MACMILLAN'S

READING BOOKS. 

Book V. 

STANDARD V. 

ENGLISH CODE. 

_For Ordinary Pass_. 

Improved reading, and recitation of not less than seventy-five lines ofpoetry. 

N. B. --The passages for recitation may be taken from one or more standardauthors, previously approved by the Inspector. Meaning and allusions tobe known, and, if well known, to atone for deficiencies of memory. 

_For Special Grant (Art. 19, C. 1). _

Parsing, with analysis of a "simple" sentence. 

SCOTCH CODE. 

_For Ordinary Pass_. 

Reading, with expression, a short passage of prose or of poetry, withexplanation, grammar, and elementary analysis of simple sentences. 

Specific Subject--English literature and language, 2nd year. (_Art. 21and Schedule IV. , Scotch Code. _)

Three hundred lines of poetry, not before brought up, repeated; withknowledge of meaning and allusions, and of the derivations of words. 

PREFACE TO BOOK V. 

This seems a fitting place in which to explain the general aim ofthis series of Reading Books. Primarily, it is intended to provide asystematic course for use in schools which are under State inspection;and, with this view, each Book in the series, after the Primer, is drawnup so as to meet the requirements, as set forth in the English andScotch codes issued by the Committees of Council on Education, of theStandard to which it corresponds. 

This special adaptation will not, it is hoped, render the series lessuseful in other schools. The graduated arrangement of the books, although, perhaps, one to which every teacher may not choose to conform, may yet serve as a test by which to compare the attainments of thepupils in any particular school with those which, according to thecodes, may be taken as the average expected from the pupils in schoolswhere the Standard examination is, necessarily, enforced. 

The general character of the series is literary, and not technical. Scientific extracts have been avoided. The teaching of special subjectsis separately recognised by the codes, and provided for by the numerousspecial handbooks which have been published. The separation of thereading class from such teaching will prove a gain to both. The formermust aim chiefly at giving to the pupils the power of accurate, and, if possible, apt and skilful expression; at cultivating in them a goodliterary taste, and at arousing a desire of further reading. Allthis, it is believed, can best be done where no special or technicalinformation has to be extracted from the passages read. 

In the earlier Books the subject, the language, and the moral are allas direct and simple as possible. As they advance, the language becomesrather more intricate, because a studied simplicity, when detectedby the pupil, repels rather than attracts him. The subjects are moremiscellaneous; but still, as far as possible, kept to those which canappeal to the minds of scholars of eleven or twelve years of age, without either calling for, or encouraging, precocity. In Books II. , III. , and IV. , a few old ballads and other pieces have been purposelyintroduced; as nothing so readily expands the mind and lifts it out ofhabitual and sluggish modes of thought, as forcing upon the attentionthe expressions and the thoughts of an entirely different time. 

The last, or Sixth Book, may be thought too advanced for its purpose. But, in the first place, many of the pieces given in it, though selectedfor their special excellence, do not involve any special difficulties;and, in the second place, it will be seen that the requirements of theEnglish Code of 1875 in the Sixth Standard really correspond in somedegree to those of the special subject of English literature, formerlyrecognised by the English, and still recognised by the Scotch Code. Besides this, the Sixth Book is intended to supply the needs of pupilteachers and of higher classes; and to be of interest enough to be readby the scholar out of school-hours, perhaps even after school is donewith altogether. To such it may supply the bare outlines of Englishliterature; and may, at least, introduce them to the best Englishauthors. The aim of all the extracts in the book may not be fullycaught, as their beauty certainly cannot be fully appreciated, byyouths; but they may, at least, serve the purpose of all education--thatof stimulating the pupil to know more. 

The editor has to return his thanks for the kindness by which certainextracts have been placed at his disposal by the following authorsand publishers:--Mr. Ruskin and Mr. William Allingham; Mr. Nimmo (forextract from Hugh Miller's works); Mr. Nelson (for poems by Mr. And Mrs. Howitt); Messrs. Edmonston and Douglas (for extract from Dasent's "Talesfrom the Norse"); Messrs. Chapman and Hall (for extracts from the worksof Charles Dickens and Mr. Carlyle); Messrs. Longmans, Green, and Co. (for extracts from the works of Macaulay and Mr. Froude); Messrs. Routledge and Co. (for extracts from Miss Martineau's works); Mr. Murray(for extracts from the works of Dean Stanley); and many others. 

BOOK V. 

CONTENTS. 

_Prose. _

PREFACE

INTRODUCTION

INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF DR. JOHNSON _Warner's Tour in the NorthernCounties. _

THE OLD PHILOSOPHER AND THE YOUNG LADY _Jane Taylor_

BARBARA S---- _Charles Lamb_

DR. ARNOLD _Tom Brown's School Days_

BOYHOOD'S WORK [ditto]

WORK IN THE WORLD [ditto]

CASTLES IN THE AIR _Addison_

THE DEATH OF NELSON _Southey_

LEARNING TO RIDE _T. Hughes_

MOSES AT THE FAIR _Goldsmith_

WHANG THE MILLER [ditto]

AN ESCAPE _Defoe's Robinson Crusoe_

NECESSITY THE MOTHER OF INVENTION [ditto]

LABRADOR _Southey's Omniana_

GROWTH OF EUROPEAN CIVILIZATION IN THE TWELFTH CENTURY _Robertson_

A WHALE HUNT _Scott_

A SHIPWRECK _Charles Kingsley_

THE BLACK PRINCE _Dean Stanley_

THE ASSEMBLY OF URI _E. A. Freeman_

MY WINTER GARDEN _Charles Kingsley_

ASPECTS OF NORTHERN AND SOUTHERN COUNTRIES _John Ruskin_

COLUMBUS IN SIGHT OF LAND _Washington Irving_

COLUMBUS SHIPWRECKED [ditto]

ROBBED IN THE DESERT _Mungo Park_

ARISTIDES _Plutarch's Lives_

THE VENERABLE BEDE _J. R. Green_

THE DEATH OF ANSELM _Dean Church_

THE MURDER OF BECKET _Dean Stanley_

THE DEATH OF ELIZABETH _J. R. Green_

THE BATTLE OF NASEBY _Defoe_

THE PILGRIMS AND GIANT DESPAIR _Bunyan_

A HARD WINTER _Rev. Gilbert White_

A PORTENTOUS SUMMER [ditto]

A THUNDERSTORM [ditto]

CHARACTER OF SIR WALTER SCOTT _J. Lockhart_

MUMPS'S HALL _Scott_

THE PORTEOUS MOB [ditto]

THE PORTEOUS MOB (_continued_) [ditto]

JOSIAH WEDGWOOD _Speech by Mr. Gladstone_

THE CRIMEAN WAR _Speech by Mr. Disraeli_

NATIONAL MORALITY _Speech by Mr. Bright_

THE PLEASURES OF A LIFE OF LABOUR _Hugh Miller_

THE FLIGHT OF BIRDS _Rev. Gilbert White_

THE BATTLE OF CORUNNA _Napier_

BATTLE OF ALBUERA _Napier_

CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALAKLAVA _The "Times" Correspondent

AFRICAN HOSPITALITY _Mungo Park_

ACROSS THE DESERT OF NUBIA _Bruce's Travels_

A SHIPWRECK ON THE ARABIAN COAST _W. G. Palgrave_

AN ARABIAN TOWN _W. G. Palgrave_

THE QUEST OF THE HOLY GRAIL _Sir Thomas Malory_

VISIT TO SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY'S COUNTRY SEAT _Addison_

THE DEAD ASS _Sterne_

_Poetry_. 

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH _H. W. Longfellow_

MEN OF ENGLAND _Campbell_

A BALLAD _Goldsmith_

MARTYRS _Cowper_

A PSALM OF LIFE _H. W. Longfellow_

THE ANT AND THE CATERPILLAR _Cunningham_

REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE _Couper_

THE INCHCAPE BELL _Southey_

BATTLE OF THE BALME _Campbell_

LOCHINVAR _Scott_

THE CHAMELEON _Merrick_

A WISH _Pope_

A SEA SONG _Cunningham_

ON THE LOSS OF THE 'ROYAL GEORGE' _Cowper_

RULE BRITANNIA _Thomson_

WATERLOO _Byron_

IVRY _Macaulay_

ANCIENT GREECE _Byron_

THE TEMPLE OF FAME _Pope_

A HAPPY LIFE _Sir Henry Wotton_

MAN'S SERVANTS _George Herbert_

VIRTUE _George Herbert_

DEATH THE CONQUEROR _James Shirley_

THE PASSIONS _Collins_

THE VISION OF BELSHAZZAR _Byron_

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND _Campbell_

A SHIPWRECK _Byron_

THE HAPPY WARRIOR _Wordsworth_

LIBERTY _Cowper_

THE TROSACHS _Scott_

LOCHIEL'S WARNING _Campbell_

REST FROM BATTLE _Pope_

THE SAXON AND THE GAEL _Scott_

THE SAXON AND THE GAEL _(continued)_ _Scott_

THE WINTER EVENING _Cowper_

MAZEPPA _Byron_

HYMN TO DIANA _Ben Jonson_

L'ALLEGRO _Milton_

THE VILLAGE _Goldsmith_

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE _Shakespeare_

IL PENSEROSO _Milton_

COURTESY _Spenser_

NOTES

BOOK V. 

INTRODUCTION. 

Throughout this book, and the next, you will find passages taken fromthe writings of the best English authors. But the passages are not allequal, nor are they all such as we would call "the best, " and the moreyou read and are able to judge them for yourselves, the better you willbe able to see what is the difference between the best and those thatare not so good. 

By the best authors are meant those who have written most skilfullyin prose and verse. Some of these have written in prose, because theywished to tell us something more fully and freely than they could do ifthey tied themselves to lines of an equal number of syllables, or endingwith the same sound, as men do when they write poetry. Others havewritten in verse, because they wished rather to make us think overand over again about the same thing, and, by doing so, to teachus, gradually, how much we could learn from one thing; if we thinksufficiently long and carefully about it; and, besides this, they knewthat rhythmical or musical language would keep longest in our memoryanything which they wished to remain there; and by being stored up inour mind, would enrich us in all our lives after. 

In these books you will find pieces taken from authors both in prose andverse. But of the authors who have made themselves famous by the bookswhich they have written in our language, many had to be set aside. Because many writers, though their books are famous, have written solong ago, that the language which they use, though it is really the samelanguage as our own, is yet so old-fashioned that it is not readilyunderstood. By and by, when you are older, you may read these books, andfind it interesting to notice how the language is gradually changing; sothat, though we can easily understand what our grandfathers or our greatgrandfathers wrote, yet we cannot understand, without carefully studyingit, what was written by our own ancestors a thousand, or even fivehundred, years ago. 

The first thing, however, that you have to do--and, perhaps, this bookmay help you to do it--is to learn what is the best way of writing orspeaking our own language of the present day. You cannot learn thisbetter than by reading and remembering what has been written by men, who, because they were very great, or because they laboured very hard, have obtained a great command over the language. When we speak ofobtaining a command over language we mean that they have been able tosay, in simple, plain words, exactly what they mean. This is not so easya matter as you may at first think it to be. Those who write well do notuse roundabout ways of saying a thing, or they might weary us; theydo not use words or expressions which might mean one or other of twothings, or they might confuse us; they do not use bombastic language, orlanguage which is like a vulgar and too gaudy dress, or they might makeus laugh at them; they do not use exaggerated language, or, worse thanall, they might deceive us. If you look at many books which are writtenat the present day, or at many of the newspapers which appear everymorning, you will find that those who write them often forget theserules; and after we have read for a short time what they have written, we are doubtful about what they mean, and only sure that they are tryingto attract foolish people, who like bombastic language as they like toogaudy dress, and are caring little whether what they write is strictlytrue or not. 

It is, therefore, very important that you should take as your examplesthose who have written very well and very carefully, and who have beenafraid lest by any idle or careless expression they might either leadpeople to lose sight of what is true, or might injure our language, which has grown up so slowly, which is so dear to us, and the beauty ofwhich we might, nevertheless, so easily throw away. 

As you read specimens of what these authors have written, you will findthat they excel chiefly in the following ways:

First. They tell us just what they mean; neither more nor less. 

Secondly. They never leave us doubtful as to anything we ought to knowin order to understand them. If they tell us a story, they make us feelas if we saw all that they tell us, actually taking place. 

Thirdly. They are very careful never to use a word unless it isnecessary; never to think a word so worthless a thing that it can bedragged in only because it sounds well. 

Fourthly. When they rouse our feelings, they do so, not that they maymerely excite or amuse us, but that they may make us sympathise morefully with what they have to tell. 

In these matters they are mostly alike; but in other matters you willfind that they differ from each other greatly. Our language has comefrom two sources. One of these is the English language as talked by ourremote ancestors, the other is the Latin language, which came to usthrough French, and from which we borrowed a great deal when ourlanguage was getting into the form it now has. Many of our words andexpressions, therefore, are Old English, while others are borrowed fromLatin. Some authors prefer to use, where they can, old English words andexpressions, which are shorter, plainer, and more direct; others preferthe Latin words, which are more ornamental and elaborate, and perhapsfit for explaining what is obscure, and for showing us the differencebetween things that are very like. This is one great contrast; and thereare others which you will see for yourselves as you go on. And whileyou notice carefully what is good in each, you should be careful not toimitate too exactly the peculiarities, which may be the faults, in anyone. 

 * * * * *

INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF DR. JOHNSON. 

During the last visit Dr. Johnson paid to Lichfield, the friends withwhom he was staying missed him one morning at the breakfast-table. Oninquiring after him of the servants, they understood he had set off fromLichfield at a very early hour, without mentioning to any of thefamily whither he was going. The day passed without the return of theillustrious guest, and the party began to be very uneasy on his account, when, just before the supper-hour, the door opened, and the doctorstalked into the room. A solemn silence of a few minutes ensued, nobodydaring to inquire the cause of his absence, which was at lastrelieved by Johnson addressing the lady of the house in the followingmanner:--"Madam, I beg your pardon for the abruptness of my departurefrom your house this morning, but I was constrained to it by myconscience. Fifty years ago, madam, on this day, I committed a breach offilial piety, which has ever since lain heavy on my mind, and hasnot till this day been expiated. My father, as you recollect, was abookseller, and had long been in the habit of attending Lichfieldmarket, and opening a stall for the sale of his books during that day. Confined to his bed by indisposition, he requested me, this time fiftyyears ago, to visit the market, and attend the stall in his place. But, madam, my pride prevented me from doing my duty, and I gave my father arefusal. To do away the sin of this disobedience, I this day went in apost-chaise to Lichfield, and going into the market at the time of highbusiness, uncovered my head, and stood with it bare an hour before thestall which my father had formerly used, exposed to the sneers of thestanders-by and the inclemency of the weather--a penance by which Ihope I have propitiated Heaven for this only instance, I believe, ofcontumacy towards my father. "

 Warner's _Tour in the NorthernCounties_. 

[Notes: _Dr. Samuel Johnson_, born 1709, died 1784 By hard and unaidedtoil he won his way to the front rank among the literary men of his day. He deserves the honour of having been the first to free literature fromthe thraldom of patronage. 

_Filial piety_. Piety is used here not in a religious sense, but in itsstricter sense of dutifulness. In Virgil "the Pious Aneas" means "Aneaswho showed dutifulness to his father. "]

 * * * * *

THE OLD PHILOSOPHER AND THE YOUNG LADY. 

 "Alas!" exclaimed a silver-headed sage, "how narrow is theutmost extent of human knowledge! I have spent my life in acquiringknowledge, but how little do I know! The farther I attempt to penetratethe secrets of nature, the more I am bewildered and benighted. Beyonda certain limit all is but conjecture: so that the advantage of thelearned over the ignorant consists greatly in having ascertained howlittle is to be known. 

"It is true that I can measure the sun, and compute the distances of theplanets; I can calculate their periodical movements, and even ascertainthe laws by which they perform their sublime revolutions; but withregard to their construction, to the beings which inhabit them, theircondition and circumstances, what do I know more than the clown?--Delighting to examine the economy of nature in our own world, I haveanalyzed the elements, and given names to their component parts. Andyet, should I not be as much at a loss to explain the burning of fire, or to account for the liquid quality of water, as the vulgar, who useand enjoy them without thought or examination?--I remark, that allbodies, unsupported, fall to the ground, and I am taught to account forthis by the law of gravitation. But what have I gained here more thana term? Does it convey to my mind any idea of the nature of thatmysterious and invisible chain which draws all things to a commoncentre?--Pursuing the track of the naturalist, I have learned todistinguish the animal, the vegetable, and the mineral kingdoms, and todivide these into their distinct tribes and families;--but can Itell, after all this toil, whence a single blade of grass derives itsvitality?--Could the most minute researches enable me to discover theexquisite pencil that paints the flower of the field? and have I everdetected the secret that gives their brilliant dye to the ruby and theemerald, or the art that enamels the delicate shell?--I observe thesagacity of animals--I call it instinct, and speculate upon its variousdegrees of approximation to the reason of man; but, after all, I know aslittle of the cogitations of the brute as he does of mine. When I see aflight of birds overhead, performing their evolutions, or steeringtheir course to some distant settlement, their signals and cries areas unintelligible to me as are the learned languages to an unletteredmechanic: I understand as little of their policy and laws as they do of'Blackstone's Commentaries. '

"Alas! then, what have I gained by my laborious researches but anhumbling conviction of my weakness and ignorance! Of how little hasman, at his best estate, to boast! What folly in him to glory in hiscontracted powers, or to value himself upon his imperfect acquisitions!"

 * * * * *

"Well!" exclaimed a young lady, just returned from school, "my educationis at last finished: indeed, it would be strange if, after five years'hard application, anything were left incomplete. Happily, it is all overnow, and I have nothing to do but exercise my various accomplishments. 

"Let me see!--as to French, I am mistress of that, and speak it, ifpossible, with more fluency than English. Italian I can read with ease, and pronounce very well, as well at least, and better, than any of myfriends; and that is all one need wish for in Italian. Music I havelearned till I am perfectly sick of it. But, now that we have a grandpiano, it will be delightful to play when we have company. And thenthere are my Italian songs, which everybody allows I sing with taste, and as it is what so few people can pretend to, I am particularly gladthat I can. My drawings are universally admired, especially the shellsand flowers, which are beautiful, certainly: besides this, I have adecided taste in all kinds of fancy ornaments. And then, my dancing andwaltzing, in which our master himself owned that he could take me nofarther;--just the figure for it certainly! it would be unpardonableif I did not excel. As to common things, geography, and history, andpoetry, and philosophy, thank my stars, I have got through them all! sothat I may consider myself not only perfectly accomplished, but alsothoroughly well informed. 

"Well, to be sure, how much I have fagged through; the only wonder isthat one head can contain it all!"

 JANE TAYLOR. 

[Note: "_Blackstone's Commentaries_" The great standard work onthe theory and practice of the English law; written by Sir WilliamBlackstone (1723-1780). ]

 * * * * *

 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 H. W. LONGFLLLOW. 

[Notes: _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_, one of the foremost amongcontemporary American poets. Born in 1807. His chief poems are'Evangeline' and 'Hiawatha. '

_His face is like the tan. Tan_ is the bark of the oak, bruised andbroken for tanning leather. 

_Thus at the flaming forge of life, &c. _ = As iron is softened atthe forge and beaten into shape on the anvil, so by the trials andcircumstances of life, our thoughts and actions are influenced and ourcharacters and destinies decided. The metaphor is made more complicatedby being broken up. ]

 * * * * *

 MEN OF ENGLAND. 

 Men of England! who inherit Rights that cost your sires their blood! Men whose undegenerate spirit Has been proved on land and flood:

 By the foes ye've fought uncounted, By the glorious deeds ye've done, Trophies captured--breaches mounted, Navies conquer'd--kingdoms won!

 Yet remember, England gathers Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame, If the virtues of your fathers Glow not in your hearts the same. 

 What are monuments of bravery, Where no public virtues bloom? What avail in lands of slavery Trophied temples, arch, and tomb?

 Pageants!--let the world revere us For our people's rights and laws, And the breasts of civic heroes Bared in Freedom's holy cause. 

 Yours are Hampden's Russell's glory, Sydney's matchless shade is your, -- Martyrs in heroic story, Worth a thousand Agincourts!

 We're the sons of sires that baffled Crown'd and mitred tyranny: They defied the field and scaffold, For their birthrights--so will we. 

 CAMPBELL. 

[Notes: _Thomas Campbell_, born 1777, died 1844. Author of the'Pleasures of Hope, ' 'Gertrude of Wyoming, ' and many lyrics. His poetryis careful, scholarlike and polished. _Men whose undegenerate spirit, &c. _ In prose, this would run, "(Ye) men whose spirit has been proved(to be) undegenerate, " &c. The word "undegenerate, " which is introducedonly as an epithet, is the real predicate of the sentence. 

_By the foes ye've fought uncounted_. "Uncounted" agreeing with "foes. "

_Fruitless wreaths of fame_. A poetical figure, taken from the wreathsof laurel given as prizes in the ancient games of Greece. "Past historywill give fame to a country, but nothing more fruitful than fame, unlessits virtues are kept alive. "

_Trophied temples, i. E. , _ Temples hung (after the fashion of theancients) with trophies. 

_Arch, i. E_. , the triumphal arch erected by the Romans in honour ofvictorious generals. 

_Pageants_ = "these are nought but pageants. "

_And_ (for) _the beasts of civic heroes_. Civic heroes, those who havestriven for the rights of their fellow citizens. 

_Hampden, i. E_. , John Hampden (born 1594, died 1643), the maintainerof the rights of the people in the reign of Charles I. He resisted theimposition of ship-money, and died in a skirmish at Chalgrove during theCivil War. 

_Russell, i. E_. , Lord William Russell, beheaded in 1683, in the reignof Charles II. On a charge of treason. He had resisted the Court in itsaims at establishing the doctrine of passive obedience. 

_Sydney, i. E. , _ Algernon Sydney. The friend of Russell, who met with thesame fate in the same year. 

_Sydney's matchless shade_. Shade = spirit or memory. 

_Agincourt_. The victory won by Henry V. In France, in 1415. 

_Crown'd and mitred tyranny_. Explain this. ]

 * * * * *

BARBABA S----. 

On the noon of the 14th of November, 1743, just as the clock had struckone, Barbara S----, with her accustomed punctuality, ascended the long, rabbling staircase, with awkward interposed landing-places, which led tothe office, or rather a sort of box with a desk in it, whereat sat thethen Treasurer of the Old Bath Theatre. All over the island it was thecustom, and remains so I believe to this day, for the players to receivetheir weekly stipend on the Saturday. It was not much that Barbara hadto claim. 

This little maid had just entered her eleventh year; but her importantstation at the theatre, as it seemed to her, with the benefits which shefelt to accrue from her pious application of her small earnings, hadgiven an air of womanhood her steps and to her behaviour. You would havetaken her to have been at least five years older. Till latterly she hadmerely been employed in choruses, or where children were wanted to fillup the scene. But the manager, observing a diligence and adroitness inher above her age, had for some few months past intrusted to her theperformance of whole parts. You may guess the self-consequence of thepromoted Barbara. 

 * * * * *

The parents of Barbara had been in reputable circumstances. The fatherhad practised, I believe, as an apothecary in the town. But hispractice, from causes for which he was himself to blame, or perhaps fromthat pure infelicity which accompanies some people in their walk throughlife, and which it is impossible to lay at the door of imprudence, was now reduced to nothing. They were, in fact, in the very teeth ofstarvation, when the manager, who knew and respected them in betterdays, took the little Barbara into his company. 

At the period I commenced with, her slender earnings were the solesupport of the family, including two younger sisters. I must throwa veil over some mortifying circumstances. Enough to say, that herSaturday's pittance was the only chance of a Sunday's meal of meat. 

This was the little starved, meritorious maid, stood before oldRavenscroft, the treasurer, for her Saturday's payment. Ravenscroft wasa man, I have heard many old theatrical people besides herself say, ofall men least calculated for a treasurer. He had no head for accounts, paid away at random, kept scarce any books, and summing up at the week'send, if he found himself a pound or so deficient, blest himself that itwas no more. 

Now Barbara's weekly stipend was a bare half-guinea. By mistake hepopped into her hand a whole one. 

Barbara tripped away. 

She was entirely unconscious at first of the mistake: God knows, Ravenscroft would never have discovered it. 

But when she had got down to the first of those uncouth landing-placesshe became sensible of an unusual weight of metal pressing her littlehand. 

Now, mark the dilemma. 

She was by nature a good child. From her parents and those about her shehad imbibed no contrary influence. But then they had taught her nothing. Poor men's smoky cabins are not always porticoes of moral philosophy. This little maid had no instinct to evil, but then she might be saidto have no fixed principle. She had heard honesty commended, but neverdreamed of its application to herself. She thought of it as somethingwhich concerned grown-up people, men and women. She had never knowntemptation, or thought of preparing resistance against it. 

Her first impulse was to go back to the old treasurer, and explain tohim his blunder. He was already so confused with age, besides a naturalwant of punctuality, that she would have had some difficulty in makinghim understand it. She saw _that_ in an instant. And then it was such abit of money: and then the image of a larger allowance of butcher's meaton their table next day came across her, till her little eyes glistened, and her mouth moistened. But then Mr. Ravenscroft had always beenso good-natured, had stood her friend behind the scenes, and evenrecommended her promotion to some of her little parts. But again the oldman was reputed to be worth a world of money. He was supposed to havefifty pounds a year clear of the theatre. And then came staring upon herthe figures of her little stockingless and shoeless sisters. And whenshe looked at her own neat white cotton stockings, which her situationat the theatre had made it indispensable for her mother to provide forher, with hard straining and pinching from the family stock, and thoughthow glad she should be to cover their poor feet with the same, and howthen they could accompany her to rehearsals, which they had hithertobeen precluded from doing, by reason of their unfashionable attire, --inthese thoughts she reached the second landing-place--the second, I mean, from the top--for there was still another left to traverse. 

Now, virtue, support Barbara!

And that never-failing friend did step in; for at that moment a strengthnot her own, I have heard her say, was revealed to her--a reason abovereasoning--and without her own agency, as it seemed (for she never felther feet to move), she found herself transported back to the individualdesk she had just quitted, and her hand in the old hand of Ravenscroft, who in silence took back the refunded treasure, and who had been sitting(good man) insensible to the lapse of minutes, which to her were anxiousages; and from that moment a deep peace fell upon her heart, and sheknew the quality of honesty. 

A year or two's unrepining application to her profession brightened upthe feet and the prospects of her little sisters, set the wholefamily upon their legs again, and released her from the difficulty ofdiscussing moral dogmas upon a landing-place. 

 _Essays of Elia_, by CHARLES LAMB. 

 * * * * *

 A BALLAD. 

 "Turn, gentle Hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray. 

 "For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow, Where wilds, immeasurably spread, Seem lengthening as I go. "

 "Forbear, my son, " the Hermit cries, "To tempt the dangerous gloom; For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom. 

 "Here to the houseless child of want My door is open still; And, though my portion is but scant, I give it with good will. 

 "Then turn to-night, and freely share Whate'er my cell bestows; My rushy couch and frugal fare, My blessing and repose. 

 "No flocks that range the valley free To slaughter I condemn; Taught by that Power that pities me, I learn to pity them:

 "But from the mountain's grassy side A guiltless feast I bring; A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, And water from the spring. 

 "Then, pilgrim turn; thy cares forego; All earth-born cares are wrong: Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long. "

 Soft as the dew from heaven descends His gentle accents fell: The modest stranger lowly bends, And follows to the cell. 

 Far in a wilderness obscure The lonely mansion lay, A refuge to the neighbouring poor, And strangers led astray. 

 No stores beneath its humble thatch Required a master's care; The wicket, opening with a latch, Received the harmless pair. 

 And now, when busy crowds retire To take their evening rest, The Hermit trimm'd his little fire, And cheer'd his pensive guest;

 And spread his vegetable store, And gaily pressed, and smiled; And, skill'd in legendary lore, The lingering hours beguiled. 

 Around, in sympathetic mirth, Its tricks the kitten tries, The cricket chirrups on the hearth, The crackling faggot flies. 

 But nothing could a charm impart To soothe the stranger's woe; For grief was heavy at his heart, And tears began to flow. 

 His rising cares the Hermit spied, With answering care oppress'd; And, "Whence, unhappy youth, " he cried, "The sorrows of thy breast?"

 "From better habitations spurn'd, Reluctant dost thou rove? Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, Or unregarded love?"

 "Alas! the joys that fortune brings Are trifling, and decay; And those who prize the paltry things, More trifling still are they. "

 "And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to sleep; A shade that follows wealth or fame, But leaves the wretch to weep?"

 "And love is still an emptier sound, The modern fair one's jest; On earth unseen, or only found To warm the turtle's nest. "

 "For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush, And spurn the sex, " he said; But while he spoke, a rising blush His love-lorn guest betray'd. 

 Surprised he sees new beauties rise, Swift mantling to the view; Like colours o'er the morning skies, As bright, as transient too. 

 The bashful look, the rising breast, Alternate spread alarms: The lovely stranger stands confess'd A maid in all her charms. 

 And, "Ah! forgive a stranger rude-- A wretch forlorn, " she cried; "Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude Where Heaven and you reside. "

 "But let a maid thy pity share, Whom love has taught to stray; Who seeks for rest, but finds despair Companion of her way. "

 "My father lived beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he; And all his wealth was mark'd as mine, He had but only me. "

 "To win me from his tender arms Unnumber'd suitors came, Who praised me for imputed charms, And felt, or feign'd, a flame. "

 "Each hour a mercenary crowd With richest proffers strove: Amongst the rest, young Edwin bow'd, But never talk'd of love. "

 "In humble, simple habit clad, No wealth nor power had he: Wisdom and worth were all he had, But these were all to me. 

 "And when, beside me in the dale, He caroll'd lays of love, His breath lent fragrance to the gale, And music to the grove. 

 "The blossom opening to the day, The dews of heaven refined, Could nought of purity display To emulate his mind. 

 "The dew, the blossom on the tree, With charms inconstant shine: Their charms were his, but, woe to me, Their constancy was mine. 

 "For still I tried each fickle art, Importunate and vain; And, while his passion touch'd my heart, I triumph'd in his pain:

 "Till, quite dejected with my scorn, He left me to my pride; And sought a solitude forlorn, In secret, where he died. 

 "But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay: I'll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay. 

 "And there, forlorn, despairing, hid, I'll lay me down and die; 'Twas so for me that Edwin did, And so for him will I. "

 "Forbid it, Heaven!" the Hermit cried, And clasp'd her to his breast: The wondering fair one turn'd to chide-- 'Twas Edwin's self that press'd!

 "Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, Restored to love and thee. 

 "Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And every care resign: And shall we never, never part, My life--my all that's mine?

 "No, never from this hour to part, We'll live and love so true, The sigh that rends thy constant heart Shall break thy Edwin's too. " GOLDSMITH. 

[Notes: _Oliver Goldsmith_, poet and novelist. The friend andcontemporary of Johnson, Burke, and Reynolds. Born 1728, died 1774. 

This poem is introduced into 'The Vicar of Wakefield, ' and Goldsmiththere says of it, "It is at least free from the false taste of loadingthe lines with epithets;" or as he puts it more fully "a string ofepithets that improve the sound without carrying on the sense. "

"_Immeasurably spread_" = spread to an immeasurable length. 

_No flocks that range the valleys free_. "Free" may be joined eitherwith flocks or with valley. 

Note the position of the negative, "No flocks that range, " &c. = I donot condemn the flocks that range. 

_Guiltless feast_. Because it does not involve the death of afellow-creature. 

 _Scrip_. A purse or wallet; a word of Teutonic origin. Distinguish from scrip, a writing or certificate, from the Latin word_scribo_, I write. 

_Far in a wilderness obscure_. Obscure goes with mansion, not withwilderness. 

_And gaily pressed_ (him to eat). 

_With answering care_, i. E. , with sympathetic care. 

 _A charm that lulls to sleep_. Charm is here in its propersense: that of a thing pleasing to the fancy is derivative. 

_A shade that follows wealth or fame_. A shade = a ghost or phantom. 

_Swift mantling_, &c. Spreading quickly over, like a cloak or mantle. 

_Where heaven and you reside_ = where you, whose only thoughts are ofHeaven, reside. 

_Whom love has taught to stray_. This use of the word "taught" for"made" or "forced, " is taken from a Latin idiom, as in Virgil, "He_teaches_ the woods to ring with the name of Amaryllis. " It is strongerthan "made" or "forced, " and implies, as here, that she had forgottenall but the wandering life that is now hers. 

_He had but only me_. But or only is redundant. 

_To emulate his mind_ = to be equal to his mind in purity. 

_Their constancy was mine_. This verse has often been accused ofviolating sense; but, however artificial the expression may be, neitherthe sense is obscure, nor the way of expressing it inaccurate. Itis evidently only another way of saying "in the little they had ofconstancy they resembled me as they resembled him in their charms. "]

 * * * * *

DR. ARNOLD. 

We listened, as all boys in their better moods will listen (ay, and mentoo, for the matter of that), to a man whom we felt to be, with all hisheart and soul and strength, striving against whatever was mean andunmanly and unrighteous in our little world. It was not the cold, clearvoice of one giving advice and warning from serene heights to those whowere struggling and sinning below, but the warm, living voice of one whowas fighting for us, and by our sides, and calling on us to help him andourselves and one another. And so, wearily and little by little, butsurely and steadily on the whole, was brought home to the young boy, for the first time, the meaning of his life: that it was no fool'sor sluggard's paradise into which he had wandered by chance, but abattle-field ordained from of old, where there are no spectators, butthe youngest must take his side, and the stakes are life and death. Andhe who roused this consciousness in them showed them, at the same time, by every word he spoke in the pulpit, and by his whole daily life, how that battle was to be fought; and stood there before them, theirfellow-soldier and the captain of their band. The true sort of captain, too, for a boy's army, one who had no misgivings, and gave no uncertainword of command, and, let who would yield or make truce, would fightthe fight out (so every boy felt) to the last gasp and the last drop ofblood. Other sides of his character might take hold of and influenceboys here and there, but it was this thoroughness and undaunted couragewhich more than anything else won his way to the hearts of the greatmass of those on whom he left his mark, and made them believe first inhim, and then in his Master. 

It was this quality, above all others, which moved such boys as TomBrown, who had nothing whatever remarkable about him except excess ofboyishness; by which I mean animal life in its fullest measure; goodnature and honest impulses, hatred of injustice and meanness, andthoughtlessness enough to sink a three-decker. And so, during the nexttwo years, in which it was more than doubtful whether he would get goodor evil from the school, and before any steady purpose or principle grewup in him, whatever his week's sins and shortcomings might have been, hehardly ever left the chapel on Sunday evenings without a serious resolveto stand by and follow the doctor, and a feeling that it was onlycowardice (the incarnation of all other sins in such a boy's mind) whichhindered him from doing so with all his heart. 

 _Tom Brown's School Days_. 

[Note: _Dr. Arnold_, the head-master of Rugby School, died 1842. His life, which gives an account of the work done by him to promoteeducation, has been written by Dean Stanley. ]

 * * * * *

 MARTYRS

 Patriots have toil'd, and in their country's cause Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they deserve, Receive proud recompense. We give in charge Their names to the sweet lyre. The Historic Muse, Proud of the treasure, marches with it down To latest times; and Sculpture, in her turn, Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass To guard them, and to immortalize her trust. But fairer wreaths are due--though never paid-- To those who, posted at the shrine of Truth, Have fallen in her defence. A patriot's blood, Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed, And for a time ensure, to his loved land The sweets of liberty and equal laws; But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize, And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed In confirmation of the noblest claim, -- Our claim to feed upon immortal truth, To walk with God, to be divinely free, To soar and to anticipate the skies. -- Yet few remember them! They lived unknown, Till persecution dragged them into fame, And chased them up to Heaven. Their ashes flew-- No marble tells us whither. With their names No bard embalms and sanctifies his song; And History, so warm on meaner themes, Is cold on this. She execrates indeed The tyranny that doom'd them to the fire, But gives the glorious sufferers little praise. 

 COWPER. 

[Notes:_William Cowper_ (born 1731, died 1800), the author of 'TheTask, ' 'Progress of Error, ' 'Truth, ' and many other poems; all marked bythe same pure thought and chaste language. 

This poem is written in what is called "blank verse, " i. E. , verse inwhich the lines do not rhyme, the rhythm depending on the measure of theverse. 

_To the sweet lyre_ = To the poet, whose lyre (or poetry) is to keeptheir names alive. 

_The Historic Muse_. The ancients held that there were nine Muses orGoddesses who presided over the arts and sciences; and of these, one wasthe Muse of History. 

_Gives bond in stone, &c. _ = Pledges herself. The pith of the phrase isin its almost homely simplicity, the more striking in its contrast withthe classical allusions by which it is surrounded. 

_Her trust_, i. E. , what is trusted to her. 

_To anticipate the skies_ = to ennoble our life and so approach thathigher life we hope for after death. 

_Till persecution dragged them into fame_ = forced them by its crueltyto become famous against their will. 

_No marble tells us whither_. Because they have no tombstone and noepitaph. ]

 * * * * *

 A PSALM OF LIFE. 

 Tell me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. 

 Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; "Dust thou art, to dust returnest;" Was not spoken of the soul. 

 Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act that each to-morrow Finds us farther than to-day. 

 Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still like muffled drums are beating Funeral marches to the grave. 

 In the world's broad field of battle, In the Bivouac of life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife!

 Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act--act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o'erhead!

 Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time;--

 Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. 

 Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labour and to wait. 

 H. W. LONGFELLOW. 

[Notes:_Art is long, and time is fleeting_. A translation from theLatin, _Ars longa, vita brevis est. _

The metaphor in the last two stanzas in this page is strangely mixed. Footprints could hardly be seen by those sailing over the main. ]

 * * * * *

BOYHOOD'S WORK. 

In no place in the world has individual character more weight than ata public school. Remember this, I beseech you, all you boys who aregetting into the upper forms. Now is the time in all your lives, probably, when you may have more wide influence for good or evil in thesociety you live in than you ever can have again. Quit yourselves likemen, then; speak up, and strike out, if necessary, for whatsoeveris true, and manly, and lovely, and of good report; never try to bepopular, but only to do your duty, and help others to do theirs, and youmay leave the tone of feeling in the school higher than you found it, and so be doing good, which no living soul can measure, to generationsof your countrymen yet unborn. For boys follow one another in herds likesheep, for good or evil; they hate thinking, and have rarely any settledprinciples. Every school, indeed, has its own traditionary standard ofright and wrong, which cannot be transgressed with impunity, markingcertain things as low and blackguard, and certain others as lawful andright. This standard is ever varying, though it changes only slowly, andlittle by little; and, subject only to such standard, it is the leadingboys for the time being who give the tone to all the rest, and makethe school either a noble institution for the training of ChristianEnglishmen, or a place where a young boy will get more evil than hewould if he were turned out to make his way in London streets, oranything between these two extremes. 

 * * * * *

WORK IN THE WORLD. 

"I want to be at work in the world, " said Tom, "and not dawdling awaythree years at Oxford. "

"What do you mean by 'at work in the world?'" said the master, pausing, with his lips close to his saucerful of tea, and peering at Tom over it. 

"Well, I mean real work; one's profession, whatever one will have reallyto do, and make one's living by. I want to be doing some real good, feeling that I am not only at play in the world, " answered Tom, ratherpuzzled to find out himself what he really did mean. 

"You are mixing up two very different things in your head, I think, Brown, " said the master, putting down the empty saucer, "and you oughtto get clear about them. You talk of 'working to get your living, ' and'doing some real good in the world, ' in the same breath. Now, you may begetting a very good living in a profession, and yet doing no good at allin the world, but quite the contrary, at the same time. Keep the latterbefore you as your one object, and you will be right, whether you makea living or not; but if you dwell on the other, you'll very likely dropinto mere money-making, and let the world take care of itself, for goodor evil. Don't be in a hurry about finding your work in the world foryourself; you are not old enough to judge for yourself yet, but justlook about you in the place you find yourself in, and try to make thingsa little better and honester there. You'll find plenty to keep your handin at Oxford, or wherever else you go. And don't be led away to thinkthis part of the world important, and that unimportant. Every corner ofthe world is important. No man knows whether this part or that is mostso, but every man may do some honest work in his own corner. "

 _Tom Brown's School Days_. 

 * * * * *

 THE ANT AND THE CATERPILLAR

 As an ant, of his talents superiorly vain, Was trotting, with consequence, over the plain, A worm, in his progress remarkably slow, Cried--"Bless your good worship wherever you go; I hope your great mightiness won't take it ill, I pay my respects with a hearty good-will. " With a look of contempt, and impertinent pride, "Begone, you vile reptile, " his antship replied; "Go--go, and lament your contemptible state, But first--look at me--see my limbs how complete; I guide all my motions with freedom and ease, Run backward and forward, and turn when I please; Of nature (grown weary) you shocking essay! I spurn you thus from me--crawl out of my way. " The reptile, insulted and vex'd to the soul, Crept onwards, and hid himself close in his hole; But nature, determined to end his distress, Soon sent him abroad in a butterfly's dress. Erelong the proud ant, as repassing the road, (Fatigued from the harvest, and tugging his load), The beau on a violet-bank he beheld, Whose vesture, in glory, a monarch's excelled; His plumage expanded--'twas rare to behold So lovely a mixture of purple and gold. The ant, quite amazed at a figure so gay, Bow'd low with respect, and was trudging away. "Stop, friend, " says the butterfly; "don't be surprised, I once was the reptile you spurn'd and despised; But now I can mount, in the sunbeams I play, While you must for ever drudge on in your way. "

 CUNNINGHAM. 

[Note: _Of nature (grown weary) you shocking essay_ = you wretchedattempt (= essay) by nature, when she had grown weary. ]

 * * * * *

 REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE, NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY OF THE BOOKS. 

 Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose. The spectacles set them unhappily wrong; The point in dispute was, as all the world knows, To which the said spectacles ought to belong. 

 So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause, With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning, While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws, So fam'd for his talent in nicely discerning. 

 In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear, And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find, That the nose has had spectacles always in wear, Which amounts to possession time out of mind. 

 Then holding the spectacles up to the court-- Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle, As wide as the ridge of the nose is; in short, Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle. 

 Again, would your lordship a moment suppose ('Tis a case that has happen'd, and may be again) That the visage or countenance had not a nose, Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then?

 On the whole it appears, and my argument shows, With a reasoning the court will never condemn, That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, And the Nose was as plainly intended for them. 

 Then shifting his side as a lawyer knows how, He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes; But what were his arguments few people know, For the court did not think they were equally wise. 

 So his lordship decreed, with a grave, solemn tone, Decisive and clear, without one _if_ or _but_-- That, whenever the Nose put his Spectacles on, By daylight or candlelight--Eyes should be shut!

 COWPER. 

 * * * * *

CASTLES IN THE AIR. 

Alnaschar was a very idle fellow, that never would set his hand to anybusiness during his father's life. When his father died he left him tothe value of a hundred drachmas in Persian money. Alnaschar, in orderto make the best of it, laid it out in bottles, glasses, and the finestearthenware. These he piled up in a large open basket; and, having madechoice of a very little shop, placed the basket at his feet, and leanedhis back upon the wall in expectation of customers. As he sat in thisposture, with his eyes upon the basket, he fell into a most amusingtrain of thought, and was overheard by one of his neighbours, as hetalked to himself in the following manner:--"This basket, " says he, "cost me at the wholesale merchant's a hundred drachmas, which is all Ihad in the world. I shall quickly make two hundred of it by selling itin retail. These two hundred drachmas will in a very little while riseto four hundred; which, of course, will amount in time to four thousand. Four thousand drachmas cannot fail of making eight thousand. As soon asby these means I am master of ten thousand, I will lay aside my trade ofa glass-man and turn jeweller. I shall then deal in diamonds, pearls, and all sorts of rich stones. When I have got together as much wealthas I can well desire, I will make a purchase of the finest house I canfind, with lands, slaves, and horses. I shall then begin to enjoy myselfand make a noise in the world. I will not, however, stop there; butstill continue my traffic until I have got together a hundred thousanddrachmas. When I have thus made myself master of a hundred thousanddrachmas, I shall naturally set myself on the footing of a prince, and will demand the grand vizier's daughter in marriage, after havingrepresented to that minister the information which I have received ofthe beauty, wit, discretion, and other high qualities which his daughterpossesses. I will let him know at the same time that it is my intentionto make him a present of a thousand pieces of gold on our marriage day. As soon as I have married the grand vizier's daughter, I must make myfather-in-law a visit, with a great train and equipage. And when I amplaced at his right hand, which he will do of course, if it be only tohonour his daughter, I will give him the thousand pieces of gold whichI promised him; and afterwards, to his great surprise, will present himwith another purse of the same value, with some short speech: as, 'Sir, you see I am a man of my word: I always give more than I promise. '"

"When I have brought the princess to my house, I shall take particularcare to breed her in due respect for me. To this end I shall confine herto her own apartments, make her a short visit, and talk but little toher. Her women will represent to me that she is inconsolable by reasonof my unkindness; but I shall still remain inexorable. Her mother willthen come and bring her daughter to me, as I am seated on a sofa. Thedaughter, with tears in her eyes, will fling herself at my feet, and begme to receive her into my favour. Then will I, to imprint her with athorough veneration for my person, draw up my legs, and spurn her fromme with my foot in such a manner that she shall fall down several pacesfrom the sofa. "

Alnaschar was entirely swallowed up in his vision, and could not forbearacting with his foot what he had in his thoughts: so that, unluckilystriking his basket of brittle ware, which was the foundation of all hisgrandeur, he kicked his glasses to a great distance from him into thestreet, and broke them into ten thousand pieces. 

 ADDISON. 

[Note: _Joseph Addison_, born 1672, died 1719. Chiefly famous as acritic and essayist. His calm sense and judgment, and the attraction ofhis style, have rendered his writings favourites from his own time toours. ]

 * * * * *

 THE INCHCAPE BELL. 

 No stir on the air, no swell on the sea, The ship was still as she might be: The sails from heaven received no motion; The keel was steady in the ocean. 

 With neither sign nor sound of shock, The waves flow'd o'er the Inchcape Rock; So little they rose, so little they fell, They did not move the Inchcape Bell. 

 The pious abbot of Aberbrothock Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock; On the waves of the storm it floated and swung, And louder and louder its warning rung. 

 When the rock was hid by the tempest swell, The mariners heard the warning bell, And then they knew the perilous rock, And blessed the abbot of Aberbrothock. 

 The float of the Inchcape Bell was seen, A darker spot on the ocean green. Sir Ralph the Rover walked the deck, And he fix'd his eye on the darker speck. 

 His eye was on the bell and float, -- Quoth he, "My men, put down the boat, And row me to the Inchcape Rock, -- I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothock!". 

 The boat was lower'd, the boatmen row, And to the Inchcape Rock they go. Sir Ralph leant over from the boat, And cut the bell from off the float. 

 Down sunk the bell with a gurgling sound; The bubbles rose, and burst around. Quoth he, "Who next comes to the rock Won't bless the priest of Aberbrothock!"

 Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away; He scour'd the sea for many a day; And now, grown rich with plunder'd store, He steers his way for Scotland's shore. 

 So thick a haze o'erspread the sky, They could not see the sun on high; The wind had blown a gale all day; At evening it hath died away. 

 "Canst hear, " said one, "the breakers roar? For yonder, methinks, should be the shore. Now, where we are, I cannot tell, -- I wish we heard the Inchcape Bell. "

 They heard no sound--the swell is strong, Though the wind hath fallen they drift along: Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock, "Oh heavens! it is the Inchcape Rock!"

 Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair, And cursed himself in his despair; And waves rush in on every side, The ship sinks fast beneath the tide. 

 SOUTHEY. 

[Notes: _Robert Southey_, born 1774, died 1848. Poet Laureate and authorof numerous works in prose and verse. ]

_Quoth_. Saxon _Cwaethan_, to say. A Perfect now used only in the firstand third persons singular of the present indicative; the nominativefollowing the verb. 

_Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock_. Notice the effectiveuse of alliteration (_i. E_. , the recurrence of words beginning with thesame letter), which is the basis of old-English rhythm. ]

 * * * * *

THE DEATH OF NELSON. 

It had been part of Nelson's prayer that the British fleet might bedistinguished by humanity in the victory he expected. Setting an examplehimself, he twice gave orders to cease firing upon the 'Redoubtable, 'supposing that she had struck because her great guns were silent; for, as she carried no flag, there was no means of instantly ascertaining thefact. From this ship, which he had thus twice spared, he received hisdeath. A ball, fired from her mizen-top, which, in the then situation ofthe two vessels, was not more than fifteen yards from that part of thedeck where he was standing, struck the epaulette on his left shoulder, about a quarter after one, just in the heat of action. He fell upon hisface, on the spot which was covered with his poor secretary's blood. Hardy (his captain), who was a few steps from him, turning round, sawthree men raising him up. 

"They have done for me at last, Hardy, " said he. 

"I hope not, " cried Hardy. "Yes, " he replied, "my backbone is shotthrough. "

Yet even now, not for a moment losing his presence of mind, he observed, as they were carrying him down the ladder, that the tiller ropes, whichhad been shot away, were not yet replaced, and ordered that new onesshould be rove immediately; then, that he might not be seen by the crew, he took out his handkerchief, and covered his face and his stars. Had hebut concealed these badges of honour from the enemy, England, perhaps, would not have had cause to receive with sorrow the news of the battleof Trafalgar. The cockpit was crowded with wounded and dying men, overwhose bodies he was with some difficulty conveyed, and laid upona pallet in the midshipmen's berth. It was soon perceived, uponexamination, that the wound was mortal. This, however, was concealedfrom all except Captain Hardy, the chaplain, and the medical attendants. He himself being certain, from the sensation in his back, and the gushof blood he felt momently within his breast, that no human care couldavail him, insisted that the surgeon should leave him, and attend tothose to whom he might be useful; "For, " said he, "you can do nothingfor me. " All that could be done was to fan him with paper, andfrequently to give him lemonade to alleviate his intense thirst. He wasin great pain, and expressed much anxiety for the event of the action, which now began to declare itself. As often as a ship struck, the crewof the 'Victory' hurrahed, and at every hurrah a visible expression ofjoy gleamed in the eyes and marked the countenance of the dying hero. 

But he became impatient to see Captain Hardy; and as that officer, though often sent for, could not leave the deck, Nelson feared somefatal cause prevented him, and repeatedly cried, "Will no one bringHardy to me? He must be killed! He is surely dead!"

An hour and ten minutes elapsed from the time when Nelson received hiswound before Hardy could come to him. They shook hands in silence, Hardyin vain struggling to suppress the feelings of that most painful yetsublimest moment. "Well, Hardy, " said Nelson, "how goes the day withus?" "Very well, " replied Hardy; "ten ships have struck, but five of thevan have tacked, and show an intention to bear down upon the 'Victory. 'I have called two or three of our fresh ships round, and have no doubtof giving them a drubbing. " "I hope, " said Nelson, "none of our shipshave struck?" Hardy answered, "There was no fear of that. " Then, and nottill then, Nelson spoke of himself. "I am a dead man, Hardy, " said he;"I am going fast; it will be all over with me soon; come nearer to me. "Hardy observed that he hoped Mr. Beattie (the surgeon) could yet holdout some prospect of life. "Oh no, " he replied, "it is impossible; myback is shot through--Beattie will tell you so. " Captain Hardy then oncemore shook hands with him, and, with a heart almost bursting, hastenedupon deck. 

By this time all feeling below the breast was gone; and Nelson, havingmade the surgeon ascertain this, said to him, "You know I am gone; Iknow it--I feel something rising in my breast (putting his hand on hisleft side) which tells me so. " And upon Beattie's inquiring whetherhis pain was very great, he replied, "So great, that he wished he weredead. " "Yet, " said he, in a lower voice, "one would like to live alittle longer too!"

Captain Hardy, some fifty minutes after he had left the cockpit, returned, and again taking the hand of his dying friend and commander, congratulated him on having gained a complete victory. How many of theenemy were taken, he did not know, as it was impossible to perceivethem distinctly, but fourteen or fifteen at least. "That's well, " criedNelson, "but I bargained for twenty. " And then, in a stronger voice, he said, "Anchor, ! Hardy, anchor. " Hardy upon this hinted that AdmiralCollingwood would take upon himself the direction of affairs. "Not whileI live, Hardy, " said the dying Nelson, ineffectually endeavouring toraise himself from the bed; "do you anchor. " His previous order forpreparing to anchor had shown how clearly he foresaw the necessity ofthis. Presently, calling Hardy back, he said to him in a low voice, "Don't throw me overboard, " and he desired that he might be buried byhis parents, unless it should please the king to order otherwise. "Kissme, Hardy, " said he. Hardy knelt down and kissed his cheek, and Nelsonsaid, "Now, I am satisfied. Thank God, I have done my duty. " Hardy stoodover him in silence for a moment or two, then knelt again and kissed hisforehead. "Who is that?" said Nelson; and being informed, he replied, "God bless you, Hardy. " And Hardy then left him for ever. 

 SOUTHEY. 

[Note:_The death of Nelson_ took place at the Battle of Trafalgar, 1805. ]

 * * * * *

 BATTLE OF THE BALTIC. 

 I. 

 Of Nelson and the North, Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone; By each gun the lighted brand, In a bold, determined hand, And the Prince of all the land Led them on. 

 II. 

 Like leviathans afloat, Lay their bulwarks on the brine; While the sign of battle flew On the lofty British line: It was ten of April morn by the chime: As they drifted on their path, There was silence deep as death; And the boldest held his breath For a time. 

 III. 

 But the might of England flushed To anticipate the scene; And her van the fleeter rushed O'er the deadly space between. "Hearts of oak!" our captains cried; when each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships. Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. 

 IV. 

 Again! again! again! And the havoc did not slack, Till a feebler cheer the Dane To our cheering sent us back;-- Their shots along the deep slowly boom;-- Then cease--and all is wail, As they strike the shattered sail; Or, in conflagration pale, Light the gloom. 

 V. 

 Out spoke the victor then, As he hailed them o'er the wave, "Ye are brothers! ye are men! And we conquer but to save:-- So peace instead of death let us bring; But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, With the crews, at England's feet, And make submission meet To our king. "

 VI. 

 Then Denmark blest our chief That he gave her wounds repose; And the sounds of joy and grief From her people wildly rose, As Death withdrew his shades from the day While the sun looked smiling bright O'er a wide and woeful sight, Where the fires of funeral light Died away. 

 VII. 

 Now joy, Old England, raise! For the tidings of thy might, By the festal cities' blaze, Whilst the wine-cup shines in light; And yet amidst that joy and uproar, Let us think of them that sleep, Full many a fathom deep, By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore!

 VIII. 

 Brave hearts! to Britain's pride Once so faithful and so true, On the deck of fame that died;-- With the gallant good Riou;-- Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave! While the billow mournful rolls, And the mermaid's song condoles; Singing glory to the souls Of the brave!

 CAMPBELL

[Notes: This is the first specimen of the "ode" in this book. Notice thevariety in length between the lines, and draw up a scheme of the rhymesin each stanza. The battle was fought, and Copenhagen bombarded, inApril, 1801. 

_It was ten of April morn by the chime_. It was ten o'clock on themorning in April. 

_Like the hurricane eclipse_. The eclipse of the sun in storm. ]

 * * * * *

 LOCHINVAR. 

 Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide border his steed is the best; And, save his good broad-sword, he weapon had none; He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone! So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar!

 He stay'd not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, He swam the Eske river where ford there was none-- But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late; For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar!

 So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all!-- Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword-- For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word-- "Oh come ye in peace here, or come ye in war?-- Or to dance at our bridal? young Lord Lochinvar!"

 "I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied: Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide! And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine! There be maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar!"

 The bride kissed the goblet, the knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup! She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh-- With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar-- "Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar, So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace! While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar!"

 One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near: So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow!" cried young Lochinvar. 

 There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see!

 So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

 SCOTT. 

[Notes: _Lochinvar_. The song sung by Dame Heron in 'Marmion, ' one ofScott's longest and most famous poems. The fame of Scott (1771-1832)rests partly on these poems, but much more on the novels, in which he isexcelled by no one. 

_He stay'd not for brake_. Brake, a word of Scandinavian origin, means aplace overgrown with brambles; from the crackling noise they make as onepasses over them. 

_Love swells like the Solway_. For a scene in which the rapid advanceof the Solway tide is described, see the beginning of Scott's novel of'Redgauntlet. '

_Galliard_. A gay rollicker. Used also in Chaucer. 

_Scaur_. A rough, broken ground. The same word as scar. ]

 * * * * *

LEARNING TO RIDE. 

Some time before my father had bought a small Shetland pony for us, Moggy by name, upon which we were to complete our own education inriding, we had already mastered the rudiments under the care of ourgrandfather's coachman. He had been in our family thirty years, and wewere as fond of him as if he had been a relation. He had taught us tosit up and hold the bridle, while he led a quiet old cob up and downwith a leading rein. But, now that Moggy was come, we were to make quitea new step in horsemanship. Our parents had a theory that boys mustteach themselves, and that a saddle (except for propriety, when we rodeto a neighbour's house to carry a message, or had to appear otherwisein public) was a hindrance rather than a help. So, after our morning'slessons, the coachman used to take us to the paddock in which Moggylived, put her bridle on, and leave us to our own devices. I could seethat that moment was from the first one of keen enjoyment to my brother. He would scramble up on her back, while she went on grazing--withoutcaring to bring her to the elm stool in the corner of the field, whichwas our mounting place--pull her head up, kick his heels into her sides, and go scampering away round the paddock with the keenest delight. Hewas Moggy's master from the first day, though she not unfrequentlymanaged to get rid of him by sharp turns, or stopping dead short in hergallop. She knew it quite well; and, just as well, that she was mistressas soon as I was on her back. For weeks it never came to my turn, without my wishing myself anywhere else. George would give me a liftup, and start her. She would trot a few yards, and then begin grazing, notwithstanding my timid expostulations and gentle pullings at herbridle. Then he would run up, and pull up her head, and start her again, and she would bolt off with a flirt of her head, and never be contenttill I was safely on the grass. The moment that was effected she took tograzing again, and I believe enjoyed the whole performance as much asGeorge, and certainly far more than I did. We always brought her acarrot, or bit of sugar, in our pockets, and she was much more like agreat good-tempered dog with us than a pony. 

 _Memoir of a Brother_. T. HUGHES. 

 * * * * *

 THE CHAMELEON. 

 Oft has it been my lot to mark A proud, conceited, talking spark, With eyes that hardly served at most To guard their master 'gainst a post: Yet round the world the blade has been To see whatever can be seen. Returning from his finished tour, Grown ten times perter than before. Whatever word you chance to drop, The travelled fool your mouth will stop: "Sir, if my judgment you'll allow-- I've seen--and sure I ought to know. " So begs you'd pay a due submission And acquiesce in his decision. Two travellers of such a cast, As o'er Arabia's wilds they passed, And on their way in friendly chat, Now talked of this, and now of that: Discoursed a while, 'mongst other matter, Of the chameleon's form and nature. "A stranger animal, " cries one, "Sure never lived beneath the sun; A lizard's body, lean and long, A fish's head, a serpent's tongue, Its foot with triple claw disjoined; And what a length of tail behind! How slow its pace! And then its hue-- Who ever saw so fine a blue?"-- "Hold there, " the other quick replies, "'Tis green; I saw it with these eyes As late with open mouth it lay, And warmed it in the sunny ray; Stretched at its ease the beast I viewed, And saw it eat the air for food. " "I've seen it, sir, as well as you, And must again affirm it blue: At leisure I the beast surveyed Extended in the cooling shade. " "'Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure you. " "Green!" cried the other in a fury: "Why, do you think I've lost my eyes?" "'Twere no great loss, " the friend replies, "For if they always serve you thus, You'll find them of but little use. " So high at last the contest rose, From words they almost came to blows, When luckily came by a third: To him the question they referred, And begged he'd tell them if he knew, Whether the thing was green or blue? "Sirs, " cries the umpire, "cease your pother, The creature's neither one nor t'other. I caught the animal last night, And view'd it o'er by candle-light: I marked it well--'twas black as jet. You stare; but, sirs, I've got it yet: And can produce it"--"Pray, sir, do: I'll lay my life the thing is blue. " "And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen The reptile you'll pronounce him green!" "Well, then, at once to ease the doubt, " Replies the man, "I'll turn him out: And when before your eyes I've set him, If you don't find him black, I'll eat him, " He said, and full before their sight, Produced the beast, and lo!--'twas white. Both stared: the man looked wondrous wise: "My children, " the chameleon cries (Then first the creature found a tongue), "You all are right, and all are wrong; When next you tell of what you view, Think others see as well as you! Nor wonder if you find that none Prefers your eyesight to his own. "

 MERRICK. 

 * * * * *

MOSES AT THE FAIR

All this conversation, however, was only preparatory to another scheme;and indeed I dreaded as much. This was nothing less than that, as wewere now to hold up our heads a little higher in the world, it would beproper to sell the colt, which was grown old, at a neighbouring fair, and buy us a horse that would carry us single or double upon anoccasion, and make a pretty appearance at church, or upon a visit. Thisat first I opposed stoutly; but it was stoutly defended. However, as Iweakened, my antagonist gained strength, till at last it was resolvedto part with him. As the fair happened on the following day, I hadintentions of going myself; but my wife persuaded me that I had got acold, and nothing could prevail upon her to permit me from home. "No, mydear, " said she, "our son Moses is a discreet boy, and can buy and sellto a very good advantage: you know all our great bargains are of hispurchasing. He always stands out and higgles, and actually tires themtill he gets a bargain. "

As I had some opinion of my son's prudence, I was willing enough toentrust him with this commission; and the next morning I perceived hissisters mighty busy in fitting out Moses for the fair; trimming hishair, brushing his buckles, and cocking his hat with pins. The businessof the toilet being over, we had at last the satisfaction of seeinghim mounted upon the colt, with a deal box before him to bringhome groceries in. He had on a coat made of that cloth they call"thunder-and-lightning, " which, though grown too short, was much toogood to be thrown away. His waistcoat was of gosling green, and hissisters had tied his hair with a broad black riband. We all followed himseveral paces from the door, bawling after him, "Good luck! good luck!"till we could see him no longer. ***

I changed the subject by seeming to wonder what could keep our son solong at the fair, as it was now almost nightfall. "Never mind our son, "cried my wife; "depend upon it, he knows what he is about. I'll warrantwe'll never see him sell his hen of a rainy day. I have seen him bringsuch bargains as would amaze one. I'll tell you a good story about that, that will make you split your sides with laughing. But, as I live, yonder comes Moses, without a horse, and the box on his back. "

As she spoke, Moses came slowly on foot, and sweating under the dealbox, which he had strapped round his shoulders like a pedlar. "Welcome, welcome, Moses! Well, my boy, what have you brought us from the fair?""I have brought you myself, " cried Moses, with a sly look, and restingthe box on the dresser. "Ay, Moses, " cried my wife, "that we know; butwhere is the horse?" "I have sold him, " cried Moses, "for three poundsfive shillings and twopence. " "Well done, my good boy, " returned she;"I knew you would touch them off. Between ourselves, three pounds fiveshillings and twopence is no bad day's work. Come, let us have it then. ""I have brought back no money, " cried Moses again. "I have laid it allout in a bargain, and here it is, " pulling out a bundle from his breast;"here they are; a gross of green spectacles, with silver rims andshagreen cases. " "A gross of green spectacles!" repeated my wife, in afaint voice. "And you have parted with the colt, and brought us backnothing but a gross of green paltry spectacles!" "Dear mother, " criedthe boy, "why won't you listen to reason? I had them a dead bargain, or I should not have brought them. The silver rims alone will sell fordouble the money. " "A fig for the silver rims, " cried my wife, in apassion: "I dare swear they won't sell for above half the money at therate of broken silver, five shillings an ounce. " "You need be under nouneasiness, " cried I, "about selling the rims, for they are not worthsixpence; for I perceive they are only copper varnished over. " "What!"cried my wife, "not silver! the rims not silver?" "No, " cried I, "nomore silver than your saucepan. " "And so, " returned she, "we have partedwith the colt, and have only got a gross of green spectacles, withcopper rims and shagreen cases? A murrain take such trumpery! Theblockhead has been imposed upon, and should have known his companybetter. " "There, my dear, " cried I, "you are wrong; he should not haveknown them at all. " "Marry, hang the idiot!" returned she, "to bring mesuch stuff: if I had them I would throw them in the fire. " "There againyou are wrong, my dear, " cried I, "for though they be copper, we willkeep them by us, as copper spectacles, you know, are better thannothing. "

By this time the unfortunate Moses was undeceived. He now saw that hehad been imposed upon by a prowling sharper, who, observing his figure, had marked him for an easy prey. I therefore asked the circumstancesof his deception. He sold the horse, it seems, and walked the fair insearch of another. A reverend-looking man brought him to a tent, underpretence of having one to sell. "Here, " continued Moses, "we met anotherman, very well dressed, who desired to borrow twenty pounds upon these, saying that he wanted money, and would dispose of them for a third ofthe value. The first gentleman, who pretended to be my friend, whisperedme to buy them, and cautioned me not to let so good an offer pass. Isent for Mr. Flamborough, and they talked him up as finely as they didme; and so at last we were persuaded to buy the two gross between us. "

 GOLDSMITH. 

[Note: _Moses at the fair_. This is an incident taken from Goldsmith'snovel, 'The Vicar of Wakefield. ' The narrator throughout is the Vicarhimself, who tells us the simple joys and sorrows of his family, and thefoibles of each member of it. ]

 * * * * *

 A WISH. 

 Happy the man whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground. 

 Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter, fire. 

 Blest who can unconcernedly find Hours, days, and years, glide soft away In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day, Sound sleep by night; study and ease Together mixed; sweet recreation, And innocence, which most does please, With meditation. 

 Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; Thus unlamented let me die; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie. 

 POPE. 

[Notes: _Alexander Pope_, born 1688, died 1744. The author of numerouspoems and translations, all of them marked by the same lucid thought andpolished versification. The Essay on Man, the Satires and Epistles, andthe translations of Homer's Iliad and Odyssey, are amongst the mostimportant. 

Write a paraphrase of the first two stanzas. ]

 * * * * *

WHANG THE MILLER. 

Whang, the miller, was naturally avaricious; nobody loved money betterthan he, or more respected those that had it. When people would talk ofa rich man in company, Whang would say, "I know him very well; he and Iare intimate; he stood for a child of mine. " But if ever a poor man wasmentioned, he had not the least knowledge of the man; he might be verywell for aught he knew; but he was not fond of many acquaintances, andloved to choose his company. 

Whang, however, with all his eagerness for riches, was in reality poor;he had nothing but the profits of his mill to support him; but thoughthese were small, they were certain; while his mill stood and went, hewas sure of eating; and his frugality was such that he every day laidsome money by, which he would at intervals count and contemplate withmuch satisfaction. Yet still his acquisitions were not equal to hisdesires; he only found himself above want, whereas he desired to bepossessed of affluence. 

One day, as he was indulging these wishes, he was informed that aneighbour of his had found a pan of money under ground, having dreamedof it three nights running before. These tidings were daggers to theheart of poor Whang. "Here am I, " says he, "toiling and moiling frommorning till night for a few paltry farthings, while neighbour Hunksonly goes quietly to bed, and dreams himself into thousands beforemorning. Oh that I could dream like him! with what pleasure would I diground the pan; how slily would I carry it home; not even nay wife shouldsee me; and then, oh, the pleasure of thrusting one's hand into a heapof gold up to the elbow!"

Such reflections only served to make the miller unhappy; he discontinuedhis former assiduity; he was quite disgusted with small gains, and hiscustomers began to forsake him. Every day he repeated the wish, andevery night laid himself down in order to dream. Fortune, that was for along time unkind, at last, however, seemed to smile upon his distresses, and indulged him with the wished-for vision. He dreamed that undera certain part of the foundation of his mill there was concealed amonstrous pan of gold and diamonds, buried deep in the ground, andcovered with a large flat stone. He rose up, thanked the stars that wereat last pleased to take pity on his sufferings, and concealed his goodluck from every person, as is usual in money dreams, in order to havethe vision repeated the two succeeding nights, by which he should becertain of its veracity. His wishes in this also were answered; he stilldreamed of the same pan of money, in the very same place. 

Now, therefore, it was past a doubt; so, getting up early the thirdmorning, he repairs alone, with a mattock in his hand, to the mill, andbegan to undermine that part of the wall which the vision directed. The first omen of success that he met was a broken mug; digging stilldeeper, he turns up a house tile, quite new and entire. At last, aftermuch digging, he came to the broad flat stone, but then so large, thatit was beyond one man's strength to remove it. "Here, " cried he, inraptures, to himself, "here it is! under this stone there is room for avery large pan of diamonds indeed! I must e'en go home to my wife, andtell her the whole affair, and get her to assist me in turning it up. "Away, therefore, he goes, and acquaints his wife with every circumstanceof their good fortune. Her raptures on this occasion may easily beimagined; she flew round his neck, and embraced him in an agony of joy:but those transports, however, did not delay their eagerness to know theexact sum; returning, therefore, speedily together to the place whereWhang had been digging, there they found--not indeed the expectedtreasure, but the mill, their only support, undermined and fallen. 

 GOLDSMITH. 

[Note: _He stood for a child of mine_, i. E. , stood as godfather for achild of mine. ]

 * * * * *

 A SEA SONG. 

 A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail And bends the gallant mast. And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. 

 Oh, for a soft and gentle wind, I heard a fair one cry: But give to me the snoring breeze And white waves heaving high. And white waves heaving high, my lads, A good ship, tight and free, The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we. 

 There's tempest in yon horned moon, And lightning in yon cloud; And hark the music, mariners! The wind is piping loud. The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashes free; While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea. 

 CUNNINGHAM. 

[Note: _A wet sheet_. The _sheet_ is the rope fastened to the lowercorner of a sail to retain it in position. ]

 * * * * *

 ON THE LOSS OF THE 'ROYAL GEORGE. '

 Toll for the brave! The brave that are no more; All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore!

 Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side. 

 A land breeze shook the shrouds, And she was overset; Down went the 'Royal George, ' With all her crew complete. 

 Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfeldt is gone; His last sea-fight is fought; His work of glory done. 

 It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock; She sprang no fatal leak; She ran upon no rock. 

 His sword was in its sheath; His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfeldt went down, With twice four hundred men. 

 Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup, The tear that England owes. 

 Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again, Full-charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main. 

 But Kempenfeldt is gone, His victories are o'er; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more. 

 COWPER. 

[Note: _The Royal George_. A ship of war, which went down with AdmiralKempenfeldt and her crew off Spithead in 1782, while undergoing apartial careening. ]

 * * * * *

AN ESCAPE. 

After we had rowed, or rather driven, about a league and a half, as wereckoned it, a raging wave, mountain-like, came rolling astern of us, and plainly bade us expect our end. In a word, it took us with such afury that it overset the boat at once; and, separating us as well fromthe boat as from one another, gave us not time hardly to say, "O God!"for we were all swallowed up in a moment. 

Nothing can describe the confusion of thought which I felt when I sunkinto the water; for though I swam very well, yet I could not delivermyself from the waves, so as to draw breath, till that wave havingdriven me, or rather carried me a vast way on towards the shore, andhaving spent itself, went back, and left me upon the land almost dry, but half dead from the water I took in. I had so much presence of mindas well as breath left, that, seeing myself nearer the mainland than Iexpected, I got upon my feet, and endeavoured to make on towards theland as fast as I could, before another wave should return, and take meup again. But I soon found it was impossible to avoid it; for I saw thesea come after me as high as a great hill, and as furious as an enemy, which I had no means or strength to contend with; my business was tohold my breath, and raise myself upon the water, if I could: and so byswimming to preserve my breathing, and pilot myself towards the shore, if possible; my greatest concern now being, that the sea, as it wouldcarry me a great way towards the shore when it came on, might not carryme back again with it when it gave back towards the sea. 

The wave that came upon me again, buried me at once twenty or thirtyfeet deep in its own body; and I could feel myself carried with a mightyforce and swiftness towards the shore a very great way; but I held mybreath, and assisted myself to swim still forward with all my might. Iwas ready to burst with holding my breath, when, as I felt myself risingup, so, to my immediate relief, I found my head and hands shoot outabove the surface of the water; and though it was not two seconds oftime that I could keep myself so, yet it relieved me greatly, gave mebreath and new courage. I was covered again with water a good while, butnot so long but I held it out; and finding the water had spent itself, and began to return, I struck forward against the return of the waves, and felt ground again with my feet. I stood still a few moments torecover breath, and till the water went from me, and then took to myheels, and run with what strength I had farther towards the shore. Butneither would this deliver me from the fury of the sea, which camepouring in after me again, and twice more I was lifted up by the waves, and carried forwards as before, the shore being very flat. 

The last time of these two had well near been fatal to me; for thesea having hurried me along as before, landed me, or rather dashedme against a piece of a rock, and that with such force as it left mesenseless, and indeed helpless, as to my own deliverance; for the blowtaking my side and breast, beat the breath, as it were, quite out of mybody; and had it returned again immediately, I must have been strangledin the water; but I recovered a little before the return of the waves, and seeing I should be covered again with the water, I resolved to holdfast by a piece of the rock, and so to hold my breath, if possible, tillthe wave went back; now as the waves were not so high as at first, beingnear land, I held my hold till the wave abated, and then fetched anotherrun, which brought me so near the shore that the next wave, though itwent over me, yet did not so swallow me up as to carry me away, and thenext run I took, I got to the main land, where, to my great comfort, Iclambered up the clifts of the shore, and sat me down upon the grass, free from danger, and quite out of the reach of the water. 

DEFOE'S _Robinson Crusoe_. 

[Notes: _Daniel Defoe_, born 1663, died 1731. He was prominent as apolitical writer, but his later fame has rested chiefly on his works offiction, of which 'Robinson Crusoe' (from which this extract is taken)is the most important. 

"_Gave us not time hardly to say_. " This to us has the effect of adouble negative. But if we take "hardly" in its strict sense, thesentence is clear: "did not give us time, even with difficulty, to say. "

 (_at foot_). "_As_ I felt myself rising up, _so_ to myimmediate relief. " Note this use of _as_ and _so_, in a way which nowsounds archaic. 

 _Run_. The older form, for which we would use _ran_. 

"That with such force, _as_ it left me, " &c. For _as_, we would now use_that_. 

_Clifts of the shore_. Like clefts, broken openings in the shore. ]

 * * * * *

 RULE BRITANNIA. 

 When Britain first, at Heaven's command, Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter of the land, And guardian angels sung this strain: Rule, Britannia, rule the waves, Britons never will be slaves!

 The nations, not so blessed as thee, Must in their turn to tyrants fall; While thou shalt flourish great and free, The dread and envy of them all. 

 Still more majestic shalt thou rise, More dreadful from each foreign stroke; As the loud blast that tears the skies, Serves but to root thy native oak. 

 Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame: All their attempts to bend thee down Will but arouse thy generous flame; But work their woe and thy renown. 

 To thee belongs the rural reign; Thy cities shall with commerce shine; All thine shall be the subject main: And every shore it circles thine. 

 The Muses, still with freedom found, Shall to thy happy coast repair: Blessed isle! with matchless beauty crowned, And manly hearts to guard the fair: Rule, Britannia, rule the waves, Britons never will be slaves!

 THOMSON. 

[Notes: _James Thomson_, born 1700, died 1748. He was educated for theScotch ministry, but came to London, and commenced his career as a poetby the series of poems called the 'Seasons, ' descriptive of scenes innature. 

 _The Muses, i. E. _, the Sciences and Arts, which flourish bestwhere there are free institutions. ]

 * * * * *

 WATERLOO. 

 There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her Beauty and her Chivalry; and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage-bell;-- But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

 Did ye not hear it?--No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street: On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet-- But hark!--That heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! arm! it is--it is--the cannon's opening roar!

 Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness: And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise?

 And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning-star; While throng'd the citizens, with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips, --"The foe! they come! they come!"

 And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, --alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass, Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure; when this fiery mass Of living valour, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low!

 Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms, --the day Battle's magnificently stern array! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is cover'd thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover--heap'd and pent, Rider and horse, --friend, foe, --in one red burial blent!

 BYRON. 

[Notes:_Waterloo_. Fought, 1815, between Napoleon on one side, andWellington and Blucher (the Prussian General) on the other. Its resultwas the defeat of Napoleon, and his imprisonment by the Allies in St. Helena. The festivities held at Brussels, the headquarters of theBritish Army, on the eve of the battle, were rudely disturbed by thenews that the action had already begun. 

_Ardennes_. A district on the frontier of France, bordering on Belgium. 

_Ivry_. The battle in which Henry IV. , in the struggle for the crown ofFrance, completely routed the forces of the Catholic League (1590). 

_My white plume shine_. The white plume was the distinctive mark of theHouse of Bourbon. 

_Oriflamme_, or Auriflamme (lit. Flame of Gold), originally the bannerof the Abbey of St. Denis, afterwards appropriated by the crown ofFrance. "Let the helmet of Navarre (Henry's own country) be to-day theRoyal Standard of France. "

 _Culverin_. A piece of artillery of long range. 

 _The fiery Duke_ (of Mayenne). 

_Pricking fast_. Cf. "a gentle knight was pricking o'er the plain"(Spencer). 

 _With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne_. Theallies of the League. Almayne or Almen, a district in the Netherlands. 

 * * * * *

 IVRY. 

 The King is come to marshal us, in all his armour drest, And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. He look'd upon his people, and a tear was in his eye: He look'd upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high, Right graciously he smiled on us, as roll'd from wing to wing, Down all our line a deafening shout, "God save our Lord the King!" "And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may, For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war, And be your Oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre. "

 Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin! The fiery Duke is pricking fast across St. André's plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. Now by the lips of those we love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the Golden Lilies, --upon them with the lance! A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest; And in they burst, and on they rush'd, while, like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. 

 Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein. D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish Count is slain. Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale. The field is heap'd with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, "Remember St. Bartholomew!" was pass'd from man to man: But out spake gentle Henry, "No Frenchman is my foe; Down, down, with every foreigner! but let your brethren go. " Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, As our Sovereign Lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre!

 Ho! maidens of Vienna; ho! matrons of Lucerne; Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return. Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls. Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright: Ho! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and ward to- night, For our God hath crush'd the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, And mock'd the counsel of the wise, and the valour of the brave. Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are; And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry of Navarre!

 MACAULAY. 

[Notes: _D'Aumale_, The Duke of; another leader of the League. 

_The Flemish Court_. Count Egmont, the son of the Count Egmont, whosedeath on the scaffold in 1568, in consequence of the resistance heoffered to the tyranny of Philip II. Of Spain, has made the name famous. The son, on the other hand, was the attached servant of Philip II. ; andwas unnatural enough to say, when reminded of his father, "Talk not ofhim, he deserved his death. "

_Remember St. Bartholomew_, i. E. , the massacre of the Protestants on St. Bartholomew's day, 1572. 

_Maidens of Vienna: matrons of Lucerne_. In reference to the Austrianand Swiss Allies of the League. 

_Thy Mexican pistoles_. Alluding to the riches gained by the Spanishmonarchy from her American colonies. 

_Ho! burghers of St. Genevieve_ = citizens of Paris, of which St. Genevieve was held to be the patron saint. ]

 * * * * *

NECESSITY THE MOTHER OF INVENTION. 

And now I began to apply myself to make such necessary things as I foundI most wanted, as particularly a chair or a table; for without these Iwas not able to enjoy the few comforts I had in the world; I could notwrite or eat, or do several things with so much pleasure without atable. 

So I went to work; and here I must needs observe that, as reason is thesubstance and original of the mathematics, so by stating and squaringeverything by reason, and by making the most rational judgment ofthings, every man may be in time master of every mechanic art. Ihad never handled a tool in my life, and yet in time, by labour, application, and contrivance, I found at last that I wanted nothing butI could have made it, especially if I had had tools; however, I madeabundance of things, even without tools, and some with no more toolsthan an adze and a hatchet, which perhaps were never made that waybefore, and that with infinite labour; for example, if I wanted a board, I had no other way but to cut down a tree, set it on an edge before me, and hew it flat on either side with my axe, till I had brought it to beas thin as a plank, and then dubb it smooth with my adze. It is true, bythis method, I could make but one board out of a whole tree, but this Ihad no remedy for but patience, any more than I had for the prodigiousdeal of time and labour which it took me up to make a plank or board;but my time or labour was little worth, and so it was as well employedone way as another. 

However, I made me a table and a chair, as I observed above, in thefirst place, and this I did out of the short pieces of boards thatI brought on my raft from the ship: but when I had wrought out someboards, as above, I made large shelves of the breadth of a foot and ahalf one over another, all along one side of my cave, to lay all mytools, nails, and iron-work, and in a word, to separate everything atlarge in their places, that I might come easily at them; I knockedpieces into the wall of the rock to hang my guns and all things thatwould hang up. So that had my cave been to be seen, it looked like ageneral magazine of all necessary things, and I had everything so readyat my hand, that it was a great pleasure to me to see all my goods insuch order, and especially to find my stock of all necessaries so great. 

DEFOE'S _Robinson Crusoe. _

[Notes: _Reason is the substance and original of the mathematics_. Original here = origin or foundation. ]

_The most rational judgment_ = the judgment most in accordance withreason. ]

 * * * * *

 ANCIENT GREECE. 

 Clime of the unforgotten brave! Whose land from plain to mountain-cave Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave! Shrine of the mighty! can it be That this is all remains of thee? Approach, thou craven crouching slave: Say, is not this Thermopylae? These waters blue that round you lave, -- Oh servile offspring of the free!-- Pronounce what sea, what shore is this? The gulf, the rock of Salamis! These scenes, their story not unknown, Arise, and make again your own; Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires; And he who in the strife expires Will add to theirs a name of fear That Tyranny shall quake to hear, And leave his sons a hope, a fame, They too will rather die than shame: For Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed by bleeding Sire to Son, Though baffled oft is ever won. Bear witness, Greece, thy living page! Attest it many a deathless age! While kings, in dusty darkness hid, Have left a nameless pyramid, Thy heroes, though the general doom Hath swept the column from their tomb, A mightier monument command, The mountains of their native land! There points thy Muse to stranger's eye The graves of those that cannot die! 'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace, Each step from splendour to disgrace, Enough--no foreign foe could quell Thy soul, till from itself it fell; Yes! Self-abasement paved the way To villain-bonds and despot sway. 

BYRON. 

[Notes: _Lord Byron_, born 1788, died 1824. The most powerful Englishpoet of the early part of this century. 

_Thermapylae. _ The pass at which Leonidas and his Spartans resisted theapproach of the Persians (B. C. 480). 

_Salamis_. Where the Athenians fought the great naval battle whichdestroyed the Persian fleet, and secured the liberties of Greece. ]

 * * * * *

 THE TEMPLE OF FAME. 

 The Temple shakes, the sounding gates unfold, Wide vaults appear, and roofs of fretted gold, Raised on a thousand pillars wreathed around With laurel-foliage and with eagles crowned; Of bright transparent beryl were the walls, The friezes gold, and gold the capitals: As heaven with stars, the roof with jewels glows, And ever-living lamps depend in rows. Full in the passage of each spacious gate The sage historians in white garments wait: Graved o'er their seats, the form of Time was found, His scythe reversed, and both his pinions bound. Within stood heroes, who through loud alarms In bloody fields pursued renown in arms. High on a throne, with trophies charged, I viewed The youth that all things but himself subdued; His feet on sceptres and tiaras trode, And his horned head belied the Libyan god. There Caesar, graced with both Minervas, shone; Caesar, the world's great master, and his own; Unmoved, superior still in every state, And scarce detested in his country's fate. But chief were those, who not for empire fought, But with their toils their people's safety bought: High o'er the rest Epaminondas stood: Timoleon, glorious in his brother's blood: Bold Scipio, saviour of the Roman state, Great in his triumphs, in retirement great; And wise Aurelius, in whose well-taught mind With boundless power unbounded virtue joined, His own strict judge, and patron of mankind. Much-suffering heroes next their honours claim, Those of less noisy and less guilty fame, Fair Virtue's silent train: supreme of these Here ever shines the godlike Socrates; He whom ungrateful Athens could expel, At all times just but when he signed the shell: Here his abode the martyred Phocion claims, With Agis, not the last of Spartan names: Unconquered Cato shows the wound he tore, And Brutus his ill Genius meets no more. But in the centre of the hallowed choir, Six pompous columns o'er the rest aspire; Around the shrine itself of Fame they stand, Hold the chief honours, and the Fane command. High on the first the mighty Homer shone; Eternal adamant composed his throne; Father of verse! in holy fillets drest, His silver beard waved gently o'er his breast: Though blind, a boldness in his looks appears; In years he seemed, but not impaired by years. The wars of Troy were round the pillar seen: Here fierce Tydides wounds the Cyprian Queen; Here Hector glorious from Patroclus' fall, Here dragged in triumph round the Trojan wall. Motion and life did every part inspire, Bold was the work, and proved the master's fire. A strong expression most he seemed t' affect, And here and there disclosed a brave neglect. A golden column next in rank appeared, On which a shrine of purest gold was reared; Finished the whole, and laboured every part, With patient touches of unwearied art; The Mantuan there in sober triumph sate, Composed his posture, and his look sedate: On Homer still he fixed a reverent eye, Great without pride, in modest majesty, In living sculpture on the sides were spread The Latian wars, and haughty Turnus dead: Eliza stretched upon the funeral pyre, Aeneas bending with his aged sire: Troy flamed in burning gold, and o'er the throne _Arms and the Man_ in golden ciphers shone. Four swans sustain a car of silver bright, With heads advanced, and pinions stretched for flight, Here, like some furious prophet, Pindar rode, And seemed to labour with the inspiring God. Across the harp a careless hand he flings, And boldly sinks into the sounding strings. The figured games of Greece the column grace, Neptune and Jove survey the rapid race. The youths hang o'er their chariots as they run; The fiery steeds seem starting from the stone: The champions in distorted postures threat; And all appeared irregularly great. Here happy Horace tuned th' Ausonian lyre To sweeter sounds, and tempered Pindar's fire; Pleased with Alcaeus' manly rage t' infuse The softer spirit of the Sapphic Muse. The polished pillar different sculptures grace; A work outlasting monumental brass. Here smiling Loves and Bacchanals appear, The Julian star, and great Augustus here: The Doves, that round the infant Poet spread Myrtles and bays, hang hov'ring o'er his head. Here, in a shrine that cast a dazzling light, Sate, fixed in thought, the mighty Stagyrite: His sacred head a radiant zodiac crowned, And various animals his sides surround: His piercing eyes, erect, appear to view Superior worlds, and look all Nature through. With equal rays immortal Tully shone; The Roman rostra decked the Consul's throne: Gathering his flowing robe, he seemed to stand In act to speak, and graceful stretched his hand. Behind, Rome's Genius waits with civic crowns, And the great Father of his country owns. These massy columns in a circle rise, O'er which a pompous dome invades the skies: Scarce to the top I stretched my aching sight, So large it spread, and swelled to such a height. Full in the midst proud Fame's imperial seat With jewels blazed magnificently great: The vivid emeralds there revive the eye, The flaming rubies show their sanguine dye, Bright azure rays from lively sapphires stream, And lucid amber casts a golden gleam, With various coloured light the pavement shone, And all on fire appeared the glowing throne; The dome's high arch reflects the mingled blaze, And forms a rainbow of alternate rays. When on the Goddess first I cast my sight, Scarce seemed her stature of a cubit's height; But swelled to larger size the more I gazed, Till to the roof her towering front she raised; With her the Temple every moment grew, And ampler vistas opened to my view: Upward the columns shoot, the roofs ascend, And arches widen, and long aisles extend, Such was her form, as ancient Bards have told, Wings raise her arms, and wings her feet infold; A thousand busy tongues the Goddess bears, A thousand open eyes, a thousand listening ears. Beneath, in order ranged, the tuneful Nine (Her virgin handmaids) still attend the shrine: With eyes on Fame for ever fixed, they sing; For Fame they raise the voice, and tune the string: With Time's first birth began the heavenly lays, And last eternal through the length of days. Around these wonders, as I cast a look, The trumpet sounded, and the temple shook, And all the nations, summoned at the call, From diff'rent quarters, fill the crowded hall: Of various tongues the mingled sounds were heard; In various garbs promiscuous throngs appeared; Thick as the bees that with the spring renew Their flow'ry toils, and sip the fragrant dew, When the winged colonies first tempt the sky, O'er dusky fields and shaded waters fly; Or, settling, seize the sweets the blossoms yield, And a low murmur runs along the field. Millions of suppliant crowds the shrine attend, And all degrees before the Goddess bend; The poor, the rich, the valiant, and the sage, And boasting youth, and narrative old age. Their pleas were diff'rent, their request the same: For good and bad alike are fond of Fame. Some she disgraced, and some with honours crowned; Unlike successes equal merits found. Thus her blind sister, fickle Fortune, reigns, And, undiscerning, scatters crowns and chains. First at the shrine the Learned world appear, And to the Goddess thus prefer their pray'r: "Long have we sought t' instruct and please mankind, With studies pale, with midnight vigils blind; But thanked by few, rewarded yet by none. We here appeal to thy superior throne: On wit and learning the just prize bestow, For fame is all we must expect below. " The Goddess heard, and bade the Muses raise The golden Trumpet of eternal Praise: From pole to pole the winds diffuse the sound That fills the circuit of the world around. Not all at once, as thunder breaks the cloud: The notes, at first, were rather sweet than loud. By just degrees they ev'ry moment rise, Fill the wide earth, and gain upon the skies. At ev'ry breath were balmy odours shed, Which still grew sweeter as they wider spread; Less fragrant scents th' unfolding rose exhales, Or spices breathing in Arabian gales. Next these, the good and just, an awful train, Thus, on their knees, address the sacred fane: "Since living virtue is with envy cursed, And the best men are treated like the worst, Do thou, just Goddess, call our merits forth, And give each deed th' exact intrinsic worth. " "Not with bare justice shall your act be crowned, " (Said Fame, ) "but high above desert renowned: Let fuller notes th' applauding world amaze, And the loud clarion labour in your praise. " This band dismissed, behold another crowd Preferred the same request, and lowly bowed; The constant tenour of whose well-spent days No less deserved a just return of praise. But straight the direful Trump of Slander sounds; Through the big dome the doubling thunder bounds; Loud as the burst of cannon rends the skies, The dire report through ev'ry region flies; In ev'ry ear incessant rumours rung, And gath'ring scandals grew on ev'ry tongue. From the black trumpet's rusty concave broke Sulphureous flames, and clouds of rolling smoke; The pois'nous vapour blots the purple skies, And withers all before it as it flies. A troop came next, who crowns and armour wore, And proud defiance in their looks they bore: "For thee" (they cried), "amidst alarms and strife, We sailed in tempests down the stream of life; For thee whole nations filled with flames and blood, And swam to empire through the purple flood. Those ills we dared, thy inspiration own; What virtue seemed was done for thee alone. " "Ambitious fools!" (the Queen replied, and frowned): "Be all your acts in dark oblivion drowned; There sleep forgot, with mighty tyrants gone, Your statues mouldered, and your names unknown!" A sudden cloud straight snatched them from my sight, And each majestic phantom sunk in night. Then came the smallest tribe I yet had seen; Plain was their dress, and modest was their mien. "Great idol of mankind! we neither claim The praise of merit, nor aspire to fame! But safe, in deserts, from the applause of men, Would die unheard-of, as we lived unseen. 'Tis all we beg thee, to conceal from sight Those acts of goodness, which themselves requite. O let us still the secret joy partake, To follow virtue ev'n for virtue's sake. " "And live there men who slight immortal fame? Who, then, with incense shall adore our name? But, mortals! know, 'tis still our greatest pride To blaze those virtues which the good would hide. Rise! Muses, rise! add all your tuneful breath; These must not sleep in darkness and in death, " She said: in air the trembling music floats, And on the winds triumphant swell the notes: So soft, though high; so loud, and yet so clear; Ev'n list'ning angels leaned from heaven to hear: To farthest shores th' ambrosial spirit flies, Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies. 

Pope. 

[Notes: _Alexander Pope_. (See previous note on Pope. ) The hint of thispoem is taken from one by Chaucer, called 'The House of Fame. '

_Depend in rows. Depend_ in its proper and literal meaning, "hang down. "

_The youth that all things but himself subdued_ = Alexander the Great(356-323 B. C. ). 

_His feet on sceptres and tiaras trod. Tiaras_, in reference to hisconquests over the Asiatic monarchies. 

_His horned head belied the Libyan god_. "The desire to be thought theson of Jupiter Ammon caused him to wear the horns of that god, and torepresent the same upon his coins. " _(Pope's note_. ) Libyan = African. 

_Caesar graced with both Minervas, i. E. , _ by warlike and literarygenius; as the conqueror of Gaul and the writer of the 'Commentaries. '

_Scarce detested in his country's fate_. Whom even the enslaving of hiscountry scarce makes us detest. 

_Epaminondas_ (died 362 B. C. ), the maintainer of Theban independence. 

_Timoleon_, of Corinth, who slew his brother when he found him aspiringto be tyrant in the state (died 337 B. C. ). 

_Scipio_. The conqueror of Carthage, which was long the rival of Rome. 

_Aurelius, i. E. , _ Marcus Aurelius Antoninus (121-180 A. D. ), Emperor ofRome; one of the brightest characters in Roman history. 

_Socrates_. The great Greek philosopher, who, in maintaining truth, incurred the charge of infecting the young men of Athens with impiety, and was put to death by being made to drink hemlock. His life andteaching are known to us through the writings of his disciple, Plato. 

_He whom ungrateful Athens_, &c. , i. E. , Aristides (see page 171), distinguished by the surname of _The Just_. He was unjust, Pope means, only when he signed the shell for his own condemnation. 

_Phocion_. An Athenian general and statesman (402-318 B. C. ), put todeath by Polysperchon. He injured rather than helped the liberties ofAthens. 

_Agis_, "King of Sparta, who endeavoured to restore his state togreatness by a radical agrarian reform, was after a mock trial murderedin prison, B. C. 241. " _Ward_. 

_Cato_, who, to escape disgrace amid the evils which befell his country, stabbed himself in 46 B. C. 

_Brutus his ill Genius meets no more_. See the account of the Eve ofPhilippi in Book IV. 

_The wars of Troy_. Described by Homer in his Iliad. 

_Tydides (Diomede) wounds the Cyprian Queen (Venus)_. A scene describedin the Iliad. 

_Hector_. Slew Patroclus, the friend of Achilles, and in revenge wasdragged by him round the walls of Troy. 

_The Mantuan_, i. E. , the Roman poet Virgil, author of the Aeneid, bornat Mantua (70-19 B. C. )

_Eliza_ = Elissa, or Dido, whose misfortunes are described in theAeneid. 

_Aeneas bending with his aged sire_. Aeneas carried his father, Anchises, from the flames of Troy on his shoulders. 

_Arms and the Man_. The opening words of the Aeneid. 

_Pindar_. Of Thebes, who holds the first place among the lyric poets ofGreece. The character and subjects of his poetry, of which the portionsremaining to us are the Triumphal Odes, celebrating victories gained inthe great games of Greece, are indicated by the lines that follow. 

_Happy Horace_ (65-8 B. C. ). The epithet is used to describe thelightsome and genial tone of Horace's poetry. _Ausonian lyre_ = Italiansong. Ausonia is a poetical name for Italy. 

_Alcoeus and Sappho_. Two of the early lyric poets of Greece. 

_A work outlasting monumental brass_. This line is suggested by one ofHorace, when he describes his work as "a monument more lasting thanbrass. "

_The Julian star, and great Augustus here_. Referring to the Imperialhouse and its representative, Augustus, Horace's chief patron. 

_Stagyrite_. Aristotle, the great philosopher of Greece (384-322 B. C. ), born at Stagira. Pope here shortens the second syllable by a poeticallicence. 

_Tully_. Marcus Tullius Cicero, the great orator, statesman, and writerof Rome. For saving the city from the conspiracy of Catiline, he washonoured with the title of "Father of his country. "

_Narrative old age_. Talkative old age. 

_Unlike successes equal merits found_ = The same desert found nowsuccess, now failure. ]

 * * * * *

LABRADOR. 

The following narrative is from the periodical account of the MoravianMissions. It contains some of the most impressive descriptions I everremember to have read. 

Brother Samuel Liebiseh was at the time of this occurrence entrustedwith the general care of the brethren's missions on the coast ofLabrador. The duties of his office required a visit to Okkak, the mostnorthern of our settlements, and about one hundred and fifty Englishmiles distant from Nain, the place where he resided. Brother WilliamTurner being appointed to accompany him, they left Nain together onMarch the 11th, 1782, early in the morning, with very clear weather, the stars shining with uncommon lustre. The sledge was driven by thebaptised Esquimaux Mark, and another sledge with Esquimaux joinedcompany. 

An Esquimaux sledge is drawn by a species of dogs, not unlike a wolf inshape. Like them, they never bark, but howl disagreeably. They are keptby the Esquimaux in greater or larger packs or teams, in proportion tothe affluence of the master. They quietly submit to be harnessed fortheir work, and are treated with little mercy by the heathen Esquimaux, who make them do hard duty for the small quantity of food they allowthem. This consists chiefly in offal, old skins, entrails, such parts ofwhale-flesh as are unfit for other use, rotten whale-fins, &c. ; and ifthey are not provided with this kind of dog's meat, they leave them togo and seek dead fish or muscles upon the beach. 

When pinched with hunger they will swallow almost anything, and on ajourney it is necessary to secure the harness within the snow-houseover night, lest, by devouring it, they should render it impossibleto proceed in the morning. When the travellers arrive at their nightquarters, and the dogs are unharnessed, they are left to burrow on thesnow, where they please, and in the morning are sure to come at theirdriver's call, when they receive some food. Their strength and speed;even with a hungry stomach, is astonishing. In fastening them to thesledge, care is taken not to let them go abreast. They are tied byseparate thongs, of unequal lengths, to a horizontal bar in the forepart of the sledge; an old knowing one leads the way, running ten ortwenty paces ahead, directed by the driver's whip, which is of greatlength, and can be well managed only by an Esquimaux. The other dogsfollow like a flock of sheep. If one of them receives a lash, hegenerally bites his neighbour, and the bite goes round. 

To return to our travellers. The sledge contained five men, one woman, and a child. All were in good spirits, and appearances being much intheir favour, they hoped to reach Okkak in safety in two or three days. The track over the frozen sea was in the best possible order, and theywent with ease at the rate of six or seven miles an hour. After theyhad passed the islands in the bay of Nain, they kept at a considerabledistance from the coast, both to gain the smoothest part of the ice, andto weather the high rocky promontory of Kiglapeit. About eight o'clockthey met a sledge with Esquimaux turning in from the sea. After theusual salutation, the Esquimaux, alighting, held some conversation, asis their general practice, the result of which was, that some hints werethrown out by the strange Esquimaux that it might be better to return. However, as the missionaries saw no reason whatever for it, and onlysuspected that the Esquimaux wished to enjoy the company of theirfriends a little longer, they proceeded. After some time, their ownEsquimaux hinted that there was a ground swell under the ice. It wasthen hardly perceptible, except on lying down and applying the ear closeto the ice, when a hollow, disagreeably grating and roaring noise washeard, as if ascending from the abyss. The weather remained clear, except towards the east, where a bank of light clouds appeared, interspersed with some dark streaks. But the wind being strong from thenorth-west, nothing less than a sudden change of weather was expected. The sun had now reached its height, and there was as yet little or noalteration in the appearance of the sky. But the motion of the seaunder the ice had grown more perceptible, so as rather to alarm thetravellers, and they began to think it prudent to keep closer to theshore. The ice had cracks and large fissures in many places, someof which formed chasms of one or two feet wide; but as they are notuncommon even in its best state, and the dogs easily leap over them, thesledge following without danger, they are only terrible to new comers. 

As soon as the sun declined towards the west, the wind increased androse to a storm, the bank of clouds from the east began to ascend, andthe dark streaks to put themselves in motion against the wind. The snowwas violently driven about by partial whirlwinds, both on the ice, andfrom off the peaks of the high mountains, and filled the air. At thesame time the ground-swell had increased so much that its effect uponthe ice became very extraordinary and alarming. The sledges, instead ofgliding along smoothly upon an even surface, sometimes ran with violenceafter the dogs, and shortly after seemed with difficulty to ascendthe rising hill; for the elasticity of so vast a body of ice, of manyleagues square, supported by a troubled sea, though in some placesthree or four yards in thickness, would, in some degree, occasion anundulatory motion not unlike that of a sheet of paper accommodatingitself to the surface of a rippling stream. Noises were now likewisedistinctly heard in many directions, like the report of cannon, owing tothe bursting of the ice at some distance. 

The Esquimaux, therefore, drove with all haste towards the shore, intending to take up their night-quarters on the south side of theNivak. But as it plainly appeared that the ice would break and dispersein the open sea, Mark advised to push forward to the north of the Nivak, from whence he hoped the track to Okkak might still remain entire. Tothis proposal the company agreed; but when the sledges approached thecoast, the prospect before them was truly terrific. The ice havingbroken loose from the rocks, was forced up and down, grinding andbreaking into a thousand pieces against the precipices, with atremendous noise, which, added to the raging of the wind, and the snowdriving about in the air, deprived the travellers almost of the power ofhearing and seeing anything distinctly. 

To make the land at any risk was now the only hope left, but it was withthe utmost difficulty the frighted dogs could be forced forward, thewhole body of ice sinking frequently below the surface of the rocks, then rising above it. As the only moment to land was when it gainedthe level of the coast, the attempt was extremely nice and hazardous. However, by God's mercy, it succeeded; both sledges gained the shore, and were drawn up the beach with much difficulty. 

The travellers had hardly time to reflect with gratitude to God on theirsafety, when that part of the ice from which they had just now made goodtheir landing burst asunder, and the water, forcing itself from below, covered and precipitated it into the sea. In an instant, as if by asignal given, the whole mass of ice, extending for several miles fromthe coast, and as far as the eye could reach, began to burst and beoverwhelmed by the immense waves. The sight was tremendous and awfullygrand: the large fields of ice, raising themselves out of the water, striking against each other and plunging into the deep with a violencenot to be described, and a noise like the discharge of innumerablebatteries of heavy guns. The darkness of the night, the roaring of thewind and sea, and the dashing of the waves and ice against the rocks, filled the travellers with sensations of awe and horror, so as almostto deprive them of the power of utterance. They stood overwhelmed withastonishment at their miraculous escape, and even the heathen Esquimauxexpressed gratitude to God for their deliverance. 

[Note: _But high above desert renowned_ = Let it be renowned high abovedesert. ]

 * * * * *

 A HAPPY LIFE. 

 How happy is he born or taught, That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his highest skill. 

 Whose passions not his masters are; Whose soul is still prepared for death; Not tied unto the world with care Of prince's ear, or vulgar breath. 

 Who hath his life from rumours freed; Whose conscience is his strong retreat: Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great. 

 Who envies none whom chance doth raise, Or vice: who never understood How deepest wounds are given with praise; Nor rules of state, but rules of good. 

 Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend. 

 This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands; And having nothing, yet hath all. 

 SIR HENRY WOTTON. 

[Notes: _Sir Henry Wotton_ (1568-1639). A poet, ambassador, andmiscellaneous writer, in the reign of James I. 

_Born or taught_ = whether from natural character or by training. 

_Nor ruin make oppressors great_ = nor _his_ ruin, &c. 

_How deepest wounds are given with praise_. How praise may only coversome concealed injury. ]

 * * * * *

 MAN'S SERVANTS. 

 For us the winds do blow; The earth doth rest, heaven move, and fountains flow. Nothing we see but means our good, As our delight, or as our treasure: The whole is either cupboard of our food, Or cabinet of pleasure. 

 The stars have us to bed; Night draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws; Music and light attend our head; All things unto our flesh are kind In their descent and being; to our mind In their ascent and cause. 

 More servants wait on Man Than he'll take notice of. In every path He treads down that which doth befriend him, When sickness makes him pale and wan. O mighty love! Man is one world, and hath Another to attend him. 

 Since, then, My God, Thou hast So brave a palace built, O dwell in it, That it may dwell with Thee at last! Till then afford us so much wit That, as the world serves _us_, we may serve _Thee_, And both thy servants be. 

 GEORGE HERBERT. 

[Notes: _George Herbert_ (1593-1632). A clergyman of the Church ofEngland, the author of many religious works in prose and poetry. Hispoetry is overfull of conceits, but in spite of these is eminentlygraceful and rich with fancy. 

_The stars have its to led, i. E. , _ conduct, or show us to bed. 

_All things unto our flesh are kind, &c. , i. E. , _ as they minister to theneeds of our body here below, so they minister to the mind by leadingus to think of the Higher Cause that brings them into being. The words_descent_ and _accent_ are not to be pressed; they are rather balancedone against the other, according to the fashion of the day. ]

 * * * * *

 VIRTUE. 

 Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die. 

 Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. 

 Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die. 

 Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives. 

 GEORGE HERBERT. 

[Note:----_The bridal of the earth and sky, i. E. , _ in which all thebeauties of sky and earth are united. ]

 * * * * *

 DEATH THE CONQUEROR. 

 The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate: Death lays his icy hand on kings: Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 

 Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill; But their strong nerves at last must yield, They tame but one another still. Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. 

 The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds; All heads must come To the cold tomb, Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. 

 JAMES SHIRLEY. 

[Notes: _James Shirley_ (1594-1666). A dramatic poet. 

_And plant fresh laurels when they kill_ = even by the death they spreadaround them in war, they may win new laurel-wreaths by victory. 

_Purple_. As stained with blood. ]

 * * * * *

GROWTH OF EUROPEAN CIVILIZATION IN THE TWELFTH CENTURY. 

Various improvements in the system of jurisprudence, and administrationof justice, occasioned a change in manners, of great importance and ofextensive effect. They gave rise to a distinction of professions; theyobliged men to cultivate different talents, and to aim at differentaccomplishments, in order to qualify themselves for the variousdepartments and functions which became necessary in society. Amonguncivilized nations there is but one profession honourable, that ofarms. All the ingenuity and vigour of the human mind are exerted inacquiring military skill or address. The functions of peace are few andsimple, and require no particular course of education or of study as apreparation for discharging them. This was the state of Europe duringseveral centuries. Every gentleman, born a soldier, scorned any otheroccupation; he was taught no science but that of war; even his exercisesand pastimes were feats of martial prowess. Nor did the judicialcharacter, which persons of noble birth were alone entitled to assume, demand any degree of knowledge beyond that which such untutored soldierspossessed. To recollect a few traditionary customs which time hadconfirmed, and rendered respectable; to mark out the lists of battlewith due formality; to observe the issue of the combat; and to pronouncewhether it had been conducted according to the laws of arms, includedeverything that a baron, who acted as a judge, found it necessary tounderstand. 

But when the forms of legal proceedings were fixed, when the rules ofdecision were committed to writing, and collected into a body, lawbecame a science, the knowledge of which required a regular course ofstudy, together with long attention to the practice of courts. Martialand illiterate nobles had neither leisure nor inclination to undertake atask so laborious, as well as so foreign from all the occupations whichthey deemed entertaining, or suitable to their rank. They graduallyrelinquished their places in courts of justice, where their ignoranceexposed them to contempt. They became, weary of attending to thediscussion of cases, which grew too intricate for them to comprehend. Not only the judicial determination of points which were the subject ofcontroversy, but the conduct of all legal business and transactions, wascommitted to persons trained by previous study and application to theknowledge of law. An order of men, to whom their fellow-citizens haddaily recourse for advice, and to whom they looked up for decision intheir most important concerns, naturally acquired consideration andinfluence in society. They were advanced to honours which had beenconsidered hitherto as the peculiar rewards of military virtue. Theywere entrusted with offices of the highest dignity and most extensivepower. Thus, another profession than that of arms came to be introducedamong the laity, and was reputed honourable. The functions of civillife were attended to. The talents requisite for discharging them werecultivated. A new road was opened to wealth and eminence. The arts andvirtues of peace were placed in their proper rank, and received theirdue recompense. 

While improvements, so important with respect to the state of societyand the administration of justice, gradually made progress in Europe, sentiments more liberal and generous had begun to animate the nobles. These were inspired by the spirit of chivalry, which, though considered, commonly, as a wild institution, the effect of caprice, and the sourceof extravagance, arose naturally from the state of society at thatperiod, and had a very serious influence in refining the manners of theEuropean nations. The feudal state was a state of almost perpetual war, rapine, and anarchy, during which the weak and unarmed were exposedto insults or injuries. The power of the sovereign was too limited toprevent these wrongs; and the administration of justice too feebleto redress them. The most effectual protection against violence andoppression was often found to be that which the valour and generosityof private persons afforded. The same spirit of enterprise which hadprompted so many gentlemen to take arms in defence of the oppressedpilgrims in Palestine, incited others to declare themselves the patronsand avengers of injured innocence at home. When the final reduction ofthe Holy Land under the dominion of infidels put an end to these foreignexpeditions, the latter was the only employment left for the activityand courage of adventurers. To check the insolence of overgrownoppressors; to rescue the helpless from captivity; to protect or toavenge women, orphans, and ecclesiastics, who could not bear arms intheir own defence; to redress wrongs, and to remove grievances, weredeemed acts of the highest prowess and merit. Valour, humanity, courtesy, justice, honour, were the characteristic qualities ofchivalry. To these was added religion, which mingled itself with everypassion and institution during the Middle Ages, and, by infusing a largeproportion of enthusiastic zeal, gave them such force as carried themto romantic excess. Men were trained to knighthood by a long previousdiscipline; they were admitted into the order by solemnities no lessdevout than pompous; every person of noble birth courted that honour; itwas deemed a distinction superior to royalty; and monarchs were proud toreceive it from the hands of private gentlemen. 

This singular institution, in which valour, gallantry, and religion, were so strangely blended, was wonderfully adapted to the taste andgenius of martial nobles; and its effects were soon visible in theirmanners. War was carried on with less ferocity, when humanity came to bedeemed the ornament of knighthood no less than courage. More gentle andpolished manners were introduced, when courtesy was recommended as themost amiable of knightly virtues. Violence and oppression decreased, when it was reckoned meritorious to check and to punish them. Ascrupulous adherence to truth, with the most religious attention tofulfil every engagement, became the distinguishing characteristic of agentleman, because chivalry was regarded as the school of honour, andinculcated the most delicate sensibility with respect to those points. The admiration of these qualities, together with the high distinctionsand prerogatives conferred on knighthood in every part of Europe, inspired persons of noble birth on some occasions with a species ofmilitary fanaticism, and led them to extravagant enterprises. But theydeeply imprinted on their minds the principles of generosity and honour. These were strengthened by everything that can affect the senses ortouch the heart. The wild exploits of those romantic knights who salliedforth in quest of adventures are well known, and have been treated withproper ridicule. The political and permanent effects of the spirit ofchivalry have been less observed. Perhaps the humanity which accompaniesall the operations of war, the refinements of gallantry, and the pointof honour, the three chief circumstances which distinguished modern fromancient manners, may be ascribed in a great measure to this institution, which has appeared whimsical to superficial observers, but by itseffects has proved of great benefit to mankind. The sentiments whichchivalry inspired had a wonderful influence on manners and conductduring the twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries. They were so deeply rooted, that they continued to operate after thevigour and reputation of the institution itself began to decline. Someconsiderable transactions recorded in the following history resemblethe adventurous exploits of chivalry, rather than the well-regulatedoperations of sound policy. Some of the most eminent personages, whosecharacters will be delineated, were strongly tinctured with thisromantic spirit. Francis I. Was ambitious to distinguish himself by allthe qualities of an accomplished knight, and endeavoured to imitate theenterprising genius of chivalry in war, as well as its pomp and courtesyduring peace. The fame which the French monarch acquired by thesesplendid actions, so far dazzled his more temperate rival, that hedeparted on some occasions from his usual prudence and moderation, andemulated Francis in deeds of prowess or of gallantry. 

The progress of science and the cultivation of literature hadconsiderable effect in changing the manners of the European nations, and introducing that civility and refinement by which they are nowdistinguished. At the time when their empire was overturned, theRomans, though they had lost that correct taste which has rendered theproductions of their ancestors standards of excellence, and models ofimitation for succeeding ages, still preserved their love of letters, and cultivated the arts with great ardour. But rude barbarians wereso far from being struck with any admiration of these unknownaccomplishments, that they despised them. They were not arrived at thatstate of society, when those faculties of the human mind which havebeauty and elegance for their objects begin to unfold themselves. Theywere strangers to most of those wants and desires which are the parentsof ingenious invention; and as they did not comprehend either the meritor utility of the Roman arts, they destroyed the monuments of them, withan industry not inferior to that with which their posterity have sincestudied to preserve or to recover them. The convulsions occasioned bythe settlement of so many unpolished tribes in the empire; the frequentas well as violent revolutions in every kingdom which they established;together with the interior defects in the form of government which theyintroduced, banished security and leisure. They prevented the growthof taste, or the culture of science, and kept Europe, during severalcenturies, in that state of ignorance which has been already described. But the events and institutions which I have enumerated produced greatalterations in society. As soon as their operation, in restoring libertyand independence to one part of the community, began to be felt; as soonas they began to communicate to all the members of society some tasteof the advantages arising from commerce, from public order, and frompersonal security, the human mind became conscious of powers which itdid not formerly perceive, and fond of occupations or pursuits of whichit was formerly incapable. Towards the beginning of the twelfth century, we discern the first symptoms of its awakening from that lethargy inwhich it had been long sunk, and observe it turning with curiosity andattention towards new objects. 

 ROBERTSON. 

[Notes: _Francis I_. (1494-1547). King of France; the contemporary ofHenry VIII. And of Charles V. , Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire. Theconstant rivalry and ever recurring wars between Francis and the latter, occupy a great part of European history during the first half of the16th century. 

_His more temperate rival, i. E. , _ Charles V. 

_At the time when their empire was overturned, the_ _Romans, &c. _ In 410A. D. , by the incursions of the Goths. ]

 * * * * *

 THE PASSIONS. 

 (AN ODE FOR MUSIC. )

 When Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Thronged around her magic cell, Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, Possessed beyond the Muse's painting: By turns they felt the glowing mind Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined, -- Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, Filled with fury, rapt, inspired, From the supporting myrtles round They snatched her instruments of sound; And, as they oft had heard, apart, Sweet lessons of her forceful art, Each, for Madness ruled the hour, Would prove his own expressive power. 

 First Fear his hand, its skill to try, Amid the chords bewildered laid, And back recoiled, he knew not why, E'en at the sound himself had made. 

 Next Anger rushed: his eyes on fire, In lightnings owned his secret stings; In one rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept with hurried hand the strings. 

 With woful measures, wan Despair-- Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled: A solemn, strange, and mingled air, 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. 

 But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure? Still it whispered promised pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail; Still would her touch the scene prolong; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She called on Echo still through all the song; And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair;--

 And longer had she sung:--but, with a frown, Revenge impatient rose: He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down, And, with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! And ever and anon he beat The doubling drum with furious heat:

 And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien, While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head. 

 Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fixed; Sad proof of thy distressful state! Of differing themes the veering song was mixed; And now it courted Love, now raving called on Hate. 

 With eyes upraised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sat retired; And from her wild sequestered seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul; And dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels joined the sound: Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, Round a holy calm diffusing, Love of peace and lonely musing, -- In hollow murmurs died away. 

 But oh, how altered was its sprightlier tone! When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known! The oak-crowned Sisters and their chaste-eyed Queen, Satyrs and Sylvan boys, were seen Peeping from forth their alleys green. Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear, And Sport leaped up, and seized his beechen spear. 

 Last came Joy's ecstatic trial; He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addressed; But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best: They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids, Amidst the festal-sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing; While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings, Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round; Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. 

 O Music! sphere-descended maid, Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid! Why, goddess, why, to us denied, Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside? As in that loved, Athenian bower You learned an all-commanding power. Thy mimic soul; O nymph endeared! Can well recall what then it heard. Where is thy native simple heart Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art? Arise, as in that elder time, Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime! Thy wonders in that god-like age, Fill thy recording Sister's page;-- 'Tis said, and I believe the tale, Thy humblest reed could more prevail, Had more of strength, diviner rage, Than all which charms this laggard age, E'en all at once together found Cecilia's mingled world of sound;-- O bid our vain endeavours cease: Revive the just designs of Greece: Return in all thy simple state! Confirm the tales her sons relate!

 COLLINS. 

[Notes: _William Collins_ (1720-1756). A poet, who throughout lifestruggled with adversity, and who, though he produced little, refinedeverything he wrote with a most fastidious taste and with elaboratecare. 

 _Shell_, according to a fashion common with the poets of thefirst half of the 18th century, stands for lyre. The Latin word_testudo_, a shell is often so used. 

_Possessed beyond the Muse's painting_ = enthralled beyond what poetrycan describe. 

_His own expressive power, i. E. , _ his power to express his own feelings. 

_In lightnings owned his secret stings_ = in lightning-like touchesconfessed the hidden fury which inspired him. 

_Veering song_. The ever-changeful song. 

_Her wild sequestered seat_. Sequestered properly is used of somethingwhich, being in dispute, is deposited in a third person's hands: henceof something set apart or in retirement. 

_Round a holy calm diffusing_ = diffusing around a holy calm. 

_Buskin_. A boot reaching above the ankle. _Gemmed_ = sparkling as withgems. 

Faun and Dryad_. Creatures with whom ancient mythology peopled thewoods. 

_Their chaste-eyed Queen_ = Diana. 

_Brown exercise_. Exercise is here personified and represented as brownand sunburnt. 

_Viol_. A stringed musical instrument. 

_In Tempe's vale_. In Thessaly, especially connected with the worship ofApollo, the god of poetry and music. 

_Sphere-descended maid_. A metaphor common with the poets, and takenfrom a Greek fancy most elaborately described in Plato's 'Republic, 'where the system of the universe is pictured as a series of whorlslinked in harmony. 

_Thy mimic soul_. Thy soul apt to imitate. 

_Devote_ = devoted. A form more close to that of the Latin participle, from which it is derived. 

_Thy recording Sister_ = the Muse of History. 

_Cecilia's mingled world of sound_ = the organ. So St. Cecilia is calledin Dryden's Ode, "Inventress of the vocal frame. "

_The just designs_ = the well-conceived, artistic designs. ]

 * * * * *

"A WHALE HUNT. "

A tide of unusual height had carried the whale over a large bar of sand, into the voe or creek in which he was now lying. So soon as he found thewater ebbing, he became sensible of his danger, and had made desperateefforts to get over the shallow water, where the waves broke on the barbut hitherto he had rather injured than mended his condition, having gothimself partly aground, and lying therefore particularly exposed to themeditated attack. At this moment the enemy came down upon him. The frontranks consisted of the young and hardy, armed in the miscellaneousmanner we have described; while, to witness and animate their efforts, the young women, and the elderly persons of both sexes, took their placeamong the rocks, which overhung the scene of action. 

As the boats had to double a little headland, ere they opened the mouthof the voe, those who came by land to the shores of the inlet had timeto make the necessary reconnaissances upon the force and situation ofthe enemy, on whom they were about to commence a simultaneous attack byland and sea. 

This duty, the stout-hearted and experienced general--for so the Udallermight be termed--would entrust to no eyes but his own; and, indeed, hisexternal appearance, and his sage conduct, rendered him alike qualifiedfor the command which he enjoyed. His gold-laced hat was exchanged for abearskin cap, his suit of blue broadcloth, with its scarlet lining, andloops, and frogs of bullion, had given place to a red flannel jacket, with buttons of black horn, over which he wore a seal-skin shirtcuriously seamed and plaited on the bosom, such as are used by theEsquimaux, and sometimes by the Greenland whale-fishers. Sea-boots ofa formidable size completed his dress, and in his hand he held a largewhaling-knife, which he brandished, as if impatient to employ it in theoperation of _flinching_ the huge animal which lay before them, --thatis, the act of separating its flesh from its bones. Upon closerexamination, however, he was obliged to confess that the sport to whichhe had conducted his friends, however much it corresponded with themagnificent scale of his hospitality, was likely to be attended with itsown peculiar dangers and difficulties. 

The animal, upwards of sixty feet in length, was lying perfectly still, in a deep part of the voe into which it had weltered, and where itseemed to await the return of tide, of which it was probably assured byinstinct. A council of experienced harpooners was instantly called, andit was agreed that an effort should be made to noose the tail of thistorpid leviathan, by casting a cable around it, to be made fast byanchors to the shore, and thus to secure against his escape, in case thetide should make before they were able to dispatch him. Three boats weredestined to this delicate piece of service, one of which the Udallerhimself proposed to command, while Cleveland and Mertoun were to directthe two others. This being decided, they sat down on the strand, waitingwith impatience until the naval part of the force should arrive in thevoe. It was during this interval, that Triptolemus Yellowley, aftermeasuring with his eyes the extraordinary size of the whale, observed, that in his poor mind, "A wain[1] with six owsen, [2] or with sixty owseneither, if they were the owsen of the country, could not drag siccan[3]a huge creature from the water, where it was now lying, to thesea-beach. "

Trifling as this remark may seem to the reader, it was connected with asubject which always fired the blood of the old Udaller, who, glancingupon Triptolemus a quick and stern look, asked him what it signified, supposing a hundred oxen could not drag the whale upon the beach? Mr. Yellowley, though not much liking the tone with which the question wasput, felt that his dignity and his profit compelled him to answer asfollows:--"Nay, sir; you know yourself, Master Magnus Troil, and everyone knows that knows anything, that whales of siccan size as may not bemasterfully dragged on shore by the instrumentality of one wain with sixowsen, are the right and property of the Admiral, who is at this timethe same noble lord who is, moreover, Chamberlain of these isles. "

"And I tell you, Mr. Triptolemus Yellowley, " said the Udaller, "as Iwould tell your master if he were here, that every man who risks hislife to bring that fish ashore, shall have an equal and partition, according to our ancient and lovable Norse custom and wont; nay, ifthere is so much as a woman looking on, that will but touch the cable, she will be partner with us. All shall share that lend a hand, and nevera one else. So you, Master Factor, shall be busy as well as other folk, and think yourself lucky to share like other folk. Jump into that boat"(for the boats had by this time pulled round the headland), "and you, mylads, make way for the factor in the stern-sheets--he shall be the firstman this day that shall strike the fish. "

The three boats destined for this perilous service now approached thedark mass, which lay like an islet in the deepest part of the voe, and suffered them to approach without showing any sign of animation. Silently, and with such precaution as the extreme delicacy of theoperation required, the intrepid adventurers, after the failure of theirfirst attempt, and the expenditure of considerable time, succeeded incasting a cable around the body of the torpid monster, and in carryingthe ends of it ashore, when a hundred hands were instantly employed insecuring them. But ere this was accomplished, the tide began to makefast, and the Udaller informed his assistants that either the fish mustbe killed or at least greatly wounded ere the depth of water on the barwas sufficient to float him; or that he was not unlikely to escape fromtheir joint prowess. 

"Wherefore, " said he, "we must set to work, and the factor shall havethe honour to make the first throw. "

The valiant Triptolemus caught the word; and it is necessary to say thatthe patience of the whale, in suffering himself to be noosed withoutresistance, had abated his terrors, and very much lowered the creaturein his opinion. He protested the fish had no more wit, and scarcely moreactivity, than a black snail; and, influenced by this undue contemptof the adversary, he waited neither for a farther signal, nor a betterweapon, nor a more suitable position, but, rising in his energy, hurledhis graip with all his force against the unfortunate monster. The boatshad not yet retreated from him to the distance necessary to ensuresafety, when this injudicious commencement of the war took place. 

Magnus Troil, who had only jested with the factor, and had reserved thelaunching the first spear against the whale to some much more skilfulhand, had just time to exclaim, "Mind yourselves, lads, or we are allstamped!" when the monster, roused at once from inactivity by the blowof the factor's missile, blew, with a noise resembling the explosion ofa steam-engine, a huge shower of water into the air, and at the sametime began to lash the waves with its tail in every direction. The boatin which Magnus presided received the shower of brine which the animalspouted aloft; and the adventurous Triptolemus, who had a full share ofthe immersion, was so much astonished and terrified by the consequencesof his own valorous deed, that he tumbled backwards amongst the feet ofthe people, who, too busy to attend to him, were actively engaged ingetting the boat into shoal water, out of the whale's reach. Here he layfor some minutes, trampled on by the feet of the boatmen, until they layon their oars to bale, when the Udaller ordered them to pull toshore, and land this spare hand, who had commenced the fishing soinauspiciously. 

While this was doing, the other boats had also pulled off to saferdistance, and now, from these as well as from the shore, the unfortunatenative of the deep was overwhelmed by all kinds of missiles--harpoonsand spears flew against him on all sides--guns were fired, and eachvarious means of annoyance plied which could excite him to exhaust hisstrength in useless rage. When the animal found that he was locked inby shallows on all sides, and became sensible, at the same time, of thestrain of the cable on his body, the convulsive efforts which he made toescape, accompanied with sounds resembling deep and loud groans, wouldhave moved the compassion of all but a practised whale-fisher. Therepeated showers which he spouted into the air began now to be mingledwith blood, and the waves which surrounded him assumed the same crimsonappearance. Meantime the attempts of the assailants were redoubled; butMordaunt Mertoun and Cleveland, in particular, exerted themselves to theuttermost, contending who should display most courage in approaching themonster, so tremendous in its agonies, and should inflict the most deepand deadly wounds upon its huge bulk. 

The contest seemed at last pretty well over; for although the animalcontinued from time to time to make frantic exertions for liberty, yetits strength appeared so much exhausted, that, even with the assistanceof the tide, which had now risen considerably, it was thought it couldscarcely extricate itself. 

Magnus gave the signal to venture nearer to the whale, calling out atthe same time, "Close in, lads, she is not half so mad now--the Factormay look for a winter's oil for the two lamps at Harfra--pull close in, lads. "

Ere his orders could be obeyed, the other two boats had anticipatedhis purpose; and Mordaunt Mertoun, eager to distinguish himself aboveCleveland, had with the whole strength he possessed, plunged a half-pikeinto the body of the animal. But the leviathan, like a nation whoseresources appear totally exhausted by previous losses and calamities, collected his whole remaining force for an effort, which proved at oncedesperate and successful. The wound, last received had probably reachedthrough his external defences of blubber, and attained some verysensitive part of the system; for he roared loud, as he sent to the skya mingled sheet of brine and blood, and snapping the strong cable like atwig, overset Mertoun's boat with a blow of his tail, shot himself, bya mighty effort, over the bar, upon which the tide had now risenconsiderably, and made out to sea, carrying with him a whole grove ofthe implements which had been planted in his body, and leaving behindhim, on the waters, a dark red trace of his course. 

 SCOTT. 

[Notes: [1] Waggon. 

[2] Oxen. 

[3] Such. ]

 * * * * *

 VISION OF BELSHAZZAR. 

 The King was on his throne. The Satraps 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 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 seers are good, But here they have no skill; And the unknown letters stood Untold and awful still. And Babel's men of age Are wise and deep in lore; But now they were not sage, They saw--but knew no more. 

 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!"

 BYRON. 

[Notes: _Belshazzar_, the last king of Babylon, lived probably in the6th century B. C. He was defeated by the Medes and Persians combined. 

_Satraps_. The governors or magistrates of provinces. 

_A thousand cups of gold_, &c. Taken in the captivity of Judah. 

_A captive in the land_ = the Prophet Daniel. ]

 * * * * *

 YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND. 

 Ye mariners of England, That guard our native seas, Whose flag has braved a thousand years The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again, To match another foe! And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; And the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. 

 The spirit of your fathers Shall start from every wave!-- For the deck it was their field of fame, And ocean was their grave; Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. 

 Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below, As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow. While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. 

 The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn; Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean warriors! Your song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow. 

 CAMPBELL. 

[Notes: _Blake_. Robert Blake (1598-1657), an English admiral underCromwell, chiefly distinguished for his victories over the Dutch. ]

 * * * * *

A SHIPWRECK. 

One morning I can remember well, how we watched from the Hartland Cliffsa great barque, which came drifting and rolling in before the westerngale, while we followed her up the coast, parsons and sportsmen, farmersand Preventive men, with the Manby's mortar lumbering behind us in acart, through stone gaps and track-ways, from headland to headland. Themaddening excitement of expectation as she ran wildly towards the cliffsat our feet, and then sheered off again inexplicably;--her foremast andbowsprit, I recollect, were gone short off by the deck; a few rags ofsail fluttered from her main and mizen. But with all straining of eyesand glasses, we could discern no sign of man on board. Well I recollectthe mingled disappointment and admiration of the Preventive men, as afresh set of salvors appeared in view, in the form of a boat's crew ofClovelly fishermen; how we watched breathlessly the little black speckcrawling and struggling up in the teeth of the gale, under the shelterof the land, till, when the ship had rounded a point into smootherwater, she seized on her like some tiny spider on a huge unwieldyfly; and then how one still smaller black speck showed aloft on themain-yard, and another--and then the desperate efforts to get thetopsail set--and how we saw it tear out of their hands again, and again, and again, and almost fancied we could hear the thunder of its flappingsabove the roar of the gale, and the mountains of surf which made therocks ring beneath our feet;--and how we stood silent, shuddering, expecting every moment to see whirled into the sea from the plungingyards one of those same tiny black specks, in each one of which was aliving human soul, with sad women praying for him at home! And then howthey tried to get her head round to the wind, and disappeared instantlyin a cloud of white spray--and let her head fall back again--and jammedit round again, and disappeared again--and at last let her drivehelplessly up the bay, while we kept pace with her along the cliffs; andhow at last, when she had been mastered and fairly taken in tow, and waswithin two miles of the pier, and all hearts were merry with thehopes of a prize which would make them rich, perhaps, for years tocome--one-third, I suppose, of the whole value of her cargo--how shebroke loose from them at the last moment, and rushed frantically in uponthose huge rocks below us, leaping great banks of slate at the blow ofeach breaker, tearing off masses of ironstone which lie there to thisday to tell the tale, till she drove up high and dry against the cliff, and lay, like an enormous stranded whale, grinding and crashing herselfto pieces against the walls of her adamantine cage. And well I recollectthe sad records of the log-book which was left on board the desertedship; how she had been waterlogged for weeks and weeks, buoyed up by hertimber cargo, the crew clinging in the tops, and crawling down, whenthey dared, for putrid biscuit-dust and drops of water, till the waterwas washed overboard and gone; and then notice after notice, "On thisday such an one died, " "On this day such an one was washed away"--thelog kept up to the last, even when there was only that to tell, by thestern business-like merchant skipper, whoever he was; and how at last, when there was neither food nor water, the strong man's heart seemedto have quailed, or perhaps risen, into a prayer, jotted down in thelog--"The Lord have mercy on us!"--and then a blank of several pages, and, scribbled with a famine-shaken hand, "Remember thy Creator in thedays of thy youth;"--and so the log and the ship were left to the rats, which covered the deck when our men boarded her. And well I rememberthe last act of that tragedy; for a ship has really, as sailors feel, a personality, almost a life and soul of her own; and as long as hertimbers hold together, all is not over. You can hardly call her acorpse, though the human beings who inhabited her, and were her soul, may have fled into the far eternities; and so we felt that night, as wecame down along the woodland road, with the north-west wind hurling deadbranches and showers of crisp oak-leaves about our heads; till suddenly, as we staggered out of the wood, we came upon such a picture as it wouldhave baffled Correggio, or Rembrandt himself, to imitate. Under awall was a long tent of sails and spars, filled with Preventive men, fishermen, Lloyd's underwriters, lying about in every variety of strangeattitude and costume; while candles, stuck in bayonet-handles in thewall, poured out a wild glare over shaggy faces and glittering weapons, and piles of timber, and rusty iron cable, that glowed red-hot in thelight, and then streamed up the glen towards us through the salt mistyair in long fans of light, sending fiery bars over the brown transparentoak foliage and the sad beds of withered autumn flowers, and glorifyingthe wild flakes of foam, as they rushed across the light-stream, intotroops of tiny silver angels, that vanished into the night and hidthemselves among the woods from the fierce spirit of the storm. Andthen, just where the glare of the lights and watch-fires was mostbrilliant, there too the black shadows of the cliff had placed the pointof intensest darkness, lightening gradually upwards right and left, between the two great jaws of the glen, into a chaos of grey mist, wherethe eye could discern no form of sea or cloud, but a perpetual shiftingand quivering as if the whole atmosphere was writhing with agony in theclutches of the wind. 

The ship was breaking up; and we sat by her like hopeless physicians bya deathbed-side, to watch the last struggle, --and "the effects of thedeceased. " I recollect our literally warping ourselves down to thebeach, holding on by rocks and posts. There was a saddened awe-strucksilence, even upon the gentleman from Lloyd's with the pen behind hisear. A sudden turn of the clouds let in a wild gleam of moonshine uponthe white leaping heads of the breakers, and on the pyramid of theBlack-church Rock, which stands in summer in such calm grandeur gazingdown on the smiling bay, with the white sand of Braunton and the redcliffs of Portledge shining through its two vast arches; and against aslab of rock on the right, for years afterwards discoloured with herpaint, lay the ship, rising slowly on every surge, to drop again witha piteous crash as the wave fell back from the cliff, and dragged theroaring pebbles back with it under the coming wall of foam. You haveheard of ships at the last moment crying aloud like living things inagony? I heard it then, as the stumps of her masts rocked and reeled inher, and every plank and joint strained and screamed with the dreadfultension. 

A horrible image--a human being shrieking on the rack; rose up beforeme at those strange semi-human cries, and would not be put away--and Itried to turn, and yet my eyes were riveted on the black mass, whichseemed vainly to implore the help of man against the stern ministers ofthe Omnipotent. 

Still she seemed to linger in the death-struggle, and we turned at lastaway; when, lo! a wave, huger than all before it, rushed up the boulderstowards us. We had just time to save ourselves. A dull, thunderousgroan, as if a mountain had collapsed, rose above the roar of thetempest; and we all turned with an instinctive knowledge of what hadhappened, just in time to see the huge mass melt away into the boilingwhite, and vanish for evermore. And then the very raving of the windseemed hushed with awe; the very breakers plunged more silently towardsthe shore, with something of a sullen compunction; and as we stood andstrained our eyes into the gloom, one black plank after another crawledup out of the darkness upon the head of the coming surge, and threwitself at our feet like the corpse of a drowning man, too spent tostruggle more. 

 CHARLES KINGSLEY. 

 * * * * *

 A SHIPWRECK. 

 Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell, -- Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave, -- Then some leaped overboard with dreadful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave; And the sea yawned around her like a hell, And down she sucked with her the whirling wave, Like one who grapples with his enemy, And strives to strangle him before he die. 

 And first one universal shriek there rushed, Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash Of echoing thunder; and then all was hushed, Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash Of billows; but at intervals there gushed, Accompanied with a convulsive splash, A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony. 

 BYRON. 

 * * * * *

 THE HAPPY WARRIOR. 

 Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he That every man in arms should wish to be? --It is the generous Spirit, who when brought Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought: Whose high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright: Who, with a natural instinct to discern What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn: Abides by this resolve, and stops not there, But makes his moral being his prime care; Who, doomed to go in company with Pain, And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train! Turns his necessity to glorious gain; In face of these doth exercise a power Which is our human nature's highest dower; Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives: By objects, which might force the soul to abate Her feeling, rendered more compassionate; Is placable--because occasions rise So often that demand such sacrifice; More skilful in self knowledge, even more pure, As tempted more; more able to endure, As more exposed to suffering and distress; Thence, also, more alive to tenderness. --Tis he whose law is reason; who depends Upon that law as on the best of friends; Whence, in a state where men are tempted still To evil for a guard against worse ill, And what in quality or act is best Doth seldom on a right foundation rest, He labours good on good to fix, and owes To virtue every triumph that he knows: --Who, if he rise to station of command, Rises by open means; and there will stand On honourable terms, or else retire, And in himself possess his own desire; Who comprehends his trust, and to the same Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim; And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state: Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall, Like showers of manna, if they come at all; Whose powers shed round him in the common strife, Or mild concerns of ordinary life, A constant influence, a peculiar grace; But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for human kind, Is happy as a Lover; and attired With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired; And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw: Or if an unexpected call succeed, Come when it will, is equal to the need: --He who, though thus endued as with a sense And faculty for storm and turbulence, Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes; Sweet images! which, wheresoe'er he be, Are at his heart; and such fidelity It is his darling passion to approve; More brave for this, that he hath much to love:-- 'Tis, finally, the Man, who, lifted, high, Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye, Or left unthought of in obscurity, -- Who, with a toward or untoward lot, Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not-- Plays, in the many games of life, that one Where what he most doth value must be won: Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray; Who not content that former worth stand fast, Looks forward, persevering to the last, From well to better, daily self-surpassed: Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth For ever, and to noble deeds give birth, Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame, And leave a dead unprofitable name-- Finds comfort in himself and in his cause; And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause: This is the happy Warrior; this is he That every Man in arms should wish to be. 

 Wordsworth. 

[Notes: _Turns his necessity to glorious gain_. Turns the necessitywhich lies on him of fellowship with pain, and fear, and bloodshed, intoglorious gain. 

_More skilful in self knowledge, even more pure, as tempted more_. "His self-knowledge and his purity are all the greater because of thetemptations he has had to withstand. "

_Whose law is reason_ = whose every action is obedient to reason. 

_In himself possess his own desire_. According to Aristotle, virtuousactivity is the highest reward the good man can attain; virtue has noend beyond action; according to the modern proverb, "Virtue is its ownreward. "

_More brave for this, that he hath much to love_. Here also Wordsworthfollows Aristotle in his description of the virtue of manliness. Thegood man, according to Aristotle, is most brave of all in encountering"the awful moment of great issues, " in that he has the most to lose bydeath. 

_Not content that former worth stand fast_. Not content to rest on thefoundation of accomplished good and worthy deeds, solid though it be. 

_Finds comfort in himself_. Compare: "In himself possess his owndesire. "]

 * * * * *

THE BLACK PRINCE. 

He was the first great English captain, who showed what English soldierswere, and what they could do against Frenchmen, and against all theworld. He was the first English Prince who showed what it was to be atrue gentleman. He was the first, but he was not the last. We have seenhow, when he died, Englishmen thought that all their hopes had died withhim. But we know that it was not so; we know that the life of a greatnation is not bound up in the life of a single man; we know that thevalour and the courtesy and the chivalry of England are not buried inthe grave of the Plantagenet Prince. It needs only a glance round thecountry, to see that the high character of an English gentleman, ofwhich the Black Prince was the noble pattern, is still to be foundeverywhere; and has since his time been spreading itself more and morethrough classes, which in his time seemed incapable of reaching it. Itneeds only a glance down the names of our own Cathedral (of Canterbury);and the tablets on the walls, with their tattered flags, will tell youin a moment that he, as he lies up there aloft, with his head resting onhis helmet, and his spurs on his feet, is but the first of a longline of English heroes--that the brave men who fought at Sobraon andFeroozeshah are the true descendants of those who fought at Cressy andPoitiers. 

And not to soldiers only, but to all who are engaged in the long warfareof life, is his conduct an example. To unite in our lives the twoqualities expressed in his motto, "High spirit" and "reverent service, "is to be, indeed, not only a true gentleman and a true soldier, but atrue Christian also. To show to all who differ from us, not only in warbut in peace, that delicate forbearance, that fear of hurting another'sfeelings, that happy art of saying the right thing to the right person, which he showed to the captive king, would indeed add a grace and acharm to the whole course of this troublesome world, such as none canafford to lose, whether high or low. Happy are they, who having thisgift by birth and station, use it for its highest purposes; still morehappy are they, who having it not by birth and station, have acquiredit, as it may be acquired, by Christian gentleness and Christiancharity. 

And, lastly, to act in all the various difficulties of our every-daylife, with that coolness, and calmness, and faith in a higher power thanhis own, which he showed when the appalling danger of his situationburst upon him at Poitiers, would smooth a hundred difficulties, andensure a hundred victories. We often think that we have no power inourselves, no advantages of position, to help us against our manytemptations, to overcome the many obstacles we encounter. Let us takeour stand by the Black Prince's tomb, and go back once more in thoughtto the distant fields of France. A slight rise in the wild upland plain, a steep lane through vineyards and underwood, this was all that he had, humanly speaking, on his side; but he turned it to the utmost use ofwhich it could be made, and won the most glorious of battles. So, inlike manner, our advantages may be slight--hardly perceptible to anybut ourselves--let us turn them to account, and the results will be ahundredfold; we have only to adopt the Black Prince's bold and cheeringwords, when first he saw his enemies, "God is my help. I must fight themas best I can;" adding that lofty, yet resigned and humble prayer, whichhe uttered when the battle was announced to be inevitable, and which hassince become a proverb, "God defend the right. "

 DEAN STANLEY'S _Memorials of Canterbury_. 

[Notes: _The Black Prince_. Edward, the son of Edward III, and father ofRichard II. He not only won for the English the renown of conquest, butbefriended the early efforts after liberty. His untimely death plungedEngland into the evils of a long minority under his son. The one stainon his name is his massacre of the townsfolk of Limoges. 

"_Reverent service_, " or "I serve" (Ich dien), the motto adopted by theBlack Prince from the King of Bohemia, his defeated foe. 

_Poitiers_. His victory won over the French king, John, whom he tookprisoner (1356). ]

 * * * * *

THE ASSEMBLY OF URI. 

Let me ask you to follow me in spirit to the very home and birth-placeof freedom, to the land where we need not myth or fable to add aught tothe fresh and gladdening feeling with which we for the first time treadthe soil and drink the air of the immemorial democracy of Uri. It is oneof the opening days of May: it is the morning of Sunday; for men thendeem that the better the day the better the deed; they deem that theCreator cannot be more truly honoured than in using, in His fear and inHis presence, the highest of the gifts which He has bestowed on man. Butdeem not that, because the day of Christian worship is chosen for thegreat yearly assembly of a Christian commonwealth, the more directsacred duties of the day are forgotten. Before we, in our luxuriousisland, have lifted ourselves from our beds, the men of the mountains, Catholic and Protestant alike, have already paid the morning's worshipin God's temple. They have heard the mass of the priest, or they havelistened to the sermon of the pastor, before some of us have awakenedto the fact that the morn of the holy day has come. And when I saw menthronging the crowded church, or kneeling, for want of space within, on the bare ground beside the open door, and when I saw them marchingthence to do the highest duties of men and citizens, I could hardlyforbear thinking of the saying of Holy Writ, that "Where the Spirit ofthe Lord is, there is liberty. " From the market-place of Altdorf, thelittle capital of the Canton, the procession makes its way to the placeof meeting at Bozlingen. First marches the little army of the Canton, anarmy whose weapons can never be used save to drive back an invader fromtheir land. Over their heads floats the banner, the bull's head ofUri, the ensign which led men to victory on the fields of Sempach andMorgarten. And before them all, on the shoulders of men clad in a garbof ages past, are borne the famous horns, the spoils of the wild bullof ancient days, the very horns whose blast struck such dread into thefearless heart of Charles of Burgundy. Then, with their lictors beforethem, come the magistrates of the commonwealth on horseback, the chiefmagistrate, the Landammann, with his sword by his side. The peoplefollow the chiefs whom they have chosen to the place of meeting, acircle in a green meadow with a pine forest rising above their heads anda mighty spur of the mountain range facing them on the other side of thevalley. The multitude of the freemen take their seats around the chiefruler of the commonwealth, whose term of office comes that day to anend. The Assembly opens; a short space is first given to prayer, silentprayer offered up by each man in the temple of God's own rearing. Thencomes the business of the day. If changes in the law are demanded, theyare then laid before the vote of the Assembly, in which each citizenof full age has an equal vote and an equal right of speech. The yearlymagistrates have now discharged all their duties; their term of officeis at an end, the trust which has been placed in their hands falls backinto the hands of those by whom it was given, into the hands of thesovereign people. The chief of the commonwealth, now such no longer, leaves his seat of office, and takes his place as a simple citizen inthe ranks of his fellows. It rests with the freewill of the Assembly tocall him back to his chair of office, or to set another there in hisstead. Men who have neither looked into the history of the past, nor yettroubled themselves to learn what happens year by year in their ownage, are fond of declaiming against the caprice and ingratitude of thepeople, and of telling us that under a democratic government neither mennor measures can remain for an hour unchanged. The witness alike of thepresent and of the past is an answer to baseless theories like these. The spirit which made democratic Athens year by year bestow her highestoffices on the patrician Periklês and the reactionary Phôkiôn, stilllives in the democracies of Switzerland. The ministers of kings, whetherdespotic or constitutional, may vainly envy the sure tenure of officewhich falls to the lot of those who are chosen to rule by the voice ofthe people. Alike in the whole Confederation and in the single Canton, re-election is the rule; the rejection of the outgoing magistrate is therare exception. The Landammann of Uri, whom his countrymen haveraised to the seat of honour, and who has done nothing to lose theirconfidence, need not fear that when he has gone to the place ofmeeting in the pomp of office, his place in the march homeward will betransferred to another against his will. 

 E. A. FREEMAN. 

[Notes: _Uri. _ A Swiss canton which, early in the 14th century, unitedwith Unterwalden and Schwytz to form the Swiss Confederation. 

_Sempach_ (1386) _and Morgarten_ (1315), both great victories won by theSwiss over the Austrians. 

----_Charles the Bold of Burgundy_ was defeated by the Swiss in 1476 atMorat. 

_ Periklês_. A great orator and statesman, who, in the middle of the 5thcentury, B. C. , guided the policy of Athens, and made her the centre ofliterature, philosophy, and art. 

_ Phôkiôn _. An Athenian statesman of the 4th century B. C. , who opposedDemosthenes in his efforts to resist Philip of Macedon. His reactionarypolicy was atoned for by the uprightness of his character. ]

 * * * * *

 LIBERTY. 

 'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume; And we are weeds without it. All constraint, Except what wisdom lays on evil men, Is evil: hurts the faculties, impedes Their progress in the road of science: blinds The eyesight of Discovery; and begets, In those that suffer it, a sordid mind Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit To be the tenant of man's noble form. Thee therefore still, blameworthy as thou art, With all thy loss of empire, and though squeez'd By public exigence, till annual food Fails for the craving hunger of the state, Thee I account still happy, and the chief Among the nations, seeing thou art free, My native nook of earth! Thy clime is rude, Replete with vapours, and disposes much All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine: Thine unadult'rate manners are less soft And plausible than social life requires, And thou hast need of discipline and art, To give thee what politer France receives From nature's bounty--that humane address And sweetness, without which no pleasure is In converse, either starv'd by cold reserve, Or flush'd with fierce dispute, a senseless brawl-- Yet being free, I love thee; for the sake Of that one feature can be well content, Disgrac'd as thou hast been, poor as thou art, To seek no sublunary rest beside. But, once enslav'd, farewell! I could endure Chains nowhere patiently; and chains at home, Where I am free by birthright, not at all. Then what were left of roughness in the grain Of British natures, wanting its excuse That it belongs to freemen, would disgust And shock me. I should then with double pain Feel all the rigour of thy fickle clime; And, if I must bewail the blessing lost, For which our Hampdens and our Sydneys bled, I would at least bewail it under skies Milder, among a people less austere; In scenes, which, having never known me free, Would not reproach me with the loss I felt. Do I forebode impossible events, And tremble at vain dreams? Heaven grant I may! But the age of virtuous politics is past, And we are deep in that of cold pretence. Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere, And we too wise to trust them. He that takes Deep in his soft credulity the stamp Design'd by loud declaimers on the part Of liberty, themselves the slaves of lust, Incurs derision for his easy faith, And lack of knowledge, and with cause enough: For when was public virtue to be found, Where private was not? Can he love the whole, Who loves no part? He be a nation's friend, Who is in truth the friend of no man there? Can he be strenuous in his country's cause, Who slights the charities, for whose dear sake That country, if at all, must be beloved?

 Cowper. 

[Notes: _Hampden_--_Sydney_. (See previous note on them)

_He that takes deep in his soft credulity, &c. , i. E. , _ he thatcredulously takes in the impression which demagogues, who claim to speakon behalf of liberty, intend that he should take. 

_Delude_. A violent torrent, displacing earth in its course. 

_Strid_. A yawning chasm between rocks. 

_The Battle of Culloden_ (1746) closed the Jacobite rebellion of 1745 bythe defeat of the Highlanders, and with it the last hopes of the Stuartcause. The Duke of Cumberland was the leader of the Hanoverian army. ]

 * * * * *

MY WINTER GARDEN. 

No one is less inclined to depreciate that magnificent winter-gardenat the Crystal Palace: yet let me, if I choose, prefer my own; I arguethat, in the first place, it is far larger. You may drive, I hear, through the grand one at Chatsworth for a quarter of a mile. You mayride through mine for fifteen miles on end. I prefer, too, to any glassroof which Sir Joseph Paxton ever planned, that dome above my head somethree miles high, of soft dappled grey and yellow cloud, through thevast lattice-work whereof the blue sky peeps, and sheds down tendergleams on yellow bogs, and softly rounded heather knolls, and pale chalkranges gleaming far away. But, above all, I glory in my evergreens. Whatwinter-garden can compare for them with mine? True, I have but fourkinds--Scotch fir, holly, furze, and the heath; and by way of relief tothem, only brows of brown fern, sheets of yellow bog-grass, and here andthere a leafless birch, whose purple tresses are even more lovely to myeye than those fragrant green ones which she puts on in spring. Well: inpainting as in music, what effects are more grand than those producedby the scientific combination, in endless new variety, of a few simpleelements? Enough for me is the one purple birch; the bright holliesround its stem sparkling with scarlet beads; the furze-patch, rich withits lacework of interwoven light and shade, tipped here and there with agolden bud; the deep soft heather carpet, which invites you to lie downand dream for hours; and behind all, the wall of red fir-stems, and thedark fir-roof with its jagged edges a mile long, against the soft greysky. 

An ugly, straight-edged, monotonous fir-plantation? Well, I like it, outside and inside. I need no saw-edge of mountain peaks to stir upmy imagination with the sense of the sublime, while I can watch thesaw-edge of those fir peaks against the red sunset. They are my Alps;little ones, it may be: but after all, as I asked before, what is size?A phantom of our brain; an optical delusion. Grandeur, if you willconsider wisely, consists in form, and not in size: and to the eye ofthe philosopher, the curve drawn on a paper two inches long, is just asmagnificent, just as symbolic of divine mysteries and melodies, as whenembodied in the span of some cathedral roof. Have you eyes to see? Thenlie down on the grass, and look near enough to see something more ofwhat is to be seen; and you will find tropic jungles in every squarefoot of turf; mountain cliffs and debacles at the mouth of every rabbitburrow: dark strids, tremendous cataracts, "deep glooms and suddenglories, " in every foot-broad rill which wanders through the turf. Allis there for you to see, if you will but rid yourself of "that idol ofspace;" and Nature, as everyone will tell you who has seen dissected aninsect under the microscope, is as grand and graceful in her smallest asin her hugest forms. 

The March breeze is chilly: but I can be always warm if I like in mywinter-garden. I turn my horse's head to the red wall of fir-stems, andleap over the furze-grown bank into my cathedral, wherein if there beno saints, there are likewise no priestcraft and no idols; but endlessvistas of smooth red green-veined shafts holding up the warm dark roof, lessening away into endless gloom, paved with rich brown fir-needle--acarpet at which Nature has been at work for forty years. Red shafts, green roof, and here and there a pane of blue sky--neither Owen Jonesnor Willement can improve upon that ecclesiastical ornamentation, --whilefor incense I have the fresh healthy turpentine fragrance, far sweeterto my nostrils than the stifling narcotic odour which fills a RomanCatholic cathedral. There is not a breath of air within: but the breezesighs over the roof above in a soft whisper. I shut my eyes and listen. Surely that is the murmur of the summer sea upon the summer sands inDevon far away. I hear the innumerable wavelets spend themselves gentlyupon the shore, and die away to rise again. And with the innumerablewave-sighs come innumerable memories, and faces which I shall never seeagain upon this earth. I will not tell even you of that, old friend. Ithas two notes, two keys rather, that Eolian-harp of fir-needles abovemy head; according as the wind is east or west, the needles dry or wet. This easterly key of to-day is shriller, more cheerful, warmer in sound, though the day itself be colder: but grander still, as well as softer, is the sad soughing key in which the south-west wind roars on, rain-laden, over the forest, and calls me forth--being a minutephilosopher--to catch trout in the nearest chalk-stream. 

The breeze is gone a while; and I am in perfect silence--a silence whichmay be heard. Not a sound; and not a moving object; absolutely none. Theabsence of animal life is solemn, startling. That ring-dove, who wascooing half a mile away, has hushed his moan; that flock of long-tailedtitmice, which were twinging and pecking about the fir-cones a fewminutes since, are gone: and now there is not even a gnat to quiver inthe slant sun-rays. Did a spider run over these dead leaves, I almostfancy I could hear his footfall. The creaking of the saddle, the softstep of the mare upon the fir-needles, jar my ears. I seem alone in adead world. A dead world: and yet so full of life, if I had eyes tosee! Above my head every fir-needle is breathing--breathing forever; currents unnumbered circulate in every bough, quickened by someundiscovered miracle; around me every fir-stem is distilling strangejuices, which no laboratory of man can make; and where my dull eye seesonly death, the eye of God sees boundless life and motion, health anduse. 

 CHARLES KINGSLEY. 

 * * * * *

ASPECTS OF NORTHERN AND SOUTHERN COUNTRIES. 

The charts of the world which have been drawn up by modern science havethrown into a narrow space the expression of a vast amount of knowledge, but I have never yet seen any pictorial enough to enable the spectatorto imagine the kind of contrast in physical character which existsbetween northern and southern countries. We know the differences indetail, but we have not that broad glance or grasp which would enable usto feel them in their fulness. We know that gentians grow on the Alps, and olives on the Apennines; but we do not enough conceive for ourselvesthat variegated mosaic of the world's surface which a bird sees in itsmigration, that difference between the district of the gentian and ofthe olive which the stork and the swallow see far off, as they lean uponthe sirocco wind. Let us, for a moment, try to raise ourselves evenabove the level of their flight, and imagine the Mediterranean lyingbeneath us like an irregular lake, and all its ancient promontoriessleeping in the sun; here and there an angry spot of thunder, a greystain of storm, moving upon the burning field; and here and there afixed wreath of white volcano smoke, surrounded by its circle of ashes;but for the most part a great peacefulness of light, Syria and Greece, Italy and Spain, laid like pieces of a golden pavement into thesea-blue, chased, as we stoop nearer to them, with bossy beaten work ofmountain chains, and glowing softly with terraced gardens, and flowersheavy with frankincense, mixed among masses of laurel and orange, andplumy palm, that abate with their grey-green shadows the burning of themarble rocks, and of the ledges of the porphyry sloping under lucentsand. Then let us pass farther towards the north, until we see theorient colours change gradually into a vast belt of rainy green, wherethe pastures of Switzerland, and poplar valleys of France, and darkforests of the Danube and Carpathians stretch from the mouths of theLoire to those of the Volga, seen through clefts in grey swirls ofrain-cloud and flaky veils of the mist of the brooks, spreading lowalong the pasture lands; and then, farther north still, to see the earthheave into mighty masses of leaden rock and heathy moor, borderingwith a broad waste of gloomy purple that belt of field and wood, andsplintering into irregular and grisly islands amidst the northern seasbeaten by storm, and chilled by ice-drift, and tormented by furiouspulses of contending tide, until the roots of the last forests fail fromamong the hill ravines, and the hunger of the north wind bites theirpeaks into barrenness; and, at last, the wall of ice, durable like iron, sets, death-like, its white teeth against us out of the polar twilight. And, having once traversed in thought this gradation of the zoned irisof the earth in all its material vastness, let us go down nearer to it, and watch the parallel change in the belt of animal life: the multitudesof swift and brilliant creatures that glance in the air and sea, ortread the sands of the southern zone; striped zebras and spottedleopards, glistening serpents, and birds arrayed in purple and scarlet. Let us contrast their delicacy and brilliancy of colour, and swiftnessof motion, with the frost-cramped strength, and shaggy covering, anddusky plumage of the northern tribes; contrast the Arabian horse withthe Shetland, the tiger and leopard with the wolf and bear, theantelope with the elk, the bird of Paradise with the osprey; and then, submissively acknowledging the great laws by which the earth and allthat it bears are ruled throughout their being, let us not condemn, butrejoice in the expression by man of his own rest in the statues of thelands that gave him birth. Let us watch him with reverence as he setsside by side the burning gems, and smooths with soft sculpture thejasper pillars that are to reflect a ceaseless sunshine, and rise intoa cloudless sky; but not with less reverence let us stand by him, when, with rough strength and hurried stroke, he smites an uncouth animationout of the rocks which he has torn from among the moss of the moor-land, and heaves into the darkened air the pile of iron buttress and ruggedwall, instinct with work of an imagination as wild and wayward as thenorthern sea; creations of ungainly shape and rigid limb, but full ofwolfish life; fierce as the winds that beat, and changeful as the cloudsthat shade them. 

 JOHN RUSKIN. 

 * * * * *

 THE TROSACHS. 

 The western waves of ebbing day Rolled o'er the glen their level way; Each purple peak, each flinty spire, Was bathed in floods of living fire. But not a setting beam could glow Within the dark ravines below, Where twined the path, in shadow hid, Bound many a rocky pyramid, Shooting abruptly from the dell Its thunder-splintered pinnacle; Bound many an insulated mass, The native bulwarks of the pass, Huge as the tower which builders vain Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain. The rocky summits, split and rent, Formed turret, dome, or battlement. Or seemed fantastically set With cupola or minaret, Wild crests as pagod ever decked, Or mosque of eastern architect. Nor were these earth-born castles bare, Nor lacked they many a banner fair; For, from their shivered brows displayed, Far o'er the unfathomable glade, All twinkling with the dew-drop's sheen, The briar-rose fell in streamers green, And creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes, Waved in the west wind's summer sighs. 

 Boon nature scattered, free and wild, Each plant or flower, the mountain's child. Here eglantine embalmed the air, Hawthorn and hazel mingled there; The primrose pale and violet flower, Found in each cliff a narrow bower; Foxglove and nightshade, side by side, Emblems of punishment and pride, Grouped their dark hues with every stain, The weather-beaten crags retain. With boughs that quaked at every breath, Grey birch and aspen wept beneath; Aloft the ash and warrior oak Cast anchor in the rifted rock; And higher yet the pine tree hung His shatter'd trunk, and frequent flung, Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high, His boughs athwart the narrowed sky Highest of all, where white peaks glanced, Where glistening streamers waved and danced, The wanderer's eye could barely view The summer heaven's delicious blue; So wondrous wild, the whole might seem The scenery of a fairy dream. Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep A narrow inlet still and deep, Affording scarce such breadth of brim, As served the wild duck's brood to swim; Lost for a space, through thickets veering, But broader when again appearing, Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face Could on the dark blue mirror trace; And farther as the hunter stray'd, Still broader sweep its channels made. The shaggy mounds no longer stood, Emerging from entangled wood, But, wave-encircled, seemed to float, Like castle girdled with its moat; Yet broader floods extending still, Divide them from their parent hill, Till each, retiring, claims to be An islet in an inland sea. 

 And now, to issue from the glen, No pathway meets the wanderer's ken, Unless he climb, with footing nice, A far projecting precipice. The broom's tough roots his ladder made, The hazel saplings lent their aid; And thus an airy point he won. Where, gleaming with the setting sun, One burnish'd sheet of living gold, Loch-Katrine lay beneath him rolled; In all her length far winding lay, With promontory, creek, and bay, And islands that, empurpled bright, Floated amid the livelier light; And mountains, that like giants stand, To sentinel enchanted land. High on the south, huge Benvenue Down to the lake in masses threw Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurled, The fragments of an earlier world; A wildering forest feathered o'er His ruined sides and summit hoar. While on the north, through middle air, Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare. 

 SCOTT. 

 * * * * *

 LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 

 _Seer_. Lochiel! Lochiel! beware of the day When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array! For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight; They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown; Wo, wo to the riders that trample them down! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 'Tis thine, O Glenullin! whose bride shall await, Like a love-lighted watchfire, all night at the gate. A steed comes at morning; no rider is there; But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. Weep, Albyn, to death and captivity led! O weep, but thy tears cannot number the dead; For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, Culloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave. 

 _Lochiel_. Go preach to the coward, thou death- telling seer! Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 

 _Seer_. Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn! Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth From his home, in the dark-rolling clouds of the north? Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad; But down let him stoop from his havoc on high! Ah! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh. Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? 'Tis the fire shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyrie that beacons the darkness of heaven. Oh, crested Lochiel! the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn: Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return! For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood. 

 _Lochiel_. False wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled my clan-- Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one! They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock! Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock! But we to his kindred, and we to his cause, When Albyn her claymore indignantly draws; When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud; All plaided and plumed in their tartan array----

 _Seer_. ----Lochiel! Lochiel! beware of the day! For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, But man cannot cover what God would reveal. 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring, With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king. Lo! anointed by heaven with the vials of wrath, Behold, where he flies on his desolate path! Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight; Rise! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight!-- 'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors; Culloden is lost, and my country deplores. But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where? For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn, Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn? Ah, no! for a darker departure is near, -- The war drum is muffled, and black is the bier; His death bell is tolling! Oh, mercy! dispel Yon sight that it freezes my spirit to tell! Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs, And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims; Accursed be the faggots that blaze at his feet, Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat, With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale----

 _Lochiel_. Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale: For never shall Albyn a destiny meet So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat. Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore, Like ocean weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe! And leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame. 

 CAMPBELL. 

[Note: _Life flutters convulsed &c. _ Describes the barbarous death whichawaited the traitor according to the statute book of England, as it thenstood. This was the penalty dealt to the rebels of 1745. ]

 * * * * *

COLUMBUS IN SIGHT OF LAND. 

For three days they stood in this direction, and the further they wentthe more frequent and encouraging were the signs of land. Flights ofsmall birds of various colours, some of them such as sing in the fields, came flying about the ships, and then continued towards the south-west, and others were heard also flying by in the night. Tunny fish playedabout the smooth sea, and a heron, a pelican, and a duck, were seen, allbound in the same direction. The herbage which floated by was fresh andgreen, as if recently from land, and the air, Columbus observes, wassweet and fragrant as April breezes in Seville. 

All these, however, were regarded by the crews as so many delusionsbeguiling them on to destruction; and when, on the evening of the thirdday, they beheld the sun go down upon a shoreless horizon, they brokeforth into turbulent clamour. They exclaimed against this obstinacy intempting fate by continuing on into a boundless sea. They insistedupon turning home, and abandoning the voyage as hopeless. Columbusendeavoured to pacify them by gentle words and promises of largerewards; but finding that they only increased in clamour, he assumed adecided tone. He told them it was useless to murmur; the expedition hadbeen sent by the sovereigns to seek the Indies, and, happen what might, he was determined to persevere, until, by the blessing of God, he shouldaccomplish the enterprise. 

Columbus was now at open defiance with his crew, and his situationbecame desperate. Fortunately the manifestations of the vicinity of landwere such on the following day as no longer to admit a doubt. Beside aquantity of fresh weeds, such as grow in rivers, they saw a green fishof a kind which keeps about rocks; then a branch of thorn with berrieson it, and recently separated from the tree, floated by them; then theypicked up a reed, a small board, and, above all, a staff artificiallycarved. All gloom and mutiny now gave way to sanguine expectation; andthroughout the day each one was eagerly on the watch, in hopes of beingthe first to discover the long-sought-for land. 

In the evening, when, according to invariable custom on board of theadmiral's ship, the mariners had sung the vesper hymn to the Virgin, hemade an impressive address to his crew. He pointed out the goodnessof God in thus conducting them by soft and favouring breezes acrossa tranquil ocean, cheering their hopes continually with fresh signs, increasing as their fears augmented, and thus leading and guiding themto a promised land. He now reminded them of the orders he had givenon leaving the Canaries, that, after sailing westward seven hundredleagues, they should not make sail after midnight. Present appearancesauthorized such a precaution. He thought it probable they would makeland that very night; he ordered, therefore, a vigilant look-out tobe kept from the forecastle, promising to whomsoever should make thediscovery a doublet of velvet, in addition to the pension to be given bythe sovereigns. 

The breeze had been fresh all day, with more sea than usual, and theyhad made great progress. At sunset they had stood again to the west, andwere ploughing the waves at a rapid rate, the Pinta keeping the leadfrom her superior sailing. The greatest animation prevailed throughoutthe ships; not an eye was closed that night. As the evening darkened, Columbus took his station on the top of the castle or cabin on thehigh poop of his vessel, ranging his eye along the dusky horizon, andmaintaining an intense and unremitting watch. About ten o'clock hethought he beheld a light glimmering at a great distance. Fearing hiseager hopes might deceive him, he called to Pedro Gutierrez, gentlemanof the king's bedchamber, and inquired whether he saw such a light: thelatter replied in the affirmative. Doubtful whether it might not be somedelusion of the fancy, Columbus called Rodrigo Sanchez of Segovia, and made the same inquiry. By the time the latter had ascended theround-house, the light had disappeared. They saw it once or twiceafterwards in sudden and passing gleams, as if it were a torch in thebark of a fisherman, rising and sinking with the waves, or in the handof some person on shore, borne up and down as he walked from house tohouse. So transient and uncertain were these gleams, that few attachedany importance to them; Columbus, however, considered them as certainsigns of land, and, moreover, that the land was inhabited. 

They continued their course until two in the morning, when a gun fromthe Pinta gave the joyful signal of land. It was first descried by amariner named Rodrigo de Triana; but the reward was afterwards adjudgedto the admiral, for having previously perceived the light. The land wasnow clearly seen about two leagues distant, whereupon they took in sail, and laid to, waiting impatiently for the dawn. 

The thoughts and feelings of Columbus in this little space of timemust have been tumultuous and intense. At length, in spite of everydifficulty and danger, he had accomplished his object. The great mysteryof the ocean was revealed; his theory, which had been the scoff ofsages, was triumphantly established; he had secured to himself a glorydurable as the world itself. 

It is difficult to conceive the feelings of such a man, at such amoment, or the conjectures which must have thronged upon his mind, asto the land before him, covered with darkness. That it was fruitful wasevident from the vegetables which floated from its shores. He thought, too, that he perceived the fragrance of aromatic groves. The movinglight he had beheld proved it the residence of man. But what were itsinhabitants? Were they like those of the other parts of the globe, orwere they some strange and monstrous race, such as the imagination wasprone in those times to give to all remote and unknown regions? Had hecome upon some wild island far in the Indian Sea, or was this thefamed Cipango itself, the object of his golden fancies? A thousandspeculations of the kind must have swarmed upon him, as, with hisanxious crews, he waited for the night to pass away; wondering whetherthe morning light would reveal a savage wilderness, or dawn upon spicygroves, and glittering fanes, and gilded cities, and all the splendourof oriental civilization. 

It was on Friday morning, the 12th of October, that Columbus firstbeheld the New World. As the day dawned he saw before him a levelisland, several leagues in extent, and covered with trees like acontinual orchard. Though apparently uncultivated, it was populous, for the inhabitants were seen issuing from all parts of the woods andrunning to the shore. They were perfectly naked, and, as they stoodgazing at the ships, appeared by their attitudes and gestures to be lostin astonishment. Columbus made signal for the ships to cast anchor, and the boats to be manned and armed. He entered his own boat, richlyattired in scarlet, and holding the royal standard; whilst Martin AlonzoPinzon, and Vincent Yañez his brother, put off in company in theirboats, each with a banner of the enterprize emblazoned with a greencross, having on either side the letters F. And Y. , the initials of theCastilian monarchs Fernando and Ysabel, surmounted by crowns. 

As he approached the shore, Columbus, who was disposed for all kinds ofagreeable impressions, was delighted with the purity and suavity of theatmosphere, the crystal transparency of the sea, and the extraordinarybeauty of the vegetation. He beheld, also, fruits of an unknown kindupon the trees which overhung the shores. On landing he threw himself onhis knees, kissed the earth, and returned thanks to God with tearsof joy. His example was followed by the rest, whose hearts indeedoverflowed with the same feelings of gratitude, Columbus then rising, drew his sword, displayed the royal standard, and assembling round himthe two captains, with Rodrigo de Escobedo, notary of the armament, Rodrigo Sanchez, and the rest who had landed, he took solemn possessionin the name of the Castilian sovereigns, giving the island the name ofSan Salvador. Having complied with the requisite forms and ceremonies, he called upon all present to take the oath of obedience to him, asadmiral and viceroy, representing the persons of the sovereigns. 

The feelings of the crew now burst forth in the most extravaganttransports. They had recently considered themselves devoted men, hurrying forward to destruction; they now looked upon themselves asfavourites of fortune, and gave themselves up to the most unbounded joy. They thronged around the admiral with overflowing zeal, some embracinghim, others kissing his hands. Those who had been most mutinous andturbulent during the voyage, were now most devoted and enthusiastic. Some begged favours of him, as if he had already wealth and honours inhis gift. Many abject spirits, who had outraged him by their insolence, now crouched at his feet, begging pardon for all the trouble they hadcaused him, and promising the blindest obedience for the future. 

 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

[Notes: _Columbus_. Christopher Columbus of Genoa (born 1430, died1506), the discoverer of America. His first expedition was made in 1492. 

"_The reward was afterwards adjudged to the admiral_. " This has oftenbeen alleged, and apparently with considerable reason, as a stain uponthe name of Columbus. ]

 * * * * *

COLUMBUS SHIPWRECKED. 

On the morning of the 24th of December, Columbus set sail from Port St. Thomas before sunrise, and steered to the eastward, with an intention ofanchoring at the harbour of the cacique Guacanagari. The wind was fromthe land, but so light as scarcely to fill the sails, and the ships madebut little progress. At eleven o'clock at night, being Christmas eve, they were within a league or a league and a half of the residence of thecacique; and Columbus, who had hitherto kept watch, finding the sea calmand smooth, and the ship almost motionless, retired to rest, not havingslept the preceding night. He was, in general, extremely wakeful on hiscoasting voyages, passing whole nights upon deck in all weathers; nevertrusting to the watchfulness of others where there was any difficulty ordanger to be provided against. In the present instance he felt perfectlysecure; not merely on account of profound calm, but because the boats onthe preceding day, in their visit to the cacique, had reconnoitred thecoast, and had reported that there were neither rocks nor shoals intheir course. 

No sooner had he retired, than the steersman gave the helm in charge toone of the ship-boys, and went to sleep. This was in direct violationof an invariable order of the admiral, that the helm should never beintrusted to the boys. The rest of the mariners who had the watch tooklike advantage of the absence of Columbus, and in a little whilethe whole crew was buried in sleep. In the meantime the treacherouscurrents, which run swiftly along this coast, carried the vesselquietly, but with force, upon a sand-bank. The heedless boy had notnoticed the breakers, although they made a roaring that might have beenheard a league. No sooner, however, did he feel the rudder strike, and hear the tumult of the rushing sea, than he began to cry foraid. Columbus, whose careful thoughts never permitted him to sleepprofoundly, was the first on deck. The master of the ship, whose duty itwas to have been on watch, next made his appearance, followed by othersof the crew, half awake. The admiral ordered them to take the boat andcarry out an anchor astern, to warp the vessel off. The master and thesailors sprang into the boat; but, confused as men are apt to be whensuddenly awakened by an alarm, instead of obeying the commands ofColumbus, they rowed off to the other caravel, about half a league towindward. 

In the meantime the master had reached the caravel, and made known theperilous state in which he had left the vessel. He was reproached withhis pusillanimous desertion; the commander of the caravel manned hisboat and hastened to the relief of the admiral, followed by the recreantmaster, covered with shame and confusion. 

It was too late to save the ship, the current having set her more uponthe bank. The admiral, seeing that his boat had deserted him, that theship had swung across the stream, and that the water was continuallygaining upon her, ordered the mast to be cut away, in the hope oflightening her sufficiently to float her off. Every effort was in vain. The keel was firmly bedded in the sand; the shock had opened severalseams; while the swell of the breakers, striking her broadside, lefther each moment more and more aground, until she fell over on one side. Fortunately the weather continued calm, otherwise the ship must havegone to pieces, and the whole crew might have perished amidst thecurrents and breakers. 

The admiral and her men took refuge on board the caravel. Diego deArana, chief judge of the armament, and Pedro Gutierrez, the king'sbutler, were immediately sent on shore as envoys to the caciqueGuaeanagari, to inform him of the intended visit of the admiral, and ofhis disastrous shipwreck. In the meantime, as a light wind had sprung upfrom shore, and the admiral was ignorant of his situation, and of therocks and banks that might be lurking around him, he lay to untildaylight. 

The habitation of the cacique was about a league and a half from thewreck. When he heard of the misfortune of his guest, he manifested theutmost affliction, and even shed tears. He immediately sent all hispeople, with all the canoes, large and small, that could be mustered;and so active were they in their assistance, that in a little whilethe vessel was unloaded. The cacique himself, and his brothers andrelatives, rendered all the aid in their power, both on sea and land;keeping vigilant guard that everything should be conducted with order, and the property secured from injury or theft. From time to time, hesent some one of his family, or some principal person of his attendants, to console and cheer the admiral, assuring him that everything hepossessed should be at his disposal. 

Never, in a civilized country, were the vaunted rites of hospitalitymore scrupulously observed, than by this uncultivated savage. All theeffects landed from the ships were deposited near his dwelling; and anarmed guard surrounded them all night, until houses could be preparedin which to store them. There seemed, however, even among the commonpeople, no disposition to take advantage of the misfortune of thestranger. Although they beheld what must in their eyes have beeninestimable treasures, cast, as it were, upon their shores, and opento depredation, yet there was not the least attempt to pilfer, nor, intransporting the effects from the ships, had they appropriated the mosttrifling article. On the contrary, a general sympathy was visible intheir countenances and actions; and to have witnessed their concern, onewould have supposed the misfortune to have happened to themselves. 

"So loving, so tractable, so peaceable are these people, " says Columbusin his journal, "that I swear to your Majesties, there is not in theworld a better nation, nor a better land. They love their neighboursas themselves; and their discourse is ever sweet and gentle, andaccompanied with a smile; and though it is true that they are naked, yettheir manners are decorous and praiseworthy. "

 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

[Note: _Cacique_. The chief of an Indian tribe. The word was adopted bythe Spaniards from the language of the natives of San Domingo. 

 * * * * *

ROBBED IN THE DESERT. 

I departed from Kooma, accompanied by two shepherds, who were goingtowards Sibidooloo. The road was very steep and rocky, and as my horsehad hurt his feet much, he travelled slowly and with great difficulty;for in many places the ascent was so sharp, and the declivities sogreat, that if he had made one false step, he must inevitably have beendashed to pieces. The herds being anxious to proceed, gave themselveslittle trouble about me or my horse, and kept walking on at aconsiderable distance. It was about eleven o'clock, as I stopped todrink a little water at a rivulet (my companions being near a quarter ofa mile before me), that I heard some people calling to each other, and presently a loud screaming, as from a person in great distress. Iimmediately conjectured that a lion had taken one of the shepherds, andmounted my horse to have a better view of what had happened. The noise, however, ceased; and I rode slowly towards the place from whence Ithought it proceeded, calling out, but without receiving any answer. Ina little time, however, I perceived one of the shepherds lying among thelong grass near the road; and, though I could see no blood upon him, concluded he was dead. But when I came close to him, he whispered tome to stop, telling me that a party of armed men had seized upon hiscompanion, and shot two arrows at himself as he was making his escape. I stopped to consider what course to take, and looking round, saw at alittle distance a man sitting upon the stump of a tree; I distinguishedalso the heads of six or seven more; sitting among the grass, withmuskets in their hands. I had now no hopes of escaping, and thereforedetermined to ride forward towards them. As I approached them, I wasin hopes they were elephant hunters, and by way of opening theconversation, inquired if they had shot anything; but, without returningan answer, one of them ordered me to dismount; and then, as ifrecollecting himself, waved with his hand for me to proceed. Iaccordingly rode past, and had with some difficulty crossed a deeprivulet, when I heard somebody holloa; and looking back, saw those Itook for elephant hunters now running after me, and calling out to me toturn back. I stopped until they were all come up, when they informed methat the King of the Foulahs had sent them on purpose to bring me, my horse, and everything that belonged to me, to Fooladoo, and thattherefore I must turn back, and go along with them. Without hesitating amoment, I turned round and followed them, and we travelled together neara quarter of a mile without exchanging a word. When coming to a darkplace of the wood, one of them said, in the Mandingo language, "Thisplace will do, " and immediately snatched my hat from my head. ThoughI was by no means free of apprehension, yet I resolved to show as fewsigns of fear as possible; and therefore told them, unless my hat wasreturned to me, I should go no farther. But before I had time to receivean answer, another drew his knife, and seizing upon a metal button whichremained upon my waistcoat, cut it off, and put it in his pocket. Theirintention was now obvious, and I thought that the more easily they werepermitted to rob me of everything, the less I had to fear. I thereforeallowed them to search my pockets without resistance, and examine everypart of my apparel, which they did with scrupulous exactness. Butobserving that I had one waistcoat under another, they insisted that Ishould cast them both off; and at last, to make sure work, stripped mequite naked. Even my half-boots (though the sole of one of them was tiedto my foot with a broken bridle-rein) were narrowly inspected. Whilstthey were examining the plunder, I begged them with great earnestness toreturn my pocket compass; but when I pointed it out to them, as it waslying on the ground, one of the banditti thinking I was about to take itup, cocked his musket, and swore that he would lay me dead on the spotif I presumed to lay my hand on it. After this some of them went awaywith my horse, and the remainder stood considering whether they shouldleave me quite naked, or allow me something to shelter me from the sun. Humanity at last prevailed; they returned me the worst of the two shirtsand a pair of trowsers; and, as they went away, one of them threw backmy hat, in the crown of which I kept my memorandums; and this wasprobably the reason they did not wish to keep it. After they weregone, I sat for some time looking around me with amazement and terror;whichever way I turned, nothing appeared but danger and difficulty. Isaw myself in the midst of a vast wilderness in the depth of the rainyseason, naked and alone, surrounded by savage animals, and men stillmore savage. I was five hundred miles from the nearest Europeansettlement. All these circumstances crowded at once to my recollection;and I confess that my spirits began to fail me. I considered my fate ascertain, and that I had no alternative but to lie down and perish. Atthis moment, painful as my reflections were, the extraordinary beautyof a small moss irresistibly caught my eye. I mention this to show fromwhat trifling circumstances the mind will sometimes derive consolation;for though the whole plant was not larger than the tip of one of myfingers, I could not contemplate the delicate conformation of its roots, leaves, and capsule without admiration. Can that Being (thought I), whoplanted, watered, and brought to perfection, in this obscure part of theworld, a thing which appears of so small importance, look with unconcernupon the situation and sufferings of creatures formed after his ownimage?--surely not! Reflections like these would not allow me todespair; I started up, and disregarding both hunger and fatigue, travelled forwards, assured that relief was at hand; and I was notdisappointed. In a short time I came to a small village, at the entranceof which I overtook the two shepherds who had come with me from Rooma. They were much surprised to see me, for they said they never doubtedthat the Foulahs, when they had robbed, had murdered me. Departing fromthis village, we travelled over several rocky ridges, and at sunsetarrived at Sibidooloo, the frontier town of the kingdom of Manding. 

 MUNGO PARK. 

[Note: _Mungo Park_. Born in Selkirkshire in 1771; set out on his firstAfrican exploration in 1795. His object was to explore the Niger; andthis he had done to a great extent when he was murdered (as is supposed)by the natives in 1805. ]

 * * * * *

 REST FROM BATTLE. 

 Now deep in ocean sunk the lamp of light, And drew behind the cloudy veil of night; The conquering Trojans mourn his beams decayed; The Greeks rejoicing bless the friendly shade. The victors keep the field: and Hector calls A martial council near the navy walls: These to Scamander's bank apart he led, Where thinly scattered lay the heaps of dead. The assembled chiefs, descending on the ground, Attend his order, and their prince surround. A massy spear he bore of mighty strength, Of full ten cubits was the lance's length; The point was brass, refulgent to behold, Fixed to the wood with circling rings of gold: The noble Hector on his lance reclined, And bending forward, thus revealed his mind: "Ye valiant Trojans, with attention hear! Ye Dardan bands, and generous aids, give ear! This day, we hoped, would wrap in conquering flame Greece with her ships, and crown our toils with fame. But darkness now, to save the cowards, falls, And guards them trembling in their wooden walls. Obey the night, and use her peaceful hours, Our steeds to forage, and refresh our powers. Straight from the town be sheep and oxen sought, And strengthening bread and generous wine be brought. Wide o'er the field, high blazing to the sky, Let numerous fires the absent sun supply, The flaming piles with plenteous fuel raise, Till the bright morn her purple beam displays; Lest, in the silence and the shades of night, Greece on her sable ships attempt her flight. Not unmolested let the wretches gain Their lofty decks, or safely cleave the main: Some hostile wound let every dart bestow, Some lasting token of the Phrygian foe: Wounds, that long hence may ask their spouses' care, And warn their children from a Trojan war. Now, through the circuit of our Ilion wall, Let sacred heralds sound the solemn call; To bid the sires with hoary honours crowned, And beardless youths, our battlements surround. Firm be the guard, while distant lie our powers, And let the matrons hang with lights the towers: Lest, under covert of the midnight shade, The insidious foe the naked town invade. Suffice, to-night, these orders to obey; A nobler charge shall rouse the dawning day. The gods, I trust, shall give to Hector's hand, From these detested foes to free the land, Who ploughed, with fates averse, the watery way; For Trojan vultures a predestined prey. Our common safety must be now the care; But soon as morning paints the fields of air, Sheathed in bright arms let every troop engage, And the fired fleet behold the battle rage. Then, then shall Hector and Tydides prove, Whose fates are heaviest in the scale of Jove. To-morrow's light (O haste the glorious morn!) Shall see his bloody spoils in triumph borne, With this keen javelin shall his breast be gored, And prostrate heroes bleed around their lord. Certain as this, oh! might my days endure, From age inglorious, and black death secure; So might my life and glory know no bound, Like Pallas worshipped, like the sun renowned! As the next dawn, the last they shall enjoy, Shall crush the Greeks, and end the woes of Troy. "

 The leader spoke. From all his host around Shouts of applause along the shores resound. Each from the yoke the smoking steeds untied, And fixed their headstalls to his chariot-side. Fat sheep and oxen from the town are led, With generous wine, and all-sustaining bread. Full hecatombs lay burning on the shore; The winds to heaven the curling vapours bore; Ungrateful offering to the immortal powers! Whose wrath hung heavy o'er the Trojan towers; Nor Priam nor his sons obtained their grace; Proud Troy they hated, and her guilty race. The troops exulting sat in order round, And beaming fires illumined all the ground. As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night! O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light, When not a breath disturbs the deep serene, And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene; Around her throne the vivid planets roll, And stars unnumbered gild the glowing pole; O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed, And tip with silver every mountain's head. Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise, A flood of glory bursts from all the skies: The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight, Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light. So many flames before proud Ilion blaze, And lighten glimmering Xanthus with their rays: The long reflections of the distant fires Gleam on the walls, and tremble on the spires. A thousand piles the dusky horrors gild, And shoot a shady lustre o'er the field. Full fifty guards each flaming pile attend, Whose umbered arms, by fits, thick flashes send, Loud neigh the coursers o'er their heaps of corn, And ardent warriors wait the rising morn. 

 POPE. 

[Notes:_Rest from battle_. This is part of Pope's translation of theIliad of Homer (Book 8, l. 605). 

_Stamander_. One of the rivers in the neighbourhood of Troy. 

_Dardan bands_. Trojan lands. Dardanus was the mythical ancestor of theTrojans. 

_Generous aids_ = allies. 

_Tydides_--Diomede. 

_From age inglorious and black death secure_ = safe from inglorious ageand from black death. 

_Hecatombs_. Sacrifices of 100 oxen. 

_Ungrateful offering_ = unpleasing offering. 

_Xanthus_. The other river in the neighbourhood of Troy. 

_Umbered_ = thrown into shadow, and glimmering in the darkness. ]

 * * * * *

ARISTIDES. 

Aristides at first was loved and respected for his surname of _theJust_, and afterwards envied as much; the latter, chiefly by themanagement of Themistocles, who gave it out among the people thatAristides had abolished the courts of judicature, by drawing thearbitration of all causes to himself, and so was insensibly gainingsovereign power, though without guards and the other ensigns of it. Thepeople, elevated with the late victory at Marathon, thought themselvescapable of everything, and the highest respect little enough for them. Uneasy, therefore, at finding any one citizen rose to such extraordinaryhonour and distinction, they assembled at Athens from all the towns inAttica, and banished Aristides by the Ostracism; disguising theirenvy of his character under the specious pretence of guarding againsttyranny. 

For the _Ostracism_ was not a punishment for crimes and misdemeanours, but was very decently called an humbling and lessening of some excessiveinfluence and power. In reality it was a mild gratification of envy; forby this means, whoever was offended at the growing greatness of another, discharged his spleen, not in anything cruel or inhuman, but only invoting a ten years' banishment. But when it once began to fall uponmean and profligate persons, it was for ever after entirely laid aside;Hyperbolus being the last that was exiled by it. 

The reason of its turning upon such a wretch was this. Alcibiades andNicias, who were persons of the greatest interest in Athens, had eachhis party; but perceiving that the people were going to proceed tothe Ostracism, and that one of them was likely to suffer by it, theyconsulted together, and joining interests, caused it to fall uponHyperbolus. Hereupon the people, full of indignation at finding thiskind of punishment dishonoured and turned into ridicule, abolished itentirely. 

The Ostracism (to give a summary account of it) was conducted in thefollowing manner. Every citizen took a piece of a broken pot, or ashell, on which he wrote the name of the person he wanted to havebanished, and carried it to a part of the market-place that was enclosedwith wooden rails. The magistrates then counted the number of theshells; and if it amounted not to six thousand, the Ostracism stood fornothing: if it did, they sorted the shells, and the person whose namewas found on the greatest number, was declared an exile for ten years, but with permission to enjoy his estate. 

At the time that Aristides was banished, when the people were inscribingthe names on the shells, it is reported that an illiterate burgher cameto Aristides, whom he took for some ordinary person, and, giving him hisshell, desired him to write Aristides upon it. The good man, surprisedat the adventure, asked him "Whether Aristides had ever injured him?""No, " said he, "nor do I even know him; but it vexes me to hear himeverywhere called _the Just_. " Aristides made no answer, but took theshell, and having written his own name upon it, returned it to the man. When he quitted Athens, he lifted up his hands towards heaven, and, agreeably to his character, made a prayer, very different from that ofAchilles; namely, "That the people of Athens might never see the daywhich should force them to remember Aristides. "

 _Plutarch's Lives_. 

[Notes: _Aristides_. A prominent citizen of Athens (about the year 490B. C. ) opposed to the more advanced policy of Themistocles, who wished tomake the city rely entirely upon her naval power. He was ostracised in489, but afterwards restored. 

_Marathon_. The victory gained over the Persian invaders, 490 B. C. ]

 * * * * *

THE VENERABLE BEDE. 

Baeda--the venerable Bede as later times styled him--was born about tenyears after the Synod of Whitby, beneath the shade of a great abbeywhich Benedict Biscop was rearing by the mouth of the Wear. His youthwas trained and his long tranquil life was wholly spent in an offshootof Benedict's house which was founded by his scholar Ceolfrid. Baeda never stirred from Jarrow. "I spent my whole life in the samemonastery, " he says, "and while attentive to the rule of my order andthe service of the Church, my constant pleasure lay in learning, orteaching, or writing. " The words sketch for us a scholar's life, themore touching in its simplicity that it is the life of the first greatEnglish scholar. The quiet grandeur of a life consecrated to knowledge, the tranquil pleasure that lies in learning and teaching and writing, dawned for Englishmen in the story of Baeda. While still young, hebecame teacher, and six hundred monks, besides strangers that flockedthither for instruction, formed his school of Jarrow. It is hard toimagine how, among the toils of the schoolmaster and the duties of themonk, Baeda could have found time for the composition of the numerousworks that made his name famous in the West. But materials for study hadaccumulated in Northumbria through the journeys of Wilfrith and BenedictBiscop, and Archbishop Eegberht was forming the first English library atYork. The tradition of the older Irish teachers still lingered to directthe young scholar into that path of scriptural interpretation to whichhe chiefly owed his fame. Greek, a rare accomplishment in the West, came to him from the school which the Greek Archbishop Theodore foundedbeneath the walls of Canterbury. His skill in the ecclesiastical chauntwas derived from a Roman cantor whom Pope Vilalian sent in the train ofBenedict Biscop. Little by little the young scholar thus made himselfmaster of the whole range of the science of his time; he became, as Burke rightly styled him, "the father of English learning. " Thetradition of the older classic culture was first revived for Englandin his quotations of Plato and Aristotle, of Seneca and Cicero, ofLucretius and Ovid. Virgil cast over him the same spell that he castover Dante; verses from the. Aeneid break his narratives of martyrdoms, and the disciple ventures on the track of the great master in a littleeclogue descriptive of the approach of spring. His work was done withsmall aid from others. "I am my own secretary, " he writes; "I make myown notes. I am my own librarian. " But forty-five works remained afterhis death to attest his prodigious industry. In his own eyes andthose of his contemporaries, the most important among these were thecommentaries and homilies upon various books of the Bible which he haddrawn from the writings of the Fathers. But he was far from confininghimself to theology. In treatises compiled as text-books for hisscholars, Baeda threw together all that the world had then accumulatedin astronomy and meteorology, in physics and music, in philosophy, grammar, rhetoric, arithmetic, medicine. But the encyclopaedic characterof his researches left him in heart a simple Englishman. He loved hisown English tongue, he was skilled in English song, his last work was atranslation into English of the gospel of St. John, and almost the lastwords that broke from his lips were some English rhymes upon death. 

But the noblest proof of his love of England lies in the work whichimmortalizes his name. In his 'Ecclesiastical History of the EnglishNation, ' Baeda was at once the founder of medieval history and the firstEnglish historian. All that we really know of the century and a halfthat follows the landing of Augustine, we know from him. Wherever hisown personal observation extended, the story is told with admirabledetail and force. He is hardly less full or accurate in the portionswhich he owed to his Kentish friends, Alewine and Nothelm. What he owedto no informant was his own exquisite faculty of story-telling, and yetno story of his own telling is so touching as the story of his death. Two weeks before the Easter of 735 the old man was seized with anextreme weakness and loss of breath. He still preserved, however, hisusual pleasantness and gay good-humour, and in spite of prolongedsleeplessness continued his lectures to the pupils about him. Versesof his own English tongue broke from time to time from the master'slip--rude rhymes that told how before the "need-fare, " Death's stern"must-go, " none can enough bethink him what is to be his doom for goodor ill. The tears of Baeda's scholars mingled with his song. "We neverread without weeping, " writes one of then. So the days rolled on toAscension-tide, and still master and pupils toiled at their work, forBaeda longed to bring to an end his version of St. John's Gospel intothe English tongue, and his extracts from Bishop Isidore. "I don't wantmy boys to read a lie, " he answered those who would have had himrest, "or to work to no purpose, after I am gone. " A few days beforeAscension-tide his sickness grew upon him, but he spent the whole day inteaching, only saying cheerfully to his scholars, "Learn with what speedyou may; I know not how long I may last. " The dawn broke on anothersleepless night, and again the old man called his scholars round him andbade them write. "There is still a chapter wanting, " said the scribe, asthe morning drew on, "and it is hard for thee to question thyself anylonger. " "It is easily done, " said Baeda; "take thy pen and writequickly. " Amid tears and farewells the day wore on to eventide. "Thereis yet one sentence unwritten, dear master, " said the boy. "Write itquickly, " bade the dying man. "It is finished now, " said the littlescribe at last. "You speak truth, " said the master; "all is finishednow. " Placed upon the pavement, his head supported in his scholar'sarms, his face turned to the spot where he was wont to pray, Baedachaunted the solemn "Glory to God. " As his voice reached the close ofhis song, he passed quietly away. 

 J. R. GREEN. 

[Note: _Baeda_. The father of literature and learning in England(656-735 A. D. ). ]

 * * * * *

THE DEATH OF ANSELM. 

Anselm's life was drawing to its close. The re-enactment andconfirmation by the authority of the great Whitsuntide Assembly of thecanons of the Synod of London against clerical marriage, and a disputewith two of the Northern bishops--his old friend Ralph Flambard, and thearchbishop-elect of York, who, apparently reckoning on Anselm's age andbad health, was scheming to evade the odious obligation of acknowledgingthe paramount claims of the see of Canterbury--were all that marked thelast year of his life. A little more than a year before his own death, he had to bury his old and faithful friend--a friend first in thecloister of Bee, and then in the troubled days of his Englishprimacy--the great builder, Gundulf, Bishop of Rochester. Anselm's lastdays shall be told in the words of one who had the best right to recordthe end of him whom he had loved so simply and so loyally--his attendantEadmer. 

"During these events (of the last two years of his life) he wrote atreatise 'Concerning the Agreement of Foreknowledge, Predestination, andthe Grace of God, with Free Will, ' in which contrary to his wont, hefound difficulty in composition; for after his illness at Bury St. Edmund's, as long as he was spared to this life, he was weaker thanbefore; so that, when he was moving from place to place, he was fromthat time carried in a litter, instead of riding on horseback. He wastried, also, by frequent and sharp sicknesses, so that we scarce daredpromise him life. He, however, never left off his old way of living, butwas always engaged in godly meditations, or holy exhortations, or othergood work. 

"In the third year after King Henry had recalled him from his secondbanishment, every kind of food by which nature is sustained becameloathsome to him. He used to eat, however, putting force on himself, knowing that he could not live without food; and in this way he somehowor another dragged on life through half a year, gradually failing day byday in body, though in vigour of mind he was still the same as he usedto be. So being strong in spirit, though but very feeble in the flesh, he could not go to his oratory on foot; but from his strong desire toattend the consecration of the Lord's body, which he venerated with aspecial feeling of devotion, he caused himself to be carried thitherevery day in a chair. We who attended on him tried to prevail on him todesist, because it fatigued him so much; but we succeeded, and that withdifficulty, only four days before he died. 

"From that time he took to his bed? and, with gasping breath, continuedto exhort all who had the privilege of drawing near him to live to God, each in his own order. Palm Sunday had dawned, and we, as usual, weresitting round him; one of us said to him, 'Lord father, we are given tounderstand that you are going to leave the world for your Lord's Eastercourt. ' He answered, 'If His will be so, I shall gladly obey His will. But if He willed rather that I should yet remain amongst you, at leasttill I have solved a question which I am turning in my mind, about theorigin of the soul, I should receive it thankfully, for I know notwhether any one will finish it after I am gone. Indeed, I hope, that ifI could take food, I might yet get well. For I feel no pain anywhere;only, from weakness of my stomach, which cannot take food, I am failingaltogether. '

"On the following Tuesday, towards evening, he was no longer able tospeak intelligibly. Ralph, Bishop of Rochester, asked him to bestowhis absolution and blessing on us who were present, and on his otherchildren, and also on the king and queen with their children, and thepeople of the land who had kept themselves under God in his obedience. He raised his right hand, as if he was suffering nothing, and made thesign of the Holy Cross; and then dropped his head and sank down. Thecongregation of the brethren were already chanting matins in the greatchurch, when one of those who watched about our father the book of theGospels and read before him the history of the Passion, which was to beread that day at the mass. But when he came to our Lord's words, 'Ye arethey which have continued with me in my temptations, and I appoint untoyou a kingdom, as my Father hath appointed unto me, that ye may eat anddrink at my table, ' he began to draw his breath more slowly. We sawthat he was just going, so he was removed from his bed, and laid uponsackcloth and ashes. And thus, the whole family of his children beingcollected round him, he gave up his last breath into the hands of hisCreator, and slept in peace. "

 DEAN CHURCH. 

[Note:_Anselm_. An Italian by birth (1033-1109), was Abbot of Bee, inNormandy, and afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, in both succeedinghis countryman Lanfranc. He was famous as a scholastic philosopher; and, as a Churchman, he struggled long for the liberties of the Church withWilliam II. And Henry I. ]

 * * * * *

THE MURDER OF BECKET. 

The vespers had already begun, and the monks were singing the service inthe choir, when two boys rushed up the nave, announcing, more by theirterrified gestures than by their words, that the soldiers were burstinginto the palace and monastery. Instantly the service was thrown into theutmost confusion; part remained at prayer, part fled into the numeroushiding-places the vast fabric affords; and part went down the steps ofthe choir into the transept to meet the little band at the door. "Comein, come in!" exclaimed one of them; "Come in, and let us die together. "The Archbishop continued to stand outside, and said, "Go and finish theservice. So long as you keep in the entrance, I shall not come in. " Theyfell back a few paces, and he stepped within the door, but, finding thewhole place thronged with people, he paused on the threshold, and asked, "What is it that these people fear?" One general answer broke forth, "The armed men in the cloister. " As he turned and said, "I shall go outto them, " he heard the clash of arms behind. The knights had just forcedtheir way into the cloister, and were now (as would appear from theirbeing thus seen through the open door) advancing along its southernside. They were in mail, which covered their faces up to their eyes, andcarried their swords drawn. Three had hatchets. Fitzurse, with the axehe had taken from the carpenters, was foremost, shouting as he came, "Here, here, king's men!" Immediately behind him followed RobertFitzranulph, with three other knights, and a motley group--some theirown followers, some from the town--with weapons, though not in armour, brought up the rear. At this sight, so unwonted in the peacefulcloisters of Canterbury, not probably beheld since the time when themonastery had been sacked by the Danes, the monks within, regardlessof all remonstrances, shut the door of the cathedral, and proceededto barricade it with iron bars. A loud knocking was heard from theterrified band without, who having vainly endeavoured to prevent theentrance of the knights into the cloister, now rushed before them totake refuge in the church. Becket, who had stepped some paces into thecathedral, but was resisting the solicitations of those immediatelyabout him to move up into the choir for safety, darted back, callingaloud as he went, "Away, you cowards! By virtue of your obedience Icommand you not to shut the door--the church must not be turned into acastle. " With his own hands he thrust them away from the door, opened ithimself, and catching hold of the excluded monks, dragged them into thebuilding, exclaiming, "Come in, come in--faster, faster!"

 * * * * *

The knights, who had been checked for a moment by the sight of theclosed door, on seeing it unexpectedly thrown open, rushed into thechurch. It was, we must remember, about five o'clock in a winterevening; the shades of night were gathering, and were deepened intoa still darker gloom within the high and massive walls of the vastcathedral, which was only illuminated here and there by the solitarylamps burning before the altars. The twilight, lengthening from theshortest day a fortnight before, was but just sufficient to reveal theoutline of objects. 

 * * * * *

In the dim twilight they could just discern a group of figures mountingthe steps of the eastern staircase. One of the knights called out tothem, "Stay. " Another, "Where is Thomas Becket, traitor to the King?"No answer was returned. None could have been expected by any one whoremembered the indignant silence with which Becket had swept by when thesame words had been applied by Randulf of Broc at Northampton. Fitzurserushed forward, and, stumbling against one of the monks on the lowerstep, still not able to distinguish clearly in the darkness, exclaimed, "Where is the Archbishop?" Instantly the answer came: "Reginald, here Iam, no traitor, but the archbishop and priest of God; what do you wish?"and from the fourth step, which he had reached in his ascent, with aslight motion of his head--noticed apparently as his peculiar manner inmoments of excitement--Becket descended to the transept. Attired, weare told, in his white rochet, with a cloak and hood thrown over hisshoulders, he thus suddenly confronted his assailants. Fitzurse sprangback two or three paces, and Becket passing by him took up his stationbetween the central pillar and the massive wall which still forms thesouth-west corner of what was then the chapel of St. Benedict. Here theygathered round him, with the cry, "Absolve the bishops whom you haveexcommunicated. " "I cannot do other than I have done, " he replied, andturning to Fitzurse, he added, "Reginald, you have received many favoursat my hands; why do you come into my church armed?" Fitzurse planted theaxe against his breast, and returned for answer, "You shall die--I willtear out your heart. " Another, perhaps in kindness, struck him betweenthe shoulders with the flat of his sword, exclaiming, "Fly; you are adead man. " "I am ready to die, " replied the primate, "for God and theChurch; but I warn you, I curse you in the name of God Almighty, if youdo not let my men escape. "

The well-known horror which in that age was felt at an act of sacrilege, together with the sight of the crowds who were rushing in from the townthrough the nave, turned their efforts for the next few moments tocarrying him out of the church. Fitzurse threw down the axe, and triedto drag him out by the collar of his long cloak, calling, "Come withus--you are our prisoner. " "I will not fly, you detestable fellow, " wasBecket's reply, roused to his usual vehemence, and wrenching the cloakout of Fitzurse's grasp. The three knights struggled violently to puthim on Tracy's shoulders. Becket set his back against the pillar, andresisted with all his might, whilst Grim, vehemently remonstrating, threw his arms around him to aid his efforts. In the scuffle, Becketfastened upon Tracy, shook him by his coat of mail, and exerting hisgreat strength, flung him down on the pavement. It was hopeless to carryon the attempt to remove him. And in the final struggle which now began, Fitzurse, as before, took the lead. He approached with his drawn sword, and waving it over his head, cried, "Strike, strike!" but merely dashedoff his cap. Tracy sprang forward and struck a more decided blow. 

 * * * * *

The blood from the first blow was trickling down his face in a thinstreak; he wiped it with his arm, and when he saw the stain, he said, "Into thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit. " At the third blow, hesank on his knees--his arms falling, but his hands still joined as ifin prayer. With his face turned towards the altar of St. Benedict, hemurmured in a low voice, "For the name of Jesus, and the defence of theChurch, I am willing to die. " Without moving hand or foot, he fell fiaton his face as he spoke, and with such dignity that his mantle, whichextended from head to foot, was not disarranged. In this posture hereceived a tremendous blow, aimed with such violence that the scalp orcrown of the head was severed from the skull, and the sword snapped intwo on the marble pavement. Hugh of Horsea planted his foot on the neckof the corpse, thrust his sword into the ghastly wound, and scatteredthe brains over the pavement. "Let us go--let us go, " he said, inconclusion, "the traitor is dead; he will rise no more. "

 DEAN STANLEY. 

[Note: _Thomas Becket_ (1119-1170). Chancellor and afterwards Archbishopof Canterbury under Henry II. ; maintained a heroic, though perhapsambitious and undesirable struggle with that king for the independenceof the clergy; and ended his life by assassination at the hands ofcertain of Henry's servants. ]

 * * * * *

THE DEATH OF ELIZABETH

The triumph of her lieutenant, Mountjoy, flung its lustre over the lastdays of Elizabeth, but no outer triumph could break the gloom whichgathered round the dying queen. Lonely as she had always been, herloneliness deepened as she drew towards the grave. The statesmen andwarriors of her earlier days had dropped one by one from her councilboard; and their successors were watching her last moments, andintriguing for favour in the coming reign. The old splendour of hercourt waned and disappeared. Only officials remained about her, "theother of the council and nobility estrange themselves by all occasions. "As she passed along in her progresses, the people, whose applause shecourted, remained cold and silent. The temper of the age, in fact, waschanging and isolating her as it changed. Her own England, the Englandwhich had grown up around her, serious, moral, prosaic, shrank coldlyfrom this child of earth, and the renascence, brilliant, fanciful, unscrupulous, irreligious. She had enjoyed life as the men of her dayenjoyed it, and now that they were gone she clung to it with a fiercetenacity. She hunted, she danced, she jested with her young favourites, she coquetted, and scolded, and frolicked at sixty-seven as she haddone at thirty. "The queen, " wrote a courtier, a few months before herdeath, "was never so gallant these many years, nor so set upon jollity. "She persisted, in spite of opposition, in her gorgeous progresses fromcountry-house to country-house. She clung to business as of old, andrated in her usual fashion, "one who minded not to giving up some matterof account. " But death crept on. Her face became haggard, and her frameshrank almost to a skeleton. At last, her taste for finery disappeared, and she refused to change her dresses for a week together. A strangemelancholy settled down on her: "she held in her hand, " says one who sawher in her last days, "a golden cup, which she often put to her lips:but in truth her heart seemed too full to need more filling. " Graduallyher mind gave way. She lost her memory, the violence of her temperbecame unbearable, her very courage seemed to forsake her. She calledfor a sword to lie constantly beside her, and thrust it from time totime through the arras, as if she heard murderers stirring there. Foodand rest became alike distasteful. She sate day and night propped upwith pillows on a stool, her finger on her lip, her eyes fixed on thefloor, without a word. If she once broke the silence, it was with aflash of her old queenliness. Cecil asserted that she "must" go to bed, and the word roused her like a trumpet. "Must!" she exclaimed; "is_must_ a word to be addressed to princes? Little man, little man! thyfather, if he had been alive, durst not have used that word. " Then, asher anger spent itself, she sank into her old dejection. "Thou art sopresumptuous, " she said, "because thou knowest I shall die. " She ralliedonce more when the ministers beside her bed named Lord Beauchamp, theheir to the Suffolk claim, as a possible successor. "I will have norogue's son, " she cried hoarsely, "in my seat. " But she gave no sign, save a motion of the head, at the mention of the King of Scots. She wasin fact fast becoming insensible; and early the next morning the lifeof Elizabeth, a life so great, so strange and lonely in its greatness, passed quietly away. 

 J. R. GREEN. 

[Notes: _Mountjoy_. The Queen's lieutenant in Ireland, who had hadconsiderable success in dealing with the Irish rebels. 

_This chill of . . . The renascence. _ In her irreligion, as well as inher brilliancy and fancy, Elizabeth might fitly be called the childor product of the Pagan renascence or new birth, as the return to thefreedom of classic literature, so powerful in the England of her day, was called. 

_Thy father_ = the great Lord Burghley, who guided the counsels of theQueen throughout all the earlier part of her reign. 

_The Suffolk claim, i. E. , _ the claim derived from Mary, the sister ofHenry VIII. , who married Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. James, whosucceeded Elizabeth, was descended from the elder sister, Margaret, married to James IV. Of Scotland. ]

 * * * * *

 THE SAXON AND THE GAEL. 

 So toilsome was the road to trace, The guide, abating of his pace, Led slowly through the pass's jaws, And ask'd Fitz-James by what strange cause He sought these wilds? traversed by few, Without a pass from Roderick Dhu. "Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried, Hangs in my belt, and by my side; Yet sooth to tell, " the Saxon said, "I dreamed not now to claim its aid. When here but three days since, I came, Bewildered in pursuit of game, All seemed as peaceful and as still As the mist slumbering on yon hill: Thy dangerous chief was then afar, Nor soon expected back from war. " "But, Stranger, peaceful since you came, Bewildered in the mountain game, Whence the bold boast by which you show Vich-Alpine's vowed and mortal foe?" "Warrior, but yester-morn, I knew Nought of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, Save as an outlaw'd desperate man, The chief of a rebellious clan, Who in the Regent's court and sight, With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight; Yet this alone might from his part Sever each true and loyal heart. " Wrathful at such arraignment foul, Dark lowered the clansman's sable scowl. A space he paused, then sternly said, -- "And heard'st thou why he drew his blade? Heards't thou that shameful word and blow Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe? What reck'd the Chieftain if he stood On Highland-heath, or Holy-Rood? He rights such wrong where it is given, If it were in the court of heaven. " "Still was it outrage:--yet, 'tis true, Not then claimed sovereignty his due; While Albany, with feeble hand, Held borrowed truncheon of command, The young King mew'd in Stirling tower, Was stranger to respect and power. But then, thy Chieftain's robber life! Winning mean prey by causeless strife, Wrenching from ruined lowland swain His herds and harvest reared in vain, Methinks a soul like thine should scorn The spoils from such foul foray borne. " The Gael beheld him grim the while, And answered with disdainful smile, -- "Saxon, from yonder mountain high, I marked thee send delighted eye Far to the south and east, where lay Extended in succession gay, Deep waving fields and pastures green, With gentle slopes and groves between:-- These fertile plains, that softened vale, Were once the birthright of the Gael; The stranger came with iron hand, And from our fathers reft the land. Where dwell we now? See, rudely swell Crag over crag, fell over fell. Ask we this savage hill we tread, For fattened steer or household bread; Ask we for flocks these shingles dry, And well the mountain might reply, -- "To you, as to your sires of yore, Belong the target and claymore! I give you shelter in my breast, Your own good blades must win the rest. " Pent in this fortress of the North, Think'st thou we will not sally forth, To spoil the spoiler as we may, And from the robber rend the prey? Aye, by my soul!--While on yon plain The Saxon rears one shock of grain; While of ten thousand herds, there strays But one along yon river's maze, -- The Gael, of plain and river heir, Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share. Where live the mountain Chiefs who hold That plundering Lowland field and fold Is aught but retribution true? Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu. " Answered Fitz-James--"And, if I sought, Think'st thou no other could be brought? What deem ye of my path waylaid, My life given o'er to ambuscade?" "As of a meed to rashness due: Hadst thou sent warning fair and true, -- I seek my hound, or falcon strayed. I seek, good faith, a Highland maid. -- Free hadst thou been to come and go; But secret path marks secret foe. Nor yet, for this, even as a spy, Hadst thou unheard, been doomed to die, Save to fulfil an augury. " "Well, let it pass; nor will I now Fresh cause of enmity avow, To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. Enough, I am by promise tied To match me with this man of pride: Twice have I sought Clan-Alpine's glen In peace: but when I come again, I come with banner, brand, and bow, As leader seeks his mortal foe. For love-lorn swain, in lady's bower, Ne'er panted for the appointed hour, As I, until before me stand This rebel Chieftain and his band. " "Have, then, thy wish!"--he whistled shrill, And he was answered from the hill: Wild as the scream of the curlew, From crag to crag the signal flew. Instant, through copse and heath, arose Bonnets and spears, and bended bows. On right, on left, above, below, Sprung up at once the lurking foe; From shingles grey their lances start, The bracken bush sends forth the dart. The rushes and the willow wand Are bristling into axe and brand, And every tuft of broom gives life To plaided warrior armed for strife. That whistle garrison'd the glen At once with full five hundred men, As if the yawning hill to heaven A subterraneous host had given. Watching their leader's beck and will, All silent there they stood and still. Like the loose crags whose threatening mass Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass, As if an infant's touch could urge Their headlong passage down the verge, With step and weapon forward flung. Upon the mountain-side they hung. The mountaineer cast glance of pride Along Benledi's living side, Then fixed his eye and sable brow Full on Fitz-James--"How says't thou now? These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true, And, Saxon, --I am Roderick Dhu!" Fitz-James was brave:--Though to his heart The life-blood thrilled with sudden start, He mann'd himself with dauntless air, Returned the Chief his haughty stare, His back against a rock he bore, And firmly placed his foot before:-- "Come one, come all! this rock shall fly From its firm base as soon as I. " Sir Roderick marked--and in his eyes Respect was mingled with surprise, And the stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel. Short space he stood--then waved his hand; Down sunk the disappearing band: Each warrior vanished where he stood, In broom or bracken, heath or wood: Sunk brand and spear, and bended bow, In osiers pale and copses low; It seemed as if their mother Earth Had swallowed up her warlike birth. The wind's last breath had tossed in air Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair, -- The next but swept a lone hill-side, Where heath and fern were waving wide; The sun's last glance was glinted back, From spear and glaive, from targe and jack, -- The next, all unreflected, shone On bracken green and cold grey stone. Fitz-James looked round--yet scarce believed The witness that his sight received; Such apparition well might seem Delusion of a dreadful dream. Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed, And to his look the Chief replied, "Fear nought--nay, that I need not say-- But--doubt not aught from mine array. Thou art my guest:--I pledged my word As far as Coilantogle ford: Nor would I call a clansman's brand, For aid against one valiant hand, Though on our strife lay every vale Rent by the Saxon from the Gael. So move we on;--I only meant To show the reed on which you leant, Deeming this path you might pursue Without a pass from Roderick Dhu. "

 * * * * *

 The Chief in silence strode before, And reached that torrent's sounding shore, Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, From Vennachar in silver breaks Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines, On Bochastle the mouldering lines. Where "Rome, the Empress of the world. Of yore her eagle wings unfurl'd. And here his course the Chieftain staid; Threw down his target and his plaid, And to the Lowland warrior said:-- "Bold Saxon! to his promise just, Vich-Alpine has discharged his trust. This murderous Chief, this ruthless man. This head of a rebellious clan, Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward, Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard. Now, man to man, and steel to steel, A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel, See, here, all vantageless, I stand, Armed like thyself, with single brand: For this is Coilantogle ford, And thou must keep thee with thy sword. " The Saxon paused:--"I ne'er delayed, When foeman bade me draw my blade; Nay more, brave Chief, I vow'd thy death: Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, And my deep debt for life preserved, A better meed have well deserved:-- Can nought but blood our feud atone? Are there no means?"--"No, stranger, none! And hear, --to fire thy flagging zeal, -- The Saxon cause rests on thy steel; For thus spoke Fate by prophet bred Between the living and the dead: "Who spills the foremost foeman's life, His party conquers in the strife. "-- "Then by my word, " the Saxon said, "The riddle is already read. Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff, -- There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff. Thus Fate has solved her prophecy, Then yield to Fate, and not to me. To James, at Stirling, let us go, When, if thou wilt be still his foe, Or if the King shall not agree To grant thee grace and favour free, I plight mine honour, oath, and word, That, to thy native strengths restored, With each advantage shalt thou stand, That aids thee now to guard thy land. "-- Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye-- "Soars thy presumption then so high, Because a wretched kern ye slew, Homage to name to Roderick Dhu? He yields not, he, to man nor Fate! Thou add'st but fuel to my hate:-- My clansman's blood demands revenge. -- Not yet prepared?--By Heaven, I change My thought, and hold thy valour light As that of some vain carpet-knight, Who ill-deserved my courteous care, And whose best boast is but to wear A braid of his fair lady's hair. "-- "I thank thee, Roderick, for the word! It nerves my heart, it steels my sword; For I have sworn this braid to stain In the best blood that warms thy vein. Now, truce, farewell; and ruth, begone! Yet think not that by thee alone, Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown: Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, Start at my whistle, clansmen stern, Of this small horn one feeble blast Would fearful odds against thee cast. But fear not--doubt not--which thou wilt-- We try this quarrel hilt to hilt. "-- Then each at once his faulchion drew, Each on the ground his scabbard threw, Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain, As what they ne'er might see again: Then foot, and point, and eye opposed, In dubious strife they darkly closed. Ill-fared it then with Roderick Dhu, That on the field his targe he threw, Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide Had death so often dashed aside: For, trained abroad his arms to wield, Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. He practised every pass and ward, To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard; While less expert, though stronger far, The Gael maintained unequal war. Three times in closing strife they stood, And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood: No stinted draught, no scanty tide, The gushing flood the tartans dyed. Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, And showered his blows like wintry rain; And, as firm rock or castle-roof, Against the winter shower is proof, The foe invulnerable still Foiled his wild rage by steady skill; Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand, And, backward borne upon the lea, Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee. "Now, yield thee, or, by Him who made The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade!"-- "Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy! Let recreant yield, who fears to die. "-- Like adder darting from his coil, Like wolf that dashes through the toil, Like mountain-cat who guards her young, Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung, Received, but reck'd not of a wound, And locked his arms his foeman round. -- Now gallant Saxon, hold thine own! No maiden's hand is round thee thrown! That desperate grasp thy frame might feel, Through bars of brass and triple steel!-- They tug, they strain!--down, down they go, The Gael above, Fitz-James below. The Chieftain's gripe his throat compress'd, His knee was planted on his breast; His clotted locks he backward threw, Across his brow his hand he drew, From blood and mist to clear his sight, Then gleam'd aloft his dagger bright! --But hate and fury ill supplied The stream of life's exhausted tide, And all too late the advantage came, To turn the odds of deadly game; For, while the dagger gleam'd on high, Keeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye, Down came the blow! but in the heath The erring blade found bloodless sheath. The struggling foe may now unclasp The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp; Unbounded from the dreadful close, But breathless all, Fitz-James arose. 

 SCOTT. 

[Notes: _Fitz-James_ is James V. In disguise. 

_Holy Rood_, or Holy Cross, where was the royal palace of the Scottishkings. 

_Albany_. The Duke of Albany, who was regent of Scotland during part ofthe minority of James V. 

_Where Rome, the Empress, &c. _ And where remnants of Roman encampmentsare still to be traced. ]

 * * * * *

THE BATTLE OF NASEBY. 

BY five o'clock in the morning, the whole army, in order of battle, began to descry the enemy from the rising grounds about a mile fromNaseby, and moved towards them. They were drawn up on a little ascent ina large common fallow-field, in one line, extending from one side of thefield to the other, the field something more than a mile over; our armyin the same order, in one line, with the reserves. 

The king led the main battle of foot, Prince Rupert the right wing ofthe horse, and Sir Marmaduke Langdale the left. Of the enemy Fairfax andSkippon led the body, Cromwell and Roseter the right, and Ireton theleft. The numbers of both armies so equal, as not to differ five hundredmen, save that the king had most horse by about one thousand, andFairfax most foot by about five hundred. The number was in each armyabout eighteen thousand men. 

The armies coming close up, the wings engaged first. The prince with hisright wing charged with his wonted fury, and drove all the parliament'swing of horse, one division excepted, clear out of the field. Ireton, who commanded this wing, give him his due, rallied often, and foughtlike a lion; but our wing bore down all before them, and pursuedthem with a terrible execution. 

Ireton, seeing one division of his horse left, repaired to them, andkeeping his ground, fell foul of a brigade of our foot, who coming up tothe head of the line, he like a madman charges them with his horse. Butthey with their pikes tore them to pieces; so that this division wasentirely ruined. Ireton himself, thrust through the thigh with a pike, wounded in the face with a halberd, was unhorsed and taken prisoner. 

Cromwell, who commanded the parliament's right wing, charged SirMarmaduke Langdale with extraordinary fury; but he, an old triedsoldier, stood firm, and received the charge with equal gallantry, exchanging all their shot, carabines, and pistols, and then fell onsword in hand, Roseter and Whaley had the better on the point ofthe wing, and routed two divisions of horse, pushed them behind thereserves, where they rallied, and charged again, but were at lastdefeated; the rest of the horse, now charged in the flank, retreatedfighting, and were pushed behind the reserves of foot. 

While this was doing, the foot engaged with equal fierceness, and fortwo hours there was a terrible fire. The king's foot, backed withgallant officers, and full of rage at the rout of their horse, boredown the enemy's brigade led by Skippon. The old man wounded, bleeding, retreats to their reserves. All the foot, except the general's brigade, were thus driven into the reserves, where their officers rallied them, and brought them on to a fresh charge; and here the horse having drivenour horse above a quarter of a mile from the foot, face about, and fallin on the rear of the foot. 

Had our right wing done thus, the day had been secured; but PrinceRupert, according to his custom, following the flying enemy, neverconcerned himself with the safety of those behind; and yet he returnedsooner than he had done in like cases too. At our return we found all inconfusion, our foot broken, all but one brigade, which, though chargedin the front, flank, and rear, could not be broken, till Sir ThomasFairfax himself came up to the charge with fresh men, and then theywere rather cut in pieces than beaten; for they stood with their pikescharged every way to the last extremity. 

In this condition, at the distance of a quarter of a mile, we saw theking rallying his horse, and preparing to renew the fight; and our wingof horse coming up to him, gave him opportunity to draw up a large bodyof horse; so large, that all the enemy's horse facing us, stood stilland looked on, but did not think fit to charge us, till their foot, whohad entirely broken our main battle, were put into order again, andbrought up to us. 

The officers about the king advised his majesty rather to draw off; for, since our foot were lost, it would be too much odds to expose the horseto the fury of their whole army, and would be but sacrificing his besttroops, without any hopes of success. 

The king, though with great regret at the loss of his foot, yet seeingthere was no other hope, took this advice, and retreated in good orderto Harborough, and from thence to Leicester. 

This was the occasion of the enemy having so great a number ofprisoners; for the horse being thus gone off, the foot had no meansto make their retreat, and were obliged to yield themselves. Commissary-General Ireton being taken by a captain of foot, makes thecaptain his prisoner, to save his life, and gives him his liberty forhis courtesy before. 

Cromwell and Roseter, with all the enemy's horse, followed us as far asLeicester, and killed all that they could lay hold on straggling fromthe body, but durst not attempt to charge us in a body. Theking expecting the enemy would come to Leicester, removes toAshby-de-la-Zouch, where we had some time to recollect ourselves. 

This was the most fatal action of the whole war; not so much for theloss of our cannon, ammunition, and baggage, of which the enemy boastedso much, but as it was impossible for the king ever to retrieve it. Thefoot, the best that he was ever master of, could never be supplied; hisarmy in the west was exposed to certain ruin; the north overrun with theScots; in short, the case grew desperate, and the king was once upon thepoint of bidding us all disband, and shift for ourselves. 

We lost in this fight not above two thousand slain, and the parliamentnear as many, but the prisoners were a great number; the whole body offoot being, as I have said, dispersed, there were four thousand fivehundred prisoners, besides four hundred officers, two thousand horses, twelve pieces of cannon, forty barrels of powder; all the king'sbaggage, coaches, most of his servants, and his secretary; with hiscabinet of letters, of which the parliament made great improvement, and, basely enough, caused his private letters between his majesty and thequeen, her majesty's letters to the king, and a great deal of suchstuff, to be printed. 

 DEFOE. 

[Note: _The battle of Naseby_, fought on June 14th, 1645. The king'sforces were routed, and his cannon and baggage fell into the enemy'shands. Not only was the loss heavy, but it was made more serious by hiscorrespondence falling into the hands of the parliamentary leaders, which exposed his dealings with the Irish Roman Catholics. The mostremarkable point about this description is the air of reality whichDefoe gives to his account of an event which took place nearly twentyyears before his birth. ]

 * * * * *

THE PILGRIMS AND GIANT DESPAIR. 

Now there was, not far from the place where they lay, a castle, calledDoubting Castle, the owner whereof was Giant Despair, and it was in hisgrounds they now were sleeping; wherefore he, getting up in the morningearly, and walking up and down in his fields, caught Christian andHopeful asleep in his grounds. Then with a grim and surly voice he bidthem awake, and asked them whence they were, and what they did in hisgrounds. They told him that they were pilgrims, and that they had losttheir way. Then said the giant. You have this night trespassed on me bytrampling in and lying on my grounds, and therefore you must go alongwith me. So they were forced to go, because he was stronger than they. They also had but little to say, for they knew themselves in a fault. The giant, therefore, drove them before him, and put them into hiscastle, into a very dark dungeon, nasty, and loathsome to the spirits ofthese two men. Here, then, they lay from Wednesday morning till Saturdaynight, without one bit of bread or drop of drink, or light, or any toask how they did; they were, therefore, here in evil case, and were farfrom friends and acquaintance. Now, in this place Christian had doublesorrow, because it was through his unadvised haste that they werebrought into this distress. 

Now Giant Despair had a wife, and her name was Diffidence; so when hewas gone to bed, he told his wife what he had done, to wit, that hehad taken a couple of prisoners, and cast them into his dungeon fortrespassing on his grounds. Then he asked her also what he had best todo further to them. So she asked him what they were, whence they came, and whither they were bound, and he told her. Then she counselled him, that when he arose in the morning he should beat them without mercy. Sowhen he arose, he getteth him a grievous crabtree cudgel, and goes downinto the dungeon to them, and there first falls to rating of them as ifthey were dogs, although they never gave him a word of distaste. Then hefalls upon them, and beats them fearfully, in such sort that they werenot able to help themselves, or to turn them upon the floor. This done, he withdraws, and leaves them there to condole their misery, and tomourn under their distress: so all that day they spent their time innothing but sighs and bitter lamentations. The next night, she, talkingwith her husband further about them, and understanding that they wereyet alive, did advise him to counsel them to make away with themselves. So when morning was come, he goes to them in a surly manner, as before, and perceiving them to be very sore with the stripes that he had giventhem the day before, he told them, that since they were never like tocome out of that place, their only way would be forthwith to make an endof themselves, either with knife, halter, or poison; for why, saidhe, should you choose to live, seeing it is attended with so muchbitterness? But they desired him to let them go. With that he lookedugly upon them, and, rushing to them, had doubtless made an end of themhimself, but that he fell into one of his fits (for he sometimes, insunshiny weather, fell into fits), and lost for a time the use of hishands; wherefore he withdrew, and left them as before to consider whatto do. 

Well, towards evening the giant goes down into the dungeon again, to seeif his prisoners had taken his counsel. But when he came there, he foundthem alive; and, truly, alive was all; for now, what for want of breadand water, and by reason of the wounds they received when he beat them, they could do little but breathe. But, I say, he found them alive; atwhich he fell into a grievous rage, and told them, that seeing they haddisobeyed his counsel, it should be worse with them than if they hadnever been born. 

At this they trembled greatly, and I think that Christian fell intoa swoon: but coming a little to himself again, they renewed theirdiscourse about the giant's counsel, and whether yet they had best takeit or no. 

Now night being come again, and the giant and his wife being in bed, sheasked him concerning the prisoners, and if they had taken his counsel;to which he replied. They are sturdy rogues; they choose rather to bearall hardships than to make away with themselves. Then said she, Takethem into the castle-yard to-morrow, and show them the bones and skullsof those that thou hast already despatched, and make them believe, ere aweek comes to an end, thou wilt tear them in pieces, as thou hast donetheir fellows before them. 

So when the morning was come, the giant goes to them again, and takesthem into the castle-yard, and shows them as his wife had bidden him. These, said he, were pilgrims as you are once, and they trespassed on mygrounds as you have done; and when I thought fit, I tore them in pieces;and so within ten days I will do you. Go get you down to your den again. And with that he beat them all the way thither. They lay therefore allday on Saturday in lamentable case as before. Now when night was come, and when Mrs. Diffidence and her husband the giant were got to bed, theybegan to renew their discourse of the prisoners; and withal the oldgiant wondered that he could neither by his blows nor counsel bring themto an end. And with that his wife replied, I fear, said she, that theylive in hopes that some will come to relieve them, or that they havepicklocks about them, by the means of which they hope to escape. Andsayest thou so, my dear? said the giant; I will therefore search them inthe morning. 

Well, on Saturday about midnight, they began to pray, and continued inprayer till almost break of day. 

Now, a little before it was day, good Christian, as one half amazed, broke out into this passionate speech: What a fool, quoth he, am I, tolie in a dungeon, when I may as well walk at liberty! I have a key inmy bosom called Promise, that will, I am persuaded, open any lock inDoubtful Castle. Then said Hopeful, That's good news; good brother, pluck it out of thy bosom and try. 

Then Christian pulled it out of his bosom, and began to try at thedungeon-door, whose bolt, as he turned the key, gave back, and the doorflew open with ease, and Christian and Hopeful both came out. Then hewent to the outward door that leads into the castle-yard, and with hiskey opened that door also. After that he went to the iron gate, for thatmust be opened too, but that lock went desperately hard, yet the key didopen it. Then they thrust open the gate to make their escape with speed;but that gate, as it opened, made such a creaking, that it waked GiantDespair, who, hastily rising to pursue his prisoners, felt his limbs tofail; for his fits took him again, so that he could by no means go afterthem. Then, they went on, and came to the king's highway again, and sowere safe, because they were out of his jurisdiction. 

 BUNYAN. 

[Note: _John Bunyan_ (1628-1688), the Puritan tinker, author of the'Pilgrim's Progress, ']

 * * * * *

 THE WINTER EVENING. 

 Hark! 'tis the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge, That with its wearisome but needful length Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright!-- He comes, the herald of a noisy world, With spatter'd boots, strapped waist, and frozen locks! News from all nations lumb'ring at his back. True to his charge, the close-pack'd load behind. Yet careless what he brings, his one concern Is to conduct it to the destined inn; And, having dropp'd th' expected bag, pass on. He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch, Cold and yet cheerful: messenger of grief Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some; To him indiff'rent whether grief or joy. Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks, Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet With tears, that trickled down the writer's cheeks Fast as the periods from his fluent quill. Or charged with am'rous sighs of absent swains, Or nymphs responsive, equally affect His horse and him, unconscious of them all. But oh the important budget; usher'd in With such heart-shaking music, who can say What are its tidings? have our troops awak'd? Or do they still, as if with opium drugged, Snore to the murmurs of the Atlantic wave? Is India free? and does she wear her plumed And jewell'd turban with a smile of peace, Or do we grind her still? The grand debate, The popular harangue, the tart reply, The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit, And the loud laugh--I long to know them all; I burn to set the imprison'd wranglers free, And give them voice and utt'rance once again. 

 Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And, while the bubbling and loud hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer, but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in. Not such his evening, who with shining face Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, squeez'd And bor'd with elbow-points through both his sides. Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage; Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb. And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath Of patriots bursting with heroic rage, Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles. This folio of four pages, happy work! Which not e'en critics criticise; that holds Inquisitive attention, while I read. Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair, Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break: What is it, but a map of busy life, Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns? Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge, That tempts ambition. On the summit, see, The seals of office glitter in his eyes; He climbs, he pants, he grasps them! At his heels. Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends, And with a dext'rous jerk, soon twists him And wins them, but to lose them in his turn. Here rills of oily eloquence in soft Meanders lubricate the course they take; The modest speaker is asham'd and grieved To engross a moment's notice; and yet begs. Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts, However trivial all that he conceives. Sweet bashfulness! it claims at least this praise; The dearth of information and good sense, That it foretells us, always comes to pass. Cataracts of declamation thunder here; There forests of no meaning spread the page, In which all comprehension wanders lost; While fields of pleasantry amuse us there With merry descants on a nation's woes. The rest appears a wilderness of strange But gay confusion; roses for the cheeks, And lilies for the brows of faded age, Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald, Heaven, earth, and ocean, plunder'd of their sweets, Nectareous essences, Olympian dews, Sermons, and city feasts, and fav'rite airs, Ethereal journeys, submarine exploits. And Katerfelto, with his hair on end At his own wonders, wond'ring for his bread. 

 'Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, To peep at such a world; to see the stir Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd; To hear the roar she sends through all her gates At a safe distance, where the dying sound Falls a soft murmur on the uninjur'd ear. Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease The globe and its concerns, I seem advanc'd To some secure and more than mortal height. That liberates and exempts me from them all It turns submitted to my view, turns round With all its generations; I behold The tumult, and am still. The sound of war Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me; Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride And avarice that make man a wolf to man; Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats By which he speaks the language of his heart, And sigh, but never tremble at the bound. He travels and expatiates, as the bee From flower to flower, so he from land to land: The manners, customs, policy, of all Pay contribution to the store he gleans; He sucks intelligence in every clinic, And spreads the honey of his deep research At his return--a rich repast for me. He travels, and I too. I tread his deck, Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes Discover countries, with a kindred heart Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes; While fancy, like the finger of a clock, Runs the great circuit, and is still at home. 

 COWPER. 

[Note:_Katerfelto_. A quack then exhibiting in London. ]

 * * * * *

A HARD WINTER. 

There were some circumstances attending the remarkable frost of January1776 so singular and striking, that a short detail of them may not beunacceptable. 

The most certain way to be exact will be to copy the passages from myjournal, which were taken from time to time, as things occurred. But itmay be proper previously to remark, that the first week in January wasuncommonly wet, and drowned with vast rain from every quarter; fromwhence may be inferred, as there is great reason to believe is the case, that intense frosts seldom take place till the earth is completelyglutted and chilled with water; and hence dry autumns are seldomfollowed by rigorous winters. 

January 7th. --Snow driving all the day, which was followed by frost, sleet, and some snow, till the twelfth, when a prodigious massoverwhelmed all the works of men, drifting over the tops of the gates, and filling the hollow lanes. 

On the 14th, the writer was obliged to be much abroad; and thinks henever before, or since, has encountered such rugged Siberian weather. Many of the narrow roads are now filled above the tops of the hedges;through which the snow was driven in most romantic and grotesque shapes, so striking to the imagination as not to be seen without wonder andpleasure. The poultry dared not stir out of their roosting-places; forcocks and hens are so dazzled and confounded by the glare of the snow, that they would soon perish without assistance. The hares also laysullenly in their seats, and would not move till compelled by hunger;being conscious, poor animals, that the drifts and heaps treacherouslybetray their footsteps, and prove fatal to numbers of them. 

From the 14th, the snow continued to increase, and began to stop theroad-waggons and coaches, which could no longer keep in their regularstages; and especially on the western roads, where the fall appears tohave been greater than in the south. The company at Bath, that wanted toattend the Queen's birthday, were strangely incommoded; many carriagesof persons who got, in their way to town from Bath, as far asMarlborough, after strange embarrassment, here came to a dead stop. Theladies fretted, and offered large rewards to labourers if they wouldshovel them a track to London; but the relentless heaps of snow were toobulky to be removed; and so the 18th passed over, leaving the company invery uncomfortable circumstances at the _Castle_ and other inns. 

On the 20th, the sun shone out for the first time since the frostbegan; a circumstance that has been remarked before, much in favourof vegetation. All this time the cold was not very intense, for thethermometer stood at 29°, 28° 25° and thereabout; but on the 21st itdescended to 20°. The birds now began to be in a very pitiable andstarving condition. Tamed by the season, sky-larks settled in thestreets of towns, because they saw the ground was bare; rooks frequenteddung-hills close to houses; hares now came into men's gardens, andscraping away the snow, devoured such plants as they could find. 

On the 22nd, the author had occasion to go to London; through a sortof Laplandian scene very wild and grotesque indeed. But the metropolisitself exhibited a still more singular appearance than the country; for, being bedded deep in snow, the pavement could not be touched by thewheels or the horses' feet, so that the carriages ran about without theleast noise. Such an exemption from din and clatter was strange, but notpleasant; it seemed to convey an uncomfortable idea of desolation. 

On the 27th, much snow fell all day, and in the evening the frost becamevery intense. At South Lambeth, for the four following nights, thethermometer fell to 11°, 7°, 0°, 6°; and at Selborne to 7°, 6°, 10°; andon the 31st of January, just before sunrise, with rime on the trees, andon the tube of the glass, the quicksilver sunk exactly to zero, being32° below freezing point; but by eleven in the morning, though in theshade, it sprung up to 16-1/2°--a most unusual degree of cold thisfor the south of England. During these four nights the cold was sopenetrating that it occasioned ice in warm and protected chambers; andin the day the wind was so keen that persons of robust constitutionscould scarcely endure to face it. The Thames was at once so frozen over, both above and below the bridge, that crowds ran about on the ice. Thestreets were now strangely encumbered with snow, which crumbled and troddusty, mid, turning gray, resembled bay-salt; what had fallen on theroofs was so perfectly dry, that from first to last it lay twenty-sixdays on the houses in the city--a longer time than had been rememberedby the oldest housekeepers living. According to all appearances, wemight now have expected the continuance of this rigorous weather forweeks to come, since every night increased in severity; but behold, without any apparent on the 1st of February a thaw took place, and somerain followed before night; making good the observation, that frostsoften go off, as it were, at once, without any gradual declension ofcold. On the 2nd of February, the thaw persisted; and on the 3rd, swarmsof little insects were frisking and sporting in a court-yard at SouthLambeth, as if they had felt no frost. Why the juices in the smallbodies and smaller limbs of such minute beings are not frozen, is amatter of curious inquiry. 

 REV. GILBERT WHITE. 

[Note: _Rev. Gilbert White_ (1720-1793), author of the 'Natural Historyof Selborne, ' one of the most charming books on natural history in thelanguage. ]

 * * * * *

A PORTENTOUS SUMMER. 

The, summer of the year 1783 was an amazing and portentous one, and fullof horrible phenomena; for, besides the alarming meteors and tremendousthunder and storms that affrighted and distressed the different countiesof this kingdom, the peculiar haze, or smoky fog, that prevailed formany weeks in this island, and in every part of Europe, and even beyondits limits, was a most extraordinary appearance, unlike anything knownwithin the memory of man. By my journal I find that I had noticed thisstrange occurrence from June 23 to July 20 inclusive, during whichperiod the wind varied to every quarter, without making any alterationin the air. The sun, at noon, looked as black as a clouded moon, andshed a rust-coloured feruginous light on the ground and floors ofrooms, but was particularly lurid and blood-coloured at rising andsetting. All the time the heat was so intense that butchers' meat couldhardly be eaten the day after it was killed; and the flies swarmed soin the lanes and hedges that they rendered the horses half frantic, andriding irksome. The country-people began to look with a superstitiousawe at the red, lowering aspect of the sun; and, indeed, there wasreason for the most enlightened person to be apprehensive, for all thewhile Calabria, and part of the isle of Sicily, were torn and convulsedwith earthquakes; and about that juncture a volcano sprang out of thesea on the coast of Norway. On this occasion Milton's noble simile ofthe sun, in his first book of 'Paradise Lost, ' frequently occurred tomy mind; and it is indeed particularly applicable, because, towards theend, it alludes to a superstitious kind of dread with which the minds ofmen are always impressed by such strange and unusual phenomena:--

 "As when the sun, new risen, Looks through the horizontal, misty air Shorn of his beams; or, from behind the moon. In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs. "

 REV. GILBERT WHITE. 

 * * * * *

A THUNDERSTORM. 

On the 5th of June, 1784, the thermometer in the morning being at 64, and at noon at 70, the barometer at 29. 6 1/2, and the wind north, Iobserved a blue mist, smelling strongly of sulphur, hang along oursloping woods, and seeming to indicate that thunder was at hand. I wascalled in about two in the afternoon, and so missed seeing the gatheringof the clouds in the north, which they who were abroad assured me hadsomething uncommon in its appearance. At about a quarter after two thestorm began in the parish of Hartley, moving slowly from north to south;and from thence it came over Norton Farm and so to Grange Farm, both inthis parish. It began with vast drops of rain, which were soon succeededby round hail, and then by convex pieces of ice, which measured threeinches in girth. Had it been as extensive as it was violent, and ofany continuance (for it was very short), it must have ravaged all theneighbourhood. In the parish of Hartley it did some damage to one farm;but Norton, which lay in the centre of the storm, was greatly injured;as was Grange, which lay next to it. It did but just reach to the middleof the village, where the hail broke my north windows, and all my gardenlights and hand-glasses, and many of my neighbours' windows. The extentof the storm was about two miles in length, and one in breadth. We werejust sitting down to dinner; but were soon diverted from our repast bythe clattering of tiles and the jingling of glass. There fell at thesame time prodigious torrents of rain on the farm above mentioned, whichoccasioned a flood as violent as it was sudden, doing great damage tothe meadows and fallows by deluging the one and washing away the soil ofthe other. The hollow lane towards Alton was so torn and disordered asnot to be passable till mended, rocks being removed that weighed twohundredweight. Those that saw the effect which the great hail had on theponds and pools, say that the dashing of the water made an extraordinaryappearance, the froth and spray standing up in the air three feet abovethe surface. The rushing and roaring of the hail, as it approached, wastruly tremendous. 

Though the clouds at South Lambeth, near London, were at that juncturethin and light, and no storm was in sight, nor within hearing, yet theair was strongly electric; for the bells of an electric machine at thatplace rang repeatedly, and fierce sparks were discharged. 

 REV. GILBERT WHITE. 

 * * * * *

CHARACTER OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

About half-past one P. M. On the 21st of September, 1832, Sir WalterScott breathed his last, in the presence of all his children. It wasa beautiful day--so warm, that every window was wide open--and soperfectly still, that the sound of all others most delicious to his ear, the gentle ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles, was distinctly audibleas we knelt around the bed, and his eldest son kissed and closed hiseyes. No sculptor ever modelled a more majestic image of repose. 

It will, I presume, be allowed that no human character, which we havethe opportunity of studying with equal minuteness, had fewer faultsmixed up in its texture. The grand virtue of fortitude, the basis of allothers, was never displayed in higher perfection than in him; andit was, as perhaps true courage always is, combined with an equallyadmirable spirit of kindness and humanity. His pride, if we must call itso, undebased by the least tincture of mere vanity, was intertwined witha most exquisite charity, and was not inconsistent with true humility. If ever the principle of kindliness was incarnated in a mere man, itwas in him; and real kindliness can never be but modest. In the socialrelations of life, where men are most effectually tried, no spot can bedetected in him. He was a patient, dutiful, reverent son; a generous, compassionate, tender husband; an honest, careful, and most affectionatefather. Never was a more virtuous or a happier fireside than his. Theinfluence of his mighty genius shadowed it imperceptibly; his calm goodsense, and his angelic sweetness of heart and temper, regulated andsoftened a strict but paternal discipline. His children, as they grewup, understood by degrees the high privilege of their birth; but theprofoundest sense of his greatness never disturbed their confidence inhis goodness. The buoyant play of his spirits made him sit young amongthe young; parent and son seemed to live in brotherhood together;and the chivalry of his imagination threw a certain air of courteousgallantry into his relations with his daughters, which gave a verypeculiar grace to the fondness of their intercourse. 

Perhaps the most touching evidence of the lasting tenderness of hisearly domestic feelings was exhibited to his executors, when they openedhis repositories in search of his testament, the evening after hisburial. On lifting up his desk we found arranged in careful order aseries of little objects, which had obviously been so placed there thathis eye might rest on them every morning before he began his tasks. These were the old-fashioned boxes that had garnished his mother'stoilet when he, a sickly child, slept in her dressing-room; the silvertaper-stand which the young advocate had bought for her with his firstfive-guinea fee; a row of small packets inscribed with her hand, andcontaining the hair of those of her offspring that had died before her;his father's snuff-box and pencil-case; and more things of the likesort, recalling the "old familiar faces. " The same feeling was apparentin all the arrangement of his private apartment. Pictures of his fatherand mother were the only ones in his dressing-room. The clumsy antiquecabinets that stood there--things of a very different class from thebeautiful and costly productions in the public rooms below--had allbelonged to the furniture of George's Square. Even his father's ricketywashing-stand, with all its cramped appurtenances, though exceedinglyunlike what a man of his very scrupulous habits would have selected inthese days, kept its ground. Such a son and parent could hardly failin any of the other social relations. No man was a firmer or moreindefatigable friend. I know not that he ever lost one; and a fewwith whom, during the energetic middle stage of life, from politicaldifferences or other accidental circumstances, he lived less familiarly, had all gathered round him, and renewed the full warmth of earlyaffection in his later days. There was enough to dignify the connexionin their eyes; but nothing to chill it on either side. The imaginationthat so completely mastered him when he chose to give her the rein, waskept under most determined control when any of the positive obligationsof active life came into question. A high and pure sense of dutypresided over whatever he had to do as a citizen and a magistrate; and, as a landlord, he considered his estate as an extension of his hearth. 

 J. LOCKHART. 

 * * * * *

MUMPS'S HALL. 

There is, or rather I should say there _was_, a little inn, calledMumps's Hall--that is, being interpreted, Beggar's Hotel--near toGilsland, which had not then attained its present fame as a Spa. Itwas a hedge alehouse, where the Border farmers of either country oftenstopped to refresh themselves and their nags, in their way to and fromthe fairs and trysts in Cumberland, and especially those who came fromor went to Scotland, through a barren and lonely district, withouteither road or pathway, emphatically called the Waste of Bewcastle. Atthe period when the adventure about to be described is supposed to havetaken place, there were many instances of attacks by freebooters, onthose who travelled through this wild district; and Mumps's Hall hada bad reputation for harbouring the banditti who committed suchdepredations. 

An old and sturdy yeoman belonging to the Scottish side, by surname anArmstrong or Elliot, but well known by his sobriquet of Fighting Charlieof Liddesdale, and still remembered for the courage he displayed inthe frequent frays which took place on the Border fifty or sixty yearssince, had the following adventure in the Waste, one of many which gaveits character to the place:--

Charlie had been at Stagshaw-bank fair, had sold his sheep or cattle, orwhatever he had brought to market, and was on his return to Liddesdale. There were then no country banks where cash could be deposited, andbills received instead, which greatly encouraged robbery in that wildcountry, as the objects of plunder were usually fraught with gold. Therobbers had spies in the fair, by means of whom they generally knewwhose purse was best stocked, and who took a lonely and desolate roadhomeward--those, in short, who were best worth robbing, and likely to bemost easily robbed. 

All this Charlie knew full well; but he had a pair of excellent pistols, and a dauntless heart. He stopped at Mumps's Hall, notwithstanding theevil character of the place. His horse was accommodated where it mighthave the necessary rest and feed of corn; and the landlady used all theinfluence in her power to induce him to stop all night. The landlord wasfrom home, she said, and it was ill passing the Waste, as twilight mustneeds descend on him before he gained the Scottish side, which wasreckoned the safest. But fighting Charlie, though he suffered himself tobe detained later than was prudent, did not account Mumps's Hall a safeplace to quarter in during the night. He tore himself away, therefore, from Meg's good fare and kind words, and mounted his nag, having firstexamined his pistols, and tried by the ramrod whether the chargeremained in them. 

He proceeded a mile or two, at a round trot, when, as the Wastestretched black before him, apprehensions began to awaken in his mind, partly arising out of Meg's unusual kindness, which he could not helpthinking had rather a suspicious appearance. He therefore resolved toreload his pistols, lest the powder had become damp; but what was hissurprise, when he drew the charge, to find neither powder nor ball, while each barrel had been carefully filled with _tow_, up to the spacewhich the loading had occupied! and, the priming of the weapons beingleft untouched, nothing but actually drawing and examining the chargecould have discovered the inefficiency of his arms till the fatal minutearrived when their services were required. Charlie reloaded his pistolswith care and accuracy, having now no doubt that he was to be waylaidand assaulted. He was not far engaged in the Waste, which was then, andis now, traversed only by such routes as are described in the text, whentwo or three fellows, disguised and variously armed, started from amoss-hag, while, by a glance behind him (for, marching, as the Spaniardsays, with his beard on his shoulder, he reconnoitred in everydirection), Charlie instantly saw retreat was impossible, as other twostout men appeared behind him at some distance. The Borderer lost not amoment in taking his resolution, and boldly trotted against his enemiesin front, who called loudly on him to stand and deliver. Charlie spurredon, and presented his pistol. "A fig for your pistol!" said the foremostrobber, whom Charlie to his dying day protested he believed to have beenthe landlord of Mumps's Hall--"A fig for your pistol! I care not a cursefor it. "--"Ay, lad, " said the deep voice of Fighting Charlie, "but the_tow's out now_". He had no occasion to utter another word; the rogues, surprised at finding a man of redoubted courage well armed, instead ofbeing defenceless, took to the moss in every direction, and he passed onhis way without further molestation. 

 SCOTT. 

 * * * * *

THE PORTEOUS MOB. 

The magistrates, after vain attempts to make themselves heard andobeyed, possessing no means of enforcing their authority, wereconstrained to abandon the field to the rioters, and retreat in allspeed from the showers of missiles that whistled around their ears. 

The passive resistance of the Tolbooth-gate promised to do more tobaffle the purpose of the mob than the active interference of themagistrates. The heavy sledge-hammers continued to din against itwithout intermission, and with a noise which, echoed from the loftybuildings around the spot, seemed enough to have alarmed the garrison inthe Castle. It was circulated among the rioters that the troops wouldmarch down to disperse them, unless they could execute their purposewithout loss of time; or that even without quitting the fortress, thegarrison might obtain the same end by throwing a bomb or two upon thestreet. 

Urged by such motives for apprehension, they eagerly relieved each otherat the labour of assailing the Tolbooth door; yet such was its strength, that it still defied their efforts. At length, a voice was heard topronounce the words, "Try it with fire!" The rioters, with an unanimousshout, called for combustibles, and as all their wishes seemed to beinstantly supplied, they were soon in possession of two or three emptytar-barrels. A huge red glaring bonfire speedily arose close to the doorof the prison, sending up a tall column of smoke and flame againstits antique turrets and strongly-grated windows, and illuminating theferocious and wild gestures of the rioters who surrounded the place, aswell as the pale and anxious groups of those who, from windows in thevicinage, watched the progress of this alarming scene. The mob fed thefire with whatever they could find fit for the purpose. The flamesroared and crackled among the heaps of nourishment piled on the fire, and a terrible shout soon announced that the door had kindled, and wasin the act of being destroyed. The fire was suffered to decay, but, longere it was quite extinguished, the most forward of the rioters rushed, in their impatience, one after another, over its yet smoulderingremains. Thick showers of sparkles rose high in the air, as man afterman bounded over the glowing embers, and disturbed them in theirpassage. It was now obvious to Butler, and all others who were present, that the rioters would be instantly in possession of their victim, andhave it in their power to work their pleasure upon him, whatever thatmight be. 

The unhappy object of this remarkable disturbance had been that daydelivered from the apprehension of a public execution, and his joy wasthe greater, as he had some reason to question whether government wouldhave run the risk of unpopularity by interfering in his favour, after hehad been legally convicted by the verdict of a jury, of a crime so veryobnoxious. Relieved from this doubtful state of mind, his heart wasmerry within him, and he thought, in the emphatic words of Scripture ona similar occasion, that surely the bitterness of death was past. Someof his friends, however, who had watched the manner and behaviour ofthe crowd when they were made acquainted with the reprieve, were of adifferent opinion. They augured, from the unusual sternness and silencewith which they bore their disappointment, that the populace nourishedsome scheme of sudden and desperate vengeance; and they advised Porteousto lose no time in petitioning the proper authorities, that he mightbe conveyed to the Castle under a sufficient guard, to remain therein security until his ultimate fate should be determined. Habituated, however, by his office to overawe the rabble of the city, Porteous couldnot suspect them of an attempt so audacious as to storm a strong anddefensible prison; and, despising the advice by which he might havebeen saved, he spent the afternoon of the eventful day in giving anentertainment to some friends who visited him in jail, several of whom, by the indulgence of the Captain of the Tolbooth, with whom he hadan old intimacy, arising from their official connection, were evenpermitted to remain to supper with him, though contrary to the rules ofthe jail. 

It was, therefore, in the hour of unalloyed mirth, when this unfortunatewretch was "full of bread, " hot with wine, and high in mis-timed andill-grounded confidence, and, alas! with all his sins full blown, when the first distant shouts of the rioters mingled with the songof merriment and intemperance. The hurried call of the jailor to theguests, requiring them instantly to depart, and his yet more hastyintimation that a dreadful and determined mob had possessed themselvesof the city gates and guard-house, were the first explanation of thesefearful clamours. 

Porteous might, however, have eluded the fury from which the force ofauthority could not protect him, had he thought of slipping on somedisguise, and leading the prison along with his guests. It is probablethat the jailor might have connived at his escape, or even that, in thehurry of this alarming contingency, he might not have observed it. ButPorteous and his friends alike wanted presence of mind to suggest orexecute such a plan of escape. The former hastily fled from a placewhere their own safety seemed compromised, and the latter, in a stateresembling stupefaction, awaited in his apartment the termination of theenterprise of the rioters. The cessation of the clang of the instrumentswith which they had at first attempted to force the door, gave himmomentary relief. The flattering hopes that the military had marchedinto the city, either from the Castle or from the suburbs, and that therioters were intimidated and dispersing, were soon destroyed by thebroad and glaring-light of the flames, which, illuminating through thegrated window every corner of his apartment, plainly showed that themob, determined on their fatal purpose, had adopted a means of forcingentrance equally desperate and certain. 

The sudden glare of light suggested to the stupefied and astonishedobject of popular hatred the possibility of concealment or escape. Torush to the chimney, to ascend it at the risk of suffocation, were theonly means which seem to have occurred to him; but his progress wasspeedily stopped by one of those iron gratings, which are, for the sakeof security, usually placed across the vents of buildings designed forimprisonment. The bars, however, which impeded his farther progress, served to support him in the situation which he had gained, and heseized them with the tenacious grasp of one who esteemed himselfclinging to his last hope of existence. The lurid light, which hadfilled the apartment, lowered and died away; the sound of shouts washeard within the walls, and on the narrow and winding stair, which, cased within one of the turrets, gave access to the upper apartments ofthe prison. The huzza of the rioters was answered by a shout wild anddesperate as their own, the cry, namely, of the imprisoned felons, who, expecting to be liberated in the general confusion, welcomed the mob astheir deliverers. By some of these the apartment of Porteous waspointed out to his enemies. The obstacle of the lock and bolts wassoon overcome, and from his hiding-place the unfortunate man heardhis enemies search every corner of the apartment, with oaths andmaledictions, which would but shock the reader if we recorded them, butwhich served to prove, could it have admitted of doubt, the settledpurpose of soul with which they sought his destruction. 

A place of concealment so obvious to suspicion and scrutiny as thatwhich Porteous had chosen, could not long screen him from detection. He was dragged from his lurking place, with a violence which seemed toargue an intention to put him to death on the spot. More than one weaponwas directed towards him, when one of the rioters, the same whose femaledisguise had been particularly noticed by Butler, interfered in anauthoritative tone. "Are ye mad?" he said, "or would ye execute an actof justice as if it were a crime and a cruelty? This sacrifice will losehalf its savour if we do not offer it at the very horns of the altar. Wewill have him die where a murderer should die, on the common gibbet--wewill have him die where he spilled the blood of so many innocents!"

A loud shout of applause followed the proposal, and the cry, "To thegallows with the murderer!--to the Grassmarket with him!" echoed on allhands. 

"Let no man hurt him, " continued the speaker; "let him make his peacewith God, if he can; we will not kill both his soul and body. "

"What time did he give better folk for preparing their account?"answered several voices. "Let us mete to him with the same measure hemeasured to them. "

But the opinion of the spokesman better suited the temper of thosehe addressed, a temper rather stubborn than impetuous, sedate thoughferocious, and desirous of colouring their cruel and revengeful actionwith a show of justice and moderation. 

 SCOTT. 

[Notes: _The Porteous Mob_ occurred in 1736. At the execution of asmuggler named Wilson, a slight commotion amongst the crowd was made byCaptain Porteous the occasion for ordering his men who were on guard tofire upon the people. He was tried and sentenced to death, but reprievedby Queen Caroline, then regent in the absence of George II. The reprievewas held so unjust by the people that they stormed the Tolbooth, andhanged Porteous, who was a prisoner there. ]

 * * * * *

THE PORTEOUS MOB--_continued. _

The tumult was now transferred from the inside to the outside of theTolbooth. The mob had brought their destined victim forth, and wereabout to conduct him to the common place of execution, which they hadfixed as the scene of his death. The leader, whom they had distinguishedby the name of Madge Wildfire, had been summoned to assist at theprocession by the impatient shouts of his confederates. 

"I will ensure you five hundred pounds, " said the unhappy man, graspingWildfire's hand, --"five hundred pounds for to save my life. "

The other answered in the same undertone, and returning his grasp withone equally convulsive. "Five hundred-height of coined gold should notsave you--Remember Wilson!"

A deep pause of a minute ensued, when Wildfire added, in a more composedtone, "Make your peace with Heaven. Where is the clergyman?"

Butler, who, in great terror and anxiety, had been detained within afew yards of the Tolbooth door, to wait the event of the search afterPorteous, was now brought forward, and commanded to walk by theprisoner's side, and to prepare him for immediate death. 

They had suffered the unfortunate Porteous to put on his night-gownand slippers, as he had thrown off his coat and shoes, in order tofacilitate his attempted escape up the chimney. In this garb he was nowmounted on the hands of two of the rioters, clasped together, so as toform what is called in Scotland, "The King's Cushion. " Butler was placedclose to his side, and repeatedly urged to perform a duty always themost painful which can be imposed on a clergyman deserving of the name, and now rendered more so by the peculiar and horrid circumstances of thecriminal's case. Porteous at first uttered some supplications for mercy, but when he found that there was no chance that these would be attendedto, his military education, and the natural stubbornness of hisdisposition, combined to support his spirits. 

The procession now moved forward with a slow and determined pace. It wasenlightened by many blazing links and torches; for the actors of thiswork were so far from affecting any secrecy on the occasion, that theyseemed even to court observation. Their principal leaders kept close tothe person of the prisoner, whose pallid yet stubborn features were seendistinctly by the torch-light, as his person was raised considerablyabove the concourse which thronged around him. Those who bore swords, muskets, and battle-axes, marched on each side, as if forming a regularguard to the procession. The windows, as they went along, were filledwith the inhabitants, whose slumbers had boon broken by this unusualdisturbance. Some of the spectators muttered accents of encouragement;but in general they were so much appalled by a sight so strange andaudacious, that they looked on with a sort of stupefied astonishment. Noone offered, by act or word, the slightest interruption. 

The rioters, on their part, continued to act with the same airof deliberate confidence and security which had marked all theirproceedings. When the object of their resentment dropped one of hisslippers, they stopped, sought for it, and replaced it upon his footwith great deliberation. As they descended the Bow towards the fatalspot where they designed to complete their purpose, it was suggestedthat there should be a rope kept in readiness. For this purpose thebooth of a man who dealt in cordage was forced open, a coil of rope fitfor their purpose was selected to serve as a halter, and the dealer nextmorning found that a guinea had been left on his counter in exchange; soanxious were the perpetrators of this daring action to show that theymeditated not the slightest wrong or infraction of law, excepting so farso as Porteous was himself concerned. 

Leading, or carrying along with them, in this determined and regularmanner, the object of their vengeance, they at length reached the placeof common execution, the scene of his crime, and destined spot ofhis sufferings. Several of the rioters (if they should not rather bedescribed as conspirators) endeavoured to remove the stone which filledup the socket in which the end of the fatal tree was sunk when itwas erected for its fatal purpose; others sought for the means ofconstructing a temporary gibbet, the place in which the gallows itselfwas deposited being reported too secure to be forced, without much lossof time. Butler endeavoured to avail himself of the delay afforded bythese circumstances, to turn the people from their desperate design. "For God's sake, " he exclaimed, "remember it is the image of yourCreator which you are about to deface in the person of this unfortunateman! Wretched as he is, and wicked as he may be, he has a share in everypromise of Scripture, and you cannot destroy him in impenitence withoutblotting his name from the Book of Life--Do not destroy soul and body;give time for preparation. "

"What time had they, " returned a stern voice, "whom he murdered on thisvery spot?--The laws both of God and man call for his death. "

"But what, my friends, " insisted Butler, with a generous disregard tohis own safety--"what hath constituted you his judges?"

"We are not his judges, " replied the same person; "he has been alreadyjudged and condemned by lawful authority. We are those whom Heaven, andour righteous anger, have stirred up to execute judgment, when a corruptgovernment would have protected a murderer. "

"I am none, " said the unfortunate Porteous: "that which you charge upon mefell out in self-defence, in the lawful exercise of my duty. "

"Away with him--away with him!" was the general cry. "Why do you trifleaway time in making a gallows?--that dyester's pole is good enough forthe homicide. "

The unhappy man was forced to his fate with remorseless rapidity. Butler, separated from him by the press, escaped the last horrors ofhis struggles. Unnoticed by those who had hitherto detained him as aprisoner, he fled from the fatal spot, without much caring in whatdirection his course lay. A loud shout proclaimed the stern delight withwhich the agents of this deed regarded its completion. Butler, then, at the opening into the low street called the Cowgate, cast back aterrified glance, and, by the red and dusky light of the torches, hecould discern a figure wavering and struggling as it hung suspendedabove the heads of the multitude, and could even observe men striking atit with their Lochaberaxes and partisans. The sight was of a nature todouble his horror, and to add wings to his flight. 

 SCOTT. 

 * * * * *

 MAZEPPA. 

 "'Bring forth the horse!'--the horse was brought; In truth, he was a noble steed, A Tartar of the Ukraine breed, Who look'd as though the speed of thought Were in his limbs; but he was wild, Wild as the wild deer, and untaught, With spur and bridle undefiled-- 'T was but a day he had been caught; And snorting, with erected mane, And struggling fiercely, but in vain, In the full foam of wrath and dread To me the desert-born was led: They bound me on, that menial throng; Upon his back with many a thong; Then loosed him with a sudden lash-- Away!--away!--and on we dash! Torrents less rapid and less rash. 

 * * * * *

 "Away, away, my steed and I, Upon the pinions of the wind, All human dwellings left behind; We sped like meteors through the sky, When with its crackling sound the night Is chequer'd with the northern light: Town--village--none were on our track. But a wild plain of far extent, And bounded by a forest black; And, save the scarce seen battlement On distant heights of some stronghold, Against the Tartars built of old, No trace of man. The year before A Turkish army had march'd o'er; And where the Spahi's hoof hath trod, The verdure flies the bloody sod: The sky was dull, and dim, and gray, And a low breeze crept moaning by-- I could have answered with a sigh-- But fast we fled, away, away, And I could neither sigh nor pray; And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain Upon the courser's bristling mane; But, snorting still with rage and fear, He flew upon his far career: At times I almost thought, indeed, He must have slacken'd in his speed; But no--my bound and slender frame Was nothing to his angry might, And merely like a spur became; Each motion which I made to free My swoln limbs from their agony Increased his fury and affright: I tried my voice, --'t was faint and low. But yet he swerved as from a blow; And, starting to each accent, sprang As from a sudden trumpet's clang: Meantime my cords were wet with gore, Which, oozing through my limbs, ran o'er; And in my tongue the thirst became A something fiercer far than flame. 

 "We near'd the wild wood--'t was so wide, I saw no bounds on either side; 'T was studded with old sturdy trees, That bent not to the roughest breeze Which howls down from Siberia's waste, And strips the forest in its haste, -- But these were few and far between, Set thick with shrubs more young and green. Luxuriant with their annual leaves, Ere strown by those autumnal eves That nip the forest's foliage dead, Discolour'd with a lifeless red, Which stands thereon like stiffen'd gore Upon the slain when battle's o'er, And some long winter's night hath shed Its frost o'er every tombless head, So cold and stark the raven's beak May peck unpierced each frozen cheek: 'T was a wild waste of underwood, And here and there a chestnut stood, The strong oak, and the hardy pine; But far apart--and well it were, Or else a different lot were mine-- The boughs gave way, and did not tear My limbs; and I found strength to bear My wounds, already scarr'd with cold; My bonds forbade to loose my hold. We rustled through the leaves like wind, Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind; By night I heard them on the track, Their troop came hard upon our back, With their long gallop, which can tire The hound's deep hate, and hunter's fire: Where'er we flew they follow'd on, Nor left us with the morning sun. Behind I saw them, scarce a rood, At day-break winding through the wood, And through the night had heard their feet Their stealing, rustling step repeat. 

 * * * * *

 "The wood was past; 'twas more than noon, But chill the air, although in June; Or it might be my veins ran cold-- Prolong'd endurance tames the bold; And I was then not what I seem, But headlong as a wintry stream, And wore my feelings out before I well could count their causes o'er: And what with fury, fear, and wrath, The tortures which beset my path, Cold, hunger, sorrow, shame, distress. Thus bound in nature's nakedness; Sprung from a race whose rising blood, When stirr'd beyond its calmer mood, And trodden hard upon, is like The rattle-snake's, in act to strike, What marvel if this worn-out trunk Beneath its woes a moment sunk? The earth gave way, the skies roll'd round. I seem'd to sink upon the ground; But err'd, for I was fastly bound. My heart turn'd sick, my brain grew sore. And throbb'd awhile, then beat no more: The skies spun like a mighty wheel; I saw the trees like drunkards reel And a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes, Which saw no farther: he who dies Can die no more than then I died. O'ertortured by that ghastly ride, I felt the blackness come and go. 

 "My thoughts came back; where was I? Cold, And numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse Life reassumed its lingering hold, And throb by throb, --till grown a pang Which for a moment would convulse, My blood reflow'd, though thick and chill; My ear with uncouth noises rang, My heart began once more to thrill; My sight return'd, though dim; alas! And thicken'd, as it were, with glass. Methought the dash of waves was nigh; There was a gleam too of the sky, Studded with stars;--it is no dream; The wild horse swims the wilder stream! The bright broad river's gushing tide Sleeps, winding onward, far and wide, And we are half-way, struggling o'er To yon unknown and silent shore. The waters broke my hollow trance, And with a temporary strength My stiffen'd limbs were rebaptized. My courser's broad breast proudly braves, And dashes off the ascending waves. We reach the slippery shore at length, A haven I but little prized, For all behind was dark and drear, And all before was night and fear. How many hours of night or day In those suspended pangs I lay. I could not tell; I scarcely knew If this were human breath I drew. 

 "With glossy skin and dripping mane, And reeling limbs, and reeking flank, The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain Up the repelling bank. We gain the top: a boundless plain Spreads through the shadow of the night, And onward, onward, onward, seems, Like precipices in our dreams To stretch beyond the sight: And here and there a speck of white, Or scatter'd spot of dusky green. In masses broke into the light. As rose the moon upon my right: But nought distinctly seen In the dim waste would indicate The omen of a cottage gate; No twinkling taper from afar Stood like a hospitable star: Not even an ignis-fatuus rose To make him merry with my woes: That very cheat had cheer'd me then! Although detected, welcome still, Reminding me, through every ill, Of the abodes of men. 

 "Onward we went--but slack and slow; His savage force at length o'erspent, The drooping courser, faint and low, All feebly foaming went. A sickly infant had had power To guide him forward in that hour; But useless all to me: His new-born tameness nought avail'd-- My limbs were bound; my force had fail'd, Perchance, had they been free. With feeble effort still I tried To rend the bonds so starkly tied, But still it was in vain; My limbs were only wrung the more, And soon the idle strife gave o'er, Which but prolonged their pain: The dizzy race seem'd almost done, Although no goal was nearly won: Rome streaks announced the coming sun-- How slow, alas! he came! Methought that mist of dawning gray Would never dapple into day; How heavily it roll'd away-- Before the eastern flame Rose crimson, and deposed the stars, And call'd the radiance from their cars, And fill'd the earth, from his deep throne. "Up rose the sun; the mists were curl'd Back from the solitary world Which lay around, behind, before. What booted it to traverse o'er Plain, forest, river? Man nor brute, Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot, Lay in the wild luxuriant soil; No sign of travel, none of toil; The very air was mute; And not an insect's shrill small horn. Nor matin bird's new voice was borne From herb nor thicket. Many a werst, Panting as if his heart would burst. The weary brute still stagger'd on: And still we were--or seem'd--alone. At length, while reeling on our way. Methought I heard a courser neigh, From out yon tuft of blackening firs. Is it the wind those branches stirs? No, no! from out the forest prance A trampling troop; I see them come! In one vast squadron they advance! I strove to cry--my lips were dumb. The steeds rush on in plunging pride; But where are they the reins to guide A thousand horse, and none to ride! With flowing tail, and flying mane, Wide nostrils never stretch'd by pain, Mouths bloodless to the bit of rein, And feet that iron never shod, And flanks unscarr'd by spur or rod, A thousand horse, the wild, the free, Like waves that follow o'er the sea, Came thickly thundering on, As if our faint approach to meet; The sight re-nerved my courser's feet, A moment staggering, feebly fleet, A moment, with a faint low neigh, He answer'd, and then fell; With gasps and glaring eyes he lay, And reeking limbs immoveable, His first and last career is done! On came the troop--they saw him stoop, They saw me strangely bound along His back with many a bloody thong: They stop, they start, they snuff the air, Gallop a moment here and there, Approach, retire, wheel round and round, Then plunging back with sudden bound, Headed by one black mighty steed, Who seem'd the patriarch of his breed, Without a single speck or hair Of white upon his shaggy hide; They snort, they foam, neigh, swerve aside. And backward to the forest fly, By instinct, from a human eye. They left me there to my despair, Link'd to the dead and stiffening wretch, Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch, Believed from that unwonted weight, From whence I could not extricate Nor him nor me--and there we lay, The dying on the dead! I little deem'd another day Would see my houseless, helpless head. 

 BYRON. 

[Notes: _Mazeppa_ (1645-1709) was at first in the service of the Kingof Poland, but on account of a charge brought against him suffered thepenalty described in the poem. He afterwards joined the Cossacks andbecame their leader; was in favour for a time with Peter the Great; butfinally joined Charles XII. , and died soon after the battle of Pultowa(1709), in which Charles was defeated by Peter. 

_Ukraine_ ("a frontier"), a district lying on the borders of Poland andRussia. 

_Werst_. A Russian measure of distance. ]

 * * * * *

JOSIAH WEDGWOOD. 

We make our first introduction to Wedgwood about the year 1741, as theyoungest of a family of thirteen children, and as put to earn his bread, at eleven years of age, in the trade of his father, and in the branchof a thrower. Then comes the well-known small-pox: the settling of thedregs of the disease in the lower part of the leg: and the amputation ofthe limb, rendering him lame for life. It is not often that we have suchpalpable occasion to record our obligations to the small-pox. But, inthe wonderful ways of Providence, that disease, which came to him asa two-fold scourge, was probably the occasion of his subsequentexcellence. It prevented him from growing up to the active vigorousEnglish workman, possessed of all his limbs, and knowing right well theuse of them; it put him upon considering whether, as he could not bethat, he might not be something else, and something greater. It sent hismind inwards; it drove him to meditate upon the laws and secrets of hisart. The result was, that he arrived at a perception and a grasp of themwhich might, perhaps, have been envied, certainly have been owned, by anAthenian potter. Relentless criticism has long since torn to pieces theold legend of King Numa, receiving in a cavern, from the Nymph Egeria, the laws that were to govern Rome. But no criticism can shake the recordof that illness and mutilation of the boy Josiah Wedgwood, which madefor him a cavern of his bedroom, and an oracle of his own inquiring, searching, meditative, and fruitful mind. 

From those early days of suffering, weary perhaps to him as they wentby, but bright surely in the retrospect both to him and us, a mark seemsat once to have been set upon his career. But those, who would dwellupon his history, have still to deplore that many of the materials arewanting. It is not creditable to his country or his art, that the Lifeof Wedgwood should still remain unwritten. Here is a man, who, in thewell-chosen words of his epitaph, "converted a rude and inconsiderablemanufacture into an elegant art, and an important branch of nationalcommerce. " Here is a man, who, beginning as it were from zero, andunaided by the national or royal gifts which were found necessary touphold the glories of Sèvres, of Chelsea, and of Dresden, produced workstruer, perhaps, to the inexorable laws of art, than the fine fabricsthat proceeded from those establishments, and scarcely less attractiveto the public taste. Here is a man, who found his business cooped upwithin a narrow valley by the want of even tolerable communications, and who, while he devoted his mind to the lifting that business frommeanness, ugliness, and weakness, to the highest excellence of materialand form, had surplus energy enough to take a leading part in greatengineering works like the Grand Trunk Canal from the Mersey to theTrent; which made the raw material of his industry abundant and cheap, which supplied a vent for the manufactured article, and opened for itmaterially a way to the outer world. Lastly, here is a man who foundhis country dependent upon others for its supplies of all the finerearthenware; but who, by his single strength, reversed the inclinationof the scales, and scattered thickly the productions of his factory overall the breadth of the continent of Europe. In travelling from Paris toSt. Petersburg, from Amsterdam to the furthest point of Sweden, fromDunkirk to the southern extremity of France, one is served at every innfrom English earthenware. The same article adorns the tables of Spain, Portugal, and Italy; it provides the cargoes of ships to the EastIndies, the West Indies, and America. 

 _Speech by_ MR. GLADSTONE. 

 * * * * *

THE CRIMEAN WAR. 

There is one point upon which I could have wished that the noble Lordhad also touched--I know there were so many subjects that he couldnot avoid touching that I share the admiration of the House at thecompleteness with which he seemed to have mastered all his themes; butwhen the noble Lord recalled to our recollection the deeds of admirablevalour and of heroic conduct which have been achieved upon the heightsof Alma, of Balaklava, and of Inkermann, I could have wished that he hadalso publicly recognized that the deeds of heroism in this campaign hadnot been merely confined to the field of battle. We ought to rememberthe precious lives given to the pestilence of Varna and to theinhospitable shores of the Black Sea; these men, in my opinion, wereanimated by as heroic a spirit as those who have yielded up their livesamid the flash of artillery and the triumphant sound of trumpets. No, Sir, language cannot do justice to the endurance of our troops under theextreme and terrible privations which circumstances have obliged them toendure. The high spirit of an English gentleman might have sustained himunder circumstances which he could not have anticipated to encounter;but the same proud patience has been found among the rank and file. Andit is these moral qualities that have contributed as much as othersapparently more brilliant to those great victories which we are nowacknowledging. 

Sir, the noble Lord has taken a wise and gracious course in combiningwith the thanks which he is about to propose to the British army andnavy the thanks also of the House of Commons to the army of our allies. Sir, that alliance which has now for some time prevailed between the twogreat countries of France and Britain has in peace been productiveof advantage, but it is the test to which it has been put by recentcircumstances that, in my opinion, will tend more than any other causeto confirm and consolidate that intimate union. That alliance, Sir, isone that does not depend upon dynasties or diplomacy. It is one whichhas been sanctioned by names to which we all look up with respect orwith feelings even of a higher character. The alliance between Franceand England was inaugurated by the imperial mind of Elizabeth, andsanctioned by the profound sagacity of Cromwell; it exists now not morefrom feelings of mutual interest than from feelings of mutual respect, and I believe it will be maintained by a noble spirit of emulation. 

Sir, there is still another point upon which, although with hesitation, I will advert for a moment. I am distrustful of my own ability to dealbecomingly with a theme on which the noble Lord so well touched; butnevertheless I feel that I must refer to it. I was glad to hear fromthe noble Lord that he intends to propose a vote of condolence with therelatives of those who have fallen in this contest. Sir, we have alreadyfelt, even in this chamber of public assemblage, how bitter havebeen the consequences of this war. We cannot throw our eyes over theaccustomed benches, where we miss many a gallant and genial face, without feeling our hearts ache, our spirits sadden, and even oureyes moisten. But if that be our feeling here when we miss the longcompanions of our public lives and labours, what must be the anguishand desolation which now darken so many hearths! Never, Sir, has theyouthful blood of this country been so profusely lavished as it has beenin this contest, --never has a greater sacrifice been made, and for endswhich more fully sanctify the sacrifice. But we can hardly hope now, inthe greenness of the wound, that even these reflections can serve as asource of solace. Young women who have become widows almost as soon asthey had become wives--mothers who have lost not only their sons, butthe brethren of those sons--heads of families who have seen abruptlyclose all their hopes of an hereditary line--these are pangs which eventhe consciousness of duty performed, which even the lustre of glory won, cannot easily or speedily alleviate and assuage. But let us indulge atleast in the hope, in the conviction, that the time will come whenthe proceedings of this evening may be to such persons a source ofconsolation--when sorrow for the memory of those that are departed maybe mitigated by the recollection that their death is at least associatedwith imperishable deeds, with a noble cause, and with a nation'sgratitude. 

 _Speech by_ MR. DISRAELI. 

 * * * * *

NATIONAL MORALITY. 

I believe there is no permanent greatness to a nation except it be basedupon morality. I do not care for military greatness or military renown. I care for the condition of the people among whom I live. There is noman in England who is less likely to speak irreverently of the Crown andMonarchy of England than I am; but crowns, coronets, mitres, militarydisplay, the pomp of war, wide colonies, and a huge empire, are, in myview, all trifles light as air, and not worth considering, unless withthem you can have a fair share of comfort, contentment, and happinessamong the great body of the people. Palaces, baronial castles, greathalls, stately mansions, do not make a nation. The nation in everycountry dwells in the cottage; and unless the light of your Constitutioncan shine there, unless the beauty of your legislation and theexcellence of your statesmanship are impressed there on the feelings andcondition of the people, rely upon it you have yet to learn the dutiesof government. 

I have not, as you have observed, pleaded that this country shouldremain without adequate and scientific means of defence. I acknowledgeit to be the duty of your statesmen, acting upon the known opinions andprinciples of ninety-nine out of every hundred persons in the country, at all times, with all possible moderation, but with all possibleefficiency, to take steps which shall preserve order within and onthe confines of your kingdom. But I shall repudiate and denouncethe expenditure of every shilling, the engagement of every man, theemployment of every ship which has no object but intermeddling in theaffairs of other countries, and endeavouring to extend the boundariesof an Empire which is already large enough to satisfy the greatestambition, and I fear is much too large for the highest statesmanship towhich any man has yet attained. 

The most ancient of profane historians has told us that the Scythiansof his time were a very warlike people, and that they elevated an oldcimeter upon a platform as a symbol of Mars, for to Mars alone, Ibelieve, they built altars and offered sacrifices. To this cimeter theyoffered sacrifices of horses and cattle, the main wealth of the country, and more costly sacrifices than to all the rest of their gods. I oftenask myself whether we are at all advanced in one respect beyond thoseScythians. What are our contributions to charity, to education, tomorality, to religion, to justice, and to civil government, whencompared with the wealth we expend in sacrifices to the old cimeter? Twonights ago I addressed in this hall a vast assembly composed to a greatextent of your countrymen who have no political power, who are at workfrom the dawn of the day to the evening, and who have therefore limitedmeans of informing themselves on these great subjects. Now I amprivileged to speak to a somewhat different audience. You representthose of your great community who have a more complete education, whohave on some points greater intelligence, and in whose hands reside thepower and influence of the district. I am speaking, too, within thehearing of those whose gentle nature, whose finer instincts, whose purerminds, have not suffered as some of us have suffered in the turmoiland strife of life. You can mould opinion, you can create politicalpower, --you cannot think a good thought on this subject and communicateit to your neighbours, --you cannot make these points topics ofdiscussion in your social circles and more general meetings, withoutaffecting sensibly and speedily the course which the Government of yourcountry will pursue. May I ask you, then, to believe, as I do mostdevoutly believe, that the moral law was not written for men alone intheir individual character, but that it was written as well for nations, and for nations great as this of which we are citizens. If nationsreject and deride that moral law, there is a penalty which willinevitably follow. It may not come at once, it may not come in ourlifetime; but, rely upon it, the great Italian is not a poet only, but aprophet, when he says--

 "The sword of heaven is not in haste to smite, Nor yet doth linger. "

We have experience, we have beacons, we have landmarks enough. Weknow what the past has cost us, we know how much and how far we havewandered, but we are not left without a guide. It is true, we have not, as an ancient people had, Urim and Thummim--those oraculous gems onAaron's breast--from which to take counsel, but we have the unchangeableand eternal principles of the moral law to guide us, and only so far aswe walk by that guidance can we be permanently a great nation, or ourpeople a happy people. 

 _Speech by_ MR. BRIGHT. 

 * * * * *

 HYMN TO DIANA. 

 Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair. State in wonted manner keep. Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright!

 Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear, when day did close. Bless us then with wishèd sight, Goddess excellently bright!

 Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal-shining quiver: Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe how short soever; Thou that mak'st a day of night, Goddess excellently bright!

 BEN JONSON. 

[Notes: _Ben Jonson_ (1574-1637), poet and dramatist; the contemporaryand friend of Shakespeare, with more than his learning, but far lessthan his genius and imagination. ]

 * * * * *

 L'ALLEGRO. 

 Hence, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn, 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy! Find out some uncouth cell, Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven sings; There, under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks, As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. But come, thou goddess fair and free, In heaven yclep'd Euphrosyne, And by men, heart-easing Mirth; Whom lovely Venus, at a birth, With two sister Graces more, To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore:

 * * * * *

 Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful jollity, Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled care derides, And laughter holding both his sides. Come, and trip it, as you go, On the light fantastic toe; And in thy right hand lead with thee The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty; And, if I give thee honour due, Mirth, admit me of thy crew, To live with her, and live with thee, In unreproved pleasures free; To hear the Lark begin his flight, And singing startle the dull night, From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled dawn doth rise; Then to come, in spite of sorrow, And at my window bid good-morrow, Through the sweet-briar, or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine: While the cock, with lively din, Scatters the rear of darkness thin, And to the stack, or the barn-door, Stoutly struts his dames before: Oft listening how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn, From the side of some hoar hill, Through the high wood echoing shrill. Sometime walking, not unseen, By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, Right against the eastern gate, Where the great sun begins his state, Rob'd in flames, and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight; While the ploughman, near at hand, Whistles o'er the furrow'd land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his scythe, And every shepherd tells his tale, Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, While the landscape round it measures; Russet lawns, and fallows gray, Where the nibbling flocks do stray Mountains, on whose barren breast, The labouring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide; Towers and battlements it sees Bosom'd high in tufted trees, Where perhaps some beauty lies, The cynosure of neighbouring eyes. Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes From betwixt two aged oaks, Where Corydon and Thyrsis met, Are at their savoury dinner set Of herbs, and other country messes, Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; And then in haste her bower she leaves, With Thestylis to bind the sheaves; Or, if the earlier season lead, To the tann'd haycock in the mead. Sometimes with secure delight The upland hamlets will invite, When the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth and many a maid, Dancing in the checker'd shade; And young and old come forth to play On a sun-shine holy-day, Till the live-long day-light fail: Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, With stories told of many a feat, How faery Mab the junkets eat; She was pinch'd, and pull'd, she said; And he, by friar's lantern led. Tells how the drudging goblin sweat To earn his cream-bowl duly set, When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn, That ten day-labourers could not end; Then lies him down the lubber fiend, And, stretch'd out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength; And crop-full out of door he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings. Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, By whispering winds soon lull'd asleep. Tower'd cities please us then, And the busy hum of men, Where throngs of knights and barons bold, In weeds of peace high triumphs hold. With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace, whom all commend. There let Hymen oft appear In saffron robe, with taper clear, And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask and antique pageantry. Such sights, as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on. Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild. And ever, against eating cares, Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse; Such as the meeting soul may pierce, In notes, with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out, With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony; That Orpheus' self may heave his head From golden slumber on a bed Of heap'd Elysian flowers, and hear Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto, to have quite set free His half-regain'd Eurydice. These delights if thou canst give, Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 

 MILTON. 

[Notes: _L'Allegro_ the Cheerful man: as Il Penseroso, the Thoughtfulman, (the title of the companion poem). 

 _Cerberus_. The dog that guarded the infernal regions. 

_Cimmerian_. The Cimmerians were a race dwelling beyond the oceanstream, in utter darkness. 

_Euphrosyne_ Mirth or gladness. 

_In unreproved pleasures_ = In innocent pleasures. 

_Then to come_ = Then (admit me) to come. 

_Corydon and Thyrsis_. Names for a rustic couple taken from themythology of the Latin poets. So _Phillis and Thestylis_. 

_Rebecks_. Musical instruments like fiddles. 

_Junkets_. Pieces of cheese or something of the kind. 

_By friar's lantern_ = Jack o' Lantern or Will o' the Wisp. 

_In weeds of peace_ = the dress worn in time of peace. 

_Hymen_. God of wedlock. 

_Jonson_. (See previous note to _Ben Jonson_. )

_Sock_. The shoe worn on the ancient stage by comedians as the buskinwas by tragedians. 

_Lydian airs_. Soft and soothing, as opposed to the Dorian airs, whichexpressed the rough and harsh element in ancient music. ]

 * * * * *

THE PLEASURES OF A LIFE OF LABOUR. 

I wish to show you how possible it is to enjoy much happiness in verymean employments. Cowper tells us that labour, though the primal curse, "has been softened into mercy;" and I think that, even had he not doneso, I would have found out the fact for myself. It was twenty yearslast February since I set out a little before sunrise to make my firstacquaintance with a life of labour and restraint, and I have rarely hada heavier heart than on that morning. I was but a thin, loose-jointedboy at the time--fond of the pretty intangibilities of romance, and ofdreaming when broad awake; and, woful change! I was now going to workat what Burns has instanced in his "Twa Dogs" as one of the mostdisagreeable of all employments--to work in a quarry. Bating the passinguneasiness occasioned by a few gloomy anticipations, the portion of mylife which had already gone by had been happy beyond the common lot. Ihad been a wanderer among rocks and wood--a reader of curious books whenI could get them--a gleaner of old traditionary stories; and now I wasgoing to exchange all my day-dreams, and all my amusements, for the kindof life in which men toil every day that they may be enabled to eat, andeat every day that they may be enabled to toil!

The quarry in which I wrought lay on the southern side of a noble inlandbay, or frith rather, with a little clear stream on the one side, and athick fir wood on the other. It had been opened in the old red sandstoneof the district, and was overtopped by a huge bank of diluvial clay, which rose over it in some places to the height of nearly thirty feet, and which at this time was rent and shivered, wherever it presented anopen front to the weather, by a recent frost. A heap of loose fragments, which had fallen from above blocked up the face of the quarry, and myfirst employment was to clear them away. The friction of the shovel soonblistered my hands, but the pain was by no means very severe, and Iwrought hard and willingly, that I might see how the huge strata below, which presented so firm and unbroken a frontage, were to be torn upand removed. Picks, and wedges, and levers, were applied by my brotherworkmen; and simple and rude as I had been accustomed to regard theseimplements, I found I had much to learn in the way of using them. Theyall proved inefficient, however, and the workmen had to bore into one ofthe inferior strata, and employ gunpowder. The process was new to me, and I deemed it a highly-amusing one: it had the merit, too, of beingattended with some such degree of danger as a boating or rock excursion, and had thus an interest independent of its novelty. We had a fewcapital shots: the fragments flew in every direction; and an immensemass of the diluvium came toppling down, bearing with it two dead birds, that in a recent storm had crept into one of the deeper fissures, to diein the shelter. I felt a new interest in examining them. The one was apretty cock goldfinch, with its hood of vermilion, and its wings inlaidwith the gold to which it owes its name, as unsoiled and smooth as if ithad been preserved for a museum. The other, a somewhat rarer bird, ofthe woodpecker tribe, was variegated with light blue and a grayishyellow. I was engaged in admiring the poor little things, more disposedto be sentimental, perhaps, than if I had been ten years older, andthinking of the contrast between the warmth and jollity of their greensummer haunts and the cold and darkness of their last retreat, when Iheard our employer bidding the workmen lay by their tools. I looked up, and saw the sun sinking behind the thick fir-wood beside us, and thelong dark shadows of the trees stretching downwards towards the shore. 

This was no very formidable beginning of the course of life I had somuch dreaded. To be sure, my hands were a little sore, and I felt nearlyas much fatigued as if I had been climbing among the rocks; but I hadwrought and been useful, and had yet enjoyed the day fully as much asusual. It was no small matter, too, that the evening, converted by arare transmutation into the delicious "blink of rest, " which Burns sotruthfully describes, was all my own. I was as light of heart nextmorning as any of my fellow-workmen. There had been a smart frost duringthe night, and the rime lay white on the grass as we passed onwardsthrough the fields; but the sun rose in a clear atmosphere, and the daymellowed, as it advanced, into one of those delightful days of earlyspring which give so pleasing an earnest of whatever is mild and genialin the better half of the year! All the workmen rested at mid-day, andI went to enjoy my half-hour alone on a mossy knoll in the neighbouringwood, which commands through the trees a wide prospect of the bay andthe opposite shore. There was not a wrinkle on the water, nor a cloud inthe sky, and the branches were as moveless in the calm as if they hadbeen traced on canvas. From a wooded promontory that stretched half-wayacross the frith, there ascended a thin column of smoke. It rosestraight as the line of a plummet for more than a thousand yards, andthen, on reaching a thinner stratum of air, spread out equally on everyside like the foliage of a stately tree. Ben Wyvis rose to the west, white with the yet unwasted snows of winter, and as sharply definedin the clear atmosphere as if all its sunny slopes and blue retiringhollows had been chiselled in marble. A line of snow ran along theopposite hills; all above was white, and all below was purple. Theyreminded me of the pretty French story, in which an old artist isdescribed as tasking the ingenuity of his future son-in-law by givinghim as a subject for his pencil a flower-piece composed of only whiteflowers, of which the one-half were to bear their proper colour, theother half a deep purple hue, and yet all be perfectly natural; andhow the young man resolved the riddle, and gained his mistress, byintroducing a transparent purple vase into the picture, and making thelight pass through it on the flowers that were drooping over the edge. Ireturned to the quarry, convinced that a very exquisite pleasure may bea very cheap one, and that the busiest employments may afford leisureenough to enjoy it. 

The gunpowder had loosened a large mass in one of the inferior strata, and our first employment, on resuming our labours, was to raise it fromits bed. I assisted the other workmen in placing it on edge, and wasmuch struck by the appearance of the platform on which it had rested. The entire surface was ridged and furrowed like a bank of sand thathad been left by the tide an hour before. I could trace every bend andcurvature, every cross-hollow and counter-ridge of the correspondingphenomena; for the resemblance was no half-resemblance--it was thething itself; and I had observed it a hundred and a hundred times whensailing my little schooner in the shallows left by the ebb. But what hadbecome of the waves that had thus fretted the solid rock, or of whatelement had they been composed? I felt as completely at fault asRobinson Crusoe did on his discovering the print of the man's foot onthe sand. The evening furnished me with still further cause of wonder. We raised another block in a different part of the quarry, and foundthat the area of a circular depression in the stratum below was brokenand flawed in every direction, as if it had been the bottom of a pool, recently dried up, which had shrunk and split in the hardening. Severallarge stones came rolling down from the diluvium in the course of theafternoon. They were of different qualities from the sandstone below, and from one another; and, what was more wonderful still, they were allrounded and water-worn, as if they had been tossed about in the sea, orthe bed of a river, for hundreds of years. There could not, surely, bea more conclusive proof that the bank which had enclosed them so longcould not have been created on the rock on which it rested. No workmanever manufactures a half-worn article, and the stones were allhalf-worn! And if not the bank, why then the sandstone underneath? Iwas lost in conjecture, and found I had food enough for thought thatevening, without once thinking of the unhappiness of a life of labour. 

 HUGH MILLER. 

 * * * * *

THE FLIGHT OF BIRDS. 

A good ornithologist should be able to distinguish birds by their air, as well as by their colours and shape, on the ground as well as on thewing, and in the bush as well as in the hand. For, though it must not besaid that every species of birds has a manner peculiar to itself, yet there is somewhat in most kinds at least that at first sightdiscriminates them, and enables a judicious observer to pronounce uponthem with some certainty. 

Thus, kites and buzzards sail round in circles, with wings expanded andmotionless; and it is from their gliding manner that the former arestill called, in the north of England, gleads, from the Saxon verb_glidan_, to glide. The kestrel, or windhover, has a peculiar mode ofhanging in the air in one place, his wings all the while being brisklyagitated. Hen-harriers fly low over heaths or fields of corn, and beatthe ground regularly like a pointer or setting-dog. Owls move in abuoyant manner, as if lighter than the air; they seem to want ballast. There is a peculiarity belonging to ravens that must draw the attentioneven of the most incurious--they spend all their leisure time instriking and cuffing each other on the wing in a kind of playfulskirmish; and when they move from one place to another, frequently turnon their backs with a loud croak, and seem to be falling on the ground. When this odd gesture betides them, they are scratching themselves withone foot, and thus lose the centre of gravity. Rooks sometimes dive andtumble in a frolicsome manner; crows and daws swagger in their walk;woodpeckers fly with an undulating motion, opening and closing theirwings at every stroke, and so are always rising and falling in curves. All of this kind use their tails, which incline downwards, as a supportwhile they run up trees. Parrots, like all other hooked-clawed birds, walk awkwardly, and make use of their bill as a third foot, climbingand descending with ridiculous caution. Cocks, hens, partridges, andpheasants, etc. , parade and walk gracefully, and run nimbly; but flywith difficulty, with an impetuous whirring, and in a straight line. Magpies and jays flutter with powerless wings, and make no dispatch;herons seem encumbered with too much sail for their light bodies; butthese vast hollow wings are necessary in carrying burdens, such as largefishes, and the like; pigeons, and particularly the sort called smiters, have a way of clashing their wings, the one against the other, overtheir backs, with a loud snap; another variety, called tumblers, turnthemselves over in the air. The kingfisher darts along like an arrow;fern-owls, or goat-suckers, glance in the dusk over the tops of treeslike a meteor; starlings, as it were, swim along, while missel-thrushesuse a wild and desultory flight; swallows sweep over the surface of theground and water, and distinguish themselves by rapid turns and quickevolutions; swifts dash round in circles; and the bank-martin moves withfrequent vacillations, like a butterfly. Most of the small birds fly byjerks, rising and falling as they advance. Most small birds hop; butwagtails and larks walk, moving their legs alternately. Skylarks riseand fall perpendicularly as they sing; woodlarks hang poised in the air;and titlarks rise and fall in large curves, singing in their descent. The white-throat uses odd jerks and gesticulations over the tops ofhedges and bushes. All the duck kind waddle; divers and auks walk as iffettered, and stand erect on their tails. Geese and cranes, and mostwild fowls, move in figured flights, often changing their position. Dabchicks, moorhens, and coots, fly erect, with their legs hanging down, and hardly make any dispatch; the reason is plain, their wings areplaced too forward out of the true centre of gravity, as the legs ofauks and divers are situated too backward. 

 REV. GILBERT WHITE. 

 * * * * *

 THE VILLAGE. 

 Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close Up yonder hill the village murmur rose. There as I past with careless steps and slow, The mingling notes came softened from below; The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung, The sober herd that lowed to meet their young, The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school, The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made. But now the sounds of population fail, No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, No busy steps the grass-grown foot-way tread, For all the bloomy flush of life is fled. All but yon widowed, solitary thing, That feebly bends beside the plashing spring: She, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread, To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn, To seek her nightly shed, and weep till mom; She only left of all the harmless train, The sad historian of the pensive plain. Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still, where many a garden-flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose, A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place; Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train; He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain; The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast, The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sat by his fire, and talked the night away. Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed, The reverend champion stood. At his control Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whispered praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorned the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff remained to pray. The service past, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; E'en children followed with endearing wile, And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile. His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed; Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed: To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, There in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe he was, and stern to view; I knew him well, and every truant knew; Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face; Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper circling round Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned, Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault; The village all declared how much he knew; 'Twas certain he could write, and cypher too; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And e'en, the story ran, that he could gauge: In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill; For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still; While words of learned length and thundering sound Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around; And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, That one small head could carry all he knew. 

 GOLDSMITH. 

 * * * * *

THE BATTLE OF CORUNNA. 

All the encumbrances being shipped on the morning of the 16th, it wasintended to embark the fighting men in the coming night, and thisdifficult operation would probably have been happily effected; but aglorious event was destined to give a more graceful, though melancholy, termination to the campaign. About two o'clock a general movement ofthe French line gave notice of an approaching battle, and the Britishinfantry, fourteen thousand five hundred strong, occupied theirposition. Baird's division on the right, and governed by the obliquedirection of the ridge, approached the enemy; Hope's division, formingthe centre and left, although on strong ground abutting on the Mero, wasof necessity withheld, so that the French battery on the rocks raked thewhole line of battle. One of Baird's brigades was in column behind theright, and one of Hope's behind the left; Paget's reserve posted at thevillage of Airis, behind the centre, looked down the valley separatingthe right of the position front the hills occupied by the Frenchcavalry. A battalion detached from the reserve kept these horsemenin check, and was itself connected with the main body by a chain ofskirmishers extended across the valley. Fraser's division held theheights immediately before the gates of Corunna, watching the coastroad, but it was also ready to succour any point. 

When Laborde's division arrived, the French force was not less thantwenty thousand men, and the Duke of Dalmatia made no idle evolutions ofdisplay. Distributing his lighter guns along the front of his position, he opened a fire from the heavy battery on his left, and instantlydescended the mountain, with three columns covered by clouds ofskirmishers. The British pickets were driven back in disorder, and thevillage of Elvina was carried by the first French column. 

The ground about that village was intersected by stone walls and hollowroads; a severe scrambling fight ensued, the French were forced backwith great loss, and the fiftieth regiment entering the village with theretiring mass, drove it, after a second struggle in the street, quitebeyond the houses. Seeing this, the general ordered up a battalion ofthe guards to fill the void in the line made by the advance of thoseregiments; whereupon, the forty-second, mistaking his intention, retired, with exception of the grenadiers; and at that moment, the enemybeing reinforced, renewed the fight beyond the village. Major Napier, commanding the fiftieth, was wounded and taken prisoner, and Elvinathen became the scene of another contest; which being observed bythe Commander-in-Chief, he addressed a few animating words to theforty-second, and caused it to return to the attack. Paget had nowdescended into the valley, and the line of the skirmishers being thussupported, vigorously checked the advance of the enemy's troops in thatquarter, while the fourth regiment galled their flank; at the same timethe centre and left of the army also became engaged, Baird was severelywounded, and a furious action ensued along the line, in the valley, andon the hills. 

General Sir John Moore, while earnestly watching the result of thefight about the village of Elvina, was struck on the left breast by acannon-shot; the shock threw him from his horse with violence; yet herose again in a sitting posture, his countenance unchanged, and hissteadfast eye still fixed upon the regiments engaged in his front, nosigh betraying a sensation of pain. In a few moments, when he saw thetroops were gaining ground, his countenance brightened, and he sufferedhimself to be taken to the rear. Then was seen the dreadful natureof his hurt. As the soldiers placed him in a blanket, his sword gotentangled, and the hilt entered the wound; Captain Hardinge, a staffofficer, attempted to take it off, but the dying man stopped him, saying: "It is as well as it is. I had rather it should go out of thefield with me;" and in that manner, so becoming to a soldier, Moore wasborne from the fight. 

Notwithstanding this great disaster, the troops gained ground. Thereserve overthrowing everything in the valley, forced La Houssaye'sdismounted dragoons to retire, and thus turning the enemy, approachedthe eminence upon which the great battery was posted. In the centre, theobstinate dispute for Elvina terminated in favour of the British; andwhen the night set in, their line was considerably advanced beyond theoriginal position of the morning, while the French were falling back inconfusion. If Fraser's division had been brought into action along withthe reserve, the enemy could hardly have escaped a signal overthrow;for the little ammunition Soult had been able to bring up was nearlyexhausted, the river Mero was in full tide behind him, and the difficultcommunication by the bridge of El Burgo was alone open for a retreat. Onthe other hand, to fight in the dark was to tempt fortune; the Frenchwere still the most numerous, their ground strong, and their disorderfacilitated the original plan of embarking during the night. Hope, uponwhom the command had devolved, resolved therefore, to ship the army, and so complete were the arrangements, that no confusion or difficultyoccurred; the pickets kindled fires to cover the retreat, and werethemselves withdrawn at daybreak, to embark under the protection ofHill's brigade, which was in position under the ramparts of Corunna. 

From the spot where he fell, the general was carried to the town by hissoldiers; his blood flowed fast, and the torture of the wound was great;yet the unshaken firmness of his mind made those about him, seeing theresolution of his countenance, express a hope of his recovery. He lookedsteadfastly at the injury for a moment, and said, "No, I feel that tobe impossible. " Several times he caused his attendants to stop and turnround, that he might behold the field of battle; and when the firingindicated the advance of the British, he discovered his satisfactionand permitted the bearers to proceed. When brought to his lodgings, thesurgeons examined his wound; there was no hope, the pain increased, hespoke with difficulty. At intervals, he asked if the French were beaten, and addressing his old friend, Colonel Anderson, said, "You know Ialways wished to die this way. " Again he asked if the enemy weredefeated, and being told they were, said, "It is a great satisfaction tome to know we have beaten the French. " His countenance continued firm, his thoughts clear; once only when he spoke of his mother he becameagitated; but he often inquired after the safety of his friends and theofficers of his staff, and he did not even in this moment forget torecommend those whose merit had given them claims to promotion. Whenlife was nearly extinct, with an unsubdued spirit, as if anticipatingthe baseness of his posthumous calumniators, he exclaimed, "I hopethe people of England will be satisfied! I hope my country will do mejustice!" In a few minutes afterwards he died; and his corpse, wrappedin a military cloak, was interred by the officers of his staff, in thecitadel of Corunna. The guns of the enemy paid his funeral honours, andSoult, with a noble feeling of respect for his valour, raised a monumentto his memory on the field of battle. 

 NAPIER. 

[Note:_Battle of Corunna_. The French army having proclaimed JosephBuonaparte, King of Spain, the Spanish people rose as one man inprotest, and sought and obtained the aid of England. The English armieswere at first driven back by Napoleon; but the force under Sir JohnMoore saved its honour in the fight before Corunna, 16th January, 1809, which enabled it to embark in safety. ]

 * * * * *

BATTLE OF ALBUERA. 

The fourth division was composed of two brigades: one of Portugueseunder General Harvey; the other, under Sir William Myers, consisting ofthe seventh and twenty-third regiments, was called the Fusilier Brigade;Harvey's Portuguese were immediately pushed in between Lumley's dragoonsand the hill, where they were charged by some French cavalry, whom theybeat off, and meantime Cole led his fusiliers up the contested height. At this time six guns were in the enemy's possession, the whole ofWerle's reserves were coming forward to reinforce the front column ofthe French, the remnant of Houghton's brigade could no longer maintainits ground, the field was heaped with carcasses, the lancers were ridingfuriously about the captured artillery on the upper parts of thehill, and behind all, Hamilton's Portuguese and Alten's Germans, nowwithdrawing from the bridge, seemed to be in full retreat. Soon, however, Cole's fusiliers, flanked by a battalion of the Lusitanianlegion under Colonel Hawkshawe, mounted the hill, drove off the lancers, recovered five of the captured guns and one colour, and appeared on theright of Houghton's brigade, precisely as Abercrombie passed it on theleft. 

Such a gallant line, issuing from the midst of the smoke, and rapidlyseparating itself from the confused and broken multitude, startled theenemy's masses, which were increasing and pressing onwards as to anassured victory; they wavered, hesitated, and then vomiting forth astorm of fire, hastily endeavoured to enlarge their front, while afearful discharge of grape from all their artillery whistled through theBritish ranks. Myers was killed, Cole and the three colonels, Ellis, Blakeney, and Hawkshawe, fell wounded, and the fusilier battalions, struck by the iron tempest, reeled and staggered like sinking ships; butsuddenly and sternly recovering, they closed on their terrible enemies, and then was seen with what a strength and majesty the British soldierfights. In vain did Soult with voice and gesture animate his Frenchmen;in vain did the hardiest veterans break from the crowded columns andsacrifice their lives to gain time for the mass to open out on such afair field; in vain did the mass itself bear up, and, fiercely striving, fire indiscriminately upon friends and foes, while the horsemen, hovering on the flank, threatened to charge the advancing line. Nothingcould stop that astonishing infantry. No sudden burst of undisciplinedvalour, no nervous enthusiasm weakened the stability of their order, their flashing eyes were bent on the dark columns in their front, theirmeasured tread shook the ground, their dreadful volleys swept awaythe head of every formation, their deafening shouts overpowered thedissonant cries that broke from all parts of the tumultuous crowd, asslowly and with a horrid carnage it was pushed by the incessant vigourof the attack to the farthest edge of the hill. In vain did the Frenchreserves mix with the struggling multitude to sustain the fight; theirefforts only increased the irremediable confusion, and the mighty mass, breaking off like a loosened cliff, went headlong down the steep; therain flowed after in streams discoloured with blood, and eighteenhundred unwounded men, the remnant of six thousand unconquerable Britishsoldiers, stood triumphant on the fatal hill!

 NAPIER. 

[Note: _Battle of Albuera_, in which the English and Spanish armies wona victory over the French under Marshal Soult, on 16th May, 1811. ]

 * * * * *

CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALAKLAVA. 

The whole brigade scarcely made one efficient regiment according to thenumber of continental armies; and yet it was more than we could spare. As they passed towards the front, the Russians opened on them from theguns in the redoubt on the right with volleys of musketry and rifles. They swept proudly past, glittering in the morning sun in all the prideand splendour of war. We could scarcely believe the evidence of oursenses! Surely that handful of men are not going to charge an army inposition? Alas! it was but too true; their desperate valour knewno bounds, and far indeed was it removed from its so-called betterpart--discretion. They advanced in two lines, quickening their paceas they closed towards the enemy. A more fearful spectacle was neverwitnessed than by those who, without the power to aid, beheld theirheroic countrymen rushing to the arms of death. At the distance oftwelve hundred yards the whole line of the enemy belched forth, fromthirty iron mouths, a flood of smoke and flame through which hissed thedeadly balls. Their flight was marked by instant gaps in our ranks, bydead men and horses, by steeds flying wounded or riderless across theplain. The first line is broken, it is joined by the second; they neverhalt or check their speed for an instant; with diminished ranks, thinnedby those thirty guns, which the Russians had laid with the most deadlyaccuracy, with a halo of flashing steel above their heads, and with acheer which was many a noble fellow's death-cry, they flew into thesmoke of the batteries; but ere they were lost to view the plain wasstrewn with their bodies and with the carcasses of horses. They wereexposed to an oblique fire from the batteries on the hills on bothsides, as well as to a direct fire of musketry. Through the clouds ofsmoke we could see their sabres flashing as they rode up to the guns anddashed between them, cutting down the gunners as they stood. We saw themriding through the guns, as I have said: to our delight we saw themreturning, after breaking through a column of Russian infantry, andscattering them like chaff, when the flank fire of the battery on thehill swept them down, scattered and broken as they were. Wounded men anddismounted troopers flying towards us told the sad tale: demigods couldnot have done what we had failed to do. At the very moment when theywere about to retreat, an enormous mass of lancers was hurled on theirflank. Colonel Shewell, of the 8th Hussars, saw the danger, and rode hisfew men straight at them, cutting his way through with fearful loss. The other regiments turned and engaged in a desperate encounter. Withcourage too great almost for credence, they were breaking their waythrough the columns which enveloped them, when there took place an actof atrocity without parallel in the modern warfare of civilised nations. The Russian gunners, when the storm of cavalry passed, returned to theirguns. They saw their own cavalry mingled with the troopers who had justridden over them, and, to the eternal disgrace of the Russian name, themiscreants poured a murderous volley of grape and canister on the massof struggling men and horses, mingling friend and foe in one commonruin. It was as much as our Heavy Cavalry Brigade could do to coverthe retreat of the miserable remnants of that band of heroes as theyreturned to the place they had so lately quitted in all the pride oflife. At 11:35 not a British soldier, except the dead and dying, wasleft in front of the Muscovite guns. 

 _The "Times" Correspondent_. 

 * * * * *

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 

SCENE. --_Venice. A Court of Justice. 

 Enter the_ DUKE, _the_ Magnificoes, ANTONIO, BASSANIO, GATIANO, SALARINO, SALANIO, _and others_. 

 _Duke_. What, is Antonio here?

 _Ant_. Ready, so please your grace. 

 _Duke. _ I am sorry for thee; thou art come toanswerA stony adversary, an inhuman wretchUncapable of pity, void and emptyFrom any dram of mercy. 

 _Ant_. I have heardYour grace hath ta'en great pains to qualifyHis rigorous course; but since he stands obdurateAnd that no lawful means can carry meOut of his envy's reach, I do opposeMy patience to his fury, and am arm'dTo suffer, with a quietness of spirit, The very tyranny and rage of his. 

 _Duke_. Go one, and call the Jew into the court, _Salan_. He is ready at the door: he comes, my lord. 

 _Enter_ SHYLOCK. 

 _Duke_. Make room, and let him stand before our face. Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy maliceTo the last hour of act; and then 'tis thoughtThou'lt show thy mercy and remorse more strangeThan is thy strange apparent cruelty;And where thou now exact'st the penalty, (Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh), Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture, But, touch'd with human gentleness and love, Forgive a moiety of the principal;Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, That have of late so huddled on his back, Enow to press a royal merchant downAnd pluck commiseration of his stateFrom brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint, From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never train'dTo offices of tender courtesy. We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. 

 _Shy. _ I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose;And by our holy Sabbath have I swornTo have the due and forfeit of my bond:If you deny it, let the danger lightUpon your charter and your city's freedom. You'll ask me, why I rather choose to haveA weight of carrion flesh than to receiveThree thousand ducats; I'll not answer that:But, say, it is my humour; is it answer'd?

 * * * * *

 _Bass. _ This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, To excuse the current of thy cruelty. 

 _Shy_. I am not bound to please thee with my answer. 

 * * * * *

 _Ant. _ I pray you, think you question with the Jew:You may as well go stand upon the beachAnd bid the main flood bate his usual height;You may as well use question with the wolfWhy he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb;You may as well forbid the mountain pinesTo wag their high tops and to make no noise, When they are fretted with the gusts of heaven;You may as well do any thing most hard, As seek to soften that--than which what's harder?--His Jewish heart: therefore, I do beseech you, Make no more offers, use no farther means, But with all brief and plain conveniencyLet me have judgment, and the Jew his will. 

 _Bass_. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 

 _Shy_, If every ducat in six thousand ducatsWere in six parts, and every part a ducat, I would not draw them; I would have my bond. 

 _Duke_. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none?

 _Shy_. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?You have among you many a purchased slave, Which, like your asses and your dogs and mules, You use in abject and in slavish parts, Because you bought them: shall I say to you, Let them be free, marry them to your heirs?Why sweat they under burthens? let their bedsBe made as soft as yours, and let their palatesBe season'd with such viands? You will answer"The slaves are ours:" so do I answer you;The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, Is dearly bought; 'tis mine, and I will have it:If you deny me, fie upon your law!There is no force in the decrees of Venice:I stand for judgment: answer; shall I have it?

 _Duke_. Upon my power, I may dismiss this court, Unless Bellario, a learned doctor, Whom I have sent for to determine this, Come here to-day. 

 _Salar_. My lord, here stays withoutA messenger with letters from the doctor, New come from Padua. 

 _Duke_. Bring us the letters; call the messenger. 

 _Enter_ NERISSA, _dressed like a lawyer's clerk. _

 _Duke. _ Came you from Padua, from Bellario?

 _Ner_. From both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace. 

 [_Presenting a letter_. 

 _Bass_. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly?

 _Shy_. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. 

 _Gra_. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, Thou mak'st thy knife keen; but no metal can, No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keennessOf thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee?

 _Shy_. No, none that thou hast wit enough to make. 

 * * * * *

 _Duke_. This letter from Bellario doth commendA young and learned doctor to our court:--Where is he?

 _Ner_. He attendeth here hard by, To know your answer, whether you'll admit him. 

 _Duke_. With all my heart. Some three or four of you, Go give him courteous conduct to this place. 

 * * * * *

 _Enter_ PORTIA, _dressed like a doctor of laws_. 

 _Duke_. Give me your hand. Came you from old Bellario?

 _Por_. I did, my lord. 

 _Duke_. You are welcome: take your place. Are you acquainted with the differenceThat holds this present question in the court?

 _Por_. I am informed thoroughly of the cause. Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?

 _Duke_. Antonio and old Shylock, both standforth. 

 _Por_. Is your name Shylock?

 _Shy_. Shylock is my name. 

 _Por_. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow;Yet in such rule that the Venetian lawCannot impugn you as you do proceed. You stand within his danger, do you not?

 _Ant_. Ay, so he says. 

 _Por_. Do you confess the bond?

 _Ant_. I do. 

 _Por_. Then must the Jew be merciful. 

 _Shy_. On what compulsion must I? tell me that. 

 _Por_. The quality of mercy is not strain'd;It droppeth as the gentle rain from heavenUpon the place beneath: it is twice blest;It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomesThe throned monarch better than his crown;His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;But mercy is above this scepter'd sway;It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself:And earthly power doth then show likest God'sWhen mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this, That, in the course of justice, none of usShould see salvation: we do pray for mercy;And that same prayer doth teach us all to renderThe deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus muchTo mitigate the justice of thy plea;Which if thou follow, this strict court of VeniceMust needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. 

 _Shy_. My deeds upon my head! I crave the law, The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

 _Por_. Is he not able to discharge the money?

 _Bass_. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court;Yea, twice the sum: if that will not suffice;I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart:If this will not suffice, it must appearThat malice bears down truth. And I beseech you, Wrest once the law to your authority:To do a great right, do a little wrong, And curb this cruel devil of his will. 

 _Por_. It must not be; there is no power in VeniceCan alter a decree established:'Twill be recorded for a precedent, And many an error, by the same example, Will rush into the state: it cannot be. 

 _Shy. _ A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!O wise young judge, how do I honour thee!

 _Por. _ I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 

 _Shy. _ Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. 

 _Por. _ Shylock, there's thrice thy money offer'd thee. 

 _Shy. _ An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven:Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?No, not for Venice. 

 _Por. _ Why, this bond is forfeit;And lawfully by this the Jew may claimA pound of flesh, to be by him cut offNearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful:Take thrice thy money; bid me tear the bond. 

 _Shy. _ When it is paid according to the tenour. It doth appear you are a worthy judge;You know the law, your expositionHath been most sound: I charge you by the law, Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, Proceed to judgment: by my soul I swearThere is no power in the tongue of manTo alter me: I stay here on my bond. 

 _Ant. _ Most heartily I do beseech the courtTo give the judgment. 

 _Por. _ Why then, thus it is:You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 

 _Shy. _ O noble judge! O excellent young man!

 _Por_. For the intent and purpose of the lawHath full relation to the penalty, Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 

 _Shy_. 'Tis very true: O wise and upright judge!How much more elder art thou than thy looks!

 _Por_. Therefore lay bare your bosom. 

 _Shy_. Ay, his breast:So says the bond; doth it not, noble judge?"Nearest his heart:" those are the very words. 

 _Por_. It is so. Are there balance here to weighThe flesh?

 _Shy_. I have them ready. 

 _Por_. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 

 _Shy_. Is it so nominated in the bond?

 _Por_. It is not so express'd: but what of that?'Twere good you do so much for charity. 

 _Shy_. I cannot find it; 'tis not in the bond. 

 _Por_. Come, merchant, have you anything to say?

 _Ant_. But little: I am arm'd and well prepared. Give me your hand, Bassanio: fare you well!Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you;For herein Fortune shows herself more kindThan is her custom: it is still her useTo let the wretched man outlive his wealth, To view with hollow eye and wrinkled browAn age of poverty; from which lingering penanceOf such a misery doth she cut me off. Commend me to your honourable wife:Tell her the process of Antonio's end;Say how I loved you, speak me fair in death. 

 * * * * *

 _Shy_. We trifle time: I pray thee, pursue sentence. 

 _Por_. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine:The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 

 _Shy_. Most rightful judge!

 _Por_. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast:The law allows it, and the court awards it. 

 _Shy_. Most learned judge! A sentence; come, prepare. 

 _Por_. Tarry a little; there is something else. This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood;The words expressly are "a pound of flesh:"Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh;But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shedOne drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goodsAre, by the laws of Venice, confiscateUnto the state of Venice. 

 _Gra_. O upright judge! Mark, Jew: O learned judge!

 _Shy_. Is that the law?

 _Por_. Thyself shalt see the act:For, as thou urgest justice, be assuredThou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest. 

 _Gra_. O learned judge! Mark, Jew; a learned judge!

 _Shy_. I take this offer, then; pay the bond thrice, And let the Christian go. 

 _Bass_. Here is the money. 

 _Por_. Soft!The Jew shall have all justice; soft! no haste:He shall have nothing but the penalty. 

 _Gra_. O Jew! an upright judge, a learned judge!

 _Por_. Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh. Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor moreBut just a pound of flesh: if thou cut'st moreOr less than a just pound, be it but so muchAs makes it light or heavy in the substance, Or the division of the twentieth partOf one poor scruple; nay, if the scale do turnBut in the estimation of a hair, Thou diest and all thy goods are confiscate. 

 _Gra_. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew!Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip. 

 _Por_. Why doth the Jew pause? take thy forfeiture. 

 _Shy_. Give me my principal, and let me go. 

 _Bass_. I have it ready for thee; here it is. 

 _Por_. He hath refused it in the open court:He shall have merely justice and his bond. 

 _Gra_. A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel!I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 

 _Shy_. Shall I not have barely my principal?

 _Por_. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 

 _Shy_. Why, then the devil give him good of it!I'll stay no longer question. 

 _Por_. Tarry, Jew:The law hath yet another hold on you. It is enacted in the laws of Venice, If it be proved against an alien, That by direct or indirect attemptsHe seek the life of any citizen, The party 'gainst the which he doth contriveShall seize one half his goods; the other halfComes to the privy coffer of the state;And the offender's life lies in the mercyOf the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st;For it appears, by manifest proceeding, That indirectly and directly tooThou hast contrived against the very lifeOf the defendant; and thou hast incurr'dThe danger formerly by me rehearsed. Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. 

 _Gra_. Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself:And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state, Thou hast not left the value of a cord;Therefore, thou must be hang'd at the state's charge. 

 _Duke_. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit, I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it:For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's;The other half comes to the general state, Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. 

 _Por_. Ay, for the state, not for Antonio. 

 _Shy_. Nay, take my life and all; pardon not that:You take my house when you do take the propThat doth sustain my house; you take my lifeWhen you do take the means whereby I live. 

 _Por_. What mercy can you render him, Antonio?

 _Gra_. A halter gratis; nothing else, for God's sake. 

 _Ant_. So please my lord the duke, and all the courtTo quit the fine for one half of his goods;I am content, so he will let me haveThe other half in use, to render it, Upon his death, unto the gentlemanThat lately stole his daughter. 

 * * * * *

 _Por_. Art thou contented, Jew? what dost thou say?

 _Shy_. I am content. 

 SHAKESPEARE. 

[Notes: _Merchant of Venice. Obdurate_, with the second syllable long, which modern usage makes short. 

_Frellen_--agitated. A form of participial termination frequently foundin Shakespeare, as _strucken_, &c. It is preserved in _eaten, given, &c. _

_Within his danger_ = in danger of him. 

_Which humbleness may drive unto a fine_ = which with humility on yourpart may be commuted for a fine. ]

 * * * * *

 IL PENSEROSO. 

 Hence vain deluding Joys, The brood of Folly, without father bred! How little you bestead, Or fill the fixèd mind with all your toys! Dwell in some idle brain, And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sunbeams. Or likest hovering dreams, The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. 

 But hail, thou Goddess, sage and holy! Hail, divinest Melancholy! Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue: Black, but such as in esteem Prince Memnon's sister might beseem Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove To set her beauty's praise above The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers offended; Yet thou art higher far descended; Thee bright-haired Vesta, long of yore To solitary Saturn bore; His daughter she; in Saturn's reign Such mixture was not held a stain: Oft in glimmering bowers and glades He met her, and in secret shades Of woody Ida's inmost grove, While yet there was no fear of Jove. Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, Sober, steadfast, and demure All in a robe of darkest grain, Flowing with majestic train And sable stole of cyprus lawn, Over thy decent shoulders drawn. Come, but keep thy wonted state, With even step and musing gait, And looks commèrcing with the skies, Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes; There, held in holy passion still, Forget thyself to marble, till With a sad leaden downward cast, Thou fix them on the earth as fast; And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet. And hears the Muses in a ring Aye round about Jove's altar sing; And add to these retirèd Leisure, That in trim gardens takes his pleasure; But first, and chiefest, with thee bring Him that yon soars on golden wing, Guiding the fiery-wheelèd throne, The cherub Contemplation; And the mute Silence hist along, 'Less Philomel will deign a song In her sweetest, saddest plight, Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke, Gently o'er the accustomed oak; --Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy; Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among I woo, to hear thy even-song; And missing thee, I walk unseen, On the dry smooth-shaven green, To behold the wandering Moon, Riding near her highest noon, Like one that had been led astray Through the heaven's wide pathless way; And oft, as if her head she bowed, Stooping through a fleecy cloud. Oft, on a plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off Curfew sound Over some wide-watered shore, Swinging slow with sullen roar. Or, if the air will not permit, Some still, removed place will fit, Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm, To bless the doors from nightly harm. Or let my lamp at midnight hour Be seen on some high lonely tower, Where I may oft out-watch the Bear With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato, to unfold What worlds, or what vast regions hold The immortal mind, that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook; And of those demons that are found In fire air, flood, or under ground, Whose power hath a true consent With planet, or with element. Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptered pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine, Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskined stage. But, O sad Virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower, Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what Love did seek! Or call up him that left half-told The story of Cambuscan bold, Of Camball, and of Algarsife, And who had Canace to wife That owned the virtuous ring and glass; And of the wondrous horse of brass On which the Tartar king did ride; And if aught else great bards beside In sage and solemn tunes have sung, Of tourneys and of trophies hung, Of forests and enchantments drear, Where more is meant than meets the ear. Thus Night, oft see me in thy pale career, Till civil-suited Morn appear. Not tricked and frounced as she was wont With the Attic Boy to hunt, But kerchiefed in a comely cloud While rocking winds are piping loud, Or ushered with a shower still, When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves, With minute drops from off the eaves. And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring To archèd walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine or monumental oak, Where the rude axe, with heavèd stroke, Was never heard the nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallowed haunt. There in close covert by some brook Where no profaner eye may look, Hide me from Day's garish eye, While the bee with honeyed thigh, That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring, With such concert as they keep, Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep: And let some strange mysterious dream Wave at his wings in airy stream Of lively portraiture displayed, Softly on my eyelids laid: And as I wake sweet music breathe Above, about, or underneath, Sent by some spirit to mortals good, Or the unseen Genius of the wood. But let my due feet never fail, To walk the studious cloister's pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light. There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voiced quire below, In service high, and anthems clear, As may with sweetness, through mine ear Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage. The hairy gown and mossy cell Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth show, And every herb that sips the dew; Till old Experience do attain To something like prophetic strain. These pleasures, Melancholy, give, And I with thee will choose to live. 

 MILTON. 

[Notes: _Il Penscioso_ = the thoughtful man. 

_Bestead_ = help, stand in good stead. 

_Fond_ = foolish; its old meaning. 

_Pensioners_. A word taken from the name of Elizabeth's body-guard. Compare "the cowslips tall her pensioners be" ('Midsummer Night'sDream'). 

_Prince Memnon_, of Ethiopia, fairest of warriors, slain by Achilles(Homer's Odyssey, Book xi. ). His sister was Hemora. 

_Starred Ethiop Queen_ = Cassiope, wife of King Cepheus, who was placedamong the stars. 

_Sea-nymphs_ = Nereids. 

Vesta_, the Goddess of the hearth; here for _Retirement. Saturn_, ashaving introduced, according to the mythology, civilization, here standsfor _culture_. 

_Commercing_ = holding communion with. Notice the accentuation. 

_Forget thyself to marble_ = forget thyself till thou are still andsilent as marble. 

_Hist along_ = bring along with a hush. _Hist_ is connected with _hush_. 

_Philomel_ = the nightingale. 

_Cynthia_ = the moon. 

_Dragon yoke_. Compare "Night's swift dragons, " ('Midsummer Night'sDream'). 

_Removed place_ = remote or retired place. Compare "some removed ground"in 'Hamlet. '

_Nightly_ = by night. Sometimes it means "every night successively. "

_Thrice-great Hermes_, a translation of Hermes Trismegistus, a fabulousking of Egypt, held to be the inventor of Alchemy and Astronomy. 

_Unsphere_, draw from his sphere or station. 

_The immortal mind_. Plato treats of the immortality of the soul chieflyin the _Phaedo_. The _demon_, with Socrates, is the attendant geniusof an individual; with Plato it is more general; and the assigning thedemons to the four elements is a notion of the later Platonists. 

_Sceptered pall_ = royal robe. 

_Presenting Thebes_, &c. These lines represent the subjects of tragediesby Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, the great tragic poets ofAthens. 

_Musaeus_, here for some bard of the distant past, generally. Musaeus, in mythology, is a bard of Thrace, and son of Orpheus. 

_Half-told the story of Cambuscan bold_. The Squire's Tale in Chaucer, which is broken off in the middle. 

_Camball_, Cambuscan's son. _Algarsife and Canacé_, his wife anddaughter. 

_Frounced_. Used of hair twisted and curled. 

_The Attic Boy_ = _Cephalus_, loved by _Eos_, the Morning. 

_A shower still_ = a soft shower. 

_Sylvan_ = Pan or Sylvanus. 

_Cloister's pale_ = cloister's enclosure. 

_Massy proof_. Massive and proof against the weight above them. ]

 * * * * *

AFRICAN HOSPITALITY. 

As we approached the town, I was fortunate enough to overtake thefugitive Kaartans to whose kindness I had been so much indebted in myjourney through Bambarra. They readily agreed to introduce me to theKing; and we rode together through some marshy ground where, as I wasanxiously looking around for the river, one of them called out, _geoaffili_ (see the water), and looking forwards, I saw with infinitepleasure the great object of my mission--the long sought for majesticNiger, glittering to the morning sun, as broad as the Thames atWestminster, and flowing slowly _to the eastward_. I hastened to thebrink, and having drank of the water, lifted up my fervent thanks inprayer to the Great Ruler of all things, for having thus far crowned myendeavours with success. 

The circumstance of the Niger's flowing towards the east, and itscollateral points, did not, however, excite my surprise; for although Ihad left Europe in great hesitation on this subject, and rather believedthat it ran in the contrary direction, I had made such frequentinquiries during my progress concerning this river, and received fromnegroes of different nations such clear and decisive assurance that itsgeneral course was _towards the rising sun_, as scarce left any doubt onmy mind; and more especially as I knew that Major Houghton had collectedsimilar information in the same manner. 

I waited more than two hours without having an opportunity of crossingthe river; during which time, the people who had crossed carriedinformation to Mansong, the King, that a white man was waiting for apassage, and was coming to see him. He immediately sent over one of hischief men, who informed me that the King could not possibly see meuntil he knew what had brought me into his country; and that I must notpresume to cross the river without the King's permission. He thereforeadvised me to lodge at a distant village, to which he pointed, forthe night; and said that in the morning he would give me furtherinstructions how to conduct myself. This was very discouraging. However, as there was no remedy, I set off for the village; where I found, to mygreat mortification, that no person would admit me into his house. Iwas regarded with astonishment and fear, and was obliged to sit all daywithout victuals in the shade of a tree; and the night threatened to bevery uncomfortable, for the wind rose, and there was great appearanceof a heavy rain; and the wild beasts are so very numerous in theneighbourhood that I should have been under the necessity of climbing upthe tree, and resting among the branches. About sunset, however, as Iwas preparing to pass the night in this manner, and had turned my horseloose that he might graze at liberty, a woman, returning from thelabours of the field, stopped to observe me, and perceiving that Iwas weary and dejected, inquired into my situation, which I brieflyexplained to her; whereupon, with looks of great compassion, she took upmy saddle and bridle and told me to follow her. Having conducted me intoher hut, she lighted up a lamp, spread a mat on the floor, and told meI might remain there for the night. Finding that I was very hungry, shesaid she would procure me something to eat. She accordingly went out, and returned in a short time with a very fine fish; which having causedto be half broiled upon some embers, she gave me for supper. The ritesof hospitality being thus performed towards a stranger in distress, myworthy benefactress (pointing to the mat, and telling me I might sleepthere without apprehension), called to the female part of her family, who had stood gazing on me all the while in fixed astonishment, toresume their task of spinning cotton, in which they continued to employthemselves great part of the night. They lightened their labour bysongs, one of which was composed extempore; for I was myself the subjectof it. It was sung by one of the young women, the rest joining in a sortof chorus. The air was sweet and plaintive, and the words, literallytranslated, were these:--"The winds roared and the rains fell. Thewhite man, faint and weary, came and sat our tree. He has no mother tobring him milk, no wife to grind his corn. " _Chorus_--"Let us pity thewhite man; no mother has he, " etc. , etc. Trifling as this recital mayappear to the reader, to a person in my situation the circumstance wasaffecting in the highest degree. I was oppressed by such unexpectedkindness, and sleep fled from my eyes. In the morning I presented mycompassionate landlady with two of the four brass buttons which remainedon my waistcoat; the only recompense I could make her. 

 MUNGO PARK. 

 * * * * *

ACROSS THE DESERT OF NUBIA. 

After a prayer of peace, we committed ourselves to the Desert. Our partyconsisted of Ismael the Turk, two Greek servants besides Georgis, whowas almost blind and useless, two Barbarins, who took care of thecamels, Idris, and a young man a relation of his; in all nine persons. We were all well armed with blunderbusses, swords, pistols, anddouble-barrelled guns, except Idris and his lad, who had lances, theonly arms they could use. Five or six naked wretches of the Turcororyjoined us at the watering place, much against my will, for I knew thatwe should probably be reduced to the disagreeable alternative of eitherseeing them perish of thirst before our eyes, or, by assisting them, running a great risk of perishing along with them. 

We left Gooz on the 9th of November, at noon, and halted at the littlevillage of Hassa, where we filled our water-skins--an operation whichoccupied a whole day, as we had to take every means to secure them fromleaking or evaporation. While the camels were loading, I bathed myselfwith infinite pleasure for a long half hour in the Nile, and thus tookleave of my old acquaintance, very doubtful if we should ever meetagain. We then turned to the north-east, leaving the Nile, and enteringinto a bare desert of fixed gravel, without trees, and of a verydisagreeable whitish colour, mixed with small pieces of white marble, like alabaster. Our camels, we found, were too heavily loaded; butwe comforted ourselves with the reflection, that this fault wouldbe remedied by the daily consumption of our provisions. We had beentravelling only two days when our misfortunes began, from a circumstancewe had not attended to. Our shoes, that had long needed repair, becameat last absolutely useless, and our feet were much inflamed by theburning sand. 

On the 13th, we saw, about a mile to the northwest of us, Hambily, arock not considerable in size, but, from the plain country in which itis situated, having the appearance of a great tower or castle. Southof it were too smaller hills, forming, along with it, landmarks of theutmost consequence to caravans, because they are too considerable insize to be at any time covered by the moving sands. We alighted on thefollowing day among some acacia trees, after travelling about twentymiles. We were here at once surprised and terrified by a sight, surelyone of the most magnificent in the world. In that vast expanse ofdesert, we saw a number of prodigious pillars of sand at differentdistances, at one time moving with great celerity, at another stalkingon with majestic slowness. At intervals we thought they were coming tooverwhelm us; and again they would retreat, so as to be almost out ofsight, their tops reaching to the very clouds. There the tops oftenseparated from the bodies; and these, once disjoined, dispersed inthe air, and did not appear more. Sometimes they were broken near themiddle, as if struck with a large cannon shot. About noon, they began toadvance with considerable swiftness upon us, the wind being very strongat north. Eleven of them ranged alongside of us, about the distance ofthree miles. The greatest diameter of the largest appeared to me at thatdistance as if it would measure ten feet. They retired from us with awind at S. E. , leaving an impression upon my mind to which I can give noname, though surely one ingredient in it was fear, with a considerabledeal of wonder and astonishment. It was vain to think of flying; theswiftest horse, or fastest sailing ship, could be of no use to carry usout of this danger; and the full persuasion of this rivetted me to thespot where I stood, and let the camels gain on me so much, that, in mystate of lameness, it was with some difficulty I could overtake them. The effect this stupendous sight had upon Idris was to set him to hisprayers, or rather to his charms; for, except the names of God andMahomet, all the rest of his words were mere gibberish and nonsense. Ismael the Turk violently abused him for not praying in the words of theKoran, at the same time maintaining, with great apparent wisdom, thatnobody had charms to stop these moving sands but the inhabitants ofArabia Deserta. 

From this day subordination, though it did not entirely cease, rapidlydeclined; all was discontent, murmuring, and fear. Our water was greatlydiminished, and that terrible death by thirst began to stare us in theface, owing, in a great measure, to our own imprudence. Ismael, who hadbeen left sentinel over the skins of water, had slept so soundly, thata Turcorory had opened one of the skins that had not been touched, inorder to serve himself out of it at his own discretion. I supposethat, hearing somebody stir, and fearing detection, the Turcorory hadwithdrawn himself as speedily as possible, without tying up the month ofthe girba, which we found in the morning with scarce a quart of water init. 

On the 16th, our men, if not gay, were in better spirits than I had seenthem since we left Gooz. The rugged top of Chiggre was before us, and weknew that there we would solace ourselves with plenty of good water. Aswe were advancing, Idris suddenly cried out, "Fall upon your faces, forhere is the simoom!" I saw from the southeast a haze come, in colourlike the purple part of the rainbow, but not so compressed or thick. Itdid not occupy twenty yards in breadth, and was about twelve feet highfrom the ground. It was a kind of blush upon the air, and moved veryrapidly, for I scarce could turn to fall upon the ground, with my headto the northward, when I felt the heat of its current plainly upon myface. We all lay flat on the ground, as if dead, till Idris told us itwas blown over. The meteor or purple haze which I saw was indeed past, but the light air that still blew was of a heat to threaten suffocation. For my part, I found distinctly in my breast that I had imbibed a partof it, nor was I free from an asthmatic sensation till I had been somemonths in Italy, at the baths of Poretta, nearly two years afterwards. 

This phenomenon of the simoom, unexpected by us, though foreseen byIdris, caused us all to relapse into our former despondency. It stillcontinued to blow, so as to exhaust us entirely, though the blast wasso weak as scarcely would have raised a leaf from the ground. Towardsevening it ceased; and a cooling breeze came from the north, blowingfive or six minutes at a time, and then falling calm. We reached Chiggrethat night, very much fatigued. 

 BRUCE'S TRAVELS. 

[Note:_James Bruce_ (born 1730, died 1794), the African traveller; oneof the early explorers of the Nile. ]

 * * * * *

A SHIPWRECK ON THE ARABIAN COAST. 

Another hour of struggle! It was past midnight, or thereabout, and thestorm, instead of abating, blew stronger and stronger. A passenger, oneof the three on the beam astern, felt too numb and wearied out toretain his hold by the spar any longer; he left it, and swimming with adesperate effort up to the boat, begged in God's name to be taken in. Some were for granting his request, others for denying; at last twosailors, moved with pity, laid hold of his arms where he clung to theboat's side, and helped him in. We were now thirteen together, and theboat rode lower down in the water and with more danger than ever: it wasliterally a hand's breadth between life and death. Soon after another, Ibraheem by name, and also a passenger, made a similar attempt to gainadmittance. To comply would have been sheer madness; but the poor wretchclung to the gunwale, and struggled to clamber over, till the nearestof the crew, after vainly entreating him to quit hold and return to thebeam, saying, "It is your only chance of life, you must keep to it, "loosened his grasp by main force, and flung him back into the sea, wherehe disappeared for ever. "Has Ibraheem reached you?" called out thecaptain to the sailor now alone astride of the spar. "Ibraheem isdrowned, " came the answer across the waves. "Is drowned, " all repeatedin an undertone, adding, "and we too shall soon be drowned also. " Infact, such seemed the only probable end of all our endeavours. For thestorm redoubled in violence; the baling could no longer keep up with therate at which the waves entered; the boat became waterlogged; the waterpoured in hissing on every side: she was sinking, and we were yet farout in the open sea. 

"Plunge for it!" a second time shouted the captain. "Plunge who may, Iwill stay by the boat so long as the boat stays by me, " thought I, andkept my place. Yoosef, fortunately for him, was lying like a corpse, past fear or motion; but four of our party, one a sailor and the otherthree passengers, thinking that all hope of the boat was now over, andthat nothing remained them but the spar, jumped into the sea. Their losssaved the remainder; the boat lightened and righted for a moment, thepilot and I baled away desperately; she rose clear once more of thewater. Those in her were now nine in all--eight men and a boy, thecaptain's nephew. 

Meanwhile the sea was running mountains; and during the paroxysm ofstruggle, while the boat pitched heavily, the cord attached from herstern to the beam snapped asunder. One man was on the spar. Yet a minuteor so the moonlight showed us the heads of the five survivors as theytried to regain the boat; had they done it we were all lost; then a hugewave separated them from us. "May God have mercy on the poor drowningmen!" exclaimed the captain: their bodies were washed ashore three orfour days later. We now remained sole survivors--if, indeed, we were toprove so. 

Our men rowed hard, and the night wore on; at last the coast came infull view. Before us was a high black rock, jutting out into the foamingsea, whence it rose sheer like the wall of a fortress; at some distanceon the left a peculiar glimmer and a long white line of breakers assuredme of the existence of an even and sandy beach. The three sailors now atthe oars, and the passenger who had taken the place of the fourth, grownreckless by long toil under the momentary expectation of death, andlonging to see an end anyhow to this protracted misery, were for pushingthe boat on the rocks, because the nearest land, and thus having it allover as soon as possible. This would have been certain destruction. The captain and pilot, well nigh stupefied by what they had undergone, offered no opposition. I saw that a vigorous effort must be made; so Ilaid hold of them both, shook them to arouse their attention, and badethem take heed to what the rowers were about; adding that it was sheersuicide, and that our only hope of life was to bear up for the sandycreek, which I pointed out to them at a short distance. 

Thus awakened from their lethargy, they started up, and joined with mein expostulating with the sailors. But the men doggedly answered thatthey could hold out no more; that wherever the land was nearest theywould make for it, come what might; and with this they pulled onstraight towards the cliff. 

The captain hastily thrust the rudder into the pilot's hand, andspringing on one of the sailors, pushed him from the bench and seizedhis oar, while I did the same to another on the opposite side; and wenow got the boat's head round towards the bay. The refractory sailors, ashamed of their own faintheartedness, begged pardon, and promised toact henceforth according to our orders. We gave them back their oars, very glad to see a strife so dangerous, especially at such a moment, soon at an end; and the men pulled for left, though full half an hour'srowing yet remained between us and the breakers; and the course whichwe had to hold was more hazardous than before, because it laid the boatalmost parallel with the sweep of the water: but half an hour! yet Ithought we should never come opposite the desired spot. 

At last we neared it, and then a new danger appeared. The first row ofbreakers, rolling like a cataract, was still far off shore, at least ahundred yards; and between it and the beach appeared a white yeast ofraging waters, evidently ten or twelve feet deep, through which, wearyas we all were, and benumbed with the night-chill and the unceasingsplash of the spray over us, I felt it to be very doubtful whether weshould have strength to struggle. But there was no avoiding it; and whenwe drew near the long white line which glittered like a watchfire in thenight, I called out to Yoosef and the lad, both of whom lay plungedin deathlike stupor, to rise and get ready for the hard swim, nowinevitable. They stood up, the sailors laid aside their oars, and amoment after the curling wave capsized the boat, and sent her down asthough she had been struck by a cannon-shot, while we remained to fightfor our lives in the sea. 

Confident in my own swimming powers, but doubtful how far those ofYoosef might reach, I at once turned to look for him; and seeing himclose by me in the water, I caught hold of him, telling him to hold faston, and I would help him to land. But, with much presence of mind, hethrust back my grasp, exclaiming, "Save yourself! I am a good swimmer;never fear for me. " The captain and the young sailor laid hold of theboy, the captain's nephew, one on either side, and struck out with himfor the shore. It was a desperate effort; every wave overwhelmed us inits burst, and carried us back in its eddy, while I drank much more saltwater than was at all desirable. At last, after some minutes, long ashours, I touched land, and scrambled up the sandy beach as thoughthe avenger of blood had been behind me. One by one the rest cameashore--some stark naked, having cast off or lost their remainingclothes in the whirling eddies; others yet retaining some part of theirdress. Every one looked around to see whether his companions arrived;and when all nine stood together on the beach, all cast themselvesprostrate on the sands, to thank Heaven for a new lease of life grantedafter much danger and so many comrades lost. 

 W. G. PALGRAVE. 

 * * * * *

AN ARABIAN TOWN. 

Perhaps my readers will not think it loss of time to accompany us on amorning visit to the camp and market, to the village gardens and wells;such visits we often paid, not without interest and pleasure. 

Warm though Raseem is, its mornings, at least at this time of year (thelatter part of September), were delightful. In a pure and mistless sky, the sun rises over the measureless plain, while the early breeze is yetcool and invigorating, a privilege enjoyed almost invariably in Arabia, but wanting too often in Egypt in the west, and India in the east. At this hour we would often thread the streets by which we had firstentered the town, and go betimes to the Persian camp, where all wasalready alive and stirring. Here are arranged on the sand, baskets fullof eggs and dates, flanked by piles of bread and little round cakes ofwhite butter; bundles of fire-wood are heaped up close by, and pailsof goat's or camel's milk abound; and amid all these sit rows ofcountrywomen, haggling with tall Persians, who in broken Arabic try tobeat down the prices, and generally end by paying only double whatthey ought. The swaggering, broad-faced, Bagdad camel-drivers, andill-looking, sallow youths stand idle everywhere, insulting those whomthey dare, and cringing to their betters like slaves. Persian gentlemen, too, with grand hooked noses, high caps, and quaintly-cut dresses of gaypatterns, saunter about, discussing their grievances, or quarrellingwith each other, to pass the time, for, unlike an Arab, a Persian showsat once whatever ill-humour he may feel, and has no shame in giving itutterance before whomever may be present; nor does he, with the Arab, consider patience to be and essential point of politeness and dignity. Not a few of the townsmen are here, chatting or bartering; and Bedouins, switch in hand. If you ask any chance individual among these latterwhat has brought him hither, you may be sure beforehand that the word"camel, " in one or other of its forms of detail, will find place in theanswer. Criers are going up and down the camp with articles of Persianapparel, cooking pots, and ornaments of various descriptions in theirhands, or carrying them off for higher bidding to the town. 

Having made our morning household purchases at the fair, and the sunbeing now an hour or more above the horizon, we think it time to visitthe market-place of the town, which would hardly be open sooner. Were-enter the city gate, and pass on our way by our house door, where weleave our bundle of eatables, and regain the high street of Berezdah. Before long we reach a high arch across the road; this gate divides themarket from the rest of the quarter. We enter. First of all we see along range of butchers' shops on either side, thickly hung with flesh ofsheep and camel, and very dirtily kept. Were not the air pure and theclimate healthy, the plague would assuredly be endemic here; but inArabia no special harm seems to follow. We hasten on, and next passa series of cloth and linen warehouses, stocked partly withhome-manufacture, but more imported; Bagdad cloaks and head-gear, forinstance; Syrian shawls and Egyptian slippers. Here markets follow thelaw general throughout the East, that all shops or stores of the samedescription should be clustered together; a system whose advantages onthe whole outweigh its inconveniences, at least for small towns likethese, in the large cities and capitals of Europe, greater extent oflocality requires evidently a different method of arrangement: it mightbe awkward for the inhabitants of Hyde Park were no hatters to befound nearer than the Tower. But what is Berezdah compared even with asecond-rate European city? However, in a crowd, it yields to none: thestreets at this time of the day are thronged to choking, and, to makematters worse, a huge splay-footed camel every now and then, heavingfrom side to side like a lubber-rowed boat, with a long beam on hisback, menacing the heads of those in the way, or with two enormous loadsof fire-wood, each as large as himself, sweeping the road before him ofmen, women, and children, while the driver, high perched on the hump, regards such trifles with supreme indifference, so long as he brusheshis path open. Sometimes there is a whole string of these beasts, the head-rope of each tied to the crupper of his precursor--veryuncomfortable passengers when met with at a narrow turning. 

Through such obstacles we have found or made our way, and are now amidleather and shoemakers' shops, then among copper and iron-smiths, tillat last we emerge on the central town-square, not a bad one either, norvery irregular, considering that it is in Raseem. About half one sideis taken up by the great mosque, an edifice nearly two centuries old, judging by its style and appearance, but it bears on no part of iteither date or inscription. A crack running up one side of the towerbears witness to an earthquake said to have occurred here about thirtyyears since. 

Another side of the square is formed by an open gallery. In its shadegroups of citizens are seated discussing news or business. The centralspace is occupied by camels and by bales of various goods, among whichthe coffee of Yemen, henna, and saffron, bear a large part. 

From this square several diverging streets run out, each containing amarket-place for this or that ware, and all ending in portals dividingthem from the ordinary habitations. The vegetable and fruit market isvery extensive, and kept almost exclusively by women; so are also theshops for grocery and spices. 

Rock-salt of remarkable purity and whiteness, from Western Raseem, isa common article of sale, and enormous flakes of it, often beautifullycrystallized, lay piled up at the shop doors. Sometimes a Persian stoodby, trying his skill at purchase or exchange; but these pilgrims werein general shy of entering the town, where, truly, they were not in thebest repute. Well-dressed, grave-looking townsmen abound, their yellowwand of lotus-wood in their hands, and their kerchiefs loosely thrownover their heads. 

The whole town has an aspect of old but declining prosperity. There arefew new houses, but many falling into ruin. The faces, too, of most wemeet are serious, and their voices in an undertone. Silk dresses areprohibited by the dominant faction, and tobacco can only be smokedwithin doors, and by stealth. 

Enough of the town: the streets are narrow, hot, and dusty; the day, too, advances; but the gardens are yet cool. So we dash at a venturethrough a labyrinth of byways and crossways till we find ourselves inthe wide street that runs immediately along but inside the walls. 

Here is a side gate, but half ruined, with great folding doors, and noone to open them. The wall of one of the flanking towers has, however, been broken in, and from thence we hope to find outlet on the gardensoutside. We clamber in, and after mounting a heap of rubbish, once thefoot of a winding staircase, have before us a window looking right onthe gardens. Fortunately we are not the first to try this short cut, andthe truant boys of the town have sufficiently enlarged the aperture andpiled up stones on the ground outside to render the passage tolerablyeasy; we follow the indication, and in another minute stand in the openair without the walls. The breeze is fresh, and will continue so tillnoon. Before us are high palm-trees and dark shadows; the ground isvelvet-green with the autumn crop of maize and vetches, and intersectedby a labyrinth of watercourses, some dry, others flowing, for the wellsare at work. 

These wells are much the same throughout Arabia; their only diversity isin size and depth, but their hydraulic machinery is everywhere alike. Over the well's month is fixed a crossbeam, supported high in air onpillars of wood or stone on either side, and on this beam are from threeto six small wheels, over which pass the ropes of as many large leatherbuckets, each containing nearly twice the ordinary English measure. These are let down into the depth, and then drawn up again by camelsor asses, who pace slowly backwards or forwards on an inclined planeleading from the edge of the well itself to a pit prolonged for somedistance. When the buckets rise to the verge, they tilt over and pourout their contents by a broad channel into a reservoir hard by, fromwhich part the watercourses that irrigate the garden. The supply thusobtained is necessarily discontinuous, and much inferior to what alittle more skill in mechanism affords in Egypt and Syria; while theawkward shaping and not unfrequently the ragged condition of the bucketsthemselves causes half the liquid to fall back into the well before itreaches the brim. The creaking, singing noise of the wheels, the rush ofwater as the buckets attain their turning-point, the unceasing splash oftheir overflow dripping back into the source, all are a message of lifeand moisture very welcome in this dry and stilly region, and may beheard far off amid the sandhills, a first intimation to the sun-scorchedtraveller of his approach to a cooler resting-place. 

 W. G. PALGRAVE. 

 * * * * *

 COURTESY. 

 What virtue is so fitting for a knight, Or for a lady whom a knight should love, As courtesy; to bear themselves aright To all of each degree as doth behove? For whether they be placèd high above Or low beneath, yet ought they well to know Their good: that none them rightly may reprove Of rudeness for not yielding what they owe: Great skill it is such duties timely to bestow. Thereto great help Dame Nature's self doth lend: For some so goodly gracious are by kind, That every action doth them much commend; And in the eyes of men great liking find, Which others that have greater skill in mind, Though they enforce themselves, cannot attain; For everything to which one is inclined Doth best become and greatest grace doth gain; Yet praise likewise deserve good thewes enforced with pain. 

 SPENSER. 

[Notes: _Edmund Spenser_ (born 1552, died 1599), the poet who, inElizabeth's reign, revived the poetry of England, which since Chaucer'sday, two centuries before, had been flagging. 

_Gracious are by kind, i. E. , _ by nature. _Kind_ properly means _nature_. 

_Good thewes_ = good manners or virtues. As _thew_ passes into themeaning "muscle, " so _virtue_ (from _vis_, strength) originally means_manlike valour_. ]

 * * * * *

THE QUEST OF THE HOLY GRAIL. 

Then the King and all estates went home unto Camelot, and so went toevensong to the great minster. And so after upon that to supper, andevery knight sat in his own place as they were toforehand. Then anonthey heard cracking and crying of thunder, that them thought the placeshould all to-drive. In the midst of this blast entered a sunbeammore clearer by seven times than ever they saw day, and all they werealighted of the grace of the Holy Ghost. Then began every knight tobehold other, and either saw other by their seeming fairer than everthey saw afore. Not for then there was no knight might speak one worda great while, and so they looked every man on other, as they had beendumb. Then there entered into the hall the Holy Grail, covered withwhite samite, but there was none might see it, nor who bare it. Andthere was all the hall full filled with good odours, and every knighthad such meats and drinks as he best loved in this world; and whenthe Holy Grail had been borne through the hall, then the holy vesseldeparted suddenly, that they wist not where it became. Then had they allbreath to speak. And then the King yielded thankings unto God of Hisgood grace that He had sent them. "Certes, " said the King, "we ought tothank our Lord Jesu greatly, for that he hath shewed us this day at thereverence of this high feast of Pentecost. " "Now, " said Sir Gawaine, "wehave been served this day of what meats and drinks we thought on, butone thing beguiled us: we might not see the Holy Grail, it was sopreciously covered; wherefore I will make here avow, that to-morn, without longer abiding, I shall labour in the quest of the Sancgreal, that I shall hold me out a twelvemonth and a day, or more if need be, and never shall I return again unto the court till I have seen it moreopenly than it hath been seen here; and if I may not speed, I shallreturn again as he that may not be against the will of our Lord JesuChrist. " When they of the Table Round heard Sir Gawaine say so, theyarose up the most party, and made such avows as Sir Gawaine had made. 

Anon as King Arthur heard this he was greatly displeased, for he wistwell that they might not again say their avows. "Alas!" said King Arthurunto Sir Gawaine, "ye have nigh slain me with the avow and promisethat ye have made. For through you ye have bereft me of the fairestfellowship and the truest of knighthood that ever were seen together inany realm of the world. For when they depart from hence, I am sure theyall shall never meet more in this world, for they shall die many in thequest. And so it forethinketh me a little, for I have loved them as wellas my life, wherefore it shall grieve me right sore the departitionof this fellowship. For I have had an old custom to have them in myfellowship. " And therewith the tears filled in his eyes. And then hesaid, "Gawaine, Gawaine, ye have set me in great sorrow. For I havegreat doubt that my true fellowship shall never meet here again. " "Ah, "said Sir Launcelot, "comfort yourself, for it shall be unto us as agreat honour, and much more than if we died in any other places, for ofdeath we be sure. " "Ah, Launcelot, " said the King, "the great lovethat I have had unto you all the days of my life maketh me to say suchdoleful words; for never Christian king had never so many worthy men atthis table as I have had this day at the Round Table, and that is mygreat sorrow. " When the queen, ladies, and gentlewomen wist thesetidings, they had such sorrow and heaviness that there might no tonguetell it, for those knights had holden them in honour and charity. 

And when all were armed, save their shields and their helms, then theycame to their fellowship, which all were ready in the same wise for togo to the minster to hear their service. 

Then, after the service was done, the King would wit how many had takenthe quest of the Holy Grail, and to account them he prayed them all. Then found they by tale an hundred and fifty, and all were knights ofthe Round Table. And then they put on their helms and departed, andrecommended them all wholly unto the queen, and there was weeping andgreat sorrow. 

And so they mounted upon their horses and rode through the streets ofCamelot, and there was weeping of the rich and poor, and the King turnedaway, and might not speak for weeping. So within a while they came to acity and a castle that hight Vagon. There they entered into the castle, and the lord of that castle was an old man that hight Vagon, and he wasa good man of his living, and set open the gates, and made them all thegood cheer that he might. And so on the morrow they were all accordedthat they should depart every each from other. And then they departed onthe morrow with weeping and mourning cheer, and every knight took theway that him best liked. 

 SIR THOMAS MALORY. 

[Notes: _The Quest of the Holy Grail_. This is taken from the 'Mortd'Arthur, ' written about the end of the fifteenth century by Sir ThomasMalory, and one of the first books printed in England by Caxton. KingArthur was at the head and centre of the company of Knights of the TableBound. The _Holy Grail_, or the _Sangreal, _ was the dish said to haveheld the Paschal lamb at the Last Supper, and to have been possessed byJoseph of Arimathea. 

Notice throughout this piece the archaic phrases used. ]

 * * * * *

VISIT TO SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY'S COUNTRY SEAT. 

Having often received an invitation from my friend Sir Roger de Coverleyto pass away a month with him in the country, I last week accompaniedhim thither, and am settled with him for some time at his country-house, where I intend to form several of my ensuing speculations. Sir Roger, who is very well acquainted with my humour, lets me rise and go to bedwhen I please, dine at his own table or in my own chamber, as I thinkfit, sit still and say nothing without bidding me be merry. 

I am the more at ease in Sir Roger's family, because it consists ofsober and staid persons; for, as the knight is the best master in theworld, he seldom changes his servants; and as he is beloved by allabout, his servants never care for leaving him; by this means hisdomestics are all in years, and grown old with their master. You wouldtake his _valet de chambre_ for his brother; his butler is grey-headed, his groom is one of the gravest men that I have ever seen, and hiscoachman has the looks of a Privy Counsellor. You see the goodness ofthe master even in the old house-dog, and in a grey pad that is kept inthe stable with great care and tenderness, out of regard for his pastservices, though he has been useless for several years. 

I could not but observe, with a great deal of pleasure, the joy thatappeared in the countenance of these ancient domestics upon my friend'sarrival at his country-seat. Some of them could not refrain from tearsat the sight of their old master; every one of them pressed forward todo something for him, and seemed discouraged if they were not employed. At the same time the good old knight, with a mixture of a father and themaster of the family, tempered the inquiries after his own affairs withseveral kind questions about themselves. This humanity and good-natureengages everybody to him, so that when he is pleasant upon any of them, all his family are in good-humour, and none so much as the person hediverts himself with. On the contrary, if he coughs, or betrays anyinfirmity of old age, it is easy for a stander-by to observe a secretconcern in the looks of all his servants. 

My chief companion, when Sir Roger is diverting himself in the woods orthe fields, is a very venerable man who is ever with Sir Roger, and haslived at his house in the nature of a chaplain above thirty years. Thisgentleman is a person of good sense and some learning; of a very regularlife and obliging conversation: he heartily loves Sir Roger, and knowsthat he is very much in the old knight's esteem, so that he lives in thefamily rather as a relation than a dependent. 

I have observed in several of my papers, that my friend Sir Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is something of a humorist; and that hisvirtues, as well as imperfections, are, as it were, tinged by a certainextravagance which makes them particularly _his_, and distinguishes themfrom those of other men. This cast of mind, as it is generally veryinnocent in itself, so it renders his conversation highly agreeable, andmore delightful than the same degree of sense and virtue would appear intheir common and ordinary colours. As I was walking with him last night, he asked me how I liked the good man I have just now mentioned? Andwithout staying for an answer, told me, "That he was afraid of beinginsulted with Latin and Greek at his own table; for which reason hedesired a particular friend of his at the University to find him out aclergyman rather of plain sense than much learning; of a good aspect, aclear voice, a sociable temper, and, if possible, a man that understooda little of backgammon. My friend, " says Sir Roger, "found me out thisgentleman, who, besides the endowments required of him, is, they tellme, a good scholar, though he does not show it. I have given him theparsonage of the parish; and, because I know his value, have settledupon him a good annuity for life. If he outlives me, he shall find thathe was higher in my esteem than perhaps he thinks he is. He has now beenwith me thirty years, and though he does not know I have taken notice ofit, has never in all that time asked anything of me for himself, thoughhe is every day soliciting me for something in behalf of one or otherof my tenants, his parishioners. There has not been a law-suit in theparish since he has lived among them: if any dispute arises, they applythemselves to him for the decision; if they do not acquiesce in hisjudgment, which I think never happened above once or twice, at most, they appeal to me. At his first settling with me, I made him a presentof all the good sermons that have been printed in English, and onlybegged of him that every Sunday he would pronounce one of them in thepulpit. Accordingly, he has digested them into such a series, that theyfollow one another naturally, and make a continued series of practicaldivinity. "

 ADDISON. 

 * * * * *

THE DEAD ASS. 

"And this, " said he, putting the remains of a crust into his wallet, "and this should have been thy portion, " said he, "hadst thou been aliveto have shared it with me. " I thought by the accent it had been anapostrophe to his child; but 'twas to his ass, and to the very ass wehad seen dead on the road. The man seemed to lament it much; and itinstantly brought into my mind Sancho's lamentation for his; but he didit with more true touches of nature. 

The mourner was sitting on a stone bench at the door, with the ass'spannel and its bridle on one side, which he took up from time totime--then laid them down--looked at them--and shook his head. He thentook his crust of bread out of his wallet again, as if to eat it;held it some time in his hand--then laid it upon the bit of his ass'sbridle--looked wistfully at the little arrangement he had made--and thengave a sigh. 

The simplicity of his grief drew numbers about him, and La Fleur amongthe rest, whilst the horses were getting ready; as I continued sittingin the postchaise, I could see and hear over their heads. 

He said he had come last from Spain, where he had been from the farthestborders of Franconia; and he had got so far on his return home, when hisass died. Every one seemed desirous to know what business could havetaken so old and poor a man so far a journey from his own home. 

"It had pleased heaven, " he said, "to bless him with three sons, thefinest lads in all Germany; but having in one week lost two of them bythe small-pox, and the youngest falling ill of the same distemper, hewas afraid of being bereft of them all; and made a vow, if Heaven wouldnot take him from him also, he would go in gratitude to St. Iago, inSpain. "

When the mourner got thus far on his story, he stopped to pay nature hertribute, and wept bitterly. 

He said Heaven had accepted the conditions, and that he had set out fromhis cottage, with this poor creature, who had been a patient partner ofhis journey--that it had eat the same bread with him all the way, andwas unto him as a friend. 

Everybody who stood about heard the poor fellow with concern. La Fleuroffered him money; the mourner said he did not want it; it was not thevalue of the ass, but the loss of him. "The ass, " he said, "he wasassured, loved him;" and upon this, told them a long story of amischance upon their passage over the Pyrenean mountains, which hadseparated them from each other three days; during which time the ass hadsought him as much as he had sought the ass, and they had neither scarceeat or drank till they met. 

"Thou hast one comfort, friend, " said I, "at least in the loss of thepoor beast; I'm sure thou hast been a merciful master to him. " "Alas!"said the mourner, "I thought so when he was alive; but now he is dead Ithink otherwise. I fear the weight of myself and my afflictions togetherhave been too much for him--they have shortened the poor creature'sdays, and I fear I have them to answer for. " "Shame on the world!" saidI to myself. "Did we love each other as this poor soul but loved hisass, 'twould be something. "

 STERNE.