[Illustration: One FlagOne FleetOne Throne The Union Jack] THE ONTARIO READERS THIRD BOOK AUTHORIZED BY THE MINISTER OF EDUCATION The price of this book to the purchaser is not the total cost. During the present period of abnormal and fluctuating trade conditions, an additional sum, which may vary from time to time, is paid to the Publisher by the Department of Education. Entered, according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year 1909, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture by the Minister of Education for Ontario. TORONTO: THE T. EATON Co LIMITED ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS THE MINISTER OF EDUCATION is indebted to Rudyard Kipling, HenryNewbolt, Beckles Willson, E. B. Osborn, F. T. Bullen, Flora Annie Steel;Charles G. D. Roberts, W. Wilfred Campbell, Ethelwyn Wetherald, JeanBlewett, Robert Reid, "Ralph Connor, " John Waugh, S. T. Wood; Henry VanDyke, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward, and Richard Watson Gilder forspecial permission to reproduce, in this Reader, selections from theirwritings. He is indebted to Lord Tennyson for special permission to reproduce thepoems from the works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson; to Lloyd Osbourne forpermission to reproduce the selection from the works of Robert LouisStevenson; and to J. F. Edgar for permission to reproduce one of SirJames D. Edgar's poems. He is also indebted to Macmillan & Co. , Limited, for special permission, to reproduce selections from the works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson, RudyardKipling, and Flora Annie Steel; to Smith, Elder & Co. , for the extractfrom F. T. Bullen's "The Cruise of the Cachalot"; to Elkin Mathews forHenry Newbolt's poem from "The Island Race"; to Sampson Low, Marston &Company for the extract from R. D. Blackmore's "Lorna Doone"; to ThomasNelson & Sons for the extract from W. F. Collier's "History of theBritish Empire"; to Chatto and Windus for the extract from E. B. Osborn's"Greater Canada"; to Houghton Mifflin Company for "The Chase" fromCharles Dudley Warner's "A-Hunting of the Deer, " "Mary Elizabeth" byMrs. Phelps Ward, and the poems by Celia Thaxter and by Richard WatsonGilder; to The Century Company for Jacob A. Riis' "The Story of a Fire"from "_The Century Magazine_"; to The Copp Clark Co. , Limited, for theselections from Charles G. D. Roberts' works; to The Westminster Co. , Limited, for the extract from "Ralph Connor's" "The Man from Glengarry. " The Minister is grateful to these authors and publishers and to others, not mentioned here, through whose courtesy he has been able to includein this Reader so many copyright selections. Toronto, May, 1909. CONTENTS PAGE _To-day_ _Thomas Carlyle_ 1 Fortune and the Beggar _Ivan Kirloff_ 2 _The Lark and the Rook_ _Unknown_ 4 The Pickwick Club on the Ice _Charles Dickens_ 6 _Tubal Cain_ _Charles Mackay_ 11 Professor Frog's Lecture _M. A. L. Lane_ 14 _A Song for April_ _Charles G. D. Roberts_ 25 How the Crickets Brought Good Fortune _P. J. Stahl_ 26 _The Battle of Blenheim_ _Robert Southey_ 31 The Ride for Life _"Ralph Connor"_ 34 _Iagoo, the Boaster_ _Henry W. Longfellow_ 39 The Story of a Fire _Jacob A. Riis_ 40 _The Quest_ _Eudora S. Bumstead_ 43 The Jackal and the Partridge _Flora Annie Steel_ 44 _Hide and Seek_ _Henry Van Dyke_ 50 The Burning of the "Goliath" _Dean Stanley_ 52 _Hearts of Oak_ _David Garrick_ 55 _A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea_ _Allan Cunningham_ 56 The Talents _Bible_ 57 _A Farewell_ _Charles Kingsley_ 59 _An Apple Orchard in the Spring_ _William Martin_ 60 The Bluejay _"Mark Twain"_ 61 _A Canadian Camping Song_ _Sir James David Edgar_ 65 The Argonauts _John Waugh_ 66 _The Minstrel-Boy_ _Thomas Moore_ 71 Mary Elizabeth _Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward_ 72 _The Frost_ _Hannah Flagg Gould_ 83 _Corn-fields_ _Mary Howitt_ 84 South-West Wind, Esq. _John Ruskin_ 86 _The Meeting of the Waters_ _Thomas Moore_ 97 Love _Bible_ 98 _The Robin's Song_ _Unknown_ 99 Work or Play _"Mark Twain"_ 100 _Burial of Sir John Moore_ _Charles Wolfe_ 106 The Whistle _Benjamin Franklin_ 108 _A Canadian Boat Song_ _Thomas Moore_ 109 The Little Hero of Haarlem _Sharpe's London Magazine_ 110 _Father William_ _"Lewis Carroll"_ 115 David and Goliath _Bible_ 117 _Charge of the Light Brigade_ _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 123 Maggie Tulliver _George Eliot_ 125 _The Corn Song_ _John G. Whittier_ 134 Sports in Norman England _William Fitzstephen_ 136 _A Song of Canada_ _Robert Reid_ 140 A Mad Tea Party _"Lewis Carroll"_ 142 _The Slave's Dream_ _Henry W. Longfellow_ 149 The Chase _Charles Dudley Warner_ 152 _The Inchcape Rock_ _Robert Southey_ 158 A Rough Ride _Richard D. Blackmore_ 161 _The Arab and His Steed_ _The Honourable Mrs. Norton_ 169 _The Poet's Song_ _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 173 Adventure with a Whale _Frank T. Bullen_ 174 _The Maple_ _H. F. Darnell_ 179 Damon and Pythias _Charlotte M. Yonge_ 181 _The Wreck of the Orpheus_ _C. A. L. _ 184 _The Tide River_ _Charles Kingsley_ 185 Wisdom the Supreme Prize _Bible_ 187 _The Orchard_ _Jean Blewett_ 188 Inspired by the Snow _Samuel T. Wood_ 189 _The Squirrel_ _William Cowper_ 192 _Soldier, Rest_ _Sir Walter Scott_ 192 Fishing _Thomas Hughes_ 193 _The Fountain_ _James Russell Lowell_ 199 _Break, Break, Break_ _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 201 The Bed of Procrustes _Charles Kingsley_ 202 _"Bob White"_ _George Cooper_ 208 Radisson and the Indians _Beckles Willson_ 209 _The Brook_ _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 212 "Do Seek Their Meat From God" _Charles G. D. Roberts_ 215 _A Song of the Sea_ _"Barry Cornwall"_ 222 Little Daffydowndilly _Nathaniel Hawthorne_ 223 _The Sandpiper_ _Celia Thaxter_ 234 From "The Sermon on the Mount" _Bible_ 236 _The Legend of Saint Christopher_ _Helen Hunt Jackson_ 237 William Tell and His Son _Chamber's "Tracts"_ 241 _A Midsummer Song_ _Richard Watson Gilder_ 244 The Relief of Lucknow _"Letter from an officer's wife"_ 246 _The Song in Camp_ _Bayard Taylor_ 250 _Afterglow_ _William Wilfred Campbell_ 252 King Richard and Saladin _Sir Walter Scott_ 253 _England's Dead_ _Felicia Hemans_ 258 _Hohenlinden_ _Thomas Campbell_ 260 The Dream of the Oak Tree _Hans Christian Andersen_ 262 A Prayer _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 266 _The Death of the Flowers_ _William Cullen Bryant_ 267 _'Tis the Last Rose of Summer_ _Thomas Moore_ 269 A Roman's Honour _Charlotte M. Yonge_ 270 _The Fighting Téméraire_ _Henry Newbolt_ 273 Don Quixote's Fight with the Windmills _Miguel de Cervantes_ 275 _The Romance of the Swan's Nest_ _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ 281 Moonlight Sonata _Unknown_ 285 _The Red-Winged Blackbird_ _Ethelwyn Wetherald_ 290 _To the Cuckoo_ _John Logan_ 291 The Story of a Stone _D. B. _ 293 _The Snow-Storm_ _John G. Whittier_ 298 The Heroine of Verchères _Francis Parkman_ 301 _Jacques Cartier_ _Thomas D'Arcy M'Gee_ 307 Ants and Their Slaves _Jules Michelet_ 310 _Lead, Kindly Light_ _John Henry Newman_ 315 The Jolly Sandboys _Charles Dickens_ 316 _The Gladness of Nature_ _William Cullen Bryant_ 324 Old English Life _William F. Collier_ 325 _Puck's Song_ _Rudyard Kipling_ 330 The Battle of Queenston Heights _Unknown_ 332 _The Bugle Song_ _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 337 Charity _Bible_ 338 _A Christmas Carol_ _James Russell Lowell_ 339 The Barren Lands _E. B. Osborn_ 341 _A Spring Morning_ _William Wordsworth_ 345 _Crossing the Bar_ _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 346 EMPIRE DAY I want you to remember what Empire Day means. Empire Day is the festivalon which every British subject should reverently remember that theBritish Empire stands out before the whole world as the fearlesschampion of freedom, fair play and equal rights; that its watchwords areresponsibility, duty, sympathy and self-sacrifice, and that a specialresponsibility rests with you individually to be true to the traditionsand to the mission of your race. I also want you to remember that one day Canada will become, if herpeople are faithful to their high British traditions, the most powerfulof all the self-governing nations, not excluding the people of theUnited Kingdom, which make up the British Empire, and that it rests witheach one of you individually to do your utmost by your own conduct andexample to make Canada not only the most powerful, but the noblest ofall the self-governing nations that are proud to owe allegiance to theKing. Earl Grey. Governor-General of Canada THIRD READER TO-DAY So here hath been dawning Another blue day; Think, wilt thou let it Slip useless away? Out of Eternity This new day is born; Into Eternity At night will return. Behold it aforetime No eye ever did; So soon it forever From all eyes is hid. Here hath been dawning Another blue day; Think, wilt thou let it Slip useless away? CARLYLE FORTUNE AND THE BEGGAR One day a ragged beggar was creeping along from house to house. Hecarried an old wallet in his hand, and was asking at every door for afew cents to buy something to eat. As he was grumbling at his lot, hekept wondering why it was that folks who had so much money were neversatisfied but were always wanting more. "Here, " said he, "is the master of this house--I know him well. He wasalways a good business man, and he made himself wondrously rich a longtime ago. Had he been wise he would have stopped then. He would haveturned over his business to some one else, and then he could have spentthe rest of his life in ease. But what did he do instead? He built shipsand sent them to sea to trade with foreign lands. He thought he wouldget mountains of gold. "But there were great storms on the water; his ships were wrecked, andhis riches were swallowed up by the waves. Now all his hopes lie at thebottom of the sea, and his great wealth has vanished. "There are many such cases. Men seem to be never satisfied unless theygain the whole world. "As for me, if I had only enough to eat and to wear, I would not wantanything more. " Just at that moment Fortune came down the street. She saw the beggar andstopped. She said to him: "Listen! I have long wished to help you. Hold your wallet and I willpour this gold into it, but only on this condition: all that falls intothe wallet shall be pure gold; but every piece that falls upon theground shall become dust. Do you understand?" "Oh, yes, I understand, " said the beggar. "Then have a care, " said Fortune. "Your wallet is old, so do not load ittoo heavily. " The beggar was so glad that he could hardly wait. He quickly opened hiswallet, and a stream of yellow dollars poured into it. The wallet grewheavy. "Is that enough?" asked Fortune. "Not yet. " "Isn't it cracking?" "Never fear. " The beggar's hands began to tremble. Ah, if the golden stream would onlypour for ever! "You are the richest man in the world now!" "Just a little more, add just a handful or two. " "There, it's full. The wallet will burst. " "But it will hold a little, just a little more!" Another piece was added, and the wallet split. The treasure fell uponthe ground and was turned to dust. Fortune had vanished. The beggar hadnow nothing but his empty wallet, and it was torn from top to bottom. Hewas as poor as before. IVAN KIRLOFF THE LARK AND THE ROOK "Good-night, Sir Rook!" said a little lark, "The daylight fades; it will soon be dark; I've bathed my wings in the sun's last ray; I've sung my hymn to the parting day; So now I haste to my quiet nook In yon dewy meadow--good-night, Sir Rook!" "Good-night, poor Lark, " said his titled friend With a haughty toss and a distant bend; "I also go to my rest profound, But not to sleep on the cold, damp ground. The fittest place for a bird like me Is the topmost bough of yon tall pine tree. "I opened my eyes at peep of day And saw you taking your upward way, Dreaming your fond romantic dreams, An ugly speck in the sun's bright beams, Soaring too high to be seen or heard; And I said to myself: 'What a foolish bird!' "I trod the park with a princely air; I filled my crop with the richest fare; I cawed all day 'mid a lordly crew, And I made more noise in the world than you! The sun shone forth on my ebon wing; I looked and wondered--good-night, poor thing!" "Good-night, once more, " said the lark's sweet voice, "I see no cause to repent my choice; You build your nest in the lofty pine, But is your slumber more sweet than mine? You make more noise in the world than I, But whose is the sweeter minstrelsy?" UNKNOWN What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted? Thrice is he armed, that hath his quarrel just; And he but naked, though locked up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. SHAKESPEARE THE PICKWICK CLUB ON THE ICE "You skate, of course, Winkle?" said Wardle. "Ye-yes; oh, yes, " replied Mr. Winkle. "I--I--am _rather_ out ofpractice. " "Oh, _do_ skate, Mr. Winkle, " said Arabella. "I like to see it so much. " "Oh, it is _so_ graceful, " said another young lady. A third young ladysaid it was elegant, and a fourth expressed her opinion that it was"swan-like. " "I should be very happy, I'm sure, " said Mr. Winkle, reddening; "but Ihave no skates. " This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had got a couple of pair, and the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen more downstairs, whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite delight, and looked exquisitelyuncomfortable. Old Wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice; and the fat boyand Mr. Weller, having shovelled and swept away the snow which hadfallen on it during the night, Mr. Bob Sawyer adjusted his skates with adexterity which to Mr. Winkle seemed perfectly marvellous, and describedcircles with his left leg, and cut figures of eight, and inscribed uponthe ice, without once stopping for breath, a great many other pleasantand astonishing devices, to the excessive satisfaction of Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Tupman, and the ladies; which reached a pitch of positiveenthusiasm, when old Wardle and Benjamin Allen, assisted by theaforesaid Bob Sawyer, performed some mystic evolutions, which theycalled a reel. All this time, Mr. Winkle, with his face and hands blue with the cold, had been forcing a gimlet into the soles of his feet, and putting hisskates on with the points behind, and getting the straps into a verycomplicated and entangled state, with the assistance of Mr. Snodgrass, who knew rather less about skates than a Hindoo. At length, however, with the assistance of Mr. Weller, the unfortunate skates were firmlyscrewed and buckled on, and Mr. Winkle was raised to his feet. "Now, then, sir, " said Sam in an encouraging tone; "off vith you, andshow 'em how to do it. " "Stop, Sam, stop, " said Mr. Winkle, trembling violently, and clutchinghold of Sam's arms with the grasp of a drowning man. "How slippery itis, Sam!" "Not an uncommon thing upon ice, sir, " replied Mr. Weller. "Hold up, sir. " This last observation of Mr. Weller's bore reference to a demonstrationMr. Winkle made at the instant, of a frantic desire to throw his feetinto the air and dash the back of his head on the ice. "These--these--are very awkward skates; ain't they, Sam?" inquired Mr. Winkle, staggering. "I'm afeerd there's an orkard gen'lm'n in 'em, sir, " replied Sam. "Now, Winkle, " cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious that there wasanything the matter. "Come, the ladies are all anxiety. " "Yes, yes, " replied Mr. Winkle, with a ghastly smile. "I'm coming. " "Just a goin' to begin, " said Sam, endeavouring to disengage himself. "Now, sir, start off. " "Stop an instant, Sam, " gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging most affectionatelyto Mr. Weller. "I find I've a couple of coats at home that I don't want, Sam. You may have them, Sam. " "Thank'ee, sir, " replied Mr. Weller. "Never mind touching your hat, Sam, " said Mr. Winkle, hastily. "Youneedn't take your hand away to do that. I meant to have given you fiveshillings this morning for a Christmas-box, Sam. I'll give it to youthis afternoon, Sam. " "You're wery good, sir, " replied Mr. Weller. "Just hold me at first, Sam; will you?" said Mr. Winkle. "There--that'sright. I shall soon get into the way of it, Sam. Not too fast, Sam; nottoo fast. " Mr. Winkle, stooping forward with his body half doubled up, was beingassisted over the ice by Mr. Weller, in a very singular and un-swan-likemanner, when Mr. Pickwick most innocently shouted from the oppositebank-- "Sam!" "Sir?" said Mr. Weller. "Here. I want you. " "Let go, sir, " said Sam. "Don't you hear the governor a-callin'? Let go, sir!" With a violent effort, Mr. Weller disengaged himself from the grasp ofthe agonized Pickwickian; and, in so doing, administered a considerableimpetus to the unhappy Mr. Winkle. With an accuracy which no degree ofdexterity or practice could have insured, that unfortunate gentlemanbore swiftly down into the centre of the reel, at the very moment whenMr. Bob Sawyer was performing a flourish of unparalleled beauty. Mr. Winkle struck wildly against him, and with a loud crash they both fellheavily down. Mr. Pickwick ran to the spot. Bob Sawyer had risen to hisfeet, but Mr. Winkle was far too wise to do anything of the kind inskates. He was seated on the ice making spasmodic efforts to smile; butanguish was depicted on every lineament of his countenance. "Are you hurt?" inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, with great anxiety. "Not much, " said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back very hard. "I wish you'd let me bleed you, " said Mr. Benjamin, with greateagerness. "No, thank you, " replied Mr. Winkle hurriedly. "I really think you had better, " said Allen. "Thank you, " replied Mr. Winkle "I'd rather not. " "What do _you_ think, Mr. Pickwick?" inquired Bob Sawyer. Mr. Pickwick was excited and indignant. He beckoned to Mr. Weller, andsaid in a stern voice: "Take his skates off. " The command was not to be resisted. Mr. Winkle allowed Sam to obey it insilence. "Lift him up, " said Mr. Pickwick. Sam assisted him to rise. Mr. Pickwick retired a few paces apart from the bystanders; and, beckoning his friend to approach, fixed a searching look upon him, anduttered in a low but distinct and emphatic tone these remarkable words: "You're a humbug, sir. " "A what?" said Mr. Winkle, starting. "A humbug, sir. I will speak plainer, if you wish it. An impostor, sir. " With these words, Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on his heel and rejoinedhis friends. DICKENS: "The Pickwick Papers. " TUBAL CAIN Old Tubal Cain was a man of might, In the days when earth was young; By the fierce red light of his furnace bright, The strokes of his hammer rung: And he lifted high his brawny hand On the iron glowing clear, Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers, As he fashioned the sword and spear. And he sang--"Hurrah for my handiwork! Hurrah for the spear and sword! Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well, For he shall be king and lord!" To Tubal Cain came many a one, As he wrought by his roaring fire; And each one prayed for a strong steel blade, As the crown of his desire; And he made them weapons sharp and strong, Till they shouted loud for glee; And they gave him gifts of pearls and gold, And spoils of the forest free. And they sang--"Hurrah for Tubal Cain, Who hath given us strength anew! Hurrah for the smith, hurrah for the fire, And hurrah for the metal true!" But a sudden change came o'er his heart, Ere the setting of the sun; And Tubal Cain was filled with pain For the evil he had done: He saw that men, with rage and hate, Made war upon their kind, That the land was red with the blood they shed, In their lust for carnage blind. And he said--"Alas! that I ever made, Or that skill of mine should plan, The spear and the sword for men whose joy Is to slay their fellow-man!" And for many a day old Tubal Cain Sat brooding o'er his woe; And his hand forbore to smite the ore, And his furnace smouldered low. But he rose at last with a cheerful face, And a bright courageous eye, And bared his strong right arm for work, While the quick flames mounted high. And he sang--"Hurrah for my handiwork!" And the red sparks lit the air; "Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made, " And he fashioned the first ploughshare. And men, taught wisdom from the past, In friendship joined their hands; Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall, And ploughed the willing lands: And sang--"Hurrah for Tubal Cain! Our stanch good friend is he; And for the ploughshare and the plough, To him our praise shall be. But while oppression lifts its head, Or a tyrant would be lord; Though we may thank him for the plough, We'll not forget the sword!" CHARLES MACKAY PROFESSOR FROG'S LECTURE Bobby was not quite sure that he was awake, but when he opened his eyesthere was the blue sky, with the soft, white clouds drifting across it, the big pine waving its spicy branches over his head, and beyond, theglint of sunshine on the waters of the pond. Presently Bobby heardvoices talking softly. "This is a good specimen, " said one voice. "See how stout and strong helooks!" "I wonder who that is, and what he has found, " thought Bobby. "I wish itwasn't such hard work to keep my eyes open. " He made a great effort, however, and raised his heavy lids. At first he could see nothing. Thenhe caught a glimpse of a mossy log, with a row of frogs and toadssitting upon it. They were looking solemnly at him. Bobby felt a littleuncomfortable under that steady gaze. "The toads are making their spring visit to the pond to lay their eggs, "thought the boy. "I forgot that they were due this week. " "He must have done a good deal of mischief in his day, " said an oldbull-frog, gravely. A chill crept over Bobby. "In his day. "--What didthat mean? A toad hopped out from the line and came so close to Bobby that he couldhave touched her but for the strange spell which held him fast. "Yes, " said she; "this is one of the species. We are very fortunate tohave caught him. Now we shall be ready to listen to Professor Rana'sremarks. " Still Bobby could not move. What were they going to do? In a momentthere was a rustling among the dry leaves and dozens of frogs and toadswere seen hurrying towards the pine tree. Among them was a ponderousfrog, carrying a roll of manuscript under his arm. He wore huge goggles, and looked so wise that Bobby did not dare to laugh. "I am very sleepy, " murmured a portly toad near Bobby's left ear. "Ilaid over eight thousand eggs last night, and I have a long journeybefore me. But I must stay to hear this. We may never have such a chanceagain. " "Ladies and gentlemen, " began the professor, in a sonorous tone that waseasily heard for several feet, "this is a specimen of the creature knownto us as the human tadpole. You will kindly observe his long legs. Theywere doubtless given to him for the purpose of protection. Beingpossessed of a most mischievous and reckless spirit, the species isalways getting into difficulties, and would probably become extinct ifit had not the power to run away. " "Nonsense!" said Bobby under his breath. There was a murmur of interestand curiosity among the crowd. Bobby felt his legs twitch nervously, buthis power over them was gone. "Otherwise, " went on the lecturer, "he is not at all adapted to hissurroundings. Observe how carefully we are dressed. The frogs have thegreen and brown tints of their homes by the water-side. The toads looklike lumps of dirt, so that they may not be too readily snapped up bybirds of prey. But the Boy--to call him by his scientific name--has nosuch protection. Look at this red shirt and these white trousers, andthis hat as big as a trout pool! Could anything be more ridiculous? Evena giraffe does not look so absurd as this. " A red flush mounted to Bobby's freckled cheeks, but this time he did nottry to speak. "Now, " said the professor, "as far as we have been able to learn, thehuman tadpole is absolutely useless. We are, therefore, doing no harm inexperimenting upon this specimen. There are plenty of them, and this onewill not be a serious loss. " "Stop!" said Bobby, so unexpectedly that everybody jumped. "What are yougoing to do with me?" "You will be so kind as to lie still, " said the professor severely. "Atpresent you are only a specimen. " There was no help for it. Bobby found it impossible to move hand orfoot. He could wriggle a little, --but that was all. "Not only is the Boy entirely useless, " went on the professor, "but heis often what might be called a pest, even to his own kind. He isendured in the world for what he may become when he is full-grown, andeven then he is sometimes disappointing. You are familiar with many ofhis objectionable ways towards the animal world, but I am sure you wouldbe surprised if you knew what a care and trouble he frequently is to hisown people. He can be trusted to do few kinds of work. It is difficultto keep him clean. He doesn't know how to get his own dinner. He has agenius for making weaker things miserable. He likes fishing, and helongs for a gun; he collects birds' eggs; he puts butterflies on pins;he teases his little sisters. " "Why isn't the species exterminated?" asked another frog angrily. Then the toad near Bobby's ear spoke timidly: "I think you are a littleunjust, Professor. I have known boys who were comparatively harmless. " "It is true there may be a few, Mrs. Bufo, " said the professor withgreat politeness, "but as a class they may be fairly set down as of verydoubtful value. Speak up, Tadpole, and say if I have made any falsestatements so far. " Bobby fairly shouted in his eagerness to be heard. "We do work, " he said. "We have to go to school every day. " "What a help that must be to your parents and to the world at large!"said the frog with sarcasm. "I am surprised that we never see theresults of such hard labour. Do you know how useful even our smallesttadpoles are? Without them this pond would be no longer beautiful, butfoul and ill-smelling. As for what we do when we are grown up, modestyforbids me to praise the frogs, but you know what a toad is worth tomankind?" "No, " said Bobby. "About two cents, I guess. " Bobby didn't intend to berude. He thought this a liberal valuation. "Twenty dollars a year, as estimated by the Department of Agriculture!"cried the frog triumphantly. "What do you think of that?" "I should like to know why, " said Bobby, looking as if he thoughtProfessor Rana was making fun of him. "What are the greatest enemies of mankind?" asked the professor, peeringover his goggles at poor Bobby. "Tigers, " said Bobby, promptly; "or wolves. " "Wrong, " said the lecturer. "Insects. Insects destroy property on thiscontinent to the amount of over four hundred million dollars annually. Insects destroy the crops upon which man depends for his food. Going toschool hasn't made you very wise, has it? Well, the toads are insectdestroyers. That's their business. If the State only knew enough to makeuse of them, millions of dollars might be saved every year. Does it seemto you that the human animal is so clever as it might be, when it allowssuch numbers of toads to be destroyed?" "It's a shame!" chimed in a voice from the front seats. "We keep out ofthe way as much as we can; we eat every kind of troublesome worm andinsect, --the cutworm, canker-worm, tent caterpillar, army-worm, rose-beetle, and the common house-fly; we ask for no wages or food orcare, --and what do we get in return? Not even protection and commonkindness. If we had places where we could live in safety, who could tellthe amount of good we might do? Yet I would not have this poor boy hurtif a word of mine could prevent it. " "This is a scientific meeting, " observed the professor; "and benevolentsentiments are quite out of place. We will now proceed to notice thedelicate nervous system of the creature. Stand closer, my friends, ifyou please. " "Nervous system, indeed!" said Bobby. "Boys don't have such silly thingsas nerves!" Suddenly Bobby felt a multitude of tiny pin pricks over the entiresurface of his body. The suffering was not intense, but the irritationmade him squirm and wince. He could not discover the cause of hisdiscomfort, but at the professor's command it suddenly ceased. "That will do, " said the frog. "Each hair on his head is also connectedwith a nerve. Pull his hair, please!" "Oh, don't!" said Bobby. "That hurts!" Nobody listened to him. It did hurt, more than you would think, for tinyhands were pulling each hair separately. When the ordeal was over, Bobby heard a faint noise in the grass as if some very small creatureswere scurrying away, but he could see nothing. He was winking his eyesdesperately to keep from crying. "The assistants may go now, " said the professor; and the sound of littlefeet died away in the distance. "How interesting this is!" murmured a plain-looking toad who had beenwatching the experiments attentively. "I think it's mean, " protested poor Bobby, "to keep a fellow fastened uplike this, and then torment him. " "Does it hurt as much as being skinned, or having your legs cut off?"demanded the professor. "Or should you prefer to be stepped on, or burned up in a rubbish pile?"asked Mrs. Bufo. "How should you like to be stoned or kicked, for a change?" said anothertoad sharply. "Perhaps you would choose a fish-hook in the corner of your mouth?" saida voice from the pond. "Or one run the entire length of your body?" came a murmur from theground under Bobby's head. "Wait a minute, " said the professor, more gently. "We will give you achance to defend yourself. It is not customary to inquire into the moralcharacter of specimens, but we do not wish to be unjust. Perhaps you canexplain why you made a bonfire the very week after the toads came out oftheir winter-quarters. Dozens of lives were destroyed before that firewas put out. " "I forgot about the toads, " began Bobby. "Carelessness!" said the professor. "Now you may tell us why you like tothrow stones at us. " "To see you jump, " said Bobby, honestly. "Thoughtlessness!" said the professor. "That's worse. " "Why do you kick us, instead of lifting us gently when we are in yourway?" inquired a toad in a stern voice. "Because you will give me warts if I touch you, " said Bobby, pleased tothink that he had a good reason at last. "Ignorance!" cried the professor. "The toad is absolutely harmless. Ithas about it a liquid that might cause pain to a cut finger or asensitive tissue like that of the mouth or eye, but the old story that atoad is poisonous is a silly fable. " "Will you tell me, please, " asked a toad in a plaintive voice, "if youare the boy who, last year, carried home some of my babies in a tin pailand let them die?" "I'm afraid I am, " said Bobby, sorrowfully. "Do explain why you dislike us!" said Mrs. Bufo in such a frank fashionthat Bobby felt that he must tell the truth. "I suppose it's your looks, " said the boy, unable to frame his answer inmore polite terms. "Well, upon my word!" interrupted the professor. "I thought better of aboy than that. So you prefer boys with pretty faces and soft, curlinghair, and nice clothes, to those who can climb and jump and who are notafraid of a day's tramp in the woods. " "Of course I don't, " said indignant Bobby. "I hate boys who are alwaysthinking about their clothes. " "Oh, you do!" said the frog. "Now answer me a few more questions. Haveyou ever stolen birds' eggs?" "Yes, " said truthful Bobby. "Have you collected butterflies?" "Yes, " said Bobby. "Have you taken nuts from the squirrels' cupboards?" "Yes, " said Bobby. "Do you think we ought to have a very friendly feeling towards you?"went on the questioner. "No, " said Bobby; "I don't. " "We have shown that you are not only useless, but careless andthoughtless and ignorant, " said the frog. "Is there any very good reasonwhy we should let you go?" Poor Bobby racked his brains to think of something that should appeal tohis captors. "I have a right to live, haven't I?" he said at last. "Because you are so pretty?" suggested the professor, and Bobby's eyesfell with shame. "Any better right than we have?" came a chorus of voices. Bobby wassilent. He felt very helpless and insignificant. There was a long pause. Then the frog professor smiled broadly at Bobby. "Come, " he said; "I like you. You are not afraid to be honest, andthat's something. " "If you will let me go, " said Bobby, "I'll see that the boys don't hurtyou any more. " "I felt pretty sure that we'd converted you, " said the professor; "andI'm going to let you go back and preach to the heathen, as the grownpeople say. You can see for yourself how much harm a boy can do if hedoesn't think. " Bobby felt that he was free, and scrambled to his feet, rubbing firstone arm and then the other to take the prickly feeling out of them. Thefrogs had vanished; there was only the blue sky, the waving pine tree, and the quiet pond. "Well!" said Bobby with a long breath of amazement. "Kerjunk!" came the warning voice of a frog, somewhere near the water'sedge. "Yes sir, I'll remember, " said Bobby in the meekest of meek tones. M. A. L. LANE A SONG FOR APRIL List! list! The buds confer. This noonday they've had news of her; The south bank has had views of her; The thorn shall exact his dues of her; The willows adream By the freshet stream Shall ask what boon they choose of her. Up! up! The world's astir; The would-be green has word of her; Root and germ have heard of her, Coming to break Their sleep and wake Their hearts with every bird of her. See! see! How swift concur Sun, wind, and rain at the name of her, A-wondering what became of her; The fields flower at the flame of her; The glad air sings With dancing wings And the silvery shrill acclaim of her. CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS [Illustration: ALEXANDRA THE QUEEN MOTHER] HOW THE CRICKETS BROUGHT GOOD FORTUNE My friend Jacques went into a baker's shop one day to buy a little cakewhich he had fancied in passing. He intended it for a child whoseappetite was gone, and who could be coaxed to eat only by amusing him. He thought that such a pretty loaf might tempt even the sick. While hewaited for his change, a little boy six or eight years old, in poor butperfectly clean clothes, entered the baker's shop. [Illustration: UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO] "Ma'am, " said he to the baker's wife, "Mother sent me for a loaf ofbread. " The woman took from the shelf a four-pound loaf, the best oneshe could find, and put it into the arms of the little boy. My friend Jacques then first observed the thin and thoughtful face ofthe little fellow. It contrasted strongly with the round, opencountenance of the large loaf, of which he was taking the greatest care. "Have you any money?" said the baker's wife. The little boy's eyes grew sad. "No, ma'am, " said he, hugging the loaf closer to his thin blouse; "butmother told me to say that she would come and speak to you about itto-morrow. " "Run along, " said the good woman; "carry your bread home, child. " "Thank you, ma'am, " said the poor little fellow. My friend Jacques came forward for his money. He had put his purchaseinto his pocket, and was about to go, when he found the child with thebig loaf, whom he had supposed to be half-way home, standing stock-stillbehind him. "What are you doing there?" said the baker's wife to the child, whom shealso had thought to be fairly off. "Don't you like the bread?" "Oh, yes, ma'am!" said the child. "Well, then, carry it to your mother, my little friend. If you wait anylonger, she will think you are playing by the way, and you will get ascolding. " The child did not seem to hear. Something else absorbed his attention. The baker's wife went up to him and gave him a friendly tap on theshoulder. "What are you thinking about?" said she. "Ma'am, " said the little boy, "what is that that sings?" "There is no singing, " said she. "Yes!" cried the little fellow. "Hear it! Queek, queek, queek, queek!" My friend and the woman both listened, but they could hear nothing, unless it was the song of the crickets, frequent guests in bakershouses. "It is a little bird, " said the dear little fellow; "or perhaps thebread sings when it bakes, as apples do?" "No, indeed, little goosey!" said the baker's wife; "those are crickets. They sing in the bake-house because we are lighting the oven, and theylike to see the fire. " "Crickets!" said the child; "are they really crickets?" "Yes, to be sure, " said she, good-humouredly. The child's face lightedup. "Ma'am, " said he, blushing at the boldness of his request, "I would likeit very much if you would give me a cricket. " "A cricket, " said the baker's wife, smiling; "what in the world wouldyou do with a cricket, my little friend? I would gladly give you allthere are in the house, to get rid of them, they run about so. " "O, ma'am, give me one, only one, if you please!" said the child, clasping his little thin hands under the big loaf. "They say thatcrickets bring good luck into houses; and perhaps if we had one at home, mother, who has so much trouble, wouldn't cry any more. " "Why does your poor mamma cry?" said my friend, who could no longer helpjoining in the conversation. "On account of her bills, sir, " said the little fellow. "Father is dead, and mother works very hard, but she cannot pay them all. " My friend took the child, and with him the large loaf, into his arms, and I really believe he kissed them both. Meanwhile the baker's wife, who did not dare to touch a cricket herself, had gone into thebake-house. She made her husband catch four, and put them into a boxwith holes in the cover, so that they might breathe. She gave the box tothe child, who went away perfectly happy. When he had gone, the baker's wife and my friend gave each other a goodsqueeze of the hand. "Poor little fellow!" said they both together. Thenshe took down her account-book, and, finding the page where the mother'scharges were written, made a great dash all down the page, and thenwrote at the bottom, "Paid. " Meanwhile my friend, to lose no time, had put up in paper all the moneyin his pockets, where fortunately he had quite a sum that day, and hadbegged the good wife to send it at once to the mother of the littlecricket-boy, with her bill receipted, and a note, in which he told herthat she had a son who would one day be her pride and joy. They gave it to a baker's boy with long legs, and told him to makehaste. The child, with his big loaf, his four crickets, and his littleshort legs, could not run very fast, so that when he reached home, hefound his mother, for the first time in many weeks, with her eyes raisedfrom her work, and a smile of peace and happiness upon her lips. The boy believed that it was the arrival of his four little black thingswhich had worked this miracle, and I do not think he was mistaken. Without the crickets, and his good little heart, would this happy changehave taken place in his mother's fortunes? P. J. STAHL THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM It was a summer evening, Old Kaspar's work was done, And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sun, And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine. She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found: He came to ask what he had found, That was so large, and smooth, and round. Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by: And then the old man shook his head, And, with a natural sigh, "'Tis some poor fellow's skull, " said he, "Who fell in the great victory. "I find them in the garden, For there's many here about; And often when I go to plough, The ploughshare turns them out! For many thousand men, " said he, "Were slain in that great victory. " "Now tell me what 'twas all about, " Young Peterkin, he cries; And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes; "Now tell us all about the war, And what they fought each other for. " "It was the English, " Kaspar cried, "Who put the French to rout; But what they fought each other for, I could not well make out; But everybody said, " quoth he, "That 'twas a famous victory. "My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by; They burnt his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly; So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head. "They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun; But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. "Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, And our good prince Eugene. " "Why 'twas a very wicked thing!" Said little Wilhelmine. "Nay, nay, my little girl, " quoth he, "It was a famous victory. "And everybody praised the Duke Who this great fight did win. " "But what good came of it at last?" Quoth little Peterkin. "Why, that I cannot tell, " said he, "But 'twas a famous victory. " SOUTHEY THE RIDE FOR LIFE Away off towards the swamp, which they were avoiding, the long, heart-chilling cry of a mother-wolf quavered on the still night air. Inspite of herself, Mrs. Murray shivered, and the boys looked at eachother. "There is only one, " said Ranald in a low voice to Don, but they bothknew that where the she-wolf is there is a pack not far off. "And wewill be through the bush in five minutes. " "Come, Ranald! Come away, you can talk to Don any time. Good-night, Don. " And so saying she headed her pony toward the clearing and was offat a gallop, and Ranald, shaking his head at his friend, ejaculated: "Man alive! what do you think of that?" and was off after the pony. Together they entered the bush. The road was well beaten and the horseswere keen to go, so that before many minutes were over they were halfthrough the bush. Ranald's spirits rose and he began to take someinterest in his companion's observations upon the beauty of the lightsand shadows falling across their path. "Look at that very dark shadow from the spruce there, Ranald, " shecried, pointing to a deep, black turn in the road. For answer there camefrom behind them the long, mournful hunting-cry of the wolf. He was ontheir track. Immediately it was answered by a chorus of howls from thebush on the swamp side, but still far away. There was no need ofcommand; the pony sprang forward with a snort and the colt followed, andafter a few minutes' running, passed her. "Whow-oo-oo-oo-ow, " rose the long cry of the pursuer, summoning help, and drawing nearer. "Whw-ee-wow, " came the shorter, sharper answer from the swamp, but muchnearer than before and more in front. They were trying to head off theirprey. Ranald tugged at his colt till he got him back with the pony. "It is a good road, " he said, quietly; "you can let the pony go. I willfollow you. " He swung in behind the pony, who was now running for dearlife and snorting with terror at every jump. "God preserve us!" said Ranald to himself. He had caught sight of a darkform as it darted through the gleam of light in front. "What did you say, Ranald?" The voice was quiet and clear. "It is a great pony to run, " said Ranald, ashamed of himself. "Is she not?" Ranald glanced over his shoulder. Down the road, running with silent, awful swiftness, he saw the long, low body of the leading wolf flashingthrough the bars of moonlight across the road, and the pack followinghard. "Let her go, Mrs. Murray, " cried Ranald. "Whip her and never stop. " Butthere was no need; the pony was wild with fear, and was doing her bestrunning. Ranald meantime was gradually holding in the colt, and the pony drewaway rapidly. But as rapidly the wolves were closing in behind him. Theywere not more than a hundred yards away, and gaining every second. Ranald, remembering the suspicious nature of the brutes, loosened hiscoat and dropped it on the road; with a chorus of yelps they paused, then threw themselves upon it, and in another minute took up the chase. But now the clearing was in sight. The pony was far ahead, and Ranaldshook out his colt with a yell. He was none too soon, for the pursuingpack, now uttering short, shrill yelps, were close at the colt's heels. Lizette, fleet as the wind, could not shake them off. Closer and evercloser they came, snapping and snarling. Ranald could see them over hisshoulder. A hundred yards more and he would reach his own back lane. Theleader of the pack seemed to feel that his chances were slipping swiftlyaway. With a spurt he gained upon Lizette, reached the saddle-girths, gathered himself into two short jumps, and sprang for the colt's throat. Instinctively Ranald stood up in his stirrups, and kicking his footfree, caught the wolf under the jaw. The brute fell with a howl underthe colt's feet, and next moment they were in the lane and safe. The savage brutes, discouraged by their leader's fall, slowed down theirfierce pursuit, and hearing the deep bay of the Macdonalds' greatdeer-hound, Bugle, up at the house, they paused, sniffed the air a fewminutes, then turned and swiftly and silently slid into the darkshadows. Ranald, knowing that they would hardly dare enter the lane, checked the colt, and wheeling, watched them disappear. "I'll have some of your hides some day, " he cried, shaking his fistafter them. He hated to be made to run. He had hardly set the colt's face homeward when he heard somethingtearing down the lane to meet him. The colt snorted, swerved, and thendropping his ears, stood still. It was Bugle, and after him came Mrs. Murray on the pony. "Oh, Ranald!" she panted, "thank God you are safe. I was afraidyou--you--" Her voice broke in sobs. Her hood had fallen back from herwhite face, and her eyes were shining like two stars. She laid her handon Ranald's arm, and her voice grew steady as she said: "Thank God, myboy, and thank you with all my heart. You risked your life for mine. Youare a brave fellow! I can never forget this!" "Oh, pshaw!" said Ranald, awkwardly. "You are better stuff than I am. You came back with Bugle. And I knew Liz could beat the pony. " Then theywalked their horses quietly to the stable, and nothing more was said byeither of them; but from that hour Ranald had a friend ready to offerlife for him, though he did not know it then nor till years afterward. RALPH CONNOR: "The Man from Glengarry. " Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for hisfriends. ST. JOHN, XV. 13 IAGOO, THE BOASTER And Iagoo, the great boaster, He the marvellous story-teller, He the friend of old Nokomis, Saw in all the eyes around him, Saw in all their looks and gestures, That the wedding guests assembled, Longed to hear his pleasant stories, His immeasurable falsehoods. Very boastful was Iagoo; Never heard he an adventure But himself had met a greater; Never any deed of daring But himself had done a bolder; Never any marvellous story But himself could tell a stranger. Would you listen to his boasting, Would you only give him credence, No one ever shot an arrow Half so far and high as he had; Ever caught so many fishes, Ever killed so many reindeer, Ever trapped so many beaver! None could run so fast as he could, None could dive so deep as he could, None could swim so far as he could; None had made so many journeys, None had seen so many wonders, As this wonderful Iagoo, As this marvellous story-teller! Thus his name became a by-word And a jest among the people; And whene'er a boastful hunter Praised his own address too highly, Or a warrior, home returning, Talked too much of his achievements, All his hearers cried: "Iagoo! Here's Iagoo come among us!" LONGFELLOW: "Hiawatha. " THE STORY OF A FIRE Thirteen years have passed since, but it is all to me as if it hadhappened yesterday, --the clanging of the fire-bells, the hoarse shoutsof the firemen, the wild rush and terror of the streets; then the greathush that fell upon the crowd; the sea of upturned faces with the fireglow upon it; and up there, against the background of black smoke thatpoured from roof to attic, the boy clinging to the narrow ledge, so farup that it seemed humanly impossible that help could ever come. But even then it was coming. Up from the street, while the crew of thetruck company were labouring with the heavy extension ladder that at itslongest stretch was many feet too short, crept four men upon long, slender poles with cross-bars, iron-hooked at the end. Standing in onewindow, they reached up and thrust the hook through the next one above, then mounted a story higher. Again the crash of glass, and again thedizzy ascent. Straight up the wall they crept, looking like human flieson the ceiling, and clinging as close, never resting, reaching onerecess only to set out for the next; nearer and nearer in the race forlife, until but a single span separated the foremost from the boy. Andnow the iron hook fell at his feet, and the fireman stood upon the stepwith the rescued lad in his arms, just as the pent-up flames burst luridfrom the attic window, reaching with impotent fury for their prey. Thenext moment they were safe upon the great ladder waiting to receive thembelow. Then such a shout went up! Men fell on each other's necks, and cried andlaughed at once. Strangers slapped one another on the back withglistening faces, shook hands, and behaved generally like men gonesuddenly mad. Women wept in the street. The driver of a car stalled inthe crowd, who had stood through it all speechless, clutching the reins, whipped his horses into a gallop and drove away, yelling like aComanche, to relieve his feelings. The boy and his rescuer were carriedacross the street without anyone knowing how. Policemen forgot theirdignity and shouted with the rest. Fire, peril, terror, and loss werealike forgotten in the one touch of nature that makes the whole worldkin. Fireman John Binns was made captain of his crew, and the Bennett medalwas pinned on his coat on the next parade day. JACOB A. RIIS Whene'er a noble deed is wrought, Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, Our hearts in glad surprise To higher levels rise. LONGFELLOW THE QUEST There once was a restless boy Who dwelt in a home by the sea, Where the water danced for joy, And the wind was glad and free; But he said: "Good mother, O let me go! For the dullest place in the world, I know, Is this little brown house, This old brown house, Under the apple tree. "I will travel east and west; The loveliest homes I'll see; And when I have found the best, Dear mother, I'll come for thee. I'll come for thee in a year and a day, And joyfully then we'll haste away From this little brown house, This old brown house, Under the apple tree. " So he travelled here and there, But never content was he, Though he saw in lands most fair The costliest homes there be. He something missed from the sea or sky, Till he turned again with a wistful sigh To the little brown house, The old brown house, Under the apple tree. Then the mother saw and smiled, While her heart grew glad and free. "Hast thou chosen a home, my child? Ah, where shall we dwell?" quoth she. And he said: "Sweet mother, from east to west, The loveliest home, and the dearest and best, Is a little brown house, An old brown house, Under an apple tree. " EUDORA S. BUMSTEAD THE JACKAL AND THE PARTRIDGE A Jackal and a Partridge swore eternal friendship; but the Jackal wasvery exacting and jealous. "You don't do half as much for me as I do foryou, " he used to say, "and yet you talk a great deal of your friendship. Now my idea of a friend is one who is able to make me laugh or cry, give me a good meal, or save my life if need be. You couldn't do that!" "Let us see, " answered the Partridge; "follow me at a little distance, and if I don't make you laugh soon you may eat me!" So she flew on till she met two travellers trudging along, one behindthe other. They were both foot-sore and weary, and the first carried hisbundle on a stick over his shoulder, while the second had his shoes inhis hand. Lightly as a feather the Partridge settled on the first traveller'sstick. He, none the wiser, trudged on; but the second traveller, seeingthe bird sitting so tamely just in front of his nose, said to himself:"What a chance for a supper!" and immediately flung his shoes at it, they being ready to hand. Whereupon the Partridge flew away, and theshoes knocked off the first traveller's turban. "What a plague do you mean?" cried he, angrily turning on his companion. "Why did you throw your shoes at my head?" "Brother!" replied the other, mildly, "do not be vexed. I didn't throwthem at you, but at a Partridge that was sitting on your stick. " "On my stick! Do you take me for a fool?" shouted the injured man, in agreat rage. "Don't tell me such cock-and-bull stories. First you insultme, and then you lie like a coward; but I'll teach you manners!" Then he fell upon his fellow-traveller without more ado, and they foughtuntil they could not see out of their eyes, till their noses werebleeding, their clothes in rags, and the Jackal had nearly died oflaughing. "Are you satisfied?" asked the Partridge of her friend. "Well, " answered the Jackal, "you have certainly made me laugh, but Idoubt if you could make me cry. It is easy enough to be a buffoon; it ismore difficult to excite the higher emotions. " "Let us see, " retorted the Partridge, somewhat piqued; "there is ahuntsman with his dogs coming along the road. Just creep into thathollow tree and watch me; if you don't weep scalding tears, you musthave no feeling in you!" The Jackal did as he was bid, and watched the Partridge, who beganfluttering about the bushes till the dogs caught sight of her, when sheflew to the hollow tree where the Jackal was hidden. Of course the dogssmelled him at once, and set up such a yelping and scratching that thehuntsman came up and, seeing what it was, dragged the Jackal out by thetail. Whereupon the dogs worried him to their hearts' content, andfinally left him for dead. By and by he opened his eyes--for he was only foxing--and saw thePartridge sitting on a branch above him. "Did you cry?" she asked anxiously. "Did I rouse your higher emo--" "Be quiet, will you!" snarled the Jackal; "I'm half-dead with fear!" So there the Jackal lay for some time, getting the better of hisbruises, and meanwhile he became hungry. "Now is the time for friendship!" said he to the Partridge. "Get me agood dinner, and I will acknowledge you are a true friend. " "Very well!" replied the Partridge; "only watch me, and help yourselfwhen the time comes. " Just then a troop of women came by, carrying their husbands' dinners tothe harvest-field. The Partridge gave a little plaintive cry, and began fluttering alongfrom bush to bush as if she were wounded. "A wounded bird!--a wounded bird!" cried the women; "we can easily catchit!" Whereupon they set off in pursuit, but the cunning Partridge played athousand tricks, till they became so excited over the chase that theyput their bundles on the ground in order to pursue it more nimbly. TheJackal, meanwhile, seizing his opportunity, crept up, and made off witha good dinner. "Are you satisfied now?" asked the Partridge. "Well, " returned the Jackal, "I confess you have given me a very gooddinner; you have also made me laugh--and cry--ahem! But, after all, thegreat test of friendship is beyond you--you couldn't save my life!" "Perhaps not, " acquiesced the Partridge, mournfully. "I am so small andweak. But it grows late--we should be going home; and as it is a longway round by the ford, let us go across the river. My friend, thecrocodile, will carry us over. " Accordingly, they set off for the river, and the crocodile kindlyconsented to carry them across; so they sat on his broad back, and heferried them over. But just as they were in the middle of the stream thePartridge remarked: "I believe the crocodile intends to play us a trick. How awkward if he were to drop you into the water!" "Awkward for you, too!" replied the Jackal, turning pale. "Not at all! not at all! I have wings, you haven't. " On this the Jackal shivered and shook with fear, and when the crocodile, in a grewsome growl, remarked that he was hungry and wanted a good meal, the wretched creature hadn't a word to say. "Pooh!" cried the Partridge, airily, "don't try tricks on us--I shouldfly away, and as for my friend, the Jackal, you couldn't hurt _him_. Heis not such a fool as to take his life with him on these littleexcursions; he leaves it at home locked up in the cupboard. " "Is that a fact?" asked the crocodile, surprised. "Certainly!" retorted the Partridge. "Try to eat him if you like, butyou will only tire yourself to no purpose. " "Dear me! how very odd!" gasped the crocodile; and he was so taken abackthat he carried the Jackal safe to shore. "Well, are you satisfied now?" asked the Partridge. "My dear madam!" quoth the Jackal, "you have made me laugh, you havemade me cry, you have given me a good dinner, and you have saved mylife; but upon my honour I think you are too clever for a friend: so, good-bye!" And the Jackal never went near the Partridge again. FLORA ANNIE STEEL: "Tales from the Punjab. " HIDE AND SEEK All the trees are sleeping, all the winds are still, All the flocks of fleecy clouds have wandered past the hill; Through the noonday silence, down the woods of June, Hark! a little hunter's voice comes running with a tune. "Hide and seek! "When I speak, "You must answer me: "Call again, "Merry men, "Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" Now I hear his footsteps, rustling through the grass: Hidden in my leafy nook, shall I let him pass? Just a low, soft whistle, --quick the hunter turns, Leaps upon me laughing, rolls me in the ferns. "Hold him fast, "Caught at last! "Now you're it, you see. "Hide your eye, "Till I cry, "Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" Long ago he left me, long and long ago: Now I wander through the world and seek him high and low; Hidden safe and happy, in some pleasant place, -- Ah, if I could hear his voice, I soon should find his face. Far away, Many a day, Where can Barney be? Answer, dear, Don't you hear? "Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" Birds that in the spring-time thrilled his heart with joy, Flowers he loved to pick for me, 'mind me of my boy. Surely he is waiting till my steps come nigh; Love may hide itself awhile, but love can never die. Heart be glad, The little lad Will call some day to thee: "Father dear, "Heaven is here, "Coo-ee, coo-ee, coo-ee!" HENRY VAN DYKE THE BURNING OF THE "GOLIATH" (Owing to the excellent discipline which Captain Bourchier had established, and to the courage of the boys, only twelve lives were lost out of the crew of five hundred). Let me give you an example of self-denial which comes from near home. Iwill speak to you of what has been done by little boys of seven, ofeight, of twelve, of thirteen;--little English boys, and English boyswith very few advantages of birth; not brought up, as most of you are, in quiet, orderly homes, but taken from the London workhouses. I willspeak to you of what such little boys have done, not fifteen hundred, oreven two hundred years ago, but last week--last Wednesday, on the riverThames. Do you know of whom I am thinking? I am thinking of the little boys, nearly five hundred, who were taken from different workhouses in London, and put to school to be trained as sailors on board the ship which wascalled after the name of the giant whom David slew--the training-shipGoliath. About eight o'clock on Wednesday morning that great ship suddenly caughtfire, from the upsetting of a can of oil in the lamp-room. It was hardlydaylight. In a very few minutes the ship was on fire from one end to theother, and the fire-bell rang to call the boys to their posts. What didthey do? Think of the sudden surprise, the sudden danger--the flamesrushing all around them, and the dark, cold water below them! Did theycry, or scream, or fly about in confusion? No; they ran each to hisproper place. They had been trained to do that--they knew that it was their duty; andno one forgot himself; no one lost his presence of mind. They all, asthe captain said: "behaved like men. " Then, when it was found impossibleto save the ship, those who could swim jumped into the water by order ofthe captain, and swam for their lives. Some, also at his command, gotinto a boat; and then, when the sheets of flame and the clouds of smokecame pouring out of the ship, the smaller boys for a moment werefrightened, and wanted to push away. But there was one among them--the little mate: his name was WilliamBolton: we are proud that he came from Westminster: a quiet boy, muchloved by his comrades--who had the sense and courage to say: "No; wemust stay and help those that are still in the ship. " He kept the bargealongside the ship as long as possible, and was thus the means of savingmore than one hundred lives! There were others who were still in the ship while the flames went onspreading. They were standing by the good captain, who had been so kindto them all, and whom they all loved so much. In that dreadful crisisthey thought more of him than of themselves. One threw his arms roundhis neck and said: "You'll be burnt, Captain;" and another said: "Saveyourself before the rest. " But the captain gave them the best of alllessons for that moment. He said: "That's not the way at sea, my boys. " He meant to say--and they quite understood what he meant--that the wayat sea is to prepare for danger beforehand, to meet it manfully when itcomes, and to look at the safety, not of oneself, but of others. Thecaptain had not only learned that good old way himself, but he also knewhow to teach it to the boys under his charge. DEAN STANLEY HEARTS OF OAK Come, cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer, To add something more to this wonderful year, To honour we call you, not press you like slaves, For who are so free as the sons of the waves? Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men, We always are ready, Steady, boys, steady, We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again. Still Britain shall triumph, her ships plough the sea, Her standard be justice, her watchword "Be free;" Then, cheer up, my lads, with one heart let us sing Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, our king. Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men, We always are ready, Steady, boys, steady, We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again. DAVID GARRICK A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA 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! "O 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 boys, The good ship tight and free, -- The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we. There's tempest in yon hornèd 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. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM THE TALENTS The kingdom of heaven is as a man travelling into a far country, whocalled his own servants, and delivered unto them his goods. And unto onehe gave five talents, to another two, and to another one; to every manaccording to his several ability; and straightway took his journey. Then he that had received the five talents went and traded with thesame, and made them other five talents. And likewise he that hadreceived two, he also gained other two. But he that had received onewent and digged in the earth, and hid his lord's money. After a longtime the lord of those servants cometh, and reckoneth with them. And so he that had received five talents came and brought other fivetalents saying, "Lord, thou deliveredst unto me five talents: behold, Ihave gained beside them five talents more. " His lord said unto him, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful overa few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou intothe joy of thy lord. " He also that had received two talents came and said, "Lord, thoudeliveredst unto me two talents: behold, I have gained two other talentsbeside them. " His lord said unto him, "Well done, good and faithfulservant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make theeruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord. " Then he which had received the one talent came and said, "Lord, I knewthee that thou art an hard man, reaping where thou hast not sown, andgathering where thou hast not strawed; and I was afraid, and went andhid thy talent in the earth: lo, there thou hast that is thine. " Hislord answered and said unto him, "Thou wicked and slothful servant, thouknewest that I reap where I sowed not, and gather where I have notstrawed: thou oughtest therefore to have put my money to theexchangers, and then at my coming I should have received mine own withusury. Take therefore the talent from him, and give it unto him whichhath ten talents. For unto every one that hath shall be given, and heshall have abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken awayeven that which he hath. And cast ye the unprofitable servant into outerdarkness: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth. " ST. MATTHEW, XXV. 14-30 A FAREWELL My fairest child, I have no song to give you; No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray; Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you For every day. I'll tell you how to sing a clearer carol Than lark who hails the dawn or breezy down, To earn yourself a purer poet's laurel Than Shakespeare's crown. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; Do noble things, not dream them, all day long: And so make life, death, and that vast forever, One grand, sweet song. KINGSLEY AN APPLE ORCHARD IN THE SPRING Have you seen an apple orchard in the spring? In the spring? An English apple orchard in the spring? When the spreading trees are hoary With their wealth of promised glory, And the mavis sings its story, In the spring. Have you plucked the apple blossoms in the spring? In the spring? And caught their subtle odours in the spring? Pink buds pouting at the light, Crumpled petals baby white Just to touch them a delight-- In the spring. Have you walked beneath the blossoms in the spring? In the spring? Beneath the apple blossoms in the spring? When the pink cascades are falling, And the silver brooklets brawling, And the cuckoo bird soft calling, In the spring. If you have not, then you know not, in the spring, In the spring, Half the colour, beauty, wonder of the spring, No sweet sight can I remember Half so precious, half so tender, As the apple blossoms render, In the spring. WILLIAM MARTIN THE BLUEJAY Said Jim Baker: "There's more to a bluejay than to any other creature. He has more kinds of feeling than any other creature; and mind you, whatever a bluejay feels, he can put into words. No common words either, but out-and-out book-talk. You never see a jay at a loss for a word. "You may call a jay a bird. Well, so he is, because he has feathers onhim. Otherwise, he is just as human as you are. "Yes, sir; a jay is everything that a man is. A jay can laugh, a jay cangossip, a jay can feel ashamed, just as well as you do, maybe better. And there's another thing: in good, clean, out-and-out scolding, abluejay can beat anything alive. "Seven years ago the last man about here but me moved away. There standshis house--a log house with just one big room and no more: no ceiling, nothing between the rafters and the floor. "Well, one Sunday morning I was sitting out here in front of my cabin, with my cat, taking the sun, when a bluejay flew down on that house withan acorn in his mouth. "'Hello, ' says he, 'I reckon here's something. ' When he spoke, the acornfell out of his mouth and rolled down on the roof. He didn't care; hismind was on the thing he had found. "It was a knot-hole in the roof. He cocked his head to one side, shutone eye, and put the other to the hole, like a 'possum looking down ajug. ' "Then he looked up, gave a wink or two with his wings, and says: 'Itlooks like a hole, it's placed like a hole--and--if I don't think it isa hole!' "Then he cocked his head down and took another look. He looked up withjoy, this time winked his wings and his tail both, and says: 'If I ain'tin luck! Why it's an elegant hole!' "So he flew down and got that acorn and dropped it in, and was tiltinghis head back with a smile when a queer look of surprise came over hisface. Then he says: 'Why, I didn't hear it fall. ' "He cocked his eye at the hole again and took a long look; rose up andshook his head; went to the other side of the hole and took another lookfrom that side; shook his head again. No use. "So after thinking awhile, he says: 'I reckon it's all right. I'll tryit, anyway. ' "So he flew off and brought another acorn and dropped it in, and triedto get his eye to the hole quick enough to see what became of it. He wastoo late. He got another acorn and tried to see where it went, but hecouldn't. "He says: 'Well, I never saw such a hole as this before. I reckon it's anew kind. ' Then he got angry and walked up and down the roof. I neversaw a bird take on so. "When he got through, he looked in the hole for half a minute; then hesays: 'Well, you're a long hole, and a deep hole, and a queer hole, butI have started to fill you, and I'll do it if it takes a hundredyears. ' "And with that away he went. For two hours and a half you never saw abird work so hard. He did not stop to look in any more, but just threwacorns in and went for more. "Well, at last he could hardly flap his wings he was so tired out. So hebent down for a look. He looked up, pale with rage. He says: 'I've putin enough acorns to keep the family thirty years, and I can't see a signof them. ' "Another jay was going by and heard him. So he stopped to ask what wasthe matter. Our jay told him the whole story. Then he went and lookeddown the hole and came back and said: 'How many tons did you put inthere?' 'Not less than two, ' said our jay. "The other jay looked again, but could not make it out; so he gave ayell and three more jays came. They all talked at once for awhile, andthen called in more jays. "Pretty soon the air was blue with jays, and every jay put his eye tothe hole and told what he thought. They looked the house all over, too. The door was partly open, and at last one old jay happened to look in. There lay the acorns all over the floor. "He flapped his wings and gave a yell: 'Come here, everybody! Ha! Ha!He's been trying to fill a house with acorns!' "As each jay took a look, the fun of the thing struck him, and how hedid laugh. And for an hour after they roosted on the housetop and trees, and laughed like human beings. It isn't any use to tell me a bluejayhasn't any fun in him. I know better. " SAMUEL L. CLEMENS (Mark Twain) A CANADIAN CAMPING SONG A white tent pitched by a glassy lake, Well under a shady tree, Or by rippling rills from the grand old hills, Is the summer home for me. I fear no blaze of the noontide rays, For the woodland glades are mine, The fragrant air, and that perfume rare, The odour of forest pine. A cooling plunge at the break of day, A paddle, a row, or sail, With always a fish for a mid-day dish, And plenty of Adam's ale. With rod or gun, or in hammock swung, We glide through the pleasant days; When darkness falls on our canvas walls, We kindle the camp fire's blaze. From out the gloom sails the silv'ry moon, O'er forests dark and still, Now far, now near, ever sad and clear, Comes the plaint of the whip-poor-will; With song and laugh, and with kindly chaff, We startle the birds above, Then rest tired heads on our cedar beds, To dream of the ones we love. SIR J. D. EDGAR: "This Canada of Ours. " THE ARGONAUTS Now, when the building of the ship Argo was finished, the fifty heroescame to look upon her, and joy filled their hearts. "Surely, " said they, "this is the greatest ship that ever sailed the sea. " So eager were they to make trial of the long oars that some, leaping onthe shoulders of their comrades and grasping the shrouds, clambered overthe bulwarks upon the thwarts and drew the rest in after them. Orpheus, upon the mighty shoulders of Jason the leader of the expedition, seizedhold of the arm of the azure-eyed goddess, the figure-head of the ship, and, as he climbed on board, her whisper reached his ear. "Orpheus, singme something. " This was the song: "How sweet upon the surge to ride, And leap from wave to wave, While oars flash fast above the tide And lordly tempests rave. How sweet it is across the main, In wonder-land to roam, To win rich treasure, endless fame, And earn a welcome home. " Then the good ship Argo stirred in all her timbers and longing for therestless sea came upon her and she rushed headlong down the grooves tillthe lips of the goddess tasted the salt sea spray. Many a day they sailed through laughing seas and ever they spoketogether of the glory of the Golden Fleece which they hoped to bringhome from far off Colchis. When they were come to the land of Colchis, King Æetes summoned them tohis palace. Beside him was seated his daughter, the beautiful witchmaiden, Medea. She looked upon the Greeks and upon Jason, fairest andnoblest of them all, and her spirit leaped forth to meet his. Andknowing what lay before them, "surely, " she thought, "it were an evilthing that men so bold and comely should perish. " When Jason demanded the Golden Fleece, the rage of the King rushed uplike a whirlwind, but he curbed his speech and spake a fair word. "Choose ye now him who is boldest among you and let him perform thelabours I shall set. " That night Medea stole from the palace to warn the hero of the toils anddangers that awaited him, --to tame a span of brazen-footedfire-breathing bulls, with them to plough four acres of unbroken land inthe field of Ares, to sow the tilth with serpents' teeth, to slay itscrop of warriors, to cross a river, and climb a lofty wall, to snatchthe Fleece from a tree round which lay coiled the sleepless dragon. "Howcan these things be accomplished and that before the setting of anothersun?" But Jason used flattering words, singing the song of Chiron: "No river so deep but an arm may swim, No wall so steep but a foot may climb, No dragon so dread but a sword may slay, No fiend so fierce but your charms may stay. " Medea, seeing that he knew not fear, gave him a magic ointment whichshould give him the strength of seven men and protect him from fire andsteel. All the people assembled at sunrise in the field of Ares. When thefire-breathing bulls saw Jason standing in the middle of the field, furyshot from their eyes. Fierce was their onset and the multitude waitedbreathless to see what the end would be. As the bulls came on withlowered heads, and tails in air, Jason leaped nimbly to one side, andthe monsters shot past him with bellowings that shook the earth. Theyturned and Jason poised for the leap. As they passed a second time, hegrasped the nearest by the horn and lightly vaulted upon its back. Thebull, unused to the burden, sank cowering to the ground. Jason pattedits neck caressing it, and gladly it shared the yoke with its fellow. When the ground was ploughed and sown with the teeth of the serpent, athousand warriors sprang full-armed from the brown earth. Then KingÆetes greatly rejoiced, but Medea, trembling at the sight, laid a spellupon them that they might not clearly distinguish friend from foe. One among them came forth and Jason advanced to meet him, walking with ahalt. His adversary laughed aloud, but Jason with a mighty bound sprangupon the shoulders of his enemy and bore him helmetless to the ground. The hero quickly replaced the fallen helmet with his own, giving agolden helmet for a brazen. The other rose and fled back among hisfellows who, thinking it was Jason come among them, fell upon and slewhim and strove with each other for the golden helmet until all wereslain but one who, wounded unto death, rose up from the fray andshouting "Victory" sank upon knee and elbow never to rise again. The rest of the task was quickly accomplished, for Medea by her spellscast a deep sleep upon the dragon. So the Golden Fleece was won andbrought once more to Iolchos with a prize still more precious, for Jasonbore home with him Medea, the beautiful witch maiden, who became hisbride and ruled with him, let us hope, many happy years. JOHN WAUGH In the elder days of Art, Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part; For the Gods see everywhere. Let us do our work as well, Both the unseen and the seen; Make the house, where Gods may dwell, Beautiful, entire and clean. LONGFELLOW THE MINSTREL-BOY The Minstrel-boy to the war is gone, In the ranks of death you'll find him; His father's sword he has girded on, And his wild harp slung behind him. "Land of song!" said the warrior-bard, "Tho' all the world betrays thee, _One_ sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, _One_ faithful harp shall praise thee!" The Minstrel fell! but the foeman's chain Could not bring his proud soul under; The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, For he tore its chords asunder; And said: "No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery! Thy songs were made for the pure and free, They shall never sound in slavery. " MOORE Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide, In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side; Then it is the brave man chooses, while the coward stands aside. LOWELL MARY ELIZABETH Mary Elizabeth was a little girl with a long name. She was poor, she wassick, she was ragged, she was dirty, she was cold, she was hungry, shewas frightened. She had no home, she had no mother, she had no father. She had no supper, she had had no dinner, she had had no breakfast. Shehad no place to go and nobody to care where she went. In fact, Mary Elizabeth had not much of anything but a short pink calicodress, a little red cotton-and-wool shawl, and her long name. Besidesthis, she had a pair of old rubbers, too large for her. She was walking up Washington Street. It was late in the afternoon of abitter January day. "God made so many people, " thought Mary Elizabeth, "He must have made somany suppers. Seems as if there'd ought to be one for one extry littlegirl. " But she thought this in a gentle way. She was a very gentle little girl. All girls who hadn't anything were not like Mary Elizabeth. * * * * * So now she was shuffling up Washington Street, not knowing exactly whatto do next, --peeping into people's faces, timidly looking away fromthem, heart-sick (for a very little girl can be very heart-sick), colder, she thought, every minute, and hungrier each hour than she wasthe hour before. The child left Washington Street at last, where everybody had homes andsuppers without one extra one to spare for a little girl, and turnedinto a short, bright, showy street, where stood a great hotel. Whether the door-keeper was away, or busy, or sick, or careless, orwhether the head-waiter at the dining-room was so tall that he couldn'tsee so short a beggar, or whether the clerk at the desk was so noisythat he couldn't hear so still a beggar, or however it was, MaryElizabeth did get in; by the door-keeper, past the head-waiter, underthe shadow of the clerk, over the smooth, slippery marble floor thechild crept on. She came to the office door and stood still. She looked around her withwide eyes. She had never seen a place like that. Lights flashed over it, many and bright. Gentlemen sat in it smoking and reading. They were allwarm. Not one of them looked as if he had had no dinner and nobreakfast and no supper. "How many extry suppers, " thought the little girl, "it must ha' taken tofeed 'em all. I guess maybe there'll be one for me in here. " Mary Elizabeth stood in the middle of it, in her pink calico dress andred plaid shawl. The shawl was tied over her head and about her neckwith a ragged tippet. Her bare feet showed in the old rubbers. She beganto shuffle about the room, holding out one purple little hand. One or two of the gentlemen laughed; some frowned; more did nothing atall; most did not notice, or did not seem to notice, the child. Onesaid: "What's the matter here?" Mary Elizabeth shuffled on. She went from one to the other, lesstimidly; a kind of desperation had taken possession of her. The odoursfrom the dining-room came in, of strong, hot coffee, and strange roastmeats. Mary Elizabeth thought of Jo. It seemed to her she was so hungry that, if she could not get a supper, she should jump up and run and rush about and snatch something and steallike Jo. She held out her hand, but only said: "I'm hungry!" A gentleman called her. He was the gentleman who had asked: "What's thematter here?" He called her in behind his daily paper which was bigenough to hide three of Mary Elizabeth, and when he saw that nobody waslooking he gave her a five-cent piece in a hurry, as if he had committeda sin, and said quickly: "There, there, child! go now, go!" Then he began to read his newspaper quite hard and fast and to looksevere, as one does who never gives anything to beggars, as a matter ofprinciple. But nobody else gave anything to Mary Elizabeth. She shuffled from oneto another, hopelessly. Every gentleman shook his head. One called for awaiter to put her out. This frightened her and she stood still. Over by a window, in a lonely corner of the great room, a young man wassitting apart from the others. He sat with his elbows on the table andhis face buried in his arms. He was a well-dressed young man, withbrown, curling hair. Mary Elizabeth wondered why he looked so miserable and why he sat alone. She thought, perhaps, that if he weren't so happy as the othergentlemen, he would be more sorry for cold and hungry girls. Shehesitated, then walked along and directly up to him. One or two gentlemen laid down their papers and watched this; theysmiled and nodded to each other. The child did not see them to wonderwhy. She went up and put her hand upon the young man's arm. He started. The brown, curly head lifted itself from the shelter of hisarms; a young face looked sharply at the beggar girl, --a beautiful youngface it might have been. It was haggard now and dreadful to look at, --bloated and badly markedwith the unmistakable marks of a wicked week's debauch. He roughly said: "What do you want?" "I'm hungry, " said Mary Elizabeth. "I can't help that. Go away. " "I haven't had anything to eat for a whole day--a whole day!" repeatedthe child. Her lip quivered. But she spoke distinctly. Her voice sounded throughthe room. One gentleman after another laid down his paper or his pipe. Several were watching this little scene. "Go away!" repeated the young man, irritably. "Don't bother me. Ihaven't had anything to eat for three days!" His face went down into his arms again. Mary Elizabeth stood staring atthe brown, curling hair. She stood perfectly still for some moments. Sheevidently was greatly puzzled. She walked away a little distance, thenstopped and thought it over. And now paper after paper and pipe after cigar went down. Everygentleman in the room began to look on. The young man with the beautifulbrown curls, and dissipated, disgraced, and hidden face was not stillerthan the rest. The little figure in the pink calico and the red shawl and big rubbersstood for a moment silent among them all. The waiter came to take herout but the gentlemen motioned him away. Mary Elizabeth turned her five-cent piece over and over in her purplehand. Her hand shook. The tears came. The smell of the dinner from thedining-room grew savoury and strong. The child put the piece of money toher lips as if she could have eaten it, then turned and, without furtherhesitation, went back. She touched the young man--on the bright hair this time--with hertrembling little hand. The room was so still now that what she said rang out to the corridor, where the waiters stood, with the clerk behind looking over the desk tosee. "I'm sorry you are so hungry. If you haven't had anything for threedays, you must be hungrier than me. I've got five cents. A gentlemangave it me. I wish you would take it. I've only gone one day. You canget some supper with it, and--maybe--I--can get some somewheres! I wishyou'd please to take it!" Mary Elizabeth stood quite still, holding out her five-cent piece. Shedid not understand the stir that went all over the bright room. She didnot see that some of the gentlemen coughed and wiped their spectacles. She did not know why the brown curls before her came up with such astart, nor why the young man's wasted face flushed red and hot with anoble shame. She did not in the least understand why he flung the five-cent pieceupon the table, and, snatching her in his arms, held her fast and hidhis face on her plaid shawl and sobbed. Nor did she seem to know whatcould be the reason that nobody seemed amused to see this gentlemancry. The gentleman who had given her the money came up, and some more cameup, and they gathered around, and she in the midst of them, and they allspoke kindly, and the young man with the bad face that might have beenso beautiful stood up, still clinging to her, and said aloud: "She's shamed me before you all, and she's shamed me to myself! I'lllearn a lesson from this beggar, so help me God!" So then he took the child upon his knee, and the gentlemen came up tolisten, and the young man asked her what her name was. "Mary Elizabeth, sir. " "Names used to mean things--in the Bible--when I was as little as you. Iread the Bible then. Does Mary Elizabeth mean angel of rebuke?" "Sir?" "Where do you live, Mary Elizabeth?" "Nowhere, sir. " "Where do you sleep?" "In Mrs. O'Flynn's shed, sir. It's too cold for the cows. She's so kind, she lets us stay. " "Whom do you stay with?" "Nobody, only Jo. " "Is Jo your brother?" "No, sir. Jo is a girl. I haven't got only Jo. " "What does Jo do for a living?" "She--gets it, sir. " "And what do you do?" "I beg. It's better than to--get it, sir, I think. " "Where's your mother?" "Dead. " "What did she die of?" "Drink, sir, " said Mary Elizabeth, in her distinct and gentle tone. "Ah--well. And your father?" "He is dead. He died in prison. " "What sent him to prison?" "Drink, sir. " "Oh!" "I had a brother once, " continued Mary Elizabeth, who grew quiteeloquent with so large an audience, "but he died, too. " "I do want my supper, " she added, after a pause, speaking in a whisper, as if to Jo or to herself, "and Jo'll be wondering for me. " "Wait, then, " said the young man. "I'll see if I can't beg enough to getyou your supper. " "I thought there must be an extry one among so many folks!" cried MaryElizabeth; for now, she thought, she should get back her five cents. And, truly, the young man put the five cents into his hat, to beginwith. Then he took out his purse, and put in something that made lessnoise than the five-cent piece and something more and more and more. Then he passed around the great room, walking still unsteadily, and thegentleman who gave the five cents and all the gentlemen put somethinginto the young man's hat. So, when he came back to the table, he emptied the hat and counted themoney, and, truly, it was forty dollars. "Forty dollars!" Mary Elizabeth looked frightened. "It's yours, " said the young man. "Now come to supper. But see! thisgentleman who gave you the five-cent piece shall take care of the moneyfor you. You can trust him. He's got a wife, too. But we'll come tosupper now. " * * * * * So the young man took her by the hand, and the gentleman whose wife knewall about what to do with orphans took her by the other hand, and one ortwo more gentlemen followed, and they all went into the dining-room, andput Mary Elizabeth in a chair at a clean white table, and asked herwhat she wanted for her supper. Mary Elizabeth said that a little dry toast and a cup of milk would donicely. So all the gentlemen laughed. And she wondered why. And the young man with the brown curls laughed, too, and began to lookquite happy. But he ordered chicken and cranberry sauce and mashedpotatoes and celery and rolls and butter and tomatoes and an ice creamand a cup of tea and nuts and raisins and cake and custard and applesand grapes. And Mary Elizabeth sat in her pink dress and red shawl and ate thewhole; and why it didn't kill her nobody knows; but it didn't. The young man with the face that might have been beautiful--that mightbe yet, one would have thought who had seen him then--stood watching thelittle girl. "She's preached me the best sermon, " he said below his breath, "I everheard. May God bless her! I wish there were a thousand like her in thisselfish world!" And when I heard about it I wished so, too. ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD Oh, there is nothing on earth half so holy As the innocent heart of a child. DICKENS THE FROST The Frost looked forth, one still clear night, And whispered: "Now I shall be out of sight; So through the valley and over the height, In silence I'll take my way: I will not go on like that blustering train, The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, Who make so much bustle and noise in vain, But I'll be as busy as they. " Then he flew to the mountain and powdered its crest; He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed In diamond beads--and over the breast Of the quivering lake he spread A coat of mail, that it need not fear The downward point of many a spear That he hung on its margin, far and near, Where a rock could rear its head. He went to the windows of those who slept, And over each pane, like a fairy, crept; Wherever he breathed, wherever he stept, By the light of the moon were seen Most beautiful things:--there were flowers and trees; There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees: There were cities with temples and towers; and these All pictured in silver sheen. But he did one thing that was hardly fair; He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there That all had forgotten for him to prepare-- "Now just to set them a-thinking, I'll bite this basket of fruit, " said he, "This costly pitcher I'll burst in three, And the glass of water they've left for me Shall 'Tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking. " H. F. GOULD CORN-FIELDS When on the breath of Autumn's breeze, From pastures dry and brown, Goes floating, like an idle thought, The fair, white thistle-down, -- Oh, then what joy to walk at will Upon the golden harvest-hill! What joy in dreaming ease to lie Amid a field new shorn; And see all round, on sunlit slopes, The piled-up shocks of corn; And send the fancy wandering o'er All pleasant harvest-fields of yore! I feel the day; I see the field; The quivering of the leaves; And good old Jacob, and his house, -- Binding the yellow sheaves! And at this very hour I seem To be with Joseph in his dream! I see the fields of Bethlehem, And reapers many a one Bending unto their sickles' stroke, And Boaz looking on; And Ruth, the Moabitess fair, Among the gleaners stooping there! Again, I see a little child, His mother's sole delight, -- God's living gift of love unto The kind, good Shunammite; To mortal pangs I see him yield, And the lad bear him from the field. The sun-bathed quiet of the hills, The fields of Galilee, That eighteen hundred years ago Were full of corn, I see; And the dear Saviour take his way 'Mid ripe ears on the Sabbath day. Oh, golden fields of bending corn, How beautiful they seem! The reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves, To me are like a dream; The sunshine, and the very air Seem of old time, and take me there! MARY HOWITT SOUTH-WEST WIND, ESQ. Treasure Valley belonged to three brothers--Schwartz, Hans, and Gluck. The two elder brothers were rich, cruel, quarrelsome men who never gaveanything in charity. The youngest brother, Gluck, was twelve years old, and kind to everyone. He had to act as cook and servant to his brothers. One cold, wet day the brothers went out, telling Gluck to roast a leg ofmutton on the spit, let nobody into the house, and let nothing out. After a time some one knocked at the door. Gluck went to the window, opened it, and put his head out to see who it was. It was the most extraordinary-looking little gentleman. He had a verylarge nose, slightly brass-coloured; very round and very red cheeks;merry eyes, long hair, and moustaches that curled twice round like acorkscrew on each side of his mouth. He was four feet six inches high, and wore a pointed cap as long as himself. It was decorated with a blackfeather about three feet long. Around his body was folded an enormousblack, glossy-looking cloak much too long for him. As he knocked againhe caught sight of Gluck. "Hollo!" said the little gentleman, "that's not the way to answer thedoor; I'm wet, let me in. " To do the little gentleman justice, he _was_ wet. His feather hung downbetween his legs like a beaten puppy's tail, dripping like an umbrella;and from the ends of his moustaches the water was running into hiswaistcoat pockets, and out again like a mill stream. "I beg pardon, sir, " said Gluck, "I'm very sorry, but I really can't. " "Can't what?" said the old gentleman. "I can't let you in, sir, --I can't, indeed; my brothers would beat me todeath, sir, if I thought of such a thing. What do you want, sir?" "Want?" said the old gentleman, petulantly, "I want fire and shelter;and there's your great fire there blazing, crackling, and dancing on thewalls, with nobody to feel it. Let me in, I say; I only want to warmmyself. " Gluck had had his head, by this time, so long out of the window that hebegan to feel it was really unpleasantly cold, and when he turned andsaw the beautiful fire rustling and roaring, and throwing long, brighttongues up the chimney, as if it were licking its chops at the savourysmell of the leg of mutton, his heart melted within him that it shouldbe burning away for nothing. "He does look _very_ wet, " said littleGluck; "I'll just let him in for a quarter of an hour. " Round he went tothe door, and opened it; and as the little gentleman walked in, throughthe house came a gust of wind that made the old chimneys totter. "That's a good boy, " said the little gentleman. "Never mind yourbrothers. I'll talk to them. " "Pray, sir, don't do any such thing, " said Gluck. "I can't let you staytill they come; they'd be the death of me. " "Dear me, " said the old gentleman, "I'm very sorry to hear that. Howlong may I stay?" "Only till the mutton's done, sir, " replied Gluck, "and it's verybrown. " Then the old gentleman walked into the kitchen, and sat himself down onthe hob, with the top of his cap accommodated up the chimney, for itwas a great deal too high for the roof. "You'll soon dry there, sir, "said Gluck, and sat down again to turn the mutton. But the old gentlemandid _not_ dry there, but went on drip, drip, dripping among the cinders, and the fire fizzed and sputtered, and began to look very black anduncomfortable; never was such a cloak; every fold in it ran like agutter. "I beg pardon, sir, " said Gluck at length, after watching the waterspreading in long quicksilver-like streams over the floor for a quarterof an hour; "mayn't I take your cloak?" "No, thank you, " said the old gentleman. "Your cap, sir?" "I am all right, thank you, " said the old gentleman, rather gruffly. "But--sir--I'm very sorry, " said Gluck, hesitatingly; "but--really, sir--you're putting the fire out. " "It'll take longer to do the mutton, then, " replied his visitor, dryly. Gluck was very much puzzled by the behaviour of his guest; it was such astrange mixture of coolness and humility. He turned away at the stringmeditatively for another five minutes. "That mutton looks very nice, " said the old gentleman, at length. "Can'tyou give me a little bit?" "Impossible, sir, " said Gluck. "I'm very hungry, " continued the old gentleman; "I've had nothing to eatyesterday, nor to-day. They surely couldn't miss a bit from theknuckle!" He spoke in so very melancholy a tone that it quite melted Gluck'sheart. "They promised me one slice to-day, sir, " said he; "I can giveyou that, but not a bit more. " "That's a good boy, " said the old gentleman again. Then Gluck warmed a plate and sharpened a knife. "I don't care if I doget beaten for it, " thought he. Just as he had cut a large slice out ofthe mutton, there came a tremendous rap at the door. The old gentlemanjumped off the hob, as if it had suddenly become inconveniently warm. Gluck fitted the slice into the mutton again, with desperate efforts atexactitude, and ran to open the door. "What did you keep us waiting in the rain for?" said Schwartz, as hewalked in, throwing his umbrella in Gluck's face. "Ay! what for, indeed, you little vagabond?" said Hans, administering aneducational box on the ear, as he followed his brother into the kitchen. "Bless my soul!" said Schwartz, when he opened the door. "Amen, " said the little gentleman, who had taken his cap off, and wasstanding in the middle of the kitchen, bowing with the utmost possiblevelocity. "Who's that?" said Schwartz, catching up a rolling-pin, and turning toGluck with a fierce frown. "I don't know, indeed, brother, " said Gluck, in great terror. "How did he get in?" roared Schwartz. "My dear brother, " said Gluck, deprecatingly, "he was so _very_ wet!" The rolling-pin was descending on Gluck's head; but at the instant theold gentleman interposed his conical cap, on which it crashed with ashock that shook the water out of it all over the room. What was veryodd, the rolling-pin no sooner touched the cap than it flew out ofSchwartz's hand, spinning like a straw in a high wind, and fell into thecorner at the farther end of the room. "Who are you, sir?" demanded Schwartz, turning upon him. "What's your business?" snarled Hans. "I'm a poor, old man, sir, " the little gentleman began very modestly, "and I saw your fire through the window, and begged shelter for aquarter of an hour. " "Have the goodness to walk out again, then, " said Schwartz. "We've quiteenough water in our kitchen, without making it a drying-house. " "It is a cold day to turn an old man out in, sir; look at my grayhairs. " They hung down to his shoulders. "Ay!" said Hans, "there are enough of them to keep you warm. Walk!" "I'm very, very hungry, sir; couldn't you spare me a bit of bread beforeI go?" "Bread, indeed!" said Schwartz; "do you suppose we've nothing to do withour bread but to give it to such red-nosed fellows as you?" "Why don't you sell your feather?" said Hans, sneeringly. "Out withyou!" "A little bit, " said the old gentleman. "Be off!" said Schwartz. "Pray, gentlemen--" "Off, and be hanged!" cried Hans, seizing him by the collar. But he hadno sooner touched the old gentleman's collar, than away he went afterthe rolling-pin, spinning round and round, till he fell into the corneron the top of it. Then Schwartz was very angry, and ran at the oldgentleman to turn him out; but he also had hardly touched him, when awayhe went after Hans and the rolling-pin, and hit his head against thewall as he tumbled into the corner. And so there they lay, all three. Then the old gentleman spun himself round with velocity in the oppositedirection; continued to spin until his long cloak was all wound neatlyabout him; clapped his cap on his head, very much on one side (for itcould not stand upright without going through the ceiling), gave anadditional twist to his corkscrew moustaches, and replied with perfectcoolness: "Gentlemen, I wish you a very good-morning. At twelve o'clockto-night I'll call again; after such a refusal of hospitality as I havejust experienced, you will not be surprised if that visit is the last Iever pay you. " "If I ever catch you here again, " muttered Schwartz, coming, half-frightened, out of the corner--but before he could finish hissentence, the old gentleman had shut the house door behind him with agreat bang; and past the window, at the same instant, drove a wreath ofragged cloud, that whirled and rolled away down the valley in all mannerof shapes; turning over and over in the air, and melting away at last ina gush of rain. "A very pretty business, indeed, Mr. Gluck!" said Schwartz. "Dish themutton, sir. If ever I catch you at such a trick again--bless me, whythe mutton's been cut!" "You promised me one slice, brother, you know, " said Gluck. "Oh! and you were cutting it hot, I suppose, and going to catch all thegravy. It'll be long before I promise you such a thing again. Leave theroom, sir; and have the kindness to wait in the coal-cellar till I callyou. " Gluck left the room melancholy enough. The brothers ate as much muttonas they could, locked the rest in the cupboard, and proceeded to getvery drunk after dinner. Such a night as it was! Howling wind and rushing rain, withoutintermission. The brothers had just sense enough left to put up all the shutters, anddouble-bar the door, before they went to bed. They usually slept in thesame room. As the clock struck twelve, they were both awakened by atremendous crash. Their door burst open with a violence that shook thehouse from top to bottom. "What's that?" cried Schwartz, starting up in his bed. "Only I, " said the little gentleman. The two brothers sat up on their bolster, and stared into the darkness. The room was full of water, and by a misty moonbeam, which found its waythrough a hole in the shutter, they could see, in the midst of it, anenormous foam globe, spinning round, and bobbing up and down like acork, on which, as on a most luxurious cushion, reclined the little oldgentleman, cap and all. There was plenty of room for it now, for theroof was off. "Sorry to incommode you, " said their visitor, ironically. "I'm afraidyour beds are dampish; perhaps you had better go to your brother's room;I've left the ceiling on there. " They required no second admonition, but rushed into Gluck's room, wetthrough, and in an agony of terror. "You'll find my card on the kitchen table, " the old gentleman calledafter them. "Remember, the _last_ visit. " "Pray Heaven it may be!" said Schwartz, shuddering. And the foam globedisappeared. Dawn came at last, and the two brothers looked out of Gluck's littlewindow in the morning. The Treasure Valley was one mass of ruin anddesolation. The inundation had swept away trees, crops, and cattle, andleft, in their stead, a waste of red sand and gray mud. The two brotherscrept, shivering and horror-struck, into the kitchen. The water hadgutted the whole first floor: corn, money, almost every movable thinghad been swept away, and there was left only a small white card on thekitchen table. On it, in large, breezy, long-legged letters, wereengraved the words:-- SOUTH-WEST WIND, ESQUIRE. RUSKIN: "The King of the Golden River. "(Adapted) The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve; And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. SHAKESPEARE THE MEETING OF THE WATERS There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet; Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart. Yet it _was_ not that Nature had shed o'er the scene Her purest of crystal and brightest of green; 'Twas _not_ her soft magic of streamlet or hill, Oh! no, --it was something more exquisite still. 'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, And who felt how the best charms of Nature improve, When we see them reflected from looks that we love. Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best, Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace. MOORE LOVE Love your enemies, do good to them which hate you. Bless them that curseyou, and pray for them which despitefully use you. And as ye would thatmen should do to you, do ye also to them likewise. For if ye love themwhich love you, what thank have ye? for sinners also love those thatlove them. And if ye do good to them which do good to you, what thankhave ye? for sinners also do even the same. And if ye lend to them ofwhom ye hope to receive, what thank have ye? for sinners also lend tosinners, to receive as much again. But love ye your enemies, and dogood, and lend, hoping for nothing again; and your reward shall begreat, and ye shall be the children of the Highest: for he is kind untothe unthankful and to the evil. Be ye therefore merciful, as yourFather also is merciful. Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemnnot, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven. Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, andshaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. Forwith the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to youagain. ST. LUKE, VI. 27-38 THE ROBIN'S SONG "When the willows gleam along the brooks, And the grass grows green in sunny nooks, In the sunshine and the rain I hear the robin in the lane Singing, 'Cheerily, Cheer up, cheer up; Cheerily, cheerily, Cheer up. ' "But the snow is still Along the walls and on the hill. The days are cold, the nights forlorn, For one is here and one is gone. 'Tut, tut. Cheerily, Cheer up, cheer up; Cheerily, cheerily, Cheer up. ' "When spring hopes seem to wane, I hear the joyful strain-- A song at night, a song at morn, A lesson deep to me is borne, Hearing, 'Cheerily, Cheer up, cheer up; Cheerily, cheerily, Cheer up. '" UNKNOWN WORK OR PLAY Saturday morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and freshand brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if theheart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in everyface, and a spring in every step. The locust trees were in bloom, andthe fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and along-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and the gladness went out ofnature, and a deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yardsof board fence nine feet high! It seemed to him that life was hollow, and existence but a burden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed italong the topmost plank; repeated the operation; did it again; comparedthe insignificant whitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent ofunwhitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. He began to think of the fun he had planned for this day, and hissorrows multiplied. Soon the free boys would come tripping along on allsorts of delicious expeditions, and they would make a world of fun ofhim for having to work--the very thought of it burnt him like fire. He got out his worldly wealth and examined it--bits of toys, marbles andtrash; enough to buy an exchange of work maybe, but not enough to buy somuch as half an hour of pure freedom. So he returned his straitenedmeans to his pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. At this dark and hopeless moment an inspiration burst upon him. Nothingless than a great, magnificent inspiration. He took up his brush andwent tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in sight presently; the veryboy of all boys whose ridicule he had been dreading. Ben's gait was thehop, skip, and jump--proof enough that his heart was light and hisanticipations high. He was eating an apple, and giving a long melodiouswhoop at intervals, followed by a deep-toned ding dong dong, ding dongdong, for he was personating a steamboat. Tom went on whitewashing--paid no attention to the steamer. Ben stared amoment, and then said-- "Hi-yi! You're a stump, ain't you!" No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist; thenhe gave his brush another gentle sweep, and surveyed the result asbefore. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom's mouth watered for theapple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said-- "Hello, old chap; you got to work, hey?" "Why, it's you, Ben! I warn't noticing. " "Say, I'm going in a-swimming, I am. Don't you wish you could? But ofcourse you'd druther work, wouldn't you? 'Course you would!" Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said-- "What do you call work?" "Why ain't that work?" Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly-- "Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know is, it suits TomSawyer. " "Oh, come now, you don't mean to let on that you like it?" The brush continued to move. "Like it? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like it. Does a boy get achance to whitewash a fence every day?" That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple. Tomswept his brush daintily back and forth--stepped back to note theeffect--added a touch here and there--criticised the effect again, Benwatching every move, and getting more and more interested, more and moreabsorbed. Presently he said-- "Say, Tom, let me whitewash a little. " Tom considered; was about to consent; but he altered his mind: "No, no;I reckon it wouldn't hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly's awfulparticular about this fence--right here on the street, you know--but ifit was the back fence I wouldn't mind, and she wouldn't. Yes, she'sawful particular about this fence; it's got to be done very careful; Ireckon there ain't one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that cando it the way it's got to be done. " "No--is that so? Oh, come now; lemme just try, only just a little. I'dlet you, if you was me, Tom. " "Ben, I'd like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly--well, Jim wanted to doit, but she wouldn't let him. Sid wanted to do it, but she wouldn't letSid. Now, don't you see how I am fixed? If you was to tackle this fence, and anything was to happen to it--" "Oh, shucks; I'll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say--I'll give youthe core of my apple. " "Well, here. No, Ben; now don't; I'm afeard--" "I'll give you all of it!" Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in hisheart. And while Ben worked and sweated in the sun, the retired artistsat on a barrel in the shade close by, dangled his legs, munched hisapple, and planned the slaughter of more innocents. There was no lack ofmaterial; boys happened along every little while; they came to jeer, butremained to whitewash. By the time Ben was fagged out, Tom had traded the next chance to BillyFisher for a kite in good repair; and when he played out, Johnny Millerbought in for a dead rat and a string to swing it with; and so on, andso on, hour after hour. And when the middle of the afternoon came, frombeing a poor, poverty-stricken boy in the morning, Tom was literallyrolling in wealth. He had, besides the things I have mentioned, twelve marbles, part of ajew's harp, a piece of blue bottle-glass to look through, aspool-cannon, a key that wouldn't unlock anything, a fragment of chalk, a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin soldier, a couple of tadpoles, sixfire-crackers, a kitten with only one eye, a brass door-knob, adog-collar--but no dog--the handle of a knife, four pieces oforange-peel, and a dilapidated old window-sash. He had had a nice, good, idle time all the while--plenty of company--and the fence had threecoats of whitewash on it! If he hadn't run out of whitewash, he wouldhave bankrupted every boy in the village. Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world after all. Hehad discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it, namely, that, in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is onlynecessary to make the thing difficult to attain. If he had been a greatand wise philosopher, he would have comprehended that Work consists ofwhatever a body is _obliged_ to do, and that Play consists of whatever abody is _not_ obliged to do. MARK TWAIN: "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. " BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corpse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning; By the struggling moon-beam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin inclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow. We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow. Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, -- But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on, In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory. C. WOLFE THE WHISTLE When I was a boy of seven years old, my friends, on a holiday, filled mypocket with coppers. I went directly to a shop where they sold toys forchildren, and being charmed with the sound of a whistle, that I met bythe way in the hands of another boy, I voluntarily offered and gave allmy money for one. I then came home, and went whistling all over thehouse, much pleased with my whistle, but disturbing all the family. Mybrothers, and sisters, and cousins, understanding the bargain I hadmade, told me I had given four times as much for it as it was worth; putme in mind what good things I might have bought with the rest of themoney; and laughed at me so much for my folly, that I cried withvexation; and the reflection gave me more chagrin than the whistle gaveme pleasure. This, however, was afterwards of use to me, the impression continuing inmy mind; so that often, when I was tempted to buy some unnecessarything, I said to myself: "Don't give too much for the whistle;" and Isaved my money. As I grew up, came into the world, and observed the actions of men, Ithought I met with many, very many, who gave too much for the whistle. When I saw any one fond of popularity, constantly employing himself inpolitics, neglecting his own affairs and ruining them by that neglect, "He pays, indeed, " said I, "too much for his whistle. " If I saw one fond of fine clothes, fine furniture, fine horses, allabove his fortune, for which he contracted debts and ended his career inpoverty, "Alas!" said I, "he has paid dear, very dear, for his whistle. " In short, I believed that a great part of the miseries of mankind werebrought upon them by the false estimates they had made of the value ofthings, and by their giving too much for their whistles. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN A CANADIAN BOAT SONG Faintly as tolls the evening chime Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near and the daylight's past. Why should we yet our sail unfurl? There is not a breath the blue wave to curl; But, when the wind blows off the shore, Oh! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near and the daylight's past. Utawas' tide! this trembling moon Shall see us float over thy surges soon. Saint of this green isle! hear our prayers, Oh, grant us cool heavens and favouring airs. Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near and the daylight's past. MOORE THE LITTLE HERO OF HAARLEM At an early period in the history of Holland, a boy was born in Haarlem, a town remarkable for its variety of fortune in war, but happily stillmore so for its manufactures and inventions in peace. His father was a sluicer--that is, one whose employment it was to openand shut the sluices or large oak gates which, placed at certain regulardistances, close the entrances of the canals, and secure Holland fromthe danger to which it seems exposed, of finding itself under water, rather than above it. When water is wanted, the sluicer raises thesluices more or less, as required, as the cook turns the cock of afountain, and closes them again carefully at night; otherwise the waterwould flow into the canals, then overflow them, and inundate the wholecountry; so that even the little children in Holland are fully aware ofthe importance of a punctual discharge of the sluicer's duties. The boy was about eight years old when, one day, he asked permission totake some cakes to a poor blind man, who lived at the other side of thedike. His father gave him leave, but charged him not to stay too late. The child promised, and set off on his little journey. The blind manthankfully partook of his young friend's cakes, and the boy, mindful ofhis father's orders, did not wait, as usual, to hear one of the oldman's stories, but as soon as he had seen him eat one muffin, took leaveof him to return home. As he went along by the canals, then quite full, for it was in October, and the autumn rains had swelled the waters, --the boy now stooped topull the little blue flowers which his mother loved so well, now, inchildish gaiety, hummed some merry song. The road gradually became moresolitary, and soon neither the joyous shout of the villager returning tohis cottage home, nor the rough voice of the carter grumbling at hislazy horses, was any longer to be heard. The little fellow now perceivedthat the blue of the flowers in his hands was scarcely distinguishablefrom the green of the surrounding herbage, and he looked up in somedismay. The night was falling; not, however, a dark, winter night, butone of those beautiful, clear, moonlight nights, in which every objectis perceptible, though not as distinctly as by day. The child thought of his father, of his injunction, and was preparing toquit the ravine in which he was almost buried, and to regain the beach, when suddenly a slight noise, like the trickling of water upon pebbles, attracted his attention. He was near one of the large sluices, and henow carefully examined it, and soon discovered a hole in the wood, through which the water was flowing. With the instant perception whichevery child in Holland would have, the boy saw that the water must soonenlarge the hole through which it was now only dropping, and that utterand general ruin would be the consequence of the inundation of thecountry that must follow. To see, to throw away the flowers, to climbfrom stone to stone till he reached the hole, and to put his finger intoit, was the work of a moment, and to his delight he found that he hadsucceeded in stopping the flow of the water. This was all very well for a little while, and the child thought only ofthe success of his device. But the night was closing in, and with thenight came the cold. The little boy looked around in vain. No one came. He shouted--he called loudly--no one answered. He resolved to stay thereall night, but alas! the cold was becoming every moment more biting, andthe poor finger fixed in the hole began to feel benumbed, and thenumbness soon extended to the hand, and thence throughout the whole arm. The pain became still greater, still harder to bear, but yet the boymoved not. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he thought of his father, ofhis mother, of his little bed, where he might now be sleeping sosoundly; but still the little fellow stirred not, for he knew that didhe remove the small slender finger which he had opposed to the escape ofthe water, not only would he himself be drowned, but his father, hisbrothers, his neighbours--nay, the whole village. We know not what faltering of purpose, what momentary failures ofcourage there might have been during that long and terrible night; butcertain it is, that at daybreak he was found in the same painfulposition by a clergyman returning from attendance on a deathbed, who, ashe advanced, thought he heard groans, and bending over the dike, discovered a child seated on a stone, writhing from pain, and with paleface and tearful eyes. "In the name of wonder, boy, " he exclaimed, "what are you doing there?" "I am hindering the water from running out, " was the answer, in perfectsimplicity, of the child, who, during that whole night, had beenevincing such heroic fortitude and undaunted courage. The Muse of History has handed down to posterity many a warrior, thedestroyer of thousands of his fellow-men--but she has left us inignorance of the name of this real little hero of Haarlem. SHARPE'S LONDON MAGAZINE Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good. WORDSWORTH FATHER WILLIAM "Repeat 'You are old, Father William, '" said the Caterpillar. Alice folded her hands, and began:-- "You are old, Father William, " the young man said, "And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head-- Do you think, at your age, it is right?" "In my youth, " Father William replied to his son, "I feared it might injure the brain; But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again. " "You are old, " said the youth, "as I mentioned before, And have grown most uncommonly fat; Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door-- Pray, what is the reason of that?" "In my youth, " said the sage, as he shook his gray locks, "I kept all my limbs very supple By the use of this ointment--one shilling the box-- Allow me to sell you a couple. " "You are old, " said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak For anything tougher than suet; Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak. Pray, how did you manage to do it?" "In my youth, " said his father, "I took to the law, And argued each case with my wife; And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw, Has lasted the rest of my life. " "You are old, " said the youth; "one would hardly suppose That your eye was as steady as ever; Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose-- What made you so awfully clever?" "I have answered three questions, and that is enough, " Said his father; "don't give yourself airs! Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? Be off, or I'll kick you down-stairs!" "That is not said right, " said the Caterpillar. "Not _quite_ right, I'm afraid, " said Alice timidly; "some of the wordshave got altered. " "It is wrong from beginning to end, " said the Caterpillar decidedly, andthere was silence for some minutes. LEWIS CARROLL: "The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland. " DAVID AND GOLIATH Now the Philistines gathered together their armies to battle, and Sauland the men of Israel were gathered together, and pitched by the valleyof Elah, and set the battle in array against the Philistines. And thePhilistines stood on a mountain on the one side, and Israel stood on amountain on the other side: and there was a valley between them. And there went out a champion out of the camp of the Philistines, namedGoliath, of Gath, whose height was six cubits and a span. And he had anhelmet of brass upon his head, and he was armed with a coat of mail; andthe weight of the coat was five thousand shekels of brass. And he hadgreaves of brass upon his legs, and a target of brass between hisshoulders. And the staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam; and hisspear's head weighed six hundred shekels of iron: and one bearing ashield went before him. And he stood and cried unto the armies of Israel, and said unto them, Why are ye come out to set your battle in array? Am not I a Philistine, and ye servants to Saul? Choose you a man for you, and let him come downto me. If he be able to fight with me, and to kill me, then will we beyour servants: but if I prevail against him, and kill him, then shall yebe our servants, and serve us. And the Philistine said, I defy thearmies of Israel this day; give me a man, that we may fight together. When Saul and all Israel heard those words of the Philistine, they weredismayed, and greatly afraid. And David rose up early in the morning, and left the sheep with akeeper, and took, and went, as Jesse had commanded him; and he came tothe trench, as the host was going forth to the fight, and shouted forthe battle. For Israel and the Philistines had put the battle in array, army against army. And David left his carriage in the hand of the keeperof the carriage, and ran into the army, and came and saluted hisbrethren. And as he talked with them, behold, there came up thechampion, the Philistine of Gath, Goliath by name, out of the armies ofthe Philistines, and spake according to the same words: and David heardthem. And all the men of Israel, when they saw the man, fled from him, and were sore afraid. And the men of Israel said, Have ye seen this manthat is come up? surely to defy Israel is he come up: and it shall be, that the man who killeth him, the king will enrich him with greatriches, and will give him his daughter, and make his father's house freein Israel. And David spake to the men that stood by him, saying, Whatshall be done to the man that killeth this Philistine, and taketh awaythe reproach from Israel? For who is this Philistine, that he shoulddefy the armies of the living God? And the people answered him afterthis manner, saying, So shall it be done to the man that killeth him. And when the words were heard which David spake, they rehearsed thembefore Saul: and he sent for him. And David said to Saul, Let no man's heart fail because of him; thyservant will go and fight with this Philistine. And Saul said to David, Thou art not able to go against this Philistine to fight with him: forthou art but a youth, and he a man of war from his youth. And David saidunto Saul, Thy servant kept his father's sheep, and there came a lion, and a bear, and took a lamb out of the flock: And I went out after him, and smote him, and delivered it out of his mouth: and when he aroseagainst me, I caught him by his beard, and smote him, and slew him. Thyservant slew both the lion and the bear: and this Philistine shall be asone of them, seeing he hath defied the armies of the living God. Davidsaid moreover, The Lord that delivered me out of the paw of the lion, and out of the paw of the bear, he will deliver me out of the hand ofthis Philistine. And Saul said unto David, Go, and the Lord be withthee. And Saul armed David with his armour, and he put a helmet of brass uponhis head; also he armed him with a coat of mail. And David girded hissword upon his armour, and he assayed to go; for he had not proved it. And David said unto Saul, I cannot go with these; for I have not provedthem. And David put them off him. And he took his staff in his hand, andchose him five smooth stones out of the brook, and put them in ashepherd's bag which he had, even in a scrip; and his sling was in hishand: and he drew near to the Philistine. And the Philistine came on and drew near unto David; and the man thatbare the shield went before him. And when the Philistine looked about, and saw David, he disdained him: for he was but a youth, and ruddy, andof a fair countenance. And the Philistine said unto David, Am I a dog, that thou comest to me with staves? And the Philistine cursed David byhis gods. And the Philistine said to David, Come to me, and I will give thy fleshunto the fowls of the air, and to the beasts of the field. Then said David to the Philistine, Thou comest to me with a sword, andwith a spear, and with a shield: but I come to thee in the name of theLord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied. This day will the Lord deliver thee into mine hand; and I will smitethee, and take thine head from thee; and I will give the carcases of thehost of the Philistines this day unto the fowls of the air, and to thewild beasts of the earth; that all the earth may know that there is aGod in Israel. And all this assembly shall know that the Lord saveth notwith sword and spear: for the battle is the Lord's, and he will give youinto our hands. And it came to pass, when the Philistine arose, and came and drew nighto meet David, that David hasted, and ran toward the army to meet thePhilistine. And David put his hand in his bag, and took thence a stone, and slang it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead, that the stonesunk into his forehead; and he fell upon his face to the earth. So Davidprevailed over the Philistine with a sling and with a stone, and smotethe Philistine, and slew him; but there was no sword in the hand ofDavid. Therefore David ran, and stood upon the Philistine, and took hissword, and drew it out of the sheath thereof, and slew him, and cut offhis head therewith. And when the Philistines saw their champion wasdead, they fled. I. SAMUEL, XVII. [Illustration: AT THE END OF THE MEAL] THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. "Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!" he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. "Forward, the Light Brigade!" Was there a man dismay'd? Not tho' the soldier knew Some one had blunder'd: Their's not to make reply, Their's not to reason why, Their's but to do and die: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell Rode the six hundred. Flash'd all their sabres bare, Flash'd as they turn'd in air Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wonder'd: Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reel'd from the sabre-stroke Shatter'd and sunder'd. Then they rode back, but not Not the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well Came thro' the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of Hell, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred. When can their glory fade? O the wild charge they made! All the world wonder'd. Honour the charge they made! Honour the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred! TENNYSON MAGGIE TULLIVER Maggie and Tom came in from the garden with their father and their UncleGlegg. Maggie had thrown her bonnet off very carelessly, and, coming inwith her hair rough as well as out of curl, rushed at once to Lucy. Thecontrast between the two cousins was like the contrast between a rough, dark, overgrown puppy and a white kitten. Lucy put up the neatest littlerosebud mouth to be kissed: everything about her was neat. "Heyday!" said Aunt Glegg, with loud emphasis. "Do little boys and girlscome into a room without taking notice of their uncles and aunts? Thatwasn't the way when I was a little girl. " "Go and speak to your aunts and uncles, my dears, " said Mrs. Tulliver. She wanted to whisper to Maggie a command to go and have her hairbrushed. "Well, and how do you do? And I hope you're good children, are you?"said Aunt Glegg, in the same loud, emphatic way. "Look up, Tom, look up. Look at me now. Put your hair behind your ears, Maggie, and keep yourfrock on your shoulder. " Aunt Glegg always spoke to them in this loud, emphatic way, as if sheconsidered them deaf. "Well, my dears, " said Aunt Pullet, "you grow wonderfully fast, --I doubtthey'll outgrow their strength. I think the girl has too much hair. I'dhave it thinned and cut shorter, sister, if I were you; it isn't goodfor her health. It's that makes her skin so brown, --don't you think so, sister Deane?" "I can't say, I'm sure, sister, " said Mrs. Deane, shutting her lipsclose and looking at Maggie. "No, no, " said Mr. Tulliver, "the child's healthy enough: there'snothing ails her. There's red wheat as well as white, for that matter, and some like the dark grain best. But it would be as well if Bessiewould have the child's hair cut so it would lie smooth. " "Maggie, " said Mrs. Tulliver, beckoning Maggie to her, and whispering inher ear, "go and get your hair brushed, --do, for shame! I told you notto come in without going to Martha first; you know I did. " "Tom, come out with me, " whispered Maggie, pulling his sleeve as shepassed him; and Tom followed willingly enough. "Come upstairs with me, Tom, " she whispered, when they were outside thedoor. "There's something I want to do before dinner. " "There's no time to play at anything before dinner, " said Tom. "Oh, yes, there is time for this--_do_ come, Tom. " Tom followed Maggie upstairs into her mother's room, and saw her go atonce to a drawer from which she took out a large pair of scissors. "What are they for, Maggie?" said Tom, feeling his curiosity awakened. Maggie answered by seizing her front locks and cutting them straightacross the middle of her forehead. "Oh, my buttons, Maggie, you'll catch it!" exclaimed Tom; "you'd betternot cut any more off. " Snip! went the great scissors again while Tom was speaking; and he couldhardly help feeling it was rather good fun--Maggie looking so queer. "Here, Tom, cut it behind for me, " said Maggie, excited by her owndaring, and anxious to finish the deed. "You'll catch it, you know, " said Tom, hesitating a little as he tookthe scissors. "Never mind--make haste!" said Maggie, giving a little stamp with herfoot. Her cheeks were quite flushed. The black locks were so thick, --nothing could be more tempting to a ladwho had already tasted the forbidden pleasure of cutting the pony'smane. One delicious grinding snip, and then another and another, and thehinder locks fell heavily on the floor. Maggie stood cropped in ajagged, uneven manner, but with a sense of clearness and freedom, as ifshe had emerged from a wood into the open plain. "Oh, Maggie, " said Tom, jumping round her and slapping his knees as helaughed; "oh, my buttons, what a queer thing you look! Look at yourselfin the glass. " Maggie felt an unexpected pang. She had thought beforehand chiefly ofher own deliverance from her teasing hair and teasing remarks about it, and something also of the triumph she should have over her mother andher aunts by this very decided course of action. She didn't want herhair to look pretty--that was out of the question--she only wantedpeople to think her a clever little girl and not to find fault with her. But now, when Tom began to laugh at her, the affair had quite a newaspect. She looked in the glass, and still Tom laughed and clapped hishands, and Maggie's flushed cheeks began to pale, and her lips totremble a little. "Oh, Maggie, you'll have to go down to dinner directly, " said Tom. "Oh, my!" "Don't laugh at me, Tom, " said Maggie, in a passionate tone, and with anoutburst of angry tears, stamping, and giving him a push. "Now, then, spitfire!" said Tom. "What did you cut it off for, then? Ishall go down: I can smell the dinner going in. " Tom hurried down-stairs and left poor Maggie. As she stood crying beforethe glass, she felt it impossible that she should go down to dinner andendure the severe eyes and severe words of her aunts, while Tom, andLucy, and Martha, who waited at table, and perhaps her father and heruncles, would laugh at her. If Tom had laughed at her, of course everyone else would; and, if she had only let her hair alone, she could havesat with Tom and Lucy, and had the apricot pudding and the custard! Whatcould she do but sob? "Miss Maggie, you're to come down this minute, " said Kezia, entering theroom hurriedly. "What have you been a-doing? I never saw such a fright!" "Don't, Kezia, " said Maggie, angrily. "Go away!" "But I tell you, you're to come down, Miss, this minute: your mothersays so, " said Kezia, going up to Maggie and taking her by the hand toraise her from the floor. "Get away, Kezia; I don't want any dinner, " said Maggie, resistingKezia's arm. "I shan't come. " "Oh, well, I can't stay. I've got to wait at dinner, " said Kezia, goingout again. "Maggie, you little silly, " said Tom, peeping into the room ten minutesafter, "why don't you come and have your dinner? There's lots o'goodies, and mother says you're to come. What are you crying for?" Oh, it was dreadful! Tom was so hard and unconcerned; if _he_ had beencrying on the floor, Maggie would have cried, too. And there was thedinner, so nice; and she was _so_ hungry. It was very bitter. But Tom was not altogether hard. He went and put his head near her, andsaid, in a lower, comforting tone: "Won't you come, then, Maggie? ShallI bring you a bit of pudding when I've had mine--and a custard andthings?" "Ye-e-es, " said Maggie, beginning to feel life a little more tolerable. "Very well, " said Tom, going away. But he turned again at the door andsaid: "But you'd better come, you know. There's the dessert, you know. " Maggie's tears had ceased, and she looked reflective as Tom left her. His good nature had taken off the keenest edge of her suffering. Slowly she rose from among her scattered locks, and slowly she made herway down-stairs. Then she stood leaning with one shoulder against theframe of the dining-parlour door, peeping in when it was ajar. She sawTom and Lucy with an empty chair between them, and there were thecustards on a side-table--it was too much. She slipped in and wenttowards the empty chair. But she had no sooner sat down than sherepented, and wished herself back again. Mrs. Tulliver gave a little scream as she saw her, and dropped the largegravy-spoon into the dish with the most serious results to thetablecloth. Mrs. Tulliver's scream made all eyes turn towards the same point as herown, and Maggie's cheeks and ears began to burn, while Uncle Glegg, akind-looking, white-haired old gentleman, said: "Heyday! what littlegirl's this? Why, I don't know her. Is it some little girl you've pickedup in the road, Kezia?" "Why, she's gone and cut her hair herself, " said Mr. Tulliver in anundertone to Mr. Deane, laughing with much enjoyment. "Why, little Miss, you've made yourself look very funny, " said UnclePullet. "Fie, for shame!" said Aunt Glegg, in her severest tone of reproof. "Little girls that cut their own hair should be whipped and fed on breadand water, not come and sit down with their aunts and uncles. " "Aye, aye, " said Uncle Glegg, meaning to give a playful turn, "she mustbe sent to jail, I think, and they'll cut the rest of her hair offthere, and make it all even. " "She's more like a gypsy than ever, " said Aunt Pullet in a pitying tone. "She's a naughty child, that'll break her mother's heart, " said Mrs. Tulliver, with the tears in her eyes. Maggie seemed to be listening to a chorus of reproach and derision. Herfirst flush came from anger. Tom thought she was braving it out, supported by the recent appearance of the pudding and custard. He whispered: "Oh, my! Maggie, I told you you'd catch it. " He meant tobe friendly, but Maggie felt convinced that Tom was rejoicing in herignominy. Her feeble power of defiance left her in an instant, her heart swelled, and, getting up from her chair, she ran to her father, hid her face onhis shoulder, and burst out into loud sobbing. "Come, come, " said herfather, soothingly, putting his arm round her, "never mind; give overcrying: father'll take your part. " Delicious words of tenderness! Maggie never forgot any of these momentswhen her father "took her part"; she kept them in her heart, and thoughtof them long years after, when every one else said that her father haddone very ill by his children. GEORGE ELIOT: "The Mill on the Floss. "(Adapted) THE CORN SONG Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard! Heap high the golden corn! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn! Let other lands, exulting, glean The apple from the pine, The orange from its glossy green, The cluster from the vine; We better love the hardy gift Our rugged vales bestow, To cheer us when the storm shall drift Our harvest-fields with snow. Through vales of grass and meads of flowers, Our ploughs their furrows made, While on the hills the sun and showers Of changeful April played. We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain, Beneath the sun of May, And frightened from our sprouting grain The robber crows away. All through the long, bright days of June Its leaves grew green and fair, And waved in hot midsummer's noon Its soft and yellow hair. And now, with autumn's moon-lit eves, Its harvest-time has come, We pluck away the frosted leaves, And bear the treasure home. There, richer than the fabled gift Apollo showered of old, Fair hands the broken grain shall sift, And knead its meal of gold. Let vapid idlers loll in silk Around their costly board; Give us the bowl of samp and milk, By homespun beauty poured! Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth Sends up its smoky curls, Who will not thank the kindly earth, And bless our farmer girls! WHITTIER SPORTS IN NORMAN ENGLAND After dinner all the youth of the city go into the field of the suburbs, and address themselves to the famous game of football. The scholars ofeach school have their peculiar ball; and the particular trades have, most of them, theirs. The elders of the city, the fathers of theparties, and the rich and wealthy, come to the field on horseback, inorder to behold the exercises of the youth, and in appearance arethemselves as youthful as the youngest; seeming to be revived at thesight of so much agility, and in a participation of the diversion oftheir festive sons. At Easter the diversion is prosecuted on the water; a target is stronglyfastened to a trunk or mast fixed in the middle of the river, and ayoungster standing upright in the stern of a boat, made to move as fastas the oars and current can carry it, is to strike the target with hislance; and if, in hitting it, he breaks his lance and keeps his place inthe boat, he gains his point and triumphs; but if it happens the lanceis not shivered by the force of the blow, he is, of course, tumbled intothe water, and away goes his vessel without him. However, a couple of boats full of young men are placed one on each sideof the target, so as to be ready to take up the unsuccessful adventurerthe moment he emerges from the stream and comes fairly to the surface. The bridge and the balconies on the banks are filled with spectators, whose business is to laugh. On holidays, in summer, the pastime of theyouth is to exercise themselves in archery, in running, leaping, wrestling, casting of stones, and flinging to certain distances, and, lastly, with bucklers. In the winter holidays when that vast lake which waters the walls of theCity towards the north is hard frozen, the youth, in great numbers, goto divert themselves on the ice. Some, taking a small run, place theirfeet at the proper distance, and are carried, sliding sideways, a greatway; others will make a large cake of ice, and seating one of theircompanions upon it, they take hold of one another's hands, and draw himalong: when it sometimes happens that, moving so swiftly on so slipperya plain, they all fall down headlong. Others there are who are still more expert in these amusements on theice; they place certain bones, the leg bones of some animal, under thesoles of their feet by tying them round their ankles, and, then, takinga pole shod with iron into their hands, they push themselves forward bystriking it against the ice, and are carried along with a velocity equalto the flight of a bird, or a bolt discharged from a cross-bow. Sometimes two of them thus furnished agree to start opposite one toanother, at a great distance; they meet, elevate their poles, attack andstrike each other, when one or both of them fall, and not without somebodily hurt; and even after their fall they shall be carried a gooddistance from each other by the rapidity of the motion. Very often theleg or the arm of the party that falls, if he chances to light uponthem, is broken; but youth is an age ambitious of glory, fond andcovetous of victory, and that in future time it may acquit itself boldlyand valiantly in real engagements, it will run these hazards in shamones. Hawking and hunting were sports only for persons of quality, and woe beto the unhappy man of the lower orders who indulged in either of thesesports. If caught he would be severely punished and might have his eyesput out. [Illustration: IN THE HIGHLANDS OF ONTARIO] After breakfast, knights with their ladies ride out, each bearing uponhis wrist a falcon with scarlet hood and collar of gold. As they nearthe river a heron, who had been fishing for his breakfast among thereeds near the bank, hears them and spreading his wings flies upward. Aknight slips the hood from the falcon's head and next instant he seesthe heron. Away he darts, while knights and ladies rein in their horsesand watch. Up, and up, he goes until he passes the heron and still heflies higher. Next instant he turns and, with a terrible swoopdownwards, pounces upon the heron and kills it. The knight sounds his whistle and instantly the falcon turns and dartsback to him for the dainty food which is given as a reward for his goodhunting. Then he is chained and hooded again till another bird rises. Sothe morning passes, and many a bird do the falcons bring down before theknights and ladies return to the castle for "noon-meat. " WILLIAM FITZSTEPHEN(Adapted) And He that doth the ravens feed, Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, Be comfort to my age! SHAKESPEARE A SONG OF CANADA Sing me a song of the great Dominion! Soul-felt words for a patriot's ear! Ring out boldly the well-turned measure, Voicing your notes that the world may hear; Here is no starveling--Heaven-forsaken-- Shrinking aside where the Nations throng; Proud as the proudest moves she among them-- Worthy is she of a noble song! Sing me the might of her giant mountains, Baring their brows in the dazzling blue; Changeless alone, where all else changes, Emblems of all that is grand and true: Free, as the eagles around them soaring; Fair, as they rose from their Maker's hand: Shout, till the snow-caps catch the chorus-- The white-topp'd peaks of our mountain land. Sing me the calm of her tranquil forests, Silence eternal, and peace profound, In whose great heart's deep recesses Breaks no tempest, and comes no sound; Face to face with the deathlike stillness, Here, if at all, man's soul might quail: Nay! 'tis the love of that great peace leads us Thither, where solace will never fail! Sing me the pride of her stately rivers, Cleaving their way to the far-off sea; Glory of strength in their deep-mouth'd music-- Glory of mirth in their tameless glee. Hark! 'tis the roar of the tumbling rapids; Deep unto deep through the dead night calls; Truly, I hear but the voice of Freedom Shouting her name from her fortress walls! Sing me the joy of her fertile prairies, League upon league of the golden grain: Comfort, housed in the smiling homestead-- Plenty, throned on the lumbering wain. Land of Contentment! May no strife vex you, Never war's flag on your plains be unfurl'd; Only the blessings of mankind reach you-- Finding the food for a hungry world! Sing me the charm of her blazing camp fires; Sing me the quiet of her happy homes, Whether afar 'neath the forest arches, Or in the shade of the city's domes; Sing me her life, her loves, her labours; All of a mother a son would hear; For when a lov'd one's praise is sounding, Sweet are the strains to the lover's ear. Sing me the worth of each Canadian, Roamer in wilderness--toiler in town-- Search earth over you'll find none stancher, Whether his hands be white or brown; Come of a right good stock to start with, Best of the world's blood in each vein; Lords of ourselves, and slaves to no one, For us or from us, you'll find we're--MEN! Sing me the song, then; sing it bravely; Put your soul in the words you sing; Sing me the praise of this glorious country-- Clear on the ear let the deep notes ring. Here is no starveling--Heaven-forsaken-- Crouching apart where the Nations throng; Proud as the proudest moves she among them-- Well is she worthy a noble song! ROBERT REID A MAD TEA PARTY There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and theMarch Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sittingbetween them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head. "Veryuncomfortable for the Dormouse, " thought Alice; "only, as it's asleep, I suppose it doesn't mind. " The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together atone corner of it: "No room! No room!" they cried out when they saw Alicecoming. "There's _plenty_ of room!" said Alice, indignantly, and she satdown in a large arm-chair at one end of the table. "Your hair wants cutting, " said the Hatter. He had been looking at Alicefor some time with great curiosity, and this was his first speech. "You should learn not to make personal remarks, " Alice said with someseverity: "it's very rude. " The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he _said_was: "Why is a raven like a writing-desk?" "Come, we shall have some fun now!" thought Alice. "I'm glad they'vebegun asking riddles--I believe I can guess that, " she added aloud. "Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?" said theMarch Hare. "Exactly so, " said Alice. "Then you should say what you mean, " the March Hare went on. "I do, " Alice hastily replied; "at least--at least I mean what Isay--that's the same thing, you know. " "Not the same thing a bit!" said the Hatter. "Why, you might just aswell say that 'I see what I eat' is the same thing as 'I eat what Isee'!" "You might just as well say, " added the March Hare, "that 'I like what Iget' is the same thing as 'I get what I like'!" "You might just as well say, " added the Dormouse, who seemed to betalking in its sleep, "that 'I breathe when I sleep' is the same thingas 'I sleep when I breathe'!" "It _is_ the same thing with you, " said the Hatter, and here theconversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute, while Alicethought over all she could remember about ravens and writing-desks, which wasn't much. "Have you guessed the riddle yet?" the Hatter said, turning to Aliceagain. "No, I give it up, " Alice replied: "what's the answer?" "I haven't the slightest idea, " said the Hatter. "Nor I, " said the March Hare. Alice sighed wearily. "I think you might do something better with thetime, " she said, "than wasting it in asking riddles that have noanswers. " "Suppose we change the subject, " the March Hare interrupted, yawning. "I'm getting tired of this. I vote the young lady tells us a story. " "I'm afraid I don't know one, " said Alice, rather alarmed at theproposal. "Then the Dormouse shall!" they both cried. "Wake up, Dormouse!" And they pinched it on both sides at once. The Dormouse slowly opened its eyes. "I wasn't asleep, " it said in ahoarse, feeble voice, "I heard every word you fellows were saying. " "Tell us a story!" said the March Hare. "Yes, please do!" pleaded Alice. "And be quick about it, " added the Hatter, "or you'll be asleep againbefore it's done. " "Once upon a time there were three little sisters, " the Dormouse beganin a great hurry, "and their names were Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie; andthey lived at the bottom of a well--" "What did they live on?" said Alice, who always took a great interest inquestions of eating and drinking. "They lived on treacle, " said the Dormouse, after thinking a minute ortwo. "They couldn't have done that, you know, " Alice gently remarked: "they'dhave been ill. " "So they were, " said the Dormouse, "_very_ ill. " Alice tried a little to fancy to herself what such an extraordinary wayof living would be like, but it puzzled her too much, so she went on:"But why did they live at the bottom of a well?" "Take some more tea, " the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly. "I've had nothing yet, " Alice replied in an offended tone, "so I can'ttake more. " "You mean you can't take _less_, " said the Hatter: "It's very easy totake _more_ than nothing. " "Nobody asked _your_ opinion, " said Alice. "Who's making personal remarks now?" the Hatter asked triumphantly. Alice did not quite know what to say to this: so she helped herself tosome tea and bread-and-butter, and then turned to the Dormouse, andrepeated her question. "Why did they live at the bottom of a well?" The Dormouse again took a minute or two to think about it, and thensaid: "It was a treacle-well. " "There's no such thing!" Alice was beginning very angrily, but theHatter and the March Hare went "Sh! Sh!" and the Dormouse sulkilyremarked: "If you can't be civil, you'd better finish the story foryourself. " "No, please go on!" Alice said, very humbly, "I won't interrupt youagain. I dare say there may be _one_. " "One, indeed!" said the Dormouse, indignantly. However it consented togo on. "And so these three little sisters--they were learning to draw, you know--" "What did they draw?" said Alice, quite forgetting her promise. "Treacle, " said the Dormouse, without considering at all this time. "I want a clean cup, " interrupted the Hatter, "let's all move one placeon. " He moved as he spoke, and the Dormouse followed him: the March Haremoved into the Dormouse's place, and Alice, rather unwillingly, took theplace of the March Hare. The Hatter was the only one who got anyadvantage from the change: and Alice was a good deal worse off thanbefore, as the March Hare had just upset the milk jug into his plate. Alice did not wish to offend the Dormouse again, so she began verycautiously: "But I don't understand. Where did they draw the treaclefrom?" "You can draw water out of a water-well, " said the Hatter; "so I shouldthink you could draw treacle out of a treacle-well--eh stupid?" "But they were _in_ the well, " Alice said to the Dormouse, not choosingto notice this last remark. "Of course they were, " said the Dormouse, --"well in. " This answer so confused poor Alice, that she let the Dormouse go on forsome time without interrupting it. "They were learning to draw, " the Dormouse went on, yawning and rubbingits eyes, for it was getting very sleepy; "and they drew all manner ofthings--everything that begins with an M--" "Why with an M?" said Alice. "Why not?" said the March Hare. Alice was silent. The Dormouse had closed its eyes by this time, and was going off into adoze, but, on being pinched by the Hatter, it woke up again with alittle shriek, and went on, "--that begins with an M, such asmouse-traps, and the moon, and memory, and muchness--you know you saythings are 'much of a muchness'--did you ever see such a thing as adrawing of a muchness?" "Really, now you ask me, " said Alice, very much confused, "I don'tthink--" "Then you shouldn't talk, " said the Hatter. This piece of rudeness was more than Alice could bear: she got up ingreat disgust, and walked off: the Dormouse fell asleep instantly, andneither of the others took the least notice of her going, though shelooked back once or twice, half hoping that they would call after her:the last time she saw them, they were trying to put the Dormouse intothe teapot. LEWIS CARROLL: "The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland. " THE SLAVE'S DREAM Beside the ungathered rice he lay, His sickle in his hand; His breast was bare, his matted hair Was buried in the sand. Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep, He saw his Native Land. Wide through the landscape of his dreams The lordly Niger flowed; Beneath the palm trees on the plain Once more a king he strode; And heard the tinkling caravans Descend the mountain road. He saw once more his dark-eyed queen Among her children stand; They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks, They held him by the hand!-- A tear burst from the sleeper's lids And fell into the sand. And then at furious speed he rode Along the Niger's bank; His bridle-reins were golden chains, And, with a martial clank, At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel Smiting his stallion's flank. Before him, like a blood-red flag, The bright flamingoes flew; From morn till night he followed their flight, O'er plains where the tamarind grew, Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts, And the ocean rose to view. At night he heard the lion roar, And the hyena scream, And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds, Beside some hidden stream; And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums, Through the triumph of his dream. The forests, with their myriad tongues, Shouted of liberty; And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud, With a voice so wild and free, That he started in his sleep and smiled At their tempestuous glee. He did not feel the driver's whip, Nor the burning heat of day; For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep, And his lifeless body lay A worn-out fetter, that the soul Had broken and thrown away! LONGFELLOW Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and writing an exactman. Histories make men wise; poets, witty; the mathematics, subtle;logic and rhetoric, able to contend. BACON THE CHASE Early one August morning a doe was feeding on Basin Mountain. The sole companion of the doe was her only child, a charming littlefawn, whose brown coat was just beginning to be mottled with beautifulspots. The buck, his father, had been that night on a long tramp across themountain to Clear Pond, and had not yet returned. He went to feed on thelily pads there. The doe was daintily cropping tender leaves and turning from time totime to regard her offspring. The fawn had taken his morning meal andnow lay curled up on a bed of moss. If the mother stepped a pace or two farther away in feeding, the fawnmade a half-movement, as if to rise and follow her. If, in alarm, heuttered a plaintive cry, she bounded to him at once. It was a pretty picture, --maternal love on the one part, and happy truston the other. The doe lifted her head with a quick motion. Had she heard something?Probably it was only the south wind in the balsams. There was silenceall about in the forest. With an affectionate glance at her fawn, shecontinued picking up her breakfast. But suddenly she started, head erect, eyes dilated, a tremor in herlimbs. She turned her head to the south; she listened intently. There was a sound, a distinct, prolonged note, pervading the woods. Itwas repeated. The doe had no doubt now. It was the baying of ahound--far off, at the foot of the mountain. Time enough to fly; time enough to put miles between her and the houndbefore he should come upon her fresh trail; yes, time enough. But therewas the fawn. The cry of the hound was repeated, more distinct this time. The motherbounded away a few paces. The fawn started up with an anxious bleat. Thedoe turned; she came back; she couldn't leave him. She walked away toward the west, and the little thing skipped after her. It was slow going for the slender legs, over the fallen logs and throughthe rasping bushes. The doe bounded in advance and waited. The fawnscrambled after her, slipping and tumbling along, and whining a gooddeal because his mother kept always moving away from him. Whenever the fawn caught up, he was quite content to frisk about. Hewanted more breakfast, for one thing; and his mother wouldn't standstill. She moved on continually; and his weak legs were tangled in theroots of the narrow deer path. Suddenly came a sound that threw the doe into a panic of terror, --ashort, sharp yelp, followed by a prolonged howl, caught up and re-echoedby other bayings along the mountain side. The danger was certain now; itwas near. She could not crawl on in this way; the dogs would soon beupon them. She turned again for flight. The fawn, scrambling after her, tumbled over, and bleated piteously. Flight with the fawn wasimpossible. The doe returned, stood by him, head erect and nostrils distended. Perhaps she was thinking. The fawn lay down contentedly, and the doelicked him for a moment. Then, with the swiftness of a bird, she dashedaway, and in a moment was lost in the forest. She went in the directionof the hounds. She descended the slope of the mountain until she reached the more openforest of hard wood. She was going due east, when she turned away towardthe north, and kept on at a good pace. In five minutes more she heard the sharp yelp of discovery, and then thedeep-mouthed howl of pursuit. The hounds had struck her trail where sheturned, and the fawn was safe. For the moment fear left her, and she bounded on with the exaltation oftriumph. For a quarter of an hour she went on at a slapping pace, clearing the bushes with bound after bound, flying over the fallen logs, pausing neither for brook nor ravine. The baying of the hounds grewfainter behind. After running at high speed perhaps half a mile farther, it occurred toher that it would be safe now to turn to the west, and, by a widecircuit, seek her fawn. But at the moment she heard a sound that chilledher heart. It was the cry of a hound to the west of her. There wasnothing to do but to keep on, and on she went, with the noise of thepack behind her. In five minutes more she had passed into a hillside clearing. She hearda tinkle of bells. Below her, down the mountain slope, were otherclearings broken by patches of woods. A mile or two down lay the valleyand the farmhouses. That way also her enemies were. Not a merciful heartin all that lovely valley. She hesitated; it was only for an instant. She must cross the Slide Brook valley, if possible, and gain themountain opposite. She bounded on; she stopped. What was that? From thevalley ahead came the cry of a searching hound. Every way was closed butone, and that led straight down the mountain to the cluster of houses. The hunted doe went down "the open, " clearing the fences, flying alongthe stony path. As she approached Slide Brook, she saw a boy standing by a tree with araised rifle. The dogs were not in sight, but she could hear them comingdown the hill. There was no time for hesitation. With a tremendous burstof speed she cleared the stream, and as she touched the bank heard the"ping" of a rifle bullet in the air above her. The cruel sound gavewings to the poor thing. In a moment more she leaped into the travelled road. Women and childrenran to the doors and windows; men snatched their rifles. There weretwenty people who were just going to shoot her, when the doe leaped theroad fence, and went away across a marsh toward the foothills. By this time the dogs, panting and lolling out their tongues, cameswinging along, keeping the trail, like stupids, and consequentlylosing ground when the deer doubled. But when the doe had got into thetimber, she heard the savage brutes howling across the meadow. (It iswell enough, perhaps, to say that nobody offered to shoot the dogs. ) The courage of the panting fugitive was not gone, but the fearful paceat which she had been going told on her. Her legs trembled, and herheart beat like a trip-hammer. She slowed her speed, but still fled upthe right bank of the stream. The dogs were gaining again, and shecrossed the broad, deep brook. The fording of the river threw the houndsoff for a time. She used the little respite to push on until the bayingwas faint in her ears. Late in the afternoon she staggered down the shoulder of Bartlett, andstood upon the shore of the lake. If she could put that piece of waterbetween her and her pursuers, she would be safe. Had she strength toswim it? At her first step into the water she saw a sight that sent her back witha bound. There was a boat mid-lake; two men were in it. One was rowing;the other had a gun in his hand. What should she do? With only amoment's hesitation she plunged into the lake. Her tired legs could notpropel the tired body rapidly. The doe saw the boat nearing her. She turned to the shore whence shecame; the dogs were lapping the water and howling there. She turnedagain to the centre of the lake. The brave, pretty creature was quiteexhausted now. In a moment more the boat was on her, and the man at theoars had leaned over and caught her. "Knock her on the head with that paddle!" he shouted to the gentleman inthe stern. The gentleman _was_ a gentleman, with a kind face. He tookthe paddle in his hand. Just then the doe turned her head and looked athim with her great appealing eyes. "I can't do it! I can't do it!" and he dropped the paddle. "Oh, let hergo!" But the guide slung the deer round, and whipped out his hunting-knife. And the gentleman ate that night of the venison. CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER(Adapted) THE INCHCAPE ROCK No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, The ship was as still as she could be; Her sails from heaven received no motion, Her keel was steady in the ocean. Without either sign or sound of their shock, The waves flowed over 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 a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, And over the waves its warning rung. When the Rock was hid by the surge's swell, The mariners heard the warning bell; And then they knew the perilous Rock, And blessed the Abbot of Aberbrothock. The sun in heaven was shining gay; All things were joyful on that day; The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round, And there was joyance in their sound. The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen, A darker speck on the ocean green; Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck, And he fixed his eye on the darker speck. He felt the cheering power of spring; It made him whistle, it made him sing: His heart was mirthful to excess, But the Rover's mirth was wickedness. His eye was on the Inchcape float; Quoth he: "My men, put out the boat, And row me to the Inchcape Rock, And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothock. " The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, And to the Inchcape Rock they go; Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float. Down sank the bell, with a gurgling sound, The bubbles rose and burst around; Quoth Sir Ralph: "The next who comes to the Rock Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothock. " Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away; He scoured the seas for many a day; And now, grown rich with plundered store, He steers his course for Scotland's shore. So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky They cannot see the sun on high; The wind hath blown a gale all day, At evening it hath died away. On the deck the Rover takes his stand; So dark it is, they see no land. Quoth Sir Ralph: "It will be lighter soon, For there is the dawn of the rising moon. " "Canst hear, " said one, "the breakers roar? For methinks we should be near the shore. " "Now where we are I cannot tell, But I wish we could hear the Inchcape Bell. " They hear no sound; the swell is strong; Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock; Cried they: "It is the Inchcape Rock!" Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair, He cursed himself in his despair: The waves rush in on every side; The ship is sinking beneath the tide. But, even in his dying fear, One dreadful sound could the Rover hear, -- A sound as if, with the Inchcape Bell, The fiends below were ringing his knell. SOUTHEY A ROUGH RIDE "Well, young ones, what be gaping at?" "Your mare, " said I, standing stoutly up, being a tall boy now; "I neversaw such a beauty, sir. Will you let me have a ride on her?" "Think thou couldst ride her, lad? She will have no burden but mine. Thou couldst never ride her! Tut! I would be loath to kill thee. " "Ride her!" I cried, with the bravest scorn, for she looked so kind andgentle; "there never was a horse upon Exmoor but I could tackle in halfan hour. Only I never ride upon saddle. Take those leathers off of her. " He looked at me with a dry little whistle, and thrust his hands into hispockets, and so grinned that I could not stand it. And Annie laid holdof me in such a way that I was almost mad with her. And he laughed, andapproved her for doing so. And the worst of all was--he said nothing. "Get away, Annie. Do you think I'm a fool, good sir? Only trust me withher, and I will not override her. " "For that I will go bail, my son. She is liker to override thee. But theground is soft to fall upon after all this rain. Now come out into theyard, young man, for the sake of your mother's cabbages. And the mellowstrawbed will be softer for thee, since pride must have its fall. I amthy mother's cousin, boy, and I'm going up to the house. Tom Faggus ismy name, as everybody knows, and this is my young mare, Winnie. " What a fool I must have been not to know it at once! Tom Faggus, thegreat highwayman, and his young blood mare, the strawberry. Already her fame was noised abroad nearly as much as her master's, andmy longing to ride her grew tenfold, but fear came at the back of it. Not that I had the smallest fear of what the mare could do to me, byfair play and horse-trickery, but that the glory of sitting upon herseemed to be too great for me; especially as there were rumours abroadthat she was not a mare, after all, but a witch. Mr. Faggus gave his mare a wink, and she walked demurely after him, abright young thing, flowing over with life, yet dropping her soul to ahigher one, and led by love to anything, as the manner is of suchcreatures, when they know what is best for them. Then Winnie trodlightly upon the straw, because it had soft muck under it, and herdelicate feet came back again. "Up for it still, boy, be ye?" Tom Faggus stopped, and the mare stoppedthere; and they looked at me provokingly. "Is she able to leap, sir? There is good take-off on this side of thebrook. " Mr. Faggus laughed very quietly, turning round to Winnie so that shemight enter into it. And she, for her part, seemed to know exactly wherethe fun lay. "Good tumble-off, you mean, my boy. Well, there can be small harm tothee. I am akin to thy family, and know the substance of their skulls. " "Let me get up, " said I, waxing wroth, for reasons I cannot tell you, because they are too manifold; "take off your saddle-bag things. I willtry not to squeeze her ribs in, unless she plays nonsense with me. " Then Mr. Faggus was up on his mettle at this proud speech of mine, andJohn Fry was running up all the while, and Bill Dadds, and half a dozenothers. Tom Faggus gave one glance around, and then dropped all regardfor me. The high repute of his mare was at stake, and what was my lifecompared to it? Through my defiance, and stupid ways, here was I in aduello, and my legs not come to their strength yet, and my arms as limpas a herring. Something of this occurred to him, even in his wrath with me, for hespoke very softly to the filly, who now could scarcely subdue herself;but she drew in her nostrils, and breathed to his breath, and did allshe could to answer him. "Not too hard, my dear, " he said; "let him gently down on the mixen. That will be quite enough. " Then he turned the saddle off, and I was upin a moment. She began at first so easily, and pricked her ears solovingly, and minced about as if pleased to find so light a weight uponher, that I thought she knew I could ride a little, and feared to showany capers. "Gee wugg, Polly!" cried I, for all the men were now lookingon, being then at the leaving-off time; "Gee wugg, Polly, and show whatthou be'est made of. " With that I plugged my heels into her, and BillyDadds flung his hat up. Nevertheless, she outraged not, though her eyes were frightening Annie, and John Fry took a pick to keep him safe; but she curbed to and frowith her strong forearms rising like springs ingathered, waiting andquivering grievously, and beginning to sweat about it. Then her mastergave a shrill, clear whistle, when her ears were bent towards him, andI felt her form beneath me gathering up like whalebone, and her hindlegs coming under her, and I knew that I was in for it. First she reared upright in the air, and struck me full on the nose withher comb, till I bled worse than Robin Snell made me; and then down withher forefeet deep in the straw, and with her hind feet going to heaven. Finding me stick to her still like wax, for my mettle was up as herswas, away she flew with me swifter than ever I went before or since, Itrow. She drove full head at the cob wall--"Oh, Jack, slip off!" screamedAnnie--then she turned like light, when I thought to crush her, andground my left knee against it. "Dear me!" I cried, for my breeches werebroken, and short words went the furthest--"if you kill me, you shalldie with me. " Then she took the courtyard gate at a leap, knocking mywords between my teeth, and then right over a quick-set hedge, as if thesky were a breath to her; and away for the water meadows, while I lay onher neck like a child, and wished I had never been born. Straight away, all in the front of the wind, and scattering cloudsaround her, all I knew of the speed we made was the frightful flash ofher shoulders, and her mane like trees in a tempest. I felt the earthunder us rushing away, and the air left far behind us, and my breathcame and went, and I prayed to God, and was sorry to be so late of it. All the long swift while, without power of thought, I clung to her crestand shoulders, and was proud of holding on so long, though sure of beingbeaten. Then in her fury at feeling me still, she rushed at anotherdevice for it, and leaped the wide water-trough sideways across, to andfro, till no breath was left in me. The hazel boughs took me too hard inthe face, and the tall dog-briers got hold of me, and the ache of myback was like crimping a fish, till I longed to give it up, thoroughlybeaten, and lie there and die in the cresses. But there came a shrill whistle from up the home hill, where the peoplehad hurried to watch us, and the mare stopped as if with a bullet, thenset off for home with the speed of a swallow, and going as smoothly andsilently. I never had dreamed of such delicate motion, fluent, andgraceful, and ambient, soft as the breeze flitting over the flowers, butswift as the summer lightning. I sat up again, but my strength was all spent, and no time left torecover it; and though she rose at our gate like a bird, I tumbled offinto the soft mud. "Well done, lad, " Mr. Faggus said, good-naturedly; for all were nowgathered round me, as I rose from the ground, somewhat tottering, andmiry, and crest-fallen, but otherwise none the worse (having fallen uponmy head, which is of uncommon substance); "not at all bad work, my boy;we may teach you to ride by and by, I see; I thought not to see youstick on so long--" "I should have stuck on much longer, sir, if her sides had not been wet. She was so slippery--" "Boy, thou art right. She hath given many the slip. Ha! ha! Vex not, Jack, that I laugh at thee. She is like a sweetheart to me, and betterthan any of them be. It would have gone to my heart if thou hadstconquered. None but I can ride my Winnie mare. " R. D. BLACKMORE: "Lorna Doone. " Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen And waste its sweetness on the desert air. GRAY THE ARAB AND HIS STEED My beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by, With thy proudly arched and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye; Fret not to roam the desert now, with all thy wingèd speed, I may not mount on thee again--thou'rt sold, my Arab steed. Fret not with that impatient hoof, snuff not the breezy wind, The further that thou fliest now, so far am I behind; The stranger hath thy bridle-rein--thy master hath his gold-- Fleet-limbed and beautiful! farewell! thou'rt sold, my steed, thou'rt sold! Farewell! those free untired limbs full many a mile must roam, To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the stranger's home; Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bed prepare; The silky mane I braided once must be another's care. The morning sun shall dawn again, but never more with thee Shall I gallop through the desert paths, where we were wont to be: Evening shall darken on the earth; and o'er the sandy plain, Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me home again. Yes, thou must go! the wild free breeze, the brilliant sun and sky, Thy master's home--from all of these my exiled one must fly. Thy proud, dark eye will grow less proud, thy step become less fleet, And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck, thy master's hand to meet. Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye glancing bright; Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and light; And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or cheer thy speed, Then must I, starting, wake to feel--thou'rt sold, my Arab steed! Ah! rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide, Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, along thy panting side, And the rich blood that's in thee swells in thy indignant pain, Till careless eyes, which rest on thee, may count each startled vein. Will they ill-use thee? If I thought--but no, it cannot be-- Thou art so swift, yet easy curbed; so gentle, yet so free. And yet, if haply, when thou'rt gone my lonely heart should yearn, Can the hand which casts thee from it now, command thee to return? Return! alas! my Arab steed! what shall thy master do, When thou who wert his all of joy, hast vanished from his view? When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and through the gathering tears, Thy bright form for a moment, like the false mirage appears? Slow and unmounted will I roam, with weary step alone, Where with fleet step and joyous bound thou oft hast borne me on! And sitting down by that green well, I'll pause and sadly think: It was here he bowed his glossy neck when last I saw him drink! When last I saw thee drink!--Away! the fevered dream is o'er; I could not live a day, and know that we should meet no more! They tempted me, my beautiful! for hunger's power is strong, They tempted me, my beautiful! but I have loved too long. Who said that I had given thee up, who said that thou wert sold? 'Tis false--'tis false, my Arab steed! I fling them back their gold. Thus, thus I leap upon thy back, and scour the distant plains, Away! who overtakes us now shall claim thee for his pains! THE HONOURABLE MRS. NORTON THE POET'S SONG The rain had fallen, the Poet arose, He pass'd by the town and out of the street, A light wind blew from the gates of the sun, And waves of shadow went over the wheat, And he sat him down in a lonely place, And chanted a melody loud and sweet, That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud, And the lark drop down at his feet. The swallow stopt as he hunted the fly, The snake slipt under a spray, The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak, And stared, with his foot on the prey, And the nightingale thought, "I have sung many songs, But never a one so gay, For he sings of what the world will be When the years have died away. " TENNYSON Never to tire, never to grow cold; to be patient, sympathetic, tender;to look for the budding flower, and the opening heart; to hope always, like God, to love always--this is duty. AMIEL ADVENTURE WITH A WHALE I gaily flung myself into my place in the mate's boat one morning, as wewere departing in chase of a magnificent cachalot that had been raisedjust after breakfast. There were no other vessels in sight, --much to oursatisfaction, --the wind was light, with a cloudless sky, and the whalewas dead to leeward of us. We sped along at a good rate towards ourprospective victim, who was, in his leisurely enjoyment of life, calmlylolling on the surface, occasionally lifting his enormous tail out ofwater and letting it fall flat upon the surface with a boom audible formiles. We were, as usual, first boat; but, much to the mate's annoyance, whenwe were a short half-mile from the whale our main-sheet parted. Itbecame immediately necessary to roll the sail up, lest its flappingshould alarm the watchful monster, and this delayed us sufficiently toallow the other boats to shoot ahead of us. Thus the second mate gotfast some seconds before we arrived on the scene, seeing which, wefurled sail, unshipped the mast, and went in on him with the oars only. At first the proceedings were quite of the usual character, our chiefwielding his lance in most brilliant fashion, while not being fast tothe animal allowed us much greater freedom in our evolutions; but thatfatal habit of the mate's--of allowing his boat to take care of herselfso long as he was getting in some good home-thrusts--once more asserteditself. Although the whale was exceedingly vigorous, churning the seainto yeasty foam over an enormous area, there we wallowed close to him, right in the middle of the turmoil, actually courting disaster. He had just settled down for a moment, when, glancing over the gunwale, I saw his tail, like a vast shadow, sweeping away from us towards thesecond mate, who was lying off the other side of him. Before I had timeto think, the mighty mass of gristle leaped into the sunshine, curvedback from us like a huge bow. Then with a roar it came at us, releasedfrom its tension of Heaven knows how many tons. Full on the broadside itstruck us, sending every soul but me flying out of the wreckage as iffired from catapults. I did not go because my foot was jammed somehow inthe well of the boat, but the wrench nearly pulled my thighbone out ofits socket. I had hardly released my foot when, towering above me, camethe colossal head of the great creature, as he ploughed through thebundle of _débris_ that had just been a boat. There was an appallingroar of water in my ears, and darkness that might be felt all around. Yet, in the midst of it all, one thought predominated as clearly as if Ihad been turning it over in my mind in the quiet of my bunkaboard--"What if he should swallow me?" Nor to this day can I understandhow I escaped the portals of his gullet, which, of course, gaped wide asa church door. But the agony of holding my breath soon overpowered everyother feeling and thought, till just as something was going to snapinside my head, I rose to the surface. I was surrounded by a welter ofbloody froth, which, made it impossible for me to see; but oh, the airwas sweet! I struck out blindly, instinctively, although I could feel so strong aneddy that voluntary progress was out of the question. My hand touchedand clung to a rope, which immediately towed me in some direction--Ineither knew nor cared whither. Soon the motion ceased, and, with aseaman's instinct, I began to haul myself along by the rope I grasped, although no definite idea was in my mind as to where it was attached. Presently I came butt up against something solid, the feel of whichgathered all my scattered wits into a compact knob of dread. It was thewhale! "Any port in a storm, " I murmured, beginning to haul away againon my friendly line. By dint of hard work I pulled myself right up thesloping, slippery bank of blubber, until I reached the iron, which, asluck would have it, was planted in that side of the carcass nowuppermost. Carcass I said--well, certainly I had no idea of there being any liferemaining within the vast mass beneath me; yet I had hardly time to takea couple of turns round myself with the rope (or whale-line, as I hadproved it to be), when I felt the great animal quiver all over, andbegin to forge ahead. I was now composed enough to remember that helpcould not be far away, and that my rescue, providing that I could keepabove water, was but a question of a few minutes. But I was hardlyprepared for the whale's next move. Being very near his end, the boat, or boats, had drawn off a bit, I supposed, for I could see nothing ofthem. Then I remembered the flurry. Almost at the same moment it began; and there was I, who, with fearfuladmiration had so often watched the titanic convulsions of a dyingcachalot, actually involved in them. The turns were off my body, but Iwas able to twist a couple of turns round my arms, which, in case of hissounding, I could readily let go. Then all was lost in roar and rush, asof the heart of some mighty cataract, during which I was sometimesabove, sometimes beneath, the water, but always clinging, with everyounce of energy still left, to the line. Now, one thought wasuppermost--"What if he should breach?" I had seen them do so when influrry, leaping full twenty feet in the air. Then I prayed. Quickly as all the preceding changes had passed, came perfect peace. There I lay, still alive, but so weak that, although I could feel theturns slipping off my arms, and knew that I should slide off the slopeof the whale's side into the sea if they did, I could make no effort tosecure myself. Everything then passed away from me, just as if I hadgone to sleep. I do not at all understand how I kept my position, norhow long, but I awoke to the blessed sound of voices, and saw the secondmate's boat alongside. FRANK T. BULLEN: "The Cruise of the Cachalot. " THE MAPLE All hail to the broad-leaved Maple! With her fair and changeful dress-- A type of our youthful country In its pride and loveliness; Whether in Spring or Summer, Or in the dreary Fall, 'Mid Nature's forest children, She's fairest of them all. Down sunny slopes and valleys Her graceful form is seen, Her wide, umbrageous branches The sunburnt reaper screen; 'Mid the dark-browed firs and cedars Her livelier colours shine, Like the dawn of the brighter future On the settler's hut of pine. She crowns the pleasant hilltop, Whispers on breezy downs, And casts refreshing shadows O'er the streets of our busy towns; She gladdens the aching eyeball, Shelters the weary head, And scatters her crimson glories On the graves of the silent dead. When winter's frosts are yielding To the sun's returning sway, And merry groups are speeding To sugar-woods away; The sweet and welling juices, Which form their welcome spoil, Tell of the teeming plenty, Which here waits honest toil. When sweet-toned Spring, soft-breathing, Breaks Nature's icy sleep, And the forest boughs are swaying Like the green waves of the deep; In her fair and budding beauty, A fitting emblem, she, Of this our land of promise, Of hope, of liberty. And when her leaves, all crimson, Droop silently and fall, Like drops of life-blood welling From a warrior brave and tall; They tell how fast and freely Would her children's blood be shed, Ere the soil of our faith and freedom Should echo a foeman's tread. Then hail to the broad-leaved Maple! With her fair and changeful dress-- A type of our youthful country In its pride and loveliness; Whether in Spring or Summer, Or in the dreary Fall, 'Mid Nature's forest children, She's fairest of them all. H. F. DARNELL DAMON AND PYTHIAS In Syracuse there was so hard a ruler that the people made a plot todrive him out of the city. The plot was discovered, and the kingcommanded that the leaders should be put to death. One of these, namedDamon, lived at some distance from Syracuse. He asked that before he wasput to death he might be allowed to go home to say good-bye to hisfamily, promising that he would then come back to die at the appointedtime. The king did not believe that he would keep his word, and said: "I willnot let you go unless you find some friend who will come and stay inyour place. Then, if you are not back on the day set for execution, Ishall put your friend to death in your stead. " The king thought tohimself: "Surely no one will ever take the place of a man condemned todeath. " Now, Damon had a very dear friend, named Pythias, who at once cameforward and offered to stay in prison while Damon was allowed to goaway. The king was very much surprised, but he had given his word; Damonwas therefore permitted to leave for home, while Pythias was shut up inprison. Many days passed, the time for the execution was close at hand, andDamon had not come back. The king, curious to see how Pythias wouldbehave, now that death seemed so near, went to the prison. "Your friend will never return, " he said to Pythias. "You are wrong, " was the answer. "Damon will be here if he can possiblycome. But he has to travel by sea, and the winds have been blowing thewrong way for several days. However, it is much better that I should diethan he. I have no wife and no children, and I love my friend so wellthat it would be easier to die for him than to live without him. So I amhoping and praying that he may be delayed until my head has fallen. " The king went away more puzzled than ever. The fatal day arrived but Damon had not come. Pythias was broughtforward and led upon the scaffold. "My prayers are heard, " he cried. "Ishall be permitted to die for my friend. But mark my words. Damon isfaithful and true; you will yet have reason to know that he has done hisutmost to be here!" Just at this moment a man came galloping up at full speed, on a horsecovered with foam! It was Damon. In an instant he was on the scaffold, and had Pythias in his arms. "My beloved friend, " he cried, "the gods bepraised that you are safe. What agony have I suffered in the fear thatmy delay was putting your life in danger!" There was no joy in the face of Pythias, for he did not care to live ifhis friend must die. But the king had heard all. At last he was forcedto believe in the unselfish friendship of these two. His hard heartmelted at the sight, and he set them both free, asking only that theywould be his friends, also. CHARLOTTE M. YONGE Honour and shame from no condition rise; Act well your part, there all the honour lies. POPE THE WRECK OF THE ORPHEUS All day, amid the masts and shrouds, They hung above the wave; The sky o'erhead was dark with clouds, And dark beneath, their grave. The water leaped against its prey, Breaking with heavy crash, And when some slack'ning hands gave way, They fell with dull, low splash. Captain and man ne'er thought to swerve; The boats went to and fro; With cheery face and tranquil nerve, Each saw his brother go. Each saw his brother go, and knew, As night came swiftly on, That less and less his own chance grew-- Night fell, and hope was gone. The saved stood on the steamer's deck, Straining their eyes to see Their comrades clinging to the wreck Upon that surging sea; And still they gazed into the dark Till, on their startled ears, There came from that swift-sinking bark A sound of gallant cheers. Again, and yet again it rose; Then silence round them fell-- Silence of death--and each man knows It was a last farewell. No cry of anguish, no wild shriek Of men in agony-- No dropping down of watchers weak, Weary and glad to die, But death met with three British cheers-- Cheers of immortal fame; For us the choking, blinding tears-- For them a glorious name. Oh England, while thy sailor-host Can live and die like these, Be thy broad lands or won or lost, Thou'rt mistress of the seas! C. A. L. THE TIDE RIVER Clear and cool, clear and cool, By laughing shallow, and dreaming pool; Cool and clear, cool and clear, By shining shingle, and foaming weir; Under the crag where the ouzel sings, And the ivied wall where the church-bell rings, Undefiled, for the undefiled; Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child. Dank and foul, dank and foul, By the smoky town in its murky cowl; Foul and dank, foul and dank, By wharf and sewer and slimy bank; Darker and darker the further I go, Baser and baser the richer I grow; Who dare sport with the sin defiled? Shrink from me, turn from me, mother and child. Strong and free, strong and free, The flood-gates are open, away to the sea; Free and strong, free and strong, Cleansing my streams as I hurry along To the golden sands, and the leaping bar, And the taintless tide that awaits me afar; As I lose myself in the infinite main, Like a soul that has sinned and is pardoned again. Undefiled, for the undefiled, Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child. KINGSLEY The best result of all education is the acquired power of makingyourself do what you ought to do, when you ought to do it, whether youlike it or not. HUXLEY [Illustration: ONTARIO AGRICULTURAL COLLEGE] WISDOM THE SUPREME PRIZE My son, despise not the chastening of the LORD; Neither be weary of his reproof: For whom the LORD loveth he reproveth; Even as a father the son in whom he delighteth. Happy is the man that findeth wisdom, And the man that getteth understanding. For the merchandise of it is better than the merchandise of silver, And the gain thereof than fine gold. She is more precious than rubies: And none of the things thou canst desire are to be compared unto her. Length of days is in her right hand; In her left hand are riches and honour. Her ways are ways of pleasantness, And all her paths are peace. She is a tree of life to them that lay hold upon her: And happy is every one that retaineth her. The LORD by wisdom founded the earth; By understanding he established the heavens. By his knowledge the depths were broken up, And the skies drop down the dew. PROVERBS, III. THE ORCHARD There's no garden like an orchard, Nature shows no fairer thing Than the apple trees in blossom In these late days o' the spring. Here the robin redbreast's nesting, Here, from golden dawn till night, Honey bees are gaily swimming In a sea of pink and white. Just a sea of fragrant blossoms, Steeped in sunshine, drenched in dew, Just a fragrant breath which tells you Earth is fair again and new. Just a breath of subtle sweetness, Breath which holds the spice o' youth, Holds the promise o' the summer-- Holds the best o' things, forsooth. There's no garden like an orchard, Nature shows no fairer thing Than the apple trees in blossom In these late days o' the spring. JEAN BLEWETT INSPIRED BY THE SNOW The black squirrel delights in the new-fallen snow like a boy--a realboy, with red hands as well as red cheeks, and an automatic mechanism ofbones and muscles capable of all things except rest. The first snowsends a thrill of joy through every fibre of such a boy, and a thousanddelights crowd into his mind. The gliding, falling coasters on thehills, the passing sleighs with niches on the runners for his feet, theflying snowballs, the sliding-places, the broad, tempting ice, all whirlthrough his mind in a delightful panorama, and he hurries out to catchthe elusive flakes in his outstretched hands and to shout aloud in thegladness of his heart. And the black squirrel becomes a boy with thefirst snow. What a pity he cannot shout! There is a superabundant joyand life in his long, graceful bounds, when his beautiful form, in itsstriking contrast with the white snow, seems magnified to twice its realsize. Perhaps there is vanity as well as joy in his lithe, boundingmotions among the naked trees, for nature seems to have done her utmostto provide a setting that would best display his graces of form andmotion. When the falling snow clings in light, airy masses on the spruces andpines, and festoons the naked tracery and clustering winter buds of themaples--when the still air seems to fix every twig and branch andclinging mass of snow in a solid medium of crystal, the spell ofstillness is broken by the silent but joyful leaps of the hurryingsquirrel. How alive he seems, in contrast with the silence of the snow, as his outlines contrast with its perfect white! His body curves andelongates with regular undulations, as he measures off the snow withtwin footprints. Away in the distance he is still visible among thenaked trunks, a moving patch of animated blackness. His free, regularfootprints are all about, showing where he has run hither and thither, with no apparent purpose except to manifest his joy in life. His red-haired cousin comes to a lofty opening in a hollow tree andlooks out with an expression of disappointment on his face. He does notlike the snow-covered landscape spread out so artistically before him. It makes him tired, and he has not enough energy to scold an intruder, as he would in the comfortable days of summer. No amount of coaxing ortapping will tempt him from his lofty watch-tower, or win morerecognition than a silent look of weary discontent. Another cousin, thechipmunk, no longer displays his daintily-striped coat. Oblivious in hisburrow, he is sleeping away the days, and waiting for a more congenialseason. But the black squirrel, now among the branches of an elm, is twitchingfrom one rigid attitude to another, electrified by the crisp atmosphereand the inspiration of the snow. Again he is leaping over the whitesurface to clamber up the repellent bark of a tall hickory. Among thelarger limbs he disappears. As he never attempts to hide, he must haveretired into his own dwelling to partake of the store laid by in theseason of plenty. Hickory nuts are his favourite food, and the hardshells seem but an appetizing relish. He knows the value of frugality, and gathers them before they are ripe, throwing down the shrivelled andunfilled, that the boys may not annoy him with stones and sticks. Inwinter he is the happiest of all the woodland family. He does not yieldto the drowsy, numbing influence of the cold, nor to the depression of aseason of scanty fare, but bounds along from tree to tree, inspired bythe subtle spirit of winter and revelling in the joy of being alive. S. T. WOOD THE SQUIRREL Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm That age or injury has hollow'd deep, Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves, He has outslept the winter, ventures forth To frisk a while, and bask in the warm sun, The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play. He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird, Ascends the neighbouring beech; there whisks his brush, And perks his ears, and stamps and scolds aloud, With all the prettiness of feign'd alarm, And anger insignificantly fierce. COWPER SOLDIER, REST "Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more: Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking. "No rude sound shall reach thine ear, Armour's clang, or war-steed champing, Trump nor pibroch summon here Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. Yet the lark's shrill fife may come At the daybreak from the fallow, And the bittern sound his drum, Booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds shall none be near, Guards nor warders challenge here, Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, Shouting clans or squadrons stamping. " SCOTT: "The Lady of the Lake" FISHING One fine Thursday afternoon, Tom, having borrowed East's new rod, started by himself to the river. He fished for some time with smallsuccess, not a fish would rise to him; but as he prowled along the bank, he was presently aware of mighty ones feeding in a pool on the oppositeside, under the shade of a huge willow-tree. The stream was deep here, but some fifty yards below was a shallow, for which he made offhot-foot; and forgetting landlords, keepers, solemn prohibitions of theDoctor, and everything else, pulled up his trousers, plunged across, andin three minutes was creeping along on all fours towards the clump ofwillows. It isn't often that great chub, or any other coarse fish, are in earnestabout anything; but just then they were thoroughly bent on feeding, andin half an hour Master Tom had deposited three thumping fellows at thefoot of the giant willow. As he was baiting for a fourth pounder, andjust going to throw in again, he became aware of a man coming up thebank not one hundred yards off. Another look told him that it was theunder-keeper. Could he reach the shallow before him? No, not carryinghis rod. Nothing for it but the tree. So Tom laid his bones to it, shinning up as fast as he could and dragging up his rod after him. Hehad just time to reach and crouch along upon a huge branch some ten feetup, which stretched out over the river, when the keeper arrived at theclump. Tom's heart beat fast as he came under the tree; two steps more and hewould have passed, when, as ill-luck would have it, the gleam on thescales of the dead fish caught his eye, and he made a dead point at thefoot of the tree. He picked up the fish one by one; his eye and touchtold him that they had been alive and feeding within the hour. Tom crouched lower along the branch, and heard the keeper beating theclump. "If I could only get the rod hidden, " thought he, and begangently shifting it to get it alongside of him: "willow-trees don't throwout straight hickory shoots twelve feet long, with no leaves, worseluck. " Alas! the keeper catches the rustle, and then a sight of the rod, and then of Tom's hand and arm. "Oh, be up ther', be 'ee?" says he, running under the tree. "Now youcome down this minute. " "Tree'd at last, " thinks Tom, making no answer, and keeping as close aspossible, but working away at the rod, which he takes to pieces. "I'm infor it, unless I can starve him out. " And then he begins to meditate getting along the branch for a plunge, and scramble to the other side; but the small branches are so thick, and the opposite bank so difficult, that the keeper will have lots oftime to get round by the ford before he can get out, so he gives thatup. And now he hears the keeper beginning to scramble up the trunk. Thatwill never do; so he scrambles himself back to where his branch joinsthe trunk, and stands with lifted rod. "Hullo, Velveteens, mind your fingers if you come any higher. " The keeper stops and looks up, and then with a grin says: "Oh! be you, be it, young measter? Well, here's luck. Now I tells 'ee to come down atonce, and 't'll be best for 'ee. " "Thank 'ee, Velveteens, I'm very comfortable, " said Tom, shortening therod in his hand, and preparing for battle. "Werry well, please yourself, " says the keeper, descending, however, tothe ground again, and taking his seat on the bank. "I bean't in nohurry, so you med take your time. I'll larn 'ee to gee honest folk namesafore I've done with 'ee. " "My luck as usual, " thinks Tom; "what a fool I was to give him a black!If I'd called him 'keeper, ' now, I might get off. The return match isall his way. " The keeper quietly proceeded to take out his pipe, fill, and light it, keeping an eye on Tom, who now sat disconsolately across the branch, looking at the keeper--a pitiful sight for men and fishes. The more hethought of it the less he liked it. "It must be getting near second calling-over, " thinks he. Keeper smokeson stolidly. "If he takes me up, I shall be flogged safe enough. I can'tsit here all night. Wonder if he'll rise at silver. " "I say, keeper, " said he, meekly, "let me go for two bob?" "Not for twenty neither, " grunts his persecutor. And so they sat on till long past second calling-over; and the sun cameslanting in through the willow-branches, and telling of locking-up nearat hand. "I'm coming down, keeper, " said Tom at last, with a sigh, fairly tiredout. "Now what are you going to do?" "Walk 'ee up to School, and give 'ee over to the Doctor; them's myorders, " says Velveteens, knocking the ashes out of his fourth pipe, andstanding up and shaking himself. "Very good, " said Tom; "but hands off, you know. I'll go with youquietly, so no collaring or that sort of thing. " Keeper looked at him a minute: "Werry good, " said he at last. And so Tomdescended, and wended his way drearily by the side of the keeper up tothe School-house, where they arrived just at locking-up. As they passed the School-gates, the Tadpole and several others who werestanding there caught the state of things, and rushed out, crying, "Rescue!" but Tom shook his head, so they only followed to the Doctor'sgate, and went back sorely puzzled. How changed and stern the Doctor seemed from the last time that Tom wasup there, as the keeper told the story, not omitting to state how Tomhad called him blackguard names. "Indeed, sir, " broke in the culprit, "it was only Velveteens. " The Doctor only asked one question. "You know the rule about the banks, Brown?" "Yes, sir. " "Then wait for me to-morrow, after first lesson. " "I thought so, " muttered Tom. "And about the rod, sir?" went on the keeper. "Master's told we as wemight have all the rods----" "Oh, please, sir, " broke in Tom, "the rod isn't mine. " The Doctor looked puzzled, but the keeper, who was a good-heartedfellow, and melted at Tom's evident distress, gave up his claim. Tom was flogged next morning, and a few days afterwards met Velveteens, and presented him with half a crown for giving up the rod claim, andthey became sworn friends; and I regret to say that Tom had many morefish from under the willow that May-fly season, and was never caughtagain by Velveteens. HUGHES: "Tom Brown's School Days. " THE FOUNTAIN Into the sunshine, Full of the light, Leaping and flashing From morn till night! Into the moonlight, Whiter than snow, Waving so flower-like When the winds blow! Into the starlight, Rushing in spray, Happy at midnight, Happy by day; Ever in motion, Blithesome and cheery, Still climbing heavenward Never aweary;-- Glad of all weathers; Still seeming best, Upward or downward, Motion thy rest;-- Full of a nature Nothing can tame, Changed every moment, Ever the same;-- Ceaseless aspiring, Ceaseless content, Darkness or sunshine Thy element;-- Glorious fountain! Let my heart be Fresh, changeful, constant, Upward, like thee! LOWELL BREAK, BREAK, BREAK Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. TENNYSON Try to frequent the company of your betters. In books and life, that isthe most wholesome society; learn to admire rightly; the great pleasureof life is that. Note what great men admired: they admired great things;narrow spirits admire basely and worship meanly. THACKERAY THE BED OF PROCRUSTES A very tall and strong man, dressed in rich garments, came down to meetTheseus. On his arms were golden bracelets, and round his neck a collarof jewels; and he came forward, bowing courteously, and held out bothhis hands, and spoke: "Welcome, fair youth, to these mountains; happy am I to have met you!For what greater pleasure to a good man than to entertain strangers? ButI see that you are weary. Come up to my castle, and rest yourselfawhile. " "I give you thanks, " said Theseus; "but I am in haste to go up thevalley. " "Alas! you have wandered far from the right way, and you cannot reachyour journey's end to-night, for there are many miles of mountainbetween you and it, and steep passes, and cliffs dangerous afternightfall. It is well for you that I met you, for my whole joy is tofind strangers, and to feast them at my castle, and hear tales from themof foreign lands. Come up with me, and eat the best of venison, anddrink the rich red wine, and sleep upon my famous bed, of which alltravellers say that they never saw the like. For whatsoever thestature of my guest, however tall or short, that bed fits him to a hair, and he sleeps on it as he never slept before. " And he laid hold onTheseus' hands, and would not let him go. [Illustration: NIAGARA FALLS] Theseus wished to go forwards: but he was ashamed to seem churlish to sohospitable a man; and he was curious to see that wondrous bed; andbeside, he was hungry and weary: yet he shrank from the man, he knew notwhy; for, though his voice was gentle, it was dry and husky like atoad's; and though his eyes were gentle, they were dull and cold likestones. But he consented, and went with the man up a glen which led fromthe road, under the dark shadow of the cliffs. And as they went up, the glen grew narrower, and the cliffs higher anddarker, and beneath them a torrent roared, half seen between barelimestone crags. And around them was neither tree nor bush, while thesnow-blasts swept down the glen, cutting and chilling, till a horrorfell on Theseus as he looked round at that doleful place. And he said atlast: "Your castle stands, it seems, in a dreary region. " "Yes; but once within it, hospitality makes all things cheerful. But whoare these?" and he looked back, and Theseus also; and far below, alongthe road which they had left, came a string of laden asses, andmerchants walking by them, watching their ware. "Ah, poor souls!" said the stranger. "Well for them that I looked backand saw them! And well for me, too, for I shall have the more guests atmy feast. Wait awhile till I go down and call them, and we will eat anddrink together the livelong night. Happy am I, to whom Heaven sends somany guests at once!" And he ran back down the hill, waving his hand and shouting to themerchants, while Theseus went slowly up the steep pass. But as he went up he met an aged man, who had been gathering driftwoodin the torrent-bed. He had laid down his faggot in the road, and wastrying to lift it again to his shoulder. And when he saw Theseus, hecalled to him and said: "O fair youth, help me up with my burden, for my limbs are stiff andweak with years. " Then Theseus lifted the burden on his back. And the old man blessed him, and then looked earnestly upon him, and said: "Who are you, fair youth, and wherefore travel you this doleful road?" "Who I am my parents know; but I travel this doleful road because I havebeen invited by a hospitable man, who promises to feast me and to makeme sleep upon I know not what wondrous bed. " Then the old man clapped his hands together and cried: "Know, fair youth, that you are going to torment and to death, for hewho met you (I will requite your kindness by another) is a robber and amurderer of men. Whatsoever stranger he meets he entices him hither todeath; and as for this bed of which he speaks, truly it fits all comers, yet none ever rose alive off it save me. " "Why?" asked Theseus, astonished. "Because, if a man be too tall for it, he lops his limbs till they beshort enough, and if he be too short, he stretches his limbs till theybe long enough; but me only he spared, seven weary years agone; for Ialone of all fitted his bed exactly, so he spared me, and made me hisslave. And once I was a wealthy merchant, and dwelt in a great city; butnow I hew wood and draw water for him, the torment of all mortal men. " Then Theseus said nothing; but he ground his teeth together. "Escape, then, " said the old man, "for he will have no pity on thyyouth. But yesterday he brought up hither a young man and a maiden, andfitted them upon his bed; and the young man's hands and feet he cut off, but the maiden's limbs he stretched until she died, and so both perishedmiserably--but I am tired of weeping over the slain. And therefore he iscalled Procrustes, the stretcher. Flee from him: yet whither will youflee? The cliffs are steep, and who can climb them? and there is noother road. " But Theseus laid his hand upon the old man's mouth, and said: "There isno need to flee;" and he turned to go down the pass. "Do not tell him that I have warned you, or he will kill me by some evildeath;" and the old man screamed after him down the glen; but Theseusstrode on in his wrath. And he said to himself: "This is an ill-ruled land; when shall I havedone ridding it of monsters?" And, as he spoke, Procrustes came up thehill, and all the merchants with him, smiling and talking gaily. Andwhen he saw Theseus, he cried: "Ah, fair young guest, have I kept youtoo long waiting?" But Theseus answered: "The man who stretches his guests upon a bed andhews off their hands and feet, what shall be done to him, when right isdone throughout the land?" Then Procrustes' countenance changed, and his cheeks grew as green as alizard, and he felt for his sword in haste; but Theseus leaped on him, and cried: "Is this true, my host, or is it false?" and he clasped Procrustes roundwaist and elbow, so that he could not draw his sword. "Is this true, my host, or is it false!" But Procrustes answered never aword. Then Theseus flung him from him, and lifted up his dreadful club; andbefore Procrustes could strike him, he had struck and felled him to theground. And once again he struck him; and his evil soul fled forth, squeakinglike a bat into the darkness of a cave. Then Theseus stripped him of his gold ornaments, and went up to hishouse, and found there great wealth and treasure, which he had stolenfrom the passers-by. And he called the people of the country, whomProcrustes had spoiled a long time, and divided the spoil among them, and went down the mountains, and away. KINGSLEY: "The Heroes. "(Adapted) "BOB WHITE" I see you, on the zigzag rails, You cheery little fellow! While purple leaves are whirling down, And scarlet, brown, and yellow. I hear you when the air is full Of snow-down of the thistle; All in your speckled jacket trim, "Bob White! Bob White!" you whistle. Tall amber sheaves, in rustling rows, Are nodding there to greet you; I know that you are out for play-- How I should like to meet you! Though blithe of voice, so shy you are, In this delightful weather; What splendid playmates, you and I, "Bob White, " would make together! There, you are gone! but far away I hear your whistle falling. Ah! maybe it is hide-and-seek, And that's why you are calling. Along those hazy uplands wide We'd be such merry rangers; What! silent now, and hidden too! "Bob White, " don't let's be strangers. Perhaps you teach your brood the game, In yonder rainbowed thicket, While winds are playing with the leaves, And softly creeks the cricket. "Bob White! Bob White!"--again I hear That blithely whistled chorus; Why should we not companions be? One Father watches o'er us! GEORGE COOPER RADISSON AND THE INDIANS The tribe being assembled and having spread out their customary gifts, consisting of beaver tails, smoked moose tongues and pemmican, one ofthe leading braves arose and said: "Men who pretend to give us life, do you wish us to die! You know whatbeaver is worth and the trouble we have to take it. You call yourselvesour brothers, and yet will not give us what those give who make no suchprofession. Accept our gifts, and let us barter, or we will visit youno more. We have but to travel a hundred leagues and we will encounterthe English, whose offers we have heard. " On the conclusion of this harangue, silence reigned for some moments. All eyes were turned on the two white traders. Feeling that now or neverwas the time to exhibit firmness, Radisson, without rising to his feet, addressed the whole assemblage in haughty accents. "Whom dost thou wish I should answer? I have heard a dog bark; when aman shall speak, he will see I know how to defend my conduct and myterms. We love our brothers and we deserve their love in return. Forhave we not saved them all from the treachery of the English?" Uttering these words fearlessly, he leaped to his feet and drew a longhunting-knife from his belt. Seizing by the scalp-lock the chief of thetribe, who had already adopted him as his son, he asked: "Who art thou?"To which the chief responded, as was customary: "Thy father. " "Then, " cried Radisson, "if that is so, and thou art my father, speakfor me. Thou art the master of my goods; but as for that dog who hasspoken, what is he doing in this company? Let him go to his brothers, the English, at the head of the Bay. Or he need not travel so far. Hemay, if he chooses, see them starving and helpless on yonder island;answering to my words of command. "I know how to speak to my Indian father, " continued Radisson, "of theperils of the woods, of the abandonment of his squaws and children, ofthe risks of hunger and the peril of death by foes. All these you avoidby trading with us here. But although I am mightily angry, I will takepity on this wretch and let him still live. Go, " addressing the bravewith his weapon outstretched, "take this as my gift to you, and depart. When you meet your brothers, the English, tell them my name, and addthat we are soon coming to treat them and their factory yonder as wehave treated this one. " The speaker knew enough of the Indian character, especially in affairsof trade, to be aware that a point once yielded them is never recovered. And it is but just to say that the terms he then made of three axes fora beaver were thereafter adopted, and that his firmness saved theCompany many a cargo of these implements. His harangue produced animmediate impression upon all save the humiliated brave, who declaredthat, if the Assiniboines came hither to barter, he would lie in ambushand kill them. The French trader's reply to this was, to the Indian mind, a terribleone. "I will myself travel into thy country, " said he, "and eat sagamite inthy grandmother's skull. " While the brave and his small circle of friends were livid with fear andanger, Radisson ordered three fathoms of tobacco to be distributed;observing, contemptuously, to the hostile minority that, as for them, they might go and smoke women's tobacco in the country of the lynxes. The barter began and, when at nightfall the Indians departed, not a skinwas left amongst them. BECKLES WILLSON: "The Great Company. " THE BROOK I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges. Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever. I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my banks I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and mallow. I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever. I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling, And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel With many a silvery waterbreak Above the golden gravel, And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever. I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I slide by hazel covers; I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers. I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows; I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows. I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses; I linger by my shingly bars; I loiter round my cresses; And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever. TENNYSON As good almost kill a man as kill a good book. Many a man lives a burdento the earth, but a good book is the precious life blood of amaster-spirit. MILTON "DO SEEK THEIR MEAT FROM GOD" There was a solitary cabin in the thick of the woods a mile or more fromthe nearest neighbour, a substantial frame house in the midst of a largeand well-tilled clearing. The owner of the cabin, a shiftless fellow whospent his days for the most part at the corner tavern three milesdistant, had suddenly grown disgusted with a land wherein one must workto live, and had betaken himself with his seven-year-old boy to seeksome more indolent clime. The five-year-old son of the prosperous owner of the frame house and theolder boy had been playmates. The little boy, unaware of his comrade'sdeparture, had stolen away, late in the afternoon, along the lonelystretch of wood road, and had reached the cabin only to find it empty. As the dusk gathered, he grew afraid to start for home and crepttrembling into the cabin, whose door would not stay shut. Desperate withfear and loneliness, he lifted up his voice piteously. In the terrifyingsilence, he listened hard to hear if anyone or anything were coming. Then again his shrill childish wailings arose, startling the unexpectantnight, and piercing the forest depths, even to the ears of two greatpanthers which had set forth to seek their meat from God. The lonely cabin stood some distance, perhaps a quarter of a mile, backfrom the highway connecting the settlements. Along this main road a manwas plodding wearily. All day he had been walking, and now as he nearedhome his steps began to quicken with anticipation of rest. Over hisshoulder projected a double-barrelled fowling-piece, from which wasslung a bundle of such necessities as he had purchased in town thatmorning. It was the prosperous settler, the master of the frame house, who had chosen to make the tedious journey on foot. He passed the mouth of the wood road leading to the cabin and had goneperhaps a furlong beyond, when his ears were startled by the sound of achild crying in the woods. He stopped, lowered his burden to the road, and stood straining ears and eyes in the direction of the sound. It wasjust at this time that the two panthers also stopped, and lifted theirheads to listen. Their ears were keener than those of the man, and thesound had reached them at a greater distance. Presently the settler realized whence the cries were coming. He calledto mind the cabin; but he did not know the cabin's owner had departed. He cherished a hearty contempt for the drunken squatter; and on thedrunken squatter's child he looked with small favour, especially as aplaymate for his own boy. Nevertheless he hesitated before resuming hisjourney. "Poor little fellow!" he muttered, half in wrath. "I reckon his preciousfather's drunk down at 'the Corners, ' and him crying for loneliness!"Then he re-shouldered his burden and strode on doggedly. But louder, shriller, more hopeless and more appealing, arose thechildish voice, and the settler paused again, irresolute, and withdeepening indignation. In his fancy he saw the steaming supper his wifewould have awaiting him. He loathed the thought of retracing his steps, and then stumbling a quarter of a mile through the stumps and bog of thewood road. He was foot-sore as well as hungry, and he cursed thevagabond squatter with serious emphasis; but in that wailing was aterror which would not let him go on. He thought of his own little oneleft in such a position, and straightway his heart melted. He turned, dropped his bundle behind some bushes, grasped his gun, and made speedback for the cabin. "Who knows, " he said to himself, "but that drunken idiot has left hisyoungster without a bite to eat in the whole miserable shanty? Or maybehe's locked out, and the poor little beggar's half scared to death. _Sounds_ as if he was scared;" and at this thought the settler quickenedhis pace. As the hungry panthers drew near the cabin, and the cries of the lonelychild grew clearer, they hastened their steps, and their eyes opened toa wider circle, flaming with a greener fire. It would be thoughtlesssuperstition to say the beasts were cruel. They were simply keen withhunger, and alive with the eager passion of the chase. They were notferocious with any anticipation of battle, for they knew the voice wasthe voice of a child, and something in the voice told them the child wassolitary. Theirs was no hideous or unnatural rage, as it is the customto describe it. They were but seeking with the strength, the cunning, the deadly swiftness given them to that end, the food convenient forthem. On their success in accomplishing that for which nature had soexquisitely designed them, depended not only their own, but the lives oftheir blind and helpless young, now whimpering in the cave on the slopeof the moon-lit ravine. They crept through a wet alder thicket, boundedlightly over the ragged brush fence, and paused to reconnoitre on theedge of the clearing, in the full glare of the moon. At the same moment, the settler emerged from the darkness of the wood road on the oppositeside of the clearing. He saw the two great beasts, heads down and snoutsthrust forward, gliding toward the open cabin door. For a few moments the child had been silent. Now his voice rose again inpitiful appeal, a very ecstasy of loneliness and terror. There was anote in the cry that shook the settler's soul. He had a vision of hisown boy, at home with his mother, safe-guarded from even the thought ofperil. And here was this little one left to the wild beasts! "Thank God!Thank God I came!" murmured the settler, as he dropped on one knee totake a surer aim. There was a loud report (not like the sharp crack of arifle), and the female panther, shot through the loins, fell in a heap, snarling furiously and striking with her fore-paws. The male walked around her in fierce and anxious amazement. Presently, as the smoke lifted, he discerned the settler kneeling for a secondshot. With a high screech of fury, the lithe brute sprang upon hisenemy, taking a bullet full in his chest without seeming to know he washit. Ere the man could slip in another cartridge the beast was upon him, bearing him to the ground and fixing keen fangs in his shoulder. Withouta word, the man set his strong fingers desperately into the brute'sthroat, wrenched himself partly free, and was struggling to rise, whenthe panther's body collapsed upon him all at once, a dead weight whichhe easily flung aside. The bullet had done its work just in time. Quivering from the swift and dreadful contest, bleeding profusely fromhis mangled shoulder, the settler stepped up to the cabin door andpeered in. He heard sobs in the darkness. "Don't be scared, sonny, " he said, in a reassuring voice. "I'm going totake you home along with me. Poor little lad, _I'll_ look after you, iffolks that ought to don't. " Out of the dark corner came a shout of delight, in a voice which madethe settler's heart stand still. "_Daddy_, Daddy, " it said, "I _knew_you'd come. I was so frightened when it got dark!" And a little figurelaunched itself into the settler's arms, and clung to him trembling. Theman sat down on the threshold and strained the child to his breast. Heremembered how near he had been to disregarding the far-off cries, andgreat beads of sweat broke out upon his forehead. Not many weeks afterwards the settler was following the fresh trail of abear which had killed his sheep. The trail led him at last along theslope of a deep ravine, from whose bottom came the brawl of a swollenand obstructed stream. In the ravine he found a shallow cave, behind agreat white rock. The cave was plainly a wild beast's lair, and heentered circumspectly. There were bones scattered about, and on some dryherbage in the deepest corner of the den, he found the dead bodies oftwo small panther cubs. CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS: "Earth's Enigmas. "(Adapted) So nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man, When Duty whispers low, "_Thou must_, " The youth replies, "_I can_. " EMERSON A SONG OF THE SEA The Sea! the Sea! the open Sea! The blue, the fresh, the ever free! Without a mark, without a bound, It runneth the earth's wide regions 'round; It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies; Or like a cradled creature lies. I'm on the Sea! I'm on the Sea! I am where I would ever be; With the blue above, and the blue below, And silence wheresoe'er I go; If a storm should come and awake the deep, What matter? _I_ shall ride and sleep. I love (oh! _how_ I love) to ride On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide, When every mad wave drowns the moon, Or whistles aloft his tempest tune, And tells how goeth the world below, And why the south-west blasts do blow. I never was on the dull, tame shore, But I loved the great Sea more and more, And backwards flew to her billowy breast, Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest; And a mother she _was_ and _is_ to me; For I was born on the open Sea. The waves were white, and red the morn, In the noisy hour when I was born; And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled And the dolphins bared their backs of gold; And never was heard such an outcry wild As welcomed to life the Ocean-child! I've lived since then, in calm and strife, Full fifty summers a sailor's life, With wealth to spend, and a power to range, But never have sought nor sighed for change; And Death whenever he comes to me, Shall come on the wide unbounded Sea! B. W. PROCTER: ("Barry Cornwall") LITTLE DAFFYDOWNDILLY "I slept, and dreamed that life was beauty; I woke, and found that life was duty. " Daffydowndilly was so called because in his nature he resembled aflower, and loved to do only what was beautiful and agreeable, and tookno delight in labour of any kind. But while Daffydowndilly was yet alittle boy, his mother sent him away from his pleasant home, and put himunder the care of a very strict schoolmaster, who went by the name ofMr. Toil. Those who knew him best affirmed that this Mr. Toil was avery worthy character; and that he had done more good, both to childrenand grown people, than anybody else in the world. Certainly he had lived long enough to do a great deal of good; for, ifall stories be true, he had dwelt upon earth ever since Adam was drivenfrom the garden of Eden. Nevertheless, Mr. Toil had a severe and ugly countenance, especially forsuch little boys or big men as were inclined to be idle; his voice, too, was harsh; and all his ways and customs seemed very disagreeable to ourfriend Daffydowndilly. The whole day long this terrible schoolmaster satat his desk overlooking the scholars, or stalked about the school-roomwith a certain awful birch rod in his hand. Now came a rap over theshoulders of a boy whom Mr. Toil had caught at play; now he punished awhole class who were behindhand with their lessons; and, in short, unless a lad chose to attend quietly and constantly to his book, he hadno chance of enjoying a quiet moment in the school-room of Mr. Toil. "This will never do for me, " thought Daffydowndilly. Now the whole of Daffydowndilly's life had hitherto been passed with hisdear mother, who had a much sweeter face than old Mr. Toil, and who hadalways been very indulgent to her little boy. No wonder, therefore, thatpoor Daffydowndilly found it a woeful change to be sent away from thegood lady's side and put under the care of this ugly-visagedschoolmaster, who never gave him any apples or cakes, and seemed tothink that little boys were created only to get lessons. "I can't bear it any longer, " said Daffydowndilly to himself, when hehad been at school about a week. "I'll run away and try to find my dearmother; and, at any rate, I shall never find anybody half sodisagreeable as this old Mr. Toil!" So the very next morning, off started poor Daffydowndilly, and began hisrambles about the world, with only some bread and cheese for hisbreakfast, and very little pocket-money to pay his expenses. But he hadgone only a short distance when he overtook a man of grave and sedateappearance, who was trudging at a moderate pace along the road. "Good-morning, my lad, " said the stranger; and his voice seemed hard andsevere, but yet had a sort of kindness in it. "Whence do you come soearly, and whither are you going?" Little Daffydowndilly was a boy of a very ingenuous disposition, and hadnever been known to tell a lie in all his life. Nor did he tell one now. He hesitated a moment or two, but finally confessed that he had run awayfrom school, on account of his great dislike for Mr. Toil; and that hewas resolved to find some place in the world where he should never seeor hear of the old schoolmaster again. "Oh, very well, my little friend!" answered the stranger. "Then we willgo together; for I, likewise, have had a good deal to do with Mr. Toil, and should be glad to find some place where he was never heard of. " Our friend Daffydowndilly would have been better pleased with acompanion of his own age, with whom he might have gathered flowers alongthe road-side, or have chased butterflies, or have done many otherthings to make the journey pleasant. But he had wisdom enough tounderstand that he should get along through the world much easier byhaving a man of experience to show him the way. So he accepted thestranger's proposal, and they walked on very sociably together. They had not gone far, when the road passed by a field where somehaymakers were at work, mowing down the tall grass and spreading it outin the sun to dry. Daffydowndilly was delighted with the sweet smell ofthe new-mown grass, and thought how much pleasanter it must be to makehay in the sunshine under the blue sky, and with the birds singingsweetly in the neighbouring trees and bushes, than to be shut up in adismal school-room, learning lessons all day long, and continuallyscolded by old Mr. Toil. But, in the midst of these thoughts, while hewas stopping to peep over the stone wall, he started back and caughthold of his companion's hand. "Quick, quick!" cried he. "Let us run away, or he will catch us!" "Who will catch us?" asked the stranger. "Mr. Toil, the old schoolmaster!" answered Daffydowndilly. "Don't yousee him amongst the haymakers?" And Daffydowndilly pointed to an elderly man, who seemed to be the ownerof the field, and the employer of the men at work there. He had strippedoff his coat and waistcoat, and was busily at work in his shirt sleeves. The drops of sweat stood upon his brow; but he gave himself not amoment's rest, and kept crying out to the haymakers to make hay whilethe sun shone. Now, strange to say, the figure and features of this oldfarmer were precisely the same as those of old Mr. Toil, who, at thatvery moment, must have been just entering his school-room. "Don't be afraid, " said the stranger. "This is not Mr. Toil, theschoolmaster, but a brother of his, who was bred a farmer; and thepeople say he is the more disagreeable man of the two. However, he won'ttrouble you unless you become a labourer on the farm. " Little Daffydowndilly believed what his companion said, but he was veryglad, nevertheless, when they were out of sight of the old farmer, whobore such a singular resemblance to Mr. Toil. The two travellers hadgone but little farther, when they came to a spot where some carpenterswere erecting a house. Daffydowndilly begged his companion to stop amoment; for it was a very pretty sight to see how neatly the carpentersdid their work, with their broad-axes and saws, and planes, and hammers, shaping out the doors, and putting in the window-sashes, and nailing onthe clap-boards; and he could not help thinking that he should like totake a broad-axe, a saw, a plane, and a hammer, and build a little housefor himself. And then, when he should have a house of his own, old Mr. Toil would never dare to molest him. But, just while he was delighting himself with this idea, littleDaffydowndilly beheld something that made him catch hold of hiscompanion's hand, all in a fright. "Make haste. Quick, quick!" cried he. "There he is again!" "Who?" askedthe stranger, very quietly. "Old Mr. Toil, " said Daffydowndilly, trembling. "There! he that is overseeing the carpenters. 'Tis my old schoolmaster, as sure as I'm alive!" The stranger cast his eyes where Daffydowndilly pointed his finger; andhe saw an elderly man, with a carpenter's rule and compass in his hand. This person went to and fro about the unfinished house, measuring piecesof timber and marking out the work that was to be done, and continuallyexhorting the other carpenters to be diligent. And wherever he turnedhis hard and wrinkled visage, the men seemed to feel that they had atask-master over them, and sawed, and hammered, and planed, as if fordear life. "Oh, no! this is not Mr. Toil, the schoolmaster, " said the stranger. "Itis another brother of his, who follows the trade of carpenter. " "I am very glad to hear it, " quoth Daffydowndilly; "but if you please, sir, I should like to get out of his way as soon as possible. " Then they went on a little farther, and soon heard the sound of a drumand fife. Daffydowndilly pricked up his ears at this, and besought hiscompanion to hurry forward, that they might not miss seeing thesoldiers. Accordingly they made what haste they could, and soon met acompany of soldiers gaily dressed, with beautiful feathers in theircaps, and bright muskets on their shoulders. In front marched twodrummers and two fifers, beating on their drums and making such livelymusic that little Daffydowndilly would gladly have followed them to theend of the world. And if he was only a soldier, then, he said tohimself, old Mr. Toil would never venture to look him in the face. "Quick step! Forward march!" shouted a gruff voice. Little Daffydowndilly started, in great dismay; for this voice which hadspoken to the soldiers sounded precisely the same as that which he hadheard every day in Mr. Toil's school-room, out of Mr. Toil's own mouth. And, turning his eyes to the captain of the company, what should he seebut the very image of old Mr. Toil himself, with a smart cap and featheron his head, a pair of gold epaulets on his shoulders, a laced coat onhis back, a purple sash round his waist, and a long sword, instead of abirch rod, in his hand. And though he held his head so high, andstrutted like a turkey-cock, still he looked quite as ugly anddisagreeable as when he was hearing lessons in the school-room. "This is certainly old Mr. Toil, " said Daffydowndilly, in a tremblingvoice. "Let us run away for fear he should make us enlist in hiscompany!" "You are mistaken again, my little friend, " replied the stranger, verycomposedly. "This is not Mr. Toil, the schoolmaster, but a brother ofhis, who has served in the army all his life. People say he's a terriblysevere fellow; but you and I need not be afraid of him. " "Well, well, " said little Daffydowndilly, "but if you please, sir, Idon't want to see the soldiers any more. " So the child and the stranger resumed their journey; and, by and by, they came to a house by the road-side, where a number of people weremaking merry. Young men and rosy-cheeked girls, with smiles on theirfaces, were dancing to the sound of a fiddle. It was the pleasantestsight that Daffydowndilly had yet met with, and it comforted him for allhis disappointments. "Oh, let us stop here, " cried he to his companion; "for Mr. Toil willnever dare to show his face where there is a fiddler, and where peopleare dancing and making merry. We shall be quite safe here!" But these last words died away upon Daffydowndilly's tongue; for, happening to cast his eyes on the fiddler, whom should he behold againbut the likeness of Mr. Toil, holding a fiddle-bow instead of a birchrod, and flourishing it with as much ease and dexterity as if he hadbeen a fiddler all his life! He had somewhat the air of a Frenchman, butstill looked exactly like the old schoolmaster; and Daffydowndilly evenfancied that he nodded and winked at him, and made signs for him to joinin the dance. "Oh, dear me!" whispered he, turning pale, "it seems as if there wasnobody but Mr. Toil in the world. Who could have thought of his playingon a fiddle!" "This is not your old schoolmaster, " observed the stranger, "but anotherbrother of his, who was bred in France, where he learned the professionof a fiddler. He is ashamed of his family, and generally calls himselfMonsieur le Plaisir; but his real name is Toil, and those who have knownhim best think him still more disagreeable than his brothers. " "Oh, take me back!--take me back!" cried poor little Daffydowndilly, bursting into tears. "If there is nothing but Toil all the world over, Imay just as well go back to the school-house!" "Yonder it is, --there is the school-house!" said the stranger, forthough he and Daffydowndilly had taken a great many steps, they hadtravelled in a circle instead of a straight line. "Come; we will go backto school together. " There was something in his companion's voice that little Daffydowndillynow remembered, and it is strange that he had not remembered it sooner. Looking up into his face, behold! there again was the likeness of oldMr. Toil; so that the poor child had been in company with Toil all day, even while he was doing his best to run away from him. Some people, towhom I have told little Daffydowndilly's story, are of the opinion thatold Mr. Toil was a magician, and possessed the power of multiplyinghimself into as many shapes as he saw fit. Be this as it may, little Daffydowndilly had learned a good lesson, andfrom that time forward was diligent at his task, because he knew thatdiligence is not a whit more toilsome than sport or idleness. And whenhe became better acquainted with Mr. Toil, he began to think that hisways were not so very disagreeable, and that the old schoolmaster'ssmile of approbation made his face almost as pleasant as even that ofDaffydowndilly's mother. NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE THE SANDPIPER Across the narrow beach we flit, One little sandpiper and I; And fast I gather, bit by bit, The scattered driftwood bleached and dry. The wild waves reach their hands for it, The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, As up and down the beach we flit, -- One little sandpiper and I. Above our heads the sullen clouds Scud black and swift across the sky: Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds Stand out the white lighthouses high. Almost as far as eye can reach I see the close-reefed vessels fly, As fast we flit along the beach, -- One little sandpiper and I. I watch him as he skims along, Uttering his sweet and mournful cry; He starts not at my fitful song, Or flash of fluttering drapery; He has no thought of any wrong, He scans me with a fearless eye. Stanch friends are we, well-tried and strong, The little sandpiper and I. Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night When the loosed storm breaks furiously? My driftwood-fire will burn so bright! To what warm shelter canst thou fly? I do not fear for thee, though wroth The tempest rushes through the sky: For are we not God's children both, Thou, little sandpiper, and I? CELIA THAXTER FROM "THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT" Blessed are the poor in spirit: for their's is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed arethe meek: for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which dohunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled. Blessedare the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure inheart: for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers: for theyshall be called the children of God. Again, ye have heard that it hath been said by them of old time, Thoushalt not forswear thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lord thine oaths. But I say unto you, Swear not at all; neither by heaven; for it is God'sthrone: nor by the earth; for it is his footstool: neither by Jerusalem;for it is the city of the great King. Neither shalt thou swear by thyhead, because thou canst not make one hair white or black. Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, andhate thine enemy. But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them thatcurse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them whichdespitefully use you, and persecute you; that ye may be the children ofyour Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on theevil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust. For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not even thepublicans the same? And if ye salute your brethren only, what do ye morethan others? do not even the publicans so? Be ye therefore perfect, evenas your Father which is in heaven is perfect. ST. MATTHEW, V. THE LEGEND OF SAINT CHRISTOPHER For many a year Saint Christopher Served God in many a land; And master painters drew his face, With loving heart and hand, On altar fronts and churches' walls; And peasants used to say, -- To look on good Saint Christopher Brought luck for all the day. For many a year, in lowly hut, The giant dwelt content Upon the bank, and back and forth Across the stream he went; And on his giant shoulders bore All travellers who came, By night, by day, or rich or poor, All in King Jesus' name. But much he doubted if the King His work would note or know, And often with a weary heart He waded to and fro. One night, as wrapped in sleep he lay, He sudden heard a call, -- "O Christopher, come, carry me!" He sprang, looked out, but all Was dark and silent on the shore, "It must be that I dreamed, " He said, and laid him down again; But instantly there seemed Again the feeble, distant cry, -- "Oh, come and carry me!" Again he sprang and looked: again No living thing could see. The third time came the plaintive voice, Like infant's, soft and weak; With lantern strode the giant forth, More carefully to seek. Down on the bank a little child He found, --a piteous sight, -- Who weeping, earnestly implored To cross that very night. With gruff good will he picked him up, And on his neck to ride He tossed him, as men play with babes, And plunged into the tide. But as the water closed around His knees, the infant's weight Grew heavier, and heavier, Until it was so great The giant scarce could stand upright, His staff shook in his hand, His mighty knees bent under him, He barely reached the land. And, staggering, set the infant down, And turned to scan his face; When, lo! he saw a halo bright Which lit up all the place. Then Christopher fell down, afraid At marvel of the thing, And dreamed not that it was the face Of Jesus Christ, his King. Until the infant spoke, and said: "O Christopher, behold! I am the Lord whom thou hast served, Rise up, be glad and bold! "For I have seen and noted well, Thy works of charity; And that thou art my servant good A token thou shalt see. Plant firmly here upon this bank Thy stalwart staff of pine, And it shall blossom and bear fruit, This very hour, in sign. " Then, vanishing, the infant smiled. The giant, left alone, Saw on the bank, with luscious dates, His stout pine staff bent down. I think the lesson is as good To-day as it was then-- As good to us called Christians As to the heathen men-- The lesson of Saint Christopher, Who spent his strength for others, And saved his soul by working hard To help and save his brothers! HELEN HUNT JACKSON WILLIAM TELL AND HIS SON The sun already shone brightly as William Tell entered the town ofAltorf, and he advanced at once to the public place, where the firstobject that caught his eyes was a handsome cap, embroidered with gold, stuck upon the end of a long pole. Soldiers were walking around it insilence, and the people of Altorf, as they passed, bowed their head tothe symbol of authority. The cap had been set up by Gessler, theAustrian commander, for the purpose of discovering those who were notsubmissive to the Austrian power, which had ruled the people of theSwiss Cantons for a long time with great severity. He suspected that thepeople were about to break into rebellion, and with a view to learn whowere the most discontented, he had placed the ducal cap of Austria onthis pole, publicly proclaiming that every one passing near, or withinsight of it, should bow before it, in proof of his homage to the duke. Tell was much surprised at this new and strange attempt to humble thepeople, and, leaning on his cross-bow, gazed scornfully on them and thesoldiers. Berenger, captain of the guard, at length observed this man, who alone amidst the cringing crowd carried his head erect. He orderedhim to be seized and disarmed by the soldiers, and then conducted him toGessler, who put some questions to him, which he answered so haughtilythat Gessler was both surprised and angry. Suddenly, he was struck bythe likeness between him and the boy Walter Tell, whom he had seized andput in prison the previous day for uttering some seditious words; heimmediately asked his name, which he no sooner heard than he knew him tobe the archer so famous, as the best marksman in the Canton. Gessler at once resolved to punish both father and son at the same time, by a method which was perhaps the most refined act of torture which manever imagined. As soon, then, as the youth was brought out, the governorturned to Tell, and said: "I have often heard of thy great skill as anarcher, and I now intend to put it to the proof. Thy son shall be placedat a distance of a hundred yards, with an apple on his head. If thoustrikest the apple with thy arrow, I will pardon you both; but if thourefusest this trial, thy son shall die before thine eyes. " Tell implored Gessler to spare him so cruel a trial, in which he mightperhaps kill his beloved boy with his own hand. The governor would notalter his purpose; so Tell at last agreed to shoot at the apple, as theonly chance of saving his son's life. Walter stood with his back to alinden tree. Gessler, some distance behind, watched every motion. Hiscross-bow and one arrow were handed to Tell; he tried the point, brokethe weapon, and demanded his quiver. It was brought to him and emptiedat his feet. He stooped down, and taking a long time to choose an arrow, he managed to hide a second in his girdle. After being in doubt a long time, his whole soul beaming in his face, his love for his son rendering him almost powerless, he at length rousedhimself--drew the bow--aimed--shot--and the apple, struck to the core, was carried away by the arrow. The market-place of Altorf was filled by loud cheers. Walter flew toembrace his father, who, overcome by his emotion, fell fainting to theground, thus exposing the second arrow to view. Gessler stood over him, awaiting his recovery, which speedily taking place, Tell rose, andturned away from the governor with horror. The latter, however, scarcely yet believing his senses, thus addressed him: "Incomparablearcher, I will keep my promise; but what needed you with that secondarrow which I see in your girdle?" Tell replied: "It is the custom of the bowmen of Uri to have always onearrow in reserve. " "Nay, nay, " said Gessler, "tell me thy real motive; and, whatever it mayhave been, speak frankly, and thy life is spared. " "The second shaft, " replied Tell, "was to pierce thy heart, tyrant, if Ihad chanced to harm my son. " CHAMBER'S "Tracts. " A MIDSUMMER SONG O, father's gone to market-town, he was up before the day, And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay, And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill, While mother from the kitchen door is calling with a will: "Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn! O, where's Polly?" From all the misty morning air there comes a summer sound-- A murmur as of waters from skies and trees and ground. The birds they sing upon the wing, the pigeons bill and coo, And over hill and hollow rings again the loud halloo: "Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn! O, where's Polly?" Above the trees the honey-bees swarm by with buzz and boom, And in the field and garden a thousand blossoms bloom. Within the farmer's meadow a brown-eyed daisy blows, And down at the edge of the hollow a red and thorny rose. But Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn! O, where's Polly? How strange at such a time of day the mill should stop its clatter! The farmer's wife is listening now and wonders what's the matter. O, wild the birds are singing in the wood and on the hill, While whistling up the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill. But Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn! O, where's Polly? RICHARD WATSON GILDER THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW On every side death stared us in the face; no human skill could avert itany longer. We saw the moment approach when we must bid farewell toearth, yet without feeling that unutterable horror which must have beenexperienced by the unhappy victims at Cawnpore. We were resolved ratherto die than yield, and were fully persuaded that in twenty-four hoursall would be over. The engineer had said so, and all knew the worst. Wewomen strove to encourage each other, and to perform the light dutieswhich had been assigned to us, such as conveying orders to thebatteries, and supplying the men with provisions, especially cups ofcoffee, which we prepared day and night. I had gone out to try to make myself useful, in company with JessieBrown, the wife of a corporal in my husband's regiment. Poor Jessie hadbeen in a state of restless excitement all through the siege, and hadfallen away visibly within the last few days. A constant fever consumedher, and her mind wandered occasionally, especially that day when therecollections of home seemed powerfully present to her. At last, overcome with fatigue, she lay down on the ground, wrapped up in herplaid. I sat beside her, promising to awaken her when, as she said, her"father should return from the ploughing. " She fell at length into a profound slumber, motionless and apparentlybreathless, her head resting in my lap. I myself could no longer resistthe inclination to sleep, in spite of the continual roar of the cannon. Suddenly I was aroused by a wild, unearthly scream close to my ear; mycompanion stood upright beside me, her arms raised, and her head bentforward in the attitude of listening. A look of intense delight broke over her countenance. She grasped myhand, drew me toward her, and exclaimed: "Dinna ye hear it? dinna yehear it? Aye. I'm no dreaming: it's the slogan o' the Highlanders!We're saved! we're saved!" Then, flinging herself on her knees, shethanked God with passionate fervour. I felt utterly bewildered; my English ears heard only the roar ofartillery, and I thought my poor Jessie was still raving, but she dartedto the batteries, and I heard her cry incessantly to the men: "Courage!courage! Hark to the slogan--to the Macgregor, the grandest of them a'!Here's help at last!" To describe the effect of these words upon the soldiers would beimpossible. For a moment they ceased firing, and every soul listenedwith intense anxiety. Gradually, however, there arose a murmur of bitterdisappointment, and the wailing of the women, who had flocked to thespot, burst out anew as the colonel shook his head. Our dull Lowlandears heard only the rattle of the musketry. A few moments more of this deathlike suspense, of this agonizing hope, and Jessie, who had again sunk on the ground, sprang to her feet, andcried in a voice so clear and piercing that it was heard along the wholeline: "Will ye no believe it noo? The slogan has ceased, indeed, but theCampbells are comin'! D'ye hear? d'ye hear?" At that moment all seemed, indeed, to hear the voice of God in thedistance, when the pibroch of the Highlanders brought us tidings ofdeliverance; for now there was no longer any doubt of the fact. Thatshrill, penetrating, ceaseless sound, which rose above all other sounds, could come neither from the advance of the enemy nor from the work ofthe sappers. No, it was, indeed, the blast of the Scottish bagpipes, nowshrill and harsh, as threatening vengeance on the foe, then in softertones, seeming to promise succour to their friends in need. Never, surely, was there such a scene as that which followed. Not aheart in the residency of Lucknow but bowed itself before God. All, byone simultaneous impulse, fell upon their knees, and nothing was heardbut bursting sobs and the murmured voice of prayer. Then all arose, andthere rang out from a thousand lips a great shout of joy, whichresounded far and wide, and lent new vigour to that blessed pibroch. To our cheer of "God save the Queen, " they replied by the well-knownstrain that moves every Scot to tears, "Should auld acquaintance beforgot. " After that, nothing else made any impression on me. I scarcelyremember what followed. Jessie was presented to the general on hisentrance into the fort, and at the officers' banquet her health wasdrunk by all present, while the pipers marched around the table, playingonce more the familiar air of "Auld Lang Syne. " "Letter from an officer's wife. " THE SONG IN CAMP "Give us a song!" the soldiers cried, The outer trenches guarding, When the heated guns of the camps allied Grew weary of bombarding. The dark Redan, in silent scoff, Lay, grim and threatening, under; And the tawny mound of the Malakoff No longer belched its thunder. There was a pause. A guardsman said: "We storm the forts to-morrow; Sing while we may, another day Will bring enough of sorrow. " They lay along the battery's side, Below the smoking cannon: Brave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde, And from the banks of Shannon. They sang of love, and not of fame; Forgot was Britain's glory: Each heart recalled a different name, But all sang "Annie Laurie. " Voice after voice caught up the song, Until its tender passion Rose like an anthem, rich and strong, -- Their battle-eve confession. Dear girl, her name he dared not speak, But, as the song grew louder, Something upon the soldier's cheek Washed off the stains of powder. Beyond the darkening ocean burned The bloody sunset's embers, While the Crimean valleys learned How English love remembers. And once again a fire of hell Rained on the Russian quarters, With scream of shot, and burst of shell, And bellowing of the mortars! And Irish Nora's eyes are dim For a singer, dumb and gory; And English Mary mourns for him Who sang of "Annie Laurie. " Sleep, soldiers! still in honoured rest Your truth and valour wearing: The bravest are the tenderest, -- The loving are the daring. BAYARD TAYLOR AFTERGLOW After the clangour of battle There comes a moment of rest, And the simple hopes and the simple joys And the simple thoughts are best. After the victor's pæan, After the thunder of gun, There comes a lull that must come to all Before the set of the sun. Then what is the happiest memory? Is it the foe's defeat? Is it the splendid praise of a world That thunders by at your feet? Nay, nay, to the life-worn spirit The happiest thoughts are those That carry us back to the simple joys And the sweetness of life's repose. A simple love and a simple trust And a simple duty done, Are truer torches to light to death Than a whole world's victories won. WILFRED CAMPBELL KING RICHARD AND SALADIN Saladin led the way to a splendid pavilion where was everything thatroyal luxury could devise. De Vaux, who was in attendance, then removedthe long riding-cloak which Richard wore, and he stood before Saladin inthe close dress which showed to advantage the strength and symmetry ofhis person, while it bore a strong contrast to the flowing robes whichdisguised the thin frame of the Eastern monarch. It was Richard'stwo-handed sword that chiefly attracted the attention of the Saracen--abroad straight blade, the seemingly unwieldy length of which extendedwellnigh from the shoulder to the heel of the wearer. "Had I not, " said Saladin, "seen this brand flaming in the front ofbattle, like that of Azrael, I had scarce believed that human arm couldwield it. Might I request to see the Melech Ric strike one blow with itin peace and in pure trial of strength?" "Willingly, noble Saladin, " answered Richard; and looking around forsomething whereon to exercise his strength, he saw a steel mace, held byone of the attendants, the handle being of the same metal, and about aninch and a half in diameter. This he placed on a block of wood. The glittering broadsword, wielded by both his hands, rose aloft to theking's left shoulder, circled round his head, descended with the sway ofsome terrific engine, and the bar of iron rolled on the ground in twopieces, as a woodman would sever a sapling with a hedging-bill. "By the head of the Prophet, a most wonderful blow!" said the Soldan, critically and accurately examining the iron bar which had been cutasunder; and the blade of the sword was so well tempered as to exhibitnot the least token of having suffered by the feat it had performed. Hethen took the king's hand, and looking on the size and muscular strengthwhich it exhibited, laughed as he placed it beside his own, so lank andthin, so inferior in brawn and sinew. "Ay, look well, " said De Vaux in English, "it will be long ere your longjackanape's fingers do such a feat with your fine gilded reaping-hookthere. " "Silence, De Vaux, " said Richard; "by Our Lady, he understands orguesses thy meaning--be not so broad, I pray thee. " The Soldan, indeed, presently said: "Something I would fain attempt, though wherefore should the weak show their inferiority in presence ofthe strong? Yet, each land hath its own exercises, and this may be newto the Melech Ric. " So saying, he took from the floor a cushion of silkand down, and placed it upright on one end. "Can thy weapon, my brother, sever that cushion?" he said to King Richard. "No, surely, " replied the king; "no sword on earth, were it theExcalibur of King Arthur, can cut that which opposes no steadyresistance to the blow. " "Mark, then, " said Saladin; and tucking up the sleeve of his gown, showed his arm, thin indeed and spare, but which constant exercise hadhardened into a mass consisting of nought but bone, brawn, and sinew. Heunsheathed his scimitar, a curved and narrow blade, which glittered notlike the swords of the Franks, but was, on the contrary, of a dull bluecolour, marked with ten millions of meandering lines, which showed howanxiously the metal had been welded by the armourer. Wielding thisweapon, apparently so inefficient when compared to that of Richard, theSoldan stood resting his weight upon his left foot, which was slightlyadvanced; he balanced himself a little as if to steady his aim, then, stepping at once forward, drew the scimitar across the cushion, applyingthe edge so dexterously and with so little apparent effort, that thecushion seemed rather to fall asunder than to be divided by violence. "It is a juggler's trick, " said De Vaux, darting forward and snatchingup the portion of the cushion which had been cut off, as if to assurehimself of the reality of the feat; "there is gramarye in this. " The Soldan seemed to comprehend him, for he undid the sort of veil whichhe had hitherto worn, laid it double along the edge of his sabre, extended the weapon edgeways in the air, and drawing it suddenly throughthe veil, although it hung on the blade entirely loose, severed thatalso into two parts, which floated to different sides of the tent, equally displaying the extreme temper and sharpness of the weapon andthe exquisite dexterity of him who used it. "Now, in good faith, my brother, " said Richard, "thou art even matchlessat the trick of the sword, and right perilous were it to meet thee. Still, however, I put some faith in a downright English blow, and whatwe cannot do by sleight we eke out by strength. Nevertheless, in truththou art as expert in inflicting wounds as my sage Hakim in curing them. I trust I shall see the learned leech; I have much to thank him for, andhad brought some small present. " As he spoke, Saladin exchanged his turban for a Tartar cap. He had nosooner done so, than De Vaux opened at once his extended mouth and hislarge round eyes, and Richard gazed with scarce less astonishment, whilethe Soldan spoke in a grave and altered voice: "The sick man, sayeth thepoet, while he is yet infirm, knoweth the physician by his step; butwhen he is recovered, he knoweth not even his face when he looks uponhim. " "A miracle!--a miracle!" exclaimed Richard. "Of Mahound's working, doubtless, " said Thomas de Vaux. "That I should lose my learned Hakim, " said Richard, "merely by absenceof his cap and robe, and that I should find him again in my royalbrother Saladin!" "Such is oft the fashion of the world, " answered the Soldan: "thetattered robe makes not always the dervish. " SCOTT: "The Talisman. " ENGLAND'S DEAD Son of the Ocean Isle! Where sleep your mighty dead? Show me what high and stately pile Is reared o'er Glory's bed. Go, stranger! track the deep-- Free, free, the white sail spread! Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep, Where rest not England's dead. On Egypt's burning plains, By the pyramid o'erswayed, With fearful power the noonday reigns, And the palm trees yield no shade;-- But let the angry sun From heaven look fiercely red, Unfelt by those whose task is done!-- There slumber England's dead. The hurricane hath might Along the Indian shore, And far by Ganges' banks at night, Is heard the tiger's roar;-- But let the sound roll on! It hath no tone of dread For those that from their toils are gone, -- There slumber England's dead. Loud rush the torrent-floods The Western wilds among, And free, in green Columbia's woods, The hunter's bow is strung;-- But let the floods rush on! Let the arrow's flight be sped! Why should they reck whose task is done?-- There slumber England's dead. The mountain-storms rise high In the snowy Pyrenees, And toss the pine-boughs through the sky Like rose-leaves on the breeze;-- But let the storm rage on! Let the fresh wreaths be shed! For the Roncesvalles' field is won, -- There slumber England's dead. On the frozen deep's repose 'Tis a dark and dreadful hour, When round the ship the ice-fields close, And the northern night-clouds lower;-- But let the ice drift on! Let the cold-blue desert spread! Their course with mast and flag is done, Even there sleep England's dead. The warlike of the isles, The men of field and wave! Are not the rocks their funeral piles, The seas and shores their grave? Go, stranger! track the deep-- Free, free the white sail spread! Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep, Where rest not England's dead. FELICIA HEMANS HOHENLINDEN On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat, at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery. By torch and trumpet fast arrayed Each horseman drew his battle-blade, And furious every charger neighed, To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then rushed the steed to battle driven, And louder than the bolts of heaven, Far flashed the red artillery. But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stainèd snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, Shout in their sulph'rous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry! Few, few, shall part where many meet! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. THOMAS CAMPBELL THE DREAM OF THE OAK TREE There stood in a wood, high on the bank near the open sea-shore, such agrand old oak tree! It was three hundred and sixty-five years old; butall this length of years had seemed to the tree scarcely more than somany days appear to us men and women, boys and girls. A tree's life is not quite the same as a man's: we wake during the day, and sleep and dream during the night; but a tree wakes throughout threeseasons of the year, and has no sleep till winter comes. The winter isits sleeping time--its night after the long day which we call spring, summer, and autumn. It was just at the holy Christmas-tide that the oak tree dreamed hismost beautiful dream. He seemed to hear the church-bells ringing allaround, and to feel as if it were a mild, warm summer day. Fresh andgreen he reared his mighty crown on high, and the sunbeams played amonghis leaves. As in a festive procession, all that the tree had beheld inhis life now passed by. Knights and ladies, with feathers in their caps and hawks perching ontheir wrists, rode gaily through the wood; dogs barked, and the huntsmansounded his bugle. Then came foreign soldiers in bright armour and gay vestments, bearingspurs and halberds, setting up their tents, and presently taking themdown again. Then watch-fires blazed up and bands of wild outlaws sang, revelled, and slept under the tree's outstretched boughs; or happylovers met in quiet moonlight and carved their initials on the grayishbark. At one time a guitar and an Æolian harp had been hung among the oldoak's boughs by merry travelling apprentices; now they hung there again, and the wind played sweetly with their strings. And now the dream changed. A new and stronger current of life flowedthrough him, down to his lowest roots, up to his highest twigs, even tothe very leaves. The tree felt in his roots that a warm life stirred inthe earth, and that he was growing taller and taller; his trunk shot upmore and more, his crown grew fuller; and still he soared and spread. He felt that his power grew, too, and he longed to advance higher andhigher to the warm, bright sun. Already he towered above the clouds, which drifted below him, now like atroop of dark-plumaged birds of passage, now like flocks of large, whiteswans. The stars became visible by daylight, so large and bright, eachone sparkling like a mild, clear eye. It was a blessed moment! and yet, in the height of his joy, the oak treefelt a desire and longing that all the other trees, bushes, herbs, andflowers of the wood might be lifted up with him to share in his gloryand gladness. He could not be fully blessed unless he might have all, small and great, blessed with him. The tree's crown bowed itself as though it had missed something, andlooked backward. Then he felt the fragrance of honeysuckle and violets, and fancied he could hear the birds. And so it was! for now peeped forththrough the clouds the green summits of the wood; the other trees belowhad grown and lifted themselves up likewise; bushes and herbs shot highinto the air, some tearing themselves loose from their roots to mountthe faster. Like a flash of white lightning the birch, moving fastest of all, shotupward its slender stem. Even the feathery brown reeds had pierced theirway through the clouds, and the birds sang and sang, and on the grassthat fluttered to and fro like a streaming ribbon perched thegrasshopper, while cockchafers hummed and bees buzzed. All was music andgladness. "But the little blue flower near the water--I want that, too, " said theoak; "and the bellflower, and the dear little daisy. " "We are here! weare here!" chanted sweet low voices on all sides. "But the pretty anemones, and the bed of lilies of the valley, and allthe flowers that bloomed so long ago, --would that they were here!" "Weare here! we are here!" was the answer, and it seemed to come from theair above, as if they had fled upward first. "Oh, this is too great happiness!" exclaimed the oak tree; and now hefelt that his own roots were loosening themselves from the earth. "Thisis best of all, " he said. "Now no bounds shall detain me. I can soar tothe heights of light and glory, and I have all my dear ones with me. " Such was the oak tree's Christmas dream. And all the while a mightystorm swept the sea and land; the ocean rolled his heavy billows on theshore, the tree cracked, and was rent and torn up by the roots at thevery moment when he dreamed that he was soaring to the skies. Next day the sea was calm again, and a large vessel that had weatheredthe storm hoisted all its flags for Merry Christmas. "The tree isgone--the old oak tree, our beacon! How can its place ever be supplied?"said the crew. This was the tree's funeral eulogium, while the Christmashymn re-echoed from the wood. HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN(Adapted) A PRAYER The day returns and brings us the petty round of irritating concerns andduties. Help us to play the man, help us to perform them with laughterand kind faces; let cheerfulness abound with industry. Give us to goblithely on our business all this day, bring us to our resting bedsweary and content and undishonoured; and grant us in the end the gift ofsleep. R. L. STEVENSON [Illustration: IN THE PASTURE] THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs, the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light, and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood? Alas! they all are in their graves, the gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of ours. The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November rain Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones again. The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow; But on the hill the goldenrod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen. And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home, When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. BRYANT 'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER 'Tis the last rose of summer Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone; No flower of her kindred, No rosebud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes, Or give sigh for sigh. I'll not leave thee, thou lone one! To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them. Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead. So soon may I follow, When friendships decay, And from Love's shining circle The gems drop away. When true hearts lie withered, And fond ones are flown, Oh! who would inhabit This bleak world alone! MOORE A ROMAN'S HONOUR The Romans had suffered a terrible defeat in B. C. 251, and Regulus, afamous soldier and senator, had been captured and dragged into Carthagewhere the victors feasted and rejoiced through half the night, andtestified their thanks to their god by offering in his fires the bravestof their captives. Regulus himself was not, however, one of these victims. He was kept aclose prisoner for two years, pining and sickening in his loneliness;while, in the meantime, the war continued, and at last a victory sodecisive was gained by the Romans, that the people of Carthage werediscouraged, and resolved to ask terms of peace. They thought that noone would be so readily listened to at Rome as Regulus, and theytherefore sent him there with their envoys, having first made him swearthat he would come back to his prison, if there should neither be peacenor an exchange of prisoners. They little knew how much more atrue-hearted Roman cared for his city than for himself--for his wordthan for his life. Worn and dejected, the captive warrior came to the outside of the gatesof his own city and there paused, refusing to enter. "I am no longer aRoman citizen, " he said; "I am but the barbarian's slave, and the Senatemay not give audience to strangers within the walls. " His wife, Marcia, ran out to greet him, with his two sons, but he didnot look up, and received their caresses as one beneath their notice, asa mere slave, and he continued, in spite of all entreaty, to remainoutside the city, and would not even go to the little farm he had lovedso well. The Roman Senate, as he would not come in to them, came out to holdtheir meeting in the Campagna. The ambassadors spoke first; then Regulus, standing up, said, as onerepeating a task: "Conscript fathers, being a slave to theCarthaginians, I come on the part of my masters to treat with youconcerning peace and an exchange of prisoners. " He then turned to goaway with the ambassadors, as a stranger might not be present at thedeliberations of the Senate. His old friends pressed him to stay andgive his opinion as a senator, who had twice been consul; but he refusedto degrade that dignity by claiming it, slave as he was. But, at thecommand of his Carthaginian masters, he remained, though not taking hisseat. Then he spoke. He told the senators to persevere in the war. He said hehad seen the distress of Carthage, and that a peace would be only to heradvantage, not to that of Rome, and therefore he strongly advised thatthe war should continue. Then, as to the exchange of prisoners, theCarthaginian generals, who were in the hands of the Romans, were in fullhealth and strength, whilst he himself was too much broken down to befit for service again; and, indeed, he believed that his enemies hadgiven him a slow poison, and that he could not live long. Thus heinsisted that no exchange of prisoners should be made. It was wonderful, even to Romans, to hear a man thus pleading againsthimself; and their chief priest came forward and declared that, as hisoath had been wrested from him by force, he was not bound by it toreturn to his captivity. But Regulus was too noble to listen to this fora moment. "Have you resolved to dishonour me?" he said. "I am notignorant that death and the extremest tortures are preparing for me; butwhat are these to the shame of an infamous action, or the wounds of aguilty mind? Slave as I am to Carthage, I have still the spirit of aRoman. I have sworn to return. It is my duty to go; let the gods takecare of the rest. " The Senate decided to follow the advice of Regulus, though they bitterlyregretted his sacrifice. His wife wept and entreated in vain that theywould detain him--they could merely repeat their permission to him toremain; but nothing could prevail with him to break his word, and heturned back to the chains and death he expected, as calmly as if he hadbeen returning to his home. This was in the year B. C. 249. CHARLOTTE M. YONGE: "Book of Golden Deeds. " THE FIGHTING TÉMÉRAIRE It was eight bells ringing, For the morning watch was done, And the gunner's lads were singing, As they polished every gun. It was eight bells ringing, And the gunner's lads were singing For the ship she rode a-swinging, As they polished every gun. _Oh! to see the linstock lighting, Téméraire! Téméraire! Oh! to hear the round shot biting, Téméraire! Téméraire! Oh! to see the linstock lighting, And to hear the round shot biting, For we're all in love with fighting On the Fighting Téméraire. _ It was noontide ringing, And the battle just begun, When the ship her way was winging, As they loaded every gun. It was noontide ringing When the ship her way was winging, And the gunner's lads were singing, As they loaded every gun. _There'll be many grim and gory, Téméraire! Téméraire! There'll be few to tell the story, Téméraire! Téméraire! There'll be many grim and gory, There'll be few to tell the story, But we'll all be one in glory With the Fighting Téméraire. _ There's a far bell ringing At the setting of the sun, And a phantom voice is singing Of the great days done. There's a far bell ringing, And a phantom voice is singing Of renown for ever clinging To the great days done. _Now the sunset breezes shiver, Téméraire! Téméraire! And she's fading down the river, Téméraire! Téméraire! Now the sunset breezes shiver, And she's fading down the river, But in England's song for ever She's the Fighting Téméraire. _ HENRY NEWBOLT DON QUIXOTE'S FIGHT WITH THE WINDMILLS "I beseech your worship, Sir Knight-errant, " quoth Sancho to his master, "be sure you don't forget what you promised me about the island; for Idare say I shall make shift to govern it, let it be never so big. " "You must know, friend Sancho, " replied Don Quixote, "that it has beenthe constant practice of knights-errant in former ages to make theirsquires governors of the islands or kingdoms they conquered. " As they were thus discoursing, they discovered some thirty or fortywindmills that are in that plain; and as soon as the knight had spiedthem, "Fortune, " cried he, "directs our affairs better than we ourselvescould have wished: look yonder, friend Sancho, there are at least thirtyoutrageous giants, whom I intend to encounter; and having deprived themof life, we will begin to enrich ourselves with their spoils; for theyare lawful prize; and the extirpation of that cursed brood will be anacceptable service to Heaven. " "What giants?" quoth Sancho Panza. "Those whom thou seest yonder, " answered Don Quixote, "with their longextended arms; some of that detested race have arms of so immense asize, that sometimes they reach two leagues in length. " "Pray look better, sir, " quoth Sancho; "those things yonder are nogiants, but windmills, and the arms you fancy, are their sails, whichbeing whirled about by the wind, make the mill go. " "'Tis a sign, " cried Don Quixote, "thou art but little acquainted withadventures! I tell thee, they are giants; and therefore if thou artafraid, go aside and say thy prayers, for I am resolved to engage in adreadful unequal combat against them all. " This said, he clapped spursto his horse Rozinante, without giving ear to his squire Sancho, whobawled out to him, and assured him that they were windmills, and nogiants. But he was so fully possessed with a strong conceit of thecontrary, that he did not so much as hear his squire's outcry, nor washe sensible of what they were, although he was already very near them;far from that: "Stand, cowards, " cried he, as loud as he could; "standyour ground, ignoble creatures, and fly not basely from a single knight, who dares encounter you all!" At the same time, the wind rising, the mill-sails began to move, whichwhen Don Quixote spied, "Base miscreants, " cried he, "though you movemore arms than the giant Briareus, you shall pay for your arrogance. " He most devoutly recommended himself to his Lady Dulcinea, imploring herassistance in this perilous adventure; and, so covering himself with hisshield, and couching his lance, he rushed with Rozinante's utmost speedupon the first windmill he could come at, and running his lance into thesail, the wind whirled it about with such swiftness, that the rapidityof the motion presently broke the lance into shivers, and hurled awayboth knight and horse along with it, till down he fell, rolling a goodway off in the field. Sancho Panza ran as fast as his ass could drive to help his master, whomhe found lying, and not able to stir, such a blow had he and Rozinantereceived. "Mercy o' me!" cried Sancho, "did not I give your worship fairwarning? Did not I tell you they were windmills, and that nobody couldthink otherwise, unless he had also windmills in his head!" "Peace, friend Sancho, " replied Don Quixote: "there is nothing sosubject to the inconstancy of fortune as war. I am verily persuaded thatcursed necromancer, Freston, who carried away my study and my books, hastransformed these giants into windmills to deprive me of the honour ofthe victory; such is his inveterate malice against me; but in the end, all his pernicious wiles and stratagems shall prove ineffectual againstthe prevailing edge of my sword. " "Amen, say I, " replied Sancho. And so heaving him up again upon his legs, once more the knight mountedpoor Rozinante, that was half shoulder-slipped with his fall. This adventure was the subject of their discourse, as they made the bestof their way towards the pass of Lapice, for Don Quixote took that road, believing he could not miss of adventure in one so mightily frequented. However, the loss of his lance was no small affliction to him; and as hewas making his complaint about it to his squire, "I have read, " said he, "friend Sancho, that a certain Spanish knight, having broken his swordin the heat of an engagement, pulled up by the roots a huge oak tree, orat least tore down a massy branch, and did such wonderful execution, crushing and grinding so many Moors with it that day, that he wonhimself and his posterity the surname of The Pounder, or Bruiser. I tellthee this, because I intend to tear up the next oak or holm tree wemeet; with the trunk whereof I hope to perform such wondrous deeds thatthou wilt esteem thyself particularly happy in having had the honour tobehold them, and been the ocular witness of achievements which posteritywill scarce be able to believe. " "Heaven grant you may, " cried Sancho; "I believe it all, because yourworship says it. But, an't please you, sit a little more upright in yoursaddle; you ride sideling methinks; but that, I suppose, proceeds fromyour being bruised by the fall. " "It does so, " replied Don Quixote; "and if I do not complain of thepain, it is because a knight-errant must never complain of his wounds. " "Then I have no more to say, " quoth Sancho; "and yet Heaven knows myheart, I should be glad to hear your worship groan a little now and thenwhen something ails you: for my part, I shall not fail to bemoan myselfwhen I suffer the smallest pain, unless, indeed, it can be proved thatthe rule of not complaining extends to the squires as well as knights. " Don Quixote could not forbear smiling at the simplicity of his squire;and told him he gave him leave to complain not only when he pleased, butas much as he pleased, whether he had any cause or no; for he had neveryet read anything to the contrary in any books of chivalry. CERVANTES: "The Adventures of Don Quixote. " THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST Little Ellie sits alone 'Mid the beeches of a meadow, By a stream-side on the grass, And the trees are showering down Doubles of their leaves in shadow, On her shining hair and face. She has thrown her bonnet by, And her feet she has been dipping In the shallow water's flow. Now she holds them nakedly In her hands, all sleek and dripping, While she rocketh to and fro. Little Ellie sits alone, And the smile she softly uses, Fills the silence like a speech, While she thinks what shall be done, -- And the sweetest pleasure chooses For her future within reach. Little Ellie in her smile Chooses . .. "I will have a lover, Riding on a steed of steeds! He shall love me without guile, And to _him_ I will discover The swan's nest among the reeds. "And the steed shall be red-roan, And the lover shall be noble, With an eye that takes the breath. And the lute he plays upon, Shall strike ladies into trouble, As his sword strikes men to death. "And the steed it shall be shod All in silver, housed in azure; And the mane shall swim the wind; And the hoofs along the sod Shall flash onward and keep measure, Till the shepherds look behind. "But my lover will not prize All the glory that he rides in, When he gazes in my face. He will say: 'O Love, thine eyes Build the shrine my soul abides in, And I kneel here for thy grace. ' "Then, ay, then--he shall kneel low, With the red-roan steed anear him Which shall seem to understand-- Till I answer: 'Rise and go!' For the world must love and fear him Whom I gift with heart and hand. "Then he will arise so pale, I shall feel my own lips tremble With a _yes_ I must not say, Nathless maiden-brave, 'Farewell, ' I will utter, and dissemble-- 'Light to-morrow with to-day. ' "Then he'll ride among the hills To the wide world past the river, There to put away all wrong; To make straight distorted wills, And to empty the broad quiver Which the wicked bear along. "Three times shall a young foot-page Swim the stream and climb the mountain And kneel down beside my feet-- 'Lo, my master sends this gage, Lady, for thy pity's counting! What wilt thou exchange for it?' "And the first time, I will send A white rosebud for a guerdon, -- And the second time, a glove; But the third time--I may bend From my pride, and answer: 'Pardon, If he comes to take my love. ' "Then the young foot-page will run-- Then my lover will ride faster, Till he kneeleth at my knee: 'I am a duke's eldest son! Thousand serfs do call me master, -- But, O Love, I love but _thee!_' "He will kiss me on the mouth Then, and lead me as a lover Through the crowds that praise his deeds: And, when soul-tied by one troth, Unto _him_ I will discover That swan's nest among the reeds. " Little Ellie, with her smile Not yet ended, rose up gaily, Tied the bonnet, donned the shoe, And went homeward, round a mile, Just to see, as she did daily, What more eggs were with the two. Pushing through the elm tree copse, Winding up the stream, light-hearted, Where the osier pathway leads-- Past the boughs she stoops--and stops. Lo, the wild swan had deserted, -- And a rat had gnawed the reeds. Ellie went home sad and slow. If she found the lover ever, With his red-roan steed of steeds, Sooth I know not! but I know She could never show him--never, That swan's nest among the reeds. E. B. BROWNING [Illustration: DEEP SEA FISHERS] MOONLIGHT SONATA It happened at Bonn. One moonlight winter's evening I called uponBeethoven; for I wished him to take a walk, and afterwards sup with me. In passing through a dark, narrow street, he suddenly paused. "Hush!" hesaid, "what sound is that? It is from my Sonata in F. Hark! how well itis played!" It was a little, mean dwelling, and we paused outside and listened. Theplayer went on; but, in the midst of the finale, there was a suddenbreak; then the voice of sobbing: "I cannot play any more. It is toobeautiful; it is utterly beyond my power to do it justice. Oh! whatwould I not give to go to the concert at Cologne!" "Ah! my sister, " said her companion; "why create regrets when there isno remedy? We can scarcely pay our rent. " "You are right, and yet I wish for once in my life to hear some reallygood music. But it is of no use. " Beethoven looked at me. "Let us go in, " he said. "Go in!" I exclaimed. "What can we go in for?" "I will play to her, " he said, in an excited tone. "Here isfeeling--genius--understanding! I will play to her, and she willunderstand it. " And before I could prevent him his hand was upon the door. It opened andwe entered. A pale young man was sitting by the table, making shoes, and near him, leaning sorrowfully upon an old-fashioned piano, sat a young girl, witha profusion of light hair falling over her face. "Pardon me, " said Beethoven, "but I heard music and was tempted toenter. I am a musician. " The girl blushed, and the young man looked grave and somewhat annoyed. "I--I also overheard something of what you said, " continued my friend. "You wish to hear--that is, you would like--that is--shall I play foryou?" There was something so odd in the whole affair, and something so comicaland pleasant in the manner of the speaker, that the spell was broken ina moment. "Thank you!" said the shoemaker; "but our piano is so wretched, and wehave no music. " "No music!" echoed my friend; "how, then, does the young lady--" hepaused and coloured; for, as he looked in the girl's face, he saw thatshe was blind. "I--I entreat your pardon, " he stammered. "I had notperceived before. Then you play by ear? But when do you hear the music, since you frequent no concerts?" "We lived at Bruhl for two years, and while there I used to hear a ladypractising near us. During the summer evenings her windows weregenerally open, and I walked to and fro outside to listen to her. " She seemed so shy that Beethoven said no more, but seated himselfquietly before the piano and began to play. He had no sooner struck thefirst chord than I knew what would follow. Never, during all the years Iknew him, did I hear him play as he then played to that blind girl andher brother. He seemed to be inspired; and, from the instant that hisfingers began to wander along the keys, the very tones of theinstrument seemed to grow sweeter and more equal. The brother and sister were silent with wonder and rapture. The formerlaid aside his work; the latter, with her head bent slightly forward, and her hands pressed tightly over her breast, crouched down near theend of the piano, as if fearful lest even the beating of her heartshould break the flow of those magical sounds. Suddenly the flame of the single candle wavered, sank, flickered, andwent out. Beethoven paused, and I threw open the shutters, admitting aflood of brilliant moonlight. The room was almost as light as before, the moon rays falling strongest upon the piano and the player. His headdropped upon his breast; his hands rested upon his knees; he seemedabsorbed in deep thought. He remained thus for some time. At length theyoung shoemaker arose and approached him eagerly. "Wonderful man!" he said, in a low tone. "Who and what are you?" "Listen!" said Beethoven, and he played the opening bars of the Sonatain F. A cry of recognition burst from them both, and exclaiming: "Thenyou are Beethoven!" they covered his hands with tears and kisses. He rose to go, but we held him back with entreaties. "Play to us once more--only once more!" He suffered himself to be led back to the instrument. The moon shonebrightly in through the window, and lighted up his glorious, rugged headand massive figure. "I will improvise a Sonata to the Moonlight!" said he, looking upthoughtfully to the sky and stars. Then his hands dropped on the keys, and he began playing a sad and infinitely lovely movement, which creptgently over the instrument, like the calm flow of moonlight over thedark earth. This was followed by a wild, elfin passage in triple time--asort of grotesque interlude, like the dance of spirits upon the lawn. Then came a swift agitato finale--a breathless, hurrying, tremblingmovement, descriptive of flight, and uncertainty, and vague impulsiveterror, which carried us away on its rustling wings, and left us all inemotion and wonder. "Farewell to you!" said Beethoven, pushing back his chair, and turningtowards the door--"farewell to you!" "You will come again?" asked they in one breath. He paused and looked compassionately, almost tenderly, at the face ofthe blind girl. "Yes, yes, " he said hurriedly, "I will come again, and give the younglady some lessons! Farewell! I will come again!" Their looks followed us in silence more eloquent than words till we wereout of sight. "Let us make haste back, " said Beethoven, "that I may write out thatSonata while I can yet remember it. " We did so, and he sat over it till long past day dawn. And this was theorigin of the Moonlight Sonata with which we are all so fondlyacquainted. UNKNOWN THE RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD Black beneath as the night, With wings of a morning glow, From his sooty throat three syllables float, Ravishing, liquid, low; And 'tis oh, for the joy of June, And the bliss that ne'er can flee From that exquisite call, with its sweet, sweet fall-- O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee! Long ago as a child, From the bough of a blossoming quince, That melody came to thrill my frame, And whenever I've caught it since, The spring-soft blue of the sky And the spring-bright bloom of the tree Are a part of the strain--ah, hear it again!-- O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee! And the night is tenderly black, The morning eagerly bright, For that old, old spring is blossoming In the soul and in the sight. The red-winged blackbird brings My lost youth back to me, When I hear in the swale, from a gray fence rail, O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee! ETHELWYN WETHERALD TO THE CUCKOO Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove! Thou messenger of spring! Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome sing. What time the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear. Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year? Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet From birds among the bowers. The school-boy, wandering through the wood To pull the primrose gay, Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear, And imitates thy lay. What time the pea puts on the bloom, Thou fliest thy vocal vale, An annual guest in other lands, Another spring to hail. Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year! Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! We'd make, with joyful wing, Our annual visit o'er the globe, Companions of the Spring. JOHN LOGAN THE STORY OF A STONE A great many years ago, when nearly the whole of Canada was covered withwater, and the Northern Ocean, which washed the highest crests of theAlleghanies, made an island of the Laurentian Hills, and wrote its nameon the Pictured Rocks of Lake Superior, there lived somewhere nearToronto, in the Province of Ontario, a little animal called a Polyp. Hewas a curious creature, very small, not unlike a flower in appearance, aplant-animal. One day, the sun shone down into the water and set this little fellowfree from the egg in which he was confined. For a time he floated aboutnear the bottom of the ocean, but at last settled down on a bit ofshell, and fastened himself to it. Then he made an opening in his upperside, formed for himself a mouth and stomach, thrust out a whole row offeelers, and began catching whatever morsels of food came in his way. Hehad a great many strange ways, but the strangest of all was hisgathering little bits of limestone from the water and building them upround him, as a person does who builds a well. But this little Favosite, for that was his name, became lonesome on thebottom of that old ocean; so one night, when he was fast asleep anddreaming as only a coral animal can dream, there sprouted out of hisside another little Favosite, who very soon began to wall himself up ashis parent had done. From these, other little Favosites were formed, till at last there were so many of them, and they were so crowdedtogether, that, to economize the limestone they built with, they had tomake their cells six-sided, like those of a honey-comb: on this accountthey are called Favosites. [Illustration] The colony thrived for a long time, and accumulated quite a stock oflimestone. But at last a change came: there was a great rush of muddywater from the land, and all the Favosites died, leaving only a stonyskeleton to prove that industrious Polyps had ever existed there. This skeleton remained undisturbed for ages, until the earth began torise inch by inch out of the water. Then our Favosites' home rose abovethe deep, and with it came all that was left of its old acquaintancesthe Trilobites, who were the ancestors of our crabs and lobsters. [Illustration: Trilobite] Then the first fishes made their appearance, great fierce-lookingfellows like the gar pike of our lakes, but larger, and armed withscales as hard as the armour of a crocodile. Next came the sharks, assavage and voracious as they now are, with teeth like knives. But thetime of these old fishes and of many more animals came and went, andstill the home of the Favosites lay in the ground. Then came the long, hot, damp epoch, when thick mists hung over theearth, and great ferns and rushes, as stout as an oak and as tall as asteeple, grew in Nova Scotia, in Pennsylvania, and in other parts ofAmerica where coal is now found. Huge reptiles, with enormous jaws andteeth like cross-cut saws, and smaller ones with wings like bats, nextappeared and added to the strangeness of the scene. But the reptiles died; the ferns and the rush-trees fell into theirnative swamps, and were covered up and packed away under great layers ofclay and sand brought down by the rivers, till at last they were turnedinto coal, forming for us, what someone has called, beds of petrifiedsunshine. But all this while the skeleton of the Favosites layundisturbed. Then the mists cleared away as gradually as they had come, the sun shoneout, the grass grew, and strange four-footed animals came and fed uponit. Among these were odd-looking little horses no bigger than foxes;great hairy monsters larger than elephants, with tremendous tusks; hogswith snouts nearly as long as their bodies; and other strange creaturesthat no man has ever seen alive. But still the house of the Favositesremained where it was. Next came the great winter, and it continued to snow till the mountainswere hidden. Then the snow was packed into ice, and Canada became onesolid glacier. This ice age continued for many thousands of years. At last the ice began to melt, and the glacier came slowly down theslopes, tearing up rocks, little and big, and crushing and grinding andcarrying away everything in its course. It ploughed its way acrossOntario, and the skeleton of our Favosites was rooted out from the quietplace where it had lain so long, and was caught up in a crevice of theice. The glacier slid along, melting all the while, and covering theland with clay, pebbles, and boulders. At last it stopped, and as itgradually melted away, all the rocks and stones and dirt it had carriedwith it thus far, were deposited into one great heap, and the home ofthe Favosites along with them. Ages afterwards a farmer, near Toronto, when ploughing a field, pickedup a curious bit of "petrified honey-comb, " and gave it to a geologistto hear what he would say about it. And now you have read what he said. D. B. THE SNOW-STORM The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon. A chill no coat, however stout, Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, A hard, dull bitterness of cold, That checked, mid-vein, the circling race Of life-blood in the sharpened face, The coming of the snow-storm told. The wind blew east: we heard the roar Of Ocean on his wintry shore, And felt the strong pulse throbbing there Beat with low rhythm our inland air. Meanwhile we did our nightly chores, -- Brought in the wood from out of doors, Littered the stalls, and from the mows Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows: Heard the horse whinnying for his corn; And, sharply clashing horn on horn, Impatient down the stanchion rows The cattle shake their walnut bows; While, peering from his early perch Upon the scaffold's pole of birch, The cock his crested helmet bent And down his querulous challenge sent. Unwarmed by any sunset light The gray day darkened into night, A night made hoary with the swarm And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, As zigzag wavering to and fro Crossed and recrossed the wingèd snow: And ere the early bed-time came The white drift piled the window-frame, And through the glass the clothes-line posts Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. So all night long the storm roared on: The morning broke without a sun; And, when the second morning shone, We looked upon a world unknown, On nothing we could call our own. Around the glistening wonder bent The blue walls of the firmament, No cloud above, no earth below, -- A universe of sky and snow! The old familiar sights of ours Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, Or garden wall, or belt of wood; A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, A fenceless drift what once was road; The bridle-post an old man sat With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; The well-curb had a Chinese roof; And even the long sweep, high aloof, In its slant splendour, seemed to tell Of Pisa's leaning miracle. A prompt, decisive man, no breath Our father wasted: "Boys, a path!" Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy Count such a summons less than joy?) Our buskins on our feet we drew; With mittened hands, and caps drawn low To guard our necks and ears from snow, We cut the solid whiteness through. And, where the drift was deepest made A tunnel walled and overlaid With dazzling crystal: we had read Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave, And to our own his name we gave, With many a wish the luck were ours To test his lamp's supernal powers. We reached the barn with merry din, And roused the prisoned brutes within. The old horse thrust his long head out, And grave with wonder gazed about; The cock his lusty greeting said, And forth his speckled harem led; The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, And mild reproach of hunger looked; The hornèd patriarch of the sheep, Like Egypt's Amun roused from sleep, Shook his sage head with gesture mute, And emphasized with stamp of foot. All day the gusty north wind bore The loosening drift its breath before; Low circling round its southern zone, The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. WHITTIER: "Snow-bound. " THE HEROINE OF VERCHÈRES Verchères was a fort on the south shore of the St. Lawrence, abouttwenty miles below Montreal. A strong block-house stood outside thefort, and was connected with it by a covered way. On the morning of thetwenty-second of October, (1692) the inhabitants were at work in thefields, and nobody was left in the place but two soldiers, two boys, anold man of eighty, and a number of women and children. The commandantwas on duty at Quebec; his wife was at Montreal; and their daughter, Madeline, fourteen years of age, was at the landing-place not far fromthe gate of the fort, with a man-servant. Suddenly she heard firing from the direction where the settlers were atwork, and an instant after the servant called out: "Run, miss!--run!here come the Indians!" She turned and saw forty or fifty of them at thedistance of a pistol-shot. She ran to the fort as quickly as possible, while the bullets whistled about her ears, and made the time seem verylong. As soon as she was near enough to be heard, she cried out: "Toarms!--to arms!" hoping that somebody would come out and help her; butit was of no use. The two soldiers in the fort were so scared that theyhad hidden in the block-house. When she had seen certain breaches in the palisade stopped, she went tothe block-house, where the ammunition was kept; and there she found thetwo soldiers, one hiding in a corner, and the other with a lighted matchin his hand. "What are you going to do with that match?" she asked. He answered:"Light the powder and blow us all up. " "You are a miserable coward!"said she. "Go out of this place. " She then threw off her bonnet, put ona hat, and taking a gun in her hand she said to her two brothers: "Letus fight to the death. We are fighting for our country and ourreligion. " The boys, who were ten and twelve years old, aided by the soldiers, whomher words had inspired with some little courage, began to fire from theloop-holes on the Indians, who, ignorant of the weakness of thegarrison, showed their usual reluctance to attack a fortified place, andoccupied themselves with chasing and butchering the people in theneighbouring fields. Madeline ordered a cannon to be fired, partly todeter the enemy from an assault, and partly to warn some of the soldierswho were hunting at a distance. A canoe was presently seen approaching the landing-place. In it was asettler named Fontaine, trying to reach the fort with his family. TheIndians were still near; and Madeline feared that the new-comers wouldbe killed, if something were not done to aid them. Distrusting thesoldiers, she herself went alone to the landing-place. "I thought, " she said, in her account of the affair, "that the savageswould suppose it to be a ruse to draw them towards the fort, in orderto make a sortie upon them. They did suppose so; and thus I was able tosave the Fontaine family. When they were all landed, I made them marchbefore me in full sight of the enemy. We put so bold a face on it, thatthey thought they had more to fear than we. Strengthened by thisreinforcement, I ordered that the enemy should be fired on whenever theyshowed themselves. "After sunset a violent north-east wind began to blow, accompanied withsnow and hail, which told us that we should have a terrible night. TheIndians were all this time lurking about us; and I judged by all theirmovements that, instead of being deterred by the storm, they would climbinto the fort under cover of darkness. " She then assembled her troops, who numbered six, all told, and spoke tothem encouraging words. With two old men she took charge of the fort, and sent Fontaine and the two soldiers with the women and children tothe block-house. She placed her two brothers on two of the bastions, andan old man on a third, while she herself took charge of the fourth. Allnight, in spite of wind, snow, and hail, the cry of "All's well" waskept up from the block-house to the fort, and from the fort to theblock-house. One would have supposed that the place was full ofsoldiers. The Indians thought so, and were completely deceived, as theyafterwards confessed. At last the daylight came again; and as the darkness disappeared, theanxieties of the little garrison seemed to disappear with it. Fontainesaid he would never abandon the place while Madeline remained in it. Shedeclared that she would never abandon it: she would rather die than giveit up to the enemy. She did not eat or sleep for twice twenty-four hours. She did not goonce into her father's house, but kept always on the bastion, exceptwhen she went to the block-house to see how the people there werebehaving. She always kept a cheerful and smiling face, and encouragedher little company with the hope of speedy succour. "We were a week in constant alarm, " she continues, "with the enemyalways about us. At last a lieutenant, sent by the governor, arrived inthe night with forty men. As he did not know whether the fort was takenor not, he approached as silently as possible. One of our sentinels, hearing a slight sound, cried: 'Who goes there?' I was at the timedozing, with my head on a table and my gun lying across my arms. Thesentinel told me that he heard voices from the river. I went at once tothe bastion to see whether they were Indians or Frenchmen who werethere. I asked: 'Who are you?' One of them answered: 'We are Frenchmencome to bring you help. '" "I caused the gate to be opened, placed a sentinel there, and went downto the river to meet them. As soon as I saw the lieutenant I salutedhim, and said: 'I surrender my arms to you. ' He answered gallantly:'They are in good hands, Miss. ' He inspected the fort, and foundeverything in order, and a sentinel on each bastion. 'It is time torelieve them, ' said I; 'we have not been off our bastions for a week. '" A band of converts from St. Louis arrived soon afterwards, followed thetrail of their heathen countrymen, overtook them on Lake Champlain, andrecovered twenty or more French prisoners. PARKMAN: "Frontenac and New France. "(Adapted) JACQUES CARTIER In the seaport of St. Malo, 'twas a smiling morn in May, When the Commodore Jacques Cartier to the westward sailed away; In the crowded old Cathedral, all the town were on their knees, For the safe return of kinsmen from the undiscovered seas; And every autumn blast that swept o'er pinnacle and pier, Filled manly hearts with sorrow, and gentle hearts with fear. A year passed o'er St. Malo--again came round the day, When the Commodore Jacques Cartier to the westward sailed away; But no tidings from the absent had come the way they went, And tearful were the vigils that many a maiden spent; And manly hearts were filled with gloom, and gentle hearts with fear, When no tidings came from Cartier at the closing of the year. But the earth is as the Future, it hath its hidden side, And the Captain of St. Malo was rejoicing in his pride; In the forests of the North--while his townsmen mourned his loss-- He was rearing on Mount Royal the _fleur-de-lis_ and cross; And when two months were over, and added to the year, St. Malo hailed him home again, cheer answering to cheer. He told them of a region, hard, iron-bound and cold, Nor seas of pearl abounded, nor mines of shining gold; Where the wind from Thule freezes the word upon the lip, And the ice in spring comes sailing athwart the early ship; He told them of the frozen scene, until they thrilled with fear, And piled fresh fuel on the hearth to make them better cheer. But when he changed the strain, --he told how soon is cast In early Spring, the fetters that hold the waters fast; How the Winter causeway, broken, is drifted out to sea, And the rills and rivers sing with pride the anthem of the free; How the magic wand of Summer clad the landscape to his eyes, Like the dry bones of the just when they wake in Paradise. He told them of the Algonquin braves--the hunters of the wild; Of how the Indian mother in the forest rocks her child; Of how, poor souls, they fancy in every living thing A spirit good or evil, that claims their worshipping; Of how they brought their sick and maimed for him to breathe upon; And of the wonders wrought for them, thro' the Gospel of St. John. He told them of the river, whose mighty current gave Its freshness for a hundred leagues to ocean's briny wave; He told them of the glorious scene presented to his sight, What time he reared the cross and crown on Hochelaga's height; And of the fortress cliff, that keeps of Canada the key;-- And they welcomed back Jacques Cartier from perils over sea. THOMAS D'ARCY M'GEE ANTS AND THEIR SLAVES Peter Huber, the son of the noted observer of the ways and habits ofbees, was walking one day in a field near Geneva, Switzerland, when hesaw on the ground an army of reddish-coloured ants on the march. Hedecided to follow them and to find out, if possible, the object of theirjourney. On the sides of the column, as if to keep it in order, a few of theinsects sped to and fro. After marching for about a quarter of an hour, the army halted before an ant-hill, the home of a colony of small, blackants. These swarmed out to meet the red ones, and, to Huber's surprise, a combat, short but fierce, took place at the foot of the hill. A small number of the blacks fought bravely to the last, but the restsoon fled, panic-stricken, through the gates farthest from thebattle-field, carrying away some of their young. They seemed to know itwas the young ants that the invaders were seeking. The red warriorsquickly forced their way into the tiny city and returned, loaded withchildren of the blacks. Carrying their living booty, the kidnappers left the pillaged town andstarted toward their home, whither Huber followed them. Great was hisastonishment when, at the threshold of the red ants' dwelling, he sawnumbers of black ants come forward to receive the young captives and towelcome them--children of their own race, doomed to be bond-servants ina strange land. Here, then, was a miniature city, in which strong red ants lived inpeace with small black ones. But what was the province of the latter?Huber soon discovered that, in fact, these did all the work. They alonewere able to build the houses in which both races lived; they alonebrought up the young red ants and the captives of their own species;they alone gathered the supplies of food, and waited upon and fed theirbig masters, who were glad to have their little waiters feed them soattentively. The masters themselves had no occupation except that of war. When notraiding some village of the blacks, the red soldiers did nothing butwander lazily about. Huber wanted to learn what would be the result if the red ants foundthemselves without servants. Would the big creatures know how to supplytheir own needs? He put a few of the red insects in a glass case, havingsome honey in a corner. They did not go near it. They did not knowenough to feed themselves. Some of them died of starvation, with foodbefore them. Then he put into the case one black ant. It went straightto the honey, and with it fed its big, starving, silly masters. Here wasa wonder, truly! The little blacks exert in many things a moral force whose signs areplainly visible. For example, those tiny wise creatures will not givepermission to any of the great red ones to go out alone. Nor are theseat liberty to go out even in a body, if their small helpers fear astorm, or if the day is far advanced. When a raid proves fruitless, thesoldiers coming back without any living booty are forbidden by theblacks to enter the city, and are ordered to attack some other village. Not wishing to rely entirely on his own conclusions, Huber asked one ofthe great naturalists of Switzerland, Jurine, to decide whether or notmistakes had been made regarding these customs of the ants. Thiswitness, and indeed others, found that Huber's reports were true. "Yet, after all, " says Huber, "I still doubted. But on a later day Iagain saw in the park of Fontainebleau, near Paris, the same workings ofant life and wisdom. A well-known naturalist was with me then, and hisconclusions were the same as mine. "It was half-past four in the afternoon of a very warm day. From a pileof stones there came forth a column of about five hundred reddish ants. They marched rapidly toward a field of turf, order in their ranks beingkept by their sergeants. These watched the flanks, and would not permitany to straggle. "Suddenly the army disappeared. There was no sign of an ant-hill in theturf, but, after awhile, we detected a little hole. Through this theants had vanished. We supposed it was an entrance to their home. In aminute they showed us that our supposition was incorrect. They issued ina throng, nearly every one of them carrying a small black captive. "From the short time they had taken, it was plain that they knew theplace and the weakness of its citizens. Perhaps it was not the reds'first attack on this city of the little blacks. These swarmed out ingreat numbers; and, truly, I pitied them. They did not attempt to fight. They seemed terror-stricken, and made no attempt to oppose the warriorants, except by clinging to them. One of the marauders was stopped thus, but a comrade that was free relieved him of his burden, and thereuponthe black ant let go his grasp. "It was in fact a painful sight. The soldiers succeeded in carrying offnearly five hundred children. About three feet from the entrance to theant-hill the plundered black parents ceased to follow the red robbers, and resigned themselves to the loss of their young. The whole raid didnot occupy more than ten minutes. "The parties were, as we have seen, very unequal in strength, and theattack was clearly an outrage--an outrage no doubt often repeated. Thebig red ants, knowing their power, played the part of tyrants; and, whenever they wanted more slaves, despoiled the small weak blacks oftheir greatest treasures--their children. " MICHELET LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT Lead, kindly Light, amid th' encircling gloom, Lead Thou me on; The night is dark, and I am far from home, Lead Thou me on. Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene; one step enough for me. I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou Shouldst lead me on; I loved to choose and see my path; but now Lead Thou me on. I loved the garish day; and, spite of fears, Pride ruled my will: remember not past years. So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still Will lead me on O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till The night is gone, And with the morn those angel faces smile, Which I have loved long since, and lost a while. NEWMAN THE JOLLY SANDBOYS The Jolly Sandboys was a small road-side inn with a sign, representingthree Sandboys, creaking and swinging on its post on the opposite sideof the road. As the travellers had observed many indications of theirdrawing nearer to the race town, such as gypsy camps, showmen of variouskinds, and beggars and trampers of every degree, Mr. Codlin was fearfulof finding the accommodation forestalled; but had the gratification offinding that his fears were without foundation, for the landlord wasleaning against the door-post, looking lazily at the rain which hadbegun to descend heavily. "Make haste in out of the wet, Tom, " said the landlord; "when it came onto rain I told 'em to make the fire up, and there's a glorious blaze inthe kitchen, I can tell you. " Mr. Codlin followed with a willing mind. A mighty fire was blazing onthe hearth and roaring up the wide chimney with a cheerful sound, whicha large iron cauldron, bubbling and simmering in the heat, lent itspleasant aid to swell. There was a deep red ruddy blush upon the room, and when the landlord stirred the fire, sending the flame skipping andleaping up--when he took off the lid of the iron pot and there rushedout a savoury smell, while the bubbling sound grew deeper and more rich, and an unctuous steam came floating out, hanging in a delicious mistabove their heads--when he did this, Mr. Codlin's heart was touched. He sat down in the chimney-corner and smiled. Mr. Codlin sat smiling in the chimney-corner, eyeing the landlord aswith a roguish look he held the cover in his hand, and feigning that hisdoing so was needful to the welfare of the cookery, suffered thedelightful steam to tickle the nostrils of his guest. The glow of thefire was upon the landlord's bald head, and upon his twinkling eye, andupon his watering mouth, and upon his pimpled face, and upon his roundfat figure. Mr. Codlin drew his sleeve across his lips, and said in amurmuring voice: "What is it?" "It's a stew of tripe, " said the landlord, smacking his lips, "andcow-heel, " smacking them again, "and bacon, " smacking them once more, "and steak, " smacking them for the fourth time, "and peas, cauliflowers, new potatoes, and sparrow-grass, all working up together in onedelicious gravy. " Having come to the climax, he smacked his lips a greatmany times, and taking a long, hearty sniff of the fragrance that washovering about, put on the cover again with the air of one whose toilson earth were over. "At what time will it be ready?" asked Mr. Codlin, faintly. "It'll be done to a turn, " said the landlord looking up to theclock--and the very clock had a colour in its fat white face, and lookeda clock for Jolly Sandboys to consult--"it'll be done to a turn attwenty-two minutes before eleven. " Mr. Codlin now bethought him of his companions, and acquainted mine hostof the Sandboys that his partner Short, Nell and her grandfather mightshortly be looked for. At length they arrived drenched with rain andpresenting a most miserable appearance. But their steps were no soonerheard upon the road than the landlord, who had been at the outer dooranxiously watching for their coming, rushed into the kitchen and tookthe cover off. The effect was electrical. They all came in with smilingfaces though the wet was dripping from their clothes upon the floor, andShort's first remark was: "What a delicious smell!" It is not very difficult to forget rain and mud by the side of acheerful fire, and in a bright room. They were furnished with slippersand such dry garments as the house or their own bundles afforded, andseating themselves, as Mr. Codlin had already done, in the warmchimney-corner, soon forgot their late troubles or only remembered themas enhancing the delights of the present time. Strange footsteps were now heard without, and fresh company entered. These were no other than four very dismal dogs, who came pattering inone after the other, headed by an old bandy dog of particularly mournfulaspect, who, stopping when the last of his followers had got as far asthe door, erected himself upon his hind legs and looked round at hiscompanions, who immediately stood upon their hind legs, in a grave andmelancholy row. Nor was this the only remarkable circumstance aboutthese dogs, for each of them wore a kind of little coat of some gaudycolour trimmed with tarnished spangles, and one of them had a cap uponhis head, tied very carefully under his chin, which had fallen down uponhis nose and completely obscured one eye; add to this, that the gaudycoats were all wet through and discoloured with rain, and that thewearers were splashed and dirty, and some idea may be formed of theunusual appearance of these new visitors to the Jolly Sandboys. Neither Short nor the landlord nor Thomas Codlin, however, was in theleast surprised, merely remarking that these were Jerry's dogs, and thatJerry could not be far behind. So there the dogs stood, patientlywinking and gaping and looking extremely hard at the boiling pot, untilJerry himself appeared, when they all dropped down at once, and walkedabout the room in their natural manner. This posture, it must beconfessed, did not much improve their appearance, as their own personaltails and their coat tails--both capital things in their way--did notagree together. Jerry, the manager of these dancing dogs, was a tall black-whiskered manin a velveteen coat, who seemed well known to the landlord and hisguests and accosted them with great cordiality. Disencumbering himselfof a barrel organ which he placed upon a chair, and retaining in hishand a small whip wherewith to awe his company of comedians, he came upto the fire to dry himself, and entered into conversation. "Your people don't usually travel in character, do they?" said Short, pointing to the dresses of the dogs. "It must come expensive, if theydo. " "No, " replied Jerry, "no, it's not the custom with us. But we've beenplaying a little on the road to-day, and we come out with a new wardrobeat the races, so I didn't think it worth while to stop to undress. Down, Pedro!" This was addressed to the dog with the cap on, who, being a new memberof the company, and not quite certain of his duty, kept his unobscuredeye anxiously on his master, and was perpetually starting up on his hindlegs when there was no occasion, and falling down again. The landlord now busied himself in laying the cloth, in which processMr. Codlin obligingly assisted by setting forth his own knife and forkin the most convenient place and establishing himself behind them. Wheneverything was ready, the landlord took off the cover for the last time, and then, indeed, there burst forth such a goodly promise of supper, that if he had offered to put it on again or had hinted at postponement, he would certainly have been sacrificed on his own hearth. However, he did nothing of the kind, but instead assisted a stoutservant girl in turning the contents of the cauldron into a largetureen; a proceeding which the dogs, proof against various hot splasheswhich fell upon their noses, watched with terrible eagerness. At lengththe dish was lifted on the table, and mugs of ale having been previouslyset round, little Nell ventured to say grace, and supper began. At this juncture the poor dogs were standing on their hind legs quitesurprisingly; the child, having pity on them, was about to cast somemorsels of food to them before she tasted it herself, hungry though shewas, when their master interposed. "No, my dear, no, not an atom from anybody's hand but mine if youplease. That dog, " said Jerry, pointing out the old leader of the troop, and speaking in a terrible voice, "lost a halfpenny to-day. _He_ goeswithout his supper. " The unfortunate creature dropped upon his forelegs directly, wagged histail, and looked imploringly at his master. "You must be more careful, sir, " said Jerry, walking coolly to the chairwhere he had placed the organ, and setting the stop. "Come here. Now, sir, you play away at that, while we have supper, and leave off if youdare. " The dog immediately began to grind most mournful music. His master, having shown him the whip, resumed his seat and called up the others, who, at his directions, formed in a row, standing upright as a file ofsoldiers. "Now, gentlemen, " said Jerry, looking at them attentively: "The dogwhose name's called, eats. The dogs whose names an't called, keep quiet. Carlo. " The lucky individual whose name was called, snapped up the morsel throwntowards him, but none of the others moved a muscle. In this manner theywere fed at the discretion of their master. Meanwhile the dog indisgrace ground hard at the organ, sometimes in quick time, sometimes inslow, but never leaving off for an instant. When the knives and forksrattled very much, or any of his fellows got an unusually large piece offat, he accompanied the music with a short howl, but he immediatelychecked it on his master looking round, and applied himself withincreased diligence to the Old Hundredth. DICKENS: "Old Curiosity Shop. " So, when a great man dies, For years beyond our ken, The light he leaves behind him lies Upon the paths of men. LONGFELLOW THE GLADNESS OF NATURE Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, When our mother Nature laughs around; When even the deep blue heavens look glad, And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground? There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren, And the gossip of swallows through all the sky; The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den, And the wilding bee hums merrily by. The clouds are at play in the azure space, And their shadows at play on the bright green vale, And here they stretch to the frolic chase, And there they roll on the easy gale. There's a dance of leaves on that aspen bower, There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray, On the leaping waters and gay young isles; Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away. BRYANT OLD ENGLISH LIFE When the sun rose on England of olden time, its faint red light stirredevery sleeper from the sack of straw, which formed the only bed of theage. Springing from this rustling couch, where he had lain naked, andthrowing off the coarse coverlets, usually of sheepskin, the subject ofKing Alfred donned the day's dress. Gentlemen wore linen or woollentunics, which reached to the knee; and, over these, long fur-linedcloaks, fastened with a brooch of ivory or gold. Strips of cloth orleather, bandaged crosswise from the ankle to the knee over red and bluestockings; and black, pointed shoes, slit along the instep almost to thetoes and fastened with two thongs, completed the costume of anAnglo-Saxon gentleman. The ladies, wrapping a veil of linen or silk upontheir delicate curls, laced a loose-flowing gown over a tight-sleevedbodice, and pinned the graceful folds of their mantles with goldenbutterflies and other tasteful trinkets. Breakfast consisted probably of bread, meat, and ale, but was a lighterrepast than that taken when the hurry of the day lay behind. Often itwas eaten in the bower or private apartment. The central picture in Old English life--the great event of the day--was_Noon-meat_, or dinner in the great hall. A little before three, thechief and all his household, with any stray guests who might havedropped in, met in the hall, which stood in the centre of its encirclingbowers--the principal apartment of every Old English house. Clouds ofwood smoke, rolling up from a fire which blazed in the middle of thefloor, blackened the carved rafters of the arched roof before they foundtheir way out of the hole above which did duty as a chimney. Tapestries, dyed purple, or glowing with variegated pictures of saintsand heroes, hung, and if the day was stormy, flapped upon the chinkywalls. In palaces and in earls' mansions coloured tiles, wrought into amosaic, formed a clean and pretty pavement; but the common flooring ofthe time was clay, baked dry with the heat of winter evenings and summernoons. The only articles of furniture always in the hall were woodenbenches; some of which, especially the _high settle_ or seat of thechieftain, boasted cushions, or at least a rug. While the hungry crowd, fresh from woodland and furrow, were loungingnear the fire or hanging up their weapons on the pegs and hooks thatjutted from the wall, a number of slaves, dragging in a long, flat, heavy board, placed it on movable legs, and spread on its upper half ahandsome cloth. Then were arranged with other utensils for the meal someflattish dishes, baskets of ash-wood for holding bread, a scantysprinkling of steel knives shaped like our modern razors, platters ofwood, and bowls for the universal broth. The ceremony of "laying the board, " as the Old English phrased it, beingcompleted, the work of demolition began. Great round cakes ofbread--huge junks of boiled bacon--vast rolls of broiled eel--cups ofmilk--horns of ale--wedges of cheese--lumps of salt butter--and smokingpiles of cabbages and beans, melted like magic from the board under theunited attack of greasy fingers and grinding jaws. Kneeling slavesoffered to the lord and his honoured guests long skewers or spits, onwhich steaks of beef or venison smoked and sputtered, ready for thehacking blade. Poultry, too, and game of every variety, filled the spaces of the upperboard; but the crowd of _loaf-eaters_, as old English domestics weresuggestively called, saw little of these daintier kinds of food, exceptthe naked bones. Nor did they much care, if, to their innumerablehunches of bread, they could add enough pig to appease their hunger. Hounds, sitting eager-eyed by their masters, snapped with sudden jaws atscraps of fat flung to them, or retired into private life below theboard with some sweet bone that fortune sent them. The solid part of the banquet ended with the washing of hands, performedfor the honoured occupants of the high settle by officious slaves. Theboard was then dragged out of the hall; the loaf-eaters slunk away tohave a nap in the byre, or sat drowsily in corners of the hall; and thedrinking began. During the progress of the meal, Welsh ale had flowedfreely in horns or vessels of twisted glass. Mead and, in very grandhouses, wine now began to circle in goblets of gold and silver, or ofwood inlaid with those precious metals. In humbler houses, story-tellingand songs, sung to the music of the harp by each guest in turn, formedthe principal amusement of the drinking-bout. Meantime the music and the mead did their work in maddening brains; therevelry grew louder; riddles, which had flown thick around the board atfirst, gave place to banter, taunts, and fierce boasts of prowess; angryeyes gleamed defiance; and it was well if, in the morning, the householdslaves had not to wash blood-stains from the pavement of the hall, or inthe still night, when the drunken brawlers lay stupid on the floor, todrag a dead man from the red plash in which he lay. From the reek and riot of the hall the ladies of the household soonwithdrew to the bower, where they reigned supreme. There, in the earlierpart of the day, they had arrayed themselves in their bright-colouredrobes, plying tweezers and crisping-irons on their yellow hair, andoften heightening the blush that Nature gave them with a shade of rouge. There, too, they used to scold their female slaves, and beat them, witha violence which said more for their strength of lung and muscle thanfor the gentleness of their womanhood. When their needles were fairly set a-going upon those pieces of delicateembroidery, known and prized over all Europe as "English work, " somegentlemen dropped in, perhaps harp in hand, to chat and play for theiramusement, or to engage in games of hazard and skill, which seem to haveresembled modern dice and chess. When in later days supper came intofashion, the round table of the bower was usually spread for_Evening-food_, as this meal was called. And not long afterwards, thosebags of straw, from which they sprang at sunrise, received for anothernight their human burden, worn out with the labours and the revels ofthe day. W. F. COLLIER(Adapted) PUCK'S SONG See you the dimpled track that runs, All hollow through the wheat? O that was where they hauled the guns That smote King Philip's fleet. See you our little mill that clacks, So busy by the brook? She has ground her corn and paid her tax Ever since Domesday Book. See you our stilly woods of oak, And the dread ditch beside? O that was where the Saxons broke, On the day that Harold died. See you the windy levels spread About the gates of Rye? O that was where the Northmen fled, When Alfred's ships came by. See you our pastures wide and lone, Where the red oxen browse? O there was a City thronged and known, Ere London boasted a house. And see you, after rain, the trace Of mound and ditch and wall? O that was a Legion's camping-place, When Caesar sailed from Gaul. And see you marks that show and fade, Like shadows on the Downs? O they are the lines the Flint Men made To guard their wondrous towns. Trackway and Camp and City lost, Salt Marsh where now is corn; Old Wars, old Peace, old Arts that cease, And so was England born! She is not any common Earth, Water or wood or air, But Merlin's Isle of Gramarye, Where you and I will fare. KIPLING: "Puck of Pook's Hill. " THE BATTLE OF QUEENSTON HEIGHTS The thirteenth of October, 1812, is a day ever to be remembered inCanada. All along the Niagara river the greatest excitement hadprevailed: many of the inhabitants had removed with their portableproperty into the back country; small bodies of soldiers, regulars andvolunteers, were posted in the towns and villages; Indians were rovingin the adjacent woods; and sentinels, posted along the banks of theriver, were looking eagerly for the enemy that was to come from theAmerican shore and attempt the subjugation of a free, a happy, and aloyal people. In the village of Queenston, that nestles at the foot of an eminenceoverlooking the mighty waters of Niagara, two companies of theForty-ninth Regiment, or "Green Tigers, " as the Americans afterwardstermed them, with one hundred Canadian militia, were posted under thecommand of Captain Dennis. When tattoo sounded on the night of the twelfth, the little garrisonretired to rest. All was silent but the elements, which raged furiouslythroughout the night. Nothing was to be heard but the howling of thewind and the sound of falling rain mingled with the distant roar of thegreat cataract. Dripping with rain and shivering with cold, the sentriespaced their weary rounds, from time to time casting a glance over theswollen tide of the river towards the American shore. At length, whenthe gray dawn of morning appeared, a wary sentinel descried a number ofboats, filled with armed men, pushing off from the opposite bank belowthe village of Lewiston. Immediately the alarm was given. The soldierswere roused from their peaceful slumbers, and marched down to thelanding-place. Meanwhile, a battery of one gun, posted on the heights, and another about a mile below, began to play on the enemy's boats, sinking some and disabling others. Finding it impossible to effect a landing in the face of suchopposition, the Americans, leaving a few of their number to occupy theattention of the troops on the bank, disembarked some distance up theriver, and succeeded in gaining the summit of the height by a difficultand unprotected pathway. With loud cheers they captured the one-gunbattery, and rushed down upon Captain Dennis and his command; who, finding themselves far outnumbered by the enemy, retired slowly towardsthe north end of the village. Here they were met by General Brock, whohad set out in advance of reinforcements from the town of Niagara, accompanied only by two officers. Placing himself at the head of thelittle band, the gallant general cried: "Follow me!" and, amid thecheers of regulars and militia, he led his men back to the height fromwhich they had been forced to retire. At the foot of the hill thegeneral dismounted, under the sharp fire of the enemy's riflemen, whowere posted among the trees on its summit, climbed over a high stonewall, and waving his sword, charged up the hill at the head of hissoldiers. This intrepid conduct at once attracted the notice of theenemy. One of their sharp-shooters advanced a few paces, took deliberateaim, and shot the general in the breast. It was a mortal wound. Thusfell Sir Isaac Brock, the hero of Upper Canada, whose name will outlivethe noble monument which a grateful country has erected to his memory. The fall of their beloved commander infuriated his followers. With loudcheers of "Revenge the general!" they pressed forward up the hill, anddrove the enemy from their position. But reinforcements were continuallypouring in from the American shore; and after a deadly struggle, inwhich Colonel Macdonell, Captain Dennis, and most of the other officersfell, these brave men were again compelled to retire. They took refugeunder the guns of the lower battery, there awaiting the arrival ofreinforcements from Niagara. About mid-day the first of these arrived, consisting of a band of fifty Mohawks, under their chiefs, Norton andBrant. These Indian allies boldly engaged the enemy, and maintained fora short time a sharp skirmish, but finally retired on the mainreinforcement. This arrived in the course of the afternoon, under thecommand of Major-General Sheaffe. Instead of meeting the enemy on theold ground, the officer now in command moved his whole force of onethousand men to the right of the enemy's position, and sent forward hisleft flank to attack the American right. This left flank was of a veryvaried character, consisting of one company of the Forty-first Regimentof the line, a company of coloured men, and a body of volunteer militiaand Indians, united, in spite of their difference of colour and race, byloyalty to the British crown and heart-hatred of foreign aggression. This division advanced in gallant style. After delivering a volley, thewhole line of white, red, and black charged the enemy, and drove in hisright wing at the point of the bayonet. General Sheaffe now led on the main body, and forced the latelyvictorious Americans to retreat rapidly over the ridge. The struggle ontheir part was of short duration. In front was a foe thirsting forrevenge; behind, the steep banks and swiftly-flowing waters of Niagara. The "Green Tigers, " the Indians, their most despised slaves, and last, but certainly not least, the gallant Canadian militia, were objects ofterror to them. Some few in despair threw themselves over the precipicesinto the river; but the majority of the survivors surrendered themselvesprisoners of war, to the number of nine hundred and fifty, among whomwas their commander, General Wadsworth. The leader of the expedition, General Van Rensselaer, had retired to Lewiston--as he said, forreinforcements--in the early part of the day. The loss of the Americansin this memorable action was about five hundred killed and wounded;while that of the Canadian forces amounted to one hundred and fifty. Throughout Canada the news of the victory of Queenston Heights awakeneduniversal joy and enthusiasm, second only to that with which the takingof Detroit was hailed. But the joy and enthusiasm were damped by the sadtidings, that he who had first taught Canada's sons the way to victoryhad given his life for her defence, and slept in a soldier's grave withmany of her best and bravest. UNKNOWN THE BUGLE SONG The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. TENNYSON CHARITY Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have notcharity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And thoughI have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and allknowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could removemountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow allmy goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, andhave not charity, it profiteth me nothing. Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charityvaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoicethnot in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charitynever faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whetherthere be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shallvanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when thatwhich is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, Ithought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now Iknow in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And nowabideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these ischarity. I. CORINTHIANS, XIII. A CHRISTMAS CAROL "What means this glory round our feet, " The Magi mused, "more bright than morn?" And voices chanted clear and sweet, "To-day the Prince of Peace is born. " "What means that star, " the Shepherds said, "That brightens through the rocky glen?" And angels, answering overhead, Sang, "Peace on earth, good-will to men!" 'Tis eighteen hundred years and more Since those sweet oracles were dumb; We wait for Him, like them of yore; Alas, He seems so slow to come! But it was said, in words of gold No time or sorrow e'er shall dim, That little children might be bold In perfect trust to come to Him. All round about our feet shall shine A light like that the wise men saw, If we our living wills incline To that sweet Life which is the Law. So shall we learn to understand The simple faith of shepherds then, And, clasping kindly, hand in hand, Sing, "Peace on earth, good-will to men. " And they who do their souls no wrong, But keep at eve the faith of morn, Shall daily hear the angel song, "To-day the Prince of Peace is born!" LOWELL THE BARREN LANDS Long before the treeless wastes are reached, the forests cease to beforests except by courtesy. The trees--black and white spruce, theCanadian larch, and the gray pine, willow, alder, etc. --have anappearance of youth; so that the traveller would hardly suppose them tobe more than a few years old, at first sight. Really this juvenileappearance is a species of second childhood; for, on the shores of theGreat Bear Lake, four centuries are necessary for the growth of a trunknot as thick as a man's wrist. The further north the more lamentablydecrepit becomes the appearance of these woodlands, until, presently, their sordidness is veiled by thick growths of gray lichens--the"caribou moss, " as it is called--which clothe the trunks and hang downfrom the shrivelled boughs. And still further north the trees becomemere stunted stems, set with blighted buds that have never been able todevelop themselves into branches; until, finally, the last vestiges ofarboreal growth take refuge under a thick carpet of lichens and mosses, the characteristic vegetation of the Barren Grounds. Nothing more dismal than the winter aspect of these wastes can beimagined. The Northern forests are silent enough in winter time, but thesilence of the Barren Grounds is far more profound. Even in the depthsof midwinter the North-Western bush has voices and is full of animallife. The barking cry of the crows (these birds are the greatestimaginable nuisance to the trapper, whose baits they steal even beforehis back is turned) is still heard; the snow-birds and other smallwinged creatures are never quiet between sunset and sunrise; thejack-rabbit, whose black bead-like eye betrays his presence among thesnow-drifts in spite of his snow-white fur, is common enough; and thechildlike wailing of the coyotes is heard every night. But with theexception of the shriek of the snow-owl or the yelping of a fox emergedfrom his lair, there is no sound of life during seven or eight or ninemonths of winter on the Barren Grounds; unless the traveller is able tohear the rushing sound--some can hear it, others cannot--of the shiftingNorthern lights. In May, however, when the snows melt and the swamps begin to thaw, theBarren Grounds become full of life. To begin with, the sky is literallydarkened with enormous flights of wild-fowl, whom instinct brings fromthe southern reaches of the Mississippi and its tributaries to thesesub-Arctic wildernesses, where they find an abundance of food, and atthe same time build their nests and rear their young in safety. Thesnow-geese are the first to arrive; next come the common and eider-duck;after them the great northern black-and-red-throated divers; and last ofall the pin-tail and the long-tail ducks. Some of these go no furtherthan just beyond the outskirts of the forest region; others, flyingfurther northward, lay their eggs in the open on the moss. Eagles andhawks prey on these migratory hosts; troops of ptarmigan (they are saidto go to no place where the mercury does not freeze) seek food among thestunted willows on the shores of the lakes and sloughs; and in sunnyweather the snow-bunting's song is heard. Soon after the arrival of the migratory birds the wilderness becomesnewly clothed in green and gray. The snow, which never once thaws duringthe long winter, forms a safe protection for vegetable life. As soon as the lengthening summer's day has thawed this coverlet ofsnows, vegetation comes on at a surprising rate--a week's sunshine onthe wet soil completely transforming the aspect of the country. It isthen that the caribou leave their winter quarters in the forest regionand journey to the Barren Grounds. Just as the prairies might have been called "Buffalo-land" thirty yearsago, and the intervening enforested country may still be styled"Moose-land"--not that the moose is nearly so common in Saskatchewan andAthabaska as it was before the rebellion of 1885 opened up thatcountry--so from the hunter's point of view "Caribou-land" would be anexceedingly apt name for the _tundra_ of Greater Canada. Only theIndians and the Eskimos (the former living on the confines of theforests, and the latter along the far Arctic coasts) visit theseterritories, and but for the presence of the vast herds of caribou, itis pretty certain that such mosquito-haunted wastes would never betrodden by man. It is true that the musk-ox is an important inhabitantof the wastes, but the numbers of that strange beast, which seems to behalf sheep, half ox, are not nearly so great, and there are reasons tobelieve that it is being slowly but surely driven from its ancientpastures by the caribou, just as, in so many parts of the world, thenations of the antelope have receded before the deer-tribes. E. B. OSBORN: "Greater Canada. " A SPRING MORNING There was a roaring in the wind all night; The rain came heavily and fell in floods: But now the sun is rising calm and bright, The birds are singing in the distant woods, Over his own sweet voice the stock-dove broods, The jay makes answer as the magpie chatters, And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters. All things that love the sun are out of doors, The sky rejoices in the morning's birth, The grass is bright with rain-drops;--on the moors The hare is running races in her mirth; And with her feet, she from the plashy earth Raises a mist, that, glittering in the sun, Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run. WORDSWORTH For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowersappear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and thevoice of the turtle is heard in our land. SOLOMON'S SONG. II, 11, 12 CROSSING THE BAR Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar. TENNYSON