JOURNEYS THROUGH BOOKLAND

A New and Original Plan For Reading Applied To The World's BestLiterature For Children

BY

CHARLES H. SYLVESTERAuthor of English and American Literature

VOLUME FOUR

CONTENTS

BETTER THAN GOLD . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Father Ryan

My HEART LEAPS UP. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . William Wordsworth

THE BAREFOOT BOY . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. John Greenleaf Whittier

RAIN ON THE ROOF . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Coates Kinney

CID CAMPEADOR

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Oliver Goldsmith

MOTHER'S WAY . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Father Ryan

SONG OF THE BROOK . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Alfred Tennyson

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Grace E. Sellon

FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

To H. W. L. . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. James Russell Lowell

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

A DOG OF FLANDERS . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Louise de la Ramee

ALICE AND PHOEBE CARY . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Anna McCaleb

NEARER HOME . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Phoebe Cary

PICTURES OF MEMORY . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Alice Cary

THE ESCAPE FROM PRISON . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Sir Samuel W. Baker

STORIES OF THE CREATION

THE DEFINITION OF A GENTLEMAN . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Cardinal Newman

THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Alexander Pope

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Robert Browning

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Grace E. Sellon

THE PINE-TREE SHILLINGS. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Nathaniel Hawthorne

LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND . . Felicia Browne Hemans

THE SUNKEN TREASURE . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Nathaniel Hawthorne

THE HUTCHINSON MOB . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Nathaniel Hawthorne

THE BOSTON MASSACRE . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Nathaniel Hawthorne

SHERIDAN'S RIDE . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Thomas Buchanan Read

JOAN OF ARC . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Thomas de Quincey

PANCRATIUS . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Cardinal Wiseman

ALFRED THE GREAT . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Charles Dickens

THE BURIAL OF MOSES . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Cecil Frances Alexander

BERNARDO DEL CARPIO . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Felicia Hemans

DAVID

CHEVY-CHASE . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Richard Sheale

THE ATTACK ON THE CASTLE . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Sir Walter Scott

THE DEATH OF HECTOR . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. From Homer's Iliad

THE WOODEN HORSE . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . From Vergil's Aeneid

JOHN BUNYAN

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. John Bunyan

AWAY . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . James Whitcomb Riley

LITTLE GIFFIN OF TENNESSEE

LITTLE BREECHES . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. John Hay

THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL" . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. W. S. Gilbert

KATEY'S LETTER . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Lady Dufferin

THE ARICKARA INDIANS . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Washington Irving

ILLUSTRATIONS

REBECCA AT THE WINDOW (Color Plate) Louis Grell

THE BAREFOOT BOY Iris Weddell White

RAIN ON THE ROOF Lucille Enders

RODRIGO AND THE LEPER Donn P. Crane

MARTIN PELAEZ SLEW A GOOD KNIGHT Donn P. Crane

ALVAR FANEZ WENT His WAY TO CASTILL Donn P. Crane

THE DEFEAT OF ALMOFALEZ Donn P. Crane

THEY WENT OUT FROM VALENCIA AT MIDNIGHT Donn P. Crane

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW (Halftone)

HOME OF LONGFELLOW AT CAMBRIDGE (Halftone)

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH Herbert N. Rudeen

HE BOUND HER TO THE MAST G. H. Mitchell

RESCUE OF PATRASCHE Holling Clancy

NELLO AND PATRASCHE Holling Clancy

NELLO LEFT HIS PICTURE AT THE DOOR Holling Clancy

ALICE CARY (Halftone)

IN THAT DIM OLD FOREST Mildred Lyon

ANCHOR Louis Grell

HE SLIPPED A GUINEA INTO HER HAND Louis Grell

HE WRENCHED THE BAR ASUNDER Louis Grell

LEONTINE Louis Grell

"WE'VE GOT YOU RATISBON!" Herbert N. Rudeen

HAWTHORNE'S WAYSIDE (Halftone)

HANDFUL AFTER HANDFUL WAS THROWN IN Mildred Lyon

UP CAME TREASURE IN ABUNDANCE Herbert N. Rudeen

"FATHER, DO YOU NOT HEAR?" Herbert N. Rudeen

THE RIOTERS BROKE INTO THE HOUSE Herbert N. Rudeen

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE (Halftone)

THE SOLDIERS FIRED Herbert N. Rudeen

THE STEED SWEPT ON Herbert N. Rudeen

JOAN OF ARC (Halftone)

ALFRED ALLOWS THE CAKES TO BURN Louis Grell

DAVID MEETS GOLIATH Louis Grell

SAUL SOUGHT TO SMITE DAVID Louis Grell

JONATHAN SHOOTS THE ARROWS Louis Grell

DAVID AND JONATHAN Louis Grell

THE MAN RUNNETH ALONE Louis Grell

"IS THE YOUNG MAN, ABSALOM, SAFE?" Louis Grell

IVANHOE WAS IMPATIENT AT HIS INACTIVITY Louis Grell

THE BLACK KNIGHT AT THE GATE OF THE CASTLE Louis Grell

ULRICA LOCKS THE DOOR Louis Grell

BEFORE HIS BREAST THE FLAMING SHIELD HE BEARS Roy Appel

THE WOODEN HORSE Roy Appel

LAOCOÖN (Halftone)

ULYSSES OUTWITTED THE CYCLOPS Arthur Henderson

ULYSSES GAVE THE ARROW WING Arthur Henderson

JOHN BUNYAN (Halftone)

HE LOOKED NOT BEHIND HIM Donn P. Crane

IN THE SLOUGH OR DESPOND Donn P. Crane

THE FIGHT WITH APOLLYON Donn P. Crane

IN DOUBTING CASTLE Donn P. Crane

THE CELESTIAL CITY Donn P. Crane

WENT TEAM, LITTLE BREECHES, AND ALL Herbert N. Rudeen

"FOR DON'T YOU SEE THAT YOU CAN'T COOK ME?" Herbert N. Rudeen

TRADING FOR HORSES R. F. Babcock

RETURN OF THE WARRIORS R. F. Babcock

BETTER THAN GOLD

 Better than grandeur, better than gold, Than rank and titles a thousand fold, Is a healthy body, a mind at ease, And simple pleasures' that always please. A heart that can feel for another's woe, And share his joys with a genial glow, With sympathies large enough to enfold All men as brothers, is better than gold. 

 Better than gold is a conscience clear, Though toiling for bread in an humble sphere, Doubly blessed with content and health, Untried by the lusts and cares of wealth, Lowly living and lofty thought Adorn and ennoble a poor man's cot; For mind and morals in nature's plan Are the genuine tests of a gentleman. 

 Better than gold is the sweet repose Of the sons of toil when the labors close; Better than gold is the poor man's sleep, And the balm that drops on his slumbers deep. Bring sleeping draughts to the downy bed, Where luxury pillows its aching head, The toiler simple opiate deems A shorter route to the land of dreams. 

 Better than gold is a thinking mind, That in the realm of books can find A treasure surpassing Australian ore, And live with the great and good of yore. The sage's lore and the poet's lay, The glories of empires passed away; The world's great drama will thus unfold And yield a pleasure better than gold. 

 Better than gold is a peaceful home Where all the fireside characters come, The shrine of love, the heaven of life, Hallowed by mother, or sister, or wife. However humble the home may be, Or tried with sorrow by heaven's decree, The blessings that never were bought or sold, And center there, are better than gold. 

MY HEART LEAPS UP

_By_ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

 My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky; So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. 

THE BAREFOOT BOY

_By_ JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes;With thy red lip, redder stillKissed by strawberries on the hill;With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace;From my heart I give thee joy, --I was once a barefoot boy!Prince thou art, --the grown-up manOnly is republican. Let the million-dollared ride!Barefoot, trudging at his side, Thou hast more than he can buyIn the reach of ear and eye, --Outward sunshine, inward joy;Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

 O for boyhood's painless play, Sleep that wakes in laughing day, Health that mocks the doctor's rules, Knowledge never learned of schools, Of the wild bee's morning chase, Of the wild flower's time and place, Flight of fowl and habitudeOf the tenants of the wood;How the tortoise bears his shell, How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the ground-mole sinks his well;How the robin feeds her young, How the oriole's nest is hung;Where the whitest lilies blow, Where the freshest berries blow, Where the ground-nut trails its vine, Where the wood-grape's clusters shine;Of the black wasp's cunning way, Mason of his walls of clay, And the architectural plansOf gray hornet artisans!For, eschewing books and tasksNature answers all he asks;

Hand in hand with her he walks, Face to face with her he talks, Part and parcel of her joy, --Blessings on the barefoot boy!

 O for boyhood's time of June, Crowding years in one brief moon, When all things I heard or saw, Me, their master, waited for. I was rich in flowers and trees, Humming-birds and honey-bees;For my sport the squirrel played, Plied the snouted mole his spade;For my taste the blackberry conePurpled over hedge and stone;Laughed the brook for my delightThrough the day and through the night, --Whispering at the garden wall, Talked with me from fall to fall;Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, Mine the walnut slopes beyond, Mine, on bending orchard trees, Apples of Hesperides!Still as my horizon grew, Larger grew my riches too;All the world I saw or knewSeemed a complex Chinese toy, Fashioned for a barefoot boy!

 O for festal dainties spread, Like my bowl of milk and bread;Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, On the door-stone, gray and rude!O'er me, like a regal tent, Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, Looped in many a wind-swung fold;While for music came the playOf the pied frogs' orchestra;And, to light the noisy choir, Lit the fly his lamp of fire. I was monarch: pomp and joyWaited on the barefoot boy!

 Cheerily, then, my little man, Live and laugh, as boyhood can!Though the flinty slopes be hard, Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, Every morn shall lead thee throughFresh baptisms of the dew;Every evening from they feetShall the cool wind kiss the heat;All too soon these feet must hideIn the prison cells of pride, Lose the freedom of the sod, Like a colt's for work be shod, Made to tread the mills of toilUp and down in ceaseless moil:Happy if their track be foundNever on forbidden ground;Happy if they sink not inQuick and treacherous sands of sin. Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy, Ere it passes, barefoot boy!

RAIN ON THE ROOF[Footnote: Coates Kinney, born in New York in 1826, gives this accountof the way in which the song came to be written: "The verses werewritten when I was about twenty years of age, as nearly as I canremember. They were inspired close to the rafters of a little story-and-a-half frame house. The language, as first published, was notcomposed, it came. I had just a little more to do with it than I hadto do with the coming of the rain. This poem, in its entirety, cameto me and asked me to put it down, the next afternoon, in the courseof a solitary and aimless wandering through a summer wood. "]

When the humid showers hover Over all the starry spheresAnd the melancholy darkness Gently weeps in rainy tears, What a bliss to press the pillow Of a cottage-chamber bed, And to listen to the patter Of the soft rain overhead!

Every tinkle on the shingles. Has an echo in the heart:And a thousand dreamy fancies Into busy being start, And a thousand recollections Weave their air-threads into woof, As I listen to the patter Of the rain upon the roof. 

Now in memory comes my mother, As she was long years agone, To regard the darling dreamers Ere she left them till the dawn:O! I see her leaning o'er me, As I list to this refrainWhich is played upon the shingles By the patter of the rain. 

Then my little seraph sister, With her wings and waving hair, And her star-eyed cherub brother-- A serene, angelic pair!--Glide around my wakeful pillow, With their praise or mild reproof, As I listen to the murmur Of the soft rain on the roof. 

Art hath naught of tone or cadence That can work with such a spellIn the soul's mysterious fountains, Whence the tears of rapture well, As that melody of Nature, That subdued, subduing strainWhich is played upon the shingles By the patter of the rain. 

CID CAMPEADOR

INTRODUCTION

The national hero of Spain is universally known as the Cid, and aroundhis name have gathered tales as marvelous as those of King Arthur andhis Knights of the Round Table. Some historians have doubted theexistence of the Cid, while others, whom we may prefer to believe, givehim a distinct place in history. According to the latter, he was adescendant of one of the noblest families of Castile, and as early as1064 his name is mentioned as that of a great warrior. So far as we areconcerned, we need not discuss the matter, for it is our purpose to seehim as a great hero whose name stood for honor and bravery, and whoseinfluence upon the youth of Spain has been wonderful. Accordingly, wemust know the Cid as he appears in song and story rather than as he isknown in history. 

There are several prose chronicles in Spanish, which tell the story ofthe Cid, and numberless poems and legends. The English poet, RobertSouthey, has given us the best translation of these, and from hisfamous work, _Chronicle of the Cid_, we take the selections which areprinted in this volume. According to the Spanish accounts, Rodrigowas born in 1026 in Burgos, the son of Diego Laynez, who was then thehead of the house of Layn Calvo. As a youth he was strong in arms andof high repute among his friends, for he early bestirred himself toprotect the land from the Moors. 

While Rodrigo was still in his early youth, his father was grievouslyinsulted and struck in the face by Count Don Gomez. Diego was a man soold that his strength had passed from him, and he could not takevengeance, but retired to his home to dwell in solitude and lament overhis dishonor. He took no pleasure in his food, neither could he sleepby night nor would he lift up his eyes from the ground, nor stir out ofhis house, nor commune with his friends, but turned from them insilence as if the breath of his shame would taint them. The Count was amighty man in arms and so powerful that he had a thousand friends amongthe mountains. Rodrigo, young as he was, considered this power asnothing when he thought of the wrong done to his father, and determinedto take his own revenge. His father, seeing of how good heart he was, gave him his sword and his blessing. Rodrigo went out, defied theCount, fought with and killed him, and cutting off his head carried ithome. The old man was sitting at table, the food lying before himuntasted, when Rodrigo returned, and, pointing to the head which hungfrom the horse's collar, dropping blood, bade him look up, saying, "Here is the herb which will restore to you your appetite. The tonguewhich insulted you is no longer a tongue, the hand no longer a hand. "Then the old man arose, embraced his son and placed him above him atthe table, saying, "The man who brought home that head must be the headof the house of Layn Calvo. "

At about this time, the king, Don Ferrando, who honors upon Rodrigo forhis success against the Moors, called him to aid against the King ofAragon, who claimed the city of Calahorra, but had consented to let theownership of the city rest upon a trial by combat between two of theirgreatest knights. The King of Aragon chose Don Martin Gonzalez, and DonFerrando, Rodrigo. The latter was well pleased at the prospect of thebattle, but before the day of the combat he started on a pilgrimage, which he had previously vowed. 

[Illustration: RODRIGO AND THE LEPER]

"Rodrigo forthwith set out upon the road, and took with him twentyknights. And as he went he did great good, and gave alms, feeding thepoor and needy. And upon the way they found a leper, struggling in aquagmire, who cried out to them with a loud voice to help him for thelove of God; and when Rodrigo heard this, he alighted from his beastand helped him, and placed him upon the beast before him, and carriedhim with him in this manner to the inn where he took up his lodgingthat night. At this were his knights little pleased. And when supperwas ready he bade his knights take their seats, and he took the leperby the hand, and seated him next himself, and ate with him out of thesame dish. The knights were greatly offended at this foul sight, insomuch that they rose up and left the chamber. But Rodrigo ordered abed to be made ready for himself and for the leper, and they twainslept together. When it was midnight and Rodrigo was fast asleep, theleper breathed against him between his shoulders, and that breath wasso strong that it passed through him, even through his breast; and heawoke, being astounded, and felt for the leper by him, and found himnot; and he began to call him, but there was no reply. Then he arose infear, and called for light, and it was brought him; and he looked forthe leper and could see nothing; so he returned into the bed, leavingthe light burning. And he began to think within himself what hadhappened, and of that breath which had passed through him, and how theleper was not there. After a while, as he was thus musing, thereappeared before him one in white garments, who said unto him, 'Sleepestthou or wakest thou, Rodrigo?' and he answered and said, 'I do notsleep: but who art thou that bringest with thee such brightness and sosweet an odour?' Then said he, 'I am Saint Lazarus, and know that I wasa leper to whom thou didst so much good and so great honour for thelove of God; and because thou didst this for His sake hath God nowgranted thee a great gift; for whensoever that breath which thou hastfelt shall come upon thee, whatever thing thou desirest to do, andshalt then begin, that shalt thou accomplish to thy heart's desire, whether it be in battle or aught else, so that thy honour shall go onincreasing from day to day; and thou shalt be feared both by Moors andChristians, and thy enemies shall never prevail against thee, and thoushalt die an honourable death in thine own house, and in thy renown, for God hath blessed thee, --therefore go thou on, and evermorepersevere in doing good;' and with that he disappeared. And Rodrigoarose and prayed to our lady and intercessor St. Mary, that she wouldpray to her blessed son for him to watch over both his body and soul inall his undertakings; and he continued in prayer till the day broke. Then he proceeded on his way, and performed his pilgrimage, doing muchgood for the love of God and of St. Mary. "

Rodrigo was successful in his combat against Martin Gonzalez, and afterthe death of the latter rose much higher in esteem with King Ferrando. At no time was Rodrigo unworthy of his confidence, so that finally theking knighted him after this manner: The king girded on his sword andgave him the kiss, but not the blow. Usually this blow was given withthe hand upon the neck, at which time the king said, "Awake, and sleepnot in the affairs of knighthood. " The king omitted this, knowing thatRodrigo needed no such command. To do the new knight more honour, thequeen gave him his horse and her daughter fastened on his spurs. Fromthat day he was called Ruydiez. Ruy is merely an abbreviation ofRodrigo, and Ruydiez means Rodrigo the son of Diego. Thereafter theking commanded him to knight nine noble squires with his own hand, andhe took his sword before the altar and knighted them. 

It was soon after this that there came to the king messengers from theMoors, whom Ruydiez had overpowered, all bringing him tribute andpraising the generous treatment he had accorded them after his victory. At the same time they called him _Cid_, which meant _lord_, and fromthis time on by the king's orders Ruydiez vas called _The Cid_, becausethe Moors had so named him. To this name is added the word _Campeador_, which means _The Conqueror_. 

The remaining incidents from the life of The Cid are taken directlyfrom Southey's _Chronicle of the Cid_. 

THE CID MAKES A BRAVE MAN OF A COWARD

Here the history relates that Martin Pelaez, the Asturian, came with aconvoy of laden beasts, carrying provisions to the host of the Cid; andas he passed near the town the Moors sallied out in great numbersagainst him; but he, though he had few with him, defended the convoyright well, and did great hurt to the Moors, slaying many of them, anddrove them into the town. This Martin Pelaez, who is here spoken of, did the Cid make a right good knight of a coward, as ye shall hear. 

When the Cid first began to lay siege to the city of Valencia, thisMartin Pelaez came unto him; he was a knight, a native of Santillana inAsturias, a hidalgo, great of body and strong of limb, a well-made manof goodly semblance, but withal a right coward at heart, which he hadshown in many places when he was among feats of arms. And the Cid wassorry when he came unto him, though he would not let him perceive this;for he knew he was not fit to be of his company. Howbeit he thoughtthat since he was come, he would make him brave, whether he would ornot. 

And when the Cid began to war upon the town, and sent parties againstit twice and thrice a day, as ye have heard, for the Cid was alway uponthe alert, there was fighting and tourneying every day. One day it fellout that the Cid and his kinsmen and friends and vassals were engagedin a great encounter, and this Martin Pelaez was well armed; and whenhe saw that the Moors and Christians were at it, he fled and betookhimself to his lodging, and there hid himself till the Cid returned todinner. And the Cid saw what Martin Pelaez did, and when he hadconquered the Moors he returned to his lodging to dinner. 

Now it was the custom of the Cid to eat at a high table, seated on hisbench, at the head. And Don Alvar Fañez, and Pero Bermudez, and otherprecious knights, ate in another part, at high tables, full honourably, and none other knights whatsoever dared take their seats with them, unless they were such as deserved to be there; and the others who werenot so approved in arms ate upon estrados, at tables with cushions. This was the order in the house of the Cid, and every one knew theplace where he was to sit at meat, and every one strove all he could togain the honour of sitting to eat at the table of Don Alvar Fañez andhis companions, by strenuously behaving himself in all feats of arms;and thus the honour of the Cid was advanced. This Martin Pelaez, thinking that none had seen his badness, washed his hands in turn withthe other knights, and would have taken his place among them. 

And the Cid went unto him, and took him by the hand and said, "You arenot such a one as deserves to sit with these, for they are worth morethan you or than me; but I will have you with me:" and he seated himwith himself at table. 

And he, for lack of understanding, thought that the Cid did this tohonour him above all the others. 

On the morrow the Cid and his company rode towards Valencia, and theMoors came out to the tourney; and Martin Pelaez went out well armed, and was among the foremost who charged the Moors, and when he was inamong them he turned the reins, and went back to his lodging; and theCid took heed to all that he did, and saw that though he had done badlyhe had done better than the first day. 

And when the Cid had driven the Moors into the town he returned to hislodging, and as he sat down to meat he took this Martin Pelaez by thehand, and seated him with himself, and bade him eat with him in thesame dish, for he had deserved more that day than he had the first. 

And the knight gave heed to that saying, and was abashed; howbeit hedid as the Cid commanded him; and after he had dined he went to hislodging and began to think upon what the Cid had said unto him, andperceived that he had seen all the baseness which he had done; and thenhe understood that for this cause he would not let him sit at boardwith the other knights who were precious in arms, but had seated himwith himself, more to affront him than to do him honour, for there wereother knights there better than he, and he did not show them thathonour. Then resolved he in his heart to do better than he had doneheretofore. 

Another day the Cid and his company and Martin Pelaez rode towardValencia, and the Moors came out to the tourney full resolutely, andMartin Pelaez was among the first, and charged them right boldly; andhe smote down and slew presently a good knight, and he lost there allthe bad fear which he had had, and was that day one of the best knightsthere; and as long as the tourney lasted there he remained, smiting andslaying and overthrowing the Moors, till they were driven within thegates, in such manner that the Moors marveled at him, and asked wherethat devil came from, for they had never seen him before. 

And the Cid was in a place where he could see all that was going on, and he gave good heed to him, and had great pleasure in beholding him, to see how well he had forgotten the great fear which he was wont tohave. And when the Moors were shut up within the town, the Cid and allhis people returned to their lodging, and Martin Pelaez full leisurelyand quietly went to his lodging also, like a good knight. 

[Illustration: MARTIN PELAEZ SLEW A GOOD KNIGHT]

And when it was the hour of eating, the Cid waited for Martin Pelaez;and when he came, and they had washed, the Cid took him by the hand andsaid, "My friend, you are not such a one as deserves to sit with mefrom henceforth, but sit you here with Don Alvar Fañez, and with theseother good knights, for the good feats which you have done this dayhave made you a companion for them"; and from that day forward he wasplaced in the company of the good. 

And the history saith that from that day forward this knight, MartinPelaez, was a right good one, and a right valiant, and a rightprecious, in all places where he chanced among feats of arms, and helived alway with the Cid, and served him right well and truly. And thehistory saith, that after the Cid had won the city of Valencia, on theday when they conquered and, discomfited the king of Seville, thisMartin Pelaez was so good a one, that setting aside the body of the Cidhimself, there was no such good knight there, nor one who bore suchpart, as well in the battle as in the pursuit. And so great was themortality which he made among the Moors that day, that when he returnedfrom the business the sleeves of his mail were clotted with blood, upto the elbow; insomuch that for what he did that day his name iswritten in this history, that it may never die. 

And when the Cid saw him come in that guise, he did him great honour, such as he never had done to any knight before that day, and fromthenceforward gave him a place in all his actions and in all hissecrets, and he was his great friend. In this knight Martin Pelaez wasfulfilled the example which saith, that he who betaketh himself to agood tree, hath good shade, and he who serves a good lord winneth goodguerdon; for by reason of the good service which he did the Cid, hecame to such good state that he was spoken of as ye have heard; for theCid knew how to make a good knight, as a good groom knows how to make agood horse. 

THE CID DEFEATS TWO MOORISH KINGS

And my Cid lay before Alcocer fifteen weeks; and when he saw that thetown did not surrender, he ordered his people to break up their camp, as if they were flying, and they left one of their tents behind them, and took their way along the Salon, with their banners spread. And whenthe Moors saw this they rejoiced greatly, and there was a great stiramong them, and they praised themselves for what they had done inwithstanding him, and said that the Cid's bread and barley had failedhim, and he had fled away, and left one of his tents behind him. Andthey said among themselves, "Let us pursue them and spoil them, for ifthey of Teruel should be before us, the honour and the profit will betheirs, and we shall have nothing. " And they went out after him, greatand little, leaving the gates open and shouting as they went; and therewas not left in the town a man who could bear arms. 

And when my Cid saw them coming he gave orders to quicken their speed, as if he was in fear, and would not let his people turn till the Moorswere far enough from the town. But when he saw that there was a gooddistance between them and the gates, then he bade his banner turn, andspurred towards them, crying, "Lay on, knights, by God's mercy thespoil is our own. " God! what a good joy was theirs that morning! MyCid's vassals laid on without mercy--in one hour, and in a littlespace, three hundred Moors were slain, and the Cid and Alvar Fañez hadgood horses and got between them and the castle, and stood in thegateway sword in hand, and there was a great mortality among the Moors;and my Cid won the place, and Pero Bermudez planted his banner upon thehighest point of the castle. And the Cid said, "Blessed be God and allhis saints, we have bettered our quarters both for horses and men. "

And he said to Alvar Fañez and all his knights, "Hear me, we shall getnothing by killing these Moors; let us take them and they shall show ustheir treasures which they have hidden in their houses, and we willdwell here and they shall serve us. " In this manner did my Cid winAlcocer, and take up his abode therein. 

Much did this trouble the Moors of Teca, and it did not please those ofTeruel, nor of Calatayud. And they sent to the king of Valencia to tellhim that one who was called Ruydiez the Cid, whom King Don Alfonso hadbanished, was come into their country, and had taken Alcocer; and if astop were not put to him, the king might look upon Teca and Teruel andCalatayud as lost, for nothing could stand against him, and he hadplundered the whole country, along the Salon on the one side, and theSiloca on the other. When the king of Valencia, whose name was Alcamin, heard this, he was greatly troubled; and incontinently he spake untotwo Moorish kings, who were his vassals, bidding them take threethousand horsemen, and all the men of the border, and bring the Cid tohim alive, that he might make atonement to him for having entered hisland. 

Fariz and Galve were the names of these two Moorish kings and they setout with companies of King Alcamin from Valencia, and halted the firstnight in Segorve, and the second night at Celfa de Canal. And they senttheir messengers through the land to all the Councils thereof, orderingall men at arms, as well horsemen as footmen, to join them, and thethird night they halted at Calatayud, and great numbers joined them;and they came up against Alcocer, and pitched their tents round aboutthe castle. Every day their host increased, for their people were manyin number, and their watchmen kept watch day and night; and my Cid hadno succour to look for except the mercy of God, in which he put histrust. And the Moors beset them so close that they cut off their water, and albeit the Castillians would have sallied against them, my Cidforbade this. In this guise were my Cid and his people besieged forthree weeks, and when the fourth week began, he called for Alvar Fañez, and for his company, and said unto them, "Ye see that the Moors havecut off our water, and we have but little bread; they gather numbersday by day, and we become weak, and they are in their own country. Ifwe would depart they would not let us, and we cannot go out by nightbecause they have beset us round about on all sides, and we cannot passon high through the air, neither through the earth which is underneath. Now then, if it please you, let us go out and fight with them, thoughthey are many in number, and either defeat them or die an honourabledeath. "

Then Minaya answered and said, "We have left the gentle land ofCastille, and are come hither as banished men, and if we do not beatthe Moors they will not give us food*. Now though we are but few, yetare we of a good stock, and of one heart and one will; by God's helplet us go out and smite them to-morrow, early in the morning, and youwho are not in a state of penitence go and shrieve yourselves andrepent ye of your sins. " And they all held that what Alvar Fañez hadsaid was good. And my Cid answered, "Minaya, you have spoken as youshould do. " Then ordered he all the Moors, both men and women, to bethrust out of the town, that it might not be known what they werepreparing to do; and the rest of that day and the night also theypassed in making ready for the battle. And on the morrow at sunrise theCid gave his banner to Pero Bermudez, and bade him bear it boldly likea good man as he was, but he charged him not to thrust forward with itwithout his bidding. And Pero Bermudez kissed his hand, being wellpleased. Then leaving only two foot soldiers to keep the gates, theyissued out; and the Moorish scouts saw them and hastened to the camp. Then was there such a noise of tambours as if the earth would have beenbroken, and the Moors armed themselves in great haste. Two royalbanners were there, and five city ones, and they drew up their men intwo great bodies, and moved on, thinking to take my Cid and all hiscompany alive; and my Cid bade his men remain still and not move tillhe should bid them. 

Pero Bermudez could not bear this, but holding the banner in his hand, he cried, "God help you, Cid Campeador; I shall put your banner in themiddle of that main body; and you who are bound to stand by it--I shallsee how you will succour it. " And he began to prick forward. And theCampeador called unto him to stop as he loved him, but Pero Bermudezreplied he would stop for nothing, and away he spurred and carried hisbanner into the middle of the great body of the Moors. And the Moorsfell upon him, that they might win the banner, and beset him on allsides, giving him many great blows to beat him down; nevertheless hisarms were proof, and they could not pierce them, neither could theybeat him down, nor force the banner from him, for he was a right braveman, and a strong, and a good horseman, and of great heart. And whenthe Cid saw him thus beset he called to his people to move on and helphim. Then placed they their shields before their hearts, and loweredtheir lances with the streamers thereon, and bending forward, rode on. Three hundred lances were they, each with its pendant, and every man atthe first charge slew his Moor. "Smite them, knights, for the love ofcharity, " cried the Campeador. "I am Ruydiez, the Cid of Bivar!"

Many a shield was pierced that day, and many a false corselet wasbroken, and many a white streamer dyed with blood, and many a horseleft without a rider. The Misbelievers called on Mahomet, and theChristians on Santiago, and the noise of the tambours and of thetrumpets was so great that none could hear his neighbour. And my Cidand his company succoured Pero Bermudez, and they rode through the hostof the Moors, slaying as they went, and they rode back again in likemanner; thirteen hundred did they kill in this guise. Wherever my Cidwent, the Moors made a path before him, for he smote them down withoutmercy. And while the battle still continued, the Moors killed the horseof Alvar Fañez, and his lance was broken, and he fought bravely withhis sword afoot. And my Cid, seeing him, came up to an Alguazil whorode upon a good horse, and smote him with his sword under the rightarm, so that he cut him through and through, and he gave the horse toAlvar Fañez saying, "Mount, Minaya, for you are my right hand. "

When Alvar Fañez was thus remounted, they fell upon the Moors again, and by this time the Moors were greatly disheartened, having sufferedso great loss, and they began to give way. And my Cid, seeing KingFariz, made towards him, smiting down all who were in his way; and hecame up to him, and made three blows at him; two of them failed, butthe third was a good one, and went through his cuirass, so that theblood ran down his legs. And with that blow was the army of the Moorsvanquished, for King Fariz, feeling himself so sorely wounded, turnedhis reins and fled out of the field, even to Teruel. And MartinAntolinez, the good Burgalese, came up to King Galve, and gave him astroke on the head, which scattered all the carbuncles out of hishelmet, and cut through it even to the skin; and the king did not waitfor another such, and he fled also. A good day was that forChristendom, for the Moors fled on all sides. King Fariz got intoTeruel, and King Galve fled after him, but they would not receive himwithin the gates, and he went on to Calatayud. And the Christianspursued them even to Calatayud. And Alvar Fañez had a good horse; fourand thirty did he slay in that pursuit with the edge of his keen sword, and his arm was all red, and the blood dropt from his elbow. And as hewas returning from the spoil he said, "Now am I well pleased, for goodtidings will go to Castille, how my Cid has won a battle in the field. "My Cid also turned back; his coif was wrinkled, and you might see hisfull beard; the hood of his mail hung down upon his shoulders, and thesword was still in his hand. He saw his people returning from thepursuit, and that of all his company fifteen only of the lower sortwere slain, and he gave thanks to God for this victory. Then they fellto the spoil, and they found arms in abundance, and great store ofwealth; and five hundred and ten horses. And he divided the spoil, giving to each man his fair portion, and the Moors whom they had putout of Alcocer before the battle, they now received again into thecastle, and gave to them also a part of the booty, so that all werewell content. And my Cid had great joy with his vassals. 

Then the Cid called unto Alvar Fañez and said, "Cousin, you are myright hand, and I hold it good that you should take of my fifth as muchas you will, for all would be well bestowed upon you;" but Minayathanked him, and said, that he would take nothing more than his share. And the Cid said unto him, "I will send King Don Alfonso a present frommy part of the spoils. You shall go into Castille, and take with youthirty horses, the best which were taken from the Moors, all bridledand saddled, and each having a sword hanging from the saddle-bow; andyou shall give them to the King, and kiss his hand for me, and tell himthat we know how to make our way among the Moors. And you shall takealso this bag of gold and silver, and purchase for me a thousand massesin Saint Mary's at Burgos, and hang up there these banners of theMoorish kings whom we hare overcome. Go then to Saint Pedro's atCardena, and salute my wife Doña Ximena, and my daughters, and tellthem how well I go on, and that if I live I will make them rich women. And salute for me the Abbot Don Sebuto, and give him fifty marks ofsilver; and the rest of the money, whatever shall be left, give to mywife, and bid them all pray for me. " Moreover the Cid said unto him, "This country is all spoiled, and we have to help ourselves with swordand spear. You are going to gentle Castille; if when you return youshould not find us here, you will hear where we are. "

[Illustration: ALVAR FAÑEZ WENT HIS WAY TO CASTILLE]

Alvar Fañez went his way to Castille, and he found the king inValladolid, and he presented to him the thirty horses, with all theirtrappings, and swords mounted with silver hanging from the saddle-bows. And when the king saw them, before Alvar Fañez could deliver hisbidding, he said unto him, "Minaya, who sends me this goodly present?"And Minaya answered, "My Cid Ruydiez, the Campeador, sends it, andkisses by me your hands. For since you were wroth against him, andbanished him from the land, he being a man disherited, hath helpedhimself with his own hands, and hath won from the Moors the Castle ofAlcocer. And the king of Valencia sent two kings to besiege him there, with all his power, and they begirt him round about, and cut off thewater and bread from us so that we could not subsist. And then holdingit better to die like good men in the field, than shut up like badones, we went out against them, and fought with them in the open field, and smote them and put them to flight; and both the Moorish kings weresorely wounded, and many of the Moors were slain, and many were takenprisoners, and great was the spoil which we won in the field, both ofcaptives and of horses and arms, gold and silver and pearls, so thatall who are with him are rich men. And of his fifth of the horses whichwere taken that day, my Cid hath sent you these, as to his naturallord, whose favour he desireth. I beseech you, as God shall help you, show favour unto him. "

Then King Don Alfonso answered, "This is betimes in the morning for abanished man to ask favour of his lord; nor is it befitting a king, forno lord ought to be wroth for so short a time. Nevertheless, becausethe horses were won from the Moors, I will take them, and rejoice thatmy Cid hath sped so well. And I pardon you, Minaya, and give again untoyou all the lands which you have ever held of me, and you have myfavour to go when you will, and come when you will. Of the CidCampeador, I shall say nothing now, save only that all who chuse tofollow him may freely go, and their bodies and goods and heritages aresafe. " And Minaya said, "God grant you many and happy years for hisservice. Now I beseech you, this which you have done for me, do also toall those who are in my Cid's company, and show favour unto them. " Andthe king gave order that it should be so. Then Minaya kissed the king'shand and said, "Sir, you have done this now, and you will do the resthereafter. "

In three weeks time after this came Alvar Fañez from Castille. Twohundred men of lineage came with him, every one of whom wore sword girtto his side, and the foot soldiers in their company were out of number. When my Cid saw Minaya he rode up to him, and embraced him withoutspeaking, and kissed his mouth and the eyes in his head. And Minayatold him all that he had done. And the face of the Campeadorbrightened, and he gave thanks to God, and said, "It will go well withme, Minaya, as long as you, live!" God, how joyful was that whole hostbecause Alvar Fañez was returned! for he brought them greetings fromtheir kinswomen and their brethren, and the fair comrades whom they hadleft behind. God, how joyful was my Cid with the fleecy beard, thatMinaya had purchased the thousand masses, and had brought him thebiddings of his wife and daughters! God, what a joyful man was he!

THE CID DOES BATTLE WITH DON RAMON BERENGUER

When Don Ramon Berenguer the Count of Barcelona heard how my Cid wasoverrunning the country, it troubled him to the heart, and he held itfor a great dishonour, because that part of the land of the Moors wasin his keeping. And he spake boastfully, saying, "Great wrong doth thatCid of Bivar offer unto me; he smote my nephew in my own court andnever would make amends for it, and now he ravages the lands which arein my keeping, and I have never defied him for this nor renounced hisfriendship; but since he goes on in this way I must take vengeance. " Sohe and King Abenalfange gathered together a great power both of Moorsand Christians, and went in pursuit of the Cid, and after three daysand two nights they came up with him in the pine-forest of Tebar, andthey came on confidently, thinking to lay hands on him. Now my Cid wasreturning with much spoil, and had descended from the Sierra into thevalley when tidings were brought him that Count Don Ramon Berenguer andthe King of Denia were at hand, with a great power, to take away hisbooty, and take or slay him. And when the Cid heard this he sent to DonRamon saying, that the booty which he had won was none of his, andbidding him let him go on his way in peace; but the Count made answer, that my Cid should now learn whom he had dishonoured, and make amendsonce for all. 

Then my Cid sent the booty forward, and bade his knights make ready. "They are coming upon us, " said he, "with a great power, both of Moorsand Christians, to take from us the spoils which we have so hardly won, and without doing battle we cannot be quit of them; for if we shouldproceed they would follow till they overtook us; therefore let thebattle he here, and I trust in God that we shall win more honour, andsomething to boot. They came down the hill, drest in their hose, withtheir gay saddles, and their girths wet; we are with our hose coveredand on our Galician saddles; a hundred such as we ought to beat theirwhole company. Before they get upon the plain ground let us give themthe points of our lances; for one whom we run through, three will jumpout of their saddles; and Ramon Berenguer will then see whom he hasovertaken to-day in the pine-forest of Tebar, thinking to despoil himof the booty which I have won from the enemies of God and of thefaith. "

While my Cid was speaking, his knights had taken their arms, and wereready on horseback for the charge. Presently they saw the pendants ofthe Frenchmen coming down the hill, and when they were nigh the bottom, my Cid bade his people charge, which they did with a right good will, thrusting their spears so stiffly that by God's good pleasure not a manwhom they encountered but lost his seat. So many were slain and so manywounded that the Moors were dismayed forthwith, and began to fly. TheCount's people stood firm a little longer, gathering round their Lord;but my Cid was in search of him, and when he saw where he was, he madeup to him, clearing the way as he went, and gave him such a stroke withhis lance that he felled him down to the ground. When the Frenchmen sawtheir Lord in this plight they fled away and left him; and the pursuitlasted three leagues, and would have been continued farther if theconquerors had not had tired horses. So they turned back and collectedthe spoils, which were more than they could carry away. Thus was CountRamon Berenguer made prisoner, and my Cid won from him that day thegood sword Colada, which was worth more than a thousand marks ofsilver. 

That night did my Cid and his men make merry, rejoicing over theirgains. And the Count was taken to my Cid's tent, and a good supper wasset before him; nevertheless he would not eat, though my Cid besoughthim so to do. And on the morrow my Cid ordered a feast to be made, thathe might do pleasure to the Count, but the Count said that for allSpain he would not eat one mouthful, but rather die, since he had beenbeaten in battle by such a set of ragged fellows. 

And Ruydiez said to him, "Eat and drink, Count, of this bread and ofthis wine, for this is the chance of war; if you do as I say you shallbe free; and if not you will never return again into your own lands. "And Don Ramon answered, "Eat you, Don Rodrigo, for your fortune is fairand you deserve it; take you your pleasure, but leave me to die. " Andin this mood he continued for three days, refusing all food. 

But then my Cid said to him, "Take food, Count, and be sure that I willset you free, you and any two of your knights, and give you wherewithto return into your own country. " And when Don Ramon heard this, hetook comfort and said, "If you will indeed do this thing I shall marvelat you as long as I live. " "Eat then, " said Ruydiez, "and I will do it;but mark you, of the spoil which we have taken from you I will give younothing; for to that you have no claim, neither by right nor custom, and besides we want it for ourselves, being banished men, who must liveby taking from you and from others as long as it shall please God. "

Then was the Count full joyful, being well pleased that what should begiven him was not of the spoils which he had lost; and he called forwater and washed his hands, and chose two of his kinsmen to be set freewith him; the one was named Don Hugo, and the other Guillen Bernalto. 

And my Cid sate at the table with them, and said, "If you do not eatwell, Count, you and I shall not part yet. " Never since he was Countdid he eat with better will than that day! And when they had done hesaid, "Now, Cid, if it be your pleasure let us depart. " And my Cidclothed him and his kinsmen well with goodly skins and mantles, andgave them each a goodly palfrey, with rich caparisons, and he rode outwith them on their way. And when he took leave of the Count he said tohim, "Now go freely, and I thank you for what you have left behind; ifyou wish to play for it again let me know, and you shall either havesomething back in its stead, or leave what you bring to be added toit. "

The Count answered, "Cid, you jest safely now, for I have paid you andall your company for this twelvemonths, and shall not be coming to seeyou again so soon. "

Then Count Ramon pricked on more than apace, and many times lookedbehind him, fearing that my Cid would repent what he had done, and sendto take him back to prison, which the Perfect one would not have donefor the whole world, for never did he do disloyal thing. 

THE CID PUNISHES ALMOFALEZ, AND IS RECONCILED TO THE KING

Now Zulema had sent for my Cid, and the cause was this. His brother, the King of Denia, had taken counsel with Count Ramon Berenguer, andwith the Count of Cardona, and with the brother of the Count of Urgel, and with the chiefs of Balsadron and Remolin and Cartaxes, that theyshould besiege the Castle of Almenar, which my Cid had fortified bycommand of King Zulema. And they came up against it while my Cid wasaway, besieging the Castle of Estrada, which is in the rivers Tiegioand Sege, the which he took by force. And they fought against it andcut off the water. And when my Cid came to the king at Tamarit, theking asked him to go and fight with the host which besieged Almenar;but my Cid said it would be better to give something to KingAbenalfange that he should break up the siege and depart; for they weretoo great a power to do battle with, being as many in number as thesands on the sea shore. And the King did as he counselled him, and sentto his brother King Abenalfange, and to the chiefs who were with him, to propose this accord, and they would not. 

Then my Cid, seeing that they would not depart for fair means, armedhis people, and fell upon them. That was a hard battle and well foughton both sides, and much blood was shed, for many good knights on eitherparty were in the field; howbeit he of good fortune won the day atlast, he who never was conquered. King Abenalfange and Count Ramon andmost of the others fled, and my Cid followed, smiting and slaying forthree leagues; and many good Christian knights were made prisoners. Ruydiez returned with great honour and much spoil, and gave all hisprisoners to King Zulema, who kept them eight days, and then my Cidbegged their liberty and set them free. And he and the king returned toZaragoza, and the people came out to meet them, with great joy, andshouts of welcome. And the king honoured my Cid greatly, and gave himpower in all his dominions. 

At this time it came to pass that Almofalez, a Moor of Andalusia, roseup with the Castle of Rueda, which was held for King Don Alfonso. Andbecause he held prisoner there the brother of Adefir, another Moor, Adefir sent to the King of Castille, beseeching him to come to succourhim, and recover the Castle. And the King sent the Infante Don Ramirohis cousin, and the Infante Don Sancho, son to the King of Navarre, andCount Don Gonzalo Salvadores, and Count Don Nuño Alvarez, and manyother knights with them: and they came to the Castle, and Almofalezsaid he would not open the gates to them, but if the king came he wouldopen to him. And when King Don Alfonso heard this, incontinently hecame to Rueda. And Almofalez besought him to enter to a feast which hehad prepared; howbeit the King would not go in, neither would hispeople have permitted him so to have risked his person. But the InfanteDon Sancho entered, and Don Nuño, and Don Ganzalo, and fifteen otherknights; and as soon as they were within the gate, the Moors threw downgreat stones upon them and killed them all. This was the end of thegood Count Don Gonzalo Salvadores, who was so good a knight in battlethat he was called "He of the Four Hands. " The bodies were ransomed, seeing that there was no remedy, the Castle being so strong, and DonGonzalo was buried in the Monastery of Ona, according as he hadappointed in his will; and the Infante Don Sancho with his forefathersthe Kings of Navarre, in the royal Monastery of Naxara. 

Greatly was King Don Alfonso troubled at this villainy, and he soughtfor the Cid, who was in those parts; and the Cid came to him with agreat company. And the king told him the great treason which had beencommitted, and took the Cid into his favour, and said unto him that hemight return with him into Castille. My Cid thanked him for his bounty, but he said he never would accept his favour unless the king grantedwhat he should request; and the king bade him make his demand. And myCid demanded that when any hidalgo should be banished, in time to come, he should have the thirty days, which were his right, allowed him, andnot nine only, as had been his case; and that neither hidalgo norcitizen should be proceeded against till they had been fairly andlawfully heard: also, that the king should not go against theprivileges and charters and good customs of any town or other place, nor impose taxes upon them against their right; and if he did, that itshould be lawful for the land to rise against him, till he had amendedthe misdeed. 

And to all this the king accorded, and said to my Cid that he should goback into Castille with him; but my Cid said he would not go intoCastille till he had won that castle of Rueda, and delivered thevillainous Moors thereof into his hands, that he might do justice uponthem. 

So the king thanked him greatly, and returned into Castille, and my Cidremained before the castle of Rueda. And he lay before it so long, andbeset it so close, that the food of the Moors failed, and they had nostrength to defend themselves; and they would willingly have yieldedthe castle, so they might have been permitted to leave it and gowhither they would; but he would have their bodies, to deliver them upto the king. When they saw that it must be so, great part of them cameout, and yielded themselves prisoners; and then my Cid stormed thecastle and took Almofalez and them who held with him, so that noneescaped; and he sent him and his accomplices in the treason to theking. And the king was right glad when they were brought before him, and he did great justice upon them, and sent to thank my Cid for havingavenged him. 

[Illustration: The Defeat of Almofalez]

After my Cid had done this good service to King Don Alfonso, he andKing Zulema of Zaragoza entered Aragon, slaying, and burning, andplundering before them, and they returned to the Castle of Monzon withgreat booty. Then the Cid went into King Abenalfange's country, and didmuch mischief there: and he got among the mountains of Moriella, andbeat down everything before him, and destroyed the Castle of Moriella. And King Zulema sent to bid him build up the ruined Castle of Alcala, which is upon Moriella; and the Cid did so. But King Abenalfange, beingsorely grieved hereat, sent to King Pedro of Aragon, and besought himto come and help him against the Campeador. And the king of Aragongathered together a great host in his anger, and he and the king ofDenia came against my Cid, and they halted that night upon the banks ofthe Ebro; and King Don Pedro sent letters to the Cid, bidding him leavethe castle which he was then edifying. My Cid made answer, that if theking chose to pass that way in peace, he would let him pass, and showhim any service in his power. And when the king of Aragon saw that hewould not forsake the work, he marched against him, and attacked him. Then there was a brave battle, and many were slain; but my Cid won theday, and King Abenalfange fled, and King Don Pedro was taken prisoner, and many of his counts and knights with him. My Cid returned toZaragoza with this great honour, taking his prisoners with him; and heset them all freely at liberty, and having tarried in Zaragoza a fewdays, set forth for Castille, with great riches and full of honours. 

Having done all these things in his banishment, my Cid returned toCastille, and the king received him well and gave him the Castle ofDueñas, and of Orcejon, and Ybia, and Campo, and Gaña, and Berviesca, and Berlanga, with all their districts. And he gave him privileges withleaden seals appendant, and confirmed with his own hand, that whatevercastles, towns, and places he might win from the Moors, or from any oneelse, should be his own, quit and free for ever, both for him and forhis descendants. Thus was my Cid received into the king's favour, andhe abode with him long time, doing him great services, as his Lord. 

THE DEATH OF THE CID

It is written in the history which Abenalfarax, the nephew of Gil Diaz, composed in Valencia, that for five years the Cid Ruydiez remained Lordthereof in peace, and in all that time he sought to do nothing but toserve God, and to keep the Moors quiet who were under his dominion; sothat Moors and Christians dwelt together in such accord that it seemedas if they had always been united; and they all loved and served theCid with such good will that it was marvelous. And when these fiveyears were over tidings were spread far and near, which reachedValencia, that King Bucar, the Miramamolin of Morocco, holding himselfdisgraced because the Cid Campeador had conquered him in the field ofQuarto near unto Valencia, where he had slain or made prisoners all hispeople, and driven him into the sea, and made spoil of all histreasures--King Bucar calling these things to mind, had gone himselfand stirred up the whole Paganism of Barbary to cross the sea again, and avenge himself if he could; and he had assembled so great a powerthat no man could devise their numbers. 

When the Cid heard these tidings he was troubled at heart; howbeit hedissembled this, so that no person knew what he was minded to do; andthus the matter remained for some days. And when he saw that the newscame thicker and faster, and that it was altogether certain that KingBucar was coming over sea against him, he sent and bade all the Moorsof Valencia assemble together in his presence, and when they were allassembled he said unto them, "Good men of the Aljama, ye well know thatfrom the day wherein I became Lord of Valencia, ye have always beenprotected and defended, and have past your time well and peaceably inyour houses and heritages, none troubling you nor doing you wrong;neither have I who am your Lord ever done aught unto you that wasagainst right. And now true tidings are come to me that King Bucar ofMorocco is arrived from beyond sea, with a mighty power of Moors, andthat he is coming against me to take from me this city which I won withso great labour. Now therefore, seeing it is so, I hold it good andcommand that ye quit the town, both ye and your sons and your women, and go into the suburb of Alcudia and the other suburbs, to dwell therewith the other Moors, till we shall see the end of this businessbetween me and King Bucar. " Then the Moors, albeit they were loath, obeyed his command: and when they were all gone out of the city, sothat none remained, he held himself safer than he had done before. 

Now after the Moors were all gone out of the city, it came to pass inthe middle of the night that the Cid was lying in his bed, devising howhe might withstand this coming of King Bucar, for Abenalfarax saiththat when he was alone in his palace his thoughts were of nothing else. And when it was midnight there came a great light into the palace, anda great odour, marvelous sweet. And as he was marveling what it mighthe, there appeared before him a man as white as snow; he was in thelikeness of an old man, with gray hair and crisp, and he carriedcertain keys in his hand; and before the Cid could speak to him hesaid, "Sleepest thou, Rodrigo, or what art thou doing?" And the Cidmade answer, "What man art thou who askest me?" And he said, "I amPeter, the Prince of the Apostles, who come unto thee with more urgenttidings than those for which thou art taking thought concerning KingBucar, and it is, that thou art to leave this world, and go to thatwhich hath no end; and this will be in thirty days. But God will showfavour unto thee, so that thy people shall discomfit King Bucar, andthou, being dead, shalt win this battle for the honour of thy body:this will be with the help of Santiago, whom God will send to thebusiness; but do thou strive to make atonement for thy sins, and sothou shalt be saved. All this Jesus Christ vouchsafeth thee for thelove of me, and for the reverence which thou hast alway shown to myChurch. "

When the Cid Campeador heard this he had great pleasure at heart, andhe let himself fall out of bed upon the earth, that he might kiss thefeet of the Apostle St. Peter; but the Apostle said, "Strive not to dothis, for thou canst not touch me; but be sure that all this which Ihave told thee will come to pass. " And when the blessed Apostle hadsaid this he disappeared, and the palace remained full of a sweeter andmore delightful odour than heart of man can conceive. And the CidRuydiez remained greatly comforted by what St. Peter had said to him, and as certain that all this would come to pass, as if it were alreadyover. 

Early on the morrow he sent to call all his honourable men to theAlcazar; and when they were all assembled before him, he began to sayunto them, weeping the while, "Friends and kinsmen and true vassals andhonourable men, many of ye must well remember when King Don Alfonso ourLord twice banished me from this land, and most of ye for the lovewhich ye bore me followed me into banishment, and have guarded me eversince. And God hath shown such mercy to you and to me, that we have wonmany battles against Moors and Christians; those which were againstChristians, God knows, were more through their fault than my will, forthey strove to set themselves against the good fortune which God hadgiven me, and to oppose his service, helping the enemies of the faith. Moreover we won this city in which we dwell, which is not under thedominion of any man in the world, save only my Lord the King DonAlfonso, and that rather by reason of our natural allegiance than ofanything else. And now I would have ye know the state in which thisbody of mine now is; for be ye certain that I am in the latter days ofmy life, and that thirty days hence will be my last. Of this I am wellassured; for for these seven nights past I have seen visions. I haveseen my father Diego Laynez and Diego Rodriguez my son; and every timethey say to me, 'You have tarried long here, let us go now among thepeople who endure for ever. ' Now, notwithstanding man ought not to puthis trust in these things, nor in such visions, I know this by othermeans to be certain, for Sir St. Peter hath appeared to me this night, when I was awake and not sleeping, and he told me that when thesethirty days were over I should pass away from this world. Now ye knowfor certain that King Bucar is coming against us, and they say thatthirty and six Moorish kings are coming with him; and since he bringethso great a power of Moors and I have to depart so soon, how can yedefend Valencia! But be ye certain, that by the mercy of God I shallcounsel ye so that ye shall conquer King Bucar in the field, and wingreat praise and honour from him, and Doña Ximena, and ye and all thatye have, go hence in safety; how ye are to do all this I will tell yehereafter, before I depart. "

After the Cid said this he sickened of the malady of which he died. Andthe day before his weakness waxed great, he ordered the gates of thetown to be shut, and went to the Church of St. Peter; and there theBishop Don Hieronymo being present, and all the clergy who were inValencia, and the knights and honourable men and honourable dames, asmany as the Church could hold, the Cid Ruydiez stood up, and made afull noble preaching, showing that no man whatsoever, howeverhonourable or fortunate they may be in this world, can escape death;"to which, " said he, "I am now full near; and since ye know that thisbody of mine hath never yet been conquered, nor put to shame, I beseechye let not this befall it at the end, for the good fortune of man isonly accomplished at his end. How this is to be done, and what we allhave to do, I will leave in the hands of the Bishop of Don Hieronymo, and Alvar Fañez, and Pero Bermudez. " And when he had said this heplaced himself at the feet of the Bishop, and there before all thepeople made a general confession of all his sins, and all the faultswhich he had committed against our Lord Jesus Christ. And the Bishopappointed him his penance and assoyled him of his sins. 

Then he arose and took leave of the people, weeping plenteously, andreturned to the Alcazar, and betook himself to his bed, and never rosefrom it again; and every day he waxed weaker and weaker, till sevendays only remained of the time appointed. Then he called for thecaskets of gold in which was the balsam and the myrrh which the Soldanof Persia had sent him; and when these were put before him he bade thembring him the golden cup, of which he was wont to drink; and he took ofthat balsam and of that myrrh as much as a little spoonful, and mingledit in the cup with rose-water and drank of it; and for the seven dayswhich he lived he neither ate nor drank aught else than a little ofthat myrrh and balsam mingled with water. And every day after he didthis, his body and his countenance appeared fairer and fresher thanbefore, and his voice clearer, though he waxed weaker and weaker daily, so that he could not move in his bed. 

On the twenty-ninth day, being the day before he departed, he calledfor Dona Ximena, and for the Bishop Don Hieronymo, and Don Alvar FañezMinaya, and Pero Bermudez, and his trusty Gil Diaz; and when they wereall five before him, he began to direct them what they should do afterhis death; and he said to them:

"Ye know that King Bucar will presently be here to besiege this city, with seven and thirty Kings, whom he bringeth with him, and with amighty power of Moors. 

"Now, therefore, the first thing which ye do after I have departed, wash my body with rose-water many times and well, as blessed be thename of God it is washed within and made pure of all uncleanness toreceive his holy body to-morrow, which will be my last day. And when ithas been well washed and made clean, ye shall dry it well, and anointit with this myrrh and balsam, from these golden caskets, from head tofoot, so that every part shall be anointed, till none be left. 

"And you my Sister Doña Ximena, and your women, see that ye utter nocries, neither make any lamentation for me, that the Moors may not knowof my death. And when the day shall come in which King Bucar arrives, order all the people of Valencia to go upon the walls, and sound yourtrumpets and tambours, and make the greatest rejoicings that ye can. 

"And when ye would set out for Castille, let all the people know insecret, that they make themselves ready, and take with them all thatthey have, so that none of the Moors in the suburb may know thereof;for certes ye cannot keep the city, neither abide therein after mydeath. And see ye that sumpter beasts be laden with all that there isin Valencia, so that nothing which can profit may be left. And this Ileave especially to your charge, Gil Diaz. 

"Then saddle ye my horse Bavieca, and arm him well; and ye shallapparel my body full seemlily, and place me upon the horse, and fastenand tie me thereon so that it cannot fall; and fasten my sword Tizonain my hand. And let the Bishop Don Hieronymo go on one side of me, andmy trusty Gil Diaz on the other, and he shall lead my horse. You, PeroBermudez, shall bear my banner, as you were wont to bear it; and you, Alvar Fañez, my cousin, gather your company together, and put the hostin order as you are wont to do. And go ye forth and fight with KingBucar; for be ye certain and doubt not that ye shall win this battle;God hath granted me this. And when ye have won the fight, and the Moorsare discomfited, ye may spoil the field at pleasure. Ye will find greatriches. "

Then the Cid Ruydiez, the Campeador of Bivar, bade the Bishop DonHieronymo give him the body of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, andhe received it with great devotion, on his knees, and weeping beforethem all. 

Then he sate up in his bed and called upon God and St. Peter, and beganto pray, saying, "Lord Jesus Christ, thine is the power, and thekingdom, and thou art above all kings and all nations, and all kingsare at thy command. I beseech ye, therefore, pardon me my sins and letmy soul enter into the light which hath no end. "

And when the Cid Ruydiez had said this, he yielded up his soul, whichwas pure and without spot, to God, on that Sunday which is calledQuinquagesima, being the twenty and ninth of May, in the year of ourLord one thousand and ninety and nine, and in the seventy and thirdyear of his life. 

THE LAST VICTORY

Three days after the Cid had departed King Bucar came into the port ofValencia, and landed with all his power, which was so great that thereis not a man in the world who could give account of the Moors whom hebrought. And there came with him thirty and six kings, and one Moorishqueen, who was a negress, and she brought with her two hundredhorsewomen, all negresses like herself, all having their hair shornsave a tuft on the top, and this was in token that they came as if upona pilgrimage, and to obtain the remission of their sins; and they wereall armed in coats of mail and with Turkish bows. King Bucar orderedhis tents to be pitched round about Valencia, and Abenalfarax, whowrote this history in Arabic, saith that there were full fifteenthousand tents; and he bade that Moorish negress with her archers totake their station near the city. 

And on the morrow they began to attack the city, and they foughtagainst it three days strenuously, and the Moors received great loss, for they came blindly up to the walls and were slain there. And theChristians defended themselves right well; and every time that theywent upon the walls, they sounded trumpets and tambours, and made greatrejoicings, as the Cid had commanded. This continued for eight days ornine, till the companions of the Cid had made ready everything fortheir departure, as he had commanded. And King Bucar and his peoplethought that the Cid dared not come out against them; and they were themore encouraged and began to think of making bastiles and engineswherewith to combat the city, for certes they weened that the CidRuydiez dared not come out against them, seeing that he tarried solong. All this while the company of the Cid were preparing all thingsto go into Castille, as he had commanded before his death; and histrusty Gil Diaz did nothing else but labour at this. And the body ofthe Cid was prepared after this manner: first it was embalmed andanointed as the history hath already recounted, and the virtue of thebalsam and myrrh was such that the flesh remained firm and fair, havingits natural color, and his countenance as it was wont to be, and theeyes open, and his long beard in order, so that there was not a man whowould have thought him dead if he had seen him and not known it. 

And on the second day after he had departed, Gil Diaz placed the bodyupon a right noble saddle, and this saddle with the body upon it he putupon a frame; and he dressed the body in a gambax of fine sendal, nextthe skin. And he took two boards and fitted them to the body, one tothe breast and the other to the shoulders; these were so hollowed outand fitted that they met at the sides and under the arms, and the hindone came up to the pole, and the other up to the beard; and theseboards were fastened into the saddle, so that the body could not move. All this was done by the morning of the twelfth day; and all that daythe people of the Cid were busied in making ready their arms, and inloading beasts with all that they had, so that they left nothing of anyprice in the whole city of Valencia, save only the empty houses. Whenit was midnight they took the body of the Cid, fastened to the saddleas it was, and placed it upon his horse Bavieca, and fastened thesaddle well; and the body sat so upright and well that it seemed as ifhe was alive. And it had on painted hose of black and white, socunningly painted that no man who saw them would have thought but thatthey were greaves and cuishes, unless he had laid his hand upon them, and they put on it a surcoat of green sendal, having his arms blazonedthereon, and a helmet of parchment, which was cunningly painted thatevery one might have believed it to be iron; and his shield was hunground his neck, and they placed the sword Tizona in his hand, and theyraised his arm, and fastened it up so subtilely that it was a marvel tosee how upright he held the sword. And the Bishop Don Hieronymo went onone side of him, and the trusty Gil Diaz on the other, and he led thehorse Bavieca, as the Cid had commanded him. 

[Illustration: THEY WENT OUT FROM VALENCIA AT MIDNIGHT]

And when all this had been made ready, they went out from Valencia atmidnight, through the gate of Roseros, which is towards Castille. PeroBermudez went first with the banner of the Cid, and with him fivehundred knights who guarded it, all well appointed. And after thesecame all the baggage. Then came the body of the Cid, with an hundredknights, all chosen men, and behind them Doña Ximena with all hercompany, with six hundred knights in the rear. All these went out sosilently, and with such a measured pace, that it seemed as if therewere only a score. And by the time that they had all gone out it wasbroad day. 

Now Alvar Fañez Minaya had set the host in order, and while the BishopDon Hieronymo and Gil Diaz led away the body of the Cid, and DoñaXimena, and the baggage, he fell upon the Moors. First, he attacked thetents of that Moorish queen, the negress, who lay nearest to the city;and this onset was so sudden, that they killed full a hundred and fiftyMoors before they had time to take arms or go to horse. But that Moorishnegress was so skillful in drawing the Turkish bow, that it was held fora marvel; and it is said that they called her in Arabic Nugueymat Turya, which is to say, _the Star of the Archers_. And she was the first thatgot on horseback, and with some fifty that were with her, did some hurtto the company of the Cid; but in time they slew her, and her peoplefled to the camp. And so great was the uproar and confusion, that fewthere were who took arms, but instead thereof they turned their backsand fled toward the sea. 

And when King Bucar and his kings saw this, they were astonished. Andit seemed to them that there came against them on the part of theChristians full seventy thousand knights, all as white as snow; andbefore them a knight of great stature, upon a white horse with a bloodycross, who bore in one hand a white banner, and in the other a swordwhich seemed to be of fire, and he made a great mortality among theMoors who were flying. And King Bucar and the other kings were sogreatly dismayed that they never checked the reins till they had riddeninto the sea; and the company of the Cid rode after them, smiting andslaying and giving them no respite; and they smote down so many that itwas marvelous, for the Moors did not turn their heads to defendthemselves. And when they came to the sea, so great was the press amongthem to get to the ships, that more than ten-thousand died in thewater. And of the six and thirty kings, twenty and two were slain. AndKing Bucar and they who escaped with him hoisted sails and went theirway. 

Then Alvar Fañez and his people, when they had discomfited the Moors, spoiled the field, and the spoil thereof was so great that they couldnot carry it away. And they loaded camels and horses with the noblestthings which they found, and went after the Bishop Don Hieronymo andGil Diaz, who, with the body of the Cid, and Doña Ximena, and thebaggage, had gone on till they were clear of the host, and then waitedfor those who were gone against the Moors. And so great was the spoilof that day, that there was no end to it: and they took up gold, andsilver, and other precious things as they rode through the camp, sothat the poorest man among the Christians, horseman or on foot, becamerich with what he won that day. 

THE BURIAL

On the third day after the coming of King Don Alfonso, they would haveinterred the body of the Cid; but when the king heard what Doña Ximenahad said, that while it was so fair and comely it should not be laid ina coffin, he held that what she said was good. And he sent for theivory chair which had been carried to the Cortes of Toledo, and gaveorder that it should be placed on the right of the altar of St. Peter;and he laid a cloth of gold upon it, and upon that placed a cushioncovered with a right noble tartari, and he ordered a graven tabernacleto be made over the chair, richly wrought with azure and gold, havingthereon the blazonry of the kings of Castille and Leon, and the king ofNavarre, and the Infante of Aragon, and of the Cid Ruydiez theCampeador. And he himself, and the king of Navarre, and the Infante ofAragon, and the Bishop Don Hieronymo, to do honor to the Cid, helped totake his body from between the two boards, in which it had beenfastened at Valencia. And when they had taken it out, the body was sofirm that it bent not on either side, and the flesh so firm and comely, that is seemed as if he were yet alive. And the king thought that whatthey purported to do and had thus begun, might full well be effected. And they clad the body in a full noble tartari, and in cloth of purple, which the Soldan of Persia had sent him, and put him on hose of thesame, and set him in his ivory chair; and in his left hand they placedhis sword Tizona in its scabbard, and the strings of his mantle in hisright. And in this fashion the body of the Cid remained there ten yearsand more, till it was taken thence, as the history will relate anon. And when his garments waxed old, other good ones were put on. 

Now Don Garcia Tellez, the abbot, and the trusty Gil Diaz, were wontevery year to make a great festival on the day of the Cid's departure, and on that anniversary they gave food and clothing to the poor, whocame from all parts round about. And it came to pass when they made theseventh anniversary, that a great multitude assembled as they were wontto do, and many Moors and Jews came to see the strange manner of theCid's body. And it was the custom of the abbot Don Garcia Tellez, whenthey made that anniversary, to make a right noble sermon to the people:and because the multitude which had assembled was so great that thechurch could not hold them, they went out into the open place beforethe monastery, and he preached unto them there. 

And while he was preaching there remained a Jew in the church, whostopped before the body of the Cid, looking at him to see how nobly hewas there seated, having his countenance so fair and comely, and hislong beard in such goodly order, and his sword Tizona in its scabbardin his left hand, and the strings of his mantle in his right, even insuch manner as King Don Alfonso had left him, save only that thegarments had been changed, it being now seven years since the body hadremained there in that ivory chair. Now there was not a man in thechurch save this Jew, for all the others were hearing the preachmentwhich the abbot made. And when this Jew perceived that he was alone, hebegan to think within himself and say, "This is the body of thatRuydiez the Cid, whom they say no man in the world ever took by thebeard while he lived. . . . I will take him by the beard now, and seewhat he can do to me. " And with that he put forth his hand to pull thebeard of the Cid; . . . But before his hand could reach it, God whowould not suffer this thing to be done, sent his spirit into the body, and the Cid let the strings of his mantle go from his right hand, and laid hand on his sword Tizona, and drew it a full palm's lengthout of the scabbard. 

And when the Jew saw this, he fell upon his back for great fear, andbegan to cry out so loudly, that all they who were without the churchheard him, and the abbot broke off his preachment and went into thechurch to see what it might be. And when they came they found this Jewlying upon his back before the ivory chair, like one dead, for he hadceased to cry out, and had swooned away. And then the Abbot Don GarciaTellez looked at the body of the Cid, and saw that his right hand wasupon the hilt of the sword, and that he had drawn it out a full palm'slength; and he was greatly amazed. 

And he called for holy water, and threw it in the face of the Jew, andwith that the Jew came to himself. 

Then the abbot asked him what all this meant, and he told him the wholetruth; and he knelt down upon his knees before the abbot, and besoughthim of his mercy that he would make a Christian of him, because of thisgreat miracle which he had seen, and baptize him in the name of JesusChrist, for he would live and die in his faith, holding all other to bebut error. And the abbot baptized him in the name of the Holy Trinity, and gave him to name Diego Gil. 

And all who were there present were greatly amazed, and they made agreat outcry and great rejoicings to God for this miracle, and for thepower which he had shown through the body of the Cid in this manner;for it was plain that what the Jew said was verily and indeed true, because the posture of the Cid was changed. And from that day forwardDiego Gil remained in the monastery as long as he lived, doing serviceto the body of the Cid. 

After that day the body of the Cid remained in the same posture, forthey never took his hand off the sword, nor changed his garments more, and thus it remained three years longer, till it had been there tenyears in all. And then the nose began to change color. And when theAbbot Don Garcia Tellez and Gil Diaz saw this, they weened that it wasno longer fitting for the body to remain in that manner. And threebishops from the neighbouring provinces met there, and with many massesand vigils, and great honour, they interred the body after this manner. They dug a vault before the altar, beside the grave of Doña Ximena, andvaulted it over with a high arch; and there they placed the body of theCid, seated as it was in the ivory chair, and in his garments, and withthe sword in his hand, and they hung up his shield and his banner uponthe walls. 

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG

_By_ Oliver Goldsmith

Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song;And if you find it wondrous short, It cannot hold you long. 

In Islington there was a Man, Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran, Whene'er he went to pray. 

A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes, The naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes. 

And in that town a Dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree. 

This Dog and Man at first were friends; But when a pique began, The Dog, to gain some private ends, Went mad and bit the Man. 

 Around from all the neighboring streets The wond'ring neighbors ran, And swore the Dog had lost his wits, To bite so good a Man. 

 The wound it seem'd both sore and sad To every Christian eye; And while they swore the Dog was mad, They swore the Man would die. 

 But soon a wonder came to light, That show'd the rogues they lied: The Man recover'd of the bite, The Dog it was that died. 

MOTHER'S WAY[Footnote: _From Father Ryan's Poems, copyright by P. J. Kennedy &Sons, N. Y. _]

_By_ FATHER RYAN

 Oft within our little cottage, As the shadows gently fall, While the sunlight touches softly One sweet face upon the wall, Do we gather close together, And in hushed and tender tone Ask each other's full forgiveness For the wrong that each has done. Should you wonder why this custom At the ending of the day, Eye and voice would quickly answer: "It was once our mother's way. "

 If our home be bright and cheery, If it holds a welcome true, Opening wide its door of greeting To the many--not the few; If we share our father's bounty With the needy day by day, 'Tis because our hearts remember This was ever mother's way. 

 Sometimes when our hands grow weary, Or our tasks seem very long; When our burdens look too heavy, And we deem the right all wrong; Then we gain a new, fresh courage, And we rise to proudly say: "Let us do our duty bravely-- This was our dear mother's way. "

 Then we keep her memory precious, While we never cease to pray That at last, when lengthening shadows Mark the evening of our day, They may find us waiting calmly To go home our mother's way. 

SONG OF THE BROOK

_By_ ALFRED TENNYSON

 I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. 

 By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges. 

 Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. 

 I chatter over stony ways; In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. 

 With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow. 

 I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. 

 I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling, And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel, And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. 

 I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I slide by hazel covers; I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers. 

 I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows; I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows. 

 I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses; I linger by my shingly bars; I loiter round my cresses. 

 And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. 

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

_By_ GRACE E. SELLON

Among the most distinguished and interesting buildings in the town ofPortland, Maine, is the rather severe-looking house built in the latterpart of the eighteenth century by General Peleg Wadsworth. From thevery date of its erection, this structure became the object of not alittle pride among the citizens of Portland as the first in the town tobe made of brick; but this local fame grew in the course of a centuryto world-wide celebrity when the dwelling came to be known as thechildhood home of the most loved of American poets. 

In 1808 the daughter of General Wadsworth, with her husband, StephenLongfellow, and their two little children, removed from the house inthe eastern part of Portland, where their second son, Henry, had beenborn a little over a year before, to live in the Wadsworth home. Therethe young mother, surrounded by the scenes endeared to her as those inwhich her own youth had been spent, devoted herself to the care andtraining of her children, while the father continued to pursue anhonorable career as a lawyer and able representative, in publicaffairs, of the Federalist party. As the years passed, the littlefamily grew considerably until it came to consist of four girls andfive boys. Yet the mother found time for close companionship with allof her children and active interest in the affairs of each. And thefather, though much occupied with duties outside of the home, watchedcarefully the progress made by his boys and girls and tried to put intheir way the advantages that would help them to become rightminded anduseful men and women. 

[Illustration: HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 1807-1882]

Indeed, so wholesome and well-ordered was the Longfellow home that itmust have been a pleasant place to look in upon when all the family hadassembled at evening in the living room. While the mother read perhapsfrom a book of verse, for she was especially fond of poetry, and thefather gave himself up to some work on history, theology or law, thechildren would study quietly for probably an hour or more. Then, theirlessons prepared, they would draw up in a little group to listen to astory, possibly from the _Arabian Nights_, or would gather about thepiano in the parlor where Henry would sing to them the popular songs ofthat day. Sometimes the music would become so irresistibly gay that thechildren would begin to dance to its accompaniment and to awaken theechoes of the staid old dwelling-house with sounds of unrestraineddelight that would have fallen with startling effect upon the ears oftheir Puritan ancestors. 

Always a leader in these amusements was Henry Longfellow. His livelynature found especial delight in social pleasures. In fact, when he wasbut eight months old his mother discovered that he wished "for nothingso much as singing and dancing. " Then, too, he was fond of playingball, of swimming, coasting and skating and of all the other ordinarygames and sports. However, he was an especially thoughtful boy, andeven from his earliest years was a very conscientious student and tookpride in making a good record at school. During the years passed at thePortland Academy, where he was placed when six years old, he worked soindustriously and with such excellent results that although he found itvery hard--too hard in fact--to be perfect in deportment, his earnestefforts were recognized by the master of the school who sent home fromtime to time a _billet_ or short statement in which Henry's recitationsand his general conduct were highly praised. The _billet_ was a matterof no small consequence to the boy, at least in the earliest part of hisschool life, for in his first letter--a few lines written with muchlabor when he was seven years old, and sent to his father in Boston--oneof the four sentences that make up the curt little note announces withdue pride, "I shall have a billet on Monday. "

While the boy was pursuing his regular studies at school, he foundinterest in reading other books than those required in his schoolcourse--various English classics contained in his father's library. Like the delight that he felt in such reading, was that which he foundin rambling through the woods on the outskirts of the town and aboutthe farms of his two grandfathers and of his uncle Stephenson. He likedthe quiet of natural scenes, and was moved with deep wonder by theever-changing beauty of the woods and fields, the ocean and themountains. Because of this genuine love for nature and his tenderregard for every living creature, he could not share his companions'pleasure in hunting expeditions. Indeed, it is said that on oneoccasion when he had shot a robin, he became so filled with pity andsorrow for the little dead bird that he could never again take part insuch cruel sport. 

It was not long before the effect of the combined influences of HenryLongfellow's reading of classic poets and of his rambles about thecountry surrounding his native town was made apparent in an event thatdoubtless seemed to him then to be the most important that had befallenin his career of thirteen years. He had been visiting his grandfatherWadsworth at Hiram, and while there had gone to a near-by town where issituated Lovell's Pond, memorable as the scene of a struggle with theIndians. 

Henry had been so moved by the story that he could relieve his feelingsonly by telling it in verse. The four stanzas thus produced he solonged to see in print that he could not resist the desire to conveythem secretly to the letter-box of the Portland _Gazette_, and depositthem there with mingled hope and mistrust. With what keen expectation heawaited the appearance of the newspaper perhaps only other youthfulauthors in like positions can fully feel. When at length the paperarrived, Henry must wait until his father had very deliberately openedit, read its columns and then without comment had laid it aside, beforehe could learn the fate of his verses. 

But when, at length, he had the opportunity to scan the columns of thepaper, he forgot all his anxiety and the hard period of waiting. Thereon the page before him he saw:

_The Battle of Lovell's Pond_

 Cold, cold is the north wind and rude is the blast That sweeps like a hurricane loudly and fast, As it moans through the tall waving pines lone and drear, Sings a requiem sad o'er the warrior's bier. 

 The war-whoop is still, and the savage's yell Has sunk into silence along the wild dell; The din of the battle, the tumult, is o'er And the war-clarion's voice is now heard no more. 

 The warriors that fought for their country--and bled, Have sunk to their rest; the damp earth is their bed; No stone tells the place where their ashes repose, Nor points out the spot from the graves of their foes. 

 They died in their glory, surrounded by fame, And Victory's loud trump their death did proclaim; They are dead; but they live in each Patriot's breast, And their names are engraven on honor's bright crest. 

 _Henry_. 

It is little wonder that through the day he read the verses again andagain and that his thoughts were filled with the excitement and joy ofsuccess. That evening while visiting at the home of Judge Mellen, thefather of one of his closest friends, he was sitting interestedlylistening to a conversation on the subject of poetry, when he wasstartled by seeing the judge take up the _Gazette_ and hearing himsay: "Did you see the piece in to-day's paper? Very stiff, remarkablystiff; moreover, it is all borrowed, every word of it. " So unexpectedand harsh was the censure that Henry felt almost crushed and couldhardly conceal his feelings until he could reach home. Not until he hadgone to bed and was shielded from all critical eyes did he give vent tohis bitter disappointment. 

In the following year (1821), his course at the Academy having come toan end, he took the entrance examinations for Bowdoin College. Thoughboth he and his elder brother passed these successfully, they did notgo to the College at Brunswick for another year. Henry then enteredupon his course of study with such earnestness and enthusiasm that in aclass, consisting of students several of whom later became notable, heranked as one of the first. Like his classmate Hawthorne, he wasespecially devoted to the study of literature. So genial and courteouswas his bearing toward all, and such a lively interest did he take inall the worthier activities of the life at the college, that though hechose as his intimate friends only those whose tastes agreed with hisown, he was generally liked and admired. 

Perhaps the success of his course at Bowdoin increased his confidencein his ability to write for publication, though indeed it had beenproved that the outcome of his first venture along this line had notafter all destroyed the budding hopes of the young writer. For previousto entering college he had continued to make contributions to the_Gazette_. Other compositions in both prose and verse were now sent atvarious times to the Portland periodical; and in October, 1824, appearedin a Boston magazine entitled _The United States Literary Gazette_ thefirst of a series of seventeen poems composed by _H. W. L. _

A constant sympathizer and admirer during these early years ofauthorship was Henry's friend William Browne, a boy whose literaryaspirations had led him to form with Henry, before the latter enteredBowdoin, a sort of association by which various literary enterpriseswere attempted. Indeed, it seems probable that at this time Henrylooked rather to such companions than to his parents for appreciationof his developing ability. At all events, we find him writing to hisfather in March, 1824:

"I feel very glad that I am not to be a physician--that there are quiteenough in the world without me. And now, as somehow or other thissubject has been introduced, I am curious to know what you do intend tomake of me--whether I am to study a profession or not; and if so, whatprofession. I hope your ideas upon this subject will agree with mine, for I have a particular and strong prejudice for one course of life, towhich you, I fear, will not agree. It will not be worth while for me tomention what this is, until I become more acquainted with your ownwishes. "

Later, however, urged by the unpleasant prospect of being compelled toobey his father's desire that he become a lawyer, Henry decided that hemust express his own hopes quite plainly. In a letter of December, 1824, appears the passage:

"The fact is--and I will not disguise it in the least, for I think Iought not--the fact is, I most eagerly aspire after future eminence inliterature; my whole soul burns most ardently for it, and every earthlythought centers in it. There may be something visionary in this, but Iflatter myself that I have prudence enough to keep my enthusiasm fromdefeating its own object by too great haste. Surely, there never was abetter opportunity offered for the exertion of literary talent in ourown country than is now offered. To be sure, most of our literacy menthus far have not been professedly so, until they have studied andentered the practice of theology, law, or medicine. But this isevidently lost time. I do believe that we ought to pay more attentionto the opinion of philosophers, that 'nothing but Nature can qualify aman for knowledge. '

"Whether Nature has given me any capacity for knowledge or not, she hasat any rate given me a very strong predilection for literary pursuits, and I am almost confident in believing that, if I can ever rise in theworld, it must be by the exercise of my talent in the wide field ofliterature. With such a belief, I must say that I am unwilling toengage in the study of the law. "

Nevertheless, Stephen Longfellow was not convinced by his son's wordsof the wisdom of the course proposed, and at length replied in nouncertain terms: "A literary life, to one who has the means of support, must be very pleasant. But there is not wealth enough in this countryto afford encouragement and patronage to merely literary men. And asyou have not had the fortune (I will not say whether good or ill) to beborn rich, you must adopt a profession which will afford yousubsistence as well as reputation. " In the same letter, however, hegranted willingly Henry's request to be allowed a year at Cambridge forthe study of general literature. In response, the young student, afterthanking his father for the privilege of the proposed attendance atCambridge, writes: "Nothing delights me more than reading and writing. And nothing could induce me to relinquish the pleasures of literature, little as I have yet tasted them. Of the three professions I shouldprefer the law. I am far from being a fluent speaker, but practice mustserve as a talisman where talent is wanting. I can be a lawyer. Thiswill support my real existence, literature an _ideal_ one. "

Henry's career at Bowdoin was now drawing to a close, and it is likelythat like most other students he regarded his graduation with somedegree of regret. For in addition to the deeper pleasure that he hadgained from his studies, he had found not a little enjoyment in thesocial life at the college. His handsome appearance made him anattractive figure at all gatherings; and his amiability and courtesycaused him to be as well liked by the young women whom he met on theseoccasions as by his classmates. In fact, the unusual refinementexpressed by his clear, fair complexion, the sincerity reflected in hisblue eyes, with their steadfast gaze, and the erect bearing of hisslender figure, won confidence and admiration everywhere. 

Whatever anxiety Henry Longfellow may have felt in looking forward tothe period that lay beyond his graduation from Bowdoin College waswholly cleared away by a most surprising event that occurred at thetime of the closing exercises. A gift of money had been made to thecollege for the purpose of founding a Professorship of the ModernLanguages, and it was now decided to establish this position. It issaid that one of the trustees of the college who had been veryfavorably impressed by Henry Longfellow's translation of an ode ofHorace, proposed that he be appointed to the new office. As a result, it was made known to the young graduate that if he would preparehimself by a period of study in Europe, the professorship would be histo accept. 

This unexpected good fortune was so gratifying to Henry's parents aswell as to himself that they decided at once to send him abroad attheir own expense. However, the plan could not be immediately carriedout; it was necessary to wait several months for a favorable sailingseason. The period of delay Henry spent partly in the composition ofvarious articles and poems, and partly in studying law. At length, whenspring was well advanced, he set sail from New York and a month laterreached the French city of Havre. Then began the period of three yearsspent in travel through France, Spain, Italy and Germany, during whichhe gave himself diligently to the study of the languages andliteratures of these countries and to extensive observation of mannersand customs, works of art, points of historic interest and to all elsethat is of value to an eager, open-minded student. Thus he imbibed muchof the national spirit of these lands and came into such vitalappreciation of this spirit as it is expressed in literature that laterhe was able to become a most successful translator and to use foreignlegends with excellent effect in his own compositions. 

During his second year abroad, in the midst of most satisfactoryprogress, Henry received from his father the startling news thatBowdoin College had withdrawn the offer of the professorship. Themingled feelings thus awakened, and especially the reserve strength ofthe young man's character, are made plain in his reply:

"I assure you, my dear father, I am very indignant at this. They say Iam too young! Were they not aware of this three years ago? If I am notcapable of performing the duties of the office, they may be very sureof my not accepting it. I know not in what light they may look upon it, but for my own part, I do not in the least regard it as a favorconferred upon me. It is no sinecure; and if my services are anequivalent for my salary, there is no favor done me; if they be not, Ido not desire the situation. . . . I feel no kind of anxiety for myfuture prospects. Thanks to your goodness, I have received a goodeducation. I know you cannot be dissatisfied with the progress I havemade in my studies. I speak honestly, not boastingly. With the Frenchand Spanish languages I am familiarly conversant, so as to speak themcorrectly, and write them with as much ease and fluency as I do theEnglish. The Portuguese I read without difficulty. And with regard tomy proficiency in the Italian, I have only to say that all at the hotelwhere I lodge took me for an Italian until I told them I was anAmerican. "

Nevertheless, when Henry returned to Portland in the summer of 1829, hereceived the appointment to the desired professorship at BowdoinCollege, and went to live at Brunswick. His success was assured fromthe start, for he had thoroughly prepared himself for his work, wasenthusiastic in his desire to share with his classes the impressionsreceived from the culture of the Old World, and was so young in yearsand at heart that he could readily awaken the interest and sympathy ofyouthful students. The earnestness and industry with which he devotedhimself to his duties at this time may be judged from the followingextract from a letter dated June 27, 1830:

"I rise at six in the morning, and hear a French recitation ofSophomores immediately. At seven I breakfast, and am then master of mytime till eleven, when I hear a Spanish lesson of Juniors. After that Itake a lunch; and at twelve I go into the library, where I remain tillone. I am then at leisure for the afternoon till five, when I have aFrench recitation of Juniors. At six, I take coffee; then walk andvisit friends till nine; study till twelve, and sleep till six, when Ibegin the same round again. Such is the daily routine of my life. Theintervals of college duty I fill up with my own studies. Last term Iwas publishing text-books for the use of my pupils, in whom I take adeep interest. This term I am writing a course of lectures on French, Spanish and Italian literature. I shall commence lecturing to the twoupper classes in a few days. You see, I lead a very sober, jog-trotkind of life. My circle of acquaintances is very limited. I am on veryintimate terms with three families, and that is quite enough. I likeintimate footings; I do not care for general society. "

In the following year (1831) the routine of his life at Brunswick wasinterrupted by his marriage with Mary Storer Potter, one of the mostbeautiful and generally liked young women of Portland. Her educationand tastes were such that they enabled her to share heartily herhusband's interests, and this sympathetic association in the work towhich he was devoted seemed to fill the measure of the youngprofessor's happiness. 

During the years spent in teaching at Bowdoin the career of HenryLongfellow as a professional writer had run parallel with that ofteaching. In response to an invitation he had contributed various prosearticles to the _North American Review_ had written some poetry, and by1835 had completed his _Outre-Mer_, a collection of prose sketches ofhis travels. 

Not long before the publication of this work the author had received amost desirable offer of the Smith professorship of Modern Languages atHarvard University, with a salary of fifteen hundred dollars a year. Inaccepting the position the young man decided upon a trip abroad for thepurpose of further study. Accordingly, with his wife he set sail forHamburg in June, 1835. They stayed for a short time in London, wherethey met Carlyle, traveled then to Stockholm and Copenhagen, where thesummer was passed in learning the Swedish and Danish languages, and inOctober reached Amsterdam. Here Mrs. Longfellow fell ill, and while shewas recovering her husband undertook the study of Dutch. In RotterdamMrs. Longfellow again became ill, and died in that city on October 29. The loss fell so heavily upon Longfellow that he could not speak norwrite of it. However, he disciplined himself to work and spent severalmonths at Heidelberg, gaining a fuller knowledge of the German languageand literature. In this city he met for the first time the poet Bryant. After traveling in Switzerland he returned to America late in 1836. 

At the close of the same year he established himself at Cambridge, andthere began a career of large usefulness and success at HarvardUniversity. At the same time he wrote extensively both prose and verse, and by the time of his third visit to Europe, in 1842, had produced theprose romance _Hyperion_ as well as the volumes of verse entitled_Voices of the Night_ and _Ballads and Other Poems_ and the drama _TheSpanish Student_. 

At this period of his life, Longfellow's journals and letters show muchunrest and even at times a loss of interest in his work. His tripabroad for his health did not restore the satisfaction and contentmentthat he had once known. The needs of both heart and mind must besupplied in order that he might be at peace. Consequently we are notsurprised by his marriage, in July, 1843, to Frances Appleton, theheroine of the romance _Hyperion_, and a most admirable and attractiveyoung woman, fitted in every way to be the companion of the poet. Thecouple went to live in the Craigie House [Footnote: This house iscelebrated not only as the poet's home but as having been at one timethe headquarters of Washington. ] at Cambridge, and entered upon a lifeof almost ideal domestic harmony. 

Year after year passed, with little to mar the calm of the Longfellowhome. The professor's days were filled with lectures to the collegeclasses, with composition of original verse or translation from foreignliterature and with letter writing, answers to unnumbered requests forautographs and calls from distinguished persons or from obscure butaspiring writers. Only a man of rare patience and kindness would havegiven such a great portion of his time as Longfellow gave during theseand all the subsequent years of his life to answering the manyinexcusable and often ridiculous requests for explanation of themotives and meaning of his writings, for help in obtaining publicrecognition, for criticism of poems that the writers submitted and fora variety of other favors. 

Often there were visits to the opera or attendance at concerts, alwaysin company with Mrs. Longfellow. Sometimes the day was darkened by theillness of one of the children. Then again, with the little ones of thehousehold, the Harvard professor, casting aside his dignity, with allserious cares, would enter with all, his heart into some childish game. Such a good time did he have that he found it worth while to make inhis journal such entries as: "Worked hard with the children, makingsnow-houses in the front yard, to their infinite delight;" "Afterdinner had all the children romping in the haymow;" "Coasted with myboys (Charles and Ernest) for two hours on the bright hill-side behindthe Catholic Church;" "After tea, read to the boys the Indian story of_The Red Swan. _" Frequently he accompanied on pleasure excursionshis three daughters, the young girls described for us in the familiarlines:

 "Grave Alice and laughing Allegra And Edith with golden hair. "

From time to time the journal records an idea for a poem or thebeginning of the work of composition, sometimes expressing the doubtsand fears that attend this beginning. Thus under date of November 16, 1845, is the statement:

"Before church, wrote 'The Arrow and the Song, ' which came into my mindas I stood with my back to the fire, and glanced on to the paper witharrowy speed. Literally an improvisation. "

Later, on November 28, is recorded: "Set about 'Gabrielle, '[Footnote:The poem Evangeline, to which the poet at first intended to give thetitle Gabrielle. ] my idyl in hexameters, in earnest. I do not mean tolet a day go by without adding something to it, if it be but a singleline. F. And Sumner are both doubtful of the measure. To me it seemsthe only one for such a poem. " And again, on December 7, "I know notwhat name to give to--not my new baby, but my new poem. Shall it be'Gabrielle, ' or 'Celestine, ' or 'Evangeline'?" In the journal for 1854is noted on June 22, "I have at length hit upon a plan for a poem onthe American Indian, which seems to me the right one and the only. Itis to weave together their beautiful traditions into a whole. I havehit upon a measure, too, which I think the right and only one for sucha theme;" and on June 28, "Work at 'Manabozho'; or, as I think I shallcall it, 'Hiawatha, '--that being another name for the same personage. "

As these literary projects came to fill more and more the poet'sthought, he began to feel increasingly hampered by the work of hiscollege classes. So urgent did the desire become to rid himself ofduties that grew constantly more irksome, that at length, in 1854, heresigned his professorship. The mingled relief and regret thus affordedare expressed in his journal under date of September 12: "Yesterday Igot from President Walker a note, with copy of the vote of theCorporation, accepting my resignation, and expressing regrets at myretirement. I am now free! But there is a good deal of sadness in thefeeling of separating one's self from one's former life. "

For several years thereafter Longfellow's life flowed along peacefully. These were most profitable years, for he was always an industriousworker and would not allow moodiness or disinclination to work todeprive him of opportunities for worthy labor. His three greatestworks, _Evangeline_, _Hiawatha_ and _The Courtship of Miles Standish_, appeared at intervals of a few years. But this period of comparativeease and quiet was brought to an abrupt close by the tragic death ofMrs. Longfellow in 1861. Her dress had taken fire from a lighted matchthat had fallen to the floor, and as a result she died the next day. 

The poet's grief and feeling of loss were inexpressible, yet hemaintained an appearance of calm. After a long time he became able toresume his work, and in the years that remained to him, he produced, besides minor writings, the two series of _The Tales of a WaysideInn_. But he never ceased to miss the close companionship of hiswife. He found consolation in caring for his children, sharing aliketheir pleasures and their more serious interests. Then, too, he hadseveral intimate friends whose affection was always a source of greatjoy to him. With the exception of a fourth trip to Europe, he passedthe rest of his life quietly, giving to the world the fruits of hismatured poetic powers, continually extending kindly encouragement tostruggling writers, and dispensing charity without parade of hiskindness. So fully were all the promises of his youth realized in hischaracter and his intellectual life during this final period, that whendeath came in 1882, after a brief period of illness, the people of hisown land and those of many other nations as well felt that a great andgood man had passed from earth. 

One who reads the journal and the letters in which the home life ofLongfellow is plainly pictured is impressed perhaps even more than byhis poems with the fitness of his title, _The Children's Poet_. Onecannot fail to find, in such words as those in the following extractfrom a letter, the gentleness of his regard for children: "My littlegirls are flitting about my study, as blithe as two birds. They arepreparing to celebrate the birthday of one of their dolls; and onthe table I find this programme, in E. 's handwriting, which I purloinand send to you, thinking it may amuse you. What a beautiful world thischild's world is! So instinct with life, so illuminated withimagination! I take infinite delight in seeing it go on around me, andfeel all the tenderness of the words that fell from the blessed lips:'Suffer the little children to come unto me. ' After that benedictionhow can any one dare to deal harshly with a child!" To this lovinginterest children everywhere have responded. On the poet's seventy-second birthday, about seven hundred children of Cambridge gave him anarmchair made of the chestnut-tree celebrated in _The VillageBlacksmith_. A poem was written in answer to the gift, and a copy ofthis was given to every child who came to visit the poet and sit in hischair. And children did come to visit him in great numbers. On oneoccasion, in the summer of 1880, the journal records: "Yesterday I hada visit from two schools: some sixty girls and boys, in all. It seemsto give them so much pleasure that it gives me pleasure. " The lastletter that the poet is known to have written was one addressed to alittle girl who had sent him a poem on his seventy-fifth birthday; andonly four days before his death he received a visit from four Bostonboys in whose albums he placed his autograph. 

The strongest claim to the high regard in which Longfellow's poems areheld is based on the very qualities that endear him to his child-readers. All his life, even in the midst of affliction and sorrow, hewas governed by true, deep kindness for all living things, and by aspirit of helpfulness that is the most beautiful thing expressed in hispoetry. Then, too, he was willing always to write simply, that allmight be benefited by his pure, high thinking. So consistently and withsuch power did he put into practice the religion of good will andservice to others that his life seems to have been a realization of thedesire expressed in Wordsworth's lines:

 "And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. "

Some of Longfellow's poems that children like most are named in thefollowing paragraphs:

Perhaps the most interesting for the youngest readers are _Paul Revere'sRide_ and _The Wreck of the Hesperus; The Children's Hour_, in which thepoet tells of the daily play-time with his little girls; and _TheVillage Blacksmith_, together with the verses _From My Arm-Chair_, written when the children gave the chair made from the chestnut treethat had once shaded the Village Blacksmith. 

Story-telling poems that children of from ten to twelve years of agecan enjoy are: _The Happiest Land_, _The Luck of Edenhall_, _The ElectedKnight_, _Excelsior_, _The Phantom Ship_, _The Discoverer of the NorthCape_, _The Bell of Atri_, _The Three Kings_, _The Emperor's Bird'sNest_ and _The Maiden and the Weathercock_. _The Windmill_ and thetranslation _Beware_ are especially lively, little poems; and _The Arrowand the Song_ and _Children_ are quite as cheerful though quieter. Moreserious is _The Day Is Done_, well liked for the restful melody; _TheOld Clock on the Stairs_, with its curious refrain; and the famous_Psalm of Life_, the lesson of which has helped many a young boy andgirl. 

Among the story-poems for children older than twelve years areLongfellow's greatest works, _Evangeline_, _Hiawatha_ and _The Courtshipof Miles Standish_; and the minor poems, _Elizabeth_, _The BeleagueredCity_ and _The Building of the Ship_. Nature poems that appeal toreaders of this age are the _Hymn to the Night_, _The Rainy Day_, _TheEvening Star_, _A Day of Sunshine_, _The Brook and the Wave_, _Rain inSummer_, and _Wanderer's Night Songs_. 

Children who are fond of imagining will enjoy _The Belfry of Bruges_ and_Travels by the Fireside_, and those who like song-poems may select _TheBridge_ or _Stay, Stay at Home, My Heart_. 

Nearly all of the poems that have been named are found in collectionsof Longfellow's works under the titles of the volumes in which theywere originally published. _A Psalm of Life_, for example, is one of thegroup entitled _Voices of the Night_; and _Paul Revere's Ride_ is one ofthe _Tales of a Wayside Inn_. 

[Illustration: HER GENTLE HAND IN MINE]

FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS

_By_ HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

When the hours of Day are numbered, And the voices of the NightWake the better soul, that slumbered, To a holy, calm delight;

Ere the evening lamps are lighted, And, like phantoms grim and tall, Shadows from the fitful firelight Dance upon the parlor wall;

Then the forms of the departed Enter at the open door;The beloved, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more;

 He, the young and strong, who cherished Noble longings for the strife, By the roadside fell and perished, Weary with the march of life!

 They, the holy ones and weakly, Who the cross of suffering bore, Folded their pale hands so meekly, Spake with us on earth no more!

 And with them the Being Beauteous, * Who unto my youth was given, More than all things else to love me, And is now a saint in heaven. 

 With a slow and noiseless footstep Comes that messenger divine, Takes the vacant chair beside me, Lays her gentle hand in mine. 

 And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies. 

 Uttered not, yet comprehended, Is the spirit's voiceless prayer, Soft rebukes, in blessings ended, Breathing from her lips of air. 

 O, though oft depressed and lonely, All my fears are laid aside, If I but remember only Such as these have lived and died!

*[Footnote: This refers to Longfellow's first wife, Mary Storer Potter, whom he married in 1831. On his second visit to Europe, Mrs. Longfellowdied at Rotterdam in 1835. ]

TO H. W. L. , ON HIS BIRTHDAY, 27TH FEBRUARY, 1867. 

_By_ JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

 I need not praise the sweetness of his song, Where limpid verse to limpid verse succeeds Smooth as our Charles, when, fearing lest he wrong The new moon's mirrored skiff, he slides along, Full without noise, and whispers in his reeds. 

 With loving breath of all the winds his name Is blown about the world, but to his friends A sweeter secret hides behind his fame, And Love steals shyly through the loud acclaim, To murmur a _God bless you!_ and there ends. 

 * * * * *

 Surely if skill in song the shears may stay And of its purpose cheat the charmed abyss, If our poor life be lengthened by a lay, He shall not go, although his presence may, And the next age in praise shall double this. 

 Long days be his, and each as lusty-sweet As gracious natures find his song to be; May Age steal on with softly-cadenced feet Falling in music, as for him were meet Whose choicest verse is harsher-toned than he!

While this little tribute may not be as simple to read as some of thethings in this book, yet it is beautiful to those who can read it. 

[Illustration: LONGFELLOW'S HOME AT CAMBRIDGE]

One of the fine things about good poetry is that it will not only bearstudy and examination, but will yield new beauty and new pleasure as itis better understood. For instance, take the first stanza above. Lowellsays Longfellow's poetry is sweet and easily understood and that oneline follows another smoothly. To make us see how smoothly, he makes abeautiful comparison, draws for us an exquisite picture. As smooth, hesays, as is our own river Charles when at night, fearing to disturb byso much as a single ripple the reflection of the crescent moon, amirrored skiff, it glides along noiselessly but whispering gently tothe reeds that line its shores. 

Again, Lowell says that the very winds love Longfellow, and waft hisname about the world, giving him fame and honor; but his friends knowhim to be a man with a loving heart, and so they steal up to him andmurmur through the noisy shoutings of the crowd a simple _God blessyou!_ which they know Longfellow will appreciate on his birthdaymore than all his fame. 

To understand the first line in the third stanza, we must know of thethree Fates who in the old Greek myth controlled the life of every man. One spun the thread of life, a second determined its course, and thethird stood by with shears ready to cut the thread where death was due. Lowell says if being a skillful poet will make a man immortal, ifour life can be lengthened by a song, then Longfellow shall not leaveus even though his body goes, and in another generation his fame shallbe doubly great. 

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH

_By_ HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

 Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. 

 His hair is crisp and black and long; His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, -- He earns whate'er he can; And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. 

 Week in, week out, from morn till night. You can hear his bellows blow; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like sexton ringing the village bell When the evening sun is low. 

 And children, coming home from school, Look in at the open door; They love to see the naming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

[Illustration: THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH]

 He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice, Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. 

 It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. 

 Toiling--rejoicing--sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose. 

 Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought!

What a clear little poem this is! From beginning to end there isscarcely a thing that needs to be explained. We can see the twopictures almost as though they had been painted for us in colors. Ifanything is obscure, it is the comparison of the sparks to the chafffrom a threshing-floor. And if that isn't clear to us it is becausetimes have changed, and we no longer see grain threshed out on a floor. His "limpid verse to limpid verse succeeds, smooth as our Charles!"

Longfellow uses skill in the song. He shows us the old blacksmith athis forge and draws us with the other children to see his work. Welearn to love the strong old man, independent, proud and happy. Wesympathize with him as he weeps and admire him so much that we delightat the lesson Longfellow so skillfully places at the end. 

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS

_By_ HENRY WADSWOHTH LONGFELLOW

It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea;And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South. 

Then up and spake an old Sailor, Had sailed the Spanish Main, "I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane. 

"Last night the moon had a golden ring, And to-night no moon we see!"The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he. 

Colder and colder blew the wind A gale from the Northeast;The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast. 

[Illustration: He Bound Her To The Mast. ]

 Down came the storm, and smote amain, The vessel in its strength; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length. 

 "Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale, That ever wind did blow. "

 He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. 

 "O father! I hear the church-bells ring. O say, what may it be?" "'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!"-- And he steered for the open sea. 

 "O father! I hear the sound of guns. O say, what may it be?" "Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!"

 "O father! I see a gleaming light. O say, what may it be?" But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he. 

 Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, With his face turned to the skies, The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

 Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, On the Lake of Galilee. 

 And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 

 And ever the fitful gusts between A sound came from the land; It was the sound of the trampling surf, On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

 The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck. 

 She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool, But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Like the horns of an angry bull. 

 Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the masts went by the board; Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, Ho! ho! the breakers roared!

 At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair, Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

 The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes; And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, On the billows fall and rise. 

 Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow! Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe!

A DOG OF FLANDERS[Footnote: This story has been abridged somewhat]

_By_ LOUISE DE LA RAMEE

Nello and Patrasche were left all alone in the world. They were friendsin a friendship closer than brotherhood. 

Nello was a little Ardennois; Patrasche was a big Fleming. They wereboth of the same age by length of years, yet one was still young andthe other already old. They had dwelt together almost all their days;both were orphaned and destitute and owed their lives to the same hand. 

Their home was a little hut on the edge of a little Flemish village, aleague from Antwerp. 

It was the hut of an old man--a poor man--of old Jehan Daas, who in histime had been a soldier and who remembered the wars that had trampledthe country as oxen tread down the furrows, and who had brought fromhis service nothing except a wound which had made him a cripple. 

When Jehan Daas had reached his full eighty his daughter had died inthe Ardennes, hard by Stavelot, and had left him in legacy her two-year-old son. The old man could ill contrive to support himself, but hetook up the additional burden uncomplainingly, and it soon becamewelcome and precious to him. Little Nello--which was but a petdiminutive for Nicholas--throve with him, and the old man and thelittle child lived in the poor little hut contentedly. 

They were terribly poor--many a day they had nothing at all to eat. They never by any chance had enough. To have had enough to eat wouldhave been to have reached paradise at once. But the old man was gentleand good to the boy and the boy was a beautiful, innocent, truthful, tender-hearted creature; and they were happy on a crust and a fewleaves of cabbage and asked no more of earth or heaven, save, indeed, that Patrasche should be always with them, since without Patraschewhere would they have been?

Jehan Daas was old and crippled and Nello was but a child--andPatrasche was their dog. 

A dog of Flanders--yellow of hide, large of limb, with wolflike earsthat stood erect, and legs bowed and feet widened in the musculardevelopment wrought in his breed by the many generations of hardservice. Patrasche came of a race which had toiled hard and cruellyfrom sire to son in Flanders many a century--slaves of slaves, dogs ofthe people, beasts of the shafts and harness, creatures that livedtraining their sinews in the gall of the cart, and died breaking theirhearts on the flints of the street. 

Before he was fully grown he had known the bitter gall of the cart andcollar. Before he had entered his thirteenth month he had become theproperty of a hardware dealer, who was accustomed to wander over theland north and south, from the blue sea to the green mountains. Theysold him for a small price because he was so young. 

This man was a drunkard and a brute. The life of Patrasche was a lifeof abuse. 

His purchaser was a sullen, ill-living, brutal Brabantois, who heapedhis cart full with pots and pans, and flagons and buckets, and otherwares of crockery and brass and tin, and left Patrasche to draw theload as best he might while he himself lounged idly by the side in fatand sluggish ease, smoking his black pipe and stopping at every wineshop or café on the road. 

One day, after two years of this long and deadly agony, Patrasche wasgoing on as usual along one of the straight, dusty, unlovely roads thatlead to the city of Rubens. 

It was full midsummer and exceedingly warm. His cart was heavy, piledhigh with goods in metal and earthenware. His owner sauntered onwithout noticing him otherwise than by the crack of the whip as itcurled around his quivering loins. 

The Brabantois had paused to drink beer himself at every wayside house, but he had forbidden Patrasche to stop for a moment for a draft fromthe canal. Going along thus, in the full sun, on a scorching highway, having eaten nothing for twenty-four hours, and, which was far worsefor him, not having tasted water for nearly twelve; being blind withdust, sore with blows, and stupefied with the merciless weight whichdragged upon his loins, Patrasche, for once, staggered and foamed alittle at the mouth and fell. 

He fell in the middle of the white, dusty road, in the full glare ofthe sun; he was sick unto death and motionless. His master gave him theonly medicine in his pharmacy--kicks and oaths and blows with the oakcudgel--which had been often the only food and drink, the only wage andreward, ever offered to him. 

But Patrasche was beyond the reach of any torture or of any curses. Patrasche lay, dead to all appearances, down in the white powder of thesummer dust. His master, with a parting kick, passed on and left him. 

After a time, among the holiday makers, there came a little old man whowas bent, and lame, and feeble. He was in no guise for feasting. He waspoor and miserably clad, and he dragged his silent way slowly throughthe dust among the pleasure seekers. 

He looked at Patrasche, paused, wondered, turned aside, then kneeleddown in the rank grass and weeds of the ditch and surveyed the dog withkindly eyes of pity. 

There was with him a little, rosy, fair-haired, dark-eyed child of afew years old, who pattered in amid the bushes, that were for himbreast high, and stood gazing with a pretty seriousness upon the poor, great, quiet beast. 

Thus it was that these two first met--the little Nello and the bigPatrasche. They carried Patrasche home; and when he recovered he washarnessed to the cart that carried the milk cans of the neighbors toAntwerp. Thus the dog earned the living of the old man and the boy whosaved him. 

There was only one thing which caused Patrasche any uneasiness in hislife, and it was this: Antwerp, as all the world knows, is full atevery turn of old piles of stones, dark, and ancient, and majestic, standing in crooked courts, jammed against gateways and taverns, risingby the water's edge, with bells ringing above them in the air, and everand again out of their arched doors a swell of music pealing. 

There they remain, the grand old sanctuaries of the past, shut in amidthe squalor, the hurry, the crowds, the unloveliness, and the commerceof the modern world, and all day long the clouds drift, and the birdscircle, and the winds sigh around them, and beneath the earth at theirfeet there sleeps--Rubens. 

And the greatness of the mighty master still rests upon Antwerp. Wherever we turn in its narrow streets his glory lies therein, so thatall mean things are thereby transfigured; and as we pace slowly throughthe winding ways, and by the edge of the stagnant waters, and throughthe noisome courts, his spirit abides with us, and the heroic beauty ofhis visions is about us, and the stones that once felt his footsteps, and bore his shadow, seem to rise and speak of him with living voices. For the city which is the tomb of Rubens still lives to us through him, and him alone. 

Now, the trouble of Patrasche was this:

Into these great, sad piles of stones, that reared their melancholymajesty above the crowded roofs, the child Nello would many and many atime enter and disappear through their dark, arched portals, whilePatrasche, left upon the pavement, would wearily and vainly ponder onwhat could be the charm which allured from him his inseparable andbeloved companion. 

[Illustration: RESCUE OF PATRASCHE]

Once or twice he did essay to see for himself, clattering up the stepswith his milk cart behind him, but thereon he had been always sent backagain summarily by a tall custodian in black clothes and silver chainsof office, and, fearful of bringing his little master into trouble, hedesisted and crouched patiently before the church until such time asthe boy reappeared. 

What was it? wondered Patrasche. 

He thought it could not be good or natural for the lad to be so grave, and in his dumb fashion he tried all he could to keep Nello by him inthe sunny fields or in the busy market places. 

But to the church Nello would go. Most often of all he would go to thegreat cathedral; and Patrasche, left without on the stones by the ironfragments of the Quentin Matsys's gate, would stretch himself and yawnand sigh, and even howl now and then, all in vain, until the doorsclosed and the child perforce came forth again, and, winding his armsabout the dog's neck, would kiss him on his broad, tawny-coloredforehead and murmur always the same words:

"If I could only see them, Patrasche! If I could only see them!"

What were they? pondered Patrasche, looking up with large, wistful, sympathetic eyes. 

One day, when the custodian was out of the way and the doors left ajar, he got in for a moment after his friend, and saw. "They" were two greatcovered pictures on either side of the choir. 

Nello was kneeling, wrapt as in an ecstasy, before the altar picture ofthe "Assumption, " and when he noticed Patrasche and rose and drew thedog gently out into the air, his face was wet with tears, and he lookedup at the veiled places as he passed them and murmured to hiscompanion:

"It is so terrible not to see them, Patrasche, just because one is poorand cannot pay! He never meant that the poor should not see them whenhe painted them, I am sure. And they keep them shrouded there---shrouded in the dark---the beautiful things! And they never feel thelight, and no eyes look upon them unless rich people come and pay. If Icould only see them I would be content to die. "

But he could not see them, and Patrasche could not help him, for togain the silver piece that the church exacts for looking on the gloriesof the "Elevation of the Cross" and the "Descent from the Cross" was athing as utterly beyond the powers of either of them as it would havebeen to scale the heights of the cathedral spire. 

The whole soul of the little Ardennois thrilled and stirred with anabsorbing passion for art. 

Going on his way through the old city in the early daybreak before thesun or the people had seen them, Nello, who looked only a littlepeasant boy, with a great dog drawing milk to sell from door to door, was in a heaven of dreams whereof Rubens was the god. Nello, cold andhungry, with stockingless feet in wooden shoes, and the winter windsblowing among his curls and lifting his poor, thin garments, was inrapture of meditation wherein all that he saw was the beautiful face ofthe Mary of "Assumption, " with the waves of her golden hair lying uponher shoulders and the light of an eternal sun shining down upon herbrow. Nello, reared in poverty, and buffeted by fortune, and untaughtin letters, and unheeded by men, had the compensation or the cursewhich is called genius. 

No one knew it--he as little as any. No one knew it. 

"I should go to my grave quite content if I thought, Nello, that whenthou growest a man thou couldst own this hut and the little plat ofground and labor for thyself and be called Baas by thy neighbors, " saidthe old man Jehan many an hour from his bed. 

Nello dreamed of other things in the future than of tilling the littlerood of earth, and living under the wattle roof, and being called Baasby neighbors, a little poorer or a little less poor than himself. Thecathedral spire, where it rose beyond the fields in the ruddy eveningskies or in the dim, gray, misty morning, said other things to him thanthis. But these he told only to Patrasche, whispering, childlike, hisfancies in the dog's ear when they went together at their work throughthe fogs of the daybreak or lay together at their rest amongst therustling rushes by the water's side. 

There was only one other besides Patrasche to whom Nello could talk atall of his daring fancies. This other was little Alois, who lived atthe old red mill on the grassy mound, and whose father, the miller, wasthe best-to-do husbandman in all the village. 

Little Alois was a pretty baby, with soft, round, rosy features, madelovely by those sweet, dark eyes that the Spanish rule has left in somany a Flemish face. 

Little Alois often was with Nello and Patrasche. They played in thefields, they ran in the snow, they gathered the daisies and bilberries, they went up to the old gray church together, and they often sattogether by the broad wood fire in the millhouse. 

One day her father, Baas Cogez, a good man, but stern, came on a prettygroup in the long meadow behind the mill. 

It was his little daughter sitting amidst the hay, with the great, tawny head of Patrasche on her lap, and many wreaths of poppies andblue cornflowers round them both. On a clean, smooth slab of pine woodthe boy Nello drew their likeness with a stick of charcoal. 

The miller stood and looked at the portrait with tears in his eyes, itwas so strangely like, and he loved his own child closely and well. Then he roughly chid the little girl for idling there whilst her motherneeded her within, and sent her indoors crying and afraid. Then, turning, he snatched the wood from Nello's hands. 

[Illustration: NELLO AND PATRASCHE]

"Dost much of such folly?" he asked. But there a tremble in his voice. 

Nello colored and hung his head. "I draw everything I see, " hemurmured. 

Baas Cogez went into his millhouse sore troubled in his mind. "This ladmust not be so much with Alois, " he said to his wife that night. "Trouble may come of it hereafter. He is fifteen now and she is twelve, and the lad is comely. " And from that day poor Nello was allowed in themillhouse no more. 

Nello had a secret which only Patrasche knew. There was a littleouthouse to the hut, which no one entered but himself--a dreary placebut with an abundant clear light from the north. Here he had fashionedhimself rudely an easel in rough lumber, and here, on the great sea ofstretched paper, he had given shape to one of the innumerable fancieswhich possessed his brain. 

No one ever had taught him anything; colors he had no means to buy; hehad gone without bread many a time to procure even the poor vehiclesthat he had there; and it was only in black and white that he couldfashion the things he saw. This great figure which he had drawn here inchalk was only an old man sitting on a fallen tree--only that. He hadseen old Michel, the woodman, sitting so at evening many a time. 

He never had had a soul to tell him of outline or perspective, ofanatomy or of shadow, and yet he had given all the weary, worn-out age, all the sad, quiet patience, all the rugged, careworn pathos of hisoriginal, and given them so that the old, lonely figure was a poem, sitting there, meditative and alone, on the dead tree, with thedarkness of descending night behind him. 

It was rude, of course, in a way, and had many faults no doubt; and yetit was real, true to nature, true to art, mournful, and, in a manner, beautiful. 

Patrasche had lain quiet countless hours watching its gradual creationafter the labor of each day was done, and he knew that Nello had ahope--vain and wild perhaps, but strongly cherished--of sending thisgreat drawing to compete for a prize of 200 francs a year, which it wasannounced in Antwerp would be open to every lad of talent, scholar orpeasant, under eighteen, who attempted to win it with unaided work ofchalk or pencil. Three of the foremost artists in the town of Rubenswere to be the judges and elect the victor according to his merits. 

All the spring and summer and autumn Nello had been at work upon thistreasure, which, if triumphant, would build him his first steps towardindependence and the mysteries of the arts, which he blindly, ignorantly and yet passionately adored. 

The drawings were to go in on the 1st of December and the decision tobe given on the 24th, so that he who should win might rejoice with allhis people at the Christmas season. 

In the twilight of a bitter winter day, and with a beating heart, nowquick with hope, now faint with fear, Nello placed the great picture onhis little green milk cart and left it, as enjoined, at the doors of apublic building. 

He took heart as he went by the cathedral. The lordly form of Rubensseemed to rise from the fog and darkness and to loom in itsmagnificence before him, whilst the lips, with their kindly smile, seemed to him to murmur, "Nay, have courage! It was not by a weak heartand by faint fears that I wrote my name for all time upon Antwerp. "

The winter was sharp already. That night, after they reached the hut, snow fell, and it fell for many days after that, so that the paths andthe divisions of the fields were all obliterated, and all the smallerstreams were frozen over and the cold was intense upon the plains. Then, indeed, it became hard work to go round for milk, while the worldwas all dark, and carry it through the darkness to the silent town. 

In the winter time all drew nearer to each other, all to all except toNello and Patrasche, with whom none now would have anything to do, because the miller had frowned upon the child. Nello and Patrasche wereleft to fare as they might with the old, paralyzed, bedridden man inthe little cabin, whose fire often was cold, and whose board often waswithout bread, for there was a buyer from Antwerp who had taken todrive his mule in of a day for the milk of the various dairies, andthere were only three or four of the people who had refused the termsof purchase and remained faithful to the little green cart. So that theburden which Patrasche drew had become light, and the centime pieces inNello's pouch had become, alas! light likewise. 

The weather was wild and cold. The snow was six feet deep; the ice wasfirm enough to bear oxen and men upon it everywhere. At this season thelittle village always was gay and cheerful. At the poorest dwellingthere were possets and cakes, sugared saints and gilded Jesus. Themerry Flemish bells jingled everywhere on the horses, everywhere withindoors some well-filled soup pot sang and smoked over the stove, andeverywhere over the snow without laughing maidens pattered in brightkerchiefs and stout skirts going to and from mass. Only in the littlehut it was dark and cold. 

[Illustration: NELLO LEFT HIS PICTURE AT THE DOOR]

Nello and Patrasche were left utterly alone; for one night in the weekbefore the Christmas day death entered there and took away from lifeforever old Jehan Daas. Who had never known of life aught save povertyand pain. He had long been half dead, incapable of any movement excepta feeble gesture, and powerless for anything beyond a gentle word. Andyet his loss fell on them both with a great horror in it; they mournedhim passionately. He had passed away from them in his sleep, and whenin the gray dawn they learned their bereavement, unbearable solitudeand desolation seemed to close around them. He had long been only apoor, feeble, paralyzed old man who could not raise a hand in theirdefense, but he had loved them well; his smile always had welcomedtheir return. They mourned for him unceasingly, refusing to becomforted, as in the white winter day they followed the deal shell thatheld his body to the nameless grave by the little church. They were hisonly mourners, these two whom he had left friendless upon the earth--the young boy and the old dog. 

Nello and Patrasche went home with broken hearts. But even of thatpoor, melancholy, cheerless home they were denied the consolation. There was a month's rental overdue for the little place, and when Nellohad paid the last sad service to the dead he had not a coin left. Hewent and begged grace of the owner of the hut, a cobbler who went everySunday night to drink his pint of wine and smoke with Baas Cogez. Thecobbler would grant no mercy. He claimed in default of his rent everystick and stone, every pot and pan in the hut, and bade Nello andPatrasche to be out of it by to-morrow. 

All night long the boy and the dog sat by the fireless hearth in thedarkness, drawn close together for warmth and sorrow. Their bodies wereinsensible to the cold, but their hearts seemed frozen in them. 

When the morning broke over the white, chill earth it was the morningof Christmas eve. With a shudder Nello clasped close to him his onlyfriend, while his tears fell hot and fast on the dog's forehead. 

"Let us go, Patrasche; dear, dear Patrasche!" he murmured. "We will notwait to be kicked out. Let us go. "

They took the old accustomed road into Antwerp. The winner of thedrawing prize was to be proclaimed at noon, and to the public buildingwhere he had left his treasure Nello made his way. On the step and inthe entrance hall there was a crowd of youths--some of his age, someolder, all with parents or relatives or friends. His heart was sickwith fear as he went amongst them, holding Patrasche close to him. 

The great bells of the city clashed out the hour of noon with brazenclamor. The doors of the inner hall were opened; the eager, pantingthrong rushed in. It was known that the selected picture would beraised above the rest upon a wooden dais. 

A mist obscured Nello's sight, his head swam, his limbs almost failedhim. When his vision cleared he saw the drawing raised on high; it wasnot his own. A slow, sonorous voice was proclaiming aloud that victoryhad been adjudged to Stephan Kiesslinger, born in the burg of Antwerp, son of a wharfinger in that town. 

When Nello recovered consciousness he was lying on the stones without, and Patrasche was trying with every art he knew to call him back tolife. In the distance a throng of youths of Antwerp were shoutingaround their successful comrade and escorting him with acclamation tohis home upon the quay. 

He rallied himself as best he could, for he was weak from fasting, andretraced his steps to the village. Patrasche paced by his side with hishead drooping and his strong limbs feeble under him from hunger andsorrow. 

The snow was falling fast; a keen hurricane blew from the north; it wasbitter as death on the plains. It took them long to traverse thefamiliar paths, and the bells were sounding four of the clock as theyapproached the hamlet. Suddenly Patrasche paused, arrested by a scentin the snow, scratched, whined, and drew out with his teeth a smallcase of brown leather. He held it up to Nello in the darkness. Wherethey were there stood a little Calvary, and a lamp burned dully underthe cross. The boy mechanically turned the bag to the light. On it wasthe name of Baas Cogez and within it were notes for 6, 000 francs. 

The sight aroused the lad a little from his stupor. He thrust it in hisshirt and stroked Patrasche and drew him onward. 

Nello made straight for the millhouse and went to the house-door andstruck on the panels. The miller's wife opened it, weeping, with littleAlois clinging close to her skirts. 

"Is it thee, thou poor lad?" she asked kindly through her tears. "Getthee gone ere the Baas sees thee. We are in sore trouble to-night. Heis out seeking for a power of money that he has let fall ridinghomeward, and in this snow he never will find it. And God knows it willgo nigh to ruin us. It is heaven's own judgment for the things we havedone to thee. "

Nello put the note case within her hand and signed to Patrasche withinthe house. 

"Patrasche found the money to-night, " he said quickly. "Tell Baas Cogezso. I think he will not deny the dog shelter and food in his old age. Keep him from pursuing me, and I pray of you to be good to him. "

Ere woman or dog knew what he did he had stooped and kissed Patrasche, then had closed the door hurriedly on him and had disappeared in thegloom of the fast falling night. 

It was six o'clock at night when, from an opposite entrance, the millerat last came, jaded and broken, into his wife's presence. "It is lostforever, " he said, with an ashen cheek and a quiver in his voice. "Wehave looked with lanterns everywhere. It is gone--the little maiden'sportion and all. "

His wife put the money into his hand and told him how it had come backto her. The strong man sank, trembling, into a seat and covered hisface with his hands, ashamed, almost afraid. 

"I have been cruel to the lad, " he murmured at length. "I deserve notto have good at his hands. "

Little Alois, taking courage, crept close to her father, and nestledagainst him her curly, fair head. 

"Nello may come here again, father?" she whispered. "He may come to-morrow, as he used to do?"

The miller pressed her in his arms. His hard, sunburned face was paleand his mouth trembled. "Surely, surely, " he answered his child. "Heshall bide here on Christmas day and any other day he will. In my greedI sinned, and the Lord chastened me. God helping me, I will make amendsto the boy--I will make amends. "

When the supper smoked on the board and the voices were loudest andgladdest, and the Christ child brought choicest gifts to Alois, Patrasche, watching always an occasion, glided out when the door wasunlatched by a careless newcomer, and as swiftly as his weak and tiredlimbs would bear him, sped over the snow in the bitter, black night. Hehad only one thought--to follow Nello. 

Snow had fallen freshly all evening long. It was now nearly teno'clock. The trail of the boy's footsteps was almost obliterated. Ittook Patrasche long and arduous labor to discover any scent which couldguide him in pursuit. When at last he found it, it was lost againquickly, and lost and recovered, and again lost, and again recovered ahundred times and more. It was all quite dark in the town. Now and thensome light gleamed ruddily through the crevices and house shutters, orsome group went homeward with lanterns, chanting drinking songs. Thestreets were all white with ice, and high walls and roofs loomed blackagainst them. There was scarce a sound save the riot of the wind downthe passages as it tossed the creaking signs. 

So many passers-by had trodden through and through the snow, so manydiverse paths had crossed and recrossed each other that the dog had ahard task to retain any hold of the track he followed. But he kept onhis way though the cold pierced him to the bone and the jagged ice cuthis feet, and the hunger in his body gnawed like a rat's tooth. But hekept on his way--a poor, gaunt, shivering, drooping thing--in thefrozen darkness, that no one pitied as he went--and by long patiencetraced the steps he loved into the heart of the burg and up to thesteps of the great cathedral. 

"He is gone to the things that he loved, " thought Patrasche. He couldnot understand, but he was full of sorrow and of pity for the artpassion that to him was so incomprehensible and yet so sacred. 

The portals of the cathedral were unclosed after the midnight mass. Some heedlessness in the custodians, too eager to go home and feast orsleep, or too drowsy to know whether they turned the keys aright, hadleft one of the doors unlocked. By that accident the footfallsPatrasche sought had passed through into the building, leaving thewhite marks of the snow upon the dark stone floor. 

By that slender white thread, frozen as it fell, he was guided throughthe intense silence, through the immensity of the vaulted space--guidedstraight to the gates of the chancel--and stretched there upon thestones, he found Nello. He crept up noiselessly and touched the face ofthe boy. 

"Didst thou dream that I should be faithless and forsake thee? I--adog?" said that mute caress. 

The lad raised himself with a low cry and clasped him close. 

"Let us lie down and die together, " he murmured. "Men have no need ofus, and we are all alone. "

In answer Patrasche crept closer yet and laid his head upon the youngman's breast. The tears stood in his great, brown, sad eyes. Not forhimself; for himself he was happy. 

Suddenly through the darkness a great white radiance streamed throughthe vastness of the aisles. The moon, that was at her height, hadbroken through the clouds. The snow had ceased to fall. The lightreflected from the snow without was clear as the light of dawn. It fellthrough the arches full upon the two pictures above, from which theboy, on his entrance, had flung back the veil. "The Elevation" and "TheDescent from the Cross" for one instant were visible as by day. 

Nello rose to his feet and stretched his arms to them. The tears of apassionate ecstasy glistened on the paleness of his face. 

"I have seen them at last!" he cried aloud. "Oh God, it is enough!"

When the Christmas morning broke and the priests came to the templethey saw them lying on the stones together. Above, the veils were drawnback from the great visions of Rubens, and the fresh rays of thesunrise touched the thorn-crowned head of God. 

As the day grew on there came an old, hard-featured man who wept aswomen weep. 

"I was cruel to the lad, " he murmured, "and now I would have madeamends--yea, to the half of my substance--and he should have been to meas a son. "

There came also as the day grew apace a painter who had fame in theworld and who was liberal of hand and of spirit. 

"I seek one who should have had the prize yesterday had worth won, " hesaid to the people, "a boy of rare promise and genius. An oldwoodcutter on a fallen tree at eventide, that was all his theme. Iwould find him and take him with me and teach him art. "

And a little child with curling fair hair, sobbing bitterly as sheclung to her father's arm, cried aloud: "O Nello, come! We have allready for thee. The Christ child's hands are full of gifts, and the oldpiper will play for us; and the mother says thou shalt stay by thehearth and burn nuts with us all the Noel week long--yes even to thefeast of the kings! And Patrasche will be happy! O Nello, wake andcome!"

But the young, pale face, turned upward to the great Rubens with asmile upon its mouth, answered them all, "It is too late. "

For the sweet sonorous hells went ringing through the frost, and thesunlight shone upon the plains of snow, and the populace trooped gayand glad through the streets, but Nello and Patrasche no more askedcharity at their hands. All they needed now Antwerp gave unbidden. 

When they were found the arms of the boy were folded so closely aroundthe dog that it was difficult to draw them away. The people of thelittle village, contrite and ashamed, took the little boy tenderly intheir arms and bore him away to his last resting place. Patrasche wasnot forgotten, for all the villagers felt the strength of his devotion. 

 * * * * *

Of all the characters in this story, which is the most important andthe most interesting? The author has showed us which she considers themost important by the title she has given to the tale--_A Dog ofFlanders_. Let us see just what she has told us about Patrasche, that we may know whether he is worthy of being the hero of a story. 

First, as to his appearance, we are given the following facts:

1. Yellow of hide. 

2. Large of limb. 

3. Wolflike ears. 

4. Legs bowed and feet widened. 

5. Large, wistful, sympathetic eyes. 

6. Great, tawny head. 

7. (Later) Drooping and feeble; gaunt. 

The picture which the author paints for us of Patrasche's appearance isnot beautiful; we do not love him just for his looks. As to hischaracter and abilities, we are told, or are enabled to find out fromhis actions, the following things:

1. Strong and industrious. He used to draw the heavy cart of thehardware dealer. 

2. Grateful. He loved those who had saved his life, and worked for themwillingly. 

3. Careful of his young master. He was troubled when Nello went intothe dim churches. 

4. Wise. He felt that it was good for Nello to be as much as possiblein the sunny fields or among happy people. 

5. Sympathetic. He looked at Nello with _wistful, sympathetic eyes_. 

6. Understanding. He realized that the picture that Nello was drawingwas something which meant much to him. 

7. Loving. He grieved passionately with Nello at the old man's death. 

8. Acute of sense. He discovered the pocket book in the snow. 

9. Faithful. He refused to stay in the miller's warm kitchen whileNello was out in the cold. 

10. Persistent and patient. He never gave up the search, difficultthough it was, until he had found his master. 

11. Unselfish. He was happy for himself, but he wept because his masterwas unhappy. 

Do you think a dog could have all these qualities, or do you think theauthor, in her anxiety to have us like the dog, has given himcharacteristics which he could not really possess? Have you not, yourself, known dogs that were as intelligent, as affectionate and asfaithful as Patrasche?

ALICE AND PHOEBE CARY

_By_ ANNA McCALEB

In the writings of Alice and Phoebe Cary are to be found manyreferences which show how fondly they remembered the little brown housein which they were born. This house was on a farm in the Miami Valleyin Ohio, eight miles north of Cincinnati. Alice was born April 26th, 1820, and Phoebe, September 24th, 1824, and there was one brotherbetween them. Robert Gary, the father, was a kindly, gentle man, fondof reading, especially romances and poetry. The education for which hehad so much longed he had been unable to obtain, and this made himquiet and diffident with strangers, although in his own family he wasmost loving and most companionable. Even the animals on the farm lovedhim, and the horses and cattle would follow him about watching for thekindly word and pat, or for the lump of salt or sugar which he was socertain to have for them. This Robert Cary was a descendant of SirRobert Cary, a famous English knight of the time of Henry V, and Phoebewas always very proud of this ancestry of hers--so proud, in fact, thatshe had the Gary arms engraved on a seal ring. 

It would seem that the enthusiastic admiration which the daughters alltheir life had for their mother was nothing beyond her deserts, for sheseems to have been far from an ordinary woman. Despite the fact thatshe had nine children, and that she did the work for the entire family, she managed to keep up her interest in public affairs, and to readhistory, essays, biography and politics, as often as books on suchsubjects came to her hand. 

In the little brown house with its overhanging cherry tree, whichtapped the roof and scratched the attic window-panes, and with itssweetbrier under the window, the children lived a simple and happylife. Naturally in a family of this size they divided themselves intogroups, and Alice and Phoebe, who in their later life were soinseparable, do not seem to have singled each other out as companionsin their childhood. Alice's special comrade was her next older sister, Rhoda, Thom she persisted to her dying day in thinking of as the realgenius of the family, while the constant playmate of the active Phoebewas her next younger brother. The children spent much time out-of-doors, gathering nuts and flowers in their season, and gaining thatlove of nature which stayed with them all their lives. As they grewolder, they were sent to the district school, and were taught householdtasks, Alice taking readily enough to housekeeping, while Phoebebecame, even as a child, remarkably proficient with the needle. 

The struggle to keep out of debt was a constant one with the Caryfamily, and Alice said long years afterward, "For the first fourteenyears of my life it seemed as if there was actually nothing inexistence but work. " However, By 1832 family affairs had improvedsomewhat, and a new and larger house was built upon the farm. It seemedas if all the ill luck of the family dated from the building of the newhouse, in which they were never as happy as they had been in the littlebrown house. 

When she was a woman, Alice told with perfect faith the "family ghoststory, " which concerned this new house. She said that just before theremoval of the family to the new house, they were all driven to theshelter of the old house by a sudden and violent summer storm. As Aliceherself stood at the window looking out, she exclaimed to her mother, "Why is Rhoda at the new house with baby Lucy, and why does she havethe door open?"

They all looked, and all saw Rhoda standing in the doorway of the newhouse, with the baby in her arms. 

"She was probably out with the child and took shelter in the nearestplace when the storm came up, " said the mother, and then she calledloudly, "Rhoda!"

The figure in the doorway did not move, and in a few moments Rhoda camedown from upstairs, where she had left little Lucy asleep, declaringthat she had not been near the new house. 

The family believed most sincerely that this was a warning of troubleto come, and certain it is that in 1833, within one month of eachother, Rhoda and little Lucy died. Lucy had been Alice's specialcharge, as Rhoda had been her special companion, and the girl's heartwas almost broken by this double loss. How deep and lasting her griefwas may be seen from a remark that she made to one of her friends, speaking of Lucy's death. 

"I was not fourteen when she died--I am almost fifty now. It may seemstrange when I tell you that I do not believe that there has been anhour of any day since her death in which I have not thought of her andmourned for her. "

In 1835 Mrs. Cary died, and two years later the father married again. The stepmother, a hard-headed, practical woman, could see nothing butlaziness in the desire of Alice and Phoebe to read and write. Duringthe day she insisted that they must keep busy about the house; in theevening she refused to allow them to burn candles, and thus the girlsoften worked with no light except what was afforded by a saucer of lardwith a twist of rag stuck into it for a wick. For books they had butthe Bible, a Hymn Book, a _History of the Jews, Lewis and Clark'sTravels_, Pope's _Essays_, _Charlotte Temple_, a romance, and amutilated novel, _The Black Penitents_. The last pages of this novelwere missing, and Alice often declared that it was a lifelong regret toher that she never learned how the story "turned out. "

With these meager helps and with no incentives to work except their owndesires, Alice and Phoebe constantly wrote poems and stories. At theage of fourteen, Phoebe, without telling her father or even her sister, sent a poem to a Boston publisher. She heard nothing from it, but sometime later came upon it, copied in a Cincinnati paper from the Bostonjournal. She laughed and cried in her excitement, but still she told noone. 

About this time the father and stepmother removed to another housewhich had been built on the farm, and left the children in possessionof the old one, so that their life was decidedly happier and theirchances for work were multiplied. 

Alice from this time on published numerous poems, chiefly in churchpapers, and her writings began to attract attention throughout thecountry. There was a freshness and charm about her little poems whichwon for them the favorable opinion of some of the best judges of poetryin the country. Of her "Pictures of Memory, " Poe said that it was oneof the most rhythmically perfect lyrics in the English language. Whittier wrote to the sisters, and Horace Greeley visited them in 1849, and thus slowly they gained the recognition and the encouragement whichled them in 1850 to a rather daring step. 

This was no less than a removal to New York. Alice went first, but shesoon sent for Phoebe and their younger sister Elmina. In thus settingout for the great city and settling down to earn her living, Alice Carywas no doubt influenced by a rather painful circumstance which hadtaken place in her life. There had come to their neighborhood, somelittle time before, a man, her superior in age and education, who hadrecognized her unusual gifts and attractiveness, and had spent muchtime with her. She came to love him deeply and sincerely, and it wouldseem that he was but little less attracted by her. However, his familymanaged to persuade him that his best interests demanded that he shouldnot marry this country-bred girl, and he returned to his home, leavingAlice to watch and hope for his coming. The gradual relinquishment ofher dream and the final conviction that the sort of home life for whichshe felt herself most fitted was not after all to be hers, led AliceCary to feel that she must take up some definite work to supportherself and to help her sisters. She herself said later, in speakingabout the removal to New York, "Ignorance stood me in the stead ofcourage and of books"--she knew so little about the great city to whichshe was going that she feared it little. 

The sisters made up their minds from the first that they would have ahome; they had a horror of the boarding-house atmosphere. Their firsthome was but two, or three rooms, high up in a big building in anunfashionable part of the town. Alice papered rooms, Phoebe painteddoors and framed pictures; but the impress of their individuality wason the rooms, and every one who entered them felt their coziness and"hominess. " Papers and magazines paid but little for contributions inthose days, and it was only by living in the most economical and humbleway that they managed to avoid their great horror--debt. But their lifewas by no means barren, for they became acquainted with many pleasantpeople, who were always glad and proud to be invited to the little teaparties in the three rooms under the roof. 

The publication in 1852 of Alice's _Clovernook Papers_ brought toher increasing recognition and new friends. These simple, originallittle sketches of rural scenery and rural life were just the thingswhich Alice Cary knew best how to write, and they became very popularall over the country. Before 1856 the sisters had removed to the prettyhouse in Twentieth Street which was their home for the rest of theirlives. Alice bought the house and the furnishings; indeed it was shewho did most of the planning for the household, and who paid most ofthe bills. She worked early and late, driven always by the obligationsto be met. A biographer says of her: "I have never known any otherwoman so systematically and persistently industrious as Alice Cary. "Phoebe worked indeed, but spasmodically--she waited on her moods. 

The home life of the sisters was most pleasant and simple. They had no"society manners;" the witty Phoebe was as willing to flash out herbrightest puns for Alice's enjoyment as she was for a drawing-room fullof appreciative listeners; while Alice's gentleness and sweetness wereshown constantly to her sister and were not reserved for company only. Their great occasions were their Sunday evening receptions, and thepeople who gathered then under their roof were far from an ordinarycompany. Horace Greeley, Bayard Taylor, Richard and Elizabeth Stoddard, Justin McCarthy, Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Ole Bull, P. T. Barnum, Elizabeth Cady Stanton--these were but a part of the brilliant companywhich delighted to gather on Sunday evening and enjoy the sweetness andwomanliness of Alice, and the wit of Phoebe. 

Interrupted by the death of the beloved younger sister Elmina, thislife in the Twentieth Street house went on for over twelve years, untilin 1868 Alice Cary became a confirmed invalid. After she was confinedto her room, however, she wanted life and brightness about her, and hadthe door of her room always left open, that she might hear the cheerfulsounds of the household. 

[Illustration: ALICE CARY 1820-1871]

During their life in New York, Phoebe had had numerous offers ofmarriage, but it had never cost her anything to say, "I don't want tomarry anybody. " Soon after the beginning of Alice's invalid days, however, Phoebe received an offer of marriage from a man whom she feltthat she could love, and with whom she was sure she could be happy. Shehad always felt that in the home she was second to Alice, and sheconfessed once to a friend, "Sometimes I feel a yearning to have a lifeof my very own; my own house and work and friends; and to feel myselfthe center of all. "

However, much as it cost her, she resolutely put away the thought ofthis possible happiness because she knew that her sister could notendure her absence in what were very clearly the last days of her life. 

In February, 1870, Alice Cary died, and Phoebe from that time on seemedbut half a person. To one of her friends she said pathetically: "Forthirty years I have gone straight to her bedside as soon as I arose inthe morning, and wherever she is, I am sure she wants me now. " Shetried to take up her work--indeed she felt that in her sister's absenceshe had double work to do; but it was of no use, and in a little morethan a year after her sister's death she too died. 

These two sisters, who were so constantly associated for so many years, differed very decidedly in many respects. Alice, the frailer in body, was much the stronger in will power; indeed her ability to forceherself to begin and to stick to anything which she thought was to bedone was the marvel of her friends. This intense energy often jarred onthe more easy-going Phoebe, just as Phoebe's refusal to do literarywork unless she were exactly in the right mood, often jarred uponAlice. However, the two sisters never showed their irritation; theywere always sweet and gentle in their dealings with each other. 

Naturally, Alice's superior energy resulted in an output of literarywork which was much larger than Phoebe's. There was a difference, too, besides that of quantity in the work of the sisters. Alice possessed amore objective imagination, that is, she could, in the ballads whichshe was so fond of writing, place herself in the position of those whomshe was describing, and make their feelings her own. Phoebe, on theother hand, in her serious poems held more closely to her ownexperiences. Both the sisters were very fond of children, though in adifferent way, Alice feeling for them a sort of mother-love, whilePhoebe always felt toward them as though they were comrades. It is thegenuine love for children which makes the children's stories and poemsof Alice and Phoebe Cary live. 

Shortly after Phoebe died one of her friends wrote, "The wittiest womanin America is dead;" and constantly on all sides was heard the saying, "O, if I had only taken down the many wonderfully bright things that Iheard her say!" Her parodies have rarely been excelled, and some of herhumorous poems are irresistibly funny. The best known perhaps of herparodies is the one on Longfellow's _The Day Is Done_, of which astanza may be quoted here. For the original stanza which runs:

 "I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain, "

Phoebe Gary substituted the words:

 "I see the lights of the baker Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of hunger comes o'er me, That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing That is not like being sick And resembles sorrow only, As a brickbat resembles a brick. "

However, more than for anything else, perhaps, Phoebe Cary will beremembered for her lyric, _One Sweetly Solemn Thought_. Not longbefore she died she heard a story of something which this littlepoem had accomplished, which made her very happy. A gentleman going toChina was entrusted with a package for an American boy in China. Arriving at his destination, he failed to find the boy, but was toldthat he might discover him in a certain gambling house. As he sat andwaited, he watched with disgust and loathing the dreadful scenes goingon about him. At a table near him sat a young boy and a man of perhapsforty, drinking and playing cards; they were swearing horribly andusing the vilest language. 

At length, while the older man shuffled and dealt the cards, the boyleaned back in his chair and half unconsciously began to hum, finallysinging under his breath Phoebe Cary's hymn, _One Sweetly SolemnThought_. 

"Where did you learn that hymn?" cried the older gambler abruptly. 

"At Sunday School at home, " replied the boy, surprised. 

The older man threw the cards on the floor. "Come, Harry, " he said, "let's get out of this place. I am ashamed that I ever brought youhere, and I shall do my best to keep you from entering such a placeagain. "

Together the two passed from the gambling house, and the man whowatched them learned later that they were both true to their resolutionto live a different life. 

NEARER HOME

_By_ PHOEBE CARY

 One sweetly solemn thought Comes to me o'er and o'er; I am nearer home to-day Than I ever have been before;

 Nearer my Father's house, Where the many mansions be; Nearer the great white throne, Nearer the crystal sea;

 Nearer the bound of life, Where we lay our burdens down; Nearer leaving the cross, Nearer gaining the crown!

 But lying darkly between, Winding down through the night, Is the silent, unknown stream, That leads at last to the light. 

 Closer and closer my steps Come to the dread abysm: Closer Death to my lips Presses the awful chrism. 

 Oh, if my mortal feet Have almost gained the brink; If it be I am nearer home Even to-day than I think, Father, perfect my trust; Let my spirit feel in death That her feet are firmly set On the rock of a living faith!

PICTURES OF MEMORY

_By_ ALICE CARY

 Among the beautiful pictures That hang on Memory's wall Is one of a dim old forest, That seemeth best of all;

 Not for its gnarled oaks olden, Dark with the mistletoe; Nor for the violets golden That sprinkle the vale below;

 Not for the milk-white lilies That lean from the fragrant ledge, Coquetting all day with the sunbeams, And stealing their golden edge;

[Illustration: IN THAT DIM OLD FOREST]

 Nor for the vines on the upland, Where the bright red berries rest, Nor the pinks, nor the pale sweet cowslip, It seemeth to me the best. 

 I once had a little brother, With eyes that were dark and deep; In the lap of that old dim forest He lieth in peace asleep:

 Light as the down of the thistle, Free as the winds that blow, We roved there the beautiful summers, The summers of long ago;

 But his feet on the hills grew weary, And, one of the autumn eves, I made for my little brother A bed of the yellow leaves. 

 Sweetly his pale arms folded My neck in a meek embrace, As the light of immortal beauty Silently covered his face;

 And when the arrows of sunset Lodged in the tree-tops bright, He fell, in his saint-like beauty, Asleep by the gates of light. 

 Therefore, of all the pictures That hang on Memory's wall, The one of the dim old forest Seemeth the best of all. 

THE ESCAPE FROM PRISON[Footnote: This selection is taken from _Cast Up By the Sea_. PaulGrey, smuggler, and owner of a trim little smuggling boat, the _Polly_, has come to the French coast to meet his French confederate, CaptainDupuis. He expects merely to exchange cargoes, as he has done in thepast, and to run back, avoiding revenue cruisers; but Captain Dupuis, who owes Captain Grey money which he has no desire to pay, and whosefingers itch for the prize money to be gained by capturing a smuggler, sends out in his boat a pilot who guides the _Polly_ into a harbor wherea French war vessel waits for her. Dick Stone, Grey's right-hand man, advises fighting, but Captain Grey sees the uselessness of this andallows himself and his men to be made prisoners. The selection begins atthis point. ]

_By_ SIR SAMUEL W. BAKER[Footnote: Sir Samuel W. Baker (1821-1893) was an English traveler andexplorer. Besides _Cast Up by the Sea_, Baker wrote _The Rifle and theHound in Ceylon_; _The Albert Nyansa_; _Wild Beasts and their Ways_, andother books. ]

In an hour after the arrival of the "Polly" in the deceitful port, Pauland his entire crew were marched through the streets of a Frenchvillage, and were drawn up opposite the prison entrance. 

Upon their arrival at the gate they were met by the governor and theprincipal jailer, who allotted them to various cells in separateparties. Paul, as their captain, was placed in a superior apartment, together with Dick Stone, whom he had requested might be permitted toaccompany him. 

As the door of the prison had closed upon their admittance to thecourt-yard, Paul had noticed a remarkably pretty girl about eighteenwho had fixed her eyes upon him with extreme earnestness. As he was nowled with Dick Stone to the room that they were to occupy he observedthat she accompanied the jailer, and appeared to observe him with greatinterest. Taking from his pocket a guinea that was pierced with a hole, he slipped it into her hand; at the same time laughingly he told her ina few words of broken French to suspend it as a charm around her neckto preserve her from everything English. 

Instead of receiving it with pleasure, as he had expected, she simplylooked at it with curiosity for an instant, and then, keeping it in herhand, she asked in her native tongue with intense feeling, "Have youseen Victor? My dear brother Victor, a prisoner in England?"

"Silly girl, " said the jailer, her father, "England is a large place, and there are too many French prisoners to make it likely that Victorshould be known"; at the same time the feelings of the father yieldedto a vague hope as he looked inquiringly at Paul. 

"There are many fine fellows, " answered Paul, "who have had themisfortune to become prisoners of war, but they are all cared for, andreceive every attention in England. When was your brother taken?" heasked, as he turned to the handsome dark-eyed girl who had justquestioned him. 

[Illustration: HE SLIPPED A GUINEA INTO HER HAND]

"A year ago next Christmas, " she replied; "and we have only once heardfrom him; he was then at a place called Falmouth, but we do not knowwhere that is. "

"Falmouth!" said Paul; "why, I know the place well; with a fair windthe 'Polly' would make it in a few hours from the spot where I live. Your brother then is imprisoned only half a day's sail from my house!"

"Oh! what good fortune, _mon Dieu, _" exclaimed the excited girl, as sheclasped her hands in delight, as though the hour of her brother'sdeliverance was at hand. "How can we reach him? surely you can help us?"

"Alas! I am also a prisoner, " replied Paul. "At this moment my wife issorrowing alone in our cottage on the cliff, and she is looking vainlyupon the sea expecting my return. How can I help you? Believe me, if itwere possible, I would. " At the recollection of Polly's situation Paulhastily brushed a tear from his eye with the back of his rough hand, which instantly awoke the sympathy of the sensitive girl before him. 

"Ha! you are married, " she exclaimed. "Is she young, and perhapsbeautiful?"

"Young enough for me, and handsomer than most women, " replied Paul. 

At this moment Dick Stone had lighted his pipe, and as he gave two orthree tremendous puffs he screwed his face into a profoundly serio-comic expression and winked his right eye mysteriously at Paul. 

"I know the young man, " said Dick, who now joined in the conversation, and addressed the jailer whom he had been scrutinizing closely; "I sawhim once at the prison in Falmouth. Rather tall?" said Dick, as hesurveyed the six-foot form of the jailer. 

"Yes, " said the jailer, eagerly, "as tall as I am. "

"Black hair?" continued the impassive Dick, as he cast his eyes uponthe raven locks of both father and daughter. 

"Yes, as dark as mine, " exclaimed the now excited jailer. 

"Roman nose?" said Dick, as he looked at the decided form of theparent's feature that was shared by the handsome girl. 

"Precisely so, well arched, " replied the father. 

"Had not lost an arm?" said Dick. 

"No, he had both his arms, " said the jailer. 

"And his name, " said Dick, "was Victor?"

"Victor Dioré!" exclaimed the jailer's daughter. 

"Precisely so--that's the man, " replied the stoical Dick Stone; "that'sthe man. I know'd him soon after he was captured; and I believe he'snow in Falmouth Jail. I'd almost forgotten his name, for you Mounseersare so badly christened that I can't remember how you're called. "

The jailer and his daughter were much affected at this suddenintelligence; there could be no doubt that their new prisoner had seentheir lost relative, who appeared to be imprisoned not far from Paul'sresidence, and their hearts at once warmed toward both the captives. 

They were led into a large but rather dark room, scantily furnished, with two trestle-beds, a table, and a couple of benches. 

"We must talk of this again, " said Paul to the jailer's daughter;"perhaps an exchange of prisoners may be arranged at some future timethat may serve us all. "

"Yes, " added Dick Stone, "I think we can manage it if we're all truefriends; and may I ask your name, my dear? for you're the prettiestMounseer that I've ever set eyes on. "

"Léontine, " replied the girl. 

"Well, Leonteen, " continued Dick, "if you'll come and have a chatsometimes up in this cold-looking room I dare say we'll be able to hitoff some plan that'll make us all agreeable. I've got a secret to tellyou yet, but I don't want to let it out before the old 'un, " said Dick, mysteriously, as he winked his eye at her in masonic style; then, putting his lips very close to her pretty ear, he whispered, "I cantell you how to get your brother out of prison; but you must keep itclose. "

The door had hardly closed upon the jailer and his daughter, who hadpromised to return with breakfast, when Paul turned quickly toward DickStone and exclaimed, "What do you mean, Dick, by such a romance as youhave just composed? Surety all is false; you never met the Frenchprisoner at Falmouth?"

"Well, " replied Dick, "may be I didn't; but perhaps I did. Who knows?--You see, captain, all's fair in love or war, and it struck me that it'sas well to make friends as enemies; now you see we've made friends allat once by a little romance. You see the Mounseers are very purlitepeople, and so it's better to be purlite when you're in France. You seethe pretty little French girl says her brother's in jail in Falmouth;well, I've seen a lot of French prisoners in Falmouth with black hair, and two arms apiece, and a Roman nose; so very likely I've seen herbrother. Well, you see, if we can make friends with the jailer, we mayp'r'aps get the key of the jail! At all events, it ain't a badbeginning to make friends with the jailer's daughter before we've hadour first breakfast in the French prison. "

As Dick Stone finished speaking he looked out of the narrow gratedwindow that in the thick stone wall appeared as though it had beenintended for musketry; from this aperture he had a beautiful view ofthe bay and the French corvette, near to which the unfortunate "Polly"was now lying at anchor with the French colors flying at the mizzen. 

"Well, that's a bad lookout, I must say, " said Dick. "Look here, captain, there's the 'Polly' looking as trim and as saucy, bless herheart! as though we were all on board; and there's the ugly French flagflying, and she don't seem to care more about it than a woman with newribbons in her bonnet. "

Paul looked at his beautiful lugger with bitter feelings. He had sailedin her for many years, and she had become like a member of his family. Although fifteen years old, she had been built of such well-seasonedtimber, and had been kept in such excellent repair, that she was betterthan most vessels of half her age, and he sighed as he now saw her atanchor with the French flag fluttering at her masthead. For a long timehe gazed intently upon her without speaking a word; at length he turnedsharply 'round, and in a quick, determined voice, he said, "Dick, I'llnever live to see the 'Polly' disgraced. If you'll stick by me, Dick, we'll retake her yet, or die!"

For some moments Dick Stone stared Paul carelessly in the face withouta reply; he then tapped the bowl of his empty pipe upon the prisonwall, and carefully refilling it with tobacco, he once more, lightedit, and puffed for about a minute in perfect silence; he then spoke, after emitting a dense volume of smoke. 

"If I'll stick to you, captain? Well, p'r'aps I never have, and p'r'apsDick Stone's a coward? Well, you see, of course I'll stick to yer; butthere's other things to be thought of. What's your plan, captain? It'sof no use doing anything without thinking well first. Now if you'lltell me what you mean I'll have a little smoke, just half a pipe, andI'll tell you my opinion. "

"My plans are not absolutely defined, " said Paul, "but I think that bymaking friends with the jailer's daughter we may induce her to riskmuch in the endeavor to rescue her brother. We might prevail upon herto assist in our escape--she might even accompany us to England. Couldwe only free ourselves from these prison walls on a dark night, whenthe wind blows strong from the south, why should we not surprise theFrench crew, and carry off the 'Polly'? Once at sea, there is nothingthat could touch her!" Paul's eyes glistened as he spoke, and themuscles stood out on his brawny arm as he clinched his fist, and added, "If I could only once lay hold of Dupuis's throat, and save the'Polly, ' I ask no greater fortune!"

Puff, puff, puff, came in rapid succession from Dick's pipe at thesewords; at last, the long exhaustive suck arrived in its turn, and theusual cloud of smoke enveloped his head, which always exhilarated hisbrain. 

"Well, captain, d'ye see, " replied Dick, "I'll stick to you inanything, and there's no doubt that there's a chance of success if thepretty little Mounseer will only help us. But, you see, from what Iknow of womankind, they're very fond and very purlite for theirbrothers, but they won't run much risk for 'em. Now if they're in lovethey're as good as bulldogs; and so I think it's a pity as how you toldher that you'd got a wife a-looking out for you at home! If you'd havetold her that you were a single man, and p'r'aps given her a kiss whenyou gave her the lucky guinea, we might have got a little love to helpus, and then we'd have had a better chance, as she'd have gone off withus all of a heap. "

"Dick, you have no conscience, " replied Paul; "you surely would notdeceive the girl in such a heartless manner? No!" continued Paul, "Ihave told her the truth, and if she can help us I'll do my best to saveher brother; but, on the other hand, why should not you, Dick, makeyourself agreeable to her? You're not a bad-looking fellow, why shouldyou not do the love-making?"

Dick made no reply, but thoughtfully puffed at-his pipe; then layingdown his smoking counselor upon the window-sill he thrust his righthand into a deep breeches pocket, and extracted a black-horn pocketcomb, with which he began at once, most carefully to arrange his hair. 

Despite the loss of the "Polly" and the misery of his situation Paulburst out laughing as he witnessed Dick's cool determination to preparefor love-making. 

"I don't know how these Mounseers begin, " said the methodical Dick;"they're a very purlite people, and so they mayn't like our customs. InEngland we take 'em round the waist with both arms, and give 'em akiss; but p'r'aps it's better not to begin all at once. I'll just askher to sit on my knee at first, so as not to frighten her. "

"Better not, Dick, " said Paul, laughing; "I'm afraid she wouldn'tunderstand your modesty. Only make yourself agreeable, but don't touchher, and let time do the rest. "

They were interrupted in their conversation by the turning of thecreaking door-lock, and the jailer and his daughter entered with a loafof black bread and two jars of water and of milk, which they placedupon the table. Léontine had already strung the guinea upon a cord, which was now suspended from her neck. 

"Ha! that looks very well!" said Paul; "few French girls wear theEnglish king's image round their necks. "

"I know an Englishman who wears a French girl's picture in his heart, "said Dick, who, with a sly wink at Paul as a preface, thus made hisfirst bold advance. "A what?" inquired Léontine. 

"A poor devil, " replied Dick, "who doesn't care how long he's shut upin a French prison with such a pretty little Mounseer for a jailer. "

"Ha! ha! you English know how to pay compliments, " answered Léontine, who knew just sufficient English to understand Dick's attempt atFrench. 

"Yes, we're considered a very purlite people, " replied Dick, "and wehave a purlite custom when we go to prison of shaking hands with thejailer and kissing the hand of his pretty daughter. " As Dick said thesewords he first grasped the hand of the jailer, and then raised to hislips, redolent of tobacco, the hand of Léontine; at the same time hewhispered, "Don't forget that I have a secret. "

Far from being disconcerted at Dick's politeness, Léontine naivelyremarked, "You can't tell a secret before three persons; but we shallhave plenty of opportunities, for you may pay us a longer visit thanmay be agreeable. "

Dick in reply to this remark suddenly assumed one of his mostmysterious expressions, and winking one eye at Léontine, he placed hisforefinger upon his lips as though to enjoin silence, and whispered inher ear, "Make an opportunity: the secret's about your brother. "

More than two months had passed wearily in the French prison, duringwhich both Paul and Dick Stone had been buoyed up in inaction by thehope of carrying into execution a plan for their escape. The only viewfrom the prison windows was the sea, and the street and beach in theforeground. The "Polly" still lay at anchor in the same spot, as somedifficulty had arisen between Captain Dupuis and the captain of thecorvette that had to be settled in the law courts. 

In the meantime both Paul and Dick Stone had not only become greatfriends of the jailer, Jean Dioré, and his daughter, but Dick hadquickly found an opportunity to disclose his secret, which succeeded inwinning the heart of the enterprising Léontine. Dick had made adeclaration of love, and to prove his sincerity he proposed that heshould conduct her direct to her brother in the English prison, whoserelease should be effected by an exchange; and he had persuaded herthat, if she should aid in the escape of Paul and the entire crew ofthe "Polly, " there would be no difficulty in obtaining her brother'srelease when the facts should become known to the English authorities. Paul had added his persuasions to those of Dick Stone; he had excitedthe sister's warmest feelings by painting the joys he would feel inrescuing her brother from a miserable existence, and he had gained hersympathy by a description of the misery and suspense that his own wifemust be suffering in her ignorance of all that had befallen him. Léontine was won. She was brave as a lion, and, her determination onceformed, she was prepared to act without flinching. 

Many times Dick Stone had lighted his pipe, and puffed and consideredas he took counsel with Paul on the plan that the latter had proposed. All was agreed upon. 

Paul had thus arranged the attempt at escape. All was to be inreadiness for the first gale that should blow from either west orsouth. Léontine had provided him with a couple of large files and asmall crowbar about two feet long, which she had purchased in thevillage with money supplied by Paul; these she had introduced to hisroom by secreting them beneath her clothes. 

At various times she had purchased large supplies of string twine inskeins, which to avoid suspicion she had described as required formaking nets; these she had also introduced daily, until sufficient hadbeen collected for the manufacture of ropes, at which both Paul andDick Stone worked incessantly during the night, and which theyconcealed in the daytime within their mattresses, by cutting a holebeneath. Whenever the time should arrive it had been arranged thatLéontine was to procure the keys of the cells in which the crew of the"Polly" were confined, and she was to convey the prisoners at nightinto the apartment occupied by Paul and Dick, whence they were todescend from the window by a rope into the fosse that surrounded theprison; fortunately, this ditch was dry, and Léontine was to fix astake into the ground about the fosse, from which she was to suspend aknotted rope after dark, to enable the prisoners to ascend upon theopposite side. 

The great difficulty would be in avoiding the sentry, who was always onguard within fifty paces of the spot where they would be forced todescend, and whence they must afterward ascend from the ditch. Theaffair was to be left entirely in the hands of Léontine, who assuredPaul and Dick that she would manage the sentry if they would be readyat the right moment to assist her. When freed from the prison, theywere to make a rush to the beach, seize the first boat, of which manywere always at hand, and board and capture the "Polly"; once on boardthe trusty lugger, in a westerly or southerly gale, and Paul knew thatnothing could overtake her. 

Such was the plan agreed upon, and everything had been carefullyprepared and in readiness for some days, but the favorable weather hadnot yet arrived. Daily and hourly Paul looked from the grated windowsupon his beloved "Polly, " which lay still at anchor idle in the bay, about fifty yards from the French corvette. 

At length, as early one morning he as usual looked out from his prison, he saw a boat pulling from the shore, followed quickly by severalothers conveying cargo, and steering for the "Polly;" the bustle uponthe deck, and the refitting of ropes and rigging, plainly discerniblefrom the prison window, left no doubt upon Paul's mind that the "Polly"was about to leave the harbor, and perhaps be lost to him forever. 

At this painful sight Dick lighted his pipe, and smoked with violenceuntil the tobacco was half consumed, when suddenly, in a fit ofexcitement that was quite unusual, he hastily put his adviser in hispocket, and seizing a file from beneath his mattress he immediatelycommenced work upon the bottom of an iron bar that protected the narrowwindow. 

"That's right, Dick, " said Paul; "now or never! The clouds are hurryingup from the sou'-west, and I think it's coming on to blow; as oldMother Lee says, 'Luck comes from the sou-west'; so bear a hand, andgive me the file when you get tired. "

As Paul had observed, the scud was flying rapidly across the sky fromthe right quarter, and both men worked hard alternately, and in an hourthey had divided the thick iron bar close to the base. 

"Now for the top, " said Dick. "We'll soon cut it through, although it'sharder work, as we can't put our weight to the file. "

"Never mind the file, " said Paul, who now grasped the severed bar inhis iron hands; "with such a purchase I could wrench the bar asunder. Something shall give way, " he said, as with the force of Samson heexerted every muscle, and wrenched the bar from its loosened base. Thestone in which it was fixed first crumbled at the joint, and thensuddenly cracked, and Paul fell sprawling on his back with the bar inhis hands, while a heavy fragment of stone fell upon the floor. 

"Take care, captain, " said Dick; "gently with the stones. We shallalarm the jailer if we make so much noise. Why, you've settled the jobin one pull!"

"Here, Dick, " continued Paul, as he sprung from the floor, "take thebar while I move a stone from the side with the crow. We won't take itright out, lest the jailer should notice it if he comes with thebreakfast; but we'll loosen it so that we can remove it quickly whennecessary, as the window is too narrow for our shoulders. "

[Illustration: HE WRENCHED THE BAR ASUNDER]

Paul then inserted the thin edge of the crowbar, and by gently workingit backward and forward, he removed the stones and enlarged theaperture sufficiently to admit the passage of a man; he then replacedthe stones, together with the bar, and so arranged the window that noone would have observed any disturbance unless by a close inspection. Hardly had they completed their work when footsteps were heard without, succeeded by the turning of the key in the creaking lock of their door. In an instant Dick, who had lighted his pipe, leaned upon the window-sill and looked steadily out of the window; at the same time he puffedsuch dense clouds of smoke as would have effectually screened any. Damage that had been done by the work of the crowbar. 

The door opened, and fortunately Léontine appeared instead of herfather. She brought the breakfast. 

"Quick!" she exclaimed, "there is no time to lose. The wind haschanged, and people say we shall have a gale from the sou'-west. The'Polly' is to sail to-morrow. Captain Dupuis has loaded her, and hewill himself depart in the morning should the wind be fair. You mustall get ready for the work, " continued the determined girl, as herlarge eyes flashed with energy. 

"We have not been idle, my pretty Léontine, " said Paul, as he exhibitedtheir morning's work, "but we now depend upon you. It will be quitedark at eight o'clock. You must have the rope ready secured to thissmall crowbar, driven into the earth on the other side of the fosse;the bar is sharp and heavy; it will make no noise if you can manage tostrike it into the ground in exactly the same spot three or four times, and simply hang this loop upon it, pressed close down to the base. " Atthe same time he gave her the bar, and a rope coiled, about twenty feetin length. Paul continued. "You must also be punctual in bringing theother prisoners here at half-past eight, and tell them to take theirshoes off and to tie them round their waists. But how about thesentry?" asked Paul. 

"Don't be afraid, " said Léontine; "I have already arranged everythingthis morning. Fortune has favored us; François is to be on guard to-night; the guard is relieved at eight o'clock, at which time he willcome on duty, therefore we have nothing to fear for some hours. I willmanage François; leave him to me. He is an old lover of mine, and Ihave appointed to meet him to-night. "

At this confession, thus boldly made, Dick Stone puffed violently athis pipe, and was almost concealed by his own smoke, when Léontinecontinued:

"He is a sad fellow, and has given me much trouble, but I shall pay himout to-night. Look here, Dick, " she continued, "if you are worth havingyou'll help me quickly to-night, for I shall depend upon you. I haveagreed to meet François this evening at half-past eight, as I havepretended to accept his love. To avoid detection (as he will be onguard), I am to be disguised as a soldier, and he will send me theclothes and arms to-day. I shall keep my appointment, and engage him inconversation so closely that he will not hear you; but at the lastmoment you must be ready to rush upon him and secure him, while Iendeavor to prevent him from giving an alarm. At the same time, "continued Léontine, "you must promise not to hurt him, for François isa good fellow, and is very fond of me. "

"Only let me get hold of him, " cried Dick Stone. 

"Will you?" replied Léontine; "then the enterprise ceases at the verybeginning. You shall not escape unless you swear that no harm shallbefall François. "

"Do not be afraid, " said Paul; but he continued: "It may be a difficultaffair if he is a powerful man--what size is he?"

"Oh, " replied Léontine, laughing, "a little fellow, about as big as Iam. You could soon manage poor Francois; he would be a mere child inthe grasp of such a man as yourself. "

"All right, " said Paul; "then there's no fear of murder; depend uponme, Léontine, no harm shall touch him. "

"Mind you seize the right man, " said the gay Léontine, "when I give thesignal, as I shall be in a soldier's uniform and you may mistake me forFrancois. The signal will be 'A friend;' the instant that I give theword, seize and disarm him before he can fire his musket. You will thenhave two muskets, mine and that of Francois, with which you must takeyour chance in boarding the 'Polly. '"

"That will do, " said Paul; "let me only set foot on the 'Polly's' deck, and I'll soon settle accounts with Monsieur Dupuis. But now, " addedPaul, "we are agreed upon all points, and we depend upon you, Léontine;do not forget to visit the beach, and see that the oars and a boat-hook, with a sharp ax to cut the cable, are placed in readiness withina large boat, to which you must guide us when we leave the prison. "

"Never fear, " said Léontine; "I shall not fail in my part, and I shallgive the signal as the clock chimes half-past eight; you must be readyon the instant. Here is a letter, " continued the girl, as the tearsstarted to her eyes, "that I have written for my father; you must leaveit on the table when you escape, and it will explain all; he will then, perhaps, forgive me when he knows that I risk my life for Victor. "Saying which, she left the room and locked the door behind her. 

Léontine now hurried her preparations, while the day passed wearilyaway to those who were awaiting the hour of their deliverance. 

Paul and Dick Stone counted the hours as the neighboring church clockstruck heavily on the bell. 

"We shall run to the cove in twelve hours, " said Paul, "if this breezelasts; it's blowing a gale out at sea, and the 'Polly' 'll fly like awitch on a broomstick. "

"We've got to take her first, " replied the wary Dick. "There's many aslip 'twixt the cup and the lip!"

"We are short of weapons, no doubt, " said Paul; "but we must take offthe sword-bayonets from the muskets, and give them to two of the men. Iwill be first on board, and knock down Dupuis. Let the men rush to themain-mast and secure the arms from the rack the moment that they reachthe deck, while you, Dick, seize the helm. I will tell off four men toloose the sails and to cut the cable directly that we get on board. This will leave us ten men to do the fighting. If all goes well weshall find the better part of the French crew down below, and, once inpossession of the deck, they will be at our mercy. This gale of windwill start the 'Polly' like a wild duck the instant that the cable iscut, and we shall be round the corner of the island before the corvettecan bring her guns to bear upon us. Then, with a dark night and a heavygale, the 'Polly' can take care of herself. "

The day at length passed away, and the sun set. The wind roared throughthe narrow streets of the town, and whistled loudly around the pointedtowers of the old prison. "There could not be a better night, " saidPaul; "the wind roars like a lion, and nothing will be heard by thesentry. "

As he was speaking the clock struck eight. As the last tone of the belldied away the lock of the door creaked as the key turned from theoutside; and presently, without a sound of footsteps, thirteenstrapping fellows, who had been liberated by Léontine, softly enteredthe room, carrying their shoes strapped to their belts, as had beendirected by Paul. 

No time was lost in useless greeting; but the severed bar of the windowwas at once made use of as a lever to remove the heavy stones, and inless than ten minutes an aperture was made sufficiently large for anexit. 

Paul now fastened the rope that had been concealed in his mattress tothe center of the iron bar; then, lowering the other end from thewindow until it reached the fosse, he fixed the bar across the base, sothat it was secured on either side by the masonry. 

All was now ready, and, lest they should be disturbed, Dick Stone, having received the key from Léontine, locked the door on the inside. 

Paul went first. It was with some difficulty that he squeezed his broadshoulders through the narrow opening; but once without the wall henimbly lowered himself to the bottom, a depth of about sixty feet. 

In a much shorter time than might be supposed the active sailors hadsucceeded in reaching the bottom of the fosse, without having made theslightest noise. The wind blew louder than before; there was no moon, and merely a faint light was given at intervals by the stars that everynow and then peeped from between the driving clouds. 

Carefully leading the way, Paul crossed the broad fosse, and felt withhis hand the opposite wall, against which he expected to find the ropethat was to have been arranged by Léontine. He was followed noiselesslyby the crew for about twenty yards, when he suddenly halted as hecaught the dangling rope. 

With extreme care Paul now climbed, hand over hand, to the top, havingpreviously whispered to Dick Stone to hold the end of the rope, and toascend when he should give a jerk as a signal of safety. 

Arrived at the top, on the soft green turf at the edge of the moat, Paul lay flat upon the ground, and listened. He could see nothing, therefore he knew that he could not be seen; but he fancied that hecould hear a suppressed voice in the direction of the sentry. He gave aslight jerk to the rope, and presently Dick Stone arrived, and crept toPaul's side, quickly followed by all the others. They all remained flatupon the grass, which, being about a foot in height, effectuallyconcealed them in the darkness of the night. Paul now crept forwardupon his hands and knees, followed in the same manner by Dick Stone;the other men had received orders to jump up and join them immediatelyupon hearing the signal, "A friend. "

In a few minutes Paul was within a dozen yards of the sentry; and as heand Dick then lay flat upon the earth they could faintly distinguishtwo figures standing close together, and in intervals between the guststhey could hear voices. 

We will return to Léontine. 

She had not failed in any of her arrangements. The unsuspectingFrançois had fallen into her snare, and, delighted with theassignation, he had run great risk in the hope of securing the love ofthe charming Léontine. He had borrowed for her a comrade's uniform andarms; and thus accoutred as a soldier, she had met him at the appointedhour. They were now standing together by the edge of the moat, andLéontine had listened to his warm declarations of affection. Françoiswas enraptured; for more than a year he had vainly sought to win herlove. As the belle of the village, Léontine had many admirers; acertain lieutenant was reported to be a favored suitor; thus whatchance was there for a private such as François? True or false, thejealous heart of François had believed these reports, and he hadyielded to despair. Judge of his transport when, within the last fewhours, he had been led to hope; and now, when he had nearly given herup as lost, he almost held her in his arms. Alas! for militarydiscipline when beauty leads the attack! François thought of nothingbut his love. There was a railing by the edge of the moat, againstwhich Léontine had rested her musket; the unwary sentry did the same;and the two weapons leaned peacefully side by side, as the soldier, intoxicated by his love, suddenly caught her round the waist with botharms and pressed his lips to her cheek. At this moment the dull clangof the prison clock struck the half hour. Struggling in his embrace, Léontine exclaimed: "Oh, if I could call 'a friend!'"

At the same instant with both her hands she slipped into his mouth awooden instrument called a gag, that was used to silence uproariousprisoners. The signal, "A friend, " had been given in a loud voice, asthough in reply to the usual challenge, and before the unlucky Françoiscould relieve himself from the gag he was caught from behind in thetremendous grasp of Paul's arms, while Dick Stone by mistake rushedupon Léontine; a vigorous smack on the face from her delicate handimmediately undeceived him. 

"Take that musket, " whispered Léontine, quickly, "and come along. "

At the same time she seized the remaining musket, while Paul pinionedthe arms of their prisoner with his handkerchief, and threatened himwith instant death should he resist. 

No time was lost. Paul threw the sentry over his shoulder as though hehad been a lamb, and the whole party hurried after Léontine, who hadled the way to the beach. 

This affair had been managed so dexterously and quietly that no soundhad been heard except the reply, "A friend, " that was the preconcertedsignal of attack; but upon arrival at the beach the rattling of theshingle as the large party hurried toward the boat threatened toattract a dangerous attention. 

A large number of boats were drawn up upon the beach, but Léontine, without a moment's hesitation, led Paul and his party to one that hadthe oars already arranged; and the powerful crew, seizing it by the bowand the stern, ran it along the steep incline and launched it throughthe waves. 

Not a word had been spoken, but there was a sound of many feet as thecrew jumped into the boat that could not be mistaken. Paul laid hisstruggling burden upon the beach, and Léontine, before she leaped intothe boat, whispered in the captive's ear:

"François, if you give the alarm I'll never love you again. " With thiscoquettish adieu she followed Paul and Dick Stone, who were the last ofthe party. 

"Steer straight for the 'Polly, ' and give way, my lads! for there's notime to lose, " said Paul, who had taken his position in the bow of theboat with Dick Stone, both of whom were armed with muskets, while twomen with sword-bayonets were ready to follow them. 

"Make a rush on board, " said Paul, "and knock down everybody withoutasking questions; then seize the arms from the rack and chest. "

The water was deep in the rocky bay; thus the "Polly" was moored to abuoy little more than two hundred yards from shore; a light was visibleon board, and the lanterns of the corvette were also burning aboutfifty paces distant, where she lay moored by stem and stern. 

They now pulled swiftly but silently toward the lugger. Paul's heartbounded with hope, while Dick Stone, as cool as ice, but determinedupon the event, waited for the command. They neared the vessel. "Whatboat's that?" was the sudden challenge from the lugger's deck, as theirboat came within a couple of oars' length. "A friend!" shouted Léontinein French, and almost in the same instant a man in the bow of the boatcaught hold of the mizzen shrouds of the lugger with his boat-hook, andheld on. 

Paul seized a rope, and in one bound he was upon the lugger's deck, while Dick Stone followed like his shadow. To knock down the first manwith a double-handed thrust with the barrel of his musket was the workof a moment, at the same instant Dick struck and felled a Frenchman whohad rushed to the arm-chest. A shot was now fired by one of the Frenchcrew, and several men made a dash at the arm-rack, but Paul was therebefore them, and with the butt end of his musket he struck down theleader of the party. 

At this moment a loud shrill cry of alarm was heard from the shore. 

"_Ha, le sacre François_!" exclaimed Léontine, who had in the meantimeattached the deserted boat to the lugger's stern. "_Ha, le misérable_!"she cried; "this is a return for my love!"

Two or three shots were now fired by the French crew, but without otherresults than to alarm the ship-of-war; the drum beat to quarters, lights were seen at her ports; a tremendous flash was accompanied bythe report of a cannon as she fired an alarm-gun; this was quicklyanswered by a shot from a battery above the town. 

The bells of the church and the prison rang wildly as shot after shotwas fired from the battery, and the alarm spread like wild-firethroughout the port. 

In the meantime, while the fight had been hot upon the "Polly's" decks, Captain Dupuis, who had been asleep when the vessel was first boarded, now rushed up from the cabin, and meeting Paul he fired a pistol withina few feet of his chest; fortunately, at that moment Paul was in theact of raising his musket, and the ball lodged within the tough walnutstock; the next instant the weapon fell with a crash upon Dupuis'sskull, who reeled backward, and stumbling against the low bulwarks, hefell overboard and sunk. 

Dick Stone, with his musket in one hand that he had not yet discharged, was now standing at the helm. The English crew had gained the arms fromthe rack, and several shots were fired as they drove the French towardthe bows of the lugger, following them up with the bayonet. Many of theFrench jumped overboard, calling loudly to the man-of-war forassistance, and those who were down below were already helpless, as thecompanion ladder was guarded by two armed men. The surprise wascomplete; Léontine had hauled her boat alongside, and had climbed onboard; the cable was cut, and the sails were let loose; but the dangerhad increased. The French crew who had jumped overboard called to thecorvette to fire and sink the lugger. This they had hitherto beenafraid to do, as their own countrymen were on board. A blue light wasnow burned upon the decks of the corvette, and distinctly illumined thescene just as the sails of the "Polly" filled, as her head turned fromthe severed cable, and she met the full force of the gale from shore. In an instant she leaned over, and as the water rippled from her bowsand the boom was slacked off she started like a wild duck frightenedfrom its nest. 

"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" rang three hearty British cheers as theclipper lugger glided rapidly through the dark water and passed theterrible broadside of the corvette within fifty or sixty yards. Buthardly had the "Polly" cleared the deadly row of guns, when, a flash!and the shock seemed to sweep her deck as the dense smoke rolled acrossher in the midst of the roar of a twenty-four-pounder fired from thelast gun of the tier. 

A terrible crash almost immediately followed the shock, and the painteror rope that attaches the boat to the stern of the lugger suddenlydangled loosely in the water, as the shot had dashed the boat to atoms;fortunately the "Polly" had just passed the fatal line of fire. Anotherwild "hurrah!" replied to the unsuccessful gun, as the lugger, releasedfrom the boat's weight, seemed to fly still quicker through the water. 

"Take the helm for a moment, " said Dick to a sailor by his side, andrunning amidships he called upon Paul, "Give a hand, captain, and we'llget the Long Tom round. "

In an instant Paul put his powerful shoulder to the long six-pounderthat worked on a pivot, and together, with joint exertions, theytrained the gun upon the stern windows of the corvette. Dick Stone hadjust beforehand lighted his pipe when standing at the helm, and as thelong gun bore upon its object he suddenly pushed Paul upon one side, and emptied his fiery bowl upon the touch-hole. Bang! went the gun, asthe six-pound shot crashed through the cabin windows of the corvette, and through the various bulk-heads, raking her from stem to stern. 

"Hurrah!" again shouted the crew, who like true British sailors wereready for any fight without reckoning the odds when the cannon oncebegan to speak, while Paul and several men sponged and reloaded thelong gun, as the corvette had lowered several boats to give chase. 

"Hurrah for the saucy 'Polly!'" shouted Paul, as he and Dick nowtrained the gun upon the leading boat; but at that moment they turnedthe sharp headland of the rocky island, and both the corvette and herboats were obscured from their view. 

It was blowing hard, but the water in the bay was perfectly smooth, asthe wind was directly off the shore, and the "Polly" flew like a race-horse toward the open sea. In a few minutes she passed the lastheadland, and rushed at foaming speed over the long swell of theAtlantic. With the gale fairly on her quarter, there was nothing thatcould touch the "Polly. " There was no fear of a chase, although theheavy booming of the alarm-guns could still be heard in the distance. 

Three Frenchmen had been killed in the fight, and their bodies, whichnow lay on deck, were thrown overboard; two were prisoners down below;the remainder of the crew had escaped by jumping overboard, with theexception of the treacherous Captain Dupuis, who had sunk when knockeddown by Paul. 

Dick Stone was now at the helm; his pipe was well alight; and could hisfeatures have been distinguished in the dark they would be seen to wearan unusually cheerful expression as he said to Paul, "It wouldn't havebeen purlite of us to leave the Mounseers without a salute, and withoutmy pipe we couldn't have fired the gun. It's a wonderful thing is apipe! Ain't it, captain?"

"Nor'-nor'-east is the course, Dick, " replied Paul, who was at thatmoment thinking of his wife, and the happiness it would be to meet heron the following day; at the same time he was anxious lest anymisfortune should have occurred during his long absence. 

"Nor'-nor-east it is, captain, " replied Dick, with a sailor'spromptitude; "but I can't help larfing when I think of Captain Doopwee, who has put a cargo on board the 'Polly' all for nothing, and has gotknocked on the head into the bargain. Well, sarve him right, sarve himright, " continued Dick, musingly; "he was a, very purlite varmint, toopurlite to be honest, by a long chalk. " After this curt biographicalmemoir of the late Captain Dupuis, Dick Stone applied himself to hispipe and kept the "Polly's" course N. N. E. 

While Paul and Dick Stone were upon deck Léontine was lying upon a cotwithin the cabin. The excitement of the day had nearly worn her out, and despite the uneasy movement of the vessel, which tried her moreseverely than any danger, she fell asleep in the uniform of a privatein the French chasseurs, and she dreamed happily that her brotherVictor was released. 

STORIES OF THE CREATION

THE GREEK AND ROMAN MYTH

Almost every ancient or primitive people makes an attempt to explainhow the world and human beings came into existence. They all take itfor granted that things did not simply "happen, " but that some beingwith intelligence had a hand in the making of things. Accounts as toldby various peoples are here given. 

There were various stories of the creation told by the Greeks andRomans, but the accounts differed only in detail. Most of the Greeksbelieved that there was a time when the earth and the sea and the skydid not exist. All the elements of which they are made existed, butwere jumbled together in a confused mass, which was called Chaos. Overthis Chaos ruled the deities Erebus or Darkness, and Nox or Night, although it would seem that there could not have been much need ofrulers. Strangely enough, the children of this gloomy pair were Aetherand Hemera, who stood for Light and Day, and they felt that if theywere to become rulers, they wanted a more cheerful realm than Chaosseemed to be. With the help of Eros (Love), they created Gaea (TheEarth), Uranus (The Sky), and Pontus (The Sea). Uranus married Gaea, and before long these two took the power from Aether and Hemera andreigned in their stead. To this god and goddess were born twelvechildren--six sons and six daughters--who were known as Titans. As theywere of gigantic size and were extremely strong, their father fearedthat they might treat him as he had treated Aether, and to prevent thishe shut them up in an underground cavern. 

Naturally Gaea was not pleased with this treatment of her children, soshe helped Saturn, the youngest of the Titans, to escape, and gave hima scythe with which he might revenge himself on his father. 

After defeating Uranus, Saturn released all his brothers and sisters, and made them swear to be faithful to him as the new ruler. He thenchose as his queen Rhea, a goddess who was both good and beautiful, andbegan his reign in happiness. 

When his first child was born, however, Saturn remembered that Uranushad foretold his overthrow by one of his own children, and to preventsuch a disaster he did a very strange and heartless thing---heswallowed his new-born son. Five children he got rid of in this manner, but when the sixth, Jupiter, was born, Rhea resolved to save him. Shetherefore wrapped up a stone and gave it to her husband instead of thechild, and he, suspecting nothing, swallowed it. The young god grew upin concealment, and very rapidly he grew, for when he was but a yearold he was strong enough to make successful war on his father and totake the supreme power from him. And then, strangest thing of all, heforced Saturn to disgorge all the children he had swallowed. 

Either because he was generous or because he thought his kingdom wastoo great for him, Jupiter divided it with his brothers, Neptune andPluto, but he himself remained supreme. 

The gods themselves dwelt not on the earth, but above the top ofOlympus, a mountain peak of Greece; and thus the entire Earth wasuninhabited. However, it was not allowed to remain so, for Jupiterappointed Prometheus, a Titan, who had helped him in his war againstSaturn, to make an inhabitant for the Earth. Prometheus accordinglymoulded a man out of clay, and taking him before the gods, persuadedeach one to bestow upon him some gift. A woman was made later, and fromthese two were descended all the peoples of the earth. 

THE NORSE MYTH

As the Norse peoples, in their land which for so large a part of theyear was ice-bound, dreaded the long, hard winter, and looked forwardto the blessings brought by the summer, they imagined that the evilforces in the world worked through cold and darkness, the good forcesthrough warmth and light. Thus they feared and hated the "frostgiants, " while they loved and reverenced the gods, whom they picturedas living in a world of brightness and warmth. 

According to the Norse religion, or mythology, the world began in acontest between heat and cold. At first there was no earth; nothingexisted except the yawning abyss, Ginungagap, which separated theworld, or spacer, of mist and cold and darkness, on the north, from theworld of fire and brightness, on the south. The mist world was calledNiflheim; the fire world, Muspelheim. From a great fountain in the mistworld there sprang twelve rivers, which after flowing far from theirsource tumbled their waters into the Ginungagap. Here the water was allturned to ice, with which in time the huge abyss was filled. Sparks andwarm winds from Muspelheim, coming into contact with this ice, meltedit, so that there hung always over the ice chasm a dense vapor. This, in turn, gradually took shape, and formed the giant Ymir and the cowAudhumbla; and for a season these were the only two creatures in allthe expanse of space. Ymir fed upon the cow's milk, and she, in turn, got what nourishment she could by licking the salt and the hoarfrostfrom the ice. 

One day as the cow licked a huge ice block, there appeared the hair ofsome being, and as she remained persistently at the same lump, within ashort time she had set free a beautiful, strong god--the god Bori. Boriwas the ancestor of all the gods, as Ymir was the ancestor of all thegiants; and since the gods were as good as the frost giants were evil, it was plain enough to both that they could not live together. 

The struggle between the races lasted for ages on ages, but finallyOdin, Vili and Ve, the grandsons of Bori, succeeded in putting to deathYmir, the greatest and worst of the giants. And in killing him theyaccomplished much more than they expected; for from his wounds theblood gushed in such streams that it drowned all the wicked giantsexcept Bergelmir and his wife, who saved themselves in a boat. Hadthey, too, but died, there would have been, to the end of time, nogiants to trouble the gods; but their descendants kept up fromJotunheim, their home at the end of the world, their plots and warringsagainst the gods. 

Odin, who was from the first the wisest and strongest of the gods, gazed upon the huge corpse of the slain giant, and then called theother gods about him. 

"We cannot waste, " he said, "the body of this giant. Where is the useof our power and wisdom if we cannot, out of this evil thing, makesomething good and beautiful?"

Eagerly the gods set to work. It was by far the most interesting taskthey had ever been called upon to perform, and right well theyperformed it. In the exact center of the ice abyss they formed, ofYmir's flesh, the earth, and about it and through it they caused hisblood to flow, as the sea, the rivers and the lakes. Of his teeth theymade steep cliffs to front the sea, and of his bones they formedmountains and hills. His curly hair became grass and trees and flowers, and his eyebrows were set about the new earth as a high fence, to keepout the revengeful giants. Then, taking up the great skull, the godsset it over the earth to form the arch of the heavens, while the brainsthat it had contained they scattered about as clouds. 

No wonder the gods were pleased with their work! But Odin saw thatthere was one thing lacking. 

"Were we ourselves to dwell on this new created earth, " he said, "itwould be well; for to a god's eyes all things are clear. But those whomwe shall fashion to inhabit it shall see with other eyes than ours, andlights will be needed--lights for day, and lights for night. "

This was comparatively easy, after the work that had already beenperformed. All the gods set to work catching sparks from Muspelheim, and there was great rivalry as to which one should collect most. Someof the sparks were scattered through the sky as stars, but thebrightest ones were put aside and kept for a greater purposes. Whenenough had been gathered, the gods made from the whitely glowing onesthe moon; from the fiery red and golden ones, the sun. These lightsthey placed in chariots, to which were harnessed swift, tirelesssteeds; but it was evident to all that the steeds could not be trustedto take the chariots across the sky unguided. Feeling that they couldnot spare two of their own number for this work, the gods chose Sol(sun) and Mani (moon), the daughter and son of a giant, who had namedhis children after the new lights because of their beauty. The youngdrivers were given instructions as to just the hours when they mustbegin their journeys across the sky, as to how rapidly they must drive, and as to the paths they must take; and never did the gods find reasonto be dissatisfied with the work of Sol and Mani. 

Then two more chariots were made. To one was harnessed a black horse, named Hrimfaxi, whose mane dropped hoarfrost and whose bit scattereddew; while to the other was fastened the beautiful silver-white steedSkinfaxi, from whose shining mane beams of light were shed through allthe earth. The giantess Night was entrusted with the first of thesechariots, while the young god Day was made the driver of the other. Each was told to drive about the earth once each twenty-four hours. 

The gods could make all these beautiful things, but they could not keepthe giants from making ugly and evil things; and so there were twofierce wolves, set on by the giants, who constantly chased the sun andmoon across the sky, attempting to catch and devour them. Occasionallyone of these wolves would overtake his prey, and would start to swallowit, thus producing what was known on earth as an eclipse. But always, in some way or other, they were frightened away before the light of theheavens was utterly destroyed. When the gods had expressed theirpleasure in all that had so far been done, Odin said, "Where shall wefix our own dwelling? Beyond the earth, beyond the ocean, live thegiants; but neither on the earth, nor in the earth, nor above the earths there any living thing. " "You mistake, Father Odin, " cried one ofhis sons. "If you but look down, you will see that within the earth aremany living things. "

All the gods looked down, and there, sure enough, were innumerablelittle creatures crawling in and out of the earth. They had been bredby the earth, and were little better than maggots; but the gods gavethem a form which somewhat resembled that of the gods themselves, though smaller, and gave them intelligence and wonderful strength. Someof the new little creatures were ugly and dark and deformed; these thegods called gnomes or dwarfs, and to them they gave homes underground, with power over all that was hidden in the earth. But for thebeautiful, fair creatures whom they called elves and fairies, the godsmade a home somewhat above the earth, where they might live alwaysamong flowers and birds and butterflies. 

"And now, " said Odin, "let us build our own home in the heavens, abovethat of the fairies. This green earth which we have made we shallreserve for a race to be, which shall be our especial care. "

Far in the blue heavens, therefore, above the mountain tops, above theclouds, was built the wonderful city of Asgard, home of the gods. Inthe center was the palace Gladsheim, of pure gold, within whoseprecious hall there were set golden thrones for all the gods. Odin had, too, a great palace of his own, called Valhalla, and each god and eachgoddess had a home built of precious metals and adorned with gleamingstones. 

Then, last of all, Father Odin turned his thoughts to the making ofman. With two of his brother gods he walked, one day, on the seashorein the beautiful empty earth which they had made; and suddenly he sawat his feet the trunks of two trees, an ash and an elm. 

"These will serve our purpose, " said Odin. But even after he had spokenhe hesitated long, for he knew that it was a solemn thing which theywere about to do-this making of human beings with souls and with thepower to suffer. At last he breathed upon the logs, and behold! theylived and moved, and assumed a form like that of the gods themselves. The other two gods bestowed upon them intelligence and beauty; andthen, with blessings upon the newly created pair, the three gods tooktheir way back to Asgard. 

From this first man and woman sprang all the human race, which dweltupon the earth under the constant care of the gods. Sometimes, atsunset, men and women standing in the fields would fancy they caughtgleams from the golden palaces of the gods in the heavens; and often, when the rain had washed the air, they saw clearly the gorgeous bridgeover which the gods passed from their city of Asgard to the earth. Forthis bridge was nothing else than the rainbow. 

AMERICAN INDIAN MYTHS

The various tribes and families of American Indians held differentviews as to the origin of the world. Some views differed but slightly, while in other instances absolutely dissimilar stories were told. Oneof the Algonkin tribes told how the queen of heaven, Atahensic, had agrievous quarrel with her lord, Atahocan. Furious, the king of theheavens seized his wife and threw her over the walls of the sky. Down, down, she fell toward the vast abyss of waters which filled all space. But as she was about to sink into the water, suddenly a tortoise raisedits back above the surface of the waters, and thus afforded her aresting place. The tortoise grew to an immense size, and finally becamethe dwelling place of all human beings. The Indians believed that theattempts of the tortoise, wearied of one position, to settle itselfmore comfortably, caused the earthquakes. 

A tradition of the Ottawa Indians is that the earth was found in theclaws and jaws of a muskrat. It grew and grew upon the surface of thewater, and the Great Spirit, who sat above watching its growth, sentout a wolf and told him to run around the earth and then return to him, that he might see how large the new island had become. Within a shorttime the wolf was back, so the Great Spirit knew that the earth had notyet become very large. Later he sent out the same messenger again, andthis time the wolf was gone for two years. A third time he sent thewolf forth, and as he returned no more, the Great Spirit knew that theearth had become a huge place, fit to live upon. 

In the legends of the Athapasca, as in those we have just read, we hearof the great world of water. A mighty bird, "whose eyes were fire, whose glances were lightning and the clapping of whose wings wasthunder, " suddenly flew down and moved along the surface of the water. Instantly the earth rose and remained above the surface of the water, and this same all-powerful bird then called into being the differentanimals. 

The Quiché have a similar legend, but it is very quaintly phrased:"This is the first word and the first speech. There were neither mennor brutes; neither birds, fish, nor crabs, stick nor stone, valley normountain, stubble nor forest, nothing but the sky. The face of the landwas hidden. There was naught but the silent sea and the sky. There wasnothing joined, nor any sound, nor thing that stirred; neither any todo evil, nor to rumble in the heavens, nor a walker on foot; only thesilent waters, only the pacified ocean, only it in its calm. Nothingwas but stillness, and rest, and darkness, and the night. " A mightywind passed over the surface of this water, and at the sound of it thesolid land arose. 

The Indian legends as to the creation of man are as varied as those ofthe creation of the world. Some relate that human beings simply sprangfrom trees or from stones, but most of them agree in regarding theGreat Spirit, uncreated and eternal, as the creator of man. 

The Ojibway legend tells of two cranes, a male and a female, created bythe Great Spirit in the upper world and sent through an opening in thesky to seek a home for themselves on the earth. They were told thatthey might choose any spot as their home, and that upon making choicethey would immediately be changed into a man and a woman. They visitedone place after another, and finally made choice of a land about LakeSuperior, because here they were certain that there would always beplenty of water and plenty of fish for food. As soon as they alightedand folded their wings, the Great Spirit turned them into human beings. 

The Winnebago Indians believed that after the Great Spirit had createdthe earth and the trees and the grass, he took a piece out of his heartand thereof made a man. Later he made a woman, but a bit of ordinaryflesh served to make her. Thus, the Winnebagoes said, man was wise andgreat, but woman was much wanting in sense. 

THE DEFINITION OF A GENTLEMAN[Footnote: From _The Idea of a University. _]

CARDINAL NEWMAN

Hence it is that it is almost a definition of a gentleman to say he isone who never inflicts pain. This description is both refined and, asfar as it goes, accurate. He is mainly occupied in merely removing theobstacles which hinder the free and unembarrassed action of those abouthim; and he concurs with their movements rather than takes theinitiative himself. His benefits may be considered as parallel to whatare called comforts or conveniences in arrangements of a personalnature; like an easy chair or a good fire, which do their part indispelling cold and fatigue, though nature provides both means of restand animal heat without them. The true gentleman in like mannercarefully avoids whatever may cause a jar or a jolt in the minds ofthose with whom he is cast--all clashing of opinion, or collision offeeling, all restraint, or suspicion, or gloom, or resentment; hisgreat concern being to make every one at his ease and at home. He hashis eyes on all his company; he is tender towards the bashful, gentletowards the distant, and merciful towards the absurd; he can recollectto whom he is speaking; he guards against unseasonable allusions, ortopics which may irritate; he is seldom prominent in conversation, andnever wearisome. He makes light of favors while he does them, and seemsto be receiving when he is conferring. He never speaks of himselfexcept when compelled, never defends himself by a mere retort; he hasno ears for slander or gossip, is scrupulous in imputing motives tothose who interfere with him, and interprets everything for the best. He is never mean or little in his disputes, never takes unfairadvantage, never mistakes personalities or sharp sayings for arguments, or insinuates evil which he dare not say out. From a long-sightedprudence, he observes the maxim of the ancient sage, that we shouldever conduct ourselves towards our enemy as if he were one day to beour friend. He has too much good sense to be affronted at insults, heis too well employed to remember injuries, and too indolent to bearmalice. He is patient, forbearing, and resigned, on philosophicalprinciples; he submits to pain, because it is inevitable, tobereavement, because it is irreparable, and to death, because it is hisdestiny. 

If he engages in controversy of any kind, his disciplined intellectpreserves him from the blundering discourtesy of better, perhaps, butless educated minds; who, like blunt weapons, tear and hack instead ofcutting clean, who mistake the point in argument, waste their strengthon trifles, misconceive their adversary, and leave the question moreinvolved than they find it. He may be right or wrong in his opinion, but he is too clear-headed to be unjust; he is as simple as he isforcible, and as brief as he is decisive. Nowhere shall we find greatercandor, consideration, indulgence: he throws himself into the minds ofhis opponents, he accounts for their mistakes. He knows the weakness ofhuman reason as well as its strength, its province and its limits. 

If he be an unbeliever, he will be too profound and large-minded toridicule religion or to act against it; he is too wise to be adogmatist or fanatic in his infidelity. He respects piety and devotion;he even supports institutions as venerable, beautiful, or useful, towhich he does not assent; he honors the ministers of religion, and itcontents him to decline its mysteries without assailing or denouncingthem. He is a friend of religious toleration, and that, not onlybecause his philosophy has taught him to look on all forms of faithwith an impartial eye, but also from the gentleness and effeminacy offeeling, which is the attendant on civilization. 

THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER

_By_ ALEXANDER POPE

 Father of all! in every age, In every clime adored, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!

 Thou Great First Cause, least understood: Who all my sense confined To know but this, that Thou art good, And that myself am blind;

 Yet gave me, in this dark estate, And binding nature fast in fate, Left free the human will. 

 What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do, This, teach me more than hell to shun, That, more than heaven pursue. 

 What blessings Thy free bounty gives, Let me not cast away; For God is paid when man receives: T' enjoy is to obey. 

 Yet not to earth's contracted span Thy goodness let me bound, Or think Thee Lord alone of man, When thousand worlds are round. 

 If I am right, Thy grace impart, Still in the right to stay; If I am wrong, oh! teach my heart To find that better way. 

 Save me alike from foolish pride, Or impious discontent, At aught Thy wisdom has denied, Or aught Thy goodness lent. 

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

 Mean though I am, not wholly so, Since quickened by Thy breath; Oh, lead me wheresoe'er I go, Through this day's life or death. 

 This day, be bread and peace my lot: All else beneath the sun, Thou know'st if best bestowed or not, And let Thy will be done. 

 To Thee, whose temple is all space, Whose altar earth, sea, skies, One chorus let all being raise, All nature's incense rise!

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP

_By_ ROBERT BROWNING

 You know we French stormed Ratisbon: A mile or so away, On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming day; With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, Legs wide, arms locked behind, As if to balance the prone brow Oppressive with its mind. 

 Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans That soar, to earth may fall, Let once my army-leader Lannes Waver at yonder wall, --" Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew A rider, bound on bound Full-galloping: nor bridle drew Until he reached the mound. 

[Illustration: WE'VE GOT YOU RATISBON!]

 Then off there flung in smiling joy, And held himself erect By just his horse's mane, a boy: You hardly could suspect--- (So tight he kept his lips compressed, Scarce any blood came through)

 You looked twice ere you saw his breast Was all but shot in two. 

 "Well, " cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace We've got you Ratisbon! The Marshal's in the market place, And you'll be there anon, To see your flag-bird flap its vans Where I, to heart's desire, Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans Soared up again like fire. 

 The chief's eye flashed; but presently Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes. "You're wounded!" "Nay, " the soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said: "I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside, Smiling, the boy fell dead. 

I. FACTS TO KNOW

This little poem is very different from the poems of Longfellow, whichwe read a few pages back. It is very nervous and tense, and as you readit, it seems jerky in movement, not smooth as the waters of theCharles. Then again, sometimes words are omitted that make it a littledifficult to understand at first reading. Moreover, Browning uses wordsin curious ways that Longfellow would not have thought about. 

There are many interesting things to learn about this incident, however, and after we have learned them, we appreciate the poem verymuch better. First we need to know the following facts:

_Ratisbon_, or _Regensburg_, is a city in Bavaria, on the Danube River. 

Napoleon Bonaparte, the great Emperor of the French, was much the manthe poem shows us. 

_Prone brow_ means that Napoleon's brow was inclined forward, that hishead was drooping. 

_Lannes_ was a famous French marshal, who showed remarkable powers ofleadership. Both his legs were shot away at the Battle of Aspern, and hedied a few days later at Vienna. 

_Out-thrust full-galloping, flag-bird_, are compound words whichBrowning has formed for his own use. 

_Fancy_ in the fifth line means _can imagine_. 

_Vans_ in the fourth stanza is an old word no longer in use. It means_wings_. 

The eagle has what is really a third eyelid, a thin translucentmembrane, which naturalists call the nictitating, or winking, membrane. It may be drawn over the eye independently of the other lids. You mayhave seen ducks, chickens or other birds drawing this milky film backand forth over their eyes as they looked at you. 

_Nor bridle drew_, and _his chief beside_, are phrases in which Browninghas used the words out of their natural order. Can you find othersimilar expressions?

II. THE STORY

1. Incidents:

(a) Napoleon watches the storming of Ratisbon. 

(b) He thinks it may be a failure. 

(c) He sees a rider galloping from out the smoke of battle. 

(d) The rider reaches Napoleon, leaps from his horse and clings to itsmane. 

(e) The rider announces the fall of Ratisbon. 

(f) Napoleon rejoices. 

(g) He speaks to the boy of his wound. 

(h) The boy answers and falls dead. 

2. The whole story might be summed up as follows: _A wounded youthbrings to Napoleon news of the fall of Ratisbon, and expires at theemperor's feet. _

III. THE CHARACTERS

There are just two persons in this little tragedy, a boy and anemperor. Let us see what they were like; the boy is of greater interestthan the emperor. 

1. The Boy:

(a) From the way he rode his horse, we know he must have been strongand athletic. 

(b) He was gay and joyful, for he smiled as he dismounted from hishorse, and he smiled as he fell dead. 

(c) That he was strong-willed, we know; for his tightly compressed lipsheld back the blood, and he concealed his suffering. 

(d) He was courageous: he put the flag in the market place, as we aretold in the fourth stanza. 

(e) He was ambitious, we know; for it satisfied his heart's desire towin Ratisbon. 

(f) He was proud, else he would not have noticed that the emperorcalled him wounded. Had it been a mere wound, he would never havefallen. 

2. At different places in the poem, we find that Napoleon was_ambitious_, yet _anxious_ over the outcome of the battle; that he was_thoughtful_ and _resourceful_; that while he _rejoiced_ in his victory, he _sympathized_ with the wounded boy. 

IV. THE STAGE

The poem is like a little drama or play in one scene. Place Napoleon inhis uniform on a little mound, and see him standing there with his headthrust forward, looking at the storming of a city a mile or so away. Things are indistinct in the background because the smoke of the battleobscures the walls and towers of the city. However, Napoleon is not sofar away but that he hears the roar, and sees the denser clouds rise ateach new discharge of battery guns. From between the clouds comes thesingle horse with its youthful rider galloping at full speed, withoutan instant's pause, until the mound is reached. We see the young manleap from his horse and grasp its mane to keep himself from falling, but though his lips are compressed, we see his eyes smiling brightly ashe tells the emperor the great news. 

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

_By_ GHACE E. SELLON

One of the most daring of those who engaged in the sea-fights of theAmerican Revolution was Daniel Hawthorne, commander of a privateer, aman whose courage and enterprise won for him the title of "BoldDaniel. " He came of one of the earliest American families, one that hadbeen established in Salem, Massachusetts, in 1637, and had contributednot a little to the fame of that seaport, for his ancestors had beenleaders among those whose stern and narrow views of justice had ledthem to persecute the Quakers and later to put to death innocent peopleduring the awful period of the Salem witchcraft. Yet the same hardihoodand fearless uprightness that had won esteem for Daniel Hawthorne haddistinguished the family from the very first, and was passed on to thebrave commander's descendants. His son Nathaniel, like the long line ofnotable men who had gone before him, possessed a strict sense of rightand wrong, much courage and an especial fondness for the adventurouslife on the sea. Though he contributed nothing to the celebrity of hisforefathers, his son and namesake, the novelist Nathaniel Hawthorne, born in Salem, on July 4, 1804, gained for the old New England family aglory that will last. 

It was in the home built by his father's father that Nathaniel was bornand that he spent the first four years of his life. Yet he was neverprivileged to hear from the old captain's lips of the exciting sea-skirmishes in which the "Fair America, " under the command of "BoldDaniel, " had encountered and held her own against British vessels, forhis grandfather had died many years before. Nor did the young boy everknow the pleasure of companionship with his father, who died in SouthAmerica in 1808. In a great measure, too, he was deprived ofassociation with his mother from the time when, following her husband'sdeath, she removed with her children to her father's home, in anotherpart of Salem. So deeply did she feel her loss that she shut herselfaway from the world during the remainder of her lifetime, and kept suchstrict privacy that she did not even take her meals with her family. The children were naturally quiet and reserved, and with the example oftheir mother's seclusion always before them, they took little part inthe life outside of their home. Nathaniel did not like school, and, being under the care of relatives who allowed him much freedom, hemissed a considerable part of the early school training that most boysreceive. Yet his time was not wasted, for there were good books in hishome, and these he read of his own free will. 

When he was about eight or nine years of age, his mother took herchildren to live for a time upon property owned by her family on theshore of Lake Sebago, in Maine. Then began a period of great delightfor the young boy and his sisters. As the land was mostly covered withwoods and the settlements were far apart, there were endlessopportunities for fishing and hunting and roaming about the woods orspending long, uninterrupted hours with favorite authors. In the winterNathaniel passed much time in skating on Lake Sebago, feeling whollyfree and at home in the midst of the wild life of nature. 

So far as the boy's wishes were concerned, these days in Maine mighthave continued indefinitely; but his mother, feeling that he needed thediscipline of regular study, sent him back to Salem to be prepared by aprivate teacher for entrance into Bowdoin College. The result of thistraining was that when he was about eighteen he became a member of theclass at Bowdoin to which Longfellow and Horatio Bridge belonged, andthus began a career at college in which he proved himself a somewhatwayward student. The grind and drudgery of courses uninteresting to himhe shunned, yet he would not let himself fail in any work that heundertook. Subjects that he liked he mastered readily. 

Though he found no pleasure in breaking college rules, yet he made nopretensions to being a model student. He played cards in his room whenhe might have been studying, and would go off on a fishing trip whenthe fancy took him, without much regard for unfinished lessons. Helooked forward with undisguised pleasure to his vacations spent athome, and on one occasion was so overcome by his desire to bring hisstudies to an end and leave Brunswick that, a short time before theclose of the term, he wrote to his sister Louisa demanding that sheinvent an excuse for his return home. After stating five reasons forthus quitting Bowdoin, he continued:

"If you are at a loss for an excuse, say that mother is out of health;or that Uncle R. Is going a journey on account of his health, andwishes me to attend him; or that Elizabeth is on a visit at somedistant place, and wishes me to come and bring her home; or that GeorgeArcher has just arrived from sea, and is to sail again immediately, andwishes to see me before he goes; or that some of my relations are todie or be married, and my presence is necessary on the occasion. Andlastly, if none of these excuses will suit you, and you can think of noother, write and order me to come home without any. If you do not, Ishall certainly forge a letter, for I will be at home within a week. Write the very day you receive this. If Elizabeth were at home, shewould be at no loss for a good excuse. If you will do what I tell you, I shall be Your affectionate brother, NATH. HAWTHORNE. 

"My want of decent clothes will prevent my calling at Mrs. Sutton's. Write immediately, write immediately, write immediately. 

"Haste, haste, post-haste, ride and run, until these shall bedelivered. You must and shall and will do as I desire. If you can thinkof a true excuse, send it; if not, any other will answer the samepurpose. If I do not get a letter by Monday, or Tuesday at farthest, Iwill leave Brunswick without liberty. "

It is an interesting fact that this impetuous young student wasregarded as the finest-looking man at Bowdoin. He was not much lessthan six feet tall, and was strong, supple and well proportioned. Hisdark hair waved back from a handsomely formed face; and his deep blueeyes, under their heavy brows, impressed one with their remarkablebrightness and expressiveness. 

Though it may seem surprising, it is true that Nathaniel Hawthorne wasnot at all conscious in his early youth of the great possibilities thatlay in him to become a writer, and that not until he had advanced inhis college course did he form the purpose of making literature aprofession. As early as sixteen years of age he had written verses thathad been published; yet he was far from believing that he had poeticpower. That he did not at this time take very seriously his ability asa writer, may be judged from this passage in a letter to his motherwritten in March, 1821:

"I am quite reconciled to going to college, since I am to spend thevacations with you. Yet four years of the best part of my life is agreat deal to throw away. I have not yet concluded what profession Ishall have. 

"The being a minister is of course out of the question. I should notthink that even you could desire me to choose so dull a way of life. Oh, no, mother, I was not born to vegetate forever in one place, and tolive and die as calm and tranquil as--a puddle of water. 

"As to lawyers, there are so many of them already that one half of them(upon a moderate calculation) are in a state of actual starvation. 

"A physician, then, seems to be 'Hobson's choice;' but yet I should notlike to live by the diseases and infirmities of my fellow-creatures. And it would weigh very heavily on my conscience, in the course of mypractice, if I should chance to send any unlucky patient 'ad inferum, 'which being interpreted is, 'to the realms below. ' Oh that I was richenough to live without a profession!

"What do you think of my becoming an author, and relying for supportupon my pen? Indeed, I think the illegibility of my handwriting is veryauthor-like. How proud you would feel to see my works praised by thereviewers, as equal to the proudest productions of the scribbling sonsof John Bull. But authors are always poor devils, and therefore Satanmay take them. I am in the same predicament as the honest gentleman in'Espriella's Letters, '--

 'I am an Englishman, and naked I stand here, A-musing in my mind what garment I shall wear. '"

However, by the time of his graduation from Bowdoin College he had laidaside his jesting and doubt, and in the following period of remarkableseclusion spent in his mother's home in Salem he gave himself to thework of composition. Thirteen years he passed thus in a sort of idealworld, so shut away from his neighbors that they scarcely knew of hisexistence. 

Hawthorne always felt that these years of seclusion were peculiarlysignificant in his life, in that they enabled him to keep, as he said, "the dews of his youth and the freshness of his heart. " Still, herealized that he had been much deceived in fancying that there, in hissolitary chamber, he could imagine all passions, all feelings andstates of the heart and mind. 

Of all that was written in these years the author gave out forpublication only the romance _Fanshawe, _ which he regarded lateras a very inferior production, and the various stories published atlength in the collection known as _Twice Told Tales. _ Fame camevery slowly. Though the worth of these writings was discovered bypeople of good literary judgment, it was not of the kind to make themwidely popular. Sometimes the young author was so overcome bydiscouragement that it would seem as if only the confidence in hisfinal success felt by his friends could save him from despair. 

Relief from this situation came in a most wholesome way. In 1839 GeorgeBancroft secured for Hawthorne a position as weigher and gauger in theBoston Customhouse, and thus his lonely life of brooding came to anend. In discharging his duties he came into much-needed everydaycontact with practical men and affairs. This office he held for twoyears until the Whigs won the presidential election and the Democratswent out of power. Meanwhile he had written _Grandfather's Chair, _a collection of children's stories concerning early New Englandhistory. 

Somewhat previous to the appointment to the office in the Customhousehad taken place an event which was even more full of important meaning. While he was living in Salem he had become acquainted with the Peabodyfamily and in their home had met the young woman who later became hiswife, and who brought into his life the powerful influence for goodthat more than anything else developed the fine qualities of his natureand drew forth his powers as a writer. He had preferred to live hiddenaway from every one if he must give up the beauty and purity of thethought-world for the harshness and ugliness of the actual worldwithout. But in his association with Sophia Peabody his faith in thereality that lay back of his beautiful visions was so strengthened thathe felt a deep peace and joy never known to him before. The lovelinessof her character is shown in her letters, and it is not surprising thatHawthorne should on one occasion write, in response to a letter fromher, "I never, till now, had a friend who could give me repose; all have disturbed me, and, whether for pleasure or pain, it was stilldisturbance. But peace overflows from your heart into mine. Then I feelthat there is a Now, and that Now must be always calm and happy, andthat sorrow and evil are but phantoms that seem to flit across it. "

In the summer of 1842 Hawthorne and Miss Peabody were married and wentto live in the "Old Manse, " in Concord. In the preceding year he hadunfortunately invested money in a settlement known as the Brook Farm, where people of different classes of society were to live together onan equality, all sharing alike the duties of the farm life, and allcontributing to the expenses of the common living. The experimentproved a failure and Hawthorne withdrew disgusted. With this hope ofproviding for himself and his wife destroyed, he found it necessary towork industriously, and as a result a new series of stories forchildren, the _Mosses from an Old Manse_, appeared in 1846. 

In the same year he was made surveyor of the collection of revenue atthe Salem Customhouse. Then for a time he ceased to write, until hisdiscovery among some rubbish in the customhouse of an old manuscriptthat gave him excellent material for a greater work of fiction than hehad ever before attempted, called him back to literary effort. Theactual composition of the book was not begun, however, until the day onwhich Hawthorne lost his position as surveyor. 

When he made known this unfortunate event to his wife, instead ofbecoming depressed, she exclaimed joyfully, "Oh, then, you can writeyour book!" and a little later, pulling open a drawer, showed him aconsiderable sum of money that she had been saving all unknown to him. Thus it became possible for him to devote himself to the work thatproved to be his masterpiece, _The Scarlet Letter, _ published in 1850. The unusual excellence of the romance brought to the writer far-spreadpraise and popularity, and he became at length recognized as a foremostAmerican man of letters. 

The Hawthornes now went to live at Lenox, in the mountains of westernMassachusetts. In their delightful home in this place the novelistproduced a second great romance, _The House of the Seven Gables, _ andthen gave up four months to rest. This vacation was largely a playtimespent with his two older children, Una and Julian, the younger daughterRose being then only a baby. He had worked so hard that he was ready forplenty of fun, and this he and his two young playfellows found inexcursions for wild flowers or nuts, in bathing in the lake or sendingover its surface home-made toy sail-boats, in romping through the woodsor reading or story-telling. After this happy period it is notsurprising that Hawthorne should have written easily and with enjoymentthe _Wonder Book_ for children, a simple and entertaining series ofstories in which old legends are put into attractive new forms. 

[Illustration: WAYSIDE, HAWTHORNE'S HOME AT CONCORD]

After the removal from Lenox in 1851, the family stayed for a short timein West Newton, where _The Blithedale Romance_ was written, and thensettled at the Wayside, the second of the famous homes of Hawthorne inConcord. Not long afterward were published the _Tanglewood Tales_, whichcontinue the _Wonder Book_ series; and a biography of his intimatefriend, Franklin Pierce. When in 1853 Pierce became president of theUnited States, he appointed Hawthorne to be the consul at Liverpool, England, and thus came to an end the quiet life at Concord. 

The publicity into which Hawthorne's duties as consul brought him wasvery disagreeable to one of his retiring disposition. He could feel atease only among those whose gentle and sensitive natures responded tohis own; hence attendance at formal dinners, speech making and othersocial obligations that forced him often into the company of more orless uncongenial people, seemed scarcely bearable to him. It was withrelief then, that he resigned the consulate in 1857 and went to live insouthern Europe. The greater part of his time until his return toAmerica in 1860 was passed in Italy, and near Florence was written thelast of his celebrated romances, _The Marble Faun_. 

During the four remaining years of his life, spent at the Wayside, inConcord, Hawthorne's strength gradually ebbed away. Nevertheless, hewas able to produce _Our Old Home, _ in which he described scenes fromEnglish life, as well as _Septimus Felton_ and parts of two otherromances. In 1864, while traveling for his health through southern NewHampshire with his friend Franklin Pierce, Hawthorne died in the quiet, sudden way in which he had hoped that he should pass from earth. He wasburied in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, where a simple headstone marks hisgrave. 

As the cheerfulness and simple beauty of Hawthorne's stories forchildren are as light among the gloom and sadness that overshadowed hisworks for older people, so his love for children and his delight intheir companionship illumine his character and bring into view his raregentleness and purity of nature. In recalling the days when she was alittle girl, his daughter Rose has told us:

"My father's enjoyment of frolicking fun was as hilarious as thataccorded by some of us to wildest comic opera. He had a delicate way ofthrowing himself into the scrimmage of laughter, and I do not for aninstant attempt to explain how he managed it. I can say that he loweredhis eyelids when he laughed hardest, and drew in his breath half adozen times with dulcet sounds and a murmur of mirth between. Beforeand after this performance he would look at you straight from under hisblack brows, and his eyes seemed dazzling. I think the hilarity wasrevealed in them, although his cheeks rounded in ecstasy. I was alittle roguish child, but he was the youngest and merriest person inthe room when he was amused. "

Though the suffering and wrong that he saw in the world deeplyperplexed and saddened him, yet he found so much of happier meaning inlife and expressed this with such marvelous power and grace that no oneto-day holds a worthier place in American literature. That no successorcan take this place nor imitate the subtle beauty of his style, we feelto be true as we read the lines written by the poet Longfellow, justafter the death of Hawthorne:

 "Now I look back, and meadow, manse and stream Dimly my thought defines; I only see--a dream within a dream-- The hill-top hearsed with pines. 

 "I only hear above his place of rest Their tender undertone, The infinite longings of a troubled breast, The voice so like his own. 

 "There in seclusion and remote from men The wizard hand lies cold, Which at its topmost speed let fall the pen, And left the tale half told. 

 "Ah! who shall lift that wand of magic power, And the lost dew regain? The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower Unfinished must remain!"

THE PINE-TREE SHILLINGS[Footnote: From _Grandfather's Chair. _]

_By_ NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

Captain John Hull was the mint-master of Massachusetts, and coined allthe money that was made there. This was a new line of business, for inthe earlier days of the colony the current coinage consisted of goldand silver money of England, Portugal, and Spain. These coins beingscarce, the people were often forced to barter their commoditiesinstead of selling them. 

For instance, if a man wanted to buy a coat, he perhaps exchanged abear-skin for it. If he wished for a barrel of molasses, he mightpurchase it with a pile of pine boards. Musket-bullets were usedinstead of farthings. The Indians had a sort of money called wampum, which was made of clam-shells, and this strange sort of specie waslikewise taken in payment of debts by the English settlers. Bank-billshad never been heard of. There was not money enough of any kind, inmany parts of the country, to pay the salaries of the ministers, sothat they sometimes had to take quintals of fish, bushels of corn, orcords of wood instead of silver or gold. 

As the people grew more numerous and their trade one with anotherincreased, the want of current money was still more sensibly felt. Tosupply the demand the general court passed a law for establishing acoinage of shillings, sixpences, and threepences. Captain John Hull wasappointed to manufacture this money, and was to have about one shillingout of every twenty to pay him for the trouble of making them. 

Hereupon all the old silver in the colony was handed over to CaptainJohn Hull. The battered silver cans and tankards, I suppose, and silverbuckles, and broken spoons, and silver buttons of worn-out coats, andsilver hilts of swords that had figured at court, --all such curious oldarticles were doubtless thrown into the melting pot together. But byfar the greater part of the silver consisted of bullion from the minesof South America, which the English buccaneers--who were little betterthan pirates--had taken from the Spaniards and brought toMassachusetts. 

All this old and new silver being melted down and coined, the resultwas an immense amount of splendid shillings, sixpences, andthreepences. Each had the date 1652 on the one side and the figure of apine tree on the other. Hence they were called pine-tree shillings. Andfor every twenty shillings that he coined, you will remember, CaptainJohn Hull was entitled to put one shilling into his own pocket. 

The magistrates soon began to suspect that the mint-master would havethe best of the bargain. They offered him a large sum of money if hewould but give up that twentieth shilling which he was continuallydropping into his own pocket. But Captain Hull declared himselfperfectly satisfied with the shilling. And well he might be, for sodiligently did he labor that in a few years his pockets, his money-bags, and his strong box were overflowing with pine-tree shillings. 

When the mint-master had grown very rich a young man, Samuel Sewell byname, came a-courting to his only daughter. His daughter--whose name Ido not know, but we will call her Betsey--was a fine, hearty damsel, byno means so slender as some young ladies of our own days. On thecontrary, having always fed heartily on pumpkin pies, doughnuts, Indianpuddings, and other Puritan dainties, she was as round and plump as apudding herself. With this round, rosy Miss Betsey did Samuel Sewellfall in love. As he was a young man of good character, industrious inhis business, and a member of the church, the mint-master very readilygave his consent. 

"Yes, you may take her, " said he, in his rough way, "and you'll findher a heavy burden enough. "

On the wedding-day we may suppose that honest John Hull dressed himselfin a plum-colored coat, all the buttons of which were made of pine-treeshillings. The buttons of his waist-coat were sixpences, and the kneesof his small clothes were buttoned with silver threepences. Thusattired, he sat with great dignity in Grandfather's chair, and, being aportly old gentleman, he completely filled it from elbow to elbow. Onthe opposite side of the room, between her bridemaids, sat Miss Betsey. She was blushing with all her might, and looked like a full-blown peonyor a great red apple. 

There, too, was the bridegroom, dressed in a fine purple coat and gold-lace waistcoat, with as much finery as the Puritan laws and customswould allow him to put on. His hair was cropped close to his head, because Governor Endicott had forbidden any man to wear it below theears. But he was a very personable young man, and so thought the bride-maids and Miss Betsey herself. 

The mint-master also was pleased with his new son-in-law, especially ashe had courted Miss Betsey out of pure love, and had said nothing atall about her portion. So, when the marriage ceremony was over, CaptainHull whispered a word to two of his men-servants, who immediately wentout, and soon returned lugging in a large pair of scales. They weresuch a pair as wholesale merchants use for weighing bulky commodities, and quite a bulky commodity was now to be weighed in them. 

"Daughter Betsey, " said the mint-master, "get into one side of thesescales. "

Miss Betsey--or Mrs. Sewell, as we must now call her--did as she wasbid, like a dutiful child, without any question of the why andwherefore. But what her father could mean, unless to make her husbandpay for her by the pound (in which case she would have been a dearbargain), she had not the least idea. 

"And now, " said honest John Hull to the servants, "bring that boxhither. "

The box to which the mint-master pointed was a huge, square, iron-boundoaken chest; it was big enough, my children, for all four of you toplay at hide-and-seek in. The servants tugged with might and main, butcould not lift this enormous receptacle, and were finally obliged todrag it across the floor. Captain Hull then took a key from his girdle, unlocked the chest, and lifted its ponderous lid. Behold! it was fullto the brim of bright pine-tree shillings fresh from the mint, andSamuel Sewell began to think that his father-in-law had got possessionof all the money in the Massachusetts treasury. But it was only themint-master's honest share of the coinage. 

[Illustration: HANDFUL AFTER HANDFUL WAS THROWN IN]

Then the servants, at Captain Hull's command, heaped double handfuls ofshillings into one side of the scales while Betsey remained in theother. Jingle, jingle, went the shillings as handful after handful wasthrown in, till, plump and ponderous as she was, they fairly weighedthe young lady from the floor. 

"There, son Sewell!" cried the honest mint-master, resuming his seat inGrandfather's chair, "take these shillings for my daughter's portion. Use her kindly and thank Heaven for her. It is not every wife that'sworth her weight in silver. "

LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND

_By_ FELICIA BROWNE HEMANS

 The breaking waves dash'd high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches toss'd;

 And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moor'd their bark On the wild New England shore. 

 Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame;

 Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear;-- They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

 Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free!

 The ocean eagle soar'd From his nest by the white wave's foam; And the rocking pines of the forest roar'd-- This was their welcome home!

 There were men with hoary hair Amidst that pilgrim band;-- Why had _they_ come to wither there, Away from their childhood's land?

 There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth; There was manhood's brow serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth. 

 What sought they thus afar?-- Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? They sought a faith's pure shrine!

 Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod. They have left unstain'd what there they found-- Freedom to worship God. 

THE SUNKEN TREASURE[Footnote: From _Grandfather's Chair. _]

_By_ NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

Picture to yourselves, my dear children, a handsome old-fashioned room, with a large open cupboard at one end, in which is displayed amagnificent gold cup with some other splendid articles of gold andsilver plate. In another part of the room, opposite to a tall looking-glass, stands our beloved chair, newly polished and adorned with agorgeous cushion of crimson velvet tufted with gold. 

In the chair sits a man of strong and sturdy frame, whose face has beenroughened by northern tempests and blackened by the burning sun of theWest Indies. He wears an immense periwig flowing down over hisshoulders. His coat has a wide embroidery of golden foliage, and hiswaistcoat likewise is all flowered over and bedizened with gold. Hisred, rough hands, which have done many a good day's work with thehammer and adze, are half covered by the delicate lace ruffles at hiswrists. On a table lies his silver-hilted sword, and in a corner of theroom stands his gold-headed cane, made of a beautifully polished WestIndia wood. 

Somewhat such an aspect as this did Sir William Phipps present when hesat in Grandfather's chair after the king had appointed him governor ofMassachusetts. Truly, there was need that the old chair should bevarnished and decorated with a crimson cushion in order to make itsuitable for such a magnificent-looking personage. 

But Sir William Phipps had not always worn a gold-embroidered coat, noralways sat so much at his ease as he did in Grandfather's chair. He wasa poor man's son, and was born in the province of Maine, where he usedto tend sheep upon the hills in his boyhood and youth. Until he hadgrown to be a man he did not even know how to read and write. Tired oftending sheep, he next apprenticed himself to a ship-carpenter, andspent about four years in hewing the crooked limbs of oak trees intoknees for vessels. 

In 1673, when he was twenty-two years old, he came to Boston, and soonafterward was married to a widow who had property enough to set him upin business. It was not long, however, before he lost all the moneythat he had acquired by his marriage and became a poor man again. Stillhe was not discouraged. He often told his wife that some time or otherhe should be very rich and would build a "fair brick house" in theGreen Lane of Boston. 

Do not suppose, children, that he had been to a fortune-teller toinquire his destiny. It was his own energy and spirit of enterprise andhis resolution to lead an industrious life that made him look forwardwith so much confidence to better days. 

Several years passed away, and William Phipps had not yet gained theriches which he promised to himself. During this time he had begun tofollow the sea for a living. In the year 1684 he happened to hear of aSpanish ship which had been cast away near the Bahama Islands, andwhich was supposed to contain a great deal of gold and silver. Phippswent to the place in a small vessel, hoping that he should be able torecover some of the treasure from the wreck. He did not succeed, however, in fishing up gold and silver enough to pay the expenses ofhis voyage. 

But before he returned he was told of another Spanish ship or galleonwhich had been cast away near Porto de la Plata. She had now lain asmuch as fifty years beneath the waves. This old ship had been ladenwith immense wealth, and hitherto nobody had thought of the possibilityof recovering any part of it from the deep sea which was rolling, andtossing it about. But, though it was now an old story, and the mostaged people had almost forgotten that such a vessel had been wrecked, William Phipps resolved that the sunken treasure should again bebrought to light. 

He went to London and obtained admittance to King James, who had notyet been driven from his throne. He told the king of the vast wealththat was lying at the bottom of the sea. King James listened withattention, and thought this a fine opportunity to fill his treasurywith Spanish gold. He appointed William Phipps to be captain of avessel called the _Rose Algier_, carrying eighteen guns andninety-five men. So now he was Captain Phipps of the English navy. 

Captain Phipps sailed from England in the _Rose Algier_, and cruised fornearly two years in the West Indies, endeavoring to find the wreck ofthe Spanish ship. But the sea is so wide and deep that it is no easymatter to discover the exact spot where a sunken vessel lies. Theprospect of success seemed very small, and most people would havethought that Captain Phipps was as far from having money enough tobuild a "fair brick house" as he was while he tended sheep. 

The seamen of the _Rose Algier_ became discouraged and gave up all hopeof making their fortunes by discovering the Spanish wreck. They wantedto compel Captain Phipps to turn pirate. There was a much betterprospect, they thought, of growing rich by plundering vessels whichstill sailed in the sea than by seeking for a ship that had lainbeneath the waves full half a century. They broke out in open mutiny, but were finally mastered by Phipps and compelled to obey his orders. It would have been dangerous, however, to continue much longer at seawith such a crew of mutinous sailors, and, besides, the _Rose Algier_was leaky and unseaworthy. So Captain Phipps judged it best to return toEngland. 

Before leaving the West Indies he met with a Spaniard, an old man, whoremembered the wreck of the Spanish ship and gave him directions how tofind the very spot. It was on a reef of rocks a few leagues from Portode la Plata. 

On his arrival in England, therefore, Captain Phipps solicited the kingto let him have another vessel and send him back again to the WestIndies. But King James, who had probably expected that the _Rose Algier_would return laden with gold, refused to have anything more to do withthe affair. Phipps might never have been able to renew the search if theDuke of Albemarle and some other noblemen had not lent their assistance. They fitted out a ship and gave the command to Captain Phipps. He sailedfrom England and arrived safely at Porto de la Plata, where he took anadze and assisted his men to build a large boat. 

The boat was intended for the purpose of going closer to the reef ofrocks than a large vessel could safely venture. When it was finishedthe captain sent several men in it to examine the spot where theSpanish ship was said to have been wrecked. They were accompanied bysome Indians who were skilful divers and could go down a great way intothe depths of the sea. 

The boat's crew proceeded to the reef of rocks and rowed round andround it a great many times. They gazed down into the water, which wasso transparent that it seemed as if they could have seen the gold andsilver at the bottom had there been any of those precious metals there. Nothing, however, could they see--nothing more valuable than a curioussea-shrub which was growing beneath the water in a crevice of the reefof rocks. It flaunted to and fro with the swell and reflux of thewaves, and looked as bright and beautiful as if its leaves were gold. 

"We won't go back empty-handed, " cried an English sailor, and then hespoke to one of the Indian divers: "Dive down and bring me that prettysea-shrub there. That's the only treasure we shall find. "

Down plunged the diver, and soon rose dripping from the water, holdingthe sea-shrub in his hand. But he had learned some news at the bottomof the sea. 

"There are some ship's guns, " said he the moment he had drawn breath, "some great cannon, among the rocks near where the shrub was growing. "

[Illustration: UP CAME TREASURE IN ABUNDANCE]

No sooner had he spoken than the English sailors knew that they hadfound the very spot where the Spanish galleon had been wrecked so manyyears before. The other Indian divers immediately plunged over theboat's side and swam headlong down, groping among the rocks and sunkencannon. In a few moments one of them rose above the water with a heavylump of silver in his arms. The single lump was worth more than athousand dollars. The sailors took it into the boat, and then rowedback as speedily as they could, being in haste to inform Captain Phippsof their good luck. 

But, confidently as the captain had hoped to find the Spanish wreck, yet, now that it was really found, the news seemed too good to be true. He could not believe it till the sailors showed him the lump of silver. 

"Thanks be to God!" then cried Captain Phipps. "We shall every man ofus make our fortunes!"

Hereupon the captain and all the crew set to work with iron rakes andgreat hooks and lines fishing for gold and silver at the bottom of thesea. Up came the treasure in abundance. Now they beheld a table ofsolid silver, once the property of an old Spanish grandee. Now theyfound a sacramental vessel which had been destined as a gift to someCatholic church. Now they drew up a golden cup fit for the King ofSpain to drink his wine out of. Perhaps the bony hand of its formerowner had been grasping the precious cup and was drawn up along withit. Now their rakes or fishing lines were loaded with masses of silverbullion. There were also precious stones among the treasure, glitteringand sparkling so that it is a wonder how their radiance could have beenconcealed. 

There is something sad and terrible in the idea of snatching all thiswealth from the devouring ocean, which had possessed it for such alength of years. It seems as if men had no right to make themselvesrich with it. It ought to have been left with the skeletons of theancient Spaniards who had been drowned when the ship was wrecked, andwhose bones were now scattered among the gold and silver. 

But Captain Phipps and his crew were troubled with no such thoughts asthese. After a day or two they lighted on another part of the wreck, where they found a great many bags of silver dollars. But nobody couldhave guessed that these were moneybags. By remaining so long in thesalt water they had become covered over with a crust which had theappearance of stone, so that it was necessary to break them in pieceswith hammers and axes. When this was done a stream of silver dollarsgushed out upon the deck of the vessel. 

The whole value of the recovered treasure--plate, bullion, preciousstones, and all--was estimated at more than two millions of dollars. Itwas dangerous even to look at such a vast amount of wealth. A sea-captain who had assisted Phipps in the enterprise utterly lost hisreason at the sight of it. He died two years afterward, still ravingabout the treasures that lie at the bottom of the sea. It would havebeen better for this man if he had left the skeletons of theshipwrecked Spaniards in quiet possession of their wealth. 

Captain Phipps and his men continued to fish up plate, bullion, anddollars as plentifully as ever till their provisions grew short. Then, as they could not feed upon gold and silver any more than old KingMidas could, they found it necessary to go in search of bettersustenance. Phipps resolved to return to England. He arrived there in1687. And was received with great joy by the Duke of Albemarle andother English lords who had fitted out the vessel. Well they mightrejoice, for they took by far the greater part of the treasure tothemselves. 

The captain's share, however, was enough to make him comfortable forthe rest of his days. It also enabled him to fulfil his promise to hiswife by building a "fair brick house" in the Green Lane of Boston. TheDuke of Albemarle sent Mrs. Phipps a magnificent gold cup worth atleast five thousand dollars. Before Captain Phipps left London, KingJames made him a knight, so that, instead of the obscure ship-carpenterwho had formerly dwelt among them, the inhabitants of Boston welcomedhim on his return as the rich and famous Sir William Phipps. 

He was too active and adventurous a man to sit still in the quietenjoyment of his good fortune. In 1690 he went on a military expeditionagainst the French colonies in America, conquered the whole Province ofAcadia, and returned to Boston with a great deal of plunder. In thesame year Sir William took command of an expedition against Quebec, butdid not succeed in capturing the city. In 1692, King William IIIappointed him governor of Massachusetts. 

THE HUTCHINSON MOB [Footnote: From _Grandfather's Chair_. ]

_By_ NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

On the evening of the 26th of August, 1765, a bonfire was kindled inKing Street. It flamed high upward, and threw a ruddy light over thefront of the Town-house, on which was displayed a carved representationof the royal arms. The gilded vane of the cupola glittered in theblaze. The kindling of this bonfire was the well-known signal for thepopulace of Boston to assemble in the street. 

Before the tar barrels of which the bonfire was made were half burnedout a great crowd had come together. They were chiefly laborers andseafaring men, together with many young apprentices and all those idlepeople about town who are ready for any kind of mischief. Doubtlesssome schoolboys were among them. 

While these rough figures stood round the blazing bonfire you mighthear them speaking bitter words against the high officers of theprovince. Governor Bernard, [Footnote: It was Governor Francis Bernardwho did much to hasten on the Revolutionary War. He was very harsh inhis treatment of the colonists, and it was on his representation oftheir secret traitorous designs that the British ordered troopsstationed in Boston. This aroused a violent opposition, which was notquelled before war finally broke out. ] Hutchinson, [Footnote: ThisThomas Hutchinson was the last royal governor of the Province ofMassachusetts Bay. He was born in Boston, and was a descendant of thefamous Anne Hutchinson. At the time of the incident described in thisselection, he was lieutenant-governor of the province, and as chiefjustice, had issued the so-called Writs of Assistance, which broughtupon him the anger of the colonists. Under these Writs it was possiblefor a constable, or other public officer, to enter any building andtake therefrom goods upon which the duty had not been paid. In thehands of tyrannical officers, these Writs would entirely destroy theprivacy of any family. When the Stamp Act was passed, Hutchinsonaccepted it as legal, though he had opposed it on principle. By thisaction he brought upon himself the intense animosity of the colonists. ]Oliver, [Footnote: Andrew Oliver was, on the passage of the Stamp Act, appointed distributer for Massachusetts. This displeased the people, and less than two weeks before the mob attacked the Hutchinson house, Oliver was hanged in effigy, and a new building, supposed to beintended for his office, was burned to the ground. This did not allaythe excitement of the colonists, who followed Oliver and threatened himso savagely that he finally promised not to receive the stamps. Laterthe mob, hearing that he still intended to serve, took him to the"Liberty Tree, " and under threats of hanging, forced him to swear thathe had never intended to distribute the stamps. When Hutchinson becamegovernor in 1770, Oliver was given the lieutenant-governorship, inwhich position he wrote letters that brought him again into antagonismwith the colonists, and the British government was asked to remove himfrom office. ] Storey, Hallowell, and other men whom King Georgedelighted to honor were reviled as traitors to the country. Now andthen, perhaps, an officer of the Crown passed along the street, wearingthe gold-laced hat, white wig, and embroidered waistcoat which were thefashion of the day. 

But when the people beheld him they set up a wild and angry howl, andtheir faces had an evil aspect, which was made more terrible by theflickering blaze of the bonfire. 

"I should like to throw the traitor right into that blaze!" perhaps onefierce rioter would say. 

"Yes, and all his brethren, too!" another might reply; "and thegovernor and old Tommy Hutchinson into the hottest of it!"

"And the Earl of Bute [Footnote: The Earl of Bute was a Britishstatesman who, as secretary of state, became most unpopular not only inthe colonies, but in England itself. He was an ancient supporter ofroyal authority, and exacted the most unquestioning obedience from hisinferiors. ] along with them!" muttered a third, "and burn the wholepack of them under King George's nose! No matter if it singed him!"

Some such expressions as these, either shouted aloud or muttered underthe breath, were doubtless heard in King Street. The mob, meanwhile, were growing fiercer and fiercer, and seemed ready even to set the townon fire for the sake of burning the king's friends out of house andhome. And yet, angry as they were, they sometimes broke into a loudroar of laughter, as if mischief and destruction were their sport. 

But we must now leave the rioters for a time, and take a peep into thelieutenant-governor's splendid mansion. It was a large brick housedecorated with Ionic pilasters, and stood in Garden Court Street nearthe North Square. 

While the angry mob in King Street were shouting his name, Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson sat quietly in Grandfather's chair, unsuspicious ofthe evil that was about to fall upon his head. His beloved family werein the room with him. He had thrown off his embroidered coat andpowdered wig, and had on a loose flowing gown and purple velvet cap. Hehad likewise laid aside the cares of state and all the thoughts thathad wearied and perplexed him throughout the day. 

Perhaps in the enjoyment of his home he had forgotten all about theStamp Act, and scarcely remembered that there was a king across theocean who had resolved to make tributaries of the New Englanders. Possibly, too, he had forgotten his own ambition, and would not haveexchanged his situation at that moment to be governor or even a lord. 

[Illustration: "FATHER, DO YOU NOT HEAR?"]

The wax candles were now lighted, and showed a handsome room wellprovided with rich furniture. On the walls hung the pictures ofHutchinson's ancestors, who had been eminent men in their day and werehonorably remembered in the history of the country. Every object servedto mark the residence of a rich, aristocratic gentleman who heldhimself high above the common people and could have nothing to fearfrom them. In the corner of a room, thrown carelessly upon a chair, were the scarlet robes of the chief justice. This high office, as wellas those of lieutenant-governor, councilor, and judge of the probate, was filled by Hutchinson. 

Who or what could disturb the domestic quiet of such a great andpowerful personage as now sat in Grandfather's chair?

The lieutenant-governor's favorite daughter sat by his side. She leanedon the arm of our great chair and looked up affectionately into herfather's face, rejoicing to perceive that a quiet smile was on hislips. But suddenly a shade came across her countenance. She seemed tolisten attentively, as if to catch a distant sound. 

"What is the matter, my child?" inquired Hutchinson. 

"Father, do you not hear a tumult in the streets?" said she. 

The lieutenant-governor listened. But his ears were duller than thoseof his daughter: he could hear nothing more terrible than the sound ofa summer breeze sighing among the tops of the elm trees. 

"No, foolish child!" he replied, playfully patting her cheek. "There isno tumult. Our Boston mobs are satisfied with what mischief they havealready done. The king's friends need not tremble. "

So Hutchinson resumed his pleasant and peaceful meditations, and againforgot that there were any troubles in the world. But his family werealarmed, and could not help straining their ears to catch the slightestsound. More and more distinctly they heard shouts, and then thetrampling of many feet. While they were listening one of the neighborsrushed breathless into the room. 

"A mob! a terrible mob!" cried he. "They have broken into Mr. Storey'shouse and into Mr. Hallowell's, and have made themselves drunk with theliquors in his cellar, and now they are coming hither, as wild as somany tigers. Flee, lieutenant-governor, for your life! for your life!"

"Father, dear father, make haste!" shrieked his children. 

But Hutchinson would not hearken to them. He was an old lawyer, and hecould not realize that the people would do anything so utterly lawlessas to assault him in his peaceful home. He was one of King George'schief officers, and it would be an insult and outrage upon the kinghimself if the lieutenant-governor should suffer any wrong. 

"Have no fears on my account, " said he. "I am perfectly safe. Theking's name shall be my protection. "

Yet he bade his family retire into one of the neighboring houses. Hisdaughter would have remained, but he forced her away. 

The huzzas and riotous uproar of the mob were now heard close at hand. The sound was terrible, and struck Hutchinson with the same sort ofdread as if an enraged wild beast had broken loose and were roaring forits prey. He crept softly to the window. There he beheld an immenseconcourse of people filling all the street and rolling onward to hishouse. It was like a tempestuous flood that had swelled beyond itsbounds and would sweep everything before it. Hutchinson trembled; hefelt at that moment that the wrath of the people was a thousandfoldmore terrible than the wrath of a king. That was a moment when aloyalist and an aristocrat like Hutchinson might have learned howpowerless are kings, nobles, and great men when the low and humblerange themselves against them. King George could do nothing for hisservant now. Had King George been there he could have done nothing forhimself. If Hutchinson had understood this lesson and remembered it, heneed not in after years have been an exile from his native country, norfinally have laid his bones in a distant land. 

[Footnote: THE RIOTERS BROKE INTO THE HOUSE]

There was now a rush against the doors of the house. The people sent upa hoarse cry. At this instant the lieutenant-governor's daughter, whomhe had supposed to be in a place of safety, ran into the room and threwher arms around him. She had returned by a private entrance. 

"Father, are you mad?" cried she. "Will the king's name protect younow? Come with me or they will have your life. "

"True, " muttered Hutchinson to himself; "what care these roarers forthe name of king? I must flee, or they will trample me down on thefloor of my own dwelling. "

Hurrying away, he and his daughter made their escape by the privatepassage at the moment when the rioters broke into the house. Theforemost of them rushed up the staircase and entered the room whichHutchinson had just quitted. There they beheld our good old chairfacing them with quiet dignity, while the lion's head seemed to moveits jaws in the unsteady light of their torches. Perhaps the statelyaspect of our venerable friend, which had stood firm through a centuryand a half of trouble, arrested them for an instant. But they werethrust forward by those behind, and the chair lay overthrown. 

Then began the work of destruction. The carved and polished mahoganytables were shattered with heavy clubs and hewn to splinters with axes. The marble hearths and mantelpieces were broken. The volumes ofHutchinson's library, so precious to a studious man, were torn out oftheir covers and the leaves sent flying out of the windows. Manuscriptscontaining secrets of our country's history which are now lost foreverwere scattered to the winds. The old ancestral portraits whose fixedcountenances looked down on the wild scene were rent from the walls. The mob triumphed in their downfall and destruction, as if thesepictures of Hutchinson's forefathers had committed the same offenses astheir descendants. A tall looking-glass which had hitherto presented areflection of the enraged and drunken multitude was now smashed into athousand fragments. We gladly dismiss the scene from the mirror of ourfancy. 

Before morning dawned the walls of the house were all that remained. The interior was a dismal scene of ruin. A shower pattered in at thebroken windows, and when Hutchinson and his family returned they stoodshivering in the same room where the last evening had seen them sopeaceful and happy. 

[Illustration: North Church Tower, Boston]

THE BOSTON MASSACRE[Footnote: From _Grandfather's Chair_. ]

_By_ NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

It was now the 3d of March, 1770. The sunset music of the Britishregiments was heard as usual throughout the town. The shrill fife andrattling drum awoke the echoes in King Street while the last ray ofsunshine was lingering on the cupola of the Town-house. And now all thesentinels were posted. One of them marched up and down before thecustom-house, treading a short path through the snow and longing forthe time when they would be dismissed to the warm fireside of theguard-room. Meanwhile, Captain Preston was perhaps sitting in our greatchair before the hearth of the British Coffee-house. In the course ofthe evening there were two or three slight commotions which seemed toindicate that trouble was at hand. Small parties of young men stood atthe corners of the streets or walked along the narrow pavements. Squadsof soldiers who were dismissed from duty passed by them, shoulder toshoulder, with the regular step which they had learned at the drill. Whenever these encounters took place it appeared to be the object ofthe young men to treat the soldiers with as much incivility aspossible. 

"Turn out, you lobster-backs!" one would say. 

"Crowd them off the sidewalks!" another would cry. "A red-coat has noright in Boston streets!"

"Oh, you rebel rascals!" perhaps the soldiers would reply, glaringfiercely at the young men. "Some day or other we'll make our waythrough Boston streets at the point of the bayonet!"

One or twice such disputes as these brought on a scuffle, which passedoff, however, without attracting much notice. About eight o'clock, forsome unknown cause, an alarm bell rang loudly and hurriedly. 

At the sound many people ran out of their houses, supposing it to be analarm of fire. But there were no flames to be seen, nor was there anysmell of smoke in the clear, frosty air, so that most of the townsmenwent back to their own firesides and sat talking with their wives andchildren about the calamities of the times. Others who were younger andless prudent remained in the streets, for there seems to have been apresentiment that some strange event was on the eve of taking place. 

Later in the evening, not far from nine o'clock several young menpassed by the Town-house and walked down King Street. The sentinel wasstill on his post in front of the custom-house, pacing to and fro, while as he turned a gleam of light from some neighboring windowglittered on the barrel of his musket. 

At no great distance were the barracks and the guard-house, where hiscomrades were probably telling stories of battle and bloodshed. 

Down toward the custom-house, as I told you, came a party of wild youngmen. When they drew near the sentinel he halted on his post and tookhis musket from his shoulder, ready to present the bayonet at theirbreasts. 

[Illustration: NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 1804-1864]

"Who goes there?" he cried, in the gruff, peremptory tones of asoldier's challenge. 

The young men, being Boston boys, felt as if they had a right to walktheir own streets without being accountable to a British red-coat, eventhough he challenged them in King George's name. They made some rudeanswer to the sentinel. There was a dispute, or perhaps a scuffle. Other soldiers heard the noise, and ran hastily from the barracks toassist their comrades. At the same time many of the townspeople rushedinto King Street by various avenues and gathered in a crowd round aboutthe custom-house. It seemed wonderful how such a multitude had smartedup all of a sudden. 

The wrongs and insults which the people had been suffering for manymonths now kindled them into a rage. They threw snowballs and lumps ofice at the soldiers. As the tumult grew louder it reached the ears ofCaptain Preston, the officer of the day. He immediately ordered eightsoldiers of the main guard to take their muskets and follow him. Theymarched across the street, forcing their way roughly through the crowdand pricking the townspeople with their bayonets. 

A gentleman (it was Henry Knox, afterward general of the Americanartillery) caught Captain Preston's arm. 

"For Heaven's sake, sir, " exclaimed he, "take heed what you do or therewill be bloodshed!"

"Stand aside!" answered Captain Preston haughtily. "Do not interfere, sir. Leave me to manage the affair. "

Arriving at the sentinel's post, Captain Preston drew up his men in asemicircle with their faces to the crowd and their rear to the custom-house. When the people saw the officer and beheld the threateningattitude with which the soldiers fronted them their rage became almostuncontrollable. 

"Fire, you lobster-backs!" bellowed some. 

"You dare not fire, you cowardly red-coats!" cried others. 

"Rush upon them!" shouted many voices. "Drive the rascals to theirbarracks! Down with them! Down with them! Let them fire if they dare!"

Amid the uproar the soldiers stood glaring at the people with thefierceness of men whose trade was to shed blood. 

Oh, what a crisis had now arrived! Up to this very moment the angryfeelings between England and America might have been pacified. Englandhad but to stretch out the hand of reconciliation and acknowledge thatshe had hitherto mistaken her rights, but would do so no more. Then theancient bond of brotherhood would again have been knit together asfirmly as in old times. The habit of loyalty which had grown as strongas instinct was not utterly overcome. The perils shared, the victorieswon in the Old French War, when the soldiers of the colonies foughtside by side with their comrades from beyond the sea, were unforgottenyet. England was still that beloved country which the colonists calledtheir home. King George, though he had frowned upon America, was stillreverenced as a father. 

But should the king's soldiers shed one drop of American blood, then itwas a quarrel to the death. Never, never would America rest satisfieduntil she had torn down the royal authority and trampled it in thedust. 

"Fire if you dare, villains!" hoarsely shouted the people while themuzzles of the muskets were turned upon them. "You dare not fire!"

[Illustration: THE SOLDIERS FIRED]

They appeared ready to rush upon the leveled bayonets. Captain Prestonwaved his sword and uttered a command which could not be distinctlyheard amid the uproar of shouts that issued from a hundred throats. Buthis soldiers deemed that he had spoken the fatal mandate, "Fire!" Theflash of their muskets lighted up the street, and the report rangloudly between the edifices. It was said, too, that the figure of a manwith a cloth hanging down over his face was seen to step into thebalcony of the custom-house and discharge a musket at the crowd. 

A gush of smoke had overspread the scene. It rose heavily, as if itwere loath to reveal the dreadful spectacle beneath it. Eleven of thesons of New England lay stretched upon the street. Some, sorelywounded, were struggling to rise again. Others stirred not nor groaned, for they were past all pain. Blood was streaming upon the snow, andthat purple stain in the midst of King Street, though it melted away inthe next day's sun, was never forgotten nor forgiven by the people. 

The town drums beat to arms, the alarm bells rang, and an immensemultitude rushed into King Street. Many of them had weapons in theirhands. The British prepared to defend themselves. A whole regiment wasdrawn up in the street expecting an attack, for the townsmen appearedready to throw themselves upon the bayonets. 

Governor Hutchinson hurried to the spot and besought the people to havepatience, promising that strict justice should be done. A day or twoafterward the British troops were withdrawn from town and stationed atCastle William. Captain Preston and the eight soldiers were tried formurder, but none of them were found guilty. The judges told the jurythat the insults and violence which had been offered to the soldiersjustified them in firing at the mob. 

[Illustration: THE STEED SWEPT ON]

SHERIDAN'S RIDE

_By_ THOMAS BUCHANAN READ

 Up from the South at break of day, Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, The affrighted air with a shudder bore, Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, The terrible grumble and rumble and roar, Telling the battle was on once more, And Sheridan twenty miles away. And wider still those billows of war Thundered along the horizon's bar, And louder yet into Winchester rolled The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, Making the blood of the listener cold As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, With Sheridan twenty miles away. 

 But there is a road from Winchester town, A good, broad highway leading down; And there through the flash of the morning light, A steed as black as the steeds of night, Was seen to pass as with eagle flight. As if he knew the terrible need, He stretched away with the utmost speed; Hills rose and fell, --but his heart was gay, With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 

 * * * * *

 Under his spurning feet the road Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, And the landscape sped away behind Like an ocean flying before the wind; And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, Swept on with his wuld eyes full of fire; But, lo! he is nearing his heart's desire, He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, With Sheridan only five miles away. 

 The first that the General saw were the groups Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops; What was done, --what to do, --a glance told him both, And, striking his spurs with a terrible oath, He dashed down the line mid a storm of huzzas, And the wave of retreat checked its course there because The sight of the master compelled it to pause. With foam and with dust the black charger was gray, By the flash of his eye, and his nostril's play He seemed to the whole great army to say, "I have brought you Sheridan all the way From Winchester, down to save the day!"

 Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan! Hurrah, hurrah, for horse and man! And when their statues are placed on high, Under the dome of the Union sky, -- To the American soldier's Temple of Fame, -- There with the glorious General's name Be it said in letters both bold and bright: "Here is the steed that saved the day By carrying Sheridan into the fight, From Winchester, --twenty miles away!"

JOAN OF ARC[Footnote: The body of this selection has been much condensed, thoughthe introduction is as De Quincey wrote it. ]

_By_ THOMAS DE QUINCEY

What is to be thought of _her_? What is to be thought of the poorshepherd girl from the hills and forests of Lorraine, [Footnote:Lorraine lay between France and Germany. ] that--like the Hebrewshepherd boy [Footnote: David. ] from the hills and forests of Judea--rose suddenly out of the quiet, out of the safety, out of the religiousinspiration, rooted in deep pastoral solitudes, to a station in the vanof armies, and to the more perilous station at the right hand of kings?The Hebrew boy inaugurated his patriotic mission by an _act_, by avictorious _act_, [Footnote: The killing of Goliath. ] such as noman could deny. But so did the girl of Lorraine, if we read her storyas it was read by those who saw her nearest. Adverse armies borewitness to the boy as no pretender; but so they did to the gentle girl. Judged by the voices of all who saw them _from a station of good-will_, both were found true and loyal to any promises involved in their firstacts. Enemies it was that made the difference between their subsequentfortunes. The boy rose to a splendour and a noonday prosperity, bothpersonal and public, that rang through the records of his people, andbecame a by-word amongst his posterity for a thousand years, until thesceptre was departing from Judah. [Footnote: See _Genesis_ XLIX: 10. ]The poor, forsaken girl, on the contrary, drank not herself from thatcup of rest which she had secured for France. She never sang togetherwith the songs that rose in her native Domrémy as echoes to thedeparting steps of invaders. She mingled not in the festal dances atVaucouleurs which celebrated in rapture the redemption of France. No!for her voice was then silent; no! for her feet were dust. Pure, innocent, noble-hearted girl! whom, from earliest youth, ever I believedin as full of truth and self-sacrifice, this was amongst the pledges for_thy_ truth, that never once--no, not for a moment of weakness--didstthou revel in the vision of coronets and honour from man. Coronets forthee! Oh no! Honours, if they come when all is over, are for those thatshare thy blood. Daughter of Domrémy, when the gratitude of thy kingshall awaken, thou wilt be sleeping the sleep of the dead. Call her, King of France, but she will not hear thee. Cite her by the apparitorsto come and receive a robe of honour, but she will be found _encontumace. _ [Footnote: _In contempt_ is the phrase we now apply to aperson who fails to appear when summoned to appear in court. ] When thethunders of universal France, as even yet may happen, shall proclaim thegrandeur of the poor shepherd girl that gave up all for her country, thyear, young shepherd girl, will have been deaf for five centuries. Tosuffer and to do, that was thy portion in this life; that was thydestiny; and not for a moment was it hidden from thyself. Life, thousaidst, is short; and the sleep which is in the grave is long; let meuse that life, so transitory, for the glory of those heavenly dreamsdestined to comfort the sleep which is so long! This pure creature--purefrom every suspicion of even a visionary self-interest, even as she waspure in senses more obvious--never once did this holy child, as regardedherself, relax from her belief in the darkness that was traveling tomeet her. She might not prefigure the very manner of her death; she sawnot in vision, perhaps, the aerial altitude of the fiery scaffold, thespectators without end on every road pouring into Rouen as to acoronation, the surging smoke, the volleying flames, the hostile facesall around, the pitying eye that lurked but here and there, untilnature and imperishable truth broke loose from artificial restraints;--these might not be apparent through the mists of the hurrying future. But the voice that called her to death, _that_ she heard for ever. 

[Illustration: JOAN OF ARC _Statue by Chapu, Luxembourg, Paris _]

Great was the throne of France even in those days, and great was hethat sat upon it; but well Joanna knew that not the throne, nor he thatsat upon it, was for _her_; but, on the contrary, that she was for_them_; not she by them, but they by her, should rise from the dust. Gorgeous were the lilies of France, [Footnote: The royal emblemof France was the _fleur-de-lys_ or iris, but in translation thephrase appears _lily-flower_. ] and for centuries had the privilegeto spread their beauty over land and sea, until, in another century, the wrath of God and man combined to wither them; but well Joanna knew, early at Domrémy she had read that bitter truth, that the lilies ofFrance would decorate no garland for _her_. Flower nor bud, bellnor blossom, would ever bloom for _her_!

 * * * * *

Joanna, as we in England should call her, but, according to her ownstatement, Jeanne (or, as M. Michelet asserts, Jean) D'Arc, was born atDomrémy, a village on the marches of Lorraine and Champagne, anddependent upon the town of Vaucoulcurs. Domrémy stood upon thefrontiers, and, like other frontiers, produced a _mixed_ race, representing the _cis_ [Footnote: _This side_. ] and the _trans_[Footnote: _Across_; the other side. ]. A river (it is true) formed theboundary-line at this point--the river Meuse; and _that_, in old days, might have divided the populations; but in these days it did not: therewere bridges, there were ferries, and weddings crossed from the rightbank to the left. Here lay two great roads, not so much for travelersthat were few, as for armies that were too many by half. These tworoads, one of which was the great highroad between France and Germany, _decussated_ at this very point; which is a learned way of saying thatthey formed a St. Andrew's Cross, or letter X. I hope the compositorwill choose a good large X; in which case the point of intersection, the_locus_ [Footnote: _Point_ or _place_. ] of conflux and intersection forthese four diverging arms, will finish the reader's geographicaleducation, by showing him to a hair's-breadth where it was that Domrémystood. That great four-headed road was a perpetual memento to patrioticardour. To say "This way lies the road to Paris, and that other way toAix-la-Chapelle; this to Prague, that to Vienna, " nourished the warfareof the heart by daily ministrations of sense. The eye that watched forthe gleams of lance or helmet from the hostile frontier, the ear thatlistened for the groaning of wheels, made the high-road itself, withits relations to centres so remote, into a manual of patriotic duty. The situation, therefore, _locally_, of Joanna was full of profoundsuggestions to a heart that listened for the stealthy steps of changeand fear that too surely were in motion. But, if the place were grand, the time, the burden of the time, was far more so. The air overhead inits upper chambers was _hurtling_ with the obscure sound; was dark withsullen fermenting of storms that had been gathering for a hundred andthirty years. The battle of Agincourt in Joanna's childhood had reopenedthe wounds of France. Crécy and Poictiers, those withering overthrowsfor the chivalry of France, had, before Agincourt occurred, beentranquilized by more than half-a-century; but this resurrection of theirtrumpet wails made the whole series of battles and endless skirmishestake their stations as parts in one drama. The graves that had closedsixty years ago seemed to fly open in sympathy with a sorrow that echoedtheir own. The monarchy of France laboured in extremity, rocked andreeled like a ship fighting with the darkness of monsoons. The madnessof the poor king (Charles VI) falling in at such a crisis trebled theawfulness of the time. Even the wild story of the incident which hadimmediately occasioned the explosion of this madness--the case of a manunknown, gloomy, and perhaps maniacal himself, coming out of a forest atnoonday, laying his hand upon the bridle of the king's horse, checkinghim for a moment to say, "Oh, king, thou art betrayed, " and thenvanishing, no man knew whither, as he had appeared for no man knewwhat--fell in with the universal prostration of mind that laid France onher knees, as before the slow unweaving of some ancient prophetic doom. The famines, the extraordinary diseases, the insurrections of thepeasantry up and down Europe--these were chords struck from the samemysterious harp; but these were transitory chords. There had been othersof deeper and more ominous sound. The termination of the Crusades, thedestruction of the Templars, the Papal interdicts, the tragedies causedor suffered by the house of Anjou, and by the Emperor--these were fullof a more permanent significance. 

These were the loftiest peaks of the cloudland in the skies that to thescientific gazer first caught the colours of the new morning inadvance. But the whole vast range alike of sweeping glooms overheaddwelt upon all meditative minds, even upon those that could notdistinguish the tendencies nor decipher the forms. It was, therefore, not her own age alone as affected by its immediate calamities that laywith such weight upon Joanna's mind, but her own age as one section ina vast mysterious drama, unweaving through a century back, and drawingnearer continually to some dreadful crisis. Cataracts and rapids wereheard roaring ahead; and signs were seen far back, by help of old men'smemories, which answered secretly to signs now coming forward on theeye, even as locks answer to keys. It was not wonderful that in such ahaunted solitude, with such a haunted heart, Joanna should see angelicvisions, and hear angelic voices. These voices whispered to her forever the duty, self-imposed, of delivering France. Five years shelistened to these monitory voices with internal struggles. At lengthshe could resist no longer. Doubt gave way; and she left her home forever in order to present herself at the dauphin's court. 

The education of this poor girl was mean according to the presentstandard: was ineffably grand, according to a purer philosophicstandard: and only not good for our age because for us it would beunattainable. She read nothing, for she could not read; but she hadheard others read parts of the Roman martyrology. She wept in sympathywith the sad _Misereres_ [Footnote: The penitential psalm which, set tomusic, is one of the most impressive Roman Catholic chants. ] of theRomish Church; she rose to heaven with the glad triumphant _Te Deums_[Footnote: _Te Deum laudamus_ means "We praise thee, O God" Grandanthems of triumph and thanksgiving are here called "Te Deums" from thefirst words of an ancient Latin hymn. ] of Rome; she drew her comfort andher vital strength from the rites of the same Church. But, next afterthese spiritual advantages, she owed most to the advantages of hersituation. The fountain of Domrémy was on the brink of a boundlessforest; and it was haunted to that degree by fairies that the parishpriest (_curé_) was obliged to read mass there once a year, in order tokeep them in any decent bounds. Fairies are important, even in astatistical view: certain weeds mark poverty in the soil; fairies markits solitude. As surely as the wolf retires before cities does the fairysequester herself from the haunts of the licensed victualer. A villageis too much for her nervous delicacy: at most, she can tolerate adistant view of a hamlet. We may judge, therefore, by the uneasiness andextra trouble which they gave to the parson, in what strength thefairies mustered at Domrémy, and, by a satisfactory consequence, howthinly sown with men and women must have been that region even in itsinhabited spots. But the forests of Domrémy--those were the glories ofthe land: for in them abode mysterious powers and ancient secrets thattowered into tragic strength. "Abbeys there were, and abbey windows, "--"like Moorish temples of the Hindoos, "--that exercised even princelypower both in Lorraine and in the German Diets. These had their sweetbells that pierced the forests for many a league at matins or vespers, and each its own dreamy legend. Few enough, and scattered enough, werethese abbeys, so as in no degree to disturb the deep solitude of theregion; yet many enough to spread a network or awning of Christiansanctity over what else might have seemed a heathen wilderness. Thissort of religious talisman being secured, a man the most afraid ofghosts (like myself, suppose, or the reader) becomes armed into courageto wander for days in their sylvan recesses. About six hundred yearsbefore Joanna's childhood, Charlemagne was known to have hunted there. That, of itself, was a grand incident in the traditions of a forest or achase. In these vast forests, also, were to be found (if anywhere to befound) those mysterious fawns that tempted solitary hunters intovisionary and perilous pursuits. Here was seen (if anywhere seen) thatancient stag who was already nine hundred years old, but possibly ahundred or two more, when met by Charlemagne; and the thing was putbeyond doubt by the inscription upon his golden collar. I believeCharlemagne knighted the stag; and, if ever he is met again by a king, he ought to be made an earl, or, being upon the marches of France, amarquis. Observe, I don't absolutely vouch for all these things; my ownopinion varies. On a fine breezy forenoon I am audaciously sceptical;but as twilight sets in my credulity grows steadily, till it becomesequal to anything that could be desired. 

Such traditions, or any others that (like the stag) connect distantgenerations with each other, are, for that cause, sublime; and thesense of the shadowy, connected with such appearances that revealthemselves or not according to circumstances, leaves a colouring ofsanctity over ancient forests, even in those minds that utterly rejectthe legend as a fact. 

But, apart from all distinct stories of that order, in any solitaryfrontier between two great empires--as here, for instance, or in thedesert between Syria and the Euphrates--there is an inevitabletendency, in minds of any deep sensibility, to people the solitudeswith phantom images of powers that were of old so vast. Joanna, therefore, in her quiet occupation of a shepherdess, would be ledcontinually to brood over the political condition of her country by thetraditions of the past no less than by the mementos of the localpresent. 

It is not requisite for the honour of Joanna, nor is there in thisplace room, to pursue her brief career of _action_. That, thoughwonderful, forms the earthly part of her story; the spiritual part isthe saintly passion of her imprisonment, trial, and execution. It issufficient, as concerns the former section of Joanna's life, to saythat she fulfilled, to the height of her promises, the restoration ofthe prostrate throne. France had become--a province of England, and forthe ruin of both, if such a yoke could be maintained. Dreadfulpecuniary exhaustion caused the English energy to droop; and thatcritical opening _La Pucelle_ used with a corresponding felicityof audacity and suddenness (that were in themselves portentous) forintroducing the wedge of French native resources, for rekindling thenational pride, and for planting the dauphin once more upon his feet. When Joanna appeared, he had been on the point of giving up thestruggle with the English, distressed as they were, and of flying tothe south of France. She taught him to blush for such abject counsels. She liberated Orleans, that great city, so decisive by its fate for theissue of the war, and then beleaguered by the English with an elaborateapplication of engineering skill unprecedented in Europe. Entering thecity after sunset on the 29th of April, she sang mass on Sunday, May 8, for the entire disappearance of the besieging force. On the 29th ofJune she fought and gained over the English the decisive battle ofPatay; on the 9th of July she took Troyes by a coup-de-main [Footnote:An unexpected and powerful attack] from a mixed garrison of English andBurgundians; on the 15th of that month she carried the dauphin intoRheims; on Sunday the 17th she crowned him; and there she rested fromher labour of triumph. All that was to be _done_ she had nowaccomplished: what remained was--to _suffer_. 

But she, the child that, at nineteen, had wrought wonders so great forFrance, was she not elated? Did she not lose, as men so often_have_ lost, all sobriety of mind when standing upon the pinnacleof success so giddy? Let her enemies declare. During the progress ofher movement, and in the centre of ferocious struggles, she hadmanifested the temper of her feelings by the pity which she hadeverywhere expressed for the suffering enemy. She forwarded to theEnglish leaders a touching invitation to unite with the French asbrothers, in a common crusade against infidels--thus opening the roadfor a soldierly retreat. She interposed to protect the captive or thewounded; she mourned over the excesses of her countrymen; she threwherself off her horse to kneel by the dying English soldier, and tocomfort him with such ministrations, physical or spiritual, as hissituation allowed. "_Nolebat_, " says the evidence, "_uti ense suo, autquemquam interficere_. " [Footnote: She wished not to kill anyone withher sword] She sheltered the English that invoked her aid in her ownquarters. She wept as she beheld, stretched on the field of battle, somany brave enemies that had died without confession. And, as regardedherself, her elation expressed itself thus:--On the day when, she hadfinished her work, she wept; for she knew that, when her _triumphal_task was done, her end must be approaching. Her aspirations pointed onlyto a place which seemed to her more than usually full of natural piety, as one in which it would give her pleasure to die. And she uttered, between smiles and tears, as a wish that inexpressibly fascinated herheart, and yet was half-fantastic, a broken prayer that God would returnher to the solitudes from which he had drawn her, and suffer her tobecome a shepherdess once more. It was a natural prayer, because naturehas laid a necessity upon every human heart to seek for rest and toshrink from torment. Yet, again, it was a half-fantastic prayer, because, from childhood upwards, visions that she had no power tomistrust, and the voices which sounded in her ear for ever, had longsince persuaded her mind that for _her_ no such prayer could be granted. Too well she felt that her mission must be worked out to the end, andthat the end was now at hand. All went wrong from this time. She herselfhad created the _funds_ out of which the French restoration should grow:but she was not suffered to witness their development, or theirprosperous application. More than one military plan was entered uponwhich she did not approve. But she still continued to expose her personas before. Severe wounds had not taught her caution. And at length, in asortie from Compiègne (whether through treacherous collusion on the partof her own friends is doubtful to this day), she was made prisoner bythe Burgundians; and finally surrendered to the English. 

Now came her trial. This trial, moving of course under Englishinfluence, was conducted in chief by the Bishop of Beauvais. He was aFrenchman, sold to English interests, and hoping, by favour of theEnglish leaders, to reach the highest preferment. 

Never from the foundations of the earth was there such a trial as this, if it were laid open in all its beauty of defence, and all itsbullishness of attack. Oh, child of France! shepherdess; peasant girl!trodden under foot by all around thee, how I honour thy flashingintellect, quick as God's lightning, and true as God's lightning to itsmark, that ran before France and laggard Europe by many a century, confounding the malice of the ensnarer, and making dumb the oracles offalsehood!

On Easter Sunday, when the trial had been long proceeding, the poorgirl fell so ill as to cause a belief that she had been poisoned. Itwas not poison. Nobody had any interest in hastening a death socertain. M. Michelet, whose sympathies with all feelings are so quickthat one would gladly see them always as justly directed, reads thecase most truly. Joanna had a twofold malady. She was visited by aparoxysm of the complaint called _home-sickness_. The cruel natureof her imprisonment, and its length, could not but point her solitarythoughts, in darkness and in chains (for chained she was), to Domrémy. And the season, which was the most heavenly period of the spring, addedstings to this yearning. That was one of her maladies--_nostalgia_, asmedicine calls it; the other was weariness and exhaustion from dailycombats with malice. She saw that everybody hated her, and thirsted forher blood; nay, many kind-hearted creatures that would have pitied herprofoundly, as regarded all political charges, had their naturalfeelings warped by the belief that she had dealings with fiendishpowers. She knew she was to die; that was _not_ the misery; the miserywas that this consummation could not be reached without so muchintermediate strife, as if she were contending for some chance (wherechance was none) of happiness, or were dreaming for a moment of escapingthe inevitable. Why, then, _did_ she contend? Knowing that she wouldreap nothing from answering her persecutors, why did she not retire bysilence from the superfluous contest? It was because her quick and eagerloyalty to truth would not suffer her to see it darkened by frauds which_she_ could expose, but others, even of candid listeners, perhaps, couldnot; it was through that imperishable grandeur of soul which taught herto submit meekly and without a struggle to her punishment, but taughther _not_ to submit--no, not for a moment--to calumny as to facts, or tomisconstruction as to motives. Besides, there were secretaries allaround the court taking down her words. That was meant for no good to_her_. But the end does not always correspond to the meaning. AndJoanna might say to herself, "These words that will be used against metomorrow and the next day perhaps in some nobler generation may riseagain for my justification. "

On the Wednesday after Trinity Sunday in 1431, being then aboutnineteen years of age, the Maid of Arc underwent her martyrdom. She wasconducted before mid-day, guarded by eight hundred spearmen, to aplatform of prodigious height, constructed of wooden billets supportedby occasional walls of lath and plaster, and traversed by hollow spacesin every direction for the creation of air-currents. The pile "struckterror, " says M. Michelet, "by its height;" and, as usual, the Englishpurpose in this is viewed as one of pure malignity. But there are twoways of explaining all that. It is probable that the purpose wasmerciful. 

The circumstantial incidents of the execution, unless with more spacethan I can now command, I should be unwilling to relate. I should fearto injure, by imperfect report, a martyrdom which to myself appears sounspeakably grand. Yet I shall, in parting, allude to one or two traitsin Joanna's demeanour on the scaffold, and to one or two in that of thebystanders. The reader ought to be reminded that Joanna D'Arc wassubjected to an unusually unfair trial of opinion. Any of the elderChristian martyrs had not much to fear of _personal_ rancour. The martyrwas chiefly regarded as the enemy of Caesar; at times, also, where anyknowledge of the Christian faith and morals existed, with the enmitythat arises spontaneously in the worldly against the spiritual. But themartyr, though disloyal, was not supposed to be therefore anti-national;and still less was _individually_ hateful. What was hated (if anything)belonged to his class, not to himself separately. Now, Joanna, if hatedat all, was hated personally, and in Rouen on national grounds. Hencethere would be a certainty of calumny arising against _her_ such aswould not affect martyrs in general. That being the case, it wouldfollow of necessity that some people would impute to her a willingnessto recant. No innocence could escape _that_. Now, had she reallytestified this willingness on the scaffold, it would have argued nothingat all but the weakness of a genial nature shrinking from the instantapproach of torment. And those will often pity that weakness most who, in their own persons, would yield to it least. Meantime, there never wasa calumny uttered that drew less support from the recordedcircumstances. It rests upon no _positive_ testimony, and it has aweight of contradicting testimony to stem. 

Now, I affirm that she did not recant. I throw the _onus_ [Footnote:Burden. ] of the argument not on presumable tendencies of nature, but onthe known facts of that morning's execution, as recorded by multitudes. What else, I demand, than mere weight of metal, absolute nobility ofdeportment, broke the vast line of battle then arrayed against her? Whatelse but her meek, saintly demeanour won, from the enemies that till nowhad believed her a witch, tears of rapturous admiration? "Ten thousandmen, " says M. Michelet himself--"ten thousand men wept"; and of theseten thousand the majority were political enemies knitted together bycords of superstition. What else was it but her constancy, united withher angelic gentleness, that drove the fanatic English soldier--who hadsworn to throw a faggot on her scaffold, as _his_ tribute of abhorrence, that _did_ so, that fulfilled his vow--suddenly to turn away a penitentfor life, saying everywhere that he had seen a dove rising upon wings toheaven from the ashes where she had stood? What else drove theexecutioner to kneel at every shrine for pardon to _his_ share in thetragedy? And, if all this were insufficient, then I cite the closing actof her life as valid on her behalf, were all other testimonies againsther. The executioner had been directed to apply his torch from below. Hedid so. The fiery smoke rose upwards in billowing volumes. A Dominicanmonk was then standing almost at her side. Wrapped up in his sublimeoffice, he saw not the danger, but still persisted in his prayers. Eventhen, when the last enemy was racing up the fiery stairs to seize her, even at that moment did this noblest of girls think only for _him_, theone friend that would not forsake her, and not for herself; bidding himwith her last breath to care for his own preservation, but to leave_her_ to God. That girl, whose latest breath ascended in this sublimeexpression of self-oblivion, did not utter the word _recant_ either withher lips or in her heart. No, she did not, though one should rise fromthe dead to swear it. 

 * * * * *

The shepherd girl that had delivered France--she, from her dungeon, she, from her baiting at the stake, she, from her duel with fire, asshe entered her last dream--saw Domrémy, saw the fountain of Domrémy, saw the pomp of forests in which her childhood had wandered. ThatEaster festival which man had denied to her languishing heart--thatresurrection of springtime, which the darkness of dungeons hadintercepted from _her_, hungering after the glorious liberty offorests--were by God given back into her hands, as jewels that had beenstolen from her by robbers. With those, perhaps (for the minutes ofdreams can stretch into ages), was given back to her by God the blissof childhood. By special privilege for _her_ might be created, inthis farewell dream, a second childhood, innocent as the first; butnot, like _that_, sad with the gloom of a fearful mission in therear. This mission had now been fulfilled. The storm was weathered; theskirts even of that mighty storm were drawing off. The blood that shewas to reckon for had been exacted; the tears that she was to shed insecret had been paid to the last. The hatred to herself in all eyes hadbeen faced steadily, had been suffered, had been survived. And in herlast fight upon the scaffold she had triumphed gloriously; victoriouslyshe had tasted the stings of death. For all, except this comfort fromher farewell dream, she had died--died, amidst the tears of tenthousand enemies died, amidst the drums and trumpets of armies--died, amidst peals redoubling upon peals, volleys upon volleys, from thesaluting clarions of martyrs. 

Bishop of Beauvais! because the guilt-burdened man is in dreams hauntedand waylaid by the most frightful of his crimes, and because upon thatfluctuating mirror-rising (like the mocking mirrors of _mirage_ inArabian deserts) from the fens of death--most of all are reflected thesweet countenances which the man has laid in ruins; therefore I know, bishop, that you also, entering your final dream, saw Domrémy. Thatfountain, of which the witnesses spoke so much, showed itself to youreyes in pure morning dews; but neither dews, nor the holy dawn, couldcleanse away the bright spots of innocent blood upon its surface. Bythe fountain, bishop, you saw a woman seated, that hid her face. But, as _you_ draw near, the woman raises her wasted features. Would Domrémyknow them again for the features of her child? Ah, but _you_ know them, bishop, well! Oh, mercy! what a groan was _that_ which the servants, waiting outside the bishop's dream at his bedside, heard from hislabouring heart, as at this moment he turned away from the fountain andthe woman, seeking rest in the forests afar off. Yet not _so_ to escapethe woman, whom once again he must behold before he dies. In the foreststo which he prays for pity, will he find a respite? What a tumult, whata gathering of feet is there! In glades where only wild deer should run, armies and nations are assembling. There is the Bishop of Beauvais, clinging to the shelter of thickets. What building is that which handsso rapid are raising? Is it a martyr's scaffold? Will they burn thechild of Domrémy a second time? No: it is a tribunal that rises to theclouds. Shall my Lord of Beauvais sit again upon the judgment-seat, andagain number the hours for the innocent? Ah no! he is the prisoner atthe bar. Already all is waiting: the mighty audience is gathered, theCourt is hurrying to their seats, the witnesses are arrayed, the judgeis taking his place. My lord, have you no counsel? "Counsel I have none:in heaven above, or on earth beneath, counsellor there is none now thatwould take a brief from _me:_ all are silent. " Is it, indeed, come tothis? Alas! the time is short, the tumult is wondrous, the crowdstretches away into infinity, but yet I will search in it for somebodyto take your brief; I know of somebody that will be your counsel. Whois this that cometh from Domrémy? Who is she in bloody coronation robesfrom Rheims? Who is she that cometh with blackened flesh from walkingthe furnaces of Rouen? This is she, the shepherd girl, counsellor thathad none for herself, whom I choose, bishop, for yours. She it is, Iengage, that shall take my lord's brief. She it is, bishop, that wouldplead for you: yes, bishop, SHE--when heaven and earth are silent. 

PANCRATIUS

_By_ CARDINAL WISEMAN

Note. --The selection following has been adapted from _Fabiola_, or _TheChurch of the Catacombs_, a tale by Cardinal Wiseman. Pancratius, one ofthe early Christian martyrs, was a boy of fourteen at the time the storyopens and was but little older at his death. At school his nobilityincurred the enmity of Corvinus, whose hatred lead to the earlydenunciation of Pancratius. 

When the Roman emperor decided to exterminate the Christians and soughtto publish the bloody edict, Pancratius in a perilous attempt succeededin tearing down and burning the royal proclamation. Corvinus had anarrow escape from the emperor's wrath, and his hatred of Pancratiusincreased. Unable to secure another victim, Corvinus seized his oldschoolmaster and gave him up to torture and death at the hands of hispupils. On his return from this bloody expedition, Corvinus, drunkenand reckless, was thrown from his chariot into a canal and would havedrowned had not Pancratius rescued him. At that time Pancratiusrecovered the knife with which he had cut down the edict and which waskept by Corvinus as evidence against the young Christian. Ignorant ofhis rescuer's name, Corvinus still sought for Pancratius, and thisselection shows how he succeeded. 

At length they came near one of the chambers which flanked the easternside of the longer arm of the hall. [Footnote: Corvinus and his, companion are searching among the Christian captives at work on thebaths of Diocletian for suitable men to fight the lions in theamphitheater. ] In one of them they saw a number of convicts (if we mustuse the term) resting after their labor. The center of the group was anold man, most venerable in appearance, with a long white beardstreaming on his breast, mild in aspect, gentle in word, cheerful inhis feeble action. It was the confessor Saturninus, now in hiseightieth year, yet loaded with two heavy chains. At each side were themore youthful laborers, Cyriacus and Sisinnius, of whom it is recorded, that in addition to their own task-work, one on each side, they bore uphis bonds. Indeed, we are told that their particular delight was, overand above their own assigned portion of toil, to help their weakerbrethren, and perform their work for them. 

Several other captives lay on the ground about the old man's feet, ashe, seated on a block of marble, was talking to them with a sweetgravity, which riveted their attention, and seemed to make them forgettheir sufferings. What was he saying to them? Was he requiting Cyriacusfor his extraordinary charity by telling him that, in commemoration ofit, a portion of the immense pile which they were toiling to raisewould be dedicated to God under his invocation, become a title, andclose its line of titulars by an illustrious name? Or was he recountinganother more glorious vision, how this smaller oratory was to besuperseded and absorbed by a glorious temple in honour of the Queen ofAngels, which should comprise that entire superb hall, with itsvestibule, under the directing skill of the mightiest artistic geniusthat the world should ever see? [Footnote: Michelangelo--The noble andbeautiful church of Sta Maria degh Angeli was made by him out of thecentral hall and circular vestibule. The floor was afterwards raised, and thus the pillars were shortened and the height of the buildingdiminished by several feet. ] What more consoling thought could havebeen vouchsafed to those poor oppressed captives than that they werenot so much erecting baths for the luxury of a heathen people, or theprodigality of a wicked emperor, as in truth building up one of thestateliest churches in which the true God is worshiped, and the VirginMother, who bore Him incarnate, is affectionately honoured?

From a distance Corvinus saw the group, and pausing, asked thesuperintendent the names of those who composed it. He enumerated themreadily; then added, "You may as well take that old man, if you like;for he is not worth his keep so far as work goes. "

"Thank you, " replied Corvinus; "a pretty figure he would cut in theamphitheater. The people are not to be put off with decrepit oldcreatures, whom a single stroke of a bear's or tiger's paw killsoutright. They like to see young blood flowing, and plenty of lifestruggling against wounds and blows before death comes to decide thecontest. But there is one there whom you have not named. His face isturned from us; he has not the prisoner's garb, nor any kind of fetter. Who can it be?"

"I do not know his name, " answered Rabirius; "but he is a fine youth, who spends much of his time among the convicts, relieves them and evenat times helps them in their work. He pays, of course, well for beingallowed all this; so it is not our business to ask questions. "

"But it is mine, though, " said Corvinus sharply; and he advanced forthis purpose. The voice caught the stranger's ear, and he turned roundto look. 

Corvinus sprang upon him with the eye and action of a wild beast, seized him, and called out with exultation, "Fetter him instantly. Thistime, at least, Pancratius, thou shalt not escape. "

 * * * * *

Pancratius, with some twenty more, fettered and chained together, wasled through the streets to prison. As they were thus dragged along, staggering and stumbling helplessly, they were unmercifully struck bythe guards who conducted them; and any persons near enough to reachthem dealt them blows and kicks without remorse. Those further offpelted them with stones or offal, and assailed them with insultingribaldry. They reached the Mamertine prison at last, and were thrustdown into it, and found there already other victims, of both sexes, awaiting their time of sacrifice. The youth had just time, while he wasbeing handcuffed, to request one of the captors to inform his motherand Sebastian of what had happened; and he slipt his purse into hishand. 

A prison in ancient Rome was not the place to which a poor man mightcourt committal, hoping there to enjoy better fare and lodging than hedid at home. Two or three of these dungeons, for they are nothingbetter, still remain; and a brief description of the one which we havementioned will give our readers some idea of what confessorship cost, independent of martyrdom. 

The Mamertine prison is composed of two square subterranean chambers, one below the other, with only one round aperture in the center of eachvault, through which alone light, air, food, furniture, and men couldpass. When the upper story was full, we may imagine how much of the twofirst could reach the lower. No other means of ventilation, drainage, or access could exist. The walls, of large stone blocks, had, or ratherhave, rings fastened into them, for securing the prisoners, but manyused to be laid on the floor, with their feet fastened in the stocks;and the ingenious cruelty of the persecutors often increased thediscomfort of the damp stone floor, by strewing with broken potsherdsthis only bed allowed to the mangled limbs and welted backs of thetortured Christians. 

 * * * * *

Pancratius and his companions stood before the judge, for it wantedonly three days to the _munus, _ or games, at which they were to "fightwith wild beasts. "

"What art thou?" he asked of one. 

"I am a Christian, by the help of God, " was the rejoinder. 

At length, after having put similar questions and received similaranswers from all the others, except from one wretched man, who, to thegrief of the rest, wavered and agreed to offer sacrifice, the prefectturned to Pancratius, and thus addressed him: "And now, insolent youth, who hadst the audacity to tear down the Edict of the divine emperors, even for thee there shall be mercy if yet thou wilt sacrifice to thegods. Show thus at once thy piety and thy wisdom, for thou art yet buta stripling. "

Pancratius signed himself with the sign of the saving cross, and calmlyreplied, "I am the servant of Christ. Him I acknowledge by my mouth, hold firm in my heart, _incessantly adore_. This youth which youbehold in me has the--wisdom of grey hairs, if it worship but one God. But your gods, with those who adore them, are destined to eternaldestruction. "

"Strike him on the mouth for his blasphemy, and beat him with rods, "exclaimed the angry judge. 

"I thank thee, " replied meekly the noble youth, "that thus I suffersome of the same punishment as was inflicted on my Lord. "

The prefect then pronounced sentence in the usual form. "Lucianus, Pancratius, Rusticus, and others, and the women Secunda and Rufina, whohave all owned themselves Christians, and refuse to obey the sacredemperor, or worship the gods of Rome, we order to be exposed to wildbeasts in the Flavian amphitheater. "

The mob howled with delight and hatred, and accompanied the confessorsback to their prison with this rough music, but they were graduallyoverawed by the dignity of their gait, and the shining calmness oftheir countenances. Some men asserted that they must have perfumedthemselves, for they could perceive a fragrant atmosphere surroundingtheir persons. 

 * * * * *

The morning broke light and frosty; and the sun, glittering on thegilded ornaments of the temples and other public buildings, seemed toarray them in holiday splendor. And the people, too, soon come forthinto the streets in their gayest attire, decked out with unusualrichness. The various streams converge towards the Flavianamphitheater, now better known by the name of the Coliseum. Each onedirects his steps to the arch indicated by the number of his ticket, and thus the huge monster keeps sucking in by degrees that stream oflife, which soon animates and enlivens its oval tiers over tiers ofsteps, till its interior is tapestried all round with human faces, andits walls seem to rock and wave to and fro, by the swaying of theliving mass. And, after this shall have been gorged with blood andinflamed with fury, it will melt once more, and rush out in a thickcontinuous flow through the many avenues by which it entered, nowbearing their fitting name of _Vomitoria;_ for never did a morepolluted stream of the dregs and pests of humanity issue from anunbecoming reservoir, through ill-assorted channels, than the Romanmob, drunk with the blood of martyrs, gushing forth from the pores ofthe amphitheater. 

The emperor came to the games surrounded by his court, with all thepomp and circumstance which befitted an imperial festival, keen as anyof his subjects to witness the cruel games, and to feed his eyes with afeast of carnage. His throne was on the eastern side of theamphitheater, where a large space, called the _pulvinar, _ wasreserved, and richly decorated for the imperial court. 

Various sports succeeded one another; and many a gladiator, killed orwounded, had sprinkled the bright sand with blood, when the people, eager for fiercer combats, began to call, or roar, for the Christiansand the wild beasts. It is time, therefore, for us to think of ourcaptives. 

Before the citizens were astir, they had been removed from the prisonto a strong chamber called the _spoliatorium, _ the press-room, where their fetters and chains were removed. An attempt was made todress them gaudily as heathen priests and priestesses; but theyresisted, urging that as they had come spontaneously to the fight, itwas unfair to make them appear in a disguise which they abhorred. During the early part of the day they remained thus togetherencouraging one another, and singing the Divine praises, in spite ofthe shouts which drowned their voices from time to time. 

While they were thus engaged, Corvinus entered, and, with a look ofinsolent triumph, thus accosted Pancratius:

"Thanks to the gods, the day is come which I have long desired. It hasbeen a tiresome and tough struggle between us who should falluppermost. I have won it. "

"How sayest thou, Corvinus; when and how have I contended with thee?"

"Always--everywhere. Thou hast haunted me in my dreams; thou hastdanced before me like a meteor, and I have tried in vain to grasp thee. Thou hast been my tormentor, my evil genius. I have hated thee; devotedthee to the infernal gods; cursed thee and loathed thee; and now my dayof vengeance is come. "

"Methinks, " replied Pancratius, smiling, "this does not look like acombat. It has been all on one side; for _I_ have done none of thesethings towards thee. "

"No? thinkest thou that I believe thee, when thou hast lain ever as aviper on my path, to bite my heel and overthrow me?"

"Where, I again ask?"

"Everywhere, I repeat. At school; in the Forum; in the cemetery; in myfather's own court. Yes, everywhere. "

"And nowhere else but where thou hast named? When thy chariot wasdashed furiously along the Appian way, didst thou not hear the tramp ofhorses' hoofs trying to overtake thee?"

"Wretch!" exclaimed the prefect's son in a fury; "and was it thyaccursed steed which, purposely urged forward, frightened mine, andnearly caused my death?"

"No, Corvinus, hear me calmly. It is the last time we shall speaktogether. I was travelling quietly with a companion towards Rome, afterhaving paid the last rites to our master Cassianus" (Corvinus winced, for he knew not this before), "when I heard the clatter of a runawaychariot, and then, indeed, I put spurs to my horse; and it is well forthee that I did. "

"How so?"

"Because I reached thee just in time--when thy strength was nearlyexhausted, and thy blood almost frozen by repeated plunges in the coldcanal; and when thy arm, already benumbed, had let go its last stay, and thou wast falling backwards for the last time into the water. I sawthee--I knew thee, as I took hold of thee, insensible. I had in mygrasp the murderer of one most dear to me. Divine justice seemed tohave overtaken him; there was only my will between him and his doom. Itwas my day of vengeance, and I fully gratified it. "

"Ha! and how, pray?"

"By drawing thee out, and laying thee on the bank, and chafing theetill thy heart resumed its functions; and then consigning thee to thyservants, rescued from death. "

"Thou liest!" screamed Corvinus; "my servants told me that _they_ drewme out. "

"And did they give thee my knife, together with thy leopard-skin purse, which I found on the ground, after I had dragged thee forth?"

"No; they said the purse was lost in the canal. It _was_ a leopard-skinpurse, the gift of an African sorceress. What sayest thou of the knife?"

"That it is here, see it, still rusty with the water; thy purse I gaveto thy slaves; my own knife I retained for myself; look at it again. Dost thou believe me now? Have I been always a viper on thy path?"

Too ungenerous to acknowledge that he had been conquered in thestruggle between them, Corvinus only felt himself withered, degraded, before his late school fellow, crumbled like a clot of dust in hishands. His very heart seemed to him to blush. He felt sick, andstaggered, hung down his head, and sneaked away. He cursed the games, the emperor, the yelling rabble, the roaring beasts, his horses andchariot, his slaves, his father, himself--but he could not, for hislife, curse Pancratius. 

He had reached the door, when the youth called him back. He turned andlooked at him with a glance of respect, almost approaching to love. Pancratius put his hand on his arm, and said, "Corvinus, I have freelyforgiven thee. There is One above, who cannot forgive withoutrepentance. Seek pardon from Him. "

Corvinus slunk away, and appeared no more that day. He lost the sighton which his coarse imagination had gloated for days, which he hadlonged for during months. 

As he was leaving the prisoners, the _lanista_, or master of thegladiators, entered the room and summoned them to the combat. Theyhastily embraced one another, and took leave on earth. They entered thearena, or pit of the amphitheater, opposite the imperial seat, and hadto pass between two files of _venatores_, or huntsmen, who had thecare of the wild beasts, each armed with a heavy whip wherewith heinflicted a blow on every one, as he went by him. They were thenbrought forward, singly or in groups, as the people desired, or thedirectors of the spectacle chose. Sometimes the intended prey wasplaced on an elevated platform to be more conspicuous; at another timehe was tied up to posts to be more helpless. A favorite sport was tobundle up a female victim in a net, and expose her to be rolled, tossed, or gored by wild cattle. One encounter with a single wild beastoften finished the martyr's course; while occasionally three or fourwere successively let loose, without their inflicting a mortal wound. 

But we must content ourselves with following the last steps of ouryouthful hero, Pancratius. As he was passing through the corridor thatled to the amphitheater, he saw Sebastian standing on one side, with alady closely enwrapped in her mantle, and veiled. He at once recognizedher, stopped before her, knelt, and taking her hand, affectionatelykissed it. "Bless me, my dear mother, " he said, "in this your promisedhour. "

"See, my child, the heavens, " she replied, "and look up thither, whereChrist with His saints expecteth thee. Fight the good fight, for thysoul's sake, and show thyself faithful and steadfast in thy Saviour'slove. Remember him too whose relic thou bearest round thy neck. "[Footnote: The father of Pancratius had suffered martyrdom, and therelic mentioned was stained with the parent's blood. ]

"Its price shall be doubled in thine eyes, my sweet mother, ere manyhours are over. "

"On, on, an let us have none of this fooling, " said the _lanista_, with a stroke of his cane. 

Lucina retreated; while Sebastian pressed the hand of her son, andwhispered in his ear, "Courage, dearest boy; may God bless you! I shallbe close behind the emperor; give me a last look there, and--yourblessing. "

Pancratius soon stood in the midst of the arena, the last of thefaithful band. He had been reserved, in hopes that the sight of others'sufferings might shake his constancy; but the effect had been thereverse. He took his stand where he was placed, and his yet delicateframe contrasted with the swarthy and brawny limbs of the executionerswho surrounded him. They now left him alone; and we cannot betterdescribe him than Eusebius, an eye-witness, does a youth a few yearsolder:

"You might have seen a tender youth, who had not yet entered histwentieth year, standing without fetters, with his hands stretchedforth in the form of a cross, and praying to God most attentively, witha fixed and untrembling heart; not retiring from the place where hefirst stood, nor swerving the least, while bears and leopards, breathing fury and death in their very snort, were just rushing on totear his limbs in pieces. And yet, I know not how, their jaws seemedseized and closed by some divine and mysterious power, and they drewaltogether back. "

Such was the attitude, and such the privilege of our heroic youth. Themob were frantic, as they saw one wild beast after another careeringmadly round him, roaring and lashing its sides with its tail, while heseemed placed in a charmed circle, which they could not approach. Afurious bull, let loose upon him, dashed madly forward, with his neckbent down, then stopped suddenly, as though he had struck his headagainst a wall, pawed the ground, and scattered the dust around him, bellowing fiercely. 

"Provoke him, thou coward!" roared out, still louder, the enragedemperor. 

Pancratius awoke as from a trance, and waving his arms, ran towards hisenemy; but the savage brute, as if a lion had been rushing on him, turned round, and ran away towards the entrance, where, meeting hiskeeper, he tossed him high into the air. All were disconcerted exceptthe brave youth, who had resumed his attitude of prayer; when one ofthe crowd shouted out, "He has a charm round his neck; he is asorcerer!" The whole multitude reechoed the cry, till the emperor, having commanded silence, called out to him, "Take that amulet from thyneck, and cast it from thee. "

"Sire, " replied the youth, with a musical voice, that rang sweetlythrough the hushed amphitheater, "it is no charm that I wear, but amemorial of my father, who in this very place made gloriously the sameconfession which I now humbly make: I am a Christian; and for love ofJesus Christ, God and man, I gladly give my life. Do not take from methis only legacy. Try once more; it was a panther which gave him hiscrown; perhaps it will bestow the same on me. "

For an instant there was dead silence; the multitude seemed softened, won. The graceful form of the gallant youth, his now inspiredcountenance, the thrilling music of his voice, the intrepidity of hisspeech, and his generous self-devotion to his cause, had wrought uponthat cowardly herd. Pancratius felt it, and his heart quailed beforetheir mercy more than before their rage; he had promised himself heaventhat day; was he to be disappointed? Tears started into his eyes, asstretching forth his arms once more in the form of a cross, he calledaloud:

"Today; oh yes, today, most blessed Lord, is the appointed day of Thycoming. Tarry not longer; show now Thy mercy to me who in Theebelieve!"

"The panther!" shouted out a voice. "The panther!" responded twenty. "The panther!" thundered forth a hundred thousand, in a chorus like theroaring of an avalanche. A cage started up, as if by magic, from themidst of the sand, and as it rose, its side fell down, and freed thecaptive of the desert. With one graceful bound the elegant savagegained its liberty; and, though enraged by darkness, confinement, andhunger, it seemed almost playful as it leaped and turned about. At lastit caught sight of its prey. All its feline cunning and cruelty seemedto return and to conspire together in animating the cautious andtreacherous movements of its velvet-clothed frame. The wholeamphitheater was as silent as if it had been a hermit's cell, whileevery eye was intent, watching the stealthy approaches of the sleekbrute to its victim. Pancratius was still standing in the same place, facing the emperor, apparently so absorbed in higher thoughts as not toheed the movements of his enemy. The panther had stolen round him, asif disdaining to attack him except in front. Crouching upon its breast, slowly advancing one paw before another, it had gained its measureddistance, and there it lay for some moments of breathless suspense. Adeep snarling growl, an elastic spring through the air, and it was seengathered up with its hind feet on the chest and its fangs and foreclaws on the throat of the martyr. 

He stood erect for a moment, brought his right hand to his mouth, andlooking up at Sebastian with a smile, directed to him, by a gracefulwave of his arm, the last salutation of his lip--and fell. The arteriesof the neck had been severed, and the slumber of martyrdom at oncesettled on his eyelids. His blood softened, brightened, enriched, andblended inseparably with that of his father. The mother's sacrifice hadbeen accepted. 

ALFRED THE GREAT[Footnote: This selection is taken from _A Child's History ofEngland_. Much of the history of Alfred is traditional, and it isnot at all probable that Dickens's picture is strictly true. ]

_By_ CHARLES DICKENS

Alfred the Great was a young man, three and twenty years of age, whenhe became king. [Footnote: Alfred was a grandson of Egbert, the firstking of England. Ethelwulf, son of Egbert, and his three older sons hadbeen kings of England, when in 871 Alfred ascended the throne. ] Twicein his childhood he had been taken to Rome, where the Saxon nobles werein the habit of going on journeys which they supposed to be religious;and once he had stayed for some time in Paris. Learning, however, wasso little cared for then, that at twelve years old he had not beentaught to read; although, of the four sons of King Ethelwulf, he, theyoungest, was the favorite. But he had--as most men who grow up to begreat and good are generally found to have had--an excellent mother;and, one day, this lady, whose name was Osburgha, happened, as she wassitting among her sons, to read a book of Saxon poetry. The art ofprinting was not known until long and long after that period, and thebook, which was written, was what is called "illuminated, " withbeautiful bright letters, richly painted. The brothers admiring it verymuch, their mother said, "I will give it to that one of you fourprinces who first learns to read. " Alfred sought out a tutor that veryday, applied himself to learn with great diligence, and soon won thebook. He was proud of it all his life. 

This great king, in the first year of his reign, fought nine battleswith the Danes. He made some treaties with them too, by which the falseDanes swore that they would quit the country. They pretended toconsider that they had taken a very solemn oath in swearing this uponthe holy bracelets that they wore, and which were always buried withthem when they died; but they cared little for it, for they thoughtnothing of breaking oaths, and treaties too, as soon as it suited theirpurpose, and coming back again to fight, plunder, and burn, as usual. One fatal winter, in the fourth year of King Alfred's reign, theyspread themselves in great numbers over the whole of England; and sodispersed and routed the king's soldiers that the king was left alone, and was obliged to disguise himself as a common peasant, and to takerefuge in the cottage of one of his cowherds who did not know his face. 

Here, King Alfred, while the Danes sought him far and wide, was leftalone one day, by the cowherd's wife, to watch some cakes which she putto bake upon the hearth. But, being at work upon his bows and arrows, with which he hoped to punish the false Danes when a brighter timeshould come, and thinking deeply of his poor unhappy subjects whom theDanes chased through the land, his noble mind forgot the cakes, andthey were burnt. "What!" said the cowherd's wife, who scolded him wellwhen she came back, and little thought she was scolding the king, "youwill be ready enough to eat them by and by, and yet you cannot watchthem, idle dog?"

At length, the Devonshire men made head against a new host of Danes wholanded on their coast; killed their chief, and captured their flag, onwhich was represented the likeness of a Raven--a very fit bird for athievish army like that, I think. The loss of their standard troubledthe Danes greatly, for they believed it to be enchanted--woven by thethree daughters of one father in a single afternoon--and they had astory among themselves that when they were victorious in battle, theRaven stretched his wings and seemed to fly; and that when they weredefeated, he would droop. He had good reason to droop now, if he couldhave done anything half so sensible; for King Alfred joined theDevonshire men, made a camp with them on a piece of firm ground in themidst of a bog in Somersetshire, and prepared for a great attempt forvengeance on the Danes, and the deliverance of his oppressed people. 

But first, as it was important to know how numerous those pestilentDanes were, and how they were fortified, King Alfred, being a goodmusician, disguised himself as a gleeman or minstrel, and went, withhis harp, to the Danish camp. He played and sang in the very tent ofGuthrum, the Danish leader, and entertained the Danes as they caroused. While he seemed to think of nothing but his music, he was watchful oftheir tents, their arms, their discipline, everything that he desiredto know. And right soon did this great king entertain them to adifferent tune; for, summoning all his true followers to meet him at anappointed place, where they received him with joyful shouts and tears, as the monarch whom many of them had given up for lost or dead, he puthimself at their head, marched on the Danish camp, defeated the Daneswith great slaughter, and besieged them for fourteen days to preventtheir escape. But, being as merciful as he was good and brave, he then, instead of killing them, proposed peace, on condition that they shouldaltogether depart from the western part of England and settle in theeast, and that Guthrum should become a Christian in remembrance of theDivine religion which now taught his conqueror, the noble Alfred, toforgive the enemy who had so often injured him. This Guthrum did. Athis baptism, King Alfred was his godfather. And Guthrum was anhonorable chief who well deserved that clemency; for, ever afterwards, he was loyal and faithful to the king. The Danes under him werefaithful too. They plundered and burned no more, but worked like honestmen. They ploughed, and sowed, and reaped, and led good honest Englishlives. And I hope the children of those Danes played, many a time, withSaxon children in the sunny fields; and that Danish young men fell inlove with Saxon girls, and married them; and that English travelers, benighted at the doors of Danish cottages, often went in for shelteruntil morning; and that Danes and Saxons sat by the red fire, friends, talking of King Alfred the Great. 

All the Danes were not like these under Guthrum; for after some years, more of them came over, in the old plundering and burning way-amongthem a fierce pirate of the name of Hastings, who had the boldness tosail up the Thames to Gravesend with eighty ships. For three yearsthere was a war with these Danes; and there was a famine in thecountry, too, and a plague, both upon human creatures and beasts. ButKing Alfred, whose mighty heart never failed him, built large shipsnevertheless, with which to pursue the pirates on the sea; and heencouraged his soldiers, by his brave example, to fight valiantlyagainst them on the shore. At last, he drove them all away, and thenthere was repose in England. 

As great and good in peace as he was great and good in war, King Alfrednever rested from his labors to improve his people. He loved to talkwith clever men and with travelers from foreign countries, and to writedown what they told him for his people to read. He had studied Latinafter learning to read English, and now another of his labors was totranslate Latin books into the English-Saxon tongue, that his peoplemight be interested and improved by their contents. [Footnote: He issaid to have translated large portions of the Bible into Anglo Saxon. ]He made just laws, that they might live more happily and freely; heturned away all partial judges that no wrong might be done them; he wasso careful of their property, and punished robbers so severely, that itwas a common thing to say that under the great King Alfred garlands ofgolden chains and jewels might have hung across the streets, and no manwould have touched one. He founded schools; he patiently heard causeshimself in his court of justice, the great desires of his heart were todo right to all his subjects, and to leave England better, wiser, happier in all ways, than he found it. 

[Illustration: ALFRED ALLOWS THE CAKES TO BURN]

His industry in these efforts was quite astonishing. Every day hedivided into certain portions, and in each portion devoted himself to acertain pursuit. That he might divide his time exactly, he had waxtorches or candles made, which were all of the same size, were notchedacross at regular distances, and were always kept burning. Thus, as thecandles burnt down, he divided the day into notches almost asaccurately as we now divide it into hours upon the clock. But when thecandles were first invented, it was found that the wind and draughts ofair, blowing into the palace through the doors and windows and throughthe chinks in the wall, caused them to gutter and burn unequally. Toprevent this, the king had them put into cases formed of wood and whitehorn. And these were the first lanthorns [Footnote: This is the earlyform of our word _lantern_. ] ever made in England. All this time he wasafflicted with a terrible unknown disease, which caused him violent andfrequent pain that nothing could relieve. He bore it, as he had borneall the troubles of his life, like a brave, good man, until he wasfifty-three years old; and then, having reigned thirty years, he died. He died in the year nine hundred and one; but long ago as that is, hisfame, and the love and gratitude with which his subjects regarded him, are freshly remembered to the present hour. 

THE BURIAL OF MOSES

_By_ CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER

NOTE. -The biblical account of the death of Moses, upon which _The Burialof Moses_ is based, is given in the thirty-fourth chapter of_Deuteronomy_, and reads as follows:

And Moses went up from the plains of Moab unto the mountain of Nebo, to the top of Pisgah, that is over against Jericho. 

And the Lord shewed him all the land of Gilead, unto Dan. 

And all Napthtali, and the land of Ephraim, and Manasseh, and all theland of Judah, unto the utmost sea. 

And the south, and the plain of the valley of Jericho, the city of palmtrees, unto Zoar. 

And the Lord said unto him, This is the land which I sware untoAbraham, unto Isaac, and unto Jacob, saying, I will give it unto thyseed: I have caused thee to see it with thine eyes, but thou shaltnot go over thither. 

So Moses the servant of the Lord died there in the land of Moab, according to the word of the Lord. 

And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Beth-peor: but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day. 

 By Nebo's lonely mountain, On this side Jordan's wave, In a vale in the land of Moab There lies a lonely grave. And no man knows that sepulchre, And no man saw it e'er, For the angels of God upturned the sod, And laid the dead man there. 

 That was the grandest funeral That ever passed on earth; But no man heard the trampling, Or saw the train go forth-- Noiselessly as the daylight Comes back when night is done, And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek Grows into the great sun. 

 Noiselessly as the springtime Her crown of verdure weaves, And all the trees on all the hills Open their thousand leaves; So without sound of music, Or voice of them that wept, Silently down from the mountain's crown The great procession swept. 

 Perchance the bald old eagle, On gray Beth-peor's height, Out of his lonely eyrie Looked on the wondrous sight; Perchance the lion stalking, Still shuns that hallowed spot, For beast and bird have seen and heard That which man knoweth not. 

 But when the warrior dieth, His comrades in the war, With arms reversed and muffled drums, Follow his funeral car; They show the banners taken, They tell his battles won, And after him lead his masterless steed, While peals the minute gun. 

 Amid the noblest of the land We lay the sage to rest, And give the bard an honored place With costly marble drest, In the great minster transept, Where lights like glories fall, And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings, Along the emblazoned wall. 

 This was the truest warrior That ever buckled sword; This the most gifted poet That ever breathed a word. And never earth's philosopher Traced with his golden pen On the deathless page truths half so sage As he wrote down for men. 

 And had he not high honor?-- The hillside for a pall, To lie in state, while angels wait, With stars for tapers tall; And the dark rock-pines, like tossing plumes, Over his bier to wave, And God's own hand in that lonely land To lay him in the grave, --

 In that strange grave without a name, Whence his uncoffined clay Shall break again, O wondrous thought! Before the judgment day, And stand with glory wrapt around On the hills he never trod; And speak of the strife, that won our life, With the incarnate son of God. 

 O lonely grave in Moab's land! O dark Beth-peor's hill! Speak to these curious hearts of ours, And teach them to be still. God hath his mysteries of grace, Ways that we cannot tell; He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep Of him He loved so well. 

BERNARDO DEL CARPIO

_By_ FELICIA HEMANS

NOTE. --Bernardo del Carpio, a Spanish warrior and grandee, having mademany ineffectual attempts to procure the release of his father, theCount Saldana, declared war against King Alphonso of Asturias. At theclose of the struggle, the king agreed to terms by which he rendered uphis prisoner to Bernardo, in exchange for the castle of Carpio and thecaptives confined therein. When the warrior pressed forward to greethis father, whom he had not seen for many years, he found a corpse onhorseback. 

 The warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, And sued the haughty king to free his long imprisoned sire: "I bring thee here my fortress keys, I bring my captive train, I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord! O, break my father's chain!"

 "Rise! Rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this day! Mount thy good horse: and thou and I will meet him on his way. " Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed. 

 And, lo, from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band, With one that midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land: "Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he, The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see. "

 His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's hue came and went; He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there, dismounting, bent; A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took, -- What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook?

 That hand was cold, --a frozen thing, --it dropped from his like lead; He looked up to the face above, --the face was of the dead! A plume waved o'er the noble brow, --the brow was fixed and white; He met, at last, his father's eyes, --but in them was no sight!

 Up from the ground he sprang and gazed; but who could paint that gaze? They hushed their very hearts that saw its horror and amaze: They might have chained him, as before that stony form he stood; For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood. 

 "Father!" at length, he murmured low, and wept like childhood then: Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men! He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown; He flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down. 

 Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow, -- "No more, there is no more, " he said, "to lift the sword for now; My king is false, --my hope betrayed! My father, --O the worth, The glory, and the loveliness are passed away from earth!

 "I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire, beside thee, yet; I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met! Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then; for thee my fields were won; And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son!"

 Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein, Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train; And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led, And sternly set them face to face, --the king before the dead:

 "Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss? Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me what is this? The voice, the glance, the heart I sought, --give answer, where are they? If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay;

 "Into these glassy eyes put light;--be still! keep down thine ire! Bid these white lips a blessing speak, --this earth is not my sire: Give me back him for whom I strove, --for whom my blood was shed. Thou canst not?--and a king!--his dust be mountains on thy head!"

 He loosed the steed, --his slack hand fell; upon the silent face He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad place. His hope was crushed, his after fate untold in martial strain: His banner led the spears no more amidst the hills of Spain. 

DAVID

INTRODUCTION

You will never meet a more interesting character in history than David, the great king of the Israelites, who, it is usually claimed, reignedfrom about 1055 B. C. To 1015 B. C. Under David the Jews reached theheight of their power, and he is regarded as their greatest conqueror. 

A full biography would be an account of a succession of battles withhis enemies the Philistines in which he was always victorious unless, as a punishment for some of the sins his fiery nature led him into, hewas temporarily in defeat. Out of the many instances which the Biblegives, we have selected as the most vivid and interesting the accountsof his victory over Goliath, his relations to Saul and Jonathan and therebellion of his own son Absalom. The story is told as it appears inHebrew scriptures and is taken from the first and second books ofSamuel, but in order to make the story continuous the arrangement ofthe verses has been changed somewhat. For greater clearness, the schemeof paragraphing has been changed, quotation marks have been used, andother departures made from the old form of printing in bibles. 

The interesting story is told with all the vivid directness of theJewish scriptures, and every one must admire the poetic beauty socharacteristic of oriental writings. David's compact with Jonathan, hissad lament over the death of his traitorous son, and the grand anthemwhich he sings in gratitude for his victories, show that the great kingwas more than a warrior and ruler. 

In truth, David was as much a poet and musician as he was a warrior andking, for not only did he, by his skill on the harp, quiet the ragingfury of Saul's anger, but he wrote, also, the grandest psalms inexistence. The _Twenty-third Psalm_ and the _One Hundred Third Psalm_which, among others, are printed elsewhere in this work, are fineexamples of his skill and art. 

DAVID AND GOLIATH

Now the Philistines gathered together their armies to battle againstIsrael. And Saul and the men or Israel were gathered together and setthe battle in array against the Philistines. 

And the Philistines stood on a mountain on the one side, and Israelstood on a mountain on the other side: and there was a valley betweenthem. 

And there went out a champion out of the camp of the Philistines, namedGoliath, of Gath, whose height was six cubits and a span. And the staffof his spear was like a weaver's beam; and his spear's head weighed sixhundred shekels of iron: and one bearing a shield went before him. 

And he stood and cried unto the armies of Israel, and said unto them, "Why are ye come out to set your battle in array? Am I not a Philistineand ye servants to Saul? Choose you a man for you and let him come downto me. If he be able to fight with me, and to kill me, then will we beyour servants: but if I prevail against him, and kill him, then shallye be our servants, and serve us. I defy the armies of Israel this day;give me a man, that we may fight together. "

When Saul and all Israel heard these words of the Philistine, they weredismayed, and greatly afraid. 

Now there was a man whose name was Jesse, and he had eight sons, andthe three eldest followed Saul to the battle. And David, his youngestson, fed his father's sheep at Bethlehem. 

And the Philistine drew near, morning and evening, and presentedhimself forty days. 

And Jesse said unto David, his son, "Take now to thy brethren an ephahof this parched corn, and these ten loaves, and run to the camp to thybrethren; and carry these ten cheeses unto the captain and theirthousand, and look how thy brethren fare, and take their pledge. "

And David rose up early in the morning, and left his sheep with akeeper, and took, and went, as Jesse had commanded him; and he came tothe trench, as the host was going forth to the fight, and shouted forthe battle, for Israel and the Philistines had put the battle in array, army against army. 

And David left his carriage in the hand of the keeper of the carriage, and ran into the army, and came and saluted his brethren. 

And as he talked with them, behold, there came up the champion, thePhilistine of Gath, Goliath by name, out of the armies of thePhilistines, and spake according to the same words: and David heardthem. 

And all the men of Israel, when they saw the man, fled from him, andwere sore afraid. And then the men of Israel said, "Have ye seen thisman that is come up?"

Aid David spake to the men that stood by him saying, "What shall bedone to the man that killeth this Philistine and taketh away thereproach from Israel? Who is this Philistine that he should defy thearmies of the living God?"

And the people answered him after this manner, saying, "The man whokilleth him, the king will enrich him with great riches, and will givehim his daughter, and make his father's house free in Israel. "

And David's eldest brother heard when he spake unto the men, and hisanger was kindled against David and he said, "Why comest thou downhither, and with whom hast thou left those few sheep in the wilderness?I know thy pride and the naughtiness of thine heart, for thou art comedown that thou mightest see the battle. "

And David said, "What have I now done? Is there not a cause?"

And he turned from him toward another, and spake after the same manner:and the people answered again after the former manner. 

And when the words were heard that David spake, some one rehearsed thembefore Saul, and he sent for David. 

And David said to Saul, "Let no man's heart fail because of him; thyservant will go and fight with this Philistine. "

And Saul said to David, "Thou art not able to go against thisPhilistine to fight with him: for thou art but a youth, and he a man ofwar from his youth. "

And David said unto Saul, "Thy servant kept his father's sheep, andthere came a lion, and a bear, and took a lamb out of the flock. And Iwent out after him, and smote him, and delivered it out of his mouth:and when he arose against me, I caught him by his beard, and smote him, and slew him. Thy servant slew both the lion and the bear: and thisPhilistine shall be as one of them, seeing he hath defied the armies ofthe living God. 

"The Lord that delivered me out of the paw of the lion, and out of thepaw of the bear, he will deliver me out of the hand of thisPhilistine. "

And Saul said unto David, "Go, and the Lord be with thee. "

And Saul armed David with his armour, and he put an helmet of brassupon his head; also he armed him with a coat of mail. And David girdedhis sword upon his armour, and he essayed to go. But David said untoSaul, "I cannot go with these; for I have not proved them. "

And David put them off him; and he took his staff in his hand, andchose him five smooth stones out of the brook, and put them in ashepherd's bag which he had, even in a scrip; and his sling was in hishand: and he drew near to the Philistine. 

And the Philistine came on and drew near unto David; and the man thatbare the shield went before him. And when the Philistine looked about, and saw David, he disdained him: for he was but a youth, and ruddy, andof a fair countenance. 

[Illustration: DAVID MEETS GOLIATH]

And the Philistine said unto David, "Am I a dog, that thou comest to mewith staves?" And he cursed David by his gods, and said, "Come to meand I will give thy flesh unto the fowls of the air, and to the beastsof the field. "

Then said David to the Philistine, "Thou comest to me with a sword, andwith a spear, and with a shield: but I come to thee in the name of theLord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied. This day will the Lord deliver thee into mine hand; and I will smitethee, and take thine head from thee; and I will give the carcases ofthe host of the Philistines this day unto the fowls of the air, and tothe wild beasts of the earth; that all the earth may know that there isa God in Israel. And all this assembly shall know that the Lord savethnot with sword and spear: for the battle is the Lord's, and he willgive you into our hands. "

And it came to pass, when the Philistine arose, and came and drew nighto meet David, that David hasted, and ran toward the army to meet thePhilistine. And David put his hand in his bag, and took thence a stone, and slang it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead, that the stonesunk into his forehead; and he fell upon his face to the earth. 

So David prevailed over the Philistine with a sling and with a stone, and smote the Philistine, and slew him; but there was no sword in thehand of David. Therefore David ran, and stood upon the Philistine, andtook his sword, and drew it out of the sheath thereof, and slew him, and cut off his head therewith. And when the Philistines saw theirchampion was dead, they fled. 

And the men of Israel and Judah arose, and shouted, and pursued thePhilistines; and the wounded of the Philistines fell down by the wayeven unto Gath, and unto Ekron. And the children of Israel returnedfrom chasing after the Philistines, and they spoiled their tents. 

And David took the head of the Philistine and brought it to Jerusalem, but he put his armour in his tent. 

Now when Saul saw David go forth against the Philistine, he said untoAbner, the captain of the host, "Abner, whose son is this youth?"

And Abner answered, "As thy soul liveth, O king, I cannot tell. "

And the king said, "Inquire thou whose son the stripling is. "

And as David returned from the slaughter of the Philistine, Abner tookhim, and brought him before Saul with the head of the Philistine in hishand. 

And Saul said to him, "Whose son art thou, thou young man?"

And David answered, "I am the son of thy servant Jesse theBethlehemite. "

And Saul took him that day and would let him go no more to his father'shouse. And David went out whithersoever Saul sent him and behavedhimself wisely. And Saul set him over the men of war, and he wasaccepted in the sight of all the people, and also in the sight ofSaul's servants. 

DAVID AND SAUL AND JONATHAN

Now Saul, king of Israel, had a son Jonathan whom he dearly loved, abrave warrior and a noble man. 

When David, returning from his victory over Goliath, told the story ofhis fight, Jonathan stood by, a listener. 

And when David had made an end of speaking, the soul of Jonathan wasknit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul. 

And it came to pass, when David was returned from the slaughter of thePhilistine, that the women came out of all the cities of Israel, singing and dancing, to meet king Saul, with tabrets, with joy, andwith instruments of music. 

And the women answered one another as they played, and said, "Saul hathslain his thousands, and David his ten thousands. "

And Saul was very wroth, and the saying displeased him; and he said, "They have ascribed unto David ten thousands, and to me they haveascribed but thousands: and what can he have more but the kingdom?"

And Saul eyed David from that day and forward. 

And Saul was afraid of David, because the Lord was with him, and wasdeparted from Saul. Therefore Saul removed him from him, and made himhis captain over a thousand; and he went out and came in before thepeople. 

And David behaved himself wisely in all his ways; and the Lord was withhim. Wherefore when Saul saw that he behaved himself very wisely, hewas afraid of him. But all Israel and Judah loved David, because hewent out and came in before them. 

And Michal, Saul's daughter, loved David: and they told Saul, and thething pleased him. 

Saul said, "I will give him her that she may be a snare to him and thatthe hand of the Philistines may be against him. " Wherefore Saul said toDavid, "Thou shalt this day be my son-in-law. "

And David said unto Saul, "Who am I? and what is my life, or myfather's family in Israel, that I should be son-in-law to the king?"

And Saul commanded his servants, saying, "Commune with David secretly, and say, 'Behold the king hath delight in thee, and all his servantslove thee; now, therefore, be the king's son-in-law. '"

Saul's servants spake those words in the ears of David. 

[Illustration: SAUL SOUGHT TO SMITE DAVID]

And David said, "Seemeth it to you a light thing to be the king's son-in-law, seeing that I am a poor man and lightly esteemed?"

And the servants of Saul told him what David had said, saying, "On thismanner spake David. "

And Saul said, "Thus shall ye say to David, 'The king desireth no dowrybut the slaughter of an hundred Philistines, to be avenged upon theking's enemies. '"

But Saul thought to make David fall by the hands of the Philistines. And when the servants told David these words it pleased David well tobe the king's son-in-law. Wherefore David arose and went, he and hismen, and slew of the Philistines two hundred men. 

And David came and told Saul, and Saul gave him his daughter Michal towife. 

And Saul saw and knew that the Lord was with David, and that Michal, Saul's daughter, loved him. 

And Saul was yet the more afraid of David; and Saul became David'senemy continually. 

Then the princes of the Philistines went forth: and it came to pass, after they went forth, that David behaved himself more wisely than allthe servants of Saul; so that his name was much set by. 

And Saul spake to Jonathan his son, and to all his servants, that theyshould kill David. 

But Jonathan, Saul's son, delighted much in David: and Jonathan toldDavid, saying, "Saul my father seeketh to kill thee; now therefore, Ipray thee, take heed to thyself until the morning, and abide in asecret place, and hide thyself. And I will go out and stand beside myfather in the field where thou art, and I will commune with my fatherof thee; and what I see I will tell thee. "

And Jonathan spake good of David unto Saul his father, and said untohim, "Let not the king sin against his servant, against David; becausehe hath not sinned against thee, and because his works have been tothee-ward very good. For he did put his life in his hand, and slew thePhilistine, and the Lord wrought a great salvation for all Israel: thousawest it, and didst rejoice: wherefore then wilt thou sin againstinnocent blood, to slay David without a cause?"

And Saul hearkened unto the voice of Jonathan: and Saul sware, "As theLord liveth, he shall not be slain. "

And Jonathan called David, and Jonathan shewed him all those things. And Jonathan brought David to Saul, and he was in his presence, as intimes past. 

And there was war again: and David went out and fought with thePhilistines, and slew them with a great slaughter; and they fled fromhim. 

And the evil spirit from the Lord was upon Saul, as he sat in his housewith his javelin in his hand; and David played with his hand. 

And Saul sought to smite David even to the wall with the javelin; buthe slipped away out of Saul's presence, and he smote the javelin intothe wall: and David fled, and escaped that night. 

Saul also sent messengers, unto David's house, to watch him, and toslay him in the morning: and Michal, David's wife, told him, saying, "If thou save not thy life to-night, to-morrow thou shalt be slain. "

So Michal let David down through a window: and he went, and fled, andescaped. 

And Michal took an image, and laid it in the bed, and put a pillow ofgoat's hair for his bolster, and covered it with a cloth. 

And when Saul sent messengers to take David, he said, "He is sick. "

And Saul sent the messengers again to see David, saying, "Bring him upto me in the bed, that I may slay him. "

And when the messengers were come in, behold, there was an image in thebed, with a pillow of goat's hair for his bolster. 

And Saul said unto Michal, "Why hast thou deceived me so, and sent awaymine enemy, that he is escaped?" And Michal answered Saul, "He saidunto me, 'Let me go; why should I kill thee?'"

So David fled and escaped and went and dwelt with Naioth, whitherSaul's messengers came to slay him. 

And David fled from Naioth in Ramah, and came and said before Jonathan, "What have I done? What is my iniquity? and what is my sin before thyfather, that he seeketh my life?"

And he said unto him, "God forbid; thou shalt not die: behold, myfather will do nothing either great or small, but that he will shew itme: and why should my father hide this thing from me? it is not so. "

And David sware moreover, and said, "Thy father certainly knoweth thatI have found grace in thine eyes; and he saith, 'Let not Jonathan knowthis, lest he be grieved:' but truly as the Lord liveth, and as thysoul liveth, there is but a step between me and death. "

Then said Jonathan unto David, "Whatsoever thy soul desireth, I willeven do it for thee. "

And David said unto Jonathan, "Behold, tomorrow is the new moon, and Ishould not fail to sit with the king at meat: but let me go, that I mayhide myself in the field unto the third day at even. 

"If thy father at all miss me, then say, 'David earnestly asked leaveof me that he might run to Bethlehem his city: for there is a yearlysacrifice there for all the family. '

"If he say thus, 'It is well;' thy servant shall have peace: and if hebe very wroth, then be sure that evil is determined by him. 

"Therefore, thou shalt deal kindly with thy servant; for thou hastbrought thy servant into a covenant of the Lord with thee:notwithstanding, if there be in me iniquity, slay me thyself; for whyshouldest thou bring me to thy father?"

And Jonathan said, "Far be it from thee: for if I knew certainly thatevil were determined by my father to come upon thee, then would I nottell it thee?"

Then said David to Jonathan, "Who shall tell me? or what if thy fatheranswer thee roughly?"

And Jonathan said unto David, "Come, and let us go out into the field. "And they went out both of them into the field. 

And Jonathan said unto David, "O Lord God of Israel, when I havesounded my father about tomorrow any time, or the third day, and, behold, if there be good toward David, and I then send not unto thee, and shew it thee; the Lord do so and much more to Jonathan: but if itplease my father to do thee evil, then I will shew it thee, and sendthee away, that thou mayest go in peace: and the Lord be with thee, ashe hath been with my father. 

"And thou shalt not only while yet I live shew me the kindness of theLord, that I die not; but also thou shalt not cut off thy kindness frommy house for ever: no, not when the Lord hath cut off the enemies ofDavid every one from the face of the earth. "

So Jonathan made a covenant with the house of David, saying, "Let theLord even require it at the hand of David's enemies. " And Jonathancaused David to swear again, because he loved him: for he loved him ashe loved his own soul. 

Then Jonathan said to David, "To-morrow is the new moon: and thou shaltbe missed, because thy seat will be empty. And when thou hast stayedthree days, then thou shalt go down quickly, and come to the placewhere thou didst hide thyself when the business was in hand, and shaltremain by the stone Ezel. And I will shoot three arrows on the sidethereof, as though I shot at a mark. 

"And, behold, I will send a lad, saying, 'Go, find out the arrows. ' IfI expressly say unto the lad, 'Behold, the arrows are on this side ofthee; take them;' then come thou: for there is peace to thee, and nohurt; as the Lord liveth. 

"But if I say thus unto the young man, 'Behold, the arrows are beyondthee, ' go thy way: for the Lord hath sent thee away. 

"And as for this matter which thou and I have spoken of, behold, theLord be between thee and me for ever. "

So David hid himself in the field: and when the new moon was come, theking sat him down to eat meat. And the king sat upon his seat, as atother times, even upon a seat by the wall: and Jonathan arose, andAbner sat by Saul's side, and David's place was empty. 

Nevertheless Saul spake not anything that day: for he thought, "Something hath befallen him, he is not clean; surely he is not clean. "

And it came to pass on the morrow, which was the second day of themonth, that David's place was empty: and Saul said unto Jonathan hisson, "Wherefore cometh not the son of Jesse to meat, neither yesterday, nor to-day?"

And Jonathan answered Saul, "David earnestly asked leave of me to go toBethlehem: and he said, 'Let me go, I pray thee; for our family hath asacrifice in the city; and my brother, he hath commanded me to bethere: and now, if I have found favour in thine eyes, let me get away, I pray thee, and see my brethren. ' Therefore he cometh not unto theking's table. "

Then Saul's anger was kindled against Jonathan, and he said unto him, "Thou son of the perverse rebellious woman, do not I know that thouhast chosen the son of Jesse to thine own confusion? For as long as theson of Jesse liveth upon the ground thou shalt not be established, northy kingdom. Wherefore now send and fetch him unto me, for he shallsurely die. "

And Jonathan answered Saul his father, and said unto him, "Whereforeshall he be slain? what hath he done?"

And Saul cast a javelin at him to smite him: whereby Jonathan knew thatit was determined of his father to slay David. So Jonathan arose fromthe table in fierce anger, and did eat no meat the second day of themonth: for he was grieved for David, because his father had done himshame. 

And it came to pass in the morning that Jonathan went out into thefield at the time appointed with David, and a little lad with him. Andhe said unto his lad, "Run, find out now the arrows which I shoot. " Andas the lad ran, he shot an arrow beyond him. And when the lad was cometo the place of the arrow which Jonathan had shot, Jonathan cried afterthe lad, and said, "Is not the arrow beyond thee?"

[Illustration: JONATHAN SHOOTS THE ARROWS]

And Jonathan cried after the lad, "Make speed, haste, stay not. " AndJonathan's lad gathered up the arrows, and came to his master. But thelad knew not any thing: only Jonathan and David knew the matter. 

And Jonathan gave his artillery unto his lad, and said unto him, "Go, carry them to the city. "

And as soon as the lad was gone, David arose out of a place toward thesouth, and fell on his face to the ground, and bowed himself threetimes: and they kissed one another, and wept one with another, untilDavid exceeded. 

And Jonathan said to David, "Go in peace, forasmuch as we have swornboth of us in the name of the Lord, saying, 'The Lord be between me andthee, and between my seed and thy seed for ever. '"

And he arose and departed: and Jonathan went into the city. 

And David abode in the wilderness in strong holds, and remained in amountain in the wilderness of Ziph. And Saul sought him every day, butGod delivered him not into his hand. 

And David saw that Saul was come out to seek his life: and David was inthe wilderness of Ziph in a wood. 

And Jonathan, Saul's son, arose, and went to David into the wood, andstrengthened his hand in God. And he said unto him, "Fear not: for thehand of Saul my father shall not find thee; and thou shalt be king overIsrael, and I shall be next unto thee; and that also Saul my fatherknoweth. "

And they two made a covenant before the Lord: and David abode in thewood, and Jonathan went to his house. 

Then Saul took three thousand chosen men out of Israel, and went toseek David and his men upon the rocks of the wild goats. And he came tothe sheepcotes by the way, where was a cave; and Saul went in to coverhis feet: and David and his men were hidden in the sides of the cave. 

And the men of David said unto him, "Behold the day of which the Lordsaid unto thee, 'Behold, I will deliver thine enemy into thine hand, that thou mayest do to him as it shall seem good unto thee. '" ThenDavid arose, and cut off the skirt of Saul's robe privily. 

And it came to pass afterward, that David's heart smote him, because hehad cut off Saul's skirt. And he said unto his men, "The Lord forbidthat I should do this thing unto my master, the Lord's anointed, *stretch forth mine hand against him, seeing he is the anointed of theLord. "

So David stayed his servants with these words, and suffered them not torise against Saul. But Saul rose up out of the cave, and went on hisway. 

David also arose afterward, and went out of the cave, and cried afterSaul, saying, "My lord the king. "

And when Saul looked behind him, David stooped with his face to theearth, and bowed himself; and said, "Wherefore hearest thou men'swords, saying, 'Behold, David seeketh thy hurt?'

"Behold, this day thine eyes have seen how that the Lord had deliveredthee into mine hand in the cave: and some bade me kill thee: but mineeye spared thee; and I said, 'I will not put forth mine hand against mylord; for he is the Lord's anointed. '

"Moreover, my father, see, yea, see the skirt of thy robe in my hand:for in that I cut off the skirt of thy robe, and killed thee not, knowthou and see that there is neither evil nor transgression in mine hand, and I have not sinned against thee; yet thou huntest my soul to takeit. 

"The Lord judge between me and thee, and the Lord avenge me of thee:but mine hand shall not be upon thee. As saith the proverb of theancients, 'Wickedness proceedeth from the wicked: but mine hand shallnot be upon thee. '

"After whom is the king of Israel come out? after whom dost thoupursue? after a dead dog, after a flea. 

"The Lord therefore be judge, and judge between me and thee, and see, and plead my cause, and deliver me out of thine hand. "

 And it came to pass, when David had made an end of speaking thesewords unto Saul, that Saul said, "Is this thy voice, my son David?" AndSaul lifted up his voice, and wept. And he said to David, "Thou artmore righteous than I: for thou hast rewarded me good, whereas I haverewarded thee evil. 

"And thou hast shewed this day how that thou hast dealt well with me:forasmuch as when the Lord had delivered me into thine hand, thoukilledst me not. 

"For if a man find his enemy, will he let him go well away? whereforethe Lord reward thee good for that thou hast done unto me this day. 

"And now, behold, I know well that thou shalt surely be king, and thatthe kingdom of Israel shall be established in thine hand. 

"Swear now therefore unto me by the Lord, that thou wilt not cut off myseed after me, and that thou wilt not destroy my name out of myfather's house. "

And David sware unto Saul, and Saul went home. 

And it came to pass after many days that the Philistines gathered theirarmies together for warfare to fight with Israel, and they pitched inShunem. 

[Illustration: DAVID AND JONATHAN]

And Saul gathered all Israel together and they pitched in Gilboa. 

And when Saul saw the host of the Philistines, he was afraid, and hisheart greatly trembled. And when Saul enquired of the Lord, the Lordanswered him not, neither by dreams, nor by prophets. 

Now the Philistines fought against Israel and the men of Israel fledfrom before the Philistines and fell down slain in mount Gilboa. Andthe Philistines followed hard upon Saul and upon his sons, and theyslew Jonathan and two other sons of Saul. And the battle went soreagainst Saul, and the archers hit him; and he was sore wounded of thearchers. 

Then said Saul unto his armour-bearer, "Draw thy sword, and thrust methrough therewith; lest these Philistines come and thrust me through, and abuse me. "

But his armour-bearer would not; for he was sore afraid. Therefore Saultook a sword, and fell upon it. 

And when his armour-bearer saw that Saul was dead, he fell likewiseupon his sword, and died with him. So Saul died, and his three sons, and his armour-bearer, and all his men, that same day together. 

And it came to pass on the morrow, when the Philistines came to stripthe slain, that they found Saul and his three sons fallen in mountGilboa. 

And they cut off his head, and stripped off his armour, and sent intothe land of the Philistines round about, to publish it in the house oftheir idols, and among the people. 

Now it came to pass on the third day after the death of Saul that, behold, a man came out of the camp from Saul with his clothes rent, andearth upon his head: and he came before David and fell to the earth anddid obeisance. 

And David said unto him, "From whence comest thou?"

And he said unto him, "Out of the camp of Israel am I escaped. "

And David said unto him, "How went the matter? I pray thee, tell me. "

And he answered, "The people are fled from the battle, and many of thepeople also are fallen and dead; and Saul and Jonathan his son are deadalso. "

And David said unto the young man that told him, "How knowest thou thatSaul and Jonathan his son be dead?"

And the young man that told him said, "As I happened by chance uponmount Gilboa, behold, Saul leaned upon his spear; and, lo, the chariotsand horsemen followed hard after him. And when he looked behind him, hesaw me, and called unto me. And I answered, 'Here am I. '

"And he said unto me, 'Who art thou?'

"And I answered him, 'I am an Amalekite. '

"He said unto me again, 'Stand, I pray thee, upon me, and slay me: foranguish is come upon me, because my life is yet whole in me. '

"So I stood upon him, and slew him, because I was sure that he couldnot live after that he was fallen: and I took the crown that was uponhis head, and the bracelet that was on his arm, and have brought themhither unto my lord. "

Then David took hold on his clothes, and rent them; and likewise allthe men that were with him: and they mourned and wept, and fasted untileven, for Saul, and for Jonathan his son, and for the people of theLord, and for the house of Israel; because they were fallen by thesword. 

And David said unto the young man that told him, "Whence art thou?"

And he answered, "I am the son of a stranger, an Amalekite. "

And David said unto him, "How wast thou not afraid to stretch forththine hand to destroy the Lord's anointed?"

And David called one of the young men and said, "Go near, and fall uponhim. " And he smote him that he died. 

And David said unto him, "Thy blood be upon thy head; for thy mouthhath testified against thee saying, 'I have slain the Lord's anointed. '"

And David lamented with this lamentation over Saul and over Jonathanhis son:

"The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places: how are the mightyfallen!

"Ye mountains of Gilboa, let there be no dew, neither let there berain, upon you, nor fields of offerings: for there the shield of themighty is vilely cast away, the shield of Saul, as though he had notbeen anointed with oil. 

"From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the mighty, the bow ofJonathan turned not back, and the sword of Saul returned not empty. 

"Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and intheir death they were not divided: they were swifter than eagles, theywere stronger than lions. 

"Ye daughters of Israel, weep over Saul, who clothed you in scarlet, with other delights, who put on ornaments of gold upon your apparel. 

"How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle! O Jonathan, thouwast slain in thine high places. 

"I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan: very pleasant hast thoubeen unto me: thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women. 

"How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished!"

DAVID THE KING

I

Then came all the tribes of Israel to David unto Hebron and spake, saying, "Behold, we are thy bone and thy flesh. Also in time past, whenSaul was king over us, thou wast he that leddest out and broughtest inIsrael: and the Lord said to thee, 'Thou shalt feed my people Israel, and thou shalt be a captain over Israel. '"

So all the elders of Israel came to the king to Hebron; and king Davidmade a league with them in Hebron before the Lord: and they anointedDavid king over Israel. 

David was thirty years old when he began to reign and he reigned overIsrael and Judah thirty and three years, and he had already reignedover Judah seven years and six months. 

But when the Philistines heard that they bad anointed David king overIsrael, all the Philistines came up to seek David; and David heard ofit, and went down to the hold. 

The Philistines also came and spread themselves in the valley ofRephaim. 

And David enquired of the Lord, saying, "Shall I go up to thePhilistines? wilt thou deliver them into mine hand?" And the Lord saidunto David, "Go up: for I will doubtless deliver the Philistines intothine hand. "

And David smote the Philistines and said, "The Lord hath broken forthupon mine enemies, as the breach of waters. "

And there the Philistines left their images and David and his menburned them. 

And the Philistines came up yet again, and spread themselves in thevalley of Rephaim. 

And when David enquired of the Lord, he said, "Thou shalt not go up;but fetch a compass behind them, and come upon them over against themulberry trees. And let it be, when thou hearest the sound of a goingin the tops of the mulberry trees, that then thou shalt bestir thyself;for then shall the Lord go out before thee, to smite the host of thePhilistines. "

And David did so, as the Lord had commanded him; and smote thePhilistines from Geba until they came to Gazer. 

After David had conquered the Philistines he called unto him a servantof the house of Saul whose name was Ziba, and said, "Is there not yetany of the house of Saul, that I may shew the kindness of God untohim?"

And Ziba said unto the king, "Jonathan hath yet a son who is lame onhis feet. "

The king said unto him, "Where is he?". 

And Ziba said unto the king, "Behold he is in the house of Machir. "

Now the name of this son of Jonathan was Mephibosheth, and when he wascome unto David he fell on his face, and did reverence. 

And David said, "Mephibosheth!"

And he answered, "Behold thy servant. "

And David said unto him, "Fear not: for I will surely shew theekindness for Jonathan thy father's sake, and will restore thee all theland of Saul thy father; and thou shalt eat bread at my tablecontinually. "

And he bowed himself, and said, "What is thy servant, that thoushouldest look upon such a dead dog as I am?"

Then the king called to Ziba, Saul's servant, and said unto him, "Ihave given unto thy master's son all that pertained to Saul and to allhis house. Thou therefore, and thy sons, and thy servants, shall tillthe land for him, and thou shalt bring in the fruits, that thy master'sson may have food to eat: but Mephibosheth thy master's son shall eatbread alway at my table. "

Now Ziba had fifteen sons and twenty servants. Then said Ziba unto theking, "According to all that my lord the king hath commanded hisservant, so shall thy servant do. "

"As for Mephibosheth, " said the king, "he shall eat at my table, as oneof the king's sons. "

And Mephibosheth had a young son, whose name was Micha. 

And all that dwelt in the house of Ziba were servants untoMephibosheth. 

So Mephibosheth dwelt in Jerusalem: for he did eat continually at theking's table; and was lame on both his feet. 

II

Now Absalom, the favorite son of David, was wroth at his brother Amnonwho had dealt wickedly with his sister. And at a sheep-shearing whereAbsalom had invited Amnon and all his other brothers, Absalom hadcommanded his servants, saying, "Mark ye now when Amnon's heart ismerry with wine, and when I say unto you, 'Smite Amnon;' then kill him;fear not: have not I commanded you? Be courageous, and be valiant. "

And the servants of Absalom did unto Amnon as Absalom had commanded, and David mourned for his son every day. 

So Absalom fled and went to Geshur and was there three years. And thesoul of David longed to go forth unto Absalom, for he loved him dearly. And the king sent for Joab, who had counselled the king to forgive, andsaid unto him, "Go ye and bring the young man Absalom again to me. "

So Joab arose and went to Geshur, and brought Absalom to Jerusalem. 

And the king said, "Let him turn to his own house, and let him not seemy face. "

So Absalom returned to his own house, and saw not the king's face. 

But in all Israel there was none to be so much praised as Absalom forhis beauty: from the sole of his feet even to the crown of his headthere was no blemish in him. And when he polled his head, he weighedthe hair of his head at two hundred shekels after the king's weight. 

So Absalom dwelt two full years in Jerusalem, and saw not the king'sface. Therefore Absalom sent for Joab, to have sent him to the king;but he would not come to him: and when he sent for him again the secondtime, he would not come. 

Therefore he said unto his servants, "See, Joab's field is near mine, and he hath barley there; go and set it on fire. " And Absalom'sservants set the field on fire. 

Then Joab arose, and came to Absalom unto his house, and said unto him, "Wherefore have thy servants set my field on fire?"

And Absalom answered Joab, "Behold, I sent unto thee, bidding thee comehither, that I might send thee to the king, to say, 'Wherefore am Icome from Geshur? it had been good for me to have been there still: nowtherefore let me see the king's face: and if there be any iniquity inme, let him kill me. '"

So Joab came to the king, and told him: and when he called for Absalom, he came to the king, and bowed himself on his face to the ground beforethe king: and the king kissed Absalom. 

And it came to pass after this, that Absalom prepared him chariots andhorses, and fifty men to run before him. 

 And Absalom rose up early, and stood beside the way of the gate: andit was so, that when any man that had a controversy came to the kingfor judgment, then Absalom called unto him, and said, "Of what city artthou?" And he said, "Thy servant is of one of the tribes of Israel. "

And Absalom said unto him, "See, thy matters are good and right; butthere is no man deputed of the king to hear thee. "

[Illustration: THE MAN RUNNETH ALONE]

Absalom said moreover, "Oh that I were made judge of the land, thatevery man which hath any suit or cause might come unto me, and I woulddo him justice. "

And it was so, that when any man came nigh to him to do him obeisance, he put forth his hand, and took him, and kissed him. 

And on this manner did Absalom to all Israel that came to the king forjudgment: so Absalom stole the hearts of the men of Israel. 

And there came a messenger to David, saying, "The hearts of the men ofIsrael are after Absalom. "

And David said unto all his servants that were with him at Jerusalem, "Arise, and let us flee; for we shall not else escape from Absalom:make speed to depart, lest he overtake us suddenly, and bring evil uponus, and smite the city with the edge of the sword. "

And the king went forth, and all the people after him, and tarried in aplace that was far off. 

And David went up by the ascent of mount Olivet, and wept as he wentup, and had his head covered, and he went barefoot. 

And all the people that was with him covered every man his head, andthey went up, weeping as they went up. 

Then David arose, and all the people that were with him, and theypassed over Jordan: by the morning light there lacked not one of themthat was not gone over Jordan. 

Then David came to Mahanaim. And Absalom passed over Jordan, he and allthe men of Israel with him. So Israel and Absalom pitched their tentsin the land of Gilead. 

And it came to pass, when David had come unto Mahanaim that the peoplebrought beds, and basins, and earthen vessels, and wheat, and barley, and flour, and parched corn, and beans, and lentiles, and parchedpulse, and honey, and butter, and sheep, and cheese of kine, for David, and for the people that were with him, to eat: for they said, "Thepeople are hungry, and weary, and thirsty, in the wilderness. "

And David numbered the people that were with him, and set captains ofthousands and captains of hundreds over them. 

And David sent forth a third part of the people under the hand of Joab, and a third part under the hand of Abishai, and a third part under thehand of Ittai. And the king said unto the people, "I will surely goforth with you myself also. "

But the people answered, "Thou shalt not go forth: for if we flee away, they will not care for us; neither if half of us die, will they carefor us: but now thou art worth ten thousand of us: therefore now it isbetter that thou succour us out of the city. " And the king said untothem, "What seemeth you best I will do. " And the king stood by the gateside, and all the people came out by hundreds and by thousands. 

And the king commanded Joab and Abishai and Ittai, saying, "Deal gentlyfor my sake with the young man, even with Absalom. " And all the peopleheard when the king gave all the captains charge concerning Absalom. Sothe people went out into the field against Israel; and the battle wasin the wood of Ephraim; where the people of Israel were slain beforethe servants of David, and there was there a great slaughter that dayof twenty thousand men. For the battle was there scattered over theface of all the country; and the wood devoured more people that daythan the sword devoured. 

And Absalom met the servants of David. And Absalom rode upon a mule, and the mule went under the thick boughs of a great oak, and his headcaught hold of the oak, and he was taken up between the heaven and theearth; and the mule that was under him went away. And a certain man sawit, and told Joab, and said, "Behold, I saw Absalom hanged in an oak. "

And Joab said unto the man that told him, "And, behold, thou sawesthim, and why didst thou not smite him there to the ground? and I wouldhave given thee ten shekels of silver, and a girdle. "

And the man said unto Joab, "Though I should receive a thousand shekelsof silver in mine hand, yet would I not put forth mine hand against theking's son: for in our hearing the king charged thee and Abishai andIttai, saying, 'Beware that none touch the young man Absalom. '

"Otherwise I should have wrought falsehood against mine own life: forthere is no matter hid from the king, and thou thyself wouldest haveset thyself against me. "

Then said Joab, "I may not tarry thus with thee. " And he took threedarts in his hand, and thrust them through the heart of Absalom, whilehe was yet alive in the midst of the oak. 

And ten young men that bare Joab's armour compassed about and smoteAbsalom, and slew him. 

And Joab blew the trumpet, and the people returned from pursuing afterIsrael: for Joab held back the people. 

And they took Absalom, and cast him into a great pit in the wood, andlaid a very great heap of stones upon him: and all Israel fled everyone to his tent. 

And David sat between the two gates: and the watchman went up to theroof over the gate unto the wall, and lifted up his eyes, and looked, and beheld a man running alone. And the watchman cried, and told theking. And the king said, "If he be alone, there is tidings in hismouth. " And he came apace, and drew near, and said, "Tidings, my lordthe king: for the Lord hath avenged thee this day of all them that roseup against thee. "

[Illustration: IS THE YOUNG MAN, ABSALOM, SAFE?]

And the king said unto Cushi, "Is the young man Absalom safe?" AndCushi answered, "The enemies of my lord the king, and all that riseagainst thee to do thee hurt, be as that young man is. "

And the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept: and as he went, thus he said, "O my son Absalom, my son, myson Absalom! would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!"

And it was told Joab, "Behold the king weepeth and mourneth forAbsalom. " And the victory that day was turned into mourning unto allthe people: for the people heard say that day how the king was grievedfor his son. And the people gat them by stealth that day into the city, as people being ashamed steal away when they flee in battle. 

But the king covered his face, and the king cried with a loud voice, "Omy son Absalom, O Absalom, my son, my son!"

 * * * * *

And David spake unto the Lord the words of this song in the day thatthe Lord had delivered him out of the hand of all his enemies:

"The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; the God of myrock; in him will I trust: he is my shield and the horn of mysalvation, my high tower, and my refuge, my saviour; thou savest mefrom violence. 

"I will call on the Lord, who is worthy to be praised: so shall I besaved from mine enemies. 

"When the waves of death compassed me, the floods of ungodly men mademe afraid; the sorrows of hell compassed me about; the snares of deathprevented me; in my distress I called upon the Lord and cried to myGod: and he did hear my voice out of his temple, and my cry did enterinto his ears. 

"Then the earth shook and trembled; the foundations of heaven moved andshook, because he was wroth. There went up a smoke out of his nostrils, and fire out of his mouth devoured: coals were kindled by it. 

"He bowed the heavens also, and came down; and darkness was under hisfeet. 

"And he rode upon a cherub, and did fly: and he was seen upon the wingsof the wind. 

"And he made darkness pavilions round about him, dark waters, and thickclouds of the skies. 

"Through the brightness before him were coals of fire kindled. 

"The LORD thundered from heaven, and the most High uttered his voice. 

"And he sent out arrows, and scattered them; lightning, and discomfitedthem. 

"And the channels of the sea appeared, the foundations of the worldwere discovered, at the rebuking of the LORD, at the blast of thebreath of his nostrils. 

"He sent from above, he took me; he drew me out of many waters; hedelivered me from my strong enemy, and from them that hated me: forthey were too strong for me. 

"I was also upright before him, and have kept myself from mineiniquity. 

"Therefore the LORD hath recompensed me according to my righteousness;according to my cleanness in his eye sight. 

"With the merciful thou wilt shew thyself merciful, and with theupright man thou wilt shew thyself upright. 

"With the pure thou wilt shew thyself pure; and with the forward thouwilt shew thyself unsavoury. 

"And the afflicted people thou wilt save: but thine eyes are upon thehaughty, that thou mayest bring them down. "

Now the days of David drew nigh that he should die; and he chargedSolomon his son, saying:

"I go the way of all the earth: be thou strong therefore, and shewthyself a man; and keep the charge of the Lord thy God, to walk in hisways, to keep his statutes, and his commandments, and his judgments, and his testimonies, as it is written in the law of Moses, that thoumayest prosper in all that thou doest, whithersoever thou turnestthyself: that the Lord may continue his word which he spake concerningme, saying, 'If thy children take heed to their way, to walk before mein truth with all their heart and with all their soul, there shall notfail thee a man on the throne of Israel. '"

So David slept with his fathers and was buried in the city of David. 

Then sat Solomon upon the throne of David his father; and his kingdomwas established. 

 * * * * *

David was, as you have learned from the account of him you have justbeen reading, a poet and a singer and one of his beautiful songs is tobe found near the close of this story of his life. We may imagine himsinging this, and accompanying himself on the harp; touching thestrings softly as he told that, "The sorrows of hell compassed meabout; the snares of death prevented me"; but striking out loudsounding chords as he exultantly cried. "Then the earth shook andtrembled; the foundations of heaven moved and shook. "

Does it seem at all strange to you that we should call this poetry? Ithas no rhyme, and it is not broken up, as are most poems, into lines ofnearly equal length; but a poem it is, nevertheless. Hebrew poetry wasquite different in some ways from modern poetry. It did not haverhymes, though it did have about it a certain musical quality whichmade it very suitable for chanting. Then, too, the words and the mannerof treating subjects were different from those employed in prose, justas they are in our own poetry. 

David in this song is praising God for making him victorious over hisenemies. Let us look for a moment at the way in which he expresseshimself, and see whether we can find out just where the beauty of thishymn of praise lies. In the first paragraph he applies to the Lordvarious titles--"my rock, " "my shield, " "my high tower. " He means tosay by this that God is strong enough to protect him and defend him, but is not his way of saying it more forceful?

A few lines down we have the words, "The waves of death compassed me. "Does this not give you a vivid idea of the helplessness of David andhis hopelessness? What he means is, "I was in constant danger of losingmy life, " but he puts this fact into impressive words that leave adistinct picture in our minds. 

Still further on we read, "There went up a smoke out of his nostrils, and fire out of his mouth devoured. " This strikes us as a very daringway of describing God, but it is also a forceful way. We get just theidea of the irresistibleness of God which David meant we should. 

These are but a few of the striking descriptions of which David makesuse in this song. You will find others in almost every paragraph. 

CHEVY-CHASE

_By_ RICHARD SHEALE

NOTE. --It was said in the old legend that Percy, Earl ofNorthumberland, declared that he would hunt for three days on Scottishlands without asking leave from Earl Douglas, who either owned the soilor had control of it under the king. This ballad dates back probably tothe time of James I, and is merely a modernized version of the oldstories. 

 God prosper long our noble king, Our lives and safeties all; A woful hunting once there did In Chevy-Chase befall. 

 To drive the deer with hound and horn Earl Percy took his way; The child may rue that is unborn The hunting of that day. 

 The stout Earl of Northumberland A vow to God did make, His pleasure in the Scottish woods Three summer days to take, --

 The chiefest harts in Chevy-Chase To kill and bear away. These tidings to Earl Douglas came, In Scotland where he lay;

 Who sent Earl Percy present word He would prevent his sport. The English earl, not fearing that, Did to the woods resort, With fifteen hundred bowmen bold, All chosen men of might, Who knew full well in time of need To aim their shafts aright. 

 The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran To chase the fallow deer; On Monday they began to hunt When daylight did appear;

 And long before high noon they had A hundred fat bucks slain; Then, having dined, the drovers went To rouse the deer again. 

 The bowmen mustered on the hills, Well able to endure; And all their rear, with special care, That day was guarded sure. 

 The hounds ran swiftly through the woods The nimble deer to take, That with their cries the hills and dales An echo shrill did make. 

 Lord Percy to the quarry went, To view the slaughtered deer; Quoth he, "Earl Douglas promisèd This day to meet me here;

 "But if I thought he would not come, No longer would I stay;" With that a brave young gentleman Thus to the earl did say:--

 "Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come, -- His men in armor bright; Full twenty hundred Scottish spears All marching in our sight;

 "All men of pleasant Teviotdale, Fast by the river Tweed;" "Then cease your sports, " Earl Percy said, "And take your bows with speed;

 "And now with me, my countrymen, Your courage forth advance; For never was there champion yet, In Scotland or in France, "That ever did on horseback come, But if my hap it were, I durst encounter man for man, With him to break a spear. "

 Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed, Most like a baron bold, Rode foremost of his company, Whose armor shone like gold. 

 "Show me, " said he, "whose men you be, That hunt so boldly here, That, without my consent, do chase And kill my fallow deer. "

 The first man that did answer make, Was noble Percy he-- Who said, "We list not to declare, Nor show whose men we be:

 "Yet will we spend our dearest blood Thy chiefest harts to slay. " Then Douglas swore a solemn oath, And thus in rage did say:

 "Ere thus I will out-bravèd be, One of us two shall die; I know thee well, an earl thou art, -- Lord Percy, so am I. 

 "But trust me, Percy, pity it were, And great offence, to kill Any of these our guiltless men, For they have done no ill. 

 "Let you and me the battle try, And set our men aside. " "Accursed be he, " Earl Percy said, "By whom this is denied. "

 Then stepped a gallant squire forth, Witherington was his name, Who said, "I would not have it told To Henry, our king, for shame, "That e'er my captain fought on foot, And I stood looking on. You two be earls, " said Witherington, "And I a squire alone;

 I'll do the best that do I may, While I have power to stand; While I have power to wield my sword I'll fight with heart and hand. "

 Our English archers bent their bows, -- Their hearts were good and true; At the first flight of arrows sent, Full fourscore Scots they slew, Yet stays Earl Douglas on the bent, As chieftain stout and good; As valiant captain, all unmoved, The shock he firmly stood. 

 His host he parted had in three, As leader ware and tried; And soon his spearmen on their foes Bore down on every side. 

 Throughout the English archery They dealt full many a wound; But still our valiant Englishmen All firmly kept their ground. 

 And throwing straight their bows away, They grasped their swords so bright; And now sharp blows, a heavy shower, On shields and helmets light. 

 They closed full fast on every side, -- No slackness there was found; And many a gallant gentleman Lay gasping on the ground. 

 In truth, it was a grief to see How each one chose his spear, And how the blood out of their breasts Did gush like water clear. 

 At last these two stout earls did meet; Like captains of great might, Like lions wode, they laid on lode, And made a cruel fight. 

 They fought until they both did sweat, With swords of tempered steel, Until the blood, like drops of rain, They trickling down did feel. 

 "Yield thee, Lord Percy, " Douglas said, "In faith I will thee bring Where thou shalt high advancèd be By James, our Scottish king. 

 "Thy ransom I will freely give, And this report of thee, -- Thou art the most courageous knight That ever I did see. "

 "No, Douglas, " saith Earl Percy then, "Thy proffer I do scorn; I will not yield to any Scot That ever yet was born. "

 With that there came an arrow keen Out of an English bow, Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart, -- A deep and deadly blow;

 Who never spake more words than these: "Fight on, my merry men all; For why, my life is at an end; Lord Percy sees my fall. "

 Then leaving life, Earl Percy took The dead man by the hand; And said, "Earl Douglas, for thy life Would I had lost my land. 

 "In truth, my very heart doth bleed With sorrow for thy sake; For sure a more redoubted knight Mischance did never take. "

 A knight amongst the Scots there was Who saw Earl Douglas die, Who straight in wrath did vow revenge Upon the Earl Percy. 

 Sir Hugh Montgomery was he called, Who, with a spear full bright, Well mounted on a gallant steed, Ran fiercely through the fight;

 And past the English archers all, Without a dread or fear; And through Earl Percy's body then He thrust his hateful spear;

 With such vehement force and might He did his body gore, The staff ran through the other side A large cloth-yard and more. 

 So thus did both these nobles die. Whose courage none could stain. An English archer then perceived The noble earl was slain. 

 He had a bow bent in his hand, Made of a trusty tree; An arrow of a cloth-yard long To the hard head haled he. 

 Against Sir Hugh Montgomery So right the shaft he set, The gray goose wing that was thereon In his heart's blood was wet. 

 This fight did last from break of day Till setting of the sun; For when they rung the evening-bell The battle scarce was done. 

 With stout Earl Percy there was slain Sir John of Egerton, Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John, Sir James, that bold baron. 

 And with Sir George and stout Sir James, Both knights of good account, Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain, Whose prowess did surmount. 

 For Witherington my heart is woe That ever he slain should be, For when his legs were hewn in two, He knelt and fought on his knee. 

 And with Earl Douglas there was slain Sir Hugh Mountgomery, Sir Charles Murray, that from the field One foot would never flee. 

 Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too, -- His sister's son was he; Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed, But saved he could not be. 

 And the Lord Maxwell in like case Did with Earl Douglas die: Of twenty hundred Scottish spears, Scarce fifty-five did fly. 

 Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, Went home but fifty-three; The rest in Chevy-Chase were slain, Under the greenwood tree. 

 Next day did many widows come, Their husbands to bewail; They washed their wounds in brinish tears, But all would not prevail. 

 Their bodies, bathed in purple blood, They bore with them away; They kissed them dead a thousand times, Ere they were clad in clay. 

 The news was brought to Edinburgh, Where Scotland's king did reign, That brave Earl Douglas suddenly Was with an arrow slain:

 "O heavy news, " King James did say; "Scotland can witness be I have not any captain more Of such account as he. "

 Like tidings to King Henry came Within as short a space, That Percy of Northumberland Was slain in Chevy-Chase:

 "Now God be with him, " said our King, "Since 'twill no better be; I trust I have within my realm Five hundred as good as he:

 "Yet shall not Scots or Scotland say But I will vengeance take; I'll be revengèd on them all For brave Earl Percy's sake. "

 This vow full well the King performed After at Humbledown; In one day fifty knights were slain With lords of high renown;

 And of the rest, of small account, Did many hundreds die: Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase, Made by the Earl Percy. 

 God save the king, and bless this land, With plenty, joy and peace; And grant, henceforth, that foul debate 'Twixt noblemen may cease. 

THE ATTACK ON THE CASTLE[Footnote: _The Attack on the Castle_ is from Scott's novel of_Ivanhoe_. ]

_By_ SIR WALTER SCOTT

A moment of peril is often also a moment of open-hearted kindness andaffection. We are thrown off our guard by the general agitation of ourfeelings, and betray the intensity of those which, at more tranquilperiods, our prudence at least conceals, if it cannot altogethersuppress them. In finding herself once more by the side of Ivanhoe, Rebecca was astonished at the keen sensation of pleasure which sheexperienced, even at a time when all around them both was danger, ifnot despair. As she felt his pulse, and inquired after his health, there was a softness in her touch and in her accents, implying a kinderinterest than she would herself have been pleased to have voluntarilyexpressed. Her voice faltered and her hand trembled, and it was onlythe cold question of Ivanhoe, "Is it you, gentle maiden?" whichrecalled her to herself, and reminded her the sensations which she feltwere not and could not be mutual. A sigh escaped, but it was scarceaudible; and the questions which she asked the knight concerning hisstate of health were put in the tone of calm friendship. Ivanhoeanswered her hastily that he was, in point of health, as well, andbetter, than he could have expected. "Thanks, " he said, "dear Rebecca, to thy helpful skill. "

"He calls me _dear Rebecca_, " said the maiden to herself, "but it is inthe cold and careless tone which ill suits the word. His war-horse, hishunting hound, are dearer to him than the despised Jewess!"

"My mind, gentle maiden, " continued Ivanhoe, "is more disturbed byanxiety than my body with pain. From the speeches of these men who weremy warders just now, I learn that I am a prisoner, and, if I judgearight of the loud hoarse voice which even now despatched them hence onsome military duty, I am in the castle of Front-de-Boeuf. If so, howwill this end, or how can I protect Rowena and my father?"

"He names not the Jew or Jewess, " said Rebecca, internally; "yet whatis our portion in him, and how justly am I punished by Heaven forletting my thoughts dwell upon him!" She hastened after this briefself-accusation to give Ivanhoe what information she could; but itamounted only to this, that the Templar Bois-Guilbert and the BaronFront-de-Boeuf were commanders within the castle; that it wasbeleaguered from without, but by whom she knew not. 

The noise within the castle, occasioned by the defensive preparations, which had been considerable for some time, now increased into tenfoldbustle and clamor. The heavy yet hasty step of the men-at-armstraversed the battlements, or resounded on the narrow and windingpassages and stairs which led to the various bartizans [Footnote: Abartizan is a sort of small overhanging balcony, built for defense orfor lookout. ] and points of defense. The voices of the knights wereheard, animating their followers, or directing means of defense, whiletheir commands were often drowned in the clashing of armor, or theclamorous shouts of those whom they addressed. Tremendous as thesesounds were, and yet more terrible from the awful event which theypresaged, there was a sublimity mixed with them which Rebecca's high-toned mind could feel even in that moment of terror. Her eye kindled, although the blood fled from her cheeks; and there was a strong mixtureof fear, and of a thrilling sense of the sublime, as she repeated, half-whispering to herself, half-speaking to her companion, the sacredtext--"The quiver rattleth--the glittering spear and the shield--thenoise of the captains and the shouting!"

[Illustration: IVANHOE WAS IMPATIENT AT HIS INACTIVITY. ]

But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime passage, glowingwith impatience at his inactivity, and with his ardent desire to minglein the affray of which these sounds were the introduction. "If I couldbut drag myself, " he said, "to yonder window, that I might see how thisbrave game is like to go! If I had but bow to shoot a shaft, or battle-axe to strike were it but a single blow for our deliverance! It isvain--it is vain--I am alike nerveless and weaponless. "

"Fret not thyself, noble knight, " answered Rebecca, "the sounds haveceased of a sudden; it may be they join not battle. "

"Thou knowest naught of it, " said Ivanhoe, impatiently; "this deadpause only shows that the men are at their posts on the walls andexpecting an instant attack; what we have heard is but the distantmuttering of the storm; it will burst anon in all its fury. Could I butreach yonder window!"

"Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt, noble knight, " repliedhis attendant. Observing his solicitude, she added, "I myself willstand at the lattice, and describe as I can what passes without. "

"You must not--you shall not!" exclaimed Ivanhoe. "Each lattice, eachaperture, will soon be a mark for the archers; some random shaft--"

"It shall be welcome!" murmured Rebecca, as with firm pace she ascendedtwo or three steps, which led to the window of which they spoke. 

"Rebecca--dear Rebecca!" exclaimed Ivanhoe, "this is no maiden'spastime; do not expose thyself to wounds and death, and render meforever miserable for having given the occasion; at least, coverthyself with yonder ancient buckler, and show as little of your personat the lattice as may be. "

Following with wonderful promptitude the directions of Ivanhoe, andavailing herself of the protection of the large ancient shield, whichshe placed against the lower part of the window, Rebecca, withtolerable security to herself, could witness part of what was passingwithout the castle, and report to Ivanhoe the preparations which theassailants were making for the storm. Indeed, the situation which shethus obtained was peculiarly favorable for this purpose, because beingplaced on an angle of the main building, Rebecca could not only seewhat passed beyond the precincts of the castle, but also commanded aview of the outwork likely to be the first object of the meditatedassault. It was an exterior fortification of no great height orstrength, intended to protect the postern-gate, through which Cedrichad been recently dismissed by Front-de-Boeuf. The castle moat dividedthis species of barbican [Footnote: A barbican is a tower or outworkbuilt to defend the entry to a castle or fortification. ] from the restof the fortress, so that, in case of its being taken, it was easy tocut off the communication with the main building, by withdrawing thetemporary bridge. In the outwork was a sallyport [Footnote: A sallyportis an underground passage from the outer to the inner fortifications. ]corresponding to the postern of the castle, and the whole wassurrounded by a strong palisade. Rebecca could observe, from the numberof men placed for the defence of this post, that the besiegedentertained apprehensions for its safety; and from the mustering of theassailants in a direction nearly opposite to the outwork, it seemed noless plain that it had been selected as a vulnerable point of attack. 

These appearances she hastily communicated to Ivanhoe, and added, "Theskirts of the wood seem lined with archers, although only a few areadvanced from its dark shadow. "

"Under what banner?" asked Ivanhoe. 

"Under no ensign of war which I can observe, " answered Rebecca. 

"A singular novelty, " muttered the knight, "to advance to storm such acastle without pennon or banner displayed! Seest thou who they be thatact as leaders?"

"A knight, clad in sable armor, is the most conspicuous, " said theJewess; "he alone is armed from head to heel, and seems to assume thedirection of all around him. "

"What device does he bear on his shield?" replied Ivanhoe. 

"Something resembling a bar of iron, and a padlock painted blue on theblack shield. "

"A fetterlock and shackle-bolt [Footnote: These are terms in heraldry. Ivanhoe means that, since he is a prisoner, fetters and shackles wouldbe good device for his shield. ] azure, " said Ivanhoe; "I know not whomay bear the device, but well I ween it might now be mine own. Canstthou not see the motto?"

"Scarce the device itself at this distance, " replied Rebecca; "but whenthe sun glances fair upon his shield it shows as I tell you. "

"Seem there no other leaders?" exclaimed the anxious inquirer. 

"None of mark and distinction that I can behold from this station, "said Rebecca; "but doubtless the other side of the castle is alsoassailed. They appear even now preparing to advance--God of Zionprotect us! What a dreadful sight! Those who advance first bear hugeshields and defences made of plank; the others follow, bending theirbows as they come on. They raise their bows! God of Moses, forgive thecreatures Thou hast made!"

Her description was here suddenly interrupted by the signal forassault, which was given by the blast of a shrill bugle, and at onceanswered by a flourish of the Norman trumpets from the battlements, which, mingled with the deep and hollow clang of the nakers (a speciesof kettledrum), retorted in notes of defiance the challenge of theenemy. The shouts of both parties augmented the fearful din, theassailants crying, "Saint George for merry England!" [Footnote: SaintGeorge is the patron saint of England. ] and the Normans answering themwith loud cries of _"En avant De Bracy! Beau-seant! 'Beau-seant!Front-de-Boeuf a la rescousse!"_ [Footnote: _En avant De Bracy_ means_Forward, De Bracy_. _Beau-seant_ is the name given to the black andwhite standard of the Knights Templars. The word was used as a battlecry. _A la rescousse_ means _To the rescue_. ] according to the war-criesof their different commanders. 

It was not, however, by clamor that the contest was to be decided, andthe desperate efforts of the assailants were met by an equally vigorousdefence on the part of the besieged. The archers, trained by theirwoodland pastimes to the most effective use of the long-bow, shot, touse the appropriate phrase of the time, so "wholly together, " that nopoint at which a defender could show the least part of his personescaped their cloth-yard shafts. [Footnote: _Cloth-yard_ was the namegiven to an old measure used for cloth, which differed somewhat from themodern yard. A _cloth-yard_ shaft was an arrow a yard long. ] By thisheavy discharge, which continued as thick and sharp as hail, while, notwithstanding, every arrow had its individual aim, and flew by scorestogether against each embrasure and opening in the parapets, as well asat every window where a defender either occasionally had post, or mightbe suspected to be stationed--by this sustained discharge, two or threeof the garrison were slain and several others wounded. But confident intheir armor of proof, and in the cover which their situation afforded, the followers of Front-de-Boeuf and his allies showed an obstinacy indefence proportioned to the fury of the attack, and replied with thedischarge of their large cross-bows, as well as with their long-bows, slings, and other missile weapons, to the close and continued shower ofarrows; and, as the assailants were necessarily but indifferentlyprotected, did considerably more damage than they received at theirhand. The whizzing of shafts and of missiles on both sides was onlyinterrupted by the shouts which arose when either side inflicted orsustained some notable loss. 

"And I must lie here like a bed-ridden monk, " exclaimed Ivanhoe, "whilethe game that gives me freedom or death is played out by the hand ofothers! Look from the window once again, kind maiden, but beware thatyou are not marked by the archers beneath. Look out once more, and tellme if they yet advance to the storm. "

With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which she hademployed in mental devotion, Rebecca again took post at the lattice, sheltering herself, however, so as not to be visible from beneath. 

"What dost thou see, Rebecca?" again demanded the wounded knight. 

"Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle mineeyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot them. "

"That cannot endure, " said Ivanhoe; "if they press not right on tocarry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail butlittle against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the Knight of theFetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how he bears himself; for as theleader is, so will his followers be. "

"I see him not, " said Rebecca. 

"Foul craven!" exclaimed Ivanhoe; "does he blench from the helm whenthe wind blows highest?"

"He blenches not!--he blenches not!" said Rebecca, "I see him now, heleads a body of men close under the outer barrier of the barbican. Theypull down the piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers withaxes. His high black plume floats abroad over the throng, like a ravenover the field of the slain. They have made a breach in the barriers--they rush in--they are thrust back! Front-de-Boeuf heads the defenders;I see his gigantic form above the press. They throng again to thebreach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand, and man to man. God ofJacob! it is the meeting of two fierce tides--the conflict of twooceans moved by adverse winds!"

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer to endure asight so terrible. 

"Look forth again, Rebecca, " said Ivanhoe, mistaking the cause of herretiring; "the archery must in some degree have ceased, since they arenow fighting hand to hand. Look again, there is now less danger. "

Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately exclaimed, "Holyprophets of the law! Front-de-Boeuf and the Black Knight fight hand tohand on the breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch theprogress of the strife, Heaven strike with the cause of the oppressedand of the captive!" She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed, "Heis down!--he is down!"

[Illustration: THE BLACK KNIGHT AT THE GATE OF THE CASTLE]

"Who is down?" cried Ivanhoe; "for our dear Lady's sake, tell me whichhas fallen?"

"The Black Knight, " answered Rebecca, faintly; then instantly againshouted with joyful eagerness--"But no--but no! the name of the Lord ofHosts be blessed! he is on foot again, and fights as if there weretwenty men's strength in his single arm. His sword is broken--hesnatches an axe from a yeoman--he presses Front-de-Boeuf with blow onblow. The giant stoops and totters like an oak under the steel of thewoodman--he falls--he falls!"

"Front-de-Boeuf?" exclaimed Ivanhoe. 

"Front-de-Boeuf, " answered the Jewess. "His men rush to the rescue, headed by the haughty Templar; their united force compels the championto pause. They drag Front-de-Boeuf within the walls. "

"The assailants have won the barriers, have they not?" said Ivanhoe. 

"They have--they have!" exclaimed Rebecca; and they press the besiegedhard upon the outer wall; some plant ladders, some swarm like bees, andendeavor to ascend upon the shoulders of each other; down go stones, beams, and trunks of trees upon their heads, and as fast as they bearthe wounded to the rear, fresh men supply their places in the assault. Great God! hast Thou given men Thine own image that it should be thuscruelly defaced by the hands of their brethren!"

"Think not of that, " said Ivanhoe; "this is no time for such thoughts. Who yield? Who push their way?"

"The ladders are thrown down, " replied Rebecca, shuddering; "thesoldiers lie grovelling under them like crushed reptiles. The besiegedhave the better. "

"Saint George strike for us!" exclaimed the knight; "do the falseyeomen give way?"

"No!" exclaimed Rebecca, "they bear themselves right yeomanly. TheBlack Knight approaches the postern with his huge axe; the thunderingblows which he deals, you may hear them above all the din and shouts ofthe battle. Stones and beams are hailed down on the bold champion: heregards them no more than if they were thistle-down or feathers!"

"By Saint John of Acre, " [Footnote: _Saint John of Acre_ was thefull name of the Syrian town usually known as _Acre_. During theCrusade which the Christians of Europe undertook to recover the HolyLand from the Saracens, Acre was one of the chief points of contest. Itwas held first by one party, then by the other. Owing to thisimportance, it was natural that its name should come to be used as anexclamation. ] said Ivanhoe, raising himself joyfully on his couch, "methought there was but one man in England that might do such a deed!"

"The postern gate shakes, " continued Rebecca--"it crashes--it issplintered by his blows--they rush in--the outwork is won. Oh God! theyhurl the defenders from the battlements--they throw them into the moat. O men, if ye be indeed men, spare them that can resist no longer!"

"That ridge--the ridge which communicates with the castle--have theywon that pass?" exclaimed Ivanhoe. 

"No, " replied Rebecca; "the Templar has destroyed the plank on whichthey crossed; few of the defenders escaped with him into the castle--the shrieks and cries which you hear tell the fate of the others. Alas!I see it is still more difficult to look upon victory than uponbattle. "

"What do they now, maiden?" said Ivanhoe; look forth yet again--this isno time to faint at bloodshed. "

"It is over for the time, " answered Rebecca; "our friends strengthenthemselves within the outwork which they have mastered, and it affordsthem so good a shelter from the foemen's shot that the garrison onlybestow a few bolts on it from interval to interval, as if rather todisquiet than effectually to injure them. "

"Our friends, " said Ivanhoe, "will surely not abandon an enterprise sogloriously begun and so happily attained. O no! I will put my faith inthe good knight whose axe hath rent heart-of-oak and bars of iron. Singular, " he again muttered to himself, "if there be two who can do adeed of such derring-do![Footnote: _Derring-do_ is an old word fordaring, or _warlike deed_] A fetterlock, and a shackle-bolt on afield sable--what may that mean? Seest thou nought else, Rebecca, bywhich the Black Knight may be distinguished?"

"Nothing, " said the Jewess; "all about him is black as the wing of thenight raven. Nothing can I spy that can mark him further; but havingonce seen him put forth his strength in battle, methinks I could knowhim again among a thousand warriors. He rushes to the fray as if hewere summoned to a banquet. There is more than mere strength--thereseems as if the whole soul and spirit of the champion were given toevery blow which he deals upon his enemies. God assoilzie [Footnote:_Assoilzie_ is an old word for _absolve_] him of the sin of bloodshed!It is fearful, yet magnificent, to behold how the arm and heart of oneman can triumph over hundreds. "

"Rebecca, " said Ivanhoe, "thou hast painted a hero; surely they restbut to refresh their force, or to provide the means of crossing themoat. Under such a leader as thou hast spoken this knight to be, thereare no craven fears, no cold-blooded delays, no yielding up a gallantemprize, since the difficulties which render it arduous render it alsoglorious. I swear by the honor of my house--I vow by the name of mybright lady-love, I would endure ten years' captivity to fight one dayby that good knight's side in such a quarrel as this!"

"Alas!" said Rebecca, leaving her station at the window, andapproaching the couch of the wounded knight, "this impatient yearningafter action--this struggling with and repining at your presentweakness, will not fail to injure your returning health. How couldstthou hope to inflict wounds on others, ere that be healed which thouthyself hast received?"

"Rebecca, " he replied, "thou knowest not how impossible it is for onetrained to actions of chivalry to remain passive as a priest, or awoman, when they are acting deeds of honor around him. The love ofbattle is the food upon which we live--the dust of the _mêlée_[Footnote: _Mêlée_ is a French word meaning a _hand-to-handconflict_. ] is the breath of our nostrils! We live not--we wish notto live--longer than while we are victorious and renowned. Such, maiden, are the laws of chivalry to which we are sworn, and to which weoffer all that we hold dear. "

"Alas!" said the fair Jewess, "and what is it, valiant knight, save anoffering of sacrifice to a demon of vain glory, and a passing throughthe fire to Moloch? [Footnote: _Moloch_ was the fire-god of the ancientAmmonites, to whom human sacrifices were offered. ] What remains to youas the prize of all the blood you have spilled, of all the travail andpain you have endured, of all the tears which your deeds have caused, when death hath broken the strong man's spear, and overtaken the speedof his war-horse?"

"What remains?" cried Ivanhoe. "Glory, maiden--glory! which gilds oursepulchre and embalms our name. "

"Glory!" continued Rebecca; "alas! is the rusted nail which hangs as ahatchment over the champion's dim and mouldering tomb, is the defacedsculpture of the inscription which the ignorant monk can hardly read tothe inquiring pilgrim--are these sufficient rewards for the sacrificeof every kindly affection, for a life spent miserably that ye may makeothers miserable? Or is there such virtue in the rude rhymes of awandering bard, that domestic love, kindly affection, peace andhappiness, are so wildly bartered, to become the hero of those balladswhich vagabond minstrels sing to drunken churls over their eveningale?"

"By the soul of Hereward!" replied the knight, impatiently, "thouspeakest, maiden, of thou knowest not what. Thou wouldst quench thepure light of chivalry, which alone distinguishes the noble from thebase, the gentle knight from the churl and the savage; which rates ourlife far, far beneath the pitch of our honor, raises us victorious overpain, toil, and suffering, and teaches us to fear no evil but disgrace. Thou art no Christian, Rebecca; and to thee are unknown those highfeelings which swell the bosom of a noble maiden when her lover hathdone some deed of emprize which sanctions his flame. Chivalry! Why, maiden, she is the nurse of pure and high affection, the stay of theoppressed, the redresser of grievances, the curb of the power of thetyrant. Nobility were but an empty name without her, and liberty findsthe best protection in her lance and her sword. "

"I am, indeed, " said Rebecca, "sprung from a race whose courage wasdistinguished in the defence of their own land, but who warred not, even while yet a nation, save at the command of the Deity, or indefending their country from oppression. The sound of the trumpet wakesJudah no longer, and her despised children are now but the unresistingvictims of hostile and military oppression. Well hast thou spoken, SirKnight: until the God of Jacob shall raise up for His chosen people asecond Gideon, or a new Maccabeus, it ill beseemeth the Jewish damselto speak of battle or of war. "

The high-minded maiden concluded the argument in a tone of sorrow, which deeply expressed her sense of the degradation of her people, imbittered perhaps by the idea that Ivanhoe considered her as one notentitled to interfere in a case of honor, and incapable of entertainingor expressing sentiments of honor and generosity. 

"How little he knows this bosom, " she said, "to imagine that cowardiceor meanness of soul must needs be its guests, because I have censuredthe fantastic chivalry. Would to Heaven that the shedding of mine ownblood, drop by drop, could redeem the captivity of Judah! Nay, would toGod it could avail to set free my father, and this his benefactor, fromthe chains of the oppressor. The proud Christian should then seewhether the daughter of God's chosen people dared not to die as bravelyas the finest Nazarene maiden, that boasts her descent from some pettychieftain of the rude and frozen north!"

She then looked toward the couch of the wounded knight. 

"He sleeps, " she said; "nature exhausted by suffrance, and the waste ofspirits, his wearied frame embraces the first moment of temporaryrelaxation to sink into slumber. "

She wrapped herself closely in her veil, and sat down at a distancefrom the couch of the wounded knight, with her back turned toward it, fortifying, or endeavoring to fortify, her mind against the impendingevils. 

During the interval of quiet which followed the first success of thebesiegers, while the one party was preparing to pursue their advantageand the other to strengthen their means of defence, the Templar and DeBracy held brief counsel together in the hall of the castle. 

"Where is Front-de-Boeuf?" said the latter, who had superintended thedefence of the fortress on the other side; "men say he hath beenslain. "

"He lives, " said the Templar, coolly--"Lives as yet; but had he wornthe bull's head of which he bears the name, [Footnote: _Front-de-Boeuf_means _Bull's Head_. ] and ten plates of iron to fence it withal, he musthave gone down before yonder fatal axe. Yet a few hours, and Front-de-Boeuf is with his fathers--a powerful limb lopped off Prince John'senterprise. " [Footnote: Prince John was scheming to usurp the throne ofEngland while King Richard, his brother, was absent on one of theCrusades. ]

"And a brave addition to the kingdom of Satan, " said De Bracy; "thiscomes of reviling saints and angels, and ordering images of holy thingsand holy men to be flung down on the heads of these rascaille yeomen. "

"Go to, thou art a fool, " said the Templar; "thy superstition is upon alevel with Front-de-Boeuf's want of faith; neither of you can render areason for your belief or unbelief. Let us think of making good thecastle. How fought these villain yeomen on thy side?"

"Like fiends incarnate, " said De Bracy. "They swarmed close up to thewalls, headed, as I think, by the knave who won the prize at thearchery, for I knew his horn and baldric. Had I not been armed inproof, the villain had marked me down seven times with as littleremorse as if I had been a buck in season. He told every rivet on myarmor with a cloth-yard shaft, that rapped against my ribs with aslittle compunction as if my bones had been of iron. But that I wore ashirt of Spanish mail under my platecoat, I had been fairly sped. "

"But you maintained your post?" said the Templar. "We lost the outworkon our part. "

"That is a shrewd loss, " said De Bracy; "the knaves will find coverthere to assault the castle more closely, and may, if not well watched, gain some unguarded corner of a tower, or some forgotten window, and sobreak in upon us. Our numbers are too few for the defence of everypoint, and the men complain that they can nowhere show themselves, butthey are the mark for as many arrows as a parish-butt on a holydayeven. Front-de-Boeuf is dying too, so we shall receive no more aid fromhis bull's head and brutal strength. How think you, Sir Brian, were wenot better make a virtue of necessity, and compound with the rogues bydelivering up our prisoners?"

"How!" exclaimed the Templar; "deliver up our prisoners, and stand anobject alike of ridicule and execration, as the doughty warriors whodared by a night attack to possess themselves of the persons of a partyof defenceless travelers, yet could not make good a strong castleagainst a vagabond troop of outlaws, led by swineherds, jesters, andthe very refuse of mankind? Shame on thy counsel, Maurice de Bracy! Theruins of this castle shall bury both my body and my shame, ere Iconsent to such base and dishonorable composition. "

"Let us to the walls, then, " said De Bracy, carelessly; "that man neverbreathed, be he Turk or Templar, who held life at lighter rate than Ido. But I trust there is no dishonor in wishing I had here some twoscores of my gallant troop of Free Companions? Oh, my brave lances! ifye knew but how hard your captain were this day bested, how soon shouldI see my banner at the head of your clump of spears! And how shortwhile would these rabble villains stand to endure your encounter!"

"Wish for whom thou wilt, " said the Templar, "but let us make whatdefence we can with the soldiers who remain. They are chiefly Front-de-Boeuf's followers, hated by the English for a thousand acts ofinsolence and oppression. "

"The better, " said De Bracy; "the rugged slaves will defend themselvesto the last drop of their blood, ere they encounter the revenge of thepeasants without. Let us up and be doing, then, Brian de Bois-Guilbert;and, live or die, thou shalt see Maurice de Bracy bear himself this dayas a gentleman of blood and lineage. "

"To the walls!" answered the Templar; and they both ascended thebattlements to do all that skill could dictate, and manhood accomplish, in defence of the place. They readily agreed that the point of greatestdanger was that opposite to the outwork of which the assailants hadpossessed themselves. The castle, indeed, was divided from thatbarbican by the moat, and it was impossible that the besiegers couldassail the postern door, with which the outwork corresponded, withoutsurmounting that obstacle; but it was the opinion both of the Templarand De Bracy that the besiegers, if governed by the same policy theirleader had already displayed, would endeavor, by a formidable assault, to draw the chief part of the defenders' observation to this point, andtake measures to avail themselves of every negligence which might takeplace in the defence elsewhere. To guard against such an evil, theirnumbers only permitted the knights to place sentinels from space tospace along the walls in communication with each other, who might givethe alarm whenever danger was threatened. Meanwhile, they agreed thatDe Bracy should command the defense of the postern, and the Templarshould keep with him a score of men or thereabouts as a body ofreserve, ready to hasten to any other point which might be suddenlythreatened. The loss of the barbican had also this unfortunate effect, that notwithstanding the superior height of the castle walls, thebesieged could not see from them, with the same precision as before, the operations of the enemy; for some straggling underwood approachedso near the sallyport of the outwork that the assailants mightintroduce into it whatever force they thought proper, not only undercover, but even without the knowledge of the defenders. Utterlyuncertain, therefore, upon what point the storm was to burst, De Bracyand his companion were under the necessity of providing against everypossible contingency, and their followers, however brave, experiencedthe anxious dejection of mind incident to men inclosed by enemies whopossessed the power of choosing their time and mode of attack. 

Meanwhile, the lord of the beleaguered and endangered castle lay upon abed of bodily pain and mental agony. He had not the usual resource ofbigots in that superstitious period, most of whom were wont to atonefor the crimes they were guilty of by liberality to the church, stupefying by this means their terrors by the idea of atonement andforgiveness; and although the refuge which success thus purchased wasno more like to the peace of mind which follows on sincere repentancethan the turbid stupefaction procured by opium resembles healthy andnatural slumbers, it was still a state of mind preferable to theagonies of awakened remorse. But among the vices of Front-de-Boeuf, ahard and griping man, avarice was predominant; and he preferred settingchurch and churchmen at defiance to purchasing from them pardon andabsolution at the price of treasure and of manors. Nor did the Templar, an infidel of another stamp, justly characterize his associate when hesaid Front-de-Boeuf could assign no cause for his unbelief and contemptfor the established faith; for the baron would have alleged that thechurch sold her wares too dear, that the spiritual freedom which sheput up to sale was only to be bought, like that of the chief captain ofJerusalem, "with a great sum, " and Front-de-Boeuf preferred denying thevirtue of the medicine to paying the expense of the physician. 

But the moment had now arrived when earth and all his treasures weregliding from before his eyes, and when the savage baron's heart, thoughhard as a nether millstone, became appalled as he gazed forward intothe waste darkness of futurity. The fever of his body aided theimpatience and agony of his mind, and his death-bed exhibited a mixtureof the newly-awakened feelings of horror combating with the fixed andinveterate obstinacy of his disposition--a fearful state of mind, onlyto be equalled in those tremendous regions where there are complaintswithout hope, remorse without repentance, a dreadful sense of presentagony, and a presentiment that it cannot cease or be diminished!

"Where be these dog-priests now, " growled the baron, "who set suchprice on their ghostly mummery? I have heard old men talk of prayer--prayer by their own voice--such need not to court or to bribe the falsepriest. But I--I dare not!"

"Lives Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, " said a broken and shrill voice closeby his bedside, "to say there is that which he dares not?"

The evil conscience and the shaken nerves of Front-de-Boeuf heard, inthis strange interruption to his soliloquy, the voice of one of thosedemons who, as the superstition of the times believed, beset the bedsof dying men, to distract their thoughts, and turn them from themeditations which concerned their eternal welfare. 

He shuddered and drew himself together; but, instantly summoning up hiswonted resolution, he exclaimed, "Who is there? what art thou, thatdarest to echo my words in a tone like that of the night raven? Comebefore my couch that I may see thee. "

"I am thine evil angel, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, " replied the voice. 

"Let me behold thee then in thy bodily shape, if thou be'st indeed afiend, " replied the dying knight; "think not that I will blench fromthee. By the eternal dungeon, could I but grapple with these horrorsthat hover round me as I have done with mortal danger, Heaven or Hellshould never say that I shrunk from the conflict!"

"Think on thy sins, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, " said the almost unearthlyvoice--"on rebellion, on rapine, on murder! Who stirred up thelicentious John to war against his grayheaded father--against hisgenerous brother?"

"Be thou fiend, priest, or devil, " replied Front-de-Boeuf, "thou liestin thy throat! Not I stirred John to rebellion--not I alone; there werefifty knights and barons, the flower of the midland counties, bettermen never laid lance in rest. And must I answer for the fault done byfifty? False fiend, I defy thee! Depart, and haunt my couch no more. Let me die in peace if thou be mortal; if thou be demon, thy time isnot yet come. "

"In peace thou shalt NOT die, " repeated the voice; "even in death shaltthou think on thy murders--on the groans which this castle has echoed--on the blood that is engrained in its floors!"

"Thou canst not shake me by thy petty malice, " answered Front-de-Boeuf, with a ghastly and constrained laugh. "The infidel Jew--it was meritwith Heaven to deal with him as I did, else wherefore are men canonizedwho dip their hands in the blood of Saracens? The Saxon porkers whom Ihave slain--they were the foes of my country, and of my lineage, and ofmy liege lord. Ho! ho! thou seest there is no crevice in my coat ofplate. Art thou fled? art thou silenced?"

"No, foul parricide!" replied the voice; "think of thy father!--thinkof his death!--think of his banquet-room flooded with his gore, andthat poured forth by the hand of a son!"

"Ha!" answered the Baron, after a long pause, "an thou knowest that, thou art indeed the Author of Evil, and as omniscient as the monks callthee! That secret I deemed locked in my own breast, and in that of onebesides--the temptress, the partaker of my guilt. Go, leave me, fiend!and seek the Saxon witch Ulrica, who alone could tell thee what she andI alone witnessed. Go, I say, to her, who washed the wounds, andstraighted the corpse, and gave to the slain man the outward show ofone parted in time and in the course of nature. Go to her; she was mytemptress, the foul provoker, the more foul rewarder, of the deed; lether, as well as I, taste of the tortures which anticipate Hell!"

"She already tastes them, " said Ulrica, stepping before the couch ofFront-de-Boeuf; "she hath long drunken of this cup, and its bitternessis now sweetened to see that thou dost partake it. Grind not thy teeth, Front-de-Boeuf--roll not thy eyes--clench not thy hand, nor shake it atme with that gesture of menace! The hand which, like that of thyrenowned ancestor who gained thy name, could have broken with onestroke the skull of a mountain-bull, is now unnerved and powerless asmine own!"

"Vile, murderous hag!" replied Front-de-Boeuf--"detestable screech-owl!it is then thou who art come to exult over the ruins thou hast assistedto lay low?"

"Ay, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, " answered she, "It is Ulrica!--it is thedaughter of the murdered Torquil Wolfganger!--it is the sister of hisslaughtered sons! it is she who demands of thee, and of thy father'shouse, father and kindred, name and fame--all that she has lost by thename of Front-de-Boeuf! Think of my wrongs, Front-de-Boeuf, and answerme if I speak not truth. Thou hast been my evil angel, and I will bethine: I will dog thee till the very instant of dissolution!"

"Detestable fury!" exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, "that moment shalt thounever witness. Ho! Giles, Clement, and Eustace! Saint Maur and Stephen!seize this damned witch, and hurl her from the battlements headlong;she has betrayed us to the Saxon! Ho! Saint Maur! Clement! false-hearted knaves, where tarry ye?"

"Call on them again, valiant baron, " said the hag, with a smile ofgrisly mockery; "summon thy vassals around thee, doom them that loiterto the scourge and the dungeon. But know, mighty chief, " she continued, suddenly changing her tone, "thou shalt have neither answer, nor aid, nor obedience at their hands. Listen to these horrid sounds, " for thedin of the recommenced assault and defence now rung fearfully loud fromthe battlements of the castle; "in that warcry is the downfall of thyhouse. The blood-cemented fabric of Front-de-Boeuf's power totters tothe foundation, and before the foes he most despised! The Saxon, Reginald!--the scorned Saxon assails thy walls! Why liest thou here, like a worn-out hind, when the Saxon storms thy place of strength? Thoushalt die no soldier's death, but perish like the fox in his den, whenthe peasants have set fire to the cover around it. "

"Hateful hag! thou liest!" exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf; "my followers bearthem bravely--my walls are strong and high--my comrades in arms fearnot a whole host of Saxons. The war-cry of the Templar and of the FreeCompanions rises high over the conflict! And by mine honor, when wekindle the blazing beacon for joy of our defence, it shall consume theebody and bones. "

"Hold thy belief, " replied Ulrica, "till the proof reach thee. But no!"she said, interrupting herself, "thou shalt know even now the doomwhich all thy power, strength and courage is unable to avoid, though itis prepared for thee by this feeble hand. Markest thou the smoulderingand suffocating vapor which already eddies in sable folds through thechamber? Didst thou think it was but the darkening of thy burstingeyes, the difficulty of thy cumbered breathing? No! Front-de-Boeuf, there is another cause. Rememberest thou the magazine of fuel that isstored beneath these apartments?"

"Woman!" he exclaimed with fury, "thou hast not set fire to it? Byheaven, thou hast, and the castle is in flames!"

"They are fast rising at least, " said Ulrica, with frightful composure, "and a signal shall soon wave to warn the besiegers to press hard uponthose who would extinguish them. Farewell, Front-de-Boeuf! But know, ifit will give thee comfort to know it, that Ulrica is bound to the samedark coast with thyself, the companion of thy punishment as thecompanion of thy guilt. And now, parricide, farewell for ever! May eachstone of this vaulted roof find a tongue to echo that title into thineear!"

[Illustration: ULRICA LOCKS THE DOOR ]

So saying, she left the apartment; and Front-de-Boeuf could hear thecrash of the ponderous keys as she locked and double-locked the doorbehind her, thus cutting off the most slender chance of escape. In theextremity of agony, he shouted upon his servants and allies--"Stephenand Saint Maur! Clement and Giles! I burn here unaided! To the rescue--to the rescue, brave Bois-Guilbert, valiant De Bracy! It is Front-de-Boeuf who calls! It is your master, ye traitor squires! Your ally--yourbrother in arms, ye perjured and faithless knights! All the curses dueto traitors upon your recreant heads, do you abandon me to perish thusmiserably! They hear me not--they cannot hear me--my voice is lost inthe din of battle. The smoke rolls thicker and thicker, the fire hascaught upon the floor below. O, for one draught of the air of heaven, were it to be purchased by instant annihilation! The red fire flashesthrough the thick smoke! the demon marches against me under the bannerof his own element. Foul spirit, avoid! I go not with thee without mycomrades--all, all are thine that garrison these walls. Thinkest thouFront-de-Boeuf will be singled out to go alone? No; the infidelTemplar, De Bracy, Ulrica, the men who aided my enterprises, the dogSaxons and accursed Jews who are my prisoners--all, all shall attendme--a goodly fellowship as ever took the downward road. "

But it were impious to trace any further the picture of the blasphemerand parricide's death-bed. 

When the barbican was carried, the Sable Knight sent notice of thehappy event to Locksley, the archer, requesting him at the same time tokeep such a strict observation on the castle as might prevent thedefenders from combining their force for a sudden sally, and recoveringthe outwork which they had lost. This the knight was chiefly desirousof avoiding, conscious that the men whom he led, being hasty anduntrained volunteers, imperfectly armed and unaccustomed to discipline, must, upon any sudden attack, fight at great disadvantage with theveteran soldiers of the Norman knights, who were well provided witharms both defensive and offensive; and who, to match the zeal and highspirit of the besiegers, had all the confidence which arises fromperfect discipline and the habitual use of weapons. 

The knight employed the interval in causing to be constructed a sort offloating bridge, or long raft, by means of which he hoped to cross themoat, in despite of the resistance of the enemy. This was a work ofsome time, which the leaders the less regretted, as it gave Ulricaleisure to execute her plan of diversion in their favor, whatever thatmight be. 

When the raft was completed, the Black Knight addressed the besiegers:"It avails not waiting here longer, my friends; the sun is descendingto the west, and I have that upon my hands which will not permit me totarry with you another day. Besides, it will be a marvel if thehorsemen come not upon us from York, unless we speedily accomplish ourpurpose. Wherefore, one of ye go to Locksley, and bid him commence adischarge of arrows on the opposite side of the castle, and moveforward as if about to assault it; and you, true English hearts, standby me, and be ready to thrust the raft endlong over the moat wheneverthe postern on our side is thrown open. Follow me boldly across, andaid me to burst yon sallyport in the main wall of the castle. As manyof you as like not this service, or are but ill armed to meet it, doyou man the top of the outwork, draw your bowstrings to your ears, andmind you quell with your shot whatever shall appear to man the rampart. Noble Cedric, wilt thou take the direction of those which remain?"

"Not so!" said the Saxon; "lead I cannot; but may posterity curse me inmy grave, if I follow not with the foremost wherever thou shalt pointthe way. The quarrel is mine, and well it becomes me to be in the vanof the battle. "

"Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon, " said the knight, "thou hast neitherhauberk, nor corselet, nor aught but that light helmet, target, andsword. "

"The better!" answered Cedric; "I shall be the lighter to climb thesewalls. And--forgive the boast, Sir Knight--thou shalt this day see thenaked breast of a Saxon as boldly presented to the battle as ever yebeheld the steel corselet of a Norman. "

"In the name of God, then, " said the knight, "fling open the door, andlaunch the floating bridge. "

The portal, which led from the inner wall of the barbican to the moat, and which corresponded with a sallyport in the main wall of the castle, was now suddenly opened; the temporary bridge was then thrust forward, and soon flashed in the waters, extending its length between the castleand outwork, and forming a slippery and precarious passage for two menabreast to cross the moat. Well aware of the importance of taking thefoe by surprise, the Black Knight, closely followed by Cedric, threwhimself upon the bridge, and reached the opposite side. Here he beganto thunder with his axe upon the gate of the castle, protected in partfrom the shot and stones cast by the defenders by the ruins of theformer drawbridge, which the Templar had demolished in his retreat fromthe barbican, leaving the counterpoise still attached to the upper partof the portal. The followers of the knight had no such shelter; twowere instantly shot with cross-bow bolts, and two more fell into themoat; the others retreated back into the barbican. 

The situation of Cedric and of the Black Knight was now trulydangerous, and would have been still more so but for the constancy ofthe archers in the barbican, who ceased not to shower their arrows uponthe battlements, distracting the attention of those by whom they weremanned, and thus affording a respite to their two chiefs from the stormof missiles which must otherwise have overwhelmed them. But theirsituation was eminently perilous, and was becoming more so with everymoment. 

"Shame on ye all!" cried De Bracy to the soldiers around him; "do yecall yourselves cross-bowmen, and let these two dogs keep their stationunder the walls of the castle? Heave over the coping stones from thebattlement, an better may not be. Get pickaxe and levers, and down withthat huge pinnacle!" pointing to a heavy piece of stone carved-workthat projected from the parapet. 

At this moment the besiegers caught sight of the red flag upon theangle of the tower, which Ulrica raised to show that she had fired thecastle. The stout yeoman Locksley was the first who was aware of it, ashe was hasting to the outwork, impatient to see the progress of theassault. 

"Saint George!" he cried--"Merry Saint George for England! To thecharge, bold yeomen! why leave ye the good knight and noble Cedric tostorm the pass alone? Make in, brave yeomen!--the castle is ours, wehave friends within. See yonder flag, it is the appointed signal--Torquilstone is ours! Think of honor--think of spoil! One effort, andthe place is ours!"

With that he bent his good bow, and sent a shaft right through thebreast of one of the men-at-arms, who, under De Bracy's direction, wasloosening a fragment from one of the battlements to precipitate on theheads of Cedric and the Black Knight. A second soldier caught from thehands of the dying man the iron crow with which he heaved at and hadloosened the stone pinnacle, when, receiving an arrow through hisheadpiece, he dropped from the battlements into the moat a dead man. The men-at-arms were daunted, for no armor seemed proof against theshot of this tremendous archer. 

"Do you give ground, base knaves!" said De Bracy. "Give me the lever!"

And, snatching it up, he again assailed the loosened pinnacle, whichwas of weight enough, if thrown down, not only to have destroyed theremnant of the drawbridge which sheltered the two foremost assailants, but also to have sunk the rude float of planks over which they hadcrossed. All saw the danger, and the boldest avoided setting foot onthe raft. Thrice did Locksley bend his shaft against De Bracy, andthrice did his arrow bound back from the knight's armor of proof. 

"Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat!" said Locksley, "had English smithforged it, these arrows had gone through, as if it had been silk orsendal. " He then began to call out. "Comrades! friends! noble Cedric!bear back and let the ruin fall. "

His warning voice was unheard, for the din which the knight himselfoccasioned by his strokes upon the postern would have drowned twentywar-trumpets. The faithful Gurth indeed sprung forward on the plankedbridge, to warn Cedric of his impending fate, or to share it with him. But his warning would have come too late; the massive pinnacle alreadytottered, and De Bracy, who still heaved at his task, would haveaccomplished it had not the voice of the Templar sounded close in hisear:

"All is lost, De Bracy; the castle burns. "

"Thou art mad to say so!" replied the knight. 

"It is all in a light flame on the western side. I have striven in vainto extinguish it. "

With the stern coolness which formed the basis of his character, Briande Bois-Guilbert communicated this hideous intelligence, which was notso calmly received by his astonished comrade. 

"Saints of Paradise!" said De Bracy; "what is to be done?"

"Lead thy men down, " said the Templar, "as if to a sally; throw thepostern gate open. There are but two men who occupy the float, flingthem into the moat, push across for the barbican. I will charge fromthe main gate, and attack the barbican on the outside; and if we canregain that post, be assured we shall defend ourselves until we arerelieved, or at least till they grant us fair quarter. "

"It is well thought upon, " said De Bracy; "I will play my part. Templar, thou wilt not fail me?"

"Hand and glove, I will not!" said Bois-Guilbert. "But haste thee, inthe name of God!"

De Bracy hastily drew his men together, and rushed down to the posterngate, which he caused instantly to be thrown open. But scarce was thisdone ere the portentous strength of the Black Knight forced his wayinward in despite of De Bracy and his followers. Two of the foremostinstantly fell, and the rest gave way notwithstanding all theirleader's efforts to stop them. 

"Dogs!" said De Bracy, "will ye let _two_ men win our only pass forsafety?"

"He is the devil!" said a veteran man-at-arms, bearing back from theblows of their sable antagonist. 

"And if he be the devil, " replied De Bracy, "would you fly from himinto the mouth of hell? The castle burns behind us, villains!--letdespair give you courage, or let me forward! I will cope with thischampion myself. "

And well and chivalrous did De Bracy that day maintain the fame he hadacquired in the civil wars of that dreadful period. The vaulted passageto which the postern gave entrance, and in which these two redoubtedchampions were now fighting hand to hand, rung with the furious blowswhich they dealt each other, De Bracy with his sword, the Black Knightwith his ponderous axe. 

At length the Norman received a blow which, though its force was partlyparried by his shield, for otherwise never more would De Bracy haveagain moved limb, descended yet with such violence on his crest that hemeasured his length on the paved floor. 

"Yield thee, De Bracy, " said the Black Champion, stooping over him, andholding against the bars of his helmet the fatal poniard with which theknights despatched their enemies, and which was called the dagger ofmercy--"Yield thee, Maurice De Bracy, rescue or no rescue, or thou artbut a dead man. "

"I will not yield, " replied De Bracy, faintly, "to an unknownconqueror. Tell me thy name or work thy pleasure on me; it shall neverbe said that Maurice De Bracy was prisoner to a nameless churl. "

The Black Knight whispered something into the ear of the vanquished. [Footnote: The Black Knight is Richard the Lion-Hearted, king ofEngland, who has returned from the Crusades to reclaim his throne fromhis usurping brother. ]

"I yield me to be true prisoner, rescue or no rescue, " answered theNorman, exchanging his tone of determined obstinacy for one of deepthough sullen submission. 

"Go to the barbican, " said the victor, in a tone of authority, "andthere wait my further orders. "

"Yet first let me say, " said De Bracy, "what it imports thee to know. Wilfred of Ivanhoe is wounded and a prisoner, and will perish in theburning castle without present help. "

"Wilfred of Ivanhoe!" exclaimed the Black Knight--"prisoner, andperish! The life of every man in the castle shall answer it if a hairof his head be singed. Show me his chamber!"

"Ascend yonder winding stair, " said De Bracy; "it leads to hisapartment. Wilt thou not accept my guidance?" he added in a submissivevoice. 

"No. To the barbican, and there wait my orders, I trust thee not, DeBracy. "

During this combat and the brief conversation which ensued, Cedric, atthe head of a body of men, had pushed across the bridge as soon as theysaw the postern open, and drove back the dispirited and despairingfollowers of De Bracy, of whom some asked quarter, some offered vainresistance, and the greater part fled toward the courtyard. 

De Bracy himself arose from the ground, and cast a sorrowful glanceafter his conqueror. "He trusts me not!" he repeated; "but have Ideserved his trust?"

He then lifted his sword from the floor, took off his helmet in tokenof submission, and, going to the barbican, gave up his sword toLocksley, whom he met by the way. 

As the fire augmented, symptoms of it became soon apparent in thechamber where Ivanhoe was watched and tended by the Jewess Rebecca. Hehad been awakened from his brief slumber by the noise of the battle;and his attendant, who had, at his anxious desire, again placed herselfat the window to watch and report to him the fate of the attack, wasfor some time prevented from observing either by the increase of thesmouldering and stifling vapor. At length the volumes of smoke whichrolled into the apartment, the cries for water, which were heard evenabove the din of the battle, made them sensible of the progress of thisnew danger. 

"The castle burns, " said Rebecca--"it burns! What can we do to saveourselves?"

"Fly, Rebecca, and save thine own life, " said Ivanhoe, "for no humanaid can avail me. "

"I had not found thee, Wilfred, " said the Black Knight, who at thatinstant entered the apartment, "but for thy shouts. "

And seizing upon Ivanhoe, he bore him with him to the postern, andhaving there delivered his burden to the care of two yeomen, againentered the castle to assist in the rescue of the other prisoners. 

One turret was now in bright flames, which flashed out furiously fromwindow and shot-hole. But in other parts the great thickness of thewalls and the vaulted roofs of the apartments resisted the progress ofthe flames, and there the rage of man still triumphed, as the scarcemore dreadful element held mastery elsewhere; for the besiegers pursuedthe defenders of the castle from chamber to chamber, and satiated intheir blood the vengeance which had long animated them against thesoldiers of the tyrant Front-de-Boeuf. Most of the garrison resisted tothe uttermost; few of them asked quarter; none received it. The air wasfilled with groans and clashing of arms; the floors were slippery withthe blood of despairing and expiring wretches. 

Through this scene of confusion, Cedric rushed, in quest of Rowena, while the faithful Gurth, following him closely through the _mêlée_, neglected his own safety while he strove to avert the blows that wereaimed at his master. The noble Saxon was so fortunate as to reach hisward's apartment just as she had abandoned all hope of safety, and, witha crucifix clasped in agony to her bosom, sat in expectation of instantdeath. He committed her to the charge of Gurth, to be conducted insafety to the barbican, the road to which was now cleared of the enemy, and not yet interrupted by the flames. This accomplished, the loyalCedric hastened in quest of his friend Athelstane, determined, at everyrisk to himself, to save that last scion of Saxon royalty. But ereCedric penetrated as far as the old hall In which he had himself been aprisoner, the inventive genius of Wamba the Jester had procuredliberation for himself and his companion in adversity. 

When the noise of the conflict announced that it was at the hottest, the Jester began to shout, with the utmost power of his lungs, "SaintGeorge and the dragon! Bonny Saint George for merry England! The castleis won!" And these sounds he rendered yet more fearful by bangingagainst each other two or three pieces of rusty armor which layscattered around the hall. 

A guard, which had been stationed in the outer or ante-room, and whosespirits were already in a state of alarm, took fright at Wamba'sclamor, and, leaving the door open behind them, ran to tell the Templarthat foemen had entered the old hall. Meantime the prisoners found nodifficulty in making their escape into the ante-room, and from thenceinto the court of the castle, which was now the last scene of contest. Here sat the fierce Templar, mounted on horseback, surrounded byseveral of the garrison both on horse and foot, who had united theirstrength to that of this renowned leader, in order to secure the lastchance of safety and retreat which remained to them. The drawbridge hadbeen lowered by his orders, but the passage was beset; for the archers, who had hitherto only annoyed the castle on that side by theirmissiles, no sooner saw the flames breaking out, and the bridgelowered, than they thronged to the entrance, as well to prevent theescape of the garrison as to secure their own share of booty ere thecastle should be burned down. On the other hand, a party of thebesiegers, who had entered by the postern, were now issuing out intothe courtyard, and attacking with fury the remnant of the defenders, who were thus assaulted on both sides at once. Animated, however, bydespair, and supported by the example of their indomitable leader, theremaining soldiers of the castle fought with the utmost valor; and, being well armed, succeeded more than once in driving back theassailants, though much inferior in numbers. 

Athelstane, who was slothful, but not cowardly, beheld the Templar. 

"By the soul of Saint Edward, " he said, "yonder over-proud knight shalldie by my hand!"

"Think what you do!" cried Wamba; "hasty hand catches frog for fish. Yemay be leader, but I will be no follower; no bones of mine shall bebroken. And you without armor too! Bethink you, silk bonnet never keptout steel blade. Nay, then, if wilful will to water, wilful mustdrench. _Deus vobiscum_ [Footnote: _Deus vobiscum_ means _God be withyou_] most doughty Athelstane!" he concluded, loosening the hold whichhe had hitherto kept upon the Saxon's tunic. 

To snatch a mace from the pavement, on which it lay beside one whosedying gasp had just relinquished it, to rush on the Templar's band, andto strike in quick succession to the right and left, levelling awarrior at each blow, was, for Athelstane's great strength, nowanimated with unusual fury, but the work of a single moment; he wassoon within two yards of Bois-Guilbert, whom he defied in his loudesttone. 

"Turn, false-hearted Templar! turn, limb of a band of murdering andhypocritical robbers!"

"Dog!" said the Templar, grinding his teeth, "I will teach thee toblaspheme the holy order of the Temple of Zion;" and with these words, half-wheeling his steed, he made a demi-courbette toward the Saxon, andrising in the stirrups, so as to take full advantage of the descent ofthe horse, he discharged a fearful blow upon the head of Athelstane. 

"Well, " said Wamba, "that silken bonnet keeps out no steel blade!" Sotrenchant was the Templar's weapon, that it shore asunder, as it hadbeen a willow-twig, the tough and plaited handle of the mace, which theill-fated Saxon reared to parry the blow, and, descending on his head, levelled him with the earth. 

"_Ha! Beau-seant!_" exclaimed Bois-Guilbert, "thus be it to themaligners of the Temple knights!" Taking advantage of the dismay whichwas spread by the fall of Athelstane, and calling aloud, "Those whowould save themselves, follow me!" he pushed across the drawbridge, dispersing the archers who would have intercepted them. He was followedby his Saracens, and some five or six men-at-arms, who had mountedtheir horses. The Templar's retreat was rendered perilous by thenumbers of arrows shot off at him and his party; but this did notprevent him from galloping round to the barbican, of which, accordingto his previous plan, he supposed it possible De Bracy might have beenin possession. 

"De Bracy! De Bracy!" he shouted, "art thou there?"

"I am here, " replied De Bracy, "but I am a prisoner. "

"Can I rescue thee?" cried Bois-Guilbert. 

"No, " replied De Bracy; "I have rendered me, rescue or no rescue. Iwill be true prisoner. Save thyself; there are hawks abroad. Put theseas betwixt you and England; I dare not say more. "

"Well, " answered the Templar, "an thou wilt tarry there, remember Ihave redeemed word and glove. Be the hawks where they will, methinksthe walls of the preceptory of Templestowe will be cover sufficient, and thither will I, like heron to her haunt. "

Having thus spoken, he galloped off with his followers. 

Those of the castle who had not gotten to horse, still continued tofight desperately with the besiegers, after the departure of theTemplar, but rather in despair of quarter than that they entertainedany hope of escape. The fire was spreading rapidly through all parts ofthe castle, when Ulrica, who had first kindled it, appeared on aturret, in the guise of one of the ancient furies, yelling forth a war-song, such as was of yore raised on the field of battle by the scaldsof the yet heathen Saxons. Her long dishevelled gray hair flew backfrom her uncovered head; the inebriating delight of gratified vengeancecontended in her eyes with the fire of insanity; and she brandished thedistaff which she held in her hand, as if she had been one of the FatalSisters who spin and abridge the thread of human life. 

The towering flames had now surmounted every obstruction, and rose tothe evening skies one huge and burning beacon, seen far and widethrough the adjacent country. Tower after tower crashed down, withblazing roof and rafter; and the combatants were driven from thecourtyard. The vanquished, of whom very few remained, scattered andescaped into the neighboring wood. The victors, assembling in largebands, gazed with wonder, not unmixed with fear, upon the flames, inwhich their own ranks and arms glanced dusky red. The maniac figure ofthe Saxon Ulrica was for a long time visible on the lofty stand she hadchosen, tossing her arms abroad with wild exultation, as if she reignedempress of the conflagration which she had raised. At length, with aterrific crash, the whole turret gave way, and she perished in theflames which had consumed her tyrant. An awful pause of horror silencedeach murmur of the armed spectators, who, for the space of severalminutes, stirred not a finger, save to sign the cross. The voice ofLocksley was then heard--"Shout, yeomen! the den of tyrants is no more!Let each bring his spoil to our chosen place of rendezvous at thetrysting-trees in the Harthill Walk; for there at break of day will wemake just partition among our own bands, together with our worthyallies in this great deed of vengeance. "

THE DEATH OF HECTOR

_From_ HOMER'S ILIAD[Footnote: One of the greatest poems that has ever been written is the_Iliad, _ an epic of great length dealing with the siege of Troy. Theauthor is generally considered to be the old Greek poet and singerHomer. Although some authorities believe that the poem was not allwritten by any one man. 

The selection from the _Iliad_ which is given here is from thetranslation by Alexander Pope. The passage has been abridged somewhat. ]

NOTE. --Of all the mythical or half-mythical events which the ancientGreeks believed formed a part of their early history, there is noneabout which more stories have grown up than the Trojan War. Accordingto the Greek belief, this struggle took place somewhere in the twelfthcentury B. C. , but it now seems entirely likely that there was reallyno such contest, and that the stories told about it were but myths. 

To the marriage of Peleus with the sea-nymph Thetis, all the gods wereinvited except Eris, or Discord, who, angered at the slight, determinedto have vengeance. She took, therefore, a most beautiful golden appleon which were inscribed the words _For The Fairest, _ and tossed itinto the midst of the merry wedding party. Instantly a dispute arose, Juno, queen of the gods, Minerva, goddess of wisdom, and Venus, goddessof love and beauty, each claiming the fruit. Finally it was decided toleave the choice to an impartial judge, and Paris, son of Priam, theold king of Troy, was chosen. 

Paris was utterly ignorant of the fact that he was the son of the king, having been banished from his home in his infancy because a prophecyhad foretold that he should bring about the destruction of his nativecity. Rescued and brought up by a shepherd, he lived a simpleshepherd's life on Mount Ida. 

When the three radiant goddesses stood before him he was overcome withthe difficulty of his task, and each of the three attempted to help himout by offering a bribe. Juno offered prosperity through life, Minervawisdom and influence, but Venus, smiling slyly, promised him the loveof the most beautiful woman in the world. Moved not by this bribe, butby the unsurpassable beauty of Venus, Paris awarded her the apple, andthus gained for himself and for his people the hatred of Juno andMinerva. 

Later Paris was received back into his father's palace, and was sent onan embassy to the home of Menelaus, king of Sparta, in Greece. While atthe home of Menelaus, Paris fell in love with Helen, the wife of hishost, the most beautiful woman in the world, and persuaded her toreturn to Troy with him. Thoroughly roused, Menelaus sought the aid ofthe other Grecian kings in his attempt to get back his wife and punishthe Trojans for the treachery of their prince, and a huge expeditionunder the command of Agamemnon, brother of Menelaus, set out for Troy. The Grecian army could make no immediate head against the Trojans, andfor nine years it encamped outside the city of Troy, attempting tobring about its downfall. Battles and contests between single championswere frequent, but neither side seemed able to win any permanentvictory. 

Achilles was the bravest and strongest of the Grecian heroes, and alllooked to him as the man through whom success must come. However, hebecame angered at Agamemnon and withdrew from the contest, and victoryseemed about to fall to the Trojans. One day Patroclus, the friend andkinsman of Achilles, distressed at the Greek fortunes, removed ofAchilles his armor, and at the head of Achilles's own men, went forthto do battle with the Trojans. He was slain by Hector, the son ofPriam, the bravest of the Trojan defenders, and in anger at hisfriend's death, Achilles returned to the conflict. The battle was wagedoutside the city, and owing to the prowess of Achilles, matters lookedbad for the Trojans. 

Apollo, god of light, who favored the Trojans, took upon himself theform of a Trojan warrior, and while appearing to flee, drew Achillesafter him, and thus allowed the Trojans to gain the shelter of the citywalls. The selection from the _Iliad_ given here begins just asApollo throws off his disguise and reveals his identity to Achilles. 

 Thus to their bulwarks, smit with panic fear, The herded Ilians* rush like driven deer: There safe they wipe the briny drops away, And drown in bowls the labors of the day. Close to the walls, advancing o'er the fields Beneath one roof of well-compacted shields, March, bending on, the Greeks' embodied powers, Far stretching in the shade of Trojan towers. Great Hector singly stay'd: chain'd down by fate There fix'd he stood before the Scaean gate; Still his bold arms determined to employ, The guardian still of long-defended Troy. 

 *[Footnote: _Ilium_, or _Ilion_, was another name for Troy, and the Ilians were Trojans. ]

 Apollo now to tired Achilles turns (The power confess'd in all his glory burns): "And what, " he cries, "has Peleus'* son in view, With mortal speed a godhead to pursue? For not to thee to know the gods' is given, Unskill'd to trace the latent marks of heaven. What boots thee now, that Troy forsook the plain? Vain thy past labor, and thy present vain: Safe in their walls are now her troops bestow'd, While here thy frantic rage attacks a god. "

 *[Footnote: Achilles was the son of Peleus and the sea-nymph Thetis. ]

 The chief incensed--"Too partial god of day! To check my conquests in the middle way: How few in Ilion else had refuge found! What gasping numbers now had bit the ground! Thou robb'st me of a glory justly mine, Powerful of godhead, and of fraud divine: Mean fame, alas! for one of heavenly strain, To cheat a mortal who repines in vain. "

 Then to the city, terrible and strong, With high and haughty steps he tower'd along, So the proud courser, victor of the prize, To the near goal with double ardor flies. Him, as he blazing shot across the field, The careful eyes of Priam* first beheld Not half so dreadful rises to the sight Through the thick gloom of some tempestuous night, Orion's dog* (the year when autumn weighs), And o'er the feebler stars exerts his rays; Terrific glory! for his burning breath Taints the red air with fevers, plagues, and death, So flamed his fiery mail. Then wept the sage: He strikes his reverend head, now white with age; He lifts his wither'd arms; obtests* the skies; He calls his much-loved son with feeble cries: The son, resolved Achilles' force to dare, Full at the Scaean gates expects* the war; While the sad father on the rampart stands, And thus adjures him with extended hands:

 *[Footnote: Priam was the old king of Troy, father of Hector. ] *[Footnote: _Orion's dog_ means Sirius, the dog star, which was believed by the ancients to be a star of very bad omen. ] *[Footnote: _Obtests_ means _entreats_. ] *[Footnote: _Expects_ here means _awaits_. ]

 "Ah stay not, stay not! guardless and alone; Hector! my loved, my dearest, bravest son! Mehinks already I behold thee slain, And stretch'd beneath that fury of the plain, Implacable Achilles! might'st thou be To all the gods no dearer than to me! Thee, vultures wild should scatter round the shore, And bloody dogs grow fiercer from thy gore. How many valiant sons I late enjoy'd, Valiant in vain! by thy cursed arm destroy'd, Or, worse than slaughter'd, sold in distant isles To shameful bondage, and unworthy toils, What sorrows then must their sad mother know, What anguish I? unutterable woe! Yet less that anguish, less to her, to me, Less to all Troy, if not deprived of thee. Yet shun Achilles! enter yet the wall; And spare thyself, thy father, spare us all! Save thy dear life; or, if a soul so brave Neglect that thought, thy dearer glory save. Pity, while yet I live, these silver hairs; While yet thy father feels the woes he bears, Yet cursed with sense! a wretch, whom in his rage (All trembling on the verge of helpless age) Great Jove has placed, sad spectacle of pain! The bitter dregs of fortune's cup to drain: To fill the scenes of death his closing eyes, And number all his days by miseries! Who dies in youth and vigor, dies the best, Struck through with wounds, all honest on the breast. But when the Fates* in fulness of their rage Spurn the hoar head of unresisting age, In dust the reverend lineaments deform, And pour to dogs the life-blood scarcely warm: This, this is misery! the last, the worst, That man can feel! man, fated to be cursed!"

 *[Footnote: The Fates were thought of by the ancient peoples as three old women, who spun the thread of human life, twisted it, and cut it off whenever they thought it was long enough. ]

 He said, and acting what no words could say, Rent from his head the silver locks away. With him the mournful mother bears a part; Yet all her sorrow turn not Hector's heart. The zone unbraced, her bosom she display'd; And thus, fast-falling the salt tears, she said:

 "Have mercy on me, O my son! revere The words of age; attend a parent's prayer! If ever thee in these fond arms I press'd, Or still'd thy infant clamors at this breast; Ah, do not thus our helpless years forego, But, by our walls secured, repel the foe. "

 So they, * while down their cheeks the torrents roll; But fix'd remains the purpose of his soul; Resolved he stands, and with a fiery glance Expects the hero's terrible advance. So, roll'd up in his den, the swelling snake Beholds the traveller approach the brake; When fed with noxious herbs his turgid veins Have gather'd half the poisons of the plains; He burns, he stiffens with collected ire, And his red eyeballs glare with living fire. * Beneath a turret, on his shield reclined, He stood, and question'd thus his mighty mind:

 *[Footnote: The word _spoke_ is omitted here. ] *[Footnote: Homer is famous for such comparisons as these. If you ever come across the term "Homeric simile, " you may know that it means such a long, carefully worked out comparison as this. ]

 "Where lies my way? to enter in the wall? Honor and shame the ungenerous thought recall: Shall proud Polydamas* before the gate Proclaim, his counsels are obeyed too late, Which timely follow'd but the former night What numbers had been saved by Hector's flight? That wise advice rejected with disdain, I feel my folly in my people slain. Methinks my suffering country's voice I hear, But most her worthless sons insult my ear, On my rash courage charge the chance of war, And blame those virtues which they cannot share. No--if I e'er return, return I must Glorious, my country's terror laid in dust: Or if I perish, let her see me fall In field at least, and fighting for her wall. "

 *[Footnote: Polydamas, a Trojan hero and a friend of Hector's, had previously advised prudence and retreat within the wall. ]

 Thus pondering, like a god the Greek drew nigh; His dreadful plumage nodded from on high; The Pelian* javelin, in his better hand, Shot trembling rays that glitter'd o'er the land; And on his breast the beamy splendor shone, Like Jove's own lightning, o'er the rising sun. As Hector sees, unusual terrors rise; Struck by some god, he fears, recedes, and flies. He leaves the gates, he leaves the wall behind: Achilles follows like the winged wind. Thus at the panting dove a falcon flies (The swiftest racer of the liquid skies), Just when he holds, or thinks he holds his prey, Obliquely wheeling through the aerial way, With open beak and shrilling cries he springs, And aims his claws, and shoots upon his wings: No less fore-right* the rapid chase they held, One urged by fury, one by fear impell'd: Now circling round the walls their course maintain, Where the high watch-tower overlooks the plain; Now where the fig-trees spread their umbrage broad, (A wider compass), smoke along the road. Next by Scamander's* double source they bound, Where two famed fountains burst the parted ground; This hot through scorching clefts is seen to rise, With exhalations streaming to the skies; That the green banks in summer's heat o'erflows, Like crystal clear, and cold as winter snows: Each gushing fount a marble cistern fills, Whose polished bed receives the falling rills; Where Trojan dames (ere yet alarm'd by Greece) Wash'd their fair garments in the days of peace. * By these they pass'd, one chasing, one in flight The mighty fled, pursued by stronger might: Swift was the course; no vulgar prize they play, No vulgar victim must reward the day: Such as in races crown the speedy strife: The prize contended was great Hector's life. 

 *[Footnote: _Pelian_ is an adjective formed from _Peleus_, the name of the father of Achilles. ] *[Footnote: _Fore-right_ means _straight forward_. ] *[Footnote: The Scamander was a famous river that flowed near the city of Troy. According to the _Iliad_, its source was two springs, one a cold and one a hot spring. ] *[Footnote: It was not, in these very ancient times, thought beneath the dignity of even a princess to wash her linen in some clear river or spring. ]

 As when some hero's funerals are decreed In grateful honor of the mighty dead;* Where high rewards the vigorous youth inflame (Some golden tripod, or some lovely dame) The panting coursers swiftly turn the goal, And with them turns the raised spectator's soul: Thus three times round the Trojan wall they fly. The gazing gods lean forward from the sky. *

 *[Footnote: The favorite way, among the ancients, of doing honor to a man after his death was to hold a sort of a funeral festival, where contests in running, wrestling, boxing, and other feats of strength and skill were held. ] *[Footnote: The gods play a very important part in the _Iliad_. Sometimes, as here, they simply watch the struggle from their home above Olympus; sometimes, as in the first lines of this selection, they actually descend to the battlefield and take part in the contest. ]

 As through the forest, o'er the vale and lawn, The well-breath'd beagle drives the flying fawn, In vain he tries the covert of the brakes, Or deep beneath the trembling thicket shakes; Sure of the vapor* in the tainted dews, The certain hound his various maze pursues. Thus step by step, where'er the Trojan wheel'd, There swift Achilles compass'd round the field. Oft as to reach the Dardan* gates he bends, And hopes the assistance of his pitying friends, (Whose showering arrows, as he coursed below, From the high turrets might oppress the foe), So oft Achilles turns him to the plain: He eyes the city, but he eyes in vain. As men in slumbers seem with speedy pace, One to pursue, and one to lead the chase, Their sinking limbs the fancied course forsake, Nor this can fly, nor that can overtake; No less the laboring heroes pant and strain: While that but flies, and this pursues in vain. 

 *[Footnote: _Vapor_ here means _scent_. ] *[Footnote: _Dardan_ is an old word for _Trojan_. ]

 What god, O Muse, * assisted Hector's force With fate itself so long to hold the course? Phoebus* it was; who, in his latest hour, Endued his knees with strength, his nerves with power. And great Achilles, lest some Greek's advance Should snatch the glory from his lifted lance, Sign'd to the troops to yield his foe the way, And leave untouch'd the honors of the day. 

 *[Footnote: The Muses were nine sister goddesses who inspired poetry and music. No ancient Greek poet ever undertook to write without first seeking the aid of the Muse who presided over the particular kind of poetry that he was writing. Homer here addresses Calliope, the Muse of epic poetry. ] *[Footnote: Phoebus is Apollo, whom at the opening of this selection we found aiding Hector by misleading Achilles. ]

 Jove* lifts the golden balances, that show The fates of mortal men, and things below: Here each contending hero's lot he tries, And weighs, with equal hand, their destinies. Low sinks the scale surcharged with Hector's fate; Heavy with death it sinks, and hell receives the weight. 

 *[Footnote: Jove, or Jupiter, was the king of gods and men. ]

 Then Phoebus left him. Fierce Minerva* flies To stern Pelides, * and triumphing, cries: "O loved of Jove! this day our labors cease, And conquest blazes with full beams on Greece. Great Hector falls; that Hector famed so far, Drunk with renown, insatiable of war, Falls by thy hand, and mine! nor force, nor flight, Shall more avail him, nor his god of light. * See, where in vain he supplicates above, Roll'd at the feet of unrelenting Jove; Rest here: myself will lead the Trojan on, And urge to meet the fate he cannot shun. "

 *[Footnote: Minerva, goddess of wisdom, was the special protector of the Greeks. Throughout the struggle she was anxious to take part against the Trojans, but much of the time Jupiter would not let her fight; he allowed her merely to advise. ] *[Footnote: The ending--_ides_ means _son of_. Thus Pelides means _son of Peleus. _] *[Footnote: The _god of light_ was Apollo. ]

 Her voice divine the chief with joyful mind Obey'd; and rested, on his lance reclined, While like Deïphobus* the martial dame (Her face, her gesture, and her arms the same), In show and aid, by hapless Hector's side Approach'd, and greets him thus with voice belied:

 *[Footnote: Deïphobus was one of the brothers of Hector. Minerva assumes his form, and deceives Hector into thinking that his brother has come to aid him. ]

 "Too long, O Hector! have I borne the sight Of this distress, and sorrow'd in thy flight: It fits us now a noble stand to make, And here, as brothers, equal fates partake. "

 Then he: "O prince! allied in blood and fame, Dearer than all that own a brother's name; Of all that Hecuba* to Priam bore, Long tried, long loved: much loved, but honor'd more! Since you, of all our numerous race alone Defend my life, regardless of your own. "

 *[Footnote: _Hecuba_ was the name of Hector's mother. ]

 Again the goddess:* "Much my father's prayer, And much my mother's, press'd me to forbear: My friends embraced my knees, adjured my stay, But stronger love impell'd, and I obey. Come then, the glorious conflict let us try, Let the steel sparkle, and the javelin fly; Or let us stretch Achilles on the field, Or to his arm our bloody trophies yield. "

 *[Footnote: _Spoke_, or _said_, is understood here. ]

 Fraudful she said; then swiftly march'd before: The Dardan hero shuns his foe no more. Sternly they met. The silence Hector broke: His dreadful plumage nodded as he spoke;

 "Enough, O son of Peleus! Troy has view'd Her walls thrice circled, and her chief pursued But now some god within me bids me try Thine, or my fate: I kill thee, or I die. Yet on the verge of battle let us stay, And for a moment's space suspend the day; Let Heaven's high powers be call'd to arbitrate The just conditions of this stern debate (Eternal witnesses of all below, And faithful guardians of the treasured vow)! To them I swear; if, victor in the strife, Jove by these hands shall shed thy noble life, No vile dishonor shall thy corse pursue; Stripp'd of its arms alone (the conqueror's due) The rest to Greece uninjured I'll restore: Now plight thy mutual oath, I ask no more. "*

 *[Footnote: It meant more to an ancient Greek to have his body given up to his family, that it might be buried with proper rite's, than it does to a modern soldier, for the Greeks believed that the soul could not find rest until the body was properly buried. This makes the refusal of Achilles to agree to Hector's request seem all the more cruel. ]

 "Talk not of oaths" (the dreadful chief replies, While anger flash'd from his disdainful eyes), "Detested as thou art, and ought to be, Nor oath nor pact Achilles plights with thee: Such pacts as lambs and rabid wolves combine, Such leagues as men and furious lions join, To such I call the gods! one constant state Of lasting rancor and eternal hate:

 No thought but rage, and never-ceasing strife Till death extinguish rage, and thought, and life. Rouse then my forces this important hour, Collect thy soul, and call forth all thy power. No further subterfuge, no further chance; Tis Pallas, * Pallas gives thee to my lance. Each Grecian ghost, by thee deprived of breath, Now hovers round, and calls thee to thy death. "

 *[Footnote: _Pallas_ was another name for Minerva. ]

 He spoke, and launch'd his javelin at the foe; But Hector shunn'd the meditated blow: He stoop'd, while o'er his head the flying spear, Sang innocent, and spent its force in air. Minerva watch'd it falling on the land, Then drew, and gave to great Achilles' hand, Unseen of Hector, who, elate with joy, Now shakes his lance, and braves the dread of Troy. 

 "The life you boasted to that javelin given, Prince! you have miss'd. My fate depends on Heaven. To thee, presumptuous as thou art, unknown, Or* what must prove my fortune, or thy own. Boasting is but an art, our fears to blind, And with false terrors sink another's mind. But know, whatever fate I am to try, By no dishonest wound shall Hector die. I shall not fall a fugitive at least, My soul shall bravely issue from my breast. But first, try thou my arm; and may this dart End all my country's woes, deep buried in thy heart. "

 *[Footnote: _Or_ is here used instead of _either_. ]

 The weapon flew, its course unerring held, Unerring, but the heavenly* shield repell'd The mortal dart; resulting with a bound From off the ringing orb it struck the ground. Hector beheld his javelin fall in vain, Nor other lance, nor other hope remain; He calls Deïphobus, demands a spear-- In vain, for no Deïphobus was there. All comfortless he stands: then, with a sigh: "'Tis so--Heaven wills it, and my hour is nigh! I deem'd Deïphobus had heard my call, But he secure lies guarded in the wall. A god deceived me: Pallas, 'twas thy deed, Death and black fate approach; 'tis I must bleed. No refuge now, no succor from above. Great Jove deserts me, and the son of Jove, * Propitious once, and kind! Then welcome fate! 'Tis true I perish, yet I perish great: Yet in a mighty deed I shall expire, Let future ages hear it, and admire!"

 *[Footnote: The armor of Achilles had been made for him by Vulcan, god of fire. ] *[Footnote: This reference is to Apollo. ]

[Illustration: BEFORE HIS BREAST THE FLAMING SHIELD HE BEARS]

 Fierce, at the word, his weighty sword he drew, And, all collected, on Achilles flew. So Jove's bold bird, * high balanced in the air, Stoops from the clouds to truss the quivering hare. Nor less Achilles his fierce soul prepares: Before his breast the flaming shield he bears Refulgent orb! above his fourfold cone The gilded horse-hair sparkled in the sun, Nodding at every step (Vulcanian frame!): And as he moved, his figure seem'd on flame. As radiant Hesper* shines with keener light, Far-beaming o'er the silver host of night, When all the starry train emblaze the sphere: So shone the point of great Achilles' spear. In his right hand he waves the weapon round, Eyes the whole man, and meditates the wound; But the rich mail Patroclus* lately wore Securely cased the warrior's body o'er. One space at length he spies, to let in fate, Where 'twixt the neck and throat the jointed plate Gave entrance: through that penetrable part Furious he drove the well-directed dart: Nor pierced the windpipe yet, nor took the power Of speech, unhappy! from thy dying hour. Prone on the field the bleeding warrior lies, While, thus triumphing, stern Achilles cries:

 *[Footnote: The eagle was sacred to Jove. ] *[Footnote: _Hesper_ was the old name for Venus, the evening star, the brightest of the planets. ] *[Footnote: Patroclus was the friend of Achilles, whom Hector had killed. Hector had, after the usual custom, taken possession of the armor of Patroclus, which had originally belonged to Achilles. ]

 "At last is Hector stretch'd upon the plain, Who fear'd no vengeance for Patroclus slain: Then, prince! you should have fear'd what now you feel; Achilles absent was Achilles still: Yet a short space the great avenger stayed, Then low in dust thy strength and glory laid. Peaceful he sleeps, with all our rites adorn'd, Forever honor'd, and forever mourn'd: While cast to all the rage of hostile power, Thee birds shall mangle, and the dogs' devour. "

 Then Hector, fainting at the approach of death: By thy own soul! by those who gave thee breath! By all the sacred prevalence of prayer; Oh, leave me not for Grecian dogs to tear! The common rites of sepulture bestow, To soothe a father's and a mother's woe: Yet their large gifts procure an urn at least, And Hector's ashes in his county rest. "

 "No, wretch accursed!" relentless he replies (Flames, as he spoke, shot flashing from his eyes); "Not those who gave me breath should bid me spare, For all the sacred prevalence of prayer, Would I myself the bloody banquet join! So--to the dogs that carcase I resign. Should Troy, to bribe me, bring forth all her store, And giving thousands, offer thousands more; Should Dardan Priam, and his weeping dame, Drain their whole realm to buy one funeral flame: Their Hector on the pile they should not see. Nor rob the vultures of one limb of thee. "

 Then thus the chief his dying accents drew: "Thy rage, implacable! too well I knew: The Furies* that relentless breast have steel'd, And cursed thee with a heart that cannot yield. Yet think, a day will come, when fate's decree And angry gods shall wreak this wrong on thee; Phoebus and Paris shall avenge my fate, And stretch thee here before the Scaean gate. "

 *[Footnote: The Furies were three hideous sisters who sometimes drove people mad with rage and remorse. ]

 He ceased. The Fates suppress'd his laboring breath, And his eyes stiffen'd at the hand of death; To the dark realm the spirit wings its way (The manly body left a load of clay), And plaintive glides along the dreary coast, A naked, wandering, melancholy ghost!

 Achilles, musing as he roll'd his eyes O'er the dead hero, thus unheard, replies. "Die thou the first! When Jove and heaven ordain, I follow thee. "--He said, and stripp'd the slain. Then forcing backward from the gaping wound The reeking javelin, cast it on the ground. The thronging Greeks behold with wondering eyes His manly beauty and superior size; While some, ignobler, the great dead deface With wounds ungenerous, or with taunts disgrace. 

 "How changed that Hector, who like Jove of late Sent lightning on our fleets, and scatter'd fate!"

 High o'er the slain the great Achilles stands, Begirt with heroes and surrounding bands; And thus aloud, while all the host attends: "Princes and leaders! countrymen and friends! Since now at length the powerful will of heaven The dire destroyer to our arm has given, Is not Troy fallen already? Haste, ye powers! See, if already their deserted towers Are left unmann'd; or if they yet retain The souls of heroes, their great Hector slain. But what is Troy, or glory what to me? Or why reflects my mind on aught but thee, Divine Patroclus! Death hath seal'd his eyes; Unwept, unhonor'd, uninterr'd he lies! Can his dear image from my soul depart, Long as the vital spirit moves my heart? If in the melancholy shades below, The flames of friends and lovers cease to glow, Yet mine shall sacred last; mine, undecay'd, Burn on through death, and animate my shade. Meanwhile, ye sons of Greece, in triumph bring The corpse of Hector, and your paeans sing. Be this the song, slow-moving toward the shore, Hector is dead, and Ilion is no more. "

 Then his fell soul a thought of vengeance bred (Unworthy of himself, and of the dead); The nervous* ancles bored, his feet he bound With thongs inserted through the double wound; These fix'd up high behind the rolling wain, His graceful head was trail'd along the plain. Proud on his car the insulting victor stood, And bore aloft his arms, distilling blood. He smites the steeds; the rapid chariot flies; The sudden clouds of circling dust arise. Now lost is all that formidable air; The face divine, and long-descending hair, Purple the ground, and streak the sable sand; Deform'd, dishonor'd, in his native land, Given to the rage of an insulting throng, And, in his parents' sight, now dragg'd along!

 *[Footnote: _Nervous_ here means _strong, sinewy_. ]

 The mother first beheld with sad survey; She rent her tresses, venerable gray, And cast, far off, the regal veils away. With piercing shrieks his bitter fate she moans, While the sad father answers groans with groans. Tears after tears his mournful cheeks o'erflow, And the whole city wears one face of woe: No less than if the rage of hostile fires, From her foundations curling to her spires, O'er the proud citadel at length should rise, And the last blaze send Ilion to the skies. 

THE WOODEN HORSE

_From VERGIL'S AENEID_

NOTE. --As the _Iliad_ is the greatest of Greek poems, so the _Aeneid_ isthe greatest of Latin poems. It was written by Vergil, who lived in thefirst century B. C. , and is one of the classics which every one whostudies Latin takes up. References to it are almost as frequent inliterature as are references to the _Iliad_, to which it is closelyrelated. The translation from which this selection of the _Wooden Horse_is taken is by John Conington. 

The _Iliad_ deals with the Trojan War (see introductory note to _Deathof Hector_), while the _Aeneid_ deals with the wanderings of a Trojanhero after the fall of his city. Aeneas, from whom the _Aeneid_ takesits name, was the son of Anchises and Venus, goddess of love, and wasone of the bravest of the Trojan heroes; indeed, he was second only toHector. 

When Troy was taken by the stratagem which Aeneas describes in thisselection, he set sail with numerous followers for Italy, where fatehad ordained that he should found a great nation. Juno, however, whohated the Trojans, drove the hero from his course, and brought upon himmany sufferings. At last in his wanderings he came to the northernshore of Africa, where he found a great city, Carthage. Dido, queen ofthe Carthaginians, received Aeneas hospitably, and had prepared for hima great feast, at the conclusion of which she besought him to relate toher the story of the fall of Troy. Aeneas objected at first, as hefeared he could not endure the pain which the recital would give him, but in the end he complied with her request. 

The following selection gives the account of the stratagem by which theGreeks, after thirteen years' siege, finally took Troy. 

 Torn down by wars, Long beating 'gainst Fate's dungeon-bars, As year kept chasing year, * The Danaan* chiefs, with cunning given. By Pallas, * mountain-high to heaven A giant horse uprear, And with compacted beams of pine The texture of its ribs entwine, A vow for their return they feign: So runs the tale, and spreads amain. There in the monster's cavernous side Huge frames of chosen chiefs they hide, And steel-clad soldiery finds room Within that death-producing womb. 

 *[Footnote: The Greeks besieged Troy, or Ilium, for nine years without making much head against it, and in the tenth year succeeded in taking the city only by fraud, which Aeneas here describes. ] *[Footnote: _Danaans_ is a poetical name for the Greeks. ] *[Footnote: Pallas was Minerva, daughter of Jupiter, and one of the most powerful of the goddesses. She favored the Greeks, and longed to take their part against the Trojans, but was forbidden by Jupiter to aid them in any way except by advising them. ]

 An isle there lies in Ilium's sight, And Tenedos its name, While Priam's fortune yet was bright, Known for its wealth to fame: Now all has dwindled to a bay, Where ships in treacherous shelter stay. 

[Illustration: THE WOODEN HORSE]

 Thither they sail, and hide their host Along its desolated coast. We thought them to Mycenae* flown And rescued Troy forgets to groan. Wide stand the gates: what joy to go The Dorian camp to see, The land disburthened of the foe, The shore from vessels free! There pitched Thessalia's squadron, there Achilles' tent was set: There, drawn on land, their navies were, And there the battle met. Some on Minerva's offering gaze, And view its bulk with strange amaze: And first Thymoetes loudly calls To drag the steed within our walls, Or by suggestion from the foe, Or Troy's ill fate had willed it so. But Capys and the wiser kind Surmised the snare that lurked behind: To drown it in the whelming tide, Or set the fire-brand to its side, Their sentence is: or else to bore Its caverns, and their depths explore. In wild confusion sways the crowd: Each takes his side and all are loud. 

 *[Footnote: Mycenae was the capital city of Agamemnon, the leader of the Greeks in the Trojan War. ]

 Girt with a throng of Ilium's sons, Down from the tower Laocoön runs, And, "Wretched countrymen, " he cries, "What monstrous madness blinds your eyes? Think you your enemies removed? Come presents without wrong From Danaans? have you thus approved Ulysses, * known so long? Perchance--who knows?--the bulk we see Conceals a Grecian enemy, Or 'tis a pile to o'erlook the town, And pour from high invaders down, Or fraud lurks somewhere to destroy: Mistrust, mistrust it, men of Troy! Whate'er it be, a Greek I fear, Though presents in his hand he bear. " He spoke, and with his arm's full force Straight at the belly of the horse His mighty spear he cast: Quivering it stood: the sharp rebound Shook the huge monster; and a sound Through all its caverns passed. And then, had fate our weal designed Nor given us a perverted mind, Then had he moved us to deface The Greeks' accursed lurking-place, And Troy had been abiding still, And Priam's tower yet crowned the hill. 

 *[Footnote: Ulysses was the craftiest of the Greeks, the man to whom they appealed when in need of wise advice. ]

 Now Dardan* swains before the king With clamorous demonstration bring, His hands fast bound, a youth unknown, Across their casual pathway thrown By cunning purpose of his own, If so his simulated speech For Greece the walls of Troy might breach, Nerved by strong courage to defy The worst, and gain his end or die. The curious Trojans round him flock, With rival zeal a foe to mock. Now listen while my tongue declares The tale you ask of Danaan snares, And gather from a single charge Their catalogue of crimes at large. There as he stands, confused, unarmed, Like helpless innocence alarmed, His wistful eyes on all sides throws, And sees that all around are foes, "What land, " he cries, "what sea is left, To hold a wretch of country reft, Driven out from Greece while savage Troy Demands my blood with clamorous joy?" That anguish put our rage to flight, And stayed each hand in act to smite: We bid him name and race declare, And say why Troy her prize should spare. Then by degrees he laid aside His fear, and presently replied:

 *[Footnote: The Trojans were called _Dardans_, from Dardanus, the founder of Troy. ]

 "Truth, gracious king, is all I speak, And first I own my nation Greek: No; Sinon may be Fortune's slave; She shall not make him liar or knave, If haply to your ears e'er came Belidan Palamedes'* name, Borne by the tearful voice of Fame, Whom erst, by false impeachment sped, Maligned because for peace he pled, Greece gave to death, now mourns him dead, -- His kinsman I, while yet a boy, Sent by a needy sire to Troy. While he yet stood in kingly state, 'Mid brother kings in council great, I too had power: but when he died, By false Ulysses' spite belied (The tale is known), from that proud height I sank to wretchedness and night, And brooded in my dolorous gloom On that my guiltless kinsman's doom. Not all in silence; no, I swore, Should Fortune bring me home once more, My vengeance should redress his fate, And speech engendered cankerous hate. Thence dates my fall: Ulysses thence Still scared me with some fresh pretence, With chance-dropt words the people fired, Sought means of hurt, intrigued, conspired. Nor did the glow of hatred cool, Till, wielding Calchas* as his tool-- But why a tedious tale repeat, To stay you from your morsel sweet? If all are equal, Greek and Greek, Enough: your tardy vengeance wreak. My death will Ithacus* delights, And Atreus'* sons the boon requite. "

 *[Footnote: It was Palamedes who induced Ulysses to join in the expedition against Troy. Preferring to remain at home with his wife Penelope and his infant son Telemachus, Ulysses pretended madness, and Palamedes, when he came to beg for his aid, found him plowing up the seashore and sowing it with salt. Palamedes was quite certain that the madness was feigned, and to test it, set Telemachus in front of the plow. By turning aside his plow, Ulysses showed that he was really sane. Later Palamedes lost favor with Grecian leaders because he urged them to give up the struggle and return home. ] *[Footnote: Calchas was the most famous of the Grecian sooth-sayers or prophets. They never began any important operations until Calchas had first been consulted and had told them what the gods willed. ] *[Footnote: _Ithacus_ is a name given to Ulysses, who was from Ithaca. ] *[Footnote: The sons of Atreus were Agamemnon, leader of the Grecians, and Menelaus, King of Sparta, the theft of whose wife, Helen, was cause of the Trojan War. ]

 We press, we yearn the truth to know, Nor dream how doubly base our foe: He, faltering still and overawed, Takes up the unfinished web of fraud. "Oft had we planned to leave your shore, Nor tempt the weary conflict more. O, had we done it! sea and sky Scared us as oft, in act to fly: But chiefly when completed stood This horse, compact of maple wood, Fierce thunders, pealing in our ears, Proclaimed the turmoil of the spheres. Perplexed, Eurypylus we send To question what the fates portend, And he from Phoebus'* awful shrine Brings back the words of doom divine: 'With blood ye pacified the gales, E'en with a virgin slain, * When first ye Danaans spread your sails, The shores of Troy to gain: With blood ye your return must buy: A Greek must at the altar die. ' That sentence reached the public ear, And bred the dull amaze of fear: Through every heart a shudder ran, 'Apollo's victim--who the man?' Ulysses, turbulent and loud, Drags Calchas forth before the crowd. And questions what the immortals mean, Which way these dubious beckonings lean: E'en then were some discerned my foe, And silent watch the coming blow. Ten days the seer, with bated breath, Restrained the utterance big with death: O'erborne at last, the word agreed He speaks, and destines me to bleed. All gave a sigh, as men set free, And hailed the doom, content to see The bolt that threatened each alike One solitary victim strike. The death-day came: the priests prepare Salt cakes, and fillets for my hair; I fled, I own it, from the knife, I broke my bands and ran for life, And in a marish lay that night, While they should sail, if sail they might. No longer have I hope, ah me! My ancient fatherland to see, Or look on those my eyes desire, My darling sons, my gray-haired sire: Perhaps my butchers may requite On their dear heads my traitorous flight, And make their wretched lives atone For this, the single crime I own. O, by the gods, who all things view, And know the false man from the true, By sacred Faith, if Faith remain With mortal men preserved from stain, Show grace to innocence forlorn, Show grace to woes unduly borne!"

 *[Footnote: Phoebus Apollo, god of the sun and of prophecy. ] *[Footnote: When the Greeks set out for Troy, their ships were becalmed at Aulis, in Boeotia. Calchas consulted the signs and declared that the delay was caused by the huntress-goddess Diana, who was angry at Agamemnon for killing one of her sacred stags. Only by the death of Iphigenia, daughter of Agamemnon, could the wrathful goddess be placated. The maiden was sent for, but on her arrival at Aulis she was slain by the priest at Diana's altar. According to another version of the story, Iphigenia was not put to death, but was conveyed by Diana to Tauris, where she served as priestess in Diana's temple. ]

 Moved by his tears, we let him live, And pity crowns the boon we give: King Priam bids unloose his cords, And soothes the wretch with kindly words. "Whoe'er you are, henceforth resign All thought of Greece: be Troy's and mine: Now tell me truth, for what intent This fabric of the horse was meant; An offering to your heavenly liege? An engine for assault or siege?" Then, schooled in all Pelasgian* shifts, His unbound hands to heaven he lifts: "Ye slumberless, inviolate fires, And the dread awe your name inspires! Ye murderous altars, which I fled! Ye fillets that adorned my head! Bear witness, and behold me free To break my Grecian fealty; To hate the Greeks, and bring to light The counsels they would hide in night, Unchecked by all that once could bind, All claims of country or of kind. Thou, Troy, remember ne'er to swerve, Preserved thyself, thy faith preserve, If true the story I relate, If these, my prompt returns, be great. 

 *[Footnote: _Pelasgian_ means _Grecian_. The name is derived from that of Pelasgus, an early Greek hero. By their neighbors the Greeks were regarded as a deceitful, double-dealing nation. ]

 "The warlike hopes of Greece were stayed, E'en from the first, on Pallas' aid: But since Tydides, * impious man, And foul Ulysses, born to plan, Dragged with red hands, the sentry slain, Her fateful image* from your fane, Her chaste locks touched, and stained with gore The virgin coronal she wore, Thenceforth the tide of fortune changed, And Greece grew weak, her queen* estranged Nor dubious were the sig'ns of ill That showed the goddess' altered will. The image scarce in camp was set, Out burst big drops of saltest sweat O'er all her limbs: her eyes upraised With minatory lightnings blazed; And thrice untouched from earth she sprang With quivering spear and buckler's clang. 'Back o'er the ocean!' Calchas cries: 'We shall not make Troy's town our prize, Unless at Argos' sacred seat Our former omens we repeat, And bring once more the grace we brought When first these shores our navy sought. ' So now for Greece they cross the wave, Fresh blessings on their arms to crave, Thence to return, so Calchas rules, Unlocked for, ere your wonder cools. Premonished first, this frame they planned In your Palladium's stead to stand, An image for an image given To pacify offended Heaven. But Calchas bade them rear it high With timbers mounting to the sky, That none might drag within the gate This new Palladium of your state. For, said he, if your hands profaned The gift for Pallas' self ordained, Dire havoc--grant, ye powers, that first That fate be his!--on Troy should burst: But if, in glad procession haled By those your hands, your walls it scaled, Then Asia should our homes invade, And unborn captives mourn the raid. "

 *[Footnote: Tydides was Diomedes, son of Tydeus. The termination _-ides_ means _son of_; thus _Pelides_ is Achilles, son of Peleus. ] *[Footnote: There was in a temple of Troy an image of Minerva, or Pallas, called the _palladium_, which was supposed to have fallen from the sky. The Greeks learned of a prophecy which declared that Troy could never be taken while the palladium remained within its walls, and Ulysses and Diomedes were entrusted with the task of stealing it. In disguise they entered the city one night, procured the sacred image and bore it off to the Grecian camp. ] *[Footnote: Minerva, supposedly angered at the desecration of her statue. ]

 Such tale of pity, aptly feigned, Our credence for the perjurer gained, And tears, wrung out from fraudful eyes, Made us, e'en us, a villain's prize, 'Gainst whom not valiant Diomede, Nor Peleus' Larissaean* seed, Nor ten years' fighting could prevail, Nor navies of a thousand sail. 

 *[Footnote: Achilles. Larissa was a town in Thessaly, of which Peleus, the father of Achilles, was king. ]

[Illustration: LAOCOÖN_Statuary Group in The Vatican, Rome_]

 But ghastlier portents lay behind, Our unprophetic souls to bind. Laocoön, named as Neptune's priest, Was offering up the victim beast, When lo! from Tenedos--I quail, E'en now, at telling of the tale-- Two monstrous serpents stem the tide, And shoreward through the stillness glide. Amid the waves they rear their breasts, And toss on high their sanguine crests: The hind part coils along the deep, And undulates with sinuous sweep. The lashed spray echoes: now they reach The inland belted by the beach, And rolling bloodshot eyes of fire, Dart their forked tongues, and hiss for ire. We fly distraught: unswerving they Toward Laocoön hold their way; First round his two young sons they wreathe, And grind their limbs with savage teeth: Then, as with arms he comes to aid, The wretched father they invade And twine in giant folds: twice round His stalwart waist their spires are wound, Twice round his neck, while over all Their heads and crests tower high and tall. He strains his strength their knots to tear, * While gore and slime his fillets smear, And to the unregardful skies Sends up his agonizing cries: A wounded bull such moaning makes, When from his neck the axe he shakes, Ill-aimed, and from the altar breaks. The twin destroyers take their flight To Pallas' temple on the height; There by the goddess' feet concealed They lie, and nestle 'neath her shield. At once through Ilium's hapless sons A shock of feverous horror runs: All in Laocoön's death-pangs read The just requital of his deed, Who dared to harm with impious stroke Those ribs of consecrated oak. "The image to its fane!" they cry: "So soothe the offended deity. " Each in the labour claims his share: The walls are breached, the town laid bare: Wheels 'neath its feet are fixed to glide, And round its neck stout ropes are tied: So climbs our wall that shape of doom, With battle quickening in its womb, While youths and maidens sing glad songs, And joy to touch the harness-thongs. It comes, and, glancing terror down, Sweeps through the bosom of the town. O Ilium, city of my love! O warlike home of powers above! Four times 'twas on the threshold stayed: Four times the armour clashed and brayed. Yet on we press with passion blind, All forethought blotted from our mind, Till the dread monster we install Within the temple's tower-built wall. E'en then Cassandra's* prescient voice Forewarned us of our fatal choice-- That prescient voice, which Heaven decreed No son of Troy should hear and heed. We, careless souls, the city through, With festal boughs the fanes bestrew, And in such revelry employ The last, last day should shine on Troy. 

 *[Footnote: The death of Laocoön and his sons has always been a favorite subject in art and in poetry. (See illustration. )] *[Footnote: Cassandra was a daughter of Priam, king of Troy. She had been loved by Apollo, who bestowed on her the gift of prophecy; but she had angered him by failing to return his love, and he, unable to take back the gift, decreed that her prophecies should never be believed. All through the siege she had uttered her predictions and always they proved true; but no one ever paid heed to her warnings. ]

 Meantime Heaven shifts from light to gloom, And night ascends from Ocean's womb, Involving in her shadow broad Earth, sky, and Myrmidonian* fraud: And through the city, stretched at will, Sleep the tired Trojans, and are still. 

 *[Footnote: Here Myrmidonian means simply Grecian. ]

 And now from Tenedos set free The Greeks are sailing on the sea, Bound for the shore where erst they lay, Beneath the still moon's friendly ray: When in a moment leaps to sight On the king's ship the signal light, And Sinon, screened by partial fate, Unlocks the pine-wood prison's gate. The horse its charge to air restores, And forth the armed invasion pours. Thessander, * Sthenelus, the first, Slide down the rope: Ulysses curst, Thoas and Acamas are there, And great Pelides' youthful heir, Machaon, Menelaus, last Epeus, who the plot forecast. They seize the city, buried deep In floods of revelry and sleep, Cut down the warders of the gates, And introduce their banded mates. *

 *[Footnote: These are all Grecian heroes. ] *[Footnote: After the Greeks entered the gates the chief Trojan citizens were put to death, and the city was set on fire, Aeneas, with his little son and his aged father, escaped and took ship for Italy, accompanied by a band of followers. ]

ULYSSES

_Adapted From_ THE ODYSSEY

NOTE. --The _Odyssey_ is one of the most famous of the old Greekpoems, one that is still read and enjoyed by students of the Greeklanguage, and one that in its translations has given pleasure to manyEnglish and American readers. Its influence on the works of our bestwriters has been remarkable, and everybody wishes to know somethingabout it. 

It is in twenty-four books or parts, and tells of the wanderings andadventures of the Greek hero, Ulysses, king of Ithaca, after the TrojanWar. His wanderings lasted for ten years, but most of the _Odyssey_ istaken up with the events that happened in the last few weeks of thistime, during which period, at intervals, Ulysses himself tells the storyof his wanderings, winning everywhere the sympathy and admiration ofthose to whom he tells it. 

It is customary to speak of the _Odyssey_ as one of Homer's poems, butthe probability is that it was written at different times by differentpeople, and at a date later than that at which the _Iliad_ was written. One of the standard translations of the _Odyssey_ is that of AlexanderPope, which is followed in this story. The tale has of necessity beenvery much abridged; the details of the journeyings of Ulysses areomitted entirely, and the emphasis is placed on his return home. 

 * * * * *

When Ulysses departed to join in the Trojan War, he left his wifePenelope and his young son Telemachus at home. He was one of theforemost of the Greek chieftains in the Trojan War, and his deeds are aprominent part of the story in the _Iliad_. 

After Ulysses had been many years absent, he was thought by most of hisfriends to be dead, and many disorders grew up in his kingdom. Mostdisturbing of all was the fact that many wicked and treacherous mencame about Penelope as suitors for her hand, claiming that there was noreason why she should not marry, as her husband had not been heard ofsince the Trojan War, and had undoubtedly long since died. BothPenelope and Telemachus still clung to the thought that Ulysses mightbe living, and the mother would by no means consent to taking anotherhusband. 

At this time the gods in council decided that Ulysses should be broughtback home, and accordingly Telemachus was inspired to travel in searchof his father. Hoping that his journey might be successful, Telemachus, guided by Minerva in the shape of the wise old Mentor, set out on hislong and trying journey. In time he learned that his father was stillliving, and had been held for many years in the Island of Calypso. During the absence of Telemachus, the suitors of Penelope planned todestroy him on his voyage home, but failed to accomplish their purpose. 

After much persuasion by the gods, Calypso was induced to releaseUlysses, and he, building a boat with his own hands, set out on hishomeward journey, but in a terrible tempest was shipwrecked and barelyescaped with his life, being rescued by a princess to whom he tells thestory of his journeyings. 

He told how at one time he was in a ship driven by a tempest far fromshore, and finally landed upon the flowery coast of the land of Lotus, where he found a hospitable race who lived a lazy, happy life, eatingand drinking the things which nature provided them. So divinely sweetwere the lotus leaves that whosoever ate them were willing to quit hishouse, his country and his friends, and wish for no other home than theenchanting land where the lotus plant flourished. 

Denying themselves the pleasure of tasting the lotus leaves, Ulyssesand his men sailed from the coast to the land of Cyclops, where theywere appalled by the sight of a shepherd, enormous in size, unlike anyhuman being, for he had but one eye, and that a huge one in the centerof his forehead. Ulysses with a few of his men landed upon the shoreand visited the giant's cavern home. While they were inspecting thisstrange place, the monster returned, bearing on his back half a forestwhich he cast down at the door, where it thundered as it fell. Afterbuilding a huge fire, the giant entered the cavern, and in a voice ofthunder asked Ulysses who he was, and why he came to this shore. Ulysses explained, and for an answer the huge Cyclops seized two of thefollowers of Ulysses, dashed them against the stony floor, and like amountain beast devoured them utterly, draining the blood from theirbodies and sucking the marrow from their bones. 

[Illustration: ULYSSES OUTWITTED THE CYCLOPS]

After satisfying his hunger, the monster slept upon the ground, and allnight long Ulysses and his followers lay in deadly terror. The next dayUlysses gave the giant wine, and when he was sleeping in a drunkenstupor, the Greek hero took a green stick, and heating it until itburnt and sparkled a fiery red, thrust its flaming point into the onlyeye the Cyclops had. 

Raging with pain, the monster stumbled about the cave trying withoutsuccess to find Ulysses and his followers, though he did discover thedoor, and stationed himself there to prevent their escape. In the cavewere the great sheep that made the herd of the Cyclops, and throwingthemselves beneath the animals and clinging to their wool, Ulysses andhis followers escaped through the door, while the blind giant wastouching his sheep one by one to see that nothing but sheep passed out. Soon the hero and his men were safe on board the ship, though theynarrowly escaped destruction from a big boulder that the giant threwinto the sea when he discovered that his victims had made their escape. 

Aeolus, ruler of the winds, anxious to aid Ulysses, gave him prosperouswinds and tied the treacherous winds up in a bag, but some of thecurious mariners untied the bag, and the conflicting winds escaping, destroyed several of the ships and threw Ulysses and the survivors uponthe island of Circe. 

This famed enchantress, following her usual custom, turned thefollowers of Ulysses into swine, but he, aided by Mercury, releasedthem from their enchantment. 

After a year's stay on this island, he was urged by Circe to make adescent into the Infernal Regions, where he saw the tortures inflictedupon the wicked who had died before him. On his return he was sent uponanother voyage, where he met the Sirens, who lured some of his men todestruction by their charming songs; but Ulysses himself escaped byhaving himself chained to the mast. He sailed between Scylla andCharybdis safely, though he lost some of his men in the terriblepassage. 

After Ulysses told in full his story, the kindly princess put him onboard a magic ship and sent him to Ithaca, where he was placed on shorewith all his treasures, though he did not at first know where he was. 

However, he finally learned that he was home again, and visited thehouse of a favorite servant, who gave him a full account of what hadhappened during his absence. 

In the meantime Telemachus returned home, having learned that hisfather was still living; and, directed by the gods, he went to thehouse of the same old servant with whom Ulysses had taken refuge. Thatnight the father and son recognized each other, and after a joyfulreunion they lay down to rest, having decided that in the morningTelemachus should repair to the palace and tell Penelope that herhusband was still alive, but leave her in ignorance of the fact that hewas near at hand. 

In the rosy light of the morning the young prince hastened across thedewy lawn on his way to his mother. When he reached the palace hepropped his spear against the wall, leaped like a lion over thethreshold, hastened with running steps across the hall, and threwhimself into the arms of his loving mother. The passionate joy of theirmeeting was shadowed only by the story that Telemachus had to tell, yetthe story was lightened somewhat by the knowledge that Ulysses stilllived, though under enchantment, and might in time be able to return tohis kingdom. 

Penelope, knowing that her husband was still living, became more thanever incensed at the outrageous conduct of the suitors, who hadquartered themselves in her palace and were living in luxury and vice. However, even with Telemachus at her side, it was impossible to driveout the powerful men, so that she felt compelled still to endure theirunwelcome presence. 

According to the plans made by Ulysses and his son, the former aboutthis time started for the palace, clothed like a beggar, with a scripflung over his shoulders around his patched and ragged gown. Leaningupon a rude staff which his old servant had given him, Ulysses and hisservant passed along the road and descended into the town. 

On the way they met a most wicked and treacherous former servant ofUlysses, who, now risen to power, insulted the beggared chief by wordand blow. It was with difficulty that Ulysses restrained himself, forall his mighty rage was roused, and he swung his staff as though tostrike his insulter dead. However, remembering what was at stake, heconquered himself and endured the insults. 

As they drew near the gates of the city, they saw lying in the filth ofthe gutter an old, decrepit dog, who had been the pet and joy ofUlysses before he left for war. Argus was now grown old and feeble, andhad been kicked from the palace by the cruel servants and left tostarve in the street. No sooner, however, had the chieftain approachedthan Argus knew his master, and dragged himself, panting, to kiss thefeet of the returned hero. 

Ulysses, recognizing the dog, exclaimed, "See this noble beast lyingabandoned in the gutter! Once he was vigorous, bold and young; swift asa stag, and strong as a lion. Now he lies dying from hunger. Surely hisage deserves some care. Was he merely a worthless beauty, and is hedespised for that reason?"

"No, " replied the servant, "he once belonged to Ulysses, but since thechieftain left his home, nothing restrains the servants; and where riotreigns there can be no humanity. 

"Whenever man makes himself a slave, half his worth is taken away. "

While they were speaking, Argus raised his head, took one last look athis master, and closed his eyes forever. 

A moment later, Ulysses, a despicable figure, old and poor, in raggedclothing, trembling and leaning on his staff, rested against the pillarof his own gate. Telemachus was the first to see his father, andordered that food should be given the poor beggar, and that he shouldbe invited to enter the hall and share the comforts of the palace. Theexperiences of the poor old mendicant in the palace were more tryingthan any that he had had, for he met with nothing but insults and abusefrom the assembled suitors, in spite of the fact that Telemachus morethan once urged them to be generous, and himself set the examplerepeatedly. 

Once only did Ulysses give way to his rage, and that was when anotherbeggar insulted him and challenged him to fight. Then Ulysses spreadhis broad shoulders, braced his limbs, expanded his ample chest, andstruck but once with his powerful right arm. Although he expended buthalf his strength, the blow crushed the jaw-bone of the beggar, andfelled him, stunned and quivering, to the ground, while from his mouthand nostrils poured a stream of purple blood. 

This happened in the street before the palace, and Ulysses, taking nonotice of his fallen foe, flung his tattered scrip across his shoulder, knotted the thong around his waist, and returned to the palace, wherethe nobles joined in sarcastic compliments on his strength. 

While Ulysses hung about the palace in beggar's garb, only one personrecognized him, and that was his old nurse Euryclea, who saw upon hisknee a scar, that came from a wound which he had received when a youthin hunting a wild boar. Then the old nurse had tended the wound, andnow she knew at once her fallen master. With difficulty Ulyssesrestrained her joy, and urged her to keep his secret till the time cameto disclose it. 

While these things were happening, the suitors grew more and moreinsistent, and at a great banquet in the palace they became so riotousthat both Penelope and Telemachus knew that something must be done. 

Ulysses was subjected to continual insult, and the suitors, quarrelingamong themselves, insisted that Penelope should give them some definiteanswer. 

Finally the queen and her son perfected a plan and announced to thesuitors that at a certain time after the feast the queen would decidewhich she would accept. Penelope then went to the inmost room of thepalace and unlocked the door where the royal treasures lay, and takingfrom among them the great bow which Ulysses had carried, and the quiverthat contained his arrows, she brought them down to the hall. This bowwas a gift to Ulysses in his youth, and the warrior had used it in manya fierce combat, but so powerful was it that none but himself couldbend it. 

Taking the bow before the assembled suitors, the majestic queen spokeas follows: "You make vain pretense that you love me; you speak of meas a prize, and you say you seek me as a wife. Now hear the conditionsunder which I will decide, and commence the trial. Whichever one of youshall first bend the bow of Ulysses, and send a fleet arrow through theeyes of twelve axes truly arranged, him will I follow, leaving thishome which has been my delight and which now has come to be but atorture to me. "

She spoke carefully, and at the same time showed the rings and the bow. But as she touched the powerful weapon, thoughts of her lost kingfilled her eyes with tears. 

The suitors did not like the plan Penelope proposed, but saw no otherway to gratify their hopes. Although they objected, Telemachus insistedthat Ulysses should be present at the trial, and that he himself shouldbe the first to make the attempt, for he said, "If I win, then will mymother go with me. "

Three times Telemachus twanged the bow, and three times his arrows spedalong the hall, each time missing by a narrower margin the difficultmark. As he was about to make the fourth attempt, Ulysses signaled himto stop, feeling sure that on this trial the young man would succeed. 

Disappointed and grieving, Telemachus obeyed, saying, "I have failed, but it is because of my youth and not my weakness. So let the suitorstry. "

The first to make the attempt was Leiodes, a blameless priest, the bestof all the suitors, the only one in the throng who was a decent man, and who detested the conduct of the wretches who hung about the queen. However strong his heart, his feeble fingers were not able to bend thebow, and in despair he passed it on to the next. One after another thesuitors tried and failed, till only two remained; but they were themightiest and the best. 

At this point Ulysses, still in disguise, summoned two of his oldservants, the masters of his herds and flocks, and with them passed outof the banquet hall. Once by themselves, the king made himself known, and in a moment both the men were at his feet, embracing his knees andshedding tears of joy and gratitude. 

Without delay, Ulysses spoke, "We have no time now to indulge inunseemly joy. Our foes are too numerous and too fierce, and almostbefore we know it some one may betray us. Let us return to the banquetseparately; I first, and you following me a few moments later. Tell noone who I am, but when the remaining suitors refuse to allow me to makethe attempt with the bow, you, Eumaeus, bring the instrument at once. In the meantime lock every gate of the palace, and set some woman tolock each door within and leave it locked, no matter what sound ofarms, or shouts, or dying groans they hear. You, Philaetius, guard themain gate to the palace; guard it faithfully with your life!"

When Ulysses was within, he spoke to the two powerful suitors asfollows: "Take my advice, noble lords, let the bow rest in peace thisday, and tomorrow dispute for the prize. But as you delay the contest, let me take the bow for one moment and prove to you that I whom youdespise may yet have in my feeble arm some of its ancient force. "

Antinous, with lightning flashing from his eyes, yet with some terrorat the bold carriage of the beggar, cried, "Is it not enough, Omiserable guest, that you should sit in our presence, should beadmitted among princes? Remember how the Centaur was treated; draggedfrom the hall, his nose shortened and his ears slit. Such a fate may beyours. "

But the queen interfered, saying, "It is impious to shame this strangerguest who comes at the request of our son Telemachus. Who knows butthat he may have strength to draw the bow? Virtue is the path topraise; wrong and oppression can bring no renown. From his bearing, andfrom his face and his stature, we know our guest can have descendedfrom no vulgar race. Let him try the bow, and if he wins he shall havea new sword, a spear, a rich cloak, fine embroidered sandals, and asafe conveyance to his home. "

"O royal mother, " interrupted Telemachus, "grant me a son's just right!No one but a Grecian prince has power to grant or deny the use of thisbow. My father's arms have descended to me alone. I beg you, O queen, return to your household tasks and leave us here together. The bow andthe arms of chivalry belong to man alone, and most of all these belongto me. "

With admiration for her manly son, Penelope left the banquet hall andreturned to her chamber, where she sat revolving in her mind her son'swords, while thoughts of his noble father brought abundant tears to hereyes. 

In the hall was riot, noise, and wild uproar as Euinaeus started toplace the bow in the hand of Ulysses. 

"Go back to thy den, far away from the society of men, or we will throwyou to your dogs!" cried the crowd of disappointed suitors to thetrembling servant. 

"Slight their empty words, listen not to them, " shouted Telemachus. "Are you so foolish as to think you can please so many lords? If yougive not the bow to the suppliant, my hands shall drive you from theland, and if I were strong enough I would expel this whole shoal oflawless men. " Thus encouraged, Euinaeus handed the great bow to theking. 

In the meantime the gates had been closed, and Philaetius secured themwith strong cables, after which he returned silent to the banquet room, and took his seat with his eyes upon his lord. 

In his hands Ulysses turned the bow on all sides, and viewed it overand over, wondering if time had weakened it, or other injury had cometo it during his long absence. Snarling in anger, the suitors spokederisively, but the chieftain disdained reply, and continued with exacteye to study every inch of his weapon. Then with ease he held the bowaloft in one hand, and with the other tried its strength. It twangedshort and sharp like the shrill cry of a swallow. Every face paled, anda general horror ran through all present, for from the skies thelightning burst, and Jove thundered loudly on high. 

Then sitting as he was, Ulysses fitted an arrow to the string and drewback, leveling his eye to every ring. Then with a mighty pull, he drewback the bow and gave the arrow wing. Straight it left the string, andstraight it passed through every ring and struck the gate behind, piercing even the solid wood through and through. 

[Illustration: ULYSSES GAVE THE ARROW WING ]

"I have brought no shame to you, " said Ulysses, turning to Telemachus, "nor has my hand proved unfaithful to my aim. I have not lost myancient vigor, and ill did I deserve the disdain of these haughtypeers. Let them go and find comfort among themselves, if they can, inmusic and banqueting. "

Even as Ulysses spoke, Telemachus girded on his shining sword, seized ajavelin, and took his stand at his father's side. 

From that moment Ulysses ceased to be the beggar, and stripped of hisrags he stood forth like a god, full before the faces of the astonishedsuitors. He lifted his bow, and threw before his feet a rattling showerof darts. 

"We have another game to play this day, O coward princes!" heexclaimed. "Another mark we must reach with our arrows. May Phoebusassist us, and our labor not be in vain!"

With the last word, the great chieftain loosed his arrow, and on itswing death rode to Antinous, who at that moment had raised a goldenbowl from which to drink. The fateful arrow passed through his neck, and he fell upon the floor, and the wine from the tumbling gobletmingled with his blood. 

The rest of the suitors were confounded at what they saw, and throngedthe hall tumultously, half in fear and half in anger. 

"Do you aim at princes?" they cried. "This is the last of the unhappygames you shall play. Death now awaits you, and vultures shall tearyour body. "

"Dogs, you have had your day, " the Greek warrior spoke. "You thoughtthere was no further fear of Ulysses, and here you have squandered hiswealth, made his house your home, and preyed upon his servants. Worsethan all, fired by frenzy, you have claimed even the wife of yourchieftain. You have known neither shame nor dread of the gods, and nowis come the hour of vengeance. Behold your King!"

The confused suitors stood around with pale cheeks and guilty headsbefore the dreadful words of Ulysses. 

Eurymachus alone was bold enough to speak. "If you are indeed Ulysses, great are your wrongs, for your property has been, squandered, and riotand debauchery have filled your palace. But at your feet now liesAntinous, whose wild ambition meant to slay your son and divide yourkingdom. Since he is dead, spare the rest of your people. Our gold andtreasures shall defray the expense, and the waste of years shall berefunded to you within the day. Until then, your wrath is just. "

With high disdain the king thus sternly spoke, "All the treasures thatwe had before you began your pillage, joined with all your own, wouldnot bring you mercy. I demand your blood and your lives as prizes, andshall not cease till every one of you lies as pale as yonder wretchupon the floor. You have but one choice--to fight or to fly. "

All the great assembly trembled with guilty fears excepting Eurymachusalone, who calling upon the others to follow him, drew his traitorsword, and rushed like a lion against his lord. 

As they met, Ulysses turned aside the sword of his rushing foe, andforced his own through the traitor's breast. Eurymachus dropped hissword from his weakening hand, and fell prone upon the table, breakingit to the ground, and scattering the rich viands over the marble floor. 

Almost at the same moment Amphinomus rushed forward to the attack, butTelemachus drove his brazen spear through the breast of the fierce foe, who fell crashing to the stones. 

"Arm! great father, arm!" cried Telemachus. "In haste I run for otherarms and missiles, for helmet and shield. Let the two servants standfaithfully by your side till I return. "

"Haste!" replied Ulysses, "lest the host come upon us all at once, andwe be driven from our post. "

Telemachus flew to the room where the royal armor lay, and brought withhim four brazen helmets, eight shining spears, and four broad shields. Still among the coward princes the arrows of Ulysses were flying, eachcarrying death to an enemy. Each placed a helmet upon his head, andbuckled on an armor, and thus clothed, the four stood shoulder toshoulder, awaiting the onset, for by this time the surviving princeshad remembered the strength that lay in their numbers, and prepared tocharge together upon the king and his attendants. 

Now Minerva, the wise goddess and friend of Ulysses, appeared againbefore him as the aged Mentor, and advised him how to fight. Then withchange of form, she suddenly perched like a swallow on a rafter high, where, unperceived, she could watch the struggle. 

The conflict that followed was a sight worthy of the gods, for againand again the traitor princes charged upon the doughty four, each timelosing some of their number; for rarely did it fail that the king andeach of his faithful adherents took at least one life from themultitude. Again and again clouds of darts threatened the life of theking and his son, but every time Minerva blew them aside, and they fell harmless upon the floor, or buried themselves in thewoodwork behind the struggling heroes. At last but three of theattacking party remained alive. First of these was Leiodes, the priest, who had first tried the bow of Ulysses. 

"O gracious king, hear my supplication! I have never dishonored yourhouse by word or deed, and often I tried to check the injustice of therest, but they never listened to my words. Do not make yourself guiltyof insult to my consecrated head. "

"Priest you are, " returned Ulysses, "but your vows have been madeagainst me, and against me have your daily prayers been said. Moreover, you aspired to the hand of my wife, and as you joined in the commoncrime against me, you deserve the common fate. "

Even as he spoke, he seized a sword from the hand of one of the deadprinces, and swung it flashing through the air, and that moment thepriest's head rolled muttering on the floor. There remained onlyPhemius, the reverend minstrel, whose poems had pleased the king inearlier days, and Medon, the faithful friend and servant of Telemachus. 

Neither had taken part in the struggle, and both were spared. 

"Be bold, " Ulysses said to them, "and rely on the friendship of my son. Live, and be to the world an example, to show how much more safe aregood than evil deeds. Go out to the open court and leave us here inthis room of blood and carnage. "

Carefully the rooms were then searched by Ulysses and his followers, but nowhere could they find a single living traitor. The dead lay onthe floor in heaps like fish that had been cast from the net upon thesands, and lie stiffening in the air. 

Ulysses was not content till he had punished every evil servant andtreacherous man and woman about the palace or in the town in proportionto his misdeeds. 

Then by the aid of Euryclea, his faithful old nurse, he robed himselfin garments fit for the shoulders of a king, and prepared to meet thequeen. 

During all this time Penelope had remained in her apartments terrifiedby the confusion and noise of fighting in the palace, but prayingalways for her son. We can imagine her surprise and delight when shelearned how the battle had turned, and that the beggar, who had foughtso manfully, was indeed none other than her husband Ulysses. 

Once more in possession of the throne, the Greek hero and his sonrapidly destroyed every vestige of the unhappy days that had passed, and soon the kingdom was again enjoying a prosperous and happy reign. 

JOHN BUNYAN

The father of John Bunyan was a poor tinker, a mender of pots andkettles, working sometimes in his own house and sometimes in the homesof others. His son followed the same occupation and did his work well. Even after he became a popular preacher and a great author he kept onwith his humble calling. It was a queer occupation for a man of genius, and scarcely any one would expect the man who followed it to write abook that would be more widely read than anything except the Bible. Evidently Bunyan was no common tinker. 

John Bunyan was born at Elstow, a village near Bedford, in 1628, a yearfamous in English history as that in which the king, Charles I, wasforced to grant the Petition of Right presented by the House ofCommons. But the commotion in politics produced little effect on fatherand child, and the latter grew up as most English boys of his time didgrow, except that he had the advantage of attending a grammar school inBedford, a greater advantage than it seems unless we remember thatthere were then no common schools in England. 

The young tinker was a violent and passionate boy, profane, and aleader in all the mischief of his kind. In his own account of his earlylife written long years afterward he accuses himself of all manner ofsins. Yet from what he says in other places we know that he was farfrom being the worst of boys, and that many things that gave him thegreatest concern were curiously exaggerated by his uneasy conscience. 

He must have been a strange little fellow, for while he was swearing, lying and leading raids upon his neighbors' fruit orchards he was oftenterrified by the awfulness of his sin and "trembling at the thoughts ofthe fearful torments of hell-fire. "

To appreciate his feelings fully, we must remember the age in which helived as the time when everything in the Bible was taken as whollyliteral, when people believed that sin was followed by awfulpunishments in a fiery hell, and when miraculous events were consideredcommon. 

The young John must have known such occurrences as the following, related by Froude in his Life of Bunyan:

"A man commonly called 'Old Tod' came one day into court, in the SummerAssizes at Bedford, to demand justice upon himself as a felon. No onehad accused him, but God's judgment was not to be escaped, and he wasforced to accuse himself. 'My lord, ' said Old Tod to the judge, 'I havebeen a thief from my childhood. I have been a thief ever since. Therehas not been a robbery committed these many years, within so many milesof this town, but I have been privy to it. ' The judge, after aconference, agreed to indict him for certain felonies which he hadacknowledged. He pleaded guilty, implicating his wife along with him, and they were both hanged. "

Filled with terror by the fearful things he heard and saw, it is nowonder that so sensitive a child was haunted by such nightmares as aredescribed by one of his biographers. 

[Illustration: JOHN BUNYAN 1628-1688]

Once he dreamed that he was in a pleasant place, jovial and rioting, when an earthquake rent the earth, out of which came bloody flames, andthe figures of men tossed up in globes of fire, and falling down againwith horrible cries and shrieks and execrations, while devils mingledamong them, and laughed aloud at their torments. As he stood trembling, the earth sank under him, and a circle of flames embraced him. . Butwhen he fancied he was at the point to perish, one in shining whiteraiment descended and plucked him out of that dreadful place, while thedevils cried after him to take him to the punishment which his sinsdeserved. Yet he escaped the danger, and leapt for joy when he awokeand found it was a dream. 

At seventeen, Bunyan was a tall, active lad still wild and reckless, aninventor of tales, who swore to their truth, a great leader in athleticsports, but free from drunkenness and other coarse vices. The Civil Warwas nearing its end, and martial deeds drew Bunyan to enlist, but histerm of service was short and it is not known on which side he served. 

Soon after this he married an excellent girl, an orphan, who had beenbrought up religiously and who made an excellent wife for thesuccessful tinker. He was now a regular attendant upon the EstablishedChurch, though, as he says, still retaining his wicked life. 

The story of Bunyan's conversion is one that is difficult for us tounderstand. To him it was a series of terrifying experiences, asuccession of agonizing struggles, which grew only the more terribleafter he was convinced of his own sinful ways. He tells the story ofhis fearful spiritual contest in the plainest, most matter-of-fact way, but scarcely mentions his home life, his daily work, or the growth ofhis family. 

To him, the Devil was a very real person, who came as a tempter andwould not be denied, long after Bunyan had completely reformed his waysand was living a life of strict honesty, purity and self-denial. Nosooner had his manner of living become perfect, as we should considerit, than mental and spiritual temptations fell upon him. He believedthat he had denied and sold his Savior; that he had committed the onesin for which no atonement was possible, and that he stood on the brinkof a very real hell in whose sulphurous flames his body would burnforever. We cannot help pitying the poor country workman whose tenderconscience and loyal soul tortured him with pains, worse a thousandtimes than those of physical death. No doubt his mind wavered in thebalance, for such agonies lead to insanity, if they are not theevidence of it. 

At last, however, his self-tormenting ceased, and his weary soul foundrest in a comforting belief in Christ's forgiveness. As a result of hisworry his health had given way, and he felt that his end was at hand. But after peace came to him and he joined the Baptist Church hisstrength came back, and for several years he kept at his business, making good progress and finding himself at twenty-five years of age ina better position in life than that to which he had been born. 

There came to him a further call, and ignorant as he was of history, literature and philosophy, he entered the ministry of his church. Heknew his Bible thoroughly, he had experienced all the terrors of thelost and all the joys of the redeemed, and he possessed that livingenthusiasm that carries conviction to others. So, when he spoke to thepeople among whom he had passed his life, he caught the imagination ofevery one and bore them all along on the flood of his eloquence. Nosuch preacher was there in England; and everywhere, in woods, in barns, on the village greens and in the chapels of the towns he preached hisreligion. 

In the height of his fame, the Commonwealth ended, the Puritans losttheir control of political affairs, and Charles II was restored to thethrone of England. Soon the separate meetings of the Nonconformistswere prohibited, and Bunyan was warned that he must cease hispreaching. No one could be more firm, however, in following thedictates of his conscience than this reformed tinker*, and so, althoughhe knew arrest and imprisonment faced him, he arranged to meet hispeople and deliver to them a farewell address in November, 1660. Atthat meeting the constables found him and took him away without anyresistance on his part. The government was anxious to deal liberallywith Bunyan, for his fine character and good influence were bothrecognized, but the sturdy exhorter declined to stop his preaching andwould not give the least assurance that he would not continue to spreadhis faith. As a consequence he was committed to the Bedford jail, wherehe was not kept, however, in close confinement for any great part ofthe time. His family were allowed to visit him, and his friends oftencame in numbers to listen to his addresses. 

There was no time when he would not have been liberated if he hadmerely promised to give up his preaching. At the end of six years hewas liberated, but as he began preaching at once, he was rearrested andkept for six years longer, when a general change of governmental policysent him out into the world at forty-four years of age, free to preachwhen and where he wished. 

Bunyan's imprisonment was of great value to him, in one respect atleast, for it gave him time to read, reflect and write. That he availedhimself of the privilege, his great works testify. After his release hecontinued his labors among his congregation, in writing, and invisiting other churches. His little blind child, who visited him sooften in the jail, died; but the rest of his family lived and did well, and Bunyan must be considered a very happy man during the sixteen yearshe stayed in his neat little home in Bedford. 

In August, 1688, he received word that a bad quarrel had taken placebetween a father and son, acquaintances of Bunyan, who lived atReading. The old peacemaker went at once to the family and after muchpersuasion succeeded in reconciling the two and persuading the fathernot to disinherit the son. But this was the last charitable act of thegreat preacher, for in returning he was drenched to the skin in a heavyshower of wind and rain, and after a brief illness died at the home ofone of his friends in London. 

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS

INTRODUCTION

The Pilgrim's Progress was written while Bunyan was in the Bedfordjail, and as the writer says, was written for his own amusement. Christian is Bunyan himself, and the trials and experiences of theformer are but the reflections of the temptations and sufferings of thegreat preacher set forth in wonderfully dramatic and striking form. 

At some time nearly every person reads _The Pilgrim's Progress_, and tothose who do, Christian becomes a very real person. It is a Puritanbook, pure and simple, and as such, contains some things that people ofother denominations may object to, but there is so much of truth, simplicity and real human nature in it, so much that touches thespiritual experiences of all human beings, that most people, regardlessof creed, are helped by it. 

_The Pilgrim's Progress_ is a very plain allegory. It describes personsand things as real and material, but always gives to everything aspiritual significance. There is no room for doubt at any time, forthe names are all so aptly chosen that the meaning may be seen by anyreader. Yet the allegory is so significantly true that while a childmay read and enjoy it as a story and be helped by its patenttruthfulness and poetry, the maturer mind may find latent truths thatcompensate for a more careful reading. 

"As I walked through the wilderness of this world, " the book begins, "Ilighted on a certain place where there was a den [Footnote: The Bedfordjail. ] and I laid me down there to sleep, and as I slept, I dreamed adream. I dreamed, and behold, I saw a man, a man clothed in rags, standing with his face from his own home, with a book in his hand, anda great burden upon his back. I looked and saw him open the book andread therein; and, as he read, he wept and trembled; and not being ablelonger to contain, he broke out with a lamentable cry, saying, 'Whatshall I do?'" This man is Christian, the hero of the story. 

CHRISTIAN BEGINS HIS JOURNEY

In this plight, therefore, he went home and refrained himself as longas he could, that his wife and children should not perceive hisdistress; but he could not be silent long, because that his troubleincreased. Wherefore at length he brake his mind to his wife andchildren; and thus he began to talk to them:

"O my dear wife, " said he, "and you, my children, I, your dear friend, am in myself undone by reason of a burden that lieth hard upon me;moreover I am for certain informed that this our city will be burnedwith fire from heaven, in which fearful overthrow, both myself, withthee, my wife, and you my sweet babes, shall miserably come to ruin, except (the which yet I see not) some way of escape can be found, whereby we may be delivered. "

At this his relations were sore amazed; not for what they believed thatwhat he had said to them, was true, but because they thought that somefrenzy distemper had got into his head; therefore, it drawing nearnight, and they hoping that sleep might settle his brains, with allhaste they got him to bed. 

But the night was as troublesome to him as the day; wherefore, insteadof sleeping, he spent it in sighs and tears. So, when the morning was. Come, they would know how he did. He told them, "Worse and worse. " Healso set talking to them again; but they began to be hardened. 

They also thought to drive away his distemper by harsh and surlycarriages to him; sometimes they would deride, sometimes they wouldchide, and sometimes they would quite neglect him. Wherefore he beganto retire himself to his chamber, to pray for and pity them, and alsoto condole his own misery; he would also walk solitarily in the fields, sometimes reading, and sometimes praying: and thus for some days hespent his time. 

Now, I saw, upon a time, when he was walking in the fields, that hewas, as he was wont, reading in his book, and greatly distressed in hismind; and as he read, he burst out, as he had done before, crying, "What shall I do to be saved?"

I saw also that he looked this way and that way, as if he would run;yet he stood still, because, as I perceived, he could not tell whichway to go. I looked then, and saw a man named Evangelist coming to him, who asked, "Wherefore dost thou cry?"

He answered, "Sir, I perceive by the book in my hand that I amcondemned to die, and after that to come to judgment, and I find that Iam not willing to do the first, nor able to do the second. "

Then said Evangelist, "Why not willing to die, since this life isattended with so many evils?" The man answered:

"Because I fear that this burden that is upon my back will sink melower than the grave, and I shall fall into Tophet. And, sir, if I benot fit to go to prison, I am not fit, I am sure, to go to judgment, and from thence to execution; and the thoughts of these things make mecry. "

Then said Evangelist, "If this be thy condition, why standest thoustill?"

He answered, "Because I know not whither to go. "

Then he gave him a parchment roll, and there was written within, "Fleefrom the wrath to come. "

The man therefore read it, and looking upon Evangelist very carefully, said, "Whither must I fly?"

Then said Evangelist, pointing with his finger over a very wide field, "Do you see yonder wicket gate?"

The man said, "No. "

"Then, " said the other, "Do you see yonder shining light?"

He said, "I think I do. "

Then said Evangelist, "Keep that light in your eye, and go up directlythereto: so shalt thou see the Gate; at which, when thou knockest, itshall be told thee what thou shalt do. "

So I saw in my dream that the man began to run. Now, he had not run farfrom his own door; but his wife and children, perceiving it, began tocry after him to return; but the man put his fingers in his ears, andran on, crying, "Life! life! eternal life!"

So he looked not behind him, but fled toward the middle of the plain. The neighbors also came out to see him run, and, as he ran, somemocked, others threatened, and some cried after him to return; and, among those that did so, there were two that resolved to fetch him backby force. The name of one was Obstinate, and the other Pliable. 

[Illustration: HE LOOKED NOT BEHIND HIM]

Obstinate argues with Christian, but gives him up in despair andreturns to his home, but Pliable, thinking after all there may be somegood reason in Christian's conduct, decides to accompany him to thewicket gate, and they converse on the way. 

THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND

Now, I saw in my dream, that just as they had ended this talk they drewnear to a very miry slough, that was in the midst of the plain; andthey, being heedless, did both fall suddenly into the bog. The name ofthe slough was Despond. Here, therefore, they wallowed for a time, being grievously bedaubed with the dirt; and Christian, because of theburden that was on his back, began to sink in the mire. Then said Pliable, "Ah! neighbor Christian, where are you now?"

"Truly, " said Christian, "I do not know. "

At this Pliable began to be offended, and angrily said to his fellow, "Is this the happiness you have told me all this while of? If we havesuch ill-speed at our first setting out, what may we expect betwixtthis and our journey's end? May I get out again with my life, you shallpossess the brave country alone for me. "

And, with that, he gave a desperate struggle or two, and got out of themire on the side of the slough which was next to his own house; so awayhe went, and Christian saw him no more. 

Wherefore, Christian was left to tumble in the Slough of Despond alone;but still he endeavored to struggle to that side of the slough that wasstill further from his own house, and next to the wicket gate; thewhich he did, but he could not get out, because of the burden that wasupon his back; but I beheld in my dream, that a man came to him whosename was Help, and asked him what he did there?

"Sir, " said Christian, "I was bid go this way by a man calledEvangelist, who directed me also to yonder gate, that I might escapethe wrath to come; and as I was going thither I fell in here. "

_Help. _ "But why did you not look for the steps?"

_Chr. _ "Fear followed me so hard, that I fled the next way, andfell in. "

[Illustration: IN THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND ]

_Help. _ "Then give me thy hand. " So he gave him his hand, and hedrew him out, and set him upon sound ground, and bid him go on his way. 

Then I stepped to him that plucked him out and said, "Sir, wherefore, since over this place is the way from the City of Destruction to yondergate, is it that this plat is not mended, that poor travelers might gothither with more security?"

And he said unto me, "This mire slough is such a place as cannot bemended: it is the descent whither the scum and filth that attendsconviction for sin doth continually run, and therefore it is called theSlough of Despond; for still as the sinner is awakened about his lostcondition, there ariseth in his soul many fears, and doubts, anddiscouraging apprehensions, which all of them get together, and settlein this place. And this is the reason of the badness of the ground. 

"It is not the pleasure of the King that this place should remain sobad. His laborers also have, by the direction of His Majesty'ssurveyors, been for above these sixteen hundred years employed aboutthis patch of ground, if perhaps it might have been mended: yea, and tomy knowledge, " said he, "here have been swallowed up at least twentythousand cart-loads, yea, millions of wholesome instructions, that haveat all seasons been brought from all places of the King's dominions, and they that can tell say that they are the best materials to makegood ground of the place, if so be it might have been mended; but it isthe Slough of Despond still, and so will be when they have done whatthey can. 

"True, there are, by the direction of the Lawgiver, certain good andsubstantial steps, placed even through the very midst of this slough:but at such time as this place doth much spew out its filth, as it dothagainst change of weather, these steps are hardly seen; or, if they be, men, through the dizziness of their heads, step beside, and then theyare bemired to purpose, notwithstanding the steps be there; but theground is good when they are once got in at the gate. "

Now, I saw in my dream, that by this time Pliable was got home to hishouse again, so that his neighbors came to visit him; and some of themcalled him wise man for coming back, and some called him fool forhazarding himself with Christian; others again did mock at hiscowardliness, saying, "Surely, since you began to venture, I would nothave been so base as to have given out for a few difficulties. " SoPliable sat sneaking among them. But at last he got more confidence, and then they all turned their tales, and began to deride poorChristian behind his back. 

 * * * * *

Christian proceeds on his way, meeting many persons and conversing withthem, often discouraged, but always persistent in his idea of gainingMount Zion and the holy city. The perils that he meets do not overwhelmhim, and even when he is apparently doomed to certain destruction, somehappy turn of events sets him again on his way rejoicing. Friends alsoappear to help him whenever he most needs them. 

THE FIGHT WITH APOLLYON

When I saw in my dream that, on the morrow, he got up to go forward, but they desired him to stay till the next day also; and then, saidthey, we will, if the day be clear, show you the Delectable Mountains, which, they said, would yet further add to his comfort, because theywere nearer the desired haven than the place where at present he was;so he consented and stayed. 

[Illustration: THE FIGHT WITH APOLLYON ]

When the morning was up, they had him to the top of the house, and bidhim look south; so he did; and, behold, at a great distance he saw amost pleasant mountainous country, beautified with woods, vineyards, fruits of all sorts, flowers also, with springs and fountains, verydelectable to behold. Then he asked the name of the country. They saidit was Emmanuel's Land; "and it is as common, " said they, "as this hillis, to and for all the pilgrims. And when thou comest there fromthence, " said they, "thou mayest see to the gate of the Celestial City, as the shepherds that live there will make appear. "

Now he bethought himself of setting forward, and they were willing heshould. "But first, " said they, "let us go again into the armory. " Sothey did; and when they came there, they harnessed him from head tofoot with what was of proof, lest, perhaps, he should meet withassaults in the way. 

He being, therefore, thus accoutered, walketh out with his friends tothe gate, and there he asked the porter if he saw a pilgrim pass by. Then the porter answered, "Yes. "

_Chr_. "Pray, did you know him?"

_Por_. "I asked him his name, and he told me it was Faithful. "

_Chr_. "Oh, I know him; he is my townsman, my near neighbor; hecomes from the place where I was born. How far do you think he may bebefore?"

_Por_. "He has got by this time below the hill. "

_Chr_. "Well, good Porter, the Lord be with thee, and add to allthy blessings much increase, for the kindness that thou hast showed tome. "

Then he began to go forward; but Discretion, Piety, Charity andPrudence would accompany him down to the foot of the hill. So they wenton together, reiterating their former discourses, till they came to godown the hill. 

Then said Christian, "As it was difficult coming up, so, so far as Ican see, it is dangerous going down. " "Yes, " said Prudence, "so it is;for it is a hard matter for a man to go down into the Valley ofHumiliation, as thou art now, and to catch no slip by the way;therefore, are we come out to accompany thee down the hill. " So hebegan to go down, but very warily; yet he caught a slip or two. 

Then I saw in my dream that these good companions, when Christian wasgone to the bottom of the hill, gave him a loaf of bread, a bottle ofwine and a cluster of raisins; and then he went on his way. 

But now, in this Valley of Humiliation, poor Christian was hard put toit; for he had gone but a little way, before he espied a foul fiendcoming over the field to meet him; his name is Apollyon. Then didChristian begin to be afraid, and to cast in his mind whether to goback or to stand his ground. But he considered again that he had noarmor for his back; and therefore thought that to turn the back to himmight give him the greater advantage with ease to pierce him with hisdarts. Therefore he resolved to venture and stand his ground; for, thought he, had I no more in mine eye than the saving of my life, itwould be the best way to stand. 

So he went on and Apollyon met him. Now the monster was hideous tobehold; he was clothed with scales like a fish, and (they are hispride) he had wings like a dragon, feet like a bear, and out of hisbelly came fire and smoke, and his mouth was as the mouth of a lion. When he was come up to Christian, he beheld him with a disdainfulcountenance, and thus began to question with him. 

_Apol_. "Whence came you? and whither are you bound?"

_Chr_. "I am come from the City of Destruction, which is the placeof all evil, and am going to the City of Zion. "

_Apol_. "By this I perceive thou art one of my subjects, for allthat country is mine, and I am the prince and god of it. How is it, then, that thou hast run away from thy king? Were it not that I hopethou mayest do me more service, I would strike thee now, at one blow, to the ground. "

_Chr. _ "I was born, indeed, in your dominions, but your service washard, and your wages such as a man could not live on, 'for the wages ofsin is death, ' therefore, when I was come to years, I did as otherconsiderate persons do, look out, if, perhaps, I might mend myself. "

_Apol. _ "There is no prince that will thus lightly lose his subjects, neither will I as yet loose thee; but since thou complainest of thyservice and wages, be content to go back: what our country will afford, I do here promise to give thee. "

_Chr. _ "But I have let myself to another, even to the King of princes;and how can I, with fairness, go back with thee?"

_Apol. _ "Thou hast done in this, according to the proverb, 'Changed abad for a worse;' but it is ordinary for those that have professedthemselves his servants, after a while to give him the slip and returnagain to me. Do thou so too, and all shall be well. "

_Chr. _ "I have given him my faith, and sworn my allegiance to him;how, then, can I go back from this, and not be hanged as a traitor?"

_Apol. _ "Thou didst the same to me, and yet I am willing to pass byall, if now thou wilt yet turn again and go back. "

_Chr. _ "What I promised thee was in my nonage; and beside, I count thePrince under whose banner now I stand is able to absolve me; yea, andto pardon also what I did as to my compliance with thee; and beside, Othou destroying Apollyon! to speak truth, I like his service, hiswages, his servants, his government, his company and country betterthan thine; and, therefore, leave off to persuade me further; I am hisservant, and I will follow him. "

_Apol. _ "Consider, again, when thou art in cool blood, what thouart like to meet with in the way that thou goest. Thou knowest that, for the most part, his servants come to an ill end, because they aretransgressors against me and my ways. How many of them have been put toshameful deaths; and, beside, thou countest his service better thanmine, whereas he never came yet from the place where he is to deliverany that served him out of their hands; but, as for me, how many times, as all the world very well knows, have I delivered, either by power orfraud, those that have faithfully served me, from him and his, thoughtaken by them; and so I will deliver thee. "

_Chr. _ "His forbearing at present to deliver them is on purpose totry their love, whether they will cleave to him to the end; and as forthe ill end thou sayest they come to, that is most glorious in theiraccount; for, for the present deliverance, they do not much expect it, for they stay for their glory, and then they shall have it, when theirPrince comes in his and the glory of the angels. "

_Apol. _ "Thou hast already been unfaithful in thy service to him;and how dost thou think to receive wages of him?"

_Chr. _ "Wherein, O Apollyon! have I been unfaithful to him?"

_Apol. _ "Thou didst faint at first setting out, when thou wastalmost choked in the Gulf of Despond; thou didst attempt wrong ways tobe rid of thy burden, whereas thou shouldest have stayed till thyPrince had taken it off; thou didst sinfully sleep and lose thy choicething; thou wast, also, almost persuaded to go back, at the sight ofthe lions; and when thou talkest of thy journey, and of what thou hastheard and seen, thou art inwardly desirous of vainglory in all thatthou sayest or doest. "

_Chr. _ "All this is true, and much more which thou hast left out;but the Prince whom I serve and honor is merciful, and ready toforgive; but, besides, these infirmities possessed me in thy country, for there I sucked them in; and I have groaned under them, been sorryfor them, and have obtained pardon of my Prince. "

Then Apollyon broke out into a grievous rage, saying, "I am an enemy tothis Prince; I hate his person, his laws, and people; I am come out onpurpose to withstand thee. "

_Chr. _ "Apollyon, beware what you do; for I am in the king's highway, the way of holiness; therefore take heed to yourself. "

Then Apollyon straddled quite over the whole breadth of the way, andsaid, "I am void of fear in this matter; prepare thyself to die; for Iswear by my infernal den, that thou shalt go no further; here will Ispill thy soul. " And with that he threw a flaming dart at his breast;but Christian had a shield in his hand, with which he caught it, and soprevented the danger of that. 

Then did Christian draw, for he saw it was time to bestir him; andApollyon as fast made at him, throwing darts as thick as hail; by thewhich, notwithstanding all that Christian could do to avoid it, Apollyon wounded him in his head, his hand and his foot. This madeChristian give a little back; Apollyon, therefore, followed his workamain, and Christian again took courage, and resisted as manfully as hecould. This sore combat lasted for above half a day, even tillChristian was almost quite spent; for you must know that Christian, byreason of his wounds, must needs grow weaker and weaker. 

Then Apollyon, espying his opportunity, began to gather up close toChristian, and wrestling with him, gave him a dreadful fall; and withthat Christian's sword flew out of his hand. Then said Apollyon, "I amsure of thee now. "

And with that he had almost pressed him to death, so that Christianbegan to despair of life: but as God would have it, while Apollyon wasfetching of his last blow, thereby to make a full end of this good man, Christian nimbly stretched out his hand for his sword, and caught it, saying, "Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy: when I fall I shallrise, " and with that gave him a deadly thrust, which made him giveback, as one that had received his mortal wound. 

Christian perceiving that, made at him again, saying, "Nay, in allthese things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. "And with that Apollyon spread forth his dragon's wings, and sped himaway, that Christian for a season saw him no more. 

In this combat no man can imagine, unless he had seen and heard as Idid, what yelling and hideous roaring Apollyon made all the time of thefight--he spake like a dragon; and, on the other side, what sighs andgroans burst from Christian's heart. I never saw him all the while giveso much as one pleasant look, till he perceived he had wounded Apollyonwith his two-edged sword; then, indeed, he did smile, and look upward;but it was the dreadfulest sight that ever I saw. 

 "A more unequal match can hardly be, Christian must fight an Angel; but you see, The valiant man by handling Sword and Shield, Doth make him, tho' a Dragon, quit the field. "

So when the battle was over, Christian said, "I will here give thanksto him that delivered me out of the mouth of the lion, to him that didhelp me against Apollyon. " And so he did, saying--

 "Great Beelzebub, the captain of this fiend, Design'd my ruin; therefore to this end He sent him harness'd out: and he with rage, That hellish was, did fiercely me engage. But blessed Michael helped me, and I, By dint of sword, did quickly make him fly. Therefore to him let me give lasting praise, And thank and bless his holy name always. "

Then there came to him a hand, with some of the leaves of the tree oflife, the which Christian took, and applied to the wounds that he hadreceived in the battle, and was healed immediately. He also sat down inthat place to eat bread, and to drink of the bottle that was given hima little before; so, being refreshed, he addressed himself to hisjourney, with his sword drawn in his hand; for he said, "I know not butsome other enemy may be at hand. "

But he met with no other affront from Apollyon quite through thisvalley. 

Later Christian meets Faithful, a true pilgrim, but one of a differenttemperament, so that his trials and other experiences have beendifferent, but the two proceed on their journey together happy in goodcompanionship. They pass through Vanity Fair, and Faithful is stoned todeath. 

After Christian's escape from Vanity Fair he is joined by Hopeful, andthe two travel on as he and Faithful had done. Their trials continuebut Christian finds even more help in the cheerful nature of Hopefulthan in the gentle disposition of Faithful, and he looks forwardwithout great dread to other trials which he may have to endure. 

DOUBTING CASTLE AND GIANT DESPAIR

Now, I beheld in my dream, that they had not journeyed far, but theriver and the way for a time parted; at which they were not a littlesorry, yet they durst not go out of the way. Now the way from the riverwas rough, and their feet tender, by reason of their travels; "so thesouls of the pilgrims were much discouraged because of the way. "

Wherefore, as still they went on, they wished for a better way. Now, alittle before them, there was on the left hand of the road a meadow, and a stile to go over into it; and that meadow is called By-pathMeadow. Then said Christian to his fellow:

"If this meadow lieth along by our wayside, let us go over into it. "

Then he went to the stile to see, and, behold, a path lay along theway, on the other side of the fence. 

"It is according to my wish, " said Christian. "Here is the easiestgoing; come, good Hopeful, and let us go over. "

_Hope_. "But how if this path should lead us out of the way?"

_Chr_. "That is not like. Look, doth it not go along by the wayside?"

So Hopeful, being persuaded by his fellow, went after him over thestile. When they were gone over, and were got into the path, they foundit very easy for their feet; and withal, they, looking before them, espied a man walking as they did (and his name was Vain-confidence); sothey called after him, and asked him whither that way led. He said tothe Celestial Gate. 

"Look, " said Christian, "did not I tell you so? By this you may see weare right. "

So they followed and he went before them. But, behold, the night cameon, and it grew very dark; so that they that were behind lost the sightof him that went before. 

He, therefore, that went before (Vain-confidence by name), not seeingthe way before him, fell into a deep pit, which was on purpose theremade, by the prince of those grounds, to catch vainglorious foolswithal, and was dashed in pieces with his fall. 

Now Christian and his fellow heard him fall. So they called to know thematter, but there was none to answer, only they heard a groaning. Thensaid Hopeful, "Where are we now?"

Then was his fellow silent, as mistrusting that he had led him out ofthe way; and now it began to rain, and thunder and lightning in a verydreadful manner, and the water rose amain. 

Then Hopeful groaned in himself, saying, "Oh, that I had kept on myway!"

_Chr. _ "Who could have thought that this path should have led usout of the way?"

_Hope. _ "I was afraid on it at the very first, and therefore gaveyou that gentle caution. I would have spoken plainer, but that you areolder than I. "

[Illustration: IN DOUBTING CASTLE ]

_Chr. _ "Good brother, be not offended; I am sorry I have broughtthee out of the way, and that I have put thee into such imminentdanger. Pray, my brother, forgive me; I did not do it of an evilintent. "

_Hope. _ "Be comforted, my brother, for I forgive thee; and believe, too, that this shall be for our good. "

_Chr. _ "I am glad I have with me a merciful brother. But we must notstand thus; let us try to go back again. "

_Hope. _ "But, good brother, let me go before. "

_Chr. _ "No, if you please, let me go first; that, if there be anydanger, I may be first therein, because by my means we are both goneout of the way. "

_Hope. _ "No, you shall not go first; for your mind being troubledmay lead you out of the way again. "

Then, for their encouragement, they heard the voice of one saying, "Setthine heart toward the highway, even the way which thou wentest; turnagain. "

But by this time the waters were greatly risen, by reason of which theway of going back was very dangerous. (Then I thought that it is easiergoing out of the way, when we are in, than going in when we are out. )Yet they adventured to go back; but it was so dark, and the flood wasso high, that in their going back they had like to have been drownednine or ten times. 

Neither could they, with all the skill they had, get again to the stilethat night. Wherefore, at last, lighting under a little shelter, theysat down there until the daybreak, but, being weary, they fell asleep. 

Now there was not far from the place where they lay, a castle calledDoubting Castle, the owner whereof was Giant Despair; and it was in hisgrounds they were now sleeping. 

Wherefore he, getting up in the morning early, and walking up and downin his fields, caught Christian and Hopeful asleep in his grounds. Then, with a grim and surly voice, he bid them awake; and asked themwhence they were, and what they did in his grounds. 

They told him they were pilgrims, and that they had lost their way. 

Then said the Giant, "You have this night trespassed on me, bytrampling in and lying on my grounds, and therefore you must go alongwith me. "

So they were forced to go, because he was stronger than they. They alsohad but little to say, for they knew themselves in a fault. The Giant, therefore, drove them before him, and put them into his castle, into avery dark dungeon, nasty and stinking to the spirits of these two men. 

Here, then, they lay from Wednesday morning till Saturday night, without one bit of bread, or drop of drink, or light, or any to ask howthey did; they were, therefore, here in evil case, and were far fromfriends and acquaintance. Now in this place Christian had doublesorrow, because it was through his unadvised counsel they were broughtinto this distress. 

"The Pilgrims now, to gratify the flesh, Will seek its ease; but oh!how they afresh Do thereby plunge themselves new griefs into; Who seekto please the flesh, themselves undo. "

Now, Giant Despair had a wife, and her name was Diffidence. So when hewas gone to bed, he told his wife what he had done; to-wit, that he hadtaken a couple of prisoners and cast them into his dungeon, fortrespassing on his grounds. Then he asked her also what he had best todo further to them. So she asked him what they were, whence they came, and whither they were bound; and he told her. Then she counselled himthat when he arose in the morning he should beat them without anymercy. 

So, when he arose, he getteth him a grievous crabtree cudgel, and goesdown into the dungeon to them, and there first falls to rating of themas if they were dogs, although they never gave him a word of distaste. Then he falls upon them, and beats them fearfully, in such sort thatthey were not able to help themselves, or to turn them upon the floor. This done, he withdraws and leaves them, there to condole their misery, and to mourn under their distress. 

So all that day they spent the time in nothing but sighs and bitterlamentations. The next night, she, talking with her husband about themfurther, and understanding they were yet alive, did advise him tocounsel them to make away with themselves. 

So when morning was come, he goes to them in a surly manner as before, and perceiving them to be very sore with the stripes that he had giventhem the day before, he told them that, since they were never like tocome out of that place, their only way would be forthwith to make anend of themselves, either with knife, halter, or poison. "For why, "said he, "should you choose life, seeing it is attended with so muchbitterness?"

But they desired him to let them go. With that he looked ugly uponthem, and, rushing to them, had doubtless made an end of them himself, but that he fell into one of his fits (for he sometimes, in sunshinyweather, fell into fits), and lost for a time the use of his hand;wherefore he withdrew, and left them as before, to consider what to do. Then did the prisoners consult between themselves, whether it was bestto take his counsel or no; and thus they began to discourse:

_Chr. _ "Brother, what shall we do? The life that we now live ismiserable. For my part I know not whether it is best, to live thus, orto die out of hand. 'My soul chooseth strangling rather than life, ' andthe grave is more easy for me than this dungeon. Shall we be ruled bythe Giant?"

_Hope. _ "Indeed, our present condition is dreadful, and deathwould be far more welcome to me than thus forever to abide; but yet, let us consider, the Lord of the country to which we are going hathsaid, 'Thou shalt do no murder;' no, not to another man's person; muchmore, then, are we forbidden to take his counsel to kill ourselves. Besides, he that kills another, can but commit murder upon his body;but for one to kill himself is to kill body and soul at once. 

"And, moreover, my brother, thou talkest of ease in the grave; but hastthou forgotten the hell, whither for certain the murderers go? 'For nomurderer hath eternal life. '

"And let us consider, again, that all the law is not in the hand ofGiant Despair. Others, so far as I can understand, have been taken byhim, as well as we, and yet have escaped out of his hand. Who knows butthat God that made the world may cause that Giant Despair may die? orthat, at some time or other, he may forget to lock us in? or that hemay, in a short time, have another of his fits before us, and may losethe use of his limbs?

"And if ever that should come to pass again, for my part, I am resolvedto pluck up the heart of a man and try my utmost to get from under hishand. I was a fool that I did not try to do it before; but, however, mybrother, let us be patient, and endure a while. The time may come thatmay give us a happy release; but let us not be our own murderers. "

With these words, Hopeful at present did moderate the mind of hisbrother; so they continued together (in the dark) that day, in theirsad and doleful condition. 

Well, toward evening, the Giant goes down into the dungeon again, tosee if his prisoners had taken his counsel; but when he came there hefound them alive; and truly, alive was all; for now, what for want ofbread and water, and by reason of the wounds they received when he beatthem, they could do little but breathe. But, I say, he found themalive; at which he fell into a grievous rage, and told them that, seeing they had disobeyed his counsel, it should be worse with themthan if they had never been born. 

At this they trembled greatly, and I think that Christian fell into aswoon; but, coming a little to himself again, they renewed theirdiscourse about the Giant's counsel; and whether yet they had best totake it or no. Now Christian again seemed to be for doing it, butHopeful made his second reply as followeth:

_Hope. _ "My brother, rememberest thou not how valiant thou hastbeen heretofore? Apollyon could not crush thee, nor could all that thoudidst hear, or see, or feel, in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Whathardship, terror, and amazement hast thou already gone through! And artthou now nothing but fear? Thou seest that I am in the dungeon withthee, a far weaker man by nature than thou art; also, this Giant haswounded me as well as thee, and hath also cut off the bread and waterfrom my mouth; and with thee I mourn without the light. But let usexercise a little more patience: remember how thou playedst the man atVanity Fair, and wast neither afraid of the chain, nor cage, nor yet ofbloody death. Wherefore, let us (at least to avoid the shame thatbecomes not a Christian to be found in) bear up with patience as wellas we can. "

Now, night being come again, and the Giant and his wife being in bed, she asked him concerning the prisoners, and if they had taken hiscounsel. To which he replied, "They are sturdy rogues, they chooserather to bear all hardship, than to make away with themselves. "

"Then, " said she, "take them into the castleyard to-morrow, and showthem the bones and skulls of those that thou hast already despatched, and make them believe, ere a week comes to an end, thou also wilt tearthem in pieces, as thou hast their fellows before them. "

So when the morning was come, the Giant goes to them again, and takesthem into the castle-yard, and shows them, as his wife had bidden him. 

"These, " said he, "were pilgrims as you are, once, and they trespassedin my grounds, as you have done; and when I thought fit, I tore them inpieces, and so, within ten days, I will do you. Go, get you down toyour den again;" and with that he beat them all the way thither. 

They lay, therefore, all day on Saturday in a lamentable case, asbefore. 

Now, when night was come, and when Mrs. Diffidence and her husband, theGiant, were got to bed, they began to renew their discourse of theirprisoners; and withal the old Giant wondered that he could neither byhis blows nor his counsel bring them to an end. 

And with that his wife replied:

"I fear, that they live in hope that some will come to relieve them, orthat they have picklocks about them, by the means of which they hope toescape. "

"And sayest thou so, my dear?" said the Giant; "I will, therefore, search them in the morning. "

Well, on Saturday, about midnight, they began to pray, and continued inprayer till almost break of day. 

Now, a little before it was day, good Christian, as one half-amazed, brake out in this passionate speech:

"What a fool, " quoth he, "am I, thus to lie in a stinking dungeon, whenI may as well walk at liberty! I have a key in my bosom, calledPromise, that will, I am persuaded, open any lock in Doubting Castle. "

Then said Hopeful, "That is good news, good brother; pluck it out ofthy bosom and try. "

Then Christian pulled it out of his bosom, and began to try at thedungeon door, whose bolt (as he turned the key) gave back, and the doorflew open with ease, and Christian and Hopeful both came out. Then hewent to the outward door that leads into the castle-yard, and, with hiskey, opened that door also. After, he went to the iron gate, for thatmust be opened, too; but that lock went damnable hard, yet the key didopen it. Then they thrust open the gate to make their escape withspeed, but that gate, as it opened, made such a creaking that it wakedGiant Despair, who, hastily rising to pursue his prisoners, felt hislimbs to fail, for his fits took him again, so that he could by nomeans go after them. 

Then they went on, and came to the King's highway, and so were safe, because they were out of his jurisdiction. 

Now, when they were gone over the stile, they began to contrive withthemselves what they should do at that stile, to prevent those thatshould come after from falling into the hands of Giant Despair. So theyconsented to erect there a pillar, and to engrave upon the side thereofthis sentence--"Over this stile is the way to Doubting Castle, which iskept by Giant Despair, who despiseth the King of the Celestial Country, and seeks to destroy his holy pilgrims. "

Many, therefore, that followed after, read what was written, andescaped the danger. This done, they sang as follows:

 "Out of the way we went, and then we found What 'twas to tread upon forbidden ground; And let them that come after have a care, Lest heedlessness makes them, as we, to fare. Lest they for trespassing his prisoners are, Whose Castle's Doubting, and whose name's Despair. "

Having escaped from Doubting Castle they continue their perilous way, ever drawing nearer to the Celestial City, and ever growing moreimpatient for the end of their pilgrimage. 

BEULAH LAND, DEATH, AND THE CELESTIAL CITY

Now I saw in my dream, that by this time the Pilgrims were got over theEnchanted Ground, and entering into the country of Beulah, whose airwas very sweet and pleasant, the way lying directly through it, theysolaced themselves there for a season. Yea, here they heard continuallythe singing of birds, and saw every day the flowers appear in theearth, and heard the voice of the turtle in the land. In this countrythe sun shineth night and day; wherefore this was beyond the Valley ofthe Shadow of Death, and also out of the reach of Giant Despair, neither could they from this place so much as see Doubting Castle. 

Here they were within sight of the city they were going to, also heremet them some of the inhabitants thereof; for in this land the ShiningOnes commonly walked, because it was on the borders of heaven. In thisland, also, the contract between the bride and the bridegroom wasrenewed; yea, here, "As the bridegroom rejoiceth over the bride, so didtheir God rejoice over them. " Here they had no want of corn and wine;for in this place they met with abundance of what they had sought forin all their pilgrimage. 

Here they heard voices from out of the city, loud voices, saying, "Sayye to the daughter of Zion, Behold, thy salvation cometh! Behold, hisreward is with him!" Here all the inhabitants of the country calledthem, "The holy people, The redeemed of the Lord sought out, " etc. 

[Illustration: The Celestial City]

Now, as they walked in this land, they had more rejoicing than in partsmore remote from the kingdom to which they were bound; and drawing nearto the city, they had yet a more perfect view thereof. It was buildedof pearls and precious stones, also the street thereof was paved withgold; so by reason of the natural glory of the city, and the reflectionof the sunbeams upon it, Christian with desire fell sick; Hopeful alsohad a fit or two of the same disease. Wherefore, here they lay by it awhile, crying out, because of their pangs, "If ye find my beloved, tellhim that I am sick of love. "

But, being a little strengthened, and better able to bear theirsickness, they walked on their way, and came yet nearer and nearer, where were orchards, vineyards, and gardens, and their gates openedinto the highway. Now, as they came up to these places, behold thegardener stood in the way, to whom the pilgrims said, "Whose goodlyvineyards and gardens are these?" He answered, "They are the King's, and are planted here for his own delight, and also for the solace ofpilgrims. " So the gardener had them into the vineyards, and bid themrefresh themselves with the dainties. He also showed them there theKing's walks, and the arbors where he delighted to be; and here theytarried and slept. 

Now, I beheld in my dream, that they talked more in their sleep at thistime than ever they did in all their journey; and being in a musethereabout, the gardener said even to me, "Wherefore musest thou at thematter? It is the nature of the fruit of the grapes of these vineyardsto go down so sweetly as to cause the lips of them that are asleep tospeak. "

So I saw that when they awoke, they addressed themselves to go up tothe city; but, as I said, the reflection of the sun upon the city (for"the city was pure gold") was so extremely glorious, that they couldnot, as yet, with open face behold it, but through an instrument madefor that purpose. 

So I saw that, as they went on, there met them two men, in raiment thatshone like gold; also their faces shone as the light. These men askedthe pilgrims whence they came; and they told them. They also asked themwhere they had lodged, what difficulties and dangers, what comforts andpleasures they had met in the way; and they told them. 

Then said the men that met them, "You have but two difficulties more tomeet with, and then you are in the city. "

Christian, then, and his companion, asked the men to go along withthem; so they told them they would. 

"But, " said they, "you must obtain it by your own faith. "

So I saw in my dream that they went on together, until they came insight of the gate. 

Now, I further saw, that betwixt them and the gate was a river, butthere was no bridge to go over, and the river was very deep. At thesight, therefore, of this river, the Pilgrims were much stunned; butthe men that went with them said, "You must go through, or you cannotcome at the gate. "

The pilgrims then began to inquire if there was no other way to thegate; to which they answered, "Yes; but there hath not any, save two, to-wit, Enoch and Elijah, been permitted to tread that path, since thefoundation of the world, nor shall, until the last trumpet shallsound. "

The Pilgrims then (especially Christian) began to despond in theirminds, and looked this way and that, but no way could be found by themby which they might escape the river. Then they asked the men if thewaters were all of a depth. 

They said, "No;" yet they could not help them in the case; "for, " saidthey, "you shall find it deeper or shallower as you believe in the Kingof the place. "

They then addressed themselves to the water; and entering, Christianbegan to sink, and crying out to his good friend Hopeful, he said, "Isink in deep waters; the billows go over my head, all His waves go overme! Selah. "

Then said the other, "Be of good cheer, my brother, I feel the bottom, and it is good. "

Then said Christian, "Ah! my friend, 'the sorrows of death havecompassed me about;' I shall not see the land that flows with milk andhoney;" and with that a great darkness and horror fell upon Christian, so that he could not see before him. Also here he in a great measurelost his senses, so that he could neither remember nor orderly talk ofany of those sweet refreshments that he had met with in the way of hispilgrimage. 

But all the words that he spake still tended to discover that he hadhorror of mind, and heart-fears that he should die in that river, andnever obtain entrance in at the gate. Here, also, as they that stood byperceived, he was much in the troublesome thoughts of the sins that hehad committed, both since and before he began to be a pilgrim. It wasalso observed that he was troubled with apparitions of hobgoblins andevil spirits, for ever and anon he would intimate so much by words. 

Hopeful, therefore, here had much ado to keep his brother's head abovewater; yea, sometimes he would be quite gone down, and then, ere awhile, he would rise up again half dead. Hopeful also did endeavor tocomfort him, saying, "Brother, I see the gate, and men standing by toreceive us;" but Christian would answer, "It is you, it is you theywait for; you have been Hopeful ever since I knew you. "

"And so have you, " said he to Christian. 

"Ah, brother;" said he, "surely if I was right, He would now arise tohelp me; but for my sins He hath brought me into the snare, and hathleft me. "

Then said Hopeful, "My brother, you have quite forgot the text, whereit is said of the wicked, 'There are no bands in their death, but theirstrength is firm. They are not in trouble as other men, neither arethey plagued like other men. ' These troubles and distresses that you gothrough in these waters are no sign that God hath forsaken you, but aresent to try you, whether you will call to mind that which heretoforeyou have received of his goodness, and live upon him in yourdistresses. "

Then I saw in my dream, that Christian was as in a muse a while. Towhom also Hopeful added this word, "Be of good cheer, Jesus Christmaketh thee whole;" and with that Christian brake out with a loudvoice, "Oh! I see Him again, and He tells me, 'When thou passeththrough the waters I will be with thee; and through the river, theyshall not overflow thee. '"

Then they both took courage, and the enemy was after that as still as astone, until they were gone over. Christian therefore presently foundground to stand upon, and so it followed that the rest of the river wasbut shallow. 

Thus they got over. 

Now, upon the bank of the river, on the other side, they saw the twoShining Men again, who there waited for them, wherefore, being come outof the river, they saluted them, saying, "We are ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for those that shall be heirs of salvation. "

Thus they went along toward the gate. 

Now you must note that the City stood upon a mighty hill, but thePilgrims went up that hill with ease, because they had these two men tolead them up by the arms; also, they had left their mortal garmentsbehind them in the river, for though they went in with them, they cameout without them. They, therefore, went up here with much agility andspeed, though the foundation upon which the City was framed was higherthan the clouds. They therefore went up through the regions of the air, sweetly talking as they went, being comforted, because they safely gotover the river, and had such glorious companions to attend them. 

Now while they were thus drawing toward the gate, behold a company ofthe heavenly host came out to meet them: to whom it was said, by theother two Shining Ones, "These are the men that have loved our Lordwhen they were in the world, and that have left all for His holy name;and He hath sent us to fetch them, and we have brought them thus far ontheir desired journey, that they may go in and look their Redeemer inthe face with joy. "

Then the heavenly host gave a great shout saying, "Blessed are theywhich are called unto the marriage supper of the Lamb. " There came outalso at this time to meet them, several of the king's trumpeters, clothed in white and shining raiment, who, with melodious noises, andloud, made even the heavens to echo with their sound. These trumpeterssaluted Christian and his fellow with ten thousand welcomes from theworld; and this they did with shouting and sound of trumpet. 

This done, they compassed them round on every side; some went before, some behind, and some on the right hand, some on the left (as it wereto guard them through the upper regions), continually sounding as theywent, with melodious noise, in notes on high; so that the very sightwas to them that could behold it as if heaven itself was come down tomeet them. Thus, therefore, they walked on together; and as theywalked, ever and anon, these trumpeters, even with joyful sound, would, by mixing their music with looks and gestures, still signify toChristian and his brother how welcome they were into their company, andwith what gladness they came to meet them. 

And now were these two men, as it were, in heaven, before they came atit, being swallowed up with the sight of angels, and with hearing oftheir melodious notes. Here also they had the City itself in view, andthey thought they heard all the bells therein to ring to welcome themthereto. But above all, the warm and joyful thoughts that they hadabout their own dwelling there, with such company, and that for everand ever. Oh, by what tongue or pen can their glorious joy beexpressed! And thus they came up to the gate. 

Now, when they were come up to the gate, there was written over it inletters of gold, "Blessed are they that do His commandments, that theymay have right to the tree of life, and may enter in through the gatesinto the City. "

Then I saw in my dream that the Shining Men bid them call at the gate;the which, when they did, some looked from over the gate, to-wit, Enoch, Moses and Elijah, etc. , to whom it was said, "These pilgrims arecome from the City of Destruction, for the love that they bear to theKing of this place;" and then the pilgrims gave in unto them each manhis certificate, which they had received in the beginning; those, therefore, were carried in to the King, who, when he had read them, said, "Where are the men?"

To whom it was answered, "They are standing without the gate. "

The King then commanded to open the gate, "That the righteous nation, "said he, "which keepeth the truth may enter in. "

Now I saw in my dream that these two men went in at the gate: and lo, as they entered, they were transfigured, and they had raiment put onthat shone like gold. There were also that met them with harps andcrowns, and gave them to them--the harps to praise withal, and thecrowns in token of honor. 

Then I heard in my dream that all the bells in the city rang again forjoy, and that it was said unto them, _"Enter ye into the joy of yourLord. "_

I also heard the men themselves, that they sang with a loud voice, saying, _"Blessing, and honor, and glory, and power, be unto Him thatsitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb for ever and ever. "_

Now, just as the gate were opened to let in the men, I looked in afterthem, and, behold, the City shone like the sun; the streets also werepaved with gold, and in them walked many men, with crowns on theirheads, palms in their hands, and golden harps to sing praises withal. 

There were also of them that had wings, and they answered one anotherwithout intermission, saying, "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord. " And afterthat they shut up the gates; which, when I had seen, I wished myselfamong them. 

AWAY[Footnote: From _Afterichiles_, by James Whitcomb Riley, copyright1887. ]

_By_ JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

 I cannot say, and I will not say, That he is dead. --He is just away!

 With a cheery smile and a wave of the hand, He has wandered into an unknown land, And left us dreaming how very fair It needs must be, since he lingers there. 

 And you--oh you, who the wildest yearn For the old-time step and the glad return, --

 Think of him faring on, as dear In the love of There as the love of Here;

 And loyal still, as he gave the blows Of his warrior strength to his country's foes. --

 Mild and gentle, as he was brave, -- When the sweetest love of his life he gave

 To simple things;--Where the violets grew Pure as the eyes they were likened to, The touches of his hand have strayed As reverently as his lips have prayed:

 When the little brown thrush that harshly chirred Was dear to him as the mocking-bird;

 And he pitied as much as a man in pain A writhing honey-bee wet with rain. --

 Think of him still as the same, I say; He is not dead--he is just away!

LITTLE GIFFIN OF TENNESSEE

 Out of the focal and foremost fire, Out of the hospital walls as dire, Smitten of grape-shot and gangrene-- Eighteenth battle and he sixteen-- Spectre such as you seldom see, Little Giffin of Tennessee. 

 "Take him and welcome, " the surgeon said, "But much your doctor can help the dead!" And so we took him and brought him where The balm was sweet on the summer air; And we laid him down on a lonesome bed, Utter Lazarus, heels to head. 

 Weary war with bated breath! Skeleton Boy against skeleton Death! Months of torture, how many such! Weary weeks of the stick and crutch! And still the glint of the steel-blue eye Told of a spirit that wouldn't die, And didn't--nay more, in Death's despite The crippled skeleton learned to write. "Dear Mother, " at first, of course, and then, "Dear Captain, " asking about the men. Captain's answer, "Of eighty and five, Giffin and I are still alive. "

 "Johnston's pressed at the front, " they say-- Little Giffin was up and away. A tear, the first, as he bade good-bye, Dimmed the glint of his steel-blue eye. "I'll write, if spared. "--There was news of fight, But none of Giffin--he didn't write. 

 I sometimes fancy that when I'm king, And my gallant courtiers form a ring, Each so careless of power and pelf, Each so thoughtful for all but self, I'd give the best on his bended knee-- Yes, barter them all, for the loyalty Of Little Giffin of Tennessee. 

LITTLE BREECHES

A PIKE COUNTY VIEW OF SPECIAL PROVIDENCE

By JOHN HAY[Footnote: John Hay was born in Indiana, and in 1861 became the law-partner of Abraham Lincoln, and for the greater part of the timeduring the latter's life as president of the United States, acted ashis private secretary. After the War he held various political officesand was an editorial Writer on the New York Tribune. He became knownfor his unusual tact and foresight, and finally became secretary ofstate. 

He is well known, too, for his writings, the most notable of which ishis _Abraham Lincoln_, which was written in company with John G Nicolay. Besides this he wrote a number of humorous poems, of which _LittleBreeches_ is perhaps the best known. ]

 I don't go much on religion, I never ain't had no show; But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir, On the handful o' things I know. I don't pan out on the prophets And free-will, and that sort of thing, -- But I b'lieve in God and the angels, Ever sence one night last spring. 

[Illustration: Went team, Little Breeches, and all]

 I come into town with some turnips, And my little Gabe come along, -- No four-year-old in the country Could beat him for pretty and strong, Peart and chipper and sassy, Always ready to swear and fight, -- And I'd larnt him ter chaw terbacker, Jest to keep his milk-teeth white. 

 The snow come down like a blanket As I passed by Taggart's store; I went in for a jug of molasses And left the team at the door. They scared at something and started, -- I heard one little squall, And hell-to-split over the prairie Went team, Little Breeches and all. 

 Hell-to-split over the prairie! I was almost froze with skeer; But we rousted up some torches, And sarched for 'em far and near. At last we struck hosses and wagon, Snowed under a soft white mound, Upsot, dead beat, --but of little Gabe No hide nor hair was found. 

 And here all hope soured on me Of my fellow-critter's aid, -- I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones, Crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed. * * * * * By this, the torches was played out, And me and Isrul Parr Went off for some wood to a sheepfold That he said was somewhar thar. We found it at last, and a little shed Where they shut up the lambs at night. We looked in, and seen them huddled thar, So warm and sleepy and white;

 And THAR sot Little Breeches and chirped, As peart as ever you see, "I want a chaw of terbacker, And that's what's the matter of me. "

 How did he git thar? Angels. He could never have walked in that storm. They jest scooped down and toted him To whar it was safe and warm. 

 And I think that saving a little child, And bringing him to his own, Is a derned sight better business Than loafing around the Throne. 

This little poem is an imitation of what was the rude dialect of someparts of Pike County, Indiana. One must not be too critical of theroughness and the apparent irreverence of some of the lines, for thesentiment is a pleasing one. An ignorant man who believes in "God andthe angels" may be forgiven for the crudity of his ideas, and themistakes he makes in bringing up his boy, especially as he "never ain'thad no show. "

THE YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL"

_By_ W. S. GILBERT

 'Twas on the shores that round our coasts From Deal to Ramsgate span, That I found alone, on a piece of stone, An elderly naval man. 

 His hair was weedy, his beard was long, And weedy and long was he; And I heard this wight on the shore recite, In a singular minor key:--

 "O, I am a cook and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig. "

 And he shook his fists and he tore his hair Till I really felt afraid, For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking, And so I simply said:--

 "O elderly man, it's little I know Of the duties of men of the sea, And I'll eat my hand if I understand How you can possibly be

 "At once a cook and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig!"

 Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which Is a trick all seamen larn, And having got rid of a thumping quid He spun this painful yarn:--

 "'Twas in the good ship Nancy Bell That we sailed to the Indian sea, And there on a reef we come to grief, Which has often occurred to me. 

 "And pretty nigh all o' the crew was drowned (There was seventy-seven o' soul); And only ten of the Nancy's men Said 'Here' to the muster-roll. 

 "There was me, and the cook, and the captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig. 

 "For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink, Till a hungry we did feel, So we drawed a lot, and, accordin', shot The captain for our meal. 

 "The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate, And a delicate dish he made; Then our appetite with the midshipmite We seven survivors stayed. 

 "And then we murdered the bo'sun tight, And he much resembled pig; Then we wittled free, did the cook and me. On the crew of the captain's gig. 

[Illustration: "FOR DON'T YOU SEE THAT YOU CAN'T COOK ME?"]

 "Then only the cook and me was left, And the delicate question, 'Which Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose, And we argued it out as such. 

 "For I loved that cook as a brother, I did, And the cook he worshipped me; But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed In the other chap's hold, you see. 

 "'I'll be eat if you dines off me, ' says Tom. 'Yes, that, ' says I, 'you'll be. I'm boiled if I die, my friend, ' quoth I; And 'Exactly so, ' quoth he. 

 "Say he: 'Dear James, to murder me Were a foolish thing to do, For don't you see that you can't cook me, While I can--and will--cook you?'

 "So he boils the water, and takes the salt And the pepper in portions true (Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot, And some sage and, parsley too. 

 "'Come here, ' says he, with proper pride, Which his smiling features tell; "'Twill soothing be if I let you see How extremely nice you'll smell. '

 "And he stirred it round, and round, and round, And he sniffed at the foaming froth; When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals In the scum of the boiling broth. 

 "And I eat that cook in a week or less, And as I eating be The last of his chops, why I almost drops, For a wessel in sight I see. 

 * * * * *

 "And I never larf, and I never smile, And I never lark nor play; But I sit and croak, and a single joke I have--which is to say:

 "O, I am a cook and a captain bold And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig!"

KATEY'S LETTER

_By_ LADY DUFFERIN

 Och, girls, did you ever hear I wrote my love a letter? And altho' he cannot read, I thought 'twas all the better. For why should be he puzzled With spellin' in the matter, When the _manin'_ was so plain I loved him faithfully, And he knows it--oh, he knows it-- Without one word from me. 

 I wrote it, and I folded it, And put a seal upon it, 'Twas a seal almost as big As the crown of my best bonnet; For I wouldn't have the postman Make his remarks upon it, As I'd said _inside_ the letter I loved him faithfully, And he knows it--oh, he knows it-- Without one word from me. 

 My heart was full, but when I wrote I dare not put the half in; For the neighbors know I love him, And they're mighty found of chaffin', So I dare not write his name _outside_, For fear they would be laughin', But wrote, "From little Kate to one Whom she loves faithfully, " And he knows it--oh, he knows it-- Without one word from me. 

 Now, girls, would you believe it, That postman so _consated_, No answer will he bring me, So long have I waited? But maybe--there mayn't be one, Because--as I have stated-- My love can neither read nor write, But he loves me faithfully, And I know, where'er my love is, That he is true to me. 

THE ARICKARA INDIANS[Footnote: This description is taken from. Irving's _Astoria_, anaccount of early explorations in the Northwest, undertaken under themanagement of John Jacob Astor. ]

_By_ WASHINGTON IRVING

The village of the Rikaras, [Footnote: The Arickaras, or Rees as theyare now sometimes called, are reduced to a few hundred persons who are, with the Mandans and other Indians, on a reservation in North Dakota. ]Arickaras, or Ricarees, for the name is thus variously written, isbetween the 46th and 47th parallels of north latitude, and fourteenhundred and thirty miles above the mouth of the Missouri. [Footnote:This would place the village somewhere near the present site ofBismarck, North Dakota. ] The party reached it about ten o'clock in themorning, but landed on the opposite side of the river, where theyspread out their baggage and effects to dry. From hence they commandedan excellent view of the village. It was divided into two portions, about eighty yards apart, being inhabited by two distinct bands. Thewhole extended about three quarters of a mile along the river bank, andwas composed of conical lodges, that looked like so many smallhillocks, being wooden frames intertwined with osier, and covered withearth. The plain beyond the village swept up into hills of considerableheight, but the whole country was nearly destitute of trees. 

While they were regarding the village, they beheld a singular fleetcoming down the river. It consisted of a number of canoes, each made ofa single buffalo hide stretched on sticks, so as to form a kind ofcircular trough. Each one was navigated by a single squaw, who knelt inthe bottom and paddled, towing after her frail bark a bundle offloating wood intended for firing. This kind of canoe is in frequentuse among the Indians; the buffalo hide being readily made up into abundle and transported on horseback; it is very serviceable inconveying baggage across the rivers. 

The great numbers of horses grazing around the village, and scatteredover the neighboring hills and valleys, bespoke the equestrian habitsof the Arickaras, who are admirable horsemen. Indeed, in the number ofhis horses consists the wealth of an Indian of the prairies; whoresembles an Arab in his passion for this noble animal, and in hisadroitness in the management of it. 

After a time, the voice of the sovereign chief, "the Left-handed, " washeard across the river, announcing that the council lodge was preparingand inviting the white men to come over. The river was half a mile inwidth, yet every word uttered by the chieftain was heard; this may bepartly attributed to the distinct manner in which every syllable of thecompound words in the Indian language is articulated and accented; butin truth, a savage warrior might often rival Achilles himself for forceof lungs. 

The explorers landed amid a rabble crowd, and were received on the bankby the left-handed chief, who conducted them into the village withgrave courtesy; driving to the right and left the swarms of old squaws, imp-like boys, and vagabond dogs, with which the place abounded. Theywound their way between the cabins, which looked like dirt-heapshuddled together without any plan, and surrounded by old palisades; allfilthy in the extreme, and redolent of villainous smells. 

At length they arrived at the council lodge. It was somewhat spacious, and formed of four forked trunks of trees placed upright, supportingcrossbeams and a frame of poles interwoven with osiers, and the wholecovered with earth. A hole sunken in the centre formed the fireplace, and immediately above was a circular hole in the apex of the lodge, tolet out the smoke and let in the daylight. Around the lodge wererecesses for sleeping, like the berths on board ships, screened fromview by curtains of dressed skins. At the upper end of the lodge was akind of hunting and warlike trophy, consisting of two buffalo headsgarishly painted, surmounted by shields, bows, quivers of arrows, andother weapons. 

On entering the lodge the chief pointed to mats or cushions which hadbeen placed around for the strangers, and on which they seatedthemselves, while he placed himself on a kind of stool. An old man thencame forward with the pipe of peace or good-fellowship, lighted andhanded it to the chief, and then falling back, squatted himself nearthe door. The pipe was passed from mouth to mouth, each one taking awhiff, which is equivalent to the inviolable pledge of faith, of takingsalt together among the ancient Britons. The chief then made a sign tothe old pipe-bearer, who seemed to fill, likewise, the station ofherald, seneschal, and public crier, for he ascended to the top of thelodge to make proclamation. Here he took his post beside the aperturefor the emission of smoke and the admission of light; the chiefdictated from within what he was to proclaim, and he bawled it forthwith a force of lungs that resounded over all the village. In this wayhe summoned the warriors and great men to council; every now and thenreporting progress to his chief through the hole in the roof. 

In a little while the braves and sages began to enter one by one astheir names were called or announced, emerging from under the buffalorobe suspended over the entrance instead of a door, stalking across thelodge to the skins placed on the floor, and crouching down on them insilence. In this way twenty entered and took their seats, forming anassemblage worthy of the pencil; for the Arickaras are a noble race ofmen, large and well formed, and maintain a savage grandeur and gravityof demeanor in their solemn ceremonials. 

All being seated, the old seneschal prepared the pipe of ceremony orcouncil, and having lit it, handed it to the chief. He inhaled thesacred smoke, gave a puff upward to the heaven, then downward to theearth, then toward the east; after this it was as usual passed frommouth to mouth, each holding it respectfully until his neighbor hadtaken several whiffs; and now the grand council was considered asopened in due form. 

The chief made an harangue welcoming the white men to his village, andexpressing his happiness in taking them by the hand as friends; but atthe same time complaining of the poverty of himself and his people; theusual prelude among Indians to begging or hard bargaining. 

Mr. Hunt then spoke, declaring the object of his journey to the greatSalt Lake beyond the mountains, and that he should want horses for thepurpose, for which he was ready to trade, having brought with himplenty of goods. He concluded his speech by making presents of tobacco. 

The left-handed chieftain in reply promised his friendship and aid tothe new-comers, and welcomed them to his village. He added that theyhad not the number of horses to spare that Mr. Hunt required, andexpressed a doubt whether they should be able to part with any. Uponthis, another chieftain, called Gray Eyes, made a speech, and declaredthat they could readily supply Mr. Hunt with all the horses he mightwant, since, if they had not enough in the village, they could easilysteal more. This honest expedient immediately removed the maindifficulty; but the chief deferred all trading for a day or two, untilhe should have time to consult with his subordinate chiefs, as tomarket rates; for the principal chief of a village, in conjunction withhis council, usually fixes the prices at which articles shall be boughtand sold, and to them the village must conform. 

The council now broke up. Mr. Hunt transferred his camp across theriver at a little distance below the village, and the left-handed chiefplaced some of his warriors as a guard to prevent the intrusion of anyof his people. The camp was pitched on the river bank just above theboats. The tents, and the men wrapped in their blankets and bivouackingon skins in the open air, surrounded the baggage at night. Foursentinels also kept watch within sight of each other outside of thecamp until midnight, when they were relieved by four others who mountedguard until daylight. 

[Illustration: TRADING FOR HORSES]

A trade now commenced with the Arickaras under the regulation andsupervision of their two chieftains. Mr. Hunt established his mart inthe lodge of the Big Man. The village soon presented the appearance ofa busy fair; and as horses were in demand, the purlieus and theadjacent plain were like the vicinity of a Tartar encampment; horseswere put through all paces, and horsemen were careering about with thatdexterity and grace for which the Arickaras are noted. As soon as ahorse was purchased, his tail was cropped, a sure mode ofdistinguishing him from the horses of the tribe; for the Indiansdisdain to practice this absurd, barbarous, and indecent mutilation, invented by some mean and vulgar mind, insensible to the merit andperfections of the animal. On the contrary, the Indian horses aresuffered to remain in every respect the superb and beautiful animalswhich nature formed them. 

The wealth of an Indian of the far west consists principally in hishorses, of which each chief and warrior possesses a great number, sothat the plains about an Indian village or encampment are covered withthem. These form objects of traffic or objects of depredation, and inthis way pass from tribe to tribe over great tracts of country. Thehorses owned by the Arickaras are, for the most part, of the wild stockof the prairies; some, however, had been obtained from the Poncas, Pawnees, and other tribes to the southwest, who had stolen them fromthe Spaniards in the course of horse-stealing expeditions into theMexican territories. These were to be known by being branded, a Spanishmode of marking horses not practised by the Indians. 

As the Arickaras were meditating another expedition against theirenemies the Sioux, the articles of traffic most in demand were guns, tomahawks, scalping-knives, powder, ball; and other munitions of war. The price of a horse, as regulated by the chiefs, was commonly tendollars' worth of goods at first cost. To supply the demand thussuddenly created, parties of young men and braves had sallied forth on expeditions to steal horses; a species of service among theIndians which takes precedence of hunting, and is considered adepartment of honorable warfare. 

While the leaders of the expedition were actively engaged in preparingfor the approaching journey, those who had accompanied it for curiosityor amusement, found ample matter for observation in the village and itsinhabitants. Wherever they went they were kindly entertained. If theyentered a lodge, the buffalo robe was spread before the fire for themto sit down; the pipe was brought, and while the master of the lodgeconversed with his guests, the squaw put the earthen vessel over thefire, well filled with dried buffalo meat and pounded corn; for theIndian in his native state, before he has mingled much with white men, and acquired their sordid habits, has the hospitality of the Arab;never does a stranger enter his door without having food placed beforehim; and never is the food thus furnished made a matter of traffic. 

The life of an Indian when at home in his village is a life ofindolence and amusement. To the woman is consigned the labors of thehousehold and the field; she arranges the lodge; brings wood for thefire; cooks; jerks venison and buffalo meat; dresses the skins of theanimals killed in the chase; cultivates the little patch of maize, pumpkins, and pulse, which furnishes a great part of their provisions. Their time for repose and recreation is at sunset, when, the labors ofthe day being ended, they gather together to amuse themselves withpetty games, or hold gossiping convocations on the tops of theirlodges. 

As to the Indian, he is a game animal, not to be degraded by useful ormenial toil. It is enough that he exposes himself to the hardships ofthe chase and the perils of war; that he brings home food for hisfamily, and watches and fights for its protection. Everything else isbeneath his attention. When at home he attends only to his weapons andhis horses, preparing the means of future exploit. Or he engages withhis comrades in games of dexterity, agility and strength; or ingambling games in which everything is put at hazard, with arecklessness seldom witnessed in civilized life. 

A great part of the idle leisure of the Indians when at home is passedin groups, squatted together on the bank of a river, on the top of amound on the prairie, or on the roof of one of their earth-coveredlodges, talking over the news of the day, the affairs of the tribe, theevents and exploits of their last hunting or fighting expedition; orlistening to the stories of old times told by some veteran chronicler;resembling a group of our village quidnuncs and politicians, listeningto the prosings of some superannuated oracle, or discussing thecontents of an ancient newspaper. 

As to the Indian women, they are far from complaining of their lot. Onthe contrary, they would despise their husbands should they stoop toany menial office, and would think it conveyed an imputation upon theirown conduct. It is the worst insult one virago can cast upon another ina moment of altercation. "Infamous woman!" will she cry, "I have seenyour husband carrying wood into his lodge to make the fire. Where washis squaw that he should be obliged to make a woman of himself?"

Mr. Hunt and his fellow-travellers had not been many days at theArickara village, when rumors began to circulate that the Sioux hadfollowed them up, and that a war party, four or five hundred in number, were lurking somewhere in the neighborhood. These rumors produced muchembarrassment in the camp. The white hunters were deterred fromventuring forth in quest of game, neither did the leaders think itproper to expose them to such risk. The Arickaras, too, who hadsuffered greatly in their wars with this cruel and ferocious tribe, were roused to increased vigilance, and stationed mounted scouts uponthe neighboring hills. This, however, is a general precaution among thetribes of the prairies. Those immense plains present a horizon like theocean, so that any object of importance can be descried afar, andinformation communicated to a great distance. The scouts are stationedon the hills, therefore, to look out both for game and for enemies, andare, in a manner, living telegraphs conveying their intelligence byconcerted signs. If they wish to give notice of a herd of buffalo inthe plain beyond, they gallop backward and forward abreast, on thesummit of the hill. If they perceive an enemy at hand they gallop toand fro, crossing each other; at sight of which the whole village fliesto arms. 

Such an alarm was given in the afternoon of the 15th. Four scouts wereseen crossing and recrossing each other at full gallop, on the summitof a hill about two miles distant down the river. The cry was up thatthe Sioux were coming. In an instant the village was in an uproar. Men, women, and children were all brawling and shouting; dogs barking, yelping, and howling. Some of the warriors ran for the horses to gatherand drive them in from the prairie, some for their weapons. As fast asthey could arm and equip they sallied forth; some on horseback, some onfoot; some hastily arrayed in their war dress, with coronets offluttering feathers, and their bodies smeared with paint; others nakedand only furnished with the weapons they had snatched up. The women andchildren gathered on the tops of the lodges and heightened theconfusion of the scene by their vociferation. Old men who could nolonger bear arms took similar stations, and harangued the warriors asthey passed, exhorting them to valorous deeds. Some of the veteranstook arms themselves, and sallied forth with tottering steps. In thisway, the savage chivalry of the village to the number of five hundred, poured forth, helter-skelter, riding and running, with hideous yellsand war-whoops, like so many bedlamites or demoniacs let loose. 

After a while the tide of war rolled back, but with far less uproar. Either it had been a false alarm, or the enemy had retreated on findingthemselves discovered, and quiet was restored to the village. The whitehunters continuing to be fearful of ranging this dangerousneighborhood, fresh provisions began to be scarce in the camp. As asubstitute, therefore, for venison and buffalo meat, the travellers hadto purchase a number of dogs to be shot and cooked for the supply ofthe camp. Fortunately, however chary the Indians might be of theirhorses, they were liberal of their dogs. In fact, these animals swarmabout an Indian village as they do about a Turkish town. Not a familybut has two or three dozen belonging to it of all sizes and colors;some, of a superior breed, are used for hunting; others, to draw thesledge, while others, of a mongrel breed, and idle vagabond nature, arefattened for food. They are supposed to be descended from the wolf, andretain something of his savage but cowardly temper, howling rather thanbarking, showing their teeth and snarling on the slightest provocation, but sneaking away on the least attack. 

The excitement of the village continued from day to day. On the dayfollowing the alarm just mentioned, several parties arrived fromdifferent directions, and were met and conducted by some of the bravesto the council lodge, where they reported the events and success oftheir expeditions, whether of war or hunting; which news was afterwardpromulgated throughout the village, by certain old men who acted asheralds or town criers. Among the parties which arrived was one thathad been among the Snake nation stealing horses, and returned crownedwith success. As they passed in triumph through the village they werecheered by the men, women, and children, collected as usual on the topsof the lodges, and were exhorted by the Nestors of the village to begenerous in their dealings with the white men. 

The evening was spent in feasting and rejoicing among the relations ofthe successful warriors; but sounds of grief and wailing were heardfrom the hills adjacent to the village: the lamentations of women whohad lost some relative in the foray. 

An Indian village is subject to continual agitations and excitements. The next day arrived a deputation of braves from the Cheyenne orShienne nation; a broken tribe, cut up, like the Arickaras, by warswith the Sioux, and driven to take refuge among the Black Hills, nearthe sources of the Cheyenne River, from which they derive their name. One of these deputies was magnificently arrayed in a buffalo robe, onwhich various figures were fancifully embroidered with split quillsdyed red and yellow; and the whole was fringed with the slender hoofsof young fawns, and rattled as he walked. 

The arrival of this deputation was the signal for another of thoseceremonies which occupy so much of Indian life; for no being is morecourtly and punctilious, and more observing of etiquette andformality than an American savage. 

The object of the deputation was to give notice of an intended visit ofthe Shienne (or Cheyenne) tribe to the Arickara village in the courseof fifteen days. To this visit Mr. Hunt looked forward, to procureadditional horses for his journey; all his bargaining being ineffectualin obtaining a sufficient supply from the Arickaras. Indeed nothingcould prevail upon the latter to part with their prime horses, whichhad been trained to buffalo hunting. 

On the 9th of July, just before daybreak, a great noise andvociferation was heard in the village. This being the usual Indian hourof attack and surprise, and the Sioux being known to be in theneighborhood, the camp was instantly on the alert. As the day brokeIndians were descried in considerable numbers on the bluffs, three orfour miles down the river. The noise and agitation in the villagecontinued. The tops of the lodges were crowded with the inhabitants, all earnestly looking toward the hills, and keeping up a vehementchattering. Presently an Indian warrior galloped past the camp towardthe village, and in a little while the legions began to pour forth. 

The truth of the matter was now ascertained. The Indians upon thedistant hills were three hundred Arickara braves returning from aforay. They had met the war party of Sioux who had been so longhovering about the neighborhood, had fought them the day before, killedseveral, and defeated the rest with the loss of but two or three oftheir own men and about a dozen wounded; and they were now halting at adistance until their comrades in the village should come forth to meetthem, and swell the parade of their triumphal entry. The warrior whohad galloped past the camp was the leader of the party hastening hometo give tidings of his victory. 

Preparations were now made for this great martial ceremony. All thefinery and equipments of the warriors were sent forth to them, thatthey might appear to the greatest advantage. Those, too, who hadremained at home, tasked their wardrobes and toilets to do honor to theprocession. 

The Arickaras generally go naked, but, like all savages, they havetheir gala dress, of which they are not a little vain. This usuallyconsists of a gray surcoat and leggins of the dressed skin of theantelope, resembling chamois leather, and embroidered with porcupinequills brilliantly dyed. A buffalo robe is thrown over the rightshoulder, and across the left is slung a quiver of arrows. They weargay coronets of plumes, particularly those of the swan; but thefeathers of the black eagle are considered the most worthy, being asacred bird among the Indian warriors. He who has killed an enemy inhis own land is entitled to drag at his heels a fox-skin attached toeach moccasin; and he who has slain a grizzly bear wears a necklace ofhis claws, the most glorious trophy that a hunter can exhibit. 

An Indian toilet is an operation of some toil and trouble; the warrioroften has to paint himself from head to foot, and is extremelycapricious and difficult to please, as to the hideous distribution ofstreaks and colors. A great part of the morning, therefore, passed awaybefore there were any signs of the distant pageant. In the mean time aprofound stillness reigned over the village. Most of the inhabitantshad gone forth; others remained in mute expectation. All sports andoccupations were suspended, excepting that in the lodges thepainstaking squaws were silently busied in preparing the repasts forthe warriors. 

It was near noon that a mingled sound of voices and rude music, faintlyheard from a distance, gave notice that the procession was on themarch. The old men and such of the squaws as could leave theiremployments hastened forth to meet it. In a little while it emergedfrom behind a hill, and had a wild and picturesque appearance as itcame moving over the summit in measured step, and to the cadence ofsongs and savage instruments; the warlike standards and trophiesflaunting aloft, and the feathers, and paint, and silver ornaments ofthe warriors glaring and glittering in the sunshine. 

[Illustration: RETURN OF THE WARRIORS]

The pageant had really something chivalrous in its arrangement. TheArickaras are divided into several bands, each bearing the name of someanimal or bird, as the buffalo, the bear, the dog, the pheasant. Thepresent party consisted of four of these bands, one of which was thedog, the most esteemed in war, being composed of young men underthirty, and noted for prowess. It is engaged on the most desperateoccasions. The bands marched in separate bodies under their severalleaders. The warriors on foot came first, in platoons of ten or twelveabreast; then the horsemen. Each band bore as an ensign a spear or bowdecorated with beads, porcupine quills and painted feathers. Each boreits trophies of scalps, elevated on poles, their long black locksstreaming in the wind. Each was accompanied by its rude music andminstrelsy. In this way the procession extended nearly a quarter of amile. The warriors were variously armed, some few with guns, otherswith bows and arrows, and war clubs; all had shields of buffalo hide, akind of defence generally used by the Indians of the open prairies, whohave not the covert of trees and forests to protect them. They werepainted in the most savage style. Some had the stamp of a red handacross their mouths, a sign that they had drunk the life-blood of afoe!

As they drew near to the village the old men and the women began tomeet them, and now a scene ensued that proved the fallacy of the oldfable of Indian apathy and stoicism. Parents and children, husbands andwives, brothers and sisters met with the most rapturous expressions ofjoy; while wailings and lamentations were heard from the relatives ofthe killed and wounded. The procession, however, continued on with slowand measured step, in cadence to the solemn chant, and the warriorsmaintained their fixed and stern demeanor. 

Between two of the principal chiefs rode a young warrior who haddistinguished himself in the battle. He was severely wounded, so aswith difficulty to keep on his horse; but he preserved a serene andsteadfast countenance, as if perfectly unharmed. His mother had heardof his condition. She broke through the throng, and rushing up, threwher arms around him and wept aloud. He kept up the spirit and demeanorof a warrior to the last, but expired shortly after he had reached hishome. 

The village was now a scene of the utmost festivity and triumph. Thebanners, and trophies, and scalps, and painted shields were elevated onpoles near the lodges. There were war-feasts and scalp-dances, withwarlike songs and savage music; all the inhabitants were arrayed intheir festal dresses; while the old heralds went round from lodge tolodge, promulgating with loud voices the events of the battle and theexploits of the various warriors. 

Such was the boisterous revelry of the village; but sounds of anotherkind were heard on the surrounding hills; piteous wailings of thewomen, who had retired thither to mourn in darkness and solitude forthose who had fallen in battle. There the poor mother of the youthfulwarrior who had returned home in triumph but to die, gave full vent tothe anguish of a mother's heart. How much does this custom among theIndian women of repairing to the hill tops in the night, and pouringforth their wailings for the dead, call to mind the beautiful andaffecting passage of Scripture, "In Rama was there a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeping for herchildren, and would not be comforted, because they are not. "