lid 
 
 John Swett 
 
 r, .'-. . ? 
 
 ' 
 
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 f 
 
 
TEN BOYS; 
 
 WHO LIVED ON 
 
 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO 
 
 TO NOW 
 
 JANE ANDREWS 
 
 AUTHOR OF " SEVEN LITTLE SISTERS," " GEOGRAPHICAL 
 PLAYS OF UNITED STATUS," ETC. 
 
 BOSTON, U.S.A.: 
 
 GINN & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS. 
 1893. 
 
Copyright, 1883. 
 BY LEE AND SHEPARD. 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO. 
 
Co f 
 WILLIAM WARE ALLEN. 
 
 541671 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 IN preparing- this little book my purpose has 
 been threefold, 
 
 First, To show my boy readers that the boys 
 of long ago are not to be looked upon as stran- 
 gers, but were just as much boys as them- 
 selves. 
 
 Second, In this age of self-complacency, to 
 exhibit, for their contemplation and imitation, 
 some of those manly virtues that stern neces- 
 sity bred in her children. 
 
 Third, To awaken by my simple stories an in- 
 terest in the lives and deeds of our ancestors, 
 that shall stimulate the young reader to a study 
 of those peoples from whom he has descended, 
 and to whom he owes a debt of gratitude for 
 the inheritance they have handed down to him. 
 
 As it has been my intention to trace our own 
 race from its Aryan source to its present type, 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 I have not turned aside to consider other races, 
 perhaps not less interesting, with the single ex- 
 ception of the incidental introduction of the 
 Hebrews in connection with the Persians. 
 
 It is scarcely possible for me to make a list of 
 all the authorities I have consulted in preparing 
 this little book ; but I wish to say that without 
 the assistance of the valuable work by Eugene 
 Viollet Le Due on the " Habitations of Man in 
 all Ages," I could not have written the Aryan 
 
 chapter. 
 
 JANE ANDREWS. 
 
 NEWBURYPORT, Sept. 29, 1885. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. THE ROAD TO LONG AGO . 5 
 
 I. KABLU, THE ARYAN BOY, WHO CAME DOWN TO 
 
 THE PLAINS OF THE INDUS 10 
 
 II. DARIUS, THE PERSIAN BOY, WHO KNEW ABOUT 
 
 ZOROASTER 2** 
 
 III. CLEON, THE GREEK BOY, WHO RAN AT THE 
 
 OLYMPIC GAMES 48 
 
 IV. HORATIUS, THE ROMAN BOY, WHOSE ANCESTOR 
 
 "KEPT THE BRIDGE so WELL" 81 
 
 V. WULF, THE SAXON BOY, WHO HELPED TO MAKE 
 
 ENGLAND 115 
 
 VI. GILBERT, THE PAGE, WHO WILL ONE DAY BE- 
 COME A KNIGHT 136 
 
 VII. ROGER, THE ENGLISH LAD, WHO LONGED TO 
 
 SAIL THE SPANISH MAIN 169 
 
 VIII. EZEKIEL FULLER, THE PURITAN BOY .... 191 
 
 IX. JONATHAN DAWSON, THE YANKEE BOY ... 207 
 
 X. FRANK WILSON, THE BOY OF 1885 229 
 
THE ROAD TO LONG AGO. 
 
 Is there anything pleasanter than going back 
 to the time when your fathers and mothers 
 were children, and hearing all about how they 
 Jived, and what they did, and what stories their 
 fathers and mothers used to tell them ? 
 
 How you would like to take a journey to the 
 old house where your grandfather lived when 
 he was a boy, and spend a day among the old 
 rooms, from attic to cellar, and in the garden 
 and barn and yard, and through the streets of 
 the town (if he lived in a town), or through the 
 woods and fields of the country (if his home 
 was there) ; see the brook where he used to fish, 
 and the pond where he used to skate, or swim, 
 or row his boat ! And then, when you had 
 lived his childhood all over with him for a few 
 
 5 
 
ROAD TO LONG AGO. 
 
 days, wouldn't it be a fine thing to go on to 
 your great-grandfather's old home, and do the 
 same thing there, and then to your great-great- 
 grandfather's ? 
 
 But you will stop me, and say, "That isn't 
 possible. The house isn't standing now in 
 which my great-great-grandfather lived." Per- 
 haps he didn't even live in this country ; and it 
 is possible that no one has ever told you where 
 he did live, and you could n't find your way to 
 his old home, even if it were still standing ; and 
 so your journey back to long ago would have to 
 end just where it was growing most curious and 
 interesting. 
 
 Now I have been making a journey very much 
 like this, and I want to tell you about it ; or 
 rather, I am going to let the boys I met on the 
 way tell you about it, for they knew more than 
 I did, and indeed I got all my information from 
 them. 
 
 I will just tell you first where the road lies, 
 and then I will let the boys speak for them- 
 selves. In this year, 1885, journeys can be very 
 quickly made. We can go to England in a week, 
 
THE ROAD TO LONG AGO. 7 
 
 and to Calcutta in thirty-five days or less. But 
 as my journey was to Long Ago as well as to 
 Far Away, it was not quick, but slow, and I shall 
 have to give you a strange list of way stations 
 that will hardly compare with that of any rail- 
 road in the world. 
 Here it is: 
 
 From Now to the old Revolutionary Days. 
 From the Revolution to the time of the Puritans, both ir 
 England and America. 
 
 From Puritans to the Reign of Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 From Queen Elizabeth to the Age of Chivalry. 
 
 From the Age of Chivalry to the early Saxons. 
 
 From Saxons to Romans. 
 
 From Romans to Greeks. 
 
 From Greeks to Persians. 
 
 From Persians to Hindus and Aryans. 
 
 If we could count up the time from station to 
 station along our way, we should find that we 
 had needed between three and four thousand 
 years to make our journey to Long Ago. 
 
 We have stopped at ten stations on the way, 
 and at each one there lived a boy with a story 
 to tell. 
 
 There was Jonathan Dawson, the Yankee 
 boy, who told us about New England ways of 
 
8 THE ROAD TO LONG AGO. 
 
 living one hundred and twenty-five years ago; 
 and Ezekiel Fuller, the Puritan lad, who had 
 lived through persecutions and troubles in Eng- 
 land, and had come at last to begin a new life in 
 a new land ; and Roger, who longed to sail the 
 Spanish main ; and Gilbert, the page, who would 
 one day become a knight ; and Wulf, who came 
 with the fierce Saxon bands to conquer Britain ; 
 and little Horatius, whose home was on the 
 Palatine Hill in Rome ; and Cleon, who told me 
 wonderful tales of the Greek games and the old 
 heroes ; and Darius, whose brother was in the 
 Persian army, and who had seen the great king 
 Cyrus with his own eyes ; and, last of all, Kablu, 
 who, when a little child, came down with a great 
 troop of his people from the high mountain land 
 to the fertile plain of Hindustan, where the 
 great river Indus waters all the broad valley, 
 and the people live in ease and happiness be- 
 cause the sun-god has blessed their land. 
 
 And now we have gone back, far back, and 
 long, long ago, until we can no longer find the 
 path, and no friendly child stands at the road- 
 side to welcome us or point out our way. 
 
THE ROAD TO LONG AGO. 9 
 
 We have gone as far as the oldest of our 
 great, great grandfathers can take us ; and it is 
 away back there, in the land of Long Ago, that 
 we will first stop to listen to the story of Kablu, 
 the Aryan boy, who came down to the plains of 
 the Indus. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE STORY OF KABLU, THE ARYAN BOY WHO 
 CAME DOWN TO THE PLAINS OF THE INDUS. 
 
 "Man is he who thinks" 
 
 ARE you ready to take a long journey, first 
 across the Atlantic to Europe, then across 
 Europe, through Italy, and Greece, and Turkey, 
 past the Black Sea, and into Persia ? Look at 
 your map and see where you are going, for this 
 is a true story, and you will like to know where 
 Kablu really lived. We have passed the Per- 
 sian boundary and are in Afghanistan, and now 
 we must climb the steep slopes of the Hindoo 
 10 
 
Here lived Kablu, far away in distance, and far away in time, 
 too." Page 1 1. 
 
THE STORY OF KABLU. II 
 
 Koosh mountains, and in a sheltered nook we 
 shall find a house. It is built of logs laid one 
 upon another, and the chinks are filled with 
 moss and clay. It leans against a great rock, 
 which forms, as you see, one whole side of the 
 house. The roof slopes from the rock down to 
 the top of the front door ( the only door indeed), 
 which faces the sunrise. 
 
 Here lived Kablu, far away in distance, and 
 far away in time too, for it was four thousand 
 years, or more, ago. 
 
 It is very early in the morning : you can still 
 see a few stars shining in the gray light of 
 dawn. Kablu is waked by his father, and he 
 knows he must not linger a moment, for the 
 first duty of an Aryan is to offer a prayer to 
 the great god of light and fire, who will soon 
 shed warmth and beauty over the whole moun- 
 tain land. He never fails to rise and bless 
 them, and certainly the least they can do is to 
 rise to receive him and offer thanks to him. 
 
 So in the soft morning light you can see the 
 whole family standing around a broad, flat stone, 
 in front of their house, on which are laid ready 
 materials for a fire. 
 
12 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 Kablu's two sisters stand beside their father ; 
 he rubs dry sticks rapidly together, and, just as 
 the sun rises, a light flame springs up. The 
 little girls and their mother pour upon it the 
 juice of the soma plant, and it burns brighter 
 and brighter ; then they add butter, and the fire 
 shines with a clear yellow light, while the father 
 stands with the morning sunshine on his face 
 and says, 
 
 " O Agni ! great benefactor, shine upon us 
 to-day, gladden our hearts to do thy will ! " 
 
 This is Kablu's church, his Sunday, his every- 
 day, his prayer, his Bible, his minister. He has 
 no other, and, if his father should die, it would 
 be his right and duty to kindle every morning 
 the sacred fire, and worship before the great 
 sun-god. 
 
 And now the sun shines upon this family 
 while they eat their breakfast of cakes made from 
 crushed grain, and baked in the ashes, eaten 
 with curds and the flesh of the mountain goat. 
 
 Breakfast over, the mother combs out wool 
 for her spinning and weaving, for the father has 
 torn his tunic, and a new one must be made. 
 
THE STORY OF KABLU. 13 
 
 The little girls will help her, but Kablu must go 
 with. his father. Can you guess what he is to 
 do? 
 
 Do you remember that butter was poured 
 upon the sacred fire ? Doesn't that tell you 
 that there were cows to be looked after. And 
 where did the mother get wool for spinning 
 and wearing. Of course there were sheep and 
 goats. And didn't they have cakes for break- 
 fast ? So somebody must have planted grain 
 on the slopes of those high mountains. 
 
 Now you know that Kablu is a farmer's son, 
 for although you might have woollen dresses 
 without keeping sheep, and butter and cakes 
 without getting them from your own cows and 
 your own fields of grain, it is not so with these 
 Aryas ; they must do for themselves all that is 
 done. 
 
 In the field is a clumsy wooden plough, not 
 even an iron point to it, for in those days iron 
 was unknown. 
 
 Then what did they do for knives ? 
 
 Oh, they had copper and bronze. Copper, 
 you know, is found in the earth all ready to be 
 
14 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 cut out and used without being melted, but iron 
 is so mixed with earth that it must be melted in 
 a very hot fire to separate it, and although 
 Kablu's father had often found pieces of iron 
 ore, he did not know what they were, and had 
 not tried to do anything with them. 
 
 When you know Kablu well, however, you 
 will be sure that he will try some day, if his 
 father does not before him, and the great gift of 
 iron will become known. 
 
 See what they are going to do to-day, after 
 the cattle have been cared for and the grain 
 ground between heavy stones (they have a mill, 
 you see, even if it is a poor one). Why, the 
 mother comes to say that her earthen jars are 
 broken, and the father goes with Kablu to the 
 clay-bed, and shows the boy how to moisten and 
 mould the clay, and shape jars, and cups, and 
 pots, while the clay is soft and easily worked. 
 
 Before night they have shaped ten of them, 
 and now they will leave them to dry, and in a 
 few days they will build a great fire in which 
 they will bake them, until they are hard and 
 smooth, and capable of holding water. 
 
THE STORY OF KABLU. 1 5 
 
 But before this baking day comes indeed, 
 the very night after the jars are made some- 
 thing important happens in the mountain home 
 of these Aryas. 
 
 The sun set among great, dark, stormy-look 
 ing clouds ; and as the father stood before the 
 little altar, performing the sunset service, he said, 
 " Oh, Agni, great and beneficent spirit, shine 
 still on thy children, though the veil of cloud 
 tries to shut thee away from us ! " 
 
 Then they all went into the house, and drew 
 together and fastened the mats that hung in the 
 doorway, and, stretching themselves on their 
 beds of sheep and goat skins, they were soon 
 asleep. 
 
 Do you know what a storm is among the 
 mountains ? How wild it is ; how the thun- 
 der echoes among the peaks, and how the little 
 streams swell into torrents and rush down the 
 steep mountain-sides ! 
 
 Well, they had not slept long before a great 
 storm broke upon them. Awakening, they 
 heard the thunder and they saw the keen flashes 
 o lightning, the glances of Agni piercing the 
 
1 6 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 darkness, and then they heard the rush of the 
 rain, coming down like a mountain torrent. 
 
 Through the cracks between the logs of the 
 roof it poured into the house. The little Nema 
 clung to her mother and cried ; a blast of wind 
 tore the mats from the doorway, and now they 
 felt the force of the storm sweeping in upon 
 them. 
 
 "What is that, father," cried Kablu, as 
 through the darkness he listens to a great, 
 rushing, rumbling sound, heavy as thunder, but 
 more lasting, and coming every instant nearer. 
 
 The father listens a moment, then he answers, 
 " It is the swollen brook, and it tears away 
 stones in its course down the hill-side." 
 
 But he had hardly spoken, when a falling ava- 
 lanche struck the house and tore away one side, 
 leaving the rest tottering. 
 
 If it had not been for the blessing of the 
 morning light that just then began to gleam 
 faintly in the east, I think this whole family 
 might have been killed by the logs falling upon 
 them in the darkness. But the dawn had come, 
 and with it help. 
 
THE STORY OF KABLU. I? 
 
 In the shelter of the cattle-shed they find a 
 dry spot where they can light the sacred fire, 
 and then the father goes to the next settlement 
 to see if his brothers have escaped the perils of 
 the storm, and if they will come and help him. 
 
 It would be bad enough for you or me to 
 have our houses torn to pieces by a storm, but 
 you know very well that there is timber ready 
 in the lumber-yard, and tools in the carpenter's 
 shop, and men to be hired for money who know 
 how to build it up again. But with Kablu's 
 family, how different ! 
 
 The timber is still in the form of living trees 
 in the forest, and there is no axe of steel, or 
 even of iron, with which to cut them down. 
 
 They have a copper or bronze tool, aided, per- 
 haps, by fire, but fire can't do much with green, 
 growing wood. 
 
 No carpenters to be hired ? Certainly not ; 
 but the brothers will come and work for the one 
 who is in need, knowing well that like help will 
 be freely given to them in time of trouble. 
 
 And while his father is gone, our little boy 
 sits on the great rock against which the house 
 
1 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 was built, and watches the sun driving the 
 clouds before it away through the long valleys, 
 and he looks down upon the ruined house, and 
 then he begins to think. 
 
 It was only yesterday that he had said to 
 his father, " Tell me, father, what does vian 
 mean ? " 
 
 And his father had answered, " Man means 
 one who thinks. The cows and the sheep and 
 the dogs breathe and eat and sleep and wake as 
 we do, but when calamity overtakes them, they 
 have no new way to meet it ; but man, the 
 thinker, can bring good out of disaster, wisdom 
 out of misfortune, because he can think." 
 
 So, as I told you, Kablu sat on the great rock 
 and began to think. " Wisdom out of misfor- 
 tune, what does it mean ? Perhaps a new way to 
 save ourselves from the like misfortune again." 
 But beyond this no new thought came to the 
 child, and saying to himself, with a laugh, "I'm 
 not a man yet," he jumped from the rock and 
 ran down to the clay-bed to see if all the new 
 jars had been broken or swept away by the 
 storm. 
 
THE STORY OF KABLU. 19 
 
 The clay-bed was in a sheltered place. The 
 jars stood safely as he had placed them yester- 
 day. The lowest parts of the clay-bed were 
 flooded, but the higher part was just moist 
 enough for working, and Kablu began to pat 
 smooth cakes of it and shape them with his 
 hands. 
 
 Then he wondered whether his father would 
 bake the jars to-morrow, or whether they must 
 wait until the new house was finished ; but he 
 answered his own question when he remem- 
 bered that after last night's havoc only one jar 
 remained for his mother to bring water in at 
 breakfast-time. Yes, the baking of the jars 
 must come first ; it would not take long to 
 prepare the fire, and he himself could tend it 
 while his father and the others worked on the 
 house. 
 
 Now Kablu is beginning to be a man a 
 thinker, though he hardly knows it himself ; 
 for, as he pats his little flat cakes of clay, the 
 thought comes to him, "The water floods the 
 clay-bed, it doesn't run through it, and our jars, 
 which are made of clav, hold water. If our 
 
20 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 roof was like them, we should never be troubled 
 with the rain again." 
 
 " But how could we make and bake a sheet of 
 clay big enough for a roof?" and, as he thinks, 
 he flattens out his cake and shapes it like a 
 square tile. 
 
 " This would do for a roof to a play-house," 
 he says, -half aloud, " I will slip it into the ashes 
 to-morrow, and see how it comes out." 
 
 So, when the next day's fire is kindled for the 
 ars, Kablu's tile is slipped in under them, and 
 baked until it is dark brown and almost as hard 
 as stone, and when he takes it out he carries it 
 to his father, who is more of a thinker than he 
 is, and finishes the thought for him, saying, 
 " My boy, we will make many of these little 
 squares of clay, and, putting them together, 
 cover our roof and keep out the rain." 
 
 So, you see, Thought has brought wisdom out 
 of misfortune. 
 
 But you will want to hear about the new 
 house. One of the brothers, as they worked 
 slowly and laboriously cutting down the trees 
 to build it, said, "It would be easier to pile 
 
THE STORY OF KABLU. 21 
 
 up stones than to cut down these trees, and 
 stones would not be so easily washed away by 
 a torrent ; or, if a few did go, that would not be 
 so bad as losing the whole side of your house." 
 
 So the lower part of the house was built of 
 stone, and the logs laid on top, and when it was 
 finished, enough tiles had been made to cover 
 the roof ; and what a nice house it was ! 
 
 Almost a pity, you will think, that it had been 
 built so well, when you hear what happened the 
 next year. 
 
 It was a year of great trouble, for the sun-god 
 hid his face ; great snows and frosts came, and 
 the winter was so long and the summer so short 
 that the flocks could find no pasture. Kablu 
 drove the sheep from one hill-side to another, 
 where the grass always used to be fresh and 
 sweet, but everywhere it was scanty and poor ; 
 and the little lambs lay down and died by the 
 road-side, and the boy could find no help for 
 them. 
 
 Then he said to his father, " What shall we 
 do?" and the father answered, "I will think." 
 
 It took the thought of many men to learn 
 
22 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 how to bring wisdom out of this misfortune; 
 but they found the way at last ; and before the 
 time for the autumn rains, down the long slope 
 of the Hindoo Koosh mountains, troops of men, 
 women, and children, flocks of sheep, and herds 
 of cattle, were making their way, slowly but 
 steadily, to the plains of the great river Indus. 
 
 Some had said, "Why do you go now, when 
 the autumn rains are just coming to make every- 
 thing green again ?" 
 
 But the wiser answered, "The autumn rains 
 will bring relief for this one year. How do we 
 know what the next will be ? Let us go where 
 the great river, the Indus, will supply us always 
 with water ; where we, who are ploughers, tillers 
 of the ground, shall have soft, level fields instead 
 of rough mountain sides, and where we and our 
 children can make a new home." 
 
 But still others objected, "Why do you go 
 down into the country of the wild Dasyus, your 
 enemies, men like beasts, who live in hollow 
 trees and cannot plough, nor spin, nor make 
 houses ; who have no cows nor sheep, but are 
 like savage creatures, speaking only by wild 
 
THE STORY OF KABLU. 23 
 
 cries, and ready to tear us in pieces if we oppose 
 them ? " 
 
 But again the wise men answered, " Our God 
 has decreed that we shall conquer the Dasyus. 
 Agni will give their land to the Aryas, and the 
 wild Dasyus shall serve them." 
 
 So Kablu, the Aryan boy, came down to the 
 plains of the Indus. 
 
 In the Aryan language, river was "Sindhu," 
 and by this name the Aryas called it, and by 
 and by the neighboring people called them 
 "Sindhus," or " Hindus," meaning river men. 
 But the ancient name, Aryas, was cherished 
 especially among the old people, and by the time 
 our little Kablu grew to be a man, this name 
 had grown to mean noble, or belonging to the 
 old families. 
 
 But we have nothing to do with Kablu as a 
 man. When he came down from the mountains 
 he was about twelve years old, only he didn't 
 count his twelve years as you would. If you 
 had asked him his age, he would have told you 
 that one hundred moons and half a hundred 
 more had measured his life ; for the very word 
 
24 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 moon means the measurer, and the moon was to 
 the Aryas in place of almanacs and calendars, 
 and it told not only their ages, but their plant- 
 ing times and harvests, their festivals and the 
 times of other important events. 
 
 When they could say, " Two thousand moons 
 ago our fathers came down from their home 
 among the mountains," it happened that Kablu's 
 great-great-grandson was sitting by the river 
 mourning for the loss of his little playmate, 
 Darius, who had that day started on a long jour- 
 ney with his father, mother, brothers and sisters, 
 and a host of their friends. They had set their 
 faces westward, and they travelled towards the 
 setting sun until they reached the land we now 
 call Persia j but what they did there, and how 
 they lived, I must leave you to learn from an- 
 other Darius, the Persian boy, who was a great- 
 grandson of this one who had journeyed away 
 from the Indus towards the setting sun. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE STORY OF DARIUS, THE PERSIAN BOY, 
 WHO KNEW ABOUT ZOROASTER. 
 
 " Truth, Courage, Obedience" 
 
 You know, when you come to the Z copy in 
 your writing-books, there is nothing to write 
 but " Zimmerman," and " Zoroaster." 
 
 What a strange word Zoroaster seems to you. 
 If one of my boys looks up from his book to ask 
 me what it means, I say, " Oh, he was an an- 
 cient Persian, and he wrote the Zendavesta. 
 You might have had Zendavesta for your 
 
 copy*" 
 
 25 
 
26 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 But after I have told that, neither you nor I 
 know much about him, do we? And here is 
 this boy, Darius, who has heard of Zoroaster as 
 often as you have heard of George Washington, 
 and who almost every day during his boyhood 
 learns some of the words of this great teacher. 
 
 Before I can introduce you to this Persian 
 boy's home, I must explain that at the time 
 Kablu came down to the Indus it seemed as if 
 all the mountain tribes were moved by one great 
 impulse to leave their homes and journey west- 
 ward, down the mountains. 
 
 Down the mountains and into the plain 
 poured the long line of travellers. For many 
 moons you might have watched them coming, 
 and you would say, " The mountain land must 
 have been full of men." 
 
 But you may readily believe that these 
 thoughtful people knew better than to stay ail 
 together when they reached the plain. South- 
 ward to the Indus went Kablu with his father 
 and many others ; but westward over the grand 
 .table-land of Iran went others, and some still 
 more enterprising, young people and strong, and 
 
THE STORY OF DARIUS. %7 
 
 longing for a sight of the great world, pushed 
 still farther until they reached the shores of the 
 Black Sea. 
 
 " What shall we do now ? " said Deradetta, 
 the leader of the band. 
 
 "We will divide," cried the young men. "Half 
 of us will skirt the shores to the north, half to 
 the south ; so shall we find larger lands and 
 make greater conquests." 
 
 So Deradetta led his band to the south, and 
 Kalanta to the north, and before they parted, 
 Deradetta called them all together, and said, 
 " Perhaps we are parting forever. Do not let 
 us forget the traditions of our fathers. Give 
 us, O, Agni, brave comrades, happy abundance, 
 noble children, and great wealth." 
 
 Then, at the dawn of the next day, Kalanta 
 and his party turned away to the northward, 
 and Deradetta turned southward, but perhaps, 
 by and by, their great-great-grandchildren may 
 find each other again. 
 
 And we shall not be surprised to hear that 
 when the family of Darius reached the land of 
 Persia, they found people who had built towns 
 
28 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NO IV. 
 
 and even cities, and the new comers naturally 
 feared that they might be enemies. 
 
 As they approached the first village, a man in 
 a long robe woven of wool, and with loose, flow- 
 ing sleeves, came out to meet them. Pointing 
 to the horses that the leaders rode, he said Aspa, 
 their own name for horse, and then, noticing the 
 sacred fire which they carried always with them, 
 he bent his head reverently. 
 
 "Do you also," asked they, "serve the Father 
 of Light and Life, and, if so, who has taught you 
 to worship thus ? " 
 
 And the man understood their words, if not 
 perfectly, at least well enough to comprehend 
 their meaning, and he answered, 
 
 " Our fathers, many, many moons ago, came 
 down from the distant mountains, bringing with 
 them the sacred fire. They taught us the wor- 
 ship of the Father of Light and Life." 
 
 And the travellers, overjoyed, replied : 
 
 " Our fathers too came from the mountain 
 land, and we are your brothers ; we will live to- 
 gether in peace in this new land." 
 
 Now I must tell you that the earliest settlers 
 
THE STORY OF DARIUS. 29 
 
 had given themselves the name of Medes, and 
 the new-comers were called Persians. 
 
 And I leave you to imagine how they lived 
 together many years. At first the Medes were 
 rulers and the Persians subjects, but, by and by, 
 a great and wise Persian named Cyrus became 
 king, and it was at that time that Darius, the 
 boy of our story, lived. 
 
 And Darius had for his friend Zadok, a dark- 
 eyed Hebrew boy whom he found by the river 
 side one day and took for his companion, until 
 they were forever parted by but I must not 
 tell that now, I must begin at the beginning, 
 that you may understand what Darius was do- 
 ing when he found Zadok. 
 
 I shall have to take you to the great city of 
 Babylon, a wonderful city, with high walls and 
 gates, palaces and gardens and temples. There 
 were golden shrines and images adorned- with 
 gems. There were tables and chairs with feet 
 of gold and silver ; and indeed I can hardly 
 tell you how magnificent the city was, as it stood, 
 like a great gorgeous jewel, on the plain. The 
 broad river Euphrates flowed through it, and 
 
30 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 the date-trees grew upon its borders, and wild 
 pears and peaches ripened in its sunny valley. 
 Shouldn't you like to live where peaches grow 
 wild ? But you will wonder what this city of 
 Babylon had to do with Darius. 
 
 Why, he went to live there with his father 
 and mother, and many other Persian families, 
 because his great king, Cyrus, had conquered 
 Babylon and taken it for his own. 
 
 And now I want you to wake very early, be- 
 fore dawn, and get up quickly, as Kablu did 
 when he lived among the mountains, and come 
 with Darius to an open field just outside the 
 city gates. 
 
 In the dim light you will see many other 
 boys, all hastening towards the same place. 
 Their dresses are of leather, a sort of tunic 
 and trousers ; they do not easily wear out, and 
 the fashion never changes. 
 
 Each boy carries a bow and a quiver of 
 arrows, excepting the little boys of five or six 
 years, who have only slings and stones. 
 
 See, they are all together now in the field, 
 ranged in ranks before an officer. This is their 
 
THE STORY OF DARIUS. 31 
 
 school. Do you want to know what they 
 learn ? 
 
 You may look about in vain for a programme 
 of studies, for not one of them scholars or 
 even teachers can write, but their programme 
 is so simple that when once Darius tells it to us 
 we cannot forget it. Here it is 
 
 To SHOOT WITH THE Bow. 
 
 To RIDE. 
 
 To SPEAK THE TRUTH. 
 
 That was all. Shall we stay awhile and see 
 how well the lessons are learned ? Here is the 
 youngest class little boys only five years old. 
 I think we should teach the little fellows that 
 it is wrong to throw stones ; but, see, they are 
 standing in a row, each with a smooth pebble 
 in his sling, and one after another they throw 
 as far and as straight as they can. Then, while 
 they go for more stones, the next class has a 
 lesson in shooting with the bow and throwing 
 the javelin. 
 
 After the little boys have come back and 
 practised with their slings, and you have seen 
 their running class, I want you to wait for the 
 class to which Darius belongs. 
 
32 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 He has learned the use of the sling and the 
 bow and the javelin ; and ever since he was 
 seven years old he has been on horseback every 
 day : but that is not enough, he doesn't know 
 how to ride yet, at least so thinks his master. 
 
 The boys take their javelins and stand in a 
 row ; a gate is opened, and horses, with loose 
 bridles and flowing manes, gallop into the field. 
 Each boy must spring upon the back of one of 
 these galloping horses. Many the falls and many 
 the failures, but success at last, and presently 
 you see Darius coursing swiftly over the field, 
 and one by one the others follow him. A target 
 is fastened to the old oak there at the right. As 
 they pass it at full gallop, each one throws his 
 javelin at the mark, and day by day they prac- 
 tise until there are no failures ; sometimes 
 with the javelin, sometimes with the bow and 
 arrows, but always at full speed and with unerr- 
 ing aim. And do you notice that some of the 
 arrow-heads are of iron, while others are of 
 bronze ? I told you it wouldn't be long before 
 these people would find out iron. 
 
 After the riding is ended, see the boys again 
 
THE STORY OF DARIUS. 33 
 
 before their master. He stands in front of 
 them with a quiet, reverend look on his face, 
 and says, 
 
 " Listen to the teachings of Zoroaster. It is 
 written in the holy Zendavesta, ' There are two 
 spirits, the Good and the Base. Choose one 
 of these spirits in thought, in word, and deed. 
 
 "' Be good, not base. The good is holy, true ; 
 to be honored through truth, through holy deeds. 
 
 " ' You cannot serve both' " 
 
 And the boys repeated after him, 
 
 " Be good, not base. The good is holy, true, 
 fco be honored through truth, through holy deeds. 
 You cannot serve both." 
 
 Isn't that a good lesson for them ? A good 
 lesson for you and me too. 
 
 After this the young children go to their 
 homes, but Darius and others of his age are also 
 to hunt to-day. The plains away to the north 
 are the home of the antelopes, and the boys will 
 ride miles and miles in pursuit of them. 
 
 Did you notice that Darius didn't have his 
 breakfast before going to school, and he hasn't 
 had it yet, but that doesn't trouble him. One 
 
34 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 meal a day is all he ever thinks of taking, and 
 if he is very much occupied with hunting, or has 
 a long inarch to make, it is often one meal in 
 two days instead of one. 
 
 To night the boys will sleep in the field, to be 
 ready for an early start in the morning ; and be- 
 fore the stars are dimmed by the first light of 
 dawn you will find them at the ford of the river, 
 preparing to cross. 
 
 Their bows and arrows are at their backs, but 
 their captain has given the order, " Cross this 
 stream without allowing your weapons to get 
 wet," and see how the boys have placed both 
 bows and quivers on their heads, stepped fear- 
 lessly into the water, taken each other's hands 
 in mid-stream, where the current is swiftest, to 
 save themselves from being swept off their feet, 
 and reached the opposite shore safely and well. 
 
 To-day they are in a wild woody place, far 
 from the city, and the captain orders that they 
 find food for themselves, for, if they would be 
 Persian soldiers, they must learn to live on the 
 enemy's country if necessary. Thanks to the 
 peaches, the wild pears and the acorns, they 
 
THE STORY OF DARIUS. 35 
 
 make a good dinner, or breakfast, whichever you 
 choose to call it, and then this day's lessons are 
 over, and they may explore the fields as they 
 please. 
 
 And now, at last, we are coming to Zadok. 
 
 Darius was straying along the river-bank 
 when he saw a black-eyed boy, perhaps a year 
 younger than himself, who turned and half hid 
 himself among the bushes, when he saw the 
 merry troop of Persian boys. 
 
 " See the Hebrew boy," cries one of the Per- 
 sian lads. " He can neither ride nor shoot." 
 
 " What of that," says Darius. " I know him. 
 He can tell wonderful stories, and he knows 
 about dreams and about wars too. They came 
 from the west, these Hebrews, and perhaps he 
 has seen the great salt sea. Let us bid him 
 come and sit with us on the rocks, and tell us 
 about the sea." 
 
 And Darius, who was a swift runner, sprang 
 down the path, and, overtaking the black-eyed 
 boy, said, " Come and tell us about the sea, and 
 we will give you peaches and nuts." 
 
 Now Zadok had no need to be afraid of the 
 
36 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 Persian boys, for their great king Cyrus had 
 been very kind to his people. He was a story- 
 teller by nature ; so he scrambled up the rocks 
 beside Darius, and, sitting there with the after- 
 noon sun shining upon his face, he told the Per- 
 sian boys his story. 
 
 " Tell us about the sea," cried they. 
 
 " I have never seen it," answered Zadok, 
 " but my grandfather used to live near it, and 
 he tells me about the ships of Tyre that come 
 with their great white sails and long oars, 
 swiftly over the desert of waters, swifter than 
 camels or horses, for it is the wind, the breath of 
 the Lord, that drives them. They bring cedar- 
 wood and gold, and purple cloth and scarlet. 
 My grandfather came away from the sea when 
 he was a boy like me, but he never forgets. 
 And now we are going back, back to our old 
 home. I shall see Jerusalem, and I shall know 
 it well, though I never saw it before." 
 
 " But why did your father come away ? " 
 
 "You see this great city of Babylon, and the 
 golden image of its god Bel ? The people of 
 Babylon were worshippers of idols, but our God 
 
THE STORY OF DARIUS. 37 
 
 is no graven image, he is the Most High, the 
 maker of heaven and earth." 
 
 "Yes," said the Persian boys, "so is ours." 
 " And do you have prophets to teach you ? '' 
 asked Zadok with surprise. 
 
 " No," answered Darius, " it is the holy 
 Zoroaster, the golden star who sheds light on 
 the way we must go." 
 
 " But tell us about the Babylonians." 
 " When my father was a boy," continued 
 Zadok, "they came to this country, broke down 
 the walls of the beautiful city, Jerusalem ; en- 
 tered the holy temple where we worship Jeho- 
 vah, and carried away the gold and silver vessels 
 from the altar. Then they took the people, 
 men, women, and children, and carried them 
 away captive. My father had not lived in Jeru- 
 salem, but in that time of clanger all the country 
 people crowded into the city, and so he and all 
 his family were marched away across the desert, 
 leaving behind them only the ruins of their 
 homes." 
 
 "Why didn't they fight," cried the Persian 
 boys. 
 
38 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 11 They did fight, but the Lord delivered them 
 into the hands of the enemy." 
 
 " Then this God of yours is not so strong as 
 the golden image of Bel, nor as our God, who 
 makes us conquerors," said Darius. 
 
 "Yes he is," protested Zadok ; "ask my father, 
 he will tell you. He is a king above all gods. 
 He made us captives, and he promised to bring 
 us safely again out of our captivity, and that 
 is why he sent your king, Cyrus, to set us free 
 from the people of Babylon." 
 
 The Persian boys nodded to each other. 
 "That is true," they said, "for we all heard the 
 proclamation. 'Thus saith Cyrus, king of Per- 
 sia. The Lord God of heaven hath given me 
 'all the kingdoms of the earth, and he hath 
 charged me to build him a house at Jerusalem, 
 who is there among you of all his people ? The 
 Lord his God be with him, and let him go up 
 and build it.'" 
 
 But the sun is setting and the boys must go 
 home. You know -they have to be up very 
 early in the morning. 
 
 Do you think their mothers have been anx- 
 
THE STORY OF DARIUS. 39 
 
 ions about them, that they have saved a good 
 supper, or at least a bowl of bread and milk for 
 the tired child who has been away ever since 
 yesterday evening ? 
 
 No, indeed ; Darius is twelve years old. He 
 is supposed to be able to take care of himself, 
 and his brother, who is fifteen, enters to-morrow 
 the army of the king. 
 
 The mothers take care of the little boys 
 under five years of age, that is all. 
 
 Darius sees no more of Zadok for some 
 months, for he leaves the great city and goes to 
 the farm of his uncle, where he helps to take 
 care of the flocks of pretty black sheep and 
 goats, and learns to guide the plough, and is 
 taught from the Zendavesta that one of man's 
 chief duties is to till the soil which the Father 
 of Life and Light has given 'to him, and to plant 
 trees, that the fruitful earth may blossom and be 
 glad. 
 
 One morning, while he is at the farm, his 
 uncle seems anxious and troubled. He looks 
 often towards the southeast and turns away 
 only to cast a sorrowful eye upon his peach- 
 
40 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO 
 
 trees, just blossoming, and his apples and ^/ears 
 forming their tiny fruit while their snow^ 
 petals cover the ground. 
 
 We might think that this Persian farmer 
 ought to be very happy, looking over his promis- 
 ing fields and orchards ; but no, the wind has 
 been southeast for two days, and " Unless it 
 changes before night," he says mournfully to 
 himself, "the locusts will be upon us. We 
 can fight against men, but not against insects ; 
 rather the whole Babylonian army than a swarm 
 of locusts." 
 
 Before the morning star has set, the boys are 
 roused from sleep by the shouts of the farm 
 laborers as they run this way and that, trying to 
 drive the swarm of locusts that darken the air 
 in their flight. When they have passed, not a 
 green leaf remains upon any tree, and it is use- 
 less to hope for a new crop this year. 
 
 Now his uncle must drive the sheep and 
 goats up into the hill country, looking for pas- 
 ture : and Darius will go home to Babylon, tak- 
 ing his cousin Baryta with him. 
 
 Baryta has never seen the great city, and as 
 
THE STORY OF DARIUS. 41 
 
 the two boys, dressed in their little leather suits, 
 trudge along over the fields together, Darius 
 begins to talk of the wonders he will show 
 him. 
 
 " You never saw the winged bulls, with their 
 great bearded faces. I shouldn't wonder if you 
 would be afraid of them." 
 
 "Afraid; not I," said Baryta, " aren't they 
 made of stone ? who cares for them ! I shouldn't 
 be afraid if they were alive. You never saw a 
 Persian boy that was a coward." 
 
 " But perhaps they are gods," suggested Da- 
 rius, " like the golden Bel that stands within 
 the gates." 
 
 " And if they are, what then ? I should think 
 we had learned from the Zendavesta that Or- 
 muzd is the maker and ruler of all. I am not 
 afraid of their gods that are only images. Who 
 ever saw an image of Ormuzd ? Nobody could 
 make one, he is so great." 
 
 " Yes, I know Ormuzd is the greatest, for 
 haven't we Persians conquered Babylon and all 
 its gods. I know a boy in Babylon, his name is 
 Rab-Mag, and he doesn't dare go by the shrine 
 
*2 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 of the golden Bel without bowing himself to the 
 ground. He is afraid of the winged bulls and 
 the horned lions ; but then, you see, they are 
 his gods, not ours." 
 
 " There is one good thing in our going back 
 to Babylon just 'now. I think we shall be in 
 time for Zadok's people. That will be grand ; 
 you will like that." 
 
 " But what do you mean by Zadok's people ? " 
 asked Baryta. 
 
 "Don't you know the Hebrews? Wasn't 
 there an old Hebrew man that lived near the 
 farm ? Can't you remember last year, when we 
 first came here, how we used to see them sitting 
 by the river-side and crying over their troubles, 
 because they couldn't go home to their own 
 country ? Well, Zadok is a Hebrew boy that I 
 knew in Babylon. He lives close by the great 
 brazen gate." 
 
 " And what is he going to do that we shall 
 like to see ? " 
 
 " Why, King Cyrus has set the Hebrews free, 
 and they are going home to build up their own 
 city again. The king says their God is the 
 
THE STORY OF DARIUS. 43 
 
 same as ours, the maker of heaven and 
 earth. Zadok says his name is Jehovah, and 
 I know that his name is Ormuzd ; but I sup- 
 pose the king understands how they are the 
 same. Now we are just in time to see them 
 go. I think it is to-morrow that the caravan 
 starts. If we can only get a place upon the 
 city wall, we shall see it grandly." 
 
 And, full of the idea of being in time for 
 the procession, the boys ran races with each 
 other, until they were close up to the great 
 brazen gates, which shone in the sunlight like 
 gold. 
 
 " Hurrah ; here we are ! " cried Darius I 
 " Look, Baryta, can you read ? See, the stone- 
 cutters have been making a new inscription, 
 and we might find out what it is if we could 
 read." 
 
 But Baryta shook his head ; reading had, as 
 yet, formed no part of his education. He 
 couldn't read the inscription, and I don't believe 
 you could, either, if you had been there. It 
 was only a strange collection of arrow-heads, 
 or wedges, beautifully cut into the stone. We 
 
44 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW 
 
 should find them now, if we should go to see, 
 for that is a kind of writing that lasts. 
 
 Early the next morning the whole city is 
 astir. It is the festival of the new year ; not our 
 first of January, but the twenty-first of March, 
 when the sun passes the equator, and begins to 
 move northward. 
 
 I don't believe Darius had any New Year's 
 presents, and Christmas Day had passed like any 
 common day, for this was long before the Chris- 
 tian era, and there was no Christmas Day. But 
 come out with Darius to the banks of the 
 Euphrates early on this New Year's morning, 
 and see the silver altar placed on the high- 
 est hill, and the priests, in their pure white 
 robes, standing around it to feed the sacred 
 flame with pieces of sandal-wood. The chief 
 priest pours the juice of some plant upon the 
 fire, and then, as the flame curls up, he casts 
 fresh butter upon it, and, while it burns clear 
 and bright, all the people join in a prayer or 
 song asking blessings on their nation. 
 
 No Persian ever thought it right to ask bless- 
 ings for himself, but only what was good for 
 
THE STORY OF DARIUS. 45 
 
 all, and for him through the blessing of the 
 whole. 
 
 Do you remember the little altar among the 
 Hindoo Koosh mountains, where Kablu's family 
 worshipped without a priest ? 
 
 Isn't there something in this service to re- 
 mind you of it ? Jhese far-away Persians have 
 brought the worship of the hills with them ; 
 and Zoroaster (their golden star) has taught 
 them that Ormuzd, the spirit of purity and 
 light, whose temple is the earth and the heav- 
 ens, needs neither image nor church for his 
 worship. 
 
 As the service ends, the prostrate Persians 
 rise and lift their faces to the light, singing all 
 together, " Purity and glory will grow and bloom 
 forever for those who are pure and upright in 
 their own hearts." 
 
 And now is the chance for you to see the 
 king, in his purple robe and yellow shoes, with 
 his fan-bearer and his parasol-bearer behind him, 
 and the bearer of the royal footstool to stand 
 ready beside the chariot the moment the beau- 
 tiful black horses stop. 
 
46 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 The chariots are out upon the walls ; two 
 chariots abreast on top of the walls, and yet the 
 boys have found room to squeeze themselves in, 
 and see the grand procession start. Men, women, 
 and children on horses, mules, and camels, bands 
 of musicians and singers, and in their midst, 
 carried aloft with all reverence, the vessels of 
 gold and silver that belong to the Hebrew tem- 
 ple. Out through the brazen gates, under the 
 waving banner of the Persian eagle they go ; 
 and, as they pass the chariot of Cyrus, there is 
 a great and prolonged shout, " Long live the 
 king ! " 
 
 The boys join in the shout, and indeed every- 
 body joins, ft is a great act of justice and 
 kindness from one nation to another. They may 
 well shout and be glad. 
 
 " Zadok, Zadok," calls Darius, as he sees his 
 friend below in the long procession. 
 
 The little dark face is lifted, the eyes light 
 up with a friendly smile, and then Zadok is 
 gone. 
 
 ' Just then the drum beats for the boys' even- 
 ing exercise or drill. Down from the wall in 
 
THE STORY OF DARIUS. 47 
 
 an instant, and away to the field outside the 
 gates ; for is not obedience the third of Persian 
 virtues ? 
 
 TRUTH, COURAGE, OBEDIENCE. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE STORY OF CLEON, THE GREEK BOY, WHO 
 RAN AT THE OLYMPIC GAMES. 
 
 " Ah, yet be mindful of your old renown. 
 Your great forefathers' virtues and your own" 
 
 WE have reached the third station on our 
 road from Long Ago. See, it is a beautiful 
 country, with mountains and valleys, and the 
 blue Mediterranean surrounding it on all sides 
 but the north. Lovely, green islands border it 
 like a fringe, and a deep blue gulf almost cuts 
 it in two. 
 
 Just south of the entrance to this gulf lies a 
 48 
 
THE STORY OF CLEON. 49 
 
 Greek state called Elis, a peaceful state, where 
 flocks feed, and grain is waving in the fields in 
 these July days, and grapes are ripening in the 
 sunshine, and nobody fears that some enemy 
 will suddenly come by land or sea, to molest 
 or destroy, for to all the people of Greece this 
 is a sacred state and therefore safe from all 
 harm. 
 
 I want to show you a valley in Elis before I 
 begin to tell about Cleon. 
 
 It is almost shut in by mountains, and a river, 
 the Alpheus, flows through it. Its hill-sides are 
 green and wooded, and its fields covered with 
 grass and flowers. In these old days, long ago, 
 a temple stood in this valley, guarded by a 
 golden statue of Victory, and beneath the statue 
 hung a shield of gold. 
 
 Shall I let you pass between the long rows of 
 pillars and look in at the great throne, and the 
 gold and ivory statues of Zeus, the " father of 
 gods and men/' 
 
 See how beautiful the throne is ; cedar-wood 
 and ebony, and richly set with precious stones ; 
 but when we look at the mighty statue that sits 
 
50 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 upon it, we forget all the glory of the throne, 
 and think only of the Olympian Zeus. 
 
 Those old Greeks used to say, " Not to have 
 seen the Olympian Zeus was indeed a misfor- 
 tune to any man." The great sculptor, Phidias, 
 had done his finest work when he made this 
 statue. He made it as beautiful and as grand as 
 he could, because he said always to himself 
 while he worked, " It is in honor of the mighty 
 Zeus, the father of all the gods, and he will look 
 with favor on my work if it is worthy." So he 
 carved the face, the chest, the arms and the feet 
 of ivory ; the hair and beard of solid gold, the 
 eyes were precious stones, and the robe was of 
 gold with jewelled flowers. In one outstretched 
 hand stood a golden figure of the Winged Vic- 
 tory, -in the other was the mighty sceptre. 
 Forty feet high was this grand statue ( as high 
 as the house I live in). He sat there with a 
 look sublime and inapproachable, yet not stern 
 nor angry. 
 
 And this statue our little Cleon is really 
 going to see with his own eyes. I wish we 
 could see it with him, for to us also, to you and 
 
THE STORY OF CLEON. 5 I 
 
 to me, it would be very grand, though we know 
 that no image can represent God, the father of 
 us all ; but the rows of pillars and the long 
 lines of light and shadows that fall across the 
 pavement, the costly throne, the gems and gold 
 and ivory, the majestic figure and face, and the 
 great golden Victory over the door, make us 
 stand still with a solemn feeling and ask what it 
 all means. 
 
 Can you see it like a picture, and will you not 
 forget it, while I take you away to Cleon and 
 the others, who are hastening over the long 
 roads in the bright summer weather, towards 
 this very valley, to take part in the great Olym- 
 pic games ? 
 
 From the south came the Spartan youths, 
 marching (they always march instead of walk- 
 ing) over the rough road with their bare feet. 
 A bit of black bread in their wallets, and water 
 from a wayside spring, is food enough for the 
 journey. Among them are four boys who 
 trudge on silently behind their companions. It 
 is not respectful for boys to speak in the pres- 
 ence of men. 
 
$2 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW, 
 
 Will the boys get very tired on this long walk, 
 full sixty miles, I think ? Or, if they do, will 
 the men stop for them to rest or march slower 
 for their sake ? Oh no, they are used to such 
 marches. If they can't keep up they had best 
 go back, for none but vigorous athletes are 
 wanted at Olympia. Few comforts these boys 
 have had in their lives, and no luxuries. For 
 this last year they have been left to their own 
 resources, living upon what they could find or 
 steal. Their bed is of rushes that they gathered 
 by the river-side, and last winter, when it was 
 very cold, they added to it thistle-down that 
 they pulled in the fields. 
 
 Watch for these boys, you will see them 
 again. 
 
 From Corinth and from Thebes they are com- 
 ing, young men for the games, old men to look 
 on, and recall the days when they too were 
 young. And the islands are sending their 
 bravest and best, and the distant colonies fit out 
 ships with two or three rows of long oars, and 
 carry the colonists home for the great games. 
 
 But we have chiefly to do with the travellers 
 from Athens, among whom is Cleon. 
 
THE STORY OF CLEON. 53 
 
 That you may know Cleon well, I must tell 
 you what he has been doing for the past few 
 years, and I can't tell you that without intro 
 ducing to you his pedagogue. 
 
 I sometimes wish the boys had pedagogues in 
 these days. Perhaps you don't know what a 
 pedagogue was, and can't tell whether you 
 would like to have one or not. 
 
 Look in the dictionary and you find the defi- 
 nition, a teacher or schoolmaster ; then you will 
 say, "Why, yes indeed, I do have a pedagogue." 
 
 But if you look in the great unabridged dic- 
 tionary, you will see, just after the word "peda- 
 gogue" and before the definition, two strange- 
 looking words in Greek letters, and their mean- 
 ings following them. "to lead," and "a child." 
 So you see that in Greece, where the word came 
 from, a pedagogue was one who led a child. 
 
 Every man in Athens who could afford it 
 bought slaves. These slaves were the captives 
 taken from other nations in war, and sold for 
 greater or less prices according to their ability; 
 a man or woman who could only cook might be 
 bought for a mina of silver, while a learned man, 
 
54 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NO W. 
 
 who could oftentimes teach not only the chil 
 dren but the father himself, might cost a thou- 
 sand drachmas. 
 
 Among the family slaves was always a peda- 
 gogue, who, as soon as the little boys of six 1-eft 
 the care of their mothers and nurses, led them 
 to school, went with them to their games, 
 watched over them in every way, that they 
 might form no bad habits, and that they might 
 also notice and become interested in all that 
 was best and most beautiful. 
 
 They led them to school, and then left them 
 with the schoolmaster. When they were old 
 enough, led them to the gymna-sium, where 
 there was always one room set apart for the 
 boys, where they were trained in racing, wrest- 
 ling,. and all manly games. 
 
 But we shall understand it all better if we go 
 to school with Cleon and see what he does 
 there. 
 
 The pedagogue leads him to school at sun- 
 rise. On Monday morning do you suppose ? Oh 
 no, there were no Mondays and no weeks, 
 at least no weeks like ours. Three decades 
 
THE STORY OF CLEON. 55 
 
 made a month. Some months had thirty days, 
 and in those each decade was, as its name 
 shows, ten days; but others had only twenty- 
 nine days, and then the last decade had but 
 nine ; and as for the names of the days, they 
 were only first, second, third, and so on. 
 
 School began at sunrise and ended at sunset, 
 but I hope the same set of boys did not stay all 
 that time. 
 
 Cleon is even earlier than usual this morning: 
 for Glaucon a boy two or three years older 
 than himself is still busy washing the benches 
 with a great sponge, while Lysias grinds the ink 
 for the parchment writing and waxes the tablets. 
 These boys are too poor to pay a teacher, and 
 yet they have a great love of learning, so they 
 are working for the schoolmaster, who will pay 
 them in teaching. 
 
 Little Cleon is still in the youngest class, 
 learning to read and to repeat poetry, but next 
 year he will begin to write on a little waxed 
 tablet with a pen called a stylus. It is made of 
 ivory, pointed at one end and flattened at the 
 other. He writes with the pointed end, and 
 
$6 THF. ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 afterwards rubs out the letters and smooths 
 over the wax with the other, and the tablet it 
 all ready for a new lesson. 
 
 He has a little classmate named Atticus, 
 who found it almost impossible to learn his 
 letters, although in the way of mischief there 
 was nothing Atticus couldn't learn. So at last 
 his father took him away from school and 
 bought twenty-four little slaves of the same age 
 as his son. These little fellows he named for 
 the letters of the alphabet, not A, B, C, but 
 Alpha, Beta, etc., and he hired a schoolmaster 
 to teach the whole twenty-five together, and it 
 wasn't long before Atticus, who shouted to 
 Gamma to catch the ball, or called Delta to run 
 a race with him, had learned all the letters and 
 begun to put them together to make words. 
 
 Before Cleon began to go to school, and when 
 he was still a very little boy, only five years old, 
 he one day climbed up the steps that led to his 
 mother's bed ; for you must know that going up 
 stairs to bed was exactly what they always had 
 to do in Athens, for the bedsteads were so high 
 as to need several steps to reach them. Well, 
 
THE STORY OF CLEON. $ 
 
 he climbed up stairs on to his mother's bed, and, 
 wrapping his little chiton across his breast with 
 one arm, held out the other as he had seen the 
 orator do when his nurse led him past the 
 marble porticos, where the people were often 
 gathered to hear some wise man speak, and 
 then, in his baby-talk, made a little speech, 
 beginning, "Citizens of Athens." 
 
 Though his father and mother did not appear 
 to take special notice of this at the time ; they 
 afterwards said one to the other, " Our boy will 
 become an orator ; we must see that he studies 
 the works of the poets." 
 
 So, even before he can handle the stylus, he 
 has begun to study the grand, heroic verses of 
 Homer ; not from a book, for I am sure you 
 must know that there were no printed books in 
 those days, and few written ones ; but his master 
 taught him, being quite as careful that he should 
 stand gracefully, and hold his head erect, and 
 his arms and hands at ease, as that he should 
 understand the noble words and repeat them in 
 a clear tone and with good expression. 
 
 Sometimes it is a speech of the wise Nestor 
 to the Greeks before Troy : 
 
58 'iHE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 " O friends, be men : your generous breasts inflame 
 With mutual honor and with mutual shame ; 
 Think of your hopes, your fortunes ; all the care 
 Your wives, your infants, and your parents share. 
 Think of each loving father's reverend head, 
 Think of each ancestor with glory dead ; 
 Absent, by me they speak, by me they sue, 
 They ask their safety and their fame from you." 
 
 Or with Ajax he makes a stand to defend the 
 ships, and shouts, 
 
 " O friends ! O heroes ! names forever dear, 
 Once sons of Mars and thunder-bolts of war ! 
 Ah ! yet be mindful of your old renown 
 Your great forefathers' virtues and your own. 
 This spot is all we have to lose or keep, 
 There stand the Trojans, and here rolls the deep." 
 
 Or he learns by heart the brave old tales, and 
 grows to understand, 
 
 " Not hate, but glory, made those chiefs contend 
 And each brave foe was in his soul a friend," 
 
 Inspired by such grand words the boys will 
 grow up to do brave deeds in battle some day 
 themselves. 
 
 When they can read and write and count, and 
 reckon by nilmbers a little, the lessons in music 
 will begin. For although the law of Solon 
 
THE STORY OF CLEON. 59 
 
 teaches only that every Athenian must learn to 
 read and to swim, no less surely must every 
 Athenian learn to sing and to play on the lute 
 or cithara ; for he must be able to sing the great 
 paean when he goes into battle, to join in the 
 sacred choruses in honor of the gods, and also, 
 in time of peace, he must know how to play and 
 sing for the pleasure of himself and his friends 
 in company. 
 
 But of course Cleon does something besides 
 study. 
 
 Don't you want to go out with him to the sea- 
 shore, three miles away, and skip shells (flat 
 oyster-shells), as we do stones, on the blue 
 water of the Mediterranean ? And he can play 
 leap-frog with the best of you. It is a Persian 
 game, brought from that country years ago. 
 To play ball is a part of his education, for the 
 body must be educated as well as the mind, and 
 it makes one erect and agile to toss and catch 
 and run. 
 
 A year or two ago he used to drive hoop, a 
 lovely hoop with tinkling bells around the 
 inside of it. Wouldn't that be a good Christ- 
 
60 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 mas present for somebody ? Do you suppose it 
 was a Christmas present to him ? 
 
 No, there is no Christmas yet, any more than 
 there was for Darius. He had the hoop on his 
 birthday. He is too old for it now, but it is 
 put away in case he should ever have a little 
 brother. 
 
 It is only within a year that Cleon has been 
 training for the foot-races. 
 
 Perhaps you don't see why every Athenian 
 boy must be a swift runner, but when you re- 
 member that war was then the chief occupation 
 of the people, and that a Greek army ran into 
 battle shouting a grand paean, you will realize 
 that a soldier untrained in running was but half 
 a soldier. 
 
 Cleon has been doing his very best in the 
 racing, for this year he is going for the first time 
 to the great Olympic games. Three of his 
 neighbors and friends go with him, and of 
 course his pedagogue, Diogenes, who has trained 
 him so well, goes with him also. He will take 
 care of them all, and the boys must be sure to 
 obey him ; for obedience is one of the duties of a 
 
THE STORY OF CLEON. 6 1 
 
 good citizen, and good citizens they are all 
 bound to become. 
 
 You and I have reason to be particularly 
 interested in these Athenian boys ; for Athens 
 is a republic, the very first republic in the 
 world, so far as we know, and all that you learn 
 in becoming acquainted with Cleon will show 
 you what was necessary in those old days to 
 make boys into good citizens of a republic. 
 
 And now, at last, we set out on the journey 
 to Olympia. 
 
 The dress of the boys is a simple chiton, a 
 little garment of linen without sleeves, and they 
 have sandals on their feet, because this journey 
 is long, and they will not unfit their feet for the 
 race ; but often and often they have walked 
 miles and miles barefooted. They need no 
 hats, for one of their earliest lessons was to stand 
 with uncovered head in the hottest sunshine, as 
 well as to endure the coldest weather without 
 any clothes at all. So they walk with a light 
 step, and find little trouble in keeping up with 
 their older brothers, who are going to join in the 
 wrestling matches and the other games. 
 
62 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 Eudexion. indeed, rides on horseback, wearing 
 his white chlamys, purple-bordered and with four 
 tasselled corners. But even that you would not 
 think was much of a dress, for it is only an 
 oblong strip of cloth with a button to fasten it 
 together on the right shoulder, so as to leave the 
 right arm bare, and free to use spear or bow. 
 
 You will see by and by, however, that this 
 very simple way of dressing is exceedingly con- 
 venient to these Greeks. 
 
 It is the Seventy-seventh Olympiad. You 
 remember that Kablu measured time by moons. 
 Cleon measured by Olympiads. And what was 
 an Olympiad ? Why, it was four years ; and it 
 was counted from one celebration of the Olym- 
 pic games to another. 
 
 If you asked Cleon at what time he began to go 
 to school, he would have answered, " In the third 
 year of the Seventy-fourth Olympiad." Now 
 count back, and you will find out how old he is. 
 
 But we must go back to our journey. You 
 and I should call such a journey a long, delight- 
 ful pic-nic ; camping at night in a sheltering 
 cave; bathing every day in some clear stream; 
 
THE STORY OF CLEON. 63 
 
 feasting on wild figs and olives and almonds ; 
 and stopping sometimes at a farm-house for bar- 
 ley-cakes and honey. 
 
 We join in the morning song of the farmer's 
 boys, 
 
 "Come forth, beloved sun," 
 
 and we watch the toiling oxen, yoked with a 
 maple yoke, curved like a serpent winding 
 round their necks ; and we listen to the half, 
 naked, happy-looking lad who trudges beside 
 them, singing to himself, " He who toils is be- 
 loved by gods and men." " Be industrious, for 
 famine is the companion of the idle." 
 
 At noon we reach a hospitable farm-house, 
 where the cook stands beside her fire, stirring a 
 great pot of broth with a fig-tree ladle to give it 
 a fine flavor ; and in fact we find bowls of it deli- 
 cious and refreshing as a preparation for the 
 afternoon's march. You see we don't travel on 
 the Spartan plan. 
 
 But we mustn't stop too long on the road. 
 Only notice, as we come nearer and nearer to 
 the beautiful valley, what troops of people we 
 meet, all on their way to the same place. Some 
 
64 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 have come down from the mountains, and among 
 them is an old man who has come all the way 
 from a distant mountain hamlet, and only to- 
 day joined the company in which we meet him. 
 
 "Were you not afraid to travel so far alone ? " 
 he was asked. 
 
 " Oh no," he answered ; " I carry a laurel 
 staff." 
 
 Though you and I don't see how a laurel staff 
 should protect him, Cleon knows that the sacred 
 laurel is a safeguard from all evil, and he looks 
 curiously and with a sort of awe at the old 
 man's staff. 
 
 But while we talk, Cleon is already in the 
 valley, and stands gazing, for the first time in 
 his life, at the golden Victory. On the morrow 
 morning he will pray to Zeus for victory, and 
 then take his place among the foot-racers. 
 
 There couldn't be a brighter morning than 
 the next. How the sun shines on the golden 
 statue and shield, and on the hundred bronze 
 statues of Olympian victors that stand around 
 the sacred place. 
 
 Perhaps you can't understand how games 
 
THE STORY OF CLEON. 65 
 
 could be sacred. But I think there is a true 
 meaning in thinking of it as Cleon had been 
 taught to. The great god Zeus had given him 
 a strong and beautiful body, and now he came 
 to the temple of Zeus to show that he had used 
 that body well, and trained it to feats of strength 
 and skill, kept it sacred, not injured it by care- 
 lessness or ill-treatment, but made the most of 
 it all the time. 
 
 All the boys who are to run are together on 
 one side of the field. Cleon, who arrives very 
 early, watches the others as they enter. He is 
 thinking whether they will be worthy opponents 
 in the race. He is not afraid of any of the 
 Athenian boys. He has beaten them all many 
 times already. But here are boys from all 
 parts of Greece, and good runners too. Still 
 he has little fear until he sees a rugged, sun- 
 burned face under a shock of uncombed hair, 
 keen eyes that look neither to the right nor to 
 the left, and yet see everything ; a light step, 
 neither quick nor slow, but very sure, caring not 
 for rough roads, wet or dry, trained to march in 
 the darkest night as steadily as by clay. It is 
 
66 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 Aristodemus, the Spartan boy, not a very 
 pleasing object beside the Athenian boys, in 
 their clean linen chitons, and fresh from their 
 morning bath. 
 
 Aristodemus has but one chiton a year, and 
 he wears that until it is worn out. In summer he 
 often goes without, in order that it may last 
 through the winter ; and this poor garment, I 
 am sure, has never made the acquaintance of 
 the washtub. This, however, is the boy the 
 one boy that Cleon has reason to dread in the 
 race. 
 
 And now the day begins with a solemn sacri- 
 fice to Zeus, the father of light. Ten bulls, 
 their horns decked with oak wreaths, are led up 
 to the altar and killed, and the priest prays. As 
 the flame is kindled and curls up around the 
 sacrifice, the people all join in the sacred chorus,- 
 ending with the prayer, " Zeus, our Lord, give 
 unto us whatever is good, whether we ask it of 
 thee or not ; whatever is evil keep from us, even 
 if we ask it of thee." 
 
 Then the games begin. The boys race first. 
 Their pedagogues have already handed in their 
 
THE STORY OF OLE ON. 6? 
 
 names and stated their parentage, for none who 
 are not of pure Greek descent can enter, nor 
 can any one who has committed crime. 
 
 A silver urn contains the lots which assign 
 places to the racers. The boys move forward 
 in order, and draw. Then the holders of the first 
 four numbers take their places first upon the 
 course. 
 
 And now you see how convenient is the Greek 
 dress, for unfasten only one button and off falls 
 the chiton, and the boy is ready for the race, 
 with his agile limbs free from all clothes, and 
 without the least feeling of shame, for you must 
 remember that this has always been the custom 
 with them. 
 
 The signal is given and they are off, like 
 bright arrows from a bow. 
 
 The victor is Charicles, one of Cleon's Athe- 
 nian friends. He stands now by himself, a 
 proud and happy boy, to watch the next four. 
 
 Aristodemus is winner in the third race, Cleon 
 in the fourth. And now all the winners are to 
 run together for the olive crown. 
 * Cleon stands erect, raises his hands towards 
 
68 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 heaven, and calls upon Zeus, Athene, and 
 Apollo to help him. 
 
 Then once again the signal is given, and, 
 with his bright locks blowing in the wind, Cleon 
 is off. 
 
 These two boys the Spartan and the Athe- 
 nian quickly outstrip the others. The Athe- 
 nians cheer Cleon, calling upon Pallas Athene to 
 aid him for the honor of Athens. 
 
 The Spartans shout to Aristodemus to con- 
 quer for Sparta. When Cleon's foot is at the 
 goal, Aristodemus is but one pace behind him ; 
 so the olive crown is for the golden head of 
 Cleon instead of the tangled locks of the Spartan 
 boy. But Cleon turns to grasp the hand of his 
 opponent, understanding now, perhaps for the 
 ^rst time, 
 
 "Not hate, but glory, made these chiefs contend, 
 And each brave foe was in his soul a friend." 
 
 Now our boy will have his name inscribed 
 first on the list of victors, for they always give 
 the boys the first place. He has done honor 
 to his parents and to his city, and he stands 
 through the long summer day to watch the race 
 
THE STORY OF CLEON. 69 
 
 of the young men in armor, the leaping, wrest- 
 ling, and throwing the spear ; and last, the great 
 chariot race; and he has a new feeling of be- 
 longing to it all ; and he shouts when Athens 
 wins, and watches anxiously when the Corin- 
 thian and Theban youths throw the spear or the 
 diskos, lest they should excel his dear Athe- 
 nians. 
 
 The wrestling on the second day was perhaps 
 the most skilful ever seen in Greece, the 
 young men, their bodies oiled and sprinkled with 
 sand, seizing each other's slight forms with a 
 grasp that would not let go. 
 
 At last two of them only remained to decide 
 the contest, a Spartan and an Athenian. They 
 were locked in each other's arms and neither 
 would yield. 
 
 The silent, almost breathless, people watch 
 them as the minutes go by. At last, the Spar- 
 tan, as if he had summoned all his strength for 
 this one effort, slowly forces his antagonist to 
 the ground, and then falls beside him dead. 
 There is a great shout. "The crown of the 
 dead victor for Sparta ! " And the Spartans 
 
7O THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 themselves are loudest in the applause. Nobody 
 sorrows over him. 
 
 They will carry back his crown, to hang it over 
 his grave in Sparta. His name will be written 
 among the victors ; perhaps, even, he will have a 
 statue in his honor. So they despatch a swift 
 runner to Sparta to tell the good news to his 
 father, and then the games go on. 
 
 When they are finished, all these people dis- 
 perse until the next Olympiad, and wherever 
 they go they will be eagerly asked, " Who has 
 won at the games ? " and they will tell the names 
 with pride, and rehearse the story of the dead 
 victor. 
 
 Cleon goes home to Athens, and he finds the 
 door of his father's house decorated with gar- 
 lands, while that of Theognis, his next neigh- 
 bor, has a little flock of soft, white wool hang- 
 ing over it. He shouts for joy when he sees the 
 garlands, for he knows the meaning of such a 
 decoration, a baby brother has been born to him, 
 and this is the festival day in honor of the happy 
 event. 
 
 The Spartan nurse who has been hired to take 
 
THE STORY OF CLEON. 7 l 
 
 care of him has this morning carried the tiny 
 baby, in her arms, two or three times around 
 the burning altar of the hearth, while all the 
 household united in the worship of Hestia, the 
 goddess of the hearth. In a few days will come 
 the name-day, and the festival for the friends 
 and relatives. 
 
 Cleon is glad to be at home before this feast- 
 day, for he likes to see the guests in their rich 
 dresses, with golden grasshoppers fastening the 
 heavy curls on their foreheads, to hear the mu- 
 sic, and perhaps to get a taste of the fruits left 
 from their tables. 
 
 And what was the meaning of the flock of 
 wool on the door of Theognis ? Oh, that meant 
 a baby too, but a girl, not a boy. I suppose 
 they put wool because she would be a spinner 
 and weaver, as all Greek women were. 
 
 And now I am reminded by the wreath on the 
 door that I have never taken you into Cleon's 
 home, and you don't even know at all what kind 
 of house it is. 
 
 Let us go out into the street and see just 
 how the outside looks. 
 
72 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 I should call it a blank wall built up close tc 
 the street, with a door in the middle of it. Do 
 you think Cleon's little sister Thratta will be 
 looking out at the front windows to see the peo- 
 ple pass in the streets. Oh no, indeed, people 
 don't look out of their front windows in Athens. 
 The front rooms are only for the porters, and 
 sometimes even for the stables, so we pass 
 quickly through the narrow entry that lies be- 
 tween them, and reach what I should call the 
 real, true house. 
 
 Did you notice that the door, unlike ours, 
 opens outwards, and, as the house stands direct- 
 ly on the street, the opening of the door may 
 knock down some person who is passing, and 
 yet there are very few such accidents, for who- 
 ever goes out knocks loudly on the inside of the 
 door before he opens it, and the passers by 
 hear the knock, understand its meaning, and 
 keep out of the way. 
 
 Do you wonder why they made the doors in 
 this way ? So did I, until they showed me how 
 well a house might be defended against an 
 enemy, if the door opened outwards and in 
 
THE STORY OF CLEON. 73 
 
 those old times, you know, there were many 
 wars, and much fighting even in the streets of 
 cities sometimes. 
 
 But we are friends, not enemies, and now we 
 are fairly inside the house and looking at the 
 beautiful statue that stands at the inner door- 
 way. It is Apollo, god of trfb silver bow. He 
 stands there to guard and to bless the house. 
 
 We pass him and follow Cleon as he runs 
 through the door at the end of the passage to 
 seek his mother. Here we stand in a fine open 
 courtyard, right in the middle of the house. 
 The blue sky is overhead, rows of marble pillars 
 form a colonnade around it, and pleasant rooms 
 open from it on both sides. 
 
 But neither the mother nor little Thratta is 
 here ; and out through the door at the other 
 end runs Cleon. Another open hall, but not 
 half so large as the first, and in it the sacred 
 hearth of stone round which the baby was 
 carried to-day. 
 
 See, just as we come in, a slave girl who has 
 in her hand the fragments of a beautiful porce- 
 lain pitcher, has run to the hearth and knelt 
 
74 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 upon it, while she looks up tearfully to the 
 hand that is about to strike her for her careless- 
 ness. She has run to the altar of the hearth 
 for protection, and she is safe ; no one will 
 punish her there. 
 
 Cleon even remembers how one wild, stormy 
 night, when he wS.s a very little child, a poor 
 stranger, lost in the storm, entered the house 
 and claimed the protection of the hearth, and 
 how his father had said kindly, " If you were 
 my enemy, you were safe on the asylum of the 
 hearth." 
 
 I think we, who are strangers, will wait beside 
 the hearth while Cleon opens the door at the 
 left side of the hall and finds his mother with 
 the little new baby brother. 
 
 But I hear the sound of the loom, and 
 presently Cleon will lead us still on through 
 another door at the back of the hall, to the 
 rooms where the maids are spinning and weav- 
 ing, and then out into the garden, where little 
 Thratta is playing at hide-and-seek with her 
 playmate Cadmea. 
 
 But we must not forget that Cleon has 
 
THE STORY OF CLEON. 75 
 
 brought home the crown of wild olive. He is 
 an honor to his parents and to Athens. His 
 father and mother praise him, his sister 
 Thratta makes him a myrtle wreath, and he 
 begins to feel himself growing into a good 
 citizen. 
 
 By the way, do you notice that he wears 
 golden ear-rings ? Don't you think that is odd 
 for a boy ? I thought so, and I wondered why, 
 until he told me this story about it. 
 
 "Have you ever heard," he said, "of the 
 sacred oracle of Apollo at Delphi ? When 
 anything of importance is to be decided, the 
 Greeks always go and ask the wise counsel of 
 the oracle. So once when the wise men were 
 trying to find out what they should do to make 
 their sons grow up into good citizens, they 
 decided to send two men my father was one 
 and Polycles the other to ask the oracle. 
 
 " This was the answer, I have heard it often, 
 and know it by heart : ' If the Athenians 
 desire good citizens, let them put whatever is 
 most beautiful into the ears of their sons.' 
 
 " Gold was the most beautiful, so after that we 
 
7 6 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 all had ear-rings of gold ; but last summer I 
 heard Pericles say in the assembly that it was 
 not ear-rings of gold that the oracle meant, but 
 jewels of thought set in golden words." 
 
 And now that we are at home again in 
 Athens, Cleon will not let us go until we have 
 been up to the Acropolis to see the statue of 
 Pallas Athene, the guardian goddess of the city, 
 If we had come by sea we could have seen the 
 crest of her helmet and the point of her spear 
 shining like gold, while we were still man} 
 miles away. 
 
 Every year there is a festival held in her 
 honor at Athens, but last year it was grander 
 than usual ; the third year of each Olympiad 
 being especially sacred to her. 
 
 The Athenians love her well. They believe 
 that it is she who made the olive-tree and 
 blessed their land with it, and so, on the Acro- 
 polis, they cherish always her sacred olive-tree, 
 and they go to ask her help in war and in 
 peace ; for she can inspire their warriors to do 
 glorious deeds, and she has also taught the 
 peaceful arts of spinning and weaving, and all 
 
THE STORY OF CLEON. 77 
 
 manner of industries. I think we might call 
 her the goddess of intelligence or wisdom. 
 
 In her honor there are processions and 
 dances and games, one race that I should par- 
 ticularly like to see, the torch-race ; the runners 
 carry lighted torches, and the victor is he who 
 reaches the goal with his torch still alight. 
 That is not an easy thing to do, I fancy, 
 Could you do it ? 
 
 Cleon is still too young for the torch race, 
 but his brother Eudexion took part in it. He 
 ran, but he did not win. Do you want to know 
 who did ? It was Daldion, and they were all 
 glad of his success, for he deserved it, and 
 besides he was an orphan ; and in Athens, if a 
 boy lost his parents, the state became father 
 and mother to him, and instead of having only 
 one father he had a hundred. So Daldion had 
 been brought up and educated by the state, and 
 at this festival of Pallas Athene he came of 
 age. It was a grand celebration of his birth- 
 day. He was taken into the theatre, and, in 
 the presence of all the people, clad in a com- 
 plete suit of armor, a gift from the state, in 
 
7% THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NO W. 
 
 memory of his brave father who fell in battle, 
 and to-day he has quickly won renown by this 
 victory in the race, and everybody rejoices with 
 him. 
 
 He is also expert in the Pyrrhic dance, a 
 beautiful stately dance with poised spear and 
 shield, the dancers moving to the sound of mar- 
 tial music. This, too, is a service in honor of 
 the gods. 
 
 But we must not linger too long in Athens ; 
 we will only stay for the naming-day festival of 
 Cleon's baby brother. 
 
 His father went, early in the morning, to the 
 market to hire cooks and to buy fish, for in 
 Athens fish is a great delicacy and much prized. 
 Skins of wine he bought, too, and baskets of 
 fruit, and garlands also, enough for all the 
 guests ; and he hired dancing-girls and flute- 
 players for their entertainment. 
 
 The guests came in dresses of fine, white wool, 
 bordered with purple or scarlet. Their hair was 
 curled and fastened with golden grasshoppers. 
 When they came in, the slaves brought per- 
 fumed waters for their hands, and then set 
 
THE STORY OF CLEON. 79 
 
 out tables with dishes and drinking-cups of 
 silver. 
 
 There were roasted pike, and barley-cakes and 
 bread carried about in baskets, and eaten with 
 cheese from Sicily, or the honey of Hymettus. 
 There were figs from the island of Rhodes, where 
 the great Colossus bestrides the harbor ; dates 
 brought across the sea from Egypt, and almonds 
 and melons and other fruits. 
 
 Cleon himself is admitted to the dining-room 
 for the first time, because he has honored him- 
 self and his family by his victory. 
 
 He cannot, of course, come as the equal of 
 his father and the guests. They will recline 
 on the soft-cushioned couches, and the slaves 
 will serve them ; while he sits upright upon a 
 bench and listens in respectful silence to the 
 talk and the music. 
 
 He does not share the feast, but he knows 
 very well that a boy should not expect it ; and I 
 fancy he enjoys quite as well his supper of pan- 
 cakes and honey, after the dinner is over and 
 the guests are gone. 
 
 It is night. Cleon goes through the court- 
 
80 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 yard, passes between the tall pillars of the 
 colonnade to his little bedroom, and falls quickly 
 asleep on his bed, which is hardly more than a 
 hard bench. And we the strangers will 
 sail away to Italy, and up the Yellow Tiber, to 
 Rome. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE STORY OF HORATIUS, THE ROMAN BOY, 
 WHOSE ANCESTOR "KEPT THE BRIDGE SO 
 WELL." 
 
 " And -wives still pray to Juno, 
 
 For boys with hearts as bold 
 As his who kept the bridge so well 
 In the brave days of old" 
 
 SHALL we sail to Rome in a trireme ? 
 
 But what is a trireme ? you will ask. 
 
 Look at the picture at the top of this page, 
 
 and when you notice the three rows of oars, you 
 
 will remember that tri means three. Do you 
 
 see how one rower must sit a little behind as 
 
 81 
 
82 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 well as above another, so that the oars need not 
 interfere ? There are little seats, in three rows, 
 fastened to the ship, inside, in just such posi- 
 tions, for the rowers. And with all these oars, 
 and perhaps a square sail if the wind is fair, we 
 go pretty swiftly over the water. But a trireme 
 was a war vessel, and I don't believe the Ro- 
 mans would be willing to take passengers on a 
 war vessel. Nevertheless, I think we can go, 
 you and I, for it isn't our bodies, but only our 
 minds, that have taken passage for this voyage, 
 and we shall not occupy any room. 
 
 The trireme does, however, carry some pas- 
 sengers besides ourselves, unwilling passen- 
 gers, I fear, fair-haired women and young girls 
 and boys, prisoners of war, who are to be 
 sold in the market-place (the Forum) when we 
 reach Rome. Among them are one or two 
 men, wise and grave ; one of them, I am sure, 
 is a writer. He has a tablet and stylus, such as 
 we used to see in Athens. Some noble Roman 
 will perhaps buy him for a secretary, and em- 
 ploy him to copy books, for as yet there is no 
 printing, and many men earn their living by 
 writing. 
 
THE STORY OF HORA TIUS. $3 
 
 We land and follow the slaves up the sheets 
 of the city to the Forum, where they are to be 
 sold. There are vases and pictures and statues 
 also for sale in this Forum. They have been 
 brought from the Greek city of Corinth, and 
 they certainly remind us of the beautiful things 
 we saw when we were in that country with 
 Cleon. Doxius, the slave, also seems to be a 
 Greek, and is probably a learned man. 
 
 Let us stand here at one side and watch the 
 buyers, who come wrapped in their togas of 
 white wool with purple borders. 
 
 In Rome you know a man's rank by his 
 dress ; the purple stripes mean magistrates and 
 senators. A simple dress of white is only for a 
 common citizen. The common citizens can't 
 afford to buy at this market, so you will not see 
 them here. 
 
 Here is one tall man whose toga fairly drags 
 on the ground behind him, while the heavy fold, 
 that usually lies on the left shoulder, is drawn 
 up over his head in place of a hat. You would 
 hardly think he could walk at all in a dress so 
 cumbersome, and I am sure he never runs, like 
 
84 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 the light-footed Greeks. But while we watch 
 him, here comes another man, a senator, I 
 know, by his dress, and beside him a boy wear- 
 ing a long tunic with sleeves, and leather shoes 
 with little ivory crescents on the instep. Next 
 year he can wear a toga, but not now. Al- 
 though he is a tall, manly-looking little fellow, 
 it would be unwarrantable presumption for his 
 parents to allow him the purple-striped toga 
 before he is thirteen. This boy is Horatius. 
 Horatius what ? do you ask? 
 
 Oh, nothing. He hasn't yet earned another 
 last name, and he isn't old enough to receive a 
 first name ; that will come when he changes his 
 boy's toga for a man's. 
 
 Horatius is his family name, and his sister, 
 who went, when he was a baby, to be a vestal 
 virgin, has only the name Horatia. Don't for- 
 get Horatia, for I shall let you see her one day. 
 
 While we are talking about their names* the 
 father has looked with keen eyes down the long 
 row of slaves. He doesn't want a cook, nor a 
 dancing girl, nor a lady's maid, but he does 
 want a teacher for his boy, and a Greek teacher 
 
THE STORY OF HORATIUS. 85 
 
 he would prefer to any other. So he stands for 
 a few minutes before Doxius ; talks with the 
 dealer about his accomplishments, reads the lit- 
 tle tablet that hangs from his neck, and finally 
 offers fifty pieces of gold for the man. 
 
 There is some bargaining between them on 
 the subject, while the young Horatius looks 
 with a sort of bashful curiosity at the man who 
 is probably to be his chief companion for some 
 years to come. Then Doxius is delivered over 
 to his master, and follows him to his home on 
 the Palatine hill. It is a high house with 
 narrow windows, and as we open the door the 
 light falls into the passage-way and shows a 
 floor of various-colored marbles. Do you think 
 it pretty ? Wait until you reach the atrium, a 
 sort of open room in the middle of the house, 
 like the court of Cleon's home, and there I will 
 show you the handsomest floor you ever saw. 
 Stones of lovely colors laid together to form a pic- 
 ture, you would think it painted, of a white 
 dove resting on a fountain's edge, and see even 
 the shadow of its little head on the water. The 
 dining-room floor is made to appear as if strewed 
 
r ow. 
 
 skilfully 
 jry well. 
 
 86 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 with the remains of the dinner. It is 
 wrought, no doubt, but I don't like it very 
 It is commonly called " the unswept." 
 
 The father of Horatius stops in the atrium to 
 give some directions to Doxius, and then sum- 
 mons another slave to show him the men's 
 apartments. In the mean-time our boy stands 
 quietly waiting beside a bronze statue which is 
 at one side of the family altar a statue of a 
 bold, hardy soldier in armor, halting upon one 
 knee, as if wounded, and yet with uplifted sword 
 and an expression of undaunted courage. 
 
 Of course we all know it is the statue of Ho- 
 ratius " who kept the bridge so well," and we 
 can see now that our boy Horatius is not un- 
 like him in face and figure. I hope he is also 
 as brave at heart. 
 
 There are also other statues besides that of 
 the brave ancestors, the household gods, the 
 Lares and the Penates ; they stand in the atrium, 
 and see, they are decked with fresh violets and 
 garlands of rosemary. 
 
 As Horatius stands waiting, he looks up at 
 the sky, for the middle part of the atrium is un- 
 
THE STORY OF HORATIUS. 87 
 
 covered, you know, and he is glad to see that no 
 clouds are floating across the blue. He is think- 
 ing of to-morrow. And what of to-morrow? 
 Why, it is the Kalends of March, the first day 
 of the year, and he is to go to see his sister, 
 Horatia, light the fire of Vesta. If the sun does 
 not shine it cannot be done, for that sacred fire 
 must not be lighted from anything less holy 
 than the sun itself. Horatia went when she 
 was seven years old to tend the sacred fire in 
 the temple, and to learn all the holy services of 
 the goddess Vesta. Ten years she spent in 
 learning them before she was ready to take upon 
 herself all the sacred office, ten years more she 
 serves at the altar, and then ten more she will 
 still remain in the temple to teach the young 
 children who will come as she did, in order 
 that they may take her place when her time 
 ends. 
 
 - You will like to see her, and we will go with 
 Horatius and his father the next morning to the 
 temple of Vesta. 
 
 We go down to the great Forum at the foot 
 of the Palatine hill, where stands the round tern- 
 
88 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 pie with its many columns and its small inner 
 cella or shrine. 
 
 It is the first day of the year, and not only 
 must the sacred fire be newly lighted from the 
 sun ; but the temple must be decorated anew 
 with purifying laurel, and sprinkled with the 
 water of the holy spring, though this last, indeed, 
 is done every day ; but also the offerings of salt 
 in simple earthen vessels will be made, with 
 prayers that Vesta, the goddess of the hearth, 
 will protect the hearths and homes of the 
 people. 
 
 And now I must turn aside from my story a 
 minute to tell you of a beautiful thing that it was 
 once given to Horatia to do. It was like a bless- 
 ing on her whole life. One morning she was 
 on her way to the fountain of Egeria for the 
 water with which to sprinkle the temple. As 
 this fair, pure-hearted young girl walked in the 
 early morning, through the quiet street, in the 
 pure white robe and veil, she met a prisoner 
 in chains, with bowed head, led away by an of- 
 ficer toward the prison at the other side of the 
 Forum. At the sight of her the culprit fell 
 
THE STORY OF HO R ATI US. 89 
 
 on his knees, and a glad light came into his up- 
 lifted eyes. Instantly the officer struck off his 
 chains and told him that he was free to go where 
 he would ; for the sight of the Vestal virgin had 
 saved him.* 
 
 "But," you will say, "perhaps he had done 
 something very wrong, and deserved the pun- 
 ishment." I know it, perhaps he did ; but what 
 is punishment for? It is to make us better. 
 Now, if the man is made really better, let us be 
 thankful that it was by the sight of the pure 
 and good, rather than by the stern and dreary 
 imprisonment. There is severity and punish 
 ment enough, and more than enough, in Rome, 
 so we will cherish this little glimpse of gentle 
 ness and mercy. 
 
 Now I am going back to the temple of Vesta 
 and the Kalends of March. The first day of 
 the year, I think I told you, didn't I ? If you 
 will count from March, you will learn how Sep- 
 tember got its name of seventh month, although 
 to us it is the ninth. 
 
 *A convicted criminal accidentally meeting a Vestal was 
 released. 
 
90 
 
 TO 
 
 March 
 
 lr 
 ' 
 
 7 
 
 : . 
 " 
 
 
THE STORY OF HO R ATI US. Ql 
 
 watches over them all for her sake. A Roman 
 maiden can serve the republic best in this way, 
 as a Roman boy by becoming great in the 
 Forum and the field. 
 
 Another festival, too, helps to celebrate the 
 new year, and it is one that the boys care more 
 for than they do for the vestal service ; at least 
 if they haven't a sister among the virgins. 
 
 You will see that processions of one kind or 
 another were the most common things in Rome. 
 To-day it is the leapers, or dancers, who bear 
 the twelve brazen shields. Perhaps you know 
 the story how one of these shields fell from 
 heaven, and was therefore peculiarly sacred, 
 and the other eleven were made exactly like it, 
 so that even the priests themselves can't tell 
 which is the real and which the imitation. This 
 was done that the holy shield might not be 
 stolen, and indeed the twelve are kept with 
 the greatest care. Only once a year, on the 
 Kalends of March, they are carried through the 
 streets in a sort of stately dance ; and the boys, 
 who are born soldiers, delight to follow them. 
 But Horatius cannot spend all his time on pro- 
 
9 2 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 cessions. The Kalendar has other days besides 
 feast-days. 
 
 Do you realize that there are no weeks like 
 ours ; no Sundays nor Mondays, and so on, but 
 at the new moon the people all go to the capitol 
 to hear the priest announce the Kalendar, or 
 list of days, from this moon until the next : 
 Kalends, the first day of the month, then Nones, 
 the fifth or seventh, and after that Ides, origi- 
 nally the time of the full rnoon, coming on the 
 thirteenth or fifteenth of the month. 
 
 But the odd thing about this way of reckoning 
 time was that they always counted it backwards ; 
 and when Horatius was a little boy he used to 
 be taught to call the thirty-first of December 
 the day before the Kalends of January, and so 
 on. It would be very confusing to us ; but so 
 would our weeks and days be confusing to him, 
 I suppose. 
 
 After the shield festival came regular school 
 days until the Ides of March, and Horatius is 
 set to work at once by his schoolmaster Doxius. 
 He writes on a waxed tablet with a stylus, as 
 Cleon did, and he studies arithmetic, the mul- 
 
THE STORY OF HO RATIOS. 93 
 
 tiplication table had been by this time invented 
 and he begins to learn the Greek language 
 and to declaim both in his own Latin language 
 and in Greek. He does not study geography ; 
 there are no school-books yet on that subject, 
 and the few writers who have told us anything 
 about geography in those clays would give you an 
 idea that the world was a circular plain lying 
 chiefly about the Mediterranean Sea. But if he 
 doesn't study geography he studies something 
 else of more importance to him. A well-taught 
 Roman boy ought to know by heart the twelve 
 tables of the law that hang in the Forum. And 
 it isn't only in order that he may obey them, 
 that he learns them. He will have to try cul- 
 prits himself, very likely, or at any rate plead at 
 the bar in behalf of himself or his friend ; for 
 no Roman ever rises to distinction who is not 
 capable of eloquent pleading ; and the honors 
 and offices of the republic follow the silver- 
 tongued orator. 
 
 Before Horatius was seven years old, his 
 mother trained him to speak always clearly and 
 well, and now no day passes that he does not 
 
94 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 declaim the verses of the poets or the speeches 
 of the senators. He goes, too, to the grammar- 
 school, where he is taught to understand the 
 great authors, and to learn their graces and 
 elegances of language ; for just as Cleon must 
 become a good citizen, so, too, must Horatius. 
 He may, one day, be chosen consul; then he 
 must be prepared to command an army, or make 
 a stirring speech in the Forum. He knows this, 
 and he wants to be ready for it ; and although he 
 loves his play as well as you do, and runs off to 
 his marbles or hoop or top whenever he can, he 
 will gladly leave all other games when Valerius 
 and Julius call him to join them in playing 
 court ; for little Marius has consented to be 
 prisoner, accused of the crime of counterfeiting 
 the public coin. 
 
 They have borrowed a black tunic, for Marius 
 must wear the dress of the accused, Julius will 
 be judge, and all the boys of the neighborhood 
 must have their names presented, that a jury 
 may be drawn. But when the names are drawn, 
 Marius objects to Scipio, because he has never 
 been his friend, and by the right of a Roman 
 
THE STORY OF HORATIUS. 95 
 
 citizen his objection is allowed, and another boy 
 drawn. 
 
 And now Horatius is the lawyer who under- 
 takes the accusation in a bold speech, showing 
 first the evils arising to the city from false coins, 
 and then the shameful lack of patriotism in the 
 man who could so injure his country, and lastly 
 relating all the facts of this particular instance, 
 the crime of Cains. 
 
 Then Valerius rises for the defence. He 
 cannot deny that the crime is great, and if his 
 client had committed it, he would be worthy of 
 punishment. " But look at Marius. Can you 
 believe such a thing of him ? " 
 
 Then he calls witnesses to testify to his gen- 
 eral good character and honesty, trying in every 
 way to prove that he did not commit the deed. 
 
 Each little orator pleads with all his might, 
 and the crowd of boys applauds, while the grave 
 jury listen carefully to every word. 
 
 Now the jury must go out, each one having 
 received three little tablets, one guilty, one not 
 guilty, the third asking postponement or a 
 further trial. 
 
$6 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 The boys have no tablets ; but a white pebble, 
 a black one, and a bit of wood will serve in- 
 stead. And while they deliberate, poor little 
 Marius, who begins to wish that he hadn't 
 agreed to be prisoner, throws himself at their 
 feet to move their compassion. But too much 
 compassion will spoil the play, and into the box 
 the black pebbles go, which declare him guilty. 
 Then comes the sentence the sentence of 
 banishment, so terrible to every Roman citizen. 
 
 The little judge, Julius, standing gravely be- 
 fore them, pronounces the, " I forbid you the 
 use of water or of fire in the city of Rome." 
 And that, as you plainly understand, means that 
 he can no longer live in Rome. 
 
 I think you begin to see where we learned 
 how to conduct trials, don't you ? 
 
 Then his friends lead Marius outside the gates, 
 and it seems to have become such terrible ear- 
 nest that I am glad to say it all ends with a 
 grand race round the Campus Martius, and on 
 the way home they stop to spend a sesterce for 
 marbles. 
 ""There have been some school-days, and busy 
 
THE STORY OF HORATIUS. 97 
 
 ones too, and now it is about time for another 
 festival, a sort of Sunday, when the boys and 
 girls go in a procession to the temple of Mi- 
 nerva to pray for wisdom ; for she is the wise 
 goddess, and skilful in all arts, the same whom 
 the Athenians called Pallas Athene ; and you 
 remember her statue of gold and ivory on the 
 Acropolis at Athens. 
 
 Since this is the day when they seek wisdom, 
 it is also the day when they carry to their 
 teachers pay for instruction, and perhaps a little 
 present besides. There is a five days' spring 
 vacation, and then the school work begins again. 
 
 Of course you don't expect to hear about all 
 the festivals and processions that followed. I 
 shall only tell you of those in which Horatius 
 took some part or had some special interest. 
 And so we will leave him at work and at play 
 until the Kalends of May. 
 
 We have May-Day games out in the fields 
 ourselves. So did he, though perhaps not on ex- 
 actly the same day, out in the Campus Martius, 
 beyond the city walls. And just as the Greeks 
 made a religious service of their games, so the 
 
9 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 Romans celebrated these May-Day games in 
 honor of Jupiter, Juno, Apollo, the Sun-god, 
 Diana, and the Fates. 
 
 But not on every May-Day were such exten- 
 sive games celebrated, only once in a hundred 
 years, 1 for so the Sibylline books directed. Now, 
 if you don'tknow what the Sibylline books were, 
 I leave you to find out. It is a pretty story, 
 and you will like it, but I haven't time to tell it. 
 
 Horatius knew, indeed he can't remember 
 the time when he did not know, as every Roman 
 boy ought. 
 
 Well, the Sibylline books had directed the 
 celebration of these games at the beginning of 
 every age, and an age was a hundred years, 
 in order that the city should always flourish, and 
 should conquer all other nations ; and you may 
 be sure the warlike Romans would neglect 
 nothing that could help to accomplish this their 
 greatest object. 
 
 Since it is not probable that any man would 
 live long enough to take part in these games 
 
 1 Some old traditions make the period 1 10 years. 
 
THE STORY OF HORATIUS. 99 
 
 twice, the heralds proclaim an invitation to all 
 the world to come on that day to a festival 
 which they had never seen before and would 
 never see again ; and happy were the boys and 
 girls who happened to be boys and girls at that 
 time,, for there was a part in the games for them 
 to perform, as indeed there was for everybody. 
 
 A few days before, fifteen officers, sitting in 
 the Capitol and in the Palatine temple, distrib- 
 uted to the people sulphur and other purifying 
 substances, for all the city must be pure and 
 fresh and clean before approaching the gods. 
 
 And since these celebrations were so rare, I 
 will briefly tell you all that was done. First 
 the people all carried wheat and barley and 
 beans to Diana's temple on the Aventine Hill, 
 and then they passed whole nights in prayer, 
 and after this began the three days and three 
 nights of the festival itself. 
 
 On the first night were the sacrifices. Three 
 altars were built beside the Tiber, and three 
 lambs are offered to the gods. Horatius saw 
 them led up to the altar all wound about with 
 wreaths of leaves, while the white-robed priest 
 
100 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 stood ready with his hand upon the altar to offer 
 the prayers. 
 
 At the signal for prayer a great silence fell 
 upon the vast multitude in the Campus Mar- 
 tius ; but, as soon as the priest's voice was heard 
 beginning the prayers, to Janus first, to Vesta 
 last, and to all the gods of the upper and lower 
 worlds between, the pipers struck up a loud 
 strain and continued it until the prayer was 
 ended. 
 
 What an irreverent thing to do ! 
 
 Oh, no ; it was done lest, in the midst of the 
 prayer, any unlucky noise should be heard. 
 
 And now the priest sprinkles corn, or salt, or 
 meal on the head of the lamb, plucks a few 
 hairs from its head and throws them on the 
 altar, marks with his knife a line from head to 
 tail, and delivers him to the lower priests to be 
 killed. Then the special parts for the offering 
 are laid upon the fire, and the Augurs, watching 
 them, see with joy that the flames take them 
 quickly ; so they know that the gods accept the 
 offering. 
 
 Next, in the great theatre lighted with torches 
 
THE STORY OF HORAI\<tfs: ''l&i' 
 
 and fires, all the people sing a hymn to the gods, 
 and then begin their sports ; races, wrestling, 
 throwing the spear, riding, etc. They are not 
 unlike the games that Cleon saw at Olympia, 
 and indeed, I think the Romans learned them 
 from the Greeks. 
 
 The second day the mother of Horatius, and 
 also the mothers of his friends Valerius and 
 Julius, and many others, go in procession to the 
 Capitol to sing hymns to Jupiter ; and the last 
 day Horatius himself and twenty-six of his play- 
 mates, even little Marius who played prisoner, 
 and all the boys who served on the jury, to- 
 gether with twenty-seven little girls, go to the 
 temple of the Palatine Apollo and sing a hymn 
 that has been written on purpose for them, and 
 that they have been practising for weeks. 
 
 So you see everybody has some part in the 
 festival, since it is for the interest of all, men, 
 women, and children that the city shall pros- 
 per. And thus early the boys learn that it is also 
 their duty to advance the grandeur of Rome. 
 
 Do you notice how the plays are a part of the 
 religion, and the religion is a part of the plays ? 
 
102 'HIE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 That is what struck me more than anything 
 else about it. 
 
 The May festival is over. The boys never 
 saw it before. They will never see it again, 
 and by and by they will be telling their sons 
 about it, and saying to them, " When you are old 
 men, you may perhaps see the like yourselves." 
 I am glad we were here just in time, aren't 
 you ? 
 
 Now the boys can go ba^ck to their stud- 
 ies again. Horatius will take his satchel with 
 books and writing-tablet, and go to the grammar- 
 school every day, but his best teaching is at home 
 with Doxius, who is reading with him the Greek 
 poets, and who has grown to love the boy and 
 to be loved by him. 
 
 One day his father takes him to the senate ; 
 for the consuls have decreed that a senator may 
 sometimes bring his son to listen to the debates, 
 and learn to what duties he will probably be 
 himself called. 
 
 Perhaps you would not care to have me tell 
 all that he hears and sees there ; but, on the 
 next holiday the boys play senate, and we will 
 see how they do it. 
 
THE STORY OF HORATIUS. 1 03 
 
 It wasn't a Saturday afternoon, but it was on 
 some similar holiday, that Horatius, and Valer- 
 ius, and Julius, and the others played senate, 
 using the place enclosed by the pillars of a por- 
 tico for their meeting, and conducting the af- 
 fairs of the city as wisely as they could. 
 
 Horatius was consul, and he assembled his 
 senators and began to ask their opinions on the 
 very subject he had heard discussed when he 
 went to the real senate with his father. 
 
 " But stop," said the boy, " before we begin 
 let's see who shall be tribune, somebody must 
 speak for the plebs. We ought to vote and 
 choose a tribune." " Well," said Valerius, "run 
 into the potter's street, and round to the corn- 
 dealers' corner, and call in the plebeian boys to 
 a comitia, and we will choose a tribune of the 
 people." 
 
 So they vote, and Calpurnius is chosen tri- 
 bune. 
 
 "Now," said Horatius to him, "when Julius 
 makes his long speech, and we are going to vote 
 that the treasures of Attalus shall go into the 
 public treasury, you must stand up and say, 
 
104 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 X* Vet/ and that will stop us, and then you can pro- 
 pose to have them divided for. the poor plebeians." 
 
 So the boys played senate and practised the 
 art of governing. Many a time they sent out a 
 consul at the head of a little army, and brought 
 him home in triumph. 
 
 The Ides of Quintilis had passed ( can you 
 tell what time that is by our reckoning ?), and, 
 the knights in purple, with their olive crowns, 
 had ridden in a gay procession to the temple of 
 Castor and Pollux ; and now it was just at the 
 harvest time that one of the boys' plays became 
 earnest, for Scipio came home from Spain, 
 bringing treasures and captives, and he was de- 
 creed a triumph and a crown. 
 
 We will stand with the boys in the crowded 
 streets, or on the platform if we can get a place, 
 and see it. 
 
 The great procession is marshalled outside 
 the gates, and starts from the Campus Martius, 
 where we went together on May Day, you re- 
 member. 
 
 As it enters the city gate, where the magis- 
 trates meet it, we shall hear the trumpets sound 
 
H 
 
 0> 
 
 g- 
 
 g 
 
 f 
 
THE STORY OF HO R ATI US. 105 
 
 a charge, and we shall be ready to shout with 
 the people " lo triomphe," as the head of the 
 column appears in the Via Sacra (sacred street). 
 First the lictors to clear the way, then the trum- 
 peters, then the victims for sacrifice the oxen 
 with gilded horns and oak wreaths. Next look 
 at the wagons full of spoils, treasures of armor, 
 cups of gold and silver, costly cloths and purple 
 robes. Then come the poor captives, fathers, 
 mothers, and even little children, to be made a 
 show for the honor of the conqueror. 
 
 And now everybody crowds forward, for here 
 is the General himself, sitting in his chariot and 
 wearing the toga picta, a purple dress embroi- 
 dered all over with gold, and the tunica palmata 
 wrought with palm branches. See the laurel 
 branch in one hand, and the victorious eagle on 
 the sceptre in the other. His laurel crown of 
 triumph is held above his head, and all the 
 knights and soldiers follow him with laurel 
 boughs. 
 
 Look there is a soldier with the civic crown 
 of oak leaves. We will all shout for him, for he 
 has saved the life of a Roman citizen in battle. 
 
06 THE ROAD FROM LONG Abu TO NOW 
 
 And here comes Caius Cossus with his mural 
 crown like a little turreted wall. That means 
 that he was the first to scale the walls of the 
 besieged city. And there is many a chain of 
 gold and medal to be seen as we look down the 
 long ranks. 
 
 Through the Via Sacra, then across the Forum, 
 and up the Capitoline Hill to the Temple of 
 Jupiter, already gloriously decorated with the 
 spoils of many wars. And there the General 
 lays his crown in the lap of the great statue, the 
 sacrifice is offered, and a long day of splendors 
 is over. 
 
 The boys have followed every step of the way, 
 but they aren't at all tired, oh no ! still their 
 supper of bread and honey does taste good, and 
 they even wish that they might also have a bit 
 of the roasted pig that is carried into the dining- 
 room where the father entertains his friends in 
 honor of the day. 
 
 The next day, while the boys are at play, we 
 may overhear Valerius telling a story he has 
 heard from his father, of a triumph long ago, 
 that ended in the founding of a temple to Castor 
 
THE STORY OF HORATIUS. 10? 
 
 and Pollux, who had given victory to the Romans. 
 "The boys helped found that temple, and the 
 girls too," said Publius. " I wish they would 
 build one now, then we could go to sprinkle the 
 place with brook water, river water, arTd spring 
 water. And then we could take hold of the 
 ropes and help pull the first great stone into 
 place." 
 
 " My grandfather threw gold and silver in 
 with the first stone of that temple." cried Julius, 
 "And so did mine," said Horatius. 
 
 But time goes on, and our Roman year is 
 drawing to a close. 
 
 Early in December tbe father of little Vale- 
 rius dies, and his funeral is celebrated with 
 orations, and with shows of gladiators and wild 
 beasts in the Forum and the Circus. These 
 gladiators are Gauls and Germans barbarians 
 the Romans call them taken in war and trained 
 to fight with each other or with beasts for the 
 amusement of the people. You will hear more 
 of such barbarians by and by, if you read my 
 next chapter. 
 
 Do you begin to think that there is nothing 
 
IO8 TtfE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 but fighting in Rome ? If you do you will be 
 more than half right. But we are coming now 
 to a real, merry, happy time. 
 
 Pernaps you have guessed what it is, for you 
 know I said it was already December. Don't 
 you believe it is Christmas ? It is, at any rate, 
 in December, and would be just about our 
 Christmas time. But it wasn't Christmas after 
 all, and why ? 
 
 Where do we get the name Christmas ? 
 " From the name Christ," you will answer. 
 And do you realize that when Horatius was a 
 boy it was more than a hundred years before 
 the birth of Christ, so you see it couldn't be 
 Christmas, and yet what games they had, what 
 presents to each and all. How the servants 
 were allowed to be equal with their masters and 
 mistresses, and it seemed the right of every 
 one to be merry. 
 
 They called it Saturnalia ; but I don't care 
 what name it had, it certainly had a delightful 
 Christmas feeling about it. 
 
 The poor people had gifts of corn and oil and 
 honey, which meant bread and butter and sugar, 
 
THE STORY OF HORATIUS. 
 
 (you know they had never heard of sugar in 
 those days). And the boys had new tunics and 
 new shoes. They wore neither stockings nor 
 trousers. 
 
 Baskets of figs and nuts and pomegranates 
 and apples were sent from friend to friend. 
 And here comes a slave to the door, bringing to 
 the father of Horatius a beautiful set of marble 
 chess-men, a present from his friend Valerius, 
 and with it a letter full of kind greetings and 
 good wishes. Not a letter written on paper, but 
 on two waxed tablets tied together and the 
 string sealed with a bit of wax. After he has 
 read it, he can rub it out and write an answer 
 on the same tablet. 
 
 In the home of Horatius, and perhaps in 
 many another besides, a good deed was done 
 that made that Christmas Day memorable. 
 
 All the year the father of Horatius had 
 noticed how faithfully and well the Greek slave 
 Doxius had watched over and instructed his 
 son, and he has resolved to give him, on the 
 Saturnalia, the very best gift that he can. 
 
 Do you guess what ? 
 
IIO THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 If you can't, come with us before the magis- 
 trate, and see the glad face of Doxius when 
 his master lays a hand upon his head and says 
 
 "This man I will to be free." 
 
 Then the slave passed out from under the 
 hand of his master, and next from the rod of the 
 praetor, and became a freed man, and put on 
 the cap and the- toga. 
 
 His master goes home to hang a chain upon 
 the household Lar in honor of this act, and Dox- 
 ius himself comes back to continue his teaching, 
 though he feels like a different man, master 
 now of himself. 
 
 Of course the boys are having a vacation, and 
 perhaps we owe the custom of our Christmas 
 holidays to them. Theirs even reached as far 
 as New Year's Day, though it was not New 
 Year, but only the Kalends of January. Yet it 
 was the day when new magistrate came into 
 office, and a day for giving presents. And since 
 January is named for Janus, it must of course 
 have a festival day for its god. 
 
 The boys have been very busy practising for 
 a grand performance on this day. It is called the 
 
THE STORY OF HO R ATI US. III. 
 
 "Game of Troy." Nobody can join in it but the 
 sons of magistrates. Horatius is going, and 
 Valerius and Julius and thirty-six others ; but 
 the sons of the potter and the scythe-maker and 
 the armorer and the weaver are not allowed ; 
 their fathers used to be slaves, are now only 
 freed men ; some of them are the clients or de- 
 pendents of the father of Horatius. The boys 
 who have the privilege think it a great honor 
 to take part in this play. 
 
 There is a fine old poem which you will per- 
 haps read some day in Latin, that tells us all 
 about this Game of Troy. It is in fact a 
 mimic battle not unlike the tournaments of 
 after-years. 
 
 There are to be three captains, each with his 
 band of twelve boys. They will perform in the 
 great circus, and all the city will come to see. 
 
 How they have practised and drilled. They 
 had to train their horses as well as themselves, 
 for there is to be a cavalry charge, a pretended 
 flight, then a sudden wheel-about upon the pur- 
 suing enemy and a grand discharge of arrows to 
 drive them back, and last of all, a sort of curious, 
 
1 12 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 mazy dance on horseback in and out, back and 
 forward until the spectators see nothing but a 
 mingled mass of thirty-nine boys and thirty- 
 nine horses ; and then at a word, as if by magic, 
 the little commander, Julius, brings them unto 
 close and orderly ranks before the consuls, and 
 the great circus echoes with applause. 
 
 It is a great day for Roman boys. Wouldn't 
 you like to be there to see ? 
 
 Horatius isn't a captain, indeed he is the 
 youngest boy there, and of course takes the 
 lowest place ; but he did his part well, rode his 
 white horse handsomely, and looked like a 
 gallant little soldier in his purple tunic with his 
 golden bulla hanging on his breast, and his 
 bright quiver of arrows over his shoulder. 
 
 Doxius had trained him carefully, that he 
 might set erect and hold up his head gracefully, 
 even if his horse did prance and curvet when 
 the trumpet sounded for the game to begin. 
 
 Besides the boys' Game of Troy, there was, of 
 course, a procession and a sacrifice. 
 
 Then followed more school-days, and plays 
 outside the walls, under the arches of the great 
 
THE STORY OF HORATIUS !I3 
 
 aqueduct, which were good places for forums or 
 circuses ; and then we reach the Ides of Febru- 
 ary, the feast of Lupercus, or Pan. 
 
 This time I will ask you how we shall cele- 
 brate it, for now you have lived here long 
 enough to know. 
 
 " A sacrifice and a procession," did you say ? 
 
 Certainly, you are right ; but there were some 
 odd things about this festival that I think I 
 must tell you. 
 
 Perhaps you know that Pan was the god of 
 the shepherds. If you have seen pictures of 
 him, you must remember that he has goat's feet. 
 So a goat was the sacrifice offered, and with it 
 a dog, because of the sheep-dogs that the shep- 
 herds always have. 
 
 It was an old, old custom, brought into Rome 
 from some more distant time and place from 
 Greece, perhaps, and as Horatius is to take 
 part in it, you will see how curious it is. 
 
 He has been chosen, with his friend Valerius, 
 to join in the sacrifice ; so the two boys stand 
 beside the priests, and when the poor animals 
 are killed, a priest smears the boys' foreheads 
 
1 14 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 with the bloody knife, and immediately another 
 wipes off the blood with a flock of wool dipped 
 in milk. Then the boys must laugh, whether 
 they feel like laughing, or not. 
 
 As Horatius comes home to his father's house 
 on the beautiful hill, he passes a band of Ger- 
 man gladiators returning from the amphitheatre, 
 carrying with them a comrade badly wounded in 
 the fight. They have angry faces, and I do not 
 wonder, do you ? It is not a manly nor kindly 
 thing that they should be made to hurt or kill 
 each other as an amusement for the Romans. 
 
 Do you begin now to realize how the Romans, 
 and the Greeks too, and the Persians, are show- 
 ing us the homes of our great, great, great- 
 grandfathers ? 
 
 And where shall we go next ? 
 
 To no rich city, with temples and palaces 
 and grand processions, but to a rough, wild 
 country, with scattered villages, great forests, 
 and hordes of half-savage warriors ; and there 
 we shall find Wulf, the Saxon boy. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE STORY OF WULF, THE SAXON BOY, WHO 
 HELPED TO MAKE ENGLAND. 
 
 " It is only the coward who thinks he shall live forever" 
 
 " I DARE you to run as far as the eagle tree," 
 cried Ella, and the two boys started, bow in 
 hand and quiver upon shoulder, for a race to- 
 wards the forest. 
 
 The wind blew their fair hair back from their 
 faces, and their flowing curls floated on the 
 breeze ; for Wulf and Ella were Saxon boys, 
 sons of freemen ; and their long hair, the 
 sign of their free birth, had never been cut. 
 
1 1 6 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 They soon left the village behind them, and 
 neared the gloomy forest, the mark land, that 
 spread like a broad belt around every Saxon vil- 
 lage, a mark, or boundary, between neighbor 
 and neighbor, as well as between enemies. 
 
 On the outskirts of the forest the boys 
 stopped to take breath, and Wulf threw down 
 his bow and stooped to tighten the woollen 
 straps that, crossed and recrossed about his legs, 
 bound his gaiters firmly on. 
 
 Jhe race had loosened one of them, and be- 
 fore the final start for the eagle's tree, Wulf 
 would make sure that no such trifle as a loosened 
 strap should hinder him from winning. 
 
 " Ready ! " they both shouted, and, tossing 
 back their hair, away they went, like arrows from 
 the bow, away into the deep, dark forest. As 
 they went on they became silent, and when they 
 reached the great beech-tree, rudely carved with 
 a picture of an eagle, they did not shout, but 
 Wulf, who reached it half a minute sooner than 
 his companion, paused for an instant under the 
 broad branches, and thus assuring himself that 
 his companion recognized him as victor, turned 
 
THE STORY OF WULF. 1 17 
 
 his face towards the village again; for no one 
 would linger long near the mark tree, for it was 
 a sacred spot which marked the boundary be- 
 tween two villages, always to be treated with 
 respect, and almost with awe, by the people. 
 Whoever stepped over his neighbor's mark 
 must do it at his peril. So the boys had shown 
 not a little daring in choosing the eagle's tree 
 as their goal, and no wonder they did not care 
 to remain under its shade. 
 
 As they tramped along homeward through 
 the rough forest path, they heard the crackling 
 of brushwood on their right, and a herd of pigs, 
 guarded by a boy about twelve years old, broke 
 across the foot-way. 
 
 The swineherd was a half-naked boy dressed 
 only in a tunic or jacket of skin reaching nearly 
 to his knees, and he Jiad a metal ring around 
 his neck. This ring was not a collar or neck- 
 lace worn as an ornament. It fitted so tightly 
 that it could not be taken off. It must have 
 been soldered on and was meant to stay. It 
 was marked, as a dog's collar is, with his mas- 
 ter's mark or sign, for this boy was a slave 01 
 serf. 
 
1 1 8 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 His hair, which was closely cropped, was less 
 fair than the long locks of Wulf and Ella, and 
 he carried no bow and arrows, as the other boys 
 did. 
 
 The two boys greeted him in a friendly way. 
 
 " Do the swine feed well here ? " asked Wulf. 
 
 " Yes, on the best of beech-nuts and acorns, 
 but they will stray towards the mark tree, and 
 lead me where great Grendel, the man-eater, 
 may find me." 
 
 " But Grendel belongs yonder, away over the 
 mountains," said Ella. 
 
 "Nay, but he is a mighty stepper over the 
 mark," said the swineherd, shaking his head 
 ominously. "There is no knowing when he may 
 eome, nor where." 
 
 "' Don't be a coward, Uffen," cried Wulf. "As 
 soon as Grendel steps over the mark, he must 
 blow his horn, and that will give you time to 
 prepare to meet him." 
 
 " Yes, yes," muttered Uffen, " you may well 
 say so. With what shall I meet him ? A thrall 
 has no arms." 
 
 "I will defend you," said Wulf; "my grand- 
 
THE STORY OF WULF. 
 
 father's thrall shall not fail of a gallant pro- 
 tector;" and he looked to his bow-string, and, 
 drawing an arrow to the head, faced the gloomy 
 forest with the air of an earl's son. 
 
 " I trust my sword, I trust my steed, 
 But most I trust myself, at need," 
 
 sang Ella laughingly, but he also gave a loving 
 look of admiration at his young cousin, who was 
 to be the head of the family by and by, and 
 whose loyal companion he was destined to be. 
 
 Just at this instant, as if to test their courage, 
 the blast of a horn rang out loud and clear from 
 the forest. 
 
 "It is Grendel himself," whispered the swine- 
 herd. 
 
 " Nonsense \ " cried the keen-eyed Wulf, "use 
 your eyes, man, and see the earldorman's mes- 
 senger already taking the path to the moot 
 hill. 
 
 The moot hill was a low rounded hill just 
 outside the village, where the free mark-men or 
 land-holders met once a month to hold their 
 moot court and deal out justice to all men, and 
 settle all affairs that needed not to go up to the 
 
I2O THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 great witangemot, or meeting of the wise men 
 of the nation. 
 
 Within the circle of the moot court the boys 
 could not enter, but they loved to seat them- 
 selves on rock or tree-trunk at the foot of the 
 hill, and listen to the clash of arms by which the 
 men gave their assent to any proposal of the 
 earldormen, and gather from some old man too 
 lame and weary to climb the hill, such tales and 
 old songs as all boys in all countries and all 
 times love to hear. 
 
 So Ella and Wulf left the swineherd to his 
 beech-nuts and acorns, and tried another race 
 to the foot of the moot hill. 
 
 They were just in time to see the earldorman's 
 messenger welcomed by Erkennin, the stately 
 grandfather of young Wulf, and they seated 
 themselves on a mossy rock to wait for the end 
 of the meeting. 
 
 Presently old Elric came slowly down the hill. 
 His long white hair flowed over his shoulders, 
 and his blue eyes looked brightly out from under 
 shaggy eyebrows. Many a scar marked his 
 rugged face and bare arms and hands, but he 
 
THE STORY OF WULF. 121 
 
 held his head proudly yet, though the spear 
 sometimes trembled in his stiffening hands. 
 
 The seax a short, hooked broadsword or 
 dagger, from which some writers tell us the 
 Saxons derived their name hung from his 
 girdle, and indeed he was a fine figure of an old 
 warrior. 
 
 As he met the lads, a smile lighted his rugged 
 face. He was fond, in his rough way, of the 
 young Wolf 's cub and his friend, and was quite 
 willing to give them a bit of wisdom now and 
 then from his eighty years store of it. 
 
 " It is a good day for news," he said. " And 
 for such news as comes to-day, most truly it is 
 good." 
 
 " Why so, father Elric ? " asked young Wult. 
 
 " It is the day of our father Woden, the mover 
 (Wodensday, Wednesday). To-day we divide 
 the land anew, that no man may become so at- 
 tached to his fields that he will not be ready to 
 go out to new conquests ; for it is weak and un- 
 manly to gain by sweat what you can win by 
 blood." 
 
 " The blood of Woden flows in your veins, 
 
122 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 young Wulf, and it is time now that you should 
 be going out to conquer new lands." 
 
 " But why is this a good day for news, and 
 what news ? " eagerly asked the boy again. 
 
 " It is news that may concern you," answered 
 the old man, " if you are the boy I take you to 
 be. But your grandfather is the one who will 
 tell it you. Wait until the moot court breaks 
 up, and you will hear." 
 
 " Tell us about the other days, father Elric," 
 said Ella. 
 
 " I know Thor's day (Thursday)," cried Wulf, 
 " the day when the Thunderer lets fly his strong 
 hammer at his foes." 
 
 " And Tuesday is Tyr's day. I count him the 
 bravest of them all," continued old Elric. 
 
 "Why bravest ? " asked the boys. 
 
 " Because he put his right hand in the wolf 
 Fenrir's mouth as a hostage, while the gods 
 chained him. And he did it knowing that when 
 the chain proved too strong to be broken, Fen- 
 rir would bite his hand off. That was brave, 
 the one-handed god is he whom I worship. I 
 was born on his day." 
 
THE STORY OF WULF. 123 
 
 " But see the court is breaking up, I must be 
 going, and you too, my lads. Farewell, young 
 Wolf 's cub, don't forget the race that bred you. 
 You should be following the swan-road in a 
 good war-keel before many winters more pass 
 over your head." 
 
 " There are only three very brave days," said 
 Wulf to Ella, as they threw their arms over each 
 other's shoulders, and strode down towards the 
 village, looking and feeling as much like war- 
 riors as they could. " I shall take Wodensday 
 for mine. Sunday is the sun's, Monday the 
 moon's, Friday belongs to the smiling, gentle 
 Friga, and Saturday is Seater's, and brings peace 
 and plenty. But I say war and plenty for me." 
 
 Nearing the scattered houses of the village, 
 the boys separated, and Wulf took his way 
 towards the home of his grandfather. 
 
 The house was made of thick posts or logs, 
 joined together by boards; and in the turf -cov- 
 ered roof was a hole which served as a chimney. 
 The door-posts were carved with strange char- 
 acters. The boy could not read them. They 
 were runes, and protected the household from 
 
124 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 harm ; for gods could understand the runes, and 
 men would fear the sacred words and respect 
 them. 
 
 Wulf found his mother spinning beside the 
 door. She had a welcome in her eyes for him 
 as she stood at her rude wheel and drew out the 
 woollen thread between her fingers. 
 
 "Thy grandfather has news for thee," she 
 said. 
 
 "What is it, mother," cried the boy, ," am I 
 going to war ? I am twelve years old, you 
 know, and I have proved my strength already 
 in fight." 
 
 The mother looked at him proudly. "You 
 are like Sigebert, your father," she said. " It is 
 well that you were born in camp, and cradled on 
 a shield. You were but a baby when your father 
 was brought home dead, covered with wounds, 
 crowned with honor, and you did not shriek and 
 cry when I laid you on his breast, and said to 
 you, ' It is for women to weep, for men to re- 
 member.' " 
 
 " Yes, mother," answered the boy gravely, " I 
 remember." 
 
THE STORY OF VVULF. 12$ 
 
 " Go in to thy grandfather, now," said the 
 mother. " He will tell thee the news." 
 
 Old Erkennin had returned from the moot 
 court, and sat before the smouldering fire. An 
 old man with shaggy locks and keen eyes. He 
 wore a woollen cloak or sagum fastened with a 
 long thorn, and his tall spear stood in the cor- 
 ner within reach of his hand. 
 
 The boy stood beside him, and the afternoon 
 light streaming in at the open door for win- 
 dow there was none shone on his yellow hair 
 and bright, young face. 
 
 " Thy uncles, Hengist and Horsa, have been 
 out upon the seas," he said. " The swan-read is 
 ever the road to glory. They send news that 
 the British shore is open to conquest. The 
 wild Picts are swarming down upon the Britons, 
 and it is a fine chance to go in, sword in hand, 
 and the land shall be ours. Will you go with 
 your uncles, my boy ? " 
 
 The boy sprang high in the air with a shout 
 of delight. 
 
 " Will I go, grandfather ? I will go, and not 
 come back till I have won new lands with my 
 
126 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 sword. My sword! may I have one now. I 
 have been longing for it, grandfather. May I 
 have it ? " 
 
 " Your father went gayer into a fight than 
 ever he did to a feast, and you are his own son," 
 said the old man proudly. 
 
 " To-morrow at sunrise we will try the omens, 
 and, if the gods will it, you shall go." 
 
 The next morning, at sunrise, fresh twigs are 
 cut from a tree, marked, and solemnly strewed 
 upon a white cloth. Then old Erkennin, with 
 invocation to Woden and the Fates, reaches out 
 his hand and, picking up a twig, interprets the 
 sign upon it. 
 
 " You will go, my boy," he says joyfully. " Go, 
 and be a conqueror and a king. May the shield- 
 maidens stand beside you in battle, and may 
 your weird weave for you such a web as befits a 
 noble youth. Remember that death is better 
 for any man than a life of shame. It is only a 
 coward who thinks he shall live forever.". 
 
 So, in the presence of the freemen of the 
 village, Wulf is equipped with shield and javelin; 
 and his grandfather says to him, 
 
THE STORY OF WULF. 12? 
 
 " Now you are no longer a part of my house- 
 hold, a child in your father's home ; you are a 
 Saxon, a warrior. It may for some brief time 
 be your lot to till the ground, and, if it be so, 
 may our mother Hert'na be good to you, and 
 grant you plentiful harvests. It may be that, 
 for a time, you shall gather fish from the sea, 
 and seek the whale in the north, or the gan- 
 net among the rocks ; but the chief duty of a 
 man is to fight, and so to fight that no man 
 can ever say ' niding ' (coward) to him. Be al- 
 ways ready to attack one enemy ; to face two ; 
 to retire only one step back from three ; and 
 never to retreat from less than four." 
 
 And then young Wulf joins the brave com- 
 panions who are to meet Hengist, and sail for 
 the " Saxon shore " of Britain. 
 
 It is a two days' march through fen and forest 
 to the sea-shore, where three keels await them. 
 Long flat-bottomed boats, their oaken boards 
 fastened together with ropes of bark and iron 
 bolts. Fifty oars and fifty pairs of strong arms 
 drive each war-keel over the waves, and the 
 white-horse banner floats over the horde of fierce 
 warriors crowded upon their decks. 
 
128 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 Wulf is counted a " companion " of his uncle. 
 He sits with him at meat, and listens with rap- 
 ture to the bold tales of sea-robbery and battle ; 
 for Hengist has met Roman legions and long- 
 haired Gauls as well as Britons. 
 
 " The Britons are weak," he said one day, 
 " They are herding together in cities, no man 
 dares to live alone in his own home, surrounded 
 by his own fields. They are cowards. If we 
 had them in our Saxon land, we should bury 
 them in the mud, and cover them with hurdles, 
 that no one might see their shame. Their 
 priests teach them to read and to sing ; they 
 are making clerks of them. They will never 
 own the land if they waste their lives in read- 
 ing." 
 
 " But the singing is good," said young Ida, 
 whose name signified flame, as he stood near, 
 sharpening his sword. 
 
 " No, the singing is not good. They have no 
 battle-songs. They sing dirges for the dead, 
 and hymns. I want no such songs," shouted 
 Hengist, and he sprang to his feet, sing- 
 ing, 
 
THE STORY OF WULF. I2Q 
 
 " My sword is my father, 
 My shield is my mother, 
 My ship is my sister, 
 My horse is my brother." 
 
 and his comrades shook their long, yellow locks, 
 and lifted their heads as they stood there on the 
 deck of the " Sea-horse," and sang, or rather 
 roared out, 
 
 " Cheerly, my sea-cocks ! 
 
 Crow, for the day-dawn ; 
 True heroes, troth-plighted 
 Together we '11 die." 
 
 When Hengist's three keels touched British 
 shores, King Vortigern sent down the Count of 
 the Saxon shore to greet the strangers in his 
 name, and ask whence they had come and where- 
 fore. 
 
 He heard with delight that the bold Saxons 
 had brought their swords for his service. 
 
 " How shall I pay you ? " he asked of Hengist. 
 
 " Land ! " said Hengist. " Land shall be my 
 pay. I fight for love of fighting ; but I serve 
 you for land." 
 
 Once on shore, the Saxons were already at 
 home. 
 
13 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 " My plough is my sword, my treasure is my 
 good right hand," said Hengist. " And now 
 that I have come I will stay, and my people 
 shall plough many hides of British soil, and 
 win treasures on many a battle-field." 
 
 Before setting out against Vortigern's ene- 
 mies, Wulf put his hands between the hands of 
 his uncle, and took a solemn oath, " by oak, 
 and ash, and thorn," and by the great god Wo- 
 den himself, that he would be Hengist's faithful 
 companion and serve him to the death. 
 
 Then began their march against the Picts, 
 the wild, painted men of the North. Through 
 the fens and the forests they marched, and at 
 last out on the grand, old Roman roads, straetas 
 (streets) the Saxons called them. And the 
 boy wondered at the great walled cities, where 
 the Britons lived, as the Romans had taught 
 them. 
 
 And now Wulf learned to fight, to fight on 
 at all odds, never to be turned back by defeat, 
 never to acknowledge himself beaten ; to say to 
 his victorious enemy, "The victory is yours 
 to-day ; it may be mine to-morrow. I will not 
 
THE STORY OF WULF. 131 
 
 give back. I stand where to-day's fortunes have 
 placed me. To-morrow I will go forward." 
 
 " When the Picts are conquered we shall be 
 ready for the Britons," said Hengist. 
 
 " But the Britons may also be ready for you," 
 suggested Ida. 
 
 "They will find it is ill work trapping an 
 eagle. When they have caught him, it is often 
 the safest thing to let him go again," said Hen- 
 gist proudly. 
 
 And the banner of the white horse went ever 
 forward. 
 
 One day Hengist called the boy to come 
 with him, as kinsman and companion, to found 
 for themselves a stronghold on British soil. 
 And, taking a bull's hide, he cut it round and 
 round into one long strip, and with this thong 
 of leather he encompassed a rocky hill, and 
 there they built a castle, and called it Thong 
 castle. Strong bars of oak across its doors, 
 narrow slits in the stone walls for windows, it 
 was a safe retreat in which to stand against 
 British assaults ; and, moreover, it was a sign 
 that the land on every side was their own. 
 
I3 2 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 The twelve-year-old boy is growing into a 
 strong, young warrior, whose watchword is, 
 " Woe to those who cannot take care of them- 
 selves ! Woe to the weak ! " 
 
 It is in the Isle of Thanet, in the south- 
 eastern part of what we call England, that the 
 Saxons have made a home. There they have 
 set up the banner of the white horse. There 
 they have their moot-hill, and hold their moot- 
 court, as of old. And year by year their keels 
 cross the sea, bringing their brothers and 
 friends to join them. Among them comes Ella 
 to meet Wulf again. Both boys have drawn 
 swords in more than one battle ; both love the 
 roving life, the fortune of the day ; both have 
 learned that justice between man and man, 
 adherence to one's oath, and, above all, courage, 
 mark a free-born man ; and to be a/ra? man is 
 as good as to be a king. 
 
 No reading or writing for them; no schools 
 nor books. They study only out of the book 
 of every-day life, and a pretty rough life it is, 
 too. 
 
 Few days or nights of peace, but always an 
 
THE STORY OF WULF. 133 
 
 enemy at hand to keep their fighting powers in 
 good practice. Wulf has earned the right to 
 wear his father's sword, " Brain-biter," and Ella, 
 too, loves and cherishes a sword to which he has 
 given the name " Death-dealer." 
 
 They lie at night on the ground, or at best on 
 a bed of rushes. They sit at the feast of boar's 
 flesh after the battle is over, and drink great 
 horns of mead, and sing war songs. 
 
 Sometimes they listen with wonder to the 
 tales of the old gleeman, tales of marvellous 
 deeds of valor ; tales of dwarfs and elves of the 
 forest ; of Beorn, the magic warrior, who could 
 mutter runes that would stop short his enemy's 
 vessel in its course, in spite of a fair wind, and 
 make the rower's efforts of no avail, or could 
 check an arrow midway in its flight. " It were 
 useless to fight against magic," muttered the 
 old gleeman. 
 
 The gleeman had a book, " boc " he called 
 it, from the beech (boc) tree wood of which it 
 was made. A little wooden tablet you and I 
 should call it, I think ; but to them it was a very 
 valuable book, with a few strange words carved 
 
134 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 upon it. A thorn stood for th ; ice meant i ; oak 
 a or ac ; zc which looks to me like H turned 
 sideways meant hail ; and x meant man. 
 This is all I can tell you of their written lan- 
 guage, but even this little was known only to a 
 few. 
 
 The king and the earls themselves could not 
 write their names. They could only make some 
 mark or sign for the name, and it is from that 
 custom that we have learned to speak of signing 
 our names. 
 
 Paper was not made in those days. 1 A few 
 pieces of parchment might be had whereon to 
 write charters and other important deeds. All 
 the books there were, were written in Latin, and 
 Latin these Saxons did not understand ; and yet 
 they brought into our English language twenty- 
 three thousand words. Four fifths of the com- 
 mon words that we use in our every-day talk are 
 Anglo-Saxon words ; all the home words father, 
 mother, brother, sister, child, house, sun, moon, 
 day, night, and the days of the week, as you saw 
 
 1 Papyrus was in use long before, but not in that part of the 
 world. 
 
THE STORY OF WULF. 135 
 
 in the early part of this story, all these and 
 thousands more they have left us. 
 
 This boy, Wulf, was our ancestor, yours and 
 mine. It was because of him and his compan- 
 ions that Britain became England, for a part of 
 the Saxons were called Angles, Engle-men, or 
 English men. 
 
 We no longer delight in war as they did, but 
 they had many manly virtues which we may 
 well thank them for bequeathing to us ; and 
 how gentle manners began to grow up at last 
 among warlike people, we may learn from Gil- 
 bert the page, who will one day become a 
 knight. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE STORY OF GILBERT THE PAGE, WHO WILL 
 ONE DAY BECOME A KNIGHT. 
 
 " Make me thy Knight, because I know, Sir King, 
 All that belongs to Knighthood" 
 
 THE boys are at their lessons in the court 
 yard .of the castle. I say " at their lessons," 
 but you must not imagine them studying their 
 books, or hard at work on some difficult ques- 
 tion in arithmetic. 
 
 No, the lesson they are learning on this 
 bright September afternoon is one that boys of 
 our time might call play, and yet it is a pretty 
 
 hard lesson too. 
 
 136 
 
THE STORY OF GILBERT. 1 37 
 
 Their master has set up for them a quintain, 
 and Guy, and Walter, and Geoffrey and Robert, 
 and even little Hugh, are trying their skill by 
 riding at it. 
 
 Let us take a look at the quintain, for perhaps 
 you have never seen one before. It is a rough 
 figure of a man fastened by a pivot upon a post 
 in such a way that it will easily swing round. 
 It bears a club in one hand and in the other a 
 shield held before it. 
 
 Now watch young Geoffrey as he rides his 
 pony gallantly, and, with lance in rest and head 
 bent low, charges the quintain. 
 
 See, he strikes fairly on the middle of the 
 shield, and passing, wheels his pony and returns 
 to the entrance of the court yard. 
 
 Then up comes Robert, and he too would 
 gladly strike the shield ; but it is not so easy to 
 manage both pony and lance at the same time : 
 the blow falls on one side instead of in the 
 middle, and instantly the quintain swings round 
 and deals him a blow with the club as he passes. 
 Even the pony seems to share the shame of this 
 failure, and he and his young rider return with 
 
I3 8 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 drooping heads to the end of the lists. You 
 see it is not a very easy lesson after all, and it 
 takes much practice and patience to learn it. 
 
 Up rides one boy after another, and with 
 varying fortunes they return and are ready to 
 try again at their master's call, till the red sun- 
 set lights up the tall towers of the castle, and 
 the narrow windows, mere slits in the thick 
 stone wall, glitter like gems as they reflect the 
 light, for they have glass in them, a new and 
 precious article which has just come into use in 
 place of the oiled paper which formerly covered 
 the window slits. 
 
 The Lady Margaret comes to the castle door. 
 She calls to her Walter, the page. 
 
 " You have the eye of a hawk, Walter," she 
 says. " Go to the battlement of the north tower, 
 and see if you can spy the banners of my lord 
 returning from the battle." 
 
 The boy bows gracefully and bounds up the 
 narrow stone stairway that winds about within 
 the thickness of the massive wall. He springs 
 up stair after stair, and soon finds himself on the 
 battlements of the north tower, looking far over 
 
'The heavy drawbridge is swung across the moat ; the barred 
 portcullis is raised." Page 139. 
 
THE STORY OF GILBERT. 139 
 
 field and forest towards the high road and the 
 ford of the winding river. 
 
 Suddenly out from the forest path just beside 
 the ford he sees a glittering helmet, and the 
 shimmer of light upon lance and shield. 
 
 " He comes ! " cries the boy, waving his hand 
 to the watchers below, and then, running quickly 
 down, he drops on one knee at the feet of the 
 lady, and says, " Dear lady, my lord is already 
 passing the ford of the white stones, and he will 
 be here before the sunset light has faded." 
 
 The lady thanks him with a gracious smile, 
 and bidding him go back to his companions, 
 she turns to the steward and squire of the hall, 
 and bids them prepare the feast, for the knights 
 will be both faint and weary. 
 
 The boys loiter about the castle gate, listen- 
 ing for the bugle blast that shall announce the 
 approach of the lord of the castle, and presently 
 a gay troop of knights on prancing horses, with 
 pennon on lance, breaks from the gloomy for- 
 est, and with a ringing bugle blast turns up the 
 hill-path that leads to the castle gate. 
 
 The heavy drawbridge is swung across the 
 
140 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 moat ; the barred portcullis is raised, and with 
 jingling spurs and clashing shields the knight* 
 pass into the court-yard. 
 
 Riding behind Sir Roland is a boy of twelve 
 years ; on his saddle-bow he carries his lord's 
 helmet ; and he watches with careful attention 
 every word or gesture of Sir Roland, as if 
 expecting some command. In a moment it 
 comes. 
 
 " Gilbert, take thou the English boy to thy 
 master, Baldwin, and he will provide for him 
 lodging, and all needful care." 
 
 And turning to a fair-faced, golden-haired 
 boy, who rides at his side, he says to him, " Go 
 thou with Gilbert. The son of so valiant a 
 father will find welcome and safety in my cas- 
 tle." 
 
 So the two boys turn their horses' heads 
 towards the side of the court-yard, where we 
 have already seen Walter and Guy and the 
 others charging the quintain. 
 
 Gilbert conducts his companion to Baldwin, 
 the old squire, and presents him as Edward, son 
 of Sir Richard Britto, a hostage for his father, 
 
THE STORY OF GILBERT. 14! 
 
 who was yesterday taken prisoner by Sir Ro- 
 land. 
 
 Sir Richard had gone home to England to 
 raise his ransom and had left his son as hostage 
 for his own appearance here, as soon thereafter 
 as the will of heaven will permit. 
 
 Baldwin, the squire, receives the English lad 
 kindly, and directs that he shall share Gilbert's 
 lodging at the top of the north tower, and then 
 he bids the boys make ready to serve the meal. 
 
 Walter and Geoffrey and Guy are already busy 
 relieving the knights of their heavy armor, and 
 the tables are laid in the long hall, which, now 
 that daylight is fading, has been lighted with 
 blazing torches. 
 
 " A long hall it is indeed. The walls are hung 
 with tapestry, whereon are strange pictures of 
 men and animals, towers and trees, castles and 
 stag-hunts. Banners are grouped over the win- 
 dows, and shields hang glittering in the torch- 
 light ; the floor is strewn with sweet herbs, from 
 which the foot presses out the fragrance as the 
 knights come in with stately tread. 
 
 A long table down the middle, and a shorter 
 
I4 2 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 one across the upper end, on a slightly raised 
 platform, are already loaded with dishes and 
 flagons. A large thick slice of bread serves 
 each guest as a plate, and a little crusty loaf, 
 called a knight's loaf, is placed beside his dish 
 of soup. 
 
 There are boar's flesh and venison, and baked 
 meats, and as the knights take seats in the order 
 of their rank, their favorite dogs stretch them- 
 selves at their feet. 
 
 The pages many of them sons of these same 
 knights serve every one, pour the wine, carve 
 the meats, and pass the dishes. 
 
 Presently two damsels enter, carrying be- 
 tween them a silver dish, upon which rests a 
 roasted peacock, gay in all its feathers and with 
 outspread resplendent tail. 1 
 
 They advance to the upper table, and there 
 set the dainty dish before the lord of the castle ; 
 and then the twanging of a harp is heard, and 
 the old gray-haired minstrel begins to sing, 
 and the feast is fairly begun. 
 
 1 In preparing a peacock for the table, the skin is care 
 fully removed, and, after the roasting, replaced. 
 
THE STORY OF GILBERT. 143 
 
 Gilbert and his companion have soon washed 
 off the dust of their journey, and are ready to 
 take their share of the service, while they lis- 
 ten with delight to the minstrel's song, relating 
 feats of arms of the knights of old, and ending 
 with Sir Roland's own brave victory of yes- 
 terday. 
 
 After the feast is over, Gilbert is summoned 
 by a gentle lady, Edith by name, whom he 
 had chosen when he was but eight years old for 
 his mistress, whom he would loyally serve for 
 ever. 
 
 She asks him about the expedition from which 
 he has just returned, and when he has told his 
 tale, modestly omitting to mention himself at 
 all, she says with a smile that brightens all her 
 face, " And you, too, have acquitted yourself 
 well. Sir Roland tells me that you pressed 
 through many dangers to bring him a fresh 
 lance when his own was broken, and that but for 
 thee, my Gilbert, he would not have been able 
 to take prisoner this English knight, Sir Rich- 
 ard Britto. It is good to be valiant amid dan- 
 gers, but there is no real danger but the 
 
144 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 danger of being a coward." So said the lady 
 Edith. 
 
 The boy's face glows with delight as he hears 
 these words from his fair lady. 
 
 " And bring me even now thy new comrade, 
 the English hostage," she says. And Gilbert, 
 crossing the hall, finds the lad standing in the 
 deep embrasure of the window, and listening, 
 with a scowl on his brow, to the discourse of 
 two knights who are recounting the events of 
 the last few days. 
 
 "He yielded, rescue or no rescue," said one, 
 " and the word of a knight is a bond not to be 
 broken. And yet, I doubt not, his kinsmen will 
 gather to his rescue ; and in a week and a day, 
 if not earlier, we must bar our gates and hold 
 our own as best we may against Sir Everhard 
 with two hundred lances at his back." 
 
 At this moment Gilbert touches the boy 
 upon the shoulder, saying, " My lady Edith calls 
 for thee, come," and with a light step and the 
 martial bearing of young knights the two boys 
 return to the lady who awaits them. 
 
 With gentle kindness she questions the little 
 
THE STORY OF GILBERT. 145 
 
 stranger about his home, and bids him welcome 
 to the Castle of St. Claire. 
 
 "It may be that the fortunes of war will leave 
 you with us for many months, and that your 
 training as becomes the son of a knight be not 
 allowed to languish, you shall exercise each day 
 under the care of Baldwin, the squire, and you 
 shall choose among the ladies of St. Claire a 
 mistress whom you will serve." 
 
 " I serve my lady mother," answers the boy, 
 with a touch of resentment in his tone. " It 
 is she whom I love, and I will serve her before 
 all others." 
 
 ' Nay, be not rude. You will make but an 
 ungentle knight, if you have no softer tone than 
 that for a lady. You serve your lady mother 
 from duty, but what lady will you serve for love ? 
 See yonder lovely ladies who listen to the tales 
 that the knights are telling. Choose, then, one 
 among them to be your mistress while you 
 abide with us ; for how can your knightly train- 
 ing go on if you lack a mistress to smile upon 
 your successes and admonish you when there is 
 need/' 
 
146 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 Again the boy hesitates ; but, looking up, he 
 sees the kindly eyes of the Lady Margaret fixed 
 upon him with a look of pity, and he says to 
 Gilbert, " Lead me to the kind lady with the 
 broidered robe. I will gladly serve her while I 
 stay." 
 
 So Gilbert led him to Lady Margaret, who 
 instantly understood the purpose of his coming, 
 and sent him to lead to her side her favorite 
 greyhound, that had strayed across the hall. 
 
 But the feast is over ; the knights are 
 grouped about the hall. Young Sir Ranulf is 
 stringing his lute, that he may sing to Lady 
 Edith the little lay that he made in her honor 
 as he rode through the greenwood. Old Sir 
 Guy, too feeble now for warfare, is listening to 
 every detail of the fight of yesterday, and 
 asking, " What news from the king's court ? " 
 
 "The king," replies Sir Gerard, "has ordered 
 each nobleman to cause the high roads in his 
 province to be guarded every day from sunrise 
 to sunset ; and if, by his neglect, robberies shall 
 occur, he must make the loss good." 
 
 " It is a hard task he sets us," adds Sir Ber- 
 
THE STORY OF GILBERT. 147 
 
 nard. " If a man must keep the highway safe, 
 he will have little time for aught else." 
 
 The boys, who would gladly stay and listen, 
 have been sent to their lodgings in the north 
 tower, and while they sleep shall you and I 
 ramble about this castle, their home, and become 
 a little better acquainted with it ? 
 
 All around it is a wide, deep moat or ditch, to 
 be crossed only by a bridge which is drawn up 
 and safely secured in the great arched gateway 
 of the outer wall. 
 
 If we sound our horn, and, announcing our- 
 selves as friends, are allowed to cross the draw- 
 bridge and enter the gateway, there is still the 
 great, barred portcullis that can be suddenly let 
 down to prevent our further entrance, if the 
 warder so wills. 
 
 But we are welcome guests and we soon find 
 ourselves in the outer court, the place where the 
 boys were practising with the quintain yester- 
 day. 
 
 Here on one side are stables for the horses, 
 lodging for the yeomen and the squires, and 
 room for saddling and mounting when the train 
 
148 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 of knights make ready to ride out to battle 
 or to tournament. 
 
 Square towers guard the gateway and the 
 corners of the walls, and the great stone battle- 
 ments have many a slit or gutter down which 
 boiling tar or melted lead may be poured upon 
 a besieging enemy. 
 
 The stone stairways wind with many a turn 
 through the walls. If an enemy should succeed 
 in crossing the moat, forcing the gate, and win- 
 ning the outer court, still the great strong 
 inner keep may be held, and every stair defended 
 with sword and dagger and battle-axe. For 
 these are times when each man's home is a 
 castle, a fort to be held against neighbors who 
 may any day prove themselves enemies. 
 
 You would not need to live in this castle 
 many months to witness many a brave defence 
 against enemies who are also brave. 
 
 But we want to know Something of the 
 common daily life of Gilbert and his companions, 
 and so we must go with them in the early morn- 
 ing into the little chapel of the castle, where 
 the priest reads the matin service in Latin, and 
 
THE STORY OF GILBERT. 149 
 
 lords and ladies and pages kneel upon stone 
 floor or velvet cushions and repeat their Pater 
 Noster and their Ave Maria. These prayers 
 have been taught to the boys by their fair 
 ladies, who bid them always reassure themselves 
 in time of danger by the thought, " For God 
 and for my lady," and then do nobly the best 
 they can. 
 
 Chapel service and breakfast being over, the 
 knights and ladies will go hawking by the river, 
 and Lady Edith calls upon Gilbert to bring her 
 gray falcon. The boy comes quickly, and 
 perched upon his wrist, with scarlet hood and 
 collar of gold, is the gray falcon, or goshawk. 
 
 The ladies are mounted on their palfreys, and, 
 with the knights on their gay horses, come 
 prancing over the drawbridge, and turn down 
 the bridle-path towar-ds the river. 
 
 They pass the field, where the peasant boys 
 are gathering in the grain, the big oven of stone, 
 where the women come to bake their bread, and 
 come at last to the mill beside the stream, where 
 the peasants must come to grind their corn ; for 
 every peasant must bake in his lord's oven and 
 
15 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 grind in his lord's mill, as well as till his lord's 
 fields and fight against his lord's enemies, if so 
 brave a knight should ever have need of the 
 services of so humble a vassal. 
 
 The peasant boys are dressed in gowns or 
 blouses fastened round the waist with a strip of 
 leather ; their legs are bare, and they wear 
 clumsy shoes of wood or of coarse leather. 
 Their matted hair, hangs uncombed and shaggy 
 about their faces. You would hardly think 
 they were of the same race as the pretty boy 
 pages in their gay dresses, who ride or run 
 beside their lords and ladies. 
 
 " To go a hawking by the river with gray goshawk on hand." 
 
 I am sure you never went "a hawking," so I 
 will stop to tell you of this morning's sport. 
 
 As the merry troop near the river, a long- 
 legged heron, who was standing quietly fishing 
 for his breakfast among the reeds near the bank, 
 is startled by the sound of laughter and the 
 jingling of bridle bells. He spreads his wings 
 and rises from his breakfast-table to see what is 
 the matter ; but no sooner is he in sight, than 
 
THE STORY OF GILBERT. 15 I 
 
 Lady Edith waves her white hand to Gilbert ; 
 he slips the little scarlet hood from the falcon's 
 head, and away darts the strong bird of prey, up, 
 up, up, while lords and ladies rein in their 
 horses and sit watching his flight. See him go ! 
 Why, he has fairly passed the heron, and still he 
 flies higher. Yes, he did that to "get the sky 
 of him," that is, to get above him, between him 
 and the sky. You understand it perfectly when 
 you see him, the next minute, pounce down, 
 down, with a terrible swoop, upon the heron, and 
 kill it with one blow of strong claws and beak. 
 
 " Sound your lure, Gilbert," cries Lady Edith, 
 and Gilbert lifts the pretty lure that hangs by 
 his side, and sounds a long, clear whistle upon 
 it. The falcon turns instantly, and darts back 
 to him, knowing that the whistle means for him 
 praise and petting, and some dainty bit of food 
 as a reward for his good hunting ; and then he 
 is chained to his perch, and hooded again, until 
 another bird rises. 
 
 Many a bird do the falcons bring down on 
 that bright morning, and when the merry party 
 turns back towards the castle, the knights 
 
IS 2 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 sound their hunting horns, the warder lets 
 down the drawbridge, and they all troop in as 
 gaily as they went out. 
 
 In a corner of the outer court the boys find 
 the old armorer at work. He is singing to him- 
 self as he sharpens a sword or fits a lance point, 
 and the boys love to watch and to listen. 
 
 "That is my father's sword, is it not, Golan?" 
 asked Gilbert. 
 
 "Yes," answered the armorer, "that is your 
 father's sword, 'Morglay.' Can you read, my 
 lad?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Gilbert, " Father Pierre has 
 taught me to read from the psalter." 
 
 " Read then," says the armorer, " the motto 
 on this sword, for it will one day be your own." 
 
 The boy spelled out with some difficulty the 
 words inscribed on the sword-hilt, but finally 
 he lifted his head proudly and read out clearly, 
 "For God and my right." 
 
 " This sword has done good service for many 
 a year," went on the old man. " Its blade has 
 sent many a Paynim to his death, and its hilt 
 has served as a cross for many a death-prayer." 
 
THE STORY OF GILBERT. 153 
 
 " I was beside your father when he was made 
 knight-banneret. That was before you were 
 born. The king was about to give battle to 
 the English ; your father rode into camp with a 
 hundred lances behind his back, and his pennon 
 floating from his lance. 'Sire/ he said, present- 
 ing the pennon to the king, ' I place my pennon 
 at your service ; ' and the king gave it back to 
 him, cut into a square banner, bidding him hence- 
 , forth carry a banner, instead of a pennon, ever 
 foremost in battle." 
 
 But the boys must not linger to talk or listen, 
 for already the tables are spread in the long 
 hall. 
 
 After dinner Lord Roland challenges Lord 
 Percy to a game of chess, and while Guy, the 
 page, goes to arrange the board, Gilbert and 
 English Edward are called out upon the balcony 
 to attend the ladies, who have gathered round 
 the old minstrel, and asked for a tale of true 
 love and honor. 
 
 The old man touches his harp, and, lifting his 
 face, sits listening for a moment to the soft 
 sounds that his fingers awaken among the 
 
154 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 strings ; then a smile lights his face and he 
 begins to sing. 
 
 The song is of a fair lady shut up in a strong 
 tower and hidden away from the knight whon? 
 she loves, and of her rescue by the knight, who 
 braves all dangers for her sake, a sweet, old 
 story, which I must not stop to tell you here, 
 but you can find a hundred like it among the 
 old chivalric tales. 
 
 The ladies sigh at the sad parts, and smile at % 
 the brave deeds, and when the song is ended, 
 they give the old man a mantle and a piece of 
 silver, and wine in a silver flagon. 
 
 " Now tell me, young Edward," says Lady 
 Margaret, "have you in England songs like 
 this, and minstrels who sing so sweet ? That 
 you have brave knights and fair ladies we already 
 know. Perhaps you can yourself touch the lute, 
 and sing some song of love, or of deeds of arms. 
 Bring hither your lute, Walter, and let the 
 young stranger sing to us/' 
 
 " As you command me, dear lady," answers 
 the boy, " I gladly obey," and after a little pre- 
 lude upon the lute, he began, 
 
THE STORY OF GILBERT. 155 
 
 " It was an English lady bright 
 The sun shines fair on Carlyle wall 
 And she would marry a Scottish knight 
 For love would still be lord of all." 
 
 "Then love is lord of all even across the 
 seas," Lady Margaret says, as the boy ends 
 his song. 
 
 " Listen now, dear youths, for I would have 
 you learn from the minstrel's tale the rule of a 
 true knight. Lay it to heart, that it may serve 
 you in your need." 
 
 " A true knight should have his feet steady, 
 his hands diligent, his eyes watchful, and his 
 heart resolute." 
 
 " And all for the service of God and his lady," 
 added Lord Roland, who at that moment stepped 
 upon the balcony. 
 
 For a few days life goes on gaily at St. Claire. 
 One day there is hawking, another hunting. 
 The boys practise charging the quintain, and 
 learn that to break lance against the pommel of 
 a saddle is greater shame than to have stayed 
 out of the contest altogether ; so day by day 
 their charge grows surer and steadier upon the 
 
156 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 shield, and they long to prove themselves at 
 some grand tourney. 
 
 One morning a messenger rides up to the cas- 
 tle gate and delivers a letter with a ponderous 
 seal, which Gilbert carries to Lord Roland. 
 
 The knight looks at the seal, and breaks it 
 carefully, and, after much study of the letter, 
 summons the priest to read it to him, saying, 
 " I am no clerk." 
 
 "The holy bishop is journeying through the 
 province, and, with Abbot Adam and his com- 
 pany, will honor you by dining with you to-day. 
 He also wills that all the youths of your house- 
 hold, who are of twelve years or over, be ready 
 to take before him the oath prescribed by the 
 Council of Clermont." 
 
 Thus ran the letter ; and it caused great bus- 
 tle in the castle, both in kitchen and in hall. 
 Especially were the pages drilled in their duties, 
 that they might serve the bishop with both 
 grace and reverence. 
 
 Before noon the stately train enters the cas- 
 tle and receives a courteous welcome from its 
 lord and lady. 
 
THE STORY OF GILBERT. 157 
 
 The floor of the long hall has been freshly 
 strewn with fragrant grasses, and among the 
 costly dishes provided for the dinner is a roasted 
 swan, which Gilbert, as the best carver, is al- 
 lowed to serve. Then there are loaves of fine 
 wheaten bread, and russet apples, baked pears, 
 and peaches heaped upon silver dishes, and figs 
 from Malta. 
 
 In the train of the bishop and the abbot, Guy 
 and Walter have already spied three boys ; two 
 of them not more than eight years old, dressed 
 like themselves, in tunics of gay colors, and with 
 beautiful curling hair. The other boy, of per- 
 haps twelve years, has his hair closely cut, and 
 wears a gray blouse of the simplest pattern and 
 coarsest texture, and yet he does not look like 
 the peasant boys whom we saw at work in the 
 fields. He is, it is true, the son of a peasant, 
 the boy Suger, whom the good monks have 
 taken into the abbey, that they may teach him, 
 for the lad shows a fine head for reading and 
 psalm-singing. He can not only write with the 
 stylus on waxen tablets, but he can copy with a 
 pen on parchment, and he is kept busy many 
 
I5 8 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 hours of each day copying books in beautiful 
 red and blue letters, while the monk, Stephen, 
 in the next cell, takes from him each page and 
 decorates it with delicately drawn pictures of 
 saints and angels. 
 
 It is a wonderful thing to work on these 
 books. They are so rare that few people own 
 even one of them, and you must know that there 
 were, in those times, no printed books like those 
 which you read every day, for the art of print- 
 ing had not yet been invented. 
 
 Suger had accompanied the holy abbot on this 
 journey that he might attend the two young 
 boys, Henry and Geoffrey, twin sons of Lord 
 Eustace of Boulogne. The bishop is their uncle, 
 and the boys are themselves, in part, the cause 
 of his visit to the castle. He had received them 
 a week before from their father, with the request 
 that, if he were travelling southward, he would 
 place the children with his old friend and brother 
 in arms, Roland of St. Claire, that in his castle, 
 and under the care of the priests, the squire, 
 and, most of all, the ladies who were teaching 
 his own son, they might begin their chivalric 
 education 
 
THE STORY OF GILBERT. 159 
 
 " It is a shame to do nothing but eat, and 
 drink, and waste time ;" their father had said, 
 " the lads are eight years old ; let them at 
 least learn the duty of obedience and service, 
 and nowhere can they learn it better than at St. 
 Claire." 
 
 All this the bishop is telling to Lord Roland, 
 who would have gladly taken the boys to please 
 their uncle, and still more gladly accepts the 
 charge for love of his old brother in arms, Lord 
 Eustace. 
 
 " And now," says the bishop, " since the holy 
 Council of Clermont has so decreed, let all the 
 pages who are of twelve years or over, repair to 
 the chapel, and there take the first sacred oath 
 that their calling requires of them." 
 
 Gilbert and Guy and Walter and Geoffrey, 
 the son of Count Charles, are accordingly sum- 
 moned to the chapel, and, kneeling there before 
 the bishop, they repeat reverently the promise 
 to defend widows and orphans ; to protect 
 women ; to do all that may lie in their power to 
 render travel safe, and to destroy tyranny. 
 
 And the bishop gives them his blessing, and 
 
160 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 prays that by God's grace, they may have 
 strength to keep this oath. 
 
 It was a strange promise, you think, for a boy 
 of twelve. But when it was thought necessary 
 for even such young boys to take a sacred 
 oath to protect women and orphans, you can 
 see that women and orphans must have been in 
 great need of protection. If even boys were 
 made responsible for rendering travel safe, then 
 indeed the high roads must have been full of 
 danger, and if every boy is to destroy tyranny, 
 tyrants must have been more common than they 
 are in our own days. 
 
 Hardly have the bishop and his train left the 
 next morning, when a rider in hot haste reaches 
 the castle with news that Sir Everhard Break- 
 spear, with more than two hundred lances at his 
 back, is riding up from the north ford, and will 
 reach the castle in less than an hour. 
 
 No hawking nor hunting that day, but each 
 knight looks to his arms, and each has his place 
 assigned him for the defence. 
 
 There is a hasty council held in the hall, and 
 it is decided that word must be sent to the 
 
THE STORY OF GILBERT. l6l 
 
 neighboring castle of Montain that Sir Ever- 
 hard Breakspear and the Free Companions are 
 abroad, and help is needed at St. Claire. 
 
 "And who shall bear our message?" asks 
 Lord Percy. 
 
 " Gilbert, the page, is to be trusted with the 
 message. He is light of foot or safe to swim 
 his horse through the stream, if need be. Let 
 him take the little jennet, and go without 
 delay," said Lord Roland. 
 
 When Gilbert is told of his errand, it seems 
 to him that an opportunity has come for the 
 first fulfilment of his oath ; for even the boys 
 know how the Free Companions are making it 
 unsafe to ride unarmed, or even well armed, by 
 day or night through the whole province. 
 
 So, mounted on the little jennet, a light 
 horse with a light burden, the boy is let out 
 at the postern gate, which is quickly closed and 
 barred behind him. 
 
 As our story is of Gilbert, rather than of the 
 castle, we will follow him on his dangerous ride, 
 and leave the knights to defend their strong- 
 hold with great stones, boiling lead and pitch, 
 
1 62 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 and many a crossbow bolt, and lance, until sue 
 cor shall arrive. 
 
 Creeping through the edge of the forest, the 
 boy finds his way unnoticed, but presently he 
 hears upon the high road the trampling of many 
 hoofs, and, forcing his horse into a thicket, he 
 watches the mailed horsemen, that, with glitter- 
 ing lance, and spur on heel, make a gallant show 
 as they press forward on the road to St. Claire. 
 
 "Quiet, my beauty," he whispers to his horse, 
 as he pats his neck. " Quiet ! We will outwit 
 them yet ; but let them pass this time." And 
 finally, assuring himself that the last laggard of 
 the train has really passed, he takes the high- 
 way and rides fast towards the castle of Mon- 
 tain. 
 
 The sun has set and the September twilight 
 is fast deepening into night, when from the for- 
 est road at his right comes a black horse bear- 
 ing a tall knight in armor. His head is covered 
 only with the light bacinet, but at his saddle-bow 
 hang a heavy mallet and a battle-axe, and from his 
 long lance floats a silken pennon. Behind him 
 rides a squire, carrying his shield and helmet. 
 
THE STORY OF GILBERT. 163 
 
 " Whither so fast, young page ? " he cries to 
 the boy, who, doubtful whether to regard the 
 stranger as friend or foe, inclines to urge his 
 horse to a quicker pace. 
 
 " To do my lord's will," replies Gilbert dis- 
 creetly. 
 
 " And what may be your lord's will ? " asks 
 the knight. 
 
 " I carry a message to the Lord of Montain, 
 but it is my lord's message, not mine. I have 
 no right to give it to another." 
 
 " That is loyally spoken, and I will not ask of 
 you what you have no right to give, but tell me 
 now, have you seen a band of free lances pass 
 this way ? " 
 
 "That I have," replied the boy. "Sir Ever- 
 hard Breakspear, I think, and two hundred of 
 the Free Companions." 
 
 " And which way did they go." 
 
 " Northward, towards St. Claire." 
 
 "And the castle they attack will need a stout 
 defence," said the knight ; " but I would I were 
 there to help defend it ; for I have made a vow 
 to rest neither day nor night until I have 
 
164 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 avenged upon the Free Companions the death 
 of my brother in arms." 
 
 As Gilbert hears these words he feels sure 
 that the knight is a friend, so he frankly tells 
 that he is bound to Montain to seek help 
 against these same free lances for his lord, Sir 
 Roland, besieged in St. Claire. 
 
 " Then, my brave boy," says the knight, " I, 
 who am a knight errant, seeking adventure and 
 honor in all places where danger leads me, will 
 also go with you to Montain, and there join such 
 succors as may go to Sir Roland's assistance." 
 
 And Gilbert gladly accepts the protection of 
 the unknown knight, and is about to take his 
 place behind the squire when the knight says, 
 " Nay, but ride beside me, that I may ask of 
 thee tidings of thy lord and of the Lady Mar- 
 garet, too, for of old I have fought beside Sir 
 Roland in the Holy Land, and the fair Lady 
 Margaret has made me welcome after battle, 
 and herself dressed for me this sword-cut across 
 my cheek." 
 
 They reach Montain without further adven- 
 ture, and the wandering knight blows such a 
 
THE STORY OF GILBERT. 165 
 
 blast upon his horn that the warder opens the 
 wicket, and demands quickly, 
 
 "Who comes thus after nightfall to the castle 
 of Montain?" 
 
 " A messenger from St. Claire," answers the 
 knight, "and a knight errant and old companion 
 of Roland of St. Claire and Fitz-Hamo of Mon- 
 tain." 
 
 Then the drawbridge is let down, and the 
 travellers ride into the courtyard where the 
 flaring torchlight shines on many a shield and 
 spear. 
 
 Lord Robert Fitz-Hamo comes out from the 
 dark arched doorway to welcome his guests, 
 and the knight thrusts forward young Gilbert. 
 
 "Do thine errand, my lad," he says; "a faith- 
 ful messenger has the first right to speak his 
 lord's message." 
 
 " Lord Roland of St. Claire greets thee by 
 me," said the boy to Fitz Hamo, "and bids me 
 summon you, by the vows of friendship which 
 bind you to him, to come as quickly as may be 
 to his assistance, for Sir Everhard Breakspear, 
 with two hundred lances, lays siege to St. Claire, 
 
1 66 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NO IV. 
 
 for the rescue of his kinsman, the traitor, Sir 
 Tristan." 
 
 " I will come," cries Fitz Hamo ; " to-morrow's 
 dawn shall see me on the way, with a hundred 
 good lances behind me." 
 
 "And now, my old comrade," he exclaims, 
 turning to the knight, " thou art thrice welcome, 
 as my friend and comrade in many a fight with 
 the Saracens, as my guest for to-night, and my 
 companion for to-morrow." 
 
 " We will spend the night in preparation, and 
 this boy, who has been a faithful messenger, 
 shall have rest and good cheer, that he may re- 
 turn with us to-morrow." 
 
 I would gladly tell you of the speedy journey 
 next day ; and how, reaching the woods of St. 
 Claire at nightfall, Gilbert left his horse, and, with 
 swift, stealthy step, passed through the camp 
 of the besiegers, and reached the little postern 
 gate, gained admittance, and laid before Sir 
 Roland the mode of attack that his friends had 
 planned ; how, in the morning, the besiegers 
 heard the shout of " Montain ! Montain ! " in 
 their rear, just as the castle gates were thrown 
 
THE STORY OF GILBERT. 1 6? 
 
 open for a sudden sally of knights, shouting, 
 " St. Claire ! St. Claire ! " 
 
 But all this will not much concern our boys. 
 You would rather hear how they went the next 
 month to the great tournament at Chalons, 
 where they did homage to the king ; and, be- 
 sides seeing much gallant play with lance and 
 sword, carried many a ribbon or broidered scarf 
 from fair lady to brave knight, and served at 
 many a feast in silken pavilion. 
 
 And you will gladly hear how Sir Richard 
 Britto came to St. Claire, true to his promise, 
 and found his young hostage, Edward, safe 
 and happy among the other pages, and kindly 
 cared for by the Lady Margaret. How Sir Ro- 
 land ransomed Sir Richard for ten thousand 
 crowns ; and how Sir Richard took the boy 
 home to his lady mother, whom he loved, and 
 how, in the long winter evenings, Edward told 
 tales to his brothers of Castle St. Claire, and his 
 companions there. 
 
 You can very well see how Gilbert will one 
 day himself become a knight ; have his sword 
 blessed by the priest, watch his armor all night 
 
1 68 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 in the church, and receive the accolade (a blow 
 of the sword upon his shoulder) from which he 
 rises Sir Gilbert. 
 
 Then he will set out to do deeds of valor, 
 and to win renown, and the right to emblazon 
 his white shield with some emblem of his vic- 
 tories. He is a more gentle boy than Wulf, 
 and to the desire to be a brave knight in battle 
 he adds the wish to be a courteous knight not 
 only to every woman and helpless child, but 
 alike to friend and foe. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE STORY OF ROGER, THE ENGLISH LAD, WHO 
 LONGED TO SAIL THE SPANISH MAIN. 
 
 " To give place for wandering is it 
 
 That the world was made so wide" 
 
 " I saw three ships come sailing in, 
 
 On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day, 
 I saw three ships come sailing in 
 On Christmas Day in the morning. 
 
 " Pray whither sailed those ships all three ? 
 On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day, 
 Pray whither sailed those ships all three ? 
 On Christmas Day in the morning. 
 
 169 
 
I/O THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 " Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem, 
 
 On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day, 
 Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem 
 
 On Christmas Day in the morning. 
 
 " And all the bells on earth shall ring, 
 
 On Christmas Day, on Christinas Day, 
 And all the souls on earth shall sing 
 On Christmas Day in the morning. 
 
 "Then let us all rejoice amain, 
 
 On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day, 
 Then let us all rejoice amain, 
 
 On Christmas Day in the morning." 
 
 So sang the boys, standing on the little green 
 before the rector's door, just as the Christmas 
 morning sunshine touched the old church tower, 
 hung thick with ivy. And the rector, in his 
 white wig and thick woollen wrapper, came out 
 into the porch to give them his Christmas bless- 
 ing and kindly wishes in return for their carol. 
 
 Yesterday these boys had helped to strew the 
 church floor with rushes, and then they had pulled 
 with a will on the Yule log that Jonas and Giles 
 were hauling in from the woods for the grand 
 Yule blaze at evening. 
 
 And they had searched the woods for mistle- 
 
THE STORY OF ROGER. I /I 
 
 toe to hang from the broad beam that crossed 
 the ceiling of the sitting-room. But when their 
 sister Alice came in she said, " Hang it in the 
 doorway, where all must pass under it." 
 
 You see there were merry Christmases in 
 those days, even if there were no stockings 
 to be hung, nor Christmas-trees to be decked 
 out with candles and gifts. 
 
 And after a merry Christmas eve, the boys 
 were up before the Christmas sun, to sing their 
 carol at the rector's door, and then go to morn- 
 ing service in the ivy-covered church before 
 beginning their sports. 
 
 Among these boys was Roger Barker, the 
 merchant's son, a tall, strong lad of twelve 
 years old. 
 
 As he sings, with his clear, young voice, of 
 the ships that come sailing in, he is not thinking 
 so much of Bethlehem and Christmas blessings 
 as of the ships that he watches, day after day, 
 as they sail in or out of Plymouth harbor, bound 
 now to Spain, or Africa, or again to the far- 
 away American shores. For all this boy's heart 
 is upon the sea, and even the words of his 
 
1/2 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 Christmas carol have carried him far away from 
 church and rector and schoolmates, to some 
 wild, adventurous voyage, far, far away west- 
 ward. 
 
 He is a merchant's son. His father's ships 
 have brought velvets, silks, and cloth of gold 
 from the Levant, perfumes and spices from the 
 East Indies, and furs from Russia ; and it was 
 only last week that the little bark Dainty 
 arrived from South America, that wonderful new 
 world, with a cargo of sugar, tobacco, and bata- 
 tas (potatoes) for planting in the spring ; for Sir 
 Walter Raleigh has wisely said that this goodly 
 vegetable, as sweet as a chestnut, and nourish- 
 ing withal, may grow in English and Irish soil 
 as well as in the new world. 
 
 Do you realize that among all the six boys 
 whose stories we have heard, not one has ever 
 heard of America. Roger is the first ; no mar- 
 vel that it is a wonderland to him. 
 
 Each morning he takes his satchel of books 
 and his slate, and goes to school ; but he longs 
 to change his scholar's cap and gown for a sailor's 
 jacket and loose trousers, and be off to discover 
 
THE STORY OF ROGER. 1/3 
 
 new worlds, to fight the Spaniards, and to bring 
 home pearls and gold and honors. 
 
 Would you like to go with this unwilling 
 scholar and take a peep into his school ? See 
 how the boys flock in and take their seats on 
 the long wooden benches, much hacked and 
 worn, but good enough, for boys in those days 
 were not used to comfort and ease, either in 
 school or at home. 
 
 See that row of little fellows with their horn 
 books, studying their reading lessons. 
 
 I wish the little children whom I see to-day 
 learning to read from primers made attractive 
 by pretty pictures could see a horn book, the 
 primer from which Roger had learned to read, 
 and which his little brother is studying now. 
 
 As you can't see one, I must try to describe 
 it for you. It was a single printed leaf, with the 
 alphabet in large and small letters, a few col- 
 umns of monosyllables, and, below, the Lord's 
 Prayer. This leaf, lest it should be torn, was 
 set in a little wooden frame, and it was covered 
 with a thin slice of horn, 
 
 " To save from fingers wet the letters fair." 
 
1/4 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 It had a handle in which was a hole for a 
 string, that it might hang from the belt or round 
 the neck. 
 
 At the beginning of the alphabet was a cross ; 
 from which the children came to call their alpha 
 bets, and indeed the horn book itself, the " Christ 
 Cross Row," or " Criss Cross Row." So these 
 little fellows, if you ask them what they are 
 doing, will probably tell you that they are learn- 
 ing their " Criss Cross Row." 
 
 Upon the master's desk stands the hour-glass 
 by which the lesson hours are to be regulated, 
 and at the desk sits the master, with cane ready 
 to punish the slightest fault or failure with a 
 blow ; for most boys had their lessons flogged 
 into them, and took this mode of learning as a 
 matter of course. 
 
 Here Roger studies grammar and reading and 
 writing, and Latin always and before all other 
 studies, as most needed for a well-taught man, 
 and the time has come, at last, when a mer- 
 chant's son may have learning as well as a gen- 
 tleman's son. 
 
 For books he has, first, " A grammar set 
 
THE STORY OF ROGER. 1/5 
 
 forth by King Henrie eighth, of noble memory, 
 and continued in the time of Edward sixth." 
 
 For her gracious majesty the queen has 
 proclaimed that "this grammar, and none other, 
 shall be taught by every school-master." 
 
 Then he has already begun to read in Latin 
 verse the noble deeds of Queen Elizabeth, a 
 school book from which he is to learn, not only 
 Latin but also loyalty, that first and the greatest 
 lesson for every Englishman. 
 
 Two years ago, having finished the horn book, 
 he had slowly and toilsomely read through 
 "The Seven Wise Masters," and having by that 
 means learned to read any simple story in 
 English, he has made the most of the few story- 
 books that have come in his way. 
 
 He can tell you the tales of King Arthur and 
 his knights ; and " Sir Bevis of Southampton," 
 " Adam Bel, Clym o' the Clough, and William of 
 Cloudsley," are as familiar to him as are the 
 stories of Robin Hood ; for all these merry tales 
 he has heard at the May-day revels ever since 
 he was old enough to dance round the May-pole. 
 
 His arithmetic he will have to learn by hard 
 
I? TfIE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 experience ; and his geography he will pick up 
 from every sailor that comes into port. 
 
 Roger does not greatly delight in the study 
 of Latin. He says to himself, though he does 
 not dare to say it to his father, " Sir Francis 
 Drake never studied Latin, and he is the great- 
 est man in all England. Will studying Latin 
 teach me to sail round the world as he has 
 done ? " 
 
 Roger's elder brother, John, has himself 
 sailed round the world with Drake, and is even 
 now gone on another voyage to the Spanish 
 main with his adored captain ; and the one 
 thought and hope of the younger brother is to 
 do likewise. He would far rather linger about 
 the wharves and watch the shipping, than join in 
 any sport. For he loves all craft that sail 
 the seas, and whether it be a wine-brig from 
 Bordeaux, a hoy from the Scheldt, or merely 
 a Plymouth smack fishing the Channel for 
 herring, he watches the sails out of sight, and 
 his fancy follows them far beyond the horizon. 
 
 But better than Iceland fishing fleet, or wine- 
 brig, or Flushinger, is the sight of a ship fitted 
 
THE STORY OF ROGER. 177 
 
 ouc by some gallant gentlemen for a venture to 
 the New World, or a brush with the Spaniards 
 on the seas which they have proudly christened 
 "the Spanish Main." But why Spanish. 
 
 We may well say, as did the French king 
 when he heard their boastful claim, " I should 
 like to see father Adam's will, before I will 
 believe that the sea belongs to the Spaniards." 
 
 When Roger was a little lad, eight years old, 
 he saw the Golden Hind come into port. The 
 Golden Hind, hardly bigger than many a plea- 
 sure yacht that you have seen, which, under 
 Drake's bold command, had felt its way through 
 the Straits 1 across the wide Pacific to the East 
 Indies, and home by way of Cape of Good 
 Hope, bringing gold-dust, silver, pearls, emer- 
 alds, and diamonds taken from his prize, the 
 great Spanish galleon that sailed once a year 
 from Lima to Cadiz. 
 
 And he had listened with wonder and admira- 
 tion to his brother's tales of Indians and trop- 
 ical fruits, spices, and gold and pearls ; and, 
 
 1 The Straits of Magellan were usually spoken of as " the 
 Straits." 
 
1/8 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 always and everywhere, mixed in with every 
 story, the cruelties of the Spaniards, who were 
 claiming for themselves seas, continents, and 
 islands, and conquering the helpless natives 
 with severity past telling. 
 
 And Spain has even insolently forbiddden 
 Englishmen to cross the Atlantic Ocean, for 
 was not the New World discovered by Colum- 
 bus and taken possession of for the King of 
 Spain ? 
 
 Oh ! how this boy's heart leaps up when he 
 thinks of it ; for he has been taught, as you all 
 well know, that the sea is a free roadway for all 
 the nations of the earth. 
 
 Roger has been born in a wonderful time. I 
 almost wish I could have lived in it myself ; for 
 there is his old grandfather sitting in the great 
 oak chair in the chimney corner, who can tell 
 him truly that, when he was a boy, no sailors 
 had dared sail far out of sight of land, lest they 
 should come to the edge of the world and fall 
 over, " For who then believed there was any- 
 thing but pilchards to be found west of the 
 Land's End ? " said the old man. 
 
THE STORY OF ROGER. 
 
 And now it seemed as if the old world itself 
 was longing to move westward to reach the 
 new, so many were the gallant captains and the 
 brave sailors who faced dangers in unknown 
 seas and among unknown savages ; and liked 
 nothing better than what they called " a brush 
 with the Spaniards," and a chance to fall in 
 with the plate (gold and silver) fleet on its way 
 from South America to Spain. 
 
 So you see the boy's mind must needs be full 
 of the sea and the Spaniards, and you do not 
 wonder that I have called him, in the title of 
 this chapter, "the boy who longed to sail the 
 Spanish Main." 
 
 But you ought to know something more of 
 him besides this great longing, which, I promise 
 you, will one day be gratified. So I will tell 
 you some of the common facts of his daily life, 
 what he wears, and eats and drinks, and how he 
 lives. 
 
 How odd his cloth stockings would look to 
 you, and his scholar's cap and gown, compared 
 to your own trim suits ; but knitted or woven 
 stockings were so uncommon in those days that 
 
ISO THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 the queen herself had just received a present oi 
 her first pair, and she was so pleased with them 
 that she resolved for the future to wear no more 
 cloth stockings. 
 
 He sees the fine gentlemen in the streets, 
 with their velvet hats and feathers fastened 
 with clasps of gold and jewels, the long, curling 
 lovelock tied with ribbon, and the rose behind 
 the ear, the trunk hose, velvet tunic with 
 slashed sleeves and lace ruffles, and swords by 
 their sides. 
 
 And every day, on his way to school, he 
 passes the barber's shop of Walter, the love- 
 locker, and that of Nicholas the tailor at the 
 sign of the Needle, and he sees the shopmen, 
 with goods displayed, crying to the passers-by, 
 " What do ye lack ? " 
 
 He meets the farmers' sons in their russet 
 clothes, and knows well that the law allows 
 them to wear no other ; and that, if a farmer or 
 tradesman should cover his head with a velvet 
 cap, the law would quickly take it off him. 
 
 When his father has occasion to go out of 
 an evening, he wears, if the streets are muddy, 
 
THE STORY OF ROGER. l8l 
 
 his pattens, made of ash-wood rimmed with iron, 
 and a servant lad runs before him with a lan- 
 tern, for the streets are neither paved nor 
 lighted, nor over-safe from robbers. 
 
 At his father's table there are pewter plates 
 instead of the wooden ones which his grandfather 
 used, and the pretty wooden bowls of bird's 
 eye maple are rimmed with silver, but there are 
 no forks to eat with, "which is to be regretted," 
 says a foreigner, writing of those days in Eng- 
 land, " since all men's fingers are not equally 
 clean." 
 
 On the table we see good roast beef and mut- 
 ton and venison, but a potato is a rare luxury. 
 Roger has tasted it but once in his life. 
 
 There is plenty of milk, but neither tea nor 
 coffee, for, as yet, these drinks have never been 
 heard of in England, and great cans of ale are 
 on the table at breakfast, dinner, and supper, 
 siipper, not tea, of course, for no one would know 
 what you meant if you should invite him to tea. 
 
 His father's house has its second story pro- 
 jecting over the street, thus making the upper 
 rooms larger and lighter than the lower ones. 
 
1 82 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 In the upper front room stands a great chest 
 shaped like a toy Noah's ark. It is made oli 
 oak wood, and is already dark with age, for it 
 has belonged to his father's father, and perhaps 
 to ancestors still more remote. It is the family 
 treasure-chest, and holds many a goodly cloth, 
 many a jewel and silver cup, rich with Spanish 
 workmanship. And there are Spanish dollars 
 in it too, for Spain supplies the whole trading 
 world with current coin. 
 
 If our boy would know what time it is, he 
 runs out to the old sun-dial that stands on the 
 terrace, and throws its shadow upon a circle 
 marked in clock-fashion. He has indeed heard 
 of watches, and seen one at a distance, in the 
 hands of a gentleman of the court, who stopped 
 the other day at the Blue Lion tavern, to rest 
 himself and his horses after his hard ride from. 
 London. 
 
 The Blue Lion itself would be a curiosity to 
 you and me, with its great, swinging sign-board, 
 whereon is painted a wondrous blue lion, such 
 as no man has ever seen alive, and its bustling 
 landlord brewing a tankard of sack for his noble 
 guest. 
 
THE STORY OF ROGER. 183 
 
 Roger takes occasion to pass the Blue Lion 
 as often as he can on his way to and from 
 school, for many is the gallant gentleman, or the 
 sturdy sea-captain that may be seen sitting in 
 its bay-window, and talking of bold adventures 
 or Spanish sea-fight, or of trade with Cathay. 
 Search your whole map over and you will not 
 find the name Cathay ; for what was then called 
 Cathay is now called China. 
 
 Telling you to search your maps reminds me 
 of the maps that Roger has seen. Never a map 
 of the whole world, those eastern and west- 
 ern hemispheres so familiar to you, and only 
 once, a strange sort of map of Africa, which a 
 ship-master was exhibiting at the Blue Lion, 
 to some of his friends. 
 
 It was a copy of a curious chart made by a 
 seaman who had been pilot for brave Christo- 
 pher Columbus, and on it he had drawn castles 
 and ships, strange men and beasts, and sea- 
 coasts and rivers so oddly intermixed, that one 
 needs the carefully written name, Africa, in the 
 corner, to help imagine the possible country it 
 is intended to represent. 
 
184 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 But to Roger it was a land of wonders, and 
 he believed in every castle and gold-clad em- 
 peror there. From this map, and from a great 
 white horn ( perhaps not unlike the horn that 
 Salvation Yeo gave to Amyas Leigh ) on which 
 were traced the voyages to the Indies, East and 
 West, Roger had received all his map lessons, 
 and we must not wonder if he held some 
 rather curious notions of the world and its coun- 
 tries and people. He believes in mermaids and 
 dragons ; and he knows an old sailor, Simon 
 Johnson, who wears in his bosom an agate stone, 
 by which he keeps himself safe from the bite of 
 the most deadly serpent. And this same Simon 
 Johnston was with Sebastian Cabot, up the 
 river La Plata, where serpents most venomous 
 are plenty, and his agate must have saved him, 
 for there he sits with his pot of ale on the bench 
 outside the door of the Blue Lion, and tells to 
 the boys all sorts of wondrous stories. 
 
 If you doubt about the dragons, and the 
 rooms full of gold and silver, Roger will answer 
 you, "But, Simon Johnson has seen them." 
 
 Just now there was some talk among his play- 
 
THE STORY OF ROGER. 185 
 
 mates about mermaids, and Roger promptly set- 
 tled all doubts by saying, " There are mermaids, 
 for Simon Johnson has seen one," and he led 
 the way to the old man's seat in the sunny door- 
 way, that he might have his statement proved 
 true. 
 
 " Yes, I seed mun with my own eyes," said 
 old Simon. " It was when I was a sailing the 
 South Seas. Her yellow hair floated abroad 
 over the water, and her head bobbed up and 
 
 m 
 
 down as if a beckoning of us. And the Spanish 
 prisoner we had on board, he crossed hisself and 
 called upon the saints to save him ; but the rest 
 of us just kept our eyes on mun, until she sunk 
 away out of sight, with naught but her yellow 
 hair a beckoning and a beckoning still to the 
 last." 
 
 The boys listened in wonder, and believed 
 every word of old Simon's story ; and I think 
 the old man himself believed it too. 
 
 One of Roger's gayest holidays is May Day. 
 
 I dare say you children go a Maying your- 
 selves ; but in these old days in England, not 
 only the children, but also their fathers and 
 
1 86 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 mothers, were up at early dawn on May Day, to 
 deck the house door-way with blossoming haw- 
 thorn, and trim the May-pole with garlands of 
 flowers ; for there were May-poles on the greens 
 of all villages and towns, and even in the 
 squares of London itself. 
 
 And among the young men there had been 
 a rivalry for months as to who was the best 
 archer, and should represent Robin Hood in 
 the May games. For Robin Hood was king 
 of the May, and with him came Maid Marian, 
 and Little John and Friar Tuck ; and there 
 were morris dancers, with tinkling bells at 
 knee and elbow ; and there was the prancing 
 hobby-horse, and the bellowing dragon, to re- 
 mind the English boys of the famous old story 
 of St. George and the dragon, and teach, them 
 the meaning of the grand old battle-cry, " St. 
 George for merrie England ! " and merrie Eng- 
 land indeed it was in those days. 
 
 At the Blue Lion, Roger sees one day a sight 
 that delights while it terrifies him ; the great 
 fire-breathing captain, who has sailed to the 
 other side of the world, and, as the boys firmly 
 
THE STORY OF ROGER. 1 87 
 
 believe, has seen headless men and flying drag- 
 ons. You would laugh at him and say, " Fire- 
 breathing^ indeed ! It is only a man smoking a 
 cigar ! " 
 
 But the world is full of wonders for this boy ; 
 even a newspaper, so common a sight to us all, 
 is a wonder to him, for it is but just now that 
 the English Mercury, filled with news many 
 weeks old, of Spaniards, and trading voyages, 
 and fights upon land or sea, is published once 
 or twice a week, and sent by foot or horsemen 
 to the principal cities of the kingdom. 
 
 When he goes with his companions for a long 
 ramble out on the broad fields and downs, they 
 step aside with care if they chance upon those 
 mushroom rings which the pixies ( as they call 
 the fairies) have made for their midnight 
 dances. And if you or I should try to tell him 
 that there are really no pixies or fairies, he 
 would not believe us. He knows better than 
 that, and here he can show us the dancing rings 
 to prove the truth. 
 
 He believes, too, that if he could be so fortun- 
 ate as to gather fern-seed on St. John's Eve, the 
 
188 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 only time in the whole year, according to fairy 
 lore, when the fern produces seed, he could 
 walk invisible among his companions. 
 
 But now I must tell you how Roger went 
 with his father to London, riding behind the 
 servant on horseback, and spending two or 
 three nights at the inns in Exeter, Taunton, 
 and other fine old towns by the way. 
 
 " The lad may as well begin to learn what the 
 world is like," said his father, " and there is no 
 school better than experience." 
 
 At last, after nightfall of the sixth day, they 
 reached London, and found themselves on paved 
 streets, with here and there a lantern to make 
 darkness visible. 
 
 They put up at a famous inn, called the " Bel 
 Savage," and were just in time to witness one 
 of those pageants of which Queen Elizabeth 
 and her people were so fond. For the Queen 
 was coming down the river from Westminster in 
 her barge, and was to be received by a proces- 
 sion of merchants and tradespeople. 
 
 Across the street, near the inn, an arch had 
 been erected, surmounted by a model of a ship 
 
THE STORY OF ROGER. 189 
 
 under full sail, with a motto, " The Commerce 
 of England. Her merchants serve and honor 
 their queen." 
 
 How proud Roger was to stand beside his 
 father and pull off his cap and shout, when the 
 cry, " The Queen, the Queen ! " sounded down 
 the street ; and the stately lady, with enormous 
 ruff and jewelled head-dress, sitting in a carriage 
 drawn by white horses, paused under the arch- 
 way and let the procession pass slowly before 
 her, while a little lad, no bigger than Roger 
 himself, decked with flags and rare devices to 
 suggest foreign lands, dropped on one knee 
 and craved permission to introduce to her Ma- 
 jesty the characters as they passed. 
 
 The permission being graciously granted, first 
 came her Majesty's imports from Cathay, spread 
 open to view by a curiously grotesque Chinaman, 
 and followed by Manila, with sugar and spices, 
 in the person of a real little East Indian boy, 
 page to the Countess of Essex, brought home 
 by Master Cavendish when he sailed up the 
 Thames with the famous silken sails displayed. 
 Then came fruits and damasks and rich rugs 
 
19 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 from the Levant, and furs from Russia, and the 
 woollens of the Flemish weavers, and their lovely 
 laces too. But the crowning wonder of all was 
 the American Indian, with beaver skins, and 
 ores, supposed to be silver and gold ; and the 
 inscription " Virginia to the Virgin Queen ; " 
 for Raleigh had received his grant of land in 
 the new world, and named it in honor of his 
 sovereign. 
 
 I must not tell you more, for already you have 
 heard enough to make you realize how different 
 is Roger's life from your own ; and you can 
 read, in books of history, of voyages to the New 
 World, and sea-fights with the Spaniards, which 
 will tell you, better than I can, how, before many 
 years, the boy realized his dreams and satisfied 
 his longings, and grew up to be one of those bold, 
 adventurous Englishmen who helped to make 
 the New World 'what it is. 
 
 And so we will leave Roger, and pass on to 
 to the sadder experiences of Ezekiel Fuller, the 
 Puritan boy. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE STORY OF EZEKIEL FULLER, THE PURITAN 
 BOY DECEMBER 22, 1620. 
 
 "/ count my loss a gain" 
 
 As you read the date at the head of this chap- 
 ter, you will exclaim, " Forefathers' Day ! " or 
 "The landing of the Pilgrims ! " And what has 
 that to do with Ezekiel Fuller ? 
 
 But I did not put that date at the head of the 
 chapter for the Pilgrims, but for Ezekiel himself. 
 It was his birthday. 
 
 On that same wintry day when upon Ply- 
 mouth rock stepped John Carver, William Brad 
 191 
 
I Q2 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 ford, old Elder Brewster, valiant Miles Standish, 
 and his young friend John Alden, William White 
 with his wife beside him, and little Peregrine in 
 his arms, and many another brave and true man 
 and woman who helped to found New England, 
 on that same wintry day was born in Boston, 
 Lincolnshire, England, a little son to Ezekiel and 
 Prudence Fuller. There was much talk about 
 a name for this baby. His father proposed 
 " Faint-not," or " Serve-the-Lord ; " but his 
 mother objected to these names. 
 
 " Tf it be the Lord's will, the boy will serve 
 Him, by whatever name he is called," she said ; 
 "and, to my mind, a father's name is good and 
 suitable for a son. Let him be called Ezekiel, 
 which, besides being your own name, is that of 
 a prophet of the Lord, who served Him through 
 much tribulation, as we ourselves arc like to do." 
 
 On the other hand the father replied, " Look 
 at your cousin Thorsby ; did he not name his 
 boy Zeal-for-Truth, and has not the youth 
 grown up worthy of the name he bears ? In 
 these troublous times we ought to bear our tes- 
 timony even in our names." 
 
THE STORY OF EZEKIEL FULLER. 193 
 
 But, after all, the mother's wish prevailed, and 
 the boy was Ezekiel Fuller, like his father and 
 grandfather before him. He was born, as I told 
 you, on the very day when the Pilgrims landed 
 at Plymouth, but the news of that landing did 
 not reach England until the next year, when the 
 Mayflower returned, bringing sad tidings of 
 sickness and death among the little band, but 
 not one word of discouragement or despon- 
 dency, and not one man, woman, or child return- 
 ing to England. 
 
 Among these Pilgrims was an uncle of our 
 little boy, and as year after year went by, the 
 Mayflower, the Ann, the Little James, or the 
 Lions Whelp undertook that long and perilous 
 voyage across the Atlantic, and returned bringing 
 letters from the colonists to their friends in 
 England. So Ezekiel heard of the little town 
 growing up in that far-away new world, and he 
 felt sure that it would not be long before his 
 father too would sail away from the troubles 
 that beset him, to secure peace of mind and 
 freedom amid the hardships of that wilderness. 
 
 For already, before he was ten years old, he 
 
194 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 has seen his father led away to jail and locked 
 up for many weeks, because, instead of attending 
 the church which the king had ordered for all 
 men, he preferred to hold a quiet meeting in his 
 own house or that of his neighbor, where they 
 might worship God in their own way. 
 
 And when he had cried, and said to his 
 mother, " How shall we get father back again ; 
 who will help him ? " his mother had wiped 
 away her own tears and answered, " It is for 
 the cause of God that he suffers ; do not be 
 afraid ; the Lord will take care of him and of us 
 too." 
 
 And then she had called him and his little 
 sister Patience to her side, and taught them the 
 grand old psalm, 
 
 " The Lord is both my health and light 
 
 Shall men make me dismayed ? 
 Sith God doth give me strength and might, 
 Why should I be afraid?" 
 
 And the child, young as he was, began to see 
 that life was no playtime, but a very serious 
 matter indeed. 
 
 To be thoroughly in earnest about everything 
 
THE STORY OF EZEfCIEL FULLER. 1 95 
 
 he did was one of the first lessons Ezekiel 
 learned. His father had told him of his own 
 school-days when a boy in London. He had 
 been one of the pupils at St. Paul's School, and 
 had read day after day the motto painted upon 
 the school-room windows, 
 
 "EITHER TEACH, OR LEARN, OR LEAVE THE PLACE." 
 A stern command alike for teacher and oupil. 
 
 There was the same earnest idea of work in 
 his own school, and even his plays were not 
 merry and gay, no dancing round May-poles, no 
 Christmas festivities for him. 
 
 If you ask me, Why not ? I can only answer 
 that ever since King James had required all 
 ministers to read from their pulpits an order 
 making dancing, archery, bowling, and other 
 games a regular occupation for Sunday after- 
 noons, his father, and many another sober and 
 godly man, had frowned upon all such pas- 
 times, even upon week-days ; and when their 
 minister had refused to read the order from his 
 pulpi^ and been turned out of his church in 
 consequence, even the boys, who would, we can 
 imagine, like a merry play as well as any one, 
 
196 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 had valiantly taken sides with the persecuted, 
 and willingly given up decking May-poles with 
 garlands and dancing on the green. 
 
 It is true that when the winter .snows had 
 made sliding a temptation not to be resisted, he 
 had made a sled from an old gate, with beef 
 bones tied under the corners for runners, and 
 had shouted, " Clear the way ! " as merrily as 
 the best of you, when he came down the long 
 hill. But for the most part there was but little 
 real play for this boy, and when he stood, with 
 his little sister Patience, at their father's knee, 
 by the evening firelight, and begged for a story ; 
 it was no fairy tale they heard, no romance of 
 brave knights and fair ladies, but a stern, sad 
 tale of the flight into Holland, or the patient 
 sufferings of men who gave up houses and lands 
 and money and friends, and all hope of comfort 
 or ease, for a perilous journey, and a new home 
 in the wilderness. And they counted their loss 
 a gain, since it left them free to believe what 
 they thought was the truth, and to do what they 
 thought was right. 
 
 And sometimes he would read to them from 
 
THE STORY OF EZEKIEL FULLER. 1 97 
 
 a curious and very interesting book that had 
 been lent to him, 
 
 "A JOURNALL OF THE ENGLISH PLANTATION AT PLY- 
 MOUTH, IN NEW ENGLAND." 
 
 " Printed for John Bellamie, and are to be sold at his shop 
 at the two Grayhounds in Cornhill near the Royal Exchange, 
 London." 
 
 What wonder, with such training, that the 
 little boy in his plain doublet and hose, with 
 close-cropped hair, and peaked hat shading his 
 thoughtful face, should look more like a little 
 old man than like a merry young lad. 
 
 But there were enough merry lads in England 
 in those days ; lads whose fathers took their 
 sports of a Sunday afternoon, and did not 
 trouble themselves about the right and the 
 wrong of that, or any other thing which the 
 king had already decided for them. 
 
 And these lads, in their gay dresses and ruffles 
 and laces, passed the Puritan boy on his way to 
 school, and laughed at his sober dress, and some- 
 times shouted after him, " Would you like a 
 lodging in Boston jail, young Puritan ? " 
 
 It was not an easy life that Ezekiel led. 
 
1 98 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 One day the merry lads came down the street 
 in a crowd, following a man in the Puritan dress, 
 who bore upon his cheek a mark branded by a 
 hot iron, and on either side of his head a cruel 
 scar where his ears had been cut off. 
 
 And while the boy looked and wondered, he 
 saw his father hasten out of the house, take the 
 stranger by the hand, and, bidding him welcome, 
 lead him into his own home. 
 
 Ezekiel followed, eager to know the meaning 
 of this strange thing, and his father, calling him 
 to his side, said, " Good Master Burton, this is 
 my little son, who would fain see how those who 
 serve the Lord can suffer in his cause.'' 
 
 The next day being Sunday, Master Burton 
 was holding a meeting in a small back room of 
 the house, and had just taken the little Geneva 
 Bible from his pocket and begun to read, " He 
 that shall endure rinto the end, the same shall be 
 saved" when the door was broken open by a 
 band of soldiers, and not only Master Burton, 
 but also Master Fuller himself, was marched off 
 to jail, there to await the next sitting of the 
 court to answer to the charge of holding unlaw- 
 ful meetings. 
 
THE STORY OF EZEKIEL FULLER. 199 
 
 And so weary weeks passed by before the 
 boy saw his father's face again. And when he 
 came home from the jail, worn and thin and pale 
 from the long imprisonment, his mind was made 
 up to seek liberty for himself and his household 
 in the far-distant New England. 
 
 It was, indeed, a land full of savages, but no 
 savages could treat him more cruelly than he 
 had already been treated. 
 
 And a goodly company of his friends and 
 neighbors, from Boston and other parts of 
 Lincolnshire, as well as from London and Not- 
 tingham and Devonshire, had, in the great emi- 
 gration of 1630, sailed away to found Dorchester 
 and Cambridge and Charlestown and Boston. 
 
 " We will gc to Boston," said Goodman Fuller, 
 as he talked with his wife by the fireside, on 
 the first night after his release from jail ; while 
 the children, sitting on their little wooden stools 
 in the chimney corner, looked and listened, but 
 did not dare to speak. 
 
 "To Boston, because it will be more home- 
 like, not only by its name, but there we shall 
 find old friends and neighbors who went out last 
 
200 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 year with Mr. Winthrop. And, if I have been 
 rightly informed, good Mr. John Elliot has an 
 intention of going thither himself next month in 
 a ship called the Lyon, which is to sail from 
 London." 
 
 And his wife put her hand in his, and said, 
 " Truly, Ezekiel, I think that the Lord calls us 
 to go, and I am ready." 
 
 It was now July, and the Lyon was to sail in 
 August, so there was little time for preparation. 
 
 To the boy it was only a pleasure to help in 
 the packing of the household furniture, and to 
 go with his father to buy a cow and some goats 
 to be taken to their new home. 
 
 Then came the journey to London, a slow 
 progress 'by the carrier's cart, and the stowing 
 of themselves and their goods on board the 
 Lyon, which had scarcely room for her sixty 
 passengers and their cattle and household stuff. 
 All this was a delightful experience to Ezekiel, 
 as it would be to any boy of his age, in these 
 days as well as in those. 
 
 But, oh, what a voyage across the Atlantic ! 
 For ten long weeks did the Lyon struggle 
 
THE STORY OF EZEKIEL FULLER. 2OI 
 
 through storms and rough seas before the 
 friendly shores of new Boston welcomed the 
 wanderers from old Boston. 
 
 Ezekiel has seen porpoises and whales and 
 great icebergs, and his father, standing beside 
 him on the deck, says, "See the works of the 
 Lord and his wonders in the deep." 
 
 And when they had been many days tossed 
 about by waves and winds, and at last awoke 
 one morning, and, climbing to the deck, saw the 
 beautiful rosy light of the dawn of a fair day, 
 shining over the wide, smooth waters, the boy 
 did not wonder that Mr. Elliot opened his Bible 
 and read from the Psalms. 
 
 " He maketh the storm a calm, so that the 
 waves are still." 
 
 Ezekiel thought he had never quite under- 
 stood those words before, though he had heard 
 them many and many a time. 
 
 At last, after weary watching for land, a wild 
 pigeon one day alights on the mast, and they 
 know that his home cannot be far away. 
 
 As they enter Boston Harbor they meet a 
 little vessel sailing out, and, hailing her, learn 
 
202 THE ROAD FROM I ONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 that she is The Blessing of the Bay, Governor 
 Winthrop's little bark of thirty tons, built soon 
 after he reached Boston, and bound now to 
 New York to trade with the Dutch who have 
 settled there. 
 
 In Boston they find both old friends and new, 
 and as they are well-known Puritans, a piece of 
 land is at once allotted to Goodman Fuller, 
 whereon he may build him a house. 
 
 What a strange, new life this is for Ezekiel ! 
 For the first few weeks he wants nothing better 
 than the chance to look about him ; but he has 
 little opportunity for idle gazing. A Puritan 
 boy must never be idle, least of all a New Eng- 
 land Puritan, so he is busy helping to build the 
 house, to plant corn in the spring, and to make 
 fences; so busy that he hardly has time to won- 
 der at the Indians in deerskin garments, with 
 bows and arrows, who bring in fish and beaver- 
 skins to trade with the " knife men," as they 
 call the English. 
 
 One day he goes with his father and some 
 other settlers up the Charles River to Beaver 
 Brook, to visit the traps that they have set for 
 
THE STORY OF EZEKIEL FULLER. 2O3 
 
 beaver ; there he sees many great trees that 
 have been gnawed down by the skilful animals ; 
 and in the traps two or three beavers, whose 
 skins will find a good market in London. 
 
 He has not been many months a New Eng- 
 land boy,- before he is sent to school to Master 
 Philemon Pormont, the Boston schoolmaster, 
 who has been engaged by the magistrates to 
 teach the boys reading, writing, and ciphering ; 
 and at school he becomes acquainted with some 
 Indian lads, for when the magistrates engaged 
 the schoolmaster, they made him promise to 
 teach Indians without pay. 
 
 Among these Indians is one who bears the 
 curious name, " Know-God," and he and Ezekiel 
 become playmates and friends. The Indian lad 
 teaches the English boy to dig clams and mus- 
 sels, to tread eels out of the mud, and to snare 
 squirrels and rabbits ; and, in return, Ezekiel 
 teaches him the English names of all common 
 objects, so that the boy can soon make himself 
 so well understood that he begins to be useful 
 as an interpreter. 
 
 One day news comes that many Indians, a 
 
204 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 few miles back in the forest, are very sick with 
 the small-pox, among them Sagamore James, the 
 father of little " Know-God," and two weeks 
 after, the boy is brought into Boston by some 
 English hunters, a lonely orphan, all his family 
 having died of the terrible disease. 
 
 Then Ezekiel begs his father to take the 
 Indian lad into his home ; and, as the elders 
 have already recommended that such of the 
 colonists as are able to do so shall rescue these 
 poor Indian children from their wretched con- 
 dition, Goodman Fuller, with the consent of the 
 authorities, takes the boy, promising to teach 
 him to work, and to bring him up in the fear of 
 the Lord. 
 
 One of Ezekiel's greatest pleasures is to go 
 down to the landing when a ship arrives from 
 England, or even when one of the little vessels, 
 of which the colony now owns several, sails out 
 for whale-catching at Cape Cod, or for trading 
 to Virginia or New York. 
 
 And so it happens that he is standing beside 
 his father on the wharf when their old Boston 
 minister, Mr. John Cotton, lands from the 
 
THE STORY OF EZEKIEL FULLER. 205 
 
 Griffin, with his wife and the little baby born on 
 the voyage, and named " Sea-born." 
 
 I tell you this for the sake of showing you 
 what odd names children sometimes had in 
 those days. 
 
 But there are other odd things to be noticed, 
 as well as names. There are stocks set up in 
 the market-place, where you may often see 
 offenders sitting with both hands and feet shut 
 into holes in the wooden framework, a curious 
 punishment for many small misdeeds. Indeed 
 it is said that the man who built the stocks was 
 made to sit in them himself for charging too 
 much for his work. 
 
 Then there is the windmill on a hill, where 
 the Boston people get their corn ground. And 
 there are the wolves' heads brought in every 
 week or two, for each plantation has promised 
 a reward of one penny for every cow or horse, 
 and one farthing for every pig or goat, owned in 
 the settlement, to the man who kills a wolf. 
 No wonder that the wolves were soon reduced 
 in numbers. 
 
 It is not long after this time, that the court 
 
206 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 orders that musket bullets may be used instead 
 of farthings, so, if our boy had any spending 
 money, or there was anything to buy with it, he 
 might have a pocketful of bullets for change. 
 But he has very little need of any money, since 
 there is, as yet, not a single shop in Boston. 
 
 As Ezekiel grows older there is one thing 
 that often puzzles him. He sees every month 
 some one punished, or driven out of the town, 
 for not agreeing with the Puritan Church ; and, 
 remembering that it was on account of just 
 such persecution that his father had fled from 
 England ; and that, indeed, almost all these 
 New England settlers had, for that same reason, 
 left their homes in Old England, he wonders 
 how they can so understand the meaning of 
 that rule which he has heard from minister, 
 parents, and teachers ever since he was old 
 enough to remember, 
 
 "Do unto others as you would have others do 
 to you." 
 
sr 
 
 Cfl 
 
 cfp 
 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE STORY OF JONATHAN DAWSON, THE 
 YANKEE BOY. 
 
 " Never ask another to do for you what you can do for yourself ." 
 
 LET us take a look at this Yankee boy, as he 
 sits on the wooden settle beside the great, roar- 
 ing wood fire, and, by the light of its cheerful 
 blaze, reads " The Pilgrim's Progress." 
 
 He is a tall and sturdy lad, with face some- 
 what freckled and hair somewhat bleached by 
 constant exposure to sunshine, or whatever other 
 kind of weather the Lord chooses to send. 
 
 He wears a jacket anu trousers of coarse, 
 207 
 
208 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 strong woollen cloth of the color known as 
 " pepper and salt," and even this simple suit of 
 clothes would be a fit subject for a collector of 
 curiosities in our own day. Only a week ago the 
 wool of which it was made was on the sheep's 
 backs. 
 
 "Jonathan must have a new suit of clothes," 
 his mother had said, as she carefully set a round 
 patch into the middle of the big square one that 
 she had inserted into his trousers a month or 
 two ago. 
 
 " Patch beside patch is good housewiferie ; 
 But patch upon patch is sheer beggarie." 
 
 " I can make the clothes now, if I have the 
 wool ; but next week come the soap-making 
 and the quilting, and there will not be much 
 time to spare." 
 
 "Then I will shear for you to-morrow," said 
 her husband, and, true to his word, he brought 
 her in a black fleece and a white one, and the 
 wool was soon carded, and the spinning wheels 
 in motion. 
 
 Thankful, the oldest daughter, was a good 
 spinner, and their neighbor, Mrs. Deliverance 
 
THE STOR Y OF JONA J^HAN DA WSON. 209 
 
 Putnam, coming in the next day, began also to 
 spin with the big wheel, while she told her news ; 
 so it was not long before the heavy skeins of 
 black and white yarn were ready for the loom. 
 
 Mother herself is the best weaver ; so Thank- 
 ful and Betty did the churning and cooking and 
 sweeping and mending, while she "set up" a 
 good piece of mixed black and white cloth 
 (pepper and salt), as I said before. 
 
 Then Miss Polly Emerson, the tailoress, came 
 to cut out the clothes, and busy hands (not sew- 
 ing-machines, for who ever dreamed of a sewing- 
 machine in those days ?) soon stitched them 
 together, and there was Jonathan's new suit, 
 homespun, home-woven, home-made. 
 
 We may have some idea of what a suit of 
 clothes is worth when we understand how all 
 this work has been needed for the making of it. 
 And now we are ready to charge Jonathan not 
 to use his new clothes carelessly. He isn't to 
 wear them every day, of course ; his old ones 
 will still last some months with careful patching. 
 But to-day is Sunday and he has been to meet- 
 ing, and sat on the pulpit stairs through a 
 
210 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 sermon two hours long by the hour-glass, in the 
 forenoon, and another scarcely shorter in the 
 afternoon, relieved a little, however, by the sing- 
 ing from the old Bay Psalm-book in which the 
 whole congregation joined. 
 
 Now, since the sun has set, and the needful 
 household chores are done, he may read Pilgrim's 
 Progress by the firelight. 
 
 At noontime he had eaten his dinner of bread 
 and cheese on Meeting-house Green, where he 
 talked with Reuben Thompson and Abner 
 Dwight, who had come with their parents to 
 meeting, riding by a bridle-path through the 
 woods. Jonathan stood on the meeting-house 
 steps to watch them ride away when the after- 
 noon services had ended. Farmer Dwight, on 
 his brown horse, with his good wife behind him 
 on a pillion, and Goodman Thompson, on his old 
 gray, which also carried double, for Goodwife 
 Thompson sat smiling behind her husband, as 
 easy and comfortable as if in her own chair at 
 home. 
 
 The two boys rode together on old Dobbin, 
 and urged him along as best they could, lest 
 
THE STOR Y OF JON A THAN DA WSON. 211 
 
 they should not get through Price's woods 
 before dark, for it wasn't unusual to meet a 
 prowling wolf by the way after nightfall. 
 
 Then Jonathan had trudged home, two miles 
 over a rough road, and was ending his day 
 beside the fire, with his book, as I told you in 
 the beginning of the chapter. 
 
 He had just got as far as Giant Despair and 
 Doubting Castle, when his little sister Patty, 
 sitting on a low stool before the fire, with her 
 kitten in her lap, called to him to look quickly, 
 and see the wild geese go up the chimney, and 
 there, on the sooty back of the great, wide fire- 
 place, the sparks had caught for a moment like 
 a flock of birds, quickly moving up the chimney, 
 as one died out and a fresh one caught fire. 
 
 The children always liked to watch them, and 
 this time Stephen Stackpole, their father's hired 
 man, stopped for an instant to watch them too, 
 while he laid a fresh armful of wood beside the 
 fir- 
 
 *' Them ain't wild geese, children," he said, 
 "Them's the folks goin' to meetin'. Don't ye 
 see, there's the parson in front, and all the folks 
 
212 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 flockin'-on behind. That's what we used to 
 call 'em when I was a boy." 
 
 Sunday evenings were short in those days, 
 and Monday morning found our boy up at day- 
 break, and dressed in his patched clothes. He 
 is busy about his morning work, for he has to 
 help about the milking, drive the cows and 
 sheep to pasture, draw water from the well with 
 a bucket hung from a long pole called the well- 
 sweep, and then carry the hams up to the little 
 smoke-room that is built into the chimney, and 
 reached through a door which opens from the 
 attic ; for the best of bacon was smoked in every 
 household chimney in those days. 
 
 While he is working, we will take a look at 
 his home, a strange, one-sided-looking house, 
 with a " lean-to " at the back or north side, 
 where there is a cool buttery, or pantry, which 
 saves Goodwife Dawson many a trip clown 
 cellar or out to the well. For the well is used 
 as a sort of refrigerator, and many a pail of but- 
 ter is kept cool and sweet in its depths. 
 
 The cellar has a big trap-door outside the 
 house, and ladder-like steps to go down, and 
 
THE STOR Y OF JON A THAN DA WSON. 2 1 3 
 
 when this door is closed it makes a comfortable 
 seat where, on a summer afternoon, you might 
 see little Patty Dawson sitting with her knitting- 
 work ; for, the minute the child sat down, her 
 mother would put her knitting-work into her 
 hands, saying, ''You can rest just as well knit- 
 ting." And the consequence was that the little 
 eight-year old girl has already become an expert 
 knitter, and has not only knitted a pair of stock- 
 ings for herself, but also a big stout pair, of blue 
 yarn, for her brother. 
 
 The cellar had bins for potatoes and turnips 
 and other vegetables, and many an hour has 
 Jonathan worked there, storing away the winter 
 stock of food. 
 
 " That is just what the farmers do every- 
 where, now as well as then," you will say. 
 
 That is true of the farmers, but in Jonathan's 
 time this storing of provisions for the winter 
 was necessary for every man, for provision- 
 .stores were few and far between, and almost 
 every man had land enough to raise all that 
 was needed for his own family. 
 
 When the cellar-door was closed, you could 
 
214 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 stand upon it and look in at the east window of 
 the kitchen. It was a window of twenty-four 
 small panes of coarse, greenish glass, set in 
 heavy sashes, but through it you could look into 
 the pleasantest room in the house. 
 
 It extended the whole way across the back 
 part of the house, and had one east window and 
 two west ones, and the sun lay across the 
 floor, one way or the other, all day long. On 
 the north side was the great brick fireplace, 
 with a stone hearth that measured ten feet by 
 seven. 
 
 In the afternoon, when the work was done, 
 the kitchen floor was sprinkled with sand, which 
 was swept into graceful curves, like a prettily 
 marked-out pattern. Thankful always took her 
 finest birch broom for this sweeping, and prided 
 herself upon her kitchen floor as much as Min- 
 nie and Alice do now upon their piano-playing 
 and embroidery. 
 
 The kitchen fire was a pleasant sight. It not 
 only roasted the meat, and boiled the kettle and 
 the pots that hung from the hooks of the crane, 
 but it also filled the kitchen with a glow of 
 
THE STORY OF JONATHAN DAWSON. 215 
 
 light and heat, and shone upon the pewter plates 
 and dishes on the dresser, and the polished 
 brasses of the great chest of drawers that stood 
 opposite the fireplace. 
 
 Under the doors and around the windows 
 winter winds blew in, and snow drifted into little 
 piles on the sills, and grandfather had to sit in 
 the warmest corner, where the high back of 
 the settle protected him from drafts. 
 
 Over the fireplace were curious little cup- 
 boards in the wall, so high up that the children 
 could not reach them ; but perhaps the treas- 
 ures they contained were all the safer for that. 
 
 Sometimes, after supper, sitting there by the 
 firelight, the children ask their grandfather for 
 a story, and he answers, " Well, hand me down 
 the old cup, and I will tell." 
 
 And Jonathan climbs on one of the rush-bot- 
 tomed chairs, opens the little cupboard door, 
 that is fastened by a wooden button, and from a 
 shelf inside takes out a curiously-shaped little 
 wooden cup. It is made of oak wood, and is 
 already turning dark with age. 
 
 Putting it into the old man's hand, he stands 
 
216 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 beside him to listen to the strange and terri- 
 ble story he has already heard many a time 
 before, of the sudden night attack upon the 
 settlement by French and Indians, when his 
 grandfather was a young man ; how he waked 
 only to find the house in flames and surrounded 
 by whooping savages, tomahawk in hand : and 
 how he was marched away captive through the 
 forest, with many other men, women, and chil- 
 dren, who, as it happened to please their cap- 
 tors, were held for ransom instead of being tor- 
 tured and killed. 
 
 It was during this strange captivity that he 
 had made this little wooden cup to drink from, 
 and brought it away with him when at last the 
 end of the war brought an exchange of pris- 
 oners. " You mind neighbor Churchill's wife, 
 my boy," the old man would say. "Well, she 
 was one of the babies that was taken through 
 the woods with us, a baby in her mother's 
 arms. The hope of saving her baby was all 
 that kept that poor mother alive through 
 that terrible march. Not until we reached the 
 Indian village, near the Canada line, did she 
 
THE S TOR Y OF JON A THA N DA WSON. 2 1 7 
 
 give up, and then she just dropped down and 
 died. 
 
 "The Indians would have made short work 
 with the baby if the mother had dropped on the 
 road, but in the village a childless squaw claimed 
 it for her own, and a good foster-mother she 
 made, too. It was pitiful to hear her plead to 
 keep it when the news came that the chief had 
 given his word that all prisoners should be sent 
 down to the nearest fort for exchange. 
 
 "'The little one has no other mother but me,' 
 she said. 
 
 " It was true, and the child was loth to leave 
 her; but its own father was at the fort to claim 
 his wife and baby, and he went home with the 
 poor little thing sobbing in his arms, as sorry 
 to leave her Indian mammy as if she had never 
 known any other. 
 
 "You'll keep this cup, boy," he said, as he 
 handed it back to be returned to its place in 
 the little chimney cupboard. 
 
 "That I will, grandfather; it is as good as a 
 story itself," answered Jonathan. 
 
 "We are safe enough here, now, from the red- 
 
21 8 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 skins," continued the old man, "but there are 
 plenty of them still in the wilderness of the 
 Ohio and in Kentuck, and you may have to 
 meet them in battle yet, Jonathan." 
 
 You will see that the old grandfather was not 
 tne only one who thought it likely that the boys 
 would need to fight some day. Master Wads- 
 worth, the schoolmaster, had also the same idea ; 
 perhaps not with regard to fighting Indians only, 
 but possibly British troops, for, if you will go 
 to school with Jonathan, you will see that there 
 was something besides reading, writing, and 
 ciphering taught in that school. On the school- 
 room walls hung a row of wooden muskets with 
 tin bayonets, and, as the clock struck twelve, 
 Master Wadsworth took up his cocked hat, and, 
 shouting "To arms ! " led his little regiment of 
 boys out to drill. He taught them the proper 
 handling of their arms, marched them, and 
 wheeled and counter-marched, through sunshine 
 and through rain, over hills and through woods. 
 " For the need will surely come," said the mas- 
 ter, "and you must be ready." 
 
 And the need did come. In less than ten 
 
THE STOR Y OF JON A THAN DA WSON. 2 1 Q 
 
 years Master Wadsworth was General Wads- 
 worth, and some of his old schoolboys were 
 serving under him in the Revolutionary war. 
 
 On Friday afternoon there was catechising in 
 school. On Monday morning the texts of 
 yesterday's sermons must be repeated. 
 
 The most common reading-book was the 
 Bible ; and many a worn-out copy that had been 
 used in school showed how the children had 
 toiled over the hard words and unpronounceable 
 names. So poor was the print of some of these 
 old Bibles that there were often blotted words 
 which could not be deciphered, and the reader 
 would supply their places by saying, " scratched 
 out." 
 
 "The city that the Lord hath scratched out" 
 read Jonathan in a loud, sing-song voice, one 
 morning. 
 
 "Stop, stop," cried Master Wadsworth, "let 
 me see, you young rascal, what city that is." 
 
 Saturday was a holiday, and of course you 
 want to know what Jonathan did then. 
 
 It wasn't all play, for Yankee boys, in what- 
 ever station in life, used to work in those days. 
 
220 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 So the first thing in the morning was to bring 
 in the oven-wood. If you don't know what that 
 means, I must tell you that beside the fire-place 
 was a great brick oven, like a baker's oven. It 
 was heated by building a fire in it, which, when 
 it had burned down, left the bricks so hot that 
 the heat would serve for hours to bake bread 
 and cake and pies, and finish by cooking a great 
 pot of beans and a loaf of brown bread, which 
 were left in all night, and taken out still warm 
 for breakfast on Sunday morning. The oven- 
 wood was always to be brought in early on 
 Saturday morning. 
 
 Then there was the jack to be wound up; 
 that was another thing for Jonathan to do. I 
 don't believe any of you know what the jack was, 
 and, to explain it, I must tell you that, when 
 meat was to be roasted, it had a long iron spit 
 run through it, and was placed before the fire, 
 where the ends of the spit rested in a frame. 
 Now, of course, the spit must be turned round 
 and round, or the meat would roast only on one 
 side. 
 
 I have heard of dogs being employed to turn 
 
THE S TOR Y OF JON A THAN DA WSON. 2 2 1 
 
 a spit, by means of a little treadmill, but 1 
 think the jack which used to be in my grand- 
 father's old kitchen was a better turnspit. It 
 had weights like a tall clock, and was wound up 
 and attached to the spit, which it would turn 
 steadily round and round, until it ran down ; 
 when, of course, it could easily be wound up 
 again. 
 
 After the jack was wound up, Goodwife 
 Dawson would perhaps say that she needed new 
 brooms ; and Jonathan would go to the edge of 
 the woods for suitable birch sticks, and then, 
 sitting on the kitchen doorstep, he stripped 
 them down nearly to the end, turned the strips 
 over, and tied them firmly round, thus making 
 a very useful broom. Could you do that, do 
 you think ? 
 
 Or, if she did not need brooms, she might 
 want ribwort, or sage, or raspberry leaves gath- 
 ered to dry for tea, for already the odious tea- 
 tax had roused the Yankees to resistance, and 
 only "liberty tea" was used in this patriotic 
 family. Sometimes Jonathan brought home 
 from the fields or pastures the sweet-smelling 
 
222 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 bayberries, that his mother might have bay- 
 berry tallow for her candle-making. 
 
 The firelight, as we have already seen, was 
 often bright enough to read by at night, but 
 there was always also a good supply of home- 
 made candles, both dip and mould : the former 
 made by dipping a wick into melted tallow, 
 cooling and dipping again and again until it 
 was large enough ; the latter, by pouring the 
 melted tallow into a mould. The bayberry 
 tallow gave out a pleasant fragrance as it burned, 
 and was also of a pretty green color, and the 
 bayberry candles were often run in a pretty 
 fluted mould. 
 
 The work being finished, the boy would be off 
 to the woods to set snares for rabbits, or traps 
 for foxes ; perhaps even to help the young men 
 of the neighborhood set a bear-trap for the 
 brown bear that had killed a calf last week. 
 
 Sometimes a flock of wild pigeons would al- 
 most darken the sky, and would fall by dozens at 
 the fire of the old guns which were to be found 
 in every house, hanging on the hooks over the 
 door or the fireplace. 
 
THE S TOR Y OF JON A THA N DA WSON. 22$ 
 
 The best Saturday play was " training," as the 
 boys called playing soldiers. 
 
 " Training-day " was the day when the militia 
 marched out to the meeting-house green and 
 were reviewed by their officers. And the boys, 
 who looked on with delight, celebrated their 
 training-day as often as a leisuj-e Saturday 
 would permit. 
 
 They hadn't many holidays. Christmas was 
 frowned upon, as a festival of the English church 
 upon which their ancestors had turned their 
 backs when they came to this country. But 
 Thanksgiving was the chief feast-day of the 
 year. To meeting in the forenoon, to hear a 
 good strong sermon on the state of the country; 
 and then home to a grand dinner of turkey 
 and chicken pie, plum-pudding and pies of pump- 
 kin, apples, and mince, with a dessert of apples 
 and cider, and a grand game of blind-man's- 
 buff in the evening, that was Thanksgiving 
 Day; and while they were in the midst of its 
 festivities, perhaps a great snow-storm would 
 come, and block up the windows and doors, so 
 that their only way out the next day would be 
 through a tunnelled drift. 
 
224 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 Sometimes, on a market-day, the boy goes into 
 Boston with his father, who with well-filled 
 saddle-bags rides his big bay horse, while his 
 son jogs slowly beside him on old Dobbin. They 
 cross the river on a flat ferry-boat worked by a 
 chain which stretches across the stream, and 
 they enter town by the road leading in over " the 
 Neck,"' where they meet the New York stage 
 which has been for two weeks on its way from 
 that 'city, bringing mails and passengers. 
 
 In Boston he sees gentlemen in their pow- 
 dered wigs, braided queues, cocked hats, lace 
 ruffles, small-clothes with knee-buckles, and gilt 
 buttons on their coats. Occasionally, too, a 
 carriage with a black footman or a coachman, 
 slaves they were, Caesar or Cato by name, for 
 Massachusetts had not yet set all her slaves free ; 
 though men were beginning to think that they 
 couldn't conscientiously say, " All men are born 
 free and equal," while they held any in bondage. 
 
 He is always glad when business takes his 
 father down to the wharves, so that he may see 
 what is coming from or going to other parts of 
 the world. Perhaps a schooner is in from Bar- 
 
THE S TOR Y OF JON A THAN DA WSON. 22$ 
 
 badoes, loaded with molasses, and another is 
 loading for the same port with salt fish. A ship 
 from England, which has been five or six weeks 
 on the way, is unloading window-glass, salt, 
 calico, broadcloth, hardware, and many a simple 
 thing that the skilful New Englanders could 
 make for themselves if their mother country 
 would allow them to do so. 
 
 Jonathan stands under the great elm, that has 
 already received the name of " Liberty Tree," 
 and he sees red-coated soldiers in the streets, and 
 hears on all sides talk of the British war-ships 
 in the harbor. 
 
 His father buys a copy of " Poor Richard's 
 Almanac," published by Benjamin Franklin 
 in Philadelphia; and also a newspaper, "The 
 Massachusetts Spy," and carries them safely 
 home to read at his leisure ; for a newspaper 
 was a rare treasure in those days. And the 
 buying of the newspaper reminds me to tell you 
 what sort of money Jonathan uses, when he 
 has any to use, which, to tell the truth, is not 
 often. 
 
 He has coppers or pennies three times as 
 
226 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 large as our present cents. Then he has some- 
 times a silver sixpence, or ninepence, or a little 
 piece called fourpence-ha'penny, and occasion- 
 ally a Spanish pistareen, which is worth about 
 twenty cents. He has seen pine-tree shillings, 
 which were used in his grandfather's day, but 
 there are no five or ten cent pieces, no quarter 
 or half dollars, though there are big Spanish sil- 
 ver dollars, much used by the merchants. 
 
 If he is sent to buy sugar or molasses for his 
 mother, he is perhaps told that the price is 
 "one and sixpence," or "two and six," or 
 "three and nine." What a mystery such prices 
 must be to you to-day ! 
 
 His father, last year, bought his wife a calico 
 gown at four and sixpence a yard, made, very 
 likely, of American cotton, for cotton had 
 been growing in South Carolina for the last 
 twenty years, and was already exported to Eng- 
 land and manufactured. But Goodwife Dawson 
 will not wear any more British calico. She will 
 prefer her own homespun dresses, and the inde- 
 pendence that comes with them. 
 
 One singular event of Jonathan's boyhood I 
 
THE STOR Y OF JON A THAN DA WSON. 22? 
 
 must not omit to mention. He had the small- 
 pox ; that is, he had it given to him on purpose. 
 He went, with his mother and two sisters and a 
 half dozen of their neighbors, to a lonely house 
 on an island, and there the whole party had 
 the small-pox together. After they were well, 
 others took their places for the same purpose. 
 Vaccination had not been discovered, and it was 
 found that taking the small-pox by inoculation, 
 as it was called, made the disease less danger- 
 ous, so it was the custom for people to save 
 themselves from the worst form of it by taking 
 the lightest. 
 
 Athough Jonathan is a New England boy, he 
 has never seen the American flag, for there was 
 no American flag in his time ; even the pine- 
 tree flag had not yet been made. 
 
 He has never celebrated the Fourth of July ; 
 for as yet there has been nothing to distinguish 
 that day from others. But he will live to call it 
 " Independence Day" and to think of it as the 
 birthday of a great nation. 
 
 He is a British subject while a boy. When 
 he is a young man he will be a soldier in the 
 
228 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 Revolutionary army, and fight under the stars 
 and stripes. And long before he is an old man, 
 he will be a good citizen of the free and inde- 
 pendent republic of the United States. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE STORY OF A FEW DAYS IN THE LIFE OF 
 FRANK WILSON, THE BOY OF 1885. 
 
 " More servants wait on man than he^ll take notice of" 
 
 FRANK wakes on Monday morning and be- 
 gins the simple process of dressing. Let us 
 stop a minute to ask where his clothes came 
 from. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. They were bought at 
 some store," he answers carelessly. 
 
 He hasn't stopped to think of anything be- 
 yond the store, of the great factories where 
 cotton and woollen cloths are made daily by the 
 229 
 
230 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 mile ; for the steam-engine that turns the spin 
 dies and works the looms never tires. 
 
 Even the buttons on his jacket could tell him 
 a story, for they are made of rubber ; and first, 
 there was the gathering of the gum from the 
 trees in South America, and the shipping it 
 from Rio Janeiro to New York ; then another 
 steam-engine to work the machinery of the but- 
 ton factory. This giant servant begins to wait 
 on him as soon as he is up in the morning. 
 
 Jonathan went to the well for water, washed 
 his face in a tin basin, and wiped it on a 
 coarse, homespun roller-towel. Frank has but 
 to turn a faucet, and hot or cold water is at his 
 service, brought from springs ten miles away, 
 without thought or care of his. 
 
 Little, too, does he think how the food comes 
 upon his breakfast-table. China has sent the 
 tea, Arabia or Java the coffee, and Caraccas the 
 chocolate. And there are oranges on the table, 
 oranges that can only grow in a warm cli- 
 mate. Two hundred years ago such a plate of 
 oranges in the winter would have been impos- 
 sible. 
 
THE STORY OF FRANK WILSON. 231 
 
 His school is twenty miles away, in Boston. 
 But what of that. There is a wonderful horse 
 of iron and steel that will carry him there in 
 less time than it would take him to walk two 
 miles. 
 
 In school he finds awaiting him the latest news 
 from all parts of the world. All that the wisest 
 men have thought out or discovered is at his 
 service. Even the ancient Greeks and Romans 
 have handed down to him all the best of their 
 store of learning, and printing-presses are at 
 work day and night, al] over the land, to record 
 whatever is new. He may take it all if his mind 
 is able to grasp it. 
 
 Before school is over, his mother has thought 
 of an errand she wishes him to do for her in 
 Boston ; so she speaks to him through the tele- 
 phone, and the simple, vibrating wires tell him 
 the message as plainly as if he were speaking 
 with his mother face to face at home. 
 
 As he goes home with his father on the train 
 in the afternoon, they buy for two cents a news- 
 paper that tells them what happened in Europe 
 to-day, or in Asia yesterday, and what the 
 weather will be to-morrow. 
 
232 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 It seems impossible to surprise this boy, for 
 everything is told him before he has a chance 
 to be surprised. 
 
 Tuesday morning finds him starting for school 
 in a violent snow-storm. Any other boy of whom 
 you have read in this book would have been 
 wet to the skin before reaching Boston in such 
 a storm ; but here are rubber overcoat, boots, 
 and cap, and, inside of this suit, a boy as warm 
 and dry as if sheltered by his own fireside. 
 
 Then the train by which he goes to school 
 starts out to battle with the drifts. 
 
 Many a snow-drift has been shovelled away by 
 the sturdy arms of Ezekiel, or Jonathan, but 
 Frank sits quietly studying his Latin lesson, 
 while " the sunshine bottled up in the coal " (as 
 a wise man has said) works for him, making 
 steam, by which the greet snow-plough shovels 
 away the drifts,' right and left, and scorning all 
 obstacles, drives on its straight path into Bos- 
 ton. 
 
 If we go with him to school to-day we shall 
 hear the recitation of the astronomy class. 
 When Frank was hardly more than a baby, he 
 used to repeat, 
 
THE STORY OF FRANK WILSON. 
 
 " Twinkle, twinkle, little star, 
 How I wonder what you are." 
 
 But now it seems as if no child need wonder 
 any more, for here is the telescope to show him 
 a rounded globe in place of a twinkling star; 
 and the spectroscope to show him that his 
 wonderful star is made of the same materials as 
 the familiar earth on which he lives. 
 
 After school Frank's father asks him to go to 
 a book-store and buy for him a certain book 
 which he needs. 
 
 " We haven't the book in the store to-day," 
 says the salesman, "but we will order it from 
 London and have it for you in a Areek or 
 two." 
 
 Think of that, and remember how Ezekiel 
 Fuller sailed from London to Boston in ten long 
 weeks. 
 
 It is a dark and stormy day, and the book- 
 store is lighted at three o'clock in the afternoon 
 with electric light, by which one can read as 
 well as by daylight ; the gas, too, is lighted in 
 the streets as Frank goes down to the train, 
 and in the cars he has some more of the sun- 
 
234 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 shine of former ages "bottled up" in the 
 kerosene. 
 
 Wednesday is an eventful day. His father 
 receives by cable a message saying that he is 
 needed in Calcutta to attend to some business. 
 
 The message is dated February 2, but he re- 
 ceives it on the afternoon of February i, and 
 this fact, which seems like an impossibility, 
 makes very clear to Frank the meaning of 
 yesterday's geography lesson about longitude 
 and time. 
 
 " I shall always remember now that west is 
 earlier, father, because this message came west 
 and reached us earlier than it was sent." 
 
 On Wednesday evening the family gathered 
 round the table to trace upon the map, with the 
 father, the course of his proposed journey. 
 
 He will sail to-morrow, and this is their last 
 evening together for many months. 
 
 See how the great servant, steam, is going to 
 attend him upon his way. It will take him in a 
 steamship across the ocean, in cars across 
 France, again over the Mediterranean by 
 steamer, and through the Suez Canal, Red Sea, 
 
THE STOKY OF FRANK WILSON. 235 
 
 and Indian Ocean, every step of the way it 
 will conduct him, and land him in Calcutta in a 
 little more than a month. 
 
 While he is away, it will carry letters for him 
 to his wife and children, and bring back theirs 
 to him. 
 
 Who else could you ask to run on such an 
 errand for you, half round the world, for only 
 five cents ? 
 
 " I wish I had a new picture of the boys to take 
 with me," he said next morning, as he looked at 
 Frank and his little brother, standing ready to 
 go down to the steamer and see him off. " We 
 will have one taken to-day," said their mother, 
 " and send it to you by the next mail." 
 
 Did I tell you of the curious little black pro- 
 files in round wooden frames, that hung on the 
 walls of the sitting-room in Jonathan's home, 
 the only portraits that were to be had in those 
 days, unless one was rich enough to pay some 
 portrait-painter for an elaborate oil painting? 
 
 Frank will have the greatest of portrait-paint- 
 ers to paint his picture, and yet he will pay but 
 a few dollars for the work ; for it is the sunlight 
 
236 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 itself that will take his photograph. True, there 
 must be a photographer who knows how to 
 catch and to keep the picture when the great 
 artist has painted it ; and Frank pays this pho- 
 tographer for his work, since he cannot pay the 
 artist himself. 
 
 As they came away from the photographer's, 
 his mother stopped at the shirt-factory to order 
 some shirts for the two boys. 
 
 " I wish we could see how they make *em," 
 said Frank ; and the superintendent, overhearing 
 the words, said, " I will send some one through 
 the factory with the young gentlemen, if you 
 will allow me, madam." 
 
 So they went into the great room where the 
 cutting was done, then up to the sewing-ma- 
 chine room, where, instead of the busy fingers 
 that used to sew for Roger or Ezekiel or Jona- 
 than, a thousand fine fingers of steel, moved by a 
 steam-engine, stitched away with a merry hum of 
 industry, and only asked that some one should 
 keep supplying them with more work and more. 
 And there were the button-hole machines, turn- 
 ing off button-holes as fast as the work could be 
 
THE STORY OF FRANK WILSON. 2 37 
 
 put into place, and nothing seemed to be left 
 for common needles and fingers to do, but the 
 sewing-on of buttons. 
 
 All this work seems so common to you, that 
 you perhaps wonder I should tell you about it ; 
 but think for a moment of the other nine boys 
 who had to live without sewing-machines. 
 
 On Friday Frank's cousin arrives from Cali- 
 fornia. A week ago he had stood on the Pacific 
 shore, and now he stands on the Atlantic. He 
 has slept every night in a comfortable bed in a 
 sleeping-car; he has telegraphed an order for 
 his dinner each day to some station which he 
 would reach at a suitable hour for dining, and 
 he has had all the convenience and none of 
 the hardship of a four-thousand-mile journey. 
 Mountains have been tunnelled or cut away, 
 wonderful trestle-work has filled up deep valleys, 
 that his road might be straight and secure, no ob- 
 stacle has been able to stand in his way, and he 
 arrives fresh and strong, and full of interesting 
 stories of the mining regions and the great 
 ranches. 
 
 He goes next day with Frank to Barnum's 
 
238 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 menagerie. No doubt you have all been there 
 too, and I don't propose to describe the animals 
 for you ; but I want you to think for a moment 
 how wonderful it is that elephants and tigers 
 and lions from Asia and Africa, seals and white 
 bears from the Arctic regions, antelopes from 
 the Cape of Good Hope, and monkeys and 
 parrots from South America should meet to- 
 gether in Boston and let a Boston boy make 
 their acquaintance. 
 
 If Roger had wanted to see an elephant he 
 would have had to go to Africa or Asia for the 
 purpose. 
 
 Ezekiel had seen bears and wolves and foxes 
 caught or killed in the woods, but to him a HOP 
 was as strange and fabulous a thing as a dragon. 
 
 It seemed as if Frank had but to sit still and 
 wait, and all the world's wonders would be 
 brought for him to see. 
 
 He has more books than he can read ; more 
 pleasures than he can enjoy. I don't believe a 
 twenty-mile ride on his bicycle, or a trip on his 
 ice-boat at the rate of thirty miles an hour, gives 
 him any greater delight than Gilbert felt when 
 
THE STORY OF FRANK WILSON. 239 
 
 he went hawking by the river, or Wulf and Ella 
 when they ran races in the woods. 
 
 I will end my book with a fable, and you may 
 apply its meaning as you please. 
 
 Once there was a wise king who ruled over a 
 great country. He had a son whom he loved 
 very much, and wished to help in every way, 
 but he said, " If I help him too much, he will 
 never learn to help himself. I have treasures 
 enough to make him rich, and pleasures enough 
 to make him happy, but he will have to learn 
 that, in order to enjoy riches and pleasures, 
 he must first earn them." 
 
 So he hid the treasures in places difficult to 
 be reached, and put all sorts of obstacles in the 
 roads, and then he sent the young prince out 
 into the world to seek his fortune. 
 
 Whenever he came to a great stone in the 
 road, and lifted it out of the way, making the 
 road not only easier for himself, but also better 
 for all those that came after him, the strength 
 by which that stone had resisted passed into 
 the arms that had moved it ; so he went on his 
 
240 THE ROAD FROM LONG AGO TO NOW. 
 
 way just so much stronger for every obstacle he 
 had overcome. And for a long time this rough 
 work with the hands was all he could do. But 
 when at last the roads were so cleared that all 
 men might easily journey over them, then other 
 troubles appeared, obstacles that could not be 
 lifted out of the way with strong arms, but 
 must be thought out of the way by long and 
 patient study, and when, at last, they were over- 
 come, their strength also passed into the mind 
 of him who had conquered them. 
 
 And as the young prince went on, working 
 his way with hands and with mind, he grew 
 stronger and stronger, and happier and happier ; 
 and when he had reached all the riches and the 
 pleasures, he said joyously, " I do not need any 
 of them ; in going to seek them, I have gained 
 something better than them all." 
 
 It is not what a boy has, but what he is, that 
 makes him valuable to the world, and the world 
 valuable to him. 
 
VOCABULARY 
 
 TEN BOYS 
 
 PRONUNCIATION, a, e, i, o, u, as in/ate, mete, site, rope, tube; 5, 
 e, I, 6, u, as in hat, met, bit, not, cut ; a, e, i', o, ii, as mfar, her, fir, nor, 
 cur / a, e, i, o, u, as in mental, travel, peril, idol, forum ; ee, as va. feet ; oa 
 as in hoot ; ou, as in bough ; 6u, as in croup. 
 
 Acropolis, A-crop'-o-lis. 
 
 Afghanistan, Af-ghan-is-tan'. 
 
 Agni, Ag'-nl. 
 
 Ajax, A'-jax. 
 
 Alpha, Al'-pha. 
 
 Alpheus, Al-fe'-us. 
 
 Amyas, Am-yas. 
 
 \pollo, A-polMo. 
 
 Aristodemus, Ar-is-to-de'-mus. 
 
 Aryan, Ar'-yan. 
 
 Aryas, Ar'-yas. 
 
 j thene, A-tha'-na, Athe'-ne. 
 
 Athenian, A-the'-ne-an. 
 
 Atrium, A'-tre-oom. 
 
 Atticus, At'-ti-cus. 
 
 Augurs, Au'-gurs. 
 
 Ave Maria, A-ve Ma-rea, 
 
 prayer. 
 
 Aventine, A'-ven-tme. 
 Babylon, Bab'-y-lon. 
 
 Bacinet, Bak'-e-net. 
 Barbadoes, Bar-ba'-dos. 
 Baryta, Bar'-e-ta. 
 Bellamie, Ber-la-my. 
 Beta, Ba'-ta. 
 Beorn, Ba'-orn. 
 Bevis, Be'-vis. 
 Blouses, Blouz'-es. 
 Boulogne, B66-16n'. 
 Bulla, BoolMa. 
 Cadiz, Ca'-diz. 
 Cadmea, Cad-me'-a. 
 Caius, Ca'-yus. 
 Calpurnius, Cal-piir'-ne-us. 
 Capitoline, Cap-i-to-lm'. 
 Caraccas, Car'-a-cas. 
 Cathay, Cath-a x . 
 Chalons, Sha-long'. 
 Charicles, Kar'-i-cles. 
 Chiton, Ke'-ton. 
 
 241 
 
242 
 
 VOCABULARY 
 
 Chivalry, Shlv'-al-ry. 
 Cleon, Cla'-on. 
 Clermont, Clar'-mont. 
 Clouds-ley, CloudsMy. 
 C lough, Cluf. 
 Cossus, Cos'-soos. 
 Cyrus, Si'-rus. 
 Daldion, Dal'-di-on. 
 Darius, Da-rl'-us. 
 Dasyus, Das-yus. 
 Delphi, Del'-fl. 
 Deradetta, Der'-a-det-ta. 
 Devonshire, Dev'-on-shir. 
 Diana, Di-a'-na. 
 Diogenes, Di-og'-e-nes. 
 Doxio^o, Dox'-j-ns. 
 Drachma, Drak'-ma. 
 Elis, E'-lis. 
 Elric, El'-ric. 
 Erkinnon, Er-kin'-non. 
 Eudexion, U-dex'-i-on. 
 Euphrates, U-fra'-tez. 
 Everhard, Ev'-er-ard. 
 Ezekiel, E-ze'-ke-el. 
 Falcon, Faw'-kn. 
 Fenrir, Fen'-rir. 
 Fitz-Hamo, Fitz-Ha'-rao. 
 Flushinger, Flush'-ing-ger. 
 Friga, Fri'-ga. 
 Galleon, Gal'-le-on. 
 Gamma, Gam'-ma. 
 Geoffrey, Jef'-fry. 
 Glaucon, Glau'-cpn. 
 Golan, GoMan. 
 Grendel, GreV-del. 
 Hengist, Heng'-gist. 
 
 Heron, Her'-onr 
 
 Hersa, Her-sa. 
 
 Hertha, Her-tha. 
 
 Hestia, Hes'-te-a. 
 
 Horatia, Ho-ra'-she-a. 
 
 Horatius, Ho-ra'-she-us. 
 
 Horsa, Hor'-sa. 
 
 Hymettus, Hi-met'-tus. 
 
 Iran, E-ran. 
 
 Ides, Ides. 
 
 Janus, Ja'-nus. 
 
 Janiculum, Ja-nic'-u-lum. 
 
 Jennet, Jen'-net. 
 
 Kablu, Kab'-lu. 
 
 Kalanta, Ka-lan'-ta. 
 
 Kalends, KaMends. 
 
 Lares, La'-rez. 
 
 Levant, Le-vant'. 
 
 Lima Le'-ma. 
 
 Lincolnshire, Ling'-con-shir. 
 
 Lictor, Lic'-tor. 
 
 Lysias, Lys'-i-us. 
 
 Manila, Ma-nll'-a. 
 
 Maius, Ma'-yus. 
 
 Marius, Ma'-re-us. 
 
 Martius, Mar'-she-us. 
 
 Medes, Medes'. 
 
 Meditern..iean, Med-e-ter-ra'-ne 
 
 an. 
 
 Menagerie, Men-a-/ue'r-e. 
 Montain, Mon' in. 
 Morglay, Mor-gla'. 
 Niding, Nid'-ing. 
 Olympia, Ol-ym'-pi-a. 
 Olympiad, O-lym'-pi-ad. 
 Ormuzd, 
 
VOCABULARY 
 
 24? 
 
 Palatine, Pal'-a-tin. 
 Palmata, Pal-ma'-ta. 
 Pater Noster, Pa'-ter Nos'-ter. 
 Papyrus, Pa-py'-rus. 
 Paynim, Pa'-nim. 
 Pedagogue, Ped'-a-gog. 
 Penates, Pen-a'-tes. 
 Phidias, Phid'-e-as. 
 Philemon, Phil'-e,-mon. 
 Picta, Pic'-ta. 
 Pilchards, Pil'-kards. 
 Pistareen, Pis-ta-reen'. 
 Polycles, Pol'-i-cles. 
 Pormont, Por'-mont. 
 Pyrrhic, Pyr'-ric. 
 Quintain, Qum'-tin. 
 Quintilis, Quin-iiK-is. 
 Rio Janeiro, Re'-o Ja-na'-ro. 
 Sagum, Sa'-goom. 
 Scipio, Sip'-i-o. 
 Saracens, vSar'-a-sens. 
 i iturnalia, Sat-ur-naMe-a. 
 Seater, Set'-er. 
 Seax, Sex. 
 Sextilis, Sex-til'-Ts. 
 Sibylline, Sib'-yl-lme. 
 
 Solon, SoMon. 
 
 Straetas, Stre'-tas. 
 
 Stylus, Sty'-lys. 
 
 Scheldt, Shelt. 
 
 Suez, Su-ez'. 
 
 Thanet, Tha'-net. 
 
 Thebes, Thebes'. 
 
 Theognis, The-og'-irf v 
 
 Thorsby, Thors'-by. 
 
 Thratta, Thrat'-ta. 
 
 Tiber, Ti'-ber. 
 
 Toga, T6'-ga. 
 
 Trireme, Tri'-reme. 
 
 Tyr, Toor. 
 
 Uffen, Oof'-fen. 
 
 Valerius, Va-le'-re-us. 
 
 Venison, Ven'-zn. 
 
 Via Sacra, Ve'-a Sa'-cra, 
 
 Vesta, Ves'-ta. 
 
 Wednesday, Wo'-dns-day. 
 
 Wulf, Woolf. 
 
 Zadok, Za'-dok. 
 
 Zend Avesta, Zend A-vest'-a 
 
 Zeus, Ze'-us, Zoos. 
 
 Zimmerman, Zim'-mer-man. 
 
 Zoroaster, Zo-rS-as'-ter. 
 
370 
 
 
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