UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES IV^ U^^IVEiiSITY cf CALIFORNIA LOS AiNGiiLES LIBRARY CUMOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKEE. Rhetorical Recitations FOE Boys and Girls, COMPILED BY ROBERT McLean CUMNOCK, A.M. PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC AND ELOCUTION, Northwestern University, Evanst % 111. • , *■ > -Si©. «. V ■'. ^ *•»•»,, CHICAGO : A. C. McCLURG & COMPANY. 1802. 15^799 COPYRIGHT By JAUSEN, McCLURG & CO. 1883. • J " ■ • • .. . . - - •• .:: • I* • ««» It. 2 PREFACE o -^ That young people prefer reading or speaking •exercises which are presented to them in some form of story or romance to those of a didactic character, o is a fact famihar to every instructor. A recognition ^ of this preference has led the compiler of this little r volume to include only such selections as seem to I appeal directly to the fancy and the feelings of '-"youth. Great care has been taken to exclude all .excessive or weakly sentiment, and to furnish only <>that which is fresh, wholesome, and inspiring. The ochief aim, however, has been to secure selections possessing good speaking qualities^ and at the same time to make a collection of the briglitest and rarest specimens of juvenile literature in our language. No attempt has been made to grade the selections from the more juvenile specimens to the more mature, or to introduce any elocutionary advice, which would necessarily be so meagre as to be of little value. As this is a companion to a work by the same compiler, 4 Preface. entitled "Choice Readings," which has had the good fortune to receive the hearty approval of the public, it is hoped it also may meet with a cordial welcome, and prove worthy of its relation sliip. The thanks of the compiler are due to the pub- lishing house of Houghton, Mifflin & Co., by whose courtesy he is enabled to use certain poems from the writings of Oliver Wendell Holmes, John G. Saxe, James T. Fields, John G. Whittier, and J. T^ Trowbridge. Egbert McLean Cumnock. EvANSTON, III., October, 1883. CO:^TENTS. The Two Roads Jean Paul Richter. 9 The Captain's Daughter James T. Fields. 11 Lily's Ball Anonymous. 12 The Riddler Charles G. Leland. 14 The Deserted Mill A. Schnezler. 15 The Blacksmith of Ragenbach Anonymous. 17 The King's Picture Helen B. Bostmick. 20 The Puzzled Census-Taker Johii G. Saxe. 22 Frogs at School Anonymous. 23 Brother Anderson's Sermon . . . Thomas K. Beecher. 2A Who is She? Marian Douglass. 28 The Jolly Old Crow Anonymous. 29 Old Chums Alice Gary. 30 The Pilot John B. Gough. 32 The Inquiry Charles Mackay. 34 The Fool's Prayer Anonymous. 35 The Birth of Saint Patrick Samuel Lover. 37 The Lady-Bug AND THE Ant Anonymous. 38 The Little Stowaway Anonymous. 39 Warren's Address John Pierpont. 45 My Poultry Yard Anonymous. 46 About the Fairies Anonymous. 47 Carving a Name Horatio Alger. 48 Cleon and I Charles Mackay. 49 Setting A Hen Anonymous. 50 The Goat and the Swing J. T. Trowbridge. 52 The Owl and the Pussy-Cat Anonymous. 54 John Yaljohn and the Savoyard .... Victor Hugo. 55 The Baby George MacDonald. 62 The Fisherman John G. Whittier. 63 5 6 Contexts. Trust in God Norman Macleod. G* The Greedy Fox Anonymous. 66- The Gray Swan Alice Gary. 68 The Ant and the Cricket Anonymous. 70 Roll Call N. O. Shepherd. 71 Lord Ullin's Daughter Thomas Campbell. 73 The Brave Peasant Anonymous. 75 Charley Machree William J. Hoppin. 77 The Ballad oe the Oysterman . Oliver Wendell Holmes. 79 Irish Astronomy Oiarles G. Halplne. 81 Schneider's Description of the Play . . Anonymous. 83 The Blind Men and the Elephant . . . John G. Saxe. 87 Be True Anonymous. 89 Daisy's Faith Joanna H. Mathews. 90 The Boy and the Ring Anonymous. 93 Hamlet to the Players William Shakespeare. 94 Be Content Anonymous. 95 The Dead Doll Anonymous. 96 Katydid Oliver Wendell Holmes. 99 The Fairies William Allincjham. 100 The Miller of the Dee Charles Mackay. 102 Morning Edward Everett. 103 The Meeting of the Ships . . Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 104 Spring Celia Thaxter. 105 Caught in the Quicksand Victor Hugo. 106 The Knight's Toast Anonymous. 108 The Wreck Charles Dickens. 110 The Old Year and the New .... Alfred Tennyson. 115 The Fashionable jowerful beast, with a frightful aspect ; his head hanging down, liis eyes bloodshot, his lead-colored tongue half-way out of his mouth, and his tail dropped between his legs. Tims the ferocious beast entered the room, out of which there was no escape but by one door. Scarcely had the smith's neighbor, who was bath- keeper of the place, seen the animal than he became deadly pale, sprang up and exclaimed, in a horrified voice, " Good heavens ! tlie dog is mad !" Then arose a terrible outcry. The room was full of men and women, and the foaming beast stood before the only entrance — no one could leave without passing him. He snapped savagely right and left — none could pass him without being bitten. This in- creased the fearful confusion. With horror depicted up(m their countenances, all sprang up and shrunk from the dog. Who should deliver them from him ? The smith also stood among them, and, as he saw the anguish of the people, it flashed across his mind how many of his happy and contented neighbors would be made miserable by a mad dog, and he formed a resolu- tion, the like of which is scarcely to be found in the history of the human race, for noble self-devotion. ''Back all!" thundered he, in a deep, strong voice. "Let no one stir; for none can vanquish the beast but me ! One victim must fall, in order to save the rest ; I will be that victim ; I will hold the brute, and while I do so, make your escape." The smith CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 19 had scarcely spoken tliese words when tlie dog started toward the shrieking people. But he went not far. "With God's help ! ■' cried the smith, and he rushed upon the foaming beast, seized him with an iron grasp, and dashed him to the floor. A terrible struggle followed. The dog bit furiously on every side in a frightful manner. His long teeth tore the arms and thighs of the heroic smith, but he would not let him loose. Regardless alike of the excessive pain and the horrible death that must ensue, he held down with an iron grasp the snapping, howling brute, till all had escaped. He then flung the half-strangled beast from him against the wall, and dripping with blood and veno- mous foam, he left the room, locking the door after him. Some persons then shot the dog through the windows. Weeping and lamenting, the people sur- rounded him who had saved their lives at the expense of his own. "Be quiet, do not weep for me," he said ; ' ' one must die in order to save the others. Do not thank me — I have only performed my duty. When I am dead, think of me with love, and now pray for me, that God will not let me suffer long, nor too much. I will take care that no further mischief shall occur through me, for I must certainly become mad." He went straight to his workshop and selected a strong chain, the heaviest and firmest from his whole stock ; then, with his own hands, welded it upon his limbs, and around the anvil firm. "There," said he, "it is done," after having silently and solemnly 20 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. completed the work. * ' Now you are secured, and I am inoffensive. So long as I live bring me my food. The rest I leave to God ; into His hands I commend my spirit."' Nothing could save the brave smith ; neither tears, lamentations, nor prayers. Madness seized him, and after nine days he died. He died, but his memory will live from generation to genera- tion and will be venerated to the end of time. Search history through, and you will not find an action more glorious and sublime than the deed of this simple-minded man — the smith of Ragenbach. Anonymous. » THE KING'S PICTURE. The king from his council chamber Came wear}^ and sore of heart ; He called for Iliff the painter, And sjjake to him thus apart : "I um sickened of faces ignoble, Hypocrites, cowards, and knaves ! I shall shrink to their shrunken measure, Chief slave in a realm of slaves ! ''Paint me a true mans picture. Gracious and wise and good ; Endowed with the strength of heroes. And the beauty of womanhood ; It shall hang in my inmost chamber, That thither when I retire It may fill my soul with grandeur And wann it with sacred fire." CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 21 So tlie artist ])ainte(l the picture, And liuiig it in the palace hall ; Never a thing so goodly Had garnished the stately wall. The king, with head uncovered. Gazed on it with rapt delight. Till it suddenly wore strange meaning. And baffled his questioning sight. For the form was his supjjlest courtier's, Perfect in every limb ; But the bearing was that of the henchman Who filled the flagons for him ; The brow was a priest's who pondered His parchments early and late ; The eye was a wandering minstrel's Who sang at the palace gate. The lips, half sad and half mirthful. With a flitting, tremulous grace. Were the very lips of a woman He had kissed in the market-place ; But the smile which her curves transfigured, As a rose with its shimmer of dew. Was the smile of the wife who loved him, Queen Ethelyn, good and true. Then "Learn, O King," said the artist, "This truth that the picture tells — How, in every form of the human, Some hint of the liighest dwells ; 22 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. How, scanning each living temple For the place where the veil is thin, We may gather, by beautiful glimpses. The form of the God within." Helen B. Bostwick. THE PUZZLED CENSUS-TAKER. "Nein" (pronounced nine) is the German for "No." " Got any boys \ " the marshal said To a lady from over the Rhine ; And the lady shook her flaxen head. And civilly answered, "iVem.^"" ''Got any girls?" the marshal said To the lady from over the Rhine ; And again the lady shook her head, And civilly answered, "A^^m/" "But some are dead?*' the marslial said To the lady from over the Rhine ; And again the lady shook her head, ^Vnd civilly answered, "A^<3m/" "Husband, of course,"' tlie marshal said To the lady from over the Rhine ; And again she shook her flaxen head, And civilly answered, "iVdm/" CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 23 "The devil yon have ! " the marshal said To the lady from over the Rhine ; And again she shook her flaxen head, And civilly answered, '■'JVeinf^ "Now, what do you mean by shaking your head, And always answering ' Nine ? ' " "/(?A kann nlcht Englisch ! ''' civilly said The lady from over the Rhine. John G. Saxe. FROGS AT SCHOOL. Twenty froggies went to school Down beside a rushy pool, — Twenty little coats of green ; Twenty vests, all white and clean. "We must be in time," said they: "First we study, then we play: That is how we keep the rule. When we froggies go to school." Master Bullfrog, grave and stern, Called the classes in their turn ; Taught them how to nobly strive, Likewise how to leap and dive ; From his seat upon the log. Showed them how to say "Ker-chog!" Also how to dodge a blow From the sticks that bad boys throw. 24 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. Twenty froggies grew up fast ; Bullfrogs they became at last ; Not one dunce among the lot ; Not one lesson they forgot; Polished in a high degree, As each froggie ought to be. Now they sit on other logs, Teaching other little frogs. AxoNYMors. BROTHER ANDERSON'S SERMON. I WAS to preach for Brother Anderson. He was a good pastor. Almost the last time I saw him he had just called ujjon a lamb of his flock to ask after her spiritual welfare and for fifty cents toward his salary. Punctual to the hour, Brother Anderson came rolling across the street, and up to the door, and we went in together. After the usual songs and prayers, I took for my text, Paul's counsel to the Corinthians as to their disorderly meetings and meaningless noises. The sermon was, in the main, a reading of the fourteenth of Paul's first letter with comments and ap])lication interspersed. I spoke half an hour, and while showing considera- tion for the noisy ways of my audience, exhorted them to cultivate intelligence as well as passion. When you feel the glory of God in you, let it out, of course. Shout "Glory"! Clap your hands, and all that; but stop now and then and let some wise elder stand up CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 25 and tell you what it all means. Men and boys hang around your windows and laugh at you and your reliffion, because thev don't understand you. Some men have religion all in the head, clear, sharp, dry and dead ; others all in the heart, they feel it all in their bones. Now I want you to have religion in your heads and hearts too. Let all things be done decently and in order, I was well satisfied with my effort. At the time it seemed a success. As I sat down, Brother Anderson got up and stood on the pulpit step and gave out a hymn — " Let saints below in concert sing." I am not sure that he could read, for he stood book in hand, and seemingly from memory gave the words of the hymn. He repeated the first and second stanzas with a deep growing feeling. Of the third he read three lines : " One army of de libbin God To Thy commands we bow ; Part ob de hos' hab crossed de flood, And — " There he stopped, and after swallowing one or two chokes, went on to say : "I lub Brudder Beecher ; I lub to hear him preach dis af'ernoon ; he tole us a good many things. He's our good frien', and he sez, sez he, dat some folks goes up to glory nois}' an' shoutin', and some goes still like, 'z if they was ashamed ob what's in 'em, and he sez 26 CuMNOCK's School Speaker. we better be more like de still kind, an' de white folks '11 like us more, and den I thinks tain't much 'count no way. wedder we goes up still like, or shoutin', for heben is a mighty big place, brudders, an' w'en we all goes marchin' up to see de Lord an' I's so full ob de lub, an' de jov, an' de glory, dat I mus' clap my ban's an' shout, de good Lord got some place whar we won't 'sturb nobody, an' we can shout ' Glory ! b'ess de Lord !' I tell you, brudders an' sisters, heben 's a mighty big place 'an dar's room for Brudder Beecher an' us too. Dat's so ! B'ess de Lord. *• Brudder Beecher sez dat tis'n de folks as makes de mos" noise as does de mos' work. He sez de ingines on de railroad only puff, puff, puff, reg'lar breavin like, when dey's at work haulin' de biggest loads, an' de bells an' de whistles don't do no work, dey only make a noise. Guess dat's so. I don't know 'bout ingines much, an' I don't know wedder I's a puff, puff ingine, or wedder I's one dat blows de whistles an' rings de bells. I feel like bofe sometimes, an' I tell you what, w'en de fire is a burnin' an' I gits de steam up, don't dribe no cattle on de track, de ingine's a comin. Cl'ar de track. " An' de boys an' de gals, an' de clarks, an' de young lawyers, dey come up yar watch-nights an' dey peep in de windows, an' stan' 'round de doors an' dey larf an' make fun, an' Brudder Beecher sez, ' Why don't we stop de noise now 'n den an' go out an' tell 'em 'bout it — 'sphiiii it to 'em'? An' I 'member w'at de Bible says, 'bout the outer darkness, an' de weepin' an' de wailin', an' de 'nashin' ob teeth. An' if dese CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 27 boys an' gals stan' dar outside larfin\ biemby dey'U come to de wecpin' an' de wailin', t'us' dey know. An' den w'en we stan' 'roun' de great white temple ob de Lord, an' see de glory shinin' out, an' de hai'pers harpin', an' all de music, an' de elders bowin', an' all shoutin' like many waters, an' de saints a singin' — 'Glory ! Glory to de Lam,' 'spose God '11 say, 'Stop dat noise dar, Gabriel. You Gabriel, go out an' 'splain'? Yes, I see dem stan' las' winter 'roun' de doors an' under de windows an' larf ; an' dey peep in an' larf. An' I 'member wot I saw las' summer, 'mong de bees. Some ob de hives was nice an' clean an' still, like 'spectable meetin's, an' de oders was bustin' wid honey, an' de bees kep' a comin' an' a goin' in de clover, an' dey jes' kep' on a fillin' up de hive, till de honey was a flowin' like de Ian' ob Canaan. An' I saw all 'roun' de hives was de ants, an' worms, an' de great drones, an' de black bugs, an' dey kep' on de outside. Dey wasn't bees. Dey couldn't make de honey for dareselves. Dey couldn't fly to de clover an' de honeysuckle. Dey jus' hang 'roun' de bustin' hive an' live on de drippin's. An' de boys an' de gals come up yar an' hang Voun\ Jes' come in, an' we'll show you how de gospel bees do. Come in, an' we'll lead you to de clover. Come in, we'll make your wings grow. Come in, won't ye? Well den, poor things, let 'em stan' 'roun' de outside an' hab de drippin's. We's got honey in dis hive. — " Part ob de hos' has crossed de flood, An' part are crossin' now." Thomas K. Beecher. 28 OuMNocK's School Speaker. WHO IS SHE? There is a little nuiiden — Who is slie ? Do you know? — Who always has a welcome Wherever she may go. Her face is like the May-time ; Her voice is like a bird's ; The sweetest 'of all music Is ill her joyful words. The loveliest of blossoms Spring where her light foot treads, And most delicious odors She all around her sheds — The breath of purple clover Upon the breezy hills ; The smell of garden roses, And yellow daffodils. Each spot she makes the brighter, As if she were the sun ; And she is sought, and cherished, And loved by every one — By old folks and by children, By lofty and by low : Who is this little maiden? Does aiiv Ixxlv know i CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 29 You surely must have met her — You certainly can guess : What! must I introduce her? Her name is Cheerfulness. Marian Douglass. THE JOLLY OLD CROW. On the limb of an oak sat a jolly old crow, And chattered away with glee, with glee, As he saw tlie old farmer go out to sow. And he cried, "It's all for me, for me ! "Look, look, how he scatters his seeds around; He is wonderful kind to the poor, the poor; If he'd empty it down in a pile on the ground, I could find it much better, I'm sure, I'm sure ! "I've learned all the tricks of this wonderful man, Who has such a regard for the crow, the crow, That he lays out his grounds in a regular plan. And covers his corn in a row, a row ! "He must have a very great fancy for me; He tries to entrap me enough, enough ; But I measure his distance as well as he. And when he comes near, I'm off, I'm off!" AXONYMOXJS. 30 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. OLD CHUMS. Is IT you, Jack ? Old boy, is it really you ? I sliouldn't have known you but that I was told You nii^ht be expected ; — pniy, how do you do ? But what, under heaven, has made you so old? Your hair ! why, you've only a little gray fuzz ! And your beard's white ! but that can be beautifully dyed ; And your legs aren't but just half as long as they was ; And then — stars and garters ! your vest is so wide ! Is this your hand I Lord, how I envied }'ou that In the time of our courting, — so soft, and so small, And now it is callous inside, and so fat, — Well, you beat the very old deuce, that is aU. Turn round ! let me look at you ! isn't it odd How strange in a few years a fellow's chum grows ! Your eye is shrunk up like a bean in a pod. And what are these lines branching out from your nose ? Your back lias gone up and your shoulders gone down, And all the old roses are under the plough ; Why, Jack, if we'd happened to meet about town, I wouldn't have known you from Adam, I vow ! You've had trouble, have you ? I'm sorry ; but, John, All trouble sits lightly at your time of life. How's Billy, my namesake? You don't say he's gone To the war, John, and that you have buried your wife? CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 31 Poor Katherine ! so she has left yon, — ah me ! I thought she would live to be fifty, or more. What is it you tell me 'i She urns fifty-three ! no. Jack ! she wasn't so much by a score ! Well, there's little Katy, — was that her name, John? She'll rule your house one of these days like a queen. Tliat baby ! good Lord ! is she married and gone ? With a Jack ten years oid ! and a Katy fourteen ! Then I give it up ! Why, you're younger than I By ten or twelve years, and to think you've come back A sober old greybeard, just ready to die ! 1 don't understand how it is, — do you. Jack? I've got all my faculties yet, sound and bright ; Slight failure my eyes are beginning to hint ; But still, with my spectacles on, and a light 'Twixt them and the page, I can read any print. My hearing is dull, and my leg is more spare. Perhaps, than it was when I beat you at ball ; My breath gives out, too, if I go up a stair, — But nothing worth mentioning, nothing at all ! My hair is just turning a little, you see. And lately I've put on a broader-brimmed hat Than I wore at your wedding, but you will agree, Old fellow, I look all the better for that. - 32 OnixocK's School Speaker. I'm sometimes ii little rheumatic, 'tis true, And my nose isn't quite on a straight line, thej say ; For all that, I don't think I've changed much, do you? And I don't feel a day older, Jack, not a day. Alice Gary. THE PILOT. John Maynard was well known in the lake district as a God-fearing, honest and intelligent man. He was pilot on a steamboat from Detroit to Bufialo. One summer afternoon — at that time those steamers seldom carried boats — smoke was seen ascending from below ; and the captain called out, " Simpson, go below and see what the matter is down there.'' Simpson came up with his face as pale as ashes, and said, " Ca]>tain, the ship is on fire !" Then " Fire ! fire ! fire !" on shipboard. All hands were called u]) ; buckets of water were dashed on the fire, but in vain. There were large quantities of rosin and tar on board, and it was found useless to attemj^t to save the ship. The passengers rushed forward and inquired of the pilot, "How far are we from ]5ufialo ?■' '• Seven miles." " How long before we can reach there?" "Three-quarters of an hour, at our present rate of steam." "Is there any danger?" CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 33 u Danger ! Here, see the smoke bursting out ! — go forward, if you would save your lives !" Passengers and crew — men, women and children — crowded the forward part of the ship. John Maynard stood at the helm. The flames burst forth in a sheet of fire ; clouds of smoke arose. The captain cried out through his trumpet, " John Maynard !" "Ay, ay, sir!" " Are you at the helm ?" "Ay, ay, sir !" "How does she head?" " Southeast by east, sir." ' ' Head her southeast, and run her on shore, " said the captain. Nearer, nearer, yet nearer, she ap- proached the shore. Again the captain cried out, "John Maynard !" The response came feebly this time, "Ay, ay, sir !" "Can you hold on five minutes longer, John ?" he said. " By God's help, I will !" The old man's hair was scorched from the scalp ; one hand was disabled ; — his knee upon the stanchion, his teeth set, his other hand upon the wheel, he stood firm as a rock. He beached the ship ; every man, woman and child was saved, as John Maynard dropped, and his spirit took its flight to God. John B. Gough. 34 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. THE INQUIRY. Tell me, ye winged winds, that round my pathway roar, Do ye not know some spot whei'e mortals weep no more ? Some lone and pleasant dell, some valley in the west. Where, free from toil and pain, the weary soul may rest? The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low. And sigh'd for pity as it answer'd — "■No." Tell me, thou mighty deep, whose billows round me play — Know'st thou some favor'd spot, some island far away, "Where weary man may find the bliss for which he sighs — Where sorrow never lives and friendship never dies? The loud waves rolling in perpetual flow Stopp'd for awhile, and sigh'd to answer — "No." Then thou, serenest moon, that, with such lovely face, Dost look upon the earth, asleep in night's embrace, Tell me, in all thy round, hast thou not seen some spot Where miserable man might find a happier lot ? Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe. And a voice, sweet, but sad, responded — "No." C'UMNOCK\s School Speaker. 35 Tell me, my secret soul — oh, tell me, Hope and Faith, Is there no resting-place from sorrow, sin and death? — Is there no hap])y spot where mortals may be bless'd, Where grief may find a balm, and weariness a rest? Faith, Hope and Love, best boons to mortals given. Waved their bright wings, and whisper'd — "Yes. m Heaven ! " Charles Mackay. (( THE FOOL'S PRAYER. The royal feast was done ; the king Sought some new sport to banish care, And to his jester cried, " Sir Fool, Kneel now, and make for us a prayer ! " The jester doffed his cap and bells, And stood the mocking court before : They could not see the bitter smile Behind the painted grin he wore. He bowed his head, and bent his knee Upon the monarch's silken stool ; His pleading voice arose : " O Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool ! No pity. Lord, could change the heart From red with wrong to white as wool ; The rod must heal the sin ; but, Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool ! 36 OuMXOCK'S School Speaker. "Tis not by guilt the onward sweep Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay ; *Tis by our follies that so long "\Ve hold the earth from heaven away. " Tliese clumsy feet, still in the mire. Go crushing blossoms without end ; These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust Among the heart-strings of a friend. "The ill-timed trutli we might have kept — "Who knows how sharj) it pierced and stung? The word we had not sense to say — Who knows how grandly it had rung ? '• Our faults no tenderness should ask, The chastening stripes must cleanse them all ; But for our blunders — oh, in shame Before the eyes of heaven we fall. " Earth bears no balsam for mistakes ; Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool That did his will; but thou, () Lord, Be mercifiil to me, a fool I '' Tlie room was hushed ; in silence rose The king, and sought his gardens cool. And walked ajiart, and murmured low, " Be merciful to me, a fool ! " Anonymous. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 37 THE BIRTH OF SAINT PATRICK. On the eighth day of March it was, some people say, That Saint Pathrick at midnight he first saw the day ; While others declare 'twas the ninth he was born, And 'twas all a mistake between midnight and morn ; For mistakes vjill occur in a hurry and shock, And some blam'd the babby — -and some blam'd the clock — 'Til with all their cross-questions sure no one could know If" the child was too fast — or the clock was too slow. Now the first faction fight in owld Ireland, they say. Was all on account of Saint Pathrick's birthday ; Some fought for the eighth — for the ninth more would die. And who wouldn't see right, sure they blacken'd his eye ! At last both the factions so positive grew, That eacJi kept a birthday, so Pat then had two. Till Father Mulcahy, who showed them their sins. Said, '• No one could have two birthdays, but a twins. " Says he, ''Boys, don't be fightin' for eight or for nine. Don't be always dividin' — but sometimes combine ; Combine eight with nine, and seventeen is the mark. So let that be his birthday." "Amen," says the clerk. 153799 38 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. " If he wasn't a tioins^ sure our history will show That, at least, he's worth any two saints that we know !" Then they all got 1)1 ind dhnink — which complated their bliss. And we keep up the practice from that day to this. Samuel Lover. THE LADY-BUG AND THE ANT. The Lady-bug sat in the rose's heart. And smiled with pride and scorn. As she saw a plain-dressed Ant go by, With a heavy grain of corn ; So she drew the curtains of damask round, And adjusted her silken vest. Making her glass of a droji of dew, That lay in the rose's breast. Then she laughed so loud, that the Ant looked up, And seeing her haughty face. Took no more notice, but travelled on At the same industrious pace : — But a sudden blast of Autumn came. And rudely swept the ground, And down the I'ose with the Lady-bug bent, And scattered its leaves around. Tiicn the houseless Lady was much amazed, For she knew not where to go, And hoarse November's early blast Had brought with it rain and snow : CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 39 Her wings were chilled, and her feet were cold, And she wished for the Ant's warm cell, And what she did in tlie wintry snow I'm sure I cannot tell. But the careful Ant was in her nest, With her little ones by her side ; She taught them all like herself to toil, Nor mind the sneer of pride ; And I thought, as I sat at the close of the day, Eating my bread and milk. It was wiser to work and improve my time. Than be idle and dress in silk. Anonymous. THE LITTLE STOWAWAY. The narrator, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, folds his brawny arms upon the top of the rail, and commences as follows : " 'Bout three years ago, afore I got this berth as Tit,, in now, I was second-engineer aboard a Liverpool steamer bound for New York. There'd been a lot of extra cargo sent down just at the last minute, and we'd had no end of a job stowin' it away, and that ran us late o' startin'; so that, altogether, you may think, the cap'n warn't in the sweetest temper in the world, nor the mate neither ; as for the chief-engineer, he was an easy-goin' sort of a chap, as nothing on earth could ])ut out. But on the mornin' of the third day out from 40 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker Liverpool, he cum down to me in a precious liurry, lookin* as if somethin' liad put him out pretty consid- erably. '' 'Tom,' says he, 'what d'ye thinks Blest if we ain't found a stowaway.' (That's the name, you know, sir, as we gives to chaps as hide theirselves aboard outward-bound vessels, and gets carried out unbeknown to evervbodv.) "'The dickens you have?' says I. 'Who is he, and where did yer find him V "'Well, we found him stowed away among the casks forard ; and ten to one we'd never ha' twigged him at all, if the ski])per's dog hadn't sniffed him out and begun barkin'. Sich a little mite as he is, too ! I could ha' most put him in my baccy -]>ouch, poor little beggar ! but he looks to be a good-plucked un for all that.' "I didn't wait to hear no more, but up on deck like a sky-rocket : and there I did see a sight, and no mistake. Every man-Jack o' the crew, and what few passengers we had aboard, was all in a ring on the fo'c'stle, and in the middle was the fust-mate, lookin' as black as thunder. Right in front of him, lookin' a reg'lar mite among them big fellers, was a little bit o' a lad not ten-year old — ragged as a scarecrow, but with bright, curly hair, and a bonnie little face o' his own, if it hadn't been so w(jful thin and pale. But, bless yer soul I to see the way that little chap held his head up, and looked about him, you'd ha' thought the whole ship belonged to him. The mate was a great hulkin' black-bearded feller with a look that \id ha' CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 41 frightened a horse, and a voice fit to make one jump through a key -hole ; but the young un warn't a bit afeard — lie stood straight up, and looked him fiill in the face with them bright, clear eyes o' his'n, for all the world as if he was Prince Halferd himself. Folk did say arterwards " — lowering his voice to a whisper — "as how he comed o' better blood nor what he seemed ; and, for my part, I'm rayther o' that way o' thinkin' myself; for I never yet seed a common streei- Harab — as they calls them now — carry it off like him. You might lui" lieerd a pin drop, as the mate spoke. '' 'Well, you young whelp,' says he, in his grim- mest voice, ' what's brought you here ? ' " ' It was my stepfather as done it,' says the boy, in a weak little voice, but as steadv as could be. 'Father's dead, and mother's married again, and my new father says as how he won't have no brats about eatin' up his wages ; and he stowed me away when nobody warn't lookin', and guv me some grub to keep me goin' for a day or two till I got to sea. He says I'm to go to Aunt Jane, at Halifax ; and here's her address. ' And with that he slips his hand into the breast of his shirt, and out with a scraji o' paper, awful dirty and crumpled up, but with the address on it, right enough. "We all believed every word on't, even without the paper ; for his look, and his voice, and the way he spoke, was enough to show that there warn't a ha'p'rth o' lyin' in his whole skin. But the mate didn't seem to swallow the yarn at all ; he only shrugged his 42 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. shoulders with a kind o' grin, as much as to say, ' I'm too oUl a bird to be caught by that kind o' chati" ; and then he says to him, 'Look liere, my lad ; that's all very fine, but it won't do here — some o' these men o' mine are in the secret, and I mean to have it out of 'em. Now, you just point out the man as stowed you away and fed you, this very minute ; if you doan't, it '11 be the worse for you ! ' ''The boy looked up, in his bright, fearless way (it did my heart good to look at him, the brave little chap ! ) and says, quietly, ' I've told you the truth ; I ain't got no more to say.' "The mate says nothin', but looks at him for a minute as if he'd see clean through him ; and then be faced round to the men, lookin' blacker than ever. ' Reeve a rope to the yard I' he sings out, loud enough to raise the dead ; ' smart now ! ' "The men all looked at each other, as much as to say, ' What on earth's a-comin' now V But aboard ship, o' c<^)urse, when you're told to do a thing, you've got to do it ; so the rope was rove in a jitfy. " 'Now, my lad,' says the mate, in a hard, square kind o' voice, that made every word seem like fittin' a stone into a wall, 'you see that 'ere rope? Well, I'll give you ten minutes to confess ; and if you don't tell the truth afore the time's up, Fll hang you like a dog!' "The crew all stared at one another as if they couldn't believe their ears, (I didn't believe mine, I can CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 43 tell ye,) and then a low growl went among 'em, like a wild beast awakin' out of a nap. " ' Silence, there ! ' shouts the mate, in a voice like the roar of a nor'easter. ' Stand by to run for'ard ! ' as he held the noose ready to put it round the boy's neck. The little feller never flinched a bit ; but there was some among the sailors (big strong chaps as could ha' felled an ox) as shook like leaves in the wind. As for me, I bethought myself o' my little curly-haired lad at home, and how it 'ud be if any one was to go for to hang him ; and at the very thought on't I tingled all over, and my fingers clinched theirselves as if they was a-grippin' somebody's throat. I clutched hold o' a handspike, and held it behind my back, all ready. " ' Tom,' whispers the chief-engineer to me, ' d'ye think he really means to do it ? ' " ' I don't know,' says I, through my teeth ; 'but if he does, he shall go first, if I swings for it ! ' " I've been in many an ugly scrape in my time, but I never felt 'arf as bad as I did then. Every minute seemed as long as a dozen ; and the tick o' the mate's watch reg'lar pricked my ears like a pin. The men were very quiet, but there was a precious ugly look on some o' their faces ; and I noticed that three or four on 'em kep' edgin' for'ard to where the mate was, in a way that meant mischief. As for me, I'd made up my mind that if he did go for to hang the poor little chap, I'd kill him on the spot, and take my chance. 44 CUMNOCK'S ScHOOL SPEAKER. "'Eight minutes,' says the mate, his great deep voice breakin' in upon the silence like the toll o' a funeral bell. ' If you've got anything to confess, my lad, you'd best out with it, for yer time's nearly up.' " ' I've told you the truth,* answers the boy, very pale, but as lirm as ever. ' May I say my prayers, please V '•The mate nodded; and down goes the poor little chap on his knees and ])uts up his poor little hands to pray. I couldn't make out what he said (fact, my head was in sich a whirl that I'd hardly ha' knowed my own name,) but 1"11 be bound God heard it, every word. Then he ups on his feet again, and puts his hands behind him, and says to the mate quite quietly, ' I'm ready !' "And then, sir, the mate's hard, grim face broke up all to once, like I've seed the ice in the Baltic. He snatched up the boy in his arms, and kissed him, and burst out a-crvin' like a child ; and I think there warn't one of us as didn't do the same. I know I did for one. '"God bless you, my boy !" says he, smoothin' the child's hair with his great hard hand. ' You're a true Englishman, every inch of yoii : you wouldn't tell a lie to save your life! Well, if so be as yer father's cast yer off, I'll be yer father from this day forth ; and if I ever forget you, then may God forget me !' "And he kep' his word, too. When we got to Halifax, he found out the little un's aunt, and gev her a lump o' money to make him comfortable ; and now he goes to see the youngster every voyage, as reg'lar CUMNOCK'S /School Speaker. 45 as can be ; and to see the pair on 'em together— the little chap so fond of him, and not bearin' him a bit o' grudge — it's 'bout as pretty a sight as ever I seed. And now, sir, axin' yer parding, it's time for me to be goin' below ; so I'll just wish yer good night." Anonymous. WARREN'S ADDRESS. Stand ! the ground's your own, my braves ! Will ye give it up to slaves? Will ye look for greener graves? Hope ye mercy still ? What's the mercy despots feel? Hear it in that battle-peal ! Read it on yon bristling steel ! Ask it, — ye who will. Fear ye foes who kill for hire? Will ye to your homes retire? Look behind you ! — they're afire ! And, before you, see Who have done it ! From the vale On they come ! — and will ye quail ? Leaden rain and iron hail Let their welcome be ! In the God of battles trust ! Die we may, — and die we must : But, O, where can dust to dust Be consigned so well, 40 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. As where heaven its dew shall shed On the martyred ])atriot's bed, And the rocks shall raise their head, Of his deeds to tell? John Pierpont. MY POULTRY YARD. I HAD a flock of chickens, The sweetest little things . With tiny coats of creamy down, And little bits of wings ; And bills like finest ivory, From Indian jungles brought, And slender, polished legs that seemed Cornelian, finely wrought. How pretty their bright, beady eyes. And cunning, sidelong peep. As, 'neath their clucking mother's wings, They nestled down to sleep ! How sweet their chirping twitter, As they clustered at her side ! How nimbly, on her slippery back, They hopped up for a ride ! How daintily they seemed to pick The crumbs I loved to scatter I How prettily they used to sip The water from the platter ! Cumnock 's School Speaker. 47 Ah ! it would take the grapliic pen Of Ilawtliorne or of Dickens, To picture lialf the beauties Of my charming little chickens. I fixed for them a cozy coop, To shield them from the storm, And made a nest of softest hay To keep them snug and warm ; But "ever thus, from childhood's hour. Our fondest hopes decay "; I would there were as much of truth In half the poets say ! Anonymous. ABOUT THE FAIRIES. Pray, where are the little bluebells gone, That lately bloomed in the wood ? Why, the little fairies have each taken one, And put it on for a hood. And where are the pretty grass-stalks gone. That waved in the summer breeze ? Ob, the fairies have taken them every one. To plant in their gardens, like trees. And where are the great big bluebottles gone, That buzzed in their busy pride ? Oh, the fairies have caught them every one. And luive broken them in. to ride. 48 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. And they've taken the glowworms to light their halls, And the cricket to sing them a song, And the great red rose-leaves to paper their walls, And they're feasting the whole night long. But when spring comes back with its soft, mild ray. And the ripple of gentle rain, The fairies bring back what they've taken away. And give it us all again. Anonymous. CARVING A NAME. I WROTE my name upon the sand, And trusted it would stand for aye ; But soon, alas I the refluent sea Had washed my feeble lines away. I carved my name upon the wood, And, after years, returned again ; I missed the sliadow of the tree That stretched of old upon the ]:)lain. To solid marble next mv name I gave as a perpetual tinist ; An earthquake rent it to its base. And now it lies o'erlaid with dust. All these have failed. In wiser mood I turn and ask myself, "What then? If I would have my name endure, I'll write it on the hearts of men, CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 49. "In cliaracters of living light, From kindly words and actions wrought ; And these, beyond the reach of Time, Shall live immortal as my thought." Horatio Algek. CLEON AND I. Cleon hatli a million acres — Ne'er a one have I ; Cleon dwelleth in a palace — In a cottage, I ; Cleon hath a dozen fortunes — Not a penny, I ; But the poorer of the twain is Cleon, and not I. Cleon, true, possesseth acres. But the landscape, I ; Half the charms to me it yieldeth Money cannot buy ; Cleon harbors sloth and dulness, Freshening vigor, I ; He in velvet, I in fustian, — Richer man am I. Cleon is a slave to grandeur — Free as thought am I ; Cleon fees a score of doctors — Need of none have I ; 4 50 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker Wealth surrounded, care-environed, Cleon fears to die ; Death may come, he'll lind me ready, Happier man am I. Cleon sees no charms in Nature — In a daisy, I ; Cleon hears no anthem ringing * In the sea and sky ; !N^ature sings to me forever — Earnest listener, I ; State for state, with all attendants, Who would change i — ]^ot I. Chables SIackay. SETTING A HEN. Meestee Yerris — I see dot mosd efferpoty wrides someding for de shicken bapers nowtays, and I tought praps meppe I can do dot too, as I wride all apout vat dook blace mit me lasht summer ; you know — odor of you dond know, den I dells you — dot Katrina (dot is mine vrow) und me, ve keep some shickens for a long dime ago, und von tay she salt to me, "Sockery" (dot is raein name), "vy dond you put some of de aigs under dot olt plue hen shickens, I dinks she vants to sate." " Veil,'' I salt, '"meppe I guess I vill " ; so I bicked out some uf de best aigs und dook um oud do de pam fere de olt hen make her nesht in de side of de haymow, poud five six veet up ; now, you see, I nefer was ferry big up und town, but I vos putty pig CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 51 all de vav around in de mittle, so I koodn't reach up dill I vent and get a parrel do stant on ; veil, 1 klimet on de parrel, und ven my bed rise up by de nesbt, dot olt ben gif me sudi a bick dot my nose runs all ofer my face mit plood, und ven I todge pack dot plasted olt parrel be preak, und I vent town kersblam ; I didn't tink I kood go insite a parrel before, put dere I vos, und I fit so dite dot I koodn't get me oud efferway, my fest was busbed vay up unter my armboles. Yen I fount I vos dite sbtuck, I boiler " Katrina I Katrina !" und ven sbe koom and see me sbtuck in de parrel up to my armboles, mit my face all plood and aigs, sbe sbust lait town on de bay und laft und laft, till I got so mat I sait, •' Vot you lay dere und laf like a olt vool, eb? vy dond you koom bull me out ?" und sbe set up und sait, " Ob, vipe off your cbin, und bull your fest town"'; den sbe lait back und laft like sbe vood sbblit berself more as ever. Mat as I vas I tougbt to myself, Ka- trina, sbe sbeak Englisb pooty goot, but I onh^ sait, mit my greatest dignitude, " Katrina, vill you bull me oud dis parrel ?'' und sbe see dot I look booty red, so sbe said, '• Of course I vill, Sockery "; den sbe lait me und de parrel town on our site, und I dook bolt de door sill, und Katrina sbe bull on de parrel, but de first bull sbe mate I yellet " Donnerund blitzen. sbtop dat : dere is nails in de parrel I"' you see de nails bent town ven I vent in, but ven I koom oud dey scbticks in me all de vay rount ; veil, to make a sbort sbtory long, I told Katrina to go und dell naypor Hausman to pring a saw und saw me dis parrel off ; veil, be koom, und be like to sbblit bimself mit laf too. but be 52 OuMNOCK'S School Speaker. roll me ofer und saw de parrel all do vay around off, iind I get up mit half a parrel around my vaist ; den Katrina she say, ' ' Sockery, vait a little till I get a bat- tern of dot new oferskirt you haf on," but I didn't salt a vort. I shust got a nife oud und vittle de hoops off und shling dot confountct olt parrel in de voot-pile. Pimeby ven I koom in de house Katrina she sait, so soft like, "Sockery, dond you goin' to but some aigs under dot olt plue hen ?" Den I sait, in my deep- est woice, "Katrina, uf you effer say dot to me again, I'll get a pill of wriding from de lawyer from you," und I dell you, she didn't say dot any more. Veil, Mr. Verris, ven I step on a parrel now, I dond step on it, I git a pox. Anonymous. THE GOAT AND THE SWING. A VICIOUS goat, one day, had found His way into forbidden ground. When, coming to the garden-swing. He spied a most prodigious thing, — A ram, a monster to his mind. With head before and head behind ! Its shape was odd, no hoofs were seen, But without legs it stood between Two u])right, lofty posts of oak. With forehead I'oady for a stroke. Though but a harmless ornament Carved on tlie seat, it seemed intent CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 53 On barring the intruder's way ; While he, advancing, seemed to say, "Who is this surly fellow here? Two heads, no tail, — it's mighty queer ! A most insulting countenance !" With stamp of foot and angry glance He curbed his threatening nock, and stood Before the passive thing of wood. "You winked as I was going by! You didn't ? What ! tell me I lie ? Take that !" And at the swing he sprung : A sounding thump ! It backward swung, And, set in motion by the blow, Swayed menacingl}' to and fro. "Ha! you'll fight? A quarrelsome chap I knew you were ! You'll get a rap ! I'll crack your skull !" A headlong jump : Another and a louder bump ! The swing, as if with kindling wrath, Came pushing back along the path. The goat, astonished, shook his head. Winked hard, turned round, grew mad, and said, "Villain! Fll teach you who I am!" (Or seemed to say,) "you rascal ram, To pick a fight with me, when I So quietly am passing by ! Your head or mine !" A thundering stroke : The cracking horns met crashing oak ! 54 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. Then came a dull and muffled sound, And something rolled along the ground, Got up, looked sad, appeared to say, "Your head's too hard!" and limped away Quite humbly, in a rumpled coat, — A dirtier and a wiser goat ! J. T. Trowbridge. THE OWL AND THE PUSSY-CAT. The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat ; They took some honey and plenty of money "\Vrap])ed nj) in a five-pound note. The Owl looked up to the moon above, And sang to a small guitar, "O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love! What a beautiful Pussy you are, — You are. What a beautiful Pussy you are !" Puss said to the Owl, "'You elegant fowl! How wonderful sweet you sing ! O let us be married, — too long we have tarried, - But what shall we do for a ring?" They sailed away for a year and a day To the land where the bong-tree grows. And there in a wood, a piggy-wig stood With a ring in the end of his nose, — Tlis nose, With a ring in the end of his nose. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 55 "Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling Your ring?" Said the piggy, "I will." So they took it away, and were married next day By the turkey who lives on the hill. They dined upon mince and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon. And hand in hand on the edge of the sand They danced by the light of the moon, — The moon, They danced by the light of the moon. Anonymous. JOHN VALJOHN AND THE SAVOYARD. As THE sun was sinking toward the horizon, John Valjohn, a convict lately released from the galleys, was seated behind a thicket in a large barren plain. There was no horizon but the Alps ; not even the steeple of a village church. It might have been three leagues from the city. A by-path, which crossed the plain, passed a few steps from the thicket. In the midst of his meditation, which would have heightened not a little the frightful effect of his rags to any one who might have met him, he heard a joyous sound. He turned his head, and saw coming along the path a little Savoyard, a dozen years old, singing, with his hurdy-gurdy at his side, and his marmot on his back ; — one of those pleasant and gay }t)ungsters who go from place to place, with theu* knees sticking through their trousers. 56 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. Always singing, tlie boy stopped from time to time, and played at tossing up some pieces of money that be bad in his hand, probably his whole fortune. Among tlicm there was one forty-sous piece. The boy stopped by the side of the thicket without seeing John Valjohn, and tossed up his handful of sous. Until this time he had skilfully caught the whole of them upon the back of his hand. This time the forty-sous piece escaped him, and rolled toward the thicket near John Valjohn. John Valjohn put his foot upon it. The boy, however, had followed the piece with his eye, and had seen where it went. He was not frightened, and walked straight to the man. It was an entirely solitary place. Far as the eye could reach, there was no one on the plain or in the path. Nothing could be heard but the faint cries of a flock of birds of passage, that were flying across the sky at an immense height. The child turned his back to the sun, which made his hair like threads of gold, and flushed the savage face of John Valjohn with a lurid glow. " Mister," said the little Savoyard, with that child- ish confidence which is made up of ignorance and innocence, ' ' my piece ! " "What is your name? " said John Valjohn. "Little Gervais, mister." " Get out ! " said John Valjohn. " Mister," continued the boy, "give me my piece.'' John Valjohn dropped his head and did not answer. The child began again : "My piece, mister ! " CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 57 John Yaljolm's eye remained fixed on the ground. "My piece!" exclaimed the boy, "my white piece ! my silver ! " John Valjohn did not appear to understand. The boy took him by the collar of his blouse and shook him, and at the same time he made an effort to move the big iron-soled shoe which was placed upon his treasure. " I want my piece ! my forty-sous piece ! " The child began to cry. John Valjohn raised his head. He still kept his seat. His look was troubled. He looked upon the boy with an air of wonder, then reached out his hand toward his stick, and exclaimed in a terrible voice, "Who is there?" "Me, mister," answered the boy. "Little Ger- vais ! me ! me ! give me my forty-sous, if you please ! Take away your foot, mister, if you please ! " Then becoming angry, small as he was, and almost threaten- ing; " Come, now, will you take away your foot ? Why don't you take away your foot?" "Ah! you here yet!" said John Yaljohn ; and, rising hastily to his feet, without releasing the piece of money, he added, "You'd better take care of your- self! " The boy looked at him in terror, then began to tremble from head to foot, and after a few seconds ot stupor, took to flight and ran with all his might, with- out daring to turn his head, or to utter a cry. 58 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. At a little distance, however, he stopped for want of breath, and John Valjohn, in his reverie, heard him sobbing. In a few minutes the boy was gone. The sun had gone dowoi. The shadows were deepening around John Yal- john. He had not eaten during the day ; probably he liad some fever. He had remained standing, and had not changed his attitude since the child fled. His breathing was at long and unequal intervals. His eyes were fixed on a spot ten or twelve steps before him, and seemed to be studying with profound attention the form of an old piece of blue crockery that was lying in the grass. All at once he shivered ; he began to feel the cold night air. He pulled his cap down over his forehead, sought mechanically to fold and button his blouse around him, stepped forward and stooped to pick up his stick. At that instant he perceived the foily-sous piece which his foot had half buried in the ground, and which glistened among the pebbles. It was like an electric shock. " What is that? " said he, between his teeth. He drew back a step or two, then stopped, without the power to withdraw his gaze from this point which his foot had covered the instant before, as if the thing that glistened there in the obscurity had been an open eye fixed u])on him. After a few miimtes he sprang convulsively toward the piece of money, seized it, and, rising, looked away over the plain, straining his eyes toward all CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 59 points of the horizon, standing and trembling like a frightened deer which is seeking a place of refuge. He saw nothing. Night was falling, the plain was cold and bare, thick purple mists were rising in the glimmering twilight. He said, " Oh ! " and began to walk rapidly in the direction in which the child had gone. After some thirty steps he stopped, looked about, and saw noth- ing. Then he called with all his miglit, "Little Gervais ! Little Gervais ! " He listened. There was no an- swer. The country was desolate and gloomy. On all sides was space. There was nothing about him but a shadow in which his gaze was lost, and a silence in which his voice was lost. A biting norther was blowing, which gave a kind of dismal life to everything about him. The bushes shook their little thin arms with an incredible furj-. One would have said that they were threatening and pursuing somebody. He began to walk again, then quickened his pace to a run, and from time to time stopped and called out in that solitude in a most desolate and terrible voice : "Little Gervais ! Little Gervais ! " Surely, if the child had heard him, he would have been frightened, and would have hid himself But doubtless the boy was already far away. He met a priest on horseback. LCe went up to him and said : ' ' Mr. Curate, have you seen a child go by ? " 60 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. "No," said the priest. "Little Gervais was his name ! " "I have seen nobody." He took two five-franc pieces from his bag and gave them to the priest. "Mr. Curate, this is for your poor. Mr. Curate, he is a little fellow, about ten years old, with a mar- mot, I think, and a hurdy-gurdy. He went this way. One of these Savoyards, you know ! " "I have not seen him." "Little Gervais. Is his village near here? Can you tell me ? " "If it be as you say, my friend, the little fellow is a foreigner. They roam about this country. Nobody knows them." John Valjohn hastily took out two more five-franc pieces and gave them to the priest, ' ' For your poor, " said he. Then he added wildly: "Mr. Abbe, have me arrested ; I am a robber." The priest put spurs to his horse, and fled in great fear. John Yaljohn began to run again in the direction which he had first taken. He went on in this wise for a considerable distance, looking around, calling and shouting, but met nobody else. Two or three times he left the path to look at what seemed to be somebody lying down or crouch- ing ; it was only low bushes or rocks. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 61 Finally, at a })lace where three paths met, he stopped. The moon had risen. He strained his eyes in the distance, and called out once more, "Little Gervais ! Little Gervais ! Little Gervais ! " His cries died away into the mist, without even awakenin<^ an echo. Again he murmured, "Little Gervais!" but with a feeble and almost inarticulate voice. This was his last effort ; his knees suddenly bent under him, as if an invisible power overwhelmed him at a blow, with the weight of his conscience. He fell exhausted upon a great stone, his hands clenched in his hair, and his face on his knees, and exclaimed, " What a wretch I am ! " Then his heart swelled, and he burst into tears. It was the first time he had wept for nineteen years. How long did he weep thus ? What did he do after weeping ? Where did he go ? Nobody ever knew. It is known simply that, on that very night, the stage- driver who drove at that time on the Grenoble route, and arrived at the city about three o'clock in the morning, saw, as he passed through a certain street, a man in the attitude of prayer, kneeling upon the pave- ment in the shadow, before the door of the Bishop's residence. From the French of Victor Hugo. 62 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. THE BABY. Where did you coine from, baby dear? Out of the everywhere into the here. Where did you get your eyes so bhie ? Out of the sky as I came through. What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? Some of the starry spikes left in. Where did you get that little tear? I found it waiting when I got here. What makes your forehead so smooth and high? A soft hand stroked it as I went by. What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? Something better than any one knows. AVhence that tliree-cornered smile of bliss ? Three angels gave me at once a kiss. Where did you get that pearly ear ? God spoke, and it came out to hear. Where did you get those arms and hands? i ^v Love made itself into hooks and bands. K* ' Feet, whence did you come, darling things ? u From the same box as the cherub's wings. 3\^ \^ ^^^ ^' CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 63 How did they all just come to be you ? God thought about me, and so I grew. But how did you come to us, you dear? God thought of you., and so I am here. George MacDonald. THE FISHERMAN. Hurrah ! the seaward breezes Sweep down the bay amain ; Heave up, my lads, the anchor ! Run up the sail again ! Leave to the lubber landsmen The rail-car and the steed ; > The stars of heaven shall guide us, The breath of heaven shall speed. . \J- From the hill-top looks the steeple, \y}/ And the lighthouse from the sand; fv And the scattered pines are waving Their farewell from the land. One glance, my lads, behind us, For the homes we leave one sigh, Ere we take the change and chances Of the ocean and the sky. Hurrah for the Red Island,* With the white cross on its crown ! Hurrah for Mecatina,* And its mountains bare and brown ! ♦Islands in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. 1/ 64 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. Tliere we'll drop our lines, and gather Old Ocean's treasures in, AVhere'er the mottled mackerel Turns up a steel-dark tin. Though the mist upon our jackets In the bitter air congeals. And our lines wind stiff and slowly From off the frozen reels ; Though the fog be dark around us, And the storm blow high and loud, "VVe will whistle down the wild wind. And laugh beneath the cloud. In the darkness as in daylight. On the water as on land, God's eye is looking on us. And beneath us is His hand ! Death will find us soon or later, On the deck or in the cot ; And we cannot meet him better Than in working out our lot. Hurrah I hurrah I the west wind Comes freshening down the baj', ^S The rising sails are filling, — Jf" Give way, my lads, give way ! ^ > Leave the coward landsman clinging V ^^ To the dull earth like a weed, — r;tJ The stars of heaven shall guide us, ^ The breath of heaven shall speed. John G. Whittier. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 66 TRUST IN GOD. Courage, brother ! do not stumble, Though thy path be dark as night ; There's a star to ,guide the humble ; "Trust in God, and do the right." Let the road be rough and dreary, And its end far out of sight. Foot it bravely ! Strong or weary, "Trust in God, and do the right." Perish policy and cunning ! Perish all that fears the light ! Whether losing, whether winning, "Trust in God, and do the right." Trust no party, sect or faction ; Trust no leaders in the fight ; But in every word and action, "Trust in God, and do the right. It Trust no lovely forms of passion : Fiends may look like angels bright ; Trust no custom, school, or fashion, "Trust in God, and do the right." Simple rule and safest guiding, Inward peace and inward might, Star upon our path abiding, "Trust in God, and do the right" 5 66 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. Some will hate thee, some will love thee, Some will flatter, some will slight ; Cease from man, and look above thee, "Trust in God, and do the right." Norman Macleod. THE GREEDY FOX. On a winter's night. As the moon shone bright, Two foxes went out for prey ; As they trotted along. With frolic and song They cheered their weary way. Through the wood they went, But they could not scent A rabbit or goose astray ; But at length they came To some better game, In a farmers barn by the way. On a roost there sat Some chickens, as fat As foxes could wish for their dinners ; So the prowlers found A hole by the ground, And they botli went in, the sinners ! They both went in, Witli a squeeze and a grin. And the chickens were quickly killed ; CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 67 And one of them lunched, And feasted, and munched, Till his stomach was fairly filled. The other, more wise. Looked about with both eyes, And hardly would eat at all ; For as he came in. With a squeeze and a grin. He remarked that the hole was small ; And, the cunning elf, He said to himself, "If I eat too much, it's plain, As the hole is small, I shall stick in the wall, And never get out again." Thus matters went on Till the night was gone, And the farmer came out with a pole ; The foxes both flew, And one went through. But the greedy one stuck in the hole. In the hole he stuck, So .full was his pluck Of the chickens he had been eating — He could not get out, Or turn about. And so he was killed by beating. Anonymous. 68 CuMSOCK'S School Speaker. THE GRAY SWAN. "O, TELL me, sailor, tell me true, Is my little lad, my Elilm, A-sailing with your ship?" The sailor's eyes were dim with dew : "Your Kttle lad, your Elihu?" He said with trembling lip : " What little lad ? What ship ? " "What little lad? as if there could be Another such a one as he ! What little lad, do j^ou say? Why, Elihu. that took to the sea The moment I put him off my knee! It was just the other day The Gray Swan sailed away ! " "The other day?" — the sailor's eyes Stood open with a great surprise, — "The other day? the Swan?" His heart began in his throat to rise. "Ay, ay, sir! here in the cupboard lies The jacket he had on ! " "And so your lad is gone? "But, my good mother, do you know All this was twenty years ago? / stood on the Gray Swan's deck. And to that lad I saw you throw. Taking it off, as it might be, so ! The kerchief from your neck." "Ay, and he'll bring it back!" CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 69 "And did tlie little lawless lad, That has made you sick and made you sad, Sail with the Gray Swan's crew ? " "Lawless! The man is going mad! The best boy ever mother had ; — Be sure he sailed with the crew ! What would you have him do?" "And he has never written line. Nor sent you word, nor made you sign, To say he was alive ? " "Hold! if 'twas wrong, the wrong is mine; Besides, he may be in the brine ; And could he write from the grave? Tut, man ! AVliat would you have ? " "Gone, twent}'' years, — a long, long cruise! 'T was wicked thus your love to abuse ! But if the lad still live. And come back home, think you, you can Forgive him ? '' — "Miserable man ! You're mad as the sea, — you rave. What have I to forgive ? " The sailor twitched his shirt so blue. And from within his bosom drew The kerchief. She was wild. "O God, mv Father! is it true? My little lad, my Elihu! My blessed boy, my child ! My dead, my living child ! " Alice Gary. ro CUMNOCK'S School Speaker, THE ANT AND THE CRICKET. A SILLY young Cricket, accustomed to sing Through the warm, sunny months of gay summer and spring, Began to comphiin, when he found tliat at liome His cupboard was empty, and winter was come. Not a crumb to be found On the snow-covered ground, Not a flower could lie see ; Not a leaf on a tree ; "O, what will become," says the Cricket, " of me ?" At last, by starvation and famine made bold, All dripping with wet, and all trembling with cold, n^ Away he set off to a miserly Ant, „^ To see if, to keep him alive, he would grant ^ Him shelter from rain, — A mouthful of grain. He wished only to borrow. He'd repay it to-morrow ; If not, he must die of starvation and sorrow. Says the Ant to the Cricket, ''I'm your servant and friend, But we Ants never borrow, we Ants never lend. But tell me, dear sir, did you lay nothing by When the weather was warm !; " Said the Cricket, "Not I! My heart was so light. That I sang day and night. *^ CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 71 For all nature looked gay." "You sang^ sir, you say? Go, then," says the Ant, "and dance winter away." Thus ending, he hastily lifted the wicket, And out of the door turned the poor little Cricket. Though this is a fable, the inoral is good : If you live without work, you must go without food. Anonymous. ROLL CALL. " Corporal Green ! " the Orderly cried ; " Here ! " was the answer, loud and clear, From the lips of the soldier who stood near ; — And "Here ! " was the word the next replied. " Cyrus Drew ! " — then a silence fell — This time no answer followed the call ; Only his rear-man had seen him fall. Killed or wounded, he could not tell. There they stood in the failing light. These men of battle, with grave, dark looks, As plain to be read as open books. While slowly gathered the shades of night. The fern on the hill-sides was splashed with blood, And down in the corn where the poppies grew Were redder stains than the poppies knew ; And crimson-dyed was the river's flood. 72 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. For tlie foe liad crossed from the other side That day, in the face of a murderous fire That swej^t them down in its terrible ire — And their life-blood went to color the tide. " Herbert Kline ! " At the call there came Two stalwart soldiers into the line, Bearing between them this Herbert Kline, Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name. "Ezra Kerr ! " — and a voice answered, " Here ! " ' ' Hiram Kerr ! "' — but no man replied. They were brothers, these two; the sad winds sighed, And a shuddei- crept through the corn-field near. "Ephraim Deane ! " — then a soldier spoke : "Deane carried our regiment's colors," he said ; " Where our ensign was shot I left him dead. Just after the enemy wavered and broke. "Close to the road-side his body lies ; I paused a moment and gave him drink ; He murmured his mother's name, I think. And Death came with it, and closed his eyes." 'Twas a victory ; yes, but it cost us dear — For that company's roll, when called at night. Of a hundred men who went into the fight, Numbered but tvjenty that answered "Here ! " N. G. Shepherd. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 73 LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry." "Now, who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?" " O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle. And this Lord Ullin's daughter. "And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, , ^ For should he And us in the glen, lJ* ^ My blood would stain the heather. ■Av :V' His horsemen hard behind us ride ; Should they our steps discover, Then who would cheer my bonny bride When they have slain lier lover?" Out spoke the hardy Highland wight : "I'll go, my chief, — I'm ready; It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady. "And, by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry: So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry." 74 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still, as wilder grew the wind. And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men, — Their trampling sounded nearer. "O, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, ' ' Though tempests round us gather ; I'll meet the raging of the skies. But not an angry father." The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her, — When, O, too strong for human hand, The tempest gathered o'er her ! And still they rowed amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing : Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore. His wrath was changed to wailing. For, sore dismayed, through storm and shade, His child he did discover ; One lovely hand she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 75 "Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water; And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter ! O, my daughter ! " T was vain ; the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing ; The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting. Thomas Campbell. THE BRAVE PEASANT. In the hard winter of 1783 and 1784 there were many sudden and heavy storms of rain. The streams and rivers overflowed their banks, and swept along large pieces of broken ice in their course. In the city of Verona, in Italy, there was a large bridge over the river Adige. This river rises in the snowy mountains of Tyrol, and runs with a rapid cur- rent. Upon the bridge there was a house in which the toll-gatherer lived with his family. By a sudden increase of the river, this house be- came entirely surrounded by water ; and many of the arches of the bridge were carried away by the huge blocks of ice which floated down the current. The part of the bridge on which the house was built stood the longest, because it was the most strongly made. But it looked as if it must soon go with the rest. 76 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. The poor man, and his wife and cliildren, uttered loud cries for lielp, which were heard by a great num- ber of persons who stood on the banks. Everybody pitied them, but no one could do anything for them because it seemed impossible that a boat could live in a river running with such force, and so filled with blocks of ice. A nobleman on horseback rode down to the banks of the river ; and when he saw the dangerous position of the family, he held up a purse containing two hun- dred ducats of gold, and said he would give it to any one who would save them. But the fear of death kept everybody — even some sailors who were present — from making the attempt. In the meantime the water rose higher around the house every moment. At last an Austrian peasant felt his heart filled with pity for the poor people, and resolved to save them if he could. He sprang into a boat, phshed off from the shore, and, by his strength and skill, reached the house at last. But the family was numerous, and the boat was small ; so that he could not bring them all at once. He first took three persons, and conducted them safely to land, and then went back for the rest, and brought them away also. Hardly was this done, when the house, and the part of the bridge on which it stood, were carried away. The brave peasant was hailed with shouts of joy and admiration. The nobleman offered him the purse CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 77 of gold, and said that he well deserved it. But the peasant declined to take it, saying, " I did not do this for money ; I am not rich, but I have enough for my wants : give it to the poor toll-gatherer, who has lost his all." And then he went away, without telling the people his name, or where he lived. Anonymous. CHARLIE MACHREE. Come over, come over the river to me. If ye are my laddie, bold Charlie Machree ! Here's Mary McPherson and Susy O'Linn, Who say ye're faint-hearted, and dare not plunge in. But the dark rolling river, though deep as the sea, I know cannot scare you, nor keep you from me ; For stout is your back and strong is your arm, And the heart in your bosom is faithful and warm. Come over, come over the river to me. If ye are my laddie, bold Charlie Machree. I see him, I see him. He's plunged in the tide, His strong arms are dashing the big waves aside. Oh, the dark rolling water shoots swift as the sea ! But blithe is the glance of his bonny blue e'e ; 78 CmiNOCK'S School Speaker. His cheeks are like roses, twa buds on a bough ; Who says ye're foint-hearted, my brave laddie, now ? Ho, ho, foaming river, ye may roar as ye go, But ye canna bear Charlie to the dark loch below ! Come over, come over the river to me. My true-hearted laddie, v}i/ Charlie Machree ! He's sinking, he's sinking — Oh, what shall I do ! Strike out, Charlie, boldly, ten strokes and ye're thro'. He's sinking, O Heaven ! Ne'er fear, man, ne'er fear ; I've a kiss for ye, Charlie, as soon as ye're here ! He rises, I see him, — five strokes, Charlie, mair,— He's shaking the wut from his bonny brown hair ; He conquers the current, he gains on the sea, — Ho, where is the swimmer like Charlie Machree ! Come over the river, but once come to me. And 1*11 love ye forever, dear Charlie Machree. He's sinking, he's gone, — O God, it is I, It is I, who have killed him — help, help! — he must die. Help, help ! — ah, he rises, — strike out and ye're free, Ho, bravely done, Charlie, once more now, for me ! Now cling to the rock, now gie us your hand, — Ye're safe, dearest Charlie, ye're safe on the land ! CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 79 Come rest on my bosom, if there ye can sleep ; I canna speak to ye ; I only can weep. Ye 've crossed the wild river, yeVe risked all for me, And I'll part frae ye never, dear Charlie Machree ! William J. Hoppin. THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN. It was a tall young oysterman lived by the river- side. His shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the tide ; The daughter of a fisherman, that was so straight and slim, Lived over on the other bank, right opposite to him. It was the pensive oysterman that saw a lovely maid, Upon a moonlight evening, a sitting in the shade ; He saw her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say, " Fm wide awake, young oysterman, and all the folks away. " Then up arose the oysterman and to himself said he : *' I guess I'll leave the skifl" at home, for fear that folks should see ; I read it in the story-book, that, for to kiss his dear, Leander swam the Hellespont, — and I will swim this here." 80 CuMyocK'S School Speaker. And lie lias leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining stream, And he has clambered up the bank, all in the moon- light gleam ; O there were kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft as rain, — But they have heard her father's step, and in he leaps again! Out spoke the ancient fisherman, — " O what was that, my daughter 'f "Twas nothing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the water. " "And what is that, pray tell me, love, that paddles off so fast r " It's nothing but a porpoise, sir, that's been a swim- ming past." Out spoke the ancient fisherman, — "Now bring me my harjjoon ! I'll get into my fishing-boat, and fix the fellow soon." Down fell that ])retty innocent, as falls a snow-white lamb. Her hair drooped round her pallid cheeks, like sea- weed on a clam. Alas for those two loving ones ! she waked not from her swound, And he was taken with the cramp, and in the waves was drowned ; CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 81 But fate has metamorphosed them, in pity of their woe, And now they keep an oyster-shop for mermaids down below. Oliver Wendell Holmes. IRISH ASTRONOMY. A VERITABLE MYTH, TOrCHING THE CONSTELLATION OF O'RYAN, IGNORANTLY AND FALSELY SPELLED ORION. O'Ryan was a man of might Whin Ireland was a nation, But poachin' was his heart's delight And constant occupation. He had an ould militia gun, And sartin sure his aim was ; He gave the keepers many a run, And wouldn't mind the game laws. St. Pathrick wanst was passin' by O'Ryan's little houldin\ And, as the saint felt wake and dhry, He thought he'd enter bould in. "O'Ryan," says the saint, "avick! To praich at Thurles I'm goiti' ; So let me have a rasher quick, And a dhrop of Innishowen. " 6 82 CUMNOCK'S ^School speaker. "No rasher will I cook for you While betther is to spare, sir, But here's a jug of mountain dew, And there's a rattliif hare, sir.'' St Path rick he looked miffhtv sweet, CD tJ And savs, " Good luck attind vou, And when you're in your windin' sheet, It's up to heaven I'll sind you." O'Rvan gave his pipe a whiff, — "Them tidin's is thransportin', But may I ax your saintship if There's any kind of sportin'?" St. Pathrick said, "A Lion's there. Two Bears, a Bull and Cancer," — "Bedad," says Mick, "the huntin's rare; St. Pathrick, I'm your man, sir." So, to conclude my S(ing aright, For fear I'd tire your patience, You'll see O'Ryan any night Amid the constellations. And Venus follows in his track Till Mars grows jealous raally, J3ut faith, he fears the Irish knack Of handling the shillaly. Cl ABLES G. Halpine (Miles O'Reilly.) CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 83 SCHNEIDER'S DESCRIPTION OF THE PLAY OF LEAH. I VANT to dold you vat it is, dot's a putty nice play. De first time dot you see Leah, she runs cross a pridge, mit some fellers chasin"' her mit putty big shticks. Dey Jcetch her right in de middle of der edge, und her leader (dot's de villen) he sez of her, "Dot it's better ven she dies., und dot he coodent allow it dot she can Z^/'." Und de oder fellers hollers out, "So ve vill " ; "Give her some deth"; "Kill her putty quick"; "Shmack her of der jaw," und such dings; und chust as dey vill kill her, de priest says of dem, "Don'd you do dot," und dey shtop dot putty quick. In der nexd seen, dot Leah meets Rudolph (dot's her feller) in de voods. Before dot he comes in, she sits of de bottom of a cross, und she don't look putty lifely, und she says, "Rudolph, Rudolph, how is dot, dot you don'd come und see aboud me ? You didn't shpeak of me for tree days long, I vant to dold you vot it is, dot ain't some luf. I don'd like dot." Veil, Rudolph he don'd vas dere, so he coodent sed some- thing. But ven he comes in, she dells of him dot she lufs him oj'fid., und he says dot he guess he lufs her orful too, und vants to know vood she leef dot place, und go oud in some oder country mit him. Und she says, "I told you, I vill"; und he says, "Dot's all right," und he tells her he vill meet her soon, und dey vill go vay dogedder. Den he kisses her und goes oud, und she feels honkey dorey 'bout dot. 84 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. Yell, in der nexd seen, Rudolph's old man finds cud all aboiul dot, iind he don'd feel putty goot / und he says of Kudol])li, " Yood you leef 7ne, und go mit dot gal i " und Rudolph feels putty bad. He don'd know vot he shall do. Und der old man he says, " I dold you vot I'll do. De skoolmaster (dot's de villen) says dot she mighd dook some money to go vay, Now, Rudolph, my poy, I'll give de skoolmaster some money to gif do her, und if slie don'd dook dot money, I'll let you marry dot gal." Yen Rudol})li hears dis, he chumps mit joyness, und says, " Fader, fader, dot's all righd. I baed you anydings she woodent dook dot money." Yell, de old man gif de skoolmaster de money, und dells him dot he shall offer dot of her. Yell, dot pluddy skoolmaster comes back und says dot Leah dook dot gold righd avaj ven she didn't do dot. Den de old man says, "Didn't I told you so?" und Rudolph gets so vild dot he svears dot she can't haf someding more to do mit him. So ven Leah vill meet him in de voods, he don'd vas dere, und she feels orful, und goes avay. Bime-by she comes U]) to Rudolph's house. She feels putty bad, and she knocks of de door. De old man comes oud, und says, '' Got oud of dot, you orful vooman. Don'd you come round after my poy again, else I put you in de dooms." Und she says, "Chust let me see Rudol])h vonce, und I vill vander away." So den Rudolj)h comes oud, und she vants to rush of his arms, but dot pluddy fool voodent allow dot. He chucks her away, und says, "Don'd you touch me uf you please, you deceitfulness gal." I dold you vat it is, dot looks ruff ^or dot poor CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 85 gal. Und she is extonished, und says, "Yot is dis aboud dot?" Und Rudolph, orful mad, says, "Got ondsiedt, you ignomonous vooman." Und she feels so orful she coodent said a vord, und she goes oud. Afterwards, Rudolph gits married to anoder gal in a shurch. Yell, Leah, who is vandering eferyveres, happens to go in dot shurch-yard to cry, chust at de saTne dime of Rudolph's marriage, which she don'd know someding aboud. Putty soon she hears de organ, und she says dere is some beeples gittin married, und dot it vill do her unhappiness goot if she sees dot. So she looks in de vinder, und ven she sees who dot is, my graciousness, don'd she holler, und shvears vengeance ! Putty soon Rudolph chumps oud indo der shurch-yard to got some air. He says he don'd feel putty goot. Putty soon dey see each oder, und dey had a orful dime. He says of her, " Leah, how is dot you been here ? " Und she says mit big scornful- ness, ' ' How is dot, you got cheek to talk of me afder dot vitch you hafe done?'-' Den he says, "Yell, vot for you dook dot gold you false-hearted leetle gal?" Und she says, "Yot gold is dot? I didn't dook some gold." Und he says, "Don'd you dold a lie aboud dot?" She says slowfully, "I dold you I didn't dook some gold. Vot gold is dot ? " Und den Rudolph tells her all aboud dot, und she says, ' ' Dot is a orful lie. I didn't seen some gold " ; und she adds mit much sarkasmness, "Und you beliefed I dook dot gold ? Dot's de vorst I efer heered. Now, on accound of dot, I vill give you a few gurses." Und den she svears mit orful voices dot Mister Kain's S6 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. gurse sliould git on liim, und dot he coodent never git any lKip])iness efcryvere, no matter vere he is. Den she valks off. Yell, den a long time passes avay, und den you see Rudolph's farm. lie has got a nice vife, und a putiful leetle child. Purty soon Leah comes in, being shased, as ushual, by fellers mit shticks. She looks like she didn't ead someding for two monds. Rudolph's wife sends off dot mop, und Leah gits avay again. Den dot nice leetle child comes oud, und Leah comes back ; und ven she sees dot child, don'd she feel orful aboud dot, und she says mit affectfulness, "Come here, leedle child, I vooden'd harm you"; und dot nice leedle child goes righd up, und Leah grabs her in her arms, und gries, und kisses her. Oh, my graciousness, d(mVl she grie aboud dot ! Und den she say vile she gries, " Leedle childs, don'd you got some names ?" Und dot leedle child shpeaks oud so nice, pless her leedle hard, und says, " Oh, yes. My name, dot 's Leah, and my papa tells me dot I shall pray for you efery nighd." Oh, my goodnessness, don'd Leah gry orful ven she hears dot ! I dold you vot it is, dot's a shplaindid ding. Und quick comes dem tears in your eyes, und you look u)) at de vail, so dot nobody can'd see dot, und you inake oud you don'd cai'e aboud it. But your eyes gits fulled up so quick dot you couldn'd keep dem in, und de tears comes down of your face like a shnow- storm, und den you don'd care if eferybody sees dot. Und Leah kisses her und gries like dot her heart's broke, und she dooks off dot gurse from Rudolph and goes avay. De child den dell her fader und muder CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 87 aboud dot. imd dey pring her pack. Den dot mop comes back uiid vill kill her again, but she exposes dot skoohnaster, dot villain, und dot fixes him. Den she falls down in Rudolph's arms, und your eyes gits fulled up again, and you can'd see someding more. You couldn't help dot any vay. Und if I see a gal vot don'd gry in dot piece, I voodn't marry dot gal, efen if her fader owned a pig prewery. But [ told you vat it is, dot's a putty piece. Anonymous. THE BUND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT. A HINDOO FABLE. It was six men of Indostan To learning much inclined, Who went to see the Elephant (Though all of them were blind), That each by observation Might satisfy his mind. The J^irst approached the Elephant, And, happening to fall Against his broad and sturdy side, At once began to bawl : "God bless me! but the Elephant Is very like a wall !"' The Second, feeling of the tusk, Cried : " Ho ! what have we here So very round and smooth and sharp? 88 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. To me 'tis mighty clear This wonder ot an Elephant Is very like a spear !" The Third approached the animal, And, happening to take The squirming trunk within his hand, Thus boldly up and spake: "I see," quoth he, "the Elephant Is very like a snake !"' The Fourth reached out his eager hand, And felt about the knee. " What most this wondrous beast is like Is mighty plain,*' quoth he ; "'Tis clear enough the Elephant Is very like a tree !" The Fiftlt., who chanced to touch the ear, Said "E'en the blindest man Can tell what this resembles most ; Deny the fact who can, This marvel of an Elephant Is very like a fan !" The Sixth no sooner had begun i\bout the beast to grope. Than, seizing on the swinging tail That fell within his scoi>e, " I see,"' quoth he, "the Elephant Is very like a rope !" CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 89 And so these men of Indostan Disputed loud and long, Each in his own opinion Exceeding stiff and strong, Though each was partly in the right, And all were in the wrong! MORAL. So, oft in theologic wars The disputants, I ween, Rail on in utter ignorance Of what each other mean. And jjrate about an Jilephant Not one of them has seen ! JoHx G. Saxe. BE TRUE. Thou must be true thyself. If thou the truth wouldst teach ; Thy soul must overflow, if thou Another's soul wouldst reach ; It needs the overflow of hearts To give the lips full speech. Think truly, and thy thoughts Shall the world's famine feed ; Speak truly, and each word of thine Shall be a fruitful seed ; Live truly, and thy life shall be A great and noble creed. Anonymous. 00 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. DAISY'S FAITH. Down in cle b'ight deeii meadow, De pitty daisies' liome — Daisies dat arc my namesakes, Mamma has let me tome. S'e said dat s'e tould see me From her yoom window dere ; Besides, I know Our Farder Will tee]) me in his tare. Oh, see how many daisies. Daisies so white an' fair — I'll make a weaf for mamma, To wear ujjon her hair. An' den s'e'll loot so pitty — My darlin' own mamma ! — An' tiss her 'ittle Daisy, An' s'ow it to papa. One — two — fee — sits — an' 'le ven, Ilund'ed-an' eight — an' nine; I b'ieve dat's mos' enough now. To mate it pitty line. I wouldn't be af'aid here. Mamma an' Dod tan see, I know dey would let nossin' Tome near dat tould hurt me. l)c bweeze is soft an' toolin'. An' tosses up my turls ; I (less it tomes from heaven To p'ay wis 'ittle dirls. CUMNOCK'S ISCHOOL SPEAKER. 91 De birdies sin' so sweetly ; To nie dey seem to say, "Don't be af'jiid, dear Daisy, Dod teeps oo all de day." I'll mate a ball for baby Soon as dis weaf is done, An' den I'll fow it at her — Oh, my ! my fead 's all don' ! Well, den, I'll tate dis wibbon Off my old st'avv hat : I sint mamina would let me ; I'll — oh, dear me! what's dat? I sought I did hear somesin' Move in that bus' tlose bv ; I 'm not at all af aid, dough : Oh ! no, indeed, not I ! Mamma — why! s'e's not lootin', S'e's f'om de window don'; Den maybe Dod is tired too, 'Tause I 'taid here so Ion'. I dess I'll yun a 'ittle, I bMeve Dod wants me to, He tant tate too muts t'ouble ; I sint I'd better do. An tate my pitty f owers, An' tay wis mamma dear; Dod is way up in heaven, I would lite some one near. 92 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. My daisies ! dey are fallin' My han's are s'atin' so, Oh, dear ! de weaf is boten ! Don't tare ! I want to do. I know dere 's somesin' live dere. See. now ! dere 's two bid eyes A lootin' yight stwaight at me. Dod's way up in de sties. Tan He tate tare of Daisy? I see a deat, blat head A tomin' foo de bus'es : But, den, I 'm not af'aid : O'ny — I want — my — mamma — I dess dat — is — a — bear ; Bears eat up 'ittle chillens ! I wis — dat — Dod — was here ! Ow ! ow I I tant help stweamin' ; Oh, dear ! I so af'aid ! Tome, mamma ! Oh ! tome twitly To help oor *ittle maid. Dod has fordot oor Daisy ; Dat bear is tomin' fast. Why! 'tis our dear ole Yover Tome home f 'om town at last ! O, Yover! dear ole dordy, What made oo fwight — well, no. I'm not af'aid — for, Yover, Dod tares for me, no know. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 93 He would let nossin' hurt me ; Dere 's mamma lootin', too. We '11 mend dat weaf, now, Yover, Mamma will lite it so. Joanna H. Mathews. THE BOY AND THE RING. Fair chance held fast is merit. Once a king Of Persia had a jewel in a ring. He set it on the dome of Azud high, And, when they saw it flashing in the sky, Made proclamation to his royal troop That who should send an arrow through the hoop That held the gem should have the ring to wear. It happened that four hundred archers were In the king's company about the king. Each took his aim, and shot, and missed the ring. A boy at play upon the terraced roof Of a near building bent his bow aloof At random, and, behold ! the morning breeze His little arrow caught and bore with ease Right through the circlet of the gem. The king, Well pleased, unto the boy assigned the ring. Then the boy burnt his arrows and his bow. The king, astonished, said, ' ' Why dost thou so, Seeing thy first shot hath had great success T' He answered, "Lest my second make that less.'' Anonymous. 94 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. HAMLET'S INSTRUCTIONS TO THE PLAYERS. (From " Hamlet.") Speak the speech, I pni}^ you, as I pronounced it to you, — trippingly on the tongue ; but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spake my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently ; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temper- ance, that may give it smoothness. Oh ! it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, — to very rags, — to split the ears of the groundlings ; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb show and noise. I would liave such a fellow whipped for o'er- doing Termagant : it out-herods Herod. Pray you, avoid it. Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action ; with this special observance — that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature: for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing ; whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature ; — to show virtue her own feature ; scorn her own image ; and the very age and body of the time, his form and pressure. Now this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve ; the censure of which one, must, in your allow- ance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. Oh ! there CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 95 be players, that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Cin-istians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, or man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I luive thought some of nature's journey- men had made men, and not made them well, — they imitated humanity so abominably ! William Shakespeare. BE CONTENT. A MAN in his carriage was riding along,. His gaily-dressed wife by his side ; In satins and laces, she looked like a queen. And he like a king bv her side. A wood-sawyer stood near the street as they passed ; The carriage and couple he eyed, And said, as he worked with his saw on a log, "I wish I was rich, and could ride." The man in the carriage remarked to his wife, "One thing I would do, if I could: I would give all my wealth for the strength and the health Of the man who is sawing the wood.'' A pretty young maid with a bundle of work, Whose face like the morning was fair, Went tripping along with a smile of delight, While humming a love-breathing air. 96 CUMNOCK'S School Speakem. She looked at tlie carriage ; the lady she saw. All dressed in her clothing so fine, And said, in a whisper, "I wish from my heart Those satins and laces were mine." The lady looked out on the maid with her work So fair, in her calico dress. And said, "Ah, how gladly I'd give all my wealth, Her beauty and youth to possess." It is thus in this world ; whatever our lot, Our minds and our time we employ In longing and sighing for what we have not, Ungratefifl for what we enjoy. Anonymous. THE DEAD DOLL. You needn't be trying to comfort me — I tell you my dolly is dead ! There's no use in saying she isn't — with a crack like that in her head. It's just like you said it would n't hurt much to have my tooth out that day ; And then when the man most pulled my head off, you had n't a word to say. And I guess you must think I'm a bal^y, when you say you can mend it with glue ! As if I did n't know better than that ! Why, just sup- pose it was you ? CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 97 You might make her look all mended — but what do I care for looks ? Why, glue's for chairs and tables, and toys, and the backs of books ! My dolly ! my own little daughter ! Oh, but it's the awfullest crack ! It just makes me sick to think of the sound when her poor head went whack Against that horrible brass thing that holds up the little shelf. Now, Nursey, what makes you remind me ? I know that I did it myself! ^ I think you must be crazy — you'll get her another head ! What good would forty heads do her ? I tell you my dolly is dead ! And to think I had n't quite finished her elegant New Year's hat ! And I took a sweet ribbon of hers last night to tie on that horrid cat ! When my mamma gave me that ribbon — 1 was play- ing out in the yard — She said to me most expressly : ' ' Here 's a ribbon for Hildegarde." And I went and put it on Tabby, and Hildegarde saw me do it ; But I said to myself, "Oh, never mind, I don't believe she knew it ! " 98 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. But I know that she knew it now, and I just believe, I do, That her poor little heart was broken, and so her head broke too. Oh, my baby ! my little baby I I wish my head had been hit ! For I 've hit it over and over, and it has n't cracked a bit. But since the darling is dead, she '11 want to be buried of course ; We will take ray little wagon. Nurse, and you shall be the horse ; And I '11 walk behind and cry ; and we '11 put her in this — you see, This dear little box — and we'll bury them under the maple tree. And papa will make a tombstone, like the one he made for my bird ; And he '11 put what I tell him on it — yes, every single word! I shall say : "Here lies Hildegarde, a beautiful doll who is dead ; She died of a broken heart, and a dreadful crack in her head." Anonymous. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 99 KATYDID. I LOVE to hear thine earnest voice, Wherever thou art hid, Thou testy little dogmatist, Thou pretty Katydid ! Thou 'niindest me of gentlefolks, — Old gentlefolks are they, — Thou sayest an undisputed thing In such a solemn way. Thou art a female. Katydid ! I know it by the thrill That quivers through thy piercing notes. So petulant and shrill. I think there is a knot of you Beneath the hollow tree, — A knot of spinster Katydids : Do Katydids drink tea? Oh, tell me, where did Katy live, And what did Katy do? And was she very fair and young. And yet so wicked, too ? Did Katy love a naughty man. Or kiss more cheeks than one? I warrant Katy did no more Than many a Kate has done. Oliver Wendell Holmes. 100 OiMNOCK's School Speaker. THE FAIRIES. Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a hunting For fear of little men ; Wee folk, good folk. Trooping all together ; Green jacket, red cap. And white owl's feather ! Down along the rocky shore Some make their home, — They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam ; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain-lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake. High on the hill-top The old king sits; He is now so old and gray He's nigh lost his wits. With a bridge of white mist Columbkill he crosses, On his stately journeys From Slievelcague to Rosses; Or going up with music On cold starry nights, To sup with tlie queen Of the gay Northern Lights. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 101 They stole little Bridget For seven years long ; When she came down again Her friends were all gone. They took her lightly back, Between the night and morrow ; They thought that she was fast asleep, But she was dead with sorrow, They have kept her ever since Deep within the lakes, On a bed of flag-leaves. Watching till she wakes. By the craggy hill-side, Through the mosses bare, They have planted thorn-trees For pleasure here and there. Is any man so daring To dig one up in spite. He shall find the thornies set In his bed at night. Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men ; Wee folk, good folk. Trooping all together ; Green jacket, red cap. And white owl's feather. William Allixgham. 102 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. THE MILLER OF THE DEE. There dwelt a miller hale and bold Beside the river Dee ; He worked and sang from morn till night No lark more blithe than he. And this the burden of his song Forever used to be, — "I envy nobody, no, not I, xVnd nobody envies me ! " a Thou'rt wrong, my friend," said old King Hal, "'Thou'rt wrong as wrong can be; For could my heart be light as thine, I -d gladly change with thee. And tell me now, what makes thee sing "With voice so loud and free, While I am sad, though I am king, Beside the river Dee ? " The miller smiled, and doffed his cap. "I earn my bread," quoth he, "I love my wife, I love my friend, I love my children three ; I owe no penny I cannot pay ; I thank the river Dee, That turns the mill and grinds the corn To feed my babes and me." "Good friend," said Hal, and sighed the while, ''Farewell, and happy be; But say no more, if thou' dst be true, That no man envies thee : CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 103 Thy mealy cap is woitli my crown, Thy mill my kingdom's fee ; Such men as thou are England's boast, O miller of the Dee ! " Charles Mack ay. MORNING. As WE proceeded, the timid approach of twilight became more perceptible ; the intense blue of the sky began to soften ; the smaller stars, like little children, went first to rest ; the sister beams of the Pleiades soon melted together ; but the bright constellations of the west and north remained unchanged. Steadily the wondrous transfiguration went on. Hands of angels hidden from mortal eyes shifted the scenery of the heavens ; the glories of night dissolved into the glories of the dawn. The blue sky now turned more softly gray ; the great watch-stars shut up their holy eyes ; the east began to kindle. Faint streaks of purple soon blushed along the sky ; the whole celestial concave was filled with the inflowing tides of the morning light, which came pouring down from above in one great ocean of radiance ; till at length, as we reached the Blue Hills, a flash of purple fire blazed out from above the horizon, and turned the dewy tear-drops of flower and leaf into rubies and diamonds. In a few seconds the everlasting gates of the morning were thrown wide open, and the lord of day, arrayed in glories too severe for the gaze of man, began his state. Edward Everett. 104 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. THE MEETING OF THE SHIPS. Two barks met on the deej) mid-sea Wlien calms had stilled the tide; A few bright days of summer glee There found them side by side. And voices of the fair and brave Rose mingling thence in mirth ; And sweetly floated o'er the wave The melodies of earth. Moonlight, on that lone Indian main, Cloudless and lovely slept ; AVhile dancing step and festive strain Eacli deck in triumph swept. And hands were linked, and answering eyes With kindly meaning shone ; Oh, brief and passing sympathies, Like leaves together blown ! A little while such joy was cast Over the deep's re))Ose, Till the loud singing winds at last J-iike trum])et irmsic rose. And j)roudly, freely, on their way The parting vessels bore ; In calm or storm, by rock or bay, To meet — O nevermore! CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 105 Never to blend in victory's cheer, To aid in hours of woe ; And thus bright spirits mingle here ; Such ties are formed below. Felicia Dokothea Hemans. SPRING. The alder by the river Shakes out her powdery curls ; The willow buds in silver, For little boys and girls. The little birds fly over — And, O, how sweet they sing ! To tell the happy children That once again 'tis spring. The gay green grass comes creeping So soft beneath their feet; The frogs begin to ripple A music clear and sweet. And buttercups are coming, And scarlet columbine, And in the sunny meadows The dandelions shine. And just as many daisies As their soft hands can hold. The little ones may gather All fair in white and gold. 106 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. Here blows the warm, red clover, There peeps the violet blue ; O haj)py little children, God made them all for you. Celia Thaxtee. CAUGHT IN THE QUICKSAND. It sometimes happens that a man, traveler or fisherman, walking on the beach at low tide, far from the bank, suddenly notices that for several minutes he has been walking with some difficulty. The strand beneath his feet is like pitch ; his soles stick in it ; it is sand no longer ; it is glue. The beach is perfectly dry, but at every step he takes, as soon as he litts his foot, the print which it leaves iills with water. He is not anxious. Only he feels, somehow, as if ttie weight of his feet increases with every step he takes. Suddenly he sinks in. He sinks in two or three inches. Decidedly he is not on the right road ; he stops to take his bearings ; now he looks at his feet. They have disappeared. The sand covers them. He draws them out of the sand ; he will retrace his steps. He turns back, he sinks in deeper. The sand comes uj) to his ankles ; he pulls himself out and throws himself to the left — the sand half-leg deep. He throws himself to the right ; the sand comes up to his shins. Then he recognizes with unspeakable terror that he is caught CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 107 in the quicksand, and that he has beneath him the terrible medium in which man can no more walk than the tisli can swim. He throws off his load if he has one, lightens himself as a ship in distress ; it is already too late ; the sand is above his knees. He calls, he waves his hat or his handkerchief ; the sand gains on him more and more. If the beech is deserted, if the land is too far off", if there is no help in sight, it is all over. The victim attempts to sit down, to lie down, to creep ; every movement he makes inters him ; he straightens up, he sinks in ; he feels that he is being swallowed. He howls, implores, cries to the clouds, despairs. Behold him waist deep in the sand. The sand reaches his breast ; he is now only a bust. He raises his arms, utters furious groans, clutches the beach with his nails, would hold by that straw, leans upon his elbows to pull himself out of this soft sheatli ; sobs frenziedly ; the sand rises ; the sand reaches his shoulders ; the sand reaches his neck ; the face alone is visible now. The mouth cries, the sand fills it — silence. The eyes still gaze, the sand shuts them — night. Now the forehead decreases, a little hair flutters above the sand ; a hand comes to the surface of the beach, moves and shakes, disappears. It is the earth-drowning man. The earth filled with the ocean becomes a trap. It presents itself like a plain, and opens like a wave. Froyn the French of Victor Hugo. 108 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. THE KNIGHT'S TOAST. The feast is o'er ! Now brimming wine In lordly cup is seen to shine Before each eager guest ; And silence tills the crowded hall, As deep as when the herald's call Thrills in the loyal breast. Then up arose the noble host, And smiling cried: "A toast! a toast! To all our ladies fair ! • Here, before all, I pledge the name Of Staunton's proud and beauteous dame, The Lady Gundamere ! " Tlien to his feet each gallant sprung, And joyous was the shout that rung, As Stanley gave the word ; And every cup was raised on high, Nor ceased the loud and gladsome cry. Till Stanley's voice was lieard. "Enough, enough,'' he smiling said. And lowly bent his haughty head ; "That all may have their due. Now each in turn must play his part. And pledge the lady of his heart, Like gallant knight and true ! " Then one Ijy one each guest S])rang up. And drained in turn the brimming cup. And named the loved one's name ; CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 109 And each, as hand on high ho raised, His hidy's grace or beauty praised, Her constancy and fame. ' T is now St. Leon's turn to rise ; On him are fixed those countless eyes ; — A gallant knight is he ; Envied by some, admired by all, Far-famed in lady's bower and hall, — The flower of chivalry. St. Leon raised his kindling eye, And lifts the sparkling cup on high : "1 drink to one," he said, "Whose image never may depart. Deep graven on this grateful heart, Till memory be dead. "To one whose love for me shall last Wlien lighter passions long have past. So holy 't is and true ; To one whose love hath longer dwelt. More deeply fixed, more keenly felt. Than any pledged by you." Each guest upstarted at the word. And laid a hand upon his sword, "With fury-flashing eye ; And Stanley said: "We crave the name, Proud knight, of this most peerless dame, Whose love you count so high." 110 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. St. Leon paused, as if he would Not breathe her name in careless mood, Thus, lightly, to another ; Then bent his noble head, as though To give that word the reverence due, And gently said: "My Mother!" Anonymous. THE WRECK. (From " David Copperfield.") I OPENED the yard gate and looked into the empty street. The sand, the seaweed, and the flakes of foam were driving by, and I was obliged to call for assistance before I could shut the gate again, and make it fast against the wind. There was a dark gloom in my lonely chamber, when I at length returned to it ; but I was tired now, and, getting into bed again, fell into the depths of sleep until broad day ; when I was aroused at eight or nine o'clock by some one knocking or calling at my door. "What is the matter?" "A wreck ! close by ! " "What wreck?" "A schooner from Spain or Portugal, laden with fruit and wine. Make haste, sir, if you want to see her ! It's thought down on the beach she'll go to pieces every moment." CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. Ill I wrapped myself in my clothes as quickly as I could, and ran into the street, where numbers of people were before me, all running in one direction, — to the beach. I ran the same way, outstripping a good many, and soon came facing the wild sea. Every appearance it had before presented bore the expression of being swelled; and the height to which the breakers rose and bore one another down, and rolled in, in interminable hosts, was most appalling. In the difficulty of hearing anything but -wind and waves, and in the crowd, and the unspeakable confu- sion, and my first breathless efforts to stand against the weather, I was so confused that I looked out to sea for the wreck, and saw nothing but the foaming heads of the great waves. A boatman laid a hand u])on my arm, and pointed. Then I saw it, close in upon us. One mast was broken short off, six or eight feet from the deck, and lay over the side, entangled in a maze of sail and rigging ; and all that ruin, as the ship rolled and beat, — which she did with a violence quite inconceivable, — beat the side as if it would stave it in. Some efforts were being made to cut this portion of the wreck away ; for, as the ship, which was broadside on, turned toward us in her rolling, I plainly descried her ])eople at work with axes — especially one active figure, with long curling hair. But a great cry, audible even above the wind and water, rose from the shore ; the sea, sweeping over the wreck, made a clean breach, and carried men, 112 OuMNOCK's School Speaker. spars, casks, pLanks, bulwarks, heaps of such toys, into the b(nling surge. The second mast was yet standing, with the rags of a sail, and a wild confusion of broken cordage, flapping to and fro. The shij) had struck once, the same boatman said, and then lifted in, and sti'uck again. I understood him to add that she was parting amidships. As he spoke, tliere was another great cry of pity from the beach. Four men arose with the wreck out of the deep, clinging to the rigging of the remaining mast ; uppermost, the active ligure with the curling hair. There was a bell on board ; and as the ship rolled and dashed, this bell rang ; and its sound, the knell of those unhap})y men, was borne toward us on the wind. Again we lost her, and again she rose. Two of the four men were gone. I noticed that some new sensation moved the people on tlie beach, and I saw them part, and Ham come breaking through them to the front. Instantly I ran to him, for I divined that he meant to wade oif with a rope. I held him back with both arms ; and implored the men not to listen to him, not. to let him stir from that sand. Another cry arose, and we saw the cruel sail, with blow on blow, beat off tlie lower of the two men, and fly up in trium])h round the active figure left alone upon the mast. Against such a sight, and against such determination as that of the calmly desperate man, who was already accustomed to lead half the people present, I might as hoi)efully have entreated the wind. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 113 I was swept away to some distance, where the people around me made me stay ; urging, as I con. fused ly perceived, that he was bent on going, with help or without, and that I should endanger the precautions for his safety by troubling those with whom they rested. I saw hurry on the beach, and men running with ropes, and penetrating into a circle of figures that hid him from me. Then I saw him standins; alone, in a seaman's frock and trousers, a rope in his hand, another round his body, and several of the best men holding to the latter. The wreck was breaking up. I saw that she was parting in the middle, and that the life of the solitary man upon the mast hung by a thread. He had a singular red cap on, not like a sailor's cap, but of a finer color ; and as the few planks between him and destruction rolled and bulged, and as his death-knell rung, he was seen by all of us to wave this ca]i. I saw him do it now, and thought I was going distracted, when his action brought an old remembrance to my mind of a once dear friend, the once dear friend, — Steerforth. Ham watched the sea until there was a great retiring wave ; when he dashed in after it, and in a moment was bufteting with the water, rising with the hills, falling with the valleys, lost beneath the foam, — borne in toward the shore, borne on toward the ship. At length he neared the wreck. He was so near, that with one more of his vigorous strokes he would be clinging to it, when a high, green, vast hill-side of 114 CufNOCK's School Speaker. water moving on shoreward from beyond the ship, he seemed to leap up into it witli a mighty bound, — and the ship was gone ! They drew liim to my very feet, insensible, dead. He was carried to the nearest house, and every means of restoration was tried ; but he had been beaten to death by the great wave, and his generous heart was stilled forever. As I sat beside the bed, when hope was abandoned, and all was done, a fisherman who had known me when Emily and I were children, and ever since, whis- pered my name at the door. "Sir, will you come over yonder? " The old remembrance that had been recalled to me was in his look, and I asked him, "Has a body come ashore ? " "Yes." "Do I know it?" He answered nothing. But he led me to the shore. And on that part of it where she and I had looked for shells, two children, — on that part of it where some lighter fragments of the old boat blown down last night had been scattered by the wind, — among the niins of the home he had wronged, — I saw him lying with his head u])on his arm, as I had often seen him lie at school. Charles Dickens. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 115 THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW. KnfG out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light ; The year is dying in the night ; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow ; The year is going, let him go ; Ring out the false, ring in the true. Ring out the grief that saps the mind For those that here we see no more ; Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind. Ring out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife ; Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite ; Ring in the love of truth and right Ring in the common love of good. Ring in the valiant man and free. The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; Ring out the darkness of the land ; Ring in the Christ that is to be. Alfred Tennyson. 116 OuMXocK'S School Speaker. THE FASHIONABLE SCHOOL GIRL. A FEW montlis ago a daughter of a Nassau man, who liad grown comfortably well-oif in a small grocery line, was sent away to a female college, and a few weeks ago she arrived home for the holiday vacation. The old man was in attendance at the depot in Albany when the train arrived, with the old horse in the delivery wagon to convey his daughter and her trunk home. When the train had stopped in the Union Depot, a bewitching array of dry-goods and a wide- brimmed hat dashed from the cars and flung itself into the elderly party's arms. "Why, you superlative pa ! " she exclaimed, " I'm so utterly glad to see you." The old man was somewhat unnerved by the greet- ing, but he recognized the sealskin cloak in his grip as the identical piece of property he had paid for with the bay mare, and he sort of squat it up in his arms and planted a kiss where it would do most good, with a report that sounded above the noise of the depot. In a brief space of time the trunk and its attendant baggage wore loaded into the wagon, which was soon bumping over the hubbies toward home. "Pa, dear, "said the young miss, surveying theteam with a critical eye, "do you consider this quite exces- sively beyond ? " " Iley ? " returned the old man, with a puzzled air ; "quite excessively beyond what? Beyond Greenbush? I consider it somewhat about two miles beyond Green- CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 117 bush, continuing from the Bath-way, if that's what you mean." "Oh, no, pa, you don't understand me," the daugh- ter exclaimed, '"I mean this horse and wagon. Do you think they are soulful ? — do you think they could be studied apart in the light of a symphony or even a single poem, and appear as intensely utter to one on returning home as one could express ? " The old man twisted uneasily in his seat, and mut- tered something about he believed it used to be an express-wagon before he bought it to deliver pork in, but the conversation appeared to be in such a lone- some direction, that he fetched the horse a resounding crack, and the severe jolting over the frozen ground prevented further remarks. "Oh, there is that lovely and consummate ma !" screamed the returned collegiate, as they drove up to the door, and presently she was lost in the embrace of a motherly woman in spectacles. "Well, Maria, " said the old man at the supper-table, as he nipped a piece of butter oif the lump with his own knife, "an' bow d'you like your school ? " "Well, there, pa, now you're shouting — I mean, I consider it too beyond," replied the daughter. "It is unquenchably ineffable. The girls are sumptuously stunning — I mean grand — so exquisite — so intense ; and then the parties, the calls, the rides — oh, the past weeks have been ones of sublime harmony. " " I s'pose so — I s'pose so," nervously assented the old man as he reached for his third cup — half full — 118 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker, "but how about your books, readin', writin', grammar, rule o' three — how about them I '' "Pa, don't I " excUiimed the daughter, reproachfully; "the rule of three! grammar! It is French, and music, and painting, and the divine in art, that has made my school-life the boss — I mean that has ren- dered it one unbroken flow of rhythmic bliss — incom- parably and exquisitely all but." The groceryman and his wife looked helplessly across the table. After a lonesome pause the old lady said : — " How do you like the biscuits, Maria ? " "They are too utter for anything," gushed the accomplished young lady, "and this plum-preserve is simply a poem of itself." The old njan abruptly arose from the table and went out of the room rubbing his head in a dazed and benumbed manner, and the mass convention was dis- solved. That night he and his wife sat alone by the stove until a late hour, and at the breakfast-table the next morning he rapped smartly on the plate with the handle of his knife, and remarked : — "Maria, me an' your mother have been talkin' the thing over, an' we've come to the conclusion that this boarding-school business is too much nonsense. Me an' her consider that we haven't lived sixty odd consummate years for the purpose of raisin' a curiosity, an' there's goin' to be a stop put to this unquenchable foolishness. Now, after you've finished eatin' that poem of fried sausage an' that sym])hony of twisted doughnut, you CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 119 take an' dust up-stairs in less 'n two seconds, an' peel off that fancy gown an' put on a caliker, an' then come down here an' help ^^our mother to wash tlie dishes. I want it distinctly understood that there ain't goin' to be no more rhythmic foolishness in this house so long as your superlative pa an' your lovely an' consummate ma's runnin' the ranch. You hear me, Maria?" Maria was listening. Anonymous. LITTLE AND GREAT. A LITTLE spring had lost its way Amid the grass and fern ; A passing stranger scooped a well, Where weary men might turn. He walled it in and hung with care A ladle at the brink : He thought not of the deed he did, But judged that toil might drink. He passed again — and lo ! the well, By summers never dried. Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues. And saved a life beside. Anonymous. 120 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. A BATTLE SONG FOR FREEDOM. Mex of action ! — men of might ! Stern defenders of the right ! Are you girded for the fight? Have you marked and trenched the ground, Wliere the din of arms must sound, Ere the victor can be crowned? Have vou guarded well the coast? Have you marshalled all your host? Standeth each man at his post? Have you counted up the cost? What is gained and what is lost? When the foe your lines have crost? Gained — the infamy of fame ! Gained — a dastard's spotted name ! Gained — eternity of shame ! Lost — desert of manly youth ! Lost — the right you had by birth ! Lost — lost ! — Freedom for the earth ! Freemen, uj* I The foe is nearing ! Haughty banners high uprearing — Lo, their serried ranks appearing ! Freemen, on ! The drums are beating ! Will you shrink from such a meeting? Forward I Give them hero greeting ! CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 121 From your hearths, and homes, and altars, Backward hurl your proud assaulters ! He is not a man that falters ! Hush ! The hour of fate is nigh ! On the help of God rely ! Forward ! We will do or die ! Gail Hamilton. THE THREE BELLS. This poem refers to the weU-known rescue of the crew of an American vessel sinking in mid-ocean, by Captain Leighton, of the English ship Three Bells. Unable to take them oft', in the night and the storm, he stayed by them until morning, shouting to them from time to time through his trumpet, " Never fear, hold on ; I'll stand by you." Beneath the low-hung night cloud That raked her splintering mast. The good shi]) settled slowly, The cruel leak gained fast. Over the awful ocean Her signal guns pealed out ; Dear God ! was that Thy answer. From the horror round about ? A voice came down the wild wind, — "Ho! ship ahoy!" its cry; "Our stout Three Bells of Glasgow Shall stand till daylight by ! " 122 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. Hour after hour crept slowly, Yet on the heaving swells Tossed up and down the ship-lights,- The lights of the Three Bells. And ship to ship made signals ; Man answered back to man ; While oft, to cheer and hearten, Tlfe Three Bells nearer ran. And the captain from her taffrail Sent down his hopeful crv ; "Take heart! hold on!" he shouted, •'The Three Bells shall stand by!" All night across the waters The tossing lights shone clear ; All night from reeling taffrail The Three Bells sent her cheer. And when the dreary watches Of storm and darkness passed. Just as the wreck lurched under, All souls were saved at last. Sail on, Three Bells, forever. In grateful memory sail ! Ring on, Three Bells of rescue, Above the wave and gale I CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 123 Type of the Love eternal, Repeat the Master's cry, As tossing through our darkness The lights of God draw nigh ! John G. Whittiek. THE SEPTEMBER GALE. I'm not a chicken ; I have seen Full many a chill September ; And though I was a youngster then, That gale I well remember. The day before, my kite-string snapped, And I, my kite pursuing, The wind whisked off my palm-leaf hat :- For me two storms were brewing ! It came as quarrels sometimes do, When married pairs get clashing ; There was a heavy sigh or two. Before the fire was flashing ; A little stir among the clouds. Before they rent asunder ; A little rocking of the trees — And then came on the thunder. Oh, how the ponds and rivers boiled, And how the shingles rattled ! And oaks were scattered on the ground. As if the Titans battled ; 124 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. And all above was in a howl, And all below a clatter — The earth was like a frying-pan, Or some such hissing matter. It chanced to be our washing-day, And all our things were drying ; — The storm came roaring through the lines, And set them all a-flying: I saw the shirts and petticoats Go riding off, like witches ; I lost, ah ! bitterl}' I wept — I lost my Sunday breeches ! I saw them straddling through the air Alas I too late to win them ; I saw them chase the clouds, as if A demon had been in them ; They were my darlings and my pride. My boyhood's only riches : "Farewell, farewell,'"' I faintly cried, My breeches ! O my breeches ! " u That night I saw them in my dreams — How changed from what I knew them ! The dews had steei)ed their faded thread. The winds had whistled through them ; I saw the wide and ghastly rents, Where demon claws had torn them ; A hole was in their amplest i)art. As if an imp had worn them. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 125 I have had many happy years, And tailors kind and clever, But those young pantaloons have gone Forever and forever ! And not till fate has cut the last Of all my earthly stitches, This aching heart shall cease to mourn My loved, my long-lost breeches ! Oliver Wendell Holmes. THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS. King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport. And one day as his lions fought, sat looking on the court ; The nobles tilled the benches, with the ladies in their pride. And 'mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he sighed : And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show. Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below. Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws ; They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws ; 126 Ci'MNOchrs School Speaker. With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled on one another, Till all the pit with sand and mane was in a thun- derous smotlier, The bloody foam above the bars came whisking through the air ; Said Francis, then, "Faith, gentlemen, we're bet- ter here than there ! De Lorge's love o'erheard the king, a beauteous, lively dame, With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which al- ways seemed the same ; She thought: "The Count, my lover, is brave as brave can be, He surelv would do wondrous things to show his love of me ; King, ladies, lovers, all look on ; the occasion is divine ; I '11 drop my glove, to prove his love ; great glory will be mine ! " She dropped lier glove to prove his love, then looked on him and smiled ; He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild ; Tlie leaj> was quick, return was quick, he has regained his place. Then threw the glove, — but not with love, — right in the lady's face. OuMNOCK'S School Speaker. 127 " By lieaven ! " said Francis, " rightly done ! " and he rose from where he sat ; "No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that." Leigh Hunt. THE JINERS. She was about forty-five years old, well dressed, had black hair, rather thin and tinged with gray, and eyes in which gleamed the fires of a determination not easily balked. She walked into the Mayor's office and requested a private interview, and having obtained it, and satisfied herself that the law students were not listening at the keyhole, said slowly, solemnly and im- pressively : "I want a divorce." "What for? I supposed you had one of the best of husbands," said the Mayor. ' ' I s'pose that's what everybody thinks ; but if they knew what I've suftered in ten years, they'd won- der I hadn't scalded him long ago. I ought to, but for the sake of the young ones I've borne it and said nothing. I've told him, though, what he might de- pend on, and now the time's come ; I won't stand it, young ones or no young ones. I'll have a divorce, and if the neighbors want to blab themselves hoarse about it, they can, for I won't stand it another day." "But what's the matter? Don't vour husband 128 CuMXOCK\s School Speaker. provide for you? Don't he treat you kindly?" pur- sued the Mayor. ''We get victuals enough, and I don't know but he's as true and kind as men in general, and he's never knocked any of us down. I wish he had ; then I'd get him into jail and know where he was of nights," retorted the woman. "Then what is your coni})laint against him? " " Well, if you must know, he's one of them plaguey jiners. " "A what?" "Ajiner — one of them pesky fools that's always jining sometliing. There can't nothing come along that's dark and sly and hidden, but he jines it. If anybody should get up a society to burn his house down he'd jine it just as soon as he could get in ; and if he had to pay for it he'd go all the suddener. We hadn't been married more'n two months before he jined the Know Notliin's. We lived on a farm then, and every Saturday night he'd come tearing in before su})])er, grab a fistful of mitcakes, and go off gnawing them, and that's the last I'd see of him till morning. And every other night he'd roll and tumble in his bed, and holler in his sleep, ' Put none but Americans on guard — George Washington ' ; and rainy days he would go out in the corn-barn and jab at a picture of King (leorge witli an old bagnet that was tliere. I ought to put my foot down then, but he for)led me so with his lies tliat I let him go on and encouraged him in it. "Then he jined the Masons. P'raps you know what them be, but I don't, 'cept they think they are the CuMNOcics School Speaker. 129 same kind of critters that built Solomon's temple ; and of all the nonsense and gab about worshipful master, and square and compasses, and sich like, that we had in the house for the next six months, you never see the beat. And he's never outgrowed it, nuther. What do you think of a man, squire, that'll dress himself in a white apron, 'bout big enough for a monkey's bib, and go marching up and down and making motions and talking foolish lingo at a picture of George Washington in a green jacket and an apron covered over with eyes and columns and other queer pictures ! Ain't he a loony- tick ? Well, that's ray Sam, and I've stood it as long as I'm goin' to. '' The next lunge the old fool made was into the Odd-Fellows. I made it warm for him when he came home and told me he'd jined them, but he kinder paci- fied me by telling me they are a sort of branch show that took in women and he'd get me in as soon as he found out how to do it. Well, one night he come home and said I'd been proposed, and somebody had black- balled me. Did it himself, of course. Didn't want me around knowing about his goings on. Of course he didn't and I told him so. ''Then he jined the Sons of Malter. Didn't say nothing to me about it, but sneaked off one night, pre- tendin' he'd got to sit up with a sick Odd-Fellow, and I never found it out, only he came home looking like a man who had been through a threshing machine, and I wouldn't do a thing for him until he owned up. And so it's gone from bad to wus, jinin' this and that 9 130 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. and t'otlicr, till he's worship minister of the Masons, and goodness of hope of the Odd-Fellows, and sword swallower of the Finnegans, and grand mogul of the Sons of Indolence, and big wizard of the Arabian Nights, and chief bulger of Irish Mechanics, and double-barreled dictator of Knights of the Brass Cir- cles, and chief butler of the Celestial Cherubs, and puissant potentate of the Petrified Pollywogs, and goodness only knows what else. IVe borne it and borne it, hopin' he'd get 'em all jined after awhile; but 'tant no use, and when he'd got into a new one and been made grand guide of the Nights of Horror, I told him I'd quit, and I will." Here the Mayor interrupted, saying : " Well, your husband is pretty well initiated, that's a fact ; but the court will hardly call that a good cause for divorce. The most of tlie societies you mention are composed of honorable men with excellent reputa- tions. Many of them, though called lodges, are relief associations and mutual insurance companies, which, if your husband should die, would take care of you, and would not see you suffer if you were sick." "See me suffer when I'm sick ! Take care of me when he's dead ! Well, I guess not ; I can take care of myself when he's dead, and if I can't I can get another ! There's plenty of 'em ! And they needn't bother themselves when lam sick, either. If I want to be sick and suffer, it's none of their business, especially after all the suffering I've had when I ain't sick, because of their carryin's on. And you needn't CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 131 try to make me believe it's all right, either. I know what it is to live with a man that jines so many lodges that he don't never lodge at home." "Oh, that's harmless amusement," quietly re- marked the Mayor. She looked him square in the eyes and said : "I believe you are a jiner yourself. " He admitted that he was to a certain extent, and she arose and said : "I would not have thought it. A man like you, chairman of a Sabbath school, — it's enough to make a woman take pisen ! But I don't want anything of you. I want a lawyer that don't belong to nobody or nothin'. " And she bolted out of the office to hunt up a man that wasn't a jiner. Anonymous. THE BROOK OP LAPPINGTON. BABBLING brook of Lappiugton, How fast you run to the sea! Sweet babbling brook of Lappington, How fast you run from me ! Through tangled brake and marshy bend The way is rough and wild ; 1 stumble down the rocky path. For I am but a child. Now stay awhile your silvery steps. That hasten to the sea, For, babbling brook of Lappington, You run too last for me. 132 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. Neglected hangs the ferny spray, Unphic'ked the orchis spire ; Wait till I gather berries from The purple-fruited brier. The daisy looks into my face, — I cannot pass it by ; The bluebell shakes its head at me ; I think I hear it sigh. I want to got the moss that hangs Beneath tlie dripping ledge, And strawben-ies to string upon This many-tasseled sedge. I hear the linnet call nie back, How clear the music rings ! I stop and listen by the hill, And wonder how he sings. My feet arc tired; but in my heart A soft and soundless voice That comes to me from everywhere Bids me rejoice, rejoice. It floats above the swinging trees, It fills the livelong day ! And I am happy, happy ! yes. Too ha]>py even to say. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 133 And so good-by, you liurrying brook, That will not wait for me. I've heard of brooks that lose themselves In vonder tossing sea. Henry Gillman. THE TWO CHURCH-BUILDERS. A FAMOUS king would build a church, A temple vast and grand ; And, that the praise might be his own, He gave a strict command That none should add the smallest gift To aid the work he planned. And M^hen the mighty dome was done, Within the noble frame. Upon a tablet broad and fair, In letters all aflame Witli burnished gold, the people read The royal builder's name. Now, when the king, elate with pride, That night had sought his bed, He dreamed he saw an angel come (A halo round his head). Erase the royal name, and write Another in its stead. 134 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. What could it mean I Three times that night Tliat wondrous vision came ; Thi'ee times he saw that angel hand Erase the royal name, And write a woman's in its stead, In letters all aflame. Whose could it be ? Pie gave command To all about his throne. To seek the owner of the name That on the tablet slione ; And so it was the courtiers found A widow poor and lone. The king, enraged at what he heard, Cried, "Bring the culprit here!" And to the woman, trembling sore. He said, " 'Tis very clear That you have broken my command ; jSTow let the trutli appear ! " "Your majesty," the widow said, "I can't deny the truth; I love the Lord, — my Lord and yours, — And so, in simple sooth, I broke your majesty's command (I crave your royal rutli). "And since I had no money, sire. Why, I could only pray That God would bless your majesty ; CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 135 And when along the way The horses drew the stones, I gave To one a wisp of hay." ' Ah ! now I see," the king exchiimed, "Self-glory was my aim; The woman gave for love of God, And not for worldly fame : 'Tis my command the tablet bear The pious widow's name." John G. Saxe. AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG. Good people all of every sort, Give ear unto my song ; And if you find it wondrous short, It can not hold you long. In Islington there lived a man, Of whom the world might say, That still a goodly race he ran Whene'er he went to pray. A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes ; The naked every day he clad When he put on his clothes. 136 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. And in that town u dog was found. As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree. This dog and man at first were friends ; But when a pique began, The dog, to gain his jjrivate ends, Went mad, and bit the inan. Ai-ound from all the neighboring streets The wondering neighbors ran, And swore the dog had lost his wits, To bite so good a man. The wound it seemed both sore and sad To every Christian eye ; And while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the man would die. But soon a wonder came to light, That showed the rogues they lied : The man recovered of the bite, The dog it was that died. Oliver GoLDSMixn. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 137 LOCHINVAR. O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of tlie west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; And save liis good broadsword he weapon had none, He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone ; So feithful 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 swam the Eske 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. So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers and all; Then spoke the bride's father, his 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 Sol way, but ebbs like its tide, — And now I am 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 Loch- invar."' 138 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. Tlie bride kissed the goblet ; the knight took it up, He quaft'ed oft' the wine, and he threw down the cup. She kicked down to bhisli, 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 bridemaidens whispered, "'Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Loch- invar. " 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 croupe 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," quoth young Lochinvar. There was mr)unting 'mong Grteraes of the Netherby clan ; Forsters, Fen wicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran ; CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 139 There was racing and chasing on Cannobie lea, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? Sir Walter Scott. THE5 POWER OF HABIT. I REMEMBER oncc riding from Buffalo to the Niagara Falls. I said to a gentleman, "What river is that, sir?" '• That," he said, "is Niagara river." "Well, it is a beautiful stream," said I; "bright and fair and glassy. How far off are the rapids "f " Only a mile or two," was the reply. "Is it possible that only a mile from us we shall find the water in the turbulence which it must show near the falls ?" " You will fhid it so, sir." And so I did find it ; and the first sight of Niagara I shall never forget. Now launch your bark on that Niagara river ; it is bright, smooth, beautiful and glassy. There is a ripple at the bow ; the silver wake you leave behind adds to your enjoyment. Down the stream you glide, oars, sails and helm in proper trim, and you set out on your pleasure excursion. Suddenly some one cries out from the bank, ^'■l^oung men, ahoy P^ "What is it?" " 27ie rapids are helow you.'''* 140 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. ' ' Hii I lui ! we have heard of the rapids ; but we are not such fools as to get there. If we go too fast, then we shall up with the helm, and steer to the shore; we will set the mast in the socket, hoist the sail, and speed to the land. Then on, boys ; don't be alarmed, there is no danger.'' " Young men, ahoy thekk !" "What is it?" "The rapids are below you." "Ha I ha! we will laugh and quaff; all things de- light us. AVhat care we for the future ! No man ever saw it. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. We will enjoy life while we may ; we will catch pleasure as it Hies. This is enjoyment ; time enough to steer out of danger when we are sailing swiftly with the cur- rent." " Young men, ahoy !" "What is it?" " Beware ! beware ! the rapids are below you !" Xow you see the water foaming all around. See how fast you ]xiss tliat point ! Up with the helm ! Now turn ! Pull hard ! Quick ! quick ! quick ! j9w// hard for your lives ! ])ull till the blood starts from your nostrils, and the veins start like whip-cords upon your brow ! Set the mast in the socket ! hoist the sail ! ah ! ah! it is too late! " Shrieking^ howling, blas- pheming, over they go^ Thousands go over the raj)ids of intemperance every year through th,e j>ower of habit, arymo^ all the while, "When I find out that it is injuring me, I will give it up !" John V>. Gougii. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. Ul THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. They grew in beauty, side by side, They filled one home with glee ; — Their graves are severed, 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 forest 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 Its leaves, by soft winds fanned ; She faded 'midst Itahan flowers — The last of that bright band. 142 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. And parted thus they rest, who played Beneath the same green tree ; Whose voices mingled as they prayed Around one parent knee ! They that with smiles lit up the hall, And cheered with song the hearth — Alas ! for love, if thou wert all, ' And nought beyond, O earth ! Felicia Hemans. SAM'S LETTER. I WONDER who w-wote me this letter. I thuppose the b-best way to f-find out ith to open it and thee. {Opens letter.) Thome lun-lunatic hath w-witten me this letter. He hath w-witten it upthide down. I wonder if he th-thought I wath going to w-wead it thanding on my head. Oh, yeth, I thee ; I had it t-t-turned upthide down. "Amewica." A\1io do I know in Amewica ? I am glad he hath g-given me hith addwess anyhow. Oh, yeth, I thee, it ith from Tham. I alwaths know Tham's liandwiting when I thee hith name at the b-bottom of it. "My dear bwother — " Tham alwayths called me bwother. I-I thuppose iths because hith m-mother and my mother wath the thame woman, and we never had any thisters. When we were boyths we were ladths together. They used to ge-get off a pwoverb when they thaw uth com- coming down the stweet. It itli vwery good, if I could CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 143 only think of it. I can never wecollect anything that I can't we-wemember. Iths — it iths the early bir-bird — iths the early bir-bird that knowths iths own father. What non-nonthenths that iths ! How co-could a bir- bird know iths own father? Iths a withe — iths a withe child — iths a withe child that geths the worn. T-that's not wite. What non-nonthenths that iths ! No pa-pawent would allow hiths child to ga-gather woms. Iths a wyme. Iths fish of-of a feather. Fish of a fea — What non-nonthense ! for fish don't have feathers. Iths a bir-bird — iths b-birds of a feather — b-birds of a — of a feather flock together. B-birds of a feather ! Just as if a who-who-whole flock of b-birds had only one f-feather. They'd all catch cold, and only one b-bird c-could have that f-feather, and he'd fly sidewithse. What con-confounded nonthense that iths : Flock to-together ! Of courthse th-they'd flock together. Who ever her-heard of a bird being such a f-fool as to g-go into a c-corner and flo-flock by himself? "I wo-wote you a letter thome time ago — " Thath's a he ; he d-didn't wi-wite me a letter. If he had witten me a letter he would have posted it, and I would have g-got it ; so, of course, he didn't post it, and then he didn't wite it. Thath's easy. Oh, yeths, I thee : ''but I dwopped it into the potht-potht-otfice forgetting to diwect it.'' I wonder who the d-dic- dickens got that letter. I wonder if the poth-pothman iths gwoin' awound inquiring for a f-fellow without a name. I wonder if there biths a f-fellow without any name. If there iths any fel-fellow without any name, how doeths he know who he iths himthelf? I-I- lU CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. wonder if tliuch a fellow could get mawaid. How could he ask hitlis wife to take hitlis name if he h-had no name ^ Thath's one of thothse things no fellow can f-tind out. " I have just made a startling dithcovery." Tham's alwayths d-doing thomthing. "I have dith- covered that my mother iths — that m-my mother ith not my m-mother ; that a — the old nurse iths my m- mother, and that you arc not my b-brother, and a — tha-that I was changed at my birth." How c-can a fellow be changed at hith b-birth ( If he iths not him- thelf, who ith he? If Tham's m-mother iths not hith m-mother, and the nurthse iths hith mother, and Tham itlm't my bwother, who am I ? That's one of thothse things that no fel-feUow can find out. "I have p-pur- chased an ethstate som-somewherc — " Dothn't the id- idiot know wh-where h-he has bought it ? Oh, yeths : ' ' on the bankths of the M-M-Mithithippi. " Wh-who iths M-Mithithippi ? I g-gueths ith's Tham's m-mother-in-1- law. Tliam's got mawaid. He th-thayths he felt v-vewy ner-nervous. He alwayths waths a lucky fellow getting th-things he didn't want, and hadn't any use for. Thj)eaking of mother-in-lawths, I had a fwiend who had a mother-in-law, and he didn't like her pwetty well ; and she f-felt the thamc way towards him ; and they went away on a st-steamer acwoths the ocean, and they got wecked, catht away on a waft, and they floated awound with their feet in the water and other amuthements, living on tliuch things ath they could pick up — thardinths, ithcwcam, owanges, and other cannecd goodtlis that were iloating awound. When that waths all gone, everybody ate everybody else. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 145 F-finally only liimtlielf and liiths m-mother-in-law waths left, and they pl-played a game of c-cards to thee who thould be eaten up — himthelf or hith mother-in- law. A-a — the mother-in-law lotht. H-he treated lier handthomely, only he strapped h-her flat on her back, and c-carved her gently. H-h-he thays that waths the f-first time that he ever weally enjoyed a m-mother- in-law. ANONYMOUa. MONEY MUSK. * * * -X- * -X- * Ah, the buxom girls that helped the boys — The nobler Helens of humbler Troys — As they stripped tlie husks with rustling fold From eight-rowed corn as yellow as gold, By the candle-light in pumpkin bowls, And the gleams that showed fantastic holes In the quaint old lantern's tattooed tin, From the hermit glim set up within; By the rarer light in girlish eyes As dark as wells, or as blue as skies. I hear the laugh when the ear is red, I see the blush with the forfeit paid. The cedar cakes with the ancient twist. The cider cup that tlie girls have kissed. And I see the fiddler through the dusk As he twangs the ghost of '* Money Musk!" 10 146 CUMNOCK'S ScHOOL SPEAKER. The boys and girls in a double row Wait face to face till the magic bow Shall wliip the tune from the violin, And the merry pulse of the feet begin. MONEY MUSK. In shirt of check, and tallowed hair. The fiddler sits in the bulrush chair Like Moses' basket stranded there On the brink of Father Mle. He feels the fiddle's slender neck. Picks out the note, with thrum and check ; And times the tune with nod and beck. And thinks it a weary while. All ready ! Now he gives the call, Cries, ^^ Honor to the ladies!'''' All The jolly tides of laughter fall And ebb in a happy smile. '■'- Begin.'^^ D-o-w-n comes the bow on every string, ^^ First couple join right ftands and swing ! " As light as any blue-bird's wing '■''Swing once and a Iwlf times round.'''' Whirls Mary Martin all in blue — Calico gown and stockings new. And tinted eyes that tell you true. Dance all to the dancing sound. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 147 She flits about big Moses Brown, Who holds her hands to keep her down And thinks her hair a golden crown, And his heart turns over once ! His cheek with Mary's breath is wet, It gives a second somerset ! He means to win the maiden yet, Alas, for the awkward dance ! "Your stoga boot has crushed my toe!" "I'd rather dance with one-legg'd Joe!" "You clumsy fellow!" ^'' Pass heloiof'' And the first pair dance apart. Then '■'■I'orward six!'"' advance, retreat, Like midges gay in sunbeam street 'Tis Money Musk by merry feet And the Money Musk by heart ! '■''Tkree quarters round your partner swing f'' '•'■ Across the set!''"' The rafters ring, The girls and boys have taken wing And have brought their roses out ! Tis ^'■Forward sixf^ with rustic grace. Ah, rarer far than — '''■Swing to place /" Than golden clouds of old point-lace They bring the dance about. 148 CcMNocK's School Speaker. Then clasping hands all — '-'- Right and leftf'' All swiftly weave the measure deft Across the woof in loving weft, And the Money Musk is done ! Oh, dancers of the rustling husk, Good night, sweethearts, 'tis growing dusk, Good night for aye to Money Musk, For the heavy march begun ! Benjamin F. Taylor. THE SHIP OF FAITH. A CERTAIN colored brother had been holding forth to his little flock upon the ever fruitful topic of Faith., and he closed his exhortation about as follows : My bruddren, ef yous gwine to git saved, you got to git on board de Ship ob Faith. I tell you, my bruddren, dere ain't no odder way. Dere ain't no gitten up de back stairs, nor goin' 'cross lots ; you can't do dat away, my bruddren, you got to git on board de Ship ob Faith. Once 'pon a time dere was a lot ob colored people, an' dey was all gwine to de promised land. Well, dey knowed dere wan't no odder way for 'em to do but to git on board de Ship ob Faith. So dey all went down an' got on board, de ole granfaders, an'de ole granmudders, an'de ])ickaninnies, an' all de res' ob 'em. Dey all got on board 'ceptin' one mons'us big feller ; he said he's gwine to swim, he was. "W'y !" dey said, "you can't swim so fur like dat. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 149 It am a powerful long way to de promised land ! " He said, " I kin swim anywhar, I kin. I git 'board. no boat, no, 'deed ! " Well, my bruddren, all dey could say to dat poor disluded man dey couldn't git him on board de Ship ob Faith, so dey started off. De day was fair, de win' right, de sun shinin', and evVyt'ing b'utiful ; an' dis big feller he pull off his close an' plunge in de water. Well, he war a powerful swim- mer, dat man, 'deed he war ; he war dat powerful he kep' right 'long side de boat all de time ; he kep' a hollerin' out to de people on de boat, sayin' : " What you doin' dere, you folks, brllin' away in de sun ? you better come down here in de water, nice an' cool down here." But dey said: "Man alive, you better come up here in dis boat while you got a chance." But he said: "No, indeedy ! I git aboard no boat; I'm havin' plenty fun in de water." Well, bimeby, my bruddren, what you tink dat pore man seen ? A hor- rihle., aioful shark, my bruddren ; mouf wide open ; teef more'n a foot long, ready to chaw dat pore man all up de minute he catch him. Well, when he seen dat shark, he begin to git awful scared, an' he holler out to de folks on board de ship : "Take me on board, take me on board, quick ! " But dey said : " No, in- deed ; you wouldn't come up here when you had an invite, you got to swim now." He look over his shoulder an' he seen dat shark a-comin', an' he let hisself out. Fust it was de man, an' den it was de shark, an' den it was de man agin, dat away, my bruddren, plum to de promised land. Dat am de blessed troof I'm a-tellin' you dis minute. 150 OuMXOCK's School Speaker. But what do vou t"iiik was a-waitin' for liiin on de odder shore when he got dere? A horrible, awful lion, my bruddren, was a-stan'in' dere on de shore, a-hishin' his sides wid his tail, an' a-roarin' away fit to devour dat poor nigger de minit he git on de shore. Well, he loar powerful scai-ed den, he didn't know what he gwine to do. If he stay in de water de shark eat him up ; if he go on de shore de lion eat him up ; he dunno what to do. But he put his trust in de Lord, an' went for de shore. Dat lion he give a fearful roar an' bound for him ; but, my bruddren, as sure as you live an' breeve, dat horrible, awful lion he jump clean ober dat pore feller's head into de water ; an' de shark eat de lion. But, my bruddren, don't you put your trust in no sich circumstance ; dat pore man he done git saved, but I tell you de Lord ahiH a-gwine to fur- nish a lion for every nigger! Anonymous. THE HUNTERS. In tlie bright October morning Savoy's Duke liad left his bride ; From the Castle, past the drawbridge. Flowed the hunters' merry tide. Steeds are neighing, gallants glittering. Gay, her smiling lord to greet. From her mullioned chamber casement Smiles the Duchess Marguerite. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 151 From Vienna by the Danube Here she came, a bi'ide, in spring. Now the autumn crisps the forest ; Hunters gather, bugles ring. Hark ! the game's on foot, they scatter : Down the forest riding lone, Furious, single horsemen gallop. Hark ! a shout — a crash — a groan ! Pale and breathless, came the hunters ; On the turf, dead lies the boar, But the Duke lies stretched beside him, Senseless, weltering in his gore. In the dull October evening, Down the leaf-strewn forest road, To the Castle, past the drawbridge, Came the hunters with their load. In the hall, with sconces blazing, Ladies waiting round her seat, Clothed in smiles, beneath the dais Sat the Duchess Marguerite. Hark ! below the gates unbarring ! Tramp of men and quick commands ! — " 'T is my lord come back from hunting." And the Duchess claps her hands. 152 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. Slow and tired, came the hunters ; Stopped in darkness in the court — " Ho, this way, ye laggard hunters ! To the hall ! AVhat sport, what sport ? " Slow they entered with their Master ; In the hall they laid him down. On his coat were leaves and blood-stains. On his brow an angry frown. Dead her princely youthful husband Lay before his youthful wife ; Bloody 'neath the flaring sconces : And the sight froze all her life. In Vienna by the Danube Kings hold revel, gallants meet. Gay of old amid the gaj-est Was the Duchess Marguerite. In Vienna by the Danube Feast and dance her youth beguiled. Till that hour she never sorrowed ; But from then she never smiled. Mattuew Aexold. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 153 CHIQUITA. Beautiful ! Sir, you may say so. Thar is n't her match in the county, — Is thar, old gal ? Chiquita, my darling, my beauty ! Feel of that neck, sir, — thar's velvet ! Whoa ! Stead}' — ah, will you ? you vixen ! "Whoa ! I say. Jack, trot her out ; let the gentleman look at her paces. Morgan! — She ain't nothin' else, and I've got the papers to prove it. Sired by Chippewa Chief, and twelve hundred dollars won't buy her. Briggs of Tuolumne owned her. Did you know Briggs of Tuolumne ? — Busted hisself in White Pine, and blew out his brains down in 'Frisco ? Hed n't no savey, — hed Briggs. Thar, Jack! that '11 do, — quit that foolin' ! Nothin' to what she kin do when she's got her work cut out before her. Hosses is bosses, you know, and likewise, too, jockeys is jockeys ; And 't ain't every man as can ride as knows what a boss has got in him. Know the old ford on the Fork, that nearly got Flani- gan's leaders ? Nasty in daylight, you bet, and a mighty rough ford in low water ! 154 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. Well, it ain't six weeks ago that me and the Jedge, and his nevey, Struck for that ford in the night, in the rain, and the water all round us ; Up to our flanks in the gulch, and Rattlesnake Creek just a bilin', Not a plank left in the dam, and nary a bridge on the river. I had the gray, and the Jedge had his roan, and his nevey, Chiquita ; And after us trundled the rocks jest loosed from the top of the canon. Lickity, lickity, switch, we came to the ford, and Chiquita Buckled right down to her work, and afore I could veil to her rider, Took water jest at the ford, and there was the Jedge and me standing. And twelve hundred dollars of hoss-flesh afloat, and a driftin' to thunder ! Would ye b'lieve it, that night, that hoss, — that ar' filly, — Chiquita,- Walked herself into her stall, and stood there all quiet and dri])ping ! Clean as a beaver or rat, with nary a buckle of har- ness, Just as she swam the Fork, — that hoss, that ar' filly, Chiquita. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 155 That 's what I call a hoss ! and — what did you say ? — O, the nevey ? Drownded, I reckon, — leastways, he never kern back to deny it Ye see the derned fool had no seat, — ye could n't have made him a rider : And then, ye know, boys will be boys, and bosses — well, bosses is bosses ! Bret Harte. THE BIRTH OF IRELAND. "WriH due condescension, I'd call your attention to what I shall mention of Erin so green. And, without hesitation, I'll show how that nation became, of creation, the gem and the queen. "'Twas early one morning, without any warning, that Yanus was born in the beautiful Say ; And, by the same token, and sure 'twas provoking, her pinions were soaking, and wouldn't give play. "Old Neptune, who knew her, began to pursue her, in order to woo her — the wicked old Jew — And almost had caught her atop of the water — great Jupiter's daughter ! — which never would do. 156 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. "But Jove, the great janius, looked down and saw Vanus and Neptune so heinous pursuing her wild. And he spoke out in thunder he'd rend him asunder — and sure 'twas no wonder — for tazing his child. "A star that was flying hard by him espying, he caught with small trying and down let it snap ; It fell quick as winking on Neptune a-sinking, and gave him, I'm thinking, a bit of a rap. '•''That star it was dryland, hoth lowland and high- land, and farmed a sweet island, the land of my hirth : Thus plain is the story that, sent down from glory, old Erin asthore is the gem of the earth ! "Upon Erin nately jumped Yanus so stately, but fainted kase lately so hard she was pressed; Which nnicli did bewilder, but, ere it had killed her, her father distilled her a drop of the best. "That sup was victorious; it made her feel glorious — a little uproarious, I fear it might prove — So liow can ye blame us that Ireland's so famous for drinking and beauty, for fighting and love? '' Anonymous. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 157 HER LETTER. I 'm sitting alone by the fire, Dressed just as I came from the dance, In a robe even you would admire, — It cost a cool thousand in France ; I'm be-diamonded out of all reason. My hair is done up in a cue : In short, sir, "the belle of the season" Is wasting an hour on you. A dozen engagements I've broken; I left in the midst of a set ; Likewise a proposal, half spoken, That waits — on the stairs — for me yet. They say he'll be rich, — when he grows up,- And then he adores me indeed. And you, sir, are turning your nose up, Three thousand miles off, as you read. "And how do I like my position?" "And what do I think of New York?" "And now, in my higher ambition, With whom do I waltz, flirt or talk?" "And isn't it nice to have riches. And diamonds and silks, and all that?" "And are n't it a change to the ditches And tunnels of Poverty Flat ? " 158 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. Well, yes, — if you saw us out driving Each day in the park, four-in-hand, — If you saw poor dear mamma contriving To look supernaturally' grand, — If you saw papa's picture as taken By Brady, and tinted at that, — You'd never suspect he sold bacon And flour at Poverty Flat. And yet, just this moment, when sitting In the glare of the grand chandelier, — In the bustle of glitter befitting The "finest soiree of the year," In the mists of a gauze de ChaTnbery, And the hum of the smallest of talk, — Somehow, Joe, 1 thought of the "Ferry," And the dance that we had on "The Fork"; Of Harrison's barn, with its muster Of flags festooned over the wall ; Of the candles that shed their soft lustre And tallow on head-dress and shawl ; Of the steps that we took to one fiddle ; Of the dress of my queer vis-a-vis ; And liow I once went down the middle With the man that shot Sandy McGee ; Of the moon that was quietly sleeping On the hill, when the time came to go; Of the few baby ])eaks that were peeping From under their bed-clothes of snow; CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 150 Of that ride, — that to me was the rarest ; Of — the something you said at the gate, — Ah, Joe, then I wasn't an heiress To "the best-paying lead in the State." Well, well, it's all past ; yet it's funny To think, as I stood in the glare Of fashion and beauty and money, That I should be thinking, right there. Of some one who breasted high water. And swam the North Fork and all that. Just to dance with old Folinsbee's daughter, The Lily of Poverty Flat. But goodness! what nonsense I'm writing! (Mamma says my taste still is low,) Instead of my triumphs reciting, I'm spooning on Joseph, — heigh-ho! And I'm to be "finished" by travel, — Whatever 's the meaning of that, — Oh ! why did papa strike pay gravel In drifting on Poverty Flat? Good night, — here's the end of my paper; Good night, — if the longitude please, — For maybe while wasting my taper, Your sun's climbing over the trees. But know if you have n't got riches. And are poor, dearest Joe, and all that. That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches. And you 've struck it, — on Poverty Flat. Bret Hakte. 160 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. THE SOLDIER'S REPRIEVE. "I THOUGHT, Mr. Allan, when I gave my Bennieto bis country, that not a father in all this broad land made so precious a gift — no, not one. The dear boy only slept a minute, just one little minute, at his post, I know that was all, for Bennie never dozed over a duty. How prompt and reliable he was ! I know he only slept one little second ; — he was so young, and not strong, that boy of mine ! Why, he was as tall as I, and only eighteen ! And now they shoot him — because he was found asleep when doing sentinel duty. ' Twenty-four hours,' the telegram said. Only twenty- four hours ! Where is Bennie now ? " ''We will hope with his Heavenly Father," said Mr. Allan, soothingly. "Yes, yes; let us hope. God is very merciful ! 'I should be ashamed, father,' Bennie said, 'when I am a man, to think I never used this great right arm' (and he held it out so proudly before me) ' for my country, when it needed it. Palsy it, rather than keep it at the ])low,' ' Go, then — go, ray boy,' I said, ' and God keep you ! ' God has kept him, I think, Mr. Allan." " Like the apple of His eye, Mr. Owen ; doubt it not." Little Blossom sat near them, listening, with blanched cheek. She had not shed a tear. Her anx- iety had been so concealed that no one had noticed it. Now she answered a gentle tap at the kitchen door, CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 161 opening it to receive a letter from a neighbor's hand. " It is from him, " was all she said. It was like a message from the dead ! Mr. Owen took the letter, but could not break the envelope on account of his trembling fingers, and held it toward Mr. Allen, with the helplessness of a child. The minister opened it, and read as follows : "Deak Father : When this reaches you I shall be in eternity. At first it seemed awful to me ; but I have thought about it so much now, that it has no terror. They say they will not bind me nor blind me, but that I may meet my death like a man. I thought, father, it might have been on the battle-field for my country, and that, when I fell, it would be fighting gloriously ; but to be shot down like a dog for nearly- betraying it— to die for neglect of duty ! — oh. Father, I wonder the very thought does not kill me ! But I shall not disgrace you. I am going to write you all about it ; and when I am gone, you may tell my com- rades. I cannot now. You know I j^romised Jimmie Carr's mother I would look after her boy ; and, when he fell sick, I did all I could for him. He was not strong when ordered back into the ranks, and the day before that night I carried all his luggage, besides my own, on our march. Toward night we went in on double-quick, and though the luggage began to feel very heavy, everybody else was tired too. And as for Jimmie, if I had not lent him an arm now and then, he would have dropped by the way. I was all tired out when we went into camp, and then it was Jimmie's 11 162 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. turn to be sentr}^, and I would take his place ; but I was too tired, father. I could not have kept awake if a gun had been pointed at my head ; but I did not know it until — well — until it was too late." "God be thanked !" said Mr. Owen. "I knew Bennie was not the boy to sleejj carelessly at his post. " "They tell me, to-day, that I have a short reprieve — ' time to write to you,' our good colonel says. For- give him, father ; he only does his duty ; he would gladly save me if he could. And do not lay my death up against Jimmie. The poor boy is bi-oken- hearted, and does nothing but beg and entreat them to let him die in my stead. "I can't bear to think of mother and Blossom. Comfort them, father ! Tell them I die as a brave boy should, and that, when the M^ar is over, they will not be ashamed of me, as they must be now. God help me ; it is very hard to bear ! Good-by, father ! God seems near and dear to me, as if he felt sorry for his poor, broken-hearted child, and would take me to be with him — in a better, better life. "To-night I shall see the cows all coming home from pasture, and precious little Blossom standing on the back stoojj, waiting for me ; but I shall never, never come ! God bless you all ! Forgive your poor Bennie." Late that night a little figure glided down the foot- path toward the Mill Dej>ot. The conductor, as he reached down to lift her into the car, wondered at the CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 163 tear-stained face that was upturned toward the dim lantern he held in liis hand. A few questions and ready answers told him all ; and no father could have cared more tenderly for his only child, than he for our little Blossom. She was on her way to Washington, to ask President Lincoln for her brother's life. She had brought Bennie's letter with her ; no good, kind heart, like the President's, could refuse to be melted by it. The next morning they reached New York, and the conductor hurried her on to Washington. Every minute, now, might be the means of saving her brother's life. The President had but just seated himself to his evening's task, when the door softly opened, and Blossom, with downcast eyes and folded hands, stood before him. "Well, my child," he said, in his pleasant, cheer- ful tones, " what do you want ? " "Bennie's life, please, sir," faltered Blossom ' ' Bennie ! Who is Bennie ? " "My brother, sir. They are going to shoot him for sleeping at his post. '' "Oh, yes ; I remember. It was a ftital sleep. You see, child, it was a time of special danger. Thousands of lives might have been lost by his negligence. " "So my father said," replied Blossom, gravely. "But poor Bennie was so tired, sir, and Jimmie so weak. He did the work of two, sir, and it was Jim- mie's night, not his ; but Jimmie was too tired, and 164 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. Bennie never thought about himself, that he was tired too." " Wliat is this you say, chihl i Come here ; I do not understand." And the kind man, as ever, caught eagerly at what seemed to be a justification of an otiense. Blossom went to him. He put his hand tenderly on her shoulder, and turned up the pale, anxious face toward his. How tall he seemed ! And he was Presi- dent of the United States, too ! A dim thought of this kind passed for a moment through Blossom's mind ; but she told her simple, straightforward story, and handed Bennie's letter to Mr. Lincoln to read. He read it carefully ; then, taking up his pen, wrote a few hasty lines Jind rang his bell. Blossom heard this order given : " Send this dispatch at once." The President then turned to the girl, and said : "Go home, my child, and tell that father of yours, who could approve his country's sentence even when it took the life of a child like that, that Abraham Lincoln thinks the life far too precious to be lost. Go back, or — wait until to-morrow; Bennie will need a change after he has so bravely faced death ; he shall go with you." " God bless you, sir ! " said Blossom. Two days after this interview, the young soldier came to the White House with his little sister. He was called into the President's })rivate room, and a strap fastened upon his shoulder. Mr. Lincoln then said : ''The soldier that could carry a sick comrade's CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 165 baggage, and die for tlie act so uncomplainingly, de- serves well of his country." Then Bennie and Blossom took their way to their Green Mountain home. A crowd gathered at the Mill Depot to welcome them back ; and, as Farmer Owen's hand grasped that of his boy, tears flowed down his cheeks, and he was heard to say fervently, "The Lord be praised ! " E. D. C. ROBBINS. A LEGEND OF HESSE. In Scharfenstein at noon of night awakes a dreadfu} din ; With stroke of hoof and clang of sword the moun- tain roars within ; It storms and shakes and rattles at the mountain's rock-bound side, Until in yawning gap and gulf it heaves and opens wide. Then from the chasms issue forth full many warriors tall. And by the moonbeam's ghostly light in ranks of war they fall. The trumpet sounds, the helmet gleams, the stand- ards kiss the wind ; Proud rides the chief the host before, proud march the ranks behind. 166 OvMXocK'S School Speaker. They harry through the frightened vale on wings of fear and wrath, And like a whirling wind of fire is their fierce on- ward ])ath : " On, on to Itonie ! '' they loudly cry, "it is the fate- fiil hour, " And if we cannot now escape, we never shall have power ! " 'Tis the old tale of Scharfenstein told as our fathers taught : At the stern mountain's rock}'^ foot the battle great was fought. Then drank the eartli the warm life-blood till purple was its crust. And Rome's proud eagles victory-wont sank in the German dust. Barbarians here, barbarians there, as if sprung from the ground, "While Scharfenstein's unpitying rocks rise every- where around ; Then sink 'neath German dart and spear Rome's ranks of warriors tall. Like grain beneath the sickle-stroke in harvest-time they fall. There in this hour of utmost need with hands uplifted high. And knees low bent u])on the earth the General made his cry : CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 167 " Save us, great God, from the disgrace of dying as a slave, And let tlie mountain ope her heart and be our liv^ing grave." Then on the right it thunders loud : Jove shakes his awful head. And in a moment gaping wide the mountain opens dread ; Quick vanished into living tomb the mass of friends and foes, And stark and still above them all grim Scharfen- stein doth close. But still below at noon of night awakes a dreadful din ; Then must the prisoned ranks of Rome their freedom strive to win : A ghostly army of the dead on to the South they roll. They march and march, yet never reach fair Italy, their goal. For at the first voice of the morn the ranks, where'er they be, Back to the brow of Scharfenstein all hurriedly must flee ; Then as of old the mountain yawns and breathes with sulphurous breath, And as the last man enters in, it closes still as death. From the German of Franz Dingelstedt. {Trans. o/Chas. W. Pearson.) 168 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. BETTER THINGS. Bettek to smell the violet cool, than sip the glow- ing wine ; Better to hark a hidden brook, than watch a diamond shine. Better the love of a gentle heart, than beauty's fa- vor proud ; Better the rose's living seed, than roses in a crowd. Better to love in loneliness, than to bask in love all day ; Better the fountain in the heart, than the fountain by the way. Better be fed by a mother's hand, than eat alone at will ; Better to trust in God, than say: "My goods my storehouse fill." Better to be a little wise, than in knowledge to abound ; Better to teach a child, than toil to till perfection's round. Better to sit at a master's feet, than thrill a listen- ing State ; Better suspect that thou art proud, than be sure that thou art great. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 1G9 Better to walk the real unseen, than watch the hour's event ; Better the "Well done!" at the last, than the air with shouting rent. Better to have a quiet grief, than a hurrying de- light ; Better the twilight of the dawn, than the noonday burning bright. Better a death when work is done, than earth's most favored birth ; Better a child in God's great house, than the king of all the earth. George MacDonald. PETER'S RIDE TO THE WEDDING. Peter would ride to the wedding — he would, So he mounted his ass — and his wife She was to ride behind, if she could, ^^ For," says Peter, "the woman, she should Follow, not lead through life." " He's mighty convenient, the ass, my dear. And proper and safe — and now You hold by the tail, while I hold by the ear, And we'll ride to the kirk in time, never fear. If the wind and the weather allow." 170 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. The wind and the weather were not to be blamed, But the ass had adopted the whim That two at a time was a load never framed For the back of one ass, and he seemed quite ashamed That two should stick fast upon him. "Come, Dobbin," says Peter, "I'm thinking we'll trot." " Tm thinking we won't," says the ass. In language of conduct, and stuck to the spot As if he had shown he would sooner be shot Than lift up a toe from the grass. Says Peter, says he, "I'll whip him a little," — " Try it, my dear," says she, — But he might just as well have whipped a brass kettle ; The ass was made of such obstinate mettle That never a step moved he. " ril prick him, my dear, with a needle," said she, " I'm thinking he'll alter his mind," — The ass felt the needle, and up went his heels ; " I'm thinking," says she, " he's beginning to feel Some notion of moving — behind." " Now lend me the needle and I'll prick his ear, And set t'other end, too, agoing." The ass felt the needle, and upward he reared ; But kicking and rearing was all, it appeared, He had any intention of doing. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 171 Says Peter, says he, "We get on rather slow ; While one end is up t'otlier sticks to the ground ; But I'm thinking a method to move him I know, Let's prick head and tail together, and so Give the creature a start all around." So said, so done ; all hands were at work. And the ass he did alter his mind. For he started away with so sudden a jerk. That in less than a trice he arrived at the kirk, But he left all his lading behind. Anonymous. TOM'S LITTLE STAR. Sweet Mary, pledged to Tom, was fair, And graceful, young and slim ; Tom loved her truly, and one dare Be sworn that she loved him ; For, twisting bashfully the ring That sealed the happy tiat. She cooed : ' ' When married in the spring Dear Tom, let's live so quiet ! "Let's have our pleasant little place, Our books, a friend or two ; No noise, no crowd, but just your tace For me, and mine for you. Won't that be nice?" "It is my own Idea," said Tom, "so chary, So deep and true, my love has grown, I worship you, my Mary." 172 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. She was a tender, nestling thing, A girl that loved her home, A sort of dove with folded wing, A bird not made to roam, But gently rest her little claw (The simile to carry) Within a husband's stronger paw — The very girl to marry. Their courtship was a summer sea. So smooth, so bright, so calm, Till one day Mary, restlessly Endured Tom's circling arm. And looked as if she thought or planned, Her satin forehead wrinkled, v She beat a tattoo on his hand. Her eyes were strange and twinkled. She never heard Tom's fond remarks, His " sweety-tweety dear," Or noticed once the little larks He played to make her hear. "What ails," he begged, "my petsy pet? What ails my love, I wonder if" "Do not be trifiinfj;, Tom. I've met Professor Shakespeare Thunder." "Thunder !" said Tom; "and who is he?" "You goose! why, don't you know?" "I don't. She never frowned at me, Or called me 'goose.' And though," CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 173 Thought Tom, "it may be playfulness, It racks my constitution." "Why, Thunder teaches with success Dramatic elocution. " "Oh! Ah! Indeed! and what is that? My notion is but faint." "It's art," said Mary, brisk and pat. Tom thought that "art" meant paint. "You blundering boy ! why, art is just What makes one stare and wonder. To understand high art you must Hear Shakespeare read by Thunder." Tom started at the turn of phrase ; It sounded like a swear. Then Mary said, to his amaze, With nasal groan and glare, '"To be or-r — not to be ? ' " And fain To act discreet yet gallant, He asked, "Dear, have you any — pain?" "Oh, no, Tom; I have talent. "Professor Thunder told me so; He sees it in my eye ; He says my tones and gestures show My destiny is high." Said Tom, for Mary's health afraid. His ignorance revealing, "Is talent, dear, that noise you made?" "Why, no, that's Hamlet's feeling." 174 CUMNOCK'S School /Speaker. "He must have felt most dreadful bad." ''The character is mystic," Mary explained, "and very sad, And very high artistic. And you are not ; you're commonplace ; These things are far above you." "I'm only," spoke I'om's honest face, "Artist enough to love you." From that time forth was Mary changed ; Her eyes stretched open wide ; Her smooth fair hair in Jriz arranged, And parted on the side ; More and more strange she grew, and quite Incapable of taking The slightest notice how each night She set Tom's poor heart aching. As once he left her at the door, "A thousand times good-night," Sighed Mary, sweet as ne'er before. Poor Tom revived, looked bright. "Mary," he said, "you love me so? We have not grown asunder ? " "Do not be silly, Toiri ; you know I'm studying with Thunder. "That's from the famous Juliet scene. I'll do another bit." Quoth Tom : "I don't know what you mean." "Then listen; this is it: CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 175 'Dear love, adien. Anon, good nurse. Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again.' Now, Tom, say ' Blessed, blessed night ! ' " Said Tom, with hesitation, "B-blessed night." ''Pshaw ! that's not right. You've no appreciation." At Tom's next call he heard u]>stairs A laugh most loud and coarse ; Then Mary, knocking down the chairs, Came prancing like a horse. '"Ha! ha! ha! Well, Governor, how are ye? I've been down five times, climbing up your stairs in my long clothes.' That's comedy," she said. "YouVe mad," Said Tom. " ' Mad ! ' Ha ! Ophelia ! 'They bore him barefaced on his bier, And on his grave rained many a tear,' She chanted, very wild and sad ; Then whisked off on Emilia : "'You told a lie — an odious damned lie. Upon my soul, a lie — a wicked lie.'" She glared and howled two nmrder scenes, And mouthed a new French role, Where luckily the graceful miens Hid the disgraceful soul. She wept, she danced, she sang, she swore- From Shakespeare — classic swearing ; A wild, abstracted look she wore, And round the room went tearing. 1 V 176 OiwxocK'S School Speaker. And every word and every pause Made Marj' ' ' (juote a speech. " If Tom was sad (and lie had cause). She'd sa}', in sobbing screech, "'CHrtord, why don't you speak to me?'" At flowers for a present She leered, and sang, coquettishly, "•When daisies pied and violets blue.'" Tom blurted, "-That's not pleasant." But Mary took offence at this. "You have no soul," said she, ''For art, and do not know the bliss Of notoriety. The ' sacred fire ' they talk about Lights all the way before me ; It's quite my duty 'to come out,' And all my friends implore me. "Three months of Thunder I have found A thorough course," she said; "I'll clear Parnassus with a bound." (Tom softly shook his head.) "I can not fail to be the rage." (Tom looked a thousand pities.) "And so I'm going on the stage To star in Western cities." And Mary went ; but Mary came To grief within a week ; And in a month she came to Tom, Quite gentle, sweet, and meek. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 177 Tom was rejoiced : his heart wa« none The hardest or the sternest. "Oil, Tom," she sobbed, "it looked like fun, But art is dreadful earnest. "Why, art means work and slave, and bear All sorts of scandal, too ; To dread the critics so you dare Not look a paper through ; Oh, 'art is long' and hard." "And you Are short and — soft, my darling." "My money, Tom, is gone — \i fleic.'''' "That's natural with a starling." "I love you more than words can say, Dear Tom." He gave a start. "Mary, is that from any play?" "No, Tom; it's from my heart." He took the tired, sunny head, With all its spent ambitions, So gently to his breast, she said No word but sweet permissions. "Can you forgive me, Tom, for — " "Life," He finished out the phrase. "My love; you're patterned for a wife. The crowded public ways Are hard for even the strongest heart ; Yours beats too softly human. However woman choose her art. Yet art must choose its woman." AXONYMOUS. 12 178 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker THE FOX IN THE WELL. Sir Reynard once, as IVe heard tell, Had fallen into a farmer's well, When Wolf, his cousin, passing by, Heard from the depths his dismal cry. Over the wheel a well-chain hung, From which two empty buckets swung. At one, drawn up beside the brink. The Fox had paused, no doubt to drink ; And, putting in his head, had tipped The bucket ; Fox and bucket slipped. And, hampered by the bail, he fell, As I have said, into tlie well. As down the laden bucket went. The other made its swift ascent. His cousin Wolf, beguiled to stop. Listened, astonished at the top. Looked down, and, by the uncertain light, Saw Reynard in a curious plight — There, in his bucket, at the bottom, Calling as if the hounds had caught him ! » "What do you there?" his cousin cried. "Dear cousin Wolf," the Fox replied, "In coming to the well to draw Some water, what d'ye think I saw ? It glimmered bright and still below ; You've seen it, but you did not know CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 179 It was a treasure. Now, behold ! I have my bucket filled with gold Enough to buy ourselves and wives Poultry to last us all our lives ! " The Wolf made answer, with a grin, "Dear me! I thought you'd tumbled in! What, then, is all this noise about ? " "Because I could not draw it out, I called to you," the Fox replied. "First help me, then we will divide." "How?" "Get into the bucket there." The Wolf, too eager for a share, Did not one moment pause to think ; — There hung the bucket by the brink. And in he stepped. As down he went, The cunning Fox made his ascent, Being the lighter of the two. "That's right! Ha, ha! how well you do! How glad I am you came to help ! " Wolf struck the water with a yelp : The fox leaped out. "Dear Wolf," said he, "You've been so very kind to me, I'll leave the treasure all to you ; — I hope 't will do you good ! Adieu ! There comes the farmer ! " Oif he shot, And disappeared across the lot. 180 CUMNOCK'S /School Speaker. Leaving the Wolf to meditate Upon his miserable late, — To flattering craft a victim made, By his own greediness betrayed ! J. T. Teowbridge. A PIECE OF RED CALICO. I WAS going into town the other morning, when my wife handed me a little piece of red calico, and asked me if I would have time, during the day, to buy her two yards and a half of calico like that. I assured her that it would be no trouble at all, and put- ting the piece of calico in my pocket, I took the train for the city. At lunch time I stopped in at a large dry-goods Store to attend to my wife's commission. I saw a well-dressed man walking the floor between the coun- ters, where long lines of girls were waiting on much longer lines of customers, and asked him where I could see some red calico. "This way, sir," and he led me up the store. "Miss Stone," said he to a young lady, "show this gentleman some red calico." "What shade do you want?" asked Miss Stone. I showed her the little piece of calico that my wife had given me. She looked at it and handed it back to me, then she took down a great roll of red calico and syjroad it out on the counter. " Why, that isn't the shade ! " said I. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 181 "No, not exactly/"' said she, "but it is prettier than your sample. " "That may be," said I ; "but, you see, I want to match this piece. There is something already made of this kind of calico, which needs to be made larger, or mended, or something. I want some calico of the same shade." The girl made no answer, but took down another roll. "That's the shade," said she. "Yes," I replied, "but it's striped." "Stripes are more worn than anything else in calicoes," said she. "Yes, but this isn't to be worn. It's for fur- niture, I think. At any i-ate, I want perfectly plain stuff, to match something already in use." "Well, I don't think you can find it perfectly plain, unless you get Turkey red." " What is Turkey red ?" I asked. "Turkey red is perfectly plain in calicoes," she answered. " Well, let me see some." "We haven't any Turkey red calico left,'' she said, "but we have some very nice plain calicoes in other colors." "I don't want any other color, I want stuff to match this." ' ' It's hard to match cheap calico like that, " she said, and so I left her. 182 CuMNOCK's School Speaker. I next went into a store a few doors further up Broadway. "When I entered I approached the "floor- walker.'' and handing him my sample, said : '' Have you any calico like this ? " "Yes, sir," said he. "Third counter to the right." I went to the third counter to the right, and showed my sample to the salesman in attendance there. He looked at it on both sides. Then he said : "We haven't any of this." "That gentleman said you had," said I. "We had it, but we're out of it now. You'll get that goods at an upholsterers." I went across the street to an upholsterer's. " Have you any stuff like this ? " I asked. "No," said the salesman. "We haven't. Is it for furniture !• '' "Yes," I replied. "Then Turkey red is wliat you want." " Is Turkey red just like this ? " I asked. " No," said he ; " but it's mucli better." " That makes no difference to me," I replied. " I want something just like this.' " But they don't use that for furniture," he said, "1 sliouhl think people could use any tiling they wanted for furniture !" I remarked, somewhat sharply. "They can, but tliey don't," he said, quite calmly. "They don't use red like that. They use Turkey red." I said no more, l^ut left. The next place I visited was a very large dry-goods store. Of the first sales- CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 183 man I saw I inquired if tliey kept red calico like my sample. "You'll find that on the second story," said he. I went up-stairs. There I asked a man : "Where wiil I find red calico ? "' "In the tar room to the left. Right over there." And he pointed to a distant corner. I walked througli the crowd of purchasers and sales- people, and around the counters and tables filled with goods, to the far room to the left. When I got there I asked for red calico. "The second counter down this side," said the man. I went there and produced my sample. " Calicoes down-stairs," said the man. " They told me they were up here," I said. "Not these plain goods. You'll find 'em down- stairs at the back of the store, over on that side." I went down-stairs to the back of the store. "Where will I find red calico like this?" I asked. "Next counter but one," said the man addressed, walking with me in the direction pointed out. " Dunn, show red calicoes." Mr. Dunn took my sample and looked at it. " We haven't this shade in that quality of goods," he said. "Well, have you it in any quality of goods?" I asked. 184 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. "Yes, weVe got it finer," and he took down a piece of calico, and unrolled a yard or two of it on the counter. "'That's not the shade," I said. " No," said he. " The g:oods is finqp and the color's better." " I want it to match tliis," I said. " I thought you weren't particular about the match," said the salesman. "• You didn't care for the quality of the goods, and you know you can't match goods with- out you take into consideration quality and color both. If you want that quality of goods in red you ought to get Turkey red. " I did not think it necessary to answer this remark, but said : "Then you've got nothing to match this ? " " No, sir. But perhaps they may have it in the upholstery department, in the sixth story." So I got in the elevator and went up to the top of the house. "Have you any red stuff like tliis ? " I said to a young man. "Red stuff? Upholstery de})artment — otlier end of this floor." I went to the other end of the floor. " T want some red calico," I said to a man. " Furniture goods if " lie asked. "Yes," said I. "Fourth counter to the left." I went to the fourth counter to the left, and showed niy sample to a salesman. He looked at it and said : CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 185 "You'll get this down on the first floor — calico department. " I turned on my heel, descended in the elevator, and went out on Broadway. I was thoroughly sick of red calico. But I determined to make one more trial. My wife had bought her red calico not long before, and there must be some to be had somewhere. I ought to liave asked her where she bought it, but I thought a simple little thing like that could be bought any- where. I went into another large dry-goods store. As I entered the door a sudden tremor seized me. I could not bear to take out that piece of red calico. If I had had any other kind of a rag about me — a penwiper or anything of the sort — I think I would liave asked them if they could nuitch that. But I stepped up to a young woman and presented my sample, with the usual question. "Back room, counter on the left," she said. I went there. " Have you any red calico like this? '' I asked of the lady behind the counter. "No, sir,'' she said ; "but we have it in Turkey red." Turkey red again ! I surrendered. " All right," I said, "give me Turkey red." " ilow much, sir?" she asked. " I don't know, — say five yards.'' The lady looked at me rather strangely, but meas- ured ofi" five yards of Turkey red calico. Then she rapped on the counter and called out ' ' cash ! " A little 186 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. girl, ■with yellow hair in two long plaits, came slowly up. The lady wrote the number of yards, the name of the goods, her own number, the price, the amount of the bank-note I handed her, and some other mat- ters, probably the color of my eyes, and the direction and velocity of the wind, on a slip of paper. She then copied all this in a little book which she kept by her. Then she handed the slip of paper, the money, and the Turkey red to the yellow-haired girl. This young girl copied the slip in a little book she carried, and then she went away with the calico, the paper slip, and the money. After a long time — during which the girl probably took the goods, the money, and the slip to some cen- tral desk, where the note was received, its amount and number entered in a book, change given to the girl, a copy of the slip made and entered, girFs entry exam- ined and appr(jved, goods wrapped up, girl registered, plaits counted and entered on a slip of i)a])er and copied by the girl in her book, girl taken to a hydrant and washed, number of towels entered on a paper slip and copied by the girl in her book, value of my note, and amount of change branded somewhere on the child, and said process noted on a slij) of ])aper and copied in her book — the girl came to me, bringing my change and the package of Turkey red calico. I had time for but very little work at tlie office that afternoon, and when I reached home I handed the package of calico to my wife. She unrolled it and ex- claimed : ••Why, this det knell, he saw the warriors come. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 237 But down swept all his power, with chariot and with charge ; Down poured tlie arrows' shower, till sank the Spartan targe. Thus fought the Greek of old ! Thus will he fight again ! Shall not the selfsame mould bring forth the selfsame men? George Croly. LEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS. I HAF von tunny leedle poy Vot gomes schust to my knee, — Der queerest schap, der createst rogue As efer you dit see. He runs, und schumps, und schmashes dings In all barts off der house. But vot off dot? He vas mine son. Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss. He get der measels und der mumbs, Und eferyding dot's oudt ; He sbills mine glass off lager bier, Foots schnuff indo mine ki'aut ; He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese — Dot vas der roughest chouse ; I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy But leedle Yawcob Strauss. 238 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. lie dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum, Und cuts mine cane in dwo To make der schticks to beat it mit — Mine cracious, dot vas drue ! I dinks mine head vas schplit abart He kicks oup soocli a touse ; But nefer mind, der povs vas few Like dot young Yawcob Strauss. lie asks me questions soocli as dese : Who baints mine nose so red? Who vas it cuts dot schmoodth blace out Yrom der hair ubon mine hed? Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp Yene'er der glim I douse ? How gan I all dese dings eggsblain To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss? I somedimes dink I schall go vild Mit sooch a grazy poy, Und vish vonce more I gould liaf rest Und beaceful dimes enshoy. But ven he vas ashlee]> in ped, So quiet as a mouse, I prays der Lord, " Dake anydings, But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss." Charles F. Adams. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 239 BKUCE'S ADDRESS. Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, whom Bruce has often led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to glorious victory. Now's the day, and now's the hour; See the front o' battle lower, See approach proud Edward's power — Edward ! chains and slavery ! Wha will be a traitor knave ? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave ? Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee ! Wlia for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa', Caledonian ! 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 — shall be free! Lay the proud usurpers low ! Tyrants fall in every foe ! Liberty's in every blow ! Foi-ward ! let us do, or die .! Robert Burns. 240 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 'ROCK OF AGES." " Rock of ages, cleft for me," Thoughtlessly the maiden sung. Fell the words unconsciously From her girlisli, gleeful tongue, Sung as little children sing, Sung as sing tlie birds in June ; Fell the words like light leaves sown On the current of the tune — " Rock of ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in Thee." Felt her soul no need to liide — Sweet the song as song could be, And slie had no thought beside ; All the words unhoedingly Fell from lips untouched by care, Dreaming not that each might be On some other lips a jjrayer — ' ' Rock of Ages, cleft for me. Let me hide myself in Thee." "Rock of Ages, cleft for me — " 'Twas a woman sung tliem now, Pleadingly and prayerfully ; Every M'ord her heart did know ; Rose tlie song as storm-tossed bird Beats witli weary wing the air. Oi\uxocK\s School Speaker. 241 Every r.ote witli sorrow stirred, Every syllable a prayer — "Rock of Ages, cleft for me. Let iiie hide myself in Thee." "Rock of Ages, cleft for me — " Lips grown aged sung the hymn Trustingly and tenderly. Voice grown weak and eyes grown dim- "Let me hide mvself in Thee." Trembling though the voice, and low. Rose the sweet strain peacefully xVs a river in its flow ; Sung as only they can sing, Who life's thorny paths have pressed ; Sung as only they can sing, AVho behold the promised rest. "Rock of Ages, cleft for me," Sung above a coffin-lid ; Underneath, all restfully All life's cares and sorrows hid. Never more, O storm-tossed soul, Never more from wind or tide, Never more from billow's roll Wilt thou need thyself to hide. Could the sightless, sunken eyes, Closed beneath the soft gray hair, 16 242 CUMNOCK'S School Speakee. Could the mute and stiflened lips, Move again in jjleading prayer, Still, ave still the words would be, "Let me hide myself in Thee." AXOXYMOVS. WRECK OF THE HURON. A FEW days ago there went out from our Brooklyn Navy Yard a man-of-war, the Huron. She steamed down to Hampton Roads, dropped anchor for further orders, and then went on southward — one hundred and thirty-six souls on board — and the life of the humblest boy in sailor's jacket as precious as the life of the commander. There were storms in the air, the jib-stay had been carried away, but what cares such a monarch of the deep for a hurricane ! All's well at twelve o'clock at night ! Strike eight bells ! All's well at one o'clock in the morning ! Strike two bells ! How the water tosses from the iron prow of the Huron as she seems moving irresistibly on ! If a fishing smack came in her way she would ride it down and not know she touched it. But, alas ! througli the darkness she is aiming for Kag's head ! What is the matter with the compasses ? At one o'clock and forty minutes there is a harsh grat- ing on the bottom of the ship, and the cry goes across the ship, "What's the matter?" Then the sea lifts CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 2^3 up the ship to let her fall on tlie breakers — shock ! shock ! shock ! The dreadful command of the captain rings across the deck and is repeated among the ham- mocks, '-All hands save the ship ! " Then comes the thud of the ax in answer to the order to cut awaj the mast. Overboard go the guns. They are of no use in this battle with the wind and wave. Heavier and heavier the vessel falls, till the tim- bers begin to crack. The work of death goes on, every surge of the sea carrying more men from the forecastle, and reaching up its briny fingers to those hanging in the rigging. Numb and frozen, they hold on and lash themselves fast, while some, daring each other to the undertaking, plunge into the beating surf and struggle for the land. Oh, cruel sea ! Pity them, as, bruised and mangled, and with broken bones, they make des- perate effort for dear life. For thirty miles along the "beach the dead of the Huron are strewn, and througli- out the land there is weeping and lamentation and great woe. A surviving officer of the vessel testifies that the conduct of the men was admirable. It is a magnifi- cent thing to see a man dying at his post, doing his whole duty. It seems that every shipwreck must give to the world an illustration of the doctrine of vicarious sacrifice — men daring all things to save their fellows. Who can see such things without thinking of the greatest deed of these nineteen centuries, the pushing out of the Chieftain of the universe to take the human race off" the wreck of the world ? T. DeWitt Talmage. 244 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. EXTRACT FROM MORITURI SALUTAMUS. In mediieval Rome, I know not where, There stood an image witli its arm in air, And on its lifted linger, shining clear, A golden ring with the device "Strike here!'' Greatly the people wondered, though none guessed. The meaning that these words but half expressed. Until a learned clerk, who at noonday TVith downcast eyes was passing on his way. Paused, and observed the spot, and marked it well. Whereon the shadow of the finger fell. And coming back at midnight, delved and found A secret stairway leading underground. Down this he passed into a spacious hall. Lit by a flaming jewel on the wall ; And opposite in threatening attitude With bow and shaft a brazen statue stood ; Upon its forehead, like a coronet, Were these mysterious words of menace set : "That which I am, I am; my fatal aim Kone can escape, not even yon luminous flame !" Midway the hall was a fair table placed, With cloth of gold, and golden cu])S enchased ATitli rubies, and the plates and knives were gold. And gold the bread and viands manifold. Around it, silent, motionless, and sad, Were seated gallant knights in armor clad, CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 245 And ladies beautiful witli plume and zone, But they were stone, their hearts within were stone ; And the vast hall was filled in every part With silent crowds, stony in face and heart. Long at the scene bewildered and amazed The trembling clerk in speechless wonder gazed ; Then from the table, by his greed made bold, He seized a goblet and a knife of gold ; And suddenly from their seats the guests upsprang. The vaulted ceilings with loud clamors rang, The archer sped his arrow, at their call. Shattering the lambent jewel on the wall. And all was dark around and overhead ; — Stark on the floor the luckless clerk lay dead ! The writer of this legend then records Its ghostly applicati(jn in these words : The image is the Adversary old, "Whose beckoning finger points to realms of gold ; Our lusts and passions are the downward stair That leads the soul from a diviner air ; The archer, Death, the flaming jewel. Life ; Terrestrial goods, the goblet and the knife ; The knights and ladies, all whose flesh and bone By avarice have been hardened into stone ; Tiie clerk, the scholar, whom tlie love of pelf Tempts from his books and from his nobler self. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 240 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. LARRIE O'DEE. Now the Widow McGee And Larrie O'Dee Had two little cottages out on the green, "With just enough room for two pig-pens between. The widow was young and the widow was fair, With the brightest of eyes and the brownest of hair ; And it frequently chanced, when she came in the mom. With the swill for her pig, Larrie came with the corn, And some of the ears that he tossed from his hand In the pen of the widow were certain to land. One morning, said lie : '• Och ! Misthress McGee, It's a washte of good lumber, this runnin' two rigs, AVid a fancy partition betwane our two pigs ! " " Indade, sure it is!" answered Widow McGee, With the sweetest of smiles upon Larrie O'Dee ; " And thin it looks kind o' hard-hearted and mane Kapin' two frindly pigs so exsadingly near Tliat whinever one grunts thin the other can hear^ And yit keep a cruel partition betwane ! " CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 247 " Shwate Widow McGee ! " Answered Larrie O'Dee, " If ye fale in your heart we are mane to the pigs, An't we mane to ourselves to be runnin' two rigs i Och ! It made me heart ache when I paped through the cracks Of me shanty, lasht March, at yez shwingin' yer axe, An' a-bobbin' yer head, an' a-sthompin' yer fate, Wid yer purty white hands jusht as red as a bate. A-sphlittin' yer kindHn'-wood out in the shtorm, Whin one little slitove it would kape us both warm ! " " Now, piggy," said she, " Larrie's courtin' me, Wid his delicate, tinder allusions to you ; So now yez muslit tell me jusht what I musht do, For, if I'm to say yes, shtir the shwill wid yer shnout ; But if I'm to say no, yez musht kape yer nose out. Now, Larrie, for shame ! to be bribin' a pig By a-tossin' a handful of corn in its shwig ! " "Me darling, the piggy says yes,'' answered he. And that was the courtship of Larrie O'Dee. W. W. FixK. 248 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. A LEGEND OF THE NORTHLAND. Away, awaj in the Northland, Where tlie hours of the day are few, And the nights are so long in winter. They cannot sleep them through ; Where they harness the swift reindeer To the sledges when it snows ; And the children look like bears' cubs. In their funny, furry clothes ; They tell them a curious story, — I don't believe 'tis true ; And yet you may learn a lesson. If I tell the tale to you. Once, when the good Saint Peter Lived in the world below. And walked about it, i)reaching, Just as he did, you know ; He came to the door of a cottage. In traveling round the earth. Where a little woman was making cakes In the ashes on the liearth. So she maae a v^ery little cake, But, as it baking lay, She looked at it, and thought it seemed Too large to give away. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 249 Therefore she kneaded another, And still a smaller one ; But it looked, when she turned it over, As large as the first had done. 'a^ Then she took a tiny scraj) of dough, And rolled and rolled it flat ; And baked it thin as a wafer, — But she couldn't part with that. For she said, "My cakes that seem so small When I eat them myself. Are yet too large to give away," So she put them on a shelf Then good Saint Peter grew angry, For he was hungry and faint ; And surely such a woman Was enough to provoke a saint. And he said, "You are far too selfish To dwell in a human form. To have both food and shelter. And fire to keep you warm. •'Now you shall build as the birds do, . And shall get your scanty food By boring and boring and boring All day in the hard dry wood." 250 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. Then she went w\^ through the chimney, Never speaking a word ; And out of the top liew a woodpecker, For she was chancced to a bird. '&^ She liad a scarlet cap on her head, And that was left the same, But all the rest of her clothes were burned Black as a coal in the flame. And every country school-boy Has seen her in the wood, Where she lives in the trees to this very day, Boring and boring for food. And this is the lesson she teaches : Live not for yourselves alone, Lest the needs you will not pity Shall one day be your own. Give plenty of what is given you. Listen to pity's call ; Don't think the little you give is great, And the much you get is small. Now, my little boy, remember that. And try to be kind and good, When you see the woodjieckers sooty dress. And see her scarlet hood. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 251 You mayn't be changed to a bird, though you live As selfishly as you can ; But you will be changed to a smaller thing, — A mean and selfish man. PiicEBE Gary. A CHILD'S DREAM OF A STAR. There was once a child, and he strolled about a good deal, and thought of a number of things. He had a sister who was a child too, and his constant companion. They wondered at the beauty of flowers ; they wondered at the height and blueness of the sky ; they wondered at the depth of the water ; they won- dered at the goodness and power of God, who made the lovely world. They used to say to one another sometimes : Sup- posing all the children upon earth were to die, would the flowers, and the water, and the sky be sorry? They believed they would be sorry. For, said they, the buds are the children of the flowers, and the little playful streams that gambol down the hillsides are the children of the water, and the smallest bright specks playing at hide and seek in the sky all night must surely be the children of the stars ; and they would all be grieved to see their playmates, the children of men, no more. 252 CuMXOCK'S School Speaker. There was one clear shining star that used to come out in the sky before the rest, near the church spire, above tlie graves. It was hirger and more beautiful, they thought, than all the others, and every night they watched for it, standing hand-in-hand at a window. "Whoever saw it lirst, cried out, "I see the star." And after that, they cried out both together, knowing so well when it would rise, and where. So they grew to be such friends with it that, before lying down in their bed, thev always looked out once ao-ain to bid it good night ; and when they were turning round to sleep, they used to say, " God bless the star ! " But while she was still very young, oh, very young, the sister drooped, and came to be so weak that she could no longer stand in the window at night, and then the child looked sadly out by himself, and when he saw the star, turned round and said to the ])atient pale face on the bed, "I seethe star!" and then a smile would come upon the face, and a little weak voice used to say, "God bless my brother and the star ! " And so the time came, all too soon, when the child looked out all alone, and when there was no face on tlie bed, and when there was a grave among the graves, not there before, and when the star made long rays down toward him as he saw it through his tears. Now these rays were so bright, and they seemed to make such a shining way from earth to heaven, that when tlie child went to his solitary bed, he dreamed about the star ; and dreamed that, lying where he was, CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 253 he saw a train of people taken up that sparkling road by angels; and tlie star, opening, showing liini a great world of light, where many more such angels waited to receive them. All these angels, who were waiting, turned their beaming eyes upon the peo]:)le who were carried up into the star ; and some came out from the long rows in which they stood, and fell upon the people's necks, and kissed them tenderly, and went away with them down avenues of liglit, and were so hapj^y in their company, that, lying in his bed, he wept for joy. But there were many angels who did not go with them, and among them one he knew. The patient face that once had lain upon the bed was glorified and radiant, but his heart found out his sister among all the host. His sister's angel lingered near the entrance of the star, and said to the leader among those who had brought the people thither : " Is my brother come I " And he said, "^No!" She was turning hopefully away, when the child stretched out his arms, and cried, '*0h ! sister, I am here ! Take me ! " And then she turned her bcaminir eyes upon him, — and it was night ; and the star was shining into the room, making long rays down toward him as he saw it through his tears. From that hour forth, the child looked out upon the star as the home he was to go to when his time should come ; and he thought that he did not 25i CcMxocK'S School Speaker. belong to the earth alone, but to the star too, because of his sister's angol gone before. There was a buby born to be a brother to tlie child, and while he was so little that he never yet had spoken a word, he stretched out his tiny form on his bed, and died. Again the child dreamed of the opened star, and of the company of angels, and the train of people, and the rows of angels, with their beaming eyes all turned upon those people's faces. Said his sister's angel to the leader : "Is my brother come ? " And he said, " Xot that one, but another ! " As the child beheld his brother's angel in her arms, he cried, ' ' Oh, my sister, I am hei-e ! Take me ! " And she turned and smiled upon him, — and the star was shining. He grew to be a young man, and was busy at his books, when an old servant came to him and said : "Thy mother is no more. I bring her blessing on her darling son." Again at night he saw the star, and all that former company. Said his sister's angel to the leader : " Is my brother come 'i '' And he said, "Thy mother ! " A mighty cry of joy went forth through all the star, because the mother was re-united to lier two children. And lie stretched out his arms and cried, " Oh, mother, sister and brother, I am here ! Take me ! " And they answered him, " jS'ot yet ! " — And the star was shining. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker 255 He grew to be a man, whose hair was turning gray, and he was sitting in his chair by the fireside, heavy with grief, and with liis face bedewed with tears, when the star opened once again. Said his sister's angel to the leader, ' ' Is my brother come ? " And he said, ' ' Nay, but his maiden daughter ! " And the man who had been the child saw his daughter, newly lost to him, a celestial creature among those three, and he said : "My daughter's head is on my sister's bosom, and her arm is around my mother's neck, and at her feet is the baby of old time, and I can bear the parting from her, God be praised. " And the star was shining. Thus the child came to be an old man, and his once smooth face was wrinkled, and his steps were slow and feeble, and his back was bent. And one night as he lay upon his bed, his children standing round, he cried, as he cried so long ago : "I see the star ! " They whispered one to another, "He is dying." And he said, "I am. My age is frilling from me like a garment, and I move toward the star as a child. And O, my Father, now I thank Tliee that it has so often opened to receive those dear ones who await me!" And the star was shining ; and it shines upon his grave. Charles Dickens. 256 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN SHEPHERD BOY. A MorxTAiN shepherd boy iini I ; Beneath my I'eet the castles lie; The sun's bright beams the first I see, They linger longest here with me. I am the mountain boy ! Here has the flowing torrent birth ; I drink it fresh from out the eartli ; Here, gushing from its rocky bed, I catch it with my arms outspread. I am the mountain boy ! To me belongs the mountain-height ; Around me tempests wing their flight, And howl from nr)rth to south along, But o'er them rings my cheerful song. I am the mountain boy ! When thunders roll and lightnings glance, I stand beneath the blue expanse ; I know them well, I bid them cease, And leave my father's house in peace. I am the mountain boy ! And when the tocsin calls to arms, When mountain fires spread dire alarms, Then I descend, and join the throng, And wield my sword, and sing my song. I am the mountain boy ! From the German of Ludwig Uiiland. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 257 THE FISHERMEN. Three fishers went sailing out into the west — Out into the west as the sun went down ; Each though.t of the woman who loved him the best, And the children stood watching them out of the town ; For men must work, and women must weep , And there's little to earn, and many to keep, Though the harbor bar be moaning. Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower. And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down ; And they looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower. And the rack it came rolling up, ragged and brown ; But men must work, and women must weep, Though storms be sudden, and waters deep. And the harbor bar be moaning. Three corpses lay out on the shining sands In the morning gleam as the tide went down. And the women are weeping and wringing their hands. For those who wil'i never come back to the town ; For men must work, and women must weep, — And the sooner it 's over, the sooner to sleep, — And good-by to the bar and its moaning. Chaklks Kingsley. 17 258 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. THE KING'S RIDE. Above the city of Berlin shines soft the summer day, And near the royal palace shout the schoolboys at their play, When suddenly' the palace gates unclasp their por- tals wide, And fortli into the sunshine, see a single horseman ride ' A bent old man in plain attire ! on him no courtiers wait, No armed guard attends the steps of Frederick the Great 1 But boys have spied him, and with shouts the sum- mer breezes ring ; The merry urchins haste to greet their well-beloved king. The frowning look, the angry tone, are feigned, full well they know ; Tliey do not fear his stick — that hand ne'er struck a coward blow. Be off" to school, you boys ! " he cries. "Ho ! ho ! the laughers say ; "A pretty king, you, not to know we've holiday to- day ! " a CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 259 And so upon that summer day, those children at his side, The symbol of his nation's love, did royal Frederick ride. O kings ! your thrones are tottering now ! dark frowns the brow of Fate ! When did you ride as rode that day King Frederick the Great ? Lucy H. Hooper. SMALL BEGINNINGS. A TRAVELLER through a dusty road strewed acorns on the lea ; And one took root and sprouted up, and grew into a tree. Love sought its shade at evening time, to breathe its early vows ; And age was pleased, in heats of noon, to bask beneath its boughs ; The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, the birds sweet music bore ; It stood a glory in its place, a blessing evermore. A little spring had lost its way amid the grass and fern, A passing stranger scooped a well, where weary men might turn ; 260 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. He walled it in, and hung with care a ladle at the brink ; He thought not of the deed he did, but judged that toil might drink. He passed again, and lo ! the well, by summers never dried. Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, and saved a lite beside. A dreamer dropped a random thought ; 'twas old, and yet 'twas new ; A simple fancy of the brain, but strong in being true. It shone upon a genial mind, and lo ! its light became A lamp of life, a beacon ray, a monitory ilame. The tliought was small, its issue great ; a watch-tire on the hill. It sheds its radiance far adown, and cheers the valley still ! A nameless man, amid a crowd that thronged the daily mart. Let fall a word of hope and love, unstudied, from the heart ; A whisper on the tumult thrown, — a transitory breath, — It raised a brother from the dust ; it saved a soul from death. O germ ! O fount ! O word of love ! O thought at random cast ! Ye were but little at the first, but mighty at the last. ClIAKLES MaCKAY. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 261 THE FOUR MISFORTUNES. A PIOUS Rabbi, forced by heathen hate To quit the boundaries of liis native land, Wandered abroad, submissive to his fate, Througli pathless woods and wastes of burning sand. A patient ass, to bear him in his flight, A dog, to guard him from the robber's stealth, A lamp, by which to read the law at night,— Was all the pilgrim's store of worldly wealth. At set of sun he reached a little town. And asked for shelter and a crumb of food ; But every face repelled him with a frown. And so he sought a lodging in the wood. *"Tis very hard," the weary traveller said, ''And most inhospitable, I protest. To send me fasting to this forest bed ; But God is good, and means it for the best !" He lit his lamp to read the sacred law. Before he spread his mantle for the night But the wind rising with a sudden flaw, He read no more, — the gust put out the light. *"Tis strange," he said, "'tis ver}^ strange, indeed. That ere I lay me down to take my rest, A chapter of the law I may not read, — But God is good, and all is for the best !" 262 OuMN0CK\s School Speaker. Witli these consoling words the Rabbi tries To sleep, — his head reposing on a log, — But, ere he fairly shut his drowsy eyes, A wolf came up and killed his faithful dog. "What new calamity is this?" he cried; "My honest dog — a friend who stood the test When others failed — lies murdered at my side 1 Well, — God is good, and means it for the best." Scarce had the Rabbi spoken, when alas! — As if at once to crown his wretched lot, A hungry lion ])Ounced upon the ass. And killed the faithful donkey on the spot.. "Alas! — alas!" the weeping Raobi said, "Misfortune haunts me like a hateful guest; My dog is gone, and now my ass is dead, — Well. God is good, and all is for the best !"■ At dawn of day, imploring heavenly grace, Once more he sought the town, but all in vain; A band of robbers had despoiled the place, And all the churlish citizens were slain. " Now God be praised !" the grateful Rabbi cried,. "If I had tarried in the town to rest, I, too, with these poor villagers had died, — Sure, God is good, and all is for the best !" OuMNOCK's School Speaker. 263 " Had not the saucy wind put out mj lamp, By which the sacred law I would have read, The light had shown the robbers to my camp, And here the villains would have left me dead. " Had not my faithful animals been slain, Their noise, no doubt, had drawn the robbers ijear, And so their master, it is very plain, Instead of them, had fallen murdered here. '' Full well I see that this hath happened so To put my faith and patience to the test ; Thanks to His name ! for now I surely know That God is good, and all is for the best !" JoKx G. Saxe. THE COLD-WATER MAN. There was an honest fisherman, I knew him passing well. Who lived hard by a little pond, Within a little dell. A grave and quiet man was he, Who loved his hook and rod ; So even ran his li7ie of life, His neighbors thought it odd. For science and for books, he said, He never had a wish ; !No school to him was worth a lig, Except a school ofjish. 264 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. He ne'er aspired to rank or wealth, Nor cared about a name ; For, though much famed for fish was he, He never fished for fame. Let otliers bend their necks at sight , Of Fashion's gikled wlieels ; He ne'er had learned the art to "JoJ" For any thing but eels. A cunning fisherman was he, His angles all were right ; The smallest nibble at his bait Was sure to ])rove a '■''hite''! All day this fisherman would sit Upon an ancient log, And gaze into the water, like Some sedentary frog ; With all the seeming innocence And that unconscious look That other people often wear When they intend to "Aoo^"/ To charm the fish he never spoke, Although his voice was fine ; He found the most convenient way Was just to d/roj) a line ! CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 265 And many a gudgeon of the pond, If they could s])eak to-day, Would own, with grief, this angler had A mighty faking toay. Alas ! one day this fisherman Had taken too much grog, And, being but a landsman, too. He couldn't '''•'keep the log''''! 'Twas all in vain with might and main He strove to reach the shore ; Down — down he went, to feed the fish He'd baited oft before ! The jury gave their verdict, that 'Twas nothing else but gin Had caused the fisherman to be So sadly taken in; Tliough one stood out upon a whim. And said the angler's slaughter, To be exact about the fact. Was clearly gin-and^^water ! Tlie moral of this mournful tale. To all is ])lain and clear, — That drinking habits bring a man Too often to his hier ; 266 CuMN0CK\s School /Speaker. And he wlio scorns to "take the pledge," And keep the promise fast, May be, in spite ot' fate, a stlf^ Col(Pwater man at last. John G. Saxe. THE UNEXPECTED SON. One summer afternoon Mr, Malcom Anderson arrived with his family at his native town. Putting up at a little inn, he proceeded to dress himself in a suit of sailor clothes, and theu walked out alone. Along a by-path he well knew, and then through a shady lane, dear to his young hazel-nutting days, all strangely unchanged, he approached his mother's cottage. He stopped for a few moments on the lawn outside to curb down the heart that was bounding to meet that mother, and to clear his eyes of a sudden mist of happy tears. Through the open window he caught a glimpse of her, sitting alone at her spinning-wheel, as in the old time. But alas, how changed ! Bowed was the dear form once so erect, and sil- vered the locks once so brown, and dimmed the eyes once so full of tender brightness, like the dew-stained violets. But the voice with which she was crooning softly to herself was still sweet, and there was on her cheek the same lovely jieach bloom of twenty years ago. At length he knocked, and the dear remembered voice called to hira in the old-fashioned way, "Coom CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 267 ben ! " (come in.) The widow rose at the sight of a stranger, and courteously offered him a chair. Thank- ing her in an assumed voice, somewhat gruff, he sank down, as though wearied, saying that he was a way- farer, strange to the country, and asking the way to the next town. The twihght favored him in his little ruse ; he saw that she did not recognize him, even as one she had ever seen. But after giving him the information he desired, she asked him if he was a Scotchman by birth. "Yes, madam," he replied, *'but I have been away in foreign parts many years I doubt if my own mother would know me now, though she was very fond of me before I went to sea." " Oh, mon ! it's little ye ken about mithers, gin ye think sae. I can tell ye there is na mortal memory like theirs," the widow somewhat warmly replied ; then added, "And where hae ye been for sae long a time, that ye hae lost a' the Scotch fra your speech ? " "In India — in Calcutta, madam." "Ah, then, ifs likely ye ken something o' my son, Mr. Mai com Anderson." "Anderson?" repeated the visitor, as though striving to remember. ' ' There may be many of that name in Calcutta ; but is your son a rich merchant, and a man about my age and size, with something such a figure-head ? " "My son is a rich merchant," replied the widow, proudly; "but he is younger than you by mony a long year, and begging your pardon, sir, far bonnier. He is tall and straight, wi' hands and feet like a 268 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. lassie's ; he had brown curling hair, sae thick and glossy ! and cheeks like the rose, and a brow like the snaw, and the blue een, wi' a glint in them like the light of the evening star ! Na, na, ye are no like my Malcom, though ye are a guid enough body, I dinna doubt, and a decent woman's son.'' Here the masquerading merchant, considerably taken down, made a movement as though to take leave, but the hospitable dame stayed him, saying : "Gin ve hae travelled a' the wav fra India, ye maun be tired and hungry. Bide a bit, and eat and drink wi' us. Margery ! come doon, and let us set on the supper I *' The two women soon provided quite a tempting repast, and they all three sat down to it, Mrs. Ander- son reverently asking a blessing. But the merchant could not eat. He was only hungry for his mother's kisses — only thirsty for her joyful recognition ; yet he could not bring himself to say to her, "I am your son." He asked himself, half grieved, half amused, "Where are the unerring, natural instincts 1 have read about in poetry and novels ? " His hostess, seeing he did not eat, kindly asked if he could suggest anything he would be likely to relish. "I thank you, madam," he answered; "it does seem to me that I should like some oatmeal porridge, such as my mother used to make, if so be you have any." " Porridge ? " repeated the widow. " Ah, ye mean j)arritch. Yes, we hae a little left frae our dinner. Gie it to him, Margery. But, mon, it is cauld.'' CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 269 " Never mind ; I know I shall like it," he rejoined, taking the bowl, and beginning to stir the porridge with the spoon. As he did so Mrs. Anderson gave a slight start, and bent eagerly toward him. Then she sank back in her chair with a sigh in answer to his questioning look : "Ye minded me o' my Malcom then — just in that way he used to stir his parritch, gieing it a whirl and a flirt. Ah, gin ye wey^e my Malcom, my poor laddie ! " "Weel, then, gin Iwere your Malcom," said the merchant, speaking for the first time in the Scottish dialect, and in his own voice; "or gin your braw young Malcom were as brown, and bald, and gray, and bent, and old, as I am, could you welcome him to your arms, and love him as in the dear auld lang syne ? Could you, mither ? '* All through this touching little speech the widow's eyes had been glistening, and her breath came fast ; but at the word "mither" she sprang up with a glad cry, and tottering to her son, fell almost fainting on his breast. He kissed her again and again — kissed her brow, and her lips, and her hands, while the big tears slid down his bronzed cheeks ; and she clung about his neck, and called him by all the dear old pet names, and tried to see in him all the dear old young looks. By and by they came back — or the ghost of them came back. The form in her embrace grew comelier ; love and joy gave to it a second youth, stately and 270 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. gracious ; the Jirst she then and there buried deep in her heart — a sweet, beautiful, peculiar memory. It was a moment of solemn renunciation, in which she gave up tlie fond maternal illusion she had cher- ished so long. Then looking up steadily into the face of the middle-aged man who had taken its place, she asked: — "Where hae ye left the wife and bairns?" "At the inn, mother. Have you room for us all at the cottage ? " " Indeed I have — twa good spare rooms, wi' large closets, weel stocked wi' linen I hae been spinning or "weaving a' these lang years for ye baith, and the weans. " " Well, mother, dear, now you must rest," re- joined the merchant tenderly. " Na, na, I dinna care to rest till ye laj me down to tak' my lang rest. There'll be time enough be- tween that day and the resurrection to fold my hands in idleness. Now 'twould be unco irksome. But go, mj son, and bring me the wife — I hope I shall like her; and the bairns — I ho]>e they will like me." I have only to say that ))oth the good woman's hopes were realized. A very hai)j)y family knelt down in prayer that night, and many nights after, in the widow's cottage, whose clinging roses and wood- bines were but outward signs and ty])es of the sweetness and blessedness of the love and peace within. Anonymous. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 271 WHEN MARY WAS A LASSIE. The maple trees are tinged with red, The birch with golden yellow, And high above the orchard wall Hang apples, rich and mellow ; And that's the way through yonder lane That looks so still and grassy, — The way I took one Sunday eve, When Mary was a lassie. You'd hardly think that patient face, That looks so thin and faded. Was once the very sweetest one That ever bonnet shaded ; But when I went through yonder lane, That looks so still and grassy, Those eyes were bright, those cheeks were fair. When Mary was a lassie. But many a tender sorrow since, And many a patient care, Have made those furrows on the face That- used to be so fair. Four times to yonder churchyard, Through the lane so still and grassy We've borne and laid away our dead, — Since Mary was a lassie. And so you see I've grown to love The vyrinMes more than roses,' Earth's winter flowers are sweeter far Than all spring's dewy posies ; 272 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. They'll carry us through yonder lane That looks so still and grassy, — Adown the lane I used to go, When Mary was a lassie. Anonymous. THE VEILED PICTURE. A STORY is told of two artist lovers, both of whom sought the hand of a noted painter's daughter. The question, which of the two sliould possess himself of the prize so earnestly coveted by both, having come, finally, to the father, he promised to give his child to the one that could paint the best. So each strove for the maiden with the highest skill his genius could command. One painted a picture of fruit, and displayed it to the fether's inspection in a beautiful grove, where gay birds sang sweetly among the foliage, and all nature rejoiced in the luxuriance of bountiful life. Presently the birds came down to the canvas of the young y)ainter, and attempted to eat the fruit he had pictured there. In his surprise and joy at the young artist's skill, the father declared that no one could triumph over that. Soon, however, tlie second lover came with his picture, and it was veiled. "Take the veil from your painting," said the old man. "I leave that to you," fiaid the young artist, with simple modesty. The CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 273 father of the young and lovelj maiden then approached the veiled picture and attempted to uncover it. But imagine his astonishment, when, as he attempted to take off the veil, he found the veil itself to be the pic- ture ! AVe need not saj who w^as the lucky lover ; for if the artist who deceived the birds by skill in fruit manifested great powers of art, he who could so veil his canvas with the pencil as to deceive a skilful mas- ter, was surely the greater artist. Anonymous. CUDDLE DOON. The bairn ies cuddle doon at nicht, Wi' mickle faucht an' din ; "Oh, try and sleep, ye waukrife rougues, Your faither's comin' in," They never heed a word I speak ; I try to gie a froon, But aye I hap them up, an' cry, "Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon." Wee Jamie wi' the curly head. He aye sleeps next the wa', Bangs up an' cries, "I want a piece" — The rascal starts them a'. I rin' an' fetch them pieces, drinks ; They stop awee the soun'. Then draw the blankets up an' cry, "Noo, weanies, cuddle doon." IS 274 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. But ere five minutes gang, wee Rub Cries out frae' neath the claes, "Mither, mak' Tam gie ower at ance, He's kittlin wi' liis taes." The mischiefs in that Tam for tricks, He'd bother half the toon. But aye I hap them up an' cry, "Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon." At length they hear their faither's fit An' as he steeks tlie door They turn their faces to the wa'. While Tam pretends to snore. "Hae a' the weans been gude?" he asks As he pits off his shoon ; "The bairnies, John, are in their beds. An' lang since cuddled doon." An' just afore we bed oursel's. We look at oor wee lambs ; Tam has his airm roun' wee Kab's neck, An' Bab his airm roun' Tarn's. T lift wee Jamie up the bed. An' as I straik each croon I wliisper, till my heart fills up, "Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon." The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht Wi' mirth that's dear to me ; But sune the big warl's cark an' care Will quaten doon their glee. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 275 Yet come what will to ilka ane, May He who sits aboon, Aye whisper, though their pows be bauld, *'0h, bairnies, cuddle doon." Alexander Anderson. WE ARE SEVEN. I MET a little cottage girl, She was eight years old, she said ; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland aii*, And she was wildly clad ; Her eyes were fair, and very fair — Her beauty made me glad. '*' Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be ? " ^'PIow many? seven in all," she said. And wondering looked at me. •^'And where are they, I pray you tell?" She answered, "Seven are we ; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea ; 276 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. "Two of lis in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother : And in the churcliyard cottage I Dwell near them with my mother."' "You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea. Yet ye are seven ; I pray you tell. Sweet maid, how this may be ? " Then did the little maid reply : "Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the churcliyard lie. Beneath the churchyard tree. " "You run about, my little maid. Your limbs they are alive ; If two are in the churchyard laid, Then ye are only five." "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied, "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door And they are side by side. "My stockings there I often knit My 'kerchief there I hem ; xVnd there upon the ground I sit — I sit and sing to them. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 277 '*'And often after sunset, sir, AVlien it is light and fair, I take my little porringer And eat my supper there. "The first that died was little Jane : In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain, And then she went away ■*'So in the churchyard she was laid; And, when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played. My brother John and I. ■"And when the gi'ound was white with snow. And I could run and slide. My brother John was forced to go. And he lies by her side." ^'How many are you, then," said I, ' ' If they two are in heaven ? " The little maiden did reply, "O master! we are seven." '^'But they are dead — those two are dead; Their spirits are in heaven " : 'Twas throwing words away ; for still The little maid would have her will. And said, "Nay, we are seven." William Wordsworth. 278 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. A NAME IN THE SAND. Alone I walked the ocean strand ; A pearlj shell was in mj hand ; I stooped and wrote upon the sand My name — the year — the day. As onward from the spot I passed, One lingering look behind I cast — A wave came rolling, high and fast,. And washed my lines away. And so, methought, 'twill shortly be With every mark on earth from me ; A wave of dark oblivion's sea Will sweep across the place Where I have trod the sandy shore Of time, — and been, to be no more ; — Of me, my name, the name I bore, To leave no track nor trace. And yet, with Him who counts the sands^ And holds the waters in His hands, I know a lasting record stands Inscribed against my name. Of all this mortal part has wrought. Of all this thinking soul has tliought, — And from these fleeting moments caught, — Jr'or glory or i'or shame. George D. Prentice. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 279 LINES ON NAPLES. At, down to the dust with them, slaves as they are ! From this hour let the blood in their dastardly veins. That shrunk from the first touch of Liberty's war, Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in chains ! On — on, like a cloud, through their beautiful vales, Ye locusts of tyranny ! — blasting them o'er ; Fill — fill up their wide, sunny waters, ye sails. From each slave-mart in Europe, and shadow their shore. Let their fate be a mock-word — let men of all lands Laugh out with a scorn that shall ring to the poles. When each sword, that the cowards let fall from their hands, Shall be forged into fetters to enter their souls ! And deep, and more deep, as the iron is driven, Base slaves ! may the whet of their agony be. To think — as the doomed haply think of that heaven They had once within reach — that they might have been free. Shame ! shame ! wnen there was not a bosom, whose heat Ever rose o'er the zero of Castlereagh's heart, That did not, like Echo, your war-hymn repeat. And send back its prayers with your Liberty's start ! 280 CuMXOCK\s School Speaker. Wlien the world stood in hope — when a spirit that breathed Full fresh of the olden time whispered about, And the swords of all Italy, half-waj unsheathed, But waited one conquering cry to flash out ! When around you the shades of your mighty in fame, Filicaias and Petrarchs seemed bursting to view, And their words and their warnings — like tongues of bright flame Over Freedom's apostles — fell kindling on you ! Good God ! that in such a proud moment of life "Worth ages of history — when, had you but hurled One bolt at your tyrant invader, that strife Between freemen and tyrants had spread through the world. That then — O, disgrace upon manhood ! e'en then You should falter — should cling to your pitiful breath ; Cower down into beasts, when you might have stood men. And prefer a slave's life, to a glorious death ! It is strange I — it is dreadful ! Shout, Tyranny, shout Tlirough your dungeons and palaces, "Freedom is o'er ! " If there lingers one spark of her fire, tread it out. An d return to your empire of darkness once more. • CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 2S1 For if such are the braggarts that claim to be free, Come, Despot of Russia, thy feet let me kiss : — Far nobler to live the brute bondman of thee, Than sully our chains by a struggle like this ! Thomas Moore. BRIER-ROSE. Said Brier-Rose's mother to the naughty Brier- Rose : *'"What will become of you, my child, the Lord Al- mighty knows. You will not scrub the kettles, and you will not touch the broom ; You never sit a minute still at spinning-wheel or loom." Thus grumbled in the morning, and grumbled late at eve. The goodwife, as she bustled with pot and tray and sieve ; But Brier-Rose, she laughed and she cocked her dainty head : *'Why, I shall marry. Mother dear," full merrily she said, " You marry, saucy Brier-Rose ! The man, he is not found To mai-ry such a worthless wench, these seven leagues around." 19 282 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. But Brier-Eose, she laughed and she trilled a merry lay: "Perhaps he'll come, my Mother dear, from eighty leagues away." The good wife with a "humph" and a sigh, forsook tlie battle, And flung her pots and pails about with much vin- dictive rattle : "O Lord, what sin did I commit in youthful days and wild. That thou hast punished me in age with such a wayward child I " Up stole the girl on tiptoe, so that none her step could hear. And laughing pressed an airy kiss behind the good- wife's ear. And she, as e'er, relenting, sighed : "Oh, Heaven only knows "Whatever will become of you, my naughty Brier- Rose ! " The sun was high, and summer sounds were teem- ing in the air ; The clank of scythes, the cricket's whir, and swell- ing wood-notes rare, From field and copse and meadow ; and through the open door Sweet, fragrant wliiffs of new-mown hay the idle breezes bore. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 283 Then Brier-Rose grew pensive, like a bird of thought- ful mien, Whose little life has problems among the branches green. She heard the river brawling where the tide was swift and strong, She heard the summer singing its strange, alluring song. And out she skipped the meadows o'er and gazed into the sky ; Her heart o'erbrimmed with gladness, she scarce herself knew why. And to a merry tune she hummed, "Oh, Heaven only knows "Whatever will become of the naughty Brier-Rose ! '^ Whene'er a thrifty matron this idle maid espied, She shook her head in warning, and scarce her wrath could hide ; For girls were made for housewives, for spinning- wheel and loom, And not to drink the sunshine and wild-flower's sweet perfume. And oft the maidens cried, when the Brier-Rose went by, "You cannot knit a stocking, and you cannot make a pie." But Brier-Rose, as was her wont, she cocked her curly head : But 1 can sing a pretty song," full merrily she said. (4 284 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. And oft the young lads shouted, when they saw the maid at play : ^'Ha, good-for-notliing Brier-Eose, how do you do to- day i " Then she shook her tiny fist ; to her cheeks the color flew ; *' However much you coax me, I'll never dance with you ! ■' Thus flew the years light-winged over Brier-Rose's head, Till she was twenty summers old and yet remained unwed. And all the parish wondered : "The Lord Almighty knows Whatever will become of that naughty Brier-Rose ! " And while they wondered came the Spring a danc- ing o'er the hills ; Her breath was warmer than of yore, and all the mountain rills, "With their tinkling and their rippling and their rush- ing, filled the air, And the misty sounds of water forth-welling every- where. And in the valley's depth, like a lusty beast of prey, The river leaped and roared aloud and tossed its mane of spray ; CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 285 Then hushed again its voice to a softly plashing croon, As dark it rolled beneath the sun and white beneath the moon. It was a merry sight to see the lumber as it whirled Adown the tawny eddies that hissed and seethed and swirled, Now shooting through the rapids, and, with a reel- ing swing, Into the foam-crests diving like an animated thing. But in the narrows of the rocks, where o'er a steep incline The waters plunged and wreathed in foam the dark boughs of the pine. The lads kept watch with shout and song, and sent each straggling beam A-spinning down the rapids, lest it should lock the stream. And yet — methinks I hear it now — wild voices in the night, And rush of feet, a dog's harsh bark, a torch's flaring light, And wandering gusts of dampness, and round us tar and nigh, A throbbing boom of water like a pulse-beat in the sky. 286 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. The dawn just pierced the pallid east with spears of gold and red, As we, with boat-hooks in our hands, toward the narrows sped. And terror smote us ; for we heard the mighty tree- tops sway, And thunder, as of chariots, and hissing showers of spray. "Now, lads," the sherift shouted, "you are strong, like Norway's rock ; A hundred crowns I give to him who breaks the lumber lock ! For if another hour go by, the angry waters' spoil Our homes will be, and fields, and our weary years of toil" We looked each at the other ; each hoped his neigh- bor would Brave death and danger for his home, as valiant Norsemen should. But at our feet the brawling tide expanded like a lake. And whirling beams came shooting on, and made the firm rock quake. *' Two hundred crowns !" the sheriff cried, and breath- less stood the crowd. *' Two hundred crowns, my hearty lads !" in anxious tones and loud. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 287 But not a man came forward, and no one spoke or stirred, And nothing save the thunder of the cataract was lieard. JBut as with trembling hands and with fainting hearts we stood. We spied a little curly head emerging from the wood, We heard a little snatch of a merry little song. And saw the dainty Brier-Rose come dancing through the throng. An angry murmur rose from the people round about. "Fling her into the river!" we heard the matrons shout ; "Chase her away, the silly thing; for God himself scarce knows Why ever he created that worthless Brier-Rose." Sweet Brier-Rose, she heard their cries ; a little pensive smile Across her fair face flitted, that might a stone be- guile ; And then she gave her pretty head a roguish little cock : "Hand me a boat-hook, lads," she said; "I think I'll break the lock." 288 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. Derisive shouts of laughter broke from throats of young and old : "Ho! good-for-nothing Brier-Rose, your tongue was ever bold.-' And, mockingly, a boat-hook into her hands was flung, When, lo ! into the river's midst with daring leaps she sprung ! We saw her dimly through a mist of dense and blinding spray ; From beam to beam she skipped, like a water- sprite at play ; And now and then faint gleams we caught of color through the mist : A crimson waist, a golden head, a little dainty wrist. In terror pressed the people to the margin of the hill ; A hundred breaths were bated, a hundred hearts stood still ; For, hark ! from out the rapids came a strange and creaking sound. And then a crash of thunder which shook the very ground. Tlie waters hurled the lumber mass down o'er the rocky steep ; We heard a muffled rumbling and a rolling in the deep ; CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 289 We saw a tiny form which the torrent swiftly bore And flung into the wild abyss, where it was seen no more. Ah, little naughty Brier-Rose, thou couldst nor weave nor spin ; Yet thou couldst do a nobler deed than all thy mocking kin ; For thou hadst courage e'en to die, and by thy death to save A thousand farms and lives from the fury of the wave. And yet the adage lives, in the valley of thy birth : When wayward children spend their days in heed- less play and mirth. Oft mothers say, half smiling, half sighing, "Heaven knows Whatever will become of the naughty Brier- Eose!" Hjalmar Hjokth Boyeson. 290 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. DEATH OF PAUL DOMBEY. (FEOM "DOMBEY AND SON.") Little Dombey had never risen from his little bed. He lay there listening to the noises in the street quite tranquilly ; not caring much how the time went, but watching it and watching everything. When the sunbeams struck into his room through the rustling blinds, and quivered on the opposite wall, like golden water, he knew that evening was coming on, and that the sky was red and beautiful. As the reflection died away, and a gloom went creeping up the wall, he watched it deepen, deepen, deepen into night. Then he thought how the long unseen streets were dotted with lamps, and how the peaceful stars were shining overhead. His fancy had a strange ten- dency to wander to the river, which he knew was flow- ing through the great city ; and now he thought how black it was, and how deep it would look reflecting the hosts of stars ; and, more than all, how steadily it rolled away to meet the sea. "Floy! What z's- that?" "Where, dearest i" "There ! at the bottom of the bed." "There's nothing there except papa ! " The flgure lifted up its head and rose, and, coming to the bedside, said : " My own boy ! Don't you know me ? " Paul looked it in the face. Before he could reach out both his hands to take it between them and draw CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 291 it toward him, tlie figure turned away quickly from the little bed, and went out at the door. The next time he observed the figure sitting at the bottom of the bed, he called to it. "Don't be so sorry for me, dear papa. Indeed, I •am quite happy ! " His father coming and bending down to him, he Held him round the neck, and repeated these words to him several times, and very earnestly ; and he never saw his father in his room again at any time, whether it were day or night, but he called out, ' ' Don't be so sorry for me ! Indeed, I am quite happy ! " How many times the golden water danced upon the wall, how many nights the dark river rolled toward the sea in spite of him, Paul never sought to know. One night he had been thinking of his mother and her picture in the drawing-room down-stairs. The train of thought suggested to him to inquire if he had ever seen his mother. For he could not remember whether they had told him yes or no; the river running Tory fast, and confusing his mind. " Floy, did I ever see mamma ? " " No, darling, why ? " "Did I never see any kind face, like a mamma's, looking at me when I was a baby, Floy ? " "Oyes, dear!" "Whose, Flov?" " Your old nurse's. Often." 292 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER. "And where is my old nurse ? Show me tliat old nurse, Floy, if you please ! " "She is not here, darling. She shall come to- morrow. " "Thank you, Floy!" Little Dombey closed his eyes with these words,, and fell asleep. When he awoke, the sun was high, and the broad day was clear and warm. Then he awoke, — woke mind and body, — and sat upright in his bed. He saw them now about him. There was no gray mist before them, as there had been sometimes in the night. He knew them every one, and called them by their names. " And who is this ? Is this my old nurse ?" asked the child, regarding, with a radiant smile, a figure coming in. Yes, yes. No other stranger would have shed those tears at sight of him, and called him her dear boy, her pretty boy, her own poor blighted child. No other woman would have stooped down by his bed, and taken up his wasted hand, and put it to her lips- and breast, as one who had some right to fondle it. No other woman would have so forgotten everybody there but him and Floy, and been so full of tenderness and pity. " Floy ! this is a kind, good face ! I am glad to see it again. Don't go away, old nurse. Stay here ! Good-by ! " "Good-by, my child?" cried Mrs. Pipchin, hur- rying to his bed's head. " Not good-by ? " CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 293 ''Ah, yes ! Good-by ! — Where is papa ? " His fatlier's breath was on liis cheek before the "words liad parted from his lips. The feeble hand waved in the air, as if it cried " Good-by ! " again. "Now lay me down ; and, Floy, come close to me, and let me see you." Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the golden light came streaming in, and fell upon them, locked together. "How fast the river runs, between its green "banks and the rushes, Floy ! But it's very near the sea now. I hear the waves ! They always said so ! " Presently he told her that the motion of the boat upon the stream was lulling him to rest. Now the boat was out at sea. And now there was a shore before him. Who stood on the bank ? "Mamma is like you, Floy. I know her by the face ! " The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred in the room. The old, old fashion ! The fashion that came in with our first gar- ments, and will last unchanged until our race has run its course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, old fashion, — Death ! O, thank God, all who see it, for that older fashion yet, of Immortality ! And look upon us. Angels of joung children, with regards not quite estranged, ■when the swift river bears us to the ocean ! Charles Dickens. 294 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. EDINBURGH AFTER FLODDEN. News of battle ! — news of battle ! Hark ! 'tis ringing down the street : And the archways {ind the pavement Bear the clang of hurrying feet. Kews of battle! — who hath brought it? News of triumph ! — who should bring. Tidings from our noble army, Greetings from our gallant King ! All last night we watched the beacons Blazing on the hills afar, Each one bearing, as it kindled, Message of the opened war : All night long the northern streamers Shot across the trembling sky : Fearful lights, that never beacon Save when kings or heroes die. News of battle ! who hath brought it I All are thronging to the gate ; " "Warder, — warder ! open quickly ! Man, — is this a time to wait?" And the heavy gates are opened : Then a nmrmur long and loud. And a cry of fear and wonder Bursts from out the bending crowd ; For they see in battered harness Only one hard-stricken man ; And his weai-y steed is wounded. And his cheek is pale and wan ; CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 295 Spearless hangs a bloody banner In his weak and drooping hand — What ! can that be Randolph Murray, Captain of the city band ? Round him crush the people, crying, "Tell us all— Oh, tell us true! Where are they who went to battle, Randolph Murray, sworn to you? Where are they, our brothers — children ? Have they met the English foe? Why art thou alone, unfollowed? Is it weal or is it woe ? " Like a corpse the grisly warrior Looks from out his helm of steel ; But no word he speaks in answer — Only with his armed heel Chides his weary steed, and onward Up the city streets they ride; Fathers, sisters, mothers, children. Shrieking, praying by his side. " By the God that made thee, Randolph, Tell us what mischance hath come ! " Then he lifts his riven banner. And the askers' voice is dumb. The elders of the city Have met within their hall — The men whom good King James had charged To watch the tower and wall. 296 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. " Your hands are weak with age," he said, " Your hearts are stout and true ; So bide ye in the Maiden town, While others fight for you. My trumpet from the Border-side Shall send a blast so clear, That all who wait within the gate That stirring sound may hear. Or, if it be the will of Heaven . That back I never come. And if, instead of Scottish shouts, Ye hear the English dram, — Then let the warning bells ring out, Then gird ye to the fray, Then man the walls like burghers stout, And tight while fight you may. 'Twere better that in fiery flame The roof should thunder down. Than that the foot of foreign foe Should trample in the town ! " Then in came Randolph Murray, — His step was slow and weak, And as he doffed his dinted helm, The tears ran down his cheek ; They fell uj)()n his corselet. And on his mailed hand. As he gazed around him wistfully, Leaning sorely on his brand. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 297 And none who then beheld him But straight were smote with fear, For a bolder and a sterner man Had never couched a spear. They knew so sad a messenger Some ghastly news must bring, And all of them were fathers, And their sons were with the King. And up then rose t^^e Provost — A brave old man was he, Of ancient name, and knightly fame. And chivalrous degree. Oh, woeful now was the old man's look, And he spake right heavily : "Now, Randolph, tell thy tidings. However sharp they be ! Woe is written on thy visage, Death is looking from thy face ; Speak! though it be of overthrow — It cannot be disgrace ! " Eight bitter was the agony That wrung that soldier proud : Thrice did he strive to answer, And thrice he groaned aloud. Then he gave the riven banner To the old man's shaking hand. Saying, "That is all I bring ye From the bravest of the land ! 298 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker, Ay ! ye may look upon it — It was guarded well and long By your brothers and your children, By the valiant and the strong. One by one they fell around it, As the archers laid them low, Grimly dying, still unconquered. With their faces to the foe. "Ay! ye well may look upon it — There is more than honor there. Else, be sure, I had not brought it From the field of dark despair. Never yet was royal banner Steeped in such a costly dye ; It hath lain upon a bosom Where no other shroud shall lie. Sirs ! I charge you keep it holy. Keep it as a sacred thing, For the stain you see upon it Was the life-blood of your King ! " Woe, woe and lamentation ! What a piteous cry was there ! Widows, maidens, mothers, children, Shrieking, sobbing in despair ! "Oh, the blackest day for Scotland That she ever knew before ! Oh, our King ! the good, the noble, Shall we see him nevermore ? CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 299 Woe to US, and woe to Scotland, Oh, our sons, our sons and men ! Surely some have 'scaped the Southron, Surely some will come again ? " Till the oak that fell last winter Shall uprear its shattered stem, "Wives and mothers of Dunedin, Ye may look in vain for them ! W. Edmondstone Aytoun. POOR LITTLE JOE. Prop yer eyes wide open, Joey, Fur I've brought you sumpin' great. Apxjles f No, a heap sight better ! Don't you take no int'rest ? Wait ! Flowers, Joe — I know'd you'd like 'em — Ain't them scrumptious ? Ain't them high ? Tears, my boy ? Wot's them fur, Joey ? There — poor little Joe! — don't cry! I was skippin' past a winder. Where a bang-up lady sot. All amongst a lot of bushes — Each one climbing from a pot ; Every bush had flowers on it — Pretty ? Mebbe not ! Oh, no ! Wish you could a seen 'em growin', It was sicli a stunnin' show. 300 CUMNOCK'S School Speakkr. Well, I thought of jou, poor feller, Lyin' here so sick and weak, Never knowiu' any comfort, And I puts on lots o' cheek. ''Missus,"' says I, "If you please, mum, Could I ax you for a rose? For my little brother, missus — JS'ever seed one, I suppose." Then I told her all about you — How I bringed you up, poor Joe ! (Lackin' women folks to do it.) Sich a' im]) you was, you know — Till yer got that awful tumble, Jist as I had broke yer in (Hard work, too) to earn yer livin' Blackin' boots for honest tin. How that tumble crippled of you, So's \ou c(nildn't hyijer much — Joe, it hurted when I seen you Fur the first time with yer crutch. "But,"' I says, "he's laid up now, mum, 'Pears to weaken every day"; Joe, she up and went to cuttin'- That's the how of this bokay. Say I It seems to me, ole feller, You is quite yerself to-night ; Kind o' chirk — it's been a fortnit Sence yer eyes has been so bright. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 301 Better? Well, I'm glad to hear it! Yes, they're mighty pretty, Joe. SmellirC of enCs made you happy f Well, I thought it would, you know ! Never see the country, did you ? Flowers growin' everywhere ! Some time when you're better, Joej*, Mebbe I kin take you there. Flowers in heaven f 'M — I s'pose so ; Dunno much about it, though ; Ain't as fly as wot I might be On them topics, little Joe. But I've heard it hinted somewheres That in heaven's golden gates Things is everlastin' cheerful — B'lieve that's wot the Bible states. Likewise, there folks don't git hungry ; So good people, when they dies, Finds themselves well fixed forever — Joe, my boy, wot ails yer eyes ? Thought they looked a little sing'ler. Oh, no ! Don't you have no fear ; Heaven was made fur such as you is — Joe, wot makes you look so queer? Here — wake up ! Oh, don't look that way ! Joe ! My boy ! Hold up yer head ! Here's yer flowers — you dropped 'em, Joey! Oh, my God, can Joe be dead? Peleg Arkwright. 302 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. THE CHURCH SPIDER. Two spiders, so the story goes, Upon a living bent, Entered the meeting-house one day. And hopefully were heard to say — " Here we will have at least fair play, With nothing to prevent." Each chose his place and went to work- The light web grew apace ; One on the altar s])un his thread, But shortly came the sexton dread. And swept him off, and so, half dead. He sought another place. ^' 111 try the pulpit next," said he, " There surely is a prize ; The desk appears so neat and clean, I'm sure no spider there has been — Besides, how often have I seen The pastor brushing flies." He tried the pulpit, but alas ! His hojjes proved visionary ; With dusting brush the sexton came, And spoiled his geometric game, Nor gave him time or space to claim The right of sanctuary. CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 303 At length, half starved, and weak and lean, He sought his former neighbor, "Who now had grown so sleek and round. He weighed a fraction of a pound. And looked as if the art he'd found Of living without labor. "How is it, friend," he asked, "that I Endured such thumps and knocks, "While you have grown so very gross?" *' 'Tis plain," he answered — "not a loss I've met, since first I spun across The contribution box." Anonymous. 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