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WoLFE'8 Cove, Quebec.-By H:R.H. the Pkincess Louise.
]
Si
special Canadian Series.
f
FOUETH BOOK
07
BEADING LESSONS.
With Illusthationji from Giacomelli and Othep Eminent Artists.
Jt
>:^'
,***,
Toronto:
THOMAS NELSON AND SONS,
AND
JAMES CAMPBELL AND SON.
Peiixi
Entered, according to Act of Parliament, in the Office of
the Minister of Agriculture, in the year of our Lord 1882, by
Thomas Nelson and Sons, and James Campbell and Son,
Toronto.
3 ot
Jon,
PEEFACE.
-M-
We erter the Fourth Book by the old military gateway o£
Quebec, through whose massive portals throng, the stirring memo-
ries of two hundred and seventy years. The fearless explora-
tions of Champlain, La Salle, Joliet, and their gay voyagcurs ;
the devotion and the sufferings of Marquette and Prebceuf ; the
Indian ambuscades ; the lawless rollicking bush-rangers (Coureurs
des Bois) ; the great fur-trading Nabobs ; those magnificent spend-
thrifts the French Intendants ; the lordly proconsuls of France
and of England — all these and many other visions of the older
time throng through the old gateway when Quebec is mentioned
No wonder that sc much imaginative and descriptive literature
has been inspired by memories of this historic fortress !
The immigrant arrived at Quebec when the summer is
breaking, already finds his yearnings for the dear Old Land
half charmed away by the lovely landscapes of the New;
tho?igh, all unconsciously, he will still often find himself hum-
ming 7'A« B-^Us of Slumdwij or LocJiaber no Mwe. As he
IT
PREFACE.
ascends the mighty River and traverses our inland Seas, and so
gets into the great current of our national life, hir sympathiea
with Canada deepen and broaden. He soon wins for Mmself a
snug nest under the greenwood tree or out upon the prairie.
His opened eye learns the Indian woodcraft, and his quickened,
ear distinguishes kindly voices in the solitudes. He gratefully
enjoys the bracing air, the brilliant sunshine, the moonlight
sleeping on the forest-side, the glories of our Indian summer.
And when winter breathes cold upon him from "the White
North" — from Franklin's grave — the pioneer keenly enjoys by
his back-log fire the tuneful pages that tell him how the first
bold adventurers came over to win the American wilds, and
how the red-cross flag came to float over so much of this broad
earth.
Such has been the life of most of our pioneers. This Book
is designed to be read by their children and their grandchil-
dren. Can it do better than reflect the stages of our national
life?
Toronto, July &V», 888.
CONTENTS.
Verse is indicated by Italic$.
:^art :Elir0t.
Quebec, with Frontispiece,
Stanzas from ** The Princess,"
The Thousand Isfarids,
Idyls of Inverburn,
How the Cliff was Clad,
The Sea,
Canada : its Scenery and Majestic Pro-
portions,
Lochaher no More,
The Bells of Shandon,
** She is Far from the Land,"
The Meeting of the Waters,
Memories of the Old Land,
The Scot Abroad,
The First Spring Day,
Spring,
Founding- of Gait, Guelph, and Goderich,
Down upon the Green Earth,
In Windsor Forest,
The Unwritten History of our Forefathers
Tom Boidinff,
To the Lady fhu'.'lolte Bawdon,
i?ereward, the English Outlaw, .
The Skylark,
< H.R.H. the Princess Louise,
\ Marchioness of Lonu,
Alfred Tennyson^
ChtirU* Sangster,
Robert Buchanan,
Bjomstjerne Bjomson,
( Bryan Waller Procter {"Bari-y
\ Cornwall")
> Hon. Joseph Howe,
Allan Ramsay, ,
( Rev. fra' cis Mahony {" Father
I Prout"),
Thomas Moore,
Thomas Moore,
W. J. Rattray,
Daniel Wilson, LL.D.,
Christina 0. Rossetti, . .
Oliver Wendell Holmes,
John Gait,
Charles Mnckay,
Alexander Poi,s,
I Rev. J. Mnckemie,
Charles I>ibdin, ...
Thomas Moore,
John^Lingard,
James Hogg,
11
13
14
15
16
IS
20
24
25
£6
27
20
30
31
32
£y
40
41
45
40
40
52
1'
VIU
Sketches in the North-West,
From ** The Hunter of the Prair
The Bison Track,
Throe Caitiffs,
The Cayote, or Prairie Wolf,
The Cofiote,
Tommy Traddles,
The Head and the Heart, ...
Friendship,
Old St. Paul's School, ...
Bill is a Briffht Boy,
A Beaver Colony,
Stanzas from " Sensitive Plant"
Old Fur-trading Nabobs, . . .
* ' O Stream Descendintj, " ...
At the Clear Fountain,
ijalissonibre and Bigot, ...
CONTENTS,
Major W. F. ButUr
58
ie»," !
W.C. Bryant,
88
James Bayard Taylnr,
64
Based upon W. Hamilton Gibson,
65
S.L. CUm^ns (" Mark Twain "),
68
F.Bret Harte,
70
Charles Ditkens,
71
J.a.Saxe
78
Shakapeare,
78
David Masson,
74
J.S.BlackU,
76
" Eneyclopofdia Britannica,"
78
P. B. Shelley,
80
Washington Irving,
81
A.H.Clough
86
" Voyagear Song,"
87
William Kirby,
80
,
)^art jSeranb.
The Cry of the Suffering Creatures,
Mary Howitt,
. 01
Cruelty to Animals,
Thomas Chalmers, D.D.,
02
"Farmed Out,"
Charles Dickens,
04
On Charles Dickens,
Dean Stanley, ' .
06
The Cry of the Children
Elizabeth Bamit Browning, ..
07
Lilliputian Tailors and Cooks, ...
Dean Swift
. 101
The Character of Swift,
W. M. Thackeray, ...
. 108
" My Life is like the Summer Rose,"
B.H. Wilde,
. 108
King John,
Framework cifShakspeare'sPla\
1, 104
The Four Greatest English Poets,
Wm.HazlUt,
. 108
Scen^efrom King John,
The Black Prince at Cre9y,
Shakspeare,
. 100
Dean StatUey,
. lis
Th e Soldier's Dream,
Thomas Campbell,
. 117
Easter Eve in Moscow,
D. Mackenzie Wallace,
. 118
The Czar A lexauder I!., .^
D. 0. Rossetti,
. ISO
Waiting for tl eir Release, ..'
Henry Lansdell,
. 121
Lines from the Tolbooth of Edinburgh, .
... .
. 121
Dying, ...
Robert Buchanan,
. 122
Traps and -Trapping,
Based upon W. Hamilton Gibso
n, 128
Th c Dark Hu ntsma n,
Charles Heavysege
. 126
Sonnet on C/uirtes Huvysege,
JohnReade,
. 128
Sonnet,
John Keats,
. 128
The Dutchman's Paradise^
The Sedtfe-Bird's Nest, f.
Norman M'Leod, D.D.,
. 120
John Clare,
. 131
Ned Softly, the Poet,
Joseph Addison;
. 182
Goldsmith,
W. M. Thackeray
. 135
Ala^, so Long !
D. G. Rossetti,
.. 188
The Taking of Detroit
... ... .
.. ISO
Tecumseh,
Francis Hall
.. 142
TheLii4 Word,
Matthew Arnold,
.. 148
Hci'ois^n,
Lord Byron, ...
.. 148
The Great Earthquake,
Sir John F. W. Herschel,
.. 145
The Garden of the Hesperides
William Morris,
.. 147
* B
■
CONTENTS.
88
M
65
es
70
71
78
78
74
76
78
80
81
86
87
80
01
08
04
96
97
101
108
103
104
108
109
113
117
118
120
121
121
122
123
126
128
128
129
131
132
135
138
ISO
142
148
148
145
147
»
The United Empire Loyalists,
The Old Home,
Tommy's Dead,
Venice,
The Merchant of Venice,
Analysis of Shylock's Character,
Scenes from '* The Merchant of Venice,'
Egerton Ryerton, D.D.,
L. E. Landon, ...
Sydney Dobell,
Lord Byron,
Framework fl/Shalupeare'$ Play,
A. fV.ScJiUget
Shaktpeare,
)Part JJE^hirb.
A Battle Field,
The Charae at Waterloo, ...
The Battle of Queenston Heights
Brock,
Water,
The Cold- Water Man,
Harold Skimpole,
The Water Fairy,
Tlie Founding of Halifax,
Centenarif of Halifax,
A Revene near St. Thomas,
Camping Out,
Bfiawathd't Saving,
Health of Houses ( I. ),
To Florence Niijhtimale, . . .
Health of Houses (11. ), ...
The Dying Child,
Thanatopsis,
The Retreat from Cabul, ...
The Red Thread of Honor,
English Schools in the Middle Ages, ...
The Emancipation Proclamation,
TheBiveilU,
August, .:
l%t Indian Summer,
!nie Lotos-Eaters,
Stanzas from " The Cattle of Indolence,"
Scandinavia,
Winter,
A Walrus Hunt,
Discovery of the Mouth of the Mackenzie,
On the Snore of the Frozen Ocean,
Epitaph on Franklin, Westminster A.bbey,
Schwatka's Search,
The Long Ago,
** He giveth His Bdoved Sleep,"
Night and Death,
British Columbia,
The Bush-Rangers (Coureurs des Bois),
The Moufid Builders,
The Finding, of Livingstone,
Livingstones Death and Character, ...
IX
140
161
152
1S5
1 »l
I'
It:
Lord Byron,
. 166
Sir Walter Scott
.. 167
■<• ••• •<• >•■ •
.. 168
CharltB Sang$ter,
. 171
J. B. Gouyh,
. 172
J.Q.Saxe,
. 173
Charles Diekens,
1V5
A. C. Swinburne
. 177
Btamiah Murdoch,
. 178
JonephHowe
. 181
AnnaJameton,
. 183
Bated on the Works qf Oibto
n
and Hardy,
. 185
H. W. Longfellcw, ...
. 180
Florence Nightingale
. 198
Edwin Arnold,
. 106
Florence Ni\/htingale, ...
. 197
Havs Chrudian Andersen,
. 198
W.C.Bryant,
. 169
Justin M'CaHhy,
. 200
Sir Francis H. Doyle,
. 205
Bev. Professor Stubbs
. 200
Hon. Gewrye Broun, ...
. 211
F.BretHarie
. 212
A. C. Swinburne,
. 214
Samuel Lover, ...
. 216
Alfred Tennyson,
. 216
James Thimson,
. 217
DuChnillu,
. 218
Bobert Bums,
. 220
E.K.Kane,
. 221
Sir Alex. Mackentie, ...
224
Capt. (Sir) John Franklin, .
. 227
A^fr^ Ttnnyson,
.. 230
W.H.Gildtr,
. 231
Lord Houghton,
. 284
E. B. Browning,
. 284
J. Blaneo White,
. 236
Principal Grant, D.D.,
. 237
Francis Parknuin,
. 240
T. W. Higginson,
. 242
H. M. Stanley,
. 244
J.S.Keltie,
. 247
*f
CONTENTS,
:F>«rt fourth.
The Blind Flower-fJirl of Pompeii,
The Jnjlaeiur of Beautii,
Battle of the Nile, ..
The Virtin'!/,
Linesfroin " The Orphan Bnt/,
The Suez Canal,
Lord Sydenham, . . .
UtUrodUen Waifn, ...
Canada on the Sea,
From '• The Ocean Staff,"
" Break, break, bretik,"
How many Fins has a Cod
Storin-Sontj, ...
The Liijht-Houxe, ...
Zeal-for-Truth Thoreaby, ..
The iiotver,
Buiofph,
Death of Hampden,
Stanzas from, the " Elenti,"
The Sentence of Charles I.,
The Pmritans,
Scott's " Lay of tho Last Minstrel,"
Melrose Abbey,
The Battle of Killiecrankie,
The Bermudas,
Dismissal of the Rump, ...
The Black Hole of Calcutta,
The Tiger,
New Brunswick,
The Snow-Storm,
The Old fashioned Fireside,
The Birch Back-log,
We're a' John Tamson's Bairns,
The Pickwick Club on the Ice,
Victor and Vanquished, ...
My Books,
Sunset Wings,
The Last Illness of the Prince Consort,
Dedication of " The Idylls of Vie King,"
Veni Creator,
Sdward Lord Lytton, ...
.. 240
John Keatn,
.. 2M
Lieut. Liw,
.. t»
Rtjbert Soulheif,
.. SM
Mrs. OpU,
.. 267
>•• ••• ••• ••• •
.. 2M
J.C.Dent
.. 262
" FidelU " (Afiaa Mtuhir), .
.. 26S
J. 0. lUnirinot,
.. 264
Charles Sanynter,
.. 266
At/red Tennyson,
. 267
T. C. Halihtirttm,
.. 268
J. Bayard Taylor,
.. 276
H. }r. Lotmfdlow, ...
.. 277
Rev. Clmrlea Kinysley,
.. 279
James Rwaell Lmwll, ...
.. 282
Oliver tFendell Holmes,
.. 2t«
Lord Macaulay,
.. 284
Thoman Cray, ...
.. 287
John '/"orster, ...
.. 280
Lord Macanlay,
.. 2»1
R. II. Hut ton,
.. 292
Sir IFalter Scott
.. 296
J. Hill Burton,
.. 296
Andrew Marvell,
.. 800
llunnas CarlyU,
.. ao2
Lord Macaulay,
.. S06
IVilliam Blake
.. ao9
Robert Mackenzie,
.. 810
R. W. Emerson,
.. 312
J. G. Whiitier
.. 318
C. D. Warner
.. 815
AUx. M'Lachlan,
.. 818
Charl-^ Dukens,
.. 320
H. W. Lo}mfellow, ...
.. 326
H. W. Lovatellow,
.. 326
D. Q. Roisetti,
.. 327
Sir Theodore Martin, ...
.. 328
Alfred Tennyson,
.. 834
John Dryden,
.. 386
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
PART I.
-»♦-
aXJEBEC*
H.R.H. THE Princess Louise, Marchioness of Lorne.
Equal gallantry, and very unequal fortune, characterized the-
contest between the French and the English for the New World.
Had the French Court sufficiently backed their gallant general,
who was fighting against long odds, the French language might
have been spoken now over regions more extensive than the
Province of Quebec or the State of Louisiana. Two fruitless-
victories crowned their arms, and two defeats brought about
the treaty, the results of which were so loyally accepted by the
French Canadians that there is no population more attached
than is theirs to the British Constitution. High as were the
hopes of the gallant commanders of the English in 1758, they
could hardly have expected that, within a brief period, the sons
of Uie brave men who confronted them would be fighting side
by side with the redcoats to repel the invasion which threatened
to absorb Canada in the neighboring Republic. But the
armament equipped against the French colonists was imposing
enough in number of ships and troops to justify confidence that
resistance could not be prolonged. The first remarkable action
was that at Louisburg. It was one of the two decisive British
successes. The place shows no striking natural features. -ow
rocky shores almost encircle a wide bay. Dominatiiig che
recesses of this bay, and to the left Us the fleet entered, rose
the strong ramparts of a citadel, garrisoned by some of the best
regiments of the royal army of France.
* Reprinted, by the kind permission of His Excellency the Marquis of
Lorne, from Oood Words, April 1882.
12
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
The fleet advances, a cloud of small boats covers the waters
between the ships and the shore. The surf is heavy, and the
position of the garrison looks most formidable. A slight figure
in the leading boat stands up amid a storm of shot, and is seen
to wave his hat. Some said afterwards that he waved his men
back, thinkiiig the attempt to land too perilous. But his
gallant followers think it is the signal for a dash : on they row
amid the splash of balls and roar of artillery ; and, as each boat
touches land, the crew leap out, and slipping, struggling through
the surf, form amid the terrible fire, and rush to the assault.
The capture of the place was an extraordinary feat of arms,
and the slightly-built man v/ho waved his cocked hat in the
leading boat that day was soon afterwards nominated chief of
the r»ritish forces in North America. Wolfe's next chance was
given him in the summer of 1759, when Montcalm, calmly
watching his enemy's movements from the ridges near the Falls
-of Montmorenci, was enabled to crush a brigade too hastily
thrown on shore, and compelled it to retreat, leaving many
killed and wounded. But the hold gained by the invader was
not to be easily shaken off. Already master of the Island of
Orleans, with the banks of the river below the Falls, and also
those opposite to Quebec, in his hands, Wolfe waited until the
autumn. His able opponent lay in the lines he had successfully
defended. They stretched along the left side of the St. Law-
rence as far as the Isle of Orleans, and encircled the city, which
on its commanding cape presented one steep front to the great
river and another to the wide valley of a small stream named
the St. Charles. On the third side the citadel batteries looked
across the so-called Plains of Abraham, a plateau, the walls of
which rise steeply two hundred feet abo\ ^ the water. The
position was a difficult one to take, and it was held by soldiers
who, if they had been properly supported by the Government
at Versailles, would have rendered it impregnable. Joined
with a few of the finest regiments, composed of the veterans of
the wars of King Louis, were gallant bands of hardy provincials,
who had proved that they could render most efficient aid to the
regulars. But there was a chance for the English to place
themselves near the town and on a level with its garrison l>efore
the French reinforcements expected from Montreal should
arrive. Wolfe had an overwhelming superiority in his fleet,
both of men-of-war and of transports. These he well employed.
Making as though he would again attempt to force the lines he
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS,
la
e waters
and the
ht figure
d is seen
his men
But his
they row
ach boat
: through
assault,
of arms,
it in the
chief of
ance was
I, calmly
the Falls
:> hastily
ig many
ader was
island of
and also
until the
cessfuUy
St Law-
, which
le great
named
looked
walls of
The
soldiers
ernment
Joined
«rans of
vincials,
d to the
place
n l)efore
should
is fleet,
1 ployed,
lines he
had vainly attacked in the summer, he caused the mass of his.
enemy's forces to remain one autumn afternoon on the Bea im-
port shore, and then under cover of night swept up with th^
tide above the city. Quickly scaling the high bank, he drew
up his men without meeting with resistance. Montcalm in the-
gray of morning hurried over the St. Charles and poured his.
troops thiough the town on to the plateau. Impetuously
attacking, he was driven back and mortally wounded, almost
at the same moment that Wolfe also fell, happier than his rival,
who lived long enough to feel that the desertion of himself and
of his army by the French Coart must cause the surrender of
the town. But its possession was again stoutly contested the
next year, and the Marquis de Levis revenged in 1760, too late,
and uselessly, the disaster of the previous year.
Pictures from my Portfolio (1S82).
Home they brought her warrior dead : —
She nor swooned nor uttered cry :
All her maidens, watching, said,
"She must weep, or she will die."
Then they praised him, soft and ^ow,
Called him worthy to be loved.
Truest friend and noblest foe ; —
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.
Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior stept,
Took the face-cloth from the face ; —
Yet she neither moved nor wept.
Rose a nurse of ninety years.
Set his child upon her knee ; —
Like summer tempest came her tears —
*' Sweet my child, I live for thee."
Tennyson : The Princess.
14
FOURTH BOOK OF REAJ)ING LESSONS.
r
THE THOUSAND ISLANDS.
Charles Sangster (bom at Kingston, 1822).
[Sanffster is the laureate of Ontario, as Frechette is of rjuebec. Both reach
their chief exceUence iii lyric poetry ; and, in their Ix'st lyrics, they have
taken tlieir insniration and color from the magnificent scenery of the St.
Lawrence and tne Saguenay.]
Here the Spirit of Beauty keepetli
Jubilee for evermore ;
Here the Voice of Gladness leapeth,
Echoing from shore to shore.
O'er the hidden watery valley,
O'er each buried wood and glac^e,
Dances our delighted galley
' Through tlu^ sunlight and the shade —
Dances o'er the granite cells,
Where the Soul of Beauty dwells.
Here the flowers are ever springing
While the summer breezes blow;
Here the Hours are ever clinging,
Loitering before they go ;
-^ -" 1— I •
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS, 1*
Playing round each beauteous islet,
Loath to leave the sunny shore,
"Where, upon her couch of violet.
Beauty sits for evermore —
Sits and smiles hy day and night
Hand in hand with pure Delight.
Here the Spirit of Beauty dwelleth
In each palpitating tree,
In each amber wave that welletli
From its home, beneath the sea;
In the moss upon the granite, '
In each calm, secluded bay,
"With the zephyr trains that fan it
With their sweet breaths all the day —
On the waters, on the shore.
Beauty dwelleth evermore !
The St. Laivrence and the Sagxienay (185G).
IDYLS OF INVERBURN.
RoBEKT Buchanan (b. 1841).
]\ly father was a shepherd, old and poor,
"Wlio, dwelling 'moiig the clouds on norland hills.
His tartan plaidie on, and ))y his side
His sheep-dog running, reddened with the winds
That whistle saltly south from Polar seas.
I followed in his footsteps when a boy.
And knew by heart t\w mountains round our home:
But when I went to Edinglass,* to learn
At college there, I looked about the j)lace.
And heard the murmur of the busy streets
Around me in a dream ; and only saw
The clouds that snow around the mountain tops,
The mists that chase the phantom of the moon
In lonely mountain tarns ; and heard the while,
Not footsteps sounding hollow to and fro.
But wild winds, wailing through the woods of pine.
Time passed, and day by day those sights and sounds
Grew fainter, till they troubled me no more.
Willie Baird (1865).
* Edinbui-gh.
16
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADINO LESSONS.
HOW THE CLIFF WAS CLAD.
Bjornstjerne Bjornson.
[Bjomstjeme Bjornson (pr. he-irn-ate-er'-n^h be-irnr-son), who now ranks as
one of the greatest writers of Northern Europe, achieved his first success in
1857, and with that year the new literary hfe of Norway is considered to
commence. Bjornson has now innumerable enthusiastic readers in the
languages of Western Europe. " Anie " (pr. ar-nay) disputes the first place
in TK>pularity with " The Happy Boy." Both owe their charm to their de-
lightful pictures of Norse scenery and rural life.]
Between two cliflTs lay a deep ravine, with a full stream
rolling heavily through it over boulders and rough ground. It
was high and steep, and one side was bare, save at the foot,
where clustered a thick, fresh wood, so close to the stream that
the mist from the water lay upon the foliage in spring and
autumn. The trees stood looking upwards and forwards, unable
to move either way.
" What if we were to clothe the Cliff? " said the Juniper one
day to the foreign Oak that stood next him. The Oak looked
down to find out who was speaking, and then looked up again
without answering a word. The stream worked so hard that it
grew white ; the north wind rushed through the ravine, and
shrieked in the fissures ; and the bare Cliff hung heavily over
and felt cold. " What if we were to clothe the Cliff?" said the
Juniper to the Fir on the other side. " Well, if anybody is to
do it, I suppose we must," replied the Fir, stroking his beard.
" What dost thou think ? " he added, looking over to the Birch.
"In Mercy's name, let us clothe it," answered the Birch,
glancing timidly towards the Cliff, which hung over her so
heavily that she felt as if she could scarcely breathe. And thus,
although they were but three, they agreed to clothe the Cliff.
The Juniper went first.
When they had gone a little way, they met the Heather.
The Juniper seemed as though he meant to pass her by. " Nay,
let us take the Heather with us," said the Fir. So on went the
Heather. Soon the Juniper began to slip. " Lay hold on me,"
said the Heather. The Juniper did so, and where there was
only a little crevice the Heather put in one finger ; and where
she had got in one finger, the Juniper put in his whole hand.
They crawled and climbed, the Fir heavily behind with the
Birch. "It is a work of charity," said the Birch.
But the Cliff began to ponder what little things these could
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
17
he that came clambering up it ; and when it had thought over
this a few hundred years, it sent down a little Brook to see
about it. It was just spring flood, and the Brook rushed on
till she met the Heather. " Dear, dear Heather, canst thou not
let me pass? I am so little," said the Brook. The Heather,
being very busy, only raised herself a little, and worked on.
The Brook slipped under her, and ran onwards. " Dear, dear
Juniper, canst thou not let me pass? I am so little," said the
Brook. The Juniper glanced sharj)ly at her; but as the Heather
liad let her pass, he thought he might do so as well. The Brook
slipped under him, and ran on till she came where the Fir stood
j)anting on a crag. " Dear, dear Fir, canst thou not let me
puss? I am so little," the Brook said, fondly kissing the Fir on
iiis foot. The Fir felt bashful, and let her j»ass. But the
Birch made way before the Brook asked. " He, he, he," laughed
the Brook, as she grew large. " Ha, ha, ha," laughed the
Brook again, pushing Heather and Juniper, Fir and Birch,
forwards and backwards, up and down on the great crags. The
Cliff sat for many hundred years after, pondering whether it
did not smile a little that day.
It was clear the Cliff did not wish to be clad. The Heather
felt so vexed that she turned green again, and then she went
on. " Never mind ; take courage ! " said the Heather.
Tlie Juniper sat up to look at the Heather, and at last he
rose to his feet. He scratched his head a moment, and then he
too went on again, and clutched so iirmly that he thought the
Cliff could not help feeling it. " If thou wilt not take me, then
I will take thee," said he. The Fir bent his toes a little, to feel
if they were whole ; lifted one foot, which he found all right ;
then the other, which was all right too ; and ilien both feet.
He first examined the path he had come, then where he had
been lying, and at last where b ' had to go. Then he strode
onwards, just as though he had never fallen. The Birch had
been splashed very badly, but now she got up and made herself
tidy. And so tliey went rapidly on, upwards and sidewards,
in sunshine and rain. "But what in the worJd is all this?"
said the Cliff when the sunnner sun shone, the dew-drops
glittered, the birds sang, the wood-mouse sf(ueaked, the hare
bounded, and the weasel hid and screamed among the tr(>es.
Then the day came when the Heather could peep over the
Cliff's edge. "Oh dear me!" said she, and over she went.
"What is it the Heather sees, dear?" said the Juniper, and
2
18
FOURTH BOOK CF READING LESSONS.
came forwards till he t/^o could peep over. "Dear me!" he
cried, and over he went. *' What's the matter with the J uniper
to-day ?" said the Fir, taking long sUides in the hot sun. Soon
he too, by standing on tiptoe, could peep over. "Ah !" — every
branch and prickle stood on end with astonishment. He strode
onwards, and over he wcmt. " What is it they all see and not
1 ?" said the Birch, lifting up her skirts and tripping after.
"Ah!" said she, putting her head over, "there is a whole
forest of fir, and heather, and juniper, and hirch waiting
for us on the plain ;" and her leaves tremV)led in the sunshine
till the dew-drops fell. "This comes of reaching forwards,"
said the Juniper.
THE SEA.
Buy AN Wallek Pugctkk (Bakuy Cornwall)— 171K) -1874.
The Sea ! the Sea ! the open Sea !
The blue, the fresh, the ever free !
Without a mark, without a bound,
U runneth the Earth's wide regions round ;
1 plays with the clouds ; it mocks the skies ;
Or like a cradled creature lies.
I'm on the Sea ! I'm on the Sea I
I am where I would ever be ;
With the blue above and the blue below
And silence wheresoe'er I go.
If a storm should come oiid awake the deep,
What matter ? / shall ride, and sl(;ep.
I love (oh, hoto I love) to ride
On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide,
When every mad wave drowns the moon,
Or whistles aloft Ids tempest tune,
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the sauth-west blasts do blow.
I never was on the dull, tame shore,
]^ut I loved the grt^at sea more and more.
And ))a<kwards Hew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that s(^eketh its mother's nest :
And a mother she frax and As tome ;
For I was born on the open sea I
POUBTk BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
i^
The waves were white, and red the morn,
In the noisy hour when I was born ;
And the whale it whistled, the porpoise roHed,
And the dolphins bared their backs of ^^old ;
And never was heard such an outcry wild
As welcomed to life the Ocean-child !
V\o lived since then, in calm and strife,
Full fifty summers a sailor's life,
With wealth to spend and a power to range,
But never have sought nor sighed for changi;.
And Death, whenever he comes to me.
Shall come on the wild, unbounded sea !
20
POUJRTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
CANADA: ITS SGENEKT AND MAJESTIC
FBOFORTIONB.
Hon. Joseph Howb (1804-1873).
[In 1841 the old provinces of Upiter and Lower Canada were, under the
aduiiniHtration of Lord Sydenham, united in one Parliament ; but for yt^t a
quarter century longer the Maritiuie Provinces were to retain their own
li'KiHlatures. In his own province of Tiova Hcotia, Howe had now becmnc a
LTeat tribune of the i>eople. Desiring to infon'^ himself more fully on
Canada and its ]x>litical system, he undert'^aK in 1841 a tour through the
united provinces, and attended the openmg of the first Parliament at
ivingston. On his return to Nova Scotia he thus recorded his im-
pressions : — J
He is not a wise Nova Sco^ian who shuts himself up within
the boundaries of his own little province, and, waiting life
amidst the narrow prejudices and evil passions of his own con-
tracted sphere, vegetates and dies, regardless of the growing
communities and widely extending influences by which the
interests of his country are aftected every day, and which may
at no distant j)eriod, if not watched and counteracted, control
its destinies with an overmastering and resistless power.
The question has been put to us twenty times in a day since
we returned home, "What do you think of Canada?" and as it
is likely to be many times repey.ted, we take this early oppoi'-
tunity of recording our conviction that it is Oxie of the noblest
countries that it has ever been our good fortune to behold.
Canada wants two elements of prosperity which the lower
colonies possess — open harbors for general commerce, and a
homogeneous population ; but it has got everything else that
the most fastidiouo political economist would require. We
knew that Canada was a very extensive province, that there
was some tine scenery in it, and tJiat much of the soil was good,
for we had read all this a great nc^any times ; but yet it is only
by spending some weeks in traversing the face of the country
that one becomes really alive to its vast proportions, its great
national featui'es, boundless resources, and surpassing beauty.
It is said, so exquisite is tht^ architecturti of St. Peter's at Rome,
that it is not until a visitor has examined the fingers of a
cherub, and found them as thick as his arm, or until he has
attempted to fondle a dove, and found it far l)eyond his reach,
and much larger than an eagle, that he becomes aware of the
dimensions of the noble pile. So is it with Canada. A glance
at the map or a perusal of a volume or two of description will
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
21
IS own coii-
givo but a faint idea of the country. It must be felt to be
understood.
Nova Scotia and Cape Breton together extend owv a space
of four hundred miles, and a good steam-boat will run past both
in thirty hours. From Anticosti to Quebec is about six hun-
dred miles ; and then when you have got there, you are but upon
the threshold of the province. For two days and nights you
steam along after entering the estuary of the St. Lawrence, at
the Unicornis liighest speed, witli Canada on both sides of you ;
and when you are beneath the shadow of Cape Diamond, you
begin to think that you have got a reasonable distance inland —
that Canada, as they say in the States, is "considerable of a
place." But again you embark, and steam uj) the St. Lawrence,
for one hundred and eighty miles further, to Montreal ; and
there you may take your choice, either to continue your route
or to ascend the Ottawa, and seek at a greater distance from
you than you are from tlie sea for the northern limits of Canada.
But you probably prefer adhering to the St. Lawrence, as we did ;
and on you go, by coach and s\'eam-boat, for forty-eight hours
more, and find yourself at Kingston. Looking back upon the
extent of land and water you have passed, you begin to fancy
that, if not near the end of the world, you ought at least to be
upon the outside edge of Canada. But it is not so. You have
only reached the central point chosen for the seat of government;
and although you are a thousand miles from the sea, you may
pass on west for another thousand miles, and yet it is all Canada.
But the mere extent of the country would not perhaps im-
press the mind so strongly if there were not so much of the vast,
the magnificent, the national, in all its leading features. * It is
impossible to fancy that you are in a province — a colony : you
feel at every step that Canada must become a great nation ; and
at every step you pray most devoutly for the descent upon the
country of that wisdom, and foresight, and energy which shall
make it the gi'eat treasury of British institutions upon this
continent, and an honor to the British name. All the lakes of
Scotland thrown together would not make one of those great
inland seas, which form, as it were, a chain of Mediterraneans :
all the rivers of England, old father Thames included, would
scarcely fill the channel of the St. Lawrence. There is a gran-
deur in the mountain ranges, and a voice in the noble cataracts,
which elevate the spirit above the ignorance and the passions
of the past, and the perplexities of the present, and make us
n FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
feel that the great Creator of the universe never meant such a
country to bo the scene of })erpetual discord and degradation,
but will yet inspire the peoj»le with the union, the virtue, and
the tri»e patriotism by which alone its political and social con-
dii j,!l be made to take, more nearly than it does now, the
impress of its natural features. Canada is a country to be
proud of ; to inspire high thoughts ; to cherish a love for the
sublime and beautiful ; and to take its stand among the nations
of the Earth, in spite of all the circumstances which have
hitherto retarded, and may still retard, its progi*ess.
Annand : Si^eehes and Public Letters of the Hon. Joseph Hmoe.
LOCHABER NO MORE.
Allan Ramsay (1685-1758).
[The air to which those touching words are sung is based upon a 8iuii)le
ballad air of one strain, called Lord Romild my Son.
The effect of Lochaber No More on Scotchmen when far from the dear old
land strongly recalls the effect of the Rcmz des Vachen ("The Herding of the
Kine")ujx>n Swiss exiles; for this simple herdsman's air, which Wordsworth
vainly tried to feel, produced so much home-sickness and desertion among
Swiss soldiery that it became a forbidden tune. So it once became necessary
in the West Indies to forbid the playing of Lochaber No More within the
hearing of a Highland regiment. In ' ' (Constable's Miscellany, " a pathetic story
is told of a Lochaber soldier of the Tlst, who, having served out his time
during the Peninsular War, took his discharge, and, despite the entreaties
of an attached comrade, accepted service with a kind Spanish family. At
the last good-bye, his comrade, holding Donald's hand in his own, sang a
verse of Lochaber No More. Donald utterly broke down, and bursting into
tears, exclaimed, " I'll no stay here — I canna bide here ! " The ix)or fellow
re-enlisted, and next day was once more on the march with his Highland
regiment.]
Farewell to Lochaber, and farewell, my Jean,
Where heartsome wi' her I ha'e mony a day been ;
For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more,
We'll may-be return to Lochaber no more.
These tears that I shed they are a* for my dear,
And no for the dangers attending on weir ;
Though borne on rough seas to a far-distant shore,
May-be to return to Lochaber no more.
Though hurricanes rise, though rise every wind.
No tempest can ecjual the storm in my mind ;
Though loudest of thunders on louder waves roar,
There's naething like leavin' my love on the shore.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
83
^^r
■.^^mi
. .^ .^'
^-:^%^-yz^
Joseph Hmoe,
To leave thee behind me ray heart is sair pained,
But by ease that's inglorious no fame can be gained ;
And beauty and love's the command of the brave,
And I maun deserve it before I can crave.
Then glory, my Jeanie, maun plead my excuse ;
Since honor commands me, how can I refuse 1
Without it I ne'er could have merit for thee,
iVnd losing thy favor I 'd better not be.
I gae, then, my lass, to win honor and fame ];
And if I should chance to come trlorious name,
I'll bring a heart to thee with love rumiing o'er, —
And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more.
Gloksary. — A\oU; gae, fro.- hume, home; ha'e, have; heartmrne, joyous ;
maun, must; mony, many; naething, nothing; no, iwt; sair, sore; weir, war;
wi', with.
24
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
THE BELLS OF SHANDON.
Rkv. Fhancih Mahony ("Fathkr Phout"), 1805-1806.
[*' Francis Mahony— or as ho called himHolf, O'Mahony, bettor known ah
Father Prout— whh u kindred anirit, with the Bamo mixture of fun, learning,
and fluency which diHtingtUHhoo, Mag^nn.
"To have hoard Mahony Hing thiH, an old man, leaning Iuh fine old head,
like a carving in ivory, againHt the mantlo-Hhelf, in a cracked and threjidy
voice whicli had once l)een fine, h a pathetic memory, lietween the melodi-
ous counnonplaco of MoorcH molodioB and the wild and im|)aHfiioned ravingH
of Shan van Voght, this more tem(>orate tyf)e of Irish verse, with its charac-
teristic broken melody, its touch of niockery, its soul of tinider if not pro-
found remembrance is wholesome and grateful, though it has no pretensions
to 1)0 great."— Mrs. Oliphant: Literary History of England (1882),
These linos first appeared (1834) in Frater's Magazine, to which Father
Prout was a ctmtributor. The bells that he has made so famous still chime
the hours from the steeple of St. Anne, or UpfHir Shand«)n, in Cork, the
IMtet's native city.
Father Prout's own note is: *' The spire of Shandon, built on the ruins of
old Shand(m Castle, is a prominent object, from whatever side the traveller
approaches our beautiful city. In a vault at its foot sleep some generations
of the writer's kith and kin. ' — The Reliques of Father Frout.]
With deep affection and recollection
I often think of those Shandon bells,
Whose sounds so wild would, in the days of childhood,
Fling round my cradle their magic spells.
On this I ponder where'er I wander,
And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee ;
With thy bells of Shandon that sound so grand on
The pleasant waters of the River Lee.
I've heard bells chiming full many a clime in,
Tolling sublime in cathedral shrine ;
While at a glib rate brass tongues would vibrate ;-*
But all their music spoke naught like thine.
For memory dwelling on each proud swelling
Of thy belfry knelling its bold notes free.
Made bells of the Shandon sound far more grand on
The pleasant waters of the River Lee.
I've heard bells tolling old Adrian's Mole* in,
Their thunder rolling from the Vatican ;
* Adrian's Mausoleum,— now the site of the Castle of St. Angelo,
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
And cymbals f^lorious swinging uproarious
In tho gorgeous turrets of Notre Dame.*
But thy sounds were sweeter tiian tho dome of Peter
Flings o'er the Tiber, pealing solemnly :
Oh, the bells of Shandon sound far more grand on
Tlie pleasant waters of the River Lee.
There's a bell in Moscow ; while on tower and kiosk 1
In Saint Sophia t the Turkman gets,
And loud in air calls men to prayer
From the tapering summits of tall minareta
Such empty phantom I freely grant them ;
But there's an anthem more dear to nie :
Tis tho bells of Shandon that sound so grand on
The pleasant waters of the River Lee.
"SHE IS FAB FBOM THE LAKD.'*
Thomas Moore (1779-1852).
[The subject of these beautiful lines was the widow of Robert Emmett, a
young barrister, who was executed (September 20) for his connection with
the IriHh insurrection of July 23, 1803.J
She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers around her are sighing ;
But coldly she turns from their gaze and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying.
She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains,
Every note which he loved awaking —
Ah ! little they think, who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the minstrel is breaking 1
He had lived for his love, for his ^ountry he died —
They were all that to life had entwined him ;
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
Nor long will his love stay behind him !
Oh ! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest
When they promise a glorious morrow ;
They'll shine o'er her sleep like a smile from the west,
From her own loved island of sorrow !
* Notre Dame, the famous cathedral of Paris.
1 2St. Sophia, the great Mohammedan mosque of Constantincple.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
it
THE MEETING OF THE WATEBS.
Thomas Moore (1779-1852).
There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet,
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet ; —
Oh ! the last rays of feeling and life must depart,
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.
Vet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green ;
'Twas not her soft magic of streamlet and hill ;
Oh, no I — it was something more exquisite still,
'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near,
Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear,
And who felt how the best charms of Nature improve,
When we see them reflected from looks that we love.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
27
MEMORIES CF THE OLD LAND.
W. J. Rattray.
It is certainly full time that Canadians began to regard
their noble heritage with the eyes of national pride and predi-
lection, and that its life, political, intellectual, and social, were
taking a national tinge. If we cannot at once spring into the
stature of complete manhood, it is at least possible — indeed,
necessary, if we desire Canada to be great — that the habit^ so
to speak, of nationality should be formed and cherished until
it grows to be a familiar and settled feature in our country's
life.
But it is quite another thing to propose that the state shall
be cleaned off, and that if this noble Canada of ours cannot
begin without patriotic capital of its own, it should wait
patiently until it has made a history and a name for itself.
The stimulus necessary in the initial stages of colonial progress
must be drawn from older lands ; it cannot be improvised off-
hand at pleasure. Factitious patriotism is 6. sentimental gew-
gaw which anybody may faVjricate and adorn with such tinsel
rhetoric as he can command, but it l)ears no resemblance to the
genuine article. As with the individual, so with Jag embryo
nation : the life it leads, the pulse which leaps through its
frame, is the life of the parent — the mother or the mother-land,
as the case may be. Traditions gather about the young
nationality as it advances through adolescence to maturity ;
yet even the sons and grandsons of Englishmen, Scots, Irish-
men, French, or Germans, must revere the memories of the
country from which they sprang — glory in what is illustrious
in its history, and strive to emulate the virtues transplanted i»^
their persons to blossom on another soil and beneath another
sky. The old maxim, " No one can put off his country," has
lost its international value in a legal sense ; but it remains
valid in regard to the character, tendencies, and aptitude of the
individual man. Such as his country has made him he is, and,
broadly speaking, he must remain to the end of the chapter ;
the national stamp will be impressed upon his cliildren and his
children's children, and tracers of it will survive all vicissitudes
and be perpetuated in his remotest posterity. In a new
country there is much to dissipate traditional feelings, but
inherited traits of character remain and crop up long after the
28
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
Hi! !
ties of political connection have been broken for ever. Up to
the time of the American Revolution, the colonists of New
England, or Virginia, looked across the ocean with tender affec-
tion to the dear old land they had left behind. England was a
harsh mother to some of those expatriated ones, yet they never
ceased to feel an honest pride in her renown ; and even beneath
the surface-coldness of the Puritan character the glow of tender
and almost yearning love for England burned in the heart and
found expression in the writings of those early days. And so.
at this day : with much to estrange the peoples of England and
America, what is common to both on the glorious page of
history, in the language nd literature of the English-speaking
peoples, seems to attach them again to each other with ever-
tightening bands. Crafty demagogues may flatter and prompt
the ignorant prejudices of the residuum, but there can be little
doubt that the sound heart of the United States is drawing
closer to the maternal bosom than it has done at any time
since 76.
Attachment to the land from which we or our fathers cam**
is not only compatible with intense devotion to the highest
interests of the country where we dwell, but is a necessary con-
dition of its birth, its growth, and its fervor. The dutiful
son, the affectionate husband and father, will usually be the
best and most patriotic subject or citizen ; and he will love
Canada best who draws his love of country in copious draughts
from the old fountain-head across the sea. We have an
example of strong devotion to the European stock, combined
with unwavering attachment to Canada, in our French fellow-
countrymen of Quebec. No people can be more tenacious of
their language, their institutions, and their religion than they
are ; they still love France and its past glories with all the
passionate ardor of their warm and constant natures ; and
yet no people are more contented, more tenderly devoted to
Canadian interests, more loyal to the Crown and the free insti-
tutions under which they live. Sir Etienne Tache gave expres-
sion to the settled feeling of his compatriots .vhen he predicted
that the last shot for British rule in America would be fired
from the citadel of Quebec by a French Canadian. The Nor-
man and Breton root from which the Lower Canadians sprang
was peculiarly patriotic, almost exclusively so, in a provincial
or sectional sens(% in old France ; and they, like the Scot,
bi-ought their proud, hardy, and chivalrous nature with them, to
Fourth book of reading lessons.
29
dignify and enrich the future of colonial life. The French
Canadian, moreover, can boast a thrilling history in *^he
Dominion itself, to which the English portion of tlie i)opulation
can lay no claim. Quebec has a Valhalla* of departed heroes
distinctively its own ; yet still it does not turn its back upon
the older France, but lives in the past, inspired by its spirit to
work out the problem of a new nationality in its osvn way.
There is no more patriotic Canadian than the Frenchman, and
he is also the proudest of his origin and race. There is nt^thing,
then, to forbid the English-speaking Canadian from revering
the country of his fathers, be it England, Scotland, or Ireland ;
on the contrary, it may be laid down as a national maxim, tliat
the unpatriotic Englishman, Scot, or Irishman, will be sure to
prove a very inferior specimen of the Canadian.
The Scot ill British North America.
thers cam<='
THE SCOT ABROAD.
{From '• SpriJig Wild Flowers.")
Daniel Wilson, LL.D., Puesident ok Univkksity College,
Toronto (b. 1816).
Oh, to be in Scotland now,
When the mellow autumn smiles
So pleasantly on knoll and howe ; t
Where from rugged cliff and heathy brow
Of each mountain height you look down defiles
Golden with the harvest's glow.
Oh, to be in the kindly land.
Whether mellow autvmn smile or no :
It is well if the joyous reaper stand
Breast-deep in the yellow corn, sickle in hand ;
But I care not though sleety east winds blow.
So long as I tread its strand :
To be wandering there at will,
Be it sunshine, or rain, or its winds that brace;
To climb the old lamiliar hill.
Of the storied landscape to drink my fill.
And look out on the gray old town at its base,
And linger a dreamer still !
* III Scandinavian mythology, the ])alace of the houIh of heroes who have
fallen in battle. ' f Howe, dell.
ill! • i
3C FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
Ah ! weep ye not for the dead,
Tho dear ones safe in their native earth ;
There fond hands pillowed the narrow bed,
Where fresh gowans,* star-like, above their head
Spangle the turf of each spring's new birth,
For the living, loving tread.
Ah ! not for them : doubly blest,
Safely home, and past all weeping ;
Hushed and still, there closely prest
Kith to kin, on one mother's breast ;
All still, securely, trustfully sleeping.
As in their first cradled rest.
Weep rather, ay, weep sore.
For him who departs to a distant land.
There are pleasant homes on the far-oft' sliore ;
Friends, too, but not like the friends of yon*,
That fondly, but vainly, beckoning stand
For him who returns no more.
Oh, to lie in Scottish earth.
Lapped in the clods of its kindly soil ;
Where the soaring laverock's! song has birth
In the welkin's blue, and its heavenward mirth
Lends a rapture to earth-born toil —
What matter ! Death recks not the dearth.
THE FIRST SPRING DAY.
Chuistina G. Rossetti (b. 1830).
I wonder if the sap is stirring yet.
If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate,
If frozen snow-drops feel as yet the sun,
And crocus fires are kindling one by one :
Sing, robin, sing !
I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.
I wonder if the spring-tide of this year
Will bring another spring both lost and dear ;
If heart and spirit will find out their spring.
Or if the world alone will bud and sing :
Sing, hope, to me !
Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory.
* Mountain daisy. f Lark's.
. V'.r
I * i'-i
FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
The sap will surely quicken soon or late,
The tardiest, bird will twitter to a mate ;
So Spring must dawn again with warmth and bloom,
Or in this world, or in the world to come :
Sing, voice of Spring !
Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing.
31
SPRING.
Oliver Wendell Holmes.
Then bursts the song from every leafy glade.
The yielding season's bridal serenade ;
Then flash the wings returning Summer calls
Through the deep arches of her forest halls ; —
The blue-bird breathing from his azure plumes
The fragrance borrowed where the myrtle blooms ;
The thrush, poor wanderer, dropping meekly down,
Clad in his renniant of autumnal brown ;
The oriole, drifting like a flake of Are,
Rent by the whirlwind from a blazing spire;
T\w robin, jerking his spasmodic throat,
Repeats, imperious, his staccato* note ;
The crack-brained bobolink courts his crazy mate.
Poised on a bulrush tipsy with his weight ;
Nay, in his cage, the lone canary sings.
Feels the soft air and spreads his idle wings.
Pictures from Ucamoiuil Ptmns (18.50-1850).
* Disconnected.
82
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESHONS.
!
i^*
THE FOUNDING OF GAIT, GUELPH, AND GODERI':!H.
John Galt (1779-1839).
[Gait, whose tastes were commercial as well as literary, was commissioned
by the Canada Company to act as their local manager, and he thus came to
reside in Canada from 1824 to 1827. His inclination to literature became more
decided after a tour of the Mediterranean, where he made the accpiaintance
of Lord Byron; and thenceforward his i)en was kept actively employed.
His novels and his " Life of Byron " have run through many editions. His
reputation rests chiefly on " The Provost" and " The Annals of the Parish."
Gait's brief administration of the Canada Company's vast territory in the
}>eninsula of Ui)iier Canada was eminently beneficial and progressive — in-
deed, too progressive for the shareholders. Roads were ofiened out, and
easy access was afforded to Lake Huron and between the centres of i>opula-
tion. Very many of the geographical names in Western and North-Western
Ontario were devised by Gait. They chiefly commemorate the names of his
friends or of the Company's directors ; but in some cases they were su^ested
by home-scenes in Scotland. The village of Ayr and the Irvine River remind
us that John Gait was bom at Irvine in Ayrshire.]
I directed an inspection by qualified persons of a block or
tract of upwards of forty thousand acres of the [Canada] Com-
pany's purchase, for the purpose of finding within it an eligible
situation for a town. All reports made to me agreed in re-
commending the spot where Guelph now stands, and it was
fixed upon ; but as it was too early in the year to undertake
field operations, and the immigrant season had not commenced,
I went to New York to make some necessary arrangements.
When the causes which induced me to visit New York were
adjusted, I returned to Upper Canada, and gave orders that
operations should commence on St. George's day, the 23rd of
April [1827]. This was not without design : I was well aware
of the boding effect of a little solemnity on the minds of most
men, and especially of the unlettered, such as the first class of
settlers were likely to be, at eras which Ijetokened destiny, like
the launching of a vessel or the birth of an enterprise, of which
a horoscope might be cast. The founding of a town was cer-
tainly one of these ; and accordingly I appointed a national
holy -day for the c(?remony, which secretly I was determined
should be so cele})rated as to be held in remembrance, and yet so
conducted as to l'»e only apparently and accidentally impressive.
In the meantime, as I imagined it would not be difficult to
persuade the directors to erect a central officer for the Company
there, and as a tavern and hotel were indispensable, I set about
procuring plans.
Having myself a kind of amateur taste in architectural di'aw-
FOURTU BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
33
> GODERI'^H.
■ise, of which
)vvn was eor-
ctural di'aw-
inj?, and being in consequence, from the period of my travels,
Jed to adopt as a ^-ule in art that the style of a building should
always indicate and be appropriate to its purpose, I thought
that the constructing of a city afforded an opportunity co edify
posterity in this matter. Accordingly, I under+ook myself to
draw the most problematic design of the office ; and gave a
house-carpenter instructions to make a plan and elevation
for a tavern, delivering to him, like a Sir Oracle, my ideas as
to the fitness of indicating by the appearance of the building
the particular uses to which it was destined. ISly drawing was
of course very classical, but his " beat all," us the Yankees say,
"to immortal smash." It represented a t\NO-story common-
place house, with a pediment ; but on every corner and cornice,
" coigne and vantage," were rows of glasses, bottles, punch-bowls,
and wine-decanters ! — such an exhibition as did not require a
man to be a god to tell it was an inn. In short, no rule was
ever more unequivocally illustrated, and cannot even yet be
thought of with sobriety.
On the 22nd of April, the day previous to the time appointed
for laying the foundations of my projectfid j^oUs, I went to Gait,
a town situated on the banks of the Grand River, which my
friend the Honorable William Dickson, in whose township it is
situated, had named after me, long before the Canada Company
was imagined :* it had arrived at the maturity of having a post-
office before I heard of its existence. There I met by appoint-
ment, at Mr. Dickson's, Dr. Dunlop, who held a roving com-
mission in the Canada Company, and was informed that the
requisite woodmen were assembled.
Next morning we walked after breakfast towards the site
which had been selected. The distance was about eighteen miles
from Gait, half of it in the forest ; but till we came near the end
of the road no accident happened. Scarcely, however, h .d we
entered the bush, as the woods are called, when the doct^ i* found
he had lost the way. I was excessively angry, for si Ai an acci-
dent is no trifle in the woods ; but after wandering up and
* As early as 181G, under the direction of the Hon. Wm. Dickson, a settle-
ment had been formed by Absalom Shade, Mr. Shade was an active, keen-
witted young carpenter from Buffalo, and he became so identified with the
young village that it was known for eleven years as Shade's Mills. As soon
as the village was allowed postal service, the jiost-oftice was, at Mr Dickson's
remiest, ofhcially designated "(ialt," after his early friend and school-mate
at Edinburgh; and after Mr. Gait's visit in 1827, the name was adopted for
the village as well as for the post-oftice.— See EarJii History of O'alt and the
Settlement oj Dumfries, by James Young, M.P. (1880).
3
34
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
down like the two babes, with not even the comfort of a black-
berry, the heavens frowning and the surrounding forest sullenly
still, we discovered a hut, and " tirling at the pin,"* entered, and
found it inhabited by a Dutch shoemaker. We made him
understand our lost condition, and induced him/ to set us on
the right path. He had been in the French army, and had,
after the peace, emigrated to the United States ; thence he
had come into Upper Canada, where he bought a lot of
land, which, after he had made some betterments, he ex
changed for the location in the woods, or. as he said himself,
"Je swape the first land for the lot on which I am now
settled."
With his assistance we reached the skirts of the wild to
which we were going, and were informed in the cabin of a
squatter that all our men had gone forward. By this time it
began to rain ; but, undeterred by that circumstance, we re-
sumed our journey in the pathless wcod. About sunset, drip-
ping wet, we arrived near the spot we were in quest of — a
shanty, which an Indian, who had committed murder, had
raised as a refuge for himself.
We found the men, under the orders of Mr. Prior, whom I
had employed for the Company, kindling a roaring fire ; and
after endeavoring to dry ourselves, and having recourse to the
store-basket, I proposed to go to the spot chosen for the town.
By this time the sun was set, and Dr. Dunlop, with his char-
acteristic drollery, having doffed his wet garb and dressed him-
self Indian fashion in blankets, we proceeded with Mr. Prior,
attended by two woodmen with their axes.
It was consistent with my plan to invest our ceremony with
a little mystery, the better to make it be remembered. So,
intimating that the main body of the men were not to come,
we walked to the brow of the neighboring rising ground ; and
Mr. Prior having shown the site selected for tlu; town, a large
maple-tree was chosen, on which, taking an axe from one of the
woodmen, I struck the first stroke. To me, at least, the moment
was impressive ; and the silence of the woods that echoed to
tlie sound was as tli(; sigh of the solenui genius of the wilder-
ness departing for ever.
The doctor followed me ; then, if I recollect rightly, Mr. Prior;
and the woodmen finished the work. The tree fell with a crash
of accumulating thunder, as if ancient Nature were alarmed at
* Twirling the handle of the dour-latch.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
36
the entrance of social man into her innocent solitudes, with his
sorrows, his follies, and liis crimes.
I do not suppose that the sublimity of the occasion was un-
felt by the others ; for I noticed that after the tree fell, there
was a funereal pause, as when the coffin is lowered into the
grave : it was, however, of short duration.
The name [Guelph] was chosen in compliment to the Royal
Family, both because I thought it auspicious in itself, and be-
cause I could not recollect that it had e^•er been before used in
all the King's dominions.
After the solemnity — for though the ceremony was simple, it
may be so denominated — we returned to the shanty ; and the
rain, which had been suspended during the performance, began
again to pour.
It may appear ludicrous to many readers that I look on this
incident with gravity, but in truth I am very serious ; for
although Guelph is not so situated as ever to become celebrated
for foreign commerce, the location possesses many advantages,
independent of being situated on a tongue of land surrounded
by a clear and rapid stream.
In planning the city — for I shall still dignify it by that title,
though applied at lirst in derision — I had, like the lawyers in
establishing their fees, an eye to futurity in the magnitude of
the parts. A beautiful central hill was reserved for the
Catholics, in compliment to my friend Bishop Macdonell, for
his advice in the formation of the Company ; the centre of a
rising gi'ound, destined to be a square hereafter, was appro-
piiated to the Episcopal Church for Archdeacon Strachan ; and
another rising ground was reserved for the Presbyterians.
Education is a subject so important to a community that it
obtained my earliest attention ; and accordingly, in planting
tlu^ town, I stipulated that the half of the price of the build-
ing sites should be appropriated to endow a school, undertaking
that the Company in the lirst instance should sustain the ex-
pense of the building, and ))e gradually repaid by th(! sale of
thc! town lots. The school-house was thus among the iirst
buildings undertaken to draw settlers.
The works and the roads soon drew from all parts a greater
influx of inhabitants than was expected, insomuch that the rise
of the town far surpassed my hopes.
Before the foundations of the town were laid, land was valued
by the magistrates, in quarter sessions, at one shilling and
86
FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
tlirc'epence per acre, and tlie s(;ttled townships around at three-
fourths of a dollar. When I left the place, th(! lowest rate of
land sold was fifteen shillings ; and the price in the neighbor-
in <,' townships was estimated at ttjn shillings.
WluMi I liad ettl'ctually set the operations for tlui Canada
(Company agoing at (jruelph, 1 retui'ned to York [Toronto], and
took into consideration a step to which the Company was
phulged to the puhlic and the (jlovernment.
Among the induccjnients held out to obtain the reserves at a
mod(;rate price, was the vast advantages which would arista to
the Province from having an opulent Company intt^rested in
promoting its improvement. One of the most obvious modes of
accomplishing this was, as it appeared to me, to receive pay-
m(!nts in produce, and to undertake the sale of it on consign-
nuuit. By an arrangemiait contemplated, in the event of the
directors agreeing to this, I conceived that the connnissions on
th(! consignments of wheat would defray all the official expenses,
and a stimulus would be given to the prosperity of the Province,
which would soon compensate the country for all the profit
that might be drawn from it in consequence of the Company's
speculation. Accordingly, having settled a plan for carry-
ing the business into effect, and ascertained what would be the
most convenient points to have receiving-houses established, I
endeavored to ffnd vvhether it would be necessary to erect
stores or to rent them.
In my inquiries, I found that by far the most eligible situa-
tion for the purj)0se of erecting a central store was on the banks
of a canal which the Government was excavating through a
narrow neck of land, to open Burlington Bay into Lake Ontario.
It occurred to me, when my attention was drawn to this situa-
tion, that the land would be soon occupied, and although still in
the hands of the Government, would not be allowed to remain
long so.
I therefore determined to make an application for a grant to
the Company of this valuable and most eligible site. The
business admitting of no delay, I made the solicitation for the
grant, and explained in my letter the purpose for »vhich it was
solicited, — namely, to erect stores, etc., for the reception of
produce.
The letter was sent in to the Government office, and the grant
was made without delay. I think it was for three acres ; —
much the most valuable spot in the whole Province. It fronted
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
37
^e acres
tlie canal ; on the right it had Burlington Bay, and on the left
Lake Ontario : a more convenient spot for any commercial jnir-
pose in a new country could not he chosen. It gave me un-
speakahle pleasure to have obtained for the Company so great a
hoon, and I expressed to the directors my satisfaction at th<'
liberal treatment of the Government ; it was not necessary to
he more particular.
Af'-^r staying some time on official business at York, I went
to Guelph to inspect the improvements, of which I had appointed
Mr. Prior the overseer and manager, and was gratified at
the condition of everything.
While there I received a visit from Bishop Macdonell and
the Provincial Insj)ector-General ; and when they had left me,
otlier friends from Edinburgh, with ladies, came also in, for the
works being on a great scale were now becoming objects of
curiosity. Not being restricted in any means which could be
employed in the country, I certainly did indulge myself in the
rapidity of creation.
The glory of Guelph was unparalleled ; but, like all earthly
glories, it was destined to pass away. It consisted of a glade
opened through the forest, about seven miles in length, up-
wards of one hundred and thirty feet in width, forming an
avenue, with trees on each side far exceeding in height the
most stupendous in England. The high road to the town lay
along the middle of this Babylonian approach,* which was cut
so wide as to admit the sun and air, and was intended to be
fenced of the usual breadth, the price of the land contiguous to
be such as to defray the expense of the clearing. But the
imagination forbears when it would attempt to depict tlie
magnificent effect of tlie golden sun shining through the colossal
vista of smoke and flames ; the woodmen dimly seen moving in
the "palpable obscure,"! with their axes glancing along in the
distance.
By doing speedily and collectively works which in detail
would not have been remarkable, these superb effects were
obtained. They brought "to home" the wandering emigrants,
gave them employment, and by the wonder at their greatness,
inagniiied the importance of the improvements. This gigantic
vision did not cost much more than the publication of a novel.
It lad been clearly understood as an inducement to Govern-
* Refertnce to the artificial vistas and " hanging gardens " of Babylon,
f Th" (n station is from Milton's " Paradise Lost, book ii., line 406.
38
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
mont to soil thn resorvos to tho Company, th it the Province
was to hr; /greatly l»enotitt'(l l>y itn oporatioiiH, and that it was
not to 1)0 a nuu'o land-jobbing concern. I thcroforo estimated
the exp(Miditur(% one thing with another, ecjual to the price of
the land ; and I received a paper of calculations made by the
gentleman who actt^l in my absence, l)y which he showed him-
self of the same opinion. But without this consideration, there
were circumstances in the state of the times by which the
shares of all joint-stock companies were affected. Nevertheless,
though I was, to use a familiar figure, only building the house
that was afterwards to produce a rental, it was said my expen-
diture had tended to lower the Company's stock — in short, the
echo of th(; rumor that I had heard of the directors' disapproval
before any account of my proceedings could have reached
London ; and to crown all, I was ordered to change the name
from Gu(dph to Goderich. In reply, I endeavor(;d to justify
what had been done ; and as the name could not be altered, I
called another town, founded about this time at Lake Huron,
by the name of his lordship.
But instead of giving any satisfaction, my letters of justifica-
tion drew a more decisive conflemnation of the name Guelph.
Th(? manner in which the second disapproval was couched set
me athinking ; and, laying dillerent things together, I drew the
conclusion that there was somewhere a disposition to effect my
recall. That, I knew, could be done without assigning any
reason ; but it was a step that required a pretext to take, and
therefore I determined to make a stand.
Strictly according to rule and law, I wrote back that the
name of t'^ place was not a thing that I cared two straws about ;
but as it had been the scene of legal transactions, it was nec-
essary to get an Act of the Provincial Parliament before the
change could be made, and that therefore if the court would
send me the preamble for a Bill, I would lose no time in apply-
ing for it. I heard, however, nothing more on the subject, and
thus a most contemptible controversy ended ; but I cannot yet
imagine how a number of grave and most intelligent merchants
ever troubled their heads about such a matter.
Ik
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
39
'ft""x« any
DOWN UPON THE GREEN EARTH.
Chahlek Mackay (b. 1814).
Five hundred years the royal tree
Has waved in the woods his branches free ;
But king no longer shall he stand,
To cast his shadow o'er the land ;
The hour has come when he must die :
Down upon the green earth let liim lie !
No more heneath his spreading boughs
Shall lovers breathe their tender vows ;
No more with early fondness mark
Their names upon his crinkled bark.
40
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
Or idly dream and softly sigh :
Down upon the green earth let him lie !
The lightning stroke has o'er him passed,
And never harmed him first or last ;
But mine are strokes more sure, I trust,
To lay his forehead in the dust ;
My hatchet falls — the splinters fly :
Down upon the green earth let him lie !
But yet, although I smite him down,
And cast to earth his forest crown,
The good old tree shall live again,
To plough deep furrows o'er the main.
And flaunt his pennant to the sky :
Down upon the green earth let him lie !
Full-breasted to the favoring breeze,
He shall be monarch of the seas.
And bear our Britain's triumphs far
In calm or tempest, peace or war ;
'Tis but to live that he must die :
Down upon the green earth let him lie !
IN WINDSOR FOREST.
Alexander Pope (1G88-1744).
[Tlie British oaks shall go on their mission of commerce to the far distant
l*^ast, and bring back the products of its woods and seas and mines.]
Thy trees, fair Windsor ! now shall leave their woods,
And half thy forests rush into thy floods ;
Bear Britain's thunder, and her cross display,
To the bright regions of the rising day ;
Tempt icy seas, where scarce the waters roll,
Where cleai'er flames glow round the frozen pole ;
Or under southern skies exalt their sails,
Led by new stars and borne by spicy gales !
For me the balm shall bleed, and ambor flow.
The coral redden, and the ruby glow.
The pearly shell its lucid globe infold,
And Phu'bus warm the ripening ore to gold.
Windsor Forest,
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
41
THE UNWRITTEN HISTORY OF OUR FOREFATHERS.
Rev. James Mackenzie.
The history of the oarly Britons, though it was never writ-
ten, may be read. A curious history it is ; and the way in
wliicli tlie materials of 't have been gatliered .ind put togetlier
is a tine example of the triumphs of patient thoucrht. The
historian of other periods finds his materials in books, in writ-
ten records and documents. The materials for the history of
this period have been found on waste moors and in deep mosses,
in caves and on hills, under ancient burial mounds and cairns,
by the margins of rivers and in the beds of drained lochs.
Here, for instance, is an ancient boat, found a few years since
on the south bank of the Clyde, when excavations were being
made for the purj)ose of enlarging the harbor of (Glasgow. It
is of oak, not ])lanked or built, but hewn out of the trunk of a
tree. The hollow has been made with tire, as the marks
snigle
42
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
still show. Within it, when it was discovered, there lay an
axe-head of stone.
Now, that fire-hollowed boat and stone axe tell their story as
})lainly as a printed book. The savage on the shores of the
Pacific cuts a groove in the bark round the root of the tree of
which he intends to form his canoe. Into this groove he puts
burning embers till it is charred to some depth. Next he
deepens the groove by hewing out the charred wood with his
stone hatchet. Then he applies the fire again ; and so on, until,
by the alternate use of fire and axe, the tree is brought to the
ground. By the same process it is hollowed out, and shf ped
into a canoe. The ancient boat-maker of the Clyde had used
exactly such a method of forming his little vessel. The stone
axe, brought to light after untold ages, bears mute but expressive
witness that its owner was a savage.
The axe with which the ancient Briton hollowed his canoe,
served him also as a weapon in battle. Under a large cairn, on
a moor in the south of Scotland, a stone coffin of very rude
workmanship was found. It contained the skeleton of a man
of uncommon size. One of the arms
had l>een almost severed from the shoul-
der. A fragment of very hard stone
was sticking in the shattered bone.
• ^^^'-'^ "S» • That blow had been struck with I stone
axe. When the victor, after th«^ fight,
looked at his bloody weapon, he saAv
that a splinter had broken from its
edge. Thousands of years passed, the
cjiirn of the dead was opened, and that
splinter was found in the bone of the once mighty arm which
the axe had all but hewn away. What a curious tale to be
told by a single splinter of stone !
On yonder lea field the i)loughman turns over the grassy
sward. At the furrow's end, as he breathes his horses for a
moment and looks at his work, his eye is caught by some object
sticking in the upturned mould. He picks it up. It is a barbed
arrow-head, neatly chipped out of yellow flint. How came it
there? It is no elf-arrow, shot by the fairies. It was once,
when tied to a reed with a sinew or a strip of skin, an arrow in
the quiver of an ai lent British savage hunting the deer.
There are spots where the flint arrow-heads have l)een found
in such numbers as to show that the barbarian tribes had met
STCNE AXES,
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
43
there in battle. Spear-heads, too, and knives of flint, have been
dug up from time to time in various parts. The ancient race
who employed such weapons must have existed before tlie use
of iron, or any other metal, was known.
That period when the rude inhal)itants of a country were
ignorant of metals, and formed their tools and weapons of stone,
is called the Stone Period.
Had this ancient race any idea of religion and a future state?
We shall see. Here is an earthen mound, heaped over the
grave of some chief. When dug into, it is found to contain a
rude stone coffin. In the cofl^in with the skeleton are flint
arrow-heads, a spear-head, also of flint, and perhaps the stone
lioad of a battle-axe, the wooden portions of these weapons hav-
ing long since mouldered away.
Now we know that the savage expects to go after death to
tlie happy hunting-grounds, and to follow again the war-path.
His implements of war and the chase are therefore buried with
him, that he may start up fully equipped in the new state of
boing. His favorite horse or dog, and perhaps his favorite
attendants, are laid beside his grave, that at his rising he may
appear in a manner fitting his rank. The contents of the burial-
mound unmistakably proclaim that the men of these long-for-
gotten ages had the same rude idea of a future state which the
Rod Indian still has.
In all probability, this ancient race occupied the country,
with unchanging habits and witli little or no progress, for many
centuries. At length, however, the elements of a great change
were introduced : the savage tribes became acquainted with the
use of metals.
Tlie introduction of metals is the first great stage in the
history of civilization. Armed with an axe of metal, instead
of tho old axe of stone, the savage can go into the forest and
cut down trees at will. He can split them, and hew them into
planks. He needs not now to pile up overlapping blocks of
ston(! to roof in his dark, under-ground abode. He can make a
much more convenient dwelling of rough, axe-hewn boards.
He needs not now to hollow out a log-canoe, for his new
tools have given him the power of building boats of plank.
He can now increase the size of his little vessel, and thus make
further and bolder ventures out to sea. Tlie trees nearest liis
village fall first by his axe ; but, year by year, he cuts his way
deeper into the forest. Tlie clearings extend, and the soil,
44
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
which will be corn-land by-and-hy, is laid open. He now can
form a variety of tools suited to a variety of purposes. New
wants are created with the increased facility of meeting them.
In a word, with the introduction of metal among a savage race,
stationary till then, the march of improvement has begun.
The discovery of copper, silver, and gold naturally takes
place before the discovery of iron. The smelting of iron is an
art much too difficult for the savage to master, till he has been
long familiar with the working of the softer and easier metals.
Accordingly, we find that the earliest metallic implements used
in Britain were not of iron, but of bronze. Copper and tin
are soft metals ; but if a portion of tin is mixed with copper,
the result is bronze, a metal harder than either of the two of
which it is composed. Tools and weapons made of this metal
are a great advance upon those made of stone or flint. Bronze,
however, is but a poor substitute for iron and steel, and we
may be very sure that the people who made use of bronze tools
knew nothing of iron.
That period during which the ancient inhabitants of a
country, ignorant as yet of iron, made use of bronze tools and
weapons, is called the Bronze Period.
Let us again suppose ourselves present at the opening of an
ancient British tomb. It is under a caim heaped on the top
of a hill which overlooks a wide tract of moorland. The stone
coffin is very short — not over four feet in length. From tlie
position of the bones, the body has evidently been placed in
a sitting or folded posture. There are cups or bowls of pot-
tery. There is a bronze sword, but it has been broken in two
before it was laid beside its owner in his long rest. And
what is that which glitters among the warrior's dust? It
IS an ornament of gold — a bracelet or a coHar — which he had
worn.
The skeleton of a dog is found beside the coffin ; for the
warrior know hunting-craft by lake and wood, and loved to
pursue his game with liound and bow. So they laid his four-
footed favorite, which had licked his hand and followed his
halloo, in his long home beside him.
Now observe the cup or boWl, which has contained drink or
food — fi'iendship's last gift to the dead. This cup is very
different from the unshapely hand-made and sun-dried pottery
of the Stone Period. It has been rounded on a wheel. It is
made of fine baked clay, and is neatly ornamented with a
FOURTH book Op BEADING LESSONS.
46
simple pattern. There has been progress, then, in the mechani-
cal arts since the ruder and older time.
liCt the broken sword next tell its story. The last honor
paid to the buried warrior was to break his sword and lay it
beside him, ere his companions-in-arms piled over him the
memorial cairn. The warrior of the Stone^ Period was buried
with axe, lance, and bow, in barbarian anticipation of warfare
beyond the grave ; but the warrior of the Bronze Period was
laid in his narrow bed with his broken sword, in token of war-
fare accomplished and of expected rest. This speaks in no
obscure language of some better and higher ideas wliich thi?
ancient race had acquired.
TOM BOWLING.
Charles Dibdin (1745-1814).
Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,
The darling of our crew ;
No more he'll hear the tempest howling, .
For Death has broached him to.
His form was of the manliest beauty,
His heart was kind and soft ;
Faithful below he did his duty,
But now he's gone aloft.
Tom never from his word departed,
His virtues were so rare ;
His friends were many and true-hearted.
His Poll was kind and fair :
And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly ;
Ah, raany's the time and oft !
But mirth is turned to melancholy,
For Tom is gone aloft.
Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
When He who all commands
Shall give, to call life's crew together.
The word to pipe all hands.
Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches,
In vain Tom's lifi; has doli'ed ;
For though his body 's under hatches,
His soul is gone aloft.
46
FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
JlSi '
TO THE LADT CHABLOTTE RAWDON.
From the Banks of the St. Lawrence [180/f\.
Thomas Moore (1779-1852),
I dreamt not then that, ere the rolling year
Had filled its circle, I should wander here
In musing awe ; should tread this wondrous world,
See all its store of inland waters hurled
In one vast volume down Niagara's steep,
Or calm behold them, in transparent sleep,
Where the blue hills of old Toronto shed
Their evening shadows o'er Ontario's bed ;
Should trace the grand Cadaraqui, and glide
Down the white rapids of his lordly tide
Through massy woods, 'mid islets flowering fair,
And blooming glades, where the first sinful pair
For consolation might have weeping trod.
When banished from the garden of their God.
But lo ! — the last tints of the west decline,
And night falls dewy o'er these banks of pine.
Among the reeds, in which our idle boat
Is rocked to rest, the wind's complaining note
Dies like a half-breathed whispering of flutes ;
Along the wave the gleaming porpoise shoots.
And I can trace him, like a watery star,
Down the steep current, till he fades afar
Amid the foaming breakers' silvery light,
Wheie yon rough rapids sparkle through the night.
Here, as along this shadowy bank I stray,
And the smooth glass snake, gliding o'er my way,
Shows the dim moonlight through his scaly form.
Fancy, with all the scene's enchantment warm,
Hoars in the murmur of the nightly breeze
Some Indian spirit warble words like these : — *
From the land beyond the sea,
Whither huppy spiritw flee —
* Observe here the transition from the iambic to the trochaic movement,
and the change from iientameters to tetrameters.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS. 47
Where, transformed to sacred doves,*.
Many a blessed Indian roves
Through the air, on wing as white
As those wondrous stones of light t
Which the eye of morning counts
On the Apallachian mounts —
Hither oft my flight I take
Over Huron's lucid lake,
Where the wave, as clear as dew,
Sleeps beneath the light canoe.
Which, reflected, floating there.
Looks as if it hung in air. |
Then, when I have strayed a while
Through the Manataulin isle,
Breathing all its holy bloom.
Swift I mount me on the plume
Of my Wakon-bird, § and fly
Where, beneath a burning sky,
O'er the bed of Erie's lake
Slumbers many a water-snake.
Wrapt within the web of leaves
Which the water-lily weaves.
Next I chase the flow'ret-king
Through his rosy realm of Spring ;
See him now, while diamond hues
Soft his neck and wings suffuse.
In the leafy chalice sink,
Thirsting for his balmy drink ;
Now behold him all on fire,
Lovely in his looks of ire,
Breakiiig every infant stem,
Scattering every velvet gem,
Where his little tyrant lip
Had not found enough to sip.
* " The departed spirit goes into the Laud of Souls, wlicre, according to
some, it is t msformed into a dove." — Chahlkhoix.
f The mountains aj>i)eared to be spiinkled with white stones, which
glistened in the sun, and were called by the Indians "spirit stones."— Si u
Alkx. Mackenzie : Journal.
X Moore tells us that this picture, was suggested by a passage in Carver's
Travels (1778).
§ A mythical bird described in such terms as to stiggcst the bird of
paradise.
1 !,
48 FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS. •
Then my playful hand I steep
Where the gold-thread* loves to creep,
Cull from thence a tangled wreath,
Words of magic round it bieathe,
And the sunny chaplet spread
O'er the sleeping fly-bird's head,
Till, with dreams of honey blest,
Haunted, in his downy nest,
By the garden's fairest spells,
Dewy buds and fragrant bells,
Fancy all his soul embowers
In the fly-bird's heaven of flowers.
Oft, when hoar and silvery flakes
Melt along the ruftied lakes,
When the gray moose sheds his horns,
When the track, at evening, warns
Weary hunters of the way
To the wigwam's cheering ray ;
Then, aloft through freezing air.
With the snow-bird soft and fair
As the fleece that heaven flings
O'er his little pearly wings,
Light above the rocks 1 play.
Where Niagara's starry spray.
Frozen on the cliff, appears
Like a giant's starting tears.
There, amid the island-sedge,
Just upon the cataract's edge,
Where the foot of living man
Never trod since time began,
Lone I sit, at close of day ;
While, beneath the golden ray,
Icy columns gleam below,
Feathered round with falling snow,
And an arch of glory springs,
Sparkling as the chain of rings
Round the neck of virgins hung, —
Virgins who have wandered young
O'er the waters of the west
To the land where spirits rest !
* Gold-thread (Coptis trifnlia), a spreading marsh plant abundant in
Canada. Its roots consist of long bright yellow fibres.
Uik^
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESHONS.
40
abundant in
HEREWAUD, THE ENGLISH OUTLAW.
John Lingabi> (1771-1851).
[After the victory of Senlac, William marched toward London, where the
VVitan had chosen Edgar the ^-Etheling as King. On the Duke's apjiroach,
the chief sumtorters of Edgar fied ; and William was crowned King of
England on Christmas Day. Not, however, till five years later was he
master of England. Dunng these five years there were rei)eated disturb-
ances in different parts of the country, caused by the efforts of the English
to rid themselves of the Norman yoke. In 10(J7, during the absence of
William in Normandy, there were revolts in the east, the west, and the north
— the last under the Earls Edwin and Morcar, brothers-in-law of Harold, the
late King. In the following year, the King of Denmark landed in York-
shire, and was joined by the English exiles in Scotland, headed by Edgar
tlie iEtheling. The insurgents seized York. In 10(59, William got rid of
the Danes by buying them off. He then retook York, drove the English
northward, and laid waste the country between the Ouse and the Tyne.
Thereafter the country was quiet till 1071.]
In 1071 the embers of civil war were again rekindled by the
jealousy of William. During the late disturbance Edwin and
Morcar had cautiously abstained from any communication with
the insurgents. But if their conduct was unexceptionable,
their influence was judged dangerous. In them the natives
beheld the present hope, and the future liberators, of their
country ; and the King judged it expedient to allay his own
apprehensions by securing their persons. The attempt was
made in vain. Edwin concealed himself ; solicited aid from the
friends of his family ; and, eluding the vigilance of the Nor-
mans, endeavored to escape towards the borders of Scotland.
Unfortunately, the secret of his route was betrayed by three of
his vassals : the temporary swell of a rivulet from the influx of
the tide intercepted his flight, and he fell, with twenty of his
faithful adherents, fighting against his pursueis. The traitors
presented his head to William, who rewarded their services
with a sentence of perpetual banishment. The fate of lis
brother Morcar was different. He fled to the protection of
Hereward, who had presumed to rear the banner of indepnnd-
ence amidst the fens and morasses of Cambridgeshire.
The memory of Hereward was long dear to the people of
England. The recital of his exploits gratified their vanity and
resentment ; and traditionary songs transmitted his fame to
succeeding generations. His father, the lord of Dorn in Lin-
colnshire, unable to restrain the turbulence of his temper, had
obtained an order for his banishment from Edward the Con-
fessor ; and the exile had earned in foreign countries the praise
I
60
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
of a hardy and fearless warrior. He was in Flanders at the
period of the Conquest ; but when he heard that his father was
dead, and that his mother had been dispossessed of the lordship
of Born by a foreigner, he returned in haste, collected the
vassals of the family, and drove the Norman from his paternal
estates. The fame of the exploit increased the number of his
followers : every man anxious to avenge his own wrongs, or the
wrongs of his country, hastened to the standard of Hereward ',
a fortress of wood was erected in the Isle of Ely for the protec-
tion of their treasures ; and a small band of outlaws, instigated
by revenge, and emboldened by despair, set at defiance the
whole power of the Conqueror.
Hereward, with several of his followers, had received the
sword of knighthood from his uncle Brand, abbot of Peter-
borough. Brand died before the close of the year 1069; and
William gave the abbey to Turold, a foreign monk, who, with
a guard of one hundred and sixty horsemen, proceeded to take
possession. He had already reached Stamford, when Hereward
resolved to plunder the monastery. Tlie Danes, who had passed
the winter in the Humber, were now in the Wash ; and Sbern,
their leader, consented to join the outlaws. The town of
Peterborough was burned ; the monks were dispersed ; the
treasures which they had concealed were discovered ; and the
abbey was given to the flames. Hereward retired to his
asylum. Sbern sailed towards Denmark.
To remove these importunate enenries, Turold purchased the
services of Ivo Tailbois, to whom the Conqueror had given the
district of Hoyland. Confident of success, the abbot and the
Norman commenced the expedition with a numerous body of
cavalry. But nothing could elude the vigilance of Hereward.
As Tailbois entered one side of a thick wood, the chieftain
issued from the other, darted unexpectedly upon Turold, and
carried him off with several other Normans, whom he confined
in damp and unwholesome dungeons, till the sum of two
thousand pounds had been paid for their ransom.
For a while the pride of William disdained to notice the
efforts of Hereward ; but when Morcar and most of the exiles
from Scotland had joined that chieftain, prudence compelled
him to crush the hydra before it could grow to maturity. He
stationed his fleet in the Wash, with orders to observe every
outlet from the fens to the ocean : by land he distributed his
forces in such manner as to render escape almost impossible.
Sti
ret
in
FOURTH BOOK OF READtNO LESSONS.
51
Still the great difficulty remained — to reach tlie enemy, wlio had
retired to their fortress, situated in an expanse of water which
in the narrowest part was more than two miles in breadth.
The King undertook to construct a solid road across the
marshes, and to throw bridges over the channels of the rivers ;
a work of considerable labor and of equal danger, in the face
of a vigilant and enterprising enemy. Hereward frequently
dispersed the workmen ; and his attacks were so sudden, so
incessant, and so destructive, that the Normans attributed his
success to the assistance of Satan. At the instigation of Tail-
bois, William had the weakness to employ a sorceress, who was
expected, by the superior efficacy of her spells, to defeat those
of the English magicians. She was placed in a wooden turret
at the head of the work ; but Hereward, who had watched his
opportunity, set fire to the dry reeds in the neighborhood ; the
wind rapidly spread the conflagration, and the enchantress with
her gourds, the turret with the workmen, were enveloped and
consumed in the flames.
These checks might irritate the King ; they could not divert
him from his purpose. In defiance of every obstacle, the work
advanced : it was evident that in a few days the Normans
would be in possession of the island, and the gr(;ater part of the
outlaws voluntarily submitted to the royal mercy. Their fate
was different. Of some he accepted the ransom ; a few suffered
death ; many lost an eye, a hand, or a foot ; and several, among
whom were Morcar and the Bishop of Durham, were condemned
to perpetual imprisonment.
Hereward alone could not brook the idea of submission. He
escaped across the marshes, concealed himself in the woods, and
as soon as the royal army had retired, resumed hostilities
against the enemy. But the King, who had learned to respect
his valor, was not averse to a reconciliation. The chieftain
took the oath of allegiance, and was permitted to enjoy in peace
the patrimony of his ancestors. Hereward was the last
Englishman who had drawn the sword in the cause of inde-
pendence.
Histwy of Etujland.
52 FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS,
THE SKT-LAEK.
Jameh Hckjg, the Ettuick Shephekd (1770 1835).
Bird of the wilderness
Blithesome and cumberless,*
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea !
Emblem of ha})piness,
Blest is thy dwelling-place —
O to abide in tlie desert with thee !
Wild is thy lay and loud,
Far in the downy cloud ;
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.
Where, on thy dewy wing,
Where art thou journeying]
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.
O'er fell and fountain sheen,
O'er moor and mountain green,
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, ^^--^
Over the cloudlet dim, j?^^
Over the rainbow's rim, ^^^^.
Musical cherub, soar, singing away !
Then, when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather blooms.
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be !
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling-place —
O to abide in the desert with thee !
* Morry and free from care. __._s _^
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
63
a
-■-i-*-'i.
* -
•^ A' ^ ■*
SKETCHES IN THE NORTH-WEST.
Major W. F, Butlkb.
fin April 1870, new8 reached Captain Butler of an expeditionary force nre-
naring under Colonel Wolweley aguinHt Kiel and the inaloontentH of Ked
kiver. Immediately taking steamer across the Atlantic, ho proceeded to
Toronto, and by the good offices of Colonel Wolseley he was given a snecial
mission to Winniiwjg by way of Lake Superior and St. Paul, while the
exi)edition was making its way through the trackless wilderness that then
lay between Fort William and Fort CJarry.J
1. On Lake Superior.
Before turning our steps westward from this inland ocean,
Lake Superior, it will be well to paus(! a moment on its shore and
look out over its bosom. It is worth looking at, for the world
possesses not its equal. Four hundred English miles in length,
one hundred and fifty miles in breadth, six hundred feet abov(«
Atlantic level, nine hundred feet in depth; one vast spring of
purest crystal water, so cold that during summer months its
waters are like ice itself, and so clear that hundreds of feet
below the surface the rocks stand out as distinctly as though
seen through plate-glass. Follow in fancy the outpourings of
this wonderful basin ; seek its future course in Huron, Erie,
and Ontario — in that wild leap from the^rocky ledge which
makes Niagara famous through the world. Seek it farther
still — in the quiet loveliness of the Thousand Isles, in the
whirl and sweep of the Cedar Rapids, in the silent rush of the
great current under the rocks at the foot of Quebec. Ay, and
even farther away still — down where the lone Laurentian Hills
come forth to look again upon that water whose earliest begin-
nings they cradled along the shores of Lake Superior. There,
close to the sounding billows of the Atlantic, two thousand
miles from Superior, these hills — the only ones that ever last —
guard the great gate by which the St. Lawrence seeks the sea.
There are rivers whose currents, running red with the silt
and mud of their soft alluvial shores, carry far into the ocean
the record of their muddy progress ; but this glorious river
system, through its many lakes and various names, is ever the
same crystal current, flowing pure from the fountain-head of
Lake Superior. Great cities stud its shores ; but they are
powerless to dim the transparency of its waters. Steam-ships
cover the broad bosom of its lakes and estuaries ; V)ut they
change not the beauty of the water, no more than the fleets of
^^
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
55
It
'lii'i
t I
ill
H
Si
At
u
39
-I
o
the world mark the waves of tlie ocean. Any person looking
at a map of the region bounding tlie great lakes of North
America will l»e struck l)y the absence of rivers flowing into
Lakes Superior, Michigan, or Huron, from the south — in fact,
the drainage of the States l)ordering these lakes on the south is
altogether carried off by the valley of the Mississippi. It fol-
lows that tins valle3y of the Mississippi is at a much lower level
than the surface of the lakes. These lakes, containing an area
of some seventy-three thousand square miles, are therefoi-e an
immense reservoir held high over the level of the great JMissis-
sippi valley, from which they are separated by a barrier of
slight elevation and extent.
2. At the Foimtain of the Red River.
The Red River — let us trace it while we wait the coming
captain who is to navigate us down its tortuous channel. Close
to the Lake Itaska, in which the great River Mississippi takes
its rise, there is a small sheet of water known as Elbow Lake.
Here, at an elevation of one thousand six hundred and eighty-
nine feet above the sea levej. nine feet liigher than the source
of the Mississippi, the Red River has its birth. It is curious
that the primary direction of both rivers should be in courses
diametrically opposite to their after-lines — the Mississipj^i first
running to the north, and the Red River first bending to the
south. In fact, it is oidy when the latter gets down here, near
the Breckenridge Prairies, that it finally determines to seek a
northern outlet to the ocean. Meeting the cuiTent of the Bois-
des-Sioux, which has its source in Lac Travers, in which the
Minnesota River, a triljutary of the Mississippi, also takes its
rise, the Red River hurries on into the level prairie, and soon
commences its immense windings. This Lac Travers disi'harges
in wet seasons north and south, and is the only sheet of water
on the C'-ntinent which sheds its waters into the tropics of the
Gulf of Mexico and into the Polar ocean of the Hudson Bay.
In former times the whole system of rivers bor<! the name of
the great Dakota nation, — and the title Red River was
only borne by that portion of the stream which flows from
Red Lake to the forks of the Assiniboine. Now, however, the
whole stream, fiom its source in Elbow I^ake to its estuary
in Lake Winnijx'g — fully nine hundred miles by water — is
called tluj lied River. People say that the name is derived
from a bloody Lidian battle wjiich once took place upon its
1^
its
m
66
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
banks, tiii^^iii,!,' tlie writers with crimson dye. It certainly
cannot be called red from the hue of its water, which is of a
dirty white color. Flowing towards the north with innumer-
able twists and sudden turnings, the Red River divides the
State of Minnesota, which it has upon its right, from the great
Territory of Dakota, receiving from each side many tributary
streams, which take their source in the Leaf Hills of Minne-
sota and in the Coteau of the Missouri. Its tril)utaries from
the east flow through dense forests ; those from the west wind
through the vast sandy wastes of the Dakota Prairie, where
trees are almost unknown. The plain through which Red
River flows is fertile beyond description. At a little distance
it seems one vast level plain, through which the windings of the
river are marked by a dark line of woods fringing the whole
length of the stream. Each tributary has also its line of forest,
— a line visible many miles away over the great sea of grass.
As one travels on, there first rise above the prairie the
tops of the trees •. these gradually grow larger, until finally,
after many hours, the river is reached. Nothing else breaks
the uniform level. Standing upon the ground, the eye ranges
over many miles of grass ; standing on a waggon, one doubles
the area of vision ; and to look over the plains from an elevation
of twelve feet above the earth is to survey at a glance a space
so vast that distance alone seems to bound its limits. The
eff'ect of sunset over these oceans of verdure is very beautiful.
A thousand hues spread themselves upon the grassy plains, a
thousand tints of gold are cast along the heavens, and i^e two
oceans of the sky and of the earth intermingle in one great
blaze of glory at the very gates of the setting sun. But to
speak of sunsets now is only to anticipate. Here, at the Red
River, we are only at the threshold of the sunset ; its true
home lies yet many days' journey to the west — there, where
the long shadows of the vast herds of bison trail slowly over
the innnense plains, huge and dark against the golden west —
there, where the red man still sees in the glory of the setting
sun the realization of his dream of heaven.
3. L(tke Winnipeg.
Through many marsh-lined channels, and amidst a vast sea
of reeds and rushes, the Red River of the North seeks the
waters of liake Winnipeg. A mixture of land and wat(^r, of
mud and of th(^ varied vegetation which grows thereon, this
1
il
— i g
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
57
cortainly
ich is of a
I innumer-
ivicles tlie
I the groat
tributary
of Miiiiie-
aries from
west wind
rie, wliere
liich Red
distance
igs of tlie
the whole
of forest,
of grass,
airie tlie
il finally,
5e breaks
ye ranges
J doubles
elevation
e a space
its. The
)eautiful.
plains, a
• the two
no great
But to
the Red
its true
S wliere
vly over
1 west —
' settinfir
^ast sea
E'ks the
ater, of
3n, this
delta of the Red River is, like other spots of a similar descrip-
tion, inexplicably lonely. The wind sighs over it, bending the
tall reeds with mournful rustle, and the wild bird passes and
repasses with plaintive cry over the rushes which form his
summer home.
Emerging from the sedges of the Red River, we shot out into
the waters of an immense lake which stretched away into un-
seen spaces, and over whose waters the fervid July sun was
playing strange freaks of mirage and inverted shore land. This
was Lake Winnipeg, a great lake even on a continent wliere
lakes ixre inland seas. But vast as it is now, it is only a tithe
of what it must have Ijeen in the earlier ages of the Earth. The
capes and headlands of what once was a vast inland sea now
stand far away from the shores of Winnipeg. Hundreds of
miles from its present limits these great landmarks still look
down on an ocean ; but it is an ocean of grass. The waters of
Winnipeg have retired from their feet, and they are now moun-
tain ridges rising over seas of verdure. At the bottom of this
bygone lake lay the whole valley of the Red River, the present
Lakes Winnipegoos and Manitoba, and the prairie lands of the
Lower Assiniboinc — one hundred thousand square miles of water.
The water has long since been drained off l)y the lowering of the
rocky channels leading to Hudson Bay, and the bed of the extinct
lake now forms the richest prairie land in the world.
But although Lake Winnipeg has sln^unken to a tenth of its
original size, its rivers still remain worthy of the great basin
into which they once flowed. The Saskatchewan is longer than
the Danube, the Winnipeg has twice the volume of the Rhine :
four hundred thousand square miles of continent shed their waters
into Lake Winnipeg — a lake as changeful as the ocean, but, for-
tunately for us, in its very calmest mood to-day. Not a wave, not
a ripple on its surface; not a breath of breeze to aid the untiring
paddles. The little canoe, weighed down by men and provisions,
had scarcely three inches of its gunwale over the water, and yet
the steersman held his course fur out into the glassy waste, leav-
ingbehind the marshy headlands which marked the river s mouth.
A long low point stretching fi'om the south shore of the lake
was faintly \ isible on the horizon. It was past midday when
we reached it ; so, putting in among the rocky boulders which
lined the shore, we lighted our fire and cooked our dinn<'r.
Then, resuming our May, tho Orandc Travrrse was entered
upon. Far away ovo- the lake rose the point of the Big Stono,
68
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
a lonely cape whose perpejidieular front was raised high over
the water. The sun began to sink towards the west ; but still
not a br(;ath rippled the surface of the lake, not a sail moved
over the wide expanse — all was as lonely as though our tiny
craft had been the sole speck of life on the waters of the world.
The red sun sank into the lake, warning us that it was time to
seek the shore and make our beds for the night. A deep sandy
l)ay, with a high backing of woods and rocks, seemed to invite
us to its solitudes. Steering in with great caution amid tlie
rocks, we landed in this sheltered spot, and drew our boa^ upv'>n
the sandy ]>each. ' i 'le shore yielded large store of drift-wood,
the relics of ma^iy a northern gale. Behind us lay a trackless
forest ; in front, the golden glory of the western sky. As the
night shades deepened around us, and the red glare of our drift-
wood fire cast its light upon the ^"oods and the rocks, the scene
became one of rare beauty.
4. Working up the Winnipeg River,
The river in its course from the Lake of the Woods to Lake
Winnipeg, one hundred ai.d sixty miles, makes a descent of
three hundred and sixty feet. This descent is effected, not
by a continuous decline, but by a series of terraces at
various distances from each other; in other words, the
river forms innumeral)le lakes and wide expanding reaches,
bound together by rapids and perpendicular falls of varying
altitude : thus when the voyageur has lifted his cance from the
foot of the Silver Falls, and launched it again above th^ head
of that rapid, he will have surmounted two-and-twenty feet of
the ascent ; again, the dreaded Seven Portages will give him a
total rise of sixty feet in a distance of three miles. (How cold
does the bare narration of these facts appear beside their actual
realization in a small canoe manned by Indians !) Let us see
if we can picture one of these many scenes: — There sounds
ahead a roar of falling water, and we see, upon rounding some
pine-clad island or ledge of rock, a tumbling mass of foam and
spray studded with projecting rocks and flanked by dark wooded
shores : above we can see nothing ; but below, the waters, mad-
dened by their wild rush amidst the rocks, surge and leap in
angry wliirlpools. It is as wild a scene of crag and wood and
water as th(^ eye can gaze upon ; but we look upon it not for
its beauty, because there is no time for that, but because it is
an enemy that nmst be conquered. Now mark how these
L
FOURTH BOOK OF READINO LESSONS.
59
J high over
t; but still
sail moved
[h our tiny
■ the world,
v^as time to
deep sandy
d to invite
amid tlie
boa^ ujjon
:1 rift-wood,
a trackless
^ As the
our drift-
the scene
s to Lake
lescent of
'cted, not
rraces at
>rds, the
^ reaches,
- varying
from the
th^ head
J feet of
ve him a
low cold
ir actual
3t us see
sounds
iig some
Jam and
wooded
rs, mad-
leap in
:>od and
not for
ise it is
v' these
Indians steal upon this enemy before he is aware of it. The
} immense volume of water, escaping from the eddies and wlurl-
i pools at the foot of the fall, rushes on in a majestic sweep into
calmer water. Tliis rush produces along the shores of the river
a counter or back- current, which flows up sometimes close to the
foot of the fail. Along this back-water the canoe is carefully
steered, being often not six feet from the opposing rush in the
central riv(^r ; but the back-current in turn ends in a whirlpool,
and the canoe, if it followed this back-current, would inevitably
™ end in the same place. For a minut(^ there is no i)addling, the
■ liow paddle and the steersman alone keeping the l>oat in Ium-
proper direction as she drifts rapidly up the current. Amongst
the crew not a word is spoken, but every man knows what he
has to do, and will l)e ready when the moment comes: and now
the moment has come ; for on one side there foams along a mad
surge of water, and on the other the angry whirlpool twists and
turns in smooth green hollowing curves round an axis of air,
whirling round it with a strength that would snap our birch-
bark into fragments, and suck us down into great ciepths below.
All that can be gpaned by the back-current has been gained,
and now it is time to quit it ; but where 1 for there is often
only the choice of the whirlpool or the central river. Just on
the very edge of the eddy there is one loud shout given by the
bow paddle, and the canoe shoots full into the centre of the
boiling flood, driven by the united strength of the entire crew.
The men work for their very lives, and the boat breasts across
the river -.vith her head turned full toward the falls; the waters
foam and dash about her, the waves leap high over the gunwale,*
the Indians shout as they dip their paddles like lightning into
the foam, and the stranger to such a scene holds his breath
amidst this war of man against nature. Ha ! the struggle' is
useless, they cannot force her against such a torrent — we are
close to the rocks and the foam ; but see, she is driven down
by tlie current in spite of those wild fast .strokes. The dead
strength of such a rushing flood must prevail. Yes, it is true,
the canoe has been driven back ; but behold, almost in a second
the whole thing is done — we float suddenly beneath a little
rocky isle on the foot of the cataract. W(^ have crossed the
river in the face of the fall, and the portage-landing is over this
rock, while three yjtrds out on either side the toi-i'«*nt foams its
headlong course. Of the skill necessary to perform such things
* Gunwale, pr. gun-nl.
n}
iiii
60
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
it is useless to speak. A single false stroke, and the whole
thing would hav(; failed ; driven headlong down the torrent,
another attempt would have to be made to gain this rock-pro-
tected spot : but now we lie secure here ; spray all around us,
for the rush of the; river is on either side, and you can touch it
with an outstretched paddle. The Indians rest on their paddles
and laugh ; their- long hair has escaped from its fastening
through their exertion, and they retie it wdiile they rest. One
is already standing upon the wet, slippery rock, holding the
canoe in its place, then the others get out. The freight is
carried up piece by piece, and deposited on the flat surface some
ten feet al)Ove ; that done, the canoe is lifted out very gently,
for a single blow against this hard granite l)Oulder would shiver
and splinter the frail birch-bark co\'ering ; they raise her very
carefully up the steej) face of the cliff, and rest again on the
top.
5. The Great North-West.
And now let us turn our glance to this great North-West,
wnither my wandering steps are about to lead me. Fully nine
hundred miles as bird would fly, and one thousand two hundred
as horse can travel, west of Red River, an immense range of
mountains, eternally capped with snow, rises in rugged masses
from a vast stream-scarred plain. They who first beheld these
grand guardians of the central prairies named them the Mon-
tagues des Roehers [Rocky Mountains], — a fitting title for such
vast" accumulation of rugged magnificence. From the glaciers
and ice-valleys of this great range of mountains innumerable
streams descend into the plains. For a time they wander, as if
heedless of direction, through groves and glados and green-spread-
ing declivities; then, assuming greater fixity of purpose, the\
gatlu^r up many a wandering rill, and start eastward upon a long
journey. At length the many detached streams resolve them-
seKcs into two great water systems. Through hundreds of
miles these two rivers pursue their parallel courses, now
ajiproaching, now opening out from each other. Suddenly the
southern rivt>r l)ends towards tlu^ north, and, at a point some
i\v.<. hundred miles from tlu^ mountains, pours its volume of
water into the northern clumnel. Then the united river rolls,
in vast, majestic curves, stea<lily towards the north-east, turns
once more towards the south, opens out into a great reed-covered
marsh, sw»?eps on into a large cedar-lined lake, and finally,
?.
h1 thn whole
the torront,
til is rock-pro-
11 around us,
can touch it
their pafkllos
its fastening
Y r<'st. One
holding fchf^
e freight is
'surface some
vf^ry gently,
v'ould shiver
ise her ver^''
?ain on the
J'orth-West,
Fully nine
vo hundred
le range of
?ed masses
held these
the Mon-
If! for such
he glaciers
numerable
■nder, as if
!en-spread-
pose, thev
pon a long
Ive them-
iKlreds of
■s^s, noM-
lonly the
)int some
olume of
Iver rolls,
1st, turns
rl-co\'ered
1 finally,
.M^J
if
1
WORKINO UP THE WINNll'KU llIVIiR.
62
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
rolling over a rocky ledge, casts its wat(!rs into the noi'thern
end of the great Lake Winnipeg, fully one thousand three
hundred miles from the glacier cradle where it took its hirth.
This river, which has along it every diversity of hill and vale,
li.eadow-land and forest, tnu^less plain and fertile hillside, is
called by the wild tribes who dwell along its glorious shores the
Kissaskatchewan, or "rapid-flowing river," But this Kissas-
katchewan is not the only river which drains the great
central region between Red River and the Rocky Mountains.
The Assiniboine, or " stony river," drains the rolling prairie-
lands five hundred miles v/est from Red River; and many a
smaller stream, and rushing, bubbling brook, carries into its
devious channel the waters of that vast country which lies
between the American boundary-line and the pine woods of the
Lower Saskatchewan.
So much for the rivers ; and now for the land through which
they How. How shall we picture it? how shall we tell the
story of that great, boundless, solitary waste of verdure 1 The
old, old maps, which the navigators of the sixteenth century
formed from the discoveries of Cabot and Cartier, of Verra-
zanno and Hudson, played strange pranks with the geography
of the New World. The coast line, with the estuaries of large
rivers, was tolerably accurate ; but the centre of America was
represented as a vast inland sea, whose shores stretched far into
the Polar North — a sea through which lay the much-coveted
passage to the long-sought treasures of the old realms of Cathay.
Well, the geographers of that period erred only in the descrij)-
tion of ocean which they placed in the centre of the continent;
for an ocean there is — an ocean through which men seek the
treasures of Cathay even i!i our own times. But the ocean is
one of grass, and the shores are the crests of mountain-ranges
and the dark pine forests of sul)- Arctic regions. The great ocean
itself does not present such infinite variety as does this prairie-
ocean of which we speak: — in winter, a dazzling surface of
purest snow ; in early summer, a vast expanse of grass and pale
piidc roses ; in autumn, too often a wi)d sea of raging fire! No
ocean of water in the world can vie with its gorgeous sunsets,
no solitude can equal the loneliness of a night-shadowed prairie :
one feels the stillness, and hears the silence : the wail of the
prowling wolf makes the voice of solitude audible; the stars
look down through infinite silence upon a silence almost as
intense. This ocean has^ no past ;— time has been nought to it,
FOURTH HOOK OF READING LESSONS.
(13
the northern
»usancl tJiree
)k its l>irtli.
^1 and vale,
hillside, is
shores the
this Kissas-
the great
Mountains,
"ig prairie-
iicl many a
es into its
which lies
oods of the
►ugh wliich
'ti tell the
ure? The
'h century
of Vorra-
geograpliy
s of large
erica was
d far into
ih-coveted
f Cathay.
e descrip-
ontinejit;
seek t]ie
ocean is
in-ranges
'at ocean
praiiie-
rface of
ind pale
fe! Ko
sunsets,
prairie ;
1 of the
le stars
'lost as
it to it,
and men have come and gone, leaving behind them no track,
no vestige of their presence. Some French writer, speaking of
these prairies, has said that the sense of this utter negation of
life, this complete absence of history, has struck him with a
loneliness oppressive and sometimes terrible in its intensity.
Perhaps so ; but, for my part, the prairies had nothing terrible
in their aspect, nothing oppressive in their loneliness. One saw
here the world as it had taken shape and form from the hands
of the Creator. Nor did the scene look less beautiful because
nature alone tilled the earth, and the unaided sun brought forth
the flowers.
October had reached its latest week, the wild geese and swans
had taken their long flight to the south, and their wailing cry
no more descended through the darkness ; ice had settled upon
the quiet pools, and was settling upon the quick-running streams;
the horizon glowed at night with the red light of moving
prairie fires. It was the close of the Indian Summer, and
Winter was coming quickly down from his far northern home.
Great Lone Land (9th ed., 1879).
lili
FROM "THE HUNTER OF THE PRAIRIES."
William Cullen Buyant.
Ay, this is freedom ! — these pure skies
Were never stained with village smoke :
The fragrant wind, that through them flies,
Is breathed from wastes by plough unbroke.
Here, with my rifle and my steed.
And her who left the world for me,
I plant me, where the red deer feed
In the green desert — and am free.
Broad are the streams — my steed obeys.
Plunges, and bears me through the tide.
Wide are these woods — I thread the maze
Of giant stems, nor ask a guide.
I hunt till day's last glinnner dies
O'er woody vale and grassy height ;
And kind the voice and glad the eyes
That welcome my return at niglit.
• j k r.
All
lit;
1
64
FOURTH BOOK OF ItEADlNG LFSHONH.
THE BISON TRACK.
Jameh Bayaiid Taylou (1825-1878).
Strike the tent ! the sun has risen ; not a vapor streaks the dawn,
And tlu! frosted prairie brightens to the westward, far and wan:
Prime afresli th j trusty rifle, sharpen well the hunting-speai',
For the frozen sod is trembling and a noise of hoofs I hear I
Fiercely stamp the tethered horses, as they snuff the morning's lin>,
Their impatient heads are tossing as they ncngh with keen desire.
Strike tlu; tent! tlu; saddles wait us, let the bridle reins })e slack.
For the prairie's distant thunder has betrayed the bisons' track.
S(ie! a dusky line approaches — hark ! the onward surging roar,
Like tlie din of wintry breakers on a sounding wall of shoie !
Dust and sand behind them whii-ling, snort theforemostof the van,
And thtiir stubborn horns are clashing through the crowded
caravan.
Now the storm is down upon us ! let the maddened horses go !
We shall ride the living whirlwind, thougli a hundred leagues
it blow —
Though the cloudy manes should thicken, and the red eyes'
angry glare
liighten round us as we gallop through the sand and rushing air.
jMyriad hoofs will scar the prairie, in our wild, resistless race.
And a sound, like mighty waters, thunder down the desert space;
Yet the rein may not be tightened, nor the I'ider's eye look back —
Death to him whose speed should slacken on the maddened
bisons' track !
Now the trampling herds arc; threaded, and the chase is close
and warm
For the giant bull that gallops in the edges of the storm :
Swiftly hurl the whizzing lasso ; swing your rifles as we run.
See, the dust is red behind him ! shout, my conn'ades, he is won!
Look not on him as he staggers — 'tis the last shot he will need ;
More shall fall among his fellows ere we run the mad stampede,
Ere we stem the brinded bi'eakers,* while the wolves, a
hungry pack.
Howl around each grim-eyed carcass on the bloody bison track.
* Another reading i.s " swavthy breakers," "Brinded," older form of
brindled: cf. Macbeth, iv. 1, " brinded cat."
V^'.
FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
66
'aks the dawn,
I, fill- and w an :
iitin^^-spcai',
^f« I Iicar !
niorninijf s firo,
h keen desire.
i'<'ins be slack,
bisons' track.
S11 rising roar,
II of sliore !
ostof the van,
tlie crowded
1 horses go !
dred leagues
le red eyes'
rushing air.
tless race,
esert space;
look back —
maddened
tso is close
3rni :
we run.
lie is won !
^vill need ;
•stampede,
wolves, a
son track,
til" foiiii of
THREE CAITIFFS-THE WOLF, THE LYNX,
THE WILD CAT*
The wolf is a true citizen of the world, — he is found every-
where; and, like most other "citizens of the world," he is a
worthless citizen everywhere. He exists in assorted sizes —
from the three-foot i)rairie wolf to the great seven-foot Arctic
wolf ; and in assorted colors — white, gray, dusky, black, rufous.
Among Canadian pioneers, the gray wolf and the small gregari-
ous wolf of the prairies — often called cayote t after the Mexican
name — are best known, though never favoraljly known. In
qualities the whole wolf clan are alike : strong and sinewy,
ll('(it-footed, gaunt, greedy, merciless, cowardly, very valorous
when there are overwhelming odds against their poor victim —
say, in either numbers or strength, a hundred to one — then,
loud-mouthed, these jackals of the prairies will beset an aged and
weary buffalo that has strayed from the line of march, and pull
down the old monarch of the prairies ; they have been even
known to attack a sick bear ! Their inroads upon herds and
sheep-folds are sometimes horrifying. A single wolf has been
known to kill as many as forty sheep in a single night, seem-
ingly from mere bloodthirstiness.
* Chiefly based upon "Camp Life in the Woods," by W. Hamilton
Gib.son (1881).
+ Cayote, pr. as dissyllable, ki-ote'. The true form is the Spanish coyote
(trisyllable), derived from Mexican coyctl.
5
'•III
if'
lift
A
VP»\
66
FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LEHSONS.
\ .'
The two other marauders whoso likoiicssos we have placed in
the " rogues' gallery " belong to the Cat tribe.
The Canadian lynx — known also among us as the; " peshoo,"
le chat, and loup cervier — ranges from the Arctic Circle down to
the edges of our Great Lakes and to the Maine frontier ; so that
Canada enjoys an almost complete monopoly of this species of
CANADIAN LYNX.
lynx. The long bristle-pointed ears are characteristic. In
winter it wears a heavy overcoat of clouded-gray fur ; its fur
boots are then of such portentous size that lynx-tracks in the
snow may easily be mistaken for the foot-prints of the great
black bear. Though not more than three feet long, the lynx is
a dangerous foe at close quarters. It is a keen sportsman,
strong, active, a good climber and swimmer. Its running is
very effective, but by no means graceful — indeed, wholly
ludicrous — a rapid succession of bounds with arched back, and
all feet striking the ground together. The lynx makes its
home in the depths of the unbroken forest, where it feeds
sumptuously on grouse and rabbits, with an occasional course
of venison. If game is scarce, the lynx condescends to the
pioneer's humbler fare, and makes a very tolerable meal on
courses of lamb, pork, and fowl.
By many naturalists the wild cat is believed to be the
ancestor of the domestic animal that so faithfully reproduces
the caterwaulings of the primeval forest. In appearance as
FOUltTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
67
well as voic(i tho resemblance is striking — the chief distinotion
consisting in the «(reater size of the wild cat and in its short
l)ushy tail. In tin; typical wild cat a row of dark streaks and
spots (,'xtends along the spine, and th(^ tail is thick, short, and
husliy, tipped with black and encircled by a number of dark
rnigs.
mmmmm^^^&
THE WILD CAT.
The amount of havoc which these creatures occasion is
surprising, and their nocturnal inroads, in poultry -yards and
sheep-folds, render them most hated pests to farmers. They
seem to have a special appetite for the heculs of fowls, and will
often decapitate half a dozen in a single night, leaving the
bodies in otherwise good condition to tell the story of their
midnight murders. The home of the wild cat is made in some
cleft of rock, or in the hollow of some old tree, from which the
creature issues in the dark hours, and starts upon its maraud-
ing excursions with the stealthy step that is observed in its
domestic relative.
Of these three marauders the wolf is much the n.ost difficult
to entrap ; for he is almost as cunning and suspicious as his
cousin Reynard. He can, however, be outwitted. A large
double-spring trap is used, variously disguised, and so placed
under water or on land that the wolf has to walk across the
trap in order to reach the bait. The odor of the human hand
or the flavor of tobacco is sufficient warning to the sagacious
■n
11
1'
ill
I
68
FOURTH BOOR OF READING LESSONS.
wolf. Gloves should always be worn in handling the traps,
and all tracks obliterated. Many sly old trappers overpower
their personal characteristics by rubbing the trap with the
fragrant leaves of the skunk-cabbage, and by anointing their
l)Oot-soles with oil of assafwitida ! The lynx and the wild cat
are entrapped with much less difficulty than the wolf.
There is a very common and erroneous idea current among
amateur sportsmen, that the pan of the trap is intended for the;
bait. It was so used in bygone days ; but no modern trap is
intended to be so
misused. The ob-
ject of the profes-
sional trappc^r is the
acquisition of furs,
and a prime fur skin
should be without
break or bruise from
nose to tail. The
pan is intended for
theybo^ of the game,
and the bait should
be so placed as to
draw away the attention of the animal from the trap. In tlie
V-shaped pen, often used, the bait is suspended above the trap.
A spring pole is often added, wliich, when released from its
notch by the struggles of the captured animal, hoists trap and
captive together into the air. This has the double effect of
securing the captive from the attacks of other animals, and of
saving it from self-nmtilation ; for many kinds of game, —
notably the mink, marten, and musk-rat, — will deliberately
amputate a leg in order to etfeci their escape.
V-SHAPED PEN.
Strips''
^'''>,
THE CAYOTE, OR PRAIRIE WOLF
Mauk Twain (Samuel Lanuhoune Clemens), b. 1835.
[Mr. Olimien.s' assmnod nanio was evidently stipgested by his jtilot e.\|MMn-
eiices of th(3 Mississij>]ii, and hy his accpiaintance with tlie divisiuua of the
.sounding-lino, of which "mark twain" denotes two fathoms.]
The cayote is a long, slim, sick-and-sorry-looking skeleton
with a gray wolf-skin sti-clchcd over it, a tolerably bushy tail
that for ever sags down with a lU'spairing expression of for-
FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
69
sakenness and misery, a furtive and evil eye, and a long, sharp
face, with slightly lifted lip and exposed teeth. He has a
general slinking expression all over. The en ote is a li\"ing,
breathing allegory of Want. He is always hungry. He is
always poor, out of luck, and friendless. The meanest creatures
despise him, and even the fleas would desert him for a veloci-
pede. He is so spiritless and cowardly, that even while his
exposed teeth are pretending a threat, the rest of his face is
ajiologizing for it. And he is so homely ; so scrawny, and
rihhy, and coarse-haired, and pitiful !
When he sees you, he lifts his lip and lets a flash of his teeth
out, and then turns a little out of the course he was pursuing,
depresses his head a hit, and .strikes a long, soft-footed trot
through the sage-brush, glancing over his shoulder at you from
time to time, till he is about out of easy pistol-range, and then
he stops, and takes a deliberate survey of you. He will trot
fifty yards, and stop again ; another fifty, and stop again ; and
finally, the gray of his gliding body blends with the gray of the
sage-brush, and he disappears.
If you start a swift-footed dog after him, you will enjoy it
ever so much — especially if the dog be one that has a good opinion
of liimself, and has Iteen brought up to think that he knows
something about speed. The cayote will go swinging gently off
on that deceitful trot of his, and every little while he r, ill smile
a fiaudful smile over his shoulder that will fill that dog entirely
full of encouragement and worldly ambition, and make him lay
his head still lower to the ground, and stretch his neck further
to the front, and pant more fiercely, and move his furious legs
with a yet wilder frenzy, and leave a broader and ])roader and
higher and denser cloud of desert sand smoking behind, and
marking his long wake across the level plain 1
All tliis time the dog is only a short twenty feet l)ehind the
cayote, and, to save the life of him, he cannot understand why
it is that he cannot get ])erceptibly closer ; and he begins to
get aggravated, and it makes him madder and madder to see
how gently the cayote glides along, and never pants or .sweats,
or ceases to smile ; and he grows still more and more incensed
to see how shamefully lu; has been taken in ])y an entire
stranger, and what an ignoble swindle that long, calm, soft-
footed trot is.
And iHwt, the dog notices that he is getting fagwd, and that
the cayote actually has to slacken speed a little, to kerp from
:l|
m
m
H
il\(
mH
Mi'
70
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
running away from him. And then that town-dog is mad in
earnest, and he begins to strain, and weep, and swear, and paw
the sand higher tlian ever, and reacli for the cayote with con-
centrated and desperate energy. This spurt lincls him six feet
behind the gliding enemy, an • two miles from liis friends. And
then, in the instant that a wild new hope is lighting up his
face, the cayote turns and smiles blandly upon him once more,
and with a something about it which seems to say : " Well, I
shall have to tear myself away from you ; for business is bus-
inciss, and it will not do for me to l)e fooling along this way
all day." And forthwith there is a rushing sound, and the
sudden splitting of a long crack through the atmosphere ; and
behold, that dog is solitary and alone in the midst of a vast
solitude !
It makes his head swim. He stops, and looks all around ;
climbs the nearest sand-mound, and gazes into the distance ;
shakes his head reflectively, and then, without a word, he turns
and jogs along back to his train, and takes up a humble posi-
tion under the hindmost waggon, and feels unspeakably mean,
and looks ashamed, and hangs his tail at half-mast for a week.
And for as much as a year after that, whenever there is a great
hue and cry after a cayote, that dog will merely glance in that
direction without emotion, and apparently observe to himself,
" I }>elieve I do not wish any of the pie."
Roughing It, chap. v.
THE COYOTE.
F. Bret Harte (b. 1830).
Blown out of the prairie in twilight and dew,
Tfalf bold and half timid, yet lazy all through ;
Loath ever to leave, and yet fearful to stay,
He limps in the clearing, — an outcast in gray.
A sliade on the stubble, a ghost by the wall.
Now letping, now limping, now risking a fall,
Lop-ear(;d and large-jointed, but ovov alway
A thoroughly vagabond outcast in gray.
Here, Carlo, old follow, — he's one of your kind, —
Go, seek him, and bring him in out of the wind.
What ! snarling, my Carlo ! So — e\'en dogs may
Deny their own kin in the outcast in gray.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
71
TOMMY TRADDLES.
Charles Dickens (1812-1870).
[Tommy was a school-mate of David Copperfield at " Salem House," as
Mr. Creakle named his school.]
Poor Tracldles ! In a tight sky-blue suit, that made his arms
and legs like German sausages or roly-poly puddings, he was
the merriest and most miserable of all the boys. He was always
being caned — I think he was caned every day that half-year,
except one holiday Monday, when he was only ruler'd on botli
liands — and was always going to write to liis uncle about it,
and never did. After laying his liead on the desk for a little
while, he would cheer up somehow, begin to laugh again, and
draw skeletons all over his slate, before his eyes were dry. I
used at first to wonder what comfort Traddles found in draw-
ing skeletons, and for some time looked upon him as a sort of
hermit, who reminded himself by those symbols of mortality
that caning couldn't last for ever. But I believe he only did
it because they were easy and didn't want any features.
He was very honorable, Traddles was, and held it as a solemn
duty in the boys to stand by one another. He suffered for
this on several occasions ; and particularly once, when Steer-
forth laughed in church, and the beadle thoup;ht it was Traddles,
and took him out. I see him now, going away in custody,
despised by the congregation. He never said who was the real
ofTender, though he smarted for it next day, and was imprisoned
so many hours that he came forth with a whole churchyardful
of skeletons swarming all over his Latin Dictionary. But he
had his reward. Steerforth said there was nothing of the sneak
in Traddles, and we all felt that to be the highest praise. I'or
my part I could have gone through a good deal (tliough I was
much lens brave than Traddles, and nothing like so old) to have
won such a recompense.
[Years afterwards, David meets Traddles in London, and finds him a shy,
steady, bnt agreeable and good-nature^d young man, with a comic head of
liair, and eyes i-athor wide open, which gave him a suriiriHed look, not to say
a hoiu'th-broomy kind of expression. He is reading for the bar, and fight-
hig his way on iu the world against dirticulties.]
"You were brought up by an uncle?" said I.
" Of course I was," said Traddles.
The
one 1 was
always
going to write to. And always didn't, eh ? Ha, ha, ha ! Yes,
I had an uncle then. He died v(»n\ after I left school."
i!l
^■i|
I?
Mt=
W I
72
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
"Indeed!"
"Yes. He was a retired — what do you call it? — draper —
cloth-merchant — and had made me his heir. But he didn't like
me when I grew up."
"Do you really mean that?" said I. He was so composed
that I fancied he must have some other meaning.
" Oh dear, yes, Copperlield ! I mean it, ' replied Traddles.
" It was an unfortunate thing, but he didn't like me at all. He
said I wasn't at all what he expected; and so he married his
housekeeper."
"And what did you do?" I asked.
" I didn't do anytliing in particular," said Traddles. " 1 lived
with them, waiting to be put out in the world, until his gout
unfortunately flow to his stomach ; and so he died, and so she
marri(^d a young man, and so I wasn't provided for."
"Did you get nothing, Traddles, after all?"
" Oh dear, yes !" said Traddles. " I got fifty pounds, I had
never been l^rought up to any profession, and at first I was at
a loss what to do for myself. However, I began, with the
assistance of the son of a professional man, to copy law writings.
That didn't answer very well ; and then I began to s'^te cases
for them, and make abstracts, and do that sort of work, for I am
a plodding kind of fellow Well, that put it in my head to
enter myself as a law-student ; and that ran away with all that
was left of the fifty pounds. Yawler recommended me to one
or two other offices, however — Mr. \Vaterl)rook's for one — and
I got a good many joljs. I was fortunate enough, too, to be-
come acquainted with a person in the publishing way, who was
getting up an Encyclopfedia, and he set me to work ; and. in-
deed" (glancing at liis table), " I am al work for him at this
minute. I am not a bad compiler, Copperfield." said Traddles,
preserving the same air of cheerful confidence in all he said ;
"but I have no invention at all, not a particle. I suppose
there never was a young man with less originality than I have."
As Traddles seemed to expect that I should assent to this as
a matter of course, T nodded ; and he went on with the same
sprightly patience — I can find no better expression — as before.
David Copperfield {lSiQ~50).
\L^.
FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
73
J-
— draper —
didn't like
composed
Traddles.
tall. He
larried his
"I lived
his gout
^d so she
'■ I had
I was at
rt^ith the
^vritings.
'te cases
for I am
head to
all that
' to one
le — and
to be-
'ho was
md. in-
at this
addles,
e said ;
appose
have, "
this as
same
9fore.
>-50).
THE HEAD AND THE HEART
J. G. Saxe (b. 1816).
The head is stately, calm, and wise,
And bears a princely part ;
And down below in secret lies
The warm, impulsive heart.
The lordly head that sits above,
The heart that l)eats ])elow.
Their several office plainly prove,
Their true relation show.
The head, erect, serene, and cool,
Endowed with reason's art,
Was set aloft to guide and rule
The throbbing, wayward heart.
And from the head, as from the higher,
Comes every glorious thought ;
^Jid in the heart's transforming tire
All noble deeds are wrought.
Yet each is best when both unite
To make the man complete ; —
What were the heat without the light ?
The light, without the heat ?
Poem (1859).
FRIENDSHIP.
Shakspearb.
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of stoel ;
But do not dull thy pahn with entertainment
Of each new-hatched, unfl'''^'<5ed comrade.
Neither a borrower nor . "ender bo :
For loan oft loses both it. iind friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all : — to thine own self be true.
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Hamlet, i. 3.
' \
Wh
' rj
4^1
;■?
74
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LECSONS.
OLD ST. PAUL'S SCHOOL.
David Masson (b. 1822).
London was at that time by no means ill provided with
schools. Besides various schools of minor note, there were
some distinguished as classical seminaries. Notable among
these was St. Paul's School in St. Paul's Churchyard, a suc-
cessor of the old Cathedral School of St. Paul's, which had ex-
isted in the same place from time immemorial. Not less cele-
l»rated was Westminster School, founded anew by Elizabeth in
continuation of an older monastic school which had existed in
Catholic times. Ben Jonson, George Herbert, and Giles Flet-
cher, all then alive, had been educated at this school ; and the
great Camden, after serving in it as under-master, had held the
office of head-master since 1592. Then there was St. Anthony's
Free School in Threadneedle Street, where Sir Thomas More
and Archbishop Whitgift had been educated — once so flourish-
ing that, at the public debates in logic and grammar between
the different schools of the city, St. Anthony's scholars gener-
ally carried off the palm. In particular there was a feud on
this score between the St. Paul's boys and the St. Anthony's
boys : the St. Paul's boys nicknaming their rivals " Anthony's
pigs," in allusion to the pig which was generally represented as
following this saint in his pictures ; and the St. Anthony's boys
somewhat feebly retaliating by calling the St. Paul's boys
"Paul's pigeons," in allusion to the pigeons that used to hover
about the cathedral. Though the nicknames survived, the feud
was now little more than a tradition — St. Anthony's school
having come sorely down in the world, while the pigeons of
St. Paul's fluttered higher than ever.
Partly on account of its nearness to Bread Street, St. Paul's
School was that chosen by the scrivener for the education of
his son."*" The records of the admissions to the school do not
roach so far back as the beginning of the seventeenth century,
l>ut the date of Milton's admission cannot have been later thon
IG'20, when he was in or just over his twelfth year. The school
was founded in 1512, the fourth year of the reign of Henry
VJTI., by Dr. John Colet, Dean of St. Paul's, the son of Sir
Henry Colet, mercer, who had been twice Mayor of London.
Tlie declared purpose of the foundation was the free education,
* John Milton was the son of a scrivcnor, or law penman.
one Ij
referel
laud
pose
liandsl
siilarij^
and a|
No
school
king
plLil
^ided with
;here were
We among
^rd, a suc-
ch liad ex-
t Jess cele-
!izal)eth in
existed in
jiles Flet-
; and tlie
1 Iield tlie
Anthony's
nas More
) flourish-
' between
irs gener-
t feud on
.nthony's
nthony's
rented as
ly's boys
il's boys
to hover
the feud
s school
?eons of
^. Paul's
ation of
I do not
century,
er thpn
'■ school
Henry
of Sir
'Ondon.
cation,
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
(6
in all sound Christian and grammatical learning, of poor men's
children, without distinction of nation, to the exact number of
one hundred and fifty-three at a time — this number having
reference to the number of fishes which Sin^on Peter drew to
land in the miraculous draught (John xxi. 11). For this pur-
pose Colet, besides building and furnishing the school in a very
handsome manner, endowed it with lands sufficient to provide
salaries in perpetuity for a head-master, a sur-master or usher,
and a chaplain.
No cock-fighting or other pageantry was to be allowed in the
school ; no extra holidays were to be granted, except when the
king or some bishop in person begged one for the boys ; and if
any boy was taken away and sent to anothei- school, he was not
on any account to l)e readmitted.
The original school -house remained with little alteration
either in the exterior or in the interior. The interior was
divided into two parts — a vestWiihim, or ante-room, in which
the smaller boys were instructed, and the main school-room.
Over the door of this school-room on the outside was a legend
to the effect that no more than one hundred and fifty-thr'^e
were to be instructed in it gratis ; and painted on the glash> oi
each window inside, were [in Latin] the formidable words:
"Either teach, or learn, or leave the place." For the head-
master there was a "decent cath'edra or chaii " at the upper
end of the school, facing the door and a little advanced from
the wall ; and in the wall, immediately over this chair, so as to
]>e full in the view of all the pupils, was an " effigies " * or bust
of Dean Colet, regarded as a masterpiece of art. The under-
master or usher had no particular seat, but walked up and down
among the classes, taking them all in turn with his superior.
There were in all eight classes. In ""'le first or lowest the
younger pupils were taught their rudiments ; and thence, ac-
cording to their proficiency, they were at stated times advanced
into the other forms till they reached the eighth; whence,
" being commonly by this time made perfect grammarians, good
orators and poets, and well instructed in Latin, Greek, and
Hebrew, and sometimes in other Oriental tongues," they passed
to the universities. The curriculum of the school extended
over from four to six years ; the age of entry being from eight
to twehe, and that of departure from fourteen to eighteen.
From the moment that Milton became a " pigeon " of St.
* Pronounce as four syllables, with final long.
iltf
Hi
M
' !l
>! I'l
76
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
1
Paul's, all this would be familiar to him, The school-room, its
walls, and windows, and inscriptions ; the head-master's chair ;
the bust of Colet over it, looking down on the busy young flock
gathered together by his deed and scheming a hundred years
after he was dead ; the >)usy young flock itself, ranged out in
their eight forms, and filling the room with their ceaseless hum ;
the head-master and the sur-master walking about in their
gowns, and occasionally perhaps the two surveyors from the
mercers dropping in to see, — what man of any memory is there
who does not know tliat this would impress the boy unspeak-
ably, and sink into him so as never to be forgotten ?
From the Account in the *' Life of Milton,*^ chap. iii.
BILL IS A BRIGHT BOY.
John Stuart Blackie (b. 1819).
Bill is a bright boy,
Do you know Bill 1
Marching cheerily,
Up and down hill ;
Bill is a bright boy
At l)ooks and at play,
A right and a tight boy.
All the boys say.
His face is like roses
In flush of the June ;
His eyes like the welkin
When cloudless the noon ;
His step is like fountains
That bicker with glee,
Beneath the green mountains
Down to the sea.
When Bill plays at cricket,
No ball on the green
Is shot from the wicket
So sharp and so clean ;
ol-room, its
iter's chair ;
young flock
idred years
ngecl out in
seless hum ;
it in their
from the
)ry is there
y unspeak-
3hai
1. HI.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS,
He stands at his station
As strong as a king
When he lifts up a nation
On victory's wing.
When, bent upon study,
He girds to his books,
No frown ever ploughs
The smooth pride of his looks ;
I came, and I saw.
And I conquered at will —
This be the law
77
Fo
great Caesar and Bill.
Lik^ Thvjr with the hammer
Of power in his hand.
He r' les through the grammar
Triumphant and grand ;
C r bastions of brambles,
Which pedants up-pile,
He leaps, and he ambles
Along with a smile.
a
\\i
As mild as a maiden
Where mildness belongs,
He 's hot as Achilles
When goaded by wrongs :
He flirts with a danger.
He spirts with an ill ;
To fear such a stranger
Is brave-hearted Bill.
For Bill is a bright boy,
Who is like Bill?
Oft have I marched with him
Up and down hill.
When I hear his voice calling
I follow him still ;
And, standing or falling,
I conquer with Bill !
o>
,m
i
i
it;
i
i m
■ ' If '
78
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
A BEAVER COLONY.
The American Beaver {Castor canadensis) extends over that
part of the American continent included between the Arctic
Circle and the Tropic of Cancer. Owing, however, to the
gradual spread of population over part of this area, and still
more to the enormous number of skins that, towaids the (^nd
of last century and the beginning of the present, were ex-
ported to Europe, — about two hundred thousand annually, —
this species was in imminent danger of extirpation. More
recently, the employment of silk and of the fur of the (South
American coypu in the manufacture of hats, so lessened the
demand for beaver skins that the trapping of these animals
became unprofitable ; and having been little sought after
for many years, they have again become abundant in such
of their old haunts as have not yet been occupied by man.
Solitary beav(^rs, always males, and known as " old bachelors,"
or idlers, are found inhabiting burrows similar to those seen
in Europe. These are generally found in the neighborhood
of new townships, and are su])posed to be individuals that
have remained after the colony had broken up, or that from
some cause or another have been expelled from the society
of their fellows. Tlie American beaver, however, is essentially
social, inhal)iting lakes, ponds, and rivers, as well as those
narrow creeks which connect the lakes together. They gener-
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
70
'i
'ver tiiat
e Arctic
to the
aiid still
the (!ncl
verc ex-
ually, —
More
B South
ned the
animals
t after
in such
•y man.
helors,"
se seen
)or}iood
Is that
't from
society
ntially
those
gener-
ally, however, prefer flowing waters; prohahly on account of
the advantages afibrded ])y the current for transporting the
materials of their dwellings. Tlu^y also prefer deepish water,
no doubt because it yields a better protection from the frost.
When they build in small creeks or rivers, the waters of which
are liable to dry up or to be drained off*, instinct leads them to
the formation of dams. These differ in shape, according to the
nature of particular localities. Where the water has little
motion the dam is almost straight ; where the current is con-
siderable it is curved, with its convexity towards the stream.
The materials made use of are drift-wood, green willows, birch,
and poplars ; also mud and stones intermixed in such a manner
as nmst evidently contribute to the strength of the dam ; l)ut
there is no particular method observed, except that the work
is carried on with a regular sweep, and that all the parts are
made of equal strength. "In places," says Hearne, "which
have been long frequented by beavers undisturbed, their dams,
by frequent repairing, become a solid bank, capable of resisting
a great force both of ice and water ; and as the willow, poi)hu-,
and birch generally take root and shoot up, they by degrees
form a kind of regular planted hedge, which I have seen in
some places so tall that birds have built their nests among the
branches." Their houses are formed of the same materials as
the dams, with little order or regularity of structure, and
seldom contain more than four old and six or eight young
l)eavers. It not unfrequently happens that some of the larger
houses have one or more partitions ; but these are only posts
of the main building, left by the sagacity of the builders to
support the roof, for the apartments, as some call them, have
usually no communication with each other except by water.
The beavers carry the mud and stones with their fore-paws,
and the timber between their teeth. They always work in the
night, and with great expedition. They covca- tlieii- houses
late every autumn with fresh mud, whicli freezing as the frost
sets in, becomes almost as hard as stone, and thus neither
wolves nor wolverines can disturb their well-earned repose.
The favorite food of the American beaver is the plant
called Nitphar luteum (yellow pond-lily) which bears a re-
semblance to a cabbage stalk, and grows at the bottom of lakes
and rivers. They also gnaw the bark of birch, poplar, and
willow trees. But during the bright summer days which
clothe even the far northern regions with a luxuriant vegeta-
i
"'H
t 7"*''
! ^^
• 1 ■
:.||i
III
80
FOURTH BOOK OF UK A DING LESSONS.
tion, a more varied horl)a<:^(i witli tlie addition of berri(!S is con-
sumed. When the ice hn^aks up in sprin*^, they always leave
their embankments and rove about until a little before the fall
of the leaf, when they return again to their old habitations, and
lay in their winter stock of wood. They seldom begin to
repair the houses till the frost sets in, and never finish the
outer coating till the cold becomes pretty severe. When they
erect a new habitation, they fell the wood early in summer, but
seldom begin building till towards the end of August.
EncyclopiBdia Britannica, 9th ed. (1875).
STANZAS.
P. B. Shelley (1792-1822).
And on the stream whose inconstant bosom
Was pranked under boughs of eml)owering blossom,
With golden and green light slanting through
Their heaven of many a tangled hue,
Broad water-lilies lay tremulously,
And starry river-buds glimmered by ;
And around them the soft stream did glide and dance
With a motion of sweet sound and radiance.
And the sinuous paths of lawn and of moss
Which led through the garden along and across,
Some open at once to the sun and the breeze,
Some lost among bowers of blossoming trees,
Were all paved with daisies and asphodel bells
As fair as the fabulous asphodels,
And flowerets which, drooping as day drooped too,
Fell into pavilions, white, purph^, and blue,
To roof the glow-worm from the evening dew.
And from this undefiled paradise
The flowers (as an infant's awakening eyes
Smile on its mother, whose singing sweet
Can first lull and at last must awaken it).
When heaven's blithe winds had unfolded them,
As mine-lai ps enkindle a hidden gem,
Shone smiling to heaven, and every one
Shared joy in the light of the gentle sun.
Sensitive Plant, xi.-xvi. (Written in 1820.)
11
FOURTH liUOK OF READING LEiHSONH.
81
!f(
OLD FUR-TRADINO NABOSa
Washinuton Ikvino (1783- ia59).
To put an end to sordid and ruinous contontions, several of
tho j)rincipal niercluints of Montreal entered into a partner-
ship in the ■winter of 17^<3, which was augmented l»y aninl^'a-
inatiun with a rival Company in 1787. Tlius was created
(he famous " North-West Company," which for a time lu'ld a
lordly sway over tlie wintry lakes and boundless forests of the
Canadas, almost equal to that of the East India Com|)any over
the volujjtuous climes and magnificent realms of the Orient.
The Comjtany consisted of twenty-three shareholders, or
})artners, l)Ut held in its employ about two thousand persons as
cleiks, guides, intcjrpreters, and royayeurs or boatmen. These
were distriljutcd at various trading-posts, established far and
wide on the interior lakes and rivers, at immensi- distances from
one another, and in the heart of trackless countries and savage
tribes.
Several of the partners resided in Montreal and Quebec to
manage the main concerns of the Company. These were called
agents, and were personages of great weight and importance.
The other partners took their stations at the interior posts,
where they remained throughout the winter to superintend the
intercourse with the various tribes of Indians. They were
thence called wintering partners.
The goods destined for this wide and wandering traffic were
put up at the warehouses of the Company in Montreal, and
conveyed in batteaux, or boats and canoes, up the river A tt a w a
o» Ottawa, which falls into the St. Lawience near Montreal,
and by other rivers and portages to Lake Nipissing, Lake
Huron, Lake Superior, and thence, by several chains of great
and small lakes, to Lake Winnipeg, Lake Athabasca, and the
Oreat Slave Lake. This singular and beautiful system of inter-
nal seas, which i-enders an immense region of wilderness so
accessible to the frail bark of the Indian or tlie trader, was
studded by the remote posts of the Company, where they
carried on their traffic with the surrounding tribes.
The Company, as we have shown, wv at tirst a spontaneous
association of merchants; but after t had been regularly
organized, admission into it became - xtremely difficult, A
candidate had to enter, as it w^ere, " before the mast " — to
6
•f
■'•*-
'Ml,
- H?
1 !U
ii
i ■ ■
82
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
undergo a long probation, and to rise slowly by his merits and
services. He began at an early age as clerk, and served an
apprenticeship of seven years, for which he received one
hundred pounds sterling, was maintained at the expense of the
Company, and furnished with suitable clothing and equipments.
His probation was generally passed at the interior trading-
posts ; removed for years from civilized soci(;ty, leading a lifa
almost as wild and precarious as the savages around him ;
exposed to th(3 severities of a northern winter, often suft'ering
from a scarcity of food, and sometimes destitute for a long time
of both bread and salt. When his apprenticeship had expired,
he received a salary according to his deserts, varying from
eighty to one hundred and sixty pounds sterling, and was now
eligible to the great object of his ambition — a partnership in
the Company ; though years might yet elapse before he attained
to that enviable station.
Most of the chirks were young men of good families, from
the Highlands of Scotland, characterized by the perseverance,
thrift, and fidelity of their country, and fitted by their native
hardihood to encounter the rigorous climate of the north, and
to endure the trials and privations of their lot ; though it must
not be concealed that the constitutions of many of them became
impaired by the hardships of the wilderness, and their stomachs
injured by occasional famishing, and especially by the want of
bread and salt. Now and then, at an interval of years, they
were permitted to come down on a visit to the establishment at
Montreal, to recruit their health, and to have a taste of civil-
ized life ; and these were brilliant spots in their existence.
As to the principal partnei's, or agents, who resided at Mon-
treal and Quebec, they formed a kind of commercial aristocracy,
living in lordly and hospitable style. Their early associations,
when clerks at the remote trading-posts, and tlie pleasures,
dangers, adventures, and mishaps which they had shared to-
gether in their wild-wood life, had linked them heartily to one
another, so that they formed a convivial fraternity. Few tra-
vellers that visited Canada some thirty years since [Irving
wrote in 18ii")], in tlu^ days of the M'Tavishes, the M'Cillivrays,
the M'Keuzics, the Frobishers, and the other magnates of the
North- West, when the Company was in all its glory, l>ut nnist
remember the round of feasting and revelry kept up jimimg
these hyperborean nabobs.
►Sometimes one or two i)artners recently from the inti^ior
pn
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS,
83
•its and
rved an
^ed one
e of the
pments.
trading-
U a lif^
<l him ;
juflbring
)ug thne
expired,
iig from
rvas now
rship in
attained
es, from
iverance,
r native
irth, and
1 it must
1 became
tomachs
want of
, they
iment at
of civil-
lice.
at Mon-
tocracy,
ciations,
easures,
ared to-
to one
A'W tra-
[Irviiig
Uivrays,
s of the
lit nnist
amcmg
interior
posts, would make their appearance in New York, in the course
of a tour of pleasure and curiosity. On these occasions there
was always a degree of magnificence of the purse about them,
and a peculiar propensity to expenditure at the goldsmith's and
jeweller's, for rings, chains, brooches, necklaces, jewelled
watdies, and other rich trinkets, partly for their own wear,
partly for presents to their female acquaintances ; a gorgeous
[>rodigality, such as was often to be noticed in former times in
►Soutliern planters and West India Creoles, when flush with the
profits of tluiir plantations.
To behold the North-West Company in all its state and
grandeur, however, it was necessary to witness an .annual
gathering at the great interior place of Conference, established
at Fort William, near what is called the Grand Portage, on
Lake Superior. Here two or three of the kjading partners
frouj Montreal proceeded once a year to meet the partners
from the various trading-posts of the wilderness, to discuss the
alfairs of the Company during the preceding year, and to
arrange plans for the future.
On these occasions might be seen the change since the un-
ceremonious times of the okl French traders : now the aristo-
cratical character of the Briton shone forth magnificently, or
rather the feudal spirit of the Highlander, Every partner who
had charge of an interior post, and a score of rt^tainers at his
command, felt like the cliieftain of a Highland clan, and vv^as
ah)iost as important in the eyes of his dependants as of himself.
To him a visit to the grand Conference at Fort William was a
most important exent, and he repaired there as to a meeting of
Parliament.
Tlie partners from Montreal, however, were tht; lords of the
ascendant ; coming from the midst of luxurious and ostentatious
life, thev (juitt; eclipsed their compc^ers from the woods, whose;
forms and faces liad been liattered and liardened by hard living
and hard service, and wIkaso garments and equi[)mentH wen* all
the worse for wvuv. Indeed, (he partners from lielow con-
sidered the wliole dignity of the Co!H[>any as ri'presented in
their persons, and conducted themsi'lves in suitable style.
They ascended the rivers in great state, like sovereigns making
a progress ; or ratlier, like Highland chieftahis navigating Oieir
subji^c't, lakes. They were wrapped in rich fui's, their huge
canoes freighted with every convenience and luxury, and mann«d
by Caiiadif-n voyageurs, as obedient as Highland clansmen.
sfl
ill
Kkiii
84
FOURTH BOOK oF READING LESSONS.
They carried up with them cooks and bakers, together with
delicacies of every kind, and abundance of choice wines for the
banquets which attended this great convocation. Hai)py were
they, too, if they could meet with some distinguished stranger,
above all, some titled member of the British nobility, to accom-
pany them on this stately occasion and grace tlieir high
s()l(Mnnities,
Fort William, the scene of this important ann'ial meeting,
was a considerable village on the banks of LaAe Superior.
Here, in an immense wood(;n building, was the great council-
hall, as also the bancjuciting- chamber, decorated with Indian
arms and accoutrements, and the trophies of the fur trade.
The house swarmed at this time with traders and voyageurs;
some from Montreal, bound to the interior posts ; some from
the interior posts, bound to INIontrcal, The councils were held
in great state, for (ivery member felt as if sitting in Parliament,
and every retainer and dc^pendant looked up to the assemblage
with awe, as to the House of Lords. There was a vast deal
of solemn dc'lil;eration and hard Scottish reasoning, with an
occasional swidl of i)ompous declamation. These grave and
weighty councils were alternated by huge feasts and revels, like
some of the old feasts described in Highland castles. The
tables in the gn!at bant^ueting-room groan 1 under the weight
of game of all kinds, of \enison from the oods, and fish from
the lakes, with hunters' delicacies, such as buffaloes' tongues
and beavers* tails, and various luxuries from Montreal, all
served up by experienced cooks brought up for the purpose.
There was no stint of generous wine, for it was a hard-drinking
l)eriod, a time of loyal toasts, and bacchanalian songs, and
Ijrimming bumj)ers.
While the chiefs thus re\ riled in the hall, and made the rafters
resound with 1)ursts of loyalty and old Scottish songs, chant(>d
in voices cracked and shat-pened by the northern blast, their
merriment was echocid and prolonged by a mongrel legion of
n^tainers, Canadian xoyagcui's, half-breeds, Indian hunters, and
vagabond liangrrs-on, who ffasted sumptuously without on
the crumbs that fell from tjieir tabl«>, and made the welkin
ring with old French ditties, mingled with Indian yelps and
veilings.
Such was the Korth West Company in its powerful and
jH'osperous days, when it lidd a kind of feudal away over a vast
domain of lake and forest. We are dwi'Uing too long, perhaps.
III
er with
; for the
py were
tranger,
3 acconi-
lir high
iieeting,
luperior.
couiicil-
Inclian
r trade.
y^ageiirs;
ne from
ere held
liaiiient,
.einblage
ast deal
with an
ave and
/els, like
ps. The
weight
1 from
;ongues
['eal, all
lurpose.
k
and
Ir
inking
'g'S
rafters
■luint(^d
st, their
'ion of
rs, and
out on
welkin
ps and
[Ui and
r a vast
)erhaps,
i I
ill
AN OM» TKAPrSR.
I
86
FOURTH Bo.n OF }:ead:nt/ lesions.
upon these individual pict\n 's end-.^ar ^d to us by the associations
of early life, when, as yet a stnpliug youth, we liave sat at the
hospitable boards of the " mighty North-Westers," the lords of
the ascendant at Montreal, and gazed with wondering and in-
experienced eye at the baronial was'^ailing, and listened with
astonished ear to their tales of hardships and adventures. It
is one object of our task, lioweve.-, to present scenes of the
rough life of the wilderness, and we are tempted to fix these
few memorials of a transient state of things fast passing into
oblivion ; for the feudal state of Fort William is at an end,
its council-chamber is silent and deserted, its banquet-hall no
longer echoes to the burst of loyalty or the " auld warld "
ditty, the lords of the lakes and forests have passed away, and
the hospitable magnates of Montreal — where are they ?
Astoria (183(J), chap. i.
• STREAM DESCENDING."
A. H. Clough U«19-1861).
O stream desoending to the sea
Thy mossy ])anks between !
The flow'rei^s blow, the gnusses grow,
Thy leafy trees are green.
In garden plots the children play,
The fields tlie laborers till,
And houses stand on either liand,
And thou descendest still.
O life descending into death !
Our waking eyes behold,
Parent and friend thy laj)se attend.
Companions young and old.
Strong purposes our minds possess,
Our hearts aftections till.
We toil and earn, we seek and learn,
And thou descendest still.
O end to which our currents tend I
Inevital)le soa,
To which we flow, what do we know,
What shall wo guess of thee?
A roar we hear upon thy shore,
As we our course fulHI ;
Scarce we divine a sun will shine
And be abctve us still.
ssociations
sat at, the
le lords of
ng and in-
:ened with
itures. It
nes of the
o fix these
Lssing into
it an end,
let-liall no
Id warld "
away, and
l>), chap. i.
FOURTH LOOK Or' READII^G LEJ30N'3. #
AT THE CLEAR FOTTNTAm.
("Ala Claire Fontaine. ")
[" From the little seven-year old child to the gray-haired old man every-
body in Canada knows this song. There is no Frencn-Canadian song tluit in
this respect will comi»are with it, although the melody is very i)rimitive, and
it has little to interest the musician beyond its great popularity."— Kknst
(Iagnon : Ckansonft Popuhiircs da Canada (18G5).]
It is often sung to a dancing tune, and is even brought into
the fantasies of a concert. It is known in France, and is said
to l)e of Norman origin, although M. Mannier thinks that it came
from La Franche Comt6, and M. Rathery thinks it was brouglit
from Bretagne, under the reign of Louis XIV. In France it lias
nearly the same words, l)ut with this difference, that the French
song expresses the sorrow of a young girl at the loss of her friend
Pierre, while the Canadian lad wastes his regrets upon the rose
that his mistress has rejected. The air ati sung in France is alto-
gether different. Some years since this song in its Oar.adian
dress was brought out in all the principal theatres of Paris
with immense success. This led to a distressing ))urlesque —
"Za Claire Fo7itaine, as they sing it in Farts.'
On the occasion of the visit of the Prince of Wales to
America in 1860, a little incident ocurred c board the Hero,
on the last evening before the landing ct Q'Uf^»ec, that brought
this song and its air into notice upo u much wider field than
liefore. Several prominent Canadiaj > had come on boord, and
as the evening wore away Mr, (after^v:,rds; bir Geoi;:je) Cartier,
a high official in the Colonial Governnurt 'iepped forward and
Ijejjan to sing this sont in a clear and ; leloi'ious voice.
The chorus was easily picked up by the listeners, and after
once hearing it a few voices joined in ; at first in subdued and
gentle murmur, but at each return more clear and strong, until
at the end the whole party were in ful< accord and singing witli
enthusiasm the oft repeated declaration --
'* II y a longtomps nuo je t'aiino,
Jamais je ne roublierai."—
I loved thee h'om the hour we met,
And never can that luve f('V(T,jt.
From this time on\-ard till the end of the Prnsce's joamey
in America, tliis simple inelody became the favorite piece, or
svas brought in as an accouipaniment to other music, at recep-
ft
■
m
m
<::M
88
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
tions and parties, and, in short, upon all occasions wherever
music was in ordci-; and for this reason it is now lietter known
outsi(h) of Canada than all the rest of French-(*anadian soni^'s
put tof^ethcr.
As by the crystal fount I strayed,
On which the dancing moonbeams played.
The water seemed so clear and bright,
I bathed myself in its delight :
I loved thee from the hour we met,
And never can that love forget.
The water seemed so clear and bright,
I bathed myself in its delight :
The nightingale above my head,
As sweet a stream of music shed.
The nightingale above my head.
As sweet a stream of music shed ; —
Sing, nightingale, thy heart is glad,
But I could weep, for mine is sad.
Sing, nightingale, thy heart is glad,
But I could weep, for mine is sad ;
For I have lost my lady fair.
And she has left me in despair.
For I have lost my lady fair,
And she has left me in despair ;
For tliat I gave not when she spoke,
The rose that from its tree I broke.
For that I gave not when she spoke,
The rose that from its tree I broke :
I wish the rose were on the tree,
And my beloved again with mo.
I wish tlie rose were on its tree,
And my beloved again with me ;
Or that the tree itself were cast
Into the sea before this passed.
I loved tliee from the hour we met,
And never can that love forget.
F. v.. Uovgh: Tfic Thoiismxl Islamh (19:9,0).
II i
FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
89
■;i
GALISSONIERE AND BIOOT.
William Kirby.
[The following sketches are taken from Mr. Kirby's charming romance The
Chicn d'Or (The GoMm Doij) : A Lrurvd of QuiUc '(1H77). The scene is laid
in the reign of Louis XV., a.d. 1748. The story takes its name from the dog,
sculptured and gilded, and enigmatically inscribed, which surmounted the
doorway to Philibert's great trading depot in (i>uebec. Philibert was the
determined opjument of tlie Inten«lant I^igot, whose i)rofligate waste of
colonial resources greatly contributed to the military disaster of 17r)9. Bigot's
career has furnished also to M. Josej)h IMaimette of (Quebec the ground-
work of his historical novel LTntcridant JJif/dt. The jntendant was the
highest executive officer, next to the (iovernor : he had the superintendence of
justice, police, finance, and marine. Bigot was the fourteenth and last Intend-
ant of Canada,— 1748-1759.]
Rolland Michel Barrin, Count do la Galissoniere, was remark-
able no less for his philosophical attainments, that ranked him
high among the savans of the French Academy, than for his
political abilities and foresight as a statesman. He felt strongly
the vital interests involved in the present war, and saw clearly
what was the sole policy necessary for France to adopt in order
to preserve her magnificent dominion in North America. His
counsels were neither liked nor followed by the Court of Ver-
sailles, then sinking fast into the slough of corrui)tion that
marked th(» closing years of the reign of Louis XV.
Among the people who admired deeds more than words the
Count was honored as a brave and skilful admiral, who had
borne the flag of France triumphantly oxor the seas, and 1 1 the
face of her most powerful enemies, the English and the Dutch. His
memorable repulse of Admiral Byng, eight years after the events
here recorded, which led to the death of that brave but unfor-
tunate officer, who was shot by a sentence of court martial to
atone for that repulse, was a glory to France, l)ut to the Count
brought after it a manly son'ow for the fate of his opponent,
whose death he regarded ns a cruel and unjust act, unworthy of
the English nation, usually as generous and merciful as it is
brave and considerate.
The Governor was already advanced in year.s. He had en-
tered upon the winter of life that sprinkles the head with snow
that never melts ; but he was still hale, ruddy, and active.
Katuro had, indeed, moulded him in an unpropitious hour for
personal comeliness; but in compensation she had seated a great
heart and a graceful mind in a body low of stature, and marked
by a slight deformity. His piercing eyes, luminous with intelli-
s]
• id
4
li'if
|J :
I' ' 1 1
I
ri
90
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
goncc and full of sympathy for everything nohle and elevated,
overpowered with thenr fascination the Itlemishes that a too
curious scrutiny might discover upon his fig\ire ; while his
mobile, handsome lips, poured out the natural eloquence of clear
thoughts and nohle sentiments. The Count grew great while
speaking; his listeners w(!re carried away by the mngic of his
voice and the clearness of his intellect.
Chien d'Or, chap. i.
At the head of the table, first in place as in rank, sat
Fran(jois Bigot, Intendant of New France. His low, well-set
figure, dark hair, small keen black eyes, and swarthy features,
full of fire and animation, bespoke his Gascon blood. His
countenances was far from comely — nay, when in repose, even
ugly and repulsive, — but his eyes were magnets that drew
men's looks towards him, for in them lay the force of a power-
ful will, and a depth and subtlety of intellect, that made men
fear, if they could not love him. Yet when he chose — and it
was his usual mood — to exercise his l)landishments on men, he
rarely failed to captivate them ; while his pleasant wit, courtly
ways, and natural gallantry towards women, exercised with the
polished seductiveness he had learned in the Court of Louis
XV., made Frani^'ois Bigot the most plausible and dangerous
man in France.
He was fond of wine and music, passionately addicted to
gambling, and devoted to the pleasant vices that were rampant
in the Court of France. Finely educated, able in the conduct of
affairs, and fertile in his expedients to accomplish his ends,
Fran(4'ois Bigot might have saved New France had he been
honest as he was clever ; but he was unprincipled and corrupt.
No conscience checked his ambition or his love of pleasure. He
ruined New France for the sake of himself and his patroness,
and the crowd of courtiers and frail beauties who surrounded
the King, and whose arts and influence kept him in high office
despite all the efforts of the good and true men of the colony
to remove him.
He had already ruined and lost the ancient colony of Acadia
through his frauds and malversations as Chief Commissary of
the Army ; and, instead of being subjected to trial and punish-
ment, he had lately been exalted to the higher and still more
important office of the Royal Intendant of New France.
Chien d^Or, cli.ap. vii.
elevated,
at a too
Au\o his
) of el(^ar
at while
ic of his
chap. i.
'ank, sat
, well-set
features,
0(1. His
ose, even
lat drew
a power-
lade men
; — and it
1 men, he
t, courtly
with the
of Louis
langerous
dieted to
rampant
nduct of
his ends,
he been
corrupt,
lure. He
atroness,
rrounded
ifjh office
le colony
)f Acadia
iiissary of
[\ punish-
kill more
je.
Hiap. vii.
FOURTH HOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
91
PART 11.
They brand us, and they beat us ; they spill our
Ijlood like water ;
We die that they may live, ten thousand in a
day!
O that they had mercy ! for in their dens of s]au_£,diter
Tliey afflict us and atlVight us, and do far worse than slay.
We are made to be their servants — we know it, and complain
not ;
We bow our necks with meekness the galling yoke to bear.
m
m
i
«tnm
92
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
Tlieir heaviest toil we lighten, the meanest we disdain not;
In all their sweat and labor we take a willing share.
We know that God intended for us but servile stations, —
To toil to bear man's burdens, to watch beside his door;
They are of Earth the masters, we are their poor relations,
Who grudge them not their greatness, but help to make it
more.
And in return we ask but that they would kindly use us
For the purposes of service, for that for which we're made ;
That they would teach their children to love and not abuse us,
So each might face the other, and neither be afraid.
We have a sense they know not, or else have dulled by
learning, —
They call it instinct only, a thing of rule and plan ;
But oft, when reason fails them, our clear, direct discerning,
And the love that is within us, have sa\ed the life of man.
If they would but love us, would learn our strength and
weakness.
If only with our sufferings their hearts could sympathize.
Then they would know what truth is, what patience io and
meekness,
And read our heart's devotion in the softness of our eyes !
If they would but teach their children to treat the subject
creatures
As hjmble friends, as servants who strive their love to win,
Then would they see how joyous, how kindly are our natures,
And a second day of Eden would on the Earth begin !
Mau\ Howm (h. 1S04): Som/s of Animal Life.
wh
CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.
Thomas Chalmeus, D.D. (1780-1847).
Man is the direct agent of a wide and continual distress to
the lower animals ; and the question is, " Can any method be
devised for its alleviation?" On this siil)ject that scriptural
ot;
ins.
make it
IS
made ;
buse us,
illed by
-ning,
f man.
fjth and
;hize,
'J, and
[eyes !
subject
to win,
jatures,
1
\,al Life.
stress to
[thod be
iriptural
FOURTH liOOK OF UFA Dim; LESSONS.
93
4
^ if
image is strikingly realized : " the whol<' [inferior] creation
groaning and travailing together in pain " because oi him. It
signifies naught to thti substantive amount of the sufl'ering
whether it be prompted by the hardness of his heart, or only
permitted through the heedlessness of his mind. In either way
it holds true, not only that the arch-devourer ]\Ian stands pre-
eminent over the fiercest children of the wildenu^ss as an
animal of prey, but that for his lordly and luxurious a})})(;tite,
as well as for his service or merest curiosity and amus(!ment,
Naturt' must be ransacked throughout all her elements. Rather
than forego the veriest gratifications of vanity, he will wring
them from the anguish of wretched and ill-fated creatures ; and
whether for the indulgence of his barl)aric sensuality or his
baibaric splendor, he can stalk paramount* over the suflcrings
of that prostrate creation which has been placed beneath his
fei^t.
These sulFerings are really felt. The beasts of the field are
not so many automata,! without sensation, so constructed as to
assume all the natural expressions of it. Nature hath not
l)iiictised this universal deception upon our species. These
poor animals just look, and tremble, and give forth the very
indications of suffering that we do. Theirs is the distinct cry
of pain. Theirs is the unequivocal physiognomy J of pain.
They put on the same aspect of terror on the demonstrations of
a menaced blow. They exhibit the same distortions of agony
aiter the infliction of it. The bruise, or the burn, or the;
fracture, or the deep incision, or the fierce encounter with one
of equal or of superior strength, affects them similarly to our-
selves. Their blood circulates as ours. They have pulsations
in various parts of the body as we have. They sicken, and they
grow feeble with age, and finally they die, just as we do.
They possess the same feelings ; and, what exposes them to
like sufferings from another quarter, they possess the same,
instincts with our own species. The lioness robbed of her
wh(4ps causes the wilderness to ring aloud with the proclama-
tion of her wrongs; or the bird whos<' litth! household has been
stolen fills and saddens all the grove with melodies of deej»est
pathos. All this is palpable even to the general and unlearned
* Paramount, originally an adverbial jihrase derived from the old French
IHir amont, at the top. — Skeat'h Ffinnofunical Dictionary (1882).
t Automata (i)l. ol automaton), self-acting machines.
i I'unnstakable expression.
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FOUMTIt BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
eye ; and when tho physiologist lays open the recesses of their
.system, by means of that scalpel under whose operation they
just shrink and are convulsed as any living subject of our own
"species, there stands forth to view the same sentient apparatus,*
and furnished with the same conductors for the transmission of
feeling from every minutest pore upon the surface.
Theirs is unmixed and unmitigated pain, the agonies of mar-
tyrdom without the alleviation of the hopes and the sentiments
whereof men are capable. When they lay them down to die,
their only fellowship is with suffering ; for in the prison-house
of their beset and l)0unded faculties no relief can be afforded Ijy
coummnion with other interests or other things. The attention
does not lighten their distress, as it does that of man by carry-
ing off his spirit from that existing pungcmcy and pressure which
might else be overwhelming. There is but room in their
mysterious economy for one inmate, and that is the absorl)ing
sense of their own single and concentrated anguish. And so
on that bed of torment whereon the wounded animal lingers
and expires there is an unexplored depth and intensity of suf-
fering, which the poor dumb animal itself cannot tell, and
against which it can offer no remonstrance — an untold and
unknown amount of wretchedness, of which no articulate voice
gives utterance.
"FARMED OUT."
Charles Dickens (1812-1870).
[In Oliver Twist Dickons exposed the abuses of the parish-relief and work-
house system. The gi'eater part of this tale oricfinally appeared in Bcntley'a
Magazine (1837-38), of which Dick'^ns was the editor.]
Oliver Twist was brought up by hand. The hungry and
destitute situation of the infant orphan was duly reported by
the workhouse authorities to the pai'ish authorities. The
parish authorities inquired with dignity of the workhouse
authorities whether there was no female then domiciled " in the
house" who was in a situation to impart to Oliver Twist the
consolation aiui noai shment of which he stood in need. The
workhouse authorities replied w^th humility that there was not.
Upon this the parish authorities magnanijuously and humanely
resolved that Oliver should i>e "farmed," or, in other words,
* Nervous system.
' 'W ■
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
95
that he should be despatched to a branch workhouse some tLree
miles off, where twenty or thirty other juvenile offenders against
the poor-laws rolled about the floor all day, without the incon-
venience of too much food or too much clothing, under the
parental superintendence of an elderly female, who received the
culprits at and for the consideration of sevenpence-halfpenny
per small head per week
Boys have gi^nerally excellent appetites. Oliver Twist and
his companions suffered the tortures of slow starvation for thi-ee
months. At last they got so voracious and wild with hunger,
that one boy, who was tall for his age, and hadn't been used to
that sort of thing (for his father had kept a small cook-shop),
hinted darkly to his companions that unless he had another
basm of gruel per diem, he was afraid he might some night
happen to eat the boy who slept next him, who happened to be
a weakly youth of tender age. He had a wild, hungry eye, and
they implicitly believed him. A council was held ; lots were
cast who should walk up to the master after supper that
evening and ask for more, and it fell to Oliver Twist.
The evening arrived ; the boys took their places. The master,
in his cook's uniform, stationed himself at the copper ; his-
pauper assistants ranged themselves behind him ; the gruel was
served out, and a long grace was said over the short commons.
The gruel disappeared ; the boys whispered to one another and
winked at Oliver, while his next neighbors nudged him.
Child as he was, he was desperate with hunger and reckless
with misery. He rose from the table, and, advancing to the
master, basin and spoon in hand, said, somewhat alarmed at
his own temerity, "Please, sir, I want some more."
" What ? " said the master, in a faint voice.
"Please, sir," replied Oliver, "I want some more."
The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with the ladle,
pinioned him in his arms, and shrieked aloud for the beadle.
Th(} board were sitting in solemn conclave, when Mr. Bumble
rushed into the room in great excitement, and addressing the
gentleman in the high chair, said, —
" Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir ! Oliver Twist has
asked for more ! "
There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every
countenance.
"For mo'/r/" said Mr. Limbkins. "Compost^ yourself,
Bumble, and answer nif distinctly. Do I understand that Ik;
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asked for more, after he had eaten the supper allotted by the
dietary ? "
" He did, sir," replied Bumble.
"That boy will be hung," said the gentleman in the white
waistcoat. " I know that boy will be hung."
Nobody controverted the prophetic gentleman's opinion. An
animated discussion took place. Oliver was ordered into instant
confinement; and a bill was next morning pasted on the outside
of the gate, offering a reward of five pounds to anybody wlio
would take Oliver Twist oif the hands of the parish.
Oliver Twist, chap. ii.
ON CHARLES DICKENS.
Dean Stanley.
When the little workhouse boy wins his way, pure and unde-
tiled, through the mass of wickedness in the midst of which he
passes — when the little orphan girl brings thoughts of heaven
into the hearts of all around her, and is as the very gift of God
to the old man whose desolate life she cheers — when the little
cripple not only blesses his father's needy home, but softens the
rude stranger's hardened conscience* — there is a lesson taught
which touches every heart, which no human being can feel
without being the better for it, which makes that grave seem
to those who crowd around it as though it were the very grave
of those little innocents whom he had thus created for our
companionship, for our instruction, for our delight and solace.
He labored to tell us all, in new, very new words, the old, old
story, that there is, even in the worst, a capacity for goodness,
a soul worth redeeming, worth reclaiming, worth regenerating.
He labored to tell the rich, the educated, how this better side
was to be found and respected even in the most neglected Laza-
rus. He labored to tell the poor ro less to resi)ect this better
part in themselves, — to remember t.at they also have a call to
be good and just, if they will but hear it. If by any such
niea.ns he has brought rich and poor together, and made Eng-
lishmen feel more nearly as one family, he will not, assuredly,
have lived in vain ; nor will his l)ones in vain have been laid in
this home anc^ hearth of the English nation.
FnmrnJ Sermon, Wistmintitf-r Ahhcii, Jane 10, 1870,
* The characters here alhided to are, Oliver Tirixf, in the novel to which he
frives his name; Little Nell Trent, in the *' Old Curiosity Shop;" Tiny Tim
Vratehit, in the " Christniaa Carol."
1870.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESHONii. 1)7
THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN.
Elizabeth Bakreit Browning (1809-1861).
[The publication of this ix)werful appeal directed public attention to the
employment of young children in factories and coal-mmes, and promoted the
l)assing of the recent Factory Acts, w^hich place factory children under the
direct supervision of the. Government, and i)rovide intervals for their rest and
education.
Mrs. Browning's defects consist in the use of false ihymes, far-fetched
words, and obscure constructions. "Yet in sinte of all deductions that can
be made — deductions, be it remembered, which are sometimes to be counted
against the reader, and only sometimes against the poetess — she remains an
attractive and delightful personage, and she has stamped enough of herself
upon her poetry to give it an enduring charm. Her deep tenderness and
genuineness of feeling, showing themselves in such ])()ems ari the Crii of the
Children and Cowper's Grave, will never fail of their rightful power."— William
T. Arnold.]
Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
Ere the sorrow comes with years ?
They ai'e leaning their young heads against their mothers,
And that cannot stop their tears.
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows.
The young birds are chirping in the nest.
The young fawns are playing with the shadows.
The young flowers are blowing toward the west;
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly !
They are weeping in the playtime of the others,
In the country of the free.
Do you question the young children in the sorrow,
Why their tears are falling so 1
The old man may weep for his to-morrow
Which is lost m Long Ago.
The old tree is leafless in the forest.
The old year is ending in the frost,
The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest,
The old hope is hardest to be lost;
But the young, young children, O my brothers.
Do you ask them why they stand
Weeping sore befon^ the bosoms of their mothers,
In our happy Fatherland 1
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
They look up with their pule and sunken faces,
And their looks are sad to see,
For the man's hoary anguish draws and presses
Down the cheeks of infancy.
« Your old earth," they say, " is very dreary ;
Our young feet," they say, "are very weak !
Bew paces have we taken, yet are weary —
Oui* grave-rest is very far to seek.
Ask tiie aged why they weep, and not the children ;
For the outside earth is cold ;
And we young ones stand without, in our bewildering.
And the graves are for the old."
"True," say the children, "it may happen
That we die before our time.
Little Alice died last year — her grave is shapen
Like a snowball in the rime.
We looked into the pit prepared to take her.
Was no room for any work in the close clay !
From the sleep wherein she lietli none will wake her.
Crying, 'Get up, little Alice, it is day.'
If you listen by that grave in sun and shower,
With your ear down, little Alice never cries.
Could we see her, be sure we should not know her,
For the smile has time for growing in her eyes.
And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled in
The shroud by the kirk-chime !
It 13 good when it happens," say the children,
" That we die before our time."
.\las ! alas the children ! they are seeking
Death in life, as best to have.
"I'hey are binding up their hearts away from breaking,
With a cerem(3nt from the grave.
Go out, children, from the mine and from the city ;
Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do.
Pluck your handf uls of the meadow-cowslips pretty ;
Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through !
But they answer, " Are your cowslips of the meadows
Like our weeds anear the mine?
Leave us (juiet in tin; dark of the coal-shadows.
From your pleasures fair and fine !
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" For oh," say the children, " we are weary
And we cannot run or leap.
If we cared for any meadows, it were merely
To drop down in them and sleep.
Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping,
We fall upon our faces, trying to go ;
And underneath our heavy eyelids drooping.
The reddest flower would look as pale as snow.
For, all day, we drag our burdens tiring
Through the coal-dark underground —
Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron
In the factories, round and round.
" For, all day, the wheels are droning, turning —
Their wind comes in our faces —
Till our hearts turn — our head, with pulses burning.
And the walls turn in their places.
Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling,
Turns the long light that drops adown the wall.
Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling, —
All are turning, all the day, and we with all.
And, all day, the iron wheels are droning.
And sometimes we could pray,
" O ye wheels " (breaking out in a mad moaning),
" Stop ! be silent for to-day ! "
Ay, be silent ! Let them hear each other breathing
For a moment, mouth to mouth !
Let them touch each other's hands in a fresh wreathing
Of their tender human youth !
Let them feel that this cold metallic motion
Is not all the life God fashions or reveals.
Let them prove their living souls against the notion
That they live in you, or under you, O wheels ! —
Still, all day, the iron v*'heels go onward.
Grinding life down from its mark ;
And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward,
Spin on blindly in the dark.
Now tell the poor young children, O my brothers,
To look up to Him and pray ;
So the Blessed One who blesseth all the others,
Will bless them another day.
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They answer : "Who is God, that he should hear us,
While the rushing of the iron wheel is stirred ?
When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us
Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word.
And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding;
Strangers speaking at the door.
Is it likely God, with angels singing round him.
Hears our weeping any more %
" TNvo words, indeed, of praying we remember.
And at midnight's hour of harm,
' Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber.
We say softly for a charm."*
We know no other words, except ' Our Father,'
And we think that, in some pause of angels' song,
God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather.
And hold both within his right hand which is strong.
* Our Father ! ' if he heard us, he would surely
(For they call him good and mild)
Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely,
' Come and rest with me, my child.'
" But no ! " say the children, weeping faster,
" He is speechless as a stone.
And they tell us, of His images is the Master
Who commands us to work on.
Go to ! " say the children — " ufy in heaven.
Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find.
Do not ruo<3k us; grief has made us unbelieving, —
W^e look up for God, but tears have made us blind."
Do you hear the children weeping and disproving,
O my brothers, what ye preach?
For God's possible is taught by his world's loving.
And the children doubt of each.
And well may the children weep before you !
They are weary ere they run ;
They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory
Which is brighter than the sun.
Thoy know the grief of man, without his wisdom ;
They sink in man's despair, without its calm ;
* A fact rendered pathetically historical by Mr. Home's report of his com-
mission.
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSON'S. 101
Are slaves, without the liberty, in Christdom ;
Are martyrs, by the pnng, without the palm ;
Are worn, as if with age, yet unretrievingly
The harvest of its memories cannot reap ;
Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly ; —
Let them weep ! let them weep !
They look up with their pale and sunken face?
And their look is dread to see ;
For chey mind you of their angels in high places.
With eyes turned on Deity !
" How long," they say, " how long, O cruel nation !
Will you stand, to move the world, on a child's heart ;
Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation.
And tread onward to your throne amid the mart 1
Our blood splashes upward, O gold-heaper,
And your purple shows your path ;
But the child's sob in the silence curses deeper
Than the strong man in his wrath."
LILLIPUTIAN TAILORS AND GOOES.
Jonathan (Dean) Swift (1667-1745).
It may perhaps divert the curious reader to give some account
of my domestics, and my manner of living in this country during
a residence of nine months and thirteen days.
Having a head ir>echanif^ally turned, and being likewise forced
by necessity, I had made for myself a table and chair convenient
enough out of the largest trees in the royal park. Two hundred
seamstresses were employed to make me shirts, and linen for
my bed and tt.ble, all of the strongest and coarsest kind they
could get, which, however, they were forced to quilt together in
several folds, for the thickest was some degrees finer than lawn.
. Their linen is usually three inches wide, and three feet make a
piece. The seamstresses took my measure as I lay on the
ground, one standing at my neck and another at my knee, with
a strong cord extended, that each hell by the end, while a third
measured the length of the cord with a rule an inch long. Then
they measured my right thumb, and desired no more ; for, by a
mathematical computation that twice round the thumb is once
round the wrist, arid so on to the neck and the waist, and by the
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
Iieip of my old shirt, which 1 displayed on the ground before
them for a pattern, they fitted me exactly.
Three hundred tailors were employed in the same manner to
make me clothes ; but they had another contrivance for taking
my measure. I kneeled down, and they raised a ladder from
the ground to my neck. Upon this ladder on(» of them mounted,
and let fall a plumb-line from my collar to the floor, which just
answered the length of my coat; but my waist and arms I
measured myself. When my clothes were finished, which was
done in my house (for the largest of theirs would not have been
able to hold them), they looked like the patchwork made by the
ladies in England, only that mine were all of a color.
I had three hundred cooks to dress my victuals, in little con-
venient huts built about my house, where they and their fam-
ilies lived, and prepared me two dishes apiece. I took up
twenty waiters in my hand and placed them on the table ; a
hundred more attended below on the ground, some with dishes
of meat, and some with barrels of wine and other liquors slung
on their shoulders, all which the waiters above drew up, as I
wanted, in a very ingenious manner by certain cords, as we draw
the bucket up a well in Europe. A dish of their meat was a
good mouthful, and a barrel of their liquor a reasonable draught.
Their mutton yields to ours, but their beef is excellent. I have
had a sirloin so large that I have been forced to make three
bites of it ; but this is rare. My servants were astonished to
see me eat it bones and all, as in our country we do the leg of
a lark. Their geese and turkeys I usually ate at a mouthful,
and I confess they far exceed ours. Of their smaller fowl I
could take up twenty or thirty at the end of my knife.
Travels of Lemuel Gulliver (1726).
THE CHARACTER OF SWIFT.
W. M. Thackeray (1811-18G3).
To have had so much love, he must have given some. Treas-
ures of wit and wisdom, and tenderness too, must that man
have had locked up in the caverns of his gloomy heart, and
shown fitfully to one or two whom he took in there. But it
was not good to visit that place. People did not remain there
long, and suffered for having been there. He shrank away
from all affections sooner or later. Stella and Vanessa both
FOURTH BOOK OF READTNO LKSSONS.
103
died near him, and away from him. He had not heart enougli
to see them die. He broke from liis fastest friend, Sheridan;
he slunk away from liis fondest admirer, Pope. His laugli
jars on one's ear after sevenscorc years. He was always
alone — alone and gnashing in the darkness — except when
Stella's sweet smile came and shone upon him. When that
went, silence and utter night closed over him. An immense
genius: an awful downfall and ruin! So great a man he seems
to me, that tliinking of him is like thinking of an empire fall-
ing. We have other great names to mention — none, I think,
however, so great or so gloomy.
English Humorists of Eighteenth Century.
"MT LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE."
Richard Henry Wilde (1789-1847).
My life is like the summer rose
That opens to the morning sky,
But ere the shades of evening close.
Is scattered on the ground — to die.
Yet on the rose's humble bed
The sweetest dews of night are shed.
As if she wept the waste to see —
But none shall weep a tear for me !
My life is like the autumn leaf.
That trembles in the moon's j^ale ray ;
Its hold is frail, its date is brief,
Restless — and soon to pass away !
Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade,
The parent tree will mourn its shade.
The winds bewail the leafless tree —
But none shall breathe a sigh for me !
My life is like the prints which feet
Have left on Tampa's desert strand ;*
Soon as the rising tide shall beat.
All trace will vanish from the sand.
Yet, as if grieving to efface
All vestige of the human race.
On that lone shore loud moans the sea —
But none, alas ! shall mourn for me !
* Tampa is on the Gulf coast of Florida,
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
SHAKSPEARE'S ''KING JOHN."
The Framework of the PJay.
When John seized the English throne, Philip of France re-
solved to defend the cause of young Arthur, who was the right-
ful heir, for his father Geoffrey was John's elder brother. Be-
fore they liad heen at war very long, John and Philip were
reconciled, in consequence of the marriage of the dauphin with
John's niece, the Lady Blanch. When Constance, Arthur's
mother, heard of this she was greatly disappointed, and in an
agony of wounded pride she threw herself on the ground and
wept bitterly.
Soon afterwards tiie Pope quarrelled with King John, and
called on King Philip to be his champion. At first Philip was
unwilling to take up the cause, but he afterwards yielded, and
declared that he abandoned the friendship of the King of Eng-
land. They then took to arms again, and in the first encounter,
before Angiers in France, John seized the person of his young
nephew Arthur, and conveyed him as a prisoner to his camp,
placing him under the strict watch of one of his lords named
Hubert.
Great was the grief of Philip of France when he found that
the battle was lost to him, Angiers taken, and Arthur made
prisoner ; but it was as nothing compared with the grief of the
Lady Constance, who seemed as one distracted. When Pan-
du'ph, the cardinal, and King Philip rebuked her for giving
way to grief, she answered, —
" Grief fills the room up of my absent child.
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words.
Remembers me of all his gracious parts.
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form ;
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief ?
Fare you well : had you such a loss as I,
I could give better comfort than you do."
Act iii. scene 4. ,
We must now pass to a castle in England, whither the poor
little prisoner had been conveyed by the command of his in-
human uncle. John had already declared to Hubert that hq
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105
should have no rest until the Imy's life; had boon takon • ' it in
the first place he commandod Hubert to put out his eyes with
red-hot irons. In one of the rooms of the castle two attxnidants
were making preparations for this terrible deed. Bidding them
await a signal, whereupon they were to rush in and bind the
boy, Hubert called his prisoner to him. His innocent face
moved him to pity, and with a great effort he handed him a
paper, on which his sentence was clearly written. Arthur
could hardly believe that it would indeed bo carried out, and
he cried, —
" Have you the heart ? When your head did but ache,
T knit my handkerchief about your brows,
(The best I had, — a princess wrought it me,)
And I did never ask it you again ;
And with my hand at midnight held your head ;
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour.
Still and anon cheered up the heavy time,
Saying, 'What lack you?' and, 'Where lies your grief '?'
Or, * What good love may I perform for you V
Many a poor man's son would have lien still,
And ne'er havo spoke a loving word to you ;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love.
And call it cunning : do, an if you will :
If Heaven be pleased that you must use me ill,
Why then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes?
These eyes that never did, nor never shall,
So much as frown on you." ^ , .
" Act. IV. scene 1.
Declaring that he had pledged himself by an oath, Hubert
stamped on the floor, and the attendants rushed in with cords
to bind the unhappy boy, and with the heated irons with which
his eyes were to be put out ; but Arthur still expected pro-
tection from his keeper, and clinging to him, cried, —
" Oh, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes are out
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men."
Act iv. scene 1.
So pathetic were his entreaties, so earnestly did the child
plead for himself, that Hubert ordered the men away, and at
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length promised that his eyes should not be put out : but he
said, — "Your uncle must not know but you arc dead." For
well did he understand the vindictive hatred his royal master
felt towards his brother's son.
Meanwhile, it had pleased King John to be crowned a second
time, thinking thereby to make his seat upon the throne more
secure, even though his lords told him it was superfluous ; indeed
the Earl cf Salisbury declared that —
" To guard * a title that was rich before,
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily.
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
To seek the beauteous eyes of heaven to garnish,
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess."
Act iv. scene 2.
The King was conversing with his courtiers, when Hubert
arrived to say that the young Prince Arthur was dead. The
Earls of Peml3roke and Salisbury, suspecting that the King had
not been guiltless, left his presence, resolved to inquire into the
cause of the child's death. Even as they departed, a messenger
* Guard, ornauient with a border.
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
107
came hurrying in to toll the news of tlio arrival of a Froneb
force under the command of the dauphin. It was ill news to
the ears of John, and as he pondered over it Hubert nventered
the apartment. The King, now greatly alarmed, hlamed Hubert
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ubert
The
had
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enger
for having put Arthur to death. Hubert reminded him of his
commands ; but the King said that Hubert himself had insti-
gated the murder. Seeing liim in this mood, Hubert now
ventured to tell his sovereign that Arthur was alive. On hear-
ing that, John bade him hasten and bring back the angry lords,
that they might know the truth.
At that very time the poor captive boy was standing on the
wall of the castle, thinking it would be a happy ending of his
sorrows if he had courage to leap from the height. Tlie idea
was terrible to him, for he was young and timid. He thougi\t,
however, that though the wall was high, the leap might not
kill him, and that if he reached the ground uninjured, it would
be easy to get away to some safe place of hiding ; so he sprang
from the castle wall, but so terribly was he injured that he died
there upon the hard stones. By this time the Earls of Pem-
broke and Salisbury had reached the castle, determined on dis-
covering the true fate of the young prince ; and when they
saw the bruised and bleeding body lying beneath the castle wall,
they believed he had been murdered.
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Hubert found them there, and in his haste, knowing nothing
of what had befallen the child, he cried, " Arthur doth live !
The King hath sent for you." For answer the indignant lords
pointed to the lifeless corpse, charging him with the murder ;
but Hubert declared that he was innocent, and that, but an
hour before, he had left the young prince alive and well.
King John had by this time reconciled himself to Rome ;
whereon Cardinal Pandulph, the Pope's legate, undertook to
dismiss the French troops already landed. But the dauphin
would not lay down his arms ; and a great battle ensued, in
which the English fared so badly that John declared himself
sick at heart, and he retreated before the fall of night had put
an end to the combat. Hated by his nobles, forsaken by his
friends, he was of all men the most unhappy, while his con-
science was troubled by the remembrance of his many crimes :
d, fever attacked him, from which he died at Newark Castle ;
and he was buried at Worcester, as he had desired.
THE FOUR OHEATEST ENGLISH POETS.
William Hazlitt (1778-1830).
The four greatest names in English poetry are almost the
first four we come to, — Chaucer, Spenser, Shakspeare, and
Milton. There are no others that can really be put in compe-
tition with these. The two last have had justice done them by
the voice of common fame. In comparing these four writers
together, it might be said that Chaucer excels as the poet of
manners, or of real life; Spenser, as the poet of romance; Shak-
speare, as the poet of nature (in the largest use of the term) ;
and Milton, as the poet of morality. Chaucer most frequently
describes things as they are; Spenser, as we wish them to be,
Shakspeare, as they would be ; and Milton, as they ought to b?.
As poets, and as great poets, imagination — that is, the power
of feigning things according to nature — was common to them
all ; but the principle, or moving power, to which this faculty
was most subservient, in Chaucer was habit, or inveterate prej-
udice; in Spenser, novelty, and the love of the marvellous; in
Shakspeare, it was the force of passion, combined with every
variety of possible circumstance; and in Milton, only with the
highest. The characteristic of Chaucer is intensity; of Spenser,
remoteness; of Milton, elevation; of Shakspeare, everything!
Lcdurea on the Emjlhh Poets.
us; in
every
th the
ing
Poets,
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LEHSONS.
109
KING JOHN.
William Shakspeare (1564-1616).
Act IV. Scene 1 : England. A Room in Northampton
Castle.*
Enter Hubert and Executioners.
Hub. Heat me these irons hot ; and look thou stand
Within the arras : f when I strike my foot
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth,
And bind the boy which you shall lind with me
Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch.
Firiiii Exec. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed.
Ihcb. Uncleanly scruples ! fear not you : look to't. —
[Exeunt Executioners.
Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you.
Enter Arthur.
Arth. Good morrow, Hubert.
Hub. Gr jd morrow, little prince.
Arth. As little prince (having so great a title
To bo more prince) as may be. — You are sad.
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.
Arth. Mercy on me !
Methinks nobody should be sad but 1 ;
Yet, I remember, when I was m France,
Young gentlcincii would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom,
So I were out of prison and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long ;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me :
He is afraid of me, and I of him :
Is it my fault that 1 was Getfrey's son ?
No, indeed, is't not ; and I would to Heaven
I were your son, so you would lovt^ me, Hubert.
Hub. [Amkl^ If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead :
Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch.
* Shakspearo here departs from the historical narrative. Arthur was
imprisoned at Falaise (Normandy), and was thence removed to Koueu.
t See glossary at end of lesson.
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Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day :
111 sooth, I would you wero a little sick.
That I might sit all night and watch with you :
I warrant I love you more than you do me.
Hub. [Aside] His words do take possession of my bosom. —
Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paj)er,
[Aside] How now, foolish rheum !
Turning dispiteous torture out of door !
I must be brief, lest resolution drop
Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears. —
Can you not read it 1 is it not fair writ 1
Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul eftect :
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ?
Huh. Young boy, I must.
Arth. And will you ?
Hid). And I will.
Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did but ache,
I knit my handkerchief about your brows,
(The best I had, — a princess >vrought it me,)
And I did never ask it you again ;
And with my hand at midnight held your head ;
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,
Still and anon cheered up the heavy time ;
Saying, "What lack you?" and, "Where lies your grief?"
Or, " What good love may I perform for you ? "
Many a poor man's son would have lien stil].
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,
And call it cunning : do, an if you will :
If Heaven be pleased that you must use me ill,
Why then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes?
These eyes that never did, nor never shall,
So much as frown on you.
Hub. I have sworn to do it ;
And with hot irons must I burn them out.
Arth. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it !
The iron of itself, though heat red-hot,
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears,
And quench his tiery indignation
Even in the matter of mine innocence ;
Nay, after that, consume away in rust,
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
Ill
But for containing fire to harm mine eye.
Are you more stubborn- hard than hammered iron ?
An if an angel should have come to me,
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes,
I would not have believed him, — no tongue but Hubert's.
Hub. Come forth ! [Stamjjd.
He-enter Executioners, with a cordy ironsy &c.
Do as I bid you do.
Arth. Oh, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes are out
Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men.
Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here.
Arth. Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough ?
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still.
For Heaven-sake, Hubert, let me not be bound !
Nay, hear me, Hubert : drive these men away,
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb ;
I w ill not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
Nor look upon the iron angerly :
Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,
Whatever torment you do put me to.
Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him.
First Exec. I am best pleased to be from such a deed.
\_Exeunt Executioners.
Arth. Alas, I then have chid away my friend !
He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart :
Let him come back, that his compassion may
Give life to yours.
Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself.
Arth. Is there no remedy ?
Hub. None, but to lose your eyes.
Arth. O Heaven, that there were but a mote in yours,
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair,
Any annoyance in that precious sense !
Then feeling what small things are boisterous there,
Your vile intent must needs seem horrible.
Hub. Is this your promise ? go to, hold your tongue.
Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes :
Let me not hold my tongue, let me not, Hubert ; —
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue.
So I may keep mine eyes : oh, spare mine eyes,
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112 FOURTH BOOK OF READING LFHi^ONS.
Though to no use but still to look on you ! —
Lo, by my troth, the mstrument is cold,
And would not harm me.
Hub, I can heat it, boy.
Arth. No, in good sooth : the tire is dead with grief
(Being create for comfort) to be used
In undeserved extremes : see else yourself ;
There is no malice in this burning coiil ;
TliJ breath of heaven has blown his spirit out,
And strewed repentant ashes on his head.
Hub. But with my breath 1 can revive it, boy.
Arth. An if you do, you will but make it blush
And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert :
Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes ;
And, like a dog tliat is compelled to fight.
Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on.
All things that you should use to do me wrong
Deny their office : only you do lack
That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends.
Creatures of note for mercy-lacking uses.
Hub. Well, see to live , I will not touch thine eyes
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes :
Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy.
With this same very iron to burn them out.
Ai'th. Oh, now you look like Hubert ! all this while
You were disguised.
Hitb. Peace ; no more. Adieu.
Your uncle must not know but you are dead :
I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports.
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure.
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world.
Will not offend thee.
Arth. O Heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert.
Hub. Silence ; no more : go closely in with me :
[Exeunt.
f^
Much danger do
undergo for thee.
v:l
Glossary.— ^u if, if indeed, even if (Abbot) ; arras, tapestry, wall-hang-
inpfs ; boistcrous-rout/h, rude and rough ; Christendom, Christian name (Halli-
well) ; dispiteous, pitilt ss, cruel ; Hen, lain ; let, leave ; n^eds, of necessity ;
ojfcnd, hurt, injure; owes, owns; rheum, tears; sooth, truth; tarrc, urge,
excite, —froui Middle English tarien, to irritate— cf. tarry, from M. E.
taryen, to delay (Skuat) ; troth, truth ; writ, written.
ief
yes
lile
Lubert.
[Exeunt.
r'all-hang-
iie (Halli-
iecessity ;
frc, urge,
M. E.
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADINU LESHONiS, 113
THE BLACK PRINCE AT CRECY.
Arthur Penrhtn (Dean) Stanley (1815-1881).
[Edward the Black Prince was the eldest son of Edward III., who suc-
ceeded his father, Edward II., in 1327. In 1339 Edward claimed the crown
of France, in right of his mother Isabella, and in opposition to Philip VI.
Philip III. of France had had two sons. Isabella v/as the daiighter of the
elder of these ; while Philip VI. was the son of the younger. This was the
ground of Edward's claiir.. But the claim was unwarrantable for two
reasons : first, because at the time of her marriage Isabella had abandoned
her claim to the French crown ; secondly, because a descendant of Isabella's
eldest brother was still living, and of course had a better right to the crown
than either Edward III. or Philip VI. After the war had languished for
six years, Edward, in 1346, prepared for a decisive blow. He set sail from
Southampton with a large army, intending to invade France on the south-
west ; but a storm drove him to the coast of Normandy, and he landed at
La Hogue, and then marched on Paris.]
The two great events of Edward the Black Prince's life, and
those which made him famous in war, were the two great
battles of Cre^y and Poitiers. The war, of which these two
battles formed the turning-points, was undertaken by Edward
III. to gain the crown of France, — a claim, through his mother,
which he had solemnly relinquished, but which he now
resumed.
I shall not undertake to describe the whole fight of Cre^y,
but will call your attention briefly to the questions which every
one ought to ask himself, if he wishes to understand anything
about any battle whatever. First, Where was it fought?
Secondly, Why was it fought? Thirdly, How was it won?
And fourthly, Wliat was the result of it ? And to this I must
add, in the present instance. What part was taken in it by the
Prince, now following his father as a young knight, in his first
great campaign ?
The first of these questions involves the second also. If we
make out where a battle was fought, this usually tells us why
it was fought. And this is one of the many proofs of the use
of learning geography t-ogether with history. Each helps us to
understand the other. Edward had ravaged Normandy, and
reached the very gates of Paris, and was retreating towards
Flanders, when he was overtaken by the French King, Philip,
who, with an immense army, had determined to cut him off*
entirely, and so put an end to the war.
With difficulty, and by the happy accident of a low tide, he
crossed the mouth of the Somme, and found himself within his
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FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
own maternal inheritance ; and for that special reason he
encamped near the forest of Creepy, fifteen miles north-east of
Abbeville. " I am," he said, " on the right heritage of madam,
my mother, which was given her in dowry ; I will defend it
ngaiiist my adversary, Philip of Valois."
It was on Saturday the 28th of August 1346, and it was at
four lu the afternoon, that tlie battle commenced. It always
helps us better to imagine any renarkable event, when we
know at what time of the day or ni^ht it took place ; and on
tliis occasion it is of great importance, because it helps us at
once to answer the question we asked, How was the battle
Avon 1
The French army had advanced from Abbeville,, after a hard
day's march to overtake the retiring enemy. All along the
road, and riooding the hedgelcss plains which bordered the road,
the army, swelled by tlio surrounding peasantry, rolled along,
crying, " Kill ! kill ! " drawing their swords, and thinking they
were sure of their prey. What the French King chiefly relied
on (besides liis great numbers) was the troop of flfteen thousand
crossbownen from Genoa. These were made to stand in
front; when, just as the engagement was about to take place,
one of those extraordinary incidents occurred which often turn
irii.
ruVIlTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
115
the fate of battles, as tliey do of human life in general. A tre-
mendous storm gathered from the west, and broke in thunder
and rain and hail on the field of battle ; the sky was darkened,
and the liorror was increased by the hoarse cries of crows and
ravens, which fluttered before the storm, and struck terror into
: 1
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hard
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road,
ilong,
;they
elied
isand
id in
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turn
CRECY
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1. Edward's line of inarch.
2. Philip's line of march.
3. The English army.
4. The windmill.
5. The trenches.
6. The French army.
the hearts of the Italian bowmen, who were unaccustomed to
these northern tempests. And when at last the sky had
cleared, and they prepared their crossbows to shoot, the strings
had been so wet by the rain that the men could not draw them.
By this time, the evening sun streamed out in full splendor
over the black clouds of the western sky — right in their faces ;
and at the same moment the English archers, who had kept
their bows in cases during the storm, and so had their strings
dry, let fly their arrows so fast and thick that those who were
present could only compare it to snow or sleet. Through and
thiough the heads, and necks, and hands of the Genoese bow-
men the arrows pierced. Unable to stand it, they turned and
fled; and from that moment the panic and confusion were so
great that the day was lost.
But though the storm, and the sun, and the archers had
their part, we must not forget the Prince. He was, we must
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
I . I
'dered with golden lilies, called the
.at no quarter would be given ; and
rcuHiinber, only sixteen, and yet he commanded the whole
Engl'iili army ! It is said that the reason of this was, that the
King of France had been so bent on destroying the English
forces, that he had hoisted the sacred banner of France — the
great scarlet flag, er»i^
Oriflamnio — as a si^
that when King Edward saw this, and saw the hazard to which
he should expose, not only the army, but the whole kingdom, if
he were to fall in battle, he determined to leave it to his son.
On the top of a windmill, of which the solid tower is still to
be seen on the ridge overhanging the field, the King, for what-
ever reason, remained bareheaded, whilst the young Prince, who
had been knighted a month before, went forward with his com-
panions in arms into the very thickest of the fray ; and when
his father saw that the victory was virtually gained, he fore-
bore to interfere. " Let the child win his sjnirs," he said, in
words which have since become a proverb, ^^and let the day he
his." The Prince was in very great danger at one moment : he
was wounded and thrown to the ground, and was only saved by
Richard de Beaumont, who carried the great banner of Wales,
throwing the banner over the boy as he lay on the ground, and
standing upon it till he had driven back the assailants. The
assailants were driven back ; and far through the long summer
evening, and deep into the summer night, the battle raged. It
was not till all was dark that the Prince and his companions
halted from their pursuit ; and then huge fires and torches were
lit up, that the King might see where they were. And then
took place that touching interview between the father and the
son ; the King embracing the boy in front of the whole army,
by the red light of the blazing fires, and saying, " Sweet son^
God give you good perseverance : you are my true son ; right
royally Jmve you acquitted yourself this day^ and worthy are you
of a croion." And the young Prince, after the reverential manner
of those times, " bowed to the ground, and gave all the honor
to the King his father." The next day the King walked over
the field of carnage with the Prince, and said, " What think you
of a battle ? is it an agreeable game ? "
The general result of the battle was the deliverance of the
English army from a most imminent danger, and subsequently
the conquest of Calais, which the King immediately besieged
and won, and which remained in the possession of the English
from that day to the reign of Queen Mary. From that time
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
117
the Prince became the darling of the English, and the terror of
the French ; and whether from this terror, or from the black
armor which he wore on that day, and which contrasted with
the fairness of his complexion, he was called by them, "Ze
Prince Noir" — "The Black Prince," and from them the name
has passed to us ; so that all his other sounding titles, by which
the old poems call him — " Prince of Wales, Duke of Aquitaine"
— are lost in the one memorable name which he won for him-
self in his first fight at Cre(^*y.
Historical Memorials of Canterhury (1855).
THE SOLDIEB S DREAM.
Thomas Campbell (1777-1844).
Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered,
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ;
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered —
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.
When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,
By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain.
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw.
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.
Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array.
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track ;
'Twas autumn, and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.
I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft
In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ;
I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,
And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.
Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore
From my home and my weeping friends never to part ;
My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er,
And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart.
Stay, stay with us — rest, thou art weary and worn ;
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ;
But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.
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118 FOURTH BOOK OF READINa LESSONS.
4
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EASTER EVE IN MOSCOW. '
D. Mackenzie Wallace.
It was Eastor evo, and I had gone with a friend to the
Kremlin to witness the Easter ceremonies. Though the rain
was falling heavily, an immense crowd of people had assembled
in and around the cathedral. The crowd was of the most mixed
kind. There stood the patient, l)earded muzhik (peasant), in his
well-worn sheep-skin ; the big, burly, self-satisfied merchant, in
his long, black, glossy coat ; the noble with fashionable great-
coat and umbrella; thinly clad, rheumatic old women, shivering in
the cold, and bright-eyed young damsels with their warm cloaks
drawn closely around them ; white-haired old men with wallet
and pilgrim's staff, and mischievous urchins with faces for the
moment preternatural ly demure; — ail standing patiently and
waiting for the announcement of the glad tidings, " He is
risen ! " As midnight approached, the hum of voices gradually
ceased, till, as the clock struck twelve, the deep-toned bell on
"Ivan the Great" began to toll; and in answer to this signal
all the bells in Moscow suddenly sent forth a merry peal.
Every one held in his hand a lighted taper, and these thousands
of litbie lights produced a curious illumination, giving to the
surrounding buildings a picturesqueness of which they cannot
boast in broad daylight. Meanwhile every bell in Moscow —
and their name is legion — seemed frantically desirous of drown-
ing its neighbor's voice, the solemn boom of the great one over-
head mingling curiously with the sharp, fussy "ting-a-ting-ting"
of diminutive rivals. If demons dwell in Moscow, and dislike
bell-ringing, as is generally supposed, then there must have been
at that moment a general stampede of the powers of darkness,
such as is described by Milton in his poem on the Annuncia-
tion ; and as if this deafening din were not enough, big guns were
tired in rapid succession from a battery of artillery close at hand.
I had intended to remain till the end of the service, in order
to witness the ceremony of blessing the Easter cakes, which
were ranged — each one with a lighted taper stuck in it — in long
rows outside of the cathedral ; but the rain damped my curi-
osity, and I went home about two o'clock.
Had I remained I sliould have witnessed another curious
custom, which consists in giving and receiving kisses of fra-
ternal love. This practice I have since had frequent op-
long
curi-
FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
no
portunitios of ob-
serving. Theoret-
ically, one ought
to embrace and be
embraced ))y all
present — indicat-
ing thereby that
all are brethren
in Christ — but
the refinements of
modern life have
made innovations
in the practice,
and most people
confine their salu-
tations to their
friends and ac-
qu aintances.
When two friends
meet during that
night or on the
following day, the
one says, "Christos
voskres!" ("Christ
hath arisen!")
and the other re-
plies, ** Vo istine
voskres ! " ( " In
truth he hath
arisen ! ") They
then kiss each
other three times
on the right and
left cheek alter-
nately. The cus-
tom is more or
less observed in
all classes of so-
ciety, and the
emperor himself
conforms to it.
This reminds
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FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
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me of an anecdote which is related of the Emperor Nicholas,
tending to show that he had at least a little human nature
under his imperial and imperious exterior. On coming out of
his cabinet one Easter morning, he said to the soldier who
was mounting guard at the door the ordinary words of saluta-
tion, " Christ has arisen ! " and received, instead of the ordi-
nary reply, a flat contradiction — "Not at all, your Imperial
Majesty ! " Astounded by such an unexpected answer — for
no one ventured to dissent from Nicholas even in the most
guarded and respectful terms — he instantly demanded an ex-
planation. The soldier, trembling at his own audacity, explained
that he was a Jew, and could not conscientiously admit the
fact of the resurrection. This boldness for conscience' sake so
pleased the Czar that he gave the man a handsome Easter
present. Ruam.
CZAE ALEXANDER THE SECOND.
{March IS, 1881.)
Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882).
From him did forty million serfs, endowed
Each with six feet of death-due soil, receive
Rich, freeborn, lifelong land, whereon to sheave
Their country's harvest. These to-day aloud
Demand of Heaven a Father's blood,* — sore bowed
With tears and thrilled with wrath ; who, while they
grieve.
On every guilty head would fain achieve
All torment by his edicts disallowed.
He stayed the knout's red-ravening fangs ; and first
Of Russian traitors, his own murderers go
White to the tomb. While he — laid foully low,
With limbs red-rent, with festering brain which erst
Willed kingly freedom — 'gainst the deed accurst
To God bears witness of his people's woe.
* Tho Czar Alexander II. proclaimed by ukase the liberation of 23,000,000
serfs, Ararch 3, 1861. On March 13, 1881, lie was killed by the explosion of
a bomb thrown under his carriage in St. Petersburg. The assassin was also
killed.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS, 121
WAITING FOE THEIR RELEASE.
Henry Lansdell.
I do not remember any sight in SiLerie that so touched me
as this. To see scores of able-bodied men pent up in wards
with nothing to do was bad ; to hear the clanking of their chains
was worse, though many of th?m were burly fellows who could
carry them well. More touching still were the convoys of
exiles, with faithful and innocent women following their hus-
bands. But to see these old men thus waiting for death, was a
most melancholy picture. The doctor inspects the convicts once
a month, and determines upon those who are past work, who,
in the absence of any specific disease, are then brought into
these wards for the remainder of their lives. To release them,
the colonel pointed out, would be no charity, because, being too
old to work, and being out of the near range of poor-houses or
similar institutions, they would simply starve. And thus they
were left in confinement for a Higher Power to set them free.
They lounged in the prison and in the yard, and some sat near
a fire, though it was a sunny day in July. One old man was
pointed out who had attained to fourscore years, and another
had reached the age of ninety, and so on. The difficult breath-
ing of one, however, the wheezing lungs of a second, and the
hacking cough of a third, proclaimed in prophetic tones that
their time was short ; and one wished them a softer pillow for
a dying head than a convict's shelf in a prison ward.
Through Siberia.
LINES INSCRIBED ON A BOARD IN THE TOLBOOTH
OF EDINBURGH.
[The Tolbooth has been made famous by Sir Walter Scott under the name
of The Heart of Midlothian. In his romance, it becomes the scene of Effie
Deans' imprisonment. The following famous lines have been traced to an
English poet of the seventeenth century :— ]
A prison is a house of care,
A place where none can thrive,
A touchstone true to try a friend,
A grave for men aH\ o :
Sometimes a place of right,
Sometimes a place of wrong.
Sometimes a place for jades and thieves,
And honest men among.
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122 FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
DYING.
Robert Buchanan.
["Buchanan's songa of Lowland siiperstition are light with fancy, and
sometimes musical as the chiming of glass bells." — E. C. Stedman.]
" O bairn, when I am dead,
How shall ye keep frae harm ?
What hand will gie ye bread ?
What lire will keep ye warm ?
How shall ye dwell on earth awa' 'rae me ? " —
" O mither, dinna dee ! "
" O bairn, by night or day
I hear nae sounds ava*,
But voices of winds that blaw,
And the voices of ghaists that say,
' Come awa' ! come awa' 1 '
The Lord that made the wind and made the sea.
Is hard on my bairn and me,
And I melt in his breath like snaw." —
" O mither, dinna dee ! "
" O bairn, it is but closing up the een,
And lying down never to rise again.
Many a strong man's sleeping hae I seen, —
There is nae pain !
I'm weary, weary, and I scarce ken why ;
My summer has gone by,
And sweet were sleep 'but for the sake o' theo." —
" O mither, dinna dee ! "
Glossary.— ^?m', away; hairn, child of mine; hlaw, blow; ilcc, die;
dinnn, do not; frac, from; ghaists, ghosts; gk, give; viithcr, mother; nae, no.
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS. 123
TRAPS AND TRAPPING/
In the unbroken forests and wilds of Canada a valuable part
of the young pioneer's training consists in learning how to set,
and, if need be, how to construct a trap. The settler's ingenuity
may be often rewarded by securing for his generally frugal
dinner a delicious course of wild-fowl. Then our pioneer's
ancient enemies, the bear, the wolf, the lynx, and the wild cat,
must be outgeneralled ; and if they succeed in keeping beyond
range of the rifle, they must be taken in ambuscade.
For large game the " Dead-fall " is tho usual and the effective
resort. It is the farmer's good friend all the world over, and
disposes of an African lion, a Bengal tiger, and a Canadian
bear with the same swift emphasis. The trap takes its name
of "Dead-fall" from that long and heavy sloping log which
appears in the front of our illustration, and which is weighted
at one end by two other reclining logs. At present tlie dead-
fall is supported by a three-inch sapling (e), but at the proper
moment this " side-polo " lets the heavy lot^ fall on the unwary
visitor.
We must attack Bruin on his weak side — his love of honey.
Before setting the dead-fall a piece of meat smoai'ed with lioney
* Based on Camp-Ufc in the Woods, by W. Hamilton Gibson (1881).
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS,
is to be placed at the rear end of the pen ; or some honey may
simply be smeared on the ground. The dead log is now to be
set and weighted. A bear will never hesitate to risk his life
where a feast of honey is in view, and the odd arrangement of
timber has no fears for him after
that tempting bait has once been
discovered. Passing beneath the
suspended log his heavy paw en-
counters the broad board (g) on
the treadle-piece, which immedi-
ately sinks with his weight. The
upright pole (h) at the back of the
treadle is thus raised, forcing the
latch-piece {<!) from the notch ;
DEAD-PALL— bear's. this iu tum sets free the side-pole
(e) and the heavy log is released, falling with a crushing weight
on the back of hapless Bruin.
->
COOP TRAP.
FOURTH BOOK OF* BEADING LESSONS.
125
When it is desired to catch feathered game alive, there is
the excellent device of the " Coop trap." If the young trapper
takes with him into the bush a few shingles or bits of paste-
board, a dozen tacks, and a ball of twine, he can, with the help
of his jack-knife, make and set up a dozen such traps in a fore-
noon.
If there is no motive for taking the game alive, the simplest
resort is the snare. Here the trapper requires a small hatchet
and a coil of fine brass " sucker " wire.
Some of the favorite forms of snare are here shown.
SIMPLEST 8NAUE.
POACHQKS HNAUE.
UROUND SNAKE.
"tUIANCILK" .SNAIIK.
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LFSSOHS.
' Adown the dim valley so dolefid and dreary."
THE DAEK HUNTSMAN.
Charles Heavysege (181G-187C).
[Our poet's dream was a premonition of death. The Canadian Monthly
(August, 187B) that published this last contribution of Heavy sege's, an-
nounced also tliat he nad passed away.]
I dreamed it was eve, and athwart the gray gloom,
Behold ! a dark huntsman, dark coming like doom ;
Who, raising his hand, slow wound a weird horn —
Far o'er the wide dimness its echoes were borne ;
Kang dirge-like and dismal
Through skyey abysmal
Wherein hung the moon to a crescent down shorn.
The blasts of his bugle grew wilder, more eerie,
As gayly he galloped, like one never weary,
Adown the dim valley so dok;ful and dreary,
And woke the tired twilight with echoes foi'lorn.
Forlorn were the sounds, and their burden was drear
As the sighing of winds in the wane of the year —
As the sighing of Avinds in a ghoul-haunted vale.
Or howling of spirits in regions of bale :
rp
The goblin of ruin
Black mischief seemed brewing;
127
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
And wringing lier hands at her sudden undoing,
The wco-stricken landscape uplifted her wail.
I still dreamed my dream, and beheld him career —
Fly on like the wind after ghosts of the deer —
Fly on like the wind, or the shaft from the bow.
Or avalanche urging from regions of snow ;
Or star that is shot by the gods from its sphere ;
He bore a Winged Fate on the point of his spear ;
His eyes were as coals that in frost fiercely glow,
Or diamonds in darkness — "Dark Huntsman, what, ho!"
" What, ho ! " I demanded, and heard the weird horn
Replying with dolefullest breathings of scorn :
The moon had gone down,
No longer did crown
With crescent the landscape, now lying light-lorn ;
But rose amidst horror and forms half unseen
A cry as of hounds coming hungry and lean ;
That swelling sonorous as onward they bore,
Filled all the vast air with the many-mouthed roar.
Roared, roared the wild hunt; the pack ravened, they flew;
The weird horn went winding a dismal adieu;
With hubbub appalling
Hound unto hound calling,
Each fleet-footed monster its shaggy length threw;
Till faint grew the echoes, came feebler the bay,
As thunder when tempests are passing away.
As down the ravine in loud rage the flood goes.
As through the looped ruin the hurricane blows,
So down the dark valley the eager pack sped
With bowlings to Hades, the home of the dead : —
Therein they descended like creatures breeze-boi'ne,
Or grovelling vapors by distance shape-shorn;
And lost in the dej^ths of that shadowy shore.
Hounds, horn, and dark huntsman alarmed me no more.
For who that is mortal could meet without fear
The Figure endowed with the fate-winged spear 1
Or temper his breath
At thy presence, O Death,
Who huntest for souls as one hunteth the deer !
Canadian Monthly Magazine.
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128
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FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
SONNET-TO CHARLES HEAVYSEGE.
John Reade, Montreal (b. 1838).
A quiet drama was thine outer life,
Mcving from primal scene to curtain-fall
With modest grace, obedient to the call
Of the clear prompter, Duty. Noisy strife
For place or power had no part in thee. Self,
Thrusting his mate aside for lust of pelf.
Awoke thy scorn. No vulgar pettiness
Of spirit made thy heaven-born genius less.
But on what stage thine inner life was passed !
O'er what a realm thy potent mind was king !
All worlds that are, were at thy marshalling,
And a creator of new worlds thou wast.
Now art thou one of that immortal throng-
In which thy chosen chief* is king of song.
Canadian Monthly Magazine (1876).
SONNET-UNFULFILLED AMBITION.
John Keats (1795-1821).
[The following sonnet was first published in the Life and Letters of Keats,
edited by Lord Houghton (1848).]
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain, —
Before hi^h-piled books in charact'ry
Hold, like rich garners, the full-ripened grain ;
When I behold, upon the night's starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance ;
And when I feel, fair creature of an houi' !
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love ! — then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.
Shakspeare.
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
129
THE DUTCHMAN'S FAEADISE.
Norman Macleod, D.D. (1812-1872).
The paradise of a Dutchman is Broeh* This is a village of
about seven hundred inhabitants, an hour's journey or so north
of Amsterdam. Cross the ferry in a small steamer, proceed for
half-an-hour along the great Helder Canal in a trekschuit, — a
mode of conveyance, by the way, delightfully national in its
order and pace, — then hire a carriage, for which you must pay
what is asked or want it, and proceed leisurely along the banks
of the canal for three or four miles, until you reach Broek.
The peep one gets from the road across the country gives a
pe feet idea of Holland, which looks like the flat bottom of a
boundless sea, drained or draining oflf; the cattle in the fields,
the scattered villages with their steeples, and tall trees here and
there, with storks studying in earnest meditation on the margin
of long ditches — all assure you that, in the meantime, the land
has got the best of it. Yet it is impossible not to have damp,
uneasy feelings, lest by some unnoticed power of evil, — an
unstopped leakage, dry rot in a sluice-gate, or some mistake
or other to which all things mundane are subject, — a dike
should burst, and the old Zuyder Zee pour itself like a deluge
over the country, leaving you and your carriage out of sight
of land.
Broek is well worth a peep. The only thing I had ever heard
about it in history was the high state of its cleanliness, which
had gone so far that the tails of the cows were suspended by
cords lest they should be soiled by contact with the ground,
* Pr. Brook.
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FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
and afterwards be used to switch the pure and dappled sides of
their possessors at any moment when the said possessors were
suddenly thrown off their guard by the bite of some unmannerly
insect.
I can certify to the truth of this caudal arrangement. It
seemed, however, to be more cleanly than comfortable. The
most ordinary sympathy with suffering caused an irritation in
one's skin, as he saw the tail suddenly checked by the string,
just when about to descend upon and sweep away a huge fly
busy breakfasting about the back-Done or shoulder-blade
A model village pre-
served in a glass case
could not be more
free from dust, life, or
human interest, than
this Broek. A small
' lake and innumerable
smijll canals so inter-
lace the cottages and
streets, that it looks
as if built upon a
series of islands con-
nected by bridges. The
streets are all paved to
the water's edge with
small bricks Each
tree is bricked round to
the trunk. Bricks keep
down earfch, grass, and
^>, damp, and are so thor-
oughly scoured and
spotless that it is im-
possible to walk with-
out an uneasy feeling
of leaving a stain from some adhering dust of mother Earth.
The inhabitants (if there are any) seem to have resigned the
town to sight-seekers. I am quite serious when I assure the
reader that three travellers, at eleven o'clock in a fine summer
forenoon, watched from a spot near the centre of the village,
and did not for at least ten minutes see a living thing except a
cat stealing slowly towards a bird, which seemed to share the
general repose. You ask, very naturally, What were the in-
BROEK HOUSEWIVES AT WuUK.
the
the
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONH.
131
habitants about? I put the same question at the time in a
half-whisper, but there w as no one to answer. All experienced,
I think, a sort of superstitious awe from the unbroken quiet,
so that the striking of the clock made us start. We visited
the churchyard (naturally), and found everything arranged with
the same regard to order. There are no gi'ave-mounds ; but rows
of small black wooden pegs driven into the ground, rising six
inches above the grass, with a number on each, a little larger
than those used for marking flowers, indicate the place where
the late burghers of this Sleepy Hollow finally repose. I have
never seen so prosaic and statistical a graveyard. Contrast
with this the unfenced spot in a Highland glen, its green grass
mingling with the bracken and heather, and its well-marked
mound, beside which the sheep and her lamb recline, except
when roused by the weeping mourner ! To live in Broek, and
be known after death only as a number in its churchyard, would
seem to be the perfection of order and the genius of content-
ment. To be mentioned by widow and children like an old
account, a small sum, an item less from the total of the whole
— as " Our poor 46," or " Our dear departed 154 ! " What an
"tw memoriam/" The intensity of the prose becomes pleasing
to the fancy.
THE SEDGE-BIRD'S NEST.
John Clark (1793-1864).
Fixed in a white-thorn bush, its summer quest,
So low, e'en grass o'ertopped its tallest twig,
A sedge-bird built its little benty* nest,
Close by the meadow pool and wooden brig,t
Where school-boys every mom and eve did pass,
In seeking nests, and finding, deeply skilled.
Searching each bush and taller clump of grass^
Where'er was likelihood of bird to build.
Yet she did hide her habitation long.
And keep her little brood from danger's eye,
Hidden as secret as a cricket's song,
Till tt oy, well-fledged, o'er widest pools could fly ,
Provin^]; that Providence is ever nigh,
To guard the simplest of her charge from wrong.
* Covered with bent-grass.
t Bridge.
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132 FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
NED SOFTLY, THE POET.
JoaKi'H Addison.
[Tliis playful essay, which formed the sixth munber f>f the Toiler, was,
according to Mr. Austin Dobson, Huggested by Scene ix. of Molifere's
Precieuses Ridicules (" Pretentious Young Ladies").
The Taller was projected by Steele, and became the moneer of the essay-
papers that form so important a feature in the English literature of the
eighteenth century. The Taller was published thrice a week, and was sold
for a penny. The first number ai)i)eared on Tuesday, April 12, 170O. Its
"general purpose," as declared in the preface to the first volume, was "to
expose the false arts of life ; to pull off the disguises of cunning, vanity, and
affectation ; and to rect)mmend a general simplicity in our dress, our dis-
course, and our behavior."]
I yesterday came hither about two hours before the company
generally make * their appearance, with a design to read over all
the newspapers ; but upon my sitting down, I was accosted by
Ned Softly, who saw me from a corner in the other end of the
room, where I found he had been writing something. "Mr.
Bickerstaff," says he, "I observe by a late paper of yours that
you and I are just of a humor ; for you must know, of all
impertinences, there is nothing which I so much hate as news.
I never read a gazette in my life, and never trouble my head
about our armies, whether they win or lose,t or in what part
of the world they lie encamped." Without giving me time to
reply, he drew a paper of verses out of his pocket, telling me
that he had something which would entertain me more agree-
ably, and that he would desire my judgment upon every line,
for that we had time enough before us until the company
came in.
Ned Softly is a very pretty poet, and a great admirer of easy
lines. Waller is his favorite ; and as that admirable writer
has the best and worst verses of any among our great English
poets, Ned Softly has got all the bad ones without book,| which
he repeats upon occasion, to show his reading and garnish his
conversation. Ned is indeed p, true English reader, incapable
of relishing the great and masterly strokes of this art, but
wonderfully pleased with the little Gothic ornaments of epi-
grammatical conceits, turns, points, and quibbles, which are so
frequent in the most admired of our English poets, and
* So Addison.
+ The war of the Spanish Succession was in progress when this was
written, and Marlborough had lately won his four great battles.
X That is, by heart.
5ll
FOURTH BOOK OF REaDINO LESSONS.
133
practised by those who want genius and strength to represent,
after the manner of the ancients, simplicity in its natural beauty
and perfection.
Finding myself unavoidably engaged in such a conversation,
I was resolved to turn my pain into a pleasure, and to divert
myself as well as I could with so very odd a fellow. " You
must understand," says Ned, "that the sonnet I am going to
read to you was written upon a lady who showed me some
verses of her own making, and is, perhaps, the best poet of our
age. But you shall hear it." Upon which he began to read as
follows : —
TO MIRA, ON HER INCOMPARABLE POEMS.
I.
When dressed in laurel wreaths you shine.
And tune your soft, melodious notes.
You seem a sister of the Nine,*
Or Phoebus' f self in petticoats.
w.
I fancy, when your song you sing
(Your song you sing with so much art),
Your pen was plucked from Cupid's wing ;
For, ah ! it wounds me like his dart.
" Why," says I, " this is a little nosegay of conceits, a very
lump of salt ; every verse hath something in it that piques, and
then the dart in the last line is certainly as pretty a sting in
the tail of an epigram (for so I think your critics call it) as ever
entered the thought of a poet." — " Dear Mr. Bickerstaff," says
he, shaking me by the hand, "everybody knows you to be a
judge of these things ; and to tell you truly, I read over Ros-
common's translation of Horace's Art of Poetry three several
times before I sat down to write the sonnet which I have shown
you. But you shall hear it again ; and pray observe every line
of it, for not one of them shall pass without your approbation."
When dressed in laurel wreaths you shine.
" This is," says he, " when you have your garland on ; when
* The nine Muses. t Apollo, the god of poets.
.
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134
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
you are writing verses." To which I replied, "I know your
meaning : a metaphor." — "The same," said he, and went on.
And tune your soft, melodious notes.
" Pray observe the gliding of that verse ; there is scarce a con-
sonant in it. I took care to make it run upon liquids. Give
me your opinion of it." — "Truly," said I, "I think it as good
as the former." — " I am very glad to hear you say so," says he ;
" but mind the next."
You seem a sister of the Nine.
"That is," says he, "you seem a sister of the Muses; for if
you look into ancient authors, you will find it was their opinion
that there were nine of them." — "I remember it very well,"
said I ; "brt pray proceed."
Or Phoebus' self in petticoats.
"Phoebus," says he, "was the god of poetry. These little
instances, Mr. Bickerstaff, show a gentleman's reading. Then,
to take off from the air of learning which Phoebus and the
Muses have given to this first stanza, you may observe how it
falls, all of a sudden, into the familiar — ^' in petticoats ! ' " —
Or Phoebus' self in petticoats.
"Let us now," says I, "enter upon the second stanza; I find
the first line is still a continuation of the metaphor."
I fancy, when your song you sing.
"It is very right," says he; "but pray observe the turn of
words in these two lines. I was a whole hour in adjusting of
them, and have still a doubt upon me whether, in the second
lino, it should be — 'Your song you sing,' or 'You sing your
song.' You shall hear them both."
(I
Or"—
I fancy, when your song you sing
(Your song you sing with so nmch art).
I fancy, when your song you sing
(You sing your song with so much art).
"Truly," said T, "the turn is so natural either way that you
have made me almost giddy with it." — "Dear sir," said he.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
135
grasping me by the hand, " you have a great deal of patience ;
but pray what do you think of the next verse 1 "
Your pen was plucked from Cupid's wing.
" Think ! " says I ; " I think you have made Cupid look like a
little goose." — "That was my meaning," says he ; "I think the
ridicule is well enough hit off. But we come now to the last,
which sums up the whole matter."
For, ah ! it wounds me like his dart.
" Pray how do you like that * ah ! ' doth it not make a pretty
figure in that place ? Ah / it looks as if I felt the dart, and
cried out at being pricked with it."
For, ah ! it wounds me like his dart.
"My friend Dick Easy," continued he, "assured me he would
rather have written that ah / than to have been the author of
the iEneid. He indeed objected that I made Mira's pen like a
quill m one of the lines, and like a dart in the other. But as
to that " — " Oh ! as to that," says I, " it is but supposing Cupid
to be like a porcupine, and his quills and darts will be the same
thing." He was going to embrace me for the hint ; but half-a-
dozen critics coming into the room whose faces he did not like,
he conveyed the sonnet into his pocket, and whispered me in
the ear he would show it me again as soon as his man had
written it over fair. The Tatler, No. G, Apnl 25, 1710.
GOLDSMITH.
William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863).
" The most beloved of English writers," — what a title that is
for a man ! A wild youth, wayward, but full of tenderness and
affection, quits the country village where his boyhood has been
passed in happy musing, in fond longing to see the great world,
and to achieve a name and fortune. After years of dire struggle,
of neglect and poverty, his heart turning back as fondly to his
native place as it had longed eagerly for change when sheltered
there, he writes a book and a poem, full of the recollections and
feelings of home, — he paints the friends and scenes of his youth,
and peoples Auburn and Wakefield with remembrances of Lissoy.
Wander he must ; but he carries away a home-relic with him.
I "■■'
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
II
and dies with it on his breast. His nature is truant ; in repose
it longs for change, as, on the journey, it looks back for friends
and quiet. He passes to-day in building an air-castle for to-
morrow, or in writing yesterday's elegy; and he would fly away
this hour, but that a cage and necessity keeps him. What is
the charm of his verse, of his style, and humor, — his sweet regrets,
his delicate compassion, his soft smile, his tremulous sympathy,
the weakness which he owns 1 Your love for him is half pity.
You come hot and tired from the day's battle, and this
sweet minstrel sings to you. Who could harm the kind, vagrant
harper 1 Whom did he ever hurt ? He carries no weapon, save
the harp on which he plays to you, and with which he delights
great and humble, young and old, the captains in the tents, or
the soldiers round the fire, or the women and children in the
villages, at whose porches he stops and sings his simple songs of
love and beauty. With that sweet story, " The Vicar of Wake-
field," he has found entry into every castle and every hamlet in
Europe. Not one of us, however busy or hard, but, once or
twice in our -ives, has passed an evening with him, and under -
ijone the charm of his delightful music.
I have been many a time in the Chambers in the Temple
which were his, and passed up the staircase which Johnson and
Burke and Reynolds trod to see their friend, their poet, their
kind Goldsmith — the stair on which the poor women sate weep-
ing bitterly when they heard that that greatest and most gener-
ous of all men was dead within the black oak door. Ah, it was
a diflferent lot from that for which the poor fellow sighed when
ho wrote, with heart-yearning for home, those most charming of
all fond verses, in which he fancies lie revisits Auburn : —
" Here, as I take my solitary rounds.
Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds,
And, p^any a year elapsed, return to view
Whore once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew.
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.
" In all my Avanderings round this world of care,
In all my griefs — and God has given my share —
I still had hopes my latest h. rs to crown.
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ;
To husband out lifer's taper at the close,
And keep the thiiiie from wasting by repose:
save
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS. 137
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,
Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, —
Around my fire an evening group to draw.
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ;
And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue.
Pants to the place from whence at first he flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexations past,
Here to return — and die at home at last.
" O blest retirement, friend to life's decline.
Retreats from care, that never must be mine.
How happy he who crowns in shades like these
A youth of labor with an age of ease :
Who quits a world where strong temptations try,
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly !
For him no wretches, born to work and weep,
Explore the mine or tempt the dangerous deep ;
Nor surly porter stands in guilty state.
To spurn imploring famine from the gate ;
But on he moves to meet his latter end.
Angels around befriending virtue's friend ;
Bends to the grave with unperceived decay.
While resignation gently slopes the way ;
And, all his prospect j brightening to the last.
His heaven commences ere the world be past ! "
The Deserted Village, 77-112.
In these verses, I need not say with what melody, with what
touching truth, with what exquisite beauty of comparison — as
indeed in hundreds more pages of the writings of this honest
soul, — the whole character of the man is told : his humble con-
fession of faults end weakness, his pleasing little vanity and desire
t^at his village should admire him, liis simple scheme of good in
which everyl)ody was to be happy — no beggar was to be refused his
dinner, nobody was, in fact, to work much, and he to be the harm-
less chief of the Utopia, and the monarch of the Irish Yvetot.^
Think of him, reckless, thriftless, vain — if you like — but
merciful, gentle, generous, full of love and pity. He passes out
of our life, and goes to render his account beyond it. Think of
* Yvetot (pr. eve-toe), a tcnvn in Normandy. Tlie lords of tlie
the hereditary title of KingH of Yvetot, Bnt the reference is |iar
Beranger's famous ballad, "The Khig of Yvetot," in which the firs
is slily satirized.
town bore
, ticularly to
first Napoieon
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138
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
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the poor pensioners weeping at his grave, think of the noble
spirits that admired and deplored him, think of the righteous
pen that wrote his epitaph,* and of the wonderful and unani-
mous response of affection with which the world has paid l)ack
the love he gave it. His humor delighting us still ; his song
fresh and beautiful as when first he charmed with it; his words
in all our mouths ; his very weaknesses beloved and familiar; —
his benevolent spirit seems still to smile upon us, to do gentle
kindnesses, to succor with sweet charity, to soothe, caress, and
forgive ; to plead with the fortunate for the unhappy and the
poor. The English Humorists of the Eighteenth Century, lecture vi.
ALAS, SO LONG!
Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882).
Ah ! dear ore, we were young so long,
It seemed that youth would never go ;
For skies and trees were ever in song,
And water in singing flow,
In the days we never again shall know,
Alas, so long !
Ah ! then, was it all spring weather ?
Nay ; but we were young and together.
Ah ! dear one, I've been old so long.
It seems that age is loath to part,
Though days and years have never a song;
And, oh ! have they still the art
That warmed the pulses of heart to heart ?
Alas, so long !
Ah ! then, was it all spring weather ?
Nay ; but we were young and together.
Ah ! dear one, youVe been dead so long —
Ho .V long until we meet again,
Wliere hours may never lose their song.
Nor flowers forget the rain.
In glad moonlight that never shall wane ?
Alas, so long !
Ah ! shall it be then spring weather ?
And, ah ! shall we be young together 1
* Goldsmith's monument in Westminster Abbey bears a famous Latin in-
scription from the pen of l>r, Johnson,
«Mi
le noble
ighteous
1 unani-
aid back
bis song
is words
liliar; —
.0 gentle
•ess, and
and the
ture vL
iatin in-
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS,
THE TAKING OF DETROIT.
139
In the year 1670 the French authorities in Canada built a
fort upon the Detroit River, for the double purpose of trading
with the Indians and of opposing a barrier to their progress
eastward. At the Peace of Paris, in 1768, tJie fort and the
little settlement that surrounded it passed, with all the adjacent
territory, into the hands of the English ; and twenty years later
it became part of the new American Republic. Gradually the
little settlement progressed, until in 1842 — the year of our
story — it boasted of 1,200 inhabitants ; and now Detroit is a
city with a population of 46,000.
In 1812 the young Republic of the United States declared
war against the British Empire ; cloaking their real design —
which was that of conquering Canada and her sister Provinces
— under the pretence of avenging an imaginary insult offered
Pl...
'^j^
to the American marine. General Hull, an old Revolutionary
officer, left the fort at Detroit, and crossed over into Canada
with 2,500 men, to take possession of the country ; but after
three successive attacks upon the little village of Amherstburg
— garrisoned by only 300 regulars and a few Indians, under
Colonel St. George — he was compiiHod to return, and shut him-
self up in the old French fort.
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
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Sir Isaac Brock was at this time the Grovernor of Upper
Canada. He was a brave and skilful general, and had served
with great distinction in the European campaigns. Beloved
alike by the soldiers who fought under him and the people
whom he governed, no man could be better fitted for meeting
the exigencies of the time. In the whole of the Upper Prov-
ince, however, there were during the period of his government
only 80,000 men, women, and children, scattered over a wide
tract of country.
From his head-quarters in Toronto, the general sent Colonel
Procter, with a small detachment, to reinforce the garrison at
Amherstburg, leaving himself with only ninety men. This
little force he sent off towards Long Point, Lake Erie, to raise
a body of 200 militia, and to prepare means of transportation.
Two hundred volunteers from York and the surrounding
country responded to his call ; and on the 6th of August Sir
Isaac set out, amid the tears and applause of the little town's
inhabitants, '^.t the head of his newly raised army. While
passing the .:rand River, he held a council with the Indians,
who were glad to have an opportunity of wiping out old scores
with the " long-knives," as they called the Americans, and who
promised to meet him at Amherstburg. On the 8th the little
band of Canadian patriots arrived at Long Point, the end of
their weary march, where the assembled reinforcements had
provided a number of small boats for accomplishing the re-
mainder of the journey. The distance from Long Point to
Amherstburg is two hundred ^niles, over a rough sea, and along
a coast presenting no means of shelter against the weather.
This long journey was performed after four days and nights of
incessant labor. At midnight, on the 13th, the motley fleet of
transports arrived at its destination.
Great was the rejoicing when the general arrived in Amherst-
burg. The regulars cheered, the volunteers shouted, and the
Indians could hardly be restrained from firing away all their
ammunition at the prospect of a battle under such a leader.
The whole of the Canadian force now amounted to 1,300 men ;
comprising 600 Indians under the celebrated Tecumseh, 300
regulars, and 400 volunteers "disguised in red coats." All the
artillery consisted of five small guns, vvhich were planted upon
an ekn^ated bank opposite Detroit. On the 15th the gunners
stood to their pieces, o.waiting the signal to fire on the enemy's
position across the river. General Brock sent a summons to
w
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
141
of Upper
ad served
Beloved
he people
r meeting
•per Prov-
ivernment
3r a wide
it Colonel
arrison at
m. This
e, to raise
portation.
rrounding
.ugust Sir
tie town's
f. While
) Indians,
old scores
, and who
I the little
he end of
lents had
the re-
Point to
and along
weather,
nights of
iy fleet of
Amherst-
and the
all their
a leador.
500 men ;
iseh, 300
All the
ited upon
gunners
enemy's
imons to
g
the Americans to surrender, which they indignantly rejected ;
and immediately the little battery began to play upon the fort
and village. Next day the Canadian army crossed the river
between three and four miles below Detroit, to meet the enemy
on their own ground. When the disembarkation was completed,
General Brock sent forward the Indians as skirmishers upon
the right and left, and advanced with the remainder of his force
to within a mile of the fort. From its high sodded parapets,
surrounded by tall rows of wooden palisades and a wide and
deep ditch, thirty pieces of cannon frowned down upon the
besiegers. Its garrison consisted of 400 soldiers of the United
States regular army. A larger body of Ohio volunteers occupied
an intrenched position flanking the approach to the fort ; while
on the right a detachment of 600 militia from Ohio and Michi-
gan was rapidly advancing. Another considerable force held
the town ; making the total strength of the enemy about 2,500
men.
In spite of the great disparity of the opposing armies, and of
the formidable preparations made by the enemy, General Brock
prepared to carry the fort by assault. The Indians advanced
within a short distance of the American forces, uttering their
shrill war-cries, and keeping up an incessant fire upon their
more exposed positions. The regulars and the volunteers
examined the priming of their muskets, and prepared to scale
the palisades and walls of the fort. All was in readiness for
an immediate attack ; when a gate suddenly opened, and, to
the astonishment of the gallant Canadian general, an American
officer advanced towards him bearing a flag of truce. An hour
afterwards General Hull surrendered the whole of his com-
mand, and the Canadian army marched into the quarters of the
enemy.
By the terms of this capitulation, two thousand live hundred
prisoners, as many stand of arms, thirty-three pieces of cannon,
a large store of ammunition, three months' provisions, and a
vessel of war, fell into the hands of the conquerors. So signal
a victory, gained by a small and hastily collected force, is one
of which every loyal British subject in America was justly
proud.
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TECUMSEH.
Francis Hall (b. 1770).
[Lieutenant Hall of the 14th Light Dragoons travelled through Canada
and the United States in 1816 and 1817. Among the early descriptions of
Upper Canada, Hall's is valuable for accurate observation and artistic
treatment. His " Travels " immediately passed through two editions; the
second in 1819.]
Among the warriors of the West, the most distinguished
was Tecumseh, a Shawnee chieftain, whose courage and com-
manding talents recommended him, early in the war, not only
to the notice but to the personal esteem and admiration of Sir
Isaac Brock. Tecumseh perceived the necessity of a general
Indian confederacy as the only permanent barrier to the
dominion of the States. What he had the genius to conceive,
he had the talents to execute : eloquence and address, courage,
penetration, and, what in an Indian is more remarkable than
these, undeviating temperance. Under better auspices, this
Amphictyonic* league might have been effected, but after the
death of his friend and patron he found no kindred spirit with
whom to act. Stung with grief and indignation, after up-
braiding in the bitterest sarcasms the retreat of our forces, he
engaged an American detachment of mounted riflemen near the
Moravian village, and having rushed forward singly to en-
counter their commanding officer, whom he mistook for General
Harrison, he fell by a pistol l3all. The exultation of the
Americans on his death afford unerring, because unintended,
evidence of the dread his talents had inspired.
TO THE MEMORY OP TECUMSEH.
Tecumseh has no grave, but eagles dipt
Their rav'ning beaks, and drank his stout heart's tide,
Leaving his bones to whiten where he died :
His skin by Christian tomahawks was stript
From the bared fibres ! f Impotence of pride !
Triumphant o'er the earthworm, but in vain
Deeming the impassive spirit to deride.
Which, nothing or immortal, knows no pain !
* A confederation of the ancient Greek states for national purposes,
t The riflemen are said to have cut off strips of his skin to preserve as
trophies.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
143
igh Canada
criptiona of
md artistic
litions; the
inguished
and com-
not only
Lon of Sir
a general
r to the
conceive,
, courage,
able than
lices, this
after the
pirit with
I after up-
'orces, he
1 near the
[y to en-
r General
of the
intended,
art's tide,
3!
Might ye torment him to this earth again,
That were an agony : his children's blood
Deluged his soul, and like a fiery flood,
Scorched up his core of being. Then the stain
Of flight was on him, and the wringing thought.
He should no more the crimson hatchet raise.
Nor drink from kindred lips his song of praise ;
So liberty, he deemed, with life was cheaply bought.
Travels in Canada and the United States.
THE LAST WOBB.
Matthew Arnold.
Creep into thy narrow bed.
Creep, and let no more be said !
Vain thy onset ! All stands fast.
Thou thyself must break at last.
Let, let the long contention cease !
Geese are swans, and swans are geese.
Let them have it how they will !
Thou art tired ; best be still.
They out-talked thee, hissed thee, tore thee —
Better men fared thus before thee —
Fired their ringing shot and passed,
Hotly charged — and sank at last.
Charge once more, then, and be done !
Let the victors when they come,
When the forts of folly fall.
Find thy body at the wall Poems (ed. 1880).
!
oses.
jreaerve as
HEROISM.
They never fail who die
In a great cause : the block may soak their gore;
Their heads may sodden in the sun ; their limbs
Be strung to city gates and castle walls —
But still their spirit walks abroad. Though years
Elapse, and others share as dark a doom,
They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts
Which overpower all others, and conduct
The world at last to freedom. Byron : Marino Faliero.
, I
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FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LEiSiiONii.
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eight
THE GREAT EARTEaUAKE.
Sir John F. W. Herschel (1792-1871).
Volcanic eruptions are almost always preceded by earth-
quakes, by which the beds of rock that overlie and ke(^p down
the struggling powers beneath are dislocated and cracked, till
at last they give way, and the; strain is immediately relieved.
It is chiefly when this does not happen, when tlie force below
is sufficient to heave up and shake the earth, but not to burst
open the crust and give vent to the lava and gases, that the
most destructive effects are produced. The great earthquake of
November 1, 1755, which destroyed Lisbon, was an instance of
this kind, and was one of the greatest, if not the very greatest
on record ; for the concussion extended over all Spain and
Portugal — indeed over all Europe, and even into Scotland
over North Africa, where in one town in Morocco
thousand or ten thousand people perished. Nay, its effects
extended even across the Atlantic to Madeira, where it was
very violent ; and to the West Indies. The most striking
feature about this earthquake was its extreme suddenness. All
was going on quite as usual in Lisbon on the morning of that
memorable day : the weather fine and clear ; and nothing what-
ever to give the population of that great capital the least sus-
picion of mischief. All at once, at twenty minutes before ten
A.M., a noise was heard like the rumbling of carriages under-
ground ; it increased rapidly, and beciune a succession of
deafening explosions, like the loudest cannon. Then a shock,
which, as described by one writing from the spot, seemed to
last but the tenth part of a minute, and down came tumbling
palaces, churches, theatres, and every large public edifice, and
about a third or a fourth part of the dwelling-houses. More
shocks followed in rapid succession, and in six minutes from the
commencement sixty thousand persons were crushed in the
ruins. Here are the simple but expressive words of one J.
Latham, who writes to his uncle in London : " I was on the
river with one of my customers going to a village three miles
off! Presently the boat made a noise as if on the shore or
landing, thougli then in tlu^ middle of the water. I asked my
companion if he knew wliat was the matter. He stared at me,
and looking at Lisbon — we saw the houses falling, which made
him say, ' God bless us, it is an earthquake ! ' About four or
10
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS,
five minutes after, the boat made a noise as before ; and we
saw the houses tumble down on both sides of the river."
They then landed and made for a hill ; whence they beheld
the sea (which had at first receded and laid a great tract dry)
come rolling in, in a vast mountain wave fifty or sixty feet high,
on the land, and sweeping all before it. Three thousand people
had taken refuge on a new stone quay, or jetty, just completed at
great expense. In an instant it was turned topsy-turvy ; and the
whole quay, and every person on it, with all the vessels moored
to it, disappeared, and not a vestige of them ever appeared again.
Where that quay had stood was afterwards found a depth of one
hundred fathoms (six hundred feet) water. It happened to be
a religious festival, and most of the population were assembled
in the churches, which fell and crushed them. That no horror
might be wanting, fires broke out in innumerable houses where
the wood- work had fallen on the fires ; and much that the earth-
quake had spared was destroyed by fire. And then, too, broke
forth that worst of all scourges, a lawless, ruffian-like mob, which
plundered, burned, and murdered in the midst of" all that desola-
tion and horror. The huge wave I have spoken of swept the
whole coast of Spain and Portugal. Its swell and fall were ten
or twelve feet at Madeira. It swept quite across the Atlantic,
and broke on the shores of the West Indies. Every lake and
firth in England and Scotland was dashed for a moment out of
its bed, the water not partaking of the sudden shove given to the
land; just as when you splash a flat saucerful of water, the
water dashes over on the side from which the shock is given.
One of the most curious incidents in this earthquake was its
effect on ships far out at sea, which would lead us to suppose
that the immediate impulse was in the nature of a violent blow
or thrust upwards, under the bed of the ocean. Thus it is re-
corded that this upward shock was so sudden and violent on a
ship at that time forty leagues from Cape St. Vincent, that the
sailors on deck were tossed up into the air to a height of
eighteen inches. So also, on another occasion in 1796, a British
ship eleven miles from land near the Philippine Islands was
struck upwards from below with such force as to unship and
split up the main-mast.
Familiar Lectures on Scientific Subjects (1867).
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADlNQ LESSONS.
147
HEEGULES AND NERETTS AT THE GARDEN OF THE
HESPERIDES.
William Morris (b. 1834).
fOne of the twelve labors imposed upon Hercules by Eurys'theus (tri-
Hyllablo), King of Mycenae, was the delivery to him of throe golden apples
from the Garden of the Hesperides. Thia myth, as told by various poets,
varies much in the details. Mr. Morris here follows the version which re-
presents Hercules as making his way to the garden imder the guidance of
Nereus (dissyllable). Hesiod describes the Hesperides ( '* Western Maidens ")
as dwelling on the African coast, over against modern Gibraltar. This beau-
tiful poem revives the style and versification of Chaucer.]
They drew unto that wall and dulled their fear:
Fair wrought it was, as though with bricks of brass;
And images upon its face there were,
Stories of things a long while come to pass;
Nor that alone — as looking in a glass,
Its maker knew the tales of what should be.
And wrought them there for bird and beast to see.
So on they went : the many birds sang sweet
Through all that blossomed thicket from above.
And unknown flowers bent down before their feet ;
The very air, cleft by the gray-winged dove,
Throbbed with sweet scent and smote their souls with love :
Slowly they went, till those twain stayed before
A strangely-wrought and iron-covered door.
They stayed, too, till o'er noise of wind and bird
And falling flower, there rang a mighty shout.
As the strong man his steel-bound club upreared,
And drave it 'gainst the hammered iron stout.
Where 'neath his blows flew bolt and rivet out.
Till shattered on the ground the great door lay.
And into the guarded place bright poured the day.
The strong man entered, but his fellow stayed
Leaning against a tree-trunk as they deemed.
They faltered now, and yet, all things being weighed,
Went on again ; and thought they must have dreamed
Of the old man, for now the sunlight streamed
Full on the tree he had been leaning on.
And him they saw not go, yet was he gone :
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FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
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Only a slim lizard flitted there
Amidst the dry leaves ; him they noted naught,
But, trembling, through the doorway 'gan to peer.
And still of strange and dreadful saw not aught,
Only a garden fair beyond all thought.
And there 'twixt sun and shade.
On some long-sought-for end belike intent.
the strong man went
They 'gan to follow down a narrow way
Of greensward that the lilies trembled o'er.
And whereon thick the scattered rose-leaves lay ;
But a great wonder weighed upon them sore.
And well they thought they should return no more :
Yet scarce a pain thai seemed ; they looked to meet,
efore they died, things strange and fair and sweet.
B'
So still to riglit and left the sti'ong man thrust
The blossomed boughs, and passed on steadily.
As though his hardy heart he well did trust,
Till in a while he gave a joyous cry,
And hastened on, as though the end drew nigh ;
J^ n I women's voices then they deemed they heard,
Mixed with a noise that made desire afeard.
I I
nil
Yv t> through sweet scents and sounds on did they bear
Their panting hearts, till the path ended now^
In a wide space of green : a streamlet clear
From out a marble basin there did flow ;
And close by that a slim-trunked tree did grow,
And on a bough low o'er the water cold
There hung three apples of red gleaming gold.
Now the strong man amid the green space stayed,
And, leaning on his club, with eager eyes
But brow yet smooth, in voice yet friendly said :
*' O daughters of old II(^sperus tlie Wis(\
Well have you held your guard hero ; Imt tim<^ tries
The very will of gods, and to my hand
Must give this day the gold fruit of your land."
The Earthly Paradise
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSON'S.
149
SITUATION AND TREATMENT OF THE LOYALISTS
DURING THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR.
Rev. Egbrton Ryerson, D.D., LL.D. (1803-1882).
[On the 4th July 1776, the American Colonies declared themselves " free
and independent States" (Declaration of Independence, Art. 3S). A oon-
sidei'able minority, however, of the colonists strongly supported the "unity
of the Empire," as it is styled in Imperial Orders in Ctmncil, and so became
known in Canada as the United Emjnre (U.E.) Loyalists. In the United
States they were simply " The Loyalists ; " or they bore the nickname of
"Tories," while the self-styled " Patriots " were by them in turn nicknamed
"Whigs," both nicknames being of course V)nrrowcd from English politics.
The designation U.E. Loyalists is projjcrly applied to those only who
"joined the royal standard in America before the Treaty of Separation in
the year 1783 ;" and under an Im[)erial Order in Council of 1789, from which
this definition is taken, a list of such persons was made out, " to the end that
their posterity might bo discriminated from the then future settlers." L)r.
Ryerson, who wrote the following account, was the son of Lieutenant
Ryerson, a U.E. Loyalist who settled first in New Brunswick and after-
wards in Upper Canada.]
The condition of the United Empire Loyalists, for several
months before as well as after the Declaration of Independence,
was humiliating to freemen and perilous in the extreme ; and
that condition became still more pitiable after the alliance of
the revolutionists with the French — the hereditary enemies of
both England and the colonies. From the beginning the
Loyalists were deprived of the freedom of the press and of
freedom of assemblage, and were under an espionage universal,
sleepless, malignant — subjecting the Loyalists to every species
of insult, to arrest and imprisonment at any moment, and to
the seizure and confiscation of their property.
Before the Declaration of Independence both parties were
confessedly British subjects, professing allegiance to the same
sovereign and constitution of government, both professing and
avowing their adherence to the rights of British subjects; but
differing from each other as to the extent of those rights, in
contradistinction to the constitutional rights of the crown and
those of the people, as in the case of party discussions of all
constitutional questions, whether in the colonies or the mother
country, for centuries past. Both parties had their advocates
in the British Parliament ; and while the prerogative advocates
supported the corrupt Ministry of the day — or the King's Party,
as it was called — the Opposition in Parliament supported the
petitions and remonstrances of those colonists who claimed a
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more popular colonial government. But all the advocates of the
constitutional rights of the colonists in both Houses of Parlia-
ment disclaimed, on the part of those whom they represented,
the least idea of independence or separation from England.
The Declaration of Independence essentially changed the
relations of parties, both in Great Britain and America. The
party of independence — getting, after months of manipulation
by its leaders, first a majority of one in the Congress, and after-
wards increasing that majority by various means — repudiated
their former professed principles of connection with England ;
broke faith with the great men and parties in England, both in
and out of Parliament, who had vindicated their rights and
professions for more than ten years ; broke faith also with their
numerous fellow-subjects in America who adhered to the old
faith, to the old flag, and connection with England, and who
were declared by resolutions of conventions, from Congress,
provinces, counties, to townships and towns, enemies of their
country, rebels and traitors, and treated as such. Even before
the Declaration of Independence, some of these popular meet-
ings, called conventions, assumed the
legislation and government, and dealt at
highest
functions of
pleasure with the
rights, liberties, property, and even lives of their Tory fellow-
citizens. There had been violent words, terms of mutual
reproach, as in all cases of hot political contests ; but it was
for the advocates of independent liberty to deny to the
adherents of the old faith all liberty of speech or of opinion,
except under penalties of imprisonment or banishment, with
confiscation of property. For a large portion of the community
to be thus stripped of their civil rights by resolutions of a coi^.
vention, and reduced to the position of proscribed aliens or
slaves, must have been galling to Loyalists beyond expression,
and well calculated to prompt them to outbreaks of passion and
retaliations of resentment and revenge, each such act followed
by a corresponding act from the opposite party.
It might be supposed that forbearance and respect would
have been shown to those who remained "steadfast and im-
movable" in the traditional faith of British monarchy and
British connection, notwithstanding a corrupt and arbitrary
party was in power for the time being ; but the very reverse of
this was the case on the part of those who professed, as one
cardinal article of their political creed, that " all men are bom
free and equal," and therefore that every man had an equal
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
151
right to his opinions, and an equal right to the expression of
them. But all this was reversed in the treatment of the
Loyalists.
The Loyalists of America and their Times, chap, xxxvi. (2nd ed,, 1880).
THE OLD HOME.
L. E. Landon (1802-1838).
I left my home ; — 'twas in a little vale,
Sheltered from snow-storms by the stately pines ;
A small clear river wandered quietly,
Its smooth waves only cut by the light barks
Of fishers, and but darkened by the shade
The willows flung, when to the southern wind
They threw their long green tresses. On the slope
Were five or six white cottages, whose roofs
Reached not to the laburnum's height, whose boughs
Shook over them bright showers of golden bloom.
Sweet silence reigned around ; no other sound
Came on the air than when the shepherd made
The reed-pipe rudely musical, or notes
From the wild birds, or children in their play
Sending forth shouts of laughter. Strangers came
Rarely or never near the lonely place. —
I went into far countries ; years passed by,
But still that vale in silent beauty dwelt
Within my memory. Home I came at last.
I stood upon a mountain height, and looked
Into the vale below ; and smoke arose,
And heavy sounds ; and through the thick dim air
Shot blackened turrets, and brick walls, and roofs
Of the red tile. I entered in the streets :
There were ten thousand hurrying to and fro;
And masted vessels stood upon the river.
And barges sullied the once dew-clear stream.
Where were the willows ? where the cottages ?
I sought my home ; I sought, — and found a city.
Alas for the green valley !
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FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
TOMMY'S DEAD.
Sydney Dobell (*' Sydney Yendys")— 1824-1874.
You may give over plough, boys,
You may take the gear to the stead ;
All the sweat o' ycur brow, boys,
Will never get beer and bread.
The seed's waste, I know, boys;
There's not a blade will grow, boys;
Tis cropped out, I ..;0W, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
Send the ccH to the fair, boys, —
He's going blind, as I said.
My old eyes can't bear, boys.
To see him in the shed ;
The cow's dry and spare, boys.
She's neither here nor there, boys,
I doubt she's badly bred;
Stop the mill to-morn, boys,
There'll be no more corn, boys.
Neither white nor red.
There's no sign of grass, boys,
You may sell the goat and the ass, l)oys,
The land's not what it was, boys,
And the beasts must be fed.
You may turn Peg away, boys,
You may pay off old Ned ;
We've had a dull day, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
Move my chair on the floor, boys,
Let me turn my head :
She's standing there in the door, boys,
Your sister Winifred !
Take her away from mc, boys.
Your sister Winifred !
Move me round in my place, boys,
Let me turn my head ;
Take her away from me, boys.
As she lav on her death-bed — :
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
153
The bones of her thin face, boys,
As she lay on her death bed !
I don' o know how it be, boys,
When all's done and said.
But I see her looking at me, boys,
Wherever I turn my head ;
Out of the big oak-tree, boys,
Out of the garden-bed.
And the lily as pale as she, boys,
And the rose that used to be red.
There's something not right, boys,
But I think it's not in my head;
I've kept my precious sight, Ijoys —
The Lord be hallowed !
Outside and in
The ground is cold to my tread.
The hills are wizen and thin,
The sky is shrivelled and shred ;
The hedges down by the loan
I can count them bone by bone,
The leaves are open and spread.
But I sec the teeth of the land,
And hands like a dead man's hand.
And the eyes of a dead man's head.
There's nothing but cinders and sand,
The rat and the mouse have fled,
And the summer's empty and cold;
Over valley and wold.
Wherever I turn my head.
There's a mildew and a mould ;
The sun's going out overhead.
And I'm very old.
And Tommy's dead.
What am I staying for, boys ?
You're all bom and bred —
'Tis fifty years and more, boys.
Since vife and I were wed';
And she's gone before, boys,
And Tommy 's d ead.
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She was always sweet, boys,
Upon his curly head.
She knew she'd never see't, boys.
And she stole off to bed.
I've been sitting up alone, boys,
For he 'd come home, he said ;
But it's time I was gone, boys,
For Tommy's dead.
I !
Put the shutters up, boys,
Bring out the beer and bread ;
Make haste and sup, boys,
For my eyes are heavy as lead.
There's something wrong i' the cup, boys,
There 's something ill wi' the bread ;
I don't care to sup, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
lui not right, I doubt, boys,
I've such a sleepy head;
I shall never more be stout, boys.
You may carry me to bed.
What are you about, boys ?
The prayers are all said.
The fire's raked out, boys.
And Tommy 's dead.
The stairs are too steep, boys.
You may carry me to the head ;
The night's dark and deep, boys,
Your mother's long in bed.
'Tis time to go to sleep, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
I'm not used to kiss, boys;
You may shake my hand instead.
All things go amiss, boys;
You may lay me where she is, boy.:.
And I '11 rest my old head.
'Tis a poor world this, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS,
155
THE BRIDGE OF SIOH9, VENICE,
VENICE.
Lord Byron (1788-1824).
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs ;
A palace and a prison on each hand :
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand :
h
hi
M
u
V'i
i?r
156
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
^. t>
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying Glory smiles
O'er the far times, when many a subject land
Looked to the winggd Lion's marble piles,
Where Venice sat in state, throned on her hundred isles !
She looks a sea CybSle, fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers
A.t airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their powers :
And such she was — her daughters had their dowers
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East
Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showsrs.
In purple was she robed, and of her feast
Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased.
In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier ;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore.
And music meets not always now the ear :
Those days are gone — but Beauty still is here.
States fall, arts fade — but Nature doth not die.
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy !
But unto us she hath a spell beyond
Her name in story, and her long array
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond
Above the dogeless city's vanished sway ;
Ours is a trophy which will not decay
With the Rialto : Shylock and the Moor,
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away —
The keystones of the arch ! though all were o'er,
For us repeopled were the solitary shore.
Childe Harold^ canto iv., stanzas 1-4.
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE.
Framewm'k of Shakspeare's Play.
In the beautiful Italian citv of Venice there dwelt in former
times a Jew, by name Shylock, who had grown rich by lending
money at high interest to Christian merchants. No one liked
Shylock, he was so hard and so cruel in his dealings; but
i
fOUBTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
167
perhaps none felt such an abhorrence of his character as a
young Venetian named Antonio. This hatred was amply re-
turned by Shylock ; for Antonio was so kind to people in
distress that he would lend them money without taking interest.
Dearest of all Antonio's friends was Bassanio, a young man of
high rank, though possessed of but small fortune. One day
Bassanio came to tell Antonio that he was about to marry a
wealthy lady ; but that to meet the expense of wedding such
an heiress, he needed the loan of three thousand ducats.
Antonio had not the money to lend his friend, but he offered to
borrow the required sum of Shylock, on the security of vessels
which he expected home soon.
Together they repaired to the money-lender ; and Antonio
asked for three thousand ducats. Shylock remembered now all
that Antonio had done to offend him ; but he thought he would
pretend to feel kindly, and said : "I would be "riends with
you. I will forget your treatment of me, and supply your
wants without taking interest for my money."
Antonio was, of course, very mucli surprised at such words.
But Shylock repeated them ', only requiring that they should
go to some lawyer, before whom — as a jest — Antonio should
swear, that if by a certain day he did not repay the money, he
would forfeit a pound of flesh, cut from any part of his body
which the Jew might choose.
♦4
!B»iin]j|
Wl
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
H
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"I will sign to this bond," said Antonio; "and will say there
is much kindness in it." Bassanio mistrusted Shy lock; but
he could not persuade his friend against the agreement, and
Antonio signed the bond, thinking it was only a jest, as Shylock
had snid. Bassanio then went to the house of Portia, the rich
lady whom he expected to marr;). But no sooner had he been
accepted as her lover than a messenger entered bringing tidings
from Antonio ; after reading which Bassanio turned so pale
that his lady asked him what was amiss. He told her of all
Antonio's kindness to him, and that as his ships were lost, his
bond was forfeited. Portia said that sucli a friend should not
lose so much as a hair of his head by the fault of Bassanio, and
that gold must be found to pay the money. In order to make
all her possessions liis, she said that she would even marry her
lover that day, so that he might start at once to the help of
Antonio. So in all haste the young couple were wedded.
Bassanio immediately set out for Venice, where he found his
friend in prison. The time of payment was past, and Shylock
would not accept the money offered liim : nothing would do
now, he said, but the pound of flesh. So a day was appointed
for the case to be tried before the Duke of Venice.
Portia had spoken cheeringly to her husband when he left
her, but her own heart began to sink when she was alone. So
strong was her desire to save one who had been so true a friend
to her Bassanio that she determined to go to Venice and speak
in defence of Antonio. Having obtained from a legal friend
the robes of a counsellor, and also much advice as to how she
should act, she started with her maid Nerissa, and arrived at
Venice on the day of the trial. In spite of her youthful ap-
pearance, Portia (who called herself Doctor Balthasar) was
allowed to plead for Antonio, and entered the court disguised
in flowing robes and wearing a large wig. The importance of
her work gave Portia courage ; and she began her address to
Shylock by telling him of mercy : —
" The quality of mercy is not strained;
It droppeth as the gentle I'ain from heaven
Upon the place beneath : it is twice blest ;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes :
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest : it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
159
say there
5ck; but
ent, and
Shylock
the rich
he been
5 tidings
so pale
3r of all
lost, his
)uld not
nio, and
to make
arry lier
help of
d.
mnd his
Shylock
ould do
•pointed
he left
tie. So
I friend
1 speak
friend
ow she
ved at
'ul ap-
was
guised
tnce of
ress to
>•)
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway :
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself ;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice. — Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this, —
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy."
Act iv., scene 1.
But Shylock 's only answer was that he would insist upon the
penalty. Bassanio then publicly offered the payment of the
three thousand ducats; but Shylock still refused it, and declared
that he would take nothing but the promised pound of flesh.
Bassanio was now terribly grieved, and asked the learned young
counsellor to "wrest the law a little."
" It must not be ; there is no power in Venice can alter a
decree established," said Portia. Shylock, hearing her say this,
believed she would now favor him, and exclaimed : " A Daniel
come to judgment ! O wise young judge, how do I honor
thee ! " It was in vain to talk to Shylock of mercy. He
began to sharpen a knife, and cried out that time was being
lost. So Portia asked if the scales were in readiness ; and if a
surgeon were near, lest Antonio should bleed to death.
"It is not so named in the bond," said Shylock.
"It were good you did so much for charity," returned
Portia.
Charity and mercy, however, were nothing to the money-
lender, who sharpened his knife, and called upon Antonio to
prepare. But Portia bade him tarry ; there was .something
more to hear. Though the law, indeed, gave him a pound of
flesh, it did not give him one single drop of blood ; and if, in
cutting oil' the flesh, he shed one drop of Antonio's blood, his
possessions were confiscated by the law to the State of Venice !
A murmur of applause ran through the court at the wise
thought of the young counsellor ; for it was clearly impossible
for the flesh to be cut without the shedding of blood, and there-
fore Antonio was safe. Shylock then said that he would take
if
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Fourth book of rfadinu lessons.
the money Bassanio had oftbred; and Bassanio cried out gladly,
" Here it is ! " on which Portia stopped him, saying that Shy-
lock should have nothing but the penalty named in the bond.
" Give me my money and I will go ! " cried Shylock once
more ; and once more Bassanio would have given it had not
Portia again interfered. "Tarry," she said; "the law hath yet
another hold on you." Then she stated that, for consi:)iring
against the life of a citizen of Venice, th(3 law compelled him
to forfeit all his wealth, and that his own life was at the mercy
of the duke. The duke said that he would grant him his life
before he asked it ; one-half of his riches only should go to the
State, the other half should be Antonio's.
More merciful of heart than his enemy could have expected,
Antonio declared that he did not desiie Shylock's property, if
he would make it over at his death to his own daughter, whom
he had discai'ded for marrying a Christian. Shylock agreed,
and begged leave to go away ; and the court was dismissed, and
the duke departed, bidding Bassanio reward the able young
counsellor who had done so much for his friend.
The young counsellor would accept of nothing but the ring
on Bassanio's finger, which the latter declared was a present
from his wife, and with which he had vowed never to part.
At last he consented, chiefly because Antonio urged him strongly
to do so, saying, —
■ i
II
Lit gladly,
that Shy-
e bond.
ock once
had not
hath yet
onsj>iring
led him
he mercy
his life
[50 to the
xpected,
>perty, if
, whom
agreed,
sed, and
e young
the ring
present
to part,
strongly
FOURTH BOOK OF llEADINU LESSONS.
101
" My Lord Bassanio, let him have tlu; ring :
Let his deservings, and my love; withal,
Be valued 'gainst your wife's commandement."
Act iv., scene 1.
When Bassanio afterwards met Portia at her home, she charged
liim with having broken his word. All was then explained,
and gr(;at was the happin(?ss of Bassani(j when he discovered
that his friend's lifti had been savtjd by his wife's ingenuity.
ANALYSIS OF SHYLOCK'S CHARACTER.
August Wilhelm von Schlkuel (1707-1845).
The Merchant of Venice is one of Shakspeare's most perfect
works; and Shy lock, the Jew, is one of the inimitabU; master-
pieces of characterization which are to be found only in Shak-
speare. It is easy for both poet and player to exhibit a cari-
cature of national sentiments, modes of speaking, and gestures.
Shylock, however, is everything but a common Jew : he jiossesses
a strongly -marked and original individuality, and yet we perceive
a light touch of Judaism in everything he says or does. We
almost fancy we can hear a light whisper of the Jewish accent
even in the written words, such as we sometimes still find in
the higher classes, notwithstanding their social refinement. In
tranquil moments all that is foreign to the European blood and
Christian sentiments is less perceptible; bui in passion the
national stamp comes out more strongly marked. All these
inimitable niceties the finished art of a great actor can alone
properly express. Shylock is a man of information, in his own
way, even a thinker, only he has not discovered the region
where human feelings dwell ; his morality is founded on the
disbelief in goodness and magnanimity. The desire to avenge
the wrongs and indignities heaped uj^on his nation is, after
avarice, his strongest si)ring of action. His hat(^ is naturally
directed chiefly against those Christians who are actuated by
truly Christian sentiments : a disinterested love of our neighbor
seems to him the most unrelenting persecution of the Jews.
The letter of the law is his idol ; he refuses to lend an ear to
the voice of mercy, which, from the mouth of Portia, speaks to
him with heavenly eloquence : he insists on rigid and inflexible
justice, and at last it recoils on his own head.
Di'amatic Art and Literature.
11 •
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
SCENES FROM THE MEEGHANT OF VENICE.
Act I., Scene 3: Venice. A Public Place.
Enter Bassanio and Phylock.
Shy. Tliree thousand ducats ; well.
Bass. Ay, sir, for three months.
Shy. For three months ; well.
Bass. For the which, as I told you, Antonio shall be bound.
S'/iv/. Antonio shall become bound ; well.
Bass. May you stead * me 1 will you pleasure me ? shall I
know your answer ?
Shy. Three thousand ducats for three months, and Antonio
bound.
Bass. Your answer to that ?
Shy.
Antonio is a good man.
Bass. Have you heard any imputation to the contrary 1
Shy. Oh, no, no, no, no : my meaning in saying he is a good
man is to have you understand me that he is sufficient. Yet
liis means are in supposition : he hath an argosy bound to
Tripolis, another to the Indies ; I understand, moreover, upon
the E-ialto, he hath a third at Mexico, a fourth for England ; and
other ventures he hath, squandered abroad. But ships are but
boards, sailors but men : there be land-rats and water-rats, land-
thieves and water-thieves, — I mean pirates ; and then there is
the pei'il of waters, winds, and rocks. The man is, notwith-
standing, sufficient. Three thousand ducats ;— I think I may
take his l»ond.
Bass. Be assured you may.
Shy. I will be assured I may ; and, that I may be assured, I
will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio ?
Bas,^. If it please you to dine with us.
Shy. Yos, to smell })ork; to eat of the habitation which your
prophet the Nazarite conjured the devil into. I will })uy with
you, sell with you, talk with you, walk with you, and so follow-
ing; but I will not eat with you, drink with you, nor pray with
you. — What news on the Hialto? — Who is he comes here?
* Stead, help; stand in my [dace.
{
E.
bound,
shall I
bitonio
r1
[ a good
Yet
und to
upon
id; and
ire but
5, land-
here is
Dtwith-
I may
ired, I
[i your
with
Pollow-
with
\1
POUETH BOOR OF BEADING LESSONS.
Miter Antonio.
Bass. This is Signior Antonio.
163
looks
Shy. [Aside] How like a fawning publican 1
I hate him for he is a Christian ;
But more for that, in low simplicity,
He lends out money gratis, but brings down
The rate of usance here with us in Venice.
If I can catch him once upon the hip,
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.
He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails.
Even there where merchants most do congregate,
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift,
Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe.
If I forgive him !
Bass. Shy lock, do you hear ?
Shi/. I am debating of my present store ;
And, by the near guess of my memory,
I caiuiot instantly raise up the gross
Of full three thousand ducats. What of that ?
Tubal, a wealthy Hebrew of my tril)e.
Will furnish me. But soft ! . how many months
Do you desire? — [To Ant] Rest you fair, good signior;
Your worship was the last man in our mouths.
Ant. Shylock, although I neither lend nor borrow,
By taking nor by giving of excess,
Yet, to supply the lipe wants of my friend,
I'll break a custom. Is he yet possessed
How much he would ?
Shi/. Ay, ay, three tliousand ducats.
Ant. And for three months.
Shi/. I had forgot ; — three months ; you told me so.
Well then,
Go with me to a notary, seal me there
Your single bond ; and, in a uu^rry sport,
If you repay me not on such a day,
In such a place, such sum or sums as are
Expressed in the condition, let the forfeit
Be nominated for an eijual pound
Of your fair Hesh, to \h\ cut off and taken
In what part of your body pleaseth me.
Atit. Content, i' faith : I'll seal to such a ]»ond,
And say there is much kindness in the Jew.
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164 FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
Bass. You shall not seal to such a bond for me :
I'll ratlun- dwell in my necessity.
Ant. Why, fear not, man ; 1 will not forfeit it :
Within these two months, that's a month before
This bond expires, I do expect return
Of thrice three times the value of this oond.
Sh/j. O father Abi'am, what these Christians ai'e,
W hose own hard dealings teaches them suspect
The thoughts of others ! — Pray you, tell me this :
If he should break his day, what should I gain
By the exaction of the forfeiture 1
A pound of man's llesh taken from a man
Is not so estimable, profitable neither.
As Hesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say.
To buy his favor, I extend this friendship :
If he will take it, so ; if n(jt, adieu ;
And, for my love, I pi'ay you wrong me not.
Ant. Yes, Shylock, I will seal unto this bond.
Sh//. Then meet me forthwith at the notary's :
Give him directions for this merry bond,
And I will go and purse the ducats straight ;
See to uiy house, left in the fearful guard
Of an unthrifty knave; and presently
I will be with you.
uint. Hie thee, gentle Jew.
[Exit Shylock.
The Hebrew will turn Clnnstian : he grows kind.
Jmiks. I like not fair terms and j* villain's mind.
Ant. Come on : in this there can be no dismay ;
My ships (joine houu; a month befoie the day. [^Exeiutt
Act IV., Scene 1.
Antonio : —
I pray you, think ; you question with the Jew :
You may as well go stand upon the b(»ach,
And bid tlu^ main Hood bat(^ his usual lu'ight ;
You may as well use (|U(^stion with the wolf,
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for tlu^ lamb;
You may as well foi'bid the mountain pines
To wag their high tops, and to make uo noise,
VVIien they are fretten* with the gusts of heaven;
* Fniten, vexed.
I
■•i'fl
-b
ijlock.
:eunL
p
FOURTH BOOK OF EEADTJVG LESSON'S.
You may as well do anything most hard,
As seek to soften that — than which wliat's harder ?-
His Jewish heart : tlierefore, I do beseech you,
Make no more offers, use no further means.
But with all })rief and plain conveni(nicy
Let me have judgment, and the Jew his will.
165
^'
Act v.. Scene 1.
Lorenzo : —
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this hank !
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night
Bc^co'riv? the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica. Look how the lloor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold.
There's not the smallest orb whi(;h thou behold'st
l^ut in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the y<^uiig-eyed cherubims :
Such harmony is in immortal souls ;
Hnt M'hilst this nuiddy vestuiv of decay
.Poth grossly close it in, w(? cannot lu-ar it.
''M
■ ■ 1 1
-\M
■i^
166
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
I
I i
lilt
!!
PART III.
\
lELD.
Day glimmers on the clyiii^^
The cloven cuirass, and the helmles^ head ;
The war-horse masterless is on the earth,
And that last gasp hath burst his bloody girth ;
And near, yet quivering with what life re-
n»ained,
The heel that urged him and the hand that
reined ;
And some too near that rolling torrent lie.
Whose waters mock the lip of those that die ;
Tliat panting thirst which r.corches in the breath
Of tliosr \,'it <lie the soldi(U''s h*(>ry doatli,
7n vain itnpels tlie Inirning mouth to crave
One drop — tlie last — to cool it for the grave ;
#
;
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS,
167
d,
id;
irtli ;
re-
that
:\ath
With feeble and convulsive effort swept
Their limbs along the crimsoned turf have crept ;
The fairt remains of life such struggles waste,
But yet they reach the stream, and bend to taste :
They feel its freshness, and almost partake —
Why pause 1 — no further thirst have they to slake-
It is unquenched, and yet they feel it not ;
It was an agony — but now forgot !
Lara, xvi.
THE CHARGE AT WATERLOO.
Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832).
On came the whirlwind — like the last
But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast —
On came the whirlwind — steel-gleams broke
Like lightning through the rolling smoke ;
The war was waked anew,
Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud,
And from their throats, with flash and cloud,
Their showers of iron threw.
Beneath their fire, in full career.
Rushed on the ponderous cuirassier,
The lancer couched his ruthless spear,
And hurrying as to havoc near.
The cohorts' eagles flew.
In one dark torrent, broad and strong,
The advancing onset rolled along,
Forth harbingered by fierce acclaim,
That, from the shroud of smoke and flame,
Pealed widely the imperial name.
But on the British heart were lost
The terrors of the charging host ;
For not an eye the storm that viewed
Changed its proud glance of for ' ude.
Nor was one forward footstep e-( ■ i,
As dropped the dying and the l -.d.
Fast as their ranks the thunders teai\
Fast they renewed each serried square ;
And on the wounded and the slain
Closed their diminished files again,
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
Till from their line scarce spears'-lengths three,
Emerging from the smoke they see
Helmet, and phime, and panoply, —
Then waked their lire at once !
Each musketeer's revolving knell,
As fast, as regularly fell,
As when they practise to display
Their discipline on festal day.
Then down went helm and lance,
Down were the eagle banners sent,
Down reeling steeds and riders went.
Corselets were pierced, and pennons rent ;
And, to augment the fray,
Wheeled full against their staggering flanks.
The English horsemen's foaming ranks
Forced their resistless way,
Then to the musket-knell succeeds
The clash of swords — the neigh of steeds- —
As plies the smith his clanging trade.
Against the cuirass rang the blade ;
And while amid their close array
The well-served cannon rent their way.
And while amid their scattered band
Raged the fierce rider's bloody brand.
Recoiled in common rout and fear,
Lancer and guard and cuirassier,
Horseme:i and foot — a mingled host,
Their leaders fallen, their standards lost.
The Field of Watei-Ioo (1815).
THE BATTLE OF QUEENSTON HEIGHTS.
The 13th of October, 1812, is a day ever to be remembered in
Canada. All along the Niagara river the greatest excitement
had prevailed: many of the inhabitants had removed with their
portable property into the back country; small bodies of soldiers,
regulars and volunteers, were posted in the towns and villages;
Indians were roving in the adjacent woods ; and sentinels,
posti^d along the banks of the river, were looking eagerly for
the enemy that was to come from tlie American shore and
attempt the subjugation of a free, a happy, and a loyal people.
: IT
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
169
\ i
LH).
(1 in
iient
heir
iers,
,£jo.s ;
nols,
for
and
.le.
YORK
(Toronto^B
In the village of Queenston, that nestles at the foot of an
eminence overlooking the mighty waters of Niagara, two com-
panies of the 49th Regi-
ment, or " Green Tigers,"
as the Americans after-
wards termed them, with
one hundred Canadian
militia, were posted under
the command of Captain
Dennis.
When tattoo sounded on
the night of the 12th, the
little garrison retired to
rest. All was silent but
the elements, which raged
furiously throughout the
night. Nothing was to be
heard but the howling of
the wind and the sound of
falling rain mingled with the distant roar of the great cataract.
Dripping with rain and shivering with cold, the sentries paced
their weary rounds, from time to time casting a glance over the
swollen tide of the river towards the American shore. At
length, when the gray dawn of morning appeared, a wary senti-
nel descried a number of boats, filled with armed men, pushing
off from the opposite bank below the village of Lewiston.
Immediately the alarm was given. The soldiers were roused
from their peaceful slumbers, and marched down to the landing-
place. Meanwhile a battery of one gun, posted on the heights,
and another about a mile below, began to play on the enemy's
boats, sinking some and disabling others.
Finding it impossible to effect a landing in the face of such
opposition, the Americans, leaving a few of their number to
occupy the attention of the troops on the bank, disembarked
some distance up the river, and succeeded in gaining the
summit of the height by a difficult and unprotected pathway.
With loud cheers they captured the one-gun battery, and rushed
down upon Captain Dennis and his command ; who, finding
themselves far outnumbered by the enemy, retired slowly
towards the north end of the village. If ere they were met by
General Brock, who had set out in advance of reinforcements
from the town of Niagara, accompanied only by two officers.
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170
FOURTH BOOK OF READINO LESSONS.
Placing himself at the head of the little band, the gallant
general cried. "Follow me!" and amid the cheers of regulars
and militia he led his men back to the height from which they
had been forced to retire. At the foot of the hill the general
dismounted, under the sharp fire of the enemy's riflemen, who
were posted among the trees on its summit, climbed over a high
stone wall, and waving his sword, charged up the hill at the
head of his soldiers. This intrepid conduct at once attracted
the notice of the enemy. One of their sharp-shooters advanced
a few paces, took deliberate aim, and shot the general in the
bre; ^t. it was a mortal wound. Thus fell Sir Isaac Brock,
the i 1 o*' Upper Canada, whose name will outlive the noble
mom, 3nl vhich a grateful country has erected to his memory.
The i'all ol <: 3ir l3eloved commander infuriated his followers.
With loud cheers of " Revenge the general ! " they pressed for-
ward up the hill, and drove the enemy fi'om their position.
But reinforcements were continually pouring in from the
American shore ; and after a deadly struggle, in which Colonel
Macdonell, Captain Dennis, and most of the other officers fell,
these brave men were again compelled to retire. They took
refuge under the guns of the lower battery, there awaiting the
arrival of reinforcements from Niagara. About mid-day the
first of these arrived, consisting of a band of fifty Mohawks,
under their chiefs Norton and Brant. These Indian allies
boldly engaged the enemy, and maintained for a short time a
sharp skirmish, but finally retired on the main reinforcement.
This arrived in the course of the afternoon, under the command
of Major-General Sheaffe. Instead of meeting the enemy on
the old ground, the officer now in command moved his whole
force of one thousand men to the right of the enemy's position,
and sent forward his left flank to attack the American right.
This left flank was of a very varied character, consisting of one
company of the 41st Regiment of the line, a company of
colored men, and a body of volunteer militia and Indians,
united, in spite of their difference of color and race, by loyalty
to the British crown and heart-hatred of foreign aggression.
This division advanced in gallant style. After delivering a
volley, the whole line of white, red, and black charged the
enemy, and drove in his right wing at the point of the
bayonet.
General SheafTe now led on the main body, and forced the
lately victorious Americans to retreat rapidly over the ridge.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS,
171
The struggle on theii- part was of sliort duration. In front
was a foe thirsting for revenge ; behind, the steep banks and
swiftly-flowing waters of Niagara. The "Green Tigers," the
Indians, their most despised slaves, and last, biH. certainly
not least, the gallant Canadian militia, were object of terror
to them. Some few in despair threw themsehi « over the
precipices into the river ; but the majority of the survivors
surrendered themselves prisoners of war, to the number of nine
hundred and fifty, among whom was their commander. General
Wadsworth. The leader of the expedition. General Van
Rensselaer, had retired to Lewiston — as he said, for reinforce-
ments^ — in the early part of the day. The loss of the Americans
in this memorable action was about five hundred killed and
wounded ; while that of the C .ladian forces amounted to one
hundred and fifty.
Throughout Canada the ii ws Oj the victory of Queenston
Heights awakened universal joy and enthusiasm, second only
to that with which the taking ri Detroit was hailed. But the
joy and enthusiasm were ('amped by the sad tidings, that he
who had first taught Canac 's sons the way to victory had given
liis life for her defence, and slept in a soldier's grave with many
of her best and bravest.
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BROCK.
{October 13, 1859.*)
Charles Sangster (b. 1822). . ,
One voice, one people, — one in heart
And soul, and feeling, and desire !
Relight the smouldering martial firo,
Sound the mute trumpet, strike tlie lyre,
The hero-deed cannot expire ;
The dead still play their part.
Raise high the monumental stone !
A nation's fealty is theirs,
And we are the rejoicing heirs.
The honored sons of sires whose cares
We take upon us unawares,
As freely as our own.
* Tlie day of tho inauguration of the new monument on Queenston Heights.
1:1.
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
Wo boast not of tlie victory,
But render homage, deep and jnst,
To his — to tlieir immortal dust,
Who proved so worthy of their trust,
No lofty pile nor sculptured hust
Can herald their degree.
No tongue need blazon forth their fame —
Th(^ cheers that stir the sacred hill
Arc but mere promptings of the a\ ill
That conquered then, that conquer-s still ;
And generations yet shall thrill
At Brock's remembered name.
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WATER!
J. B. GouGH (b. Ifil7).
Sweet, l)eautiful water ! — clear, pure, refreshing — that nevei
brings sorrow to those who use it ! Pour but a drop of it on
the drooping flower, and it will lift its head, as if to bless you ;
apply but one drop of man^s distilling, and the flower withers
and dies. Bestow but a goblet of this on the famishing trav
eller in the sun-parched desert, and how gladly would he return
it o'erfiowing with gold ! for he is dying with thirst, and those
poisonous draughts are but mockery now.
Mark yonder party bound on that fishing excursion. They
are out on the briny deep. They have been becalmed and
detained for several days beyond their intended absence. Now
they are reaching the shore ; and hear their first shriek as they
land—" Water ! bring us water ! " — " Why, are you not pro-
vided with drink?" — "Yes ; but we want water, water !"
Sweet, beautiful, life-giving water ! — brewed in the bosom of
nature — brewed in the green, sunny vale, where the red-deer
runs, and the child loves to play. Sweet, beautiful water ! —
brewed in the running ])rook, the rippling fountain, and the
laughing rill, in the limpid cascade as it joy^^ully leaps down
the side of the mountain ; brewed in yonder mountain-top,
whose granite peaks glitter like gold bathed in the morning
sun; brewed in the sparkling dcnv-drop.
Sweet, l)eautiful wat(n', bi-ewed in the crested wave of the
O'
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
1V3
J
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ocean-de(^ps, driven by the storm, breathing its terrible anthem
to the God of the sea; brewed in the fiet^cy foam and the
whitened spray, as it hangs like a speck over the distant cata-
ract; brewed in the clouds of heaven ! Sweet, beautiful water!
As it sings in tlie rain-shower and dances in the hail-storm ;
as it comes down in feathery flakes, clothing the earth in a
sjootless mantle of white — always beautiful ! Distilled in the
golden tissues that paint the western sky at the setting of the
sun, and the silvery tissues that veil the midnight moon !
Sweet, health-gi x'ing, beautiful water! Distilled in th(^ rain-
bow of promise, whose warp is the rain-drop of earth, and whose
woof is the sunbeam of heaven — sweet, beautiful water !
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THE COLD-WATER MAN.
J. G. Saxr (b. 1810).
It was an honest fisherman, —
I knew him passing well ;
And he lived by a little pond
Within a little dell.
, M.
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESS')M
A grave and quiet man was he,
Who loved his hook and rod ;
So even ran his line of life,
His neighbors thought it odd.
For science and for books, he said
He never had a wish ;
No school to him was worth a tiy,
Except a school of fish.
o»
He ne'er aspired to rank or wealth.
Nor cared about a name ;
For though much famed for lish was he,
He never fished for fame i
Let others bend their necks at sight
Of Fashion's gilded wheels ;
He ne'er had learned the art to " bob"
For anything but eels !
A cunning fisherman was he,
His angles all were right ;
Tlie smallest nibble at his bait
Was sure to prove "a bite !"
All day this fisherman would sit
Upon an ancient log,
And gaze into the water, like
Some sedentary frog ;
With all the seeming iiniocence,
And that unconscious look,
That other people often wear
When they intend to "hook !"
To charm the fish he never spoke ;
Although his voice was fine,
He found the most convenient way
Was just to drop a line !
And many a gudgeon of the pond,
If they could speak to-day,
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FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LEiSSONS.
"Would own, with grief, this angler had
A mighty taking way !
Alas ! one day this tisheruian
Had taken too much grog ;
And being but a landsman, too,
He couldn't keep the log !
'Twas all in vain with might and main
He strove to reach the shore ;
Down, down he went to feed the tish
He 'd baited oft before !
The jury gave their verdict, that
'Twas nothing else but yiu
Had caused the fisherman to be
So sadly taken in :
Though one stood out upon a whim,
And said, the angler's slaughter,
To be exact about the fact,
Was clearly gin and water /
The moral of this mournful tale,
To all is plain and clear —
That drinking habits bring a man
Too often to his bier ;
And he who scorns to " take the pledge,"
And keep the promise fast,
May be, in spite of fate, a stiff
Cold-ioater man at last!
175
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HABOLD SEIMFOLE.
(A caricature of the iwet Lciijh Hunt.)
Chakleh DiCKKNs (1812-1870).
His good friend Jarndyce and some other of "s good friends
helped him, in quicker or slower succession, to .several openings
in life j but to no purpose, for he must confess to two of the
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FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LES^SONS.
oldest infirmities in the world : one was, that he had no idea of
time ; the other, that he had no idea of money. In consequence
of which he never kept an appointment, never could transact
any Ijusiness, and never knew the value of anything ! Well !
80 he had got on in life, and here he was ! He was very fond
of reading the papers, very fond of making fancy sketches with
a pencil, very fond of nature, very fond of art. All he asked
of society was, to kit him live. Thdt wasn't much. His wants
were few. Give liim the papers, conversation, music, mutton,
coiriH , hiiidsca[)e, fruit in the season, a few sheets of Bristol-
board, and a little claret, and he asked no more. He was a
mere child in the world, but he didn't cry for the moon. He
said to the world, " Go your several ways in peace ! Wear red
coats, blue coats, lawn sleeves, put pens behind your ears, wear
aprons ; go after glory, holiness, commerce, trade, any object
you prefer ; only — let Harold Skimpole live ! "
"1 cuvet nothing," said Mr. Skimpole ; "possession is noth-
ing to me. Here is my friend Jarndyce's excellent house. I
feel obliged to him for possessing it. I can sketch it, and alter
it. I can set it to music. When I am here I have sufficient
possession of it, and have neither trouble, cost, nor responsibility.
Mv steward's name, in short, is Jarndyce, and he can't cheat
me."
If Mr. Skimpole had had those bits of metal or of thin paper
to which mankind attach so much importance, to put in his
cnditor's baud, he would have put them in his creditor's hand.
Not having them, he substituted the will for the deed. Very
well ! If he really meant it — if his will were genuine and real,
which it was — it appeared to him that it was the same as coin,
and cancelhul the obligation.
" It may be, partly, because I know nothing of the valm; of
money," said Mr. Skimpok', " but I ofteni feel this. It seems
so reasonable ! My liutcher says to me, he wants that little bill.
It's a [)art of tlu? [)leasant unconscious poetry of the man's
nature, tluit he always calls it a ' little ' bill - -to nuxko the pay-
ment appear easy to both of us. I rejdy to the butcher, My
good friend, if you knew it, you are paid. You haven't had
the troubb; of coming to ask iov the little inll. You are paid.
I mean it."
" But, suppose," said my Guardian, laughing, " he had meant
the meat in tlie bill, instead of providing it ! "
" My dear Jarndyce/' he returned, " you surprise me. You
FOURTH BOOK OF llEADINiJ LL'SSONS.
177
take the butcher's position. A butcher I once dealt with occu-
pied that vciy ground. Says he, ' Sir, why did you eat spring
lamb at eighteenpence a pound?' 'Why did I eat spring lainb
at eighteenpence a pound, my honest friend?' said I, naturally
amazed by the question. 'I like spring lamb!' This was so
far convincing. ' AVell, sir,' says he, ' I wish I had meant the
lamb as you mean the money!' 'My good fellow,' said I,
' pray let us reason like intellectual beings. How could that
be? It was impossible. You had got the lamb, and I have
not got the money. You couldn't really mean the lamb without
sending it in; wiiereas I can, and do, really mean the money
without paying it ! ' He had not a word. There was an end of
the subject." Bkak House.
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THE WATEE-FAIRY.
Algernon Charles Swinburne (b. 1837).
Each reed that grows in
Our stream is frozen ;
The fields it flows in
Are hard and black ;
The water-fairy
Waits wise and wary
Till time shall vary
And thaws come back.
" O sister, water,"
The wind besought her —
" O twin-born daughter
Of Spring with me,
Stay with me, play with me,
Take the warm way with me,
Straight for the summer and over sea."
But winds will vaiy :
And wise? and waiy
The patient fairy
Of water waits.
All shrunk and wizen,
In iron prison,
Till spiing, re-risen,
Unbar the gates ;
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FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESHONS.
Till, as with clamor
Of axe and hammer,
Chained streams that stammer
And struggle in straits,
Burst bonds that shiver,
And thaws deliver
The roaring river in stormy spates.*
In fierce March weather
White waves break tether.
And whirled together
At either hand
Like foam or sand,
Past swamp or sallow
And reed-beds callow.
Through pool and shallow.
To wind and lee.
Till no more tongue-tied.
Full flood and young tide
Roar down the rapids and storm the sea.
THE FOUNDING OF HALIFAX.
Beamish Muudoch, Q.C. (b. 1800).
Whether the restoration of Cape Breton to France in the
Treaty of Aix-la-Chapislle was an act of prudence or of folly on
the part of the rulers of England, is a question that can only be
determined on a full and accurate investigation of the state of
the two crowns at the time of the negotiation as respects their
forces, both military and naval, and their prospective means of
continuing the war to advantage. There can be no doubt, how-
ever, that if the suri-ender of Louisbourg to its former owners
could have been avoided, the British influence in America would
have been essentially beneflted. TIk^ course adopted of found-
ing a place of strength at Ohibouctou (now Halifax), on the
eastern coast of the pi-ovince, and making a sj'ttleiiunit there
of settlers of British origin, was, in these circumstances, a
measure of wisdom and fon^tliought. Not only did it strengthen
the power of governnK^it witliiit the province itself, but it
afforded a place; suited in eviTy way for fleets and armies to be
* Floods. So Burns — " While crashing ico borno on the roaring spates."
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADINa LESlSON^.
179
sea.
in the
oily on
only be
tate of
their
ans of
how-
owners
would
found-
on the
there
ices, a
ufjjthen
hut it
to be
)atos."
afterwards employed in the reduction of Canada. Nova Scotia
no longer svas to depend for military support and relief upon
New England, but, on the contrary, could at all times supply
assistance to the older English colonies in case of attack. A
plan for sending out a body of settlers was adopted, and the
Lords of Trade, by the King's conniiand, publish(;d a notification
in March 1749 ottering to all officers and private men discharged
from the army and navy, and to artificers necessary in building
and husbandry, free passages ; provisions for the voyage, and
subsistence for a year after landing ; arms, annnunition, and
utensils of industry ; free grants of land in the province; and a
civil goverinnout, with all the privileges enjoyed iv. th(; other
English colonies. Parliament voted >£4 0,000 sterling for the
expense of this Uiidertaking ; and in a short time 1,1 7G settlers,
with their families, volunteered to go. Colonel the Honorable
Edward Cornwallis was gaz(^tted as Governor of No% a Scotia,
9th May, 1749. Mr. Cornwallis sailed in the jS/Jiin-r, sloop of
war, on the 14th May, and the settlers embarked in thirteen
transports, and le^ft England somti time afterwards.
Early in July the settlers were, many of them, landed, some
on George's Island, but more on the peninsula wliori! the city
of Halifax now stands. The ground was everywhen^ covered
with wood ; no dwellings or clearings appear to have been pre-
viously made.
Halifax in the sunim(;r and autumn of 1 ("49 must have pre-
sented a busy and singular scene. The ship of war, and her
strict discipline ; the transports swarming with passenger's, who
liad not yet got sheltcir on the land ; the wide (extent of wood
in every direction, except a little spot hastily and pai'tially
cleared, on which men might be seen trying to make walls out
of the spruce trees that grew on their house lots ; the boats
perpetually rowing to and from the shipping; and as the work
advanced a little, the groups gathered around : the Englishman
in the costume of the day — cocked hat, wig, knee-]>reeches,
shoes with large glittering buckles — his lady Avith her lioop
and brocades; the soldiers and sailors of tlu^ late war, now
in civilian dress as sc^ttlers ; th(> shrewd, keen, commercial
Bostonian, tall, thin, wiry, supple in body, bold and persevering
in mind, calculating on land grants, saw-mills, shipments of
lumber, fishing profits; tlu; uulm-ky hah UaiU from (J rand Pre
or Piziquid, i liomespun garb, looking with dismay at the
numbers, discipline, and earnestness of the new actthrs and
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FOURTTJ BOOK OF READINCI LESSONS.
181
HI
then largo military force — larGf^ to him, wlio liad oriiy kixr^vvt
the little garrison of Annapolis; the half-Avild li'^i'nn, made
wilder and more intractable by bad advisers, vh.o rirtt'c-sed to
b(^ his firmest friends ; the man-of-war's nwn ; tlr > tilors of the
transports, and perhaps some hardy fishermen s*'; 'Up; Supplie'!,
or led thither l)y curiosity. Of such various elenteixti-. was the
bustling crowd composed, not to mention the difiV'rent national-
ities of the British Isles themselves. How intt^resting to us of
this province wonld now be a picture that conld realize; the
appearance our city then must liavc; j>resent(Mb
flidortf of Novn Scotia.
CENTENARY OF THE SETTLEMENT OF HALIFAX.
Hon. Joskph Kr^wE (Dec. 180-1 to Juno 1, 1873).
["On the Sth June, 1849, was celebrtated the cente.iary or hundredth anni-
versary of the settlement of Halifax by Governor C)rnwallis. The asIkIb
population turned out, and marchcid in ])rocesHi()n with flags and baniuas.
Mr. Beamish Murdoch delivered the address, and Mr. Howe furnished the
following patriotic song."— Annand's Speeches and Fublic Letters of I'on.
JoHcph Hoive.]
SONG FOR THE CENTENARY.
ITail to the day when the Britons came over.
And planted tludr standard, with sea-foam still wet !
Abo\(! and around us their spirits shah iiOAcr,
Rejoicing to mark how we honor ix, yei
Beneath it the emblems they cherisheci ore waiving —
The Rose of Old England the roadside ]je' fumes ;
The Shamrock and Thi Me the north wi.'ds re braving;
Securely the Mayflo^vt'r* blushes ana lilooms.
In the temples they founded tJieir faith is maintained !
Every foot of the soil they bequeathed is still ours !
* Epiffan reprnif, ground laurel, or trailing arbutus. The IMlgrim Fathers
werr, deliglited, aftiT the liorrors of their first winter, to see spring breaking
in the fragrant blossom of this humble wild -flower, Avhidi ap])ears before the
snow is all gone. The I'ilgrims named the ]>lant aftc^ tiieir ship the ;l/r///-
({oiver. When their descendants, the ITnited l*:ni])ire Loynli^ts, were drivtni
nito exile, and sought tlie. shores of Nova Scotia, they A\ere bey(md measure
cheered to find welcoming th<MH, in the strange land, tli. friendly wild-Hower
that had chfMi-cd their fon-fatl^rs and hnd been th(>ir o\\n ]>layfell(,w in
childhood, it was a.d(tptc<l as tin emblem of Novu Sc(»tia, with the motto,
" We bloom amidst tiie snows."
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182 FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS-
The gravies where they moulder no foe has profaned,
But we wreathe them with verdure and strew them with
•• flowers.
.1
The l)lood of no brother in civil strife poured,
In this hour of re^joicing, encumbers our souls !
The frontier's the field for tlie patriot's sword,
And cursed is the weapon that faction controls !
Then hail to the day ! 'tis with memories crowded,
Delightful to trace through the mists of the past ;
Like the features of beauty, bewitchingly shrouded.
They shine through the shadows time o'er them has cast.
V t
As travellers trace to its source in the mountains
The stream which, far-swelling, expands o'er the plains,
Our hearts, on this day, fondly turn to the fountains
Whence flowed the warm currents that bound in our veins.
And proudly we trace them ! No warrior flying
From city assaulted, and fanes overthrown,
With the last of liis race on its battlements dying,
And weary witu wandering, founded our own !*
From the Queen of the Islands — then famous in story —
A century since, our l)rave forefathers came;
And our kindred yet fill the wide world with lier glory,
Enlarging her empire and spreading her name.
Every flash of her genius our pathway enlightens —
Every field she explores we are beckoned to tread ;
Each laurel she gathers our future day brightens —
W^e joy with her living, and mourn with her dead.
Tlion hail to the day when the Britons came over.
And planted tlu^ir standard, with sea-foam still wet!
Aliove and around us theii- spirits shall hover,
R(ijoicing to mark how we honor it yet.
* An allnsidu to tho downfall of Troy, the w.in(l('rinfif,s of yEncas, his
mv'tliiciil '-ottlcniont in Ttalv, .and the foundation nf Kojno hy his ri.'jnitt^l
ctesrtMidants,
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1,
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as cast.
plains,
LS
r veins.
rv —
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^fputcl
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS,
A REVERIE NEAR ST. THOMAS (ONT.).
Mrs. Anna Jameson (1794*-18G0).
[Mrs. Jameson was the wife of a rather versatile Ilnglish liarrister who in
Upper Canada held successively the positions of Speaker of the Assembly,
Attorney-General, and Vice-Chancellor. Mrs. Jameson joined her husband
in Toronto late in 183(5, and remained in Canada some fifteen months, when,
on a renewal of old domestic estrangements, she visited Miss Sedgwick, the
New England authoress, and in February 1838 returned to England. Her
Canadian experiences are gracefully told in Winter Studies and Summer
Bamhlcs ; but her domestic infelicity luiinfully colors her impressions of
Canada. Both before and after her residence here she achieved great success
as the author of brilliant bits of biography. Her Memoirs of the Early Italian
Painters is still of considerable value.]
July 5, 1837.
We were now near the summit of a hill, which he called Bear
Hill : the people, he said, gave it that name because of the
number of bears which used to be found here. Nothing could
exceed the beauty and variety of the timber trees, intermingled
with the most luxuriant underwood, and festooned with the
wild grape and flowering creepers. It was some time, he said,
since a bear had been shot in these woods ; but only last spring
one of his comrades had found a bear's cub, which he had fed
and taken care of, and had sold within the last few weeks to a
travelling menagerie of wild beasts for five dollars.
On reaching the summit of this hill I found myself on the
highest land I had yet stood upon in Canada, with the excep-
tion of Quetnston Heights. I stopped the horses and looked
around, and on every side, far and near, east, west, north, and
south, it was all forest — a boundless sea of forest, within whose
leafy recesses lay hidden as infinite variety of life and move-
ment as within the depths of the ocean ; and it reposed in the
noontide so still and so vast ! Here the bright sunshine rested
on it in floods of golden light, there cloud-shadows sped over its
bosom, just like the effects I remember to have seen on the
Atlantic ; and here and thero rose wreaths of white smoke from
the new clearings, which collected into little silver clouds, and
hung suspended in the quiet air.
I gazed and meditated till, by a process like that of the
Arabian sorcerer of old, the present fell like a film from my
eyes : the future was before me, with its towns and cities, fields
of waving grain, green lawns, and villas, and churches, and
* So Mr. J. C. Dent in the Canadian Portrait Gallery. The date coni-
rnonly, but, as it ap])ears, ernineously, assigned, is ITM.
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FOURTH BOOK OF READINO LESSON'o.
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temples, turret-crown orl ; and meadows tracked hy the frequent
foot-patli, and railroads with trains of rich merchandise steam-
1112^ alonuj ; — for all this ivill be ! Will be? It is already in the
sii^dit of Him who hath ordained it, and for whom there is no
past nor futui-e : though I cannot behold it with my bodily
vision, even nouj it is.
But is that now bc^tter than thin present now? When tliese
forests, with all their sohnnn depth of shade and multitudhious
life, liave fallen l)eneath tlie axe ; wIkhi the wolf, and bear, and
deer are driven from their native coverts, and all this infinitude
of animal and vegetal)le being has made way for restless, erring,
suflering humanity, will it then be better? Better — I know
not ; but surely it will ]>e well, and right in Tlis eyes w^ho has
ordained that thus the course; of events shall run. Those who
see nothing in civilized life but its complicated cares, mistakes,
vanities, and miseries, may doubt this, or despair. For myself,
and you too, my friend, wo are of those wlio believe and hope ;
who behold in progressive civilization progressive happiness,
progressive approximation to nature and to nature's God : for
are we not in his hands ? — and all that he does is good.
Contemplations such as these were in my mind as we
descended the Hill of Bears, and proceeded through a beautiful
plain, sometimes richly wooded, sometimes opening into clear-
ings and cultivated farms, on which were usually compact
farm-houses, each flanked by a barn three times as large as the
liouse, till we came on to a place called Five Stakes, where 1
found two or three tidy cottages, and procured some bread and
milk. Tlie road here was no longer so good, and we travelled
slowly and with difficulty for some miles. Aljout five o'clock
we reached St. Thomas, one of the prettiest places I had yet
seen.
St. Thomas is situated on a high eminence, to which the
ascent is rather abrupt. The view from it, over a fertile, well-
settled country, is very lieautiful and cheering. The place bears
the Christian name of Colonel Talbot, who styles it liis capital;
and, from a combination of ad\'antages, it is rising fast into
importance.
Winter Studies and Summer Rambles in Canada.
i
Toquent
:; steam-
y ill tlin
•e is no
^ l)0(lily
m thnso
udinoiis
\ir, aiul
finitudo
, erring,
I know
I'ho has
:)se who
istakes,
myself,
i hope ;
ppiness,
od : for
as we
gautiful
o clear-
ompact
as the
inhere 1
ad and
avelled
o'clock
ad yet
ich the
well-
:e bears
capital ;
st into
wada.
* ii'
Founrij BOOK of ukadtng lessons. 185
CAMPING OUT.*
CaiTiping out forms one of the most lioaltliful and enjoyal»lo
ways of spending a Canadian snmmor lioliday. The hi-illiaiit
sunsliino, the lofty over-arch of hlue smiling tliroiigjj the
fragrant foliage, tlie rustle of foi'est life, the glancing lake-
waves, the murmuring rapids, all comhine to form a scene oF
enchantment which year after year draws to tlie solitary shores
of our northern lakes men who liave elsewhere sought in \ain
for repose of mind.
The camp outfit need not be expensive, and, by such ingenuity
SHELTER TENT.
■IS every young Canadian inherits, may be reduced to a very
few essentials. If we cannot afford to buy a tent, let us make
one. A capital "half-tent," or "shelter tent," can be had by
taking of stout cotton drilling or the heaviest sheeting a piece
thirteen feet long and six feet wide, cutting away to an angle
of forty-five degrees each end of what will form the lower edge of
the tent, and then attaching loops at intervals along both edges.
To render the cloth at once waterproof a)id fireproof, it should
* Based chiefly on Mr. CJibson's; f'tiwv Life hi thr WomJs and Captain
Hardy's Forest Life in Anidic.
4'il
186
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
'it
be dipped in a small tub containing mixed solutions of alum and
sugar-of-lead, taking of each ingredient about a handful. To
erect the tent, sot firmly into the ground three or four poles,
sloping them to windward at an angle of forty-five degrees, and
have an additional pole for " returning " the sheet at one end, so
as to provide against eddies of the wind. By means of the loops
the sheet is now fastened to the poles above and drawn away to
tent-pegs below. Thus arranged, the tent affords a safe shelter
from the wind or any moderate storm, and with a bright fire in
front during chilly nights, is warm and comfortable.
An excellent camp-bed is formed of a long and broad bottom-
less bag filled with moss or dried grass, or even sprays of silver
V,-?
a
a
^ 1
CAMr-BED.
M!
fir. It is stretched on two poles, which securely lie on notched
logs, or it may, in hammock fashion, be suspended between two
trees.
While spending a few days on the edge of one of our northern
forests, we should take a lesson in Indian woodcraft and try
to make a snow-shoe, a toboggan,* or why not even a canoe 1
These are masterpieces of ingenuity and mechanical skill, and
for their best construction we ought if possible to take lessons
of the inventors themselves.
The oval frame of a snow-shoe consists of a single strip of
ash, hickory, or some other elastic wood, bent into form with
the aid of boiling water. The entire length of this strip should
be six feet, or less, according to the height of the wearer.
Across the front part of the oval frame are fastened two strips
* Spellod also tohor/rn'ri and iarhocfin. The word is said to be a derivative
nf the native odahiuian., a sled.
o
a
'-* 1
ilum and
iful. To
ur poles,
pees, and
le end, so
tlie loops
away to
e shelter
it fire in
bottom-
o£ silver
notched
een two
orthern
md try
canoe ?
ill, and
lessons
strip of
m with
should
wearer.
> strips
jrivativc
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LEfiSONS.
187
of stout leather secured to each other by six cross braces. The
interlacing is effected by carrying " under and over " thongs of
moose hide, and the web is generally secured to tlu^ frame l)y
the same material. If you have succeeded in making your
snow-shoes, you must reserve for the winter the pleasure of
vising them. In attaching the shoe the
ball of the foot should be placed on the
second cross-piece, and there secured by
a strip of hide, which is lirst tied over
the foot and then behind tlu; ankle.
Like riding on the velocipede, walking
on snow-shoes looks easy enough; but a
few somersaults usually convince the be-
ginner that the art is not as simple as
it appears. There is no telling where,
in an unguarded moment, snow-shoes will
land you. They seem to take an especial
delight in stepping on each other, and
turning tlieir wc^arer upside down. The
principal secret of success, — and one may
as well know it at the start as learn it
at the expense of a pint of snow down
his back, — consists in taking steps suffi-
ciently long to bring the widest part of
the stepping-shoe beyond that of the
other, keeping the feet rather far apart
and stepping pretty high.
For coasting over a crust of snow there
is no sled like the Indian toboggan. A
bit of " clear " oak, such as may be had
at one of our nortliern saw-mills, forms
the proper basis for the toboggan. If
possible, a single board eight feet long,
sixteen inches wide, and one-third of an
inch thick, must be had. Smooth,
straight stuff" of about an inch in thick-
ness must be provided for the side pieces
and cross pieces, all of which are to be lashed to the bottom
and to each other by thongs of moose hide, or by leather shoe-
strings, if nothing better can be had. Where the thongs pass
through the liottom board they must be carefully imbedded,
to prevent friction against the ground. The bending of the
INDIAN SNOW-SHOE,
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS
graceful dash-board in front is easily accomplished by the aid
of boiling water. Such a toboggan will easily accommodate
three boys, the one at the stem being provided with a sharp
steering stick, and the foreman holding firmly to the draw
''•.•-..v'»Mi«ia
TOBOGGAN.
strings.
This toboggan is " good " for three hundred pounds of
freight, and for any amount of fun !
And now for the canoe. It is a fact worth remembering
that for combined lightness, swiftness, strength, portability, and
carrying power nothing has yet been invented that even ap-
proaches the birch-bark canoe of the poor Indian. Though the
Indians excel in this particular kind of work the most inge-
nious pale-face, yet a reasonably good twelve-foot canoe can be
made without much trouble. First, for the gunwales [<7?m'»?e/.s'],
we require four twelve-foot strips of cedar, ash, or other light
strong wood, an inch wide and a quarter-inch tliick. These
strips must be tied together at the ends in pairs, and the two
pairs then secur(»d togeth;^ r at the ends. These strips receive
between them the edge of the bark and give form to the canoe.
The bottom of the oiiuoe should, if possible, consist of a single
smooth piece of bark. The piecing together of birch bark is
accomplished with an awl or large needle and Indian twine
(tamarack roots), an over-and-over stitch being sewed around
the edge of each piece. When an area of bark four feet and a
half by twelve feet has been secured, drive into a level plot of
ground two pairs of stak(^s, ten feet apart, each two that form
a pair being three inches apart. Now place the bark on the
ground, whiw side uppermost, and fold it loosely and evenly
in the direction of its longth. The folded sheet of bark is
placed between the stakes, a foot of bark projecting beyond
each pair of stakes. Tlu^ ends are closed by covering them
with pieces of bark and stitching securely. The l)ark is sup-
by tlio fiid
commodate
ith a sharp
the draw
pounds of
nemberinfi:
bility, and
; even ap-
hough the
most inge-
oe can be
[gmi'neln]^
>ther light
k. Tliese
d the two
)s receive
:he canoe,
f a single
h bark is
ian twine
id around
'eet and a
el plot of
that form
'k on the
id evenly
c bark is
L( beyond
ing them
k is sup-
IVVBTH BOOK OF ItEADlJS'G LElSSONS.
189
ported at each end by a log or a stone : this will cause the
l»ottom line to foim the proper curvature. The gunwale is
now to receive the. edge of the bark on each side, and is to
be secured to it by a winding stitch, as is seen on the edge
of a palm-leaf fan. The next steps are to line the canoe
with thin cedar strips along its whole
length, and to cross them with ribs of
quarter-inch ash, the ribs being secured
beneath the gunwales by a continuous
loop-stitch through the bark. Four
braces are now to be introduced and
lashed firmly at their ends. The two
middle braces should each be two feet
long. Finally, the seams are to be
made water-tight by smearing with
pitch. The Indians, where necessary,
used for pitch the melted gum of the ..
spruce ; but frequently they attained f.^
such perfection in workmanship that -^^
the mere sewing with tamarack roots
left the canoe water-proof.
HIAWATHA'S SAILING.
Henry Wadsvvorth Longfellow
(1807-1882).
" Give me of your bark, O Birch-Tree !
Of your yc^llow bark, O Birch-Tree !
Growing l)y the rushing river,
Tall and stately in the valley !
I a light canoe will build me.
Build a swift Cheemaun for sailuig,
That shall float upon the river,
Like a yc^llow leaf in Autumn,
Like a yellow water-lily !
" Lay aside your cloak, Birch-Tree!
Lay aside your white-skin wrapper.
For th(} sunnner-time is coming,
And the sun is warm in h(?aven.
And you need no white-skin wrapper ! "
*
■ W
H5
I
-iili
UlKCU-llAKK CANOE.
1
190
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
m
. ■
Thus aloud cried Hiawatha
In the solitary forest,
By the rushing Taquam^naw,
When the birds were singing gaily,
In the Moon of Leaves were singing,
And the sun, from sleep awaking,
Started up and said, " Behold me !
Geezis, the great Sun, behold me ! "
And the tree with all its branches
Rustled in the breeze of morning.
Saying, with a sigh of patience,
" Take my cloak, O Hiawatha ! "
With his knife the tree he girdled ;
Just beneath its lowest branches,
Just above the roots, he cut it.
Till the sap came oozing outward ;
Down the trunk, from top to bottom.
Sheer he cleft the bark asunder.
With a wooden wedge he raised it.
Stripped it from the trunk unbroken.
" Give me of your boughs, O Cedar !
Of your strong and pliant branches.
My canoe to make more steady.
Make more strong and firm beneath me I "
Through the summit of the Cedar
Went a sound, a cry of horror.
Went a murmur of resistance ;
But it whispered, bending downward,
" Take my boughs, O Hiawatha ! "
Down he hewed the boughs of Cedar,
Shaped them straightway to a framework,
Like two bows he formed and shaped them,
Like two bended >ows together.
" Give me of your roots, O Tamarack !
Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-Tree !
My canoe to bind together,
So to bring the ends together
That the water may not enter.
That the river may not wet me ! "
And the Larch, Avith all its fibres,
Shivered in the air of morning,
Touched his forehead with its tassels,
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONK
Said, with one long sigh of sorrow,
« Take them all, O Hiawatha ! "
From the earth he tore the fibres,
Tore the tough roots of the Larch-Tree !
Closely sewed the bark together,
Bound it closely to the framework.
" Give me of your balm, O Fir-tree !
Of your balsam and your resin,
So to close the seams together
That the water may not enter.
That the river may not v^et me ! "
And the Fir-Tree, tall and sombre,
Sobbed through all its robes o{ darkness,
Rattled like a shore with pebbles.
Answered wailing, answeri3d weeping,
" Take my balm, O Hiawatha ! "
And he took the tears of balsam,
Took the resin of the Fir-Tree,
Smeared therewith each seam and fissure,
Made each crevice safe from water.
" Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog !
All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog !
I will make a necklace of them,
Make a girdle for my beauty,
And two stars to deck her bosom ! "
From a hollow tree the Hedgehog
With his sleepy eyes looked at him,
Shot his shining quills like arrows,
Saying, with a drowsy murmur.
Through the tangle of his whiskers,
" Take my quills, Hiawatha ! "
From the ground the quills he gathered,
All the little shining arrows.
Stained them red and blue and yellow
With the juice of roots and berries ;
Into his canoe he wrought them.
Round its waist a shining girdle,
Round its bows a gleaming necklace
On its breast two stars resplendent.
Thus the Birch Canoe was builded,
In the valley, by the river,
In the bosom of the forest j
191
i i
J
I
If
11 '
192
FOURTH BOOK oF HEADING LESSONS.
And the forest's life was in it,
All its mystery and its iiiaj^ic,
All the lightness of the birch-tree,
All the toughness of the cedar,
All the larch's supple sinews ; T
And it floated on the river
Like a yellow leaf in Autumn,
Like a yellow water-lily.
So)iy of Hiawatha (1855)*
UIKCJl-BAUK t'ANOi;.
1
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
193
HEALTH OF HOFSES.-I.
Flouence Nightingale (b. 1820).
There are five essential points for securing the health of
houses: — (1) pure air ; (2) pure water; (3) efficient drainage;
(4) cleanliness; (5) light. Without these no house can be
healthy. And it will be unhealthy just in proportion as they
do not exist.
AIR.
To have pure air, your house must be so built that the outer
air may find its way with ease to every corner of its interior.
House-builders do not always consider this. Their object in
building a house is to obtain the largest interest for their money,
not to save doctors' bills to the tenants. But if tenants ever
become so wise as to refuse to occupy unhealthily-built houses,
builders will spe3dily be brought to their senses. Bad houses
do for the healthy what bad hospitals do for the sick. Once
insure that the air in a house is stagnant, and sickness is certain
to follow. No one thinks how much disease might be prevented,
even in the country, by simply taking care to provide the cot-
tages with fres'i air. Sometimes an additional pane of glass,
made to open and shut, and put into the wall where it is
wanted, will make a cottage sweet which always has been
musty. Sometimes a skylight, made to open, will make an attic
wholesome which never was habitable before. Every careful
woman will spread out the bedding daily to the light and the
air.
No window is safe, as has often been said, which does not
open at the top, or in which at least a pane in the upper row of
the upper sash does not open. In small crowded rooms, the
foul air is all above the chimney-breast, and is therefore quite
ready to be breathed by the people in the room. This air
requires to be let off; and the simplest way of doing so is one
of these, namely —
(1.) An Arnott's ventilator in the chimney, close to the
ceiling.
(2.) An air-brick in the wall at the ceiling.
(3.) A pane of perforated glass in a passage or a stair win-
dow.
The large old tire-place, under which three or four people
13
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1 ,;
1 ■ 4 ;
1
1 , ''
f I
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! '
i|
i ;
i'i
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lit
1 1
i:
194
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
could sit — still to be seen in cottages in the south of England,
and in old manor-houses — was an immense benefit to the air of
the room. Pity it has disappeared in all new buildings ! Buo
never stop up your chimney. Of whatever size it be, it is a
good ventilator. And during almost every night of the year
pull your window an inch down at the top. Remember, at the
TOP.
WATER.
Pure water is more general in houses than it used to be,
thanks to the exertions of a few. Within the last few years, a
large part of London was in the daily habit of using water
polluted by the drainage of its sewers and water-closets. This
has happily been remedied. But, in many parts of the country,
well-water of a very impure kind is used for domestic purposes.
"When epidemic disease shows itself, persons using si'ch water
are almost sure to suffer. Never use water that is not perfectly
colorless and without taste or smell. Never keep water in an
open tub or pail in a sitting-room or a bedroom. Water
absorbs foul air, and becomes foul and unwholesome in conse-
quence ; and it damps the air in the room, making it also un-
wholesome.
DRAINAGE.
Many people have no icioa of what good drainage consists in.
They think that a sewer in ti e street, with a pipe leading to it
from the house, is good drainage. All the while the sewer may
be nothing but a place from which sickness and ill-health are
being poured into the house. No house with an untrapped, un-
venfcilated drain-pipe, communicating immediately with an un-
ventilated sewer, whether it be from water-closet, sink, or gully -
grate, can ever be healthy. An untrapped sink may at any
time spread fevers and other diseases among the inmates of
a palace. Country cottages suffer from bad drainage quite as
much as, if not more than, town houses. Their floors are some-
times on the level of the ground, instead of being a foot or more
above it, as they ought to be, with the air playing freely below
the boards. More frequently, however, the floors are not
boarded, but are merely' made of earth or of porous brick, which
absorbs a large quantity of the moisture, and keeps damp cold
air about the feet. Perhaps most frequently of all, the floor
has been worn away several inches below the level of the
ground, and of course after every wet day it is wet and sloppy.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
195
England,
he air of
;s ! Buo
;, it is a
the year
\ AT THE
?d to be,
r years, a
Qg water
ts. This
country,
purposes,
ch water
perfectly
iter in an
Water
in conse-
t also un-
)nsists in.
ding to it
ewer may
lealth are
ipped, un-
th an un-
,orgully-
ly at any
imates of
e quite as
are some-
)t or more
ely below
are not
ick, which
lamp cold
the floor
el of the
ad sloppy.
But this is not the worst : sometimes a dung-hill or a pig-sty is
kept so close to the door that the foul water from it, after rain,
may be seen ilowing into tlie house.
Have you ever observed that there are certain groups of
houses over which the fog settles sooner than over others'? The
fog is nature's way of showing that the houses and their neigh-
borhood are saturated with moisture from the neglects abov •,
specified. These fogs also point out wh,re the fever or the
cholera will come. To remedy this state of things, the ground
requires to be drained or trenched, the earth cut away, the
floors raised above the level of the ground, and dung-hills and
pig-sties removed as far as possible from the houses. One of
the most common causes of disease in towns is having cess-pools,
ash-pits, or midden-steads close to the houses. There are great
and rich cities and towns which justly pride themselves on their
drainage, their water-sapply, their paving and surface cleansing,
and which yet have more deaths in their dwellings than many
towns where no such works have been carried out. There is no
way of putting a stop to this terrible loss of life except by
putting an end to these cess-pools and ash-pits, and by bringing
in drainage, as has been done in many of the very worst districts
of London.
Among the more common causes of ill-health in cottages is
overcrowding. There is, perhaps, only a single room for a
whole family, and not more than one hundred and fifty or two
hundred cubic feet for every inmate. Nothing can make such
a room healthy. Ventilation would improve it, but still it
would be unhealthy. The only way to meet this overcrowded
state of cottages is by adding rooms, or by building more cottages
on a better model.
The ordinary oblong sink is an abomination. That great
surface of stone, which is always left wet, is always exhaling
hurtful vapors. I have known whole houses and hospitals
smell of the sink. I have met just as strong a stream of sewer
air coming up the back staircase of a grand London house from
the sink as I have met at Scutari j and I have seen the rooms
in that house all ventilated by the open doors, and the passages
all i*w ventilated by the cl'^sed windows, in order, apparently,
that as much of the sewer air as possible might be conducted
into and retained in the bed-rooms. It is wonderful !
11
■y o»
i.
f I
196 FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
TO FLOBENGE NIGHTINGALE.
Edwin Arnold (b. 1832).
If on this verse of mine
Those eyes shall ever shine,
Whereto sore-wounded men have looked for life,
Think not that for a rhyme.
Nor yet to lit the time,
I name thy name, — true victress in this strife !
But let it serve to say
That, when we kneel to pray.
Prayers rise for thee thine ear shall never know ;
And that thy gallant deed.
For God and for our need.
Is in all hearts, as deep as love can go.
'Tis good that thy name springs
From two of earth's fair things — '
A stately city and a soft- voiced bird ;*
'Tis well that in all homes,
When thy sweet story comes.
And brave eyes fill, that pleasant sounds be heard.
O voice ! in night of fear.
As night's bird, soft to hear ;
O great heart ! raised like city on a hill ;
O watcher ! worn and pale.
Good Florence Nightingale,
Thanks, loving thanks, for thy large work and will !
England is glad of thee ;
Christ, for thy charity,
Take thee to joy when hand and heart are still !
1855.
* Miss Nightingale was born at Florence in Italy, May 1820. She is the
younger daughter of W. E. Shore, a Sheffield banker, who became heir to
Peter Nightingale, and assumed his name. Miss Nightingale went with &
corps of nurses to the Crimea in 1854. Her organization of hospitals at
Scu'tari, and her care of the English sick and wounded, will always be
remembered with deep gratitude.
1 1
life,
fe!
now;
heard.
md will !
kill !
1855.
She is the
2ame heir to
went with &
hospitals at
11 always be
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS. 197
I . -
HEALTH OF HOUSES.-II.
Florence Nightingale (b. 1820).
CLEANLINESS.
Without cleanliness within and without your house, ventila-
tion is comparatively useless. In certain foul districts, poor
people used to object to open their windows and doors because
of the foul smells that came in. Rich people like to have their
stables and dung-hill near their houses. But does it never occur
to them that, with arrangements of this kind, it would be safer
to keep the windows shut than open? You cannot have the air
of the liouse pure with dung-heaps under the windows. These
are common everywhere. And yet people are surprised that
their children, brought up in "country air," suffer from children's
diseases. If they studied nature's laws in the matter of chil-
dren's health, they would not be so surprised.
TI ere are other ways of having filth inside a house besides
having dirt in heaps. Old papered walls of years' standing,
dirty carpets, dirty ceilings, uncleaned furniture, — these pollute
the air just as much as if there were a dung-heap in the base-
ment. People are so unaccustomed to consider how to make a
home healthy, that they either never think of it at all, and take
every disease as a matter of course ; or, if they ever entertain
the idea of preserving the health of their household as a duty,
they are very apt to commit all kinds of "negligences and
ignorances" in performing it. Even in the poorest houses,
washing the walls and the ceilings with quick-lime wash twice
a year would prevent more disease than you wot of.
LIGHT.
A dark house is always an unhealtliy house, always an
ill-aired house, always a dirty house. Want of light stops
growth, and promotes scrofula, rickets, and other diseases
among children. People lose their health in a dark house ; and
if they get ill, they cannot get well again in it. Three out of
many " negligences and ignorances " in managing the health of
houses generally, I shall here mention as specimens: — (1.) That
the mistress of any house, large or small, does not think it
necessary to visit every hole and comer of it every day. (2.)
That it is not considered essential to air, to sun, and to clean
every room, whether inhabited or not. (3.) That the window
«:
J'
'IP I
108
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
is considered enough to air a room. Have you never observed
that a room without a fire-place is always close ? If you have
a fire-place, do not stop up the throat of the chimney. If your
chimney be foul, sweep it, but don't expect that you can ever
air a room with only one opening — don't suppose that to shut
up a room is the way to keep it clean.
I have known cases of sickness quite as severe in private
houses as in any of the worst towns, and from the same cause —
namely, foul air. What was the cause of sickness l)oing in that
nice private house? It was that the sewer air from an ill-
placed sink was carefully conducted into all the rooms by sed-
ulously opening all the doors and closing all the passage
windtjws. \t was that the chamber crockery was never properly
rinsed, or was rinsed with dirty water. It was that the beds
were never properly shaken, aired, picked to pieces, or changed.
It was that the carpets and curtains were always musty, and
that the furniture was always dusty. It was that the wall-
paper was saturated with dirt, that the floors were never cleaned,
and that the empty rooms were never sunned or aired. It was
that the cupboards were always reservoirs of foul air. It was
that the windows were always fast shut up at night. It was
that no window was ever regularly opened, even in th« day, or
that the right window was never opened at all.
All this is not fancy, but fact. In the house referred to
there have been in one summer six cases of serious illness, all
the immediate products of foul air. When, in a temperate
climate, a house is more unhealthy in summer than in winter,
something must be wrong. Yet nobody learns the lesson.
THE DYING CHILD.
Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875).
[The following translation from the Danish of Andersen was executed by
Mr. Ward for Aunt Judy's Magazine.]
Mother, I am tired ; I long to sleep so !
Let thy bosom be my sleeping-place :
Only promise me thou wilt not weep so,
For thy tears fall burning on my face.
Here 'tis cold, and there the clouds are fleeting ;
But in dreamland there are sunny skies,
And the angel-children give me greeting
Soon as I have closed my wearied eyes.
p observed
you have
If your
can ev^r
it to shut
in private
le cause —
ng in that
)m an 11 1-
ns by sed-
passage
r properly
the beds
r changed,
lusty, and
the wall-
er cleaned,
It was
It was
It was
h« day, or
eferred to
illness, all
temperate
in winter,
sson.
executed by
ing;
FOURTH BOOK OF READINQ LESSONS. 199
Dost thou see that angel coming, mc^' r?
Dost thou hear the music of his wings 'f
White they are; they shine on one another;
Beautiful from Clod the light he brings !
Rosy wings are coming too from heaven;
Angel-children wave them as they fly ; —
Mother, shall I live till mine are given ?
Or, before I get them, must I die ?
Mother, wherefore dost thou look so earnest 1
Wherefore dost thou press thy cheek to mine ?
Wet it feels, and yet like fir(^ thou burnest ; —
Surely, mother, I shall still be thine!
Thou hast promised me thou wouldst not weep so ;
If thou sobbest, I shall sob with thee.
Oh, I am so tired ; I long to sleep so !
Mother, look ! the angel kisses me.
M
THANATOPSIS (''Contemplation of Death").
All that breathe
Wi^l 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 bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men, —
The youth in life's gi'een spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man, —
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 innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death.
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approacli thy grave.
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
\V. C. Buy ANT (^vritten at 19 years of age), 1794.
il^
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200 FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS
THE RETREAT FROM CABUL,
(1842 A.D.)
Justin M'Oatithy (b. 1830).
[The English interference in Afghanistan in 1838-42 led to the greatest
disaster which ever befei! the English arms. The Indian government and
the governniQnt at home lield it to be indispensable that English influence
should predominate at Cabul, in order to check the intrigues of Persia and of
Hussia, who were said to be acting in concert. Dost Mahomed was the
accci)ted and powerful ruler of the country ; and he was anxious to be on
friendly terms with England. But he was distrusted by Lord Auckland, the
governor-general of India, who thought we should be more secure if a ])rince
of our own selecting ruled Afghanistan. We adopted Shah Soojah, the
representative of the exiled dynasty, as our protege . We .sent an army to
Cabul, overthrew l)ost Mahomed, sent him a,s a prisoner to India, and set up
Shah Soojah in his pi ce. The Afghans refused to accept Shah Soojah. They
rose in riot at Cal)ul and slew the English envoy, Sir Alexander Burnes, and
ail his attendants. Akbar Khan, Dost Mahomed's son, put himself at the
head of tlie insurgents. With his own hand he slew, at a conference. Sir
William Macnaghten, one of the English generals. He requii*ed the English
army to withdraw from Afghanistan.]
The withdrawal from Cabul began. It was the heart of a
cruel winter. The English had to make their way through the
awful pass of Koord Cabul. This stupendous gorge runs for
some five miles between mountain ranges so narrow, lofty, and
grim, that in the winter season the rays of the sun can hardly
pierce its darkness even at the noontide. Down the centre
dashed a precipitous mountain torront so fiercely that the stern
frost of that terrible time could not stay its course. The snow
lav in masses on the ground ; the rocks and stones that raised
their heads above the snow in the w^y of the unfortunate
travellers were slippery with frost. Soon the white snow began
to be stained and splashed with blood. Fearful as this Koord
Cabal Pass was, it was only a degree worse than the road which
for t^vo whole days the English had to traverse to reach it. The
army which set out from Cabul numbered more than four thou-
sand fighting men, of whom Europeans, it should be said, formed
but a small proportion ; and some twelve thousand camp followers
of all kinds. There were also many women and children: Lady
Macnaghten, widow of the murdered envoy ; Lady Sale, whose
gallant Inisband was holding Jelalabad* at the near end of the
Kliyber Pass f towards the Indian frontier ; Mrs. Sturt, her
* Jeliilabad', a fortified town at the western end of the Khy'ber Pass ; 90
miles from Cii'hul and 80 from Peshaw'ur.
t Khyber Pass, the chief northern ])ass from India to Afghanistan. It is
about 12 miles from Peshawur, and is 30 miles long. The rocks rise to 1,000
feet above the narrow pass,
I
the greatest
ernTnent and
ish influence
^ersia and of
ned was the
njs to be on
uckland, the
•e if a prince
Soojah, the
an army to
a, and set uj)
><>jah. They
Burnes, and
mself at the
iference, Sir
the English
leart of a
rougli the
! runs for
lofty, and
an hardly
he centre
the stern
The snow
lat raised
ifortunate
low began
lis Koord
)ad which
lit. The
our thou-
d, formed
followers
en: Lady
le, whose
id of the
turt, her
r Pass ; 90
tan. It is
«e to 1,000 •
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
201
daughter, soon to be widowed by the death of her you.^g hus-
band ; Mrs. Trevor and her seven children, and many other
pitiable fugitives.
The inter journey would have been cruel and dangerous
enough in time of peace ; but tins journey had to be accom-
plished in the midst of something far worse than common war.
At every step of the road, every opening of the rocks, the un-
i'ttlnee •r
S>
\^^
vSfe
\^
Candahar ■■M^^^^':
happj/^ crowd of confused and heterogeneous fugitives wr^re
beset by bands of savage fanatics, who with their long guns
and long knives were murdering all they could reach. 3-t was
all the way a confused constant battle against a guerilla enemy
of the most furious and merciless temper, who was perfectly
familiar with the ground, and could rush forward and retire
exactly as suited his tactics. The English soldiers, weary,
weak, and crippled by frost, could make but a poor fight against
the savage Afghans.
" It was no longer," says Sir J. "W". Kaye, " a retreating army ;
, it was a rabble in chaotic flight." Men, women, and children,
horses, ponies, camels, the wounded, the dying, the dead, all
crowded together in almost inextricable confusion among the
snow and amid the relentless enemies. " The massacre," to
quote again from Sir J. W. Kaye, " was fearful in this Koord
Cabul Pass. Three thousand men are said to have falleii under
the fire of the enemy, or to have dropped down paralyzed and
exhausted to be slaughtered by the Afghan knives. And
amidst these fearful scenes of carnage, through a shower of
matchlock balls, rode English ladies on liorse))ack or in camel-
panniers, sometimes vainly endeavoring to keep their children
f5
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
AFGHAN HILL-MEN FIOHTINQ.
beneath their eyes, and losing them in the confusion and
bewilderment of the desolatinir march."
Was it for this, then, that our troops had been induced to
f
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS,
203
capitulate 1 Was this the safe-conrluct which the Afghan
chiefs had promised in return for accepting the ignominious
conditions imposed on themi Some of the chiefs did exert
themselves to their utmost to protect the unfortunate English.
It is not certain what the real wish of Akbar Khan may have
been. He protested that he had no power to restrain the
hordes of fanatical Ghilzyes,* whose own immediate chiefs had
not authority enough to keep them from murdering the English
whenever they got a chance. The force of some few hundred
horsemen which Akbar Khan had with him was utterly in-
capable, he declared, of maintaining order among such a mass
of infuriated and lawless savages. Akbar Khan constantly
appeared on the scene during this journey of terror. At every
opening or break of the long straggling flight he and his little
band of followers showed themselves on the horizon : trving
still to protect the English from utter ruin, as he declared ;
come to gloat over their misery and to see that it was surely
accomplished, some of the unhappy English were ready to
believe. Yet his presence was something that seemed to give
a hope of protection.
Akbar Khan at length startled the English by a proposal
that the women and children who were with the army should
be handed over to his custody, to be conveyed by him in safety
to Peshawur. t There was nothing better to be done. The only
modification of his request, or command, that could be obtained
was that the husbands of the married ladies should accompany
their wives. With this agreement the women and children
were handed over to the care of this dreaded enemy, and Lady
Macnaghten had to undergo the agony of a personal interview
with the man whose own hand had killed her husband. Few
scenes in poetry or in romance can surely be more thrilling with
emotion than such a meeting as this must have been. Akbar
Khan was kindly in his language, and declared to the unhappy
widow that he would give his right arm to undo, if it were
possible, the deed that he had done.
Tlie women and children, and the married men whose wives
were among this party, were taken from the unfortunate army
and placed under the care of Akbar Khan. As events turned
* Ghirzyes, one of the hill tribes that infest the mountains between India
and Afghanistan.
t Peshawur, the town in India nearest to the Khyber Pass ; 40 miles west
of Attock on the Indus,
h
Hfl
|T|-
m-
1-
'I
a
t
8
, H
H
1
' B
...ii*. !
204
FOURTH BOOK OF TtEADTNO LESSONS.
out, this proved a fortunate thing for them. But in any case
it was the best thing that could be done. Not one of these
women and children could have lived through the horrors of
the journey which lay before the remnant of what had once
been a British force. The march was resumed ; new horrors
set in ; new heaps of corpses stained the snow ; and then Akbar
Khan presented liimself with a fresh proposition. In the treaty
made at Cabul between the English authorities and the Afghan
chiefs there was an article which stipulated that " the English
force at Jelalabad shall march for Peshawur before tlie Cabul
army arrives, and shall not delay on the road." Akbar Khan
was especially anxious to get rid of the little army at Jelala-
bad at the near end of the Khyber Pass. He desired above all
things that it should be on the march home to India ; either
that it might be out of his way, or that he might have a chance
of destroying it on its way.
It was in great measure as a security for its moving that he
desired to have the women and children under his care. It is
not likely that he meant any harm to the women and children :
it must be remembered that his father and many of the women
of his family were under the control of the British Government
as prisoners in Hindustan. But he fancied that if he had the
English women in his hands the army at Jelalabad could not
refuse to obey the condition set down in the article of the
treaty. Now that he had the women in his power, however,
he demanded other guarantees with openly acknowledged pur-
pose of keeping these latter until Jelalabad should have been
evacuated. He demanded that General Elphinstone, the com-
mander, with his second in command, and also one other officer,
should hand themselves over to him as hostages. He promised
if this were done to exert himself more than before to restrain
the fanatical tribes, and to provide the army in the Koord Cabul
Pass with provisions. There was nothing for it but to submit ;
and the English general himself became, with the women and
children, a captive in the hands of the inexorable enemy.
Then the march of the army, without a general, went on
again. Soon it became the story of a general without an army ;
before very long there was neither general nor army. It is idle
to lengthen a tale of mere horrors. The straggling remnant of
an army entered the Jugdulluk Pass* — a dark, steep, narrow,
* Jugdulluk' Pass ; between the K<M)rd Cabul Pass and Jelalabad. It is
5,300 feet above sea-level.
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
206
the women
ascending path between crags. The miserable toilers found that
the fanatical, implacable tribes had barricaded the pass. All
was over. The army of Cabul was finally extinguished in that
barricaded pass. It was a trap ; the British were taken in it.
A few mere fugitives escaped from the scene of actual slaughter,
and were on the road to Jelalabad, where Sale and his little
army were holding their own. When they were within six-
teen miles of Jelalabad the number was reduced to six. Of
these six, five were killed by straggling marauders on the way.
One man alone reached Jelalabad to tell the tale. Literally
one man, Dr. Bryden, came to Jelalabad out of a moving host
which had numbered in all some sixteen thousand when it set
out on its march. The curious eye will search through history
or through fiction in vain for any picture more thrilling with
the suggestions of an awful catastrophe than that of this soli-
tary survivor, faint and reeling on his jaded horse, as he ap
peared under the walls of Jelalabad, to bear the tidings of our
Thermopylae of pain and shame.
[This is the crisis of the story. General Sale declined to quit Jelalabad,
and was besieged there by Akbar Khan. As soon as Sale learned tliat
General Pollock was forcing the Khyber Pass to relieve him, he attacked the
Afghans and completely defeated them. Pollock then marched swiftly on
Caoul and destroyed its fortifications, after having rescued Lady Sale and
the other hostages.]
A History of Our Own Times (1880).
y
THE RED THREAD OF HONOR.
Told to the author by the late Sir Charles J. Napier.
Sir Francis Hastings Doyle (b. 1810).
(Late Professor of Poetry in the University of Oxford.)
Eleven men of England
A breastwork charged in vain ;
Eleven men of England
Lie stripped, and gashed, and slain.
Slain, — but of foes that guarded
Their rock-built fortress well,
Some twenty had been mastered
When the last soldier fell.
Whilst Napier piloted his wondrous way
Across the sand-v/aves of the desert sea.
M
206 FOURTH BOOK OF RKADINQ LESSONS.
Then flashed at once, on euch fierce clan, dismay, —
Lord of their wild Truckle.*
These missed the glen to whivh theik' steps were bent,
Mistook a mandate, from afar half-heard ;
And in that glaring error, calmly went
To death without a word
The robber-chief mused deeply
Above those daring dead :
" Bring here," at length he sliouted,
" Bring quick, the battle thread.
Let Eblis f blast for ever
Their souls, if Allah will \
But we mubt keep unbroken
The old rules of the Hill.
" Before the Ghiznee tiger J
Leapt forth to burn and slay ;
Before the holy prophet
Taught ou'' grim tribes to pray ;
Before SecunOer's § lances
Pierced through each Indian glen,
The mountain laws of honor
Were framed for fearless men.
" Still, when a chief dies b"*avely,
We bind with green one wrist —
Green for the brave ; for heroes
One crimson thread we twist.
Say ye, O gallant Hillmen,
For these, whose life has fled.
Which is the fitting color —
The green one, or the red ? "
" Our brethren laid in honored graves may wear
Their green reward," each noble savage said ;
" To these, whom hawks and ).iungry wolves shall tear.
Who dares deny the red ? "
* A stronghold in the desert, supiwsed to be inaccessible and impregnable.
+ In the Kordn Eblis is the monarch of the spirits of evil.
JMahmdd (a. p. 998-1030), setting out from his capital Ghizni, made a
series of destructive inroads into Hindiistdn.
§ Alexander the Great. Secunder is Indian for Alexander.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
307
Thus conquering hate, and steadfast
to the right,
Fresh from the heart that haughty
verdict came ;
Beneath a waning moon each spectral
height
Rolled back its loud acclaim.
Once more the chief gazed keenly
Down on those daring dead ;
From his good sword their heart's blood
Crept to that crimson thread :
" Once more," he cried, " the judgment.
Good friends, is wise and true ;
But though the red he given.
Have we not more to do ?
" These were not stirred by anger,
Nor yet by lust made bold ;
Reason they thought above them,
Nor did they look for gold.
To whom their leader's signal
Was as the voice of God ;
Unmoved and uncomplaining,
The path it showed they trod.
" As, without sound or struggle.
The stars, imhurrying, march
Where Allah's finger guides them,
Through yonder purple arch,
These Franks, sublimely silent.
Without a quickened breath.
Went, in the strength of duty,
Straight to their goal of death.
" If I were now to ask you
To name our bravest man,
Ye all at once would answer,
They called him Mehrab Khan.
He sleeps among his fathers,
Dear to our native land.
With the bright mark he bled for
Firm around his faithful hand.
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FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS,
" The songs they sing of Roostum
Fill all the past with light ;
If truth be in their music
He was a noble knight.
But were these heroes living,
And strong for battle still,
Would Mehrab Khan or Roos+um
Have climbed, like these, the Hill 1 "
"Though
Mehiab Khan was
((
And they replied,
brave —
As chief, he chose himself what risks to run ;
Prince Roostum lied, his forfeit life to save,
Which these have never done."
Enough ! " he shouted fiercely :
" Doomed though they be to hell.
Bind fast the crimson trophy
Round both wrists — bind it well !
" Who knows but that great Allah
May grudge such matchless men.
With none &o decked in heaven,
To the fiend's flaming den ? "
Then all those gallant robbers
Shouted a stern " Amen ! "
They raised the slaughtered sergeant —
They raised his mangled ten.
And when we found their bodies
Left bleaching in the wind,
Around both wrists in glory
That crimson thread was twined.
Then Napier's knightly heart, touched to the core,
Rung, like an echo, to that knightly deed :
He bade its memory live for evermore.
That those who run may read.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
209
ENGLISH SCHOOLS IN THE MIDDLE AGES.
Wm. Stubbs, M.A., Regius Professor of Modern History, Oxford.
[Spencer Walpole, the author of The History of England from 1815, thus
contrasts Mr. Stubbs as an historian with Hallam : " Mr. Hallam's labors
have perhaps done more than Mr. Stubbs's researches to give the general
reader a clear idea of constitutional progress ; but Mr. Stubbs's work has
done more to assist the student than Mr. Hallam's history. Mr. Hallam
excels in manner, Mr. Stubbs in matter; Mr. Hallam is superior to Mr.
Stubbs in his generalizations, Mr. Stubbs to Mr. Hallam in the copiousness
of his details."]
A.bsolutely unlettered ignorance ought not to be alleged
againSit the middle and lower classes of these ages; that in
every village reading and writing must have been not unknown
accomplishments, even if books and paper were so scarce as to
confine these accomplishments practically to the mere uses of
business. Schools were by no means uncommon things : there
were schools in all cathedrals ; monasteries and colleges were
everywhere, and wherever there was a monastery or a college
there was a school. Towards the close of the Middle Ages,
notwithstanding many causes for depression, there was much
vitality in the schools. William of Wykeham at Winchester
and Henry VI. at Eton set conspicuous examples of reform and
improvement ; the Lollards taught their doctrines in schools ;
the schools of the cathedrals continued to flourish. The de-
pression of education was recognized but not acquiesced in.
In 14i7 four parish priests of London, in a petition to Parlia-
ment, begged the Commons to consider the great number of
grammar schools " that sometime were in diverse parts of the
realm beside those that were in London, and how few there be
in these days ; " there were many learners, they continued, but
few teachers ; masters rich in money, scholars poor in learning :
they asked leave to appoint schoolmasters in their parishes, to
be removed at their discretion ; and Henry VI. granted the
petition, subjecting that discretion to the advice of the ordi-
nary.* Learning had languished, as may be inferred from the
facL that the decline of the universities had only been arrested
by the rapid endowment of the new colleges, and that the re-
striction of the Church patronage of the Crown to university
men had been offered as an inducement to draw men to Oxford
and Cambridge. But the great men of the land, ministers and
* Ordinary, as here used, means the established judge of ecclesiastical
causes.
14
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FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
prelates, were devoting themselves and their goods liberally to
prevent further decline; and their efforts were not unappreciated
in the class they strove to benefit. In this, as in some other
matters, it is ^'-^^ "He that the invention of printing acted at
first somewhat , *ptly, and by the very suddenness of change
stayed rather than stimulated exertion. Just as men ceased
for the moment to write books because the press could multiply
the old on(;s to a bewildering extent, the flood of printing
threatened to carry away all the profits of teaching and most
of the advantages which superior clerkship included. It is
true the paralysis of literary energy in both cases was short,
but it had in both cases the result of giving to the revival that
followed it the look of a new beginning. The new learning
differed from the old in many important points ; but its
novelty was mainly apparent in the fact that it sprang to life
after the blow under which the old learning liad succumbed.
So it was with education generally : the new schools for which
Colet and Ascham* and their successors labored, and the new
schools that Edward VI., Mary, and Elizabeth founded out of
the estates of the chantries, were chiefiy new in the fact that
they replaced a machinery which for the time had lost all
energy and power. It is not improbable that the fifteenth
century, although its records contain more distinct references
to educational activity than those of the fourteenth, had experi-
enced some decline in this point — a decline sufficiently marked
to call for an effort to remedy it. But however this may
have been, whether the foundation of Winchester and Eton,
and the country schools that followed in their wake, was the
last spark of an expiring flame, or the first flicker of the newly-
lighted lamp, the Middle Ages did not pass away in total dark-
ness in the matter of education ; and it was not in mockery
that the Parliament of Henry IV. allowed every man, free or
villein, to send his sons and daughters to school wherever he
could find one.
* John Colet, Dean of St. Paul's, b. 1466; founded St. Panl's School,
London, and appointed William Lilly first master, 1.512. Roger Ascham
{As'kain), Latin Secretary to Edward VI., Maxy, and Elizabeth. Wrote his
" Schole-master" 1550 (published 1570) ; d. Dec. 30, 1568.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LEHHONS. 211
THE EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION.
Hon. Geouge Brown (1818-1880).
[On New-Year'8 Day, 1863, President Lincoln isHiiod a proclamation
setting free the slaves everywhere throu^h<JUt the Unitetl States. This
decisive stroke, while powerfully influencing the issue of the Civil War,
received the hearty approval of the friends of human freedom throughout
the world. At the Twelfth Anniversary Meeting of the AntiSlavcry Societt/,
held (Wednesday evening, 4th February 18(>3) in the Music Hall, Toronto,
Mr. Brown delivered the speech from which the following extracts aru made.
Of this speech the London Atheninnn (May 15th, 1880) said: "It had an
effect quite as striking as any orator could desire. It was reprinted in this
country, and it received from Mr. John Stuart Mill the high praise of being
the best speech on the subject which he had read."]
Sir, I care not to pry narrowly into tlie motives of all those
who have contributed to bring about this great change in the
Kepublic. I care not to examine critically the precise mode
by which it has been brought about. I care not to discuss tlie
arguments by which it has been promoted or defended in the
Republic. What to us signifies all this? We see before us
the great fact that the chains have already fallen from the
hands of tens of thousands of human chattels ; we see that, if
the policy of the present Government at Washington prevails,
the curse of human slavery will be swept from our continent
for ever; and our hearts now go up with earnest petitions
to the God of Battles that he will strengthen the hands of
Abraham Lincoln and give wisdom to his councils.
[After an historical review of the Anti-Slavery movement
and its vicissitudes, Mr. Brown proceeded : — ]
But, Mr. Chairman, there is another question constantly
heard, and it is this : — " Why did not Mr. Lincoln openly,
frankly, and from the first declare the overthrow of slavery to
be his object in the Civil War ? Now, sir, I could understand
such a question as this coming from a pro-slavery man, for we
have become used to the twistings and windings of that class
of disputants ; but, I confess, I do not comprehend such a
question coming from the lips of a true emancipationist. Mr.
Lincoln was not elected by the whole North, but only by a
portion of the Northern electors ; Mr. Lincoln's vievv^s on the
slave question were not held by the whole North, but, on the
contrary, a large portion of the North approved of slavery and
denounced Mr. Lincoln's policy upon it. Mr. Lincoln had a
divided North to fight with against a united South ; and yet
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FOURTH BOOK OF READJNO LESSONS.
those professing Abolitionists would have had him come out
with an unnecessary declaration which would have split up his
supporters, and given the South the uncontrolled mastery of
the Union. No, sir ; Mr. Lincoln knew better what he was
about. He simply declared for the maintenance of the Union.
And why ? Because he knew that men would come in to fight
with him for the maintenance of the Union whose political
antecedents forbade them from fighting for the overthrow of
slavery. He desired to get a united North as against a united
South, and he could only get them united on the ground of the
maintenance of the Union. But well he knew that, if the
Union were maintained, and he himself remained President of
the Union, his end would be a.^complished.
Time did its work. Many of the Democratic party, in the
heat of strife, forgot their political antecedents, and grad-
ually saw and admitted the necessity of waging war against
slavery ; and Mr. Lincoln was enabled to venture on measures
that dared not have been breathed at the beginning of the
struggle.
I am well assured that those of us who may be spared some
years hence to look back upon this Civil War in America, will
never have cause to repent that they took part in the proceed-
ings of this night, but will remember with pride and pleasure
that we did what we could to uphold the right. For myself,
sir, whatever may be the result of the present strife, I shall
always feel the highest satisfaction in recollecting that with
the sin of sympathizing with slavery or secession my hands
are not defiled; but that from the commencement of the
struggle my earnest aspirations have gone with the friends of
freedom. The American War and Slavery : a Speech delivered
at Toronto. (Manchester. 1863.)
THE REVEILLE.*
Fbanois Bret Harte (b. 1839).
Hark ! I hear the tramp of thousandSj
And of armed men the hum ;
Lo ! a nation's hosts have gathered
Round the quick alarming drum,
* Pr. ray-vay-yea, "drum-call."
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
213
Saying, "Come,
Freemen, come I
Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick alarming drum.
'•' Let mo of my heart tjike counsel :
War is not of life the sum ;
Who shall stay and reap the harvest
When the autumn days shall come ? "
But the drum
Echoed, " Come !
Death shall reap the braver harvest," said the solemn-sounding
drum.
" But, when won the coming battle,
What of profit springs therefrom ?
What if conquest, subjugation,
Even greater ills become ? "
But the drum
Answered, " Come !
You must do the sum to prove it," said the Yankee-answering
drum
" What if, 'mid the cannons' thunder,
Whistling shot and bursting bomb,
When my brothers fall around me,
Should my heart grow cold and numb ? "
But the drum
Answered, " Come !
Better there in death united than in life a recreant^ — come ! "
Thus they answered — hoping, f e ,ring,
Some in faith, and doubting some.
Till a trumpet- voice, proclaiming,
Said, " My chosen people, come ! "
Then the drum,
Lo ! was dumb,
For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, ' ' Lord,
we come 1 "
I
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
i i
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AUGUST.
Algernon Charles Swinburne {h. 1843).
There were four apples on the bough,
Hiilf gold, half red, that one might know
The blood was ripe inside the core ;
The color of the leaves was more
Like stems of yellow corn that gi'ow
Through all the gold June meadow's floor.
The warm smell of tlie fruit was good
To feed on, and the split green wood,
With all its bearded lips and stains
Of mosses in the cloven veins,
Most pleasant, if one lay or stood
In sunshine or in happy rains.
There were four apples on the tree,
Red stained through gold, that all might see
The sun went warm from core to rind ;
The green leaves made the summer blind
In that soft place they kept for me
With golden apples shut behind.
That August time it was delight
To watch the red moon's wane to white
'Twixt gray-seamed stems of apple-trees ;
A sense of heavy harmonies
Grew on the growth of patient night,
More sweet than shapen music is.*
But some three hours before the moon,
The air, still eager from the noon,
Flagged after heat, not wholly dead :
Against the stem I leant my head ;
The color soothed me like a tune,
Green leaves all round the gold and red.
I lay there till the warm smell grew
More sharp, when flecks of yello> dew
B(5tween the round ripe leaves had blurred
The rind with stain and wet ; I heard
A wind that blew, and breathed, and blew,
Too weak to alter its one word. Poenu and Ballads.
* That is, grow more distinct as the night grew on ; and these vague
harnjonies were sweeter than fnrnial n»usic,
an
ea
be
S(
St
FOURTH BOOK OF EEADING LESSONS.
215
;ee
f/ Ballads.
these vagvie
THE INDIAN SUMMER.
Samuel Lover (1797-1868).
[The poet's explanatory note is:— "The brief period which succeeds the
autumnal close, called the 'Indian summer,' — a reflex, as it were, of the
early portion of the year, — strikes a stranger in America as peculiarly
beautiful, and quite charmed me." Lover arrived in New York o., the Gth
September 1846, and spent eighteen months in travelling through the United
States and Canada, making pen-and-pencil sketches of scenery and manners.]
When summer's verdant beauty flies,
And autumn glows with richer dyes,
A softer charm beyond them lies —
It is the Indian summer.
Ere winter's snows and winter's breeze
Bereave of beauty all the trees,
The balmy spring renewal sees
In the sweet Indian summer.
And thus, dear love, if early years
Have drowned the germ of joy in tears,
A later gleam of hope appears —
Just like the Indian summer :
And ere the snows ot age descend,
Oh, trust me, dear one, changeless friend.
Our falling years may brightly end —
Just like the Indian summer,
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216 FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
THE LOTOS-EATERS.
Alfred Tennyson (b. 1809).
[In the Odyssey (ix. 94) Homer tells how Ulysses in his wanderings came
to the land of the Lotos-eaters. Whoever ate of that delicious fruit lost all
desire to return to his native land, and would fain dwell for ever among the
Lotophagi. Later writers, who desired to find a local habitation for every
poetic creation of Homer's, placed the scene on the North African coast
between the Syrtes.]
" Courage ! " he said, and poir/.ed toward the land;
" This mounting wave will roi us shoreward soon."
In the afternoon they came unto a land
In which it seemed always afternoon:
All round the coast the languid air did swoon,
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream;
Full-faced above the valley stood the moon ;
And like a downward smoke the slender stream
Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem.
A land of streams ! some like a downward smoke,
Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go ;
And some through wavering lights and shadows broke,
Rolling a slumb'rous sheet of foam below.
They saw the gleaming river seaward flow
From the inner land ; far off, three mountain-tops.
Three silent pinnacles of aged snow,
Stood sunset-flashed ; and, dewed with showery drops,
Up clomb* the shadowy pine above the woven copse.
The charmed sunset lingered low adown
In the red west : through mountain clefts the dale
Was seen far inland, and the yellow down
Bordered with palm, and many a winding vele
And meadow set with slender galingale, —
A land where all things always seemed the same !
And round about the keel with faces pale.
Dark faces pale against that rosy flame,
The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came.
* This form of the past tense of cUmh occurs in Milton, Spenser, and earliei;
writers. It occurs half-a-dozen timi^s in Tennyson.
derings caiTie
« fruit lost all
er among the
lion for every
African coast
and ;
ooix"
n,
>
;am
seem.
moke,
ows broke,
n-tops,
ery drops,
^en copse.
he dale
ale
same :
iser, and earlie?
/
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
Branches they bore of that enchanted stem,
Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave
To each : but whoso did receive of them.
And taste, to him the gushing of the wave
Far, far away did seem to mourn and rave
On alien shores ; and if his fellow spake.
His voice was thin, as voices from the grave ;
And deep asleep he seemed, yet all awake;
And music in his ears his beating heart did make.
They sat them down upon the yellow sand,
Between tlie sun and moon upon the shore ;
And sweet it was to dream of fatherland.
Of child, and wife, and slave : but evermore
Most weary seemed the sea, weary the oar.
Weary the wandering fields of barren foam.
Then some one said, " We will return no more ! "
And all at once they sang, " Our island home
Is far beyond the wave ; we will no longer roam."
217
STANZAS FROM THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.
James Thomson (1699-1748).
Full in the passage of the vale above
A sable, silent, solemn forest stood,
Where nought but shadowy forms were seen to move,
As Idless fancied in her dreaming mood ;
And up the hills, on either side, a wood
Of blackening pines, aye waving to and fro.
Sent forth a sleepy horror through the blood ;
And where this valley winded out, below,
The murmuring main was heard, and scarcely heard, to flow.
A pleasing land of drowsy-head it was.
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye,
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass.
For ever flushing round a summer sky ;
There eke the soft delighvs that witchingly
Instil a wanton sweetness through the breast,
And the calm pleasures always hovered nigh ;
But whate'er smacked of noyance or unrest
Was far, far off expelled from this delicious nest.
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218 FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
SGAITDINAVIA.
Paul B. du Chaillu (b. 1835).
[The discoverer of the gorilla transferred his researches from the equatorial
belt of Africa to Scandinavia, and es
within the Arctic Circle. His valua
>ecially tc) that region which lies
jle narrative, "The Land of the
Midnight Sun," is based on a series of journeys made at different times
from 1871 to 1878, embracing a sojourn of nearly five years in those far north
lands. He acf(uired the languages, and thoroughly identified himself with
the manners and customs of the peojtlo.]
There is a beautiful country far away towards the icy North.
It is a glorious land, with snowy, bold, and magnificent moun-
tains ; deep, narrow, and well-wooded valleys ; bleak plateaux
and slopes ; wild ravines ; clear and picturesque lakes ; immense
forests of birch, pine, and fir-trees, the solitude of which seems
to soothe the restless spirit of man ; large and superb glaciers,
unrivalled elsewhere in Europe for size ; arms of the sea, called
fjords, of extreme beauty, reaching far inland in the midst of
grand scenery ; numberless rivulets, whose crystal waters vary
in shade and color as the rays of the sun strike upon them on
their journey towards the ocean, tumbling in countless cascades
and rapids, filling the air with the music of their fall ; rivers
and streams, which, in their hurried course from the heights
above to the chasm below, plunge in grand waterfalls, so beauti-
ful, white, and chaste, that the beholder never tires of looking
at them ; they appear like an enchanted vision before him, in
the reality of which he can hardly believe. Contrasted with
these are immense areas of desolate and barren land and rocks,
often covered with boulders which in many places are piled
here and there in thick masses, and swamps and moorlands, all
so dreary that they impress the stranger with a feeling of lone-
liness from which he tries in vain to L^scape. There are also
many exquisite sylvan landscapes, so quiet, so picturesque, by
the sea and lakes, by the hills and mountain-sides, by the rivers
and in the glades, that one delights to linger among them.
Large and small tracts of cultivated land, or fruitful glens and
valleys bounded by woods or rocks, with farm-houses and
cottages, around which fair -haired children play, present a
striking picture of contentment. Such are the characteristic
features of the peninsula of Scandinavia, surrounded almost
everywhere by a wild and austere cv)ast. Nature in Norway
is far bolder and more majestic than in Sweden ; but certain
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
219
parts of the coast along the Baltic present charming views of
rural landscape.
From the last days of May to the end of July, in the northern
part of this land, the sun shines day and night upon its moun-
tains, fjords, rivers, lakes, forests, valleys, towns, villages, ham-
lets, fields, and farms; and thus Sweden and Norway may be
called "The Land of the Midnight Sun." During this period
of continuous daylight the stars are never seen, tlie moon
appears pale, and sheds no light upon the earth. Summer is
short, giving just time enough for the wild flowers to grow, to
bloom, and to fade away, and barely time for the husbandman
to collect his harvest, which, however, is sometimes nipped by
a summer frost. A few weeks after the midnight sun has
passed, the hours of sunshine shorten rapidly, and by the middle
of August the air becomes chilly and the nights colder, although
during the day the sun is warm. Then the grass turns yellow,
the leaves change their color, and wither, « d fall; the swal-
lows and other migrating birds fly towards i/iie south; twilight
comes once more ; the stars, one by one, make their appearance,
shining brightly in the pale-blue sky; the moon shows itself
again as the queen of night, and lights and cheers the long and
dark days of the Scandinavian winter. The time conies at last
when the sun disappears entirely from sight; the heavens appear
in a blaze of light and glory, and the stars and the moon pale
before the aurora borealis.
Scandinavia ! often have I wandered over thy snow-clad moun-
tains, hills, and valleys, over thy frozen lakes and rivers, seem-
ing to hear, as the reindeer, swift carriers of the North, flew
onward, a voice whispering to me, " Thou hast been in many
countries where there is no winter, and where flowers bloom
all the year; but hast thou ever seen such glorious nights as
these?" And I silently answered, *' Never ! never !"
This country, embracing nearly sixteen degrees in latitude, is
inhabited chiefly by a flaxen-haired and blue-eyed race of men
— brave, simple, honest, and good. They are the descendants
of the Norsemen and of the Vikings, who in the days of old,
when Europe was degraded by the chains of slavery, were the
only people that were free, and were governed by the laws
they themselves made; and, when emerging from their rock-
bound and stormy coast for distant lands, for war or conquest,
were the embodiment of courage and daring by land and sea.
They have left to this day an indelible impression of their char-
H:
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
ii
acter on the countries they overran, and in which they settled ;
and England is indebted for the freedom she possesses, and the
manly qualities of her people — their roving disposition, the
love of the sea, and of conquest in distant lands — to this admix-
ture of Scandinavian blood, which, through hereditary trans-
mission, makes her prominent as descended chiefly from Anglo-
Scandinavians and not Anglo-Saxons.
The Land of the Midnight Sun (1882), chap. i.
WINTER: A DIRGE.
(1784.)
Robert Burns (1759-1796).
The wintry west extends his blast,
And hail and rain does blaw;
Or the stormy north sends driving forth
The blinding sleet and snaw :
"While tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
And roars frae bank to brae ;
And bird and beast in covert rest
And pass the heartless day.
" The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,"
The joyless winter day,
Let others fear, — to me more dear
Than all the pride of May :
The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,
My griefs it seems to join;
The leafless trees my fancy please.
Their fate resembles mine !
Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme
These woes of mine fulfil.
Here firm I rest, they must be best.
Because they are thy will !
Then all T want (oh ! do thou grant
This one request of mine !)
Since to enjoy thou dost deny,
Assist me to resign.
:| I i
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
221
'^m^BmLJ^
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"^^^^BjWO^^ V ■
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aST:
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A WALEUS HUNT.
Elisha Kent Kane, M.D. (1822-1857).
The party which Morton attended on a walrus hunt had
three sledges. One was to be taken to a cache in the neigh-
borhood; the other two were dragged, at a quick run, toward
the open water, about ten miles to the south-west. They had
but nine dogs to these two sledges, one man only riding, the
others running, by turns. As they neared the new ice, where
the black wastes of mingled cloud and water betokened the
open sea, they from time to time removed their hoods, aid
listened intently for the animal's voice.
After a while, Myouk became convinced, from signs or
sounds, or both, — for they were inappreciable by Morton, — that
the walrus were waiting for him in a small space of recently
open water that was glazed over with a few days' growth of
ice ; and, moving gently on, they soon heard the characteristic
bellow of a bull awuk. The walrus, like some of the higher
order of beings to which he has been compared, is fond of his
own music, and will lie for hours listening to himself. His
vocalization is something between the mooing of a cow and the
deepest baying of a mastiff, very round and full, with its barks
«
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FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONH-
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or detached notes repeated rather quickly, from seven to nine
times in succession.
The party now formed in single file, following in each other's
steps, and wound behind hummocks and ridges in a serpentine
approach toward a group of pond-like discolorations — recently
frozen ice-spots — but surrounded by firmer and older ice. When
within half a mile of these, the liiie broke, and each man
crawled toward a separate pool, — Morton, on his hands and knees,
following Myouk. In a few minutes the walrus were in sight.
They were five in number, rising at intervals through the ice
in a body, and breaking it up with an explosive puff that might
have been heard for miles. Two large, grim-looking males were
conspicuous as the leaders of the group.
Now for the marvel of the craft. When the walrus is above
water, the hunter is fiat and motionless; when he begins to
sink, alert and ready for a spring. The animal's head is hardly
below the water-line before every man is in a rapid run; and
again, as if by instinct, before the beast returns, all are motion-
less behind protecting knolls of ice. They seem to know before-
hand not only the time he will be absent, but the very spot at
which he will reappear. In this way, hiding and advancing by
turns, Myouk, with Morton at his heels, has reached a plate of
thin ice, hardly strong enough to bear them, at the very brink
of the water-pool in which the walrus are curvetting. Myouk.
till now phlegmatic, seems to waken with excitement. His
coil of walrus-hide, a well-trimmed line of many fathoms'
length, is lying at his side. He fixes one end of it in an iron
barb, and fastens this loosely, by a socket, upon a shaft of
unicorn's horn; the other end is already looped, or, as sailors
would say, " doubled in a bight." It is the work of a moment.
He has grasped the harpoon: the water is in motion. Puffing
with pent-up respiration, the walrus is close before him. Myouk
rises slowly — his right arm thrown back, the left fiat at his
side. The walrus looks about him, shaking the water from his
crest; Myouk throws up his left arm, and the animal, rising
breast high, fixes one look before he plunges. It has cost him
all that curiosity can cost, — the harpoon is buried under his
left flipper. Though the awuk is down in a moment, Myouk is
running at desperate speed from the scene of his victory, paying
off his coil freely, but clutching the end by its loop. As he
runs, he seizes a small piece of bone, rudely pointed with iron,
and, by a sudden movement, drives it into the ice; to this he
f J
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
223
I
ven to nine
males were
rus is above
secures his line, pressing it down close to the ice-surface with
his feet.
Now comes the struggle. The water is clashed in mad com-
motion by the struggles of the wounded animal; the line is
drawn tight at one moment, relaxed the next. Tlie hunter has
not left his station. There is a crash of the ice ; and rearing
up through it are two walrus, not many yards from where he
stands. One of them, the male, is excited and, seemingly, ter-
rified; the other, the female, is collected and vengeful. Down
they go again, after one grim survey of the field ; and, at that
instant, Myouk changes his positit , carrying his coil with
him, and fixing it anew. He has hardly fixed it before the
pair have again risen, breaking up an area of ten feet in diameter
about the very spot he left. As they sink once more, he again
changes his place. Thus the conflict goes on between address
and force, till the victim, half-exhausted, receives a second
wound, and is played like a trout by the angler's reel.
Even when not excited, the walrus manages his tusks bravely.
They are so strong that he uses them to grapple the rocks with,
and climbs steeps of ice and land which would be inaccessible
to him without their aid. He ascends in this way rocky
islands that are sixty and a hundred feet above the level of the
sea; and I have myself seen him in -Iiese elevated positions
basking with his young in the cool sunshine of August and
September. He can strike a fearful blow ; but prefers charging
with his tusks in a soldierl}'^ manner. I do not doubt the old
stories of the Spitzbergen fisheries and Cherie Island, where
the walrus puts to flight the crowds of European boats. Awuk
(the walrus) is the lion of the Danish Esquimaux, and they
always speak of him with the highest respect.
Some idea may be formed of the ferocity of the walrus from
the fact that the battle which Morton witnessed — not without
sharing in its dangers — lasted for four hours; during which the
animal rushed continually at the Esquimaux as they approached,
tearing ofl* great tables of ice with his tusks, and showing no
indication of fear whatever. He received upwards of seventy
lance wounds, — Morton counted o\er sixty; and even then the
walrus remained hooked by his tusks to the margin of the ice,
either unable or unwilling to retire. His female fought in the
same manner, but fled on receiving a lance wound.
Arctic Explorations in Search of Sir John Franklin.
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224
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
:■
DISGOVEEY OF THE MOUTH OF THE MACKENZIE
RIVER.
Sill Alkxander Mackenzie (1760-1820).
[Mackenzie emigrated from Scotland when a youn^ man, and entering
the service of the North-West Fur Company, was stationed for seven years
at Fort Chipewyan, on Lake Athabasca. In 1789 he undertook to explore
the mighty river that now bearn his name, but which he himself treated as
the northern extension of the Unjigah or Peace River {Journal of Peace
River Voyage, Jane 11, 1793). His iron physique carried him safely through
the terrible hardships that he experienced in penetrating to the Arctic Ocean
in 1789, and to the Pacific Ocean in 1793. He was the first white man that
penetrated the solitudes here described.]
Monday, Juiy 13, 17 89.
We had no sooner retired to rest last night, if I may use
that expression in a country where the sun never sinks beneath
the horizon, than some of the people were obliged to rise and
remove the baggage, on account of the rising of the water.
[Two days later this mysterious rising of the water was
found to be caused by the tide of the Arctic Ocean.]
Friday, 17th, 1789.
We embarked at four in tlie morning, and passed four en-
campments, which appeared to have been very lately inhabited.
We then landed u''ona small round island, close to the eastern
shore, which possessed somewhat of a sacred character, as the
top of it seemed to be a place of sepulture, from the numerous
graves which we observed there. We found the frame of a
small canoe, with various dishes, troughs, and other utensils,
which had been the living property of those who could now use
them no more, and form the ordinary accompaniments of their
last abodes. As no part of the skin that must have covered
the canoe was remaining, we concluded that it had been eaten
by wild animals that inhabit or occasionally frequent the island.
The frame of the canoe, which was entire, was put together
with whalebone ; it was sewed in some parts, and tied in others.
The sledges were from four to eight feet long; the length of
the bars was upwards of two feet ; the runners were two inches
thick and nine inches deep; the prow was two feet and a half
high, and formed of two pieces, sewed with whalebone; to three
other thin spars of wood, which were of the same height, and
fixed in the runners by means oi mortises, were sewed two thin
broad bars lengthways, at a small distance from each other;
FOURTH BOOK OF UEADING LESSORS.
225
]KENZI£
, and entering
or seven years
;ook to explore
self treated as
ttrnal of Peace
safely through
e Arctic Ocean
tvhite man that
Tuii/ 13, 1789.
I may use
inks beneath
i to rise and
J water.
water was
]
ly, 17th, 1789.
ssed four en-
ily inhabited,
o the eastern
racter, as the
the numerous
e frame of a
ther utensils,
iould now use
lents of their
have covered
,d been eaten
jnt the island,
put together
tied in others,
the length of
sre two inches
eet and a half
)one; to three
le height, and
jwed two thin
11 each other;
these frames were fixed together with three or four cross-bars,
tied fast upon the lunners; and on the lower edge of the latter
small pieces of horn were fastened by wooden pegs, that ti.ey
might slide with greater facility. They are drawn by shafts,
which I imagine are applied to any particular sledge as they
are wanted, as I saw no more than one pair of them.
About half-past one we came opposite to the first spruce-tree
that we h^d seen for some time : thei'e are but very few of
tlKun on the mainland, and they aw. very small ; tli(jse are
larger which are found on the islands, whei'c they grow in
patches and close together. It is, indeed, \rry extraordinary
that there should be any wood whatever in a countiy wliere
tlie ground never thaws above five inches from the surface.
We landed at seven in the evening. Tlie weather was now
very pleasant, and in the course of the day we saw great
numbers of wild fowl with their young ones; but they were so
shy that we could not approach them. The Indians were not
very successful in their foraging party, as they killed only two
gray cranes and a gray goose. Two of them were employed on
of the
the high land to the eastwai'd, through the greater
day, in search of reindeer; but they could
part
discover
nothing
the
ascended
\v of the ii\er.
more than a few tracks of that animal. J also
high land, from whence I had a delightful
divided into innumerable streams, meandering through islands,
some of which were covered with wood and others with gi'ass.
The mountains that formed the opposite horizon were at the
distance of forty miles. The inland view was neither so
extensive nor agreeable, being terminated by a near range of
bleak, barren hills, between which are small lakes or ponds,
while the surrounding country is covered with tufts of moss,
without the shade of a single tree. Along the hills is a kind of
fence made with branches, where the natives had set snares to
catch white partridges.
The nets did not produce a single fish, and at three o'clock in
the morning we took our departure. The weather was fine and
clear, and Ave passed several encampments. As the prints of
human feot were very fresh in the sand, it could not have been
long since the natives had visited the spot. We now proceeded
in the iiope of meeting with some of them at the river, whither
our guic'e was conducting us with that expectation. We
obser'/ed a great number of trees in difierent places whose
branches had been lopped off to the tops. They denote the
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FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
ii
immediate abode of the natives, ami probably servo for signals
to direct each other to their respective winter quarter's. Our
hunters, in the course of the day, killed two reindeer, which
were the only large animals that we had seen since we had been
in this river, and proved a very seasonable supply, as our pem-
niican had become mouldy for some time past, though in that
situation we were under the necessity of eating it.
In the valleys and low lands near the river, cranberries are
found in great abundance, particularly in favorable aspects.
It is a singular circumstance that the fruit of two succeeding
years may be gathered at the same time from the same shrub.
Here was also another berry, of a very pale yellow color, that
resembles a raspberry, and is of a very agreeable Havor. There
is a great variety of other plants and herbs whose names and
properties are unknown to me.
At Bear River, on the return journey^ Sunday, Auijust 2, 17S9.
We set off at three this morning with the towing-line. I
walked with my Indians, as -they went faster than the canoe,
and particularly as I suspected that tliey wanted to arrive at
the huts of the natives before me. In our way I observed
several small springs of mineral water running from the foot of
the mountain, and along the beach I saw several lumps of iron
ore. When we came to the river of the [Great] Bear Lake, I
ordered one of the young Indians to wait for my canoe, and I
took my place in their small canoe. This river is about two
hundred and fifty j u,rds broad at this place, the water clear, and
of a greenish color. When I landed on the opposite shore, I
discovered that the natives had been there very lately from the
print of their feet in the sa,nd. We continued walking till five
in the afternoon, when we saw columns of smoke at several
points along the shore. As we naturally concluded that these
were certain indications where we should meet the natives who
were the objects of our search, we quickened our pace; but in
our progress experienced a very sulphurous smell, and at length
discovered that the whole bank was on fire for a very consider-
able distance. It proved to be a coal-mine, to which the fire
had communicated from an old Indian encampment. The beach
was covered with coals, and the " English chief" gathered some
of the softest he could find as a black dye ; it being the mineral,
as he informed me, with which the natives render their quills
black. Voyages from Montreal to the Frozen and Pacific Oceajw (1801).
IS our pem-
FuUllTH BOOK OF HEADINU LESSONS.
ON THE SHORE OF THE FROZEN OCEAN.
(1821.)
Captain (Urn) John Fuanklin (17S0-1847).
227
first
[The following extracts from Sir John Friinklin'H .lnuni.il of his firs
Arctic exploration have a deep and painful intercbt. The object of tlio
expedition was to trace tlie coast-line of the Fro7,en (^cean east\\ard from
the mouth of the Coppermine Kiver. Ho nuido his way northwards from
Fort ChiiHivvyan, ana with but two frail canoes he mapped the shore for
over five hundred miles, when ho was forced to return at a point whicli he
named Cajjo Turnagain. The exploration of a North-West I'assage was even
at the writing of these words jrainuig a fatal fascination over him: observe
his sanguine expectations of Parry's success. Yi^t his own dreadful priva-
tions on those savage shores might well have suggested caution. He here
hufficiently indicates to what straits he Mas reduced. Observe, too, what
occasions this gallant sailor's anxiety, — a fcai , not that his life may be sacri-
ficed, but that the knowledge gained by his explorations may be lost to the
world if none of his party should survive.]
Auijast 14, IS'iiJ.
Wo encamped, at the end of twenty-four miles' march, on the
north-west side of a bay, to which 1 have jijiven tlie name of my
friend Captaiii Parry, now employed in the interesting search
for a North- West Passage. Drift-wood liad become Aeiy scarce,
and we found none near the encampment ; a fire, however, was
not required, as we served out pemmican for supper, and the
evening was unusually warm
Though it will appear from the chart that the position of
Point Turnagain is only six degrees and a half to the east of
the mouth of the Coppermine River, we sailed, in tracing the
deeply indented coast, five hundred and fifty-five geographic
miles, which is little less than the direct distance between the
Coppermine River and Repulse Bay, supposing the latter to be
in the longitude assigned to it by Middleton.
When the many perplexing incidents which occun-ed during
the sui'vey of the coast are considered, in connection with the
shortness of the period during which operations of the kind can
be carried on, and the distance we had to travel before we
could gain a place of shelter for the winter, I trust it will be
judged that we prosecuted the enterprise as far as was prudent,
and abandoned it only under a well-founded conviction that a
further advance would endanger the lives of the whole party and
prevent the knowledge of what had been done from reaching
England. The active assistance I received from the officers in con-
tending with the fears of the men demands my warmest gratitude.
Our researches, as far as they have gdlie, favor the opinion
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FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
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of those who contend for the practicability of a North- West
Passage. The general line of coast probably runs east and
west, nearly in the latitude assigned to Mackenzie River, the
sound into which Kotzebue entered, and Repulse Bay, and I
think there is little doubt of a continued sea in or about that
line of direction. The existence of whales, too, on this part of
the coast, evidenced by the whalebone we found in Esquimaux
Cove, may be considered as an argument for an open sea ; and
a connection with Hudson Bay is rendered more probable from
the same kind of fish abounding on the coasts we visited and
on those to the north of Churchill River. I allude more par-
ticularly to the capelin, or Salmo arctictiSy which we found in
large shoals in Bathurst Inlet, and which not only abounds, as
Augustus told us, in the bays of his country, but swarms in the
Greenland firths. The portion of the sea over which we passed
is navigable for vessels of any size ; the ice we met, particularly
after quitting Detention Harbor, would not have arrested a
strong boat. The chain of islands affords shelter from all
heavy seas, and there are good harbors at convenient distanceSv
I entertain, indeed, sanguine hopes that the skill and exertions
of my friend Captain Parry will soon render this question no
longer problematical. His task is doubtless an arduous one,
and, if ultimately successful, may occupy two and perhaps three
seasons ; but confiding as I do, from personal knowledge, in his
perseverance and talent for surmounting difficulties, the strength
of his ships, and the abundance of provisions with which they
are stowed, I have very little apprehension of his safety. As I
understand iiis object was to keep the coast of America close on
board, he will find, in the spring of the year, before the break-
ing up of the ice can permit him to pursue his voyage, herds of
deer flocking in abundance to all parts of the coast, which may
be procured without difficulty ; and, even later in the season,
additions to his stock of provisions may be obtained on many
parts of the coast, should circumstances give him leisure to send
out hunting parties. With the trawl or the seine net, also, he
may almost everywhere get abundance of fish, even without
retarding his progress. Under these circumstances I do not
conceive that he runs any hazard of wanting provisions should
his voyage Ixj prolonged even beyond the latest period of tinu;
which is calculated upon. Drift timber may be gathered at
many places in considerable quantities ; and there is a fair pros-
pect of his opening a communication with the Esquimaux, who
North- West
tis east and
B Kiver, the
Bay, and I
■ about that
this part of
L Esquimaux
en sea; and
robable from
visited and
de more par-
we found in
■ abounds, as
^arms in the
ch we passed
, particularly
e arrested a
ter from all
nt distances.
,nd exertions
question no
arduous one,
)erhaps three
v^ledge, in his
, the strength
1 which they
safety. As I
erica close on
Te the break -
rage, herds of
b, which may
1 the season,
led on many
3isure to send
3 net, also, he
even without
ces I do not
dsions should
eriod of time
B gathered at
is a fair pros-
[juimaux, who
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
229
come down to the coast to kill seals in the spring, previous to
the ice breaking up, and from whom, if he succeeds in concili-
ating their good-will, he may obtain provisions and assistance,
September 7, 1821.
Just as we were about to commence our march, I was seized
witli a fainting fit, in consequence of exhaustion and sudden
exposure to the wind ; but after eating a morsel of portal)le
soup, I recovered so far as to be able to move on. I was
unwilling at first to take this morsel of soup, which was
diminishing the small and only remaining meal for the party ;
]iut several of the men urged me to it with much kindness. The
ground was covered a foot deep with snow, the margins of the
lakes were incrusted with ice, and the swamps over which we
had to pass were entirely frozen ; but the ice not being suffi-
ciently strong to bear us, we frequently plunged knee-deep in
water. Those who carried the canoes were repeatedly blown
down by the violence of the wind, and they often fell from
making an insecure step on a sHppery stone. On one of these
occasions the larger canoe was so much broken as to bo
rendered utterly unserviceable. This, we felt, was a serious
disaster, as the remaining canoe having through mistake been
made too small, it was doubtful whether it would be sufficient
to carry us across a river
As the accident could not be remedied, we turned it to the
best account by making a fire of the bark and timbers of the
broken vessel, and cooked the remainder of our portable soup
and arrowroot. This was a scanty meal after three days' fast-
ing, but it served to allay the pangs of hunger, and enabled us
to proceed at a quicker pace than before.
The first operation each evening after encamping was to
thaw our frozen shoes, if a sufficient fire could be made, and
dry ones were put on. Each person then wrote his notes of the
daily occurrences, and evening prayers were read. As soon as
supper was prepared it was eaten, generally in the dark, and we
went to bed, and kept up a cheerful conversation until our
blankets were thawed by the heat of our bodies, and we had
gathered sufficient warmth to enable us to fall asleep. On many
nights we had not even the luxury of going to bed in dry clothes ;
for when the fire was insufficient to dry our shoes, we durst not
venture to pull them off, lest they should freeze so hard as to be
unfit to put on in the morning.
Narrative of a Journetf to the Shores of the Polar Sea.
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FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
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SIR JOHN FRANKLIN.
On the Cenot h in Westminster Abbey.
Not hero ! the white North lias thy bones ; and tlion,
Heroic sailor-soul,
Art passing on thine happier voyage now
Toward no earthly pole. Tknnyson.
^«*.rf?
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1 tliou,
Tennyson.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS. 231
SCHWATKAS SEARCH.
William H. Gilder {second hi command).
[In May 1845 Sir John Franklin, then fifty nine years of age, but still in
excellent health, undertook with her Majesty's ships Erchus'imd Terror to
discover the North-West Passage. In July of the same year the vessels
were for the last time seen. Alarm began to be felt at the absence of all
intelligence, and in 1848, through the exertions of Lady Franklin, a general
public interest was aroused. Within eleven yeai-s ujiwards of twenty sep-
arate search expeditions were organized at a cost of more than !!!!r),000,000.
The Lady Franklin expedition of 1857, conducted by Sir Leo|)old M'Clintock
in the Fox, terminated the dreadful suspense : a record was foiuid of Sir John
Franklin's death (June 11, 1847). Later expeditions left no doubt that the
whole of the crews had perished.
A report reached New York of Franklin's records still surviving among
the Esquimaux, and the Schwatka expedition of 1879-80 was organized for
the recovery of the documents. Lieutenant Schwatk.", (United States
cavalry) is a Pole by descent, but an American by bir'-.h. This exi)edition is
remarkable for having made the most extended sledgo-journey on record —
3,251 statiite miles — the explorers being absent from their supplies eleven
months and twenty days. The destruction of the Franklin records was ascer-
tained beyond reasonable doubt. The remains of Lieutenant Irving, third
officer of the Terror, were found, and were brought away for interment.]
Concert among the Kinneimtoos.
Every night thev met in one large igloo, twenty-five feet in
diameter at the base, and twelve feet high, where the men
would play upon the ki-lowty while the women sang in unison.
The ki-lowty is a drum, made by stretching a thin deer-skiu
over a huge wooden hoop, with a short handle on one side. In
playing, the man grasps the handle with his left hand and con-
stantly turns it, while he strikes on the wooden side alter-
nately with a wooden drumstick shaped like a potato-masher.
With Cvich blow he bends his knees, and though there are vari-
ous degrees of skill in playing, I have never yet learned to be
critical. I can see only a difference in style — some are dra-
matic, some classical, some furious, and others })uffo. The song
is a monotonous, drawling wail, with which the drumming lias
no sort of connection, for it increases or diminishes in rapidity
according to the pleasure or the strength of the player. I am
sure a concert such as I witnessed nightly would cause a sen-
sation in New York, though J do not belie vf; it would prove a
lasting attraction to cultivated audiences. I frequently got
very weary of it, and often slept during the performance, with-
out giving otlence to my hosts by my lack of appreciation,
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FOUBTH BOOK OF READING LJSSSONS.
Arctic Flowers.
The dweller in that desolate region, after passing a long,
weary winter, with nothing for the eye to rest upon but the
vast expanse of snow and ice, is in a condition to appreciate,
beyond the ability of an inhaVjitant of warmer climes, the little
flowerets that peep up almost through the snow when the
spring sunlight begins to exercise its power upon the white
mantle of the earth. In little patches here and there, where
the dark-colored moss absorbs the warm rays of the sun, and
the snow is melted from its surface, the most delicate flowers
spring up at once to gladden the eye of the weary traveller.
It needs not the technical skill of the botanist to admire these
lovely tokens of approaching summer. Thoughts of home in a
warm and more hospitable climate fill his heart with joy and
longing as meadows filled with daisies and buttercups spread
out before him, while he stands upon the crest of a granite
hill that knows no footstep other than the tread of the stately
musk ox or the an tiered reindeer as they pass in single file upon
their frequent journeys, and whose caverns echo to no sound
save the howling of the wolves or the discordant cawing of the
raven. He is a boy again, and involuntarily plucks ihe feathery
dandelion and seeks the time of day by blowing the puffy
fringe from its stem, or tests the faith of the fair one, who is
■.. arer tc him than ever in this hour of separation, by picking
tne leaves from the yellow-hearted daisy. Tiny little violets, set
in a background of black or dark green moss, adorn the hill-sides,
and many flowers unknown to warmer zones come bravely forth
to flourish for a few weeks only, and wither in the August winds.
Very few of the flowers, so refreshing and charming to the eye,
have any perfume. Nearly all smell of the dank moss that forms
their bed.
Irving' s Grave.
Tlie next day we stayed at Cape Jane Franklin to make a
preliminary search of the vicinity. Lieutenant Schwatka and
I went up Collinson Inlet, but saw no traces of white men.
Henry and Frank, who had been sent up the coast, were more
fortunate. About a mile and a half above camp they came
upon the camp made by Captain Crozier, with his entire com-
mand from the two ships, after abandoning the \'essels. There
were several cooking-stoves, with their accompanying copper
l^ettles, besides clothing, blankets, canvas, iron and brass im])le-
FOURTH BOOK OF READTNa LESSONS.
233
ments, and an open grave, wherein was found a quantity of
blue cloth, part of which seemed to havc^ heen a heavy overcoat,
and a part probably wrapped around the body. There was
also a large quantity of canvas in and around the gra^e, with
coarse stitching through it and the cloth, as though the body
had been encased for burial at sea. Several gilt buttons
were found among the rotten cloth and mould in the bottom of
the grave, and a. lens, apparently the object-glass of a marine
telescope. Upon one of the stones at the foot of the grave
Henry found a medal, which was thickly covered with grime,
and was so much the color of the claystone on which it rested
as to nearly escape detection. It proved to be a silver medal,
two and a half inches in diameter, with a bas-relief portrait of
George IV., surrounded by the words —
GEORGIU8 Mil., D.O. BRITANNIARUM
REX,"^ 1820.
on the obverse ; and on the reverse a laurel wreath surrounded
by-
SECOND MATHEMATICAL PRIZE, ROYAL
NAVAL COLLEGE.
and enclosing —
AWARDED TO JOHN IRVING, MID-
SUMMER, 1830.
This at once identified the grave as that of Lieutenant John
Irving, third officer of the Terror. Under the head was found
a figured silk pocket-handkerchief, neatly folded, the colors and
pattern in a remarkable state of preservation. The skull and
a few other bones only were found in and near the grave.
They were carefully gatliered together, with a few pieces of the
* George IV., by tlie grace of God (Dei gratia), King of the British
Islands.
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FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSON'S.
cloth and the othor articles, to l)e brought away for interment
where they may hereafter rest undisturhed. A reburial on
King William's Land would be only until the grave was again
found by the natives, when it would certainly be again torn open
and despoiled. Schwafka's Search (1881).
THE LONG AGO.
Lord Houohton (Richard Monckton Milnes)— h. 1809.
On that deep retiring shore
Frequent pearls of beauty lie,
Where the passion-waves of yore
Fiercely beat and mounted high :
Sorrows that are sorrows still
Lose the bitter taste of woe ;
Nothing's altogether ill
In the griefs of Long Ago.
Tombs where lonely love repines,
Ghastly tenements of tears,
Wear the look of happy shrines
Through the golden mist of years :
Death to those who trust in good,
Vindicates his hardest blow ; —
Oh ! we would not, if we could,
Wake the sleep of Long Ago !
Though the doom of swift decay
Shocks the soul where life is strong,
Though for frailer hearts the day
Lingers sad and over-long —
Still the weight will find a leaven,
Still the spoiler's hand is slow,
While the future has its heaven,
And the past its Long Ago.
THE SLEEP.
Elizabeth (Barrett) Browning (1800-61).
" He giveth his beloved sleep." — Psalm cxxvii. 2.
Of all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward into souls afar.
Along the Psalmist's music deep,
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
Now tell me if there any is,
For gift or grace surpassing this —
" He giveth His beloved sleep " ?
What would we giv^e to our beloved ?
The hero's heart to be unmoved,
The poet's star-tuned harp to sweep,
The patriot's voice to teach and rouse,
The monarch's crown to light the brows ?
" He giveth His beloved sleep."
What do ive give to our beloved 1
A little faith all undisproved,
A little dust to overweep,
And bitter memories, to make
The whole earth blasted for our sake :
" He giveth His beloved sleep."
" Sleep soft, beloved," we sometimes say.
But have no tune to charm away
Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep
But never doleful dream again
Shall break the heavy slumber when
" He giveth His beloved sleep." ^
O earth, so full of dreary noises !
O men, with wailing in your voices !
O delved gold, the waller's heap !
O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall !
God strikes a silence through you all,
" And giveth His beloved sleep."
His dews drop mutely on the hill,
His cloud above it saileth still,
Though on its slope men sow and reap :
More softly than the dew is shed,
A cloud is floating overhead,
" He giveth His beloved sleep."
235
Ay, men may wonder while they scan
A living, thinking, feeling man
Confirmed in such a rest to keep ;
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
But angels say — and through the world,
I think their happy smile is heard —
" He giveth His beloved sleep."
For me, my heart that erst did go
Most like a tired child at a show,
That sees through tears the mummers leap,
Would now its wearied vision close,
Would childlike on His love repose
" Who giveth His beloved sleep."
And, friends, dear friends, when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me.
And round my bier ye come to weep,
Let one, most loving of you all,
Say, " Not a tear o'er her must fall !
* He giveth His beloved sleep.' "
NIGHT AND DEATH.
Joseph Blanco White (1775-1841).
[" The finest and most grandly conceived sonnet in our language, — at least
it is only in Milton's and in Wordsworth's sonnets that I recollect any rival."
— S. T. Coleridge. This was also the judgment of J. H. Frei'e. Leigh Hunt
adds : " It stands supreme, perhaps above all in any language ; nor can we
ponder it too deeply, or with too hojjeful a reverence."!
Mysterious night ! when our first parent knew
Thee from report divine, and heard thy name,
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame.
This glorious canopy of light and blue ?
Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew,
Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame,
Hesperus* with the host of heaven came.
And lo ! creation widened in man's view.
Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed
Within thy beams, O sun ? or who could find,
Whilst fly and leaf and insect stood revealed,
That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind ?
Why do we, then, shun death with anxious strife 1
If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life ?
* The evening star.
FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LFSSONS.
237
ge ; nor can we
BRITISH COLUMBIA.
Rev. Principal G. M. Grant, D.D. (b. 1835).
The waggon-road on which we travelled is the jirincipal pub-
lic work of British Columbia, coiiStructed as u go^ ernnieiit work
with great energy soon after the discovery of tho Cariboo gold-
mines. It was a very creditable undertaking, for most formi-
dable engineering difficulties had to be overcome at the canyons
of the Fraser and the Thompson, and the expense to an infant
colony was necessarily heavy. The waggon-road is an enduring
monument to Sir James Douglas, the first Covernor of tin; Pro-
vince, a man worthy to rank with thos«' lioman generals and
governors who were the great road-maktis of the Old World.
Before its construction there was only a trail to Cariboo,
along which the gold-hunters toiled night and day, driving pack-
horses that carried their blankets and provisions, or, if too jjoor
to afford horse or mule, packing everything on their own backs.
Men have been known to start from Yale on foot for the gold-
helds with one hundred and lifty pounds weight on theii* backs ;
and when they got to their destination their difficulties only
commenced. Gold was and is found in every sand-bar of the
I'iver and in every creek ; but it had to be found in large quan-
tities to enable a man to live. A pound of flour cost a dollar
and a half, and everything else sold at proportional prices.
The gold was in largest quantities near the bed-rock, and this
was generally covered with a deposit of silt from live to forty
feet thick, containing but little of the precious metal near the
surface. The country presented every obstacle to prospecting
— range upon range of stern hills wooded from base to summit,
over which a way could be forced only with incredible toil,
and at the daily risk of starvation. It is little wonder that the
way to Cariboo, and the country itself, proved to be the grave
of many an adventurous gold-seeker. A few made fortunes in
a week or a month, which, as a rule, they dissipated in less
than a year ; hundreds gathered moderately largp sums, which
they took away to spend elsewhere ; thousands made \\ ages,
and tens of thousands nothing. It had been the ^aine in Cali-
fornia, when gold was discovered there ; but then the id asses
who were unsuccessful could not get out of the country, and
they had — fortunately for themselves— to hire out as faini-
servants and hafdmen. In British Columbia they could get
nil
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FOURTH BOOK OF RFADING LESSONS.
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back to Oregon and California; and back they went, poorer
than they had come, but leaving the Province little the better
for their visit.
At various points on the river, all down the road, miners are
still to be found. These are chiefly Siwashes and Chinese,
who take up abandoned claims, and wash the sand over again,
being satisfied with smaller wages than what contents a white
man. Their tastes are simple and their expenses moderate.
None of them dream of going to the wayside hotels and pay-
ing a dollar for every meal, a dollar for a bed, a dollar for a
bottle of ale, or twenty cents for a drink. The Chinaman cul-
tivates vegetables beside his claim ; these and his bag of rice
suffice for him, greatly to the indignation of the orthodox miner.
The Siwash catches salmon in his scoop-net from every eddy of
the river, and his wife carries them up to the house and makes
his winter's food. These two classes of the population — the one
representing an ancient civilization, the other scattered nomads
with almost no tribal relationships — resemble each other in
appearance so much that it would be difficult to distinguish
them, were it not for the long tail or queue into which the
Chinaman braids his hair, and which he often folds at the back
of his head, instead of letting it hang down his back. The
Pacific Indian is Mongolian in size and complexion, in the
shape of the face, and in the eyes. He has neither the strength
of limb, the manly bearing, nor the dignity so characteristic
of the Indians on the east side of the Rocky Mountains ; but
he is quite as intelligent, and takes more readily to civilized
ways.
Salmon is the staple of the Si wash's food, and it is so abun-
dant that the fish are generally sold for ten to twenty-five
cents apiece ; and ten cents in British Columbia is equivalent
to a penny elsewhere, for there is no smaller coin than the ten-
cent piece in the Province.
The discovery of gold in 1858, on the Fraser, brought the
first rush of people to the mainland, and resulted in the forma-
tion of the colony. All California was delirious. Thirty thou-
sand men left the States for the Fraser, or, as it was more
popularly called, "the Crazy Riv^er." The rush to Pike's Peak
was nothing to the rush for Victoria. But in the course of
the next two or three years the thousands died or drifted back
again, and only the tens remained. Then, in 1862, the Cari-
boo mines were discovered, and the second rush was greater
went, poorer
le the better
d, miners are
and Chinese,
d over again,
bents a wliite
es moderate.
;els and pay-
dollar for a
hinaman cul-
s bag of rice
hodox miner,
svery eddy of
3e and makes
;ion — the one
bered nomads
ich other in
9 distinguish
:o which the
s at the back
! back. The
xion, in the
the strength
characteristic
untains ; but
f to civilized
it is so abun-
> twenty-five
is equivalent
bhan the ten-
brought the
in the forma-
Thirty thou-
it was more
» Pike's Peak
he course of
■ drifted back
32, the Cari-
was greater
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
239
than the first ; but again, not an emigration of sober, steady
householders, whose aim was to establish homes and live by
their own industry, but of fever-heated adventurers from all
parts of the world — men without a country and without a home.
San Francisco was deserted for a time. Thousands sold their
lots there, and ]>ought others in Victoria or claims in Cariboo.
Cariboo was four hundred miles from the sea, and there was no
road but an old Indian trail, winding up and down mountains
and precipices, across deep gorges and rivers, through thick
woods without game ; but the obstacles that would have stopped
an army were laughed at by miners. Of course the wave soon
spent itself.
From that day until recently the colony has been going
back, or, as some gloomily say, getting into its normal condi-
tion. Within the last ten years, millions of dollars in solid
gold have been taken out of the colony. No one thought of
remaining in it except to make a fortune ; no one was inter-
ested in its political life ; no one of the thousands of foreign
immigrants became a subject of the crown. It was a mere
finger-joint Separated from its own body. But all this is now
changing. With confederation came the dawn of a brighter
future ; and although British Columbia may never have the
population of California or of Oregon, an orderly development is
commencing that will soon make it rank as a valuable Province
of the Dominion. It has the prospect of being no longer a dis-
severed limb, but of being connected by iron as well as sym-
pathetic bands with its trunk ; and it is already receiving the
pulses of the larger life. Had the Columbia River, instead of
the 49th parallel, been made its southern boundary line — that
iS; bad! it received its natural and rightful boundary, instead of
a purely artificial one — it could have competed with California in
cereals as well as in gold-mining. But in this, as in every case
of disputed lines in America, the United States diplomatists
knew the value of v/hat they claimed, and British diplomatists
did not. Every one in the Province believes that they lost the
Columbia because the salmon in it would not take a fly. At
the time of the dispute, when the Secretary for War was using
brave words in the House of Commons, the brother of the
Prime Minister happened to be stationed on the Pacific coast,
and fished in the Columbia without success, because the salmon
were too uneducated to rise to a fiy. From Ocean to Ocean.
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240
FOURTH BOOK OF ItFADlNO LFlSHONii.
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THE BUSH-RANGERS (GOUREURS DES BOIS).
FuANOis Paukman (b. 1823).
It was a curious sceiio when a party of courcurs des bois re-
turned from tlufii" roviiigs. Montreal was their harboring-place,
and th(;y conducted themselves much like tlu; crew of a man-
of-war paid oil' after a long voyage. As long as their beaver-
skins lasted, they set no bounds to their riot. Every house in
the place, wi; are told, was turned into a drinking-shop. The
new-com(4's were bedizened with a strange mixture of French
and Indian linei-y ; whilt; souk^ of them, with instincts more
thoroughly sa\'age, stalked about the streets as naked as a
Pollawaltamie or a Sioux, The clamor of tongues was pro-
digious, and gambling and drinking lilled the day and the night.
Under such leaders as Du Lhut, the coureurs des bois built
forts of palisades at various points throughout the West and
North-west. They had a post of this sort at Detroit some tinu;
before its permanent settlement, as well as others on Lakt^
Superior and in the valley of the Mississippi. Tiiey occupied
them as long as it suited their purposes, and then abandoned
them to the next comer. Michillimackinac was, however,
their chief resort ; and thence they would set out, two or three
together, to roam for hundreds of miles through the endless
meshwork of interlocking lakes and rivers which seams the
northern wilderness.
No wonder that a year or two of bush-ranging spoiled them
for civilization. Though not a very valuable member of society,
and though a thorn in the side of princes and rulers, the coureur
des bois had his uses, at least from an artistic point of view ;
and his strange figure, sometimes brutally savage, but oftener
marked with the lines of a dare-devil courage, and a reckless,
thoughtless gaiety, w4ll always be joined to the memories of
that grand world of woods Avhich the nineteenth century is fast
civilizing out of existence. At least he is i)icturesque, and with
his Red -skin companions serves to animate forest scenery.
Perhaps he could sometimes feel, without knowing that he felt
them, the charms of the savage natui'e that had adopted him.
llude as he was, her voice may not always have been meaning-
less for one who knew her haunts so well — deep recesses where,
veiled in foliage, some wild, shy rivulet steals with timid music
through breathless caves of verdiu'e ; gulfs where feathered
ii(
jjues was pro-
hVURTU BOOK OF IIEADINU LESHONH.
2-Jl
cra<:,'s rise likt; castle walls, when; tli(^ iiooiidjiy sun jiicrccs with
ktuMi rays athwart the torrent, and <he mossed arms of fallen
pines cast waverin<^ shadows on the illiiniin«'d foam ; ])ools of
licpiid crystal turned emerald in tin; relhcted "^reen of impend-
ing woods ; rocks on whose rug^'ed front the ;;leam of sunlit
waters dances in quivering light ; ancient trees liurled headlong
by the storm to dam the raging stream with tlu'ir forlorn and
savage ruin : or the stern deptlis of immemorial forests, dim
and silent as a cavern columned with innumerable trunks, each,
like an Atlas, upholding its world of leaves, and sweating jxr-
petual moisture down its dark and channelled rind — some strong
in youth, some grisly with decrepit age, nightmares of strange
distortion, gnarled and knotted with wens and goitres ; roots
intertwined beneath like serpents petiified in an agony of con-
torted strife ; green and glistening mosses carpeting the lough
ground, mantling the rocks, turning pulpy stumps to mounds
of verdure, and swathing fallen trunks as, bent in the imjio-
tence of rottenness, they lie outstietched o\'er knoll and hollow,
like mouldering reptiles of the primeval world, while around,
and on, and through them springs the young growth that fat-
tens on their decay — the forest devouring its own dead : or,
to turn from its funereal shade to the light and life of the open
woodland, the sheen of sparkling lakes, and mountains basking
in the glory of the summer noon, llecked by the shadows of
passing clouds that sail on snowy wings across the transparent
azure.
Yet it would be false coloring to paint the half-savage coureur
des bois as a romantic lover of nature. He liked the woods
because they emancipated him from restraint. He liked the
lounging ease of the camp-lire and the license of Indian villages.
His life has a dark and ugly side, which is nowhere drawn
more strongly than in a letter written by the Jef-uit Carheil to
the intendant Champigny.* It was at a time when some of
the outlying forest-posts, originally either missions or transient
stations of coureurs des bois, had received regular garrisons.
Carheil writes from Michillimackinac, and describes the state
of things around him like one whom long familiarity with them
had stripped of every illusion.
The Old R&iime in Canada, chap. xvii.
* The letter referred to is dated " Michillimackinac, 30th August, 1702."
16
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242 FOUliTH BOOK OF READING LEHiSONH.
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THE MOUND-BUILDERS.
It is probable that the Mound-builders did not occupy this
continent till long after the last mammoth was slain. They
never saw the mammoth, we may be sure, or else they would
h-ve carved or painted its likeness, as they did those of the
birds and beasts they knew. They did not make, unfor-
tunately, distinct pictures of themselves, so that we do not
know what they looked like. And as they wrote no books, we
do not know what language they spoke. The most we know
of them is what we learn from certain ffreat mounds of earth
they built. From these great works they derive their name.
One of the most remarkable of these mounds is to be seen in
Adams County, Ohio. It represents a snake, one thousand feet
long and five feet thick, lying along a bluff that rises above a
stream. You can trace all the curves and outlines of the snake,
ending in a tail with a triple coil. In the open mouth some-
thing in the shape of an egg seems to be held ; and this egg-
shaped mound is one hundred and sixty feet long. Other
mounds have other shapes. Some are like animals and some
likr men. Some are earth- works or fortifications, enclosing in
some cases one or two acres, and in others four hundred acres.
In son a places there are many small mounds, arranged in a
straight line, at distances nearly equal, and extending many
miles. In Cohers there are single mounds sixty or ninety feet
high, with steps cut in the earth upon one bide leading to the
top, which is flat, and includes from one to five acres of ground.
These mounds are scattered all down the valley of the Missis-
sippi, and along many of its tributary streams. There are
thousands of them in the single State of Ohio. They are not
built of earth alone, for some show brick-work and stone-work
here and there ; yet earth is always the chief material. Some
have chambers within and the remains of wooden walls. Some-
times charred wood is found on the top, as if fires had been
kindled there. This is an important fact, since it seems to show
that the higher mounds were built for purposes of worship.
These Mound-builders must have been in some ways well
advanced in civilization. Their earth-works show more or less
of engineering skill. In figure they show the square, the circh;,
the octagon, the ellipse ; and sometimes all these are combined
in one series of works. The circle is always a true circle, the
occupy this
ilain. They
! they would
those of the
iiake, unfor-
; we do not
10 books, we
)st we know
nds of earth
their name.
be seen in
housand feet
ises above a
Df the snake,
nouth some-
nd this egg-
ong. Other
ills and some
enclosing in
mdred acres.
Tanged in a
inding many
r ninety feet
ading to the
IS of ground.
: the Missis-
There are
^hey are not
1 stone-work
erial. Some
alls. Some-
res had been
eems to show
worship.
e ways well
more or less
re, the circh;,
ire combined
ae circle, the
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LEHHONS.
243
square a true square ; and there are many squares tliat measure
exactly one thousand and eiglity feet on a side, and this sliows
that the builders had some definite standard of measurement.
Besides, there have been found in these mounds many tools
and ornaments, made of copper, silver, and valuable stones.
There are axes, chisels, knives, bracelets, and beads ; there are
pieces of thread and of cloth, and gracefully ornamented vases
of pottery. The Mound-builders also knew how to model in
clay a variety of objects, such as birds, quadiupeds, and human
faces. They practised farming, though they had no domestic
animals to help them. As they had no horses, nor oxen, nor
carts, all the vast amount of earth required for the mounds
must have been carried in baskets or in skins. This shows that
they must have been very numerous, or they never could liave
attempted so much. They mined for copper near Lake Supe-
rior. In one of their mines, long since deserted, there was found,
a few years ago, a mass of copper weighing nearly six tons,
partly raised from the bottom, and supported on wooden logs,
now nearly decayed. It was evidently to be raised to the sur-
face, nearly thirty feet above. The stone and copper tools of the
miners were found lying about, as if the men had Just gone away.
When did these Mound-builders live? Tliere is one sure
proof that tliey lived very long ago. At the mouth of the mine
mentioned above there are trees about four hundred years old
growing on earth that was thrown out in digging the mine. Of
course, the mine is older than the trees. On a mound in Ohio
there are trees eight hundred years old. Nobody knows how
much older the mounds are. This mysterious race may therefore
have built these great works more than a thousand years ago.
Who were the Mound-builders? It does not seem at all
likely that they were the ancestors of our present American
Indians. They differed greatly in habits, and most of our
Indian tribes show nothing of the skill and industry required
for constructing great works. Perliaps they came from Asia,
or were descendants of Asiatics accidentally cast on the
American shoi'<'. Japanese vessels are sometimes driven across
the Pacilic and wrecked upon our western coast. This might
have happened a thousand years ago. But we know neither
whence the Mound -builders came nor whither they went.
We only know that they came, and built wonderful works, and
made way for another race, of whose origin we know almost as
little. T. W. HiGGiNSON.
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244 FOUHTir BOOK OF IIP A DING LESIONS.
THE FINDING OF LIVINGSTONE.
Henry M. Stanley (b. 1840).
[For niure than two years, no news had been I'eceived of Dr. Livingstone,
the great African explorer. Mr. Gordon Bennett of the New York Herahl
instructed INFr. Stanley (who had been the Herald's correspondent with the
liritish arniy in Abyssinia) to find Livingstone, no matter what the cost. On
March 21, 1871, Stanley, with one himdi-ed and ninety - two men, left
Zanzibar for the interior of Africa. He found Dr. Livingstone at Ujiji on
Lake Tanganyika, November 10, explored with him the northern i)ortion
of the lake, and returning reached England in the following July, He re-
lated his adventures at the meeting of the British Association, Brighton,
Au{just Kith. Livingstone remained in Africa, jnirsuing his explorations,
mitil May 4, 1873, when he fell a prey to miasma and debility. May 11, 1873.]
We are about three Imndred yards from the village of
Ujiji, and the crowds are dense about me. Suddenly I hear a
Noiee on my right say, "Good morning, sir!" Startled at hear-
ing this greeting in the midst of such a crowd of black people,
I turn sharply round in search of the man, and see him at my
side, with the blackest of faces, but animated and joyous~-a
man dressed in a long white shirt, with a turban of American
sheeting around his woolly head, and I ask, " Who the mischief
are you ? " "I am Susi, the sei'vant of Dr. Livingstone," said
he, smiling and showing a gleaming row of teeth. " What !
is Dr. Livingstone here?" "Yes, sir." "In this village 1"
"Yes, sir." "Are you sure?" "Sure, sure, sir; why, I leave
him just now." "Good morning, sir," said another voice.
"Hallo," said I, "is this another one?" "Yes, sir." "WVl,
what is your name 1 " " My name is Chumah, sir." '*And is
the doctor well 1 " " Not very well, sir." " Where has he been
so long?" " Li Manyuema." "Now, you Susi, run and tell
the doctor I am coming." "Yes, sir," and oft' he darted like a
madman. Soon Susi came running back, and asked me my
name : he had told Dr. Livingstone I was coming, but the
doctor was too sur^n-ised to beliexe him ; and when asked my
name, Susi was rather staggered.
But during Susi's absence, the news had been conveyed to
the doctor that it was surely a white man that was coming,
whose guns were tiring and whose Hag could be seen; and the
great Arab magnates of Ujiji had gathered together before the
doctor's house, and he had come out from his veranda to dis-
cuss the matter and await mv arrival.
In the meantime, the head of the expedition had halted, and
)r. Livingstone,
ew York Hcrahl
ndent with the
it the cost. On
two men, left
one at Ujiji on
[)rthern portion
July. He re-
tion, Brighton,
is explorations,
, May 11, 1873.]
le village of
!iily I hear a
[•tied at hear-
black people,
3e him at niy
id joyous — a
of American
the mischief
gstone," said
h. " What !
lis villacje 1 "
why, I leave
Lother voice.
r." "Well,
' ''And is
has lie been
run and tell
:larted like a
sked me my
ling, but the
en asked my
conveyed to
was coming,
en ; and the
I'r before the
I'anda to dis-
l halted, and
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
245
the Kirangoyi was out of the ranks, holding his flag aloft, and
Selim (the interpreter) said to me, " I see the doctor, sir. Oh,
what an old man ! He has got a white beard." And I — what
would I not have given for a bit of friendly wilderness, where,
unseen, I might have vented my joy in some mad freak, such as
idiotically biting my hand, turning a somersault, or slashing at
trees, in order to allay those exciting feelings that were well-
nigh uncontrollable. My heart beats fast, but T must not let
my face betray my emotions, lest it should detract from the
dignity of a white man appearing under such extraordinary
circumstances. So I did that which I thought was most diuui-
fied : I pushed back the crowds, and, passing from the rea)-,
walked down a living avenue of people, until T came in front
of a semicircle of Arabs, in front of which stood the white man
with the gray beard. As I advanced slowly towards him I
noticed he was pale, looked wearied, wore a bluish cap with
a faded gold band round it, had on a red-sleeved waist-coat,
and a pair of gray tweed trowsers. I would have run to him,
only I was a coward in the presence of such a mob ; would
have embraced him, only, he being an Englishman, I did not
know how he would receive me ; so I did what cowardice and
false pride suggested was the best thing — walked deliberately
to him, took oiF my hat, and said, "Dr. Livingstone, I pre-
sume 1" "Yes," said he, with a kind smile, lifting his hat
slightly. I replace my hat on my head, and he puts on his
cap, and we both grasp hands, and then I say aloud, "I thank
God, doctor, I have been permitted to see you." He answered,
"I feel thankful that I am here to welcome you." I turn to
the Arabs, take off my hat to them in response to the saluting
chorus of " Yambos" I receive, and the doctor introduces them
to me by name. Then, oblivious of the men who shared with
me my dangers, we (Livingstone and I) turn our faces towards
his tembe (or hut). He points to the veranda, or rather mud
platform under the broad overhanging eaves ; he j)oints to liis
own particular seat, which I see his age and experience in
Africa have suggested — namely, a straw mat, with a goatskin
over it, and anotlier skin nailed against the wall to protect lus
back from contact with the cold mud. I protest against taking
this seat, which so much more befits him than me, ))ut the
doctor will not yield — I must take it.
We are seated, the doctor and I, with our backs to the wall.
The Arabs take seats on our left. More than a thousand
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246
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
natives are in our front, filling the whole square densely,
indulging their curiosity and discussing the fact of two white
men meeting at Ujiji — one just come from Manyuema in the
west, the other from Unyanyembe in the east.
How I Found Livingstone (1872).
LIVINGSTONE'S DEATH AND CHARACTER.
J. S. Keltie (in tl Encydopcvdia Britannica).
[Livingstone's object was to trace the Lnalaba, a vast river which drains
the great lake-fountains Tanganyika (discovered by Speke and Burton, 1858)
and Bangweo'lo (discovered by Livingstone, 1868). Livingstone believed the
Lualaba to be the uppe course of the Nile ; but Stanley afterwards (1874-7)
traced it across the continent to its mouth in the Atlantic, and proved it to
be the Congo, a far mightier river than even th Mississippi. Livingstone,
in his efforts to explore the Lualaba, was cruelly ohwarted by the perversity
of the sav?,7es, the intrigues of slave-traders, and by repeated and exhausting
attacks of illness.]
In sickened disgust the weary traveller made his way back
to Ujiji, which he reached on Octooer 13. Five days after his
arrival in Ujiji he was cheered and inspired with new life, and
completely set up again, as he said, by the timely arrival of Mr.
H. M. Stanley, the richly -laden almoner of Mr. Gordon Bennett,
of the N'ew York Herald. Mr. Stanley's residence with Living-
stone was almost the only bright episode of these last sad years.
With Stanley Livingstone explored the north end of Tanganyika,
and proved conclusively that the Lusize runs into and not out
of it. In the end of the year the two started eastward for
Unyanyembe, where Stanley provided Livingstone with an
ample supply of goods, and bade him farewell. Stanley left
on March 15, 1872 ; and after Livingstone had waited wearily
at Unyanyembe for five months, a troop of fifty-seven men and
boys arrived — good and faithful fellows on the whole — selected
by Stanley himself. Thus attended, he started on August 15
for Lake Bangweolo, proceeding along the east side of Tan-
ganyika. His old enemy dysentery soon found him out. In
January 1873 the party got among the endless spongy jungle
on the east of Lake Bangweolo, Livingstone's object being to go
round by the south and away west to find the " fountains."
Vexatious delays took place, and the journey became one con-
stant wade below, under an almost endless pour of rain from
above. The doctor got worse and worse, but no idea of danger
soems to have occurred to him. At last, in the middle of
I.
lare densely,
of two white
mema in the
if/stone (1872).
CTER.
er which drains
d Burton, 1858)
one believed the
rwards (1874-7)
nd proved it to
Livingstone,
r the perversity
and exhausting
lis way back
ays after his
new life, and
rrival of Mr.
:'don Bennett,
with Living-
ast sad years,
' Tanganyika,
) and not out
eastward for
)ne with an
Stanley left
aited wearily
ven men and
ole — selected
1 August 15
side of Tan-
lim out. In
pongy jungle
it being to go
" fountains."
anie one con-
of rain from
lea of danger
be middle of
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
247
April, he had unwillingly to submit to be carried in a rude
litter. On April 29 Chitambo's village was reached. The last
entry in the journal is April 27 : " Knocked up quite, and
remain — recover — sent to buy milch goats. We are on the
banks of the Molilarjo." On April 30 he witli difficulty wound
up his watch, and early on the morning of May 1 the boys
found "the great master," as ihoy called him, kneeling by the
ti.a f
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
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side of liis bed dead. His faithful men preserved the body in
the sun as well as they could, and wrapping it carefully up,
carried it, and all his papers, instruments, and other things,
across Africa to Zanzibar. It was borne to England with all
honor, and on April 18, 1874, was deposited in Westminster
Abbey, amid tokens of mourning and admiration such as Eng-
land accords only to her greatest sons. Government bore all
the funeral expenses. His faith fully -kept journals during these
seven years' wanderings were published under the title of the
Last Journals of David Livingstone in Central Africa, in 1874,
edited by his old friend the Rev. Horace Waller.
In spite of his sufferings and the many compulsory delays,
Livingstone's discoveries during these last years were both
extensive and of prime importance as leading to a ejolution of
African hydrography. No single African explorer has ever
done so much for African geography as Livingstone during his
thirty years' work. His travels covered one-third of the con-
tinent, extending from the Cape to near the equator, and from
the Atlantic to the Indian Ocean. Livingstone was no hurried
traveller ; he did his journeying leisurely ; carefully observing
and recording all that was worthy of note, with rare geographical
instinct and the eye of a trained scientific observer, studying
the ways of the people, eating their food, living in their huts,
and sympathizing with their joys ani sorrows. It will be long
t'M the tradition of his sojourn dies out among the native tribes,
who almost, without exception, treated Livingstone as a superior
being; his treatment of them was always tender, gentle, and
gentlemanly. But the direct gains to geography and science
are perhaps not the greatest results of Livingstone's journeys.
He conceived, developed, and carried out to success a noble and
many-sided purpose, with an unflinching and self-sacrificing
energy and courage that entitle him to take rank among the
great and strong who single-handed have been able materially
to influence human progress and the advancement of knowledge.
His example and his death have acted like an inspiration, filling
Africa with an army of explorers and missionaries, and raising
in Europe so powerful a feeling against the slave-trade that it
may be considered as having received its death-blow. Person-
ally Livingstone was a pure and tender-hearted man, full of
humanity and sympathy, simple-minded as a child. The motto
of his life was the advice he gave to some school children in
Scotland — " Fear God, and work hard."
the body in
arefully up,
ther things,
md with all
i/Vestminstev
luch as Ensr-
snt bore all
during these
title of the
ca, in 1874,
sory delays,
were both
solution of
er has ever
! during his
of the cpn-
r, and from
no hurried
y observing
eographical
r, studying
iheir huts,
vill be long
itive tribes,
3 a superior
gentle, and
md science
, journeys.
noble and
■-sacrificing
among the
materially
knowledge,
tion, filling
md raising
ade that it
Person-
m, full of
The motto
liildren in
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
PART IV.
249
TEMPLE OP FORTUNE AT POMPEII.
THE BLIND FLOWER-GIRL OF POMPEII.
Edward, Lord Lytton (Bulwer)— 1803-1873.
Thus conversing, their steps were arrested by a crowd
gathered round an open space where three streets met ; and,
just where the porticos of a light and graceful temple threw
their shade, there stood a young girl, with a flower-basket on
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FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
her right arm, and a small three-stringed instrument of music
in the left hand, to whose low and soft tones she was modulating
a wild and half-barbaric air. At every pause in the music she
gracefully waved her flower-basket round, inviting the loiterers
to buy ; and many a sesterce* was showered into the basket,
either in compliment to the music or in compassion to the
songstress — for she was blind.
" It is my poor Thessalian," said Glaucus, stopping ; " I have
not seen her since my return to Pompeii. Hush ! her voice is
sweet ; let us listen."
THE BLIND FLOWER-GIRL'S SONG.
I.
" Buy my flowers — oh buy, I pray !
The blind girl comes from afar ;
If the earth be as fair as I hear them say,
These flowers her children are !
Do they her beauty keep ?
They are fresh from her lap, I know;
For I caught them fast asleep
In her arms an hour ago.
With the air which is her breath —
Her soft and delicate breath —
Over them murmuring low !
" On their lips her sweet kiss lingers yet.
And their cheeks with her tender tears are wet.
For she weeps — that gentle mother weeps —
(As mom and night her watch she keeps,
With a yearning heart and a passionate care)
To see the young things grow so fair ;
She weeps — for love she weeps,
And the dews are the tears she weeps,
From the well of a mother's love !
II.
" Ye have a world of light,
Where love in the loved rejoices ;
But the blind girl's home is the House of Night,
And its beings are empty voices.
* Ses'terce (dissyllable), a small silver coin amon^ the Romans, worth
between four and five cents.
nent of music
as modulating
the music she
g the loiterers
}0 the basket,
•assion to the
)ing ; " I have
L ! her voice is
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are wet.
ps—
s,
care)
f Night,
Komans, worth
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS. 251
" As one in the realm below,
I stand by the streams of woe !
I hear the vain shadows glide,
I feel their soft breath at my side.
And I thirst the loved forms to see,
And I stretch my fond arms around,
And I catch but a shapeless sound.
For the living are ghosts to me.
" Come, buy ! — come, buy ! —
Hark ! how the sweet things sigh
(For they have a voice like ours),
' The breath of the blind girl closes
The leaves of the saddening roses.
We are tender, we sons of light ;
We shrink from this child of night ; —
From the grasp of the blind girl free us.
We yearn for the eyes that see us ;
We are for night too gay.
In your eyes we behold the day —
Oh buy — oh buy the flowers ! '"
"I must have yon bunch of violets, sweet Nydia," said
Glaucus, pressing through the crowd, and dropping a handful
of small coins into the basket ; " your voice is more charming
than ever."
The blind girl started forward as she. heard the Athenian's
voice; then as suddenly paused, while the blood rushed violently
over neck, cheek, and temples.
" So you are returned," said she in a low voice ; and then
repeated half to herself, " Glaucus is returned ! "
" Yes, child ; I have not been at Pompeii above a few days.
My garden wants your care, as before; you will visit it, I trust,
to-morrow. And mind, no garlands at my house shall be woven
by any hands but those of the pretty Nydia."
Nydia smiled joyously, but did not answer; and Glaucus,
placing in his breast the violets he had selected, turned gaily
and carelessly from the crowd.
Last Days of Pompeii (1834).
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS,
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THE INFLUENCE OF BEAUTY.
John Keats (1795-1820).
A thing of beaai/y is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases ; it will never
Pass into nothingness ; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams and health and quiet breathing
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wn^atliing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days.
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Mad(; for our searching : yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon.
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep ; and such are daffodils,
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season ; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms :
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead ;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read :
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour ; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast.
That, whether there be shine, or gloom o'ercast,
They alway must be with us, or we die.
Endi/mion (1818), book i., 1-33.
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et broatlung
atliiiig
arth
vays
all,
all
lie moon,
boon
clear rills
ke
■ake,
blooms :
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ht
'ercast,
book i., 1-33.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LE^^ONS. 253
BATTLE OF THE NILE.
(1798.)
Once more Nelson sailed for Alexandria ; and, on arriving in
sight of that town on the morning of the 1st August, to the
inexpressible joy of the gallant admiral and every British sea-
man, the French tricolor was
plainly discerned waving on the
walls of the city. The fleet
stood along the shore, and at
one P.M. the Zealous made the
signal for seventeen ships, and
that thirteen were of the line.
Since he had left the Morea,
Nelson's anxiety had been so
great that he had scarcely
quitted the deck of the Va7i-
gitard ; but he now hoisted the
signal to prepare for battle, and
ordered his dinner. Aboukir
Bay, in which Admiral Brueys
had taken up his station, is about twenty miles beyond Alex-
andria, with its eastern extremity touching the western mouth
of the Nile, where it falls into the sea at Eosetta. The road-
stead, which extends in a deep curve, is traversed about three
miles from the shore by a long sand-bank, on which there is
only twenty-four feet of water, which therefore is insufficient
to float large ships of war. About two miles from Aboukir
Castle, on the mainland, is a small island (then called Aboukir
Island, but since named after Nelson), also surrounded by
shoals, which extend from it nearly a mile seawards. A
battery was erected on this island, and some bomb- vessels and
gun- boats were also placed to annoy an enemy entering the
bay.
The headmost of the French ships, which were moored in
single line, was distant about two miles from Aboukir Island,
with a distance of rather more than two ships' lengths, or about
one hundred and sixty yards, between each. The edge of the
shoal in-shore was concave, while the French line was convex,
the centre, which was occupied by the admiral's flag-ship, being
consequently farther distant from the shore than the extremities.
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Each ship was moored and provided with a stream cable to
enable her to " spring " her broadside, or bring it to bear on the
enemy.
With the intuition of genius, the thought struck Nelson that
as the French men-of-war were moored at two ships' length
from each other, where there was room for a French ship to
swing there was room for one of ours to anchor ; he therefore
determined to adopt a suggestion, attributed to Captain Foley
of the Goliath, to pass, if practicable, between the French and
the shore, and engage the enemy on their landward broad-
sides.
The battle lasted about two hours, and Nelson was on his
quarter-deck scanning a rough sketch of the Bay of Aboukir,
which had been found in a prize recently taken by the SwiftsurCy
when a piece of langridge shot struck him on the forehead,
inflicting a deep wound, and injuring the bone. As the torn
Hesh fell over his remaining eye, the sudden darkness and
intense pain of the wound induced the belief that the injury
was mortal ; and as he fell into the arms of Captain Berry, who
happened to be standing by, he exclaimed, " I am killed ! Re-
member me to my wife ! " He was carried down into the cock-
pit, and the surgeon at once left the wounded man whom he
had under his hand at the time of the arrival of the illustrious
patient. But even in this moment of mortal peril (as he
thought), the admiral, with that unselfish nobleness which
endeared him to his men, signed the surgeon away, exclaiming,
" No ; I will take my turn with my brave fellows." When his
turn came, a brief examination of the wound satisfied the
surgeon that, however painful, it was not dangerous. There-
upon Nelson had his head bound up, and proceeded at once on
deck.
The scene must have been superlatively grand, as each flash
of the two thousand guns, so incessantly worked, illumined the
darkness of the night ; but the tongues of flame darting out of
the muzzles of so many cannon offered a feeble and uncertain
light in comparison with the brilliant glare that was soon to
make all clear as noonday.
We have detailed more than one instance of a ship blow-
ing up in battle ; it must be a sufficiently awful spectacle
in the sunlight, but how grand during the dark hours of night !
This catastrophe now befell the Orient, a name arousing pain-
ful associations such as are linked with many noble ships in
>.
F0U11TH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
•jr)5
earn cable to
A) bear on tlio
k Nelson that
ships' length
'reiich ship to
; he therefore
Captain Foley
e French and
[Iwarcl broad-
n was on his
r of Aboukir,
the SwiftsurCy
the forehead,
As the torn
darkness and
lat the injury
in Berry, who
killed ! Re-
into the cock-
lan whom he
ihe illustrious
peril (as he
)leness which
r^ exclaiming,
» When his
satisfied the
rous. There-
ed at once on
as each flash
illumined the
]arting out of
md uncertain
I was soon to
a ship blow-
rful spectacle
>urs of night !
irousing pain-
oble ships in
our service whicli have sustained a like calamity in ))attle.
Within the first hour of the action Admiral Brueys received
two wounds, and at eight o'clock, as he was descending from
the poop to the quarter-deck, a round-shot nearly cut him in
two. Though suffering from the agony of this mortal wound,
the gallant admiral refused to be carried below, and with his
last breath desired to be suffered to die on deck. Here he
lingered a quarter of an hour, and his heroic spirit passed away
not long before death in another form would have seized him
had he lived. Commodore Casa Bianca was badly wounded
just as the admiral breathed his last, and met the fate that
awaited the greater part of the crew. At nine o'clock the three-
decker was perceived to be on fire in the mizzen-chains, and the
flames were soon observed to spread with great rapidity.
The fire is said to have been caused by the wadding of the
guns of the British ships setting fire to some empty oil-cans and
paint-buckets which had been left on the poop by the men who
had been painting the ship's sides on the morning of the action.
The general supposition in the British fleet was that the catas-
trophe owed its origin to the ignition of some of the unex-
tinguishable combustible materials employed by the French,
some of which were thrown on board several ships, and were
also found in the prizes. Whatever the cause, the flames spread
with great rapidity, and ascending the rigging, quickly enveloped
the ship. The fiery mass illumined the sky, presenting a
spectacle of indescribable grandeur, and lighting up every object
as in broad daylight.
On the intelligence reaching Nelson, wlio was still under the
surgeon's hands, he at once hastened on deck, and ordered the
boats to be despatched to succor the crew from the horrible
fate impending over them. Little, however, could be done to
rescue the unfortunate seamen ; the flames burst with too fierce
a glow to allow our boats to approach the huge floating castle.
About seventy of her men and officers, including Rear- Admiral
Ganteaume, were all that were saved, most of them being picked
up by our boats, the rear-admiral escaping in a boat belonging
to the Salamine brig. The ship continued to burn until about
ten o'clock, when, the fire having caught the magazine, the Orient
blew up, producing an effect to which nothing similar is recorded
in the history of naval war. So tremendous was the explosion
that the seams of the surrounding ships were opened, and they
sustained other considerable injuries ; the sea heaved violently.
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
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the waves rose high upon the shores, and the batteries and
castles around shook with the mighty concussion.
For several minutes after this catastrophe there was a dead
silence ; both victor and vanquished, awe-stricken, stayed their
hands in the dread work of destruction. The boldest heart in
the fleet manned by England's bravest sons paid this involuntary
homage to the gallant spirito who in that instant had been sent
to their last account. But presently the death-like stillness was
broken by the sound of falling spars and burning debris, which
showered on all the surrounding ships, carrying danger and
death with them in their fall.
Lieut. C. R. Low : Great Battles of the British Navy.
THE VICTORY.
(1798.)
Robert csoUTHEy (1774-1843).
Hark how the church bells, with redoubling peals,
Stun the glad ear ! Tidings of joy have come,
Good tidings of great joy ! two gallant ships
Met on the element — they met, they fought
A desperate fight — good tidings of great joy !
Old England triumphed ! yet another day
Of glory for the ruler of the waves !
For those who fell — 'twas in their country's cause —
They have their passing paragraphs of praise
And are forgotten.
There was one who died
In that day's glory whose obscurer name
No proud historian's page will chronicle.
Peace to his honest soul ! I read his name, —
'Twas in the list of slaughter, — and thanked God
The sound was not familiar to mine ear.
But it was told me after that this man
Was one whom lawful violence had forced
From his own hoiiH^, and wife, and little ones,
Who by his labor lived ; that he was one
Whose uncorrupted heart could Iceenly feel
A husband's love, a father's anxiousness ;
That from the wages of his toil he fed
The distant dear ones, and would talk of them
At midnight when he trod the silent deck
J batteries and
lere was a dead
n, stayed their
oldest heart in
his involuntary
b had been sent
ke stillness was
g debris, which
ng danger and
he British Navy.
ing peals,
come,
lips
4it
joy I
r
y's cause-
aise
died
le, —
Led God
d
ones,
el
them
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LEHSONS. 257
With him he valued — talk of them, of joys
Which he had known — God ! and of the hour
When they should meet again, till his full Jieart,
His manly heart, at times would overflow.
Even like a child's, with very tenderness.
Peace to his honest spirit ! suddenly
It came, and merciful the ball of death.
That it came suddenly and shattered him.
Nor left a moment's agonizing thought
On those he loved so well.
The ocean-deep
Now lies at rest. Be Thou her comforter
Who art the widow's friend ! Man does not know
What a cold sickness made her blood run back
When first she heard the tidings of the fight ;
Man does not know with what a dreadful hope
She listened to the names of those who died ;
Man does not know, or knowing will not heed.
With what an agony of tenderness
She gazed upon her children, and beheld
His image who was gone. O God ! be thou,
Who art the widow's friend, her comforter !
Westbury, 179S.
LINES FROM "THE OKPHAN BOY."
Stay, lady ! stay, for mercy's sake,
And hear a helpless orphan's tale ;
Ah ! sure my looks must pity wake —
'Tis want that makes my cheek so pale.
Yet I was once a mother's pride.
And my brave father's hope and joy ;
But in the Nile's proud light he died.
And I am now an orphan boy.
Poor foolish child ! how pleased was I,
When news of Nelson's victory came.
Along the crowded streets to fly,
And see the lighted windows llame !
To force me home my niotlier sought —
She could not bear to see my joy ;
For with my father's life 'twas bought.
And made me a i)oor orphan boy. Mils. Oimk.
17
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
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THE SUEZ CANAL.
The Suez Canal is certainly one of the greatest triumphs of
modern engineering. Yet it is only an improvement on a much
earlier plan ; for it is well known that, in the fifth century before
the Christian era, an indirect
line of canal connected the two
seas, the Mediterranean and the
Red Sea. It began at about a
mile and a half north of Suez,
and struck in a north-westerly
direction, availing itself of a
series of natural hollows, to a
point on the eastern branch of
the Nile. By-and-by it became
silted up; and after having
been several times restored, it
was finallv filled with the never-
resting sands in 767 a.d.
Upwards of ten centuries
passed before any attempt was
made to renew communication between the two seas. Then the
idea occurred to the ingenious mind of Buonaparte ; but as his
engineers erroneously reported that there was a difference of
level between the Mediterranean and the Red Sea to the extent
of thirty feet, he suffered it to droD. In 1847 a scientific com-
mission, appointed by England, France, and Austria, ascertained
that the two seas had exactly the same mean level; and in 1854
Ferdinand de Lesseps, an ingenious and enterprising French-
man, obtained permission from the Viceroy of Egypt to make a
canal across the isthmus. It was not, however, until 1858 that
De Lesseps found himself in a position to appeal to the public
for support. A company was then formed, and the canal was
proceeded with ; a variety of ingenious machinery being invented
by the French engineers to meet the exigencies of their novel
and magnificent enterprise. On the 17th of November 1869 it
was formally opened for navigation, in the presence of a host of
illustrious personages, representing every European State.
" As we went along the Canal," says Dr. Carpenter, " we
passed bccween mounds or banks, higher than the ordinary level.
These banks were composed of material which had been exca-
vated from the Canal, and thrown up on either side.
triumphs of
it on a much
sntury before
an indirect
cted the two
nean and the
n at about a
Tth of Suez,
)rth-westerly
itself of a
loUows, to a
en branch of
by it became
iter having
1 restored, it
th the never-
>7 A.D.
3n centuries
attempt was
i. Then the
but as his
clifFerence of
o the extent
lientific com-
L, ascertained
and in 1854
ing French-
3t to make a
;il 1858 that
the public
le canal was
ing invented
: their novel
nber 1869 it
of a host of
State.
penter, " we
dinary level,
been exca-
FOUBTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
259
bridge
" As we steamed along very slowly, I mounted the
of the steamer, so as to be able to look over these banks ; and
then I saw the interminable barren waste on the Egyptian
side covered with water, and on the eastern side a sandy desert
extending to Palestine.
One of the first features of interest was a ' floating bridge,*
thrown across the Canal by steam, at a point which, I was told,
was in the track of the caravans. Now here was a most curious
conjuncture of modern and ancient civilization. This caravan
track is one of the most ancient of all roads, leading from
Egypt into Palestine and Syria, on the very line along which
Jacob's sons may have gone down into Egypt to buy corn ; and
there we found one of the appliances of modern civilization, in
the shape of this 'floating bridge,' consisting of a large flat-
bottomed boat which crosses and recrosses the Canal by means
of chains wound and unwound upon large drums by a steam
engine. This contact of ancient and modern civilization is one
of the most remarkable features in Egypt.
" But there was another noticeable feature. There are sta-
tions all along the Canal, at which the officers reside, as well as
the men who keep watch over the Canal, and who are ready to
give help if any vessel should run aground. At most of these
stations I noticed that there was a garden, generally with a
gay show of flowers, and great cultivation of edible vegetables.
Now what was the meaning of this ?
How could these gardens
be made out of this sand and mud ? The secret is, that every
one of these places is supplied with fresh water.
" That fresh water is brought all the way from the Nile ; for
there is no fresh water to be got between Port Said and Suez —
nothing but brackish water, obtained by digging. A fresh-water
canal was therefore cut from the Nile at Cairo to Ismalia, a
sort of half-v/ay house l)et\veen Suez and Port Said. Pipes
convey this water to the railway which runs from Caii-o to Suez
by way of Ismalia. By this means a supply cf wholesome
water is conveyed regularly to all parts of the Canal, and flowers
of every kind can l)e grown, nothing being wanted for the soil
in that sminy clime but water. At Ismalia the head (engineer
has a villa with the most beautiful plants of all kinds, those of
temperate! as well as of tropical climes growing luxuriantly in
his garden."
Before the establishment of the Ov(;rland Route, Suez, though
a place of considerable transit trade between Egypt and the
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
261
£
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East, was a small, ill-built, wretched-looking town. Since that
time it has been much improved, and has become the residence
of many merchants and agents. The country around it is
desert, and provisions and water have to be brought from great
distances.
Reembarking at Suez, we pass down the gulf of the same
name, which is the western of the two arms at the head of the
Red Sea. The Gulf of Suez is 190 miles in length; and near
the head of it is believed by many to be the place at whicli the
Israelites crossed the Red Sea in their exodus from Egypt. As,
however, the gulf is known to have receded many miles from
its ancient head, even since the Christian era, it is more prob-
a})le that the scene of the passage is now in the sandy waste of
the isthnids.
The eastern arm of the Red Sea is the Gulf of Akaba, which
is 100 miles in length. On the triangular tongue of land be-
tween the two gulfs are the mountains of Horeb-Siiiai, in whose
midst there appeared to Moses " an angel of the Lord in a flame
of fire in a bush ; " and on whose " secret top " he received from
God the " lively oracles " to give to the people.
Half way down the Red Sea, the navigation of which is ren-
dered difficult by sudden changes of wind and heavy galer, we
reach Jeddah, one of the most active sea-ports in Arabia. Here
thousands of pilgrims land every year on their way to Mecca,
the birth-place of Mohammed and the cradle of the Mussulman
faitli. Near the southern extremity of the sea, on the margin
of a sandy plain on the Arabian coast, is Mocha, a fortified
sea-port, from which thousands of tons of the finest coffee are
annually exported. Passing through the Strait of Bab-el-
mandejb, we reach Aden, where the sign-board of " The Prince
of Wales Hotel " reminds us that we are once more in a British
possession. Like Gibraltar and Valetta, Aden is considered an
impregnable fortress. Like Gibraltar, too, it stands on a rocky
peninsula, connected with the mainland by a narrow isthmus.
Its harbor is the best in Arabia ; p^^d the town abounds in
mosques and Mohammedan remains, ^■ ' ich testify to its former
magnificence. From Aden we steai.' ■ .ough the(}ulf of Aden
and across tlie Arabian S(\a ; and before many days pass we are
at anchor in the spacious harbor of Bombay.
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262 FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
LORD SYDENHAM.
(1799-1841.)
John Charleh Dent.
[Cliarles E. P. Thompson, Baron Sydenham ("of Sydenham in Kent, and
Toronto in Canada") became Governor-CTeneral of Canada in 1831) ; and to
l»im fell the delicate taslcs of uniting the two Provinces in one Parliament,
and of introducing the system of resjjonsible government.
On the 4th of Sei»tenilier 1841 his horse fell, crushing Lord Sydenham's
log, and d(>.ath ensued on the 19th. In accordance with a rocjuest he had
madt% the Governor-( General was buried in St. (jicorgc's Church, Kingston.]
His eartlily race was nearly run. He had overworked \\\\w-
S(4f ever since his arrival in Canada. His labors throughout
tlie session had been simply tremendous for a man in such an
uncertain state of health. The obstructions in his path had
been many, and he had been compelled to encounter them
almost single-handed, for his ministers were able to serve him
to only a limited extent. The most capable of them did not,
as we have seen, enjoy the confidence of the popular side, and
could not be expected to lend themselves with much enthusiasm
to the carrying out of the most liberal of the Governor's
measures. Mr. Baldwin's secession had doubtless tended to
add to his many embarrassments ; for Mr. Baldwin, more than
any other man in Canada, had the ear of the public, and would
have been invaluable to His Excellency as an exponent of the
popular will. A man of less tact and parliamentary experi-
ence than t})0 Governor would have been unable, in a single
session, to carry through such a mass of important legislation,
beset as it was with multitudinous details, and in the face of a
keen and watchful opposition ever on the alert. Too mucli
praise cannot ))e awarded foi* the indc^fatigable manner in which
he literally spent himself in the public service. The Govern-
ment's policy was sustained on every material point. The only
measure in whicli th(^y sustained dcifeat was one which contem-
plated the starting of a bank of issue. To Lord Sydenham,
more than to any one else, this almost uniform success was duo.
But it was not ol>tained without the paym(;nt of a high price,
so far as His Excellency was personally conc(^rned. He worked
at high pressure, and at tremendous expenditure of vital force ;
much of the most important legislation was actually drafted by
his own hand. He wj'.s ever at his post, and worked early and
late. He was accessible to any member, no matter to what
party he might belong, who could frame a plausible excuse for
ii'
!!
?.
uu in Kent, and
in 183«J ; and to
)ne Parliament,
>rd Sydenham's
request lie had
I'ch, Kingston.]
-worked liim-
s throughout
n in sucli an
lis path had
ounter them
to serve him
lem did not,
[lar side, and
1 enthusiasm
3 Governor's
3S tended to
n, more than
c, and would
onent of tlie
titary experi-
, in a single
fc legislation,
bhe face of a
Too much
ner in which
riio Govern-
b. The only
bich contem-
Sydenham,
less was duo.
i liigh i^ricp,
He worked
vital force ;
i drafted by
id early and
ter to what
e excuse for
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
263
intruding upon him in public interests. His nervous system
was kept in a state of perpetual tension. His appetite was
capricious, and he was frequently unable to sleep. " The
worst of it is," he wrote to his brother on the 28th of August,
" I am afraid I shall never be good for quiet purposes here-
after ; for I actually breathe, eat, drink, and sleep on nothing
but Government and politics, and my day is a lost one when I
do not find that I have advanced some of these objects materi-
ally. That, in fact, is the secret of my success. The people
know that I am ready at all hours and times to do business,
and that what I have once undertaken I will carry through ;
so they follow my star. " He had been discounting liis physical
constitution ever since he had accepted the Governor-General-
ship, and had taxed his energies ruinously. For more than a
year before the opening of the session he had been subject to fre-
quent attacks of his hereditary malady, the gout, and had some-
times been unable to write or dictate. To gout, fever and utter
prostration of mind and body were sometimes added. His
removal from Montreal to Kingston, in May, caused some
imf>rovement in his health, but he complained that his strengtlf
did not come back to him, and that his work oppressed him .• ..
it had never done before. " I am ready to hang myself half a
dozen times a day," he wrote on the 5tli of June " I long
for September, beyond which I will not stay if they were to
make me Duke of Canada and Prince of Regiopolis, as this
place is called." ^^ ^^^ p^^^^ y^^^,^ ^1881).
TTNTRODDEN WAY!.
By "Fidelis" (Miss Machar), Kingston.
Where close the curving mountains drew
To clasp the stream in their emljrace.
With every outline, curve, and hue,
Reflected in its placid face,
The ploughman stopped his team, to watch
The train, as swift it thundered by ;
Some distant glimpse of life to catch,
He strains his eager, wistful eye.
! i^
1,^
I!
i;:
264
1*
M''
ill
t:!
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
His glossy horses mildly stand
With Avondor in their patient eyes,
As through the tranquil mountain land
The snorting monster onward flies.
The morning freshness is on him,
Just wakened from his balmy dreams ;
The wayfarers, all soiled and dim,
Think longingly of mountain streams : —
O for the joyous mountain air !
The long delightful autumn day
Among the hills ! — the ploughman there
Must have perpetual holiday !
And he, as all day long he guides
His steady plough with patient hand,
Thinks of the flying train that glides
Into some fair, enchanted land ;
Where day by day no plodding round
Wearies the frame and dulls the mind ;
Where life thrills keen to sight and sound,
With plough and furrows left behind !
Even so to each the untrod ways
Of life are touched by fancy's glow,
That ever sheds its brightest rays
Upon the page we do not know !
Canadian Monthly, Feb. 1882.
CANADA ON THE SEA.
J. G. BouRiNOT (b. 1834).
No country in the w^orld possesses more admirable facilities for
the prosecution of all the branches of maritime enterprise than
the Dominion of Canada. Looking eastward, we see the
Provinces of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, with an
extensive line of sea-coast, indented, especially in the case of
the latter, with bays and liarbors, offering every inducement to
u
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
2(15
b;
lid,
ok 1882.
icilities for
fprise than
e see the
, with an
he case of
icement to
commerce. Still further to the east lies the island of Kew-
foundland, the Prima or Buena Vista of early navigators, in
the midst of the finest fishery of either continent, destined ere
long to form a part of the Confederation, and to he aie the head-
quarters of an immense trade. As one great isLnd forms the
eastern harrier, so another, smaller in extent, bitt equally im-
portant from a maritime point of view, defends the approaches
I to the Pacific coast of the Dominion. "While the eastern and
western extremities of Canada are washed by two oceans — tlie
one the road to Asia, the other to Europe — Nature lias given
her a system of internal communication unrivalled even Ly the
Republic on her borders. The St. Lawrence runs through a
large portion of her most vabiablc and at present most populous
territory, and carries to the jcf n the tribute of the great lakes
and noble rivers that water tl;. Provinces of Quebec and On-
tario. Nova Scotia and Now Brunswick both possess numer-
ous rivers, some of them of very considerable length and
magnitude, and connecting che most inland counties of those
provinces with the sea-" ^ard. By energetically a\ aib'ug them-
selves of these natural advantages, the people of British North
America have been able, in the course of a very few years, to
attain a commercial position which is most creditable to their
industry and enterprise.
The people who own this immense stretch of country, ex-
tending from ocean to ocean, are of the same races that, from
time immemorial, have been famous for their achievements on
the seas. They take as much pride as the men of Devon them-
selves in the record of Grenville, Gilbert, Frobisher, Ealeigh,
Drake, and all those gallant men whose names are so intimately
associated with the maritime triumphs of the parent state, and
with the history of discovery on the continent of America. If
there is an era in English history especially interesting to
Canadians, it is that Elizabethan age when England laid deep
and firm the foundation of her maritime superiority, and when
her adventurous sons,— above all, " the sons of Devon,"— went
forth to plant her flag in Prima Vista, in the ice-bound regions
of the north, and on the islands and coasts of the tropics.
But whilst the energy and enterprise of the British races have
to so large an extent made Canada what she is now, we must
not forget that it is to England's great rival across the
Channel that we owe the first settlements on our shores. The
Basques, the" Bretons, and the Normans, themselves a maritime
;|m
i
f"-"
266
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
])
ll
i;;
i i
i r
i :
■f
)
1
i i
i
{
11 !
I •
people by virtue of descent and occupation, were the first to
till " the deep sea-pasture " of American waters. From Dieppe,
St. Malo, Rochelle, and other ports of France, came those
maritime adventurers who, in frail craft hardly larger than the
smallest fisliing schooners on our sea-coast, dared all the dangers
of unknown seas, and planted the first colonies on the banks of
the St. Lawrence and on the shores of Acadie. With wonderful
discrimination thoy selected those harbor?, and bays which are
best adapted for trade, and modern enterprise has not denied
in a single instance the wisdom of their choice. Quebec,
Montreal, and New Orleans still remain to attest the prescience
and sagacity of the French pioneers. Canadian Monthly Magazine.
FROM "THE OCEAN STAG"
Charles Sangster (b. 1822).
Far away on the wide, wide ocean tide,
Far away on the tameless sea.
On its broad, broad breast, where the waves never rest
From their mad joyous revelry,
Rides the stately bark o'er the billows dark,
Like the spirit of Liberty ;
Rideth all night, with a strange delight,
Like a creature of the foam,
Or a wild thing born of some sprite forlorn
In the cave of some monster gnome,
That had leaped into life from the ocean strife,
With the boundless sea for its home.
So with plunge and dip speeds the gallant ship^
With her mariner hearts so strong,
Wlio defy the tide with disdainful pride,
With laughter, and tale, and song.
How she strains ! how she bounds ! like a stag whicli
Have followed in vain too long. [the hounds
Higher, higher each swell ! merry gale, it is well ;
Still wilder the swift wind blows :
Let it rave, let it rave, with a ship so brave,
And a crew that no danger knows.
Though the storm-fiends' wrack make the welkin crack,
Though the gale to a tempest grows.
Canadian Monthly Magazine (1872).
'e the first to
From Dieppe,
», came those
[irger tlian the
ill the dangers
1 the banks of
^ith wonderful
ays which are
as not denied
)ice. Quebec,
the prescience
thfy Magazine.
,ves never rest
ark.
orn
sti'ife,
it ship,
! a stag whicli
[the hounds
t is well ;
ive,
welkin crack,
azine (1872).
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSON'S.
267
M
"BREAK, BREAK, BREAK.
Alfred Tennyson (b. 1809).
Break, break, break
On thy cold, gray stones, Sea !
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
Oh, well for the fisherman's boy
That he shouts with his sistei' at play !
Oh, well for the sailor-lad
That he sings in his boat on the bay !
And the stately ships go on,
To the haven under the hill ;
But oh, for the touch of a vanished liand,
And the sound of a voice that is still !
Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Rea !
But the tender grace of a day tlr^t is dead
Will never come back to me.
if
;?l
■m
268
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
• I
HOW MANY FINS HAS A COD? OR, FORTY
YEARS AOO.
Thomah Chandler Halibuuton (1700-1805).
[The lato Judgo, Ifaliburton, a native of Wiiulnor, N.S., and the grandson
of a U.K. Tioyalist, is ovorywlioro known for tho witty and cliaracteristic
KlvotchdH which in 183.5 began to appear in a weekly papc-r in Nova Scotia,
and in 18.37 were collected under the title, "Tlie Clockinaker; or, Tho Say-
ings and Doings of Sam Slick of Slickville." This new vein of humor con-
tinued for twenty years to bo worked with gi-eat success ; and in 1855, from
among the "tailings" of tho oro, it yielded " Nature and Human Nature."
Our selection is drawn from "Tho Old Judge; or, Life in a Colony," which
originally appeariid in 1 843. It was rei)rinted in 1840, 1800, and 1881.
The scene of tlie trial is laid at Plymouth, N.S., at the beginning of this
century.]
" Lawyer, this is Captain John Barkins ! — Captain Barkins,
this is Lawyer Sandford ! — He is our client, lawyer, and I must
say one thing for him: he has but two faults, but tLoy are
enough to ruin any man in this province — he is an honest man,
and speaks the truth. I will leave you together now, and go
and order your dinner for you."
John Barkins was a tall, corpulent, amphibious-looking man,
that seemed as if he would be equally at home in either element,
land or water. He held in his hand what he called a nor'-
wester, a large, broad-brimmed, glazed hat, with a peak project-
ing behind to shod the water from off his club queue, which
was nearly as thick as a hawser. He wore a long, narrow-
tailed, short- waisted blue coat, with large white-plated buttons,
that resembled Spanish dollars, a red waistcoat, a spotted ban-
dana silk handkerchief tied loosely about his throat, and a pair
of voluiniiious corduroy trowsers, of the color of brown soap,
over which were drawn a pair of fishermen's boots, that reached
nearly to his knees. His waistcoat and his trowsers were appa-
rently not upon very intimate terms ; for, though they travelled
together, the latter were taught to feel their subjection, but
when they lagged too far behind, they were brought to their
place by a jerk of impatience that threatened their very exist-
ence. He had a thick, matted head of black hair, and a pair
of whiskers that disdained the cfFeminacy of either scissors or
razor, and revelled in all the exu])erant and wild profusion of
nature. His countenance was much weather-beaten from con-
stant exposure to the vicissitudes of heat and cold, but was
s.
FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
2C9
FORTY
nd the grandson
id cliariicteristic
in Nova Scotia,
n-; or, The Say-
n of Inmior con-
nd in 1855, from
ftnnan Nature."
Colony," which
and 1881.
eginning of this
itain Barkins,
r, and I must
but tLcy are
L honest man,
' now, and go
looking man,
ither element,
jailed a nor'-
peak project-
queue, which
ong, narrow-
ated buttons,
. spotted ban-
it, and a pair
brown soap,
that reached
rs were appa-
hey travelled
bjection, but
ight to their
ir very exist-
r, and a pair
er scissors or
profusion of
!n from con-
Did, but was
open, good-natured, and manly. Such was my client. He
advanced and shook me cordially by the hand.
" Glad to see you, sir," he said ; " you are welcome to Ply-
mouth. My name is John Barkins; I dare say you have often
heard of me, for everybody knows me about these |)arts. Any
one will tell you what sort of a man John Barkins is. That's
me — that's my name, do you see? I am a parsecuted man,
lawyer; but I ain't altogether quite run down yet neither. I
have a case in court; I dare say Mr. liobins has told you of it.
He is a very clever man is old Billy, and as smart a chap of liis
age as you will see anywhere a'most. I suppose you have
often heard of him before, for everybody knows William Robins
in these parts. It's the most important case, sir, ever tried in
this county. If I lose it, Plymouth is done. There's an end
to the fisheries, and a great many of us are a-going to sell oft"
and quit the country."
I will not detail his cause to you in his own words, because
it would fatigue you as it wearied me in hearing it. It possessed
no public interest whatever, though it was of some importance
to himself as regarded the result. It appeared that he had
fitted out a large vessel for the Labrador fishery, and taken
with him a very full crew, who were to share in the profits or
loss of the adventure. The agreement, which was a verbal one,
was that on the completion of the voyage the cargo should be
sold, and the net proceeds be distributed in equal portions, one
half to appertain to the captain and vessel, and tlie other half
to the crew, and to be equally divided among them. The
undertaking was a disastrous one, and on their return the sea-
men repudiated the bargain, and sued him for wages. It was,
therefore, a very simple aft'air, being a mere question of fact as
to the partnership, and that depending wholly on the evidence.
Having ascertained these particulars, and inquired into the
nature of the proof by which his defence was to be supported,
and given him his instructions, I requested him to call upon me
again in the morning before court, and bowed to him in a
manner too significant to be misunderstood. lie, however, still
lingered in the room, and, turning his hat round and round
several times, examining the rim very carefully, as if at a loss
to distinguish the front from the back part r it, he looked up
at last, and said —
" Lawyer, I have a favor to ask of you."
"What is it?" I inquired.
it^H
(. J
; i ■!
; t 'I
Ml i
; ! ;
I . •
:l
M
! ^|i
* I
270
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
uT
There is a man," he replied, " coming agin me to-morrow
as a witness, of the name of Lillum. He thinks himself a
great judge of the fisheries, and he does know a considerable
some, I must say; but I caught j&sh afore he was born, and
know more about fishing than all the Lillums of Plymouth put
together. Will you just ask him one question?"
Yes; fifty, if you like."
Well, I only want you to try him with one, and that will
choke him. Ask him if he knows * how many fins a cod has,
at a word.' "
" What has that got to do with the cause?" I said, with un-
feigned astonishment.
"Everything, sir," he answered: '* everything in the world.
If he is to come to give his opinion on other men's business,
the best way is to see if he knows his own. Why, man ! he
do^r't know a cod-fish when he sees it ; if he does, he can't tell
you * how many fins it has, at a word.' It is a great catch,
that. I never knew a feller that could answer that question
yet, right off the reel."
He then explained to me that in the enumeration one small
fin was always omitted by those who had not previously made
a minute examination.
" Now, sir," said he, " if he can't cipher out that question
(and I'll go a hogshead of rum on it he can't), turn him right
out of the box, and tell him to go a voyage with old John Bar-
kins — that's me; my name is John Barkins — and he will lam
him his trade. Will you ask him that question, lawyer?"
" Certainly," I said, " if you wish it."
" You will gain the day, then, sir," he continued, much elated;
" you will gain the day, then, as sure as fate. Good-bye,
lawyer."
When he had nearly reached the foot of the staircase, I heard
him returning, and, opening the door, he looked in and said —
"You won't forget, will you? — my name is John Barkins;
ask anybody about liere, and they will tell you who I am, for
everybody knows John Barkins in these parts. The other
man's name is Lilluin — a v«>ry decent, 'sponsible-looking man,
too; but he don't know everything. Take him up all short.
' How many fins has a cod, at a word?' says you. If you can
lay him on the broad of his back with tliat (luestiou, I don't
care a farthing if I losti the case. It's a great satisfaction to
nonplush a knowin' one that way. You know the question?"
:;; m
)'.
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
271
If-
le to-morrow
ks himself a
considerable
as born, and
Plymouth put
and that will
ins a cod has,
laid, with un-
n the world.
en's business,
hy, man ! he
he can't tell
great catch,
that question
on one small
viously made
that question
irn him right
»ld John Bar-
\ he will larn
iwyer?"
much elated ;
Good-bye,
'case, I heard
L and said —
ohn Barkins;
ho I am, for
The other
looking man,
up all short.
If you can
stiou, 1 don't
atisfaction to
question? '
" Yes, yes," I replied impatiently. " I know all about it."
''You do, do you, sir?" said he, shutting the door behind
him, and advancing towards me, and looking me steadily in the
face; " you do, do you? Then, ' how many lins has a cod, at
a word?'"
I answered as he had instructed me.
" Sir," he said, " it's a pity your father hadn't made a fisher-
man of you, for you know more about a cod now than any man
in Plymouth but one, old John Barkins — that's me; my name
is John Barkins. Everybody knows me in these parts. Bait
your hook with that question, and you'll catch old Lillum, I
know. As soon as he has it in his gills, drag him right out of
the water. Give him no time to play — out with him, and whap
him on the deck; hit him hard over the head — it will make
him open his mouth, and your hook is ready for another
catch."
"Good-night, Mr. Barkins," I replied; "call on me in the
morning. I am fatigued now."
" Good-night, sir," he answered; "you won't forget?"
Dinner was now announced, and my friend Mr. Robins and
myself sat down to it with an excellent appetite.
Mrs. Brown, the landlady, was the widow of a seafaring
man, who had, no doubt, fitted up the chamber with a view
to economize room, and thus accommodate as many passen-
gers (as he would designate his guests) as possible in this
sailors' home. A lamp hung suspended from the ceiling, and
appeared to be supplied and trimmed for the night, so as to
afford easy access and egress at all hours. It was ahnost im-
possible not to imagine one's self at sea, on board of a crowded
coasting packet. Retreat was impossible, and therefore I. made
up my miiid at once to submit to this whimsical arrangement
for the night, and, having undressed myself, was about to climb
into a vacant berth near the door, when some one opposite
called out — •
" Lawyer, is that you?"
It was my old tormentor, the ski])per. Upon ascertaining
who it was, he immediately got out of bed, and crossed over to
where i was standing. He had nothing on but a red inghtcap,
and a short, loose check shirt, wide oi)en at the throat and
breast. He looked like a huge bear walking uj^on his hind
legs, he was so hairy and shaggy. Seizing me l)y the shoulders,
he clasped me tightly round the neck, and whispered —
'%■
.f^^WW
272
' '^ f
1
(
.j;-!
i
1
\^
•j
t
;
•
1
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
" How iiicany fins has a cod, at a word? That's the ques-
tion. You won't forget, will you?"
" No," I said; " I not only will not forget it to-morrow, but
I shall recollect you and your advice as long as I live. Now
let me get some rest, or I shall be unable to plead your cause
for you, as I am excessively fatigued and very drowsy."
"Certainly, certainly," he said — "turn in; but don't forget
the catch."
It was some time before the hard bed, the fatigue of the
journey, and the novelty of the scene, permitted me to compose
myself for sleep; and just as I was dropping off into slumber, I
heard the same unwelcome sounds —
" Lawyer, lawyer, are you asleep?"
I affected not to hear him, and, after another ineffectual
attempt on his part to rouse me, he desisted; but 1 heard him
mutter to himself —
" Plague take the sarpent ! he'll forget it and lose all: a feller
that falls asleep at the helm ain't tit to be trusted nohow."
Ir. the morning when I awoke, the first objects that met my
eye were the bandana handkerchief, the red waistcoat, and
blue coat, while a good-natured face watched over me with all
tlie solicitude of a parent for the first moment of wakefulness.
"Lawyer, are you awake?" said Barkins. "This is the
great day — the greatest day Plymouth ever .w ! We shall
know now whether we are to carry on the fisheries or give
them up to the Yankees. Everything depends upon that ques-
tion; don't forget it ! — ' How many fins has a cod, at a word?'
It's very late now. It is eight o'clock, and the court meets at
ten, and the town is full."
" Do go away and let me dress mvself ! " I said petulantly.
" I won't forget you."
" Wejl, I'll go below," he replied, "if you wish it, but call
for me when you want me. My name is John Barkins; ask
any one for me, for every man knows John Barkins in these
parts."
I shoo'.c my head in silence and despair, for I saw he was a
man there was no escaping from.
After breakfast, Mr. Kobins conducted me to the court-
house, which was filled almost to suffocation. The panel was
immediately called, and the jury placed in the box. Previous
to their being sworn, I inquired of Barkins whether any of
tliem were related to the plaintiifs, or had been known to
I!
M._L-.
lat's the ques-
to-morrow, but
3 I live. Now
ead your cause
'owsy. "
it don't forget
fatigue of tlie
me to compose
nto slumber, I
her ineffectual
it 1 heard him
3se all : a feller
I nohow."
5 that met my
waistcoat, and
er me with all
wakefulness.
'' This is the
w ! We shall
tileries or give
pon that ques-
)d, at a word?'
court meets at
aid petulantly.
sh it, but call
Barkins; ask
irkiiis in these
[ saw he was a
to the court-
riie panel was
lox. Previous
hether any of
L'UJi known tu
FOURTH BOOK OF liEADINU LESSONS.
273
express an opinion adverse to his interests; for if such was the
case, it was the time to challenge them. To my astonishment,
he immediately rose and told the judges he challenged the
whole jury, the bench of magistrates, and every man in the
house — a defiance that was accomjoanied by a menacing out-
stretched arm and clenched fist. A shout of laughter that
nearly shook the walls of the building followed this violent
outbreak. Nothing daunted by their ridicule, liowever, he
i-eturned to the charge, and said :
" I repeat it; I challenge the whole of you, if you dan^ !"
Here the court interposed, and asked him what he meant
by such indecent behavior.
" Meant !" he said; " I mean what T say. The strange law-
yer here tells me now is my time to challengv, and I claim my
right; I do challenge any or all of }ou! Pick out any man
present you please, take the smartest chap you've got, put us
both on board the same vessel, and I challenge him to catch,
spit, clean, salt, and stow away as man}' fish in a day as I can
— cod, poUuck, shad, or niackeiel ; I don't care which, for it 's
all the same to me; and I'll go a hogshead of rum on it I beat
him! Will any man take up the challenge?" and he turned
slowly round and examined the whole crowd. " You won't,
won't you ? I guess not ; you know a trick worth two of that,
I reckon ! — There, lawyer, there is my challenge ; now go on
with the cause !"
As soon as order was restored the jury were sworn, and the
plaintiffs' counsel opened his case and called his witnesses, the
last of whom was Mr. Lillum.
"That's him!" said Barkins, putting both arms round my
neck and nearly choking me, as he whispered, " Ask him ' how
many fins a cod has, at a word?' " I now stood up to cross-
examine him, when I was again hi the skipper's clutches.
" Don't forget ! the question is — "
" If you do not sit down inunediately, sir," I said in a loud
and authoritative voice (for the scene had become ludicrous),
" and leave me to conduct the cause my own way, I shall retire
from the court ! "
lie sat down, and groaning audibly, put both hands before
his face and muttered —
" There is no dependence on a man that sleeps at the helm !"
I connub.iced, however, in the way my ])0or client drsired;
for I saw plainly that he was more anxious of what he called
18
If : r
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• ^
,-_^;J_^.
%!.
274
FOURTH BOOK OF j.t^APIJ7(V r.FSSONS.
\ ill
fi
ii
I
"siumping" old Lillum and '^r on-plusbing" Y'im, than about the
result of his trial, although be wa,: firuily convinced that the
one depended on the other.
" How many years have you been engaged in the Labrador
fishery, sir?"
"Twenty-five."
" You are, of course, perfectly conversant with the cod-
fishery ?"
" Perfectly. I know as much, if not more, about it than
any man in Plymouth."
Here Barkins pulled my coat, and most beseechingly said,
" Ask him—"
" Be quiet, sir, and do not interrupt me !" was the consola-
tory reply he received.
" Of course, then, after such long 3X'jerience, sir, you know
a cod-fish when you see it?"
" I should think so."
" That will not do, sir. Will you swear that you do?"
" I do not come here to be made a fool of !"
" Nor I either, sir; I require you to answer yes or no. Will
you undertake to swear that you know a cod-fish when you
see it?"
" I will, sir."
Here Barkins rose and struck tie table with his fist a blow
that nearly split it. and, turning to me, said —
" Ask him—"
" Sii&nce, sir t again vocifejrated. — " Let there be no mis-
take," I continued. " I will repeat the question. Do you
undertake to swear that you know a cod-fish when you see it?"
" I do, sir, as well as I know my own name when I see it !"
" Then, sir, how many fins has a cod, at a word?"
Here the blow was given, not on the deal slab of the table,
but on my back, with such force as to throw me forward on my
two hands.
" Ay, floor him !" said Barkins; " let him answer that ques-
tion ? — The lawyer has you there ! How many fins has a cod,
at a word, you old sculpin?"
" I can answer you that without hesitation."
'* How many, then?"
" Let me see — thr(M! on the back, and two on the shoulder —
that's five; two on the nape — that's seven; and two on the
shoulder — that's nine. Nine, sir!"
I
i
f
%u
m about the
3d that the
e Labrador
ill the cod-
out it than
liingly said,
the consola-
', you know
I do?"
)r no. Will
I when you
i fist a blow
be no mis-
1. Do you
^ou see it?"
I I see it!"
f the table,
ward on my
c that ques-
s has a cod,
shoulder —
two on the
FOUttTtI BOOK OF READINr^ LESSORS.
275
" Misled it 1" said Barkins. '' Didn't I tell you s«. '? i knew
he couldn't answer it. And yet the fellow has tl>a iiDpuuence
to call himself a fisherman ! "
Here I requested the court to interfere, ai il conpel my
unfortunate and excited client to be silent.
" Is there not a small fin besides," I said, " betwe<jn the under
jaw and the throat?"
" 1 believe there is."
" You believe ! Then, sir, it seems you are in doubt, and
that you do not know a cod-fish when you see it. You may
go ; I will not ask you another question. Go, sir ! but let me
advise you to be more careful in your answers for the future."
There was a universal shout of laughter in the court, and
Barkins availed himself of the momentary noise to slip his
hand under the table and grip me by the thigh, so as nearly to
sever the flesh from the bone.
" My stout fresh-water fish," he said, " you have gained the
case, after all ! Didn't I tell you he could nt answer that ques-
tion? It's a great catch, isn't it?"
The next day I left Plymouth very early in the morning.
When I descended to the door, I found both Robins and Bar-
kins there, and received a hearty and cordial -are well from
both of them.
I had hardly left the door before I het^'d mv name shouted
after me.
" Mr. Sandford I Lawyer ! lawyer ! '
It was old Barkins. I anticipated his ; hject; I knt ,v it was
his old theme.
"Lawyer, don't forget the catch — 'Pow viany fins has a
cod, at a word?'
(> »
STORM SONG.
James Bayaud Tailor (182r»-l(ST8).
Tlw clouds are scudding across the moon ;
A misty light is on the sea ;
The wind in the shrouds has a wintry tune ;
And the foam is flying free.
Brothers, a night of terror and gloom
Speaks in tiie cloud and gathering roar ;
II
fl
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276
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
1 '
\t
i i !
it
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I
" All, daijUijht will look ui>on many a wreck .'"
Thank God, lu; lias given us l)road sea-room, —
A thousand miles from shore I
Down with the hatches on those who sleep !
The w.^d and whistling deck have we ;
Good watch, my brothers, to-nigiit we'll keep,
While the tempest is on the sea !
Though the rigging shriek in his terrible grip,
And the naked spars be snapped away.
Lashed to the helm, we'll drive our ship
Straight through the whelming spray !
Hark, how the surges o'erleap the deck !
Hark, how the pitiless tempest raves !
Ah ! daylight will look upon many a wreck,
Drifting o'er the desert waves !
Yet courage, brothers ! wti trust the wa\ e,
Vv'ith God above us, our star ami chart;
So, Nvhetlu^r to harbor or ocean-gra\e,
Be it still with a cheery heart !
I : 'I
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
27'
1 i ; lii
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'W
' ■
THE LIGHT-HOUSE.
Henry Wadswortfi Lonokei.low (1807-1882).
The rocky ledge runs f<ar into the sea,
And on its outer point, some miles away,
Tlie light-house lifts its massive masonry, —
A pillar of fire by night, of cloud hy day.
Even at this distance I can see the tides,
Upheaving, break unheard along its base ; —
A speechless wrath, that rises and subsidies
In the white lip and tremor of the face.
And as the evening darkens, lo ! how bright,
'I'hrough the deep purple of the twdlight air,
Beams forth the sudch^n radiance of its li<rht.
With strange, unearthly splendor in its glare.
Not one alone ; — from each projecting cape
And perilous reef along the ocean's verge,
Starts into life a dim, gigantic shape,
Holding its lantern o'er the restless surge.
And the great ships sail outward and return,
Bending and bowing, o'er the billowy swells ;
And ever joyful, as they see it burn.
They wave their silent welcomes and farewells.
They come forth from the darkness, and their sails
Gleam for a moment only in the blaze ;
And eager faces, as the light unveils,
Gaze at the tower, and vanish while they gaze.
The mariner remembers, when a child.
On his first voyage, he saw it fade and sink ;
And, when returning from adventures wild,
He saw it rise again o'er ocean's brink.
Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same
Year after year, through all the silent night,
Burns on for evermore that quenchless llamf!,
Shines on that inextinguishable light !
It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp
The rocks and sea-sand with tlu^ kiss of peace ;--
It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp,
And hold it up, and shake it ]ik(' a H(^f!ce.
I I,
S^
a
"• ^"^ "' ■^:i^~
h 1
278
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
I'll
^\\
Ml
The startled waves leap over it ; the storm
Smites it with all the scourges of the rain ;
And steadily against its solid form
Press the great slioulders of the hurricane.
The sea-bird wlieeling round it, with the din
Of wings and winds and solitary cries,
Blinded and maddened by the light witliin.
Dashes himself against the glare, and dies.
A new Prome'theus, chained upon the rock,
Still grasping in his hand tlie fire of Jove,
It does not hear the cry, nor heed the shock.
But hails the mariner with words of love.
*' Sail on ! " it says, " sail on, ye stately ships ;
And witli your floating ])ridge the ocean span ;
Be mine to guard tliis light from tiW eclipse,— -
Be yours to bring man nearer unto man ! "
wik.*.^
^ {
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11
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sp<a,n ;
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS. 279
ZEAL-FOR-TEUTH THORESBY.
Charles Kingsley (1819-1875).
["Under James, who hated it, Puritanism spread fast; and his son,
Charles the First, found in it the great obstacle to his atteni])ts to govern
England in defiance of the Parliament. The Puritans were stern and sober-
minded men ; but they were of noble temper, and did nuich to raise the
standard of English life, Mr. Kingsley has given a fine picture of a young
Puritan in his sketch of Zeal-for-Truth Thoresby." — J. II. Grken.J
Was there no poetry in these Puritans, because tlioy wrote
no poetry ? We clo not mean now the unwritten tragedy of the
battle - psalm and the charge, but simply idyllic poetry and
quiet home-drama, love-poetry of the heart and the he-arth, and
the beauties of every-day human life. Take the most common-
place of them : w as Zeal-for-Truth Thoresby, of Thor(^sby Rise
in Deeping Fen, Vjecause his father had thought fit to give him
an ugly and silly name, the less of a noble lad 1 Did his name
prevent his being six feet high ? Were his shoulders the less
broad for it, his cheeks the less ruddy for it ? He wore his flaxen
hair of the same length that every one now wears theirs, instead of
letting it hang half-way to his waist in essenced curls ; but was
he therefore the less of a true Viking's son, bold-hearted as his
sea-roving ancestors who won the Danelagh by Canute's side,
and settled there on Thoresby Rise, to grow wheat and breed
horses, generation succeeding generation, in the old moated
grange ? He carried a Bible in his jack -boot ; but did that
prevent him, as Oliver* rode past him with an approving smile
on Naseby-lleld, thinking himself a very handsome fellow, with
his mustache and imperial, and bright red coat, and cuirass well
polished in spite of many a dint, as he sate his father's great
black horse as gracefully and firmly as any long-locked and
essenced Cavalier in front of him ? Or did it prevent him think--
ing, too, for a moment, with a throb of the heart, that s^^'(!et
Cousin Patience far away at home, could she l)ut see him, might
have the same opinion of him as he had of himself? Was he
the worse for the thought? He was certainly not the worse for
checking it the next instant, with manly shame for letting such
" carnal vanities " rise in his heart, while he was " doing the
Lord's work " in the teeth of death and hell ; Ijut was there no
poetry in him then ? No poetry in him live minutes after, as
the long rapier swung round his head, redder and redder at
* Oliver Cromwell.
t.
M
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280
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
i ,<
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every sweep ? We are befooled by names. Call him Crusader
instead of Roiuidliead, and he seems at once (granting him
only sincerity, whicli he had, and that of a right awful kind)
as complete a knight-errant as ever watched and prayed, ere
putting on his spurs, in fantastic Gothic chapel, beneatli '' storied
windows richly dight."* Was there no [)oetry in him, (»ither,
half an hour afterwards, as he lay bleeding across the cori)se of
the gallant horse, waiting for his turn with the surgeon, and
fumbled for the Bible in his boot, and tried to hum a psalm,
and thought of Cousin Patience, and his father, and his mother,
and how they would hear at least that he had played the man
in Israel that day, and resisted unto blood, striving against sin
and the Man of Sin %
And was there no poetry in him, too, as he came wearied
along Thoresby dike, in the quiet autumn eve, home to the
house of his forefathers, and saw afar off the knot of tall
poplars rising over the broad misty flat, and the one great abele
tossing its sheets of silver in the dying gusts, and knew that
they stood before his father's door 1 Who can tell all the pretty
child-memories which flitted across his brain at that sight, and
made him forget that he was a wounded cripple ? There is the
dike where he and his brothers snared the great pike which
stole the ducklings — how many years ago ? while pretty little
Patience stood by trembling, and shrieked at each snap of the
brute's wide jaws ; and there, down that long dark lode, rufiiing
with crimson in the sunset breeze, he and his brothers skated
home in triumph with Patience when his uncle died. What a
day that was ! when, on the clear, bright winter noon, they
laid the gate upon the ice, and tied the beef-bones under the
four corners, and packed little Patience on it. How pretty she
looked, though her eyes were red with weeping, as she peeped
out from among the heap of blankets and horse-hides; and how
merrily their long fen-runners whistled along the ice -lane,
between the high banks of sighing reed, as they towed home
their new ti'easure in triumph, at a pace like the race-horse's,
to their dear old home among the poplar trees. And now he
was going home to meet lu^r, after a mighty victory, a deli\-(^r-
ance from Heaven, second only in his eyes to that lied Sea one.
Was there no poetry in his heart at that thought? Did not
the ijjlowing sunset, and the reed -beds which it transfigured
before him into sheets of golden flame, seem tokens that the
* Qudted from Milton's // Penncroso, 150,
.Ub..<.
m Crusader
anting liini
iwful kind)
j)ray('d, ere
itli '' storied
Jiini, eitluM',
le coi'psc of
iirgeon, and
nn a psalm,
liis motlier,
'd the man
against sin
me wearied
ome to the
cnot of tall
great abele
1 knew that
1 the pretty
: sight, and
rhere is the
pike which
3retty little
snap of the
ode, ruffling
hers skated
1. What a
noon, they
s under the
v^ pretty she
she peeped
s ; and how
le ice -lane,
:owed home
race-horse's,
nd now he
r, a deliver-
ed Sea one.
1 Did not
;ransfigiired
lis that tht!
FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
281
glory of God was going before him in his path ? Did not the
sweet clamor of the wild-fowl, gathering for one rich pean ere
they sank into rest, seem to him as (Jod's hells chiming him
home in triumph, with peals sweeter and holder than those of
Lincoln or Peterborough steeple - house ? Did not the veiy
lapwing, as she tumliled softly Availing before his path, as she
did years ago, seem to welcome the wanderer home in the name
of Heaven?
Fair Patience, too, though she was a Puritan, yet did not her
cheek flush, her eye grow dim, like any other girl's, as she saw
far off the red-coat, like a sliding spai'k of fire, coming slowly
along the straight fen-bank, and fled upstairs into her chamber
to pray, half that it might be, half that it might not be he 1 Was
there no hap[)y storm of human tears and human laughter when
he entered the court-yard gate 'i Did not the old dog lick his
Puritan hand as lovingly as if it had been a Cavalier's ? Did
not lads and lasses run out shouting 1 Did not the old yeoman
father hug him, weep over him, hold him at arm's length, and hug
him again, as heartily as any other John Bull, even though the
next moment he called all to kneel down and thank Him who
had sent his boy home again, after bestowing on him the grace
to bind kings in chains and nobles with links of iron, and con-
tend to death for the faith delivered to the saints 1 And did
not Zeal-for-Truth look about as wistfully for Patience as any
other man would have done, longing to see her, yet not daring
even to ask for her 1 And when she came down at last, was
she the less lovely in his eyes because she came, not flaunting
with bare bosom, in tawdry finery and paint, but shroud(^d close
in coif and pinner, hiding from all the world beauty which was
there still, l)ut was meant for one alone, and that only if God
willed, in God's good time? And was there no faltering of
their voices, no light in their eyes, no trembling pressure of
their hands, which said more, and was more, ay, and more
beautiful in the sight of Him who made them, than all Herrick's
Dianemes,* Waller's Saccharissas, flames, darts, posies, love-
knots, anagrams, and the rest of the insincere cant of the court?
What if Zeal-for-Truth had never strung together two rhynies
in his life? Did not his heart go for inspiration to a lofti(M-
Helicon, v/hen it whispered to itself, "My love, my dove, my
undeliled, is but one,"t than if he liad filled pages with sonnets
* Robert Herrick addresses a number of amatory odes to " Dianeme " {-ncem).
+ (Quoted from iSolomon's Smuj vi. 0.
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282
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
about Venuses and Cupids, love - sick shepherds and cruel
nymphs'?
And was there no poetry, true idyllic poetry, as of Long-
fellow's " Evangeline " itself, in that trip round the old farm
next morning; when Zeal -for -Truth, after looking over every
heifer, and peeping into every sty, would needs canter down
by his father's side to the horse-fen, with his arm in a sling ;
while the partridges whirred up before them, and the lurchers
flashed like gray snakes after the hare, and the colts came
whinnying round, with staring eyes and streaming manes, and
the two chatted on in the same sober business-like English tone,
alternately of "the Lord's great dealings" by General Crom-
well, the pride of all honest fen-men, and the price of troop
horses at the next Horncastle fair?
Poetry in those old Puritans ? Why not ? They were men
of like passions with ourselves. They loved, they married, they
brought up children ; they feared, they sinned, they sorrowed,
they fought — they conquered. There was poetry enough in
them, be sure, though they acted it like men, instead of singing
it like birds.
THE SOWER.
James Russell Lowell (b. 1819).
I saw a sower walking slow
Across the earth, from east to west ;
His hair was white as mountain snow.
His head drooped forward on his breast.
With shrivelled hands he flung his seed,
Nor ever turned to look behind ;
Of sight or sound he took no heed —
It seemed he was both deaf and blind.
His dim face showed no soul beneath ;
Yet in my heart I felt a stir.
As if I looked upon the sheath
That once had clasped Excalibur.*
I heard, ns still the seed he cast,
How, crooning to himself, he sung —
" I sow again the holy past.
The happy days when I was young.
* King Arthur's famous sword, given to him by the Lady of the Lake.
s and cruel
as of Long-
he old farm
y over every
canter down
n in a sling ;
the lurchers
colts came
manes, and
English tone,
neral Crom-
ce of troop
7 were men
larried, they
y sorrowed,
' enough in
d of singing
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
" Then all was wheat without a tare,
Then all was righteous, fair, and true ;
And I am he whose thoughtful care
Shall plant the Old World in the New.
" The fruitful germs I scatter free,
With busy hand, while all men sleep ;
In Europe now, from sea to sea,
The nations bless me as they reap."
Then I looked back along his path,
And heard the clash of steel on steel,
Where man faced man in deadly wrath,
While clanged the tocsin's hurrying peal.
The sky with burning towns flared red,
Nearer the noise of fighting rolled,
And brothers' blood, by brothers shed,
Crept, curdling, over pavements cold.
Then marked I how each germ of truth
Which througii the dotard's fingers ran
Was mated with a dragon's tooth
Whence there sprang up an armed man.
I shouted, but he could not hear ;
Made signs, but these he could not see ;
And still, without a doubt or fear.
Broadcast he scattered anarchy.
Long to my straining ears the blast
Brought faintly back the words he sung :
" I sow again the holy past,
The happy days wheji I was young."
283
'he Lake.
RTTDOLPH.
Oliver Wendell Holmes (b. 1809).
Rudolph, professor of the headsman's trade.
Alike was famous for his arm and blade.
One day a prisoner justice had to kill,
Knelt at the block to test the artist's skill
j'n
2^4
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
11
!
((
Bare-armed, swart- visaged, gaunt, and sliaggy-brov/ed,
Rudolph the Iieadsman rose above the eroAvd,
His falchion lightened with a sudden gleam,
As the pike's armor flashes in the stream.
He sheathed Ids blade ; he turned as if to go ;
The victim knelt, sflll loaitingfor the blow.
Why strikest not ? Perform thy murderous act,"
The prisoner said. {His voice was slightly cracked.)
Friend, I have struck," the artist straight replied :
Wait but one moment, and yourself decide."
He held his snufl-box — " Now then, if you please ! "
The prisoner sniffed, and witli a crashing sneeze
Oft* his liead tumbled — bowled along the floor —
Bounced down the steps ; the ])risoner said no more.
"This is it," in The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table.
DEATH OF HAMPDEN.
Lord Macaulay (1800-1859).
[" For a long time the King seemed to consent to the refoi-ms of the Long
Parliament ; but he at last broke from it, collected an anny, and made war
against it. The Parliament gathered another army, and .after a drawn
battle at Edgehill, the two forces encamped in the valley of the Thames,
(Jharles occupying Oxford, the Parliamentary army covering London by
taking post in the Vale of Aylesbury, The most active and able of its
officers was John Hampden, a Buckinghamshire squire, who had refused to
pay an illegal tax called sliip-money, and had become one of the leading
members of the Long Parliament. Hampden was as wise and temjierate
as he was earnest in his patriotism ; and his fall was the severest loss English
freedom ever sustained. " — J. R. (JiiKEN.]
In the early part of 1643 the shires lying in the neighbor-
hood of London, which were devoted to the cause of the Par-
liament, were incessantly annoyed by Rupert* and his cavalry.
Essex t had extended his lines so fo". that almost every point
was vulnerable. The young prince, who, though not a great
general, was an active and enterprising partisan, frequently
surprised posts, burned villages, swept away cattle, and was
again at Oxford before a force sufucient to encounter him
could be assembled. •
The languid proceedings of Essex were loudly condemned
by the troops. All the ardent and dai'ing spirits in the Par-
* Prince Ru])ert was a German nephew of Charles.
t Tlie Kai'l <»f Kss(>x was general of tlie T'arlianuintary army.
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
285
JOHN HAMl'l>EN S HOUSE.
liainentary party Mere eager to have Hampden at their head.
Had his life been prolonged, there is every reason to believe
that the supreme command would have been intrusted to him.
But it was decreed that, at this conjuncture, England should
lose the only man who united perfect disinterestedness to emi-
nent talents, the only man who, being capable of gaining the
victory for her, was incapable of abusing that victory when
gained.
In the evening of the 17th of June [1643] Rupert darted out of
Oxford with his cavalry on a predatory expedition. At three
in the morning of the following day he attacked and dispersed
a few Parliamentary soldiers who lay at Postcombe. He then
flew to Chinnor, burned the village, killed or took all the troops
who were quartered there, and prepared to hurry back with his
booty and his prisoners to Oxford.
Hampden had, on tlic preceding day, strongly represented
to Ess(;x the danger to which this part of the line was exposed.
As soon as he received intelligence of Rupi^rt's incui'sion, he
sent off a horseman with a message to tlie general. The Cava-
liers, he said, could return only by Chiselhampton Bridge. A
force ought to be instantly despatched in that direction for
the purpose of intercepting them. In the meantime he re-
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286
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
solved to set out with all the cavalry that he could muster, for
the purpose of impeding the march of the enemy till Essex
could take measures for cutting off their retreat. A consider-
able body of horse and dragoons volunteered to follow him.
He was not their commander. He did not even belong to
their branch of the service. But " he was," says Lord Claren-
don, " second to none but the general himself in the observance
and application of all men." On the field of Chalgrove he
came up with Rupert. A fierce skirmish ensued. In the first
charge Hampden was struck in the shoulder by two bullets,
which broke the bone, and lodged in his body. The troops of
the Parliament lost heart and gave way. Rupert, after pur-
suing them for a short time, hastened to cross the bridge, and
made his retreat unmolested to Oxford.
Hampden, with his head drooping and his hands leaning on
his horse's neck, moved feebly out of the battle. The mansion
which had been inhabited by his father-in-law, and from which
in his youth he had carried home his liride Elizabeth, was in
sight. There still remains an affecting tradition that he looked
for a moment towards that beloved house, and made an effort
to go thither and die. But the enemy lay in that direction. He
turned his horse towards Thame [Tame], where he arrived almost
fainting with agony. The surgeon dressed his wounds. But
there was no hope. The pain which he suffered was most
excruciating. But he endured it with admirable firmness and
resignation. His first care was for his country. He wrote
from his bed several letters to London concerning public affairs,
and seni a last pressing message to the head-quarters, recom-
mending that the dispersed forces should be concentrated.
When his public duties were performed, he calmly prepared
himself to die. He was attended by a clergyman of the
Church of England, with whom he had lived in habits of
intima'iy, and by the chaplain of the Buckinghamshire Green-
coats, Dr. Spurton, whom Baxter describes as an able and
excellent divine.
A short time before Hampden's death the sacrament was
administered to him. He declared that though he disliked
the government of the Church of England, he yet agreed with
that Church as to all essential matters of doctrine. His in-
tellect remained unclouded. When all was nearly over, he
lay murmuring faint prayers for himself, and for the cause in
which he died. " Lord Jesus," he exclaimed in the moment of
m
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
28t
' muster, for
y till Essex
A consider-
follow him.
1 belong to
iord Claren-
observance
ialgrovo he
In the first
wo bullets,
le troops of
, after pur-
bridge, and
leaning on
be mansion
"rom which
)th, was in
'j he looked
e an effort
ction. He
ved almost
nds. But
was most
mness and
He wrote
•lie affairs,
rs, recom-
centrated.
prepared
m of the
habits of
re Green-
able and
nent was
disliked
reed with
His in-
over, he
cause in
oment of
the last agony, " receive my soul. O Lord, save my country.
O Lord, be merciful to — ." In that broken ejaculation passed
away his noble and fearless spirit.
He was buried in the parish church of Hampden.* His
soldiers, bareheaded, with reversed arms and muffled drums and
colors, escorted his body to the grave, singing, as they marched,
that lofty and melancholy psalm in wliich the fragility of
human life is contrasted with the immutability of Him to
whom a thousand years are as yesterday when it is past, and
as a watch in the night.
Essay on " Hampden," in Edinburgh Review, 1831.
ELEGY WRITTEN IX A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD.
Thomas Gray (1716-1771).
[" The Eleyy may almost be looked upon as the typical piece of English
verse, our poem of poems ; not that it is the most brilhant or original or pro-
found lyric in our language, but because it combines in more balanced per-
fection than any other all the qualities that go to the production of a fine
Ijoetical effect."— E. W. Gosse: "Gray," in English Men of Letters (1882).]
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, ail that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike the inevitable hour :
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor you, ye proud ! impute to these the fault,
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise.
Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault,
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting l)reath 1
Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust.
Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death 1
* The village of Hampden on the Cotswolds, by Hampden House.
11
J<^s
ff
J!
M
: I i •
288 FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,
Rich with the spoils of Time, did ne'er unroll ;
Chill Penury repressed their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.
Full many a gem, of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to Ijlush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood ;
Some mute in[;lorious Milton, here may rest, —
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.
Tlie applause of listening senates to command.
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling lai^d,
And read their history ii: a nation's eyes,
Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; —
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of Mercy on mankind ;
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame.
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learned to stray ;
Along the cool sequestered vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
Elcyy in a Country Churchyard (stauzaa viii. to xxi.)
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS. 289
THE PASSING OF SENTENCE ON CHAELES I.
John FoRSTER (1812-1876).
The duty of " preparing the draft of a final sentence, with a
blank for the manner of death," was now intrusted to Henry
Marten (who had attended every day of the trial), to Thomas
Scot, to Henry Ireton, to Harrison, Say, Lisle, an 1 Love. The
next day (the 26th of January) this sentence was engrossed at
a private meeting, and the 27 th appointed for the last sitting
of the court.
On that memorable and most melancholy day, the King was
])rought for the last time to Westminster Kail. As he pro-
ceeded along the passages to the court, some of the soldiers and
of the rabble set up a cry of " Justice ! " " Justice, and execu-
tion ! " These men distrusted the good faith of their leaders ;
and, seeing that six days had now passed without any con-
clusion, suspected, as the manner of rude and ignorant men is,
that there was some foul play and treachery. One of the
soldiers upon guard said, "God bless you, sir." The King
thanked him ; but his officer struck him with his cane. " The
punishment," said Charles, "methinks, exceeds the offence."
The King, when he had retired, asked Herljcrt, who attended
him, whether he had heard the cry for justice ; who answered
he did, and wondered at it. "So did not I," said Charles:
" the cry was no doubo given by their ofticers, for whom the
soldiers would do the like were there occasion."
Placed for the last time at the bar, Chai-les, without waiting
for the address of Bradshaw, whose appearance betokened judg-
ment, desired of the court that, before an " ugly sentence " was
pronounced upon him, he might be heard before the iwo Houses
of Parliament^ he having something to suggest which nearly
concerned the peace and liberty of the kingdom. The court
would at once have rejected this proposal (which was in effect
tantamount to a demand for the reversal of all that had been
done, and a revocation of the vote that had been passed, declar-
ing the people, under God, the original of all just power, and
that the Commons House in Parliament, as representing the
neople, was the sitpreme power) but for the (expressed dissatis-
faction of Commissioner Downes, a timid and insincere man ; in
consequence of which the sitting was broken up, and the court
11)
290
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
r
1* • ^ fcl-
I!'
1
t
111
m
retired to deliberate in private. They returned in half an hour
with an unanimous refusal of the request.
Bradshaw now rose to pronounce the sentence. **What
sentence," he said, " the law affirms to a tyrant, traitor, and
public enemy, that sentence you are now to hear read unto you,
and that is the sentence of the court." The clerk then read it
at large from a scroll of vellum. After reciting the appoint-
ment and purpose of the high court, the refusal of the King to
acknowledge it, and the charges proved upon him, it concluded
thus : " For all which treasons and crimes this court doth
adjudge that he the said Charles Stuart, as a tyrant, traitor,
murderer, and public enemy, shall be put to death by severing
his head from his body." Then Bradshaw again rose and said,
"The sentence now read and published is the act, sentence,
judgment, and resolution of the whole court ; " upon which all
the Commissioners stood up by way of declaring their assent.
The unhappy King now solicited permission to speak, but was
refused. The words which passed between him and Bradshaw
are worthy of record, as a most pathetic consummation of the
melancholy scene. The fortitude and dignity which had sus-
tained Charles throughout appears at last to have somewhat
given way ; but in its place we recognize a human suffering and
agony of heart to the last degree affecting. " Will you hear
me a word, sir?" he asked. "Sir," replied Bradshaw, "you
are not to be heard after the sentence." "No, sir?" exclaimed
the King. "No, sir, by your favor," retorted the president.
"Guards, withdraw your prisoner." Charles then exclaimed,
with a touching struggle of deep emotion, " I may speak after
the sentence ! By your favor, sir ! — I may speak after the
sentence ! — Ever ! — By your favor — " A stern mono-
syllable from Bradshaw interrupted him — " Hold ! " and signs
were given to the guards. With passionate entreaty the King
again interfered. " The sentence, sir ! I say, sir, I do — "
Again Bradshaw said, " Hold ! " and the King was taken out
of court as these words broke from him — " I am not suffered to
speak. Expect what justice other people will have ! "
Statesmen of the Commonwealth of England.
alf an hour
. ''What
raitor, and
1 unto you,
hen read it
le appoint-
he King to
b concluded
court doth
mt, traitor,
by severing
ie and said,
:, sentence,
n which all
leir assent,
ik, but was
I Bradshaw
tion of the
;h had sus-
! somewhat
iffering and
II you hear
haw, "you
exclaimed
president,
exclaimed,
peak after
after the
rn mono-
and signs
y the King
r, I do—"
taken out
suffered to
<f England.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS. 891
THE PTJEITANS.
Loud Macaulay (1800-1859).
The Puritans were men whose minds had deprived a peculiar
character from the daily contemplation of superior beings and
eternal interests. Not content with acknowledging, in general
terms, an overruling Providence, they habitually ascribed every
event to the will of the Great Being for whose power nothing
was too vast, for whose inspection nothing was too minute.
To know him, to serve him, to enjoy him, was with them the
great end of existence. They rejected with contempt the cere-
monious homage which other sects substituted for the pure
worship of the soul. Instead of catching occasional glimpses
of the Deity through an obscuring veil, they aspired to gaze
full on his intolerable brightness, and to commune with him
face to face. Hence originated their contempt for terrestrial
distinctions. The difference between the greatest and the
meanest of mankind seemed to vanish when compared with the
boundless interval which separated the whole race from him on
whom their own eyes were constantly fixed. They recognized
no title to superiority but his favor ; and, confident of that
favor, they despised all the accomplishments and all the dignities
of the world. If they were unacquainted with the works of
philosophers and poets, they were deeply read in the oracles of
God. If their names were not found in the registers of heralds,
they were recorded in the book of life. If their steps were not
accompanied by a splendid train of menials, legions of minister-
ing angels had charge over them. Their palaces were houses
not made with hands ; their diadems crowns of glory which
should never fade away. On the rich and the eloquent, on
nobles and priests, they looked down with contempt ; for they
esteemed themselves rich in a more precious treasure, and
eloquent in a more sublime language, nobles by the right of an
earlier creation, and priests by the imposition of a mightier
hand. The very meanest of them was a being to whose fate a
mysterious and terrible importance belonged ; on whose slightest
action the spirits of light and darkness looked with anxious
interest ; who had been destined, before heaven and earth were
created, to enjoy a felicity which should continue when heaven
and earth should have passed away.
Essay on "Milton" in Edinburgh Review, 1826.
*^'
'^^ ii
I
h PI
% ;.
, I. If I
I''
1
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292 FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
SCOTT'S "LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL."
R. H. HUTTON.
Scott's genius flowered late. Cadzow Cnstle, the first of his
poems, I think, that has indisputable genius plainly stamped on
its terse and fiery lines, was composed in 1802, when he was
already thirty-one years of age. It was in the same year that
he wrote the first canto of his first great romance in verse, The
Lay of the Last Minstrel^ a poem which did not appear till 1805,
when he was thirty-four. The first canto (not including the
framework, of which the aged harper is the principal figure)
was written in the lodgings to which he was confined for a
fortnight in 1802, by a kick received from a horse on Porto-
bello sands during a charge of the Volunteer Cavalry, in which
Scott was cornet. The poem was originally intended to be
included in the Border Minstrelsy^ as one of the studies in the
antique style, but soon outgrew the limits of such a study both
in length and in the freedom of its manner. Both the poorest
and the best part of The Lay were in a special manner due to
Lady Dalkeith (afterward Duchess of Buccleuch), who suggested
it, and in whose honor the poem was written. It was she who
requested Scott to write a poem on the legend of the goblin
page, Gilpin Horner ; and this Scott attempted, and, so far as
the goblin himself was concerned, conspicuously failed. He
himself clearly saw that the story of this unmanageable imp
"/as both confused and uninteresting, and that in fact he had
to extricate himself from the original literary scrape in the best
way he could. In a letter to Miss Sew'ard Scott says : " At
length the story appeared so uncouth that I was fain to put it
into the mouth of my old minstrel, lest the nature of it should
be misunderstood, and 1 should be susj^ected of setting up a
new school of poetry, instead of a feeble attempt to imitate the
old. In the process of the romance, the psxge, intended to be a
principal person in the work, contrived (from the baseness of
his natural propensities, I suppose) to slink downstairs into
the kitchen, and now he must e'en abide there."
If we ask ourselves to what the vast popularity of Scott's
poems, and especially of the earlier of them (for, as often
happens, he was better remunerated for his later and much
inferior poems than for his earlier and more brilliant produc-
tions), is due, I think the answer must be, for the most part,
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS,
:93
SL."
irst of his
tamped on
en he was
3 year that
verse, The
r till 1805,
luding the
pal figure)
ined for a
on Porto-
y, in which
ided to be
dies in the
study both
he poorest
ner due to
) suggested
as she who
the goblin
, so far as
liled. He
;eable imp
let he had
in the best
says : "At
n to put it
f it should
tting up a
mitate the
ed to be a
aseness of
stairs into
of Scott's
', as often
and much
nt produc-
most part,
the high romantic glow and extraordinary romantic » .jplicity
of the poetical elements they contaimd. Take the oid harper
of The Lay, a figure which arrested the attention of Pitt during
even that last most anxious year of his anxious life, the year of
Ulm and Austerlitz [1 805]. The lines in which Scott describes the
old man's embarrassment when first urged to play, produced on
•Pitt, according to his own account. " an effect which I might
have expected in painting, but could never have fancied capable
of being given in poetry."
Every one knows the lines to which Pitt refers : —
" The humble boon was soon obtained ;
The aged minstrel audience gained.
But, when he reached the room of state,
Where she with all her ladies sate,
Perchance he wished his boon denied :
For, when to tune the harp he tried,
His trembling hand had lost the ease
Which marks security to please ;
And scenes long past, of joy and pain,
Came wildering o'er his aged brain —
He tried to tune his harp in vain !
llie pitying Duchess praised its chime.
And gave him heart, and gave him time,
Till every string's according glee
Was blended into harmony.
And then, he said, he would full fain
He could recall an ancient strain,
He never thought to sing again.
It was not framed for village churls,
But for high dames and mighty earls ;
He 'd played it to King Charles the Good,
When he kept court at Holyrood ;
And much he wished, yet feared to try
The long-forgotten melody.
Amid the strings his fingers played.
And an uncertain warbling made,
And oft he shook his hoary head.
But when he caught the measure wild.
The old man raised his face, and smiled ;
And lightened up his faded eye.
With all a poet's ecstasy !
i'l i\
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>
294
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
In varying cadence, soft or strong,
He swept the sounding chords along : *
The present scene, the future lot,
His toils, his wants, were all forgot :
Cold diffidence and age's frost
In the full tide ot song were lost ;
Each blank, in faithless memory void.
The poet's glowing thought supplied ;
And, while his harp responsive rung,
'Twas thus the latest minstrel sung.
* s^ * * *
Here paused the harp ; and witii its swell
The master's fire and courage fell ;
Dejectedly and low he bowed,
And, gazing timid on the crowd,
He seemed to seek in every eye
If they approved his minstrelsy ;
And, diffident of present praise,
Somewhat he spoke of former days.
And how old age, and wandering long.
Had done his hand and harp some wrong."
These lines hardly illustrate, I think, the particular form of
Mr. Pitt's criticism ; for a quick succession of fine shades of
feeling of this kind could never have been delineated in a paint-
ing, or ii>deed in a series of paintings, at all, while they are so
given in the poem. But the praise itself, if not its exact form,
is amply deserved. The singular depth of the romantic glow
in this passage, and its equally singular simplicity — a simplicity
which makes it intelligible to every one — are conspicuous to
every reader. It is not what is called classical poetry, for there
is no severe outline, no sculptured completeness and repose, no
satisfying v/holeness of effect to the eye of the mind, no embodi-
ment of a great action. The poet gives us a breath, a ripple of
alternating fear and hope in the heart of an old man, and that
is all. He catches an emotion that had its roots deep in the
past, and that is striving onward toward something in the
future ; he traces the wistfulness and self -distrust with which
age seeks to recover tne feelings of youth, the delight with
which it greets th«Mn when they come, the hesitation and diffi-
dence with which it recalls them as they pass away, and ques-
tions the triumph it has just won — and he paints all this with-
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
295
ir form of
shades of
in a paint-
hey are so
xact form,
mtic glow
simplicity
3icuous to
, for there
repose, no
10 embodi-
i ripple of
and that
ep in the
tig in the
ith which
ight with
and diffi-
and ques-
this with-
out subtlety, without complexity, but with a swiftness such as
few poets ever surpassed. Generally, however, Scott prefers
action itself for his subject, to any feeling, however active in
its bent. Tlv cases in which he makes a study of any mood of
feeling, as lu; does of this harper's feeling, are comparatively
rare. Deloraine's night-ride to Melrose is a good deal more in
Scott's ordinary way than this study of the old harper's wistful
mood. " Scott " in Evjlish Men of Letters.
.!!■■
III
MELEOSE ABBET.
If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright.
Go visit it by the pale moonlight ;
For the gay beams of lightsome day
Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray.
When the broken arches are black in night.
And each shafted oriel glimmers white ;
When the cold light's uncertain shower
Streams on the ruined central tower ;
When buttress and buttress, alternately,
Seem framed of ebon and ivory ;
When silver edges the imagery.
And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ;
When distant Tweed is heard to rave.
And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave ;
Then go — but go alone the while —
Then \iew St. David's ruined pile ;
And, home returning, soothly swear,
Was never scene so sad and fair !
Lay of Last Mimtrel, canto ii. st. 1.
296
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
i;
THE BATTLE OF KILLIECRANKIE.
John Hill Burton (1809-1881).
The most picturesque of Scottish battle-fields is stamped by
the hand of Nature with marks which seem destined to remain
while the crust of the Earih holds together ; and, long as the
memory of the l»attle may be preserved, it is likely to be lost
in oblivion behind the multitudinous thickening of greater
events, ere those peculiar features, which are adjusted to every
stage of the tragedy with so expressive an exactness, are
obliterated. The spot at once indicates the generax char-
acter of the conflict, and its minuter features fit with singular
accuracy into the mournful narrative of the defeated general.
Though not the field of battle, the nature of the pass itself
had an important influence on the whole calamity ; for it
deprived Mackay, after having entered it, of all chance of r>.
selection of ground. The Highland rivers, generally sweeping
along winding valleys between chains of mountains, sometimes
seem to break, as it were, through such a barrier, where it is
cleft in two, like the traverses of the Jura ; and such a cleft,
as a formidably defensible gate to the country beyond it, is
generally culled a Pass. In Killiecrankie, the cleft is not
straight down from the gtaieral upper level of the mountain
range, but appears as if cut into a declivity or hollow between
widely-separated summits; so that at the top of the rocks which
form the walls of the narrow ravine, there is a sort of terrace
Lnki<
tamped by
to remain
ng as tlie
be lost
)f greater
1 to every
iiiess, are
ra^ char-
singular
general.
ass itself
for it
nee of f,
sweeping
)metimes
lere it is
a cleft,
lid it, is
t is not
lountain
between
:s which
' terrace
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
297
stretching backward on either side, with a slightly inclined
plane, the upper extremity of which starts abruptly upwards
to the summits of the mountain range on either side of the
declivity. And this peculiarity in the ground had consider-
able influence on the fate of the day. A broad terraced turn-
pike road, with many plantations, somewhat alter the character
of the spot from its condition in Mackay's day, when the clefts
and patches fit for vegetable growth were sprouted with the
stumpy oak scrub indigenous to Scotland, relieved by the
softer features of its neighbor, the weeping birch, hanging with
all its luxuriant tendrils from the rocks. The path of the
army must have lain, not by the present road, but along by
the base of the rocks, where roars the furious river, tumbling
through all its course over great stones into successive holes,
where, in uneasy rest, the waters have that inky blackness
peculiar to the pools of the moss-stained rivers of the High-
lands.
On reaching the top of the pass, an alluvial plain was found, of
small extent, but level as a Dutch polder [reclaimed marsh], where
the troops formed as they came in a string through the pass, and
rested while the general set himself to the vain task of seeking a
good position. He sent onwards an advance to announce traces
of the enemy, who were but a little way on when they gave
the announcement ; and Mackay, riding to the spot, saw them
appear on the sky-line of a bend in the hill above him to the
north, from six to eight hundred feet higher than his position,
and not a mile distant from it. Rising close over the small
plain where his troops were forming, was an abrupt knoll, on
which stand now a few old oaks, the remnant, probably, of the
scrubby coppice which made the general notice it as " full of
trees and shrubs." Observing that the high ground on which
the enemy appeared carried them directly, by an almost
unvaried descent, to the top of this immediate elevation, Mac-
kay saw that the enemy, reaching it while his troops remained
on the flat close under it, would undou])tedly force them "with
confusion over the river." And no one who looks at the
narrow strip of meadow, with the abrupt ascent rising over it,
can have the least doubt that his apprehensions were well
founded.
An immediate movement was necessnry ; and, by what he
calls a "quart de convtM-sion," he turned his batt.alions each fac-
ing to the right, and marched them straight up the ascent. A
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298
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
little further on they reached a stretch of ground comparatively
level, but with a general ascent, leading by a sweep towards
the higher craggy summit, along the slopes of which Dundee's
men, all accustomed to that kind of ground, were ranging them-
selves. They had behind them the craggy top of the mountain
range, as a place of retreat in case they were defeated ; while
below was a continued though gradual descent to the place
where Mackay was doomed to draw up his men.
He must have now seen that his only chance lay in a steadi-
ness which it was almost vain to expect from his raw levies.
The mountaineers had the whole range of the heights, from
which, like a bird of proy, they could pounce on him wherever
he disposed himself. He thought of wheeling to the left and
crossing the rivf/i. While incurring the risk of being attacked
in flank in so delicate a movement, if he had accomplished it
he would not have improved his position ; for his nimbler
enemies would have crossed farther up, and gained the heights
above him. They had, in fact, the power of choosing the
higher ground in the amphitheatre of hills, while Mackay had
only the choice of that basin or elevated valley, which being
cut through by the cleft or pass, forms the ten'ace-ground on
either side of it already mentioned. To retreat from this upper
basin and the presence of his enemy on the surmounting
heights, he had no other recourse than by plunging through
the gorge of the pass — an operation which would have brought
on immediate slaughter. This mistake had already been com-
mitted in passing into unknown ground, from which the very
nature of his approach to it cut off a retreat. But when his
difficulty, in finding that his adversary had the best and him-
self the worst possible position, was inevitable, he seems to
have conducted himself with coolness and intrepidity.
Moving onwards, over comparatively level ground, to the
line where the descent becomes more decided, he resolved to
take up his final position. Haunted by the ordinary military
superstition of the day — that a commander's great means of
safety consists in protecting himself from being outwinged —
he formed in a long line three men deep. Leven's regiment
was on the right, and the Scottish Fusileers on the left. In
the middle he had a considerable opening, where he placed, in
the rear, two troops of horse. He placed them thus, he says,
iioi; that they might directly meet the charge of Dundee's
cavalry, who, chiefly from their commander's old ^ rigade, were
)mparatively
eep towards
ch Dundee's
mging them-
lie mountain
lated; while
lO the place
in a steadi-
raw levies,
eights, from
m wherever
he left and
ng attacked
►mplished it
[lis nimbler
the heights
loosing the
»Iackay had
vhich being
-ground on
I this upper
irmounting
ig through
ve brought
been com-
sh the very
b when his
and him-
seems to
id, to the
esolved to
y military
means of
twinged —
J regiment
! left. In
placed, in
;, he says,
Dundee's
ade, were
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
299
picked men in the highest state of training, but to operate in
flank, if the charge of the Highlanders should be steadily met.
He had three small leathern cannon, of a kind which had even then
become antiquated ; and while they played away almost inoffens-
ively, the Highlanders, from their superior ground, took aim at
the general and his staft' as he passed along accurately forming
his line, and wounded some officers before the battle began.
Let us now look to the other camp. When it was known at
Blair Castle that Mackay was entering the pass, the Highland
chiefs were clamorous for a battle. They said it was not the
nature of their followers to keep together unless they came
quickly to some decided result ; and Dundee, from his previ-
ous experience of their rapid dispersal when he could not
give them fighting or plunder, agreed to the proposal. They
swept round, keeping the upper ground to the elevated bend
on that ridge looking down on Killiecrankie, where we have
seen that their approach was first noticed from below.
The usually overpowering effect of a superior force of disci-
plined and equipped troops, would be lost in the vast arena on
which the mountaineers looked down, confident in the strength
of their position, their command of an impetuous descent on
an enemy with a pit behind, and their ability to regain their
rocks if their charge proved ineffective. It is easy to believe
Lochiel's assertion, that their own shout sounded loud and full,
and that of the enemy below them faint and feeble
The armies faced each other, after they had formed, for
more than two hours. The midsummer sun shone full on the
Highlanders, and Dundee would not charge until it had touched
the western heights. The object of his adjustment war -o cut
through Mackay's thin line with his impetuous bodies of High-
landers — to cut it effectually through in several places, and
yet with so broad a blow at each as not merely to pass through,
but to throw the whole into confusion. To make the blows
effectual, it was necessary that his line should not be too thin ; to
make them tell fully along Mackay's line, he must not make his
own too short, or the intervals between the battalions too wide.
If he erred, it was, as we shall see, in the latter cautious direction.
The ground had an admirable slope for the necessary im-
pulse. When the charge was given, the Highlanders came on
at a slow trot, received the fire of theix* opponents, and, while
they were screwing on their bayonets, discharged their own,
threw down their guns, and rushed on with their slashing
h
i'l'
r'4\
fill'
i
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ii
300
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
4'
broadswords, as sailors board with thei" catlasses. Nothing
but strong columns, or squares with the fixed bayonet, could
stand the rush. The result was instantaneous ; and those who
were not cut down were swept into the gulf of the pass. An
accident created some hesitation in the charge of Dundee's
troop of cavalry. It had been commanded by Lord Dunferm-
line ; but a commission from James to a gentleman with the
illustrious name of Sir William Wallace, to supersede him, hacl
just arrived. The men, not quite sure whom to obey, or un-
accustomed to the method of the new commander, did not
charge right forward at once. Dundee had ridden on, suppos-
ing that he was in their front, and, looking back, was surprised
not to see them at hand. Lord Dunfermline told Lochiel that
above the smoke he saw the general wave his hat over his head,
as he rose in the stirrup to signal them onwards. It is then
that he is supposf d to have received his death-wound ; for it
was by a bullet that entered his side, some inches within the
l)reast-plate. As he dropped from his horse, a soldier named
Johnson caught him. The dying man, with the instinct of the
enthusiastic commander, ask^d anxiously how the day went.
The supporter said it went well for the king, but he was sorry
for him. Dundee answered it mattered not for himself, if the
day went well for the king. He appears to have died almost
immediately ; and when some of his friends, finding him be-
forv3 life was extinct, endeavored to remove him, they were
obliged to abandon the attempt by the fire from Leven's bat-
talion remaining on the field. Those who were present said
his body was wrapped in two plaids, and convey>'d to Blair
Castle. Within a short time afterwards he was buried beneath
the secluded church of Blair ; and never vaulted roof or marble
monument covered the last abode of a mnre restless and am-
1 jitious heart than that which has slept in this quiet spot amidst
peasant dust. Histortj of Scotland, 16S9-1748: ch. ill.
THE BERMUDAS.
Andrew Mauvell (1620-1078).
[" The Bermudas was no doubt suggestcil by the iiistory of the Oxenbridges.
It is the ' holy and cheerful note ' of a little band of exiles for conscience'
sake, wafted by Providence in their 'small boat' to a home in a land of
beauty."— GoLDWiN SsfiTH, in the " ErnjHsth Poets,'' edited by T. H. Ward.]
Where the remote Bermudas ride.
In the ocean's bosom unespied.
i. Nothing
^onet, could
c! those who
3 pass. An
)f Dundee's
d Dunferm-
an with tlie
de him, hart
»bey, or un-
er, did not
on, suppos-
es surprised
jochiel that
er his head,
It is then
and ; for it
within the
dier named
:inct of the
day went.
3 was sorry
self, if the
lied almost
ig him be-
they were
even's bat-
esent said
to Blair
ed beneath
or marble
1 and am-
pot amidst
iS : ch. iii.
)xenbridge8.
conscience'
■n a land of
y. Ward.]
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
From a small boat that rowed along
The listening winds received this song :—
" What should we do but sing his praise
That led us through the watery maze
Unto an isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own ?
Where he the huge sea-monsters wracks
That lift the deep upon their backs,
He lands us on a grassy stage,
Safe from the storms, and prelates' rage.
He gave us this eternal spring.
Which here enamels every thing;
And sends the fowls to us in care.
On daily visits through the air :
He hangs in shades the orange bright.
Like golden lamps in a green night;
And does in the pomegranates close
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows :
He makes the figs our mouths to meet.
And throws the melons at our feet;
But apples plants of such a price.
No tree could ever bear them twice :
With cedars, chosen by his hand
From Lebanon, he stores the land;
And makes the hollow seas that roar
Proclaim the ambergris on shore :
He cast (of which we rather boast)
The gospel's pearl upon our coast;
And in these rocks for us did frame
A temple where to sound his name.
Oh ! let our voice his praise exalt,
Till it arrive at heaven's vault;
Which then (perhaps) rebounding, may
Echo beyond the Mexique Bay."
Thus sung they, in the English boat,
A holy and a cheerful note;
And all the way, to guide their cliinie.
With falling oars they kept the time.
301
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I
302
FOURTH BOOK OF MEADINO LESSONS.
\m
I ,:■
w
*!
Ml
It
! ;
i
11
1
III
m
DISMISSAL OF THE BUMP.
1653 A.D.
Thomas Carlylk (1795-1881).
[Wliat remained of the Long Parliament after Pride's Purge in 1648 was
called ''ihe Rump, or Fag-end of it." This was not finally dissolved till
1660 ; but Cromwell, under pressure from the Army, disrussed its members
on April 20, 1653. A meeting had been held at Whitehall on the previous
day to consider the point, but nc decision had been come to, "except the
engagement to meet here again to-morrow morning." The Bill below referred
to provided for the continuance of the existing Parliament with now »H)wers.]
Wednksday, April 20,
My Lord General accordingly is in his reception-room this
morning, " in plain black clothes and gray worited stockings ; "
he, with many Officers : but few Members have yet come, though
punctual Bulstrode and certain others are there. Some waiting
there is; some impatience that the Members would come.
The Members do not come : instead of Members, comes a
notice that they are busy getting on with their Bill in the
House, hurrying it double-quick through all the sta;qfes.
Possible ? New message, that it will be Law in a little while,
if no interposition take place ! Bulstrode hastens off to the
House : my Lord General, at first incredulous, does now also
hasten off, — nay, orders that a Oompauy of Musketeers of his
own regiment attend him. Hastens off, with a very high
expression of countenance, I think ; — saying or feeling : Who
would have believed it of them ? "It is not honest ; yea, it is
contraiy to common honesty ! " — My Lord General, the big
hour is come !
Young Colonel Sidney, the celebrj,ted Algernon, sat in the
House this morning ; a House of some Fifty-three. Algernon
has left distinct note of the affair ; less distinct we have from
Bulstrode, who was also there, who seems in some points to be
even wilfully wrong. Solid Ludlow was far off in Ireland, but
gathered many details in after-years, and faithfully wrote them
down, in the unappeasable indignation of his heart. Combin-
ing these three originals, we have, after various perusals and
collations and considerations, obtained the following authentic,
moderately conceivable account : —
The Parliament sitting as usual, and being in debate upon
the Bill Avith the amendments, which it was thought would
have been passed that day, the Lord General Cromwell came
into the House, clad in plain black clothes and gray worsted
FOURTH BOOK OF Hh^ADING LEiiSON(S.
303
■ge in 1(548 was
' dissolved till
d its members
n the previous
}, "except the
below ref eiTed
1 now 'X)wers.]
LY, April 20,
n-room this
stockings ; "
ome, though
ome waiting
ould come.
rs, comes a
Bill in the
the sta<]fes.
little while,
J off to the
3S now also
teers of his
very high
ing : Who
yea, it is
al, the big
sat in the
Algernon
have from
oints to be
reland, but
-vrote them
Combin-
rusals and
authentic,
bate upon
ght would
well came
ly worsted
stockings, and sat down, as he used to do, in an ordinary
place. For some time he listens to this interesting debate on
the Bill ; beckoning once to Harrison, who came over to him,
and answered dubitatingly. Whereupon the Lord General sat
still for about a quarter of an hour longer. But now the
question being to be put. That this Bill do now pass, he beckons
again to Harrison, says, " This is the time ; I must do it ! " —
and so rose up, put off* his hat and spake. At the first, and
for a good while, he spake to the commendation of the Parlia-
ment for their pains and care of the public good ; but after-
wards he changed his style, told them of their injustice, delays
of jusvi3e, self-interest, and other faults, rising higher and
higher, into a very aggravated style indeed. An honorable
Member, Sir Peter Wentworth by name, not known to my
readers, and by me better known than trusted, rises to order,
as we phrase it ; says, "It is a strange language this ; unusual
within the walls of Parliament this ! And from a trusted
servant too ; and one whom we have so highly honored ; and
one—"
" Come, come ! " exclaims my Lord General in a very high
key, "we have had enough of this," — and in fact my Lord
General now blazing all up into clear conflagration, exclaims,
" I will put an end to your prating," and steps forth into the
floor of t!ie House, and " clapping on his hat," and occasionally
" stamping the floor with his feet," begins a discourse which no
man can report! He says — Heavens! he is heard saying:
" It is not fit that you should sit here any longer ! " You
have sat too long here for any good you have been doing lately.
"You shall now give place to better men! — Call them in!"
adds he briefly, to Harrison, in word of command ; and " some
twenty or thirty " grim musketeers enter, with bullets in their
snaph'ancea ; grimly prompt for orders ; and stand in some
attitude of Carry -arms there. Veteran men ; men of might
and men of war, their faces are as the faces of lions, and their
feet are swift as the roes upon the mountains ; — not beautiful
to honorable gentlemen at this moment !
"You call yourselves a Parliament," continues my Lord
General in clear blaze of conflagration : " You are no Parlia-
ment ; I say you are no Parliament ! Some of you are drunk-
ards," and his eye flashes on poor Mr. Chaloner, an oflScial man
of some value, addicted to the bottle ; " some of you are — ,"
and he glares into Harry Marten, and the poor Sir Peter who
f
*
■
ll
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*
1
t '
I
I
■
ii
.
H
304
FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
CROMWELL EXPELLINU THE LONO I'AULIAMENT.
rose to orxler, lewd livers both ; " living in open contempt of God's
Commandments. Following your own greedy appetites, and the
Devil's Commandments. Corrupt, unjust pei-sons;" and here I
think he glanced "at Sir Bulstrode Whitlocke, one of the
Commissioners of the Great Seal, giving him and others very
s-harp language, though he nauujd them not : " " Corrupt, unjust
persons ; scandalous to the profession of the Gospel : how can
you be a Parliament for God's People 1 Depart, I say ; and
let us have done with you. In the name of God, — go ! "
The House is of course all on its feet, — uncertain almost
whether not on its head : such a scene as was never seen before
in any House of Commons. History reports with a shudder
that my Lord General, lifting the sacred Mace itself, said,
*' What shall we do with this bauble ? Take it away ! " and
gave it to a musketeer. And now, — " Fetch him down ! " says
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LFSHONS.
305
he to Harrison, Hashing on the Speaker. Speaker Lenthall,
more an ancient Roman than anything else, declares, He will
not come till forced. " Sir," said Harrison, " I will lend you
a hand ; " on which Speaker Lenthall came down, and gloomily
vanished. They all vanished ; flooding gloomily, clamorously
out, to their ulterior businesses and respective places of abode :
the Long Parliament is dissolved !
" It's you that have forced me to this," exclaims my Lord
General : "I have sought the Lord night and day, that he
would rather slay me than put me upon the doing of this work."
At their going out, some say the Lord General said to young
Sir HaiTy Vane, calling him by his name, "That he might
have prevented this ; but that he was a juggler, and liad not
common honesty." "Oh, Sir Harry Vane, thou with thy
subtle casuistries and abstruse hair-splittings, thou art other
than a good one, I think ! The Lord deliver me from thee.
Sir Harry Vane ! " All being gone out, the door of the House
was locked, and the Key with the Mace, as I heard, was
carried away by Colonel Otley — and it is all over, and the
unspeakable Catastrophe has come, and remains.
Such was the destructive wrath of my Lord General Crom-
well against the Nominal Rump Parliament of England.
Wrath which innumerable mortals since have accounted ex-
tremely diabolic ; which some now begin to account partly
divine. Divine or diabolic, it is an indisputable fact ; left for
the commentaries of men. The Rump Parliament has gone
its ways ; — and truly, except it be in their own, I know not in
what eyes are tears at their departure. They went very softly,
softly as a Dream, say all witnesses. " We did not hear a dog
bark at their going ! " asserts my Lord General elsewhere.
It is said, my Lord General did not, on his entrance into the
House, contemplate quite as a certainty this strong measure ;
but it came upon him like an irresistible impulse, or inspiration,
as he heard their Parliamentary eloquence proceed. " Perceiv-
ing the spirit of God so strong upon me, I would no longer
consult flesh and blood." He has done it, at pU events; and
if responsible for the results it may have. A responsibility
which he, as well as most of us, knows to be awful : but he
fancies it was in answer to the English Nation and to the
Maker of the English Nation and of him ; and he will do the
best he may with it.
Oliver Cromwell's Letters and Speeches (1845).
20
'i!|
M?t
J i
!
{
:
!'*
306 FOURTH BOOK OF HEADIN(} LESSONS.
THE BLACK HOLE OF CALCUTTA.
1756 A.D.
Lord Macaulay (1800-1851)).
[The terrible disaster described in tlio following i)a88ago led tu the con-
quest of Bengal by England. For trading purposes, the English had
established a settlement at Fort William, near Calcutta, in 1G98. Surajah
Dowlah (properly Sujah-ud-Dowlah) the Nabob of Bengal, attacked and
captured Fort William with an army of 70,000 men in Jime 175C. It was
then that he thrust his prisoners into the Black Hole. To avenge this
cruelty and insult, Robert Clive sailed from Madras with a small but
determined army. He landed at one of the mouths of the Ganges in
December, and on January 2nd he gained over Surajah Dowlah the great
victory of Plaasey, which shattei'ed the i)Ower of the Nabob and laid the
foundation of the English Empire in India.]
From a cliild Surajah Dowlah had hated the English. It
was his whim to do so ; and his whims were never opposed.
He had also formed a very exaggerated notion of the wealth
which might be obtained by plundering them ; and his feeble
and uncultivated mind was incapable of perceiving that the
riches of Calcutta, had they been even greater than he imagined,
would not compensate him for what he must lose, if the
European trade, of which Bengal was a chief seat, should be
driven by his violence to some
other quarter. Pretexts for a
quarrel were readily found. The
English, in expectation of a war
with France, had begun to fortify
their settlement without special
permission from the Nabob. A
<^ rich native, whom he longed to
' plunder, had taken refuge at Cal-
cutta, and had not been deliv-
ered up. On such grounds as
these Surajah Dowlah marched
with a great army against Fort
William.
The servants of the Company
at Madras had been forced by
Dupleix* to become statesmen
* Joseph Dupleix', the chief of the French adventurers in India, and the
most formidable rival of the English there. He was originally a merchant,
and in 1731 he went to Chandernagore as directiDr of the colony. He forced
the servants of the East India Company "to become statesmen and soldiers"
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
307
and soldiers. Those in Bengal were still mere traders, and
were territied and bewildered by the approaching danger. The
governor, who had heard much of Surajah Dowlah's cruelty,
was frightened out of his wits, jumped into a boat, and took
refuge in tlie nearest ship. The militaiy commandant thought
that he coidd not do better than follow so good an example.
The fort was taken after a feeble resistance; and great numbers
of the English tell into the hands of the conquerors. Tho
Nabob seated himself with regal pomp in the principal hall of
the factory, and ordered Mr. Holwell, the first in rank among
the pirioners, to be brought before him. His Highness talked
about the insolence of the English, and grumbled at the small-
ness of the treasure which he had found ; but promised to spare
their lives, and retired to rest.
Then was committed that great crime, memorable for its
singular atrocity, memorable for the tremendous retribution by
which it was followed. The English captives were left at tho
mercy of the guards, and the guards determined to secure them
for tho night in the prison of the garrison, a chamber known
by the fearful name of the Black Hole. Even for a single
European malefactor, that dungeon would, in such a climate,
lla^'e been too close and narrow. The space was only twenty
feet square. The air-holes were small and obstructed. It was
the summer solstice, the season when the fierce heat of Bengal
can scarcely be rendered tolerable to natives of England by
lofty halls and by the constant waving of fans.
The number of the prisoners was one hundred and forty-six.
When they were ordered to enter the cell, they imagined that
the soldiers were joking ; and, being in high spirits on account
of the promise of the Nabob to spare their lives, they laughed
and jested at the absurdity of the notion. They soon dis-
covered their mistake. They expostulated ; vhey entreated ;
but in vain. The guards threatened to cut down all who
hesitated. The captives were driven into the cell at the point
of the sword, and the door was instantly shut and locked upon
them.
Nothing in liistory or in fiction, not even the story which
Ugolino* told in the sea of everlasting ice, after he had wiped
by hia aggressive policy and by his intrigues with the native princes. Thus
Lord Clive, who went out to India as a clerk in the Comijany's service,
quitted his desk in 1747, and became a great general and administrator.
* Ugoli'no. This istory is in the Inferno of the Italian poet Dante.
if I
if.
N-
I i
t ■
it
li'
!l*'
■u
308
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
his bloody lips on the scalp of his murdeier, approaches the
horrors which were recounted by the few survivors of that
night. They cried for mercy. They strove to burst the door.
Ilolwell, who, even in that extremity, retained some presence
of mind, offered large bribes to the jailers. But the answer
was, that nothing could be done without the Nabob's orders,
that the Nabob was asleqp, and that he would be angry if any-
body woke him. Then the prisoners went mad with despair.
They trampled each other down, fought for the places at the
windows, fought for the pittance of water with which the cruel
mercy of the murderers mocked their agonies, raved, prayed,
blasphemed, implored the guards to fire among them. The
jailers in the meantime held lights to the bars, and shouted
with laughter at the frantic
struggles
of their victims. At
length the tumult died away in low gaspings and moanings.
The day broke. The Nabob had slept off his debauch, and
permitted the door to be opened. But it was some time before
the soldiers could make a lane for the survivors, by piling up
on each side the heaps of corpses on which the burning climate
had already begun to do its loathsome work. When at length
a passage was made, twenty-three ghastly figures, such as their
own mothers would not have known, staggered one by one out
of the charnel-house. A pit was instantly dug. The dead
bodies, a hundred and twenty-three in number, were flung into
it promiscuously, and covered up.
But these things, which, after the lapse of more than eighty
years, cannot be told or read without horror, awakened neither
remorse nor pity in the bosom of the savage Nabob. He in-
flicted no punishment on the murderers. He showed iio ten-
derness to the survivors. Some of them, indeed, from whom
nothing was to be got, were suffered to depart ; but those from
whom it was thought that anything could be extorted were
treated with execrable cruelty.
Hoi well, unable to walk, was carried before the tyrant, who
reproached him, threatened him, and sent him up the country
in irons, together with some other gentlemen who were sus-
pected of knowing more than they chose to tell about the
treasures of the Company. These persons, still bowed down by
the sufferings of that great agony, were lodged in miserable
sheds, and fed only with grain and water, ti)i at length the
intercession of the female relations of the Nabob procured their
release. Essay on " Lobd Clive" in Edinburgh Eeiicw, 1840.
ii
roaches the
ors of that
t the door,
le presence
the answer
ob's orders,
igry if any-
ith despair,
aces at the
)h the cruel
ed, prayed,
hem. The
nd shouted
ctims. At
Danings.
ibauch, and
time before
)y piling up
ling climate
n at length
ich as their
by one out
The dead
flung into
han eighty
led neither
b. He in-
ed lio ten-
rom whom
those from
orted were
yrant, who
le country
were sus-
about the
d down by
miserable
ength the
ured their
nicw, 1840.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSON'S. 309
THE TIGER.
William Blake (1759-1827).
[" That most famous of Blake's lyrics, * The Tiger,' a poem beyond praise
for its fervent beauty and vigor of music. It appears by the manuscript that
this was written with some pains ; the cancels and various readings bear
marks of frequent rehandling. One of the latter is worth transcripti(^n for
its own excellence and also in proof of the artist's real care for details, which
his rapid, instinctive way of work, has induced some to disbelieve in: —
' Burnt in distant deeps or skies
The cruel fire of thine eyes ?
Could heart descend or wings aspire ?
What the hand dare seize the fire ? ' "
A. C. Swinburne : WiUiam Blake, a Critical Essay.]
Tiger ! tiger ! burning bright,
In the forests of the night.
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry 1
In what distant deeps or skies
Burned the fire of thine eyes ?
On what wings dare he aspire ?
What the hand dare seize the lire ?
And what shoulder, and what art.
Could twist the sinews of thine heart 1
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand ? and what dread feet?
What the hammer 1 what the chain ?
In what furnace was thy brain 1
What the anvil ? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp 1
When the stars threw down their spears.
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did He smile his work to see 1
Did He who made the lamb make thee 1
Tiger! tiger! burning b ugh t,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry ?
Sonf/s of Experience.
M-i-
.
i \l
i:i'
T-
il
III
1 1
310 FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
NEW BRUNSWICK. -
Robert Mackenzie.
On the outer margin of the great bay into which the waters
of the St. Lawrence discharge themselves there lie certain
British provinces which had till now maintained their colonial
existence apart from the sister States of the interior. The
oldest and most famous of these was Nova Scotia — the Acadie
of the French period — within whose limits the Province of
New Brunswick had been included. Northward, across the
entrance to the bay, was the island of Newfoundland.
For many years after the conquest, the fertile soil of New
Brunswick lay almost uncultivated, and her population was
nothing more than a few hundred fishermen. It was at the
close of the American War of Independence that the era of
progress in New Brunswick began. Across the frontier, in the
New England States, were many persons who had fought in the
British ranks to perpetuate a system of government which their
neighbors had agreed to reject as tyrannical and injurious.
These men were now regarded with aversion, as traitors to the
great
cause. Finding life intolerable amid
surroundings
so
uncongenial, they shook from their feet the dust of the revolted
provinces, and moved northward with their families in quest of
lands which were still ruled by monarchy. Five thousand
ca,me in one year. They came so hastily, and with so little
provision for their own wants, that they must have perished
but for the timely aid of the Government. But their presence
added largely to the importance of New Brunswick, which was
now dissociated from Nova Scotia, and erected into a separate
province. At this time, when she attained the dignity of an
administration specially her own, her population was only six
chousaiid, scattered over an area nearly equal to that of Scot-
land. But her soil was fertile ; she abounded in coal and in
timber ; her fisheries were inexhaustibly productive. Her pro-
gress was not unworthy of the advantages with which Nature
had endowed her. In twenty years her inhabitants had
doubled. In half a century the struggling six thousand had
increased to one hundred and fifty thousand. To-day the poj)U-
lation of New Brunswick exceeds three hundred thousand. Tliis
rate of increase, although the numbers dealt with are not large,
is greatly higher than tliat of the United States themselves.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
311
1 the waters
lie certain
lieir colonial
terior. The
-the Acadie
Province of
, across the
d.
loil of New
ulation was
was at the
the era of
titier, in the
mght in the
which their
1 injurious.
itors to the
undings so
ihe revolted
in quest of
e thousand
th so little
/e perished
sir presence
which was
a separate
jnity of an
IS only six
it of Scot-
oal and in
Her pro-
ch Nature
tants had
usand had
'■ the po})u-
md. Til is
not large,
lemselvos.
In the treaty by which England recognized the independence
of her thirteen colonies, the boundary of New Brunswick and
of Maine was fixed carelessly and unskilfully. It was defined
to be, on the exlrreme east, a certain river St. Croix. West-
ward from the source of that river it was a line drawn thence
to the highlands dividing the waters which flow to the Atlantic
from those which flow to the St. Lawrence. The records even
of diplomacy would be searched in vain for an agreement more
fertile in misunderstanding. The negotiators were absolutely
ignorant of the country whose limits they were appointed to fix.
Especially were they unaware that the devout Frenchmen who
first settled there were accustomed to set up numerous crosses
along the coast, and that the name La Croix was in consequence
given to many rivers. In a few years it was found that the
contracting powers differed as to the identity of the river St.
Croix. The Americans applied the name to one stream, the
British to another. That portion of the controversy was settled
in favor of Britain. But a more serious difficulty now rose to
view. The powers differed as to the locality of the "high-
lands " designated by the treaty, and a " disputed temtory " of
twelve thousand square miles lay between the competing
boundary-lines. For sixty years angry debate raged over this
territory, and the strife at one period came to the perilous
verge of actual war. The people of New Brunswick exercised
the privilege of felling timber on the disputed territory. The
governor of Maine sent an armed force to expel the intruders,
and called out ten thousand militiamen to assert the rights of
America. The governor of New Brunswick replied by sending
two regiments, with a competent artillery. Nova Scotia voted
money and troops. But the time had passed when it was pos-
sible for England and America to fight in so light a quarrel as
this. Lord Ashburton was sent out by England ; Daniel
Webster, on the part of America, was appointed to meet him.
The dispute was easily"* settled by assigning seven thousand
square miles to America and five thousand to New Brunswick.
America, chap, xiv.
* "Easily." The Maritime Prdvinces felt that the question was settled
move ensih/ than ('(/It ifahlii. Lord Ashburtoii's ignorance of the topography
made him an easy victim to Webster's mythical maps.
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
TWO WINTER PICTURES.
1. The Snow-Storm.
R. W. Emerson (1803-1882).
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight ; the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Come see the north wind's masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white hastions with projected roo^
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESf^ONS. 313
Round every windwnrd stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths ;*
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn ;
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer's sighs ; and, at the gate,
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not.
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.
"1
'2
iven,
eet
3 sit
The Old-fashioned Fire-side.
J. G. Whtttier (b. 1808).
[The following fire-light picture is from "Snow-Bound: a "Winter Idyl,'
which was written to beguile the weariness of a sick-chamber.]
As night drew on, and, from the crest
Of wooded knolls that ridged the west.
The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank
From sight beneath the smothering bank,
We piled with care our nightly stack
Of wood against the chimney-back, —
The oaken log, green, huge, and thick,
And on its top the stout back-stick ;
The knotty fore-stick laid apart.
And filled between with curious art
The ragged brush : then, hovering near,
We watched the first red blaze appear.
Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam
On whitewashed wall and sagging beam,
Until the old, rude-furnished room
Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom ;
While radiant with a mimic flame
Outside the sparkling drift became,
And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree
Our own wann hearth seemed blazing free.
Paros, an island m the Archipelago, famous
I
* Wreaths of Parian marble,
for white marble.
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
The crane and pendent trammels showed,
The Turk's heads on the andirons glowed;
While childish fancy, prompt to tell
The meaning of the miracle,
Whispered the old rhyme : " Under the tree,
When fire outdoors hums merrily ,
There the witches are making tea"
The moon above the eastern wood
Shone at its full ; the hill-range stood
Transfigured in the silver flood,
Its blown snows flashing cold and keen,
Dead white, save where some sharp ravine
Took shadow, or the sombre green
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black
Against the whiteness at their back.
For such a world and such a night
Most fitting that unwarming light,
Which only seemed where'er it fell
To make the coldness visible.
i!
n
Shut in from all the world without.
We sat the clean-winged hearth about.
Content to let the north wind roar
In battle rage at pane and door.
While the red logs before us beat , :
The frost-line back with tropic heat ;
And ever, when a loader blast
Shook beam and rafter as it passed,
The merrier up its roaring draught
The great throat of the chimney laughed :
The house-dog on his paws outspread
Laid to the fire his drowsy head ;
The cat's dark silhouette on the wall
A couchant tiger's seemed to fall ;
And, for the winter fire-side meet.
Between the andirons' straddling feet
The mug of cider simmered slow.
The apples sputtered in a row.
And close at hand the basket stood
With nuts from brown October's wood.
Snow-Bound.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS. 315
*i 1
5
ed,
'^ed;
tree,
vine
THE FTRGH BACK-LOG.
Charles Dudley Warner (b. 1829).
1. Making the Fire.
Few people know how to make a wood fire, but everybody
thinks he or she does. You want first a large back-log, which
does not rest on the andirons. This will keep your fire forward,
radiate heat all day, and late in the evening fall into a ruin of
glowing coals, like the last days of a good man, whose life is the
richest and most beneficent at the close, when the flames of
passion and the sap of youth are burned out, and there only
remain the solid, bright elements of character. Then you want
a fore-stick on the andirons ; and upon these build the tire of
lighter stuff. In this way you have at once a cheerful blaze,
and the fire gradually eats into the solid mass, sinking down
with increasing fervor ; coals drop below, and delicate tongues
of flame sport along the beautiful grain of the fore-stick. There
are people who kindle a fire underneath. But these are con-
ceited people, who are wedded to their own way. I suppose an
accomplished incendiary always starts a fire in the attic, if he
can. I am not an incendiary, but I hate bigotry. I don't call
those incendiaries very good Christians who, when they set fire
to the martyrs, touched oft* the faggots at the bottom, so as to
make them go slow. Besides, knowledge works down easier
than it does up. Education must proceed from the more
enlightened down to the more ignorant strata. If you want
better common schools, raise the standard of the colleges, and
so on. Build your fire on top. Let your light shine. I have
seen people build a fire under a balky horse. But he wouldn't
go; he'd be a horse-martyr first. A fire kindled under one
never did him any good. Of course you can make a fire on tl.e
hearth by kindling it underneath, but that does not make it
right. I want my hearth-fire to be an emblem of the best
•ft
things.
2. The Bach-Log.
lound.
The log was white birch. The beautiful satin bark at once
kindled into a soft, pure, but brilliant flame, something like that
of naphtha. There is no other wood flame so rich, and it leaps
up in a joyous, spiritual way, as if glad to burn for the sake of
burning. Burning like a clear oil, it has none of the heaviness
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
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and fatness of the pine and the balsarn. Woodsmen are at a
loss to account for its intense and yet chaste flame, since tlie
bark has no oily appearance. The heat from it is fierce, and
the light dazzling. It flares up eagerly like young love, and
then dies away ; the wood does not keep up the promise of the
bark. Th? woodsmen, it is proper to say, have not considered
it in its relation to young love. In the remote settlements the
pine-knot is still the torch of courtship; it endures to sit up by.
The birch-bark has alliances with the world of sentiment and of
letters. The most poetical reputation of the North- American
Indian floats in a canoe made of it; his picture-writing was
inscribed on it. It is the paper that Nature furnishes for lovers
in the wilderness, who are enabled to convey a delicate senti-
ment by its use, which is expressed neither in their ideas nor in
their chirography. It is inadequate for legal parchment, but does
very well for deeds of love, which are not meant usually to give a
perfect title. With care, it may be split up into sheets as thin as
the Chinese paper. It is so beautiful to handle, that it is a pity
civilization cannot make more use of it. But fancy articles
manufactured from it are very much like all ornamental work
made of nature's perishable seeds, leaves, cones, and dry twigs —
exquisite while the pretty fingers are fashioning it, but soon
growing shabby and cheap to the eye. And yet there is a
pathos in " dried things," whether they are displayed as orna-
ments in some secluded home or hidden religiously in bureau-
drawers, where profane eyes cannot see how white ties are grow-
ing yellow and ink is fading from treasured letters, amid a faint
and discouraging perfume of ancient rose-leaves.
The birch-log holds out very well while it is green, but has
not substance enough for a back-log when dry. Seasoning green
timber or men is always an experiment. A man may do very
well in a simple, let us say, country or back-woods line of life,
who would come to nothing in a more complicated civilization.
City life is a severe trial. One man is struck with a dry-rot ;
another develops season-cracks ; another shrinks and swells with
every change of circumstance. Prosperity is said to be more
trying than adversity, a theory which most people are willing
to accept without trial ; but few men stand the drying out of
the natural sap of their greenness in the artificial heat of city
life. This, be it noticed, is nothing against the drying and
seasoning process ; character must be put into the crucible some
time, and why not in this world ? A man who cannot stand
POUMTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
317
seasoning will not have a high market value in any part of the
universe. It is creditable to the race that so many men and
women bravely jump into the furnace of prosperity and expose
themselves to the drying influences of city life.
The first fire that is lighted on the hearth in the autumn
seems to bring out the cold weather. Deceived by the placid
appearance of the dying year, the softness of the sky, and the
warm color of foliage, we have been shivering about for da} s
without exactly comprehending what was the matter. The
open fire at once sets up a standard of comparison. We find
that the advance-guards of winter are besieging the house. The
cold rushes in at every crack of door and window, apparently
signalled by the flame to invade the house and fill it with chilly
drafts and sarcasms on what we call the temperate zone. It
needs a roaring fire to beat back the enemy; a feeble one is
only an invitation to the most insulting demonstrations. Our
pious New England ancestors were philosophers in their way.
It was not simply owing to grace that they sat for hours in
their barn-like meeting-houses during the winter Sundays, the
thermometer many degrees below freezing, with no fire, except
the zeal in their own hearts — a congregation of red noses and
bright eyes. It was no wonder that the minister v/armed up to
his subject, cried aloud, used hot words, spoke a good deal of
the hot place and the person whose presence was a burning
shame, hammered the desk as if he expected to drive his text
through a two-inch plank, and heated himself by all allowable
ecclesiastical gymnastics. A few of their followers in our day
seem to forget that our modern churches are heated by furnaces
and supplied with gas. In the old days it would have been
thought unphilosophic as well as effeminate to warm the meet-
ing-houses artificially. In one house I knew, at least, when it
was proposed to introduce a stove to take a little of the chill
from the Sunday services, the deacons protested against the
innovation. They said that the stove might benefit those who
sat close to it, but that it would drive all the cold air to the other
parts of the church, and freeze the people to death ; it was cold
enough now around the edges. Blessed days of ignorance and
upright living ! Sturdy men who served God by resolutely
sitting out the icy hours of service, amid the rattling of windows
and the carousal of winter in the high, wind-swept galleries.'
Patient women, waiting in the chilly house for consumption to
pick out his victims, and replace the color of youth and the flush
H
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FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
of devotion with the hectic of disease ! At least, you did not doze
and droop in our overheated edifices, and die of vitiated air and
disregard of the simplest conditions of organized life. It is for-
tunate that each generation does not comprehend its own ig-
norance. We are thus enabled to call our ancestors barbarous.
It is something, also, that each age has its choice of the death it
will die. Our generation is most ingenious. From our public
assembly-rooms and houses we have almost succeeded in exclud-
ing pure air. It took the race ages to build dwellings that
would keep out rain ; it has taken longer to build houses air-
tight, but we are on the eve of success. We are only foiled by
the ill-fitting, insincere work of the builders, who build for a day
and charge for all time. Back-Log Studies (1873).
WE'BE A' JOHN TAMSON'S BAIRNS.
Alexander M'Lachlan, Montpeal (b. 1820).
[" Mr. M'Lachlan has produced a volume of poems containing; pieces not
unworthy of Tannahill or Motherwell."— T. D'Arcy M'Gee.]
Oh, come and listen to my sang,*
Nae matter wha ye be.
For there's a human sympathy
That sings to you and nie ;
For as some kindly soul has said —
All underneath the starns.
Despite of country, clime, and creed,
Are a' John Tamson's bairns.
The higher that we dim' the tree,
Mair sweert are we to fa'.
And, spite o' fortune's heights and houghs,
Death equal-aquals a' ;
And a' the great and mighty anes
Wha slumber 'neath the cairns,
They ne'er forgot, though e'er so great,
We're a' John Tamson's bairns.
Earth's heroes spring frae high and low,
There's beauty in ilk place,
* See Glossary at end of lesson.
I did not doze
iated air and
:e. It is for-
l its own ig-
rs barbarous.
: the death it
m our public
ed in exclude
veilings that
d houses air-
nly foiled by
lild for a day
Uudies (1873).
rs.
uiiiy pieces not
ughs,
}
vv.
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS. . 319
There's nae monopoly o' worth
Amang the human race ;
And genius ne'er was o' a class,
But, like the moon and starns,
She sheds her kindly smile alike
On a' John Tamson's bairns.
There's nae monopoly o' pride —
For a' wi' Adam fell —
I've seen a joskin sae transformed,
He scarcely kent himsel'.
The langer that the wise man lives,
The mair he sees and learns.
And aye the deeper care he takes
Owre a' John Tamson's bairns.
There's some distinction, ne'er a doubt,
'Tween Jock and Master John,
And yet it's maistly in the dress.
When everything is known ;
Where'er ye meet him, rich or poor,
The man o' sense and harns,
By moral worth he measures a'
Puir auld John Tamson's bairns.
There's ne'er been country yet nor kin
But has some weary flaw.
And he's the likest God aboon
Wha loves them anp and a'.
And after a' that's come and gane,
What human heart but yeains.
To meet at last in lieht and love
Wi' a' John Tamson's bairns.
Glossary. — A\ all; aboon, above; amaiiff, among; ane, one; ancs, ones;
auld, old; at/e, ever, always; hairnti, own children ; cairns, memorial heaps
of stones ; dim', climb ; eqital-aquala, balances the account (so Sir Walter
Scott in The Antiquarij and The Firate) ; fa\ fall ; Jlaw (weari/), painful
defect ; frae, f»om ; [fane, gone ; hariis (Old English harne»), brains ; himsel',
himself ; heiihts and hoiitfhs, u])S and d«)wns ; <7^, every ; Jock, Jack ; joskin
(Old Englii-h), a clownish fellow; kent, knew (pres. ken); larger, longer;
lieht, light ; tunir, more ; numtlji, mostly ; o', of ; owre, over ; pnir, poor ;
sae, so; saiat, scng; starns, stars; sicecrt, unwilling; Tamson, Thomson —
" John Tamson " is a proverbial phrase used in various connections, but in
" John Tamsor's Man " (a henpecked husband) John ought apparently to be
Joan ; wha, who ; wi', mth.
if.
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320 FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LEHSONH.
THE PICKWICK CLUB ON THE ICE.
Charles Dickens (1812 1870). .
*
" You skate, of course, Winkle ? " said Warclle.
" Ye — yes ; oh, yes," replied Mr. Winkle. " I — 1 — am rather
out of practice."
" Oh, do skate, Mr. Winkle," said Arabella. " I like to see
it so much."
" Oh, it is 80 graceful," said another young lady.
A third young lady said it was elegant , and a fourth expressed
her opinion that it was " swan-likt;."
"I should be very happy, I'm sure," said Mr. Winkle,
reddening; "but I have no skates."
This oi)jcction was at once overruled. Trundle had got a
couple of pair, and the fat boy announced that there were half-
a-dozen more downstairs, whereat Mr. Winkle expressed
exquisite delight, and looked exquisitely uncomfortable.
Old Wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice ; and
the fat boy and Mr. Weller, having slio veiled and swept away
the snow which had fallen on it during the night, Mr. Bob
Sawyer adjusted his skates with a dexterity which to Mr.
Winkle was perfectly marvellous, and described circles with his
left leg, and cut figures of eight, and inscribed upon the ice,
without once stopping for breath, a great many other pleasant
and astonishing devices, to the excessive satisfaction of Mr.
Pickwick, Mr. Tupman, and the ladies ; which reached a pitch
of positive enthusiasm, when old Wardle and Benjamin Allen,
assisted by the aforesaid Bob Sawyer, performed some mystic
evolutions, which they called a reel.
All this time, Mr. Winkle, with his face and hands blue with
the cold, had been forcing a gimlet into the soles of his feet,
and putting his skates on, with the points behmd, and getting
the straps into a very complicated and entangled state, with the
assistance of Mr. Snodgrass, who knew rather less about skates
than a Hindoo. At length, however, with the assistance of
Mr. Weller, the unfortunate skates were firmly screwed and
buckled on, and Mr. Winkle was raised to his feet.
*' Now, then, sir," said Sam, in an encouraging tone ; "oft'
vith vou, and show 'em how to do it."
II!
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
321
"Stop, Sam, stop," said Mr. Winkle, trenil)ling violently, and
clutchiuj^ hold of Sam's arms with the grasp of a drowning man.
" How slippery it is, Sam ! "
"Not an unconnnon thing upon ice, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
" Hold up, sir."
This last observation of Mr. Weller's bore reference to a
demonstration Mr. Winkle made at the instant, of a frantic
desire to throw his feet in the air and dash the back of his head
on the ice.
"These — these — are very awkward skates; ain't they, Sami"
inquired Mr. Winkle, staggering.
" I'm afeerd there's an orkard gen'lm'n in 'em, sir," replied
Sam.
" Now, Winkle," cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious that
there was anything the matter. "Come, the ladies are all
anxiety."
" Yes, yes," replied Mr. Winkle, with a ghastly smile. " I'm
coming.
" Just a goin' to begin," said Sam, endeavoring to disengage
himself. "Now, sir, start off"
" Stop an instant, Sam," gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging most
affectionately to Mr. Weller. " I find I've got a couple of coats
at home that I don't want, Sam. You may have them, Sam."
''Thank'ee, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
"Never mind touching your hat, Sam," said Mr. Winkle,
hastily. " You needn't take your hand away to do that. I
meant to have given you five shillings this morning for a
Christmas-box, Sam. I'll give it you this afternoon, Sam."
" You're wery good, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
" Just hold me at first, Sam ; will you 1 " said Mr. Winkle.
" There — that's right. I shall soon get in the way of it, Sam.
Not too fast, Sam ; not too fast."
Mr. Winkle, stooping forward with his body half doubled up,
was being assisted over the ice by Mr. Weller, in a very singular
and un-swan-like manner, when Mr. Pickwick most innocently
shouted from the opposite bank —
"Sam!"
"Sir?" said Mr. Weller.
"Here. I want you."
" Let go, sir," said Sam. " Don't you hear the governor a
callin' ? Let go, sir ! "
With a violent effort, Mr. Weller disengaged himself from
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FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
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I ;
the grasp of the agonized Pickwiijkian; and, in so doing, admin-
istered a considerable impetus to the unhappy Mr. Winkle.
With an accuracy which no degree of dexterity or practice could
have insured, that unfortunate gentleman bore swiftly down
into the centre of the reel, at the very moment when Mr. Bob
Sawyer was performing a flourish of unparalleled beauty. Mr,
Winkle struck wildly against him, and with a loud crash they
))oth fell heavily down. Mr. Pickwick ran to the spot. Bob
Sawyer had risen to his feet, but Mr. Winkle was far too wise
to do anything of the kind in skates. He was seated on the
ice making spasmodic efforts to smile; but anguish was depicted
on every lineament of his countenance.
" Are you hurt ?" inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, with great
anxiety.
" Not much," said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back very hard.
" T wish you'd let me bleed you," said Mr. Benjamin with
great eagerness.
" No, thank you," replied Mr. Winkle hurriedly.
"I really think you had better," said Allen.
"Thank you," replied Mr. Winkle; "I'd rather not."
" What do yon think, Mr. Pickwick ? " inquired Bob Saw-
yer.
Mr. Pickwick was excited and
to Mr. Weller, and said in a stern voice
" No ; but really I had scarcely begun," remonstrated Mr.
Winkle.
" Take his skates off*," repeated Mr. Pickwick firmly.
The command was not to be resisted. Mr. Winkle allowed
Sam to obey it in silence.
' Lift him up," said Mr. Pickwick. Sam assisted him to
rise.
Mr. Pickwick retired a few paces apart from the bystanders;
and, beckoning his friend to approach, fixed a searching look
upon him, and uttered in a low but distinct and emphatic tone
these remarkable words:
" You're a humbug, sir.''
" A what 1 " said Mr. Winkle starting.
" A humbug, sir. I will speak plainer, if you wish it. An
impostor, sir."
With these words Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on his heel,
and rejoined his friends.
While Mr. Pickwick was delivering himself of the sentiment
indignant. He beckoned
"Take his skates off!"
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
323
%
tecl him to
just recorded, Mr. Weller and the fat boy, having, by their joint
endeavors, cut out a slide, were exercising themselves there-
upon in a very masterly and brilliant manner. Sam Weller, in
particular, was displaying that beautiful feat of fancy sliding
which is currently denominated "knocking at the cobbler's
door," and which is achieved by skimming over the ice on one
foot, and occasionally givinsr a twopenny postman's knock upon
it with the other. It was a good long slide, and there was
something in the motion which Mr. Pickwick, who was very
cold with standing still, could not help envying.
"It looks a nice warm exercise that, doesn't it?" he inquired
of Wardle, when that gentleman was thoroughly out of breath,
by reason of the indefatigable manner in whi^h he had converted
his legs into a pair of compasses, and drawn complicated prob-
lems on the ice.
" Ah, it does, indeed," replied Wardle.
" I used to do so on the gutters when
"Do you slide?"
I was a boy," replied
Mr. Pickwick.
" Try it now," said Wardle.
" Oh, do, please, Mr. Pickwick," cried all the ladies.
" I should be very happy to aflford you any amusement," re-
plied Mr. Pickwick, "but I haven't done such a thing these
thirty years."
" Pooh ! pooh ! nonsense ! " said Wardle, dragging off his
skates with the impetuosity which characterized all his proceed-
ings. "Here; I'll keep you company; come along." And
away went the good-tempered old fellow down the slide, with a
rapidity which came very close upon Mr. Weller, and beat the
fat boy all to nothing.
Mr. Pickwick paused, considered, pulled ofT his gloves and
put them in his hat, took two or three short runs, balked him-
self as often, and at last took another run and went slowly and
gravely down the slide with his feet about a yard and a
quarter apart, amidst the gratified shouts of all the spectators.
" Keep the pot a-bilin', sir," said Sam ; and down went Wardle
again, and tiien Mr. Pickwick, and then Sam, and then Mr.
Winkle, and then Mr. Bob Sawyer, and then the fat boy, and
then Mr. Snodgrass, folhnving closely upon each other's heels,
and running after each other with as much eagerness as if all
their future prospects in life depended on their expedition.
It was the most intensely interesting thing to observe the
manner in which Mr. Pickwick performed his share in the cere-
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FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
mony : to watch the torture of anxiety with which he viewed
the person behind, gaining upon him at tlie imminent hazard of
ti'ipping him up : to see him gradually expend the painful force
which he had put on at first, and turn slowly round on the slide
with his face towards the point from which he had started : to
contemplate the playful smile which mantled on his face when
he had accomplished the distance, and the eagerness with which
he turned round when he had done so, and ran after his prede-
cessor, his black gaiters tripping pleasantly through the snow,
and his eyes beaming cheerfulness and gladness through his
spectacles. And when he was knocked down (which happened
upon the average every third round), it was the most invigorat-
ing sight that can possibly be imagined, to behold him gather up
his hat, gloves, and handkerchief, with a glowing countenance,
and resume his station in the rank, with an ardor and en-
thusiasm which nothing could abate.
The sport was at its height, the sliding was at the quickest,
the laughter was at the loudest, when a sharp smart crack was
heard There was a quick rush towards the bank, a wild
scream from the ladies, and a shout from Mr. Tupman. A large
mass of ice disappeared, the water bubbled up over it, and Mr.
Pickwick's hat, gloves, and handkerchief were floating on the
surface ; and this was all of Mr. Pickwick that anybody could see.
Dismay and anguish were depicted on every countenance ;
the males turned pale and the females fainted ; Mr. Snodgrass
and Mr. Winkle grasped each other by the hand, and gazed at
the spot where their leader had gone down, with frenzied eager
ness ; while Mr. Tupman, by way of rendering the promptest
assistance, and at the same time conveying to any persons who
might be within hearing the clearest possible notion of the
catastrophe, ran off across the country at his utmost speed,
screaming " Fire ! " with all his might and main.
It was at this very moment, when old Wardle and Sam Weller
were approaching the hole with cautious steps, and Mr. Benja-
min Allen was holding a hurried consultation with Mr. Bob
Sawyer, on the advisability of bleeding the company generally,
as an improving little bit of professional practice — it was at this
very moment that a face, head, and shoulders emerged from
beneath the water, and disc^ . 5ed the features and spectacles of
Mr. Pickwick.
" Keep yourself up for an instant — for only one instant,"
bawled Mr. Snodgrass. -' '< ■ •'' "'
n
FOURTH hOOK OF kiSADlNG LtJSSONS.
32b
" Yes, do : let me implore you — for my sake," roared Mr.
Winkle, deeply afl'ected. The adjuration was rather unnecessary ;
the probability being that if Mr. Pickwick had declined to keep
himself up for anybody else's sake, it would have occurred to him
that he might as well do so for his own.
" Do you feel the bottom there, old fellow ? " said Wardle.
" Yes, certainly," replied Mr. Pickwick, wringing the water
from his head and face, and gasping for breath. " I fell upon
my back. I couldn't get on my feet at first."
The clay upon so much of Mr. Pickwick's coat as was yet
visible, bore testimony to the accuracy of this statement ; and as
the fears of the spectators were still further relieved by the fat
boy's suddenly recollecting that the water was nowhere more
than five feet deep, prodigies of valor were performed to get
him out. After a vast quantity of splashing, and cracking, and
struggling, Mr. Pickwick was at length fairly extricated from
his unpleasant position, and once more stood on dry land.
" Oh, he'll catch his death of cold," said Emily.
"Dear old thing !" said Arabella; "let me wrap this shawl
round you, Mr. Pickwick."
" Ah, that's the best thing you can do," said Wardle ; " and
when you've got it on, run home as fast as your legs can carry
you, and jump into bed directly."
A dozen shawk were offered on the instant, and three or four
of the thickest having been selected, Mr. Pickwick was wrapped
up, and started off under the guidance of Mr. Weller ; present-
ing the singular phenomenon of an elderly gentleman dripping
wet, and without a hat, with his arms bound down to his sides,
skimming over the ground without any clearly defined purpose,
at the rate of six good English miles an hour.
But Mr. Pickwick cared not for appearances in such an ex-
treme :-ase, and urged on by Sam Weller he kept at the very top
of his speed until he n'ached the door of Manor Farm, where Mr.
Tupman had arrived sonu^ fix <; minutes before, and liad frightened
the old lady into palpitation of the heart l>y impressing her
with the unalterable ccjiivietion that the kitchen chimney was
on fire— a calamity which always presented itself in the most
glowing colors to the old lady's mind when anybody about h(T
evinced the smallest agitation.
Mr. Pickwick paused not an instant until he was snug in
bed.
The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, chap. xxx.
326 FOURTH BOOK OF HEADING LESSONS.
1 1
I '
n I '
"r.
I
VICTOR AND VANaUISHED.
As one who long hath fled with panting breath
Before his foe, bleeding and near to fall,
I turn and set my back against the wall.
And look thee in the face, triumphant Death.
I call for aid, and no one answereth ;
I am alone with thee, who conquerest all ;
Yet me thy threatening form doth not appall,
For thou art but a phantom and a wraith.
Wourded and weak, sword broken at the hilt,
With armor shattered, and without a shield,
I stand unmoved : do with me what thou wilt ;
I can resist no more, — but will not yield.
This is no tournament where cowards tilt ;
The vanquished hero is victor of the field.
Api'il 4y 1876. H. W. Longfellow.
MY BOOKS.
Sadly as some old mediaeval knight
Gazed at the armc he could no longer wield,
The sword two-handed and the shining shield
Suspended in the hall, and full in sight.
While secret longings for the lost delight
Of tourney or adventure in the field
Came over him, and tears but half concealed
Trembled and fell upon his beard of white ;
So I l)ehold these books upon their shelf,
My ornaments and arms of other days, —
Not wholly useless, though no longer used.
For they remind me of my other self,
Younger and stronger, and the pleasant ways
In which I walked, now clouded and confused.
December ii7, 1881. H. W. Longfellow (d. March 24, 1882).
JJGFELLOW.
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS. 327
SUNSET WINGS.
Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882).
To-night this sunset spreads two golden wings
Cleaving the western sky ;
Winged too with wind it is, ixnd winnowings
Of birds ; as if the day's last hour in rings
Of strenuous flight must die.
Sun-steeped in fire, the homeward pinions sway
Above the dove-cot tops ;
And clouds of starlings, ere they rest with day.
Sink, clamorous like mill-waters, at wild play.
By turns in every copse :
Each tree heart-deep the wrangling rout receives, —
Save for the whir within.
You could not tell the starlings from the leaves ;
Then one great puff of wings, and the swarm heaves
Away with all its din.
Even thus Hope's hours, in ever-eddying flight.
To many a refuge tend :
With the first light she laughed, and the last light
Glows round her still ; who natheless * in the night
At length must make an end.
A: ^ now the mustering rooks innumerable
Together sail and soar,
While for the day's death, like a tolling knell,
Unto the heart tliey seem to cry, Fai-ewell,
No more, farewell, no more !
Is Hope not plumed, as 't were a fiery dart ?
And oh ! thou dying day.
Even as thou goest must she too depart.
And Sorrow fold such pinions on the heart
As will not fly away ?
* Nevertheless.
I
I
li
!.
'1 )■
t
;^-
H
I
'
't
!
328
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
WINDSOR CASTLE.
THE LAST ILLNESS OF THE FEINGE CONSOET.
Sir Theodore Martin.
[Prince Albert was for some days ailing, but his symptoms had ex-
cited no alarm. His ailment pT-ovecL to be typhoid fever, and, sad to say, it
was subsequently traced to tht) defective drainage of Windsor Castle, the
scene of his last illness. He died in the Blue Room on Saturday evening,
December 14, 18G1.]
The following day (1st of December) was Smiflay. After
another indifferent night, the Prince liad risen early, as already
mentioned, to write the draft Memorandum for the Quctsn upon
the Trent affair.*
"Windscv Castle, December 1, 18fJl.
"The Queen returns tliesf important Drafts, which upon the
whole she approves ; but she cannot help feeling that the main
* On November 8, 1801, the English mail steamer Trent, while on her way
from Havannah to ]*]ngland, was brought to by a shot and a shell fired across
her bows from the United States war ship Jacinto — Wilkes, commander— and
Messrs. Mason and Slidell, Confederate envoys, were arrested and taken to
the United States. On the representation of the British Government the
envoys were restored, and war was happily averted.
FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
329
30KT.
IS had ex-
1 to say, it
Castle, the
ty evening,
'. After
s already
e(m upon
• 1, ISfll.
upon the
the main
m her way
ired across
nder— and
I taken to
iment the
h
Draft — that for communication to the American Government —
is somewhat meagre. She should have liked to have seen the
expression of a hope, that the American captain did not act
under instructions, or, if he did, that he misapprehended them,
— that the United States Government must be fully aware that
the British Government could not allow its flag to be insulted,
and the security of her mail communications to be placed in
jeopardy; and Her Majesty's Government are unwilling to
believe that the United States Government intended wantonly
to put an insult upon this country, and to add to their many
distressing complications by forcing a question of dispute upon
us, and that we are therefore glad to believe that, upon a full
consideration of the circumstances of the undoubted breach f)f
International Law committed, they would spontaneously offer
such redress as alone could satisfy this country, — namely, the
restoration of the unfortunate passengers and a suitable apology."
The day, although cold, was fine, and he walked for half an
hour on the Lower Garden Terrace. "He went with us to
chapel," again to quote Her Majesty's Diary, " but looked very
wretched and ill. Still he insisted on going through all the
kneeling. He came to luncheon, but could take nothing. Sir
James Clark and Dr. Jenner came over, and were much dis-
appointed, finding Albert so very uncomfortable Albert
came to our family dinner, but could eat nothing ; yet he was
able to talk, and even to tell stories. After dinner he sat
quietly listening to Alice and Marie [Leiningen] playing, and
went to bed at half-past ten, in hopes to get to sleep. I joined
him at half-past eleven, and he said he was shivering with cold
and could not sleep at all."
After a night of shivering and sleepleSi^ness, the Prince rose
next morning at seven, and sent for Dr. Jenner, who found him
suffering great discomfort and much depressed. The symptoms
of what might prove to be low fever were beginning to be
more marked. " I was so anxious, so distressed," Her Majesty
notes in her Diary. " Albert did not dress, but lay uj)on the
sofa, and I read to liim Sir James Clark arrived, and found
him in mu -h the same state, very restless and uncomfortable,
sometimes lying on the sofa in his dressing-room, and then
sitting up in an arm-chair in his sitting-room." Lord Methuen
and Colonel Francis Seymour who had returned from Lisbon,
where they had been sent by the Queen on a mission of con-
dolence, arrived at the Castle. The Prince saw them, and
,. J
\ '
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r
I : 1
I
330
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESISONS.
asked for all the details of the King of Portugal's death. He
said to Lord Methuen that it was well his own illness was not
fever, as that, he felt sure, would be fatal to him. Lord
Palmerston, the Duke of Newcastle, and Sir A.llan M'Nab
(from Canada) had arrived at the Castle as guests. The Prince
was unable to take his place at dinner as usual, and showed
increased disinclination for food
Another night of wakeful restlessness followed. A little
sleep which the Prince had from six to eight in the morning
filled the Queen with hope and thankfulness. But the distaste
for food continued. " He * would take nothing — hardly any
broth, no rusk or bread — nothing. My anxiety is great, and I
feel utterly lost, when he, to whom I confide all, is in such a
listless state, and hardly smiles ! Sir James arrived, and was
gr'ieved to see no more improvement, but not discouraged.
Albert rested in the bedroom, and liked being read to, but no
book suited him, neither Silas Marner nor The Warden." j
Lever's Dodd Family was subsequently tried, " but he disliked
it : so we decided to have one of Sir Walter Scott's to-morrow."
The Prince rose next morning (4th of December) at eight,
after another night of discomfort, relieved only by snatches of
broken sleep. On Her Majesty's return to his room from break-
fast, she found him " looking very wretched and woebegone. He
could take only half a cup of tea. He afterwards came to his
sitting-room, where I left him so wretched, that I was dread-
fully overcome and alarmed. Alice was reading to him." Sir
James Clark, who had passed the night at the Castle, comforted
Her Majesty with the hope that "there would be no fever, of
which we live in dread." On returning from a short walk, the
Queen found the Prince " very restless and haggard and suffer-
ing, though at times he seemed better. I was sadly nervous
with ups and downs of hope and fear. While Alice was read-
ing The Talisman in the bedroom, where he was lying on the
IxkI, he seemed in a very uncomfortable, panting state, which
frightened us."
When the Prince retired for the night, " his pulse was good.
Dr. Jenner was going to sit up with him, as well as Lohlein
(tlu; Prince's valet). My poor darling, I kissed his hand and
forehead. It is a terrible trial to be thus separated from him,
* The quotations, where not otlierwise marked, are from the Queen's Diary.
t Silas Marner, by "George Eliot;" The Warden, by Anthony TroUope;
T!ie Talisman, by Sir Walter Scott.
M
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
331
death. He
tiess was not
him. Lord
.llan M'JSTab
The Prince
and showed
d. A little
the morning
the distaste
-hardly any
great, and I
s in sucli a
i^ed, and was
discouraged.
to, but no
Warden." \
he disliked
to-morrow."
r) at eight,
snatches of
from break-
!gone. He
;ame to his
was dread-
him." Sir
!, comforted
10 fever, of
't walk, the
and sufFer-
lly nervous
) was read-
ing on the
bate, which
; was good.
as Liihlein
hand and
from him,
ueen's Diary,
ny TroUope ;
and to see him in the hands of others, careful and devoted
though they are."
The next day (8th of December) the Prince was considered
by the doctors to be going on well. The day was very fine : his
window was open when the Queen came to him in the morning ;
and he expressed a strong desire to move into one of the largei'
rooms. Those immediately adjoining were now vacant, and his
wish was carried into effect. " When I returned from break-
fast," the Queen writes, " I found him lying on the bed in the
Blue Room, and much pleased. The sun was shining brightly,
the room was fine, large, and cheerful, and he said : 'It is so
fine ! ' For the first time since his illness, he asked for some
music, and said, * I should like to hear a fine chorale played at
a distance.' We had a piano brought into the next room, and
Alice played *• EirC feste Burg ist uiiser Gott^* and another, and
he listened, looking upwards with such a sweet expression, and
with tears in his eyes. He then said, ' Das reicht hin ' (' That
is enough')." It was Sunday. The Rev. Charles Kingsley
preached, "but I heard nothing," are the Queen's significant
words.
The listlessness and the irritability, so foreign to the Prince's
nature, but so characteristic of his disease, continued ; and at
times his mind would wander. But when, later in the day, the
Queen read Pevei'il of the Peak to him, he followed the story
with interest, and by his occasional remarks showed that he did
so. When Her Majesty returned to him after dinner, she
records with a touching simplicity, " He was so pleased to see
me — stroked my face and smiled and called me Hiebes Frauchen^
('dear little wife') Precious love! His tenderness this
evening, when he held my hands and streaked my face, touched
me so much — made me so grateful."
About six in the morning (Saturday, the 14th of DecenSor)
Mr. Brown of Windsor (who had attended the Royal Family
medically since 1838, and was thoroughly acquainted with the
Prince's constitution), came to inform Her Majesty that he liad
no hesitation in saying that he thought the Prince was inucli
better, and that " there was ground to hope the crisis was over."
"I went over at seven," Her Majesty write«, ^'as I usually
did. It was a bright morning, the sun just rising and shining
brightly. The room had the sad look of night watching — the
candles burnt down to their sockets, the doctors looking anxious.
* "A sure stronghold is our God," — Luther's hymn, founded on Psahn 46.
332
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
I went in, and never can I forget how beautiful my darling
looked, lying there with his face lit up by the rising sun, his
eyes unusually bright, gazing as it were on unseen objects, and
not taking notice of me."
The Prince of Wales, who had been summoned from Mad-
ingley by telegram the previous evening, had arrived at three
o'clock that morning. Sir Henry Holland saw him on his
arrival, and made him aware of his father's state. When Her
Majesty returned to the Prince Consort's bedroom about ten
o'clock, she found the young Prince there. Both Sir James
Clark and Dr. Jenner endeavored to reassure the Queen.
There had been "a decided rally," but they were all "very,
very anxious." The hours wore on in agonizing alternations of
fear and hope.
"The day," Her Majesty writes, "was very fine and very
bright. 1 asked whether I might go out for a breath of air.
The doctors answered, ' Yes, just close by, for a quarter of an
hour.' At about twelve I went out upon the Terrace with Alice.
The military band was playing at a distance, and I burst into
tears and came home again. I hurried over at once. Dr.
Watson was in the room. I asked him whether Albert was
not better, as he seemed stronger, though he took very little
notice; and he answered, 'We are very much frightened, but don't,
and won't give up hope.' They would not let Albert sit up to
take his nourishment, as he wasted liis strength by doing so.
'The pulse keeps up,' they said. 'It is not worse.' Every
hour, every minute was a gain ; and Sir James Clark was very
hopeful — he had seen much worse cases. But the breathing
was the alarming thing, it was so rapid. There was what they
call a dusky hue about his face and hands, which I knew was
not good. I made some observation about it to Dr. Jenner, and
was alarmed by seeing he seemed to notice it. Albei*t folded
his arms, and began arranging his hair, just as he used to do
when well and he was dressing. These were said to be bad
signs. Strange ! as though he were preparing for another and
greater journey."
The Queen's distress was terrible. She only left the Prince's
room for the adjoining one. Still the doctors continued to
comfort her with hope; but they could not blind her to the
signs, that this precious life, this most precious of lives to her,
was ebbing away. " About half-past five," Her Majesty writes,
"I went in and sat down beside his bed, which had been
f
fi
FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
333
my darling
ng sun, his
objects, and
from Mad-
id at three
lim on his
When Her
about ten
Sir James
he Queen,
all "very,
rnations of
5 and very
ath of air.
irter of an
with Alice,
burst into
once. Dr.
Ubert was
very little
1, but don't,
^t sit up to
doing so.
e.' Every
s was very
breathing
what they
knew was
enner, and
>ert folded
ised to do
to be bad
lother and
e Prince's
itinued to
ler to the
es to her,
ty writes,
had been
wheeled towards the middle of the room. * Gutes Frauchen^
(' Good little wife'), he said, and kissed me, and then gave a
sort of piteous moan, or rather sigh, not of pain, but as if he
felt that he was leaving me, and laid his head upon my shoul-
der, and I put my arm under his. But the feeling passed away
again, and he seemed to wander and to doze, and yet to know
all. Sometimes I could not catch what he said. Occasionally
he spoke French. Alice came in and kissed him, and he took
her hand. Bertie, Helena, Louise, and Arthur came in, one
after the other, and took his hand, and Arthur kissed it. But
he was dozing, and did not perceive them.
*****
Again, as the evening advanced, Her Majesty retired to give
way to her grief in the adjoining room. She had not long been
gone, when a rapid change set in, and the Princess Alice was
requested by Sir James Clark to ask Her Majesty to return.
The import of the summons was too plain. When the Queen
entered, she took the Prince's left hand, "which was already
cold, though the breathing was quite gentle," and knelt down
by his side. On the other side of the bed was the Princess
Alice, while at its foot knelt the Prince of Wales and the
Princess Helena. Not far from the foot of the bed were Prince
Ernest Leiningen, the physicians, and the Prince's valet Lohlein.
General the Hon. Robert Bruce knelt opposite to the Queen, and
the Dean of Windsor, Sir Charles Phipps, and General Grey,
were also in the room.
In the solemn hush of that mournful chamber there was such
grief as has rarely hallowed any deathbed. A great light, which
had blessed the world, and which the mourners had but yester-
day hoped might long bless it, was waning fast away. A
husband, a father, a friend, a master, endeared by every quality
by which man in such relations can win the love of his fellow-
men, was passing into the Silent Land, and his loving glance,
his ^7ise counsels, his firm, manly thought, should be known
among them no more. The Castle clock chimed the third
quarter after ten. Calm and peaceful grew the beloved form ;
the features settled into the beauty of a perfectly serene repose;
two or three long but gentle breaths were drawn; and that
great soul had fled, to seek a nobler scope for its aspirations in
the world within the veil, for which it had often yearned, where
there is rest for the weary, and where " the spirits of the just
are made perfect." The Ufc of H.R.H. the PHnce Consort (1880).
i :
¥ ■
*■■ :
;)
I
» ,
I
\\
334 FOURTH BOOK OF READING LESSONS.
DEDICATION OF "THE IDYLLS OF THE KING."
Alfred Tennyson (b. 1800).
These to His Memory — since he held them dear,*
Perchance as finding there unconsciously
Some image of himself — ^I dedicate,
I dedicate, I consecrate with tears —
These Idylls !
And indeed he seems to me
Scarce other than my own ideal knight,
" Who reverenced his conscience as his king ;
Whose glory was, redressing human wrong ;
Who spake no slander, no, nor listened to it :
Who loved one only, and who clave to her — "
Her — over all whose realms to their laut isle.
Commingled with the gloom of imminent war,
The shadow of his loss drew like eclipse,
Darkening the world. We have lost him : he is gone :
We know him now ; all narrow jealousies
Are silent : and we see him as he moved.
How modest, kindly, all-accomplished, wise !
With what sublime repression of himself,
And in what limits, and how tenderly !
Not swaying to this faction or to that ;
Not making his high place the lawless perch
Of winged amliitions, nor a vantage-ground
For pleasure ; but through all this tract of years
Wearing the white flower of a blameless life,
Before a thousand peering littlenesses.
In that tierce light which beats upon a throne,
And blackens every blot : for where is he.
Who dares foreshadow for an only son
A lovelier life, a more unstained than his ?
Or how should England, dreaming of his sons,
Hope more for these than some inheritance
Of such a life, a heart, a mind as thine,
* The Idylls of the King appeared in July 1859. Some months afterwards
Prince Albert, who was ever Mr. Tennyson's warm personal friend, sent his
copy to the poet with a most graceful and appreciative letter, begging the
favor of his autograph in the volume. The above dedication thus forms a
]>eculiarly appropriate In Memoriam.
1
■1
FOURTH ROOK OF READING LESSONS.
335
KING."
ear/
r,
le IS gone :
ears
I
Thou noble Father of her Kin«i;s to be,
Laborious for her people and hvv poor —
Voice iu the rich dawn of an ampler day—
Far-sitrhtcid suininon(M' of war and waste
To fruitful strifes and rivalries of peace —
Sweet nature, gilded by the gracious gleam
Of letters, dear to Science, dear to Art,
Dear to tliy land and ours; a Prince indeed,
Beyond all titles, and a household name.
Hereafter, through all times, Albert the (lood.
Break not, O woman's heart, but still endure ;
Break not, for thou art royal, but endure.
Remembering all the beauty of that star
Which shone so close beside thee, that ye made
One light together, but has pass'd and leaves
The crown a lonely splendor.
May all love,
His love unseen, but felt, o'ershadow thee.
The love of all thy sons encompass thee.
The love of all thy daughters cherish thee.
The love of all thy people comfort thee,
Till God's love set thee at his side again !
IS afterwarda
end, sent his
, begging the
thus forms a
VENI CREATOR.*
John Drydex (1631-1701).
Creator Spirit! by whose aid
The world's foundations first were laid.
Come, visit every pious mind ;
Come, pour Thy joys on human kind ;
From sin and sorrow set us free,
And make Thy temples worthy Thee.
O source of uncreated light.
The Father's promised Paraclete,!
* Dryden here finely renders the old Latin hynm, Veni Creatoi' Spiritus
( ' ' Come, Creator Spirit "), which is still used in the Catholic ritual at the Feast
of Pentecost. Dryden's English version is generally found in the hymn-
books of other Churches. The authorship of the original is ascribed to the
Emperor Charlemagne.
t The Comforter, lit. "the Advocate."
336
JJHI
, i
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FOURTH BOOK OF BEADING LESSONS.
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire ;
Come, and Thy sacred unction brine.
To sanctify us while we sing.
Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Rich in Thy sevenfold energy ;
Thou strength of His almighty hand.
Whose power does heaven and earth command ;
Proceeding Spirit, our defence.
Who dost the gifts of tongues dispense.
And crown'st Thy gifts with eloquence !
Refine and purge our earthly parts ;
But oh, inflame and fire our hearts !
Our frailties help, our vice control.
Submit the senses to the soul ;
And when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay Thine hand, and hold them down.
Chase from our minds the infernal foe,
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow ;
And, lest our feet should step astray,
Protect and guide us in the way.
Make us eternal truths receive.
And practise all that we believe :
Give us Thyself, that we may see
The Father and the Son by Thee.
Immortal honor, endless fame,
Attend the Almighty Father's name ;
The Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for lost man's redemption died;
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to Thee !
\
i.ii_«*^i^
'OJ}f^S.
3ire;
le,
igh,
^'.
;h command ;
5nse,
Slice !
■*-
m down.
foe.