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Cbe IPictorian "Reafecre^

FOUKTH EEADER

AVTHniUZKT) BY THE ADVISORY BOARD
FOR MANITOBA. '

><•

* ,- . M

TOEONTO:

THE W. J. GAGE COMPANY, LIMITED.

THE COPP, CLARK COMPANY, LIMITED.

"fe^^ book

P£/iPJ
N53

Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, In the year one thousand
eight hundred and ninety-eight, by Thb W. J. Oaob Company, LiHrrBD,and
The Copf, Clark Goupant, Limtted, at the Department of Agriculture.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

The Selections in Poetry are Printed in Italics.

The Song My Paddle Sings

LOCKSLEY

The Forest Fire .. .... .. ..

The Saxon and the Gael

The GoiiDEN A pplb

The Destruction of Sennacherib
Ye Mariners of England

The Judgment op Pabis

Fiftieth Birthday of Agassix

Charles and Oliver

The Maple . .

The Stage Coach

Tussouf

How They Brought the Good News from

Ghent to Aix

Tubal Cain

The Forging of Balmung

The Village Blacksmith

The Forging of the Anchor

Jacques Cartier

The Slaying op Fapnir the Dragon
The Private of the Buffs

The Sleeping Valkyrie

The Shipbuilders

The Second Voyage of Sinbad

Aladdin

BoBiNsoN Crusoe

The Creation

Youth and Qld Age

The Burial of Sir John Moore
The Pied Piper of Hamelin ..
How I Killed a Bear

E, Pauline Johnson .
Sir Walter Scott . .
Charles G. D. Roberts.
Sir Walter Scott . .

Lord Byron . .
Thomas Campbell

Longfellow

Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Rev. H. F. Darnell .
Charles Dickens . .
Jam^s Russell Lowell .

Pagk.

. 1
8

. 12

. 14

. 19

. 25

. 26

. 28

. 86

. 87

. 46

. 48

. 58

Robert Browning . . 64

Charles Mackay . . . . 56

Charles Kingsley . . . . 68

Longfellow 65

Samuel Ferguson. . 67

Thomas D'Arcy McGee 70

Sir F. H. Doyle . . . . 77

John G. Whittier. . . . 86

James Russell Lowell. . 95

Daniel Defoe 96

Holy Bible 106

Holy Bible 109

Rev. Charles Wolfe . . 110

Robert Browning . . .. Ill

Charles Dudley Warner 121

Table of Contents.

■ ■ ",' ■ ■ ■..*.■■■■

Paok.

The Owl

Barry Cornwall .. . .
Samuel Lover
Sir Walter Scott . . . .
Sir Walter Scott . . . .
James Montgomery

181

The Shamrock

182

The Tournament

188

Love of Country

140

Home and Country

141

The Fatherland

James Russell Lowell. .
Major W. F. B>'tler . .

142

Lake Winnipeg

148

Young Lochinvar

Sir Walter Scott . . . .

145

The Lark at the DiooiNds . .

Charles Reade

147

Dickens in Camp

Bret Harte

151

From the "Book of Psalms".. . .

Holy Bible

153

The Finding of the Lyre

James Russell Lowell. .

155

Legend of the "White Horse Plains" Prud'homms

157

The ''Laughing Sally '>''

Charles G.D.Roberts..

160

The TooTBALii Match

Thomas Hughes ..

163

The Daisy

James Montgomery . .
William Wordsworth . .
Niebuhr ..

175

To the Daisy

176

The Argonauts

178

The Meeting of the Waters

Thomas Moore

186

Marmion and Douglas

Sir Walter Scott .. . .

187

The Loss of the Birkenhead . .

Sir F. H. Doyle .. ..

190

The Valley of Humiliation . .

John Bunyan

192

TJie Shepherd of King Adm^tus

James Russell Loicell . .

194

The Snow Storm

Ralph Waldo J^merson
E. R. Sill .. . . . .

196

Opportunity

197

Three Scenes in the Tyrol . .

Titan

197

The Graves of a Household

Mrs. Hemans

203

The Reaper and the Flowers

Longfellow

204

Faith, Hope and Love

Revised Bible

205

Indian Summer

Samuel Lover

Mrs. Moodie

206

Indian Summer

207

The Eagle and the Swan

J. J. Audubon

209

The Last Leaf

Oliver Wendell Holmes
Francis Parkman

211

The Taking of Quebec

213

The Inchcape Rock

Robert Southey . .

220

How Theseus Slew the Minotaur . .

.. .. .. .. ,, ,.

223

Lucy Gray

William Wordsworth . .

231

Canadian Streams

Charles Q. D. Roberts. .

234

The Winged Horse

• ■ •• •* •• *« •*

235

Table of Contents.

The I'lahin of Ahrnliam

The Battle of the Hal tic

Tub Pycjmibs

The Famine

The Death of the Flower h

Samuel Johnson's Rkpentan<'k

Alice Brand

From " Evangeline "

SONOS OF THE NiOHT

Hymn to the Night

Aladdin, or the Wonderful Lamp

A Forent Calm

The Escape of Queen Mary from

Lochleven Castle

The Ballad of the ' ' Clampherdoivn "

The Battle of Landen

The Great Stone Fack

Horatiun

The Watch on the Jihine

The MarHeillaise

The Battle Hymn of the Republic . .
Scots, Wha Hae WV Wallace Bled . .

Dominion Hymn

God Save the Queen

'-' ■ Vauk.

Charles Sangnler . . . . 213
Thomas Campbell. . .. 2i4
Nathaniel Hatvthorne . . 2 17

Longfellow 2v'>5

William Cullen Bryant 270
Nathaniel Hawthorne. . 272
Sir Walter Scott .. ..277

Longfellow ! 281

Rev. Charles Spurgeon 284

Longfellow 286

287

Percy Byaahe Shelley . . 807

Sir Walter Scott . . .
Rudyard Kipling
Lord Macaulay . .
Nathaniel Hawthorne . ,
Lord Macaulay . .
Max Schneckenburger .
Rouget De Lisle ....
Julia Ward Howe
Robert Burns

309
820
828
830
859
370
871
373
874
375
376

FOUETH READER

THE SONG MY PADDLE SINGS.

West wind, blow from your prairie nest,

Blow from the mountains, blow from tlit* west.

The sail is idle, the sailor too ;

Oh ! wind of the west, we wait for you.

Blow, blow !

I have wooed you so,

But never a favor you bestow.

You rock your cradle the hills between,

But scorn to notice my white lateen.

I stow the sail and unship the mast :

I wooed you long, but my wooing's past ;

My paddle will lull you into rest :

O drowsy wind of the drowsy west,

Sleep, sleep !

By your mountains steep,

Or down where the prairie grasses sweep,

Now fold in slumber your laggard wings,

For soft is the song my paddle sings.

August is laughing across the sky.

Laughing while paddle, canoe and I

Drift, drift.

Where the hills uplift

On either side of the current swift.

FoUllTH liEADEll.

Tlio river rollM in its rocky 1k5<1, "

My ptuJdle Ih plying itH way ulieml,

When the waters flip

In foam as over their breast w<» slip.

And oh, the river runs swifter now ;

The eddies circle about my bow :

Swirl, swirl ! , ■

How the ripples curl

In many a dangerous pool awhirl !

And far to forward the rapids roar.

Fretting their margin for evermore ;

Dash, dash,

With a mighty crash,

They seethe and boil and bound and splash.

Be strong, O paddle ! be brave, canoe !

The reckless waves you must plunge into.

Reel, reel.

On your trembling keel.

But never a fear my ci-aft will feel.

We've raced the rapids ; we'io far ahead :

The river slips through its silent bed.

Sway, sway.

As the bubbles spray

And fall in tinkling tunes away. '

And up on the hills against the sky,

A fir tree rocking its lullaby

Swings, swings, , ^'•

Its emerald wings.

Swelling the song that my paddle sings.

—E. Pauline Johnson (by permission of the author).

LoCKSLEV.

LOOKSLEY.

( »

r'.

"The yeomen and <*()nimons," stiid De Braey,
"must not be dismissed discontented foi* lack of theii*
share in the sports." n

" Tlie day," said Waldemar, " is not yet veiy far
spent — let the archers shoot a few rounds at the
target, and the prize he adjudged. This will be an
abundant fulfilment of the Prince's promises, so far
as this herd of Saxon serfs is concerned."

"I thank thee, Waldemar," said the Prince ; "thou
remindest me, too, that I have a debt to pay to that
insolent peasant who yesterday insulted our person.
Our banquet also shall go forward to-night as we
proposed. "Were this my last hour of power, it
should be an hour sacred to revenge and to pleasm'e
— let new cares come with to-moiTow's new day."

The sound of the tiTimpet soon recalled those spec-
tators who had already begun to leave the field;
and proclamation was made that Prince John, sud-
denly called by high and peremptoiy public duties,
held himself obliged to discontiime the entertain-
ments of to-morrow's festival : neveriheless, unwill-
ing that so many good yeomen should depart with-
out a trial of skill, he was pleased to appoint them,
before leaving the gi-ound, presently to execute the
competition of archery intended for to-mon*ow. To
the best archer a prize was to be awarded, being a
bugle-horn, mounted with silver, and a silken bald-

Fourth Readek.

lie, richly ornamented with a medaUion of St.
Hubei*t, the patron of sylvan spoi*t.

More than thirty yeomen at first presented them-
selves as competitors, several of whom were rangers
and nnder-keepers in the royal forests of Needwood
and Chamwood. When, however, the archers under-
stood with whom they were to be matched, upwards
of twenty withdrew themselves from the contest,
unwilling to encounter the dishonor of almost certain
defeat. For in those days the skill of each cele-
brated marksman was as well known for many miles
round him, as the qualities of a horse trained at
Newmarket are known to those who frequent that
well-known meeting.

The diminished list of competitors for sylvan fame
still amounted to eight. Prince John stepped from
his royal seat to view more nearly the persons of
these chosen yeomen, several of whom wore the
royal hvery. Having satisfied his cuiiosity by this
investigation, he looked for the object of his resent-
ment, whom he observed standing on the same spot,
and with the same composed countenance which he
had exhibited upon the preceding day.
' "Fellow," said Prince John, "I guessed by thy
insolent babble thou wert no true lover of the long-
bow, and I see thou darest not adventure thy skill
among such merry men as stand yonder."

" Under favor, sir," replied the yeoman, " I have
another reason for refraining to shoot, besides the
fearing discomfiture and disgrace."

"And what is thy other reason!" said Prince

I • ■-

LOCKSLEY.

8t.

■j-^

John, who, for some cause which perhaps he could
not himself have explained, felt a painful curiosity
respecting this individual. ' ; r..

" Because," replied the woodsman, " I know not
if these yeomen and I are used to shoot at the same
marks; and because, moreover, I know not how
your grace might relish the winning of a third prize
by one who has unwittingly fallen under your dis-
pleasm'e."

Prince John colored as he put the question, "What
is thy name, yeoman I "

"Locksley," answered the yeoman.

" Then, Locksley," said Prince John, " thou shalt
shoot in thy turn, when these yeomen have dis-
played their skill. If thou carriest the prize I will
add to it twenty nobles ; but if thou losest it,' thou
shalt be stripped of thy Lincoln green, and scourged
out of the lists with bowstrings, for a wordy and
insolent braggart."

" And how if I refuse to shoot on such a wager ! "
said the yeoman. " Your G-race's power, supported
as it is by so many men-at-arms, may indeed easily
strip and scourge me, but cannot compel me to bend
or to draw my bow."

" If thou refusecit my fair proffer," said the Prince,
"the provost of the Usts shall cut thy bowstring,
break thy bow and an-ows, and expel thee from the
presence as a faint-hearted craven."

"This is no fair chance you put on me, proud
Prince," said the yeoman, "to compel me to peril
myself against the best archers of Leicester and

>^v

:v '

-I

Fourth Reader.

Staffordshire, under tlie penalty of infamy if they
should overshoot me. Nevertheless, I will obey your
will."

"Look to him close, men-at-arms," said Prince
/ John, "his heart is sinking: I am jealous lest he
attempt to escape the trial. And do you, good fel-
lows, shoot boldly round ; a buck and a butt of wine
are ready for your refreshment in yonder tent when
the prize is won."

A target was placed at the upper end of the south-
ern avenue which led to the lists. The contending
archers took their station in turn, at the bottom of
the southern access ; the distance between the sta-
tion and the mark allowing full distance for what
was called a shot at rovers. The archers, having
previously deteraiined by lot their order of preced-
ence, were to shoot each three shafts in succession.
The sports were regulated by an officer of inferior
rank, termed the Provost of the G-ames; for the high
rank of the marshals of the lists would have been
held degraded had they condescended to superin-
tend the games of the yeomanry.

One by one the PTchers, stepping forward, deliv-
ered their shafts yeomanlike and bravely. Of twenty-
four aiTows, shot in succession, ten were fixed in
the target, and the others ranged so near it, that, con-
sidering the distance of the mark, it was accoimted
good archery. Of the ten shafts which hit the tar-
get, two within the inner ring were shot by Hubert,
a forester in the service of Malvoisin, who was
accordingly pronounced victorious.

LOCKSLEY.

"Now, Locksley," said Piiiice John to the bold
yeoman, with a bitter smile, " wilt thou tiy conclu-
sions with Hubert, or wilt thou yield up bow, bald-
lic, and quiver to the Provost of the sports!"

" Sith it be no better," said Locksley, " I am con-
tent to try my fortune ; on condition that when I have
shot two shafts at yonder mark of Hubert's, he shall
be bound to shoot one at that which I shall propose."

"That is but fair," answered Prince John, "and
it shall not be refused thee. If thou dost beat this
braggart, Hubert, I will fill the bugle with silver
pennies for thee."

" A man can but do his best," answered Hubert ;
" but my grandsire drew a good long-bow at Hast-
ings, and I trust not to dishonor his memory."

The f oraier target was now removed ; and a fresh
one of the same size placed in its room. Hubei-t,
who, as victor in the first trial of skill, had the right
to shoot first, took his aim with great deliberation,
long measuring the distance with his eye, while he
held in his hand his bended bow, with the arrow
placed on the string. At length he made a step
foi^ward, and raising the bow at the full stretch of
his left aim, till the centre or grasping place was
nigh level with his face, he drew the bowstring to
his ear. The aiTow whistled through the air, and
lighted within the inner ring of the target, but not
exactly in the centre.

"You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert,"
said his antagonist, bending his bow, " or that had
been a better shot."

S Fourth Reader. ^

, So stiyiug, and without showiiijjf tho hmnt uiixic^ty

to pause upon his aim, Locksley st(»pped to the
appointed station, and shot his airow as carelessly
in appearance as if he had not even looked at the
^ mark. He was speaking almost at the instant that
/ the shaft left the bowstring, yet it alighted in the
target two inches nearer to the white spot which
marked the centre than that of Hubert.

" By the light of heaven I " said Prince John to
Hubert, "an thou suffer that runagate knave? to
overcome thee, thou art worthy of the gallows."

Hubert had but one set speech for all occasions. \
"An your highness were to hang me," he said, " a.
man can but do his best. Nevertheless, my gi'and-
su'e drew a good bow "

" The foul fiend on thy gi'andsire and all his gen-
eration ! " interrupted John ; " shoot, knave, and
shoot thy best, or it shall be the worse for thee."

Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and
not neglecting the caution which he had received
from his adversarj^, he made the necessary allowance
for a veiy light air of wind, which had just aiisen,
and shot so successfully that his aiTow alighted in
the very centre of the target.

"A Hubert! a Hubert!" shouted the populace,
more interested in a known person than in a stranger.
"In the clout ! — in the clout ! — a Hubert forever I "

"Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley," said
the Prince with an insulting smile.

"I will notch his shaft for him, however," replied
Locksley.

LOCKSLEY.

And letting tly his arrow with a Uttle more pre-
caution than before, it hghted right upon that of
his competitor, which it split to shivers. The people
who stood around were so astonished at his won-
derful dexteiity that they could not even give vent
to their sm-prise in then" usual clamor. '*This must
be the devil, and no man of flesh and blood," whis-
pered the yeomen to each other; ''such archery was
never seen since a bow was first bent in Britain."

"And now," said Locksley, "I crave your Grace's
permission to plant such a mark as is used in the
North Countiy ; and welcome every brave yeoman
who shall try a shot at it to win a smile from the
bonnie lass he loves best."

He then turned to leave the lists. "Let your
guards attend me," he said, "if you please — I go
but to cut a rod from the next willow bush."

Prince John made a signal that some attendants
should follow him in case of his escape; but the ciy
of " Shame ! shame ! " which burst from the multi-
tude, induced him to alter his ungenerous purpose.

Locksley returned almost instantly with a willow
wand about six feet in length, perfectly sti*aight,
and rather thicker than a man's thumb. He began
to peel this with great composure^ observing, at the
same time, that to ask a good woodsman to shoot
at a target so broad as had hitherto been used, was
to put shame u:pon his skill. " For his own part,"
he said, "and in the land where he was bred, men
would as soon take for their mark King Arthur's
round table, which held sixty knights around it. A

Fourth Reader.

child of seven years old," he said, "might hit it with
a headless shaft ; but," he added, walking deUber-
ately to the other end of the hsts, and sticking the
willow wand upright in the ground, "he that hits
that rod at five-score yards, I call him an archer fit
to bear both bow and quiver before a king, an it
were the stout King Richard himself."

"My grandsire," said Hubert, " drew a good bow
at the battle of Hastings, and never shot at such a
a mark in his life— and neither will I. If this yeo-
man can cleave that rod, I give him the bucklers —
or rather, I yield to the devil that is in his jerkin,
and not to any human skill: a man can but do
his best, and I wiU not shoot where I am sure to
miss. I might as well shoot at the edge of our par-
son's whittle, 01 at a wheat straw, or at a sunbeam,
as at a twinkling white streak which I can hardly

see.

"Cowardly dog!" said Prince John. "SuTah
Locksley, do thou shoot; but, if thou liittest such a
a mark, I will say thou art the first man ever did
so. However it be thou shalt not crow over us with
a mere show of superior skill."

" I will do my best," as Hubert says, said Locks-
ley ; " no man can do more."

So saying, he again bent his bow, but on the pre-
sent occasion looked with attention to his weapon,
and changed the string which he thought was no
longer truly round, having been a little frayed by
the two former shots. He then took his aim with
some deliberation, and the multitude awaited the

LOCKSLEY.

event iii breathless silence. The archer vindicated
their opinion of his skill : his arrow split the willow
rod against which it was aimed. A jubilee of accla-
mations followed ; and even Piince John, in admu*-
ation of Locksley's skill, lost for an instant his dis-
like to his person. " These twenty nobles," he said,
"which, with the bugle thou hast fairly won, {ire
thine own; we will make them fifty, if thou wilt
take livery and sei'vice with us as a yeoman of our
body-guard, and be near to our person. For never
did so strong a hand bend a bow, or so true an eye
dii'ect a shaft."

"Pardon me, noble Prince," said Locksley ; "but
I have vowed that if ever I take service, it shall
be with your royal brother. King Eichard. These
twenty nobles I leave to Hubert, who has this day
drawn as brave a bow as his grandsire did at Has-
tings. Had his modesty not refused the trial he
would have hit the wand as well as I."

Hubert shook his head as he received with reluc-
tance the bounty of the stranger; and Locksley,
anxious to escaps further observation, mixed with
the crowd and was seen no more.

fv!

—Sir Walter Scott.

A kindly act is a kernel sown,
That will grow to a goodly tree,
Shedding its fruit when time has flown,
Down the gulf of eternity.

r-John Boyle O'Reilly.

• <i

"r V-

FouitTH Keader.

THE FOREST FIRE.

v«;

The night was grim and still with di'ead ;

No star shone down from heaven's dome ;
The ancient forest closed around . , , ■ .

The settler's lonely home.

There came a glare that lit the north ;

There came a wind that roused the night ;
But child and father slumbered on,

Nor felt the growing light.

There came a noise of flying feet,

With many a strange and dreadful cry ;

And sharp flames crept and leapt along
The red verge of the sky. .

There came a deep and gathering roar, >

The father raised his anxious head ;

He saw the light, like a dawn of blood.
That streamed across his bed.

It lit the old clock on the wall.
It lit the room with splendor wild.

It lit the fair and tumbled hair
Of the still sleeping child ;

And zigzag fence, and rude log barn.
And chip-strewn yard, and cabin gray.

Glowed crimson in the shuddering glare
Of that untimely day.

The boy was hurried from his sleep ;
The horse was hurried from his stall ;

■ (v.

The Forest Fire. ^

ITp from the pasture-clearing came •
The cattle's frightened call.

The boy was snatched to the saddle-bow.

Wildly, wildly the father rode.
Behind them swooped the hordes of tlame

And harried their abode.

•13

■^ .

The scorching heat was at their heels ;

The huge roai* hounded them in their flight ;
Red smoke and many a flying brand

Flew o'er them through the night.

And past them fled the wildwood forms —
Far-striding moose, and leaping deer,

And bounding panther, and coursing wolf,
Terrible-eyed with fear.

And closer drew the fiery death ;

Madly, madly, the father rode ;
The horse began to heave and fail

Beneath the double load.

The father's mouth was white and stern.
But his eyes grew tender with long farewell,

He said : " Hold fast to your seat, Sweetheart,
And ride Old Jerry well.

" I must go back. Ride on to the river.

Over the ford and the long marsh ride.
Straight on to the town, and I'll meet you. Sweetheart,

Somewhere on the other side."

He slipped from the saddle. The boy rode on,
His hand clung fast to the hoiF.o's mane ;

*»

14 Fourth Reader. „

His hair blew over the horse's neck j
His small throat sobbed with pain.

** Father, Father," he cried aloud.

The howl of the fire-wind answered him
With the hiss of soaring flames, and crash

Of shattering limb on limb.

But still the good horse galloped on,

With sinew braced and strength renewed.

The boy came safe to the river ford.
And out of the deadly wood.

And now with his kinsfolk, fenced from fear,
At play in the heart of the city's hum,

He stops in his play to wonder why
His father does not come.

— Vha». O. D. Roberta (by permiasion of the author ).

THE SAXON AND THE GAEL.

The chief in silence strode before.

And reached that torrent's sounding shore.

Which, daughter of three mighty lakes.

From Vennachar in silver breaks.

Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines

On Bochastle the mouldering lines.

Where Rome, the empress of the world.

Of yore her eagle- wings unfurled.

And here his course the chieftain staid,

..ja; :}, _---j ,

The Saxon and the Gael.

Thi-ew down his target and liis plaid, '-*•

And to tho Lowland warrior said : —

" Bold Saxon ! to his promise just,

Vich- Alpine has discharged his trust ;

This murderous chief, this ruthless man.

This head of a rel)ellious clan,

Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward,

Far past Clan Alpine's outmost guard.

Now man to man, and steel to steel,

A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel.

See, here, all vantageless I stand.

Armed like thyself with single brand :

For this is Coilantogle Ford,

And thou must keep thee with thy sword."

The Saxon paused : — " I ne'er delayed.

When f oeman bade me draw my blade ;

Nay more, brave chief, I vowed thy death :

Yet sure thy fair and generous faith,

And my deep debt for life preserved,

A better meed have well deserved :

Can nought but blood our feud atone 1

Are there no means?" — "No, stranger, none !

And here — to fire thy flagging zeal —

The Saxon cause rests on thy steel ;

For thus spoke Fate by prophet bred

Between the living and the dead ;

' Who spills the foremost foeman's life,

His party conquers in the strife.' "

" Then, by my word," the Saxon said,

" The riddle is already read.

Seek yonder brake beneath the cliif —

There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff.

Thus Fate has solved her prophecy,

•S '

16 . PotJBTH ReADEB. , ''

TlitMi yield to Fate, and not to mo.
To JaiiH>H, at Htii'ling, let uh go,
When, if thou wilt be still his foe,
Or if the King shall not agree
To grant thee grace and favor free,
I plight mine honor, oath, and word,
That, to thy native strength restored.
With each advantage shalt thou stand,
That aids thee now to guard thy land."

Dark lightning flashed from HcMlerick's eye —

'* Hoars thy presumption then so high.

Because a wretched kern ye slew,

Homage to name to Roderick Dhu ?

He yields not, he, to man nor Fate I

Thou add'st but fuel to my hate : —

My clansman's blood demands revenge :

Not yet prepared ? — By Heaven, I change

My thought, and hold thy valor light

As that of some vain carpet-knight,

Who ill deserves my courteous care,

And whose best boast is but to wear

A braid of his fair lady's hair."

— " I thank thee, Roderick, for the word !

It nerves my heart, and steels my sword ;

For I have sworn this braid to stain

In the best blood that warms thy vein.

Now, truce, farewell ! and, ruth, begone !

Yet think not that by thee alone,

Proud chief ! can courtesy be shown ; ^

Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn,

Start at my whistle clansmen stern,

Of this small horn one feeble blast

Would fearful odds against thee cast.

The Saxok akd the Gael.

li\»t frar not- doubt not— which thou wilt--
Wo try 1 1 's 4|uarrel liilt to hilt."

Then each at once his falcliion drew,
Each on the ground his scobbard threw,
Each looked to Hun, and stream, and j)lain,
As what they ne'er might see again ;
Then foot, and point, and eye opposed,
In dubious strife they darkly closed.
Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu,
That on the field his targe he threw,
Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide
Hod death so often dashed aside ;
For, trained abroad his arms to wield,
Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield,
He practised every pass and ward.
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ;
While less expert, though stronger far*,
The Gael maintained unequal war.
Three times in closing strife they stood,
And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood,
No stinted draught, no scanty tide.
The gushing flood the tartans dyed.
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain,
And showered his blows like wintry-rain ;
And, as firm rock, or castle roof.
Against the winter shower is proof,
The foe, invulnerable still.
Foiled his wild rage by steady skill ; .
Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand
Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand.
And, backward borne upon the lea,
Brought the proud chieftain to his knee.
" Now, yield thee, or by Him who made

I ii

18 Fourth Readek.

The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade ! "
" Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy !
Let recreant yield who fears to die."
— Like adder darting from his coil,
Like wolf that dashes through the toil,
, Like mountain-cat who guards her young,

Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung ;
Received, but recked not of a wound.
And locked his arms his foeman round.
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own !
No maiden's hand is round thee thrown !
That desperate grasp thy frame might feel.
Through bars of brass and triple steel !
They tug, they strain ! down, down they go,
The Gael above, Fitz-James below.
The chieftain's gripe his throat compressed ;
His knee was planted on his breast ;
His clotted locks he backward threw,
Across his brow his hand he drew,
From blood and mist to clear his sight,
Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright !
— But hate ajd fury ill supplied
The stream of life's exhausted tide ;
And all too late the advantage came,
To turn the odds of deadly game ;
For, while the dagger gleamed on high,
Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye.
Down came the blow ! but in the heath
The erring blade found bloodless sheath.
The struggling foe may now unclasp
The fainting chief's relaxing grasp ;
Unwounded from the dreadful close,
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.

—Bir Walter F!roff.

The Golden Apple.

THE GOLDEN APPLE.

Old Chiron sat upon his high couch like a king
upon his throne. The evening meal was over, and
the cave-hall had been set in order. The fire burned
brightly up, shining upon all around with a ruddy
glow; and the gi^eat cavern was emptied of gloom,
and was so filled with fight and warmth that it
seemed a fit place for joy and pleasure. The five
comely lads with Odysseus sat before the couch,
while Phemius, the bard, stood leaning against the
wall. After Chiron had played a brief melody
upon his haip, and the boys had sung a' pleasant
song, the wise old master thus began : —

" There is a cavern somewhere on Mount Pelion,
larger by far, and a thousand times more beautiful,
than this ; but its doorway is hidden to mortals, and
but few men have ever stood beneath its vaulted
roof. In that cavern the ever-living ones, who
oversee the affairs of men, once held high carnival ;
for they met there at the marriage feast of King
Peleus, and the woods and rocks of mighty Pelion
echoed with the sound of their merry-making. But
wherefore should the marriage-feast of a mortal be
held in such a place, and with guests so noble and
so gi-eat 1 I will tell you :

" After Peleus had escaped from the plot which
King Acastus had laid for him, he dwelt a long time

Fourth Reader.

V . •'

'M^:-

with me ; for he feared to go down upon the plain
lest the men of lolcos should seize him by order of
Acastus, or the folk of Phthia should kill him in
revenge for old Eurytion's death. But the days
seemed long to him, thus shut out from fellowship
with men, and the sun seemed to move slowly in
the heavens ; and often he would walk around to
the other side of the mountain, and sitting upon a
great rock, he would gaze for hom's upon the pm*ple
waters of the sea. One morning, as thus he sat, he
saw the sea-nymph Thetis come up out of the waves
and walk upon the shore beneath him. Fairer than
a dream was slie — more beautiful than any picture
of nymph or goddess. She was clad in a robe of
sea-green silk, woven by the Naiads in their watery
grottos ; and there was a chaplet of pearls upon her
head, and sandals of sparkling silver were upon her
feet.

" As Peleus gazed upon this lovely creature, he
heard a voice whispering in his ear. It was the
voice of Pallas Athene.

" ^ Most luckless of mortal men,* she said, * there
is recompense in store for those who repent of theii'
wrong-doing, and who, leaving the paths of error,
turn again to the road of virtue. The immortals
have seen thy sorrow for the evil deeds of thy youth,
and they have looked with pity upon thee in thy
misfortunes. And now thy days of exile and of
sore punishment are drawing to an end. Behold
the silver -footed Thetis, most beautiful of the
nymphs of the sea, whom even the immortals

':\r

The Golden Apple.

have wooed in vain! She has been sent to this
shore to be won and wedded by thee.' ;*.ri ^

"Peleus looked up to see the speaker of these
words, but he beheld only a blue cloud resting above
the mountain top; he turned his eyes downward
again, and, to his grief, the silver-footed Thetis had
vanished in the waves. All day he sat and waited
for her return, but she came not. When darkness
began to fall he sought me in my cave-hall, and told
me what he had seen and heard ; and I taught him
how to win the sea-nymph for his bride.

" So when the sun again gilded the crags of Pel-
ion, brave Peleus hid himself among the rocks close
by the sea- washed shore, and waited for the coming
of the silver-footed lady of the sea. In a little time
she rose, beautiful as the star of morning, from the
waves. She sat down upon the beach and dallied
with her golden tresses, and sang sweet songs of a
happy land in the depths of the sounding sea. Pel-
eus, bearing in mind what I had taught him, arose
from his hiding-place, and caught the beauteous
creature in his arms. In vain did she straggle to
leap into the waves.

" Seven times she changed her form as he held her:
by turns she changed into a fountain of water, into
a cloud of mist, into a burning flame, and into a
senseless rock. But Peleus held her fast : and she
changed then into a tawny lion, and then into a tall
tree, and lastly she took her own matchless form
again.

" And Peleus held the lovely Thetis by the hand.

ii '

',H{

; '--r

Fourth Reader.

:'I

and they walked long time together upon the beaeh,
while the birds sang among the leafy trees on Pel-
ion's slopes, and the dolphins sported in the spark-
ling waters at their feet; and Peleus wooed the
silver-footed lady, and won her love, and she pro-
mised to be his bride. Then the immortals were
glad, and they fitted up the great caveni on Mount
Pelion for a banquet hall, and made therein a wed-
ding feast, such as was never seen before. The
vaulted roof of the caveni was decked with gems
which shone like the stars of heaven ; a thousand
torches, held by lovely mountain nymphs, flamed
from the niches in the high walls ; and upon the
floor of polished marble, tables for ten thousand
guests were ranged.

"When the weddir.g-feast was ready all those
who live on high Olympus, and all the immortals
who dwell upon the earth, came to rejoice with King
Peleus and his matchless bride ; and they brought
rich presents for the bridegroom, such as were never
given to another man. They gave him a suit of
armor, rich and fair, a wonder to behold, which lame
Hephaestus, with rare skill, had wi'ought and fash-
ioned. Poseidon bestowed on him the deathless
horses, BaUos and Xanthos, and a deftly wrought
chariot with trimmings of gold. And I, one of the
least of the guests, gave him an ashen spear which I
had cut on Pelion's top, and fashioned with my (^wn
hands.

"At the table sat Zeus, the father of gods and of
men ; and his wife, the white-armed Iler^ ; and the

The Golden Apple.

smiling -loviug Aphi'odite ; and gray -eyed Pallas
Athene ; and all the wisest and fairest of the immor-
tals. The Nereids, nymphs of the sea, danced in
honor of Thetis, then* sister; and the mnses sang
then' sweetest songs; and silver-bowed Apollo
played upon the lyi*e. The Fates, too, were there ;
sad Clotho, twirling her spindle, unloving Lachesis,
with wiinkled lips, ready to speak the fatal word :
and pitiless Atropos, holding in her hand the unspar-
ing shears. And around the table passed the youth-
ful and joy-giving Hebe, pouring out lich draughts
of nectar for the guests.

"Yet there was one among all the immortals who
had not been invited to the wedding ; it was Eris,
the daughter of War and Hate. Her scowling fea-
tures, and her hot and hasty manners, were ill-suited
to grace a feast where all should be mirth and glad-
ness; yet, in her evil heart she planned to be
avenged for the slight which had been put upon
her. While the meny-making was at its height,
and the company were listening to the music from
Apollo's lyi'e, she came unseen into the hall and
threw a golden apple upon the table. No one knew
whence the apple came; but, on it were wiitten
these words: *For the Fairest.*

" 'To whom does it belong!* asked Zeus, stroking
his brow in sad perplexity.

" The music ceased, and mirth and jollity at once
fled from the banquet. The torches, which lit up
the scene, flickered and smoked ; the lustre of the
gems in the vaulted roof was dimmed ; dark clouds

FOUBTH ReADEE.

■"

canopied the gi'eat hall : for Discord had taken her
place at the table, uninvited, and unwelcome though
she was. , , voj-

" <The apple belongs to me, said Her^,' trying to
snatch it ; * for I am the queen, and gods and men
honor me as having no peer on earth/ -^ /

"*Not so,' cried smiling-loving Aphrodite. *With
me dwell Love and Joy, and not only do gods and
men sing my praises, but all natui*e rejoices in my
presence. The apple is mine, and I will have it.'

" Then Athene joined in the quarrel. *What is it
to be a queen,' said she, * if at the same time one
lacks that good temper which sweetens life ? What
is it to have a handsome form and face, while the
mind is uncouth and ill-looking ? Beauty of mind
is better than beauty of face; for the former is
immortal while the latter fades and dies. Hence
no one has a better right than I to be called the
fairest.' ■' ;■• ^ - ■■;'• ---.■.-^■■'■■-l-

" Then the strife spread among the guests in the
hall, each taking sides with the goddess that he
loved best; and, where peace and merriment had
reigned, now hot words and bitter wi'angling were
heard. And had not Zeus bidden them keep silence,
thus putting an end to the quarrel^ all Pelion would
have been rent, and the earth shaken to its centre
by the melee which would have foll(>wed.

"*Let us waste no words over this matter,' he
said. * It is not for immorials to say who of their
number is most beautiful. But, on the slopes of
Mount Ida, far across the sea, the fairest of the sons

The J)ESTRtTc!TioN OF Sennachekik. 25

of men — Pans, the son of Trojan Pnani — keei)s his
flocks; let him jiulge who is fairest, jind let the
apj)le be hers to whom he gives it.'

" Then Hemies, the swift-footed messenger, arose,
and led the three goddesses over sea and land to
distant Ida, where Paris, with no tlionght of the
wonderful life which lay before him, piped on his
shepherd's reed, and tended his flock of sheep."

THE DESTRUCTION OP SENNACHERIB.

'2 KiN(is, xix. 'ii").

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue waves roll nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset was seen ;
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown.
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

Vuv the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast.
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever were still !

2(y

Fourth Readeh.

''/

I !

And tlier(? lay the hUhhI with his iioKtril all Nvi<l(',
But through it there rolltul not the breath of his ])ri(le.
And the foam of his j^asping lay white on the turf, .,
And cold as the spray on the rook-beating surf.

And there lay the rider, distorted and pale,

With the dew on his brow ami the rxiiit on hirt mail ;

The tents were all silent, the banners alone,

The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. ^

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword.
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord. \

>,,: w ■■■;'-• A

— Lord Huron.

YE MARINERS OP ENGLAND.

Ye mariners of England !

That guard our native seas ;
Whose flag has braved a thousand years,

The battle and the breeze !
Your glorious standard launch again ^

Tt) match another foe !
And sweep through the deep

While the stormy winds do blow ;
While the battle rages loud and long,
. And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirits of your fathers

, Shall start from every wave ! — ■

\':

%■

pride,
if, .

uiil ;

ivvord,
(1.

t'd Itiirov.

Ye Mauineus of England. 27 ^

For the (Iwk it was their field of fame,

And ocean was their ^rave ;

Where lMal<e and mighty Nelson fell

Your manly hearts shall glf)W,

As ye sweep throujL^h the deep, ,,

While the stormy winds do blow ;

«'^^H

While the battle raj?es loud and long,
: And the stormy winds do blow.

' Britannia needs no bulwarks,

^ No towers along the steep ;
, Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,

:l\. 'i

,v Her home is on the deep.

With thunders from her native oak.

She quells the floods below.
As they roar on the shore

When the stormy winds do blow ;
AVhen the battle rages loud and long,
- And the stormy winds do blow.

•

The meteor flag of England

Shall yet terrific burn ;
Till danger's troubled night depart.

And the star of peace return.

■f ■ ■

-^r

Then, then, ye ocean warriors !
Our song and feast shall flow

To the fame of your name.

When the storm has ceased to })low ;

When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow !

— Till) mil » L'a III jjhel 1.

FouiiTH Keadek.

THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS,

On the other side of tht^ sea there stands a city,
rich and mighty, the Hke of which thei'e is none in
Hellas. There, an old man, named Priam, rules over
a. happy and peace-loving people. He dwells in a
gi'eat palace of polished marble, on a hill overlook-
ing the plain; and his granaries are stored with
corn, and his flocks and herds are pastured on the
hills and mountain-slopes behind the city. Many
sons has King Priam, and they are brave and noble
youths, well worthy of such a father. The eldest of
these sons is Hector, who, the Trojans hope, will live
to bring great honor to his native land. Just before
the second son was born, a strange thing troubled
the family of old Priam. The queen had dreamed
that her babe had turned into a fire-brand, which
burned up the walls and the high towers of Troy,
and left but smouldering ashes where once the
proud city stood. She told the king her dream;
and, when the child was born, they called a sooth-
sayer, who could foresee the mysteries of the future,
and they asked him what the vision meant.

" It means," said he, " that this babe, if he lives,
shall be a firebrand in Troy, and shall turn its walls
and its high towers, into heaps of smouldering
ashes."

" But what shall be done with the child, that he

The Judgment of Paius.

may not do this teniblo thing!" asked Piiam,
greatly soiTOwing, for the baVie was very beautiful.

" Do not suffer that he shall live," answered the
soothsayer. '^ ^ n.u

But Priam, the gentlest and most kind-hearted
of men, could not bear to harm the babe. So he
called Archelaus, his master shepherd, and bade him
take the helpless child into the thi(;k woods, which
grow high up on the slopes of Ida, and there to
leave him alone. The wild beasts which roam among
those woods, he thought, would doubtless find him;
or, in any case, he could not live without care or
nourishment ; and thus the dangerous brand would
be quenched while yet it was scarcely a spark.

The shepherd did as he was bidden, although it
cost his heart many a sharp pang thus to deal bai*-
barously with the innocent. He laid the smiling
infant, wrapped in its broidered tunic, close by the
foot of an oak, and then hurried away that he might
not hear its cries. But the Dryads, who haunt the
woods and groves, saw the babe, and pitied its help-
lessness, and cared for it so that it did not die. Some
brought it yellow honey from the stores of the wild
bee; some fed it with milk from the white goats
which fed on the pastures below ; and otjiers stood
as sentinels around it, guarding it from tho wolves
and bears. Thus five days passed, and Archelaus,
the shepherd, who could not forget the babe, came
cautiously to the spot to see if, mayhap, even its
broidered cloak had been spared by the beasts. Sor-
rowful and shuddering, he glanced toward the foot

^i^

t».

i, • ;. ,i

Korinn IU.adkk.

of tht^ trot*. To Ills surpriso, tho babt* was still thovo;
it looked up and smiled, and stn'tched its fat hands
towards him. The shepherd's heart would not let
him turn away the second time. He took the child
in his arms, and carried it to Ids own humble home
in the valley, where he eared for it and brought it
up as his own son.

" The boy grew to be very tall and very hand-
some ; and he was so brave and so helpful to the
shepherds around Mount Ida, that they called him
Alexandros, or the helpei* of men ; but his foster-
father named him Pai'is. And as he tended his
sheep in tlie inomitain dells, he met CEnone, the fair-
est of the river-maidens, guileless and pure as th(>
waters of the stream by whose banks she loved to
wander. Day after day he sat with her in the sha-
dow of her woodland home, and talked of iimocence
and beauty, of a life of sweet contentment, and of
love; and the maiden listened to him with wide
open eyes, and a heart full of trustfulness and faith.
Then, by and by. Pans and CEnone were wedded ;
and their little cottage in the Mountain glen was the
fairest and happiest spot in Ilios. The days sped
swiftly by, and neither of them dreamed that any
sorrow W' as in store for them ; and to CEnone her
shepherd-husband was all the world, Ijecause he was
so noble and brave and handsome and gentle.

One warm summer afternoon Paris sat in the
shade of a tree at the foot of Mount Ida, while his
docks were pasturing upon the hillside before him.
The bees were humming lazily among the flowers ;

TiiK JriMiMENT OF Paris.

tlu^ cirjulas wore chirping anions tlio l«*av<«s alVovo
his li<'a<l; and now and tlu'n a })ir<l twittoi-iMl softly
among tlio Imslics h«'liin<l liini. All t'lso was still, as
if enjoying to tho full the delicious calm of that
pleasant <hiy. Paris was fashioning a slender r^HMl
into a shepherd's Hute ; while CKnone, sitting in the
(lee})er shadows of some chisteiing vines, was busy
with some simple piece of needle-work. A sound,
as of sweet music, caused the young shepherd to
I'aise his eyes. Before him stood the four inuiior-
tals, Here, Athene, and Aphrodite, and Hermes, the
messenger ; then* f acres shone with a dazzling radi-
ance, and they were fairer than any tongue can
desciibe. At their feet rare flowers sprang uj), cro-
cuses and asphodels and white lilies ; and the air
was filled with the sweet odor of orunge-blossoms.
Paris, scarce knowing what he did, ai'ose to greet
them. No handsomer youth ever stood in the pre-
sence of beauty. Straight as a mountain pine was
lie ; a leopard skin hung carelessly upon his shoul-
ders; his head was bare, but his locks clustered
romid his temples in sunny curls, and formed fit
frame-work for his fair brows.

Then Heraies spoke first : " Paris, W(3 have come
to seek thy help ; there is stiife among the folk who
dwell on Mount Olympus. Here are Here, Athene,
and Aphrodite, each claiming to be the fairest, and
each clamoring for this prize — this golden apple.
Now we pray that you will judge this matter, and
give the apple to the one whom you may deem most
beautiful."

».

i ,

312

FOUKTH KeADEK.

Then Here began her plea at once : " I know that
I am the fah'est," she said, " for I am queen, and
mine it is to rule among gods and men. Give me
the prize and you shall have wealth and a kingdom,
and great glory ; and men in after times shall sing
your praises."

And Paris was half tempted to give the apple,
without further ado, to Here, the proud queen. But
gi'ay-eyed Athene spoke : " There is that, fair youth,
which is better than riches or honor or great glory.
Listen to me, and I will give thee wisdom and a
pure heart ; and thy life shall be crowned with peace
and sweetened with love, and made strong by know-
ledge. And though men may not sing of thee in
after times, thou shalt find lasting happiness in the
answer of a good conscience towards all things."

Then CEnone whispered from her place among the
leaves : "Grive the prize to Athene, she is the fairest."
And Paris would have placed the golden apple in her
hand had not Aphrodite stepped quickly forward,
and in the sweetest, merriest tones, addressed him :

" You may look at my face and judge for your-
self as to whether I am fair," she said, laughing and
tossing her curls. " All I shall say is this — give me
the prize, and you shall have for your wife the most
beautiful woman in the world."

The heart of CEnone stood still as Paris placed the
apple in Aphrodite's hand ; and a nameless dread
came over her, as if the earth were sinking beneath
her feet. But the next moment the blood came back
to her cheeks, atid she breathed free and strong

The Judgment of Paius.

:i8

.4?

again, for she heard Paris say: "T liave a wife,
CEnone, who to me is the lovehest of mortals, and ]
care not for yom* offer ; yet I give to you the a])|)le,
for I know that you are tlie fairest among tlie death-
less ones who live on high Olympus."

On the very nex't day it happened that King Priam
sat thoughtfully in his palace, and all his boys and
girls — nearly fifty in number — were about hhn. His
niind turned sadly to the little babe whom he had
sent away, many years ago, to die alone on wooded
Ida. And he said to himself, "The child has been
long dead, and yet no feast has been given to the
gods that they may make his little spiiit glad in tli«^
shadowy land of Hades. This must not be neglected
longer. Within three days a feast nuist be made,
and we will hold games in his honor."

Then he called his servants, and bade them g=o
to the pastures of Mount Ida, and choose from all
the herds that pastured therts the fattest and hand-
somest, to be given as a prize to the winner in the
games. And he proclaimed through aU Ilios, that
on the third day there would be a great feast in
Troy, and games would be held in honor of the
little babe who had died twenty years before. Now,
when the servants came to Mount Ida, they chose a
bull for which Paris had long cared, and which he
loved more than any other. And he would not let
the >)east be driven from the pastui*e until it was
agreed that he might go to the city with it and con-
tend in the games for the prize. But (Enone, the
river nymph, wept and prayed him not to go.

■t\

Fourth Beadek.

"Leave not the pleasant pastiive-lands of Ida, even
for a day," said she, " for my heai*t tells me that you
will not retmii."

" Think not so, my fair one," said Paris. " Did
not Aphrodite promise that the most beautiful
woman in the world shall be my" wife ! And who
is the most beautiful but my own CEnone ? Dry
now yom' tears, for when I have won the prizes in
the games I will come back to you, and never leave
you again." ,

Then the giief of (Enone waxed greater. "If you
win go," she cried, " then hear my warning ! Long
years shall pass ere you shall come again to wooded
Ida, and the hearts which are now young shall grow
old and feeble by reason of much sorrow. Cruel
war and many dire disasters shall overtake you,
and death shall be nigh unto you; and then CEnone,
although long forgotten by you, will hasten to yoiu*
side, to help and to heal and to forgive, that so the
old love may live again. Farewell ! "

But Paris kissed his wife, and hastened, light of
heart, to Troy. How could it be otherwise but that,
in the games which followed, the handsome young
shepherd should carry off all the prizes. i

" Who are you f " asked the king.

"My name is Paris," answered the shepherd,
" and I feed the flocks and herds on wooded Ida."

Then Hector, full of wrath, because of his own
failure to win a prize, came forward to dispute with
Paris.

" Stand there, Hector," cried old Priam, " stand

The Fiftieth Bikthday of Agassiz.

close to the young shepherd, and let us look at you.'
Then, tummg to the queen, he asked, " Did you
ever see two so nearly alike t The shepherd is f airei'
and of slighter build, it is true ; but they have the
same eye, the same frown, the same smile, the same
motion of the shoulders, the same walk. Ah, what
if the young babe did not die after all ? "

Then Priam's daughter, Cassandra, who had the
gift of prophecy, cried out, " Oh blind of eye and
heart, that you cannot see in this young shepherd
the child whom you sent to sleep the sleep of death
on Ida's wooded slopes."

And so it came about that Paris was taken into
his father's house, and given the place of honor,
which was his by right. And he forgot QCnone, his
fair young wife, and left her to pine in loneliness
among the woods, and in the naiTOW dells of sunny
Ida.

lU'^

THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSIZ.

It was fifty years ago,

111 the pleasant month of Ma}',
In the lieautiful Pays de Vaud,

A child in its cradle lay.

And Nature, the old nurse, took

The child upon her knee,
Saying, " Here is a story-book

Thy Father has written for thee."

e;i

3()

FoUKTH KeADEK.

"Come, wander with me," sho said,

" Into regions yet untrod ;
And read what is still unread

In the manuscripts of God."

And he wandered away and away
With Nature, the dear okl nurse,

Will) sang to him night and day
The rhymes of the universe.

And whenever the way seemed long,

Or his heart began to fail,
She would sing a more wonderful song

Or tell a more marvelous tale.

So she keeps him still a child.

And will not let him go,
Though at times his heart beats wild

For the beautiful Pays de Vaud ;

Though at times he hears in his dreams
The Ranz des Vaches of old,

And the rush of mountain streams
From glaciers clear and cold ;

And the mother at home says, " Hark !

For his voice I listen an(i yearn ;
It is growing late and dark,

And my boy does not return."

Ijiuut'i'llini',

The purest treasure mortal times afford

Is spotless reputation ; that away,

Men are but gilded loam, or painted clay.

—Sliitketipeuri!,

d .

scsts

mmimiimmm

Chahles and Olivek.

CHARLES AND OLIVER.

Not long after King- James I. took the place of
Queen Elizabeth on the throne of England, there
lived an English knight at a place called Hinchin-
brook. His name was Sir Olivier Cromwell. He
spent his life, I suppose, pretty much like othei-
English knights and squires in those days, hunting
hares and foxes, and drinking largo quantities of
ale and wine. The old house in which he dwelt
liad been occupied by his ancestors before him for
a good many years. In it there was a great hall
hung round with coats of arms and helmets, cuir-
asses and swords, which his forefathers had used in
battle, and with horns of deer and tails of foxes,
which they, or Sir Oliver himself, had killed in the
chase.

This Sir Oliver Cromwell had a nephew who had
])een called Oliver, after himself, but who was gen-
(n*ally known in the family by the name of little
Noll. His father was a younger brother of Sir Oliver.
The child was often sent to visit his uncle, who
probably found him. a troublesome little fellow to
take care of. He was forever in mischief, and
always running into some danger or other, from
which he seemed to escape only by a miracle.

One morning, when Noll was five or six years
old, a royal messenger arrived at Hinchinbrook

Fouirm Keadeh.

i I

with tidings that King' James was coming to ilhw
with Sir Ohver Cromwell. This was a high honor,
to be sm*e, but a very great trouble; for all the lords
and ladies, knights, squires, guards and yeomen,
who waited on the king, were to be feasted as well
as himself; and more provisions would be eaten,
and more wine drunk in that one day, than gener-
ally in a month. However, Sir Oliver expressed
much thankfulness for the king's intended visit,
and ordered his butler and cook to make the best
preparations in their power. So a gi-eat fire was
kindled in the kitchen; and the neighbors knew,
by the smoke which poured out of the chimney, that
boiling, baking, stewing, roasting, and fiying, were
going on merrily.

Bv-and-})ve the sound of trumpets was heard
approaching nearer and nearer ; a heavy, old-fash-
ioned coach, sun-ounded by guards on horseback,
drove up to the house. Sir Oliver, with his hat in
his hand, stood at the gate to receive the king. His
majesty was dressed in a suit of green, not very
new ; he had a feather in his hat and a triple ruff
round his neck, and over his shoulder was slung a
hunting-horn instead of a sword. Altogether he
had not the most dignified aspect in the world; but
the spectators gazed at him as if there were some-
thing superhuman and divine in his person. They
even shaded their eyes with their hands, as if they
were dazzled by the glory of his countenance.

" How are ye, man?" cried King James, speaking
in a Scotch accent, for Scotland was his native

('HAKLES AND OlIYRH.

country. " By iiiy crown, Sir Olivor, but I am glad
to seo y(^ ! "

Tlie good kniglit thanked tlu^ king, iit the samo
time kneehng down wliile his Majesty alighted.
When King James stood on the ground, he directed
Sir OHver's attention to a little boy who had come
with him in the coach. He was six or seven years
old, and wore a hat and feather, and was more
richly dressed than the king himself. Though by
no means an ill-looking child, he seemed shy or even
sulky, and his cheeks were rather pale, as if he had
})een kept moping within doors, instead of being
sent out to play in the sun and wind.

" I have brought my son Charlie to see ye," said
the king ; " I hope. Sir Oliver, ye have a son of your
own to be his playmate." Sir Oliver Cromwell made
a reverential bow to the little prince, whom one of
the attendants had now taken out of the coach. It
was wonderful to see how all the spectators, even
the aged men with their gray beards, humbled them-
selves before this child. They bent their bodies till
their beards almost swept the dust. They looked
as if they wei'e ready to kneel down and worship
him.

" AVhat a noble little i)rince he is ! " excdaimed
Sir Oliver, lifting his hands in admiration. "No,
please yom* Majesty, I have no son to be the play-
mate of his Royal Highness ; but there is a nephew
of mine somewhere about the house. He is near
the prince's age, and "will be but too happy to wait
upon his Royal Highness."

• >» ■

I :'•■

FoTTK'rit ]Ieadek.

ii II!

;)• I

" Send for him, man ! send for liini ! " said the
king. But, as it happened, thei'e was no need of
sending for Master Noll. While King James was
speaking, a nigged, bold-faced, sturdy little urchin
thiTist himself through the throng of courtiers and
attendants, and greeted the prince with a broad
stare. His doublet and hose, which had been put
on new and clean in honor of the king's visit, were
already soiled and torn with the rough play in which
he had spent the morning. He looked no more
abashed than if King James were his uncle, and the
prince one of his customary i)laymates. This was
little Noll himself.

" Here, please your Majesty, is my nephew," said
Sir Oliver, somewhat ashamed of Noll's appearance
and demeanor. "Oliver, make your obeisance to the
king's majesty." The boy made a pretty respectful
obeisance to the king; for in those days childi*eii
were taught to pay reverence to their elders. King
James, who prided himself gi^eatly on his scholar-
ship, asked Noll a few questions in the Latin gram-
mar, and then introduced him to his son. The little
prince, in a very grave and dignified manner, ex-
tended his hand, not for Noll to shake, but that he
might kneel down and kiss it."

"Nejjhew," said Sir Oliver, "pay your duty to
the prince." "I owe him no duty," cried Noll,
thrusting aside the prince's hand with a rude laugh.
" Why should I kiss that boy's hand ? " All the
couriiers were amazed and confounded, and Sir
Oliver the most of all. But the kins: laugfhed

Ohahles and Olivek.

hourtily, saying tl^»)t little Noll had a stubborn Eng-
lish spirit, and aiat it was well for his son to learn
betimes what sort of people he was to inile over.

So King James and his train entered the house ;
and the prince, with Noll and some other childi'en,
were sent to play in a separate room while his Ma-
jesty was at dinner. The young people soon became
acquainted ; for boys, whether the sons of monarchs
or of peasants, all like play, and are pleased with
one another's society. What games they divei'ted
themselves with I cannot lell. Perhaps they played
at ball, perhaps at blind-man's-buff, perhaps at leap-
frog, perhaps at prison-bars. Such games have been
in use for hundreds of years ; and princes as well as
poor children have spent some of their happiest
hours in playing at them.

Meanwhile King James and his nobles were feast-
ing with Sir Oliver in the great hall. The king sat
in a gilded chair, under a canopy, at the head of a
long table. All of a sudden there was a terrible
uproar in the room where the children were a c play.
Angiy shouts and shrill cries of alarm were mixed
up together ; while the voices of elder persons were
likewise heard, trying to restore order among the
children. The king and everybody else at the table
looked aghast ; for perhaps the tumult made them
think that a general rebellion had brok(^n out.
"Mercy on us! " uttered Sir Oliver, "that graceless
nephew of mine is in some mischief or other. The
naughty little whelp ! " Getting up from the table,
lie ran to see what was +lie nuitter, followed by

Fourth Readek.

'1' '

many of the guests, and tlie king among them.
They all crowded to the door of the play-room.

On lookhig in they beh(»ld the little Piince Charles
with his rich dress all toni, and covered with the
dust of the floor. His royal blood was streaming
I'rom his nose in gi*eat abundance. He gazed at Noll
with a mixture of rage and affiight, and at the same
time a puzzled expression, as if he could not under-
stand how any mortal boy should dare to give him
a beating. As for Noll, there stood his sturdy little
figure, bold as a lion, looking as if he were ready to
fight, not only the prince, but the king t)Tid king-
dom too.

"You little villain! " cried his uncle, "what have
you been about ! Down on yom* knees this instant,
and ask the prince's pardon! How dare you lay
your hand on the king's majesty's royal son ? " "He
struck me first," grumbled the valiant little Noll;
" and I have only given him his due."

Sir Oliver and the guests lifted up their hands in
astonishment and hoiTor. No punishment seemed
severe enough for this wicked little varlet, who had
dared to resent a blow from the king's own son.
Some of the courtiers were of opinion that Noll
should be sent prisoner to the Towner of London, and
brought to trial for high treason. Others, in their
great zeal for the king's service, were about to lay
hands on the boy and chastise him in the royal
presence.

But King James, who sometimes showed a good
deal of sagacity, ordered tlu^m to desist. "Thou

( 'HAKLEH AND OLIVER.

ai't a bold boy," said lie, looking fixedly at Noll;
"and if thou live to be a man, my son Charlie
would do well to be friends with thee." "I never
will ! " cried the little frince, stamping his foot.

" Peace, Charlie, peace ! " said the king ; then
addressing Sir Oliver and the attendants: "Harm
not the urchin; for he. has taught my son a good
lesson, if Heaven do but give him gi*ace to profit by
it. Hereafter, should he be tempted to tyi-annize
over the stubborn race of Englishmen, let him
remember little Noll Cromwell and his own bloody
nose." So the king finished his dinner and departed;
and for many a long year the childish quarrel
between Prince Charles and Noll Cromwell was
forgotten. The prince, indeed, might have lived ,a
happier life, and have met a more peaceful death,
had he remembered that quarrel and the moral
which his father drew from it. But when old King
James was dead, and Charles sat upon his throne,
he seemed to forget that he was but a man and that
his meanest subjects were men as well as he. He
wished to have the property and lives of the people of
England entirely at his own disposal. But the Puri-
tans, and all who loved liberty, rose against him and
beat him in many battles, and pulled him down
from his throne.

Throughout this war between the king and nobles
on one side, and the people of England on the other,
there was a famous leader, who did more toward the
ruin of royal authority than all the rest. The con-
test se.emed like a wrestling - match between King

FoiUTii Kkadeu.

(^Imi'las and this sti-onj^ iimii. And tho kitijj: was
ovcrthi'own.

When tlit^ (liscrowiuMl iiMHiarch was l)j()Ught to
trial, that warlike Ituulcr sat in the judgment hull.
Many judges were jnvsent besides hhns(4t*; but he
alone had the power to save King Charles or to
<loom him to the scaffold. After sentence was pro-
nounced, this victorious genei-al ^vas entreated by
his own children, on their knees, to rescue his
Majesty from death. "No ! " said he, sternly ; "bet-
ter that one man should perish than that the whole
country should be ruined for his sake. It is resolved
that he shall die ! "

Wlien Charles, no longer a king, was led to the
scaffold, his great enemy stood at a window of the
royal palace of Whitehall. He beheld the poor vic-
tim of pride, and an evil educution, and misused
power, as he laid his head upon the block. He
looked on with a steadfast gaze, w^liile a black-veiled
executioner lifted the fatal axe and smote off that
anointed head at a single blow. " It is a righteous
deed," perhaps he said to himself. " Now English-
men may enjoy their rights."

At night, when the body of Charles was laid in
the coffin, in a gloomy chamber, the general entered,
lighting himself with a torch. Its gleam showed
that he was now gi'owing old ; his visage was scarred
with the manv battles in which he had led the van ;
his brow was wrinkled with care, and with the con-
tinual exercise of stern authority. Probably there
was not a single trait, either of aspect or manner,

ClIAHLKS AND OmVKH.

4.1

tliiit )H'l()ii>(tMl to tin* littlo Xoll who luul l)jittl('<l so
stoutly witli Prince ()li}ii'l(\s. Yet this whs he!

He Ht'ttnl tlie coflHu-lid, and ciiused tlie U^ht of
liis torch to fall uihui the dead iiioiiar<'h's face.
Then, i)rol)ably, his niindwent hack overall themai'-
vellous events that had l)i'ou^ht th«^ h(M*(Mlitary Kinj;-
of England to tliis dishonored (M)fiin, and had raised
himself, an huniljle individual, to the possession of
kingly power. He was a king, though without the
empty title or the glittering crown.

"Wliy was itf" said Cromwell to himself, oi*
might have said, as he gazed at the pale features in
the coffin — " why was it that this great king fell,
and that poor Noll Cromwell has gained all the
power of the realm f " And, indeed, why was it ?

King Charles had fallen, because, in his manhood,
the same as when a child, he disdained to feel that
every human creature was his brother. He deemed
himself a superior being, and fancied that his sub-
jects were created only for a king to rule over. And
Cromwell rose, because, in spite of his many faults,
he mainly fought for the rights and freedom of his
fellow-men ; and therefore the poor and the oppresse( I
all lent their strength to him.

— Ilan'thofne.

Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I see ;
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.

—Pope.

Fourth Beadeb.

I,: -•■- ■ i .,

THE MAPLE.

'. X

All hail to the broad-leaved Maple !

With its fair and changeful dress —
A type of our young country

In its pride and loveliness ;
Whether in Spring or Summer,

Or in the dreary Fall,
'Mid Nature's forest children,

She's fairest of them all.

Down sunny slopes and valleys
Her graceful form is seen.

Her wide, umbrageous branches

. The sun-burnt reaper screen ;

'Mid the dark-browed firs and cedars
Her livelier colors shine.

Like the dawn of a brighter future
On the settler's hut of pine.

She crowns the pleasant hill-top,

•Whispers on breezy downs.
And casts refreshing shadows

O'er the streets of our busy towns ;
She gladdens the aching eye-ball,

Shelters the weary head,
And scatters her crimson glories

On the graves of the silent dead.

When Winter's frosts are yielding,
To the sun's returning sway.

!r-.

i=-^

The Maple.

And merry groups are speeding
To the sugar- woods away ;

The sweet and welcome juices,
Which form their welcome spoil,

Tell of the teeming plenty,
Which here waits honest toil.

' ;•'■>■■■ ■ •''
i.

When sweet-toned spring, soft-breathing,

' Breaks Nature's icy sleep,

And the forest boughs are swaying

Like the green waves of the deep ;
In her fair and budding beauty,

A fitting emblem she
Of this our land of promise,

Of hope, of liberty.

And when her leaves all crimson.

Droop silently and fall,
Like drops of life-blood welling

From a warrior brave and tall,
They tell how fast and freely

Would her children's blood be shed,
Ere the soil of our faith and freedom

Should echo a foeman's tread.

Then hail to the broad-leaved Maple !

With her fair and changeful dress —
A type of our youthful country

In its pride and loveliness ;
Whether in Spring or Summer,

Or in the dreary Fall,
'Mid Nature's forest children,

She's the fairest of them all.

—Rev. H. F. Darnell.

w ^ m iiiww rpm wi

Fourth Readeb.

THE STAGE OOAOH.

S ;

i/l;'

When the eoach came round at last, with "Lon-
don " blazoned in letters of gold upon the boot, it
gave Tom such a turn that he was half inclined to
run away. But he didn't do it ; for he took his seat
upon the box instead, and looking down upon the
fom* grays, felt as if he were another gray himself,
or, at all events, a part of the turn-out; and was
quite confused by the novelty and splendor of his
situation.

And, really, it might have confused a less modest
man than Tom to find himself sitting next that
coachman ; for, of all the swells that ever flourished
a whip, professionally, he might have been elected
emperor. He didn't handle his gloves like another
man, but put them on — even when he was standing
on the pavement, quite detached from the coach —
as if the four grays were, somehow or other, at the
ends of his fingers. It was the same with his hat.
He did things with his hat which nothing but an
unlimited knowledge of horses, and the wildest free-
dom of the road, could ever have made him perfect
in. Valuable little parcels were brought him, with
particular instructions, and he pitched them into his
hat, and stuck it on again, as if the laws of gravity
did not admit of such an event as its being knocked
off or blown off, and nothing like an accideiit could
befall it. The guard, too ! Seventy bi'eezy miles a

The Stage Coach.

}-*j«i

(lay were written in liis veiy whiskers. His iiiaii-
iiers were a canter ; his conversation a round trot ;
he was a fast coach upon a down-hill turnpike road ;
he was all pace. A wagon couldn't have moved
slowly with that guard and his key-bugle on top
of it.

These were all foreshadowings of London, Tom
thought, as he sat upon the box, and looked about
him. Such a coachman and such a guard never
could have existed between Salisbury and any other
place. The coach w^as none of your steady-going
yoke coaches, but a swaggering, i*akish, dissipated
London coach ; up all night and lying by all day,
nd leading a terrible life. It cared no more for
Salisbury than if it had been a hamlet. It rattled
noisily through the best streets, defied the cathedral,
took the worst corners sharpest, went cutting in
everywhere, making everything get out of its way ;
and spun along the open country road, blowing a
lively defiance out of its key-bugle, as its last glad
parting legacy.

It was a charming evening, mild and bright ; and
even with the weight upon his mind, which arose out
of the immensity and uncertainty of London, Tom
could not resist the captivating sense of rapid motion
through the pleasant air. The four grays skimmed
along as if they liked it quite as well as Tom did ;
the bugle was in as. high spirits as the grays;
the coachman chimed in sometimes with his voice;
the wheels hummed cheerfully in unison ; the brass
work on the harness was an orchestra of little bells;

•'f-

. i r

Fourth Readek.

•I

: k

i ' ^^

and thus, as they went cUnkinji', jin^lin^, vattliii^
smoothly on, the whole concern, from tlw^ hu<'kleH
of the leader's ooupUng-reins to the handle of thc^
hind boot, was one great instnmient of muHic.

Yo, ho ! past hedges, gates and trees ; })aHt cot-
tages and barns, and people going home from work.
Yo, ho ! past donkey-chaises drawn aside into the
ditch, and empty carts with rampant horses, whipped
np at a bound upon the little water-course, and held
by struggling carters close to the five-bar'red gate,
until the coach had passed the nan'ow turning in
the road. Yo, ho ! by churches dropped down by
themselves in quiet nooks, with rustic buiial-groutids
about them, where the gi'aves are gi'een, and daisies
sleep — for it is evening — on the bosoms of the dead.
Yo, ho ! past streams, in which the cattle cool their
feet, and where the rushes grow; past paddock-
fences, famis, and rick yards ; past last year's stacks
cut slice by slice away, and showing, in the waning
light, like ruined gables, old and brown. Yo, ho !
down the pebbly dip, and through the meny watcM'-
splash, and up at a canter to the level road agtiin.
Yo, ho ! Yo, ho !

Yo, ho! among the gathering shades; making of
no account the deep reflections of the ti'ces, })Ut
scampering on through light and darkness, all the
same as if the light of London, fifty miles away,
were quite enough to travel by, and some to spare.
Yo, ho! beside the village gi*een, where cricket-
players linger yet, and every little indentation made
in the fresh grass by bat or wicket, ball or player's

The Stage Coach.

foot, sheds out its perfume on the night. Away!
with our four fresh horses from the "Bald-faced
Stag," where topers congi'egate about the dooi*,
admii'ing ; and the last team, with traces hanging
loose, go roaming off towards the pond, until
observed, and shouted after by a dozen throats,
while volunteeiing boys pursue them. Now, with
the clattering of hoof, and stiiking out of fiery
sparks, across the old stone bndge,^and down again
into the shadowy road, and through the open gate,
and far away, away, into the world. Yo, ho !

See the bright moon ! High up before we know
it ; making the earth reflect the objects on its breast
like water. Hedges, trees, low cottages, chm'ch-
steeples, blighted stumps, and flourishing young
slips, have all grown vain upon the sudden, and
mean to contemplate thek own image till morn-
ing. The poplars yonder, rustle, that their quivering
leaves may see themselves upon the gi-ound. Not
so the oak ; trembling does not become him ; and
he watches himself in his stout old burly steadfast-
ness, without the motion of a twig. The moss-
grown gate, iU-poised upon its creaking hinges, crip-
pled and decayed, swings to and fro before its glass,
like some fantastic dowager, while our own ghostly
likeness travels on. Yo, ho ! Yo, ho ! through ditch
and brake, upon the ploughed land and the smooth,
along the steep hill-side and steeper wall, as if it
were a phantom hunter.

Clouds too ! And a mist upon the hollow ! Not
a dull fog that hides it, but a light, airy, gauze-like

; I

FouKTH Reader.

ill

mist, wliieh in our (^yes of modest admiration, gives
a new charm to the beauties it is spread before, as
real gauze has done ere now, and would again, so
please you, though we were the Pope. Yo, ho!
Why, now we travel like the moon herself. Hiding
this minute, in a gr(^^'e of trees ; next minute, in a
patch of vapor ; emerging now upon our broad, clear
course ; withdrawing now, but always dashing on ;
our journey is a counterpart of hers. Yo, ho I A
match against the moon I Yo, ho I Yo, ho !

The beauty of the idght is hardly felt when day
comes leaping up. Yo, ho! two stages, and the
country roads are almost changed into a continuous
street. Yo, ho ! past market-gardens, rows of houses,
villas, crescents, terraces, and squares ; past wagons,
coaches, carts ; past early workmen, late stragglers,
drunken men, and sober caniers of loads; past brick
and mortar in its every shape ; and in among the rat-
tling pavements, where a jaunty seat upon a coach
is not as easy to preserve ! Yo, ho ! down countless
turnings, and through countless mazy ways, until an
old inn -yard is gained, and Tom Pinch, getting
down, quite stunned and giddy, is in London.

— Char left Dickens.

He wlu) has a thousand friends,
Has not a friend to spare ;
But he who has one enemy,
Will meet him everywliere.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson.

ill

II:

YUSSOI'F.

YUSSOUF.

5:3

A stranger came one night U) Yussouf's tent,

Saying, " Behold one outcast and in dread,

Against whose life the bow of power is bent,

Who flies, and hath not where to lay his liead ;

I come to thee for shelter and for icood.

To " ..sb. called through al' - tvil)es 'The Good."'

*' This tent is mine," said Yussouf, "but no more

Than it is God's ; come in, and be at peace ;

Freely shalt thou partake of all my store.

As I of His, who buildeth over these.

Our tents, His glorious roof of night and day.

And at whose door none ever yet heard Nay."

So Yussouf entertained his guest that night,
And, waking him ere day, said, " Here is gold ;
My swiftest horse is saddled for thy flight ;
Depart before the prying day grow bold."
As one lamp lights another, nor grows less,
So nobleness enkindleth nobleness.

That inward light the stranger's face inade grand
Which shines from all self-con<iuest. Kneeling low,
He bowed his forehead upon Yussouf's hand.
Sobbing " O Sheik, I cannot leave thee so ;
I will repay thee ; all this thou hast done
Unto that Ibrahim who slew thy son ! "

"Take thrice the gold," said Yussouf ; "for with tiiee,

Into the desert, never to return.

My one black thought shall ride away from me.

First-born, for whom, by day and night, I yearn.

Balanced and just are all of God's decrees ;

Thou art avenged, my first-born ; sleep in peace ! "

— James RitHsell Lnwcll,

'1.: ,;

FoUKTH KeADEK.

HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS
FROM GHENT TO AIX. m

I! m

T sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and }»e ;

I galloped, Dirck followed, we galloped all three ;

" Good speed ! " cried the watch as the gate bolts, undrew ;

" Speed !" echoed the walls to us galloping through. ,

Behind shut the postern, the light sank to rest,

And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

Not a word to each other ; we kept the great pace,
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place ;
I turned in my saddle, and made its girths tight,
Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,
Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit,
Nor galloped less steadily Rowland a whit.

'Twas moonset at starting ; but while we drew near

Lockern the cocks crew, and twilight dawned clear ;

At Boon, a great yellow star came out to see ;

At DufFeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be ;

And from Mechlin church-steeple we heard the half-chiiiKi ;

So Joris broke silence with "Yet there is time ! "

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

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back
For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track ;
And one eye's black intelligence — ever that glance
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance !

(K)OD News FKOM (I^hent to Aix. 55

And the thick lieavy .spume-tlakes which aye and anon
His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

IJy Hassejlt, Dirck gi'oaned ; and cried Joris, "Stay spur !
Your lloos galloped bravely ; the fault 's not in her,
We'll remember at Aix," -for one heard the (juick wheeze
( )f her chest, saw the stretclied neck, and staggering knees,
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,
As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

So we were left galloping, Joris and I,

Past Loos and past Tongres : no cloud in the sky ;

I'lie broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,

'Ne^ath our foot broke the brittle, bright stubble, like chaff' ;

Till over by Dalhim a dome-tower sprang white.

And "Gallop," cried Joris, "for Aix is in sight !

How they'll greet us ! " and all in a moment his roan
Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone ;
And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight
Of the news, which alone could save Aix from her fate ;
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,
And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

Then I (;ast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall,

Shook oft' both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,

Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear.

Called my Roland his pet name, my horse w ithout j)eer ;

Clai)ped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, l)ad or good,

Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood I

And all I remember is friends flocking round

As I sat with his head 'twixt my kn«>es on the ground ;

And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine.

As I poured down his throat our last measure of wiiH^,

Which (the burgesses voted by connuon consent)

Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.

^-Itnherf, Brownitii/,

FuuiiTii Keadeh.

TUBAL CAIN.

old Tubal Cain >vaH a man of nii«i;lit,

Tn the days when earth was youiijLC ;
]^y the fierce red H«^ht of liis furnace brit^ht,

The strokes of his hammer luiijir ;
And he lifted higli his l)rawny hand

On the iron glowing clear,
Till the sparks ruished out in scarlet showers,

As lie fashioned the sword and spear.
And he sang — " Hurra for my handywork !

Hurra for the spear and sword !
Hurra for the hand that shall wield them well,

For he shall he kiuij: and lord !"

To Tubal Cain came many a one,

As he wrought ])y his roaring lire ;
And each one prayed for a strong steel blade

As the crown of his desire ;
.Vnd he made them weapons sharp and strong.

Till they shouted loud for glee ;
And gave him gifts of pearl and gold,

And spoils of the forest free.
And they sang — "Hurra for Tubal Cain,

Who hath given us strength anew !
Hurra for the smith, hurra for the fire,

And hurra for the metal true !"

But a sudden change came over his heart

Ere the setting of the sun j
And Tubal Cain was filled with })ain,

For the evil ho had done ;

fnUL (UlN.

Jle wiw that ipen, witli ragc5 and hate,

Made war np(in their kiiul ;
That the land was red with the bliKxl tht^y shed,

In their lust for carnage blind.
And he said -"Alas ! that ever I made,

Or that skill of mine should plan,
Tiie spear and the sword, for men whoM«» joy

Is to slay their fellow-man."

And for many a day old Tubal Cain

Sat brooding o'er his woe ;
And his hand forbore to strike the ore,

And his furnace smouldered low.
Ijut he rose at last with a cheerful face.

And J. bright courageous eye.
And bared his strong right arm for work,

While the quick flames mounted high.
And he sang — " Hurra for my handicraft !"

And the red sparks lit the air.
Not alone for the blade was the bright steel nuwle ;

And he fashioned the first ploughshare.

And men, taught wisdom from the past.

In friendship joined their hands ;
Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall,

And ploughed the willing lands.
And sang — " Hurra for Tubal Cain !

Our good staunch friend is he ;
And for the ploughshare and the plough.

To him our praise shall be ;
But while oppression lifts his head,

Or a tyrant would be lord,
Tiiough we may thank him for the i)lough,

We'll not foriret the sword I"

—Charles Mackay.

'it.

FuuuTii Readeii.

THE FORGING OF BALMUNG.

i'h

ii::<-

Ir,

While Sio^ricd was still a lad, his father, the
King, sent him to learn the nobler art of the smith,
the most worthy of all trades. TIk^ smith Mimer was
his master, a wise and cunning num. He was kin to
the dwarf folk who had ruled the earth in the early
days, and who were learned in every lore and skilled
in every craft. He had drunk from the flowing
spring, the waters of which imparttnl wisdom and
far-seeing knowledge to all who drank of th(»m.

Under such a tea(;her he soon became a wonder-
ful smith. No one could do more woi*k than he,
and none wi'ought with greater skill. The heaviest
chains and the strongest bolts, for prison or for
treasure-house, were but as toys in his stout hands,
so easily and quickly did he beat them into shape.
And he was alike cunning in work of the most deli-
cate and brittle kind. Ornaments of gold and silver,
studded with the rarest jewels, were fashioned into
beautiful foi-ms by his deft fingers. And among all
of Mimer's apprenti(.*es, none learned the master's
lore so readily, nor gained the master's favor more.

One morning the master, Mimer, came to the
smithy with a troubled look upon his face. It was
clear that something had gone amiss, and what it
was, the apprentices soon l(\-xrned from the snuth

J'/ '

VhK FoUGlNO OF BALMUNir.

r»i)

liiinscir. N(^v(M', until lately, \uu\ nny oiio (jiU'stioiKMl
Mimor'H riglit to \h) cuIliHl tlio t'oicmost smith in iill
tlie world; but now a rival luid conio forward. An
unknown upstai't — one Aniilias, in Burjjjundy-land
— had made a Huit of annor wliich, he boasttMl, no
stroke of sword could dint, and no blow of spear
could scratch ; and he had sent a (;hallenge to all
other smiths, both in the Khine country and else-
where, to ecpial that piece of wv^rkmansh^p, or else
ac^knowledge themselves his underUngs pihI vassals.
For many days had Mimer himself toile 1, alor and
vandy, trying to foi'ge a sword whose ed«,i: tlu^
boasted armor of Amilias could not foU ; and now.
in despair, he came to ask the help of his jmpils and
apprentices.

"Who among you is skilful enough to forge such
a sword ? " he asked.

One after another, the i)upils shook their heads.
And Veliant, the foreman of the apprentices, said:
" I have heard much about that wonderful armor,
and its extreme hardness, and I doubt if any skill
can make a sword with edge r. .^harp and true as to
cut into it. The best that can be done is to try to
make another war-coat whose temper shall equal
that of Amilias' armor."

Then the lad Siegfried quickly saici : " I will make
such a sword as you want — a blade that no war-coat
can foil. Give me but leave to try."

The other pupils laughed in scorn, but MimiM*
checked them. *' You hi^ar how this boy can talk :
wo will see what he can do. He is the King's son,

1 1

tii

■ V

FOTTETH ReADEE.

and we know that he has uncommon talent. He
shall make the swoi'd ; but if, upon trial, it fail, I
will make him rue the day." *

^ Then Siegfried went to his task. And for seven
days and seven nights the sparks never stopped fly-
ing from his forge; and the ringing of his anvil, and
the hissing of the hot metal as he tempered it, were
heard continuously. On the eighth day the sword
was fashioned, and Siegfried brought it to Mimer.

The smith felt the razor-edge of the bright wea-
pon, and said: "This seems, indeed, a fair fire-edge.
Let us make a trial of its keenness."

Then a thread of wool, as light as thistle-down,
was thrown upon the water, and, as it floated
there, Mimer struck it with the sword. The glitter-
ing blade cleft the slender thread in twain, and the
pieces floated undisturbed upon the surface of the
liquid.

"Well done!" cried the delighted smith. "Never
have I seen a keener edge. If its temper is as true
as its shaipness would lead us to believe, it will
indeed serve me well."

But Siegfried took the sword again and broke it
into many pieces ; and for three days he welded it
in a white-hot fire, and tempered it with milk and
oatmeal. Then in sight of Mimer and the sneering
apprentices, he cast a light ball of fine-spun wool
upon the fiowing waters of the brook ; and it was
caught in the swift eddies of the stream, and whMed
about until it met the bared blade of the sword,
which was held in Mimer's hands. And it was parted

The Fokging of Balmung.

as easily and clean as the rippling water, and not
the smallest thread was moved out of its place.

Then back to the smithy Siegfried went again ;
and his forge glowed with a brighter fire, and his
hammer rang upon the anvil with a cheerier sound,
than ever before. But he suffered none to come
near, and no one ever knew what witchery he used.
But some of his fellow-pupils af tei-wards told how,
in the dusky twilight, they had seen a one-eyed man,
long-bearded, and clad in a cloud-gi'ay kirtle, and
wearing a sky-blue hood, talking with Siegfried at
the smithy door. And they said that the stranger^s
face was at once pleasant and fearful to look upon,
and that his one eye shone in the gloaming like the
evening star, and that, when he had placed in Sieg-
fried's hands bright shards, like pieces of a broken
sword, he faded suddenly from their sight, and was
seen no more.

For seven weeks the lad wi'ought day and night
at his forge, and then, pale and haggard, but with
a pleased smile upon his face, he stood before M naer
with the gleaming sword in his hands. " It is fin-
ished," he said. "Behold the glittering terror! —
the blade Balmung. Let us try its edge, and prove
its temper once again, that so we may know whether
you can place your trust in it."

And Mimer looked long at the ruddy hilt of the
weapon, and at the mystic runes that were scored
upon its sides, and at the keen edge, which gleamed
like a ray of sunlight in the gathering gloom of the
evening. But no word came from his lips, and his

i ■ ;-

■t :

FouKTH Reader.

eyes were dim and dazed ; and he seemed as one
lost in thoughts of days long past and gone. x

Siegfried raised the blade high over his head;
and the gleaming edge flashed hither and thither,
like the lightning's play when Thor lides over the
storm-clouds. Then, suddenly, it fell upon the
master's anvil, and the great block of iron was cleft
in two ; but the bright blade was no whit dulled by
the stroke, and the Hne of light which marked the
edge was brighter than before.

Then to the flowing brook they went; and a
great pack of wool, the fleeces of ten sheep, was
brought, and thrown upon the swirling water. As
the stream bore the bundle downwards, Mimer held
the sword in its way. And the whole was divided as
easily and as clean as the woollen ball or the slender
woollen thread had been cleft before.

"Now, indeed," cried Mimer, "I no longer fear to
meet that upstart, Amilias. If his war-coat can
withstand the stroke of such a sword as Balmung,
then I shall not be ashamed to be his underling.
But, if this good blade is what it seems to be, it will
not fail me; and I, Mimer the Old, shall still be
called th wisest and gi'eatest of smiths."

And he sent word at once to Amilias, in Bur-
gundy-land, to meet him on a day, and settle for-
ever the question as to which of the two should be
the master, and which the underling; And heralds
proclaimed it in every town and dwelling.

When everything was in readiness for the contest,
Amilias, clad in his boasted war-coat, went up to

The Fokging of Balmung.

the top of the hill and sat upon a great rock, and
waited for Mimer's coming. As lie sat there, he
looked, to the people below, like some gi'eat castle-
tower; for he was almost a giant in size, and his
coat of mail, so skilfully wi'ought, was so huge that
twenty men of common mould might have found
shelter, or hidden themselves, within it. As the
smith Mimer, so dwarfish in stature, toiled up the
steep hill-side, Amilias smiled to see him ; for he
felt no fear of the slender, gleaming blade that was
to try the metal of his war-coat. And already a
shout of expectant triumph went up from the throats
of the Boi'gmidian hosts, so sure were they of their
champion's success.

When Mimer reached the top of the hill Amilias
folded his huge arms, and smiled again ; for he felt
that this contest was mere play for him, and that
Mimer was already as good as beaten, and his thrall.
The smith paused a moment to take breath, and as
he stood by the side of his foe he looked to those
])elow like a mere black speck close beside a steel-
gray castle-tower.

"Are you ready V' askei^l th^ smith.

"Ready," answered Amilias. " Strike ! "

Mimer raised the gleaming blade in the air, and
for a moment the lightning seemed to play around
his head. The muscles on his short, l»rawiiy aims,
stood out like great ropes ; and then Balmung, des-
cending, cleft the air from right to left. The wait-
ing lookers-on in the plain below thought to hear
the noise of clashing steel ; but they listened in vain.

§'^:

! I

I :t

i,.;

Fourth Reader.

for no sound came to their ears, save a shaip Iuhh,
like that which red-hot iron gives when plunged into
a tank of cold water. The huge Amilias sat un-
moved, with his arms still folded upon his l)reaHt ;
/ but the smile had faded from his face. > *

"How do you feel now ?" asked Mimer, in a lialf
mocking tone. ^ " ^ s.

' "Ratl»r strangely, as if cold iron had toUC/hed
me,'* faintly answered the upstart.

" Shake thyself," cried Mimer.

Amilias did so, and lo, he fell in two halv(5s ; for
the sword had cut sheer through the vaunted war-
coat, and cleft in twain the great body incased
witliin. Down tumbled the giant head and the still-
folded aims, and they rolled with thundering nom)
to the foot of the hill, and fell with a feaiful splash
into the deep waters of the river, and there, fathoms
down, they may now be seen, when the water is
clear, lying like gi'eat gray rocks among the sand and
gi'avel below. The rest of the body, with the 'amior
which incased it, still sat upright in its place ; and
to this day travellers sailing down the river ar(»
shown, on moonlit evenings, the luckless armor of
Amihas on the high hill- top. In the dim, uncei'tain
light, one easily fancies it to be the ivy -covered
ruins of some old castle of feudal times.

the world goes up and the world goes d()wii,

And the sunshine follows the rain ;

And y« sterday's sneer and yesterday's frown

Can never corae over again.

— OhaHea Kingalo/f,

.. /

The Village Blacksmith.

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.

Under a spreading chestnut tree

Tlie village smithy stands ;
The smith, a mighty man is he,

With large and sinewy hands ;
And the muscles of his brawny arms

Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp and black and long ;

His face is like the tan ;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,

He earns whate'er he can.
And looks the whole world in the face.

For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night.
You can hear his bellows blow ;

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge.
With measured beat and slow.

Like a sexton ringing the village bell.
When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school

Look in at the open door ;
They love to see the flaming forge.

And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that ny

Like chaff from a threshing floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church.

And sits among his boys ',
He hears the parson pray and preach ;

He hoars his daughter's voice

:'A

FouKTH Reader.

:,;

Hinging in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.

Tt sounds to him like her mother's voice

Singing in Paradise !
He needs must think of her once moiv!,

How in the grave she lies ;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes

A tear out of his eyev.

Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing,
Onward, through life he goes ;

Each morning sees some task l)egin,
Each evening sees it close ;

Something attempted, something done,
Has ear-ned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught !

Thus, at the flaming forge of life.
Our fortunes must be wrought ;

Thus, on its sounding anvil, shaped
Each burning deed and thouglit i

-LitnyfcUow.

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost !
Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest !
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm !
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds !
Ye signs and wonders of tlie elements,
Utter forth God, and fdl the hills with praise !

—Coleridge.

The Fokoing of the Anchor.

(>7

. ?'■

THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR.

Come, see the J>olf)hin\'< anchor forged ; 'tis at a wliite lieat

now ;

The Iwllows ceased, the flames decreased ; though on tlie forge's

i)row
Tlie little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound ;
And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round,
All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare :
Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass

there.
The windlass strains the tackle chains, the black mound heaves

below.
And red and deep, a hundred veins burst out at every throe ;
It rises, I'oars, rends all outright — O Yulcan, what a glow ! -
'Tis blinding w^hite, 'tis blasting bright — the high sun shines

not so ! '

The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery, fearful show,
The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy lurid row
Of smiths that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe.
As quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster,

slow
Sinks on the anvil — all alx)ut the faces fiery grow.
"Hurrali ! " they shout, "leap out — leap out," bang, bang the

sledges go ;
Hurrah ! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low ;
A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squashing blow,
The leathern mail rebounds the hail, the rattling cinders strow
The ground around ; at every bound the sweltering fountains

flow ;
And thick and loud the swinking crowd, at every stroke, pant

"Ho!"

Fourth Readeii.

Tx3ap out, leap out, my masters ; leap out and lay on load !

Ijet 'h forge a goodly anchor — a bower thick and broad ;

For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode,

And I see the good ship riding, all in a perilous road ;

The low reef roaring on her lee — the roll of ocean pour'd

From stem to stern, sea after sea — the mainmast bj the board ;

The bulv^arks down, the rudder gone, the boats st;ove at the
chains !

But courage still, brave mariners, the bower yet remains,

And not an inch to flinch he deigns, save when ye pitch sky
high.

Then moves his head, as though he said, " Fear nothing, here
ami!"

Swing in your stroke in order, let foot and hand keep Ume !

Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple's chime.

But while ye swing your sledges, sing ; and let the burden be,

*' The anchor is the anvil king, and royal craftsmen we."

Strike in, strike in, the sparks begin to dull their rustling red.

Our hanmiers ring with sharper din, our work will soon be sped.

Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich array.

For a hammock at the roaring bowj» -^r an oozy couch of clay;

Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen here,

For the "Yeo-heave-o," and the "Heave-away," and the sigh-
ing seaman's cheer ;

When weighing slow, at eve they go, far, far fi'om love and
home.

And sobbing sweethearts in a row, wail o'er the ocean foam.

In livid and obdurate gloom, he darkens down at last ;
A shapely one he is, and strong, as e'er from cat was cast.
O trusted and trustworthy guard, if thou hadst life like me.
What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep green
sea! "■ ' ^ . ■ ■ ' ' " y

O deep-sea diver, who might then behold such sights as thou ?

1. )

The Fohging of the ANcinoir.

The lioary inoiister'H palace.s ! "luethiiikH what joy 'twere now
To go plump plunging clown amid the aHsembly of the whales,
And feel the churn'd sea round me l)oil beneath their scourg-
ing tails !
Then deep in tangle-woods to fight the fierce sea-unicorn,
And send him foil'd and bellowing back, for all his ivory horn ;
To leave the subtle sworder-fish, of bony blade forlorn j
And for the ghastly grinning shark, to laugh his jaws to scorn ;
To leap down on the kraken's back, where, 'mid Norwegian

Isles,
He lies, a lubber anchorage for sudden shallow'd miles ;
Till snorting, like an under-sea volcano, off he rolls,
Meanwhile to swing, a-buffeting the far-astonish'd shoals
Of his back-browsing ocean-calves ; or haply in a cove.
And shell-strewn, and consecrate of old to some Undine's love,
To find the long-hair'd mermaidens ; or, hard by icy lands,
To wrestle with the sea-serpent, upon cerulean sands.

O broad-arm'd fisher of the deep, whose sports can equal thine?
The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons, that tugs thy cable line ;
And night by liight, 'tis thy delight, thv glory day by day.
Through sable sea and breaker white, the giant game to play
But, shamer of our little sports ! forgive the name I gave.
A fisher's joy is to destroy — thine office is to save.

O lodger in the sea-king's halls, could'st thou but understand
Whose be the white bones by thy side, or who that dripping

band,
Slow swaying in the heaving wave that round about thee bend.
With sounds like breakers in a dream, blessing their ancient

friend —
Oh, could'st thou know v^liat heroes glide with larger steps

round thee,
Thine iron side would swell with pride, thou 'dst leap within

the sea !

'Mr

JA)TTUTH UraDRU.

(Jivo lioiior t(; tlicii' iiK'nunicM who left tlu^ plcasiint .sti'»iini,

To nhv(\ tlK'ir bl<M)(l so fiot'ly for the lovo of fatherhind

Who left tluiir chance of ijuiet age and grassy churcliyard

gr'a\ e

Ho freely, for a restless bed uinid the tossing wave — ■

, Oh, though our anchor may not Ix"* all I have fondly sung,

Honor liini for their nieuH>ry whose bones he g<H's among !

— Sitmuel FerguHnv.

JACQUES OARTIER.

In the seaport of St. Mah) 'twas a smiling morn in May,
When the ComnuHlore Jacques Cartier to the westward sail'd

away ; ^ ,

In tlie crowded old cathedral all the town were on their knees
For the safe return of kinsmen from the undiscover'd seas ;
And every autumn blast that swept o'<'r })innacle and i)ier,
Fill'd manly hearts with sorrow, and gentle liearts with fear.

A year passtMl o'er St. Malo — -again came round the day
When the Commodore Jacijues Cartier to the westwar'd sail'd

away ;
But no tidings from the absent had come the way they went,
And tearful were the vigils that many a maiden spent ;
And manly hearts were filled with gloom, and gentler hearts

with fear.
When no tidings came from Cartier at the closing of the

year.

But the Earth is as the Future, it hath its hidden side ;
And the Captain of St. Malo was rejoicing in his pride
In the forests of the north — while his townsmen moui'n'd his
loss,
^ He was rearing on Mount Royal the JJcnr-ilc-liH and cross ;

JvciirKH Oautikk. 71

Ami wln'ri two months were ov(?r and »mM(m1 io (ho yoar,
St. Malo hailM him honu; a^^aiii, chcjT answorinj^ to (rh<'<M*,

Ho told them of a region, hard, iron-lMiuml, and cold.
Nor HeaH of pearl abounded, nor mines of shining gold ;
Where the wind from Thule freezes the word Ujum the lip,
And the ice in spring comes sailin!/ athwart the early ship,
He told them of the frozen siiene until they thrillM with fear,
And piled fresh fuel on the hearth to make him l)etter cheer.

But when he changed the strain — he told how soon it cast
In early spring the fetters that hold the waters fast ;
How the winter causeway broken, is drifted out to sea.
And the rills and rivers sing with pride the anthem of the free;
How the magic wand of sunnner clad the landscape to his eyes,
Like the dry bones of the just, when they wake in Paradise.

He told them of the Algoncjuin braves -the hunters of the

wild.
Of how the Indian mother in the forest rocks her child ;
Of how, poor souls, they fancy in every living thing
A spirit good or evil, that claims their worshipping ;
Of how they brought their sick and maim'd for him to breathe

upon.
And of the wonders wrought for them through the Oospel of

St. John.

He told them of the rivoi* whose miglity current gave

Its freshness for a hundred leagu(^s to Oce.an's bi'iny wave ;

Ho told them of tlie glorious scene presented to his sight,

What time he reai-'d the ci'oss and crown on Hochelaga's

height.

And of the fortress cliff that keeps of Canada the key,

And tl>ey welcomed back Jaccpies Cartier from his perils o'ei*

the sea.

— Thnvias IVArcy McGee.

liij..., ,

lilt.

ForilTII T?EA1)FJI.

THE SLAYING OF FAFNIR THE DRAGON.

THere was a desert laud bt^yoixl the forest and tlie
baiTen mountain range, and there lived Fafnir the
Dragon, wallowing among his treasm*es on the Glit-
tering Heath. Early one morning Siegfried set forih
riding upon Greyf ell, to slay the Dragon and remove
the cm'se. He rode off through the thick gi-een-
wood towards the hills. On the eighth day, in the
evening, he came to a dark wall of mountains
stretching far on to either hand, and towering high
above him. Far into the night Siegfried and Grey-
fell toiled up the steep ascent, picking their way
among crags and cliffs, sometimes leaping from rock
to rock, or over some det^p gorge, sometimes follow-
ing a dangei"6us path along the edge of a pre('ipi(^e.

The sun at last went down, and one by one the
stars came out; and the moon was rising, round
and red, when Siegfried stood and gazed from the
mountain-top down upon the Glittering Heath
which lay beyond. And a strange weird scene it
was that met his sight. At the foot of the moun-
tain was a river, white and cold and still ; and be-
yond it was a smooth and bairen plain, lying silent
and lonely in the p^ile moonlight. But in the dis-
tance was seen a circle of flickering flames, ever
changing — now growing brighter, now fading away,
and now shining with a dull, cold light, like the
glimmer of the glow-worm or the fox-fire. And as
Siegfried gazed upon the scene, he saw the dim outline

!ver

ThK Sr.AYIN(t OF FaFNIK THK I)1{A(K)N.

7;{

of solium lii<l(»ous iiioiisttM* moving liitlitTHiul thitluM*,
and seeming all the more terril)le iii the uncertain
light. It was Fafnir, weaiiiig the Ilehnet of Terror.

"Before the setting of another sun," said 8ieg-
fiied, " Fafnir shall feel the edge of Bahnung."

Then he dashed down the eastern slope of the
mountain, leaving Grey fell behind him. Soon he
stood on th(i bank of the white riv^er, which lay
between the mountain and the lu^ath; but tlu^
stream was deep and sluggish, and the channel was
veiy wide. He paused a moment, wondtM'ing how
he should cross; and the air seemed heavy with
deadly vajjors, and the water was thick and cold.
While he thus stood iii thought, a boat camt) silently
out of the mists, and drew near ; and the boatman
stood up aud called to him and said : —

"What man are you who dares ('onu^ into this
land of loneliness and fear ? "

, "I am Siegfried," answered th(^ lad; "and 1 have
come to slay Fafnir, the Teiror."

" Sit in my boat," said the boatman, " and I will
<'arry you across the river."

And Siegfried sat by the boatman's side ; and
without the use of an oar, and without a breath of
air to drive it forward, the little vessel turned, and
moved silently towards the farther shore.

" In what way will you fight the dragon 1 " asked
the boatman.

"With my trusty sword, Bahnung, I shall slay
him," answered Siegfried.

"But he wears the Helmet of Terror, and he

t-f'

FouKTH Reader.

I
i:

breathes deathly poisons, and his eyes dart forth
Hghtning, and no man can withstand his strength,"
said the boatman.

"I will find some way by wliieh to overcome him."
" Then, be wise, and listen to me," said the boatman.
"As you go up from the river you will find a road,
worn deep and smooth, starting from the water's
edge, and winding over the moor. It is the trail of
Faf nir, adown which he comes at dawn of every day
.to slake his thirst at the river. Do you dig a pit in
this roadway — a pit narrow and deep — and hide
yourself within it. In the morning, when Fafnir
passes over it, let him feel the edge of Balmung."

As the man ceased speaking, the boat touched
the shore, and Siegfried leaped out. He looked back
to thank his unknown friend, but neither boat nor
boatman was to be seen. Only a thin white mist
rose slowly from the cold surface of the stream,
and floated upwards and away towards the moun-
tain-tops. Then the lad remembered that the strange
boatman had worn a blue hood, bespangled with
golden stars, and that a gray kirtle was thrown ovei*
his shoulders, and that his one eye glistened and
sparkled with a light that was more than human.
And he knew that he had again talked with Odin.
Then, with a braver heart than before, he went for-
ward, along the river-bank, until he came to Faf-
nir's trail — a deep, wide furrow in the earth, begin-
ning at the river's bank, and winding far away over
the heath, until it was lost to sight in the darkness.
The bottom of the trail was soft and slimy, and its

The Hlaying of Fafnik the Dkagon. 75

?»

sides had been worn smooth by Fafiiir's fretiuent
travel through it.

In this road, at a point not far from the river,
Siegfried, with his trusty sword Bahnmig, scooped
out a deep and narrow pit, as Odin had directed.
And when the gray dawn began to appear in the
East, he hid himself within this trench, and waited
for the coming of the monster. He had not long to
wait ; for no sooner had the sky begun to redden in
the light of the coming sun than the dragon was
heard bestirring himself. Siegfried peeped warily
from his hiding-place, and saw him coming far
down the road, hurrying with all speed, that he
might quench his thirst at the sluggish, river, and
hasten back to his gold ; and the sound which he
made was like the trampling of ni.iiiy feet and the
jingling of many chains. With bloodshot eyes, and
gaping mouth, and flaming nostrils, the hideous
creatm^e came rushing onwards. His sharp, curved
claws dug deep into the soft earth; and his bat-
like wings, half trailing on the ground, half flapping
in the air, made a sound like that which is heard
when Thor rides in his goat-drawn chariot over the
dark thunder-clouds. It was a terrible moment for
Siegfried, but still he was not af imid. He crouched
low down in his hiding-place, and the bare blade of
the trusty Balmung glittered in the morning light.
On came the hastening feet and the flapping wings :
the red gleam from the monster's flaming nostrils
lighted up the trench where Siegfried lay. He heard
a roaring and a rushing like the sound of a Whu'l-

Fourth Reader.

wind ill the forest ; then a black inky mass rolled
above him, and all was dark. Now was Siegfried's
opportunity. The blight edge of Balmung gleamed
in the darkness one moment, and then it smote the
heart of Fafnir as he passed. Some men say that
Odin sat in the pit with Siegfried, and strengthened
his arm and directed his sword, or else he could not
thus have slain the Terror. But, be this as it may,
the victory was soon won. The monster stopped
short, while but half of his long body had glided
over the pit ; for sudden death had overtaken him.
His horrid head fell lifeless upon the gi'ound ; his
cold wrings flapped once and then lay, quivering and
helpless, spread out on either side ; and streams of
thick black blood flowed from his heart, through the
wound beneath, and flUed the trench in which Sieg-
fried was hidden, and ran like a mountain torrent
down the road towards the river. Siegfried was cov-
ered from head to foot with the slimy liquid, and had
he not quickly leaped from his hiding-place, he would
have been drowned in the swift nishing stream.

The bright sun rose in the east, and gUded the
mountain-tops, and fell upon the still waters of the
river, and lighted up the treeless plains around.
The south wind flayed gently against Siegfried's
cheeks and in his long hair, as he stood gazing on
his fallen foe. And the sound of singing bii'ds, and
rippling waters, and gay insects — such as had not
broken the silence of the Glittering Heath for ages
— came to his ears. The TeiTor was dead, and
Nature had awakened from her sleep of dread,

The Private of the Buffs.

THE PRIVATE OP THE BUFFS.

Last fiifiht among his fellow-roughs

He jested, quaff 'd and swoic ;
A drunken priv^ate of the Buffs,

Who never look'd before.
To-daijj beneath the foeman's frown,

He stands in Elgin's place,
Aml>assador from Britain's crown,

And type of all her race.

Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught,

Bewilder'd, and alone,
A lieart, with English instinct fraught,

Ho yet can call his own.
Ay ! tear his body limb from limb ;

Bring cord, or axe, or flame !
Ho only knows, that not through him

Shall England come to yh^r.ne.

Far Kentish hopfields vouad him seom'd

Like dreams to come and g^> ;
Bright leagues of cheiry-bloysoitv gleam'd,

One sheet of living snow :
The smoke above his father's door

In gray soft eddyings hung : —
Must he then watch it rise no more

Doom'd by himself, so young ?

Yes, Honor calls ! — witli strength bke steel

He put the vision by :
Let dusky Indians whine and kneel ;

An English lad must die !

•I

78 FouKTH Headek.

And thus, with eyes that would not slirink,

With knee to man unbent,
Unfaltering on its dreadful brink

To his red grave he went.

: — Vain, mightiest fleets of iron framed ;

Vain, those all-shattering guns.
Unless proud England keep, untamed,

The strong heart of her sons !
Ho let his name through Europe ring

A man of mean estate
Who died, as firm as Sparta's king.

Because his soul was great.

THE SLEEPING VALKYRIE.

All things were still on land and sea. Siefjjt'i'iod
and the hai^per sat in the Uttle ship moored on th(i
sandy shore, and looked toward the sea-green castle
and its glowing walls. They looked and listentHl,
but in vain. The great green banner hung motion-
lees at the tower-top. No breath of air was stirring,
not so much as to waken the sleeping leaves. Tlu^'e
was no song of bird, nor hum of insect, nor sound
of human life.

And Bragi, the harper, placed upon the haip that
all these sleepers might be awakened. He •'^ang of
all things beautiful in earth ai/1 sea and sky. The
strains of magic music rose upon the still air, and
float(^d over the (jiii«»t luiy, and across tli(^ giN^'ii

The SLEEPINCr A'ALKiltlK.

1(1

'II

meadows which hiy around tho castle walls, and
upward over the battlements, and among the sleep-
ing trees. But nothing stirred.

Never before had Bragi's music failed to quicken
nature into life. Siegfried l^ade him tell why it Avas.
And so, to make the reason plain, Bragi told of
Odin's bright home at Qladsheim, and of the many
halls that are there.

One of the halls in Gladsheini is called Valhal.
This hall is so large and wide, that all the armies of
the earth might move within it. Outside, it is cov-
ered with gold and with sun-bright shields. A fierce
wolf stands guard before it, and a mountain eagle
hovers over it. It has five hundred and forty doors,
each large enough for* eight hundred heroes to march
through abreast.

Inside everything is glittering l)riglit. The raft-
ers are made of sj)ears, and the ci^iUng is covered
with shields, and the walls are decked with war-
coats. In this hall Odin sets daily a feast for all the
lieroes that have been slain in battle. These sit at
the great table, and eat of the food which Odin's
servants have prepared, and drink of the heaveidy
mead which the Valkyries, Odin's handmaids, bring
them.

But the Valkyries have a greater duty. When
the battle I'ages, and swords clash, and shields ring,
and the air is filled with shouts and groans, and all
the din of war, then these n)aidens hover over the
field of blood and death, and c

home to Valluil.

FouKTH Reader.

li'-'

One of Odin's Valkyiies was iiauied Bruiiliild,
and she was the most beautiful of all the maidens
that chose heroes for his ^.var-host. Biit she was
wilful too, and did not always obey the All-Father's
behests. And when Odin knew that she had some-
times snatched the doomed from death, and some-
times helped her chosen fiieiids to victory, he was
very angry. And he drove her away from Glads-
lieim, and sent her, friendless and. poor, to live
among the children of men, and to be in all ways
like them. But, as she wandered weary and alone
over the earth, the good old King of Isenland saw
her beauty and her distress, and pity and love
moved his heart ; and as he had no children of his
own, he took her for his daughter, and made her his
heir. And not long afterward he died, and the
matchless Branhild became queen of all the fair
lands of Isenland, and the hall of Isenstein. When
Odin heard of this, he was more angry still ; and he
sent to Isenstein, and caused Brunhild to l)e stung
with the Thorn of Sleep. And he said :

" She shall sleep until one shall come who is brave
enough to lide through fii'e to awaken her."

And all Isenhind -^lept too, l)ecause Brunhild, the
Maiden of Sprtiig, lay wounded with the Sleepful
Thorn.

When Seigfried heard this story, he knew that
the land which lay before tliem was Isenland, and
that the castle was Isenstein, and that Brunhild was
sleeping within that circle of fire.

"My songs have no power to awaken such a

The Sleepino Valkykie.

isleepei'," said Bragi. " A 1i<m;o, strong and brave,
must lide through the flauios to arouse lier. It is
for this that I have'brought you liither ; and here I
will leave you, while I sail onward to brighten
other lands with my music."

Siegfried's heart was glad ; for here was a worthy
deed for him to do. He bethought himself of his
beautiful horse, the gift of Odin. This was the
swift Greyfell whose coat was white as the fresh
fallen snow, his long mane bright with a thousand
flashing rays. So he bade his friend Bragi good-
bye, and stepped ashore; and Greyfell followed
him. And Bragi sat at the prow of the ship, and
played his harp again ; and the sailors plied their
oars ; and the little v(^ssel moved swiftly out of the
bay, and was seen no more. And Siegfried stood
alone on the silent, sandy beach.

As he thus stood, the full moon rose white and
dripping from the sea ; and its light fell on the quiet
water, and the sloping meadows, and the gi-een tur-
rets of the castle. And the last notes of the harp
came floating to hiir, over the sea.

He glanced across the meado\, . _iie gi'een tui'-
rets glisteirng in the mellow moonlight, and then
at the flickering flames around the castle walls, and
he resolved that on the morrow he would, at all
hazards, perform the perilous feat.

In the morning, as soon as the giay dawn ap-
peared, he began to make ready for his difficult
und(^rtaking. But, when he looked again at the red
flames, he l)egan to hesitate. He pausi^d, uncertain

FouiiTH Readek.

!t i

If !■

whether to wait for a sign or for help from the All-^
Father, or whether to go straightway to the castle,
and trusting in his good armor alone, tiy to pass
through the burning moat. While he thus stood in
doubt, his eyes were dazzled by a sudden flash of
light. He looked up. Greyfell came dashing across
the sands ; and from his long mane a thousand sun-
beams gleamed and sparkled in the morning light.
Siegfried had never seen the wondrous creature so
radiant; and as the steed stood by him in all his
strength and beauty, he felt new hope ai.l courage,
as if Odin himself had spoken to him. He hesitated
no longer, but mounted the noble horse ; and Grey-
fell bore him swiftly over the plain, and paused not
until he had reached the brink of the burning moat.
Now, indeed, would Siegfried's heart have failed
him, had he not been cheered by the sunbeam pre-
sence of G-reyf ell. For, filling the wide, deep ditch,
were angry, hissing flames, which, like a thousand
serpent - tongues, reached out, and felt here and
there, for what they might devom*; and ever and
anon they took new forms, and twisted and writhed
like fiery snakes, and then they swirled in burning
coils high over the castle-walls. Siegfried stopped
not a moment. He spoke the word, and boldly the
horse with his rider dashed into the fiery lake ; and
the vile flames fled in shame and dismay before the
pure simbeam flashes from Grreyf ell's mane. And,
unscorched and unscathed, Siegfried rode through
tlie moat, and through the wide-open gate, and into
the castl(^-yard.

Is !;

The Sleepinci Valkyrie.

The gate-keeper sat fast asleep in his lodge, while
the ehaius and the heavy key with whi('li, when
awake, he was wont to make the great gate fast, lay
msting at his feet ; and neither he, nor the sentinels
on the ramparts above, stirred or awoke at the
sound of Greyfell's clattering hoofs. As Siegfried
passed from one part of the castle to another, many
strange sights met his eyes. In the stables the
horses slumbered in their stalls, and the grooms lay
snoring by their sides. The birds sat sound asleep
on their nests beneath the eaves. The watch-dogs,
with fast-closed eyes, lay stretched at full length
before the open doors. In the garden the fountain
no longer played, the half -laden bees had gone to
sleep among the blossoms of the apple-trees, and
the flowers themselves had forgotten to open their
petals to the sun. In the kitchen the cook was doz-
ing over the half-baked meats in front of the smoul-
dering fire ; the butler was snoring in the pantry ;
the daily -maid was quietly napping among th(^
milk-pans; and even the house-flies had gone to
sleep over the crumbs of sugar on the table. In the
great banquet-room a thousand knights, overcome
with slumber, sat silent at the festal board; and
their chief, sitting on the dais, slept with his half-
emptied goblet at his lips.

Siegfried passed hurriedly from room to room and
from halt to hall, and cast but one hasty glance at
the strange sights which met him at every tm*n ; for
he knew that none of the drowsy ones in that spa-
cious castle could be awakened until he had aroused

('>

Fourth Reader.

th(^ Princess Brunhild. In t\w ^nindvyi hall of the
juilace ho found her. Th(^ peerless maiden, most
riclily dight, reelined upon a couch benenth a gold-
hung canoj>y ; and her attendants, the ladies of the
court, sat near and around her. Sleep held fast her
eyelids, and her breathing was so gentle, that, but
for the blush upon her cheeks, Siegfried would have
thought her dead. For long, long years, had her
head thus lightly rested on that gold-fringed pillow;
and in all that time neither her youth had faded,
nor her wondrous beauty waned.

Siegfried stood beside her. Gently he touched
his lips to that matchless forehead ; softly he named
her name :

" Brunhild !'»

The chitirin was broken. Up I'ose the peerless
print f'SH ill all her queen-like beauty ; up rose the
coui'tly ladies round her. All over the castle, from
cellar to belfiy-tower, from the stable to the ban-
quet-hall, there was a sudden awa,kening — a noise
of huiTying feet and mingled voices, and sounds
which had long been strangers to the halls of Isen-
stein. The watchman on the tower, and the senti-
nels on the ramparts, yawned, and would not believe
they had been asleep ; the porter picked up his keys,
and hastened to lock the long-forgotten gates ; the
horses neighed in their stalls ; the watch-dogs barked
at the sudden clamor; the birds, ashamed" at hav-
ing allowed the sun to find them napping, hastened
to seek their food in the meadows ; the servants
hurried hei-e and there, each intent upon his duty ;

The Siiii'-BriLDEUs.

11 of th(^
ill, most
1 a gold-
9s of the
fast her
:hat, but
uld have
had her
i pillow;
d faded,

touehed
e named

peerless

ose th(*

e, from

he bau-

-a noise

sounds

3f Isen-

e senti-

believe

is keys,

es; the

barked ,

it hav-

istened

irvants

bduty;

th(^ wariiors in the l)anquet-haU <'hittered their
knives and plates, and began again their feast; and
their chief dropped his goblet, rubbed liis eyes, ami
wondered that sleep sliould have overtaken liim in
the midst of such a mi^al.

And Siegfried, standi ^ at an upp(M* window,
looked out over the ('asi l<»-w alls ; and he saw that
the flames no longer rji in tlu^ moat, ])ut that
it was filled with ehnu* sj)arkling water from the
fountain whieli playcMl in the gardcMi. And the south
wind blew geiitly from the sea, bringing from afar
the sweetest strains of music from Bragi's golden
haip: and the breezes whispered among the trees,
and the flowers opened their petals to the sun, and
birds and insects made the air melodious with their
glad voices. Then Brunhild, radiant with smiles,
stood by the hero's side, and welcomed him kindly
to Isenland, and to her green-towered castle of
Isenstein.

THE SHIP-BUILDERS.

The sky is ruddy in tlu^ east,

The earth is grey below,
And, spectral in the river-mist,

The ship's white timbers show.
Then let the sounds of measured stroktt

And grating saw begin ;
Tlie broad axe to the knarled oak,

The mallet to the pin !

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86 Fourth Eeadkk.

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i Hai'k ! — roars the bellows, blast on blast,

The so(jty smithy jars.

And fire-sparks, rising far and fast.

Are fading with the stars.

All day for ua the smith shall stand

/' Beside that flashing forge ;

All day for us his heavy hand

Tlie groaning anvil scourge.

ra From far-oflf hills the panting Umuu

n For us is toiling near ;

n For us the raftsmen down the stream

M Their island barges steer.

m lliiigs out for us the axeman's stroke

n In forests old and still, —

Ij For us the century-circled oak

Hi Falls crashing down his hill.

Up I — ^up ! — in nobler toil than ours

No craftsmen bear a part ;

We make of Nature's giant powers

The slaves of human Art.

Lay rib to rib and beam to beam.

And drive the tree-nails free ;

Nor faithless joint nor yawning seam

Shall tempt the searching sea !

Where'er the keel of our good ship

The sea's rough field shall plough, —

Where'er her tossing spars shall drip

With salt-spray caught below, —

That ship must heed her master's beck,

Her helm obey his hand.

And seamen tread her reeling deck

As if they trod the land,

...'■/. / . / ■ -

The Hhip-Buildeks.

Her oaken ribs tlie vulture-beak

Of Northern ice may peel ;
The sunken rock and coral peak

May grate along her keel ;
And know we well the painted shell

We give to wind and W'iV^,
Must float, the sailor's cit/xLl,

Or sink, the sailor's grave !

Ho ! — strike away the bars and l)locks,

And set the good ship free !
Why lingers on these dusty rocks

The young bride of the sea ?
Look ! how she moves adown the grooves,

In graceful beauty now !
How lowly on the breast she loves

Sinks down her virgin prow !

God bless her ! wheresoe'er the breeze

Her snowy wing shall fan.
Aside the frozen Hebrides,

Oi' sultry Hindostan !
Wliere'er, in mart or on the main,

With peaceful flag unfurled.
She helps to wind the silken chain

Of commerce round the world !

Speed on the ship ! — But let her bear

No merchandise of sin,
No groaning cargo of despair

Her room}^ hold within ;
No Lethean diug for Eastern lands,

Nor poison-draught for ours ;
But honest fruits of toiling hands

And Nature's sun and showers,

J ,-

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»,(

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I'lill

FOUKTH liEADElt.

Be liors the Prairie's golden grain,

The Desert's golden sand,
The clustered fruits of sunny Spain,

Tlie spice of Morning-land !
Her pathway on the open main

May blessings follow free,
.Vnd glad hearts welcome back again

Her white sails from the sea !

—Whittier.

THE SECOND VOYAGE OF SINBAD.

" I (ItKsired, after my first voyage, to spend the rest
of my days at Bagdad, as I had the honor to tell you
yesterday; but it was not long ere I grew weary
of an indolent life. My inclination to trade revived.
I bought goods proper for the commerce I intended,
and put to sea a second time with merchants of
known probity. We embarked on boai'd a good
ship, and after recommending ourselves to God,
set sail. We traded from island to island, and
exchanged commodities wi+h great profit. One day
we landed on an island <- jred with several sorts
of fruit-trees, but we could see neither man nor
animal. We went to take a little fresh air in the
meadows, along the streams that watered them.
Whilst some diverted themselves with gathering
flowers, and others, fruits, I took my wine and
provisions, and sat down near a stream betwixt

The Second Voyage of Sinbad.

im.

two lii^li lives, wliicli t'oi'iiuMl n thick sJiiulc. I
niado 11 good jiieal, nin\ aftorwtirds fell usleei». J
caiiiiot tell how long I slei>t, but when I awoke the
ship was gone. ... I got up and looked around
me, but could not see one of the merchants who
landed with me. I perceived the ship under sail,
but at such distance, that I lost sight of her in a
short time.

" I leave you to guess at my melancholy reflections
in this sad condition: I was ready to die with giief.
I ciied out in agony, beat my head and breast, and
threw myself upon the ground, where I lay some
time in despair, one afflicting thought being suc-
ceeded by another still more afflicting. I upbraided
myself a hundred times for not being content with
tiie prodiK^e of my first voyage, that might have
sufficed me all my life. But all this was in vain, and
my I'epentance too late.

; "At last I resigned myself to the will of God. Not
knowing what to do, I climbed up to the top of a
lofty tree, from whence I looked about on all sides,
to see if I could discover anything that could give
me hopes. When I gazed toward the sea I could
see nothing but sky and water; but looking over
the land I beheld something white; and coming
down, I took what provision I had left and went
toward it, the distance being so great that I could
not distinguish what it was.

"As I approached, I thought it to be a white dome,
of a prodigious height and extent; and when I came
up to it, I touched it, and found it to be very smooth.

■ :i f ' I

Fourth Reader.

I went round to seo if it whs open on any side, but
saw it was not, and that there was no chmbing up
to the top as it was so smooth. It was, at least, fifty
paces round.

"By this time the sun was about to set, and all of
a sudden the sky became as dark as if it had been
covered with a thick cloud. I was much astonished
at this sudden darkness, but much more when I
found it occasioned by a bird of a monstrous size,
that came flying toward me. I remembered that I
had often heard mariners speak of a miraculous
bu^d called roc, and conceived that the great dome
which I so much admired must be its egg. In short,
the bird alighted, and sat over the ^%'g. As I per-
ceived her coming, I crept close to the ^^'g^ so that
I had before me one of the legs of the bird, which
was as big as tha trunk of a tree. I tied myself
strongly to it with my turban, in hopes that the roc,
next morning, would carry me with her out of this
desert island.

"After having passed the night in this condition,
the bird flew away as soon as it was daylight, and
earned me so high, that I could not discern the
eai*th; she afterwards descended with so much
rapidity that I lost my senses. But when I found
myself on the gi'ound, I speedily untied the knot,
and had scarcely done so, when the roc, having
taken up a seipent of monstrous length in her bill,
flew away.

"The spot where she left me was encompassed on
all sides by nioinitains, tliat seemed to reach above

The Second VoyaciE of Sinbaix

1)1

tlio (flouds, and so steep that tli(>i'e was no |)ossi])ility
of getting out of the valley. This was a lu^w per-
plexity : so that when I compared this place with
the desert island from which the roc had brought me,
I fonnd that I had gained nothing by the change.

"As I walked through this valley, I perceived it
was strewed with diamonds, some of which were of
a surprising bigness. I took pleasure in looking
upon them ; l)ut shortly saw at a distance such ob-
jects as greatly diminished my satisfaction, and
which I could not view without teiTor, namely a
great number of serpents, so monstrous that the
least of them was capable of swallowing an elephant.
They retired in the day-time to their dens, where
they hid themselves from the roc, their enemy, and
(?ame out only in the night.

" I spent the day in walking about in the valley,
I'esting myself, at times, in such places as I thought
most convenient. When night came on, I went int(^
a cave, where I thought I might repose in safety. I
secm*ed the entrance, which was low and narrow,
with a gi*eat stone, to presen'-e me from the serpents;
but not so far as to exclude the light. I supped on
part of my provisions, but the serpents, vvliich began
hissing around me, put me into such extreme fear,
that you may easily imagine I did not sleep. When
day appeared, the serpents retired, and I came out
of the cave trembling. I can justly say that I
walked upon diamonds, without feeling any in(»lina-
tion to touch them. At last I sat down, and not-
withstanding my apprehensions, not having closed

.-■!

Fi)iriiTH Readek.

■!;!

my i\ves duriiij^ tlx^ ni^iit, foil ask^'p, iit'tci* luiviuj^
<mteii a little move of my provisions. But I had
scarcely shut my eyes, when something that fell by
me with a gi*eat noise awaked me. This was a largo
piece of ]*aw meat; and at the same time I saw
several others fall from the rocks in different places.

" I had always regarded as fabulous what I had
heard sailors and others relate of the valley of dia-
monds, and of the stratagems employed by mer-
chants to obtain jewels from thence; but now I
found that they had stated nothing but tiTith. For
the fact is, that the merchants come to the neigh-
borhood of this valley when the eagles have young
ones, and thi'owing great joints of meat into the
valley, the diamonds, upon whose points they fall,
stick to them ; the eagles, which are stronger in this
country than any^vhere else, pounce with gi'eat force
upon those pieces of meat, and carry them to their
nests on the precipices of the i-ock, to feed their
young : the merchants at this time I'un to their nests,
disturb and drive off the eagles by their shouts, and
take away the diamonds that stick to the meat.

" Until I perceived the device, I had concluded it
to be impossible for me to get from this abyss, which
I regarded as my gi-ave; but now I changed my
opinion, and began to think upon the means of my
deliverance. 1 began to collect together the largest
diamonds I could find, and put them into the leather
bag in which I used to carry my provisions. I
afterwards took the largest of the pieces of meat,
tied it close round me with the cloth of my turban,

/')

•^1

The Second \'()YA(;e uf Sinbad.

d;]

and thou hiid iiiysclt* upon tlic^ ground with my t'tw^o
downward, the bag of diamonds being made fast
to my girdle.

"I had scarcely placed myself in this posture
when the eagles came. Each of them seized a piece
of meat, and one of the strongest having taken me
up, with the piece of meat to which I was fastened,
carried me to his nest on the top of the mountain.
The merchants immediately began their shouting to
frighten the eagles; and when th(3y had obliged
them to quit their prey, one of them came to the
nest where I was. He was much alarmed when he
saw me ; but recovering himself, instead of iiKjuir-
ing how I came thither, began to quarrel with me,
and asked why I stole his goods. ' You will treat
me,' replied I, * with more civility, when you know
me better. Do not be uneasy, I have diamonds
enough for you and myself, more than all the other
merchants together. Whatever they have they owe
to chance, but I selected for myself in tl t bottom of
the valley those which you see in this ba^.' I had
scarcely done speaking, when the other merchants
came crowding about us, much astonished to see
me; but they were much more surprised when I
told them my story. Yet they did not so irmch ad-
mire my stratagem to effect my deliverance, as my
courage in putting it into execution.

" They conducted me to their encampment, and
there having opened my bag, they were surprised at
the largeness of my diamonds, and confessed, that
in all the coui-ts which they had visited they hnd

FouiiTii Kkadeu.

lie vol* stH'ii any of such size and iMnfectioii. 1 piayed
the inerchant, who owned the nest to which I had
been earned (for eveiy merchant had his own), to
take as many for his share as he pleased. He con-
tented himself with one, and that too the least of
them ; and when I pressed him to take more, with-
out fear of doing me any injuiy, * No,* said he, * I am
well satisfied with this, which is valuable enough to
save me the trouble of making any more voyages,
and will raise as gi'eat a fortune as I desire.'

" I spent the night with the merchants, to whom
I related my story a second time, for the satisfac-
tion of those who had not heard it. I could not
moderate my joy when I found myself dehvered
from the danger I have mentioniMl. I thought
myself in a dream, and could scarcely believe myself
out of danger.

"The merchants had thrown their pieces of meat
into the valley for several days, and each of them
being satisfied with the diamonds that had fallen to
his lot, we left the next morning, and travelled near
high mountains, where there were serpents of a pro-
digious length, which we had the good fortune to
escape. We took shipping at the first port we
reached, and touched at the Isle of Roha, where the
trees gi'ow that yield camphire. This tree is so
large and its branches so thick, that one hundred
men may easily sit under its shade. The juice, of
which the camphire is made, exudes from a hole
bored in the upper part of the tree, is received in
a vessel, where it thickens to a consistency, and

,-.. (

(,'
1
1j
t
c

Aladdin.

becomes what \V(^ call cHnipliirc ; aftor tht^juico is
thus drawn out, tho ti'<'e withors and dies.

" I pass over many other things peeuHar to this
island, lest I should be troublesome to you. Here 1
exchanged some of my diamonds for merchandise.
From hence we went to other islands, and at last,
having touched at several trading towns of the con-
tinent, we landed at Bussorah, from whence I pro-
ceeded to Bagdad. There I immediately gave larg(^
presents to the pooi', and lived honorably upon the
vast liches I had brought, and gained with so much
fatigue."

ALADDIN.

When I was a begj^arly boy,

And lived in a cellar damp,
I had not a friend nor a toy.

But I had Aladdin's lamp ;
Whtui I could not sleep for the cold,

T had fire enough in my brain.
And builded, with roofs of gold,
' My beautiful castles in Spain !

Since then I have toiled day and night,

I have money and power good stoi-e,
But I'd give all my lamps of silver bright

For one that is mine no more.
Take, Fortune, whatever you choose ;

You gave, and may snatch again ;
I have nothing 'twould pain me to loose,

For I own no more castles in Spain !

-Lowell.

i ■ I'

9(»

FouiiTU Keadeii.

ROBINSON ORUSOE.

WtuMi I wuked it was bi'oud diiy. Tlio wt^utlu'r
was clear, and tho st<3rm had al)ated, so that the Hon
did not rage and swell as before ; but what surpiistMl
nie most was, that by the sweUing of the tide tlui
ship was lifted off in the night from the sand where
she lay, and was diiven up almost as far as the rock
where I had been so bruised by the waves dashing
me against it. This being within about a mile from
the shore where I was, and the ship seeming to
stand upright still, I wished myself on board, that
at least I might save some necessaiy things for my
use.

"When I came down from my lodgings in thi^ tree,
I again looked about me ; and the first thing 1 found
was the boat, which lay, as the wind an<l sea had
tossed her, up on the land, about two miles on my
right hand. I walked as far as I could upon the
shore to get to her ; but found between me and the
boat a neck, or inlet of water, which was about half
a mile broad ; so came back for the present, being
more intent upon getting to the ship, where I hoped
to find something for my present subsistence.

A little after noon I found the sea very calm, and
the tide ebbed so far out that I could come within a
quarter of a mile of the ship. And here I found a
fresh renewing of my giief ; for I saw evidently, that
if we had kept on board, we should all have been

:;S!

KoiMNsnX (!urS()K.

.;,[

sut'o; that is to sjiy, w<^ should all liuv«< ^i)t sat't? on
shore, and I should not hav(^ Ixhmi souiiserahlo as to
ho loft onth'oly dostituto of all comfort and t*om-
pauy, as I now was. This forcod toars to my oyos
ngaiu ; but as th<.»ro was littlo roliof in that, I it-
solvod, if j)ossiblo, to got to tho ship.

Acoordiiigly I pulled oft my clothes, — for the
weather was extremely hot, — and took to the water.
But when I came to the ship, my diiti(!ulty was still
greater to know how to got on boai'd ; for, as she
lay aground, and high out of the water, there was
nothing within my roach to lay hold of. I swam
round hor twice, and tho soc^ond time si)i(Ml a small
I)i(?ce of rope, whic^h I wondered I did not see at
first, and which hung down by the foret?hains so
low that with great diificulty I got hold of it, and
by the help of that rope got into the forecastle of
tho ship.

Here I found that tho ship was bulged, and had a
great deal of water in hor hold ; ))nt that she lay on
the side of a bank of hard sand, or rather earth, in
such a way that her stern was lifted up on the bank,
while her bow was low, almost to the water. By
this means all her quarter was free, and all that
was in that part was diy ; for you may be sure my
first work was to find out what was spoiled and
what was not. And, first, I found that all the ship's
I>rovisions were dry and untouched by the water;
and, being very well disposed to eat, went to the
bread-room, and filled my pockets with biscuit, and
ate it as I went about other things, for I had no time

■f

FouiiTH Eeader.

\ f ■>

to lose. I also found some nim in the gi'eat cabin,
and of this took a large dram, for I had need
enough of it to spirit me for what was before me.
Now I wanted nothing but a boat, to f uniish myself
with many things which I foresaw would be very
necessary to me. i.

It was in vain to sit still and wish for what was
not to be had ; and this extremity roused my appli-
cation. We had several spare yards, and two or
three large spars of wood, and a spare topmast or
two in the ship. I resolved to fall to work with
these, and so flung as many of them overboard as
I could manage for then* weight, tying every one
with a rope, that they might not float away.

When this was done, I went down the ship's side,
and, pulling them to me, tied fom* of them to-
gether at both ends, as well as I could, in the form
of a raft. By laying two or three short pieces of
plank upon them, cross- ways, I found I could walk
upon it very well, but that it was not able to bear
any gi-eat weight, the pieces being too light. So I
went to work, and with a carpenter's saw cut a
spare top-mast into three lengths, and added them
to my raft, with a great deal of labor and pains.
But the hope of furnishing myself with necessaries
encouraged me to go beyond what I should have
been able to do upon another occasion.

My raft was now strong enough to bear any rea-
sonable weight. My next care was what to load it
with, and how to preserve what I laid upon it from
the surf of the sea. However, I was not long

.\v

Robinson Ckusoe.

considering tliis. I first laid all the plank or boards
upon it that I could get, and, .having considered
well what I most wanted, I first got three of the
seamen's chests, which I had broken open and emp-
tied, and lowered them down upon my raft. The
first of these I filled with provisions, namely, bread,
rice, three dutch cheeses, five pieces of dried goat's
flesh (which we lived much upon), and a Httle
remainder of European com, which had been laid
by for some fowls which we brought to sea with us,
but which had been killed. - v v «,,

There had been some barley and wheat together ;
but to my great disappointment, I found afterwards
that the rats had eaten or spoiled it all. As for
liquors, I found several cases of bottles belonging to
our skipper, in which were some cordial waters;
and, in all, about five or six gallons of rack. These
I stowed by themselves, there being no need to put
them into the chest, nor any room for them.

While I was doing this, I found the tide began to
flow, though it was very calm, and I had the morti-
fication, to see my coat, shirt, and waistcoat, whi(ih
I had left on the shore, upon the sands, swim away.
As for my trousers, which were only linen, and open-
kneed, I swam on board in them and my stockings.
However, this set me on rummaging for clothes, of
which I found enough, but took no more than I
wanted for present use, for I had other things which
my eye was more upon ; as, fii*st, tools to work with
on shore. And it was after long searching that I
found out the carpenter's chest, which was, indeed,

nj;.

•■' :)'

100

FouKTH Reader.

a very useful prize to me, and much more valuable
than a ship-load of gold would have been at that
time. I got it down to my raft, whole as it was,
without losing time to look into it, for I knew in
general what it contained.

My next care was for some ammunition and arms.
There were two very good fowling-i)ie(.'es in the
gi'eat cabin, and two pistols. These I secm'ed first,
with some powder-horns and a small bag of shot,
and two old rusty swords. I knew there were three
barrels of powder in the ship^ but knew not where
oui* gunner had stowed them ; but with much search
I found them. Two of them were dry and good, the
third had taken water. These two I got to my raft,
with the arms. And now, I thought myself pretty
well freighted, and began to think how I should get
to shore with them, having neither sail, oar nor rud-
der ; and the least capful of wind would have over-
set all my navigation. -^,

I had three encom'agements : first, a smooth, calm
sea ; secondly, the fact that the tide was rising and
setting in to the shore; thirdly, what little wind
there was blew me towards the land. And thus,
having found two or three broken oars belonging to
the boat, and, besides the tools which were in the
chest, two saws, an axe, and a hammer, with this
cargo I put to sea. For a mile or thereabouts my
raft went very well, only that I found it drive a
little distant fi'om the place where I had landed
before. By this I perceived that there was some
indraft of the water, and consequently hoped to

liOlJINSON (hUTSOE.

101

liiid somo <M*eek or rivor tlu'vo, which 1 iniji:ht use us
a port to get to land with my cargo.

As I imagined, so it was. There appeared before
me a little opening of the land, and I found that a
strong current of the tide set into it ; so I guided
my raft, as well as I could, to keep in the middle of
the stream. But here I had like to have suffered a
second shipwreck, which, if I had, I think veiily
would have broken my heart ; for, knowing nothing
of the coast, my raft ran aground at one end of it
upon a shoal, and, not being agi'ound at the other
end, it wanted but a little that all my cargo had
slipped off toward the end that was afloat, and so
fallen into the water.

I did my utmost, by setting my back against the
chests, to keep them in their places, ])ut could not'
thrust off the raft with all my strength; neither
dm*st I stir from the postui-e I was in, but, holding
up the chests with all my might, stood in that
manner nearly half an hour, in which time the ris-
ing of the water brought me a little more upon
a level. A little after, the water still rising, my raft
floated again, and I thrust her off with the oar I had
into the channel, and then driving up higher, at
length found myself in the mouth of a little river,
with land on both sides, and a strong cuiTent or tide
running up. I looked on both sides for a proper place
to get to shore, for I was not willing to be driven
too high up the river, because I hoped, in time, to
see some ship at sea. Accordingly I I'esolved to
place myself as near the coast as I could.

k,. . ■■'

'I- ■■■'.' *(i.r

!ii,r» .■

102

Fourth Reader.

At hnigtli 1 spied a little covo on tlit^ rijjflit .shore
of the creek, to which, with great i)aiii and difficulty
I guided my raft, and at last got so near, that, reach-
ing gi'ound with my oar, I could thrust her directly
in. But here I had like to have dropped all my
cargo into the sea again ; for the shore lay pretty
steep and sloping, and, wherever I might land, one
end of my float, if it ran on shore, would lie so high,
and the other be sunk so low, that it would endan-
ger my cargo again. All that I could do was to
wait till the tide was at the highest, keeping the raft
with my oar like an anchor, to hold the side of it
fast to the shore, near a flat piece of ground, which
I expected the water would flow over. And so it
did. As soon as I found water enough, for my raft
drew al)out a foot of water, I thrust her up on that
flat piece of gi'ound, and there fastened or moored
her by sticking my two broken oars into the ground
— one on one side, near one end, and one on the
other side, near the other end. Thus I lay till the
water ebbed away, and left my raft and all my cargo
safe on shore.

My next work was to view the country, and seek
a proper place for my habitation, and where to stow
my goods, to secure them from whatever might hap-
pen. Where I was, I yet knew not: whether on
the continent or on an island ; whether inhabited or
not inhabited ; whether in danger of wild beasts or
not. There was a hill not above a mile from me,
which rose up veiy steep and high, and which seemed
to overtop some other hills, which lay as in a ridge
from it, northwanl.

Robinson (-rfsoe.

103

I took out Olio, of tlio fo'vliiig-piiMH's mul olio of
the pistols, and ti lioiii of powcler; aiid tliiis armed,
I travelled for discovery up to the top of that hill.
After I had, with great labor and difficulty, got to
the top, I saw to my gi'eat affliction, that I was on
an island environed on every side by the sea. No
land was to be seen, except some rocks which lay a
great way off, and two small islands L ss than these,
which lay about three leagues to the west.

T found also that the island I was on was barren,
and, as I saw good reason to believe, uninhabited
except by wild beasts, of whom, however, I saw
none. Yet I saw abundance of fowls, but knew not
their kinds; neither, when I killed them, could I
tell what was fit for food and what not. At my
coming back, I shot at a gi'eat bird which I saw sit-
ting upon a tree, on the side of a gi'eat wood. I
believe it was the first gun that had been fii'ed there
since the creation of the world. I had no soonei'
fired, than from all parts of the wood there arose
an innumerable flock of fowls, of many soi-ts, mak-
ing a confused screaming and crying, every one
according to his usual note, but not one of them of
any kind that I knew. As for the creature I killed,
I took it to be a kind of a hawk, its color and beak
resembling that bii'd, but it had no talons or claws
more than common. Its flesh was carrion, and fit
for nothing.

Contented with this discovery, I came back to my
raft, and fell to work to bring my cargo on shore,
which took up the i'(\^t of that day. What to do

m-'

il-^

Ii:.t

ill

!'^^

r;- •'

I I

104

FouKTH Header.

! U

witli luyselt' tit night I knew not, nor indeed where
to rest, for I was afraid to lie down on the ground,
not knowing but some wild beast might devour me,
though, as I afterwards found, there was really no
need for those fears.

. However, as well as I could, I barricaded myself
round with the chests and boards that I had brought
on shore, and made a kind of hut for that night's
lodging. As for food, I yet saw not which way to
supply myself, except that I had seen two or three
creatures, like hares, run out of the wood where I
shot the fowl.

I now began to consider that I might yet get a
great many things out of the ship, which would be
useful to me, and particularly some of the rigging
and sails, and such other things as might come to
land; and I resolved to make another voyage on
board the vessel, if possible. As I knew the first
storm that blew must necessarily break her all in
pieces, I resolved to set all other work apart, till I
had got every thing out of the ship that I could get.
Then I called a council — that is to say, in my
thoughts — ^whether I should take back the raft ; but
this appeared impracticable ; so I resolved to go as
before, when the tide was down ; and did so, only
that I stripped before I went from my hut, having
nothing on but a checkered shirt, a pan* of linen
drawers, and a pair of pumps on my feet.

I got on board the ship as before and prepared a
second raft ; and, having had experience of the first,
I neither made this so unwieldy, nor loaded it so

Robinson Okusoe.

l(ir>

hard. Still, I brought awtiy several- things very
useful to me ; as, first, in the (•aii)enter's stores, I
found two or three bags full of nails and spikes, a
great screw-jack, a dozen or two of hatchets, and,
above all, that most useful thing, a grindstone. All
these I secured, together with several things belong-
ing to the gunner, paiiicularly two or three iron
crows, and two ban-els of musket bullets, seven
muskets, and another fowling-piece, with some small
(|uaiitity of powder ; a large bagful of small shot,
and a gi'eat roll of sheet-lead ; but this last was so
heavy I could not hoist it up to get it over the ship's
side. Besides these things, I took all the men^s
clothes that I could find, and a spai-e fore-top sail,
a hammock, and some bedding; and with this I
loaded my second raft, and brought them all safe
on shore, to my very great comfort.

On the thirteenth day I was preparing for my
twelfth trip, when I found the sky overcast. The
wind began to rise and in a quarter of an hour it
blew a gale from the shore. It blew very hard all
that night, and in the morning, when I looked out,
behold, no ship was to be seen I I was a httle sm*-
prised, but recovered myself with this satisfactoiy
reflection, that I had lost no time, nor omitted any
diligence, to get everything out of her that could
be useful to me; and, indeed, there was little left
in lier that I was able to bring away, if I had had
more time.

— J>atneJ ]>>• Fhh.

IOC)

Fourth Reader.

THE CREATION.

In tlio begiimiiig God created ilu) lieav^^i and
the earth. And the earth was without form, and
void ; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.
And the spiiit of God moved upon the face of the
waters. And God said, Let there be Hght: and
there was light. And God saw the light, that it was
good : and God divided the light from the darkness.
And God called the light Day, and the darkness h(^
called Night. And the evening and the morning
were the first day.

And God, said. Let there be a fiimament in tlu^
midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters
from the waiters. And God made the fimaament,
and divided the watei-s which *«;ere under the firma-
ment from the waters which were above the firaia-
ment : and it was so. And God called the finna-
ment Heaven. And the evening and the morning
were the second day.

And God said, Let the waters under the hea'', en
be gathered together unto one place, and let the dry
land appear : and it was so. And God called the
diy land Earth ; and the gatheiing together of the
waters called he Seas: and God saw that it tvas
good. And God said, Let the earth bring forth
gi'ass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit tree
yielding fruit after his kind, whose seed is in itself,
upon the earth: and it was so. And the earth
])i'ought forth gi'ass, and herb yielding seed after his
kind^ and the tree yielding fruit, avIioso seed was in

The Ckeation.

107

.If,

•th

lis

iii

itself, after his kind : and God saw that it urns good.
And the evening and the morning were the thh'd day.

And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament
of the heaven to divide the day from the night ; and
let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days
and years : And let them be for lights in the firaia-
ment of the heaven to give light upon the eai-th :
and it was so. And God made two gi*eat lights, the
gi'eater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to
rule the night : he made the stars also. And God set
them in the finnament of the heaven to give light
upon the earth. And to rule over the day and over
the night, and to divide the light from the dark-
ness: and God saw that it was good. And the
evening and the morning were the fourth day. And
God said. Let the waters bring forth abundantly the
moving creature that hath life, and fowl that niLj
fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven.
And God created gi'eat whales, and every living
creature that moveth, which the waters brought
forth abundantly, after then* kind, and eveiy winged
fowl after his kind : and God saw that it was good.
And God blessed them, saying. Be fruitful, and mul-
tiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl
multiply in the earth. And the evening and the
morning were the fifth day.

And God said. Let the earth bring forth the liv-
ing creature after his kind, cattle, and creeping
thing, and beast of the earth after his kind : and it
was so. And God made the beast of the earth after
his kind, and cattle after their kind, and every thing

'i i
' i

: i

108

Forirni Readek.

t f

that croepetli upon tin* tnii'tli at'ttM* liis kind: and
God saw tliat li was good.

And God said, Let us iiiako man in onr image,
after our likeness: and let them have dominion
over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air,
and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over
every creeping thing that creepeth vipon the earth.
80 God created man in his own image, in the image
of God created ho him ; male and female created he
them. And God blessed them, and God said unto
them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and, replenish the
earth, and subdue it : and have dominion over the
fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over
eveiy living thing that moveth upon the earth.

And God said. Behold I have given you every
herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the
earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a
tree yielding seed ; to you it shall be for meat. And
to eveiy beast of the earth, and to every fowl of the
air, and to every thing that creepeth upon the earth,
wherein there is life, I have fjlven every green herb
for meat : and it was so. And God saw every thing
that he had made, and, behold, it teas very good.
And the evening and the morning were the sixth day.

Thus the heavens and the earth were finished,
and all the host of them. And on the seventh day
God ended his work which he had made ; and he
rested on the seventh day from all his work which
he had made. And God blessed the sevcMith day,
and sanctified it : because that in it he had rested
from all his work whi<'h Go(l created and niade,

VoUTlI ANJ) Oi.I) A(1K.

KM)

YOUTH AND OLD AGE.

Kejoico, () younji: mi\n, in tliy youth; and let tliy
heart cheor thec^ in tlio (hiys of tliy youtli, and walk
m the ways of thine heart, and in the siji^ht of thine
eyes: but know thou, that for these thinj::s God will
bruig thee into judgment. Therefore r<Mnove sorrow
from thy heart, and put away evil from thy tiesh :
for youth and the prime of life are vanity.

Remember also thv (creator in the (hivs of thv
youth, or ever the evil (hiys come, and the years
draw nigh, when thou slialt say, I have no pleasui'c^
in them; or ever the sun, and the light, and the moon,
and the stars, be darkened, and the clouds return
after the rain : in the day when the keep^^rs of the
house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow
themselves, and the grinders cease l)ecause they mv
few, and those that look out of the windows be dark-
ened, and the doors shall be shut in the street ; when
the sound of the giinding is low, and one shall rise
up at the voice of a bird, and all the daughters of
music shall be brought low ; yea, they shall be afraid
of that tvhicli is high, and teri'or shall he in the way;
and the almond tree shall blossom, and the grass-
hopper shall be a burden, and the caper-berry shall
fail : because man goeth to his long home, and Alio
mourners go about the streets: or ever the silver cord
1)6 loosed, or the golden bowd 1 )e bi'oken, or the pitcher
be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at
the cistern ; and the dust return to the earth as it
was, and the spirit retui'n unto God who gave it.
Vanity of vanities saith th(> Pi'eache]' ; all is A-juiity.

110

Foiiiaii Headeh.

THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.

Si il'

I*
i

Not a drum was hoard, not a funeral uoU\

Ah his corso to tlie rampart wo Imrriod ; ^

Not a soldier diHchar^ed his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.

Wo buried him darkly at dead of night,

The sofls with our bayonets turning ;
]ly the struggling minm beam's misty light,

And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,

Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ;

But ho lay like a warrior taking his r<'st,
With his martial cloak around him.

Few and short were the prayers we said,

And we spoke not a word of sorrow ;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead,

And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed,

And smoothed down his lonely pillow.
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'(M' his head,

And we far away on the billow !

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone.

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, —
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on

In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

Thk Pied Pii-ku of FIamfxin.

Itiil liulf of our licHv y task was dmif

When the clock ,stni<k the Jioiir for retiriiiji;;

And we heard the distant and random ji^un
That the fm? was .^uUenly fuing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From ino field of his fame fresh and K<"'y !
We carve<l not a line, and wo. raised not a stone, —

IJut wo left him alon(? with his iflorv

111

'Hfo. VhnrltM W'ul/i'.

THE PIED PIPER OP HAMELIN.

llamelin Town's in l^runswick,
My famous Hanover city ;

The river Wesor, deep and wide,

Washes its wall on tlie southern side ;

A pleaaanter spot you never spied ;
But, when begins my ditty,

Almost five hundred years ago,

To see the townsfolk suffer so
Fron\ vermin, was a pity.

Rats!
They fought the dogs and killed the cats,

And bit the ])abies in the cradles,
And ate the cheeses out of the vats,

And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles,
Split open the kegs of salted sprats,
Made nests inside men's Sunday hats,
And even spoiled the women's chats,

H i

112

FOUIITH liEADElt.

iT^^i \

■fi .1 '

By <lrowiiin<^ their spcakiiiji^
With shriekiiij^ and HiiuoHkiiij^
In fifty different sharps and fiats.

At last the people in a l)Ofly

To the Town Hall eaine flocking :

"'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy ;

And as for our Corj)oration — sho{;kinu;
To tliink we Imy gowns lined with ermine
For dolts that can't or won't determine
What's best to rid us of our vermin !
You hope, because you're old and ol>ese.
To find in the furry civic robe ease ?
Rouse up, sirs ! Give your brains a rju^king
To find che remedy we're lacking,
Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing I"
At this the Mayor and Corporation
Quaked with a mighty consternation.

An hour they sat in council ;

At length the Mayor broke silence :

" For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell,

I wish I were a mile hence !

It's easy to bid one rack one's brain —

I'm sure my poor head aches again,

I've scratched it so, and all in \'ain.

Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap ! "

Just as he said this, what should hap

At the chamber-door but a gentle tap ?

"Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?"

(With the Corporation as he sat,

Lt)oking little though wondrous fat ;

Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister

Than a too-long-opened oyster,

Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous

The Pied Pipeh of Hamelin.

113

For a platt; of turtl(^ jjfroen himI glutinous).
" Only a scraping of shoes on the mat I
Anything like the sound of a rat
Makes my heart go pit-a-pat ! "

'K 1

"Come in !" — tht; Mayor cried, looking higger :

And in did come the strangest figm-e !

His queer long coat from heel to head

Was half of yellow and half of red,

And he himself was tall and thin,

With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin,

And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin,

No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin,

But lips where smiles went out and in ;

There was no guessing his kith and kin :

And nobody could enough admire

The tall man and his quaint attire.

Quoth one : " It's as my great-grandsire,

Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone.

Had walked this way from his painted tombstone ! "

He advanced to the council-table :

And, " Please your honors," said he, " I'm able.

By means of a secret charm, to draw

All creatures living beneath the sun,

That creep or swim or fly or run,

After me so as you never saw !

And I chiefly use my charm

On creatures that do people harm,

The mole and toad and newt and ^■iper ;

And people call me the Pied Piper."

(And here they noticed round his iuH!k

A scarf of red and yellow stripe.

To match witii his coat of the self-same chec

'1, *

pie

114

FouirrH Headek.

And at the .scarf's end liunjjf a pipe ;

And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying

As if impatient to be playing

Upon this pipe, as low it dangled

Over his vesture so old-fangled.)

"Yet," said he, "poor piper as T am.

In Tartary I freed the Cham,

Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats ;

I eased in Asia the Nizam

Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats :

And as for what your brain bewilders.

If I can rid your town of I'ats

Will ^ou give me a thousand guilders ?"

" One ? fifty thousand !" — was the exclamation

Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

Into the street the piper stept,

Smiling first a little smile.
As if he knew what magic slept

In his quiet pipe the while ;
Then, like a musical adept,
To blo.w the pipe his lips he wrinkled,
And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled.
Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled ;
And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered,
You heard as if an army muttered ;
And the nmttering grew to a grumbling ;
And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling ;
And out of the houses the rats came tumbling.
Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny I'ats,
Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats.
Grave old plodders, gay young friskei's,

Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins,
Cocking tails and pricking whiskers,

SJi^

■ ;

The Pied PirEii of IIamelin.

115

Fainilit's by tens and <l<)/«'us,
Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives —
Followed the piper for their lives.
From street to street he piped advancing,
And step for step they followed danein«i;.
Until they came to the river Weser,
Wherein all plunged and perished !
— Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar,
Swam across and lived to carry
(As he, the manuscript he cherished)
To Rat-land home his commentary :
Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe,
I heard a sound as of scraping tripe,
And putting apples, wondrous ripe.
Into a cider-press's gripe :
And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards,
And a leaving ajar of conserve-cuplwards,
And a drawing the corks of train-oil flasks.
And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks :
And it seemed as if a voice
(Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery
Is breathed) called out, * Oh rats, rejoice !
The world is grown to one vast drysaltei-y !
So munch on, crunch on, take your imncheon.
Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon ! '
And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon.
All ready staved, like a great sun shone
Glorious scarce an inch before me,
Just as me thought it said, 'Come, bore me !'
— I found the Weser rolling o'er me."

You should have heard the Hamelin people
Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple.
"Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles,

hi'

FoiiiiTH Reader.

Xl :

Pok(5 out the Hosts and bloclc up the liolcs !

Consult with carpenters and buihJers,

Aiul leave in our town not even a trace

Of the rats !" when suddenly, up the face

Of the PijKn* perked in the market-place,

With a, " First, if you please, my thousand <^ilders ! "

A thousand jjfuilders ! The Mayor looked blue ;

So did the Corporation too.

For Council dinners made rare liavoc

With Claret, Moselle, Vin-<Ie-Grave, Hock ;

And half the money would replenish

Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish.

To pay this sum to a wandering fellow

With a gypsy coat of red and yellow !

" Beside," quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink,

*' Our business was dime at the river's brink ;

We saw, with our eyes, the vermin sink,

And what's dead can't come to life, I think.

>So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink

From the duty of giving you something for drink,

And a matter of money to put in your poke ;

But as for the guilders, what we spoke

Of them, as you very well know, was in joke.

Beside, our losses have made us thriftv.

A thousand guilders ! Come, take fifty ! "

The Piper's face fell, and he cried

" No trifling ! I can't wait, beside !

I've promised to visit by dinner time

Bagdat, and accept the prime

Of the Head Cook's pottage, all he's rich in,

For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen,

Of a nest of scorpions no survivor :

The Pied Pipeii of Hamelin.

117

Witli liini I proved no bargain-driver,
With you, don't think I'll l)ato a stiver !
And folks who put me in a passion
May find me pipe after another fashion."

"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I l)rm)k

l^eing worse treated than a Cook ?

Insulted by a lazy ribald

With idle pipe and vesture piebald I

You threaten us, fellow ? Do your worst,

Blow your pipe there till you burst ! "

Once more he stept into tlu' street,

And to his lips again
Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane ;

And ere he blew three notes (such sweet
Soft notes as yet musician's cunning

Never gave the enraptured air)
There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling
Of merry crowds justling and pitching and hustling ;
Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering,
Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering.
And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering,
Out came the children running.
All the little boys and girls.
With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls.
And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls.
Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after
Tlie wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stoixl
As if they were changed into blocks of wood,
Unable to move a step, or cry
To the children merrily skipping l)y,
(yould only follow with the ev(»

i:. (

118

Fourth Reader.

Tliab joyous crowd at the Pijx^r's back.

But liow the Mayor was on the rack,

And the wretched Council's bosoms beat,

As the Piper turned from the High Street

To where the Weser rolled its waters

Kight in the way of their sons and daughters !

However, he turned from South to "West,

And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed,

And after hira the children pressed ;

Great was the joy in every breast.

" He never can cross that mighty top !

He's forced to let the piping drop.

And we shall see our children stop ! "

When, lo, as they reached the mountain side,

A wondrous portal opened wide.

As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed ;

And the Piper advanced and the children followed,

And when all were in to the very last,

The door in the mi^untain side shut fast.

Did I say, all ? No ! One was lame,

A nd could not dance the whole of the way ;

And in after years, if you would blame

His sadness, he was used to say, —

" It's dull in our town since my playmates left !

I can't forget that I'm bereft

Of all the pleasant sights they see.

Which the Piper also promised me.

For he led us, he said, to a joyous land,

Joining the town and just at hand.

Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew.

And flowers put forth a fairer hue.

And everything Wiis strange and new ;

The spai'rows werc^ brighter than peacocks here.

And their dogs ruitran our fallow deer,

The Pied Piper of Hamelin.

119

And honey-lxjes had lost their stiii<(s,

And horses were born witli eagles' wings .

And just as I became assured

]\ry lame foot would be speedily cured,

The music stopped and I stood still,

And found myself outside the hill.

. ■■;

Left alone against ray will,

To go now limping as before.

And never hear of that country more ! "

Alas, alas for Hamelin !

There came into many a ])urgher's })ate

A text which says that heaven's gate

Opes to the rich at as easy rate
As the needle's eye takes a camel in !
The Mayor sent East, West, North and South,
To offer the Piper, by word of mouth,

Wherever it was men's lot to find him,
Silver and gold to his heart's content.
If he'd only return the way he went.

And bring the children behind him.
But when they saw 'twas a lost endea^'or,
And Piper and dancers were gone forever,
They made a decree th.it lawyers never

Should think their records dated duly
If, after the day of the month and year,
These words did not as well appear,
" And so long after what happened here

On the Twenty-second of July,
Thirteen hun<lred and seventy-six : "
And the better in memory to fix
The place of 11 m children's last retreat,
They called it, tli(^ Pied Piper's Street -
Where anyone playing on pipe or taixd'

120

FouitTH Readek.

I! ,

Wais Hiire for the future to lose liis labor.
Nor Hurtered they hostelry or tavern

To shock with mirth a street so solemn ;
JJut opposite the place of the cavern

They wrote the story on a column,
And on the great church-window painte<l
The same, to make the world acijuainted
How their children wore stolen away,
.\nd there it stands to this very day.
And I must not omit to say
That in Transylvania there's a tribe
Of alien people who ascribe
The outlandish ways and dress
On which their neighbors lay such str(\ss,
To their fathers and mothers having risen
Out of some subterraneous prison
Into which they were trepanned
Long time ago in a mighty band
Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land,
]Jut how or why, they don't understaiitl.

Ho, Willy, let me and you be wi[)ers
Of scores out with all men — especially pipers I
And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice,
If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise !

— Itobert lirowiiiiij/.

Haste not ! Let no tlumghtless deed
Mar for aj'^e the spirit's s\)wd !
Ponder well, and knosv tlu5 right,
Onwanl then, with all thy might !
JIaste not ! Years cannot atone
For one n'ckless action done.

-Giiet.liii.

f'l

How I Killed a Beau.

121

HOW I KILLED A BEAR.

So many conflicting accounts have appeared a))Out
my casual encouiitor with an Adirondack bear hist
summer, that in justice to the public, to myself, and
to the bear, it is necessaiy to make a plain statement
of the facts. Besides, it is so seldom I have occasion
to kill a bear, that the celebration of the exploit may
be excused.

The encounter was unpremeditated on both sides.
I was not hu^iting for a bear, and I have no reason
to suppose that a bear was looking for me. The fact
is, that we were both out blackberrying, and met by
chance — the usual way. There is among the Adir-
ondack visitors always a gi'eat deal of conversation
about bears — a general expression of the wish to se(^
one in the woods, and much speculation as to how
a person would act if he or she chanced to meet one.
But bears are scarce and timid, and appear only to
a favored few.

It was a warm day in August, just the sort of day
when an adventure of any kind seemed impossible.
But it occurred to the housekeepers at our cottage —
there were four of them — to send me to the clearing,
on the mountain back of the house, to pick black-
berries. It was rather a series of small clearings,
I'unning up into the forest, much overgrown with
bushes and briars, and not unromantic. Cows
pastured there, penetrating through the leafy pass-
ages frofti one opening to another, and Ijrowsing

122

FouiiTH Keadek.

:'1H

I i

k i

among tlui l)Ushos. I was kindly furnished with a
six-quart pail, and told not to be gone long.

Not from any predatoiy instinct, but to save
appearances, I took a gun. It adds to the manly
aspect of a person with a tin pail if he also canies
a gun. It was possible I might start up a partridge ;
though how I was to hit him, if he stai-ted up instead
of standing still, puzzled me. Many people use a
shot-gun for partridges. I prefer the rifle : it makes
a clean job of death, and does not prematurely stuff
the bird with globules of lead. The rifle wits a
Sharp's, carrying a ball cartridge (ten to the pound)
— an excellent weapon belonging to a friend of mine,
who had intended for a good many years back, to
kill a deer with it. He could hit a tree with it — if
the wind did not blow, and the atmosphere was just
right, and the tree was not too far off — nearly every
time. Of com'se, the tree must have some size.
Needless to say that I was at that time no sports-
man. Years ago I killed a robin under the most
humiliating circumstances. The bird was in a low
cherry-tree. I loaded a big shot-gun pretty full,
crept up under the tree, rested the gun on the fence,
with the muzzle more than ten feet from the bird,
shut both eyes, and pulled the trigger. When I got
up to see what had happened, the robin was scat-
tered about under the tree in more than a thousand
pieces, no one of which was big enough to enable
a naturalist to decide from it to what species it
belonged. This disgusted me with the life of a
sportsman. I mention the incident to shx)w, that.

ir^

How I Killed a Beau.

1J3

I )

although I went bhickberiying ui'iikmI, thero was uot
mu(;h hiequality between me and the bear.

In this blackbeny-patch bears had been seen.
The summer before, our colored cook, accompanied
by a little girl of the vicinage, was picking berries
there one day, when a bear came out of the woods,
and walked towards them. The girl took to her
heels, and '.saped. Aunt Chloe was paralyzed with
terror. Instead of attempting to run, she sat down
on the gi'ound where she was standing, and began
to weep and scream, giving herself up for lost. The
bear was bewildered by this conduct. He approached
and looked at her ; he walked around and surveyed
her. Probably he had never seen a colored person
before, and did not know whether she would agree
with him: at any rate, after watching her a few
moments, he turned about and went into the forest.
This is an authentic instance of the delicate consid-
eration of a ]3ear, and is much more remarkable than
the forbearance towards the African slave of the
well-known lion, because the bear had no thorn in
his foot.

When I had climbed up the hill, I set up my rifle
against a tree, and began picking berries, lured on
from bush to bush by the black gleam of fruit (that
always promises more in the distance than it realizes
when you reach it) ; penetrating farther and farther,
through leaf-shaded cow-paths flecked with sunlight,
into clearing after clearing. I could hear on all
sides the tinkle of bells, the cracking of sticks, and
the stamping of cattle that were taking refuge in

124

Fourth Keadem.

the thicket from the fluss. Occusioimlly, us 1 ])r(>ke
through a covert, I encountcrtMl a meek cow, who
stared at me stupidly for a second, and then sham-
bled off into the brush. I became accustomed to
this dumb society, and pic^ked on in silence, attri-
buting all the wood noises to the cattle, thinking
nothing of any real bear. In point of fact, however,
I was thinking all the time of a nice romantit; bear,
and, as I picked, was composing a story about a
generous she-bear who had lost her cub, and who
seized a small girl in this very wood, cari'ied her
tenderly oif to a cave, and brought her up on l)ear's
milk and honey. When the girl got big enough to
run away, moved by her inherited instincts, she
escaped, and came into the valley to her father's
house (this part of the stoiy was to be worked out,
so that the chDd would know her father by some
family resemblance, and have some language in
which to addi'ess him), and told him where the bear
lived. The father took his gun, and, guided by the
unfeeling daughter, went into the woods and shot
the bear, who never made any resistance, and only,
when dying, turned reproachful eyes upon her mur-
derer. The moral of the tale was to be kindness to
animals.

I was in the midst of this tale, when I happened
to look some rods away to the other end of the clear-
ing, and there was a bear ! He was standing on his
hind legs, and doing just what I was doing — pick-
ing blackberries. With one paw he bent down the
bush, while with the other he clawed the berries

How 1 KlIJ.KI) A JiKAH.

12')

into his moutli — grcc^u oik's himI hU. To suy that 1
WHS astoTiisho<l is iiisich^ tho mark. 1 suddeuly dis-
covor('<l that I diilii't want to seo a bear, at'tcn* all.
At about, tho same inoiuent the himv saw ino, stop-
ped eating berritvs, and n^garded me with a ghid
surpiise. It is all very well to imagine what you
would do under su(;li circHimstanci^s. Pi'obably you
wouldn't do it: I didn't. The b(»ar dropped down
on his fore -feet, and (tame slowly towards me.
Climbing a tree was of no use with so good a climber
in the rear. If I started to iTin, I had no doubt the
bear woiUd give chase ; and although a bear cannot
run down hill as fast as he oan run up hill, yet I felt
that he could get over this rough, brush-tangled
gi'ound faster than I could.

The bear was approaching. It sudderdy occurred
to me how I could divert his mind until I could fall
back upon my military base. My pail was nearly
full of excellent berries — much better than the bear
could pick himself. I put the pail on the ground,
and slowly backed away from it, keeping my eye,
as beast-tamers do, on the bear. The ruse suc-
(?eeded.

The bear came up to the hemes and stopped. Not
accustomed to eat out of a pail, he tipped it over,
and nosed about in the fruit "gorming" (if there is
such a word) it down, mixed with leaves and dirt,
like a pig. The bear is a worse feeder than the pig.
When ever he disturbs a maple-sugar camp in the
spring, he always upsets the buckets of syrup, and
tramples round in the sticky sweets, wasting more

! [

126

FouKTH Reader.

than he eats. The bear's inauuers are thoroughly
disagreeable.

As soon as my enemy's head was down, I started
and ran. Somewhat out of breath, and shaky, I
reached my faithful rifle. It was not a moment too
soon. I heard the bear crashing through the brush
after me. Enraged at my duplicity, he was now
coming on with blood in his eye. I felt that the
time of one of us was probably short. The rapidity
of thought at such moments of peril is well known.
I thought an octavo volume, had it illustrated and
published, sold fifty thousand copies, and went to
Europe on the proceeds, while that bear was loping
across the clearing. As I was cocking the gun, I
made a hasty and unsatisfactory review of my whole
life. I noted that, even in such a compulsoiy review,
it is almost impossible to think of any good thing
you have done. The sins come out uncommonly
strong. I recollected a newspaper subscription I had
delayed paying years and years ago, until both edi-
tor and newspaper were dead, and which now never
could be paid to all eternity.

The bear was coming on.

I tried to remember what I had read about encoun-
ters with bears. I couldn't recall an instance in
which a man had run away from a bear in the woods
and escaped, although I recalled plenty where the
bear had run from the man and got off. I tried to
think what is the best way to kill a bear with a gun,
when you are not near enough to club him with the
stock. My first thought was to fire 8,fc his head ; to

How I Killed a Bear.

127

plant the ball between his eyes ; but this is a dan-
gerous experiment. The bear's brain is very small ;
and unless you hit that, the bear does not mind
a bullet in his head; that is, not at the time. I
remembered that the instant death of the bear would
follow a bullet just planted back of his fore-leg, and
sent into his heart. This spot is also difficult to
reach, unless the bear stands off, side towards you,
like a target. I finally determined to fire at him
generally.

The bear was coming on.

The contest seemed to me very different from
anything at Creedmoor. I had carefully read the
reports of the shooting there ; but it was not easy
to apply the experience I had thus acquired. I hesi-
tated whether I had better fire lying on my stom-
ach ; or lying on my back, and resting the gun on
my toes. But in neither position, I reflected, could
I see the bear until he was upon me. The range
was too short ; and the bear wouldn't wait for me
to examine the thermometer, and note the direction
of the wind. Trial of the Creedmoor method, there-
fore, had to be abandoned ; and I bitterly regretted
that I had not read more accounts of off-hand
shooting.

For the bear was coming on.

I tried to fix my last thoughts on my family. As
my family is small, this was not difficult. Dread of
displeasing my wife, or hm^ting her feelings, was
uppermost in my mind. What would be her
anxiety as hour after hour passed on, and I did not

128

Fourth Eeadeh.

ill

return ! What would the rest of the household think,
as the afternoon passed, and no blackberries came !
What would be my wife's mortification when the
news was brought her that her husband had been
eaten by a bear ! I cannot imagine any thing more
ignominious than to have a husband eaten by a bear.
And this was not my only anxiety. The mind at
such times is not under control. With the gi-avest
fears the most whimsical ideas will occur. I looked
beyond the mourning friends, and thought what
kind of an epitaph they would be compelled to put
upon the stone. Something like this : —

HEKE LIE THE llEMAINS
OF

EATEN BY A BEAR,

Aug. 20th, 1877.

But the bear was coming on ; he had, in fact, come
on. I judged that he could see the whites of my
eyes. AU my subsequent reflections were confused.
I raised the gun, covered the bear's breast with the
sight, and let drive. Then I turned, and ran like a
deer. I did not hear the bear pursuing. I looked
back. The bear had stopped. He was lying down.
I then remembered that the best thing to do after
having fired your gun is to reload it. I slipped in
a charge, keeping my eye on the bear. He never
stuTed. I walked back suspiciously. There was a
quiver in the hind legs, but no other motion. Still
he might be shamming: bears often sham. To make
sure, I approached and put a ball into his head. He

How I Killed a Beak.

12J)

didn't mind it now; he minded nothing. Death
had come to him with a merciful suddenness. He
was calm in death. In order that he might remain
so I blew his brains out, and then started for home.
I had killed a bear !

Notwithstanding my excitement, I managed to
saunter into the house with an unconcerned air.
There was a choi-us of voices : —

" Where are your blackberries ! "

"Why were you gone so long ! "

" Where is your pail I "

" I left the pail."

" Left the pail ! What for?"

"A bear wanted it."

" Oh, nonsense ! "

" Well, the last I saw of it the bear had it."

" Oh, come ! You didn't really see a bear ? "

"Yes, but I did really see a real bear."

" Did he run ? "

" Yes ; he ran after me."

" I don't believe a word of it. What did you do I "

" Oh ! nothing particular — except kill the bear."

Cries of " Gammon ! " " Don't believe it ! "
" Where's the bear ! "

" If you want to see the bear you must go up into
the woods. I couldn't bring him down alone."

Having satisfied the household that something
extraordinary had occuiTed, and excited the posthu-
mous fear of some of them for my own safety, I
went down into the valley to get help. The gi'eat
bear-hunter, who keeps one of the summer board-

130

FouiiTH Eeader.

ing-houses, received my story with a smile of incre-
dulity; and the incredulity spread to the other
inhabitants and to the boarders as soon as the story
was known. However, as I insisted in all soberness,
and offered to lead them to the bear, a party of
forty or fifty people at least started off with me to
bring the bear in. Nobody believed there was any
bear in the case ; but everybody who could get a
gun carried one ; and we went into the woods armed
with guns, pistols, pitchforks, and sticks, against
all contingencies or surprises, — a crowd made up
mostly of scoffers and jeerers.

But when I led the way to the fatal spot, and
j)ointed out the bear, lying peacefully wrapped in
his own skin, something like terror seized the board-
ers, and genuine excitement the natives. It was a
no-mistake bear, by George! and the hero of the
fight — ^well, I will not insist upon that. But what a
procession that was, carrying the bear home ! and
what a congi-egation was speedily gathered in the
valley to see the bear ! Our best preacher up there
never drew anything like it on Sunday.

And I must say that my particular friends, who
were sportsmen, behaved very well, on the whole.
They didn't deny that it was a bear, although they
said it was small for a bear. Mr. Deane, who is
equally good with a rifle and a rod, admitted that it
was a very fair shot. He is probably the best sal-
mon-fisher in the United States, and he is an equally
good hunter. I suppose there is no person in Ame]'-
ica who is more desirous to kill a moose than he.

The Owl.

131

But lie needlessly remarked, after he had examined
the wound in the bear, that he had seen that kind
of a shot made by a cow's hom.

This sort of talk affected me not. When I went
to sleep that night, my last delicious thought was,
" I've killed a bear ! "

THE OWL.

Ill the hollow tree in the gray old tower,

The spectral owl doth dwell ;
Dull, hated, despised in the sunshine-hour,

But at dusk — he's abroad and well :
Not a bird of the forest e'er mates with hiui ;

All mock him outright by day ;
But at night, when the woods grow still and dim,

Then the boldest will shrink away ;

Oh, when the night falls, and roosts the fowl,
Then, then is the reign of the horned owl !

And the owl hath a bride who is fond and bold,

And loveth the wood's deep gloom ;
And with eyes like the shine of the moonshine col<l

She awaiteth her ghastly groom !
Not a feather she moves, not a caj;'ol she sings,

As she waits in her tree so still ;
But when her heart heareth his flapping wings,

She hoots out her welcome shrill !

Oh, when the moon shines and the dogs do howl,
Then, then is the cry of the horned owl !

Mourn not for the owl nor his gloomy plight !

The owl hath his share of good :
If a prisoner he be in the broad daylight,

He is lord in the dark green wood !

^■i»

132

Fouirni Readek.

Nor lonely the bird nor his ghastly mate ;

They are each unto each a pride-
Thrice fondei', perhaps, since a stranj^e dark fate
Hatli rent them from all beside !

So when tlie night falls and dogs do howl,
Sing ho ! for the reign of the horned owl !
We know not alway who are kings by day,

But the king of the night is the bold brown owl.

— Barry Corntoall (B. F. Procter).

THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK.

I'll seek a four-leaved Shamrock in all the fairy dells,
And if I find the charmed leaves, oh, how I'll weave ray spells !
I would not waste my magic mite on diamond, pearl, or gold.
For treasure tires the weary sense — siwh triumph is but cold ;
But I would play th' enchanter's part in casting bliss around—
Oh not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found.

To worth I would give honor ! — I'd dry the mourner's tears.

And to the pallid lip recall the smile of happier years,

And hearts that had been long estranged, and friends that had

grown cold.
Should meet again — like parted streams — and mingle as of old !
Oh ! thus I'd play th' enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around.
And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found !

The heart that had been mourning, o'er vanished dreams of love.
Should see them all returning — like Noah's faithful dove ;
And Hope should launch her blessed bark on Sorrow's darken-
ing sea.
And Misery's children have an ark and saved from sinking be.
Oh ! thus I'd play th' enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around.

And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found !

'—Ijove}',

«*_ .^ —

The Touknament.

133

THE TOURNAMENT.

The pause in the tournament was still uninter-
rupted, excepting by the voices of the heralds
exclaiming — " Love of ladies ! splintering of laiK^es !
stand forth, gallant knights, fair eyes look upon
your deeds!" Prince John began to talk to his
attendants about making ready the banquet, and
the necessity of adjudging the prize to Brian de
Bois-Gruilbert, who had, with a single spear, over-
thrown two knights, and foiled a third.

At length, as the music of the challengers con-
cluded one of those long and high flourishes with
which they had broken the silence of the lists, it was
answered by a solitary trumpet, which breathed a
note of defiance from the northern extremity. All
eyes were turned to see the new champion which
these sounds announced, and no sooner were the
barriers opened than he passed into the lists.

As far as could be judged of a man sheathed in
aiTnor, the new adventurer did not gi-eatly exceed
the middle size, and seemed to be rather slender
than strongly made. His suit of armor was formed
of steel, richly inlaid with gold, and the device on
his shield was a young oak-tree pulled up by the
roots, with the Spanish word DesdU'hado^ signifying
Disinherited.

He was mounted on a gallant black horse, and as
he passed thi'ough the lists he gi'acefuUy saluted the

13-4

Fourth Reader.

i 1^

f! *!

Prince and tlui huUos l)y lowering* his Iiukh^ The
dexterity with which he managed his steed, and
something of youthful gi'ace which he displayed in
his manner, won him the favor of the multitude,
which some of the lower classes expressed by calling
out, " Touch Ralph de Vipont's shield I touch the
Hospitaller's shield ; he has the least sure seat, he is
your cheapest bargain ! "

The champion, moving onward amid these well-
meant hints, ascended the platfoi-m by the sloping
alley which led to it from the lists, and, to the aston-
ishment of all present, riding straight up to the cen-
tre pavilion, stiTick with the sharp end of his spear
the shield of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, until it rang
again. All stood amazed at his presumption, but
none more than the redoubted knight whom he
had thus defied to mortal combat, and who, little
expecting so rude a challenge, was standing cai*e-
lessly at the door of the pavilion.

" Have you confessed yourself, brother," said the
Templar, " and have you heard mass this morning,
that you peril yom" life so frankly ? "

"I am fitter to meet death than thou art," an-
swered the Disinherited Knight ; for by this name
the stranger had recorded himself in the book of
the touniey.

"Then take your place in the lists," said Bois-
Guilbert, " and look your last time upon the sun, for
this night thou shalt sleep in Paradise I "

" Gramercy for thy courtesy," replied the Disin-
lierited Knight, " and to requite it I advise thee to

The ToiIliNAMENT.

135

take a fresh liors*^ •iiicl a new lauce, for ])V iiiv honor
you will need biitn."

Having expressed himself thus (confidently, he
reined his horse bacckward down the slope which he
had ascended, and compelled him in the same man-
ner tc move backward through the lists, till he
reached the northern extremity, where he remained
stationary, in expectation of his antagonist. This
feat of horsemanship again called forth the applause
of the multitude.

However incensed at his adversaiy for the pre-
cautions which he recommended, Brian de Bois-
Gruilbert did not neglect his advice ; for his honor
was too nearly concerned, to peraiit his neglecting
any means which might ensure victory over his
presumptuous opponent. He changed his horse for
a proved and fresh one of great strength and spirit.

He chose a new and a tough spear, lest the wood
of the former might have been strained in the pre-
vious encounters he had sustained. Lastly, he laid
aside his shield, which had received some little dam-
age, and received another from one of his squires.

His first had only borne the general device of his
rider, representing two knights riding on one horse,
an emblem expressive of the original humility and
poverty of the Templars, qualities which they had
since exchanged for the arrogance and wealth that
finally occasioned their suppression. Bois-Guilbei-t's
new shield bore a raven in full flight, holding in
its claws a skull, and bearing the motto, Gare le
Corheau !

lan

FOUKTH ReADEK.

'■1

I 5i,

When the two ('hanii>ioiis stood opposed to each
other, at the two extremities of the lists, the pubUc
expectation was strained to the highest pitch. Few
augured the possibihty that the encounter could ter-
minate well for the Disinherited Knight, yet his
courage and gallantry secured the general good-
wishes of the spectators.

The trumpets had no sooner given the signal than
the champions vanished from their posts with the
speed of lightning, and closed in the centre of the
lists with the shock of a thunderbolt. The lances
burst into shivers up to the very gi'asp, and it seemed
at the moment that both knights had fallen, for the
shock had made each horse recoil backward on its
haunches. The address of the riders recovered their
steeds by use of the bridle and spur; and, having
glared at each other for an instant with eyes that
seemed to flash fire through the bars of their visors,
each made a demi- volte, and retiring to the extremity
of the lists, received a fresh lance from the attendants.

A loud shout from the spectators, the waving of
scarfs and handkerchiefs, and general acclamations,
attested the interest taken in this encounter; the
most equal, as well as the best performed, which
had graced the day. But no sooner had the knights
resumed their station than the clamor of applause
was hushed into a silence so deep and so dead, that it
it seemed as if the multitude were afraid even to
breathe.

A few minutes' pause having })een allowed, that
the combatants and their hoi'ses might recover

The Touknament,

i;r

it
to

at
er

In'Oiith, Priiico Jolni witli liis truiichooii sij^ikmI to
tlio ti'uinpt^ts to sound tlu^ ons(»t. The cliainpioiiH a
second time si)ran^ from tlioir stations, and clostMl
in the centre of tlie lists, witli tlie same speed, the
same dexterity, the same violence, ))ut not the same
e(|ual fortune, as before.

In this second encounter, tlu^ Templar aim(»d at
the centre of his antagonist's shield, and struck it
so fair and forcibly that his spear went to shivers,
and the Disinherited Knight reeled in his saddle.
On the other hand, that champion had, in the begin-
ning of his career, directed the point of his lance
towards Bois-Guilbert's shield; but changing his
aim almost in the moment of (Micounter, he addressed
it to the helmet, a mai'k more difficult to hit, but
which, if attained, rendm's the shock more irresist-
ible. Fair and true, he hit the Norman on the visor,
where his lance's point kept hold on the bars. Yet,
(>ven at this disadvantage, the Templar sustained
his high reputation ; and had not the girths of his
saddle bm'st he might not have been unhorsed. As
it chanced, however, saddle, horse and man rolled
on the ground under a cloud of dust.

To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen
steed was to the Templar scarce the work of a
moment ; and, stung with madness, both at his dis-
grace and at the acclamations with which it was
hailed by the spectators, he drew his sword, and
waved it in defiance of his conqueror. The Disin-
herited Knight sprang from his steed, and also
unsheathed his sword,

1.18

FoUKTH KeADKU.

rr. 5

1' i?

Sir

ill

Tlio imirsliiils of tlu^ fi<»l(l, li<)W(n'<M*, spurred tluMr
liorst's between them, and reniinde<l them, that the
hiws of tlie tominiment did not, on the present
occasion, permit this species of enc^ounter.

"We shall m(»et again, I tmst," said the Temphir,
<'asting a resentful glance at his antagonist ; " and
where there will be none to separate us."

"If we do not," said the Disinherited Knight,
" the fault shall not be mine. On foot or horseback,
with spear, with axe, or with sword, I am alike ready
to encounter thee."

More and angiier words would have ])een ex-
changed, but the marshals, crossing their laiu^es
betwixt them, compelled them to separate. The
Disinheiited Knight returned to his first station, and
Bois-Guilbert to his tent, where he remained for the
rest of the day in an agony of despair.

Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror
called for a bowl of wine, and opening the beaver
or lower part of his helmet, announced that he
quaffed it " To all true English hearts, and to the
confusion of foreign tyrants ! " He then commanded
his tnimpet to sound a defiance to the challengers,
and desired a herald to annoimce to them, that he
should make no election, but was willing to encoun-
ter them in the order whi<^h they advanced against
him.

The gigantic Front -de-Boeuf, armed in sable
armcr, was the first who took the field. He bore
on a white shield a black bull's head, half defaced
by the numerous encounters he had undergone^ and

TllK TOUKNAMKNT.

i:ji)

iM'jii'iii^ Wu) HiTopiiit motto, Carr, (idsunt ! ()v«m* this
I'hampiou tho DisiuhorittMl Knight giiiiuMl a slight
but decisive a<lv^aiitago. Both kiiiglits broke their
lances fairly, but Front - de - Ii<i»uf, who lost a stir-
rup in the en(U)unter, was adjudged to have the
disadvantage.

In the stranger's third cnicounter, with 8ir Philip
Malvoisin, he was equally sucH'.essfiil. Striking that
l)aron forcibly on the cas(pie, the laces of the helmet
broke; and Malvoisin, only saved from falling by
being unhelmeted, was declared vanquished like his
companions.

In his fourth (;ombat, with De (Irantmesnil, the
Disinherited Knight showed as much courtesy as
he had hitherto evinced courage and dexterity. De
Grantmesnil's horse, which was young and violent,
reared and plunged in the course of its career, so
as to disturb the rider's aim ; but the stranger de-
clined to take the advantage which this accident
afforded him. Raising his lance, and passing his
antagonist without touching him, he wheeled his
horse and rode back again to his own end of the
lists, offeiiiig his antagonist, by a herald, the chance
of a second encounter. This De Grantmesnil de-
clined, avowing himself vanquished as much by the
courtesy as well as by the address of his opponent.

Ralph dB Vipont summed up the list of the
stranger's triumphs, being hurled to the gi'ound
with such force, that the blood gushed from his
nose and his mouth, and he was borne senseless
from the lists.

Mii

:'t

140

Fourth Reader.

The loud acclaiiiatious of thousands applauded
the unanimous award of the Prince and marshals,
which announced that day's honors to the Disin-
herited Knight.

—Sir Walter Scott.

LOVE OF COUNTRY.

Breatlies there a man with soul so dead,
Wlio never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land !
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd

From wand'ring on a foreign strand ?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well ;
For him no minstrel raptures swell ;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim : —
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch concentred all in self.
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonor'd, and unsung.

— Scolt.

"The foremost among the nations will })e that one which,
by its conduct, will gradually engender in the minds of the
others a fixed belief, that it is just."

—William fJwart Gladstone,

Home and Countky.

141

bis,

LU-

HOME AND COUNTRY.

ich,
the

There is a land, of every land the pride,
Beloved of Heaven o'er all the world beside,
Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
And milder moons imparadise the night ;
A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth,
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth.
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores.
Views not a realm so beautiful and fair,
Nor breathes the spirit of a pui'er aii*.

In every clime, the magnet of his soul.
Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole ;
For in this land of Heaven's peculiar race,
The heritage of Nature's noblest grace.
There is a spot of earth supremely blest,
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,
Wliere man, creation's tyrant, casts aside
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pi'ide,
While in his softened looks benignly blend
The sire, the son, the husband, brother friend.

Here woman reigns ; the mother, daughter, wife.

Strew with fresh flowers the narrow wav of life ;

In the clear heaven of her delightful eye

The angel guard of love and graces lie ;

Around her knees domestic duties meet.

And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.

Where shall that land, that spot of earth be ff)un(l ?

Art thou a man ? — a patriot ? — look around ;

Oh, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,

That land thy country, and that spot thy home.

— James Montgomerii,

I' !f

142

FOUBTH EeADEB.

I I

51^ f

THE FATHERLAND.

Where is the true man's fatherland ?

Is it where he by chance is born ?

Doth not the yearning spirit scorn
In such scant borders to be spanned ?

O yes ! his fatherland must be

As the blue heaven wide and free !

I
I-

ilr

Is it alone where freedom is,

Where God is God, and man is man 'J
Doth he not claim a broader span

For the soul's love of home than this ?
O yes ! his fatherland must be
As the blue heaven wide and free !

Where'er a human heart doth wear
Joy's myrtle-wreath or sorrow's gyves,
Where'er a human spirit strives

After a life more true and fair —

There is the true man's "birthplace grand ;
His is a world-wide fatherland !

Where'er a single slave doth pine,

Where'er one man may help another —
Thank God for such a birthright, brother-

That spot of earth is thine and mine !

There is the true man's birthplace grand ;
His is a world-wide fatherland !

-J. Hussell Loivell.

Lake Winnipeg.

143

LAKE WINNIPEG.

The plain through which Red River flows is fer-
tile 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, fring-
ing 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 gi'ass. As one travels
on, there first rise above the pi'airie the tops of
i 'ees; these gradually gi'ow larger, until finally,
lifter many hour's, the river is reached. Nothing
else breaks the uniform level.

Through many marsh-lined channels, and amidst
a vast sea of reeds and rushes, the Red River of the
north seeks the waters of Lake Winnipeg. A mix-
ture of land and water, of mud and of the varied
vegetation which grows thereon, 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 mom'nful rustle, and the
wild bird passes and repasses, with plaintive cry,
over the rushes which form his summer home.

Emerging from the sedges of Red River, we shot
out into the waters of an immense lake which
stretched away into unseen 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

144

Fourth Reader.

wlicre lakes are inland seas. The capes and liead-
lands of what was once a vast inhmd sea, now
stand, far away from the shores of Winnipeg. But,
vast as it now is, it is only a tithe of what it must
have been in the earlier ages of the earth. Hun-
dreds of miles from its present limits, these gi'eat
landmarks still look down on an ocean ; hut it is an
ocean of grass.

But although Lake Winnipeg has shrunk to a
tenth of its original size, its rivers still remain wor-
thy 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 change-
ful as the ocean, but, fortunately 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 untir-
ing paddles.

A long low point, stretching from the south shore
of the lake, was faintly visible 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 dinner. Then,
resuming our way, the Grande Traverse was entered
upon. Far away over the lake rose the point of the
Big Stone, a lonely cape whose perpendicular front
was raised high over the water. The sun began to
sink towards the west ; but still not a breath rippled
the surface of the lake, not a sail moved over the
wide expanse — all was as lonely as though our tiny

Young Lochinvar.

145

cmft luul 1)0011 th(^ sole spook of life on the waters
of the world.

The red sun sank into the lake. It was time
to seek the shore and make our beds for the night.
A deep sandy bay, with a high backing of woods
and rocks, seemed to invite us to its solitudes.
Steering in with great caution amid the rocks, we
landed in this sheltered spot, and drew om* boat
upon the sandy beech. The shore yielded large
store of drift-wood, the relics of many a northern
gale. Behind us lay a trackless forest; in front,
the golden glory of the western sky. The night
shades deepened around us, and the red glare of our
drift-wood fire cast its light upon the woods and
rooks.

—Major \r. F. littler.

YOUNG LOCHINVAR.

^n.

O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west !
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ;
And, save hit^ good broad-sword he weapons had none ;
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war.
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone ;

He sNvam the Esk river where ford there was none ;

But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented — the gallant came late ;

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

i I ';

'if- '
1

;j '.

1 1

146

Fourth Reader.

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all :

Then spoke the bride's father, liis hand on his sword,

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word)

" O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?"

" I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ;
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide ;
And now am I come with this lost love of mine.
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine,
There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kissed the goblet, the knight took it up ;
He quaffed off the wine and he threw down the cup ;
She looked down to blush and she looked up to sigh.
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar — ■
"Now tread we a measure !" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face.

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume :

And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'Twere better by far

To have- matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood
near ;

So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung !

" She is won ! We are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur !

They'll have fleet steeds that follow ! " quotK young Loch-
invar.

The Labk at the Digginos.

147

There was mounting 'raong Grtemes of the Netherby clan ;
Forsters, Fen wicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran ;
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have you e'er heard of gallant like young Tjochinvar 1

—Scott.

THE LARK AT THE DIGGINGS.

The house was thatched and white-washeci, and
Enghsh was written on it and on every foot of
ground round it. A furze bush had been planted
by the door. Vertical oak palings were the fence,
with a five-barred gate in the middle of them. From
the little plantation all the magnificent trees and
shrubs of Australia had been excluded with amaz-
ing resolution and consistency, and oak and ash
reigned safe from overtowering rivals. They passed
to the back of the house, and there George's count-
enance fell a little, for on the oval grass-plot and
gi'avel walk he found from thirty to forty rough
fellows, most of them diggers.

"Ah well," said he, on reflection, "we could not
expect to have it all to ourselves, and indeed it would
be a sin to wish it, you know. Now, Tom, come
this way; here it is, here it is — there! " Tom looked
up, and in a gigantic cage was a light brown bird.

He was utterly confounded. "What, is it this we
came twelve miles to see ? "

148

Fourth Reader.

"Ay! and twico twelve wouldn't have heeii much
to irie."

" Well, but what is the lavk you talked of f

" This is it ! "

" This ? This is a bird."

" Well, and isn't a lark a bird ? "

"Oh, ay, I see! hal hal ha! ha!"

Robinson's meiTiment was interi'upted by a harsh
remonstrance from several of the diggers, who were
all from the other end of the camp.

"Hold your cackle," cried one, "he is going to
sing;" and the whole party had their eyes turned
with expectation toward the bird.

Like most singers he kept them waiting a bit. But
at last, just at noon, when the mistress of the house
had warranted him to sing, the little feathered exile
l)egan, as it were, to tune his pipes. The savage
men gathered round the cage that moment, and
amidst a dead stillness the bird uttered some very
uncertain chirps, but after a while he seemed to re-
vive his memories, to call his ancient cadences back
to him one by one, and to string them together.

And then the same sun that had wanned his little
heart at home came glowing down on him here, and
he gave music back for it more and more, till at last
— amidst breathless silence and glistening eyes of
the rough diggers hanging on his voice — out burst
in that distant land his English song.

It swelled from his little throat and gushed from
him with thrilling force and plenty, and every time
he checked his song to think of its theme, the green

:•(.

The Lahk at the Diggings.

14i)

iiKuidows, tho quiot stealing Rtreams, tlio clover lie
first soared from and the spriiig he sang so well, a
loud sigh from many a rough bosom, many a wild
and wicked heart, told how tight the list(^n(3rs had
held their hreath to hear lum. And, when he swelled
with song again, and poured with all his soul the
green meadows, the quiet brooks, the honey-clover,
and the English spring, the rugged mouths opened
and so stayed, and the shaggy lips trembled, and
more than one drop trickled from fierce unbridled
hearts down bronzed and rugged cheeks.

Home! sweet home I

And these shaggy men, full of oaths and strife
and cupidity, had once been white-headed boys, and
had strolled about the English fields with little sis-
ters and little brothers, and seen the lark rise, and
heard him sing this very song. The little playmates
lay in the churchyard, and they were full of oaths,
and drink, and riot, and remorses ; but no note was
changed in this immortal song. And so, for a
moment or two, years of vice rolled away like a
dark cloud from the memory, and the past shone
out in the song-shine ; they came back, bright as
the immortal notes that had lighted them, those
faded pictures and those fleeted days ; the cottage,
the old mother's tears, when he left her without one
grain of sorrow ; the village church and its simple
chimes ; the clover field hard by in which he lay and
gambolled, while the lark praised God overhead;
the chubby playmates that never grew to be wicked,
the sweet hours of youth and innoc^ence, and home !

150

»■

I f

Fourth TIeadek.

"What will you take for him, unstress? I will
give you live pounds for him ! "

"No I no I I won't take five pounds for my bird ! "

"Of course she won't," cried another, "she wouldn't
be such a flat. Here, missus," ciied he, " I'll give
you that for him," and he extended a brown hand
with at least thirty new sovereigns glittering in it.

The woman trembled ; she and her husband were
just emerging from poverty after a hard fight.

" Oh ! " she cried, " it is a shame to tempt a poor
woman with so much gold. We had six brought
over, and all died on the way but this one ! " and
she threw her white apron over her head, not to see
the glittering bribe.

" Bother you, put the money up and don't tempt
the woman," was the cry. Another added, "Why,
you fool, it wouldn't live a week if you had it," and
they all abused the man : but the woman turned to
him kindly, and said :

" You come to me every Sunday, and he shall sing
to you. You will get more pleasure from him so,"
said she sweetly, " than if he was always by you."

" So I will, old girl," replied the rough, in a
friendly tone.

George stayed till the lark gave up singing alto-
gether, and then he said: "Now, I'm off. I don't
want to hear bad language after that : let us take
the lark's chiip home to bed with us." And they
made off ; and true it was, the pure strains dwelt
upon their spirits, and refreshed and puiified these
sojournei's in a godless place,

—Oiarlefi Reade,

Dickens in Cami'.

l.")!

DIOKENS IN OAMP.

Abovo tho piiu'H the iu<»<m was slowly diifting,

The river Hang below ;
The dim Sierras, far beyond, ui>lit'ting.

Their minarets of snow.

The roaring camp-tire, with rud«! huiiMU*, painted

The ruddy tints of liealth
On haggaid face and form tliat (hooped an<l fainti'd

In the fierce race for wealth ;

Till one arose, and ivoni his pa(;k's s(!ant treasure

A hoarded volume drew,
And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure

To hear the tale anew ;

And then, while round them shadows gathered faster,
And as the firelight fell.
He read aloud the book wherein the Alasttu'
Had writ of "Little Nell."

Perhaps 'twas boyish fancy, for the reader

Was youngest of them all, —
But as he read, from clustering pine and cedar

A silence seemed to fall j

The fir-trees, gathering closer in the shadows,
Listened in every spray,

,11.

V)2

FOUIITH KEADmi.

Wliild tlui whohi «;Hinp witli "Nell " on Kiiglisli im 'in lows,
Waiultii'tHl, and lost tlirir way.

And so, in mountain solitudes, o'ntakon ' ,

As ])y some spell divine -
Their t;ar(\s drop from them, like the netidleis shaken

From out the gusty pint!.

Lost is that camp, and wasted all its Hre ; —

And he who wrought that spell ?
Ah, towering pine and statedly Kentish spire,

Ye liave one tale to tell !

Lost is that camp ! but hit its fragrant slory

Blend with the breath that thrills
With hop-vines' incense all the pensi\(i glory

That fills the Kentish hills.

And on that grave where English oak and holly

And laurel wreaths entwine,
Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly,

This spray of Western pine !

—Btv.t UnHii.

Some murmur, when their skv is clear

And wholly bright to view,

If one small speck of dark appear

In their great heaven of blue ;

And some with thankful love are filled,

If but one streak of light,

One ray of God's good mercy, gild

The darkness of their night.

■Trench.

FiioM THE Book or Psalms.

•)t)

PROM THE "BOOK OP PSALMS."

Psalm 2^).

The Lord is my sliophei'd ; I shall not want. He
niaketh me to lie down in green pastures : he leadeth
nie beside the still waters. He icstoreth my soul :
he leadeth me in the paths of lighteonsneps for his
name^s sake. Yea, though I walk th-DUgh ^he
valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no c \ il :
for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staft they
eomfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in
the presence of mine enemies : thou anointest my
head with oil ; my cup nmneth over. Surely good-
ness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my
life : and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for
ever.

Psalm 103.

Bless the Lord, my soul : and all that is within
me, hless his holy name. Bless i'i'> Lord, O my soul,
and forget not all his benefits : Who f orgiveth all
thine iniquities : who healeth all thy diseases ;
Who redeemeth thy life from destruction ; who
crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender
mercies ; Who siitisfieth thy mouth with good
things; so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's.

The Lord executeth righteousness and judgment
for all that are oppressed. He made known his
ways unto Moses, his acts u.nto the children of
Israel,
n

154

FoiTiiTH Reader.

Tlie Ijord is nieivit'ul and gvac^ions, slow to anger,
and plenteous in mercy. He will not always chide :
neither will he keep his atHjer for ever. He hath
not dealt with us after our sins ; nor rewarded us
according to our iniquities. For as the heaven is
high above the earth, so gi-eat is his mercy toward
them that fear him. As far as the east is from the
west, so far hath he removed our transgressions
from us. Like a father pitieth his children, so the
Lord pitieth them that fear him. For he knoweth
our frame, he remembereth that we are dust.

As for man, his days are as grass : as a flower of
the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth
over it and it is gone ; and the place thereof shall
know it no more. But the mercy of the Lord is
from everlasting to everlasting uf)on them that fear
him, and his righteousness unto children's children ;
To such as keep his covenant, and to those that
remember his commandments to do them.

The Lord hath prepared his throne in the heav-
ens ; and his kingdom ruleth over all. Bless the
Lord, ye his angels, that excel in strength, that do
his commandments, hearkening unto the voice of his
word. Bless ye the Lord, all ye his hosts ; ye min-
isters of his, that do his pleasure. Bless the Lord
all his works in all places of his dominion : bless
the Lord, O my soul.

Psalm 148.

Praise ye the Lord. Praise ye the Loi'd from the
heavens : praise him in the lieights. Praise ye him.

The Findino of the Lyke.

15,")

Jill his aiigols : praise yo him, nil lus hosts. Praiso
ye him, sun and moon : praise him, all ye stars of
light. Praise him, ye heavens of heavens, and ye
waters that he above the heavens. Let them praise
the name of the Lord : for he commanded, and they
were created. He hath also estabUshed them for
ever and ever : he hath made a decree which shall
not pr ^s. Praise the Lord from the earth, ye dra-
gons, and all deeps: Fire, and hail; snow, and
vapors ; stormy wind fulfilling his word : Moun-
tains, and all hills; fruitful trees, and all cedars:
Beasts, and all cattle; creeping things, and flying
fowl: Kings of the earth, and all people ; piinces,
and all judges of the earth : Both young men, and
maidens; old men, and children : Let thorn praise
the name of the Lord : for his name alone is excel-
lent ; his glory is above the earth and heaven. He
also exalteth the horn of his people, the praise of all
his saints; even of the children of Israel, a people
near unto him. Praise ye the Lord.

THE FINDING OF THE LYRE.

the
lim.

Tliore lay upon tlie ocean's shore
What once a tortoise served to cov(M' ;
A yenv and more, ^vith rusli and roai-,
The surf had rolled it over,
Had played with it, and flung it ])y.
As wind and weather might decide it,
Then tossed it high where sand-drifl^; (!:
Cheap burial might provide it.

i. 'I,

i f^

156 FouETH Reader.

It rested there to bleach or tan,

The rains had soaked, the suns had burned it ^

With many a ban the fisherman

Had stumbled o'er and spurned it ;

And there the fisher-girl would stay,

Conjecturing with her brother

How in their play the poor estray

Might serve some use or other.

So there it lay, through wet and dry

As empty as the last new sonnet.

Till by and by came Mercury,

And, having mused upon it,

"Why, here," cried he, "the thing of things

In shape, material, and dimension !

Give it but strings, and lo, it sings,

A wonderful invention ! "

So said, so done ; the chords he strained.
And, as his fingers o'er them hovered.
The shell disdained a soul had gained,
The lyre had been discovered.
O empty world that round us lies.
Dead shell, of soul and thought forsaken.
Brought we but eyes like Mercury's,
In thee \\ hat songs should waken !

— James liHsseU Lowell,

Small service is true service while it lasts ;
Of friends, however humble, scorn not one ;
The daisy, by the shadow that it casts.
Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.

— Wordsworffi.

The Legend oe the White House Plains. 157

THE LEGEND OP "THE WHITE HORSE

PLAINS."

Formerly the Assiuiboiiies were a part of the
Sioux nation, speaking the same language and hav-
ing frequent intercourse with the other Sioux tribes.
The Assiniboines, however, being nearer than any
other branch of the Sioux family to the Kristinots,
their hereditary foes, observing that the latter had
obtained firearms and powder from the English
forts at Hudson's Bay, made a treaty of peace with
these more powerfully-armed neighbors. Mean-
while the other Sioux tribes, who had no share in
this treaty, continued to slay all the Kristinots that
fell into their hands. Thus the Assiniboines began
to be looked upon with suspicion by their Sioux
brethren. They were not yet deemed open enemies,
but were on the point of being treated as such, when
an event took place that broke the bonds of fellow-
ship for ever.

One day a distinguished young brave of the Kris-
tinot Nation came to an Assiniboine chief, and
asked him to give him his daughter in maniage.
As this youthful squaw was a maiden of rare beauty,
the chief claimed a great price for her Land. Hap-
pily the Kristinot warrior possessed what, in the
eyes of the Indians, was a peerless and tempting
prize — a beautiful, spirited, and fleet-footed steed,
white as the driven snow.

l\''\

i ]

158

FouiiTH Readeh.

The chief, unable to resist this fascinating gift,
gave away liis daughter, and kept the snow-white
steed.

. But the Assiniboine tribe had iiot^ yet forgotten
how the Kristinots had, in the olden time, scalped
many of their relatives ; so not a few murmured
secretly against this new alliance, which estranged
them from their blood relations.

A few days later there arrived a numerous band
of Sioux, made aware of this marriage by a medi-
cine-man Avho had a gi'udge against the Assiniboine
chief. One of these Sioux, who was the son of a
powerful chief, had asked for the hand of that same
maiden, and had been rejected. On learning that a
Kristinot had been preferred to him, he was beside
himself with rage. Under pretext of repiisals of
war, he wanted to capture the Kristinot warrior,
and then tortm'e him with all the refinements of
savage cruelty. The Sioux were well armed and in
great force. On the other hand, the friendship of
the Assiniboines for their new allies was far from
being firmly established. Seeing the danger that
threatened his son-in-law, the Assiniboine chief sad-
dled the snow-white steed, and told the Kristinot to
fly to his people in the darkness of the night. The
latter eagerly accepted the offer, lifted his young
wife up behind him, and fled.

At break of day the Sioux, fmious at finding that
the Kristinot was about to elude them, mounted in
hot pursuit. They overtook him on the banks of
the Assiniboine river, a couple of miles west of the

The Legend of the White Hokse Plains. 159

spot on wliich now stiiiids the parish church of St.
Francois Xavier. With their arrows they slew him
and his biide. The white horse, freed from his
double burden, dashed off at a mad gallop. In spite
of all their skill, the Sioux could not catch him.

For many years after, the white horse continued
to rove the neighboring plain. The Indians, ever
superstitious, no longer dared to attempt his cap-
ture. No one knows exactly what became of him.
The medicine-men solemnly averred that the Mani-
tous had carried him off to the happy hunting-
gi'ounds of the other world, where the ghost of the
luckless Kristinot wandered, awaiting his white
horse for the chase.

Henceforth, the story goes, the rupture between
the Assiniboines and the Sioux was complete.

Instead of giving to this prairie the name of the
Kristinot warrior or of his bride, the Indians, as is
their wont, preferred to call it after the snow-white
steed. Hence the parish of St. Francois Xavier
has long been known as " The White Horse Plain."

— From the French of, hid (je L. A. Prud'homme; translated by the Rev. Lewis
Drummond, S.J.

LiFK ! we have been long together,

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather.

'Tis hard to part when friends are dear ;

Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear ;

Then steal away, give little warning,

Choose thine own time ;

Hay not "Good-night," but in some brighter clime

Bid me "Good-morning."

— Uarbauld,

I II

IGO

Fourth Keadek.

THE "LAUGHING SALLY."

A wind blew up from the Penia,inbuco.

(Yeo heave ho ! the " Laughing Sally !"

Hi yeo, heave away !)
A wind blew out of the east-8«"a -east

And boomed at break of day.

The " Laughing Sally " sped for her life,

And a speedy craft was she.
The black flag flew at her top to tell

How she took toll of the sea.

i Hi

':■[ ;■-■

The wind blew up from Pernambuco ;

And in the breast of the blast
Came the King's black ship, like a hound let slip

On the trail of the " Sally " at last.

For a day and a night, a night and a day ;

Over the blue, blue round,
Went on the chase of the pirate quarry,

The hunt of the tireless hound.

" Land on the port bow !" came the cry ;

And the " Sally " raced for shore,
Till she reached the bar at the river-mouth

Where the shallow breakers roar.

She passed the bar by a secret channel
With clear tide under her keel, —

For he knew the shoals like an open book.
The captain at the wheel.

The Laughing Sally.

81ie passed the bar, she sped like a ghost,
Till her sails were hid from view,

By the tall, liana'd, unsunned boughs
O'erbrooding the dark bayou.

At moonrise up to the river-mouth
Came the King's black ship of wai-.

The red cross flapped in wrath at her peak.
But she could not cross the bar.

161

And while she lay in the run of the seas,
By the grimmest whim of chance

Out of a bay to the north come forth
Two battle-ships of France.

On the English ship the twain l:x>re down
Like wolves that range by night ;

And the breaker's roar was heard no more
In the thunder of the fight.

The crash of the broadsides rolled and stormed

To the " Sally " hid from view
Under the tall, liana'd boughs

Of the moonless, dark bayou.

A I'oat ran out for news of the fight.
And this was the word she brought —

" The King's ship fights the ships of France
As the King's ships all have fought ! "

Then muttered the mate, " I'm a man of Devon !"

And the captain thundered then —
" There's English rope that bides for our necks,

But we all be English men ! "

{ i

,t ■11

■iJ'

lit ! )

liil'ji

1G2 Fourth Readeh.

The "Sally" glided out of the gloom

And down the niooii-white river.
She stole like a gray shark over the bar

Where the long surf seethes forever.

She hove to under a high French hull,

And the red cross rose to her peak.
The French were looking for fight that night.

And they hadn't far to seek.

Blood and fire on the streaming decks,

And fire and blood below ;
The lieat of hell, and the reek of hell,

And the dead men laid a-row !

And when the stars paled out of heaNen

And the red dawn-rays uprushed,
The oaths of battle, the crash of timberw,

The roar of the guns was hushed.

With one foe beaten under his bow,

The other far in flight.
The English captain turned to Iook,

For his fellow in the fight.

The English captain turned and stared ;—

For where the " Sally " had been
Was a single spar upthrust from the sea

With the red cross flag serene !

# * *■ * *

A wind blew up from Pernambuco, -

(Yeo heave ho ! the " Laughing Sally ! "

Hi yeo, heave away !)
And boomed for the doom of the " Laughing Sally,"

Gone down at the break of day.

—Charles G. D. Roberts (by author' a permiaaion, )

The Football Match.

lo;]

THE FOOTBALL MATCH.

"Hold the piuit-abont ! " "To the goals!" are
the cries, and all stray balls are inipomuhMl l)y the
authorities ; and the whole mass of boys moves up
toward the two goals, dividing as they go into three
bodies. That little band on the left, consisting of
from fifteen to twenty boys, Tom among them, who
are making for the goal under the school-house wall,
are the school-house boys who are not to play-up,
and have to stay in goal. The larger body moving
to the island goal, are the school-boys in a like pre-
dicament. The great mass in the middle are the
players-up, both sides mingled togethe?* ; they are
hanging their jackets, and all who mean real work,
their hats, waistcoats, neck-handkerchiefs and braces,
on the railings round the small trees ; and there they
go by twos and threes up to their respective grounds.

And now that the two sides have fairly sundered
and each occupies its own ground, and we get a
good look at them, what absurdity is this ? You
don't mean to say that these fifty or sixty boys
in white trousers, many of them quite small, are
going to play that huge mass opposite ! Indeed I
do, gentlemen; they're going to try, at any rate,
and won't make such, a bad fight of it either, mark
my word ; for hasn't old Brooke won the toss, with
his lucky halfpenny, and got choice of goals and
kick-off ? The new ball you may see lie there quite

1.^

■VI H

1G4

FOUHTH liEADEll.

! I

■' !''

by itself, in the middle, pointing toward the school
or island goal: in another nininte it will be well on
its way there. Use that minute in remarking how
the school-house side is drilled. You will see in the
first place, that the sixth-form boy, who has the
charge of goal, has spread his fon^e (the goal-keep-
ers) so as to occupy the whole space behind the
goal-posts, at distance of about fiv^e yards apart ; a
safe and well-kept goal is the foundation of all good
play. Old Brooke is talking to the captain of quar-
ters ; and now he moves away ; see how that young-
ster spreads his men (the light brigade) carefully
over the gi'ound, half-way between then* own goal
and the bo(iy of their own players-up (the heavy
brigade). These again play in several bodies ; there
is young Brooke and the bull-dogs — mark them well
— they are the " fighting brigade," the " die-hards,"
larking about at leap-frog to keep themselves warai
and playing tricks on one another. And on each
side of old Brooke, who is now standing in the mid-
dle of the ground and just going to kick ofl:, you
see a separate wing of players-up, each with a boy
of acknowledged prowess to look to — here Warner,
and there Hedge ; but over all is old Brooke, abso-
lute as he of Eussia, but wisely and bravely ruling
over willing and worshipping subjects, a true foot-
ball king. His face is earnest and careful as he
glances a last time over his array, but full of pluck
and hope, the sort of look I hope to see in my gen-
eral when I go out to fight.
The school side is not organized in the same way.

The Foothall !>rAT(ii.

1 ().")

The goal-ke(»iM»rs aro all in lumps, aiiyliow and iio-
liow; you can't distinj^uisli iK'twoou the pkyors-up
and the boys in quarters, and there is divided lead-
(n'ship ; but with such odds in strength and weight
it must take more than that to hindin* them from
wiiming, and so their kmders st-cm to think, tor they
let the players-up manage themselves.

But now look, there is a slighl^ move forwai'd
of the school-house wings ; a shout of " Are you
ready ? " and louci affirmative reply. Old Brooke
takes half-a-dozen quick steps, and away goes the
ball spinning towards the school goal ; seventy yards
before it touches gi'ound, and at no point above
twelve or fifteen feet high, a model kick-off; and
the school-house cheer and rush on ; the ball is
returned, and they meet it and drive it back among
the masses of the school already in motion. Then
the two sides close, and you can see nothing for
minutes l3ut a swaying crowd of boys, at one point
violently agitated. That is where the ball is, and
there are the keen players to be met, and the glory
and the hard knocks to be got ; you hear the dull
thud, thud « -f the ball, and the shouts of " Off your
side," "Down with him," "Put him over," "Bravo!"
This is what we call a scrimmage, gentlemen, and
the first scrimmage in a school-house match was no
joke in the consulship of Plaiicus.

But see ! it has broken ; the ball is driven out on
the school-house side, and a rush of the school car-
ries it past the school-house players-up. " Look out
in quarters," Brooke's and twenty other voices ring

!R-

U)(>

FoUllTH l^KADEH.

out: no iummI to call, thou^li ; i\u) scliool-liousn cap-
tiiin of quai'tors lias oauglit it on the bound, dodges
the foremest scliool-boys wlio are heading the rush,
and sends it back with a good drop-kick well into
the enemy's countiy. And then follow rush upon
rush, and sciinnnage upon sciinnnage, the ball now
driven through into the school-house quarters, and
now into the scliool goal ; for the school-house liave
not lost the advantage which the kick-off and a
slight wind gave them at the outset, and are slightly
"penning" their adversaries. You say you don't
see much in it all ; nothing but a struggUug mass
of boys, and a leather ball which seems to excite
them all to great fury, as a red rag does a bull. My
dear sir, a battle would look much the same to you,
except that the boys would be men, and the balls
iron ; but a battle would be worth your looking at
for all that, and so is a football match. You can't be
expected to appreciate the delicate strok(»s of play,
the tm-ns by which a game is lost and won — it takes
an old player to do that, but the broad philosophy
of football you can understand if you will. Come
along with me a little nearer, and let us consider it
togeth(n*.

The ball has just fallen again where the two sides
are thickest, and they close rapidly around it in a
scrimmage ; it must be driven through now by force
or skill, till it flies out on one side or the other.
Look how dilf erently the boys face it I Here come
two of the bull-dogs, bursting through the outsid-
ers ; in they go, straight to the heart of the scrim-

rii

TnK FooTMALL Matck.

magf, l)(Mit on di-iviii^ Hint hall out <ni Wu^ iqi\Hm\v
8i(lo. Tlmt is wluit thoy iruMiii to <l<). My sous!
my sons! yon aro too jiot; you liav() gone past the
ball, and must struggle now riglit through the
scnmmage, and got round and back again to youi"
own side, U^t'oro yon can be of any further us(\
Hore conies young Brooke ; ho goes in as straight as
yon, but keeps his liead, and backs and bends, liold-
ing himself still b(»hind the Imll, and <li'iving it furi-
ously when he gets a chance. Take a leaf out of
his book, yon young chargers. Here comes Speedi-
cut, and Flashman, the school-housci bully, with
shouts and great action. Won't you two come up
to young Brooke, after loc^king up, by the school-
house fir(>, with "Old fellow, wasn't that just a splen-
did scrimmage by the three trees f " But he knows
you, and so do we. You don't really want to drive
that ball through the scrimmage, chancing all hurt
for the glory of the school-house — but to make us
think that's what you want — a vastly different
thing; and fellows of your kidney will never go
through moi'e than the skirts of a scrimmage, where
it's all push and no kicking. We respect boys who
keep out of it, and don't sham going in ; but you —
we had rather not say what we think of you.

Then the boys who are bending and watching on
the outside, mark them — they are most useful play-
ers, the dodgers : who seize on the ball the moment
it rolls out from among the chargers, and away with
it across to the opposite goal : they seldom go into
the scrimmage, but nuist have more coolness than

i .

168

Fourth Reader.

the chargers ; as endless as are boys' characters, so
are their ways of fachig, or not facing, a scrimmage
at football. -

Three-quai-ters of an horn* are gone; first winds
are failing, and weight and numbers beginning to
tell. Yard by yard the school-house have been
driven back, contesting every inch of ground. The
bull-dogs are the color of mother earth from shoul-
der to ankle, except young Brooke, who has a mar-
vellous knack of keeping his legs. The school-house
are being penned in their tm*n, and now the ball is
behind the goal, under the doctor's wall. The doc-
tor and some of his family are there looking on, and
seem as anxious as any boy for the success of the
school-house. We get a minute's breathing time
before old Brooke kicks out, and he gives the word
to play strongly for touch, by the three trees. Away
goes the ball, and the bull-dogs after it, and in
another minute there is a shout of "In-touch,"
" Our ball." Now's your time, old Brooke, while
your men are still fresh. He stands with the ball in
his hand, while the two sides form in deep Hues
opposite each other ; he must strike it straight out
between them. The lines are thickest close to him,
but young Brooke and two or three of his men are
shifting up further, where the opposite line is weak.
Old Brooke strikes it out straight and strong, and it
falls opposite his brother. Hurrah ! that rush has
taken it right through the school line, and away past
the three trees, far into their quarters, and young
Brooke and the bull-dogs are close upon it. The

The Football Match.

169

school leaders rush back shouting, "Look out in
goal ! " and strain every nerve to catch him, but they
are after the fleetest foot in Rugby. There they go
straight for the school goal-posts, quarters scatter-
ing befoi-e them. One after another the bull-dogs go
down, but ;^oung Brooke holds on. " He is down ! "
No ! a long stagger, and the danger is past ; that
was the shock of Crew, the most dangerous of dod-
gei's. And now he v: close to the school goal, the
ball not three yards before him. There is a hurried
rush of the school fags to the spot, but no one throws
himself on the ball, the only chance, and young
Brooke has touched it right under the school goal-
posts.

The school leaders come up furious, riul adminster
toco to the wretched fags nearest at hand ; they may
well be angiy, for it is all Lombard Street to a
china orange that the school-house kick a goal with
the ball toucihed in such a good place. Old Bi'ooke
of course will kick it out, but who will catch and
place it I Call Crab Jones. Here he comes, saunt-
ering along with a straw in his mouth, the queerest,
coolest fish in Rugby ; if he were tumbled into the
moon this minute, he would just pick himself up
without taking his hands out of his pockets or tm*n-
ing a hair. But it is a moment when the boldest
charger's heart beats quick. Old Brooke stands
with the ball under his^arm motioning the school
back ; he will not kick out until they are all in goal,
behind the posts ; they are all edging forward, inch
by inch, to get nearer for the rush at Crab Jones,

170

Fourth Readek.

5 •

* •

1(1 .

»! . if.

who stands there in front of old Brooke to catch
the ball. If they can reach and destroy him before
he catches, the danger is over ; and with one and the
same rush they will carry it right away to the school-
house goal. Fond hope ! it is kicked out and caught
beautifully. Crab strikes his heel into the ground,
to mark where the ball was caught, beyond which
the school line must not advance; but there they
stand, five deep, ready to rush the moment the ball
touches the ground. Take plenty or room! don't
give the i-ush a chance of reaching you ! place it true
and steady! Trust Crab Jones — he has made a
small hole with his heel for the ball to lie on, by
which he is resting on one knee, with his eye on old
Brooke. " Now ! " Crab places the ball at the word,
old Brooke kicks, and it rises slowly and truly as
the school rush forward.

Then a moment's pause while both sides look up
at the spinning ball. There it flies, straight between
the two posts, some five feet above the crossbar, an
unquestioned goal ; and a shout of real genuine joy
rings out from the school-house players-up, and a
faint echo of it comes over the close from the goal-
keepers under the doctor's wall. A goal in the first
hour — such a thing hasn't been done in the school-
house match this five years.

" Over ! " is the cry ; the two sides change goals,
and the school-house goal-keepei's come threading
their way across through the masses of the school ;
the most openly triumphant of them, among whom
is Tom^ a school-house boy of two hours standhig,

The Football Match.

171

gettiug their ears boxed in the transit. Tom indeed
is excited beyond measure, and it is all the sixth-
f onn boy, kindest and safest of all goal-keepers, has
been able to do, to keep him from rushing out when-
ever the ball has been near their goal. So he holds
him by his side, and instructs him in the science
of touching.

But now the ball is placed again midway, and the
school is going to kick off. Their leaders have sent
their lumber into goal, and rated the rest soundly,
and one hundred and twenty picked players-up are
there, bent on retrieving the game. They are to
keep the ball in front of the school-house goal, and
then to drive it in by sheer strength and weight.
They mean heavy play and no mistake, and so old
Brooke sees ! and places Crab Jones in quarters just
before the goal, with four or fi^^e picked players, who
are to keep the ball away to the sides, where a ti'y
at goal, if obtained, will be le«b dangerous than in
front. He himself, and Waiiier and Hedge, who
have saved themselves till now, will i >ad the charges.

"Are you ready!" '' Yes.'- And away comes
the ball kicked high in the air, to give the school
time to rush on and catch it as it falls. And here
they are among us. Meet them like Englishmen,
you school-house boys, and charge them home. Now
is the time to show what metal is in you — and there
shall be a warm seat by the hall fire, iwA honor, and
lots of bottled beer to-night, for him who do^3 his
duty in the next half hour. And they are all well
met. Again and again the cloud of their players-uj)

iFF

172

Fourth Reader.

gather Ix^foro the goal, and come tlin^ateuing on,
and Warner or Hedge, with young Brooke and the
relics of the bull-dogs, break through and carry the
ball ba(3k ; and old Brooke ranges the field like Job's
warhorse, the thickest scrimrDage parts asunder be-
fore his rush, like the waves before a clipper's bows ;
his cheery voice rings over the field, and his eye is
everywhere. And if these miss the ball, and it rolls
dangerously in front of our goal, Crab Jones and his
men have s(4zed it and sent it away towards the
sides with the unerring drop-kick. Tlds is worth
living for; the whole sum of school-boy existence
gathered up into one straining, struggling half -hour,
a half -hour worth a year of common life.

The quarter to five has struck, and the play slack-
ens for a minute before goal ; bub there is Crew, the
artful dodger, driving the ball in behind our goal, on
the island side, where our quarters are weakest. Is
there no one to meet him ? Yes ! look at little East !
the ball is just at equal distances between the two,
and they rush together, the young man of seventeen
and the boy of twelve, and kick it at the same mo-
ment. Crew passes on without a stagger ; East is
hurled forward by the shock, and plunges on his
shoulders, as if he would bury himself in the ground ;
but the ball raises straight into the air, and falls
behind Crew's back, while the "bravos" of the
school-house attest the pluckiest charge of all that
hard-fought day. Warner picks East up lame arid
half stunned, and he hobbles back into goal, con-
scious of having played the man.

The Football Match.

173

And now the last minutes are eonie, and the school
gather for their last rush, every boy of the hundred
and twenty who has a run left i)i him. Reckless of
the defence of then* own goal, on they come across
the level big-side gi'ound, the ball well down among
them, straight for our gof^l, like a column of the Old
Guard up the slope at W j-terloo. All former charges
have been child's play to this. Warner and Hedge
have met them, but still on they come. The bull-
dogs rush in for the last time ; they are hurled over
or carried back, striving hand, foot, and eyelids.
Old Brooke comes sweeping round the skirts of the
play, and, turning short round, picks out the very
heart of the scrimmage, and plunges in. It wavers
for a moment — he has the ball ! No, it has pass(Ml
him, and his voice rings out clear over the advanc-
ing tide, "Look out in goal." Crab Jones catches
it for a moment ; but before he can kick, the rush
is upon him and passes over him; and he picks
hiiiiself up behind them with his straw in his ]nouth,
a little dirtier, but as cool as ever.

The ball rolls slowly in behind the school-house
goal, not three yards in front of a dozen of the big-
gest school players-up.

There stands the school-house pr^eposter, safest
of all goal keepers, and Tom Brown by his side, who
lias learned his trade by this time. Now is yoiu'
time, Tom. Tho blood of all the Browns is up, and
the two rush in together, and throw themselves on
the ball, under the very feet of the advancing column;
tlie prapposter on his hands and knees arching bis

174

Fourth Readek.

back, and Tom all along on his face. Over them
topple the leaders of the rush, sJ\ooting over the back
of the praeposter, but falling flat on Tom, and knock-
ing all the wind out of his small carcass. "Our ball,"
says the praeposter, rising with his prize; "but get
up there, there's a little fellow under you." They
are hauled and rolled off him, and Tom is discovered
a motionless body.

Old Brooke picks him up. "Stand back, give
him air," he says ; and then feeling his limbs, adds,
"" No bones broken. How do you feel, young un ? "

" Hah ! hah ! " gasps Tom, as his wind comes
back," "pretty well, thank you — all right."

" AVho is he ! " says Brooke.

" Oh, it's Brown, he's a new boy ; I know him,"
says East, coming up.

"Well, he is a plucky youngstt^r, and will make a
player," says Brooke.

And five o'clock strikes. " No side," is called, and
the first day of the school-house match is over.

— Hxighes.

ill

I remeviber, I remenibtjr

The fir-trees dark and high ;

I used to think their slender tops

Were close against the sky.

It was a childish ignorance,

But now 'tis little joy

To know I'm farther off from heaven

Than when I was a boy.

— TTood,

The Daisy.

175

THE DAISY.

There is a flower, a little flower,
With silver crest and golden eye,

Th.it welcomes every changing hour.
And weathers every sky.

The prouder beauties of the field
In gay but quick succession shine,

Race after race their honors yield,
They flourish and decline.

But this small flower, to Nature dear,
■ While moons and stars their courses run,
Wreathes the whole circle of the year,
Companion of the sun.

It smiles upon the lap of May,

To sultry August spreads its ''harms^

Lights pale October on his way.
And tv/ines December's arms.

The purple heath, and golden broom,
In moory mountains catch the gale.

O'er lawns the I Jl^' spreads perfr
The violet in the vale ;

But this bold floweret climbs the hill,
Hides in the forest, haunts the glen.

Plays on the margin of the rill.
Peeps round the fox's den.

Within the garden's cultured round.
It shares the sweet carnation's bed ;

And })looms in consecrated ground
In honor of the dead.

176 Fourth Reader.

The lambkin crops its crimson gem,
The wild bee murmurs on its breast,

The blue fly bends its pensile stem
Light o'er the skylark's nest.

'Tis Flora's page : in every place,
In every season, fresh and fair,

It opens with perennial grace,
And blossoms everywhere.

On waste and woodland, rock and plain,
Its humble buds unheeded rise :

The rose has but a summer reign,
The daisy never dies.

— Jamea Muitti/uinery,

TO THE DAISY.

11*

liii;

With little here to do or soo

Of things that in the great world be,

Sweet Daisy ! oft I talk to thee.

For thou art worthy,
Thou unassuming Common-place
Of Nature, with that homely face,
And yet with something of a grace,

Which Love makes for thee !

Oft on the dappled turf at ease

I sit, and play with similes.

Loose types of things through all d(^gret\s.

Thoughts of thy raising :
Anfl many a fond and idle name
I give to thee, for pi'aise or blame.
As is the humor of the game.

While I am gazing.

To The Daisy.

177

A nun demure, of lowly port ;

Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court,

In thy simplicity the sport

Of all temptations ;
A queen in crown of rubies drest ;
A starveling in a scanty vest ;
Are all, as seems to suit thee best,

Thy appellations.

A little Cyclops, with one eye
Htaring to threaten and defy,
That thought comes next — and instantly

The freak is over,
The shape will vanish — and behold
A silver shield with boss of gold.
That spreads itself, some faery })old

In fight to cover !

I see thee glittering from afar —
And then thou art a pretty star.
Not quite so fair as many are

In heaven above thee !
Yet like a star, with glittering crest,
Self -poised in air thou seem'st to rest ; —
May peace come never to his nest

Who shall reprove thee !

Bright Flower ! for by that name at last,
When all my reveries are past,
I call thee, and to that cleave fast.

Sweet silent creature !
That breath'st with me in sun and air,
Do thou, as thou art wont, repair
INIy heart with gladness, and a share

Of thy meek nature !

William Wordsworth.

J7«

FouBTH Reader.

THE ARGONAUTS.

There was a King in flnn^ce whose name was
Athemas, and whose wife's name was Nephele.
They had two chil(h*eii, a son and a daughter, who
were very good, and loved each other very much.
The son's name was Phrixus, and the daughter's
Helle. But the father was wicked and put away
his wife, the mother of rho good children, and
man'ied another wife whose name was Ino, and who
was' very wicked. She treated the poor children
very badly, gave them bad things to eat, and bad
clothes, and l>e:\t them, although they were good,
because the}^ wept after their mother. Ino was a
very bad step-mother. At last both Athamas and
Ino sought to kiU Phrixus and to offer him as a
sacrifice.

But when he was brought to the altar, the God
Hermes brought a fine large Ram which had wool
of gold and could walk on the clouds. On this Ram
with the golden fleece, Hermes placed Phrixus and
also his sister HeUe, and told them to go through
the air to the country of Colchis.

The Ram knew his way. The children were told
to cling with one hand to one of the horns, and they
bent their other anus about each other's waists : but
Helle let go her hold, and fell down into the sea.
Phrixus wept very much because his good sister
was dead, but went on riding until he came to

The Ahgonauts.

179

le was
epliele.
31", who

much,
ghter's
'j away
Q, and
id who
iiildren
id bad
) good,

was a
as and
1 as a

e God
i wool
s Ram
us and
u'ough

re told
d they
s: but
16 sea.
sister
me to

Colchis. Tliere he sacrific<'d his Ivaiu, and nailed
the fleece against an oak-trco.

Some time after, there was a king in ( ri-eece whose
name was Pelias. He had a brotlKu* whose name
was -lEsou, and ^son had a Kon whose name was
Jason. Jason livt^l with i- father in the country.
Now it had be(>n told to . n^ Pelias, that if a man
with only one shoe shon' me to him, he would
take av.ay his kingdoiri. Then it happened that
King Pelias gave a great feast, to which he invited
Jason. Jason had to wade through a brook on his
way, for there was no bridge over the brook. There
had been in the night a heavy storm, and much rain
had fallen, and the brook was swollen. Then the
ties of one of Jason's shoes were loosened, so that
he lost it in the water, and he came with only one
shoe into the King's house. Wlien King Pelias saw
this, he was afraid, because of what had been told
him, and he bade Jason to depart out of the land,
and not to come back unless he brought him the
golden fleece from Colchis.

Now he who would get this fleece must make a
long voyage and go through many perils. Jason
was not at all afraid, and invited many brave war-
riors to go with him.

Jason built a large ship for himself and for his
comrades. Then the Goddess Athene, who loved him,
gave him a magic tree for his mast, which, if Jason
questioned it, would tell him what he was to do.

The ship's name was Argo, and they who went in
her were called Argonauts. Amongst the Argonauts

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Fourth Eeadeb.

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there were Hercules, the strongest of men, and
two brothers, the sons of the North Wind, who had
wings and could fly through the air, and another
hero named Pollux, the best man in the world
with his fists.

Then the Argonauts came with their ship to a
country where there was a wicked king whose name
was Amycus ; when strangers came to his country,
he made them fight with him, and he was very
strong and killed them. But Pollux knocked him
down and struck him dead.

After that, the Argonauts came to a town where
there hved a king whose name was Phineus. He
had once made Zeus, king of the gods, angiy, and
Zeus, to punish him, had made him blind. When-
ever Phineus sat down to eat, there came great foul
birds, called Harpies, which had a skin as hard as
iron, and long sharp claws, with which they tore the
people to pieces who wished to drive them away.
As soon as the food was served, they would come
and carry it away, and if they could not carry away
all, they dirtied the dishes and the table, so that it
was all filthy. So Phineus was near starving.

When the heroes came, he told them of his troubles,
and begged them to help him. The heroes sat down
with him at the table, and, as soon as the food was
brought, the Harpies came flying in. Jason and his
comrades drew their swords and struck at them, but
it was of no use. Then the two sons of Boreas, the
North Wind, who had wings, flew into the air ; and
the Harpies, being frightened, flew away, and the

The Argonauts.

181

two heroes flew after them. The Harpic^s at last
were th'ed out, and f(41 into the s(^a and were
di'owned. So Phineus had rest and could eat.

When the wind was fair, the heroes went on board
their ship Argo, to sail towards Ccli his, and when
they bade farewell to Phineus, he thu,xiked them for
the help they had given him, and gave them good
counsel. In the wide sea over whic^h they were to
sail, two great rocks were floating, as icebergs float
in the sea, and whenever they struck against each
other, they crushed everything to piei^es that had
got between them. If a bird flew through the air
when the rocks dashed together, they crushed it to
death ; and if a ship was about to sail through, they
rushed together when the ship was in the middle,
and crashed it into bits, and all that were in it died.
Zeus had placed these rocks in the sea to prevent
any ship from reaching Colchis. Phineus, however,
knew that the rocks always parted veiy widely
from each other after having strack each other. He
gave advice to the Argonauts, how they might get
safely through.

When they came near the place where the rocks
were floating, the Argonauts sailed straight toward
the passage, and when they were near, one of the
heroes stood up, holding a dove in his hand, and let
it fly. It went between the rocks, and they came
swiftly together to crush it. But the dove flew so
fast that the rocks caught only her tail, which was
torn out, but the feathers soon grew again. Then
the rocks again parted widely asunder, and then the

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ii; I

182

FouiiTH Beadeh.

heroes rowed with all their might and got safely
through: so that when the rocks struck together
again, they caught only a small bit of the ship's
stern, which they knocked off.

When the Argonauts had passed happily through
the Symplegades (as these rocks were called), they
came at last to the Eiver Phasis, which flows through
Colchis. Some of them stayed in the ship; but
Jason and Pollux, and many other heroes, went into
the town where the king dwelt. The king's name
was -<Eetes, and he had a daughter whose name was
Medea. Jason told King jEetes that Pelias had
sent him to fetch the golden fleece, and asked him
to give it to him. -^etes did not like to lose the
fleece, but he was afraid to refuse it; so he told
Jason that he should have it: but first he must
yoke certain brazen bulls to a plough, and plough up
a great tract of land, and then sow the teeth of a dra-
gon. The brazen bulls had been made by the god
Hephaistos, who was a cunning smith. They walked
and moved and were living like real bulls, and they
belched out fire from their nostrils and mouths, and
were far more fierce and strong than real bulls.
Therefore, they were kept in a s+ ' le built of stone
and iron, and were bound with k ong iron chains.
And when the di*agon's teeth were sown in the earth,
iron men would spring up with lances and swords,
to kill him who had sown the teeth. Thus the king
hoped that the bulls would kill Jason ; and if the
bulls should not kill him, then he thought that the
iron men would do it,

The Argonauts.

183

Medea, the daughter of the Mug, saw Jason at
her father's aud loved him, and was sorry that he
should perish. She knew how to brew magic liquors ;
she had a chariot drawn by flying sei-pents, and on
this chariot she was canied where she wished ; she
gathered herbs on many mountains, and in many
vales on the brinks of brooks, and from these herbs
she pressed out the juice and prepared it. She went
to Jason and brought him the juice, and told him to
rub his face and his hands, and arms and legs, and
also his armor, his sword and lance, with the juice ;
whereby he would become for a whole day stronger
than aU the other heroes together, and fire would
not burn him, and steel would not wound him, but
his sword and his lance would pierce steel as if it
were butter.

Then a day was set when Jason should yoke the
bulls and sow the teeth ; and early in the morning,
before the sun rose, King JEetes and his daughter
and aU his people came to see. The king sat down
on a throne near the place where Jason was to
plough, and the people sat around him.

Jason rubbed himself and his weapons with the
juice, as Medea had told him, and came to the place.
He opened the doors, and loosened the bulls from
their chains, and seized each with one hand by its
horn and di'agged them out. The bulls bellowed
most horribly, and all that time fire came out from
their nostrils and mouths. Then King uEetes felt
glad J but when the people saw what a beautiful
man, and how brave Jason was, they were sorry

184

Fourth Reader.

Ill

that he should die; for they did not know that
Medea was helping him. Jason pressed the heads
of both bulls down to the gi'ound ; then they kioked
with their hind legs, but Jason held them down so
strongly that they fell on their knees.

The plough to which they were to be yoked was all
of iron ; Pollux brought it near and threw the yoke
over their necks and the chain around their horns,
whilst Jason kept their mouths and noses so close
to the ground that they could not belch out fire.
When Pollux had done, and the bulls were yoked,
he leapt quickly away, and Jason seized the chain in
one hand and the handle of the plough in the other,
and let loose his gi*asp of the horns ; the bulls strove
to run away, but Jason held the chain so fast that
they were obliged to walk slowly and to plough the
field. It was suniise when they were yoked, and by
noon, Jason had ploughed up the whole field. Then
he unyoked the bulls and let them loose ; and they
ran without looking behind them to the mountains.
There they would have set all the woods on fire if
Hephaistos had not come and caught them and led
them away.

When Jason had done ploughing, he went to King
^etes to get the dragon's teeth, and ^etes gave to
Jason a helmet full of teeth. Jason took them out
and went up and down the field and threw them
into the furrows ; and then with his large spear he
beat the clods into small pieces, and smoothed the
soil as a gardener does after having sowed. And
then he went away and lay down to rest until eveii-*
ing, for he was veiy weary.

The Akgonauts.

185

Towards sunset he returned to the field, and iron
men were everywhere growing out of the soil. Some
had grown out to the feet, others to the knees, others
to the hips, others to the under part of the shoul-
ders ; of some only the helmet or forehead could be
seen, whilst the rest of their bodies stuck in the
ground. Those who had their arms already out of
the earth and could move them, shook their lances
and brandished their swords. Some were just free-
ing their feet and preparing to come against Jason.

Then Jason did what Medea had told him, and
taking a big stone, he threw it upon the field just in
the midst of them. When the iron men saw the
stone, each sprang quickly to seize it. Then they
began to bicker amongst each other, because each
wished to have it, and to cut and thrust at each
other ; and as soon as one got his feet out of the
soil, he ran to join the others, and all of them fought
together, until every one of them was killed. Mean-
while Jason walked leisurely over the field and cut
off the heads of those that were about to grow up.
In this way, all the iron men perished, and King
^etes became like a madman ; but Medea and the
heroes and the people were well pleased.

The next morning, Jason went to King ^etes
and asked him now to give him the fleece ; but the
king did not give it to him, and said that he must
come at another time ; for he meant to have Jason
murdered. Medea told this to Jason, and told him
also that he must fetch the fleece himself, or else he
would never get it. The fleece was nailed to an

' i

III

186

FOUBTH ReADEB.

oak, and at the foot of the oak lay a dragon that
never slept, and devom-ed all men that might touch
the fleece. As the dragon was immortal, Medea
could not help Jason to kill him. But the dragon
ate sweet cakes with delight, and Medea gave to
Jason honey-cakes, in which she had mixed a juice
which would make the dragon go fast asleep. So
Jason took the cakes and threw them before him ;
the dragon ate all of them, and at once fell asleep.
Then Jason stepped over him, and drew out the
nails with which the fleece was fastened to the oak ;
and taking down the fleece, he wrapped it in his
cloak and carried it off to the ship. Medea came
also, and became Jason's wife, and went with him
to Greece.

jEetes, thinking the Argonauts would go back in
the Argo, the same way they had com3.; ^ent a great
many vessels to attack them ; but they took another
way, carried the Argo into the Ocean (which goes
all around the earth), and so they came safe back to
lolcos. Jason gave the fleece to PeUas ; Pelias soon
after was put to death, and uiEson became king.

.... . , —Niebuhr.

THE MEETING OP THE WATERS.

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet,
As that vale, in whose bosom the bright waters meet ;
Oh ! the last rays of feeling and life must depart,
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.

Mabmion and Douglas. ^ 187

Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene
Her purest of crystals and brightest of green ;
Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or hill,
Oh ! no — it was something more exquisite still. ,

'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near,
Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear,
And who felt how the best charms of Nature improve.
When we see them reflected from looks that we love.

Sweet vale of Avoca ! how calm could I rest
In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best.
Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease,
And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled with peace.

—Thomaa Moore.

MABMION AND DOUGLAS.

Not far advanced was morbing day,
When Marmion did his troops array

To Surrey's camp to ride ;
He had safe conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,

And Douglas gave a guide :
The ancient earl, with stately grace,
Would Clara on her palfrey place.
And whispered, in an undertone,
" Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown."
The train from out the castle drew ;
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu :

" Though something I might plain," he said,
" Of cold respect to stranger guest.
Sent hither by your king's behest.

While in Tantallon's towers I stayed ;

188

FOUBTH BeABEB.

Port we in friendship from your land,
And, noble earl, receive my hand."

But Dougla43 round him drew his cloak,

Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :

« My manors, halls, and bowers shall still

Be open, at my sovereign's will,

To each one whom he lists, howe'er

Unmeet to be the owner's peer.

My castles are my king's alone,

From turret to foundation-stone :

The band of Douglas is his own ;

And never shall, in friendly grasp,

The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire^
And shook his very frame for ire ;

And—" This to me ! " he said,—
" An 't were not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared

To cleave the Douglas' head !

" And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer,
He, who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate :
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here.

Even in thy pitch of pride —
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,
(Nay, never look upon your lord.
And lay your hands upon your sword),

I tell thee, thou'rt defied !
And if thou saidst, J am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here.
Lowland or highland, far or near,

Lord Angus, thou hast lied !"

,. \

V .V-

Marmion and Douglas.

IBO

. \

On the earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age :
Fierce he broke forth : " And dar'st thou then
To beard the lion in his den, . ^

The Douglas in his hall ?
And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go ? —
No ! by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no !

" Up drawbridge, grooms — what, warder, ho i

Let the portcullis fall !" —
Lord Marmion turned — well was his need —
And dashed the rowells in his steed ;
Like arrow through the archway sprung ;
The ponderous gate behind him rung ;
To pass there was such scanty room.
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembles on the rise ;
Not lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim ;
And when Lord Marmion reached his band,
He halts, and turns with clenchM hand.
And shout of loud defiance pours,
And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

" Horse ! horse ! " the Douglas cried, "and chase !"

But soon he reigned his fury's pace :

" A royal messenger he came,

Though most unworthy of the name.

A letter forged ! Saint Jude to speed !

Did ever knight so foul a deed %

At first, in heart, it liked me ill,

When the king praised his clerkly skill.

Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine,

Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line.

190 Fourth Reader.

" So Bwore I, and I swear it still,
Let my boy-bishop fret his fill. —
Saint Mary mend my fiery mood !
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood,
/ I thought to slay him where he stood.

'Tis pity of him too," he cried :
" Bold can he speak, and fairly ride,
I warrant him a warrior tried."
With this his mandate he recalls,
And slowly seeks his castle halls.

—air Walter Scott.

LOSS OF THE BIRKENHEAD.

Right on our flanks the crimson sun went down ;
The deep sea rolled around in dark repose ;
When, like the wild shriek from some captured town,
A cry of women rose.

The stout ship Birkenhead lay hard and fast.
Caught, without hope, upon a hidden rock ;
Her timbers thrill'd as nerves, when through them pass'd
The spirit of that shock.

And ever like base cowards who leave their ranks
In danger's hour, before the rush of steel.
Drifted away, disorderly, the planks
From underneath her keel.

So calm the air, so calm and still the flood,
That low down in its blue translucent glass
We saw the great fierce fish that thirst for blood,
Pass slowly, then repass.

They tarried, the waves tarried, for their prey !
The sea turn'd one clear smile. Like things asleep

Loss OF THE BiRKEKHEAD. 191

Those dark shapeB in the azure nilence lay, '^

As quiet a« the deep.

Then amidst oath, and prayer, and rush, and wreck,
Faint screams, faint questions waiting no reply, ♦
Our Colonel gave the word, and on deck ^

Form'd us in line to die.

To die ! — 'twas hard, whilst the sleek ocean glow'd
Beneath a sky as fair as summer flowers :
All to the boats I cried one ; — he was, thank Go<i,
No officer of ours !

Our English hearts beat true : — we would not stir :
That base appeal we heard, but heeded not :
On land, on sea, we had our colors, Sir,
' To keep without a spot !

They shall not say in England, that we fought,
With shameful strength, unhonor'd life to seek ;
Into mean safety, mean deserters, brought
By trampling down the weak.

So we made women with their children go.
The oars ply back again, and yet again ;
"Whilst, inch by inch, the drowning ship sank low,
Still under steadfast men.

What followed, why recall ? — the brave who died.
Died without flinching in the bloody surf :
They sleep as well, beneath that purple tide,
As others under turf : —

They sleep as well ! and, roused from their wild grave.

Wearing their wounds like stars, shall rise again,

Joint-heirs with Christ, because they bled to save

His weak ones, not in vain.

—Sir F. H. Doyle.

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192

"'i

l! f

Fourth Reader.

THE VALLEY OP HUMILIATION.

They now began to go down the hill into the Valley
of Humiliation. It was a steep hill, and the way
was slippery ; but they were very careful, so they
got down pretty well. When they were down in
the valley, Piety said to Christiana : " This is the
place where Christian, your husband, met with that
foul fiend Apollyon, and where they had that dread-
ful fight that they had. I know you cannot but
have heard thereof. But be of good courage: as
long as you have here Mr. Greatheart to be yom'
guide and conductor, we hope you will fare better."

Then said Mr. Greatheart: "We need not be so
afraid of this valley, for here is nothing to hurt us,
unless we procure it ourselves. 'Tis true, Christian
did here meet with Apollyon, with whom he also had
a sore combat ; but that fray was the fruit of those
sUps he got in his going down the hill ; for they that
get slips there must look for combats here.

" Hence it is that this valley has got so hard a
name ; for the common people, when they hear that
some frightful thing has befallen such a one in such
a place, are of opinion that that place is haunted by
some foul fiend or evil spirit ; when, alas ! it is for
the fruit of their own doings that such things do
befall them there.

" It is easier going up than down this hill, and that
can be said but of few hUls in all these parts of the
world.

! .1

The Valley of Humilution.

193

" But we will come again to this Valley of Hum-
iliation. It is of itself as fruitful a place as any the
crow flies over. It is a fat ground, and, as you see,
consisteth much of meadows ; and if a man were to
come here in summer-time, as we do now, if he knew
not anything before thereof, and if he also delighted
himself in the sight of his eyes, he might see that
which would be delightful to him. Behold how green
this valley is I also how beautiful with lilies !

"I have known many laboring men that have
got good estates in this Valley of Humiliation ; for
* God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace to the
humble; ' for, indeed, it is a very fruitful soil, and
doth bring forth by handfuls. Some also have
wished that the way to their Father's house were
here, that they might be troubled no more with
either hills or mountains to go over ; but the way
is the way, and there is an end."

Now, as they were going along and talking, they
espied a boy feeding his father's sheep. The boy
was in very mean clothes, but of a fresh and well-
favored countenance, and, as he sat by himself, he
sang.

" Hark ! " said Mr. Greatheart, " to what the shep-
herd's boy saith;" and so they hearkened, and he
said :

" He that is down needs fear no fall ;

He that is low, no pride ;
He that is humble ever shall

Have God to be his guide."

Fourth Reader.

Then said the guide : " Do you hear him ? I will
dare to say this boy lives a merrier life, and wears
more of that herb called heart's-ease in his bosom,
than he that is clad in silk and velvet."

— John Bunyan.

THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS.

There came a youth upon the earth,

Some thousand years ago,
Whose slender hands were nothing worth,
Whether to plough, or reap, or sow.

Upon an empty tortoise-shell

He stretched some chords, and drew
Music that made men's bosoms swell
Fearless, or brimmed their eyes with dew.

Then King Admetus, one who had

Pure taste by right divine.
Decreed his singing not too bad
To hear between the cups of wine :

And so, well pleased with being soothed

Into a sweet half -sleep.
Three times his kingly beard he smoothed,
And made him viceroy o'er his sheep.

His words were simple words enough.
And yet he used them so,

will
ears
30in,

The Shephekd op King Admetus. 195

That what in other mouths was rough
In his seemed musical and low.

Men called him but a shiftless youth,

In whom no good they saw ;
And yet, unwittingly, in truth.
They made his careless words their law.

They knew not how he learned at all,

For idly, hour by hour.
He sat and watched the dead leaves fall,
Or mused upon a common flower.

It seemed the loveliness of things

Did teach him all their use.
For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs.
He found a healing power profuse.

Mdn granted that his speech was wise,

But, when a glance they caught
Of his slim grace and woman's eyes.
They laughed, and called him good-for-naught.

Yet after he was dead and gone.

And e'en his memory dim.
Earth seemed more sweet to live upon.
More full of love, because of him.

And day by day more holy grew
Each spot where he had trod.
Till after-poets only knew
Their first-born brother as a god.

— James Ruanell Lowell.

196

FOUBTH BeADEB.

THE SNOW STORM.

ill!

ill

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.
And sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumidtuous 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 bastions with projected roof

Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.

Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work

So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he

For number or proportion. Mockingly,

On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreathes ;

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.

—EtMr»im.

tl:
a
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tl

Three Scenes in the Tyrol.

197

OPPORTUNITY.

This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream : —

There spread a cloud o£ dust along a plain ;

And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged

A furious battle, and men yelled, and sword8

Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince's banner

"Wavered then staggered backward, hemmed by foes.

A craven hung along the battle's edge,

And thought, " Had I a sword of keener steel —

That blue blade that the king's son bears, — but this

Blunt thing — ! " he snapt and flung it from his hand,

And lowering crept away and left the field.

Then came the king's son, wounded, sore bestead.

And weaponless, and saw the broken sword.

Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand.

And ran and snatched it, and with battle-shout

Lifted afresh, he hewed his enemy down,

And saved a great cause that heroic day.

^H, R. Stll,

THREE SCENES IN THE TYROL.

THE RESCUE.

Yon are standing on a narrow, thread-like road,
which has barely room to draw itself along between
the rocky bank of the River Inn, and the base of
a frowning buttress of the Solstein, which towers
many hundred feet perpendicularly above you. You
throw your head far back and look up ; and there
you have a vision of a plumed hunter, lofty and

198

FOUBTH EeADER.

1 .

chivali'ous in his bearing, who is bounding heed-
lessly on after a chamois to the very verge of a pre-
cipice. Mark I — ^he loses his footing — ^he rolls help-
lessly from rock to rock I There is a pause in his
headlong com-se. What is it that arrests him I Ah I
he puts forth his mighty strength, and clings, hand
and foot, with the gripe of despair, to a narrow
ledge of rock, and there he hangs over the abyss !
It is the Emperor Maximillian! The Abbot of
Wiltau comes forth from his cell, sees an imperial
destiny suspended between heaven and earth, and,
crossing himseK with awe, bids prayers to be put
up for the welfare of a passing soul. Hark I there
is a wild cry ringing through the upper air ! Ha !
Zyps of Zirl, thou himted and hunting outlaw, art
thou out upon the heights at this fearful moment !
Watch the hardy mountaineer ! He binds his cram-
pons on his feet — ^he is making his perilous way
towards his failing Emperor ; — ^now bounding like
a hunted chamois; now creeping like an insect;
now clinging like a root of ivy ; now dropping like
a squin'el ;— he reaches the fainting monarch just as
he relaxes his grasp on the jutting rock. Courage,
Kaiser ! — there is a himter's hand for thee, a hunter's
iron-shod foot to guide thee to safety. Look ! They
clamber up the face of the rock, on points and ledges
where scarce the small hoof of the chamois might
find a hold ; and the peasant-folk still maintain that
an angel came down to their master's rescue. We
wiU, however, refer the marvellous escape to the
interposing hand of a pitying Providence. Zyps,

Three Scenes in the Tyrol.

199

the outlaw, becomes Count Hallooer von Hohenfel-
sen — " Lord of the wild cry of the lofty rock ; " and
in the old pension-list of the proud house of Haps-
burg may still be seen an entry to this effect : that
sixteen florins were paid annually to one " Zyps of
Zirl." As you look up from the base of the Mar-
tinswand, you may, with pains, distinguish a cross,
which has been planted on the naiTow ledge where
the Emperor was rescued by the outlaw.

THE RUN.

There is another vision, an imperial one also. The
night is dark and wild. Q-usty winds come howhng
down from the mountain passes, driving sheets of
bUnding rain before them, and whirling them round
in hissing eddies. At intervals the clouds are rent
asunder, and the moon takes a hurried look at the
world below. What does she see! and what can
we hear ? for there are other sounds stirring beside
the ravings of the tempest, in that wild cleft of the
mountains, which guard Innsbruck, on the Carin-
thian side. There is a hmTied tramp of feet, a
crowding and crushing up through the steep and
narrow gorge, a mutter of suppressed voices, a fitful
glancing of torches, which now flare up bravely
enough, now wither in a moment before the derisive
laugh of the stoi-m. At the head of the melee there
is a litter borne on the shoulders of a set of sure-
footed hunters of the hills ; and around this litter
is clustered a moving constellation of lamps, which

200

FouBTH Reader.

are anxiously shielded from the rude wrath of the
tempest. A group of stately figures, wrapped in
rich military cloaks, with helms glistening in the
torchlight, and plumes streaming on the wind, strug-
gle onward beside the Htter. And who is this
reclining there, his teeth firmly set to imprison the
stifled groan of physical anguish ? He is but fifty-
three years of age, but the lines of premature decay
are ploughed deep along brow and cheek, while his
yellow locks are silvered and crisped with care.
Who can mistake that full, expansive forehead, that
aquiline nose, that cold, stem blue eye, and that
heavy, obstinate Austrian under-lip, for other than
those of the mighty Emperor Charles YA And can
this suffering invalid, flying from foes who are
almost on the heels of his attendants, jolted over
craggy passes in midnight darkness, buffeted by the
tempest, and withered by the sneer of adverse for-
tune — can this be the Emperor of Germany, King
of Spain, Lord of the Netherland, of Naples, of
Lombardy, and proud chief of the golden Western
World? Yes, Charles, thou art reading a stem
lesson by that fitful torch-light j but thy strong will
is yet unbent, and thy stem nature yet unsoftened.
And who is the swift " avenger of blood " who is
following close as a sleuth-hound on thy track?
It is Maurice of Saxony — a match for thee in
boldness of daring, and in strength of will. But
Charles wins the midnight race ; and yet, instead of
bowing before Him whose " long-suj0fering would
lead to repentance," he ascribes his escape to the

Three Scenes in the Tyrol.

201

" star of Austria," ever in the ascendant, and mut-
ters his favorite saying, "Myself, and the hicky
moment."

THE RUIN.

One more scene : it is the year 1809. Bonaparte
has decreed in the secret council chamber, where his
own will is his sole adviser, that the Tyrol shall be
cleared of its troublesome nest of wanior-hunters.
Ten thousand French and Bavarian soldiers have
penetrated as far as the Upper Innthal, and are
boldly pushing on towards Prutz. But the moun-
tain-walls of this profound valley are closing gloom-
ily together, as if they would forbid even the indig-
nant river to force its wild way betwixt them. Is
there a path through the frowning gorge other than
that rocky way which is fiercely held by the tor-
rent ? Yes, there is a narrow road, painfully grooved
by the hand of man out of the mountain-side, now
nmning along like a gallery, now drooping down to
the brink of the stream. But the glittering an-ay
winds on. There is the heavy tread of the foot
soldiers, the trampling of horse, the dull rumble of
the guns, the waving and flapping of the colors, and
the angry remonstrance of the Inn. But all else is
still as a midnight sleep, except indeed when the
eagles of the crag, startled from their eyiies, raise
their shrill cry as they spread then* living wings
above the gilded eagles of France. Suddenly a
voice is heard far up amid the mists of the heights
— ^not the eagle's cry this time — not the freak of a
u

202

Fourth Reader.

wayward echo — but human words, which say " Shall
we hefjinf'' Silence! It is a host that holds its
breath and listens. Was it a spirit of the upper aii'
parleying with its kind I If so, it has its answer
countersigned across the dark gulf. " Noch nicht /"
— "not yet I" The whole invading army pause:
there is a wavering and writhing in the glittering
serpent-length of that mighty force which is help-
lessly uncoiled along the base of the mountain. But
hark I the voice of the hills is heard again, and it
says, "Now/^^ Now then descends the wild ava-
lanche of destruction, and all is tumult, dismay,
and death. The very crags of the mountain-side,
loosened in preparation, come bounding, thundering
down. Trunks and roots of pine-trees, gathering
speed on their headlong way, are launched down
upon the powerless foe, mingled with the deadly
hail of the Tyi'olese rifles. And this fearful stonn
descends along the whole line at once. No marvel
that two-thirds of aU that brilliant invading army are
crushed to death along the grooved pathway, or are
tumbled, horse and man, into the choked and swollen
river. Enough of horrors! Who would willingly
linger on the hideous details of such a scene ? Sor-
rowful that man should come, with his evil ambi-
tions and his fierce revenges, to stain and to spoil
such wonders of beauty as the hand of the Creator
has here moulded. Sorrowful that man, in league
with the Serpent, should writhe into such scenes as
these, and poison them with the vii*us of sin.

— Titan.

Th£ Gaaveb of a HoUH£HOLD.

THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.

203

They grew in beauty side by side,
They fill'd one home with glee ; —

Their graves are sever'd far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea.

The same fond mother bent at night

O'er each fair sleeping brow ;
She had each folded flower in sight, —

Where are those dreamers now ?

One, 'midst the forests of the West,

By a dark stream is laid —
The Indian knows his place of rest.

Far in the cedar-shade.

The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one —
He lies where pearls lie deep ;

He was the loved of all, yet none
O'er his low bed may weep !

One sleeps where southern vines are drest

Above the noble slain ;
He wrapt his colors round his breast

On a blood-red field of Spain.

And one — o'er her the myrtle showers
It's leaves, by soft winds fann'd ;

She faded 'midst Italian flowers —
The last of that bright band.

And parted thus they rest, who play'd
Beneath the same green tree ;

[ 'i'

1 !

204 Fourth Reader.

Wluwe voices iningle<I an t\wy pray'd
Around one parent knee !

They that with smiles lit up the hall,
And cheer'd with mirth the hearth —

Alas, for love 1 if thnt. wert all,
And naught beyond, O Earth !

— Mrt. Htmant.

THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.

There is a Reaper whose name is Death,

And with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath.

And the flowers that grow between.

'* Shall I have nought that is fair?" saith he ;

" Have nought but the bearded grain ?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,

I will give them all back again."

He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes.

He kissed their drooping leaves ',
It was for the Lord of Paradise

He bound them in his sheaves.

'* My Lord hath need of these flowerets gay,"

The Reaper said, and smiled ;
" Dear tokens of the earth are they.

Where he was once a child.

They shall all bloom in fields of light.

Transported by my care,
And saints upon their garments white,

These sacred blossoms wear."

Faith, Hope and Love.

And the mother gave, in tearM and pain,
The flowerH Bhe most «''d love ;

She knew she Hhuuld find them all again
In the fields of light al)ove.

Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath,

The Reaper came that day ;
'Twas an angel visited the green earth,

And took the flowers away.

205

—Longfellow.

FAITH, HOPE AND LOVE.

If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels,
but have not love, I am become sounding brass, or
a clanging cymbal. And if I have the gift of pro-
phecy, and know all mysteries and all knowledge ;
and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains,
but have not love, I am nothing. And if I bestow
all my goods to feed the poor, and if I give my body
to be burned, but have not love, it profiteth me
nothing. Love suffereth long, and is kind; love
envieth not ; love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed
up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not its
own, is not provoked, taketh not account of evil ;
rejoiceth not in unrighteousness, but rejoiceth with
the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things,
hopeth all things, endureth all things. Love never
f aileth : but whether there he prophecies, they shall
be done away ; whether there he tongues, they shall
cease ; whether there he knowledge, it shall be done

206

FOUBTH ReADEK.

away. For we know in part, and we prophecy in
part : but when that which is perfect is come, that
which is in part shall be done away. When I was
a child, I spake as a child, I felt as a child, I thought
as a chUd: now that I am become a man, I have
put away childish things. For now we see in a
mirror, darkly ; but then face to face : now I know
in part ; but then shall I know even as also I have
been known. But now abideth faith, hope, love,
these three ; and the greatest of these is love.

INDIAN SUMMER.

When summer's verdant beauty flies,
And autumn glows with richer dyes,
A softer charm beyond them lies —

It is the Indian summer.
Ere winter's snows and winter's breeze
Bereave of beauty all the trees,
The balmy spring renewal sees

In the sweet Indian summer.

And thus, dear love, if early years

Have drown'd the germ of joy in tears,
A later gleam of hope appears —

Just like the Indian summer :
And ere the snows of age descend.
Oh trust me, dear one, changeless friend,
Our falling years may brightly end-
Just like the Indian summer.

— Lover.

Indian Summer.

207

INDIAN SUMMER.

By the purple haze that lies

On the distant rocky height,
By the deep blue of the skies,

By the smoky amber light,
Through the forest arches streaming,
Where Nature on her throne sits dreaming.
And the sun is scarcely gleaming,

Through the cloudless snowy white, —
Winter's lovely herald greets us.
Ere the ice-crowned giant meets us.

A mellow softness fills the air, —

No breeze on wanton wings steals by.

To break the holy quiet there,

Or make the waters fret and sigh,

Or the yellow alders shiver.

That bend to kiss the placid riner,

Flowing on and on forever ;

But the little waves are sleeping.
O'er the pebbles slowly creeping.
That last night were flashing, leaping,
Driven by the restless breeze,
In lines of foam beneath yon trees.

Dress'd in robes of gorgeous hue.
Brown and gold with crimson blent ;

The forest to the waters blue

Its own enchanting tints has lent ; —

In their dark depths, life-like glowing.
We see a second forest growing.

Each pictured leaf and branch bestowing
A fairy grace to that twin wood,
Mirror'd within the crystal flood.

208

FouBTH Reader.

• \

'Tis pleasant now in forest shades ;
The Indian hunter strings his bow,

To track through dark entangling glades
The antler'd deer and bounding doe, —
Or launch at night the birch canoe,

To spear the finny tribes that dwell

On sandy bank, in weedy cell,

Or pool, the fisher knows right well —
Seen by the red and vivid glow
Of pine-torch at his vessel's bow.

This dreamy Indian summer-day,

Attunes the soul to tender sadness ;
We love — but joy not in the ray —

It is not summer's fervid gladness.
But a melancholy glory.

Hovering softly round decay,
Like swan that sings her own sad story.

Ere she ^oats in death away.

The day declines, what splendid dyes.
In fleckered waves of crimson driven,

Float o'er the saffron sea that lies
Glowing within the western heaven !

Oh, it is a peerless even !

See, the broad red sun has set
But his rays are quivering yet
Through Nature's vale of violet,
Streaming blight o'er lake and hill,
But earth and forest lie so still,
It sendeth to the heart a chill ;
We start to check the rising tear —
'Tis beauty sleeping on her bier.

Mr 8. Moodie.

The Eagle and the Swan.

200

THE EAGLE AND THE SWAN.

Imagine yourself on a day early in November,
floating slowly down the Mississippi River. The
near approach of winter brings millions of water-
fowls on whistling wings from the countries of the
north, to seek a milder climate in which to sojoui'n
for a season.

The eagle is seen perched on the highest branch
of the tallest tree by the margin of the broad stream.
His ghstehing but pitiless eye looks over water and
land, and sees objects afar off. He listens to every
soimd that comes to his quick ear, glancing now
and then to the earth beneath, lest the light tread of
the rabbit may pass unheard.

His mate is perched on the other side of the river,
and now and then warns him by a ciy to continue
patient. At this well-known call he partly opens
his broad wings and answers to her voice in tones
not unlike the laugh of a madman. Ducks and
many smaller waterfowl are seen passing rapidly
towards the south ; but the eagle heeds them not —
they are for the time beneath his attention.

The next moment, how^over, the wild, trumpet-
like sound of a distant swan is heard. The eaglt>
suddenly shakes his body, raises his wings, and
makes ready for flight. A shriek from his mate

210

Fourth Reader,

ii^

comes across the stream, for she is fully as watch-
ful as he.

The snow-white bird is now in sight; her long
neck is stretched forward ; her eyes are as watchful
as those of her enemy ; her large wings seem with
difficulty to support the weight of her body. Nearer
and nearer she comes. The eagle has marked her
for his prey.

As the swan is about to pass the dreaded pair,
the eagle starts from his perch with an awful scream.
He glides through the air hke a falling star, and,
like a flash of lightning, darts upon the timid bird,
which now, in agony and despair, seeks to escape
the grasp of his cruel talons. She would plunge
into the stream did not the eagle force her to remain
in the air by striking at her from beneath.

The hope of escape is soon given up by the swan.
She has akeady become much weakened. She is
about to gasp her last breath when the eagle strikes
with his talons the under side of her wing, and forces
the dying bird to fall in a slanting direction upon
the nearest shore.

Then it is that you may see the cruel spirit of
this dreaded enemy of the feathered race. He
presses down his strong feet, and drives his claws
deeper and deeper into the heart of the swan. He
screams with delight as he watches the last feeble
struggles of his prey.

The eagle's Inate has watched every movement
that he has made ; and, if she did not assist him in
capturing the swan, it was because she ^olt sure that

The Last Leaf.

211

his power and courage were quite sufficient for the
deed. She now sails up to the spot where he is
waiting for her, and both together turn the breast
of the luckless swan upward and gorge themselves
with gore.

</. Audubon.

THE LAST LEAP.

I saw him once before
As he passed by the door,

And again,
The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o'er the ground

With his cane.

They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time

Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the Crier on his round

Through the town.

But now he walks the streets.
And he looks at all he meets

Sad and wan.
And he shakes his feeble head.
That it seems as if he said,

"They are gone."

■<t> I

212

Fourth Headee.

The mossy marbles rest

On the lips that he has prest

In their bloom,
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year

On the tomb.

My grandmamma has said —
Poor old lady, she is dead

Long ago —
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose

In the snow.

But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin

like a staff,
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack

In his laugh.

I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin

At him here ;
But the old three-cornered hat.
And the breeches and all that,

Are so queer !

And if I should live to be

The last leaf upon the tree

In the spring.

Let them smile, as I do now.

At tiie old forsaken bough

Where I cling.

—Oliver Wendell Holmes.

The Taking of Quebec.

213

THE TAKING OP QUEBEC.

The eventful night of the twelfth was clear and
calm, with no light but that of the stars. Within
two hours before daybreak, thirty boats, crowded
with sixteen hundred soldiers, cast off from the
vessels, and floated downward, in perfect order, with
the current of the ebb tide. To the boundless joy
of the army, Wolfe's malady had abated, and he
was able to command in person. His ruined health,
the gloomy prospects of the siege, and the disaster
at Montmorenci, had oppressed him with the deep-
est melancholy, but never impaired for a moment
the promptness of his decisions, or the impetuous
energy of his action.

He sat in the stem of one of the boats, pale and
weak, but borne up to a calm height of resolution.
Every order had been given, every arrangement
made, and it only remained to face the issue. The
ebbing tide sufficed to bear the boats along, and
nothing broke the silence of the night but the gurg-
ling of the river, and the low voice of Wolfe, as he
repeated to the officers about him the stanzas of
Gray's '* Elegy in a Country Churchyard," which
had recently appeared, and which he had just
received from England.

Perhaps, as he uttered those strangely appropriate
words, —

" The paths of glory lead but to the grave,"

FouBTH Reader.

the shadows of his own approaching fate stole with
iiioumful prophecy across his mind. " Gentlemen,"
he said, as he closed his recital, " I would rather
have written those lines than take Quebec to-
morrow."

As they approached the landing-place, the boats
edged closer in towards the noi-them shore, and the
woody precipices rose high on their left, like a wall
of undistinguished blackness.

" Qui Vive f " shouted a French sentinel, from out
the impervious gloom.

"Z« France !^^ answered a captain of Eraser's
Highlanders from the foremost boat.

As boats were frequently passing down the river
with supplies for the garrison, and as a convoy
from Bougainville was expected that very night,
the sentinel was deceived, and allowed the English
to proceed.

A few moments after they were challenged again,
and this time they could discern the soldier run-
ning close down to the water's edge, as if all his
suspicions were aroused ; but the skiK ul rephes of
the Highlander once more saved the party from
discovery.

They reached the landing-place in safety, — an
indentation in the shore, about a league above the
city, and now bearing the name of "Wolfe's Cove.
Here a narrow path led up the face of the heights,
and a French guard was posted at the top to defend
the pass. By the force of the curi'ent, the foremost
boats, including that which carried "Wolfe himself,

The Taking of Quebec.

were bome a little below the spot. The general was
oue of the first on shore. He looked upward at the
rugged heights which towered above him in the
gloom. " You can try it," he coolly observed to an
officer near him; "but I don't think you'll get up."

At the point where the Highlanders landed, one
of their captains, Donald Macdonald, apparently
the same whose presence of mind had just saved
the enterprise from ruin, was climbing in advance
of his men, when he was challenged by a sentinel.
He replied in French, oy declaring that he had been
sent to rcheve the guard, and ordering the soldier to
withdraw. Before the latter was undeceived, a
crowd of Highlanders were close at hand, while the
steeps below were thronged with eager climbers,
dragging themselves up by trees, roots, and bushes.
The guard turned out, and made a brief, though
brave, resistance. In a moment, they were cut to
pieces, dispersed or made prisoners; while men after
men came swarming up the heights, and quickly
formed upon the plains above. Meanwhile, the
vessels had dropped downward with the cuiTent, and
anchored opposite the landing-place. The remain-
ing troops were disembarked, and, with the dawn of
day, the whole were brought in safety to the shore.

The sun rose, and, from the ramparts of Quebec,
the astonished people saw the Plains of Abraham
glittering with arms, and the dark red lines of the
English forming in array of battle. Breathless
messengers had borne the evil tidings to Montcalm,
and, far and near, his wide-extended camp resounded

216

Fourth Reader.

1^1^

with the roll of alarm-drums and the din of startled
preparation. He, too, had had his struggles and his
son'ows. The civil power had thwarted him ; famine,
discontent, and disaffection were rife among his sol-
diers ; and no small portion of the Canadian militia
had dispersed from sheer starvation. In spite of all,
he had trusted to hold out till the winter frosts should
drive the invaders from before the town; when, on
that disastrous morning, the news of their successful
temerity fell like a cannon-shot upon his ear. Still
he assumed a tone of confidence. " They have got
to the weak side of us at last," he is reported to have
said, " and we must crush them with our numbers."
With headlong haste, his troops were pouring over
the bridge of the St. Charles, and gathering in heavy
masses under the western ramparts of the town.
Could numbers give assurance of success, their
triumph would have been secure; for five French
battalions and the anned colonial peasantry amount-
ed in all to more than seven thousand five hundred
men. Full in sight before them stretched the long,
thin lines of the British forces, — the Highlanders,
the steady soldiery of England, and the hardy levies
of the provinces, — ^less than five thousand in number,
but all inured to battle, and strong in the full assur-
ance of success.

It was nine o'clock, and the adverse armies stood
motionless, each gazing on the other. The clouds
hung low, and, at intervals, warm light showers
descended, besprinkling both alike. The coppice
and cornfields in front of the Biitish troops were

The Taking of Quebec.

L>17

filled with French sharpshooters, who kept up a
distant, spattering fire. Here and there a soldier
fell in the ranks, and the gap was filled in silence.

At a little before ten the British could see that
Montcalm was preparing to advance, and, in a few
moments, all his troops appeared in rapid motion.
They came on in three divisions, shouting after the
manner of their nation,' and firing heavily as soon
as they came within range. In the British ranks
not a trigger was pulled, not a soldier stirred ; and
their ominous composure schemed to damp the spirits
of their assailants. It was not until the French
were within forty yards that the fatal word was
given, and the British muskets blazed forth at once
in one crashing explosion. Like a ship at full career,
arrested with sudden ruin on a sunken rock, the
ranks of Montcalm staggered, shivered, and broke
before that wasting storm of lead. The smoke, roll-
ing along the field, for a moment shut out the view;
but when the white wreaths were scattered on the
wind, a wretched spectacle was disclosed : men and
officers tumbled in heaps, battalions resolved into a
mob, order and obedience gone ; and when the Brit-
ish muskets were levelled for a second volley, the
masses of the militia were seen to cower and shrink
with uncontrollable panic. For a few minutes, the
French regulars stood their ground, returning a
sharp and not ineffectual fire. But now, echoing
cheer on cheer, redoubling volley on voUey, tramp-
ling the dying and the dead, and driving the fugi-
tives in crowds, the British troops advanced and

.'i

218

Fourth Readeh.

: (

swept the field before them. The ardor of the iiieu
burst all restraint. They broke into a run, and with
unsparing slaughter chased the flying multitude to
the gates of Quebec. Foremost of all, the light-
footed Highlanders dashed along in f m'ious pursuit,
hewing down the Frenchmen with their broad-
swords, and slaying many in the very ditch of the
fortifications. Never was victory more quick or
more decisive.

In the short action and pursuit, the French h^st
fifteen hundred men, killed, wounded, and taken.
Of the remainder, some escaped within the city, and
others fled across the St. Charles to rejoin their com-
rades who had been left to guard the camp. The
pursuers were recalled by sound of trumpet; the
broken ranks were formed afresh, and the English
troops withdrawn beyond reach of the cannon of
Quebec. Bougainville, with his corps, arrived from
the upper country, and hovering about their rear,
threatened an attack ; but when he saw what greet-
ing was prepared for him, he abandoned his purpose
and withdrew. Townshend and Murray, the only
general officers who remained unhui-t, passed to the
head of every regiment in turn, and thanked the
soldiers for the bravery they had shown; yet the
triumph of the victors was mingled with sadness, as
the tidings went from rank to rank that Wolfe had
faUen.

In the heat of the action, as he advanced at the
head of the grenadiers of Louisburg, a bullet shat-
tered his wrist; but he wrapped his handkerchief

TuE Takin(} of Quebec.

1219

iihout tho wound, and showed no sign of pain. A
nioniont more and a ball pierced his siih^ Still he
pn^ssi'd forward, waving his sword, and cheering
liis soldiers to the attack, when a third shot
lodged d«H>p within his breast. He paused, reeled,
and, staggering to one side, fell to the earth.
Brown, a lieutenant of the gi'enadiers, Henderson,
a volunteer, an otiicer of ai*tilleiy, and a private
soldier, raised him together in their arms, and
bearing him to the rear, laid him softly on the
grass. They asked if he would have a surgeon ; but
he shook his head and answered that all was over
with him. His eyes closed with the torpor of
approaching death, and those around sustained his
fainting form. Yet they could not withhold their
gaze from the wild tui*moil before them, and the
charging ranks of their companions rushing through
fire and smoke. " See how they run," one of the
officers exclaimed, as the French fled in confusion
before the levelled bayonets. " Who run ? " demand-
ed Wolfe, opening his eyes like a man aroused from
sleep. " The enemy, sir," was the reply ; " they give
way everywhere." " Then," said the dying general,
"tell Colonel Burton to march Webb's regiment
down to Charles River, to cut off their retreat from
the bridge. Now, God be |>raised, I will die in
peace," he murmured; and, turning on his side, he
calmly breathed his last.

Almost at the same moment fell his great adver-
sary, Montcahn, as he strove, with vain bravery, to
rally his shattered ranks. Struck down with a

220

Fourth Reader.

mortal wound, he was placed upon a litter, and
borne to the General Hospital on the banks of the
St. Charles. The surgeons told him that he could
not recover. " I am glad of it," was his calm reply,
He then asked how long he might survive, and was
told that he had not many hours remaining. " So
much the better," he said ; " I am happy that I shall
not live to see the surrender of Quebec." Officers
from the gamson came to his bedside to ask his
orders and instructions. "I will give no more
orders," rephed the defeated soldier ; " I have much
business that must be attended to, of greater moment
than your ruined garrison and this wretched country.
My time is very short; therefore, pray leave me."

The victorious army encamped before Quebec,
and pushed their preparations for the siege with
zealous energy ; but before a single gun was brought
to bear, the white flag was hung out, and the garri-
son surrendered. On the eighteenth of September,
1759, the rock-built citadel of Canada passed for-
ever from the hands of its ancient masters.

—Francis Parkman.

THE INOHOAPE ROOK.

No stir in Ihe air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was as still as she could be ;
Her sails from heaven received no motion,
Her keel was steady in the ocean.

Without either sign or sound of their shock.
The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock ;

The Inchcape Rock.

221

So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.

The pious Abbot of Aberbrothock
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock ;
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swunjj;,
And over the waves its warning rung.

When the Rock was hid by the surge's swell,
The mariners heard the warning bell ;
And then they knew the perilous Rock,
And blessed the Abbot of Aberbrothock.

The sun in heaven was shining gay ;

All things were joyful on that day ;

The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round,

And there was joyance in their sound.

The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen,
A darker speck on the ocean green ;
Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck.
And fixed his eye on the darker speck.

He felt the cheering power of spring ;
It made him whistle, it made him sing :
His heart was mirthful to excess.
But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.

His eye was on the Inchcape float ;
Quoth he : " My men, put out the boat,
And row me to the Inchcape Rock,
And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothock."

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row,

And to the Inchcape Rock they go ;

Sir Ralph bent over from his boat.

And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float.

Down sank the bell with a gurgling sound,
The bubbles rose and burst around ;

I '

222 PouKTH Header.

Quoth Sir Ralph : " The next who comes to the Rock
Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothock."

Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away ;
He scoui'ed the seas for many a day ;
And now, grown rich with plundered store,
He steers his course for Scotland's shore.

So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky
They cannot see the sun on high :
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rover takes his stand ;
So dark it is, they see no land.
Quoth Sir Ralph, "It will be lighter soon.
For there is the dawn of the rising moon."

" Canst hear," said one, " The bj-eakers roar ?
For me thinks we should be near the shore."
" Now where we are I cannot tell.
But I wish we could hear the Inchcape Bell."

They heard no sound ; the swell is strong ;
Though the wind h^s fallen, they drift along.
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock ;
Cried they : " It is the Inchcape Rock !"

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair,
He cursed himself in his despair :
The waves rush in on every side ;
The ship is sinking beneath the tide.

But, even in his dying fear.
One dreadful sound could the Rover hear, —
A sound as if, with the Inchcape Bell,
The fiends below were ringing his knell.

— Robert Southey.

How Theseits Slew the Minotauu. 1223

HOW THESEUS SLEW THE MINOTAUR.

When the spring drew near, all the Athenians
grew sad and silent, and Theseus saw it, and asked
the reason ; but no one would answer him a word.

Then he went to his father, and asked him ; but
^geus turned away his face and wept.

"Do not ask, my son, beforehand, about evils
which must happen: it is enough to have to face
them when they come."

When the spring came, a herald came to Athens,
and stood in the market, and cried, "O people and
king of Athens, where is your yearly tribute!"
Then a great lamentation rose throughout the city.
But Theseus stood up to the herald, and cried, —

" And who are you, dog-faced, who dare demand
tribute here ? If I did not reverence your herald's
staff I would brain you with this club."

And the herald answered proudly, for he was a
grave and ancient man, —

" Fair youth, I am not dog-faced oi* shameless ;
but I do my master's bidding, Minos, the king of
huudred-citied Crete, the wisest of all kings on
earth. And you must be surely a stranger here,
or you would know why I come, and that I come
by right."

" I am a stranger here. Tell me, then, why you

come.

■ I

224

Fourth Reader.

"To fetch the tribute which King ^geus pro-
mised to Minos, and confirmed his promise with an
oath. For Minos conquered all this land, when he
came hither with a great fleet of ships, em-aged
about the mui'der of his son. For his son Andro-
geos came hither to the games, and overcame all the
Greeks in the sports, so that the people honored him
as a hero.

" But when ^geus saw his valor, he envied him,
and feared lest he should join the sons of Pallas, and
take away the sceptre from him. So he plotted
against his hf e, and slew him basely, no man knows
how or where. Some say that he waylaid him on
the road which goes to Thebes ; and some, that he
sent him against the bull of Marathon, that the
beast might kiU him. But .^geus says that the
young men killed him from envy, because he had
conquered them in the games. So Minos came
hither and avenged him, and would not depart till
this land had promised him tribute, seven youths
and seven maidens every year, who go with me in
a black-sailed ship, till they come to hundred-citied
Crete."

And Theseus gi'ound his teeth together, and said,
"Wert thou not a herald I would kill thee, for say-
ing such things of my father ; but I will go to him
and know the truth." So he went to his father and
asked him ; but he turned away his head and wept,
and said, "Blood was shed in the land unjustly,
and by blood it is avenged. Break not my heart by
questions ; it is enough to endure in silence."

How Theseus Slew the MmoTAUR. 225

Then Theseus gi'oaned inwardly, and said, "I will
go myself with these youths and maidens, and kill
Minos upon his royal throne."

And uEgeus shrieked, and cried, " You shall not
go, my son, the light of my old age, to whom alone
I look to rule this people after I am dead and gone.
You shall not go, to die horribly, as those youths
and maidens die; for Minos thrusts them into
a labyrinth. From that labyrinth no one can
escape, because of its winding ways. Here lives the
Minotam', a monster who feeds upon the flesh of
men."

Then Theseus grew red, and his ears tingled, and
his heart beat loud in his bosom. And he stood
awhile like a tall stone pillar, on the cliffs above'
some hero's grave ; and at last he spoke, —

" Therefore all the more I will go with them and
slay the accursed beast. Have I not slain all evil-
doers and monsters, that I might free this land!
Where are the fifty sons of Pallas ! And this Mino-
taur shall go the road which they have gone, and
Minos himself, if he dare stay me."

" But how will you slay him, my son I For you
must leave your club and your armor behind, and
be cast to the monster defenceless and naked like
the rest."

And Theseus said, "Are there no stones in that
labyrinth I and have I not fists and teeth ? "

Then -^geus clung to his knees ; but he would
not hear ; and at last he let him go, weeping bit-
terly.

> I

226

Fourth Reader.

And Theseus went out to the market-place where
the herald stood, while they drew lots for the youths
and maidens who were to sail in that doleful crew.

And the people stood wailing and weeping, as the
lot fell on this one and on that ; but Theseus strode
into the midst, and cried, —

"Here is a youth who needs no lot. I myself will
be one of the seven." ,n

And the herald asked in wonder, " Fair youth,
know you whither you are going ! "

And Theseus said, " I know. Let us go down to
the black-sailed ship."

So they went down to the black-sailed ship:
seven maidens and seven youths,, and Theseus
before them all, and the people following them
lamenting.

But Theseus whispered to his companions, "Have
hope, for the jaonster is not immortal." Then their
hearts were comforted a little; but they wept as
they went on board, and the cliffs of Sunium rang,
and all the isles of the -^gean Sea, with the voice
of their lamentation, as they sailed on toward their
def^ths in Crete.

And at last they came to Crete, and to the palace
of Minos the great king. He was the wisest of all
mortal kings, and conquered all the ^gean isles ;
and his ships were as many as the sea-guUs, and his
palace like a marble hiU. And he sat among the
pillars of the hall, upon his throne of beaten gold,
and around him stood the speaking statues which
Daedalus had made by his skill.

How Theseus Slew the Minotaur. 227

For Daedalus was the most cunning of all Athe-
nians, and he first invented the plumb-line, and the
auger, and glue, and many a tool with which wood
is wrought. And he first set up masts in ships, and
yards, and his son made sails for them. But Perdix
his nephew excelled him : for he first invented the
saw and its teeth, copying it from the back-bone of
a fish ; and invented, too, the chisel, and the com-
passes, and the potter's wheel which moulds the
clay.

Therefore Daedalus envied him, and hurled him
headlong from the temple of Athene ; but the god-
dess pitied him (for she loves the wise), and changed
him into a partridge, which flits for ever about the
hills. And Daedalus fled to Crete, to Minos, and
worked for him many a year ; then having quarreled
with his royal patron he fled with his son Icarus.
They made themselves wings of feathers, and fixed
the feathers with wax, and flew over the sea towards
Sicily. But Icarus flew too near the sun, and the
wax of his wings was melted, and he fell into the
Icarian Sea.

But Theseus stood before Minos, and they looked
each other in the face ; and Minos bade take them
to prison, and cast them to the monster one by one,
that the death of Androgeos might be avenged.
Then Theseus cried,—

" A boon, O Minos I Let me be thrown first to
the beast ; for I came hither for that very purpose,
of my own will, and not by lot."

" Who art thou, then, brave youth ?"

228

FOUETH ReADEK.

"I am the son of him whom, of all men, thou
hatest most, -^geus, the King of Athens, and am
come here to end this matter."

And Minos pondered awhile, looking steadfastly
at him, and he thought, " The lad means to atone
by his own death, for his father's sin;" and he
answered at last, mildly, —

" Go back in peace, my son. It is a pity that one
so brave should die."

But Theseus said, "I have sworn that I will
not go back till I have seen the monster face to
face."

And at that Minos frowned, and said, " Then thou
shalt see him : take the madman away."

And they led Theseus away into the prison, with
the other youths and maids.

But Ariadne, Minos's daughter, saw him as she
came out of her white stone hall ; and she loved him
for his courage and his majesty, and said, " Shame
that such a youth should die ! " And by night she
went down to the prison, and told him all her heart,
and said, —

" Flee down to your ship at once, for I have bribed
the guards before the door. Flee, you and all your
friends, and go back in peace to Greece ; and take
me, take me with you I for I dare not stay after you
are gone, for my father will kill. me miserably if he
knows what I have done."

And Theseus stood silent awhile, for he was
astonished and confounded by her beauty; but at
last he said, " I cannot go home in peace, till I have

How Theseus Slew the Minotaue. 229

seen and slain this MinotaUx, and avenged the deaths
of the youths and maidens, and put an end to the
terrors of my land."

" And will you kill the Minotaur ! How, then I "

"I know not, nor do I care; but he must be
strong if he be too strong for me."

Then she loved him all the more, and said, "But
when you have killed him, how will you find your
way out of the labyiinth I "

" I know not, neither do I care ; but it must be a
strange road, if I do not find it out before I have
eaten up the monster's carcass."

Then she loved him all the more, and said, —

"Fair youth, you are too bold; but I can help
you, weak as I am. I will give you a sword, and
with that perhaps you may slay the beast; and a
clew of silk, and by that perhaps you may find your
way out again. Only promise me, that if you escape
safe, you will take me home with you to Greece ; for
my father will surely kill mQ, if he knows what I
have done."

Then Theseus laughed, and said, " Am I not safe
enough now ? " And he hid the sword in his bosom,
and rolled up the clew in his hand; and then he
swore to Ariadne, and fell down before her, and
kissed her hands and her feet ; and she wept over
him a long while, and then went away ; and Theseus
lay down and slept sweetly.

And when the morning came, the guards came in,
and led him away to the labyrinth.

And he went down into the dolef Ux gulf, through

0-^

I li

230

Fourth Reader.

winding paths among the rocks, under caverns, and
arches, and galleries, and over heaps of fallen stone.
And he turned on the left hand, and on the right
hand, and went up and down till his head was dizzy ;
but all the while he held his clew. For when he went
in he had fastened it to a stone, and left it to unroll
out of his hand as he went on ; and it lasted him till
he met the Minotaur, in a narrow chasm between
black cliffs.

And when he saw him he stopped awhile, for he
had never seen so strange a beast. His body was a
man's, but his head was the head of a bull, and his
teeth were the teeth of a lion ; and with them he
tore his prey. And. when he saw Theseus he roared,
and put his head down, and rushed right at him.

But Theseus stepped aside nimbly, and, as he
passed by, cut him in the knee ; and, ere he could
turn in the narrow path, he followed him, and
stabbed him again and again from behind, till the
monster fled, bellowing wildly ; for he never before
had felt a wound. And Theseus followed him at
full speed, holding the clew of silk in his left hand.

Then on, through cavern after caveni, under dark
ribs of sounding stone, and up rough glens and tor-
rent-beds, and to the edge of the eternal snow, went
they, the hunter and the hunted, while the hills
bellowed to the monster's bellow.

And at last Theseus came up with him, where he
lay panting on a slab among the snow, and caught
him by the horns, and forced his head back, and
drove the keen sword through his throat.

Lucy Gray.

231

Then he turned, and went back limping and weaiy,
feeling his way down by the clew of silk, till he
came to the mouth of that doleful place, and saw
waiting for him, whom but Ariadne I

And he whispered, " It is done I " and showed her
the sword ; and she laid her finger on her lips, and
led him to the prison, and opened the doors, and set
all the prisoners free, while the guards lay sleeping
heavily ; for she had silenced them with wine.

Then they fled to their ships together, and leaped
on board, and hoisted up the sail ; and the night
lay dark around them, so that they passed through
Minos's ships, and escaped all safe to Naxos ; and
there Ariadne became Theseus^s wife.

LUOY GRAY;

OR, SOLITUDE.

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray :
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day
The solitary Child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ;
She dwelt on a wide moor,
— The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door !

232

Fourth Reader.

You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green ;
Bub the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.

" To-night will be a stormy night —
You to the town must go ;
And take a lantern, Child, to light
Your mother through the snow."

"That, Father ! will I glavlly do :
'Tis scarcely afternoon —
The Minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the Moon."

At this the father raised his hook,
And snapped a faggot-band ;
He plied his work ; — and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe :
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse the powdery snow
That rises up like smoke.

The snow came on before its time :
She wandered up and down ;
And many a hill did Lucy climb ;
But never reached the town.

1 i *■■

M^ ■ ,{ f

Tha wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide ;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide.

Lucy Gray.

At day-break on a liill they hUhkI
That Qverlooked the moor ;
And thence they Haw the bridge of wood
A furlong from their d(M>r.

They wept, — and turning homeward, criwl,
" In Heaven we all Hhall meet : "
— When in the snow the mother Hpie<l
The print of Lucy's feet.

Half breathless from the steep hill's edge
They tracked the footmarks small ;
And through the broken hawthorne-hedge,
And by the long stone-wall ;

And then an open field they crossed :

233

The marks were still the same ;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost ;
And to the Bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks one by one,
Into the middle of the plank ;
And further there were none !

— Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child ;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips al<mg
And never looks behind ;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.

—Wordsworth.

( 1

i 'I'

)

i3,

234

Fourth Reader.

CANADIAN STREAMS.

O rivers rolling to the sea

From lands that bear the maple tree,

How swell your voices with the strain
Of loyalty and liberty !

A holy music, heard in vain

By coward heart and sordid brain.

To whom this strenuous being seems
taught but a greedy race for gain.

O unsung streams, — not splendid themes
Ye lack to fire your patriot dreams !
Annals of glory gild your waves,
Hope freights your tides, Canadian streams !

St. Lawrence, whose wide water laves

The shores that ne'er have nourished slaves !

Swift Richelieu of lilied fame !
Niagara of glorious graves !

Thy rapids, Ottawa, proclaim
Where Daulac and his heroes came !

Thy tides, St. John, declare La Tour,
And, later, many a loyal name !

Thou inland stream, whose vales, secure
From storm, Tecumseh's death made poor !

And thou small water, red with war,
'Twixt Beaubassin and Beaus^jour !

Dread Saguenay, where eagles soar,
What voice shall from the bastioned shore

The tale of Roberval reveal
Or his mysterious fate deplore 1

The Winged House. 235

Annapolis, do thy floods yet feel
Faint memories of Champlain's keel,

Thy pulses yet the deeds repeat
Of Poutrincourt and d'lberville ?

And thou far tide, whose plains now beat
With march of myriad westering feet,

Saskatchewan, whose virgin sod
So late Canadian blood made sweet !

Your bulwark hills, your valleys broad.
Streams where de Salaberry trod.

Where Wolfe achieved — where Brock was slain —
Their voices are the voice of God !

O sacred waters, not in vain,
Across Canadian height and plain.
Ye sound us in triumphant tone
The summons of your high refrain.

— Charles G. D. Roberta {by author's permiaaion).

THE WINGED HORSE.

Early in the morning Bradamant, the warrior-
maiden, was awakened by hearing a great noise in
the courtyard of the inn. She quickly donned her
armor, and ran to the window to see what was the
cause of the distui'bance. The host and all his
family were gazing upward as if at some wonderful
thing in the heavens. Everyone about the house
seemed greatly excited, and all were talking and
shouting in the wildest manner possible. Even the
dwarf Brunello was on the balcony, shading his

236

Fourth Reader.

;

eyes with his hand, and looking upward with an
interest too strong to be hidden.

" What is it ? " asked Bradamant.

" A winged horse," answered the dwarf.

" A winged horse ! Where ! Ah, yes ; there he
is ! "

Bradamant saw the creatiu^e very plainly, sail-
ing serenely through the air above them, making
his way toward the west. His wings were very
broad, and as the rays of the rising sun fell upon
them, they seemed colored with every hue of the
rainbow. Upon his back sat a knight clad in
glittering armor, and holding an open book in his
hand. And so rapid was the flight of the strange
animal, that in a few moments he was lost to sight
among the far-off clouds and the mountain tops.

" A very strange creature that is," said the host,
ever ready to amuse his guests. "It is what we
call a hippogriff, and I have been told that there is
not such another beast in the world. The man who
rides him is a great wizard. He reads books and
dabbles with the metals, and gazes at the stars. His
name is Atlantes ; and they say, that, on the other
side of the mountains, he has the most wondrous
castle that ever was built. I have been told that it
is made of steel, and that it crowns a crag so steep
and high that no creature without wings can reach
it."

" And does the wizard live there all alone ? "
asked Bradamant.

"Ah, no!" answered the host. "He has many

The Winged Horse.

237

fine guests, and others amve every day. The nob-
lest men and women of France are in attendance at
his court."

"How can that be when the only road to the
castle is through the air!"

" Oh ! he has his own way of inviting his guests.
Whenever he sees a knight more handsome or more
noble than the common sort, he merely swoops
down upon him with his hippogiiff, picks him up,
and carries him aloft to his mountain home. Many
fair ladies and young damsels have been stolen from
thei?* i omes, and doomed to imprisonment in the
wiza:^ • airy palace. And we can only, guess whe-
ther they are happy or miserable, for who once goes
up to those shining halls can ne'er come down again."

" Ho ^ I should Uke to try a passage-at-arms with
old Father Atlantes ! " cried Bradamant. " I won-
der if he would think me worth carrying up to his
lofty den."

" It is very likely that he would have you theit^
ere you could deal one stroke with sword or lance,"
answered the host, shaking his head.

" I have made up my mind to try the venture, at
any rate," said the maiden. " Is there any one here
who knows the way to the thief's retreat, and who
will serve me as a guide ? "

" May it please you, sir knight," spoke the dwarf
very quickly, " I myself will show you the way. I
have a little book in which the road is set down and
the whole country desori])ed. I shall only be too
fflad to sei-ve von."

238

FouBTH Reader.

Bradamant thanked him very kindly, and the
two began at once to make ready for the journey.
And, before the sun was very high, the knight and
tlie dwarf bade their friends at the inn good-bye, and
set out on their dangerous venture. Bradamant,
clad in her white armor, bearing a long lance and
a white emblazoned shield, rode erect and proud as
any peer of the realm ; while the dwarf, with becom-
ing humbleness, followed at some distance, riding
upon a lowly mule. Through a deep valley they
passed, and over rugged hills, and through untrod-
den woods, until they reached the foot of the snowy
mountains. Then, with many a mishap, and many a
weary turn, they climbed the rocky slopes, and came
to that place where one may look down and see
on one side, Spain, on the other, the fair fields of
France. Then, following a narrow path they pain-
fully wended their way down again, and came at
last to a broad low plain, and, glancing upward to
the craggy slopes on the farther side of the valley,
they saw the object of their search — the wizard's
air-built castle. The bright towers of steel could
plainly be seen, glinting and glistening in the sun-
light, but so high that the neighboring cliffs seemed
left far below.

" Behold ! " cried the dwarf, riding up close to the
knight — " behold the enchanter's dweUing, the pri-
son-house where many ladies and cavaliers pine
their days away ! "

Bradamant knew that the time had come for her
to take from the dwarf the magic ring he carried ;

The Winged Hoese.

239

the

but she scorned to harm a creature of so base a sort
as the dwarf, weak, unarmed, and unskilled in self-
defence as he was. So, while he gazed in rapt
wonder at the high built towers, she suddenly seized
his hands, and slipped the precious ring from his
finger. Then she lifted him from his mule, and with
strong cords bound him to a neighboring tree.

Leisurely adown the hillside she rode, until she
reached the treeless meadow close under the castle ;
then pausing, she raised her bugle to her lips, and
blew a shrill bla ;t, the sound of which was echoed
from cliff to cliff, and from valley to valley, until
both earth and sky seemed to ring. And, ere the
sound had died away, the winged courser, with his
master on his back, leaped from the shining towers
above, and soared leisurely up into mid-air. Then
slowly he began to settle toward the earth, circling
down, nearer and nearer to the fearless maiden. But
Bradamant noticed that the wizard carried neither
lance, nor sword, nor other weapon, but that on his
left arm he bore a small round shield covered all
over with crimson silk, and in his right hand was
the open book from which he seemed to be always
reading.

As the wizard with his winged steed charged down
upon the maiden, she aimed blow after blow with
her lance at the silk covered shield which he held
before him; but every stroke glanced harmlessly
aside. At last growing tired of this kind of fray,
she dismounted from her palfrey, and drew her
sword. The wizard, feeling now that he had amused

I'!

If-

240

Fourth Reader.

himself long enough, began to lift the silken cover
from his shield. Bradamant had learned from a
weird woman what sort of shield this was. The
magic light which shone from its pohshed sides had
the power to blind, disarm, and overthrow all who
looked upon it ; and it was by means of this shield,
and not by any strength or skill of his own, that the
wizard won all his victories. Yet such was the virtue
of the magic ring, that it rendered its wearer proof
against all enchantments of this kind.

With the ring tightly clasped in her left hand,
and her sword in her right, Bradamant went boldly
forward to meet her foe ; but, as she saw the shming
shield laid bare, she closed her eyes, as if overcome
by its glare, and fell to the ground. The wizard,
well pleased, made his steed alight; and, covering
the shield again with the crimson cloth, he hung it
upon the pommel of his saddle, and dismounted.
With a strong cord in his hand he went leisurely
forward to bind his prisoner. He had captured
scores of valiant knights in this way, and no thought
of any mishap had ever entered his mind. So
imagine his astonishment, when Bradamant, who
had only been feigning, rose quickly, and seized him,
and bound him fast with his own strong cord. The
first thought of the wanior-maiden was to slay the
wicked wizard; but when she saw that he was a
veiy old man, with sorrowing, wrinkled face, and
snow-white hair, she pitied his age and grief, and
would not harm him.

" Ah, brave knight ! " said the helpless old man,

The Winged Horse.

'241

"you have conquered me, and all iny magic has
come to naught. Slay me, I pray thee, for life is no
longer worth living."

" Tell me first," said Bradamant, " why you carry
on this cruel, and nn^" ghtly warfare aorainst your
fellow-men. Wia^ h^ 3 you built iLone prison
towers I "

"It was all for young Roger^s sake," answered
the wizard. " He is the noblest and fairest of men,
and the only being on earth that I love. I built the
castle for him. I stored it with every comfort, and
brought to it every pleasure that the four quarters
of the globe could afford. I have sought out the
most worthy knights and the handsomest ladies in
Christendom and in Heathendom for his companions.
I have kept them in prison, it is true ; but it is a
prison more delightful than many a palace."

" Ah, sir wizard ! " said Bradamant, " you should
know that a prison, however gilded and painted, is
a prison still. Liberty is the sweetest of enjoyments.
So come with me at once, and open your gates, and
set your prisoners free."

Old Atlantes, writhing and groaning in helpless
distress, obeyed. He led the way to the narrow cleft
and the steep, hidden path.

They climbed the rugged precipice, and stood at
the golden gate of the castle. Here they paused.
From the threshold, whereon was graven wondrous
signs and many a magic rune, the wizard lifted a
broad flat stone. In a little chamber underneath
the sill were ranged all kinds of crucibles and pots

242

Fourth Reader.

and straugely shaped lamps, wherein bunied secret
fires such as only sorcerers know how to kindle.

" Oh, sad, sad day ! " sighed the old rnan, groan-
ing and trembling in deep distress. " Sad day that
sees the end of my dearest hopes! But then it
becomes not poor moi*tals to struggle against the
decrees of Fate."

Then he took the magic vessels, and one by one
he hurled them over the precipice into the depths
below. As the last one fell and was shattered on
the rocks, a wondrous thing took place. The fairy
castle, with its steel-bright walls, and its tall towers,
and its broad battlements, and pleasant halls, and
narrow court-yard, and golden gate, faded away into
nothingness ; and in its place was a bleak and cheer-
less mountain cave, through which the cold winds
whistled and shrieked, and in which there was
neither light, nor comfort, nor aught that could give
pleasure or enjoyment. And out through the rocky
cave-mouth, where erst had stood the golden gate,
there passed in long procession the prisoners who
had been entrapped in the wizard's toils.

Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and fears ;
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

-Wordsworth.

The Plains of Abraham. 243

THE PLAINS OF ABRAHAM.

I stood upon the plain

That had trembled, when the slain
Hurled their proud, defiant curses at the battle-heated foe,

When the steed dashed right and left,

Through the bloody gaps he cleft,
When the bridle-rein was broken, and the rider was laid low.

What busy feet had trod

Upon the very sod
When I marshalled the battalions of my fancy to my aid !

And I saw the combat dire.

Heard the quick, incessant fire,
And the cannons' echoes startling the reverberating glade.

I heard the chorus dire,

That jarred along the lyre
On which the hymn of battle rung, like surgings of the wave,

When the storm, at blackest night.

Wakes the ocean iii affright,
As it shouts its mighty Pibroch o'er some shipwrecked vessel's
grave.

I saw the broad claymore
Flash from its scabbard, o'er
The ranks that quailed and shuddered at the close and fierce
attack ;
When victory gave the word,
Auld Scotia drew the sword.
And with arms that never faltered drove the brave defenders
back.

244

Fourth Reader.

I saw two great chiefs die,

Their last breaths like the sigli
Of the zephyr-sprite that wantons on the rosy lips of morn ;

No enemy-poisoned darts,

No rancor in their hearts,
To unfit them for their triumph over death's impending Hcrorn.

And as I thought and gaz-ed,

My soul, exultant, praised
The power to whom each mighty act and victory are due,

For the saint-like peace that smiled

Like a heaven-gifted child.
And for the air of quietude that steeped the distant view.

Oh, rare, divinest life
Of peace compared with strife !
Yours is the truest splendor, and the most enduring fame ;
All the glory ever reaped
. Where the fiends of battle leaped.
In harsh discord to the music of your undertoned acclaim.

—Charles Sangater.

THE BATTLE OP THE BALTIC.

Of Nelson and the North,

Sing the glorious day's renown.

When to battle fierce came forth

All the might of Denmark's crown,

And her arms along the deep proudly shone ;

By each gun the lighted brand.

In a bold determined hand,

And the Prince of all the land

Led them on. —

li 'li

'^1

The Batixe of the Baltic.

245

Like IcWathans afloat,

Lay their bulwarks on the brine ;

While the sign of battle flew

On the lofty British line :

It was ten of April morn by the chime :

As they drifted on their path,

There was silence deep as death ;

And the boldest held his breath,

For a time. —

But the might of England flush'd

To anticipate the scene ;

And her van the fleeter rush'd

O'er the deadly ppace between.

" Hearts of oak ! " our captains cried ; when eaeh. gun

From its adamantine lips

Spread a death-shade round the ships,

Like the hurricane eclipse

Of the sun.--

Again ! again ! again !

And the havoc did not slack.

Till a feeble cheer the Dane

To our cheering sent us back ; —

Their shots along the deep slowly boom :-

Then ceased — and all is wail,

As they strike the shattered sail ;

Or, in conflagration pale.

Light the gloom. —

Out spoke the victor then,

As he hail'd them o'er the wave ;

" Ye are brothers ! ye are men i

And we conquer but to save : —

So peace instead of death let us bring ;

,■',

■

■ li!

' !'' f

: i'l

■■ • ill

246 FouKTii Keadek.

But yield, proud foe, thy fleet.
With the crews, at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our King."—

Then Denmark blest our chief

That he gave her wounds repose ;

And the sounds of joy and grief

From her people wildly rose,

As death withdrew his shades from the day.

While the sun look'd smiling bright

O'er a wide and woful sight,

Where the fires of funeral light

Died away. —

Now joy, old England, raise ! * ^

For the tidings of thy might,

By the festal cities* blaze.

Whilst the wine-cup shines in light ;

And yet amidst that joy and uproar.

Let us think of them that sleep.

Full many a fathom deep.

By thy wild and stormy steep,

Elsiuore ! —

Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride

Once so faithful and so true,

On the deck of fame that died,

With the gallant good Riou :

Soft sighs the winds of Heaven o'er their grave !

While the billow mournful rolls,

And the mermaid's song condoles,

Singing glory to the souls

Of the brave '- -

—Thomas Campbell.

The Pygmies.

247

THE PYGMIES.

!{{.

A great while ago, when the world was full of
wonders, there Uved an earth-born Giant named
AntfiBus, and a miUion or more of curious little earth-
born people, who were called Pygmies. This Giant
and these Pygmies being children of the same mother
(that is to say, our good old Grandmother Eartii),
were all biethren, and dwelt together in a very
friendly and affectionate manner, far, far off, in the
middle of hot Africa. The Pygmies were so Sjinll,
and there were so many sandy deserts and such high
mountains between them and the rest of mankind,
that nobody could get a peep at them of tener than
once in a hundred years. As for the Giant, Veing
of a very lofty stature, it was easy enough to see
him, but safest to keep out of his sight.

The Pygmies had but one thing to trouble them
in the world. They were constantly a+ war with the
cranes, and had always been so, ever ..iice the long-
lived giant could remember. From time to time
very terrible battles had been fouglu;, in which some-
times the little men won the victory, and sometimes
the cranes. According to some historians, the Pyg-
mies used to go to battle, mounted on the backs of
goats and rams; but such animals as these must
have been far too big for Pygmies to ride upon ; so
that, I rather suppose, they rode on squirrel-back, or
rabbit-back, or rat-back, or perhaps got upon hedge-
hogs, whose prickly quills would be very terrible to

248

Fourth Reader.

the enemy. However this might be, and whatever
creatures the Pygmies rode upon, I do not doubt
that they made a formidable appearance, armed
with sword and spear, and bow and arrow, blowing
their tiny trumpet, and shouting their little war-cry.
They never failed to exhort one another to fight
bravely, and recollect that the world had its eyes
upon them; although, in simple truth, the only
spectator was the Giant AntaBus, with his one, great,
stupid eye, in the middle of his forehead.

When the two armies joined battle, the cranes
would rush forward, flapping their wings and stretch-
ing out their necks, and would perhaps snatch up
some of the Pygmies crosswise in their beaks.
Whenever this happened, it was truly an awful
spectacle to see those little men of might kicking
and sprawhng in the air, and at last disappearing
down the crane's long, crooked throat, swallowed up
alive. A hero, you know, must hold himself in
readiness for any kind of fate; and doubtless the
glory of the thing was a consolation to him, even in
the crane's gizzard. If Antaeus observed that the
battle was going hard against his little allies, he
generally stopped laughing, and ran with long strides
to theu' assistance, flourishing his club aloft and
shouting at the cranes, who quacked and croaked,
and retreated as fast as they could. Then the
Pygmy army would march homeward in triumph,
attributing the victory entirely to their own valor,
and to the warlike skill and strategy of whomsoever
happened to be captain-general ; and for a tedious

• I

\>:

The Pygmies.

249

while afterwards, nothing would be heard of but
grand processions, and public banquets, and brilli-
ant illuminations, and shows of waxwork, with like-
nesses of the distinguished officers as small as life.

In the above -described warfare, if a Pygmy-
chanced to pluck out a crane's tail-feather, it proved
a very great feather in his cap. Once or twice, if
you wiU beUeve me, a little man was made chief
niler ")f the nation for no other merit in the world
than bringing home such a feather.

But I have now said enough to let you see what a
gallant little people these were, and how happily
they and their forefathers, for nobody knows how
many generations, had lived with the immeasurable
Giant Antaeus. In the remaining part of the story,
I shaU tell you of a far more astonishing battle than
any that was fought between the Pygmies and the
cranes.

One day the mighty Antaeus was lolling at full
length among his little friends. His pine-tree walk-
ing-stick lay on the ground close by his side. His
head was in one part of the kingdom, and his feet
extended across the boundaries of another part ; and
he was taking whatever comfort he could get, while
the Pygmies scrambled over him, and peeped into
his cavernous mouth, and played among his hair.
Sometimes, for a minute or two, the Giant dropped
asleep, and snored like the rush of a whirlwind.
During one of these little bits of slumber, a Pygmy
chanced to climb upon his shoulder, and took a
view around the horizon as from the summit of a
17

! i
1 !

' li

r i

250

FOUBTH ReaDEE.

hill ; and he beheld something, a long way off, which
made him rub the bright specks off his eyes, and
look sharper than before. At first he mistook it for
a mountain, and wondered how it had grown up so
suddenly out of the earth. But soon he saw the
mountain move. As it came nearer and nearer,
what should it turn out to be but a human shape, not
so big as Antaeus, it is true, although a very enor-
mous figure, in comparison with Pygmies, and a vast
deal bigger than the men whom we see nowadays.

"When the Pygmy was quite satisfied that his eyes
had not deceived him, he scampered, as fast as his
legs would cany him, to the Giant's ear, and stoop-
ing over its cavity, shouted lustily into it, —

" Halloo, brother Antaeus I Get up this minute,
and take your pine-tree walking-stick in your hand.
Here comes another Giant to have a tussle with you."

" Poh, poh ! " grumbled Antaeus, only half awake,
"None of your nonsense, my little fellow I Don't
you see I'm sleepy. There is not a giant on earth
for whom I would take the trouble to get up."

But the Pygmy looked again, and now perceived
that the stranger wr s coming directly towards the
prostrate form of Antaeus. "With every step he
looked less Hke a blue mountain, and more like an
immensely large man. He was soon so nigh that
there could be no possible mistake about the matter.
There he was, with the sun flaming on his golden
helmet, and flashing from his polished breastplate ;
he had a sword by his side, and. a lion's skin over
his back, and on his right shoulder he carried a club,

The Pygmies.

251

which looked bulkier and heavier than the pine-tree
walking-stick of Antaeus.

By this time the whole nation of Pygmies had
seen the new wonder, and a million of them set up
a shout all together ; so that it really made quite an
audible squeak.

•' ijtet up, Antaeus ! Bestir yourself, you lazy old
Giant ! Here comes another Giant, as strong as you
are, to fight with you."

" Nonsense, nonsense ! " growled the sleepy Giant.
" I'll have my nap out, come who may."

Still the stran^^er drew nearer ; and now the Pyg-
mies could plainly discern that, if his statm'e were
less lofty than the Giant's, yet his shoulders were
even broader. And, in truth, what a pair of shoul-
ders they must have been ! As I told you, a long
while ago they once upheld the sky.

" Get up, get up, get up I " cried the J^ygmies.
"Up with you, lazy bones! The strange Giant's
club is bigger than your own, his shoulders pre the
broadest, and we think him the stronger of the two."

Antaeus could not endm-e to have it said that any
mortal was half so mighty as himself. This latter
remark of the Pygmies pricked him deeper than
their swords ; and, sitting up in rather a sulky humor,
he gave a gape of several yards wide, rubbed his eye,
and finally turned his stupid head in the dirf.ction
whither his little friends were eagerly pointing.

No sooner did he set eye on the stranger than
leaping to his feet, and seizing his walking-stick, he
strode a mile or two to meet him ; all the while

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252

Fourth Reader.

'Mi

i ii

brandishing the sturdy pine-tree, so that it whistled
through the air.

" Who are you ? " thundered the Giant. " And
what do you want on my dominions f "

There was one strange thing about Antaeus, of
which I have not yet told you, lest, hearing of so
many wonders all in a lump, you might not believe
much more than half of them. You are to know,
then, that whenever this redoubtable Giant touched
the ground, either with his hand, his foot, or any
other part of his body, he grew stronger than ever
he had been before. The Earth, you remember,
was his mother, and was very fond of him, as
being almost the biggest of her children ; and so she
took this method of keeping him always in full vigor.
Some persons affirm that he grew ten times stronger
at every touch j others say that it was only twice as
strong. But only think of it I Whenever AntsBus
took a walk, supposing it were but ten miles, and
that he stepped a hundred yards at a stride, you
may try to cipher out how much mightier he was,
on sitting down again, than when he first started.
And whenever he flung himself on the earth to take
a little repose, even if he got up the very next
instant, he would be as strong as exactly ten just
such giants as his former self.

Any other mortal man, except the very one whom
Anteeus had now encountered, would have been half
frightened to death by the Giant's ferocious aspect
and terrible voice. But the stranger did not seem
at all disturbed. He carelessly lifted his club and

The Pygmies.

253

balanced it in his hand, measuring Antaeus with his
eye from head to foot, not as if wonder-smitten at
his stature, but as if he had seen a gi'eat many
Giants before, and this was by no means the biggest
of them.

"Who are you, I say?" roared Antaeus again.
"What's your name I Why do you come hither !
Speak, you vagabond, or I'll try the thickness of
your skull with my walking-stick."

" You are a very discourteous Giant," answered
the stranger, quietly, " and I shall probably have to
teach you a little civility, before we part. As for
my name, it is Hercules. I have come hither because
this is my most convenient road to the garden of the
Hesperides, whither I am going to get three of the
golden apples for King Eurystheus."

" Caitiff, you shall go no farther ! " bellowed An-
taeus, putting on a grimmer look than before, for he
had heard of the mighty Hercules, and had hated
him because he was said to be so strong. " Neither
shall you go back whence you came ! "

"How will you prevent me," asked Hercules,
" from going whither I please ? "

" By hitting you a rap with this pine-tree here,"
shouted Antaeus. So throw down your club and
your other weapons ; and as for that lion's skin, I
intend to have a pair of gloves made of it."

" Come and take it off my shoulders, then," an-
swered Hercules, lifting his club.

Then the Giant, grinning with rage, strode tower-
like towards the stranger (ten times strengthened at

IIJ

254

Fourth Reader.

eveiy step), and fetched a monstrous blow at him
with his pine-tree, which Hercules caught upon his
club ; and being more skilful than Antaeus, he paid
him back such a rap upon the sconce, that down
tumbled the great lumbering man-mountain, flat
upon the ground. The poor little Pygmies (who
really never dreamed that anybody in the world was
half so strong as their brother Ant&ius) were a good
deal dismayed at this. But no sooner was the Giant
down than up he bounced again, with tenfold might,
and such a furious visage as was horrible to behold.
He aimed another blow at Hercules, but struck awry,
being blinded with wrath, and only hit his poor, inno-
cent Mother Earth, who groaned and trembled at
the stroke. His pine-tree went so deep into the
ground, and stuck there so fast, that before Antaeus
could get it out, Hercules brought down his club
across his shoulders with a mighty thwack, which
made the Giant roar as if all sorts of intolerable
noises had come screeching and rumbling out of his
lungs in that one cry. Away it went, over moun-
tains and valleys, and, for aught I know, was heard
on the other side of the African deserts.

As for the Pygmies, their capital city was laid in
ruins by the concussion and vibration of the air ;
and, though there was uproar enough without their
help they all set up a shriek out of three millions of
little throats, fancying, no doubt, that they swelled
the Giant's bellow by at least ten times as much.
Meanwhile, Antaeus had scrambled upon his feet
again, and pulled his pine-tree out of the earth ; and,

The Pygmies.

255

all aflame with fury, and more outrageously strong
than ever, he ran at Hercules, and brought down
another blow.

"This time, rascal," shouted he, "you shall not
escape me."

But once more Hercules warded off the stroke
with his club, and the Giant's pine-tree was shat-
tered into a thousand splinters, most of which flew
among the Pygmies, and did them more mischief
than I like to think about. Before AntaBUS could
get out of the way, Hercules let drive again, and
gave him another knock-down blow, which sent
him heels over head, but served only to increase his
already enormous and insufferable strength. As for
his rage, there is no telling what a fiery furnace it
had now got to be. His one eye was nothing but a
circle of red flame. Having now no weapons but
his fists, he doubled them up (each bigger than a
hogshead), smote one against the other, and danced
up and down with absolute frenzy, flourishing his
immense arms about, as if he meant not merely to
kill Hercules, but to smash the whole world to
pieces.

" Come on ! " roared this thundering Giant. " Let
me hit you but one box on the ear, and you'll never
have the headache again."

Now Hercules (though strong enough, as you al-
ready know, to hold the sky up) began to be sensible
that he should never win the victory, if he kept on
knocking Antaeus down ; for, by and by, if he hit
him such hard blows, the Giant would inevitably, by

[[i I ')

1^56

Fourth Reader.

ihi

lii. '

the help of his Mother Earth, become stronger than
the mighty Hercules himself. So, throwing down
his club, with which he had fought so many dreadful
battles, the hero stood ready to receive his antagonist
with naked arms.

"Step forward," cried he. "Since I've broken
your pine-tree, we'll try which is the better man at
a wrestling-match."

"Aha! then I'll soon satisfy you," shouted the
Giant ; for, if there was one thing on which he prided
himself more than another, it was his skill in wrest-
ling. " Villain, I'll fling you where you can never
pick yourself up again."

On came Antaeus, hopping and capering with the
scorching heat of his rage, and getting new vigor
wherewith to wreak his passion, eveiy time he
hopped. But Hercules, you must understand, was
wiser than this numskull of a Giant, and "^ ^d thought
of a way to fight him, — huge, earth-born monste?'
that he was, — and to conquer him too, in spite of all
that his Mother Earth could do for him. Watching
his opportunity, as the mad Giant made a rush at
him, Hercules caught him round the middle with
both his hands, lifted him high into the air, and held
him aloft overhead.

But the most wonderful thing was, that, as soon
as Antaeus was fairly off the earth, he began to lose
the vigor which he had gained by touching it. Her-
cules very soon perceived that his troublesome enemy
was growing weaker, both because he struggled and
kicked with less violence, and because the thunder

»■

The Pygmies.

257

of his big voice subsided into a grumble. The truth
was, that, unless the Giant touched Mother Earth
as often as once in five minutes, not only his over-
grown strength, but the very breath of his hfe,
would depart from him. Hercules had guessed this
secret ; and it may be well for us all to remember
it, in case we should ever have to fight a battle with
a fellow like Antaeus. For these earth-born crea-
tures are only difficult to conquer on their own
ground, but may easily be managed if we can con-
trive to lift them into a loftier and purer region. So
it proved with the poor Giant, whom I am really
a little sorry for, notwithstanding his uncivil way of
treating strangers who came to visit him.

When his strength and breath were quite gone,
Hercules gave his huge body a toss, and flung it
about a mile off, where it fell heavily, and lay with
no more motion than a sand-hill.

But, alas me ! What a wailing did the poor Utile
Pygmies set up when they saw their enormous
brother treated in this terrible manner ! If Hercules
heard their shrieks, however, he took no notice.
Indeed, his thoughts had been so much taken up
with the Giant, that he had never once looked at
the Pygmies, nor even knew that there was such a
funny httle nation in the world. And now, as he
had travelled a good way, and was also rather weary
with his exertions in the fight, he spread out his
lion's skin on the ground, and rechning himself
upon it, fell fast asleep.

As soon as the Pygmies saw Hercules preparing

258

Fourth Reader.

for a nap, they nodded their little heads at one
another, and winked with theii* little eyes. And
when his deep, regular breatliiiig gave them notice
that he was asleep, they assembled together in an
immense crowd, spreading over a space of about
twenty-seven feet square. One of their most elo-
quent orators (and a valiant warrior enough, besides,
though hardly so good with any other weapon as he
was with his tongue) climbed upon a toadstool, and,
from that elevated position, addressed the multitude.

" Tall Pygmies and mighty little men I You and
all of us have seen what a public calamity has been
brought to pass, and what an insult has here been
offered to the majesty of our nation. Yonder lies
Antaeus, our great friend and brother, slain wdthin
our territory by a miscreant who took him at a
disadvantage, and fought him (if fighting it can be
called) in a way that neither man, nor Giant; nor
Pygmy ever dreamed of fighting until this hour.
And, adding a grievous contumely to the wrong
already done us, the miscreant has now fallen asleep
as quietly as if nothing were to be dreaded from our
wrath! It behooves you, fellow-countrymen, to
consider in what aspect we stand before the world,
and what will be the verdict of impartial histoiy,
should we suffer these accumulated outrages to go
unavenged.

" AntBBus was our brother, born of the same be-
loved parent to whom we owe the thews and sinews,
as well as the courageous hearts, which made him
proud of our relationship. He was our faithful ally,

The Pygmies.

250

t one

And
aotice
in an
about
jt elo-
3sides,
I as he
I, and,
bitude.
►uand
s been
3 been
ler lies
within
1 at a
can be
it, nor

hour,
wrong

asleep
om our
len, to

world,
listory,
is to go

,me be-
sinews,
de him
:ul ally,

and fell fighting as much for our national rights and
immunities as for his own personal ones. We and
oiu* forefathers have dwelt in friendship with him,
and held affectionate intercom-se, as man to man,
through immemorial generations. You remember
how often our entire people have reposed in his gi'eat
shadow, and how our little ones have played at
hide-and-seek in the tangles of his hair, and how his
mighty footsteps have familiarly gone to and fro
among us, and never trodden upon any of our toes.
And there lies this dear brother, — this sweet and
amiable friend, — this brave and faithful ally, — this
virtuous giant, — this blameless and excellent An-
tsBiis, — dead ! Dead I Silent I Powerless I A mere
mountain of clay I Forgive my tears I Nay, I behold
your own. Were we to di'own the world with them,
could the world blame us !

" But to resume : Shall we, my countrymen, suffer
this wicked stranger to depart unhanned, and tri-
umph in his treacherous \dctory among distant com-
munities of the earth ? Shall we not rather compel
him to leave his bo les here on our soil, by the side
of our slain brother's bones, so that, while one skele-
ton shall remain as the everlasting monument of
our sorrow, the other shall endure as long, exhibit-
ing to the whole human race a terrible example of
Pygmy vengeance I Such is the question. I put
it to you in full confidence of a response that shall
be worthy of our national character, and calculated
to increase, rather than diminish, the glory which
our ancestors have transmitted to us, and which we

260

FOUETH ReADEH.

ourselves have proudly vindicated in our warfare
with the cranes.

" It only remains for us, then, to decide whether
we shall cany on the war in our national capacity,
— one united people against a common enemy, — or
whether some champion, famous in former fights,
shall be selected to defy the slayer of our brother
Ant8BUS to single combat. In the latter case, though
not unconscious that there may be taller men among
you, I hereby offer myself for that enviable duty.
And believe me, dear countrymen, whether I live or
die, the honor of this great countiy, and the fame
bequeathed us by our heroic progenitors, shall suffer
no diminution in my hands. Never, while I can
wield this sword, of which I now fling away the
scabbard, — never, never, never, even if the crimson
hand that slew the great AntaBus shall lay me pros-
trate, like him, on the soil which I give my life to
defend."

His speech was followed by an uproar of applause,
as its patriotism and self-devotion unquestionably
deserved; and the shouts and clapping of hands
would have been greatly prolonged had they not
been rendered quite inaudible by a deep respiration,
vulgarly caUed a snore, from the sleeping Hercules.

It was finally decided that the whole nation of
Pygmies should set to work to destroy Hercules; not,
be it understood, from any doubt that a single cham-
pion would be capable of putting him to the sword,
but because he was a public enemy, and all were
desirous of sharing in the glory of his defeat. There

The Pvgmies.

261

was a debate whether tlie national honor did not
demand that a herald should be sent with a trumpet,
to stand over the ear of Hercules, and, after blowing
a blast right into it, to d(»f y him to combat by f oimal
proclamation. But two or three venerable and saga-
cious Pygmies, well versed in state affairs, gave it as
their opinion that war already existed, and that it
was their rightful privilege to take the enemy by
surprise. Moreover, if awakened and allowt^d to
get upon his feet, Hercules might happen to do them
a mischief before he could be beaten down again.
So the Pygmies resolved to set aside all foolish
punctilios, and assail their antagonist at once.

Accordingly, all the fighting men of the nation
took their weapons, and went boldly up to Hercules,
who still lay fast asleep, little dreaming of the harm
which the Pygmies meant to do him. A body of
twenty thousand archers marched in front, with
their little bows all ready, and the airows on the
string. The same number were ordered to clamber
upon Hercules, some with spades to dig his eyes out,
and others, with bundles of hay, and all manner of
rubbish, with which they intended to plug up his
mouth and nostrils, so that he might perish for lack
of breath. These last, however, could by no means
perform their appointed duty; inasmuch as the
enemy's breath rushed out of his nose in an obstre-
perous hunicane and whirlwind, which blew the
Pygmies away as fast as they came nigh. It was
found necessary, therefore, to hit upon some other
method of carrying on the war.

262

Fourth Reader.

! :. f

After holding a council, the captains ordered their
troops to collect sticks, straws, diy weeds, and what-
ever combustible stuff they could find, and make a
pile of it, heaping it high around the head of Her-
ciiles. As a great many thousand Pygmies were
employed in this task, they soon brought together
several bushels of inflammable matter, and raised so
tall a heap, that, mounting on its summit, they were
quite upon a level with the sleeper's face. The
archers, meanwhile, were stationed within bow-shot,
with orders to let fly at Hercules the instant that he
stirred. Everything being in readiness, a torch was
applied to the pile, which immediately burst into
flames, and soon waxed hot enough to roast the
enemy, had he but chosen to lie still.

But no sooner did Hercules begin to be scorched,
than up he started, with his hair in a red blaze.

"What's, all this?" he cried, bewildered with
sleep, and staring about him as if he expected to see
another Giant.

At that moment the twenty thousand archers
twanged their bowstrings, and the arrows came
whizzing, like so many winged mosquitos, right into
the face of Hercules. But I doubt whether more
than half a dozen of them punctui-ed the skin, which
was remarkably tough, as you know the skin of a
hero has good need to be.

"Villain ! " shouted all the Pygmies at once. " You
have killed the Giant Antaeus, our great brother,
and the ally of our nation. We declare bloody war
against you and will slay you on the spot."

ai
P

The Pygmies.

263

blieir
rhat-
iko a
Her-
were
ether
ed so
were
The
-shot, .
lat he
ti was
t into
;t the

ched,

with
to see

L-chers
came

it into
more

which

a of a

"You
'other,
ly war

Surprised at the shrill piping of so many little
voices, Hercules, after pu cting out the conflagration
of his hair, gazed all round about, but could see
nothing. At last, however, looking narrowly on the
gi'ound, he espied the innumerable assemblage of
Pygmies at his feet. He stooped down, and taking
up the nearest one between his thumb and finger,
set him on the palm of his left hand, and held him
at a proper distance for examination. It chanced
to be the very identical Pygmy who had spoken
from the top of the toadstool, and had offered him-
self as a champion to meet Hercules in single combat.

" What in the world, my little fellow," ejaculated
Hercules, " may you be ? '?

" I am your enemy," answered the valiant Pygmy,
in his mightiest squeak. "You have slain the enor-
mous Antaeus, our brother by the mother's side, and
for ages the faithful ally of our illustrious nation.
We are determined to put you to death ; and for my
own part, I challenge you to instant battle, on equal
ground."

Hercules was so tickled with the Pygmy's big
words and warlike gestm-es, that he burst into a great
explosion of laughter, and almost dropped the poor
little mite of a creature off the palm of his hand.

"Upon my word," cried he, "I thought I had seen
wonders before to-day, — hydras with nine heads,
stags with golden horns, six -legged men, three-
headed dogs, giants with furnaces in their stomachs,
and nobody knows what besides. But here, on the
palm of my hand, stands a wonder that outdoes them

264

FOUBTH ReADEK.

it!"

all ! Your body, my little friend, is about the size
of an ordinaiy man's finger. Pray, how big may
your soul be ? "

" As big as your own ! " said the Pygmy.

Hercules was touched with the little man's daunt-
less courage, and could not help acknowledging such
a brotherhood with him as one hero feels for another.

"My good little people," said he, making a low
obeisance to the grand nation, " not for all the world
would I do an intentional injury to such brave fel-
lows as you I Your hearts seem to me so exceed-
ingly gi-eat, that, upon my honor, I marvel how
your small bodies can contain them. I sue for peace,
and, as a condition of it, will take ^ve strides, and
be out of your kingdom at the sixth. Ha, ha, ha !
Ho, ho, hoi For once, Hercules acknowledges him-
self vanquished."

Some writers say, that Hercules gathered up the
whole race of Pygmies in his lion's skin and carried
them home to Greece, for the children of King Eurys-
theus to play with. But this is a mistake. He left
them, one and all, within their own tenitory, where,
for aught I can tell, their des(iendants are alive to
the present day, building their little houses, c^'lti-
vating their little fields, waging their little warfare
with the cranes, doing their little business, whatever
it may be, and reading their little histories of anci-
ent times. In those histories, perhaps, it stands
recorded that, a gi'eat many centuries ago, the vali-
ant Pygmies avenged the death of the Giant AntaBUs
by scaring away the mighty Hercules,

The Famine.

265

I size
may

aunt-
such
)tlier.
alow
world
^e f el-
:ceed- \
[ how
peace,
s, and
a, ha !
jhim-

ip the
arried
iurys-
[e left
;\rhere,
ive to

e^'lti-
arfare
atever

anci-
stands
Q vali-

ntSBUS

THE FAMINE.

O the long and dreary Winter !
O the cold and cruel Winter !
Ever thicker, thicker, thicker
Froze the ice on lake and river.
Ever deeper, deeper, deeper
Fell the snow o'er all the landscape.
Fell the covering snow, and drifted
Through the forest, round the village.

Hardly from his buried wigwam
Could the hunter force a passage ;
V/ith bis mittens and his snow-shoes
Vainly walked he through the forest,
Sought for bird or beast and found none.
Saw no track of deer or rabbit,
In the snow beheld no footprints ;
In the ghastly, gleaming forest
Fell, and could not rise from weakness,
Perished there from cold and burger.

O the famine and the fever !
O the wasting of the famine !
O the blasting of the fever !
O the wailing of the children !
O the anguish of the women !

All the earth was sick and famished,
Hungry was the air around them,
Hungry was the sky above them.
And the hungry stars in heaven
Like the eyes of wolves glared at them !
18

j(:l

4 H^'

266 , Fourth Reader.

Into Hiawatha's wigwam
Came two other guests, as silent
As the ghosts were, and as gloomy,
Waited not to be invited.
Did not parley at the doorway,
Sat there without word of welcome
In the seat of Laughing Water ;
Looked with haggard eyes and hollow
At the face of Laughing Water,

And the foremost said, " Behold me !
I am Famine, Buckadawin ! "
And the other said, " Behold me !
I am Fever, Ahkosewin ! "

And the lovely Minnehaha
Sliuddered as they looked upon her.
Shuddered at the words they uttered,
Lay down on her bed in silence,
Hid her face, but made no answer ;
Lay there trembling, freezing, burning
At the looks they cast upon her.
At the fearful words they uttered.

Forth into the empty forest
Rushed the maddened Hiawatha ;
In his heart was deadly sorrow.
In his face a stony firmness ;
On his brow the sweat of anguish
Started, but it froze, and fell not.

Wrapped in furs, and armed for huntii\g.
With his mighty bow of ash-tree,
With his quiver full of arrows,
With his mittens, Minjekahwun,
Into the vast and vac£||pt forest
On his snow-shoes litrode he forward.

The Famine.

267

" Gitche Manito, the Mighty ! "
Cried he with his face uplifted
In that bitter hour of anguish,
" Give your children food, O father !
Give us food, or we must perish !
Give me food for Minnehaha,
For my dying Minnehaha ! "

•Ifl.

Through the far-resounding forest.
Through the forest vast and vacant.
Rang that cry of desolation,
But there came no other answer
Than the echo of his crying.
Than the echo of the woodlands,
" Minnehaha ! Minnehaha ! "
All day long roved Hiawatha
In that melancholy forest.
Through the shadow of whose thickets,
In the pleasant days of Summer,
Of that ne'er-forgotten Summer,
He had brought his yourg wife homeward
I'iom the land of the Dacotahs ;
When the birds sang in the thickets,
And the streamlets laughed and glistened,
And the air was full of fragrance,
And the lovely Laughing Water
Said, with voice that did not tremble,
"I will follow you, my husband !"

In the wigwam with Nokomis,
With thoHe gloomy guests that watched her,
With the Famine and the Fever,
She was lying, the Beloved,
She the dying Minnehaha.

Ijl

268

Fourth Reader.

IS.-

4|.

fii

' O

" Hark !" she said, " I hear a rushing,
Hear a roaring and a rushing,
Hear the Falls of Minnehaha
Calling to me from a distance ! "
" No, my child !" said old Nokomis,
" 'Tis the night- wind in the pine-trees ! "
" Look !" she said, " I see my father
Standing lonely at his doorway,
Beckoning to rae from his wigwam,
In the land of the Dacotahs ! "
" No, my child !" said old Nokomis,
" 'Tis the smoke that waves and beckons ! "

" Ah ! " said she, " the eyes i>f Pauguk
Glare upon me in the darkn'<;ss ;
I can feel his icy fingers
Clasping mine amid tlie darkness !
Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! "

And the desolate Hiawatha,
Far away amid the forest.
Miles away among the mountains,
Heard that sudden cry of anguish.
Heard the voice of Minnehaha
Calling to him in the darkness,
" Hiawatha ! Hiawatha ! "

Over snow-fields vraste and path loss.
Under snow-encumJ>ored branches,
Homeward hurried Hiawatha,
Empty-handed, heavy-hearted.
Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing,
" Wahonomin ! Wahonorain !
Would that I had perished for you.
Would that I were dead as you are !
Wahonomin ! Wahonomin ! "

The Famine.

269

And he rushed into the wigwam,
Saw the old Nokomis slowly
Rocking to and fro and moaning,
Saw his lovely Minnehaha
Lying dead and cold before him ;
And his bursting heart within him
Uttered such a cry of anguish.
That the forest moaned and shuddered,
That the very stars in heaven
Shook and trembled with his anguish.

Then he sat down, still and speechless.
On the bed of Minnehaha,
At the feet of Laughing Water,
At those willing feet, that never
More would lightly run to meet him.
Never more would lightly follow.

With both hands his face he covered,
Seven long days and nights he sat there,
As if in a swoon he sat there.
Speechless, motionless, unconscious
Of the daylight or the darkness.

Then they buried Minnehaha ;
In the snow a grave they made her.
In the forest, deep and darksome.
Underneath the moaning hemlocks ;
Clothed her in her richest garments.
Wrapped her in her robes of ermine,
Covered her with snow, like ermine ;
Thus they buried Minnehaha.

And at night a fire was lighted.
On her grave four times was kindled,
For her soul upon its journv^y

Iff

270

Fourth Reader.

To the Islands of the Blessed.
From his doorway Hiawatha
Saw it burning in the forest,
Lighting up the gloomy liemlocks ;
From his sleepless bed uprising,
From the bed of Minnehaha,
Stood and watched it at the doorway.
That it might not be extinguished,
Might not leave her in the darkness.

" Farewell !" said he, " Minnehaha !
Farewell, O my Laughing Water !
All my heart is buried with you.
All my thoughts go onward with you !
Come not back again to labor.
Come not back again to suffer,
Where the Famine and the Fever
Wear the heart and waste the body.
Soon my task will be completed,
Soon your footsteps I shall follow
To the Islands of the Blessed,
To the kingdom of Ponemah !
To the Laud of the Hereafter

I "

-Longfellow.

THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year.

Of Mailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and
sere.

Heaped in the hollow of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ;

They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread.

The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,

And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy
day.

The Death of the Flowers.

271

and
ead ;

)omy

Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately

sprang and stood
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood ?
Alas ! they all are in their graves-r-the gentle lace of flowers
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours.
The rain is falling where they lie ; but the cold November rain
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again.

The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago.
And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow ;
But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,
And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood,
Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague

on men.
And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade,

and glen.

And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days

will come,
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ;
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees

ai'e still,
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill ;
The South Wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late

he bore.
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.

And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died,
The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my L^ide :
Tn the cold, moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the

leaf,
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief ;
Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours.
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.

—William Cullen Bryant.

,.|, I

i: I

! j

l! ;|

lii.^ii. ,1

272

Fourth Reader.

SAMUEL JOHNSON'S REPENTANCE.

" Sam," said Mr. Michael Johnson, of Lichfield,
one morning, " I am very feeble and ailing to-day.
You must go to Uttoxeter in my stead, and tend the
book-stall in the market -place there." This was
spoken above a hundred years ago by an elderly
man, who had once been a thriving bookseller at
Lichfield, in England. Being now in reduced cir-
cumstances, he was forced to go eveiy market-day
and soil books at a stall in the neighboring village
of Uttoxeter.

When Mi\ Michael Johnson spoke, Sam pouted,
and made an indistinct grumbling in his throat;
then he looked his old father in the face and an-
swered him loudly and deliberately : " Sir," said he,
" I will not go to. Uttoxeter market."

"Well, Sam," said Mr. Johnson, as he took his
hat and staff, "if, for the sake of your foolish pride,
you can suffer your poor sick father to stand all day
in the noise and confusion of the market, when he
ought to be in his bed, I have no more to say. But
you will think of this, Sam, when I am dead and
gone." So the poor old man set forth toward Uttox-
eter. The gi'ay-haired, feeble, melancholy Michael
Johnson, how sad a thing that he should be forced
to go, in his sickness, and toil for the support of an
ungrateful son, who was too proud to do anything

Samuel Johnson's Repentance.

273

III

for his father, or his mother, or himself. Sam looked
after Mr. Johnson with a sullen countenance till he
was out of sight.

" My poor father," thought Sam to himself, " how
his head will ache, and how hcav>^ s heart will be.
I am almost sorry I did not do as ^ bade me." Then
the boy went to his mother, who w ^ aisy about the
house. She did not know what hu c passed between
Mr. Johnson and Sam. " Mother," said he, " did you
think father seemed very ill to-day I " " Yes, Sam,"
answered his mother, turning with a flushed face
from the fire, where she was cooking their scanty
dinner, "your father did look very ill; and it is a
pity he did not send you to Uttoxeter in his stead.
You are a great boy now, and would rejoice, I am
sure, to do something for your poor father, who has
done so much for you."

After sunset, old Michael Johnson came slowly
home, and sat down in his customaiy chair. H(^
said nothing to Sam, nor do I know that a single
word ever passed between them on the subject of
the son's disobedience. In a few years his father
died, and left Sam to fight his way through the
world by himself. Well, my children, fifty years
had passed away since young Sam Johnson had
shown himself so hard-hearted towards his father.
It was now market-day in the village of Uttoxeter.

In the street of the village you might see cattle-
dealers with cows and oxen for sale, and pig-drovers
with herds of squeaking swine, and farmers with
cart-loads of cabbages, turnips, onions, and all other

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274

Fourth Readee.

I! i

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produce of the soil. Now and then a fanner^s red-
faced wife trotted along on horseback, with butter
and cheese in two large panniers. The people of the
village, with country squires and other visitors, from
the neighborhood, walked hither and thither, trad-
ing, jesting, quarrelling, and making just such a
bustle as their fathers and grandfathers had made
half a century before.

In one part of the street there was a puppet-show,
with a ridiculous merry-andrew, who kept both
grown people and children in a roar of laughter. On
the opposite side was the old stone church of Uttox-
eter, with ivy climbing up its walls and partly
obscuring its gothio windows. There was a clock
in the gray tower of the ancient church, and the
hands on its dial-plate had now almost reached the
hour of noon. At this busiest hour of the market
a strange old gentleman was seen making his way
among the crowd. He was very tall and bulky, and
wore a brown coat and small-clothes, with black
worsted stockings and buckled shoes. On his head
was a three-cornered hat, beneath which a bushy
gray wig thrust itself out, all in disorder. The old
gentleman elbowed the people aside, and forced his
way through the midst of them with a singular
kind of gait, rolling his body hither and thither, so
that he needed twice as much room as any other
person there.

But when they looked into the venerable stranger^s
face, not the most thoughtless among them dared to
offer him the least impertinence. Though his fea-

Samuel Johnson's Repentance.

275

s red-
butter
of the
, from
, trad-
luch a
made

•show,
b both
)r. On
[Jttox-
partly
k clock
ad the
ed the
aarket
s way
y, and

black
s head
bushy
he old
edhis
igular
ler, so

other

-nger's
red to
is fea-

tures were scarred and distorted, and though his eyes
were dim and bleared, yet there was something of
authority and wisdom in his looks which impressed
them all with awe. So they stood aside to let him
pass, and the old gentlema)? made his way across
the market-place, and pau:- ;ivl near the comer of the
ivy-mantled church. Just as he reached it the clock
struck twelve.

On the veiy. spot of ground where the stranger
now stood, some aged people remembered that old
Michael Johnson had foimerly kept his book-stall.
The little children who had once bought picture-
books of him were grandfathers now.

" Yes, here is the very spot ! " muttered the old
gentleman to himself. There this unknown person-
age took his stand and removed the three-cornered
hat from his head. It was the busiest hour of the
day. What with the hum of human voices, the
lowing of the cattle, the squeaking of the pigs, and
the laughter caused by the merry-andrews, the
market-place was in very great confusion. But the
stranger seemed not to notice it any more than if
the silence of a desert were around him. He was
wrapped in his own thoughts. Sometijnes he raised
his furrowed brow to heaven, as if in prayer ; some-
times he bent his head, as if an insupportable weight
of sorrow was upon him. It increased the awf ulness
of his aspect that there was a motion of his head,
and an almost continual tremor throughout his
frame, with singular twitchings and contortions
of his features.

276

Fourth Eeader.

!■ ,1,

I:' 1'

■111

The hot sun blazed upon his unprotected head;
but he seemed not to feel its power. A dark cloud
swept across the sky, and the rain-drops pattered
into the market-place ; but the stranger heeded not
the shower. The people began to gaze at the mys-
terious old gentleman with superstitious fear and
wonder. Who could he be ? Whence did he come ?
Wherefore was he standing bare-headed in the
market-place ? Even the school-boys left the merry-
andrew and came to gaze, with wide-open eyes, at
this tall, strange-looking old man.

Yes, the poor boy, the friendless Sam, with whom
we began our story, had become the famous Doctor
Samuel Johnson. He was universally acknowledged
as the wisest and greatest writer in all England. But
all his fame could not extinguish the bitter remem-
brance which had tormented him through life.
Never, never had he forgotten his father's sorrowful
and upbraiding look. Never, though the old man's
troubles had been over so many years, had he for-
given himself for inflicting such a pang upon his
heart. And now, in ^ 's old age, he had come hither
to do penance, by , ^nding at noonday, in the
market-place of Uttoxeter, on the very spot where
Michael Johnson had once kept his book-stall. The
aged and illustrious man had done what the poor
boy refused to do. By thus expressing his deep
repentance of heart, he hoped to gain peace of con-
science and forgiveness of God.

—Nathaniel Hawthorne.

M\:

Alice Brand.

277

head;
; cloud
ittered
ednot
3inys-
ir and
eome?
n the
nerry-
yes, at

whom

Doctor

ledged

1. But

3mem-

h Hfe.

rowful

man's

le f or-

on his

hither

in the

where

The

poor

deep

)f con-

korne.

ALICE BRAND.

Merry it is in the good greenwood,

When the mavis and merle are singing,

When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry,
And the hunter's horn is ringing.

" O Alice Brand, my native land

Is lost for love of you ;
And we must hold by wood and wold.

As outlaws wont to do.

" O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright.

And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue.
That, on the night of our luckless flight.

Thy brother bold I slew.

" Now must I teach to hew the beech,

The hand that held the glaive,
For leaves to spread our lowly bed,

And stakes to fence our cave.

" Ana for vest of pall, thy fingers small.

That wont on harp to stray,
A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer.

To keep the cold away."

" O Richard ! if my brother died,

'Twas but a fatal chance ;
For darkling was the battle tried,

And fortune sped the lance.

• V

:ih

278 Fourth Readeb.

"If pall and vair no more I wear,

Nor thou the crimson sheen,
As warm, well say, is the russet gray,

As gay the forest-green.

" And, Richard, if our lot be hard,

And lost thy native land.
Still Alice has her own Richard,

And he his Alice Brand."

'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood.
So blithe Lady Alice is singing ;

On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side,
Lord Richard's axe is ringing.

Up spoke the moody Elfin King,
Who woned within the hill, —
Like wind in the porch of a ruined church,
' His voice was ghostly shrill.

" Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak.

Our moonlight circle's screen ?
Or who comes here to chase the deer.

Beloved of our Elfin Queen ?
Or who may dare on wold to wear

The fairies' fatal green ?

" Up, Urgan, up ! to yon mortal hie,
For thou wert christened man ;

For cioss or sign thou wilt not fly,
For muttered word or ban.

" Lay on him the curse of the withered heart.

The curse of the sleepless eye ;
Till he wish and pray that his life would part

Nor yet find leave to die,"

., «

It ii

Alice Bkand.

'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwoofl,
Though the birds have stilled their singing ;

The evening blaze doth Alice raise, *

And Richard his fagots bringing.

Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf,

Before Lord Richard stands,
And as he crossed and blessed himself,
" I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf,

" That is made with bloody hands."

But out then spoke she, Alice Brand,

That woman void of fear, —
" And if there's blood upon his hand,

'Tis but the blood of deer."

" Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood !

It cleaves unto his hand,
The stain of thine own kindly blood.

The blood of Ethert Brand."

Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand,

And made the holy sign, —
" And if there's blood on Richard's hand,

A spotless hand is mine.

"And I conjure thee, demon elf.
By Him whom demons fear,
' To show us whence thou art thyself.
And what thine errand here ? "

279

" 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairy-land,

When fairy birds are singing.
When the court doth ride by their monarch's side.

With bit and bridle ringing :

280

Fourth Reader.

" And gaily shines the Fairy-land —

But all is glistening show,
Like the idle gleam that December's beam

Can dart on ice and snow.

" And fading, like that vaiied gleam,

Is our inconstant shape,
Who now like knight and lady seem, . '

And now like dwarf and ape.

" It was between the night and day.
When the Fairy King has power,

That I sunk down in a sinful fray.

And, 'twixt life and death, was snatched away
To the joyless Elfin bower.

" But wist I of a woman bold.

Who thrice my brow durst sign,
I might regain my mortal mould.

As fair a form as thine."

She crossed him once — she crossed him twice —

That lady was so brave ;
The fouler grew his goblin hue,

The darker drew the cave.

She crossed him thrice, that lady bold ;

He rose beneath her hand
The fairest knight on Scottish mould,

Her brother, Ethert Brand ! -

Merry it is in good greenwood.

When the mavis and merle are singing,

But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray.
When all the bells were ringing.

—Sir Walter

Scott.

From "Evangeline."

281

PROM "EVANGELINE."

Many a weary year had passed since the burning of Grand-Pr^,
When on the falling tide the freighted vessels departed,
Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into exile,
Exile without an end, and without an example in story.
Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians landed ;
Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the wind from

the north-east
Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the Banks of

Newfoundland.
Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from city to city.
From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern savannas, —
From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where the Father

of Waters,
Seizes the hills in his hands and drags them down to the ocean,
Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of the mam-
moth.
Friends they sought and homes; and man^ despairing, heart-
broken.
Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a friend nor a

fireside. -- .
Written their history stands on tablets of stone in the church-
yards.
Long among them was seen a maiden who waited and wandered.
Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering all things.
Fair was she and young ; but alas ! before her extended.
Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with its pathway
Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed and suffered

before her,
Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead and abandoned,
As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is marked by
19

282

Fourth Reader.

CampfireM long consumed, and bones that bleach in the sunshine.
Something there was in her life incomplete, imperfect, un-
finished ;
As if a morning in June, with all its music and sunshine.
Suddenly paused in the sky, and fading, slowly descended ,
Into the east again from which it late had arisen.
Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the fever

within her,
Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst of the spirit.
She would commence again her endless search and endeavor ;
Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on the crosses

and tombstones,
Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that perhaps in its

bosom
He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber beside him.
Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate whisper.
Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her forward.
Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her Ijeloved and

known him,
But it was long ago in some far-off place or forgotten.
" Gabriel Lajeunesse !" they said ; " Oh yes ! we have seen him.
He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have gone to the

prairies ;
Coureurs-des-Bois are they, and famous hunters and trappers."
"Gabriel Lajeunesse !" said others; "Oh yes ! we have seen

him.
He is a Voyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana."
Then would they say, " Dear child ! why dream and wait for

him longer?
Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel ? others
Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as loyal ?
Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who has loved thee
Many a tedious year ; come, give him thy hand and be happy !
Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine's tresses."

Fkom "Evangeline."

283

ihine.
, un-

fever

ipirit,
vor ;
rosses

in its

B him.

;dand

him.
to the

pers."
B seen

lit for

d thee

Happy

■es."

Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, *• J cannot !
Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, and not

elsewhere.
For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illumines the

pathway.
Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness."
Thereupon the priest, her frienvl and father-confessor.
Said, with a smile, " O daughter ! thy God thus speaketh within

thee !
Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted ;
If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters returning
Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of

refreshment ;
That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the

fountain.
Patience; accomplish thy labor; accomplish thy work of

affection !
Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike.
Therefore accomplish thy labor of love till the heart is made

godlike.
Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy

of heaven ! "
Cheered by tjie good man's words, Evangeline labored and

waited.
Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of the ocean,
But with its sound there was mingled a voice that whispered,

" Despair not ! "
Thus did that poor soul wander in want and cheerless discom-
fort,
Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns of existence.
Let me essay, O Muse ! to follow the wanderer's footsteps ; —
Not through each devious path, each changeful year of exist-
ence !
But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course through the

valley !

284

Fourth Reader.

Far from its margin at tiraeH, and seeing the gleam of itH water
Here ana there, in Home open space, and at intervals only ;
Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan glooms that

conceal it,
Though he behold it not, he can hear its continuous murmur ;
Happy, at length, if he finds the spot where it reaches an
■ outlet.

—Longfellow.

SONGS OF THE NIGHT.

The world hath its night. It seemeth necessary
that it shoiQd have one. The sun shineth by day,
and men go forth to their labors; but they grow
weary, and nightfall cometh on like a sweet boon
from heaven.

The darkness draweth the curtains, and shutteth
out the hght, which might prevent our eyes from
slumber; while the sweet, calm stillness of the night
permits us to rest upon the lap of ease, and there
forget awhile our cares, until the morning sun
appeareth, and an angel puts his hand upon the
ciui;ain, and undraws it once again, touches our
eyelids, and bids us rise, and proceed to the labors
of the day.

Night is one of the greatest blessings men enjoy :
we have many reasons to thank God for it. Yet night
is to many a gloomy season. There is " the pesti-
lence that walketh in darkness ; " there is " the terror
by night;" there is the dread of robbers and of fell

Songs op the Night.

2B5

disease, with all those fears that the timorous know,
when they have no light wherewith they can discern
objects.

It is then they fancy that spiritual creatures walk
the earth ; though, if they knew rightly, they would
find it to be true, that " millions of spiritual crea-
ture walk this earth unseen, both when we sleep
and when we wake ; " and that at all times they art^
round about us — not more by night than by day.

Night is the season of terror and alarni to most
men. Yet, even night hath its songs. Hj ve you
never stood by the seaside at night, and heard the
pebbles sing, and the waves chant God's glories I
Or have you never risen from your couch, and
thrown up the window of your chamber, and listened
there?

Listened to what ? Silence — save now and then
a mmTniuing sound, which seems sweet music then.
And have you not fancied that you heard the harp
of God playing in heaven ! Did you not conceive,
that yon stars, those eyes of God, looking down on
you, were also mouths of song — that every star was
singing God's glory, singing, as it shone, its mighty
Maker, and his lawful, well-deserved praise f

Night hath its songs. We need not much poetry
in our spirit to catch the song of night, and hear the
spheres as they chant praises which are loud to the
heart, though they be silent to the ear — the praises
of the mighty God, who bears up the unpillared arch
of heaven, and moves the stars in theii* courses.

—Spurgeon.

Fourth Header.

HYMN TO THE NIGHT.

I heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls !

T saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
From the celestial walls !

I felt her presence by its spell of might,

Stoop o'er me from above ;
The calm majestic presence of the Night,

As of the one I love.

I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,

The manifold, soft chimes,
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night,

Like some old poet's rhymes.

From the cool cisterns of the midnight air

My spirit drank repose ;
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, —

From those deep cisterns flows.

O holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear

What man has borne before :
Thou layst thy finger on the lips of Care,

And they complain no more.

Peace ! Peace ! Orestes-like I breathe this prayei' !

Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice-prayed-for, the most fair,
The best-beloved Night !

—Longfellow,

Aladdin, or the Wondeeful Lamp. 287

ALADDIN, OR THE WONDERFUL LAMP.

In a town of Tartary there lived a tailor, named
Mustapha, who was so poor that he could hardly
maintain himself, his wife, and his son Aladdin.
When the boy was of proper years to serve as an
apprentice, his father took him into his shop, and
taught him how to work ; but all his father could do
was in vain, for Aladdin was incorrigible.

His father was therefore forced to abandon him
to his evil ways. The thoughts of this brought on
a fit of sickness, of which he shortly died ; and the
mother, finding that her son would not follow his
father's trade, shut up the shop ; and with the money
she earned by spinning cotton thought to support
herself and her son.

Aladdin continued to give himself up to all kinds
of folly, until one day as- he was playing in the street,
a stranger passing by stood to observe him.

This stranger was a great magician. Knowing
who Aladdin was, and what were his propensities,
he went up to him, and said, " Child, was not your
father called Mustapha ? and was he not a tailor ? "
"Yes, sir," answered Aladdin; "but he has been
dead some time."

The magician threw his arms round Aladdin's
neck, and said, " I am your uncle, I have been many
years abroad ; and now, when I have come with the
hope of seeing my brother, you tell me he is dead ! "

28B

Fourth Header.

H! 1

• I
^: 1

The magician caressed Aladdin and gave him a
veiy beautiful ring, which he told the youth was of
great value. By these artifices he led Aladdin some
distance out of the town, until they came between
two mountains.

He then collected dry sticks and made a fire, into
which he cast a perfume ; and turning himself round,
pronounced some magical words. The earth imme-
diately trembled and opened, and discovered a stone,
with a ring, by which it might be raised up.

The magician said, "Under this stone is a trea-
sure destined to be yours; take hold of this ring
and lift it up." Aladdin did as he was directed, and
raised the stone with great care.

When it was removed, there appeared a cavern,
into which the magician bade him descend; and
told him at the bottom of the steps was an open
door which led into a large palace, divided into three
great halls; at the end of these was a garden,
planted with trees, bearing the most delicious fruit.
" Across that garden," said he " you will perceive a
terrace, and in it a niche, which contains a lighted
lamp. Take down the lamp ; put out the light ;
throw out the wick ; pour out the oil ; put the lamp
into your bosom, and bring it to me."

Aladdin jumped into the cavern, and found the
halls; he went through them, crossed the garden,
took' down the lamp, and put it into his bosom.

As he returned, he stopped to admire the fine
fruit with which the trees were loaded. Some bore
fruit entirely white, others red, green, blue and

Aladdin, or the Wokderful Lamp. 280

iU'

yellow. Although he imagined they were colored
glass, he was so pleased with them that he filled his
pockets, and then returned to the entrance of the
cavern.

When he came thither, he said to the magician,
" Uncle, lend me your hand to assist me in getting
up."

" Give me the lamp first," said the magician.

" I cannot till I am up," replied Aladdin.

The magician would have the lamp before he
would help Aladdin to get out ; and Aladdin refused
to give it to him, before he was out of the cavern.
The magician became so enraged that he threw some
perfume into the fire, and, pronouncing a few magi-
cal words, the stone retm-ned to its former place,
and thus buried Aladdin, who in vain called out
that he was ready to give up the lamp.

The magician, by the powers of art, had dis-
covered that if he could become possessed of a won-
derful lamp that was hidden somewhere in the
world, it would render him greater than any prince.
He afterwards discovered that this lamp was in a
subterraneous cavern between two mountains in
Tartary.

He accordingly proceeded to the town which was
nearest to this treasure, and knowing that he must
receive it from the hands of some other person, he
thought Aladdin very suitable to his purpose.

When Aladdin had procui-ed the lamp, the magi-
cian was in such extreme haste to become possessed
of this wonderful acquisition, or was so unwilling

f:;i

i.
II

Fourth Reader.

that the boy should reveal the circumstance, that he
defeated his own intention.

In this manner he forgot also the ring which he
had formerly given to Aladdin ; and which, he had
informed the youth, would always preserve him
from harm ; but went away without either.

When Aladdin found that he was immured alive
in this cavern, he sat down on the steps and remained
there two days. On the third day he clasped his
hands together in terror and despair at his unfor-
tunate condition.

In joining his hands, he rubbed the ring which
the magician had given him; and immediately a
genius of awful stature stood before him.

"What wouldst thou have with me!" said the
terrific form. " I am ready to obey thee as thy slave,
whilst thou dost possess the ring that is on thy
finger."

Aladdin said, "Whoever thou art, deliver me from
this place, if thou art able." He had no sooner
spoken than the earth opened, and he found himself
at the place where the magician had performed his
incantations.

Aladdin returned home as fast as he could, and
related to his mother all that had happened to him :
she naturally uttered imprecations at the vile magi-
cian ; and lamented that she had no food to give her
son, who had not tasted any for three days.

Aladdin then showed her the lamp, and said,
" Mother, I will take this lamp and sell it to buy us
food ; but I think if we were to clean it first, it would

Aladdin, or the Wonderful Lamp. ^dl

fetch a better price." He therefore sat down, aud
began to rub it with sand and water. Immediately
an awful genius appeared, and said, " What wouldst
thou have I I am ready to obey thee as thy slave,
and as the slave of all who may possess the lamp
in thy hand." Aladdin said, "T hunger: bring
me food." The genius disappeared; but in an
instant returned with some delicate viands, on
twelve silver plates; he placed them on the table
and vanished. Aladdin and his mother sat down
and ate heartily. The victuals lasted them until
the next night, when Aladdin took the plates and
sold them. As they lived with frugality the money
kept them several years.

One day Aladdin saw the Princess Badroulbou-
dour as she was going to the baths. He was so
struck with her beauty that he ran home and
requested his mother to go to the sultan, and ask for
the princess in marriage. His mother thought he
must be mad, and endeavored to dissuade him
from such a foolish desire; but he replied that he
could not exist without the princess.

He then brought his mother the fruit which he
had gathered in the subterranean garden, and told
her to take it as a present to the sultan, for it was
worthy the greatest monarch ; he having found by
frequenting the shops of jewellers that, instead of
being colored glass, they were jewels of inestimable
value.

His mother, being thus persuaded, set off for the
sultan's palace, where, having obtained an audience.

^92

Fourth Beadeh.

she presented the jewels to the sultan in a china
vase.

The sultan graciously received the present ; and
having heard her request, he said, " I cannot allow
my daughter to marry until I receive some valuable
consideration from your son ; yet, if at the expira-
tion of three months from this day, he will send me
forty vases like this one, filled with similar jewels,
and borne by forty black slaves, each of them led by
a white slave in magnificent apparel, I will consent
that he shall become my son-in-law."

The sultan, indeed, was unwilling that his daugh-
ter should be married to a stranger ; but supposing
the demand he made would be greater than Aladdin
could comply with, he considered that this condition
would be as effectual as a refusal; and that, too,
without seeming to oppose the young man's request.
Aladdin's mother returned home, and told him the
stipulations upon which the sultan would consent
to his match. His joy was therefore unbounded
when he found that he was so likely to espouse the
princess. As soon as his mother left him he took
the lamp and rubbed it; when immediately the
same genius appeared and asked what he would
have. Aladdin told him what the sultan required,
and that the articles must be provided by the time
appointed; which the genius promised should be
done. At the expiration of three months, the genius
brought the four-score slaves, and the vessels filled
with jewels. Aladdin's mother, being attired in a
superb robe, set out with them to the palace.

Aladdin, or the Wonderful Lamp. 293

sing

idin

tion

too,

lest.

the

sent

ded

the

ook

the

buld

When the sultan beheld the forty vases, full of
most precious and briUiant jewels, and the eighty
slaves, the costliness of whose garments was as
great as the dresses of kings, he wa»s so astonished
that he thought it unnecessary to inform himself
whether Aladdin had all the other qualifications
which ought to be possessed by a monarch's son-in-
law. The sight of such immense riches, and Alad-
din's diligence in complying with his demand, per-
suaded the sultan that he could not want any other
accomplishments. He therefore said to the young
man's mother, " Q-o, tell thy son that I wait to receive
him, that he may espouse the princess, my daughter."
When Aladdin's mother had withdrawn, the sultan
rose from his throne, and ordered that the vases
and jewels should be carried into the princess's
apartment.

The mother of Aladdin soon returned to her son.
" You are arrived," said she to him, " at the height
of your desires. The sultan waits to embrace you,
and conclude your marriage." Aladdin, in ecstasies
at this intelligence, retired to his chamber, and rub-
bed the lamp. The obedient genius appeared.
" Genius," said Aladdin, " I wish to bathe immedi-
ately ; and afterwards provide me with a robe more
superb than ever monarch wore." The genius then
rendered him invisible, and transported him to a
marble bath, where he was undi'essed, without see-
ing by whom, and rubbed and washed by waters of
the most exquisite fragrance. His skin became clear
and delicate j he put on a magnificent garment which

294

Fourth Keadej*.

he found ready for him, and the genius then trans-
ported him to his chamber, where he inquired if
Aladdin had further commands for him. "Yes,"
answered Aladdin, " bring me a horse, and let it be
furnished with the most costly and magnificent trap-
pings; let there be a splendid retinue of slaves to
attend me, and let them be attired in the most
expensive habiliments. For my mother also pro-
vide an extensive equipage; let six female slaves
attend her, each bearing a different robe, suitable
even to the dignity of a sultaness ; let not anything
be wanting to complete the splendor of her retinue.
But, above all, bring ten thousand pieces of gold in
ten purses."

The genius disappeared and returned with a horse,
forty slaves, ten purses of gold, and six female slaves,
each bearing a most costly robe for Aladdin's mother.
Aladdin entrusted six of the purses to the slaves,
that they might distribute the money amoi.g the
people as they proceeded to the sultan's pala'je. He
then despatched one of the slaves to the royal man-
sion, to know when he might have the honor of
prostrating himself at the sultan's feet.

The slave brought him word that the sultan waited
for him with impatience. When he arrived at the
gate of the palace, the grand vizier, the generals of
the army, the governors of the provinces, and all
the great officers of the court, attended him to the
council hall; and. having assisted him to dismount,
they led him to the sultan's throne. The sovereign
was amazed to see that Aladdin was more richly

Aladdin, or the Wonderful Lamp.

295

apparelled than he was ; he arose, however, from his
throne, and embraced him. He gave a signal, and
the air resounded with trumpets, hautboys, and other
musical instruments. He then conducted Aladdin
into a magnificent saloon, where a sumptuous enter-
tainment had been provided. After this splendid
repast, the sultan sent for the chief law-officer of his
empire, and ordered him immediately to prepare the
marriage contract between the princess and Aladdin.
The sultan then asked Aladdin if the marriage should
be solemnized that day. To which he answered,
" Sir, I beg your permission to defer it until I have
built a palace suitable to the dignity of the princess ;
and I therefore entreat you further to grant me a
convenient spot of ground near your own palace;
and I will take care to have it finished with the
utmost expedition." " Son," said the sultan, "take
what ground you think proper." After v hich he
again embraced Aladdin, who respectfully took leave
and returned home.

He retired to his chamber, took his lamp, and
summoned the genius as usual. " Genius," said he
" build me a palace near the sultan's fit for the recep-
tion of my spouse, the princess ; but instead of stone,
let the walls be formed of massy gold and silver, laid
in alternate rows ; and let the interstices be enriched
with diamonds and emeralds. The palace must have
a delightful garden, planted with aromatic shrubs
and plants, bearing the most delicious fruits, and
beautiful flowers. But, in particular, let there be
an immense treasure of gold and silver coin. The

.'ii

it ■-

liil
liji

i ;i

296

Fourth Readek.

palace, moreover, must be well provided with ofl&ces,
store-houses, and stables full of the finest horses,
and attended by equerries, grooms, and hunting
equipage."

By the dawn of the ensuing morning, the genius
presented himself to Aladdin, and said, " Sir, your
palace is finished ; come and see if it accords with
your wishes." He had no sooner signified his readi-
ness to behold it than the genius instantly conveyed
him thither. He foimd that it surpassed all his
expectations. The officers and slaves were all
dressed according to their rank and sei'vices. The
genius then showed him the treasury, in which he
saw heaps of bags full of money, piled up to the
veiy ceiling. The genius then conveyed Aladdin
home, before the hour arrived at which the gates of
the sultan's palace were opened.

When the porters arrived at the gates of the royal
mansion, they were amazed to see Aladdin's palace.
The gi'and vizier, who came afterwards, was no less
astonished. He went to acquaint the sultan of it,
and endeavored to persuade the monarch that it
was all enchantment. "Vizier," replied the Sultan,
"you know as well as I do, that it is Aladdin's
palace, on the ground which I gave him." When
Aladdin had dismissed the genius, he requested his
mother to go to the royal palace with her slaves,
and tell the sultan she came to have the honor of
attending the princess towards the evening to her
son's palace. Aladdin soon afterward left his
paternal dwelhngj but he was careful not to forget

Aladdin, or the Wondekful Lamp. 297

his wonderful lamp, by the aid of which he had l)e-
come so eminently dignified. Aladdin^s mother was
received at the royal palace with gi-eat honor, and
was introduced to the apartment of the beautiful
princess. The princess received her with gi'eat
affection ; and while the women were decorating her
with the jewels Aladdin had sent, an elegant colla-
tion was laid before them. In the evening the
princess took leave of the sultan her father, and pro-
ceeded to Aladdin's palace. She was accompanied
by his mother, and was followed by a himdred slaves,
magnificently dressed. Bands of music led the pro-
cession, followed by a hundred black slaves, with
appropriate officers. Four hundred of the sultan's
young pages carried torches on each side; these,
with the radiant illuminations of the sultan's and
Aladdin's palaces, rendered it as light as day.

When the princess arrived at the new palace,
Aladdin, filled with delight, hastened to receive her.
He addressed her with that reverence which her
dignity exacted ; but with that ardor which her ex-
treme beauty inspired. He took her by the hand,
and led her into a saloon, where an entertainment,
far beyond description, was served up.

The dishes were of burnished gold, and contained
every kind of rarity and delicacy. Vases, cups, and
other vessels, were also of gold, so exquisitely car^^ed,
that the excellency of the workmanship might be
said to surpass the value of the material.

Aladdin conducted the princess and his mother to
their appropriate places in this magnificent apart-

''! : I

1 1

298

Fourth Reader.

V ■

li ;,

r'l

ment ; and as soon as they were seated, a choir of
the most melodious voices, accompanied by a band
of the most exquisite performers, formed the most
fascinating concert during the whole of the repast.

About midiiight, Aladdin presented his hand to the
princess to dance with her : and thus concluded the
ceremonies and festivities of the day.

On the next morning, Aladdin, moimted on a
horse richly caparisoned, and attended by a troop of
slaves, proceeded to the sultan's palace. The mon-
arch received him with parental affection, and placed
Mm beside the royal throne.

Aladdin did not limit himself to the two palaces,
but went about the city, and attended the different
mosques. He visited also the grand vizier, and
other great personages. His manner, which had
become extremely pleasing, endeared him to his
superiors; and his affability and liberality gained
him the affection of the people.

He might thus have been happy had it not been
for the magician, who no sooner understood that
Aladdin had arrived at this eminent good fortune,
than he exclaimed, " This poor tailor's son has dis-
covered the secret virtues of the lamp ! But I will
endeavor to prevent him in the enjoyment of it
much longer." The next morning he set forward,
and soon afterward arrived at the town in Tartary
where Aladdin resided.

The first object he had to attain was a knowledge
of the place in which Aladdin kept the lamp. He
soon found by his art that this inestimable treasure

Aladdin, ok the VVondekful Lami*. 299

was in Aladdin's palace, a discovery which delighted
liini. He also learned flmt Aladdin was going on a
hunting excursion, which would engage him from
liome eight days.

The magitdan then went to a manufacturer of
lamps, and purchased a dozen copper ones which he
put into a basket. He thus proceeded towards Alad-
din's palace ; and when he came near it, ho cried,
"Who'll change old lamps for new ones?" This
strange inquiry attracted a crowd of people and
children about him, who thought he must be mad to
give new lamps for old ones ; yet still he contiimed
to exclaim, " Who'll change old lamps for new ones I "

This he repeated so often near Aladdin's palace,
that the princess sent one of her women slaves to
know what the man cried. "Madam," said the
slave, " I cannot forbear laughing to see a fool, with
a basket full of new lamps on his arm, asking to
exchange for old ones." Another woman slave who
was present said, " I know not whether the princess
has observed it, but there is an old lamp upon the
cornice ; if the princess pleases, she may try if this
foolish man will give a new one for it."

This was Aladdin's wonderfid lamp which he had
placed upon the cornice before he set off on the
hunting excursion; but neither the princess, nor
those who were about her, had observed it. At all
other times, but when hunting, Aladdin canied it
about him. The princess, who knew not the value
of the lamp, bade one of the slaves take it, and make
the exchange.

300

Fourth Reader.

•;1

V' i.

1} ! 5'

The slave went and called the magician; and
showing him the old lamp, said, " Will you give me
a new one in exchange I "

The magician, knowing that this was the lamp he
wanted, snatched it from the slave, and thrust it into
his bosom, bidding him take that which he liked
best. The slave chose one, and carried it to the
princess.

As soon as the magician got beyond the gates of
the city, he stopped ; and passed the remainder of
the day, until it was night, in an adjoining wood,
when he took the lamp and rubbed it.

The genius instantly appeared. "I command
thee," said the magician, " to convey me, together
with the palace thou hast built for Aladdin, with all
its inhabitants, to a place in Africa." The genius
instantly transported him, with the palace and every-
thing it contained, to the place in Africa which the
magician had appointerl.

The next morning the sultan went, as usual, to his
closet-window to admire Aladdin's palace, but when
he saw an uncovered space of gi'ound, instead of
a palace, he could not restrain his astonishment and
indignation. He went into another apartment, and
sent for the gi'and vizier, who was no less amazed
than the sultan had been.

The sultan exclaimed, "Where is that imposter,
that I may instantly have his head taken off I Order
a detachment of fifty horse soldiers to bring him
before me loaded with chains." The detachment
obeyed the orders ; and about six leagues from the

Aladdin, ob the Wonderful Lamp. 301

town they met Aladdin returning home. They told
him that the sultan had sent them to accompany
him home.

Aladdin had not the least apprehension, and pur-
sued his way; but when they came within half a
leagu< ) of the city, the detachment surrounded him,
and the officer said, "Prince Aladdin, I am com-
manded by the sultan to arrest you, and to carry
you before him as a criminal." They then fastened
both his arms, and in this manner the officer obliged
Aladdin to follow him on foot into the town.

When the soldiers came near the town, the people
seeing Aladdin led thus a culprit, doubted not that
his head would be cut off ; but as he was generally
beloved, some took sabres and other kind of arms,
and those who had none, gathered stones, and fol-
lowed the detachment; and in this manner they
reached the palace.

Aladdin was carried before the sultan; who, as
soon as he saw him, ordered that his head should be
instantly cut off, without hearing him, or giving him
any opportunity to explain himself. As soon as the
executioner had taken off the chains he caused Alad-
din to kneel down; then, drawing his sabre, he
waited only for the sultan's signal to separate the
head from the body.

At that instant the populace had forced the guard
of soldiers, and were scaling the walls of the palace.
The sultan ordered the executioner to unbind Alad-
din, and desired the grand vizier to tell the people
that Aladdin was pardoned. When Aladdin found

302

Fourth Reader.

himself at liberty, he turned towards the sultan, and
said to him in an affecting manner, "I beg your
majesty to let me know my crime ! " " Thy crime,"
answered the sultan, " follow me ! " The sultan then
took him into his closet. When he came to the
door he said to him, " You ought to know where
your palace stood; look and tell me what has become
of it."

"I beg your majesty," said Aladdin, "to allow
me forty days to make my inquiries." — " I give you
forty days," said the sultan. For three days Alad-
din rambled about till he was tired. At the close of
the third day he came to a river's side ; there, under
the influence of despair, he detennined to cast him-
self into the water. He thought it right first to say
his prayers, and went to the river-side to wash his
hands and face, according to the law of Mahomed.
The bank of the river was steep and slippery, and
as he stood upon it he slid down against a little
rock. In falling down the bank, he rubbed his ring
so hard, that the same genius appeared which he
had seen in the cavern.

Aladdin said " I command thee to convey me to
the place where my palace stands, and set me down
under the princess's window." The genius imme-
diately transported him into the midst of a large
plain, on which his palace stood, and set him
exactly under the window, and left him there fast
asleep. The next morning, one of the women
perceived Aladdin, and told the princess, who could
not believe her; but, nevertheless, she instantly

>»

Aladdin, or the Wondekful Lamp. 303

opened the window, when she saw Aladdin, and
said to him, " I have sent to have one of the private
gates opened for you." Aladdin went into the prin-
cess's chamber, where, after they had affectionately
embraced, he said to her, " What has become of an
old lamp which I left upon the cornice when I went
hunting I " The princess told him that it had been
exchanged for a new one ; and that the next morn-
ing she found herself in an unknown country, which
she had been told was in Africa, by the treacherous
man himself, who had conveyed her thither by his
magic art. "Princess," said Aladdin, "you have
informed me who the traitor is, by telling me you
are in Africa. He is the most perfidious of all men ;
but this is not the time or place to give you a full
account of his iniquity. Can you tell me what he
has done with the lamp, and where he has placed
it?"

" He carries it carefully wrapped up in his bosom,"
said the princess ; " and this I know, because he has
taken it out and showed it to me." " Princess," said
Aladdin, " tell me, I conjure thee, how this wicked
and treacherous man treats you. " " Since I have been
here," replied the princess, " he comes once every
day to see me ; and I am persuaded that the indif-
ference of my manner towards him, and the evident
reluctance of my conversation, induces him to with-
hold more frequent visits. All his endeavors are to
persuade me to break that faith I pledged to you,
and to take him for a husband. He frequently
informs me that I have no hopes of seeing you again,

u ll

I 11

ll\

304

Fourth Reader.

for that yon are dead, having had your head stmck
off by order of the sultan. He also calls you an
ungrateful wretch ; says that your good fortune was
owing to him ; besides many other things of a simi-
lar kind. Hej however, receives no other answer
from me than grief, complaints, and tears ; and he
is, therefore, always obliged to retire with evident
dissatisfaction. I have but little doubt that his
intention is to allow me some time for my sorrow to
subside, in hopes that my sentiments may after-
wards become changed ; but that, if I persevere in
an obstinate refusal, he will use violence to compel
me to marry him. But your presence, Aladdin,
subdues all my apprehensions."

" I have great confidence," replied Aladdin, "since
my princess's fears are diminished; and I believe
that I have thought of the means to deliver you
from our common enemy. I shall return at noon,
and will then communicate my project to you, and
tell you what must be done for its success. But
that you may not be surprised, it is well to inform
you, that I shall change my di'ess ; and I must beg
of you to give orders that I may not wait long at
the private gate, but that it may be opened at the
first knock. All which the princess promised to
observe.

When Aladdin went out of the palace, he per-
ceived a countryman before him, and having come
up with him, made a proposal to change clothes, to
which the man agreed. They accordingly went
behind a hedge, and made the exchange. Aladdin

III!

Aladdin, or the Wonderful Lamp. 305

afterwards travelled to the town, and came to that
part in which merchants and artizans have their
respective streets, according to the articles which
are the subject of their trade. Among these he
found the druggists, and having gone to one of the
principal shops, he purchased half a drachm of a
particular powder that he named.

Aladdin returned to the palace, and when he saw
the princess, he told her to invite the magician to
sup with her. "Then," said he, " put this powder
into one of the cups of wine ; charge the slave to
bring that cup to you, and then change cups with
him. No sooner will he have drunk oif the contents
of the cup, but you will see him fall backwards."
The magician came, and at table he and the princess
sat opposite to each other. The princess presented
him with the choicest things tliat were on the table,
and said to him, " If you please, we will exchange
cups, and drink each other's health." She presented
her cup, and held out her hand to receive the other
from him. He made the exchange with pleasm*e.
The princess put the cup to her lips, while the
African magician drank the very last drop, and fell
backward lifeless.

No sooner had the magician fallen than Aladdin
entered the hall, and said, " Princess, I must beg you
to leave me for a moment." When the princess was
gone, Aladdin shut the door, and going to the dead
body of the magician, opened his vest, took out the
lamp, and rubbed it. The genius immediately ap-
peared. "Genius," said Aladdin, "I command

306

Fourth Reader.

thee to convey this palace to its former position in
Tartaiy." The palace was immediately removed
into Tartary, without any sensation to those who
were contained in it. Aladdin went to the princess's
apartment, and embracing her, said, " I can assure
you, princess, that your joy and mine will be com-
plete to-morrow morning."

Aladdin rose at daybreak in the morning, and put
on one of his most splendid habits. At an early
hour he went into the hall, from the windows of
which he perceived the sultan. They met together
at the foot of the great staircase of Aladdin's palace.
The venerable sultan was some time before he could
open his lips, so great was his joy that he had found
his daughter once more. She soon came to him ; he
embraced her and made her relate all that had
happened." The body of the magician was ordered
to be thrown as a prey to the wild beasts. Thus
Aladdin was delivered from the persecution of his
enemy. Within a short time afterwards the sultan
died at a good old age ; and, as he left no sons, the
princess became heiress to the crown ; but Aladdin
being her husband, the sovereignty, it was agreed
by the great officers of the state, should devolve
upon him. Aladdin and his wife reigned together
many years in happiness and prosperity.

But pleasures are like poppies spread ;

You seize the flower, its bloom is shed ;

Or, like the snow-fall in the river,

A moment white, then melts fore\er.

—Robert Burns.

A FoKEST Calm.

no7

A FOREST CALM.

We wandered to the Pine Forest

That skirts the Ocean's foam ;
The lightest wind was in its nest,

The tempest in its home.
The whispering waves were half asleep,

The clouds were gone to play,
And on the bosom of the deep

The smile of Heaven lay ;
It seemed as if the hour were one

Sent from beyond the skies,
Which scattered from above the sun

A light of Paradise !

We paused amid the pines that stood

The giants of the waste,
Tortured by storms to shapes as rude^

As serpents interlaced, —
And soothed by every azure bieath.

That under heaven is blown
To harmonies and hues beneath.

As tend v as its own :
Now all the tree-tops lay asleep

Like green waves on the sea.
As still as in the silent deep

The ocean-woods may be.

How calm it was ! — the silence there
By such a chain was bound.

That even the busy woodpecker
Made stiller by her sound

The inviolable quietness ;

The breath of peace we drew,

With its soft motion made not le>;s

308

Fourth Readee.

The calm that round us grew.
There seemed from the remotest seat

Of the wide mountain waste
To the soft flower beneath our feet

A magic circle traced,
A spirit interfused around,

A thrilling silent life ;
To momentary peace it bound

Our mortal nature's strife.

We paused beside the pools that lie

Under the forest bough ;
Each seemed as 'twere a little sky

Gulfed in a world below ;
A firmament of purple light

Which in the dark earth lay,
More boundless than the depth of night

And purer than the day — ■
In which the lovely forests grew

As in the upper air.
More perfect both in shape and hue

Than any spreading there.

There lay the glade and neighboring lawn.

And through the dark-green wood
The white sun twinkling like the dawn

Out of a speckled cloud.
Sweet views which in our world above

Can never well be seen
Were imaged by the water's love

Of that fair forest green :
And all was interfused beneath

With an Elysian glow.

An atmosphere without a breath,

A softer day below.

—P. n. Shelley.

The Escape of Queen Maky.

309

THE ESCAPE OF QUEEN MARY PROM
LOOHLEVEN OASTLE.

"Look from that window, Roland," said the
Queen ; " see you amongst the several lights which
begin to kindle, and to glimmer palely through the
gray of the evening, from the village of Kinross —
seest thou, I say, one solitary spark apart from the
others, and nearer, it seems, to the verge of the
water ? It is no brighter, at this distance, than the
torch of the poor glow-worm, and yet, my good
youth, that light is more dear to Mary Stuart than
every star that twinkles in the blue vault of heaven.

" By that signal I know that more than one true
heart is plotting my deliverance ; and, without that
consciousness, and the hope of freedom it gives me,
I had long since stooped to my fate, and died of a
broken heart. Plan after plan has been formed and
abandoned, but still the light glimmers ; and while
it gUmmers, my hope lives. Oh, how many even-
ings have I sat musing in despair over our ruined
schemes, and scarce hoping that I should again see
that blessed signal, when it has suddenly kindled,
and like the lights of St. Elmo in a tempest, brought
hope and consolation, where there was only dejec-
tion and despair!" "If I mistake not," answered
Roland, " the candle shines from the house of Blink-
hoolie the gardener."

" Thou hast a good eye," said the Queen ; " it is

310

FouKTH Reader.

¥ <

there where my trusty lieges — God and the saints
pom* blessings on them ! — hold consultation for my
deliverance. The voice of a wretched captive would
die on these blue waters, long ere it could mingle in
their council ; and yet I can hold conmiunication —
I will confide the whole to thee — I am about to ask
those faithful friends if the moment for the great
attempt is nigh. Place the lamp in the window,
Fleming." She obeyed, and immediately withdrew
it. No sooner had she done so than the light in the
cottage of the gardener disappeared. " Now count,"
said Queen Mary, " for my heart beats so thick that
I cannot count myself." The Lady Fleming began
deliberately to count one, two, three, and, when she
had arrived at ten, the light on the shore again
showed its pale twinkle.

" Now our lady be praised ! " said the Queen ; " it
was but two nights since, that the absence of the
light remained while I could tell thirty. The hour
of deliverance approaches. May God bless those
who labor in it with such truth to me ! — alas I with
such hazard to themselves — and bless you, too, my
children!" "And now for the signal from the
shore ! " exclaimed Catherine ; " my bosom tells me
we shall see this night two lights, instead of one,
gleam from that garden of Eden. And then, Roland,
do your part manfully, and we will dance on the
greensward like midnight fairies."

Catherine's conjecture misgave not, nor deceived
her. In the evening two beams twinkled from the
cottage, instead of one; and the page heard, with

The Escape of Queen Maky.

311

my
the

beating heart, that the new retainer was ordered to
stand sentinel on the outside of the castle. When
he intimated this news to the Queen she held her
hand out to him — he knelt, and when ho raised it to
his lips in all dutiful homage, he found it was damp
and cold as marble. "For God's sake, madam,
droop not now — sink not now." "Call upon Our
Lady, my liege," said the Lady Fleming — "call upon
your tutelar saint." " Call upon the spirits of the
hundred kings you are descended from ! " exclaimed
the page ; " in this hour of need you will require all
your resolution."

" O Roland Graeme ! " said Mary, in a tone of deep
despondency, " be true to me — ^many have been false
to me. Alas ! I have not always been true to my-
self ! My mind misgives me that I shall die in bond-
age, and that this bold attempt will cost all our lives.
It was foretold me by a soothsayer in France that I
should die in prison and by a violent death, and
here comes the hour. Oh, would to God it found
me prepared !" "Madam," said Catherine Seyton,
" remember you are a Queen. Better we all died in
bravely attempting to gain om* freedom than remain
here to be poisoned, as men rid themselves of the
noxious vermin that haunt old houses." "You are
right, Catherine," said the Queen ; " and Mary will
bear her like herself. But, alas! your young and
buoyant spirit can ill spell the causes which have
broken mine. Forgive me, my childi'en, and fare-
well for a while — I will prepare both mind and body
for this awful venture."

312

FouBTH Reader.

;f:

They separated till again called together by the
tolling of the curfew. The Queen appeared grave,
but firm and resolved ; the Lady Fleming, with the
ai*t of an experienced courtier, knew perfectly how
to disguise her inward tremors ; Catherine's eye was
fired as if with the boldness of the project, and the
half smile which dwelt upon her beautiful mouth
seemed to contemn all the risk and all the conse-
quences of discovery ; Eoland, who felt how much
success depended on his own address and boldness,
summoned together his whole presence of mind, and
if he found his spirits flag for a moment, cast his
eye upon Catherine, whom he thought he had never
seen look so beautiful.

"I may be foiled," he thought, "but with this
reward in prospect, they must bring demons to aid
them ere they cross me." Thus resolved, he stood
like a greyhound in the slips, with hand, heart, and
eye intent upon making and seizing opportunity for
the execution of their project.

The keys had, with the wonted ceremonial, been
presented to the Lady Lochleven. She stood with
her back to the casement, which, like that of the
queen's apartment, commanded a view of Kinross,
with the church, which stands at some distance from
the town, and nearer to the lake, then connected
with the town by straggling cottages. With her
back to the casement, then, and her face to the table,
on which the keys lay for an instant, while she tasted
the various dishes which were placed there, stood
the Lady of Lochleven, more provokingly intent

The Escape of Queex Mauy.

313

than usual — so at least it seoinod to her pnsoners —
iilMHi the huge aud heavy buueh of irou, the imple-
meut.s of their restraint.

Just when, having finished her ceremony as taster
of the Queen's table, she was about to take up the
keys, the page, who stood beside her, and had
handed her the dishes in succession, looked side-
ways to the chui'chyard, and exclaimed he saw
corpse-candles in the vault. The Lady Lochleven
was not without a touch, though a slight one, of the
superstitions of the time ; the fate of her sons made
her alive to omens, and a corpse-light as it was
called, in the family burial-place, boded death.

She turned her head towards the casement — saw
a distant glimmering — forgot her (iharge for one
second, and in that second were lost the whole fruits
of her former vigilance. The page held the forged
keys under his cloak, and with great dexterity
exchanged them for the real ones. His utmost
address could not prevent a slight clash as he took
up the latter bunch. "Who touches the keys?"
said the lady ; and while the page answered that
the sleeve of his cloak had touched them, she looked
around, possessed herself of the bunch which now
occupied the place of the genuine keys, and again
turned to gaze at the supposed corpse-candles.

"I wish yom' Giiice and your company a good
evening. Randal, attend us." And Randal, who
waited in the antechamber after having surrendered
his bunch of keys, gave his escort to his mistress as
usual, while, leaving the Queen's apartments, she

' I

314

FouBTH Reader.

; ji

retii'ed to her own. " To-morrow ?" said the page,
rubbing his hands with glee, " fools look to to-mor-
row, and wise folk use to-night. May I pray you,
my gi^acious liege, to retire for one half -hour, until
all the castle is composed to rest I I must go and
rub with oil these blessed implements of our free-
dom. Courage and constancy, and all will go well,
provided our friends on the shore fail not to send
the boat you spoke of."

" Fear them not," said Catherine, "they are as true
as steel — if our dear mistress do but maintain her
noble and royal courage."

"We have but brief time," said Queen Mary;
" one of the two lights in the cottage is extinguished
— that shows the boat is put off."

"They will row very slow," said the page, "to
avoid noise. To our several tasks — I will com-
municate with the good Father."

At the dead hour of midnight, when all was silent
in the castle, the page put the key into the lock of
the wicket which opened into the garden, and which
was at the bottom of a staircase that descended from
the Queen's apartment. "Now turn smooth and
softly, thou good bolt," said he, " if ever oil softened
rust I " and his precautions had been so effectual,
that the bolt revolved with little or no sound of
resistance. He ventured not to cross the threshold,
but exchanging a word with the disguised Abbot,
asked if the boat were ready.

"This half -hour," said the sentinel. "She lies
beneath the wall, too close under the islet to be seen

The Escape of Queen Mary.

315

by the warder ; but I fear she will hardly escape his
notice in putting off again."

"The darkness," said the page, "and our pro-
found silence, may take her off unobserved, as she
came in. Hildebrand has the watch on the tower —
a heavy-headed knave, who holds a can of ale to be
the best headpiece upon a night-watch. He sleeps
for a wager."

" Then bring the Queen," said the Abbot, " and
I will call Henry Seyton to assist them to the boat."

On tiptoe, with noiseless step and suppressed
breath, trembling at every rustle of their own appa-
rel, one after another the fair prisoners glided down
the winding stair, under the guidance of Roland
Graeme, and were received at the wicket-gate by
Henry Seyton and the churchman. The former
seemed instantly to take upon himself the whole
direction of the enterprise. " My Lord Abbot," he
said, " give my sister your arm — I will conduct the
Queen — and the youth will have the honor to guide
Lady Fleming."

This was no time to dispute the arrangement,
although it was not that which Roland G-raeme would
have chosen. Catherine Seyton, who well knew the
garden path, tripped on before like a sylph, rather
leading the Abbot than receiving assistance — the
Queen, her native spirit prevailing over female fear
and a thousand painful reflections, moved steadily
forward, by the assistance of Henry Seyton — while
the Lady Fleming encumbered with her fears and
her helplessness Roland Graeme, who followed in

316

FouKTH Reader.

the rear, and who bore under the other ai*m a packet
of necessaries belonging to the Queen.

The door of the garden which communicated with
the shore of the islet yielded to one of the keys of
which Roland had possessed himself, although not
until he had tried several — a moment of anxious
terror and expectation. The ladies were then partly
led, partly carried, to the side of the lake, where a
boat with six rowers attended them, the men couched
along the bottom to secure them from observation.

Henry Seyton placed the Queen in the stern ; the
Abbot offered to assist Catherine, but she was seated
by the Queen's side before he could utter his proffer
of help ; and Roland Graeme was just lifting Lady
Fleming over the boat-side, when a thought sud-
denly occurred to him, and exclaiming, " Forgotten,
forgotten! wait for me but one half -minute," he
replaced on the shore the helpless lady of the bed-
chamber, threw the Queen's packet into the boat,
and sped back through the garden with the noiseless
speed of a bird on the wing.

" By Heaven, he is false at last ! " said Seyton ; " I
ever feared it!" "He is as true," said Catherine,
" as Heaven itseK, and that I will maintain." " Be
silent, minion," said her brother, " for shame, if not
for fear ! Fellows, put off, and row for your lives ! "
"Help me, help me on board!" said the deserted
Lady Fleming, and that louder than prudence war-
ranted.

" Put off — ^put off ! " cried Henry Seyton ; " leave
all behind, so the Queen is safe," "Will you

The Escape of Queen Mary.

317

permit this, madam ! " said Catharine, imploringly ;
" you leave yom^ deliverer to death." " I will not,"
said the Queen. " Seyton, I command you to stay
at every risk." " Pardon me, madam, if I disobey,"
said the intractable young man ; and with one hand
lifting in Lady Fleming, he began himself to push
off the boat.

She was two fathoms' length from the shore, and
the rowers were getting her head round, when
Roland Graeme, arriving, bounded from the beach
and attained the boat, overturning Seyton, on whom
he lighted. The youth swore a deep but suppressed
oath, and stopping Graeme as he stepped toward the
stern, said, "Your place is not with high-born dames
— keep to the head and trim the vessel. Now give
way — give way. Row, for God and the Queen ! "

The rowers obeyed, and began to pull vigorously.
" Why did you not muffle the oars ? " said Roland
Graeme ; " this dash must awaken the sentinel. Row,
lads, and get out of reach of shot ; for had not old
Hildebrand, the warder, supped upon poppy-por-
ridge, this whispering must have waked him."

" It was all thine own delay," said Seyton ; " thou
shalt reckon with me hereafter for that and other
matters."

But Roland's apprehension was verified too in-
stantly to permit him to reply. The sentinel, whose
slumbering had withstood the whispering, was
alarmed by the dash of the oars. His challenge was
instantly heard. " A boat — a boat I — bring to, or I
shoot ! " And as they continued to ply their oars, he

31B

Fourth Beadeh.

i' !

called aloud, " Treason ! treason ! " rang the bell of
the castle, and discharged his arquebuss at the boat.

The ladies crowded on each other, like startled
wild-fowl, at the flash and report of the piece, while
the men urged the rowers to the utmost speed. They
heard more than one ball whiz along the surface of
the lake, at no great distance from their little bark ;
and from the hghts, which glanced like meteors
from window to window, it was evident the whole
castle was alarmed, and their escape discovered.

"Pull!" again exclaimed Seyton. "Stretch to
your oars, or I will spur you to the task with my
dagger — they will launch a boat immediately."
" That is cared for," said Roland ; " I locked the
gate and wicket on them when I went back, and no
boat will stir from the island this night, if doors of
good oak and bolts of iron can keep men within
stone walls. And now I resign my office of porter
of Lochleven, and giv.e the keys to the Kelpie's
keeping."

As the heavy keys plunged into the lake, the
Abbot, who till then had been repeating his prayers,
exclaimed, "Now bless thee, my son! thy ready
prudence puts shame on us all." "I knew," said
Mary, drawing her breath more freely, as they were
now out of reach of the musketry — "I knew my
squire's truth, promptitude, and sagacity. I must
have him, dear friends, with my no less true knights,
Douglas and Seyton — but where, then, is Douglas ? "

" Here, madam," answered the deep and melan-
choly voice of the boatman who sat next her, and

The Escape of Queen Mary.

319

who acted as a steersman. " Alas ! was it you who
stretched your body before me," said the Queen,
"when the balls were raining around us ? " " Believe
you," said he, in a low tone, "that Douglas would
have resigned to any one the chance of protecting
his Queen's life with his own ! "

The dialogue was here inteimpted by a shot or
two from one of those small pieces of artillery
called falconets, then used in defending castles. The
shot was too vague to have any effect, but the
broader flash, the deeper sound, the louder return
which was made by the midnight echoes of Ben-
narty, terrified and imposed silence on the liberated
prisoners.

The boat was run alongside of a rude quay or
landing-place, running out from a garden of con-
siderable extent, ere any of them again attempted to
speak. They landed, and while the Abbot retmTied
thanks aloud to Heaven, which had thus far favored
their enterprise, Douglas enjoyed the best reward of
his desperate undertaking, in conducting the Queen
to the house of the gardener.

—Sir Walter Scott.

Darkness before, all joy behind !
Yet keep thy courage, do not mind :
He soonest reads the lesson right
Who reads with back against the light.

—George Houghton,

320

Fourth Reader.

THE BALLAD OP THE "OLAMPHERDOWN."

It was our war-ship " Clampherdown "

Would sweep the Channel clean,
Wherefore she kept her hatches close
When the merry Channel chops arose,

To save the bleached marine.

She had one bow-gun of a hundred ton.

And a great stern-gun beside ;
They dipped their noses deep in the sea,
They racked their stays and stanchions free

In the wash of the wind-whipped tide.

It was our war-ship "Clampherdown,"

Fell in with a cruiser light
That carried the dainty Hotchkiss gun
And a pair o' heels wherewith to run

From the grip of a close-fought fight.

She opened fire at seven miles —

As ye shoot at a bobbing cork —
And once she fired and twice she fired.
Till the bow-gun drooped like a lily tired

That lolls upon the stalk.

" Captain, the bow-gun melts apace,

The deck beams break below,
'Twere well to rest for an hour or twain.
And botch the shattered plates again."

And he answered, "Make it so."

She opened fire within the mile —

As ye shoot at the flying duck —
And the great stern gun shot fair and true.
With the heave of the ship, to the stainless blue,

And the great stern-turret stuck.

VN."

The Ballad of the " Olampheiidown." J]2l

"Captain, the turret fills with steam,

The feed-pipes burst Ijelow —
You can hear the hiss of the helpless ram,
You can hear the twisted runners jara."

And he answered, " Turn and go ! "

It was our war-ship " Clampherdown,"

And grimly did she roll ;
Swung round to take the cruiser's fire
As the white whale faces the thresher's ire,

When they war by the frozen Pole.

" Captain the shells are falling fast.

And faster still fall we ;
And it is not meet for English stock.
To bide in the heart of an eight-day clock

The death they cannot see."

"Lie down, lie down my bold A.B.,

We drift upon her beam ;
We dare not ram, for she can run ;
And dare ye fire another gun,

And die in the peeling steam V

It was our war-ship " Clampherdown "

That carried an armor-belt ;
But fifty feet at stern and bow.
Lay bare as the paunch of the purser's sow.

To the hail of the Nordenfelt.

" Captain, they lack us through and through ;

The cTiilled steel bolts are swift !
We have emptied the bunkers in open sea,
Their shrapnel bursts where our coal should be."

And he answered, "Let her drift."

■■^'

322

Fourth Deader.

It was our war-ship " Clampherdown, "

Swung round upon the tide,
Her two dumb guns glared south and north,
And the, blood and the bubbling steam ran forth,

And she ground the cruiser's side. , '

" Captain, they cry, the fight is done.

They bid you send your sword."
And he answered, " Grapple her stern and bow.
They have asked for the steel. They shall have it now ;

Gut cutlasses and board ! "

It was our war-ship "Clampherdown,"

Spewed up four hundred men ; i

And tlie scalded stokers yelped delight.
As they rolled in the waist and heard the fight,

Stamp o'er their steel- walled pen.

They cleared the cruiser end to end.

From conning-tower to hold.
They fought as they fought in Nelson's fleet ;
They were stripped to the waist, they were bare to the feet,

As it was in the days of old.

It was the sinking " Clampherdown "

Heaved up her battered side —
And carried a million pounds in steel.
To the cod and the corpse-fed conger-eel,

And the scour of the Channel tide.

It was the crew of the " Clampherdown "

Stood out to sweep the sea, \

On a cruiser won from an ancient foe,

As it was in the days of long ago,
Aud as it still shall be.

—From " Ballads and Bar rack-room Ballads," Rndyard Kipling
(by permission of the author and the pnbliahera.J

The Battle of Landen.

323

THE BATTLE OP LANDEN.

now ;

tne feet,

I Kipling

It was still in the King's power, by a hasty retreat,
to put between his army and the enemy the narrow,
but deep, waters of the Gette, which had lately been
swollen by rains. But the site which he occupied
was strong ; and it could easily be made still stronger.
He set all his troops to work. Ditches were dug,
mounds thrown up, palisades fixed in the earth. In
a few hours the ground wore a new aspect ; and the
King trusted that he should be able to repel the
attack even of a force greatly outnumbering his
own. Nor was it without much appearance of rea-
son that he felt this confidence. When the morning
of the nineteenth of July broke, the bravest men of
Lewis's army looked gravely and anxiously on the
fortress, which had suddenly sprung up to arrest
their progi'ess. The allies were protected by a
breastwork. Here and there along the entrench-
ments were formed little redoubts and half -moons.
A hundred pieces of cannon were disposed on the
ramparts. On the left flank the village of Roms-
dorff rose close to the little stream of Landen, from
which the English have named the disastrous day.
On the right was the village of Neerwinden. Both
villages were, after the fashion of the low coimtries,
surrounded by moats and f^ aces ; and, within these
enclosures, the little plots of ground occupied by

:{t>4

Fourth Reader.

different families, were separated by mud walls five
feet in height, and a foot in thickness. All these
barricades William had repaired and strengthened.
Saint Simon, who, after the battle, surveyed tht^
ground, could hardly, he tells us, believe that
defences so extensive and so formidable could have
been created with such rapidity.

Luxemburg, however, was determined to try whe-
ther even this position could be maintained against
the superior numbers and the impetuous valor of
his soldiers. Soon after sunrise the roar of the
cannon began to be heard. William's batteries did
much execution before the French artillery could be
so placed as to return the fire. It was eight o'clock
before the close fighting began. The village of
Neerwinden was regarded by both commanders as
the point on which everything depended. There an
attack was made by the French left wing com-
manded by Montchevreuil, a veteran officer of high
reputation, and by Berwick, who, though young,
was fast rising to an eminent place among the cap-
tains of his time. Berwick led the onset, and forced
his way into the village, but was soon driven out
again with a terrible carnage. His followers fled or
perished ; he, while trying to rally them, and curs-
ing them for not doing their duty better, was sur-
rounded by foes. He concealed his white cockade,
and hoped to be able, by the help of his native
tongue, to pass himself off as an officer of the Eng-
lish amiy. But his face was recognized by one of
his mother's brothers, George Churchill, who held

rii

The Battle of Landen.

325

rails five
ill these
^tliened.
)yed the
ve that
lid have

jry whe-

against
valor of
' of th(^
5ries did
;ould be

o'clock
ilage of
iders as
'here an
g com-
of high

young,
he cap-
i forced
ven out
\ fled or
id curs-
ras sur-
ockade,

native
le Eng-
' one of
10 held

on that day the command of a brigade. A hurried
embrace was exchanged between the kinsmen ; and
the uncle conducted the nephew to William, who, as
long as everything seemed to be going well, remained
in the rear. The meeting of the King and the cap-
tive, united by such close domestic ties, and divided
by such inexpiable injuries, was a strange sight.
Both behaved as became them. William uncovered,
and addressed to his prisoner a few words of cour-
teous greeting. Bei'wick's only reply was a solemn
bow. The King put on his hat, the Duke put on
his hat, and the cousins parted forever.

By this time the French, who had been driven in
confusion out of Neerwinden, had been reinforced
by a division under the command of the Duke of
Bourbon, and came gallantly back to the attack.
William, well aware of the importance of this post,
gave orders that troops should move thither from
other parts of his line. The second conflict was
long and bloody. The assailants again forced an
entrance into the village. They were again driven
out with immense slaughter, and showed little incli-
nation to return to the charge.

Meanwhile the battle had been raging all along
the entrenchments of the allied army. Again and
again Luxemburg brought up his troops within pis-
tol-shot of the breastwork ; but he could bring them
no nearer. Again and again they recoiled from the
heavy fire which was poured on their front and on
their flanks. It seemed that all was over. Luxem-
burg retired to a spot which was out of gunshot.

326

FouiiTH Reader.

and summoned a few of his chief officers to a con-
sultation. They talked together during some time ;
and their animated gestures were obsei-ved with
deep interest by all who were within sight.

At length Luxemburg f oiined his decision. A last
attempt must be made to carry Neerwinden ; and
the invincible household troops, the conquerors of
Steinkirk, must lead the way.

The household troops came on in a manner wor-
thy of their long and temble renown. A third time
Neei-winden was taken. A third time William tried
to retake it. At the head of some English regi-
ments he charged the guards of Lewis with such
fury that, for the first time in the memory of the
oldest warrior, that far-famed band was driven
back. It was only by the strenuous exertions of
Luxemburg, the Duke of Chartres, and the Duke of
Bourbon, that the broken ranks were rallied. But
by this time the centre and left of all the allied army
had been so much thinned for the purpose of sup-
porting the conflict at Neerwinden that the entrench-
ments could no longer be defended on other points.
A little after four in the afternoon the whole line
gave way. All was havoc and confusion. Solmes
had received a mortal wound and fell, still alive,
into the hands of the enemy. The English soldiers,
to whom his name was hateful, accused him of hav-
ing, in his sufferings, shown pusillanimity unworthy
of a soldier. The Duke of Ormond was struck down
in the press ; and in another moment he would have
been a corpse, had not a rich diamond on his finger

The Battle of Landen.

327

• a con-
e time ;
d with

A last
n ; and
jrors of

er wor-

j'd time

m tried

;h regi-

th such

T of the

driven

ions of

)uke of

i. But

d army

of sup-

trench-

points.

ole line

Solmes

alive,

oldiers,

of hav-

worthy

kdown

Id have

finger

caught the eye of one of the French guards, who
justly thought that the owner of such a jewel would
be a valuable prisoner. The Duke's life was sav(Ml,
and he was speedily exchanged for Boi'wick. Ru-
vigny, animated by the true refugee hatred of the
countiy which had cast him out, was taken fighting
in the thickest of the battle. Those into whose
hands he had fallen knew him well, and knew that,
if they carried him to their camp, his head would
pay for the treason to which persecution had diiven
him. With admirable generosity they pretended
not to recognize him, and suffered him to make his
escape in the tumult.

It was only on such occasions as this that the
whole greatness of William's character appeared.
Amidst the rout and uproai', while arms and stand-
ards were flung away, while multitudes of fugitives
were choking up the bridges and fords of the Gette
or perishing in its waters, the King, having directed
Talmash to superintend the retreat, put himself
at the head of a few brave regiments, and by des-
perate efforts aiTested the progi*ess of the enemy.
His risk was greater than that which others ran.
For he could not be persuaded either to encumber
his feeble frame with a cuirass, or to hide the ensign
of the garter. He thought his star a good rallying
point for his own troops, and only smiled when he
was told that it was a good mark for the enemy.
Many* fell on his right hand and on his left. Two
led horses which, in the field, always followed his
person, were struck dead by cannon shots. One

s -
If

■r-.

k:.\

328

Fourth Reader.

»--fct:.

musket ball passed through the curls of his wig,
another through his coat ; a third bruised his side
and tore his blue riband to tatters. Many years
later gi^ay-headed old pensioners, who crept about
the arcades and alleys of Chelsea Hospital, used to
relate how he charged at the head of Galway's horse,
how he dismounted four times to put heart into the
infantry ; how he ralhed one corps which seemed to
be shrinking : " That is not the way to fight, gentle-
men. You must stand close up to them. Thus,
gentlemen, thus." "You might have seen him,"
thus an eye-witness wrote, only four days after the
battle, "with his sword in his hand, throwing him-
self upon the enemy. It is certain that, at one tim3,
among the rest, he was seen at the head of two
English regiments, and that he fought seven with
these two in sight of the whole army, driving them
before him above a quarter of an hour. Thanks be
to God that preserved him." The enemy pressed
on him so close that it was with difficulty that he at
length made his way over the Gette. A small body
of brave men, who shared his peril to the last, could
hardly keep off the pursuers as he crossed the
bridge.

Never, perhaps, was the change which the pro-
gress of civilization has produced in the art of war
more strikingly illustrated than on that day. Ajax
beating down the Trojan leader with a rock which
two ordinary men could scarcely lift; Horatius
defending the bridge against an aiTay ; Richard the
Lion-hearted spmiing along the whol^ Sar^-cen line

I" ?•: 1

The Battle of Landen.

329

wig,
3 side
years
about
sed to
liorse,
to the
led to
;entle-
Thus,
him,"
;er the
^him-
3 tim3,
)f two
with
them
iksbe
ressed
he at
body
could
id the

without finding an enemy to stand his assault;
Robert Bruce, cinishing with one blow the helmet
and head of Sir Henry Bohun in sight of the whole
array of England and Scotland, such are the heroes
of a dark age. In such an age bodily vigor is
the most indispensable qualification of a warrior.
At Landen two poor sickly beings, who, in a rude
state of society, would have been regarded as too
puny to bear any part in combats, were the souls of
two great armies. In some heathen countries they
would have been exposed while infants. In Chris-
tendom they would, six hundred years earlier, have
been sent to some quiet cloister. But their lot had
fallen on a time when men had discovered that the
strength of the muscle is far inferior in value to the
strength of the mind. It is probable that, among
the hundred and twenty thousand soldiers who were
marshalled round Neerwinden, under all the stand-
ards of western Europe, the two feeblest in body
were the hunchbacked dwarf who m^ged on the fiery
onset of France, and the asthmatic skeleton who
covered the slow retreat of England.

—Lord MacatUay.

e pro-
)f war

Ajax
which
)ratius
.rd the

n line

The heights by great men reached and kept
Were not attained by sudden flight,
But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night.

— Longfellow.

330

Fourth Reader.

THE GREAT STONE FACE

I if 1

One afternoon when the sun was going down, a
mother and her little boy sat at the door of their
cottage, talking about the G-reat Stone Face. They
had but to lift their eyes, and there it was plainly
to be seen, though miles away, with the sunshine
brightening all its features.

And what was the Great Stone Face ?

Embosomed amongst a family of lofty mountains,
there was a valley so spacious that it contained many
thousand inhabitants. Some of these good people
dwelt in log-huts, with the black forest all around
them, on the steep and difficult hill-sides. Others
had their homes in comfortable farm-houses, and
cultivated the rich soil on the gentle slopes or level
surfaces of the valley. Others, again, were congre-
gated into populous villages, where some wild, high-
land rivulet, tumbling down from its birthplace in
the upper mountain region, had been caught and
tamed by human cunning, and compelled to turn
the machinery of cotton factories. The inhabitants
of this valley, in short, were numerous, and of many
modes of life. But all of them, grown people, and
children, had a kind of familiarity with the Great
Stone Face, although some possessed the gift of
distinguishing this grand natural phenomenon more
perfectly than many of their neighbors.

The Great Stone Face, then, was a work of Nature

^ (

ip J

The Great Stone Face.

331

ill her mood of majestic playfulness, fonned on the
j)erpendicular side of a momitain by some immense
rocks, which had been thrown together in such
a position as, when viewed at a proper distance,
precisely to resemble the features of the human
countenance. It seemed as if an enormous giant,
or a Titan, had sculptured his own likeness on the
precipice. There was the broad arch of the fore-
head, a hundred feet in height ; the nose, with its
long bridge ; and the vast lips, which, if they could
have spoken, would have rolled their thunder accents
from one end of the valley to the other. True it is,
that if the spectator approached too near, he lost
the outline of the gigantic visage, and could discern
only a heap of ponderous and gigantic rocks, piled
in chaotic ruin one upon another. Retracing his
steps, however, the wondrous features would again
be seen ; and the farther he withdrew from them,
the more like a human face, with all its original
divinity intact, did they appear ; until, as it grew
dim in the distance, with the clouds and glorified
vapor of the mountains clustering about it, the Great
Stone Face seemed positively to be alive.

It was a happy lot for children to grow up to
manhood or womanhood, with the Great Stone Face
before their eyes, for all the features were noble,
and the expression was at once grand and sweet, as
if it were the glow of a vast warm heart, that em-
braced all mankind in its affections, and had room
for more. It was an education only to look at it.
According to the belief of many people, the valley

332

Fourth Eeader.

owed much of its fertility to this benign aspect that
was continually beaming over it, illuminating the
clouds, and infusing its tenderness into the sun-
shine.

As we began with saying, a mother and her little
boy sat at their cottage-door gazing at the Great
Stone Face, and talking about it. The child's name
was Ernest.

"Mother," said he, while the the Titanic visage
smiled on him, " I wish that it could speak, for it
looks so very kindly that its voice must needs be
pleasant. If I were to see a man with such a face
I should love him dearly."

"If an old prophecy should come to pass," an-
swered his mother, " we may see a man some time
or other, with exactly such a face as that."

"What prophecy do you mean, dear mother?"
eagerly inquired Ernest. "Pray tell me all about
it."

So his mother told him a story that her own
mother had told to her, when she Jierself was younger
than little Ernest ; a story, not of things that were
past, but of what was yet to come ; a story, never-
theless, so very old that even the Indians, who for-
merly inhabited this valley, had heard it from then*
forefathers, to whom, as they affirmed, it had been
mm^mured by the mountain streams, and whispered
by the wind among the tree-tops. The purport was,
that, at some future day, a child should be born
hereabouts, who was destined to become the greatest
and noblest personage of his time, and whose coun-

The Great Stone Face.

333

own
Lngei*
Iwere
jver-
for-
Itlieir
Ibeen
►ered
was,
born
latest
;oun-

tenance, in manhood, should bear an exact resemb-
lance to the Great Stone Face. » Not a few old-
fashioned people, and young ones likewise, in the
ardor of their hopes, still cherished an enduring
faith in this old prophecy. But others, who had
seen more of the world, had watched and waited till
they were weary, and had beheld no man with such
a face, nor any man that proved to be much gi'eater
or nobler than his neighbors, concluded it to be
nothing but an idle tale. At all eventsj the great
man of the prophecy had not yet appeared.

" mother, dear mother ! " cried Ernest, clapping
his hands above his head, " I do hope that I shall
live to see him ! "

His mother was an affectionate and thoughtful
woman, and felt that it was wisest not to discourage
the generous hopes of her little boy. So she only
said to him, " Perhaps you may."

And Ernest never forgot the story that his mother
told him. It was always in his mind, whenever he
looked upon the Great Stone Face. He spent his
childhood in the log cottage where he was born, and
was dutiful to his mother, and helpful to her in many
things, assisting her much with his little hands, and
more with his loving heart. In this manner, from
a happy yet often pensive child, he grew up to be a
mild, quiet, unobtrusive boy, and sun-browned with
labor in the fields, but with more intelligence bright-
ening his aspect than is seen in many lads who have
been taught at famous schools. Yet Ernest had had
no teacher, save only that the Great Stone Face

334

FouKTH Reader.

became one to liim. When the toil of the day was
over, he would gaze at it for hours, until he began to
imagine that those vast features recognized him, and
gave him a smile of kindness and encouragement,
responsive to his own look of veneration. We must
not take upon us to affirm that this was a mistake,
although the Face may have looked no more kindly
at Ernest than at all the world besides. But the
secret was that the boy's tender and confiding sim-
plicity discerned what other people could not see;
and thus the love, which was meant for all, became
his peculiar portion.

About this time there went a rumor throughout
the valley, that the great man, foretold from ages
long ago, who was to bear a resemblance to the
Great Stone Face, had appeared at last. It seems
that, many years before, a young man had migrated
from the valley and settled at a distant seaport,
where, after getting together a little money, he had
set up as a shopkeeper. His name — but I could
never learn whether it was his real one, or a nick-
name that had grown out of his habits and success
in life — was Gathergold. Being shrewd and active,
and endowed by Providence with that inscrutable
faculty which develops itself in what the world calls
luck, he became an exceedingly rich merchant, and
owner of a whole fleet of bulky-bottomed ships. All
the countries of the globe appeared to join hands for
the mere purpose of adding heap after heap to the
mountainous accumulation of this one man's wealth.
The cold regions of the north, almost within the

The Great Stone Face.

335

gloom and shadow of the Arctic Circle, sent him their
tiibute in the shape of furs ; hot Africa sifted for him
the golden sands of her rivers, and gathered up the
ivory tusks of her great elephants out of the forests ;
the F" t ae, bringing h***^ the rich shawls, and
spices, and teas, and the enulgence of diamonds,
and the gleaming purity of large pearls. The ocean,
not to be behindhand with the earth, yielded up her
mighty whales, that Mr. Gathergold might sell their
oil, and make a profit on it. Be the original com-
modity what it might, it was gold within his gi'asp.
It might be said of him, as of Midas in the fable,
that whatever he touched with his finger immedi-
ately glistened, and grew yellow, and was changed
at once into sterling metal, or which suited him still
better, into piles of coin. And, when Mr. Gathergold
had become so very rich that it would have taken
him a hundred years only to count his wealth, he
bethought himself of his native valley, and resolved
to go back thither, and end his days where he was
bom. With this purpose in view, he sent a skilful
architect to build him such a palace as should be fit
for a man of his vast wealth to live in.

As I have said above, it had already been rumored
in the valley that Mr. Gathergold had turned out to
be the prophetic personage so long and vainly looked
for, and that his visage was the perfect and undeni-
able similitude of the Great Stone Face. People
were the more ready to believe that this must needs
be the fact, when they beheld the splendid edifice
that I'ose, as if by enchantment, on the site of his

336

Fourth Reader.

father^s old weather-beaten farm-house. The exte-
rior was of marble, so dazzlingly white that it seemed
as though the whole structure might melt away
in the sunshine, hke those humbler ones which
Mr. Gathergold, in his young play-days, before his
fingers were gifted with the touch of transmutation,
had been accustomed to build of snow. It had a
richly ornamented portico, supported by tall pillars,
beneath which was a lofty door, studded with silver
knobs, and made of a kind of variegated wood that
had been brought from beyond the sea. The win-
dows, from the floor to the ceiling of each stately
apartment, were composed, respectively, of but one
enormous pane of glass, so transparently pure that
it was said to be a finer medium than even tlie
vacant atmosphere. Hardly anybody had been per-
mitted to see the interior of this palace ; but it was
reported, and with good semblance of truth, to be
far more gorgeous than the outside, insomuch that
whatever was iron or brass in other houses was
silver or gold in this; and Mr. Gathergold's bed-
chamber, especially, made such a glittering appear-
ance that no ordinary man would have been able to
close his eyes there. But, on the other hand, Mr.
Gathergold was now so inured to wealth, that per-
haps he could not have closed his eyes unless where
the gleam of it was certain to find its way beneath
his eyehds.

In due time, the mansion was finished ; next came
the upholsterers, with magnificent furniture ; then,
a whole troop of black and white servants, the har-

The Great Stone Face.

337

bingers of Mr. Gathergold, who, in his own majestic
person, was expected to arrive at sunset. Our friend
Ernest, meanwhile, had been deeply stin-ed by the
idea that the great man, the noble man, the man of
prophecy, after so many ages of delay, was at length
to be made manifest to his native valley. He knew,
boy as he was, that there were a thousand ways in
which Mr. Gathergold, with his vast wealth, might
transform himself into an angel of beneficence, and
assume a control over human affairs as wide and
benignant as the smile of the Great Stone Face.
Full of faith and hope, Ernest doubted not that
what the people said was true, and that now he was
to behold the living likeness of those wondrous fea-
tures on the mountain-side. While the boy was still
gazing up the valley, and fancying, as he always
did, that the Great Stone Face returned his gaze
and looked kindly at him, the rumbling of wheels
was heard, approaching swiftly along the winding
road.

" Here he comes ! " cried a group of people who
were assembled to witness the arrival. " Here comes
the great Mr. Gathergold ! "

A carriage, drawn by fom* horses, dashed round
the turn of the road. Within it, thrust partly out
of the window, appeared the physiognomy of the
old man, with a skin as yellow as if his own Midas-
hand had transmuted it. He had a low forehead,
small, sharp eyes, puckered about with innumerable
wrinkles, and very thin lips, which he made still
thinner by pressing them forcibly together.

■«i

■,■!)!

338

Fourth Keadek.

"The very image of the Great 8tone Face!''
shouted the people. " Sure enough, the old prophecy
is true ; and here we have the great man come, at
last." H -

And, what greatly pei*plexed Ernest, they seemed
actually to beheve that here was the likeness which
they spoke of. By the roadside there chanced to be
an old beggar-woman and two little beggar-children,
stragglers from some far-off region, who, as the car-
riage rolled onward, held out their hands and lifted
up their doleful voices, most piteously beseeching
charity. A yellow claw — the very same that had
clawed together so much wealth — poked itself out of
the coach window, and dropped some copper coins
upon the ground ; so that, though the great man's
name seems to have been Gathergold, he might just
as suitably have been nicknamed Scattercopper.
Still, nevei-theless, with an earnest shout, and evi-
dently with as much good faith as ever, the people
bellowed, —

" He is the very image of the Great Stone Face!"

But Ernest turned sadly from the wrinkled shrewd-
ness of that sordid visage, and gazed up the valley,
where, amid the gathering mist, gilded by the last
sunbeams, he could still distinguish those glorious
features which had impressed themselves into his
soul. Their aspect cheered him. What did the
benign lips seem to say ?

" He will come ! Fear not, Ernest ; the man will
come!"

The years went on, and Ernest ceased to be a boy.

The GitEAT Stone Face.

race!"
>phecy
me, at

eemed
which
itobe
ildren,
le car-
. lifted
eching
at had
out of
p coins
man's
ht just
!opper.
id evi-
people

Face!"
irewd-
valley,
he last
lorious
ito his
id the

an will

a boy.

He had gi'own to be a young man now. He attracted
little notice from the other inhabitants of the vaUey ;
for they saw nothing remarkable in his way of life,
save that, when the labor of the day was over, he still
loved to go apart and gaze and meditate upon the
Great Stone Face. According to their idea of the
matter, it was a folly, indeed, but pardonable, irias-
much as Ernest was industrious, kind, and neigh-
borly, and neglected no duty for the sake of indulging
this idle habit. They knew not that the Great Stone
Face had become a teacher to him, and that the senti-
ment which was expressed in it would enlarge the
young man's heart, and fill it with wider and deeper
sympathies than other hearts. They knew not that
thence would come a better wisdom than could be
learned from books, and a better life than could be
moulded on the defaced example of other human
lives. Neither did Ernest know that the thoughts
and affections which came to him so naturally,
in the fields and at the fireside, and wherever he
communed with himself, were of a higher tone than
those which all men shared with him. A simple
soul, — simple as when his mother first taught him
the old prophecy, — he behel<l the marvellous features
beaming adown the valley, and still wondered that
their human counterpart was so long in making his
appearance.

By this time poor Mi\ Gathergold was dead and
buried ; and the oddest part of the matter was, that
his wealth, which was the body and spirit of his ex-
istence, had disappeared before his death, leaving

340

Fourth Readek.

nothing of him but a living skeleton, covered over
with a wiinkled yellow skin. Since the melting
away of his gold, it had been very generally conceded
that there was no such striking resemblance, after all,
betwixt the ignoble features of the ruined merchant
and that majestic face upon the mountain side. So
the people ceased to honor him dming his lifetime,
and quietly consigned him to forgetfulness after his
decease. Once in a while, it is true, his memory
was brought up in connection with the magnificent
palace which he had built, and which had long ago
been turned into a hotel for the accommodation of
strangers, multitudes of whom came, every summer,
to visit that famous natural curiosity, the Great
Stone Face. Thus, Mr. Gathergold being discredited
and thrown in the shade, the man of prophecy was
yet to come.

It so happened that a native-bom son of the valley,
many years before, had enlisted as a soldier, and,
after a great deal of hard fighting, had now become
an illustrious commander. Whatever he may be
called in history, he was known in camps and on the
battle-field under the nickname of Old Blood-and-
Thunder. This war- worn veteran, being now infirm
with age and wounds, and weary of the turmoil of a
military life, and of the roll of the drum and the
clangor of the trumpet, that had so long been ring-
ing in his ears, had lately signified a purpose of re-
turning to his native valley, hoping to find repose
where he remembered to have left it. The inhabi-
tants, his old neighbors and their grown-up children.

The Great Stone Face.

;i41

J I

woro rosolved to welcome the renowned warrior witli
n Halnte of cannon and a public dinner; and all tin*
more enthusiastically, it being affirmed that now, at
last, the likeness of the Great Stone Face had actu-
ally appeared. An aide-de-camp of Old Blood-and-
Thunder, travelling through the valley, w is said to
have been struck with the rese nblance. Moreover,
the schoolmates and early acquaintances of the
general were ready to testify, on oath, that, to the
best of their recollection, the aforesaid geir ^al had
been exceedingly like the majestic image, t , ( n when
a boy, only that the idea had never O' :/;Trred to th' . :i
at that period. Great, therefore, wen. the excitement
throughout the valley ; and many people, who had
never once thought of glancing at the Great Stone
Face for years before, now spent theiv time in gazing
at it, for the sake of knowing exactly how General
Blood-and- Thunder looked.

On the day of the great festival, Ernest, with all
the other people of the valley, left their work, and
proceeded to the spot whei « ' he sylvan banquet was
prepared. As he approached, the loud voice of the
Rev. Dr. Battleblast war- heard, beseeching a bless-
ing on the good thii.gs set before them, and on the
distinguished friend of peace in whose honor they
were assembled. The tables were arranged in a
cleared space of the woods, shut in by the surround-
ing trees, except where a vista opened eastward, and
afforded a distant view of the Great Stone Face. Over
the generaPs chair, which was a relic from the home
of Washington, there was an arch of verdant boughs,

342

FouKTH Reader.

I I

!f;

with the laurel profusely intermixed, and surmount-
ed by his country's banner, beneath which he had
won his victories. Our friend Ernest raised himself
on his tiptoes, in hopes to get a glimpse of the cele-
brated guest ; but there was a mighty crowd about
the tables anxious to hear the toasts and speeches,
and to catch any word that might fall from the
general in reply; and a volunteer company, doing
duty as a guard, pricked ruthlessly with their bayo-
nets at any particularly quiet person among the
throng. So Ernest, being of an unobtrusive char-
acter, was thrust quite into the background, where
he could see no more of Old Blood-and-Thunder's
physiognomy than if it had been still blazing on the
battle-field. To console himseK, he turned towards
the Great Stone Face, which, like a faithful and
long-remembered friend, looked back and smiled
upon him through the vista of the forest. Mean-
time, however, he could overhear the remarks of
various individuals, who were comparing the fea-
tures of the hero with the face on the distant moun-
tain-side.

" 'Tis the same face, to a hair ! " cried one man,
cutting a caper for joy.

" Wonderfully like, that's a fact ! " responded
another.

"Like! why, I call it Old Blood -and -Thunder
himself, in a monstrous looking-glass ! " cried a thkd.
" And why not 1 He's the greatest man of this or
any other age, beyond a doubt."

And then all three of the speakers gave a great

The Great Stone Face.

343

shout, which communicated electricity to the crowd,
and called forth a roar from a thousand voices, that
went reverberating for miles among the mountains,
until you might have supposed that the Great Stone
Face had poured its thunder-breath into the ciy.
All these comments, and this vast enthusiasm, served
the ^lore to interest our friend ; nor did he think of
questioning that now ; at length, the mountain vis-
age had found its human counterpart. It is tnie,
Ernest had imagined that this long-looked-for per-
sonage would appear in the character of a man of
peace, uttering wisdom, and doing good, and making
people happy. But, taking a habitual breadth of
view, with all his simplicity, he contended that Pro-
vidence should choose its own method of blessing
mankind, and could conceive that this great end
might be effected even by a warrior and a bloody
sword, should inscrutable wisdom see fit to order
matters so.

" The general I the general ! " was now tue cry.
"Hush! silence! Old Blood-and-Thunder's going
to make a speech."

Even so ; for, the cloth being removed, the gene-
ral's health had been drunk, amid shouts of applause,
and he now stood upon his feet to thank the com-
pany. Ernest saw him. There he was, over the
shoulders of the crowd, from the two glittering
epaulets and embroidered collar upward, beneath
the arch of green boughs with intertwined laurel,
and the banner drooping as if to shade his brow !
And there, too, visible in the same glance, through

;i -H

344

Fourth Reader.

the vista of the forest, appeared the G-reat Stone
Face ! And was there, indeed, such a resemblance
as the crowd had testified ! Alas, Ernest could not
recognize it ! He beheld a war-worn and weather-
beaten countenance, full of energy, and expressive
of an iron will ; but the gentle wisdom, the deep,
broad, tender sympathies, were altogether wanting
in Old Blood-and-Thunder's visage ; and even if the
Great Stone Face had assumed his look of stern
command, the milder traits would still have tem-
pered it.

" This is not the man of prophecy," sighed Ernest
to himself, as he made his way out of the throng.
"And must the world wait longer yet ? "

The mists had congi-egated about the distant
mountain-side, and there was seen the grand and
awful features of the Great Stone Face, awful but
benignant, as if a mighty angel were sitting among
the hills, and enrobing himself in a cloud- vesture of
gold and purple. As he looked, Ernest could hardly
believe but that a smile beamed over the whole
visage, with a radiance still brightening, although
without motion of the lips. It was probably the
effect of the western sunshine, melting through the
thinly diffused vapors that had swept between him
and the object that he gazed at. But — as it always
did — the aspect of his marvellous friend made Ernest
as hopeful as if he had never hoped in vain.

" Fear not, Ernest," said his heart, even as if the
Great Face wei-e whispering to him, — "fear not,
Ernest ; he will come."

The Great Stone Face.

345

More years sped swiftly and tranquilly away.
Ernest still dwelt in his native valley, and was now
a man of middle age. By imperceptible degi*ees, he
had become known among the people. Now, as
heretofore, he labored for his bread, and was the
same simple-hearted man that he had always been.
But he had thought and felt so much, he had given
so many of the best hours of his life to unworldly
hopes for some great good of mankind, that it
seemed as though he has been talking with the
angels and had imbibed a portion of their wisdom
unawares. It was visible in the calm aud well-con-
sidered beneficence of his daily life, the quiet stream
of which had made a wide green margin all along
its course. Not a day passed by that the world was
not the better because this man, humble as he was,
had lived. He never stepped aside from his own'
path, yet would always reach a blessing to his neigh-
bor. Almost involuntarily, too, he had become a
preacher. The pure and high simplicity of his
thought, which, as one of its manifestations, took
shape in the good deeds that dropped silently from
his hand, flowed also forth in speech. He uttered
truths that wrought upon and moulded the lives of
those who heard him. His auditors, it may be,
never suspected that Ernest, their own neighbor and
familiar fiiend, was more than an ordinary man ;
least of all did Ernest himself suspect it ; but, in-
evitably as the murmur of a rivulet, came thoughts
out of his mouth that no other human lips had
spoken.

Ill

346

Fourth Reader.

When the people's minds had had a Httle time to
cool, they were ready enough to acknowledge their
mistake in imagining a similarity between General
Blood-and-Thunder's truculent physiognomy and
the benign visage on the mountain-side. But now,
again, there were reports and many paragi-aphs \ii
the newspapers, affirming that the likeness of the
Great Stone Face had appeared upon the broad
shoulders of a certain eminent statesman. He, like
Mr. Gathergold and Old Blood-and-Thunder, was a
native of the valley, but had left it in his early days,
ar d taken up the trades of law and politics. Instead
of the rich man's wealth and the wanior's sword, he
had but a tongue, and it was mightier than both to-
gether. So wonderfully eloquent was he, that what-
ever he might choose to say, his auditors had no
choice but to believe him ; wrong looked like right,
and right like wrong ; for when it pleased him, he
could make a kind of illuminated fog with his mere
breath, and obscure the natural daylight with it. His
tongue, indeed, was a magic instrument : sometimes
it rumbled like the thunder ; sometimes it warbled
like the sweetest music. It was the blast of war, —
the song of peace ; and it seemed to have a heart in
it, when there was no such matter. In good truth,
he was a wondrous man ; and when his tongue had
acquired him all other imaginable success, — when it
had been heard in halls of state, and in the com'ts
of princes and potentates, — after it had made him
known all over the world, even as a voice crying
from shore to shore, — it finally persuaded his

The Great Stone Face.

347

countrymen to select him for the Presidency. Before
this time, — indeed, as soon as he began to grow cele-
brated, — his admirers had found out the resemblance
between him and the Great Stone Face; and so much
were they struck by it, that throughout the country
this distinguished gentleman was known by the name
of Old Stony Phiz. The phrase was considered as
giving a highly favorable aspect to his political
prospects ; for nobody ever becomes President
without taking a name other than his own.

While his friends were doing their best to make
him President, Old Stony Phiz, as he was called, set
out on a visit to the valley where he was bom. Of
course, he had no other object than to shake hands
with his fellow-citizens, and neither thought nor
cared about any effect which his progress through
the country might have upon the election. Magni-
ficent preparations were made to receive the illus-
trious statesman ; a cavalcade of horsemen set forth
to meet him at the boundary line of the State, and all
the people left their business and gathered along the
wayside to see him pass. Among these was 'Srnest.
Though more than once disappointed, as we have
seen, he had such a hopeful and confiding nature,
that he was always ready to believe in whatever
seemed beautiful and good. He kept his heart con-
tinually open, and thus was sure to catch the blessing
from on high when it should come. So now again,
as buoyantly as ever, he went forth to behold the
likeness of the Great Stone Face.

The cavalcade came prancing along the road, with

\ t

348

Fourth Reader.

a great clattering of hoofs and a mighty cloud of dust,
which rose up so dense and high that the visage of
the mountain-side was completely hidden from Ern-
est's eyes. All the great men of the neighborhood
were there on horseback; militia officers, in uniform;
the members of Congress ; the sheriff of the county ;
the editors of newspapers , and many a farmer, too,
had mounted his patient steed, with his Sunday coat
upon his back. It really was a very brilhant spec-
tacle, especially as there were numerous banners
flaunting over the cavalcade, on some of which were
gorgeous poi*traits of the illustrious statesman and
the Great Stone Face, smiHng familiarly at one an-
other, like two brothers. If the pictures were to be
trusted, the mutual resemblance, it must be confessed,
was marvellous. We must not forget to mention
that there was a band of music, which made the
echoes of the mountains ring and reverberate with
the loud triumph of its strains; so that airy and
soul-stirring melodies broke out among all the heights
and hollows, as if every nook of his native vaUey had
found a voice, to welcome the distinguished guest.
But the grandest effect was when the far-off moun-
tain precipice flung back the music ; for then the
Great Stone Face itself seemed to be swelling the
triumphant chorus, in acknowledgment ths^t, at
length, the man of prophecy was come.

All this while the people were throwing up their
hats and shouting, with enthusiasm so contagious
that the heart of Ernest kindled up, and he likewise
threw up his hat, and shouted, as loudly as the

\ ^

The Okeat Btone Face.

349

loudest, " Huzza for the great man ! Huzza for Old
Stony Phiz ! " But as yet he had not seen him.

" Here he is, now ! " cried those who stood near
Ernest. "There! There! Look at Old Stony Phiz
and then at the Old Man of the Mountain, and see if
they are not as like as two twin-brothers ! "

In the midst of all this gallant array came an open
barouche, drawn by four white horses ; and in the
barouche, with his massive head uncovered, sat the
illustrious statesman, Old Stony Phiz himself.

"Confess it," said one of Ernest's neighbors to
him, "tho Great Stone Face has met its match at
last!"

Now, it must be owned tiiat, at his first glimpse of
the countenance which was bowing and smiling from
the barouche, Ernest did fancy that there was a re-
semblance between it and the old familiar face upon
the mountain-side. The brow, with its massive depth
and loftiness, and all the other features, indeed, were
boldly and strongly hewn, as if in emulation of a
more than heroic, of a Titanic model. But the sub-
limity and stateliness, the grand expression of a
divine sympathy, that illuminated the mountain
visage and ethereahzed its ponderous gi*anite sub-
stance into spirit, might here be sought in vain.
Something had been origuiaUy left out, or had de-
parted. And therefore the marvellously gifted
statesman had always a weary gloom in the deep
caverns of his eyes, as a child that has outgrown
its playthings, or a man of mighty faculties and little
aims, whose life, with all its high performances, was

350

FouKTH Reader.

vague and empty, because no high pui*pose had
endowed it with reaUty.

Still, Ernest's neighbor was thrusting his elbow
into his side, and pressing him for an answer.

" Confess I confess ! Is not he the vtjry picture of
your Old Man of the Mountain ? " ^

"No!" said Ernest, bluntly, "I see little or no
likeness."

"Then so much the worse for the Great Stone
Face ! " answered his neighbor ; * and again he set up
a shout for Old Stony Phiz.

But Ernest turned away, melancholy, and almost
despondent : for this was the saddest of his disap-
pointments, to behold a man who might have ful-
filled the prophecy, and had not willed to do so.
Meantime, the cavalcade, the banners, the music,
and the barouches swept past him, with the voci-
ferous crowd in the rear, lbt*vdng the dust to settle
down, and the Oreat Stone Face to be revealed
again, with the grandem* that it had worn for untold
centuries.

" Lo, here I am, Ernest ! " the benign lips seemed
to say. "I have waited longer than thou and am
not yet weary. Fear not; the man will come."

The years hurried onward, treading in their haste
on one another's heels. And now they began to
bring white hairs and scatter them over the head of
Ernest; they made reverend wrinkles across his
forehead, and fiuTows in his cheeks. He was an
aged man. But not in vain had he grown old:
more than the white hairs on his head were the sage

The Great Stone Face.

351

thoughts in his mind; the wrinkles and fuiTows
were inscriptions that Time had gi'aved, and in
which he had written legends of wisdom that had
been tested by the tenor of a life. And Ernest had
ceased to be obscure. Unsought for, undosired, had
come the fame which so many seek, and made him
known in the great world, beyond the limits of the
valley in which he had dwelt so quietly. College
professors, and even the active men of cities, came
from far to see and converse with Ernest ; for the
report had gone abroad that this simple husband-
man had ideas unlike those of other men, not gained
from books, but of a higher tone, — a tranquil and
familiar majesty, as if he had been talking with the
angels as his daily friends. Whether it were sage,
statesman, or philanthropist, Ernest received these
visitors with the gentle sincerity that had charac-
terized him from boyhood, and spoke freely wich
them of whatever came uppeimost, or lay deepest
in his heart or their own. While they talked to-
gether, his face would kindle, unawares, and shine
upon them, as with a mild evening light. Pensive
with the fulness of such discourse, his guests took
leave and went their way ; and passing up the val-
ley, paused to look at the Great Stone Face, imag-
ining that they had seen its likeness in a human
countenance, but could not remember where.

While Ernest had been growing up and growing
old, a bountiful Providence had granted a new poet
to this earth. He, likewise, was a native of the
valley, but had spent the greater part of his life at

111

352

Fourth Header.

a distance from that romantic region, pouring out
his sweet music amid the bustle and din of cities.
Often, however, did the mountains which had been
famihar to him in his childhood lift their snowy
peaks into the clear atmosphere of his poetiy. Nei-
ther was the Great Stone Face foi-gotten, for the
poet had celebrated it in an ode, which was grand
enough to have been uttered by its own majestic
lips. This man of genius, we may say, had come
down from heaven with wonderful endowments. If
he sang of a mountain, the eyes of all mankind
beheld, a mightier grandeur reposing in its breast,
or soaring to its summit, than had before been seen
there. If his theme were a lovely lake, a celestial
smile had now been thrown over it to gleam forever
on its surface. If it were the vast old Ksea, even the
deep immensity of its dread bosom seemed to swell
the higher, as if moved by the emotions of the song.
Thus the world assumed another and a better aspect
from the hour that the poet blessed it with his
happy eyes. The Creator had bestowed him, as the
last best touch to his own handiwork. Creation
was not finished till the poet came to interpret, and
so complete it.

The effect was no less high and beautiful, when
his human brethren were the subject of Ids verse.
The man or woman, sordid with the common dust
of life, who crossed his daily path, and the little
child who played in it, were glorified if he beheld
them in his mood of poetic faith. He showed the
golden links of the great chain that intertwined

The Gkeat Stone Face.

35:1

them with an angelic kindred ; he brouglit ont the
hidden traits of a celestial birth that made them
worthy of such kin. Some, indeed, there were, who
thought to show the soundness of their judgment
by affirming that all the be; iity and dignity of the
natural world existed only in the poet's fancy. Let
such men speak for themselves, who undoubtedly
appear to have been spawned forth by Nature with
a contemptuous bitterness; she having plastered
them up out of her refuse stuff, after all the swine
were made. As respects all things else, the poet's
ideal was the truest truth.

The songs of the poet found their way to Ernest.
He read them after his customary toil, seated on the
bench before his cottage-door, where for such a
length of time he had filled his repose with thought,
by gazing at the Great Stone Face. And now as he
read stanzas that caused the soul to thrill within
him, he lifted his eyes to the vast countenance
beaming on him so benignantly.

"O majestic friend," he murmm-ed, addressing
Great Stcne Face, "is not this man worthy to re-
semble thee ? "

The Face seemed to smile, but answered not a
word.

Now it happened that the poet, though he dwelt
so far away, had not only heard of Ernest, but had
meditated much upon his character, until he deemed
nothing so deskable as to meet this man whose un-
taught wisdom walked liand in hand with the noble
simplicity of his life. One summer morning.

''H't

Mii

354

Fourth Beader.

therefore, he took passage by the raih'oad, and, in the
decline of the afternoon, aUghted from the cars at
no great distance from Ernest's cottage. The gi*eat
hotel, which had fonnerly been the palace of Mr.
Gathergold, was close at hand, but the poet, with
his carpet-bag on his arm, inquired at once where
Ernest dwelt, and was resolved to be accepted as his
guest.

Approaching the door, he there found the good
old man, holding a volume in his hand, which alter-
nately he read, and then, with a finger between the
leaves, looked lovingly at the Great Stone Face.

" Good evening," said the poet. " Can you give a
traveller a night's lodging ? "

" "Willingly," answered Ernest ; and then he add-
ed, smiling, "Methinks I never saw the Great Stone
Face look so hospitably at a stranger."

The poet sat down on the bench beside him, and
he and Ernest talked together. Often had the poet
held intercourse with the wittiest and wisest, but
never before with a man like Ernest, whose thoughts
and feelings gushed up with such a natural freedom,
and who made great truths so familiar by his simple
utterance of them. Angels, as had been so often
said, seemed to have wrought with him at his labor
in the fields ; angels seemed to have sat with him by
the fireside; and, dwelling with angels as friend
with friends, he had imbibed the sublimity of their
ideas, and imbued it with the sweet and lowly charm
of household words. So thought the poet. And
Ernest, on the other hand, was moved and agitated

The Obeat Stone Face.

355

by the living images which the poet flung out of liis
mind, and which peopled all the air about the cot-
tage-door with shapes of beauty, both gay and pen-
sive. The sympathies of these two men instnicted
them with a profounder sense than either could
have attained alone. Their minds accorded into
one strain, and made delightful music which neither
of them could have claimed as all his own, nor dis-
tinguished his own share from the other's. They
led one another, as it were, into a high pavilion of
their thoughts, so remote, and hitherto so dim, that
they had never entered it before, and so beautiful
that they desired to be there always.

As Ernest listened to the poet, he imagined that
the Great Stone Face was bending forward to listen
too. He gazed earnestly into the poet's glowing
eyes.

"Who are you, my strangely gifted guest?" he
said.

The poet laid his finger on the volume that Ernest
had been reading.

"You have read these poems," said he. "You
know me, then, — for I wrote them."

Again, and still more earnestly than before, Ernest
examined the poet's features ; then turned towards
the Great Stone Face ; then back, with an uncertain
aspect, to his guest. But his countenance fell ; he
shook his head, and sighed.

" Wherefore are you sad ? " inquired the poet.

"Because," replied Ernest, "all through life I
have awaited the fulfilment of a prophecy; and.

356

FouKTH Reader.

when I read these poems, I hoped that it might be
fulfilled in you."

"You hoped," answered the poet, faintly smiling,
" to find in me the likeness of the Great Stone Face.
And you are disappointed, as foimerly with Mr.
Grathergold, and Old Blood-and-Thunder, and Old
Stony Phiz. Yes, Ernest, it is my doom. You must
add my name to the illustrious three, and record
another failure of your hopes. For — in sham 3 and
sadness do I speak it, Ernest — I am not worthy to be
typified by yonder benign and majestic image."

"And why?" asked Ernest. He pointed to the
volume. " Are not those thoughts divine ? "

"They have a strain of the Divinity," replied the
poet. " You can hear in them the far-off echo of a
heavenly song. But my life, dear Ernest, has not
coiTcsponded with my thought. I have had grand
dreams, but they have been only dreams, because I
have lived — and that, too, by my own choice — among
poor and mean realities. Sometimes even — shall I
dare say it? — I lack faith in the grandeur, the
beauty, and the goodness which my own works are
said to have made more evident in nature and in
human life. Why, then, pure seeker of the good
and ti*ue, shouldst thou hope to find me, in yonder
image of the divine ? "

The poet spoke sadly, and his eyes were dim with
tears. So, likewise, were those of Ernest.

At the hour of sunset, as had long been his fre-
quent custom, Ernest was to discourse to an assem-
blage of neighboring inhabitants in the open au\

The Great Stone Face.

357

He and the poet, aiin in arm, still talking together
as they went along, proceeded to the spot. It was a
small nook among the hills, with a gi'ay precipice
behind, the stern front of which was relieved by the
pleasant foliage of many creeping plants that made
a tapestry for the naked rock, by hanging their fes-
toons from all its rugged angles. At a small eleva-
tion above the gi'ound, set in a rich framework of
verdure, there appeared a niche, spacious enough
to admit a human figure, with freedom for such ges-
tures as spontaneously accompany earnest thought
and genuine emotion. Into this natm^al pulpit Ernest
ascended, and threw a look of familiar kindness
around upon his audience. They stood, or sat, or
reclined upon the grass, as seemed good to each,
with the departing sunshine falling obliquely over
them, and mingling its subdued cheerfulness with
the solemnity of a gi'ove of ancient trees, beneath
and amid the boughs of which the golden rays were
constrained to pass. In another direction was seen
the Great Stone Face, with the same cheer, com-
bined with the same solemnity, in its benignant
aspect.

Ernest began to speak, giving to the people of
what was in his heart and mind. His words had
power, because they accorded with his thoughts;
and his thoughts had reality and depth,, because
they haraionized with the life which he had always
lived. It was not mere breath that this preacher
uttered ; they were the words of life, because a life
of good deeds and holy love was melted into them.

^l: il

358

FOUBTH EeADEK.

fih M

Pearls, pui'e and rich, had been dissolved into this
precious draught. The poet, as he listened, felt that
the being and character of Ernest were a nobler
strain of poetry than he had ever written. His eyes
glistening with tears, he gazed reverently at the ven-
erable man, and said within himself that never was
there an aspect so worthy of a prophet and a sage
as that mild, sweet, thoughtful countenance, with
the glory of white hair diffused about it. At a
distance, but distinctly to be seen, high up in the
golden light of the setting sun, appeared the Great
Stone Face, with hoary mists around it, like the
white hairs around the brow of Ernest. Its look of
grand beneficence seemed to embrace the world.

At that moment, in sympathy with a thought
which he was about to utter, the face of Ernest
assumed a grandeur of expression, so imbued with
benevolence, that the poet, by an iiresistible impulse,
threw his arms aloft, and shouted, —

"Behold! Behold! Ernest is himself the like-
ness of the Great Stone Face ! "

Then all the people looked, and saw that what the
deep-sighted poet said was true. The prophecy was
fulfilled. But Ernest, having finished what he had
to say, took the poet's arm, and walked slowly home-
ward, still hoping that some wiser and better man
than himself would by and by appear, bearing a
resemblance to the Gkeat Stone Face.

'—Ifathaniel Hawthorne,

HOBATIUS.

359

HORATIUS.

Lars Porsena of Clusium by the Nine Gods he swore
That the great house of Tarquin should suffer wrong no more.
By the Nine Gods he swore it, and named a trysting day,
And bade his messengers ride forth, east and west and south
To summon his array. [and nortli,

East and west and south and north the messengers ride fast,
And tower and town and cottage have heard the trumpet's
Shame on the false Etruscan who lingers in his home, [blast.
When Porsena of Clusium is on the march for Kome.

like-

The horsemen and the footmen are pouring in amain
From many a stately market-place : from many a f i'lii- ful plain.
From many a lonely hamlet, which, hid by beech and pine,
Like an eagle's nest hangs on the ;;rest of purple Apennine ;
From lordly Volaterrse, where sv*owk the far-famed hold
Piled by the hands of giant? for godlike ^ligs of old ;
From seagirt Populonia, whose sentinels descry
Sardinia's snowy mountain-tops fringing the southern sky ;
From the proud mart of Pisjs, queen of the western waves.
Where ride Massilia's triremes heavy with fair-hair'd slaves ;
From where sweet Clanis wanders through corn and vines and

flowers ;
From where Cortona lifts to heaven her diadem of towers.

Tall are the oaks whose acorns drop in dark A user's rill ;
Fat are the stags that champ the boughs of the Ciminian hill ;
Beyond all streams Clitumnus is to the herdsman dear ;
Best of all pools the fowler loves the great Volsinian mere.

360

FOUKTH ReADEK.

But now no stroke of woodman is heard by Auser's rill ;
No hunter tracks the stag's green path up the Ciminian hill ;
Unwatch'd along Clitumnus grazes the milk-white steer ;
Unharm'd the waterfowl may dip in the Volsinian mere.
The harvests of Arretiura, this year, old men shall reap ;
This year, young boys in Umbro shall plunge the struggling

sheep ;
And in the vats of Luna, this year, the must shall foam
Round the white feet of laughing girls whorse sires have march 'd

to Rome.

There be thirty chosen prophets, the wisest of the land, >

Who alv/ay by Lars Porsena both morn and evening stand ;
Evening and morn the Thirty have turn'd the verses o'er.
Traced from the right on linen white by mighty seers of yore.
And with one voice the Thirty have their glad answer given :
'* Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena ; go forth belov'd of heaven.
Go, and return in glory to Clusium's royal dome ;
And hang round Nurscia's altars the golden shields of Rome."

And now hath every city sent up her tale of men :
The foot are fourscore thousand, and the horse are thousands
Before the gates of Sutrium is met the great array, [ten ;

A proud man was Lars Porsena upon the trysting day.
For all the Etruscan armies were ranged beneath his eye.
And many a banish'd Roman, and many a stout ally ;
And with a mighty following to join the muster came
The Tusculan Mamilius, prince of the Latian name.

But by the yellow Tiber was tumult and affright :

From all the spacious champaign to Rome men took their flight.

A mile around tlie city, the throng stopp'd up the ways ;

A fearful sight it was to see through two long nights and days.

For sick men borne in litters high on the necks of slaves,

HORATIUS.

361

And troops of suiiburn'd husbandmen with reaping-hooks and

staves,
And droves of mules and asses, laden with skins of wine.
And endless flocks of goats and sheep, and endless herds of kine,
And endless trains of wagons that.creak'd beneath the weight
Of corn-sacks and household goods, choked every roaring gate.

Now, from the rock Tarpeian, could the wan burghers spy

The line of blazing villages red in the midnight sky.

The Fathers of the City, they sat all night and day, ..

For every hour some horseman came with tidings of dismay.

To eastward and to westward have spread the Tuscan bands ;

Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote in Crusumerium stands.

Verbenna down to Ostia hath wasted all the plain ;

Astur hath storm'd Janiculum, and the stout guards are slain.

I wis, in all the Senate, there was no heart so bold.
But sore it ached and fast it beat when that ill news was told.
Forthwith up rose the Consul, up rose che Fathers all ;
"In haste they girded up their gowns, and hierl them to the wall.
They held a council standing, before the River-Gate ;
Short time was there, ye well may guess, for musing or debate.
Out spake the Consul roundly : " The bridge must straight

go down ;
For, since Janiculum is lost, nought else can save the town."

Just then a scout came flying, all wild with haste and fear :
"To arms ! to arras ! Sir Consul : Lars Porsena is here."
On the low hills to westward the consul fix'd his eye,
And saw the swctrthy storm of dust rise fast along the sky.
And nearer fast and nearer doth the red whirlwind eonie ;
And louder still and still more loud, from underneath that

rolling cloud,
Ts heard the trumpet's war-note proud, the trampling, and the

hum.
24

362

Fourth Beader.

And plainly and more plainly now through the gloom appears,
Far to left and far to right, in broken gleams of dark-blue light,
The long array of helmets bright, the long array of spears.
And plainlj^ and more plainly above that glimmering line.
Now might ye see the banners of twelve fair cities shine ;
But the banner of proud Clusium was highest of them all,
The terror of the Umbrian, the terror of the Gaul.
And plainly and more plainly now might the burghers know.
By port and vest, by horse and crest, each warlike Lucumo.
There Cilnius of Arretium on liis fleet roan was seen ;
And Astur of the four-fold shield, girt with the brand none

else may wield,
Tolumnius with the belt of gold, and dark Verbenna from the
By reedy Thrasymene. [hold

Fast by the royal standard, o'erlooking all the war,

Lars Porsena of Clusium sat in his ivory car.

By the right wheel rode Mamilius, prince of the Latian name ;

And by the left false Sextus, that wrought the deed of shame.

But when the face of Sextus was seen among the foes,

A yell that rer t the firraamient from all the town arose.

On the house-tops was no woman but spat towards him and

hiss'd,
No child but • creanx i curses, and shook its little fist.
But the Consul's brow was sad, and the Consul's speech was low,
And darkly Icok'd he at the wall, and darkly at the foe.
" Their van will be upon us before the bridge goes down ;
And if they once may win the bridge, what hope to save the

town ?"

Then out spake brave Horatius, the Captain of the Gate :
"To every man upon this earth death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better than facing fearful odds.
For the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his Gods,
And for the tender mother who dandled him to rest,

HORATIUS.

3()3

And for the wife that nurses his baby at her breast,
And for the holy maidens who feed the eternal flame,
To save them from false Sextus that wrought the deed of shame?
Hew doM n the bridge, Sir Consul, with all the speed ye may ;
I, with two more to help me, will hold the foe in play.
In yon straight path a thousand may well be stopped by three,
Now who will stand on either hand and keep the bridge with
me?"

and

Then f)ut spake Spurius Lartius ; a Kamnian proud was he :
" Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, and keep the bridge with

thee."
And out spake strong Herminius ; of Titian blood was he :
" I will abide on thy left side, and keep the bridge with thee."

"Horatius," quoth the Consul, "as thou sayest, so let it Ije."
And straight against that great array forth went the dauntless

Three.
For Romans in Rome's quarrel spared neither land nor gold,
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, in the brave days of old.

Then none was for a party ; then all were for the state ;
Then the great man help'd the poor, and the poor man lov'd

the great :
Then lands were fairly portion'd; then spoils were fairly sold :
The Romans were like brothers in the brave days of old.
Now Roman is to Roman more hateful than a foe,
And the Tribunes beard the high, and the Fathers grind the

low.
As we wax hot in faction, in battle we wax cold :
Wherefore men fight not as they fought in the brave days of old.

Now while the Tliree were tightening their harness on their

backs,
The Consul was the foremost man to take in hand an axe :

w^:7''^i

FOUBTH ReADEB.

pi m

And Fathers inix'd with Commons seized hatchet, bar, and crow,
And smote upon the planks above and loosed the props below.

Meanwhile the Tuscan army, right glorious to behold,
Came flashing back the noonday light, rank behind rank, like
Of a broad sea of gold. [surges bright

Four hundred trumpets sounded a peal of warlike glee.
As that great host, with measured tread, and spears advanced,

and ensigns spread,
RoU'd slowly towards the bridge's head, wiiere stood the

dauntless Three.

The Three stood calm and silent, and look'd upon the foes.
And a great shout of laughter from all the vanguard rose :
And forth three chiefs came spurring before that deep array ;
To earth they sprang, their swords they drew, and lifted high

To win the narrow way ; [their shields, and flew

Aunus from green Tifernum, lord of the Hill of Vines ;
And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves sicken in Ilva's mines ;
And Picus, long to Clusium vassal in peace and war.
Who led to fight his Umbrian powers from that gray crag

where, girt with towers.
The fortress of Nequinum lowers o'er the pale waves of Nar.

Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus into the stream beneath :
Herminius struck at Seius, and clove him to the teeth :
At Picus brave Horatius darted one fiery thrust ;
And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms clash 'd in the bloody
dust.

Then Ocnus of Falerii rushed on the Roman Three ;

And Lausulus of Urgo, the rover of the sea ;

And Aruns of Volsinium, who slew the great wild boar, .

The great wild boar that had his den amidst the reeds of Cosa's

fen,
And wasted fields, and slaughter'd men, along Albinia's shore.

HORATIUS.

ar>5

Herminius smote down Aruns : Lartius laid Ocnus low :
Right to the heart of Lausulus Horatius sent a blow.
"Lie there," he cried, "fell pirate ! no more, aghast and pale,
From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark the track of thy de-
stroying bark.
No more Campania's hinds shall fly to woods and caverns when
Thy thrice accursed sail." [they spy

But now no sound of laughter was heard among the foes.
A wild and wrathful clamor from all the vanguard rose.
Six spears' lengths from the entrance halted that deep arra}',
And for a space no man came forth to win the narrow way.

But hark ! the cry is Astur : and lo ! the ranks divide ;
And the great Lord of Luna comes with his stately stride.
Upon his ample shoulders clangs loud the four-fold shield.
And in his hand he shakes the brand which none but he can
wield.

I II

crag

loody

josa's

more.

He smiled on those bold Romans a smile serene and high ;
He eyed the flinching Tuscans, and scorn was in his eye.
Quoth he, " The she- wolf 's litter stand savagely at bay :
But will ye dare to follow, if Astur clears the way 1 "
Then whirling up his broadsword with both hands to the height,
He rushed against Horatius and smote with all his might.
With shield and blade Horatius right deftly turned the blow.
The blow, though turn'd, came yet too nigh ; it miss'd his helm,

but gash'd his thigh :
The Tuscans raised a joyful cry to see the red blood flow.
He reel'd and on Herminius he lean'd one breathing-space ;
Then, like a wild-cat, mad with wounds, sprang right at Astur's

face.
Through teeth, and skull, and helmet so fierce a thrust he sped,
The good sword stood a hand-breadth out behind the Tuscan's

head.

I'll

I, (;^

36(j

Fourth Reader.

And the great Lord of Lnna fell at that df»adiy stroke,

As falls on Mount Alvernus a thunder-smitten oak.

Far o'er the crashing forest the giant arms lie spread ;

And the pale augurs, muttering low, gaze on the blasted head.

On Astur's throat Horatius right firmly press'd his heel.

And thrice and four times tugg'd amain, ere he wrench'd out

the steel,
" And see," he cried, " the welcome, fair guests, that waits you

here !
What noble Lucumo comes next to taste our Roman cheer ? "

But at his haughty challenge a sullen murmur ran, [van.

Mingled with wrath, and shame, and dread along that glittering
There lack'd not men of prowess, nor men of lordly race ;
For all Etruria's noblest were round the fatal place.
But all Einiiia's noblest felt their hearts sink to see
On tlte eart]\ the bloody corpses, in the path the dauntless
Three :

And from the ghastly entrance v here those bold Romans stood,
All shrank, like boys who unaware, ranging the woods to start

a hare,
Come to the mouth of a dark lair where, growling low, a fierce

Lies amidst bones and blood. [old bear

Was none who would be foremost to lead such dire attack :
But those behind cried " Forward ! " and those before cried

"Back!"
And backward now and forward wavers the deep array ;
And 6n the tossing sea of steel, to and fro the standards reel ;
And the victorious trumpet-peal dies fitfully away.

Yet one man for one moment stood out before the crowd ;
Well known was he to all the Three, and they gave him greet-
ing loud.

HORATIUS.

867

** Now welcome, welcome, Sextus ! now welcome to thy home !
Why dost thou stay, and turn away? here lies the road to

Rome."
Thrice look'd he at the city ; thrice look'd he at the dead ;
And thrice came on in fury, d thrice turn'd back in drejul ;
And, white with fear and ^ tred, scowl'd at the narrow way
Where, wallowing in a pool '^lood, the bravest Tuscans lay.

nan cheer ? "

But meanwhile axe and lever have manfully been plied ;
And now the bridge hangs tottering above the boiling tide.
"Comeback, come back, Horatius !" loud cried the Fathers all.
" Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! back, ere the ruin fall ! "
Back darted Spurius Lartius ; Herminius darted back :
And as they pass'd, beneath their feet, they felt the timbers

crack.
But when they turned their faces, and on the farther shore
Saw brave Horatius stand alone they would have cross'd once

more.
But with a crash like thunder fell every loosen'd beam.
And, like a dam, the mighty wreck lay right athwart the stream :
And a long shout of triumph rose from the walls of Rome,
As to the highest turret-tops was splashed the yellow foam.
And, like a horse unbroken when first he feels the rein.
The furious river struggled hard, and toss'd his tawny mane,
And burst the curb, and bounded, rejoicing to be free,
And whirling down in fierce career, battlement, and plank, and
Rush'd headlong to the sea. [pit^i*,

Alone stood brave Horatius, but constant still in mind ;
Thrice thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood behind.
'* Down with him !" cried false Sextus, with a smile on his pale

face.
" Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, " now yield thee to our

grace."

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23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. M580

(716) 872-4503

368

Fourth Eeadee.

Round turn'd he, as not deigning those craven ranks to see ;
Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, to Sextus nought spake he ;
But he saw on Palatinus the white porch of his home ;
And he spake to the noble river that rolls by the towers of

Rome.
" O Tiber ! father Tiber ! to whom the Romans pray,
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, take thou in charge this day ! "
So spake he, and speaking sheathed the good sword by his side,
And with his harness on his back plunged headlong in the tide.

No sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank ;

But friends and foes in dumb surprise, with parted lips and

Stood gazing where he sank ; [straining eyes,

And when above the surges they saw his crest appear.
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, and even thd ranks of

Could scarce forbear to cheer. ■ [Tuscany

But fiercely ran the current, swollen high by months of rain :
And fast his blood was flowing, and he was sore in pain.
And heavy with his armor, and spent with changing blows :
And oft they thought him sinking, but still again he rose.
Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case.
Struggle through such a raging flood safe to the landing-place :
But his limbs were borne up bravely by the brave heart within,
And our good father Tiber bare bravely up his chin.

"Curse on him !" quoth false Sextus : " will not the villain

drown ?
But for this stay, ere close of day we should have sack'd the

town!"
" Heaven help him !" quoth Lars Porsena, " and bring him safe

to shore ;
For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before."
And now he feels the bottom ; now on dry earth he stands ;
Now round him throng the Fathers to press his gory hands ;

HORATIUS.

369

And now with shouts and clapping, «Jhd noise of weeping loud,
He enters through the River-Gate, borne by the joyous crowd.

They gave him of the corn-land, that was of public right,

As much as two strong oxen could plougL ^'rom morn till night :

And they made a molten image, and set it up on high.

And there it stands unto this day to witness if I lie.

It stands in the Comitium, plain for all folk to see ;

Horatius in his harness, halting upon one knee :

And underneath is written, in letters all of gold.

How valiantly he kept the bridge in the brave days of old.

And still his name sounds stirring unto the men of Rome,
As the trumpet-blast that cries to them to charge the YoLsciaii

home ;
And wives still pray to Juno for boys with hearts as bold
As his who kept the bridge so well in the brave days of old.
And in the nights of winter when the cold north-winds blow,
And the long howling of the wolves is heard amidst the snow ;
When round the lonely cottage roars loud the tempest's din.
And the good logs of Algidus roar louder yet within ;
When the oldest cask is open'd, and the largest lamp is lit ;
When the chestnuts glow in the embers, and the kid turns on

the spit ;
When young and old in circles around the firebrands close ;
When the girls are weaving baskets, and the lads are shaping

bows;
When the goodman mends his armor, and trims his helmet's

plume ;
When the goodwife's shuttle merrily goes flashing through the

loom ;
With weeping and with laughter still is the story told.
How well Horatius kept the bridge in the brave days of old.

—Lord Macaulay.

:\\

370

FOUBTH ReADEE.

;l-;i*,|';'; , \.4'- '.'■'■'i''^'-^''' 'l "■. /'./N'T.. '■', 1' i\ W.

) \r' ,• I i-\ ■ \ ?>■-

' ■' '.'*' \> H . >

■ \H.>^

THE WATCH ON THE RHINE.

,//

A voice resounds like thunder-peal,
'Mid dashing waves and clang of steel,
" The Rhine ! the Rhine ! the German Rhine
Who guards to-day my stream divine ? "
Dear Fatherland ! No danger thine :
Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine.

They stand, a hundred thousand strong,
Quick to avenge their country's wrong : ;-;^^-
With filial love their bosoms swell : U
They'll guard the sacred landmark well.
Dear Fatherland ! No danger thine :
Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine.

And though in death our hopes decay.

The Rhine will own no foreign sway ;

For rich with water as its flood

Is Germany with hero blood.

Dear Fatherland ! No danger thine :
Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine.

From yon blue sky are benf ' * now
The hero-dead to hear our , :
" As long as German hearts are free
The Rhine, the Rhine, shall German be."
Dear Fatherland ! No danger thine :
Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine.

" While flows one drop of German blood, i
Or sword remains to guard thy flood,
While rifle rests in patriot hand,

f . '

The Marseillaise.

Ko foe shall tread thy sacred strand. " '

Dear Fatherland ! No danger thine :
Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine.

Our oath resounds j the river flows ;

In golden light our banner glows ;

Our hearts will guard thy stream divine :

The Rhine ! the Rhine ! the German Rhine 1
Dear Fatherland ! No danger thine :
Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine.

i —Max Schneckenburger.

371

THE MARSEILLAISE.

Ye sons of Freedom, wake to glory !

Hark ! hark ! what myriads bid you rise —
Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary,

Behold their tears and hear their cries !
Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding,

With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,

Aifright and desolate the land,
While peace and liberty lie bleeding ?

To arms ! to arms ! ye brave !
The avenging sword unsheath :

March on ! march on ! all hearts resolved
On victory or death.

Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling,

Which treacherous kings confederate raise ;
The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,
, And lo ! our fields and cities blaze ;

372

Fourth Reader.

And shall we basely view the ruin,

While lawless force with guilty stride, ,

Spreads desolation far and wide,
With crimes and blood his hands imbruing ?
To arms 1 to arms 1 ye brave, '•

The avenging sword unsheath :
March on 1 march on ! all hearts resolved
On victory or death.

With luxury and pride surrounded,

The vile, insatiate despots dare
(Their thirst of power and gold unbounded)

To mete and vend the light and air.
Like beasts of burden would they load us,

Like gods would bid their slaves adore ;

But man is man, and who is more ?
Then shall they longer lash and goad us ?

To arms 1 to arms ! ye brave,
The avenging sword unsheath :

March on ! march on ! all hearts resolved
On victory or death.

O Liberty ! can man resign thee.

Once having felt thy generous flame ?
Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee.

Or whips thy noble spirit tame ?
Too long the world has wept bewailing
That Falsehood's dagger tyrants wield ;
But Freedom is our sword and shield.
And all their arts are unavailing.
To arms ! to arms ! ye brave.

The avenging sword unsheath :
March on ! march on ! all hearts resolved
On victory or death.

—Rouget De Liale.

Battle Hymn of the Republic.

373

BATTLE HYMN OP THE REPUBLIC.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord :
He is tramping out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are

stored ;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword ;
His truth is marching on.

T have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps ;
They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and

damps ;
T can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps.
His day is marching on.

T have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steel :
" As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall

deal ;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
Since God is marching on."

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat :
He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat ;
O, be swift, my soul, to answer him ! be jubilant, my feet !
Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born, across the sea.
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me ;
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
Wliile God is marching on.

—Julia Ward Hotce.

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374

FOUBIU K£AD£B.

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SOOTS, WHA HAE WI' WALLACE BLED.

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Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, ,
Scots, wham Bruce has af ten led, . , .
Welcome to your gory bed.

Or to Victorie !
Now's the day, and now's the hour ;
See the front o' battle lour ;
See approach proud Edward's power —
Chains and Slaverie !

Wha will be a traitor knave ?
Wha can fill a coward's grave ?
Wha sae base as be a Slave ?

Let him turn and flee !
Wha, for Scotland's King and Law,
Freedom's sword will strongly draw.
Free-man stand, or Free-man fa',

Let him on wi' me !

By Oppression's woes and pains !
By your sons in servile chains !
We will drain our dearest veins,

But they shall be free !
Lay the proud Usurper's low !
Tyrant's fall in every foe !
Liberty's in every blow ! —

Let us Do — or Die !

—RfAteri Burtia,

Domin;pn Hymn.

375

DOMINION HYMN.

God bless our wide Dominion,

Our father's chosen land,
And bind in lasting union,

Each ocean's distant strand.
From where Atlantic terrors

Our hardy seamen train.
To where the salt sea mirrors

The vast Pacific chain.

Oh bless our wide Dominiotit
True freedom' a fairest scene f

Defend our people's union^
Ood save our Empire's Queen !

Our sires when times were sorest

Asked none but aid Divine,
And cleared the tangled forest.

And wrought the buried mine.
They tracked the floods and fountains,

And won, with master hand,
Far more than gold in mountains, —

The glorious prairie land.

Inheritors of glory.

Oh ! countrymen ! we swear
To guard the flag that o'er ye

Shall onward victory bear,
Where'er through earth's far regions

Its triple crosses fly.
For God, for home, our legions

Shall win, or fighting, die !

376

FOUBTH SeADEB.

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GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.

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God save our gracious Queen,
Lonii; live our noble Queen,

God save the Queen :
Send her victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us ;

God save the Queen.

Thy choicest gifts in store
On her be pleased to pour ;

Long may she reign :
May she defend our laws,
And ever give us cause
To sing with heart and voice,

God save the Queen. Amen,

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