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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 72 Sir F. H. Doyle . . . . 77 78 John G. Whittier. . . . 86 88 James Russell Lowell. . 95 Daniel Defoe 96 Holy Bible 106 Holy Bible 109 Rev. Charles Wolfe . . 110 Robert Browning . . .. Ill Charles Dudley Warner 121 VI rn 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. vu 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 If k \ 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. y- ? / 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. a 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 • ■- X LOCKSLEY. 5 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 6 Fourth Reader. i! 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. 9 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 iy 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. 11 \ 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. • 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. 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. ii •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 ; r *» / / 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. r 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. 16 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, 'I •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. 17 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. 19 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 20 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. 21 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 22 Fourth Reader. /' M :'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. 23 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 24 FOUBTH ReADEE. \ ,/ ■" i / canopied the gi'eat hall : for Discord had taken her place at the table, uninvited, and unwelcome though she was. , , voj- " 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 1 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 ! 3 2(y Fourth Readeh. a- ''/ W, I ! And tlier(? lay the hUhhI with his iioKtril all Nvi,,: 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. D. t Ye Mauineus of England. 27 ^ 1 For the (Iwk it was their field of fame, And ocean was their ^rave ; Where lMal 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. :u tlu^ cirjulas wore chirping anions tlio l«*av<«s alVovo his li<'a)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. r ■t\ L 34 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. 35 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." I 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. 37 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 38 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. 30 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 :'•■ 40 FoTTK'rit ]Ieadek. ii II! I ! ;)• 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. 41 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 4 II 42 Fourth Readek. I '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. 4H 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 44 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 (tMl to tin* littlo Xoll who luul l)jittl('■■■ ■ •'' 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 48 Fourth Readeb. THE STAGE OOAOH. S ; ^1 I 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. 40 }-*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 1' 50 Fourth Readek. •I l\ : 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. 51 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 52 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-cones 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/, 56 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 !" Is ll 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 ; rr 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. M 14 'it. *> 58 FuuuTii Readeii. THE FORGING OF BALMUNG. i'h ii::<- I; Ir, l! 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'/ ' in n^ 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, r 1 1 tii m ■ V 00 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. 61 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 : i 62 FouKTH Reader. .\ !l 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. oy 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,.; 64 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. 65 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 ^ I :'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!" I! 68 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. m 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 70 JA)TTUTH UraDRU. \ (Jivo lioiior t(; tlicii' iiK'nunicM who left tlu^ plcasiint .sti'»iini, To nhv(\ tlK'ir blry whose bones he g