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.
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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 j<chool Girl Anonymous. 116
Little and Great Anonymous. 119
A Battle Song FOR Freedom Gail Hamilton. 120'
The Three Bells John G. Whittier. 121
The Seitemher Gale Oliver Wendell Holmes. 123
The Glove and the Lions Leigh Hunt. 125
The .Tiner-s Anonymous. 127
The Brook of Lappington Henry Gillman. 131
The Two Chukch-Builders John G. Saxe. 133.
Contents. 7
An Elegy on the Death op a Mad Dog Oliver Goldsmith. 135
LocniNVAR Sir Walter Scott. 137
The Power of Habit John B. Gough. 139
The Graves of a Household . Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 141
Sam's Letter Anonymous. 142
Money Musk Benjamin F. Taylor. 145
The Ship of Faith Anonymous. 148
The Hunters Matthew Arnold. 150
Chiquita Bret Harte. 153
The Birth of Ireland Anonymous. 155
Her Letter Bret Harte. 157
The Soldier's Reprieve R. D. C. Bobbins. 160
A Legend of Hesse Franz Dingelstedt. 1G5
Better Things George MacDonald. 168
Peter's Ride to the Wedding Anonymous. 169
Tom's Little Star Anonymous. Ill
The Fox in the Well J. T. Troivbridge. 178
A Piece of Red Calico Andrew Scroggin. 180
Little Goldenhair Anonymous. 187
Mrs. Lofty and I Anonymous. 189
The Bobolink Anonymous. 190
Annie and Willie's Prayer .... Sophia P. Snow. 192
Laughing in Meeting Harriet Beecher Stowe. 198
The Menagerie /. Honeywell. 206
Battle Hymn of the Republic . . Julia Ward Howe. 208
Katie Lee and Willie Gray Anonymous. 210
The Battle of Naseby Lord Macaiday. 212
Father Land and Mother Tongue . . . Samuel Lover. 215
Edward Gray Alfred Tennyson. 216
The Nantucket Skipper James T. Fields. 217
The Jester's Sermon George W. Thornbury. 219
John Hasty and Peter Quiet Anonymous. 222
Claribel's Prayer M. L. Parmelee. 224
The Ballad of Babie Belt T. B. Aldrich. 226
That Hired Girl "Free Press Man." 230
The Bells of Lynn F. E. Weatherly. 232
The Retort Anonymous. 234
8 Contents.
Death of Leoxidas George Croly. 235
Leedle Yawcob Strauss Charles F. Adams. 237
Bruce's Address Robert Bums. 239
Rock of Ages Anonymous. 240
Wreck OF the Huron T. DeWitt Talmage. 242
Extract from Morituri Salutamus . . H. W. Longfellow. 244
Larky O'Dee W.W. Finl: 246
A Legend OF the Northland Phcebe Cary. 248
A Child's Dream of a Star Charles Dickens. 251
Song of the Mountain Shepherd Boy . Ludwig Uhland. 256
The Fishermen Charles Kingsley. 257
The King's Ride Lucy H. Hooper. 258
Small Beginnings Charles Mackay. 259
The Four Misfortunes John G. Saxe. 261
The Cold-Water Man John G. Saxe. 263
The Unexpected Son Anonymous. 266
When Mary was a Lassie Anonymous. 271
The Veiled Picture Anonymous. 272
Cuddle Doon Alexander Anderson. 273
We are Seven William Wordsworth. 275
A Name in the Sand George D. Prentice. 278
Lines on Naples Thomas Moore. 279
Brier-Rose Hjalmar Hjorth Boyeson. 281
Death of Paul Dombey Charles Dickens. 290
Edinburgh After Flodden . . jr. Edmondstone Aytoun. 294
Poor Little Joe Peleg Arkwright. 299
The Church Spider Anonymous. 302
CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER.
THE TWO ROADS.
It was New Year's night. An aged man was
standing at a window. He mournfully raised his eyes
toward the deep blue sky, where the stars were float-
ing like white lilies on the surface of a clear, calm lake.
Then he cast them on the eailh, where few more help-
less beings than himself were moving toward their
inevitable goal — the tomb. Already he had passed
sixty of the stages which lead to it, and he had brought
from his journey nothing but errors and remorse. His
health was destroyed, his mind unfurnished, his heart
sorrowful, and his old age devoid of comfort.
The days of his youth rose up in a vision before
him, and he recalled the solemn moment when his
father had placed him at the entrance of two roads,
one leading into a peaceful, sunny land, covered with
a fertile harvest, and resounding with soft, sweet songs;
while the other conducted the wanderer into a deep,
dark cave, whence there was no issue, where poison
flowed instead of water, and where serpents hissed and
crawled.
He looked toward the sky, and cried out, in his
anguish: "O youth, return! O my father, place
10 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
nie once more at the crossway of life, that I may
choose the better road ! " But the daj^s of his youth
had passed away, and his parents were with tlie
departed. He saw wandering Hghts float over dark
marshes, and then disappear. "Such," he said, "were
the days of my wasted life ! " He saw a star shoot
from Heaven, and vanish in darkness athwart the
churchyard. "Behold an emblem of myself!'' he
exclaimed ; and the sharp arrows of unavailing remorse
struck him to the heart.
Then he remembered his early companions, who
had entered life with him, but who, having trod the
paths of virtue and industry, were now happy and
honored on this New Year's night. The clock in the
high church-tower struck, and the sound, falling on
his ear, recalled the many tokens of the love of his
parents for him, their erring son; the lessons they had
taught him ; the prayers they had offered up in his
behalf. Overwhelmed with shame and grief, he dared
no longer look toward that Heaven where they dwelt.
His darkened eyes dropjK'd tears, and, with one
despairing etfort, he cried aloud, "Come back, my
early days I Come back ! "
And his youth did return; for all this had been but
a dream, visiting his shimbers on New Year's night.
He was still young; his errors only were no dream.
He thanked God fervently that time was still his own;
that he had not yet entered the deep, dark cavern, but
that he was free to tread the road leading to the peace-
ful land where sunny harvests wave.
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 11
Ye who still linger on the threshold of life, doubt-
ing which path to choose, remember that when years
shall have passed, and your feet shall stumble on the
dark mountain, you will cry bitterly, but cry in vain,
" O youth, return ! Oh, give me back my early
days ! "
From the German of Jean Paul Richter.
THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER.
We were crowded in the cabin ;
Not a soul would dare to sleep ;
It was midnight on the waters,
And a storm was on the deep.
'Tis a fearful thing in winter
To be shattered by the blast,
And to hear the rattling trumpet
Thunder, "Cut away the mast!"
So we shuddered there in silence :
For the stoutest held his breath,
While the hungry sea was roaring,
And the breakers talked with Death.
And as thus we sat in darkness.
Each one busy in his prayers,
"We are lost!" the captain shouted,
As he staggered down the stairs.
12 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
But his little daughter whispered,
As she took his icy hand,
"Isn't God upon the ocean,
Just the same as on the land ? "
Then we kissed the little maiden,
And we spoke in better cheer ;
And we anchored safe in harbor.
When the morn was shining clear.
James T. Fields.
LILY'S BALL.
Lily gave a party,
And her little playmates all,
Gayly dressed, came in their best,
To dance at Lily's ball.
Little Quaker Primrose
Sat and never stirred.
And, except in whispers.
Never s])oke a word.
Snowdroj) nearly fainted
Because the room was hot.
And went away before the rest
With sweet Forget-me-not.
Pansy danced with Daffodil,
Pose with Violet ;
Silly Daisy fell in love
With pretty Mignonette.
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 13-
But, when they danced the country dance,
One could scarcely tell
Which of these two danced it best, —
Cowslip or Heather-bell.
Between the dances, when they all
Were seated in their places,
I thought I'd never seen before
So many pretty faces.
But, of all the pretty maidens
I saw at Lily's ball.
Darling Lily was to me
The sweetest of them all.
And, when the dance was over,
They went downstairs to sup ;
And each had a taste of honey cake,
With dew in a buttercup.
And all were dressed to go away.
Before the set of sun ;
And Lily said " Good-by," and gave
A kiss to every one.
And before the moon or a single star
Was shining overhead,
Lily and all her little friends
Were fast asleep in bed.
Anonymous.
1-i OcMNocK's School Speaker.
THE RIDDLER.
There went a rider on a roan,
Bj rock and hill, and all alone.
And asked of men these questions three :
"Who may the greatest miller be?
"What baker baked ere Adam's birth ?
What washer washes the most on earth?"
And still the rider went his way
By cities old and castles gray.
In morning red or moonlight dim.
Unto the sea where ships do swim;
And yet no man could answer him.
He reined his horse upon the sand :
"There is no lord in any land
Can answer right my questions three : —
Old fisher, sitting by the sea,
Canst tell me where those craftsmen be?"
Then spoke the fisher of the mere :
"The earth is dark, the water clear.
And where the sea against the land
Is grinding rocks and shells to sand,
I see the greatest miller's hand.
"The baker who baked before the morn
When Adam was in Eden born.
Is Heat, that God made long before,
Whicli dries the sand upon the shore,
And hardens it to rock once more.
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 15
"And the water, falling night and day,
Is the washer, washing all away ;
All melts in time before the rain.
The mountain sinks into the plain :
So the great world comes and goes again."
"Thou, Silver Beard, hast spoken well.
With wisdom most commendable ;
So bind thee with this golden band ! "
The light was red upon the strand ;
The rider's road lay dark in-land.
Charles G. Leland.
THE DESERTED MILL.
It stands in the lonely Winterthal,
At the base of Ilsberg hill ;
It stands as though it fain would fall, —
The dark deserted mill.
Its engines coated with moss and mould,
Bide silent all the day ;
Its mildewed walls and windows old
Are crumbling into decay.
So, through the daylight's lingering hours.
It mourns in weary rest ;
But soon as the sunset's gorgeous bowers
Begin to fade in the west.
The long-dead millers leave their lairs,
And open its creaking doors,
And their feet glide up and down its stairs,
And over its dusty floors.
16 OuMNOCK\s School Speaker.
And the millers' men, they too awake,
And the night's weird work begins ;
The wheels turn round, the hoppers shake,
The flour falls into the bins.
The mill bell tolls again and again,
And the cry is " Grist here, ho ! "
And the dead old millers and their men
Move busily to and fro.
And ever as night wears more and more
Xew groups throng into the mill,
aVnd the clangor, deafening enough before.
Grows louder and wilder still.
Huge sacks are harrowed from floor to floor;
The wheels redouble their din ;
The hoppers clatter, and the engines roar,
And the flour o'erflows the bin.
But with the morning's pearly sheen.
This ghastly hubbub wanes.
And the mf)on-dim face of a woman is seen
Through the meal-dulled window-panes ;
She opens the sash, and her words resound
In tones of unearthly power —
"Come hither, good folks, the com is ground;
Come hither and take your flour ! "
Thereon strange hazy lights appear,
A-flitting all through the pile,
And a deep, melodious, choral cheer
Ascends through the roof the while ;
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 17
But a moment more, and you gaze and hark,
And wonder and wait in vain;
For suddenly all again is dark.
And all is hushed again.
It stands in the desolate Winterthal,
At the base of Ilsberg liill ;
It stands as though it would rather fall, —
The long deserted mill.
Its engines, coated with moss and mould,
Bide silent all the da}-;
Its mildewed walls and windows old
Are crumbling fast away.
From the German of A. Scuxezler.
THE BLACKSMITH OP RAGENBACH.
In the principality of Hohenlohe, now a part of the
kingdom of Wiirtemberg, is a village called Eagenbach,
where, about twenty years ago, the following event
took place : one afternoon in early autumn, in the
tavern room of Eagenbach, several men and women,
assembled from the village, sat at their ease. The
smith formed one of the merry company. He was
a strong man, with resolute countenance and daring
mien, but with such a good-natured smile on his lips
that everyone wlu^ saw him admired him. His arms
were like bars of iron and his fist like a forge-hammer,
so that few could equal him in strength of body.
18 CuMNOcK'S School Speaker.
The smitli sat near the door chatting with one of
his neighbors, when all at once the door opened, and
a dog came staggering into the room, a great, ]>owerful
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 d<jn"t match the piece I gave you?
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 187
"Match it ! '' I cried. "Oh, no ! it don't matcli it.
You didn't want that matched. You were mistaken.
What you wanted was Turlcey red — third counter to
the left. I mean Turkey red is what they use."
My wife h)oked at me in amazement, and then I
detailed to her my troubles.
''Well,'' said she, "this Turkey red is a great deal
prettier than what I had, and you've got so much of it,
that I needn't use the other at all. I wish I had
thought of Turkey red before."
"I wish from my heart you had," I said.
Andrew Sceoggin.
LITTLE GOIiDENHAIR.
GoLDENHAiR climbed up on grandpapa's knee ;
Dear little Goldenhair, tired was she,
All the day busy as busy could be.
Up in the morning as soon as 't was light,
Out with the birds and butterflies bright,
Skipping about till the coming of night.
Grandpapa toyed with the curls on her head.
"What has my darling been doing," he said,
"Since she arose with the sun from her bed?"
"Pittv much," answered the sweet little one.
*'I cannot tell so much things I have done,
Played with my dolly and feeded my bun.
188 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
"And then I jumped with my little jump-rope,
And 1 nuule out of some water and soap
Bootiful worlds, mamma's castles of hope.
"Then I have readed in my ])icture-book,
And Bella and I, we went to look
For the smooth little stones by the side of the
brook.
"And then I comed home and eated my tea,
And I climbed up on grandpapa's knee,
And I jes as tired as tired can be."
Lower and lower the little head pressed.
Until it had dropped upon grandjiapa's breast;
Dear little Goldenhair, sweet be thy rest !
We are but children ; things that we do
Are as sports of a babe to the Infinite view,
That marks all our weakness, and pities it too.
God grant that when night overshadows our
way,
And we shall be called to account for our day,
lie shall find us as guileless as Goldenhair's
lay.
And O, when aweary, may we be so blest.
And sink like the innocent child to our rest.
And feel ourselves clasped to the Inlinite breast!
Anonymous.
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 189
MRS. LOFTY AND I.
Mrs. Lofty keeps a carriage,
So do I ;
She has dapple grays to draw it,
None have I ;
She's no prouder with her coachman
Than am I
With my blue-eyed laughing baby,
Trundling by ;
I hide his face lest she should see
The cherub boy, and envy me.
Her line husband has white fingers,
Mine has not ;
He could give his bride a palace, —
Mine a cot ;
Hers comes home beneath the starlight.
Ne'er cares she ;
Mine comes in the purple twilight,
Kisses me,
And prays that He who turns life's sands
Will hold His loved ones in His hands.
Mrs. Lofty has her jewels,
So have I ;
She wears hers upon her bosom, —
Inside I ;
She will leave hers at Death's portal,
By-and-by ;
I shall bear my treasure with me
^hen I die ;
190 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
For I have love, and she has gold ;
She counts her wealth; — mine can't be told.
She has those who love her station,
None have I ;
But IVe one true heart beside me —
Glad am I ;
I'd not change it lor a kingdom,
No, not I;
God will weigh it in his balance,
By-and-by ;
And tb.e difference define
'Twixt Mrs. Lofty's wealth and mine.
Anonymous.
THE BOBOLINK.
Once on a golden afternoon.
With radiant faces and hearts in tune,
Two fond lovers, in dreaming mood.
Threaded a rural solitude.
Wholly happy, they only knew
That the earth was bright and the sky was blue,
That light and beauty and joy and song
Charmed the way as they passed along:
The air was fragrant with woodland scents ;
The squirrel frisked on the roadside fence ;
And hovering near them, " Chee, chee, chink?"
Queried the curious bobolink,
Pausing and peering with sidelong head.
As saucily questioning all they said ;
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 191
"While the ox-eye danced on its slender stem,
And all glad nature rejoiced with them.
Over the odorous fields were strewn
Wilting windrows of grass new mown,
And rosy billows of clover bloom
Surged in the sunshine and breathed perfume.
Swinging low on a slender limb.
The sparrow warbled his wedding hymn,
And balancing on a blackberry briar
The bobolink sang with his heart on fire,—
"Chink? If you wish to kiss her, do!
Do it, do it ! You coward, you !
Kiss her! kiss, kiss her! Who will see?
Only we three ! we three ! we three ! "
Tender garlands of drooping vines,
Through dim vistas of sweet-breathed pines,
Past wide meadow-fields, lately mowed.
Wandered the indolent country road.
The lovers followed it, listening still,
And loitering slowly, as lovers will,
Entered a gray-roofed bridge that lay
Dusk and cool, in their pleasant way.
Fluttering lightly from brink to brink.
Followed the garrulous bobolink,
Rallying loudly with mirthful din
The pair who lingered unseen within.
And when from the friendly bridge at last
Into the road beyond they passed,
Again beside them the tempter went,
Keeping the thread of his argument —
192 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
"Kiss her! kiss her! Chink-a-cliee-chee !
ril not mention it ! Don't mind me I "
But ah ! they noted — nor deemed it strange —
In his rollicking chorus a trilling change, —
"Do it I do it!'' — with might and main
Warbled the tell-tale— "Do it again!''
Anonymous.
ANNIE AND WILLIE'S PRAYER.
'TwAS the eve before Christmas; "Good night,"
had been said,
And Annie and Willie had crept into bed ;
There were tears on their pillows, and tears in their
eyes,
And each little bosom was heaving with sighs,
For to-night their stern father's command had been
given
That they should i-etirc precisely at seven
Instead of at eight ; f(^r they troubled him more
With questions unheard of tlian ever before ;
He had told them he thought this delusion a sin.
No such being as "Santa Claus" ever had been,
And he hoped after this he should never more hear.
How he scrambled down chimneys with presents,
each year.
And this was the reason that two little heads
So restlessly tossed on their soft downy beds.
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 193
Eight, nine, and the clock on the steeple tolled ten —
Not a word had been spoken by either till then ;
When Willie's sad face from the blanket did peep,
And whispered, " Dear Annie, is you fast asleep ? "
" Why, no, brother Willie," a sweet voice replies,
" I've tried it in vain, but I can't shut my eyes ;
For somehow, it makes me so sorry because
Dear papa has said there is no ' Santa Glaus ';
Now we know there is, and it can't be denied,
For he came every year before mamma died ;
But then, I've been thinking that she used to pray,
And God would hear everything mamma would say,
And perhaps she asked him to send Santa Glaus
here,
With the sacks full of presents he brought every
year. "
" Well, why tant we pay dest as mamma did then, —
And ask Him to send him with presents aden ? "
" I've been thinking so, too," and, without a word
more
Four little bare feet bounded out on the floor,
And four little knees the soft carpet pressed,
And two tiny hands were clasped close to each
breast.
" Now, Willie, you know we must firmly believe
That the presents we ask for we're sure to receive ;
You must wait just as still till I say the 'Amen,'
A.nd by that you will know that your turn has come
then.
Dear Jesus, look down on my brother and me,
And grant us the favor we are asking of Thee,
13
194 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
l.want a wax dollj, a tea-set and ring,
And an ebony work-box that shuts with a spring :
Bless papa — dear Jesus, and cause him to see
That Santa Clans loves us far better than he ;
Don't let him get fretful and angry again,
At dear brother Willie, and Annie. Amen ! "
" Peas Desus, 'et Santa Tans turn down to-night,
And bing us some pesents before it is 'ight ;
I want he should div me a nice 'ittle sed,
With bight, shiny 'unners, and all painted yed ;
A box full of tandy, a book and a toy, —
Amen. — and then, Desus, I'll be a dood boy."
Their prayers being ended, they raised up their
heads.
And with hearts light and cheerful again sought
their beds ;
They were soon lost in slumber both ])eaceful and
deep,
And with fairies in dreamland were roaming in
sleep.
Eight, nine, and the little French clock had struck
ten.
Ere the father had thought of his children again ;
He seems now to hear Annie's half-suppressed sighs,
And to see the big tears stand in Willie's blue eyes;
'' I was harsh with my darlings," he mentally said,
" And should not have sent them so early to bed ;
But then I was troubled — my feelings found vent,
For bank-stock to-day has gone down ten j)er cent.
<i
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 195
But of course they've forgotten their troubles ere
this,
And that I denied them the thrice-asked-for kiss ;
But just to make sure I'll steal up to their door,
For I never spoke harsh to my darlings before."
So saying, he softly ascended the stairs
And arrived at the door to liear both of their
])rayers.
His Annie's "bless papa" draws forth the big
tears,
And Willie's grave promise falls sweet on his ears.
Strange, strange I'd forgotten," said he with a sigh,
*' How I longed when a child to have Christmas
draw nigh.
I'll atone for my harshness," he inwardly said,
By answering their prayers, ere I sleep in my bed. "
Then he turned to the stairs, and softly went down,
Threw off velvet slippei-s and silk dressing-gown ;
Donned hat, coat, and boots, and was out in the
street,
A millionaire facing the cold, driving sleet ;
Nor stopped he until he had bought everything.
From the box full of candy to the tiny gold ring.
Indeed, he kept adding so much to his store,
That the various presents outnumbered a score ;
Then homeward he turned with his holiday load.
And with Aunt Mary's aid in the nursery 'twas
stowed.
Miss Dolly was seated beneath a pine-tree.
By the side of a table spread out for a tea ;
<i
196 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER.
A work-box well filled in the center was laid,
And on it the ring for which Annie had prayed ;
A soldier in uniform stood by a sled
With bright, shining runners, and all painted red ;
There were balls, dogs and horses, books pleasing
to see,
And birds of all colors were perched in the tree,
\Vliile Santa Claus laughing stood up in the top.
As if getting ready more presents to drop.
And as the fond father the picture surveyed.
He thought, for his trouble he had amply been paid ;
And he said to himself as he brushed off a tear,
*' I'm happier to-night than I've been for a year,
I've enjoyed more true pleasure than ever before, —
"What care I if bank-stocks fall ten per cent more ?
Hereafter I'll make it a rule, I believe.
To have Santa Claus visit us each Christmas eve.'*
So thinking he gently extinguished the light.
And tripped down the stairs to retire for the night.
As soon as the beams of the bright morning sun
Put the darkness to flight, and the stars, one by
one ;
Four little blue eyes out of sleep opened wide,
And at the same moment the presents espied ;
Then out of their beds they S];rang \vith a bound.
And the very gifts prayed for were all of them
found ;
They laughed and they cried in their innocent glee.
And shouted for "papa" to come quick and see
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 197
What presents old Santa Clans brought in the night,
(Just the things that they wanted) and left before
light ;
*' And now, " added Annie, in a voice soft and low,
" You'll believe there's a Santa Claus, papa, I
know " ;
While dear little Willie climbed up on his knee,
Determined no secret between them should be,
And told in soft whispers how Annie had said,
That their blessed mamma so long ago dead.
Used to kneel down and pray by the side of her
chair,
And that God, up in Heaven, had answered her
prayer !
*' Then we dot up, and payed dust as well as we
tould,
And Dod answered our payers ; now wasn't ho
dood ? "
*' I should say that he was if he sent you all these,
And knew just what presents my children would
please, —
Well, well, let him think so, the dear little elf,
'T would be cruel to tell him I did it myself."
Blind father ! who caused your proud heart to
relent.
And the hasty word spoken so soon to repent ?
'Twas the Being who made you steal softly up-
stairs,
And made you His agent to answer their prayers.
Sophia P. Snow.
198 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
LAUGHING IN MEETING.
"We were in disgrace, we boys, and the reason of it
was this : we had hiiighed out in meeting-time ! To
be sure, the occasion was a trying one, even to more
disciplined nerves. But by Sunday evening, as we
gathered around the fire, the reaction from undue gay-
ety to sobriety had taken ])hice, and we were in a pen-
sive and penitent state. Grandmother was gracious
and forgiving, but Aunt Lois still preserved that frosty-
air of reprobation which she held to be a salutary
means of quickening our consciences for the future. It
was, therefore, with unusual delight that we saw our
old friend Sam come in and set himself quietly down
on the block in the chimney corner. With Sam we
felt assured of indulgence and patronage, for, though
always rigidly moral and instructive in his turn of
mind, he had that fellow-feeling for transgressors which
is characteristic of the loose-jointed, easy-going style of
his individuality.
"Lordy massy, boys — y is," said Sam, virtuously,
in view of some of Aunt Lois's thrusts, "ye ought
never to laugh right out in meetin'; that are's so, but
then there is times when the best on us gets took down.
We gets took unawares, ye see — even ministers does.
Yis, natur will get the upper hand afore they know
it."
" Why, Sam, mi'msiJers don't ever laugh in meetin'.
do they ? "
We put the question with wide eyes. Such a sup-
position bordered on profanity, we thought ; it was
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 199
approaching the sin of Uzzah, who unwarily touched
the ark of the Lord.
"Laws, yes. Why haven't you never heard how
there was a council held to try Parson Morrell for
laughin' out in prayer-time ? "
' ' Laughin' in prayer-time ! " we both repeated, with
uplifted hands and eyes.
My grandfather's mild face became luminous with
a suppressed smile, which brightened it as the moon
does a cloud, but he said nothing.
" Yes, yes," said my grandmother, " that affair did
make a dreadful scandal in the time on 't. But Parson
Morrell was a good man, and I'm glad the council
wasn't hard on him."
"Wal," said SamLawson, " after all, it was more
Ike Babbitt's fault than 't was anybody's. Ye see, Ike
was allers for gettin' what he could out o' the town,
and he would feed his sheep on the meetin'-house
green. Somehow or other Ike's fences allers contrived
to give out come Sunday, and up would come his
sheep, and Ike was too pious to drive 'em back Sun-
day, and so there they was. He was talked to enough
about it, 'cause, ye see, to have sheep and lambs a
ba-a-n' and a blatin' all prayer and sermon time wasn't
the thing. 'Member, that are old meetin'-house up to
the north end, down under Blueberry Hill, the land
sort o' sloped down, so as a body had to come into the
meetin'-house steppin' down instead o' up.
"Fact was, they said 't was put there 'cause the
land wa'n't good for nothin' else, and the folks thought
puttin' a meetin'-house on 't would be a clear savin' ;
200 CcMxocK'S School Speaker.
but Parson Morrell he didn't like it, and was free to tell
'em his mind on 't, that 't was like bringin' the lame
and the blind to the Lord's service — but there 't was.
' ' There warn't a better minister nor no one more
set bj in all the State than Parson Morrell. His doc-
trine was right up and down and good and sharp, and
he gives saints and sinners their meat in due season,
and for consolin' and comfortin' widders and orphans
Parson Morrell hadn't his match. The women sot lots
by him, and he was alius ready to take tea round,
and make things pleasant and comfortable, and he had
a good story for everyone, an' a word for the children,
and maybe an apple or a cookey in his pocket for 'em.
AVal, you know there ain't no pleasin' everybody, and
ef Gabriel himself, right down out o' heaven, was to
come and be a minister, I expect there'd be a pickin'
at his wings, and sort o' fault-findin'. Now Aunt
Jerushy Scran and Aunt Polly Hokum, they sed Par-
son Morrell wa'n't solemn enough. Ye see there's
them that thinks that a minister ought to be jest like
the town-hearse, so that ye think of deatli, judgment,
and eternity, and nothin' else, when you see him
round ; and if they see a man rosy and chipper, and
havin' a pretty nice sociable sort of time, why they say
he ain't s])iritooal-minded. But in my times I've seen
ministers that the most awakenin' kind in the pulpit
v.'as the liveliest when they was out on 't. There is a
lime to laugh, Scriptur' says, tho' some folks never
seem to remember that are."
" But, Sam, how came you to say it was Ike Bab-
bitt's fault ? What was it about the sheep ? "
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 201
" O wal, yis — I'm a comin' to that are. It was all
about them sheep — I expect they was the instrument
the devil sot to work to tempt Parson Morrell to laugh
in prayer-time.
"Ye see there was old Dick, Ike's bell-wether,
was the fightin'est old crittur that ever yer see. Why
Dick would butt at his own shadder, and everj^body
said it was a shame the old critter should be left to run
loose, 'cause he run at the children and scared the
women half out of their wits. Wal, I used to live out
in that parish in them days, and Lem Sudoc and I
used to go out sparkin' Sunday nights to see the
Larkin gals — and we had to go right 'cross the lot
where Dick was — so we used to go and stand at the
fence and call, and Dick would see us and put down
his head and run at us full chisel, and come bunt agin
the fence, and then I'd ketch him bv the horns and
hold him while Lem run and got over the fence t'other
side the lot, and then I'd let go and Lem would hol-
ler and shake a stick at him, and away he'd go full
butt at Lem, and Lem would ketch his horns and hold
him till I came over — that was the way we managed
Dick — but ef he come sudden up behind a fellow, he'd
give him a butt in the small of his back that would
make him run on all fours one while — he was a great
rogue, Dick was. "Wal, that summer I remember they had
old Deacon Titkins for tithing-man, and I can tell you
he give it to the boys lively. There warn't no sleepin'
nor no playin', for the Deacon had eyes like a gimblet,
and he was quick as a cat, and the youngsters lied
to look out for themselves. It did really seem as if
202 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
the Deacon was like them four beasts in the Revelation
that was fiill o' eyes behind and before, for whichever
wav he was standin' if you gave only a wink he was
down on you and hit you a tap with his stick. I know
once Lem Sudoc jist wrote two words in the psalm-
book and passed it to Keziah Larkin, and the Deacon
give him such a tap that Lem grew red as a beet, and
vowed he'd be up with him some day for that.
' ' Well, Lordy massy ! folks that is so chipper and
high-steppin' has to have their comedowns, and the
Deacon he had to hev his.
"That ar Sunday, I remember it now jes as well as
if 't was yesterday. The parson he give us his gret
sermon, reconcilin' decrees and free agency — every-
body said that ar sermon was a masterpiece. He
preached it up to Cambridge at Commencement, but
it so happened it was one o' them bilin' hot days
that come in August, when you can fairly hear the
huckleberries a sizzling and cookin' on the bushes, and
the locust keeps a gratin' like a red-hot saw. Wal,
such times, decrees or no decrees, the best on us will
get sleepy. The old meetin '-house stood right down
at the foot of a hiil that kop' off all the wind, and the
sun blazed away at them gret west winders, and there
was pretty sleepy times there. Wal, the Deacon he
flew round a spell, and woke up the children and
tapped the boys on the head, and kep' everything
straight as he could till the sermon was most through,
when he raill}' got most tuckered out, and he took a
chair, and he sot down in the door right opposite the
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 203
minister, and fairly got to sleep himself, jest as the
minister got up to make the last prayer.
" Wal, Parson Morrell had a way o' prayin' with
his eyes open. Folks said it wa'n't the best way, but
it was Parson Morrell's, anyhow, and so as he was
prayin' he couldn't help seein' that Deacon Titkins was
a noddin' and a bobbin' out towards the place where old
Dick was feedin' with the sheep, front o' the meetin'-
house door.
' ' Lem and me we was sittin' where we could look
out, and we could jest see old Dick stop feedin' and
look at the Deacon. The Deacon had a little round
head, as smooth as an apple, with a nice powdered wig
on it, and he sot there makin' bobs and bows, and
Dick begun to think it was suthin' sort o' pussonel.
Lem and me was sittin' jest where we could look oj^t
and see the whole picter, and Lem was fit to split.
"'Good, now,' says he, 'that critturll pay the
Deacon off lively, pretty soon.'
"The Deacon bobbed his head a spell, and old
Dick he shook his horns and stamped at him sort o'
threatnin'. Finally the Deacon he gave a great bow
and brought his head right down at him, and old Dick
he sot out full tilt and come down on him ker chunk,
and knocked him head over heels into the broad aisle,
and his wig flew one way and he t'other, and Dick
made a lunge at it as it flew, and carried it oft* on his
horns.
"Wal, you may believe, that broke up the meetin'
for one while, for Parson Morrell laughed out, and all
204 OuMXOCK's School Speaker.
the girls and boys they stamped and roared, and the
old Deacon he got up and begun rubbing his shins —
'cause he didn't see the joke on't.
'''You don't orter laugh,' says he; 'it's no
laughin" matter — it's a solemn thing,' says he; 'I
might have been sent into 'tarnity by that crittur,' says
he. Then they all roared and haw-hawed the more,
to see the Deacon dancin' round with his little shiny
head, so smooth a fly would trip up on't. ' I believe,
on my soul, you'd laugh to see me in my grave, ' says
he!
""Wal, the truth on't was, 'twas just one of them
bustin' up times that natur' has, when there ain't
nothin' for it but to give in ; 'twas jest like the ice
breakin' up in the Charles River — it all come at once
and no whoa to 't. Sunday or no Sunday, sin or no
sin, the most on 'em laughed until they cried, and
couldn't help it.
" But the Deacon he went home feelin' pretty sore
about it. Lem Sudoc he picked uj) his wig and
handed it to him. Says he, 'Old Dick was playing
tithing-man, wa'n't he, Deacon ? Teach you to make
allowance for other folks that get sleepy. '
"Then Mrs. Titkins she went over to Aunt Jerushy
Scran's and Aunt Polly Hokum's, and they had a pot
o' tea over it, and 'greed it was awful of Parson
Morrell to set sich an example, and suthin' had got to
be done about it. Miss Hokum said she allers knew
that Parson Morrell hadn't no spiritooality, and now
it had broke out into open sin, and led all the rest of
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 205
'em into it ; and Mrs. Titkins she said such a man
wa'n't fit to preach ; and Miss Hokum said slie couldn't
never hear liim ag'in, and the next Sunday the Deacon,
and his wife tliej liitclied up and driv eight miles over
to Parson Lothrop's, and took Aunt Polly on the back
seat.
" Wal, the thing growed and growed till it seemed
as if there warn't nothin' else talked about, 'cause
Aunt Polly and Mrs. Titkins and Jerushy Scran they
didn't do nothin' but talk about it, and that sot every-
body else a talkin'.
"Finally, it was 'greed they must hev a council to
settle the hash. So all the wimmen they went to
chopping mince, and making up pumpkin pies and
cranberry tarts, and bilin' doughnuts, gettin' reddy for
the ministers and delegates — 'cause councils always
eats powerful — and they had quite a stir, like a
gineral train in'. The bosses, they was hitched all up
and down the stalls, a stompin' and switchin' their
tails, and all the wimmen was a talkin', and they bed
up everybody round for witnesses, and finally Parson
Morrell he says, 'Brethren,' says he, 'jest let me tell
you the story jest as it happened, and if you don't
every one of you laugh as hard as I did, why, then I'll
give up.'
"The parson he was a master hand at settin' off a
story, and afore he'd done he got 'em all in sich a roar
they didn't know where to leave off. Finally, they
give sentence that there hadn't no temptation took him
but such as is common to man ; but thcv advised him
206 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
afterward allers to pray with his eyes shut, and the
parson lie confessed he orter 'a' done it, and meant to
do better in future, and so they settled it.
"So, boys," said Sam, who always drew a moral,
" ye see it larns you you must take care what you look
at, ef ye want to keep from laughin' in meetin'."
Hakeiet Beecher Stowe.
THE MENAGERIE.
Did you ever ! Ko, I never !
Mercy on us, what a smell !
Don't be frightened, Johnny dear !
Gracious ! how the jackals yell.
Mother, tell me, what's the man
Doing with that pole of liis?
Bless your precious little heart.
He's stirring up the beastesses !
Children ! don't you go so near !
Goodness ! there's the Afric cowses.
What's tlie matter with the child ?
Wliy, the monkey's tore his trowsers !
Here's the monstrous elephant, —
I'm all a tremble at the sight ;
See his monstrous tooth-pick, boys !
Wonder if he's fastened tight?
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 207
There's the lion ! — see liis tail !
How he drags it on the floor !
'Sakes alive ! I'm awful seared
To hear the horrid creatures roar .
Here's the monkeys in their cage,
Wide awake you are to see 'em ;
Funny, ain't it? How would you
Like to have a tail and be 'em?
Johnny, darling, that's the bear
That tore the naughty boys to pieces ;
Horned cattle ! — only hear
How the dreadful camel wheezes !
That's the tall giraffe, my boy,
Who stoops to hear the morning lark !
'Twas him who waded Noah's flood,
And scorned the refuge of the ark.
Here's the crane — the awkward bird !
Strong his neck is as a whaler's,
And his bill is full as long
As ever met one fi-om the tailor's.
Look ! — just see the zebra there.
Standing safe behind the bars ;
Goodness me! how like a flag.
All except the corner stars !
There's the bell! the birds and beasts
Now are going to be fed ;
So, my little darlings, come,
It's time for you to be abed.
208 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
"Motlier, *tisn"t nine o'clock!
You said we needn't go before ;
Let us stay a little while, —
Want to see the monkeys more ! "
Ci'ies the showman, "Turn 'em out !
Dim the lights ! — there, that will do :
Come again to-morrow, boys ;
Bring your little sisters, too."
Exit mother, half distrauglit.
Exit father, muttering "bore!"
Exit children, blubbering still,
"Want to see the monkeys more!"
J. Honeywell.
BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC.
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the
Lord ;
He is tram]jling out the vintage where the grapes of
wrath are stored ;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible
swift sword.
His truth is marching on.
I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred
circling camps ;
They have builded him an altar in the evening dews
and damps ;
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 209
I can read liis righteous sentence by the dim and
flaring lamps,
Ilis days are marching on.
I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows
of steel :
" As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my
grace shall deal ;
Let the Hero born of woman crush the serpent
with his heel.
Since God is marching on."
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never
call retreat ;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judg-
ment seat ;
O, be swift, my soul, to answer him ! be jubilant,
my feet !
Our God is marching on.
In the beauty • of the lilies Christ was bom across
the sea,
"With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and
me ;
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make
men free,
While God is marching on.
Julia Ward Howe.
14
210 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
KATIE LEE AND WILLIE GRAY.
Two brown heads with tossing curls,
Red lips shutting over pearls,
Bare feet, white and wet with dew,
Two eyes black and two eyes blue —
Little boy and girl were they,
Katie Lee and Willie Gray.
They were standing where a brook,
Bending like a shepherd's crook.
Flashed its silver, and thick ranks
Of willow fringed its mossy banks —
Half in thought and half in play,
Katie Lee and Willie Gray.
They had cheeks like cherry red, —
He was taller, 'most a head ;
She with arms like wreaths of snow
Swung a basket to and fro.
As they loitered, half in play,
Katie Lee and AVillie Gray.
"Pretty Katie," Willie said,
And there came a dash of red
Through the brownness of the cheek,
"Boys are strong and girls are weak,
And I'll carry, so I will,
Katie's basket up the hill."
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 211
Katie answered with a laugh,
■*' You shall only cany half"" ;
Then said, tossing back her curls,
*'Boys are weak as well as girls."
Do jou think that Katie guessed
Half the wisdom she expressed?
Men are onl}^ boys grown tall ;
Hearts don't change much, after all ;
And when, long years from that day,
Katie Lee and Willie Gray
Stood again beside the brook
Bending like a shepherd's crook —
Is it strange that Willie said,
While again a dash of red
Crowned the brownness of his cheek,
■*'I am strong and you are weak ;
Life is but a slippery steep.
Hung with shadows cold and deep.
"^'Will you trust me, Katie dear?
Walk beside me without fear?
May I carry, if I will,
All your burdens up the hill ? "
And she answered, with a laugh,
'*'No, but you may carry half"
Close beside the little brook.
Bending like a shepherd's crook,
Working with its silver hands
Late and early at tlie sands,
212 CuMXOCK'S School Speaker.
Stands ii cottage, where, to-day,
Katie lives with Willie Gray.
In the porch she sits, and lo !
Swings a basket to and fro,
Vastly different from the one
That she swung in years agone ;
This is long, and deep, and wide.
And has rockers at the side.
Anonymous,.
THE BATTLE OF NASEBY.
O, WHEREFORE come ye forth, in triumph from the
Xorth,
With your hands, and your feet, and your raiment
all red ?
And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous-
shout ?
And whence be the grapes of the wine-press which
ye tread ?
O, evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit.
And crimson was the juice of the vintage that we
trod ;
For we trampled on the throng of the haughty and the
strong,
Who sat in the high places, and slew the saints of
God.
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 213
It was about the noon of a glorious day of June,
That we saw their banners dance, and their cuirasses
shine ;
And the Man of Blood was there, with his long
essenced hair,
And Astley, and Sir Marmaduke, and Eupert of the
Rhine.
Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his
sword.
The general rode along us, to form us for the fight,
"When a murmuring sound broke out, and swelled into
a shout
Among the godless horsemen, upon the tyrant's
right.
And, hark ! like the roar of the billows on the shore,
The cry of battle rises along their charging line !
For God ! for the Cause ! for the Church ! for the
Laws !
For Charles, King of England, and Rupert of the
Rhine !
The furious German comes, with his clarions and his
drums.
His bravoes of Alsatia, and pages of Whitehall ;
They are bursting on our flanks. Grasp your pikes,
close your ranks.
For Rupert never comes but to conquer or to fall.
2U OuMNOCK'S School Speaker.
They are here ! Tliey rush on ! We are broken !
We are gone !
Our left is borne before them like stubble on the
blast,
O Lord, put forth thy might ! O Lord, defend the
right !
Stand back to back, in God's name, and light it to
the last.
Stout Skippon hath a wound ; the centre hath given
ground :
Hark ! hark ! What means this trampling of horse-
men in our rear ?
Whose banner do I see, boys ? 'Tis he, thank God^
'tis he, boys.
Bear up another minute : brave Oliver is here.
Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row^
Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on the
dykes.
Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the Accurst,
And at a shock have scattered the forest of his pikes.
Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook to hide
Their coward heads, predestined to rot on Temple
Bar ;
And he — he turns, he flies : — shame on those cruel
eyes
That bore to look on torture, and dare not look on
war.
Lord Macaulay.
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 215
FATHER LAND AND MOTHER TONGUE.
Our Father Land ! and woiildst thou know-
Why we should call it Father Land?
It is that Adam here below
Was made of earth by Nature's hand.
And he, our father made of earth,
Hath peopled earth on every hand ;
And we, in memory of his birth.
Do call our country Father Land.
At first in Eden's bowers, they say,
No sound of speech had Adam caught,
But whistled like a bird all day, —
And maybe 't was for want of thought.
But Nature, with resistless laws,
Made Adam soon surpass the birds ;
She gave him lovely Eve because
If he'd a wife they must have words.
And so the native land, I hold.
By male descent is proudly mine;
The language, as the tale hath told.
Was given in the female line.
And thus we see on either hand
We name our blessings whence they're spruu
We call our country Father Land,
We call our language Mother Tongue.
S.4MUEL LOVEK
g;
216 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
EDWARD GRAY.
Sweet Emma Moreland of yonder town
Met me walking on yonder way.
"And have you lost your heart?'' she said;
"And are you married yet, Edward Gray T'
Sweet Emma Moreland spoke to me ;
Bitterly weeping I turned away:
"Sweet Emma Moreland, love no more
Can touch the heart of Edward Gray.
"Ellen Adair she loved me well.
Against her father's and mother's will :
To-day I sat for an hour and wept
By Ellen's grave, on the windy hill.
"Shy she was, and I thought her cold ;
Thought her ]jroud, and fled over the sea ;
Filled I was with folly and spite,
"When Ellen Aduir was dying for me.
' Cruel, cruel the words 1 said !
Cruelly come they back to-day :
'You're too sliglit and flckle,' I said,
'To trouble the heart of Edward Gray.'
"There I put my face in the grass —
Whispered, ' Listen to my despair :
I repent me of all that I did :
Speak a little, Ellen Adair !'
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 217
"Then I took a pencil, and wrote
On the mossy stone, as I lay :
' Here lies the body of Ellen Adair ;
And here the heart of Edward Gray.'
" Love may come, and love may go.
And fly, like a bird, from tree to tree ;
But I will love no more, no more,
Till Ellen Adair come back to me.
(,(.
Bitterly wept I over the stone:
Bitterly weeping I turned away:
There lies the body of Ellen Adair !
And there the heart of Edward Gray !"
Alfred Tennyson.
THE NANTUCKET SKIPPER.
Many a long, long year ago,
Nantucket skippers had a plan
Of finding out, though "lying low,"
How near New York their schooners ran.
They greased the lead before it fell.
And then by sounding through the night.
Knowing the soil that stuck so well,
They always guessed their reckoning right.
A skipper gray, whose eyes were dim.
Could tell, by tasting, just the spot;
And so below he"d "douse the glim," —
After, of course, his "something hot."
218 CvMNOCK's School Speaker.
Snug in liis berth, at eight o'clock,
This ancient skipper might be found ;
No matter how his craft would rock,
He slept, — for skippers' naps are sound.
The watch on deck would now and then
Hun down and wake him, with the lead ;
He'd up, and taste, and tell the men
How many miles they went ahead.
One night 'twas Jotham Marden's watch,
A curious wag, — the pedlar's son ;
And so he mused (the wanton wretch !)
" To-night ril have a grain of fun.
" We're all a set of stupid fools.
To think the skipjjer knows, by tasting.
What ground he's on ; Nantucket schools
Don't teach such stuff, with all their basting ! "
And so he took the well-greased lead.
And rubbed it o'er a box of earth
That stood on deck, — a parsnip-bed, —
And then lie sought the skipper's berth.
" Where are we now, sir? Please to taste,"
The skipper yawned, put out his tongue,
Opened his eyes in wondrous haste.
And upon the floor he sprung !
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 219
The skipper stormed, and tore his hair,
Thrust on his boots, and roared to Marden :
" Nantucket's sunk, and here we are
Right over old Marm Hackett's garden ! "
James T. Fields.
THE JESTER'S SERMON.
The Jester shook his liood and bells, and leaped
upon a chair ;
The pages laughed, the women screamed, and tossed
their scented hair ;
The falcon whistled, staghounds bayed, the lapdog
barked without,
The scullion dropped the pitcher brown, the cook
railed at the lout !
The steward, counting out his gold, let pouch and
money fall ;
And why ? because the Jester rose to say grace in
the hall !
The page played with the heron's plume, the stew-
ard with his chain.
The butler drummed upon the board, and laughed
with might and main ;
The grooms beat on their metal cans, and roared
till they were red ;
Bat still the Jester shut his eyes and rolled his witty
head ;
220 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
And when they grew a little still, read half a yard
of text,
And, waving hand, struck on the desk, then frowned
like one perplexed.
*'Dear sinners all," the fool began, "man's life is but
a jest.
A dream, a shadow, bubble, air, a vapor at the
best,
In a thousand pounds of law I find not a single
ounce of love ;
A blind man killed the parson's cow in shooting
at the dove ;
The fool that eats till he is sick must fast till lie is
well ;
The wooer who can flatter most will bear awav the
belle,
"Let no man halloo he is safe till he is through the
wood ;
He who will not when he may, must tarry when he
sliould.
He who laughs at crooked men should need walk
very straight ;
C), he who once has won a name may lie abed till
eight !
Make haste to purchase house and land, be very
slow to wed ;
True coral Tieeds no painter's brush, nor need be
daubed with red.
CUMNOCK'S School Speakeb, 221
"The friar, preaching, cursed the thief (the pudding
in his sleeve) ;
To lish for sprats with golden hooks is foolish, by
your leave, —
To travel well, — an ass's ears, ape's face, hogs
mouth, and ostrich legs.
He does not care a pin for thieves who limps about
and begs.
Be always first nuxn at a feast and last man at a
fray ;
The short way round, in spite of all, is still the long-
est way.
When the hungry curate licks the knife, there's not
much for the clerk ;
When the pilot, turning pale and sick, looks up —
the storm grows dark."
Then loud they laughed, the fat cook's tears ran
down into the pan :
The steward shook, till he was forced to drop the
brimming can ;
And then again the women screamed, and every
staghound bayed, —
And why ? because the motley fool so wise a sermon
made.
George W. Thornbuky.
222 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
JOHN HASTY AND PETER QUIET.
John (Jiolding a broken string). That's just my
luck ! If I look at a string, it will break ! But witli
jou, Peter, it is different ; everything slips smoothly
through your iiands ; but only let me touch a thing,
and it is crack ! smash ! hreak ! Mother says I make
more trouble about the house than all ten of the chil-
dren besides ; but I can't help it.
Peter. Did you ever try to help it, John ?
John. Ti^ ! What's the use of trying % I tell
you that I am one of the unlucky ones, Peter. Only
yesterday, as I sat down to dinner, a iish-hook, that 1
had in my pocket, must needs stick itself into sister
Susan's dress. I gave a sudden jerk to get it out, and
rij^ •' went her sleeve, and smash ! went my plate,
and ]joor / was ordered away from the table, and lost
my dinner.
Peter. Losing your dinner is nothing to what you
will lose, John, if you drive through the world in this
style. I see that your new garden rake has lost five
teeth ; how happened that ?
John. Why, they were all extracted at "one sit-
ting," and that without taking the fluid, either. You
see, I was raking, and came across a snag ; I gave a
tvntch., and out came the toetli.
Peter. And the beautiful new book, presented to
you by your Uncle Charles — I notice that some of the
leaves are torn.
John. ^ AVell, that's my lu^k again. I found some
leaves whole at the top, and, being in a great hurry to
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 223
read what was on the other side, I gave my knife a
sudden pull, and, being dull, it tore the leaves, instead
of cutting them.
Pete/'. Well, really, John, it appears to me that
whatever falls in your way is unlucky. You must
have a great deal of trouble ; but I think most of it is
the result of your own carelessness. I will give you
two short words, which, if always kept in mind and
obeyed, will make you a lucky boy.
John. What are they ? If two words can make
me luckv, I oue-ht to have known them before.
Peter. Well, it is not too late to know them now.
They are simply these — ^P{eej? cool.^''
John. Keep cool ! I guess, if you had seen me
the other day, when the ice broke and let me into the
water, you would have thought I was cool enough not
to need your counsel. I was so cool that I came near
freezing.
Peter. You are disposed to be witty, John ; but
let me say that, unless you exercise more care, you
will have trouble all the days of your life.
John. Wejl, well, Peter, I will consider what you
have said when I have time ; but just now I am in a
great hurry. Good-by !
Peter. Good-by, John ! Keep cool !
Anonymous.
224 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
CLARIBEL'S PRAYER.
The day, with cold, gray feet, clung shivering to
the hills.
While o'er the valley still night's rain-fringed cur-
tains fell ;
But waking Blue Eyes smiled: '"Tis ever as God
wills ;
He knoweth best ; and be it rain or shine, 'tis
well ;
Praise God ! " cried always little Claribel.
Then sunk she on her knees ; with eager, lifted
hands.
Her rosy lips made naste some dear request to
telf:
" O Father, smile, and save this fairest of all lands,
And make her free, whatever hearts rebel.
Amen ! Praise God ! " cried little Claribel.
" And, Father," — still arose another pleading
prayer,—
" O, save my brother in the ruin of 3hc)t and shell !
Let not the death-bolt, with its horrid, streaming
hair.
Dash light from those sweet eyes I love so well !
Amen ! Praise God ! " wept little Claribel.
" But Father, grant that when the glorious fight is
done.
And up the crimson sky the shouts of freedmen
swell.
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 225
Grant tliat there be no nobler victor 'neath the sun
Than he whose golden hair I love so well ;
Amen ! Praise God ! " cried little Claribel.
When the gray and dreary day shook hands with
grayer night,
The heavy air was thrilled with clangor of a bell.
" O, shout ! " the herald cried, his worn eyes brimmed
with light ;
" 'Tis victory ! O, what glorious news to tell ! "
" Praise God ! He heard my prayer," cried Clari-
bel.
" But, pray you, soldier, was my brother in the fight
And in the fiery rain ? O, fought he brave and
well?"
" Dear child," the herald cried, "there was no braver
sight
Than his young form, so grand 'mid shot and
shell"
" Praise God ! " cried trembling little Claribel.
" And rides he now with victor's plumes of red,
While trumpets' golden throats his coming steps
foretell ? "
The herald dropped a tear. "Dear child," he
softly said,
" Thy brother evermore with conquerors shall
dwell."
" Praise God ! He heard my prayer," cried Clari-
bel.
15
226 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER.
" "With victors, wearing crowns and bearing palms,"
he said.
And snow of sudden fear upon the rose lips fell ;
" O, sweetest herald, say my brother lives!" she
plead.
" Dear child, he walks with angels, who in strength
excel ;
Praise God, who gave this glory, Claribel. "
The cold, gray day died sobbing on the weary hills,
While bitter mourning on the night-wind rose
and fell.
" O, child," — the herald wept, — "'tis as the dear
Lord wills ;
He knoweth best, and, be it life or death, 'tis well."
" Amen ! Praise God ! " sobbed little Claribel.
M. L. Parmelee.
THE BALLAD OF BABIE BELL.
Have you not heard the ])oets tell
How came the dainty Babie Bell
Into this world of ours?
The gates of heaven were left ajar ;
With folded hands and dreamy eyes,
Wandering out of Paradise,
She saw this planet, like a star.
Hung in the glistening depths of even,-
Its bridges running to and fro.
O'er which the wliite-winged angels go.
Bearing the lioly dead to heaven.
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 227
She touched a bridge of flowers, — those feet,
So light they did not bend the bells
Of the celestial asphodels !
They fell like dew upon the flowers,
Then all the air grew strangely sweet —
And thus came dainty Babie Bell
Into this world of ours.
She came and brought delicious May ;
The swallows built beneath the eaves ;
Like sunlight in and out the leaves.
The robins went the livelong day ;
The lily swung its noiseless bell,
And o'er the porch the trembling vine
Seemed bursting with its veins of wine.
How sweetly, softly, twilight fell !
Oh, earth was full of singing-birds,
And opening spring-tide flowers.
When the dainty Babie Bell
Came to this world of ours !
O Babie, dainty Babie Bell,
How fair she grew from day to day !
What woman-nature filled her eyes,
What poetry within them lay '
Those deep and tender twilight eyes,
So full of meaning, pure and bright.
As if she yet stood in the light
Of those oped gates of Paradise.
And so we loved her more and more;
Ah, never in our hearts before
Was love so lovelv born :
228 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
We felt we had a link between
This real world and that unseen —
The land beyond the mom.
And for the love of those dear eyes,
For love of her whom God led forth
(The mother's being ceased on earth
When Babie came from Paradise), —
For love of him who smote our lives,
And woke the chords of joy and pain,
We said, Dear Christ — our hearts bent down
Like violets after rain.
And now the orchards, wliich were white
And red with blossoms when she came.
Were rich in autumn's mellow prime.
The clustered ajjples burnt like llame,
The soft-cheeked peaches blushed and fell,
The ivory chestnut burst its shell,
The grapes hung purjjling in the grange ;
And time wrought just as rich a change
In little Babie Bell.
Her lissome form more perfect grew.
And in her features we could trace.
In softened curves, her mother's face !
Her angel-nature ripened too.
We thought her lovely when she came.
But she was holy, saintly now : —
Around her pale angelic brow
We saw a slender ring of flame.
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 229
God's hand had taken away the seal
That held the portals of her speech ;
And oft she said a few strange words
Whose meaning lay beyond our reach.
She never was a child to us,
"We never held her being's key,
We could not teach her holy things;
She was Chrisfs self in purity.
It came upon us by degrees :
We saw its shadow ere it fell,
The knowledge that our God had sent
His messenger for Babie Bell ;
We shuddered with unlanguaged pain,
And all our hopes were changed to fears,
And all our thoughts ran into tears
Like sunshine into rain.
We cried aloud in our belief:
*'0h, smite us gently, gently, God!
Teach us to bend and kiss tlie rod,
And perfect grow through grief"
Ah, liow we loved her, God can tell ;
Her heart was folded deep in ours.
Our hearts are broken, Babie Bell !
At last he came, the messenger,
The messenger from unseen lands :
And what did dainty Babie Bell?
She only crossed her little hands,
She only looked more meek and fair !
We parted back her silken hair,
230 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
We wove the roses round her brow, —
White buds, the summers drifted snow, —
Wrapt lier from head to foot in flowers ;
And then went dainty Babie Bell
Out of this world of ours !
T. B. Aldrich.
THAT HIRED GIRL.
THE clergyman's RECEPTION ON HIS INITIAL CALL IN HIS NEW PARISH.
When she came to work for the family on Congress
street, the lady of the house sat down and told her
that agents, book-peddlers, hat-rack men, picture sell-
ers, ash-buyers, rag-men, and all that class of people,
must be met at the front door and coldly repulsed, and
Sarah said she'd repulse them if she had to break every
broomstick in Detroit.
And she did. She threw the door open wide,
bluffed right up at 'em, and when she got through
talking, the cheekiest agent was only too glad to leave.
It got so after awhile that peddlers marked that house,
and the door-bell never rang except for company.
The other day, as the girl of the house was wiping
off the spoons, the bell rang. She hastened to the
door, expecting to see a lady, but her eyes encountered
a slim man, dressed in black and wearing a white
necktie. He was the new minister, and was going
around to get acquainted with tlic members of his flock,
but Sarah wasn't expected to know this.
''Ah — um — is — Mrs. — ah ! "
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 231
" Git ! " exclaimed Sarah, pointing to the gate.
" Beg pardon, but I would like to see — see — "
"Meander!" she shouted, looking around for a
weapon ; "we don't want any flour-sifters here ! ''
"You're mistaken," he replied, smiling blandly.
"I called to—"
" Don't want anything to keep moths away — fly ! "
she exclaimed, getting red in the face.
" Is the lady in ? " he inquired, trying to look over
Sarah's head.
" Yes, the lady is in, and I'm in, and you are out !"
she snapped; "and now I don't want to stand here
talking to a fly-trap agent any longer ! Come, lift
your boots I "
" I'm not an agent," he said, trying to smile.
"I'm the new — "
"Yes, I know you — you are the new man with
the patent flat-iron, but we don't want any, and you'd
better go before I call the dog ! "'
"Will you give the lady my card, and say that I
called ? "
"No, I won't; we are bored to death with cards
and handbills and circulars. Come, I can't stand
here all day."
"Didn't you know that I was a minister?" he
asked as he backed ofi".
" No, nor I don't know it now ; you look like the
man who sold the woman next door a dollar chromo
for eighteen shillings."
" But here is my card."
232 CUMNOCK'S School Speaker.
•' I don't care for cards, I tell you ! If you leave
that gate open I will have to fling a flower-pot at you !"
"I will call again," he said, as he went through
the gate.
" It won't do any good ! " she shouted after him ;
"we don't want no prepared food for infants — no
piano music — no stufifed birds ! I know the police-
man on this beat, and if you come around here again,
he'll soon find out whether you are a confidence man
or a vagrant ! "
And she took unusual care to lock the door.
" Free Press Man."
THE BELLS OF LYNN.
"Whex the eve is growing gray, and the tide is rolling
m,
I sit and look across the bay to the bonny town of
Lynn;
And the fisherfolks are near,
But I wis they never hear
The songs the far bells make for me, tlie bonny bells
of Lynn :
The folks are chatting gay, and I hear their merry din.
But I look and look across the bay to the bonny town
oi' Lynn ;
He told me to wait here
Upon the old brown pier,
To wait and watch him coming when the tide was roll-
ing in.
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 233
Oh, I see hi in pulling strong, pulling o'er the bay to
me.
And I hear his jovial song, and his merry face I see ;
And now he's at the pier.
My bonny love and dear !
And he's coming up the sea-washed steps with hands
outstretched to me.
Oh, my love, your cheek is cold, and your hands are
stark and thin !
Oh, hear you not the bells of old, the bonny bells of
Lynn ?
Oh, have you naught to say
Upon our wedding day ?
Love, hear you not the wedding bells across the Bay
of Lynn ?
Oh, my lovei', speak to me ! and hold me fast, mine
own !
For I fear this rising sea, and these winds and waves
that moan !
* * ^ -^ vf
But never a word he said !
He is dead, my love is dead !
Ah, me ! ah, me ! I did but dream ! and I am all alone,
Alone, and old, and gray ; and the tide is rolling in ;
But my heart's away, away, away, in the old grave-
yard at Lynn !
F. E. "Weatherly.
234 CUMNOCK'S SCHOOL SPEAKER.
THE RETORT.
One day, a rich man, flushed with pride and wine,
Sitting with guests at table, all quite merry.
Conceived it would be vastly fine
To crack a joke upon his secretary.
"Young man," said he, "by what art, craft or
trade
Did your good father earn his livelihood ? "
" He was a saddler, sir,'' the young man said ;
And in his line was always reckoned good."
(C
"A saddler, eh? and had you stufied with Greek,
Instead of teaching you like him to do !
And pray, sir, why did not your father make
A saddler, too, of you ? "
At this each flatterer, as in duty bound.
The joke applauded, and the laugh went round.
At length the secretary, bowing low,
Said (craving pardon if too free he made),
" Sir, by your leave, I fain would know
Your father's trade."
"J/// fathers trade? Why, sir, but that's too bad!
My father's trade ? Why, blockhead, art thou mad?
My father, sir, was never brought so low :
He was a gentleman^ I'd have you know."
CUMNOCK'S School Speaker. 235
" Indeed ! excuse the liberty I take ;
But if your story's true,
How happened it your father did not make
A gentleman of you ? "
Anonymous.
DEATH OF LEONIDAS.
It was the wild midnight, — a storm was in the sky ;
The lightning gave its light, and the thunder echoed
by;
The torrent swept the glen, the ocean lashed the
shore ;
Then i*ose the Spartan men, to make their bed in
gore !
Swift from the deluged ground three hundred took the
shield ;
Then, in silence, gathered round the leader of the
field.
All up the mountain's side, all down the woody vale,
All by the rolling tide waved the Persian banners
pale.
And foremost from the uass, among the slumbering
band.
Sprang King Leonidas, like the lightning's living
brand.
236 CUMNOCK'S /SCHOOL SPEAKER.
Then double darkness fell, and the forest ceased its
moan ;
But there came a clash of steel, and a distant dying
groan.
Anon, a trumpet blew, and a fiery sheet burst high.
That o'er the midnight threw a blood-red canopy.
A host glared on the hill ; a host glared by the bay ;
But the Greeks rushed onward still, like leopards in
their play.
The air was all a yell and the earth was an a flame.
Where the Spartan's bloody steel on the silken turbans
came ;
And still the Greek rushed on, where the fiery torrent
rolled,
Till, like a rising sun, shone Xerxes' tent of gold.
They found a royal feast, his midnight banquet there ;
And the treasures of the East lay beneath the Doric
spear.
Then sat to the rejjast tlie bravest of tlie brave ;
That feast must be their last — that spot must be their
grave !
V]) rose the glorious rank, to Greece one cup poured
higli,
Then hand in hand they drank, "To immortality !"
Fear on King Xerxes fell, when, like spirits from the
tomb,
With shout and trum]>et 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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