liji;litiiiiij^ tiii<l tlmiidtM',

Jjiiy l)roa(l and, liis shacklt's all sliivt;rcMl,

Tlifl lion at la>t was dclivcifil i

Ay, that was tin- opori sky o'crlu'ad !

And you saw hy tlio flash on his foii'hwid,

By the hoj)e in those t'Vt's wide and steady

He was leagues in the drseit already,

Driving the Hocks up the mountain

Or, fatlike, couched hard hy the fountain

To waylay the dale-gathering negiess :

So guar<led he entranct; or egress.

"How he stands!" (jiioth tin; king; "sve niav well
swear
(No novict!, we've wt)n oe- spurs elsewhere
And so can afford the conft^ssion)
We exercise wholesome discretion
In keeping aUxjf from his threshold.
Once hold you, those jaws want no fresh hold,
Their Hrst W(iuld too pleasantly purloin
The visitor's brisket or sirloin ;
But who's he would prove so foolhardy?
Not the best man of Marignan, pardie ! "
The sentence no sooner was utti icd
Than over the rails a glove fluttered,
Fell close to the lion and rested.
The dame 'twas, who flung it and jested
With life so, De Lorge had been wooing
For months past ; he siit theie pursuing
His suit, weighing out with nonchalance
Fine speeches like gold from a balance.

Sound the trumpet, no true knight's a tarrier !
De Lorge made one leap at the barrier,

Trrr. <Ji.(.vr,.

135

Walked striiiglit to tlic 'lovo^ wliilf flu? lion
NcVr moved, kept liis fur rrjicliinir ♦■vf on
'I'lio j)alm-tivt'-('d.,'td dc'jcit-sprin'^s s'i|i|ihirf
And tlio musky oilt-d skin of tlio Kutlir —
Picked it up and as calmly leiri'uted,
leaped Imck wliero tlie lady was seated
Awil full in file face of its ouner
Flung t\io glove. "Your heart's (juti-n,

you tiellirorie lier 1
So siiould J!" cried tlie King; "'twas nieri-,

vanity,
Not love, set tiiat task to humanity 1 "
Ijords and ladies alike turned with loathing
From sueh a proved Wdif in sheep's elothiiiii.

Not so J, for r eaugiit an expression
In her brow's undisiurlM'd self possessitm,
Amid the ••ourt's seotHng and merriment —
As if from no pl(>asing experiment
She rose, yi-t of pain not mueii heedful
So long as the jji'iieess was needful--
As if s!'e had tried in a .'riicihlo
To what "speeches like gold" wore reducihie
And, tinding tlio tinest prove copper,
Felt smoke in her face was but piop'r ;
To know what she ha<l not to trust to
Was worth all tlu,' ashes and dust too.
She went out 'mid hootiii}' ami lau'diter ;
Clement IVIarot stayed, 1 folJcAed after
And asked as a ^ract^ what it all meant —
If she wished not the rash deeds recallmeul ?

?or

I spokt

am a poet ;

'A>

u n

11
u

Uumau nature behooves that I know it !

136

The Glove.

She told mo, "Too long hiul I heard
Of tho dt'i'd proved iiloiio by tlio wnrd :
For my love — what T>o Tiorije woulii not dare I
"With my Hcorii — what 3>o J^ir<{0 could ei>mj)arol
And the eiidU'ss descriptions of death
JIo would brave, when my lip formed a breath,
I must reekoa as bravcnl or, of course,
iJoultt his word and, mon^ovcr, jxTt'oreo
For such gifts as no lady could spurn
Must offer my love in rt'tuiii.
When r lookctl on yuiir lion it brought
All the diingeis i u onre to my thought :
Eneountered by all sorts of men
B«>f()i-e ho was hxlged in his den.
From the p(»or slave wliose club or bare hands
Dug the tiap, set tlio snare on the sands,
With IK) king and no court to ajiplaud.
By no shame sho Id he shrink overawed,
Yet to capture the creature mad(! siiift
Tliat h rude boys mig'.' laugh at the gift,
To the Jiage who last leaped o'er tho 'ence
Of the pit on no great<'r pretence
Than to get baek tiie bonnet be dropped
Lest his i)ay for a week should be stopped
So wiser I judged it to make
One trial wiiat 'death for my sake'
Really meant while tiie power was yet mine,
Than to wait until time should define
Such a phrase not so simplv as I,
Who took it to mean just 'to die.*
The Mow a glove gives is but weak —
Does the mark yet discolor my cheek 'f

«t:Ji

On TlIK EncJLISII LwciUAOE.

13(

But wlifn the hoart siirtJ-rs a blow

Will tli«' piiiri {MISS SI) soon, do you know?"

I looki'd us awiiy sIio was Hwccping,
And saw a youth ca^crlv kc«'piiiir

As floso as h<' duiitl to tlio dooiwav. f

No doubt th.it a jii»l>lt? should nioic wciylj
Ilis life than Im-IUs ji jiIcImmiiii ;
Ami yet, had oin- hriito Ix't-n Nfuican,
(I judgo l»y a rcrtain cahn fervor
'I'liH youth stepped with forward to .servo Iier) lo

He'd have .scarce Ihoiiyht you did hiui the worst turn
If you whisjM red, "Friend, what you'd get, fust earn'"
And when, siiortly at't.-r, she carrie«|
Her sliaino fmui tlie court aii. .y married,
To that marriage some happiness, niau^'re 15

The voico of the court, I tlared auirur.

- KOIIKKT UKOWNINQ.

ON THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.

I HAVE i-fad of ;in omiiient ]ioi'soti who nsod
ill lii.s jtrivute dovotions to give tliaiik.s t<>
Heaven tlitit he was bom a Ffeiieliman ; for
my pai-t I look ui)on it a.s a l)l('s.^iiig that, T20
was born an P^iiglishnian. Anion*,' othei- rea.sons,
I tliink myself happy in my country a.s the
Iaiigna«i:e of it is won<ierfully a(hii)te(i to a
man sparing of his words and an enemy to
kxpiaeity. As 1 have f.-pqnently reflected on 25
my good fortune in thi.s particular T shall com-
municate to the public my speculations upou

On tuf. En<h.isii Langi^ack.

the English toiignt>, not (l<»uhtiiig h\\\ thoy will
bo u<'«'»>|>t<'il)l»> to all my ciiruuis rotultMU

Tlio English dt'lij^ht in siloiico moro than
any otlier Eiir<)|u«un nation if Iho r«*niarks which

fiuro nuulo on us l>y foi-»'ign»!rs ai»' titu'. Onr
(lis(H)nrso is not kept up in ('onv«'rsiition, but
falls into inoi'o jianscs and intervals than in
our Ui'ighborinjij ronntrifs, ns it is observcnl
that the matter of oni- writings is thi'own tnueh

10 closer t()ji:ether an<l lies in a narrower compass
than is usual in the woiks of fori'ijjfu authors;
for, to favor oni* natui-al taciturnity, when we
are obli«;o(l to utter our thoughts wo do it in
the short«>st wjiy wo are able and «;ivo as quick

i:.a birth to our conception as possible.

This humor shows itself in sevoi-al remarks
that we may make upon tho Englisli hniiruaiije.
As first of all by its abounding in monosyl-
lables, which gives us an opportunity of deliver-

aoing our tlioughts in few sounds. This indeed
takes off from the elegance of our tongue but
at the same time express(»s our ideas iu the
readiest numner, and consequently answers the
first (h'sign of speech b<'tter tlum the multitude

25 of syllables which make the words of other
languages tuoi'i! tunable and souorous. The
sounds of our Ejiglish words are commonly
like those of string music, short and transient,
which I'ise and perish upou a single touch. Those

''r\M^i;^.

^'^' WM'^f-^^.^

On the Ekolihu LANfatAOF.

139

of otlicr liiiiiTMiip's uio liko tlio iiotfx of wiii«l
instniiiuMits, s\vt>«'t atnl swelling an<l I. ;^ili,.|u>«l
out into varit'ty <»f iii<»<lulali(.fi.

In tilt* next ])Iac»( \vt» may ohsoi-vti tlmf whore
the wonls uj-o not Jn<tn<>sylia))l.'s wo oft.-ii niake 5
tli«Mii so as iim«']i as li.'s i?i «»ii;- |m.w.'i- hy our
rapidity of iM-oimiHMatiun, as i <,' -ii. -rally hap-
|»«'iis in most of our long woni- vsim-ii aro do-
riv«'(l from the Latin, wla-re wo conti-act tlio
h'ligth of tho syUal.J.'s that givo them a grave lo
and solemn air in th.'jr t)wn language to make
them more {.roper for desj.ateh and mor- con-
formable to the genius of oui- tongue. This
we may find in a multitu<k; of words, as "liberty,"
" eonspiraey," "theatre," "orator," ete. u

The same natural aversion to hxiuaeity has
of late years made a veiy considerable altera-
tion in our languag<i by closing in one syllable
the termination of oui- praeterperfe*'! lense, as
in the words "drown'd," "walk'd," " arriv'd" forao
"drowned," "walked," "ari-ived," whidi has very
much disfigure<l tlie tongue and turned a tenth
part of our smoothest woi-ds into so many
clusters of eonsonants. This is the more re-
markable because the want of vowels in our 25
language has In^en the general complaint of our
fH)Iitest authors, wiio nevertheiesa ure the men
that have made these reti-enehments and conse-
quently very much increased our former seaicity.

140

On the English Language.

til

Ml 1

This loflcction on the woids that end in " ed "
I have heard in conversation from one of the
greatest geniuses this age has produced. I think
we may jidd to the foregoing o])servation the
5 change wliieh has hapi)ened in our hmguage by
the al)l)revialiou of several words that are ter-
minated in "eth" by substituting an "s" in
the room of the last syllable, as in "drowns,"
"walks," "arrives," and innumerable other words,
10 which in the pronunciation of our forefathers
were "drowneth," "walketh," "arriveth." This
has wondei-fully multiplied a letter which was
before t(J0 frequent in the English tongue and
added to that "hissing" in our language which
iws taken so much notice of by foreigners, but
at the same time humors our taciturnity and
eases us of many superfluous syllables. I might
here observe that the same single letter on
many occasions does the office of a whole word
20 and represents the "his" and "her" of our
forefathers. There is no doubt but the ear of
a foreigner, which is the best judge in this
case, would very much disapprove of such in-
novations, which indeed we do ourselves in
25 some measure by retaining the old termination
in writing and in all the solemn offices of our
religion.

As in the instances I have given we have
epitoniized many of our particular words to the

On the Exolish Language. 141

detriment of our tongue so on other occasions
we have drawn two words into one, which has
likewise veiy much untuned our language and
clogged it with consonants, as "mayn't," "<'{in't "
"sha'n't," " wo'n't," and the like for "may not,'" 5
"can not," "shall not," "will not," etc.

It is perhaps this humor of speaking no more
than we needs must which has so miserably
curtailed some of our words that in familiar
writings and conversations they often lose all 10
Imt their first syllables, as in "mob.," "rep.,"
"pos.,>' "incog.," and the like; and as all ridicu-
lous words make their fiist ent.y into a lan-
guage by familiar phrases I daivi not answer
for these that they will not in time be looked 15
upon as a part of our tongue.

We see some of our poets have been so in-
discreet as to imitate Hudibras' doggerel ex-
pressions in their serious comi)ositions by throw-
ing out the signs of our substantives, which 20
are essential to the English language. Nay,
this humor of shortening our language had once
run so far that some of our celebrated authors,
among whom we may reckon Sir Roger
L'Estrange in particular, began to pnme their 25
words of all superfluous letters, as they termed
them, in order to adjust the spelling to the pro-
nunciation, which would have confoundcni all our
etymologies and have quite destroyed our tongue.

142

On the English Language.

We may here likewise obsei-ve that our pro-
per luimes when familiarized in English gene-
rally dwindle to monosyllal)les, whereas in other
modern languages they recnnve a softer turn on
5 this occasion by the addition of a new syllable.
"Ni<' " in Italian is "Ni<;<)lini," "Jack" hi
French "Janot," and so of Mie rest.

There is another particular in our language
which is a great instance of our frugality of
?'. words, and that is the suppressing of several
iMrtieles which must be produced in other
tongues to make a sentence intelligil>le. This
often perplexes the best wi-iters when they find
the relatives "whom," "which," or "they" at
15 their mercy whether they may have admission
or not, and will never be decided till we have
something Jike an academy that by the best
authorities and rules drawn from the analogy
of languages shall settle all controversies be-
i-otween grammar and idiom.

I have only considered our language as it
shows the genius and natural temper of the
English, which is modest, thoughtful, and sin-
cere, and which perhaps may recommend the
25 people though it has spoiled the tongue. We
might perhaps carry the same thought into
other languages and deduce a greater part of
what is peculiar to the from the genius of
the people who speak them. It is certain the

Spelling and Derivation. 143

li?:ht talkative humor of the Freneli has not a
little infected their tongue, wln.^h niiglit be
shown by many instannes, as tJio genius of the
ItaHans which is so much addicted to music
and ceremony has moulded all their words and 5
phrases to those particular uses. TIk^ stateli-
ness and gravity of the Spaniards shows itself
to perfection in the solemnity of their language,
and the blunt honest humor of the Germans
sounds better in the roughness of the High
Dutch than it would in a politer tongue.

—JOSEPH ADDISON.

SPELLING AND DERIVATION.

The omission of a letter or the addition of
a letter may work, one as effectually as the
other, to keep out of sight the true character
and origin of a wo.-d. When for "bran-new," 15
It was "brand-new" with a final "d," how
vigorous was the image here. The "brand" is
the fire, and " bi-and-new," equivalent to "fire-
new," is that wi „ h is fresh and bright as being
uewly come from the forge and fire. As nowao
spelt it conveys to us no image at all. Again,
you have the word "scrip"— as a "scrip" of
paper, railway "scrip." Is this the Saxon
"scrip," a wallet, which has in some strange
manner obtained these meanings so different 2$
and so remote! Have we here oQly two different

Nte<^

144

HrELLING AND DeUIVATION.

■9:

ent applications of ono and tlie same woi-d, or
two liomonyniR, wlio^^" (liff(3ront woids tliougli
spelt alike? It is sufricient to note how the
first of these " .-i-ips " used to be written,
snamely with a final "t," not "serip" but
"script," and the question is answered. This
" scrip " is a Latin, as the other is a Saxon
word, and meant at fiist simply a written piece
of paper — a circumstance whieh since the

in omission of the final "t" may easily escape our
knowledge. So long as " avenue " was spelt
"advenue" the word suggested something, and
the right something, about itself.

In these cases it lias been the omission of a

w letter which has clouded and concealed the
etymology ; the intrusion of a letter sometimes
does the same. Thus in early editions of th«'
Paradise Lost, and in the writings of that age,
you will find "scent," an odor, spelt "sent."

20 It was better so. There is no other noun sub-
stantive " sent " with which it is in danger of
being confounded, while its relation with
"sentio"and with "resent," "dissent," "consent"
and the like, is put out of sight by its novel spell-

25ing, the intrusive "c" serving only to mislead.

The same thing was attempted with " site,"

" situate," " situation," spelt by many for a time

" scite," " scituate," " scituatiou," but with these

it did not continue. Again, "whole" in

Spelling and Dekivation.

145

Wydif's Bil.l«., aiul souM'timos as far down as
Spenser, is si)elt "li«,lo." The present ortlio-
graphy may liave the advantage of at onee dis-
tiuguishing the word from any other to the eyo,
but at the same time the initial "w" hides its 5
relation to the verb "heal." The "whole" man
is he whose liurt is "healed" or "covered." I
a?n afraid that we owe to Tyndale the "hide-
o, 8 interloping letter that begins the word."
" Whoies,ome," onee spelt "holesome," has natu-10
rally followed the foi'tunes of " whole."

Of "island," too, our present spelling is in-
ferior to the old, inasmueh as it suggests a
hybrid formation as though the word wei-e
made up of the Latin "insula" and the Saxon .6
"land." It is quite true that "isle" is descended
from "insula," "isola," "ih^'and hence probably
the misspelling of "i.slan<l." The latter, however
has nothing to do with "insula," being identical
with the German "eiland," the Anglo-Saxon*

ealand," and signifying either the land apart,
or land girt round with the sea; it is worthy
of note that this "s" is of quite modern intro-
duction. In the earlier versions of the Scrip-
tures and in the Authorized Version as first 25
set forth it is "Hand," and the correct spelling
obtained far down into the seventeenth century.
One of the most fretjuejit causes of alteration
in the spelling of a word is a wrongly assumed

146

Spelling and Derivation.

I. i

fJ-

derivation, as has been the case witli the word
just dealt with. It is there sou^'lit to l>riii<? tlie
word into Imrmoiiy with, and to in.ikc it l»y its
spelling suggest, this derivation whi.-h has Im'cii
6 erroneously thrust upon it. Here is a suhjwt
which, followed out as it (h'seives, would tVtrni
an interesting and instru<'tiv(5 cliaptei- in the
histoiy of language. Very remarkable is the
evidence we have here of the wjiy in which

10 learned and unlearned alike crave to hav«? a
meaning in the words which they e!ni)loy, to
have these not only body but body and soul.
Where for the pojuilar sense the life has died out
from a word men will i)nt into it j! Ht'o of their

15 own devising, rather than that it should hence-
forth be for them a mere dead and inert sign.
Much more will they bo tempted to do this in the
case of foreign woi-ds which have been adopted
into the language but have not i;rought with

20 them, at least for the popular mind, the secret
of their origin. These shall tell something about
themselves, and when they cannot tell what is
true, or when that true is not intelligible any
longer, then, rather than that they should sug-

25gest nothing, men compel them to suggest what
is false, moulding and shaping them into some
new form until at least they shall appear to
have something to report about themselves.

— mrUAKD CHENEVIX TRENCH.

Change in Language.

147

CHANGE IN LANGUAGE.

Literary dialoets, or wliat are oommonly
called olnssical Jangna^ros, pay f,»r their teni-
porary greatness hy inevitable decay. They are
hke artificial lakes at the side of great rivers-
they form reservoirs of what was once living 5
and running spee,.h but they are no longer
earned on by the main current. At times it
may seem as if the whole stream of language
was absorbed by these lakes, and we can hardly
trace the small rivulets which run on in the 10
mam bed. But if lower down, that is to say
later m histoiy, we meet again with a new
body of stationary language forming or formed
we may be sure that its tributaries were those
very rivulets which for a time were almost lost ,5
to sight.

Or it may be more accurate to compare a
classical literary idiom to the frozen surface of
a nver, brilliant and smooth but stiff and cold.
It is mostly by political commotions that thisao
surface of the more polite and cultivated speech
IS broken and carried away by the waters rising
underneath. It is during times when the higher
classes are either crushed in religious and social
struggles, or mix again with the lower classesas

t .,

148

Chanoe in Lan(Htage.

to repel foreign invasion ; wlien litorary ocfupa-
tions are discouraged, palaces bui-nt, monasteries
pillaged, and seats of learning destroyed — it is
then tliat the popular, or, as they are called,

6the vulgar dialects, which had formed a kind
of undercurrent, rise heneath the crystal surface
of the literary language, anu sweep away like
the waters in spiing the cumbrous formations
of a bygone age. In more peaceful times a

10 new and popular literature springs up in a
language which seems to have been formed by
conquests or revolutioii?., but which in reality
had been growing up long before and was only
brought out ready made by historical events.

15 From this point of view we can see that no
literary language can ever be said to have been
the "mother" of another language. As soon
as a language loses its unbounded capability of
change, its carelessness about what it throws

20 away, and its readiness in always supplying
instantaneously tho wants of mind and heart,
its natural life is changed into a merely arti-
ficial existence. It may still live on for a long
time but, while it seems to be the leading

25 shoot, it is in reality but a broken and withering
branch slowly falling from the stock from
which it sprang.

The sources of Italian ire "o: to be found
in the classical literature oi ivome but in the

» W

FiXOLisH Spefch.

140

IK)|.ular (lialocts of Ituly. English did not
"pi-iug from the Anglo-Saxon of Wt^ssex only,
but from the dialtTts spoken in every part of
(Ireat Britaiu, distinguished l.y local peculiarities
and modified at different times by the influence 3
of Latin, Danish, Noiinan, French, and otliei-
foreign elements. Some of the local dialects of
England, as spoken at the present day, are of
great importance for a critical study of English.
Hindustani is not the "daughter" of Sanskrit w
as we find it in the Vedas, or iu the later
literature of the Brahmaus; it is a branch of
the living speech of India, springing fi-om the
same stem from which Sanskiit sprang wheu
it first assumed its literary independence. a

— KKIKURICH MAX ML'LUCR.

ii i

ENGLISH SPEECH.

Give me, of every language, first my \ igorous Englis}.,
Stored with imported wealth, ri.-h in its natural mines,
Grand in its rhythjnical cadence, simple for houseJiold

employment,
Worthy the poet's song, fit for the speech of man.

Not from one metal alone the perfectest mirror is shapen, 20
Nor from one color is built the rainlx)w's aerial bridge :
Instruments blending together yield the divinest of music,
Out of myriad of dowers sweetest of honey is drawn.

<*Ti •K.'UML wr_-. lar-i:"

150

English Speech.

mi ,|

Il '

So unto thy close HtreriKth is wclJed and l)eaten together
Iron du« from the North, ductile gold from tlie South;
So unto thy broad stream the ite-torrents horn in the
mountains

Hush, and tlie rivers pour, brimming with sun from the
plains.

5 Thou hast the sharp clean Vcfg^ and the downright blow
of the Saxon ;

Thou the majestical march and stately i)omp n( the
Latin ;

Thou the euphonious swell, the rhythmical roll of the

Gr«?ek ;
Thine is the elegant suavity caught from sonorous Italian;
Thine the chivalrit; olieisance, the courteous grace of the

Norman ;
lOThine the Teutonic German's inl>orn guttural strength.

Raftered by firm-laid conujiiants, windowed by opening
vowels,

Thou securely art built free to the sun and the air ;
Over thy feudal battlements trail the wild tcjidrilsof fancy
Where in the early morn warbled our earliest birds.
15 Science looks out from thy watch-tower, love whispers in
at thy lattice,
While o'er thy bastions wit flashes its glittering sword.

Not by coTuption rotted nor slowly by ages degraded
Have the sharp consonants gone crumbling away from
our words ;

Virgin and clean is their edge like granite blocks
chiselled by Egypt,

it as when Shakespeare and Milton laid them in
glorious verse.

Enomhh Speech.

151

Fittwl for rx.-ry nso like a prmf nmjoshCal rivor.
Blending thy varions stroa.ns stately tl.ou flowe^t' along
lJ«-a.inK the white winged ship of P.K'My over thy Jwmom
Urlen with spicos that eotne out of the tropical isles,
Faney's pleasuring yacht with its bright and (luttering'l
iM'riiKins,

r>.gic'.s frigates of war, and tlie toil worn Imrges of trade.

How art thou freely olK'.lient unto the po,.t or speaker

When in a happy hour thought into sp h he translates !

Caught on the word's sharp angles flash the bright hues
of his fancy ;

Grandly the th..ught rides the words as a g.Hj<l horse- lo
nian his steed.

Now dear, pure, har.i, bright, an<l one by one like to
hailstt)nes

Short wonis fall from his lips fast as the first of a
shower ;

Now in a two-fold cohinin. Spondee, Tan.b, and Troctiee,
Unbroke, firm-set, advance, retreat, trampling along;
Now with a sprightlier springiness, bounding in tripli- w
cate syllables,

Dance the elastic Dactylics in musical cadences on ;
Now, their voluminous coil intertangling like huge
anacondas,

Roil averwheimingly onward the ses.juifK-dalia.i words.

Flexile and free in thy gait and simple iu all thy con-
struction,

Yielding to every turn, thou bearest thy rider along : »

Now like our hackney or draught horse .stTviug our
commonest uses,

Now bearing grandly the poet Pegasus-like to the sky.

%iJ,Ji.lf^L

152

English Speech.

Thou art not prisoned in ftxod rultw, thou art no slave

to a gminmiir ;
Thoj art an engle uncagtxl, Hcorniny tlio |M'n;h uixl tlio

chain.
Hafist thou been fetterwl and formaliztwl tliuu Iiudst

Ix'cn tamer and wcakor :
How could tfio jKMjr shivo walk with thy ^'rand freedom

•f gait?
Al«t, then, grarnmariana rail and Jet foreignei-H nigh fi»r

thy 8igii-ix>KtH,
Wandering lost iu thy maz«!, thy wilds ot magnificent

growth ;

Call thee incongruous, wild, ^ t rule and of reason defiant ;
I in thy wildness a grand froHtloin of oharac-ter find.
So with irregular outline tower up the sky-piercing

mountains
10 Rearing o'er yawniiii: chasms lofty pre<!ipitous steeps,
Spreading o'er ledges undimbaMe meadows and /opes

of green smo<ttha»'>s,
Bearing the flowers in their clefts, losing their peaks in

the clouds.

»<

Therefore it is that I praise tht» and never can cease

from rejoicing,
Thinking that good stout English is mine and my

ancestors' tongue ;
15 Give mo its varying music, the flow of its free modulation,
I will not covet the full roll of the gloiious Greek,
Luscious and feeble Italian, I^itin sm frsiinal and st«t-"ly,
French with its nasal lisp, nor n.man inverted and

harsh :

Tr?K KvuLiHir LANfji'AOE. ir>3

Not whilo our ortiim tan H,H.Hk w,i|, its ,„any- uw\ H.,fi-
dcrful voiw'H,

Play on tl.« soft fluto of lovo, blow th« luu.l t.uii.iH.t of
war,

«ing with tho liigh «,.M.juialrn,, or, .Iniwin^, its fuU
cJiujta.s<in,

Shako all tl.H ttii- with tlu, g,,u»i .st,„„i of its p,,,JaI«,
aiid Htop.s.

- Wir l.\M \V|. T.MUKK srohv.

THE ENGLISH ..AMQUAGfi.

Now gathf-r all on, Hax.m I,.,,!., j,., harps a,„l hoart.s 5

l>e 8' niiu

To eelebrak, the trimnj,.,, of u.,r ow„ g.H.l Sax.,,, tongue;
For, . stronger fur than ho«t.s that manh with haitu-tlaKM
unfurh'il.

It g«x.H with Fhukmom, Tho, :.iHT, an.) Tkut.i to rou.se
and r^ile flit! wtald.

.Stout Albion i.-arns its househol.l lays on every Murf-wurn
shore,

And Scotlan.l h.-ars its echoin- far as Orkney's I,reaker>

Hid

roar

Fnm Jura's tTuifs and AFona's hills ii, (\,
gale

A id warms with eUjuence and s..n.' li,, h,.iu,- .' -
fail.

<m'< on every

ini.s-

n man^ a wi.ie and swarming ! ...k ,t M-at.'s the rough
wave's f-rt'st

Se.^kiug its peerless heritage- the fr- ., an., f.uitfui W

est;

154

The English Language.

It climhs New England's rocky steeds as victor mounts

a throne;
Niagara knows and greets the voice still mightier than

its own.

It spreads where winter piles deep snows on bleak

Canadian plains
And where on EsstMjuibo's banks etcrnul summer reigns;
filt glads Acadia's misty coasts, Jamjiica's glowing isle,
And bides where, guy with eaily (lowers, „'reen Texan

prairies smile ;
It tracks the loud swift Oregon through sunset valleys

rolled
And soars where Califoruiau brooks wash down their

sards of gold.

It sounds in Borneo's camphor groves, on seas of fierce

Malay,
10 In fields that curb old Ganges' flood, and towers of

proud Bombay ;
It wakes up Aden's flashing eyes, dusk brows, and swarthy

limbs ;
The dark Liberian soothes her child with English cradle

hymns.

Tasmania's maids are wooed and won in gentle Saxon
speech j

Australian boys read Crusoe's life by Sydney's sheltered
beach ;

15 It dwells where Afric's southmost capes meet oceans
broad and blue
And Nieuveld's rugged mountains gird the wide and
waste karroo.

The English Language. 155

It kindles realms so far apart that, while its praise you
sing, ^

These may 1m, dad with autumn's fruits and those with
flowers of spring ;

Tt quickens lands whose meteor lights flame in an Arctic
sky

And lands for which the Southern Cross hangs its
oio^ fires on high.

It goes with all that prophets told and righteous kings 6
desired, —

'Vith all that great apostles taught and glorious Greeks
admired, —

With Shakespeare's <leep and wondrous verse and Milton's
loftier mind, —

With Alfred's laws and Newton's lore,_to cheer and
bless mankind.

Mark, as it spreads, how deserts bloom and error flies
away

As vanishes the mist of night before the star of day ! lo
But, grand as are the victories whose monum«;r.ts we see
These are but as the dawn which speaks of noontide yet

to l>e.

Take heed, then, heirs of Saxon fame f take heed nor
once disgrace

With deadly pen or spoiling sword our noble tongue
and race.

Go forth prepared in every clime to love and help eachifi
other

counsel strife would

I-

smite— a brother.

you

|:i

156

The Apology of Socrates.

Go forth and jointly speed tlie time by grMwI men
prayod for long

Wlion Christian states prown just and wise will scorn
revenge and wrong,

When Eartli's oppressed and savage tribes sliall cease
to pine or roani,

All taught to prize these English words — Faith, Free-
dom, Heavex, and Home.

—J. O. LV0N8.

THE APOLOGY OF SOCRATES.

5 You will, O Athenians, gain little time by
incurring from those who wish to defame the
city the reproach of having put a wise man,
Socrates, to death : for they who wish to
<lefame you will call me wise though I am

10 not. If yon had waited but a shoi't time my

death would have taken place in the course

of nature, for, as you see, my life is far

advanced and its end is near.

Not to all of you, but to those only who

whave voted for my death, do I speak thus.
To them I have this further to say: Perhaps
you think that T was convicted through lack
of arguments, and that I might have been
acquitted had I thought fit to leave nothing

20 unsaid or undone to bring that about. The
case is far otherwise. I have been convicted,

The Apology of Socrates.

157

not through lac', ^f arguments, l)iit ])o.'ause I
was (lofioient ip ^oldjiess and in shamolossness
and in willingn- .-, to plead in a mannfu- tha.
would have been .t.^eeable to you, weeping an(
lamenting, and doing and saying many other &
things which, -. . I have told you, are un-
worthy of mo, though you have been accus-
tomed to hear thein from others.

I thought in the hour of danger that I
should not do anything unbecoming a freeio
man, and I do not now repent of the maimer
in which I defended myself; for I would
rather die after su(^h a defence than live on
such conditions as you prefer. Neither in
trial nor in battle is it right that I or anyia
other person should be willing to resort to
every possible means to avoid death; Often
in battle a man may save his life ]»y laying down
his arnis and casting himself on the mercy
of the enemy; and in other kinds of danger, 20
if one IS willing to say and do anything,
he may similarly escape.

It is not difficult, men of Athens, to avoid
death ; it is much harder to keep out of the
way of depravity, for that runs more swiftly 25
than death. Being old and slow of move-
ment I h«ve been overtaken by the slower
of ^ the two ; though they are strong and
quick, my accusers have been overtaken by

Ilk

I uii

^jrP^WCr^^

158

The Apology of Soceates.

the swifter pursuer. And now I go away con-
demned by you to suffer the penalty of death ;
they depart condemned by truth to undergo
the penalty of wickedness and injustice. I
5 must abide by my sentence; let them abide by
theirs. These things are no doubt decreed by
fate, and in my opinion they are for the best.
And now to you who have condemned me
T have something to say regarding the future,

10 for as I am aboiit to die I have arrived at
the time when men become gifted with pro-
phetic power. I tell you, O Athenians, who
have decreed my d' dth, that immediately after-
ward a punishment far more severe than that

15 which you have inflicted on me will come
upon you. You have taken this course desir-
ing to be free for the time to come from the
necessity of giving any account of your lives;
but the very opposite of this is what will

20 happen.

More ! merous will be your accusers, whom I
have until now restrained so that you have not
noticed them. Inasmuch as they are younger
they will be more severe and you will be more

w indignant at them. If you think that by put-
ting men to death yon will hinder any one
from censuring you because you do not live
righteously you are mistaken. This way of
escape is neither possible nor honorable; the

The Apology of Socrates.

159

easiest and most honorable course for you is
not to restrain others but to be yom-selves
as perfect as possible. Having foretold this
to those of you wlio condemned me I am
now done with you. ^

With those of you who have voted for my
acquittal I would ft-ludly converse on what has
now happened, while the magistrates are busy
and before I am taken to the place where I
must die. Stay then a while with me, form
as long as we are permitted to do so noth-
ing need hinder oiu- conversing together. To
you, as my friends, I wish to make known
the meaning of what has just occurred.

To me, O my judges— for by this nam^ Iw
rightly call you— a strange thing has hap-
pened. The familiar prophetic sign of my
supernatural monitor has hitherto constant!-
opposed me even in the most trifling matters
if I was about to make any mistake; but now 20
when, as you see, that which is generally re-
garded as the greatest of all evils has come
upon me, the oracle offered no opposition either
as I left my home in the morning, or on my way
to this place of trial, or while I was about to say 25
anything in the com-se of my address. Though
on other occasions it has frequently restrained
me in the middle of my speech, yet in this
proceeding it haa never opposed me in what

■i II

t1 'i

160 Thk Ai'olo(j^y of S()("uate8.

I did or what I said. Wliat tlioti df> I take to
1)0 tho cause of this ? I will toll you : what
has happened to mo iimst bo a good, and it
is impossible that those of us who tliiiik death
3 to be an evil are correct in their oi>inion.
What has hapi)ened is strong pioot' of this, for
the usual sign would c«'i-tainly have opposjnl
rae if I had not been about to obtain some
good.

10 On another vievy of tho matter we shall find
reason for the hope that death is a })0()n. To
die signifies one t)f two things: either the dead
pass into a state of nothingness and entire
unconsciousness, or theie is a change and

15 transfer of the soul from this to some other
place. Now if there is no consciousness, but
a condition like tlio sleep of him who is not
affected l)y dreams, de; h will l»e a wonder-
ful gain. For if one were to select a night in

20 which he slept so soundly as to have had no
dream at all, and wore to tell us how many days
and nights he had passed more pleasantly than
it, I think that even tho great . ; >j himself,
not to say a i)rivate person, w -lUl (ind them

2.5 easy to number in comparison Wilii the other

days and nights. If, therefore, death is like

this I say it is a gain, for all futurity would

thus appear no longer than a single night.

But if, ou tho other hand, death is a trans-

The Apology of Socrates. 161

fer to another plaoo, and if all the dead are
there, what good, O judges, oun bo greater than
this? For if a person, after having been
delivered from those who pretend to be
judges here, is to find ou his arrival in Hades a
those true judges who are said to admmister
justice there— Minos and Rhadamauthus and
Aeacus and Triptolemus and other demigods
who were righteous in this life— wiU this be a
pad transition? Wliat would one not give tow
hold converse with Orph(His and Musaeus and
Hesiod and Homer? If this be true let me
at least die over and over again, for to me a
place of sojoui-n would be of wonderful interest
where I should meet with Palamedes, withw
Ajax the son of Telanion, and with other ancient
heroes who died through unjust sentences.

To compare my sufferings witL theirs would,
in my opinion, be no unpleasing occupation;
but the greatest delight would be to spend my 20
time in questioning and examining there as I
have done here, and in discovering who is wise
and who fancies himself to be so but is not.
What -would not one give, judges, to have
a chance to question him who led the great 25
army against 'i'roy, or Odysseus, or Sisyphus,
or thousands of others both men and women
whom one might mention I To converse and
associate with these and to ask them questions

162

The Apolooy of Kocuates.

would 1)0 infinito happiness, uiid assuro<lly the
judge.j do not thoro coinlcmu one to death
for doing so. Not ouly are the dtuid hu]»j)ier in
other respects there tlian we are liere but, if

»what is said of them is true, they will hence-
forth be immortal.

Therefore, O judges, entertain good hopes
with respect to death, and acce[)t this as a
truth, that no evil can att'ect a good man either

10 while he is alive or after ho is dead; nor are
his affairs neglected l»y the gods. What has
befallen mo is not the effect of chance, for it
is clear to me that to die now and be free
from trouble is better for me; that is why no

15 sign was given to turn me from my course.
For this reason I bear no anger against those
who accused or those who condemned me
though they deserve to bo blamed for doing
so with intent to injure me.

ao This favor, however, I ask of them: when
my sons are gi-own up, O judgt;s, punish them
by disturbing tluMii as I have disturbed you, if
they appear to care for riches or for anything
else more than for virtue; and if they think

25 themselves something when they are really
nothing, reproach them as I have reproached
you for not caring for what they ought to
care for, and with thinking they are something
when they are really worth nothing. If you

The Death of Socrates. 163

do this, botli I and my soils shuU have m-eived
justice at your hands.

But now it is time to ^u honro, ] to die and
you to hve; which is the hotter fate (Jod
alone knows.

— PIMTO.

THE DEATH OF SOCRATES.

"For these tvasons a man should be confident
about his soul if durin^^ his lifetime he disre-
gards all the pleasures and ornaments of the
body as foreign to his nature and likely to do
him more ha.Tu than good, strives to acquireio
knowledge and to adorn his soul with her own
proper ornaments-tem],eran<.e and justice and
fortitude and free<lom and truth, and thus
awaits his journey to the other world as one
who IS ready to dei>art when fate shall sum- ,5
mon him. You and all others will have to
depart each at his own time; 'me,' as a
tragedian would say, 'the voice of destiny
now summons.' "

men he had thus spoken, Crito said, "8020
be It, Socrates, but what commands have you
10 give any of us, either about your children
or about any other matter regarding which we
may best serve you ? "

"Nothing new, Crito," he answered, «only«
that, as I have always said, by taking care of

t i

:i'

h I

164

The Dfath of Socrates.

yourselves yoii will render a service to both
me and mine a.s well as yourselves, even
though you do not now make any promises.
But if you negloct yourselv«'s and will not

..adopt the manner of life of which I have
lioth to-day and heretofore spoken, you will
accomplish nothing however numerous and
earnest your promises may be."

" We will strive to do so," said Crito ; " but

whow do you wish to be buried?"

"Just as you please," he replied, "if only
you can catch me, and I do not escnjw from you."
And then smiling gently and looking round on
us he said : " I (cannot persuade Crito, my

16 friends, that I am the same Socrates who has
been conversing with you and putting his
arguments in a systematic f<»rra. He thinks I
am that Socrates whom he will soon see as a
dead body, and he asks how he should bury

30 me. The arguments which I have made use of
to prove that after I have drunk the poison I
shall no longer remain with you but shall
depart to some happy state of the blessed, thus
endeavoring to ''onsole both you and myself,

Mseem to have had no effect upon him. Be, there-
fore, my sureties to him now as he was my
surety to the judges, but in a very different
way: he undertook that I would remain, but
you must be sureties to him that when I die

The Death op Socrateh. 165

I shall not remain but takf^ my dopartnre.
Onto will thus more easily bear it, and when
he sees my b<Kly burnt or buried ho will not
grieve over me as if I suffero,! some dr.»adful
thing, or say at my fun.Mal tliat it is Socrates «
who is laid out, or l><)rne to tho grave, or
burie<l in it. For bo assured, Onto, such ineor-
nu't language not only is wrong in itself but
also does hann to the soul. Be of good i-our-
age, then, and say that it is only my body youio
are burning. Do with it as you ..lease and
as is customary."

Then the officer of tho Eleven oamo in and
standing close to him said: "I know, Socrates,
that I shall not have to find fault with you asi»
I have with others wlio are angry with me
and curse me when by oi-der of the magis-
trates I bid them drink tho poison. During
your time here 1 have found you the noblest,
gentlest, and best of all that ever came to this*
place. I am sure, therefore, that you will not
be angry with me, but will blame those who,
as you know, have done you this wrong. And
now farewell, for you know what I have come
to tell you; tiy to bear as easily as possible 25
what is inevitable," and bursting into tears he
turned and went away.

Socrates looking after him said : " Fare you
well also; I wiU do as you dii-ect." Then

'! I

166

The DeaiH op Socrates.

turning to us ho a<l<l«'«l: " IIovv courteous the
man is! Durinj^ my wholo tune hero i(e has
tjeen visiting nif; soinetiincs ho has coiiverseii
with me, and has proveil hinisolt' tho kiniU^st

.'•of mon; soo how synipathotiiuiUy ho sorrows

for mo now ! But ooTn»». C/rito, let us ohoy

him; let the poison \m brought if it is already

prepared; if not, lot th.? man prepare it."

Then Crito said: "I think the sun is still

won the mountains; it has not yet set. I know
that others have t.ikon the poison vory late,
have oaten and drunk heartily, and havo even
enjoyed the company of their associates after
t]:ie announcomont has been made. Do not

?5 hasten, thet., i'or there is yet time."

Socrnl's p r-vor-^d: "Those men, (^rito, of

whom
for tl:

just f: ':.'

20 would <j:.j
little later

naturally act in this way,
" ^^11 gain by so doing; I
.11 not do so, for I think 1
_; by diinking the poison a
t</ appear to myself ridicu-
lous in being so fond and so sparing or a life
that is already gone. Go then and do as I
have requested."
25 Crito on hearing this made a sign to the
servant who went out and, after being absent
for some time, came back with the man whose
duty it was to administer the poison which,
already prepared, he earned in a cup. When

Tiei; I)r\Trr ay SornATES. 167

Sormtes saw l.iui ho suM. "My g<H>,l frioml,
Hs you aiv skiih'.l iu tli..,so nuittors tull mo
what 1 must <1(-."

"Nothiri^r," 1... „j,i.]^ "oxcopt to walk i.l)Out
after you hav.- .h-.iuk th.' ],ois..n until yours
l<>«s f.M.l iM^avy; th.-u lio clowu aiul it will 'tako
effect. "

At the saino tJKi.' ho lianrlod the oup to
8oerates who, taking it .'hoorrully without
tromor or chai.gM of couuteuanee and looking lo
steadfastly at the man o« his custom was,
hiCiuired: "What say you to pounng a libatioii
from this eup to any of the gods f Is it
allowable o?- not ? "

"Wo ]>roparo. Soorato^. oj.ly so mueli as weii
think the right (piantity to <lrink," he an-
swered.

"f understand you," said Socrates, "but it
is certainly not merely permissible but a
matter of duty lo pray to the gods that my«,
journey to the other woi-ld may be prosperous:
this is my ])rayoi-, and may it bo graute<l"

As he said this he put tho cup to his lips
and calmly and cheerfully drank its contents.
Thus far most, of us had },eon ablo to refrain 25
from weeping, but when we saw him drinking
and that he liad linished tho draught we could
do so no loj-ger. In spite of all I could do my
own tears flawed fast, so that covering my face

tti

168

The Death of Socrates.

« i ■

I wept, not for him but because of my own
misfortune in being deprived of such a friend.
Even before I broke down, Crito unable to
restrain his tears had moved away, and

eApollodorus who had never ceased weeping

burst out in a agony of grief which pierced

the heart of all present except Socrates himself.

"What strange conduct is this, my friends?"

he said. "I sent the women away chiefly to

10 prevent a scene of this kind, for I have heard
that a man should die in silence. Calm your-
selves, therefore, and keep your composure."

When we heard this we were ashamed and
restrained our tears. He walked about until,

15 as he said, his legs began to feel heavy, and
then he lay down on his back as he had been
directed to do. The man who had given him
the poison examined his feet and legs from time
to time. Pressing one foot hard he asked him

20 whether he felt it, and he said he did not. After
that he pressed his legs higher and higher,
showing us that he was growing cold and stiff.
Then Socrates felt himself and remarked that
when the poison reached his heart all would

25 be over. As he was growing cold about the
lower part of the body he uncovered his face
and said, speaking for the last time : " Crito,
I owe a cock to Asclepius; do not neglect to
pay the debt."

1^^

w:^M^

^m~

Thanatopsis. 169

"It shall be done," said Crito; "have you
anything else to say?"

To this question Socrates made no reply, but
shortly afterward a movement was noticed,' and
when the man uncovered him his eyes we.-e 5
fixed. Crito, seeing this, closed his mouth and
his eyes.

Such was the end of our friend, whom we
may truly call the best man of his time that
we have known and also the wisest and the 10
most just.

—PLATO.

THANATOPSIS.

To HIM who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms she speaks
A various language : for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings with a mild
And healing sympathy that steals away
Their sharpness ere he is aware.

Wlien thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony and shroud and pall
And breathless darkness and the narrow house
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart,
Qo forth under the open sky and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around—

i ^i

If-

I.!

170

Thanatopsis.

|:^

ffr

Earth and her waters and the depths of air —

Comes a still voice : Yet a few days and theo

The all-beholding sun shall see no more

In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground

Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,

Nor in the embrace of ocean shall exist

Thy image.

Earth that nourished thee shall claim
Thy growth, to be rtsol'^d to e.".rth again;
And, lost each human tr;ice, surrendering up
Thine individual Ixiing shalt ^hou go
To mix forevir '. ith the element >< —
To be a brother to the insensible rock.
And to the sluggish clod which tlij rude swain
Turns with his share and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad and pierce thy mould.

Yet not Lo thine eternal resting-place

Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish

Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down

With patriarchs of the infant woild — with kings,

The powerful of the earth — tlie wise, the good —

Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past.

All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills

Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, the vales

Stretching in pensive quietness between,

The \enerable woods, rivers that move

In majesty, and the complaining brooks

That make the meadows green, and, poured round all,

Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste —

Are but the solemn decorations all

Or the great tomb of man.

Thanatopsis.

171

The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are sJiining on tiie sad abodes of death
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the trilje.s
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings
Of morning and the Barcan desert pierce,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound
Save his own dashings-yet the dead are there;
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid thf ra down
In their last sleep- the dead reign there alone.

So Shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments and shall come
And make their l>ed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of laen—
The youth in life's green spring and he who gcjes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid.
The bowed with ago, the ii.fant in the smiles
And beauty of its innocent age cut off—
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those who in their turn shall follow them.

So live that, when thy summons comes to join
The ianumerable caravan which movea

!■

172 Address to an Egyptian Mummy.

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.

— Wn.l.lAM Ct'LLKN BRVANT.

ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY.

And thou hast walked about (how strange a story!)
In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago,
10 When the Memnonium was in all its glory
And time had not begun to overthrow
Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous
Of which the very ruins are tremendous!

Speak ! for thou long enough hast acted dummy

15 Thou hast a tongue, come let us hear its tune ;
Thou'rt standing on thy legs above ground, mummy !

Revisiting the glimpses of the moon:
Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures,
But with thy bones and flesii and limbs and features.

80 Tell us— for doubtless thou canst recollect-
To wliom should we assign the Sphinx's fame?
Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect

Of either pyramid that bears his name ?
Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer?
25 Had Thebes a hundred gates as sung by Homer 'i

Addeess to an Egyptian Mummy. 173

Perchance that very hand now pinioned flat

Has hob-a.nobb'd with Pharoah glass to glass
Or dropp'd a halfpenny in Homer's hat,

Or doflfd thine own to let Queen Dido pass,
Oi held by Solomon's own invitation

A torch at the great temple's dedication. '

I need not ask thee if that hand when arm'd

Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuckled
For thou wert dead and buried and embalm'd

Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckld ;
Antiquity appears to have begun
Ix)ng after thy primeval race was run.

Thou couldst develop, if that withered tongue

Might tell us what those .sightless orbs have seen

How the world look'd when it wa.s fresh and young
And the great Deluge still had left it green •

Or WM it then so old that history's pages

Contain'd no record of its early ages ?

Still silent? incommunicative elf!

Art sworn to secrecy ? then keep thv vows •
But prithee tell us something of thyself—

Reveal the "secrets of thy prison-hou.se >"
Since m the world of .spirits thou hast sh^mber'd
What hast thou seen-what strange adventures number'd?
Since first thy form was in this box extended ^

We have above ground .seen some strange mutations:
liie Roman empire has begun and ended

New worlds have risen-we have los't old nations,
And countless kings have into dust been humbled
Whilst not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled. „

fil

>:■■-

174 Address to an Eoyptian Mfmmy.

Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head

Wlien the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses,

Marched aru.its o'er thy tomb with thundering tread,
Overtlirew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis,
5 And shook tlie Pyramids with fear and wonder

When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder ?

If the tomb's secrets may not be confess'd
The nature of thy private life unfold ;
A heart has throbb'd beneath that leathern breast
10 And tears adown that dusky cheek have roll'd ;

Have children cliinb'd those knees and kiss'd that face?
What was thy name and station, age and race?

Statue of fle^h — immortal of the dead !

Imperishable type of evanescence !
15 Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow lied

And standest undecay'd within our presence,
Thou wilt hear nothing till the judgment morning.
When the great trump shall thrill thee with its warning!

Why should this worthless tegument endure
20 If its undying g-.'est be lost for ever ?

Oh, let us keep the soul embalm'd and pure

In living virtue that, when both must sever,
Although corruption may our frame consume
The immortal spirit in the skies may bloom !

-HORACE KMITII.

" The d.-irkest chiy in any miin's earthly career is that wherein
he firs.i fancies that there is .some easier way of gaining a dol-
lar than by sc]uarely earning it. He has lost the olue to his
way tl,roHgh this mortal labyrinth and must henceforth wander
as chuncu may dictate."

'-OrteUji.

r.T-a-x-T*"

MOETAUTY.

175

MORTALITY

Oh, why should tho spirit of mortal be proud t
Like a fast-flitting nieteor, a swift-Hying cloud,
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave'
Man passes from life to hi.s rest in the grave.

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, |

Be scattered around, and together \>e laid ;
And the young and the old and the low and tho high
Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie.

The child that a mother attended and loved,
The mother that infant's affection that proved, n

The husband that mother and infant that blessed.
Each— all are away to their dwelling of rest.

The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose
eye,

Shone beauty and pleasure-her triumphs are by ;

And the memories of those that have lovetl her and 15

praised
Are alike from the minds of the living erased.

The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne.
The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn,
The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave '
Are hidden and lost in the depth of the grave.

The peasant whose lot was to sow and lo reap,
The herdsman that climlx-d with his goats up tl.e steep,
The beggar that wandered in search of his bread
Have faded away like the graas that we tread.

\i .**

I I'

'1i

^li

Ij.:

it i

176

Mortality.

The saint that enjoyed the communion of Heaven,
The sinner that dan-d to rouiuin uiiforgiven,
The wise and tlie foolish, the guilty and just
Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.

a So the multitude go like the flower and the weed
That wither away to le*^ othei i succeed ;
So the multitude come, ev»)ii those we behold,
To repeat every tale that hath often been told.

For we are the same things that our fathers have been ;
10 We see the same sights that our fathers have seen ;
We drink the same stream and we feel the same sun
And we run the same course that our fathers have run.

The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think ;
From the death we are shrinking from they too would
shrink ;
IsTo the life we are olingintj to they too would cling,
But it speeds for us all like a bird on the wing.

They loved but the story we cannot unfold ;
They scorned but the heart of the haughty is cold ;
They grieved but no wail from their slumbers will come;
20 They joyed but the voice of their gladaess is dumb;

They died — ah ! they died ! and we things that are now,
Who walk on the rurt xhci ies over their brow,
Whc make in ti.fir J-cHiiigs a transient abode,
Meet the things that thev met on their pilgrimage-road.

25 Yea! hope and despo.'; Igr;;., ijjf"<^ure and pain.
Are mingled together iise siuiah < aad rain;
And the ^mile and the t.ear and the song and the dirge
Still follow each other like sur'-^ upon surge.

The Imitation of Christ.

177

T.H the w„.k of u„ .^.e, 'tis tl,„ ,l,,u.,^l.t of a brnath
From tla, hlo.so.n of Ih-uUI. to ti . puLiu-sH of d.-Hfl,
From tl,« gi|,l...l s.!oo,i to tl.o Imr an.I tho shroud:'
Oh. why should the spirit of inortnl Ih3 prou.U

— WIU.I.',M KNOX.

THE IMITATION OF CHRIST.

"TTr that followpth ,no walketh not i„ darkness." 5
««ua the I..rd. TIh>so un, tho wonls of Christ, hy which
we an. tau^^ht. to i.uitate His life ,.,.d manners if we
w.mld bo truly enlightened an.l ,ielivere,l from all blin.l-
ness of heart. I.-t, therefore, our chief endeavor be to
meditate upon the life of Jesus Christ. ,0

The doctrine of Christ exceedeth all the doctrines of
holy men, an.l he that hath the spirit will fin.l therein
the hidden manna.

But it falieth out that many, an>eit they often hea.
tae Gos,H>l of Christ, are yet but l.ttle aifect.d Ix^causei.
Miey lutv( not the Spir->, of Christ.

Whos,K.ver, th-n, would fully and feelingly understand
the words of Christ must endeavor to conform his life
wholly to tho life of Christ.

Su^e!y great words do not make a mar. holy and just*
l».t a virtuous life maketh him dear to God.

If thou knewest the whole Bible by heart an.l the
sayings of all the philosophers what would it pro.it thee
without the love of God and without grace?

Vanity of vanities all is vanity, except to love God 25
and Him only to serve.

This is the highest wisdom : by contempt of the
wond to tend toward the kingdom of Heaven,

178

The Imitation op Ciiuist.

It is therefore vunity to «fk aft»;r |>»'nsliiii;? riches
and tu trutit iii theui.

It is ulso vanity to Ntrivo after hoiiorH hikI to clitiilt
to high flegnje.
a It is vanity to defiiro to Iiv<' lori;,' it'i'l not t^» cure ti»
live well.

It is vanity to niiiid only this present life and not
to make provision for those tiling-^ which an- to come.

It i" vanity to hive that which spi.-fhly jia»-ctli away
10 and not to hapten thither where evt rhi^lin^ ji>y awaitctli
thee.

Ghiry not in wealth if thou have it, nor in frirnd-*
becaii.se tney are powerful, hut in («o<l who j^iveth all
things, and wlio de^ireth to give tlie<- Himself alto\e
13 all things.

Rstetun not thyself for the lieight of thy stature nor
for the lieauty of thy person, whi<h may he <ii^tigurerl
and destroyed by a little sickness.

Esteem not thyself l)etter than others, lest [)erhaps
20in the .sight of (Jod, who knoweth whan is in ni.m, thon
be accounted wor.se than they.

Be not proud of well doinj^, for the ju'li,'ment of G<k1
is far ditl'erent from the judgment of men, and that
often ofTendetli Him which plea-seth them.
25 Flv the tumult of the world as mach as thou canst,
for the treating of worldly affairs is a great hinrlrance
although it be don<! with a sincere intention : for we
are quickly defiled and enthralli'd by \anity.

Endeavor to be patient in In-aring with the defects
30 and infirmities of others, of what sort soever they may
be: for that thy.self also hast many failings which must
be borne with by others. -thomas a kkmpis.

Kino Robekt of Sic

ILY.

179

KING ROBERT OF SICILY.

Robert at Sirily, l,rotli,.r „f p,,,«. r.lwiru,

And Valiu,„„| ICnjH.ior ,.f Allfinai,,,.,

ApiMin'll.'fl in nm^nificc'Mt nttir.',

With n-tuu... nf nuiuy a k,.i^.l,t'a,„| >..,ui,n

On Ht. J„lm*s evo ut v,..s,H.r.s pp. u.lly sat

And hmnl tl.o pri-sts chaub tlu, Mag,.ifirat, •

And as I.e list..,,,-!, nW and o'..,- ayain

Rep,.af.'d liko a burden or refrain,

He can«ht the wonLs, «« I),.,H,suit i^tente,

lie sedo, et exaltavit humil..s,"

And .sh.wly lifting up his i<i,iy|y i„.^,j

He to a lear.HHj rlerk U'side him said:

" What^^^ nu.a,. these wonjs?" The ,.|..,.k n.a.Ie answer

"He h,i.s put down the mighty fn.,., M.eir .seat
And hcs exahe.l them of |„vv .Jegrw."
Thereat King Rohrrt mutt,.re<i seo. , . fully ■
■-'Tis well that sueh scditiuus wonls are sun^
Only by priests and i„ the I^tin tongu.-
For unto priests an.J peoj.le U. it know,,'
There is no power can push mo from my throne r"
And leaning hark he yawned and foil asleep.
Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep.

When ho awoke it was already night,

The chun-h was empty, arul there was no light

Save where the lan.ps that glin.mere.! few and faint

Lighted a little space before some saint

He started from his seat and gazcl around

But saw no living thing and heard no sound

tw.

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180

Kino Robert of Sicily.

He groped towards the door but it was locked j
He cried aloud and listened and then knrK-ked
And uttered awful threatenings and complaints
And imprecations upon men and saints.
6 The sounds reechoed from the roof and walls
As if dead priests were lau^^hmg in their stalls.

At length the sexton, hearing from without

The tumult of the knocking and the shout,

And thinking thieves were in the house gf prayer,

10 Came with his lantern asking, "Who is there?"
Half-choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said,
"Open: 'tis I, the King! Art thou afraid?"
The frightened sexton, muttering with a curse
" This is some drunken vagabond or worse I

15 Turned the great key and flung the portal wide;
A man rushed by him at a single stride,

• Haggard, half-naked, without hat or cloak.
Who neither turned nor looked at him nor spoke,
But leaped into the blackness of the night

20 And vanished like a spectre from his sight

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane
And Valmond Emperor of Allemaine,
Despoiled of his magnificent attire
Bareheaded breathless and besprent with mire,

25 With sense of wrong and outrage desperate.
Strode on and thundered at the palace gat«,
Rushed through the courtyard thrusting in his rage
To right and left each seneschal and page,
And hurried up the broad and sounding stair,

SO His white face ghastly in the torches' glare.

King Robert of Sicily. 181

From hall to hull ho piissed with breathless speed.
Voices and cries he htvird but did not heed,
Until at last he reached the banquet-room
Blazing with light and breathing with perfume.

There on the dais sat another king
Wearing his robes his crown his signet-ring,
King Robert's self in features form and height
But all transfigured with angelic light!
It was an Angel, and his presence there
With a c'vine effujgence filled the air,
An exaltatio n piercing the disguise
Though none the hidden angel recognize.

A moment speechless motionless amazed

The tJironeless monarch on the Angel gazed.

Who met his look of anger and surprise ;

With the divine compassion of his eyes.

Then said, "Who art thou? and why com'st thou herer

To which King Robert answered with a sneer,

"I am the King and come to claim my own

From an iniposter who usurps my throne!" |

And suddenly at these audacious words

Up sprang the angry guests and drew their swords;

The Angel answered with unruffled brow,

"Nay, not the King but the King's jester; thou

Henceforth shalt wear the b&Hs and scalloped cape a

And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape;

Thou shalt o! - njy servants when they call,

And wait U|.un my henchmen in the hall!"

Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers
They thrust him from the haU and down the stairs; a

182

King Robert of Sicily.

f ^'

A group of tittering pages ran before
And, as they opened wide the fold i tig-door,
His lieart failed for he heard with strange alarms
The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms,
5 And all the vaulted chamljer roar and riii<'
"With the mock plaudits of "Long live the King!"

Next morning, waking with the day's first beam,
He said within himself, " It was a dream ! "
But the straw rustled as he turned his head,

10 There were the cap and bells beside his bed,
Around him rose tho bare discolored walls.
Close by the steeds were chaoiping in their stalls,
And in the corner, a revolting shape.
Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape.

16 It was no dream ; the world he loved so much
Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch I

Days came and went, and now returned again
To Sicily the old Saturn ian reign.
Under the Angel's governance Iwnign
20 The happy island danced with corn and wine.
And deep within the mountain's burning breast
Euceladus the giant was at rest.

Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate,
Sullen and silent and disr -olate.

25 Dressed in the motley gai , chat jesters wear,
With look bewildered and a vacant stare.
Close shaven above the ears as monks are shorn,
By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn,
His only friend the ape, his only food

aoWhat wthera left, — he still was unsubdued;

King RonKirr of Si-ily. 183

Aiul, wlipn (he Aiigol uwt liim on liis way
Am], lialf in eairi.vst lialf in jest, w„ul<l say
Sternly tlH)ii<,'li tenderly tliat lin nnght feel
Tlie velvet scal.hani held a swcrd of steel,
" Art thou the Kin-?" the ,,assi.m of his woe
Burst from him in resistless overtlow
"And, liftinir JHgl, l.i., f,„ehead he w.nild fling
The haughty answer back, "I am, I am the King I »

Almost three years were ended when there came

Ambassadors of great rei)ute and name j,

From Valmond Kmj.eror of Allemaino

Unto King Hok-rt, saying that Pope Urbane

By letter summoned them forthwith to come

On Holy Thursday to his city of lionie.

The Angel with great joy received his guests u

And gave them presents of embroidered vesta

And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined

And rings and jewels of the rarest kind.

Then he d.'{)arted with tliem o'er the sea

Into the hnely land of Italy, ^

Whose loveliness was more resplendent made

By the mere passing of that cavalcade

With plumes and cloaks and hua^v^^i and the stir

Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur.

And lo! among the menials, in mock state «

Upon a piebald steed with shambling gait,

His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind.

The solemn ape demurely perched behind,

King Robert rwle making huge merrime.it

In ail the country towns through which thej went »

ill

184

Kino Robert of Sicily.

! '

ji ;

l< -

■'

The Pope receiv«"(l tlicni with grmt pomp and >)lare
Of Imnnered trumpets on Saint Peter's s(juare,
Giving his Ijencdiction and emhrac-o
Fervent and full of apostolic grace.

5 While with congratulations and with prayers
He entertained the Angel unawares,
Robert the jester, buisting through the crowd,
Into their presence rushed and cried aloud,
"I am the King! Look and beiiold in me

10 Robert your brother, King of Sicily!
This man who wears my semblance to your eyes
Is an impostor in a king's disguise.
Do you not know me? does no voice within
Answer my cry and say we are akin?"

16 The Pope in silence but with troubled mien
Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene ;
The Emperor, laughing, said, "It is strange sport
To keep a madman for thy fool at court ! "
And t'.e poor baffled jester in disgrace

20 Was hustled back among the populace.

In solemn state the Holy Week went by.
And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky;
The presence of the Angel with its lig'
Before the sun rose made the city brigh..

25 And with new fervor filled the "learts of men.
Who felt that Christ indeed liad risen again.
Even the jester on hi;, bed of straw
With haggard eyes tl:e unwonted splendor saw;
He felt within a power unfelt before

80 And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor,

'n-.

King R(n^F.RT of Skii.y.

185

He lip.'ird the rushinj^ j,'jiniunls of tlic Lord
Sweep throujih tin' siU'iit air ascfudiiij,' liruvi-iiward.

And now, tlic visit ondini,' mid onco more

V'alnioiid rcttiiiiiiijj; to the l>,iimlM''s sliort',

H<inicward tlic Aiij;cl joiirncvt-d, and aLCaia

'riie land was madf n-sjilcndcnt wiili his train

Flfisliing along tlu? towns of Italy

Unto Siilcrno and from tlifncc hv sea ;

And, when onct! more within Palormn's wall

And seated on the throne in his yn-at hall

He heard the Angehis from convent towers

As if the lx>tt<'r world conversed with ours,

He beckoned to King Roln-rt Ut draw nigher

And with a gesture hade the rest retire;

And when they were alone the Angel said,

"Art thou the King!" Then bowing down his Jiead

King HolHTt crossed both hands upon his breast

And meekly answered him, "Thou knowest best!

My sins as scarlet hit ; let me go h(!nce

And in some cloister's school of penitence

Across thost! stones that pave the way to lieaven

Walk barefoot till my guilty soul be shriven ! "

The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face

A holy light illumined all the place.

And through thi; open windcjw lou<l and clear

They heard tlie monks chant in the chapel near

Above the stir ami tumult of the street,

" He has put down the mighty from their seat

And has exalted them of low degree ! "

And through the cliant a second melody 30

'¥i

1 1

186

Tnr. Vision or Sii; Lainkal.

Rose lik« th(! tlinj])l)iiij,' uf a siiiu'If sfriiiy :
"I am ail Angul, and tlu>u art tlio Kiii',' ! "

Kinj,' IJolM-rt, who was standiti!.' nt'iir tl:o tlifon.^,
Liftt'd liis eves and lo ! lie was aluni-,
6 Hut all api'ari'llfd as in days of old

Willi ennint'd mantle an<l with cluili <.f j.'(.ld,

And wlicn his iduiticrs canit- tiu'V funnd him then'

Kueeling ujion the tlnoi- ahs<jrlM'd in silent piayer.

- IIKNHV W ADSWDIM II I.I iNliKKl.l.OW.

THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL.

I'AKT FIHST.

"My golden spurs now bring to me

And bring to me my richest mail,
For to-morrow I go over land and sea

In search of the Holy C.rail;
Shall never a I^m' ' • — Im^ spreafl,
Nor shall a pillo 'r my hea<l,

Till I liegin my - 'N ^ep ;

Here on the rusht .i I sleej>,

And perchance tliere may come a vision true
Ere day create the world anew.'

Slowly Sir Kiunfal's eyes grew dim,

Sluml)er fell like a cloud on him.
And into his soul the vision t]£\v.

The crows flapped over by twos and threes,
In the pool drowsed the cattle up U) their knees,
The little bird.s sang as if it were
The one day of summer in all the year,

The Vision of Siu Lainfal.

1H7

And tli»' \"V\ leaves scciikmI to Uii on the trees;

Tlie (■(istle iil<»n«> in the iand^i ajH- lav

liike uri <int|M.st of winter, (iull ami ;,'niv :

'Twas the pnnidest hall in tiie North Countree,

And ijever its <{atvs nii),'ht oj)ened Im"

Save to lord or lady of hij,'!! dem'ree ;

Surni.ier Ix-sie^ed it on every .sidt%

But the chuilish st< '.c her assaults defied;

Slie could not scale the chilly wail

Thoufjli round it for leagues her j>a\iliuns tall

Stretched left and right

Over the hills and out of sight ;

Green and broad was everv tent,

And out of each a iniirini'r went
Till the breeze fell oil" at i..,(it.

The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang,
And through the dark arch a charger sprang
Bearing Sir L-iunfal, the maiden kniglit,
In his gilded man that tlanied so bright
It seemed the dark castle had gathered all
Those shafts the Herce sun had shot over its wall

In his siege of three humlred summers long
And, binding them all in one blazing sheaf.

Had cast them forth ; so, young and strong
And lightsome as a locust leaf.
Sir Launfal Hashed forth in his unscaired mail
To seek in all climes for the Holy Grail.

It was morning on hill and stream and tree
And morning ia the young knight's heart;

i I

1H8

The Vihion of Siu Launfal.

Only the custlc iiMMwlily
Ili'liufTiMl the j,'ift of tlin siinsliin*' frc*"
j p*. AikI j;l<M)m(Ml l)y itself aimit ;

TIh^ season hriinineil u!l other tliin}.'s up
5 Full (IS tlu3 mill fills tht» jiitolier plant's eup.

As Sir Lauiifiil ma<le morn throUi,'h tho darksome jjate

He WHS 'waro of a iep-r crotuhecl hy lli« same,
Who '■ 'gj^ed witli liis lianil and moaned as he sate;

And a loathint^ over Sir TiJiunfal came.
10 The sunshine went out of his soul with u thrill,

The liesh 'neath his armor 'gan shrink and crawl,
And midway its leap his heart stood still

Like a frozen waterfall ;
For this man .so foul and bent of stature
15 Kasp<>d harshly ajiainst his dainty nature

And seemed the one hlot on tfie summer uiurn, —
So lie tossed him a piece of gold in scorn.

The i^.or raised not the gold from the dust :
" Better to me the poor man's crust,
80 Better the blessing of the poor

Tliough T turn me empty from his door;
>^ That is no true alms which the hand can hold;
yC* He gives nothing but worthless gold
Who gives from a .sense of duty ;
85 But he who give:-i a slender mite

And gives to that wh.ijh is out of sig) ,

That thread of the ail-sustuining beauty
Which runs through all and doth all unite, —
The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms,
20 The heart outstretches its eager palms,

^■^^sseimi^smw'*3!^r^kM^i:£:kSsmr^'-mi.wsxf

T''E Vision of Siu Lai nfal.

189

For a g<xl jj;(K's with it atxl iimkcH it blfiit'

To the HctuI that was starvinj,' iti rlaikiicH b-fore."

PART HKrONrt.

Tfierr was rit'vop a h-af nri biish or trre,

The bare lK(ii;,'iis raftli'd shii(l(lfiiti>,'ly ;

The river was ihiinh and could nut speak '^

For the weaver winter its shroud had spun;
A single crow on the tree top hleak

From his shining fiMthi-rs slied otl" the sun.
Again it was morning, l)ut shrunk and cold
As if her veins were sajtless and old
And she rose up rh'crepitly
For a last dim l»M)k at earth and sea.

iSir Tjaunfal turned from liis own ha'-d gate

For another heir in liis earldom sate ;

An old bent man worn out and frail

He came baek from seeking the H >!v f Jrail ;

Little he reeked of his earldom's In^-s,

No more on his sureoat was blazoiKil '\t^ er 4,

But deep in his soul the sign he wuiv.

The badge of the suffering ami the poor.

Sir Launfal's raiment thin and spnre

Was idle mail 'gainst the barbed air,

For it was just at the Christmas time ;

So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime

And sought for a shelter from cold and snow

In the light and warmth of long ago :

He sees the snakc-Iike caravan crawl

O'er the edge of the desert, black and small.

\i:.

it-

^ .'tlWiM'WmBMfcTff'Ig^VT^

:ista^rc^

190

TuE Vision of Sir Lalnfal.

:*i

Then tn'iin-r uiid iifariT till one by one

He can count the caint'ls in tl.j sun,

As oviT tliH hmI -hot wituls thoy pass

To whcro in its Hlcndt-r necklace of proxs

Tlio little Hpririg laiiirht**! and leapt in thn Hliade

And with its own self like an infant played

And waved its signal of palms.

" For Christ's sweet sjiko I l)eg an alms ":
The happy camels may rem-h the spring,
But Sir Launfal sees only tiie gruesome - lUg,
The lejK'r lank as tlie rain-blanched bone,
That cowers beside liim, a liiing as lono
And white as the ice-isles of northern seaa
In the desolate horror of his disease.

And Sir I^unfal said, '-I behold in thee

An image of Him who die<l on the tree;

Thou also hast had thy crown oC thorns,

Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns,

And to thy life were not denied

The wounds in the hands anrl feet and side:

Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me,

Behold through him I give to thee I "

Then the soul of the leper stiMxi up in his eyes
And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he

Remembered in what a haughtier guise
He had tlung an alms to leprosie

When he girt his young life up in gilded mail

And set forth in search of the Holy Grail.

The heart within him was ashes and dust ;

He parted in twain his single crust,

JT. rfs"- \jij:s-''JB«i?r-iM sas*

Tllk \'lsloN (,F Si:; I.AfM ■,,.

VJl

Ilf »<r<.kt' the i..' Ill) Ml,, stii.iir' 't \ l.iiuk
A'hI irav«« the 1i'|mt to vnt aixl .liitil- :
TwiiM a iimiildy <•! iint of co.irx' liinwn ',na.|,

'I was •.\,iifr <iiit of a wnoilcti IhiwI,
Yt't witli (ill.- wli.alr., I.r.ad was tlic ],-y,r f,..|, ^

AikI iwas iv.l wmr Iim .hank wilh his tl.iislv s-nil.

As Sir T.;Mir!i ' -, iscrl wiih a .Juwnra^t far..

A liylil slidiH' loiiiKJ alHMit til.- |ila(f ;

'I Uv U\x'i no loriutT ftoiK hid at his sjrlo

lint stiMKi hi'foic liini ;,'loiitM'd,

Shilling; and tall and fair and stiai^'lit

As the pillar thai stood hy thr I'M-aulifiil 'Jat».,

Fliinsclf tlii> Lratf wIkmcIiv tm-n <aii

Ktitcr tlu^ tcmplf of (],h{ in Man.

•."n

His words were shed softrr than l.-avos from tli.^ pine i:,

And th.'V fell on Sir F.aiinfal us snows on th.- hrinr,

Which ininjjlf th.-ir softness and «|ui.t in ono

With thi' shaj,'«v iiinvst tlu'V lloal down upon,

And tilt' Voice that was cahni'r than silence said :

'■ TiO it is I, 1)0 not afraid !

In many climes without avail

Th.iu liust spent thy life, for the Holv (irail ;
I'Mhold it is here tliis cuj) which thou
I^idst fill at the streamlet for me hut now ;

Tiiis crust is my hody l)roken for thee,

This water His IjIoimI that died citi the tree;

The Holy SupjK'r is kept inde«'d

In whatso we share with another's nee<l :

Not what we give, hut what we share- -

i:s l)are :

g>^

.JB«ft'C< _-^ '

il .

192 The Vision of Sir Launfal.

Who gives liimself with liis .alms fct-ds three —
Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me."

Sir Launfiil awoko as from a swound :
"The Grail in my castle here is found!
ft Hang my idle armor up on the wall,

Let it Ije the spider's banquet hall ;
He must be fenced with stronger mail
Who would seek and find the Holy Grail."

The castle gate stands open now,
10 And the wanderer ia welcome to the hall

As the hangbird is to the elm-tree bough ;
No longer scowl the turrets tall,

Til' summer's long siege at last is o'er;

When the first poor outcast went in at the door
15 She entered with him in disguise

And mastered the fortress by surprise ;

There is no spot she loves so well on ground,

She lingers and smiles there the whole year round.

The meanest serf on Sir Launfal's land
20 Has hall and bower at his command,

And there's no poor man in the North Countree

But is lord of the earldom as much as he.

—JAMES KC8SELL LOWEI.I..

" Character is not detennined by a sim[)le act, but by habitual

conduct."'

—Ctiylcr.

" Fame is a va[ior, |wpularity an accident, riches take wings ;

those who cheer today will curse to-morrow; only one thing

endures - character ! "

—Greeley.

; IP

Lady Claha Veke de VEitE.

193

LADY CLARA VERB DE VERB.

Lady Clara Vere de Vero,

Of me you shall not win renown :
You thought to hifiik a country lu-att

For pastime ere you went to town.
At me you smiled, but unlK><,'uile(l «

I saw the snare and T retired :
The daughter of a hundred Karls,

You are not one to l)e desired.

Lady Clara Vere de "Vere,

T know you proud to t)ear your name, ]o

Your pride is yet no mate for mine,

Too proud to care from whence I came.
Nor would I break for your sweet sake

A heart that doats on truer charms.
A simple mai«ien in her flower j,^

Is worth a liundred coat.s-of arm.s.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

Some meeker pupil you must find.
For were you queen of all that is

I could not stoop to such a mind. -jh

You sought to prove how I could love,

And my disdain is my reply ;
The lion on your old stone gates

Is not more cold to you than I.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 25

You put strange memories in my head :

U I

194 Lady Claua Veue de Veke.

Not thrice your hraiicliiiig limes iiu\e lilown
Since I beheld young Laurence dead.

C)ii, your swi'et eyes, your losv replies :
A great enchantress you may be ;
5 But there was that across his throat

Which you had liardly cared to see.

Lady Claia A'ere de Vere,

When thus he uwt liis nioihcr's \ievv ;
She had the passions (»f her kind,
n She sj)ake some certain truths ot' y<ju.

Indeed T heard one bitter vord

That scarce is tit for you to heur ;
Her manners had not that lepose

Which stanij)s the caste of ^'ere de Vere.

15 Lady Clara Vere de Vere,

There stands a spectre in your hall,
The guilt of blood is at your door.

You changed a wholesome heart to gall.
You held your course without remorse
M To make him trust his modest worth.

And last you tix'd a vacant stare

And slew him wiili your noble birth.

Trust me, Clara Vere dv Vere,

P^rom yon blue heavens above us bent
25 The gardener Adam and his wife

Smile at the claims of long descent ;
Hove'er it be it seems to me
'Tis only noble to l>e "nod :
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
M And simple faith than >[ormau blood

What is Time?

195

I know you, Clara \ tro dc V.to :

You pine among your halls and towers ;
The languid light of your prr.iid eves

Ts wearied of the rolling hours.
In glowing health with boundless woalth,

But sickening of a vague dise.ise,
You know so ill to deal with time

You needs must play such pranks as these.

Clara, Clara Vere de Vere

If time be heavy on your hands
Aie there no beggars at your gate

Nor any poor alwut your lands?
Oh ! teach the or{)han boy to read

Or teach the orj.han girl to sew ;
Pray Heaven for a human heart

And let the foolish yeoman go.

-AI.KHKI) TKVKY80N.

WHAT IS TIME ?

T ask'd an aged man, a man of cares,
Wrinkled an.i curved and white with hoary hairs
"Time is the warp of life," he said; " Oh tell
The young, the fair, the gay to weave it well ! "

I ask'd the ancient venerable dead,
Sages who wrote and warriors who bled :
From the cold grave a hollow murmur flow'd,
"Time sow'd the seed we reap in this abode!"

1 asky a dying siimer ere the tide

Of life had left his veins : " Time ! " he replied,

"I've lost it ! Ah, the treasure ! "-and he di^.

l-O

im^

l¥

''iiU

.. J .

;?"i*kr '■■ f ■

iii . f

196

What is TimeI

I ask'd tlio goUlen sun and silver spheres,
Those bright chronometers of days and years ;
They answered, " Time is but a meteor glare,"
And bade me for eternity prepare.

I ask'd the seasons in their annual loinifl

Which beautify or desolate the ground,

And they replied (no oracle raor? wise),

*"Tis Folly's blank and Wisdom's highest prize!"

I ask'd a spirit lost,— but oh ! the shriek

That pierced ray soul ! I shudder while I speak,—

It cried, " A particle ! a speck ! a niito

Of endless years, duration infinite!"

Of things inanimate my dial I
Consulted, and it made me this reply :
"Time is the season fair of living well,
The path of glory or the path of hell."

I ask'd my Bible, and niethinks it said,
"Time is the present hour, the past is fled;
Live ! live to-day ! to-morrow never yet
20 On any human being rose or set."

I ask'd Old Father Time himself at last.
But in a moment he flew swiftly past.
His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind
His noiseless steeds which left no trace behind.

25 I ask'd the mighty Angel who shall stand
One foot on sea and one on solid land :
•' By Heaven ! " he cried, " I swear the mystery's o'er ;
Time was,— Time is,- but Time shall be no more ! "

—JOHN HOWARD MAR8DEN.

a^-^L^'p^.^.^

Ode to Duty.

19i

ODE TO DUTV.

Stern Daughter of the Voice of (J(j<J !

O Duty ! if that niiiiio tliou lovo
Who art a liij;lit to guide, a rod

To check the erring and reprove;
Thou who art victory and law I

When empty terrors overawe,
From vain teiuptuti(»n.s dost set free.
And calm St tlie weary strife of frail humanity!

There are wlio ask not if thine eye

Be on them, who '':i love and truth h

Where no misgiving is rely

Upon the genial sense of youth :
Glad hearts ! without reproach or blot,
Who do thy work and know it not;

Oh ! if through confidence misplaced 15

They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power ' around them cast.

Serene will be our days and bright,

And happy will our nature lx>.
When love is an unerring light,

And joy its own security. ^

And they a blissful course may hold
Even now who, unwisely bold,

Live in the spir. . this creed.
Yet seek thy firm support according to their need.

I, loving freedom and untried, 35

No sport of cvury random guat
Yet being to myself a guide.

Too blindly have reposed my trust;

:WlP|

198

Ode to Duty.

\l i ■

1 1

ii=

m ' »

And oft, wl:oii in my heart was hoard

Thy tinu'ly mandate, T (leffirci

The task, in smtxillicr walks to stray ;

But thee I now would s.mxo more strictly if T may.

6Throu<j!li no disturbance of my suul

Or strong compunction in me wrought
I supplicate for thy control,

But in the quietness of thought:

Me this unciiartercd freedom tires ;

101 feel the weight of chance-desires;

Mv hopes no more must cliange their name,
I long for a repose that ever ia the same.

Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace,
15 Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face ;
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads ;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong,
20 And the most ancient heavens through thee are fresh
and strong.

To humbler functions, awfu' ^ower !
I call thee : I myself commend

Unto thy guidance from this hour ;
^:\ Oh, let my weakness have an end !
lVy25Give unto me made lowly wise

The spirit of self-sacrifice ;

The confidence of reason give,

And in the light of truth tliy bondman let me live!

— WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

ChaKACIKK l»l- IIIK llAliV WAJiKKdt. 199

CHARACTER OF THE HAPPY WARRIOR.

Who is the li.ijipy wmrior ? Wint is lio
That I'M'iy man in aims shotilil wish to Ix- /

i I.

Tt is tlx' generous spirit who, wlion l)rou«,'ht
Among tli.( tasks <,t' real litV, hatli wroii;,'lit
Upon lh(! plan tiiat, picax'.l his hnyish thought ; s

Whoso high ciuii'aNois an; an inward liglit
That rnaivi's tlic path hcforc liim always bright;
^\ ho, wjiii a natural instinct to disrcrri
Wiiat know l.'.lge can jx-rt'orm, is diligent to iearn,
Ahidcs liy tliis lcsol\(>, aild Mops Hot tlicro, 10

l!ut makes his mmal being his primo (;are ;
Who, doomed to go in conifpany witli pain,
And fe.ir, and i)lo(.<]sii(>d, nn'serahl*^ train !
Turns his iieces-.itv to gloiions yain ;
In face of the•^e dotii exercise a {lower 15

Whicli is our human nature's highest dower ;
Contro them and .sulHiues, transnuites, bereaves
Of tin l)ad intluence, and their good rec(>ives;
By objects, wliich might force tlio .soul to at)ato
Her feeling, rendered more compassi(^natc ; 20

Is placable — l)ec;iuse tK;casions rise
So often that d<>mand such sacrifice;
More skilful in self knowledge, e\en more pure,
A« tciiijifed more; moM; able to omlure
As more expose<I to suffering and distress ; ^S

Thence, alsfi, more alive to tenderness.

BBHf^^ff

200 (Character of the Happy Warrior.

Tis lie wliuso law is loason, wlio flepend^
Upon tliat law as on tlio best of fiifii<ls ;
Wliciicc, in a stato where mon are torapled still
To evil for a {^uanl a;j;aiiist worse ill,
^ And what in quality or ai-t is l.H'st

Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,
Ho labors good on good to fix and owes
To virtue every triumph that ho knows.

W ■ »

'1 l:

^ ^•

W lo, if he r'm^ to station of command,

10 Rises by open means, ami theit; will stand

On honorable terms, or else retire
And in himself possess his own desire;
Who comprehends his trust and to the same
Kti'ps faithful with a singleness of aim,

15 And therefore docs not stoop nor lie in wait

For wealth or honors or for worldly state ;
Whom 'liev must follow, on whose head must fall
T " Like showers of manna, if they eome at all:

Whose powers shed round him in the common strife

20 Or mild concerns of onlinary life

A constant influence, a peculiar grace ;

But who, if ho lie called upon to face

Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined

Great issues, good or bad for human kind,

26 Is happy as a lover, and attired

AVitli sudden brightness like a man inspired,
And through the heat of conflict keeps the law
Tn calmness made and soi?s what he foresaw ;
Or if an unexpected call succeed,

30 Come when it will is equal to the need.

LflHiVr T^j?:-*!^

Chakaiteu of the Happy Wakkior. lioi

W' who. tlioiiyli tliu> cn.Iii.-d us uitli (I Ht'u
And fiiciilty for storm aii.l tiirl.ulciicf,
Is yet a soul v,ht<-v rii.istcr liuis leans
To liorM«'fclt plrasiiP's and to j,'(.ntl»' scenes:
JSwoet images! wlii.li, w|i,>n's<M.'.-r l„. I„.,
Arc at liis licait ; and such fidelity
It is his darli>ig passion to ajiprove,
More brave for this that he hath much to lov

<«,

"I'is, finally, the man who, lifted Iii^di,
Conspicuous ol)j< t in a nation's eye,
Or left uiithouifht of in ohscu'i'v,
Who with a toward or untoward lot,
Prosrierous or adverse, «o his wish or not,
Plays in tiie i lany <;am( s of life that one
Where what he most doth value must he won :
Whom neither shaj.e of danger can (Jismay
Nor tluaight of tender happiness oetrav ;
Wtio not content that former worth stand fast
I^joks forward, jx^rs. vering to the last
From well t.) })et:er. daily self-surpast :
/ AVho, whether praise of hiin must walk the earth
' For ever and lo noiije deeds "ive birth
Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame
And leave a dead unprotitahle name,
Finds comfort in himself and in his cause.
And while the mortal mist is gathering draws
His breath in confidence of Heaven's appl».use :

Tliis is tiie liappy warrior: tins is he
That every man in arms should wish to be.

-wn.:,iAM WORDSWORTH.

;l|!

iwrnmrn::

j^< .^<a'i

202

Life, Death, and Immoutai.ity.

LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY.

Wins TiJiziirus left his clwirnf 1 <iive
And lioiiif to Mary's Ikkjm' utmiril,
Was tlii-^ <lfmiiii(l«'<l if lie yfJiiti'd

To litiir h. r wrt'pin,' l>y liis grave {

" When- v-erl tl'ou, liiotlicr, tlios.- four days?"
There lives no re<(>r<' of reply,
Wiiich telliny what it is to .he
Had Nurely mhled praise to praise.

From eveiy house the nei-^hbors met,

The stre«'ts were fillM with joyful sound,
A solemn gladness even crown'd

The purple brows of Olivet.

Behold a man raised up by Christ !

The rest reinaineth umeveal'd ;

He told it not, or something seal'd
The lips of tliat Evangelist.

Her eyes are homes of silent prayer,
Noi- other thought her mind admits
But he was dead, and there he sits,

And He that luought him back is there.

Then one deep love doth supersede
All other when her ardent gnzo
Roves from the living brother's face

And res*" "pon the Life indeed.

Life, Death, and Immoktalitv.

203

AH Hubth' thdii^lit. all ciiiHHH f.irs.
B<irii«» down l)y {.'iuliii'ss MO ('.(mi.iftt',
She Imiws, sIm' iMitlii'H tilt' SaxiMiii's fj-i't,

With costly Mjiiktiiiird ami with tiuiv.

Tiirii-(' l»l«'st whoMc li\,.s urc f.iithfiil prayers,
Whose loves in lii;;her lovt- rnilnre :
What Hoiils jHissfss thenisclvt's so pure,

Or is there hles.sedness like theirs?

O thou that , . toil utii] storm

Mayst seem to have leaeh.l a jMiicr uir, m

Whose faith has centre •■vfrvwhere
Nor cares to fix itself to form.

Leiive thou thy sister when she prays
Her early Heaven, her happy views ;
Nor thou with shadow'd hint confuse

A life that leads melodious davs.

Her faith throujfh form is pure a-, tliine,

Her hands are (piiiker unto -^ood :

Oh, sacred Im- the tlesh and l)i.M)d
To which she links a truth divi.if !

fciee thou that countest reason ri|>o

In holding hy the law within,

Thou fail not in a world of sin
And ev'n for wuiit of such a type.

My own dim life .shouhl teach me this, 25

That lite snail live for evermore,

Else earth is darkness at tiie core,
And dust and ashts all that is;

1 1

If!1 F

204 LiFK, Death, and Immdktality.

Tills |()lltl(] of HVt'i'U, tills oil) of tiuiiiu,
Fatitiistic In-jujly such iis lurks
Til Nomt" wild PiM't wlicn lii' works

Without H coiisiij'in'i" or iiii aim

4 What tlicii wiTo V)(h\ to such as I I

'Twi'ie hardly worth my wliiUi to chuutte
Of all things mortal, or to us.)
A litti« putit'iice ••re I die ;

Twere In-st at oiicc to sink to p<'uce,
10 Like hinis the charmiiiu; serp«'iit drawH,

To diu|i head forenu»st in the jaws
Of vacant darknesH and to cease.

Tliu' t>--»hs in nianhiMKj darkly join,
Deep-seated in our mystic form,
IS We yield all l)lessing to the nanio

Of Him that made them current coin.

For Wisdom dealt wirh mortal powers,
Where truth in closest words shall fail,
Wlicji truth eiubtKlied in a tale
-JO Shall enter in at lowly doors.

And so the Word had hrcatli and wrought
With human hands the creed of creeds
In loveliness of perfect deeds

More strong than all poetic thought,

25 Which he may read that binds the sheaf,

Or builds the house, or iligs the grave,
Anrl those wild eyes that watch the wave
In roarings round the coral reef.

— ALFRBD TENNTBON.

-.^.•«fft»-'

-mmn

« * IH&^L

Thk Tka(jki)If.h of Blui.s' Nksts.

205

THE TRAGEDIES OF BIRDS' NESTS.

My noiph},nr}K.u.l o„ tl.o Ilu.lson is p,.,!, ins

exf..,.t..mully ni.n.von.l.l.. „s a hv li„^, |,,,„,t

for 1 Is <,ui„^. to flu, nlMiti.l.-.iMM. „f Msh-c.r.nvs
and iv,l s.,uinvls, n.i.l tli.. s.^avo,, of whirl, this
ohttpf.M- is n.ait.ly a rhn.ni.-h. s,.,.,„s to havo ,
boon a hhu-k-h'tter <.,„. ev..,. f,)r this ,.|a..,., for
at h-ast niiiP n.'sts out of (ncrv tm that I
ohservod ,luri„g that spring an.l MUM.n.T faihvl
of their proper issue. It was a season „f
^-ahi.nit.es, of vioh^ut deaths, of piU,^,,, ,,,„,,„
mnssacre among our feather.'<l n«'igiil,(,rs.

For the first tiino I noti..ed that the r>rioles
were not safe in their strong p,Mi.lont u.sts.
Three l.roods were started in th.' apple-trees
only a few yards frotn the hous,., wliere for.5
vrevious seasons the birds had neste.l with-
out molestation; hut this tim.- tl... v„ung were
all destroyed wh.'u ahout half grown. Their
<-hirping and chattering, whi.-h was so notiee-
uhle one day, suddenly eeas,.d th.; next The.,
nests were prohahly plundere.l at night, an<l
doubtless by the little red sereeeh-owl, whieh
I know is a denizen of these old orchards
hving in the deeper cavities of the trees
The owl could alight on the top of the^
nest and easily thrust his murderous daw

'^„imT>"' r^^si^ssst^

20G ThF, TUACiEDIER OF BiRDS' NeSTS.

down into its k>ng pocket and seize tlie young
and di-aw tlieni forth. The tragedy of one of
the nests was heightened or at least made
more palpable by one of the half-fledged birds,

5 either in its attempt to eseape or while in the
elutehes of the enemy, being caught and en-
tangUvl in one of the horse-hairs by which the
nest was stayed and held to the limb above.
There it hung bruised and dea<l, gibbetted to

10 its own cradle. <

I noted but two warblers' nests during that
season, one of the black-throated l)lue-back and
one of the redstart, the latter built in ai^
apple-tree but a few yards from a little rustic

losnTumei'-house where I idle away many sum-
mer days. The lively little birds, darting and
flashing about, attracted ray attention for a
week before I disc^overed their nest. They
proba]>ly built it by working early in the

--<• morning before I appeared upon the scene, as
1 never saw them with material in their beaks.
Ciuessing fi-om theii- movements that the nest
was in - a larj;e maple that stood near by I
climbed the ti'ce and explored it thoroughly,

■J.-, looking especially in the forks of the brau<'hes
as the authorities say these birds build in a
fork. But no nest could I find. Indeed, how
can one b> searching find a bird's nest! 1
overshot the mark— the nost was much nearer

Thf Thagedies of Birds' Nests. 207

me, almost ini.l,.,- my vcrv ii..so, n,.,! I dis-
-ovohmI it, not l,y s.-an-hi,,^^ In.t hv a casual
^'lance of tl.o oyo, wliil,. tlm.kin^^ of ofluT
matters TI.e binl was just s.-ttlin^ n,H,n it as
I looked up hum n.y hock an.l .au^^d.t h.r in ,
iH'aet. Then,.st was l.uilt n.-ar the end of a
<>«i^' knotty horizontal hran.-h of an np,,ie-tree
mt ..tl-eetually liidden hy the ^n-onpin^< of the
leaves; it had th.ve e-rs, one of which proved
to be barren. The tuo younj.^ birds grew apacc.o
and were out of the nest early in the second
week, l>ut something cau-ht onn of theni the
first night. The other jMobably grew to niatu-
nty, as it disai)peaied from the vicinity with
its i)arents after s<.jne days. •

The blue-back's nest was scarcely a foot from ''
the ground in a little bush situate,! in a low
dense wood of hendock and bee.-h and maple
annd the Catskills--a d,..p, „,assive, elaborate
st.-ucture in whi.-h the sitting bir.l sank till her..
»eak and tail alone were visibh, above the
bnni. It was a misty, chiljv ch.v when I
-'cancel to find the nest, and the nmther-bir.l
kuew instinc-tively that it was not prudent to
leav(> her f<.ur half-incubated eggs un.-overed >-.
and expos,>d for a moment. When I sat down
n.'ai- the nest she grew very uneasy an.l, aft,>r
trying m vain to .h.-oy me away by suddenly
dropping from ilu, l-ranches and' dra.-in-

!i 7i

:^t

•■. I

kiHiHI^

yt;i

€

208 The Tragedif.s of Birds' Nests.

herself over the ground as if inurtally wounded,

she approached and timidly and half douhtingly

covered ht-r eggs within two yards of where I sat.

I disturbed her several times to note her

sways. There came to lie something ahnost ap-
pealing in her looks and manntT, and slio would
keep her place on lier precious eggs till my
outstretched hand was within a few feet of her.
Finally I covered the -avity of the nest with

ma dry leaf. This she did not remove with her
beak, l>ut 1 ast her head deftly Ijeneath it and
shook it off ui)on the ground. Many of her
sympathizing neighbc^rs, attracted by her alarm
note, came and had a peep at the intruder and

15 then flew away, but the male bird ditl not ap-
pear upon the scene. The tinal history of this
nest I am unable to give, as I did not again
visit it till late in the season, when, of course,
it was empty.

20 Years pass without my finding a brown-
thrasher's nest ; it is not a nest you are likely
to stumble upon in your walk; it is hiddeu as
a miser hides his gold and watched as jealously.
The male i )urs out his rich and triumphant

25 song from the tallest tree he can find and
fairly challenges you to come and look for his
treasures in his vicinity. But you will not
find them if you go. The nest is somewhere
on the outer circle of his song; he is never so

UMfW^^^Ty^r^i'KlF'

Thf, Tragedies of Birds' Nests. 2nj)

imprudent as ,c, tukv up his st;u.<l verv iwav
It. The urtists Nvho .hvav those ecsy little
pictures of u hroodin- in,»ther-hinl with the
"iule p,.rehe,l hut a yard away in f.dl son- do
not eoi>y from nature.

The thrasher'.s nest I found was thirtv or '
torty rods fn.ni the p<,int where the n.ale" was
wont to indulge in his brilliant re,.itative It
was in an oj.en fiel.l under a low ground-
jumper. My dog disturbed the sitting bird as.o
1 was passing near. The nest ,.ould be seen
only by hfimg uj, and parting away the bran.dies.
All the arts of eoneealment had been earefullv
studied. It was the last plaee you would think
ot ookmg and, if you did look, no.hing was.
visible but the dense green <mvle of the low-
spreading junii.er. When you approaehe<l, the
hm\ would keep her plaee till you had begun
to stir the branehes, when she would start out
ami just skimming the ground, make a^
bnght browii line to the near fenee and bushes
I conhdently expected that this nest would
escape molestation, but it did not. Its dis-
covery by myself and dog probably oj.ened the
^loor tor ill luek. as one day not long after-.,
ward, when I peeped in upon it, it was en^.tv.
The proud song of the male had ceased from
his accustomed tree, and the pair were seen no
more m that vicinity.
14 ''

■•fi-

'■■j.

210 The Tha(}ei>if.s of Rikds' Nests.

I I

The plui'lui-binl is ti wise arcliitort and per-
haps enjoys as ^reat an ininniiiity fioni danger
both in its person and its nest as any other
bird. Its modest asht'ii-«;ray suit is \\\v color
5of the roeks where it builds, and the moss of
whieh it makes such tVec use nivcs to its nest
the look of a natural <;ro\\lh or accretion. But
when it comes into the barn or un(U'r the shed
to build, as it so frecpicntly does, the moss is
10 rather o: of plact'. Doubtless in time the
bird will take th«' hint and when she buii<ls iji
such places will leave the moss out. I noted
but two nests tlu^ summer 1 am speaking of:
oue in a barn failed of issue on account of
isthe rats, I suspect, th(»ugh the little owl may
have been the depredator; the other in the
woods sent forth three young.

This latter nest was most charmingly and
ingeniously placed. I discovered it while in
20 quest of pond-lilies in a long, deep, level stretch
of water in the woods. A large tree had blown
over at the edge of the watei-, and its deiise
mass of uptuined roots, with the black peaty
soil filling the interstices, was like the frag-
25ment of a wall several feet high rising from
the edge of the languid current. In a niche
in this earthy wall and visible and accessible
only from the water a ^th<Tpbe had built her
nest and reared her br' I paddled my boat

^■£^-^r^^^^':'

:fc,t*fe;^<,. .iSi!""

i\9 ■•

c^t-

The TRAOF.mEs of Bikhs- Nests. 211

up and ,.,n,e al„„«si,l„ ,„-..|,,„v,l t„ tako tho

fam.ly aboar,!. Tl„. y„»„. ,„„,,„. ,, , ,„ „,.

wore ,„„„. ,„„Iis„„.,,e,l I,- ,„, „,,; .; ,„^^,,-

P'"''''>- " "«™™l tlu.f , a,,.,.,. „.J

» ap|,roh..„.l,.cl f,,„„ ,h,„ si,l,.. It was ,„„ a ,

been so secui-e.

hattooJ.keso,nanyotlMM-„.sts,faiN..lorissuo
I was sa.Med upon a sn.all .1,,- ,i,,,, ,, ,,
plane-tree, that stood ),v tl.o ,. i • i .
foi-tv w +• , • 'oa.lsi.l.., about

1 ' otiiKl. hverv (lav for

iiearlv a week- n« . i i r " '

^"'^^ "J"- ^i-' >'-< Then one n,,,,,-,,,, .^^^^
was not n, he. phu-e, and on examinari.:. t .a

doubt b> tlie red squnre]., .s thev we,-e very

abundant nMts vieinity an.l appear
a olean sweep of everv nest.

There is no nest-builder that suffers more,
from crows and squirrels ar.d other ene^s

nian the wood-tln-usli Tf in.;i i .

"iiusn. ir ()uil(is as open V and

u„susp„.,o„siy „s if i, ,„.„„„ „,.. .,:„, ;,:

as ho„.s as „s..,f. u, ,,,,„,,„ „,„.^. i, ^,^
'Wi'io It falls an easy pivv to evorv nest

;'!'" ° ?;"-"•, '' "• '"" " W>-'l tlia, skulks and
Indos l,ke the cat-l.ird, the b.w,,.thrashor, the

4
Ml

ifi!

212 The Tragedies of Birds' Nests.

;*a t

ehat, or the oheewink, utkI its nest is not
conrealed with the saiiio art as theirs. Our
thrushes are all frank, open-manneied birds,
but the veery and the herniit build upon the

s ground where they at least escape the ei-ows,
owls, and jays, and stand a better chanee to
be overlooked by the n-d scpiirrel and weasel
also, while the robin seeks th«' protection of
dwelHngs and outbuildinj^s.

10 For years T have not known the nest of a
wood-thrush to succeed. During the season
referred to I oV)served but two, both apparently
a second attempt as the season was well
advanced, and l)oth faihu-es. In ono case the

15 nest was placed in a 1)ranch that an apple-
tree standing near a dw^-lling held out over
the highway. The structure was barely ten
feet above the middle of the roa<l, and would just
escape a passing load of hay. It was made

20 conspicuous by the use of a large fragment of
newsi)apor in its foundation— an unsafe material
to build upon in most cases. Whatever else the
press may guard, this particular newspaper did
not guard this nest from harm. It saw the egg

25 and probably the chick but not the fledgeling. A
murderous deed w-as committed above the public
highway, but whether in the open day or under
cover of darkness I liave no means of knowing.
The frisky red squirrel was doubtless the culprit.

The Tuagediks «.f Hnu.s' Nesth. 213
Tho oth... n,.st was in u n.nplo sapling

hous. al,va<ly reforrcnl to. Tl,o first attcnpt
of tho season I susp.,.t ]uu\ faih.l in a more
sooln,lo<l i.la.o nn-l.,. th. l.ill, s<, tho pair ha,l ,,
'•<>•»♦' "i' n..a,vr tho honso for protootion Tho
mah. san^ in tho troos noar hy for sevoral chtvs
beforo i d.anoo.] to soo tho ,.ost. Tlio vorv
"^ornin^, I think, it was finisl.o.l I saw a ro^

squn-n explonn.^atroohntufow .'anlsuwav;.
be prohahl, ,,,,,,,,, ^,,^^^^^

^el as I did. I did not soo the insido of the
nest for it was almost instantly deserted, tiie
emak' hann<. pn.hahly laid a single egg which
the squirrel had <h.v.,ured.

T ^! \^7u '" ''"'^' "^ ^^"'^^^'"^' '"y "est''
I should follow the exaini.le of the bol.olink
placing It in the mi.lst of a broad moadovJ
where there was no speur of grass or flower
o'- growth unlike another to n.ark its site-.
i Midge that the l,ol.<,link escapes the dan-
gers to whieh I have adverted, as few or
no other birds <lo. Unless the mowers como
I long a an earlier <hite than she has anticipate,!
Imt is ^fore the first of July, or a skunk goo .
nosmghi-ongh the grass, which is unusuaUlie

i-is safe as bird V ell can l>e in the great ^pen
of nature. She selects the most monotonous and
uniform place she can find ami.l the daisies or

¥'

ill

214 The Thagf.diks of Birds' Nests.

tljo timothy and flovor, jiikI places her simplo
stnicturo upon tlie •rnmiid in the midst of it.
There is no ('onceahju-nt except as the great
eoneeals the little, as the desert eoiiceals the
,'il)«'l)l)h', as the myriad conceals tlie nnit. You
may find the nest once if your c(.urse chanc«'s
to h^ad you across it and your «'ye is (piick
enough to note the silent hrown hird as she
darts (piickly away; hut step three paces in
lothe wrong direction and your search will pro-
bably be fruitU'ss.

My friend and I found a nest by accident
one day and then lost it again one minute
afterwai-d. I moved away a few yards to bo
15 sure of the mother-bird, cliarging my friend
not to stir from his tracks. When I returned he
had moved four paces, and we spent a half hour
stooping over the daisies and the buttercups
looking for the lost clue. We grew desperate
a. and fairly felt the ground all over with (un-
hands, but without avail. I ma iked the spot
with a bush and came the next day, antl moved
about it in slowly increasing circles, covering
every inch of the ground Avith my feet and
••5 laying hold of it with all the visual power
that I could connnand till my patience was
exhausted and I gave up batHed.

I began to doubt the ability of the parent
bu'ds themselves to find it, and so secreted

Thk 'i'i;\(;i.i>iFs (»F liiiM.s' Xrsrs.

215

mysrlf j.ii.l \vi)trl„..|. Aft.'f mnrh <l.'l.iy the
lujilc l.ir.l jii.|M>;.n..l wifli f.,,,,! in l,is iM-.-ik uiid
<ln'|>lM..| into tin' -r.-iss. Fnsl.Miini,' my oy<> upon
11 p.iili.MiI.-ii- nir;i<l..\v-lily f Wiilk.'d struij,'lit to
the s|H,t, 1m. nt down, ^..1 ir.-i/.-d lonir a,,,] ;„. ,
t.'iitly into tin. ut.-i.s. Fin:illy my .-y.. s<'pMrat«?d
tlif iM'st ;iii.l \\< y.,iinw- tVom its siirroiindin^rs.
My font li.td l.;itvly misM-d fli,-m in my spuivh,
i'lit hy liuw miirli tli.'y liiid cscjip.Ml /(ly <.y.. I
.M.uld not t«'ll— pn.l.nl,ly not l.y distance utio
idl l.ut simply hy i.ni.vonnition. Tlioy wore
virfii.-dly invisil.l,.. Tin' di.rk gray and yollow-
ish l.rowii .liy o-niss an.l stnhl>I.' (.f tl„. jncadow-
bottom uvro cx.-ictly ,M.pi,.d in tin' color „r the
halt- lied u-od y.mng. More than that, th.-y hug-is
god tho iH'st so flosriy ,,nd form.Ml such a
compact mass that though there wcio five of
them they J, reserved the unit of expressjou ; no
single hca.l oi- form was defined ih,.y u.,>ro
<»iio, and that one was witlwut shape or c„l,)r,2o
iiiid not separal.h' e\c,.pf l,y closest scrutiny
from tho one (»f th,. nieadow-l.oftom. That
!'ost iM'ospered as l.oholjnks' nests <louhtlos.s
generally do, for liolwithstanding the enormous
slaughter of the birds during their fall mig- -25
tious l.y soutiiern sportsmen the hoholink ap-
pears to hold its own, an.l its music does not
diminish in our northern meadows.

-JOHN Bl UK1JIUU8.

2ir,

Till. HlUDrt OF KlLLINHWORTH.

;i i

i'^ \

THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH.

Ft whs tli<' s<'a«(iTi wlicii tlir<ni!.'li all tin- land
Tlu' im-ilo uti«l iii.i\is liiiilil, and l.uildiiii,' siiii,'

TIk.so lovely lyrics wiitlcn !)>• Iiin liaml

Whom Saxfm ('a-diiioii rails the I'.lyllio lu-ait KiiiK:
sWlicii on tin* lionu'lis till' jinrj)lt' laids «'X|)aiiii,
Til.' Imnncis of tl.c van-juvrd of tlio spring,

An<l rivulets vi'joiciny rush and h-ap

And wave thfir iluttrrini,' sii,'iials from tlu; stpcp.

The rohin and the hlurhird |ii('in« l<>ud
10 Filled all tim l.lossomiiiL,' on-hards with their glee;
Thr- sparrows chirped as if they still w.-re proud

Tlieir race in Holy Writ should mentioned he;
Anfl liuni; v crows, assembled in a iiowd,
Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly,
15 Knowing who hears the raven's cry and said,

"Give us, y) Lord, this day our daily bread!"

Across tiie Souiul the birds of passagt; sailed

Speaking somtj uid<no\vn language strange and sweet
Of tropic isle remote and, passing, hailed
JO The village with the ch<>ers of ail their tleel ;
Or, (luairelling together, laughcfl and railed

Like foreign sailors landed in the street
Of seaport town and, with outlandish noise
Of oaths and giblieiiNh, frightening girls and boys.

•.jsThus tame the jocund spring in Killingworth
In fabulous (lavs some hundred years ago,
And thrifty farmers as they tille<l the earth
Heard with ali.riu the cawing of the crow

Till. Fiii.i's i.r KiijjNdwoKiij. lMT

That mill;;!...! «itli ||„. nriiv-rsal mirth,

f'dssaiKlrii likr, prnifin.sti.Miin^r w.w •
Tl.ry .li.H.k III. ir I,...mIs aihl .|.M.m.-r| with .Irva.lful w,.nls
To swiff .i,.>tni,-ii..i, fh,. \vl„,|,. car,. „f l,i,,|s.

Aim! a lowi, ,•<•<•» in- was, ,..„iv..,i,..| >trai-hf way

'I'o s.'t a pile- .i|,nii til.' 1,'tiiliy h.'a.JM
Of fh.-M. iM.iiaii.lris, uliu ill 11, M! ,,f |,,,v

Ii«'Vi..(| i.la. kiiiail upon the yar.jrii l,r,|s
Ati.l (v,n.li..iJs, iu,.| l,..|„.|.| without ,jis„,ay

The awful .s<ai.(i..w with liis IIiilt.Tiii;r shmis
The skrictoii that wait.-.! at th.-ir f.M>f,
Wh.-ivhy liirir sinful jilrasiirc was incrcas.-.l.

Th.-i. fion, Ins hulls,., ., frmpl.. ,,aiMir,| whif«
With (liitrd .MJii-Mns and a r.x.f ,,f ,■,.,!,

The s.,uiiv .aM... fortii, aii-iist, and spl.-ndid .si^dil ;
Slowly dcsci.ndirn,' witli ma jest i.- tiva.l

Three lli;,'hts of ^trj.s nor l<M)kini,' i.-ft n,,r ri-ht
Down th.. lonj,. sttvot, li,. walk,..! as om; who said,

"A town that hoasts inlial)itants liko m«>

Can have n,. la<k of u,hu] socirty '"

TIh- parson, too, aj)p.>ar('fl a man aust-re,
'I'hi' instinct of whose .latiirc was to kill;

The wrath of (;,,d iie ,,rearlied from year to y.-ar '
An.i read wi.j, fervor '■ Kd wards on th.- Will.'

His favorite pastime was to slay the tU'cr
III stniimer <.n some A<liroiidac hill ;

Ken now while walking down the rural lane

H.. lopped the wayside lilies with his cane.

From the aeadeiny whose belfry crowned
The hill of scienee with its vane of brass

21H

TiiK Bii{i>s oF Kir.MNiavohiii.

CiiiiH- tin- |in-(fiiliir, ii!\/i\\'^ i'llv roiiinl

Niiw at tli«' oliiiifls iM.w at tin- ^'^•.■ll hi'uhh,

Ami nil iilisorlM-d in nxtrifs pmfouriil
Of fair Alinini in tlif ii]i|»'r ilass
ft Wlin was, as in a suiiMtt In- luul said,

As j>ui»> as water ami as i^immI as Itrt-ad.

Ami m-xt tin- flracon isMii-d fmni his <liM>r
In Ills vnliiniitiiMis mik cloth wliitf as snow ;

A suit of sahlti lM)nil)aziru' In' won- ;
10 Mis form was j)on<lcr(Mis ami his stt-]) was shiw ;

'I'Ik'ic ntxt'r was so wise a man )» t'oic :

H«! si'iMK'fl thf incarnati^ " W.ll. I told you so!"

And to [M-rpt'tuatc his j^n-at nwiovMi

There was a stn-ft nami'il after him in town.

16 Tln'spi <'amf together in tiie new town hall

With sundry f.uuiers from the region round ;
The :<i,iire jircsidrd, dignified and tall,

His air inipressivo and his ri'asoning sou'id.
Ill fared it with the hinls lx)th great and small :
«) Hardlv a friend in all that erowd they found,

But enemies enough who every one

Charged them with all the crimes Ijeiieath the sun.

f m

When they had ended, from liis pl.ue apart
Rose the preceptor to redress the wrong

And, trembling like a steed before the start.

Looked round bewildered on the expectant throng,

Then thought of fair Aliuira and took heart

To speak out what was in liim, clear and strong,

Alike regardless of their smile or frown
30 Aii.i quite determined not to be laughed down :

Thk Hiiu.s oi- Kii.ijn.jwoimii.

"Platu, «tlti,-i|,Hti„;r ||„. r,.vi,.W..M,

Fru.n l.is n.pul.lir l,,u,ish,..| wi,ho„, pi,,-
Tl"* V'H'tx. I„ tl.is liitl,. t.,«M of vnnrs
^ V..U ,,„t ,o ,I..a,|, l.v „„.„,„ „f ,; ,,.,„,„i,,„,.
Tl... I..illm|.si„j,,.,.s arnl tl... 1 1 ..iiI.,.!,.,,, .,

''■'..• stn-rt in.iM.iaMs .., tl,.. I„.,v.„lv ..jty
Tlu. I.inis who M.ak.. sw.Tt nn.>i.. f.„ „. ,,|| '
In mir dark l.ours .s |)avi.| ,ji.| f.., s,,,,!.

"Tlu' fh,u,li that n.iolH a, ,h.. ,la«„ ,,f ,iay
^ I'Vo.u the gr...... st..,.,.|,.s of ,h.. ,.i„..v woo".|.

llif oriol,. in the ..hii, the r.oisy jay

Jar<i»mu^ like a forei^r,,,., at'his"foo.|
The UuehinI hahi,u-,..| o„ some topn.ost 'sp.-av

FIomlinK with .neh^Jy the i.eii-hl.o.h.HHl,
Linnet an.) nioudow-hirk, an.l all tlie fhro,',,.
That .jwei: in ne.tn an.] hav„ the gift of song

" Vou slay then, all! An.l vvh..refo,.. ' Fo,- the uain
Of a scant han.lful nior.. o,- l,.ss of wlu-at

Or rye or harley .,r s.,n... (,ther grain,

S.-ratehed up at ran.lon. by in.lustrious f,..a

Searching f.,r worm or we.-vil after rain '
Or a few cherries that are n..t so s«,.et

As are the songs these uninvited g,„.sts

.Sing at their feast with e(.nif.,rtal,?e breasts.

"l>u you ne'er think what womlnuis iuin.^s the<.. '
Do you ne'er think who ma.ie the.n an/who tau^h,

Ihe (JiaJect they speak, where in.loWies
Alone are the interpreters .,f tlionght ?

Whose househo!!| wonJ-' -.r.. .

^ 'Ui., .Ill; .^..jig-, in iiianv kevs

Sweeter than iustrun.ent of n.an ».'er caught?

L'll)

if I'

'M:^m^''%''v^

2'J()

The Bihds of Killingworth.

H }

Whose liaUitiitioiis in the tiee-tops even
Are half wiiy houses on tlie road to heaver '

"Tliink, every nioriiiiit; when the sun neps tliroi.!^!;
The dim leaf-hitl iced windows of th^ M' '^tS
r-i How jul(iiaiit the liajipy liiids renew

Tiieir old melodious madrigals of love !
And wiien you think of this remember too

"i'is always morning sonu^where, and above
The awakening continents from shore to shore
10 Somewhere the birds are singing evermore.

"Think of vour woods and orchards without birds!

Of emplv nests that cling to boughs and lieams,
As in an idiot's brain remembered words
Hang empty 'mid the cnbwebs oi hi> dreams !
16 Will bleat of flocks or t)ellowing of herds

Make up foi' tlie lost music when your teams
Drag home the stingy harvest and no more

The feathered gleaners follow to your door?

"What! would you rather see the incessant stir
20 Of insects in the windrows of the hay

And hear the locust and the grasshopper

Their melancholy iiurdy-gurdies play !
Ts this more pleasant to you than the whirr
Of meadow-lark and her sweet i-oundelay,
.■:. Or twitter of little fieldfares as you take

Youi' nooning in the shade of bush and brake?

"You call them thieves and pillagers, but know

They are the winged wardens of your farms,
Wiio from the eornlields drive the insidious foe
8'.i And from your harvests keep a hundred harms;

Jj.B- '

.■■(■■-■<>'-

sdf^- '■.•d.^mLsMW&H^

The Birds of Killixowouth.

Even the blackest of tliein all, tli.' crow,

Hcridcrs g(M«l s»>r\ ice as your man at-arnis,
Crushini: the fn-etle in hi- coat (.f mail
And cryinj,' havoc on the -liiir ami snail.

221

" How can I teach your children gentleness
And mercy to the weak ami reverence

For life which, in its weakness or excess,
Is still a gleam of God's omtiip(jtcnce,

Or death which, seeming darkness, is no less
The self-sam<' ligiit althouj;h av.'rted Imtkc,

When by your laws, your actions, and y.-in- spc.vh

You contradict the vcrv thinirs I teach."'

#♦'

With this he closed, and through the audience went
A murnmr like the rustle of fjead leaves;

The farmers laughed and noiMed, an.l s.,n.e bent
Their yellow heads together like iheir sheavi^s.

Men Jiave no faith in fme-spun sentiment

Who put their trust in bullocks and in l)eeve.s.

The birds were doomed and, as the record shows,

A bounty offered for the heads of crow.s.

•J)

There was another audience out of reach,
^Vho had no \oice nor vote in making laws

But in the papers read his little speech

And crowned his modest temples with applau.se ;

They made him conscious, each one more tiian each, 25
He still was victor, vatiquishcd in their cau.se.

Sweetest of all the applause he w(,n from tliee,

O fair Almira, at the academy !

222

The Birds of Killingwokth.

And so tlie dreadful ma.ss.acro !» L;an :

O'er fi('I<ls and orchards and o'er wowJland crests
The ceaseless fusillades of terri ran.

Deafl fell tiie hirds with hiood-stains on their hrtasts
Ot. Aounded, crept away from sifjht of man

While the young died of famine in their nests :
A slaughter to be told in groans nf)t words,
The very St. Bartholomew of birds !

ill

The summer came and all the birds were dead.

The flays were like hot coals ; the very ground
Was burned to a*hes ; in the orchards fed

MyViads of caterj)illars, and around
Tiie cultivated fields and garden-beds

Hosts of devouring insects crawled and found
No foe to check their march till they had made
The land a desert without leaf or shade.

Devoured by worms, like Herod, v * e town

Because, like Herod, it had ruti.
Slaughtered the innocents. From tlr ^rees spun down

The canki'r\v(jinis upon the passers by,
Upon each woman's l>onnet, shawl, and gown,

Wiio shook them off with just a little cry;
They were the terror of each favorite walk,
The endless theme of all the village talk.

25 Tiie farmers grew impatient, but a few

Confessed their error and would not complain,
For, after all. the best thing one can do

When it is raining is to let it rain.
Then they repealed the law altiiough they knew

It would not call the dead to life again

\\&K0^^^f^'■'^We.'^■i'■^^S'■:i^i....<T,A^■(^'y^.■

»L-J

The Biitjjs ;)f Kirjjxcavoinn. 2j;{

As .sc}„«;i„,ys. fiiMliii- lli.-ir ii.i>iaki' too lat..,
T>nisv u w.'t .s|)nii^,. acn.ss tl... acciisiriir slat-

'I'I'Ht year in Killiii-w.wtl. tli.- antimm cam.-
Witliout tlu- li^rl.t of llis I,ia.j.'.ti(,- look,

TIh- woii,i..r of tlio falling tou-ucs of tlanir-,
The illuinill.-(I paurs of ),is Dooms- r)ilV lHH)k.

A few lost l,.av,.s l,l,.sl„.,i ..riinson with" tl„.ir sl.amo
And dro«„,.,l th..ins..lv..s (l.-spairin- i„ th.- hr.M.k,

Whilt" th." wild wind wriii ,ii,,anin- .ncrvwhorp

Lumen tin;.' tin. d.'ad chil.iivii of th.- aii '

iJut th,. noxt sprin- a stran-..,- si;;l,t was s.-en,
A sijrht that nrvvr yet l.y l.ard w,is siin^',

As f,M(.at a wondff as it would have l),>,.n
If some duinl) animal had found a tongue!

A waggon overarched with evci green,

Upon whose houghs were wi.^ker cages hung

All full of singing hirds, eame down the street

Filling the air with nuisi,- wild and sweet.

I'vom idl the country roun.i these hirds were l)rought

Bv order of the tow,, with anxious .,u,.st a,

And, loos,.ned from their wicker prisons, sought

In woods and ru.l.is the places they lov<.d best,
•Singing loud canticles vvhich many thought
■\Vere satires to the unthoiities addressed,
While others listening in gr,.en lanes uxerred 28

Sucii lovely music never liad been heard!

I'.ut hlitlu.r still and lou.ler -arolled they
Upon the morn.w, for tl,<.v seemed to know

!t was tiie fair Almira's wcding-day,
And e'-erywhere, around, al)ove, lielow, .^,

?24

TriF rrcKon at Lavf.rva.

Wlit'ii tin' [ni'ccptor Imrc liis liiidf awjiv,

Tlicir Sollies I)iiist forth in joyous o\frtlo\\,
Atnl ii IH'W lieavcri lifiit omt a iit-w earth
Arni'l the --iiiuiv farms of Killin-fwortli.

MKNHV WADSWOKTM l.l )Mi KKI l.«l\V.

■i}':^^:-^

THE CUCKOO AT LAVERNA.

s List, 'twas the Cuckoo O witli wliat dt'lii^ht

Heard T tliat \oicc and catch il now, tliotn^li faint,
P^ir off aiifl faint an<l rneltiiii^ into ;iir.
Yet not to 1m« tnistaktMi I Hark aj^ain I
Tliose lotider cries yive notice thai tlie hird,

10 Ahhoui^h iiivisihle as echo's self,

Is wheelini; liitherward. 'I'lianks, lia[)pv creature,
For tliis unthou:,'lit of i^i-eetini^ ! Wliile, allured
From vale to hill, from hill to \ale led on,
W(! Iiave pursui'il thiou;;h various lands a loiiL?

15 And pleasant course, tlower afti'C tlosver has hlown
Emhellishiii",' the ground that, gave tliem birlh
Witii aspects noxcl to my siglit, hut si ill
Most fair, most weleoiiie when they drank the dew
In a ssveet fellowship with kinds heloxcd

20 For old remembrance sake. And oft where spring
Display 'd her richest blossoms among files
Of orange- trees bedeeked with glowing fruit
Ripe for the hand, or under a thick shade
Of ilex or, if better suited to tht; hour,

26 The lightsome olive's twinkling canopy —

Oft have I heard the nightingale and thrush
Blending as in a eommon Kii-lish grovo

TUE Cl-CKOO AT f.WF.lINA.

225

Their lovo-sf.nj-s ; hi.t, wluMeVr my nvf ini;ri„ ,,„.„„,

VV'hate'cr fis.scinhlai^.cs <,f 1,,.^ aii<l ..Id

Stmrif;.' aii.i famili.u- miirlit \»''imU' ih," way,

A <rratuIatioii fioru tlial vaiiiaiit voicf.

Was wanting;, and most happily till ,|..\v : ,

For stv, Lavenia! mark th.' far fain. d p,|o

Hi,-h (.11 the brink uf tluit precipitous rtK'k

Implanted like a fortress, a.«i in tnilh

h is, a 'Jliristian fortress <,'arris<.ne(J

In faitli and hope and dutiful ol.e.|ieneo jo

By a few monks, a stern society

Dead to tiie world and scorning earth-born joys.

Nay, though th<. hopes that <irew, the fear's that drove
St. Francis far from man's res(at to abide
Among tliese sterile heights of Apennine ,.,

Hound him, n..r sine., he raised yon house have ceaspd
To bi,-! his spiritual progeny, with rules
Wtringent as tlesh can tolerate and li%e.
His milder genius (thanks to the g.M.d (i„d
That made us) over those .-evere rostrai.it.s jO

Of mind, that dread heart frczing discipline,
Doth sometimes here predomimite and works
By unsought means for gracious purposes,
For ea>M, through heaven for heaven by cha..geful earth
Illustrated and mutually emh-ared. 25

Kapt though he were above th.> power of sense,
Familiarly yet out of the cleansed heart
Of that once si... 1 being overflowed
On sun, moon, .stars, the nether elements,
And every shaj)e of cre,>t„re they .sustait.' 30

Divine affections; and with beast and bird

(Stilled from afar -such marvel story tells—
1 •') •'

' '1

[.. . I

226

Tm: < 'r('K(.i) at Lavf.kna.

«)

By oiisual ourDnak nf liis passionalt' wonls,
And fiDin tlicir own jmrsuiis in I'lflil <ir j:r<ivo
I)ra\\n Id liis side liv look of a<'t of love
IIuMianc ind \iitii(' of liis iimoccnl lift-)

s lie wont It) hold coinpanionsliij) so free,
So pure, so fraULjiit witli know lc( !:,'»• aod dcli^^ht
As to 1«' likened in his followers' nnnds
To that whieh our lirst parents, ere the fall
From their hit^ii stale darkened the earth with tear,

10 Held with all kinds in Ivlens hlisst'iil howers.
Then (jiiestion not that iiiid liu- austere !)and
Who hreathe the air he breathed, tread where he trod,
Some tiiie partakers i>i his |o\in!^ spniL
Do still sin'\i\e ami, with those gentle hearts

IsConsorted, others in the power, the faith
Of a baptized imagination, promjit
To catch from natures huml)lest monitors
Whate'cr they bring of impulses sublime.

Thus sensitive must bo the monk, tlujngh pule

20 With fasts, with vij^ils worn, dej)ressed by years,
Whom in a suiinv ijlade f chanced to se(!
Upon a i>ine-tree"s storm iipiooied trunk
Seated uloiK! with forehead skyward raised,
Hands clasped iljove th(? crucitix he wore

25 Appended to his bosom, and lips closed
By the joint pressure of his nuising mo(,d
And habit of his vow. That ancient man —
Nor haply less the biother wlu^n T marked
As we approached the convent ,i;ate, iloft

W Look in u; far forth from his aerial cell,
A young ascetic (poet, hero, sage
He might have been, loxcr belike he was) —

TlIF, TccKOO AT LaVF.RVA.

li''7

110.

If tflPy rr.Miv...l i,,)., -i r.,„>ri,,iis r,iv

Tl... notos whoso first fai,„ grrotins startlo,) „

^^l.os,. soflnlMus itcratin,, tluill,.,! witi, j..v

My l.oait, ,„ay l.avo l„...„ ,„.,v<.,j lik,. „',o ,o ,|,i„|,

(Ah! not lik-,. ,„,. ,vho u-alk in tho worM's ways)

On ti„. iin-rA pn.phot stvl...) "tho vo„v of ono

Crying amid th.' wil,l,.,nrs.." an.l giwn

Now .hat their snows ,nnst n,..|r. th-ir h.rhs nn,| flower.

K«-viv(., their obstinate winter pass awav—

That awful name to thee: thee, sin.ple ruc-kcK.,

\\anrlering in solitude and evermore

Foretelling and p,o,.lai,„i„g, ere thou leave

This thy las^ haunt beneath Italian skies

To earrv thy g'ad tidini^s over hei-hts

Still loftier and to climes more ne.ar the pole.

Voice of the desert, fare thee well: Sweet bird!
If that substantial title please thee more,
F.-rewell I -but go thy way, no need hast thou
Of a good wish sent affr thee; from bower
To bower as green, from sky to sky as elear
Thee gentle breezes waft, or airs that meet
Thy eourse and sport aroun.l th(>e softly fan,
Till night deseendinrr upon hill anrl vale
Grants to thy mission a brief term <.f silence
And folds thy pinions up in blest repos...

— WILLIAM WOKDsWOKTII.

B*mi

"Our pram! business is. not to see what lies dimly at a die
tance, but to do what lies clearly at hand."

~-C<irlyle.

-The earth is like a road : a poor place for sleepin,. in a
Rood thing to travel over." " '

-Hillia.

228

The Blackbiud.

THE BLACKBIRD.

O nLAfKniiM) ! sinji nir sonu'tliing wo)l :
\Vliil»» all tli(> jn'ij;lihors slmot tlit^o round
T kt'op siiiootli plats of fruitful yrouii'l

Wlipro tliou luiiy'st wiirhlo, ont, ukI '1 veil

The espaliers and the standards all

Are thine: the range of lawn and park;
The unnetted hlaek-hearts ripen dark,

All thine, ai,'ainst the ganien wall.

Yet, tho' I spared thee all the spring,
10 Thy sole delight is sitting still

With that gold dagger of thy bill
To fret the summer jenneting.

A golden hill ! the silver tongue
CoM February loved is dry :
16 Plenty corru{)ts the melody

That nuide fiiee famous once when young;

And in the sultry garden-squares,

Now thy flute-notes are ehanged to coarse,
T hear thee not at all, or hoarse
20 As when a hawker hawks his wares.

Take warning ! he that will not sing
While yon sun prospers in the blue
Sh.all sing for want ere leaves are new.

Caught in the frozen palms of spring.

— AI.FriF.D TENNT80W.

To A «KVLA1{K.

TO A SKYLARK.

IIaII. to tlirc, l)lilli,, sjiirit I

liiifl tlioii never wert
Iliat from lica\,.|| ,,r near it
P(»iirt>st thy full lit-art
In profuse- Htrain.s of unprcnioditatcl art,.

229

ili^'hcr still atid I iglier

Fmiii tlu! ,-;i,fl, i|,o„ si)rinjr*>.st
Like a i-loii,| „f f,,,, .

Til.- Mne (i,.t.(; J,ou wirijrost,
An.l siuuin;; still ,l.^t s,.u- and souring over singest. ,o

in llie golden lightning

Of a .sunk>-n sun,
0\n- whiiii eloiiils are bright'ning,
T.'ion dost float and run
Like an unbodied joy uhose race is just Ix-gun. ,5

-The pale purple even

Melts around thv fli<'hf •
Like a star of heaven
In the broad daylight
ri.ou art unseen, but yet I lu^ar thy shrill delight- ^

Keen as ai'e the arrows
Of that silver sphere
Wijose intense lamp narrows
In the white dawn clear
Until we hardly .see, we feel, that it is there. jj

'^i.

- J

^ x^ t\*:

230

To A Skylakk.

All ll.f caiili ami /lir

Witli thy \(iif"' i'' IoikI
As, whi'ii nijilit is Imif,
Frorn »iM«' liteit'ly rlniiii
(iTIio iiHMin rains oul lit-r beams aii<l luavt ii is ovor-
jlowt'd.

Wiiat tliou art we know nut :

What is most liko line?
From rainliow clouds ihi'ii- How not
I)i'oj>s so hrii^hl to see
10 Ah from tliy proscnce sIiowl-i-s a rain ot' imlody,

Like a poet hidden

Til tlu! lit,'lil of thouiiht,
Sini,'int( iiymns nnhiddon
Till tlu; world is wioiiifht
15 To .sympath}' with hopes and tears it heeded not:

Like a 'horn mai(Jcn

In a palace tower
Soothini; Iut love-laden

Soul in secret hour
•JO With music sweet as love which overtlowa her Ixjwei

Like a glow-worm golden

In a dell of dew
Scattering unbeholdeii
Its aerial hue
25 Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the
view :

^marmsm\ \M^:y mm^^m^m^^^

T<» \ Skm.ai:k.

231

Llk«' ;| in ;|. I l||l,i,Wi'|'l'l|

III it>i ..« II yiccii Ifjivrs,

l!y u, 11 111 winds iltMuw.Tcl
Till til.. Mint if i/i\,.A
•Makes faihf uitl. ,,„. Mi.i.l, sw,...t .l,..s.. li,.av_v-«i„«,:,| ;,
tliicvcs.

1.^

S- III 111 I i,f vcilial showers

On till- luiiikliiit; yrass,
l{iiiii .luikciiid tlowcis :
Ml lli.il I'M'i- was
.I..yous lui.l .■|,.,|. ;,„.| fi...|, ,l,y iiiiiM.. .|,,t|, surpass.

'I'<'a< ii iH, s|iiii.- oi IiikI,

What -u.rl ihi.iiiilils nif tliiiie:

I lia\c iicMT lii'ard

f'laisc lit' |i)\i. or wiiii'
Tliat puiiteil furtli a .hhhI ,if rapinn. m, ilivirie.

'IdllH ||\ milium;
Of tlillllijiliiilil ( liaiiiit

What .il,j,.cis ill,- til., f.miitains

Of tliy liaj.py strain ?
What lieids, ,,r wav,., ,„■ iinmntaiti, ?
What shapos of skv or plain I
What love of thine own kind? what i-noran.e of pain?-.

With thy clear keen joyance
languor cannot lie •

«Wl

,i\

r .? ''''><y.M.:mtM:^j<::^Mta'wmKf

232

To A Skvi.vuk.

Hhiulo^v I'f unrinyfincti
Ni'M>r caiiif iitjir tlioc ;
Tlioii lovfsi, l)iit rioVr knew Iovc'h sn/1 sntiety.

Wakin;; or asleep
8 TImu of (ifiilli must (Icf'iii

Tilings iiiDic tiiH- and floej)
Tliati we ninrtal-i flicam,
Or ln(\v roiilil tliy Holes llow ill such a crystal sirettiii?

\V(» look iM'fore ami at'ter
10 Aiwl jiine for \s !iHt is not ;

Oiir sini'rtiest laiii^htor

With some jiairi is frauylit ;
Our sweetest .si>ngs are those that toll of s^uJdest thonyht.

Yet, if we could scorn
15 Hale ami pride and fear,

If we were lliini{s lM)rn
Nfit to shed a tear,
I kn(j\v nut how thy joy we ever should come near.

r>ett<'r than all ineasur'es
•JO Of deli;;htfui .sound,

iJetler than all treasures
That in hooks are found.
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground !

Teach me half the l,'ladne^.s
25 That thy hrain must know,

Such harmonious madness
From my lips w-.uld l!ow
The world should listen then as T am listening now.

— PERCV BV88HE SHELLKV.

«l

To THK ClCKUO.

233

TO THE CUCKOO.

m-iTrri: i.pvv-c...iMr ' I i.av,- h.-anj,

1 lifiir tlici", iifi.l r.ji'i.f.

O rii.k.H.! >|,all I ,mI1 1 1,,.,. l,i,,,|^
Or I Kit a waridfiiii-,' Vdjcc ,'

Wliilc F am lyitii; i.n tl„. jf,a.ss

Thy twot'ol.l .sllulll I ll, •;,, ;

Frc.rii hill to hill it >s,..ins to |,a-,s,
At oncf far ofl" and near.

Tliduyh hal.bliriK <»"ly to thu valu
Of sunshiiK- an. I of (Iow.ts
Thou hrin^ffst unto in,- a tulu
Of visionary hours.

Thrice w.-Lonn- (larlini; of the sprint; I

Ev»'n yet thou art to nw

No bird hut an invi^il)|,. thin-,

A voitT, a uiystcrv :

Tlic same whom in my selioo]-l,oy days
I listenod to that try
Which n)ado me look a thousand ways
In hush and tree atid sky.

To seek thee often did I ro\e
Through woods and on the «rreen.
And tliou wert still a hoi,e, a iov,- :
Still longed for, never seen.

21)

if!

{

234

The Green Linnet.

1'^ i

And I can listen to thee yet,
Can lie upon the plain
And listen till I do begofc
That golden time again.

O blessed bird ! the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial tilery place
That is fit home fur thee!

— Wn.LlAM WOHDSU'ORTH.

iSk.

1£

'20

THE GREEN LINNET.

Beneath these fruit-tree Iwughs that shed
Their snow-white blossoms on niv head,
With brightest sunshine round me spread

Of spring's unclouded weather,
In this sequestered nook how sweet
To sit upon my orchard seat !
And birds and tlowcrs once more to greet.

My last \eai's friends together.

One have I marked, the happiest guest
In all this covert of the blest :
Hail to luce, far above the rest

In joy of voice and pinion !
Tiiou, li ! in thy green array,

Presidin,^ lirit here to-day,
Dost lead the revels of the ^[ay,

And this is thy dominion.

Amid j'on tuft of hazel trees
That twinklfi to tiie gusty breeze,
Behold him perched in ecstasies,

:A*. "• ..«r» '.fflcxjk^ais, _y '

\i^.:-r-:^

Ode to a Nightingale.

235

Yet seeming still to huvcr ;
There! where the flutter of liis wing.s
Upon his back and body flings
Shadows and sunny glimmerings

That cover liim all over.

My dazzled sight he oft deceives,
A brother of the dancing leaves;
Then flits and from the cottage eaves

Pours forth his song in gushes,
As if by that exulting strain
He mocked an(j treated with disdain
The voiceless form he chose to fei"n

While fluttering in the bushes.

— WII.I.IAM WOKDSWORTH.

ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE.

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense as though of hemlock T ha<l drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

,One minute past and Lethe-wards liad sunk:
'Tis not through envy of tliy happy lot
But being too happy in thy happiness—
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees.
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green and shadows numl)erless
Singest of summer in full-throated ia.se.

O for a draught of vintage that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth.

Tasting of Flora and the country green.

Dance and Provencal song and sunburnt mirth !

236

Ode to a Nightingale.

I'.

1"..' if

!.■;"

O for a l)e;iker full of the warm south,
Full of the true the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim
And purple-stained mouth,
Tliat I might drink and leave the world unseen
And with thee fade away into the forest dim :

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

What thou among tiie leaves hast never knijwu —
The weariness, the fever, and the fret

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan ;
Where palsy shakes a few sad last gray hairs,

Where youth grows pale and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs ;
Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee,

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards
But on the viewless wings of poesy,

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards.
Already with thee! tender is tlie night.

And haply the queen-moon is on her throne
Cluster'd around by all her starry fays ;
But hero there is no light.
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see wiiat flowers are at my feet.

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs.
But in embalmed darkness guess each sweet
30 Wherewith the seasonable month endows

tr "fs^wv

Ode to a Nightingale.

2'M

The grass, the thickot, and the fruit tree wil.l,
White ha\vthr)rn and the pastoral eglantine,
Fast-fadinir violets covcrVl up in leaves,
And mid May's eldest child.
The coming musk-rose full of riowy wine,

x.ig murmurous haunt of flies on siunmer eves.

Darkling I listen; and f ( r many a time

I have \ieen half in love with easeful death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme

To take into the air my quiet l)reatli ;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain.
While thou art pniring forth thy soul abr ,ad
In such an ecstasy !
Still wouldst thou sing, and T have -nr.s in vain—
To thy high recpiieni become a s(xi.

Thou wast not Iwrn for death, immortal bir.l !

No hungry generations tread thee down ;
The voice I hear this passing night was helrd

Tn ancient days by emperor and clown :
Perhaps the selfsame song that found a path

Through the sad heart of Ruth when, sick for hon.e.
She stood in tears among the alien corn ;
Tiie same that oft times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in fiiery lands forlorn.

Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell

To toll me buck from l' to my sole s.'If I

Adieu ! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is faiud to do, deceivin.' elf.

i»

^wm^:

■i\i

• ' ■- i ■

?/i

■I!

r"' .^*g»ii. i w i .a swgpg

i ■

238

To A Nightingale.

Adieu ! adiou ! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side ; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades :
Was it a vision or a waking dream ?

Fled is that music :-- Do I wake or sleep ?

—JOHN KEATB,

TO A NIGHTINGALE.

O NIGHTINGALE ! thou surely art

A creature of a " fiery heart " :

These notes of thine — they pierce and pierce-

Tumultuous harmony and fierce !

Thou sing'st as if the god of wine

Had helped tliee to a valentine :

A song in mockery and despite

Of shades and dews and silent night

And steady bliss and all the loves

Now sleeping in these peaceful groves.

T heard a stock-dove sing or say
His homely tale this very day ;
His voice was buried among trees,
Yet to be come at by the breeze ;
He did not cease but cooed and cooed.
And somewhat pensively he wooed ;
He sang of love with quiet blending
Slow to begin and never ending.
Of serious faith and inward glee :
That was the song — the song for me !

—WILLIAM WORDSWORTH,

.r'B'.i^BtCK '« ..K..Vifn:.v- vrfT^-.:. '"vgr^m'

The Son'o- Sparrow.

239

TO A NIGHTINGALE.

Wild l)in!. w" .,.- warWc Ihjuid sweet

RiiiL,"^ Kden tlno' the buddetl (|uicks,
() tell me wli,.|e the senses mix,

O tell me where the passions meet,

Whence radiate ; fierce extremes employ
Tliy spirits in the darkeninir leaf,
And in the midmost heart of <'rief

Thy passion clasps a secret jov.

And T— my har[) would prelude woe-
I cannot all conunand the strings;
The :;|(,ry of the sum of thiiiijs

Will flash along the chords and go.

— Al FRF.I) TENNT80.V.

THE SONG-SPARROW.

Whev plowmen lidge the steamy brown

And yearning meadows sprout, to green
And all the spires and towers of town

Blent soft with wavering mists are seen
When (|uickened woods in freshening huo

Along Mount Tloyal billowy swell,
When airs caress and May is new,

Oh then my shy bird sings so well !

Because the bliHxl-roots flock in white
And blossomed branches scent the air

And mounds with trillium flags are dighb
And myriad dells of violets rare;

■ i . .i

ir:

aS^

^♦Jp. ;i>-^<4r,":- H* H* -) ■} W^

f^Trry7<

240

The Whitethuoat.

Because sm-li velvet leaves unclose
And new b<Mn tills all chiming ring

And blue the dear St. Liiwrence flows —
My timid hird is forced to sing

A joyful flourish lilted clear —

Four notes -then fails the frolic song,
And memories of a vanished year

The wistful cadences prolong:
"A vanished year -O, heart too sore —

I cannot .ling " : thus ends the lay;
Ijong silence, then awakes once more

His song ecstatic of the May !

— EDWABD WILLIAM THOMSON.

THE WHITETHROAT.

Shy bird of the silver arrows of song
That cleave our northern air so clear,
15 Thy note-; prolong, prolong,

I listen, I hear —
«« I — love— dear — Canada, Canada, Canada."

O plumes of the pointed dusky flr,
Screen of a swelling patriot heart,
20 The copse is all astir

And echoes thy part ! . . . .

'Sow willowy reeds tune their silver flutes

As the noise of the <Iay dies down,
And silence strings her lutes
OS The whitethroat to crown. ....

The Canadian SoNd-Siwuitow. 241

O bird of tin- silver arrows of son"

Shy poet of Canada dear,
Tliy notes prolong, prolonj,',

We listen, we licar -
•' I_love— dear— Canada, Canada, Canada."

rilKOIlOKl.; llAHl.tVfj HANIl.

THE CANADIAN SONG-SPARROW.

From the leafy niajde ridges,
From the thickets of tlie eedar.
From the alders hy the river,
From the Ijending willow branc'es
From the hollows an<l the hillsides.
Through the lone Canadian forest
Comes the melancholy music.
Oft repeated, never changing,
" All-is-vanity-vanity-vanity."

Where the farmer ploughs his furrow.
Sowing seed with hope of liarvest,
In the orchard white with blossom,
In the eurly field of clover
Comes the little brown-clad singer
Flitting in and out of bushes,
Hiding well behind tiie fences.
Piping forth his song of sadness
" I't)or-hu-manity inanity maniiy."

— SIH JAMES EDGAR.

242

TuE Di iTH OF Arthur.

^^---

■',t i

It i>r

THE DEATH OF ARTHUR.

And thus tlicy fouijlit all tlio lonjif «l{iy, and
nevor reused till many ii(»l»h' kiii<j;iils were laid
on the cold ground, and tliey coiitiniicd still
to i\ii\\t till it was near iii^lit, ami l»y that

etinie there were an hundred thousand laid dea<l
upon the down. Then Arthur looked ahout him
and saw that of all his good knights were left
uliv'o only two, Hir Lucan and his hrothei- Sir
Bedivere, and they weio full .sore wounded.

10 Then the King saw where Sir Moidred leaned
upon his swoi'd among a great heap of dead
men. "Now give me my spear," said Aitliur
unto Sir Luean, "for yonder 1 havt? espied the
traitor that has wrought all this woe."

15 "Sir, let him be," said Sir Luean, "for he
is unhappy, and if ye pass this unhappy dtiy
ye shall bo well rev»;nged u[)on him."

"Tide me death, betide me life," said the
King, "now I see him yonder alone he shall

20 never escape my hands, for I shall never have
him at a better advantage."

" God speed you well," said Sir Bedivere.
Then the King got liis spear in both his
hands, and ran toward Sir Mordred ciying,

25 "Traitor! noAv is thy death day come." And
when Sir Mordred heard Sir Auhur he ran to

The Dkatfi of Ahthur.

243

him ^ntll his sword <hii\vu in l,is hand. And
tiien King Arthur sniot.' Sir .Afordn-d nndor tho
shi.'ld with ;i tiirnst of his sjH,ir whirh pass.-d
entirely thron-^h lii> h.»ly. An.] when Sir
Monhvd feh that he hi.d liis ,le„ih wuun.l ho :.
thrust hinis,.|t' with all his stren-ih up to the
nn«f of Aithur's spear, and, with his sword
whieh he hel.l in hoth his hands, he sjuote the
King oil the side of the head so that the swonl
cut throu.irh hoth the helmet and the skull, audio
immediately he himself fell stark dead to the
earth. And the noMe Arthur fell into one
swoon after another, and Sir Luean and Sir
Bedivere often raised him up and weaklv led
him hetween them to a little chapel not fans
from the seasi.le. WhiK? attempting' to carry
him for gi-eater safety to some town Sii- Lucan
himself fell in a swoon, and his noble heart
broke. Thei Sir Bedivere wept for the death
of his Ijrother. ^

"Leave this moirnin<jc and weepinjr," said
the King, "for all this will not avail me, and,
if I might myself live, the death of Sir Lucan
would grieve me evermoiv. But my time
hastens fast; thei-efoie take thou Exealibur, myi.5
good sword, and go with it to yind-r watei-side,
and, when thou comest there, 1 c. .uge thee l(')
throw it in that water, a- id ^ -ue again and
tell mo what thou seest"

BTI-:

-I'

'. Hi** ■

244

The Death of Arthup.

* ■ ■ i.

"My lord," said Sir Bcdivcr*', " y<nir mramand-
ment sluill ho done, and I will li^^'htly bring
you word again." So Sir B<'«liv«'ro departed,
and by the way ho Ih'Ik'M that the haft an«l
ftpommel of that nol>le sword wore all of pre-
cious stones. Tlioii sni<l ho to himself, " If 1
throw this rich sword in the water, no good,
but harin and loss, shall eome thei-eof." And
then Sir Bediv(>re hid Exculihur under a tree,
wand as soon as he might ho eamo again unto
the King and said ho had l>e»»n at the water
and had thrown the swoi-d into the water.
"What sawest thou there?" said the King.
"Sir," he said, "I saw nothing but waves
15 and winds,"

"That is untruly said of tlie.>," said the
King; "therefore go thou lightly again and do
;;<.y command as thou art lief and dear tome;
3pare not but throw it in."
JO Then Sir Bedivere returned again an<l took
the sword in his hand, and then him thought
sin and shame to tlirow away that noble sword ;
and so he quickly hid the sword and returned
again and told to the King that he had been
25at the water and done his eomnumdment.
"What sawest thou there?" said tlio King.
"Sir," he said, "T saw nothing but the
waters wap and the waves wan."

"Ah, traitor untrue," said King Arthur, "now

The Death of Akthi h.

245

thou hiiH Ix'tmytMl mo twice. Wlio wouM have
W'vud that thou hust hcoii to mo so liof and
dear; and thou art called a ik.Uo kiiijjht, and
would b.'truy mo f«»- tho riches of the sword.
But now go again lightly, for thy long tarry- 5
ing putteth ino in groat jeopardy of my life,
for I have taken cold. And if thou do rjot
now as I ])id thoe, if over 1 nuiy -o thoo I
shall slay thoo with mine own han<ls, for thou
wouldest for my lich swoid see mo dead." 10

Then Sir Hedivere depaitod and went to the
sword and lightly took it ui) and went to tho
wattM- side, and there he bound tho gii-dle about
the hilt and then he threw the sword as far
into the water as he might, and there came an li
arm and a hand above the water and met it and
caught it and so shook it thrice and biandishe<l
it and then vanished away, the hand with
the sword, in the water. So Sir Hedivere
came again to the King and told him what he*
saw.

"Alas," said the King, "help me hence, for
I dread nie 1 have tarried over long."

Then Sir Bedivere took the King upon his
back and so went with him to that water side. 25
And, when they were at the water side, even
fast by tac bank hoved .1 liiiJe barge with
many fair ladies in it, and among them all
was a queen j and all they had black hoods, and

li »fc

imj^mMi

246

Thf. Dkath ok AitmrH.

'.i.

/;:¥

all tlu'V wopt and sliri»'k«'«l \\hon tJH-y saw King
Artlinr. "Now jmt nif into the Itarp'," said
the Kiiiy:, and so Ik^ did softly. And tluMf
rct'civM'd liiiii thitM* <iuo('ns with ^rcat inomniiij;,

sttiid so Hicy set liiiM down, un<l in ono of tli»>ir
laps Kin^ Artiiui- laid liis head, and tla-n that
«iuooii said, "Ah, (h'ar hrotiuM-, why havo yp
tarriod so Injig from nic ? Alas, tiiis wound on
your lu'ad iiath cauj^dit over niiK-h cold."

10 And so then th«'y rowed fr<>m the land, and
Sir 13ediv«M'o Icheld all thosti ladies j;;o from
him. Then Sir 15<'div'«'i-o cried, "Ah, my lord
Arthur, what shall hccome of me now ye j?o
from me and leave m- here uloiie am<>nf>; mine

16 enemies.'"'

"Comfort thyself," said the Kinjr, "and do
as well as thou mayest, for in me is no trust
for to trust in. Vnr I will into the vale of
Avilion to heal me of my <i;rievous wound.

aiAnd if thou hear ncvei- mon* of me pray for
my soul." Bui ever the (iue«'ns and the ladies
wept and shrieked that it was pity to hear.

And as .soon as Sii* Bcdivcre had lost sight
of the barge he we])t and waiknl, and so took

26 the forest and so he wesit all that night, and
in the morning he jteii-eived betwixt two holts
hoar a chaiiel and a heiiuitage. Then was
Sir Bedivere glad, and thither he went; and
when he eame into the chapel he saw where

Tin; pAssisii ,»( Aiiimi;.

'247

lay ail licritiit irrovrlini,' on .ill fours tli.To f.-ist
by u torn!) n.-w j;i;i\.'ii. Wli.ii tli<> li.>?-iiiit
s;i\v Sir lUxliv.^io li,. l<i„.\v liim \v,.||. for li.'
Wiis l>iit ji lift!.' Ixfoiv I'.islK.p of Caiitfihiiry
tlijit Sir Mordif.l It.ini^li.HJ.

"Sir," s.iitl Sir F*i'.|i\ .r,., '• wji.il ninii is tlicr*'
iiit»'rr<'(l tli;it Vf i.r.iy no I'.ivt f.,i?"

' i'''iiii" ^ " s.ii«l tli.> li.Mdi I, '• I know not

for (MMtiiin ltii< l.y ^ni.posiiiir. I'.ut this; u\ir\i\
iit midniulit Ixif c.iino ;i nunilxM- of ladies i"
.•ind Itroiiiilit iiitlit'i' a .l.-ail (•••rp^i' and |>ra\'od
tno to Itniy liirn; am .Tf tla-y oftVri'd an
liundi-od tajK'is and <^, <> nif an hundred
Ix'sants."

"Alas," said Sir H.'div..r.>, "tliat was my is
lord Kin.ic Aithur that hnv Ih-th l.uricd in
this tdiap.'l!"

IK 1 IIOMAS MAI.ORV.

THE PASSING OF ARTHUR.

So A.'.r, (lay I'xil; tli-- imisr <.f Imftlc mll'd
Anion;,' tli(> tiKiiiiifaiiis liv t'i!- winter sen,
I'litil Kiii'4 Artliin's talilc, niiiti l>y nifin,
^ ILkI fallen in F.vdntie^o at»«.\it fheir I.onI,
r Kinu Aitlnir; then, Kecau^^e liis wountl was deep,
•~^J The l>ul(] Sir lieihvere u|ilifleil him,

Sir rir.iivere tiie last of iili his kiiii,'iits.
And bore liirn to a chapel nii^h the li.>ld,
A broken chaneel uiili a broken cross,

»i

248

The Passing of ARTHrR.

II ■■ I'

»'

That stood on a dark strait of barren land.
On one side lay the ocean, and on one
Lay a great water, anil tlie moon was full.
Then spake King Artliur to Sir Bedivere:

5 "The sequel of to-day unsolders all

The goodliest fellowship of famous knights
Whereof this world holds reconi. Such a sleep
They .'ep the men I loved. ^I think that we
Shall never more at any future time

10 Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,
Walking aboul t.:c gardens and the halls
Of Canielot, as in the days that wer^
I perish by th'v people which I uiad.e —
Tho' Merlin sware that T sliould <(«me again

15 To rule once more - hut let what will be, be ;
I am so deeply smitten thro' the Udra
That without help I cannot last till morn.
Thou therefore take my l)rand Excalibur
Which was my pride : for thou renieniberest how,

20 In tliose old days, one summer noon an arm
Rose up from out the bosom of the lake
Clothed in white samiie, mystic, wonderful.
Holding the sword — and how I row'd iicross
And took it, and have worn it like a king.

25 And wheresoever I am sung or told
Tn aftertime this also shall be known ;
But now delay not : take Excalibur
^\nd fling him far into the middle mere,
Watch what thou seest and lightly bring me word.

30 To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere ;

"It is not meet. Sir King, to leave thee thus,
Aidles^s, alone, and smitten thro' the helm.

The Passing of Akthir.

249

A little thing may harm a wouiiflod man.

Yet T thy hcst will all porfonn at full,

Watch what I see, and li<,'htly bring tlict' word."

So saying from the ruin'd slirine ho strpt
And in the moon athwart the place of tomhs 5

Where lay the mighty hones of ancient men,
Old knights, and over them the sea-wind snug
Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam, lie, stepping down
By zig-zag paths and juts of pointed rock,
Came on the shining levels of the lake. 10

There drew he forth llie brand ExcaHbur,
And o'er him drawing it the winter moon,
Brightening tiie skirts of a long cloud, ran forth
And sparkled keen witli frost against the hilt :
For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks, 15

Myriads of topaz-liglits, and jacinth work
Of subtlestjewellery. He gazed so long
That both his eyes were dazzled as he stood.
This way and that dividing the swift mind
In act to throw ; but at the last it .seem'd 2t

Better to leave Exealil)ur cttnceal'd
There in the n\anv-knotted waterflasrs
That whistled stiff and dry about the marge.
So strode he back slow to the wounded king.

Then spake King Artliur to Sir Bedivere : 25

" Hast thou perform'd my mission which J gave ?
What is it thou hast seen / or what hast heard ? "

And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere :
" I heard the ripple washing in the reeds
And the wild water hipping on the crag." 30

To whom replied King Artliur, faint and pale :
"Thou hast betray'd thy nature and thy name,

'm.

1..

il.;^

in ■ ..

250

The Passing of Arthur.

ir:

i:i

liw

Not rendering true answer as l)esfem'd
Thy fealty nor like a noble knight ;
For surer sign had rollow'd, either hand
Or voice or else a motion of the mere.

#»^This is a shameful thing for men to lie.*"^
Yet now I charge thee, quickly go again
As tlir)u art lief and dear, and do the thing
I bad thee : watch, and lightly bring me word."
Then went Sir liedivere the second time

10 Across the ridjre and paced l)eside the m'»re,
X!ounting the dewy |)el)l)les, fix'd in thought r-m—
But when he saw the wonder of the hilt,
How curiously and strangely chased, he smote
His palms together and he cried aloud,

U "And if indeed I cast the brand away

Surely a precious thing, one worthy note.
Should thus be lost for tver from the earth.
Which might have pleased the eyes of many men.
What good should follow this, if this were done?

20 What harm undone^ deep harm to disobey,
..Seeing obedience is the bond of rule. -1^

Were it well to otey then, if a king demand

An act unprofitable, against himself ?

The king is sick and knows not what he does.

25 What record or what relic of my lord
Shall be to aftertime but empty breath
And rumors of a doubt ? but were this kept
Stored in ome treasure-house of mighty kings,
Some one might show it at a joust of arms

30 Baying, ' King Arthur's swoni, Excaiibur,
Wrought by the lonely maiden of the lahe ;
Nine years she wrought it, sitting in the deeps

The Passing of Akthih.

251

Upon the hidden hascs of the hills.'

So might some old nmn speak in the afteitiiue

To all the people, winning reverence ;

But now much hoiior and much fame were lost."

So spake he clouded with his own conceit,
And hid Excaliliur the second time,
And .so strode back slow to the wounded kins.

Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily :
"What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?"

And answer made the bold Sir liedivere :
" I heard the water lapping on the crag,
And the long ripple washing in the reeds." ,

To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath :
" Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue,
Unknightly, traitor-hearted ! Woe is me !
Authority forgets a dying king
Laid widow'd of the power in his eye
That bow'd the will. I see thee what thou art,
For thou, the latest-left of all my knights
In whom .should meet the offices of all,
Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt:
Either from lust of gold or, like a girl,
Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes.
Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice
And the third time may prosper, gel thee hence :
But if thou spare to fling Excalibur
I will arise and slay thee with my hands."

Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere and ran
And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged
Among the bulrush-beds and clutch'd the sword
And strongly wheel'd and threw it. 1^ The great brand
Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon

»)

ift

252

The Passing of Arthur.

iri*.

And, flashini; round and round and whirl'd in an arch,

Shot like a streamer of the northern morn.

Seen where the moving isles of winter shcxik

I5y night with noises of the nortliern sea.^^

So flash'd and fell the brand Excalibur :

But, ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm

Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,

And caught him by the hilt and brandish'd him

Three times and drew him under in the mere.

And lightly went the other to the king.

Then spoke King Arthur drawing thicker breath :
" Now see I by thine eyes that this is done.
Speak out ; what is it thou hast heard or seen ? "
And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere :

16 " Sir King, I closed mine eyelids lest the gems
Should blind my purpose, for T never saw
Nor shall see, here or elsewhere till I die.
Not the' I live three lives of mortal men,
So great a miracle as yonder liilt.

20 Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling him ;
But when I look'd again, behold an aim
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful.
That caught him by the hilt and brandish'd him
Three times and drew him under in the mere."

25 And answer made King Arthur breathing hard :

" My end draws nigh ; 'tis time that I were gone.
Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight,
And bear me to the margin ; yet I fear
■^ My wound hath taken cold, and I shall die."

30 So saying from thu pavement ho half rose,

Slowly, with pain, reclining on his arm.
And looking wistfully with wide blue eyes

The Passing of Arthur.

253

As in a pictuic. Him Sir Betlivere

Remorsefully reganlcrl thro' liis tears,

And would have spoken hut lie found not worrls,

Then took with care and, kneeling on one kiitf,

O'er l)oth his shoulders drew the languid hands, 6

And rising bore hitn thro' the place of tombs.

But, as he walk'd. King Arthur panted hard
Like one that feels a nightmare on his IhmI
When all the house is mute. So si;;ird the king,
Muttering and murmuring at his ear, "Quirk, quick !lo
I fear it is too late, and I shall die.''
But the other swiftly strode from ridge to riilge.
Clothed with his breath and looking as lit- walk'd
Larger than human on the frozen hills.
He hearfl the (Jeep l)e!iind him and a cry u

Before. His own thought drove him like a goad^
Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves
And barren chasms, and all to left and right
The bare black cliff clang'd round him as he based
His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang 20

Sharp-smitten with the dint of armed heels —
And on a sudden, lo ! the level lake
And the !• ig glories of the winter moon.
Then saw hey how there hove a dusky barge,
Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, 25

Beneath them, and descending they were ware
That all the decks were den.se with stately forms,
Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream- by these,
Three Queens with crowns of gold — and from them rose
A cry that shiver'd to the luigling stars 30

And, as it were one voice, an agony
Of lamentation like a wind that shrills

mi^

*s 1

254

The Passing of Arthur.

!!;n

All nij,'ht. in a \va>te land where no one comes
Or hath come sin<e the niakiii<i of the world.

Then nuuinur'd Arliiur, "Plate nie in the barfje,"
And to the barge they came. There those three Queens

5 Put forth tlieir liands and totjk the king and wept.
Rut she that rose the tallest of them all
And fuirest laid his liead upon her lap
And loosed the shatter'd casque anrl chafed his hands
And eali'd hitn by his name, complaining loud

10 And dropping l)itter tears against his brow
Striped with »hirk bhuKl : for ail his face was white
And colorless and like the wither'd moon
Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east,
And all his greaves and cuisses dashed with drops

15 Of onset, and the light and lustrous curls —
That made his forehead like a rising sun
High from the dais-throne — were parclied with dust,
Or, clotted into points and lianging loose,
Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his lips

20 So like a shattered colunm lay the king :
Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest.
From spur to plume a star of tournament,
Shot thro' the lists at Camelot and charged
Before the eves of ladies and of kings.

25 Then louilly cried the bold Sir Bedivere :
"Ah! my I^ord Arthur, whither shall I go?
Where shall T hide my forehead and my eyes?
For now I see the true old times are dead
When every morning brought a noble chance

30 And every chance brought out a noble knight.
Such times have been not since the light that led
The holy elders with the gift of myrrh.

WBKBmmmm^m.

The Passino of Arthur.

But now tilt! wliulo I{i)iiii(! TjiIiIo is disso'ved
Wliic'h was an iiiiagf; of tlio iiii^lity world ;
And T, the la>t, go foitli coinjianionlcNS,
And the days rlaikcti round inc and the veurs,
Among new uu-u, stiani,'(> taco^, otlitT inin<l-."

And slowly aii-uticd Arthur from tiio l.ai;,'*':
•'The old order chaimftli yioldini; jilaco to new,
And (iiKl fullils HiiiiM'lf in many ways
Lest one good custuni should corrupt the world.
Comfort thyself: what aanfort is in me?
I haye lived my lite, and that which I have done
May He within Himself make pure' hut thou,

Tf thou shouidst never see mv fare a"ain.

^' . J- -

Pray for my soul. .More t.iings ate wiought l>v prayer
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore let thy voiee l'-
Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
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 ior themselves and thos( who call them friend ? at
For -so the whole round earth is every way
Bound by gold chains about the feet of (iod.
But now faiewell. I am going a long way
With these tiiou seest — if indeed I go,

For all my mind is clouded with a douh* - 25

To the island- valley of Avilion
W'^here falls not hail or rain or any .snow
Nor ever wind blow.s loudly, but it lies
Deei>-meadow d, happy, fair with orchard lawn.s
And bowery hollow.s crownetl with summer sea
■^Vhere I will lieal me of my grievous wound."
So said lie, and the birge with oar and .sail

'"1

mi^^^.

■n*

256

The Tomb of Arthur.

Moved from the brink lik« some full-breasted swan
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,
Ruffles her pure told plume and takes the flood
With swarthy wehs. L<jnj4 stood Sir Bedivere
8 Revolving? many memories till the hull
IxKjked one black dot against the verge of dawn
And on the mere the wailing died away.

ALFRED TKNNT80M.

THE TOMB or ARTHUR.

Why put the great in time their trust 1
Whate'er on earth we prize
10 Of dust was made and is but dust

For all its brave disguise.

No bo<ir but one day with the just
May triumph in tlie skies !

Ambition doth but chnse a gleam,
15 An idle toy the sword '

The crown a mockery, power a dream —

For Christ alone is Lord.
This lore King Henry leiinied. Of him

I will a tale record.

20 The tourney {)ast, in festival

Baron and kiiiglit are met;
Last pomp it was that graced the hall

Of great P;;i[it;j,gcnut :
A prince for valor praised by all,
25 More famed for wisdom yet.

The Tomb of Amiiri;.

257

The iMianl iiini| loud with kingly clut-r ;

Li;^ht jest iiiui lauuli aiul sung
U.in swiftly roiiiid from orcr Id |)t'er ,

Alone on that gay throng
The hai'iHT looked with rye severe,

The wliile in unknown toni;iU)

A mournful dirge aliroad In' ]i((ure<l:

Sad strains forlorn and slow,
Poor wreck of music prized ami stored

Long centuries ago
On Briton hills ere Saxon Mword

Had stained as yet their snow.

"Strike other chords,' the monarch cried;

" Whate'er thy words may Im-
They sound the dirge of festal pride;

Warriors, not monks, are we !
The melodies to grief allied

No music make for ine ! "

The harper's eye with warlike fire
One moment shone, no more ;

His lips, but now ct)mpvessed in ire,
A smile disdainful wore

While forth from each resounding wiro
Its fiercer soul he tore.

Louder and louder pealed the strani.
More wild and soul-entrancing.

Picturing now helmets cloven in twain.
Now swords like inrleors glancing,

Now trampling hosts o'er liill and plain
Retreating and advancing.

■rar'caiffl'k,

"'".•.'-"7SIT7-:;;-"-.-. J

258

The To.mh <»f AiirnrR.

I •!

'j|

Ik ■ Im

I! iff

Ruch niPaHui'o njij,'liti«T tliari tlu» hist
Huslu'il ftdtli, slnn trinniplis wixiing,

Like H<(iue great aii^'t-l on tlit; lihist
Fritni 1m'h\<'Ii to licavt-ri |>iirsiiiii^

Witli uiitsprt'ad ]iinioii far ami fa>st
A }iu>*l altlitirifl fo ruin.

The hard iiifiinwiiiic with rnlil .storn air

Looked jiroudly on the proud,
Fixiiif^ unmoved a victor's stare

On tliat astonished crowd -
Till all the princes {gathered there

Ijca{M-d uji and cried aloud :

"What Mian, what chief, wiiat crownecl liead,

Eternal heir of fame,
Of all that live or all the <lead

This praise shall dare to claim!"
Then rose that British hard and said,

"King Artimr is his name."

"What sceptre j;rasj)ed King Artliur's hand?"

"Tlic sceptre of this isle."
"What nations hied Wneath his brand?"

"The 8axon foe erewhile."
"His tomb?" was Henry's next demand.

"He sleeps in yonder pile.'

Forth went the King with I'U liis train

At tlie mid hour of night,
They paced in pairs the silent plain

L'ndcr the I'd torcli-light ;
The moon was sinking in lier wane,

The tower yet glimmered bright.

TiiK ToMn OP AKTiirh.

'jr)i>

Tlinniiili riI(i«*toiil»ury's cloiHt' r dim

Tlic iiii(liii;;lit winds W(»r»> si^^hinp,
Chilll!ltill^ a low fiui*M'f;d iiyiiiii

For tliosc in siicnrc lyini,',
Ih'alh's ^('iiilc tlock mid slmdows ;;rim 6

Fast ImiuihI ami iiiin'iilyiii),'.

Hard by tlio monks tii«'ir mass wit<' saying;

Tlif orj^an, evfinion'
Its wave in altfrnaiion swaying,

Oil that .smooth swell uplwue lo

The voice of their melodious praying

Towards iieaven.s eternal siiore.

Ereioji;,' a {>rineely multitude

Mined on through aiehes gray
Whieh yet, though shattered, stand where stofxl ia

(iod '_'iant they stand f>»r iiye I
Saint Joseph's chureh of wi>\fn wo<m1

On Kngland's hajitism day.

The grave they found; their swift strokes fell,
Piereing dull earth and stone. 20

They reaehed ere lon^ an oaken e»'ll
And cross of oak, whereon

Was graved, " Hero sleeps King Arthur well
In the Isle of Avaloii."

The mail on e ly knightly breast, 35

The steel at I'uih man's side,
Sent forth a sudden gleam ; each eiest

Bowed low its plumed pride ;
Down o'er the cofHn stooped a j)riest —

But first the monarch cried: 80

«^k^

L . m f

260 The Tomb of Aiirm h.

"Great kititj ! in youth I iiiiult* u vow
Eiirths iniKliti<"*t ""'n to ^ree^,

His liaiul to wursliip, on liin lunw
To gitzp, hi« grace cntri'iit.
• Th»'r<'forp, tlionyh floiul, till iiooriti<l« thou

Shdit fill my royal seat ! '

Awav the massive li<l tlu'V rolled —
Alas I what foun<l they thfie ?

No kindly brow, no shajwiy mould,
10 But dust where such ihinj^s wer« ;

Ashes o'er ashes, fold on fold,
And one Wright wreath of hiiir.

Oenevra's hair ! like gold it lay ;

For Time, though stern, is just,
U And humhh-r things ft'e] last iiis sway,

And l)eath reveres his trust.
They touche<l that wreath : it sank away

From sunshine into dust !

Then Henry lifted from his head
» The Conqueror's iron crown ;

That crown up>n that dust he laid,

And knelt in reverence down,
And raised lM)th hands to heaven, and said,
" Thou God art King alone !

j5 " Iiie there, my crown, since Gwl decrees

This iicad a fouch as low.
Wliat am I hotter now than these

Six hundred years ago?
Henceforth all mortal pageantries
» I count an idle show."

8lU ROGEU DE CoVthLEY.

2(11

Sucli words Kin;^ lli'nry spake and, ere

Tin- cliiistral viiults lunl fflt
Along tlicir arrlic* damp and bare

Till' last faiiii t'clio ini'lt,
Tli<> nt»l)l<s f<)ii;irt'i;at«d tlit-m

On that roM jtasmifnt kni-lt ;

And earli Ids coroncf down laid

And Clirist, Jds King aclorcd
And nnniiiun'd in that monrnful s)iadt>,

"Th.ai (;«kI al.ino art Lord !
Like y(jnd('r hair at last shall fadf

Each sceptre, crown, and sword.'

— AL'BIIKV UK VERB.

SIP HOGER DE COVERLEY.

The fi"^' of
Worcesif'. .' ."
his iiai; ;•>;■
gmiulfj?!', V .^

1 society is a jjentleman of
(leieiit desoeiit, a haroiict,
U . (L Coveiloy. His groat is

iiiv .*^or of that famous conn-

try chuioe '^i^•^i' u, iVi'iofi after him. All who
know that si' , • vtry woll acfjuainted with
the parts and merits of Sir Roger. He is a
gentleman that is vovy singuhir in his be-jo
haviour, but his singuhirities proceed from his
good sense and are contradictions to the man-
ners of the world only as he thinks the world
is in the wr(»ng. However, this humor creates
him no enemies, for he does nothing with sour- 28
uess or obstinacy, and his being uuconfiued to

■ H

262

Sin ROGEK DE CoVEKLEY.

modes and foi-ms makes liim but the more

capaljle to i»l(>aso and ol)lijj:e all who know him.

It is said he keeps himseli a bachelor by

reason he was crossed in love by a perversa

5 beautiful widow of the next county to him.
Before this disappointment Sir Roger was
what you call a fine gentleman, had often
supped with my lord Rochester and Sir Geoige
Etherege, fought a duel upon his first coming

10 to town, and kicked bu'.ly Dawson in a public
coffee-house for callip.g him youngster. But
being ill-used by the above-mentioned widow,
he was very serious for a year and a half;
and though (his temper being naturally jovial)

15 he at last got over it he grew careless of him-
self and never dressed afterwards ; he con-
tinues to wear a coat and doublet of the
same cut that were iu fashion at the time of
his repulse, which in his merry humors he

20 tells us has been in and out twelve times since
he first wore it. He is now in his fifty-sixth
yeai', cheerful, gay, and hearty ; keeps a good
iiouse in both town and countiy; a great lover
of mankind ; but there is such a mirthful cast

25 in his behavioui- that he is rather beloved
than esteemed.

His tenants grow rich, his servants look satis-
fied, all the young women profess love to him,
and the young men are glad of his company.

smmifomm

ifSUJJ

f-^

SlU RoCfEH DE COVEULKV.

2g;}

When he comes iiitoalionse lie calls tlio sorvants
by tlicii' iiuiiics and talks all tlio way up stairs
to a visit. I must not omit that Sir KopM- is
a Justice of the Quoiuun, that he fills th(^ chair
at a quarter session with ^reat abilities, and 5
three months ago gained univej-sal applause by
explaining a passage in the Game Act.

Having often received an invitation from my
friend Sir Roger dc Covtnley to pass away a
month with him in the country, I last week 10
accompanied him thither and am settled with
him for some time at his country-house. I
am tiie more at ease in Sir Rogei-'s family,
because it consists of sol)er and staid persons:
for, as the knight is the best master in the is
world, he seldom changes his servants and, as
he is beloved by all about him, his servants
never cave for leaving liim. By this means his
domestics are all in years and grown old with
their master. You would take his rah-t de'Xi
rhanthrt' for his brothei-, his luitler is gray-
headed, his gi-oom is one of the gravest men
that I have ever seen, and his coachman has
the looks of a privy ('ouiieillor. You see the
goodness of the master even in the old house- 25
dog and in a gray ]»a(l that is kept in the
stable with great care and tend«'rn<»ss, out of
regard to his past services, though he has been
useless for sevei'al years.

mmm

^WF

264

Sir RodER dk Ooverley.

I oonld not but observe witli a great <leal of
pleasure the joy that appearecl in the counten-
ances of tliese ancient domestics upon my
iriend's arrival at his country-seat. Some of

5 them could not refrain from tears at the sight
of their old mastej- ; everj' one of them pressed
forward to do something for him and seemed
disconi'jigcd if they wei-e not employed. At the
same time the good old knii^ht, with a mixture

10 of the father and the master of the family,
tempered the incpiii-ies after his own affairs
with sevei'al kind (piestions relating to them-
selves. This humanity and good nature engages
everybody to him, so that when he is plejisant

i.iupon any of Ihem all his family are in good
humor, and none so much as the person whom
he diverts himself with. On the conti'ary, it
he coughs or betrays any infirmity of old age
it is easy for a stander-by to observe a sticret

20 concern in the looks of all his serviuits.

I am always very well pleased witli a coun-
try Sunday, and think if keeping holy the
seventh d;iy were only a human institution it
would be the best method that could have been

2.-I thought of for the polishing and civilizing of
mankind. Tt is ce>1ain the country people
would soon degenei'ate into a kind of savages
and bai'baria!is, were there not such frequent
returns of ji stated time in which the whole

Sir R(h;ek de rovEULEV.

26;")

village iiicot to^cthtT with tht'ir Ix'st fiu'c^
and in tlicii" clcaiilit'st li;il»its to converse with
one aiiothtn- upon inditftTcnt suhjocts, hoar
thoir duties oxplaim-d to tht'in, and join to-
«?other in adoration of the Sn|>rtMnt' Px'in.i;-. s

My friend Sir Ro.ift-r, Ix'ini; a uood chnrcli-
nian, has ]»e>autili<'d the insido of his rhnrrji
with scvci-al texts of his own <'hoosini;; ho
has likewise «;iven a h indsoi,;f |tul{>it-eloth
and railed in thf <'oinniuhion ta!»lt' at his own m
expense. He Ins often told nu- that at his
coming to his estate he found his parishioners
verv ii'i'cirular, and that in ordfi- to make
them knet'l and join in the rt'spoiisfs h<> gave
every one of them a hassock and a ConniKuns
Prayer- Book, and at the same tinif eniployed
an itinerant singing-master, who goes ahout
the country for that purpose, to instruct then;
rightly in the tunes of the ]>salni-^, upon whicii
they now very much value thi'iuM-lvcs, anil in-jo
deed ourdo most of the country churches tuat
I have ever heard.

As Sir Roger is laialloi'd to the whole con-
gregation he k*'e)>s them in very good order
and will sutfei- nolMxIy to sleep in it besides^
himself; for, if 'oy chance lie has l»een surprised
into a short nap at sermon, upon recoverin«':
out of it \w stands up and looks aliout him
and, if he sees anylxtdy else nodding: either

266

Sir Roger de Coverley.

tit

¥\

ill

wakes them himself or sends liis servant to
them. Several other of the old knight's parti-
culai-ities bieak out upon these occasions. Some-
times he will be lengthening out a verse in the
6 singing psalms half a minute after the rest of
the congregation have done with it ; sometimes,
when he is pleas(Ml with the matter of his
devotion, he pronounces Amen three or four
times to the same prayer, and sometimes stands
10 up when eveiybody else is upon their knees
to count the congregation or s<;e if any of his
tenants are missing.

I was yesterday veiy much surprised to hear
my old friend in the midst of the service call-
ising out to one John Matthews to mind what
he was about, and not disturb the congregation.
This John Matthews it seems is remarkable for
being an idle fellow, and at that time was
kicking his heels for his diversion. This
20 authority of the knight, though exerted in that
odd manner which accompanies him in all cir-
cumstances of life, has a very good effect upon
the pai-ish, who arc not polite enough to see
anything lidiculous in his behaviour; besides
25 that, the general good sense and worthiness of
his character makes his friends observe these
little singularities as foils that rather set oS.
than blemish his good qualities.
As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody

The CorNTRY Gf:ntlp;man.

"fj

'J67

presumes to stir till Sir Rojjer is goiio out of
the diuroh. The kiii^ht walks down from his
seat iu the chancel between a douhle row of
his tenants that stand bowinjjr to him on each
side, and every now and then incjuires how 5
sucli an one's wife or mother or son or father
do, whom he does not see at church, which is
understood as a secret reprimand to the j)ei'sou
that is absent.

— JOaKl'll AI>I)l!<ON.

THE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN.

The fondness for rural life amon«? the higher 10
classes of the English has IuhI a gr«^at and
salutary effect upon the national character. I
do not know a finer race of men than the
English gentlemen. Instead of the softness
and effeminacy which characteiize the men of 15
rank in most countries they exhibit an union
of elegance and strength, a robustness of frame
and freshness of complexion, which I am in-
clined to attribute to their living so much in
the open air and pursuing so eag«'rly the in- 20
vigorating recreations of the country. The
hardy exercises produce also a healthful tone
of mind and spirits and a manliness and sim-
plicity of manners, which even the follies and
dissipations of the town cannot easily pervert 25

■ ^0»^<^ ^r..: i

' &&ji.

: ^Pf

2G8

The Couxtuy Gentlemw.

uud can iiover ontiicly destroy. In tbo country
too, the (litfrrcjiit orders of .society seem to ap-
proach more freely, to ho more disposed to
blend and operate favorably u]>on each other.
sTlio distinctions Itctweeu them do not appear
to bo so marked and impassable as in the
cities. The manner in which property has
been distril)uted into small estates and farms
has established a iv<;cular gradation from the

Jonobleman thi-ongh the classes of gentry, small
landed proi.rietors, and substantial farmers,
down to the laboi-ing peasantry, and while it
has thus banded the extremes of society together
has infused into each intermediate rank a spirit

15 of independence. This, it must be confessed,
is not so universally the case at present as it
was formerly, the larger estates having in late
years of distress absorbed the smaller and, in
some pni-ts of the country, almost aTuiihilated

20 the sturdy race of small fai-mers. These, how-
ever, I believe ai-o but casual breaks in the
general system I have mentioned.

In rural occupation there is nothing mean
and debasing. It leads a man forth among

is scenes of natural grand^ur and beauty; it leaves
him to the woi-kings of his own mind operated
upon by the purest and most elevating of ex-
tenijil inHu'iices. Such a man may be shnple
ajid rough but he cannot bo vulgar. The man

■Bi

liOHD ClIKSTEUFIELD.

269

of refineraont, tlnM-cforo, liiids iiothiii<< r«'\()lt-
ing iu an inl«'n'<)urso with tlio lower orders in
rurul life as h d<M'S wlieii ho cusiially iiiiu<;lt's
with the lower orders of cities, lie hiys jisido
his distance and reserve and is ujlad to waive ;^
the disthictions of rank and to entei- into tlie
honest heart-felt enjoyments of coninion life.
Indee<i, the very ainusenK'nts of the country
bring men nu»"e and more together, and tlit.'
sound of hound and horn blend all feelings to
into harmony. I believe this is one great reason
why the nobility and gentry are nion^ po[.nIar
among the inferior orders in England than
they are in any other countiy, and why the
latter have endured so many excessive pres- i.i
sures and extremities without repining more
generallv at the unequal distribution of foi'tune
and privilege.

ifsi

-WASIIINOTO.V lltVlNO.

LORD CHESTERFIELD.

My Lord, — I have lately l)een informed by
the proprietor of The World that two i)apers^''t
in which my "Dictionary" is recommended to
the imblic were written by your lordship. To
be so distinguished is an honor which, being
very little accustomed to favors tVom th(^ great,
I know not well how to receive or in what 25
terms to ucknc»wledge.

i
t

."'I

I i

m¥

270

Lord Chekterfield.

Wln'ii, upon some slight fiicouragemont, I
first visitod your lordsliip T was ov.«rj>o\v»M-o«l
like tlie rest of iimukiiKl })y tlie encliuntnicut
of your juUIress, aud coulil not forl.oar to wish
5 that I might boast mysolf It; vahiqiwHf (hi va'ni-
QHrxr (Ic la tmr—thnt I might obtain that
rogard for which I saw tiio world contonding;
but I found my attendance so little encour-
aged that neitln'r piide nor modesty would
10 suffer me to continue it. When once [ had
ad<lressed your lordship in public I had ex-
hausted all the art of pleasing which a retired
and uncouitly scholar can possess. I had
done all thiit I could, and no man is well
15 pleased to have his all neglected be it ever so
little.

Seven years, my lord, have now passed since
I waited in your outward rooms or was re-
pulsed from your door, dining whi(;h time I
aohave been pushing on my woi-k thi-ough diffi-
culties of which it is useless to complain, and
lij've l>i-ought it at last to the verge of publi-
cation without one act of assistance, one word
of encouragement, or one smile of favor. Such
25 treatment I did not expect, for I never had a

pati'on before.
.. The shepherd in Virgil grew at last ac-
■ quainted with Love, and fcnnd him a native
of the rocks.

dL%

Loud rHr,siFi!FiF.Li>.

271

Is not a pat loll, my loid, one who Iu(»ks
with iiiK'oiioi'ni on a tium stniix^liiii; for lit'f
111 the wnttT an<l, wlicn lu; has r»'jM'li«'<l i)i»'
ground, encumlx'is liini with lit-lp f Th«' iioticf
which you have bcon plfasinl to tak<' of my .'.
labors, Lad it iM'cn early, ha<! Im'ch kiii<l, hut
it has been delayed initil i ."in inditfercnt and
cannot oiijoy it, till T am solitary and cannot
impart it, till I am known and do not want it.
1 hoj»o it is no very cynical asperity n<»t torn
confess obligatioiis wlieii no benefit lias l>een
received, or to be unwilliiij; ihat the public
should consider me as owing to a patron that
whidi Providence has enabled me to do for
myself. 15

Having carried on my work thus far with so
little obligation to any favorer of learning, I
shall not be disappointed though I should con-
clude it, if less be possiVile, with less; for I
have long been awakened from that dream of ji
fiope in which I once boasted mysrlf with so
much exultation, my lord,

Your lordship's li: ' "nuiible and obedient
servant, '^ A:\ir el johnsux.

i> ■ «i

"The heights by gitMl ..-ii r .i . ud ke|>»

Were luit attuined li /ddiii llij. '
But tliey, while thi li cn'iiiimdo ■ -1. ;'i,
Were toiling v.pwurd in the id ;?'(."'

—Loiiafello'i'.

272

Daniel O'Connell.

Ill

DANIEL O'CJNNELL.

Broadly I'onsidcnH], liis <»loqiit»iK'o hj;.s nevei
beoii <'(Hiallo(l in iiiodri-)! times, certainly not in
English sp«'«'cli. Do yoii tliinl- I uni partial ?
I w'U vout'h John Han<lul)>h of Koanokc, the

6 Virginia Hluve-lidlder, wlio linte<l an Irishman
almost as nuuh as he Imted a Yank.^e, himself
an orator of no mean Ifvi-l. Ilt-aring U'Connell,
he exclaimed, "This is the man, th«'se are the
li]>s, the most eIo<inent tluit speak English in

lomy day!" Nature intended him for our Dv-
mosthenes. Never since the great (rreek has
she sent forth any one so lavishly gifted for
his work as a tribune of the peoph'.

lu the fii'st [)lace lie had a magnificent

15 presence, impressive iu iMjai'ing, massive like
that of Jupiter. Webste himself hardly out-
did aim in the majesty of his proportions.
Ilis i»resenco tilled the eye. There was some-
thing majestic in his pi-c-^ence before he spoke,

20 and he added to it wliat Webster had not —
what Clay might have lent — infinite grace, that
magnetism that melts all hearts into one.

Then he had a voiee that covered the gamut.
We used to say of We])ster, "Tiiis is a

25 great effort"; of Everett, "'It is a beautiful
effort"; l»ut you never ust'd the word "effort"
in speaking of O'Connell. It provoked yor

D\NIFI, OToNXF.I,!..

273

that li»* woiiM Mot iiiako an ('tT< tit. I h»'ai<l
liiin pi'ilmps u scoro ot" tiiiH-s, ami I <lo imt
think inon^ than thi«'M titn«'s lin cvit «>.\«'it»'»l
hitns«'lf to th»' full s\v»'»'|> of his .iliility. His
marvellous, voicr, its almost in<Tt'(|il»It> |to\v«T .-,
and swL'ftn^'ss, HulwtT has \v«'ll dt'Sfrihcd :

Oiicf til my .sii»ht llnit yiimt fui m wan i;iv»'ii

Wallt'd hy wide air and nMifcd l)y iMHiiidli'SH Iicavni.

lieru'atli liis fret tlio hiiiiiaii <m ciui lay

And w., o on wave rolled into spare away. m

M(4lii)ti'^lit no flaiion cmiiil liav • sent its hoiiihI

Kven lo tlu! centre "f tin- Imsts around,

And, as I tliounlit, rose the sonorous swell

As from some cliui'cli tower swings the siUi'ry Ih-II.

Aloft aM<i clear, from airy tide to tido 1^

It glided, easy as a bird may glide ;

Ev<>n to the verge of that vast audience sent

It played with each wild passion as it went

Now stiir(><l the upi<>ar, now the murmur stilled,

And sol)s or laughter answered as it willed. ai

'^^ii

WebsttT could awo a senate, Everett eould
charm a college, and Choate could cheat a
jiu'v ; ('lay could niagneti/,o the million and
Oorwin lead them captive. O'Connell was Clay,
(!orwin, Choate, Everett, and Welister in one, ri
Before the courts he was lo«jical; at tlu^ l»ar of
the senate, unanswei-alde and <lii^nitied; ou the
idatform he was wit and pathos; ]»efore tho
nuisses he was a whohi man. Carlyh; •'^ays,
"He is (Jod's own anointed kinjj: whose singleao

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274

Damkl OTonnkli .

word nu'lts all uills into liis." This woll <le-
scrib(>s him. Enicison says, " Thore is no ti ue
elo(lu«MK'e unless thrr*' is a man Ix'hind the
speech." Daniel ()'('< >nnell was listened to ])e-

seaiise all England and all Ireland k.iew that
th(?re was a man hehind th.' speech. — one who
could be neither bought, Knllied, nor cheated.
He held the masses enthralled l)ut willing sub-
jects in his hand.

10 lie owed this power to the courage that met
every new question frankly and concealed none
of his convictions; to an entireness of <levotiou
that made the peo])le fed he was all their own;
to a masterly bi'ain that uiade them sure they

iswen^ always safe in his hands. Behind them
were ages of bloodshed — every rising had ended
at the scaffold. O'Oonnell said, "Follow me;
put your feet whei-o mine have trod, and a
sheriff shall never lay hand on your shoulder."

2oAud the great lawyer kept his pledge.

Behind O'Connell were over three million
people steeped iu utter wretchedness, sore with
the oppression of centuries, ignored by statute.
For thirtv restless and turbulent vears he stood

25 in front of them and said, "Remember, he
that commits a crime helps the enemy." And
dui'ing that long and fearful struggle I do not
lemember one of his followers ever being con-
victed of a [tolitical offence, and during this

Da MIL O'CoNNELL.

275

period criinos of violence were veiy raie. There
is no such recoi-d in our history. Nfitlier in
elassie nor in inoilcfii linirs can tlic man l)e
IM'oducrd wlio li. Id ji million of }»eo|.l»> in liis
rijrht hand so }tassive. It was due to tlio con- ■■
sistency and unity of a diai-acter that liad
liardly a flaw.

I do not for«ret your soldiers, orators, or
poets— any of your lead-Ts. But when I con-
sidei- 0"(V>nn»'rs ».ersr>nal (lisintereste<lness; hism
rare biave fidelity to evciy cause liis joinciplcs
covered no matter how unp(.j)ular or how em-
ban-assing to his main pui'pose; that clear, fur-
reaching vision and true h<'ai-t whidi, on most
moral and political questions, set him so mucln,^
ahead of liis time; his eloquence, almost
ecpially effective in the courts, in the senate,
and before the masses; that sagacity that set
at uaught the nudignant vigilance of the wh(tle
imperial bar watching thirty years for n mis-jr,
step: when I remember that lie invented his
tools, and then measure his limited means with
his vast success, bearing in mind its nature:
when I see the soliriety and moderation with
which he use<l liis measureless powei-, and the-ii
lofty generous j i ^.ose of his whoh^ lif. — I am
ready to afli'-m ihat he was the greatest man
the Irish i-ace has ever p>roducc(l.

^'f..

WUXDKI.I, IIIILLII'S.

276

The Italian in England.

i f

;i.

THE ITALIAN IN ENGLAND.

That second time they hunted me
From hill to plain, from shore to sea,
And Austria, hounding fa and wide
Her blood-hounds through the countryside,

5 Breathed hot and instant on my trace.

I made six days a liiding-place
Of that dry green old aqueduct
Where T and Charles, when boys, have plucked
The fire-flies from the roof above

10 Bright creeping through the miws they love : —

How long it seems since Charles was lost !
Six days the soldiers crossed and crossed
The country in my very sight
And, when that peril ceased at night,

15 The sky broke out in red dismay

With signal fires ; well, there I lay
Close covered o'er in my recess
Up to the neck in ferns and cress,
Thinking on Metternich our friend

SO And Charles' miserable end,

And much beside, two days ; the third.
Hunger c'ercame me when •'ard
The peasants from the village go
To work among the maize ; you know

25 With U3 in Lombardy they bring

Provisions packed on mules, a string
With little bells that cheer their task,
And casks, and boughs on every cask

J*.*.. «,«..-'--«J-*!J^-TW4L"i.J<iVi«Wr-;#&' i.'j£?

The Italian in England.

277

To keep the sun's heat fnnii the wiue ;
These I let pass in jingling line
And, close on them, dear noisy rrew,
The peasants from the village Um ;
For at the very rear would troop
Their wives and sisters in a group
To help, I knew. When these had passed
I threw my glove to strike tht? last.
Taking the chance. She did not start
Much less cry out, but stooped apart,
One instant rapidly glanced round
And saw me beckon from the ground :
A wild bush grcjws and hides my crypt ;
She picked my glove up while she stripped
A branch off, then rejoined the rest
With that. My glove lay in her breast ;
Then I drew breath— they disappeared —
It was for Italy I feared.

An hour, and she returned alone
Exactly where my glove was thrown.
Meanwhile came many thought^. : on me
Rested the hopts of Italy ;
I had devised a certain tale
Which, when 'twas tu\d her, could ncjt fail
Persuade i peasant of its truth ;
I meant to call a freak of youth
This hiding, and give hopes of pay
And no temptation to betray ;
But when I saw that woman's face —
Its cahii simplicity of grace.
Our Italy's own attitude
In which she walked thus far, and stood

278

The Italian in England.

** ..

Plantin[,' eacli iifikcd fmt so firm
To crush the snake ami spare the worm —
At first sight of hi-r eyt-s I said,
'' r am that man upon wliose lioa<l
5 They fix the price, because I hate

The Austrians over us; tlie State
Will give you gold -oh, gold so much ! —
If you betray nie to tlieir clutch,
And be your death for aught I know
10 If once they find you saved your toe.

Now you must bring mo food and drink
And also paper, pen, and ink,
And carry safe what I shall write
To Padua, which you'll reach j.t night
16 Before the duomo shuts ; go in

And wait till Tenebrse Ijegin ;
Walk to the third confessional
Between the pillar and the wall
And kneeling whisper, ♦ VV'hence comes peace i'
20 Say it a f.cond time then cease ;

And if the voice inside returns,
'From Christ and Freedom: what concerna
The cause of Peace ? '—for answer slip
My letter where you placed your lip ;
25 Then come back happy : we have done

Our mother's service — I the son,
As you the daughter, of our land !"

Three mornings more, she took her staud
In the same place with the same eyes ;
30 I was no surer of sunrise

Tlian of her coming. We conferred
Of her own prospects, and I heard

The Italian in England.

279

Rho hful a Idvim- stnut and t.ill

Slio sjiid, tlini li't, liiT ovfliils fnll :

" IIo c'liild (ht nuicli" as if some doul)^

Eiiton>il Imt lioart ; then, pa^^-iiiL; out,

"Slio ronltl not speak for otlu-rs wlio 5

Ilivfl otlitT tlio\iy;lits ; licisplf f.li,^ knew:"

Anil so <\io biouglit nil' diink and ftMxl.

After four days the scouts pursued

Another patli ; at last arrived

The h<'lp my Paduan friends contrived l«

To furnish nie she brouglit the news.

For the first time I coulil not cIkmiso

But kiss her liand, and lay my own

Uptm lier heal "Tliis faith was shown

To Italy, our mother; she U

Uses mv hi'.nd and blesses thee."

She followed down to the sea shore ;

I left and never saw her more.

IIow very long since I have thought
Concerning — much less wished for— aught 20

Beside the goofl of Italy

For which I live and ni".in to di^- !

I never was in love and, since

Charles proved false, what shall !iow convince

My i'imost heart I have a friend? 25

However, if I pleased to spend

Ileal wishes on myself — say three —

I know at least what one should be :

I would grasp Metternich until

I felt his red wet thn»at distil SO

In blood througli these two hanrls. And next—

Nor much for that am I perplexed —

*«

■I! A lit' t,

280 The It\u\n in EN(iLAND.

Charles, p'rjiirfd fraitur, for Kis purt
Slioulii <lio slow of a broken heart
Under liis new etnployors. Lji>-t —
All ! there, wliut xhould F wisli ? Fop fast

6 Po I grow old and out of strength.

Tf I resolved to si-ck at length
My father's houne again, how seared
They all would liM»k, and unprepared !
My brothers live in Austria's pay —

10 Disowned nio long ago, men saj' ;

Aid all my early nuitts who used
To praise me so perhaps induced
More than one euily step of mine —
Are turning wise while some opine

IS "Freedom grows license,' some suspect

" Haste breeds delay," and recollect
They always said such premature
Beginnings never could endure !
So with a sullen "All's for best,"

20 The land seems settling *;.

I think, then, I should m^; , staad
This evening in that de. ' ^ud
Over the sea the thousand nules.
And know if yet that woman smiles

25 With the calm smile ; some liUlo farm

She lives in there, no doubt ; what harm
If I sat on the door-side Ijench
And, while her spindle made a trench
Fantastically in the dust,

33 Inquired of all her foriunos — ju«t

Her children's ages and their names.
And what may be the husband's aims

The I.otos-Eatkhs. I'sl

For each (if tli.ni. Id talk this out

Ami sit tlnTO fir an liour aliotit,

Then kiss lit>i' lianil oncf tiioif ami lay

Mine on Iht litvul and i;o iny way.

So niui'li fur idlf wisliinij how

It steals the tinjf ! To hu^incxs now.

Hiillllir IlKllW.VrNlJ.

THE LOTOS-EATERS.

"CoURAr.F.!" he said, and |)ointt'<l toward th-- land,

•

"This mountinj; wave will roll n.s shoreward soon."
In the aftermwn they came unto a land

In which it seemed always afterr .1.

All round the coast the languid air did sw(H)n

Breathiiuj like one that hath a weary dream.

Full-faced alnive flu- valley st(MH] the ni(M)n,

J And like a downwaid smoke the slender sti-eam

lAlong the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem.

« A land of streams ! some like a downward smoke,

P Slow-dro|)|)ing veils of thinnest lawn, did l,'o ;

A And some thro' waverini,' lii^hts and .shadow-, broke

^ Holling a slumbrous sheet of foam U-hjw.

L Th'jy saw the gleaming river seaward tlow

C From the inner land ; far off three mountain tops—

p Three silent pinnacles of uge<i snow-

Q Stood sunset-t]u.sh'd and, dewM with showery drops,

\C Up-clomb the shadowy j.ine alnivt! the woven cop.se.

The charmed sunset linger'd low adown

'ij

In tlie red west ; tlao' mouii..iin clefts the dale

2H2

Tm. LiM(is-|v\ri:i!s.

1(1

Wan scfii far iiilatnl. ari<l tli.- y\\< w di.wii

IJoKlrrM willi palm, and iiiaiiy a wiiidiiii^ val"

Ami iiKadow sft willi sli'iider ^aliii^^ali- :

A laiiil wliiTf all tilings aUvay-. >.•. iini tlif stiiiM- !

AikI iiiiitid al'uut llif kffl witli tar.'s pal.-,

I)aiU laces pair i'i;aiii>t that rosy llaiiii-,

Till- mild ('Vfd mrlaiii'liiily Lotos-eatfis camf.

Iiiaiu'lii's tin'V 1>""" <'t" tiiat (Micliaiitcd stem

Lidfii \\illi tl<<«' .'lid fruit wii.-icuf tiicy «hvb

To facli ; liiit whosu did ifccive of tiuiii

And tasli', to liini tin- yiisiiing <if tlio wiivo

Far far away di<l st-cni to nioiirn and ravo

On alif-n shoii's and, if lii-* ffllow spake,

His vi.icc was tliin as voices from llie u'lave,

An<l decpaslee|. lie seeniM yet all ;u\.iki,

And music in his ears his beatiiij; heart did make.

«They sat them down upon tlie yellow sai d
^ lietween the sini ai.d moon upon the shore;
^And sweet it to dream ui fatherland,

ai iof child and wife and slave ; but evermore
iMost wcarv seem'd tlie sea, weary the oar,
C Weary the wandering fields of barren foam. ^

^Then some one said, "Wo will leturii no more,"
CAnd all al once they sang, "Our island liomo

25 Ols far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam.'

AI.KKKD "^ENNVSON

III fares the lan.l, to liislciiiii^' ■■|'. a prey,
Where wcaltli aiciimuliitcs and men tlecay.
Piiuces iuid lords may lldiiiish or may fade:
A hrcatii can make llieiii as u liit-.ilii has made ;
Kilt a hold |H'asantiy. their eountiy's pride,
Wh-ii oiicu destroyed can never be supplied.

— (joUlmnitli.

^^^mi^mssi

UL5iSs.>5Lb.

ULYSSES.

Tt little profits that, .m i'ili- kiiii^
iJv lliis si ill lirartli, iiniKHij tlii'->i' UaiU'ri fraL's,
Miitch'il witli an -i;;!'!! witi' I inctn and d'llo
UiK'iinal la^Ns iimIk a sa\ay<' rarr
'I'liut li'iii'il and slcf|) ami tVfil .imi kimw nut nic,
I cannot rc-t fioni liiiscl : I will 'l^y^ v

^tf In iIk' ires ;f all tinn's \ have ("njoyd '

iiMtIv, iiavc sutli'iM greatly l>olli with tliosti
Tliiit lovfd ini' and alonf, on siioi<', and whoii
Tlno' .scudilni),' drifts tin- rainv Ilyaics
Vext_ llii; (Inn sea. I am lif. omc a name,
For, alvvav-i roaniin:,' wiili a luni^ry lit-art,
Much have 1 seen and known cities of ni<Mi
And niaiuicis, climates, coum ils, ^uscnnncnts,
Myself not least, hut honor d of thcin all
And (hunk (i(!lij^ht of hatth; witli my jH-ors
Far on the ringing plains of windy 'rr(jy.
I am a part of all liial I iiavc met ;
JYet ail experience is a i aieh whereihr-o'
[Gleams thai unlra\cii'd world whose mariiiii ' ie-
\¥0r ev(»r an(' for ever when \ move.
How dull it is to pause, to ni.il<e an enil.
jf'Vo iii-t unhiunish'd, no. to shine in u- "*^
'As thouj^h to breathe weie life. Lite plied oil hf.
Were all too little, and of oiu- to nie
Little remains; hut every hoiu- is ^i\ed
From tiiat eternal silence, .■ioinethiii-- more,
A hriiiger of new thini:- : and vile it were
For -some three suns to store and hoard myself
Anci this gray spiiit y(.'arning in desire

♦ *

21^4

Ulysnes.

'I'll follow kruiwIf>(l<;o iiko a sinking star
Il^yond till' iit'i"-t iHiiinil >>i liuinni llioiitjlit.

riiis is my son, ininn own Tt'lt'iiiaclius,
T<» whom I l<'a\<' th»> sr<j^)ln< iinil tlin isl«* —

ft Well loved (if m<', (lisrcriiin;^ to fulfil

This labor, l»y slow prudemt* t.i make mild
A ru;{;;<'d jknijiIc, and thro' soft dfi;rf<'s
SuImIu*' tliiin to the useful and the i^'mmI.
Most blameless is he, cpiitred in llie sjihero

10 Of c'ouunon duties, decent not tu fail
In otliees of tenderness and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods
When T uni gone. He works his work, T mine.
There lie.s the port; the \ess<!l puffs her sail;

M Tliere glouni the dark hioad seas. .My mariners,

Souls that huvu tuil'd and wrought und thought

with nie.
That ever with a frohc welcome took
The thunder ant', the sunshine, and opposed
Free liearis, free foK-heatls you and I mc old;

20 Old age hath yet his honor ami his toil ;
Death closes all: hut something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done »

Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.
The lii,'lits begin to twinkle from the rocks ;

as The long day wjL'H"^ I ^''*^ slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, oiy friends,
'Tis not t(K> late to seek a newer woild.
Push off and, sitting well in order, smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds

30 To sail beyond tin; sunset and the baths
Of all the western stars until I die.

ViLr,\<iK I'liMtA* ni.-..

285

Tt ui«y In- that th»' u'"'f-* "'H ^^'^li "^ <lii«'<;

It iiiav Jm' w't> shall loinh lli>' H.i|ip\' T'>li'S

Anil Htt! tliH nn'iit A<liill<'H w h. m «•• knew.

Tho' inutli in takfii iihk h ahiil. - ; urn! n'

Wo are in»t u«>\v th^il siriMi'^th ulmli in old ''.^^

Muvfil earth aii'l h.-jivt-n, that \vliirh \<' an) 'vt) arc

One iijiial tt'ij^>«T| ot hi'iific h»-iiU

Mafli* wiMik hv tiiiit Hti'l /I't'. I'lil >lmii.^ in \vill

To strive, to seek, to Ip- ', iU'l n-it !<• yifl.j.

\\ I i;i.i> IKSN vm>N.

VILLAGE CHARACTERS.

Near \onili'r rf)p>*r whtrti onc«? tin* i,'anlon srnilfil
An<l still NvhtTf many a pinlfii llowcr yrows aiIiI,
There where a few lorn shrnhs the plate discluh*-
The villago preaelu-r's nxMl.'st mansion rose.
A man he was to all the country "iear
And possiiig rich with forty pounds a year;
llemote from towns he ran his j^o<ily race
Nor e'er had changed nor wished to < llan^'e liis place;
Unpr ised he to fawn or scik for po\\«r
By d« iius fashioned to the varyin.; hour;
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize,
More skilled to raise the wretcheil than to rise.

His housv' wiw known to all the vagrant train ;
He chid their wanderinijs but relieved their pain :
The longnniemliered Lei;i,'ar was his '4ue-.t
Whose beard descending swept his aged brea.st ;
The ruined sp«'ndtlirift, now no longer pnad,
Claimed kindred there and had his claims allowe«l ;
The broken soldier kindly bade to stay
Sat by his Hrc and tallied the night away.

i .-

ti -l

286

Village Characters.

-T-

]-im

'Jrj

>■

c^'-i. t5tfi«!%siiPTar-

Wept o'er liis wounds or tales of sorrow done,
Shouldered his crutch and showed how fielrN wfie won
Pleased with his guests the gwxl man ]earne<l to glow
And quite forgot their vices in their w<)e,
5 Careless their merits or their faults to scan
His pity gave ere charity l)egan.

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride
An-1 e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side;
But in his duty prompt at every call
10 He watched and ^^■vpt, he prayed and felt for all;
And as a bird each fond endea-ment tiies
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies
He tried each art, reproved each dull dclav,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
15 Beside the bed where parting life was laid
And sorrow, -uiit, and pain by turns dismaved,
The reverend champion stood. At his control
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul,
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise,
20 And his last faltering accents whispered praise.
At church with meek and unaffected grace
His looks adorned the venerable place,
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway
And fools who camo to scoff remained to pray.
25Tiie service past, around the pious t.ian
With steady zeal each honest rustic ran ;
Even children followed with endearing wile
And plucked bis gown to share the good man's smile
His ready smile a parent's warmth exproM'd,
aoTheir welfare pleased him and their cares distressed :
To thein his heart, his love, his griefs were civeti,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven.

■■y-rfg'^JTt.g. iMiiim^'^gsg^r'VrVf -j«;

ViLLAdF, ('|I\1;A( TKUS.

287

As some tall cliir tlial lit'ts its awt'ul I'min,
Swells from tlio vale, ami midway Iravf^ th.' stomi,
Thougli roiiiid its lucast tlic rolliiii; cLukU arc sihim.!
Eternal sunshine settles on its licail.

lieside yon stiau'iiling fenet; that skirts tin- \v;iv 5

With blossomed fnr/e uiii>i<>titalilv i,'av,
There in his noi>y manNion skilii'd to rnlf
The villa;,'e ma^trr tatitrlit liis littlf> siJkioI.
A man severe he was and stern to \ icw :
I knew hitn well aii<l e\ery tnianL kmw ; 10

Well had the IxtdinLC tremldeis Icaiiird to (rare
The day's disasters in his mornint^ far,' ;
Full well they lauj;hed with eoiintei fiitcd ^flc(>
At all his jokes, for many a joki- ha>i lie;
P'ull well the busy whisper eir( ling nimi.j 15

Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned.
Yet he w^is kind, or if severe in aiiuni
Tlie love he i)ore to learning was in fault ;
The village ail declared hou- much he knew :
'Twas certain he eould write and cipher tm., a)

I^nds he could measure, terms ami tides presage,
And e'en the story ran that he could uau;,'e ;
In arguing, too, the parson (jwned his >kiil
For e'en though vaiKpiished he could argue still.
While words of learned length and thundeiing sound ,ii
Amazed the ga/iiig rustics rangeil around ;
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew
That one small head could cany all he knew.
But past is all his fame. The veiv spot
Where many a time he triumjilied is forg')t, 30

Near yonder thorn that lifts its head on hiuh.
Where once the signpost caught the passing eye,

f I!

288

Village Chatjacters.

..I

I H'

TjOw lies tliiit house where nut hiowii drauf^litss inspire'd,
Where grevl)e<ird mirth and sniiliiig toil retired,
Where village statesmen talked with looks {jrot'ound
And news mueii older tiian their ale went round.

5 Tmagii:atioii fondly stoojis to trace
The parlor splendor of that festive place:
The whi 'nvashed wall, tht; iiicily sanded floor.
The varnished eloek that clicked hfhind the (i(K)r,
The chest contrived a double debt to pay —

10 A bed by night a chest of drawers by day,
The pictures placed for ornament and use,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose,
The hearth except when winter chilled the day
With aspen Ixjughs and flowers and fennel gay,

15 While broken teacups wisely kept for show
Ranged o'er the chimney glistened in a row.

Vain transitory splendors! could not all
Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fah ?
Obscure it sinks nor shall it more impart

20 An hour's importance to the poor man's heart.
Thither no more the peasant shall repair
To sweet oblivion of his daily care;
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale.
No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ;

25 No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear,
Relax his ponderous strength and lean to hear ;
The host himself no longer shall be found
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round.

I>l IVKK tiOI.nsMITH.

Fur iiiiinners aro mil idle, l)ut the fruit
Of loyal nature anil of iiolilo iiiiiul.

—Alfred TtnnvHon.

lirfcj*-* -—wa^iu-^' "L*,--,^; ':ii' .\ •♦»•.■:-:■"':.".«•* '^oa^-'imsMicvftr'Wfa^

The Anglek.

289

THE ANGLER.

Ix a raoniiug's stj-oll alotii; tlic lijuiks of the
Aluii, a iH'autit'iil litth* str<'aiii which Hows
down from the Welsh hills and thiows itself
into the Dee, my attention was attracted to a
group seated on the margin. On a[>{.rou«'hing 5
I found it to consist of a veteran angler and
two rustic disciples. The former was an old
fellow with a wooden leg, with clothes veiy
much but very carefully patched, betokening
poverty honestly come })y and decently main- 10
tained. His face bore the marks of former
storms but }>resent fair weather; its furrows
had been worn into a habitual smile; his ii-<»ii-
gray locks hung about his ears, and he liad
altogether the good-humored air of a constitn- 1.'>
tion:d philosopher who was dispo-^ed to take
the world as it went.

One of his companions was a laiixcd \\ii;lit
with the skulking look of an arrant poacher,
and I'll warrant could find his way to any .11
gentleman's fish-pond in tiie neigliborhood in
the darkest night. The other was a tall awk-
ward country lad, with a lounging gait and
apparently somewhat of a rustic beau. Th(^
old man was busied examining the maw of aii

trout which ho had just killed, to disco vei- l)y
19

111

»'i

ill' .,

290

The Angler

its contents what insects were seasonable for
bait, and was lecturing on the subject to his
companions who appeared to listen with infinite
defer nee.

6 I have a kind feeling toward all " Ijrothers
of the angle," ever since I read Izaak Walton.
They are men, he affirms, of a "mild, sweet,
and peaceable spirit." I thought that I could
perceive in the veteran angler before mo an

10 exemplification of what I had read, and there
was a cheerfid contente<lness in his looks that
quite drew me toward him.

I could not but remark the gallant manner
in which he stmuped from one part of the

15 brook to another, waving his rod in the air
to keep the line from dragging on the ground
or catching among the bushes, and the ad-
roitness w^th which he would throw his i\y to
any particular place — sometimes skimming it

20 lightly along a little rapid, sometimes casting

it into one of those dai-k holes made by a

twisted root or overhanging bunk, in which

huge trout are apt to lurk.

The scene brought to my mind the instnic-

25tions of the sage Piscator to his scholar. TIk;
country around was of that pastoral kind
which "Walton is fond of describing. It was a
part of the great plain of Cheshire, close by
the beautiful vale of Gessford and just where

' t'^M

The Angler,

291

the inferior Welsli liills l.«'<rin to swell up from
nmoii<; fresh-siiH-lliii^' niradows. Tlie «]a\ . too
like tlijit r.'cord.'d in his work, av-ms mild and
sunshiny Avith now and th.Mi ;, soit dioppinjr
shower that, sowed tlu^ who!.' earth with dia- 5
monds.

I soon fell into eonverrvition witli th«» old
angler and was so nnich ont.'rtained that,
under pretext of rreeiving instruetions in his
art, I kej.t (•onii)any with liini almost the 10
whole day, wandering along the banks of the
stream and listening to his talk. He was veiy
eommunicativc, having ail tln^ easy garrulity of

was a little

cheerful old age, and I faney
flattei-ed by having an oj.portmiity of display- ,s
ing his piscatory lore: for who does not like
now and theji to 2)lay the sage ?

He had been much of a rambler in his day,
and had passed soni(» years cf his youth in
Ameriea, particuhuly in Savannah. He had a)
afterward exi.erienced many ui)s and downs in
life until he got into the navy, whei-e his leg was
eairied away })y a cannon-ball at th(i battle of
Camperdown. This v the onl>' strok(> of real
good fortune he ha., ver exi)'M-ienced, for it 25
got him a pension, which together with some
small paternal property brought him in a
i-evenue of neai-ly forty i)ounds. On this he
retired to his native village, where he lived

292

The Anoler.

I »

quietly and iiulfpoiMlcntly aiul dcvotod the re-
mainder of his life to the " noV)le art of
angling."

I found that lu' had )»'ad Iznak Walton at-

atentively, and he seonied to have inihib«'d all
his simple frankness and prevalent good-humor.
Though he had bon sorely bufifcted about the
world he was satistied that the world in itself
was good and beautiful. Though he had been

was roughly used in ditYerent countries as a poor
sheep that is fleeced by every hedge and
thitiket, yet he spoke of every iiatiou with
candor and kindness, appearing to look only
on the good side of things.

15 On parting with the old angler, I inquired
after his place of abode, and happening to Ije
in the neighborhood of the village a few even-
ings afterward I liad the curiosity to seek him
out. I found him living in a small cottage

ao containing only one room, but a perfect cur-
iosity in its method and arrangement. It was
on the skirts of the village, on a green bank
a Uttle back from the f ^.d, with a small
garden in front stocked with kitchen-herbs and

25 adorned with a few tlowei-s. The whole front
of the cottage was overrun with a honey-
suckle. On the top was a ship for a weather-
cock. The interior was fitted up in a truly
nautical style, his ideas of comfort and con-

Thf, Anolfu.

29.S

venioiioo having l)(>«>n aciinirod on tlii' luM-th-
(leek of a nuui-of-wai'.

I found liini seated on a beiicli >»et'nie the
door sinokin*^ his pipe in tlio soft evenin«; sun-
shine. His eat was pui'i'iny; sol>ei'Iy on the .'•
thi'eshold, and his pan-ot deserihinj^ some
sti-ange evolutions in an ii'on I'iiijj: that swunjjf
in the eenti'o of liis cajre. He had boon ani^-
iing all day, and gave ine a history of his
sport with as nuieh minuteness as a general lo
would talk over a campaign, lieing particularly
animated in relating the manner in which ho
had tak«ji a largo trout, which had com-
pletely tasked all his skill and wariness.

How comforting it is to see u cheei-fnl and is
contented old age and to l>ehold a [(oor fellow
like this, after being tempest -tost throngh life,
safely moored in u snug and <piiet harhor in
the evening of his days! His happiness, how-
ever, sprang from wilhin himself, and was in-ao
dependent of external circumstances, for he
had that iney lustlble good-nature whii-h is
the most pre( .uus gift of Heav^'U, spreading
itself like oil f>ver the trouble<l sea of
thought and keeping the mind smooth and 25
ecjuable iu the roughest weather.

■^

r I

— WASUINOTON IKVINO.

rr-C-

.■■ ,*''T«t!>:'

294

The Buook.

.»»

THE BROOK.

"Here hv this brook wi« jmrtiMl, I to tlio East
And K« for Italy to«' late too late;
Ono vliom the strong sons of the world (]ospi.se:
For lucky rliymcs to him were st-ip and hare,
5 And mellow metres more than cent for eent ,
Nor could he understand how money hreeds -
Thought it a dead thing; yet liimself could make
The thing that is not as tiie thing that is.

had he I ved ! In our schoolhooks we say

10 Of those that lield their heads above tlit; crowd,
They flourish 'd then or then ; hut life in him
Could scarce be said to flourish, only touch'd
On such a time as joes before tlie leaf
When all the wood stands in a mist of green

15 And nothing perfect ; yet the brook he loved,
For which in branding summers of I$engal
Or ev'n the sweet half -English Neilgherry air

1 panted, seen)s as I re listen to it
Prattling the primrose fancies of the boy

20 To me that lov'd him ; for ' O brook,' he says,
•0 babbling brook,' says Edmund in his rhyme,
•Whence come you? ' and the brook, why not ? replies

I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally
25 And sparkle out among the fern,

To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down
Or slip l)etween the ridges.
By twenty thorps, a little town,
39 And half a hundred bridges.

.s-jic:sB»iBa

l\m^i

Thk Brook.

JDj

Till last l.y Thilip's f.iriii I flow

To join tiie liriininiri^r lixcr,
For mi'ii may romo ami ini'ii timy jro,

But 1 y on for ever.

"Poor lad, he <]ii'<l .it Floroiicf, (jiiito worn nut 5

Travelling' to Naples. Tiiero is J>aMiley Uriil^e,
It lias more ivy; there the rive,, aii(! there
Stands Philip's farm where hrcMjk and river meet.

I chatter over stony ways

In little .>tli!ir|is anil tivlilr-', 10

1 tmlitilc into eddyinj; liays,

I habble on the [ Ijbles.

With many a curve my hankn I f'eb

By many a field and fallow
And many a fairy foiclaii<l scfc 16

With willew-weed and rn; How.

I chatter, chatter as I flow

To join the liriiumini; liver,
For men may coiiie and men may go,

But I go on for ever. 'JO

"But Pliilip chatter'fj more than brook or hini ; •
Old Philip : all about the 'lelds you i auL'lit
His weary daylong chirping like thf! dry
High-elbow'd grigs that leap in sunimer gnuss.

I wind about anrl in and out. i>

With here a l)los>toin sailing,
And here and there a lusf\ trout.

And here and there a grayliniir,

And here and there a foamy flako

Upon me as I travtl 90

With many a silvery wnterlireak

Above the goldeu gravel,

! H

i/iij

I .*;

!?#

t^^B^^^

iS^tW¥--

Sf''S^55T!^'^^

v*r

^•11

29G Thk Bhook.

And drnw tlicia all alnnj.', and flow

To join tin; hriminiiijf river,
J'or iiK'ti limy rome iitul iiicii may (^

Hut I go on for ever.

S "O flarlinj,' Katie Willews, liis •no child!

A niaiilt-ri of our fcntury, yet most nifcU ;
A (laughter of our meadows, yet n'>t coarse ;
Straij^lit, but as liss»me as a liazel wand ;
Her eyes a hashful azure, a.xd her hair

!• Tn gloss nnd hu(! the chestnut when the shell
Divides threefold to sl-.'W t!ie fruit within.

"Sweet Katie, once I did he a j^ocxl turn,
Her and her far-off cousin and iH'trothed,
James Willows, of one name anil heart with her.

15 For here I came twenty years back the week
Before I partivl with poor Edunind crost
By that old bridge which, half in ruins then,
Still makes a lioary eyebrow for the gleurn
Beyond it where the waters marry -crost

20 Whistling a random bar of ' H«mny Doon,'

And push'd at Philip's garden-gate. The gate,
Half-narted from a weak and scolding hinge.
Stuck ; and he clamour'd from a casement * Run,'
To Katie somewhere in the walks l)elow —

•Jo ' Run, Katie ! ' Katie never ran : she moved
To meet me winding under wocKlbine bowers,
A little flutter'd, with lier eyelids down.
Fresh apple-blossom blushing for a Ijoon.

"What was it? less of .-sentiment than sense

ao Had Katie ; not illiterate ; nor of those

Who, dabbling in the fount of Active tears
And nursed by mealy-mouthed philanthropies,

T»F. BuodK.

297

Divnr«'«' tlio fpoliti;^ finm licr m.itr tin* dnil.

Sliii told iiif>. Slin mill .Tfiiiii's h.ul (inurri'ird. Wliv?

What ciiii-*- of «|iiarnl ! N'ntK' sht- ^aid, no caiisf ;

James had no cutisc ; l)iit wIhm 1 jin^t tli<' <miis.>

I learnt tliaf .laiiie.s had tlickiiiri;,' jealmi -its

"Which aii^'ei-'d her. 'Who anL.'<i'd .laiins,'' I -*aid.

Ihit Katie snatchd her eyes at otue frniu mino

Ami, sketi'hiii^ with her .slender pointed fo«»t

Suiiie fijijiire like a wizard's peiitau'ram

On jianliii irravel, let my query |ia>-,

I'nelaiin'il in flushin;,' .silence, till f a^k'.l

If James were coming. nini; e\ifv d.iv,*

She answer'd, 'ever loni,'in;( to explain,

Hut evermore her father came across

With some loni,'-windi(l tale and hmke him short,

And Jame.s departed vext with hin; anil her'

How couid I help her? ' Wuiild I was it .•.'•on:,'.''

(Claspt hands and that p'titionary f^ra<-e

Of sweet seventeen subdued me er<» she spoke)

'O would I take her fatlier for one hour,

For one half-hour, and let. him talk to me!'

AikI even while she spoke I saw w hrre J.imes

Made towaril us, like a wa<ier in the suif,

Beyond the brook waist-deep iti meadow s et.

"O Katie, what I sufVerd for vour sake!
For in I went and call'd old Philip out
To show the farm; fuii willingly he rose;
He led me thro' t!ie short sweet-smelliiiLj lane.s
Of his wheat-suburb babblintj as Ik; went.
He praised his land, his horses, his ni'u-iiines ;
He praised his plouj^hs, his cows, his hot;s, his do^^s ;
He praised his hen.s, his geese, liis guinea-hens ;

T a 1

J*l

ffr

208

Thk Bhook.

11 ►•'

1 i

Ilia pigoons who in spssion on tluir r<M>fH
Approved him, liowinp at tln'ir own .!< 'sorts ;
Tlii-n frorn the plaintive inotliti's teat in- t<M.k
Her bliiifl an<l Hhuflil.'rint; pn|>j»it"s, lumiiiiK f^'i'l'
6 An«l niiniinj,' tlios.', Iiis fi-i.-mis, f..r wIk.ih tiny were;
Tlion crowt tho common into T)aiiilfy ("Iuim!
'!'.» hIiow Sir An lull's ti.-t'r. In cojim! and fern
Twinkl<'(J tin' iniimn<'ral)Ii< ear and tail.
Tlu'ii, scaled on a si-i iwiit-ntotitl Im'«'.1i,
10 He jMiintrd out a pasturing mlt and sa; 1,

•That was tlio four-yearolil T sold the Sfjuire.'
And tlnn^ ho told a long lonK-winded talo
Of how tho Squiro had scon tho colt at -^rass,
And how it was tlie thing liis dauglUor wLsh'd,
18 And liow lie sent tho iMiilill' to tho farm

.To h-arn tho prire and what tho prico ho ask'd.
And how t'lo haiiifF swore that ho was mad,
Jlut ho stood firm ; and so tho matter hung ;
lie gavo thenv line, and five davs after lliat
20 He met tho baiiilV at tho Ooldon Fleece,

Who then and there had otlered .something m(»ro,
But he stood fiini ; iind so th" n. alter hung ;
He knew tho man ; the colt would fetch its prico;
He save them line : arid how hy clianco at last
25 (It might ho May or April, he forgot,
The last of April or tho first of ibiy)
He found the bailitt" riding by the farm
And, talking from the point, ho drew him ia
And there he mellow'd all his heart with ale
?0 Until tliey closed a bargain, hand in hand.

"Then while I breathed in .sight of haven he^
Poor fellow, could he help it? recommenced

t Ai. .•. !•>.

^^mcH'iBnmm

wmmm.

TiiF. Hhook.

And ran thro' all tho colti-.li «lii(niiclp,

wii.i Will, niuck r..-ss, TiiMiiw. 'r..ii\i.M,

Ucforni, Wliito Hohi-, Ilfll»'n»|iln»n, tlif Jilt,

Aihuci's, urid PlHMimnotmn, and the i«'^t

Till, not to dit^ a listtucr, 1 arosr

And with nu> IMiilip tiilkiii;; still : ;iiid -^o

W tiirii'd our fotvli«'ails from tlic f.illiiii; sun

An<l, follov ; oiir own shadows tliiici- ns loiij»

As wlit-n tlu-y follow'd us from Philip's floor,

Arrived and found the 8un of swcft coiitfut

lle-rwen in Katie's cvt's and nil thing's wfll.

I stfiil hy lawns miil j.'!:!-— y plots,

I slidtj liy ha/cl I'nvti-. ;
I move the swt-ft fi>ri.'t,-t-tne(iotH

Thut grow for Imppy lovers, ifi

I slip, I sliilo, I glootii, I j.'lmir'o

Atniiiij; rny skiiiiiuiny swalloww ;
I inuke tliu nt'tti-<l suiiln'ain ilitnce

Aj^uinst my sandy shallows.

I niiiriinir iiniltM' nionn anil -tars W

In hniniMy wildcrtH-sses ;
I liii).'er hy my •.liiti;;ly hars ;

I loitci' round uiy presses ;

And out ai/aiii I curve and x\ow

To join the lirimminir river, 25

For men may come and men may jro.

But I <;o on for ever.

•'Ye.s, men may coim' and •,'(> ; and thosf' aro j^one.

All gom-. My dearest brother Iviinuiui sleef>s,

Nt)t by the well-known stream and rustic spire, n

But unfamiliar Arno and tlie dome

Of Br elleschi : sleeps in peaee ; and he,

^ 41

300

The Brook.

i«

■''m

Poor Philip, of all Ills lavish waste of words
lleinaiiis the lean P. W. on his tor:ib ;
I scrapfd the lichen from it. Katie walks
By the lon<? wa^h of Austral"sian seas
6 Far off aiul holds h(>r head to other stars

And breathes in converse seasons. All are f,'one."

So Lawrence Aylnu-r, seated on a stile
Tn the lonj^ hedye and rolling in his mind
Old waifs of rhyme and bowing o'er the brook
10 A tonsured head in middle age foiloi'ii,

INIused and was mute. On a sudden a low breath
Of tender air made tremble in tht^ hedge
The fragile birxiweed-lx'lls and briony rings,
And he look'd u[). There stood a maiden near,
15 Waiting to pass. Tn much amaze he stared
On eyes a bashful azure and on hair
Tn gloss and hue the chestnut when the shell
Divides threefold to show the fruit within :
Then wondering ask'd her, " Are you from the farm ? "
20 " Yes," answered she. " Pray stay a little : pardon me ;
What do tliey call you?" "Katie." "That were strange.
Whatsurname?" "Willows." "No." "That is my name."
"Tndeed!" and here he look'd so self-y)erple.xt
That Katie laugh'd and laughing blush'd till he
•25 Laugh'd also, but as one Ijefore lie wakes

Who feels a glimmering strangeness in his dream.
Then looking at her: "Too happy, fresh, and fair.
Too fresh and fair in our sad world's best bloom.
To be the ghost of one who bore your name
3C About these meadows twenty years ago."

" ITavc you not heard ?" said Katie, " we came back.
We bought the farm we tenanted before.

i Ml

The SLKEriNd Bkaity.

301

Am I so like her? so fln-y .s;ii<l uu Ixiiinl.
Sir, if you knew her in her Eii^lisli days,
My iiiDtlier, as it sccins ymi did tin; d.iy-i
That lUKst slie lovfs to talk of- cdiik' wiili ww.
My brother James is in the h;.iv.-vt ticiil:
But she — you will he Wflcniiii' < >, loinc in '. ''

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.

In the olden titiies a kiiiijj ordci-.-d u fr/r in
coniniemorjition of llie l)irtli of ]ii> •'\<iiiisitt'ly
beautiful diiii'jrliter. lie iii\ itcil not <»iilv friends
and relations but wise wonit-n Avlm, he h<»{tt'(l, lo
woidd favor the child iiiid cmlow hfi- with
precious gifts. There Avcre thirteen Avi>e women
in his realm, but, because he had only twelve
gold pliites for them to eat otf, one of the
thirteen had to stay at home, 15

The fete was celebi-ated with the gr«'atest
splendor and, when it was over, the wise woiien
presented the child with their mauie gift-. The

lirst gave her virtue; the st iid, beaiiiy; the

third, riches, and so on till she had nearly all.'o
the heart of a human being can desire. But,
just as the eleventh had made her presentation,
the thirteenth suddenly biu-st in. She uanied
to be revenged for not being invited to the
banquet and, without greeting or l(^oking at 25

k-4

302

The Sleeping Beauty.

auv Olio, she procluiiiu'd in a l'»u<i voico, "The
jM-i'iicess sliiill ill Iht fifteenth y.'iir di*- from tho
prick of :i spiii«ll«'." AVitlioiit siu-akiiig- aiiotlun-
wci-a slie tunicMl and loft tlio liall. Ewiy oiio
sAvas slKK'kcd; tlu'ii tlio twelfth wise woman,
who still had her wish to give, stepi.ed forward
and, heeanse she was powerless to cancel the
senteiioe of tlie thirteenth but could only modify
it, she said, "The princess shall not die from
mthe injury hut fall asleep for a hundred years."
The kinji', who was anxious to guard his
beloved child from the ■, vdicted misfortune,
ordered every ' •lining- wheel in his kingdom
to he burnt. ..at the promises of the other
iswise women were fulfilled to the letter for the
voung princess grew up gifted with beauty,
goodness, courtesy, grace, and intelligence to
such a degree that every one who came near
h«'r adored her.
'.'0 ll happened that on her fifteentii birthday
the princess was alone in the castle becaus(>
the king and (lueen were obHged to leav«' her
and go on a .jouiney. The girl amused lierself
by running about in the corri<lors and rooms
25 ami exph.ring all sorts of out-of-the-way corners.
At last siie came to a small ancient tow(M-.
She climbed the winding staircase and found
lierself in front of a little door. There was a
rusty key in the lock and, du'ectly she turued

The SLFEi>iN«i l>i.\i rv.

.(IF. »

it tho door spruii*^ ojwii, .mikI tli.-t'.' in a tiny
room sat an Uirt'il <laiii<' l.ft'ort' a >piiiiiiiii;--
wlic.'l, spimiin.iij li^r flax iiiilii<trii>ii«-Iy.

"ffood-tlay, old inotlit'i'kiii," sa'nl llif jtriiicfss.
"wliat ai'o you doinir?"

"J ain spinning,"' r»-].li»Ml tilt' old woman, and
nodd(Ml lit'r head.

"AVliat is that tiling; cali.-d tliat ixnv< v<>nnd
so in<'iTily ;' " askcij tJic jiiincf^--, an<l >ii.' t«M,k
hold of tlu' sjtinninj^-wliri'l to s<'t' it' she mnldi'i
spin too. Si-ai'<'t'ly liad sln' tourjicd it wlicn
til*' spindle })rickcd lici- iini;-.']', anil at tin' Vfi\-
same instant she sunk on tlir couch lichind iicr
in a pi'ot'ound .<<lumhcr, and this slumlM-i-
s]»ivud ov«'r the whole cast]*'. The kinii' andi.
the (jueen, who liad Just come hone-, fell fast a-
sleej) in the hall and the whole court followt'd
suit. The hoi-ses in the staltle slept, t'le doiis
in the kennel, tho pigeons on the roof, the
Hies on the Avail; yes, and e\en the Iji-c that.i.
ha-; been flickering on the ht-ai-th stood still
and went to sleep. The roa^^t on tin- spit
stopj>ed (M'ackling. and the <-o,.k, who was in
the act of pulling tin' scullion's liaii- because
he had foi-gotten s<»mething, hi him go and.-,
they both sle})t, and tho wind slumlii'i'i'd in
the ti-ees round the castle, and not a l.af stiired.

But encii'cling the castle thrre grew u]i a
hedge of thorn, and it gi'cw and grew till it

im^i

304

The Si.EKPTxr. 'Reat'TY.

W W

»♦

was so tlu<'k aii.l lii^^U it lii<l tlio castlo com-

pl.-trly from view, .'Vi-ii Ww Hag on the t.*}. of

tlio ]i'i<,'h<^st tower. TIh' Irp'iid w<Mit abroad in

the land tliat a Leant iful in-incoss slept l.eliind

otlie tlM»rn-he«l,i;e, and n"\v and a.^ain a prince

Avonld .M.nie and try to mt his way tlin.ngli it

into the eastle. I'.nt lio one ever seemed al)le

to aeeomplisli Hie f.-at. The thorns, as if they

were fin«,'ers, eanjxht h..ld of the vontiis and

loj^ripped them fast, >o that th.-y eonld not get

away and were obliged t<. hang th.-re and

perish misei-aUly.

After many "ars a prince while travelling in
the country h.'ard the story of tins thorn-
lohedge from an old man, and how a castle
stood behind it, and in the castle lay a lovely
princess called Thorn-Kose, who had been sleep-
ing for a hundred years, and the king ami
queen and all the ecmrtiers with her. The old
:;omau had heard from his grandfather that
many royal youths had tried to penetrate t1u>
thorn-hedge, but remained hanging there and
so died a lamentable death.
The foreign prince said, "I am not afraid,
wl will start at once and see this sleeping
beauty." It ^vas in vain that the old man
prayed him not to go; h<' was d.^tcrniined and
would not hc.'d his warning.

It was the dav on which the hundred years

'■^SHRejMfim*-?.

The Sleepinc; I?f..\[tty.

:?05

had oxpiivd an. I tiir Princess Thoin-lios.' was
to wake up again. AVIumi llio })rin<'0 ani\.'(l
at the notorious tlioi-n-licluo tli.-i-o w.-iv no
thorns, Init only iM'autirul l.ig liowrrs that
parted of th<'ir own arc.rd and l.-t liini go •,
through unhurt and tlifii clost-d up again. In
the castle-yard l.e saw tlic horses aii«l the
great dcerhounds lying aslcrp, and on the j-oof
the i)igeons ^vel•e sitting with thrir lira. Is tuckt-d
under theii- wings. On entering into the hous.^..
th.'re -vveiv the flies sleeping on the wall, tli.>
«'ook in the kitchen wiih his hand outstict.-h.'d
as if lie would seize liol.l of the sculiioiTs hair,
and the co..k-niaid standing a>Iccp ])ct'oiv u
i)lack hen which she had been in the act of is
{)lucking.

The prince went on int.» ii ,■ givat hall and
saw the king and qu.'cn asl.-.'p at the foot of
their throne and all the courtiers lying about
asleep on tlie chairs and sofas. Then he went-M
on still fui-ther and the silence was so j.rofonn<l
that his own hreathing couM Im; hcai'd distinctlv.
At last lie came to th(» old tower and .ipeiied
the door of the little r..oni in which tlu' Princess
Tii.'i-n-]{ose slept. She lay there looking soj5
lovely that he could not tak(i his eyes ot!: her
and he bent down and gave her a kiss.

At tlie touch of his lips Thorn-Rose's lids

quiverel; then she opened her eyes and looked
20 *^

■ti

■.Uc/i ^v

306

The Sleeping Beauty.

'. '\

|-*M!

' !

at him v.'\i\i a friendly smile. Together thoy
went (iownstairs and the king an<l queen awoke,
and the whole court, and stared at them in
wonder. The horses in the yard got up and
6 champed; the sporting-dogs shook themselves
and wagged their tails; the pigeons shook then-
heads from under their wings, looked al)ont,
and then flew away to the fields ; the flies
crawled a little further up the wall; the fire in
lotho kitchen grate leapt up in flames and cooked
the dinner; the meat on the spit began to
splutter again; the cook gave the boy such
a box on the ear that he howled, and the cook-
maid went on plucking the fowl with a will.
15 Not long aftenvards the marriage of the prince
with his princess Thorn-Rose came off amidst
great festivities, and they lived happily together
for the rest of their lives.

—THE BKOTHERS QRIMM.

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.

The varying year with blade and sheaf

Clothes and re-clothes the h-ppy plains;
Here rests the sap within the leaf,

Here stays the blood along the ^eins.
Faint shadows, vapors lightly curl'd,

Faint murmurs from the meadows come,
Like hints and echoes of the world

To spirits folded in the womb.

m^^

mmm-

The 8leepixg Beauty.

307

Soft lustre batlies tlio range of urns

On ovfiy slanting torrace-lawn.
The fountain to his place returns

Deep in the gjinlen lake witlidrawn.
H(M'e droops the hanner on the tower, 5

On tlie hallhearflis tlie festal Hres,
Till! jH'ai'oek in liis laurel bower,

The parrot in his gilded wires.

Hoof-haunting martins v.arni their eggs:

In these, in those the life is stay'd. 10

The mantles from the golden pe^s

Droop sleepily ; no sound is made
Not even of a gnat tl at sings.

More like a picture seemeth all
Than those old portraits of old kings U

That watch the sleepers from the wall.

Here sits the butler witli a flask

Between liis knees, half-drain M ; and there
The wrinkled steward at his task ;

The maid of honor blooming fair: 20

The page has caught her hand in his,

Iler lips are severVl as to s[)eal<,
His own are pout<>d t(j a kiss,

The blush is fix'd upon her cheek.

Till all the hundred summers pass, as

The beams that tiirough the oriel sliine

jVIake prisms in every carven glass

And beaker brimm'd with noble wine.

Each bar!>n at the b.'inqaet sleeps,

Grave faces gather'd in a ring. 30

■1!

I'll

'ri

\,\h

*■:*

■li

«5r

308 The Sleeping Bkaity.

His state the kinj? reposiiij,' kft-ps,
lie must liuve Ijeen a jovial king.

All roun«l a licflgo upshfK)ts and hIiows
At distiuico like a little wood:
5 Thorns, ivies, woodhiiic, niistl»"to«'s,

And gra[K'3 with hiincht-s red as blcxMl,
All creeping jilants, a wall of grcm

Close-matted, hur and hrako and briar
And, glimpsing ov.-r these just seen
JO High up, the topmost palace spire.

When will the hundred s\nnmers die

And thought and time Ik? born again,
And newer knowledge drawing nigh

Bring truth that sways tiie soul of meni
15 Here all things in their place remain

As all were onler'd ages since.
Come, care and pleasure, hojie and pain,

And bring the fated fairy prince.

Year after year unto her feet.

She lying on her couch alone,
Across the purple coverlet

The maiden's jet-black hair has grown
On either side her tranced form

Forth stiean.iiig from a braid of pearl ;
Tiie slumbrous light is rich and warm

And moves not on the rounded curl.

The silk star-broiderVl coverlid

Unto her limbs itself doth mould

Thf. Si.kf.i'incj Beauty,

309

Languidly evf-r ; uiul, amid

Her full hluck rini;lct.s downward ndl'd,
Glows forth each softly shadow '( I arni

With hruceU'ts of the diiininiid lui^ht:
HtT constant Ix-aiity <loth inform

Stillness with love and day with li;,'lit.

She sleeps ; her lireathin;;s aie not lieard

In i)alaee chamlM'rs far apart.
Tlie fraf,'rant tresses are not stirr'd

Tiiat lie u{M)n her charmed heart.
She sleeps; on either hand upswells

The gold-fringetl pillow lightly pn-st ,
She sleej)s, nor dreams, hut ever dwelU

A pei-fect form in j>erfeet rest.

All precious things, diseover'd late,

To those that seek them issue forth ;
For love in secjuel works with fate

And draws the veil from hidden worth.
He travels far from otlur skies -

His mantle glitters on the rocks —
A fairy prince with joyful eyes

And lighter-f(iot<'d than the fox.

The lM)dies and the bones of those

That strove in other days to pass
Are wither'd in the thorny close

Or scatter'd blanching on the grass.
He gazes on the sih'ut dcaii :

" They jx^rish'd in their daring deeds."
This proverb flashes thro' his head :

"The many fail, the one succeeds."

■(;

310

r 1

^iTi^V

"ii

'^]

.if jl»<«

f 1"

■1 V - '•-«

iil '

•»

The Slkki'Ino Beaity,

He cumos scarco knowiii}^ what hv sw-ks ;

ITo hn-ak tli«> 1h<Ii,'»' ; ho ciiU-rH tht-re ;
The color Hies into his cht-rks :

He trusts to li>,'ht on something fair ;
For all his lifo the charm <liil talk

AlK)ut Jiis path and liu\<r near
With words of iiromiso in his walk

And whisper'd voices at his ear.

More close an<l close his f(M)tsteps wind;

The maf^ic music in his lu'art
Beats quick and quicker till lie liiid

The quiet chainlKT far apart.
His spirit flutters I'ko a lark,

He stoops— to kiss her — on his knee:
"Love, if thy tresses ho so dark.

How dark those hidden eyes must be I'

A TOUCH, a kiss ! the charm was snapt ;

Ther'j rose a noise of striking clocks.
And feet that ran, and doors that clapt,

And barking dogs, and crowing cocks;
A fuller light illumined all,

A breeze thro' all the garden swept,
A sudden hubbub shook the hall.

And sixty feet the fountain leapt.

The hedge broke in, the banner blew,
The butler drank, the steward scrawl'd,

The fire shot up, the martin flew,

The parrot scream'd, the peacock squall'd,

The Slkf.i'inu Beaitv.

311

The iniiid arul jmii,'m n-iicwM their striff,
Till? jiiilact! hjiii;{'<l ami hii/.z'il umi il.K-kf,

And till tlio loii^r-p'iit Htt'i'urii of lifit
l)»i.sii'(I <l<iwnwjiril in a cuturaft.

Ai!(I lii>,t with tlicsf tilt! kiiiL,' jiwokn

And in his cli.tii- hiinsflf U|ircjii'd
And yawn'd and rulilni his faro and >iMike

" Uy holy iimmI, a ru\al l«'anl !
IIow say yon? wt havo slept, my Inn is ;

My Ward has j,'r. .vn into my lap."
The liarons swoni with many words

Twus hut an iiflcr-dinncr's naj..

"Pardy," ri'turn'd the kinn, "hut still

My joints art; somewhat stiff or so.
My lord, and shall wo pass tho l)ill

1 mcntioii'd half an hour a>,'o?"
The chancellor, sedatt' and vain,

In Courteous words return'd reply,
But dallied with his golden chain,

And smiling put the (|uestion hy.

Ani> on her lover's arm she leant,

And round her waist she felt it. fold,
And far across the hills they went

In that new world which is the old —
Across the hills and far away

Beyond their utmost purple rim,
And deep into the dying day

The happv princess foUowd him.

"I'd sleep another hundred years,
O love, for such another kiss " ;

'r%!

r^- ■^•■K- f:

*ii

Nmi

312 TiiK Sr.ERPiNo Beaity.

"O wako fur rvcr, love," «ho hoarH,
" O love, 'twas Kuch as this and this."

Ami o'er them many a sliding Mtar
AikI many a nn'rry wind was lM)rno

Ami, sticamM tliro' many a golden l)iir,
Tho twilight mclt<>d into morn.

•*0 cv's long I'lid in happy sleep!"
"O happy sleep that lightly tied 1 "

"O happy kiss that woke thy sleep!"
) '■() love, thy kiss would wako the «leadl"

And o'er them many a Howjng raiigo
Of vapor hiioy'd tho creseont-hark

And, rapt thro' many a rosy change,
The twilight «lied into tho dark.

I "A lninrlr<>d suminers ! can it l»e?

And whither go^st thou, tell me where?"
"O seek my father's court with mo

i'oi there arc greater wondt;rs there "
And o'er the hills and far away
D Beyond their utmost purple rim,

Beycmd tho night, across the day,
Thro' all the world she foliow'd him.

— AI.KREI) TK.VNVSON.

Iti,

"\Mien all that is worldly turns to flrnss around us, IkxiUs
only retain their steady value. When frietids ;,'ii)W cold, uud
the converse of intimates languishes into vapid eivility and
c<)innu»n-|>iace, llit?r.e only contiiiuo tho ini.iltcrcd ciiii!itciiaiu;i-r^
of happier days, and elieer us with that true friendship which
never deceived hope nor deserte<l sorrow."

— Watihington Irving.

i ■

The F.viiuLa.

aia

THE FAIRIES.

Tin YOU wojKicr wii.iv tlic fiirj.s nro

TImf fnlks clt'clari- Imv.- Vinii^liM?
They're very near yel \.-rv far.

Hut iieitlier (lead iM.r haiii^i'il.
Thoy livo in the sa ,'re.ii \v..rl,I tcday ft

Ah in by yone au'es dlilen,
And yiMi enter hy the juniem wav,

Thro' (in isury i,'ate iind ^'i.l.lrn.

It's till! land of dreams; uh! fair and hrlirlit.

That land to many a nner, lo

But th»! lifart must 1h> pun and tite eonstienc- l);;ht

That WKuld cross its tineshold o\er.
Tho worldly man for its jovs niav \'arti

AN hen pi-ide and jiomj> einl.nlden,
lint never for him do the hinges turn U

Of tiie ivory gate and golden :

■ m

1-1

i •■"

Kiks
iitul
uiul

lich

While the innocent child with e\.s imdim

Ah tht> sky in its hhieness o'er him
Has only to touch tin j.ortal's rim,

And it ojK'ns wide Ix fore him.
fSonie night when the snn in darknes-, <|ips

We'll seek the dreamland oldrn,
And you shall touch with your linger tij.s

The ivory gate and golden.

-TMlIM VM WKSTWOOI),

^r^msk-m

-^''•^■^■:.i^:^'^ ^'^jy-'if-^ m ''

iff!

*• 4!l

*m.

314

LoKD Olive,

LORD CLIVE.

Some lineaments of the character of i .h' man
were early discerned in the .child, 'j ii' !.> ]t-
main letters Avritten by his relations nm^-h L'
was in his seventh year, and from these letters
.^it appeai-s that even at that early age his
strong will and his fi.M'y passions, snstained
by a constitntional inti-epidity which sometimes
seemed hardly compatible with soundness of
mind, had b.^gun to cause great uneasiness to
10 his family. ''Fighting," says one of his uncles,
"to which ho is out of measure addicted, gives
his temper such a fierceness and imperiousness
that he flies out on every trilling occasion."
The old people of the neighborho«jd still re-
15 member to have heard from their parents
how "Bob" Clive climbed to the toi* of a lofty
steeple and with what terror tlu! inhabitants
saw him seattsd on a stone spout near the
summit. They also relate how he fornxnl all
•JO the idle lads of the town into a kind of pre-
datory army and compelled the shopkeepers
to submit to a tri})ute of apj)les and half-
pence, in consideration of which he guaran-
teed the security of their windows.
25 He was sent from school to school, making
very little progi-ess in his learning and gaining

-^am[.\:mm^^:m

Lord Clive.

315

for himsolf everywhere tlie eharaeter of an o\-
ceedinj^ly iianglity boy. Oik? of liis masters, it.
is said, was sajj^acious oiioii<i:h to proplicsy tliat
the idle hid would make a jroat fii,nii't' in the
world. But the general opinidii seems to have -,
heen that poor Kobert was a dunce if not a
repro])ate. His family expected nothing good
from such slender parts and such a lnwlstrong
tempei-. It is not strange, therefore, that they
gladly accepted for him, when he was in hisio
eighteenth year, a writership in the service of
the East India Company, an<l shipfted liim otf
to make a fortune or to die of a fever at
Madi'as.

Far different were the i)i'ospects of Clive 13
tVom those of the youths whom the East India
College now annually sends to the Pi-esifh'ucies
of our Asiatic empire. The Company was then
purely a trading coi-poration. its teiritory <*on-
sisted of a few square miles for which rent at
was paid to the native governments. Its
troops were scarcely numerous enough to man
the batteries of three or four ill-constructed
forts which had been erected foi- tht> [)rotec-
tion of the warehouses. Tln^ natives, who com- .-o
posed a considerable part of these little gar-
risons, had not yet been trained in the dis-
cipline of Europe and were armed, some with
swords and shields, some with bows and

.*■(■

• .y^^mim^m em^-:M

:''aJMA^

ih:.

■t;

'^5

t" 4!

**•»:

'<#.'*

316

Lord Clive.

aiTows. The business of the servant of the
Company was not, as now, to conduct the
judicial, fina.icial, and diplomat i.; business of a
gi-eat CG .. .try, but to take stock, to make ad-
svances to weavers, to ship cargoes, and above
all to keep an eye on pi'ivate traders who
dared to infringe the monopoly. The younger
<'lerks were so miserably paid that they could
scarcely subsist without incurring debt, the
K, elder enriched themselves by trading on their
own account, and those who lived to rise to
the top of the service often accumulated con-
siderable fortunes.

Madras, to which Clive had been appointed,
15 was at this tune perhaps the first in im-
portance of the Company's settlement^. In the
preceding century Fort St. Geor= d risen

on a barren spot beaten l)y a r .^- surf;
and in the neighborhood a town inhabited
j-.by many thousands of natives had sprung up,
as towns spring up in the East, with the
rapidity of the prophet's goui-d. There were
already in th<? suburbs many white villas,
(>ach surrounded by its garden, whither the
.^wealthy agents of the Company retired after
the labors of thti desk and the warehouse to
enjoy the cool breeze which springs up at sun-
set from the Bay of Bengal. The habits of
these mercantile grandees appear to have been

*„i^^kii':'

\^^i^'

Lord Tlive.

31'

more profuse, luMirions, iuid ostentatious tliiiti
those of the lii^h judicial jiinl {(olitical t'uiif-
tionuries wlio havo succeeded theui. I'.ut com-
fort was far less understoo<l. Many devices

ich now niiti<j:at«^ tlu^ heat of the cJiMiatc, .,
}»i-eserve health, and prcilon*; life wei-e im-
known. There was far less intei-coui'se with
Europe than at j)i'esent. The voya.i;:e l»y the
Cape, whicli in oui* time lias often heen jmi-
fonned within thi-ee months, was then \eiyi„
seldom accomplished in six, an<l ^omeiime^ pro-
tracted to more than a yeai-. Conseiiuently,
the Anglo-Indian was then niueh more es-
tranged from his country, much more ;iddicted
to Oriental usages, a n<l much less fitted to mixio
in society after his return to Europe than the
Anglo-Indian of tlie ])i-esent <lay.

Olive's voyage was unusually tedious even
for that age. The ship reinaiiKMl some months
at the Brazils, where the young ailveiituiei-j(j
picked iij* some knowledge of Portuguese and
s{>ent all his pocket-money. lie did not ai-ri\e
in India till more than a year after he had
left England. His situation at .Madras was
most painful. His funds weie exhausted. Hisr.
pay was small. lie had conti-acted del its. lie
was wretchedly lodged, no small calamity in a
climate which c;u) Ise made 'olerahle to .mii
European only by sjiacious and well-idaced

111 1

m£

'.^,^.m^i^

r 3-

-'4

I I

! I:

'•h.

*«?.%

318

Lord Clive.

apartments. Ho had been funiishod witli letters
of rei'oiuinendatioii to u ^'t'litlenuiii who might
have assisted liim, l»ut when hr hinded at
Fort St. George h<^ found that this gentleman

shad sailed for f^ngland. Tho lad's shy and
haughty disposition withlirld him tVom in-
troducing himself to strangers. lie ^\as several
months in India Itefore he heeanie acquainted
with a single family. The climiite atfect«'d his

in health and spijits. His duties were of a kind
ill suited to liis ai'dent and daring character.
He ]>Mied for his honie, and his letters to his
relations expressed his feelings in hmguage
softer and nioi'e i)ensive than we should have

ioex[>ected either from the waywardness of his
boyhood or from the intiexible sternness of his
later yeiirs.

One solace he f(»und of the most respectable
kind. The Governor i)ossessed a good library,

2oand permitted ('live to have access to it. The
young man devoted nuich of his leisure to
reading and acquired at this time almost all
the knowledge of books that he ever i)OSsessed.
As a boy lie had been too idle, as a man he

25 soon became too busy, for literary pursuit.

But neither climate nor poverty, neither study

nor the sorrows of a home-sick exile could

tame the desperate audacity of his spirit. He

behaved to his official superiors as he had

Lord Clive.

310

beha\«'tl to ]iis s('li(M)l-iiia>t(is, iind was st-WMal
tinu's in daii^^M- of lositiic liis siiiiati-.n. Tuir..
wliile ivsi<liii<,^ in the Wiitt-rs' iJuil.lino- li.- ;it-
tenipt('(l to <lt'sti-(ty liiiiist'lf, ami twicf th,.
pistol wliicli lio siiai>iM'(l at liisi.wn li.-ail t'aii.'d ■.
to j;o oiT. Tliis ('ifcimistaiK'.', it is s;-'u\, af-
foctccl liim as a si)iiilai' ('■-(•a|M' at'fi'ctfd Wallrn-
steiii, Afior satistyinu: hiiii^<-It' tliat the |.ivt..|
was really well joadt-d he tmi-sl forth itifo an
♦'xdaination that sni'ely Im- \\a> rtvsrr\t'd form
.sonu'tliinjx jjjrcat.

Abunt tills time an ovmt whirl; at first
seemed likely to destroy all hi> hopes in lift-
suddenly opened l)efore liim a iifw j,;iili to
eminence, ^n the <'oi:i'>e of the war of thfi.-,
Austrian sueeession. dnrinj^^ which Krilain and
France w(M-e on ojiposite sides, the town of
Madras was captin'ec] hy a Frt-ncji exi.rdiiion
from Mauritius ami held for some montli< Kv
Dupleix, governor of the neii;hhoi'in<r s.'tt!e-ju
ment of Pondiclierry. The Companv's p(,^ses-
sions were r:^stored at tla^ eon-'lu^i,,i, ,,f p»>a( ,.
between the two nations in Eui-ope, but hos-
tilities were speedily i-eiiewed between the
English ami FreiM-lt traders. In the course 25
of the civil wars which followed the deaths
of the Great Mogul of India and th" Nizam

of the Deeean in 174><, Dupleiy su< '<h'd in

making French influence all but supremo over

■ \

.^!4MA*A

■f

320

Lord Clive.

,.4

'wij.

soutlu'in Tndin, d.'fcinin.i? and rxpflliiiiT tho
Tiutivo piiiices uho \v.-n> tVi.'iMlly t.. tli.- Hii<,'lisli.
Tlii' latter i-('c(>mii/.f(l MalM>iiniitMl All as Nabnl.
of the rariiatie, but lie was lM-sie<;e(l hy Indian
sfoives and their French anxiliavi"s in Tri-
cliinopoly, which was in imminent <hinj;er of
capture, ('live, who was now twenty-tive y(>ais
old, persuaded his sn])eriois at Madias to allow
hiui to cieate a dlvei'sioii liy attackinsi; Aivot,
lothe favorite lesidence of the Xaltohs. and he was
put at the head of two hundivd En^disli soldiers
and three hundred Sepoys to carry out his
plan. The weather was stormy, hut ('live
pushed on through thun(h'r, li-htnin,K, and raiv.
i5to the ^^ates of the city. The gariison in a
panic evacuated the foi-t, and the English
entered it without a hlov/.

But ('live kmnv well that he should not be
suffered to retain undisturbed possession of his
2ocon(iuest. He instantly began to <'olloct })ro-
visions, to throw up works, and to make pre-
parations for sustaining a siege. The garrison
whieh had lied at his approach had now
recovered from its dismay, and having be«Mi
26 swollen V)v large reinforcements from the
neighborh.Kxl to a force of thi-e thousand
men, encamped close to the town. At dead of
night lie marched out of tlio fort, attacked
the cami* by surprisi', slew great numbers,

. -i'ltiiiifMiMTi .III It: JK .^.IT

LoHi) Clive.

321

dispei'scd the I'cst, itnd n'ttniMMl to iiis ([uart»M"s
witiiout Imviiiir lost u siiijilr man.

Iiit('lli«;eii('<' ot' tliost' (>v»'iits wiis soon cai'iMtMl
to the lM'sit'i;<'('s of TficliinojMily. Four tliou-
saiul men wwe dt'taclu'd from tlit-ir camii """l ^
sent to Arc'ot. Tlicy wci-c speedily joined liy tiie
remains of the foic*' wiiieh ('li\e had lately
scattered, ])y two thousaml other Indian trooj»s,
and l>y a iiundred and iifty l''i'eneh soldiers
sent l>y Dupleix from Pondieheiry, the wholeio
army amonntinii; to ahont ten dionsand men.
The fort of Ar<'ot seemed quite iiieai)altle <»f
sustaininji^ a siege. The walls were ruinous,
the ditches di'y, the i'anii»arts too nai'row to
admit the j;uns, tlie ha'tlements too low toi5
protect the soldiers. The little garrison had
been greatly I'educed l»y casualties. It now
consiste<l of a hundred and twenty Eui'opeans
and two hnndr<'d and Iifty Sepoys. Only four
officers were left; the stock of pi-ovisions was jo
scanty; and the commandei' who had to con-
duct the defence under circumstances so dis-
couraging was a young man (4' tive-and-lwenty
who had been hi-ed a hook-keepei-.

During fifty days the siege went on. Din"ingii5

fifty days the young captain maintained the

defence with a firmness, vigilance, and ability

wine]} wouM have d<n!e lionor to the oldest

marshal iu Europe. The breach, however,
21

V ■

"W.

rw^

■f

322

Lord Clive.

•»?■

|4m,

iiioivnsed <lay by <liiy. Th»' ganisoii }>pj;ati to
f«>«'l the i>n>ssii.,» of hiiiigcr. I'lidt'i- sudi cii'-
cuinstaiM'os any tr<>oi>s so scantily piovid*'*!
with otlictii-s miiJjht have been expected to
5 show si<j;iis of insubordination, and the ihinger
was pecuHaily great in a force co upos.'d of
men differing widely from each other m extrac-
tion, color, langmigo, manners, and religion.
But the devoli(.n of the little band to its chief
losurpassed anything that is related of the Tenth
Legion of Caesar or of tlu^ Old Guard of
Napoh'on. The Sepoys cani<; to ('live, not to
complain of their scanty fai-e but to propose
that all the giuin should be given to the
15 Europeans, who required more nourishment
than the natives of Asia. The thin gruel, they
said, which was strained away tVom the rice
would suffice for themselves. History contains
no more touching instance of militar'- fidelity
20 or of the hitluence of a commanding mind.
An attempt nuule by the Government of
Madras to relieve the place failed. The fame of
the defence, however, aroused to activity a body
of six thousand Mahrattas, who had been hired
25 to assist Mahommed Ali but had been deterred
by the apparent invincibility of the French
troops. The besiegers determined to carry the
fort by storm before the arrival of these rein-
forcements. Clive had received secret intelli-

jolUt ClJVK.

323

geneo of tli*' dt'sij^ni, luid nijul.' jii'rjirijrt'HitMifs,
jin<l »'xliaust»Ml Ity t'jitii;ii.' liii<l tlirown liim-
self <»n his hed. He was awak.-iMil 1»\ flit>
alarm ami \va> iiistaiit'iy at liis |»n-.i. The
piu'jiiy advanc^Ml driviiiLj iift'oit' flifm clc- 5
{)liaiits \vhi>s(* t'(ti('|it';i(ls wt'ti* ;iij(it'(| with
ii'on plates. If was t'X|M"rtc(| that the j;att's
would vii'hl to th'' shiM-k of thtv-r liviiiir ItattPi--

mj^-raiiis.

I>iit tht' hiii;*' lit'.-i^ts ti

u s.Hiiirr tt

•It

the English imiskrt halls th.iii iIm-v tui'iit'd
found and I'lishcd fufiously .iway ti-am[iliii^ on
tht' imiltitudt' which li.id uix< » thrm foiwaid.
A faft was launched on the water which lilled
one )»art of the ditch. ('li\f, jiercei\ ini; that
his ^ninners at that post did tiot understan<l
their ])usiness, took die inanap'ineiit of a piece
of artillery liimself and cleared the laft in a
few minutes. AVhei-e the nioat was dry the
assailants mounted with j^ieat hi.lihiess, hut
they were received with a liiv so heavy andjo
so well directed that it soon (pielled the coui'a^e
even of faiuiticisni and of intoxication. The
rear ranks of the Ene;lis]i kept the fi-ont i-anks
supplied with a constant succession of loa(hMl
nniskets, and evei'y shot told on the livin<^ niassas
below. After thre<> desperate onsets the he-
.siejrers retired heliind tlu^ ditch.

The struggle lasted about an hour. Four
hundi'ed of the assailants fell. The garrison lost

K ■>:

It'
I*

324

Loud Clive.

t ' <l

only fivo or six mvn. Th." Ihsi.'-tmI pass.Ml an
anxious nl<rlit, loMkiii^- f«.i ;« ivn.-wnl ..f tho
attack. Hilt nvIh'H day l»rok»' th.> <-iiriiiy av.'Iv
IK) nii.iv t(. 1m' srrn. As tii.' ivMiit «.f a siir-
sc'essi(.n «>f vict<»ri»-s ill.' pow.-r ..f Biiiain ••••n-
tiinu'd slowly but st<'a<lily t.. iiu'ivasf, aii<l
that of Fvauc*' to (l.cliiic.

After ii sojourn of two y.-ars in Kuuland
Olivo ivtuna'd to Ma<lras, an. I a f.-w nioiitlis
lolatcr til.' iM)liti('al condition of B.'n.iial nia.l.'
British intcrv.Mitioii th.'V-;* a n.-.-cssity. Tho
Company ha.l hnilt Fort William to protect a
trading post wh.'ro th.> .-ity of Calcutta now
stands. On the .U'uth of the virtually indcpcn-
isdent vicroyof B.'n<,'al in l"-)!;, th.' sovcn-i-nty
descended to his t.ran.lson,a youth un.l.'r tw.'uty
years of a^^e, who hor.' tli.' name of Surajah
Dowlah. Ori.Mitalv' -ots are p.'rhaps the worst
cUiss of lunnan hein;z;>, and this uidiappy hoy was
aooneof the svorst specimens .>f his class. From
a c'hiki he had hated the En^'lish, and he ha.l
formed a very exaggerated notion of the w.'alth
which might be ol)tained by phindering theni.
Pretexts for a (luarrel were readily foun.l The
•j6 English, in expectation of a war with France,
had begun to fortify their settlement without
special permission. A rich native whom In-
longed to phmder had taken refuge at Calcutta,
and had not been delivered up. On such

|r I

•^-'T '-i

LoKD Cl.lVK.

i;i'(>iiiuls as tlit'st' Siifjijiili houlali m.iiflifil
with a great army airaiiist FkiI Williaii.. Tlif
s<'i"vaiits t)t' tho ('Miii)taiiy in Hfiiixal, milik"

those at Maih'as, had not I n t'«»rr.Ml to ln--

conit^ stat«'siii«'ii aii<l soMit-rs. 'I'hti t'oit was 6
takt.'ti at'tt'i* a tVclile i-osistaiicf, ami a, j.'ft-at niiiii-
Ikt of llit> Kiiiriisli t't'll into the hamls of thf <'<>ii-
(jUerovs. Many of tiit'Mi (lied whijf iini>ii«>n.'tl
(liii'in,!^ ail iiitt'iis.'ly h<>t iniiisiiitiint'i- nii^ht in
the small ill-vcniihitt'd drnut'on whifji is known lo
to history iiiHltT the name of tlif *' lilark
Holt'/' Siirajah Dowlah ]ila«'tMl a ^Mrrisoii in
Foi't William and foi'liadc Kmrli^hmtMi to dwell
in tiie n«'i<;hlioihood.

lu August the news of the tall of Caleuttai-i
readied Madras and excited the lit'r<'est ami
hitterest resent, nt. A eonihiiied milil.ary and
naval expedition was })i-omntly nndertaken,
Clive being at the hea<l of the land foi'ees.
Nine linn<lred J^ni;:lish infantiy, tine trooj»s and-ii
fnll of spirit, and fifteen hnndved Se|H)ys eom-
)>osed the army which sailed to pnnish a
j vince who had more snbjects than licwis the
Fifteenth or the Em{>ress Mai'ia Theresa.
Surajah Dowlah aftcn* a hiief delay otfen'd toi'>
restore the Coin})any's factory and to give
compensation to those whom he ha<l despoiled.
Peace was no sooner conchided, however, than
he formed new designs against the English and

-^!l^

■■ \ :

"i.mm

it:

320

L(.ni) Cmvr.

iiivit.'d tlu> Fivncli fn.ni tlio T)oc«.ni» to driv
tl...... out ol- n.'ni;nl. Mis ii.t.iLrnr^ w-n. knowi.

toriiv.'Nvl.n, i.i.l<'.l l.y A.ln.iralWatso.M.roinpt-
ly att.-..-k..a nii.l rai.ttnv.1 tl..> Frrn.-li fort with
stho military sto.vs ami ..'inly tiv.^ huiahv.l
Etivo|M>aji ]>nsoin'V<.

Aft.Ts<)H».'liiM.-si."nt i:i fniitI.->^ u.-^'..tialio]i>^
witli tli.> Nai'ol. aii.l in r..iM.ii!iii<r aiiioiiu: his
officials a coii^^iora.-y a-.ii.i^l hiiti, Cliv mi'I-
,o(l.-nly put his tn.ni.s in nioiion an-l wiut.. a
lett.T in which hi> announ.-cd that, as the nuns
wore about to set in, ii" an.l "nis men wouM .h-
themselves the lionor of waitin.u on his Hii;h-
uoss for an answer. The latter instantly
tsassei.ihied his whole foivc aial marched to en-
counter the Kni^lish. The cowardly .h'lay of
the chief liKlian conspirator in carryin-- oiit
his ajrreement put ('live in a painfully anxi-
ous situation. TTe i-ould place no confidence
ajin the sincerity or in the .'onraiX*' of his con-
federate, and, whatever conli.lence he mii,dit
phico in his own military talents and in th ■
valor and discipline of his tro.-ps, it was n
h^'ht thincr to enuam'o an army twenty times
aoa^ numerous as his ow.i. P>."fore him lay a
river over which it was easy to advance, but
over which, if thin.-xs sscnt ill, not one of his
little baud would ever return.

Ou this oecasiou, for the first and last time,

rf*£

.:"Vi>;

^^^

a-^iafjjj

L<»UI» i 'l.lVK,

327

hiw (liUllitli'SS s|>ii"it iliiriiitr .1 t'-w limii-- siii'.-iiik
from tln' ft'.-ii-fiil rt'>«|M»ii»iliilit\ of iiiakiiiLT h
ilt'cisioii. Ilf callt'tl ii ••Miiiiril tif war. Tlit'
iimjoi'ity ]>ron(Hiin.'»l airiiiii^t tii^-^htiiiir. aiiii < 'li\''
«lt'»'lar»'(l liis iM>iiciii'it'ii<'<' with tlif iiia.i>»i-i; y. •■-
lion^ aftcrwafils lif sai«l lliat lif lia^l ii'Ait
callnl Wilt uiir (MiiUH'il i>t" WAV, aii"l ilia! if In*
iia»l takt'ii tln' ailvii-r of iliat coiiikmI Ih.-
licitisli, woiiM !n'\i'!- liavt' Immh masters of
]it'ii«;al. Hut s<-ai«M' !ia<l tin- iiifftiiiir l>i'ol<«'ii uiun
wht'ii he was liiiiisflf auain. Ilf rt'Iiri-d ;;|oii.'
uixlcr tilt' s|ia<|t' of sotiM' tit'fs ami j«a><t'<l m-ar
ail hour tlu'iT in thoiiir;lit. Ih- <'atii«' liat-k
(It'tffiiiiiKMl to put «'v<'i'ythin«,f to lia/.atil and
g'dvv oftlcfs that all should 1m- in ifadiiM'ss forij
passing; tlu' riv«'f on the niotrow.

Th»' fiver was passed, and at tlii' do'^t" of a
toilsonit' day's niardi thr aiiny loim- after
sunset took up its (piarter^ in a irrove of
nian,i:;o trees near IMassey, within a tnije of tlK^.i*
enemy. Clive was iinalde to ^jerp: he heard
through tlio Avliole ni^lit the sound of diiuns
and cyin))als from the \ast eanip of the Xal)oli.
It is not straiii^e that even hi- stout lieart
should now and then have sunk when he re-ii
fleeted ajjainst what o<lds and foi- what a piize
he was in a few houis to contend.

The battle eotnmeneed with a cannonade in
vrhich tlie artillery of the Nal>(»l) did scarcely

1l Ww^

328

Loiii) ('live.

any exeontion, while the few field-pieces of the
English i.rodueed .ureat effect. Several of tlie
most distin^'uished officers in Surajah Uowlah's
service fell. Disorder began to spread through
r.his ranks. His own terror increased every
moment. One of the conspirators urged ou
him the expediency of retreating. The insidi-
ous advice, agreeing as it did with what his
,nvn terrors suggested, was readily received.
10 He ordered his army to fall back, and this
order decided his fate. Clive snatched the
moment and ordered his troops to advance.
The confused and dispirited multitude gave
way before the onset of disinplined valor. No
,5 mob attacked by regular soldiers was ever
more completely routed. The little band of
Frenchmen, who alone ventured to confront
the English, were swept down the stream of
fugitives. In an hour the forces of Surajah
.2oDowlah wei-«i dispersed never to reassemble.
Only five hundred of the vau(iuished were
slain. But their c.'>>>ip, their guns, their bag-
gage, hmumerable igons, innum(U-able cattle,
remained in the power of the conqu«n-ors.
2r,With the loss of twenty-two soldiers killed and
fifty wounded, Clive had scattered an army of
near sixty thousand men and subdued an
empire larger and more populous than Great

Britain. -thomas babinoton macaclat.

'r^^-.^Stf

The Death of Wellington.

329

THE DEATH OF WELLINGTON.

Bury the Great Duki;

With iui I'lnpire's liunontation,
Let us hury the fin-at Hiiki-

To the noise of the niunrniiii; <>f a inij,'hty nation,
Mourninr; wlien tht'ir leadi rs fall,
Warriors carry th<> warriors pall,
Aud sorrow darkens hamlet and hall.

Where shall we lay the man "vhom we deplore t
Here, in streamin;,' London's central roar,
Let the sound of those Ik; wrought for
And the feet of those he fouj,dit for
Echo round his bones for evermore.

l«

t ' §

Lead out the pageant : sad anfl slow

As tits an universal woe

Ijet the long procession go,

And let the sorrowing crowd ahout it j,'row,

And let the mournful martial music blow:

The last great Englishman is low.

Mourn, for to us he seems the last,
Remembering all his greatness in the past.
No more in soldier fashion will he greeL
With lifted hand the gazer in the street.
O friends, our chief state-oracle is mute.
Mourn for the man of long-enduring blood,
The statesman-warrior, moderate, resolute,
Whole in himself, a common good.

'i^A ijk;

'"^9f»Mr^''r^^'''fn^-:

*■ ,'.'

330

The Death of WELLiN<noN.

Mourn fur the man of amplest influence

Yet clearest of ambitious crime.

Our greatest, yet with least prct.-nce,

Great in council and great in war.

Foremost captain of his time.

Rich in saving common sense,

And, as the greatest only are,

Tn his simplicity sublime.

O goo<l gi-iy head which all men knew,

O voice from which their omens all m.-n drew,

O iron nerve to true occasion true,

O fall'n at length that tower of .trengtli

Which sUkkI four-square to all the winds that blew !

Such was he whom we deplore.

The long self-sacrifice of life is o'er.

The great world-victor's victor will be seen no more.

Who is he that cometh like an honor'd guest,

With iKinner and with n.usic, w.tii soldier and with

priest,
With a nation weeping, and breaking on n.y 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 Wgan.
Now to the roll of muffled drums
25 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
9» Worthy of our gorgeous rites,

The Death of Wellington. 331

And worthy to be laid by the*- ;

For this is England's greatest son,

He that gain'd a hundred figlits

Nor ever lost an En;,'lish gmi.

And thro' the centuries let a people's voice

In full accui.a,

A people's voice,

The proof and echo of all huniai fiiiiie,

A people's voice, when they rejoice

At civic revel and pomp and g.itiie,

Attest their great commander's claim

With honor, honor, honor, honor to him.

Eternal honor ta his name.

A people's voice ! we are a people yet.
Tho' all men else their nobler dreams fori^et,
Confused by brainless mobs and lau l.>ss powers :
Thank Him who isled us Ikmh and roui,'lily set
His Briton in blown seas and stormins^ showers,
We have a voice with wliich to pay the debt
Of boundless love and reverem-e and re^rret
To those great m?n who fought and kept it oin v
And keep it ours, O G<m1, from brute coytrol ;
-to statesmen guard us, guard the eye, the soul
Of Europe, keep our noble England whole.
And save the one true seed of fret-dom sown
Betwixt a people and their ancient throne,
That sober freedom out of which tlwit^ springs
Our loyal passion for our temperate kings ;
For, saving that, ye help to sa- mankind
Till public wrong l>e cruml'lod mto dust
And drill the raw world for tho marcli of mind

i,S.

!'4\

r}WIL:i^rmmmm^Wj^^m^P»;f%

{

The Death of "Wellington.

332

Till crowds at length liojaae and crowns be just
But wink no more in slothful overtrust. j

Remember him who led your hosts ;
He bad you guard the sacred coasts.
6 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
Tn thunder, silent ; yet remember all
10 He spoke among you and the .an 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 rumor flow
Thro' either babbling world of high and low ;
16 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 ;
20 '^ruth-teller was our England's Alfred named :
^, Truth-lover was our English Duke ;
^ Whatever record leap to light
He never shall bt; shamed.

Lo, the leader in these glorious wars
15 Now to glorious burial slowly borne,
Follow'd by the brave of other lands.
He on whom from both her open hands
Lavish Honor showcr'd all her stars
And affluent Fortune emptied all her horn.
90 Ye»' let all good things await
Him who cares not to be great

The Death of Wellinmiton.

;?;]3

But as ho saves or serves the state.
' Not onco or twice in our roiigli .lami story
The path of fluty was the w y to yloiy ;
He that walks it only thir-miu
For the right and learns to deaden
Love of self, In-fore his journey closes
He shall find the stuhhorn thistle l.ursting
Into glossy purples whicli out-redden
^AU voluptuous garden roses.
Not on-.-e or twice in our fair island-story
The path of duty was the way to j,'lory ;
He that, ever following her coniniaiids,
On with toil of heart and knees ami hamls
Thro' the long gorge to the far light has won
His path upward and prevail'd,
Shall find the toppling crags of duty scalr-d
Are close upon the shining table lands
-To which our God Himself is moon and sun.
Such was he : his work is done.
But while the races of mankind endure
Let his great example stand
Colossal, seen of every land,
And keep the .soldier firm, the statesman pure,
Till in all lands and thro' all human story
The path of duty be the way to glory ;
And let the land whose hearths he saved from slianit
For many and many an age proclaim
At civic revel and pomp and game,
And when the long-illumined cities flame.
Their ever-loyal iron leader's fame.
With honor, honor, honor, honor to iiira
Eternal honor to his name.

3«

1--|

wmW''':^im^^^^'^SiZ^^mf'mm ..■'t:w.^'

\ iH

. iy

. ^

I) »^

■ ■ ■-;

"In

334

The Deat i of Wellington.

Pt-ace, his triumpli will !)« sung
T'.y some yt't uninouldt'd tongue
Kar on in sumnu'is tliat wt^ shall not see :
Peace, it is a day of pain
For one uhout whose patriarchal knee
T^te the little chihlren clung :
() peace, it is a day of pain
For one upon whose han<l and heart and brain
Once the weight, and fate of Europe huug.
More than is of man's d.-grce
Must b(; with us, watching hero
At this one great solemnity.
Whom we see not we revere ;
We revere and we refrain
15 From talk of battles loud and vain,
And brawling memories all too free
For such a wise humility
As befits a solemn fane;
We revere and, while we hear
•.x. The tides of music's golden sea
Setting toward eternity.
Uplifted high in heart and hope nro we
Until we doubt not that for one so true
There must be other nobler work to do
25 Than when ho fought at Waterlot),
And victor he must ever be.
For tho' the Giant Ages heave the hill
And break the shore, and evermoie
Make and break, and work their will ;
30 Tho' world on world in myriad myriads roll
Round us, each with diflferent powers
And other forms of life than oura,

'■■*ttif --i »."»!. ■>^^■!.■.^i'■

The Mountain of Miseries.

335

What know we gicattT than tin; mxiI I

On God and God-likii nit-n wt' build niir trust.

Hush, the Dead March wails in th»' jx'oplt's fars ,

The dark crowd moves and Ihcro an) sohs and tcar^

The black earth yawns, the mortal disapjj«'ars ;

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust ;

He is gone who seem'd so ;;r(iii ;

Gone — but nothing can iMifaxc hiiii

Of the force he niadt; his own

Being here, and we believe him

Something far advanced in stute.

And that he wears a truer crown

Than any wreath that man can weave him.

Speak no more of liis renown,

Lay your eartlily fancies down.

And in the vast catheilral leave him

God accept him, Christ receive him.

M.KKKll TK.NNVMIN.

THE MOUNTAIN OF MISERIES.

It is a e«^lel)rato(l tlioiii^lit <>\' Socratrs tliut, if
all the misfortmios of iiumkind wtTf cast iiit<>
a public stock, those who now tliiiik them- jo
selves the most uiihupi»y would prefer the
share they are already possessed of l)cfoi-«^ tliat
which wonld fall to them by siieli a division.
Horace has carried this thought a great deal
further bv im living that the hardshi})s or mis-25
fortunes that we lie under are moi'e easy to
us than those of any other person would bo.

"'i

'.'^az.i^^vxsn

336 The Mountain of Mihekies.

As I WHS iiiniinatit.- on thes(, two ivnmrks
and seatwl in my elbow-.-luiir I ins^M.sibly f»-ll
Hsleop, ^vhon on a snd.l.Mi ni.'t1...ugl.t tlicre
was a imx^lamation mado by .Tnpit.r that ovon-
5 mortal sbonUl bring in his grinfs an.l calaimtios
and throw them tog.'ther in a heap. There
was a large plain appoint.,! for this pnrpose.
I took my stand in the centre of it and saw
with a groat deal of pleasure the wh.»le human
io species marching one after an<.ther and throw-
ing down their several loads, wliich immediately
g,.ew up into a prodigious mountain that seemed
to rise above the clouds.

There was a certain lady <.f a thin airy
15 shape who was very active in this selenmity.
She carried a magnifying-glass in one of her
hands, and was clothed in a loose flowing robe
embroidered with several figures of fiends and
spectres that discovered themselves in a thou-
«sand chimerical shapes as her garment hovered
in the wind. There was something wild and
distracted in her look. Her name was Fancy
She led up every mortal to the appointed
place after having very officiously assisted him
25 in making up his pack and layhig it upon his
shoulders. My heart melted within me to see
my fellow-creatures groaning under then- res-
pective burdens and to consider that pr<xligious
bulk of human calamities which lay before me.

ii.^-.-J'n:. J-.Jl

■«

ThF MolNTMX OF MiSF.niKS.

337

ThtM'o wen*, li<>\v('V«'r, sovt-iiil iH-rsdus who
gave iiiti groat divt'isioii ui»>ii tlii.s oi-iasioii.
I obsri'vod Olio l)riiigiiig in a t'iii<l«l vtiy cai'O-
fully concoalcd iukLt an oM finltfoidfitMl cloak,
wliich, iioou his throwinj^ it into llm lioap, I '.
dLsoovt'icd to bo powrty. Aiioth» r aflor a
groat doal of pulling throw down his hii;;:;;iico
which, iipou examining, I found to ho liis Avif.-.
Tlioro wore multitudes of losers sadiUcd with
very whiinsioal burdens eoniposcd of darts and>o
flumes; but, what was very odd, though they
sighed as if their hearts would bi-oak under those
bundles of ealamitios, they oiiuld not persuade
themselves to oast them into the lioap wL.'ii tlio'y
came up to it, but after a fow faint eft'ortsu
shook their heads and marohod away as heavy-
ladeu as they came. I saw multitudo'S of old
women throw down their wrinkles and several
" uug ones who stripped themselves of a tawny
skiu. There were very gioat h<'ap.s of rodi»
noses, large lips, and rusty tt^etli. The truth of
it is, I was suii»rised to see the greatest part
of the mountain made up of bodily defoiinitios.
Observing one advancing towards the heap with
a larger cargo than ordinaiy upon his biick, I^o
found upon his near approach that i v . s only
a natural hump, which he dispt/cd ' f with
great joy of heart among thl c>, cation of
human miseries.

I i

4i.

!N'

338 TllK Moi NTAIN OF MiSEKIEH.

Th«'ro wtM-e likewise disterniM'vs of all sorts,
tbough I <'ouia not but oUhmvo tliat Umio ^y^'lv
lUJiny moiv inm-inaiy than i>>al. One littl.-
packet 1 couhl not but take notice of, wlii.-h

5 %vus a complication of all the diseases bici.l.-nt
to human miture, ami was in the haial of a
gi-eat many fine i.e<.i.le: this was called the
spleen. But ^vhat most of all smi.ris.'d me
was a remark I made that there Avas not a

losingle vice or folly thrown into tlu^ whol.» heap;
at which I was very much astonished, havmj,'
concluded within myself that every one would
take this opportunity of getting rid of his

passions, prejudi»

■es.

and frailties. I took

isnotice in particular of a very proflipite tellow,
who I did not (piestion eame hiden with his
c ues, but upon searching into his buiulle I
and that insteiul of throwing his guilt from
Aim he had only laid down his memory, lb'
aowas followed by another worthless rogue who
flung away his modesty instead of his ignorance.
"When the whole race of mankind had thus
cast their burdens, the phantom which had
been so busy on this occasion seeing me an idle
25spectator of what passed approa.-lied towards
me. I grew uneasy at her presence, when of a
sudden she held her magnifying-glass full luifore
my eyes. I no sooner saw my iaee in it but
was startled at the shortness of it, which now

The Moi'NTAiv of Misf.iiif.8.

339

appeared to iii»' in its iitiii<»st a;ri,'iav.iti<»u. Tlie
iiiiirKMlt'i'ate ]>i'<'a<lth of tlif ft'.itiiiN's jiiaclo mo
v«'ry imn'h out of luuiior with my <»\v!i conii-
teiuiiice, upoti vhich I tl'icw it from mo like a
musk. It happened very hiekily that on.* who &
stood by me had just before thrown down his
\'isni;o, wliich it see?us was too loiisjj f<»r lu'm.
It was indeed ext«'nded to a most shame!".:!
hMigth. I })eliove the very chin was modestly
s])eaking ns h>ni^ ns my whole fa<'e. Wo ha<l lo
both of us an opportunity of mending our-
selves, and all the contributions beintj now
brought in, cverv man was at libortv to
exehan«?e his unsfoi'tunes for those of another
pei-son. i«

I saw with unspeakable pleasure tlie whole
species thus delivered from its sorrows, though
nt the same time, as we stood round the heap
and surveyed the several materials of which it
was composed, there was scarce a mortal in jo
this vast nmltitude who did not discover what
he thought pleasures and blessings of life, and
wondered how the owners of tliem ever came
to look upon thera as burdens and grievances.

As we were regai-ding very attentively tliisii'
confusion of miseries, this chaos of calamity,
Jupiter issued out a second proclamation that
eveiy one was now at liberty to ex<'liange his
affliction and to return to his habitation with

i if]

340

The MoiNTATN of Misfrika.

Ik ^u

1?^

,jr -•

\.r i-

luiy Piich oth.T buiHllo us ^iK.iiM be delivered
to him. T^l'on thin Fun.-y l.fgun again tn
bestir iM'rsrlf and, panM.lli.iK out tho ^v]lole
heap with i.M'redible a<-tivity, re.'omnM'nd.-d to
5 evoiy one ids particular piu-k.'t. Tho hiin-y
aud c«)nfusi«ju at this tiino was not to be
expresMMl. Some obs.M-vatioiis whi.h I niiido
liiwn tho occasion I nhall r.muuiii.i.-at.' to the

public. 1 1 • I

10 A voMorublo gi-ay-lu-a.hxl man, who hn.l laid
down the colic nu\ who I found wanted an
heir to his estate, smitched up an un.lutiful
Bon that had bciMi thrown into tho lirap l.y his
angrv father. The gnK-eless y.-nth in less
15 than' a quarter of an hour pulled the old
g.'ntleman by the beard and had like to hav.'
knocked his })rains out, so that, meethig the
true father who came towards him in a fit of
the <mpes, he begged him to take his son again
.oand give him ba.'k his colie, but they were
incapable either of them to recede from the
ehoiee tla^y ha<l made. A poor galley-slave
who had thrown down his chains took up tho
gout in their stead, but made such wiy faces
25 that one might easily i>erceive he was no great
gainer bv the bargain. It was pleasant en(nigh
to Bee the several exchanges that were made—
for sickness against jK.Ncity, liungcr against
want of appetite, and care against pain.

m!^Mm

Tun MAINTAIN ol MiSl.KIF.H.

341

Tlio f«»inal»« wniltl ufic vt'iy luisy amoiijj
th«'iiisolvt'«; ill luirtfriiiu: l"<>i' rtiitiircs; un*' wns
ti'Ufkiii;; •! lock of j;;fiiy liair^ for a cailtiiiK-lt ,
uiiotlu'i" was iriakiii^ ovtT a >li<Mt \\;u>\ foc a
jiair of roijiul slioiiltlfis, and a tlni«l rln'a|itinii<4 .-,
u had faro for ii lost i<'|.ii',iti.iii. Uut on all
th*'s«' (x'casioiis tlu'i*' was not i<\\r of fhcni
\\li(» <li»: ijot think tin' iifw itl<'ini-M, as soon as
hIio iuul got it. iiit(.> li'T i»oss«'ssioii, niiii'h more
ilisa«;f( 'cable than tli«' old on.-. I inadi' tlifm
sanu' ohst-rvation on t-vci} ■ithn mi-fort unt' or
calamity wliit'h t'vci-y on. -i tln' as>t'mlily
brou«;lit uitoii llilu■^^'lf in lit of wiiat lio had
puftcd with. Wht'tht'i- it hf that all the *?vils
whic'li Ix'fall us art' iu soiuf int-asiu'e .suited and i5
jtropoi'tioui'd to our strcnj^tn, or that cvory
evil l)ciM»m<'s uioi'o suiiporlal>l(' by our being
ucc'ustorued to it, J. shall not dft' 'mint'.

I must not omit my own jiaiticnlar advou-
ture. My f'" nd with the long visag*; had no.-.,
soouer lakm npon him my short fuc(5 but ho
mad'j- such a y;rotos(]ue tiguro in it that as I
looked uivon him 1 could no! forbear hiughing
at myself, insomuch that 1 put my own face
out of countenance. The i>oor gentleman wusii
so sensible of the ridicule that 1 found ho was
ashamed of what he had done. On the other
side I found thtit I myself had no great roaso?!
to triumph, for as I went to toucL my fore-

'HI

- jr

•1'

342 The Mountain of Miseries.

head I missed the place and dapped my finger
upon mv upper lip. Besides, as my nose was
exceeding promiuent, I gave it two or three
unlucky knocks as I was playing my band
6 about my face and aimmg at some other part

of it.

The heap .vras at last distributed among the
two sexes, who made a most piteous sight as
they wandered up and down under the pressure
10 of their several burdens. The whole plain was
filled with murmurs and complaints, groans and
lamentations. Jupiter, at length taking com-
passion on the poor mortals, ordered them a
second time to lay down their loads with a
16 design to give every one his own again. They
discharged themselves with a great deal of
pleasure, after which the phantom who had
led them into such gross delusions was com-
manded to disappear. There was sent in her
20 stead a goddess of a quite difieerent figm-e;
her motions were steady and composed, and
her aspect serious but cheerful. She every
now and then cast her eyes towards heaven
and fixed them on Jupiter. Her name was
26 Patience. She had no sooner placed herself by
the mount of sorrows but, what I thought
very remarkable, the whole heap sunk to such
a degree that it did not appear a third part
so big as it was before. She afterwards

Discontent.

343

retiin.-»d every niftn his own proper ('iilaniity
and, toacliinj; liim h<»w to Immt it in tlio ni«»st
r(»mni:)<li<»us niaiinor, lie nian-luMl <>tT with it
contentedly, ])ein«; very w<'ll plf.ist'd th.it hf
had not hcen h'ft to his own choice as to the i
kind of evils which tVil to nis lot.

Besides the several pieces of juorality to be
drawn out of this vision, T learnt tVoin it never
to repine at my own misfortunes or to envy
the hapi)iness of another, since it is itnpossil.le u.
for any man to form a right ju<V'nient of his
neighbor's sufferings; for whicji reason also I
iiave determined never to think too liirhtly of
another's complaints, but to regard the soi-rows
of my fellow creatures with sentiments of is
humanity and compassion.

— JOMKril AUUISON.

DISCONTENT.

"Whevce is't, Mivconas, that st) few approvo
The state they're plaicil in ami iii<liiic to rove,
Whether against their will hy fat,> irnpcsd
Or by consent and prudent ehoicf espouse*! ?
Happy tlie merchant I the old soldier cries,
Broke with fatigues and warHke enterprise.
The merchant, when the dreaiied hurricane
Tosses his wctiltliy cargi) on the m-.un,
Applauds the wars and toils of a campaign:
'There an engagement s<x)n decides your dcKmi.

; II

» /fc^p^i^JP^', 1 ._ I

A-ri*^ /HBSfc A,:3TO i--R

344

Contentment,

Bravely to die or come victorious home.*
The lawyer vows the farmer's life is Ix'st
When at the dawn the clients l)r('ak his rest.
The farmer, haviiifj; put in hail t'appoar
5 And forced to town, cries ' they are happiest there.'
With thousands more of this inconstant race
Would tire e'en Fahius to relate each case.
Not to detain you any loii,i,'ei-, pray attend
The issue of all this : Should Jove descend
10 And grant to every man his rash demand
To run his Iqnglhs with a neglectful hand ;
First, grant the harassed warrior a release.
Bid him to trade and try the faithless seas
To purchase treasure and declining ease ;
15 Next call the pleader from his learned strife
To the calm blessings of a country life ;
And with these separate demands dismiss
Each suppliant to enjoy the promised bliss:
Don't you believe they'd run ! Not one will move,
!!0 Though proffered to be happy from above."

—HORACE (tr. llomeck)

m^,

K j ,

hB'^

I' ^

ILI

CONTENTMENT.

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 vonder street that fronts the sun.

w TRw.».ja. -^A &-^x'

Contentment.

345

Plain food is ([nito cnoui;}! fm- me;

Tlii'w coui-M's arc a^ ^kkI as ten;
If nature can siilisist on throe,

Tiiank licavcn for tlin-c Aincn !
I always tliou<;lit cold victual nice; fi

M_v flioicc would Ih- \aiiilla-icc.

I care not uiucli for <.'ol<l or land ;

Givo me a moiti,'ai,'i' here and there,
►Some go(H] hank stock, some n.<le of hand,

Or triflini,' railroad share; n,

I oidy ask that fortune send
A little more than 1 shall spend.

Honors are silly toys, T know,

And titles are but empty names ;
I would, perhaps, Ik; Plenipo — 15

Hut only near Si. James;
I'm very sure I should not care
To fill our Gulxirnator's chair.

Jewels are bauhles ; 'tis a sin

To care for such unfruitful tilings ; »■

One good -sized diamond in a pin,

(Some not so large in rings,
A ruby and a pearl oi- so,
Will do for nie : I laugh at show.

My dame should dress in cheap attiro 25

(Gotxl heavy silks are nc'ver dear; ;

I own perhaps I might desire
Some shawls of true cashmere,

Some marrowy crapes of China silk

Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk. 30

34G

■a

QONTENTMENT.

I would not have the horse I drive

So fast that folks must stop aud stare;

An easy gait — two forty-hve-
Suits nie ; I do not can- ;

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— fon-ground golden dirt,

The sunshine painted with a squirt).

Of lxK)ks hut few— some fifty score

For daily use and lx)und for wear,
The rest upon an upper floor ;

Some little luxury there
Of red morocco's gilded gleam
Aud vellum ricli as countiy 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;

Shiill not carvM tahles servo my turn,
But all must he of buhll

Give grasping pomp its double ahax^

I ask but one recumbent chair.

??S^E?^'SBP^r-'!rS

Peace of Mrxn. 347

Thus humblo lot mo livo and flip.
Nor Idnj,' for Midas' jroldt'ii touch;

If heaven more pencroiis jjifts deny
T shall not niisn them much-

Too j,'rateful for tlie hlessiii;,' lent

Of simple tastes and mind mntt-nt.

-Ol.m.U WKMIKI.I. ilOLMKri.

PEACE OF MIND.

My minde to me a kintrdome is ;

Such perfect joy tiien-in T findo
Aa farre exceefJs all earthly hiisse

That Gw] or nature I.ath assigndc ;
Thoufjli much T want tliat most would liavw^
Yet still my minde forbids to crave.

Content I live; this is my stav,

1 seek no more than may siiffice ;

I presse to beare no hauj^htio sway ;

Look, what I lack my minde supplies.

Loe I thus I t'iumph like a kin<,',

Content witli lat my minde doth bring.

I see how plentie surfets oft

And hastio clynil)ers soonest fall ;

I see that such as sit aloft

Mishap doth threaten most nf all :

These i^et with toile and \<o(^p witli feare ;

Such cares my minde could never teare.

4J»^.;a-V;V

I ^, <!»<

It;

348

i! il

Peace of Mind.

No princely pompe nor welthie store,
No force to winrfe the victorie,

No wylie wit to salve a sore,

No shape to winne a lovers eye:

Ti> none of these I yeeld as thrall,

For why, ray raiiule dispiseth all.

Some have t<K) much yet still they crave,
T little have yet seek no more;

They are but p<M>re tho' much they have.
And T am rich with little store;

They poore, 1 rich ; they l^eg, I give ;

They lacke, I lend ; they pine, I liva

I lauph not at anothers losse,

I fjrudse not at anothers gaine.

No worldly wave my minde can tosso,
I brooke that is anothers bane;

T feare no foe nor fawne on friend;

1 loth not life nor dread mine end.

I joy not in no earthly bliss ;

I weigh not Cresus wealth a straw;
For care, I care not what it is ;

I feare no fortunes fatall law;
My minde is such as may not move
For l)eautie bright or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will;

I wander not to seeke for more;
I like the plaine, I clime no hill;

In greatest storms I sitte on shore
And laugh at them that toilu in vaine
To get what must be lost againe.

Peace of Mind. :u«)

T kisse not where I wish to kill ;

T fei;;tie not love wlu-re most I hat«< ;
1 brcake no sIcoim? to winno my will ;

T wayte not at tlio niighti<'>i '^tiUi.
I scorno no jmmjiv, I feart! no rirh ; ^

T feele no want, nnr luivo too iiiurli.

The court ne cart, 1 likt- nt- loath,

Extromes are countcfl wor>t of all ;

The golden moaiie U'twixt tlitin lioth

Doth surest sit ami fears no fall ; jq

This is my olioyce, fnr why I flti<le

No welth is like a (|iiiet niinile.

My welth is health and jn-rfeet (Nise ;

My conscience clere my c'.itfe ilefence ;
T never seeke by hrylws to please jj

Nor by deser*^ to vjive otl'mce.
Thus do I live, thus will T die :
Would all did so as well as I I

Some weigh their pleasures by t'leir lust.

Their wisdom by their rati:;i' of will ; ^

Their treasure is their only trust.

Their cloked-craft their store df skill ;

But all the pleasure that T tindo

Is to maintain a quiet minde.

—SIR KPW>' -KR.

ill

"Nothing is denied to well-directed lahor."

-Reynolds.

"He who loveth a book will iievtT want a friend, a whole-
some uouuiiiellor, a clietJlfui cuiii[miiii<<ii, iiii ilTeeluai iM-uifmLei. '

—Barrow,

r:|.

350

The Cua^^oed Ckoss.

ii '^'n

THE CHANGED CROSS.

It was a timo of sadness, and my heart,
Although it knew and loved the In'tter part,
Felt wearied with the conflict and the strife
And all the neetlful discipline of life.

a And, while I thought on these as given to me

My trial test of faith and lov to be.
It seemed as if I never could be sure
That faithful to the end I should endure.

And thus, no longer trusting to His might
,0 Who says, " We walk by faith, and not by sight,"

Doubting and almost yielding to despair.
The thought arose — My cross I cannot bear:

Far heavier its weight must sure'y be
Than those of others which I daily see.
13 Oh ! if I might another burden choose

Methinks I should not, fear my crown to lose.

A solemn silence reigned on all around ;
E'en nature's voices uttered not a sor.i.d ;
The evening shadows st'emed of ptace tu tell,
20 And sleep upon my weary spitit fell.

A moii> » 's pause — and then a heavenly light
Beamed 'I upon my wondering raptured sight;
Ausels on silvery wines seemed everywhere,
And angels' music thrille*! the balmy air.

ThR CHANdF.U CllOtiH.

351

Then Or»', more fair tluiii .ill tlm rest to .see,
One to whom all tlio otliiTs iKjwed tlio knee,
Came gently to mo us T ttembling lay
And, "Follow me!" lU sjii.l ; "I am the Way."

Tlien speaking thus lie led me far aljove,
And there beneatli u canopy of U,\ti
Crosses of divers sha|H> and si/e were seen
Larger and smaller than my own hail U-en.

And one there was most iM-auteous to Ixhold,
A little one with jcwt-is set in gold.
Ah! this, methouglit, [ can witii (-(jmfort wear,
For it will Ixj an easy one to Ix-ar :

And so the little cross T quickly took.
But all at once my frame Ixjneath it shook ;
Tlie .sparkling jewels, fair were they to see,
But far too heavy was tiieir weight for me.

"This may not Ik-," T cried, and looked again
To see if there was any here could ease my pain ;
But one by one T passed them slowly by
Till on a lovely one I cast my eye.

Fair flowers around its sculptured form entwined,
And grace and U-auty seemed in it combined.
Wondering I gazed and still T wondered more
To think so many should have passed it o'er.

But oh ! that form so Ix'autiful to see
Soon made its hidden sorrows known to me ;
Thorns lay In-neath tlios(> flowers and colors fair!
Sorrowing I said, "This cross I may not bear."

-M

■ *t.

SW^!^«srarmr^Hja-

W ''■

352 TuR f!nAN(JF.n (,'uokh.

And so it wtt« with oiicli iimi all arouiul —
Not onn t<) Kuit my iu-«'«l fonlrl tln-rc Iw founci ;
Wtvjiiiij^ I lHi<l fiu'li heavy luiiilru (iowii
As my (luido j^cmly siii<i, " No cnoN, iik riown.'

At Ifiijjth to Him I iai><«'<l my >^)iil<lfin(l luart ;
H<! knew its sorrows, liii<l«! ii>* <li"iil)is dt'pur't.
*' !'»«) not afniid," He said, " Imt trust ir- itu' ;
My perfpt't love Khali now Ik' shnwti to th("«?."

And then with lii^'htcncd eyes and willing fcn-t
Again T tiirtit'd my t-artlily cross to rm-ft,
With forward ftMitstcjis tnrnini; n<it aside
For fuar some iiidden e\ il mii^ht In-tidt! ;

And there — in the preiwm'd appointed way,
List«.'ning to lioar and ready to olwy,
A cross I quickly found of plainest form
With only words of love inscrilHti thereon.

With thankfulness I raised it from the r-est
And joyfully acknowledged it the U'st,
The only one of all the nrany there
That I ccjuld feel was good for riKi to liear.

And while T thus my chosen ont; corrfessed
I saw a heavenly hrightness on it rest,
And as I hent my Imi-den to sustain
I recognized my owir old cross again.

But oh ! how different did it seem to be
Now I had learned its preciousness to see !
No longer could T unlx'lieving say
Perhaps another is a better way.

Canada and Oueat liuiTAiN.

'sr,:

it>

Ah no! Iw,'iicfii)rtli my own desim Hliall li«»
Thiit H(! who knows inc Ix-t sliuuld cIkmwc for inr ;
Ami ><>, wlmUvv Ilia lov«j m-cs «.kj.| to scnil,
I'll trust it's best U'causB Ho knows th« ornl.

-AMl.VVMol ».

CANADA AND GREAT BRITAIN.

One arguin<Mif, hut not a strong orio, has 5
been used nguinst this confoflonttion, that it is
an advance towards independence Some aro
apprehensive that the vciy fact of our forming
this union shall hasten the time when wo shall
be severed from the mother <'ouiitiy. I have 10
no apprehension of that kind. I Ijcheve it will
have a contrary emM-t. 1 believe that, as we
gi'ow stronger, as it is felt in England that
we have becom«^ a peoph^ able from our union
our strength our population and the develop)- m
meut of our resourc»'s to take our position
among the nations of tlie world, she will be
less willing to i)ai-t with us than she would be
now when we are broken ui> into a number of
insignificant colonies, Mibjivt to attack piece- 20
meal, without a- concerted action or common
organization of defence.

I am strongly of opinion that, year by year
as we grow in popul.ition and strength, England

i '

'•:'■

354

CANADA AND OkRAT BlUTAIN.

i..

htt"

will Kt'o iiioro ch'urly tln^ advuntagps of mnin-
ta'miii^ llio ulliunco liHtwtH'ii British North
AnioricH uiid hoist-lf. Doos any oim imaj^iuo
tliat, whoii our population instead of tliroo and

6u-lialf will 1)0 HHVtMi iiiillious, us it will !>♦' oit)
many yoar.s pass, w»» would 1»«> on»' whit nioi>«
willing than now to s«.'v»'r tho i-onnrction with
England! Wouhl not thoso st'VtMi niiUions I"
just as anxi<»us to maintain their allt-jxiaiice to

lotho QutM'u and their eonneetitm with the mother
country as wo aro now ? I hclit-vt? the people
of Canada, East and W«*st, to Ini truly loyal.
But if they can by possibility b«^ ex<*eeded in
loyalty, it is by the inhabitants of the Maritime

14 Provinces. Loyalty with them is an over-
loiliug passion. In all parts of th.* Lower
Provinces there is a rivalry between the opposing
political parties us to whivh shall most strongly
express aud most etfectively carry out the

20 principle of loyalty to her Majesty and to the
British Crown.

Wheu this union takes place we shall at the
outset be no inconsiderable people. We find
om'selves with a population approacliing foui-

25 millions of souls. Such a po}>ulution in Europe
would make a second or at h?ust a tiiird rate
power. And with a rapidly increasing popu-
lation — for I am satisfies! that uud'T this union
our population will increase in a still greater

'•W.

Canada anu Oheat Burrvrv.

355

1 a

ur<>iM>, with tlio
♦T !<» iiiirni^nmts

ratio tlinii Iwforc— with iiicrcuMOfl rrodit, wit I
hiphoj- |M)silioii ill th»» ♦•yes of E
iiicn'as.'il s«M'iinty w«» can off
who wouM imtnnillypivf..rto sook u iu»w homo
in what was kiiuwn t.> thcin us u ^v>'i\t country a
timn iu one little c.lony or another: with all
tliis I nm satisfied that, p-cat as has l^vn our
inm-use in the hist twcnty-fivc years sinco the
union lK»twccn Upper and Lower Canii.lu, our
future pro^M-ess durin-r the next ([uarter of uio
<'cntur} will he vastly ^'reater. And when })y
Tiica;i> r.\' tins rapid increase we lieconie a nation
•f oight or nine millions <.f inhahituuts, our
alliaiii.' will he Wftrthy of Iteinj? souvrht by the
^reat nations of the earth. J am pnmd to he- 15
lievo that (.iir desire of allj. .„.■,« will l)e recipro-
cated in Eni,daiid.

England — Imt
' oii^'" strong
\ aks of the JO

■ !onies, hut
>jt the states-

I know that there i-i * . ■••:.,
it is inconsiderahh' i; '

in intellect and po' -• , '

desirability of gettiii" ii! '
I believe such is not the !■ i ^'j:
men and people of England. I believe it will
never be the deliberately expressed determin-
ation of the Government of Great Biitain..5
The colonies are now in a transition state;
gradually a different colonial system is being
developed, and it will become year by year
less a case of dependence on our part and of

r ;
Ij

'I I

■^SL . .-tMO /UmiE t'i.SKT'

..•,.;-C|-*«»il

4 .

356

Canada and Great Buitain.

an-,

oveiTuling protection on the part of the mother
country, and more a ^ase of lieaUhy and
cordial alliance.

Instead of looking on ns as a merely de-

5 pendent colony, England will have in us a
f/iendly nation — a sul.>ordinato but still a power-
ful people — to stand by her in North Anierica
in peace as in war. The people of Australia
will be such another subordinate nation; and

10 England will have this advantage, if her colonies
projjTess under the new colonial system as I
believe they will, that though at war with all
the rest of the world she v.'ill be able to look
to the subordinate nations in alliance with her

15 and owing allegiance to the same Sovereign,
who will assist in enabling her again to meet
the whole world in arms as she has done be-
fore. And if in the gi-eat Napoleonic war, with
every port in Europe closed against her com-

!»merce, she wa.-. yet able to hold her own, how
much more will that be the case when she has
a Colonial Empire increasing in power, in wealth,
in influence, and in position !

It is true that we stand in danger, as we

25have stood in danger again and again in Canada,
of being plunged into war and all its conse-
quences as the result of causes over which we
iiave no control, by reason of this connection.
This, however, did no«y intimidate us. At the

■ 1' ■■■■£■ d .r". 1."*:

Canada and Great Hhitain.

357

very mention of the pi-ospect of war some time
ago how were tlse feelings of tlie people aroused
from one extn-mity of Biitish America to the
otlier, and pi-e{)a rations made for meeting its
worst cons.Miuencos ! Although the people of 5
this country are fully aware of the horrors of
war, should a war anse unfortunately between
the United States an<l England— and we ju'ay
it never may— they ai-e still ready to eneounte'r
all ills of the kind for the sake of the cou-10
nection with England.

So long as that alliance is maintained we
enjoy under her protection tlie pi-ivileges of
constitutional liberty according to the British
system. We will enjoy hei-e that which is the 15
great test of constitutional fi-eedom— we will
have the rigiits of the niinoi-ity respected. In
all countries the rights of the majority take
c^are of themselves, l)ut it is only in countries
like England, enjoying constitntional lil)ertyjo
and saf; from the tyi-anny of a single despot
or of an unbi-idled democracy, that the rights
of minorities ai-e i-egai-de,h So long, to<», as we
form a jwrtion of the Bi-itish Empire we shall
have the example of her free institutions, of 25
the high standard of the cluuaeter of her states-
men and public men, of the purity of her
legislation, and of the ujii-ight administration of
her laws. In this younger country one great

♦»v!

!■

r -?

358

Canada and Great Britain.

advantage of our eoimection with Great Britr.in
will be that under her auspices, inspired by
her example, a portion of her empire, our
l)ublic men will be actuated by principles similar

6 to those whi(!h actuate the statesmen at home.
These, although not material physical bonetits
of which you can make an arithmetical calcu-
lation, are of such overwhelming advantage to
our future interests and standing as a nation

10 that to obtain them is well worthy of any sacri-
fice we may be called upon to make, and the
people of this country are ready to make them.
We should feel, also, sincerely grateful to a
beneficent Providence that we have had the

15 opportunity vouchsafed to us of cahnly con-
sidering this great constitutional change, this
peaceful revolution ; that we have not been
hurried into it like the United States by the
exigencies of war; that we have not had a

20 violent revolutionary period forced on us like
other nations by hostile action from without
or by domestic dissensions within. Here we
are in peace and prosperity under the fostering
care of Great Britain, a dependent people with

25 a Government having only a Uniited and dele-
gated authority, and yet allowed without
restriction and without jealousy on the part of
the mother country to legislate for ourselves,
and peacefully and deliberately to consider and

«■■

Canada and Great Bhitain.

359

deteiTTiino tlie futiiro of Cium<hi and Rrifish
Noi-tli Ainori<>a. It is our liapj)iii(>ss to know
the ♦'xpivssion of the will of our Oraeion.s
Soven'i^ni throu^li ]wv Mhu'^fovf^ that wo havo
her full sanction for ou>- (l^'lihcration^, that her a
only solicitude is that we shall adopt a system
really for our advantaire, and that she promises
to sanction any conclusion at which .fter f:.Il
delihei-ation we may an-ive as to the b<'st mode
of securing the well-l)ein^% ^he present audio
futur.' prosperity of British Ameiica. It is our
privileofe and liappin<'ss to he in such a i)osition,
and we cannot be too grateful for the blessings
thus conferred upon us.

In conclusion, I would airain implore the is
House not to let tliis opportunity pass. It is
an opportunity that may never i-ecur. It was
only by a hai)py concurrence of circumstances
that we wen^ enalded to bring this question to
its present position. If we do not take advan->o
tage of the time, if we show ourselves une(iual
to tlie occasion, it may never ivturn, and we
shall hereafter bitterly and unavailingly reg?-ef
having failed to em}>race the happy opportunity
no.,' o.Tered of founding a great nation under,;.:
the fostering care of Great Bi-itain and our
Sovereign Lady, Queen Victoria.

—SIR JOHN AI.KXA.VUEK MACDONALD.

¥^'

■Wy

'i|

■if

f •

■;#•'

ifwif

360 Canada and the United States.

CANADA AND THE UNITED STATES.

"We are hore to deterraino how host we can
draw together in the bonds of peaee, friendship,
and commeroial prosperity the three great
branches of tlie British family. In the presence

8 of this great theme all petty interests should
stand rebuked. We are not dealing with the
concerns of a city, a province, or a state, but
with the future of our race in all time to come.
Why should not these three great branches

10 of the family fioui-ish, under different systems
of government it Aiay V)e, but forming one
gi-and whole, proud of a common origin and of
their advanced civilization ? The clover lifts its
trefoil loaves to the evening dew, yet they

15 draw their nouiishment from a single stem.
Thus distinct and yet united let us live and
flounsh. Wliy should we not ?

Fo?- nearly two thousand years we were one
family. Our fathers fought side by side at

20 Hastings and heard the curfew toll. They
fought in the same ranks for the sepulchre
of our Saviour. In the ci^nl wars we can
wear our white and red roses without a blush
and glory in the pnnciples those conflicts

25 established. Our common ancestors won the
Great Charter and the Bill of Rights, established

Canada and the United States. 361

free parliamonts, tlio Habeas Corpus, and trial
Kvjury. Our jurispnulonco comes down from
Coke and Mansfield to Marshall and Story, rich
in knowledge and experience which no man
can divide. Prom Chaucer to Shakespeare ours
literature is a connnon inheritance. Tennyson
and Longfellow wi-ite in one language which is
enriched by the genius developed on either
.side of the Atlantic. In the gi-eat navigators
from Cortereal to Hudson, and in all theino
" movijig accidents by tlood and field," we have
a coinni<»n intei-est.

On this side of the sea Ave have been lan'clv
reinforced l)oth by the (Jcrnians and the French,
and there is strength in both elements. The 15
(Jermans gave to us the sovereigns who estab-
lislied our freedom, and they give to you
industry, iiitelligence, and thrift; and the
French, who have distinguished tliemselves in
arts and arms for centuries, now strengthen the a)
provinces which the fortune of war decided they
could not conti-ol.

But it may l)e said that we have been
divided by two wars. What then I The noble
St. Lawi-ence is s])lit in two places— by Goat 25
Island and Anticosti— but it comes down to us
from the sanie si»rings in the same mountain
sides; its waters sw«H'p together past the pic-
tured rocks of Lake Sui)ei-ior and encircle iu

III

! JT'ili

ih;

•!f

I,) -. /

.■4 ■^f4^

tit:

li!^

362 Canada ani> the United States.

thojr loving t'lnbnu'o tlio slioros of Ilnron and
Michi<;.-iii, Tlit'V ni'o dividfd Jit Nia«iara Falls
SIS wt' Welti at the Kovolutionary War, but
they come together agaui on the peaeeful bosom

sot' Ontario. Again tliey ai"0 divided in their
passage to tlie sea; but who thinks of divisions
wlion they lift the keels of commerce, or when,
drawn up to heav«?n, they fonn the rainbow
or the cloud !

10 It is true that in eighty-five years we have
had two wars — but what then i Since the last
we have had fifty years of pea<'e, and there
have been more people killed in a single cam-
l)aign in the late civil war than tliei'<} were in

15 the two national wars between this country and
Great Britain. The people of th(» United States
hope to draw together the two conflicting eh-
ments and make them one peo}>le. In that task
I wish them (lod speed! And in the same

a) way I feel that we ought to rule out everything
disagreealile in the recollection of our old wars
and unite together as one peoj^le for all time to
come. I see around the door the flags of the
two countries. United as they are there I

■Jo would have them dra{)ed together, fold withuj
fold, and let

"Their varjing tints unite,
And form in Heaven's light.
One arch of jMjace."

—JOSEPH HOWK.

Canada and the E.MrmE.

36.3

CANADA AND THE EMPIRE.*

The ]aii<<uno:e of tliis addi-oss, Mr. Rpoakor,
seoms to me to ho snffici.'jitly oxplicit, aii.l
I liave but few ol)S(M-vati()iis to off. m- in support
of it. Wo Britisli sul.j.'ris, of all race oiijrins
in all parts of tli.' world, an> inspir.-d with s
sentiments of oxallod and chivalrous dovotion
to the person of Ilor Most Oracious Majosty.
This devotion is not the result of any maudlin
sentimentality. It sprin«,'s from the fa.-t that
the Queen, the soverei<,'n of the many lan.lsio
which constitute th(* Britisli Enii)iiv, is one; of
the noblest women that ever jivt-d, certainly
the best sovereign that En<r!and cv.m- ha<i,
and pi-obably the best that ever ruled in
any land. Wai- is abhorrent to tin; delicate is
nature of woman. We may safely assume,
indeed we know, that the present war was
particularly painful to Her Majesty. She had
hoped that the closinjLr years of her long ;,nd
prosperous reign wouM not be sa<Mened hyj,
such a spectacle, but it was not in the decrees
of Divine Providence that this hope and wish
should be gratifie d. War canie, and it came

•On th." Mventl. of Juno, I'JfKi. shcrlly iift.r ih.- Hiiti-h forces nv-

•nipied 1-rotoria, the cfipital of tl„. -s h African Kcpuhlic " Sir

Wllfn.l I^iuriiT moved nn.l sir Charles Tuj>pcr -ccondcd an a.l.lr.-s
to yuccn \ icforia coiijrriitulatin>; licr on the approachiiiK termination
of the war in South Africa. The following selections are from the
speeches made ia support of this motion.

1^!

«•

■'.'J

I- -*!"

11 .^iM

i^if*

364

Canada and the Empire.

T'w*,

with the snrrouiuliiiKs of horror, of grievous
sufTeiiiigs, mid of lilooa-shoil. It came with
aUcnmting periods of successes and reverses.
But, 8ir, hiii)i>ily the end is now within sight.
6 The troops of Her Majesty are now in Pretoria,
and the British flag, wlii«'h is to us the enibleiu
of lilH'rty, is floating ovtn* tlie public l.niUlings
in that far-famed city. This liappy result is
due, above all, to that fine soMier who has
,„]«roved himself a gi-eat general, and who on this
occasiouhas, as ever before, raised lihuself to
the greatest expectations that the people of the
empire entertain«'d of him. Lord Roberts is
the great leader of whom each soldier can say,
15 as the soldiers of Napoleon said in the campaign
of Austerlitz: "He W(m battles not so much
by making use of our winipons as by making
use of our legs."' The recent British victories
r,-e due to the fine character an<l the solid
a, qualities of the troops, who under the i-ommand
of their victorious general have proved them-
selves read.- foi every emei'gency: ready to do
everything that was expected of them, ready
and anxious to do their duty to the empire.
25 In this way we may remark, with perhaps par-
donable pride, that on more than one occasion,
when the fate of battle was trembling in the
scales of destiny, the scales were turned in
favor of the British arms and the victory

V ■-. ■. - 1, f

Canada and thf. Kmimkf.

3(;ri

decided by tho dash of our rasiadian soldiors.
They proved that, thuu^di uu\\i\ years hav.>
I»asse«i f^hu'v last tliey w«mv «'all»'(l upon to takf
the fii'ld against a foe, they are yet worthy <.t'
the races from wliit-h they have spiuii«(, and .^
that the blood which courses in their vrins is
the same as that which inspin-d thrir ..•[(•.•.•;lors
to gallant dcc<ls.

nap[)ily, as I said, the ond of tho war is in
siglit, though wc cannot hope that the war isio
finished. Many battles have, doubtless, yet to
be fought, and indeed we may say that when
the war is terminated greater pi-oblems will
face the Britisli authoj-ities. But, even tliou^di
the campaign is not finislied, we to-day utter 15
the hope and the prayer that the long reign (»f
Her Majesty may ne\ermore be disturbed by
war, and that what remains lo her of her
natural life may now flow in peace. We ]»rav
that when the en<i of this long and glorious a)
reign comes, the subjects of He! Majesty in
South Africp shall have learned to a|)preciate
those British institutions which in tln"^ :>'^o and
in every land signify li})erty iwi'] v>\\v>[ ijvuts.

We hope and pray ihat when tl -^ > m] rf this'^
long and gioriims reign comes, it slia 1 close
upon a united empire wherein peace aid -\;u/-
will shall prevail among all men.

— SIK WILFKIU LAURtKR.

ilr

tt*

-. "S

If ^.

?«tl^

i i - :i
til I .

3()(; Canada and tuf, Empike.

CANADA AND THE EMPIRE.

It pivos iiH' ^r«'.at ]»l««asurt' to sponnd tho
a«l(ln'ss wliich lias Just Immmi iiiovmI in such
fitting ttrms l)y llso right h()noi-al»h% tlu* I . «U'r
of lli«' IIouso .Mitl tlio (lovenniH'Ut, jiikI to asso-

ftciatu inys»'1t' in the warmest inaiiTHT willi tlio
oloqu.-iit tciius in wliit-li ho has niov«Ml it.
Attfiiiinii has iM'cn (h'awn ]>y my riglit lionoi-abl«'
fri»'n<l to tli»' gloiions ivign of Ilor Majesty tlio
QiU'«'n, and w hil<>, no douht, it was a niatt«'r

loot' groat regret that war should at this hite
period of her reign disturl) tlio peace of any
j)ortion of the empire, I do not tiiink i; <'an
ho a soui'ce of uiKpialitied regret that that war
has taken place.

15 We have had si? <*> Her Majesty a -ended tiie
throne, in fact within coinparatiN ly recent
years, the consolichition of the wliole of British
North America, with the exception of the ishmd
of Newfonndhmd, which 1 trust will at no dis-

attant day become a i)ortion of the Dominion.
We have not only that consolidated and united
country, hut wt» liave reached a position enabling
us > giv»^ most important material aid to Her
Majesty's trooi>s in South Africa. That example

25 of Canada has just been followed by the great
l.-laud continent of AustraUa, where tho various

Canada and tiik Kmi ike.

.ir.7

provinces nit.lcr an Tinpnijil Ac* will sliortlv Im^
iniitcd 111 a i.dwt'rful coiifc.l.'iafioii— aiiotln'r

invent step fowanis fh.' cojiipl.-t.' s<.]i,h,ti,»„ of

fhn ompiiv. liiir in n-jf.-ml to il,,. unify ,,('
tli«' «'ni].ir«', tlii'iv was a, cloinl on fli.. hoii/.on >
in the f'onditicn of South Africa. Tc.-.lay w
Imvo fairly in sit;lit, as my ri^dit honon.l.l..
friend has w.'ll .'xpn-sspd if, fl,.' (•<)ns..ji-
dalion <»f South Afrira nnd.T lirifjsh nil.>, and
then w.' shall hav.- thr, j;r.-;if, kindivd nations—,,,
thr 1).. minion of Canada, tie' ('onnnonw.'alth of
Australia and, at an early day, thf j^r.-af
Dominioji of South Afi-ica -all unit.-d under
the same wise and ha{>py Hritish institutions
that have mad.* Canadu and Australasia theL-i
tlourishing eountru-s tla'V aiv.

My right li..n(»ral>l.' frirnd has referred to
the position of the I'.oers, a most import-
ant eousideration. \\' .-n the (picsiion is asked,
" VNThat is to 1)e the position of tjie Mo.m-s T' tny .-o
answer is that history tenches by exatnple, and
1 am able to point to an illuvirious examj.le
within th.^ kno\v|e<lu;,> of those who are her.^
pn'sent as to what that position will b(>. When
about a huiah-ed and forty years a-40 France ^is
ceded Canada to the Eni^disli Crown, the entire
population of Canada was French, and that
population from that hour came under Hritish
institutions. With what result? With the

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HIM

368

Canada and the Empire.

'i^

result that ono of the most eminent French-
Canadians, the late lamented Sir George
Cartier, when asked by Her Majesty the Queen,
" What ai-(j French-Canadians ! " gave the
6 answer, "Your Majesty, they are Englishmen
speaking French." And when, on another
occasion, at a grand banquet in Loudon, the
late Sir Etienne Tache had occasion to refer
to the position of the French in Canada, he
10 ventured upon the prophecy that the last gun
which would be fired in Canada in defence of
British institutions would be fired by a French-
Canadian ; and why ? Because under these
British institutions they enjoyed freedom, pro-
is gress, prosperity, and everything else that could
make life dear to a citizen, in such an eminent
degree that they felt no change of allegiance
could benefit them.

If you want to understand how completely
20 freedom is enjoyed and how thoroughly satis-
factory British institutions havf been to the
French-Canadian race, I need only point to the
fact that although the French population has
attained to only about two million out of nearly
25 six million British subjects who inhabit Canada,
the Prime Minister of Canada is at il.is moment
an eminent French-Canadian. Therefore, you
can have no anxiety as to what the position of
the Boers will be. They will have a freedom

■ i

Canada and the Empire. 369

of which, under the corrupt oligarchy that was
earned on under the name of a republic, they
had no knowledge or conception, and the re-
sult will be, as my right honorable friend has
eloquently expres^^d it, that at no distant day 5
we shaU see a united South Afri.-i, in which all
races, all classes, all creeds will enjoy equal privi-
leges in the eye of the law-a united, happj-, loyal
population sustaining the Crown of England.

There is another feature of this war which Iio
regard as of the utmost importance, not only
to the British Empire but to the whole world
namely, that it has demonstrated that the power
of England, the might of that gi-oat empire of
which we form so important and conspicuous u
a part, is appreciated to-day as it was not ap-
preciated by the nations of Europe six months
ago Had anyone then ventured the prediction
that England, powerful as was her nav>', would
m a few short weeks, or even in a few short ao
months, land an aimy of two hundred thousand
men on a territory separated from Great Britam
by something like seven thousand miles of
ocean, he would have been laughed to scorn.
iHat gi-eat feat has been accomplished, and it 25
has not only demonstrated to the world that
England is admittedly the gi-eatest naval power
but has established her position as one of the
greatest mil'tary powers.

'iii

'i;'m:^:f^?*»7. L:^i'-^«^yEs&.-2M:...^*5^-"%s^t :<aKP ^^-^-^^^.r^ li

.370

Canada and the Empire.

rei.

That is not tlie only happy result of this
war, although it is one of the greatest, because
I believe that tliis demonstration of the might
and power of England is going to contribute

flto the i)eace of the world and prevent the in-
terruption of that peace to an extent nothing
else could. But there is another element in
this matter, one with which we are intimately
associated: not only has England shown her

10 might and power and prowess but she has
shown the world that she has the gi'cat Domin-
ion of Canada, the great island continent of
Australasia, as well as South Africa at her
back. She has shown that she has what will,

I'in a very brief period now, be three great
nations, practically independent, but bound to
her by the closest ties that can bind one
section of country to the other in maintaining
the might and power and prestige of the great

20 empire to which we belong.

—SIB CHARLEti TCPPEK.

There is a sound of thunder afar,
Storm in the soutli that darkens the day !
Storm of battle and thunder of war I
Well if it do not roll our way.

Storm, storm, ridemen form!

Ready, be ready again sst the storm !

Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form !

—Alfred Tennyson (ISSO).

:-*'^^ 'i^'?^-

'^^i^m

The Queen and the Empire.

371

THE QOEE-. AMD THE EMPIRE.

o.?Tl ^'','"''""" '"'" ""* ""ly « """Jel
co„stitutlo„„.l .s„ver.i^.„, 1,„t „,uIo„l,terllv the

first cu,,stituti«„al «,ven.is;„ tl.» «•„,« ever saw

-tlm first ..b«>l„tely -,.„stit„ti„„al sovereig,,

England ever had. It ,„ay be said ,vithout ,

exaggeration tliat np to tl,o tin.e of her ae^es-

«ou to the throne, the history of England was

a reeord of a eontinuous contest betwe •, the

That contest was of „,any centuries' duration

7\gI''T "°i ""•'»'""""• by tt'e Revolution
of 1688; for ahhough after that revolution the
contest never took a violent forn, stiU it con-
huued for many reigns i„ court intrigues and

^™rei ; 'f ' '""^ °" *•''' P'"^ °' the«
so^ere.gn to ,ul« according to his own .lews
on the part of pariian.ent to rule according to'
the views of the people.
Queen Victoria was the first of all sovereigns

IVhether the question at issue was tie uboU-
t.on of the corn laws, the war in the Crimea,
the extension of the suffrage, the disestablish-
ment of the Irish Church, or home nUe in
Ireland the Queen never gave the nation any»
mformation as to what her views were upon an^

I, I

372

The Queen and the Empire.

If- -^^t"-

of these gi-eat political issues. Hor own opinions
were never known, though opinions she had,
because she was a woman of strong intellect,
and we know that she followed events with great

fi eagerness. We can presume, indeed we know,
that whenever a new policy was presented to
her by her Prime Minister she discussed that
policj with him, and sometimes approved or
sometimes, perhaps, dissented. But whether she

10 approved or disaj^pioved no one ever knew
what her views were, and she left the praise
or the blame to those who were responsible to
the people. That wise policy upon the part of
our late sovereign bore fruit early and in ever

15 increasing abundance.

The reward to the Queen was not only in
the gratitude and affection of her people, but in
the security of her throne and dynasty. When
the terrible year of 1848 came, when all the

20 nations of Europe were convulsed by revolution,
when thrones were battered by the infuriated
billows of popular passions, England alone was
calm and peaceful. Throne's crumbled to pieces
like steeples in an earthquake, but the throne

85 of the Queen of England was never disturbed :
it was firm in the affection of her subjects.
As the reign advanced, it became their pride
that there was more freedom in monarchic
England than under any democratic or repub-

^^m^m.

The Qfekn and the Empire. 373

lican form of government in (existence. That
being true, th., Qu.en ren^lere.l l.^r people
a very great 8ervi,.o in<lee,l. 8he saved them
trom soeialisfie agitation, and so the c^-eat
pmsperity of England to-day is <h,e n.,t only 5
to wise and .vonon.ie hivvs but also to the
personality of the (^neen and to lier prudent
conduct all through the sixty years of her reign.
But that is not all. The most remarkable
Thi")?!' the reign <.f Queen Vietoria, an event.
wh,<. took pUu.e i„ .silence and unobserved
was the marvellous progress made in colonial
development-development which, based upon
local autonomy, ♦Muled in colonial expansion

Let us remember that in the first year of,,
the Queen's reign there was rebellion in this
very country. There was rebellion in the then
foremost colony of Great Britain, in Lower
Canada and in Upper Canada: rebellion-let
me say ,t at once, because it is only the truths
to say it-not against the authority of the
young Queen but against the pernicious sys-
tem of government which then prevailed. This
rebelhon was suj.pressed by force, and if the
question had then been put, "What shall be^
the condition of these colonies at the end of
Victoria's reign?" the universal answer would
have been : " Let the end of the reign be
neai- or let it :>e remote, when that end

1 ;

h I :-■

p^i^m^.

374

The Queen and the Empike.

comes these rebellious colonies shall have
wrenched their indojtendeiH'e or tlioy shall
he, sullen and discoutoiitcd, k<'pt down by
force." If, on the contrary, sojne one had

sthen said, "You are all niistwkcii ; when
the reign coni(?s to an end, these colonies shall
not be rebellious; they shall not have claimed
their independence; they shall have gi-own into
a nation covering one-half of this continent;

10 they shall have beco>ne to all intents and pur-
poses one independent nation under the flag of
England, and that flag shall not bo maintained
by force, but shall be maintained by the affec-
tion and the gi'atitude of the people": if such

15 a prophecy had been made it would have been
considered as the hallucination of some vision-
ary dreamer. But to-day that dream is a reality,
that prophecy has come true. To-day the rebel-
lious colonies of 1837 are the nation of Canada —

20 1 use the word "nation" advisedly — acknow-
ledging the supremacy of the frown of Eng-
land and maintaining that supremacy, not by
force of arms but simply by their own affec-
tion, with only one garrison in Canada at this

25 present moment and that garrison manned by
Canadian volunteers.

What has been the cause of that marvellous
change! The immediate cause is the person-
ality of Queen Victoria. Of com-se the visibL

The Queen and the Kmi-iue. 375

and ch'iof causo of all is tlio Ix.M policy
inaufruratocl many yoars n^o of introdiicinj,'
parliamentary constitutional ^ovcM'nmont and
allowin*; the colonics to jjovciii themselves.
But it is manifest that self-<,'oveinment could -.
never have been truly etfective in C'anada had
it not been that there was a wise sovereiijn
reigning in England, M'ho had hei-self giveji
the fullest measure of constitutiojud govern-
ment to her own people. If the peoj.le ofw
England had not been luled by a wise
Queen; if they had n(>t thenjselves possessed
parliamentary government in the t) lest sense
of the term; if the British parliament . nd been,
as it had been under former kings, in openw
contention with the sovereign, then it is quite
manifest that Canada could not have enjoyed
the development of constitutional government
which she enjoys to-day. It is (juite manifest
that if the people of p]ngland had not pos-20
sessed constitutional government in the fullest
degree at home they could not have given it
to the colonies, and thus tlie action of the
Queen in giving constitutional govennnent to
England has strengthened the throne not only 25
ill England b. in the colonies as well.

—SIR WILFRID LAURIKB.

-.3

J^'

37r)

The Bhitish K -\«i.

THE BRITISH FLAG.

All Imil to the flay wiien tlio Britons civino over

And |)lutit<'(l tlifir Htiiiiilard with scii-t'oani still wet;
Around and ahovc us th.'ir spirits will hoviT

llcjoiijin^ to niiuk how \vc honor it y<'t.
li<'nt!ath it the cnihh'nis tht-y thfrished am waving: 5

Tl»! Host) of Old England tin; roadsidi" pcrfuuH-s,
The Shttinroc-k and Thistle the north winds are hravinK,

Securely the Mayflower blushes and blooms.

In the temples they founded their faith is maintained,

Every foot of the soil they lMM|ueHlhed is still ours, lo
The graves where they moulder no foe has profaned,

But we wreath them with verdure and strew them
with flowers.
The blood of no brother in civil strife pour'd

in this hour of rejoicing encuinlx^rs our souls !
The frontier's the field for the patriot's sword, 15

And cursed be the weai)on that faction controls !

Then hail to the day '■ 'tis with memories i-rowded,

Deli<'htful to trace 'mid the mists of the past;
Like the features of l)eauty bcwitdiingly shrouded

They .shine through the .shadows time o'er them has 20
cast.
As travellers track to its source in the mountains

The stream which far swelling extends o'er the plains,
Ou hearts on this day fondly turn to the fountains

Whence flew the warm currents that bounc'. in our
veins.

The First Dominion Day.

377

And J roudly w« tnwc th.-rii— no uani„r flying

Fioin city assuult.il and fan«vs ..v.-rtlirown,
Willi llio last (.f his rac.' ..n tlir Lattlrmcnts .lyin-.-.

Ami w..i,ry with waiidniMK f->iind<-d ,Mir own.
eFrom til., iiui'vu of tl... Tshuids, ,|„.n famous in .sforv,

A ccnttny since our l.rav.. fon-fatlu'is cam.',
And our ' .dn-,! y,.t fill tl,,. wi,i,. wo,I,| uith' I.ct ^Iwry

Knlarj,'inu' lu'r cinpit.- and sprcadiny \wr tuinw.

Kvery flasli „f h,.,- f;,.„ius our pathway cnliirhtens,

I" Every field she expl<.res w.- are In-ekoned t.- tremJ,

Each laun*! .she Rati rs our future day brightens,

Wo joy with her living and mourn f<.r her dead.
Then hail to the day when th(. Britons canu- over
And plante.! their standard with sea-foam still wet,
15Al)ove and an..:!..! us th.'ir spirits shall hover
llejoicing to mark how we li,.nor it yet.

-J08KI'II HOWK.

THE FIRST DOMINION DAY.

C^VADA, Canada, land of the maple,

C<»ueen of the forest and liver and lake,
Open thv soul to the \oice of thy jM>ople,
CI., ,. uut thy heart to the musi' they make.
Bells, chime out merrilv.
Trumpets, cull cheer. 'y,
.Silence is vocal and sleep is awake J

tnadu. Canatla, land of the heaver,
•Mlior and skill have their triumph to-day ;
^ »my -e j,. of it flow like a river,

ill

\«

'Hi

•»{>er as time flias away.

t|t;i

f-i

.'57H T»iK FiHHT DoMiNKts Dav.

Btills, cliiriit' out iiuTiily,
'rriiiii|«l s, mil rliffiilv,
Hcioncc ami iinliistiy liiugh uiul are <iny,

Canaiin, Can da, laiul of tlio siiow-hiid,

KmWli-m of coiistaiKV (•'iaii;{( caiiiiof, kill;
Faith, tli.it no jstiaiigo <mi[> lias cyrv uiisolw'n'd^
|)rii i.ith today from lovi-'s rliulico li ^ vl.
li«?lls, cliiinci out iiitTiily,
TriiiniM'ts, fall clut'rily,
Ijoyalty sin^^rtli and troasoii is still !

Canada, Canada, land «>f tlio hravest,

Sons of till' wai-jMit . and sotis of the sea:
I^jind of no slavo-lash, to-day thou ensiavest
Millions of hearts with affection for thee.
Hells, chime out mcirily.
Trumpets, call cheerily.
Let the sky ring with the shout of the free.

Canada, Canada, land the fairesf,

|)auj,'hters of snow i.iat is kissed by the sun,
Bindiii"; the charms of all lands that are rarest
Like the brijj;ht cestus of Venus in one !
Bells, chime out merrily,
Trumpets, call cheerily,
A new reign of beauty on earth is begun 1

-JOHN READE.

-JO

" Nothing is so contagious as enthusiasm ; it is the real
allegory of the luto of Orpheus ; it moves stones ; it eliarma
brutes. Enti'.u.Hi.'iHm in the genius of sincerity, and truth accom-
plishes no victories v thout it."

— Lytton.

Hj^V

The Canadian Confkdeuacy.

THE CANADIAN CONFEDERACY.

379

AWAKR, my country, Hu. hour ; ^.roat with t-hariK,. !

rii.l.T this «l,M.m which. y,.ft obscures tho himl,
From i<-c l.hie .strait un.l stern I^iurcntian rnnK« '
To wh.Tc giant p<.al<s our wesf.rn iKiin.l.s conunan.i,
.'.A .l.M'p voice Htirs vibrating in men's oars

As if their own hearts throl.lx-<l that thun.ier forth
A sound wherein who hearl -„s wisely J.ears
The voice of the desire o. this strong North-
Tl.is North whoso heart of fire
"* Yet knows not its desire

Clearly, hut dreams and murmurs in tho dream.
The hour of dreams is done. Lo, „„ the hills tho gleam I

Awake, my country, the hour of dreams is done !
Doubt not nor dread ti..; greatness of thy fate.
15 Tho- faint souls fear tho keen confronting sun

And fain would bid the morn of splemior wait.
Tho' dreamers rapt in starry visions erv,

"Lo, yon thy future, yon thy faith, thy fame!"
Ami stretch vain hamls to stars, tiiy fame is nijrh.
20 Here in Canadian hearth, and home, and name •
This name which yet shall grow
Till all tho nations know
TJs for a patriot people, heart and hand.
Loyal to our native earth-our own Canadian land f

25 strong hearts guarding the birthright ..f our glory
Worth your best blood this heritage that vo guard !
Those mighty streams re.« louden t with our story,
These iron coasts by rage of seas unjarred:

z '±^:iWm:.^.'^^w^^mmm7Mnj^::mrmm^

380

A Song of Canada.

What fields of peace these bulwarks will secure !

What vales of plenty those calm floods supply !
Shall not lur love this rough sweet land make sure,
Her bounds preserve inviolate, though we die ?
O strong hearts of the North,
Let flame your loyalty forth,
And put the craven and base to an open shame
Till earth shall know the child of nations by her name I

— CHARLKS OEOROl!: UOUOLA8 KOBKKTa.

A SONG OF CANADA.

SiNQ me a song of the great Dominion !

Soul-felt woids 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.

A Song of Canada. 381

Into wfiose great heart's deep recesses
Breaks no tempest and comes no sound.

Face to face with the deatli-like 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 tlirough the dead night calls;
Truly, T hear but the voice of FnHHlom

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 lumliering wain.
Land of contentment ! May no strife vex you.

Never war's flag on y„ur plains unfuri'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 lalwrs :

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.

fei

382

Canada to Columbia.

Sing mo tlie worth of each Canadian —

lloanier in wilderness, toiler in town;
Search earth o\er ycu'U find none stauncher

Whether his hands be white or brown ;
Come of a right gof^d stock to start with,

Best of the world's blood in each vein,
Tjords 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 v>f 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!

— KOBERT REID.

I I

ri'j t

CANADA TO COLUMBIA.

O ELDER sister, though thou didst of yore

Forsake thy mother's ancient hall and flee

To be the chosen bride of Liberty,

She cherishes her grief and wrath no more.

Nor seeks her broken circle to restore,

Yet fain would clasp thee to her breast again,

But thou aloof uncertain dost remain.

O canst thou not the one mistake forget

Of her that bore tliee, taught thy lips to frame

Thy early words, thy God in prayer to name;

'-:/ JLiimsmmm^MsmuiMj^»ims^m,- w mfi-.m^^'mtv' tmM.

The Canadians on the Nile.

That in the paths of right an.l justice set
Thy f(M't, where not infiv.iupnt wulk th.v yet;
That stowl d.-voted at thy y..uthful side
Nor e'en her blood in thy defence denied /

But if tiiy younger sister yet abide
Content and happy in lier mother's hall,
Nor feel the bond of blood a menial thrall,
But leaning heart to lieart of choice conlide
In mother yet as d.Nirest guard and guide.
If thou wilt not thy mother's love regain '
Why must thy cradle sister plead in 'vain ?

Yet all the best that bubbles in our veins
We sisters drew from that one Saxon breast.
Where oftentimes thy maiden che.-k has pressed
Mine resting still in loving trust remains.
Our bonds of blood should be unbroken chains!
Obey thy heart and grasp the proire.ed hancJ,
Then all the world our will, n.uy not withstand.

-LVMA.V CVKC8 BMIIll.

383

THE CANADIANS ON THE NILE.

0,.TnK East is but the West, with the sun a little
hotter,

JoAnd the pine iKJCoraes a palm by the dark Egvptian
water,

And the Nile's like many a stream we know that fills

its brimming cup :
We'll think it is the Ottawa as we track the batteaux up t

Pnll, pull, pull! as wo track the batteaux up!

Its easy shooting homeward when we're at the top.

i,'

'tJiMff.mA'^msmi-h'T^msmi:

384 The Canadians on the Nile.

O, the cfdar and the spruce line eacli dark Canadian
river,

But the thirsty date i.s here where the sultry sun-
l)earns quiver ;

And the mocking mirage spreads its view afar <m cither
hand,

But strong we bend the sturdy oar towards the southern
land !

Pull, pull, pull ! as we track the Imtteaux up ! g

It's easy siiooting homeward when we're at the top !

O, we've tracked the ...pids up and o'er many a

portage crossing ;
And it's often such we've seen though so loud the

waves are tossin-' !

Then it's homeward when the run is o'er ! o'er stream
and ocean deep.

To bring the memory of t'le Nile where tlie maple 10
shadows sleep !
Pull, pull, pull ! as we track the batteaux up !
It's easy shooting homeward when we're at the top !

And it yet may come to pass that the hearts and hands
so ready

May be sought again to help when some poise is ofF
the steady !

And the maple and the pine be matched with "-itish 15
oak the while,

As once beneath Egyptian suns the Canadians on the
Nile!

Pull, pull, pull ! as we track the batteaux up !

It's easy shooting homeward when we're at the topi

-WILUAM WTK SMrtR.

Hands all Round.

HANDS ALL ROUND.

Fm-ST drink a health this sulemn nii?ht,

A health to Enylari.l, every guest;
That man's the best co sni.,polit e

Wlio I„ves his native ooimtrv hest.
May fieclom's r.ak for ever live

With stronger life from day to ,lay ;
That ,nan"s the true conservati^e

Who lops the muuMerM hrai-ch away.
Hands all round !
God the tyrant's hope eonf„und '
To this great cause of freedon. drink, n.v friends
And the great nan.e of England round and roun.l.
A health to Europe's honest men .'

Heaven guard th.-m from her tvranfs jails'
From wrong'd Rx-rio's noisome den,

From iron'd liml.s and tortured nails »
^^e curse the crimes of southern kings,

The Russian whips and Austrian rod's—
^^e likewise have our evil things:
Too much we make our ledge^rs gods.
Yet hands all round !
Ood the tyrant's cause confound '
To Europe's better health we drink, n,y friends,
And the great name of England round and round.
What health to France, if France 1x3 she

Whom martial prowess only charms?
Yet tell her ^Better to be free

Than vanquish all the Nvorld in arms.
Her frantic city's flashing heats
But fire to blast the hope, of men,

«0

385

•ft I

386

Hands all RorND.

Why chango Uio titles of your strocls?
You fodis, yuii'll want tliein all a^'ain.
Yt't liands all round !
God their tyrantV cauM' confound !
To Franro, Ihn wiser France, wo drink, niv friends.
And the great name of England round and rouncj.

Gigantic daughter of the West,

We drink to thee across the flr)od.
We know thoe most, wo lovo thee best,

For art thou not of British blood ?
Should war's mad blast again be blown

Permit not thou the tyi-aut powers
To light thy mother here alone.

But let thy broadsides roar with ours.
Hands all round !
Go<l the tyrant's cause confouml !
To our great kinsmen of the West, my friends.
And the great name of England round and round.

O rise, our strong Atlantic sons.

When war against our freedom springs !
speak to Europe thro' your guns ! «
rhuy can Ijc understood by kings. nS^
You must not mix our Queen with those

Tiiat wish to keep their people fo s;
Our freedom's foemen are her foes,
She comprehends the race she rules.
Hands all round !
God the tyrant's cause confound !
To our dear kinsmen of the West, my friends,
And the great cause of freedom round and round.

— ALFhtU TKMNkUUN.

-.t^^^sm.'

Ki\ Beyond Sea.

38:

KIN BEYOND SEA.

the OM WorM ,.t Iar^.e i„ fho thivtoer. -.Honio.
'iow <,row„ into thirfy-oighr stat.. bosi.l.s
l^.^^l.t tn-ntones, is tho sperir.i intomsf of Eng-
land in Uu'iv pondifion .-u,.! prospects

I do not sp..-,k of poliri.nl rontrovorsies be-
tween them ana us, v.hiel, are happily, as I
trust, at an en.l. f do not speak of the vast
eontnbut.on wln.b, fro,„ year to year thron^^h
he operations of a .olossal tra<le, eaeh makes,
to the wealth an.! comfort of the other; nor of
the friendly controversy, which in its own
Phiee ,t n,i^;ht be well to raise, between the
leuniugs of America to protc-tionism and the
more durn;^^ reliance of the ol.l country upon.-,
tree and unrestricted intercourse with all tlu,
world ; mn- of the mena< . which, in the pro-
speetiv. development of lu-r resourees, America
oners to the connnercial pre-eminence of Eng-
land On this subject I will only sav that it^
IS she alone who at a coming time can, and
probably wiU wrest from us that commercial
primacy.

We have no title, I have no inclination,
to murmur at the prospect. If he acquires^
ie wjll make the acquisition by the right

388

Kin Beyond Sea.

of tho strongest, but in this instance the
strongost means the best. Slio will probably be-
come what wo are now, the liead servant in
the ,;reat househoM of the world, the employer
lof all employed, becanse her service will be
the most and ablest. We n.ive no more title
against her than Venice, oi' (renoa, or Holland
has had against us. One great duty is entailed
upon us which we, unfortiuiately, neglect — the

10 duty of preparing, by a resolute and sturdy
■effort, to reduce our public bui'dens in pre-
paration for a day when we shall prol)ably
have less capacity than we have now to bear
them.

15 Passing by all these subjects with their
varied attractions, I come to another which lies
within the domain of pohtical philosophy.
The students of the future in this department
will have much to say in the way of comparison

20 between American and British institutions. Tiie
relationship between tliese two is unique in
history. It is always interesting to compare
constitutions as it is to compare languages,
especially in such instances as those of the

26 Greek States a?id the Italian Republics, or the
diversified forms of the feudal system in tlie
different countries of Europe. But there is no
parallel in all the records of the world to the
case of that prolific British mother who has

'""' '""!' ^■■' ■■ "•"■'■••.I'l'^ H,iH,v„ ov..,- „||

''> "I I..'.- land ,„,„ vi,.vv as w,.|l as its mn-e,.
neas,„,.,„..,„, a na,,,,.] ,„,.. f,„. „,„ ,,, ^ ;'°
.-n „n,„„s o,„,,i,.e ov,.,. ,.„„,,„,,,,,, ,,^. 2^'

not al«.ns i,„o„ siifiioi,.„tlv ..Iwt.ved tint tl,«

'"^•""■'-" '"■'-' ii.ni.„.s ..„.,: 1 ;,';„

pii'f sev«»red jinrl i; . i "'idem- 15

r- ■^y^iK-u arid .lisTM'cscd ovhi- c^... ;, -x 1

mr,^. 1 1 I ■•'w <»\ti sea IS vital

"Hf. H till,. „f||er ,.„u,it|.ios have JoiiMed
••■■"«., dm-tng one single ,...„„„■,• „f iVood o^

rt r™';"'^ '■"'■' •"•° """ » "> ^■

rom the d,.,.e„„.al stages of ,!,„ p,.og,e., (,,„
fa. „,.h,..ved a series f„,. „,„ f^tut-e a,L
ree'iojiiiiir mion this l..,«i . r '

e\..^ .'!'■:'.'!■ '" ""■ ■™"- '«80, will exhibit

»er to the world
all the nations.

cet-taiuly the wealthiest

390

Kin Bf.yond Sea.

1 ii.

«it_

But all this ]M)in|»<)Us drtail «>f nintorial
triumphs, wh«'thor for tho on*' or for IIm- other,
in worse than i<llo uiilesM the men of the two
eoiuitrios shiiU reuiain or shall hecouie Ki«^ftt<^**

«than t' mere things that they inodui-e, an<l shall
know how to re^jard those thiiijjs simply as tools
ami materials for the nttainmeiits of llie hij;hest
purposes of their heiii^. Ascending then from
the groiuid-floor of material industry towards

10 the regions in whioh these purposes are 'o be
wrought ouc, it is for each nation to consider
how far its institutions have reached a state
ill which they can eontril)Ute their maximum
to the store of human happin«»ss and excel-

islence. And for the political student all
over the world it will be beyond anything
curious as well as useful to examine with
what diversities as well as what resemblances
of apparatus the two greater branches of a

20 race born to command have been minded,
or induced, or constrained to w^ork out in their
sea-severed seats their political destinies accord-
ing to the respective laws appointed for them.
In many and the most fundamental resi)ects

25the two still carry in undiminished, perhaps in
increasing, clearness the notes of resemblance
that beseem a parent and a child. It is to the
honor of the British Monarchy that, upon the
whole, it fraukly recognized the facts and did

tl -: dMi mmi'^miwmk'^.^Mrw^-

•V. -^^

m^m^

Kin

not podaiiticallv «'ii(l

voND Ska.

3.01

••iiil .-md ali.'ii Iirnitjiti(. s tl

• ^<>r to (••uistrnin hv ai-tifi-

Ntatcs, It is a thiiii; t,, 1
tilt' accusations of tli. col
cntiivly Icvcllcl at tli. k

10 Ki'<»^vtli of tho infant
"» rcnicnil)ctod tJi.it

oiiics in HTd wci.
i'l;;: a<'liially on tli

nianhoitd \v;(
tan. Their
ours in fh,
h«»rite<i and
tivf} revoluti(

tin-ono, and that a genf-ml ac<,uiftal was thus
^rivvn hythcn. to ev(.y |,.ccodinirrcij,m. Their
"'*'''"''^' J''"' I'l-ii '^o wholo what their

se, sejf-^, enHMl and repuhli.
'iti. n as c call it was like..,
ii \ Hli.-a on i '■ liberties in-
• <sed Jt .viis a conserva-
uid ill , ;,pj,v <v.nlt was that,
notwithstand, 1^ th. sh..o|,„.-.. .,t the eollisi<,n
with the n,,.thor. ., ,„.j .jf,, ,|<.,nestic ,„

loyahsni, ti. thirt.^ . c- „,u^ made pn.vision
for their fn ure in i,.nfMP , it v, as to all that
determined i.fe n, ' T..n,n. .s, wi,|, th.» n.col-

Thc i\\,, constitutions

- ♦'Xl less indeed rather jii

' r<'seinl)Iances of tho

liiiii;^^ .Ui-own, the other

a /*/Y/.//s, the other a

liiei !

I'.'ctions (

of the !

the dift'eivnces

nations. The oi.

a thing made; [i;*>

jioiesis; tho one ti

«(

••tfsi.ii! -■ of tendencv and
indeterminate lime, the oth. r of choice an.l of.,
an epoch.

— WU.I.l.l.M tWAKT IJI.ADSTONE.

" '■^'/■*i'- "2*'* V- '"^%ff' >• - "J

392 Commonwealth Day.

COMMONWEALTH DAY.

Awakk! Arise! T\hi wind's of <lawn

Alt' iR'atiiig a tli« guU's of day !
Tlio innrriing star liiw ln-t witlulriiwii,

TIh> hilvor vajMirs melt away I
fi Riso royally, O sun, and crown

Tlio slioroward billow strcjiniini; white,
Tliu fon-lands and tlio mountains hrown

With cit'stcd li>,'ht ;
Fl(j<xi with soft beams tlio valleys wido,
W The mighty plains, tlm dfscrt sand,

Till the new <lay has won fur bride

This Austral land !

2:;

J^'reeborii of nations, virgin white,

Not won by bl.KMl nor ringed with steel,
Thy throne is on a loftier height.

Deep-rooted in t' 1 common weal!
O thou, for vhoin the strong have wrought,

And poets sung with souls atlamo,
liorn of long hoj)e and patient thought,

A miglify name
Wo pledge tlu>o faith that shall not swerve,

Our land, our lady, breathing high
The tliought that makes it love to serve

And life to die !

Now are thy maiden '.inked in love

VVho erst have striven for pride of place,

Common wKu.TM Da v.

Lift..,l nil inra.HT tli-.u-lits «1h.v..

Tli..y K'-ot tl on., in |„,.,t ,„„| ,;„•,.

Mho in w|,„M. Nunlit ••..v.-s of jmm,„

Tim navirs of tlm w.,rlrl may ifst
An<l Uvir l„.f w..,iltl, „f .sri..wy fl.Nvo

NortliWHnl ami west ;
And slu, wl.os,. n.rn awl i.h k !..•« „ uol.I

Huilt tliat (ju.M.n oity „f tl,,. suurl,.
Wlirr*. tlu, |„n,. hi|l„w svv«.,,t ,,( ,,h]

Her liarlK>r nioiiili ;

Coim. t...., fj.nu sun niHi.l, in wIh.s,. v.-ins

For ever hurin tlio troj.i,- Miv •
W1,<.M> .attio roam a tl.o.isan.l |.lains -

Co.n.. witl, thy ^rol.l an.l {...urls for tir..;
And that swc-t harvest. t who twiiM-s

The tond.T vine and hinds the sheaf;
And shf, the west..rn ,,iieen, who mines

Tlie fleserf reef ;
And thou, a-aiiist, whose flowery throne

And orchards gr.-en the wave" is hurl«J-
Australia claims y„u : ye are one
Before the world !

Crown }.er. most worthy to Ik- praised,
With eyes nplifte.! to the morn:

For on this day a Ha- is raise,!,
A triumph « .n, a nati(,n li<,rn !

And ye, xast army of the dead,
From mine

and eity, plain and

Who fou-ht and ,lared, who toiled

'^•■a.

That thi

and bled

s nii-nt be

303

11 "m^KL'-^^^^^m^^H

Mm'

394 The Austral Months.

Draw loiiiifl us in this hour of fate,
This {iuliicri Iiarvcst of thy liand ;

Witli iiiisocii lips, Oh C(>iis»>c'rate
AtkI hlf'ss till" land !

5 Ktornal Power, l)i'iiif;ii, suprcnc,

\\'\\i} wcii^h'st the nations upon i.';irth,
Without whose aid tiio enipirc-droam

And pride of states is notliin;^ worth :
Finni shameless speech and venj^eful deed,
10 I'roni license veiled in freedoms name,

From <;ieed of ^old and scorn of creed,

CJuard Thou our fame !
Tn stress of days, that \ct may he,
When hope shall rest upon llie sword,
15 In welfare and adversity.

Be with us, Lord !

-^iKOHCiK K.S^KX K\ ANS.

^^K

■■ M.

THE AUSTRAL MONTHS.

JANUARY.

The first fair month! Tn sin^ini^ summer's sphere
She fjlows, the eldest daughter of tiH> }'car.
All light, all warmth, ail passion, hrcaths of myrrh,
•ji Atid suhtle hints of ros(^ lands come with her.
She is the warm live month of lusti'e — she
Makes glad the land and lulls the strong sad sea.
The iiighest hope comes witli her. Tn her face
Of pure clear color lives exalted grace j

! I

The Austral Months. 3<>.-

Her speech is beauty, aiul I,er nuliur.t eves
Are eloquent witli spleri.Ji.l propheeies !

VKUUIAH\.

Ti.e bright-I.ain.,i I.lue-e.ve.i last of smmu,,,.,- ' I...'
Her dear .sons lives i„ all the wi„.ls that l.lnw
I he uplan.! torrent an<l the l.nvlan,! rill, ,

The stream of vall..y an.l the sprin^r of hill.
The pools that slun.lHT an.] the brooks that run
Where dense the leaves are. «reen the li.ht of sun
lake all her g.ace of voiec- an.l c.lor. She
With rich warm vine-bloo.l splash...] f,.,,.. heel „. k, ,.,

Comes raciiant throu,:;!, the yellow woo.llan.].. Far
And near Ju-r sw.vt gif,. shine like star bv star.

-Slio IS the true Demeler. Life of ,-..ot

<irows under her with ganlens flushed with fruit •

^he fills the fiel.ls with strength an,] pa- ...n-make, 15

A fire of lustre of the law,, ringed lak.s ;

Her beauty awes the great wild sea; th.' height

Of gray magnificence tak.'s strange .leli-ht

And softens at her pr.-s.-nc.. at the dear

Sweet face whose men.ory U ,uus through all the year. ...

M.ARrH.

Clear uplan.l voices full of win.] an.l strean.

Greet March, th.; sister of the iKing brani

And speedy sha.iow. She with ."ainbow .T.nvne.l

Lives in a sphere of songs of uvmy soun.l.

The liymn of waters and the gales' high ton.-. ..5

With anthems from the thun.lers tnoumain thron.-

Are with her ever. This, behold, is she

Who draws its great cry from the .strong sad .ea ■

I .

396

The Austral Months.

lilt-! ' . :MiiM/^:

Slu! is the niontli of majesty. Her force
Is power that moves along a stately course
Within the lines of order, like no wild
And lawless .stcenglh of vvintei's fierctjst child.
5 About her aie the wind-wliipped toricnts ; far
Above her gleams and flies the stormy star,
And round ]i(>r through tin; iiighlands and their rocks
Rings loud the grand .speecli from the equinox.

APRIU

The darliiig of Australia's autumn — now
10 Down dewy dells the strong swift torrents tlow !
This is the month of singing waters ; liere
A tender radiance fills the southern year ;
No bitter winter sets ou herb ami root
Within these gracious glades a frosty foot.
15 The spears of sleet, the arrows of the hail
Are here unknown. But down the dark green dale
Of moss and myrtle and the herby streams
This April wanders in a home of dreams ;
Her flower-soft name Muikes language falter. All
20 Her paths are soft a.'i cool, and runnels fall
In music round her; and the woodlands sing
For evermore with voice of wind and wing
Because this is the month of L -auty — this
The crowning grace of all the grace that is.

MAY.

23 Now sings a cool bland wind where falls and flows
The runnel by the grave of last year's rose ;
Now underneath the strong perennial leaves

The AisTiuL :Months.

301

The first slow voice of wintering torrent .^rievPs
Now in a light like Engli-,!, Augusts .la;^
Ts seen the fair sweet chastened face of May
Sl.e is the daughter of the year wl,„ stands"
With autumn's last rich offerings in her hands •

Behind her gleams the ghost of April's , „

Before her is the far faint dawn of J,,,,,. ;

She lingers where the dells an,l rlewv leas

Catch stormy sayings from the g.vah bolrj sPas >

Her nightly raiment is the misty f.,ld

That zones her round with raoonlight-colore.1 gold •

And in the day she she.ls fr..,n shining win-^s '

A tender heat that keeps the lit.^ in thincrs "

.nrvE.

Not like that month when in imperial space

The high strong sun sta.vs at the whit., worMs fa.-e

Not hke that haughty daughfr of the year

Who moves, a splendor, in a splendid sphere :

But rather like a nyn.ph ..f afternoon

With cool soft sunshine comes Australian June

She is the calm sweet lady from ^Ih.so lips

No breath of living passion ever slips;

Tlie wind that or her virgin forehead 'blows

Was born too late to speak of last irs rose •

She never saw a blossom, but her eves

Of ten.lcr beauty see blue gracious skies;

She loves the mosses, and her feet have l„vn

In woodlands where the leaves are aiwavs green-

Her days pass on with sea-songs, and InV nights'

Shine full of stars on lands of frosty ]i._,hts. '

2(1

308

The Ai'STiiAL Months.

.III.Y.

Tli^li travelling winds filled with the strong storm's soul
Are here with dark strange savings from the Pole ;
Now is the time when every great cave rings
With shiirp clear echoes caught from mountain springs;
sThis is the seaM)n when all torrents run
IJcneath no bright glad heauty of the sun.
Here where the trace of last year's green is lost
Are haughty gales and loidships of the frost ;
Far down, hy fields forlorn, the forelands bleak,

10 Are wings that fly not, birds that never speak;
Tint in the deep hearts of the glens unseen
Stand grave muto forests of eternal green ;
And heie the lady V)orn in wind and rain
Comes oft to moan and clap her palms with p->»i.

15 This is our wild faced July in whose lireasfc
Is never faultless light or perfect rest.

AUGUST.

Across the range by every scarred black fell
Strong winter blov.s his horn of wild farewell,
And in the glens where yet tluM-e moves no wing

20 A slosv sweet voice is singing of the spring.
Yea, where the bright quick woodland torrents run,
.V music trembles umler rain and sun.
The lips that breathe it are the lips of her
.Vt whose dear touch the wan world's pulses stir :

2") The nymph who seta the bow of promise high
And fills with warm life-light the bleak gray .sky.
She is the fai"-haired Augu-t. Ere she lea\es
.'lie brings tlie woodbine bh)ssom round the eaves;
And wlierc the bitter barbs of frost have been

The ArsTHAL Months.

She makes a beauty will, h,.,- g,.M aii.l •n.'ou ■
And while a seasong floats £.„,„ l,,v a.ui l,..,.'l,
'She .slu.ls a iuist of i.los.su.ns on the p.-a,-!,.

Si:PTKMBKR.

Gray winter hatl. .^or.e like a w.arisuM.e <;„,..st

And, behold, for re].ayiii.-nt

September eonies in with the wind of th.. w,..t

And the spring in iur r.iini.'Mt '

The ways of the fro., l.^e b.-.. lili.., of tl. flower.

Uhile the forest diseo^rs

Wild wings with the halo of bvaiine hours

And a music of lovers.

•September, the maid uUh the s^^ ift silv.r tV^t !

•Slie glide;: and she grae.-s

The valleys of coolness, the slopes of the heat

Uith her blossomy traees.

.Sweet month, with a mouth ,ha, is ma.le of a ....

Slie lightens and lingers

In spots where the harp of the evening glo.s

Attuned by her fingers.

The stream from its home in the hollow i„il slips

In a darling old fashion,

And the day goeth down with a song on its lips

\\ hose key-note is passion.

Far out in the fierce, i,itter front of the sea

I stand and lemember

l>ead things that wen,- brothers and sisters of th.e

Resplendent September. '

The west, when it blows at the fall of ,I„. „oon
And beats on the beaches,

39.9

I.)

400

The Austral Months.

li =1 '

So filled witii a tender and trenmlmis tiin«
That touches and teaclies ;

The stories of youth, of the Ininien of time,
And the death of Devotion
sCome hock with the wind and aie themes of the rhyme
In the waves of tlio ocean.

We, having a secret to otiiers unknown,
In the cool mountain-mosses
May whisper together, Heptemljer, alone
10 Of our loves and our losses.
One word for her Iwauty and one for the place
She gave to the hours,

And then we may kiss her and suffer her face
To sleep with the dowers.

16 High places that knew of the gold and the white

On the forehead of mornin;'

Now darken and quake, and the steps of the night

Are heavy with warning !

Her voice in the distance is lofty and loud
20 Through its echoing gorges ;

She hath hidden her eyes in a mantle of cloud

And lier feet in the surges !

On the tops of the hills, on the turreted cones —

Chief temples of thunder —
25 The gale like a ghost in the middle watch moans

Gliding over and under.

The sea flying while through the rack and the rain

Leapeth wild at the forelands,

And the plover whose cry is like passion with pain
30 Complains in the moorlands.

The ArsTHAL Months.

Oh, season of chaiifros, of sliiulow aii.l shino.

SeptoinlHT the splendid !

My song hfith no music to mingle wjtli thine

And its hurden i-' ended ;

But thou, iM-ing born of tlic winds and the sun,

IJy mountain, by river,

^lay lighten and listen and loiter an<l rutj

With tiiy voices forever.

401

OCTOBER.

Wliere fountains sing aiid many waters meet

October conies with blossoni-trammelle<l f.'c-t ;

Slie sheds green glory by the wayside rills

And clothes with grace the haughtv-featured hills.

This is the (jueen of all the year. She l)rings

The pure chief beauty of our southern si)rings.

Fair lady of the yellow hair: Her breath

Starts flowers to life and shames the storm to death ;

Through tender nights and days of generous sun

By prospering woods her clear strong torrents i un ;

In far deep forests, where all life is mute,

Of leaf and bough she makes a touching lute.

Her life is lovely. Stream and wind and bird

Have seen her face, her marvellous voice have heard;

And in strange tracts of wild-wood ull day lon<'

They tell the story in surpassing son".

'01

NOVEMnER.
Now beats the first warm pulse of summer, now
There shines great glory on the mountains brow.
The face of heaven in the western si,- v.

When falls the sun, is filled with Deity'

2(; 7 ■

402

The ArsTHAL MoxTjrs.

■3

'M<

''^R

' ■

Tt''

And while t\w first liglit flixMls tlio lako mid lea
Tlio morning nmkcs a marvel or the .sen.
Tlie strong loaves sing, and in tlie dvop giinn zones
Of ro<k-l)ound f,-lens the streunis liave many tones ;
5 Anil wiiero the evening-colored waters pass
Now glides Novemher down fair falls of crass
She is the wonder with the golden wings
Wild lays (.no hand in summer's, one in spring's;
Ai)oiit her hair a sunset radiance glows,
loller mouth is sister of the dewy rose,
And all the beauty of the pure blue skies
Has lent its lustre to her soft bright eves.

DErEMBEK.

Tlie month whose face is holiness ! She brings

With her the glory of majestic things.
15 What words of light, what liigh resplendent phrase.

Have I for all the lustre of her days?

She comes and carries in her shining .sphere

August traditions of the woi-ld's great year ;

The noble tale which lifts the human race
20 Has made a morning of her sacred face.

Now in the emerald home of flower and wing

Clear sun: ^er streams their sweet hosannas sin".

The winds are full of anthems, and a lute

Speaks in the listening hills when night is mute ;
25 And through dim tracts where talks the royal tree

There floats a grand hymn fi-dui tlie mighty sea ;

And where the gray, grave, pondering mountains stand

High music lives : the place is holy land !

— HENRV CLAKE.NCK KEND.\LL.

APPIiNDrX.

TriK cuLTuiu: rsro of LiTEUArr;

RE.

iii:At'Tr AMI 1 iri.nv

".ore .4,..„.;; .;!'7,: : r';r^7'V'-'-''''''nMUM..,.,^^^

ac„lI,.rti„„of,,i,.....,,,,„ ,,,t,, ; "" "^'f"'- -^ 'I'n^.r.uiM.hy U

'•-'ion of Pi,.,...: ,„ , j. ;':,'"" ;•' ^- '■""^■' ; "- «"«.■.■...'>• .^ . , ..i.

<ionlslc^i,I,„,,o ,„ i o V,, I :';';" "''''■• '""• -'f-^ "-npila.

This vol,.,.,. „, ,i,„,,; ""'.""" r"" *""""'^ ^''■" •""'• '■'"•'-.-.

rather tha,. a cLe , Jt.u T,'"" ' '"'"""'''' '" '«' "" '""""'-'v

i-Cf apt,, to litenlr;;': : ~ ;-"■' ;;' V?; 'r '•""" " '"""
are drawn is wi,)o u.„l vurici Z I "'''' ^'■°"' "'"''' ""

"Mtci,,-.,„r thisM/.r ;u..y be made.

'->.Ui„.. or the'„e ' ; • •; H i'" ;? '" '" " ""' '""«-''"'■"' "■'-.

author of tho pupil-, {''^. "%'"'-""'•<'• " i.n.po.sM..s.si„„ i,y the
«o,,.ai„tance .ifin u.,do h V . '"'."', r^"""'""-' A. th.ir mutual

^•'"i''-'-iirc.ct\heat ct,^on:f7,;::;f V'" r"""" •'""'""••*"' '""-

l^-t o,.,y „n.r ail rcas.,,,al'!^r '::'^:;;'';''r '''''^''^--■^■''-'>nt.
"'^ t'« l.riMff out what ho I Mink. I, 1;"''"' "■ ""••'"■' "^^ 'l"-tion.

t 'y ..'Hit, "1.1 0« ,1 OplllKjJl,

VALUK <-F uiiAL IU:aI)1\(}.

co^e^t:::^;;':!;';;:,:^-:;'^-';^;;-^^

403 '■■' "^ '^«^«"'^ble od it is

^'-'i^H

r i

404 ThR ('CLTritK VsV. OV lilTrUATIRE.

unnvnidiiMo. Tlit' miiiihI iif thi- vniro is m» im-i'tiIIjI to IIk' priKf^s of
InttTif'-liiiidii tli.it 11 Ir.ii luT will) piT-i-lriilly iiml i in'fully |.rii'li-.i'-4
rr:i"liiiK iiliiiiil wil- llml hiiiiMlf un illy iiiiltil liy it In his t^wii ciiiiiiri'-
hfii^ioii of 111!' priiili'il |i>\|. If tliU i- Inn- In) will o fortiori tH> iilili' to
unoonil rniiUiitf •■tlVclivtly a-t ti ni>iii-.iif m.ikiiijf liN •■l.t*H cKlli'rlivily
mill iriiliviilii.illy iiniu,iiiili(l with thti aiillior tliiii'i;,'li lii.H work. Tlio
riiiml iii:iy lie rr.iilii'il lliiiiii!,'h llir (Mi'a-* wi'll n . llin>ii:,'li tin; <■>''. ami
Ixtlli >-Ihiii1iI Im- used ill the sillily of liter it urr. .Mmiovil'. iiiilil tin' |>il|iil
f;iv<-, hi^ iiilii pn tulioii of ;i |)as,,n.'i) liy ri'aiIlM;X it iiloiid lli«! ten hir
caiiiiol Know pri'i^i'Iy wli.it it, i". No ipic^l imiiri/; c.i Im} luado hmIH-
rl<'iitl.\ iiiiiiiili' ur scarchini; to tuiiiifit fully to litfhl,

IVinil'ltl-.TAIIOV IIY TIIK IMTf'll..

It fiiUow-i fri'iii w 'i It lia-< lirrii Kiid lliat. rvi'ry srioctioii in tho antho-
lo)fy r-lioiild In' di .Ii vwtli in soiiU) w.iy tli.it wdl Irivi Mii' pupil f'to to
work out, lii^ own iippnlu'ii^ion of It. < 'idt iiri; li.n no iiiM.r-,<'iry
relation to any pailliul.ir iiili riirelulion, Imt it i4 ;ili- ilulelv londi-
tioni'doM tlic piipir^i fiiidiiiif an iiitirprct ition for hini^elf. \Vliat ho
iirrivi-iatinay li:ivo liltlo intrinsic valuo for any otluT pcr-ion, Imt If it
i. really his own it i^ iiualiialili; to him. \Vi-(»and not ton sii„';;estIvo
rl IS.H qiiestloniiiif will result prolialily in a iiiodifle.itiDn of tho pupil's
opinions by attrition ami po^sihly jn some emarfjenu'iit of tho teacher's
own views. Tlicso may h'- UM'fiilly Kiveii nt tin) elu e of tho<ii-eii--ion,
not as diit;niati<! nulisti .ilis for all the previous in;rr:irnt.itiorH hut ns
RiipRi'stod allernalivLS for after eonsideratioii. Iti^ unneee-sary toadd
that tlie pupil should never ix) informed beforehand what ho may oxfi^'ct
to find in a prcscrilx-cl sLleetioii, and that not, a sin;,'lo word of exj'lana-
tion shoidd ever bo t;i\en until he has hid a ihame todoall Imeanfor
himself. A koikI but not iieee-s,ui'^' Voluminous IcxiLoa is iailispen-
sable ill the study of liUr.iliiro.

|)i:t.\ii..s (»k ci.x.ss wokk.

Evory sclortion should In; used in tlio eliss for threo di.-tinefc pnr-
posrs. apart from Us use as oniMif a firoup f.ir eouipai.ii Ivesi udy. ThcHO
may lie lliussiiecinetly ile^-eribed : —

1. Aft;cr having l)ccn previously assigned without any hint or
explanation of any j^orf whatever, the soloclion should Ix; niado a
subject of frcneral discussion with books elo.sivl, for tho purpose
of encitins opinions on such topics a.'? tho nutlior'=! standpoint and
method, iii.--. u~oofartistio devices to accomplish his purpose, hia
outlook on n:i,turo and humanity, his descriptive or dramatic
power, the characters he introduces and tho parts he a,ssi(jns
to tiii'lll in iiis sivi'uii or n uraliw , liiO li-e lie m.lkesof his o«ii
iuiat,'ir.alioii, iiiiil the inetlio;is hy which ho wecnres tho exer-
ciBO of the same fueulLj' iii oLhcra. SueU iiuesLioiiiug as will serve

The rv,rn;r. T'sf. op T.-vvm^tviif. 405

thlM pnr,... . ,vill ..l-,. ..„;,|,I,. M,.. f.... . .

"> M'r-.., 1 ,,riv„,. ,.,.,.li„. , '•^•■-rtaln wl.cfhnr

I..,,,,;.. " -liMtf t,,.. , n..,r..,.,iv..l>-.|..„..,,y,h„

''::i:;:;;;;\;::i':;::v,;:7;:;;T'--' -- -x....

"-'.•ry..f ...0 uunnr"", ,:/::':'•;■' '"•""^ ' 'Pl.t..

''••'''■ "•-".UM..v:'T;:a:;;T;: ::■'''"'•''■'■"''■••' "^ •'•'•-'

•■■^"•li<T. i,M,il,.rt,,l„. in„,„. in . '^ """" " "''"I't, .iiMtho

' n.n..u.., .!,■;:: r;:;:"'""";'"^ -.

eyeanah... ,..„,. .hr!,^, .;;'«;/": "';•;;- ^"-^U the

•"ri.MyuuxilUry,.. .,"'■•"'"' "'"*' '*'"""'' '•" kept

IneducutioM.d w„rU. """^''"'■•'^"^ " ■"•■" -^n.l.ur., ,u uilable

_^ AVALVsis „K A S|.;r.K(T..,.V

Thcnppnrfnniti...afror<l,..l i„ «, ,.„„i f,.p ,,

"isdaily class w..,.,. I„,el,i ',."'' '""*''^'-" " "■■.■par,, ,,i,n„,f for
habitual, a.,., a. ,ho ;.:'.,, '''■'■;"■'"•'"'" " '■'""- "- '"'

owinciinitv s,..M.. .. I ^ ^"'^'"' '""il'li'l.iios and

;n.^ep.,„^;„,:™ ;;;;•;:;; ;™-;;-^^^^^^^^ - ,„J

frorii the wrr'- p" '" '"^'ir to sci'u p.- k.,.i,.<, (•■,,„..

j;^« .-„ ta.;::;::;;:^^;::^::;;-;''--'. ;.. those.ases-<.ro

There i, .,„;,„,,, „„„.,, ,1, ,rn '''"'' "^ '•^^»''«-

lines

"I* • Tfotj pel I,.! is not,
''i-indepen.liiiL work.

406 The <*ur;rrKE TThe of liiTKRATimE.

.',(...<!

Mariner." " Klntf Uot>crt of Slolly." "f " Thr It.ilinn In KriKliind."
AnBrtlstlc r««ult Imiilic^ iin 1<I> il r. ill/.i'l. iin.l flio Mml -liouM
lii)(lN<ovrml»li) t>y tlmiinulytii! Kliitly of tln> i<>.iilllnif |iiM«liirt.
2. Tim flr-t iiriil mo-t lin|MirUnit. tu>k ilevnlvliijc <m thoKtUilrnt Into
Uriiiiin iM<|imlniril with tliu |.ri»t rPwil or Hilcrtpcl text an ft

wlnilr. Tlii-ilii:iy '»*' "" ' pli-li'''l ""ly '•>' kii<ii*«1vo rt'iidintr*

of It UK a vvIkiIi'. The lm|Mirliint )>i|i-|i«)-o ho -.tv.mI will rmt »>f>
wrvixl by nny htudy <if It i>ii<<! Uy pNce, h«)W.-v«T thori.imlily it
niuy bv ilonn. Tlio IniiircKsirui lift by a llrst iM-riHiil «ill urn*-
wirlly »M> dim iiik) cuiifuscd, lint HiibM-iincnt r<Mdliir< will doriM n
II. ror.T. t, ini-ii|i|iri-Ju!iii-iiin-<, aii.l <li:ir up iippareiit Inconxixt-
«ii( U'-, lill "lit iif !lio nii-^-mf ''iiifu-lon fiimrifiM Hoinclhin«Iik*i
111! iidoiiuittc virwiif tlie author H urtiMllc work in ilHconipU'tcnPHs
nnd bt'aiity.
X Aiialy-i-i of tho work In tlit- rinhl ~i)irit. so fur from dcHtroyiiig the
8(;iikiit'«inur('Hiiii its iMauty, i-i likoly tocnhiinn- it. If thccom-
pi).sition hanbccn luIi-tiiiiUy put to«flliii- tlure will boa oortaln
diHCOVcrablo relat imi amoiikf the parts, and Ik'I worn lach of thflil
and the whole work. The iMjtanist who toiitints hinisrlf with
the di-.sfot;on of iv Jlowir for sricntitle puritosis dirivc no
csthctii' satisfaction from its form and color, but one may after
enjoyin;; its beauty iniii'use his pleasure imletlniltly by taking it
topioi-esto ascertain how they are related to each other ami to
the whole.
». A piece of Ut*!ratiirc may lie analyzeil for atiy one of several
pur|K)s,-. The st udeiil may desire to study its rhetorical stnie-
tiire to obtain a dear idea of the author's snlidivisions of his sub-
jectniatter, of his maniKTof consiruetiiit; paraKi'aphs, of hi; use
of fltruralivelaiij,'iiat'iM)ri>f thccharacli'i-of hisdietionasntianl!"
form of sentence and choice of worils. lie may have in mind the
investigation of the logical structure of sentences for the purpose
of ascMTtainiiij,' the part each word or Kroup of words plays in the
formation of the stalemt iits \vhi< h make up the whole discourse.
His intciilion may be to make a sjiecial study of iiulividual words
lor the imriMise of lu'couiiini ai(inaiiited with their history and
uses. Or, in the case of poet ry. he may have in view a revelation
of the devices by means of which the piK't has pnxluced llie
rhythmical fonii that is the most ebaracleristie feature of English
verse. All this may be done, however. In a purely scientillc
spirit, as the botanist may dissect a llowcr or the mineralogist
break up a crystal, in either ease for the mere i)\irposu of laying
bare its structure.
8. Tiiere is anoliier Kind of rualysU which differs essentially ffom all
of these, and to which tlic-y should all le made subsidiary in so far
as they find a place in tho culture use of literature. It is

The CuLTCKf I'sr: of Lufh.vuhk.

1-7

j.r.m.p»...|l.y«n...ri„.,i..r,il..rthMn.i^i.,.,lllrfnnf|v... Tho ..on,.

•"•""'"" '" '"•'^'^^ '""" "" ••'■""' 'I n..h..r ll..„ an 1,.,. ...al

.U...1,H„„,. Th.. „„>•,». f ,1,.. .x-ni,..!,, ,.,,. .,,j,.„.,.,„

nuh..r ttMM I., a.,,,,;,,. inf,„„.,>.i„„. |, j, ,i ,„„|, „f „,; ,,,

r.ah..r llM.. of,h.-a.n..l. Ir „.,.n..rs m.t. f..r..xa;M„l, .hi-r

M,.h „ ,„.,.„„. .,, s,.l,.,li„...r s,„ ra..... or Kin.- Ar.l.ur. ..r l:i,, \v,„

\\n.U-..,r U,MalH.II.,.„|,..,.....,, Ka.i..\V,ll vr li v...l ; ,t..,

liUTuryn.,u,K.M,i.,„. i„ „,.i.l, ,h,.j. .iuun h..,,...„inl..n...uM.|

" '""'■ """" ""'••I-'"'!-"' ..r .ill ., tM.M, „r h.,:..n...l..r l.i,H

k'niiilii.iil fail.

« IW i, „ ,.lH,.e .„ ..wry ^. I I „„... ,aM.. f.., ,,... ,„„ly „r

rh..|,Mi.-. un,| «ram..mr. a.„l |,hilul,<y. a..,i pro.n.h, aM,lit U

'■';""'.' ••^^'"•>- "'•" ""•'■ ^"""M r......iv.. tl,..|r.l,...„.,.aM,ro

-.f at. .•„,,„.>. rt i- ,„., „i.., |,„„..v..r. ... al ,|,,„. „. ,..„„,„„

t-K. pnm.iM..,.. in „.,. h,.,.,.. .„, ,,„. ,,.,, ,„ „.., „..,,,. .,..,„„.,, ,„

, """'■'■ "^ '*"■'■"'"■ ^M'r.|M>a.i,.M oflh-,,u„ilf„rlir... Ho

''•"' ''*-■ ■' •'""-!> Hi.l lu.Mfully lauiflil to .va.l, a.„l th,.,T

,7 ", '^ ''" """•"•'^ •'" '"• >1hm.I.I Ih. .,aln,,l to ,..|.-t .1,,,

ri*:ht k.n.lof na.liuK ma,,,, -a,,,! loniak.- li... n«h, „-. „li,. If

a.hi'd from llio

•III of .lidiictic

' '''aclMT uiid

>'at majority

»-' i-ii,irolyii

1 inoriii'iitotirt

this iiuctioo of ■what "aii.l "how"!

poiiil of view of cuiolional jtU-n^,

utility tlmchiif aihaiitafc'cof litcnirj

pilpiU i- liUrly to l.i- t.ii,-,..! ,ili,,i:..tli..r

Of IM'ople, after ,. I>.,„1 lif,. ,, nvrr. na>;.

means of ri.<i-i.ati.iii. and to i^ni.iv tliis ol

fucr dnrwiK ,» pupils m.|.,k,1 ,„.,i.„l i, ,„|..n.. ,1... ..,oo, ional si,].,

of U,< natur... whi.h i, tli.- on., tno^t p.,,..,,, f„p «,,.,i ,„ ,,;, ;„

his l.f,. to ;,o without M,„.n>atM. trainin;,-. Why .l.ouM.I.epr.-

valont hal,i,..f r.,a,lin^' hooU, „,„ „,-.. tra-hy. or «or,.., l.o a

fans., of M.rpri- wh..„ .„ li,,i.. i, .lom, l.y . duration ,o .otin-

t-T i.t in advanr,. li... rs il .oM,.,.,.,. , ..f . ai in.nm..,.l /

CnMI'AliAllvi; Ml I.V OK J.iri;i;ATlUK.

r^l'^VV-TT •"'"'•"^'*^" '•"• ''■••" '••"••'-'• -"' P....ils to have .

. k.t.on of h.^:h„..ra,.y nu Ht to anal, .... it i. a ,.ill ^r-afr advanU^o
f.havealo„B w,th U other s..l..crions,U.ali,u: with the sa-.e or a closely
.vhi.e,! theme and thns a,r.,rdln»r „„ opp,.rinni,y for ..o,n.,arativo study

"lint.cal. It ,s „opor,anr as wll as inter.-stintf ,o note how kindred
-.b,ects are dealt wuh by .li,re,...nt autho,v. as „. ,.,.,h tho,.i,ht a.ul
...rm So.newnte in pros... others in poefy. Of prose w .it.T. ono
elects narrative, another .lissertation. Of po.ti, ,1 writers s,.,ae pro-
duce lyne». «o„,e epics, and some .Ira.nas. Of each class so.no are
,umor^,s, others pathetic; so.ue ^.^ave. oUiers ^ay ; «>me matter-„f-
iac. others unatrinaUvc ; .ome iiilen.cly rtipid. others slow to tedious-

^•A

"Mi

» f

The Ci'LTniE T"'se of Litfjjatt'RE.

ness; and .so on. The select i')ii;t in thi-i voluriio have bc'cn arninKTil in
jn'oups that are intended to facilitate <-omparative study, but t liese t'roups
.':■■■_, bo, varied and exti'iided almost itidelinilely liy the intelligent and
iliK'ni'.;!- aclier without K'>intJ heyond the limits of this antholo|ry'«
Nif.Ii-ss . ) say, a wtill Kreat<T exl<'iit and variety of matter for com-
parative !udy may lie hriil hy drawing; on the literature oulsido of it.

(iUOUPS OF SKLKCTKlNS.

The first (croup r!t-2"2) has for its theiiK! domestie aireelion in varying
manifestations, (^owper's heaiitiful and palhelie poem was oeeasioned
by the iinuxp(!eted jjift of his mother's pi^tu^(^ which came into his
possession late in life. The "rou>,'hnes, " of that life; was due lartrely
to the over-sensitiv<!ness of his own IcmperanK'nt. " Dora" is a contrast
to "The Hrook" in several ways that will rcp.iy can-ful attention. I^iko
t^ie latter, the lirst two poilms of tin; ^;roup arc? idyllic in iliaracler.
The full title of Wordsworth's poem is " KlcKiao .Stanzas suK^esled
by a picture of Peelo Castle in a storm, painted by Sir (icorj^e
Beaumont"; it is really an eUifjy on the death of a beloved brotlur. who
is referred to in the einhlli stanza an<l is the sub.ji-ct of "TIk! Char-
acter of the Happy Warrior." Tennyson's poem in this f,'roup is the
seventy-ninth "sontf" or canto of "In Memoriam " (see notes b(^lowX
Other selections in the anlholoj^y may be advanUv),'eously compared
with tliese, such as "Tlie J<ittle Midshipman," " Itosiibelle," and "The
Happy Warrior." Compare also "Life, Death, and Immortality"
(pp. 201.'. •.'(«;.

The event.s that form part of our experience just when they hap[)en
are but a few out of many which come in one way or another very close
to us, thout?h at the time and perhaps altoj^ethcr they escape our
nntir'c. The selections in the second t'roup i.M-lfi) deal with this aspect of
human life. The last of the four is Canto VI. of "In Mcinoriam."

Thesuiicrnatural ha ■• always been a favorite theme in lit (u-ature, and
three selections (47-'.)!)) have been inserted as illustrative of the use of
spectres. Other modes of tlcalin^j with tlu? unseen world and its inhabit-
ants arc found in "Kinj; Uoliert of Sicily," "Thtj Vision of .Sir L;iunfal,"
"The Death of Arthur," "The Passint? of Arthur." "The .Sl(;eping
Beauty," and "Tlio Fairies." The balla,d, '" UosihcUe," is taUen from
Scott's "Lay of the I/ist ]\rinstrcl," but i! sull'ers no imi)airnient by
separation from the context. As a, b;illad it may he compared with

"The Irish Kmisrant, I'he Itiile to Aix, Fhe OIov." and The

Lions," and "The Tomb of Arthur," which exhil)it some of l!ie "ballad"
characteristics.

The horse occupies a prominent and honored place in literatur:;
aiicient .ind modern, and five ;:;:ULtiur.s ;i);)ilS) arc assigned to it
as a common tlieme. The "Crusader and Saracen ' is excerpted and
abridged from Scott's "Talisman," ouu uf the Wavcrley novels. Modi-

'^^wkiW^fi^

Tin: ('rr;rii:K Fsn of I.iiTi;ATn;r.

400

Kval nn.l mo,l, n> ,m...1.o.Is of warfar,. in tl.U an.l tl,.- fuHouin-' -.I..,-
turn nro bn.nKlU into ..on.raM. ,ho .liMV.,.,.,,..,. I,..;,,,, ,l,„. ..i.i..,U^,. th,-
.nv..n,.,.n of ,..„pou„..,.. .V- „. „... ,...,.s,.„a,i,.v of SalaUi,,. .ho i. „ .
j^^-- -rnor.u.Po.M,n.....,.W,... ,Uso-MCi,,. ,..,,. H an. Sala.Un"

Tl,o r.„„an,.o ,.f history U o,,.- of if. n,-.st in,,,-...,!,,. as,H.,,.. an.l
that. l<.n-lsu..,fe.n.,.,iv..,y,„n,,aa,-,is,i.. ..vann-nt u„i., i. „. .

>-«v>,.t...-m..a,u,v",., na,„;,:v,„.,.v,„M,,s,.„„ , J,,,!: ' ^

» H.-^ SM.v,.ssor. ,„.luM,.„. .„• -1... "iHMori.al ruu.nu-.-r ,Vrtai„ hMork

M ..•..„,. ,,,.a.„^ .v;;h s.v,.ral of „.,... a,-,. i„„.,„.,l ,„., ,:,i^:

Ku,,' l;,,...anl am Saladin •' i, ,al..„. ..,„..„ .„„ a.,n,l...,,. f,- .-,■,;

':'r];;;:''f'''r ''''■'""•'' •"■"""" '-i^f-.-^ -...!•

;u„h llMMt tn.at. tl„- wcll-kaowa „„v.. i,,,;.!.,,! a, i, j. ,.,„.,•,..„ in

htemtun.; Hnnvni,,,. ha,,,!'., i; wi,,, .ha,-,,, „.,m i,. ,„.,, i ,..,;,!

an.Uu.„yofi,„.ova,i„„. C' P.n.,„s ,„ay !„.„.„„„.„„„„ J,. ^

Cr„sa,c.r am Sanu...,," .,,.,v... -. ,„, -Ki,,.^ ,: ,, „f SU-iW ■'

The I,..a h of A«h,„..- -Tl.,. Tas.!,,^ of A,-.!.,,,-.- a„„ ■■,,„. To,., .

For various his(on,.al ,vas„ns ,1,.. ,.:„.li.,, , ,„^„a^,. 1,.,. .„ |,.,,f

a ....„,„ su.ta..o f,.. ,i,....arv ,n.a.,n..„, i„ ,,„.,i-„. a,„, ,iv,. -,. ,„„

(I3,-U., hav., ....... ,l,.vo„..i ,oi,,. A,.,li..M-s p. ,. o„ ,,„. i..,, ;,,.,„.

of the essay. roMlrihuIr,! by him to "Tho S la,.,, Th,. „.l,.,.,i ,n •

attrihuu... „.T,.,.,.„ a„a Ma. ^HU,,.,- a,. ,aj.„ fn.,,. „„ ' v , ^

loctuuMn,,u..H.h...n„hookf,.n„. X.>n,. of H,,-.. an- i„. ,.„.,, fo,- ...ir
speoal s,.i..ntiao value, as philolo.^ieal s,„.,.ula, i.,u .,.,.,.,,1... ,,..,.,.J.,

as^NoUas hfrary .uion-t. Thcnuln.a! >.ru,-, un- of s„„v- iu....„ious

l)oemisworlliyof,.aivfuls(u(ly. ' ""'""""■<

ThcrcIaUoM of lifo h.Mv to .l-a.h.as i,s ,.,os,, ami ,. a lif,- „. nuuo is

a56-J0J)aro here uso.l „i;h i,, as , heir .onuuou ,opi,.. ••Tl... Xpolo.'y f
Socn.tes"isthatpas.a.eofP,a,os-Apo,o.y"J,i,„, Uu,^': :^^i

UtaU of hoeratcs .s oxcerpte.l an,i ahri,!^^,.,! fn,u, his -(.ha •• His

probahiethat I'lato was proscn, at , ho ,n„. an,! n,at iu the •' . polo^y "
he reports correctly the suhstan,. of Soerate ' a.l.ln.ss. U U,;u^ly
pn^^ble that ho was not proseut, at th.. .ieath of his „..„.. au„ Iw
fore ho put, M.e narrafvo iu the .nouth of I'hae,!,,. who wa. one of the
httleeomi.uiy. Th<^se passages ,„,%• e.,.fMlIv 1„. ■ . ," "^ ''""

the four o„spe.s whie.: ,^.L. ^zz h u I":;:;; ^'i ;"7: ■"
death of Jesus Christ. Theai,e.e,, otivn.. z l;;;,!,::::^;:;!' ;*;''' '^

Ucnned and executed was that he did not helieve in tho'.Vtlu.,Z
• ^s' and that ho taught the Athenian youth not to hoi e\e W ,"„.
has real otfeuee appears to have been his pe.istencc in eon . ^i^^

V''

i^^ie

li:.;

410 The Cil-itke T'^sr of Literatuke.

people nv his (iiipstioniniT to pivo attention to tho k( . ions aspects of life
and destiny. '"J'lie Imitation of Christ," as hero used, is made up of
aphorisms taken from dill'erent parts of the great devotional work
of Thomas k Kempis. There is some reason to helieve that Word.s-
worlh's ideal in thi! "Charailcr of the Ilapi))- Warrior" is made up of
trails liorrowed from Lord Nelson and al~o from lus own hrother. Sen
"Kk'niae Stanzas" Jil)OVc ' ■' "l), and iilso note helow on th(! same poem.
"Life, Deatli, and Iminoi " is made iip of Cantos xxxi-xxxiv, xxxvi

of "In Memoriam." Tennyson's " Passing of Artlitir" may he protltahly
taketi into comparison with tlii! memliers of this j^ronp, and also his
"Ode on the Iteath of Wellinplon."

No nalnral ohjeet has attracted to itself more literary interest than
the hinl, and thirteen select Ion, (JO.')-.'! I) have heen inserted as havingit
for their common snl).iect. "The Trairedies of Hirds' N'ests" is taken in
an ahhreviated form from Hnrrou^fhs' " Hirds ami Bees," one of th(! most
ex(|uisiteof his many essajvon topics drawi from nature. This selection
and several of the poems in tlu^ same t;rc)up hreathe tlie si)irit of that
intense symoathy with animal lifl^ wliich has i)rompled the production
of such well-known hooks hy Canadian authors as Thompson's "Wild
Animals I Have Known "and Iloherts' "Heart of the Ancient Wood."
Some of the birds mentioned in the poi-tns, such as the cuckoo and the
blackhird, are not to he confounded with thos(> in America known by
the same names. The son;r-sp irrow or 'vtiitclhroat is (juite common
in l)Olh Canada and the United States.

Tho three selections (JlL'-'.'tJU dealini^ with Kinff Arthur are here
br lU^ht together for tlie firs' time, and they form .an iileal group for
comparative stndy. Malory's crude narnitive is somewhat abridged
and modernized. Tlie work from which it is taken is noted as having
been one of the hooks printed by Caxlon soon after he set up his press in
Ent;'laiid in 1477. Tennyson's artistic poem is that part oi" the " I'assing
of Arthur" which he first iniblished in IStJ under tlio nam(> of " Morte
d'Arthur." Those who have made thetnselves aequaiivted with the
riMl character of the somewhat rongh but sincere Henry IL will
easily accept tho incident of Do V('re's fine ballad as not iiuprobahle.

The next eight selections (Jtil-'JSS) comprise a group of character-
skct'hes, some being pircly deserii)tive, others intensely dramatic.
"Sir Uoger de Coverley " is made up of excerpts from three of Addison's
"Spectator" sketches, abridged and consolidated. Irving's "Country
Gentleman" is taken from one of the papers in his ".Sketch-Book."
O'Conncll (1775-1847) was a great political agitator who for many years
used his infiucnee to prevent the discontented people of Ireland from
resorting to physical force ; after his death they broke out in the " Young
Ireland " uprising of ISIS. Browning lived much in Italy, and both he and
his wife felt and expresseil sympathy with the Italians in their efTorta
to shake off the Austrian yoke. His " Kuglisbman in Italy " is a com-

-f'!

H t

rxm^.t^

«r

>.t-'

'Ar;5'ii^

TffE rcr/n |;r T'sE OF T.

rn,i;\Ti'F!K 411

".any y,.,,rs i„ ,,K ,..„',„ „ , r,; , " '^ -'.nMv I.e „..,„,,.,..,,

..,,.,, ,„ ■* "'IJ. .111(1 ,~ "f li.s (■ni,i|.iinio!i- ah- of (|„. fniif

U.U..,,;, ,l.,.,a Davi,l Swan, «ala,li„. ,;i,„anl I.. H,.,,i„ *^,„„ , '.';:'

K..i(c A :,„r. tl>c. An^-l.r. I'l,ilip AVillous. I.,„.,l Civ ,.V 'l i

VVcIlinu.on,an.ls..v....alin -Kip V„n WinUl,. ' """ *"

11m- An;;l('r" and '-Til-' Urn,,:. ■• jy,:jn| ..,,.;„,.,., i • .

hii.pai..a. Uni. S\v:in (";,,■ Ii,.,ii, , ,• i ■ i

Willi hir.l Ti 1 ^ ''■""' >at- sc|,M'tj,in-i irantr
Willi ijiKl-,. Ilif olciiii 111 ,,( iiarriliM^ II,-..- ,

^oo.u,y„.,,,M,,a,.if,,i,,,,-.-:,,X, ,,';::'':'■': -'-^

"--;:•;'-;'■■ •••H'.' Aa...-i. •.,:..:,:;:;' ;:;;;;;;;:; ■;:;;:;:;;';^

same till,. i„ hi, '•Sk,.trl,-H,)„k." I 'M" i ..t tlit,

'*''""■""■'■'■ ^'- lio'i- -"l-l.-il-'i.ilMMhin' fairvj,,,-,. .1 ,>,

oftlu"l,--,.,i,!„f 11,.. -SI, TDiii.r I),. ,,,,.-,,,. ,., , I ^i> v'l.Mons

ti-n<if .. ,.r„ I , Pii,„ n, .,l^^ .ill..nia>;„.,a..|i,,,,rn,„iu l„,-„n-

ed. .ons„f ,,.sp,...,n. T..|,„, son's is w. lie fon,,,, i„ an ,.„„al.v h a, i
po..i..a. s..„.n« nn„..r ,|„. nam.. „f -Tl,.. Lay l-n-an.,- L„i, . .-, ^
nit,.T..s,,nj,^gluu;,...- of l.i, „,,,„,,. „f,,,„|„„,,,^.^,_.l

Mahnu,as;u,...,a,„..„as.- .M,. U,.! .l.-r of 1 r wir'i:: - :

H.s.e.... in An.ot ,;!-, al.ov..). Ir . liv,- l,a.. ,„,. In-ok,-,, ,,„„ „ ,„, ,,...„„

.••.■..■.•nioAni..n..an rolo„i..s „, .,„,„,i.,io„. ,.,„, ,-, ;, i„„.,,„i,J .

::z:zu"'' "^ ' ■^- " '"^""■^- "-•" ■■"-• ^- "^-•<' •" -<"

Cont..ntn,ont as a pliiloM.pliy of lif.3 is ,.,., tluMi.e of tlio n-x, ,ive
.Sections (:«.:u.. A,i,U.,.,-s ..^..y is a..n.,^,.,l f..,,. „.o -s ^i 1, ^
7 he passa,:,. „.oin n,„.ace was ..ansla....! by iror„....k. w,,„ „as an , , ."t
cDntoiiiporaryof A-idison. Tn H-r F.i.v..,,! t,,,,.-, ^ , . ^ ""^

Ku.u..,.n speniii. „as ,.....„ pn........-;;;/:^;.:::;:::'.:;: .!:;:; ;;;:

reader wha., it was like. It u,ay be usefuU, considered in conil

412 The ('ii;rri;r, TTse of TiiTEKATrnE.

■ if

\ !»

Willi iiliiloloKi'iil slatf'iiiiiits liiiiilc by 'I'r.iich :umI M,i\ MUIIit (U.fllt)
at)ii\ ( ).

Tlic lu'xt Kriiiip (!'..V! .'Ml) (Ic'iN in \ luiou-. \v;i\ ■; wii h tlic i\ dim imi iif
Cilliivilii iis :i ,-.clf-^(i\ ri-iiiii'.r >Im!'', ; II iiili'Ki.il P^n i if I he- Hiil i-li Km pi re.
nudoiUMif Hk! ii.ilini,-; tliit liii\(' iiiliiplcil iiinl .'iilaptiil tlic! sociiiliit^liMl
in^l it 111 ions dcvilup rl in lln- Uiiiili I-l;niil-. Tlic [ilia liy Sir .Iiiliii
Mil ('ill ma III for till' a I re; il 11' n of the pri'sciit fi'ilcr.il itiii^I il ill ion nf tin'
Itotiiiliiiiii !■< lakiii fmiii 1 lie spiMili iiiHilc liy liiiii in 1 1n' >i-~inii of ]^it.'t, in
tli<^ I' ii'lianiciil of 'lie forniiT ]'ri)\ iiici' of Canada, wlini he iiiiivrd the
adoplion of tlio "QiK'lirc l.'i'-ioluliaii-i " of IStJl. laki^ all truly slalcs-
niaiiliUc utirraiii'cs it w ill lie f on nil at oiiri' liisloric and propliclii'. 51 r.
Tlouc'sspi'iM'Ji, di livrrril at ii I'ri'iprnr ;1 1 rail !• coiivcnl ion held llir miiiio
ycariii Detroit, !■< inorc rlia;i-odiial out sii;,'}.''c>-N a wider outlook. Tho
pa.--f-a;:i-< from tin! spi iilii -c of Sir WiU'rid Laiirii-r and SirC'liarles
Tiippcr, delivered in llie ( '.inadiaii )Ion-e of Commons on llie .Soiilli
Afriiaii war, lia\i' been .-.ijeele.l as iiiarkin;; a new denarliire in the
military relal ions of ( '.laaila mid the oilier self-jfovernintr eolonies to the
Em|iire at lar^'i'. Tie' e\lraetfrom .Sir Wilfiil f.aiirier'^ speeeh on thi'
death of (^iieeii Viciovla einpba-i/.es llu; idea lliat (lie moiiareh of tho
Hrili^li T>les is .<l-.i) the Mnerei),'n of every pari of the Knipire, and, as
sueli. a bond of union aiiioinr the widely siiiidered luilions wliieli are its
mciiibi r^. The iieea^ioii of the iioem on the "Canadians on the Nile"
was the ort;aiii/,al ion of a corps of Cam iaii civilian voliinleers to
aeeoiiipany I-ord Wol-cleys oxpedilion for !..•■ relief of General Gordon.
They were seiecled as beiiii^ ^peeially adapted for river hoatiiiff, on ac-
ooun' of their cxperieiae in similar work on I'anadian streams. Tenny-
son's "Hands All Hound " hrlont^s to the period of I he revolution which
left. N'ai'oleon III. Kmperorof Kraiue. Thi? lino " We likewise liave our
evil things" siu;(;'est < comparison with Kipli]i!,'"s " l!eee>>ional," which
was writlen on the occasion of (^iieeii Victoria's .Iiiliilee in IS'.t?. Tho
III .1 two stanzas will he found in J'tii-slmilc on p. 8 of this anlholoyy;
tiio remaiiiiiiK I liree are a- follow ■- : —

Far called oiirnavic.^ meltawai ;

( In dune anil headland sinks the lire ;
Tio, all our pomp of yesterday

Is o;;:- w illi Nineveh and Tyro !
.Iiiil;,'!' of llie nation^, sjiare us yet,
Le-t we foryet— lest we fortfet !

If, drunk wilh -i;^lit of power, we looso
Wild toiifjues that have not Thee in awe ;

Such lionstiiifrs as tho Gentiles use.
Or li'sser hreeds without the Law,

Lord God of Ilo.-is, ho w iih us yet.

Lest we forget— lest we forget 1

■■?i:i»^^-^

AWOTATIOVS.

41 ,S

Forhcatlir;i I,,.,,,-! (h.u pmI^ h.-r Ini-t

In ri'iMnt,'iii!M-;iii(l ii-.,]i -l,.,r.l,
AUvaliiiiit (111, I ihiit, liiiii, ;,,.,, ,|,,,|

Ai..l^'iiMnliiii;,...llsiM.l 'lli.rrnuimnl:
Knrfnnilic liiia-I am! f,,n!i.|i vm,,-,].
'I'hy iiHivydii 'liij |i,.|,|,l,.. f.onl >

If'Mlu.. „ia,,s,he 1.,.., ..,.„ i„. „,|„ lnv..sl.U„aMv..,.,.i„„v .„.-,■•

""■■^f "'■' ^'■""••'"- -••"'"•I- '" ""■ ••■ -.f i||S,,|„,„|„ „,„, „.,„,;,„,.

tea,.!,,..., „,,.v,.an ,.tIV...th ,. „„.„„ „f iM-ul.a, „,;: i ,,,,,..iu „ .,„,, „f

raUonal pa,Ho.N,M. I,s n„M Mrikin.^ ..l,,.,-..,,.,,.,,,, i,. ,. „„. al,..',,,.,. ,.r
thepl„nli.ation M, n.tniMur in llii-; kin.I of lii,.,annv

Th. la.tKroMp (.W-.„..,i. i„.,.n,l..,l „. ,„.;„;, ,„„•„„.,,„, ,,„„ ,;,.„. „„.

mnM.a.nnu.,w.p,ntinwhiW...„rin.,lHM.,^.«,.an,lal.:.,r,.,.,,n„i,..
Or...t Hn,a,„ has .Lal, ,vi,h h.r .■„.„„!... ..s,,....,ally in ,li.. wav ..f , '

ceding- lotlinn ■•tVaiildy.-'as Mr. (il ,,1 innr v;.
their (i\

li<' |-i«'lit III lii:..i i::i-

U^ . ou,,.H.Mi,.M„.a..Uir. Tl,,- M,,-, ,„.„.,„ f, ,ii, „„,,, i. „,.. f,„.

>n...on of „i,. •MomM.onuval.h .,f A iiMrali , " i„ i,,,;,,.,;,,,, „f ,.„

r»on„,u,m.,f, •,.„„,,..,•• ;„..|l I.,.,.. ■a,i:.,lia,.n„r A ,■M,■alla,|.^ ,,1,.,...

takor, par, „, ,1... war in S,.„,h Afri.-a .,„t f„r ,li.i,. ,„ n,,- ,,,,, ;, „„„,,,

r-''"f': •"'"""■'■-'•"'''- ■....„■ a similar ,„i:: ,„, ,,, .,„;,.

B.-y,.M.. S,.a i.an,.x,.... ..:,„. aiu i„n-. .-.ly ..ni,., .uu. tiMc in

the "\orlli Aniciiian It.i

'1' Si'jilciniicr, Is'.S.

aLOSSAKFAI. XXXOTATFOXS *

.El.y».liiii (9. lilt: Fintn "Kiv-
Kinni,'ili,.p|a.-..:i||,,tt,.,| n an.i.nt
niyllinli,;,-y to III!' souls of ;lii„,.
\vlio(l<-s,-rv.(l to livflmpiiilyafi.r

r.-iHloriil (II. i>, , CnuiK^^r's
fiitlii'r wasun Anjrlii-an re. lor.

.»ll»lon ill, ;-ii: A poetical
lianif lor Knj;l and.

l{iiSK<-(l |)ll<- (IS. IS): I',.,.l,,

t a-^tlf a> It apiM'arcil in a piidir.'
painU-d by Sir Liuorfje Huaiirnonl.

lt<-<-|t 4|i«||-,.^« (I!,, ..(I,. ]),„.,,,
ttKMlfalh hy clro«n;-,^'-of a favor-
Ho Itrollicr. icininianiiir of a slop
111 till" Kast Jiuliii (.■ompunvs
scrvHc.

.More, nie (90. 17): This i,
th<> la-t. line of Canto IX. of "in
Alemonaiu," where it is addresHil

' The numbers in black type in.lici

Lai^e

I ''•■\7'','"- 'f'-'"-v llall.iMi, thesub-
J' ' I 111 I Ii,ii poiin.

I .,,^"''"'' ••••■•'••I •-•«, )>; : <harh-s

I liiin,\>oM. llic po, r, Im-.iiIut.

/*l»iiM-e 41. 17 : A strinnvil i.,-

-ll'UlMllll.ol inil-jr.

tslr:,| ,14. iv : \ I,i,„l „r lamp

4>alli;;:i'.kltf. .-,|, l|

I'P'n lio-cni' I rolls,. I-..

.Iiinio .Vt. .^i: .sipini-h 'crni for
a -.(Icci coninil or as-nnlily.

.l«-rkln '.-,:, I.-, : A ilimimiliv,-
"f t a- Diit.-h trrni f.,r a ..mI or
froik ; a Kind ,,f jaikil.

Iloiihli-t ^-,H. '.'I- . .■los,..ti(.
tiMf,'-aiid -onicuhal short i-o.ii.

Haiitfi-r (.-,<►, s : A -liort broad-

su'oni.

ite the pufc'cs, tho.se in lijfht typo the

■ ,'i

414

Annotations,

nollan<l'« I'M, 1.": <!iri ini-

IMii'lt'll fl'ciiil Iliilhiiiil.

riiibyloiilth Jiiricnn (iW, ii^>:
Tin: <()nfiisi(in of luiiK'li'^ ut tho
tiiwcr of Uiiljcl.

KI1-HOOIIH '*,", KV : "Soon
iiflir" iii\trl<(l.

Km 1^7.;'. : Oriiriiially "know";
it IIHJUIM lure. '" .>i i-.'

Mwiiiiiiil (77< S : Arc'hiiii! form
of ■• wvvooii.'

»VI«I (HO. 11): Pii-t toiT^eof the
filil Knuli^li "wit," to know.

4;ranirr«\r (^M), '.fii: OrlKimilly
till! Krcncli for "Kr<at thanks ' ; it
liiis (IctfcMcralcd hero into a iniro
iiitrrjiMtion.

Khrrn (HO, <; : I!ri»:ht, shinint;.

JnriconlnK CH7. 'Ji',): Tlu-t word
in Old Fivmli nuant tlio winKintf
of birds.

.S«'er (97, 19): Lilcrally ont! who
noes; hiTc it moans oiii' rifled with
"second sitflit," a superhuman
insii,'lit believed in by !!ie i)e()i)lt3
of tin' plaee and time of llio inei-
dent narrated.

KwAlin (97, 24 : A rastln and
ohai>ol yeveu miles suutli of Edin-
burKli.

RiuK thry rlilr ( m, \): In this
pame tlie horseman, ridint^ at full
six'ed. tiied to earry oil' on liis
lan<-e a rinjj BU.-i)onded from a
beam.

rnflnn ( KM*. 7 <: Oencrally
"Kaftan, ".I lony loose rubo worn
in the Ka.-^t.

Mini* doe, 101: A peculiar
kind of riflo hullct named after
the inventor, a t'reiieh otlicer.

«jM>llc r«rk CKW, 17: The

uiiiel>-tliird regiment (Ilitjhland;.

riirps dVlllc ( lOT, S): A select
bdly.

jinldnii (ll», li: Doublet for
"Sultiin."

Exrnlibur ( I'il. 27): In the

story of Kiii}^ Arthur by JIalory
two sword- of tliis name are men-
tioned. One was imbedded in a
stone, aTid Artliur secured his
kintfship l)y drawintr i* out after
ottiers hail tried in vain to do so.
For an account of the manner of
obtaining tlie otl\cr, as well as a
de.-el'i|)tion . f the sword it -elf, sn;
Tennyson's " riwoint; of Artliui- "
(!S4H.a32 below;.

4iram.ii7^ ( I??, 2n'' : Sorcery.

Ilaklni ( l^'l, Itii! Saladin, in the
(."li-e of a pliysieiaii. had visited
Itiiliard's camp and cured the kint;
of a dangerous illness.

Nabouiid f fit, 2j: A comip-
tiori if •' .Mohanmied," used by
Kuropeans in the Jliddle Atfeaosa
ty Mor.j 'II of " Satiiii."

yint (VH, '£]): A brief musical
striin.

Forfrnd (l^.t. T: Avert.
Itji^rallie ( tr,, j;i; : lUbblo.
Morion ( Via, IJ): A meUl
helmet without a visor.

4'orur-dc-L!oii ( l'J», 11 : Lion-
hearted.

lilntc Frnnrit ( i:iO, 11, : Francis

1. oi* I'ranc e.

IVIrr (1.1"}. W : Ticrrn do
I'onsaiil, a Fremli poet of tho
third (piarterof t he sixteenth eini-
tury, wlio is supposed to be telling
tlio story.

.Va>io (i:w. r.'i: PiiWins Ovidlus
Naso, coinnionly 'ailed "Ovid," a
Uoman poet of th.; time of Au-
ifustus.

Ixlon (IT?. )l : A rnvthologi-
eal kiiikT who biiame a type of
those wiio win illusory joys,

Cirmrnt Marot (l.^l, in ■. A

"rench i)oet contemporary with
hut somewhat older than I'ierro
do Uon.sard.

llInin....Tribii IIW, 'il): That
lion of the Irilie m Judah.

\onrhalance \ l.'U, 2S): Lack of
earnest uess.

lliiniun....bphoovpi« ( l.'til. 3ii):
Kxplain the syntactical construc-
tion.

\i<ni<'iin (ia7, 8): Killing the
Nemean lion was tho tirst of tho
"tweho labors" required of
Hercules.

ManKr«(l.17, 1")): The old French
form of malyr^, in spite of.

Iludlhrn!! (141. 18): The hero
of a poem written by Samuel
Hut ler after the Ilestoration.

Mpmnnlpedalian . . . word ( 1.11,
ISi: Here an unusually long word.

PegaKHK ( 1.11, 221: The winged
horse of the Muses in Gree'i
mythology.

SrHqiiinlf.ro, dinpnxoit (133,

3;: Name:} of "Btojw' in the
organ.

Anvotation's.

41.-.

Karroo (t\t. K, -. ju,. s,,utli
Africiiii l.Tin for a Uinh lal.lc huui
or flay winch i^^ void of vr^.talioii
111 tn' ilry Mii-iiii.

H^HiMifrii <>»<.<« f i.-iS, ( : Si'vcnil

stiir>. iiiMiiKtil ill III,, fill- f a

cr<.K> , j,,,,. u, 111,. .. i,.-iia|p„|,...r

UlOHDIIllll ril t.l'llli..|lluic.

. .ttlM-iiiiiiiH 'l.VJ, r, : Tlii..|..n„
IS iipplicj I,, til,, .vlioj.-of lli,..-,<ii
rni'iiilMi-^ of 111,. ,.,,iiri wlii.h n-j,.,!
SmtiiI..-; hImm li,. a,|.lrr>M-s tli..
-1 «lio voti.,l i.ir hi, a,,|iiliial h,.
calls Ih, 111 ••iiiil^r,.-." s,.,. |.-,»an,|
fullowiij;,' I>aKi>.

floiillor (I5». :■< : Wh,|l„.|.
fhl^' «a~. Ml .-^oriMlr-owiiopiijIoi,
II ."UiMriiatiiiMJ \u-inn or iihtiIv
a pou.r of iirnviiit; raiiiiljv aii,'|
p<Thaps iiitiiiii\-,.|v ai ivriain
FlHiral .iiiil;,'iii,.,i(,, , Mill,,, I („, ,1,.,,.
nilcly (if,i,|,.,l.

Il.ly «.r.iliris«. 1.. : Th- ,„p

-'■;i hy ( liri-ta. 1 1,,. I,„t, Mip|„.|.

I'lMllKh I.. Kll;rla„.| l,y .1 p(| ,,,

Armi.illi..,, aiMl 11,,,,.. „|,„ \v..|-,.
■I '.■rwanUai.l,. i.,...,. i, allai,„..|
'" iM-rf,., t li,,li,|,.,,

,"""'••' ;*'«■ '"■: V.lioiiiiiit;

l.oiiK- 1-1.111,1,

«r«'al Kiiijc |«m, j:t :

of I'cisia.

T!i..kliii;

111111(161, 2.', : AyaiM.'imioii.

OtI.VHtdiH (Uit, ■.•»; : riv,~.-s
f.«er SH.-f-'iH.'i .

Th«' Klotrii fl«.-,, i:i : Th,-
Offlcials lippoiiitod 1,1 iii>p,., t the
priMnis ami cany out tin. s<.|i-
tciiics of th,. coiiri,. (I,,,. „..j^
chosen fidiiicach of the t.ii tril,,.-'
and till' eleventh was thi.jr seiiv -
tiiry.

A<trl«>plii<i 1 ijw. is : The fircek
form of th,. name " .Ksciii.ipj'i, •
He was tlie tiisi to praili-,. tin-
physii-ian's art, and was aficr hi,
diath worshipped usufe'od of III, di
enie,

ThelM»» fir». <) : A riiy ,,f fpper
KtfVpl, o,-(.-iip.\inKl'olh si,l, -orili,'
.Vile, not J"ir below th,. |.'ir-r
C'at.;iniei. 'I'h,! " JNIeiniioniiiin " is
one of several coloss.il slatiii., to
be found aiuony its riiin,.

AIU'iH..]iii> (i:», 2-: Girni.iny.

.WnKnIllcnt 179, fi : The (ii-st
won! of the La! in version of ij,,.
jontr of the Virgin Mary. . Luke i.

DeiiOKiiM , . .hninilr>i f I7». iiliir
A (inotation from n,,. s,,iiir of
Mary. «ee note ahovo (ITS, (i. .

Jpster ( ISI, 21 : Coniiu.re
bcotts (lesi.r'ption of " VN'aiiiha " I
(I84-138,) above.

AllKriii* ( IS.-,, 11; The hrli
riiiiK to announce the time when
f[i*' '■ AnB'clus." nil invocation to
the V irgin Mary, is to be recited. 1

<'ii<«aiHlra C'l:. ■_' : A Tn, m

pr,ipli,.|,.,,.

i Kilwiir.!* C'l:. •.'H: .1, math. in

I |-..IU,l|,|,, oil,. ,„• ,1,,. ,,,,,.|^. |,j.,,,|

I deiilsot riiiieel,iii I iii\i.rsity.

IMiiK. -iin. I : s,.,. I„„i:r.i)lii

j •■alnoli,-,. ||«. Th.. r.|Vn.,i,.., is

■•Ills id.-alol a. slat.. .■,,nt,iin,.,| i,,

lie .hal.iKU,' entitl,.,! " Th,-

li,|)nblii..'"

.«*f. FrHiirK (••••,-,. U: H,)rn at
A"i,i 111 I|s... Xhe f,)iiiii|..r.,f lln-
MiiiieiMan onhr ,,f friars an.l
noi,.,l for liis,-x,.,.,,n,. ,^ ,|||»,,|,..
«illi n.ilure.

Bliick-liciirlH^riK, 7 : Cherries,
.Ii-IMM-Miis iriH. IJ : All ,aily

■•^uinmeraiiiij,'.

I.«'tli«' "•.•{.-,. 17 : Th.. riv.r ,.f
lofKi.tniln,.-s in th,- iiitVn.,,:
•■'■ffion--. ii.-eordiiif,' I,, (ire.i.iii
mylllo|ii;,'y.

I»r,va<l IXi, ■>() : A invtholot,'!
cal iiMuph who |ir,.-id,.,t ov.r
trees, e-ji.., iailj the o,ik.

I"l«r« '.'.!.-,. -JC, I : Thoinylholo^M-
calK,>il,l.'".>l ll,.w,.rs.

l>rov«-ii<-iil 1 •»;!.-,. -.'7,; Th.'
troiibaiioiiis of I'l-ivi'iii',. in tl,.-
south of Krane,. in.nie that ciuniry
l.iniiiiis by iluir .soiitrs in the
-Midille A^.s.

■lipiMirrciiP ••;{(!. :' : A fomi
(aim;, ,ir Moiinl II, -li,',.!! in (;r....,...,
anil a ta\ ,,riie iT^irt of tli.. .AIii,,.s.

ValeiifiiK- '.'iH. I-.' : A in.tt,',

IMKlit -j;!!!. ■_':!: Arr.iy.d.

l.lcrc.'U, i<): Heloveil.

Wap. wan cfM. J^i : To bent on
t he shore .mil ri-e..,!,'.

WeiHl (''I,-.. I'l: Pa~t iiariieiplu
oflhe\er'i " Wien." to think.

V. *\JMbAt^

4in

Anxotations.

Tiilr or tvllhtii (JIA. IS);
Sdiiictitncs "A\ii|nii." tlic uImhIc
of till. 1. 1. •,<(•. I ill Kiliii- iri\lli<ilcit'v,
Hli'iililltcl in Ihi. Ai-lliii!i,iiiliKiMil-i
"illi " <il.iliiiilii,r,\ . ' wluTc
Jii~i ph of Ariiii.iilii',. is fiililtil to
U.wt- l:il,i.n ii|i |ii> iilioilf. Sett
noleiilioM^ (IHU, l.'i.

lloltH boiir I'Mti. '-'lir Iloarv

WihmIs.

Hfoiiiil cm:. Ill: A Hy/^iiilinr

coin ; ii-iiiilly " lnziini."

Tiildc Cii:, •.111: 'riic ••liouM.l
TiiMi-,' nil a"0(i,illoM of kiiijrlil-
ImmiimI liy a coiMiiion oaili ; iii~li
tutcd liy Kiiij,' Ailljiir.

l..roiiiH>.««r Cii;. ■Jll: Sic Ti'Miiy-
son s •■ l'.i>-iii>,' of Arti.iir ' in tin?
•• Iilylls of III.' KiiiK." 11. 7!ls7.
LyoMiiis-e is f,ii|i|„i,|.,| to li.ixc
fxIciMlcii from (urn wall lo ili..
Scilly I^lainl-, a n /ion now siiii-
UlfrKfil.

4'iini<'lul C'lH, IJ): Kiiji Art hill'-
TOjii .1.

«<'rlln (•.•I.H. Ill : Tlio s.-cr,
lianl. and ariisiof Kill^,' Ailhiir's
court.

KhiK lli-iiry {-iM, IS): Hcnrv
II. <j{ Kii^'laiiit.

Iiikiionii loiiKiK- (i.M, ri): Till'
Kcllli- laii),niatrii ; lUiiiy anil lijs
fouriiurs wpoki^ Noiinan Krciich.

T«ii(l<-r |»llc (•,',■«*. JU: Glaston-
bury Ablicj.

•••iilnl .loHcpli'H oliiirfii (■».-i».

rV'-, ■^\',*' . ■''■II">>''>"'S •• Hoh

Gr.iil." 11. (litis,

4:«-iii>vi-)i f'>««, i;i): tJuincv.n.,
Artlinrs Qik.lii.
('oiii|iifi-or (''BO, L'li): William I,
.>«o«'i«>|y (•,»«!, I'.l: Till! ••(Inl)"
of wliirli tin; " Si"(ialor, " prc-
suniaiily Adilison him-iir. was ii
ini'inlicr. Tin' suciiiv is lii-tiiions,
and so is '■ [sir lioy^tr do lo\ i rli-y."

Viiirl <l)> rliiiiiil>re ('»(!.{, '.1») :
A IKisonalattundaiU.

Flr<.l Tisilfd CJtO. '.'1: .Tolin-on
adilfiss.-d tliL' |in)s|)iM'tiis nf Ills
dictionary to Lord fhostcrliuld.

le v)iiiii|ii<-iir It-rr*- (','!«,

."i): Tliu <(iiiiincior of llic tun-
queror of the w orld.

Klicphrrd (••:«, '.T): The ref.T-
eni'i' sii'iii- to he to lialhis. the
sahjcct of Viigila tenth e> loyue.

Roa«l<-«l MTviiiil C'Tl, LT lil):
See noU' above ( »», -).

M<-ll<-riil<li. Von (»T«, 19):
.Mini-iir of Koniicn Atlairs in

.Viisiri.i fr isnti i,, isis.

«r,V|»l ('.•:;. i;;i; t"-rd hir.. in its
ori^'inal nieaniiik' "I' "hidiiiii-
I l.laee."

I lliioiiio ( •.•:h. 1,-,) : Theeathedriil.

I Tr 11 «-l»rm> (•,•:(*, I til: .V nliKions

1 si-rviie of llniy U'.ili. form, ly

I iclehr.it. ■.! at midiil^iil. " Trn.i-

I brae" i> the Laiin for d.irlcne.s.s,

i 4>nlliiKiil«- I ?H'», ;i) : A rare

; niar~li jil.inl fi":nd in the soiilli of
Kiii^M.tnil.

l.««i»H Ci.S'J. 7): Aeeor.liinf to IV
(ireik in.\ Ih lln'elt'.'. t of ealintf tin-
fniit of Ihisii-.... \i;is to nuke ih.'
eat.r I'oix.t 111- ..wn eonni ty aii.l
remain i.lle in the lan.l of the
lotos.

Il.vii«l«>< '»h;j. Ill): A Rronp of
MVeial ~lar~ ai riiiiire.l in tin- f,,nn
of the lellir V, f.iriniiitf part of
the /.i.lia.al eoiwl. Ilation Taurii-.
When Ih.y ro>.- wiihthe sun the
aiieients e\p..|. .1 a r.iiny sea-on.

I»l<- can, \ : Th.. Island of
Ithaca.

Iliipp.7 l*lrH ••s.-i, J : The
(ireeian iiiylholo(,'i.iil i-l.m.ls of
thehle-t w.r.' f.ihl.-.l to li.^ far-atf
'ollie wi'>l. i.nl tli.ir pre. i~-- i.ira-
tioii is ni'ver niveii. ( i.nleel lire
h IS iilelltille.l them w it h the ('a|)e
Verde iind also with the I'anary
Islands.

l/iiiik Wnlioii 'J<NI, 0): An
Kntrli-h wiitirof the time of the
Smarts. Hi, hot kiioxMi work is
hi- ■•C.iiniiale \ ii>;lrr. or ( oiitem-
plative .M.ui's lU.reatioii."

l>l«r)ilor (imi, 2.-)): One «.f the

rharaeiir- in tin. ••('i)mpl(.to

Anuli r.' represent ill*,' Iho iiiithor
hiiiisulf.

»«Tl|>. slinre (1<*4, 4): "Share"

i- a spei-itieil |)ortiiiiiof the sto.'k
in I jointstoek coin pa ny ; "s.rip"
IS the written evidence of its
ownership.

«>iil for rent ('i9t, 5): A hiin-
dr 'd per cent.

Make (W4. 7): The term
'■po.l ' ineiii-. a miikeraeiorilin«
to its duiivation.

rciKnsraiii (397, 9): A Jive-
|«)iiited >tar; proliahly used here
ill aiiiisioii to its use ill Goeliie's
•• Kaii.-t."

F«'»e (:j«1, Mi): A (estiva).

,I"»^A.

AXNuTATIONS.

41 T

'"'■-'• ail. I iM,iri\ i.iii. r \i,,--,|-i ,,f

',!m';'.';'VV"',"',""'-'"""'-"'II'"
llUli-iil IJ|/^|l„||i.

■ Tcilrr.lli-

NothFrliln cio:!. ii; .\ .litniiui.
tlvo <.f ri.i.lhrr,' ii„-,l h.iviis,,
I.Tiiinf .■n.l,.,.nii.rii. in imil.ii ji.ii

o^u„- ii>,iK.or II ,mi,u,i (i,.,..

4'rf«rrnl'hurk (.Jl.l. I.'i ■ 1 1,,.

lllllOIl.

W>illfn»l<lii Mit. 7 . » ,., I, , , , ,

'■'■nrMi, (•;.n,„.inr in ll,.- 'I l.i , ' -^""'""i '•'"«iv ' r

»''^"- "■"■• • •■ >'• r.u% :,: -N,,,-.- Tl„. i,f., .,f

AiliiniMl NCU,,,.. i '""'' 'ii'iill' iiiil Im Mil

llrookc (.'lis. k;,
or IM ||,,,;,s ••.•n,Mi\.

<>"'SH, (.-tlH. '•.■(.,: A kin;,' of
l.>Ul,l. rMlllilii Mi-^ ,,)• Suluii. II,,.

I.ii«l (.■U!». in»: .-ln„,^.,i,..,,.,..
«'iirr,-w ,;m». •.Ill: 0,j^;j„„|lv-

'""-I (..v William I. of |-:',n-iV„,|

' '■" I'Ji lli'-nhi;iiii,'.i|'a i..|| I ,,|,.

' h,",v!'i '-■^' "'*■'"'''' lin-a,i,|,vliiv

,/■"';'■, ,*',"'■■' '•'"•• ■"': '"1^"
"a. ( Uut . UMi.,- .,1 Kni;l,,i.| ,i.
!"• l-.;m,i ,.f .Imi...-, r. aiHl .\IaM>.

' 'V'n '" "'•'', "f •"•"itj.lll. .M,,,
: -liall «a, ( |i„C .li,,|i, ,. .,f ||„.
>ii|'r.'in.- CiHiil .,r ,1,,. I ,,ii,.,|
>IM|(>. iiiiil Miiiy «,,- ,,i„- ,,(■ I, is
a->(Hia:i-^.

' |m''V' '"*' '■"'*• '"■ ""■ "•"■"f

Jkhorlly (;{«:. li; ■Ili,r,,„f,.,|.ra-

, lli.nnl \\„. .\ii-rialiaii.nl,.Ml.s ii,|,,

"11. • ( i.iiiiii,)r,u,-ali|, ■ iMMMiiiraii

; a.c.MM|.|i-li,-,| tart ,„i 1 1„, |i,.,t ,i,,.,

I <i( Jaiiiiai-.\ . IKil. ■*

II.MTH cm:. IS): TliU w,,r,I

'*"'"■"• fp Iiiiii '.'til. a; • (■,,„,.

pair l,i,ii>„,„~ lliiv.niii|,aiii,,n.
|«i<Tii-: • ^ nil a-k Iiif ula. • •■ iif
Olcl Kit I- 11,, I, Mil <„, II,,. hciu-liU. •
;,'"' '^"^'■, "i"il lliv Ian,!.' ami

..V:" ',"" . "'^'^■■' l'""i" •nlillril
r I'<'«'(l(ilii.

Tlu>»ii,Tc.lv«n<.lN (,■{.»•». I : Tl,,

Jlllk.- nt U,.||i,|.,,,„ ,,, I,,, ,|,..,,|,
".IS W.inl.linf ,i„. (i,,,,,,,. |.,„.,.
■pfc l,,)|im,.||,.« , ,,„,.,„ „„ ||i,,|, ,11 I,
111 tli.ll (illli 1 .

NoiTHl.-* ' .TI.-I, 1- : For son,..
jiiils .,,1 .-s,„r,„,.s' , .„,,,,,. ,„

I.";' •;<•'• I'l.'IOS V.lMo,. ol In,

A ).il„-y 1,1,1 a,-,oiii.t ,,f „j,
O'alli, l.-,4,.t«>!t alioM ,

lloriiK- ...riirllirr ( .Xt.,, .i

N',.;«;i, ;ui|„.i,,„.

.>lii<-<-<-iiaH (:w\, 17: A >.,.|,,.,.
man wilt, a<l,-,l as u luinisi,,- ,„■
Mai." iinjlir Iho Kiii|Mror Aiit'Us.

Miai,-fn..n,| and lilKi-.il iKitroii „f 'iK^ns in ||„. Jiut,!, lantrn,, .,.
*UKll mill lloiai-,.. , •[•I'll lilt-, .ai,| c-)" ri.ilK ih,,.,-

*■"•■•■»■-- ■"• - ■ - I L'liK.ani'ii 111 i,t;iii iilliir,'.

, <>iii' titliiiitrcrH (.'!;i, •'(,,;,.

1 ll,' ;;airi.on r,t,ir,.,| i,, ,^ (],,,", ,,'f
|i ilil..\. Jroiii «|,„|, (i„, |i|.,ti,|,
riv;iii,irl|.,,o,„|i;iil I,,-,.,, \vitli,lra « „
l'« l.iko |,,ul ill thu \N.ir 111 .-iuiiih
Alrir.u

«<-«tiiH CJTH. L'll: Til,, t'inll,- or
N iiiii- oil u hifli \\,iv r,.|iii.~(..ntf,l
liy tiiil,n,i,|,|.y i.\ui>Uiuii' tliiiL
CDiiliI aual>i.ii lo\ij.

8-l(h: Tvi,Tl,Z7:;";:a"".r".'''T,r"n ,.'"''•»"' •'••r""K ^'•'•••« <;«». S):

"iKlli.iplKiel ill Italy, TiinRi- II '"."l'^"-"' I'iin>m'1i- "Tliii tniu

i!.liKland. iii>r:ti iii hi- iliilicaloi \ ,i,Uu«uc

Str„.llvari„H f :„«. -S^ : A violin '"'i':' "^'""^ '"' "'" '^"'^'•

Ponaiii..,lliuniii-,niak.r,aiVM.UnL ,.,' J'''"!', • «''-'•'• • ■ ■ • «<'rrll«rj.>»

or trcriioiia ill Iial> j <•••'•«. ■■Ii: .s.iiii-,' ls7S, uinn I'lis

or iMihl I .•!4« ■N • („„.„„.. 1 i '.■"-"■^'."■•'~ "".'It'll, lliis,. niitiil,,-!-,

wui,ii.uu,i„a!;:.,:n,; ^— -.' , !;;-;:,;;i;;--:;^'-> •"^■y--..i

MitlaH (.147, J- \ pi.rv." v»..i .... .

kiiiK "ii,)s,.,l.-ii-...that .-vVr li;,'; ■- : ,-, I ,*'''' •"<»««""•• i.t««. ^i : Tii,;
he l,Mi,'l,e,i nii;,l,L turn ,?k f 'iivi'm.v'o--''',!,' '''■,!''''''''■' ''''

l-'ablu* (.'Ml. 7.: a I;,,iii,n,
pi'ii.'ial wl„, l,all|.,l tin, ^j,,.,,,
Jl.uiiiibal liy a,l,>|, tiller pnivlv <l,-.
f.'jJ'jj'J'"„t^L'iic's aii.l a jiolny of

IMi-iiipo . .M. .laiiifH Mr,. I , ■

I tiit.'il Stalus Muu^t r i„ (.,,-^.,,|'
Hi'it.un.

(.iilMTiialor , ;U5, l,v: Littin for
(■m t'riiiir.

T," '"-"*, ■?"'•'"•<■•• TiiPiMT ( :sui.

*»>«

MMm>«/-J._Iu, .-^;Ji..#« y^^'^i

41H

Rl<>(}|{\PHr( Af- XoTfCF.S.

Inliiiit Mlnl«-« cmi, '.' 'I: TIh-
Ainirii'iill i'ii|iinii'-i iliititii; tin;
piiiixl ,,( tin ir iiily <li \ r|(i|iiii('iit
linilir niHi-ciilMllM- ili-il ilMl luii-
-ly fi.iiii (111- iiinlilli' i.f llic -(vi'ri-
li'i'iitli Ifi ilii' iiiiilillr of till- litfii-
Ifciil h (Till m\ .

I*rn\l». I'<ilr<l« CWI. '.M-.'ii:

Till- llUHIIl- of lln~<( tl'I'lll'i U ri'lilli

l)riis.siiii. Ill (In: I 111- lalli r J4 ri'iiiii
iiniii'n, III iiiiiki' ; ImiiIi vi rl)> ar«t

(jnik.

tiiotrni (.■«»».'. I.'ii Soul liiiii ; ill-.
rivcil fiDin Aii-hr, fni'-niilli wiml.

WrnI (.WJ, l»;i: rriis|)iiii\ ,
willMn-. " Ui 11 ' iirid "\vi;i|ili"
iil'f fniiii (111' -ami' iiriKJii.

niililfii'. I. •«••». ■-'"■1: Till' I'idv
iM<i'~ iif \i« SiiMlli W'.ili-. Vir

till i.l, Sulllli All~IIMli;l. \Vi -it AUH-

li.ili.i, (^iiiiii-l.inil, ciriil r.i^iimiiliv,
will. Ii li.iM- lii'i'ii iiiilli i| 111 r.iini I ho
"< Diiiliiiiiiwriill li ' III' A 11^1 nil 1. 1.
Tlii» <lii> (.mi, ■.•;,): Tliullr-l of

JiiiiiMiy, I'.Hil.

IM ler ClH.'l, i:il: Tin- iJnck

umIiIi'--* ill' Mil. imiiii* is iili'iii illi'ii
liy iiiylliii|.i:.'i-ts Hiihtln- l.'niii.iii
i;imIi1i'»s. < 1 ii'i. K.ii li \\.i-i I'l'l.iii'il
111 I lit' |iiir-iiit of aicri.ullurc. Ii-in'ii
Ihii iisf of till! iiaiiii' hill'. SiMi
'riiiii><iiii -i fMieiii, " Di'iiuii T ami
I'rrM'plliilii'.

."♦••iHi'iMlMT (;i!»»); Till' ilifriT-
• •liro ill iMil ri' III' >\i'i n !|ii-i uiiil
llll! olhir -.ri liiifi. Ill' I I,. |i,„.||| i^
iliiiMi) lln- I'iiil Ih.il llils was pull.
li-llii| as 11 ^ipaiali' roin|iiisil Ion
anil aftcrwanU >i| in plai-i' ' ito.

Hi()(n;.\i'iii('.\i, xoTicKs.

.itlllUon. .Iii.,<>|ili lli;;'J 17PM. fiiiinii^ as a prosu wrili r Mis iliief
work wa-. hi- i--;i\ .. in I In- " Sp|.,iaii,c '■ (I711;) 17||».

A fcfiiiiit-.. 'I' •MiiinH (I is'i II7II, -pint, niii.,1 of his lil'i' in .1 niuiiastiry.
tlixl Willi 1- till- " linil 11 inn lit Chnsl ' in l.,alin.

ItrtMtiiiiii;. Kolti-rt (l-<l.' IWlt. spi-nt most of his miilillr lifi- in Iiiily
anil \Miili' :uiii h mi Ualiaii ilijiH'ts. IIis ;;fiiins wa- ■•.-.stnliiilly
(Irainalir.

Ilr.tiiiil. M'illitiiii 4'iill<'n (I7!l» I87S). was an . .cricaii piirl. Ho
wroti; i;in-l of Ills piMlils ill 1 Mi-1> lil'r.

ItiirriDiuUv, Joliii (iH;i7», a piu-i' wriirr on naliifr siilijciis ; a resi-
dent of Ni-w N iii-k .-slali'.

■-— 4'ol«-rhli:<'. Ml iiiiifl riiylnr (177.' I'^.'ltl, an Kn«li-h pm-t of ran- tfi-nius
anil oiu;iii,ilit \ , lull iiii-:ipal)li- of -h-ailv work. His literary 1 rilicisnis
are nnriv.illiil in v-ilneami ,sii','t{esti\ t-ni'ss.

«'ow|MT. M'lin.-iiii (I7:il-|simi. hi-uan his literary lueer lite in life,
but wriiic innili \ -iliianli! pn-iry .ml left a colli-etion of inlirestini;
letlers. He was siilijei't to s, mil- of (ksliunik-riey with oeca.sioiial lapses
into ills. Ill i I y,

l»«' »cn', Aiilirt'.,' Tlioiiiii<t (ISII). a yoliiniinous and yersalile writer
in iirii-eaiid verse, was liiiin in hi laml.

IkiilTerlli. LimI.V (l*«i7 IS'iTI. wis a wi-aiulilauirhler of Kii-hanl Hrinsley
-•^lieriilaii, a sisn-r of llni. Airs. .Norton and iiiullier of Lord Dntferin.
Her poetry is mainly lyrie.

Oj«T, J»ir C«iWiir<l (l.ilOl, wasaeoiirti'Tof (h(M-ei«n nf Klizalieth.

i:<l>;iir, Mir .liiiiieH »iivi<l (1V1|I-1S<I!»), w.is a nali\e of (^iieliee and n
li'tfal praetilioner in Toronici. He was .-speaker of the House of C'om-
uiiiiis at the time uf his dealli.

Kviius, Ciciir;;i> Ksnex, a resident of Queensland, Australia.

4iiliHi«luiMS Wlllliiiii I'.wa t (l.>«l!t.IS!K). born in Kiitfland of Seotti.sh
pareniawe. w.is i-iniiii-nt in iinii puliiies aiii literature. He was by
nature and e ml arc a »; ''eat orator, and al-oa 111 ister of piiblie linanee.

4i»liiKiiiilh. «Hv«T (17'2H 17711, an.itiveof Ireland, spent his literary
life ia London, where he wa.s iniiuate witti ^^uuiuelJuhn.son, Edmund

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l•^•ellll,■l■of ( ai.mlii in J.s.,i;. ■' '■"'"""■'• .111 "lalr.i-. H., |„,,.ii,„;

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I M,v,.rM,y. aa,i Part' as ,• i „• of , ^"•."' ,'," """^V"""- i" M.rlar'l
_ equally eminent a. |,.„.^,.uwl,;n,s,.wri,,.r -^""""^ AloaiMy." Jl., „as

^':otnsh (.arenlau--, ,va- OM. "? V " Jr .; '• " . "•'»'\'- '-f KnuIan.I ,.{

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.Wax Muiior. Frlpilrlrh (l,S>{-ii«)(ji .. f' , ,.

yoarsa ,,r,,f,.ss„ri„ OxlordVnivcvsiiv iVT" ''^' '•"•,"'■ "••'•* f'"" "' "n-
onenlaKseholar. iJiintiMLj. He "a, a noted pliil.jlofe'ical ami

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Bkxjrapi rr.\L Xotipes.

Miind, Tlic<Mlor«> Hardlns rmaiiixii ... t ...
UiU. h of whi. 1, is of H hi;;!, or'l.T .If .....'h, ^"'""""""-^ "'"'•■• "< po.-try.

Hiiiiiii, Hiirnrr (17Si)-isi!)l,
L-omiur, Kntfliiinl.

'-• .1 writiT of

or iiuiiiiiri)u-i

I'liiiry in

l"'Kio!;f.n;'^^^'-'" "^^"- - '^ -iv" of 0„ur,o..,„, , ,.,„,,

oi' .M is,.i< iiusiiis, i^

1V;.1 Liunvale." and in 1S^:1 l,c was rna'i^. ^t^uLr o' llle ', 'u,,?''" ' '"'^'"^

hr^^'k^r^u'^^'^^X^U'l^i'lS- \i:\'-'-'-."<''Kn'^"vn,,, ,.„t i.
u.iaNVurk>oMiihil.,l,'j,^j^ ' "' ""'''"'• "" ''•'•' ^^'''t"'" poi-uiar poeuw

u.Hi n.so to .uii„..n,o n.!;;e iX:^';;„k^:i:;n/,'i:;,;v;r,'';;f'' "' ^"^-^ ^
w..;!^::;?;^::^^ j^;:-- .i!;;?.^'' '^ ""^ "^ ^'- -"- '••"«">" .>-ts. ..u. ju.

WIUrtliT, John 4;rc<>iilcnr (|S(lSlS!f'y WMs Lorn ,.f n,...i-, „ .
district. n>c Like a„,l imi ^.lu.U^^^.fV;.,:; I'^V Klr^Un^