Transcriber's Note

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. A list of changes isfound at the end of the book. Inconsistent spelling and hyphenationhave been maintained. A list of those words is found at the end of thebook. Oe ligatures have been expanded. The original book used bothnumerical and symbolic footnote markers. This version follows theoriginal usage. 

[Illustration: THE TOURNAMENT]

 Journeys Through Bookland

 A NEW AND ORIGINAL PLAN FOR READING APPLIED TO THE WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE FOR CHILDREN

 _BY_ CHARLES H. SYLVESTER _Author of English and American Literature_

 VOLUME SIX _New Edition_

 [Illustration]

 Chicago BELLOWS-REEVE COMPANY PUBLISHERS

 Copyright, 1922 BELLOWS-REEVE COMPANY

CONTENTS

 PAGE HORATIUS _Lord Macaulay_ 1 LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER _Thomas Campbell_ 23 SIR WALTER SCOTT _Grace E. Sellon_ 26 THE TOURNAMENT _Sir Walter Scott_ 38 THE RAINBOW _Thomas Campbell_ 91 THE LION AND THE MISSIONARY _David Livingstone_ 93 THE MOSS ROSE _Translated from Krummacher_ 98 FOUR DUCKS ON A POND _William Allingham_ 98 RAB AND HIS FRIENDS _John Brown, M. D. _ 99 ANNIE LAURIE _William Douglas_ 119 THE BLIND LASSIE _T. C. Latto_ 120 BOYHOOD _Washington Allston_ 122 SWEET AND LOW _Alfred Tennyson_ 122 CHILDHOOD _Donald G. Mitchell_ 124 THE BUGLE SONG _Alfred Tennyson_ 133 THE IMITATION OF CHRIST _Thomas à Kempis_ 134 THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB _Lord Byron_ 141 RUTH 143 THE VISION OF BELSHAZZAR _Lord Byron_ 153 SOHRAB AND RUSTEM 157 SOHRAB AND RUSTUM _Matthew Arnold_ 173 THE POET AND THE PEASANT _Emile Souvestre_ 206 JOHN HOWARD PAYNE AND _Home, Sweet Home_ 221 AULD LANG SYNE _Robert Burns_ 228 HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD _Alfred Tennyson_ 231 CHARLES DICKENS 232 A CHRISTMAS CAROL _Charles Dickens_ 244 CHRISTMAS IN OLD TIME _Sir Walter Scott_ 356 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD _Thomas Gray_ 360 THE SHIPWRECK _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 371 ELEPHANT HUNTING _Roualeyn Gordon Cumming_ 385 SOME CLEVER MONKEYS _Thomas Belt_ 402 POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC _Benjamin Franklin_ 407 GEORGE ROGERS CLARK 422 THE CAPTURE OF VINCENNES _George Rogers Clark_ 428 THREE SUNDAYS IN A WEEK _Edgar Allan Poe_ 453 THE MODERN BELLE _Stark_ 463 WIDOW MACHREE _Samuel Lover_ 464 LIMESTONE BROTH _Gerald Griffin_ 467 THE KNOCK-OUT _Davy Crockett_ 471 THE COUNTRY SQUIRE _Thomas Yriarte_ 474 TO MY INFANT SON _Thomas Hood_ 478

 PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES 481

For Classification of Selections, see General Index, at end of Volume X

ILLUSTRATIONS

 PAGE THE TOURNAMENT (Color Plate) _Donn P. Crane_ FRONTISPIECE THE LONG ARRAY OF HELMETS BRIGHT _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 5 "LIE THERE, " HE CRIED, "FELL PIRATE" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 13 HORATIO IN HIS HARNESS, HALTING UPON ONE KNEE _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 21 "BOATMAN, DO NOT TARRY" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 24 SIR WALTER SCOTT (Halftone) 26 ABBOTSFORD (Color Plate) 30 THRONG GOING TO THE LISTS _R. F. Babcock_ 41 THE DISINHERITED KNIGHT UNHORSES BRYAN _R. F. Babcock_ 59 THE ARMOUR MAKERS _R. F. Babcock_ 69 PRINCE JOHN THROWS DOWN THE TRUNCHEON _R. F. Babcock_ 85 ROWENA CROWNING DISINHERITED KNIGHT _R. F. Babcock_ 89 "RAB, YE THIEF!" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 103 JAMES BURIED HIS WIFE _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 117 SHE REACHES DOWN TO DIP HER TOE _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 125 POOR TRAY IS DEAD _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 132 "WHITHER THOU GOEST, I WILL GO" _R. F. Babcock_ 145 RUTH GLEANING _R. F. Babcock_ 147 THE WRITING ON THE WALL _Louis Grell_ 155 SOHRAB AND PERAN-WISA (Color Plate) _Louis Grell_ 174 PERAN-WISA GIVES SOHRAB'S CHALLENGE _R. F. Babcock_ 179 THE SPEAR RENT THE TOUGH PLATES _R. F. Babcock_ 191 RUSTUM SORROWS OVER SOHRAB _R. F. Babcock_ 203 MATTHEW ARNOLD (Halftone) 204 JOHN HOWARD PAYNE (Halftone) 222 THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME _Iris Weddell White_ 225 FOR AULD LANG SYNE _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 230 CHARLES DICKENS (Halftone) 232 THE CLERK SMILED FAINTLY _Iris Weddell White_ 255 "IN LIFE I WAS YOUR PARTNER, JACOB MARLEY" _Iris Weddell White_ 263 IN THE BEST PARLOR _Iris Weddell White_ 281 THE FIDDLER STRUCK UP "SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY" _Iris Weddell White_ 285 UPON THE COUCH THERE SAT A JOLLY GIANT _Iris Weddell White_ 297 BOB AND TINY TIM (Color Plate) _Hazel Frazee_ 304 THERE NEVER WAS SUCH A GOOSE _Iris Weddell White_ 307 "SO I AM TOLD, " RETURNED THE SECOND _Iris Weddell White_ 329 HE READ HIS OWN NAME _Iris Weddell White_ 344 HE STOOD BY THE WINDOW--GLORIOUS! _Iris Weddell White_ 348 "A MERRY CHRISTMAS, BOB!" _Iris Weddell White_ 355 HOMEWARD PLODS HIS WEARY WAY _R. F. Babcock_ 361 THE COUNTRY CHURCHYARD _R. F. Babcock_ 369 I FOUND I WAS HOLDING TO A SPAR _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 372 WITH BEATING HEART I APPROACHED A VIEW _R. F. Babcock_ 397 A CEBUS MONKEY _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 405 THE SLEEPING FOX CATCHES NO POULTRY _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 411 CLARK TOOK THE LEAD _R. F. Babcock_ 433 WE MET AT THE CHURCH _R. F. Babcock_ 449 "WELL, THEN, BOBBY, MY BOY" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 455 IN KATE, HOWEVER, I HAD A FIRM FRIEND _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 458 "FAITH, I WISH YOU'D TAKE ME!" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 465 HE SOON SEES A FARMHOUSE AT A LITTLE DISTANCE _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 468 THE SQUIRE'S LIBRARY _Iris Weddell White_ 475 "THERE GOES MY INK!" _Lucille Enders_ 479

HORATIUS

_By_ LORD MACAULAY

 NOTE. --This spirited poem by Lord Macaulay is founded on one of the most popular Roman legends. While the story is based on facts, we can by no means be certain that all of the details are historical. 

 According to Roman legendary history, the Tarquins, Lucius Tarquinius Priscus and Lucius Tarquinius Superbus, were among the early kings of Rome. The reign of the former was glorious, but that of the latter was most unjust and tyrannical. Finally the unscrupulousness of the king and his son reached such a point that it became unendurable to the people, who in 509 B. C. Rose in rebellion and drove the entire family from Rome. Tarquinius Superbus appealed to Lars Porsena, the powerful king of Clusium for aid and the story of the expedition against Rome is told in this poem. 

 Lars Porsena of Clusium[1-1] By the Nine Gods[1-2] he swore That the great house of Tarquin Should suffer wrong no more. By the Nine Gods he swore it, And named a trysting day, And bade his messengers ride forth East and west and south and north, To summon his array. 

 East and west and south and north The messengers ride fast, And tower and town and cottage Have heard the trumpet's blast. Shame on the false Etruscan Who lingers in his home, When Porsena of Clusium Is on the march for Rome. 

 The horsemen and the footmen Are pouring in amain From many a stately market-place; From many a fruitful plain. From many a lonely hamlet, Which, hid by beech and pine, Like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest Of purple Apennine;

 * * * * *

 There be thirty chosen prophets, The wisest of the land, Who alway by Lars Porsena Both morn and evening stand: Evening and morn the Thirty Have turned the verses o'er, Traced from the right on linen white[2-3] By mighty seers of yore. 

 And with one voice the Thirty Have their glad answer given: "Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena; Go forth, beloved of Heaven: Go, and return in glory To Clusium's royal dome; And hang round Nurscia's[3-4] altars The golden shields of Rome. "

 And now hath every city Sent up her tale[3-5] of men: The foot are fourscore thousand, The horse are thousand ten. Before the gates of Sutrium[3-6] Is met the great array. A proud man was Lars Porsena Upon the trysting day. 

 For all the Etruscan armies Were ranged beneath his eye, And many a banished Roman, And many a stout ally; And with a mighty following To join the muster came The Tusculan Mamilius, Prince of the Latian[3-7] name. 

 But by the yellow Tiber Was tumult and affright: From all the spacious champaign[3-8] To Rome men took their flight. A mile around the city, The throng stopped up the ways; A fearful sight it was to see Through two long nights and days. 

 For aged folks on crutches, And women great with child, And mothers sobbing over babes That clung to them and smiled, And sick men borne in litters High on the necks of slaves, And troops of sunburnt husbandmen With reaping-hooks and staves, And droves of mules and asses Laden with skins of wine, And endless flocks of goats and sheep, And endless herds of kine, And endless trains of wagons That creaked beneath the weight Of corn-sacks and of household goods, Choked every roaring gate. 

 Now, from the rock Tarpeian[4-9] Could the wan burghers spy The line of blazing villages Red in the midnight sky. The Fathers of the City, [5-10] They sat all night and day, For every hour some horseman came With tidings of dismay. 

 To eastward and to westward Have spread the Tuscan bands; Nor house nor fence nor dovecote In Crustumerium stands. Verbenna down to Ostia[5-11] Hath wasted all the plain; Astur hath stormed Janiculum, [5-12] And the stout guards are slain. 

 Iwis, [5-13] in all the Senate, There was no heart so bold, But sore it ached, and fast it beat, When that ill news was told. Forthwith up rose the Consul, [5-14] Uprose the Fathers all; In haste they girded up their gowns, And hied them to the wall. 

 They held a council standing Before the River-Gate; Short time was there, ye well may guess, For musing or debate. Out spake the Consul roundly: "The bridge must straight go down; For since Janiculum is lost, Naught else can save the town. "

 Just then a scout came flying, All wild with haste and fear; "To arms! to arms! Sir Consul: Lars Porsena is here. " On the low hills to westward The Consul fixed his eye, And saw the swarthy storm of dust Rise fast along the sky. 

 And nearer fast and nearer Doth the red whirlwind come; And louder still and still more loud, From underneath that rolling cloud, Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud, The trampling, and the hum. And plainly and more plainly Now through the gloom appears, Far to left and far to right, In broken gleams of dark-blue light, The long array of helmets bright, The long array of spears. 

 And plainly, and more plainly Above that glimmering line, Now might ye see the banners Of twelve fair cities shine; But the banner of proud Clusium Was highest of them all, The terror of the Umbrian, The terror of the Gaul. 

 Fast by the royal standard, O'erlooking all the war, Lars Porsena of Clusium Sat in his ivory car. By the right wheel rode Mamilius, Prince of the Latian name, And by the left false Sextus, [7-15] That wrought the deed of shame. 

[Illustration: THE LONG ARRAY OF HELMETS BRIGHT]

 But when the face of Sextus Was seen among the foes, A yell that bent the firmament From all the town arose. On the house-tops was no woman But spat toward him and hissed, No child but screamed out curses, And shook its little fist. 

 But the Consul's brow was sad, And the Consul's speech was low, And darkly looked he at the wall, And darkly at the foe. "Their van will be upon us Before the bridge goes down; And if they once may win the bridge, What hope to save the town?"

 Then out spake brave Horatius, The Captain of the Gate: "To every man upon this earth Death cometh soon or late. And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers, And the temples of his gods, "And for the tender mother Who dandled him to rest, And for the wife who nurses His baby at her breast, And for the holy maidens Who feed the eternal flame, [8-16] To save them from false Sextus That wrought the deed of shame?

 "Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, With all the speed ye may; I, with two more to help me, Will hold the foe in play. In yon strait path a thousand May well be stopped by three. Now who will stand on either hand, And keep the bridge with me?"

 Then out spake Spurius Lartius; A Ramnian proud was he: "Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, And keep the bridge with thee. " And out spake strong Herminius; Of Titian blood was he: "I will abide on thy left side, And keep the bridge with thee. "

 "Horatius, " quoth the Consul, "As thou sayest, so let it be. " And straight against that great array Forth went the dauntless Three. For Romans in Rome's quarrel Spared neither land nor gold, Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, In the brave days of old. 

 Then none was for a party; Then all were for the state; Then the great man helped the poor, And the poor man loved the great: Then lands were fairly portioned; Then spoils were fairly sold: The Romans were like brothers In the brave days of old. 

 Now while the Three were tightening Their harness on their backs, The Consul was the foremost man To take in hand an axe: And Fathers mixed with Commons[10-17] Seized hatchet, bar, and crow, And smote upon the planks above, And loosed the props below. 

 Meanwhile the Tuscan army, Right glorious to behold, Came flashing back the noonday light, Rank behind rank, like surges bright Of a broad sea of gold. Four hundred trumpets sounded A peal of warlike glee, As that great host, with measured tread, And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head, Where stood the dauntless Three. 

 The Three stood calm and silent, And looked upon the foes, And a great shout of laughter From all the vanguard rose; And forth three chiefs came spurring Before that deep array; To earth they sprang, their swords they drew, And lifted high their shields, and flew To win the narrow way;

 Aunus from green Tifernum, [11-18] Lord of the Hill of Vines; And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves Sicken in Ilva's mines; And Picus, long to Clusium Vassal in peace and war, Who led to fight his Umbrian powers From that gray crag where, girt with towers, The fortress of Nequinum lowers O'er the pale waves of Nar. 

 Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus Into the stream beneath: Herminius struck at Seius, And clove him to the teeth: At Picus brave Horatius Darted one fiery thrust; And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms Clashed in the bloody dust. 

 Then Ocnus of Falerii Rushed on the Roman Three: And Lausulus of Urgo, The rover of the sea; And Aruns of Volsinium, Who slew the great wild boar, The great wild boar that had his den Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen, And wasted fields, and slaughtered men, Along Albinia's shore. 

 Herminius smote down Aruns: Lartius laid Ocnus low: Right to the heart of Lausulus Horatius sent a blow. "Lie there, " he cried, "fell pirate! No more, aghast and pale, From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark The track of thy destroying bark. No more Campania's[12-19] hinds[12-20] shall fly To woods and caverns when they spy Thy thrice accursed sail. "

 But now no sound of laughter Was heard among the foes. A wild and wrathful clamor From all the vanguard rose. Six spears' lengths from the entrance Halted that deep array, And for a space no man came forth To win the narrow way. 

 But hark! the cry is Astur: And lo! the ranks divide; And the great Lord of Luna Comes with his stately stride. Upon his ample shoulders Clangs loud the fourfold shield, And in his hand he shakes the brand Which none but he can wield. 

[Illustration: "LIE THERE, " HE CRIED, "FELL PIRATE!"]

 He smiled on those bold Romans A smile serene and high; He eyed the flinching Tuscans, And scorn was in his eye. Quoth he, "The she-wolf's litter[14-21] Stand savagely at bay: But will ye dare to follow, If Astur clears the way?"

 Then, whirling up his broadsword With both hands to the height, He rushed against Horatius, And smote with all his might. With shield and blade Horatius Right deftly turned the blow. The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh; It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh: The Tuscans raised a joyful cry To see the red blood flow. 

 He reeled, and on Herminius He leaned one breathing-space; Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds, Sprang right at Astur's face. Through teeth, and skull, and helmet, So fierce a thrust he sped, The good sword stood a handbreadth out Behind the Tuscan's head. 

 And the great Lord of Luna Fell at that deadly stroke, As falls on Mount Alvernus A thunder-smitten oak. Far o'er the crashing forest The giant arms lie spread; And the pale augurs, muttering low, Gaze on the blasted head. 

 On Astur's throat Horatius Right firmly pressed his heel, And thrice and four times tugged amain, Ere he wrenched out the steel. "And see, " he cried, "the welcome, Fair guests, that waits you here! What noble Lucumo comes next To taste our Roman cheer?"

 But at his haughty challenge A sullen murmur ran, Mingled of wrath and shame and dread, Along that glittering van. There lacked not men of prowess, Nor men of lordly race; For all Etruria's noblest Were round the fatal place. 

 But all Etruria's noblest Felt their hearts sink to see On the earth the bloody corpses, In the path the dauntless Three: And, from the ghastly entrance Where those bold Romans stood, All shrank, like boys who unaware, Ranging the woods to start a hare, Come to the mouth of the dark lair Where, growling low, a fierce old bear Lies amidst bones and blood. 

 Was none who would be foremost To lead such dire attack: But those behind cried "Forward!" And those before cried "Back!" And backward now and forward Wavers the deep array; And on the tossing sea of steel, To and fro the standards reel; And the victorious trumpet-peal Dies fitfully away. 

 Yet one man for one moment Stood out before the crowd; Well known was he to all the Three, And they gave him greeting loud. "Now welcome, welcome, Sextus! Now welcome to thy home! Why dost thou stay, and turn away? Here lies the road to Rome. "

 Thrice looked he at the city; Thrice looked he at the dead; And thrice came on in fury, And thrice turned back in dread; And, white with fear and hatred, Scowled at the narrow way Where, wallowing in a pool of blood, The bravest Tuscans lay. 

 But meanwhile axe and lever Have manfully been plied; And now the bridge hangs tottering Above the boiling tide. "Come back, come back, Horatius!" Loud cried the Fathers all. "Back, Lartius! back, Herminius! Back, ere the ruin fall!"

 Back darted Spurius Lartius; Herminius darted back: And, as they passed, beneath their feet They felt the timbers crack. But when they turned their faces, And on the farther shore Saw brave Horatius stand alone, They would have crossed once more. 

 But with a crash like thunder Fell every loosened beam, And, like a dam, the mighty wreck Lay right athwart the stream; And a long shout of triumph Rose from the walls of Rome, As to the highest turret-tops Was splashed the yellow foam. 

 And, like a horse unbroken When first he feels the rein, The furious river struggled hard, And tossed his tawny mane, And burst the curb, and bounded, Rejoicing to be free, And whirling down, in fierce career, Battlement, and plank, and pier, Rushed headlong to the sea. 

 Alone stood brave Horatius, But constant still in mind; Thrice thirty thousand foes before, And the broad flood behind. "Down with him!" cried false Sextus, With a smile on his pale face. "Now yield thee, " cried Lars Porsena, "Now yield thee to our grace. "

 Round turned he, as not deigning Those craven ranks to see; Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, To Sextus naught spake he; But he saw on Palatinus[18-22] The white porch of his home; And he spake to the noble river That rolls by the towers of Rome. 

 "O Tiber! father Tiber![18-23] To whom the Romans pray, A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, Take thou in charge this day!" So he spake, and speaking sheathed The good sword by his side, And with his harness on his back Plunged headlong in the tide. 

 No sound of joy or sorrow Was heard from either bank; But friends and foes in dumb surprise, With parted lips and straining eyes, Stood gazing where he sank; And when above the surges They saw his crest appear, All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, And even the ranks of Tuscany Could scarce forbear to cheer. 

 But fiercely ran the current, Swollen high by months of rain: And fast his blood was flowing, And he was sore in pain, And heavy with his armor, And spent with changing blows: And oft they thought him sinking, But still again he rose. 

 Never, I ween, did swimmer, In such an evil case, Struggle through such a raging flood Safe to the landing-place: But his limbs were borne up bravely By the brave heart within, And our good father Tiber Bore bravely up his chin. 

 "Curse on him!" quoth false Sextus; "Will not the villain drown? But for this stay, ere close of day We should have sacked the town!" "Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena, "And bring him safe to shore; For such a gallant feat of arms Was never seen before. "

 And now he feels the bottom; Now on dry earth he stands; Now round him throng the Fathers To press his gory hands; And now, with shouts and clapping, And noise of weeping loud, He enters through the River-Gate, Borne by the joyous crowd. 

 They gave him of the corn-land, That was of public right, As much as two strong oxen Could plow from morn till night; And they made a molten image, And set it up on high, And there it stands unto this day To witness if I lie. 

 It stands in the Comitium, [20-24] Plain for all folk to see; Horatius in his harness, Halting upon one knee: And underneath is written, In letters all of gold, How valiantly he kept the bridge In the brave days of old. 

 And still his name sounds stirring Unto the men of Rome, As the trumpet-blast that cries to them To charge the Volscian[20-25] home; And wives still pray to Juno[20-26] For boys with hearts as bold As his who kept the bridge so well In the brave days of old. 

 And in the nights of winter, When the cold north-winds blow, And the long howling of the wolves Is heard amidst the snow; When round the lonely cottage Roars loud the tempest's din, And the good logs of Algidus Roar louder yet within:

[Illustration: HORATIUS IN HIS HARNESS, HALTING UPON ONE KNEE]

 When the oldest cask is opened, And the largest lamp is lit; When the chestnuts glow in the embers, And the kid turns on the spit; When young and old in circle Around the firebrands close; And the girls are weaving baskets, And the lads are shaping bows;

 When the goodman mends his armor, And trims his helmet's plume; When the goodwife's shuttle merrily Goes flashing through the loom, -- With weeping and with laughter Still is the story told, How well Horatius kept the bridge In the brave days of old. [22-27]

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[1-1] Clusium was a powerful town in Etruria. 

[1-2] According to the religion of the Etruscans there were nine greatgods. An oath by them was considered the most binding oath that a mancould take. 

[2-3] This line shows us that the writing of the Etruscans was donebackwards, as we should consider it; that is, they wrote from right toleft instead of from left to right. 

[3-4] Nurscia was a city of the Sabines. 

[3-5] _Tale_ here means _number_. 

[3-6] Sutrium was an Etruscan town twenty-nine miles from Rome. 

[3-7] The Latins were an Italian race who, even before the dawn ofhistory, dwelt on the plains south of the Tiber. Rome was supposed to bea colony of Alba Longa, the chief Latin city, but the Latin peoples werein the fourth century brought into complete subjection to Rome. 

[3-8] _Champaign_, or _campagna_, means any open, level tract ofcountry. The name is specifically applied to the extensive plains aboutRome. 

[4-9] A part of the Capitoline, one of the seven hills on which Rome isbuilt, was called the Tarpeian Rock, after Tarpeia, daughter of an earlygovernor of the citadel on the Capitoline. According to the popularlegend, when the Sabines came against Rome, Tarpeia promised to open thegate of the fortress to them if they would give her what they wore ontheir left arms. It was their jewelry which she coveted, but she waspunished for her greed and treachery, for when the soldiers had enteredthe fortress they hurled their shields upon her, crushing her to death. 

[5-10] _Fathers of the City_ was the name given to the members of theRoman Senate. 

[5-11] Ostia was the port of Rome, situated at the mouth of the Tiber. 

[5-12] Janiculum is a hill on the west bank of the Tiber at Rome. It wasstrongly fortified, and commanded the approach to Rome. 

[5-13] _Iwis_ is an obsolete word meaning _truly_. 

[5-14] When the kings were banished from Rome the people vowed thatnever again should one man hold the supreme power. Two chief rulers weretherefore chosen, and were given the name of _consuls_. 

[7-15] Sextus was the son of the last king of Rome. It was a shamefuldeed of his which finally roused the people against the Tarquin family. 

[8-16] In the temple of the goddess Vesta a sacred flame was keptburning constantly, and it was thought that the consequences to the citywould be most dire if the fire were allowed to go out. The Vestalvirgins, priestesses who tended the flame, were held in the highesthonor. 

[10-17] The Roman people were divided into two classes, the patricians, to whom belonged all the privileges of citizenship, and the plebeians, who were not allowed to hold office or even to own property. Macaulaygives the English name _Commons_ to the plebeians. 

[11-18] A discussion as to who these chiefs were, or as to where theplaces mentioned were located, would be profitless. The notes attempt togive only such information as will aid in understanding the story. 

[12-19] _Campania_ is another name for the campagna. 

[12-20] _Hinds_ here means _peasants_. 

[14-21] Romulus, the founder of Rome, and Remus, his brother, were, according to the legend, rescued and brought up by a she-wolf, afterthey had been cast into the Tiber to die. 

[18-22] The Palatine is one of the seven hills of Rome. 

[18-23] The Romans personified the Tiber River, and even offered prayersto it. 

[20-24] The Comitium was the old Roman polling-place, a square situatedbetween the Forum and the Senate House. 

[20-25] The Volscians were among the most determined of the Italianenemies of Rome. 

[20-26] Juno was the goddess who was thought of as presiding overmarriage and the birth of children. 

[22-27] You can tell from these last three stanzas, that Macaulay iswriting his poem, not as an Englishman of the nineteenth century, but asif he were a Roman in the days when Rome, though powerful, had not yetbecome the luxurious city which it afterward was. That is, he thought ofhimself as writing in the days of the Republic, not in the days of theEmpire. 

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER

_By_ THOMAS CAMPBELL

 A chieftain, to the Highlands bound, Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound, To row us o'er the ferry. "

 "Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?" "O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter. 

 "And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. 

 "His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?"

 Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, "I'll go, my chief--I'm ready; It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady:

 "And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry; So though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry. "

[Illustration: "BOATMAN, DO NOT TARRY!"]

 By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. 

 But still as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men, Their trampling sounded nearer. 

 "O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, "Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father. "

 The boat had left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her, -- When, oh! too strong for human hand, The tempest gather'd o'er her. 

 And still they row'd amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing: Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, His wrath was changed to wailing. 

 For sore dismay'd, through storm and shade, His child he did discover:-- One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid, And one was round her lover. 

 "Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water: And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!--oh my daughter!"

 'Twas vain: the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing; The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting. 

SIR WALTER SCOTT

_By_ GRACE E. SELLON

Of the old and honorable families of Scotland there are perhaps nonemore worthy than those from which were descended the parents of SirWalter Scott. In the long line of ancestors on either side were fearlessknights and bold chiefs of the Scottish Border whose adventures became adelightful heritage to the little boy born into the Edinburgh family ofScott in 1771. Perhaps his natural liking for strange and excitingevents would have made him even more eager than other children to betold fairy stories and tales of real heroes of his own land. But evenhad this not been so, the way in which he was forced to spend his earlychildhood was such that entertainment of this kind was about all that hecould enjoy. He was not two years old when, after a brief illness, helost the use of one of his legs and thus became unable to run about asbefore, or even to stand. Soon afterward he was sent to hisgrandfather's farm at Sandy-Knowe, where it was thought that the countrylife would help him. There he spent his days in listening to livelystories of Scotsmen who had lived in the brave and rollicking fashion ofRobin Hood, in being read to by his aunt or in lying out among therocks, cared for by his grandfather's old shepherd. When thus out ofdoors he found so much of interest about him that he could not liestill and would try so hard to move himself about that at length hebecame able to rise to his feet and even to walk and run. 

[Illustration: SIR WALTER SCOTT 1771-1832]

Except for his lameness, he grew so well and strong that when he wasabout eight years old he was placed with his brothers in the upper classof the Edinburgh grammar school, known as the High School. Though he hadhad some lessons in Latin with a private tutor, he was behind his classin this subject, and being a high-spirited and sensitive boy, he feltrather keenly this disadvantage. Perhaps the fact that he could not beone of the leaders of his class made him careless; at any rate, he couldnever be depended upon to prepare his lesson, and at no time did he makea consistently good record. However, he found not a little comfort forhis failure as a student in his popularity as a storyteller andkind-hearted comrade. Among the boys of his own rank in the school hewon great admiration for his never-ending supply of exciting narrativesand his willingness to give help upon lessons that he would otherwisehave left undone. 

At the end of three years his class was promoted, and he found the newteacher much more to his liking. Indeed, his ability to appreciate themeaning and beauty of the Latin works studied became recognized: hebegan to make translations in verse that won praise, and, with a newfeeling of distinction, he was thus urged on to earnest efforts. Afterleaving this school, he continued his excellent progress in the study ofLatin for a short time under a teacher in the village of Kelso, where hehad gone to visit an aunt. 

Meanwhile his hours out of school were spent in ways most pleasing tohis lively imagination. His lameness did not debar him from the mostactive sports, nor even from the vigorous encounters in which, eitherwith a single opponent or with company set against company, the Scotchschoolboys defended their reputation as hard fighters. One of theseskirmishes that made a lasting impression upon Walter Scott he himselftells us of, and his biographer, Lockhart, has quoted it in describingthe hardy boyhood days of the great writer. It frequently happened thatbands of children from different parts of Edinburgh would wage war witheach other, fighting with stones and clubs and other like weapons. Perhaps the city authorities thought that these miniature battlesafforded good training: at least the police seem not to have interfered. The boys in the neighborhood where Walter lived had formed a companythat had been given a beautiful standard by a young noblewoman. Thiscompany fought every week with a band composed of boys of the poorerclasses. The leader of the latter was a fine-looking young fellow whobore himself as bravely as any chieftain. In the midst of a hotly foughtcontest, this boy had all but captured the enemy's proudly erectedstandard when he was struck severely to the ground with a cruelly heavyweapon. The dismayed companies fled in all directions, and the lad wastaken to the hospital. In a few days, however, he recovered; and then itwas that through a friendly baker Walter Scott and his brothers wereable to get word to their mistreated opponent and to offer a sum ofmoney in token of their regret. But Green-breeks, as the young leaderhad been dubbed, refused to accept this, and said besides that theymight be sure of his not telling what he knew of the affair in which hehad been hurt, for he felt it a disgrace to be a talebearer. Thisgenerous conduct so impressed young Scott and his companions that alwaysafterward the fighting was fair. 

It must have been with not a little difficulty that this warlike spiritwas subdued and made obedient to the strict rules observed in thePresbyterian home on Sunday. To a boy whose mind was filled withstirring deeds of adventure and all sorts of vivid legends and romances, the long, gloomy services seemed a tiresome burden. Monday, however, brought new opportunities for reading favorite poets and works ofhistory and travel, and many were the spare moments through the weekthat were spent thus. The marvelous characters and incidents inSpenser's _Faerie Queene_ were a never-ending source of enjoyment, andlater Percy's _Reliques of Ancient English Poetry_ was discovered by theyoung reader with a gladness that made him forget everything else in theworld. "I remember well, " he has written, "the spot where I read thesevolumes for the first time. It was beneath a huge platanus tree, in theruins of what had been intended for an old-fashioned arbor in the gardenI have mentioned. The summer day sped onward so fast that, notwithstanding the sharp appetite of thirteen, I forgot the hour ofdinner, was sought for with anxiety, and was found still entranced in myintellectual banquet. To read and to remember was in this instance thesame thing, and henceforth I overwhelmed my schoolfellows, and all whowould hearken to me, with tragical recitations from the ballads ofBishop Percy. The first time, too, I could scrape a few shillingstogether, which were not common occurrences with me, I bought untomyself a copy of these beloved volumes; nor do I believe I ever read abook half so frequently, or with half the enthusiasm. "

After his return from Kelso, Walter was sent to college, but with nobetter results than in the early years at the High School. The Latinteacher was so mild in his requirements that it was easy to neglect thelessons, and in beginning the study of Greek the boy was again at adisadvantage, for nearly all his classmates, unlike himself, knew alittle of the language. He was scarcely more successful in a privatecourse in mathematics, but did well in his classes in moral philosophy. History and civil and municipal law completed his list of studies. Someager did this education seem that in later years Scott wrote in abrief autobiography, "If, however, it should ever fall to the lot ofyouth to peruse these pages--let such a reader remember that it is withthe deepest regret that I recollect in my manhood the opportunities oflearning which I neglected in my youth: that through every part of myliterary career I have felt pinched and hampered by my own ignorance:and that I would at this moment give half the reputation I have had thegood fortune to acquire, if by doing so I could rest the remaining partupon a sound foundation of learning and science. "

[Illustration: ABBOTSFORD]

It had been decided that Walter should follow his father's profession, that of the law, and accordingly he entered his father's office, toserve a five years' apprenticeship. Though it may seem surprising, inview of his former indolence, it is true that he gave himself to hiswork with great industry. At the same time, however, he continued toread stories of adventure and history and other similar works with asmuch zest as ever, and entered into an agreement with a friend wherebyeach was to entertain the other with original romances. The monotony ofoffice duties was also relieved by many trips about the country, inwhich the keenest delight was felt in natural beauties and in thehistorical associations of old ruins and battlefields and other placesof like interest. Then, too, there were literary societies that advancedthe young law-apprentice both intellectually and socially. Thus theyears with his father passed. Then, as he was to prepare himself foradmission to the bar, he entered law classes in the University ofEdinburgh, with the result that in 1792 he was admitted into the Facultyof Advocates. 

The first years of his practice, though not without profit, might haveseemed dull and irksome to the young lawyer, had not his summers beenspent in journeys about Scotland in which he came into possession of awealth of popular legends and ballads. It was during one of theseexcursions, made in 1797, that he met the attractive young French woman, Charlotte Carpenter, who a few months later became his wife. A previousand unfortunate love affair had considerably sobered Scott's ardentnature, but his friendship and marriage with Miss Carpenter brought himmuch of the happiness of which he had believed himself to have beendeprived. 

The young couple spent their winters in Edinburgh and their summers atthe suburb Lasswade. During the resting time passed in the countrycottage, Scott found enjoyment in composing poems based upon some of thelegends and superstitions with which he had become familiar in hisjaunts among ruined castles and scenes in the Highlands. Some of theseverses, shown in an offhand manner to James Ballantyne, who was the headof a printing establishment in Kelso, met with such favorablerecognition that Scott was encouraged to lay bare to his friend a planthat had been forming in his mind for publishing a great collection ofScotch ballads. As a result Scott entered upon the work of editing themand by 1803 had published the three volumes of his _Minstrelsy of theScottish Border_. So successful was this venture that shortly afterwardhe began the _Lay of the Last Minstrel_, a lengthy poem in which hiskeen interest in the thrilling history of the Scottish Border found fullexpression. This poem, published in 1805, was heartily welcomed, andopened to its author the career for which he was best fitted. 

The popularity of the _Lay_, together with the fact that the young poethad won no honors as an advocate, doubtless accounts for his retiringfrom the bar in 1806. He had been made sheriff of Selkirkshire in 1799, and to the income thus received was added that of a clerk of the Courtof Sessions, an office to which he was appointed in 1806. More thanthis, he had in the preceding year become a partner in the Ballantyneprinting establishment, which had moved to Edinburgh, and his growingfame as a writer seemed to promise that his association with this firmwould bring considerable profit. 

With a good income thus assured, Scott was able within the followingfour years to produce besides minor works, two other great poems, _Marmion, a Tale of Flodden Field_, and _The Lady of the Lake_. Theserank with the most stirring and richly colored narrative poems in ourlanguage. So vivid, indeed, are the pictures of Scottish scenery foundin _The Lady of the Lake_, that, according to a writer who was livingwhen it was published, "The whole country rang with the praises of thepoet--crowds set off to view the scenery of Loch Katrine, till thencomparatively unknown; and as the book came out just before the seasonfor excursions, every house and inn in that neighborhood was crammedwith a constant succession of visitors. "

This lively and pleasing story, with its graceful verse form, has becomesuch a favorite for children's reading, that it seems very amusing to betold of the answer given by one of Scott's little daughters to a familyfriend who had asked her how she liked the poem: "Oh, I have not readit; papa says there's nothing so bad for young people as reading badpoetry. " The biographer Lockhart recounts also a little incident inwhich young Walter Scott, returning from school with the marks of battleshowing plainly on his face, was asked why he had been fighting, andreplied, looking down in shame, that he had been called a _lassie_. Never having heard of even the title of his father's poem, the boy hadfiercely resented being named, by some of his playmates, _The Lady ofthe Lake_. 

In order to fulfil his duties as sheriff, Scott had in 1804 leased theestate of Ashestiel, and in this wild and beautiful stretch of countryon the Tweed River had spent his summers. When his lease expired in1811, he bought a farm of one hundred acres extending along the sameriver, and in the following year removed with his family to the cottageon this new property. This was the simple beginning of the magnificentAbbotsford home. Year after year changes were made, and land was addedto the estate until by the close of 1824 a great castle had beenerected. The building and furnishing of this mansion were of the keenestinterest to its owner, an interest that was expressed probably with mostdelight in the two wonderful armories containing weapons borne by manyheroes of history, and in the library with its carved oak ceiling, itsbookcases filled with from fifteen to twenty thousand volumes, amongwhich are some of unusual value, and its handsome portrait of the eldestof Scott's sons. 

The building of this splendid dwelling place shows Scott to have beenexceptionally prosperous as a writer. Yet his way was by no means alwayssmooth. In 1808 he had formed with the Ballantynes a publishing housethat, as a result of poor management, failed completely in 1813. Scottbore the trouble with admirable coolness, and by means of goodmanagement averted further disaster and made arrangements for thecontinued publication of his works. 

By this time he had found through the marked success of his novel_Waverley_, published in 1814, that a new and promising field lay beforehim. He decided then to give up poetry and devote himself especially towriting romances, in which his love of the picturesque and thrilling inhistory and of the noble and chivalrous in human character could findthe widest range of expression. With marvelous industry he added oneafter another to the long series of his famous Waverley Novels. Perhapsthe height of his power was reached in 1819 in the production of_Ivanhoe_, though _Waverley_, _Guy Mannering_ and _The Heart ofMidlothian_, previously written, as well as _Kenilworth_ and _QuentinDurward_, published later, must also be given first rank. In theintervals of his work on these novels, Scott also wrote reviews andessays and miscellaneous articles. He became recognized as the mostgifted prose writer of his age, and his works, it is said, became "thedaily food, not only of his countrymen, but of all educated Europe. " Hewas sought after with eager homage by the wealthy and notable, and wasgiven the title of baronet, yet remained as simple and sincere at heartas in the early days of his career. 

With the sales of his books amounting to $50, 000 or more a year, it isnot strange that he should have felt his fortune assured. But again, andthis time with the most serious results, he was deceived by themismanagement of others. The printing firm of James Ballantyne andCompany, in which he had remained a partner, became bankrupt in 1826. Had it not been for a high sense of honor, he would have withdrawn withthe others of the firm; but the sense of his great debt pressed upon himso sorely that he agreed to pay all that he owed, at whatever cost tohimself. For the remaining six years of his life he worked as hard asfailing health would allow, and the strain of his labor told on himseverely. 

At length he consented to a trip to southern Europe, but the change didnot bring back his health. Not long after his return to Abbotsford, in1832, he called his son-in-law to his bedside early one morning, andspeaking in calm tones, said: "Lockhart, I may have but a minute tospeak to you. My dear, be a good man--be virtuous--be religious--be agood man. Nothing else will give you any comfort when you come to liehere. " After a few words more he asked God's blessing on all in thehousehold and then fell into a quiet sleep from which he did not awakeon earth. 

Had Scott lived but a few years longer he would undoubtedly have paidoff all his voluntarily assumed obligations. As it was, all his debtswere liquidated in 1847 by the sale of copyrights. 

Many years have passed since the death of Sir Walter Scott, and to theyoung readers of to-day the time in which he lived may seem far away andindistinct. But every boy and girl can share with him the pleasure thathe felt, all his life, in stories of battle on sea and land, in lovetales of knights and ladies, in mysterious superstitions and ineverything else that spurs one on at the liveliest speed through thepages of a book. These interests and delights of his boyhood he neveroutgrew. They kept him always young at heart and gave to his works afreshness and brightness that few writers have been able to retainthroughout their lives. 

When he became _laird_ of Abbotsford, the same sunny nature and kindlyfeeling for others that had drawn about him many comrades in hisschoolboy days, attracted to him crowds of visitors who, though theyintruded on his time, were received with generous courtesy. His tall, strongly built figure was often the center of admiring groups of guestswho explored with him the wonders and beauties of Abbotsford, listeningmeanwhile to his humorous stories. At such times, with his clear, wide-open blue eyes, and his pleasant smile lighting his somewhat heavyfeatures, he would have been called a handsome man. Of all who came tothe home at Abbotsford, none were more gladly received than the childrenof the tenants who lived in the little homes on the estate. Each year, on the last morning in December, it was customary for them to pay avisit of respect to the _laird_, and though they may not have known it, he found more pleasure in this simple ceremony than in all the others ofthe Christmas season. 

To these gentler qualities of his nature was joined not a little of thehardihood of the Scotch heroes whose lives he has celebrated. The same"high spirit with which, in younger days, " he has written, "I used toenjoy a Tam-o'-Shanter ride through darkness, wind and rain, the boughsgroaning and cracking over my head, the good horse free to the road andimpatient for home, and feeling the weather as little as I did, " wasthat which bore him bravely through misfortune and gave him the splendidcourage with which in his last years he faced the ruin of his fortune. With an influence as strong and wholesome as that of his works as awriter, remains the example of his loyal, industrious life. 

THE TOURNAMENT

_By_ SIR WALTER SCOTT

 NOTE. --Scott's _Ivanhoe_, from which this account of _The Tournament_ is taken, belongs to the class of books known as historical novels. Such a book does not necessarily have as the center of its plot an historical incident, nor does it necessarily have an historical character as hero or heroine; it does, however, introduce historic scenes or historic people, or both. In _Ivanhoe_, the events of which take place in England in the twelfth century, during the reign of Richard I, both the king and his brother John appear, though they are by no means the chief characters. The great movements known as the Crusades, while they are frequently mentioned and give a sort of an atmosphere to the book, do not influence the plot directly. 

 _Ivanhoe_ does much more, however, than introduce us casually to Richard and John; it gives us a striking picture of customs and manners in the twelfth century. The story is not made to halt for long descriptions, but the events themselves and their settings are so brought before us that we have much clearer pictures of them than hours of reading in histories and encyclopedias could give us. This account of a tournament, for instance, while it lets us see all the gorgeousness that was a part of such pageants, does not fail to give us also the cruel, brutal side. 

The poor as well as the rich, the vulgar as well as the noble, in theevent of a tournament, which was the grand spectacle of that age, feltas much interested as the half-starved citizen of Madrid, who has not areal left to buy provisions for his family, feels in the issue of abull-fight. Neither duty nor infirmity could keep youth or age from suchexhibitions. The passage of arms, as it was called, which was to takeplace at Ashby, in the county of Leicester, as champions of the firstrenown were to take the field in the presence of Prince John himself, who was expected to grace the lists, had attracted universal attention, and an immense confluence of persons of all ranks hastened upon theappointed morning to the place of combat. 

The scene was singularly romantic. On the verge of a wood near Ashby, was an extensive meadow of the finest and most beautiful green turf, surrounded on one side by the forest, and fringed on the other bystraggling oak trees, some of which had grown to an immense size. Theground, as if fashioned on purpose for the martial display which wasintended, sloped gradually down on all sides to a level bottom, whichwas enclosed for the lists with strong palisades, forming a space of aquarter of a mile in length, and about half as broad. The form of theenclosure was an oblong square, save that the corners were considerablyrounded off, in order to afford more convenience for the spectators. Theopenings for the entry of the combatants were at the northern andsouthern extremities of the lists, accessible by strong wooden gates, each wide enough to admit two horsemen riding abreast. At each of theseportals were stationed two heralds, attended by six trumpets, as manypursuivants, [39-1] and a strong body of men-at-arms, for maintainingorder, and ascertaining the quality of the knights who proposed toengage in this martial game. 

On a platform beyond the southern entrance, formed by a naturalelevation of the ground, were pitched five magnificent pavilions, adorned with pennons of russet and black, the chosen colors of the fiveknights challengers. The cords of the tents were of the same color. Before each pavilion was suspended the shield of the knight by whom itwas occupied, and beside it stood his squire, quaintly disguised as asalvage[40-2] or silvan man, or in some other fantastic dress, accordingto the taste of his master and the character he was pleased to assumeduring the game. The central pavilion, as the place of honor, had beenassigned to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whose renown in all games ofchivalry, no less than his connection with the knights who hadundertaken this passage of arms, had occasioned him to be eagerlyreceived into the company of challengers, and even adopted as theirchief and leader, though he had so recently joined them. On one side ofhis tent were pitched those of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf and Richard(Philip) de Malvoisin, and on the other was the pavilion of Hugh deGrantmesnil, a noble baron in the vicinity, whose ancestor had been LordHigh Steward of England in the time of the Conqueror and his son WilliamRufus. Ralph de Vipont, a knight of Saint John of Jerusalem, who hadsome ancient possessions at a place called Heather, nearAshby-de-la-Zouche, occupied the fifth pavilion. 

From the entrance into the lists a gently sloping passage, ten yards inbreadth, led up to the platform on which the tents were pitched. It wasstrongly secured by a palisade on each side, as was the esplanade infront of the pavilions, and the whole was guarded by men-at-arms. 

The northern access to the lists terminated in a similar entrance ofthirty feet in breadth, at the extremity of which was a large enclosedspace for such knights as might be disposed to enter the lists with thechallengers, behind which were placed tents containing refreshments ofevery kind for their accommodation, with armorers, farriers, and otherattendants, in readiness to give their services wherever they might benecessary. 

[Illustration: THRONG GOING TO THE LISTS]

The exterior of the lists was in part occupied by temporary galleries, spread with tapestries and carpets, and accommodated with cushions forthe convenience of those ladies and nobles who were expected to attendthe tournament. A narrow space between these galleries and the listsgave accommodation for yeomanry and spectators of a better degree thanthe mere vulgar, and might be compared to the pit of a theatre. Thepromiscuous multitude arranged themselves upon large banks of turfprepared for the purpose, which, aided by the natural elevation of theground, enabled them to overlook the galleries, and obtain a fair viewinto the lists. Besides the accommodation which these stations afforded, many hundred had perched themselves on the branches of the trees whichsurrounded the meadow; and even the steeple of a country church, at somedistance, was crowded with spectators. 

It only remains to notice respecting the general arrangement, that onegallery in the very centre of the eastern side of the lists, andconsequently exactly opposite to the spot where the shock of the combatwas to take place, was raised higher than the others, more richlydecorated, and graced by a sort of throne and canopy, on which the royalarms were emblazoned. Squires, pages, and yeomen in rich liveries waitedaround this place of honor, which was designed for Prince John and hisattendants. Opposite to this royal gallery was another, elevated to thesame height, on the western side of the lists; and more gayly, if lesssumptuously, decorated than that destined for the Prince himself. Atrain of pages and of young maidens, the most beautiful who could beselected, gayly dressed in fancy habits of green and pink, surrounded athrone decorated in the same colors; Among pennons and flags, bearingwounded hearts, burning hearts, bleeding hearts, bows and quivers, andall the commonplace emblems of the triumphs of Cupid, a blazonedinscription informed the spectators that this seat of honor was designedfor _La Royne de la Beaute et des Amours_. But who was to represent theQueen of Beauty and of Love on the present occasion no one was preparedto guess. 

Meanwhile, spectators of every description thronged forward to occupytheir respective stations, and not without many quarrels concerningthose which they were entitled to hold. Some of these were settled bythe men-at-arms with brief ceremony; the shafts of their battle-axes andpummels of their swords being readily employed as arguments to convincethe more refractory. Others, which involved the rival claims of moreelevated persons, were determined by the heralds, or by the two marshalsof the field, William de Wyvil and Stephen de Martival, who, armed atall points, rode up and down the lists to enforce and preserve goodorder among the spectators. 

Gradually the galleries became filled with knights and nobles, in theirrobes of peace, whose long and rich-tinted mantles were contrasted withthe gayer and more splendid habits of the ladies, who, in a greaterproportion than even the men themselves, thronged to witness a sportwhich one would have thought too bloody and dangerous to afford theirsex much pleasure. The lower and interior space was soon filled bysubstantial yeomen and burghers, and such of the lesser gentry as, frommodesty, poverty, or dubious title, durst not assume any higher place. It was of course amongst these that the most frequent disputes forprecedence occurred. 

Suddenly the attention of every one was called to the entrance of PrinceJohn, who at that moment entered the lists, attended by a numerous andgay train, consisting partly of laymen, partly of church-men, as lightin their dress, and as gay in their demeanor, as their companions. Amongthe latter was the Prior of Jorvaulx, in the most gallant trim which adignitary of the church could venture to exhibit. Fur and gold were notspared in his garments; and the points of his boots turned up so veryfar as to be attached not to his knees merely, but to his very girdle, and effectually prevented him from putting his foot into the stirrup. This, however, was a slight inconvenience to the gallant Abbot, who, perhaps even rejoicing in the opportunity to display his accomplishedhorsemanship before so many spectators, especially of the fair sex, dispensed with the use of these supports to a timid rider. The rest ofPrince John's retinue consisted of the favorite leaders of his mercenarytroops, some marauding barons and profligate attendants upon the court, with several Knights Templars and Knights of Saint John. 

Attended by this gallant equipage, himself well mounted, and splendidlydressed in crimson and in gold, bearing upon his hand a falcon, andhaving his head covered by a rich fur bonnet, adorned with a circle ofprecious stones, from which his long curled hair escaped and overspreadhis shoulders, Prince John, upon a gray and high-mettled palfrey, caracoled within the lists at the head of his jovial party, laughingloud with his train, and eyeing with all the boldness of royal criticismthe beauties who adorned the lofty galleries. 

In the midst of Prince John's cavalcade, he suddenly stopped, and, appealing to the Prior of Jorvaulx, declared the principal business ofthe day had been forgotten. 

"By my halidom, " said he, "we have neglected, Sir Prior, to name thefair Sovereign of Love and of Beauty, by whose white hand the palm is tobe distributed. For my part, I am liberal in my ideas, and I care not ifI give my vote for the black-eyed Rebecca. "

"Holy Virgin, " answered the Prior, turning up his eyes in horror, "aJewess! We should deserve to be stoned out of the lists; and I am notyet old enough to be a martyr. Besides, I swear by my patron saint thatshe is far inferior to the lovely Saxon, Rowena. "

From the tone in which this was spoken, John saw the necessity ofacquiescence. "I did but jest, " he said; "and you turn upon me like anadder! Name whom you will, in the fiend's name, and please yourselves. "

"Nay, nay, " said De Bracy, "let the fair sovereign's throne remainunoccupied until the conqueror shall be named, and then let him choosethe lady by whom it shall be filled. It will add another grace to histriumph, and teach fair ladies to prize the love of valiant knights, whocan exalt them to such distinction. "

"If Brian de Bois-Guilbert gain the prize, " said the Prior, "I will gagemy rosary that I name the Sovereign of Love and Beauty. "

"Bois-Guilbert, " answered De Bracy, "is a good lance; but there areothers around these lists, Sir Prior, who will not fear to encounterhim. "

"Silence, sirs, " said Waldemar, "and let the Prince assume his seat. Theknights and spectators are alike impatient, the time advances, andhighly fit it is that the sports should commence. "

Prince John, though not yet a monarch, had in Waldemar Fitzurse all theinconveniences of a favorite minister, who, in serving his sovereign, must always do so in his own way. The Prince acquiesced, however, although his disposition was precisely of that kind which is apt to beobstinate upon trifles, and, assuming his throne, and being surroundedby his followers, gave signal to the heralds to proclaim the laws of thetournament, which were briefly as follows:

First, the five challengers were to undertake all comers. 

Secondly, any knight proposing to combat might, if he pleased, select aspecial antagonist from among the challengers, by touching his shield. If he did so with the reverse of his lance, the trial of skill was madewith what were called the arms of courtesy, that is, with lances atwhose extremity a piece of round flat board was fixed, so that no dangerwas encountered, save from the shock of the horses and riders. But ifthe shield was touched with the sharp end of the lance, the combat wasunderstood to be at _outrance_, [46-3] that is, the knights were to fightwith sharp weapons, as in actual battle. 

Thirdly, when the knights present had accomplished their vow, by each ofthem breaking five lances, the Prince was to declare the victor in thefirst day's tourney, who should receive as prize a war-horse ofexquisite beauty and matchless strength; and in addition to this rewardof valor, it was now declared, he should have the peculiar honor ofnaming the Queen of Love and Beauty, by whom the prize should be givenon the ensuing day. 

Fourthly, it was announced that, on the second day, there should be ageneral tournament, in which all the knights present, who were desirousto win praise, might take part; and being divided into two bands, ofequal numbers, might fight it out manfully until the signal was given byPrince John to cease the combat. The elected Queen of Love and Beautywas then to crown the knight, whom the Prince should adjudge to haveborne himself best in this second day, with a coronet composed of thingold plate, cut into the shape of a laurel crown. On this second day theknightly games ceased. But on that which was to follow, feats ofarchery, of bull-baiting, and other popular amusements were to bepracticed, for the more immediate amusement of the populace. In thismanner did Prince John endeavor to lay the foundation of a popularitywhich he was perpetually throwing down by some inconsiderate act ofwanton aggression upon the feelings and prejudices of the people. 

The lists now presented a most splendid spectacle. The sloping gallerieswere crowded with all that was noble, great, wealthy, and beautiful inthe northern and midland parts of England; and the contrast of thevarious dresses of these dignified spectators rendered the view as gayas it was rich, while the interior and lower space, filled with thesubstantial burgesses and yeomen of merry England, formed, in their moreplain attire, a dark fringe, or border, around this circle of brilliantembroidery, relieving, and at the same time setting off, its splendor. 

The heralds finished their proclamation with their usual cry of"Largesse, [48-4] largesse, gallant knights!" and gold and silver pieceswere showered on them from the galleries, it being a high point ofchivalry to exhibit liberality toward those whom the age accounted atonce the secretaries and historians of honor. The bounty of thespectators was acknowledged by the customary shouts of "Love ofladies--Death of champions--Honor to the generous--Glory to the brave!"To which the more humble spectators added their acclamations, and anumerous band of trumpeters the flourish of their martial instruments. When these sounds had ceased, the heralds withdrew from the lists in gayand glittering procession, and none remained within them save themarshals of the field, who, armed cap-à-pie, sat on horseback, motionless as statues, at the opposite ends of the lists. Meantime, theinclosed space at the northern extremity of the lists, large as it was, was now completely crowded with knights desirous to prove their skillagainst the challengers, and, when viewed from the galleries, presentedthe appearance of a sea of waving plumage, intermixed with glisteninghelmets and tall lances, to the extremities of which were, in manycases, attached small pennons of about a span's breadth, which, fluttering in the air as the breeze caught them, joined with therestless motion of the feathers to add liveliness to the scene. 

At length the barriers were opened, and five knights, chosen by lot, advanced slowly into the area; a single champion riding in front, andthe other four following in pairs. All were splendidly armed, and mySaxon authority (in the Wardour Manuscript) records at great lengththeir devices, their colors, and the embroidery of their horsetrappings. It is unnecessary to be particular on these subjects. 

Their escutcheons have long mouldered from the walls of their castles. Their castles themselves are but green mounds and shattered ruins: theplace that once knew them, knows them no more--nay, many a race sincetheirs has died out and been forgotten in the very land which theyoccupied with all the authority of feudal proprietors and feudal lords. What, then, would it avail the reader to know their names, or theevanescent symbols of their martial rank?

Now, however, no whit anticipating the oblivion which awaited theirnames and feats, the champions advanced through the lists, restrainingtheir fiery steeds, and compelling them to move slowly, while, at thesame time, they exhibited their paces, together with the grace anddexterity of the riders. As the procession entered the lists, the soundof a wild barbaric music was heard from behind the tents of thechallengers, where the performers were concealed. It was of Easternorigin, having been brought from the Holy Land; and the mixture of thecymbals and bells seemed to bid welcome at once, and defiance, to theknights as they advanced. With the eyes of an immense concourse ofspectators fixed upon them, the five Knights advanced up the platformupon which the tents of the challengers stood, and there separatingthemselves, each touched slightly, and with the reverse of his lance, the shield of the antagonist to whom he wished to oppose himself. Thelower order of spectators in general--nay, many of the higher class, andit is even said several of the ladies--were rather disappointed at thechampions choosing the arms of courtesy. For the same sort of personswho, in the present day, applaud most highly the deepest tragedies werethen interested in a tournament exactly in proportion to the dangerincurred by the champions engaged. 

Having intimated their more pacific purpose, the champions retreated tothe extremity of the lists, where they remained drawn up in a line;while the challengers, sallying each from his pavilion, mounted theirhorses, and, headed by Brian de Bois-Guilbert, descended from theplatform and opposed themselves individually to the knights who hadtouched their respective shields. 

At the flourish of clarions and trumpets, they started out against eachother at full gallop; and such was the superior dexterity or goodfortune of the challengers, that those opposed to Bois-Guilbert, Malvoisin, and Front-de-Boeuf rolled on the ground. The antagonist ofGrantmesnil, instead of bearing his lance-point fair against the crestor the shield of his enemy, swerved so much from the direct line as tobreak the weapon athwart the person of his opponent--a circumstancewhich was accounted more disgraceful than that of being actuallyunhorsed, because the latter might happen from accident, whereas theformer evinced awkwardness and want of management of the weapon and ofthe horse. The fifth knight alone maintained the honor of his party, andparted fairly with the Knight of Saint John, both splintering theirlances without advantage on either side. 

The shouts of the multitude, together with the acclamations of theheralds and the clangor of the trumpets, announced the triumph of thevictors and the defeat of the vanquished. The former retreated to theirpavilions, and the latter, gathering themselves up as they could, withdrew from the lists in disgrace and dejection, to agree with theirvictors concerning the redemption of their arms and their horses, which, according to the laws of the tournament, they had forfeited. The fifthof their number alone tarried in the lists long enough to be greeted bythe applauses of the spectators, among whom he retreated, to theaggravation, doubtless, of his companions' mortification. 

A second and a third party of knights took the field; and although theyhad various success, yet, upon the whole, the advantage decidedlyremained with the challengers, not one of them whom lost his seat orswerved from his charge--misfortunes which befell one or two of theirantagonists in each encounter. The spirits, therefore, of those opposedto them seemed to be considerably damped by their continued success. Three knights only appeared on the fourth entry, who, avoiding theshields of Bois-Guilbert and Front-de-Boeuf, contented themselves withtouching those of the three other knights who had not altogethermanifested the same strength and dexterity. This politic selection didnot alter the fortune of the field: the challengers were stillsuccessful. One of their antagonists was overthrown; and both the othersfailed in the _attaint_, that is, in striking the helmet and shield oftheir antagonist firmly and strongly, with the lance held in a directline, so that the weapon might break unless the champion was overthrown. 

After this fourth encounter, there was a considerable pause; nor did itappear that any one was very desirous of renewing the contest. Thespectators murmured among themselves; for, among the challengers, Malvoisin and Front-de-Boeuf were unpopular from their characters, andthe others, except Grantmesnil, were disliked as strangers andforeigners. 

But none shared the general feeling of dissatisfaction so keenly asCedric the Saxon, who saw, in each advantage gained by the Normanchallengers, a repeated triumph over the honor of England. His owneducation had taught him no skill in the games of chivalry, although, with the arms of his Saxon ancestors, he had manifested himself, on manyoccasions, a brave and determined soldier. 

He looked anxiously to Athelstane, who had learned the accomplishmentsof the age, as if desiring that he should make some personal effort torecover the victory which was passing into the hands of the Templar andhis associates. But, though both stout of heart and strong of person, Athelstane had a disposition too inert and unambitious to make theexertions which Cedric seemed to expect from him. 

"The day is against England, my lord, " said Cedric, in a marked tone;"are you not tempted to take the lance?"

"I shall tilt to-morrow, " answered Athelstane, "in the _mêlée_; it isnot worth while for me to arm myself to-day. "

Two things displeased Cedric in this speech. It contained the Normanword _mêlée_ (to express the general conflict), and it evinced someindifference to the honor of the country; but it was spoken byAthelstane, whom he held in such profound respect that he would nottrust himself to canvass his motives or his foibles. Moreover, he had notime to make any remark, for Wamba thrust in his word, observing, "Itwas better, though scarce easier, to be the best man among a hundredthan the best man of two. "

Athelstane took the observation as a serious compliment; but Cedric, whobetter understood the Jester's meaning, darted at him a severe andmenacing look; and lucky it was for Wamba, perhaps, that the time andplace prevented his receiving, notwithstanding his place and service, more sensible marks of his master's resentment. 

The pause in the tournament was still uninterrupted, excepting by thevoices of the heralds exclaiming--"Love of ladies, splintering oflances! stand forth, gallant knights, fair eyes look upon your deeds!"

The music also of the challengers breathed from time to time wild burstsexpressive of triumph or defiance, while the clowns[53-5] grudged aholiday which seemed to pass away in inactivity; and old knights andnobles lamented in whispers the decay of martial spirit, spoke of thetriumphs of their younger days, but agreed that the land did not nowsupply dames of such transcendent beauty as had animated the jousts offormer times. Prince John began to talk to his attendants about makingready the banquet, and the necessity of adjudging the prize to Brian deBois-Guilbert, who had, with a single spear, overthrown two knights andfoiled a third. 

At length, as the Saracenic music of the challengers concluded one ofthose long and high flourishes with which they had broken the silence ofthe lists, it was answered by a solitary trumpet, which breathed a noteof defiance from the northern extremity. All eyes were turned to see thenew champion which these sounds announced, and no sooner were thebarriers opened than he paced into the lists. As far as could be judgedof a man sheathed in armor, the new adventurer did not greatly exceedthe middle size, and seemed to be rather slender than strongly made. Hissuit of armor was formed of steel, richly inlaid with gold, and thedevice on his shield was a young oak-tree pulled up by the roots, withthe Spanish word _Desdichado_, signifying Disinherited. He was mountedon a gallant black horse, and as he passed through the lists hegracefully saluted the Prince and the ladies by lowering his lance. Thedexterity with which he managed his steed, and something of youthfulgrace which he displayed in his manner, won him the favor of themultitude, which some of the lower classes observed by calling out, "Touch Ralph de Vipont's shield--touch the Hospitaller's shield; he hasthe least sure seat, he is your cheapest bargain. "

The champion, moving onward amid these well-meant hints, ascended theplatform by the sloping alley which led to it from the lists, and, tothe astonishment of all present, riding straight up to the centralpavilion, struck with the sharp end of his spear the shield of Brian deBois-Guilbert until it rang again. All stood astonished at hispresumption, but none more than the redoubted Knight whom he had thusdefied to mortal combat, and who, little expecting so rude a challenge, was standing carelessly at the door of the pavilion. 

"Have you confessed yourself, brother, " said the Templar, "and have youheard mass this morning, that you peril your life so frankly?"

"I am fitter to meet death than thou art, " answered the DisinheritedKnight; for by this name the stranger had recorded himself in the booksof the tourney. 

"Then take your place in the lists, " said Bois-Guilbert, "and look yourlast upon the sun; for this night thou shalt sleep in paradise. "

"Gramercy for thy courtesy, " replied the Disinherited Knight, "and torequite it, I advise thee to take a fresh horse and a new lance, for bymy honor you will need both. "

Having expressed himself thus confidently, he reined his horse backwarddown the slope which he had ascended, and compelled him in the samemanner to move backward through the lists, till he reached the northernextremity, where he remained stationary, in expectation of hisantagonist. This feat of horsemanship again attracted the applause ofthe multitude. 

However incensed at his adversary for the precautions he recommended, Brian de Bois-Guilbert did not neglect his advice; for his honor was toonearly concerned to permit his neglecting any means which might insurevictory over his presumptuous opponent. He changed his horse for aproved and fresh one of great strength and spirit. He chose a new andtough spear, lest the wood of the former might have been strained in theprevious encounters he had sustained. Lastly he laid aside his shield, which had received some little damage, and received another from hissquires. His first had only borne the general device of his order, representing two knights riding upon one horse, an emblem expressive ofthe original humility and poverty of the Templars, qualities which theyhad since exchanged for the arrogance and wealth that finally occasionedtheir suppression. Bois-Guilbert's new shield bore a raven in fullflight, holding in its claws a skull, and bearing the motto, _Gare leCorbeau_. [56-6]

When the two champions stood opposed to each other at the twoextremities of the lists, the public expectation was strained to thehighest pitch. Few augured the possibility that the encounter couldterminate well for the Disinherited Knight; yet his courage andgallantry secured the general good wishes of the spectators. 

The trumpets had no sooner given the signal, than the champions vanishedfrom their posts with the speed of lightning, and closed in the centreof the lists with the shock of a thunderbolt. The lances burst intoshivers up to the very grasp, and it seemed at the moment that bothknights had fallen, for the shock had made each horse recoil backwardupon its haunches. The address of the riders recovered their steeds byuse of the bridle and spur; and having glared on each other for aninstant with eyes which seemed to flash fire through the bars of theirvisors, each made a demi-volte, [57-7] and, retiring to the extremity ofthe lists, received a fresh lance from the attendants. 

A loud shout from the spectators, waving of scarfs and handkerchiefs, and general acclamations, attested the interest taken by the spectatorsin this encounter--the most equal, as well as the best performed, whichhad graced the day. But no sooner had the knights resumed their stationthan the clamor of applause was hushed into a silence so deep and sodead that it seemed the multitude were afraid even to breathe. 

A few minutes' pause having been allowed, that the combatants and theirhorses might recover breath, Prince John with his truncheon signed tothe trumpets to sound the onset. The champions a second time sprung fromtheir stations, and closed in the centre of the lists, with the samespeed, the same dexterity, the same violence, but not the same equalfortune as before. 

In this second encounter, the Templar aimed at the centre of hisantagonist's shield, and struck it so fair and forcibly that his spearwent to shivers, and the Disinherited Knight reeled in his saddle. Onthe other hand, that champion had, at the beginning of his career, directed the point of his lance toward Bois-Guilbert's shield, but, changing his aim almost in the moment of encounter, he addressed it tothe helmet, a mark more difficult to hit, but which, if attained, rendered the shock more irresistible. Fair and true he hit the Norman onthe visor, where his lance's point kept hold of the bars. Yet, even atthis disadvantage, the Templar sustained his high reputation; and hadnot the girths of his saddle burst, he might not have been unhorsed. Asit chanced, however, saddle, horse, and man rolled on the ground under acloud of dust. 

To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen steed was to theTemplar scarce the work of a moment; and, stung with madness, both athis disgrace and at the acclamations with which it was hailed by thespectators, he drew his sword and waved it in defiance of his conqueror. The Disinherited Knight sprung from his steed, and also unsheathed hissword. The marshals of the field, however, spurred their horses betweenthem, and reminded them that the laws of the tournament did not, on thepresent occasion, permit this species of encounter. 

"We shall meet again, I trust, " said the Templar, casting a resentfulglance at his antagonist; "and where there are none to separate us. "

"If we do not, " said the Disinherited Knight, "the fault shall not bemine. On foot or horseback, with spear, with axe, or with sword, I amalike ready to encounter thee. "

More and angrier words would have been exchanged, but the marshals, crossing their lances between them, compelled them to separate. TheDisinherited Knight returned to his first station, and Bois-Guilbert tohis tent, where he remained for the rest of the day in an agony ofdespair. 

Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror called for a bowl ofwine, and opening the beaver, or lower part of his helmet, announcedthat he quaffed it, "To all true English hearts, and to the confusionof foreign tyrants. " He then commanded his trumpet to sound a defianceto the challengers, and desired a herald to announce to them that heshould make no election, but was willing to encounter them in the orderin which they pleased to advance against him. 

[Illustration: DISINHERITED KNIGHT UNHORSES BRIAN]

The gigantic Front-de-Boeuf, armed in sable armor, was the first whotook the field. He bore on a white shield a black bull's head, [59-8]half defaced by the numerous encounters which he had undergone, andbearing the arrogant motto, _Cave, Adsum_. [59-9] Over this champion theDisinherited Knight obtained a slight but decisive advantage. Bothknights broke their lances fairly, but Front-de-Boeuf, who lost astirrup in the encounter, was adjudged to have the disadvantage. 

In the stranger's third encounter, with Sir Philip Malvoisin, he wasequally successful; striking that baron so forcibly on the casque thatthe laces of the helmet broke, and Malvoisin, only saved from falling bybeing unhelmeted, was declared vanquished like his companions. 

In his fourth combat, with De Grantmesnil, the Disinherited Knightshowed as much courtesy as he had hitherto evinced courage anddexterity. De Grantmesnil's horse, which was young and violent, rearedand plunged in the course of the career so as to disturb the rider'saim, and the stranger, declining to take the advantage which thisaccident afforded him, raised his lance, and passing his antagonistwithout touching him, wheeled his horse and rode back again to his ownend of the lists, offering his antagonist, by a herald, the chance of asecond encounter. This De Grantmesnil declined, avow himself vanquishedas much by the courtesy as by the address of his opponent. 

Ralph de Vipont summed up the list of the stranger's triumphs, beinghurled to the ground with such force that the blood gushed from his noseand his mouth, and he was borne senseless from the lists. 

The acclamations of thousands applauded the unanimous award of thePrince and marshals, announcing that day's honors to the DisinheritedKnight. 

William de Wyvil and Stephen de Martival, the marshals of the field, were the first to offer their congratulations to the victor, prayinghim, at the same time, to suffer his helmet to be unlaced, or, at least, that he would raise his visor ere they conducted him to receive theprize of the day's tourney from the hands of Prince John. TheDisinherited Knight, with all knightly courtesy, declined their request, alleging, that he could not at this time suffer his face to be seen, forreasons which he had assigned to the heralds when he entered the lists. The marshals were perfectly satisfied by this reply; for amid thefrequent and capricious vows by which knights were accustomed to bindthemselves in the days of chivalry, there were none more common thanthose by which they engaged to remain incognito for a certain space, oruntil some particular adventure was achieved. The marshals, therefore, pressed no further into the mystery of the Disinherited Knight, but, announcing to Prince John the conqueror's desire to remain unknown, theyrequested permission to bring him before his Grace, in order that hemight receive the reward of his valor. 

John's curiosity was excited by the mystery observed by the stranger;and, being already displeased with the issue of the tournament, in whichthe challengers whom he favored had been successively defeated by oneknight, he answered haughtily to the marshals, "By the light of OurLady's brow, this same knight hath been disinherited as well of hiscourtesy as of his lands, since he desires to appear before us withoutuncovering his face. Wot ye, my lords, " he said, turning round to histrain, "who this gallant can be that bears himself thus proudly?"

"I cannot guess, " answered De Bracy, "nor did I think there had beenwithin the four seas that girth Britain a champion that could bear downthese five knights in one day's jousting. By my faith, I shall neverforget the force with which he shocked De Vipont. The poorHospitaller[62-10] was hurled from his saddle like a stone from asling. "

"Boast not of that, " said a Knight of Saint John, who was present; "yourTemple champion had no better luck. I saw your brave lance, Bois-Guilbert, roll thrice over, grasping his hands full of sand atevery turn. "

De Bracy, being attached to the Templars, would have replied, but wasprevented by Prince John. "Silence, sirs!" he said; "what unprofitabledebate have we here?"

"The victor, " said De Wyvil, "still waits the pleasure of yourHighness. "

"It is our pleasure, " answered John, "that he do so wait until we learnwhether there is not some one who can at least guess at his name andquality. Should he remain there till nightfall, he has had work enoughto keep him warm. "

"Your Grace, " said Waldemar Fitzurse, "will do less than due honor tothe victor if you compel him to wait till we tell your Highness thatwhich we cannot know; at least I can form no guess--unless he be one ofthe good lances who accompanied King Richard to Palestine, and who arenow straggling homeward from the Holy Land. "

While he was yet speaking, the marshals brought forward the DisinheritedKnight to the foot of a wooden flight of steps, which formed the ascentfrom the lists to Prince John's throne. With a short and embarrassedeulogy upon his valor, the Prince caused to be delivered to him thewar-horse assigned as the prize. 

But the Disinherited Knight spoke not a word in reply to the complimentof the Prince, which he only acknowledged with a profound obeisance. 

The horse was led into the lists by two grooms richly dressed, theanimal itself being fully accoutred with the richest war-furniture;which, however, scarcely added to the value of the noble creature in theeyes of those who were judges. Laying one hand upon the pommel of thesaddle, the Disinherited Knight vaulted at once upon the back of thesteed without making use of the stirrup, and, brandishing aloft hislance, rode twice around the lists, exhibiting the points and paces ofthe horse with the skill of a perfect horseman. 

The appearance of vanity which might otherwise have been attributed tothis display was removed by the propriety shown in exhibiting to thebest advantage the princely reward with which he had been just honored, and the Knight was again greeted by the acclamation of all present. 

In the meanwhile, the bustling Prior of Jorvaulx had reminded PrinceJohn, in a whisper, that the victor must now display his good judgment, instead of his valor, by selecting from among the beauties who gracedthe galleries a lady who should fill the throne of the Queen of Beautyand of Love, and deliver the prize of the tourney, upon the ensuing day. The Prince accordingly made a sign with his truncheon as the Knightpassed him in his second career around the lists. The Knight turnedtoward the throne, and, sinking his lance until the point was within afoot of the ground, remained motionless, as if expecting John'scommands; while all admired the sudden dexterity with which he instantlyreduced his fiery steed from a state of violent emotion and highexcitation to the stillness of an equestrian statue. 

"Sir Disinherited Knight, " said Prince John, "since that is the onlytitle by which we can address you, it is now your duty, as well asprivilege, to name the fair lady who, as Queen of Honor and of Love, isto preside over next day's festival. If, as a stranger in our land, youshould require the aid of other judgment to guide your own we can onlysay that Alicia, the daughter of our gallant knight Waldemar Fitzurse, has at our court been long held the first in beauty as in place. Nevertheless, it is your undoubted prerogative to confer on whom youplease this crown, by the delivery of which to the lady of your choicethe election of to-morrow's Queen will be formal and complete. Raiseyour lance. "

The Knight obeyed; and Prince John placed upon its point a coronet ofgreen satin, having around its edge a circlet of gold, the upper edge ofwhich was relieved by arrow-points and hearts placed interchangeably, like the strawberry leaves and balls upon a ducal crown. 

In the broad hint which he dropped respecting the daughter of WaldemarFitzurse, John had more than one motive, each the offspring of a mindwhich was a strange mixture of carelessness and presumption with lowartifice and cunning. He was desirous of conciliating Alicia's father, Waldemar, of whom he stood in awe, and who had more than once shownhimself dissatisfied during the course of the day's proceedings; he hadalso a wish to establish himself in the good graces of the lady. Butbesides all these reasons, he was desirous to raise up against theDisinherited Knight, toward whom he already entertained a strongdislike, a powerful enemy in the person of Waldemar Fitzurse, who waslikely, he thought, highly to resent the injury done to his daughter incase, as was not unlikely, the victor should make another choice. 

And so indeed it proved. For the Disinherited Knight passed the gallery, close to that of the Prince, in which the Lady Alicia was seated in thefull pride of triumphant beauty, and pacing forward as slowly as he hadhitherto rode swiftly around the lists, he seemed to exercise his rightof examining the numerous fair faces which adorned that splendid circle. 

It was worth while to see the different conduct of the beauties whounderwent this examination, during the time it was proceeding. Someblushed; some assumed an air of pride and dignity; some looked straightforward, and essayed to seem utterly unconscious of what was going on;some drew back in alarm, which was perhaps affected; some endeavored toforbear smiling; and there were two or three who laughed outright. Therewere also some who dropped their veils over their charms; but as theWardour Manuscript says these were fair ones of ten years' standing, itmay be supposed that, having had their full share of such vanities, theywere willing to withdraw their claim in order to give a fair chance tothe rising beauties of the age. 

At length the champion paused beneath the balcony in which the LadyRowena was placed, and the expectation of the spectators was excited tothe utmost. 

It must be owned that, if an interest displayed in his success couldhave bribed the Disinherited Knight, the part of the lists before whichhe paused had merited his predilection. Cedric the Saxon, overjoyed atthe discomfiture of the Templar, and still more so at the miscarriage ofhis two malevolent neighbors, Front-de-Boeuf and Malvoisin, hadaccompanied the victor in each course not with his eyes only, but withhis whole heart and soul. The Lady Rowena had watched the progress ofthe day with equal attention, though without openly betraying the sameintense interest. Even the unmoved Athelstane had shown symptoms ofshaking off his apathy, when, calling for a huge goblet of muscadine, hequaffed it to the health of the Disinherited Knight. 

Whether from indecision or some other motive of hesitation, the championof the day remained stationary for more than a minute, while the eyes ofthe silent audience were riveted upon his motions; and then, graduallyand gracefully sinking the point of his lance, he deposited the coronetwhich it supported at the feet of the fair Rowena. The trumpetsinstantly sounded, while the heralds proclaimed the Lady Rowena theQueen of Beauty and of Love for the ensuing day, menacing with suitablepenalties those who should be disobedient to her authority. They thenrepeated their cry of "Largesse, " to which Cedric, in the height of hisjoy, replied by an ample donative, and to which Athelstane, though lesspromptly, added one equally large. 

There was some murmuring among the damsels of Norman descent, who wereas much unused to see the preference given to a Saxon beauty as theNorman nobles were to sustain defeat in the games of chivalry which theythemselves had introduced. But these sounds of disaffection were drownedby the popular shout of "Long live the Lady Rowena, the chosen andlawful Queen of Love and of Beauty!" To which many in the lower areaadded, "Long live the Saxon Princess! long live the race of the immortalAlfred!"

However unacceptable these sounds might be to Prince John and to thosearound him, he saw himself nevertheless obliged to confirm thenomination of the victor, and accordingly calling to horse, he left histhrone, and mounting his jennet, accompanied by his train, he againentered the lists. 

Spurring his horse, as if to give vent to his vexation, he made theanimal bound forward to the gallery where Rowena was seated, with thecrown still at her feet. 

"Assume, " he said, "fair lady, the mark of your sovereignty, to whichnone vows homage more sincerely than ourself, John of Anjou; and if itplease you to-day, with your noble sire and friends, to grace ourbanquet in the Castle of Ashby, we shall learn to know the empress towhose service we devote to-morrow. "

Rowena remained silent, and Cedric answered for her in his native Saxon. 

"The Lady Rowena, " he said, "possesses not the language in which toreply to your courtesy, or to sustain her part in your festival. I also, and the noble Athelstane of Coningsburgh, speak only the language andpractice only the manners, of our fathers. We therefore decline withthanks your Highness's courteous invitation to the banquet. To-morrow, the Lady Rowena will take upon her the state to which she has beencalled by the free election of the victor Knight, confirmed by theacclamations of the people. "

So saying, he lifted the coronet and placed it upon Rowena's head, intoken of her acceptance of the temporary authority assigned to her. 

In various routes, according to the different quarters from which theycame, and in groups of various numbers, the spectators were seenretiring over the plain. By far the most numerous part streamed towardthe town of Ashby, where many of the distinguished persons were lodgedin the castle, and where others found accommodation in the town itself. Among these were most of the knights who had already appeared in thetournament, or who proposed to fight there the ensuing day, and who, asthey rode slowly along, talking over the events of the day, were greetedwith loud shouts by the populace. The same acclamations were bestowedupon Prince John, although he was indebted for them rather to thesplendor of his appearance and train than to the popularity of hischaracter. 

A more sincere and more general, as well as a better meritedacclamation, attended the victor of the day, until, anxious to withdrawhimself from popular notice, he accepted the accommodation of one ofthose pavilions pitched at the extremities of the lists, the use ofwhich was courteously tendered him by the marshals of the field. On hisretiring to his tent, many who had lingered in the lists, to look uponand form conjectures concerning him, also dispersed. 

The signs and sounds of a tumultuous concourse of men lately crowdedtogether in one place, and agitated by the same passing events, were nowexchanged for the distant hum of voices of different groups retreatingin all directions, and these speedily died away in silence. No othersounds were heard save the voices of the menials who stripped thegalleries of their cushions and tapestry, in order to put them in safetyfor the night, and wrangled among themselves for half-used bottles ofwine and relics of the refreshments which had been served round to thespectators. 

[Illustration: THE ARMOUR MAKERS]

Beyond the precincts of the lists more than one forge was erected; andthese now began to glimmer through the twilight, announcing the toil ofthe armorers, which was to continue through the whole night, in order torepair or alter the suits of armor to be used again on the morrow. 

A strong guard of men-at-arms, renewed at intervals, from two hours totwo hours, surrounded the lists, and kept watch during the night. 

The Disinherited Knight had no sooner reached his pavilion than squiresand pages in abundance tendered their services to disarm him, to bringfresh attire, and to offer him the refreshment of the bath. Their zealon this occasion was perhaps sharpened by curiosity, since every onedesired to know who the knight was that had gained so many laurels, yethad refused, even at the command of Prince John, to lift his visor or toname his name. But their officious inquisitiveness was not gratified. The Disinherited Knight refused all other assistance save that of hisown squire, or rather yeoman--a clownish-looking man, who, wrapped in acloak of dark-colored felt, and having his head and face half buried ina Norman bonnet made of black fur, seemed to affect the incognito asmuch as his master. All others being excluded from the tent, thisattendant relieved his master from the more burdensome parts of hisarmor, and placed food and wine before him, which the exertions of thebody rendered very acceptable. 

The Knight had scarcely finished a hasty meal ere his menial announcedto him that five men, each leading a barbed steed, [70-11] desired tospeak with him. The Disinherited Knight had exchanged his armor for thelong robe usually worn by those of his condition, which, being furnishedwith a hood, concealed the features, when such was the pleasure of thewearer, almost as completely as the visor of the helmet itself; but thetwilight, which was now fast darkening, would of itself have rendered adisguise unnecessary, unless to persons to whom the face of anindividual chanced to be particularly well known. 

The Disinherited Knight, therefore, stepped boldly forth to the front ofhis tent, and found in attendance the squires of the challengers, whomhe easily knew by their russet and black dresses, each of whom led hismaster's charger, loaded with the armor in which he had that day fought. 

"According to the laws of chivalry, " said the foremost of these men, "I, Baldwin de Oyley, squire to the redoubted Knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert, make offer to you, styling yourself for the present the DisinheritedKnight, of the horse and armor used by the said Brian de Bois-Guilbertin this day's passage of arms, leaving it with your nobleness to retainor to ransom the same, according to your pleasure; for such is the lawof arms. "

The other squires repeated nearly the same formula, and then stood toawait the decision of the Disinherited Knight. 

"To you four, sirs, " replied the Knight, addressing those who had lastspoken, "and to your honorable and valiant masters, I have one commonreply. Commend me to the noble knights, your masters, and say, I shoulddo ill to deprive them of steeds and arms which can never be used bybraver cavaliers. I would I could here end my message to these gallantknights; but being, as I term myself, in truth and earnest, theDisinherited, I must be thus far bound to your masters, that they will, of their courtesy, be pleased to ransom their steeds and armor, sincethat which I wear I can hardly term mine own. "

"We stand commissioned, each of us, " answered the squire of ReginaldFront-de-Boeuf, "to offer a hundred zecchins[72-12] in ransom ofthese horses and suits of armor. "

"It is sufficient, " said the Disinherited Knight. "Half the sum mypresent necessities compel me to accept; of the remaining half, distribute one moiety among yourselves, sir squires, and divide theother half between the heralds and the pursuivants, and minstrels, andattendants. "

The squires, with cap in hand, and low reverences, expressed their deepsense of a courtesy and generosity not often practiced, at least upon ascale so extensive. 

The Disinherited Knight then addressed his discourse to Baldwin, thesquire of Brian de Bois-Guilbert. "From your master, " said he, "I willaccept neither arms nor ransom. Say to him in my name, that our strifeis not ended--no, not till we have fought as well with swords as withlances, as well on foot as on horseback. To this mortal quarrel he hashimself defied me, and I shall not forget the challenge. Meantime, lethim be assured that I hold him not as one of his companions, with whom Ican with pleasure exchange courtesies; but rather as one with whom Istand upon terms of mortal defiance. "

"My master, " answered Baldwin, "knows how to requite scorn with scorn, and blows with blows, as well as courtesy with courtesy. Since youdisdain to accept from him any share of the ransom at which you haverated the arms of the other knights, I must leave his armor and hishorse here, being well assured that he will never deign to mount the onenor wear the other. "

"You have spoken well, good squire, " said the Disinherited Knight--"welland boldly, as it beseemeth him to speak who answers for an absentmaster. Leave not, however, the horse and armor here. Restore them tothy master; or, if he scorns to accept them, retain them, good friend, for thine own use. So far as they are mine, I bestow them upon youfreely. "

Baldwin made a deep obeisance, and retired with his companions; and theDisinherited Knight entered the pavilion. 

Morning arose in unclouded splendor, and ere the sun was much above thehorizon the idlest or the most eager of the spectators appeared on thecommon, moving to the lists as to a general centre, in order to secure afavorable situation for viewing the continuation of the expected games. 

The marshals and their attendants appeared next on the field, togetherwith the heralds, for the purpose of receiving the names of the knightswho intended to joust, with the side which each chose to espouse. Thiswas a necessary precaution in order to secure equality between the twobodies who should be opposed to each other. 

According to due formality, the Disinherited Knight was to be consideredas leader of the one body, while Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had beenrated as having done second-best in the preceding day, was named firstchampion of the other band. Those who had concurred in the challengeadhered to his party, of course, excepting only Ralph de Vipont, whomhis fall had rendered unfit so soon to put on his armor. There was nowant of distinguished candidates to fill up the ranks on either side. 

In fact, although the general tournament, in which all knights fought atonce, was more dangerous than single encounters, they were, nevertheless, more frequented and practiced by the chivalry of the age. Many knights, who had not sufficient confidence in their own skill todefy a single adversary of high reputation, were, nevertheless, desirousof displaying their valor in the general combat, where they might meetothers with whom they were more upon an equality. 

On the present occasion, about fifty knights were inscribed as desirousof combating upon each side, when the marshals declared that no morecould be admitted, to the disappointment of several who were too late inpreferring their claim to be included. 

About the hour of ten o'clock the whole plain was crowded with horsemen, horsewomen, and foot-passengers, hastening to the tournament; andshortly after, a grand flourish of trumpets announced Prince John andhis retinue, attended by many of those knights who meant to take sharein the game, as well as others who had no such intention. 

About the same time arrived Cedric the Saxon, with the Lady Rowena, unattended, however, by Athelstane. This Saxon lord had arrayed his talland strong person in armor, in order to take his place among thecombatants; and, considerably to the surprise of Cedric, had chosen toenlist himself on the part of the Knight Templar. The Saxon, indeed, hadremonstrated strongly with his friend upon the injudicious choice he hadmade of his party; but he had only received that sort of answer usuallygiven by those who are more obstinate in following their own course thanstrong in justifying it. 

His best, if not his only, reason for adhering to the party of Brian deBois-Guilbert, Athelstane had the prudence to keep to himself. Thoughhis apathy of disposition prevented his taking any means to recommendhimself to the Lady Rowena, he was, nevertheless, by no means insensibleto her charms, and considered his union with her as a matter alreadyfixed beyond doubt by the assent of Cedric and her other friends. Ithad, therefore, been with smothered displeasure that the proud thoughindolent Lord of Coningsburgh beheld the victor of the preceding dayselect Rowena as the object of that honor which it became his privilegeto confer. In order to punish him for a preference which seemed tointerfere with his own suit, Athelstane, confident of his strength, andto whom his flatterers, at least, ascribed great skill in arms, haddetermined not only to deprive the Disinherited Knight of his powerfulsuccor, but, if an opportunity should occur, to make him feel the weightof his battle-axe. 

De Bracy, and other knights attached to Prince John, in obedience to ahint from him, had joined the party of the challengers, John beingdesirous to secure, if possible, the victory to that side. On the otherhand, many other knights, both English and Norman, natives andstrangers, took part against the challengers, the more readily that theopposite band was to be led by so distinguished a champion as theDisinherited Knight had approved himself. 

As soon as Prince John observed that the destined Queen of the dayarrived upon the field, assuming that air of courtesy which sat wellupon him when he was pleased to exhibit it, he rode forward to meet her, doffed his bonnet, and, alighting from his horse, assisted the LadyRowena from her saddle, while his followers uncovered at the same time, and one of the most distinguished dismounted to hold her palfrey. 

"It is thus, " said Prince John, "that we set the dutiful example ofloyalty to the Queen of Love and Beauty, and are ourselves her guide tothe throne which she must this day occupy. Ladies, " he said, "attendyour Queen, as you wish in your turn to be distinguished by likehonors. "

So saying, the Prince marshalled Rowena to the seat of honor oppositehis own, while the fairest and most distinguished ladies present crowdedafter her to obtain places as near as possible to their temporarysovereign. 

No sooner was Rowena seated than a burst of music, half-drowned by theshouts of the multitude, greeted her new dignity. Meantime, the sunshone fierce and bright upon the polished arms of the knights of eitherside, who crowded the opposite extremities of the lists, and held eagerconference together concerning the best mode of arranging their line ofbattle and supporting the conflict. 

The heralds then proclaimed silence until the laws of the tourney shouldbe rehearsed. These were calculated in some degree to abate the dangersof the day--a precaution the more necessary as the conflict was to bemaintained with sharp swords and pointed lances. 

The champions were therefore prohibited to thrust with the sword, andwere confined to striking. A knight, it was announced, might use a maceor battle-axe at pleasure; but the dagger was a prohibited weapon. Aknight unhorsed might renew the fight on foot with any other on theopposite side in the same predicament; but mounted horsemen were in thatcase forbidden to assail him. When any knight could force his antagonistto the extremity of the lists, so as to touch the palisade with hisperson or arms, such opponent was obliged to yield himself vanquished, and his armor and horse were placed at the disposal of the conqueror. Aknight thus overcome was not permitted to take further share in thecombat. If any combatant was struck down, and unable to recover his feet, his squire or page might enter the lists and drag his master out of thepress; but in that case the knight was adjudged vanquished, and his armsand horse declared forfeited. The combat was to cease as soon as PrinceJohn should throw down his leading staff, or truncheon--anotherprecaution usually taken to prevent the unnecessary effusion of blood bythe too long endurance of a sport so desperate. Any knight breaking therules of the tournament, or otherwise transgressing the rules ofhonorable chivalry, was liable to be stripped of his arms, and, havinghis shield reversed, to be placed in that posture astride upon the barsof the palisade, and exposed to public derision, in punishment of hisunknightly conduct. Having announced these precautions, the heraldsconcluded with an exhortation to each good knight to do his duty, and tomerit favor from the Queen of Beauty and Love. 

This proclamation having been made, the heralds withdrew to theirstations. The knights, entering at either end of the lists in longprocession, arranged themselves in a double file, precisely opposite toeach other, the leader of each party being in the center of the foremostrank, a post which he did not occupy until each had carefully arrangedthe ranks of his party, and stationed every one in his place. 

It was a goodly, and at the same time an anxious, sight to behold somany gallant champions, mounted bravely and armed richly, stand readyprepared for an encounter so formidable, seated on their war-saddleslike so many pillars of iron, and awaiting the signal of encounter withthe same ardor as their generous steeds, which, by neighing and pawingthe ground, gave signal of their impatience. 

As yet the knights held their long lances upright, their bright pointsglancing to the sun, and the streamers with which they were decoratedfluttering over the plumage of the helmets. Thus they remained while themarshals of the field surveyed their ranks with the utmost exactness, lest either party had more or fewer than the appointed number. The talewas found exactly complete. The marshals then withdrew from the lists, and William de Wyvil, with a voice of thunder, pronounced the signalwords--"_Laissez aller!_"[78-13] The trumpets sounded as he spoke; thespears of the champions were at once lowered and placed in the rests;the spurs were dashed into the flanks of the horses; and the twoforemost ranks of either party rushed upon each other in full gallop, and met in the middle of the lists with a shock the sound of which washeard at a mile's distance. The rear rank of each party advanced at aslower pace to sustain the defeated, and follow up the success of thevictors, of their party. 

The consequences of the encounter were not instantly seen, for the dustraised by the trampling of so many steeds darkened the air, and it was aminute ere the anxious spectators could see the fate of the encounter. When the fight became visible, half the knights on each side weredismounted--some by the dexterity of their adversary's lance; some bythe superior weight and strength of opponents, which had borne down bothhorse and man; some lay stretched on earth as if never more to rise;some had already gained their feet, and were closing hand to hand withthose of their antagonists who were in the same predicament; and severalon both sides, who had received wounds by which they were disabled, werestopping their blood by their scarfs, and endeavoring to extricatethemselves from the tumult. The mounted knights, whose lances had beenalmost all broken by the fury of the encounter, were now closely engagedwith their swords, shouting their war-cries, and exchanging buffets, asif honor and life depended on the issue of the combat. 

The tumult was presently increased by the advance of the second rank oneither side, which, acting as a reserve, now rushed on to aid theircompanions. The followers of Brian de Bois-Guilbert shouted--"_Ha!Beau-seant! Beau-seant!_[79-14] For the Temple! For the Temple!" Theopposite shouted in answer--"_Desdichado! Desdichado!_" which watchwordthey took from the motto upon their leaders' shield. 

The champions thus encountering each other with the utmost fury, andwith alternate success, the tide of battle seemed to flow now toward thesouthern, now toward the northern, extremity of the lists, as the one orthe other party prevailed. Meantime the clang of the blows and theshouts of the combatants mixed fearfully with the sound of the trumpets, and drowned the groans of those who fell, and lay rolling defencelessbeneath the feet of the horses. The splendid armor of the combatants wasnow defaced with dust and blood, and gave way at every stroke of thesword and battle-axe. The gay plumage, shorn from the crests, driftedupon the breeze like snowflakes. All that was beautiful and graceful inthe martial array had disappeared, and what was now visible was onlycalculated to awake terror or compassion. 

Yet such is the force of habit, that not only the vulgar spectators, whoare naturally attracted by sights of horror, but even the ladies ofdistinction, who crowded the galleries, saw the conflict with athrilling interest certainly, but without a wish to withdraw their eyes, from a sight so terrible. Here and there, indeed, a fair cheek mightturn pale, or a faint scream might be heard, as a lover, a brother, or ahusband was struck from his horse. But, in general, the ladies aroundencouraged the combatants, not only by clapping their hands and wavingtheir veils and kerchiefs, but even by exclaiming, "Brave lance! Goodsword!" when any successful thrust or blow took place under theirobservation. 

Such being the interest taken by the fair sex in this bloody game, thatof men is the more easily understood. It showed itself in loudacclamations upon every change of fortune, while all eyes were soriveted on the lists that the spectators seemed as if they themselveshad dealt and received the blows which were there so freely bestowed. And between every pause was heard the voice of the heralds, exclaiming, "Fight on, brave knights! Man dies, but glory lives! Fight on; death isbetter than defeat! Fight on, brave knights! for bright eyes behold yourdeeds!"

Amid the varied fortunes of the combat, the eyes of all endeavored todiscover the leaders of each band, who, mingling in the thick of thefight, encouraged their companions both by voice and example. Bothdisplayed great feats of gallantry nor did either Bois-Guilbert or theDisinherited Knight find in the ranks opposed to them a champion whocould be termed their unquestioned match. They repeatedly endeavored tosingle out each other, spurred by mutual animosity, and aware that thefall of either leader might be considered as decisive of victory. Such, however, was the crowd and confusion that, during the earlier part ofthe conflict, their efforts to meet were unavailing, and they wererepeatedly separated by the eagerness of their followers, each of whomwas anxious to win honor by measuring his strength against the leader ofthe opposite party. 

But when the field became thin by the numbers on either side who hadyielded themselves vanquished, had been compelled to the extremity ofthe lists, or been otherwise rendered incapable of continuing thestrife, the Templar and the Disinherited Knight at length encounteredhand to hand, with all the fury that mortal animosity, joined to rivalryof honor, could inspire. Such was the address of each in parrying andstriking, that the spectators broke forth into a unanimous andinvoluntary shout, expressive of their delight and admiration. 

But at this moment the party of the Disinherited Knight had the worst;the gigantic arm of Front-de-Boeuf on the one flank, and the ponderousstrength of Athelstane on the other, bearing down and dispersing thoseimmediately opposed to them. Finding themselves freed from theirimmediate antagonists, it seems to have occurred to both these knightsat the same instant that they would render the most decisive advantageto their party by aiding the Templar in his contest with his rival. Turning their horses, therefore, at the same moment, the Norman spurredagainst the Disinherited Knight on the one side and the Saxon on theother. It was utterly impossible that the object of this unequal andunexpected assault could have sustained it, had he not been warned by ageneral cry from the spectators, who could not but take interest in oneexposed to such disadvantage. 

"Beware! beware! Sir Disinherited!" was shouted so universally that theknight became aware of his danger; and striking a full blow at theTemplar, he reined back his steed in the same moment, so as to escapethe charge of Athelstane and Front-de-Boeuf. These knights, therefore, their aim being thus eluded, rushed from opposite sides between theobject of their attack and the Templar, almost running their horsesagainst each other ere they could stop their career. Recovering theirhorses, however, and wheeling them round, the whole three pursued theirunited purpose of bearing to the earth the Disinherited Knight. 

Nothing could have saved him except the remarkable strength and activityof the noble horse which he had won on the preceding day. 

This stood him in the more stead, as the horse of Bois-Guilbert waswounded and those of Front-de-Boe and Athelstane were both tiredwith the weight of their gigantic masters, clad in complete armor, andwith the preceding exertions of the day. The masterly horsemanship ofthe Disinherited Knight, and the activity of the noble animal which hemounted, enabled him for a few minutes to keep at sword's point histhree antagonists, turning and wheeling with the agility of a hawk uponthe wing, keeping his enemies as far separate as he could, and rushingnow against the one, now against the other, dealing sweeping blows withhis sword, without waiting to receive those which were aimed at him inreturn. 

But although the lists rang with the applauses of his dexterity, it wasevident that he must at last be overpowered; and the nobles aroundPrince John implored him with one voice to throw down his warder, and tosave so brave a knight from the disgrace of being overcome by odds. 

"Not I, by the light of Heaven!" answered Prince John: "this samespringal, [83-15] who conceals his name and despises our profferedhospitality, hath already gained one prize, and may now afford to letothers have their turn. " As he spoke thus, an unexpected incidentchanged the fortune of the day. 

There was among the ranks of the Disinherited Knight a champion in blackarmor, mounted on a black horse, large of size, tall, and to allappearance powerful and strong, like the rider by whom he was mounted. This knight, who bore on his shield no device of any kind, had hithertoevinced very little interest in the event of the fight, beating off withseeming ease those combatants who attacked him, but neither pursuing hisadvantages nor himself assailing any one. In short, he had hithertoacted the part rather of a spectator than of a party in the tournament, a circumstance which procured him among the spectators the name of _LeNoir Faineant_, or the Black Sluggard. 

At once this knight seemed to throw aside his apathy, when he discoveredthe leader of his party so hard bested; for, setting spurs to his horse, which was quite fresh, he came to his assistance like a thunderbolt, exclaiming, in a voice like a trumpet-call, "_Desdichado_, to therescue!" It was high time; for, while the Disinherited Knight waspressing upon the Templar, Front-de-Boeuf had got nigh to him with hisuplifted sword; but ere the blow could descend, the Sable Knight dealt astroke on his head, which, glancing from the polished helmet, lightedwith violence scarcely abated on the chamfron[84-16] of the steed, andFront-de-Boeuf rolled on the ground, both horse and man equallystunned by the fury of the blow. _Le Noir Faineant_ then turned hishorse upon Athelstane of Coningsburgh; and his own sword having beenbroken in his encounter with Front-de-Boeuf, he wrenched from the handof the bulky Saxon the battle-axe which he wielded, and, like onefamiliar with the use of the weapon, bestowed him such a blow upon thecrest that Athelstane also lay senseless on the field. Having achievedthis double feat, for which he was the more highly applauded that it wastotally unexpected from him, the knight seemed to resume thesluggishness of his character, returning calmly to the northernextremity of the lists, leaving his leader to cope as he best could withBrian de Bois-Guilbert. This was no longer matter of so much difficultyas formerly. The Templar's horse had bled much, and gave way under theshock of the Disinherited Knight's charge. Brian de Bois-Guilbertrolled on the field, encumbered with the stirrup, from which he wasunable to draw his foot. His antagonist sprung from horseback, waved hisfatal sword over the head of his adversary, and commanded him to yieldhimself; when Prince John, more moved by the Templar's dangeroussituation than he had been by that of his rival, saved him themortification of confessing himself vanquished, by casting down hiswarder and putting an end to the conflict. 

[Illustration: PRINCE JOHN THROWS DOWN THE TRUNCHEON]

It was, indeed, only the relics and embers of the fight which continuedto burn; for of the few knights who still continued in the lists, thegreater part had, by tacit consent, forborne the conflict for some time, leaving it to be determined by the strife of the leaders. 

The squires, who had found it a matter of danger and difficulty toattend their masters during the engagement, now thronged into the liststo pay their dutiful attendance to the wounded, who were removed withthe utmost care and attention to the neighboring pavilions, or to thequarters prepared for them in the adjoining village. 

Thus ended the memorable field of Ashby-de-la-Zouche, one of the mostgallantly contested tournaments of that age; for although only fourknights, including one who was smothered by the heat of his armor, haddied upon the field, yet upward of thirty were desperately wounded, fouror five of whom never recovered. Several more were disabled for life;and those who escaped best carried the marks of the conflict to thegrave with them. Hence it is always mentioned in the old records as the"gentle and joyous passage of arms of Ashby. "

It being now the duty of Prince John to name the knight who had donebest, he determined that the honor of the day remained with the knightwhom the popular voice had termed _Le Noir Faineant_. It was pointed outto the Prince, in impeachment of this decree, that the victory had beenin fact won by the Disinherited Knight, who, in the course of the day, had overcome six champions with his own hand, and who had finallyunhorsed and struck down the leader of the opposite party. But PrinceJohn adhered to his own opinion, on the ground that the DisinheritedKnight and his party had lost the day but for the powerful assistance ofthe Knight of the Black Armor, to whom, therefore, he persisted inawarding the prize. 

To the surprise of all present, however, the knight thus preferred wasnowhere to be found. He had left the lists immediately when the conflictceased, and had been observed by some spectators to move down one of theforest glades with the same slow pace and listless and indifferentmanner which had procured him the epithet of the Black Sluggard. [87-17]After he had been summoned twice by sound of trumpet and proclamation ofthe heralds, it became necessary to name another to receive the honorswhich had been assigned to him. Prince John had now no further excusefor resisting the claim of the Disinherited Knight, whom, therefore, henamed the champion of the day. 

Through a field slippery with blood and encumbered with broken armor andthe bodies of slain and wounded horses, the marshals again conductedthe victor to the foot of Prince John's throne. 

"Disinherited Knight, " said Prince John, "since by that title only youwill consent to be known to us, we a second time award to you the honorsof this tournament, and announce to you your right to claim and receivefrom the hands of the Queen of Love and Beauty the chaplet of honorwhich your valor has justly deserved. "

The Knight bowed low and gracefully, but returned no answer. 

While the trumpets sounded, while the heralds strained their voices inproclaiming honor to the brave and glory to the victor, while ladieswaved their silken kerchiefs and embroidered veils, and while all ranksjoined in a clamorous shout of exultation, the marshals conducted theDisinherited Knight across the lists to the foot of that throne of honorwhich was occupied by the Lady Rowena. 

On the lower step of this throne the champion was made to kneel down. Indeed, his whole action since that the fight had ended seemed rather tohave been upon the impulse of those around him than from his own freewill; and it was observed that he tottered as they guided him the secondtime across the lists. Rowena, descending from her station with agraceful and dignified step, was about to place the chaplet which sheheld in her hand upon the helmet of the champion, when the marshalsexclaimed with one voice, "It must not be thus; his head must be bare. "The knight muttered faintly a few words, which were lost in the hollowof his helmet; but their purport seemed to be a desire that his casquemight not be removed. 

[Illustration: ROWENA CROWNING DISINHERITED KNIGHT]

Whether from love of form or from curiosity, the marshals paid noattention to his expressions of reluctance, but unhelmed him by cuttingthe laces of his casque, and undoing the fastening of his gorget. Whenthe helmet was removed the well-formed yet sun-burned features of ayoung man of twenty-five were seen, amid a profusion of short fairhair. His countenance was as pale as death, and marked in one or twoplaces with streaks of blood. 

Rowena had no sooner beheld him that she uttered a faint shriek; but atonce summoning up the energy of her disposition, and compelling herself, as it were, to proceed, while her frame yet trembled with the violenceof sudden emotion, she placed upon the drooping head of the victor thesplendid chaplet which was the destined reward of the day, andpronounced in a clear and distinct tone these words: "I bestow on theethis chaplet, Sir Knight, as the meed of valor assigned to this day'svictor. " Here she paused a moment, and then firmly added, "And upon browmore worthy could a wreath of chivalry never be placed!"

The knight stooped his head and kissed the hand of the lovely Sovereignby whom his valor had been rewarded; and then, sinking yet furtherforward, lay prostrate at her feet. 

There was a general consternation. Cedric, who had been struck mute bythe sudden appearance of his banished son, now rushed forward as if toseparate him from Rowena. But this had been already accomplished by themarshals of the field, who, guessing the cause of Ivanhoe's swoon, hadhastened to undo his armor, and found that the head of a lance hadpenetrated his breastplate and inflicted a wound in his side. 

FOOTNOTES:

[39-1] A pursuivant was an attendant on a herald. 

[40-2] _Salvage_ is an old form of the word _savage_. 

[46-3] _Outrance_ is an old word meaning _the last extremity_. 

[48-4] A largesse is a gift or donation. 

[53-5] _Clowns_ here means _peasants_. 

[56-6] _Gare le Corbeau_ means _Beware of the raven_. 

[57-7] A demi-volte is a certain movement of a horse, by which he makesa half turn with the fore-feet off the ground. 

[59-8] _Front-de-Boeuf_ means bull's head. 

[59-9] _Cave, Adsum_ is a Latin expression meaning _Beware, I am here_. 

[62-10] _Hospitallers_ was another name for the Knights of Saint John. 

[70-11] _Barbed_, or _barded_, is a term used of a war-horse, and means_furnished with armor_. 

[72-12] A zecchin, or sequin, is worth about $2. 25. 

[78-13] _Laissez aller_ means literally _Let go_. 

[79-14] _Beau-seant_ was the name given to the black and white banner ofthe Templars. 

[83-15] _Springal_ is an old word meaning _youth_ or _young man_. 

[84-16] The _chamfron_ is the defensive armor of the front part of thehead of a war-horse. 

[87-17] The Black Sluggard was the king of England, Richard theLion-Hearted, who had been absent from England on a Crusade and had comeback without allowing his brother John to know of his return. 

THE RAINBOW

_By_ THOMAS CAMPBELL

 Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art. 

 Still seem, as to my childhoods' sight, A midway station given, For happy spirits to alight, Betwixt the earth and heaven. 

 Can all that optics teach, unfold Thy form to please me so, As when I dreamt of gems and gold Hid in thy radiant bow?[91-1]

 When science from creation's face Enchantment's veil withdraws, What lovely visions yield their place To cold material laws!

 And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, But words of the Most High, Have told why first thy robe of beams Was woven in the sky. [91-2]

 When o'er the green undeluged earth Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's gray fathers forth To watch thy sacred sign!

 And when its yellow lustre smiled O'er mountains yet untrod, Each mother held aloft her child To bless the bow of God. 

 The earth to thee her incense yields, The lark thy welcome sings, When, glittering in the freshen'd fields, The snowy mushroom springs. 

 How glorious is thy girdle, cast O'er mountain, tower, and town, Or mirror'd in the ocean vast A thousand fathoms down!

 As fresh in yon horizon dark, As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam. 

 For, faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span; Nor lets the type grow pale with age That first spoke peace to man. 

FOOTNOTES:

[91-1] There was an old, old belief that a pot of god was hidden at theend of the rainbow, and that whoever found his way to the spot mightclaim the gold. This superstition has existed in almost all lands, andreferences to it are constantly to be found in literature. 

[91-2] According to the account given in _Genesis IX_, God said to Noahafter the flood:

"And I will establish my covenant with you; neither shall all flesh becut off any more by the waters of a flood; neither shall there any morebe a flood to destroy the earth. 

"This is the token of the covenant which I make between me and you, andevery living creature that is with you for perpetual generations:

"I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenantbetween me and the earth. 

"And it shall come to pass, when I bring a cloud over the earth, thatthe bow shall be seen in the cloud:

"And I will remember my covenant, which is between me and you, and everyliving creature of all flesh; and the waters shall no more become aflood to destroy all flesh. "

THE LION AND THE MISSIONARY

_By_ DAVID LIVINGSTONE

 NOTE. --Few men have endured more hardships, dangers and excitement that did David Livingstone, missionary and African traveler, from whose writings this account of an adventure with a lion is taken. He penetrated to parts of Africa where no white man had ever been before, he suffered repeated attacks of African fever, he exposed himself to constant danger from wild beasts and wilder men; and he did none of this in his own interests. He was no merchant seeking for gold and diamonds, he was no discoverer seeking for fame; his only aim was to open up the continent of Africa so that civilization and Christianity might enter. 

 In 1840 Livingstone was sent as medical missionary to South Africa. Here he joined Robert Moffat, in Bechuanaland, where he worked for nine years. Learning from the natives that there was a large lake to the northward, he set out on his first exploring trip, and at length discovered Lake Ngami. Later, he undertook other journeys of exploration, on one of which he reached the Atlantic coast and then returned, crossing the entire continent. His greatest achievement was the exploration of the lake region of South Africa. So cut off was he, in the African jungles, from all the outer world that no communication was received from him for three years, and fears as to his safety were relieved only when Stanley, sent out by the _New York Herald_ to search for Livingstone, reported that he had seen and assisted him. 

 In May, 1873, Livingstone died, at a village near Lake Bangweolo. His body was taken to England and laid in Westminster Abbey, but his heart was buried at the foot of the tree under whose branches he died. 

Returning toward Kuruman, I selected the beautiful valley of Mabotsa(latitude 25° 14´ south, longitude 26° 30´) as the site of a missionarystation, and thither I removed in 1843. Here an occurrence took placeconcerning which I have frequently been questioned in England, andwhich, but for the importunities of friends, I meant to have kept instore to tell my children when in my dotage. The Bakatla of the villageMabotsa were much troubled by lions, which leaped into the cattle pensby night and destroyed their cows. They even attacked the herds in openday. This was so unusual an occurrence that the people believed thatthey were bewitched, --"given, " as they said, "into the power of thelions by a neighboring tribe. " They went once to attack the animals, but, being rather a cowardly people compared to Bechuanas in general onsuch occasions, they returned without killing any. 

It is well known that if one of a troop of lions is killed, the otherstake the hint and leave that part of the country. So, the next time theherds were attacked, I went with the people, in order to encourage themto rid themselves of the annoyance by destroying one of the marauders. We found the lions on a small hill about a quarter of a mile in length, and covered with trees. A circle of men was formed round it, and theygradually closed up, ascending pretty near to each other. Being downbelow on the plain with a native schoolmaster, named Mebálwe, a mostexcellent man, I saw one of the lions sitting on a piece of rock withinthe now closed circle of men. Mebálwe fired at him before I could, andthe ball struck the rock on which the animal was sitting. He bit at thespot struck, as a dog does at a stick or stone thrown at him; thenleaping away, broke through the opening circle and escaped unhurt. Themen were afraid to attack him, perhaps on account of their belief inwitchcraft. When the circle was reformed, we saw two other lions in it;but we were afraid to fire lest we should strike the men, and theyallowed the beasts to burst through also. 

If the Bakatla had acted according to the custom of the country, theywould have speared the lions in their attempt to get out. Seeing wecould not get them to kill one of the lions, we bent our footstepstoward the village; in going round the end of the hill, however, I sawone of the beasts sitting on a piece of rock as before, but this time hehad a little bush in front. Being about thirty yards off, I took a goodaim at his body through the bush, and fired both barrels into it. Themen then called out, "He is shot, he is shot!" Others cried, "He hasbeen shot by another man too; let us go to him!" I did not see any oneelse shoot at him, but I saw the lion's tail erected in anger behind thebush, and turning to the people, said, "Stop a little, till I loadagain. " When in the act of ramming down the bullets, I heard a shout. Starting, and looking half round, I saw the lion just in the act ofspringing upon me. 

I was upon a little height; he caught my shoulder as he sprang, and weboth came to the ground below together. Growling horribly close to myear, he shook me as a terrier dog does a rat. The shock produced astupor similar to that which seems to be felt by a mouse after the firstshake of the cat. It caused a sort of dreaminess, in which there was nosense of pain nor feeling of terror, though I was quite conscious of allthat was happening. It was like what patients partially under theinfluence of chloroform describe, who see all the operation, but feelnot the knife. This singular condition was not the result of any mentalprocess. The shake annihilated fear, and allowed no sense of horror inlooking round at the beast. This peculiar state is probably produced inall animals killed by the carnivora; and if so, is a merciful provisionby our benevolent Creator for lessening the pain of death. Turning roundto relieve myself of the weight, as he had one paw on the back of myhead, I saw his eyes directed to Mebálwe, who was trying to shoot him ata distance of ten or fifteen yards. His gun, a flint one, missed fire inboth barrels; the lion immediately left me, and, attacking Mebálwe, bithis thigh. Another man, whose life I had saved before, after he had beentossed by a buffalo, attempted to spear the lion while he was bitingMebálwe. He left Mebálwe and caught this man by the shoulder, but atthat moment the bullets he had received took effect, and he fell downdead. The whole was the work of a few moments, and must have been hisparoxysms of dying rage. In order to take out the charm from him, theBakatla on the following day made a huge bonfire over the carcass, whichwas declared to be that of the largest lion they had ever seen. Besidescrunching the bone into splinters, he left eleven teeth wounds on theupper part of my arm. 

A wound from this animal's tooth resembles a gunshot wound; it isgenerally followed by a great deal of sloughing and discharge, andpains are felt in the part, periodically ever afterward. I had on atartan jacket on the occasion, and I believe that it wiped off all thevirus from the teeth that pierced the flesh, for my two companions inthis affray have both suffered from the peculiar pains, while I haveescaped with only the inconvenience of a false joint in my limb. The manwhose shoulder was wounded, showed me his wound actually burst forthafresh on the same month of the following year. This curious pointcertainly deserves the attention of inquirers. 

[Illustration]

THE MOSS ROSE

TRANSLATED FROM KRUMMACHER

 The angel of the flowers, one day, Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay, -- That spirit to whose charge 'tis given To bathe young buds in dews of heaven. Awaking from his light repose, The angel whispered to the rose: "O fondest object of my care, Still fairest found, where all are fair; For the sweet shade thou giv'st to me Ask what thou wilt, 'tis granted thee. " "Then, " said the rose, with deepened glow, "On me another grace bestow. " The spirit paused, in silent thought, -- What grace was there that flower had not? 'Twas but a moment, --o'er the rose A veil of moss the angel throws, And, robed in nature's simplest weed, Could there a flower that rose exceed?

FOUR DUCKS ON A POND

_By_ WILLIAM ALLINGHAM

 Four ducks on a pond, A grass bank beyond, A blue sky of spring, White clouds on the wing; What a little thing To remember for years, To remember with tears. 

RAB AND HIS FRIENDS

_By_ JOHN BROWN, M. D. 

Four and thirty years ago, Bob Ainslie and I were coming up Infirmarystreet from the high school, our heads together, and our armsintertwisted, as only lovers and boys know how or why. 

When we got to the top of the street, and turned north, we espied acrowd at the Tron-church. "A dog fight!" shouted Bob, and was off; andso was I, both of us all but praying that it might not be over before wegot up! And is not this boy nature! and human nature too? and don't weall wish a house on fire not to be out before we see it? Dogs likefighting; old Isaac says they "delight" in it, and for the best of allreasons; and boys are not cruel because they like to see the fight. Theysee three of the great cardinal virtues of dog or man--courage, endurance, and skill--in intense action. This is very different from alove of making dogs fight, and enjoying, and aggravating, and makinggain by their pluck. A boy--be he ever so fond himself of fighting, ifhe be a good boy, hates and despises all this, but he would have run offwith Bob and me fast enough; it is a natural, and a not wicked, interestthat all boys and men have in witnessing intense energy in action. 

Does any curious and finely-ignorant woman wish to know how Bob's eye ata glance announced a dog fight to his brain? He did not, he could notsee the dogs fighting; it was a flash of an inference, a rapidinduction. The crowd round a couple of dogs fighting, is a crowdmasculine mainly, with an occasional active, compassionate woman, fluttering wildly round the outside, and using her tongue and her handsfreely upon the men, as so many "brutes"; it is a crowd annular, compactand mobile; a crowd centripetal, having its eyes and its heads all bentdownward and inward, to one common focus. 

Well, Bob and I are up, and find it is not over; a small thoroughbred, white bull-terrier, is busy throttling a large shepherd's dog, unaccustomed to war, but not to be trifled with. They are hard at it;the scientific little fellow doing his work in great style, his pastoralenemy fighting wildly, but with the sharpest of teeth and a greatcourage. Science and breeding, however, soon had their own; the GameChicken, as the premature Bob called him, working his way up, took hisfinal grip of poor Yarrow's throat--and he lay gasping and done for. Hismaster, a brown, handsome, big young shepherd from Tweedsmuir, wouldhave liked to have knocked down any man, would "drink up Esil, or eat acrocodile, " for that part, if he had a chance; it was no use kicking thelittle dog; that would only make him hold the closer. Many were themeans shouted out in mouthfuls, of the best possible ways of ending it. 

"Water!" but there was none near, and many cried for it who might havegot it from the well at Blackfriars Wynd. 

"Bite the tail!" and a large, vague, benevolent, middle-aged man, moredesirous than wise, with some struggle got the bushy end of Yarrow'stail into his ample mouth, and bit it with all his might. This was morethan enough for the much-enduring, much-perspiring shepherd, who, with agleam of joy over his broad visage, delivered a terrific facer upon ourlarge, vague, benevolent, middle-aged friend--who went down like a shot. 

Still the Chicken holds; death not far off. 

"Snuff! a pinch of snuff!" observed a calm, highly-dressed young buck, with an eye-glass in his eye. "Snuff, indeed!" growled the angry crowd, affronted and glaring. 

"Snuff! a pinch of snuff!" again observes the buck, but with moreurgency; whereupon were produced several open boxes, and from a mullwhich may have been at Culloden, he took a pinch, knelt down, andpresented it to the nose of the Chicken. The laws of physiology and ofsnuff take their course; the Chicken sneezes, and Yarrow is free. 

The young pastoral giant stalks off with Yarrow in his arms--comfortinghim. 

But the bull-terrier's blood is up, and his soul unsatisfied; he gripsthe first dog he meets, and discovering she is not a dog, in Homericphrase, he makes a brief sort of _amende_, [101-1] and is off. The boys, with Bob and me at their head, are after him; down Niddry street hegoes, bent on mischief; up the Cowgate like an arrow--Bob and I, and oursmall men, panting behind. 

There, under the single arch of the South bridge is a huge mastiff, sauntering down the middle of the causeway, as if with his hands in hispockets; he is old, gray, brindled, as big as a little Highland bull, and has the Shakespearian dewlaps shaking as he goes. 

The Chicken makes straight at him, and fastens on his throat. To ourastonishment, the great creature does nothing but stand still, holdshimself up, and roar--yes, roar; a long, serious, remonstrative roar. How is this? Bob and I are up to them. _He is muzzled!_ The bailies hadproclaimed a general muzzling, and his master, studying strength andeconomy mainly, had encompassed his huge jaws in a homemade apparatus, constructed out of the leather of some ancient breechin. His mouth wasopen as far as it could; his lips curled up in rage--a sort of terriblegrin; his teeth gleaming, ready, from out of the darkness; the strapacross his mouth tense as a bow string; his whole frame stiff withindignation and surprise; his roar asking us all round, "Did you eversee the like of this?"

He looked a statue of anger and astonishment, done in Aberdeen granite. 

We soon had a crowd; the Chicken held on. "A knife!" cried Bob; and acobbler gave him his knife; you know the kind of knife, worn awayobliquely to a point, and always keen. I put its edge to the tenseleather; it ran before it; and then!--one sudden jerk of that enormoushead, a sort of dirty mist about his mouth, no noise, and the bright andfierce little fellow is dropped, limp, and dead. A solemn pause; thiswas more than any of us had bargained for. I turned the little fellowover, and saw he was quite dead; the mastiff had taken him by the smallof the back, like a rat, and broken it. 

He looked down at his victim appeased, ashamed and amazed; snuffed himall over, stared at him, and taking a sudden thought, turned round andtrotted off. 

Bob took the dead dog up, and said, "John, we'll bury him after tea. "

[Illustration: "RAB, YE THIEF!"]

"Yes, " said I, and was off after the mastiff. He made up the Cowgate ata rapid swing; he had forgotten some engagement. He turned up theCandlemaker Row, and stopped at the Harrow Inn. 

There was a carrier's cart ready to start, and a keen, thin, impatient, black-a-vised little man, his hand at his gray horse's head lookingabout angrily for something. 

"Rab, ye thief!" said he, aiming a kick at my great friend, who drewcringing up, and avoiding the heavy shoe with more agility than dignity, and watching his master's eye, slunk dismayed under the cart--his earsdown, and as much as he had of tail down too. 

What a man this must be--thought I--to whom my tremendous hero turnstail! The carrier saw the muzzle hanging, cut and useless, from hisneck, and I eagerly told him the story which Bob and I always thought, and still think, Homer, or King David, or Sir Walter, alone were worthyto rehearse. The severe little man was mitigated, and condescended tosay, "Rab, ma man, puir Rabbie"--whereupon the stump of a tail rose up, the ears were cocked, the eyes filled, and were comforted; the twofriends were reconciled. "Hupp!" and a stroke of the whip were given toJess; and off went the three. 

Bob and I buried the Game Chicken that night (we had not much of a tea)in the back-green of his house in Melville street, No. 17, withconsiderable gravity and silence; and being at the time in the Iliad, and, like all boys, Trojans, we called him Hector of course. 

 * * * * *

Six years have passed--a long time for a boy and a dog: Bob Ainslie isoff to the wars; I am a medical student, and clerk at Minto HouseHospital. 

Rab I saw almost every week, on the Wednesday; and we had much pleasantintimacy. I found the way to his heart by frequent scratching of hishuge head, and an occasional bone. When I did not notice him he wouldplant himself straight before me, and stand wagging that bud of a tail, and looking up, with his head a little to the one side. His master Ioccasionally saw; he used to call me "Maister John, " but was laconic asany Spartan. 

One fine October afternoon, I was leaving the hospital when I saw thelarge gate open, and in walked Rab with that great and easy saunter ofhis. He looked as if taking general possession of the place; like theDuke of Wellington entering a subdued city, satiated with victory andpeace. 

After him came Jess, now white from age, with her cart; and in it awoman, carefully wrapped up--the carrier leading the horse anxiously, and looking back. 

When he saw me, James (for his name was James Noble) made a curt andgrotesque "boo, " and said, "Maister John, this is the mistress; she'sgot a trouble in her breest--some kind of an income we'er thinkin'. "

By this time I saw the woman's face; she was sitting on a sack filledwith straw, her husband's plaid round her, and his big-coat, with itslarge white metal buttons, over her feet. 

I never saw a more unforgettable face--pale, serious, _lonely_, delicate, sweet, without being at all what we call fine. She lookedsixty, and had on a mutch, white as snow, with its black ribbon; hersilvery, smooth hair setting off her dark-gray eyes--eyes such as onesees only twice or thrice in a lifetime, full of suffering, full also ofthe overcoming of it; her eyebrows black and delicate, and her mouthfirm, patient, and contented, which few mouths ever are. 

As I have said, I never saw a more beautiful countenance, or a moresubdued or settled quiet. "Ailie, " said James, "this is Maister John, the young doctor; Rab's freend, ye ken. We often speak aboot you, doctor. "

She smiled, and made a movement, but said nothing; and prepared to comedown, putting her plaid aside and rising. Had Solomon, in all his glory, been handing down the Queen of Sheba, at his palace gate, he could nothave done it more daintily, more tenderly, more like a gentleman, thandid James, the Howgate carrier, when he lifted down Ailie, his wife. 

The contrast of his small, swarthy, weatherbeaten, keen, worldly face tohers--pale, subdued, and beautiful--was something wonderful. Rab lookedon concerned and puzzled, but ready for anything that might turnup--were it to strangle the nurse, the porter, or even me. Ailie and heseemed great friends. 

"As I was sayin', she's got a kind o' trouble in her breest, doctor;wull ye tak' a look at it?" We walked into the consulting-room, allfour; Rab grim and comic, willing to be happy and confidential if causecould be shown, willing also to be the reverse on the same terms. Ailiesat down, undid her open gown and her lawn handkerchief round her neck, and, without a word, showed me her right breast. I looked at andexamined it carefully, she and James watching me, and Rab eying allthree. What could I say? There it was that had once been so soft, soshapely, so white, so gracious and bountiful, so "full of all blessedconditions"--hard as a stone, a center of horrid pain, making that paleface, with its gray, lucid, reasonable eyes, and its sweet resolvedmouth, express the full measure of suffering overcome. Why was thatgentle, modest, sweet woman, clean and lovable, condemned by God to bearsuch a burden?

I got her away to bed. 

"May Rab and me bide?" said James. 

"_You_ may; and Rab, if he will behave himself. "

"I'se warrant he's do that, doctor;" and in slunk the faithful beast. 

I wish you could have seen him. There are no such dogs now. He belongedto a lost tribe. As I have said, he was brindled, and gray like Rubislawgranite; his hair short, hard, and close, like a lion's; his bodythickset, like a little bull--a sort of compressed Hercules of a dog. Hemust have been ninety pounds' weight, at the least; he had a large blunthead; his muzzle black as night, his mouth blacker than any night, atooth or two--being all he had--gleaming out of his jaws of darkness. His head was scarred with the records of old wounds, a sort of series offields of battle all over it; one eye out, one ear cropped as close aswas Archbishop Leighton's father's; the remaining eye had the power oftwo; and above it, and in constant communication with it, was a tatteredrag of an ear, which was forever unfurling itself, like an old flag; andthen that bud of a tail, about one inch long, if it could in any sensebe said to be long, being as broad as long--the mobility, theinstantaneousness of that bud were very funny and surprising, and itsexpressive twinklings and winkings, the intercommunications between theeye, the ear, and it, were of the oddest and swiftest. 

Rab had the dignity and simplicity of great size; and having fought hisway all along the road to absolute supremacy, he was as mighty in hisown line as Julius Cæsar or the Duke of Wellington, and had the gravityof all great fighters. 

You must have often observed the likeness of certain men to certainanimals, and of certain dogs to men. Now, I never looked at Rab withoutthinking of the great Baptist preacher, Andrew Fuller. The same large, heavy, menacing, combative, sombre, honest countenance, the same deepinevitable eye, the same look--as of thunder asleep, but ready--neithera dog nor a man to be trifled with. 

Next day, my master, the surgeon, examined Ailie. There was no doubt itmust kill her, and soon. It could be removed--it might never return--itwould give her speedy relief--she should have it done. 

She curtsied, looked at James, and said, "When?"

"To-morrow, " said the kind surgeon--a man of few words. 

She and James and Rab and I retired. I noticed that he and she spoke alittle, but seemed to anticipate everything in each other. The followingday at noon, the students came in, hurrying up the great stair. At thefirst landing-place, on a small well-known blackboard, was a bit ofpaper fastened by wafers and many remains of old wafers beside it. Onthe paper were the words--"An operation to-day. J. B. , _Clerk_. "

Up ran the youths, eager to secure good places; in they crowded, full ofinterest and talk. 

"What's the case? Which side is it?"

Don't think them heartless; they are neither better nor worse than youor I; they get over their professional horrors, and into their properwork; and in them pity--as an _emotion_, ending in itself or at best intears and a long-drawn breath, lessens, while pity as a _motive_ isquickened, and gains power and purpose. It is well for poor humannature that it is so. 

The operating theatre is crowded; much talk and fun, and all thecordiality and stir of youth. The surgeon with his staff of assistantsis there. In comes Ailie; one look at her quiets and abates the eagerstudents. The beautiful old woman is too much for them. They sit down, and are dumb, and gaze at her. These rough boys feel the power of herpresence. 

She walks in quickly, but without haste; dressed in her mutch, herneckerchief, her white dimity short-gown, her black bombazine petticoat, showing her white worsted stockings and her carpet-shoes. Behind her wasJames with Rab. James sat down in the distance, and took that huge andnoble head between his knees. Rab looked perplexed and dangerous;forever cocking his ear and dropping it as fast. 

Ailie stepped up on a seat, and laid herself on the table, as her friendthe surgeon told her; arranged herself, gave a rapid look at James, shuther eyes, rested herself on me, and took my hand. The operation was atonce begun; it was necessarily slow; and chloroform--one of God's bestgifts to his suffering children--was then unknown. The surgeon did hiswork. Rab's soul was working within him; he saw that something strangewas going on--blood flowing from his mistress, and she suffering; hisragged ear was up, and importunate; he growled and gave now and then asharp impatient yelp; he would have liked to have done something to thatman. But James had him firm, and gave him a _glower_[109-2] from time totime, and an intimation of a possible kick;--all the better for James, it kept his eye and his mind off Ailie. 

It is over; she is dressed, steps gently and decently down from thetable, looks for James; then, turning to the surgeon and the students, she curtsies--and in a low, clear voice, begs their pardon if she hasbehaved ill. The students--all of us--wept like children; the surgeonhapped her up carefully--and, resting on James and me, Ailie went to herroom, Rab following. We put her to bed. James took off his heavy shoes, crammed with tackets, heel-capt and toe-capt, and put them carefullyunder the table, saying, "Maister John, I'm for nane o' yer stryngenurse bodies for Ailie. I'll be her nurse, and I'll gang about on mystockin' soles as canny as pussy. "

And so he did; handy and clever, and swift and tender as any woman, wasthat horny-handed, snell, peremptory little man. Everything she got hegave her; he seldom slept; and often I saw his small, shrewd eyes out ofthe darkness, fixed on her. As before, they spoke little. 

Rab behaved well, never moving, showing us how meek and gentle he couldbe, and occasionally, in his sleep, letting us know that he wasdemolishing some adversary. He took a walk with me every day, generallyto the Candlemaker Row; but he was sombre and mild; declined doingbattle, though some fit cases offered, and indeed submitted to sundryindignities; and was always very ready to turn and came faster back, andtrotted up the stair with much lightness, and went straight to thatdoor. 

Jess, the mare, had been sent, with her weather-worn cart, to Howgate, and had doubtless her own dim and placid meditations and confusions, onthe absence of her master and Rab, and her unnatural freedom from theroad and her cart. 

For some days Ailie did well. The wound healed "by the first intention;"for as James said, "Our Ailie's skin's ower clean to beil. " The studentscame in quiet and anxious, and surrounded her bed. She said she liked tosee their young, honest faces. The surgeon dressed her, and spoke to herin his own short, kind way, pitying her through his eyes, Rab and Jamesoutside the circle--Rab being now reconciled, and even cordial, andhaving made up his mind that as yet nobody required worrying, but as youmay suppose _semper paratus_. [111-3]

So far well; but four days after the operation my patient had a suddenand long shivering, a "groosin', " as she called it. I saw her soonafter; her eyes were too bright, her cheek colored; she was restless, and ashamed of being so; the balance was lost; mischief had begun. 

On looking at the wound, a blush of red told the secret; her pulse wasrapid, her breathing anxious and quick, she wasn't herself, as she said, and was vexed at her restlessness. We tried what we could, James dideverything, was everywhere; never in the way, never out of it. Rabsubsided under the table into a dark place, and was motionless, all buthis eye, which followed every one. Ailie got worse; began to wander inher mind, gently; was more demonstrative in her ways to James, rapid inher questions, and sharp at times. He was vexed, and said, "She wasnever that way afore; no, never. "

For a time she knew her head was wrong, and was always asking ourpardon--the dear, gentle old woman; then delirium set in strong, withoutpause. Her brain gave way, and then came that terrible spectacle, "The intellectual power, through words and things, Went sounding on its dim and perilous way;"

she sang bits of old songs and psalms, stopping suddenly, mingling thePsalms of David, and the diviner words of his Son and Lord, with homelyodds and ends and scraps of ballads. 

Nothing more touching, or in a sense more strangely beautiful, did Iever witness. Her tremulous, rapid, affectionate, eager, Scotchvoice--the swift, aimless, bewildered mind, the baffled utterance, thebright and perilous eye; some wild words, some household cares, something for James, the names of the dead, Rab called rapidly and in a"fremyt"[112-4] voice, and he starting up, surprised, and slinking offas if he were to blame somehow, or had been dreaming he heard. Manyeager questions and beseechings which James and I could make nothing of, and on which she seemed to set her all, and then sink back ununderstood. It was very sad, but better than many things that are not called sad. James hovered about, put out and miserable, but active and exact asever; read to her, when there was a lull, short bits from the Psalms, prose and metre, chanting the latter in his own rude and serious way, showing great knowledge of the fit words, bearing up like a man, anddoating over her as his "ain Ailie, " "Ailie, ma woman!" "Ma ain bonniewee dawtie!"

The end was drawing on: the golden bowl was breaking; the silver cordwas fast being loosed--that _animula blandula, vagula, hospes, comesque_[113-5] was about to flee. The body and the soul--companionsfor sixty years--were being sundered, and taking leave. She was walking, alone, through the valley of that shadow, into which one day we must allenter--and yet she was not alone, for we knew whose rod and staff werecomforting her. 

One night she had fallen quiet, and as we hoped, asleep; her eyes wereshut. We put down the gas and sat watching her. Suddenly she sat up inbed, and taking a bedgown which was lying on it rolled up, she held iteagerly to her breast--to the right side. We could see her eyes brightwith surpassing tenderness and joy, bending over this bundle of clothes. She held it as a woman holds her sucking child; opening out hernightgown impatiently, and holding it close, and brooding over it, andmurmuring foolish little words, as one whom his mother comforteth, andwho sucks and is satisfied. It was pitiful and strange to see herwasting dying look, keen and yet vague--her immense love. 

"Preserve me!" groaned James, giving away. And then she rocked back andforward, as if to make it sleep, hushing it, and wasting on it herinfinite fondness. 

"Wae's me, doctor; I declare she's thinkin' it's that bairn. "

"What bairn?"

"The only bairn we ever had; our wee Mysie, and she's in the Kingdom, forty years and mair. "

It was plainly true: the pain in the breast telling its urgent story toa bewildered, ruined brain, was misread, and mistaken; it suggested toher the uneasiness of a breast full of milk, and then the child; and soagain once more they were together, and she had her ain wee Mysie in herbosom. 

This was the close. She sank rapidly: the delirium left her; but, as shewhispered, she was "clean silly"; it was the lightening before the finaldarkness. After having for some time lain still--her eyes shut, shesaid, "James!"

He came close to her, and lifting up her calm, clear, beautiful eyes, she gave him a long look, turned to me kindly but shortly, looked forRab but could not see him, then turned to her husband again, as if shewould never leave off looking, shut her eyes and composed herself. Shelay for some time breathing quick, and passed away so gently, that whenwe thought she was gone, James, in his old-fashioned way, held themirror to her face. After a long pause, one small spot of dimness wasbreathed out; it vanished away, and never returned, leaving the blankclear darkness of the mirror without a stain. "What is your life? it iseven a vapor, which appeareth for a little time, and then vanishethaway. "

Rab all this time had been full awake and motionless; he came forwardbeside us; Ailie's hand, which James had held, was hanging down; it wassoaked with his tears; Rab licked it all over carefully, looked at her, and returned to his place under the table. 

James and I sat, I don't know how long, but for some time--sayingnothing: he started up, abruptly, and with some noise went to the table, and putting his right fore and middle fingers each into a shoe, pulledthem out, and put them on, breaking one of the leather latchets, andmuttering in anger, "I never did the like o' that afore. "

I believe he never did; nor after either. "Rab!" he said roughly, andpointing with his thumb to the bottom of the bed. Rab leaped up, andsettled himself; his head and eye to the dead face. "Maister John, ye'llwait for me, " said the carrier, and disappeared in the darkness, thundering downstairs in his heavy shoes. I ran to a front window: therehe was, already round the house, and out at the gate fleeing like ashadow. 

I was afraid about him, and yet not afraid; so I sat down beside Rab, and being wearied, fell asleep. I awoke from a sudden noise outside. Itwas November, and there had been a heavy fall of snow. Rab was _in statuquo_;[115-6] he heard the noise too, and plainly knew it, but nevermoved. I looked out, and there, at the gate, in the dim morning--for thesun was not up--was Jess and the cart--a cloud of steam rising from theold mare. I did not see James; he was already at the door, and came upto the stairs, and met me. It was less than three hours since he left, and he must have posted out--who knows how--to Howgate, full nine milesoff; yoked Jess, and driven her astonished into town. He had an armfulof blankets, and was streaming with perspiration. He nodded to me, spread out on the floor two pairs of clean old blankets, having at theircorners "A. G. , 1794, " in large letters in red worsted. These were theinitials of Alison Græme, and James may have looked in at her fromwithout--himself unseen but not unthought of--when he was "wat, wat andweary, " and after having walked many a mile over the hills, may haveseen her sitting, while "a' the lave were sleepin';" and by thefirelight working her name on the blankets, for her ain James' bed. 

He motioned Rab down, and taking his wife in his arms, laid her in theblankets, and happed her carefully and firmly up, leaving the faceuncovered; and then lifting her, he nodded again sharply to me, and witha resolved but utterly miserable face, strode along the passage, anddownstairs, followed by Rab. I followed with a light; but he didn't needit. I went out, holding stupidly the candle in my hand in the calmfrosty air; we were soon at the gate. I could have helped him, but I sawhe was not to be meddled with, and he was strong, and did not need it. He laid her down as tenderly, as safely, as he had lifted her out tendays before--as tenderly as when he had her first in his arms when shewas only "A. G. "--sorted her, leaving that beautiful sealed face open tothe heavens; and then taking Jess by the head, he moved away. He did notnotice me, neither did Rab, who presided behind the cart. 

I stood till they passed through the long shadow of the College, andturned up Nicholson Street. I heard the solitary cart sound through thestreets, and die away and come again; and I returned, thinking of thatcompany going up Libberton Brae, then along Roslin Muir, the morninglight touching the Pentlands and making them on-looking ghosts; thendown the hill through Auchindinny woods, past "haunted Woodhouselee";and as daybreak came sweeping up the bleak Lammermuirs, and fell on hisown door, the company would stop, and James would take the key, andlift Ailie up again, laying her on her own bed, and, having put Jess up, would return with Rab and shut the door. 

[Illustration: JAMES BURIED HIS WIFE]

James buried his wife, with his neighbors mourning, Rab inspecting thesolemnity from a distance. It was snow, and that black ragged hole wouldlook strange in the midst of the swelling spotless cushion of white. James looked after everything; then rather suddenly fell ill, and tookto bed; was insensible when the doctor came, and soon died. A sort oflow fever was prevailing in the village, and his want of sleep, hisexhaustion, and his misery, made him apt to take it. The grave was notdifficult to reopen. A fresh fall of snow had again made all thingswhite and smooth; Rab once more looked on, and slunk home to thestable. 

And what of Rab? I asked for him next week of the new carrier who gotthe goodwill of James's business, and was now master of Jess and hercart. 

"How's Rab?"

He put me off, and said rather rudely, "What's _your_ business wi' thedowg?"

I was not to be so put off. 

"Where's Rab?"

He, getting confused and red, and intermeddling with his hair, said, "'Deed sir, Rab's died. "

"Dead! what did he die of?"

"Well, sir, " said he, getting redder, "he didna exactly dee; he waskilled. I had to brain him wi' a rack-pin; there was nae doing wi' him. He lay in the treviss wi' the mear, and wadna come oot. I tempit him wi'the kail and meat, but he wad tak naething, and keepit me frae feedin'the beast, and he was aye gur gurrin', and grup gruppin' me by the legs. I was laith to make awa wi' the old dowg, his like wasne atween this andThornhill--but, 'deed, sir, I could do naething else. "

I believed him. Fit end for Rab, quick and complete. His teeth and hisfriends gone, why should he keep the peace and be civil?

FOOTNOTES:

[101-1] _Amende_ means _apology_. 

[109-2] _Glower_, a Scotch word meaning a savage stare. 

[111-3] _Semper paratus_ means _always ready_. 

[112-4] _Fremyt_ means _trembling, querulous_. 

[113-5] _Animula blandula, vagula, hospes, comesque_, means _sweetfleeting life, companion and sojourner_. 

[115-6] _In statu quo_ means _in the same position_. 

ANNIE LAURIE

 NOTE. --Concerning the history of this song it is stated on good authority that there did really live, in the seventeenth century, an Annie Laurie. She was a daughter of Sir Robert Laurie, first baronet of the Maxwelton family, and was celebrated for her beauty. We should be glad to hear that Annie Laurie married the Mr. Douglas whose love for her inspired the writing of this poem, but records show that she became the wife of another man. 

 Only the first two verses were composed by Douglas; the last was added by an unknown author. 

 Maxwelton braes are bonnie Where early fa's the dew, And it's there that Annie Laurie Gie'd me her promise true, -- Gie'd me her promise true, Which ne'er forgot will be; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me doune and dee. 

 Her brow is like the snaw drift; Her throat is like the swan; Her face it is the fairest That e'er the sun shone on, -- That e'er the sun shone on; And dark blue is her ee; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me doune and dee. 

 Like dew on the gowan lying Is the fa' o' her fairy feet; And like winds in summer sighing, Her voice is low and sweet, -- Her voice is low and sweet; And she's a' the world to me; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me doune and dee. 

THE BLIND LASSIE

_By_ T. C. LATTO

 O hark to the strain that sae[120-1] sweetly is ringin', And echoing clearly o'er lake and o'er lea, [120-2] Like some fairy bird in the wilderness singin'; It thrills to my heart, yet nae[120-3] minstrel I see. Round yonder rock knittin', a dear child is sittin', Sae toilin' her pitifu' pittance[120-4] is won, Hersel' tho' we see nae, [120-5] 'tis mitherless[120-6] Jeanie-- The bonnie[120-7] blind lassie that sits i' the sun. 

 Five years syne come autumn[120-8] she cam'[120-9] wi' her mither, A sodger's[120-10] puir[120-11] widow, sair[120-12] wasted an' gane;[120-13] As brown fell the leaves, sae wi' them did she wither, And left the sweet child on the wide world her lane. [121-14] She left Jeanie weepin', in His holy keepin' Wha[121-15] shelters the lamb frae[121-16] the cauld[121-17] wintry win'; We had little siller, [121-18] yet a' were good till her, The bonnie blind lassie that sits i' the sun. 

 An' blythe now an' cheerfu', frae mornin' to e'enin She sits thro' the simmer, an' gladdens ilk[121-19] ear, Baith[121-20] auld and young daut[121-21] her, sae gentle and winnin'; To a' the folks round the wee lassie is dear. Braw[121-22] leddies[121-23] caress her, wi' bounties would press her; The modest bit[121-24] darlin' their notice would shun; For though she has naething, proud-hearted this wee thing, The bonnie blind lassie that sits i' the sun. 

FOOTNOTES:

[120-1] _Sae_ is the Scotch word for _so_. 

[120-2] A lea is a grassy field or meadow. 

[120-3] _Nae_ means _no_. 

[120-4] _Pittance_ means _small earnings_. 

[120-5] _Nae_ is _not_. 

[120-6] _Mither_ is the Scotch form of _mother_. 

[120-7] _Bonnie_ means _pretty_. 

[120-8] _Since come autumn_; that is, it will be nine years next autumn. 

[120-9] _Cam'_ is a contraction of _came_. 

[120-10] _Sodger's_ is _soldier's_. 

[120-11] _Puir_ is the Scotch spelling of _poor_. 

[120-12] _Sair_ is _sore_, that is, _sadly_. 

[120-13] _Gane_ means _gone_. 

[121-14] _Her lane_ means _by herself_. 

[121-15] _Wha_ is Scotch for _who_. 

[121-16] _Frae_ means _from_. 

[121-17] _Cauld_ is the Scotch form of _cold_. 

[121-18] _Siller_ means _silver money_, or simply _money_. 

[121-19] _Ilk_ means _every_. 

[121-20] _Baith_ is Scotch for _both_. 

[121-21] _Daut_ means _pet_. 

[121-22] _Braw_ means _fine_, or _gay_. 

[121-23] _Leddies_ is the Scotch form of _ladies_. 

[121-24] _Bit_ means _little_. 

BOYHOOD

_By_ WASHINGTON ALLSTON

 Ah, then how sweetly closed those crowded days! The minutes parting one by one like rays, That fade upon a summer's eve. But O, what charm or magic numbers Can give me back the gentle slumbers Those weary, happy days did leave? When by my bed I saw my mother kneel, And with her blessing took her nightly kiss; Whatever Time destroys, he cannot this;-- E'en now that nameless kiss I feel. 

SWEET AND LOW

 NOTE. --In Tennyson's long poem _The Princess_ is a little lullaby so wonderfully sweet that all who have read it wish to read it again. It is one that we all love, no matter whether we are little children and hear it sung to us or are older children and look back to the evenings when we listened to mother's loving voice as she led us gently into the land of dreams while she watched patiently for father's return. 

 Here are the stanzas which are usually known by the name _Sweet and Low_:

 Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps. 

 Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. 

 It is interesting to try to determine just how a great poet makes us feel so strongly the thing that he tells us. In this case Tennyson thinks of a mother in England and a father who is somewhere in the West, out on the broad Atlantic, but is coming home to his little one. The mother dreams only of the home-coming of her husband, and she wishes the baby to learn to love its father as much as she does, so as she sings the little one to sleep, she pours out her love for both in beautiful melody. 

 To express this mother-love and anxious care the poet has chosen simple words that have rich, musical sounds, that can be spoken easily and smoothly and that linger on the tongue. He speaks of the sea, the gentle wind, the rolling waters, the dying moon and the silver sails, all of which call up ideas that rest us and make us happy, and then with rare skill he arranges the words so that when we read the lines we can feel the gentle rocking movement that lulls the little one, the pretty one into its gentle slumbers. 

CHILDHOOD[124-1]

_By_ DONALD G. MITCHELL

Isabel and I--she is my cousin, and is seven years old, and I amten--are sitting together on the bank of a stream, under an oak treethat leans half way over to the water. I am much stronger than she, andtaller by a head. I hold in my hands a little alder rod, with which I amfishing for the roach and minnows, that play in the pool below us. 

She is watching the cork tossing on the water, or playing with thecaptured fish that lie upon the bank. She has auburn ringlets that falldown upon her shoulders; and her straw hat lies back upon them, heldonly by the strip of ribbon, that passes under her chin. But the sundoes not shine upon her head; for the oak tree above us is full ofleaves; and only here and there, a dimple of the sunlight plays upon thepool, where I am fishing. 

Her eye is hazel, and bright; and now and then she turns it on me with alook of girlish curiosity, as I lift up my rod--and again in playfulmenace, as she grasps in her little fingers one of the dead fish, andthreatens to throw it back upon the stream. Her little feet hang overthe edge of the bank; and from time to time, she reaches down to dip hertoe in the water; and laughs a girlish laugh of defiance, as I scoldher for frightening away the fishes. 

"Bella, " I say, "what if you should tumble in the river?"

"But I won't. "

"Yes, but if you should?"

[Illustration: SHE REACHES DOWN TO DIP HER TOE]

"Why then you would pull me out. "

"But if I wouldn't pull you out?"

"But I know you would; wouldn't you, Paul?"

"What makes you think so, Bella?"

"Because you love Bella. "

"How do you know I love Bella?"

"Because once you told me so; and because you pick flowers for me that Icannot reach; and because you let me take your rod, when you have a fishupon it. "

"But that's no reason, Bella. "

"Then what is, Paul?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Bella. "

A little fish has been nibbling for a long time at the bait; the corkhas been bobbing up and down--and now he is fairly hooked, and pullsaway toward the bank, and you cannot see the cork. 

"Here, Bella, quick!"--and she springs eagerly to clasp her little handsaround the rod. But the fish has dragged it away on the other side ofme; and as she reaches farther, and farther, she slips, cries--"Oh, Paul!" and falls into the water. 

The stream, they told us when we came, was over a man's head--it issurely over little Isabel's. I fling down the rod, and thrusting onehand into the roots that support the overhanging bank, I grasp at herhat, as she comes up; but the ribbons give way, and I see the terriblyearnest look upon her face as she goes down again. Oh, mymother--thought I--if you were only here!

But she rises again; this time, I thrust my hand into her dress, andstruggling hard, keep her at the top, until I can place my foot downupon a projecting root; and so bracing myself, I drag her to the bank, and having climbed up, take hold of her belt firmly with both hands, anddrag her out; and poor Isabel, choked, chilled, and wet, is lying uponthe grass. 

I commence crying aloud. The workmen in the fields hear me, and comedown. One takes Isabel in his arms, and I follow on foot to our uncle'shome upon the hill. 

--"Oh, my dear children!" says my mother; and she takes Isabel in herarms; and presently with dry clothes, and blazing wood-fire, littleBella smiles again. I am at my mother's knee. 

"I told you so, Paul, " says Isabel--"aunty, doesn't Paul love me?"

"I hope so, Bella, " said my mother. 

"I know so, " said I; and kissed her cheek. 

And how did I know it? The boy does not ask; the man does. Oh, thefreshness, the honesty, the vigor of a boy's heart! how the memory of itrefreshes like the first gush of spring, or the break of an Aprilshower!

But boyhood has its PRIDE, as well as its LOVES. 

My uncle is a tall, hard-faced man; I fear him when he callsme--"child;" I love him when he calls me--"Paul. " He is almost alwaysbusy with his books; and when I steal into the library door, as Isometimes do, with a string of fish, or a heaping basket of nuts to showto him--he looks for a moment curiously at them, sometimes takes them inhis fingers--gives them back to me, and turns over the leaves of hisbook. You are afraid to ask him if you have not worked bravely; yet youwant to do so. 

You sidle out softly, and go to your mother; she scarce looks at yourlittle stores; but she draws you to her with her arm, and prints a kissupon your forehead. Now your tongue is unloosed; that kiss and thataction have done it; you will tell what capital luck you have had; andyou hold up your tempting trophies; "are they not great, mother?" Butshe is looking in your face, and not at your prize. 

"Take them, mother, " and you lay the basket upon her lap. 

"Thank you, Paul, I do not wish them: but you must give some to Bella. "

And away you go to find laughing, playful, cousin Isabel. And we sitdown together on the grass, and I pour out my stores between us. "Youshall take, Bella, what you wish in your apron, and then when studyhours are over, we will have such a time down by the big rock in themeadow!"

"But I do not know if papa will let me, " says Isabel. 

"Bella, " I say, "do you love your papa?"

"Yes, " says Bella, "why not?"

"Because he is so cold; he does not kiss you, Bella, so often as mymother does; and besides, when he forbids your going away, he does notsay, as mother does--my little girl will be tired, she had better notgo--but he says only--Isabel must not go. I wonder what makes him talkso?"

"Why Paul, he is a man, and doesn't--at any rate, I love him, Paul. Besides, my mother is sick, you know. "

"But Isabel, my mother will be your mother, too. Come, Bella, we will goask her if we may go. "

And there I am, the happiest of boys, pleading with the kindest ofmothers. And the young heart leans into that mother's heart--none of thevoid now that will overtake it in the years that are to come. It isjoyous, full, and running over!

"You may go, " she says, "if your uncle is willing. "

"But mamma, I am afraid to ask him; I do not believe he loves me. "

"Don't say so, Paul, " and she draws you to her side; as if she wouldsupply by her own love the lacking love of a universe. 

"Go, with your cousin Isabel, and ask him kindly; and if he saysno--make no reply. "

And with courage, we go hand in hand, and steal in at the library door. There he sits--I seem to see him now--in the old wainscoted room, covered over with books and pictures; and he wears his heavy-rimmedspectacles, and is poring over some big volume, full of hard words, thatare not in any spelling-book. 

We step up softly; and Isabel lays her little hand upon his arm; and heturns, and says--"Well, my little daughter?"

I ask if we may go down to the big rock in the meadow?

He looks at Isabel, and says he is afraid--"we cannot go. "

"But why, uncle? It is only a little way, and we will be very careful. "

"I am afraid, my children; do not say any more: you can have the pony, and Tray, and play at home. "

"But, uncle----"

"You need say no more, my child. "

I pinch the hand of little Isabel, and look in her eye--my own halffilling with tears. I feel that my forehead is flushed, and I hide itbehind Bella's tresses--whispering to her at the same time--"Let us go. "

"What, sir, " says my uncle, mistaking my meaning--"do you persuade herto disobey?"

Now I am angry, and say blindly--"No, sir, I didn't!" And then my risingpride will not let me say, that I wished only Isabel should go out withme. 

Bella cries; and I shrink out; and am not easy until I have run to burymy head in my mother's bosom. Alas! pride cannot always find suchcovert! There will be times when it will harass you strangely; when itwill peril friendships--will sever old, standing intimacy; and then--noresource but to feed on its own bitterness. Hateful pride!--to beconquered, as a man would conquer an enemy, or it will make whirlpoolsin the current of your affections--nay, turn the whole tide of the heartinto rough and unaccustomed channels. 

But boyhood has its GRIEF too, apart from PRIDE. 

You love the old dog, Tray; and Bella loves him as well as you. He is anoble old fellow, with shaggy hair, and long ears, and big paws, that hewill put up into your hands, if you ask him. And he never gets angrywhen you play with him, and tumble him over in the long grass, and pullhis silken ears. Sometimes, to be sure, he will open his mouth, as if hewould bite, but when he gets your hand fairly in his jaws, he willscarce leave the print of his teeth upon it. He will swim, too, bravely, and bring ashore all the sticks you throw upon the water; and when youfling a stone to tease him, he swims round and round, and whines, andlooks sorry, that he cannot find it. 

He will carry a heaping basket full of nuts, too, in his mouth, andnever spill one of them; and when you come out to your uncle's home inthe spring, after staying a whole winter in the town, he knows you--oldTray does! And he leaps upon you, and lays his paws on your shoulder, and licks your face; and is almost as glad to see you, as cousin Bellaherself. And when you put Bella on his back for a ride, he onlypretends to bite her little feet--but he wouldn't do it for the world. Ay, Tray is a noble old dog!

But one summer, the farmers say that some of their sheep are killed, andthat the dogs have worried them; and one of them comes to talk with myuncle about it. 

But Tray never worried sheep; you know he never did; and so does nurse;and so does Bella; for in the spring, she had a pet lamb, and Tray neverworried little Fidele. 

And one or two of the dogs that belong to the neighbors are shot; thoughnobody knows who shot them; and you have great fears about poor Tray;and try to keep him at home, and fondle him more than ever. But Traywill sometimes wander off; till finally, one afternoon, he comes backwhining piteously, and with his shoulder all bloody. 

Little Bella cries loud; and you almost cry, as nurse dresses the wound;and poor old Tray whines very sadly. You pat his head, and Bella patshim; and you sit down together by him on the floor of the porch, andbring a rug for him to lie upon; and try and tempt him with a littlemilk, and Bella brings a piece of cake for him--but he will eat nothing. You sit up till very late, long after Bella has gone to bed, patting hishead, and wishing you could do something for poor Tray; but he onlylicks your hand, and whines more piteously than ever. 

In the morning, you dress early, and hurry downstairs; but Tray is notlying on the rug; and you run through the house to find him, andwhistle, and call--Tray--Tray! At length you see him lying in his oldplace, out by the cherry tree, and you run to him; but he does notstart; and you lean down to pat him--but he is cold, and the dew is wetupon him--poor Tray is dead!

[Illustration: POOR TRAY IS DEAD]

You take his head upon your knees, and pat again those glossy ears, andcry; but you cannot bring him to life. And Bella comes, and cries withyou. You can hardly bear to have him put in the ground; but uncle sayshe must be buried. So one of the workmen digs a grave under the cherrytree, where he died--a deep grave, and they round it over with earth, and smooth the sods upon it--even now I can trace Tray's grave. 

You and Bella together put up a little slab for a tombstone; and shehangs flowers upon it, and ties them there with a bit of ribbon. Youcan scarce play all that day; and afterward, many weeks later, when youare rambling over the fields, or lingering by the brook, throwing offsticks into the eddies, you think of old Tray's shaggy coat, and of hisbig paw, and of his honest eye; and the memory of your boyish griefcomes upon you; and you say with tears, "Poor Tray!" And Bella too, inher sad sweet tones, says--"Poor old Tray--he is dead!"

FOOTNOTES:

[124-1] From _Reveries of a Bachelor_, by Donald G. Mitchell (IkMarvel). 

THE BUGLE SONG

_By_ ALFRED TENNYSON

 The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

 O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. 

 O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Or echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 

FROM THE IMITATION OF CHRIST

_By_ THOMAS à KEMPIS

OF FOLLOWING CHRIST AND DESPISING ALL WORLDLY VANITIES

Our Lord saith: he that followeth me walketh not in darkness. 

These are the words of Christ in the which we are admonished to followhis life and his manners if we would be truly enlightened and bedelivered from all manner of blindness of heart. 

Wherefore let our chief study be upon the life of Jesus Christ. 

Sublime words make not a man holy and righteous, but it is a virtuouslife that maketh him dear to God. 

I desire rather to know compunction than its definition. If thou knewestall the sayings of all the philosophers, what should that avail theewithout charity and grace?

All other things in the world, save only to love God and serve him, arevanity of vanities and all vanity. 

And it is vanity also to desire honour and for a man to lift himself onhigh. 

And it is vanity to follow the desires of the flesh and to desire thething for which man must afterward grievously be punished. 

And it is vanity to desire a long life and to take no care to live agood life. 

And it is vanity for a man to take heed only to this present life andnot to see before those things that are to come. 

Study therefore to withdraw thy heart from love of things visible andturn thee to things invisible. 

For they that follow their senses stain their consciences and lose thegrace of God. 

OF A HUMBLE OPINION OF OURSELVES

Every man naturally desireth knowledge; but knowledge without love andfear of God, what availeth it?

Certainly the meek plow-man that serveth God is much better than theproud philosopher that, taking no heed of his own living, studies thecourse of the stars. 

He that knoweth himself well is lowly in his own sight and hath nodelight in man's praises. 

If I knew all things that are in the world and had not charity, whatshould that help me before God who shall judge me according to my deeds?

Unwise is he that more attendeth to other things than to the health ofhis soul. 

Many words fill not the soul; but a good life refresheth the mind and apure conscience giveth a great confidence in God. 

The more thou canst do and the better that thou canst do, the moregrievously thou shalt be judged unless thou live holily. 

Think not highly of thyself but rather acknowledge thine ignorance. 

If thou wilt learn and know anything profitably, love to be unknown andto be accounted as of little worth. 

OF THE TEACHING OF TRUTH

Blissful is he whom truth itself teacheth, not by figures or voices, butas it is. 

What availeth great searching of dark and hidden things for the which weshall not be blamed in the judgment though we know them not?

He to whom the Word Everlasting speaketh is delivered from a multitudeof opinions. Of one Word came all things, and all things speak one word;that is the Beginning that speaketh to us. No man without the Wordunderstandeth or judgeth righteously. 

He to whom all things are one and who draweth all things to one andseeth all things in one may be quiet in heart and peaceably abide inGod. 

O God of truth, make me one with thee in everlasting love!

Ofttimes it wearieth me to hear and read many things; in thee Lord isall that I wish and can desire. 

Let all teachers hold their peace and all manner of creatures keep theirsilence in thy sight: Speak thou alone to me!

Who hath a stronger battle than he that useth force to overcome himself?This should be our occupation, to overcome ourselves and every day to bestronger and somewhat holier. 

Meek knowing of thyself is more acceptable to God than deep inquiryafter knowledge. 

Knowledge or bare and simple knowing of things is not to be blamed, thewhich, in itself considered, is good and ordained of God: but a goodconscience and a virtuous life is ever to be preferred. 

And forasmuch as many people study more to have knowledge than to livewell, therefore ofttimes they err and bring forth little fruit or none. 

Certainly at the day of doom it shall not be asked of us what we haveread but what we have done; nor what good we have spoken but howreligiously we have lived. 

Verily he is great that in himself is little and meek and setteth atnaught all height of honour. Verily he is great that hath great love. Verily he is prudent that deemeth all earthly things foul so that he maywin Christ. And he is verily well learned that doth the will of God andforsaketh his own will. 

OF WISDOM IN MAN'S ACTIONS

It is not fit to give credence to every word nor to every suggestion, but every thing is to be weighed according to God, warily and inleisure. 

Alas, rather is evil believed of another man than good; we are so weak. 

But the perfect believe not easily all things that men tell, for theyknow man's infirmity, ready to speak evil and careless enough in words. 

Hereto it belongeth also not to believe every man's words, nor to tellother men what we hear or carelessly believe. 

Have thy counsel with a wise man and a man of conscience and seek ratherto be taught by thy betters than to follow thine own inventions. 

Good life maketh a man wise in God's sight and expert in many things. 

The more meek that a man is and the more subject to God the more wiseshall he be in all things--and the more patient. 

OF READING THE SCRIPTURES

Truth is to be sought in holy writings, not in eloquence. Every holywriting ought to be read with the same spirit wherewith it was made. 

We ought in Scriptures rather to seek profitableness than subtlelanguage. 

We ought as gladly to read simple and devout books as high and profoundones. 

Let not the authority of him that writeth, whether he be of great nameor little, change thy thought, but let the love of pure truth draw theeto read. 

Ask not who said this, but take heed what is said. Man passeth, but thetruth of the Lord abideth everlastingly. 

God speaketh to us in diverse ways without respect to persons. 

If thou wilt draw profit in reading, read meekly, simply and truly, notdesiring to have a reputation for knowledge. 

OF INORDINATE AFFECTIONS

Whenever a man coveteth anything inordinately, anon is he disquieted inhimself. 

The proud man and covetous hath never rest: the poor and the meek inspirit dwell in peace. 

The man that is not perfectly dead to himself is soon tempted and soonovercome by small things and things of little price. 

In withstanding passions and not in serving them, standeth peace ofheart. 

There is no peace in the heart of the carnal man nor in him that is allgiven to outward things; but in the fervent, spiritual man is peace. 

OF SHUNNING TOO GREAT FAMILIARITY

Show not thy heart to every man but bring thy cause to him that is wiseand feareth God. 

Converse rarely with young people and strangers. 

Flatter not rich men and seek not great men; but keep company thyselfwith meek and simple men and talk of such things as will edify. 

Be not familiar to any woman; but generally commend all good women toGod. 

Desire to be familiar with God and with his angels and avoid knowledgeof men. Love is to be given to all men, but familiarity is notexpedient. 

It happeneth some times that a person unknown shineth by his brightfame, whose presence offendeth and maketh dark the eyes of thebeholders. We often hope to please others by our being and living withthem, but often we displease them through the bad manners they find inus. 

OF SHUNNING MANY WORDS

Avoid noise and the press of men as much as thou mayest: for talking ofworldly deeds, though they be brought forth with true and simpleintention, hindereth much: for we be soon defiled and led into vanity. 

I have wished myself ofttimes to have held my peace and not to have beenamong men. Why speak we and talk we together so gladly, since seldom wecome home without hurting of conscience?

We talk so oft together because by such speaking we seek comfort eachfrom the other and to relieve the heart that is made weary with manythoughts; and we speak much of such things as we love or desire or suchthings as we dislike. But, alas, it is ofttimes vainly and fruitlessly, for such outward comfort is a great hindering to inward and heavenlyconsolation. Therefore we ought to watch and pray that our time pass notidly by. 

OF FLEEING FROM VAIN HOPE AND ELATION

He is vain that putteth his hope in men or in other created things. 

Be not ashamed to serve other men for the love of Jesus Christ and to beconsidered poor in this world. Stand not upon thyself but set thy trustin God. Do what in thee is and God shall be nigh to thy good will. 

Trust not in thine own knowledge nor in the skill of any man living; butrather in the grace of God that helpeth meek folk and maketh low themthat are proud. 

Rejoice thee not in riches if thou have any, nor in friends if they bemighty; but in God that giveth all things and above all things desirethto give Himself. 

Rejoice not for thy greatness nor for the beauty of that body which iscorrupted and disfigured with a little sickness. 

Please not thyself for thy ability or for thy wit lest thou displeaseGod of whom cometh all the good that thou hast naturally. 

Account not thyself better than others, lest peradventure thou be heldworse in the sight of God that knoweth what is in man. 

Be not proud of good works; for God's judgments are otherwise thanthine. Ofttimes what pleaseth man displeaseth God. 

If thou hast any good things in thee believe better things of othersthat thou mayest keep thy humility. 

It hurteth thee not to be set under all men: it might hinder thee ifthou settest thyself afore others. 

Continual peace is with the meek man, but in the heart of the proud manare often envy and indignation. 

 Thomas à Kempis was born in the latter part of the fourteenth century and lived to a good old age. His name in full was Thomas Haemercken, but as he was born in the town of Kempen he has been generally known by the title above given. The _Imitation_ was written slowly, a little at a time, and as the result of reading, reflection and prayer. 

 The very brief selections given above are condensed from the first ten chapters of the first book. While in the main following the best translation of the original, the language has been simplified in a few places. 

THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB

_By_ LORD BYRON

 NOTE. --Byron takes for granted his readers' knowledge of the events with which this poem deals; that is, he does not tell the whole story. Indeed, he gives us very few facts. Is there, for instance, in the poem any hint as to who Sennacherib was, or as to who the enemy was that the Assyrians came against? But if we turn to the eighteenth and nineteenth chapters of _Second Kings_, we shall find the whole account of Sennacherib, king of Assyria, and his expedition against the Hebrew people. The climax of the story, with which this poem deals, is to be found in _Second Kings_, xix, 35. 

 The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold, And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 

 Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. 

 For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd; And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still. 

 And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride: And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 

 And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 

 And the widows of Ashur[142-1] are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal, [142-2] And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

FOOTNOTES:

[142-1] _Ashur_ is the Assyrian form of our word _Assyria_. 

[142-2] Baal was the chief god of the Assyrians. 

RUTH

 NOTE. --This charming story may be found complete in the book of _Ruth_ in the Old Testament by those who wish the literal Bible narrative as it is there given. 

 Little is known as to the date of the writing of the book of _Ruth_. Some authorities believe that it was written earlier than 500 B. C. , while others contend that it was not written until much later. As to the purpose, also, there are differences of opinion; is the book merely a religious romance, told to point a moral, or is it an historical narrative meant to give information as to the ancestry of David? Whichever is true, the story is a delightful one, and we enjoy reading it just as we do any other story, apart from its Biblical interest. 

I

Now it came to pass in the days when the judges ruled in Judah thatthere was a famine in the land, and a certain man of Bethlehem-Judahwent to sojourn in the country of Moab, he, and his wife and his twosons. Together they came into the land and continued there; but the mandied, and the wife was left, and her two sons. 

And they took them wives of the women of Moab; the name of the one wasOrpah, and the name of the other was Ruth; and they dwelled there aboutten years. Then the two sons died also both of them; and the woman, Naomi, their mother, alone was left of the family that came into Moab. 

Then she arose with her daughters-in-law, that she might return from thecountry of Moab; for she had heard in the country of Moab how that theLord had visited his people in giving them bread. 

Wherefore she went forth out of the place where she was, and her twodaughters-in-law with her; and they went on the way to return unto theland of Judah. 

But Naomi said unto her two daughters-in-law, "Go, return each to hermother's house. The Lord deal kindly with you, as ye have dealt with thedead, and with me. The Lord grant you that ye may find rest again, eachin the house of her husband. "

Then she kissed them; and they lifted up their voices and wept, and saidunto her, "Surely we will return with thee unto thy people. "

Naomi said, "Turn again, my daughters, why will you go with me? Have Iyet any more sons that may be your husbands? Nay, it grieveth me muchfor your sakes that the hand of the Lord is gone out against me. Turnagain my daughters; go your way. "

Again they lifted up their voice and wept, and Orpah kissed hermother-in-law, but Ruth clave unto her. 

Naomi said, "Behold, thy sister-in-law is gone back unto her people, andunto her gods; return thou after thy sister-in-law. "

And Ruth said, "Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return fromfollowing after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thoulodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God myGod: where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lorddo so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me. "

When Naomi saw that Ruth was steadfastly minded to go with her, then sheleft speaking unto her. So they two went until they came to Bethlehem. 

[Illustration: "WHITHER THOU GOEST, I WILL GO"]

There it came to pass that all the city was moved about them, and thepeople said, "Is this Naomi?"

"Call me not Naomi, " she said unto them. "Call me Mara: for the Almightyhath dealt very bitterly with me. [146-1] I went out full and the Lordhath brought me home again empty: why then call me Naomi, seeing theLord hath testified against me, and the Almighty hath afflicted me?"

So Naomi returned, and Ruth the Moabitess, her daughter-in-law, withher, which returned out of the country of Moab: and they came toBethlehem in the beginning of barley harvest. 

II

Naomi had a kinsman of her husband's, a mighty man of wealth; and hisname was Boaz. 

And Ruth said unto Naomi, "Let me now go to the field, and glean ears ofcorn after him in whose sight I shall find grace. " And Naomi answered, "Go, my daughter. "

And she went, and came, and gleaned in the field after the reapers: andher hap was to light on a part of the field belonging unto Boaz. 

And, behold, Boaz came from Bethlehem and said unto the reapers, "TheLord be with you. "

And the reapers answered him, "The Lord bless thee. " Then said Boaz untohis servant that was set over the reapers, "Whose damsel is this?"

And the servant answered and said, "It is the Moabitish damsel that cameback with Naomi out of the country of Moab. And she said, 'I pray you, let me glean and gather after the reapers among the sheaves': so shecame, and hath continued even from the morning until now, that shetarried a little in the house. "

Boaz said unto Ruth, "Hearest thou not, my daughter? Go not to glean inanother field, neither go from hence, but abide here fast by my maidens. Let thine eyes be on the field that they do reap, and go thou afterthem: have I not charged the young men that they shall not touch thee?and when thou art athirst, go unto the vessels, and drink of that whichthe young men have drawn. "

[Illustration: RUTH GLEANING]

Then she fell on her face and bowed herself to the ground, and said untohim, "Why have I found grace in thine eyes, that thou shouldest takeknowledge of me, seeing I am a stranger?"

And Boaz answered and said unto her, "It hath fully been shewed me, allthat thou hast done unto thy mother-in-law since the death of thinehusband: and how thou hast left thy father and thy mother, and the landof thy nativity, and art come unto a people which thou knewest notheretofore. The Lord recompense thy work, and a full reward be giventhee of the Lord God of Israel, under whose wings thou art come totrust. "

Then she said, "Let me find favour in thy sight, my lord; for that thouhast comforted me, and for that thou hast spoken friendly unto thinehandmaid, though I be not like unto one of thine handmaidens. "

And Boaz said unto her, "At mealtime come thou hither, and eat of thebread and dip thy morsel in the vinegar. "

And she sat beside the reapers; and he reached her parched corn, and shedid eat, and was sufficed and left. 

And when she was risen up to glean again, Boaz commanded his young men, saying, "Let her glean even among the sheaves and reproach her not; andlet fall also some handfuls of purpose for her, and leave them that shemay glean them, and rebuke her not. "

So she gleaned in the field until even, and beat out that she hadgleaned: and it was about an ephah[148-2] of barley. And she took it up, and went into the city: and her mother-in-law saw what she had gleaned. 

And her mother-in-law said unto her, "Where hast thou gleaned to-day?and where wroughtest thou? blessed be he that did take knowledge ofthee. "

And she showed her mother-in-law with whom she had wrought, and said, "The man's name with whom I wrought to-day is Boaz. "

And Naomi said unto her daughter-in-law, "Blessed be he of the Lord, whohath not left off his kindness to the living and to the dead. " And Naomisaid unto her, "The man is near of kin unto us, one of our nextkinsmen. "

And Ruth the Moabitess said, "He said unto me also, 'Thou shalt keepfast by my young men, until they have ended all my harvest. '"

And Naomi said unto Ruth, her daughter-in-law, "It is good, my daughter, that thou go out with his maidens, that they meet thee not in any otherfield. "

So she kept fast by the maidens of Boaz to glean unto the end of barleyharvest and of wheat harvest; and dwelt with her mother-in-law. 

III

Then Naomi, her mother-in-law, said unto Ruth, "My daughter, shall I notseek rest for thee, that it may be well with thee? And now is not Boazof our kindred, with whose maidens thou wast? Behold he winnoweth barleyto-night in the threshing floor. Wash thyself, therefore, and anointthee, and put thy raiment upon thee and get thee down to the floor, andhe will tell thee what to do. "

And Ruth said, "All that thou sayest unto me, that will I do. "

Therefore went she down unto the threshing floor and did according toall that her mother-in-law bade her. And Boaz saw her and loved her andasked her, "Who art thou?"

She answered, "I am Ruth, thy handmaid. "

And Boaz said, "Blessed be thou of the Lord, my daughter, and fear not, for all the city of my people doth know thou art a virtuous woman. Andnow it is true that I am thy near kinsman: howbeit, there is a kinsmannearer than I. Tarry this night, and it shall be in the morning that ifhe will perform unto thee the part of a kinsman, well; let him do thekinsman's part. But if he will not do the part of a kinsman to thee, then will I do the part of the kinsman to thee, as the Lord liveth. Bring now the vail that thou hast upon thee and hold it. "

And when she held it, he measured six measures of barley, and laid it onher, and she returned into the city. 

When now she came to her mother, Naomi asked, "Who art thou?" And Ruthtold her all that the man had said and done, and said, "These sixmeasures of barley gave he me, for he said to me, 'Go not empty unto thymother-in-law. '"

Then said Naomi, "Sit still, my daughter, until thou know how the matterwill fall; for the man will not be in rest until he have finished thething this day. "

IV

Then went Boaz up to the gate and sat him down there; and, behold, thekinsman of whom Boaz spoke, came by; unto whom Boaz said, "Ho, such aone! turn aside, sit down here. " And he turned aside and sat down. 

And Boaz took also ten men of the elders of the city and said, "Sit yedown here. " And they sat down. 

Then said Boaz unto the kinsman, "Naomi, that is come again out of theland of Moab, selleth a parcel of land, which was our brother's. And Ithought to ask thee to buy it before the inhabitants and before theelders of my people. If thou wilt redeem it, redeem it; but if thou wiltnot redeem it, then tell me, that I may know: for there is none toredeem it beside thee, and I am after thee. And what day thou buyest itof the hand of Naomi, thou must buy it also of Ruth the Moabitess, thewife of the dead. "

And the kinsman said, "I cannot redeem it for myself, lest I mar mineown inheritance; redeem thou my right to thyself: for I cannot redeemit. "

Now this was the manner in former time in Israel, concerning redeemingand concerning changing, for to confirm all things: a man plucked offhis shoe and gave it to his neighbor; and this was a testimony inIsrael. Therefore the kinsman said unto Boaz, "Buy it for thee. " So hedrew off his shoe. 

And Boaz said unto the elders and all the people, "Ye are witnesses thisday that I have bought all that was Naomi's husband's and all that washer son's of the hand of Naomi. Moreover, Ruth the Moabitess, the wifeof my kinsman that is dead, have I purchased to be my wife, that thename of the dead be not cut off from among his brethren, and from thegate of his place: ye are witnesses this day. "

And all the people that were there in the gate, and the elders, said, "We are witnesses. The Lord make the woman that is come into thine houselike Rachel and like Leah, which two did build the house of Israel: anddo thou worthily and be famous in Bethlehem. "

So Boaz took Ruth, and she was his wife, and she bare him a son. And thewomen said unto Naomi, "Blessed be the Lord that hath not left thee thisday without a kinsman, that his name may be famous in Israel. And heshall be unto thee a restorer of thy life, and a nourisher of thine oldage; for thy daughter-in-law which loveth thee, which is better to theethan seven sons, hath borne him. "

And Naomi took the child and laid it in her bosom, and became nurse untoit. And the women, her neighbors, gave it a name, saying, "There is ason born to Naomi, and his name is Obed. "

This same Obed is the father of Jesse, who is the father of David. 

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[146-1] _Naomi_ means _pleasant_, while _Mara_ means _bitter_. 

[148-2] The _ephah_ was equal to about two pecks and five quarts. 

THE VISION OF BELSHAZZAR

_By_ LORD BYRON

 NOTE. --According to the account given in the fifth chapter of _Daniel_, Belshazzar was the last king of Babylon, and the son of the great king Nebuchadnezzar, who had destroyed Jerusalem and taken the Jewish people captive to Babylon. The dramatic incident with which the second stanza of Byron's poem deals is thus described:

 "In the same hour came forth fingers of a man's hand, and wrote over against the candlestick upon the plaister of the wall of the king's palace; and the king saw the part of the hand that wrote. "

 After all the Babylonian wise men had tried in vain to read the writing, the "captive in the land, " Daniel, was sent for, and he interpreted the mystery. 

 "And this is the writing that was written, MENE, MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN. 

 "This is the interpretation of the thing: MENE; God hath numbered thy kingdom, and finished it. 

 "TEKEL; Thou art weighed in the balances, and art found wanting. 

 "PERES; Thy kingdom is divided, and given to the Medes and Persians. "

 The fulfillment of the prophecy thus declared by Daniel is described thus briefly: "In that night was Belshazzar the king of the Chaldeans slain. And Darius the Median took the kingdom. "

 The King was on his throne, The Satraps[153-1] throng'd the hall; A thousand bright lamps shone O'er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold, In Judah deem'd divine-- Jehovah's vessels hold[154-2] The godless Heathen's wine. 

 In that same hour and hall The fingers of a Hand Came forth against the wall, And wrote as if on sand: The fingers of a man;-- A solitary hand Along the letters ran, And traced them like a wand. 

 The monarch saw, and shook, And bade no more rejoice; All bloodless wax'd his look, And tremulous his voice:-- "Let the men of lore appear, The wisest of the earth, And expound the words of fear, Which mar our royal mirth. "

 Chaldea's[154-3] seers are good, But here they have no skill; And the unknown letters stood Untold and awful still. And Babel's[154-4] men of age Are wise and deep in lore; But now they were not sage, They saw--but knew no more. 

[Illustration: THE WRITING ON THE WALL]

 A Captive in the land, A stranger and a youth, He heard the king's command, He saw that writing's truth; The lamps around were bright, The prophecy in view; He read it on that night, -- The morrow proved it true!

 "Belshazzar's grave is made, His kingdom pass'd away, He, in the balance weigh'd, Is light and worthless clay; The shroud, his robe of state; His canopy, the stone: The Mede is at his gate! The Persian on his throne!"

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[153-1] The satraps were the governors of the provinces, who ruled underthe king and were accountable to him. 

[154-2] These were the sacred "vessels that were taken out of the templeof the house of God which was at Jerusalem. "

[154-3] The terms _Chaldea_ and _Babylonia_ were used practicallysynonymously. 

[154-4] _Babel_ is a shortened form of _Babylon_. 

SOHRAB AND RUSTEM

RUSTEM

The Persians have a great epic which is to them about what the _Iliad_and the _Odyssey_ were to the Greeks and the _Æneid_ was to the Romans. In character, however, the Persian epic is more like the Englishnarrative _Morte d' Arthur_, from which readings will be found elsewherein these volumes. This wonderful poem, the _Shah Nameh_, relatesexploits of the Shahs of Persia for a period that is supposed to extendover more than three thousand years. It was written by Firdusi, a famousPersian poet, toward the close of the tenth century, and is filled withtales of the marvelous adventures and stirring achievements of nationalheroes. Fierce monsters like those that appear in the legendary tales ofall nations stalk through its pages, and magicians, good and bad, worktheir enchantments for and against the devoted Persians. The imaginationof Eastern writers is more vivid than that of the Europeans, and forthat reason the stories are more full of thrilling episodes andsupernatural occurrences. 

Chief among the heroes is Rustem, who seems to have lived through manycenturies, and to have been the one great defender of the Persianthrone. From the cradle he was marked for renown, for he was larger, stronger and healthier than any other babe that was ever born. Hismother alone could not feed him, and ten nurses were required tosatisfy the infant's hunger. His father, Zal, the white-haired, lookedwith pride upon his growing son, who as soon as he was weaned fell uponbread and meat as his only diet and required as much of them as wouldfeed five ordinary men. Such a child ought to make a wonderful man, andthis one fulfilled the highest hopes of his parents, for he becametaller in stature, broader in shoulders, deeper in the chest andstronger in all his muscles than any other man the Persian race had everknown. 

His childish exploits were quite as wonderful as those of his lateryears. One night he was awakened from his slumbers by hearing theservants say that the great white elephant on which his father rode onstate occasions had broken loose and was running about the royalgardens, mad with rage, pulling up the trees, tearing down buildings andkilling every one that came in his way. Not a man dared stand againstthe fierce beast, and though the archers had tried again and again theirweapons had no effect upon him. 

Rustem rose from his couch, put on his clothes, caught from the wall thehuge club his grandfather had owned, and made for the door of hischamber. 

"Where are you going? What will you do?" cried the frightened servants. 

"Open the door. I must stop that elephant before he does greaterdamage, " answered the boy. 

One of his serving men, braver than the rest, opposed the boy. "I darenot obey you, " said the man; "your father would never forgive me if Ilet you go forth to be slain by that ferocious beast whose broken chainsclank about his legs and whose huge trunk brings destruction toeverything it strikes. You will be knocked down and trampled to death. This is pure folly!"

"Out of my way, " cried the enraged Rustem. "You rush upon your owndoom. "

Almost blind with anger, the furious youth swung his club about him andstruck the faithful servant so fearful a blow that his head was knockedfrom his body and rolled along the floor like a huge ball. The otherservants fled to the corners of the room and gave Rustem a clear path. One blow from his great club broke the iron balls from the door and sentit flying from its hinges. Shouldering his club Rustem hurried into thegarden, where he soon found the maddened elephant in the midst of theruin he was making. When the unwieldy animal saw the boy approaching itrushed at him with savage bellowings, swinging its long, powerful trunkfrom side to side in great circles. The terrible spectacle frightenedRustem not in the least, and the dauntless youth rushed forward andstruck the elephant a single blow full in its forehead. The great legstrembled and bent, the huge body tottered and fell, making a mountain ofquivering flesh. Rustem calmly shouldered his club, returned to hischamber, and finished his sleep. 

As Rustem grew to manhood he became the owner of a great horse littleless wonderful than his master. Raksh, for that was the animal's name, not only carried Rustem in war and in the chase, but he fought for hismaster in every conflict, watched over him in his sleep, and defendedhim with human intelligence. On one of his expeditions Rustem lay downto sleep near the den of a lion, that as he came forth to hunt at nightsaw the horse and rider asleep before him. The lion, knowing that if hecould kill the horse the man would not get away, made ready to springupon Raksh, but that wary animal was sleeping with one eye open and metthe leaping lion more than half way with two great hoofs plantedsquarely in his face. Before the astonished animal could recover hissenses Raksh seized him by the back and beat his life out upon theground. 

Of Rustem's countless struggles with dragons, witches, genii and otherstrange beings, and of the wonderful battles by which he defended thethrone of Persia, we cannot stop to read. They were all very similar inone respect at least, for always he escaped from deadly peril by his ownwisdom and strength, aided often, as we have said, by Raksh. But thereis one part of his life, one series of more than human adventures thatwe ought to know. 

One day Rustem was hunting over a plain on the borders of Tartary whenhe discovered a large herd of wild asses. No animal could outstripRaksh, and so his master was soon among the herd, killing the animals toright and left. Some he slew with the arrows of his strong bow, othershe lassoed and killed with his trusty club. When his love for huntingwas satisfied he built a fire, roasted one of the asses and prepared fora great feast. In time even his sharp appetite was quenched, and lyingdown upon his blanket he was soon buried in a sound slumber. 

As he slept Raksh wandered about the plains quietly feeding. Withoutnoticing it he strayed far away from his master, and in fact quite outof sight. 

Then it happened that seven Tartars who had been following Raksh made adash at him and tried to capture him with their lassoes. The noble horsefought them manfully, killing two of them with the blows of his forefeetand biting the head from the shoulders of another. But the ropes fromthe lassoes became tangled with his legs, and even the marvelous Rakshwas at last thrown, overpowered and led struggling away. 

When Rustem awoke his first thought was for his horse, but though helooked everywhere the faithful animal was not in sight. Such a thing hadnever happened before, and Rustem grew pale with sorrow and dread. 

"What can I do without my noble charger?" he said. "How can I carry myarrows, club and other weapons? How can I defend myself? Moreover, Ishall be the laughingstock of friends and enemies alike, for all willsay that in my carelessness I slept and allowed my horse to be stolen. "

At last he discovered the tracks of Raksh in the dust of the plain, andfollowing them with difficulty he found himself at the town of Samengan. The king and nobles of the town knew Rustem, but seemed surprised to seehim come walking. The wanderer explained what had happened, and the wilymonarch answered, "Have no fear, noble Rustem. Every one knows yourwonderful horse Raksh, and soon some one will come and bring him to you. I will even send many men to search for him. In the meantime, rest withus and be happy. We will entertain you with the best, and in pleasureyou will forget your loss till Raksh is returned to you. "

This plan pleased Rustem, and the king kept his word in royalentertainments in which he served his guest with grave humility. Moreover, the princess Tehmina likewise served Rustem with becominggrace and dignity. No maiden was ever more beautiful. She was tall asthe cypress and as graceful as a gazelle. Her neck and shoulders werelike ivory; her hair, black and shiny as a raven's wings, hung in twolong braids down her back, as the Persian horseman loops his lasso tohis saddle bow; her lips were like twin rubies, and her black brillianteyes glanced from highly-arched eye-brows. 

Rustem fell deeply in love with the fair maiden as soon as he saw her, and at the first opportunity told her of his affection. Tehmina thenconfessed that she had long loved Rustem from the reports she had heardof his noble character and deeds of great prowess. The capture of Rakshwas a part of her plan for meeting the owner, for she felt sure he wouldfollow the animal's track to her father's capital. All this served tomake more strong the love of Rustem, who immediately demanded of theking his daughter's hand in marriage. The king, glad enough to have sopowerful a man for his son, consented willingly to the match, and afterthey were married amid great rejoicings, Rustem settled down at thecourt in quiet enjoyment of his new-found home. 

A powerful man like Rustem cannot always remain in idleness, however, and when news came to him that the Persian king was in need of hisgreatest warrior, Rustem took his lasso, his bow and arrows and hisclub, mounted Raksh and rode away. Before going, however, he took fromhis arm an onyx bracelet that had been his father's, and callingTehmina to him handed it to her, saying:

"Take this bracelet, my dear one, and keep it. If we have a child and itbe a girl, weave the bracelet in her hair and she will grow tall, beautiful and good; if our child be a boy, fasten the bracelet on hisarm, and he will become strong and courageous, a mighty warrior and awise counsellor. "

SOHRAB

When Rustem had gone Tehmina wept bitterly, but consoled herself withthe thought that her husband would soon return. After her child wasborn, she devoted herself to the wonderful boy and waited patiently forthe father that never returned. She remembered the parting words ofRustem, and fastened upon the arm of her infant son the magic braceletof his race. 

He was a marvelous boy, this son of Rustem and Tehmina. Beautiful inface as the moon when it rides the heavens in its fullness, he waslarge, well-formed, with limbs as straight as the arrows of his father. He grew at an astonishing rate. When he was but a month old he was astall as any year-old baby; at three years of age he could use the bow, the lasso and the club with the skill of a man; at five he was as braveas a lion, and at ten not a man in the kingdom was his match in strengthand agility. 

Tehmina, rejoicing in the intelligent, shining face of her boy, hadnamed him Sohrab, but as she feared that Rustem might send for his sonif he knew that he had so promising a one, she sent word to her husbandthat her child was a girl. Disappointed in this, Rustem paid noattention to his offspring, who grew up unknown to his parent, andhimself ignorant of the name of his father. 

When Sohrab was about ten years old he began to notice that, unlike theother young men, he seemed to have no father. Accordingly he went to hismother and questioned her. 

"What shall I say, " he inquired, "when the young men ask me who is myfather? Must I always tell them that I do not know? Whose son am I?"

"My son, you ask and you have a right to know. You need feel no shamebecause of your father. He is the mighty Rustem, the greatest of Persianwarriors, the noblest man that ever lived. But I beg you to tell no onelest word should come to Rustem, for I know he would take you from meand I should never see you again. "

Sohrab was overjoyed to hear of his noble parentage and felt his heartswell with pride, for he had heard all his life of the heroic deeds ofhis father. 

"Such a thing as this cannot be kept secret, " he cried. "Sooner or laterevery one in the world will know that I am Rustem's son. But not nowwill we tell the tale. I will gather a great army of Tartars and makewar upon Kaoos, the Persian king. When I have defeated him I will set myfather Rustem upon the throne, and then I will overthrow Afrasiab, Kingof the Turanians, and take his throne myself. There is room in the worldfor but two kings, my father Rustem and myself. "

The youthful warrior began his preparations immediately. First he soughtfar and wide for a horse worthy to carry him, and at last succeeded infinding a noble animal of the same breed as the famous Raksh. Mounted onthis splendid steed he rode about and rapidly collected an army ofdevoted followers. 

The noise of these preparations spread abroad and soon came to the earsof Afrasiab, who saw in this war an opportunity for profit to himselfand humiliation for Kaoos. Accordingly, he sent offers of assistance toSohrab, who accepted them willingly and received among his followers thehosts of the Turanian king. 

But Afrasiab was a wily monarch, and sent to Sohrab two astutecounsellors, Haman and Barman with instructions to watch the youngleader carefully and to keep from him all knowledge of his father. 

"If possible, " said the treacherous monarch, "bring the two together andlet them fight, neither knowing who the other is. Then may Sohrab slayhis mighty father and we be left to rule the youthful and inexperiencedson by our superior cunning and wisdom. If on the other hand Rustemshall slay his son, his heart will fail him, and he will die indespair. "

When the army was fully in readiness Sohrab set forth against Persia. Inhis way lay the great White Fort whose chief defender was the mightyHujir. The Persians felt only contempt for the boyish leader and had nofear of his great army. As they approached, Hujir rode forth to meetthem and called aloud in derision. 

"Let the mighty Sohrab come forth to meet me alone. I will slay him withease and give his body to the vultures for food. "

Undismayed by these threats Sohrab met the doughty Persian and unhorsedhim in the first encounter. Springing from his horse Sohrab raised hissword to strike, but the Persian begged so lustily for quarter that hewas granted his life, though sent a prisoner to the king. 

Among those who watched the defeat of Hujir was Gurdafrid, the daughterof the old governor of the White Fort. She was stronger than any warriorin the land and fully accustomed to the use of arms. When she becameaware that Hujir was indeed vanquished she hastily clothed herself infull armor, thrust her long hair under her helmet and rode gallantly outto meet Sohrab. The girl shot a perfect shower of arrows at Sohrab, butall glanced harmlessly from his armor. Seeing that she could not find aweak spot in his mail she put her shield in rest and charged valiantlyat her foe. However, she was no match for her antagonist and was bornefrom her saddle by the fierce lance of her enemy. As she fell, however, she drew her sword and severed the spear of Sohrab. Before he couldchange weapons she had mounted her horse and was galloping wildly towardthe fort with her late antagonist in full pursuit. Long ere the castlewalls were reached Sohrab overtook her and seized her by the helmet, when its fastenings gave way and her long hair fell about her shoulders, disclosing the fact that he had been fighting with a woman. 

Struck by the beauty of the girl and ashamed that he had been fightingwith her, Sohrab released her after she had promised that she would makeno further resistance and that the castle would surrender at hisapproach. The fierce Gurdafrid, however, had no idea of giving up thefort, but as soon as she was within, the gates were closed, and she, mounting upon the walls, jeered at the waiting Sohrab. 

"It is now too late to fight, but when morning comes I will level yourfort to the earth and leave not one stone upon the other. " With thesewords the incensed warrior galloped back to his camp. When in themorning he marched his army against the fort he found that his prey hadescaped, for during the night Gurdafrid had led the whole garrison outthrough a secret passage and had gone to warn King Kaoos of the approachof the mighty Sohrab and his powerful army. The allied Tartars andTuranians followed as rapidly as they might, but it was some time beforethey could come anywhere near the Persian capital. 

What was happening in Persia has been very well told by Alfred J. Churchin his story of Sohrab and Rustem:

"When King Kaoos heard that there had appeared among the Tartars amighty champion, against whom, such was the strength of his arms, no onecould stand; how he had overthrown and taken their champion and nowthreatened to overrun and conquer the whole land of Persia, he wasgreatly troubled, and calling a scribe, said to him, 'Sit down and writea letter to Rustem. '

"So the scribe sat down and wrote. The letter was this: 'There hasappeared among the Tartars a great champion, strong as an elephant andas fierce as a lion. No one can stand against him. We look to you forhelp. It is of your doing that our warriors hold their heads so high. Come, then, with all the speed that you can use, so soon as you shallhave read this letter. Be it night or day, come at once; do not openyour mouth to speak; if you have a bunch of roses in your hand do notstop to smell it, but come; for the warrior of whom I write is such thatyou only can meet him. '

"King Kaoos sealed the letter and gave it to a warrior named Giv. At thesame time he said, 'Haste to Rustem. Tarry not on the way; and when youare come, do not rest there for an hour. If you arrive in the night, depart again the next morning. '

"So Giv departed, and traveled with all his speed, allowing himselfneither sleep nor food. When he approached Zabulistan, the watchmansaid, 'A warrior comes from Persia riding like the wind. ' So Rustem, with his chiefs, went out to meet him. When they had greeted each other, they returned together to Rustem's palace. 

"Giv delivered his message, and handed the king's letter, tellinghimself much more that he had heard about the strength and courage ofthis Tartar warrior. Rustem heard him with astonishment, and said, 'Thischampion is like, you say, to the great San, my grandfather. That such aman should come from the free Persians is possible; but that he shouldbe among those slaves the Tartars, is past belief. I have myself achild, whom the daughter of a Tartar king bore to me; but the child is agirl. This, then, that you tell me is passing strange; but for thepresent let us make merry. '

"So they made merry with the chiefs that were assembled in Rustem'spalace. But after a while Giv said again: 'King Kaoos commanded me, saying, "You must not sleep in Zabulistan; if you arrive in the night, set out again the next morning. It will go ill with us if we have tofight before Rustem comes. " It is necessary, then, great hero, that weset out in all haste for Persia. '

"Rustem said, 'Do not trouble yourself about this matter. We must alldie some day. Let us, therefore, enjoy the present. Our lips are dry, let us wet them with wine. As to this Tartar, fortune will not always bewith him. When he sees my standard, his heart will fail him. '

"So they sat, drinking the red wine and singing merry songs, instead ofthinking of the king and his commands. The next day Rustem passed in thesame fashion, and the third also. But on the fourth Giv madepreparations to depart, saying to Rustem, 'If we do not make haste toset out, the king will be wroth, and his anger is terrible. '

"Rustem said, 'Do not trouble yourself; no man dares to be wroth withme. ' Nevertheless, he bade them saddle Raksh and set out with hiscompanions. 

"When they came near the king's palace, a great company of nobles rodeout to meet them, and conducted them to the king, and they paid theirhomage to him. But the king turned away from them in a rage. 'Who isRustem, ' he cried, 'that he forgets his duty to me, and disobeys mycommands? If I had a sword in my hand this moment, I would cut off hishead, as a man cuts an orange in half. Take him, hang him up alive ongallows, and never mention his name again in my presence. '

"Giv answered, 'Sir, will you lay hands upon Rustem?' The king burst outagain in rage against Giv and Rustem, crying to one of his nobles, 'Takethese two villains and hang them alive on gallows. ' And he rose up fromhis throne in fury. 

"The noble to whom he had spoken laid his hand upon Rustem, wishing tolead him out of the king's presence, lest Kaoos in his rage should dohim an injury. But Rustem cried out, 'What a king are you! Hang thisTartar, if you can, on your gallows. Keep such things for your enemies. All the world has bowed itself before me and Raksh, my horse. Andyou--you are king by my grace. '

"Thus speaking, he struck away the hand that the noble had laid upon himso fiercely that the man fell headlong to the ground, and he passed overhis body to go from the presence of the king. And as he mounted onRaksh, he cried: 'What is Kaoos that he should deal with me in thisfashion? It is God who has given me strength and victory, and not he orhis army. The nobles would have given me the throne of Persia longsince, but I would not receive it; I kept the right before my eyes. Verily, had I not done so, you, Kaoos, would not be sitting upon thethrone. ' Then he turned to the Persians that stood by, and said, 'Thisbrave Tartar will come. Look out for yourselves how you may save yourlives. Me you shall see no more in the land of Persia. '

"The Persians were greatly troubled to hear such words; for they weresheep, and Rustem was their shepherd. So the nobles assembled, and saidto each other: 'The king has forgotten all gratitude and decency. Doeshe not remember that he owes to Rustem his throne--nay, his very life?If the gallows be Rustem's reward, what shall become of us?'

"So the oldest among them came and stood before the king, and said: 'Oking, have you forgotten what Rustem has done for you and this land--howhe conquered Mazanieran and its king and the White Genius; how he gaveyou back the sight of your eyes? And now you have commanded that heshall be hanged alive upon a gallows. Are these fitting words for aking?'

"The king listened to the old man, and said: 'You speak well. The wordsof a king should be words of wisdom. Go now to Rustem, and speak goodwords to him, and make him forget my anger. '

"So the old man rode after Rustem, and many of the nobles went with him. When they had overtaken him, the old man said, 'You know that the kingis a wrathful man, and that in his rage he speaks hard words. But youknow also that he soon repents. But now he is ashamed of what he said. And if he has offended, yet the Persians have done no wrong that youshould thus desert them. '

"Rustem answered, 'Who is the king that I should care for him? My saddleis my throne and my helmet is my crown, my corselet is my robe of state. What is the king to me but a grain of dust? Why should I fear his anger?I delivered him from prison; I gave him back his crown. And now mypatience is at an end. '

"The old man said, 'This is well. But the king and his nobles willthink, "Rustem fears this Tartar, " and they will say, "If Rustem isafraid, what can we do but leave our country?" I pray you therefore notto turn your back upon the king, when things are in such a plight. Is itwell that the Persians should become the slaves of the infidel Tartars?'

"Rustem stood confounded to hear such words. 'If there were fear in myheart, then I would tear my soul from my body. But you know that it isnot; only the king has treated me with scorn. '

"But he perceived that he must yield to the old man's advice. So he wentback with the nobles. 

"As soon as the king saw him, he leaped upon his feet, and said, 'I amhard of soul, but a man must grow as God has made him. My heart wastroubled by the fear of this new enemy. I looked to you for safety, andyou delayed your coming. Then I spoke in my wrath; but I have repented, and my mouth is full of dust. '

"Rustem said, 'It is yours to command, O king, and ours to obey. You arethe master, and we are the slaves. I am but as one of those who open thedoor for you, if indeed I am worthy to be reckoned among them. And now Icome to execute your commands. '

"Kaoos said, 'It is well. Now let us feast. To-morrow we will preparefor war. '

"So Kaoos, and Rustem, and the nobles feasted till the night had passedand the morning came. The next day King Kaoos and Rustem, with a greatarmy, began their march. "

Matthew Arnold, the great English critic, scholar and poet, has used theincidents that follow as the subject of one of his most interestingpoems. To that poem we will look for a continuation of the story. Arnoldalters the story at times to suit the needs of his poem, and he oftenemploys a slightly different spelling of proper names from that used inthe above account. 

SOHRAB AND RUSTUM

AN EPISODE

_By_ MATTHEW ARNOLD

 And the first gray of morning fill'd the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus[173-1] stream. But all the Tartar camp along the stream Was hush'd, and still the men were plunged in sleep; Sohrab alone, he slept not; all night long He had lain wakeful, tossing on his bed; But when the gray dawn stole into his tent, He rose, and clad himself, and girt his sword, And took his horseman's cloak, and left his tent, And went abroad into the cold wet fog, Through the dim camp to Peran-Wisa's[173-2] tent. Through the black Tartar tents he pass'd, which stood Clustering like beehives on the low flat strand Of Oxus, where the summer floods o'erflow When the sun melts the snow in high Pamere;[173-3] Through the black tents he pass'd, o'er that low strand, And to a hillock came, a little back From the stream's brink--the spot where first a boat, Crossing the stream in summer, scrapes the land. The men of former times had crown'd the top With a clay fort; but that was fall'n, and now The Tartars built there Peran-Wisa's tent, A dome of laths, and over it felts were spread. And Sohrab came there, and went in, and stood Upon the thick piled carpets in the tent, And found the old man sleeping on his bed Of rugs and felts, and near him lay his arms. And Peran-Wisa heard him, though the step Was dull'd; for he slept light, an old man's sleep; And he rose quickly on one arm, and said:-- "Who art thou? for it is not yet clear dawn. Speak! is there news, or any night alarm?" But Sohrab came to the bedside, and said:-- "Thou know'st me, Peran-Wisa! it is I. The sun is not yet risen, and the foe Sleep; but I sleep not; all night long I lie Tossing and wakeful, and I come to thee. For so did King Afrasiab bid me seek Thy counsel and to heed thee as thy son, In Samarcand, [174-4] before the army march'd; And I will tell thee what my heart desires. Thou know'st if, since from Ader-baijan first I came among the Tartars and bore arms, I have still served Afrasiab well, and shown, At my boy's years, the courage of a man. 

[Illustration: SOHRAB AND PERAN-WISA]

 This too thou know'st, that while I still bear on The conquering Tartar ensigns through the world, And beat the Persians back on every field, I seek one man, one man, and one alone-- Rustum, my father; who I hoped should greet, Should one day greet, upon some well-fought field, His not unworthy, not inglorious son. So I long hoped, but him I never find. Come then, hear now, and grant me what I ask. Let the two armies rest to-day; but I Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lords To meet me man to man; if I prevail, Rustum will surely hear it; if I fall-- Old man, the dead need no one, claim no kin. Dim is the rumor of a common[175-5] fight, Where host meets host, and many names are sunk; But of a single combat fame speaks clear. " He spoke; and Peran-Wisa took the hand Of the young man in his, and sigh'd, and said:-- "O Sohrab, an unquiet heart is thine! Canst thou not rest among the Tartar chiefs, And share the battle's common chance with us Who love thee, but must press forever first, In single fight incurring single risk, To find a father thou hast never seen? That were far best, my son, to stay with us Unmurmuring; in our tents, while it is war, And when 'tis truce, then in Afrasiab's towns. But, if this one desire indeed rules all, To seek out Rustum--seek him not through fight! Seek him in peace and carry to his arms, O Sohrab, carry an unwounded son! But far hence seek him, for he is not here. For now it is not as when I was young, When Rustum was in front of every fray; But now he keeps apart, and sits at home, In Seistan, [176-6] with Zal, his father old. Whether that[176-7] his own mighty strength at last Feels the abhorr'd approaches of old age, Or in some quarrel with the Persian King. There go!--Thou wilt not? Yet my heart forbodes Danger or death awaits thee on this field. Fain would I know thee safe and well, though lost To us; fain therefore send thee hence, in peace To seek thy father, not seek single fights In vain;--but who can keep the lion's cub From ravening, and who govern Rustum's son? Go, I will grant thee what thy heart desires. " So said he, and dropped Sohrab's hand and left His bed, and the warm rugs whereon he lay; And o'er his chilly limbs his woolen coat He passed, and tied his sandals on his feet, And threw a white cloak round him, and he took In his right hand a ruler's staff, no sword; And on his head he set his sheepskin cap, Black, glossy, curl'd, the fleece of Kara-Kul; And raised the curtain of his tent, and call'd His herald to his side and went abroad. The sun by this had risen, and cleared the fog From the broad Oxus and the glittering sands. And from their tents the Tartar horsemen filed Into the open plain; so Haman bade-- Haman, who next to Peran-Wisa ruled The host, and still was in his lusty prime. From their black tents, long files of horse, they stream'd; As when some gray November morn the files, In marching order spread, of long-neck'd cranes Stream over Casbin and the southern slopes Of Elburz, from the Aralian estuaries, Or some frore[177-8] Caspian reed bed, southward bound For the warm Persian seaboard--so they streamed. The Tartars of the Oxus, the King's guard, First, with black sheepskin caps and with long spears; Large men, large steeds; who from Bokhara come And Khiva, and ferment the milk of mares. [177-9] Next, the more temperate Toorkmuns of the south, The Tukas, and the lances of Salore, And those from Attruck and the Caspian sands; Light men and on light steeds, who only drink The acrid milk of camels, and their wells. And then a swarm of wandering horse, who came From far, and a more doubtful service own'd; The Tartars of Ferghana, from the banks Of the Jaxartes, men with scanty beards And close-set skullcaps; and those wilder hordes Who roam o'er Kipchak and the northern waste, Kalmucks and unkempt Kuzzacks, tribes who stray Nearest the Pole, and wandering Kirghizzes, Who come on shaggy ponies from Pamere; These all filed out from camp into the plain. And on the other side the Persians form'd;-- First a light cloud of horse, Tartars they seem'd, The Ilyats of Khorassan; and behind, The royal troops of Persia, horse and foot, Marshal'd battalions bright in burnish'd steel. But Peran-Wisa with his herald came, Threading the Tartar squadrons to the front, And with his staff kept back the foremost ranks. And when Ferood, who led the Persians, saw That Peran-Wisa kept the Tartars back, He took his spear, and to the front he came, And check'd his ranks, and fix'd[178-10] them where they stood. And the old Tartar came upon the sand Betwixt the silent hosts, and spake, and said:-- "Ferood, and ye, Persians and Tartars, hear! Let there be truce between the hosts to-day, But choose a champion from the Persian lords To fight our champion Sohrab, man to man. " As, in the country, on a morn in June, When the dew glistens on the pearled ears, A shiver runs through the deep corn[178-11] for joy-- So, when they heard what Peran-Wisa said, A thrill through all the Tartar squadrons ran Of pride and hope for Sohrab, whom they loved. But as a troop of peddlers, from Cabool, Cross underneath the Indian Caucasus, That vast sky-neighboring mountain of milk snow; Crossing so high, that, as they mount, they pass Long flocks of traveling birds dead on the snow, Choked by the air, and scarce can they themselves Slake their parch'd throats with sugar'd mulberries-- In single file they move, and stop their breath, For fear they should dislodge the o'erhanging snows--

[Illustration: PERAN-WISA GIVES SOHRAB'S CHALLENGE]

 So the pale Persians held their breath with fear. And to Ferood his brother chiefs came up To counsel; Gudurz and Zoarrah came, And Feraburz, who ruled the Persian host Second, and was the uncle of the King; These came and counsel'd, and then Gudurz said:-- "Ferood, shame bids us take their challenge up, Yet champion have we none to match this youth. He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart. But Rustum came last night; aloof he sits And sullen, and has pitch'd his tents apart. Him will I seek, and carry to his ear The Tartar challenge, and this young man's name. Haply he will forget his wrath, and fight. Stand forth the while, and take their challenge up. " So spake he; and Ferood stood forth and cried:-- "Old man, be it agreed as thou hast said! Let Sohrab arm, and we will find a man. " He spake: and Peran-Wisa turn'd, and strode Back through the opening squadrons to his tent. But through the anxious Persians Gudurz ran, And cross'd the camp which lay behind, and reach'd Out on the sand beyond it, Rustum's tents. Of scarlet cloth they were, and glittering gay, Just pitch'd; the high pavilion in the midst Was Rustum's and his men lay camp'd around. And Gudurz enter'd Rustum's tent, and found Rustum; his morning meal was done, but still The table stood before him, charged with food-- A side of roasted sheep, and cakes of bread, And dark-green melons, and there Rustum sate Listless, and held a falcon on his wrist, And play'd with it; but Gudurz came and stood Before him; and he look'd, and saw him stand, And with a cry sprang up and dropped the bird, And greeted Gudurz with both hands, and said:-- "Welcome! these eyes could see no better sight. What news? but sit down first, and eat and drink. " But Gudurz stood in the tent door, and said:-- "Not now! a time will come to eat and drink, But not to-day; to-day has other needs. The armies are drawn out, and stand at gaze; For from the Tartars is a challenge brought To pick a champion from the Persian lords To fight their champion and thou know'st his name-- Sohrab men call him, but his birth is hid. O Rustum, like thy might is this young man's! He has the wild stag's foot, the lion's heart; And he is young, and Iran's chiefs are old, Or else too weak; and all eyes turn to thee. Come down and help us, Rustum, or we lose!" He spoke; but Rustum answer'd with a smile:-- "Go to! if Iran's chiefs are old, then I Am older; if the young are weak, the King Errs strangely; for the King, for Kai Khosroo, [181-12] Himself is young, and honors younger men, And lets the aged molder to their graves. Rustum he loves no more, but loves the young-- The young may rise at Sohrab's vaunts, not I. For what care I, though all speak Sohrab's fame? For would that I myself had such a son, And not that one slight helpless girl I have-- A son so famed, so brave, to send to war, And I to tarry with the snow-hair'd Zal, [181-13] My father, whom the robber Afghans vex, And clip his borders short, and drive his herds, And he has none to guard his weak old age. There would I go, and hang my armor up, And with my great name fence that weak old man, And spend the goodly treasures I have got, And rest my age, and hear of Sohrab's fame, And leave to death the hosts of thankless kings, And with these slaughterous hands draw sword no more. " He spoke, and smiled; and Gudurz made reply:-- "What then, O Rustum, will men say to this, When Sohrab dares our bravest forth, and seeks Thee most of all, and thou, whom most he seeks, Hidest thy face? Take heed lest men should say: 'Like some old miser, Rustum hoards his fame, And shuns to peril it with younger men, '" And, greatly moved, then Rustum made reply:-- "Oh, Gudurz, wherefore dost thou say such words? Thou knowest better words than this to say. What is one more, one less, obscure or famed, Valiant or craven, young or old, to me? Are not they mortal, am not I myself? But who for men of naught would do great deeds? Come, thou shalt see how Rustum hoards his fame! But I will fight unknown, and in plain arms; Let not men say of Rustum, he was match'd In single fight with any mortal man. " He spoke, and frown'd; and Gudurz turn'd and ran Back quickly through the camp in fear and joy-- Fear at his wrath, but joy that Rustum came. But Rustum strode to his tent door, and call'd His followers in, and bade them bring his arms, And clad himself in steel; the arms he chose Were plain, and on his shield was no device, Only his helm was rich, inlaid with gold, And, from the fluted spine atop, a plume Of horsehair waved, a scarlet horsehair plume. So arm'd, he issued forth; and Ruksh, [183-14] his horse, Follow'd him like a faithful hound at heel-- Ruksh, whose renown was noised through all the earth, The horse, whom Rustum on a foray once Did in Bokhara by the river find A colt beneath its dam, and drove him home, And rear'd him; a bright bay, with lofty crest, Dight with a saddlecloth of broider'd green Crusted with gold, and on the ground were work'd All beasts of chase, all beasts which hunters know. So follow'd, Rustum left his tents, and cross'd The camp, and to the Persian host appear'd. And all the Persians knew him, and with shouts Hail'd; but the Tartars knew not who he was. And dear as the wet diver to the eyes Of his pale wife who waits and weeps on shore, By sandy Bahrein, in the Persian Gulf, Plunging all day in the blue waves, at night, Having made up his tale[183-15] of precious pearls, Rejoins her in their hut upon the sands-- So dear to the pale Persians Rustum came. And Rustum to the Persian front advanced, And Sohrab arm'd in Haman's tent, and came. And as afield the reapers cut a swath Down through the middle of a rich man's corn, And on each side are squares of standing corn, And in the midst a stubble, short and bare-- So on each side were squares of men, with spears Bristling, and in the midst, the open sand. And Rustum came upon the sand, and cast His eyes toward the Tartar tents, and saw Sohrab come forth, and eyed him as he came. As some rich woman, on a winter's morn, Eyes through her silken curtains the poor drudge Who with numb blacken'd fingers makes her fire-- At cock-crow, on a starlit winter's morn, When the frost flowers the whiten'd window-panes-- And wonders how she lives, and what the thoughts Of that poor drudge may be; so Rustum eyed The unknown adventurous youth, who from afar Came seeking Rustum, and defying forth All the most valiant chiefs; long he perused His spirited air, and wonder'd who he was. For very young he seem'd, tenderly rear'd; Like some young cypress, tall, and dark, and straight, Which in a queen's secluded garden throws Its slight dark shadow on the moonlit turf, By midnight, to a bubbling fountain's sound-- So slender Sohrab seem'd, so softly rear'd. [184-16] And a deep pity enter'd Rustum's soul As he beheld him coming; and he stood, And beckon'd to him with his hand, and said:-- "O thou young man, the air of heaven is soft, And warm, and pleasant; but the grave is cold! Heaven's air is better than the cold dead grave. Behold me! I am vast, and clad in iron, And tried; and I have stood on many a field Of blood, and I have fought with many a foe-- Never was that field lost, or that foe saved. O Sohrab, wherefore wilt thou rush on death? Be govern'd![185-17] quit the Tartar host, and come To Iran, and be as my son to me, And fight beneath my banner till I die! There are no youths in Iran brave as thou. " So he spake, mildly; Sohrab heard his voice, The mighty voice of Rustum, and he saw His giant figure planted on the sand, Sole, like some single tower, which a chief Hath builded on the waste in former years Against the robbers; and he saw that head, Streak'd with its first gray hairs;--hope fill'd his soul, And he ran forward and embraced his knees, And clasp'd his hand within his own, and said:-- "Oh, by thy father's head! by thine own soul! Art thou not Rustum? speak! art thou not he?" But Rustum eyed askance the kneeling youth, And turn'd away, and spake to his own soul:-- "Ah me, I muse what this young fox may mean! False, wily, boastful, are these Tartar boys. For if I now confess this thing he asks, And hide it not, but say: 'Rustum is here!' He will not yield indeed, nor quit our foes, But he will find some pretext not to fight, And praise my fame, and proffer courteous gifts, A belt or sword perhaps, and go his way. And on a feast tide, in Afrasiab's hall, In Samarcand, he will arise and cry: 'I challenged once, when the two armies camp'd Beside the Oxus, all the Persian lords To cope with me in single fight; but they Shrank, only Rustum dared; then he and I Changed gifts, and went on equal terms away. So will he speak, perhaps, while men applaud; Then were the chiefs of Iran shamed through me. " And then he turn'd, and sternly spake aloud:-- "Rise! wherefore dost thou vainly question thus Of Rustum? I am here, whom thou hast call'd By challenge forth; make good thy vaunt, or yield! Is it with Rustum only thou wouldst fight? Rash boy, men look on Rustum's face and flee! For well I know, that did great Rustum stand Before thy face this day, and were reveal'd, There would be then no talk of fighting more. But being what I am, I tell thee this-- Do thou record it in thine inmost soul: Either thou shalt renounce thy vaunt and yield, Or else thy bones shall strew this sand, till winds Bleach them, or Oxus with his summer floods, Oxus in summer wash them all away. " He spoke; and Sohrab answer'd, on his feet:-- "Art thou so fierce? Thou wilt not fright me so! I am no girl, to be made pale by words. Yet this thou hast said well, did Rustum stand Here on this field, there were no fighting then. But Rustum is far hence, and we stand here. Begin! thou art more vast, more dread than I, And thou art proved, I know, and I am young-- But yet success sways with the breath of heaven. And though thou thinkest that thou knowest sure Thy victory, yet thou canst not surely know. For we are all, like swimmers in the sea, Poised on the top of a huge wave of fate, Which hangs uncertain to which side to fall. And whether it will heave us up to land, Or whether it will roll us out to sea, Back out to sea, to the deep waves of death, We know not, and no search will make us know; Only the event will teach us in its hour. " He spoke, and Rustum answer'd not, but hurl'd His spear; down from the shoulder, down it came, As on some partridge in the corn a hawk, That long has tower'd in the airy clouds, Drops like a plummet; Sohrab saw it come, And sprang aside, quick as a flash; the spear Hiss'd and went quivering down into the sand, Which it sent flying wide;--then Sohrab threw In turn, and full struck Rustum's shield; sharp rang, The iron plates rang sharp, but turn'd the spear. And Rustum seized his club, which none but he Could wield; an unlopp'd trunk it was, and huge, Still rough--like those which men in treeless plains To build them boats fish from the flooded rivers, Hyphasis or Hydaspes, when, high up By their dark spring, the wind in winter time Hath made in Himalayan forests wrack, And strewn the channels with torn boughs--so huge The club which Rustum lifted now, and struck One stroke; but again Sohrab sprang aside, Lithe as the glancing snake, and the club came Thundering to earth, and leapt from Rustum's hand. And Rustum follow'd his own blow, and fell To his knees, and with his fingers clutch'd the sand; And now might Sohrab have unsheathed his sword, And pierced the mighty Rustum while he lay Dizzy, and on his knees, and choked with sand; But he look'd on, and smiled, nor bared his sword, But courteously drew back, and spoke, and said:-- "Thou strik'st too hard! that club of thine will float Upon the summer floods, and not my bones. But rise, and be not wroth! not wroth am I; No, when I see thee, wrath forsakes my soul. Thou say'st, thou art not Rustum; be it so! Who art thou then, that canst so touch my soul? Boy as I am, I have seen battles too-- Have waded foremost in their bloody waves, And heard their hollow roar of dying men; But never was my heart thus touch'd before. Are they from Heaven, these softenings of the heart? O thou old warrior, let us yield to Heaven! Come, plant we here in earth our angry spears, And make a truce, and sit upon this sand, And pledge each other in red wine, like friends, And thou shalt talk to me of Rustum's deeds. There are enough foes in the Persian host, Whom I may meet, and strike, and feel no pang; Champions enough Afrasiab has, whom thou Mayst fight; fight _them_, when they confront thy spear! But oh, let there be peace 'twixt thee and me!" He ceased, but while he spake, Rustum had risen, And stood erect, trembling with rage; his club He left to lie, but had regained his spear, Whose fiery point now in his mail'd right hand Blazed bright and baleful, like that autumn star, The baleful sign of fevers; dust had soil'd His stately crest, and dimm'd his glittering arms. His breast heaved, his lips foam'd, and twice his voice Was choked with rage; at last these words broke way:-- "Girl! nimble with thy feet, not with thy hands! Curl'd minion, dancer, coiner of sweet words! Fight, let me hear thy hateful voice no more! Thou are not in Afrasiab's gardens now With Tartar girls, with whom thou art wont to dance; But on the Oxus sands, and in the dance Of battle, and with me, who make no play Of war; I fight it out, and hand to hand. Speak not to me of truce, and pledge, and wine! Remember all thy valor; try thy feints And cunning! all the pity I had is gone; Because thou hast shamed me before both the hosts With thy light skipping tricks, and thy girl's wiles. "

 He spoke, and Sohrab kindled at his taunts, And he too drew his sword; at once they rush'd Together, as two eagles on one prey Come rushing down together from the clouds, One from the east, one from the west; their shields Dash'd with a clang together, and a din Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters Make often in the forest's heart at morn, Of hewing axes, crashing trees--such blows Rustum and Sohrab on each other hail'd. And you would say that sun and stars took part In that unnatural[189-18] conflict; for a cloud Grew suddenly in heaven, and dark'd the sun Over the fighters' heads; and a wind rose Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain, And in a sandy whirlwind wrapp'd the pair. In gloom they twain were wrapp'd, and they alone; For both the onlooking hosts on either hand Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure, And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream. But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes And laboring breath; first Rustum struck the shield Which Sohrab held stiff out; the steel-spiked spear Rent the tough plates, but fail'd to reach the skin, And Rustum pluck'd it back with angry groan. Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum's helm, Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the crest He shore away, and that proud horsehair plume, Never till now defiled, sank to the dust; And Rustum bow'd his head; and then the gloom Grew blacker, thunder rumbled in the air, And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, the horse, Who stood at hand, utter'd a dreadful cry;-- No horse's cry was that, most like the roar Of some pain'd desert lion, who all day Hath trail'd the hunter's javelin in his side, And comes at night to die upon the sand. The two hosts heard that cry, and quaked for fear, And Oxus curdled as it cross'd his stream. But Sohrab heard, and quail'd not, but rush'd on, And struck again; and again Rustum bow'd His head; but this time all the blade, like glass, Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm, And in the hand the hilt remain'd alone. Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful eyes Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear, And shouted: "Rustum!"--Sohrab heard that shout, And shrank amazed: back he recoil'd one step, And scann'd with blinking eyes the advancing form; And then he stood bewilder'd, and he dropp'd His covering shield, and the spear pierced his side. [191-19] He reel'd, and, staggering back, sank to the ground; And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind fell, [Illustration: THE SPEAR RENT THE TOUGH PLATES]

 And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all The cloud; and the two armies saw the pair-- Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet, And Sohrab, wounded, on the bloody sand. Then, with a bitter smile, Rustum began:-- "Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to kill A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse, And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab's tent; Or else that the great Rustum would come down Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would move His heart to take a gift, and let thee go; And then that all the Tartar host would praise Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy fame, To glad thy father in his weak old age. Fool, thou art slain, and by an unknown man! Dearer to the red jackals shalt thou be Than to thy friends, and to thy father old. " And, with a fearless mien, Sohrab replied:-- "Unknown thou art; yet thy fierce vaunt is vain. Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful man! No! Rustum slays me, and this filial heart. For were I match'd with ten such men as thee, And I were that which till to-day I was, They should be lying here, I standing there. But that beloved name unnerved my arm-- That name, and something, I confess, in thee, Which troubles all my heart, and made my shield Fall; and thy spear transfix'd an unarm'd foe. And now thou boastest, and insult'st my fate. But hear thou this, fierce man, tremble to hear: The mighty Rustum shall avenge my death! My father, whom I seek through all the world, He shall avenge my death, and punish thee!" As when some hunter in the spring hath found A breeding eagle sitting on her nest, Upon the craggy isle of a hill lake, And pierced her with an arrow as she rose, And follow'd her to find her where she fell Far off;--anon her mate comes winging back From hunting, and a great way off descries His huddling young left sole;[193-20] at that, he checks His pinion, and with short uneasy sweeps Circles above his eyry, with loud screams Chiding his mate back to her nest; but she Lies dying, with the arrow in her side, In some far stony gorge out of his ken, A heap of fluttering feathers--never more Shall the lake glass[193-21] her, flying over it; Never the black and dripping precipices Echo her stormy scream as she sails by-- As that poor bird flies home, nor knows his loss, So Rustum knew not his own loss, but stood Over his dying son, and knew him not. But, with a cold incredulous voice, he said:-- "What prate is this of fathers and revenge? The mighty Rustum never had a son. " And, with a failing voice, Sohrab replied:-- "Ah yes, he had! and that lost son am I. Surely the news will one day reach his ear, Reach Rustum, where he sits, and tarries long, Somewhere, I know not where, but far from here; And pierce him like a stab, and make him leap To arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee. Fierce man, bethink thee, for an only son! What will that grief, what will that vengeance be? Oh, could I live till I that grief had seen! Yet him I pity not so much, but her, My mother, who in Ader-baijan dwells With that old king, her father, who grows gray With age, and rules over the valiant Koords. Her most I pity, who no more will see Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp, With spoils and honor, when the war is done. But a dark rumor will be bruited up, From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear; And then will that defenseless woman learn That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more, But that in battle with a nameless foe, By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain. " He spoke; and as he ceased, he wept aloud, Thinking of her he left, and his own death. He spoke; but Rustum listen'd, plunged in thought. Nor did he yet believe it was his son Who spoke, although he call'd back names he knew; For he had had sure tidings that the babe, Which was in Ader-baijan born to him, Had been a puny girl, no boy at all-- So that sad mother sent him word, for fear Rustum should seek the boy, to train in arms. And so he deem'd that either Sohrab took, By a false boast, the style of Rustum's son; Or that men gave it him, to swell his fame. So deem'd he: yet he listen'd, plunged in thought; And his soul set to grief, as the vast tide Of the bright rocking Ocean sets to shore At the full moon; tears gather'd in his eyes; For he remember'd his own early youth, And all its bounding rapture; as, at dawn, The shepherd from his mountain lodge descries A far, bright city, smitten by the sun, Through many rolling clouds--so Rustum saw His youth; saw Sohrab's mother, in her bloom; And that old king, her father, who loved well His wandering guest, and gave him his fair child With joy; and all the pleasant life they led, They three, in that long-distant summer time-- The castle, and the dewy woods, and hunt And hound, and morn on those delightful hills In Ader-baijan. And he saw that youth, Of age and looks to be his own dear son, [195-22] Piteous and lovely, lying on the sand, Like some rich hyacinth which by the scythe Of an unskillful gardener has been cut, Mowing the garden grassplots near its bed, And lies, a fragrant tower of purple bloom, On the mown, dying grass--so Sohrab lay, Lovely in death, upon the common sand. And Rustum gazed on him with grief, and said:-- "O Sohrab, thou indeed art such a son Whom Rustum, wert thou his, might well have loved! Yet here thou errest, Sohrab, or else men Have told thee false--thou art not Rustum's son. For Rustum had no son; one child he had-- But one--a girl; who with her mother now Plies some light female task, nor dreams of us-- Of us she dreams not, nor of wounds, nor war. " But Sohrab answer'd him in wrath; for now The anguish of the deep-fix'd spear grew fierce, And he desired to draw forth the steel, And let the blood flow free, and so to die-- But first he would convince his stubborn foe; And, rising sternly on one arm, he said:-- "Man, who art thou who dost deny my words? Truth sits upon the lips of dying men, And falsehood, while I lived, was far from mine. I tell thee, prick'd upon this arm I bear That seal which Rustum to my mother gave, That she might prick it on the babe she bore. "[196-23] He spoke: and all the blood left Rustum's cheeks, And his knees totter'd, and he smote his hand Against his breast, his heavy mailed hand, That the hard iron corselet clank'd aloud; And to his heart he press'd the other hand, And in a hollow voice he spake, and said:-- "Sohrab, that were a proof which could not lie! If thou show this, then art thou Rustum's son. " Then, with weak hasty fingers, Sohrab loosed His belt, and near the shoulder bared his arm, And show'd a sign in faint vermilion points Prick'd; as a cunning workman, in Pekin, Pricks with vermilion some clear porcelain vase, An emperor's gift--at early morn he paints, And all day long, and, when night comes, the lamp Lights up his studious forehead and thin hands-- So delicately prick'd the sign appear'd On Sohrab's arm, the sign of Rustum's seal. It was that griffin, [196-24] which of old rear'd Zal, Rustum's great father, whom they left to die, A helpless babe, among the mountain rocks; Him that kind creature found, and rear'd and loved-- Then Rustum took it for his glorious sign. And Sohrab bared that image on his arm, And himself scann'd it long with mournful eyes, And then he touch'd it with his hand, and said:-- "How say'st thou? Is that sign the proper sign Of Rustum's son, or of some other man's?" He spoke; but Rustum gazed, and gazed, and stood Speechless; and then he utter'd one sharp cry: "O boy--thy father!" and his voice choked there. And then a dark cloud pass'd before his eyes, And his head swam, and he sank down to earth. But Sohrab crawl'd to where he lay, and cast His arms about his neck, and kiss'd his lips, And with fond faltering fingers stroked his cheeks, Trying to call him back to life; and life Came back to Rustum, and he oped his eyes, And they stood wide with horror; and he seized In both his hands the dust which lay around, And threw it on his head, and smirch'd his hair, -- His hair, and face, and beard, and glittering arms; And strong convulsive groanings shook his breast, And his sobs choked him; and he clutch'd his sword, To draw it, and forever let life out. But Sohrab saw his thought, and held his hands, And with a soothing voice he spake, and said:-- "Father, forbear! for I but meet to-day The doom which at my birth was written down In heaven, and thou art heaven's unconscious hand. Surely my heart cried out that it was thou, When first I saw thee; and thy heart spoke too, I know it! but fate trod those promptings down Under its iron heel; fate, fate engaged The strife, and hurl'd me on my father's spear. But let us speak no more of this! I find My father; let me feel that I have found! Come, sit beside me on the sand, and take My head betwixt thy hands, and kiss my cheeks, And wash them with thy tears, and say: 'My son!' Quick! quick! for number'd are my sands of life, And swift; for like the lightning to this field I came, and like the wind I go away-- Sudden, and swift, and like a passing wind But it was writ in heaven that this should be. " So said he, and his voice released the heart Of Rustum, and his tears broke forth; he cast His arms round his son's neck, and wept aloud, And kiss'd him. And awe fell on both the hosts, When they saw Rustum's grief; and Ruksh, the horse, With his head bowing to the ground and mane Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute woe First to the one then to the other moved His head, as if inquiring what their grief Might mean; and from his dark, compassionate eyes, The big warm tears roll'd down, and caked the sand, But Rustum chid him with stern voice, and said:-- "Ruksh, now thou grievest; but, O Ruksh, thy feet Should first have rotted on their nimble joints, Or ere they brought thy master to this field!" But Sohrab look'd upon the horse, and said:-- "Is this, then, Ruksh? How often, in past days, My mother told me of thee, thou brave steed, My terrible father's terrible horse! and said, That I should one day find thy lord and thee. Come, let me lay my hand upon thy mane! O Ruksh, thou art more fortunate than I; For thou hast gone where I shall never go, And snuff'd the breezes of my father's home. And thou hast trod the sands of Seistan. And seen the River of Helmund, and the Lake Of Zirrah; and the aged Zal himself Has often stroked thy neck, and given thee food, Corn in a golden platter soak'd with wine, And said: 'O Ruksh! bear Rustum well, '--but I Have never known my grandsire's furrow'd face, Nor seen his lofty house in Seistan, Nor slaked my thirst at the clear Helmund stream; But lodged among my father's foes, and seen Afrasiab's cities only, Samarcand, Bokhara, and lone Khiva in the waste, And the black Toorkmun tents; and only drunk The desert rivers, Moorghab and Tejend, Kohik, and where the Kalmuks feed their sheep, The northern Sir; and this great Oxus stream, The yellow Oxus, by whose brink I die. " Then, with a heavy groan, Rustum bewail'd:-- "Oh, that its waves were flowing over me! Oh, that I saw its grains of yellow silt Roll tumbling in the current o'er my head!" But, with a grave mild voice, Sohrab replied:-- "Desire not that, my father! thou must live. For some are born to do great deeds, and live, As some are born to be obscured, and die. Do thou the deeds I die too young to do, And reap a second glory in thine age; Thou art my father, and thy gain is mine. But come! thou seest this great host of men Which follow me; I pray thee, slay not these! Let me entreat for them; what have they done? They follow'd me, my hope, my fame, my star. Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace. But me thou must bear hence, not send with them, But carry me with thee to Seistan, And place me on a bed, and mourn for me, Thou, and the snow-hair'd Zal, and all thy friends. And thou must lay me in that lovely earth, And heap a stately mound above my bones, [200-25] And plant a far-seen pillar over all. That so the passing horseman on the waste May see my tomb a great way off, and cry: 'Sohrab, the mighty Rustum's son, lies there, Whom his great father did in ignorance kill!' And I be not forgotten in my grave. " And, with a mournful voice, Rustum replied:-- "Fear not! as thou hast said, Sohrab, my son, So shall it be; for I will burn my tents, And quit the host, and bear thee hence with me, And carry thee away to Seistan, And place thee on a bed, and mourn for thee, With the snow-headed Zal, and all my friends. And I will lay thee in that lovely earth, And heap a stately mound above thy bones, And plant a far-seen pillar over all, And men shall not forget thee in thy grave. And I will spare thy host; yea, let them go! Let them all cross the Oxus back in peace! What should I do with slaying any more? For would that all that I have ever slain Might be once more alive; my bitterest foes, And they who were call'd champions in their time, And through whose death I won that fame I have-- And I were nothing but a common man, A poor, mean soldier, and without renown, So thou mightest live too, my son, my son! Or rather would that I, even I myself, Might now be lying on this bloody sand, Near death, and by an ignorant stroke of thine, Not thou of mine! and I might die, not thou; And I, not thou, be borne to Seistan; And Zal might weep above my grave, not thine; And say: 'O son, I weep thee not too sore, For willingly, I know, thou met'st thine end!' But now in blood and battles was my youth, And full of blood and battles is my age, And I shall never end this life of blood. " Then, at the point of death, Sohrab replied:-- "A life of blood indeed, though dreadful man! But thou shalt yet have peace; only not now, Not yet! but thou shalt have it on that day[201-26] When thou shalt sail in a high-masted ship, Thou and the other peers of a Kai Khosroo, Returning home over the salt blue sea, From laying thy dear master in his grave. " And Rustum gazed in Sohrab's face, and said:-- "Soon be that day, my son, and deep that sea! Till then, if fate so wills, let me endure. " He spoke; and Sohrab smiled on him, and took The spear, and drew it from his side, and eased His wound's imperious anguish; but the blood Came welling from the open gash, and life Flow'd with the stream;--all down his cold white side The crimson torrent ran, dim now and soil'd, Like the soil'd tissue of white violets Left, freshly gather'd, on their native bank, By children whom their nurses call with haste Indoors from the sun's eye; his head droop'd low, His limbs grew slack; motionless, white, he lay-- White, with eyes closed; only when heavy gasps, Deep heavy gasps quivering through all his frame, Convulsed him back to life, he open'd them, And fix'd them feebly on his father's face; Till now all strength was ebb'd, and from his limbs Unwillingly the spirit fled away, Regretting the warm mansion which it left, And youth, and bloom, and this delightful world. So, on the bloody sand, Sohrab lay dead; And the great Rustum drew his horseman's cloak Down o'er his face, and sate by his dead son. As those black granite pillars, once high-rear'd By Jemshid in Persepolis, to bear His house, now 'mid their broken flights of steps Lie prone, enormous, down the mountain side-- So in the sand lay Rustum by his son. And night came down over the solemn waste, And the two gazing hosts, and that sole pair, And darken'd all; and a cold fog, with night, Crept from the Oxus. Soon a hum arose, As of a great assembly loosed, and fires Began to twinkle through the fog; for now Both armies moved to camp, and took their meal; The Persians took it on the open sands Southward, the Tartars by the river marge; And Rustum and his son were left alone. 

 But the majestic river floated on, Out of the mist and hum of that low land, Into the frosty starlight, and there moved, Rejoicing, through the hush'd Chorasmian waste, Under the solitary moon;--he flow'd Right for the polar star, past Orgunjè, Brimming, and bright, and large; then sands begin

[Illustration: RUSTUM SORROWS OVER SOHRAB]

 To hem his watery march, and dam his streams, And split his currents; that for many a league The shorn and parcel'd Oxus strains along Through beds of sand and matted rushy isles-- Oxus, forgetting the bright speed he had In his high mountain cradle in Pamere, A foil'd circuitous wanderer--till at last The long'd-for dash of waves is heard, and wide His luminous home of waters opens, bright And tranquil, from whose floor the new-bathed stars Emerge, and shine upon the Aral Sea. [204-27]

 Matthew Arnold was one of England's purest and greatest men. As scholar, teacher, poet and critic he labored zealously for the betterment of his race and sought to bring them back to a clearer, lovelier spiritual life and to win them from the base and sordid schemes that make only for material success. 

 He was born in 1822 and was the son of Doctor Thomas Arnold, the great teacher who was so long headmaster of the famous Rugby school, and whose scholarly and Christian influence is so faithfully brought out in Hughes's ever popular story _Tom Brown's School Days_. 

 Matthew Arnold received his preparatory education in his father's school at Rugby, and his college training at Oxford. He was always a student and always active in educational work, as an inspector of schools, and for ten years as professor of poetry at Oxford. He twice visited the United States and both times lectured here. His criticisms of America and Americans were severe, for he saw predominant the spirit of money-getting, the thirst for material prosperity and the absence of spiritual interests. In 1888, while at the house of a friend in Liverpool, he died suddenly and peacefully from an attack of heart disease. 

 Arnold was one of the most exacting and critical of English writers, a man who applied to his own works the same severe standards that he set up for others. As a result his writings have become one of the standards of purity and taste in style. 

[Illustration: MATTHEW ARNOLD

1822-1888]

 The story of _Sohrab and Rustum_ pleased him, and he enjoyed writing the poem, as may be seen from a letter to his mother, written in 1853. He says:

 "All my spare time has been spent on a poem which I have just finished, and which I think by far the best thing I have yet done, and I think it will be generally liked; though one can never be sure of this. I have had the greatest pleasure in composing it, a rare thing with me, and, as I think, a good test of the pleasure what you write is likely to afford to others. But the story is a very noble and excellent one. "

 Two men, both competent to judge, have given at length their opinion of Matthew Arnold's character. So admirable a man deserves to be known by the young, although most of his writings will be understood and appreciated only by persons of some maturity in years. Mr. John Morley says:

 "He was incapable of sacrificing the smallest interest of anybody to his own; he had not a spark of envy or jealousy; he stood well aloof from all the hustlings and jostlings by which selfish men push on; he bore life's disappointments--and he was disappointed in some reasonable hopes--with good nature and fortitude; he cast no burden upon others, and never shrank from bearing his own share of the daily load to the last ounce of it; he took the deepest, sincerest, and most active interest in the well-being of his country and his countrymen. "

 Mr. George E. Woodbury in an essay on Arnold remarks concerning the man as shown in his private letters:

 "A nature warm to its own, kindly to all, cheerful, fond of sport and fun, and always fed from pure fountains, and with it a character so founded upon the rock, so humbly serviceable, so continuing in power and grace, must wake in all the responses of happy appreciation and leave the charm of memory. "

FOOTNOTES:

[173-1] The Oxus, 1300 miles long, is the chief river of Central Asia, and one of the boundaries of Persia. 

[173-2] Peran-Wisa was the commander of King Afrasiab's troops, aTuranian chief who ruled over the many wild Tartar tribes whose mencomposed his army. 

[173-3] Pamir or Pamere is a high tableland called by the natives "theroof of the world. " In it lies the source of the Oxus. Arnold has namedmany places for the purpose of giving an air of reality to the poem. Itis not necessary to locate them accurately in order to understand thepoem, and so the notes will refer to them only as the story is madeclearer by the explanation. 

[174-4] Samarcand is a city of Turkistan, now a center of learning andof commerce. 

[175-5] _Common_ here means _general_. The idea is that little famecomes to him who fights in a general combat in which numbers take part. What is the real reason for Sohrab's desire to fight in single combat?Arnold gives a different reason from that in the _Shah Nameh_. In thelatter case it is that by defeating their champion Sohrab may frightenthe Persians into submission. 

[176-6] Seistan was the province in which Rustum and his father Zal hadruled for many years, subjects of the King of Persia. 

[176-7] _Whether that_ and _Or in_ beginning the second line below maybe understood to read _Either because_ and _Or because of_. 

[177-8] _Frore_ means _frozen_. 

[177-9] From mares' milk is made koumiss, a favorite fermented drink ofTartar tribes. 

[178-10] _Fix'd_ means _halted_. He caused his army to remain stationarywhile he rode forward. 

[178-11] The _corn_ is grain of some kind, not our maize or Indian corn. 

[181-12] Kai Khosroo was one of the Persian kings who lived in the sixthcentury B. C. , and is now understood to be Cyrus. He was the grandson ofKai Kaoos, in whose reign the _Shah Nameh_ places the episode of Sohraband Rustum. Here as elsewhere Arnold alters the legend to suit hisconvenience and to make the poem more effective. For instance, hecompresses the combat into a single day, while in the Persian epic, thebattle lasts three days. This change gives greater vitality and morerapid action to the poem. 

[181-13] Zal was born with snowy hair, a most unusual thing among theblack-haired Persians. His father was so angered by the appearance ofhis son that he abandoned the innocent babe in the Elburz mountains, where, however, a great bird or griffin miraculously preserved theinfant and in time returned it to its father, who had repented of hishasty action. 

[183-14] _Ruksh_, also spelled _Raksh_. 

[183-15] _Tale_ means _count_ or _reckoning_. The diver had gathered allthe pearls required from him for the day. 

[184-16] This description by Arnold scarcely tallies with the idea wehave obtained of the powerful Sohrab from reading the accounts takenfrom the _Shah Nameh_. Arnold's is the more poetic idea, and increasesthe reader's sympathy for Sohrab. 

[185-17] _Be governed_, that is, _take my advice_. 

[189-18] It is not natural for father and son to fight thus. 

[191-19] In the _Shah Nameh_ Rustum overpowers Sohrab and slays him byhis superior power and skill. Arnold takes the more poetic view thatSohrab's arm is powerless when he hears his father's name. 

[193-20] _Sole_ means _solitary, alone_. 

[193-21] _Glass her_ means _reflect her_ as in a mirror. 

[195-22] He sees that this young men, as far as age and appearance areconcerned, might be a son of his. 

[196-23] Again Arnold departs from the Persian tale, in which Sohrabwears a bracelet or amulet on his arm. Arnold's work gives a morecertain identification. 

[196-24] The griffin spoken of in note 13. 

[200-25] The Persian tradition is that over the spot where Sohrab wasburied a huge mound, shaped like the hoof of a horse, was erected. 

[201-26] It is said that shortly after the death of Sohrab the kinghimself died while on a visit to a famous spring far in the north, andas the nobles were returning with his corpse all were lost in a greattempest. Unfortunately for Sohrab's prophecy, Persian traditions do notinclude Rustum among the lost. 

[204-27] This beautiful stanza makes a peculiarly artistic terminationto the poem. After the storm and stress of the combat and theheart-breaking pathos of Sohrab's death, the reader willingly rests histhought on the majestic Oxus that still flows on, unchangeable, but everchanging. The suggestion is that after all nature is triumphant, thatour pains and losses, our most grievous disappointments and greatestgriefs are but incidents in the great drama of life, and that, thoughlike the river Oxus, we for a time become "foiled, circuitouswanderers, " we at last see before us the luminous home, bright andtranquil under the shining stars. 

THE POET AND THE PEASANT

FROM THE FRENCH OF EMILE SOUVESTRE

A young man was walking through a forest, and in spite of the approachof night, in spite of the mist that grew denser every moment, he waswalking slowly, paying no heed either to the weather or to the hour. 

His dress of green cloth, his buckskin gaiters, and the gun slung acrosshis shoulder might have caused him to be taken for a sportsman, had notthe book that half protruded from his game-bag betrayed the dreamer, andproved that Arnold de Munster was less occupied with observing the trackof wild game than in communing with himself. 

For some moments his mind had been filled with thoughts of his familyand of the friends he had left in Paris. He remembered the studio thathe had adorned with fantastic engravings, strange paintings, curiousstatuettes; the German songs that his sister had sung, the melancholyverses that he had repeated in the subdued light of the evening lamps, and the long talks in which every one confessed his inmost feelings, inwhich all the mysteries of thought were discussed and translated intoimpassioned or graceful words! Why had he abandoned these choicepleasures to bury himself in the country?

He was aroused at last from his meditations by the consciousness thatthe mist had changed into rain and was beginning to penetrate hisshooting-coat. He was about to quicken his steps, but in looking aroundhim he saw that he had lost his way, and he tried vainly to determinethe direction he must take. A first attempt only succeeded inbewildering him still more. The daylight faded, the rain fell moreheavily, and he continued to plunge at random into unknown paths. 

He had begun to be discouraged, when the sound of bells reached himthrough the leafless trees. A cart driven by a big man in a blouse hadappeared at an intersecting road and was coming toward the one thatArnold had just reached. 

Arnold stopped to wait for the man and asked him if he were far fromSersberg. 

"Sersberg!" repeated the carter; "you don't expect to sleep thereto-night?"

"Pardon me, but I do, " answered the young man. 

"At Sersberg?" went on his interlocutor; "you'll have to go by train, then! It is six good leagues from here to the gate; and considering theweather and the roads, they are equal to twelve. "

The young man uttered an exclamation. He had left the château thatmorning and did not think that he had wandered so far; but he had beenon the wrong path for hours, and in thinking to take the road toSersberg he had continued to turn his back upon it. It was too late tomake good such an error; so he was forced to accept the shelter offeredby his new companion, whose farm was fortunately within gunshot. 

He accordingly regulated his pace to the carter's and attempted to enterinto conversation with him; but Moser was not a talkative man and wasapparently a complete stranger to the young man's usual sensations. When, on issuing from the forest, Arnold pointed to the magnificenthorizon purpled by the last rays of the setting sun, the farmercontented himself with a grimace. 

"Bad weather for to-morrow, " he muttered, drawing his cloak about hisshoulders. 

"One ought to be able to see the entire valley from here, " went onArnold, striving to pierce the gloom that already clothed the foot ofthe mountain. 

"Yes, yes, " said Moser, shaking his head; "the ridge is high enough forthat. There's an invention for you that isn't good for much. "

"What invention?"

"The mountains. "

"You would rather have everything level?"

"What a question!" cried the farmer, laughing. "You might as well ask meif I would not rather ruin my horses. "

"True, " said Arnold in a tone of somewhat contemptuous irony. "I hadforgotten the horses! It is clear that God should have thoughtprincipally of them when he created the world. "

"I don't know as to God, " answered Moser quietly, "but the engineerscertainly made a mistake in forgetting them when they made the roads. The horse is the laborer's best friend, monsieur--without disrespect tothe oxen, which have their value too. "

Arnold looked at the peasant. "So you see in your surroundings only theadvantages you can derive from them?" he asked gravely. "The forest, themountains, the clouds, all say nothing to you? You have never pausedbefore the setting sun or at the sight of the woods lighted by thestars?"

"I?" cried the farmer. "Do you take me for a maker of almanacs? Whatshould I get out of your starlight and the setting sun? The main thingis to earn enough for three meals a day and to keep one's stomach warm. Would monsieur like a drink of cognac? It comes from the other side ofthe Rhine. "

He held out a little wicker-covered bottle to Arnold, who refused by agesture. The positive coarseness of the peasant had rekindled his regretand his contempt. Were they really men such as he was, theseunfortunates, doomed to unceasing labor, who lived in the bosom ofnature without heeding it and whose souls never rose above the mostmaterial sensations? Was there one point of resemblance which couldattest their original brotherhood to such as he? Arnold doubted thismore and more each moment. 

These thoughts had the effect of communicating to his manner a sort ofcontemptuous indifference toward his conductor, to whom he ceased totalk. Moser showed neither surprise nor pain and set to whistling anair, interrupted from time to time by some brief word of encouragementto his horses. 

Thus they arrived at the farm, where the noise of the bells announcedtheir coming. A young boy and a woman of middle age appeared on thethreshold. 

"Ah, it is the father!" cried the woman, looking back into the house, where could be heard the voices of several children, who came running tothe door with shouts of joy and pressed around the peasant. 

"Wait a moment, youngsters, " interrupted the father in his big voice ashe rummaged in the cart and brought forth a covered basket. "Let Fritzunharness. "

But the children continued to besiege the farmer, all talking at once. He bent to kiss them, one after another; then rising suddenly:

"Where is Jean?" he asked with a quickness that had something ofuneasiness in it. 

"Here, father, here, " answered a shrill little voice from the farm-housedoor; "mother doesn't want me to go out in the rain. "

"Stay where you are, " said Moser, throwing the traces on the backs ofthe horses; "I will go to you, little son. Go in, the rest of you, so asnot to tempt him to come out. "

The three children went back to the doorway, where little Jean wasstanding beside his mother, who was protecting him from the weather. 

He was a poor little creature, so cruelly deformed that at the firstglance one could not have told his age or the nature of his infirmity. His whole body, distorted by sickness, formed a curved, not to say abroken line. His disproportionately large head was sunken between twounequally rounded shoulders, while his body was sustained by two littlecrutches; these took the place of the shrunken legs, which could notsupport him. 

At the farmer's approach he held out his thin arms with an expression oflove that made Moser's furrowed face brighten. The father lifted him inhis strong arms with an exclamation of tender delight. 

"Come!" he cried, "hug your father--with both arms--hard! How has hebeen since yesterday?"

The mother shook her head. 

"Always the cough, " she answered in a low tone. 

"It's nothing, father, " the child answered in his shrill voice. "Louishad drawn me too fast in my wheeled chair; but I am well, very well; Ifeel as strong as a man. "

The peasant placed him carefully on the ground, set him upon his littlecrutches, which had fallen, and looked at him with an air ofsatisfaction. 

"Don't you think he's growing, wife?" he asked in the tone of a man whowishes to be encouraged. "Walk a bit, Jean; walk, boy! He walks morequickly and more strongly. It'll all come right, wife; we must only bepatient. "

The farmer's wife made no reply, but her eyes turned toward the feeblechild with a look of despair so deep that Arnold trembled; fortunatelyMoser paid no heed. 

"Come, the whole brood of you, " he went on, opening the basket he hadtaken from the cart; "here is something for every one! In line and holdout your hands. "

The peasant had displayed three small white rolls glazed in the baking;three cries of joy burst forth simultaneously and six hands advanced toseize the rolls, but they all paused at the word of command. 

"And Jean?" asked the childish voices. 

"To the devil with Jean, " answered Moser gayly; "there is nothing forhim to-night. Jean shall have his share another time. "

But the child smiled and tried to get up to look into the basket. Thefarmer stepped back a pace, took off the cover carefully, and liftinghis arm with an air of solemnity, displayed before the eyes of all acake of gingerbread garnished with almonds and pink and whitesugar-plums. 

There was a general shout of admiration. Jean himself could not restraina cry of delight; a slight flush rose to his pale face and he held outhis hands with an air of joyful expectancy. 

"Ah, you like it, little mole!" cried the peasant, whose face wasradiant at the sight of the child's pleasure; "take it, old man, takeit; it is nothing but sugar and honey. "

He placed the gingerbread in the hands of the little hunchback, whotrembled with happiness, watched him hobble off, and turning to Arnoldwhen the sound of the crutches was lost in the house, said with a slightbreak in his voice:

"He is my eldest. Sickness has deformed him a little, but he's a shrewdfellow and it only depends upon us to make a gentleman of him. "

While speaking he had crossed the first room on the ground-floor and ledhis guest into a species of dining-room, the whitewashed walls of whichwere decorated only with a few rudely colored prints. As he entered, Arnold saw Jean seated on the floor and surrounded by his brothers, among whom he was dividing the cake given him by his father. But eachone objected to the size of his portion and wished to lessen it; itrequired all the little hunchback's eloquence to make them accept whathe had given them. For some time the young sportsman watched thisdispute with singular interest, and when the children had gone out againhe expressed his admiration to the farmer's wife. 

"It is quite true, " she said with a smile and a sigh, "that there aretimes when it seems as though it were a good thing for them to seeJean's infirmity. It is hard for them to give up to each other, but notone of them can refuse Jean anything; it is a constant exercise inkindness and devotion. "

"Great virtue, that!" interrupted Moser. "Who could refuse anything tosuch a poor, afflicted little innocent? It's a silly thing for a man tosay; but, look you, monsieur, that child there always makes me want tocry. Often when I am at work in the fields, I begin all at once to thinkabout him. I say to myself Jean is ill! or Jean is dead! and then I haveto find some excuse for coming home to see how it is. Then he is so weakand so ailing! If we did not love him more than the others, he would betoo unhappy. "

"Yes, " said the mother gently, "the poor child is our cross and our joyat the same time. I love all my children, monsieur, but whenever I hearthe sound of Jean's crutches on the floor, I always feel a rush ofhappiness. It is a sign that the good God has not yet taken our darlingaway from us. It seems to me as though Jean brought happiness to thehouse just like swallows' nests fastened to the windows. If I hadn't himto take care of, I should think there was nothing for me to do. "

Arnold listened to these naive expressions of tenderness with aninterest that was mingled with astonishment. The farmer's wife called aservant to help set the table; and at Moser's invitation, the young manapproached the brushwood fire which had been rekindled. 

As he was leaning against the smoky mantelpiece, his eye fell upon asmall black frame that inclosed a withered leaf. Moser noticed it. 

"Ah! you are looking at my relic. It's a leaf of the weeping-willow thatgrows down there on the tomb of Napoleon! I got it from a Strasbourgmerchant who had served in the Old Guard. I wouldn't part with it for ahundred crowns. "

"Then there is some particular sentiment attached to it?"

"Sentiment, no, " answered the peasant; "but I too was discharged fromthe Fourth Regiment of Hussars, a brave regiment, monsieur. There wereonly eight men left of our squadron, so when the Little Corporal passedin front of the line he saluted us--yes, monsieur, raised his hat to us!That was something to make us ready to die to the last man, look you. Ah! he was the father of the soldier!"

Here the peasant began to fill his pipe, looking the while at the blackframe and the withered leaf. In this reminder of a marvelous destinythere was evidently for him a whole romance of youth, emotion, andregret. He recalled the last struggles of the Empire, in which he hadtaken part, the reviews held by the emperor, when his mere presencearoused confidence in victory; the passing successes of France's famouscampaign, so soon expiated by the disaster at Waterloo; the departure ofthe vanquished general and his long agony on the rock of Saint Helena. 

Arnold respected the old soldier's silent preoccupation and waited untilhe should resume the conversation. 

The arrival of supper roused him from his reverie; he drew up a chairfor his guest and took his place at the opposite side of the table. 

"Come! fall to on the soup, " he cried brusquely. "I have had nothingsince morning but two swallows of cognac. I should eat an ox wholeto-night. "

To prove his words, he began to empty the huge porringer of soup beforehim. 

For several moments nothing was heard but the clatter of spoons followedby that of the knives cutting up the side of bacon served by thefarmer's wife. His walk and the fresh air had given Arnold himself anappetite that made him forget his Parisian daintiness. The supper grewgayer and gayer, when all at once the peasant raised his head. 

"And Farraut?" he asked. "I have not seen him since my return. "

His wife and the children looked at each other without answering. 

"Well, what is it?" went on Moser, who saw their embarrassment. "Whereis the dog? What has happened to him? Why don't you answer, Dorothée?"

"Don't be angry, father, " interrupted Jean; "we didn't dare tell you, but Farraut went away and has not come back. "

"A thousand devils! You should have told me!" cried the peasant, striking the table with his fist. "What road did he take?"

"The road to Garennes. "

"When was it?"

"After dinner: we saw him go up the little path. "

"Something must have happened to him, " said Moser, getting up. "The pooranimal is almost blind and there are sand pits all along the road! Gofetch my sheepskin and the lantern, wife. I must find Farraut, dead oralive. "

Dorothée went out without making any remark either about the hour or theweather, and soon reappeared with what her husband had asked for. 

"You must think a great deal of this dog, " said Arnold, surprised atsuch zeal. 

"It is not I, " answered Moser, lighting his pipe; "but he did goodservice to Dorothée's father. One day when the old man was on his wayhome from market with the price of his oxen in his pocket, four mentried to murder him for his money, and they would have done it if it hadnot been for Farraut; so when the good man died two years ago, he calledme to his bedside and asked me to care for the dog as for one of hischildren--those were his words. I promised, and it would be a crime notto keep one's promise to the dead. Fritz, give me my iron-shod stick. Iwouldn't have anything happen to Farraut for a pint of my blood. Theanimal has been in the family for twenty years--he knows us all by ourvoices--and he recalls the grandfather. I shall see you again, monsieur, and good-night until to-morrow. "

Moser wrapped himself in his sheepskin and went out. They could hear thesound of his iron-shod stick die away in the soughing of the wind andthe falling of the rain. 

After awhile the farmer's wife offered to conduct Arnold to his quartersfor the night, but Arnold asked permission to await the return of themaster of the house, if his return were not delayed too long. Hisinterest in the man who had at first seemed to him so vulgar, and in thehumble family whose existence he had thought to be so valueless, continued to increase. 

The vigil was prolonged, however, and Moser did not return. The childrenhad fallen asleep one after another, and even Jean, who had held out thelongest, had to seek his bed at last. Dorothée, uneasy, wentincessantly from the fireside to the door and from the door to thefireside. Arnold strove to reassure her, but her mind was excited bysuspense. She accused Moser of never thinking of his health or of hissafety; of always being ready to sacrifice himself for others; of beingunable to see a human being or an animal suffer without risking all torelieve it. As she went on with her complaint, which sounded strangelylike a glorification, her fears grew more vivid; she had a thousandgloomy forebodings. The dog had howled all through the previous night;an owl had perched upon the roof of the house; it was a Wednesday, always an unfortunate day in the family. Her fears reached such a pitchat last that the young man volunteered to go in search of her husband, and she was about to awaken Fritz to accompany him, when the sound offootsteps was heard outside. 

"It is Moser!" said the woman, stopping short. 

"Oho, there, open quickly, wife, " cried the farmer from without. 

She ran to draw the bolt, and Moser appeared, carrying in his arms theold blind dog. 

"Here he is, " he said gayly. "God help me! I thought I should never findhim: the poor brute had rolled to the bottom of the big stone quarry. "

"And you went there to get him?" asked Dorothée, horror-stricken. 

"Should I have left him at the bottom to find him drowned to-morrow?"asked the old soldier. "I slid down the length of the big mountain and Icarried him up in my arms like a child: the lantern was left behind, though. "

"But you risked your life, you foolhardy man!" cried Dorothée, who wasshuddering at her husband's explanation. 

The latter shrugged his shoulders. 

"Ah, bah!" he said with careless gayety; "who risks nothing has nothing;I have found Farraut--that's the principal thing. If the grandfathersees us from up there, he ought to be satisfied. "

This reflection, made in an almost indifferent tone, touched Arnold, whoheld out his hand impetuously to the peasant. 

"What you have done was prompted by a good heart, " he said with feeling. 

"What? Because I have kept a dog from drowning?" answered Moser. "Dogsand men--thank God I have helped more than one out of a hole since I wasborn; but I have sometimes had better weather than to-night to do it in. Say, wife, there must be a glass of cognac left; bring the bottle here;there is nothing that dries you better when you're wet. "

Dorothée brought the bottle to the farmer, who drank to his guest'shealth, and then each sought his bed. 

The next morning the weather was fine again; the sky was clear, and thebirds, shaking their feathers, sang on the still dripping trees. 

When he descended from the garret, where a bed had been prepared forhim, Arnold found near the door Farraut, who was warming himself in thesun, while little Jean, seated on his crutches, was making him a collarof eglantine berries. A little further on, in the first room, the farmerwas clinking glasses with a beggar who had come to collect his weeklytithe; Dorothée was holding his wallet, which she was filling. 

"Come, old Henri, one more draught, " said the peasant, refilling thebeggar's glass; "if you mean to finish your round you must takecourage. "

"That one always finds here, " said the beggar with a smile; "there arenot many houses in the parish where they give more, but there is not onewhere they give with such good will. "

"Be quiet, will you, Père Henri?" interrupted Moser; "do people talk ofsuch things? Drink and let the good God judge each man's actions. You, too, have served; we are old comrades. "

The old man contented himself with a shake of the head and touched hisglass to the farmer's; but one could see that he was more moved by theheartiness that accompanied the alms than the alms itself. 

When he had taken up his wallet again and bade them good-by, Moserwatched him go until he had disappeared around a bend in the road. Thendrawing a breath, he said, turning to his guest:

"One more poor old man without a home. You may believe me or not, monsieur, but when I see men with shaking heads going about like that, begging their bread from door to door, it turns my blood. I should liketo set the table for them all and touch glasses with them all as I didjust now with Père Henri. To keep your heart from breaking at such asight, you must believe that there is a world up there where those whohave not been summoned to the ordinary here will receive double rationsand double pay. "

"You must hold to that belief, " said Arnold; "it will support andconsole you. It will be long before I shall forget the hours I havepassed in your house, and I trust they will not be the last. "

"Whenever you choose, " said the old soldier; "if you don't find the bedup there too hard and if you can digest our bacon, come at yourpleasure, and we shall always be under obligations to you. "

He shook the hand that the young man had extended, pointed out the waythat he must take, and did not leave the threshold until he had seen hisguest disappear in the turn of the road. 

For some time Arnold walked with lowered head, but upon reaching thesummit of the hill he turned to take a last backward look, and seeingthe farm-house chimney, above which curled a light wreath of smoke, hefelt a tear of tenderness rise to his eye. 

"May God always protect those who live under that roof!" he murmured;"for where pride made me see creatures incapable of understanding thefiner qualities of the soul, I have found models for myself. I judgedthe depths by the surface and thought poetry absent because, instead ofshowing itself without, it hid itself in the heart of the thingsthemselves; ignorant observer that I was, I pushed aside with my footwhat I thought were pebbles, not guessing that in these rude stones werehidden diamonds. "

JOHN HOWARD PAYNE AND "HOME, SWEET HOME"

About a hundred years ago, a young man, little more than a boy, wasdrawing large audiences to the theaters of our eastern cities. New Yorkreceived him with enthusiasm, cultured Boston was charmed by his personand his graceful bearing, while warm-hearted Baltimore fairly outdidherself in hospitality. Until this time five hundred dollars was a largesum for a theater to yield in a single night in Baltimore, but peoplepaid high premiums to hear the boy actor, and a one-evening audiencebrought in more than a thousand dollars. 

About the same time in England another boy actor, Master Betty, wascreating great excitement, and him they called the Young Roscius, a namethat was quickly caught up by the admirers of the Yankee youth, who thenbecame known as the Young American Roscius. 

He was a wonderful boy in every way, was John Howard Payne. One of alarge family of children, several of whom were remarkably bright, he hadfrom his parents the most careful training, though they were not ablealways to give him the advantages they wished. John was born in New YorkCity, but early moved with his parents to East Hampton, the most easterntown on the jutting southern point of Long Island. Here in the charminglittle village he passed his childhood, a leader among his playmates, and a favorite among his elders. His slight form, rounded face, beautiful features and graceful bearing combined to attract also themarked attention of every stranger who met him. 

At thirteen years of age he was at work in New York, and soon wasdiscovered to be the editor in secret of a paper called _The ThespianMirror_. The merit of this juvenile sheet attracted the attention ofmany people, and among them of Mr. Seaman, a wealthy New Yorker whooffered the talented boy an opportunity to go to college free ofexpense. Young Payne gladly accepted the invitation, and proceeded toUnion College, where he soon became one of the most popular boys in theschool. His handsome face, graceful manners and elegant delivery weremet with applause whenever he spoke in public, and a natural taste ledhim to seek every chance for declamation and acting. Even as a child hehad showed his dramatic ability, and more than once he was urged to goupon the stage. But his father refused all offers and kept the boysteadily at his work. 

When he was seventeen, however, two events occurred which changed allhis plans. First his mother died, and then his father failed inbusiness, and the young man saw that he must himself take up the burdensof the family. Accordingly he left college before graduation and beganhis career as an actor. 

[Illustration: JOHN HOWARD PAYNE

1791-1852]

His success was immediate and unusual, if we may judge from the words ofcontemporary critics. His first appearance in Boston was on February24, 1809, as Douglas in _Young Norval_. In this play occurs thespeech that countless American boys have declaimed, "On the GrampianHills my father feeds his flocks. " Of Payne's rendition a critic says, "He had all the skill of a finished artist combined with the freshnessand simplicity of youth. Great praise, but there are few actors who canclaim any competition with him. " Six weeks later he was playing Hamletthere, and his elocution is spoken of as remarkable for its purity, hisaction as suited to the passion he represented, and his performance asan exquisite one that delighted his brilliant audience. 

 "Upon the stage, a glowing boy appeared Whom heavenly smiles and grateful thunders cheered; Then through the throng delighted murmurs ran. The boy enacts more wonders than a man. "

Another, writing about this time, says, "Young Payne was a perfect Cupidin his beauty, and his sweet voice, self-possessed yet modest manners, wit, vivacity and premature wisdom, made him a most engaging prodigy. "

And again, "A more engaging youth could not be imagined; he won allhearts by the beauty of his person and his captivating address, thepremature richness of his mind and his chaste and flowing utterance. "

His great successes here led him to go to England, where his popularitywas not nearly so great, and where the critics pounced upon himunmercifully, hurting his feelings beyond repair. Still he succeededmoderately both in England and on the Continent, until he turned hisattention to writing rather than to acting. _Brutus_, a tragedy, is theonly one of the sixty works which he wrote, translated or adapted, thatever is played nowadays. In _Clari, the Maid of Milan_, one of hisoperas, however, appeared a little song that has made the name of JohnHoward Payne eternally famous throughout the world. 

_Home, Sweet Home_ had originally four stanzas, but by common consentthe third and fourth have been dropped because of their inferiority. Thetwo remaining ones are sung everywhere with heartfelt appreciation, andthe air, whatever its origin, has now association only with the words ofthe old home song. Miss Ellen Tree, who sang it in the opera, charmedher audience instantly, and in the end won her husband through itsmelody. 

In 1823, 100, 000 copies were sold, and the publishers made 2, 000 guineasfrom it in two years. In fact, it enriched everybody who had anything todo with it, except Payne, who sold it originally for £30. 

Perhaps the most noteworthy incident connected with the public renditionof _Home, Sweet Home_ occurred in Washington at one of the theaterswhere Jenny Lind was singing before an audience composed of the firstpeople of our land. In one of the boxes sat the author, then on a visitto this country, and a favorite everywhere. The prima donna sang hergreatest classical music and moved her audience to the wildest applause. Then in response to the renewed calls she stepped to the front of thestage, turned her face to the box where the poet sat, and in a voice ofmarvelous pathos and power sang:

 "Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home! A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home, Home! Sweet, sweet Home! There's no place like Home! There's no place like Home!

[Illustration: THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME]

 "An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain! O, give me my lowly thatched cottage again! The birds singing gaily that came at my call;-- Give me them! and the peace of mind dearer than all! Home, Home! Sweet, sweet Home! There's no place like Home! There's no place like Home!"[226-1]

The audience were moved to tears. Even Daniel Webster, stern man of law, lost control of himself and wept like a child. 

Payne's later life was not altogether a happy one, and he felt someresentment against the world, although it may not have been justified. He was unmarried, but was no more homeless than most bachelors. Heexiled himself voluntarily from his own country, and so lost much of thedelightful result of his own early popularity. He may have been reducedto privation and suffering, but it was not for long at a time. Somewriters have sought to heighten effect by making the author of thegreatest song of home a homeless wanderer. The truth is that Payne'sunhappiness was largely the result of his own peculiarities. He wasgiven to poetic exaggeration, for there is now known to be little sternfact in the following oft-quoted writing of himself:

"How often have I been in the heart of Paris, Berlin, London or someother city, and have heard persons singing or hand organs playing _SweetHome_ without having a shilling to buy myself the next meal or a placeto lay my head! The world has literally sung my song until every heartis familiar with its melody, yet I have been a wanderer from myboyhood. My country has turned me ruthlessly from office and in my oldage I have to submit to humiliation for my bread. "

Upon his own request he was appointed United States consul at Tunis, andafter being removed from that office continued to reside there until hisdeath. He was buried in Saint George's Cemetery in Tunis, and there hisbody rested for more than thirty years, until W. W. Corcoran, a wealthyresident of Washington, had it disinterred, brought to this country andburied in the beautiful Oak Hill Cemetery near Washington. There a whitemarble shaft surmounted by a bust of the poet marks his last home. Onone side of the shaft is the inscription:

 John Howard Payne, Author of "Home, Sweet Home. " Born June 9, 1792. Died April 9, 1852. 

On the other side is chiseled this stanza:

 "Sure when thy gentle spirit fled To realms above the azure dome, With outstretched arms God's angels said Welcome to Heaven's Home, Sweet Home. "

Much sentiment has been wasted over Payne, who was really not a greatpoet and whose lack of stamina prevented him from grasping the poweralready in his hand. We should remember, too, that the astonishingpopularity of _Home, Sweet Home_ is doubtless due more to the gloriousmelody of the air, probably composed by some unknown Sicilian, than tothe wording of the two stanzas. 

When we study the verses themselves we see that the first three linesare rather fine, but the fourth line is clumsy and matter-of-factcompared with the others. In the second stanza "lowly thatched cottage"may be a poetic description, but the home longing is not confined topeople who have lived in thatched cottages. Tame singing birds areinteresting, but home stands for higher and holier things. All he asksfor are a thatched cottage, singing birds and peace of mind: a curiousgroup of things. The fourth line of that stanza is unmusical andinharmonious. 

These facts make us see that what really has made the song so dear to usis its sweet music and the powerful emotion that seizes us all when wethink of the home of our childhood. 

FOOTNOTES:

[226-1] Capitals and punctuation as written by Payne. 

AULD LANG SYNE[228-1]

_By_ ROBERT BURNS

 NOTE. --The song as we know it is not the first song to bear that title, nor is it entirely original with Robert Burns. It is said that the second and third stanzas were written by him, but that the others were merely revised. In a letter to a friend, written in 1793, Burns says, "The air (of _Auld Lang Syne_) is but mediocre; but the following song, the old song of the olden time, which has never been in print, nor even in manuscript, until I took it down from an old man's singing, is enough to recommend any air. " This refers to the song as we know it, but the friend, a Mr. Thompson, set the words to an old Lowland air which is the one every one now uses. 

 At an earlier date Burns wrote to another friend: "Is not the Scottish phrase, _auld lang syne_, exceedingly expressive? There is an old song and tune that has often thrilled through my soul. Light be the turf on the breast of the heaven-inspired poet who composed this glorious fragment. "

 We cannot be certain that this refers to the exact wording he subsequently set down, for there were at least three versions known at that time. 

 Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne?

 _For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, [229-2] For auld lang syne. _

 We twa[229-3] hae[229-4] run about the braes, [229-5] And pou'd[229-6] the gowans[229-7] fine; But we've wandered mony[229-8] a weary foot Sin'[229-9] auld lang syne. _For auld_, etc. 

 We twa hae paidl't[229-10] i' the burn, [229-11] Frae[229-12] mornin' sun till dine;[229-13] But seas between us braid[229-14] hae roared Sin' auld lang syne. _For auld_, etc. 

 And here's a hand, my trusty frere, [230-15] And gie's[230-16] a hand o' thine; And we'll tak a right guid[230-17] willie-waught[230-18] For auld lang syne. _For auld_, etc. 

[Illustration: FOR AULD LANG SYNE]

 And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup, [230-19] And surely I'll be mine; And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne. _For auld_, etc. 

FOOTNOTES:

[228-1] Literally, _Auld Lang Syne_ means _Old Long-Since_. It isdifficult to bring out the meaning of the Scotch phrase by a singleEnglish word. Perhaps _The Good Old Times_ comes as near to it asanything. The song gives so much meaning to the Scotch phrase that nowevery man and woman knows what _Auld Lang Syne_ really stands for. 

[229-2] That is, _we will drink for the sake of old times_. 

[229-3] _Twa_ means _two_. 

[229-4] _Hae_ is the Scotch for _have_. 

[229-5] A brae is a sloping hillside. 

[229-6] _Pou'd_ is a contracted form of _pulled_. 

[229-7] Dandelions, daisies and other yellow flowers are called _gowans_by the Scotch. 

[229-8] _Mony_ is _many_. 

[229-9] _Sin'_ is a contraction of _since_. 

[229-10] _Paidl't_ means _paddled_. 

[229-11] A burn is a brook. 

[229-12] _Frae_ is the Scotch word for _from_. 

[229-13] _Dine_ means _dinner-time_, _midday_. 

[229-14] _Braid_ is the Scotch form of _broad_. 

[230-15] _Frere_ means _friend_. 

[230-16] _Gie's_ is a contracted form of _give us_. 

[230-17] _Guid_ is the Scottish spelling of _good_. 

[230-18] A willie-waught is a hearty draught. 

[230-19] A pint-stoup is a pint-cup or flagon. 

HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD

_By_ ALFRED TENNYSON

 Home they brought her warrior dead: She nor swoon'd nor utter'd cry: All her maidens, watching, said, "She must weep or she will die. "

 Then they praised him, soft and low, Call'd him worthy to be loved, Truest friend and noblest foe; Yet she never spoke nor moved. 

 Stole a maiden from her place, Lightly to the warrior stept, Took a face-cloth from the face; Yet she neither moved nor wept. 

 Rose a nurse of ninety years, Set his child upon her knee-- Like summer tempest came her tears-- "Sweet my child, I live for thee. "

[Illustration]

CHARLES DICKENS

"To begin my life with the beginning of my life, " Dickens makes one ofhis heroes say, "I record that I was born (as I have been informed andbelieve) on a Friday, at twelve o'clock at night. " Dickens was born on aFriday, the date the 7th of February, 1812, the place Landport inPortsea, England. The house was a comfortable one, and during Charles'searly childhood his surroundings were prosperous; for his father, JohnDickens, a clerk in the navy pay-office, was temporarily in easycircumstances. When Charles was but two, the family moved to London, taking lodgings for a time in Norfolk Street, Bloomsbury, and finallysettling in Chatham. Here they lived in comfort, and here Charles gainedmore than the rudiments of an education, his earliest teacher being hismother, who instructed him not only in English, but in Latin also. Laterhe became the pupil of Mr. Giles, who seems to have taken in him anextraordinary interest. 

[Illustration: CHARLES DICKENS

1812-1870]

Indeed, he was a child in whom it was difficult not to take anextraordinary interest. Small for his years, and attacked occasionallyby a sort of spasm which was exceedingly painful, he was not fitted formuch active exercise; but the _aliveness_ which was apparent in him allhis life distinguished him now. He was very fond of reading, and in_David Copperfield_ he put into the mouth of his hero a descriptionof his own delight in certain books. "My father had left a smallcollection of books in a little room upstairs, to which I had access(for it adjoined my own), and which nobody else in our house evertroubled. From that blessed little room, _Roderick Random_, _PeregrinePickle_, _Humphrey Clinker_, _Tom Jones_, _The Vicar of Wakefield_, _DonQuixote_, _Gil Blas_ and _Robinson Crusoe_ came out, a glorious host, tokeep me company. They kept alive my fancy, . .. They, and the _ArabianNights_ and the _Tales of the Genii_--and did me no harm; for whateverharm was in some of them was not there for me; I knew nothing of it. .. . I have been Tom Jones (a child's Tom Jones, a harmless creature) for aweek together. I have sustained my own idea of Roderick Random for amonth at a stretch, I verily believe. I had a greedy relish for a fewvolumes of Voyages and Travels--I forget what, now--that were on thoseshelves; and for days and days I can remember to have gone about myregion of our house, armed with the center piece out of an old set ofboot-trees--the perfect realization of Captain Somebody, of the RoyalBritish Navy, in danger of being beset by savages, and resolved to sellhis life at a great price. "

Not only did the little Charles read all he could lay hands upon; hemade up stories, too, which he told to his small playmates, winningthereby their wondering admiration. Some of these tales he wrote down, and thus he became an author in a small way while he was yet a verysmall boy. His making believe to be the characters out of books showsanother trait which clung to him all his life--his fondness for"play-acting. " It was, in fact, often said of the mature Dickens thathe would have made as good an actor as he was a novelist, and Dickens'sfather seems to have recognized in his little son decided traces ofability; for often, when there was company at the house, little Charles, with his face flushed and his eyes shining, would be placed on a tableto sing a comic song, amid the applause of all present. 

His early days were thus very happy; but when he was about eleven yearsold, money difficulties beset the family, and they were obliged to moveto a poor part of London. Mrs. Dickens made persistent efforts to open aschool for young ladies, but no one ever showed the slightest intentionof coming. Matters went from bad to worse, and finally Mr. Dickens wasarrested for debt and taken to the Marshalsea prison. The time thatfollowed was a most painful one to the sensitive boy--far more painful, it would seem, than to the "Prodigal Father, " as Dickens later calledhim. This father, whom Dickens long afterward described, in _DavidCopperfield_, as Mr. Micawber, was, as his son was always most willingto testify, a kind, generous man; but he was improvident to the lastdegree; and when in difficulties which would have made melancholy anyother man, he was able, by the mere force of his rhetoric, to lifthimself above circumstances or to make himself happy in them. 

At length all the family except the oldest sister, who was at school, and Charles, went to live in the prison; and Charles was given work in ablacking-warehouse of which a relative of his mother's was manager. Thesufferings which the boy endured at this time were intense. It was notonly that the work was sordid, monotonous, uncongenial; it was not onlythat his pride was outraged; what hurt him most of all was that heshould have been "so easily cast away at such an age, " and that "no onemade any sign. " He had always yearned for an education; he had alwaysfelt that he must grow up to be worth something. And to see himselfcondemned, as he felt with the hopelessness of childhood, for life, tothe society of such boys as he found in the blacking-warehouse, wasalmost more than he could endure. During his later life, prosperous andhappy, he could scarcely bear to speak, even to his dearest friends, ofthis period of his life. 

Though this period of his life seemed to him long, it was not really so, for he was not yet thirteen when he was taken from the warehouse andsent to school. Once given a chance, he learned rapidly and easily, although in all probability the schools to which he went were not of thebest. After a year or two at school he again began work, but this timeunder more hopeful circumstances. He was, to be sure, but anunder-clerk--little more than an office-boy in a solicitor's office; butat least the surroundings were less sordid and the companions morecongenial. However, he had no intention of remaining an under-clerk, andhe set to work to make himself a reporter. 

Of his difficulties in mastering shorthand he has written feelingly inthat novel which contains so much autobiographical material--_DavidCopperfield_. "I bought an approved scheme of the noble art and mysteryof stenography . .. And plunged into a sea of perplexity that brought me, in a few weeks, to the confines of distraction. The changes that wererung upon dots, which in such a position meant such a thing, and in suchanother position something else, entirely different; the wonderfulvagaries that were played by circles; the unaccountable consequencesthat resulted from marks like flies' legs, the tremendous effect of acurve in the wrong place; not only troubled my waking hours, butreappeared before me in my sleep. "

When Dickens once made up his mind to do a thing, however, he alwayswent through with it, and before so very long he had perfected himselfin his "art and mystery, " and was one of the most rapid and accuratereporters in London. 

At nineteen he became a reporter of the speeches in Parliament. Beforetaking up his newspaper work, he made an attempt to go upon the stage;but it was not long before he found his true vocation, and abandoned allthought of the stage as a means of livelihood. In 1833 he published asketch in the _Old Monthly Magazine_, and this was the first of those_Sketches by Boz_ which were published at intervals for the next twoyears. 

The year 1836 was a noteworthy one for Dickens, for in that year hemarried Catherine Hogarth, the daughter of an associate on the_Chronicle_; and in that year began the publication of _The PosthumousPapers of the Pickwick Club_. The publication of the first few numberswakened no great enthusiasm, but with the appearance of the fifthnumber, in which Sam Weller is introduced, began that popularity whichdid not decline until Dickens's death. In fact, as one writer has said, "In dealing with Dickens, we are dealing with a man whose public successwas a marvel and almost a monstrosity. " Every one, old and young, serious and flippant, talked of _Pickwick_, and it was actuallyreported, by no less an authority than Thomas Carlyle, that a solemnclergyman, being told that he had not long to live, exclaimed, "Well, thank God, _Pickwick_ will be out in ten days anyway!"

_Oliver Twist_ followed, and then _Nicholas Nickleby_; and by this timeDickens began to get, what he did not receive from his first work, something like his fair share of the enormous profits, so that hisgrowing family lived in comfort, if not in luxury. When the _OldCuriosity Shop_, and, later, _Barnaby Rudge_, appeared, the number ofpurchasers of the serials rose as high as seventy thousand. 

Early in 1842 Dickens and his wife made a journey to America, leavingtheir children in the care of a friend. Shortly after arriving in theUnited States he wrote to a friend, "I can give you no conception of mywelcome here. There was never a king or emperor upon the earth socheered and followed by crowds, and entertained in public at splendidballs and dinners, and waited on by public bodies and deputations of allkinds;" and again, "In every town where we stay, though it be only for aday, we hold a regular levee or drawing-room, where I shake hands on anaverage with five or six hundred people. "

Dickens had come prepared to like America and Americans--and in manyways he did like them. But in other ways he was disappointed. Heventured to object, in various speeches, to the pirating, in America, ofEnglish literature, and fierce were the denunciations which this coursedrew upon him. Having fancied that in the republic of America he mighthave at least free speech on a matter which so closely concerned him, Dickens resented this treatment, and the Americans resented hisresentment. However, it was with the kindliest feelings toward the manyfriends he had made in the United States, and with the most out-spokenadmiration for many American institutions that he left for England. Thepublication of his _American Notes_ and of _Martin Chuzzlewit_ did nottend to reconcile Americans to Dickens; but there seems to have been nofalling off in the sale of his books in this country. 

Dickens's life, like the lives of most literary men, was notparticularly eventful. It was, however, a constantly busy life. Bookfollowed book in rapid succession, and still their popularity grew. Sometimes in London, sometimes in Italy or Rome or Switzerland, hecreated those wonderful characters of his which will live as long as theEnglish language. The first of the Christmas books, _A Christmas Carol_, appeared in 1843, and henceforward one of the things to which peoplelooked forward at Yuletide was the publication of a new DickensChristmas story. 

One diversion--if diversion it can be called--Dickens allowed himselfnot infrequently, and enjoyed most thoroughly. This was the production, sometimes before a selected audience, sometimes in public, of plays, inwhich Dickens himself usually took the chief part. Often these playswere given not only in London, but in various parts of the country, asbenefits for poor authors or actors, or for the widows and families ofsuch; and always they were astonishingly successful. It is reported thatan old stage prompter or property man said one time to Dickens "Lor, Mr. Dickens! If it hadn't been for them books, what an actor you wouldhave made. "

Naturally, a man of Dickens's eminence had as his friends andacquaintances many of the foremost men of his time, and a mostaffectionate and delightful friend he was. His letters fall no whitbelow the best of his writing in his novels in their power ofobservation, their brightness, their humorous manner of expression. 

In 1849 was begun the publication of _David Copperfield_, Dickens's ownfavorite among his novels. It contains, as has already been said, muchthat is autobiographical, and one of the most interesting facts inconnection with this phase of it is that there really was, in Dickens'syoung days, a "Dora" whom he worshiped. Years later he met her again, and what his feelings on that occasion must have been may be imaginedwhen we know that this Dora-grown-older was the original of "Flora" in_Little Dorrit_. 

The things that Dickens, writing constantly and copiously, found time todo are wonderful. One of the matters in which he took great interest andan active part was the children's theatricals. These were held each yearduring the Christmas holiday season at Dickens's home, and while hischildren and their friends were the principal actors, Dickenssuperintended the whole, introduced three-quarters of the fun, andplayed grown-up parts, adopting as his stage title the "Modern Garrick. "

Though the story of these crowded years is quickly told, the years werefar from being uneventful in their passing. Occasional sojourns, eitherwith his family or with friends, in France and in Italy always madeDickens but the more glad to be in his beloved London, where he seemedmost in his element and where his genius had freest play. This does notmean that he did not enjoy France and Italy, or appreciate theirbeauties, but simply that he was always an Englishman--a cityEnglishman. His observations, however, on what he saw in traveling werealways most acute and entertaining. 

His account of his well-nigh unsuccessful attempt to find the house ofMr. Lowther, English chargé d'affaires at Naples, with whom he had beeninvited to dine, may be quoted here to show his power of humorousdescription:

"We had an exceedingly pleasant dinner of eight, preparatory to which Iwas near having the ridiculous adventure of not being able to find thehouse and coming back dinnerless. I went in an open carriage from thehotel in all state, and the coachman, to my surprise, pulled up at theend of the Chiaja. 

"'Behold the house' says he, 'of Signor Larthoor!'--at the same timepointing with his whip into the seventh heaven, where the early starswere shining. 

"'But the Signor Larthoor, ' returns the Inimitable darling, 'lives atPausilippo. '

"'It is true, ' says the coachman (still pointing to the evening star), 'but he lives high up the Salita Sant' Antonio, where no carriage everyet ascended, and that is the house' (evening star as aforesaid), 'andone must go on foot. Behold the Salita Sant' Antonio!'

"I went up it, a mile and a half I should think. I got into thestrangest places, among the wildest Neapolitans--kitchens, washing-places, archways, stables, vineyards--was baited by dogs, answered in profoundly unintelligible Neapolitan, from behind lonelylocked doors, in cracked female voices, quaking with fear; could hear ofno such Englishman or any Englishman. By-and-by I came upon aPolenta-shop in the clouds, where an old Frenchman, with an umbrellalike a faded tropical leaf (it had not rained for six weeks) was staringat nothing at all, with a snuff-box in his hand. To him I appealedconcerning the Signor Larthoor. 

"'Sir, ' said he, with the sweetest politeness, 'can you speak French?'

"'Sir, ' said I, 'a little. '

"'Sir, ' said he, 'I presume the Signor Lootheere'--you will observe thathe changed the name according to the custom of his country--'is anEnglishman. '

"I admitted that he was the victim of circumstances and had thatmisfortune. 

"'Sir, ' said he, 'one word more. _Has_ he a servant with a wooden leg?'

"'Great Heaven, sir, ' said I, 'how do I know? I should think not, but itis possible. '

"'It is always, ' said the Frenchman, 'possible. Almost all the things ofthe world are always possible. '

"'Sir, ' said I--you may imagine my condition and dismal sense of my ownabsurdity by this time--'that is true. '

"He then took an immense pinch of snuff, wiped the dust off hisumbrella, led me to an arch commanding a wonderful view of the Bay ofNaples, and pointed deep into the earth from which I had mounted. 

"'Below there, near the lamp, one finds an Englishman, with a servantwith a wooden leg. It is always possible that he is the SignorLootheere. '

"I had been asked at six, and it was now getting on for seven. I wentdown again in a state of perspiration and misery not to be described, and without the faintest hope of finding the place. But as I was goingdown to the lamp, I saw the strangest staircase up a dark corner, with aman in a white waistcoat (evidently hired) standing on the top of itfuming. I dashed in at a venture, found it was the place, made the mostof the whole story, and was indescribably popular. "

"Indescribably popular" Dickens was almost every place he went. And in1858 there came to him increased popularity by reason of a new venture. In this year he began his public readings from his own works, whichbrought him in immense sums of money. Through England, Scotland, Irelandand the United States he journeyed, reading, as only he could read, scenes humorous and pathetic from his great novels, and everywhere theeffect was the same. 

Descriptive of an evening at Edinburgh, he wrote: "Such a pouring ofhundreds into a place already full to the throat, such indescribableconfusion, such a rending and tearing of dresses, and yet such a sceneof good humor on the whole!. .. I read with the platform crammed withpeople. I got them to lie down upon it, and it was like some impossibletableau or gigantic picnic; one pretty girl in full dress hang on herside all night, holding on to one of the legs of my table. And yet fromthe moment I began to the moment of my leaving off, they never missed apoint, and they ended with a burst of cheers. "

Meanwhile Dickens's domestic life had not been happy. He and his wifewere not entirely congenial in temper, and the incompatibility increasedwith the years, until in 1858 they agreed to live apart. Most of thechildren remained with their father, although they were given perfectfreedom to visit their mother. 

Among Dickens's later novels are the _Tale of Two Cities_, _GreatExpectations_, which is one of his very best books, and _Our MutualFriend_, which, while as a story it has many faults, yet abounds withthe humor and fancy which are characteristic of Dickens. In October, 1869, was begun _Edwin Drood_, which was published like most of itspredecessors, as a serial. Six numbers appeared, and there the storyclosed; for on June 9, 1870, Charles Dickens died, after an illness ofbut one day, during all of which he was unconscious. 

His family desired to have him buried near his home, the Gad's Hillwhich he had admired from his childhood and had purchased in hismanhood; but the general wish was that he should be laid in WestminsterAbbey, and to this wish his family felt that it would be wrong toobject. For days there were crowds of mourners about the grave, sheddingtears, scattering flowers, testifying to the depth of affection they hadfelt for the man who had given them so many happy hours. 

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

_By_ CHARLES DICKENS

STAVE ONE

_Marley's Ghost_

Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, theundertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge's namewas good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. OldMarley was as dead as a door-nail. 

Mind! I don't mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what thereis particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery inthe trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and myunhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country's done for. Youwill therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was asdead as a door-nail. 

Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise?Scrooge and he were partners for I don't know how many years. Scroogewas his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his soleresiduary legatee, his sole friend and sole mourner. And even Scroogewas not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was anexcellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnizedit with an undoubted bargain. 

The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I startedfrom. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctlyunderstood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going torelate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's Father diedbefore the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in histaking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turningout after dark in a breezy spot--say Saint Paul's Churchyard forinstance--literally to astonish his son's weak mind. 

Scrooge never painted out Old Marley's name. There it stood, yearsafterwards, above the warehouse door: Scrooge and Marley. The firm wasknown as Scrooge and Marley. Sometimes people new to the business calledScrooge Scrooge and sometimes Marley, but he answered to both names: itwas all the same to him. 

Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! asqueezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, oldsinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had even struck outgenerous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thinlips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rimewas on his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried hisown low temperature always about with him; he iced his office in thedog-days; and didn't thaw it one degree at Christmas. 

External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth couldwarm, nor wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer thanhe, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rainless open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where to have him. Theheaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet, could boast of theadvantage over him in only one respect. They often "came down"handsomely, and Scrooge never did. 

Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, "Mydear Scrooge, how are you? When will you come to see me?" No beggarsimplored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it waso'clock, no man or woman ever once in all his life inquired the way tosuch and such a place, of Scrooge. Even the blind men's dogs appeared toknow him; and when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners intodoorways and up courts; and then would wag their tails as though theysaid, "No eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark master!"

But what did Scrooge care? It was the very thing he liked. To edge hisway along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keepits distance, was what the knowing ones call "nuts" to Scrooge. 

Once upon a time--of all the good days in the year, on ChristmasEve--old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house. It was cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy withal: and he could hear the people in the courtoutside go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts, and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them. The Cityclocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark already: it hadnot been light all day: and candles were flaring in the windows of theneighboring offices, like ruddy smears upon the palpable brown air. Thefog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole, and was so densewithout, that although the court was of the narrowest, the housesopposite were mere phantoms. To see the dingy cloud come drooping down, obscuring everything, one might have thought that Nature lived hard by, and was brewing on a large scale. [247-1]

The door of Scrooge's counting-house was open that he might keep his eyeupon his clerk, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank, wascopying letters. Scrooge had a very small fire, but the clerk's fire wasso very much smaller that it looked like one coal. But he couldn'treplenish it, for Scrooge kept the coal-box in his own room; and sosurely as the clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted thatit would be necessary for them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on hiswhite comforter, and tried to warm himself at the candle; in whicheffort, not being a man of strong imagination, he failed. 

"A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!" cried a cheerful voice. It wasthe voice of Scrooge's nephew, who came upon him so quickly that thiswas the first intimation he had of his approach. 

"Bah!" said Scrooge. "Humbug!"

He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, thisnephew of Scrooge's, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy andhandsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again. 

"Christmas a humbug, uncle!" said Scrooge's nephew. "You don't meanthat, I am sure. "

"I do, " said Scrooge. "Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry?What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough. "

"Come, then, " returned the nephew gaily. "What right have you to bedismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough. "

Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, "Bah!" again; and followed it up with "Humbug. "

"Don't be cross, uncle, " said the nephew. 

"What else can I be, " returned the uncle, "when I live in such a worldof fools as this? Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas! What'sChristmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a timefor finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer; a time forbalancing your books and having every item in 'em through a round dozenmonths presented dead against you? If I could work my will, " saidScrooge, indignantly, "every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas'on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with astake of holly through his heart. He should!"

"Uncle!" pleaded the nephew. 

"Nephew!" returned the uncle, sternly, "keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine. "

"Keep it!" repeated Scrooge's nephew. "But you don't keep it. "

"Let me leave it alone, then, " said Scrooge. "Much good may it do you!Much good it has ever done you!"

"There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which Ihave not profited, I dare say, " returned the nephew: "Christmas amongthe rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when ithas come round--apart from the veneration due to its sacred name andorigin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that--as a goodtime: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I knowof, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by oneconsent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of peoplebelow them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, andnot another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, Ibelieve that it _has_ done me good, and _will_ do me good; and I say, God bless it!"

The clerk in the Tank involuntarily applauded: becoming immediatelysensible of the impropriety, he poked the fire, and extinguished thelast frail spark for ever. 

"Let me hear another sound from _you_, " said Scrooge, "and you'll keepyour Christmas by losing your situation. You're quite a powerfulspeaker, Sir, " he added, turning to his nephew. "I wonder you don't gointo Parliament. "

"Don't be angry, uncle. Come! Dine with us to-morrow. "

Scrooge said that he would see him--yes, indeed he did. He went thewhole length of the expression, and said that he would see him in thatextremity first. 

"But why?" cried Scrooge's nephew. "Why?"

"Why did you get married?" said Scrooge. 

"Because I fell in love. "

"Because you fell in love!" growled Scrooge, as if that were the onlyone thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry Christmas. "Goodafternoon!"

"Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that happened. Why giveit as a reason for not coming now?"

"Good afternoon, " said Scrooge. 

"I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot we befriends?"

"Good afternoon, " said Scrooge. 

"I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have neverhad any quarrel to which I have been a party. But I have made the trialin homage to Christmas, and I'll keep my Christmas humour to the last. So A Merry Christmas, uncle!"

"Good afternoon!" said Scrooge. 

"And A Happy New Year!"

"Good afternoon!" said Scrooge. 

His nephew left the room without an angry word, notwithstanding. Hestopped at the outer door to bestow the greetings of the season on theclerk, who, cold as he was, was warmer than Scrooge; for he returnedthem cordially. 

"There's another fellow, " muttered Scrooge; who overheard him: "myclerk, with fifteen shillings a week, and a wife and family, talkingabout a merry Christmas. I'll retire to Bedlam. "[251-2]

This lunatic, in letting Scrooge's nephew out, had let two other peoplein. They were portly gentlemen, pleasant to behold, and now stood, withtheir hats off, in Scrooge's office. They had books and papers in theirhands, and bowed to him. 

"Scrooge and Marley's, I believe, " said one of the gentlemen, referringto his list. "Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Scrooge, or Mr. Marley?"

"Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years, " Scrooge replied. "He diedseven years ago, this very night. "

"We have no doubt his liberality is well represented by his survivingpartner, " said the gentleman, presenting his credentials. 

It certainly was; for they had been two kindred spirits. At the ominousword "liberality, " Scrooge frowned, and shook his head, and handed thecredentials back. 

"At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge, " said the gentleman, taking up a pen, "it is more than usually desirable that we should makesome slight provision for the poor and destitute, who suffer greatly atthe present time. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries;hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, Sir. "

"Are there no prisons?" asked Scrooge. 

"Plenty of prisons, " said the gentleman, laying down the pen again. 

"And the Union workhouses?"[252-3] demanded Scrooge. "Are they still inoperation?"

"They are. Still, " returned the gentleman, "I wish I could say they werenot. "

"The Treadmill[252-4] and the Poor Law are in full vigour, then?" saidScrooge. 

"Both very busy, Sir. "

"Oh! I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something hadoccurred to stop them in their useful course, " said Scrooge. "I'm veryglad to hear it. "

"Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of mindor body to the multitude, " returned the gentleman, "a few of us areendeavoring to raise a fund to buy the poor some meat and drink, andmeans of warmth. We choose this time, because it is a time, of allothers, when want is keenly felt, and abundance rejoices. What shall Iput you down for?"

"Nothing!" Scrooge replied. 

"You wish to be anonymous?"

"I wish to be left alone, " said Scrooge. "Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself at Christmas, and I can't afford to make idle people merry. I help to support theestablishments I have mentioned: they cost enough: and those who arebadly off must go there. "

"Many can't go there; and many would rather die. "

"If they would rather die, " said Scrooge, "they had better do it, anddecrease the surplus population. Besides--excuse me--I don't know that. "

"But you might know it, " observed the gentleman. 

"It's not my business, " Scrooge returned. "It's enough for a man tounderstand his own business, and not to interfere with other people's. Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon, gentlemen!"

Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point, thegentlemen withdrew. Scrooge resumed his labours with an improved opinionof himself, and in more facetious temper than was usual with him. 

Meanwhile the fog and darkness thickened so, that the people ran aboutwith flaring links, [253-5] proffering their services to go before horsesin carriages, and conduct them on their way. The ancient tower of achurch, whose gruff old bell was always peeping slily down at Scroogeout of a gothic window in the wall, became invisible, and struck thehours and quarters in the clouds, with tremulous vibrations afterwardsas if its teeth were chattering in its frozen head up there. The coldbecame intense. In the main street at the corner of the court, somelabourers were repairing the gas-pipes, and had lighted a great fire ina brazier, round which a party of ragged men and boys were gathered:warming their hands and winking their eyes before the blaze in rapture. The water-plug being left in solitude, its overflowings sullenlycongealed, and turned to misanthropic ice. The brightness of the shopwhere holly sprigs and berries crackled in the lamp heat of the windows, made pale faces ruddy as they passed. Poulterers' and grocers' tradesbecame a splendid joke: a glorious pageant, with which it was next toimpossible to believe that such dull principles as bargain and sale hadanything to do. The Lord Mayor, in the stronghold of the mighty MansionHouse, gave orders to his fifty cooks and butlers to keep Christmas as aLord Mayor's household should; and even the little tailor, whom he hadfined five shillings on the previous Monday for being drunk andbloodthirsty in the streets, stirred up to-morrow's pudding in hisgarret, while his lean wife and the baby sallied out to buy the beef. 

Foggier yet, and colder! Piercing, searching, biting cold. If the goodSaint Dunstan[254-6] had but nipped the Evil Spirit's nose with a touchof such weather as that, instead of using his familiar weapons, thenindeed he would have roared to lusty purpose. The owner of one scantyoung nose, gnawed and mumbled by the hungry cold as bones are gnawed bydogs, stooped down at Scrooge's keyhole to regale him with a Christmascarol: but at the first sound of

 "God bless you, merry gentlemen! May nothing you dismay!"[254-7]

Scrooge seized the ruler with such energy of action, that the singerfled in terror, leaving the keyhole to the fog and even more congenialfrost. 

At length the hour of shutting up the counting-house arrived. With anill-will Scrooge dismounted from his stool, and tacitly admitted thefact to the expectant clerk in the Tank, who instantly snuffed hiscandle out, and put on his hat. 

[Illustration: THE CLERK SMILED FAINTLY]

"You'll want all day to-morrow, I suppose?" said Scrooge. 

"If quite convenient, Sir. "

"It's not convenient, " said Scrooge, "and it's not fair. If I was tostop half-a-crown for it, you'd think yourself ill-used, I'll be bound?"

The clerk smiled faintly. 

"And yet, " said Scrooge, "you don't think _me_ ill-used, when I pay aday's wages for no work. "

The clerk observed that it was only once a year. 

"A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty-fifth ofDecember!" said Scrooge, buttoning his great-coat to the chin. "But Isuppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier nextmorning!"

The clerk promised that he would; and Scrooge walked out with a growl. The office was closed in a twinkling, and the clerk, with the long endsof his white comforter dangling below his waist (for he boasted nogreat-coat), went down a slide on Cornhill, at the end of a lane ofboys, twenty times, in honour of its being Christmas Eve, and then ranhome to Camden Town as hard as he could pelt, to play atblindman's-buff. 

Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy tavern; andhaving read all the newspapers, and beguiled the rest of the eveningwith his banker's-book, went home to bed. He lived in chambers which hadonce belonged to his deceased partner. They were a gloomy suite ofrooms, in a lowering pile of building up a yard, where it had so littlebusiness to be, that one could scarcely help fancying it must have runthere when it was a young house, playing at hide-and-seek with otherhouses, and have forgotten the way out again. It was old enough now, anddreary enough, for nobody lived in it but Scrooge, the other roomsbeing all let out as offices. The yard was so dark that even Scrooge, who knew its every stone, was fain to grope with his hands. The fog andfrost so hung about the black old gateway of the house, that it seemedas if the Genius of the Weather sat in mournful meditation on thethreshold. Now, it is a fact, that there was nothing at all particularabout the knocker on the door, except that it was very large. It is alsoa fact, that Scrooge had seen it, night and morning, during his wholeresidence in that place; also that Scrooge had as little of what iscalled fancy about him as any man in the City of London, evenincluding--which is a bold word--the corporation, aldermen, and livery. Let it also be borne in mind that Scrooge had not bestowed one thoughton Marley, since his last mention of his seven-years' dead partner thatafternoon. And then let any man explain to me, if he can, how ithappened that Scrooge, having his key in the lock of the door, saw inthe knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate process of change, not a knocker, but Marley's face. 

Marley's face. It was not in impenetrable shadow as the other objects inthe yard were, but had a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster in adark cellar. It was not angry or ferocious, but looked at Scrooge asMarley used to look: with ghostly spectacles turned up on its ghostlyforehead. The hair was curiously stirred, as if by breath or hot air;and, though the eyes were wide open, they were perfectly motionless. That, and its livid colour, made it horrible; but its horror seemed tobe in spite of the face and beyond its control, rather than a part ofits own expression. 

As Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon, it was a knocker again. 

To say that he was not startled, or that his blood was not conscious ofa terrible sensation to which it had been a stranger from infancy, wouldbe untrue. But he put his hand upon the key he had relinquished, turnedit sturdily, walked in, and lighted his candle. 

He _did_ pause, with a moment's irresolution, before he shut the door;and he _did_ look cautiously behind it first, as if he half expected tobe terrified with the sight of Marley's pigtail sticking out into thehall. But there was nothing on the back of the door, except the screwsand nuts that held the knocker on; so he said "Pooh, pooh!" and closedit with a bang. 

The sound resounded through the house like thunder. Every room above, and every cask in the wine-merchant's cellars below, appeared to have aseparate peal of echoes of its own. Scrooge was not a man to befrightened by echoes. He fastened the door, and walked across the hall, and up the stairs, slowly too, trimming his candle as he went. 

You may talk vaguely about driving a coach-and-six up a good old flightof stairs, or through a bad young Act of Parliament; but I mean to sayyou might have got a hearse up that staircase, and taken it broadwise, with the splinter-bar[258-8] towards the wall, and the door towards thebalustrades: and done it easy. There was plenty of width for that, androom to spare; which is perhaps the reason why Scrooge thought he saw alocomotive hearse going on before him in the gloom. Half-a-dozengas-lamps out of the street wouldn't have lighted the entry too well, soyou may suppose that it was pretty dark with Scrooge's dip. 

Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for that: darkness is cheap, andScrooge liked it. But before he shut his heavy door, he walked throughhis rooms to see that all was right. He had just enough recollection ofthe face to desire to do that. 

Sitting-room, bedroom, lumber-room. All as they should be. Nobody underthe table, nobody under the sofa; a small fire in the grate; spoon andbasin ready; and the little saucepan of gruel (Scrooge had a cold in hishead) upon the hob. Nobody under the bed; nobody in the closet; nobodyin his dressing-gown, which was hanging up in a suspicious attitudeagainst the wall. Lumber-room as usual. Old fire-guard, old shoes, twofish-baskets, washing-stand on three legs, and a poker. 

Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked himself in;double-locked himself in, which was not his custom. Thus secured againstsurprise, he took off his cravat; put on his dressing-gown and slippers, and his nightcap; and sat down before the fire to take his gruel. 

It was a very low fire indeed; nothing on such a bitter night. He wasobliged to sit close to it, and brood over it, before he could extractthe least sensation of warmth from such a handful of fuel. The fireplacewas an old one, built by some Dutch merchant long ago, and paved allround with quaint Dutch tiles, designed to illustrate the Scriptures. There were Cains and Abels, Pharaoh's daughters, Queens of Sheba, angelic messengers descending through the air on clouds likefeather-beds, Abrahams, Belshazzars, Apostles putting off to sea inbutter-boats, hundreds of figures, to attract his thoughts; and yet thatface of Marley, seven years dead, came like the ancient Prophet's rod, and swallowed up the whole. If each smooth tile had been a blank atfirst, with power to shape some picture on its surface, from thedisjointed fragments of his thoughts, there would have been a copy ofold Marley's head on every one. 

"Humbug!" said Scrooge; and walked across the room. 

After several turns, he sat down again. As he threw his head back in thechair, his glance happened to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, thathung in the room, and communicated for some purpose now forgotten with achamber in the highest story of the building. It was with greatastonishment, and with a strange, inexplicable dread, that as he looked, he saw this bell begin to swing. It swung so softly in the outset thatit scarcely made a sound; but soon it rang out loudly, and so did everybell in the house. This might have lasted half a minute, or a minute, but it seemed an hour. The bells ceased as they had begun, together. They were succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below; as if someperson were dragging a heavy chain over the casks in the wine-merchant'scellar. Scrooge then remembered to have heard that ghosts in hauntedhouses were described as dragging chains. 

The cellar-door flew open with a booming sound, and then he heard thenoise much louder, on the floors below; then coming up the stairs; thencoming straight towards his door. 

"It's humbug still!" said Scrooge. "I won't believe it. "

His colour changed though, when, without a pause, it came on through theheavy door, and passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its comingin, the flame leaped up, as though it cried "I know him! Marley'sGhost!" and fell again. 

The same face: the very same. Marley in his pigtail, usual waistcoat, tights and boots; the tassels on the latter bristling, like his pigtail, and his coat-skirts, and the hair upon his head. The chain he drew wasclasped about his middle. It was long, and wound about him like a tail;and it was made (for Scrooge observed it closely) of cash-boxes, keys, padlocks, ledgers, deeds, and heavy purses wrought in steel. His bodywas transparent; so that Scrooge, observing him, and looking through hiswaistcoat, could see the two buttons on his coat behind. 

Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no bowels[261-9], but hehad never believed it until now. 

No, nor did he believe it even now. Though he looked the phantom throughand through, and saw it standing before him; though he felt the chillinginfluence of its death-cold eyes; and marked the very texture of thefolded kerchief bound about its head and chin, which wrapper he had notobserved before: he was still incredulous, and fought against hissenses. 

"How now!" said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. "What do you wantwith me?"

"Much!"--Marley's voice, no doubt about it. 

"Who are you?"

"Ask me who I _was_. "

"Who _were_ you then?" said Scrooge, raising his voice. "You'reparticular--for a shade. " He was going to say "_to_ a shade, " butsubstituted this, as more appropriate. 

"In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley. "

"Can you--can you sit down?" asked Scrooge, looking doubtfully at him. 

"I can. "

"Do it then. "

Scrooge asked the question, because he didn't know whether a ghost sotransparent might find himself in a condition to take a chair; and feltthat in the event of its being impossible, it might involve thenecessity of an embarrassing explanation. But the Ghost sat down on theopposite side of the fireplace, as if he were quite used to it. 

"You don't believe in me, " observed the Ghost. 

"I don't, " said Scrooge. 

"What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of your senses?"

"I don't know, " said Scrooge. 

"Why do you doubt your senses?"

"Because, " said Scrooge, "a little thing affects them. A slight disorderof the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!"

Scrooge was not much in the habit of cracking jokes, nor did he feel, inhis heart, by any means waggish then. The truth is, that he tried to besmart, as a means of distracting his own attention, and keeping down histerror; for the spectre's voice disturbed the very marrow in his bones. 

[Illustration: "IN LIFE I WAS YOUR PARTNER, JACOB MARLEY"]

To sit staring at those fixed, glazed eyes in silence for a moment, would play, Scrooge felt, the very deuce with him. There was somethingvery awful, too, in the spectre's being provided with an infernalatmosphere of its own. Scrooge could not feel it himself, but this wasclearly the case; for though the Ghost sat perfectly motionless, itshair, and skirts, and tassels, were still agitated as by the hot vapourfrom an oven. 

"You see this toothpick?" said Scrooge, returning quickly to the charge, for the reason just assigned; and wishing, though it were only for asecond, to divert the vision's stony gaze from himself. 

"I do, " replied the Ghost. 

"You are not looking at it, " said Scrooge. 

"But I see it, " said the Ghost, "notwithstanding. "

"Well!" returned Scrooge. "I have but to swallow this, and be for therest of my days persecuted by a legion of goblins, all of my owncreation. Humbug, I tell you--humbug!"

At this the spirit raised a frightful cry, and shook its chain with sucha dismal and appalling noise, that Scrooge held on tight to his chair, to save himself from falling in a swoon. But how much greater was hishorror, when, the phantom taking off the bandage round its head, as ifit were too warm to wear indoors, its lower jaw dropped down upon itsbreast!

Scrooge fell upon his knees, and clasped his hands before his face. 

"Mercy!" he said. "Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me?"

"Man of the worldly mind!" replied the Ghost, "do you believe in me ornot?"

"I do, " said Scrooge. "I must. But why do spirits walk the earth, andwhy do they come to me?"

"It is required of every man, " the Ghost returned, "that the spiritwithin him should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far andwide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to doso after death. It is doomed to wander through the world--oh, woe isme!--and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to happiness!"

Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain, and wrung itsshadowy hands. 

"You are fettered, " said Scrooge, trembling. "Tell me why?"

"I wear the chain I forged in life, " replied the Ghost. "I made it linkby link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of myown free will I bore it. Is its pattern strange to _you_?"

Scrooge trembled more and more. 

"Or would you know, " pursued the Ghost, "the weight and length of thestrong coil you bear yourself? It was full as heavy and as long as this, seven Christmas Eves ago. You have laboured on it, since. It is aponderous chain!"

Scrooge glanced about him on the floor, in the expectation of findinghimself surrounded by some fifty or sixty fathoms of iron cable: but hecould see nothing. 

"Jacob, " he said, imploringly. "Old Jacob Marley, tell me more. Speakcomfort to me, Jacob. "

"I have none to give, " the Ghost replied. "It comes from other regions, Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds ofmen. Nor can I tell you what I would. A very little more, is allpermitted to me. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere. My spirit never walked beyond our counting-house--mark me!--in life myspirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing holeand weary journeys lie before me!"

It was a habit with Scrooge, whenever he became thoughtful, to put hishands in his breeches pockets. Pondering on what the Ghost had said, hedid so now, but without lifting his eyes, or getting off his knees. "Youmust have been very slow about it, Jacob, " Scrooge observed, in abusiness-like manner, though with humility and deference. 

"Slow!" the Ghost repeated. 

"Seven years dead, " mused Scrooge. "And travelling all the time!"

"The whole time, " said the Ghost. "No rest, no peace. Incessant tortureof remorse. "

"You travel fast?" said Scrooge. 

"On the wings of the wind, " replied the Ghost. 

"You might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven years, "said Scrooge. 

The Ghost, on hearing this, set up another cry, and clanked its chain sohideously in the dead silence of the night, that the Ward would havebeen justified in indicting it for a nuisance. 

"Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed, " cried the phantom, "not toknow, that ages of incessant labour, by immortal creatures, for thisearth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptibleis all developed. Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindlyin its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life tooshort for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space ofregret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused! Yet such wasI! Oh! such was I!"

"But you were always a good man of business, Jacob, " faltered Scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself. 

"Business!" cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. "Mankind was mybusiness. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business. The dealings of mytrade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of mybusiness!"

It held up its chain at arm's length, as if that were the cause of allits unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground again. 

"At this time of the rolling year, " the spectre said, "I suffer most. Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to apoor abode! Were there no poor homes to which its light would haveconducted _me_?"

Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the spectre going on at thisrate, and began to quake exceedingly. 

"Hear me!" cried the Ghost. "My time is nearly gone. "

"I will, " said Scrooge. "But don't be hard upon me! Don't be flowery, Jacob! Pray!"

"How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you can see, I maynot tell. I have sat invisible beside you many and many a day. "

It was not an agreeable idea. Scrooge shivered, and wiped theperspiration from his brow. 

"That is no light part of my penance, " pursued the Ghost. "I am hereto-night to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping myfate. A chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer. "

"You were always a good friend to me, " said Scrooge. "Thank'ee!"

"You will be haunted, " resumed the Ghost, "by Three Spirits. "

Scrooge's countenance fell almost as low as the Ghost's had done. 

"Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob, " he demanded, in afaltering voice. 

"It is. "

"I--I think I'd rather not, " said Scrooge. 

"Without their visits, " said the Ghost, "you cannot hope to shun thepath I tread. Expect the first to-morrow, when the bell tolls one. "

"Couldn't I take 'em all at once, and have it over, Jacob?" hintedScrooge. 

"Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third uponthe next night when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you rememberwhat has passed between us!"

When it had said these words, the spectre took its wrapper from thetable, and bound it round its head, as before. Scrooge knew this, by thesmart sound its teeth made, when the jaws were brought together by thebandage. He ventured to raise his eyes again, and found his supernaturalvisitor confronting him in an erect attitude, with its chain wound overand about its arm. 

The apparition walked backward from him; and at every step it took, thewindow raised itself a little, so that when the spectre reached it, itwas wide open. It beckoned Scrooge to approach, which he did. When theywere within two paces of each other, Marley's Ghost held up its hand, warning him to come no nearer. Scrooge stopped. 

Not so much in obedience, as in surprise and fear: for on the raising ofthe hand, he became sensible of confused noises in the air; incoherentsounds of lamentation and regret; wailings inexpressibly sorrowful andself-accusatory. The spectre, after listening for a moment, joined inthe mournful dirge; and floated out upon the bleak, dark night. 

Scrooge followed to the window: desperate in his curiosity. He lookedout. 

The air was filled with phantoms, wandering hither and thither inrestless haste, and moaning as they went. Every one of them wore chainslike Marley's Ghost; some few (they might be guilty governments) werelinked together; none were free. Many had been personally known toScrooge in their lives. He had been quite familiar with one old ghost, in a white waistcoat, with a monstrous iron safe attached to his ankle, who cried piteously at being unable to assist a wretched woman with aninfant, whom it saw below upon a door-step. The misery with them allwas, clearly, that they sought to interfere, for good, in human matters, and had lost the power for ever. 

Whether these creatures faded into mist, or mist enshrouded them, hecould not tell. But they and their spirit voices faded together; and thenight became as it had been when he walked home. 

Scrooge closed the window, and examined the door by which the Ghost hadentered. It was double-locked, as he had locked it with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say "Humbug!" but stopped atthe first syllable. And being, from the emotion he had undergone, or thefatigues of the day, or his glimpse of the Invisible World, or the dullconversation of the Ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much in need ofrepose; went straight to bed, without undressing, and fell asleep uponthe instant. 

STAVE TWO

_The First of the Three Spirits_

When Scrooge awoke, it was so dark, that looking out of bed, he couldscarcely distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of hischamber. He was endeavoring to pierce the darkness with his ferret eyes, when the chimes of a neighboring church struck the four quarters. So helistened for the hour. 

To his great astonishment the heavy bell went on from six to seven, andfrom seven to eight, and regularly up to twelve; then stopped. Twelve!It was past two when he went to bed. The clock was wrong. An icicle musthave got into the works. Twelve!

He touched the spring of his repeater, to correct this most preposterousclock. Its rapid little pulse beat twelve; and stopped. 

"Why, it isn't possible, " said Scrooge, "that I can have slept through awhole day and far into another night. It isn't possible that anythinghas happened to the sun, and this is twelve at noon!"

The big idea being an alarming one, he scrambled out of bed, and gropedhis way to the window. He was obliged to rub the frost off with thesleeve of his dressing-gown before he could see anything; and could seevery little then. All he could make out was, that it was still veryfoggy and extremely cold, and that there was no noise of people runningto and fro, and making a great stir, as there unquestionably would havebeen if night had beaten off bright day, and taken possession of theworld. This was a great relief, because "three days after sight of thisFirst of Exchange pay to Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge or his order, " and soforth, would have become a mere United States' security if there were nodays to count by. 

Scrooge went to bed again, and thought, and thought, and thought it overand over and over, and could make nothing of it. The more he thought, the more perplexed he was; and the more he endeavoured not to think, themore he thought. Marley's Ghost bothered him exceedingly. Every time heresolved within himself, after mature inquiry, that it was all a dream, his mind flew back again, like a strong spring released, to its firstposition, and presented the same problem to be worked all through, "Wasit a dream or not?"

Scrooge lay in this state until the chimes had gone three quarters more, when he remembered, on a sudden, that the Ghost had warned him of avisitation when the bell tolled one. He resolved to lie awake until thehour was passed; and, considering that he could no more go to sleep thango to Heaven, this was perhaps the wisest resolution in his power. 

The quarter was so long, that he was more than once convinced he musthave sunk into a doze unconsciously, and missed the clock. At length itbroke upon his listening ear. 

"Ding, dong!"

"A quarter past, " said Scrooge, counting. 

"Ding, dong!"

"Half-past!" said Scrooge. 

"Ding, dong!"

"A quarter to it, " said Scrooge. 

"Ding, dong!"

"The hour itself, " said Scrooge, triumphantly, "and nothing else!"

He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it now did with a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy One. Light flashed up in the room upon theinstant, and the curtains of his bed were drawn. 

The curtains of his bed were drawn aside, I tell you, by a hand. Not thecurtains at his feet, nor the curtains at his back, but those to whichhis face was addressed. The curtains of his bed were drawn aside; andScrooge, starting up into a half-recumbent attitude, found himself faceto face with the unearthly visitor who drew them: as close to it as I amnow to you, and I am standing in the spirit at your elbow. 

It was a strange figure--like a child: yet not so like a child as likean old man, viewed through some supernatural medium, which gave him theappearance of having receded from the view, and being diminished to achild's proportions. Its hair, which hung about its neck and down itsback, was white as if with age; and yet the face had not a wrinkle init, and the tenderest bloom was on the skin. The arms were very long andmuscular; the hands the same, as if its hold were of uncommon strength. Its legs and feet, most delicately formed, were, like those uppermembers, bare. It wore a tunic of the purest white; and round its waistwas bound a lustrous belt, the sheen of which was beautiful. It held abranch of fresh green holly in its hand; and, in singular contradictionof that wintry emblem, had its dress trimmed with summer flowers. Butthe strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of its head theresprang a bright clear jet of light, by which all this was visible; andwhich was doubtless the occasion of its using, in its duller moments, agreat extinguisher for a cap, which it now held under its arm. 

Even this, though, when Scrooge looked at it with increasing steadiness, was _not_ its strangest quality. For as its belt sparkled and glitterednow in one part and now in another, and what was light one instant, atanother time was dark, so the figure itself fluctuated in itsdistinctness: being now a thing with one arm, now with one leg, now withtwenty legs, now a pair of legs without a head, now a head without abody: of which dissolving parts, no outline would be visible in thedense gloom wherein they melted away. And in the very wonder of this, itwould be itself again; distinct and clear as ever. 

"Are you the Spirit, Sir, whose coming was foretold to me?" askedScrooge. 

"I am!"

The voice was soft and gentle. Singularly low, as if instead of being soclose beside him, it were at a distance. 

"Who, and what are you?" Scrooge demanded. 

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past. "

"Long past?" inquired Scrooge, observant of its dwarfish stature. 

"No. Your past. "

Perhaps, Scrooge could not have told anybody why, if anybody could haveasked him; but he had a special desire to see the Spirit in his cap;and begged him to be covered. 

"What!" exclaimed the Ghost, "would you so soon put out, with worldlyhands, the light I give? Is it not enough that you are one of thosewhose passions made this cap, and force me through whole trains of yearsto wear it low upon my brow!"

Scrooge reverently disclaimed all intention to offend, and then madebold to inquire what business brought him there. 

"Your welfare!" said the Ghost. 

Scrooge expressed himself much obliged, but could not help thinking thata night of unbroken rest would have been more conducive to that end. Thespirit must have heard him thinking, for it said immediately: "Yourreclamation, then. Take heed!"

It put out its strong hand as it spoke, and clasped him gently by thearm. 

"Rise! and walk with me!"

It would have been in vain for Scrooge to plead that the weather and thehour were not adapted to pedestrian purposes; that bed was warm, and thethermometer a long way below freezing; that he was clad but lightly inhis slippers, dressing-gown, and nightcap; and that he had a cold uponhim at that time. The grasp, though gentle as a woman's hand, was not tobe resisted. He rose: but finding that the Spirit made towards thewindow, clasped its robe in supplication. 

"I am a mortal, " Scrooge remonstrated, "and liable to fall. "

"Bear but a touch of my hand _there_, " said the Spirit, laying it uponhis heart, "and you shall be upheld in more than this!"

As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, and stood uponan open country road, with fields on either hand. The city had entirelyvanished. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the misthad vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snowupon the ground. 

"Good Heaven!" said Scrooge, clasping his hands together, as he lookedabout him. "I was bred in this place. I was a boy here!"

The Spirit gazed upon him mildly. Its gentle touch, though it had beenlight and instantaneous, appeared still present to the old man's senseof feeling. He was conscious of a thousand odors floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, andcares long, long forgotten!

"Your lip is trembling, " said the Ghost. "And what is that upon yourcheek?"

Scrooge muttered, with an unusual catching in his voice, that it was apimple; and begged the Ghost to lead him where he would. 

"You recollect the way?" inquired the Spirit. 

"Remember it!" cried Scrooge with fervor--"I could walk it blindfold. "

"Strange to have forgotten it for so many years!" observed the Ghost. "Let us go on. "

They walked along the road; Scrooge recognizing every gate, and post, and tree; until a little market-town appeared in the distance, with itsbridge, its church, and winding river. Some shaggy ponies now were seentrotting towards them with boys upon their backs, who called to otherboys in country gigs and carts, driven by farmers. All these boys werein great spirits, and shouted to each other, until the broad fields wereso full of merry music, that the crisp air laughed to hear it. 

"These are but shadows of the things that have been, " said the Ghost. "They have no consciousness of us. "

The jocund travellers came on; and as they came, Scrooge knew and namedthem every one. Why was he rejoiced beyond all bounds to see them! Whydid his cold eye glisten, and his heart leap up as they went past! Whywas he filled with gladness when he heard them give each other MerryChristmas, as they parted at cross-roads and bye-ways, for their severalhomes! What was merry Christmas to Scrooge? Out upon merry Christmas!What good had it ever done to him?

"The school is not quite deserted, " said the Ghost. "A solitary child, neglected by his friends, is left there still. "

Scrooge said he knew it. And he sobbed. 

They left the high-road, by a well-remembered lane, and soon approacheda mansion of dull red brick, with a little weathercock-surmountedcupola, on the roof, and a bell hanging in it. It was a large house, butone of broken fortunes; for the spacious offices were little used, theirwalls were damp and mossy, their windows broken, and their gatesdecayed. Fowls clucked and strutted in the stables; and the coach-housesand sheds were overrun with grass. Nor was it more retentive of itsancient state, within; for entering the dreary hall, and glancingthrough the open doors of many rooms, they found them poorly furnished, cold, and vast. There was an earthy savour in the air, a chilly barenessin the place, which associated itself somehow with too much getting upby candle-light, and not too much to eat. 

They went, the Ghost and Scrooge, across the hall, to a door at the backof the house. It opened before them, and disclosed a long, bare, melancholy room, made barer still by lines of plain deal forms anddesks. At one of these a lonely boy was reading near a feeble fire; andScrooge sat down upon a form, and wept to see his poor forgotten self ashe had used to be. 

Not a latent echo in the house, not a squeak and scuffle from the micebehind the panelling, not a drip from the half-thawed water-spout in thedull yard behind, not a sigh among the leafless boughs of one despondentpoplar, not the idle swinging of an empty store-house door, no, not aclicking in the fire, but fell upon the heart of Scrooge with softeninginfluence, and gave a freer passage to his tears. 

The spirit touched him on the arm, and pointed to his younger self, intent upon his reading. Suddenly a man in foreign garments: wonderfullyreal and distinct to look at: stood outside the window, with an axestuck in his belt, and leading an ass laden with wood by the bridle. 

"Why, it's Ali Baba!"[277-10] Scrooge exclaimed in ecstasy. "It's dearold honest Ali Baba! Yes, yes, I know! One Christmas time, when yondersolitary child was left here all alone, he _did_ come, for the firsttime, just like that. Poor boy! And Valentine, " said Scrooge, "and hiswild brother, Orson; there they go! And what's his name, who was putdown in his drawers, asleep, at the Gate of Damascus; don't you see him!And the Sultan's Groom turned upside down by the Genii; there he is uponhis head! Serve him right. I'm glad of it. What business had _he_ to bemarried to the Princess!"

To hear Scrooge expending all the earnestness of his nature on suchsubjects, in a most extraordinary voice between laughing and crying; andto see his heightened and excited face; would have been a surprise tohis business friends in the City, indeed. 

"There's the Parrot!" cried Scrooge. "Green body and yellow tail, with athing like a lettuce growing out of the top of his head; there he is!Poor Robin Crusoe, he called him, when he came home again after sailinground the island. 'Poor Robin Crusoe, where have you been, RobinCrusoe?' The man thought he was dreaming, but he wasn't. It was theParrot, you know. There goes Friday, running for his life to the littlecreek! Halloa! Hoop! Halloo!"

Then, with a rapidity of transition very foreign to his usual character, he said, in pity for his former self, "Poor boy!" and cried again. 

"I wish, " Scrooge muttered, putting his hand in his pocket, and lookingabout him, after drying his eyes with his cuff: "but it's too late now. "

"What is the matter?" asked the Spirit. 

"Nothing, " said Scrooge. "Nothing. There was a boy singing a ChristmasCarol at my door last night. I should like to have given him something:that's all. "

The Ghost smiled thoughtfully, and waved its hand: saying as it did so, "Let us see another Christmas!"

Scrooge's former self grew larger at the words, and the room became alittle darker and more dirty. The panels shrank, the windows cracked;fragments of plaster fell out of the ceiling, and the naked laths wereshown instead; but how all this was brought about, Scrooge knew no morethan you do. He only knew that it was quite correct; that everything hadhappened so; that there he was, alone again, when all the other boys hadgone home for the jolly holidays. 

He was not reading now, but walking up and down despairingly. Scroogelooked at the Ghost, and with a mournful shaking of his head, glancedanxiously towards the door. 

It opened; and a little girl, much younger than the boy, came dartingin, and putting her arms about his neck, and often kissing him, addressed him as her "Dear, dear brother. "

"I have come to bring you home, dear brother!" said the child, clappingher tiny hands, and bending down to laugh. "To bring you home, home, home!"

"Home, little Fan?" returned the boy. 

"Yes!" said the child, brimful of glee. "Home, for good and all. Home, for ever and ever. Father is so much kinder than he used to be, thathome's like Heaven! He spoke so gently to me one dear night when I wasgoing to bed, that I was not afraid to ask him once more if you mightcome home; and he said Yes, you should; and sent me in a coach to bringyou. And you're to be a man!" said the child, opening her eyes, "and arenever to come back here; but first, we're to be together all theChristmas long, and have the merriest time in all the world. "

"You are quite a woman, little Fan!" exclaimed the boy. 

She clapped her hands and laughed, and tried to touch his head; butbeing too little, laughed again, and stood on tiptoe to embrace him. Then she began to drag him, in her childish eagerness, towards the door;and he, nothing loth to go, accompanied her. 

A terrible voice in the hall cried, "Bring down Master Scrooge's box, there!" and in the hall appeared the schoolmaster himself, who glared onMaster Scrooge with a ferocious condescension, and threw him into adreadful state of mind by shaking hands with him. He then conveyed himand his sister into the veriest old well of a shivering best-parlor thatever was seen, where the maps upon the wall, and the celestial andterrestrial globes in the windows, were waxy with cold. Here he produceda decanter of curiously light wine, and a block of curiously heavy cake, and administered instalments of those dainties to the young people: atthe same time, sending out a meagre servant to offer a glass of"something" to the postboy, who answered that he thanked the gentleman, but if it was the same tap as he had tasted before, he had rather not. Master Scrooge's trunk being by this time tied on to the top of thechaise, the children bade the schoolmaster good-bye right willingly; andgetting into it, drove gaily down the garden-sweep: the quick wheelsdashing the hoar-frost and snow from off the dark leaves of theevergreens like spray. 

"Always a delicate creature, whom a breath might have withered, " saidthe Ghost. "But she had a large heart!"

"So she had, " cried Scrooge. "You're right. I'll not gainsay it, Spirit. God forbid!"

"She died a woman, " said the Ghost, "and had, as I think, children. "

[Illustration: IN THE BEST PARLOR]

"One child, " Scrooge returned. 

"True, " said the Ghost. "Your nephew!"

Scrooge seemed uneasy in his mind; and answered briefly, "Yes. "

Although they had but that moment left the school behind them, they werenow in the busy thoroughfares of a city, where shadowy passengerspassed and repassed; where shadowy carts and coaches battled for theway, and all the strife and tumult of a real city were. It was madeplain enough, by the dressing of the shops, that here, too, it wasChristmas time again; but it was evening, and the streets were lightedup. 

The Ghost stopped at a certain warehouse door, and asked Scrooge if heknew it. 

"Know it!" said Scrooge. "Was I apprenticed here?"

They went in. At sight of an old gentleman in a Welsh wig, sittingbehind such a high desk, that if he had been two inches taller he musthave knocked his head against the ceiling, Scrooge cried in greatexcitement:

"Why, it's old Fezziwig! Bless his heart; it's Fezziwig alive again!"

Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, whichpointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted hiscapacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to hisorgan of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice:

"Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!"

Scrooge's former self, now grown a young man, came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-'prentice. 

"Dick Wilkins, to be sure!" said Scrooge to the Ghost. "Bless me, yes. There he is. He was very much attached to me, was Dick. Poor Dick! Dear, dear!"

"You ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig. "No more work to-night. Christmas Eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters up, " cried oldFezziwig, with a sharp clap of his hands, "before a man can say JackRobinson!"

You wouldn't believe how those two fellows went at it! They charged intothe street with the shutters--one, two, three--had 'em up in theirplaces--four, five, six--barred 'em and pinned 'em--seven, eight, nine--and came back before you could have got to twelve, panting likerace horses. 

"Hilli-ho!" cried old Fezziwig, skipping down from the high desk, withwonderful agility. "Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of roomhere! Hilli-ho, Dick; Chirrup, Ebenezer!"

Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, orcouldn't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done ina minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed frompublic life for ever more; the floor was swept and watered, the lampswere trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire, and the warehouse was assnug, and warm, and dry, and bright a ball-room, as you would desire tosee upon a winter's night. 

In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, andmade an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In cameMrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three MissFezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whosehearts they broke. In came all the young men and women employed in thebusiness. In came the housemaid, with her cousin, the baker. In came thecook, with her brother's particular friend, the milkman. In came the boyfrom over the way, who was suspected of not having board enough from hismaster; trying to hide himself behind the girl from next door but one, who was proved to have had her ears pulled by her mistress. In they allcame, one after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, someawkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow andeveryhow. Away they all went, twenty couple at once, hands half roundand back again the other way; down the middle and up again, round andround in various stages of affectionate grouping; old top couple alwaysturning up in the wrong place; new top couple starting off again as soonas they got there; all top couples at last, and not a bottom one to helpthem. When this result was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping hishands to stop the dance, cried out, "Well done!" and the fiddler plungedhis hot face into a pot of porter, especially provided for that purpose. But scorning rest upon his reappearance, he instantly began again, though there were no dancers yet, as if the other fiddler had beencarried home, exhausted, on a shutter; and he were a bran-new manresolved to beat him out of sight, or perish. 

There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, andthere was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of ColdRoast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there weremince-pies, and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening cameafter the Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler (an artful, dog, mind! Thesort of man who knew his business better than you or I could have toldit him!) struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley. "[284-11] Then old Fezziwigstood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too; with a goodstiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty pair ofpartners; people who were not to be trifled with; people who _would_dance, and had no notion of walking. 

[Illustration: THE FIDDLER STRUCK UP "SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY"]

But if they had been twice as many: ah, four times: old Fezziwig wouldhave been a match for them, and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to _her_, shewas worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. If that's nothigh praise, tell me higher, and I'll use it. A positive light appearedto issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of the dancelike moons. You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, what wouldbecome of 'em next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone allthrough the dance; advance and retire, hold hands with your partner; bowand curtsey; corkscrew; thread-the-needle, and back again to your place;Fezziwig "cut"--cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs, and came upon his feet again without a stagger. 

When the clock struck eleven, this domestic ball broke up. Mr. And Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side the door, and shakinghands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished himor her a Merry Christmas. 

When everybody had retired but the two 'prentices, they did the same tothem; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left totheir beds; which were under a counter in the back-shop. 

During the whole of this time, Scrooge had acted like a man out of hiswits. His heart and soul were in the scene, and with his former self. Hecorroborated everything, remembered everything, enjoyed everything, andunderwent the strangest agitation. It was not until now, when the brightfaces of his former self and Dick were turned from them, that heremembered the Ghost, and became conscious that it was looking full uponhim, while the light upon its head burnt very clear. 

"A small matter, " said the Ghost, "to make these silly folks so full ofgratitude. "

"Small!" echoed Scrooge. 

The spirit signed to him to listen to the two apprentices, who werepouring out their hearts in praise of Fezziwig: and when he had done so, said, "Why! Is it not? He has spent but a few pounds of your mortal money:three or four, perhaps. Is that so much that he deserves this praise?"

"It isn't that, " said Scrooge, heated by the remark, and speakingunconsciously like his former, not his latter, self. "It isn't that, Spirit. He has the power to render us happy or unhappy; to make ourservice light or burdensome; a pleasure or a toil. Say that his powerlies in words and looks; in things so slight and insignificant that itis impossible to add and count 'em up: what then? The happiness hegives, is quite as great as if it cost a fortune. "

He felt the Spirit's glance, and stopped. 

"What is the matter?" asked the Ghost. 

"Nothing particular, " said Scrooge. 

"Something, I think?" the Ghost insisted. 

"No, " said Scrooge. "No. I should like to be able to say a word or twoto my clerk just now! That's all. "

His former self turned down the lamps as he gave utterance to the wish;and Scrooge and the Ghost again stood side by side in the open air. 

"My time grows short, " observed the Spirit. "Quick!"

This was not addressed to Scrooge, or to any one whom he could see, butit produced an immediate effect. For again Scrooge saw himself. He wasolder now; a man in the prime of life. His face had not the harsh andrigid lines of later years; but it had begun to wear the signs of careand avarice. There was an eager, greedy, restless motion in the eye, which showed the passion that had taken root, and where the shadow ofthe growing tree would fall. He was not alone, but sat by the side of afair young girl in a mourning dress; in whose eyes there were tears, which sparkled in the light that shone out of the Ghost of ChristmasPast. 

"It matters little, " she said, softly. "To you, very little. Anotheridol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time tocome, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve. "

"What idol has displaced you?" he rejoined. 

"A golden one. "

"This is the even-handed dealing of the world!" he said. "There isnothing on which it is so hard as poverty; and there is nothing itprofesses to condemn with such severity as the pursuit of wealth!"

"You fear the world too much, " she answered, gently. "All your otherhopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordidreproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, untilthe master-passion, Gain, engrosses you. Have I not?"

"What then?" he retorted. "Even if I have grown so much wiser, whatthen? I am not changed towards you. "

She shook her head. 

"Am I?"

"Our contract is an old one. It was made when we were both poor andcontent to be so, until, in good season, we could improve our worldlyfortune by our patient industry. You _are_ changed. When it was made, you were another man. "

"I was a boy, " he said impatiently. 

"Your own feeling tells you that you were not what you are, " shereturned. "I am. That which promised happiness when we were one inheart, is fraught with misery now that we are two. How often and howkeenly I have thought of this, I will not say. It is enough that I_have_ thought of it, and can release you. "

"Have I ever sought release?"

"In words, no. Never. "

"In what, then?"

"In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another atmosphere oflife; another Hope as its great end. In everything that made my love ofany worth or value in your sight. If this had never been between us, "said the girl, looking mildly, but with steadiness, upon him; "tell me, would you seek me out and try to win me now? Ah, no!"

He seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition, in spite ofhimself. But he said with a struggle, "You think not. "

"I would gladly think otherwise if I could, " she answered, "Heavenknows! When _I_ have learned a Truth like this, I know how strong andirresistible it must be. 

"But if you were free to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believethat you would choose a dowerless girl--you who, in your very confidencewith her, weigh everything by Gain: or, choosing her, if for a momentyou were false enough to your one guiding principle to do so, do I notknow that your repentance and regret would surely follow? I do; and Irelease you. With a full heart, for the love of him you once were. "

He was about to speak; but with her head turned from him, she resumed. 

"You may--the memory of what is past half makes me hope you will--havepain in this. A very, very brief time, and you will dismiss therecollection of it, gladly, as an unprofitable dream, from which ithappened well that you awoke. May you be happy in the life you havechosen!"

She left him, and they parted. 

"Spirit!" said Scrooge, "show me no more! Conduct me home. Why do youdelight to torture me?"

"One shadow more!" exclaimed the Ghost. 

"No more!" cried Scrooge. "No more. I don't wish to see it. Show me nomore!"

But the relentless Ghost pinioned him in both his arms, and forced himto observe what happened next. 

They were in another scene and place; a room, not very large orhandsome, but full of comfort. Near to the winter fire sat a beautifulyoung girl, so like the last that Scrooge believed it was the same, until he saw _her_, now a comely matron, sitting opposite her daughter. The noise in this room was perfectly tumultuous, for there were morechildren there than Scrooge in his agitated state of mind could count;and, unlike the celebrated herd in the poem, they were not fortychildren conducting themselves like one, but every child was conductingitself like forty. The consequences were uproarious beyond belief; butno one seemed to care; on the contrary, the mother and daughter laughedheartily, and enjoyed it very much; and the latter, soon beginning tomingle in the sports, got pillaged by the young brigands mostruthlessly. What would I not have given to be one of them! Though Inever could have been so rude, no, no! I wouldn't for the wealth of allthe world have crushed that braided hair, and torn it down; and for theprecious little shoe, I wouldn't have plucked it off, God bless my soul!to save my life. As to measuring her waist in sport, as they did, boldyoung brood; I couldn't have done it; I should have expected my arm tohave grown round it for a punishment, and never come straight again. Andyet I should have dearly liked, I own, to have touched her lips; to havequestioned her, that she might have opened them; to have looked upon thelashes of her downcast eyes, and never raised a blush; to have let loosewaves of hair, an inch of which would be a keepsake beyond price: inshort, I should have liked, I do confess, to have had the lightestlicense of a child, and yet been man enough to know its value. 

But now a knocking at the door was heard, and such a rush immediatelyensued that she with laughing face and plundered dress was borne towardsit the centre of a flushed and boisterous group, just in time to greetthe father, who came home attended by a man laden with Christmas toysand presents. Then the shouting and the struggling, and the onslaughtthat was made on the defenceless porter! The scaling him with chairs forladders to dive into his pockets, despoil him of brown-paper parcels, hold on tight by his cravat, hug him around the neck, pommel his back, and kick his legs in irrepressible affection! The shouts of wonder anddelight with which the development of every package was received! Theterrible announcement that the baby had been taken in the act of puttinga doll's frying-pan into his mouth, and was more than suspected ofhaving swallowed a fictitious turkey, glued on a wooden platter! Theimmense relief of finding this a false alarm! The joy, and gratitude, and ecstasy! They are all indescribable alike. It is enough that bydegrees the children and their emotions got out of the parlour, and byone stair at a time, up to the top of the house; where they went to bed, and so subsided. 

And now Scrooge looked on more attentively than ever, when the master ofthe house, having his daughter leaning fondly on him, sat down, with herand her mother at his own fireside; and when he thought that suchanother creature, quite as graceful and as full of promise, might havecalled him father, and been a spring-time in the haggard winter of hislife, his sight grew very dim indeed. 

"Belle, " said the husband, turning to his wife with a smile, "I saw anold friend of yours this afternoon. "

"Who was it?"

"Guess!"

"How can I? Tut, don't I know?" she added in the same breath, laughingas he laughed. "Mr. Scrooge. "

"Mr. Scrooge it was. I passed his office window; and as it was not shutup, and he had a candle inside, I could scarcely help seeing him. Hispartner lies upon the point of death, I hear; and there he sat alone. Quite alone in the world, I do believe. "

"Spirit!" said Scrooge in a broken voice, "remove me from this place. "

"I told you these were shadows of the things that have been, " said theGhost. "That they are what they are, do not blame me!"

"Remove me!" Scrooge exclaimed, "I cannot bear it!"

He turned upon the Ghost, and seeing that it looked upon him with a facein which in some strange way there were fragments of all the faces ithad shown him, wrestled with it. 

"Leave me! Take me back. Haunt me no longer!"

In the struggle, if that can be called a struggle in which the Ghostwith no visible resistance on its own part was undisturbed by any effortof its adversary, Scrooge observed that its light was burning high andbright; and dimly connecting that with its influence over him, he seizedthe extinguisher-cap, and by a sudden action pressed it down upon itshead. 

The Spirit dropped beneath it, so that the extinguisher covered itswhole form; but though Scrooge pressed it down with all his force, hecould not hide the light, which streamed from under it, in an unbrokenflood upon the ground. 

He was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome by an irresistibledrowsiness; and further, of being in his own bedroom. He gave the cap aparting squeeze, in which his hand relaxed; and had barely time to reelto bed, before he sank into a heavy sleep. 

STAVE THREE

_The Second of the Three Spirits_

Awaking in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore, and sitting up inbed to get his thoughts together, Scrooge had no occasion to be toldthat the bell was again upon the stroke of One. He felt that he wasrestored to consciousness in the right nick of time, for the especialpurpose of holding a conference with the second messenger despatched tohim through Jacob Marley's intervention. But, finding that he turneduncomfortably cold when he began to wonder which of his curtains thisnew spectre would draw back, he put them every one aside with his ownhands, and lying down again, established a sharp lookout all round thebed. For he wished to challenge the Spirit on the moment of itsappearance, and did not wish to be taken by surprise and made nervous. 

Gentlemen of the free-and-easy sort, who plume themselves on beingacquainted with a move or two, and being usually equal to thetime-of-day, express the wide range of their capacity for adventure byobserving that they are good for anything from pitch-and-toss tomanslaughter; between which opposite extremes, no doubt, there lies atolerably wide and comprehensive range of subjects. Without venturingfor Scrooge quite as hardily as this, I don't mind calling on you tobelieve that he was ready for a good broad field of strange appearances, and that nothing between a baby and rhinoceros would have astonished himvery much. 

Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by any meansprepared for nothing; and, consequently, when the bell struck One, andno shape appeared, he was taken with a violent fit of trembling. Fiveminutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All this time, he lay upon his bed, the very core and centre of a blazeof ruddy light, which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed thehour; and which, being only light, was more alarming than a dozenghosts, as he was powerless to make out what it meant, or would be at;and was sometimes apprehensive that he might be at that very moment aninteresting case of spontaneous combustion, without having theconsolation of knowing it. At last, however, he began to think--as youor I would have thought at first; for it is always the person not in thepredicament who knows what ought to have been done in it, and wouldunquestionably have done it too--at last, I say, he began to think thatthe source and secret of this ghostly light might be in the adjoiningroom, from whence, on further tracing it, it seemed to shine. This ideataking full possession of his mind, he got up softly and shuffled in hisslippers to the door. 

The moment Scrooge's hand was on the lock, a strange voice called him byhis name, and bade him enter. He obeyed. 

It was his own room. There was no doubt about that. But it had undergonea surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling were so hung withliving green, that it looked a perfect grove, from every part of which, bright gleaming berries glistened. The crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, as if so many little mirrors had beenscattered there; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney, asthat dull petrifaction of a hearth had never known in Scrooge's time, orMarley's, or for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped up on thefloor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immensetwelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dimwith their delicious steam. In easy state upon this couch there sat ajolly Giant, glorious to see; who bore a glowing torch, in shape notunlike Plenty's horn, and held it up, high up, to shed its light onScrooge, as he came peeping round the door. 

"Come in!" exclaimed the Ghost. "Come in! and know me better, man!"

Scrooge entered timidly, and hung his head before this Spirit. He wasnot the dogged Scrooge he had been; and though the Spirit's eyes wereclear and kind, he did not like to meet them. 

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present, " said the Spirit. "Look upon me!"

Scrooge reverently did so. It was clothed in one simple deep green robe, or mantle, bordered with white fur. This garment hung so loosely on thefigure, that its capacious breast was bare, as if disdaining to bewarded or concealed by any artifice. Its feet, observable beneath theample folds of the garment, were also bare; and on its head it wore noother covering than a holly wreath set here and there with shiningicicles. Its dark brown curls were long and free; free as its genialface, its sparkling eye, its open hand, its cheery voice, itsunconstrained demeanour, and its joyful air. Girded round its middle wasan antique scabbard; but no sword was in it, and the ancient sheath waseaten up with rust. 

[Illustration: UPON THIS COUCH THERE SAT A JOLLY GIANT]

"You have never seen the like of me before!" exclaimed the Spirit. 

"Never, " Scrooge made answer to it. 

"Have never walked forth with the younger members of my family; meaning(for I am very young) my elder brothers born in these later years?"pursued the Phantom. 

"I don't think I have, " said Scrooge. "I am afraid I have not. Have youhad many brothers, Spirit?"

"More than eighteen hundred, " said the Ghost. 

"A tremendous family to provide for!" muttered Scrooge. 

The Ghost of Christmas Present rose. 

"Spirit, " said Scrooge submissively, "conduct me where you will. I wentforth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a lesson which is workingnow. To-night, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit by it. "

"Touch my robe!"

Scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast. 

Holly, mistletoe, red berries, ivy, turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, meat, pigs, sausages, oysters, pies, puddings, fruit, and punch, all vanished instantly. So did the room, the fire, the ruddy glow, thehour of night, and they stood in the city streets on Christmas morning, where (for the weather was severe) the people made a rough, but briskand not unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow from the pavementin front of their dwellings, and from the tops of their houses: whenceit was mad delight to the boys to see it come plumping down into theroad below, and splitting into artificial little snowstorms. 

The house fronts looked black enough, and the windows blacker, contrasting with the smooth white sheet of snow upon the roofs, and withthe dirtier snow upon the ground; which last deposit had been ploughedup in deep furrows by the heavy wheels of carts and waggons; furrowsthat crossed and recrossed each other hundreds of times where the greatstreets branched off, and made intricate channels, hard to trace, in thethick yellow mud and icy water. The sky was gloomy, and the shorteststreets were choked up with a dingy mist, half thawed, half frozen, whose heavier particles descended in a shower of sooty atoms, as if allthe chimneys in Great Britain had, by one consent, caught fire, and wereblazing away to their dear hearts' content. There was nothing verycheerful in the climate or the town, and yet there was an air ofcheerfulness abroad that the clearest summer air and brightest summersun might have endeavoured to diffuse in vain. 

For, the people who were shovelling away on the housetops were jovialand full of glee; calling out to one another from the parapets, and nowand then exchanging a facetious snowball--better-natured missile farthan many a wordy jest--laughing heartily if it went right and not lessheartily if it went wrong. The poulterers' shops were still half open, and the fruiterers' were radiant in their glory. There were great, roundpot-bellied baskets of chestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of jollyold gentlemen, lolling at the doors, and tumbling out into the street intheir apoplectic opulence. There were ruddy, brown-faced broad-girthedSpanish onions, shining in the fatness of their growth like SpanishFriars; and winking from their shelves in wanton slyness at the girls asthey went by, and glanced demurely at the hung-up mistletoe. There werepears and apples, clustered high in blooming pyramids; there werebunches of grapes, made, in the shopkeepers' benevolence, to danglefrom conspicuous hooks, that people's mouths might water gratis as theypassed; there were piles of filberts, mossy and brown, recalling, intheir fragrance, ancient walks among the woods, and pleasant shufflingsankle deep through withered leaves; there were Norfolk Biffins, [300-12]squab and swarthy, setting off the yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the great compactness of their juicy persons, urgentlyentreating and beseeching to be carried home in paper bags and eatenafter dinner. The very gold and silver fish, set forth among thesechoice fruits in a bowl, though members of a dull and stagnant-bloodedrace, appeared to know that there was something going on; and, to afish, went gasping round and round their little world in slow andpassionless excitement. 

The Grocers'! oh the Grocers'! nearly closed, with perhaps two shuttersdown, or one; but through those gaps such glimpses! It was not alonethat the scales descending on the counter made a merry sound, or thatthe twine and roller parted company so briskly, or that the canisterswere rattled up and down like juggling tricks, or even that the blendedscents of tea, and coffee were so grateful to the nose, or even that theraisins were so plentiful and rare, the almonds so extremely white, thesticks of cinnamon so long and straight, the other spices so delicious, the candied fruits so caked and spotted with molten sugar as to make thecoldest lookers-on feel faint and subsequently bilious. Nor was it thatthe figs were moist and pulpy, or that the French plums blushed inmodest tartness from their highly-decorated boxes, or that everythingwas good to eat and in its Christmas dress: but the customers were allso hurried and so eager in the hopeful promise of the day, that theytumbled up against each other at the door, clashing their wicker basketswildly, and left their purchases upon the counter, and came running backto fetch them, and committed hundreds of the like mistakes in the besthumour possible; while the Grocer and his people were so frank and freshthat the polished hearts with which they fastened their aprons behindmight have been their own, worn outside for general inspection, and forChristmas daws to peck at if they chose. 

But soon the steeples called good people all, to church and chapel, andaway they came, flocking through the streets in their best clothes, andwith their gayest faces. And at the same time there emerged from scoresof by-streets, lanes, and nameless turnings, innumerable people carryingtheir dinner to the bakers' shops. The sight of these poor revellersappeared to interest the Spirit very much, for he stood with Scroogebeside him in a baker's[301-13] doorway, and taking off the covers astheir bearers passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from his torch. And it was a very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice when therewere angry words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled with eachother, he shed a few drops of water on them from it, and their goodhumour was restored directly. For they said, it was a shame to quarrelupon Christmas Day. And so it was! God love it, so it was!

In time the bells ceased, and the bakers were shut up; and yet there wasa genial shadowing forth of all these dinners and the progress of theircooking, in the thawed blotch of wet above each baker's oven; where thepavement smoked as if its stones were cooking too. 

"Is there a peculiar flavour in what you sprinkle from your torch?"asked Scrooge. 

"There is. My own. "

"Would it apply to any kind of dinner on this day?" asked Scrooge. 

"To any kindly given. To a poor one most. "

"Why to a poor one most?" asked Scrooge. 

"Because it needs it most. "

"Spirit, " said Scrooge, after a moment's thought, "I wonder you, of allthe beings in the many worlds about us, should desire to cramp thesepeople's opportunities of innocent enjoyment. "

"I!" cried the Spirit. 

"You would deprive them of their means of dining every seventh day, often the only day on which they can be said to dine at all, " saidScrooge. "Wouldn't you?"

"I!" cried the Spirit. 

"You seek to close these places on the seventh day?" said Scrooge. "Andit comes to the same thing. "

"I seek!" exclaimed the Spirit. 

"Forgive me if I am wrong. It has been done in your name, or at least inthat of your family, " said Scrooge. 

"There are some upon this earth of yours, " returned the Spirit, "who layclaim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strangeto us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Rememberthat, and charge their doings on themselves, not us. "

Scrooge promised that he would; and they went on, invisible, as they hadbeen before, into the suburbs of the town. It was a remarkable qualityof the Ghost (which Scrooge had observed at the baker's), thatnotwithstanding his gigantic size, he could accommodate himself to anyplace with ease; and that he stood beneath a low roof quite asgracefully and like a supernatural creature, as it was possible he couldhave done in any lofty hall. 

And perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had in showing off thispower of his, or else it was his own kind, generous, hearty nature, andhis sympathy with all poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge'sclerk's; for there he went, and took Scrooge with him, holding to hisrobe; and on the threshold of the door the Spirit smiled, and stopped tobless Bob Cratchit's dwelling with the sprinklings of his torch. Thinkof that! Bob had but fifteen "bob"[303-14] a week himself; he pocketedon Saturdays but fifteen copies of his Christian name; and yet the Ghostof Christmas Present blessed his four-roomed house!

Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but poorly in atwice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make agoodly show for sixpence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by BelindaCratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while MasterPeter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, andgetting the corners of his monstrous shirt collar (Bob's privateproperty, conferred upon his son and heir in honour of the day) into hismouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned toshow his linen in the fashionable Parks. And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's theyhad smelt the goose, and known it for their own; and basking inluxurious thoughts of sage-and-onion, these young Cratchits danced aboutthe table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he (notproud, although his collars nearly choked him) blew the fire, until theslow potatoes bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid to be letout and peeled. 

"What has ever got your precious father then?" said Mrs. Cratchit. "Andyour brother, Tiny Tim! And Martha warn't as late last Christmas Day byhalf-an-hour!"

"Here's Martha, mother!" said a girl, appearing as she spoke. 

"Here's Martha, mother!" cried the two young Cratchits. "Hurrah! There's_such_ a goose, Martha!"

"Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!" said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bonnetfor her with officious zeal. 

"We'd a deal of work to finish up last night, " replied the girl, "andhad to clear away this morning, mother!"

[Illustration: BOB AND TINY TIM]

"Well! Never mind so long as you are come, " said Mrs. Cratchit. "Sit yedown before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless ye!"

"No, no! There's father coming, " cried the two young Cratchits, who wereeverywhere at once. "Hide, Martha, hide!"

So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with at leastthree feet of comforter exclusive of the fringe, hanging down beforehim; and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to lookseasonable; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore alittle crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame!

"Why, where's our Martha?" cried Bob Cratchit, looking round. 

"Not coming, " said Mrs. Cratchit. 

"Not coming!" said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high spirits;for he had been Tim's blood horse all the way from church, and had comehome rampant. "Not coming upon Christmas Day!"

Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; soshe came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and ran into hisarms, while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him offinto the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in thecopper. 

"And how did little Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she hadrallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to hisheart's content. 

"As good as gold, " said Bob, "and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you everheard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to rememberupon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk and blind men see. "

Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more whenhe said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty. 

His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came TinyTim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sisterto his stool before the fire; and while Bob, turning up his cuffs--asif, poor fellow, they were capable of being made more shabby--compoundedsome hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and stirred it round andround and put it on the hob to simmer; Master Peter, and the twoubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soonreturned in high procession. 

Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest ofall birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter ofcourse--and in truth it was something very like it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissinghot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; MissBelinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bobtook Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two youngCratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, andmounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lestthey should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. Atlast the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by abreathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along thecarving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur ofdelight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by thetwo young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, andfeebly cried "Hurrah!"

[Illustration: THERE NEVER WAS SUCH A GOOSE]

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever wassuch a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by the apple-sauce andmashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family;indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one smallatom of a bone upon the dish) they hadn't ate it all at last! Yeteveryone had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular, weresteeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now, the plates beingchanged by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone--too nervousto bear witnesses--to take the pudding up and bring it in. 

Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in turningout! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the back-yard, and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose--a supposition atwhich the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of horrors weresupposed. 

Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smelllike a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house anda pastrycook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door tothat! That was the pudding! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchitentered--flushed, but smiling proudly--with the pudding like a speckledcannon-ball so hard and firm blazing in half of half-a-quartern ofignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top. 

Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that heregarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit sincetheir marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought itwas at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been flatheresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such athing. 

At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearthswept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, andconsidered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and ashovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drewround the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half aone; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glass. Twotumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle. 

These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as goldengoblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, whilethe chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bobproposed:

"A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!" Which all thefamily re-echoed. 

"God bless us every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all. 

He sat very close to his father's side upon his little stool. Bob heldhis withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child, and wished tokeep him by his side, and dreaded that he might be taken from him. 

"Spirit!" said Scrooge, with an interest he had never felt before, "tellme if Tiny Tim will live. "

"I see a vacant seat, " replied the Ghost, "in the poor chimney-corner, and a crutch without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadowsremain unaltered by the Future, the child will die. "

"No, no, " said Scrooge. "Oh, no, kind Spirit! say he will be spared. "

"If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, none other of myrace, " returned the Ghost, "will find him here. What then? If he belike to die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population. "

Scrooge hung his head to hear his own words quoted by the Spirit, andwas overcome with penitence and grief. 

"Man, " said the Ghost, "if man you be in heart, not adamant, forbearthat wicked cant until you have discovered What the surplus is, andWhere it is. Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die? Itmay be, that in the sight of Heaven, you are more worthless and less fitto live than millions like this poor man's child. Oh God! to hear theinsect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungrybrothers in the dust!"

Scrooge bent before the Ghost's rebuke, and trembling cast his eyes uponthe ground. But he raised them speedily, on hearing his own name. 

"Mr. Scrooge!" said Bob; "I'll give you Mr. Scrooge, the Founder of theFeast!"

"The Founder of the Feast indeed!" cried Mrs. Cratchit, reddening. "Iwish I had him here. I'd give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, andI hope he'd have a good appetite for it. "

"My dear, " said Bob, "the children! Christmas Day. "

"It should be Christmas Day, I am sure, " said she, "on which one drinksthe health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge. You know he is, Robert! Nobody knows it better than you do, poor fellow!"

"My dear, " was Bob's mild answer, "Christmas Day. "

"I'll drink his health for your sake and the day's, " said Mrs. Cratchit, "not for his. Long life to him! A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!He'll be very merry and very happy, I have no doubt!"

The children drank the toast after her. It was the first of theirproceedings which had no heartiness in it. Tiny Tim drank it last ofall, but he didn't care twopence for it. Scrooge was the Ogre of thefamily. The mention of his name cast a dark shadow on the party, whichwas not dispelled for full five minutes. 

After it had passed away, they were ten times merrier than before, fromthe mere relief of Scrooge the Baleful being done with. Bob Cratchittold them how he had a situation in his eye for Master Peter, whichwould bring in, if obtained, full five-and-six-pence[311-15] weekly. Thetwo young Cratchits laughed tremendously at the idea of Peter's being aman of business; and Peter himself looked thoughtfully at the fire frombetween his collars, as if he were deliberating what particularinvestments he should favour when he came into the receipt of thatbewildering income. Martha, who was a poor apprentice at a milliner's, then told them what kind of work she had to do, and how many hours sheworked at a stretch, and how she meant to lie abed to-morrow morning fora good long rest; to-morrow being a holiday she passed at home. Also howshe had seen a countess and a lord some days before, and how the lord"was much about as tall as Peter;" at which Peter pulled up his collarsso high that you couldn't have seen his head if you had been there. Allthis time the chestnuts and the jug went round and round; andbye-and-bye they had a song, about a lost child travelling in the snow, from Tiny Tim, who had a plaintive little voice, and sang it very wellindeed. 

There was nothing of high mark in this. They were not a handsome family;they were not well dressed; their shoes were far from being waterproof;their clothes were scanty; and Peter might have known, and very likelydid, the inside of a pawnbroker's. But, they were happy, grateful, pleased with one another, and contented with the time; and when theyfaded, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit'storch at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on TinyTim, until the last. 

By this time it was getting dark, and snowing pretty heavily; and asScrooge and the Spirit went along the streets, the brightness of theroaring fires in kitchens, parlours, and all sorts of rooms, waswonderful. Here, the flickering of the blaze showed preparations for acozy dinner, with hot plates baking through and through before the fire, and deep red curtains, ready to be drawn to shut out cold and darkness. There, all the children of the house were running out into the snow tomeet their married sisters, brothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, and be thefirst to greet them. Here, again, were shadows on the window-blind ofguests assembling; and there a group of handsome girls, all hooded andfur-booted, and all chattering at once, tripped lightly off to some nearneighbor's house; where, woe upon the single man who saw thementer--artful witches; well they knew it--in a glow!

But if you had judged from the numbers of people on their way tofriendly gatherings, you might have thought that no one was at home togive them welcome when they got there, instead of every house expectingcompany, and piling up its fires half-chimney high. Blessings on it, howthe Ghost exulted! How it bared its breadth of breast, and opened itscapacious palm, and floated on, outpouring, with a generous hand, itsbright and harmless mirth on everything within its reach! The verylamp-lighter, who ran on before dotting the dusky street with specks oflight, and who was dressed to spend the evening somewhere, laughed outloudly as the Spirit passed: though little kenned the lamp-lighter thathe had any company but Christmas!

And now, without a word of warning from the Ghost, they stood upon ableak and desert moor, where monstrous masses of rude stone were castabout, as though it were the burial-place of giants; and water spreaditself wheresoever it listed, or would have done so, but for the frostthat held it prisoner; and nothing grew but moss and furze, and coarse, rank grass. Down in the west the setting sun had left a streak of fieryred, which glared upon the desolation for an instant, like a sullen eye, and frowning lower, lower, lower yet, was lost in the thick gloom ofdarkest night. 

"What place is this?" asked Scrooge. 

"A place where miners live, who labour in the bowels of the earth, "returned the Spirit. "But they know me. See!"

A light shone from the window of a hut, and swiftly they advancedtowards it. Passing through the wall of mud and stone, they found acheerful company assembled round a glowing fire. An old, old man andwoman, with their children and their children's children, and anothergeneration beyond that, all decked out gaily in their holiday attire. The old man, in a voice that seldom rose above the howling of the windupon the barren waste, was singing them a Christmas song; it had been avery old song when he was a boy; and from time to time they all joinedin the chorus. So surely as they raised their voices, the old man gotquite blithe and loud; and so surely as they stopped, his vigour sankagain. 

The Spirit did not tarry here, but bade Scrooge hold his robe, andpassing on above the moor, sped whither? Not to sea? To sea. ToScrooge's horror, looking back, he saw the last of the land, a frightfulrange of rocks, behind them; and his ears were deafened by thethundering of water, as it rolled, and roared, and raged among thedreadful caverns it had worn, and fiercely tried to undermine the earth. 

Built upon a dismal reef of sunken rocks, some leagues or so from shore, on which the waters chafed and dashed, the wild year through, therestood a solitary lighthouse. Great heaps of seaweed clung to its base, and storm-birds--born of the wind one might suppose, as sea-weed of thewater--rose and fell about it, like the waves they skimmed. 

But even here, two men who watched the light had made a fire, thatthrough the loophole in the thick stone wall shed out a ray ofbrightness on the awful sea. Joining their horny hands over the roughtable at which they sat, they wished each other Merry Christmas in theircan of grog; and one of them, the elder, too, with his face all damagedand scarred with hard weather, as the figure-head of an old ship mightbe, struck up a sturdy song that was like a Gale in itself. 

Again the Ghost sped on, above the black and heavy sea--on, on--until, being far away, as he told Scrooge, from any shore, they lighted on aship. They stood beside the helmsman at the wheel, the lookout in thebow, the officers who had the watch; dark, ghostly figures in theirseveral stations; but every man among them hummed a Christmas tune, orhad a Christmas thought, or spoke below his breath to his companion ofsome bygone Christmas Day, with homeward hopes belonging to it. Andevery man on board, waking or sleeping, good or bad, had had a kinderword for another on that day than on any day in the year; and had sharedto some extent in its festivities; and had remembered those he cared forat a distance, and had known that they delighted to remember him. 

It was a great surprise to Scrooge, while listening to the moaning ofthe wind, and thinking what a solemn thing it was to move on through thelonely darkness over an unknown abyss, whose depths were secrets asprofound as Death: it was a great surprise to Scrooge, while thusengaged to hear a hearty laugh. It was a much greater surprise toScrooge to recognize it as his own nephew's, and to find himself in abright, dry, gleaming room, with the Spirit standing smiling by hisside, and looking at that same nephew with approving affability. 

"Ha, ha!" laughed Scrooge's nephew. "Ha, ha, ha!"

If you should happen, by any unlikely chance, to know a man more blestin a laugh than Scrooge's nephew, all I can say is, I should like toknow him too. Introduce him to me, and I'll cultivate his acquaintance. 

It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while thereis infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world soirresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humour. When Scrooge'snephew laughed in this way: holding his sides, rolling his head, andtwisting his face into the most extravagant contortions: Scrooge'sniece, by marriage, laughed as heartily as he. And their assembledfriends being not a bit behindhand, roared out, lustily. 

"Ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha, ha!"

"He said that Christmas was a humbug, as I live!" cried Scrooge'snephew. "He believed it too!"

"More shame for him, Fred!" said Scrooge's niece, indignantly. Blessthose women; they never do anything by halves. They are always inearnest. 

She was very pretty: exceedingly pretty. With a dimpled, surprised-looking, capital face; a ripe little mouth, that seemed madeto be kissed--and no doubt it was; all kinds of good little dots abouther chin, that melted into one another when she laughed; and thesunniest pair of eyes you ever saw in any little creature's head. Altogether she was what you would have called provoking, you know; butsatisfactory, too. Oh, perfectly satisfactory!

"He's a comical old fellow, " said Scrooge's nephew, "that's the truth;and not so pleasant as he might be. However, his offences carry theirown punishment, and I have nothing to say against him. "

"I'm sure he is very rich, Fred, " hinted Scrooge's niece. "At least youalways tell _me_ so. "

"What of that, my dear!" said Scrooge's nephew. "His wealth is of no useto him. He don't do any good with it. He don't make himself comfortablewith it. He hasn't the satisfaction of thinking--ha, ha, ha!--that he isever going to benefit Us with it. "

"I have no patience with him, " observed Scrooge's niece. 

Scrooge's niece's sister, and all the other ladies, expressed the sameopinion. 

"Oh, I have!" said Scrooge's nephew. "I am sorry for him; I couldn't beangry with him if I tried. Who suffers by his ill whims? Himself, always. Here, he takes it into his head to dislike us, and he won't comeand dine with us. What's the consequence! He don't lose much of adinner----"

"Indeed, I think he loses a very good dinner, " interrupted Scrooge'sniece. Everybody else said the same, and they must be allowed to havebeen competent judges, because they had just had dinner; and, with thedessert upon the table, were clustered round the fire, by lamplight. 

"Well! I'm very glad to hear it, " said Scrooge's nephew, "because Ihaven't any great faith in these young housekeepers. What do _you_ say, Topper?"

Topper had clearly got his eye upon one of Scrooge's niece's sisters, for he answered that a bachelor was a wretched outcast, who had no rightto express an opinion on the subject. Whereat Scrooge's niece'ssister--the plump one with the lace tucker: not the one with theroses--blushed. 

"Do go on, Fred, " said Scrooge's niece, clapping her hands. "He neverfinishes what he begins to say! He is such a ridiculous fellow!"

Scrooge's nephew revelled in another laugh, and as it was impossible tokeep the infection off, though the plump sister tried hard to do it witharomatic vinegar, his example was unanimously followed. 

"I was only going to say, " said Scrooge's nephew, "that the consequenceof his taking a dislike to us, and not making merry with us, is, as Ithink, that he loses some pleasant moments, which could do him no harm. I am sure he loses pleasanter companions than he can find in his ownthoughts, either in his mouldy old office, or his dusty chambers. I meanto give him the same chance every year, whether he likes it or not, forI pity him. He may rail at Christmas till he dies, but he can't helpthinking better of it--I defy him--if he finds me going there, in goodtemper, year after year, and saying, 'Uncle Scrooge, how are you?' If itonly puts him in the vein to leave his poor clerk fifty pounds, _that's_something; and I think I shook him yesterday. "

It was their turn to laugh now at the notion of his shaking Scrooge. Butbeing thoroughly good-natured, and not much caring what they laughed at, so that they laughed at any rate, he encouraged them in their merriment, and passed the bottle joyously. 

After tea, they had some music. For they were a musical family, and knewwhat they were about, when they sang a Glee or Catch, I can assure you;especially Topper, who could growl away in the bass like a good one, andnever swell the large veins in his forehead, or get red in the face overit. Scrooge's niece played well upon the harp; and played among othertunes a simple little air (a mere nothing: you might learn to whistle itin two minutes), which had been familiar to the child who fetchedScrooge from the boarding-school, as he had been reminded by the Ghostof Christmas Past. When this strain of music sounded, all the thingsthat Ghost had shown him, came upon his mind; he softened more and more;and thought that if he could have listened to it often, years ago, hemight have cultivated the kindnesses of life for his own happiness withhis own hands, without resorting to the sexton's spade that buried JacobMarley. [319-16]

But they didn't devote the whole evening to music. After a while theyplayed at forfeits; for it is good to be children sometimes, and neverbetter than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child himself. Stop! There was first a game at blind-man's buff. Of course there was. And I no more believe Topper was really blind than I believe he had eyesin his boots. My opinion is, that it was a done thing between him andScrooge's nephew: and that the Ghost of Christmas Present knew it. Theway he went after that plump sister in the lace tucker, was an outrageon the credulity of human nature. Knocking down the fire-irons, tumblingover the chairs, bumping up against the piano, smothering himself amongthe curtains, wherever she went, there went he. He always knew where theplump sister was. He wouldn't catch anybody else. If you had fallen upagainst him, as some of them did, and stood there; he would have made afeint of endeavoring to seize you, which would have been an affront toyour understanding; and would instantly have sidled off in the directionof the plump sister. She often cried out that it wasn't fair; and itreally was not. But when at last he caught her; when, in spite of allher silken rustlings, and her rapid flutterings past him, he got herinto a corner whence there was no escape; then his conduct was mostexecrable. For his pretending not to know her; his pretending that itwas necessary to touch her head-dress, and further to assure himself ofher identity by pressing a certain ring upon her finger, and a certainchain about her neck; was vile, monstrous! No doubt she told him heropinion of it, when, another blind man being in office, they were sovery confidential together, behind the curtains. 

Scrooge's niece was not one of the blind-man's buff party, but was madecomfortable with a large chair and a footstool, in a snug corner, wherethe Ghost and Scrooge were close behind her. But she joined in theforfeits, and loved her love to admiration with all the letters of thealphabet. [320-17] Likewise at the game of How, When, and Where, she wasvery great, and to the secret joy of Scrooge's nephew, beat her sistershollow: though they were sharp girls too, as Topper could have told you. There might have been twenty people there, young and old, but they allplayed, and so did Scrooge, for, wholly forgetting in the interest hehad in what was going on, that his voice made no sound in their ears, hesometimes came out with his guess quite loud, and very often guessedquite right, too; for the sharpest needle, best Whitechapel, warrantednot to cut in the eye, was not sharper than Scrooge: blunt as he took itin his head to be. 

The Ghost was greatly pleased to find him in this mood, and looked uponhim with such favor, that he begged like a boy to be allowed to stayuntil the guests departed. But this the Spirit said could not be done. 

"Here is a new game, " said Scrooge. "One half-hour, Spirit, only one!"

It is a game called Yes and No, where Scrooge's nephew had to think ofsomething, and the rest must find out what; he only answering to theirquestions yes or no, as the case was. The brisk fire of questioning towhich he was exposed, elicited from him that he was thinking of ananimal, a live animal, rather a disagreeable animal, a savage animal, ananimal that growled and grunted sometimes, and talked sometimes, andlived in London, and walked about the streets, and wasn't made a showof, and wasn't led by anybody, and didn't live in a menagerie, and wasnever killed in a market, and was not a horse, or an ass, or a cow, or abull, or a tiger, or a dog, or a pig, or a cat, or a bear. At everyfresh question that was put to him, this nephew burst into a fresh roarof laughter; and was so inexpressibly tickled, that he was obliged toget up off the sofa and stamp. 

At last the plump sister, falling into a similar state, cried out:

"I have found it out. I know what it is, Fred! I know what it is!"

"What is it?" cried Fred. 

"It's your Uncle Scro-o-o-o-oge!"

Which it certainly was. Admiration was the universal sentiment, thoughsome objected that the reply to "Is it a bear?" ought to have been"Yes;" inasmuch as an answer in the negative was sufficient to havediverted their thoughts from Mr. Scrooge, supposing they had ever hadany tendency that way. 

"He has given us plenty of merriment, I am sure, " said Fred, "and itwould be ungrateful not to drink his health. Here is a glass of mulledwine ready to our hand at the moment; and I say, 'Uncle Scrooge!'"

"Well! Uncle Scrooge!" they cried. 

"A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to the old man, whatever he is!"said Scrooge's nephew. "He wouldn't take it from me, but may he have it, nevertheless. Uncle Scrooge!"

Uncle Scrooge had imperceptibly become so gay and light of heart, thathe would have pledged the unconscious company in return, and thankedthem in an inaudible speech, if the Ghost had given him time. But thewhole scene passed off in the breath of the last word spoken by hisnephew; and he and the Spirit were again upon their travels. 

Much they saw, and far they went, and many homes they visited, butalways with a happy end. The Spirit stood beside sick-beds, and theywere cheerful; on foreign lands, and they were close at home; bystruggling men, and they were patient in their greater hope; by poverty, and it was rich. In almshouse, hospital, and jail, in misery's everyrefuge, where vain man in his little brief authority had not made fastthe door, and barred the Spirit out, he left his blessing, and taughtScrooge his precepts. 

It was a long night, if it were only a night; but Scrooge had his doubtsof this, because the Christmas Holidays appeared to be condensed intothe space of time they passed together. It was strange, too, that whileScrooge remained unaltered in his outward form, the Ghost grew older, clearly older. Scrooge had observed this change, but never spoke of it, until they left a children's Twelfth Night party, when, looking at theSpirit as they stood together in an open place, he noticed that his hairwas gray. 

"Are spirits' lives so short?" asked Scrooge. 

"My life upon this globe is very brief, " replied the Ghost. "It endsto-night. "

"To-night!" cried Scrooge. 

"To-night at midnight. Hark! The time is drawing near. "

The chimes were ringing the three quarters past eleven at that moment. 

"Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask, " said Scrooge, lookingintently at the Spirit's robe, "but I see something strange, and notbelonging to yourself, protruding from your skirts! Is it a foot or aclaw!"

"It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon it, " was the Spirit'ssorrowful reply. "Look here. "

From the foldings of its robe, it brought two children; wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at its feet, andclung upon the outside of its garment. 

"Oh, Man! look here. Look, look, down here!" exclaimed the Ghost. 

They were a boy and girl. Yellow, meagre, ragged, scowling, wolfish; butprostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful youth should havefilled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, astale and shrivelled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twistedthem, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have satenthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, nodegradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all themysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible anddread. 

Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them shown to him in this way, hetried to say they were fine children, but the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie of such enormous magnitude. 

"Spirit! are they yours?" Scrooge could say no more. 

"They are Man's, " said the Spirit, looking down upon them. "And theycling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. Thisgirl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of allbeware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it!" cried the Spirit, stretching outits hand towards the city. "Slander those who tell it ye! Admit it foryour factious purposes, and make it worse! And bide the end!"

"Have they no refuge or resource?" cried Scrooge. 

"Are there no prisons?" said the Spirit, turning on him for the lasttime with his own words. "Are there no workhouses?"

The bell struck twelve. 

Scrooge looked about him for the Ghost, and saw it not. As the laststroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered the prediction of old JacobMarley, and lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn Phantom, draped andhooded, coming, like a mist along the ground, towards him. 

STAVE FOUR

_The Last of the Spirits_

The Phantom slowly, gravely approached. When it came near him, Scroogebent down upon his knee; for in the very air through which this Spiritmoved it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery. 

It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, itsface, its form, and left nothing of it visible save one outstretchedhand. But for this it would have been difficult to detach its figurefrom the night, and separate it from the darkness by which it wassurrounded. 

He felt that it was tall and stately when it came beside him, and thatits mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread. He knew no more, for the Spirit neither spoke nor moved. 

"I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?" saidScrooge. 

The Spirit answered not, but pointed downward with its hand. 

"You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us, " Scrooge pursued. "Is that so, Spirit?"

The upper portion of the garment was contracted for an instant in itsfolds, as if the Spirit had inclined its head. That was the only answerhe received. 

Although well used to ghostly company by this time, Scrooge feared thesilent shape so much that his legs trembled beneath him, and he foundthat he could hardly stand when he prepared to follow it. The Spiritpaused a moment, as observing his condition, and giving him time torecover. 

But Scrooge was all the worse for this. It thrilled him with a vagueuncertain horror, to know that behind the dusky shroud there wereghostly eyes intently fixed upon him, while he, though he stretched hisown to the utmost, could see nothing but a spectral hand and one greatheap of black. 

"Ghost of the Future!" he exclaimed, "I fear you more than any Spectre Ihave seen. But, as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hopeto live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear youcompany, and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me?"

It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them. 

"Lead on!" said Scrooge. "Lead on! The night is waning fast, and it isprecious time to me, I know. Lead on, Spirit!"

The Phantom moved away as it had come towards him. Scrooge followed inthe shadow of its dress, which bore him up, he thought, and carried himalong. 

They scarcely seemed to enter the city; for the city rather seemed tospring up about them, and encompass them of its own act. But there theywere, in the heart of it; on 'Change, amongst the merchants; who hurriedup and down, and chinked the money in their pockets, and conversed ingroups, and looked at their watches, and trifled thoughtfully withtheir great gold seals; and so forth, as Scrooge had seen them often. 

The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of business men. Observingthat the hand was pointed to them, Scrooge advanced to listen to theirtalk. 

"No, " said a great fat man with a monstrous chin, "I don't know muchabout it, either way. I only know he's dead. "

"When did he die?" inquired another. 

"Last night, I believe. "

"Why, what was the matter with him?" asked a third, taking a vastquantity of snuff out of a very large snuffbox. "I thought he'd neverdie. "

"God knows, " said the first, with a yawn. 

"What has he done with his money?" asked a red-faced gentleman with apendulous excrescence on the end of his nose, that shook like the gillsof a turkey-cock. 

"I haven't heard, " said the man with the large chin, yawning again. "Left it to his Company, perhaps. He hasn't left it to _me_. That's allI know. "

This pleasantry was received with a general laugh. 

"It's likely to be a very cheap funeral, " said the same speaker; "forupon my life I don't know of anybody to go to it. Suppose we make up aparty and volunteer?"

"I don't mind going if a lunch is provided, " observed the gentleman withthe excrescence on his nose. "But I must be fed, if I make one. "

Another laugh. 

"Well, I am the most disinterested among you, after all, " said the firstspeaker, "for I never wear black gloves, and I never eat lunch. But I'lloffer to go, if anybody else will. When I come to think of it, I'm notat all sure that I wasn't his most particular friend; for we used tostop and speak whenever we met. Bye, bye!"

Speakers and listeners strolled away, and mixed with other groups. Scrooge knew the men, and looked towards the Spirit for an explanation. 

The Phantom glided on into a street. Its finger pointed to two personsmeeting. Scrooge listened again, thinking that the explanation might liehere. 

He knew these men, also, perfectly. They were men of business: verywealthy, and of great importance. He had made a point always of standingwell in their esteem--in a business point of view, that is; strictly ina business point of view. 

"How are you?" said one. 

"How are you?" returned the other. 

"Well!" said the first. "Old Scratch has got his own at last, hey?"

"So I am told, " returned the second. "Cold, isn't it?"

"Seasonable for Christmas time. You're not a skater, I suppose?"

"No. No. Something else to think of. Good morning!" Not another word. That was their meeting, their conversation, and their parting. 

Scrooge was at first inclined to be surprised that the Spirit shouldattach importance to conversations apparently so trivial; but feelingassured that they must have some hidden purpose, he set himself toconsider what it was likely to be. They could scarcely be supposed tohave any bearing on the death of Jacob, his old partner, for that wasPast, and this Ghost's province was the Future. Nor could he think ofany one immediately connected with himself, to whom he could apply them. But nothing doubting that to whomsoever they applied they had somelatent moral for his own improvement, he resolved to treasure up everyword he heard, and everything he saw; and especially to observe theshadow of himself when it appeared. For he had an expectation that theconduct of his future self would give him the clue he missed, and wouldrender the solution of these riddles easy. 

[Illustration: "SO I AM TOLD, " RETURNED THE SECOND]

He looked about in that very place for his own image; but another manstood in his accustomed corner, and though the clock pointed to hisusual time of day for being there, he saw no likeness of himself amongthe multitudes that poured in through the Porch. It gave him littlesurprise, however; for he had been revolving in his mind a change oflife, and thought and hoped he saw his new-born resolutions carried outin this. 

Quiet and dark, beside him stood the Phantom, with its outstretchedhand. When he roused himself from his thoughtful quest, he fancied fromthe turn of the hand, and its situation in reference to himself, thatthe Unseen Eyes were looking at him keenly. It made him shudder and feelvery cold. 

They left the busy scene, and went into an obscure part of the town, where Scrooge had never penetrated before, although he recognized itssituation, and its bad repute. The ways were foul and narrow; the shopsand houses wretched; the people half-naked, drunken, slipshod, ugly. Alleys and archways, like so many cesspools, disgorged their offences ofsmell, and dirt, and life, upon the straggling streets; and the wholequarter reeked with crime, with filth, and misery. 

Far in this den of infamous resort, there was a low-browed, beetlingshop, below a pent-house roof, where iron, old rags, bottles, bones, andgreasy offal, were bought. Upon the floor within, were piled up heaps ofrusty keys, nails, chains, hinges, files, scales, weights, and refuseiron of all kinds. Secrets that few would like to scrutinise were bredand hidden in mountains of unseemly rags, masses of corrupted fat, andsepulchres of bones. Sitting in among the wares he dealt in, by acharcoal-stove, made of old bricks, was a grey-haired rascal, nearlyseventy years of age; who had screened himself from the cold airwithout, by a frowsy curtaining of miscellaneous tatters, hung upon aline; and smoked his pipe in all the luxury of calm retirement. 

Scrooge and the Phantom came into the presence of this man, just as awoman with a heavy bundle slunk into the shop. But she had scarcelyentered, when another woman, similarly laden, came in too; and she wasclosely followed by a man in faded black, who was no less startled bythe sight of them, than they had been upon the recognition of eachother. After a short period of blank astonishment, in which the old manwith the pipe had joined them, they all three burst into a laugh. 

"Let the charwoman alone to be the first!" cried she who had enteredfirst. "Let the laundress alone to be the second; and let theundertaker's man alone to be the third. Look here, old Joe, here's achance! If we haven't all three met here without meaning it!"

"You couldn't have met in a better place, " said old Joe, removing hispipe from his mouth. "Come into the parlour. You were made free of itlong ago, you know; and the other two ain't strangers. Stop till I shutthe door of the shop. Ah! How it skreeks! There an't such a rusty bit ofmetal in the place as its own hinges, I believe; and I'm sure there's nosuch old bones here, as mine. Ha, ha! We're all suitable to our calling, we're well matched. Come into the parlour. Come into the parlour. "

The parlour was the space behind the screen of rags. The old man rakedthe fire together with an old stair-rod, and having trimmed his smokylamp (for it was night), with the stem of his pipe, put it in his mouthagain. 

While he did this, the woman who had already spoken, threw her bundle onthe floor, and sat down in a flaunting manner on a stool; crossing herelbows on her knees, and looking with a bold defiance at the other two. 

"What odds then! What odds, Mrs. Dilber?" said the woman. "Every personhas a right to take care of themselves. _He_ always did!"

"That's true, indeed!" said the laundress. "No man more so. "

"Why, then, don't stand staring as if you was afraid, woman; who's thewiser? We're not going to pick holes in each other's coats, I suppose?"

"No, indeed!" said Mrs. Dilber and the man together. "We should hopenot. "

"Very well, then!" cried the woman. "That's enough. Who's the worse forthe loss of a few things like these? Not a dead man, I suppose. "

"No, indeed, " said Mrs. Dilber, laughing. 

"If he wanted to keep 'em after he was dead, a wicked old screw, "pursued the woman, "why wasn't he natural in his lifetime? If he hadbeen, he'd have had somebody to look after him when he was struck withDeath, instead of lying gasping out his last there, alone by himself. "

"It's the truest word that ever was spoke, " said Mrs. Dilber. "It's ajudgment on him. "

"I wish it was a little heavier one, " replied the woman; "and it shouldhave been, you may depend upon it, if I could have laid my hands onanything else. Open that bundle, old Joe, and let me know the value ofit. Speak out plain. I'm not afraid to be the first, nor afraid forthem to see it. We knew pretty well that we were helping ourselves, before we met here, I believe. It's no sin. Open the bundle, Joe. "

But the gallantry of her friends would not allow of this; and the man infaded black, mounting the breach first, produced _his_ plunder. It wasnot extensive. A seal or two, a pencil-case, a pair of sleeve-buttons, and a brooch of no great value, were all. They were severally examinedand appraised by old Joe, who chalked the sums he was disposed to givefor each, upon the wall, and added them up into a total when he foundthere was nothing more to come. 

"That's your account, " said Joe, "and I wouldn't give another sixpence, if I was to be boiled for not doing it. Who's next?"

Mrs. Dilber was next. Sheets and towels, a little wearing apparel, twoold-fashioned silver teaspoons, a pair of sugar-tongs, and a few boots. Her account was stated on the wall in the same manner. 

"I always give too much to ladies. It's a weakness of mine, and that'sthe way I ruin myself, " said old Joe. "That's your account. If you askedme for another penny, and made it an open question, I'd repent of beingso liberal and knock off half-a-crown. "

"And now undo _my_ bundle, Joe, " said the first woman. 

Joe went down on his knees for the greater convenience of opening it, and having unfastened a great many knots, dragged out a large and heavyroll of some dark stuff. 

"What do you call this?" said Joe. "Bed-curtains!"

"Ah!" returned the woman, laughing and leaning forward on her crossedarms. "Bed-curtains!"

"You don't mean to say you took 'em down, rings and all, with him lyingthere?" said Joe. 

"Yes I do, " replied the woman. "Why not?"

"You were born to make your fortune, " said Joe, "and you'll certainly doit. "

"I certainly shan't hold my hand, when I can get anything in it byreaching it out, for the sake of such a man as He was, I promise you, Joe, " returned the woman coolly. "Don't drop that oil upon the blankets, now. "

"His blankets?" asked Joe. 

"Whose else's do you think?" replied the woman. "He isn't likely to takecold without 'em, I dare say. "

"I hope he didn't die of anything catching? Eh?" said old Joe, stoppingin his work, and looking up. 

"Don't you be afraid of that, " returned the woman. "I an't so fond ofhis company that I'd loiter about him for such things, if he did. Ah!you may look through that shirt till your eyes ache; but you won't finda hole in it, nor a threadbare place. It's the best he had, and a fineone too. They'd have wasted it, if it hadn't been for me. "

"What do you call wasting of it?" asked old Joe. 

"Putting it on him to be buried in, to be sure, " replied the woman witha laugh. "Somebody was fool enough to do it, but I took it off again. Ifcalico an't good enough for such a purpose, it isn't good enough foranything. He can't look uglier than he did in that one. "

Scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror. As they sat grouped abouttheir spoil, in the scanty light afforded by the old man's lamp, heviewed them with a detestation and disgust, which could hardly havebeen greater, though they had been obscene demons, marketing the corpseitself. 

"Ha, ha!" laughed the same woman, when old Joe, producing a flannel bagwith money in it, told out their several gains upon the ground. "This isthe end of it, you see! He frightened every one away from him when hewas alive, to profit us when he was dead! Ha, ha, ha!"

"Spirit!" said Scrooge, shuddering from head to foot. "I see, I see. Thecase of this unhappy man might be my own. My life tends that way, now. Merciful Heaven, what is this!"

He recoiled in terror, for the scene had changed, and now he almosttouched a bed: a bare, uncurtained bed: on which, beneath a raggedsheet, there lay a something covered up, which, though it was dumb, announced itself in awful language. 

The room was very dark, too dark to be observed with any accuracy, though Scrooge glanced round it in obedience to a secret impulse, anxious to know what kind of room it was. 

A pale light, rising in the outer air, fell straight upon the bed; andon it, plundered and bereft, unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was thebody of this man. 

Scrooge glanced towards the Phantom. Its steady hand was pointed to thehead. The cover was so carelessly adjusted that the slightest raising ofit, the motion of a finger upon Scrooge's part, would have disclosed theface. He thought of it, felt how easy it would be to do, and longed todo it; but had no more power to withdraw the veil than to dismiss thespectre at his side. 

Oh cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death, set up thine altar here, and dressit with such terrors as thou hast at thy command: for this is thydominion! But of the loved, revered, and honoured head, thou canst notturn one hair to thy dread purposes, or make one feature odious. It isnot that the hand is heavy and will fall down when released; it is notthat the heart and pulse are still; but that the hand was open, generous, and true; the heart brave, warm, and tender; and the pulse aman's. Strike, Shadow, strike! And see his good deeds springing from thewound, to sow the world with life immortal!

No voice pronounced these words in Scrooge's ears, and yet he heard themwhen he looked upon the bed. He thought, if this man could be raised upnow, what would be his foremost thoughts? Avarice, hard dealing, gripingcares? They have brought him to a rich end, truly!

He lay, in the dark empty house, with not a man, a woman, or a child, tosay that he was kind to me in this or that, and for the memory of onekind word I will be kind to him. A cat was tearing at the door, andthere was a sound of gnawing rats beneath the hearth-stone. What _they_wanted in the room of death, and why they were so restless anddisturbed, Scrooge did not dare to think. 

"Spirit!" he said, "this is a fearful place. In leaving it, I shall notleave its lesson, trust me. Let us go!"

Still the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to the head. 

"I understand you, " Scrooge returned, "and I would do it, if I could. But I have not the power, Spirit. I have not the power. "

Again it seemed to look upon him. 

"If there is any person in the town, who feels emotion caused by thisman's death, " said Scrooge, quite agonized, "show that person to me, Spirit, I beseech you!"

The Phantom spread its dark robe before him for a moment, like a wing;and withdrawing it, revealed a room by daylight, where a mother and herchildren were. 

She was expecting some one, and with anxious eagerness; for she walkedup and down the room; started at every sound; looked out from thewindow; glanced at the clock; tried, but in vain, to work with herneedle; and could hardly bear the voices of the children in their play. 

At length the long-expected knock was heard. She hurried to the door, and met her husband; a man whose face was careworn and depressed, thoughhe was young. There was a remarkable expression in it now; a kind ofserious delight of which he felt ashamed, and which he struggled torepress. 

He sat down to the dinner that had been hoarding for him by the fire;and when she asked him faintly what news (which was not until after along silence) he appeared embarrassed how to answer. 

"Is it good, " she said, "or bad?"--to help him. 

"Bad, " he answered. 

"We are quite ruined?"

"No. There is hope yet, Caroline. "

"If _he_ relents, " she said, amazed, "there is! Nothing is past hope, ifsuch a miracle has happened. "

"He is past relenting, " said her husband. "He is dead. "

She was a mild and patient creature if her face spoke truth; but she wasthankful in her soul to hear it, and she said so, with clasped hands. She prayed forgiveness the next moment, and was sorry; but the first wasthe emotion of her heart. 

"What the half-drunken woman whom I told you of last night, said to me, when I tried to see him and obtain a week's delay; and what I thoughtwas a mere excuse to avoid me; turns out to have been quite true. He wasnot only very ill, but dying, then. "

"To whom will our debt be transferred?"

"I don't know. But before that time we shall be ready with the money;and even though we were not, it would be bad fortune indeed to find somerciless a creditor in his successor. We may sleep to-night with lighthearts, Caroline!"

Yes. Soften it as they would, their hearts were lighter. The children'sfaces, hushed, and clustered round to hear what they so littleunderstood, were brighter; and it was a happier house for this man'sdeath; The only emotion that the Ghost could show him, caused by theevent, was one of pleasure. 

"Let me see some tenderness connected with a death, " said Scrooge; "orthat dark chamber, Spirit, which we left just now, will be for everpresent to me. "

The Ghost conducted him through several streets familiar to his feet;and as they went along, Scrooge looked here and there to find himself, but nowhere was he to be seen. They entered poor Bob Cratchit's house;the dwelling he had visited before; and found the mother and thechildren seated round the fire. 

Quiet. Very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as still as statuesin one corner, and sat looking up at Peter, who had a book before him. The mother and her daughter were engaged in sewing. But surely they werevery quiet!

"'And He took a child, and set him in the midst of them. '"

Where had Scrooge heard those words? He had not, dreamed them. The boymust have read them out, as he and the Spirit crossed the threshold. Whydid he not go on?

The mother laid her work upon the table, and put her hand up to herface. 

"The colour hurts my eyes, " she said. 

The colour? Ah, poor Tiny Tim!

"They're better now again, " said Cratchit's wife. "It makes them weak bycandlelight; and I wouldn't show weak eyes to your father when he comeshome, for the world. It must be near his time. "

"Past it rather, " Peter answered, shutting up his book. "But I thinkhe's walked a little slower than he used, these few last evenings, mother. "

They were very quiet again. At last she said, and in a steady cheerfulvoice, that only faltered once:

"I have known him walk with--I have known him walk with Tiny Tim uponhis shoulder, very fast indeed. "

"And so have I, " cried Peter. "Often. "

"And so have I, " exclaimed another. So had all. 

"But he was very light to carry, " she resumed, intent upon her work, "and his father loved him so, that it was no trouble--no trouble. Andthere is your father at the door!"

She hurried out to meet him; and little Bob in his comforter--he hadneed of it, poor fellow--came in. His tea was ready for him on the hob, and they all tried who should help him to it most. Then the two youngCratchits got upon his knees and laid, each child, a little cheekagainst his face, as if they said, "Don't mind it, father. Don't begrieved!"

Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly to all the family. He looked at the work upon the table, and praised the industry and speedof Mrs. Cratchit and the girls. They would be done long before Sunday hesaid. 

"Sunday! You went to-day then, Robert?" said his wife. 

"Yes, my dear, " returned Bob. "I wish you could have gone. It would havedone you good to see how green a place it is. But you'll see it often. Ipromised him that I would walk there on a Sunday. My little, littlechild!" cried Bob. "My little child!"

He broke down all at once. He couldn't help it. If he could have helpedit, he and his child would have been farther apart perhaps than theywere. 

He left the room, and went upstairs into the room above, which waslighted cheerfully, and hung with Christmas. There was a chair set closebeside the child, and there were signs of some one having been there, lately. Poor Bob sat down in it, and when he had thought a little andcomposed himself, he kissed the little face. He was reconciled to whathad happened, and went down again quite happy. 

They drew about the fire, and talked; the girls and mother workingstill. Bob told them of the extraordinary kindness of Mr. Scrooge'snephew, whom he had scarcely seen but once, and who, meeting him in thestreet that day, and seeing that he looked a little--"just a little downyou know, " said Bob, inquired what had happened to distress him. "Onwhich, " said Bob, "for he is the pleasantest-spoken gentleman you everheard, I told him. 'I am heartily sorry for it, Mr. Cratchit, ' he said, 'and heartily sorry for your good wife. ' By the bye, how he ever knew_that_, I don't know. "

"Knew what, my dear?"

"Why, that you were a good wife, " replied Bob. 

"Everybody knows that!" said Peter. 

"Very well observed, my boy!" cried Bob. "I hope they do. 'Heartilysorry, ' he said, 'for your good wife. If I can be of service to you inany way, ' he said, giving me his card, 'that's where I live. Pray cometo me. ' Now, it wasn't, " cried Bob, "for the sake of anything he mightbe able to do for us, so much as for his kind way, that this was quitedelightful. It really seemed as if he had known our Tiny Tim, and feltwith us. "

"I'm sure he's a good soul!" said Mrs. Cratchit. 

"You would be surer of it, my dear, " returned Bob, "if you saw and spoketo him. I shouldn't be at all surprised, mark what I say, if he gotPeter a better situation. "

"Only hear that, Peter, " said Mrs. Cratchit. 

"And then, " cried one of the girls, "Peter will be keeping company withsome one, and setting up for himself. "

"Get along with you!" retorted Peter, grinning. 

"It's just as likely as not, " said Bob, "one of these days; thoughthere's plenty of time for that, my dear. But however and whenever wepart from one another, I am sure we shall none of us forget poor TinyTim--shall we--or this first parting that there was among us?"

"Never, father!" cried they all. 

"And I know, " said Bob, "I know, my dears, that when we recollect howpatient and how mild he was; although he was a little, little child; weshall not quarrel easily among ourselves, and forget poor Tiny Tim indoing it. "

"No, never, father!" they all cried again. 

"I am very happy, " said little Bob, "I am very happy!"

Mrs. Cratchit kissed him, his daughters kissed him, the two youngCratchits kissed him, and Peter and himself shook hands. Spirit of TinyTim, thy childish essence was from God!

"Spectre, " said Scrooge, "something informs me that our parting momentis at hand. I know it, but I know not how. Tell me what man that waswhom we saw lying dead?"

The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come conveyed him, as before--though at adifferent time, he thought: indeed, there seemed no order in theselatter visions, save that they were in the Future--into the resorts ofbusiness men, but showed him not himself. Indeed, the Spirit did notpause, but went straight on, as to the end just now desired, untilbesought by Scrooge to tarry for a moment. 

"This court, " said Scrooge, "through which we hurry now, is where myplace of occupation is, and has been for a length of time. I see thehouse. Let me behold what I shall be, in days to come!"

The Spirit stopped; the hand was pointed elsewhere. 

"The house is yonder, " Scrooge exclaimed, "Why do you point away?"

The inexorable finger underwent no change. 

Scrooge hastened to the window of his office, and looked in. It was anoffice still, but not his. The furniture was not the same, and thefigure in the chair was not himself. The Phantom pointed as before. Hejoined it once again, and wondering why and whither he had gone, accompanied it until they reached an iron gate. He paused to look roundbefore entering. 

A churchyard. Here, then, the wretched man whose name he had now tolearn, lay underneath the ground. It was a worthy place. Walled in byhouses; overrun by grass and weeds, the growth of vegetation's death, not life; choked up with too much burying; fat with repleted appetite. Aworthy place!

The Spirit stood among the graves, and pointed down to One. He advancedtowards it trembling. The Phantom was exactly as it had been, but hedreaded that he saw new meaning in its solemn shape. 

"Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point, " said Scrooge, "answer me one question. Are these shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of things that May be, only?"

Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it stood. 

"Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead, " said Scrooge. "But if the courses be departed from, theends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me!"

The Spirit was immovable as ever. 

Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went; and following thefinger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own name, EBENEZER SCROOGE. 

[Illustration: HE READ HIS OWN NAME]

"Am _I_ that man who lay upon the bed?" he cried, upon his knees. 

The finger pointed from the grave to him, and back again. 

"No, Spirit! Oh no, no!"

The finger still was there. 

"Spirit!" he cried, tight clutching at its robe, "hear me! I am not theman I was. I will not be the man I must have been but for thisintercourse. Why show me this, if I am past all hope!"

For the first time the hand appeared to shake. 

"Good Spirit, " he pursued, as down upon the ground he fell before it:"Your nature intercedes for me, and pities me. Assure me that I yet maychange these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life!"

The kind hand trembled. 

"I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. Iwill live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of allThree shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that theyteach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!"

In his agony, he caught the spectral hand. It sought to free itself, buthe was strong in his entreaty, and detained it. The Spirit, strongeryet, repulsed him. 

Holding up his hands in one last prayer to have his fate reversed, hesaw an alteration in the Phantom's hood and dress. It shrank, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost. 

STAVE FIVE

_The End of It_

Yes! and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the room was hisown. Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own, to makeamends in!

"I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!" Scroogerepeated, as he scrambled out of bed. "The Spirits of all Three shallstrive within me. Oh Jacob Marley! Heaven and the Christmas Time bepraised for this! I say it on my knees, old Jacob, on my knees!"

He was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions, that hisbroken voice would scarcely answer to his call. He had been sobbingviolently in his conflict with the Spirit, and his face was wet withtears. 

"They are not torn down, " cried Scrooge, folding one of his bed-curtainsin his arms, "they are not torn down, rings and all. They are here: I amhere: the shadows of the things that would have been, may be dispelled. They will be. I know they will!"

His hands were busy with his garments all this time: turning them insideout, putting them on upside down, tearing them, mislaying them, makingthem parties to every kind of extravagance. 

"I don't know what to do!" cried Scrooge, laughing and crying in thesame breath; and making a perfect Laocoön[346-18] of himself with hisstockings. "I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I amas merry as a schoolboy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. A MerryChristmas to everybody! A Happy New Year to all the world. Hallo here!Whoop! Hallo!"

He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there:perfectly winded. 

"There's the saucepan that the gruel was in!" cried Scrooge, startingoff again, and frisking round the fireplace. "There's the door, by whichthe Ghost of Jacob Marley entered! There's the corner where the Ghost ofChristmas Present sat! There's the window where I saw the wanderingSpirits! It's all right, it's all true, it all happened. Ha, ha, ha!"

Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it wasa splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long, longline of brilliant laughs!

"I don't know what day of the month it is!" said Scrooge. "I don't knowhow long I've been among the Spirits. I don't know anything. I'm quite ababy. Never mind. I don't care. I'd rather be a baby. Hallo! Whoop!Hallo here!"

He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out thelustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clang, hammer, ding, dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding, hammer, clang, clash! Oh, glorious, glorious!

Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head. No fog, nomist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the bloodto dance to; golden sunlight; heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merrybells. Oh, glorious! Glorious!

"What's to-day?" cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sundayclothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him. 

"EH?" returned the boy, with all his might of wonder. 

[Illustration: HE STOOD BY THE WINDOW--GLORIOUS!]

"What's to-day, my fine fellow?" said Scrooge. 

"To-day!" replied the boy. "Why, CHRISTMAS DAY. "

"It's Christmas Day!" said Scrooge to himself. "I haven't missed it. TheSpirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of course they can. Hallo, my fine fellow!""Hallo!" returned the boy. 

"Do you know the poulterer's, in the next street but one, at thecorner?" Scrooge inquired. 

"I should hope I did, " replied the lad. 

"An intelligent boy!" said Scrooge. "A remarkable boy! Do you knowwhether they've sold the prize turkey that was hanging up there? Not thelittle prize turkey: the big one?"

"What, the one as big as me?" returned the boy. 

"What a delightful boy!" said Scrooge. "It's a pleasure to talk to him. Yes, my buck!"

"It's hanging there now, " replied the boy. 

"Is it?" said Scrooge. "Go and buy it. "

"Walk-ER!"[349-19] exclaimed the boy. 

"No, no, " said Scrooge, "I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell 'em tobring it here, that I may give them the direction where to take it. Comeback with the man, and I'll give you a shilling. Come back with him inless than five minutes, and I'll give you half-a-crown!"

The boy was off like a shot. He must have had a steady hand at a triggerwho could have got a shot off half so fast. 

"I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's!" whispered Scrooge, rubbing his hands, and splitting with a laugh. "He shan't know who sends it. It's twice thesize of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller[349-20] never made such a joke as sendingit to Bob's will be!"

The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady one, but writeit he did, somehow, and went downstairs to open the street door, readyfor the coming of the poulterer's man. As he stood there, waiting hisarrival, the knocker caught his eye. 

"I shall love it, as long as I live!" cried Scrooge, patting it with hishand. "I scarcely ever looked at it before. What an honest expression ithas in its face! It's a wonderful knocker!--Here's the turkey. Hallo!Whoop! How are you! Merry Christmas!"

It _was_ a turkey! He could never have stood upon his legs, that bird. He would have snapped 'em short off in a minute, like sticks ofsealing-wax. 

"Why, it's impossible to carry that to Camden Town, " said Scrooge. "Youmust have a cab. "

The chuckle with which he said this, and the chuckle with which he paidfor the turkey, and the chuckle with which he paid for the cab, and thechuckle with which he recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded bythe chuckle with which he sat down breathless in his chair again, andchuckled till he cried. 

Shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to shake very much;and shaving requires attention, even when you don't dance while you areat it. But if he had cut the end of his nose off, he would have put apiece of sticking-plaster over it, and been quite satisfied. 

He dressed himself "all in his best, " and at last got out into thestreets. The people were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen themwith the Ghost of Christmas Present; and walking with his hands behindhim, Scrooge regarded every one with a delighted smile. He looked soirresistibly pleasant, in a word, that three or four good-humouredfellows said, "Good morning, Sir! A Merry Christmas to you!" And Scroogesaid often afterwards, that of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his ears. 

He had not gone far, when coming on towards him he beheld the portlygentleman, who had walked into his counting-house the day before andsaid, "Scrooge and Marley's, I believe?" It sent a pang across his heartto think how this old gentleman would look upon him when they met; buthe knew what path lay straight before him, and he took it. 

"My dear Sir, " said Scrooge, quickening his pace, and taking the oldgentleman by both his hands. "How do you do? I hope you succeededyesterday. It was very kind of you. A Merry Christmas to you, Sir!"

"Mr. Scrooge?"

"Yes, " said Scrooge. "That is my name, and I fear it may not be pleasantto you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have thegoodness"--here Scrooge whispered in his ear. 

"Lord bless me, " cried the gentleman, as if his breath were gone. "Mydear Mr. Scrooge, are you serious?"

"If you please, " said Scrooge. "Not a farthing less. A great manyback-payments are included in it, I assure you. Will you do me thatfavour?"

"My dear Sir, " said the other, shaking hands with him. "I don't knowwhat to say to such munifi----"

"Don't say anything, please, " retorted Scrooge. "Come and see me. Willyou come and see me?"

"I will!" cried the old gentleman. And it was clear he meant to do it. 

"Thank'ee, " said Scrooge. "I am much obliged to you. I thank you fiftytimes. Bless you!"

He went to church, and walked about the streets, and watched the peoplehurrying to and fro, and patted children on the head, and questionedbeggars, and looked down into the kitchens of houses, and up to thewindows; and found that everything could yield him pleasure. He hadnever dreamed that any walk--that anything--could give him so muchhappiness. In the afternoon, he turned his steps towards his nephew'shouse. He passed the door a dozen times, before he had the courage to goup and knock. But he made a dash, and did it. 

"Is your master at home, my dear?" said Scrooge to the girl. Nice girl!Very. 

"Yes, Sir. "

"Where is he, my love?" said Scrooge. 

"He's in the dining-room, Sir, along with mistress. I'll show youupstairs, if you please. "

"Thank'ee. He knows me, " said Scrooge, with his hand already on thedining-room lock. "I'll go in here, my dear. "

He turned it gently, and sidled his face in, round the door. They werelooking at the table (which was spread out in great array); for theseyoung housekeepers are always nervous on such points, and like to seethat everything is right. 

"Fred!" said Scrooge. 

Dear heart alive, how his niece by marriage started! Scrooge hadforgotten, for the moment, about her sitting in the corner with thefootstool, or he wouldn't have done it, on any account. 

"Why bless my soul!" cried Fred, "who's that?"

"It's I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Will you let me in, Fred?"

Let him in! It is a mercy he didn't shake his arm off. He was at home infive minutes. Nothing could be heartier. His niece looked just the same. So did Topper when _he_ came. So did the plump sister, when _she_ came. So did every one when _they_ came. Wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness!

But he was early at the office next morning. Oh he was early there. Ifhe could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! Thatwas the thing he had set his heart upon. 

And he did it; yes he did! The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarterpast. No Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into theTank. His hat was off, before he opened the door; his comforter too. Hewas on his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he weretrying to overtake nine o'clock. 

"Hallo!" growled Scrooge in his accustomed voice as near as he couldfeign it. "What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?"

"I am very sorry, Sir, " said Bob. "I _am_ behind my time. "

"You are?" repeated Scrooge. "Yes. I think you are. Step this way, Sir, if you please. "

"It's only once a year, Sir, " pleaded Bob, appearing from the Tank. "Itshall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, Sir. "

"Now, I'll tell you what, my friend, " said Scrooge. "I am not going tostand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore, " he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat thathe staggered back into the Tank again: "and therefore I am about toraise your salary!"

Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. He had a momentaryidea of knocking Scrooge down with it; holding him; and calling to thepeople in the court for help and a strait-waist-coat. 

"A Merry Christmas, Bob!" said Scrooge, with an earnestness that couldnot be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. "A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year! I'll raiseyour salary, and endeavor to assist your struggling family, and we willdiscuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl ofsmoking bishop, Bob! Make up the fires, and buy another coal-scuttlebefore you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!"

 * * * * *

Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more;and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, he was a second father. He became asgood a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old cityknew, or any other good old city, town, or borough, in the good oldworld. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let themlaugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know thatnothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people didnot have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such asthese would be blind anyway, he thought it quite as well that theyshould wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in lessattractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough forhim. 

[Illustration: "A MERRY CHRISTMAS, BOB!"]

He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the TotalAbstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed theknowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as TinyTim observed, God Bless Us, Every One!

FOOTNOTES:

[247-1] The fogs of London are famous. A genuine London fog seems notlike the heavy gray mist which we know as a fog, but, as Dickens says, like "palpable brown air. " So dense is this brown air at times that alltraffic is obliged to cease, for not even those best acquainted with thegeography of the city can find their way about. 

[251-2] _Bedlam_ is the name of a famous asylum for lunatics, in London. In former times the treatment of the inmates was far from humane, but atthe present time the management is excellent, and a large proportion ofthe inmates are cured. 

[252-3] Workhouses are establishments where paupers are cared for, acertain amount of labor being expected from those who are able. 

[252-4] In England formerly there existed a device for the punishment ofprisoners which was known as the _treadmill_. A huge wheel, usually inthe form of a long hollow cylinder, was provided with steps about itscircumference, and made to revolve by the weight of the prisoner as hemoved from step to step. 

[253-5] Links are torches made of tow and pitch. In the days before theinvention of street lights, they were in common use in England, and theyare still seen during the dense London fogs. 

[254-6] Saint Dunstan was an English archbishop and statesman who livedin the tenth century. 

[254-7] This is one of the best-known and oftenest-sung of Christmascarols. In many parts of England, parties of men and boys go about forseveral nights before Christmas singing carols before people's houses. These troops of singers are known as "waits. "

[258-8] The splinter-bar is the cross-bar of a vehicle, to which thetraces of the horses are fastened. 

[261-9] There is a play on the word _bowels_ here. What Scrooge hadheard said of Marley was that he had no bowels of compassion--that is, no pity. 

[277-10] Scrooge sees and recognizes the heroes of the books which hadbeen almost his only comforters in his neglected childhood. 

[284-11] "Sir Roger de Coverley" is the English name for theold-fashioned country-dance which is called in the United States the"Virginia Reel. "

[300-12] Biffins are an excellent variety of apples raised in England. 

[301-13] _Baker's_ here does not mean exactly what it means with us. InEngland the poorer people often take their dinners to a baker's to becooked. 

[303-14] A _bob_, in English slang, is a shilling. 

[311-15] _Five-and-sixpence_ means five shillings and sixpence, or about$1. 32. 

[319-16] In what sense has Scrooge "resorted to the sexton's spade thatburied Jacob Marley" to cultivate the kindnesses of life?

[320-17] "I love my love" is an old game of which there are severalslightly different forms. The player says "I love my love with an _A_because he's--, " giving some adjective beginning with _A_; "I hate himwith an _A_ because he's--; I took him to--and fed him on--, " all theblanks being filled with words beginning with _A_. This is carried outthrough the whole alphabet. 

[346-18] The Laocoön is a famous ancient statue of a Trojan priest, Laocoön, and his two sons, struggling in the grip of two monstrousserpents. You have doubtless seen pictures of the group. Dickens'sfigure gives us a humorously exaggerated picture of Scrooge and hisstockings. 

[349-19] This is a slang expression, used to express incredulity. It hassomewhat the same meaning as the slang phrase heard in the UnitedStates--"Over the left. "

[349-20] Joe Miller was an English comedian who lived from 1684 to 1738. The year after his death there appeared a little book called _JoeMiller's Jests_. These stories and jokes, however, were not written byMiller. 

CHRISTMAS IN OLD TIME

_By_ Sir Walter Scott

 Heap on more wood![356-1]--the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still. Each age has deem'd the new-born year The fittest time for festal cheer:[356-2] And well our Christian sires of old Loved when the year its course had roll'd, And brought blithe Christmas back again, With all his hospitable train. [356-3] Domestic and religious rite[356-4] Gave honor to the holy night; On Christmas Eve the bells were rung;[356-5] On Christmas Eve the mass[356-6] was sung: That only night in all the year, Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. [356-7] The damsel donn'd her kirtle sheen;[356-8]

 The hall was dress'd with holly green; Forth to the wood did merry-men go, To gather in the mistletoe. [357-9] Then open'd wide the baron's hall To vassal, [357-10] tenant, [357-11] serf, [357-12] and all; Power laid his rod of rule aside, [357-13] And ceremony doff'd his pride. [357-14] The heir, with roses in his shoes, [357-15] That night might village partner choose;[357-16] The lord, underogating, [357-17] share The vulgar game of "post and pair. "[357-18] All hail'd, with uncontroll'd delight And general voice, the happy night, That to the cottage, as the crown, Brought tidings of Salvation down. [357-19]

 The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, Went roaring up the chimney wide; The huge hall-table's oaken face, Scrubb'd till it shone, the day to grace, Bore then upon its massive board No mark to part the squire and lord. [358-20] Then was brought in the lusty brawn, [358-21] By old blue-coated serving-man; Then the grim boar's head frown'd on high, Crested with bays and rosemary. [358-22] Well can the green-garb'd ranger[358-23] tell, How, when, and where, the monster fell; What dogs before his death he tore, And all the baiting of the boar. [358-24] The wassail[358-25] round, in good brown bowls, Garnish'd with ribbons, blithely trowls. [358-26]

 There the huge sirloin reek'd; hard by Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie;[358-27] Nor fail'd old Scotland to produce, At such high tide, her savory goose. Then came the merry maskers in, And carols roar'd with blithesome din: If unmelodious was the song, It was a hearty note, and strong. Who lists may in their mumming see Traces of ancient mystery;[359-28] White shirts supplied the masquerade, And smutted cheeks the visors made;--[359-29] But, O! what maskers, richly dight, Can boast of bosoms, half so light![359-30] England was merry England, when Old Christmas brought his sports again. 'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale; 'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale; A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year. 

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[356-1] Is there a stove or a fireplace in the room where the poet seesChristmas kept?

[356-2] What is cheer? What is festal cheer?

[356-3] What is a "train"? How could it be called a hospitable train?Whose train was it?

[356-4] What is a rite?

[356-5] What bells were rung?

[356-6] What is a mass?

[356-7] What is a _stoled_ priest? What is a chalice? What did thepriest do when he reared the chalice?

[356-8] The kirtle was a dress-skirt or outer petticoat. _Sheen_ means_gay_ or _bright_. 

[357-9] What is mistletoe? Is there anything peculiar in its habits ofgrowth? What did they want of it? What custom is still said to followthe use of mistletoe at Christmastime?

[357-10] A vassal was one of the followers of the baron and paid forprotection or for lands he held by fighting in the baron's troops orrendering some other service. 

[357-11] A tenant held lands or houses, for which he paid some form ofrent. 

[357-12] A serf was a slave. 

[357-13] At Christmastime even the powerful were willing to cease fromruling and join with the common people. 

[357-14] Instead of grand ceremonies, everybody joined in simpleamusements, without pride or prejudice. 

[357-15] Who was the heir? What was he heir to? Why did he have roses inhis shoes?

[357-16] Was he permitted to dance with village maidens at any othertime?

[357-17] Without losing any of his dignity. 

[357-18] An old-fashioned game of cards. 

[357-19] Who brought the tidings of Salvation? To whom was it brought?Who was "the crown"?

[358-20] A lord was one who had power and authority, while a squire wasmerely an attendant upon a lord. 

[358-21] Brawn, in England, is a preparation of meat, generally sheep'shead, pig's head, hock of beef, or boar's meat, boiled and seasoned, andrun into jelly moulds. 

[358-22] What are bays? What is rosemary? Why should the boar's head becalled _crested_? Where was it? Why was it there? Why does the poet sayit _frowned_ on high?

[358-23] Who was a ranger? What did he do? Do you see any reason for hisbeing green-garbed?

[358-24] What is meant by _baiting_? Who tore the dogs? Why did he tearthem? What made the monster fall?

[358-25] Wassail (_wossil_): the liquor in which they drank theirtoasts, and which signified the good cheer of Christmastime. 

[358-26] Moves about; that is, the liquor in good brown bowls wasmerrily passed along the table from hand to hand. 

[358-27] What was near the sirloin? How many kinds of meat were there onthe table? Is anything mentioned besides meat? Do you suppose they hadother things to eat? Did they have bread and vegetables?

[359-28] In the _mumming_ or acting of these maskers could be seentraces of the ancient mystic plays in which religious lessons were givenin plays that were acted with the approval of the church. 

[359-29] Did the maskers have rich costumes? What did they wear overtheir faces? How did they conceal their clothing?

[359-30] Does the poet think that rich maskers would enjoy theirpleasure as much as the old-fashioned Christmas merrymakers?

ELEGY

WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD

_By_ THOMAS GRAY

 NOTE. --A mournful song written to express grief at the loss of some friend or relative, and at the same time to praise the dead person, is known as an elegy. Sometimes the word has a wider meaning, and includes a poem which expresses the same ideas but applies them to a class of people rather than to an individual. Such a poem is not so personal, and for that very reason it will be appreciated by a larger number of readers. Gray's _Elegy_ is of the latter class--is perhaps the one great poem of that class; for in all probability more people have loved it and found in its gentle sadness, its exquisite phraseology and its musical lines more genuine charm than in any similar poem in the language. 

 To one who already loves it, any comments on the poem may at first thought seem like desecration, but, on the other hand, there is so much more in the _Elegy_ than appears at first glance that it is worth while to read it in the light of another's eyes. Not a few persons find some enjoyment in reading, but fall far short of the highest pleasure because of their failure really to comprehend the meaning of certain words and forms of expression. For that reason, notes are appended where they may be needed. A good reader is never troubled by notes at the bottom of the page. If they are of no interest or benefit to him, he knows it with a glance and passes on with his reading. If the note is helpful, he gathers the information and returns to his reading, beginning not at the word from which the reference was made, but at the beginning of the sentence or stanza; then he loses nothing by going to the footnote. 

 The curfew[361-1] tolls the knell[361-2] of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

[Illustration: HOMEWARD PLODS HIS WEARY WAY]

 Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;[361-3]

 Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower[362-4] The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. [362-5]

 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mold'ring heap, Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude[362-6] forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

 The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, [362-7] or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. [362-8]

 For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care;[362-9] No children run to lisp their sire's return, [363-10] Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe[363-11] has broke; How jocund[363-12] did they drive their team a-field! How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

 Let not Ambition[363-13] mock their useful toil, Their homely joys and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the poor. 

 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await[363-14] alike th' inevitable hour: The paths of glory lead but to the grave. [363-15]

 Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where, through the long-drawn aisle[364-16] and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

 Can storied urn or animated bust[364-17] Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke[364-18] the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death?

 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;[364-19] Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. [364-20]

 But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;[364-21] Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. 

 Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

 Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest-- Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. [365-22]

 Th' applause[365-23] of listening senates to command The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, [365-24] And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;

 The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. [366-25]

 Far from the madding[366-26] crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray; Along the cool, sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

 Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect Some frail memorial[366-27] still erected nigh, With uncouth[366-28] rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

 Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlettered Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply; And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. [366-29]

 For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?[367-30]

 On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

 For thee, [367-31] who, mindful of th' unhonored dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 

 "There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

 "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove; Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 

 "One morn I missed him from the customed hill, Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree. Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. 

 "The next, with dirges due, [368-32] in sad array, Slow through the church way path we saw him borne. -- Approach and read, for thou canst read, the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn. "[368-33]

THE EPITAPH

 Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, A youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown: Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, And Melancholy marked him for her own. 

 Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to Misery, all he had, a tear, He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend. 

 No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose, ) The bosom of his Father and his God. 

[Illustration: THE COUNTRY CHURCHYARD]

 Thomas Gray was born in London on the twenty-sixth of December, 1716, and received his education at Cambridge, where he lived most of his quiet life and where he died in 1771. He was a small and graceful man with handsome features and rather an effeminate appearance, always dressed with extreme care. The greater part of his life was spent in neatly furnished rooms among his books, for he was a hard student, and became noted as one of the first scholars of his time. Among his friends he was witty and entertaining, but among strangers, quiet and reserved, almost timid. He loved his mother devotedly, and after her death he kept her dress neatly folded in his trunk, always by him. Innocent, well-meaning, gentle and retiring, he drew many warm friends to him, though his great learning and his fondness for giving information made many people think him something of a prig. 

 It might be considered a weakness in the _Elegy_ that it drifts into an elegy on the writer, who becomes lost in the pathos of his own sad end. Yet, knowing the man as we do, we can understand his motives and forgive the seeming selfishness. He is not the only poet whose own sorrows, real or imaginary, were his greatest inspiration. 

 The metre of the _Elegy_ had been used, before Gray's time, by Sir John Davies for his _Immortality of the Soul_, Sir William Davenant in his _Gondibert_, and Dryden in his _Annus Mirabilis_, and others; but in no instance so happily as here by Gray. In the _Elegy_ the quatrain has not the somewhat disjunctive and isolating effect that it has in some other works where there is continuous argument or narrative that should run on with as few metrical hindrances as possible. It is well adapted to convey a series of solemn reflections, and that is its work in the _Elegy_. 

FOOTNOTES:

[361-1] In some of our American towns and cities a curfew bell is rungas a signal that the children must leave the streets and go to theirhomes. Many years ago it was the custom in English villages to ring abell at nightfall as a signal for people to cover their fires with ashesto preserve till morning, and as a signal for bed. The word _curfew_, infact, is from the French, and means _cover fire_. 

[361-2] The word _knell_ suggests death, and gives the first mournfulnote to the poem. 

[361-3] The sheep are shut up for the night in the _folds_ or pens. Whatare the _tinklings_? Why should they be called _drowsy_?

[362-4] The poem is supposed to have been written in the yard ofStoke-Pogis church, a little building with a square tower, the wholecovered with a riotous growth of ivy vines. The church is in thecountry, not many miles from Windsor Castle; and even to this day thebeautiful landscape preserves the rural charms it had in Gray's time. Wemust not suppose that Gray actually sat in the churchyard and wrote hislines. As a matter of fact, he was a very careful and painstakingwriter, and for eight years was at work on this poem, selecting eachword so that it should express just the shade of meaning he wanted andgive the perfect melody he sought. However, he did begin the poem atStoke in October or November of 1742 and continued it there in November, 1749; but it was finished in Cambridge in June, 1750. 

[362-5] _Reign_ here means _dominion_ or _possessions_. Why is the birdcalled a _moping_ owl? Why is her reign _solitary_? What word isunderstood after _such_ in the third line of this stanza?

[362-6] _Rude_ means _uneducated_, _uncultured_, not _ill-mannered_. 

[362-7] A clarion is a loud, clear-sounding trumpet. 

[362-8] In the church are the tombs of the wealthy and titled of theneighborhood, and in the building and on the walls are monuments thattell the virtues of the lordly dead. It is outside, however, under thesod, in their narrow cells, that the virtuous poor, the real subjects ofthe poet's thoughts, lie in quiet slumbers. 

[362-9] What evening cares has the busy housewife? Was she making theclothes of her children, knitting, mending, darning, after the supperdishes were put away?

[363-10] Where were the children? Were they waiting for their father'sreturn? To whom would they run to tell of his coming?

[363-11] The _glebe_ is the turf. Why should it be called _stubborn_?

[363-12] _Jocund_ means _joyful_. 

[363-13] The word _Ambition_ begins with a capital letter because Grayspeaks of ambition as though it were a person. The line means, "Let notambitious persons speak lightly of the work the rude forefathers did. "

[363-14] The inevitable hour (death) alike awaits the boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, and all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave. 

[363-15] This is perhaps the most famous stanza in the poem. Thefollowing story is told of General Wolfe as he was leading his troops tothe daring assault on Quebec in 1759: "At past midnight, when theheavens were hung black with clouds, and the boats were floatingsilently back with the tide to the intended landing-place at the chosenascent to the Plains of Abraham, he repeated in low tones to theofficers around him this touching stanza of Gray's _Elegy_. 'Now, gentlemen, ' said Wolfe, 'I would rather be the author of that poem thanthe possessor of the glory of beating the French to-morrow!' He fell thenext day, and expired just as the shouts of the victory of the Englishfell upon his almost unconscious ears. "

[364-16] Now, an aisle is the passageway between the pews or the seatsin a church or other public hall: in the poem it means the passagewaysrunning to the sides of the main body of the church. 

[364-17] A storied urn is an urn-shaped monument on which are inscribedthe virtues of the dead. Why should a _bust_ be called _animated_? Whatis the _mansion_ of _the fleeting breath_?

[364-18] In this instance _provoke_ means what it originally meant inthe Latin language; namely, _call forth_. 

[364-19] The line means, "Some heart once filled with the heavenlyinspiration. "

[364-20] A poet or musician is said to sing, and the lyre is theinstrument with which the ancients accompanied their songs. _To wake toecstasy the living lyre_ is to write the noblest poetry, to sing themost inspired songs. 

[364-21] The books of the ancients were rolls of manuscripts. Did any ofthose persons resting in this neglected spot ever write great poetry, rule empires or sing inspiring songs? If not, what prevented them fromdoing such things if they had the ability?

[365-22] At first this stanza was written thus:

 "Some village Cato, who with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute, inglorious Tully here may rest; Some Caesar guiltless of his country's blood. "

It is interesting to notice that at his first writing Gray selectedthree of the famous men of antiquity, but in his revision he substitutedthe names of three of his own countrymen. Who were Hampden, Milton andCromwell?

[365-23] The three stanzas beginning at this point make but onesentence. Turned into prose the sentence would read: "Their lot forbadethem to command the applause of listening senates, to despise thethreats of pain and ruin, to scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, andread their history in a nation's eyes: their lot not only circumscribedtheir growing virtues but confined their crimes as well; it forbade themto wade through slaughter to a throne and shut the gates of mercy onmankind, to hide the struggling pangs of conscious truth, to quench theblushes of ingenuous shame, and to heap the shrine of Luxury and Pridewith incense kindled at the Muse's flame. "

[365-24] This line means that they could not become rulers by fightingand killing their fellowmen as Napoleon did not long afterward. 

[366-25] Many of the English poets wrote in praise of the wealthy andtitled in order to be paid or favored by the men they flattered. Graythinks that such conduct is disgraceful, and rejoices that the rudeforefathers of the hamlet were prevented from writing poetry for such anend. The Greeks thought poetry was inspired by one of the Muses, andgenius is often spoken as a flame. 

[366-26] _Madding_ means _excited_ or _raging_. 

[366-27] The _frail memorials_ were simple headstones, similar to thoseone may see in any country graveyard in America. On such headstones mayoften be seen _shapeless sculpture_ that would almost provoke a smile, were it not for its pathetic meaning. A picture of Stoke-Pogischurchyard shows many stories of the ordinary type. 

[366-28] The rhymes were _uncouth_ in the sense that they were unlearnedand unpolished. 

[366-29] What facts were inscribed on the headstones? _Elegy_ here means_praise_. Where were the texts strewn? Why were the texts called _holy?_What was the nature of the texts? Can you think of one that might havebeen used?

[367-30] This is one of the difficult stanzas, and there is some disputeas to its exact meaning, owing to the phrase, _to dumb forgetfulness aprey_. Perhaps the correct meaning is shown in the following proseversion: "For who has ever died (resigned this pleasing, anxious being, left the warm precincts of this cheerful day), a prey to dumbforgetfulness, and cast not one longing, lingering look behind?"

[367-31] _Thee_ refers to the poet, Gray himself. The remainder of thepoem is personal. Summed up briefly it means that perhaps a sympatheticsoul may some day come to inquire as to the poet's fate, and will betold by some hoary-headed swain a few of the poet's habits, and thenwill have pointed out to him the poet's own grave, on which may be readhis epitaph. 

[368-32] _Due_ means _appropriate_ or _proper_. 

[368-33] As first written, the poem contained the following stanza, placed before the epitaph; but in the final revision Gray rejected it asunworthy. It seems a very critical taste that would reject such lines asthese:

 "There scatter'd oft, the earliest of the year, By hands unseen are show'rs of violets found: The redbreast loves to build and warble there, And little footsteps lightly print the ground. "

THE SHIPWRECK[371-1]

_By_ ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

I went down, and drank my fill; and then came up, and got a blink at themoon; and then down again. They say a man sinks the third time for good. I cannot be made like other folk, then, for I would not like to writehow often I went down or how often I came up again. All the while, I wasbeing hurled along, and beaten upon and choked, and then swallowedwhole; and the thing was so distracting to my wits, that I was neithersorry nor afraid. 

Presently, I found I was holding to a spar, which helped me somewhat. And then all of a sudden I was in quiet water, and began to come tomyself. 

It was the spare yard I had got hold of, and I was amazed to see how farI had traveled from the brig. I hailed her, indeed; but it was plain shewas already out of cry. She was still holding together; but whether ornot they had yet launched the boat, I was too far off and too low downto see. 

[Illustration: I FOUND I WAS HOLDING TO A SPAR]

While I was hailing the brig, I spied a tract of water lying between us, where no great waves came, but which yet boiled white all over andbristled in the moon with rings and bubbles. Sometimes the whole tractswung to one side, like the tail of a live serpent; sometimes, for aglimpse, it would all disappear and then boil up again. What it was Ihad no guess, which for the time increased my fear of it; but I now knowit must have been the roost or tide-race, which had carried me away sofast and tumbled me about so cruelly, and at last, as if tired of thatplay, had flung out me and the spare yard upon its landward margin. 

I now lay quite becalmed, and began to feel that a man can die of coldas well as of drowning. The shores of Earraid were close in; I could seein the moonlight the dots of heather and the sparkling of the mica inthe rocks. 

"Well, " thought I to myself, "if I cannot get as far as that, it'sstrange. "

I had no skill of swimming; but when I laid hold upon the yard with botharms, and kicked out with both feet, I soon began to find that I wasmoving. Hard work it was, and mortally slow; but in about an hour ofkicking and splashing, I had got well in between the points of a sandybay surrounded by low hills. 

The sea was here quite quiet; there was no sound of any surf; the moonshone clear, and I thought in my heart I had never seen a place sodesert and desolate. But it was dry land; and when at last it grew soshallow that I could leave the yard and wade ashore upon my feet, Icannot tell if I was more tired or more grateful. Both at least, I was;tired as I never was before that night; and grateful to God, as I trustI have been often, though never with more cause. 

With my stepping ashore, I began the most unhappy part of my adventures. It was half-past twelve in the morning, and though the wind was brokenby the land, it was a cold night. I dared not sit down (for I thought Ishould have frozen), but took off my shoes and walked to and fro uponthe sand, barefoot and beating my breast with infinite weariness. Therewas no sound of man or cattle; not a cock crew, though it was about thehour of their first waking; only the surf broke outside in the distance, which put me in mind of my perils. To walk by the sea at that hour ofthe morning, and in a place so desert-like and lonesome, struck me witha kind of fear. 

As soon as the day began to break, I put on my shoes and climbed ahill--the ruggedest scramble I ever undertook--falling, the whole waybetween big blocks of granite or leaping from one to another. When I gotto the top the dawn was come. There was no sign of the brig, which musthave been lifted from the reef and sunk. The boat, too, was nowhere tobe seen. There was never a sail upon the ocean; and in what I could seeof the land, was neither house nor man. 

I was afraid to think what had befallen my ship-mates, and afraid tolook longer at so empty a scene. What with my wet clothes and weariness, and my belly that now began to ache with hunger, I had enough to troubleme without that. So I set off eastward along the south coast, hoping tofind a house where I might warm myself, and perhaps get news of those Ihad lost. And at the worst, I considered the sun would soon rise and drymy clothes. 

After a little, my way was stopped by a creek or inlet of the sea, whichseemed to run pretty deep into the land; and as I had no means to getacross, I must needs change my direction to go about the end of it. Itwas still the roughest kind of walking; indeed the whole, not only ofEarraid, but of the neighboring part of Mull (which they call the Ross)is nothing but a jumble of granite rocks with heather in among. At firstthe creek kept narrowing as I had looked to see; but presently to mysurprise it began to widen out again. At this I scratched my head, buthad still no notion of the truth; until at last I came to a risingground, and it burst upon me all in a moment that I was cast upon alittle, barren isle, and cut off on every side by the salt seas. 

Instead of the sun rising to dry me, it came on to rain, with a thickmist; so that my case was lamentable. 

I stood in the rain, and shivered, and wondered what to do, till itoccurred to me that perhaps the creek was fordable. Back I went to thenarrowest point, and waded in. But not three yards from shore, I plungedin head over ears; and if ever I was heard of more it was rather byGod's grace than my own prudence. I was no wetter (for that could hardlybe), but I was all the colder for this mishap; and having lost anotherhope, was the more unhappy. 

And now, all at once, the yard came in my head. What had carried methrough the roost, would surely serve to cross this little quiet creekin safety. With that I set off, undaunted, across the top of the isle, to fetch and carry it back. It was a weary tramp in all ways, and ifhope had not buoyed me up, I must have cast myself down and given up. Whether with the sea salt, or because I was growing fevered, I wasdistressed with thirst, and had to stop, as I went, and drink the peatywater out of the hags. 

I came to the bay at last, more dead than alive; and at the firstglance, I thought the yard was something further out than when I leftit. In I went, for the third time, into the sea. The sand was smooth andfirm and shelved gradually down; so that I could wade out till the waterwas almost to my neck and the little waves splashed into my face. But atthat depth my feet began to leave me and I durst venture no farther. Asfor the yard, I saw it bobbing very quietly some twenty feet in front ofme. 

I had borne up well until this last disappointment; but at that I cameashore, and flung myself down upon the sands and wept. 

The time I spent upon the island is still so horrible a thought to me, that I must pass it lightly over. In all the books I have read of peoplecast away, they had either their pockets full of tools, or a chest ofthings would be thrown upon the beach along with them, as if on purpose. My case was very different. I had nothing in my pockets but money; andbeing inland bred, I was as much short of knowledge as of means. 

I knew indeed that shell-fish were counted good to eat; and among therocks of the isle I found a great plenty of limpets, which at first Icould scarcely strike from their places, not knowing quickness to beneedful. There were, besides, some of the little shells that we callbuckies; I think periwinkle is the English name. Of these two I made mywhole diet, devouring them cold and raw as I found them; and so hungrywas I, that at first they seemed to me delicious. 

Perhaps they were out of season, or perhaps there was something wrong inthe sea about my island. But at least I had no sooner eaten my firstmeal than I was seized with giddiness and retching, and lay for a longtime no better than dead. A second trial of the same food (indeed I hadno other) did better with me and revived my strength. But as long as Iwas on the island, I never knew what to expect when I had eaten;sometimes all was well, and sometimes I was thrown into a miserablesickness; nor could I ever distinguish what particular fish it was thathurt me. 

All day it streamed rain; the island ran like a sop, there was no dryspot to be found; and when I lay down that night, between two bouldersthat made a kind of roof, my feet were in a bog. 

The second day, I crossed the island to all sides. There was no one partof it better than another; it was all desolate and rocky; nothing livingon it but game birds which I lacked the means to kill, and the gullswhich haunted the outlying rocks in a prodigious number. But the creek, or straits, that cut off the isle from the main land of the Ross, openedout on the north into a bay, and the bay again opened into the Sound ofIona; and it was the neighborhood of this place that I chose to be myhome; though if I had thought upon the very name of home in such a spot, I must have burst out crying. 

I had good reasons for my choice. There was in this part of the isle alittle hut of a house like a pig's hut, where fishers used to sleep whenthey came there upon their business; but the turf roof of it had fallenentirely in; so that the hut was of no use to me, and gave me lessshelter than my rocks. What was more important, the shell-fish on whichI lived grew there in great plenty; when the tide was out I could gathera peck at a time: and this was doubtless a convenience. But the otherreason went deeper. I had become in no way used to the horrid solitudeof the isle, but still looked round me on all sides (like a man that washunted) between fear and hope that I might see some human creaturecoming. Now, from a little up the hillside over the bay, I could catch asight of the great, ancient church and the roofs of the people's housesin Iona. And on the other hand, over the low country of the Ross, I sawsmoke go up, morning and evening, as if from a homestead in a hollow ofthe land. 

I used to watch this smoke, when I was wet and cold, and had my headhalf turned with loneliness; and think of the fireside and the company, till my heart burned. It was the same with the roofs of Iona. Altogether, this sight I had of men's homes and comfortable lives, although it put a point on my own sufferings, yet it kept hope alive, and helped me to eat my raw shell-fish (which had soon grown to be adisgust) and saved me from the sense of horror I had whenever I wasquite alone with dead rocks, and fowls, and the rain, and the cold sea. 

I say it kept hope alive; and indeed it seemed impossible that I shouldbe left to die on the shores of my own country, and within view of achurch tower and the smoke of men's houses. But the second day passed;and though as long as the light lasted I kept a bright lookout for boatson the sound or men passing on the Ross, no help came near me. It stillrained; and I turned in to sleep, as wet as ever and with a cruel sorethroat, but a little comforted, perhaps, by having said good-night to mynext neighbors, the people of Iona. 

Charles the Second declared a man could stay out doors more days in theyear in the climate of England than in any other. This was very like aking with a palace at his back and changes of dry clothes. But he musthave had better luck than I had on that miserable isle. It was theheight of the summer; yet it rained for more than twenty-four hours, anddid not clear until the afternoon of the third day. 

This was the day of incidents. In the morning I saw a red deer, a buckwith a fine spread of antlers, standing in the rain on the top of theisland; but he had scarce seen me rise from under my rock, before hetrotted off upon the other side. I supposed he must have swum thestraits; though what should bring any creature to Earraid, was more thanI could fancy. 

A little later, as I was jumping about after my limpets, I was startledby a guinea piece, which fell upon a rock in front of me and glanced offinto the sea. When the sailors gave me my money again, they kept backnot only about a third of the whole sum, but my father's leather purse;so that from that day out, I carried my gold loose in a pocket with abutton. I now saw there must be a hole, and clapped my hand to the placein a great hurry. But this was to lock the stable door after the steedwas stolen. I had left the shore at Queensferry with near on fiftypounds; now I found no more than two guinea pieces and a silvershilling. 

It is true I picked up a third guinea a little after, where it layshining on a piece of turf. That made a fortune of three pounds and fourshillings, English money, for a lad, the rightful heir of an estate, andnow starving on an isle at the extreme end of the wild Highlands. 

This state of my affairs dashed me still further; and indeed my plighton that third morning was truly pitiful. My clothes were beginning torot; my stockings in particular were quite worn through, so that myshanks went naked; my hands had grown quite soft with the continualsoaking; my throat was very sore, my strength had much abated, and myheart so turned against the horrid stuff I was condemned to eat, thatthe very sight of it came near to sicken me. 

And yet the worst was not yet come. 

There is a pretty high rock on the northwest of Earraid, which (becauseit had a flat top and overlooked the sound) I was much in the habit offrequenting; not that ever I stayed in one place, save when asleep, mymisery giving me no rest. Indeed, I wore myself down with continual andaimless goings and comings in the rain. 

As soon, however, as the sun came out, I lay down on the top of thatrock to dry myself. The comfort of the sunshine is a thing I cannottell. It set me thinking hopefully of my deliverance, of which I hadbegun to despair; and I scanned the sea and the Ross with a freshinterest. 

On the south of my rock, a part of the island jutted out and hid theopen ocean, so that a boat could thus come quite near me upon that side, and I be none the wiser. 

Well, all of a sudden, a coble[381-2] with a brown sail and a pair offishers aboard of it, came flying round that corner of the isle, boundfor Iona. I shouted out, and then fell on my knees on the rock andreached up my hands and prayed to them. They were near enough to hear--Icould even see the color of their hair; and there was no doubt but theyobserved me, for they cried out in the Gaelic tongue and laughed. Butthe boat never turned aside, and flew on, right before my eyes, forIona. 

I could not believe such wickedness, and ran along the shore from rockto rock, crying on them piteously; even after they were out of reach ofmy voice, I still cried and waved to them; and when they were quitegone, I thought my heart would have burst. All the time of my troubles, I wept only twice. Once, when I could not reach the oar; and now, thesecond time, when these fishers turned a deaf ear to my cries. But thistime I wept and roared like a wicked child, tearing up the turf with mynails and grinding my face in the earth. If a wish would kill men, thosetwo fishers would never have seen morning; and I should likely have diedupon my island. 

When I was a little over my anger, I must eat again, but with suchloathing of the mess as I could now scarcely control. Sure enough, Ishould have done as well to fast, for my fishes poisoned me again. I hadall my first pains; my throat was so sore I could scarce swallow; I hada fit of strong shuddering, which clucked my teeth together; and therecame on me that dreadful sense of illness, which we have no name foreither in Scotch or English. I thought I should have died, and made mypeace with God, forgiving all men, even my uncle and the fishers; and assoon as I had thus made up my mind to the worst, clearness came upon me:I observed the night was falling dry; my clothes were dried a good deal;truly, I was in a better case than ever before since I had landed on theisle; and so I got to sleep at last, with a thought of gratitude. 

The next day (which was the fourth of this horrible life of mine) Ifound my bodily strength run very low. But the sun shone, the air wassweet, and what I managed to eat of the shell-fish agreed well with meand revived my courage. 

I was scarce back on my rock (where I went always the first thing afterI had eaten) before I observed a boat coming down the sound and with herhead, as I thought, in my direction. 

I began at once to hope and fear exceedingly; for I thought these menmight have thought better of their cruelty and be coming back to myassistance. But another disappointment such as yesterday's was more thanI could bear. I turned my back, accordingly, upon the sea, and did notlook again till I had counted many hundreds. The boat was still headingfor the island. The next time I counted the full thousand, as slowly asI could, my heart beating so as to hurt me. And then it was out of allquestion. She was coming straight to Earraid!

I could no longer hold myself back, but ran to the seaside and out, fromone rock to another, as far as I could go. It is a marvel I was notdrowned; for when I was brought to a stand at last, my legs shook underme, and my mouth was so dry, I must wet it with the sea water before Iwas able to shout. 

All this time the boat was coming on; and now I was able to perceive itwas the same boat and the same two men as yesterday. This I knew bytheir hair, which the one had of a bright yellow and the other black. But now there was a third man along with them, who looked to be of abetter class. 

As soon as they were come within easy speech, they let down their sailand lay quiet. In spite of my supplications, they drew no nearer in, andwhat frightened me most of all, the new man tee-hee'd with laughter ashe talked and looked at me. 

Then he stood up in the boat and addressed me a long while, speakingfast and with many wavings of his hand. I told him I had no Gaelic; andat this he became very angry, and I began to suspect he thought he wastalking English. Listening very close, I caught the word, "whateffer, "several times; but all the rest was Gaelic, and might have been Greekand Hebrew for me. 

"Whateffer, " said I, to show him I had caught a word. 

"Yes, yes--yes, yes, " says he, and then he looked at the other men, asmuch as to say, "I told you I spoke English, " and began again as hard asever in the Gaelic. 

This time I picked out another word, "tide. " Then I had a flash of hope. I remembered he was always waving his hand toward the mainland of theRoss. 

"Do you mean when the tide is out----?" I cried, and could not finish. 

"Yes, yes, " said he. "Tide. "

At that I turned tail upon their boat (where my adviser had once morebegun to tee-hee with laughter), leaped back the way I had come, fromone stone to another, and set off running across the isle as I had neverrun before. In about half an hour I came out upon the shores of thecreek; and, sure enough, it was shrunk into a little trickle of water, through which I dashed, not above my knees, and landed with a shout onthe main island. 

A sea-bred boy would not have stayed a day on Earraid; which is onlywhat they call a tidal islet; and except in the bottom of the neaps, canbe entered and left twice in every twenty-four hours, either dry-shod, or at the most by wading. Even I, who had the tide going out and inbefore me in the bay, and even watched for the ebbs, the better to getmy shell-fish--even I (I say), if I had sat down to think, instead ofraging at my fate, must have soon guessed the secret and got free. Itwas no wonder the fishers had not understood me. The wonder was ratherthat they had ever guessed my pitiful illusion, and taken the trouble tocome back. I had starved with cold and hunger on that island for closeupon one hundred hours. But for the fishers, I might have left my bonesthere, in pure folly. 

And even as it was, I had paid for it pretty dear, not only in pastsufferings, but in my present case; being clothed like a beggar-man, scarce able to walk, and in great pain of my sore throat. 

I have seen wicked men and fools, a great many of both; and I believethey both get paid in the end; but the fools first. 

FOOTNOTES:

[371-1] This selection is from _Kidnapped_, the story of a young man, David Balfour by name, who, by the treachery of an uncle who has usurpedDavid's right to the family estate and fortune, is taken by force onboard a brig bound for the Carolinas in North America. In the Carolinas, according to the compact made between David's uncle and the captain ofthe brig, David is to be sold. He is saved from this fate by the sinkingof the brig. The selection as here given begins at the point where Davidis washed from the deck into the sea. The Island of Earraid is a small, unimportant island off the coast of Scotland. 

[381-2] A coble is a small boat used in fishing. 

ELEPHANT HUNTING

_By_ ROUALEYN GORDON CUMMING

 NOTE. --Mr. Cumming, a native of Scotland, was always passionately fond of hunting. Even in boyhood he devoted most of his time to sports of the field, and showed a great fondness for all forms of natural history. 

 For a time he served in the English army in India, and hunted the big game of those regions. However, he was not satisfied with this, and after a visit to Newfoundland, which was more disappointing to him, he went to Africa and there spent five adventurous years hunting and exploring. 

 Throughout this time he kept a journal of his exploits and adventures, and it is from this journal that he wrote his _A Hunter's Life Among Lions, Elephants and Other Wild Animals of South Africa_, from which the following selection is taken. We may judge from his account that he did not find Africa as disappointing as India and Newfoundland had proved. 

 His style is not that of a literary man, but he has the happy faculty of presenting things in a very vivid manner, so that we are willing to make some allowance for faults in style. He was conscious of his weakness in this matter, and partially explained it by saying, "The hand, wearied all day with the grasping of a rifle, is not the best suited for wielding the pen. "

On the 25th, at dawn of day, we inspanned, and trekked about five hoursin a northeasterly course, through a boundless open country sparinglyadorned with dwarfish old trees. In the distance the long-soughtmountains of Bamangwato at length loomed blue before me. We haltedbeside a glorious fountain, which at once made me forget all the caresand difficulties I had encountered in reaching it. The name of thisfountain was Massouey, but I at once christened it "the Elephant's ownFountain. " This was a very remarkable spot on the southern borders ofendless elephant forests, at which I had at length arrived. The fountainwas deep and strong, situated in a hollow at the eastern extremity of anextensive vley, [386-1] and its margin was surrounded by a level stratumof solid old red sandstone. Here and there lay a thick layer of soilupon the rock, and this was packed flat with the fresh spoor ofelephants. Around the water's edge the very rock was worn down by thegigantic feet which for ages had trodden there. 

The soil of the surrounding country was white and yellow sand, butgrass, trees, and bushes were abundant. From the borders of the fountaina hundred well-trodden elephant foot-paths led away in every direction, like the radii of a circle. The breadth of these paths was about threefeet; those leading to the northward and east were the most frequented, the country in those directions being well wooded. We drew up the wagonson a hillock on the eastern side of the water. This position commanded agood view of any game that might approach to drink. I had just cooked mybreakfast, and commenced to feed, when I heard my men exclaim, "Almagtigkeek de ghroote clomp cameel;" and, raising my eyes from thesassaby[386-2] stew, I beheld a truly beautiful and very unusual scene. 

From the margin of the fountain there extended an open level vley, without a tree or bush, that stretched away about a mile to thenorthward, where it was bounded by extensive groves of wide-spreadingmimosas. Up the middle of the vley stalked a troop of ten colossalgiraffes, flanked by two large herds of blue wildebeests and zebras, with an advanced guard of pallahs. They were all coming to the fountainto drink, and would be within rifle-shot of the wagons before I couldfinish my breakfast. I, however, continued to swallow my food with theutmost expedition, having directed my men to catch and saddle Colesberg. In a few minutes the giraffes were slowly advancing within two hundredyards, stretching their graceful necks, and gazing in wonder at theunwonted wagons. 

Grasping my rifle, I now mounted Colesberg, and rode slowly toward them. They continued gazing at the wagons until I was within one hundred yardsof them, when, whisking their long tails over their rumps, they made offat an easy canter. As I pressed upon them they increased their pace; butColesberg had much the speed of them, and before we proceeded half amile I was riding by the shoulder of the dark-chestnut old bull, whosehead towered high above the rest. Letting fly at the gallop, I woundedhim behind the shoulder; soon after which I broke him from the herd, andpresently, going ahead of him, he came to a stand. I then gave him asecond bullet, somewhere near the first. These two shots had takeneffect, and he was now in my power, but I would not lay him low so farfrom camp; so, having waited until he had regained his breath, I drovehim half way back toward the wagons. Here he became obstreperous; so, loading one barrel, and pointing my rifle toward the clouds, I shot himin the throat, when, rearing high, he fell backward and expired. 

This was a magnificent specimen of the giraffe, measuring upward ofeighteen feet in height. I stood for nearly half an hour engrossed inthe contemplation of his extreme beauty and gigantic proportions; and, if there had been no elephants, I could have exclaimed, like DukeAlexander of Gordon when he killed the famous old stag with seventeentine, "Now I can die happy. " But I longed for an encounter with thenoble elephants, and I thought little more of the giraffe than if I hadkilled a gemsbok or an eland. 

In the afternoon I removed my wagons to a correct distance from thefountain, and drew them up among some bushes about four hundred yards toleeward of the water. In the evening I was employed in manufacturinghardened bullets for the elephants, using a composition of one of pewterto four of lead; and I had just completed my work, when we heard a troopof elephants splashing and trumpeting in the water. This was to me ajoyful sound; I slept little that night. 

On the 26th I arose at earliest dawn, and, having fed four of my horses, proceeded with Isaac to the fountain to examine the spoor of theelephants which had drunk there during the night. A number of the pathscontained fresh spoor of elephants of all sizes, which had gone from thefountain in different directions. We reckoned that at least thirty ofthese gigantic quadrupeds had visited the water during the night. 

We hastily returned to camp, where, having breakfasted, I saddled up, and proceeded to take up the spoor of the largest bull elephant, accompanied by after-riders and three of the guides to assist inspooring. I was also accompanied by my dogs. Having selected the spoorof a mighty bull, the Bechuanas went ahead and I followed them. It wasextremely interesting and exciting work. The footprint of this elephantwas about two feet in diameter, and was beautifully visible in the softsand. The spoor at first led us for about three miles in an easterlydirection, along one of the sandy foot-paths, without a check. We thenentered a very thick forest, and the elephant had gone a little out ofthe path to smash some trees, and to plow up the earth with his tusks. He soon, however, again took the path, and held along it for severalmiles. 

We were on rather elevated ground, with a fine view of a part of theBamangwato chain of mountains before us. Here the trees were large andhandsome, but not strong enough to resist the inconceivable strength ofthe mighty monarchs of these forests. Almost every tree had half itsbranches broken short by them, and at every hundred yards I came uponentire trees, and these the largest in the forest, uprooted clean out ofthe ground, or broken short across their stems. I observed several largetrees placed in an inverted position, having their roots uppermost inthe air. Our friend had here halted, and fed for a long time upon alarge, wide-spreading tree, which he had broken short across within afew feet of the ground. After following the spoor some distance furtherthrough the dense mazes of the forest, we got into ground so thicklytrodden by elephants that we were baffled in our endeavors to trace thespoor any further; and after wasting several hours in attempting bycasts to take up the proper spoor, we gave it up, and with a sorrowfulheart I turned my horse's head toward camp. 

Having reached the wagons, while drinking my coffee I reviewed the wholeday's work, and felt much regret at my want of luck in my first day'selephant hunting, and I resolved that night to watch the water, and trywhat could be done with elephants by night shooting. I accordinglyordered the usual watching-hole to be constructed, and, having placed mybedding in it, repaired thither shortly after sundown. I had lain abouttwo hours in the hole, when I heard a low rumbling noise like distantthunder, caused (as the Bechuanas affirmed) by the bowels of theelephants which were approaching the fountain. I lay on my back, with mymouth open, attentively listening, and could hear them plowing up theearth with their tusks. Presently they walked up to the water, andcommenced drinking within fifty yards of me. 

They approached with so quiet a step that I fancied it was the footstepsof jackals which I had heard, and I was not aware of their presenceuntil I heard the water, which they had drawn up in their trunks andwere pouring into their mouths, dropping into the fountain. I thenpeeped from my sconce with a beating heart, and beheld two enormous bullelephants, which looked like two great castles, standing before me. Icould not see very distinctly, for there was only starlight. Having lainon my breast some time taking my aim, I let fly at one of theelephants, using the Dutch rifle carrying six to the pound. The balltold loudly on his shoulder, and, uttering a loud cry, he stumbledthrough the fountain, when both made off in different directions. 

All night large herds of zebras and blue wildebeests capered around me, coming sometimes within a few yards. Several parties of rhinocerosesalso made their appearance. I felt a little apprehensive that lionsmight visit the fountain, and every time that hyaenas or jackals lappedthe water I looked forth, but no lions appeared. At length I fell into asound sleep, nor did I awake until the bright star of morn had shot farabove the eastern horizon. 

Before proceeding further with my narrative, it may here be interestingto make a few remarks on the African elephant and his habits. Theelephant is widely diffused through the vast forests, and is met with inherds of various numbers. The male is very much larger than the female, consequently much more difficult to kill. He is provided with twoenormous tusks. These are long, tapering, and beautifully arched; theirlength averages from six to eight feet, and they weigh from sixty to ahundred pounds each. In the vicinity of the equator the elephants attainto a greater size than to the southward; and I am in the possession of apair of tusks of the African bull elephant, the larger of which measuresten feet nine inches in length, and weighs one hundred and seventy-threepounds. The females, unlike Asiatic elephants in this respect, arelikewise provided with tusks. Old bull elephants are found singly or inpairs, or consorting together in small herds, varying from six to twentyindividuals. The younger bulls remain for many years in the company oftheir mothers, and these are met together in large herds of from twentyto a hundred individuals. The food of the elephant consists of thebranches, leaves, and roots of trees, and also of a variety of bulbs, ofthe situation of which he is advised by his exquisite sense of smell. Toobtain these he turns up the ground with his tusks, and whole acres maybe seen thus plowed up. Elephants consume an immense quantity of food, and pass the greater part of the day and night in feeding. Like thewhale in the ocean, the elephant on land is acquainted with, and roamsover, wide and extensive tracts. He is extremely particular in alwaysfrequenting the freshest and most verdant districts of the forest; andwhen one district is parched and barren, he will forsake it for years, and wander to great distances in quest of better pasture. 

The elephant entertains an extraordinary horror of man, and a child canput a hundred of them to flight by passing at a quarter of a mile towindward; and when thus disturbed, they go a long way before they halt. It is surprising how soon these sagacious animals are aware of thepresence of a hunter in their domains. When one troop has been attacked, all the other elephants frequenting the district are aware of the factwithin two or three days, when they all forsake it, and migrate todistant parts, leaving the hunter no alternative but to inspan hiswagons, and remove to fresh ground. This constitutes one of the greatestdifficulties which a skilful elephant-hunter encounters. Even in themost remote parts, which may be reckoned the headquarters of theelephant, it is only occasionally, and with inconceivable toil andhardship, that the eye of the hunter is cheered by the sight of one. Owing to habits peculiar to himself, the elephant is more inaccessible, and much more rarely seen, than any other game quadruped, exceptingcertain rare antelopes. They choose for their resort the most lonely andsecluded depths of the forest, generally at a very great distance fromthe rivers and fountains at which they drink. In dry and warm weatherthey visit these waters nightly, but in cool and cloudy weather theydrink only once every third or fourth day. About sundown the elephantleaves his distant midday haunt, and commences his march toward thefountain, which is probably from twelve to twenty miles distant. This hegenerally reaches between the hours of nine and midnight, when, havingslaked his thirst and cooled his body by spouting large volumes of waterover his back with his trunk, he resumes the path to his forestsolitudes. Having reached a secluded spot, I have remarked thatfull-grown bulls lie down on their broad-sides, about the hour ofmidnight, and sleep for a few hours. The spot which they usually selectis an ant-hill, and they lie around it with their backs resting againstit; these hills, formed by the white ants, are from thirty to forty feetin diameter at their base. The mark of the under tusk is always deeplyimprinted in the ground, proving that they lie upon their sides. I neverremarked that females had thus lain down, and it is only in the moresecluded districts that the bulls adopt this practice; for I observedthat, in districts where the elephants were liable to frequentdisturbance, they took repose standing on their legs beneath some shadytree. 

Having slept, they then proceed to feed extensively. Spreading out fromone another, and proceeding in a zigzag course, they smash and destroyall the finest trees in the forest which happen to lie in their course. The number of goodly trees which a herd of bull elephants will thusdestroy is utterly incredible. They are extremely capricious, and oncoming to a group of five or six trees, they break down not unfrequentlythe whole of them, when, having perhaps only tasted one or two smallbranches, they pass on and continue their wanton work of destruction. Ihave repeatedly ridden through forests where the trees thus broken layso thick across one another that it was almost impossible to ridethrough the district, and it is in situations such as these thatattacking the elephant is attended with most danger. During the nightthey will feed in open plains and thinly-wooded districts, but as daydawns they retire to the densest covers within reach, which nine timesin ten are composed of the impracticable wait-a-bit thorns, and herethey remain drawn up in a compact herd during the heat of the day. Inremote districts, however, and in cool weather, I have known herds tocontinue pasturing throughout the whole day. 

The appearance of the wild elephant is inconceivably majestic andimposing. His gigantic height and colossal bulk, so greatly surpassingall other quadrupeds, combined with his sagacious disposition andpeculiar habits, impart to him an interest in the eyes of the hunterwhich no other animal can call forth. The pace of the elephant, whenundisturbed, is a bold, free, sweeping step; and from the peculiarspongy formation of his foot, his tread is extremely light andinaudible, and all his movements are attended with a peculiar gentlenessand grace. This, however, only applies to the elephant when roamingundisturbed in his jungle; for, when roused by the hunter, he proves themost dangerous enemy, and far more difficult to conquer than any otherbeast of the chase. 

On the 27th, as day dawned, I left my shooting-hole, and proceeded toinspect the spoor of my wounded elephant. After following it for somedistance I came to an abrupt hillock, and fancying that from the summita good view might be obtained of the surrounding country, I left myfollowers to seek the spoor while I ascended. I did not raise my eyesfrom the ground until I had reached the highest pinnacle of rock. I thenlooked east, and, to my inexpressible gratification, beheld a troop ofnine or ten elephants quietly browsing within a quarter of a mile of me. I allowed myself only one glance at them, and then rushed down to warnmy followers to be silent. A council of war was hastily held, the resultof which was my ordering Isaac to ride hard to camp, with instructionsto return as quickly as possible, accompanied by Kleinboy, and to bringme my dogs, the large Dutch rifle, and a fresh horse. I once moreascended the hillock to feast my eyes upon the enchanting sight beforeme, and, drawing out my spy-glass, narrowly watched the motions of theelephants. The herd consisted entirely of females, several of which werefollowed by small calves. 

Presently on reconnoitering the surrounding country, I discovered asecond herd, consisting of five bull elephants, which were quietlyfeeding about a mile to the northward. The cows were feeding toward arocky ridge that stretched away from the base of the hillock on which Istood. Burning with impatience to commence the attack, I resolved to trythe stalking system with these, and to hunt the troop of bulls with dogsand horses. Having thus decided, I directed the guides to watch theelephants from the summit of the hillock, and with a beating heart Iapproached them. The ground and wind favoring me, I soon gained therocky ridge toward which they were feeding. They were now within onehundred yards, and I resolved to enjoy the pleasure of watching theirmovements for a little before I fired. They continued to feed slowlytoward me, breaking the branches from the trees with their trunks, andeating the leaves and tender shoots. I soon selected the finest in theherd, and kept my eye on her in particular. At length two of the troophad walked slowly past at about sixty yards, and the one which I hadselected was feeding with two others, on a thorny tree before me. 

My hand was now as steady as the rock on which it rested; so, taking adeliberate aim, I let fly at her head a little behind the eye. She gotit hard and sharp, just where I aimed, but it did not seem to affect hermuch. Uttering a loud cry, she wheeled about, when I gave her the secondball close behind the shoulder. All the elephants uttered a strangerumbling noise, and made off in a line to the northward at a brisk, ambling pace, their huge, fan-like ears flapping in the ratio of theirspeed. I did not wait to load, but ran back to the hillock to obtain aview. On gaining its summit the guides pointed out the elephants; theywere standing in a grove of shady trees, but the wounded one was somedistance behind with another elephant, doubtless its particular friend, who was endeavoring to assist it. These elephants had probably neverbefore heard the report of a gun, and, having neither seen nor smelt me, they were unaware of the presence of man, and did not seem inclined togo any further. Presently my men hove in sight, bringing the dogs andwhen these came up, I waited some time before commencing the attack, that the dogs and horses might recover their wind. We then rode slowlytoward the elephants, and had advanced within two hundred yards of them, when, the ground being open, they observed us, and made off in aneasterly direction; but the wounded one immediately dropped astern, andthe next moment was surrounded by the dogs, which, barking angrily, seemed to engross her attention. 

[Illustration: WITH BEATING HEART I APPROACHED A VIEW]

Having placed myself between her and the retreating troop, I dismountedto fire within forty yards of her, in open ground. Colesberg wasextremely afraid of the elephants, and gave me much trouble, jerking myarm when I tried to fire. At length I let fly; but, on endeavoring toregain my saddle, Colesberg declined to allow me to mount; and when Itried to lead him, and run for it, he only backed toward the woundedelephant. At this moment I heard another elephant close behind; and onlooking about, I beheld the "friend, " with uplifted trunk, charging downupon me at top speed, shrilly trumpeting, and following an old blackpointer name Schwart, that was perfectly deaf, and trotted along beforethe enraged elephant quite unaware of what was behind him. I feltcertain that she would have either me or my horse. I, however, determined not to relinquish my steed, but to hold on by the bridle. Mymen, who of course kept at a safe distance, stood aghast with theirmouths open, and for a few seconds my position was certainly not anenviable one. Fortunately, however, the dogs took off the attention ofthe elephants; and just as they were upon me, I managed to spring intothe saddle, where I was safe. As I turned my back to mount, theelephants were so very near that I really expected to feel one of theirtrunks lay hold of me. I rode up to Kleinboy for my double-barreledtwo-grooved rifle; he and Isaac were pale and almost speechless withfright. Returning to the charge, I was soon once more alongside, and, firing from the saddle, I sent another brace of bullets into the woundedelephant. Colesberg was extremely unsteady, and destroyed thecorrectness of my aim. 

The friend now seemed resolved to do some mischief, and charged mefuriously, pursuing me to a distance of several hundred yards. Itherefore deemed it proper to give her a gentle hint to act lessofficiously, and, accordingly, having loaded, I approached within thirtyyards, and gave it her sharp, right and left, behind the shoulder, uponwhich she at once made off with drooping trunk, evidently with a mortalwound. I never recur to this my first day's elephant shooting withoutregretting my folly in contenting myself with securing only oneelephant. The first was now dying, and could not leave the ground, andthe second was also mortally wounded, and I had only to follow andfinish her; but I foolishly allowed her to escape, while I amused myselfwith the first, which kept walking backward, and standing by every treeshe passed. Two more shots finished her: on receiving them, she tossedher trunk up and down two or three times, and, falling on her broadsideagainst a thorny tree, which yielded like grass, before her enormousweight, she uttered a deep, hoarse cry and expired. This was a veryhandsome old cow elephant, and was decidedly the best in the troop. Shewas in excellent condition, and carried a pair of long and perfecttusks. 

I was in high spirits at my success, and felt so perfectly satisfiedwith having killed one, that, although it was still early in the day, and my horses were fresh, I allowed the troop of five bulls to remainunmolested, foolishly trusting to fall in with them next day. How littledid I then know of the habits of elephants, or the rules to be adoptedin hunting them, or deem it probable I should never see them more!

Having knee-haltered our horses, we set to work with our knives andassagais to prepare the skull for the hatchet, in order to cut out thetusks, nearly half the length of which, I may mention, is imbedded inbone sockets in the fore part of the skull. To cut out the tusks of acow elephant requires barely one-fifth of the labor requisite to cut outthose of a bull; and when the sun went down, we had managed by ourcombined efforts to cut out one of the tusks of my first elephant, withwhich we triumphantly returned to camp, having left the guides in chargeof the carcass, where they volunteered to take up their quarters for thenight. On reaching my wagons I found Johannus and Carollus in a happystate of indifference to all passing events: they were both very drunk, having broken into my wine-cask and spirit-case. 

On the 28th I arose at an early hour, and, burning with anxiety to lookforth once more from the summit of the hillock which the day beforebrought me such luck, I made a hasty breakfast, and rode thither withafter-riders and my dogs. But, alas! I had allowed the goldenopportunity to slip. This day I sought in vain; and although I oftenagain ascended to the summit of my favorite hillock in that and in thesucceeding year, my eyes were destined never again to hail from it atroop of elephants. 

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[386-1] A vley is a swamp or morass. 

[386-2] The sassaby is a large African antelope, resembling thehartbeest, but having regularly curved horns. 

SOME CLEVER MONKEYS[402-*]

_By_ THOMAS BELT

On the dryer ridges near the Artigua River, a valuable timber tree, the"nispera, " as it is called by the native, is common. It grows to a greatsize, and its timber is almost indestructible; so that we used it in theconstruction of all our permanent works. White ants do not eat it, nor, excepting when first cut, and before it is barked, do any of thewood-boring beetles. It bears a round fruit about the size of an apple, hard and heavy when green, and at this time is much frequented by thelarge yellowish-brown spider-monkey, which roams over the tops of thetrees in bands of from ten to twenty. Sometimes they lay quiet until Iwas passing underneath, when, shaking a branch of the nispera tree, theywould send down a shower of the hard round fruit; but fortunately I wasnever struck by them. As soon as I looked up, they would commenceyelping and barking, and putting on the most threatening gestures, breaking off pieces of branches and letting them fall, and shaking offmore fruit, but never throwing anything, simply letting it fall. Often, when on lower trees, they would hang from the branches two or threetogether, holding on to each other and to the branch with their forefeet and long tail, whilst their hind feet hung down, all the timemaking threatening gestures and cries. 

Sometimes a female would be seen carrying a young one on its back, towhich it clung with legs and tail, the mother making its way along thebranches, and leaping from tree to tree, apparently but littleencumbered with its baby. A large black and white eagle is said to preyupon them, but I never saw one, although I was constantly falling inwith troops of the monkeys. Don Francisco Velasquez, one of ourofficers, told me that one day he heard a monkey crying out in theforest for more than two hours, and at last, going out to see what wasthe matter, he saw a monkey on a branch and an eagle beside it trying tofrighten it to turn its back, when it would have seized it. The monkey, however, kept its face to its foe, and the eagle did not care to engagewith it in this position, but probably would have tired it out. Velasquez fired at the eagle, and frightened it away. I think it likely, from what I have seen of the habits of this monkey, that they defendthemselves from its attack by keeping two or three together, thusassisting each other, and that it is only when the eagle finds oneseparated from its companions that it dares to attack it. 

Sometimes, but more rarely, a troop of the white-faced cebus monkeywould be fallen in with, rapidly running away, throwing themselves fromtree to tree. This monkey feeds also partly on fruit, but is incessantlyon the look-out for insects, examining the crevices in trees andwithered leaves, seizing the largest beetles and munching them up withthe greatest relish. It is also very fond of eggs and young birds, andmust play havoc among the nestlings. Probably owing to its carnivoroushabits, its flesh is not considered so good by monkey eaters as that ofthe fruit-feeding spider-monkey. 

It is a very intelligent and mischievous animal. I kept one for a longtime as a pet, and was much amused with its antics. At first, I had itfastened with a light chain; but it managed to open the links and escapeseveral times, and then made straight for the fowls' nests, breakingevery egg it could get hold of. Generally, after being a day or twoloose, it would allow itself to be caught again. I tried tying it upwith a cord, and afterwards with a rawhide thong, but had to nail theend, as it could loosen any knot in a few minutes. It would sometimesentangle itself around a pole to which it was fastened, and then unwindthe coils again with the greatest discernment. Its chain allowed it toswing down below the verandah, but it could not reach to the ground. 

Sometimes, when there was a brood of young ducks about, it would holdout a piece of bread in one hand and, when it had tempted a ducklingwithin reach, seize it by the other, and kill it with a bite in thebreast. There was such an uproar amongst the fowls on these occasions, that we soon knew what was the matter, and would rush out and punishMickey (as we called him) with a switch; so that he was ultimately curedof his poultry-killing propensities. One day, when whipping him, I heldup the dead duckling in front of him, and at each blow of the lightswitch told him to take hold of it, and at last, much to my surprise, hedid so, taking it and holding it tremblingly in one hand. 

[Illustration: A CEBUS MONKEY]

He would draw things towards him with a stick, and even use a swing forthe same purpose. It had been put up for the children, and could bereached by Mickey, who now and then indulged himself with a swing on it. One day, I had put down some bird skins on a chair to dry, far beyond, as I thought, Mickey's reach; but, fertile in expedients, he took theswing and launched it towards the chair, and actually managed to knockthe skins off in the return of the swing, so as to bring them within hisreach. He also procured some jelly that was set out to cool in the sameway. Mickey's actions were very human like. When any one came near tofondle him, he never neglected the opportunity of pocket-picking. Hewould pull out letters, and quickly take them from their envelopes. Anything eatable disappeared into his mouth immediately. Once heabstracted a small bottle of turpentine from the pocket of our medicalofficer. He drew the cork, held it first to one nostril, then to theother, made a wry face, recorked it, and returned it to the doctor. 

One day, when he got loose, he was detected carrying off the cream-jugfrom the table, holding it upright with both hands, and trying to moveoff on his hind limbs. He gave the jug up without spilling a drop, allthe time making an apologetic chuckle he often used when found out inany mischief, and which always meant, "I know I have done wrong, butdon't punish me; in fact, I did not mean to do it--it was accidental. "Whenever, however, he saw he was going to be punished, he would changehis tone to a shrill, threatening note, showing his teeth, and trying tointimidate. He had quite an extensive vocabulary of sounds, varying froma gruff bark to a shrill whistle; and we could tell by them, withoutseeing him, when it was he was hungry, eating, frightened, or menacing;doubtless, one of his own species would have understood various minorshades of intonation and expression that we, not entering into hisfeelings and wants, passed over as unintelligible. 

FOOTNOTES:

[402-*] This selection is taken from _The Naturalist in Nicaragua_. 

POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC

 NOTE. --In the time of Benjamin Franklin, almanacs were a very popular form of literature. Few of the poorer people could afford newspapers, but almost every one could afford an almanac once a year; and the anecdotes and scraps of information which these contained in addition to their regular contents, were read and re-read everywhere. 

 In 1732, Franklin began the publication of an almanac. For twenty-five years, under the assumed name of Richard Saunders, he issued it annually. He himself says of it:

 "I endeavored to make it both entertaining and useful; and it accordingly came to be in such demand that I reaped considerable profit from it, vending annually nearly ten thousand. And observing that it was generally read, scarce any neighborhood in the province being without it, I considered it as a proper vehicle for conveying instruction among the common people, who bought scarcely any other books; I therefore filled all the little spaces that occurred between the remarkable days in the calendar with proverbial sentences, chiefly such as inculcated industry and frugality as a means of procuring wealth, and thereby securing virtue; it being more difficult for a man in want to act always honestly as, to use here one of the proverbs, it is hard for an empty sack to stand upright. 

 "These proverbs, which contain the wisdom of many ages and nations, I assembled and formed into a connected discourse, prefixed to the almanac of 1757, as the harangue of a wise old man to the people attending an auction. The bringing all these scattered counsels thus into a focus enabled them to make greater impression. The piece, being universally approved, was copied in all the newspapers of the continent and reprinted in Britain on a broadside, to be stuck up in houses; two translations were made of it in French and great numbers bought by the clergy and gentry, to distribute gratis among their poor parishioners and tenants. In Pennsylvania, as it discouraged useless expense in foreign superfluities, some thought it had its share of influence in producing that growing plenty of money which was observable for several years after its publication. "

THE PREFACE FOR THE YEAR 1757

Courteous Reader: I have heard that nothing gives an author so greatpleasure as to find his works respectfully quoted by other learnedauthors. This pleasure I have seldom enjoyed. For though I have been, ifI may say it without vanity, an eminent author of almanacs annually nowfor a full quarter of a century, my brother authors in the same way, forwhat reason I know not, have ever been very sparing in their applauses, and no other author has taken the least notice of me; so that did not mywritings produce me some solid pudding, the great deficiency of praisewould have quite discouraged me. 

I concluded at length that the people were the best judges of my merit, for they buy my works; and besides, in my rambles, where I am notpersonally known I have frequently heard one or other of my adagesrepeated, with _as Poor Richard says_ at the end of it. This gave mesome satisfaction, as it showed not only that my instructions wereregarded, but discovered likewise some respect for my authority; and Iown that to encourage the practice of remembering and repeating thosesentences, I have sometimes quoted myself with great gravity. 

Judge, then, how much I must have been gratified by an incident I amgoing to relate to you. I stopped my horse lately where a great numberof people were collected at a vendue[409-1] of merchants' goods. Thehour of sale not being come, they were conversing on the badness of thetimes; and one of the company called to a plain, clean old man withwhite locks, "Pray, Father Abraham, what think you of the times? Won'tthese heavy taxes quite ruin the country? How shall we ever be able topay them? What would you advise us to do?" Father Abraham stood up andreplied: "If you would have my advice, I will give it you in short; for, 'a word to the wise is enough, '[409-2] and 'many words won't fill abushel, '[409-3] as Poor Richard says. " They all joined, desiring him tospeak his mind, and gathering round him he proceeded as follows:

Friends and neighbors, the taxes are indeed very heavy, and if thoselaid on by the government were the only ones we had to pay, we mightmore easily discharge them; but we have many others, and much moregrievous to some of us. We are taxed twice as much by our IDLENESS, three times as much by our PRIDE, and four times as much by our FOLLY;and from these taxes the commissioners cannot ease or deliver us byallowing an abatement. However, let us hearken to good advice, andsomething may be done for us. "God helps them that help themselves, " asPoor Richard says in his almanac of 1733. 

It would be thought a hard government that should tax its peopleone-tenth part of their TIME, to be employed in its service, butidleness taxes many of us much more, if we reckon all that is spent inabsolute sloth or doing of nothing, with that which is spent in idleemployments or amusements that amount to nothing. Sloth, by bringing ondiseases, absolutely shortens life. "Sloth, like rust, consumes fasterthan labor wears; while the used key is always bright, " as Poor Richardsays. "But dost thou love life? then do not squander time, for that'sthe stuff life is made of, " as Poor Richard says. 

How much more than is necessary do we spend in sleep? forgetting that"the sleeping fox catches no poultry, " and that "there will be sleepingenough in the grave, " as Poor Richard says. If time be of all things themost precious, "wasting of time must be, " as Poor Richard says, "thegreatest prodigality;" since, as he elsewhere tells us, "lost time isnever found again, " and what we call "time enough! always proves littleenough. " Let us, then, up and be doing, and doing to the purpose; so bydiligence shall we do more with less perplexity. "Sloth makes all thingsdifficult, but industry all things easy, " as Poor Richard says; and "hethat riseth late must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake hisbusiness at night; while laziness travels so slowly that poverty soonovertakes him, " as we read in Poor Richard; who adds, "drive thybusiness! let not that drive thee!" and

 "Early to bed and early to rise Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise. "

[Illustration: "THE SLEEPING FOX CATCHES NO POULTRY"]

So what signifies wishing and hoping for better times? We may make thesetimes better if we bestir ourselves. "Industry need not wish, " as PoorRichard says, and "he that lives on hope will die fasting. " "There areno gains without pains; then help, hands! for I have no lands;" or, if Ihave, they are smartly taxed. And as Poor Richard likewise observes, "hethat hath a trade hath an estate, and he that hath a calling hath anoffice of profit and honor;" but then the trade must be worked at andthe calling well followed, or neither the estate nor the office willenable us to pay our taxes. If we are industrious we shall never starve;for, as Poor Richard says, "at the working-man's house hunger looks in, but dares not enter. " Nor will the bailiff or the constable enter, for"industry pays debt, while despair increaseth them. "

What though you have found no treasure, nor has any rich relation leftyou a legacy, "diligence is the mother of good luck, " as Poor Richardsays, and "God gives all things to industry. "

 "Then plow deep while sluggards sleep, And you shall have corn to sell and to keep, "

says Poor Dick. Work while it is called to-day, for you know not howmuch you may be hindered to-morrow; which makes Poor Richard say, "oneto-day is worth two to-morrows;" and further, "have you somewhat to doto-morrow? Do it to-day!"

If you were a servant would you not be ashamed that a good master shouldcatch you idle? Are you, then, your own master? "Be ashamed to catchyourself idle, " as Poor Dick says. When there is so much to be done foryourself, your family, your country, and your gracious king, be up bypeep of day! "Let not the sun look down and say, 'Inglorious here helies!'" Handle your tools without mittens! remember that "the cat ingloves catches no mice!" as Poor Richard says. 

'Tis true there is much to be done, and perhaps you are weak-handed; butstick to it steadily and you will see great effects; for "constantdropping wears away stones;" and "by diligence and patience the mouseate in two the cable;" and "little strokes fell great oaks, " as PoorRichard says in his almanac, the year I cannot just now remember. 

Methinks I hear some of you say, "Must a man afford himself no leisure?"I will tell thee, my friend, what Poor Richard says, "employ thy timewell if thou meanest to gain leisure;" and "since thou art not sure of aminute, throw not away an hour!" Leisure is time for doing somethinguseful; this leisure the diligent man will obtain, but the lazy mannever; so that, as Poor Richard says, "a life of leisure and a life oflaziness are two things. " Do you imagine that sloth will afford you morecomfort than labor? No! for, as Poor Richard says, "trouble springs fromidleness and grievous toil from needless ease. " "Many, without labor, would live by their wits only, but they'll break for want of stock;"whereas industry gives comfort, and plenty, and respect. "Fly pleasureand they'll follow you;" "the diligent spinner has a large shift;" and

 "Now I have a sheep and a cow, Everybody bids me good-morrow. "

All which is well said by Poor Richard. But with our industry we mustlikewise be steady, settled, and careful, and oversee our own affairswith our own eyes and not trust too much to others; for, as Poor Richardsays, "I never saw an oft-removed tree Nor yet an oft-removed family That throve so well as those that settled be. "

And again, "three removes are as bad as a fire"; and again, "keep thyshop and thy shop will keep thee"; and again, "if you would have yourbusiness done, go; if not, send. " And again

 "He that by the plow would thrive, Himself must either hold or drive. "

And again, "the eye of the master will do more work than both hishands;" and again, "want of care does us more damage than want ofknowledge;" and again, "not to oversee workmen is to leave them yourpurse open. "

Trusting too much to others' care is the ruin of many; for, as thealmanac says, "in the affairs of this world men are saved, not by faith, but by the want of it;" but a man's own care is profitable; for, saithPoor Dick, "learning is to the studious and riches to the careful;" aswell as "power to the bold" and "heaven to the virtuous. " And further, "if you would have a faithful servant and one that you like, serveyourself. "

And again, he adviseth to circumspection and care, even in the smallestmatters; because sometimes "a little neglect may breed great mischief;"adding, "for want of a nail the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe thehorse was lost; and for want of a horse the rider was lost;" beingovertaken and slain by the enemy; all for the want of a little careabout a horseshoe nail!

So much for industry, my friends, and attention to one's own business;but to these we must add frugality if we would make our industry morecertainly successful. "A man may, " if he knows not how to save as hegoes "keep his nose all his life to the grindstone and die not worth agroat at last. " "A fat kitchen makes a lean will, " as Poor Richardsays; and

 "Many estates are spent in the getting, Since women for tea[415-4] forsook spinning and knitting, And men for punch forsook hewing and splitting. "

If you would be wealthy, says he in another almanac, "think of saving aswell as of getting. The Indies have not made Spain rich, because heroutgoes are greater than her incomes. "

Away, then, with your expensive follies, and you will not have so muchcause to complain of hard times, heavy taxes, and chargeable families;for, as Poor Dick says, "Women and wine, game and deceit, Make the wealth small and the wants great. "

And further, "what maintains one vice would bring up two children. " Youmay think, perhaps, that a little tea or a little punch now and then, adiet a little more costly, clothes a little finer, and a little moreentertainment now and then, can be no great matter; but remember whatPoor Richard says, "many a little makes a mickle"; and further, "bewareof little expenses; a small leak will sink a great ship"; and again, "Who dainties love shall beggars prove";

and moreover, "fools make feasts and wise men eat them. "

Here are you all got together at this vendue of fineries andknick-knacks. You call them goods; but if you do not take care theywill prove evils to some of you. You expect they will be sold cheap, andperhaps they may for less than they cost; but if you have no occasionfor them they must be dear to you. Remember what Poor Richard says: "Buywhat thou hast no need of, and ere long thou shalt sell thynecessaries. " And again, "at a great pennyworth pause awhile. " He meansthat perhaps the cheapness is apparent only and not real; or the bargainby straitening thee in thy business may do thee more harm than good. Forin another place he says, "many have been ruined by buying goodpennyworths. "

Again, Poor Richard says, "'tis foolish to lay out money in a purchaseof repentance;" and yet this folly is practiced every day at vendues forwant of minding the almanac. 

"Wise men, " as Poor Richard says, "learn by others' harm; fools scarcelyby their own;" but _Felix quem faciunt aliena pericula cautum_. [416-5]Many a one, for the sake of finery on the back, has gone with a hungrybelly and half-starved his family. "Silks and satins, scarlets andvelvets, " as Poor Richard says, "put out the kitchen fire. " These arenot the necessaries of life; they can scarcely be called theconveniences; and yet, only because they look pretty, how many want tohave them! The artificial wants of mankind thus become more numerousthan the natural; and as Poor Dick says, "for one poor person there area hundred indigent. "

By these and other extravagances the genteel are reduced to poverty andforced to borrow of those whom they formerly despised, but who, throughindustry and frugality, have maintained their standing; in which case itappears plainly that "a plowman on his legs is higher than a gentlemanon his knees, " as Poor Richard says. Perhaps they have had a smallestate left them, which they knew not the getting of; they think, "'tisday and will never be night;" that "a little to be spent out of so muchis not worth minding" (a child and a fool, as Poor Richard says, imaginetwenty shillings and twenty years can never be spent); but "alwaystaking out of the meal-tub, and never putting in, soon comes to thebottom. " Then, as Poor Dick says, "when the well's dry they know theworth of water. " But this they might have known before if they had takenhis advice. "If you would know the value of money, go and try to borrowsome;" for "he that goes a-borrowing goes a sorrowing, " and indeed sodoes he that lends to such people, when he goes to get it in again. 

Poor Dick further advises and says:

 "Fond pride of dress is, sure, a very curse; Ere fancy you consult, consult your purse. "

And again, "pride is as loud a beggar as want and a great deal moresaucy. " When you have bought one fine thing you must buy ten more, thatyour appearance may be all of a piece; but Poor Dick says, "'tis easierto suppress the first desire than to satisfy all that follow it. " And'tis as true folly for the poor to ape the rich as for the frog to swellin order to equal the ox. 

 "Great estates may venture more, But little boats should keep near shore. "

'Tis, however, a folly soon punished; for "pride that dines on vanitysups on contempt, " as Poor Richard says. And in another place, "pridebreakfasted with plenty, dined with poverty, and supped with infamy. "

And after all, of what use is this pride of appearance, for which somuch is risked, so much is suffered? It cannot promote health or easepain; it makes no increase of merit in the person; it creates envy; ithastens misfortune. 

 "What is a butterfly? At best He's but a caterpillar drest, The gaudy fop's his picture just, "

as Poor Richard says. 

But what madness must it be to run into debt for these superfluities! Weare offered by the terms of this vendue six months' credit; and that, perhaps, has induced some of us to attend it, because we cannot sparethe ready money and hope now to be fine without it. But ah! think whatyou do when you run in debt: you give to another power over yourliberty. If you cannot pay at the time you will be ashamed to see yourcreditor; you will be in fear when you speak to him; you will make poor, pitiful, sneaking excuses, and by degrees come to lose your veracity andsink into base, downright lying; for, as Poor Richard says, "the secondvice is lying, the first is running into debt;" and again, to the samepurpose, "lying rides upon debt's back;" whereas a free-born Englishmanought not to be ashamed or afraid to see or speak to any man living. Butpoverty often deprives a man of all spirit and virtue. "'Tis hard for anempty bag to stand upright!" as Poor Richard truly says. What would youthink of that prince or the government who should issue an edictforbidding you to dress like a gentleman or gentlewoman, on pain ofimprisonment or servitude? Would you not say that you are free, have aright to dress as you please, and that such an edict would be a breachof your privileges and such a government tyrannical? And yet you areabout to put yourself under such tyranny when you run in debt for suchdress! Your creditor has authority, at his pleasure, to deprive you ofyour liberty by confining you in jail for life or to sell you for aservant if you should not be able to pay him. When you have got yourbargain you may, perhaps, think little of payment; but "creditors, " PoorRichard tells us, "have better memories than debtors;" and in anotherplace says, "creditors are a superstitious set, great observers of setdays and times. "

The day comes round before you are aware, and the demand is made beforeyou are prepared to satisfy it; or, if you bear your debt in mind, theterm which at first seemed so long will, as it lessens, appear extremelyshort. Time will seem to have added wings to his heels as well as hisshoulders. "Those have a short Lent, " saith Poor Richard, "who owe moneyto be paid at Easter. " Then since, as he says, "the borrower is a slaveto the lender and the debtor to the creditor, " disdain the chain, preserve your freedom, and maintain your independence. Be industriousand free; be frugal and free. At present, perhaps, you may thinkyourself in thriving circumstances, and that you can bear a littleextravagance without injury; but

 "For age and want, save while you may; No morning sun lasts a whole day. "

As Poor Richard says, gain may be temporary and uncertain; but everwhile you live expense is constant and certain; and "'tis easier tobuild two chimneys than to keep one in fuel, " as Poor Richard says; so, "rather go to bed supperless than rise in debt. "

 "Get what you can, and what you get hold; 'Tis the stone that will turn all your lead into gold, "[420-6]

as Poor Richard says: and when you have got the philosopher's stone, sure, you will no longer complain of bad times or the difficulty ofpaying taxes. 

This doctrine, my friends, is reason and wisdom; but, after all, do notdepend too much upon your own industry and frugality and prudence, though excellent things, for they may all be blasted without theblessing of Heaven; and therefore ask that blessing humbly, and be notuncharitable to those that at present seem to want it, but comfort andhelp them. Remember Job suffered and was afterward prosperous. 

And now, to conclude, "experience keeps a dear school, but fools willlearn in no other, and scarce in that;" for it is true, "we may giveadvice, but we cannot give conduct, " as Poor Richard says. However, remember this: "they that won't be counseled can't be helped, " as PoorRichard says; and further, that "if you will not hear reason she'llsurely rap your knuckles. "

Thus the old gentleman ended his harangue. The people heard it andapproved the doctrine, and immediately practiced the contrary, just asif it had been a common sermon. For the vendue opened and they began tobuy extravagantly, notwithstanding all his cautions and their own fearof taxes. I found the good man had thoroughly studied my almanacs anddigested all I had dropped on those topics during the course oftwenty-five years. The frequent mention he made of me must have tiredany one else; but my vanity was wonderfully delighted with it, though Iwas conscious that not a tenth part of the wisdom was my own which heascribed to me, but rather the gleanings that I had made of the sense ofall ages and nations. However, I resolved to be the better for the echoof it, and though I had at first determined to buy stuff for a new coat, I went away resolved to wear my old one a little longer. Reader, if thouwilt do the same, thy profit will be as great as mine. I am, as ever, thine to serve thee. 

 RICHARD SAUNDERS. 

 _July 7th, 1757. _

FOOTNOTES:

[409-1] A vendue is an auction. 

[409-2] Very few of the proverbs which Franklin made use of in hisalmanacs were original with him. As he said in his comment, theyrepresented "the wisdom of many ages and nations. "

[409-3] This is similar to that other proverbial expression--"Fine wordsbutter no parsnips. "

[415-4] Tea at this time was expensive and regarded as a luxury. 

[416-5] He's a lucky fellow who is made prudent by other men's perils. 

[420-6] The philosopher's stone, so called; a mineral having the powerof turning base metals into gold. 

GEORGE ROGERS CLARK

One of the most remarkable men of Revolutionary times was George RogersClark, and his exploits read more like those of the hero of some novelthan like the deeds of a simple soldier and patriot. 

In early boyhood and youth he acquired the rather scanty education whichwas then considered necessary for a child of fairly well-to-do parents, but he never applied himself so closely to his books as to lose his lovefor the woods and streams of the wild country that surrounded him. Hebecame a surveyor, and among the wonders and trials of the wildernesslost much of the little polish he had acquired. But he learned thewoods, the mountain passes and the river courses, and became fullyacquainted with the wild human denizens of the forests. His six feet ofmuscular body, his courage and his fierce passions fitted him to leadmen and to overawe his enemies, red or white. He had "red hair and ablack penetrating eye, " two gifts that marked him among the adventurousmen who were finding their way across the Alleghanies. He tried farming, but succeeded better as a fighter in those fierce conflicts with Indiansand border desperadoes which gave to Kentucky the name of "Dark andBloody Ground. "

In 1777, after the breaking out of the Revolution, there were severalFrench settlements lying to the north of the Ohio and scattered fromDetroit to the Mississippi. Among these were Mackinac, Green Bay, Prairie du Chien, Vincennes, Kaskaskia and Cahokia. The English were inpossession of all these and held them usually by a single commandingofficer and a very small garrison. The French inhabitants had madefriends with the Indians, and in many instances had intermarried withthem. Moreover, while they were submissive to the British they were byno means attached to them and were apparently quite likely to submitwith equal willingness to the Americans should they succeed in thestruggle. This was what Clark understood so thoroughly that he earlybecame possessed of the idea that it would be a comparatively simplematter to secure to the United States all that promising land lyingbetween the Alleghanies, the Ohio and the Mississippi. 

The jealousy that existed between Pennsylvania and Virginia over anextension westward made it extremely difficult for Clark to get aid fromthe Colonies or even from Virginia, his native state. However, hesucceeded in interesting Patrick Henry, then governor of Virginia, andpreserving the greatest secrecy, he set about recruiting his forces. 

It was a desperate undertaking, and the obstacles, naturally great, weremade infinitely more trying by the fact that he could tell none of hismen the real purpose for which they were enlisting. By May, 1778, however, he had secured one hundred and fifty backwoodsmen from thewestern reaches of Virginia. With these he started on his venturousundertaking. 

Reuben Gold Thwaites, in his _How George Rogers Clark Won theNorthwest_, describes the volunteers as follows:

"There was of course no attempt among them at military uniform, officersin no wise being distinguished from men. The conventional dress ofeighteenth-century borderers was an adaptation to local conditions, being in part borrowed from the Indians. Their feet were encased inmoccasins. Perhaps the majority of the corps had loose, thin trousers ofhomespun or buckskin, with a fringe of leather thongs down each outerseam of the legs; but many wore only leggings of leather, and were asbare of knee and thigh as a Highland clansman; indeed, many of thepioneers were Scotch-Irish, some of whom had been accustomed to thisairy costume in the mother-land. Common to all were fringed huntingshirts or smocks, generally of buckskin--a picturesque, flowing garmentreaching from neck to knees, and girded about the waist by a leathernbelt, from which dangled the tomahawk and scalping-knife. On one hiphung the carefully scraped powder horn; on the other, a leather sack, serving both as game-bag and provision-pouch, although often the foldsof the shirt, full and ample above the belt, were the depository forfood and ammunition. A broad-brimmed felt hat, or a cap of fox-skin orsquirrel-skin, with the tail dangling behind, crowned the often tall andalways sinewy frontiersman. His constant companion was his home-madeflint-lock rifle--a clumsy, heavy weapon, so long that it reached to thechin of the tallest man, but unerring in the hands of an expertmarksman, such as was each of these backwoodsmen. 

"They were rough in manners and in speech. Among them, we must confess, were men who had fled from the coast settlements because no longer to betolerated in a law-abiding community. There were not lacking mean, brutal fellows, whose innate badness had on the untrammelled frontierdeveloped into wickedness. Many joined Clark for mere adventure, forplunder and deviltry. The majority, however, were men of good parts, whosought to protect their homes at whatever peril--sincere men, as largeof heart as they were of frame, many of them in later years developinginto citizens of a high type of effectiveness in a frontiercommonwealth. As a matter of history, most of them proved upon thisexpedition to be heroes worthy of the fame they won and the leader whomthey followed. "

Early in June Clark had reached the falls in the Ohio at the presentcity of Louisville, and here on an island commanding the falls he builta block house and planted some corn. Here he left the weak anddissatisfied members of his company, and having been joined by a fewKentucky volunteers, he resumed his journey down the river. His firstgoal was Kaskaskia on the Mississippi, and after a long and perilousjourney, the latter part across the country, he captured the post bysurprise, seizing the French commandant of the English garrison in anupper room of his own house. He had little difficulty in winning theconfidence of the French settlers, who then willingly transferred theirloyalty to the new Republic that claimed to be their friend. 

A different situation developed with the Indians, but after skilfultreatment and a long interview with representatives of the many tribeshe succeeded in winning their friendship, or at least a quietneutrality. In the meantime, Father Gibault, an active, friendly Frenchpriest, had crossed the country and induced the inhabitants of Vincennesto raise the American flag. Clark sent Captain Helm to take charge ofthe fort and to lead the French militia. 

Clark's ambition was to capture Detroit, but so great were thedifficulties besetting him that he was compelled to winter at Kaskaskiawith insufficient forces, struggling to keep peace and to hold thecountry he had so successfully seized. In January, a month after theevent happened, Clark heard that Hamilton had recaptured Vincennes forthe British and was preparing to advance on Kaskaskia. Had Hamilton beenprompt in his actions and proceeded at once against Clark he mighteasily have driven the latter from Kaskaskia and secured to the Britishthe wonderful Northwest territory. His delays, however, gave Clark timeto gather a larger force and to show his wonderful power as a leader andhis skill as a military campaigner. 

Few men could have accomplished what Clark did, for few have either theability or the devotion. "I would have bound myself seven years aSlave, " he says, "to have had five hundred troops. " Nothing, however, deterred him. He built a large barge or galley, mounted small cannonupon it and manned it with a crew of forty men. This was dispatched topatrol the Ohio, and if possible to get within ten leagues of Vincenneson the Wabash. It was Clark's determination not to wait for attack fromthe British but to surprise Hamilton in his own fort. It required almostsuperhuman power to gather the men necessary from the motley crowds atKaskaskia and from other posts on the river, but the day after the"Willing" (for so he named his barge) sailed, he moved out of Kaskaskia, with a hundred and seventy men following him, to march the two hundredand thirty miles across the wintry wilderness to Vincennes. How he faredand how he accomplished his desire you may read in the selection fromhis journal. 

Clark's activity did not end with the capture of Vincennes, but that wasthe most remarkable of his long series of military achievements. No moreheroic man ever lived, and few Americans have left such a memory forhigh patriotism, self-sacrifice and wonderful achievement. Hisaccomplishments are unparalleled in the history of the Mississippivalley, and the youth of the region may well be proud that to such a manthey are indebted for their right to live in the United States. 

Unfortunately, Clark's later years were not in keeping with his earlycharacter. He felt that his country was ungrateful to him, the liquorhabit mastered him, he was mixed up in unfortunate political deals withFrance, and at last sank into poverty and was almost forgotten. It issaid that once when in his latter years the State of Virginia sent him asword in token of their appreciation of his services, he angrily thrustthe sword into the ground and broke the blade with his crutch, while hecried out: "When Virginia needed a sword I gave her one. She sends menow a toy. I want bread!"

He lived until 1818, and then died at his sister's house nearLouisville, and was buried at Cave Hill Cemetery in that city. 

THE CAPTURE OF VINCENNES[428-1]

_By_ GEORGE ROGERS CLARK[428-2]

Everything being ready, on the 5th of February, after receiving alecture and absolution from the priest, we crossed the Kaskaskia Riverwith one hundred and seventy men, marched about three miles andencamped, where we lay until the 7th, and set out. The weather wet (butfortunately not cold for the season) and a great part of the plainsunder water several inches deep. It was very difficult and fatiguingmarching. My object was now to keep the men in spirits. I suffered themto shoot game on all occasions, and feast on it like Indian war-dancers, each company by turns inviting the others to their feasts, which was thecase every night, as the company that was to give the feast was alwayssupplied with horses to lay up a sufficient store of wild meat in thecourse of the day, myself and principal officers putting on thewoodsmen, shouting now and then, and running as much through the mud andwater as any of them. 

Thus, insensibly, without a murmur, were those men led on to the banksof the Little Wabash, which we reached on the 13th, through incredibledifficulties, far surpassing anything that any of us had everexperienced. Frequently the diversions of the night wore off thethoughts of the preceding day. We formed a camp on a height which wefound on the bank of the river, and suffered our troops to amusethemselves. 

I viewed this sheet of water for some time with distrust; but, accusingmyself of doubting, I immediately set to work, without holding anyconsultation about it, or suffering anybody else to do so in mypresence; ordered a pirogue to be built immediately, and acted as thoughcrossing the water would be only a piece of diversion. As but few couldwork at the pirogue at a time, pains were taken to find diversion forthe rest to keep them in high spirits. In the evening of the 14th, ourvessel was finished, manned, and sent to explore the drowned lands, onthe opposite side of the Little Wabash, with private instructions whatreport to make, and, if possible, to find some spot of dry land. Theyfound about half an acre, and marked the trees from thence back to thecamp, and made a very favorable report. 

Fortunately, the 15th happened to be a warm, moist day for the season. The channel of the river where we lay was about thirty yards wide. Ascaffold was built on the opposite shore (which was about three feetunder water), and our baggage ferried across, and put on it. Our horsesswam across, and received their loads at the scaffold, by which time thetroops were also brought across, and we began our march through thewater. 

By evening we found ourselves encamped on a pretty height, in highspirits, each party laughing at the other, in consequence of somethingthat had happened in the course of this ferrying business, as theycalled it. A little antic drummer afforded them great diversion byfloating on his drum, etc. All this was greatly encouraged; and theyreally began to think themselves superior to other men, and that neitherthe rivers nor the seasons could stop their progress. Their wholeconversation now was concerning what they would do when they got aboutthe enemy. They now began to view the main Wabash as a creek, and madeno doubt but such men as they were could find a way to cross it. Theywound themselves up to such a pitch that they soon took Post Vincennes, divided the spoil, and before bedtime were far advanced on their routeto Detroit. All this was, no doubt, pleasing to those of us who had moreserious thoughts. 

We were now convinced that the whole of the low country on the Wabashwas drowned, and that the enemy could easily get to us, if theydiscovered us, and wished to risk an action; if they did not, we made nodoubt of crossing the river by some means or other. Even if CaptainRogers, with our galley, did not get to his station agreeable to hisappointment, we flattered ourselves that all would be well, and marchedon in high spirits. 

The last day's march through the water was far superior to anything theFrenchmen[431-3] had an idea of. They were backward in speaking; saidthat the nearest land to us was a small league called the Sugar Camp, onthe bank of the [river?]. A canoe was sent off, and returned withoutfinding that we could pass. I went in her myself, and sounded the water;found it deep as to my neck. I returned with a design to have the mentransported on board the canoes to the Sugar Camp, which I knew wouldspend the whole day and ensuing night, as the vessels would pass slowlythrough the bushes. The loss of so much time, to men half-starved, was amatter of consequence. I would have given now a great deal for a day'sprovision or for one of our horses. I returned but slowly to the troops, giving myself time to think. 

On our arrival, all ran to hear what was the report. Every eye was fixedon me. I unfortunately spoke in a serious manner to one of the officers. The whole were alarmed without knowing what I said. I viewed theirconfusion for about one minute, whispered to those near me to do as Idid: immediately put some water in my hand, poured on powder, blackenedmy face, gave the war-whoop, and marched into the water without saying aword. The party gazed, and fell in, one after another, without saying aword, like a flock of sheep. I ordered those near me to begin a favoritesong of theirs. It soon passed through the line, and the whole went oncheerfully. I now intended to have them transported across the deepestpart of the water; but, when about waist deep, one of the men informedme that he thought he felt a path. We examined, and found it so, andconcluded that it kept on the highest ground, which it did; and, bytaking pains to follow it we got to the Sugar Camp without the leastdifficulty, where there was about half an acre of dry ground, at leastnot under water, where we took up our lodging. 

The Frenchmen that we had taken on the river appeared to be uneasy atour situation. They begged that they might be permitted to go in the twocanoes to town in the night. They said that they would bring from theirown houses provisions, without a possibility of any persons knowing it;that some of our men should go with them as a surety of their goodconduct; that it was impossible we could march from that place till thewater fell, for the plain was too deep to march. Some of the [officers?]believed that it might be done. I would not suffer it. I never couldwell account for this piece of obstinacy, and give satisfactory reasonsto myself or anybody else why I denied a proposition apparently so easyto execute and of so much advantage; but something seemed to tell methat it should not be done, and it was not done. 

The most of the weather that we had on this march was moist and warm forthe season. This was the coldest night we had. The ice, in the morning, was from one-half to three-quarters of an inch thick near the shores andin still water. The morning was the finest we had on our march. A littleafter sunrise I lectured the whole. What I said to them I forgot, but itmay be easily imagined by a person that could possess my affections forthem at that time. I concluded by informing them that passing the plainthat was then in full view and reaching the opposite woods would put anend to their fatigue, that in a few hours they would have a sight oftheir long-wished-for object, and immediately stepped into the waterwithout waiting for any reply. A huzza took place. 

[Illustration: CLARK TOOK THE LEAD]

As we generally marched through the water in a line, before the thirdentered I halted, and called to Major Bowman, ordering him to fall inthe rear with twenty-five men, and put to death any man who refused tomarch, as we wished to have no such person among us. The whole gave acry of approbation, and on we went. This was the most trying of all thedifficulties we had experienced. I generally kept fifteen or twenty ofthe strongest men next myself, and judged from my own feelings what mustbe that of others. Getting about the middle of the plain, the waterabout mid-deep, I found myself sensibly failing; and, as there were notrees nor bushes for the men to support themselves by, I feared thatmany of the most weak would be drowned. 

I ordered the canoes to make the land, discharge their loading, and playbackward and forward with all diligence, and pick up the men; and, toencourage the party, sent some of the strongest men forward, withorders, when they got to a certain distance, to pass the word back thatthe water was getting shallow, and when getting near the woods to cryout, 'Land!' This stratagem had its desired effect. The men, encouragedby it, exerted themselves almost beyond their abilities; the weakholding by the stronger. 

The water never got shallower, but continued deepening. Getting to thewoods, where the men expected land, the water was up to my shoulders;but gaining the woods was of great consequence. All the low men and theweakly hung to the trees, and floated on the old logs until they weretaken off by the canoes. The strong and tall got ashore and builtfires. Many would reach the shore, and fall with their bodies half inthe water, not being able to support themselves without it. 

This was a delightful dry spot of ground of about ten acres. We soonfound that the fires answered no purpose, but that two strong men takinga weaker one by the arms was the only way to recover him; and, being adelightful day, it soon did. But, fortunately, as if designed byProvidence, a canoe of Indian squaws and children was coming up to town, and took through part of this plain as a nigh way. It was discovered byour canoes as they were out after the men. They gave chase, and took theIndian canoe, on board of which was near half a quarter of a buffalo, some corn, tallow, kettles, and other provisions. This was a grandprize, and was invaluable. Broth was immediately made, and served out tothe most weakly with great care. Most of the whole got a little; but agreat many gave their part to the weakly, jocosely saying somethingcheering to their comrades. This little refreshment and fine weather bythe afternoon gave new life to the whole. 

Crossing a narrow deep lake in the canoes, and marching some distance, we came to a copse of timber called the Warrior's Island. We were now infull view of the fort and town, not a shrub between us, at about twomiles distance. Every man now feasted his eyes, and forgot that he hadsuffered anything, saying that all that had passed was owing to goodpolicy and nothing but what a man could bear; and that a soldier had noright to think, etc. , --passing from one extreme to another, which iscommon in such cases. 

It was now we had to display our abilities. The plain between us and thetown was not a perfect level. The sunken grounds were covered with waterfull of ducks. We observed several men out on horseback, shooting them, within a half mile of us, and sent out as many of our active youngFrenchmen to decoy and take one of these men prisoner in such a manneras not to alarm the others, which they did. The information we got fromthis person was similar to that which we got from those we took on theriver, except that of the British having that evening completed the wallof the fort, and that there were a good many Indians in town. 

Our situation was now truly critical, --no possibility of retreating incase of defeat, and in full view of a town that had, at this time, upward of six hundred men in it, --troops, inhabitants, and Indians. Thecrew of the galley, though not fifty men, would have been now areënforcement of immense magnitude to our little army (if I may so callit), but we would not think of them. We were now in the situation that Ihad labored to get ourselves in. The idea of being made prisoner wasforeign to almost every man, as they expected nothing but torture fromthe savages, if they fell into their hands. Our fate was now to bedetermined, probably in a few hours. We knew that nothing but the mostdaring conduct would insure success. 

I knew that a number of the inhabitants wished us well, that many werelukewarm to the interest of either, and I also learned that the grandchief, the Tobacco's son, had but a few days before openly declared, incouncil with the British, that he was a brother and friend to the BigKnives. These were favorable circumstances; and, as there was butlittle probability of our remaining until dark undiscovered, Idetermined to begin the career immediately, and wrote the followingplacard to the inhabitants:--

 "TO THE INHABITANTS OF POST VINCENNES:

 "_Gentlemen:_--Being now within two miles of your village, with my army, determined to take your fort this night, and not being willing to surprise you, I take this method to request such of you as are true citizens and willing to enjoy the liberty I bring you to remain still in your houses; and those, if any there be, that are friends to the king will instantly repair to the fort, and join the hair-buyer[437-4] general, and fight like men. And, if any such as do not go to the fort shall be discovered afterward, they may depend on severe punishment. On the contrary, those who are true friends to liberty may depend on being well treated; and I once more request them to keep out of the streets. For every one I find in arms on my arrival I shall treat him as an enemy. 

 "(Signed) G. R. CLARK. "

I had various ideas on the supposed results of this letter. I knew thatit could do us no damage, but that it would cause the lukewarm to bedecided, encourage our friends, and astonish our enemies. 

We anxiously viewed this messenger until he entered the town, and in afew minutes could discover by our glasses some stir in every street thatwe could penetrate into, and great numbers running or riding out intothe commons, we supposed, to view us, which was the case. But whatsurprised us was that nothing had yet happened that had the appearanceof the garrison being alarmed, --no drum nor gun. We began to supposethat the information we got from our prisoners was false, and that theenemy already knew of us, and were prepared. 

A little before sunset we moved, and displayed ourselves in full view ofthe town, crowds gazing at us. We were plunging ourselves into certaindestruction or success. There was no midway thought of. We had butlittle to say to our men, except inculcating an idea of the necessity ofobedience, etc. We knew they did not want encouraging, and that anythingmight be attempted with them that was possible for such anumber, --perfectly cool, under proper subordination, pleased with theprospect before them, and much attached to their officers. They alldeclared that they were convinced that an implicit obedience to orderswas the only thing that would insure success, and hoped that no mercywould be shown the person that should violate them. Such language asthis from soldiers to persons in our station must have been exceedinglyagreeable. 

We moved on slowly in full view of the town; but, as it was a point ofsome consequence to us to make ourselves appear as formidable, we, inleaving the covert that we were in, marched and counter-marched in sucha manner that we appeared numerous. In raising volunteers in theIllinois, every person that set about the business had a set of colorsgiven him, which they brought with them to the amount of ten or twelvepairs. These were displayed to the best advantage; and, as the lowplain we marched through was not a perfect level, but had frequentrisings in it seven or eight feet higher than the common level (whichwas covered with water), and as these risings generally run in anoblique direction to the town, we took the advantage of one of them, marching through the water under it, which completely prevented ourbeing numbered. But our colors showed considerably above the heights, asthey were fixed on long poles procured for the purpose, and at adistance made no despicable appearance; and, as our young Frenchmen had, while we lay on the Warrior's Island, decoyed and taken several fowlerswith their horses, officers were mounted on these horses, and rodeabout, more completely to deceive the enemy. 

In this manner we moved, and directed our march in such a way as tosuffer it to be dark before we had advanced more than half-way to thetown. We then suddenly altered our direction, and crossed ponds wherethey could not have suspected us, and about eight o'clock gained theheights back of the town. As there was yet no hostile appearance, wewere impatient to have the cause unriddled. Lieutenant Bayley wasordered, with fourteen men, to march and fire on the fort. The main bodymoved in a different direction, and took possession of the strongestpart of the town. 

The firing now commenced on the fort, but they did not believe it was anenemy until one of their men was shot down through a port, as drunkenIndians frequently saluted the fort after night. The drums now sounded, and the business fairly commenced on both sides. Re-enforcements weresent to the attack of the garrison, while other arrangements weremaking in town. 

We now found that the garrison had known nothing of us; that, havingfinished the fort that evening, they had amused themselves at differentgames, and had just retired before my letter arrived, as it was nearroll-call. The placard being made public, many of the inhabitants wereafraid to show themselves out of the houses for fear of giving offence, and not one dare give information. Our friends flew to the commons andother convenient places to view the pleasing sight. This was observedfrom the garrison, and the reason asked, but a satisfactory excuse wasgiven; and, as a part of the town lay between our line of march and thegarrison, we could not be seen by the sentinels on the walls. 

Captain W. Shannon and another being some time before taken prisoners byone of their [scouting parties], and that evening brought in, the partyhad discovered at the Sugar Camp some signs of us. They supposed it tobe a party of observation that intended to land on the height somedistance below the town. Captain Lamotte was sent to intercept them. Itwas at him the people said they were looking, when they were asked thereason of their unusual stir. 

Several suspected persons had been taken to the garrison; among them wasMr. Moses Henry. Mrs. Henry went, under the pretense of carrying himprovisions, and whispered him the news and what she had seen. Mr. Henryconveyed it to the rest of his fellow-prisoners, which gave them muchpleasure, particularly Captain Helm, who amused himself very muchduring the siege, and, I believe, did much damage. 

Ammunition was scarce with us, as the most of our stores had been put onboard of the galley. Though her crew was but few, such a reënforcementto us at this time would have been invaluable in many instances. But, fortunately, at the time of its being reported that the whole of thegoods in the town were to be taken for the king's use (for which theowners were to receive bills), Colonel Legras, Major Bosseron, andothers had buried the greatest part of their powder and ball. This wasimmediately produced, and we found ourselves well supplied by thosegentlemen. 

The Tobacco's son, being in town with a number of warriors, immediatelymustered them, and let us know that he wished to join us, saying that bymorning he would have a hundred men. He received for answer that wethanked for his friendly disposition; and, as we were sufficientlystrong ourselves, we wished him to desist, and that we would counsel onthe subject in the morning; and, as we knew that there were a number ofIndians in and near the town that were our enemies, some confusion mighthappen if our men should mix in the dark, but hoped that we might befavored with his counsel and company during the night, which wasagreeable to him. 

The garrison was soon completely surrounded, and the firing continuedwithout intermission (except about fifteen minutes a little before day)until about nine o'clock the following morning. It was kept up by thewhole of the troops, joined by a few of the young men of the town, whogot permission, except fifty men kept as a reserve. 

I had made myself fully acquainted with the situation of the fort andtown and the parts relative to each. The cannon of the garrison was onthe upper floors of strong blockhouses at each angle of the fort, elevenfeet above the surface, and the ports so badly cut that many of ourtroops lay under the fire of them within twenty or thirty yards of thewalls. They did no damage, except to the buildings of the town, some ofwhich they much shattered; and their musketry, in the dark, employedagainst woodsmen covered by houses, palings, ditches, the banks of theriver, etc. , was but of little avail, and did no injury to us exceptwounding a man or two. 

As we could not afford to lose men, great care was taken to preservethem, sufficiently covered, and to keep up a hot fire in order tointimidate the enemy as well as to destroy them. The embrasures of theircannon were frequently shut, for our riflemen, finding the truedirection of them, would pour in such volleys when they were opened thatthe men could not stand to the guns. Seven or eight of them in a shorttime got cut down. Our troops would frequently abuse the enemy, in orderto aggravate them to open their ports and fire their cannon, that theymight have the pleasure of cutting them down with their rifles, fifty ofwhich, perhaps, would be levelled the moment the port flew open; and Ibelieve that, if they had stood at their artillery, the greater part ofthem would have been destroyed in the course of the night, as thegreater part of our men lay within thirty yards of the walls, and in afew hours were covered equally to those within the walls, and much moreexperienced in that mode of fighting. 

Sometimes an irregular fire, as hot as possible, was kept up fromdifferent directions for a few minutes, and then only a continualscattering fire at the ports as usual; and a great noise and laughterimmediately commenced in different parts of the town, by the reservedparties, as if they had only fired on the fort a few minutes foramusement, and as if those continually firing at the fort were onlyregularly relieved. Conduct similar to this kept the garrison constantlyalarmed. They did not know what moment they might be stormed or [blownup?], as they could plainly discover that we had flung up someentrenchments across the streets, and appeared to be frequently verybusy under the bank of the river, which was within thirty feet of thewalls. 

The situation of the magazine we knew well. Captain Bowman began someworks in order to blow it up, in the case our artillery should arrive;but, as we knew that we were daily liable to be overpowered by thenumerous bands of Indians on the river, in case they had again joinedthe enemy (the certainty of which we were unacquainted with), weresolved to lose no time, but to get the fort in our possession as soonas possible. If the vessel did not arrive before the ensuing night, weresolved to undermine the fort, and fixed on the spot and plan ofexecuting this work, which we intended to commence the next day. 

The Indians of different tribes that were inimical had left the town andneighborhood. Captain Lamotte continued to hover about it in order, ifpossible, to make his way good into the fort. Parties attempted in vainto surprise him. A few of his party were taken, one of which wasMaisonville, a famous Indian partisan. Two lads had captured him, tiedhim to a post in the street, and fought from behind him as a breastwork, supposing that the enemy would not fire at them for fear of killing him, as he would alarm them by his voice. The lads were ordered, by anofficer who discovered them at their amusement, to untie their prisoner, and take him off to the guard, which they did, but were so inhuman as totake part of his scalp on the way. There happened to him no otherdamage. 

As almost the whole of the persons who were most active in thedepartment of Detroit were either in the fort or with Captain Lamotte, Igot extremely uneasy for fear that he would not fall into our power, knowing that he would go off, if he could not get into the fort in thecourse of the night. Finding that, without some unforeseen accident, thefort must inevitably be ours, and that a reënforcement of twenty men, although considerable to them, would not be of great moment to us in thepresent situation of affairs, and knowing that we had weakened them bykilling or wounding many of their gunners, after some deliberation, weconcluded to risk the reënforcement in preference of his going againamong the Indians. The garrison had at least a month's provisions; and, if they could hold out, in the course of that time he might do us muchdamage. 

A little before day the troops were withdrawn from their positions aboutthe fort, except a few parties of observation, and the firing totallyceased. Orders were given, in case of Lamotte's approach, not to alarmor fire on him without a certainty of killing or taking the whole. Inless than a quarter of an hour, he passed within ten feet of an officerand a party that lay concealed. Ladders were flung over to them; and, asthey mounted them, our party shouted. Many of them fell from the top ofthe walls, --some within, and others back; but, as they were not firedon, they all got over, much to the joy of their friends. But, onconsidering the matter, they must have been convinced that it was ascheme of ours to let them in, and that we were so strong as to care butlittle about them or the manner of their getting into the garrison. 

The firing immediately commenced on both sides with double vigor; and Ibelieve that more noise could not have been made by the same number ofmen. Their shouts could not be heard for the fire-arms; but a continualblaze was kept around the garrison, without much being done, until aboutdaybreak, when our troops were drawn off to posts prepared for them, about sixty or seventy yards from the fort. A loophole then couldscarcely be darkened but a rifle-ball would pass through it. To havestood to their cannon would have destroyed their men, without aprobability of doing much service. Our situation was nearly similar. Itwould have been imprudent in either party to have wasted their men, without some decisive stroke required it. 

Thus the attack continued until about nine o'clock on the morning of the24th. Learning that the two prisoners they had brought in the day beforehad a considerable number of letters with them, I supposed it an expressthat we expected about this time, which I knew to be of the greatestmoment to us, as we had not received one since our arrival in thecountry; and, not being fully acquainted with the character of ourenemy, we were doubtful that those papers might be destroyed, to preventwhich I sent a flag [with a letter] demanding the garrison. [446-5]

 * * * * *

The firing then commenced warmly for a considerable time; and we wereobliged to be careful in preventing our men from exposing themselves toomuch, as they were now much animated, having been refreshed during theflag. They frequently mentioned their wishes to storm the place, and putan end to the business at once. The firing was heavy through every crackthat could be discovered in any part of the fort. Several of thegarrison got wounded, and no possibility of standing near theembrasures. Toward the evening a flag appeared with the followingproposals:--

 "Lieutenant-governor Hamilton proposes to Colonel Clark a truce for three days, during which time he promises there shall be no defensive works carried on in the garrison, on condition that Colonel Clark shall observe, on his part, a like cessation of any defensive work, --that is, he wishes to confer with Colonel Clark as soon as can be, and promises that whatever may pass between them two and another person mutually agreed upon to be present shall remain secret till matters be finished, as he wishes that, whatever the result of the conference may be, it may tend to the honor and credit of each party. If Colonel Clark makes a difficulty of coming into the fort, Lieutenant-governor Hamilton will speak to him by the gate. 

 "(Signed) HENRY HAMILTON. "24th February, 1779. "

I was at a great loss to conceive what reason Lieutenant-governorHamilton could have for wishing a truce of three days on such terms ashe proposed. Numbers said it was a scheme to get me into theirpossession. I had a different opinion and no idea of his possessing suchsentiments, as an act of that kind would infallibly ruin him. Althoughwe had the greatest reason to expect a reënforcement in less than threedays, that would at once put an end to the siege, I yet did not think itprudent to agree to the proposals, and sent the following answer:--

 "Colonel Clark's compliments to Lieutenant-governor Hamilton, and begs leave to inform him that he will not agree to any terms other than Mr. Hamilton's surrendering himself and garrison prisoners at discretion. If Mr. Hamilton is desirous of a conference with Colonel Clark, he will meet him at the church with Captain Helm. 

 "(Signed) G. R. C. "February 24th, 1779. "

We met at the church, about eighty yards from the fort, Lieutenant-governor Hamilton, Major Hay, superintendent of Indianaffairs, Captain Helm, their prisoner, Major Bowman, and myself. Theconference began. Hamilton produced terms of capitulation, signed, thatcontained various articles, one of which was that the garrison should besurrendered on their being permitted to go to Pensacola on parole. Afterdeliberating on every article, I rejected the whole. 

He then wished that I would make some proposition. I told him that I hadno other to make than what I had already made, --that of his surrenderingas prisoners at discretion. I said that his troops had behaved withspirit; that they could not suppose that they would be worse treated inconsequence of it; that, if he chose to comply with the demand, thoughhard, perhaps the sooner the better; that it was in vain to make anyproposition to me; that he, by this time, must be sensible that thegarrison would fall; that both of us must [view?] all blood spilt forthe future by the garrison as murder; that my troops were alreadyimpatient, and called aloud for permission to tear down and storm thefort. If such a step was taken, many, of course, would be cut down; andthe result of an enraged body of woodsmen breaking in must be obvious tohim. It would be out of the power of an American officer to save asingle man. 

Various altercation took place for a considerable time. Captain Helmattempted to moderate our fixed determination. I told him he was aBritish prisoner; and it was doubtful whether or not he could, withpropriety, speak on the subject. Hamilton then said that Captain Helmwas from that moment liberated, and might use his pleasure. I informedthe Captain that I would not receive him on such terms; that he mustreturn to the garrison, and await his fate. I then toldLieutenant-governor Hamilton that hostilities should not commence untilfive minutes after the drums gave the alarm. 

[Illustration: WE MET AT THE CHURCH]

We took our leave, and parted but a few steps, when Hamilton stopped, and politely asked me if I would be so kind as to give him my reasonsfor refusing the garrison any other terms than those I had offered. Itold him I had no objections in giving him my real reasons, which weresimply these: that I knew the greater part of the principal Indianpartisans of Detroit were with him; that I wanted an excuse to put themto death or otherwise treat them as I thought proper; that the cries ofthe widows and the fatherless on the frontiers, which they hadoccasioned, now required their blood from my hand; and that I did notchoose to be so timorous as to disobey the absolute commands of theirauthority, which I looked upon to be next to divine; that I would ratherlose fifty men than not to empower myself to execute this piece ofbusiness with propriety; that, if he chose to risk the massacre of hisgarrison for their sakes, it was his own pleasure; and that I might, perhaps, take it into my head to send for some of those widows to see itexecuted. 

Major Hay paying great attention, I had observed a kind of distrust inhis countenance, which in a great measure influenced my conversationduring this time. On my concluding, "Pray, sir, " said he, "who is itthat you call Indian partisans?" "Sir, " I replied, "I take Major Hay tobe one of the principal. " I never saw a man in the moment of executionso struck as he appeared to be, --pale and trembling, scarcely able tostand. Hamilton blushed, and, I observed, was much affected at hisbehavior. Major Bowman's countenance sufficiently explained his disdainfor the one and his sorrow for the other. 

Some moments elapsed without a word passing on either side. From thatmoment my resolutions changed respecting Hamilton's situation. I toldhim that we would return to our respective posts; that I wouldreconsider the matter, and let him know the result. No offensivemeasures should be taken in the meantime. Agreed to; and we parted. Whathad passed being made known to our officers, it was agreed that weshould moderate our resolutions. 

That afternoon the following articles were signed and the garrisonsurrendered:

I. Lieutenant-governor Hamilton engages to deliver up to Colonel Clark, Fort Sackville, as it is at present, with all the stores, etc. 

II. The garrison are to deliver themselves as prisoners of war, andmarch out with their arms and accoutrements, etc. 

III. The garrison to be delivered up at ten o'clock tomorrow. 

IV. Three days time to be allowed the garrison to settle their accountswith the inhabitants and traders of this place. 

V. The officers of the garrison to be allowed their necessary baggage, etc. 

Signed at Post St. Vincent (Vincennes), 24th of February, 1779. 

Agreed for the following reasons: the remoteness from succor; the stateand quantity of provisions, etc. ; unanimity of officers and men in itsexpediency; the honorable terms allowed; and, lastly, the confidence ina generous enemy. 

 (Signed) HENRY HAMILTON, _Lieut. -Gov. And Superintendent. _

 * * * * *

The business being now nearly at an end, troops were posted in severalstrong houses around the garrison and patrolled during the night toprevent any deception that might be attempted. The remainder on dutylay on their arms, and for the first time for many days past got somerest. 

During the siege, I got only one man wounded. Not being able to losemany, I made them secure themselves well. Seven were badly wounded inthe fort through ports. 

Almost every man had conceived a favorable opinion ofLieutenant-governor Hamilton, --I believe what affected myself made someimpression on the whole; and I was happy to find that he never deviated, while he stayed with us, from that dignity of conduct that became anofficer in his situation. The morning of the 25th approaching, arrangements were made for receiving the garrison [which consisted ofseventy-nine men], and about ten o'clock it was delivered in form; andeverything was immediately arranged to the best advantage. [452-7]

FOOTNOTES:

[428-1] The first permanent settlement in Indiana was made on the WabashRiver 117 miles southwest of the present city of Indianapolis. On whatwas originally the location of a prominent Indian village, the Frenchestablished a fort in 1702, and it was generally known as _The Post_. In1736 the name of Vinsenne, an early commandant of the post, was appliedto the little settlement, and this name later came to be written_Vincennes_, in its present form. 

The English took the place in 1763; in 1778 the weak English garrisonwas driven out by the forerunners of George Rogers Clark, who fromKaskaskia sent Captain Helm to take charge. The same winter Captain Helmand the one soldier who constituted his garrison were compelled tosurrender to the British General, Hamilton, who had come from Detroit torecapture the fort. It was in the following February that Clark made thefinal capture as told in these memoirs. Thereafter Vincennes belonged toVirginia, who ceded it to the United States in 1783. Vincennes was thecapital of Indiana territory from 1801 to 1816. 

[428-2] The selection is taken from General Clark's Memoirs. 

[431-3] These were men from Vincennes whom Clark had taken from canoesand from whom he obtained much information, although it was not givenwith perfect willingness. 

[437-4] It was said with some show of justice that General Hamilton hadpaid the Indians a bounty on the scalps of American settlers. His coursein many ways had aroused the bitterest hatred among the colonists, andespecially among the "Big Knives. "

[446-5] The letter addressed to Lieutenant-governor Hamilton read asfollows:

"SIR:--In order to save yourself from the impending storm that nowthreatens you, I order you immediately to surrender yourself, with allyour garrison, stores, etc. For, if I am obliged to storm, you maydepend on such treatment as is justly due to a murderer. Beware ofdestroying stores of any kind or any papers or letters that are in yourpossession, or hurting one house in town: for, by heavens! if you do, there shall be no mercy shown you. 

 (Signed) G. R. CLARK. "

In reply the British officer sent the following:

"Lieutenant-governor Hamilton begs leave to acquaint Colonel Clark thathe and his garrison are not disposed to be awed into any action unworthyBritish subjects. "

[452-7] Clark was a man of action, not a scholar; and the errors ofwhich his writings are full may well be overlooked, so full of interestis what he says. The selections above have been slightly changed, principally, however, in spelling and the use of capital letters. 

Hamilton was sent in irons to Virginia and was kept in closeconfinement, at Williamsburg, till nearly the end of the Revolution. Washington wrote, as a reason for not exchanging the British prisoner, that he "had issued proclamations and approved of practices, which weremarked with cruelty towards the people that fell into his hands, such asinciting the Indians to bring in scalps, putting prisoners in irons, andgiving men up to be the victims of savage barbarity. "

THREE SUNDAYS IN A WEEK

_Adapted from_ EDGAR A. POE

 NOTE. --The ingeniousness of the idea in this story marks it as Poe's, though it lacks some of the characteristics which we expect to find in everything that came from the brain of that most unusual writer. Many of his poems and many of his most famous stories, such as _Ligeia_, _The Fall of the House of Usher_, _Eleanora_ and _The Masque of the Red Death_, have a fantastic horror about them which is scarcely to be found in the writings of any other man. _The Gold Bug_, which is included in Volume IX of this series is a characteristic example of another type of Poe's stories; it shows at its best his marvelous inventive power. 

 _Three Sundays in a Week_, as given here, has been abridged somewhat, though nothing that is essential to the story has been omitted. 

"You hard-hearted, dunder-headed, obstinate, rusty, crusty, musty, fusty, old savage!" said I, in fancy, one afternoon, to my granduncle, Rumgudgeon, shaking my fist at him in imagination. Only in imagination. The fact is, some trivial difference did exist, just then, between whatI said and what I had not the courage to say--between what I did andwhat I had half a mind to do. 

The old porpoise, as I opened the drawing-room door, was sitting withhis feet upon the mantelpiece, making strenuous efforts to accomplish aditty. 

"My _dear_ uncle, " said I, closing the door gently and approaching himwith the blandest of smiles, "you are always so very kind andconsiderate, and have evinced your benevolence in so many--so very manyways--that--that I feel I have only to suggest this little point to youonce more to make sure of your full acquiescence. "

"Hem!" said he, "good boy! go on!"

"I am sure, my dearest uncle (you confounded old rascal!) that you haveno design really and seriously to oppose my union with Kate. This ismerely a joke of yours, I know--ha! ha! ha!--how very pleasant you areat times. "

"Ha! ha! ha!" said he, "curse you! yes!"

"To be sure--of course! I knew you were jesting. Now, uncle, all thatKate and myself wish at present, is that you would oblige us--as regardsthe _time_--you know, uncle--in short, when will it be most convenientfor yourself that the wedding shall--shall come off, you know?"

"Come off, you scoundrel! what do you mean by that?--Better wait till itgoes on. "

"Ha! ha! ha!--he! he! he!--oh, that's good--oh, that's capital--such awit! But all we want, just now, you know, uncle, is that you shouldindicate the time precisely. "

"Ah!--precisely?"

"Yes, uncle--that is, if it would be quite agreeable to yourself. "

"Wouldn't it answer, Bobby, if I were to leave it at random--sometimewithin a year or so, for example?--_must_ I say precisely?"

"_If_ you please, uncle--precisely. "

"Well, then, Bobby, my boy--you're a fine fellow, aren't you?--since you_will_ have the exact time, I'll--why, I'll oblige you for once. "

"Dear uncle!"

[Illustration: "WELL, THEN, BOBBY, MY BOY"]

"Hush, sir!" (drowning my voice)--"I'll oblige you for once. You shallhave my consent--and the _plum_, we mustn't forget the plum--let me see!When shall it be? To-day's Sunday--isn't it! Well, then, you shall bemarried precisely--_precisely_, now mind!--_when three Sundays cometogether in a week_! Do you hear me, sir! What are you gaping at? I say, you shall have Kate and her plum when three Sundays come together in aweek--but not _till_ then--you young scapegrace--not _till_ then, if Idie for it. You know me--_I'm a man of my word_--_now be off_!" Here hegrinned at me viciously, and I rushed from the room in despair. 

A very "fine old English gentleman" was my granduncle, Rumgudgeon, but, unlike him of the song, he had his weak points. He was a little, pursy, pompous, passionate, semi-circular somebody, with a red nose, a thickskull, a long purse, and a strong sense of his own consequence. With thebest heart in the world, he contrived, through a predominate whim ofcontradiction, to earn for himself, among those who only knew himsuperficially, the character of a curmudgeon. Like many excellentpeople, he seemed possessed with a spirit of tantalization, which mighteasily, at a casual glance, be mistaken for malevolence. To everyrequest, a positive "No!" was his immediate answer; but in the end--inthe long, long end--there were exceedingly few requests which herefused. Against all attacks upon his purse he made the most sturdydefence; but the amount extorted from him at last, was generally indirect ratio with the length of the siege and the stubbornness of theresistance. In charity, no one gave more liberally, or with a worsegrace. 

For the fine arts, especially for the belles-lettres, he entertained aprofound contempt. Thus my own inkling for the Muses had excited hisentire displeasure. He assured me one day, when I asked him for a newcopy of Horace, that the translation of "_Poeta nascitur, nonfit_"[456-1] was "a nasty poet for nothing fit"--a remark which I tookin high dudgeon. His repugnance to the "humanities" had, also, muchincreased of late, by an accidental bias in favor of what he supposed tobe natural science. Somebody had accosted him in the street, mistakinghim for a no less personage than Doctor Dubble L. Dee, the lecturer uponquack physics. This set him off at a tangent; and just at the epoch ofthis story, my granduncle, Rumgudgeon, was accessible and pacific onlyupon the points which happened to chime in with the hobby he was riding. 

I had lived with the old gentleman all my life. My parents in dying hadbequeathed me to him as a rich legacy. I believe the old villain lovedme as his own child--nearly if not quite as well as he loved Kate--butit was a dog's existence that he led me after all. From my first yearuntil my fifth, he obliged me with very regular floggings. From five tofifteen, he threatened me, hourly, with the House of Correction. Fromfifteen to twenty not a day passed in which he did not promise to cut meoff with a shilling. I was a sad dog it is true, but then it was a partof my nature--a point of my faith. 

In Kate, however, I had a firm friend, and I knew it. She was a goodgirl, and told me very sweetly that I might have her (plum and all)whenever I could badger my granduncle, Rumgudgeon, into the necessaryconsent. Poor girl! she was barely fifteen, and without this consent herlittle amount in the funds was not come-at-able until five immeasurablesummers had "dragged their slow length along. " What then to do? In vainwe besieged the old gentleman with importunities. It would have stirredthe indignation of Job himself to see how much like an old mouser hebehaved to us two little mice. In his heart he wished for nothing moreardently than our union. He had made up his mind to this all along. Infact he would have given ten thousand pounds from his own pocket (Kate'splum was _her own_) if he could have invented anything like an excusefor complying with our very natural wishes. But then we had been soimprudent as to broach the matter ourselves. Not to oppose it underthe circumstances, I sincerely believe, was not in his power. 

[Illustration: "IN KATE, HOWEVER, I HAD A FIRM FRIEND"]

My granduncle was, after his own fashion, a man of his word, no doubt. The spirit of his vows he made no scruple of setting at naught, but theletter was a bond inviolable. Now it was this peculiarity in hisdisposition of which Kate's ingenuity enabled us one fine day, not longafter our interview in the drawing-room, to take a very unexpectedadvantage. 

It happened then--so the Fates ordered it--that among the navalacquaintances of my betrothed were two gentlemen who had just set footupon the shores of England, after a year's absence, each, in foreigntravel. In company with these gentlemen, Kate and I, preconcertedly, paid uncle Rumgudgeon a visit on the afternoon of Sunday, October thetenth--just three weeks after the memorable decision which had socruelly defeated our hopes. For about half an hour the conversation ranupon ordinary topics; but at last we contrived, quite naturally, to giveit the following turn:

_Capt. Pratt. _ "Well, I have been absent just one year. Just one yearto-day, as I live--let me see! yes!--this is October the tenth. Youremember, Mr. Rumgudgeon, I called this day year, to bid you good-bye. And by the way, it does seem something like a coincidence, does itnot--that our friend, Captain Smitherton, has been absent exactly a yearalso, a year to-day?"

_Smitherton. _ "Yes! just one year to a fraction. You will remember, Mr. Rumgudgeon, that I called with Captain Pratt on this very day last year, to pay my parting respects. "

_Uncle. _ "Yes, yes, yes--I remember it very well--very queer indeed!Both of you gone just one year. A very strange coincidence indeed! Justwhat Doctor Dubble L. Dee would denominate an extraordinary concurrenceof events. Doctor Dub--"

_Kate_ (_interrupting_). "To be sure papa, it _is_ something strange;but then Captain Pratt and Captain Smitherton didn't go altogether thesame route, and that makes a difference you know. "

_Uncle. _ "I don't know any such thing, you hussy! How should I? I thinkit only makes the matter more remarkable. Doctor Dubble L. Dee--"

_Kate. _ "Why, papa, Captain Pratt went round Cape Horn, and CaptainSmitherton doubled the Cape of Good Hope. "

_Uncle. _ "Precisely! the one went east and the other went west, youjade, and they have both gone quite round the world. By the bye, DoctorDub--"

_Myself_ (_hurriedly_). "Captain Pratt, you must come and spend theevening with us to-morrow--you and Smitherton--you can tell us all aboutyour voyage, and we'll have a game of whist, and--"

_Pratt. _ "Whist, my dear fellow--you forget. To-morrow will be Sunday. Some other evening--"

_Kate. _ "Oh, no, fie!--Robert's not _quite_ so bad as that. _To-day's_Sunday. "

_Uncle. _ "To be sure--to be sure. "

_Pratt. _ "I beg both your pardons--but I can't be so much mistaken. Iknow to-morrow's Sunday, because--"

_Smitherton_ (_much surprised_). "What _are_ you all thinking about?Wasn't _yesterday_ Sunday, I should like to know?"

_All. _ "Yesterday, indeed! you _are_ out!"

_Uncle. _ "To-day's Sunday, I say--don't I know?"

_Pratt. _ "Oh, no!--to-morrow's Sunday. "

_Smitherton. _ "You are _all_ mad--every one of you. I am as positivethat yesterday was Sunday as I am that I sit upon this chair. "

_Kate_ (_jumping up eagerly_). "I see it--I see it all. Papa, this is ajudgment upon you, about--about you know what. Let me alone, and I'llexplain it all in a minute. It's a very simple thing, indeed. CaptainSmitherton says that yesterday was Sunday: so it was; he is right. Cousin Bobby, and papa and I, say that to-day is Sunday: so it is, weare right. Captain Pratt maintains that to-morrow will be Sunday: so itwill, he is right, too. The fact is, we are all right, and thus _threeSundays have come together in a week_. "

_Smitherton_ (_after a pause_). "By the bye, Pratt, Kate has uscompletely. What fools we two are! Mr. Rumgudgeon, the matter standsthus: the earth, you know, is twenty-four thousand miles incircumference. Now this globe turns upon its own axis--revolves--spinsaround--these twenty-four thousand miles of extent, going from west toeast, in precisely twenty-four hours. Do you understand, Mr. Rumgudgeon?"

_Uncle. _ "To be sure--to be sure. Doctor Dub--"

_Smitherton_ (_drowning his voice_). "Well sir, that is at the rate ofone thousand miles per hour. Now, suppose that I sail from this positiona thousand miles east. Of course I anticipate the rising of the sun hereat London by just one hour. I see the sun rise one hour before you do. Proceeding, in the same direction, yet another thousand miles, Ianticipate the rising by two hours--another thousand, and I anticipateit by three hours, and so on, until I go entirely round the globe, andback to this spot, when having gone twenty-four thousand miles east, Ianticipate the rising of the London sun by no less than twenty-fourhours; that is to say, I am a day _in advance_ of your time. Understand, eh?"

_Uncle. _ "But Dubble L. Dee--"

_Smitherton_ (_speaking very loud_). "Captain Pratt, on the contrary, when he had sailed a thousand miles west of this position, was an hour, and when he had sailed twenty-four thousand miles west was twenty-fourhours, or one day, _behind_ the time at London. Thus, with me, yesterdaywas Sunday--thus with you, to-day is Sunday--and thus with Pratt, to-morrow will be Sunday. And what is more, Mr. Rumgudgeon, it ispositively clear that that we are _all right_; for there can be nophilosophical reason assigned why the idea of one of us should havepreference over that of the other. "

_Uncle. _ "My eyes!--well, Kate--well Bobby!--this _is_ a judgment uponme as you say. But I am a man of my word--_mark that_! You shall haveher, my boy (plum and all), when you please. Done up, by Jove! ThreeSundays in a row! I'll go and take Dubble L. Dee's opinion upon _that_. "

FOOTNOTES:

[456-1] A poet is born, not made. 

THE MODERN BELLE

_By_ STARK

 She sits in a fashionable parlor, And rocks in her easy chair; She is clad in silks and satins, And jewels are in her hair; She winks and giggles and simpers, And simpers and giggles and winks; And though she talks but little, 'Tis a good deal more than she thinks. 

 She lies abed in the morning Till nearly the hour of noon, Then comes down snapping and snarling Because she was called so soon; Her hair is still in papers, Her cheeks still fresh with paint, -- Remains of her last night's blushes, Before she intended to faint. 

 She dotes upon men unshaven, And men with "flowing hair;" She's eloquent over mustaches, They give such a foreign air. She talks of Italian music, And falls in love with the moon; And, if a mouse were to meet her, She would sink away in a swoon. 

 Her feet are so very little, Her hands are so very white, Her jewels so very heavy, And her head so very light; Her color is made of cosmetics (Though this she will never own), Her body is made mostly of cotton, Her heart is made wholly of stone. 

 She falls in love with a fellow Who swells with a foreign air; He marries her for her money, She marries him for his hair! One of the very best matches, -- Both are well mated in life; _She's got a fool for a husband, He's got a fool for a wife_!

WIDOW MACHREE

_By_ SAMUEL LOVER

 Widow machree, it's no wonder you frown, -- Och hone! widow machree; Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown, -- Och hone! widow machree. How altered your air, With that close cap you wear, -- 'Tis destroying your hair, Which should be flowing free; Be no longer a churl Of its black silken curl, -- Och hone! widow machree!

 Widow machree, now the summer is come, -- Och hone! widow machree, When everything smiles, should a beauty look glum? Och hone! widow machree! See the birds go in pairs, And the rabbits and hares; Why, even the bears Now in couples agree; And the mute little fish, Though they can't spake, they wish, -- Och hone! widow machree. 

[Illustration: FAITH, I WISH YOU'D TAKE ME!]

 Widow machree, and when winter comes in, -- Och hone! widow machree, -- To be poking the fire all alone is a sin, Och hone! widow machree. Sure the shovel and tongs To each other belongs, And the kettle sings songs Full of family glee; While alone with your cup Like a hermit you sup, Och hone! widow machree. 

 And how do you know, with the comforts I've towld, -- Och hone! widow machree, -- But you're keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld, Och hone! widow machree! With such sins on your head, Sure your peace would be fled; Could you sleep in your bed Without thinking to see Some ghost or some sprite, That would wake you each night, Crying "Och hone! widow machree!"

 Then take my advice, darling widow machree, -- Och hone! widow machree, -- And with my advice, Faith, I wish you'd take me, Och hone! widow machree! You'd have me to desire Then to stir up the fire; And sure hope is no liar In whispering to me, That the ghosts would depart When you'd me near your heart, -- Och hone! widow machree!

LIMESTONE BROTH

_By_ GERALD GRIFFIN

"My father went once upon a time about the country, in the idle season, seeing if he could make a penny at all by cutting hair or settingrashurs or pen-knives, or any other job that would fall in his way. 

Weel an' good--he was one day walking alone in the mountains of Kerry, without a ha'p'ny in his pocket (for though he traveled afoot, it costhim more than he earned), an' knowing there was but little love for aCounty Limerick man in the place where he was, an' being half perishedwith the hunger, an' evening drawing nigh, he didn't know well what todo with himself till morning. 

Very good--he went along the wild road; an' if he did, he soon sees afarmhouse at a little distance o' one side--a snug-looking place, withthe smoke curling up out of the chimney, an' all tokens of good livinginside. Well, some people would live where a fox would starve. 

What do you think did my father do? He wouldn't beg (a thing one of ourpeople never done yet, thank heaven!) an' he hadn't the money to buy athing, so what does he do? He takes up a couple o' the big limestonesthat were lying in the road, in his two hands, an' away with him to thehouse. 

[Illustration: HE SOON SEES A FARMHOUSE AT A LITTLE DISTANCE]

'Lord save all here!' says he, walking in the door. 

'And you kindly, ' says they. 

'I'm come to you, ' says he, this way, looking at the two limestones, 'toknow would ye let me make a little limestone broth over your fire, untilI'll make my dinner?'

'Limestone broth!' says they to him again: 'what's that, _aroo_?'

'Broth made of limestone, ' says he; 'what else?'

'We never heard of such a thing, ' says they. 

'Why, then, you may hear it now, ' says he, 'an' see it also, if you'llgi' me a pot an' a couple o' quarts o' soft water. '

'You can have it an' welcome, ' says they. 

So they put down the pot an' the water, an' my father went over an' tuka chair hard by the pleasant fire for himself, an' put down his twolimestones to boil, an' kept stirrin' them round like stir-about. 

Very good--well, by-an'-by, when the wather began to boil--''Tisthickening finely, ' says my father; 'now if it had a grain o' salt atall, 'twould be a great improvement to it. '

'Raich down the salt-box, Nell, ' says the man o' the house to his wife. So she did. 

'Oh, that's the very thing, just, ' says my father, shaking some of itinto the pot. So he stirred it again a while, looking as sober as aminister. By-an'-by he takes the spoon he had stirring it an' tastes it. 

'It is very good now, ' says he, 'altho' it wants something yet. '

'What is it?' says they. 

'Oyeh, wisha nothin', ' says he; 'maybe 't is only fancy o' me. '

'If it's anything we can give you, ' says they, 'you're welcome to it. '

''Tis very good as it is, ' says he; 'but when I'm at home, I find itgives it a fine flavor just to boil a little knuckle o' bacon, or muttontrotters, or anything that way along with it. '

'Raich hether that bone o' sheep's head we had at dinner yesterday, Nell, ' says the man o' the house. 

'Oyeh, don't mind it, ' says my father; 'let it be as it is. '

'Sure if it improves it, you may as well, ' says they. 

'Baithershin!' says my father, putting it down. 

So after boiling it a good piece longer, ''Tis fine limestone broth, 'says he, 'as ever was tasted, and if a man had a few piatez, ' says he, looking at a pot o' them that was smoking in the chimney corner, 'hecouldn't desire a better dinner. '

They gave him the piatez, and he made a good dinner of themselves andthe broth, not forgetting the bone, which he polished equal to chaneybefore he let it go. The people themselves tasted it, an' tho't it asgood as any mutton broth in the world. "

THE KNOCKOUT

_Adapted From The Autobiography of_ DAVY CROCKETT

One day as I was walking through the woods, I came to a clearing on ahillside, and as I climbed the slope I was startled by loud, profane andboisterous voices which seemed to proceed from a thick cover ofundergrowth about two hundred yards in advance of me. 

"You kin, kin you?"

"Yes I kin and I'm able to do it! Boo-oo-oo!--O wake snakes, brimstoneand fire! Don't hold me, Nick Stoval; the fight's made up and I'll jumpdown your throat before you kin say 'quit. '"

"Now Nick, don't hold him! Just let the wildcat come, and I'll tame him. Ned'll see me a fair fight, won't you Ned?"

"O yes, I'll see you a fair fight; blast my old shoes if I don't. "

"That's sufficient, as Tom Haines said when he saw the elephant; now lethim come. "

Thus they went on with countless oaths and with much that I could notdistinctly hear. In mercy's name, I thought, what a band of ruffians isat work here. I quickened my gait and had come nearly opposite the thickgrove, whence the noises proceeded, when my eye caught, indistinctlythrough the foliage of the scrub oaks and hickories that intervened, glimpses of a man or men who seemed to be in a violent struggle. Occasionally, too, I could catch those deep-drawn, emphatic oaths whichmen utter when they deal heavy blows in conflict. As I was hurrying tothe spot, I saw the combatants fall to the ground, and after a shortstruggle I saw the uppermost one (for I could not see the others) make aheavy plunge with both his thumbs. At the same instant I heard a cry inthe accent of keenest torture--"Enough, my eye is out. "

For a moment I stood completely horror-struck. The accomplices in thisbrutal deed had apparently all fled at my approach, for not a one was tobe seen. 

"Now blast your corn-shucking soul, " said the victor, a lad of abouteighteen, as he arose from the ground, "come cuttin' your shines 'boutme agin next time I come to the court-house will you? Get your owl-eyein agin if you kin. "

At this moment he saw me for the first time. He looked frightened andwas about to run away when I called out--"Come back, you brute, and helpme relieve the poor critter you have ruined forever. "

Upon this rough salutation he stopped, and with a taunting curl of thenose, replied. "You needn't kick before you're spurred. There an'tnobody here nor han't been, nuther. I was just seeing how I could havefout. " So saying, he pointed to his plow, which stood in the corner ofthe fence about fifty yards from the battle ground. Would any man in hissenses believe that a rational being could make such a fool of himself?All that I had heard and seen was nothing more nor less than a rehearsalof a knock-down and drag-out fight in which the young man had played allthe parts for his own amusement. I went to the ground from which he hadrisen, and there were the prints of his two thumbs plunged up to theballs in the mellow earth, and the ground around was broken up as if twostags had been fighting on it. 

As I resumed my journey, I laughed outright at this adventure, for itreminded me of Andrew Jackson's attack on the United States bank. He hadmagnified it into a monster and then began to swear and gouge until hethought he had the monster on his back, and when the fight was over andhe got up to look for his enemy, he could find none anywhere. 

[Illustration]

THE COUNTRY SQUIRE

_Translated From The Spanish of_ THOMAS YRIARTE

 A country squire of greater wealth than wit (For fools are often blessed with fortune's smile), Had built a splendid house and furnished it In splendid style. 

 "One thing is wanting, " said a friend; "for though The rooms are fine, the furniture profuse, You lack a library, dear sir, for show, If not for use. "

 "'Tis true, but zounds!" replied the squire with glee, "The lumber-room in yonder northern wing (I wonder I ne'er thought of it) will be The very thing. 

 "I'll have it fitted up without delay With shelves and presses of the newest mode, And rarest wood, befitting every way A squire's abode. 

 "And when the whole is ready, I'll dispatch My coachman--a most knowing fellow--down To buy me, by admeasurement, a batch Of books in town. "

 But ere the library was half supplied With all its pomps of cabinet and shelf, The booby squire repented him, and cried Unto himself:

 "This room is much more roomy than I thought; Ten thousand volumes hardly would suffice To fill it, and would cost, however bought, A plaguey price. 

[Illustration: THE SQUIRE'S LIBRARY]

 "Now, as I only want them for their looks, It might, on second thoughts, be just as good, And cost me next to nothing, if the books Were made of wood. 

 "It shall be so, I'll give the shaven deal A coat of paint--a colorable dress, To look like calf or vellum and conceal Its nakedness. 

 "And, gilt and lettered with the author's name, Whatever is most excellent and rare Shall be, or seem to be ('tis all the same), Assembled there. "

 The work was done, the simulated hoards Of wit and wisdom round the chamber stood, In binding some; and some, of course, in _boards_ Where all were wood. 

 From bulky folios down to slender twelves The choicest tomes, in many an even row Displayed their lettered backs upon the shelves, A goodly show. 

 With such a stock as seemingly surpassed The best collections ever formed in Spain, What wonder if the owner grew at last Supremely vain?

 What wonder, as he paced from shelf to shelf And conned their titles, that the squire began, Despite his ignorance, to think himself A learned man?

 Let every amateur, who merely looks To backs and binding, take the hint, and sell His costly library--_for painted books Would serve as well_. 

 Poetry means more to us and we get more enjoyment from reading it when we understand some of the difficulties that the poet has in writing it and can recognize those things which make it poetry in form. 

 For instance, you will notice in the poem which we have just read that every stanza has four lines; that, in printing, the first and third lines begin close to the margin, while the second and fourth lines begin a little farther in on the page--that is, they are _indented_. Now if you will look at the ends of the lines you will see that the words with which the first and third lines terminate are in rhyme, and that the words with which the second and fourth lines terminate are in rhyme. In other words, the indentation at beginning of lines in poetry calls attention to the rhymes. 

 It is true throughout _The Country Squire_ that every pair of lines taken alternately ends in rhymes which are perfect or nearly so. Now a perfect rhyme is one in which the two rhyming syllables are both accented, the vowel sound and the consonants which follow the vowels are identical, and the sounds preceding the vowel are different. For instance, the words _smile_ and _style_ rhyme. Both of these are monosyllables and hence accented. The vowel sound is the long sound of _i_; the consonant sound of _l_ follows. The sounds preceding the _i_ are similar but not identical, represented by _sm_ in the first case and _st_ in the second. In the fifth stanza the first line ends with the word _dispatch_, the third with the word _batch_. This rhyme is perfect, because the accent on the word _dispatch_ is naturally on the second syllable. In the ninth stanza the word _dress_ is made to rhyme with _nakedness_. This is not strictly perfect, for the natural accent of _nakedness_ is on the first syllable. 

 It may be interesting for beginners to work out the rhyme scheme of a poem and write it down. This is very easily done. Take the first stanza in _The Country Squire_. Represent the rhyming syllable of the first line by _a_, the rhyming syllable of the second line by _b_. It follows then that the rhyming syllable of the third line must be represented by _a_, and the rhyming syllable of the fourth line by _b_. Writing these letters in succession we have the nonsense word _abab_, which will always stand for stanzas of this kind. If you are interested in this turn to the studies at the end of the next poem, _To My Infant Son_. 

TO MY INFANT SON

_By_ Thomas Hood

 Thou happy, happy elf! (But stop, first let me kiss away that tear, ) Thou tiny image of myself! (My love, he's poking peas into his ear, ) Thou merry, laughing sprite, With spirits, feather light, Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin; (My dear, the child is swallowing a pin!)

 Thou little tricksy Puck! With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird that rings the air, -- (The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!) Thou darling of thy sire! (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!) Thou imp of mirth and joy! In love's dear chain so bright a link, Thou idol of thy parents;--(Drat the boy! There goes my ink. )

 Thou cherub, but of earth; Fit playfellow for fairies, by moonlight pale, In harmless sport and mirth, (That dog will bite him, if he pulls his tail!) Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey From every blossom in the world that blows, Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny, -- (Another tumble! That's his precious nose!)

 Thy father's pride and hope! (He'll break that mirror with that skipping rope!) With pure heart newly stamped from nature's mint, (Where did he learn that squint?) Thou young domestic dove! (He'll have that ring off with another shove, )

[Illustration: "THERE GOES MY INK!"]

 Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest! (Are these torn clothes his best?) Little epitome of man! (He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan, ) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life, (He's got a knife!)

 Thou enviable being! No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, Play on, play on, My elfin John! Toss the light ball, bestride the stick, -- (I knew so many cakes would make him sick!) With fancies buoyant as the thistle-down, Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, With many a lamb-like frisk! (He's got the scissors snipping at your gown!) Thou pretty opening rose! (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!) Balmy and breathing music like the south (He really brings my heart into my mouth!) Bold as a hawk, yet gentle as the dove; (I'll tell you what, my love, I cannot write unless he's sent above. )

 The stanzas of this poem vary considerably in length, but it will be interesting to examine them according to the plans suggested at the end of the preceding poem, _The Country Squire_. The first stanza here has eight lines, the first four of them rhyming alternately in pairs, the next four in couplets. If now we apply the plan that is suggested for writing out the rhyme scheme, the word for the first stanza is _ababccdd_. 

 The second stanza has ten lines. Its rhyme scheme is evidently quite different, for here the first six lines rhyme in couplets and the last four alternately in pairs. The word to represent such a scheme is _aabbccdede_. 

 Can you write out the words which will represent the rhyme scheme in the other stanzas in this poem?

 Find the other poems in this book and write out the rhyme scheme for them. Notice that in most poems the stanzas have the same number of lines, and that the rhyme scheme of one stanza is just like that of another. Take the other books in this series and turn to the poems, find what an endless variety of rhymes there is and how the scheme differs in different poems. 

PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES

NOTE. --The pronunciation of difficult words is indicated by respellingthem phonetically. _N_ is used to indicate the French nasal sound; _K_the sound of _ch_ in German; _ü_ the sound of the German _ü_, and French_u_; _ö_ the sound of _ö_ in foreign languages. 

 ALGIDUS, _al´ ji dus_

 ANJOU, _oN´´ zhoo´_

 ATHELSTANE, _ath´ el stane_

 BANGWEOLO, _bang´´ we o´ lo_

 BECHUANALAND, _beck´´ oo ah´ na land_

 BOIS-GUILBERT, BRIAN DE, _bwah geel bayr´_, _bre oN´ deh_

 CEDRIC, _ked´ rick_, or _sed´ rick_

 CHALDEA, _kal de´ ah_

 CHARGÉ D'AFFAIRES, _shahr´´ zhay´ daf fayr´_

 CHIAJA, _kyah´ ya_

 FALERII, _fah le´ ry i_

 FRONT-DE-BOEUF, _froN deh beuf´_

 GIBAULT, _zhee bo´_

 KHIVA, _ke´ vah_

 LIGEIA, _li je´ yah_

 MAISONVILLE, _may´´ zoN veel´_

 MALVOISIN, _mal vwah saN´_

 MARESCHAL, _mahr´ shal_

 MASSOUEY, _mas su´ y_

 NAOMI, _nay o´ mi_

 NGAMI, _ngah´ me_

 NICARAGUA, _nee´´ kar ah´ gwah_

 ONEIDA, _o ni´ dah_

 PSALMS, _sahms_

 RAKSH, _rahksh_

 ROWENA, _ro e´ na_

 RUSTUM, _roos´ tum_

 SAGA, _say´ gah_

 SEIUS, _se´ yus_

 SEISTAN, _says´ tahn_

 SENNACHERIB, _sen nak´ e rib_

 SOHRAB, _so´ rahb_

 TARPEIAN, _tahr pe´ yan_

 TONGRES, _toN´ gr´_

 VELASQUEZ, _vay lahs´ kayth_

 VENEZUELA, _ven e zwe´ lah_

 VINCENNES, _vin senz´_

 YRIARTE, _e re ahr´ tay_

 ZOUCHE, _zooch_

 ix Babocck changed to Babcock Plate facing p. 30 Abbottsford changed to Abbotsford 37 glady changed to gladly 45 Saxon, Rowena. Changed to Saxon, Rowena. " 60 avow-himself changed to avow himself 76 occupy. "Ladies, " changed to occupy. Ladies, " 86 puting changed to putting 106 burden?" changed to burden? 108 landingplace changed to landing-place 161 carelessnesss changed to carelessness 172 "It is yours changed to 'It is yours 174 Aber-baijan changed to Ader-baijan 182 Gudruz changed to Gudurz 196, fn. 23 indentification changed to identification 221 Engand changed to England 264 its breast!" changed to its breast! 308 with Chrismas holly changed to with Christmas holly 345 hear me! changed to "hear me! 352 footsool changed to footstool 356 Chrismas Eve the mass changed to Christmas Eve the mass 363, fn. 13 line means. Changed to line means, 363, fn. 15 ascent to to changed to ascent to 363, fn. 15 Now. Gentlemen changed to Now, gentlemen 368 woful-wan changed to woeful-wan 432 well acount for changed to well account for 451 and patroled during changed to and patrolled during 452 bady changed to badly 460 Why, papa changed to "Why, papa

 Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling

 blindman's-buff / blind-man's buff candle-light / candlelight eye-brows / eyebrows farm-house / farmhouse fellow-men / fellowmen fore-feet / forefeet home-made / homemade house-tops / housetops look-out / lookout on-looking / onlooking plow-man / plowman sea-weed / seaweed snuff-box / snuffbox to-morrow / tomorrow wild-cat / wildcat