ACK?
THE IlI'ISTEI OF EDUCATION is indebted to Rudyard
Kiplin4z, Henry Newbolt, Beckles Willson, E. B. Osborn,
F. T. Bullen, Flora Annie Steel; Charles G. D. Roberts,
W. Wilfl'ed Campbell, Ethe]wyn Wethcrald, Jean Blewett,
Robert Reid, "Ralph Connor," John Waugh, S. T.
Wood ; Henry Van Dyke, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward,
and Richard Watson Gilder for special permission to
reproduce, in this Reader, selections from their writings.
He is indebted to Lord Tennyn for special per-
mission to reproduce the poems from the works of Alfred,
Lord Tennyson; to Lloyd Osbourne for permission to
reproduce the selection from the works of Robert Louis
Stevenson; and to J. F. Edgar for permission to reproduce
one of Sir James 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, Rudyard Kipling, and Flora
Annie Steel ; to Smith, Elder & Co., for the extract from
F. T. Bullen's "The Cruise of the Caehalot "; to Elkin
Mathews for Henry Nee'bolt's poem from "The Island
Race"; to Sampson Low, Marston & Company for the
extract from R. D. Blaekmore's "Lorna Doone "; to
Thomas l'elson & Sons for the extract from W. F.
Coller's " History of the British Empire" ; to Chatto and
Windus for the extract from E. B. Osborn's "Greater
Canada"; to Houghton Mifflin Company for "The
Chase" from Charles Dudley Warner's "A-Hunting of
the Deer," " Mary Elizabeth" by Mrs. Phelps Ward, and
the poems bv Celia Thaxter and by Richard Watson
Gilder; to he Century Company for Jacob A. Riis'
"The Story of a Fire" from " The Century l]lagazine";
to The Copp Clark Co., Limited, for the selections from
Charles G. D. Roberts' works; to The Westminster Co.,
Limited, for the extract from "Ralph Connor's .... Tho
Man from Glengarry."
The ]Iinister is grateful to these authors and pub-
lishers and to others, not mentioned here, through whose
courtesy he has been able to include in this Reader so
many copyright selections.
Toronto, May, 1909. "
THIRD READER
TO-DAY
go here hath been dawning
Another blue day ;
Think, wilt thou let it
Slip useless away ?
Out of Eternity
This new day is born;
Into Eterr.ity
At night will return.
Behold it aforetime
No eye ever did ;
o soon it forever
From all eyes is hid.
tIere hath been dawning
Another blue day ;
Think, wilt thou let it
lip useless away?
CARLYLE
THIRD READER
FORTUNE AND THE BEGGAR
0' day a ragged beggar was creeping along
from house to house. He carried an old wallet
in his hand, and was asking at every door for a
few cents to buy something to eat. As he was
grumbling at his lot, he kept wondering why it
was that folks who had so much money were
never satisfied but were always wanting more.
"Here," said he, "is the master of this house--
I know him well. He was alw,ys a good busi-
ness man, and he made himself wondrously rich
a long time ago. Had he been wise he would
have stopped then. He would have turned over
his business to some one else, and then he could
have spent the rest of his life in ease. But what
did he do instead? He built ships and sent
them to sea to trade with foreign lands. He
thought he would get mountains of gold.
"But there were great storms on the water;
his ships were wrecked, and his riches were
swallowed up by the waves. Now all his hopes
lie at the bottom of the sea, and his great wealth
has vanished.
2, There are many such cases. Men seem to
be never satisfied unless they gain the whole
world.
FORTUNE AND THE BEGGAE 3
"As for me, if I had only enough to eat and
to wear,I would not want anything more."
Just at that moment Fortune came down the
street. She saw the beggar and stopped. She
said to him :
" Listen! I have long wished to help you.
Hold your wallet and I will pour this gold into
it, but only on this condition: all that falls
into the wallet shall be pure gold; but every
piece that falls upon the ground 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 it too heavily."
The beggar was so glad that he could hardly
wait. lie quickly opened his wallet, and a
stream of yellow dollars poured into it. The
wallet grew heavy.
"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 only pour for ever!
"You are the richest man in the world now!"
"Jugi a little more, add just a handful or
tWO."
4 THIRD READER
"There, it's full. The wallet will burst."
" But it will hold a little, just a little mi)re I "
Another piece was added, and the wallet split.
The treasure fell upon the ground and was
turned to dust. Fortune had vanished. The"
beggar had now nothing but his empty wallet,
and it was torn from top to bottom. He was as
. poor as before.
IVaN KIRIOF
THE LARK AND THE ROOK
" GOOD-NIGHT, Sir Rook 1" 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 l"
"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 tre.
"I opened my eyes at peep of day
And saw you taking your upward way
THE LARK AND THE ROOK 5
Dreaming your fond romantic deams,
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 l'
"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 i
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 btild 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 ?"
UNowN
WttAT 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.
SIAKESPEAR
THE PICKWICK CLUB ON THE ICE
"Yov skate, of course, Winkle?" said Wardle.
"Ye-yes; oh, yes," replied Mr. Winkle. "Iw
I--am 'ather out of practice."
"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 lady said it was elegant,
and a fourth expressed her opinion that it was
"swan-like."
"I should be very happy, I'm sure," said iIr.
Winkle, reddening; "but I have no skates."
This objection was at once overruled. Trun-
dle had got a couple of pair, and the fat boy
announced that there were half a dozen more
downstairs, whereat Mr. Winkle expressed ex-
quisite delight, and looked exquisitely uncom-
fortable.
Old Wardle lec the way to a pretty large
sheet of ice; and the fat boy and Mr. Weller,
having shovelled and swept away the snow
which had fallen on it during the night, Mr.
Bob Sawyer adjusted his skates with a dexterity
which to Mr. Winkle seemed perfectly marvel-
lous, and described circles with his left leg, and
THE PICKWICK CLUB ON TI:tE ICE 7
cut figures of eight, and inscribed upon the ice,
without once stopping for breath, a great many
other pleasant and astonishing devices, to the
excessive satisfaction of Mr. Pickwi.ck, Mr.
Tupman, and the ladies; which reached a pitch
of positive enthusiasm, when old Wardle and
Benjamin Allen, assisted by the aforesaid Bob
Sawyer, performed some mystic evolutions,
which they called 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 his
skates on with the points behind, and getting
the straps into a very complicated and entangled
state, with the assistance of Mr. Snodgrass, who
knew rather less about skates than a Hindoo.
At lenoth, however, with the assistance of Mr.
Weller, the unfortunate skates were firmly
screwed and buckled on,-and Mr. Vinkle was
raised to his feet.
"Now, then, sir," said Sam in an encouraging
tone; "off vith you, and show 'era how to
do it."
"Stop, Sam, stop," said Mr. Winkle, trembling
violently, and clutching hold of Sam's arms
with the grasp of a drowning man. "How
slippery it is, Sam!"
THIRD READER
" Not an uncommon thing upon ice, sir,"
replied Mr. Weller. " Hold up, sir.""
This last observation of Mr. Weller's bore
reference to a demonstration Mr. Winkle made
at the instant, of a frantic desire to throw his
feet into 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, stag-
gering.
" I'm afeerd there's an orkard gen'lm'n in
'era, sir," replied Sam. '
"Now, Winkle," cried Mr. Pickwick, quite
unconscious that there was anything the matter.
" Come, the ladies are all anxiety."
" es "
"Yes, y , replied Mr. Winkle, with
ghastly smile. I'm comm.
" .lust a goin' to begin," said Sam. endeavour-
ing to disengage himself. " Now, sir, start off."
"Stop an instant, Sam," gasped Mr. Winkle,
clinging most affectionately to Mr. Weller. " I
find I've a couple of coats at home that I don't
want, Sam. You may have them, am."
"Thank'ee, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
" Never mind touching your hat, Sam," said
Mr. Winkle, hastily. "You needn't take your
hand awy to do that. I meant to have given
beauty. Mr. Winkle struck wildly against him,
and with a loud crash they both fell heavily
down. Mr. Pickwick ran to the spot. Bob
Sawyer had risen to his feet, but Mr. Winkle
was far too wise to do anything of the kind in
skates. I-Ie was seated on the ice making
spasmodic efforts to smile; but anguish-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 great eagerness.
"No, thank you," replied Mr. Winkle hur-
riedly.
"I really think you had better," said Allen.
"Thank you," replied Mr. Winkle "I'd
rather" not."
"What do you think, Mr. Pickwick?" in-
quired Bob Sawyer.
Mr. Pickwick was excited and indignant. He
beckoned to Mr. Weller, and said in a stern
voice:
"Take his skates off."
The command was not to be resisted. Mr.
Winkle allowed Sam to obey it in silence.
TUBAL CAIN 11
"Lift him up," said Mr. Pickwick. Sam
assisted him to rise.
ML Pickwick retired a few paces apart from
the bystanders; and, beckoning his friend to
approach, fixed a searching look upon him, and
uttered 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 rejoined his 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 !
THIRD IEADEI
Hurrah for the hand that shall vield them well,
For he shall be king and lord I"
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;
knd he made them weapons sharp and strong,
Till they shouted loud fir 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 an.ew l
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 l"
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 sangm" Hurrah for my handiwork l"
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--" HuIah 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 l"
CHARLES IACKAY
PROFESSOR FROG'S LECTURE
A toad hopped out from the line and came so
close to Bobby that he could have touched her
but for the strange spell which held him fast.
"Yes," said she; "this is one of the species.
We are very fortunate to have caught him. Now
we shall be ready to listen to Professor Rana's
remarks."
Still Bobby could not move. What were they
going to do ? In a moment there was a rustling
among the dry leaves and dozens of frogs and
toads were seen hurrying towards the pine tree.
Among them was a ponderous frog, 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. "I laid over eight
thousand eggs last night, and I have a long
journey before me. But I must stay to hear
this. We may never have such a chance again."
"Ladies and gentlemen," began the professor,
in a sonorous tone that was easily heard for
several feet, "this is a specimen of the creature
known to us as the human tadpole. You will
kindly observe his long legs. They were doubt-
less given to him for the purpose of protection.
Being possessed of a xaot mi.chievous and
THIRD EADE
reckless spirit, the species is always getting into
difficulties, and would probably become extinct
if it had not the power to run away."
" Nonsense!" said Bobby under his breath.
There -as a murmur of interest and curiosity
among the crowd. Bobby felt his legs twitch
nervously, but his power over them was gone.
" Otherwise," went on the lecturer, " he is
not at all adapted to his surroundings. Observe
how carefully we are dressed. The frogs have
the green and brown tints of their homes by the
water-side. The toads look like lumps of dirt, so
that they may not be too readily snapped up by
birds of prey. But the Boy--to call him by his
scientific name--has no such protection. Look
at this red shirt and these white trousers, and
this hat as big as a trout pool! Could anything
be more ridiculous? Even a giraffe does not
look so absurd as this."
A red flush mounted to Bobby's freckled
cheeks, but this time he did not try to speak.
"Now," said the professor, "as far as we have
been able to learn, the human tadpole is abso-
lutely useless. We are, therefore, doing no harm
in experimenting upon this specimen. There
are plenty of them, and this one will not be a
serious loss."
PROFESSOR FROG'S LECTURE 17
" Stop ! " said Bobby, so unexpectedly that
everybody jumped. " What are you going to do
with me ?"
"You will be so kind as to lie still,': said the
profeor severely. "At present you are only a
specimen."
There -as no help for it. Bobby found it
impossible to move hand or foot. He could
wriggle a little,--but that was all.
" Not only is the Boy entirely useless," went
on the professor, "but he is often what might be
called a pest, even to his own kind. He is
endured in the world for what he may become
when he is-full-grown, and even then he is
sometimes disappoiating. You are familiar with
many of his objectionable ways towards the
animal world, but I am sure you would be
surprised if you knew what a care and trouble
he frequently is to his own people. He can be
trusted to do few kinds of work. It is difficult
to keep him clean. He doesn't know how to
get his own dinner. He has a genius for
making weaker things miserable. He likes
fishing, and he longs for a gun; he collects
birds' eggs; he puts butterflies on pins; he
teases his little sisters."
THIRD READER
" Why isn't the species exterminated ?" asked
another frog angrily.
Then the toad near Bobby's ear spoke timidly:
"I think you are a little unjust, Professor. I
have known boys who were comparatively
harmless."
" It is true there may be La few, Mrs. Bufo,"
mid the professor with great politeness, "but as
a class they may be fairly set down as of very
doubtful value. Speak up, Tadpole, and say if
I have made any false statements so far."
Bobby fairly shouted in his eagerness to be
heard.
" We do work," he said. " We have to go to
schou1 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 the
results of such hard labour. Do you know how
useful even our smallest tadpoles are? Without
them this pond would be no longer beautiful,
but foul and ill-sm.elling. As for what we do
when we are grown up, modesty forbids me to
praise the frogs, but you know what a toad is
worth to mankind ? "
" No," said Bobby. " About two cents, I
gue." Bobby didn't intend to be rude. He
thought this a liberal valuation.
common house-fly ; we ask for no wages or food
or care,--and what do we get in return? Not
even protection and common kindness. If we
had places where we could live in safety, who
could tell the amount of good we might do?
Yet I would not have this poor boy hurt if a
word of mine could prevent it."
"This is a scientific meeting," observed the
professor; "and benevolent sentiments are quite
out of place. We will now proceed to notice the
delicate nervous system of the creature. Stand
closer, my friends, if you please."
" Nervous system, indeed !" said Bobby.
"Boys don't have such silly things as nerves ! "
Suddenly Bobby felt a multitude of tiny pin
pricks over the entire surface of his body. The
suffering wins not intense, but the irritation
made him squirm and wince. He could not
discover the cause of his discomfort, but at the
professor's command it suddenly ceased.
"That will do," said the frog. "Each hair
on his head is also connected with a nerve.
Pull his hair, please !"
"Oh, don't!" said Bobby.
Nobody listened to him.
than you would think, for
pulling each hair separately.
"That hurts !"
It did hurt, more
tiny hands were
When the ordeal
PROFESSOR ROG'S LECTURE
was over, Bobby heard a faint noise in the grass
as if some very small creatures were scurrying
away, but he could see nothing. He was
winking his eyes desperately to keep from
crying.
"The assistants real): go now," said the
professor; and the sound of little feet died away
in_the distance.
"How interesting this is !" murmured a plain-
looking toad who had been watching the
experiments attentively.
'" I think it's mean," protested poor Bobby,
"to keep a fellow fastened up like 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 another toad sharply.
" Perhaps you would choose a fish-hook in the
corner of your mouth? " said a voice from the
pond.
" Or one run the entire length of your body?"
came a murmur from the ground under Bobby's
head.
THIRD READER
" Wait a minute," said the professor, more
gently. " We will give you a chance to defend
yourself. It is not customary to inquire into
the moral character of specimens, but we do not
wish to be unjust. Perhaps you can explain why
you made a bonfire the very week after the toads
came out of their winter-quarters. Dozens of
lives were destroyed before that fire was put out."
" I forgot about the toads," began Bobby.
" Carelessness ! " said the professor. " Now
you may tell us why you like to throw 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 your way ? " inquired a
toad in a stern voice.
'" Because you will give me warts if I touch
you," said Bobby, pleased to think that he had
a good reason at last.
" Ignorance ! " cried the professor. " The toad
is absolutely harmless. It has about it a liquid
that might cause pain to a cut finger or a
sensitive tissue like that of the mouth or eye,
but the old story that a toad is poisonous is a
silly fable."
PROFESSOR FROG'S LECTURE 23
" Will you tell me, please," asked a toad in a
plaintive voice, "if you are the boy who, last
year, carried home some of my babies in a tin
pail and let them die ? "
'" I'm afraid I am," said Bobby, sorrowfully.
'" Do explain why you dislike us ! " said Mrs.
Bufo in such a frank fashion that Bobby feIt
that he must tell the truth.
"I suppose it's your looks," said the boy,
unable to fl'ame his answer in more polite terms.
" Well, upon my word!" interrupted the
professor. " I thought better of a boy than that.
So you pr_efer boys with pretty faces and soft,
curling hair, and nice clothes, to those who
can climb and jump and who are not afraid of a
day's tramp in the woods."
" Of course I don't," said indignant Bobby.
" I hate boys who are always thinking about
their clothes."
" Oh, you do ! " s-aid the frog. " Now answer
me a few more questions. Have you ever stolen
birds' eggs ?"
" Yes," said truthful Bobby.
" Have you collected butterflies ?"
"Yes," said Bobby.
"Have you taken nuts from the squirrels'
cupboards ?"
THIRD READER
" 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 and thoughtless and
ignorant," said the frog. " Is there any very
good reason why we should let you go ? "
Poor Bobby racked his brains to think of
something that should appeal to his 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 eyes fell with shame.
" Any better right than we have ? " came a
chorus of voices. Bobby was silent. 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, and that's something."
" If you will let me go," said Bobby, ." I'll see
that the boys don't hurt you any more."
"I felt pretty sure that we'd converted you,"
said the professor ; "and I'm going to let you go
back and preach to the heathen, as the grown
2 TIIRD READER
Root and germ have heard of her,
Coming to break
Their sleep and wake
Their hearts with every bird of her.
See I 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
HOW THE CRICKETS BROUGHT GOOD
FORTUNE
MY friend Jacques went into a baker's, shop one
day to buy a.little cake which he had fancied in
passing. He intended it for a child whose
appetite 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 he waited for his change, a little boy six
or eight years old, in poor but perfectly clean
clothes, entered the baker's shop.
ALEXANDRA
THE QUEEN MOTHLE-R
TEE CRICKETS 27
"Ma'am," said he to the baker's wife, "Mother
sent me for a loaf of bread." The woman took
from the shelf a four-pound loaf, the best one
she could find, and put it into the arms of the
little boy.
My friend Jacques then first observed the thin
and thoughtful face. of the little-fellow. It
contrasted strongly with the round, open coun-
tenance 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 ; "but mother told me
to say that she would come and speak to you
about it to-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 purchase into his
pocket, and was about to go, when he found the
child with the big loaf, whom he had supposed
to be half-way home, standing stock-still behind
him:
8 THIRD READER
"What are you doing there ?" said the baker's
wife to the child, whom she also 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 any longer, she will
think you are playing by the way, and you will
get a scolding."
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 the shoulder. "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 l
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 bakers
houses.
" It is a little bird," said the dear little fellow ;
"or perhaps the bread sings, when it bakes, as
apples do ?"
" No, indeed, little goosey ! " said the baker's
wife; " those are crickets. They sing in the
THE CRICKETS 29
bake-house because we are lighting the oven, and
they like to see the fire."
"Crickets ! " said the child ; " are they really
crickets ?"
"Yes, to be sure," said she, good-humourelly.
The child's face lighted up.
"Ma'am," said he, blushing at the boldness of
his request, "I would like it very much if you
would give me a cricket."
"A cricket," said the baker's wife, smiling;
"what in the world wodd you do with a
cricket, my little friend ? I would gladly give
you all there are in the house, to get rid of
them, they run about so."
"0, ma'am, give me one, only one, if you
please!" said the child, clasping his little thin
hands under the big loaf. " They say tha.t
crickets 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 help joining 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."
30 THIRD READER
My friend took the child, and with him tho
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 the bake-house. She made her
husband catch four, and put them into a box
with holes in the cover, so that they might
breathe. She. gave the box to the child, who
went away perfectly happy.
When he had gone, the baker's wife and my
friend gave each other a good squeeze of the
hand. "Poor little fellow!" said they both
together. Then she took down her account-
book, and, finding the page where the mother's
charges were written, made a great dash all
down the page, and then wrote at the bottom,
" Paid."
Meanwhile my friend, to lose no time, had
put up in paper all the money in his pockets,
where fortunately he had quite a sum that day,
and had begged the good wife to send it at once
to the mother of the little cricket-boy, with her
bill receipted, and a note, in which he told her
that 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 make haste. The child, with his
THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM 31
big loaf, his four crickets, and his little short
legs, could not run very fast, so that when he
reached home, he found his mother, for the first
time in many weeks, with her eyes raised from
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 things which had worked this
miracle, and I do not think he was mistaken.
Without the crickets, and his good little heart,
would this happy change have taken place in
his mvther's fortunes?
P. J. STAnL
THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM
IT was a SUl]al]aer 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.
THIRD READER
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 outl
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 Wilhehnine looks up
With wonder-waiting eyes ;
" Now tell us all about the war,
And what they fought each other for
"It was the English," Iaspar 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.
THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM 33
"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 Peter.kin.
"Why, that I cannot tell," said he,
"But 'twas a famous victory."
OUTHEY
34 THIRD READER
THE RIDE FOR LIFE
AWAY off towards the sw.amp, which they were
avoi.dil'g, the long, heart-.chilling cry of a
mothe.r-wolf qu.avered on the still night air. In
spite of herself, Mrs. Murray shivered, and the
boys looked at each other.
"There is only one," said Rarald in a low
voice to Don, but they both knew that where
the she-wolf is there is a pack not far off.
"And we will 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 potay toward the clearing
and was off at a gal.lop, 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 horses were keen to go,
so that before many minutes were over they
were half through the bush. Ranald's spi.rits
rose and he began to" take some in.terest in his
companion's observations upon the bea.uty of
the lights and shadows falling across their path.
THE IIDE FOR LIFE 35
"Look at that very dark shadow from the
spruce there, Ranald," she cried, pointing to a
deep, black turn in the road. For answer there
came from behind them the long, mournful
hunting-cry of the wolf. He was on their track.
Immeliately it xvas answered by a chgrus of
howls from the bush on the swamp side, but
still far away. There was no need of command;
the pony sprang forward with a snort and the
colt followed, and after a few minutes' running,
" passed her.
"Whow-oo-oo-oo-ow," rose the long cry of the
puysuer, sum.nmning help, and drawing nearer.
"Whw-ee-wow," came the shorter, sharper
answer from the swamp, but much nearer than
before and more in front. They were trying to
head off their prey.
Ranald tu.gged 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 will follow you." He
swung in behind the pony, who was now run-
ning for dear life and snorting with terror at
every jump.
"God preserve us! " said Ranald to himself.
He had caught sight of a dark form as it darted
through the gleam of light in front.
36 TttIRD READER
"What did you say, Rana.ld ?" 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
flashing through the bars of moonlight across
the road, and the pack follpwing hard.
"Let her go, Mrs..Murray," cried Ranald.
"Whip her and never stop." But there was no
need; the pony was wild with fear, and was
doing her best running.
Ranald meantilne was gradually holding in the
colt, and the pony drew away rapidly. But as
rapilly the wob-es were closing in behind him.
They were not nmre than a hundred yards away,
and gaining every second. Ranald, remember-
ing the suspicious nature of the brlates, loose.ned
his coat and dropped it on the road; with a
chorus of yelps they paused, then threw then_-
selves upon it, and in another minute took up
the chase.
But now the clearing was in sight. The pony
was far ahead, and :Ranald shook out his colt
with a yell. He was none too soon, for the put-
THE IIDE FOI LIFE 37
sting pack, now uttering short, shrill ye.lps,
were close at the colt's heels. Lizette, fleet as
the wind, could not shake them off. Closer
and ever closer they came, snapping and snarl-
ing. Ranald could see them over his shoulder.
A hundred yards more and he would reach his
own back lane. The leader of the pack seemed
to feel that his chances were slipping swiftly
away. With a spurt he gained upon Lizette,
reached the saddl-girths, gathered himself into
two short jumps, and sprang for the colt's
throat. Instin,ctively Ranald stood up in his
stirr.ups, and kicking his foot free, caught the
wolf under the jaw. The brute fell with a howl
under the colt's feet, and next moment they
were in the lane and safe.
The savage brutes, discouraged by their lead-
er's fall, slowed down their fierce pursuit, and
hearing the deep bay of the Macdonalds' great
deer-hound, Bugle , up at the house, they pa ,used,
sniffed the air a few minutes, then turned and
swiftly and sile.ntly slid into the dark shadows.
Ranald, knowing that they would hardly dare
enter the lane, ch.ecked the colt, and whee]ing,
watched them dippear.
"I'll have some of your hides some day," he
cried, shaking his fist after them. He hated to
be made to run.
THIRD READER
He had hardly set the colt's face homeward
when he heard something tearing down the lane
to meet him. The colt snorted, swerved, and
then dropping his ears, stood still. It was
tugle, and after him came Mrs. Murray on the
pony.
" Oh, Rana]d ! " she panted, "thank God you
are safe. I was afraid you--you--" Her voice
broke in sobs. Her hood had fallen back from
her white face, and her eyes were shining like
two stars. She laid her hand on Ranald's arm,
and her voice grew steady as she said : " Thank
God, my boy, and thank you with all my heart.
You risked your life for mine. You are a brave
fellow ! I can never forget this .t"
"Oh, pshaw!" said Ranald, awkwardly.
"You are better stuff than I ant. You came
back with Bugle. And I knew Liz could beat
the pony." Then they walked their horses
quietly to the stable, and nothing more was said
by either of them; but from that hour Ranald
had a friend ready to offer life for him, though
he did nut know it then nor till years afterward.
R.kLPH CONNOI : "The Man from Glengarry."
GREATER love hath no man than this, that a
man lay down his life for his friends.
ST. JOHN, XV. 13
IAGO0, THE BOASTER
IAGOO, THE BOASTER
A) Iagoo, the great boaster,
t]e 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 ihlsehoods.
Very boastful was Iagoo ;
l'ever 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 g':ve 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 I
40 THIRD READER
None could run so fast as he could,
None could dive so deep as he could,
None could swim so thr 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
THIP, TE.N years have passed since, but it is all
to me as if it had happened yesterday,--the
clanging of the fire-bells, the hoarse shouts of
the firemen, the wild rush and terror of the
streets; then the great hush that fell upon the
crowd; the sea of upturned faces with the fire
glow upon it; and up there, against the back-
ground of black smoke that poured from roof.
to attic, the boy qlinging to the narrow ledge,
so far up that it seemed humanly impossible
that help could ever come.
But even then it was coming. Up from the
street, while the crew of the truck company
were labouring with the heavy extension ladder
that at its longest stretch was many feet too
short, crept four men upon long, slender poles
with cross-bars, iron-hooked at the end. Stand-
ing in one window, they reached up and thrust
the hook through the next one above, then
mounted a story higher. Again the crash of
glass, and again the dizzy ascent. Straight up
the wall they crept, looking like human flies
on the ceiling, and clinging as close, never
resting, reaching one recess only to set out for
the next; nearer and nearer in the race for life,
until but a single span separated the foremost
from the boy. And now the iron hook fell at
his .feet, and the fireman stood upon the step
with the rescued lad in his arms, just as the
pent-up flames burst lurid from the attic win-
dow, reaching with impotent fury for their prey.
The next moment they were safe upon the great
ladder waiting to receive them below.
THIRD READER
Then such a shout went up l Men fell on
each other's necks, and cried and laughed at
once. Strangers slapped one another on the
back with glistening faces, shook hands, and
behaved generally like men gone suddenly mad.
Women wept in the street. The driver of a car
stalled in the crowd, who had stood through it
all speechless, clutching the reins, whipped his
horses into a gallop and drove away, yelling like
a Comanche, to relieve his feelings. The boy
and his rescuer were carried across the street
without anyone knowing how. Policemen
forgot their dignity and shouted with the rest.
Fire, peril, terror, and loss were alike forgotten
in the one ouch of nature that makes the whole
vorld kin.
Fireman John Binns was made captain of his
crew, and the Bennett medal was 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 JACKAL AND THE PARTRIDGE 45
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 behind the other. They
were both foot-sore and weary, and the first
carried his bundle on a stick over his shoulder,
,hile the second ha his shoes in his hand.
Lightly as a feather the Partridge settled on
the first traveller's stick. He, none the wiser.
trudged on; but the seeond traveller, seeing the
bird sitting so tamely jusk in front of his nose,
said to himself : "What a chance for a supper !"
and immediately flng his shoes at it, they
being ready to hand. Whereupon the Partridge
flew away, and the shoes knocked off the first
traveller's turban.
"What a plague do you mean?" cried he,
angrily turning on his compa.nion. "Why did
you throw your shoes at my head ?"
"Brother !" replied the other, mildly, "do
not be vexed. I didn't throw them 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 a great rage.
46 THIRD READER
"Don't tell me such cock-and-bull stories. First
you insult me, ad then you lie like a coward ;
but I'll teach you manners!"
Then he fell upon his fellow-traveller without
more ado, and they fought until they could not
see out of their eyes, till their noses were bleed-
ing, their clothes in rags, and the Jackal had
nearly died of laughing.
"Are you satisfied?" asked the Partridge of
her friend.
"Well," answered the Jackal, "you have
certainly made me laugh, but I doubt if you
could make me cry. It is .easy enough to be a
buffoon ; it is more difficult to excite the higher
emotions."
"Get us see," retorted the Partridge, somewhat
piqued; "there is a huntsman with his dogs
coming along the road. dust creep into that
hollow tree and watch me; if you don't weep
scalding tears, you must have no feeling in
you !"
The 3aekal did as he was bid, and watched
the Partridge, who began fluttering about the
bushes till the dogs caught sight of her, when
she flew to the hollow tree where the ,Jackal was
hidden. Of course the dogs smelled him at once,
and set up such a yelping and. scratching that
TIE JACKAL AND THE PARTRIDGE 47
the huntsman came up and, seeing what it was,
dragged the Jackal out by the tail. Whereupon
the dogs worried him to their hearts' content,
and finally left him for dead.
]3y and by he opened his eyes--for he was
only foxing--and saw the Partridge sitting on a
branch above him.
"Did you cry ?" she asked anxiously. " Did
I rouse your higher emo--"
"Ie quiet, will you !" snarled the Jackal;
"I'm halhdead with fear !"
So there the Jackal lay for some time, getting
the better of his bruises, and meanwhile he
became hungry.
" Now is the time for friendship !" said he to
the Partridge. "Get me a good dinner, and I
will acknowledge you are a tru friend."
" Very well ! " replied the Partridge ; "only
watch me, and help yourself when the time
comes."
Just then a troop of women came by, carrying
their husbands' dinners to the harvest-field.
The Partridge gave a little plaintive cry, and
began fluttering along from bush to bush as if
she were wounded.
"A wounded bird i" a wounded bird !" cried
the women ; "we can easily catch it I"
48 THIRD READER
Whereupon they set off in pursuit, but-the
cunning Partridge played thousand tricks,
till they became so excited over the chase that
they put their bundles on the ground in order
to pursue it more nimbly. The Jackal, mean-
while, seizing his opportunity, crept up, and
made off with a good dinner.
"Are you satisfied now .9" asked the Partridge.
"Well," returned the Jackal, " I confess you
have given me a very good dinner; you have
also made me laugh--and cry--ahem! But,
after all, the great test of friendship is beyond
you--you couldn't save my life ! "
"Perhaps not," acquiesced the Partridge,
mournfully. "I am so small and weak. But
it grows late--we should be going home; and
as it is a long way round by the ford, let us go
across the river. My friend, the crocodile, will
carry us over."
Accordingly, they set off for the river, and
the crocodile kindly consented to carry them
across; so they sat on his broad back, and he
ferried them over. But just as they were in the
middle of the stream the Partridge remarked:
"I believe the crocodile intends to play us a
trick. How awkward if he were to drop you
into the water!"
THE JACKAL AD THE PARTRIDGE 49
" 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 grewspme
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 should fly away, and as for
my friend, the Jackal, you couldn't hurt ]bm
He is not such a fool as to take his life with
him on these little excursions; he leaves it at
home locked up in the cupboard."
" Is that a fact?" asked the crocodile, sur-
prised.
" Certainly !" retorted the Partridge. "Try
to eat him if you like, but you will only tire
yourself to no purpose."
"Dear me! how very odd!" gasped the
crocodile; and he was so taken aback that 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 have made me cry.
4
50 THIRD READER
you have given me a good dinner, and you have
saved my life; 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
gra :
Hidden in my leafy nook, shall I let him pass
T[E BUIING OF T[E GOLIAFI 53
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 was called after
the name of the giant whom David slew--tle
training-ship Goliath.
About eight o'clock on Wednesday morning
that great ship suddenly caught fire, from the
upsetting of a can of oil in the lamp-room. It
was hardly daylight. In a very few minutes
the ship was on fire from one end to the other,
and the fire-bell rang to'call the boys to their
posts. What did they do ? Think of the sud-
den surprise, the sudden danger the flames
rushing all around them, and the dark, cold
water below them ! :Did they cry, or scream, or
fly about in confusion ? No; they ran each to
his proper place.
They had been trained to do that--they knew
that it was their duty ; and no one forgot him-
self; no one lost his presence of mind. They
all, as the captain said: "behaved like men."
Then, when it was found impossible to save the
ship, those who could swim jumped into the
water.by order of the captain, and swam for
their lives. Some, also at his command, got
THIRD READER
into a boat ; and then, when the sheets of flame
and the'clouds of smoke came pouring out of
the ship, the smaller boys fiJr a moment were
frightened, and wanted to push away.
But there was one among them--the little
mate : his name w William Bolton : we are
l,roud that he came from Westminster : a quiet
boy, much loved by his comrades--who had the
sense and courage to say-" No; we must stay
and help those that are still in the ship." He
kept the barge alongside the ship as long as
possible, and was thus the means of saving more
than one hundred liv !
There were otlmrs who were still in the ship
while the flames went ou spreading. They
were standing by the good captain, who had
been so kind to them all, and whom they all
loved so much. In that dreadful crisis they
thought more of him than f themselves. One
threw his arms round his neck and said:" You'll
be burnt, Captain;" and another said: "Save
yourself before the rest." But the captain gave
them the best of all lessons 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 way at sea is to pre-
pare for danger beforehand, to meet it manfully
HEARTS OF OAK 55
when it comes, and to look at the safety, not of
oneself, but of others. The captain had not
only learned that good old way himself, but he
also kew how to teach it to the boys under his
charge.
D.N STANLEY
HEARTS OF OAK
CoE, 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.
56 THIRD READER
Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are
041r men,
\Ve always are ready,
Steady, boys, steady,
We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.
DAVrD 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,
Add 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 he/ving high, my boys,
The good ship tight and free,--
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.
THIRD READER
And so he that had received five talents came
and brought other five talents saying, " Lord,
thou deliveredst unto me five talents : behold, I
have gained beside them five talents more."
His lord said unto him, " 5"ell done, thou good
and faithful servant thou hast been faithful
over a few things, I Fill make thee ruler over
many things: enter thou into the joy of thy
lord."
He also that had received two talents came
and said, "Lord, thou deliveredst unto me two
talents: behold, I have gained two other talents
beside them." His lord said unto him, " 5"ell
done, good and faithful sen'ant ; thou hast been
faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler
over many things: enter thou into the joy of
thy lord."
Then he which had received the one talent
came and. said, "Lord, I knew thee that thou
art an hard man, reaping where thou hast not
sown, and gathering where thou hast not
strawed; and I was afraid, and went arid hid
thy talent in the earth : lo, there thou hast that
is thine." His lord answered and said unto
him, "Thou wicked and slothful servant, thou
knewest that I reap where I sowed not, and
gather where I have not strawed : thou oughtest
A FAREWELL
therefore to have put my money to the exchan-
gers, and then at my coming I should have
received mine own with usury. Take therefore
the talent from him, and give it unto him which
hath ten talents. For unto every one that hath
shall be given, and he shall have abundance:
but from him that hath not shall be taken away
even that which he hath. And cast ye the
unprofitable servant into outer darkness : there
shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth."
ST. MATTHEW, XXVo 14-30
A FAREWELL
MY fairest child, I have no song to giveyou ;
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.
KL'GSLEY
0 THIRD READER
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 appld blossoms in the
spring ?
In the spring ?
And caught their subtle odours in the spring ?
Pink buds pouting at the light,
Cr.umpled petals baby white
Just to touch them a delight--
In the spring.
Have you walked beneath the blossoms in tho
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.
THE BLUEffkY 61
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 .&RTIN
-THE BLUEJAY
SArD 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
for a word.
"You may call a jay a bird.
because he has feathers on him.
is just as human as you are.
a jay at a loss
Well, so he is,-
Otherwise, he
"Yes, sir ; a jay is everything that a man is.
A jay can laugh, a jay can gossip, 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, bluejay can beat anything
alive.
TH]ID IEADER
"Seven years ago the last man about here
but me moved away. There stands his 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 with an acorn in his mouth.
"'Hello,' says he, 'I reckon here's something.'
When he spoke, the acorn fell out of his mouth
and rolled down on the roof. He didn't care;
his mind was on the thing he had found.
"It was a knot-hole in the roof. He cocked
his head to one side, shut one eye, and put the
other to the hole, like a 'pOssum looking down
a jug.'
"Then he looked up, gave a wink or two with
his wings, and says: ' It looks like a hole, it's
placed like a hole--and---if I don't think it is a
hole !'
"Then he cocked his head down and took
another look. He looked up with joy, this
time winked his wings and his tail both, and
says:' If I ain't in luck l Why it's an elegant
hole I'
THE BLUEJAY 63
*' 8o he flew down and got that acorn and
dropped it in, and was tilting his head back
with a smile when a queer look of surprise came
over his face. 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 and shook his head; went
to the other side of the hole and took another
look from that side; shook his head again. No
rise.
"So after thinking awhile, he says :' I reckon
it's all right. I'll try it, anyway.'
"So he flew off and brought another acorn
and dropped it in, and tried to get his eye to the
hole quick enough to see what became of it.
He was too late. He got another acorn and
tried to see where it went, but he couldn't.
"He says :' Well, I never saw such a hole as
this before. I reckon it's a new ]ind.' Then
he got angry and walked up and down the roof.
I never saw a bird take on so.
"When he got through, he looked in the hole
for half a minute ; then he says :' Well, you're a
long hole, and a deep hole, and a queer hole,
but I have started to fill you, and I'll do it if it
takes a hundred years.'
"And with that away he went. For two
hours and a half you never saw a bird work so
hard. He did not stop to look in any more,
but just threw acorns in and went for more.
"Well, at last he could hardly, flap his wings
he was so tired out. So he bent down for a
look. He looked up, pale with rage. He says:
' I've put in enough acorns to keep the family
thirty years, and I can't see a sign of them.'
"Another jay was going by and heard him.
So he stopped to ask what was the matter. Our
jay told him the whole story. Then he went
and looked down the hole and came back and
said:' How many tons did you put in there?'
' Not less than two,' said our jay.
"The other jay looked again, but could not
make it out ; so he gave a yell and three more
jays came. They all talked at once for awhile,
and then called in more jays.
"Pretty soon the air was blue with jays, and
every jay put his eye to the 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! Hal Hal He's been trying to
fill a house with acorns I '
A CANADIAN CAMPING SONG 6
"As each jay took a look, the fun of the
thing struck him, and how he did 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 bluejay hasn't any fun
in him. I know better."
SAMUEL I,. CLEMENS (Mark Twa:n)
A CANADIAN CAMPING SONG
A wrtIT, 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 tttat 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.
THIRD READER
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.
IR J. D. EDGAR -" "Thi Cana o[ Otl._V"
THE ARGONAUTS
Now, when the building of the ship Argo was
finLhed,the fifty heroes came 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 on the shoulders of their
comrades and grasping the shrouds, clambered
oyer the bulwarks upon the thwarts and drew
the rest in after them. Orpheus, upon the
mighty shoulders of Jason the leader of the
expedition, seized hold 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, sing me 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 the restless sea came
upon her and she rushed headlong down the
grooves till the lips of the goddess tasted the
salt sea spray.
Many a day they sailed through laughing
seas and ever they spoke together of the glory
of the Golden Fleece which they hoped to bring
home from far off Colchis.
When they were come to the land of Colchis,
King /Eetes summoned them to his palace.
Beside him was seated his daughter, the beauti-
ful witch maiden, Medea. She looked upon the
Greeks and upon Ja,son, fairest and noblest of
them all, and her spirit leaped forth to meet his.
And knowing what lay before them, "surely,"
she thought, "it were an evil thing that men so
bold and comely should perish."
68 THIRD READER
When Jason demanded the Golden Fleece,the
rage of the King rushed up like 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 the labours I shall set."
That night Medea stole from the palace to
warn the hero of the toils and dangers that
awaited him,--to tame a span of brazen-footed
fire-breathing bulls, with them to plough four
acres of unbroken land in the field of Ares, t
sow the tilth with serpents' teeth, to slay its
crop of warriors, to cross a river, and climb a
lofty wall, to snatch the Fleece from a tree
round which lay coiled the sleepless dragon.
"How can these things be accomplished and
that before the setting of another sun?" But
Jason used flattering words, singing the song
of Chiron :
"No river so deep but an arm mayswim,
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 which should give him
the strength of seven men and protect him from
fire and steel.
TH ^PNAUTS 9
All the people assembled at sunrise in the
field of Ares. When the fire-breathing bulls
saw Jason standing in the middle of the field,
fury shot from their eyes. Fierce was their
onset and the multitude waited breathless to see
what the end would be. As the bulls came on
wih lowered heads, and tails in air, Jason
leaped nimbly to one side, and the monsters
shot past him with bellowings that shook the
earth. They turned and Jason poised for the
leap. As they passed a second time,he grasped
the nearest by the horn and lightly vaulted
upon its back. The bull, unused to the burden,
sank cowering to the ground. Jason patted its
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, a thovsand war-
riors sprang full-armed from the brown earth.
Then King ]Eetes greatly rejoiced, but Medea,
trembling at the sight, laid a spell upon them
that they might not clearly distinguish friend
from foe.
One among them came forth and Jason
advanced to meet him, walking with a halt.
His adversary laughed aloud, but Jason with a
mighty bound sprang upon the shoulders of his
70 THIRD READER
enemy and bore him helmetless to the ground.
The hero quickly replaced the fallen helmet
with his own, giving a golden helmet for a
brazen. The other rose and fled back among
his fellows who, thinking it was Jason come
among them, fell upon and slew him and
strove with each other for the golden helmet
until all were slain but one who, wounded
unto death, rose up from the fray and shouting
"Victory" sank upon knee and elbow never to
rise again.
The rest of the task was quickly accomplished,
for Medea by her spells cast a deep sleep upon
the dragon. So the Golden Fleece was won and
brought once more to Iolchos with a prize still
more precious, for Jason bore home with him
Medea, the beautiful witch maiden, who became
his bride and ruled with him, let us hope,
many happy years.
Jo. WACG
IX 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 ;
]Iake the house, whereGods may dwell,
Beautiful, entire and clean.
THE MInSTREL-BOY 71
THE MINSTREL-BOY
TE Minstrel-boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find h-im;
tIis 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 clmin
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
72 THIRD READER
MARY ELIZABETH
]VIARY ELIZABETH was a little girl with a long
name. She was poor, she was sick, she was
ragged, she was dirty, she was cold, she was
hungry, she was 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. She had no place to go and
nobody to care where she went.
In fact, Mary Elizabeth had not much of
anything but a short pink calico dress, a little
red cotton-and-wool shawl, and her long name.
Besides this, she had a pair of old rubbers, too
large for her.
She was walking up Washington Street. It
was late in the afternoon of a bitter January
day.
"God made so many people," thought Mary
Elizabeth, "He must have made so many sup-
pers. Seems as if there'd ought to be one for
one extry little girl."
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.
MARY ELIZABETH 73
So now she was shuffling up Washington
Street, not knowing exactly what to do next,--
peeping into people's faces, timidly looking
away from them, heart-sick (for a very little
girl can be very heart-sick), colder, she thought,
every minute, and hungrier each hour than she
was the hour before.
The child left Washington Street at last, where
everybody had homes and suppers without one
extra one to spare for a little girl, and turned
into a short, bright, showy street, where stood a
great hotel.
Whether the door-keeper was away, or busy,
or sick, or careless, or whether the head-waiter
at the dining-room was so tall that he couldn't
see so short a beggar, or whether the clerk at
the desk was so noisy that he couldn't hear so
still a beggar, or however it was, Mary Elizabeth
did get in; by the door-keeper, past the head-
waiter, under the shadow of the clerk, over the
smooth, slippery marble floor the child crept
on. 0
She came to the office door and stood still.
She looked around her with wide 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 all warm.
74 THIRD READER
Not one of them looked as if he had had no
dinner and no breakfast and no supper.
"How many extry suppers," thought the
little girl, " it must ha' taken to feed '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 and red plaid shawl. The
shawl was tied over her head and about her
neck with a ragged tippet. Her bare feet
showed in the old rubbers. She began to
shuffle about the room, holding out one purple
little hand.
One or two of the gentlemen laughed; some
frowned ; more did nothing at all ; most did not
notice, or did not seem to notice, the child.
One said: ".What's the matter here?"
Mary Elizabeth shuffled on. She went from
one to the other, less timidly ; a kind of desper-
ation had taken possession of her. The odours
from the dining-room came in, of strong, hot
coffee, and strange roast meats. 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 steal like Jo. She held out her hand but
only said : "I'm hungry l"
MARY ELIZABETH 0
A gentleman called her. He was the gentle-
man who had asked: "Vhat's the matter here ?"
He called her in behind his daily paper which
was big enough to hide three of Mary Elizabeth,
and when he saw that nobody was looking he
gave her a five-cent piece in a hurry, as if he
had committed a sin, and said quickly: "There,
there, child I go now, go!"
Then he began to read his newspaper quite
hard and fast and to look severe, as one does
who never gives anything to beggars, as a matter
of principle.
But nobody else gave anything to Mary
Elizabeth. She shuffled from one to another,
hopelessly. Every gentleman shook his head.
One called for a waiter 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 was sitting apart
from the others. He sat with his elbows on the
table and his face buried in his arms. He was a
well-dressed young man, with brown, curling
hair.
Mary Elizabeth wondered why he looked so
miserable and why he sat alone. She thought,
perhaps, that if he weren't o happy as the
other gentlemen, he would be more sorry for
76 THIRD READER
cold and hungry girls. She hesitated then
walked along and directly up to him.
One or two gentlemen laid down their papers
and watched this; they smiled and nodded to
each other. The child did not see them to
wonder why. 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 his arms ; a young face
looked sharply at the beggar girl,--a beautiful
young face it might have been.
It was haggard now and dreadful to look at,
--bloated and badly marked with the unmis-
takable 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 !" repeated the child.
Her lip quivered. But she spoke distinctly.
Her voice sounded through the room. One
gentleman after another laid down his paper or
his pipe. Several were watching this little scene.
"Go away!" repeated the young man, irri-
tably. " Don't bother me. I haven't had any-
thing to eat for three days I"
THIRD EADER
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 to see.
"I'm sorry you are so hungry. If you
haven't had anything for three days, you
must be hungrier than me. I've got five cents.
A gentleman gave it me. I wish you would take
it. I've only gone one day. You can get some
supper with it, and--maybe--I---can get some
somc, wheresl I wish you'd please to take it l"
Mary Elizabeth stood quite still, holding out
her five-cent piece. She did not understand
the stir that went all over the bright room.
She did not see that some of the gentlemen
coughed and wiped their spectacles.
She did not know why the brown curls be-
fore her came up with such a start, nor why the
young man's wasted face flushed red and hot
with a noble shame.
She did not in the least understand why he
flung the five-cent piece upon the table, and,
snatching her in his arms, held her fast and
hid his face on her plaid shawl and sobbed.
Nor did she seem to know what could be the
reason that nobody seemed amused to see this
gentleman cry.
MARY ELIZABETH 79
The gentleman who had given her the money
came up, and some more came up, and they
gathered around, and she in the midst of them,
and they all spoke kindly, and the young man
with the bad face that might have been so
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'll learn a lesson from
this beggar, so help me God !"
So then he took the child upon his knee, and
the gentlemen came up to listen, 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. I read 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 ycur brother ?"
0 THIRD IEADER
" 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 quite eloquent 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 get you your supper."
"I thought there must be an extry one among
so many folks!" cried Mary Elizabeth; for now,
she thought, she should get back her five cent.
MARY' ELIZABETH 81
And, truly, the young man put the five cents
into his hat, to begin with. Then he took out
his purse, and put in something that made less
noise than the five-cent piece and something
more and more and more.
Then he passed around the great room, walk-
ing stll unsteadily, and the gentleman who
gave the five cents and all the gentlemen put
something into the young man's hat.
So,when he came back to the table,he emptied
the hat and counted the money, 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 l this gentleman who
gave you the five-cent piece shall take care of
the money for you. You can trust him. He's
got a wife, too. But we'll come to supper now."
So the young man took her by the hand, and
the gentleman whose wife knew all about what
to do with orphans took her by the other hand,
and one or two more gentlemen followed, and
they all went into the dining-room, and put
Mary Elizabeth in a chair at a clean white
THIRD READER
table, and asked her what she wanted for her
upper.
Mary Elizabeth said that a little dry toast and
a cup of milk would do nicely. So all the
gentlemen laughed. And she wondered why.
And the young man with the brown curls
laughed, too, and began to look quite happy.
But he ordered chicken and cranberry sauce
and mashed potatoes and celery and rolls and
butter and tomatoes and an ice cream and a
cup of tea and nuts and raisins and cake and
custard and apples and grapes.
And Mary Elizabeth sat in her pink dress
and red shawl and ate the whole; 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 might be yet, one
would have thought who had seen him then--
stood watching the little girl.
" She's preached me the best sermon," he said
below his breath, " I ever heard. May God
bless her! I wish there were a thousand like
her in this selfish wozld ! "
Aud when I heard about it I wished so, too.
ELIZA.BETH STUA2T PHELPS
OH, there is nothing on earth half so holy
As the innocent heart of a child. DcxFS
84 THIRD READER
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--
"low 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. Goui.a
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
-CORN-FIELDS 85
I feel the day ; I see the field ;
The quivering of the leaves;
And good old Jacob, and his house,--
Binding the.yellow sheaves I
And at this very hour I seem
To be with Joseph in his dream I
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 I
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
Iid ripe ears on the Sabbath day.
86 THIRD READER
Oh, golden fields of bending corn,
How beautiful they seem I
The reaper-folk, th piled-up sheaves,
To me are like a dream;
The stnshine, and the very air
Seem of old time, and take me there !
MAR" How:T
SOUTH-WEST WIND, ESQ.
TREASURE VALLEY belonged to three brothers--
Schwartz, tIansl and Gluck. The two elder
brothers were rich, cruel, quarrelsome men who
never gave anything 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, tell-
ing Gluck to roast a leg of mutton 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 very large nose, slightly
brass-coloured; very round and very red
cheeks; merry eyes, long hair, and moustaches
that curled twice round like a corkscrew on
SOUTH-WEST WIND, ESQ. 87
each side of his mouth. H 'was four feet six
inches high, and wore a pointed cap as long as
himself. It was decorated with a black feather
about three feet long. Around his body was
folded an enormous black, glossy-looking cloak
much too long for him. As he knocked again
he caught sight of Gluck.
"Hollo!" said the little gentleman, "that's
not the way to answer the door ; I'm wet, let me
in."
To do the little gentleman justice, he vas wet.
His feather hung down between his le like a
beaten puppy's tail, dripping like an ubrella;
and from the ends of his moustaches the water
was running into his waistcoat 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 to death, 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
the walls, with nobody to feel it. Let me in, I
say ; I only want to warm myself."
88 THIRD READER
Gluck had had his head, by this time, so
long out of the window that he began to feel
it was really unpleasantly cold, and when he
turned and saw the beautiful fire rustling and
roaring, and throwing long, bright tongues up
the chimney, as if it were licking its chops at
the savoury smell of the leg of mutton, his heart
melted within him that it should be burning
away for nothing. "He does look very wet,"
said little Gluck; "I'll just let him in for a
quarter of an hour." Round he went to the
door, and opened it; and as the little gentleman
walked in, through the house came a gust of
wind that made the old chimneys totter.
"That's a good boy," said the little gentle-
man. "Never mind your brothers. I'll talk
to them."
"Pray, sir, don't do any such thing," said
G]uck. "I can't let you stay till they come;
they'd be the death of me."
"Dear me," said the old gentleman, "I'm
very sorry to hear that. How long may I
stay ?"
"0nly till the mutton's done, sir," replied
Gluck, "and it's very brown."
Then the old gentleman walked into the
kitchen, and sat himself do n on the hob, with
SOUTH-WEST WIND, ESQ. 89
the top of his cap accommodated up the
chimney, for it was 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 gentleman did ot dry there, but
went on drip, drip, dripping among the cinders,
and the fire fizzed and sputtered, and began to
look very black and uncomfortable; never was
such a cloak i every fold in it ran like a
gutter.
"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck at length,
after watching the water spreading in long
quicksilver-like streams over the floor for a
quarter of an hour; "mayn't I take your
cloak ?"
"No, thank you," said the old gentlenan.
"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, sirDyou'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 be-
haviour of his guest; it was such a strange
9
of Schwartz's hand, spinning like a straw in a
high wind, and fell into the corner 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 gentle-
man began very modestly, "and I saw your fire
through the window, and begged shelter for a
quarter of an hour."
"Have the goodness to walk out again, then,"
said Schwartz. "We've quite enough water in
our kitchen, with6ut making it a drying-house."
" It is a cold .day to turn an old man out in,
sir; look at my gray hairs." They hung down
to his shoulders.
"Ay I" 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 before I go ?"
"Bread, indeed I" said Schwartz ; "do you
suppose we've nothing to do with our bread but
to give it to such red-nosed fellows as you ?"
"Why don't you sell your feather?" said
Hans, sneeringly. " Out with you !"
"A little bit," said the old gentleman_
"Be off!" said Schwartz.
SOUTH-WEST WIND, Y:_.SQ. 93
"Pray, gentlemen--"
" Off, and be hanged l" cried Hans, seizing
him by the collar. But he had no sooner
touched the old gentleman's collar, than away
he went after the rolling-pin, spinning round
and round, till he fell into the corner on the top
of it. Then Schwartz was very angry, and ran
at the old gentleman to turn him out; but he
also had hardly touched him, when away he
went after Hans and the rolling-pin, and hit his
head against the wall as he tumbled into the
corner. And so there they lay, all three.
Then the old gentleman spun himself round
with velocity in the opposite direction; continued
to spin untiI his long cloak was all wound
neatly about him ; clapped his cap on his head,
very much on one side (for it could not stand
upright without going through the ceiling), gave
an additional twist to his corkscrev moustaches,
and replied with perfect coolness : "Gentlemen,
I wish you a very good-morning. At twelve
o'clock to-night I'll call again; after such a
refusal of hospitality as I have just experienced,
yot will not be surprised if that visit is the last
I ever pay you."
"If I ever catch you here again," muttered
Schwartz, coming, half-frightened, out of the
SOUTH-WEST WIND, ESQ. 95
before they went to bed. They usually slept in
the same room. As the clock struck twelve,
they were both awakened by a tremendous
crash. Their door burst open with a violence
that shook the h6use 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 way through a hole in the shutter, they
could see, in the midst of it, an enormous foam
globe, spinning round, and bobbing up and
down like a cork, on which, as on a most
luxurious cushion, reclined the little old gentle-
man, cap and all. There was plenty of room
for it now, for the roof was off.
"Sorry to incommode you," said their visitor,
ironically. " I'm afraid your 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, wet through, and in
an agony of terror.
"You'll find my card on the kitchen table,"
the old gentleman called after them. " Remem-
ber, the last visit."
THE EITI/( OF THE WTERS
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 l 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.
98 THIRD READER
Sweet vale of Avocal 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.
LOVE
LOVE your enemies, do good to them which
hate you. Bless them that curse you, and pray
for them which despitefully use you. And as
ye would that men should do to you, do ye also
to them likewise. For if ye love them which
love you, what thank have ye? for sinners
also love those that love them. And if ye do
good to them which do good to you, what thank
have ye? for sinners also do even the same.
And if ye lend to them of whom ye hope to
receive, what thank have ye ? for sinners also
lend to sinners, to receive as much again. But
love ye your enemies, and do good, and lend,
hoping for nothing again; and your reward
shall be great, and ye shall be the children of
the Highest: for he is kind unto the unthank-
THIRD READER
'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 sum-
mer world was bright and fresh and brimming
with life. There was a song in every heart;
and if the heart was young the music issued
at the lips. There was cheer in every face, and
a spring in every step. The locust trees were
in bloom, and the fragrance of the blossoms
filled the air.
Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket
of whitewash and a long-handled brush. He
WO1RK OR PLAY 101
surveyed the fence, and the gladness went out
of nature, and a deep melancholy settled down
upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board fence
nine feet high I It seemed to him that life was
hollow, and existence but a burden Sighing,
tie dipped his brush and passed it along the
topmost plank; repeated the operation; did it
again; compared the insignificant whitewashed
streak with the far-reaching continett of un-
whitewashed fence, and sat down on a tree-box
discouraged.
He began to think of the fun he had planned
for this day, and his sorrows multiplied. Soon
the free boys would come tripping along on all
sorts of delicious expeditions, and they would
make a world of fun of him 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 and trash; enough to
buy an exchange of work maybe, but not
enough to buy so much as half an hour of pure
freedom. So he returned his straitened means
to his pocket, and gave up the idea of trying to
buy the boys.
At this dark and hopeless moment an inspira-
tion burst upon him. Nothing less than a
great, magnificent inspiration. He took up his
brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben
Rogers hove in sight presently ; the very boy of
all boys whose ridicule he had been dreading.
Ben's gait was the hop, skip, and jump--proof
enough that his heart was light and his antici-
pations high. He was eating an apple, and
giving a long melodious whoop at intervals,
followed by a deep-toned ding dong dong, ding
dong don., for "he was personating a steam-
boat.
Tom went on whitewashingmpaid no atten-
tion to the steamer. Ben stared a moment, 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; then he gave his
brush another gentle sweep, and surveyed the
result as before. Ben ranged up alongside of
him. Tom's mouth watered for the apple but
he stuck to his work. Ben said-
"ttello, 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 of course you'd
druther work, wouldn't you? 'Course you
would !"
Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said--
WORK OR PLAY 10S
"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 Tom Sawyer."
"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 a chance to whitewash a
fence every day ?"
That put the thing in a new light. Ben
stopped nibbling his apple. Tom swept his
brush daintily back and forth stepped back to
note the effect--added a touch here and there---
criticised the effect again, Ben watching every
move, and getting more and more interested,
more and more absorbed. 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
awful particular about this fence---right here on
the street, you know---but if it was the back
fence I wouldn't mind, and she wouldn't. Yes,
she's awful particular about this fence; it's got
104 THIRD READER
to be done very careful; I reckon there ain't one
boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that
can do it the way it's got to be done."
"No--is that so ? Oh, come now ; lemme just
try, only just a little. I'd let you, if you was
me, Tom." " "
"Ben, I'd like to, honest injun; but Aunt
PollyQwell, Jim wanted to do it, but she
wouldn't let him. Sid wanted to do it, but she
wouldn't let Sid. Now, don't you see how I am
fixed ? If you was to tackle this fence, and any-
thing was to happen to it--"
"Oh, shucks ; I'll b just as careful. Now
lemme try. Say--I'll give you the core of my
appl"
"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 his heart. And while Ben
worked and sweated in the sun, the retired
artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by,
dangled his legs, munched his apple, and
planned the slaughter of more innocents.
There was no lack of material; boys happened
along every little while ; they came to jeer, but
remained to whitewash.
WORK OR PLAY ]05
By the time Ben was fagged out, Tom had
traded the next chance to Billy Fisher for a kite
in good repair; and when he played out,
Johnny Miller bought in for a dead rat and a
string to swing it with; and so on, and so
on, hour after hour. And when the middle cf
the afternoon came, from being a poor: poverty-
stricken boy in the morning, Tom was literally
rolling in wealth.
He had, besides the things I have mentioned,
twelve marbles, part of a jew's harp, a piece of
blue bottle-glass to look through, a spool-cannon,
a key that wohldn't unlock anything, a fragment
of chalk, a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin
soldier, a couple of tadpoles, six fire-crackers,
a kitten with only one eye, a brass door-knob,
a dog-collar but no dog--the handle of a knife,
four pieces of orange-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 three coats of whitewash on it l
If he hadn't run out of whitewash, he would
have bankrupted every boy in the village.
Tom said to himself that it was not such a
hollow world after all. He had discovered a
great law of human action, without knowing it,
namely, that, in order to make a man or a boy
106 l axoa
covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the
thing difficult to attain. If he had been a great
and wise philosopher, he would have compre-
hended that Work consists of whatever a body
is obliged to do, and that Play consists of what-
ever a body is mot obliged to do.
IIRK TwII : "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,
Igor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him;
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.
USAL OF Sm JO OOS 107
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 hi 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. Wo
THE WHISTLE 109
with many, very many, who gave too much for
the whistle.
When I saw any one fond of popularity, con-
stantly employing himself in politics, 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 furni-
ture, fine horses, all above his fortune, for which
he contracted debts and ended his career in
poverty, "Alas!" said I, "he has paid dear,
vexy dear, for his whistle."
I short, I believed that a great part of the
miseries of mankind were brought upon them
by the false estimates they had made of the
value of things, and by their giving too much
for their whistles.
BEIJIN
A CANADIAN BOAT SONG
FAINTLY a 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, rosy, the stream runs fast,
The Rapids are near and the daylight's past.
riE LITrLE HERO OF HAARLEm[ III
itself under water, rather than above it. When
water is wanted, the sluicer raises the sluices
more or less, as required, as the cook turns the
cock of a fountain, and closes them again care-
fully'at night; otherwise the water would flow
into the canals, then overflow them, and inun-
date the whole country; so that even the little
children in Iolland are fully aware of the impor-
tance of a punctual discharge of the sluicer's
duties.
The boy was about eight years old when,
one day, he asked permission to take some
cakes to a poor blind man, who lived at the
other side of the dike. Iis father gave him
leave, but charged him not to stay too late.
The child promised, and set off on his little
journey. The blind man thankfully partook of
his young friend's cakes, and the boy, mindful
of his father's orders, did not wait, as usual,
to hear one of the old man's stories, but as soon
as he had seen him eat one muffin, took leave
of 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
to pull the little blue flowers which his mother
loved so well, now, in childish gaiety, hummed
some merry song. The road gradually became
more solitary, and soon neither the joyous shout
of the villager returning to his cottage home,
nor the rough voice of the carter grumbling at
his lazy horses, was any longer to be heard.
The little fellow now perceived that the blue
of the flowers in his hands was scarcely distin-
guishable from the green of the surround:'g
herbage, and he looked up in some dismay.
The night was falling; not, however, a dark,
winter night, but one of those beautiful, clear,
moonlight nights, in which every object is
perceptible, though not as distinctly as by day.
The child thought of his father, of his injunc-
tion, and was preparing to quit 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 he now carefully examined it, and soon
discovered a hole in the wood, through which the
water was flowing. With the instant perception
which every child in Holland would have, the
boy saw that the water_ must soon enlarge the
hole through which it was now only dropping,
and that utter and general ruin would be the
consequence of the inundation of the country
TH LITTLF_ HFO OF HAARLEM 113"
that must follow. To see, to throw away the
flowers, to climb from stone to stone till he
reached the hole, and to put his finger into it,
was the work of a moment, and to his delight
he found that he had succeeded in stopping the
flow of the water.
This was all very well for a little while, and
the child thought only of the success of his
device. But the night was closing in, and with
the night 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 there all night, but alas l the cold was be-
coming every moment more biting, and the poor
finger fixed in the hole began to feel benumbed,
and the numbness soon extended to the hand,
and thence throughout the whole arm. The
pain became still greater, still harder to bear,
but yet the boy moved not. Tears rolled down
his cheeks as he thought of his father, of his
mother, of his little bed, where he might now be
sleeping so soundly; but still the little fellow
stirred not, for he knew that did he remove the
small slender fi,ger which he had opposed to
the escape of the water, not only would he
himself be drowned, but his father, his brothers,
his neighbours--nay, the whole village.
IATHER WILLIAM 115
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 men-
tioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the
door--
Pray, what is the reason of that ?"
]16 THIRD READER
" 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 ?"
118 THIRD READER
Gath, whose height was six cubits and a span.
And he had an helmet of brass upon his head,
and he was armed with a coat of mail; and the
weight of the coat was five thousand shekels of
brass. And he had greaves of brass upon his
legs, and a target of brass between his shoulders.
And the staff of his spear was like a weaver's
beam ; and his spear's head weighed six hundred
shekels of iron: and one bearing a shield went
before him.
And he stood and cried unto the armies of
Israel, and said unto them, Why are ye come
out to set your battle in array? Am not I a
Philistine, and ye servants to Saul? Choose
you a man for you, and let him come down
to me. If he be able to fight with me, and
to kill me, then will we be your servants:
but if I prevail against him, and kill him, then
shall ye be our servants, and serve us. And
the Philistine said, I defy the armies 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 were dis-
mayed, and greatly afraid.
And David rose up early in the morning, and
left the sheep with a keeper, and took, and went,
as Jesse had commanded him; and he came
DAVID A'D GOLIATH 119
to the trench, as the host was going forth
to the fight, and shouted for the battle. For
Israel and the Philistines had put the battle in
array, army against army. And David left his
carriage in the hand of the keeper of the
carriage, and ran into the army, and came and
saluted his brethren. And as he talked with
them, behold, there came up the champion, the
Philistine of Gath, Goliath by name, out of the
armies of the Philistines, and spake according
to the same words: and David heard them.
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 man
that 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
great riches, and will give him his daughter,
and make his father's house free in Israel.
And David spake to the men that stood by
him, saying, What shall be done to the man
that killeth this Philistine, and taketh away
the reproach from Israel? For who is this
Philistine, that-he should defy the armies of
the living God ? And the people answered
him after this manner, saying, So shall it be
done to the man that killeth him. And when
DAVID AND GOLIATH
girded his sword 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 lroved them. And David put
them off him. And he took his staff in his
hand, and chose him five smooth stones out of
the brook, and put them in a shepherd's bag
which he had, even in a scrip; and his sling
was in his hand: and he drew near to the
Philistine.
And the Philistine came on and drew near
unto David; and the man that bare the shield
went before him. _nd when the Philistine
looktd about, and saw David, he disdained him:
for he was but a youth, and ruddy, and of a fair
countenance. _nd the Philistine said unto
David, Am I a dog, that thou comest to me
with staves? And the Philistine cursed David
by his gods.
And the Philistine said to David, Come to
me, and I will give thy flesh unto 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, and with a spear,
and with a shield: but I come to thee in the
name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies
of Israel, whom thou hast defied. This day will
I22 THIID IEADER
the Lord deliver thee into mine hand; and I
will smite thee, and take thine head from thee;
and I will give the carcases of the host of the
Philistines this day unto the fowls of the air,
and to the wild beasts of the earth ; that all the
earth may know that there is a God in israeli.
And all this assembly shall know that the Lord
sayeth not with sword and spear : for the battle
is the Lord's, and he will give you into our
hands.
And it came to pass, when the Philistine
arose, and came and drew nigh to meet David,
that David hasted, and ran toward the army to
meet the Philistine. And David put his hand
in his bag, and took thence a stone, and slang
it, and smot the Philistine in his forehead, that
the stone sunk into his forehead; and he fell
upon his face to the eart5". So David prevailed
over the Philistine with a sling and with a
stone, and smote the Philistine, and slew him;
but there was no sword in the hand of David.
Therefore David ran, and stood upon the Philis-
tine, and took his sword, and drew it out of the
sheath thereof, and slew him, and cut off his
head therewith. .And when the Philistines saw
their champion was dead, they fled.
L SamJ, XVIL
124 THIRD READER
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 he 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
lot 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,
Thej that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
MAGGIE TULLIVER 125
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.
t-Ionour the charge they made l
t-Ionour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
TENNYSON
MAGGIE TULLIVER
MAOOIE and Tom came in from the garden with
their father and their Uncle Glegg. Maggie
had thrown her bonnet off very carelessly, and,
coming in with her hair rough as well as out
of curl, rushed at once to Lucy. The contrast
between the two cousins was like the contrast
between a rough, dark, overgrown puppy and a
white- kitten. Lucy put up the neatest little
rosebud mouth to be kissed: everything about
her was neat.
"Heyday !" said Aunt Glegg, with loud
emphasis. "Do little boys and girls come into
a room without taking notice of their uncles and
126 THIRD READER
aunts? That wasn'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 hair brushed.
"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 your
frock on your shoulder."
Aunt Glegg always spoke to them in this
loud, emphatic way, as if she considered them
deaf.
"Well, my dears," said Aunt Pullet, "you
grow wonderfully fast,--I doubt they'll outgrow
their strength. I think the girl has too much
hair. I'd have it thinned and cut shorter,
sister, if-I were you ; it isn't good for 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 lips close and looking at Maggie.
"I'o, no," said Mr. Tulliver, "the child's
healthy enough: there's nothing ails her.
There's red wheat as well as white, for that
AGGIE TULLIVER 127
matter, and some like the dark grain best. But
it would be as well if Bessie would have the
child's hair cut so it would lie smooth."
"Maggie," said lIrs. Tulliver, beckoning
lIaggie to her, and whispering in her ear, " go
and get your hair brushed,--do, for shame ! I
told you not to come in without going to Martha
first ; you know I did."
"Tom, come out with me," whispered Maggie,
pulling his sleeve as she passed him; and Tom
followed willingly enough.
"Come upstairs with me, Tom," she whispered,
when they were outside the door. "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 at once to a
drawer from which she took out a large pair
of scissors.
"What are they for, Maggie?" said Tom,
feeling his curiosity awakened.
]Iaggie answered by seizing her front locks
and cutting them straight across the middle of
her forehead.
128 THIRD READER
"Oh, my buttons, Maggie, you'll catch it I"
exclaimed Tom; " you'd better not cut any
more off."
Snip! went the great scissors again while Tom
was speaking ; and he could hardly help feeling
it was rather good fun--Maggie looking so queer.
" Here, Tom, cut it behind for me," said
Maggie, excited by her own daring, and anxious
to finish the deed.
"You'll catch it, you know," said Tom hesi-
tating a little as he took the scissors.
"Never mind--make haste!" said Maggie,
giving a little stamp with her foot. Her cheeks
were quite flushed.
The black locks were so thick,--nothing could
be more tempting to a lad who had already
tasted the forbidden pleasure of cutting the
pony's mane. one delicious grinding snip, and
then another and another, and the hinder locks
fell heavily on the floor. Maggie stood cropped
in a jagged, uneven manner, but with a sense
of clearness and freedom, as if she had emerged
from a wood into the open plain.
"Oh, Maggie," said Tom, jumping round her
and slapping his knees as he laughed; "oh, my
buttons, what a queer thing you look l Look
at yourself in the glass."
IIAGGIE TULLIVER 129
Maggie felt an unexpected pang. She had
thought beforehand chiefly of her own deliver-
ance from her teasing hair and teasing remarks
about it, and something also of the triumph she
should have over her mother and her aunts by
this very decided course of action. She didn't
want her hair to look pretty-that was out of the
question--she only wanted people 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 new aspect. She
looked in the glass, and still Tom laughed and
clapped his hands, and Maggie's flushed cheeks
began_to pale, and her lips to tremble 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 an outburst of angry
tears, stamping, and giving him a push.
"Now, then, spitfire!" said Tom. "What did
you cut it off for, then ? I shall go down : I can
smell the dinner going in."
Tom hurried down-stairs and left poor Maggie.
As she stood crying before the glass, she felt it
impossible that she should go down to dinner
and endure the severe eyes and severe words of
her aunts, while Tom, and Lucy, and hIartha,
IIAGGIE TULLIVER 131
Oh, it was dreadful! Tom was so hard and
unconcerned; if he had been crying on the floor,
Maggie would have cried, too. And there was
the dinner, 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, and said, in a lower,
comforting tone: "Won't you come, then, Mag-
gie? Shall I bring you a bit of pudding when
I've had mine--and a custard and things?"
"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 and said: "But you'd
better come, you know. There's the dessert,
you know."
Maggie's tears hadceased, 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 her way down-stairs.
Then she stood leaning with one shoulder
against the frame of the dining-parlour door,
peeping in when it was ajar. She saw Tom and
Lucy with an empty chair between them, and
there were the custards on a side-table---it was
to much. 8he slipped in and went towards the
132 THIRD EADER
empty chair, tut she had no sooner sat down
than she repented, and wished herself back again.
Mrs. Tulliver gave a little scream as she saw
her, and dropped the large gravy-spoon into the
dish with the most serious results to the table-
cloth.
llrs. Tulliver's scream made all eyes turn
towards the ame point as her own, and Maggie's
cheeks and ears began to burn, while Uncle
Glegg, a kind-looking, white-haired old gentle-
man, said : "Heyday I what little girl's this ?
Why, I don't know her. Is it some little girl
you've picked up in the road, Kezia?"
"'hy, she's gone and cut her hair herself,"
said Mr. Tulliver in an undertone to Mr. Deane,
laughing with much enjoyment.
"'hy, little Miss, you've made yourself look
very funny," said Uncle Pullet.
"Fie, for shame!" said Aunt Glegg, i her
severest tone of reproof. "Little girls that cut
their own hair should be whipped and fed on
bread and water, not come and sit dow with-
their aunts and uncles."
"Aye, aye," said Uncle Glegg, meaning to
give a playful turn, "she must be sent to jail, I
think, and they'll cut the rest of her hair off
there, and make it all even."
MAGGIE TULLIVER 133
"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. Her first 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 to be friendly, but
Maggie felt convinced that Tom was rejoicing in
her ignominy.
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 on
his shoulder: and burst out into loud sobbing.
"Come, come," said her father, soothingly,
putting his arm round her, "never mind; give
over crying : father'll take your part."
Delicious words of tenderness [ Maggie never
forgot any of these moments when her father
" took her part "; she kept them in her heart,
and thought of them long years after, when
every one else said that her father had done
very ill by his children.
GEORGE ELIOT ." "The lIill on the" Floss."
134 THIRD READER
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.
THE CORI SONG 135
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 !
136
THIRD REAER
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 of-
each school have their peculiar ball; and the
particular trades have, most of them, theirs.
The elders of the city, the fathers of the parties,
and the rich and Wealthy, come to the field on
horseback, in order to behold the exercises of
the youth, and in appearance are themselves as
youthful as the youngest; seeming to be revived
at the sight of so much agility, and in a par-
ticipation of the diversion of their festive sons.
At Easter the diversion is prosecuted on the
water; a target is strongly fastened to a trunk or
mast fixed in the middle of the river, and a
youngster standing upright in the stern of a
boat, made to move as fast as the oars and
current can carry it, is to strike the target with
his lance; and if, in hitting it, he breaks his
lance and keeps his place in the boat, he gains
his point and triumphs; but if it happens the
lance is not shivered by the force of the blow,
he is, of course, tumbled into the water, and
away goes his vessel without him
SPORTS IN NORMAN ENGLAND 137
However, a couple of boats full of young
men are placed one on each side of the target,
so as to be ready to take up the unsuccessful
adventurer the 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 the youth 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 the City towards the
north is hard frozen, the youth, in great num-
bers, go to divert themselves on the ice. Some,
taking a small run, place their feet at the proper
distance, and are carried, sliding sideways, a
great way; others will make a large cake of
ice, and seating one of their companions upon
it, they take hold of one another's hands, and
draw him along: when it sometimes happens
that, moving so swiftly on so slippery a plain,
they all fall down headlong.
Others there are who are still more expert
in these amusements on the ice; they place
certain bones, the leg bones of some animal,
SPORTS IN NORMAN ENGLAIID 139
After breakfast, knights with their ladies ride
out, each bearing upon his wrist a falcon with
scarlet hood /nd collar of gold. As they near
the river a heron, who had been fishing for his
breakfast among the reeds near the bank, hears
them and spreading his wings flies upward. A
knight slips the hood from the falcon's head
and next instant he sees the heron. Away he
darts, while knights and ladies rein in their
horses and watch. Up, and up, he goes until he
passes the heron and still he flies higher. Next
instant he turns and, with a terrible swoop
downwards, pounces upon the heron and kills it.
The knight sounds his whistle and instantly
the falcon turns and darts back to him for the
dainty food which is given as a reward for his
good hunting. Then he is chained and hooded
again till another bird rises. So the morning
passes, and many a bird do the falcons bring
down before the knights 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 !
HAKESPEA.RE
som OF C) " 141
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 le,ague of the golden grain :
Con.fort, housed in the smiling homestead--
Plenty, thro, ned on the lumbering wain.
Land of,Contentment! May no strife vex you,
lever ,'ar's flag on your plains be unfprl'd;
Only the ilessings of mankind reach you--
Finding the food for a hupgry world !
Sing me the charm of her blazing camp fires ;
Sing methe qu.iet of her happy homes,
Whether afar 'neath the forest arches,
Or in the shade of the ci.ty's domes;
Sing me her life, her loves, her lbours ;
All of a mother a son would hear';
t'(,r ".ver.. lov'd one's praise is sounding,
'a the strains to the lover's ear.
THIRD READER
Sing me the worth of each Canadian,
Roamer in wild.erness--toiler in town--
Search earth over you'll find none s.ta.ncher
Whether his hands be white or brown ;
Come of a right good stock to star 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'reMEl!
Sing me the song, then ; sing it bra.vely ;
Put your soul in the words you sing ;
Sing me the praise of this glor.ious cou.ntry--
Clear on the ear let the deep notes ring.
Here is no star.veling--Heav, en-forsaken--
Crouching apart where the Nations throng ;
Proud as the proudest moves she among them--
Well is she worthy a noble song !
ROBERT REIn
A MAD TEA PARTY
THERE was a table set out under a tree in front
of the house, and the March Hare and the
Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was
sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other
two were using it as a cushion, resting their
elbows on it, and talking over its head. "Very
uncomfortable for the Dormouse," thought
A MAD TEA PARTY 143
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 at one comer of it: "No
room I No room I" they cried out when they
saw Alice coming. "There's lenty of room ! "
said Alice, indignantly, and she sat down in a
large arm-chair at one end of the table.
"Your hair wants cutting," said the Hatter.
He had been looking at Alice for some time
with great curiosity, and this was his first
speech.
"You should learn not to make personal
remarks," Alice said with some severity: "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 hOWl"
thought Alice. "I'm glad they've begun ask-
ing 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 the March Hare.
" Exactly so," said Alice.
"Then you should say what you mean," the
March Hare went on.
144 TRD READER
"I do," Alice hastily replied; "at least--at
least I mean what I say--that's the same thing,
you know."
"Not the same thing a bit!" said the Hatter.
"Why, you might just as well say that ' I see
what I eat' is the same thing as ' I eat what I
see ' I"
"You might just as well say," added the
March Hare, "that 'I like what I get' is the
same thing as ' I get what I like' !"
"You might just. as well say," added the
Dormouse, who seemed to be talking in its
sleep, that ' I breathe when I sleep' is the same
thing as ' I sleep when I breathe' !"
"It is the same thing with you," said the
Hatter, and here the conversation dropped, and
the party sat silent for a minute, while Alice
thought 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 Alice again.
"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 the time," she said,
"than wa.ting it in asking riddles that have no
answers."
"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 lnow one," said Alice,
rather alarmed at the proposal.
"Then the Dormouse shall l" they both
cried.
"Wake up, Dormouse l" And they pinched
it on both sides at once.
The Dormouse slowly opened its eyes. " I
wasn't asleep," it" said in a hoarse, 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 again before it's done."
"Once upon a time there were three little
sisters," the Dormouse began in a great hurry,
"and their names were Elsie, Lacie, and Tillie ;
and they lived at the bottom of a well--"
"What did they live on ?" said Alice, who
always took a great interest in questions of
eating and drinking.
"They lived on treacle," said the Dormouse,
after thinking a minute or two.
146 THIRD READER
"They couldn't have done that, you know,"
Alice gently remarked : "they'd have been ill."
"So they were," said the Dormouse, "very
ill."
Alice tried a little to fancy to herself what
such an extraordinary way of 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't take more."
"You mean.-you can't take less," said the
Hatter: "It's very easy to take rwre than
nothing."
"Nobody asked yaur 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 to some tea and bread-and-
butter, and then turned to the Dormouse, and
repeated 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 then said: "It was a treacle-
well.':
Alice did not wish to offend the Dormouse
again, so she began very cautiously: "But I
don't understand. Where did they draw the
treacle from ?"
" You can draw water out of a water-well,"
said the Hatter; "so I should think you could
draw treacle out of a treacle-well--eh stupid ?"
"But they were in the well," Alice said to the
Dormouse, not choosing to notice thi.s last
remark.
"Of course they were," said the Dormouse,--
" well in."
This answer so confused poor Alice, that she
let the Dormouse go on for some time without
interrupting it.
"They were learning to draw," the Dormouse
went on, yawning and rubbing its eyes, for it
was getting very sleepy; " and they drew all
manner of things--everything that begins with
an M--"
"Why with an M ?" said .klice.
'" Why not ? " said the March Hare.
Alice was silent.
The Dormouse had closed its eyes by this
time, and was going off into a doze, but, on
being pinched by the Hatter, it woke up again
with a little shriek, and went on, "--that
SLAVE'S DREAM 149
begins with an M, such as mouse-traps, and the
moon, and memory, and muchness--you know
you say things are ' much of a muchness'---did
you ever see such a thing as a drawing of a
muchness ? "-
"Really, now you ask me," said Alice, very
much confused, " I don't think--"
"Then you shouldn't talk," said the Hatter.
This piece of rudeness was more than Alice
could bear: she got up in great disgust, and
walked off: the Dormouse fell asleep instantly,
and neither of the others took the least notice
of her going, though she looked back once or
twice, half hoping that they would call after
her: the ]tst time she saw them, they were
trying to put the Dormouse into the teapot.
LEWIS CARROLL : "The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland."
THE SLAVE'S DREAM
BES)E 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.
THE SLAVE'S DREAM 151
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 I
LOrSLLOW-
READIIC maketh a full man, conference a ready
man, and writing an exact man. Histories
make men wise ; poets, witty ; the mathematics,
subtle; logic and rhetoric, able to contend.
BAco
152 Rn
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 little fawn, whose brown coat
was just beginning to be mottled with beautiful
spots.
The buck, his father, had been that night on a
long tramp across the mountain to Clear Pond,
and had not yet returned. He went to feed on
the lily pads there.
The doe was daintily cropping tender leaves
and turning from time to time to regard her
offspring. The fawn had taken his morning
meal and now lay curled up on a bed of moss.
If the mother stepped a pace or two farther
away in feeding, the fawn made a half-move-
ment, as if to rise and follow her. If, in alarm,
he uttered a plaintive cry, she bounded to him
at once.
It was a pretty picture,--maternal love on the
one part, and happy trust on 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
156 THIRV READER
She must cross the Slide Brook valley, if
possible, and gain the mountain opposite. She
bounded on; she stopped. What was that?
From the valley ahead came the cry of a search-
ing hound. Every way was closed but one, and
that led straight down the mountain to the
cluster of houses. The hunted doe went down
"the open," clearing the fences, flying along the
stony path.
As she approached Slide Brook, she saw a boy
standing by a tree with a raised rifle. The dogs
were not in sight, but she could hear them com-
ing down the hill. There was no time for hsi-
ration. With a tremendous burst of 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 gave wings to the
poor thing.
In a moment more she leaped into the travel-
led road. Women and children ran to the doom
and windows; men snatched their rifles. There
were twenty people who were just going to shoot
her, when the doe leaped the road fence, and
went away across a marsh toward the foothills.
By this time the dogs, panting and lolling out
their tongues, came swinging along, keeping the
trail, like stupids, and consequently losing
157
ground vhen the deer doubled. But when
the doe had got into the timber, she heard the
savage brutes howling across the meadowy. (It
is well enough, perhaps, to say that nobody
offered to shoot the dogs.)
The courage of the panning fugitive vas not
gone, but the fearful pace at which she had been
going told on her. Her legs trembled, and her
heart beat like a trip-hammer. She slowed her
speed, but still fled up the right bank of the
stream. The dogs were gaining again, and she
crossed the broad, deep brook. The fording of
the river threw the hounds off for a time. She
used the little respite to push on until the bay-
ing was faint in her ears.
Late in the afternoon she staggered downthe
shoulder of Bartlett, and stood upon the shore
of the lake. If she could put that piece of
water between her and her pursuers, she would
be safe. Had she strength to swim it ?
At her first step into the water she saw a sight
that sent her back vith a bound. There was a
boat mid-lake; two men were in it. One vas
rowing; the other had a gun in his hand.
What should she do? With only a moment's
hesitation she plunged into the lake. Her tired
legs could not propel the tired body rapidly.
The doe saw the boat nearing her. She
turned to the shore whence she came; the dogs
were lapping the water and howling there. She
turned again to the centre of the lake. The
brave, pretty creature was quite exhausted now.
In a moment more the boat was on her, and the
man at the oars had leaned over and caught her.
"Knock her on the head with that paddle
he shouted to the gentleman in the stern. The
gentleman vas a gentleman, with a kind face.
lie took the paddle in his hand. Just then the
doe turned her head and looked at him with
her great appealing eyes.
"I can't do it! I can't do it!" and he dropped
the paddle. "Oh, let her go !"
But the guide slung the deer round, and
whipped out his hunting-knife. And the
gentleman ate that night of the venison.
CH&RLES DUDLEY VARNER
(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.
TItE IICItCAPE ltOCI 159
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.
I-te 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.
160 TIIIRD RE.DER
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 ninny 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."
. nou6 mD 161
"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 I"
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,m
A souhd as if, with the Inchcape Bell,
The fiends below were ringing his knell.
$OUTHY
A ROUGH RIDE
"WEnn, young ones, what be gaping at?"
"Your mare," said I, standing stoutly up,
being a tall boy now; "I never saw such a
beauty, sir. Will you let me have a ride on
her ?"
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, the great highwayman,
and his young blood mare, the strawberry.
Already her fame was noised abroad nearly
as much as her master's, and my 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, by fair play and horse-
trickery, but that the glory of sitting upon her
seemed to be too great for me;especially as
there were rumours abroad that she was not a
mare, after all, but a witch.
Mr. Faggus gave his mare a wink, and she
walked demurely after him, a bright young
thing, flowing over with life, yet dropping her
soul to a higher one, and led by love to any-
thing, as the manner is of such creatures, when
they know what is best for them. Then Winnie
trod lightly upon the straw, because it had soft
muck under it, and her delicate feet came back
again.
"Up for it still, boy, be ye?" Tom Faggus
stopped, and the mare stopped there ; and they
looked at me provokingly.
164 THIRD lEADER
" Is she able to leap, sir? There is good take-
often this side of the brook."
Mr. Faggus laughed very quietly, turning
round to Winnie so that she might enter into
it. And she, for her part, seemed to know
exactly where the fun lay.
" Good tumble-off, you mean, my boy. Well,
there can be small harm to thee. 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
will try not to squeeze her ribs in, unless she
plays nonsense with me."
Then ]Ir. Faggus was up on his mettle at
this proud speech of mine, and John Fry was
running up all the while, and Bill Dadds, and
half a dozen others. Tom Faggus gave one
glance around, and then dropped all regard
for me. The high repute of his mare xvas at
stake, and what was my life compared to it?
Through my defiance, and stupid ways, here
was I in a duello, and my legs not come to
their strength yet, and my arms as limp as
a herring.
Something of this occurred to him, even in
his wrath with me, for he spoke very softly to
the filly, who now could scarcely subdue her-
self; but she drew in her nostrils, and breathed
to his breath, and did all she 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 up in a moment. She began at first so
easily, and pricked her ears so lovingly, and
minced about as if pleased to find so light a
weight upon her, that I thought she knew I
could ride a little, and feared to show any
capers. "Gee wugg, Polly !" cried I, for all the
men were now looking on, being then at the
leaving-off time; " Gee wugg, Polly, and show
what thou be'est made of." With that I plug-
ged my heels into her, and Billy Dadds flung
his hat up.
1N'evertheless, she outraged not, though her
eyes were frightening Annie, and John Fry took
a pick to keep him safe ; but she curbed to and
fro with her strong forearms rising like springs
ingathered, waiting and quivering grievously,
and beginning to sweat about it. Then her
master gave a shrill, clear whistle, when her
THIRD READEE
ears were bent towards him, and I felt her form
beneath me gathering up like whalebone, and
her hind legs 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 with her comb, till I bled
worse than Robin Snell made me; and then
down with her 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 hers was, away she flew with me swifter than
ever I went before or since, I trow.
She drove full head at the cob wall--" Oh,
Jack, slip off!" screamed .Annie---then she
turned like light, when I thought to crush her,
and ground my left knee against it. "Dear
me!" I cried, for-my breeches were broken,
and short words vent the furthest---" if you kill
me, you shall die with me." Then she took the
courtyard gate at a leap, knocking my words
between my teeth, and then right over a quick-
set hedge, as if the sky were a breath to her;
and away for the water meadows, while I lay o
her neck like a child, and wished I had never
been born.
Straight away, all in the front of the wind,
and scattering clouds around her, all I knew of
A IOVGI" IIDE 167
the speed we made was the frightful flash of her
shoulders, and her mane like trees in a tempest.
I felt the earth under us rushing away, and the
air left far behind us, and my breath came 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 crest and shoulders,
and was proud of holding on so long, though
ure of being beaten. Then in her fury at feel-
ing me still, she rushed at another device for it,
and leaped the wide water-trough sideways
across, to and fro, till no breath was left in me.
The hazel boughs took me too hard in the face,
and the tall dog-briers got hold of me, and the
ache of my back was like crimping a fish, till I
longed to give it up, thoroughly beaten, and lie
there and die in the cresses.
:But there came a shrill whistle from up the
home hill, where the people had hurried to
watch us, and the mare stopped as if with a
bullet, hen set off for home with the speed of a
swallow, and going as smoothly and silently.
never had dreamed of such delicate motion,
fluent, and graceful, and ambient, soft as the
breeze flitting over the flowers, but swift as the
summer lightning.
]68 THIRD EADER
I sat up again, but my strength was all spent,
and no time left to recover it; and though she
rose at our gate like a bird, I tumbled off into
the soft mud.
"Well done, lad," Mr. Faggus said, good-
naturedly; for all were now gathered round
me, as I rose from the ground, somewhat
tottering, and miry, and crest-fallen, but
otherwise none the worse (having fallen upon
my 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 you stick 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
better than any of them be. It would have
gone to my heart if thou hadst conquered.
Non but I can ride my Winnie mare."
R. D. tLAcKORE : "Lorna I)ool '
FVLL 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.
THE ARAB AND HIS 8TEED 169
THE ARAB AND HIS STEED
MY beautiful ! my beautiful I 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
winged 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 I 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 eh)uds
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
areo
THE ARAB AND HIS STEED 171
Ahl 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 thoughtmbut no,
it cannot b
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 I alas l my Arab steed I 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 op_ !
And sitting down by tha 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! t !e
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, tl:us I leap upon thy back, and scour the
plains,
overtakes us now shall claim thee
pains I
THS HOOUaXBE M-RS.
rE PoEt's so( 173
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 hi feet.
The swallow stopt as he hunted the fly,
The snake slipt under a spray,
The wild hawk stood with the down on hs
beak,
And stared, with his foot on the prey,
And the nightingale thought, "I have sung
any songs,
But never a one so gay,
For he sings of what the world will be
When the years have died away."
NnvE to tire,, uever to grow cold ; _ .
sympathetic, tender; to lk for "h" &ding
floweand the opening heart; to hoi)e alwa) "
like God, love alwayt.is is duty.
174 THIRD READER
ADVENTURE WITH A WHALE
I GAILY flung myself into my place in the mate's
boat one morning, as we were departing in
chase of a magnificent cachalot that had been
raised just after breakfast. There were no other
vessels in sight,--much to our satisfaction,--the
wind was light, with a cloudless sky, and the
whale was dead to leeward of us. We sped
along at a good rate towards our prospective
victim, who was, in his leisurely enjoyment of
life, calmly lolling on the surface, occasionally
lifting his enormous tail out of water and
letting it fall flat upon the surface with a boom
audible for miles.
We were, as usual, first boat; but, much to
the mate's annoyance, when we were a short
half-mile from the whale our main-sheet parted.
It became immediately necessary to roll the
sail up, lest its flapping should alarm the watch-
ful monster, and this delayed us sufficiently
to allow the other boats to shoot ahead of us.
Thus the second mate got fast some seconds
before we arriv.ed on the scene, seeing which, we
furled sail, unshipped the mast, and went in
on him with the oars only. At first the pro-
ADVENTURE WITH A WHALE 175
ceedings were quite of the usual character, our
chief wielding his lance in most brilliant fashion,
while not being fast to the animal allowed us
much greater freedom in our evSlutions; but
that.fatal habit of the mate's---of allowing his
boat to take care of herself so long as he was
getting in some good home-thrustsonce more
asserted itself. Although the whale was exceed-
ingly vigorous, churning the sea into 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
the second mate, who was lying off the other
side of him. Before I had time tO think, the
mighty mass of gristle leaped into the sunshine,
curved back from us lik a huge bow. Then
with a roar it came at us, released from its
tension of Heaven knows how many tons. Full
on the broadside it struck us, sending every
soul but me flying out of the wreckage as if
fired from catapults. I did not go because my
foot was jammed somehow in the well of the
boat, but the wrench nearly pulled my thigh-
bone out of its socket. I had hardly released
AN ADVENTURE WITH A WHALE 177
was attached. Presently I came butt up against
something solid, the feel of which gathered all
my scattered wits into a compact knob of dread.
:It was the whale! "Any port in a storm," I
murmur.ed, beginning to haul away again on
my friendly line. By dint of hard work I
pulled myself right up the sloping, slippery
bank of blubber, until I reached the iron, which,
as luck would have it, was planted in that side
of the carcass now uppermost.
Carcass I said--well, certainly I had no idea
of there being any life remaining within the
vast mass beneath me; yet I had hardly time
to take a couple of turns round myself with the
rope (or whale-line, as I had proved it to be),
when I felt the great animal quiver all over, and
begin to forge ahead. I was now composed
enough to remember that help could not be far
away, and that my rescue, providing that I
could keep above water, was but a question of
a few minutes. But I was hardly prepared for
the whale's next move. Being very near his
end, the boat, or boats, had drawn off a hit, I
supposed, for I could see nothing of them.
Then I remembered the flurry.
Almost at the same moment it began; and
there was I, who, with fearful admiration
180 HID EADER
When winter's frosts are yielding
To the sun's returning sway,
And merry groups are speeding
To sugar-woods away;
The sweet and wellin 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 fai' 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.
DAMON AND PYTHIAS 181
Then hail to the broad-leaved Maple I
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.
DAMON AND PYTHIAS
IN Syracuse there was so hard a ruler that the
people made a plot to drive him out of the city.
The plot was discovered, and the king com-
manded that the leaders should be put to death.
One of these, named Damon, lived at some dis-
tance from Syracuse. He asked that before he
was put to death he might be allowed to go
home to say good-bye to his family; promising
that he would then come back to die at the
appointed time.
The king did not believe that he would keep
his word, and said:" I will not let you go unless
you find some friend who will come and stay in
your place. Then, if you are not back on the
day set for execution, I shall put your friend to
DAMON AND PYTHIAS 183
The king went away more puzzled than ever.
The fatal day arrived but Damon had not
come, Pythias was brought forward and led
upon the scaffold. " My prayers are heard,"
he cried. " I shall be permitted to die for my
friend. But mark my words. Damon is faith-
ful and true ; you vill yet have reason to know
that he has done his utmost to be here
Just at this moment a man came galloping up
at full speed, on a horse covered with foam! It
was Damon. In an instant he was on the scaf-
fold, and had Pythias in his arms. " My be-
loved friend," he cried, "the gods be praised
that you are safe. What agony have I suffered
in the fear that my delay was putting your life
in danger!"
There was nojoy in the face of Pythias, for he
did not care to live if his friend must die. But
the king had heard all. At last he was forced
to believe in the unselfish friendship of these
two. His hard heart melted at the sight, and he
set them both free, asking only that th.ey would
be his friends,also. C,,oT. .
tONOUR and shame from no condition rise;
Act well your part, there all the honour lies.
184 THIRD EADEE
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.
H. Tree mVR i85
Again, and yet again it rose ;
Then silence round them fell--
Silence of death--and each man knows
It was a last farewell.
1o cry of anguish, no wild shriek
Of men in agony--
1o 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 eas I
C. A. L.
THE TIDE IIVER
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.
THIRD IEADER
Dank and foul, dank and foul,
By the smoky town in its murky cowl ;
Foul and dank, foul and dank,
Bv 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.
].NGSLEY
TE best result of all education is the acquired
power of making yourself do what you ought to
do, when you ought o do it, whether you like
it or not. ttux-r
,,
0
WISDOM THE SUPREME PRIZE 187
WISDOM THE SUPREME PRIZE
lgv 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 understand-ing.
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 honorer.
tier 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.
PBovs, 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 ubtle sweetness,
Breath which holds the spice o' youth,
tIolds 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
NSPIlED BY HE NOW 189
INSPIRED BY THE SNOW
Trt black squirrel delights in the new-fallen
snow like a boy--a real boy, with red hands as
well as red cheeks, and an automatic mechanism
of bones and muscles capable of all things except
rest. The first snow sends a thrill of joy through
every fibre of such a boy, and a thousand
delights crowd into his mind. The gliding,
falling coasters on the hills, the passing sleighs
with niches on the runners for his feet, the
flying snowballs, the sliding-places, the broad,
tempting ice, all whirl through his mind in a
delightful panorama, and he hurries out to
catch the elusive flakes in his outstretched
hands and to shout aloud in the gladness of his
heart.. And the black squirrel becomes a boy
with the first snow. What a pity he cannot
shout! There is a superabundant joy and life
in his long, graceful bounds, when his beautiful
form, in its striking contrast with the white
snow, seems magnified to twice its real size.
Perhaps there is vanity as well as joy in his
lithe, bounding motions among the naked trees,
for nature seems to have done her utmost to
provide a setting that would best display his
graces of form and motion.
When the falling snow clings in light, airy
masses on the spruces and pines, and festoons
the naked tracery and clustering winter buds of
the maples--when the still air seems to fix
every twig and branch and clinging mass of
snow in a solid medium of crystal, the spell
of stillness is broken by the silent but joyful
leaps of the hurrying squirrel. How alive he
seems, in contrast with the silence of the snow,
as his outlines contrast with its perfect white l
His body curves and elongates with regular
undulations, as he measures off the snow with
twin footprints. Away in the distance he is
still visible among the naked trunks, a moving
patch of animated blackness. His free, regular
footprints 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 open-
ing in a hollow tree and looks out with an
xpression of disappointment on his face. He
does not like 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 or tapping
will tempt him from his lofty watch-tower, or
INSPIRED BY THE SNOW
win more recognition than a silent look of
weary discontent. Another cousin, the chip-
munk, no longer displays his daintily-striped
coat. Oblivious in his burrow, he is sleeping
away the days, and waiting for a more congenial
season.
But the black squirrel, now among the
branches of an elm, is twitching from one rigid
attitude to another, electrified by the crisp
atmosphere and the inspiration of the snow.
Again he is leaping over the white surface to
clamber up the repellent bark of a tall hickory.
Among the larger limbs he disappears. As he
never attempts to hide, he must have retired
into his own dwelling to partake of the store
laid by in the season of plenty. Hickory nuts
are his favourite food, and the hard shells seem
but an appetizing relish. He knovs the value
of frugality, and gathers them before they are
ripe, throwing down the shrivelled and unfilled,
that the boys may not annoy him with stones
and sticks. In winter he is the happiest of all
the woodland family. He does not yield to the
drowsy, numbing influence,of the cold, nor to
the depression of a season of scanty fare, bfit
bounds along from tree to tree, inspired by the
subtle spirit of winter and revelling in the joy
of being alive. 8. T. Wood
192 THIRD READER
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.
CowP.
SOLDIER, REST
" SOLDIER, rest ! thy warfare o'er,
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking;
Dream of battled fields no more,
Days of danger, lfights of waking.
In our isle's enchanted hall,
Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,
Fairy strains of music fall,
Every sense in slumber dewing.
slde, 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 off hot-
foot; and forgetting laud!ords, keepers, solemn
prohibitions of the Doctor, and everything else,
pulled up his trousers, plunged across, and in
three minutes was creeping along on all fours
towards the clump of willows.
It isn't often that great chub, or any other
coarse fish, are in earnest about anything; but
just then they were thoroughly bent on feeding,
and in half an hour Master Tom had deposited
three thumping fellows at the foot of the giant
willow. As he was baiting for a fourth pounder,
and just going to throw in again, he became
aware of a man coming up the bank not one
hundred yards off. Another look' told him
that it was the under-keeper. Could he reach
the shallow before him ? No, not carrying his
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. He had
just time to reach and crouch along upon a
huge branch some ten feet up, which stretched
out over the river, when the keeper arrivo4 at
the clump.
SH( 195
Tom's heart beat fast as he came under the
tree ; two steps more and he would have passed,
when, as ill-luck would have it, the gleam on
the scales of the dead fish caught his eye, and
he made a dead point at the foot of the tree.
He picked up the fish one by one ; his eye and
touch told him that they had been alive and
feeding within the hour.
Tom crouched lower along the branch, and
heard the keeper beating the clump. "If I
could only get the rod hidden," thought he, and
began gently shifting it to get it alongside of
him : "willow- trees don't throw out straight
hickory shoots twelve feet long, with no leaves,
worse luck." 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 you come down this
minute."
"Tree'd at last," thinks Tom, making no
answer, and keeping as close as possible, but
working away at the rod, which he takes to
pieces. " I'm in for it, unless I can starve him
out."
And then he begins to meditate getting along
the branch for a plunge, and scramble to the
196 THIRD READER
other side; but the small branches are so thick,
and the opposite bank so difficult, that the
keeper will have lots of time to get round by
the ford before he can get out, so he gives that
up. And now he hears the keeper beginning t
ramble up the trunk. That will never do; so
he scrambles himself back to where his branch
joins the 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. No I tells 'ee to come
down at once, and "t'll be best for 'ee."
"Thank 'ee, Velveteens, I'm very com-
fortable," said Tom, shortening the rod in his
hand, and preparing for battle.
"Werry well, please yourself," says the
keeper, descending, however, to the ground
again, and taking his seat on the bank. "I
bean't in no hurry, so you reed take your time.
I'll larn 'ee to gee honest folk names afore 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 is all his way."
FISHING
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 he thought of it the less
he liked it.
"It must be getting near second calling-over,"
thinks he. Keeper smokes on stolidly. " If he
takes me up, I shall be flogged safe enough.
I can't sit 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 per-
secutor.
And so they sat on till long past second call-
ing-over ; and the sun came slanting in through
the willow-branches, and telling of locking-up
near at hand.
"I'm coming down, keeper," said Tom at last,
with a sigh, fairly tired out. "Now what are
you going to do ?"
"Walk 'ee up to School, and give 'ee over to
the Doctor ; there's my orders," says Ve.lveteens,
knocking the ashes out of his fourth pipe, and
standing up and shakin himlt .
"Very good," said Tom ; "but hands off, you
know. I'll go with you quietly, so no collaring
or that sort of thing."
Keeper looked at him a minute: " Werry
good," said he at last. And so Tom descended,
and wended his way drearily by the side of the
keeper up to the School-house, where they
arrived just at locking-up.
As they passed the School-gates, the Tadpole
and several others who were standing there
caught the state of things, and rushed out,
crying, " Rescue !" but Tom shook his head, so
they only followed to the Doctor's gate, and
went back sorely puzzled.
How changed and stern the Doctor seemed
from the last time that Tom was up there, as
the keeper told the story, not omitting to state
how Tom had 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 we might 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-hearted fellow, 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, and they became sworn friends; and I
regret to say that Tom had many more fish
from under the willow that May-fly season, and
was never caught again by Velveteens.
HUGHES : "Tom Brown's School Daya '
THE FOUNTAIN
IITO the sunshine,
Full of the light,
Leaping ad flashing
From morn till night l
Into the moonlight,
Whiter than snow,
Wavin so flower-like
When the winds blow!
200
THIRD READER
Into the starlight,
Iushing in spray,
ttappy 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,
iotion 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 1
Let my heart be
Fresh, changeful, constant,
Upward, like thee!
LOW'ELL
BREAK, BREAK, BREAK
BIV.AK, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that aris in me.
O well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play l
O well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay l
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 I
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.
TNNYSO
TRy to frequent the company of your betters.
In books and life, that is the most wholesome
society; learn to admire rightly; the great
pleasure of life is that. Note what great men
admired: they admired great things; narrow
spirits admire basely and worship.meanly.
202 .=, .=
THE BED OF PROCRUSTES
A VERY tall and strong man, dressed in rich
garments, came down to meet Theseus. On his
arms were golden bracelets, and round his neck
a collar of jewels; and he came forward, bowing
courteously, and held out both his 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? But I see that you are weary.
Come up to my castle, and rest yourself awhile."
" I give you thanks," said Theseus ; "but I
am in haste to go up the valley."
"Alas! you have wandered far from the right
way, and you cannot reach your journey's end
to-night, for there are many miles of mountain
between you and it, and steep passes, and cliffs
dangerous after nightfall. It is well for you
that I met you, for my whole joy is to find
strangers, and to feast them at my castle, and
hear tales from them of foreign lands. Come
up with me, and eat the best of venison, and
drink the rich red wine, and sleep upon my
famous bed, of which all travellers say that they
BED Olr PROCRUSTES 203
never saw the like. For whatsoever the stature
of my guest, however tall or short, that bed fi
him to a hair, and he sleeps on it as he never
slept before." And he laid hold on Theseus'
hands, and would not let him go.
Theseus wished to go forwards: but he was
ashamed to seem churlish to so hospitable a
man ; and he was curious to see that wondrous
bed ; and beside, he was hungry and weary : yet
he shrank from the man, he knew not why ; for,
though his voice was gentle, it was dry and
husky like a toad's ; and though his eyes were
gentle, they were dull and cold like stones.
But he consented, and went with the man up
a glen which led from the road, under the dark
shadow of the cliffs.
And as they went up, the glen grew nar-
rower, and the cliffs higher and darker, and
beneath them a torrent roared, half seen between
bare limestone crags. And around them was
neither tree nor bush, while the snow-blasts
swept down the glen, cutting and chilling, till a
horror fell on Theseus as he looked round at
that doleful place. And he said at last: "Your.
castle stands, it seems, in a dreary region."
" Yes; but once within it, hospitality makes
all things cheerful. But who are these ?" and
204 THIRD READER
he looked back, and Theseus also; and far
below, along the road which they had left,
came a string of laden asses, and merchants
walking by them, watching their ware.
"Ah, poor souls!" said the stranger. "Well
for them that I looked back and saw them!
And well for me,too,'for I shall have the more
guests at my feast. Wait awhile till Y go down
and call them, and we will eat and drink
together the livelong night. Happy am I, to
whom Heaven sends so many guests at onc 1"
And he ran back down the hill, waving his
hand and shouting to the merchants, while
Theseus went slowly up the steep pass.
But as he went up he met an aged an, who
had been gathering driftwood in the torrent-
bed. He had. laid down his faggot in the road,
and was trying to lift it again to his shoulder.
And when he saw Theseus, he called to him
and said :
"O fair youth, help me up with my burden,
for my limbs are stiff and weak 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 ? "
206 TIRD READER
Then Theseus said nothing; but he ground
his teeth together.
"Escape, then," said the old man, "for he
will have no pity on thy youth. But yesterday
he brought up hither a young man and a
maiden, and fitted them upon his bed; and the
young man's hands and feet he cut off, but the
maiden's limbs he stretched util she died, and
so both perished miserably--but I am tired of
weeping over the slain. And therefore he' is
called Procrustes,the stretcher. Flee from him:
yet whither will you flee? The cliffs are steep,
and who can climb them? and there is no other
road."
But Theseus laid his hand upon the old man's
mouth, and said: "There is no 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 evil death;" and the
old man screamed after him down the glen;
bu Theseus strode on in his wrath.
And he said to himself: "This is an ill-ruled
land; when shall I have done ridding it of mon-
sters ? " And, as he spoke, Procrustes came up
the hill, and all the merchants with him, smil-
ing and talking gaily. And when he saw
RED OF PROCRUSTES 207
Theseus, he cried : "Ah, fair young guest, have I
kept you too long waiting?"
But Theseus answered: "The man who stretch-
es his guests upon a bed and hews off their
hands and feet, what shall be done to him, when
right is done throughout the land .9"
Then Procrustes' countenance changed, and
his cheeks grew as green as a lizard, and h 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 round waist and elbow, so
that he could not draw his sword.
" Is this true, my host, or is it false!" But
Procrustes answered never a word.
Then Theseus flung him from him, and lifted
up his dreadful club; and before Procrustes
could strike him, he had etruek and felled him
to the ground.
And once again he struck him; and his evil
soul fled forth, squeaking like a bat into the
darkness of a cave.
Then Theseus stripped him 6f his gold orna-
ments, and went up to his house, and found
there great wealth and treasure, which he had
stolen from the passers-by. And he called the
people of the country, whom Procrustes had
208 THIRD READER
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 I
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 I
There, you are gone! but far away
I hear your whistle falling.
Ahl maybe it is hide-and-seek,
And that's why you are calling.
RADISSON AND THE INDIANS 209
Along those hazy uplands wide
We'd be such merry rangers ;
What l silent now, and hidden too I
"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!
GEOI6E COOPER
RADISSON AND THE INDIANS
TIlE tribe being assembled and having spread
out their customary gifts, consisting of beaver
tails, smoked moose tongues and pemmican, one
of the leading braves arose and said :
"Men who pretend to give us life, do you
wish us to die! You know what beaver is
worth and the trouble we have to take it. You
call yourselves our brothers, and yet will not
give us what those give who make no such
profession. Accept our gifts, and let us barter,
14
10 TIIRD READER
or we will visit you no more. We have but to
travel a hundred leagues and we will encounter
the 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 never was the time to exhibit firnmess,
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 a man shall
speak, he will see I know how to defend my
conduct and my terms. We love our brothers
and we deserve their love in return. For have
we not saved them all from the treachery of the
English ?"
Uttering these words fearlessly, he leaped to
his feet and drew a long hunting-knife from his
belt. Seizing by the scalp-lock the chief of tho
tribe, 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, speak for me. Thou art the
master of my goods; but as for that dog who
has spoken, what is he doing in this company ?
Let him go to his brothers, the English, at tho
RADISSON ATD THE INDIANS 211
head of the Bay. Or he need not travel so far.
I-Ie may, 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 Padisson, "of the perils of the woods,
of the abandonment of his squaws and children,
of the risks of hunger and the peril of death
by foes. All these you avoid by trading with us
here. But although I an mightily angry, I will
take pity on this wretch and let him still live.
Go," addressing the brave with his weapon out-
stretched, " take this as my gift to you, and
depart. When you meet your brothers, the
English, ell them my name, and add that we
are soon coming to treat them and their factory
vonder as we have treated this one."
The speaker knew enough of the Indian
character, especially in affairs of 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 for a
beaver were thereafter adopted, and that his
firmness saved the Company many a cargo of
these implements. His harangue produced an
immediate impression upon all save the humili-
ated brave, who declared that, if the Assini-
THIRD READER
boines came hither to barter, he would lie in
ambush and kill them.
The French trader's rely to this was. to the
Indian mind,a terrible one.
"I will myself travel into thy country," said he,
"and eat sagamite in thy grandmother's skull."
While the brave and his small circle of
friends were livid with fear and anger, Radisson
ordered three fathoms of tobacco to be distrib-
uted; 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 night-
fall the Indians departed, not a skin was left
amongst them.
]ECKLES WiLLSON: "The Great Company."
THE BROOK
I CO.,E 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.
THE BROOK 213
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 fair.y 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,
4 HIED EADER
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 finger 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 mn may go,
]3ut I go on for ever. TrsoN
As good almost kill a man as kill a good book.
Many a man lives a burden to the earth, but
a good book is the precious life blodd of a
master- spirit. MoN
u DO SEEK THEIR MEAT FROM GOD "
215
"DO SEEK THEIR MEAT FROM GOD"
TERE was a solitary cabin in the thick of the
woods a mile or more from the nearest neighbour,
a substantial frame house in the midst of a large
and well-tilled clearing. The owner of the
cabin, a shiftless fellow who spent his days for
the most part at the corner tavern three miles
distant, had suddenly grown disgusted with a
land wherein one must work to live, and had
betaken himself with his seven-year-old boy to
seek some more indolent clime.
The five-year-ol son of the prosperous owner
of the frame house and the older boy had been
playmates. The little boy, unaware of his com-
rade's departure, had stolen away, late in the
afternoon, along the lonely stretch 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 crept tembling into the
cabin, whose door would not stay shut. Des-
perate with fear and loneliness, he lifted up his
voice piteously. In the terrifying silence, he
listened hard to hear if anyone or anything
were coming. Then again his shrill childish
wailings arose, startling the unexpectant night,
6 ]IRD RDER
and piercing the forest depths, even to the ears
of two great panthers which had set forth to
seek their meat from God.
The lonely cabin stood some distance, per-
haps a quarter of a mile, back from the high-
way connecting the settlements. Along this
main road a man was plodding wearily. All
day he had been walking, and now as he neared
home his steps began to quicken with anticipa-
tion of rest. Over his shoulder projected a
double-barrelled fowling-piece, from which was
slung a bundle of such necessities as he had
purchased in town that morning. 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 lead-
ing to the cabin and had gone perhaps a furlong
beyond, when his ears were startled by the
sound of a child 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 was just at this time that
the two panthers also stopped, and lifted their
heads to listen. Their ears were keener than
those of the man, and the sound had reached
them at a greater distance.
' DO SEEK THEIR MEAT FROM GOD " 17
Presently the settler realized whence the
cries were coming. He called to 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 the drunken
squatter's child he looked with small favour,
especially as a playmate for his own boy.
Nevertheless he hesitated before resuming his
journey.
" Poor little fellow!" he muttered, half in
wrath. "! reckon his precious father'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 the childish voice, and the
settler paused again, irresolute, and with deep-
ening indignation. In his fancy he saw the
steaming supper his wife would 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 the wood road.
He was foot-sore as well as hungry, and he
cursed the vagabond squatter with serious
emphasis; but in that v/ailing was a terror
which would not let him go on. He thought
of his own little one left in such a position,
18 THIRD EADER
and straightway his heart melted. He turned,
dropped his bundle behind some bushes, grasped
his gun, and made speed back for the cabin.
" Who knows," he said to himself, " but that
drunken idiot has left his youngster without a
bite to eat in the whole miserable shanty? Or
maybe he'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
quickened his pace.
As the hungry panthers drew near the cabin,
and the cries of the lonely child grew clearer,
they hastened their steps, and their eyes opened
to a wider circle, flaming with a greener fire.
It would be thoughtless superstition to say
the beasts were cruel. They were simply
keen with hunger, and alive with the eager
Fassion of the chase. They were not ferocious
with any anticipation of battle, for they knew
the voice was the voice of a child, and some-
thing in the voice told them the child was
solitary. Theirs was no hideous or unnatural
rage, as it is the custom to describe it. They
were but seeking with the strength, the cun-
ning, the deadly swiftness given them to that
end, the food convenient for them. On their
success in accomplishing that for which nature
20 THIRD EADER
The nale walked around her in fierce and
anxious amazement. Presently, as the smoke
lifted, he discerned the settler kneeling for a
second shot. With a high screech of fury, the
lithe brute sprang upon his enemy, taking a
bullet full in his chest without seeming to know
he was hit. 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. Without .a word, the man set his
strong fingers desperately into the brute's
throat, wrenched himself partly free, and was
struggling to rise, when the panther's body
collapsed upon him all at once, a dead weight
which he easily flung aside. The bullet had
dond its work just in time.
Quivering from the swift and dreadful
contest, bleeding profusely from his mangled
shoulder, the settler stepped up to the cabin
door and peered in. He heard sobs in the
darkness.
"Don't be scared, sonny," he said, in a re-
assuring voice. "I'm going to take you home
along with me. Poor little lad, I'll look after
you, if folks that ought to don't."
Out of the dark corner came a shout of
delight, in a voice which made the settler's
DO SEEK THEIR MEAT FROM GOD" 221
heart stand still. "Daddy, Daddy," it said,
" I knew you'd come. I was so frightened when
it got dark !" And a little figure launched
itself into the settler's arms, and clung to him
trembling. The man sat down on the threshold
and strained the child to his breast. He
remembered how near he had been to dis-
regarding the far-off cries, and great beads of
sweat broke out upon his forehead.
Not many weeks afterwards the settler was
following the fresh trail of a bear which had
killed his sheep. The trail led him at last
along the slope of a deep ravine, from whose
bottom came the brawl of a swollen and
obstructed stream. In the ravine he found a
shallow cave, behind a great white rock. The
cave was plainly a wild beast's lair, and he
entered circumspectly. There were bones scat-
tered about, and on some dry herbage in the
deepest corner of the den, he found the dead
bodies of two small panther cubs.
CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS -" "Earth'sEnigmas."
So nigh is grandeur to our dust,
So near is God to man,
When Duty whispers low, " Thou must,"
The youth replies, "I can."
222 THV READER
A SONG OF THE SEA
THE Sea! the Sea ! the open Sea!
The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
Without a nmrl, 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 lelow,
And silence wheresoe'er I go;
If a storm should come and awake the deep,
What matter? /shall ride and sleep.
I love (oh ! hot, 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,
Ad 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/s 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
I've lived since then, in calm and strife,
Full fifty summers . 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. '. PRocurER : (" Barry Cornwall")
LITTLE DAFFYDOWNDILLY
"I slept, and dreamed that life was beauty ;
1 woke, and found that life was duty.'
DAFF'rDOW.SDILLY was so called because in his
nature he resembled a flower, and loved to do
only what was beautiful and agreeable, and took
no delight in labour of any kind. But while
Daffydowndilly was yet a little boy, his mother
sent him away from his pleasant home, and put
him under the care of a very strict schoolmaster,
who went by the name of Mr. Toil. Those who
knew him best affirmed that this Mr. Toil was a
4 THIRD EADER
very worthy, character; and that he had done
more good, both to children and grown people,
than anybody else in the world.
Certainly he had lived long enough to do a
great deal of good ; for, if all stories be true, he
had dwelt upon earth ever since Adam was
driven from the garden of Eden.
Nevertheless, Mr. Toil had a severe and ugly
countenance, especially for such 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 our friend Daffy-
downdilly. The whole day long this terrible
schoolmaster sat at his desk overlooking the
scholars, or stalked about the school-room with
a certain awful birch rod in his hand. Now
came a rap over the shoulders of a boy whom
Mr. Toil had caught at play ; now he punished a
whole class who were behindhand with their
lessons; and, in short, unless a lad chose to
attend quietly and constantly to his book, he
had no chance of enjoying a quiet moment in
the school-room of Mr. Toil.
"This will never do for me," thought Daffy-
downdilly.
Now the whole of Daffydowndilly's life had
hitherto been passed with his dear mother, who
LITTLE I)AFFYDOWNI)ILLY
225
had a much sweeter face than old Mr. Toil, and
who had always been very indulgent to her
little boy. No wonder, therefore, that poor
Daffydowndilly found it a woeful change to be
sent away from the good lady's side and put
under the care of this ugly-visaged schoolmaster,
who never gave him any apples or cakes, and
seemed to think that little boys were created
only to get lessons.
" I can't bear it any longer," said Daffydown-
dilly to himself, when he had been at school
about a week. " I'll run away and try to find
my dear mother ; and, at any rate, I shall never
find anybody half so disagreeable as this old Mr.
Toil ! "
So the very next morning, off started poor
Daffydowndilly, and began his rambles about
the world, with only some bread and cheese for
his breakfast, and very little pocket-money to
pay his expenses. But he had gone only a
short distance when he overtook a man of grave
and sedate appearance, who was trudging at a
moderate pace along the road.
"Good-morning, my lad," said the stranger;
and "his voice seemed hard and severe, but
yet had a sort of kindness in it. "Whence do
you come so early, and whither are you going?"
226 riR) READER
Little I)affydowndilly was a boy of a very
ingenuous disposition, and had never been
lnown 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 away from
school, on account of his great dislile for ]Ir.
Toil; and that he was resolved to find some
place in the world where he should never see or
hear of the old schoolmaster again.
"Oh, very well, my little friend!" answered
the stranger. "Then we will go together; for I,
lilewise, have had a good deal to do with lIr.
Toil, and should be glad to find some place
where he was never heard of."
Our friend I)afrydowndilly would have been
better pleased with a companion of his own age,
with whom he might have gathered flowers
along the road-side, or have chased butterflies,
or have done many other things to male the
journey pleasant. But he had wisdom enough
to undetand that he should get along through
the world much easier by having a man of
experience to show_him the way. So he
accepted the stranger's proposal and they
walked on very sociably together.
They had not gone iar, when the road passed
by a field where some haymalers were at work,
LITTLE DAFFYDOWNDILLY 227
mowing down the tall grass and spreading it
out in the sun to dry. Daffydowndilly was
delighted with the sweet smell of the new-
mown grass, and thought how much pleasanter
it must be to make hay in the sunshine under
the blue sky, and with the birds singing sweetly
in the neighbouring trees and bushes, than to
be shut up in-a dismal school-room, learning
lessons all day long, and continually scolded by
old Mr. Toil. But, in the midst of these
thoughts, while he was stopping to peep over
the stone wall, he started back and caught hold
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 you see him amongst
the haymakers ?"
And Daffydowndilly pointed to an elderly
man, who seemed to be the owner of the field,
and the employer of the men at work there.
He had stripped off 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 a moment's rest, and kept crying
out to the haymakers to make hay while the
228 THIRD READER
sun shone. Now, strange to say, the figure and
features of this old farmer were precisely the
same as those of old Mr. Toil, who, at that very
moment, must have been just entering his
school-room.
"Don't be afraid," said the stranger. "This
is not Mr. Toil, the schoolmaster, but a brother
of his, who was bred a farmer; and the people
say he is the more disagreeable man of the two.
However, he won't trouble you unless you
become a labourer on the farm."
Little Daffydowndilly believed what his com-
panion said, but he was very glad, nevertheless,
when they were out of sight of the old farmer,
who bore such a singular resemblance to Mr.
Toil. The two travellers had gone but little
farther, when they came to a spot where some
carpenters were erecting a house. Daffydown-
dilly begged his companion to stop a moment;
for it was a very pretty sight to see how neatly
the carpenters did their work, with their broad-
axes and saws, and planes, and hammers,
shaping out the doors, and putting in the
window-sashes, and nailing on the clap-boards;
and he could not help thinking that he should
like to take a broad-axe, a saw, a plane, and a
hammer, and build a little house for himself.
"Oh, no! this is not Mr. Toil, the school-
master," said the stranger. "It is another
brother of his, who follows the trade of car-
penter."
t, quoth Daffydown-
" I am very glad to hear " "
dilly; "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 drum and fife. Daffy-
downdilly pricked up his ears at this, and
besought his companion to hurry forward,
that they might not miss seeing the soldiers.
Accordingly they made what haste they could,
and soon mt a company of soldiers gaily
dressed, with beautiful feathers in their caps,
and bright muskets on their shoulders. In
front marched two drummers and two tilers,
beating on their drums and making such lively
music that little Daffydowndilly would gladly
have followed them to the end of the world.
And if he was only a soldier, then, he said to
himself, 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 dis-
may; for this voice which had spoken to the
232 TD REDER
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 were
making merry. Young men and rosy-cheeked
girls, with smiles on their faces, were dancing
to the sound of a fiddle. It was the pleasantest
sight that Daffydowndilly had yet met with, and
it comforted him for all his disappointments.
"Oh, let us stop here," cried he to his com-
panion; "for Mr. Toil will never dare to show
his face where there is a fiddler, and where
people are dancing and making merry. We
shall be quite safe here!"
But these last words died away upon Daffy-
downdilly's tongue; for, happening to cast his
eyes on the fiddler, whom should he behold
again but the likeness of Mr. Toil, holding a
fiddle-bow instead of a birch rod, and flourish-
ing it with as much ease and dexterity as if
he had been a fiddler all his life! He had
somewhat the air of a Frenchman, but still
looked exactly like the old schoolmaster; and
Daffydowndilly even fancied that he nodded
and winked at him, and made signs for him
to join in the dance.
"Oh, dear ae!" whispered he, turning pale,
"it seems as if there was nobody but Mr. Toil
in the world. Who could have thought of his
playing on a fiddle!"
"This is not your old schoolmaster," observed
the stranger, "but another brother of his, who
was bred in France, where he learned the pro-
fession of a fiddler. He is ashamed of his
family, and generally calls himself Monsieur le
Plaisir; but his real name is Toil, and those
who have known him best think him still more
disagreeable than his brothers."
"Oh, take me back !--take me back I" cried
poor little Daffydowndilly, bursting into tears.
"If there is nothing but Toil all the world over,
I may just as well go back to the school-house!"
"Yonder it is,--there is the school-house!"
said the stranger, for though he and Daffydown-
dilly had taken a great many steps, they had
travelled in a circle instead of a straight line.
"Come ;,.we will go back to school together."
There" was something in his companion's voice
that little Daffydowndilly now remembered, and
it is strange that he had not remembered it
sooner. Looking up into his face, behold!
there again was the likeness of old Mr. Toil ; so
that the poor child had been in company with
Toil all day, even while he was doing his best
to run away fron him. ome people, to whom
234 THIRD READER
I have told little Daffydowndilly's story, are
of the opinion that old 3Ir. Toil was a magician,
and possessed the power of multiplying himself
into as many shapes as he saw fit.
Be this as it may, little Daffydowndilly had
learned a good lesson, and from that time
forward was diligent at his task, because he
knew that diligence is not a whit more toilsome
than sport or idleness. And when he became
better acquainted with Mr. Toil, he began to
think that his ways were not so very disagree-
able, and that the old schoolmaster's smile of
approbation made his face almost as pleasant
as even that of Daffydowndilly's mother.
'ATHANIEL HAWTHORNE
THE SANDPIPER
Acaoss 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.
TttE SAIDPIrER 235
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 arid 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
lIy driftvood-fire will burn so bright l
To what warm shelter canst thou fly ?
] 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 ?
CEL
236 ............
FROM "THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT"
BL_SSED are the poor in spirit: for their's is the
kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that
mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed
are the meek : for they shall inherit the earth.
Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst
after righteousness: for they shall be !!ed.
Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtaid
mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart: for they
shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers: for
they shall be called the children of God.
Again, ye have heard that it hath been said
by them of old time, Thou shalt 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's throne: 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 thy head, because
thou canst not make one hair white or black.
Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou
shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy.
But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless
them that curse you, do good to them that hat
you, and pray for them which despitefully use
238 TIRD READER
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.
240 THIRD READER
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 date,
tIis stout pine staff bent down.
I think the lesson is as good
To-day as it was thenm
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!
"ELE N HUNT JACKSON
VILLIAM TELL AND HIS SON
WILLIAM TELL AND HIS SON
TE sun already shone brightly as William Tell
entered the town of Altorf, and he advanced at
once to the public place, where the first object
that caught his eyes was a handsome cap, em-
broidered with gold, stuck upon the end of a
long pole. Soldiers were walking around it in
silence, and the people of Altorf, as they passed,
bowed their head to the symbol of authority.
The cap had been set up by Gessler, the Aus-
trian commander, for the purpose of discovering
those who were not submissive to the Austrian
power, which had ruled the people of the Swiss
Cantons for a long time with great severity
He suspected that the people were about to
break into rebellion, and with a view to learn
who were the most discontented, he had placed
the ducal cap of Austria on this pole, publicly
procla.iming that every one passing near, or
within sight of it, should bow before it, in proof
of his ho_mage to the duke.
Tell was much surprised at this new and
strange attempt to humble the people, and, lean-
ing on his cross-bow, gazed scornfully on them
and the soldiers. Berenger, captain of the
16
242 THIRD READER
guard, at length obser-ed this man, who alone
amidst the criaging crowd carried his head
erect. He ordered him to be seized and dis-
armed by the soldiers, and then conducted him
to Gessler, who put some questions to him,
which he answered so haughtily that Gessler
was both surprised and angry. Suddenly, he
was struck by the likeness between him and the
boy Walter Tell, whom he hl seized and put
in prison the previous day for uttering some
seditious words; he immediately asked his
name, which he no sooner heard than he knew
him to be 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 man ever imagined. As soon, then, as
the youth was brought out, the governor turned
to Tell, and said:"I have often heard of thy
great skill as an archer, and I now intend to put
it to the proof. Thy son shall be placed at a
distance of a hundred yards, with an apple on
his hed. If thou strikest the apple with thy
arrow, I will pardon you both; but if thou
refusest this trial,thy son shall die before thino
WILLIAI TELL A'D HIS SOb" 243
Tell implored Gessler to spare him so cruel a
trial, in which he might perhaps kill his beloved
boy with his own hand. The governor would
not alter his purpose; so Tell at last agreed to
shoot at the apple, as the only chance of saving
his son's life. Waiter stood with his back to a
linden tree. Gessler, some distance behind,
watched every motion. His cross-bow and one
arrow were handed to Tell; he tried the point,
broke the weapon, and demanded his quiver. It
was brought to him and emptied at his ft.
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
roused himself--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 to embrace his father, who,
overcome by his emotion, fell fainting to the
ground, thus exposing the second arrow to view.
Gessler stood over him, awaiting his recovery,
which speedily taking place, Tell rose, and
turned away from the governor with horror.
Am4 THIRD READER
The latter, however, scarcely yet believing his
senses, thus addressed him: "Incomparable
archer, I will keep my promise;, but what
needed you with that second arrow which I
see in your girdle?"
Tell replied : "It is the custom of the bowmen
of Uri to have always one arrow in reserve."
" Nay, nay," said Gessler, "tell me thy real
motive; and, whatever it may have been, speak
frankly, and thy life is spared."
"The second shaft," replied Tell, "was to
pierce thy heart, tyrant, if I had chanced to
harm my son."
HAMBER S Tp '
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 ?"
A MIDSUMMER SONG 245
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 hollov 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 I--Polly !---The cows are in the
corn I
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.
THIRD READER
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 ?
ICHARD WATSON G/LDE
THE IELIEF OF LUCKNOW
O.n every side death stared us in the face; no
human skill could avert it any longer. We
saw the moment approach when we must bid
farewell to earth, yet without feeling that un-
utterable horror which must have been experi-
enced by the unhappy victims at Cawnpore.
We were resolved rather to die than yield,
and were fully persuaded that in twenty-four
hours all would be over. The engineer had"
mid so, and all knew the worst. We women
strove to encourage each other, and to perform
the light duties which had been assigned to
us, such as conveying orders to the batteries, and
supplying the men with provisions, especially
cups of coffee, which we prepared day and
night..
THE RELIEF OF LUCKIIOW 247
I had gone out to try to make myself useful,
in company with Jessie Brown, the wife of a
corporal in my husband's regiment. Poor Jessie
had been in a state of restless excitement all
through the siege, and had fallen away visibly
within the last few days. A constant fever
consumed her, and her mind wandered occasion-
ally, especially that day when the recollections
of home seemed powerfully present to her. At
last, overcome with fatigue, she lay down on
the ground, wrapped up in her plaid. 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 apparently breathless, her head
resting in my lap. I myself could no longer
resist the 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; my companion stood upright beside me,
her arms raised, and her head bent forward in
the attitude of listening.
A look of intense delight broke over her
countenance. She grasped my hand, drew me
toward her, and exclaimed: "Dinna ye hear it ?
dinna ye hear it ? Aye. I'm no dreaming: it's
24 THLRD REAER
the slogan o' the Highlanders! We're saved[
ve're saved I" Then, flinging herself on her
knees, she thanked God with passionate fervour.
I felt utterly bewildered; my English ears
heard only the roar of artillery, and I
thought my poor Jessie was still raving, but she
darted to 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 be impossible. For a moment
they ceased firing, and every soul listened with
intense anxiety. Gradually, however, there
arose a murmur of bitter disappointment, and
the wailing of the women, who had flocked to
the spot, burst out anew as the colonel shook
his head. Our dull Lowland ears heard only
the rattle of the musketry.
A few moments more of this deathlike sus-
pense, of this agonizing hope, and Jessie, who
had again sunk on the ground, sprang to her
feet, and cried in a voice so clear and piercing
that it was heard along the whole line: "Will
ye no believe it noo? The slogan has ceased,
indeed, but the Campbells are comin'! D'ye
hear? d'ye hear?"
THE IELIEF OF LUCKNOW
At that moment all seemed, indeed, to hear
the voice of God in the distance, when the
pibroch of the Highlanders brought us tidings
of deliverance ; for-now there was no longer any
doubt of the fact. That shrill, penetrating,
ceaseless sound, which rose above all other
sounds, could come neither from the advance of
the enemy nor from the work of the sappers..
No, it was, indeed,the blast of the Scottish bag-
pipes, now shrill and harsh, as threatening
vengeance on the foe, then in softer tones,
seeming to promise succour to their friends in
need.
Never, surely, was there such a scene as that
which followed. Not a heart in the residency
of Lucknow but bowed itself before God. All,
by one simultaneous impulse, fell upon their
knees, and nothing was heard but bursting sobs
and the murmured voice of prayer. Then all
arose, and there rang out from a thousand lips a
great shout of joy, which resounded far and
wide, and lent new vigour to that blessed
pibroch.
To our cheer of "God save the Queen," they
replied by the well-.known strain that moves
every Scot to tears, "Should auld acquaintance
be forgot." After that, nothing else made any
impression on me. I scarcely remember what
followed. Jessie was presented to the general
on his entrance into the fort, and at the officers'
banque her health was drunk by all present,
while the pipers marched around the table,
playing once more the familiar air of "AuId
Lang Syne." "Letter from an o[ficer'e 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.
WEE SOIG XI CAP 251
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."
252 THIRD READER
Sleep, soldiers! still in honoured rest
Your truth and valour wearing :
The bravest are the tenderest,-
The loving are the daring.
BAYARD TA'LOa
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 pean,
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.
KING RICHARD AND SALADIN 253
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.
ILFRED CAMPBELL
KING RICHARD AND SALADIN
SAIADIX led the way to a splendid pavilion
where was everything that royal luxury could
devise. De Vaux, who was in attendance, then
removed the long riding-cloak which Richard
wore, and he stood before Saladin in the close
dress which showed to advantage the strength
and symmetry of his person, while it bore a
strong contrast to the flowing robes which dis-
guised the thin frame of the Eastern monarch.
It was Richard's two-handed sword that chiefly
attracted the attention of the Saracen--a broad
straight blade, the seemingly unwieldy length
of which extended wellnigh from the shoulder
to the heel of the wearer.
" Had I not," said Saladin, "seen this brand
flaming in the front of battle, like that of
Azrael, I had scarce believed that human arm
could wield it. Might I request to see the
25 THIRD READEI
Melech 'ic strike one blow with it in peace and
in pure trial of strength ? '
" Willingly, noble Saladin," answered Rich-
ard; and looking around for something whereon
to exercise his strength, he saw a steel mace, held
by one of the attendants, the handle being of
the same metal, and about an inch and a half in
diameter. This he placed on a block of wood.
The glittering broadsword, wielded by both
his hands, rose aloft to the king's left shoulder,
circled round his head, descended with the
sway of some terrific engine, and the bar of iron
rolled on the ground in two pieces, as a wood-
man would sever a sapling with a hedging-bill.
"By the head of the Prophet, a most wonder-
ful blow!" said the Soldan, critically and
accurately examining the iron bar which had
been cut asunder; and the blade of the sword
was so well tempered as to exhibit not the least
token of having suffered by the feat it had
performed. He then took the king's hand, and
looking on the size and muscular strength
which it exhibited, laughed as he placed it
beside his own, so lank and thin, so inferior in
brawn and sinew.
"Ay, look well," said De Vaux in English,
"it will be long ere your long jackanape's
KING RICHARD AID SALADIN 255
fingers do such a feat with your fine gilded
reaping-hook there."
" Silence, De Vaux," said Richard ; "by Our
Lady, he understands or guesses thy meaning--
be not so broad, I pray thee."
The Soldan, indeed, presently said : "Some-
thing I would fain attempt, though wherefore
should the weak show their inferiority in
presence of the strong? Yet, each land hath
its own exercises, and this may be new to the
Melech Ric." So saying, he took from the floor
a cushion of silk and 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 the Excalibur of King Arthur,
can cut that which opposes no steady resistance
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
had hardened into a mass consisting of nought
but bone, brawn, and sinew. He unsheathed
his scimitar, a curved and narrow blade, which
glittered not like the swords of the Franks, but
was, on the contrary, of a dull blue colour,
25G THIRD READER
marked with ten millions of meandering lines,
which showed how anxiously the metal had
been welded by the armourer. Wieldi.ng this
weapon, apparently so inefficient when compared
to that of Richard, the Soldan stood resting his
weight upon his left foot, which was slightly
advanced; he balanced himself a little as if to
steady his aim, then,stepping at once forward,
drew the scimitar across the cushion, applying
the edge so dexterously and with so little ap-
Parent effort, that the cushion seemed rather to
fall asunder than to be divided by violence.
"It is a juggler's trick," said De Vaux, darting
forward and snatching up the portion of the
cushion which had been cut off, as if to assure
himself of the reality of the feat;" there is
gramarye in this."
The Soldan seemed to comprehend him,. for
he undid the sort of veil which he had hitherto
worn, laid it double along the edge of his sabre,
extended the weapon edgeways in the air, and
drawing it suddenly through the veil, although
it hung on the blade entirely loose, severed that
also into two parts, which floated to different
sides of the tent, equally displaying the extreme
temper and sharpness of the weapon and the
exquisite dexterity of him who used it.
KING RICHARD AND SALADIN 257
"Now, in good faith, my brother," said
lichard, " thou art even matchless at 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 what we cannot
do by sleight we eke out by strength. Never-
theless, in truth thou 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, and had brought some small
present."
As he spoke, Saladin exchanged his turban
for a Tartar cap. He had no sooner done so,
than De Vaux opened at once his extended
mouth and his large round eyes, and Richard
gazed with scarce less astonishment, while the
Soldan spoke in a grave and altered voice: "The
sick man, sayeth the poet, while he is yet infirm,
knoweth the physician by his step; but when
he is recovered, he knoweth not even his face
when he looks upon him."
"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 absence of his cap and
258 THIRD READER
robe, and that I should find him again in my
royal brother Saladin !"
"Such is oft the fashion of the world,"
answered the Soldan : "the tattered robe makes
not always the dervish."
COTT : "The Talism.."
ENGLAND'S DEAD
Sor of the Ocean Isle l
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.
IGLAND'S DEAD 259
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 I
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 I
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 l
Let the fresh wreaths be shed!
For the Roncesvalles' field is won,-
There slumber England's dead.
262
THIRD READER
Few, fe, shall part where many meet l
The snow shall be their winding-sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.
Toms CAMPBF-LI
THE DREAM OF THE OAK TREE
THESE stood in a wood, high on the bank near
the open sea-shore, such a grand old oak tree!
It was three hundred and sixty-five years old;
but all this length of years had seemed to the
tree scarcely more than so many 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
three seasons of the year, ahd has no sleep till
winter comes. The winter is its 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 his most beautiful dream.
He seemed to hear the church-bells ringing all
around, and to feel as if it were a mild, warm
summer day. Fresh and geen he reared his
mighty crown on high, and the sunbeams played
rHE D.M OF THE O. TE _'263
among his leaves. As in a festive procession,
all that the tree had beheld in his life now
i passed by.
Knights and ladies, with feathers in their
caps and hawks perching on their wrists, rode
gaily through the wood; dogs barked, and the
huntsman sounded his bugle.
Then came foreign soldiers in bright armour
and gay vestments, bearing spurs and halberds,
setting up their tents, and presently taking
them down again. Then watch-fires blazed up
and bands of wild outlaws sang, revelled, and
slept under the tree's outstretched boughs; or
happy lovers met in quiet moonlight and
carved their initials on the grayish bark.
At one time a guitar and an YEolian harp
had been hung among the old oak'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 flowed through him,
down to his lowest roots, up to his highest twigs,
even to the very leaves. The tree felt in his
roots that a warm life stirred in the earth, and
that he was growing taller and taller; his trunk
hot up more and more, his crown grew fuller;
THIRD READER
and still he soared and spread. He felt that
his power grew, too, and he longed to ad-
vance higher and higher to the warm bright
sun.
Already he towered above the clouds, which
drifted below him, now like a troop of dark-
plumaged birds of passage, now like flocks of
large, white swans. The stars became visible by
daylight, so large and bright, each one sparkling
like a mild, clear eye.
It was a blessed moment! and yet, in the
height of his joy, the oak tree felt a desire and
longing that all the other trees, bushes, herbs,
and flowers of the wood might be lifted up with
him to share in his glory and 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, and looked backward.
Then he felt the fragrance of honeysuckle and
violets, and fancied he could hear the birds.
And so it was ! for now peeped forth through the
clouds the green summits of the wood ; the other
trees below had grown and lifted themselves up
likewise; bushes and herbs shot high into the
air, some tearing themselves loose from thei
roots to mount the faster.
THE I)I:{EAI OF THE OAK TREE 205
Like a flash of white lightning the birch,
moving fastest of all, shot upward its slender
stem. Even the feathery brown reeds had
pierced their way through the clouds, and the
birds sang and sang, and on the grass that
fluttered to and fro like a streaming ribbon
perched the grasshopper, while cockchafers
hummed and bees buzzed. All was music and
gladness.
"But the little blue flower near the water--
I want that, too," said the oak; "and the bell-
flower, and the dear little daisy." "We are
here! we are here!" chanted sweet low voices
on all sides.
"But the pretty anemones, and the bed of
lilies of the valley, and all the flowers that
bloomed so long ago,--would that they were
here !" " We are here ! we are here !" was the
answer, and it seemed to come from the air
above, as if they had fled upward first.
"Oh, this is too great happiness !" exclaimed
the oak tree; and now he felt that his own roots
were loosening themselves from the earth.
"This is best of all," he said. "Now no bohnds
shall detain me. I can soar to the heights of
light and glory, and I have all my dear ones
with me."
266 I-ttIRD READER
Such was the oak tree's Christmas dream.
And all the while a mighty storm swept the
sea and land; the ocean rolled his heavy bil-
lows on the shore, the tree cracked, and was
rent and torn up by the roots at the very
moment when he dreamed that he was soaring
to the skies.
Next day the sea was calm again, and a large
vessel that had weathered the storm hoisted all
its flags for Merry Christmas. " The tree is
gone---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
Christmas hymn re-echoed from the wood.
HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
(Adapted)
A PRAYER
THE day returns and brings us the petty round
of irritating concerns and duties. Help us to
play the man, help us to perform them with
laughter and kind faces; let cheerfulness
abound with industry. Give us to go blithely
on our business all this day, bring us to our
resting beds weary and content and undishon-
oured ; and grant us in the end the gift of sleep.
R. L. Sso
DEATH OF THE FLOWERS
THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS
THE melancholy days are come, the saddest of
the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, aD(l
meadows brown and sere.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn
leaves lie dead; o
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 brighterlight, and softer airs, a beauteous
sisterhood ?
Alas ! they all are in their graves, the gentle
race of flowe:s
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.
'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER 269
'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER
'Tis the last rose of summer
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
1-o 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 l
]OORE
270 THIRD READER
A ROMAN'S HONOUR
TgE Romans had suffered a terrible defeat in
B.C. 251, and Regulus, a famous soldier and
senator, had been captured and dragged into
Carthage where the victors feasted and rejoiced
through half the night, and testified their
thanks to their god by offering in his fires
the bravest of their captives.
Regulus himself was not, however, one of
these victims. He was kept a close prisoner for
two years, pining and sickening in his loneli-
ness; while, in the meantime, the war continued,
and at last a victory so decisive was gained by
the Romans, that the people of Carthage were
discouraged, and resolved to ask terms of peace.
They thought that no one would be so readily
listened to at Rome as Regulus, and they there-
fore sent him there with their envoys, having
first made him swear that he would come back
to his prison, if there should neither be peace
nor an exchange of prisoners. They little knew
how much more a true-hearted Roman cared
for his city than for himself---for his word than
for his life.
Worn and dejected, the captive warrior came
A ROrAN'S HONOVR 271
to the outside of the gates of his own city and
there paused, refusing to enter. "I am no
longer a Roman citizen," he said; "I am but
the barbarian's slave, and the Senate may not
give audience to strangers within the wails."
His wife, Marcia, ran out to greet him, with
his two sons, but he did not look up, and
received their caresses as one beneath their
notice, as a mere slave, and he continued, in
spite of all entreaty, to remain outside the city,
and would not even go to the little farm he had
loved so well.
The Roman Senate, as he would not come in
to them, came out to hold their meeting in the
Campagna.
The ambassadors spoke first; then Regulus,
standing up, said, as one repeating a task:
"Conscript fathers, being a slave to the
Carthaginians, I come on the part of my masters
to treat with you concernilg peace and an
exchange of prisoners." He then turned to go
away with the ambassadors, as a stranger might
not be present at the deliberations of the Senate.
His old friends pressed him to stay and give his
opinion as a senator, who had twice been consul ;
but he refused to degrade that dignity by
claiming it, slave as he was. But, at the
272 TRmD READER
command of his Carthaginian masters, he
remained, though not taking his seat.
Then he spoke. He told the senators to
persevere in the war. He said he had seen the
distress of Carthage, and that a peace would be
only to her advantage, not to that of Rome, and
therefore he strongly advised that the war
should continue. Then, as to the exchange of
prisoners, the Carthaginian generals, who were
in the hands of the Romans, were in full health
and strength, whilst he himself was too much
broken down to be fit for service again; and,
indeed, he believed that his enemies had given
him a slow poison, and that he could not live
long. Thus he insisted that no exchange" of
prisoners should be made.
It was wonderful, even to Iomans, to hear a
man thus pleading against himself; and their
chief priest came forward and declared that, as
his oath had been wrested from him by force,
he was not bound by it to return to his
captivity. But Regulus was too noble to listen
to this for a moment. " Have you resolved to
dishonour me ?" he said. " I am not ignorant
that death and the extremgst tortures are
preparing for me; but what are these to the
shame of an infamous action, or the wounds of a
THE FIOHTIiO TMIAIIE 273
guilty mind? Slave as I am to Carthage, I
have still the spirit of a Romkn. I have sworn
to return. It is my duty to go; let the gods
take care of the rest."
The Senate decided to follow the advice of
legulus, though they bitterly regretted his
sacrifice. His wife wept and entreated in vain
that they would detairi himmthey could merely
repeat their permission to him to remain; but
nothing could prevail with him to break his
word, and he turned back to the chains and
death he expected, as calmly as" if he had been
returning to his home. This was in the year
B.C. 249.
CHARLOTTE lI. YONGE: "Book of Golden Deexts."
THE FIGHTING TIMIRAIRE
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.
"You must know, friend Sancho," replied
Don Quixote, "that it has been the constant
practice of knights-errant in former ages to
make their squires governors of the islands or
kingdoms they conquered."
As they were thus discoursing, they dis-
covered some thirty or forty windmills that are
in that plain; and as soon as the knight had
spied them, " Fortune," cried he, "directs our
alJirs better than we ourselves could have
wished.: look yonder, friend Sancho, there are
at least thirty outrageous giants, whom I intend
to encounter; and having deprived them of life,
we will begin to enrich ourselves with their
spoils; for they are lawful prize; and the
extirpation of that cursed brood will be an
acceptable service to Heaven."
"What giants ?" quoth Sancho Panza.
"Those whom thou seest yonder," answered
Don Quixote, "with their long extended arms ;
some of. that detested race have arms of so
immense a size, that sometimes they reach two
leagues in length."
"Pray look better, sir," quoth Sancho; "those
things yonder are no giants, but windmills, and
the arms you fancy, are their sails, which being
whirled about by the wind, make the mill go."
FIGHT WITH THE WIDILLS 277
' 'Tis a sign," cried Don Quixote, "thou art
but little acquainted with adventures! I tell
thee, they are giants; and therefore if thou art
afraid, go aside and say thy prayers, for I am
resolved to engage in a dreadful unequal combat
against them all." This said, he clapped spurs
to his horse Rozinante, without giving ear to
his squire Sancho, who bawled out to him, and
assured him that they were windmills, and no
giants. But he was so fully possessed with a
strong conceit of the contrary, that he did not
so much as hear his squire's outcry, nor was he
sensible of what they were, although he was
already very near them ; far from that : "Stand,
cowards," cried he, as loud as he could; "stand
your 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, which when Don Quixote
spied, "Base miscreants," cried he, "though you
move more arms than the giant Briareus, you
shall pay for your arrogan.ce."
I-Ie most devoutly recommended himself to
his Lady Dulcinea, imploring her assistance in
this perilous adventure ; and, so covering_ him-
self with his shield, and couching his lance, he
278 xD READER
rushed with Pozinante's utmost speed upon the
first windmill he could come at, and running
his lance into the sail, the wind whirled it
about with such swiftness, that the rapidity of
the motion presently broke the lance into
shivers, and hurled away both knight and home
along with it, till down he fell, rolling a good
way off in the field.
Sancho Panza ran as fast as his ass could
drive to help his master, whom he found lying,
and not able to stir, such a blow had he and
Rozinante received. " Mercy o' me !" cried
Sancho, "did not I give your worship fair
warning? Did not I tell you they were wind-
mills, and that nobody could think otherwise,
unless he had also windmills in his head!"
"Peace, friend Sancho," replied Don Quixote :
"there is nothing so subject to the inconstancy
of f)rtune as war. I am verily persuaded that
cursed necromancer, Freston, who carried away
my study and my books, has transformed these
giants into windmills to deprive me of the
honour of the victory; such is his inveterate
malice against me; but in the end, all his
pernicious wiles and stratagems shall prove
ineffectual against the prevailing edge of my
sword."
FIGHT WITH THE WINDMILLS 279
"Amen, say I," replied Sancho.
And so heaving him up again upon his legs,
once more the knight mounted poor Rozinante,
that was half shoulder-slipped with his fall.
This adventure was the subject of their dis-
course, as they made the best of 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. Hov-
eve_r, the loss of his lance was no small affliction
to him; and as he was making his complaint
about it to his squire, "I have read," said he,
"friend Sancho, that a certain Spanish knight,
having broken his sword in the heat of an
engagement, pulled up by the roots a huge oak
tree, or at least tore down a massy branch, and
did such wonderful execution, crushing and
grinding so many Moors with it that day, that
he won himself and his posterity the surname of
The Pounder, or Bruiser. I tell thee this,
because I intend to tear up the next oak or
holm tree we meet; with the trunk vhereof I
hope to perform such wondrous deeds that thou
wilt esteem thyself particularly happy in having
had the honohr to behold them, and been the
ocular witness of achievements which posterity
will scarce be able to believe."
80 THIRD EADER
"Heaven grant you may," cried Sancho; "I
believe it all, because your worship says it. But,
an't please you, sit a little more upright in your
saddle; you ride sideling methinks; but that,
I suppose, proceeds from your being bruised by
the fall."
"It does so," replied Don Quixote; "and if
I do not complain of the pain, 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 my heart, I should be
glad to hear your worship groan a little now
and then when something ails you : for my part,
I shall not fail to bemoan myself when I suffer
the smallest pain, unless, indeed, it can be proved
that the 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, but as much as he pleased, whether he
had any cause or no; for he had never yet
read anything to the contrary in any books of
chivalry.
CEItVNTES : "The Adventures of Don Quixote.
"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 hia
Whom I gift with heart and hand.
THE SWAN'S NEST 283
"Then he will arise so pale,
I shall feel my own lips tremble
" With a es I must not say,
1Yathless 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 timeI may bend
Fro m my pride, and answer: ' Pardon,
If he comes to take my love.'
THIRD READER
"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 l
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
l'ot 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 stoopsand stops.
Lo, the wild swan had deserted,--
And a rat had gnawed the reeds.
286 THIRD READER
"You are right, and yet I wish for once in
my life to hear some really good 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 is feelingmgeniuswunderstanding I
I will play to her, and she will under-
stand it."
And before I could prevent him his hand
was upon the door. It opened and we 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,
with a profusion of light hair falling over her
face.
" Pardon me," said Beethoven, " but I heard
music and was tempted to enter. 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
for you ?"
There was something so odd in the whole
affair, and something so comical and pleasant in
the manner of the speaker, that the spell was
broken in a moment.
"Thank you !" said the shoemaker ; "but our
piano is so wretched, and we have no music."
"No music !" echoed my friend ; " how, then,
does the young lady--" he paused and coloured;
for, as he looked in the girl's face, he saw that
she was blind. "I--I entreat your pardon," he
stammered. "I had not perceived before. Then
you play by ear? But when do you hear the
music, since you frequent no concerts?"
"We lived at Bruhl for tvo years, and while
there I used to hear a lady practising near us.
During the summer evenings her windows were
generally open, and I walked to and fro outside
to listen to her."
She seemed so.shy that Beethoven said no
more, but seated himself quietly before the piano
and began to play. He had no sooner struck
th first chord than I knev what would follow.
Never, during all the years I knew him, did I
hear him play as he then played to that blind
girl and her brother. He seemed to be inspired;
and, from the instant that his fingers began to
wander along the keys, the very tones of the
$8 THIRD READE
instrument eemed to grow sweeter and more
equal.
The brother and sister were silent with wonder
and rapture. The former laid aside his work;
the latter, with her head bent slightly forward,
and her hands pressed tightly over her breast,
crouched down near the end of the piano, as if
fearful lest even the beating of her heart should
break the flow of those magical sounds.
Suddenly the flame of the single candle
wavered, sank, flickered, and went out. Bee-
thoven paused, and I threw open the shutters,
admitting a flood of brilliant moonlight. The
room was almost as light as before, the moon
rays falling strongest upon the piano and the
player. His head dropped upon his breast;
his hands rested upon his knees;he seemed
absorbed in deep thought. He remained thus
for some time. At length the young shoemaker
arose and approached him eagerly,
"'onderful man!" he said, in a low tone.
"Who and what are you ? "
"Listen !" said Beethoven, and he played
the opening bars of the Sonata in F. A cry of
recognition burst from them both, and exclaim-
ing: "Then you are Beethoven !" they covered
his hands with tears ad kisses.
IIOONLIGHT SONATA 289
He rose to go, but we held him back with
entreaties.
"Play to us once more--only once more I"
He suffered himself to be led back to the
instrument. The moon shone brightly in
through the window, and lighted up his
glorious, rugged head and massive figure.
"I will improvise a Sonata to the Moon-
light!" said he, looking up thoughtfully to
the sky and stars. Then his hands dropped
on the keys, and he began playing a sad and
infinitely lovely movement, which crept gently
over the instrument, like the calm flow of
moonlight over the dark earth. This was
followed by a wild, elfin passage in triple time
--a sort of grotesque interlude, like the dance
of spirits upon the lawn. Then came a swift
agitato finalea breathless, hurrying, trembling
movement, descriptive of flight, and uncertainty,
and vague impulsive terror, which carried us
away on its rustling wings, and left us all in
emotion and wonder.
"Farewell to you I" said Beethoven, pushing
back his chair, and turning toward the door--
"farewell to you
"You will come again?" asked they in one
breath.
19
290 TlRD READER
He paused and looked compassionately,
almost tenderly, at the face of the blind girl.
"Yes, yes," he said hurriedly, "I will come
again, and give the young lady some lessons!
Farewell ! I will come again !"
Their looks followed us in silence more
eloquent than words till we were out of sight.
" Let us make haste back," said Beethoven,
"that I may write out that Sonata while I can
yet remember it."
We did so, and he sat over it till long past
day dawn. And this was the origin of the
Moonlight Sonata with which we are all so
fondly acquainted.
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 thatexquisite call, with its sweet,
sweet fallw
O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee [
To TE CUCKOO 29!
Long ago as a child,
From the bough cf 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 blackbirff brings
lIy 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 !
TO THE CUCKOO
HAXL, beauteous stranger of the grove
Thou messenger of spring!
Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,
And woods thy welcome sing.
202 THIRD READER
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 l
We'd make, with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the Spring.
JOH
294 TRD READEI
But this little Favosite, for that was his name,
became lonesome on the bottom of that old
ocean; so one night, when he was fast asleep
and dreaming as only a coral animal can dream,
there sprouted out of his side another little
Favosite, who very soon began to wall himself
up as his parent had done. From these, other
little Favosites were formed, till at last there
were so many of them, and they were so crowded
together, that, to economize the limestone they
built with, they had to make their cells six-
sided, like those of a honey-comb: on this account
they are called Favosites.
The colony thrived for a long time, and
accumulated quite a stock of limestone. But at
last a change came: there was a great rush of
TI:IE STORY OF A STONE 295
muddy water from the land, and all the
Favosites died, leaving only a stony skeleton
to prove that industrious Polyps had ever
existed there.
This skeleton remained undisturbed for ages,
until the earth began to rise inch by inch out of
the water. Then our Favosites' home rose above
the deep, and with it came all that wa left of
its old acquaintances the Trilobites, who were
the ancestors of our crabs and lobsters.
Then the first fishes
made their appearance,
great fierce-looking fel-
lows like the gar pike of
our lakes, but larger, and
armed with scales as
hard as the armour of a
crocodile. Next came
the sharks, as savage and
voracious as they now
are, with teeth like
knives. But the time of Trilobite
these old fishes and of many more animals came
and went, and still the home of the Favosites
lay in the ground.
Then came the long, hot, damp epoch, when
thick mists hung over the earth, and great ferns
296 D READEI
and rushes, as stout as an oak and as tall as a
steeple, grew in Nova Scotia, in Pennsylvania,
and in other parts of America where coal is now
found. Huge reptiles, with enormous jaws and
teeth like cross-cut saws, and smaller ones with
wings like bats, next appeared and added to the
strangeness of the scene.
But the reptiles died ; the ferns and the rush-
trees fell into their native swamps, and were
covered up and packed away under great la)ers
of clay and sand brought down by the rivers,
till at last they were turned into coal, forming
for us, what someone has called, beds of petrified
sunshine. But all this while the skeleton of the
Favosites lay undisturbed.
Then the mists cleared away as gradually as
they had come, the sun shone out, the grass
grew, and strange four-footed animals came and
fed upon it. Among these were odd-looking
little horses no bigger than foxes; great hairy
monsters larger than elephants, with tremen-
dous tusks; hogs with snouts nearly as long
as their bodies; and other strange creatures
that no man has ever seen alive. But still the
house of the Favosites remained where it was.
Next came the great winter, and it continued
to snow till the mountains were hidden. Then
THE STORY OF A STOE 297
the snow was packed into ice, and Canada
became one solid glacier. This ice age con-
tinued for many thousands of years.
At last the ice began to melt, and the glacier
came slowly down the slopes, tearing up rocks,
little and big, and crushing and grinding and
carrying away everything in its course. It
ploughed its way across Ontario, and the skele-
ton of our Favosites was rooted out from the
quiet place where it had lain so long, and was
caught up in a crevice of the ice. The glacier
slid along, melting all the while, and covering
the land with clay, pebbles, and boulders. At
last it stopped, and as it gradually melted away,
all the rocks and stones and dirt it had carried
with it thus far, were deposited into one great
heap, and the home of the Favosites along with
them.
Ages afterwards a farmer, near Toronto, when
ploughing a field, picked up a curious bit of
"petrified honey-comb," and gave it to a geolo-
gist to hear what he would say about it. And
now you have read what he said.
Tn. sow-sTo 299
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 winged 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,n
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;
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 horned 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 VERCHRES
VECHkRS was a fort on the south shore of the
St. Lawrence, about twenty miles below Mon-
treal. A strong block-house stood outside the
fort, and was connected with it by a covered
way. On the morning of the twenty-second of
October, (1692) the inhabitants were at work in
the fields, and nobody was left in the place but
two soldiers, two boys, an old man of eighty,
T. .Ro-. OF VF.RCHinS 303
coward!" said she. "Go out of this place."
She then threw off her bonnet, put on a hat,
and taking a gun in her hand she said to her
two brothers: " Let us fight to the death. We
are fighting for our country and our re.ligion."
The boys, who were ten and twelve years old,
aided by the soldiers, whom her words had
inspired with some little courage, began to fire
from the loop-holes on the Indians, who,
ignorant of the weakn6ss of the garrison, showed
their usual reluctance to attack a fortified place,
and occupied themselves with chasing and
butchering the people in the neighbouring
fields. Madeline ordered a caanon to be fired,
partly to deter the enemy from an assault, and
partly to warn some bf the soldiers who wero
huntin.g at a distance.
A canoe was presently seen approaching the
landi_ng-place. In it was a settler named
Fontaine, trying to reach the fort with his
family. The Indians were still near;and Made-
line feared that the new-comers would be killed,
if something were not done to aid them. Dis-
trusting the soldiers, she herself went alone to
the landing-plce.
" I thought," she said, in her account of the
affair, "that the savages would suppose it to be
304 TRD READER
a ruse to draw them towards the fort, in order
to make a sortie upon them. They did suppose
so; and thus I was able to save the Fontaine
family. When they were all landed, I made
them march before me in full sight of the
enemy. We put so bold a face on it, that they
thought they had more to fear than we.
Strengthened by this reinforcement, I ordered
that the enemy should be fired on whenever
they showed themselves.
"After sunset a violent north-east wind began
to blow, accompanied with snow and hail,
which told us that we should have a terrible
night. The Indians were all this time lurking
about us; and I judged by all their movements
that, instead of being deterred by the storm,
they would climb into the fort under cover of
darkness."
She then assembled her troops, who numbered
six, all told, and spoke to them encouraging
words. With two old men she took charge of
the fort, and sent Fontaine and the two soldiers
with the women and children to the block-
house. She placed her two brothers on two of
the bastions, and an old man on a third, while
she herself took charge of the fourth. All
night, in spite of wind, snow, and hail, the
cry of "All's well" was kept up from the block-"
house to th'e fort, and from the fort to the
block-house. One would have supposed that
the place was full of soldiers. The Indians
thought so, and were completely deceived, as
they afterwards confessed.
At last the daylight came again; and as the
darkness disappeared, the anxieties of the little
garrison seemed to disappear with it. Fontaine
said he would never abandon the place while
Madeline remained in it. She declared that he
would never abandon it: she would rather die
than give it up to the enemy.
She did not eat or sleep for twice twenty-four
hours. She did not go once into her father's
house, but kept always on the bastion, except
when she went to the block-house to see how
the people there were behaving. She always
kept a cheerful and smiling face, and encour-
aged her little company with the hope of speedy
succour.
"We were a week in constant alarm," she
continues, "with the enemy always about us.
At last a lieutenant, sent by the governor,
arrived in the night with forty men. As he did
not know whether the fort was taken or not, he
approached as silently as possible. One of our
JACQUES CARTIER 307
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 v.'ere
on their knees,
For the safe return of kinsmen from the undis-"
covered 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 Carticr at the clos-
ing of the yea.
308 THIRD IEADER
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 _Iount 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 shin-
ing 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
JACQUES CARTIER 309
In early Spring, the fetters that hold the waters
fast ;
I-Iow the Winter causeway, broken, is drifted out
to sea,
And the rills and rivers sing with pride the
anthem of the free;
I-Iow the magic wand of Summer clad the land-
scape to his eyes,
Like the dry bones of the just when they wake
in Paradise.
I-Ie 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 worship-
ping ;
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.
tie told them of the river, whose mighty current
gave
Its freshness for a hundred leagues to ocean's
briny wave;
ANTS AND THEIR SLAVES 311
A small number of the blacks fought bravely
to the last, but the rest soon fled, panic-stricken,
through the gates farthest from the battle-field,
carrying away some of their young. They
seemed to know it was the young ants that the
invaders were seeking. The red warriors quick-
ly forced their way into the tiny city and
returned, loaded with children of the blacks.
Carrying their living booty, the kidnappers
left the pillaged town and started toward their
home, whither Huber followed them. Great
was his astonishment when, at the threshold of
the red ants' dwelling, he saw numbers of black
ants come forward to receive the young captives
and to welcome themwchildren of their own race,
doomed to be bond-servants in a strange land.
Here, then, was a miniature city, in which
strong red ants lived in peace with small black
ones. But what was the province of the latter ?
Huber soon discovered that, in fact, these did
all the work. They alone were able to build
the houses in which both races lived; they alone
brought up the young red ants and the captives
of their own species; they alone gathered the
supplies of food, and waited upon and fed their
big masters, who were glad to have their little
waiters feed them so attentively.
312 THIRD READER
The masters themselves had no occupation
except that of war. When not raiding some
village of the blacks, the red soldiers did
nothing but wander lazily about.
I-Iuber wanted to learn what would be the
result if the red ants found themselves without
servants. Would the big creatures know how to
supply their own needs? He put a few of the
red insects in a glass case, having some honey
in a corner. They did not go near it. They
did not know enough to feed themselves. Some
of them died of starvation, with food before
them. Then he put into the case one black ant.
It went straight to the honey, and with it fed
its big, starving, silly masters. Here was a
wonder, truly !
The little blacks exert in many things a
moral force whose signs are plainly visible. For
example, those tiny wise creatures will not give
permission to any of the great red ones to go
out alone. Nor are these at liberty to go out
even in a body, if their small helpers fear a
storm, or if the day is far advanced. When a
raid proves fruitless, the soldiers coming back
without any living booty are forbidden by the
blacks to enter the city, and are ordered to
attack some. other village.
ANTS AND THEIR SLAVES 1
Not wishing to rely entirely on his own con-
clusions, Huber asked one of the great natural-
ists of Switzerland, Jurine, to decide whether or
not mistakes had been made regarding these
customs of the ants. This witness, and indeed
others, found that Huber's reports were true.
" Yet, after all," says Huber, "I still doubted.
But on a later day I again saw in the park of
Fontainebleau, near Paris, the same workings of
ant life and wisdom. A well-known naturalist
was with me then, and his conclusions were the
same as mine.
" It was half-past four in the afternoon of a
very warm day. From a pile of stones there
came forth a column of about five hundred
reddish ants. They marched rapidly toward a
field of turf, order in their ranks being kept by
their sergeants. These watched the flanks, and
would not permit any to straggle.
"Suddenly the army disappeared. There was
no sign of an ant-hill in the turf, but, after
awhile, we detected a little hole. Through this
the ants had vanished. We supposed it was an
entrance to their home. In a minute they
showed us that our supposition was incorrect.
They issued in a throng, nearly every one of
them carrying a smll black captive.
LEAD IINDLY LIGHT 315
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.
'EWMA..N
16 THIRD EEADER
THE JOLLY SANDBOYS
TtE Jolly Sandboys was a small road-side inn
with a sign, representing three Sandboys, creak-
ing and swinging on its post on the opposite-
side of the road. As the travellers had observed
many indications of their drawing nearer to the
race town, such as gypsy camps, showmen ot
various kinds, and beggars and trampers ot
every degree, Mr. Codlin was fearful of find-
ing the accommodation forestalled; but had the
gratification of finding that his fears were with-
out foundation, for the landlord was leaning
against the door-post, looking lazily at the rain
which had begun to descend heavily.
"Make haste in out of the wet, Tom," said
the landlord; "when it came on to rain I told
'era to make the fire up, and there's a glorious
blaze in the kitchen, I can tell you."
Mr. Codlin followed with a willing mind. A
mighty fire was blazing on the hearth and
roaring up the wide chimney with a cheerful
sound, which a large iron cauldron, bubbling
and simmering in the heat, lent its pleasant
aid to swell. There was.a deep red ruddy blush
upon the room, and when the landlord stirred
THE JOLLY SANDBOYS 317
the fire, sending the flame skipping and leaping
up--when he took off the lid of the iron pot
and there rushed out a savoury smell, while the
bubbling sound grew deeper and more rich, and
an unctuous steam came floating out, hanging
in a delicious mist above 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 as with a roguish look he
held the cover in his hand, and feigning that
his doing so was needful to the welfare of the
cookery, suffered the delightful steam to tickle
the nostrils of his guest. The glow of the fire
was upon the landlord's bald head, and upon
his twinkling eye, and upon his watering mouth,
and upon his pimpled face, and upon his round
fat figure. Mr. Codlin drew his sleeve across
his lips, and said in a murmuring voice: "What
is it?"
"It's a stew of tripe," said the landlord,
smacking his lips, "and cow-heel," smacking
them again, "and bacon," smacking them once
more, "and steak," smacking them for the
fourth time, "and peas, cauliflowers, new pota-
toes, and sparrow-grass, all working up together
TttE JOLLY SAXDBOYS 319
It is not very difficult to forget rain and mud
by the side of a cheerful fire, and in a bright
room. They were furnished with slippers and
such dry garmelts as the house or their own
bundles afforded, a.d seating themselves, as
Codlin had already done, in the warm chimney-
corner, soon forgot their late troubles or only
remembered them as 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 in one after the other, headed by an
old bandy dog of particularly mournful aspect,
who, stopping when the last of his followers had
got as far as the door, erected himself upon his
hind legs and looked round at his companions,
who immediately stood upon their hind legs,
in a grave and melancholy row. Nor was this
the only remarkable circumstance about these
dogs, for each of them wore a kind of little coat
of some gaudy colour trimmed with tarnished
spangles, and one of them had a cap upon his
head, tied very carefully under his chin, which
had fallen down upon his nose and completely
obscured one eye; add to this, that the gaudy
coats were all wet through and discoloured with
do they ?" said Short, pointing to the dresses of
the dogs. "It must come expensive, if they do."
"No," replied Jerry, "no, it's not the custom
with us. But we've been playing a little on the
road to-day, and we come out with a new ward-
robe at 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 member of the company,
and uot quite certain of his duty, kept his un-
obscured eye anxiously on his master, and was
perpetually starting up on his hind legs when
there was no occasion, and falling down again.
The landlord now busied himself in laying
the cloth, in which process-Mr. Codlin obligingly
assisted by setting forth his own knife and fork
in the most convenient place and establishing
himself behind them. When everything was
ready, the landlord took off the cover for the
last time, and then, indeed, there burst forth
sueh 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 stout servant girl in turning
the contents of the cauldron into a large tureen ;
THE JOLLY SANDBOYS 323
him the whip, resumed his seat and called up
the others, who, at his directions, formed in a
row, standing upright as a file of soldiers.
"Now, gentlemen," said Jerry, looking at
them attentively : "The dog whose 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 thrown towards him,
but none of the others moved a muscle. In
this manner they were fed at the discretion of
their master. Meanwhile the dog in disgrace
ground hard at the organ, sometimes in quick
time, sometimes in slow, but never leaving of['
for an instant. When the knives and forks
rattled very much, or any of his fellows got an
unusually large piece of fat, he accompanied the
music with a short howl, but he immediately
checked it on his master looking round, and
applied himself with increased diligence to the
Old Hundredth.
I)IcKES : "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.
LOFELLOW
THIRD READER
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
'ren,
And the gossip of swallows through all tho
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.
Fhere'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 tho
flower
And a laugh from the brook that runs to tho
sea.
OLD ENGLISH IFE 325
And loo 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.
OLD ENGLISH LIFE
WHEN the sun rose on England of olden time,
its faint red light stirred every sleeper from the
sack of straw, which formed the only bed of the
age. Springing from this rustling couch, where
he had lain naked, and throwing off the coarse
coverlets, usually of sheepskin, the subject of
King Alfred donned the day's dress. Gentle-
men wore linen or woollen tunics, which
reached to the knee; and, over these, long fur-
lined cloaks, fastened with a brooch of ivory or
gold. Strips of cloth or-leather, bandaged
crosswise from the ankle to the knee over red
and blue stockings; and black, painted shoes,
slit along the instep almost to the toes and
fastened with two thongs, completed the costume
of an Angl.o-Saxon gentleman. The ladies,
wrapping a veil of linen or silk upon their
delicate curls, laced a loose-flowing gown over a
tight-sleeved bodice, and pinned the graceful
326 TRD READER
folds of their mantles with golden butterflies
and other tasteful trinkets.
Breakfast consisted probably of bread, meat,
and ale, but was a lighter repast than that
taken when the hurry of the day lay behind.
Often it was eaten in the bower or private apart-
ment.
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, the
chief and all his household, with any stray
guests who might have dropped in, met in' the
hall, which stood in the centre of its encircling
bowem--the principal apartment of every Old
English house. Clouds of wood smoke, rolling
up from a fire which blazed in the middle of
the floor, blackened the carved rafters of the
arched roof before they found their way out of
the hole above which did duty as a chimney.
Tapestries, dyed purple, or glowing with varie-
gated pictures of saints and heroes, hung, and if
the day was stormy, flapped upon the chinky
walls. In palaces and in earls' mansions
coloured tiles, wrought into a mosaic, formed a
clean and pretty pavement; but the common
flooring of the time was clay, baked dry with
the heat of winter evenings and summer noons.
oLI) (LSH LS 327
The only articles of furniture always in the hal
were wooden benches; some of which, especially
the high senile or seat of the chieftain, boasted
cushions, or a least a rug.
While the hungry crowd, fresh from woodland
and furrow, were lounging near the fire or
hanging up their weapons on the pegs and
hooks that jutted from the wall, a number of
slaves, dragging in a long, fiat, heavy board,
placed it on movable legs, and spread on its
upper half a handsome cloth. Then were
arranged with other utensils for the meal some
flattish dishes, baskets of ash-wood for holding
bread, a' scanty sprinkling of s.teel knives shaped
like our modern razors, platters of wood, and
bowls for the universal broth.
The ceremony of "laying the board," as the
Old English phrased it, being completed, the
work of demolition began. Great round cakes
of bread--huge junks of boiled bacon--vast
rolls of broiled eel--cups of milk--horns of
ale--wedges of cheese--lumps of salt butter--
and smoking piles of cabbages and beans, melted
like magic from the board under the united
attack of greasy fingers and grinding jaws.
Kneeling slaves offered to the lord and his
honoured guests long skewers or spits, on which
OLD ENGLISH LIFE 309
harp by each guest in turn, formed the principal
amusement of the drinking-bout.
lIeantime the music and the mead did their
work in maddening brains; the revelry grew
louder; riddles, which had flown thick around
the board at first, gave place to banter, taunts,
and fierce boasts of prowess; angry eyes gleamed
defiance ; and it was well if, in the morning, the
household slaves had not to wash blood-stains
from the pavement of the hall, or in the still
night, when the drunken brawlers lay stupid on
the floor, to drag a dead man from the red plash
in which he lay.
From the reek and riot of the hall the ladies
of the household soon withdrew to the bower,
where they reigned supreme. There, in the
earlier part of the day, they had arrayed them-
selves in their bright-coloured robes, plying
tweezers and crisping-irons on their yellow hair,
and often heightening the blush that Nature
gave them with a shade of rouge. There, too,
they used to scold their female slaves, and beat
them, with a violence which said more-for their
strength O f lung and muscle than for the gentle-
hess of their womanhood.
When their needles were fairly set a-going
upon those pieces of delicate embroidery, known
and prized over all Europe as " English work,"
some gentlemen dropped in, perhaps harp in
hand, to chat and play for their amusement, or
to engage in games of hazard and skill, which
seem to have resembled modern dice and chess.
When in later days supper came into fashion,
the round table of the bower was usually spread
for Evening-food, as this meal was called. And
not long afterwards, those bags of straw, from
wh.ieh they sprang at sunrise, received for
another night their human burden, worn out
with the labours and the revels of the day.
W. F. COLLIER
(dpd)
PUCK'S SONG
SEE yOU the dimpled track that runs,
All hollov 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.
PUCK'S SONG 331
See you our stilly woods of oak,
And the dread ditch beside ?
O that vas 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 [
332 mD READER
She is not any. common Earth,
Water or wood or air,
But Merlin's Isle of Gramarye,
Where you and I will fare.
]IPLXNG : 'Puck of Pook's HilL"
THE BATTLE OF QUEENSTON HEIGHTS
TIE thirteenth of October, 1812, is a day ever
to be remembered in Canada. All along the
Niagara river the greatest exciment had pre-
vailed: many of the inhabitants had removed
with their portable property into the back
country; small bodies of soldiers, regulars and
volunteers, were posted in the towns and
villages; Indians were roving in the adjacent
woods ; and sen.tinels, posted along the banks of
the river, were looking eagerly for the enemy
that was to come from the American shore and
attempt the subjugation of a free, a happy,
and a loyal people.
In the village of Queenston, that nestles at
the foot of an eminence overlooking "the mighty
waters of Niagara, two companies of the F,orty-
ninth Regim6nt, or " Green Tigers," as the
Americans afterwards termed thcm with one
THE BATTLE OF QUEENSTON HEIGHTS 333
taundred Canadian militia, were posted under
the command of Captain Dennis.
When tattoo sounded on the night of the
twelfth, the little garrison retired to rest. All
was silent but the elements, which raged furi-
ously throughout the night. Nothing was to
be heard but the hwling of the wind and the
sound of falling rain mingled with the distant
roar of the great cataract. Dripping with rain
and shivering with cold, the sentries paced their
weary rounds, from time to time casting a
glance over the swollen tide of the river towards
the American shore..At length, when the gray
dawn of morning appeared, a wary sentinel de-
scried a number of boats, filled with armed men,
pushing off from the oppo.site bank below the
village of Lewiston. Immediately the alarm
was given. The soldiers were roused from their
peaceful slumbers, and marched down to the
landing-place. Meanwhile,a battery of one gun,
poted 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 such opposition, the Anericans, leav-
ing a few of their number to occupy the atten-
tion of the troops on the bank, disembarked
THE BATTLE OF QUEENSTON HEIGHTS 335
gra, teful country has erected to his memory.
The fall of their beloved commander in-
furiated his'followers With loud cheers of
" Revenge the gened'al !"- they pressed forward
up the hill, and drove the enemy from their
position. But reinforcements were continually
pouring in from the American shore ; and after
a deadly struggle, in which Co!.onel Macdnell,
Captain Dennis, and most of the other officers
fell, these brave men were again compelled to
retire. They took refuge under the guns of the
lower battery, there awaiting the arrival of
reinforcements from Niagara. About mid-day
the first of these arrived, consisting of a band of
fifty Mohawks, under their chiefs, Norton and
Brant. These Indian allies boldly engaged the
enemy, and maintained for a short time a sharp
skirmish, but fially retired on the main rein-
forcement. This arrived in the course of the
afternoon, under the command of Major-General
oSdeaffe. Instead of meeting the enemy on the
ground, the officer now in command moved
his whole force of one thousand men to the right
of the enemy's position, and sent forward his left
flank to attack the American right. This left
flank was of a very varied character, consisting
of one company of the Forty-first Regiment of
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 339
seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked,
thinketh no evil ; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but
rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, be-
lieveth all things, hopeth all things, endureth
all things. Charity never iaileth : but whether
there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether
there be tongues, they shall cease; whether
there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For
we know in part, and we prophesy in part.
But when that which 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, I thought 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 I know in part; but
then shall I know even as also I am known.
And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these
three ; but the greatest of these is charity.
I. CoR,szr.ss, 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."
340
"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 !"
Low
THE BARREN LANDS
LoNo before the treeless wastes are reached, the
forests cease to be forests except by courtesy.
The trees--black and white spruce, the Cana-
dian larch, and the gray pine, willow, alder,
etc.--have an appearance of youth; so that the
traveller would hardly suppose them to be more
than a few years old, at first sight, Really this
juvenile appearance is a species of second child-
hood ; for, on the shores of the Great Bear Lake,
four centuries are necessary for the growth of
a trunk not as thick as a man's wrist. The
further north'the more lamentably decrepit
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 down from the shrivelled boughs.
And still further north the trees become mere
stunted stems, set with blighted buds that have
never been able to develop themselves, into
branches; until, finally, the last vestiges of
arboreal growth take refuge under a thick
carpet of lichens and mosses, .the characteristic
vegetation of the Barren Grounds.
1Nothing more dismal than the winter aspect
of these wastes can be imagined. The Northern
forests are silent enough in winter time, but tho
silence of the Barren Grounds is far mor
profound. Even in the depths of midwinter
the North-Western bush has voices and is full
of animal life. The barking cry of the crows
(these birds are the greatest iraginable nuisance
to the trapper, whose baits they steal even
before his back is turned)' is still heard; the
snow-birds and other small winged creatures
are never quiet between sunset and sunrise;
the jack-rabbit, whose black bead-like eyo
betrays his presence among the snow-drifts in
spite of his snow-white fur, is common enough ;
and the childlike wailing of the coyotes is heard
every night. But with the exception of the
shriek of the snow-owl or the yelping of a fox
emerged from his lair, there is no sound of life
during seven or eight or nine months of winter
on the Barren Grounds ; unless the traveller is
able to hear the rushing sound--some can hear it,
others cannot---of the shifting Northern lights.
In May, however, when the snows melt and
the swamps begin to thaw, the Barren Grounds
become full of life. To begin with, the sky is
literally darkened with enormous flights of
TE BARREN LANDS $43
wild-fowl, whom instinct brings from the south-
ern reaches of the Mississippi and its tributaries
to these sub-Arctic wildernesses, where they find
an abundance of food, and at the same time
build their nests and rear their young in safety.
The snow-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 of all the pin-tail and the long-tail
ducks. Some of these go no further than just
beyond the outskirts of the forest region;
others, flying further northward, lay their eggs
in the open on the moss. Eagles and hawks
prey on these migratory hosts; troops of ptar-
migan (they are said to go to no place where the
mercury does not freeze) seek food among the
stunted willows on the shores of the lakes and
sloughs; and in sunny weather the snow-
bunting's song is heard.
Soon after the arrival of the migratory birds
the wilderness becomes newly clothed in green
and gray. The snow, which never once thaws
during the long winter, forms a safe protection
for vegetable life.
As soon as the lengthening summer's day has
thawed this coverlet of snows, vegetation comes
on at a surprising ratea week's sunshine on
THIRD READEE
the wet soil completely transforming the aspect
of the country. It is then that the caribou
leave 'their winter quarters in the forest region
and journey to the Barren Grounds.
Just as the prairies might have been called
" Buffalo-land" thirty years ago, and the inter-
vening enforested country may still be styled
"Moose-land "--not that the moose is nearly so
common in Saskatchewan and Athabaska as it
was before the rebellion of'1885 opened up that
countrywso from the hunter's point of view
" Caribou-land " would be an exceedingly apt
name for the tundra of Greater Canada. Only
the Indians and the Eskimos (the former living
on the confines of the forests, and the latter
along the far Arctic coasts) visit these territories,
and but for the presence of the vast herds of
caribou, it is pretty certain that such mosquito-
haunted wastes would never be trodden by man.
It is true that the muskoox is an important
inhabitant of the wastes, but the numbers of
that strange beast, which seems to be half sheep,
half ox, are not nearly so great, and there are
reasons to believe that it is being slowly but
surely driven from its ancient pastures by the
. caribou, just as, in so many parts of the world,
the nations of the antelope ha',,e receded before
the deer-tribes. E.B. OSBOEN: "Greter Caaada,"
A SPRING MORNING
THERE was a roaring in the wind all nigh.t;
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 too:ming's birth,
The grass is bright with rain-drops.;--on the
moors
The hare is running raees 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 flowers appear on the earth; the time
of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of
the turtle is heard in our land.
SOLOON'S SONG. II 11 12
346 ,s rusR
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.
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