Qe 'leet
FOURTII READER
THE CHILI)IEN'S SONG
LAb'D of our Birth, we pledge t,} thee
Our love and toil in the years t{, 1,e,
When we are grown an,l take our l,lace,
As men an,l women with our race.
Father in Heaven who 1,)vest all,
Oh help Thy children when they call ;
That they may ]mild fl-om age to age,
An undefilM lwritage.
Teach us to },ear tle yoke in youth
With steadfastness and careful truth ;
That, in our time, Thy Grace may give
The Truth whereby tle Nations live.
Teach us to rule ourselves alway,
Controlled and cleanly night and day,
That we may bring, if need arise,
No maimed or worthless uacrifice.
(1)
FOURTH ]IEAI)ER
Teach us t,) look in all our ends,
On Thee for judge, and not our friends;
That we, with Thee, may walk uncowed
By fear or favour of the crowd.
Teach us the Strenh that cannot seek,
By deed or thought, to hurt the weak ;
That, under Thee, we may possess
Man's strength to comfort man's distress.
Teach us Delight in simple things,
And Mirth that has no bitter springs,
Forgiveness fl'ee of evil done,
And Love to all men 'neath the sun[
Land of our Birth, our faith, our pride,
For who.-:e dear sake our fathers died,
Oh Motherland, we pledge to thee,
Head, heart, and hand through years to be!
KIPLING
OUR COUNTRY
Lov thou thy land, with love far-brought
From out the storied Past, and used
Within the Present, but transfused
Thro' future time by power of thought.
TE'XYSON
TO3I TULLIVER AT S('HOOL 3
T03I TULLIVER AT SCHOOL
IT was Mr. Tulliver's first visit to see Tom, for
the lad must learn not to think too much about
home.
" Well, my lad," he said to Tom, when Mr.
Stelling had left the room to announce the
arrival to his wife, and Maggie ha, l begun to
kiss Tom freely, " you look rarely. choo
agrees with you."
Tom wished he had looked rather ill.
" I don't think I a well, father," said Tom;
" I wish you'd ask Mr. Stelling not to let me do
Euclidit brings on the toothache, I think. '
(The toothache was the only malady to which
Tom had ever been subject.)
" Euclid, my lad; why, what's that?" sai,l
Mr. Tulliver.
"Oh, I don't know. It's definitions, and
axioms, and triangles, and things. It's a book
I've got to learn in ; there's no sense in it."
" Go, go !" said Sir. Tulliver, reprovingly,
"you mustn't say so.
your master tells you.
right for you to learn."
You must learn what
He knows what it's
" I'll help you now, Tom," said Maggie, with
TOl[ TULLIVER AT SCHOOL 5
cheerful at the thought that she was going to
stay with him. Her conceit would soon be over-
awed by the actual inspection of his books.
Mrs. Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did
not mention a longer time thaa a week fir
Maggie's stay; but Mr. Stelling, who took
between his knees, and asked her where she
stole her dark eyes from, insisted that she must
stay a fortnight. Maggie tlought Mr. Stelling
was a charming man, and Mr. Tulliver was quite
proud to leave his little wench where she would
have a opportunity of showing her cleverness
to appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that
she should not be fetched home till the end of
the fortnight.
"Now, then, come with me into the study,
Maggie, sai,l Tom, as their father drove away.
" What do you shake ad toss 3-our head now
for, you sill 5" ? " he continued ; for, though
her hair was now under a new dispensation,
and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she
seemed still in imagination to be tossing it out
of her eyes. "It makes you look as if you were
crazy.
"Oh, I can't help it," said Maggie, impa-
tiently. "Don't tease me, Tom. Oh, what
books !" she exclaimed, as she saw the book-
8 FOURTH READER
" But I shall be a clever voman," said Maggie,
with a toss.
"Oh, I daresay, and a nasty, conceited thing.
Everybody'll hate you."
"But you oughtn't to hate me, Tom. It'll be
very wicked of you, for I shall },e your sister."
"Yes, but if you're a nasty, disagreeable thing,
I stcll hate you."
"Oh but, Tom, you won't[ I shan't be dis-
agreeable. I slmll be very good to you, and I
shall be good to everybody. You won't hate
me really, will you, Tom ?"
"Oh, bother, never mind! Come, it's time for
me to learn my lessons. See here, what I've got
to do," said Tom, drawing Maggie towards him
and showing her his theorem, while she pushed
her hair behind her ears, and prepared herself to
prove her capability of helping him in Euelid.
She began to read with full confidence in her
own powers; but presently, becoming quite be-
wildered, her face flushed with irritation. It
was una'oidable" she must confess her ineom-
peteney, and she was not fond of humiliation.
"It's nonsense!" she said, "and very ugly
stuff; nobody need want to make it out."
"Ah, there now, Miss Maggie!" said Tom,
drawing the book away and wagging his head at
12 FOURTIt READER
THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA
IEXT ,aorning, leing Friday the third day of
August, in the year 1492, Columbus set sail, a
little 1,efore sunrise, in presence of a vast crowd
of sl)ectators, who sent u l) their supplications
to tIeaven for the prosperous issue of the
ge, which they wished rather than expected.
Columbus steered directly for the Canary
Islan,ls, and arrived there .v-ithout any
occurrence tlat would lmve deserved notice on
nv other occasion. But, in a voyage of such
ex[ectation and importance, every circum-
stance was tte ol-ject of attention.
As they lroceeded, the idications of ap-
proachig land seemed to l)e more certain, and
excited hope in prol,ortion. The birds began
to appear in flocks, aaking towards the south-
v'est. ('olumlus, in imitatio of the Portu-
guese navigators, v-ho had 1)een guided in
se'eral of their discoveries by the motion of
birds, altered his course from due west towards
that quarter whither they pointed their flight.
But, after holding on for several dax's i this
new direction, without any better success than
formerly, having seen no object during thirty
THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA 13
days but the sea and the sky, the hopes of
his companions subsided faster than they had
risen; their fears revived with additional
force; impatience, rage, and despair appeared
in every countenance. All sense of subordi-
nation, was lost. The offieers, who had
hitherto eoneurred with Columbus in opinion,
and supported his authority, now took part
with the private men; they assembled tumul-
tuously on the deek, expostulated with their
commander, mingled threats with their expos-
tulations, and required him instantly to tack
about and return to Europe. C,Jlumbus
perceived that it would be of no avail to
have recourse to any of his firmer art.s,
which, having been tried so o.ften, had lost
their effect; and that it was impossible to
rekindle any zeal for the success of the
expedition among men in whose breasts fear
had extinguished every generous sentiment.
He saw that it was no less vain to think of
employing either gentle or severe measures to
quell a mutiny so general and so violent. It
was necessary, on all these accounts, to soothe
passions which he could no longer command,
and to give way to a torrent too impetuous to
be checked. He promised solemnly to his
14 FOURT READER
men that he would comply with their request,
provided they would accompany him and obey
his command for three days longer, and if,
during that time, land were not discovered,
he would then abandon the enterprise, and
direct his course towards Spain.
Enraged as the sailors were, and impatient
to turn their faces again towards their native
country, this proposition did not appear to
them unrea.onable; nor did Columbus hazard
much in confining himself to a term so short.
The presages of discovering land were now so
numerous and promising that he deemed
them infallible. For some days the sounding-
line reached the bottom, and the soil which
it brought up indicated land to be at no great
distance. The flocks of birds increased, and
were composed not only of sea-fowl, but. of
such land-birds as could not be supposed to
fly far from the shore. The crew of the Pinta
observed a cane floating, which seemed to have
been newly cut, and likewise a piece of timber
artificially carved. The sailors aboard the
Nigna took up the branch of a tree with red
1,erries perfectly fresh. The clouds around the
setting sun assumed a new appearance; the
air was more mild and warm, and during
THE DlSCOVERk" OF AMERICA 15
night the wind became unequal and variable.
From all these symptom.% Columbus was
confident of being near land, that on the
evening of the eleventh of October, after public
prayers for succes.% he ordered the sails to be
furled, and the ships to lie to, keeping strict
watch lest they should be driven ashore in the
night. During this interval of suspense and
expectation, no man shut his eyes, all kept
upon deck, gazing towards that quarter where
they expected to discover the land, which had
so long been the object of their wishes.
.kbout two hours before midnight-, Columbus,
standing on the forecastle, observed a light
the distance, an,l privately pointed it out to
Pedro Guttierez, a page of the Queen's ward-
robe. Guttierez perceived it, and calling to
Salcedo, comptroller of the fleet, all three saw
it in motion, as if it were carried from place
to place. A little after midnight, the joyful
sound of "Land!Land !" was heard from the
Pinta, which kept always ahead of the other
ships. But, having been so often deceived 1) 5 -
fallacious appearances, every man was now
become slow of belief, and waited in all the
anguish of uncertainty and impatience for the
return of day. As soon as morning (lawned,
THE COMMON STREET 17
THE COMMON STREET
THE common street climbed up agairst the sky,
Gray meeting gray; and wearily to and fro
I saw the patient, common people go,
Each with his sordid burden trudging by.
And the rain dropped; there was not any sigh
Or stir of a live wind ; dull, dull, and slow
All motion ; as a tale long told
The faded world; and creeping night drew nigh.
Then burst the sunset, flooding far and fleet,
Leavening the whole of life with magic leaven.
Suddenly down the long, wet, glistening hill
Pure splendour poured--and lo! the coramon
street,
A golden highway into golden heaven,
With the dark shapes of men ascending still.
HELEN GRAY CON'E
FOURTH EADER
THE BATTLE OF THE PIPES
A TU.XC. happened worth narrating at the close
t,f .-t visit 1,aid me by Robin Oig, one of the sons
of the notorious ob Roy. As he was leaving,
just in the door, he met Alan coming in; and
the two drew back and looked at each otheI like
strange dogs. They were neither of them big
men, but they seemed fairly to swell out with
l,ride. Each wore a sword, and by a moement
of his haunch, thrust clear the hilt of it, so
that it might },e the more readily grasped and
the blade drawn.
"Mr. Stewart, I am thinking," says Robin.
"Troth, [r. Macgregor, it's not a name to be
a:hamed of," answered Alan.
" I did not know ye were in my country, sir,"
says Robin.
"It sticks in my raind that I am in the
country of my friends, the Maelarens," says
Alan.
" That's a kirtle point," returned the other.
"There may be two words to say to that. But I
think I will have heard that you are a man of
your sword ?"
"Unless ye were born deaf, Mr. Macgrego, ye
THE BATTLE OF THE PIPES 19
will have heard a good deal more than that,"
says Alan. "I am not the only man who can
draw steel in Appin; and when my kinsman
and captain, Ardshiel, had a talk with a gentle-
man of your name, not so many years back, I
could never hear that the Macgregor had the
best of it."
"Do you mean my father, sir ?" says Robin.
"Well, I wouldnae wonder," says Alan. "The
gentleman I have in my mind had the ill-taste
to clap Campbell to his name."
"ly father was an old man," returned Robin.
"The match was unequal. You and me would
make a better pair, sir."
"I was thinking that," said Alan.
I was half out of bed, and Duncan had been
hanging at the elbow of these fighting cocks,
ready to intervene upon the least occasion. But
when that word was uttered, it was a case of
now or never ; and Duncan, with something of a
white face to be sure, thrust himself between.
"Gentlemen," said he, "I will have been
thinking of a very different matter. Here are
my pipes, and here are you two gentlemen who
are baith acclaimed pipers. It's an auld dispute
which one of ye's the best. Here will be a braw
chance to settle it."
00 FOURTtI READER
"Why, sir," said Alan, still addressing Robin,
from whom indeed he had not so much as
shifted his eyes, nor yet Robin frora him, "why,
"-" says Alan, "I think I will have heard some
sough of the sort. Have ye music, as folk say?
Are yea bit of a piper ?"
" I can pipe like a Maccrimmon !" cries
Robin.
"And that is a very bold word," quoth Alan.
"I have made bolder words good befvre now,"
returned Robin, "and that against better adver-
saries."
" It is easy to try that," says Alan.
Duncan Dhu made haste to bring out the
pair of pipes that was his principal possession,
and to set before his guests a muttonham and a
bottle of that drink which they call Athole
brose. The two enemies were still on the very
breach of a quarrel; but down they sat, one
upon each side of the peat fire, with a mighty
show of politeness. 3Iaelaren pressed them to
taste his muttonham and "the wife's [,rose,"
reminding them the wife was out of Athole and
had a name far and wide for her skill in that
confection. But Robin put aside these hospi-
talities as bad for the breath.
"I would have ye to remark, sir," said Alan,
THE BATTLE OF THE PIPES 21
"that I havenae broken bread for near upon ten
hours, which will be worse for the breath than
any brose in Scotland."
"I will take no advantages, Mr. Stewart,"
replied Robin. " Eat and drink; I'll fillow."
Each ate a small portion of tlte ham and
drank a glass of the brose to Mrs. 5[aclaren ;
and then, after a great number of civilities,
Robin took the pipes and played a little spring
in a very ranting manner.
" Ay, ye can blow," said Alan;and, taking
the instrument fi'om his rival, he first played
the same spring in , manner identical with
Robin's; and then wandered into variations,
which, as he went on, he decorated with a
perfect flight of grace-notes, such as pipers
love, and call the "warblers."
I had been pleased with Robin's llaying,
Alan's ravished me.
"That's no very bad, Mr. Stewart," said the
rival, "but ye show a poor device in your
warbler."
"5Ie!" cried Alan, the bloo,l starting to his
face. "I give ye the lie."
"Do ye own yourself beaten at the pipes,
then," said Robin, "that ye seek to change
them for the sword ?"
24 FOURTH READER
HOME THOUGHTS, FROM THE SEA
NOBLY, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-
west died away;
Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into
Cadiz Bay ;
Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face
Trafalgar lay ;
In the dimmest North-east dkstance, dawned
Gibraltar grand and gray;
"Here and here did England help me: how can
I help England ?"--say,
Whoso turns as I. this evening, turn to God to
praise and pray,
'nile Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over
Africa.
R.
THE QUEEN'S JUBILEE, 1897
"IT was a Triumph indeed, that procession from
Buckingham Palace to the Cathedral of St. Paul,
but it was one widely different from the Triumphs
of Ancient Rome. Here was, not a warrior com-
ing, after a campaign, laden with the gory spoils
of many provinces or many kingdoms, or with
thousands of slaves or prisoners fettered to his
THE QUEEN'S JUBILEE, 1897 25
chariot--the Triumphant in this case was a
woman, a woman no longer in the flower of
youth, but already marked by the hand of time;
and in her cortege were men of many lan,ls and
of many religions--men from the black races of
Africa, men from the yellow races of Asia, men
from the mixed races of the West Indies;
Christians, Mohammedans, Buddhists--but free
men all--free men all, some of them wearing the
uniform of the British army, and proudly march-
ing to the strains of Britain's martial airs.
And, when in front of the noble temple, under
the great canol)y of Heaven, the vast throng
invoked the blessing of Almighty God upon
the aged Sovereign an,l her vast Dominions,
each of those present felt in his heart the
conviction that, as the Roman Empire had been
built up by force and violence, so it had been
destroyed by force and violence; but that the
British Empire lived and would live for ever
upon the eternal laws of Freedom and Justice.
And as it is for the British Empire as a
whole, so it is for every component part of that
Empire. That is the inspiration which shall
ever guide us in the discharge of the duties
which the Canadian people have intrusted to
our care." SIR WILFRID LAURIER
CANADA 27
0 thou that bor'st the battle's brunt
At Queenston and at Lmdy's Lane,-
On whose scant ranks, but iron front
The battle broke in vain !--
Whose was the danger, whose the day,
From whose triumphant throats the cheers,
At Chrysler's Farm, at Chateauguay,
Storming like clarion-bursts our ears ?
On soft Pacific slopes,--beside
Strange floods that northward rave and fall,-
Where chafes Acadia's chainless tide---
Thy sons await thy call.
They wait; but some in exile, some
With strangers housed, in stranger ]ands,q
And some Canadian lips are dumb
Beneath Egyptian sands.
0 mystic Nile! Thy secret yields
Before us; thy most ancient dreams
Are mixed with far Canadian fields
And murmur of Canadian streans.
But thou, my country, dream not thou!
Wake, and behold how night is done,-
How on thy breast, and o'er thy brow,
Bursts the uprising sun !
CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS
FOU RT I-l: IEADER
indentation in the shore about a league above
the city and ,w bearing the name of Wolfe's
Cove. lIere a narrow path led up the face of the
heigtt., and a French guard was posted at
the top to defend the pass. By the force
of the current tlm foremost boats, including
that whiclt carrie,l Wolfe himself, were borne a
little 1,elow the spot. The general was one of
the first on shore, tie luoked upward at the
rugged leights wlieh t(wered above him in the
gloom. "You can try it," lm coolly observed
t,) an officer near him ; "1,ut I don't think you'll
get up.
At the point where the Highlanders landed,
one of their captains, Donald Macdonald, appa-
rently the same whose presence of mind had just
saved the enterprise from ruin, was climbing in
advance of his men, when he was challenged by
a sentinel. He replied in French, by declaring
that he had been sent to relieve the guard, and
ordering the soldier to withdraw. Before the
latter was undeceived, a crowd of Highlanders
were close at hand, while the steeps below were
thronged with eager climbers, dragging them-
selves up by trees, roots, and bushes. The guard
turned out and made a brief though brave resis-
tance. In a moment they were cut to pieces,
WOLFE AT QUEBEC 33
in a few moments all his troops appeared
in rapid motion. They came on in three
divisions, shouting after the mamwr of their
nation, and firing heavily as soon as they came
within range. In the British ranks not a
trigger was pulled, not a soldier stirred, and
their ominous composure seemed to damp the
spirits of the assailants. It was not till the
French were within fort:}" yards that the fatal
word was given, and tle British muskets
blazed forth at once in one crashing explosion.
Like a ship at full career arrested with sudden
ruin on a sunken rock, the ranks of Montcalm
staggered, shivered, and broke before that wast-
ing storm of lead. The smoke rolling along
the field for a moment shut (,ut the -iew,
but, when the white wreaths were scattered on
the wind, a wretched spectacle was disclosed:
men and officers tumbled in heaps, battalions
resolved into a mob, order and obedience gone;
and,when the British muskets were levelled for
a second volley, the masses of the militia were
seen to cower and shrink with uncontrollable
panic. For a few minutes the French regulars
stood their ground, returning a sharp and not
ineffectual fire. But now, echoing cheer on
cheer, redoubling volley on volley, tramp-
34 FOURTH READER
ling the dying and the dead, and driving
tile fugitives in crowds, the 13ritish troops
advanced and swept the field before them.
The ardour of the men burst all restraint.
They broke into a run and with unsparing
slaughter chased tle flying multitude to the
gates of Quebec. Foremost of all, the light-
footed ]ligManders dashed almg in furious
pursuit, hewing down the Frenchmen with
their broadswords tnd slaying many in the
very ditch of tle f,,rtifieations. Xever was
victory more quick ,r nore decisive.
In the sllort action and pursuit the French
lost fifteen lundred men, killed, wounded, and
taken. Of the remainder scme escaped within
,_t. ('harles
tte city, and others fled across the .q
to rejoin their cmnrades wllo ta,l 1,een left to
guard the cami,. Tle pursuers were recalled
by sound of trumpet, the broken ranks were
formed afresh, and tle English troops with-
drawn beyond reach of tle cannon of Quebec.
Townshend and Murray, the only general
officers who remained unhurt, passed to the
head of every regiment in turn and thanked
the soldiers for the bravery they had shown;
yet tile triumph of the victors was mingled
with sadness as tidings went from rank to
rank that Wolfe had fallen.
WOLFE AT QUEBE(', 35
In the heat of the action, a.s he advanced
at the head of the grenadiers of Louisburg, a
bullet shattered his wrist, bul: he wrapped lis
handkerchief about tl,e wound, and showed
no sign of pain. A moment more and a ball
pierced his side. Still lie pressed forward
waving his sword and cheering his soldiers
to the attack, when a thir, l shot lodge, l deep
within his breast. IIe paused, reeled, and
stat, t, erlnt,-- " , to one side, fell to earth. Brown, a
lieutenant of the grenadiers, IIenderson, a
volunteer, an officer of artillery, and a private
soldier, raised him together in their arms, and
bearing him to the rear laid him softly on the
grass. They asked if tie would have a surgeon,
but he shook lis lwad and answered that all
was over with ltim. IIis eyes closed with the
torpor of approaching death, an,l those around
sustained his fainting form. Yet they could
not withhold their gaze from the wild turmoil
before them, and the charging ranks of their
companions rushing through fire and smoke.
"See how they run," one of the officers ex-
claimed, as the French fell in confusion before
the levelled bayonets. "Who run?" demanded
Wolfe, opening his eyes like a man aroused
from sleep. "The enemy, sir," was the reply;
THE WOUNDED GULL 37
THE WOUNDED GULL
ALo'G grim and granite shore
With children and with wife I went,
And in our face the stiff breeze bore
Salt savours and a samphire scent.
So wild the place and desolate,
That on rock before us stood--
All upright, silent and sedate--
Of dark-gray gulls multitude.
The eldldren could not choose but shout
To see these lovely birds so near,
Whereat they spread their pinions out,
Yet rather in surprise than fear.
They rose and wheeled around the cape,
They shrieked and vanished in ,n flock
But lo! one solitary shape
Still sentinelled the lonely rock.
The children laughed, and called it tame!
But ah ! one dark and shrivelled wing
Hung by its side ; the gull was lame,
A suffering and deserted thing.
38 FOURTH READER
With painful care it downward crept;
Its eye was on the rolling sea;
Close to our very feet, it stept
Upon the wave, and then--was free.
Right, out into the east it went,
Too proud, we thought, to flap or shriek
Slowl3 it steered in vonderment
To find its enemies so meek.
Calmly it steered, and mortal dread
Disturbed nor crest nor glossy plume;
It could but die, and being dead,
The open sea should be its tomb.
We watched it till we saw it float
Almost beyond our furthest view
It flickered like a paper boat,
Then faded in the dazzling blue.
It could but touch an English heart,
To find an English bird so brave;
Our life-blood glowed to see it start
Thus boldly on the leaguered wave.
And we shall hold, till life departs,
For flagging days when hope grows dull,
Fresh as a spring within our hearts,
The courage of the wounded gull.
DMUND
GOSSE
FOURTH EADER
folding one of his bed curtains in his arms,--
" they are lint torn down, rings and all. They
are here,I am here,tle hadows of the things
that would have been may ]_,e dispelled. They
will be. I know they will
IIis han,ls were lusy with his garments all
this time; turning them iside out, putting
tlern ,n Ul,side down, tearing them, mislaying
them, making them 1,attics to every kind of
extravagance.
"I d,n' know what to do l" cried Scrooge,
laughilg an,l crying in the same l,reath; and
making a 1,erfeet Laocoon of ]imself with his
stockings. " I am as light as a feather, I am as
hal,l,y as an ang.l, I am as merry as a school-
],oy. I am as gid,ly as a drunken man.
Ierry ('liristmas to everybody! .k }Ialpy New
Year to all the world ! Hallo here! Whoop!
Hall,, "
tie ha,l frisked into the sitting-room, and was
now stan,ling there, perfectly winded.
"There's the sauce-pan that the gruel was
in!" cried Scrooge, staNing off again, and
going round the fireplace. " There's the door
by which tlie Ghos of Jacob 3[arle-entered[
There's tlie corner where the Ghost of Christmas
Present sat There's the window where I saw
4 FOURTI[ READER
"Eh ?" returned the boy, with all his might
of wonder.
"What's to-day, my fine fellow ?" said
Scrooge.
"To-day !" replied the boy. "Why, CHRIST-
MAS DAY."
" It's Christmas Day !" said Scrooge to him-
self. " I haven't missed it. The Spirits have
done it all in one night. They can do anything
they like. Of course they can. Of course they
can. IIallo, my fine fellow?"
"Hallo !" returned the boy.
" ]-o you know the Poulterer's, in the next
street but one, at the corner ?" Scrooge inquired.
"I should h,)pe I did," replied the lad.
" An intelligent boy '' said "
. . ,_crooge. A
remarkable boy! Do you know whether they've
sold the prize turley that was hanging up
there?Not the little prize turkey, the big
one?"
"What, the one as big as me ?" said the boy.
"What a delightful boy !" said Scrooge.
" It's a pleasure to talk to him. Yes, my
buck !"
"It's hanging there now," replied the boy.
" Is it?" said Scrooge. "Go and buy it."
'" WALK-ER !" exclaimed the boy.
8CROOI;E'.S '111-ISTMA8 43
" No, no," said Scrooge, "I am in earnest.
Go and buy it and tell 'era to bring it here, that
I may give them the direction where to take it.
Come back with the man, and I'll give you a
shilling. Come back with trim in less than five
minutes, and I'll give you half-a-crown ! "
The boy was off like a shot. He must have
had a steady hand at tle trigger who could
have got a shot off half so fast.
"I'll senl it to Bob Cratchit's," wlispered
Scrooge, rubbing his hanls, and splitting with
a laugh. " tie shan't know who sends it. It's
twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe [iller never
made such a joke as sending it to Bob's will
be ["
The hand in which lie wrote the address was
not t steady one, but write he did, somehow,
and went down-stairs to open tle street door,
ready for the coming of the Poulterer's man.
As he stood there, waiting his arrival, the
knocker caught his eye.
"I shall love it as long as I livel" cried
Scrooge, patting it with his hand. " I scarcely
ever looked at it before. What an honest ex-
pression it has n its face l It's a wonderful
knocker!Here's the turkey. Hallo I Whoop[
How are you? Merry Christmas ["
FOURTH READER
It ,,as a turkey! He could never have stood
Ul,On his legs, that bird. He would have
snapped 'era off short in a ninute, like sticks
of sealing-wax.
" Why, it's impossible to carry that to
Camden T,wn, said Scrooge. " You must
have a cab."
The chuckle with which he said this, and the
chuckle with which le paid for the turkey,
and the cluckle with wlich he paid for the
cab, and the chuckle with which he recom-
pensed the boy, were only exceeded by the
chuckle with which he sat down breathlessly
in his chair again, anrl chuckled till he cried.
Shaving was ot an easy task, for his hand
continued to shake very much; and shaving
requires attention, even when you don't dance
while you are at it. But, if he had cut the end
of his nose off, he would have put a piece of
sticking-plaster over it, and been quite satisfied.
He dressed himself " all in his best," and
at last got out into the streets. The people
were by this time pouring forth, as he had seen
them with the Ghost of Christmas Present;
and, walking with his hands behind him,
Scrooge regarded everyone with a delighted
smile. He looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a
SCROOGE'S CHRISTMAS 45
word, that three or four good-humoured fellows
said'"Good-morning, sir! A 5Ierry Christmas
to you!" And Scrooge said often afterwards,
that, of all the tJlithe sounds he ]ad ever heard,
those were the tJlithest in lis ears .....
He went to church, and walked alout the
streets, and watched the pe(ple lurr.ving
and fro, aml patted the chil,lre on the ltead,
and questioned leggars, and 1,ke,l doxvn into
the kitchens of houses and up to the windows,
and found that every thing cr)ul,1 )ield him
pleasure. He had nes'er dreame,1 that any
n'alk--that anything--<.ould give him so much
happiness. In the afternoon, he turned his
steps t)wards his nephew's house.
He passed the door a dozen times 19efore he
had the courage t, go up and knock. But he
made a dash arid did it.
"Is your master at lome, my dear?" said
Scrooge to the girl. " Nice girl! Very."
" Yes, sir."
"Where is he, ny love? " said Scrooge.
"He's in the dining-room, sir, along with
mistress. I'll show you upstairs, ifs"ou please."
"Thank'ee. tie knows me," said Scrooge,
with his hand already on the dining-room lock.
"I'll go in here, my dear."
46
:FOURTH READER
lie turned it gently, and sidled his face in,
round the door. They were looking at the
table (which was spread out in great, array);
for these young housekeepers are always
nervous on such l,,,ints, and like to see that
everything is right.
" Fred l" sai,l Scrooge. Dear heart alive,
how his niece t,y marriage started! ....
"Vqay, bless my soul I" cried Fred, "Who's
that ?"
"It's I.
to dinner.
Your uncle Scrooge. I have come
Will you let me in, Fred?"
Let him in I It is a mercy he didn't shake
his arm off. lie was at home in five minutes.
Nothing could be heartier. His niece looked
just the same. So did Topper when e came.
So did the I,lump sister when ste came. So
did everybody when ttey came. Wonderful
party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity,
won-der-ful happiness 1
But he was early at the office next morning.
Oh, he was early there. If he could only be
there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late[
That was the first thing he had set his heart upon.
And he did it; yes, he did! The clock
struck nine. No Bob. A quarter past. No
Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a
half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his
door wide open, that he might see him come
into the Tank.
His hat was off; before he opened the door,
his comforter, too. He was on his stool in a
jifl)', driving away with lis 1,en, as if he were
trying to overtake nine o'clock.
" Hallo " growled Scrooge. in his accustomed
voice, as near as le could feign it. "What do
you mean by coming here at this time of day ?"
"I am very sorry, sir," said Bob. "I am
behind my time."
"You are ! " rel,eated Scrooge. "Yes, I think
you are. Step this way, sir, if you please."
" It's only once a )'ear, sir," pleaded Bob,
appearing from the Tank. " It shall not be
repeated. I was making rather merry yester-
day, sir."
"Now, I'll tell you what, my friend," said
Scrooge, " I am not going to stand this sort of
thing any longer. And therefore," he con-
tinued, leaping from his sto,)l, and giving Bob
such a dig in his waistcoat that he staggered
back into the Tank again,--" and, therefore, I
am about to raise your salary !"
Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the
ruler. He had a momentary idea of knocking
MOUNTAIN TORRENTS 49
it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their
eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attrac-
tive forms. His own heart laughed, and that
was quite enough for him.
He had no further intercourse with Spirits,
but lived upon the Total Abstinenr.e Principle
ever afterwards ; and it was always said of him,
that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any
man alive possessed the knowledge. May that
be truly said of us, and all of us ! And so, as Tiny
Tim observed, GOD BLEgS US EVERY ONE I
DICKENS : "A Christmas Carol. '
MOUNTAIN TORRENTS
A-D you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely clad!
Who called you forth from night and utter
death,
From dark and icy caverns called you forth,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,
For ever shattered, and the same for ever?
Who gave you your invulnerable life,
Your strength, your speed, 3"our fro3", and your
joy,
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ?
And who commanded (and the silence came),
Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest ?
50 FOURTH READER
Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's
brow
Adom enormous ravines slope amain--
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopped at once amid their maddest
plunge !
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!
Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven
Beneath the keen full moon ? qo bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living
flowers
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet ?-
God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!
God!sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome
voice!
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like
sounds!
And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!
COLERIDG
--To thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
SI=t.A KESPEARE
DEFEAT OF THE ARMADA 51
DEFEAT OF THE ARMADA
IT was now or never for England. The scene
of the action which was to decide the future of
Europe was between Calais and Dunkirk, a few
miles off shore, and within sight of Parma's
camp. There was no more maneruvring for the
weather-gage, no more fighting at long range.
Drake dashed straight upon his prey as the falcon
swo,,ps upon its quarry. A chance had falh-n
to him which might never return; not ti,r the
vain distinction of carrying prizes into Engli,h
ports, n,t for the ray of hon,ur which would
fall on him if he could carry off the sacred
b,'umer itself and hang it in the Al,bey at West-
minster; but a chance so to lan,lle the Armada
that it should never be seen again in English
waters, and deal such a bl,w on I'lilip that the
Spanish empire should reel with it.
The English ships had the same superiority
over the galleons which steamers have now over
sailing-vessels. They had twice t|e speed; they
could lie two I,oints nearer to tim wind. Sweep-
ing round tlmm at cal,le s length, crowding thenl
in one upon the other, yet never once giving
FOURTH READER
them a chance to grapple, they hurled in their
cataracts of round shot.
Short as was the powder supply, there was no
sparing it that morning. The hours went on,
and still the battle raged, if battle it could be
called where the blows were all dealt on one
side and the suffering was all on the other.
Never on sea or land did the Spaniards show
themselves worthier of their great name than on
that day. But from the first they could do
nothing.
It w said afterwards in Spain that the Duke
showed the white feather, that he charged his
pilot to keep him out of harm's way, that he
shut himself up in his cabin, buried in wool
packs, and so on. The Duke had faults enough,
but poltroonery was not one of them. He, who
till he entered the English Channel had never
been in action on sea or land, found himself, as
he said, in the midst of the most furious engage-
nent recorded in the history of the world. As
to being out of harm's way, the standard at his
mast-head drew the hottest of the fire upon him.
The ,San Martin's timbers were of oak and a
foot thick, but the shot, he said, went through
them enough to shatter a rock. Her deck was
a slaughter-house, half his company were killed
54 FOURTH READER
The deadly hail rained on. In some ships
blood was seen streaming out of the scupper-
holes. Yet there was no yielding; all ranks
showed equal heroism.
At midday Howard came up to claim a second
share in a x'ictory which was no longer doubtful.
Towards the afternooa the Spanish fire slack-
ened. Their pow,h-r was .gone, and they could
make no return to the cannoaade which was still
overwhelming them. The F admitted freely after-
wards that, if the attack lind continued but two
hours more, they must all have struck or gone
ashore. Iut the English magazines were empty
also ; the last cartridge was shot away ; and the
battle ended from mere inability to keep it up.
It had been fought on both sides with peculiar
determinatioa. In the English there was the
accumulated resentment of thirty years of men-
ace to their country and their creed, with the
eneny in tangible shal,e at last to be caught and
grappled with; in the Spanish, the sense that, if
their cause had n,)t brought them the help they
looked for from above, the honour and faith of
Castile should not suffer in their hands.
It was over. The Englisl drew off, regretting
that their thrifty mistress had limited their
means of fighting for her, and so obliged them
to leave their work half done. FovD
SONG
MIRIAM'S SONG
(l:tead EXODI:S, XV.)
SOUh'D the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea I
Jehovah hath triumphed--His people are free.
Singwfor the pride of the tyrant is broken,
His chariots and horsemen all splendid and
brave,
How vain was their boasting l the Lord hath
but spoken,
And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the
wave.
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea I
Jehovah hath triumphed--His people are free.
Praise to the Conqueror, praise t,) the Lord I
His word was the arrow, His breath was our
sword !
Who shall return to tell Egypt the story
Of those she sent forth in the power of her pride?
For the Lord hath looked out from tIis pillar of
glory,
And all her brave thousands are dashed in the
tide.
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea I
Jehovah hath triumphed--His people are free.
THot.,.s IOORE
FOURTH READER
THE
DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB
(Read If. KGs, XIX. 35)
THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the
fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and
gold ;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on
the sea,
'hen the blue wave rolls nightly on deep
Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is
green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen :
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath
blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and
strown.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on
the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and
chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever
grew still I
THE DESTRUCTION OF ,SENNACHERII 7
And there lay the steed with his nostril all
wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his
pride :
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the
turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider, distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his
mail ;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unbhwn.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the
sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the
Lord!
THE house of the wicked shall be overthrown-
But the tent of the upright shall flourish.
In the fear of the Lord is strong confidence-
And his children shall have a place of refuge
IovEBs
THE LARK AT THE DIGGINGS
TI4E friends strode briskly on, and a little after
eleven o'clock they came upon a small squatter's
house and premises. "IIere we are," cried George,
and his eyes glittered with innoeent delight.
The house was thatched and whitewashed,
and English was written on it and on every foot
of ground round it. A furze-bush had been
planted by the door. Vertical oak 1,alings were
the fence, with a five-barred gate in the middle
of them. From the little plantation, all the
magnificent trees and shrubs of Australia had
been excluded with amazing resolution and
consistency, and oak an,1 ash reigned safe
from overtowering rivals. They passed to the
back of the house, and there George's counte-
nance fell a little, for on the oval grass-plot and
gravel walk he found from thirty to forty rough
fellows, most of them diggers.
" Ah, well," said he, on reflection, "we could
not expect to have it all to ourselves, and indeed
it would be a sin to wish it, you know. Now,
Tom, eome this way; here it is, here it is,-
there." Tom looked up, and in a gigantic cage
was a light brown bird.
LARK AT THE DIGGINGS
they were full of oaths and drink and lusts and
remorses,nbut no note was changed in this
immortal song. And so for a moment or two,
years of vice rolled away like a dark cloud from
the memory, and the past shone out in the song-
shine: they came back, bright as the immortal
notes that lighted them, those faded pictures
and those fleeted days; the cottage, the old
mother's tears when he left her without one
grain of sorrow; the village church and its
simple chimes; the clover field hard by in
which he lay and gambolled, while the lark
praised God overhead; the chubby playmates
that never grew to be wicked, the sweet hours of
youthand innocence---and home.
CHARLES READE : It is Never too Late to Mend."
To catch dame Fortune's golden smile,
Assiduous wait upon her;
And gather gear by ev'ry wile
That's justified by honour;
Not for to hide it in a hedge,
Nor for a train attendant,
But for the glorious privilege
Of being independent.
62 FOURTH READER,
SIR PATRICK SPENS
THE king sits in Dunfermline toun,
Drinking the blude-red wine ;
"0 vhare will I get a skeely skipper,
To sail this new ship o' mine ?"
0 up and spake an eldern knight,
Sat at the king's right knee,-
"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor,
That ever sailed the sea."
The king has written a braid letter,
And sealed it wi' his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Sperms,
Was walking on the strand.
"To Noroway, to Noroway,
To Noroway o'er the faem;
The king's daughter of Noroway,
'Tis thou maun bring her hame."
The first word that Sir Patrick read,
Sae loud, loud laughbd he;
The neist vord that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blindit his e'e.
FOURTH READER
For I brought as mickle vhite monie,
As gane my men and me,
And I brought half-fou o' gude red
goud,
Out o'er the sea wi' me.
Mak' ready, mak' ready, my merry
men a !
Our gude ship sails the morn."
"Now, ever alake, my master dear,
I fear deadly storm!
I saw the new moon, late yestreen,
Wi' the auld moon in her arm!
And, if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we'll come to harna."
They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league, but barely three,
When the lift grew dark, and the wind
blew loud,
And gurly grew the sea.
The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap,
It was sic a deadly storm ;
And the waves cam' o'er tlm broken
ship,
Till a' her sides were torn.
SIR PATRICK SPENS 65
"0 whare 1 I get a gude sailor,
To tak' my helm in hand,
Till I gae up to the tall topmast,
To see if I can spy land ?"
"0 here am I, a sailor gude,
To tak' the helm in hand,
Till you gae up to the tall topmast;
But I fear ye'll ne'er spy land."
He hadna gane a step, a step,
A step, but barely ane,
When a bolt flew out o' our good|y ship,
And the salt sea it cam' in.
"Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith,
ANther o' the twine,
And wap them into our ship's side,
And letna the sea come in."
They fetched a web o' the silken claith,
Anither o' the twine,
And the3; wapped them roun' that gude
ship's side,
But still the sea earn' in.
O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords
To weet their cork-heeled shoon !
FOURTH READER
But lang or a' the play was played,
They wat their hats aboon.
0 lang, fang may the ladyes sit,
Wi' their fans into their hand,
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the strand!
And lang, lang may the maidens sit,
Wi' their goud kaims in their hair,
A' waiting for their ain dear loves!
For them they'll see na matt.
Half ower, half ower to Aberdour,
'Tis fifty fathoms deep,
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.
OLD B.LLhJ)
THE ROMANCE OF MARQIIIS WHEAT
CHAPTER
ABOUT seventy years ago there lived in the
township of Otonabee, not far from the city of
Peterborough, a farmer named David Fife. Like
all good farmers he was anxious to produce
better crops, and he thought that by trying new
kinds of seed he might find a better variety of
THE ROMANCE OF MARQUIS WHEAT 67
wheat than he and his neighbours were growing.
So he wrote to a friend in the city of Glasgow
and asked him to send out some samples of the
different kinds of wheat that were being brought
in from Europe.
It happened that when his friend received
this letter, a shipload of wheat had just arrived
from Danzig, a city on the Baltic Sea; and he
decided to send out a small quantity of seed from
this cargo. When Farmer Fife received this
wheat, he was puzzled to know what to do, for
he was not sure whether it was fall wheat or
spring wheat. However, he decMed to plant a
part of it that spring and see what would happen.
But, as ill-luck would have it, it turned out to
be fall wheat, and of course it did not ripen.
There was, however, among the wheat that he
sowed, a single kernel of spring -heat, which
came from no one knew where; and from this
single grain or kernel there grew three heads of
wheat, which ripened and produced a small
handful of kernels of hard red grain. Farmer
Fife saved them and planted them next spring.
This time fortune seemed to be o1 his side ; for
while all the rest of the crop was badly rusted,
the wheat in this little plot was quite free from
rust.
FOURTH READER.
He kept on planting it from year to year, until
there was enough of the new wheat to grind and
make into flour. Then came the real test: for
if wheat does not produce good flour which will
in turn make good bread, it is not worth growing.
But the new wheat stood the test. Both the
flour and tlm bread were excellent, and it proved,
besides, to have many other good qualities
Before long Farmer Fife was able to sell seed
wheat to his neighbours; and within a few years
Red Fife, as it came to be called, was in constant
demand. Within twenty or thirty years from
the time when the first kernel was sown, Red
Fife was grown far and wide in the great plains
of the West, and fi)r nearly halfa century it held
its place as the finest spring wheat in the
markets of the worl,1.
But in spite of it. great success the origin of
Red Fife was still a mystery. Where did that
single kernel of spring wheat come from in the
first place ? No one knew, and the mystery was
not solved for nearly seventy years. Then it
was discovered that in Galicia in Austria, three
hundred miles from the sea-coast, a variety of
wheat was grown which was exactly the same as
Red Fife. It was a long journey from Galicia to
I)anzig, from Danzig to Glasgow, and from
THE ROMANCE OF MARQUIS WHEAT 69
Glasgow to the pioneer farm in the township of
Otonabee; but the single kernel of Red Fife, or
Galician, wheat had travelled all that way by
land and sea to find a new home and establish
a new family in the great prairies of the new
world.
CHAPTER II
The second chapter of our romance opens ir
the Canadian West in the wheat-fields of the
northern prairies where Red Fife was grown. It
is the latter part of August. The harvest is
ripening, and the panorama of golden wheat-
fields is a glorious sight---one of the most glorious
in the world. In another ten days the wheat
will be ripe--just another ten days! It isso very
short a time, but the wheat is not yet ready; and
before it can be cut there comes a blighting frost.
In a single night the wheat crop is ruined, and
the whole year's labour is last. Ol farm after
farm the wheat is frozen and is left to stand in
the fields uncut. Red Fife is an excellent wheat,
but the harvest has come just ten days too late,
and in the years of early frost.s ten days means
everything.
When the frost ruined their crops, the farmers
grumbled and who could blame them ? "If it
70 :FOURTH READER
were only possible," they said, "to find a -heat
as good as Red Fife in other ways, that would
ripen just a little earlier!"
In the city of Ottawa there was a man who
set himself to work to try to solve this problem.
He was Dr. William Saunders, Director of the
Dominion Experimental Farm. Dr. Saunders
gathered samples of wheat from different parts
of the world and grew them in a number of
small plots side by side 'ith Red :Fife, so that
he might be able to compare the different
varieties. He found that there -ere many
different "kinds of -heat that ripened early, but
they did not make good flour, and of course they
eotfld not take the place of Red Fife. But
supposing some of these early wheats were
ero,ed with Red Fife, ohat would happen ?
In a large family of boys and girls there are
always differences in the children, and some-
times one of the children has all the good qual-
ities of both his father and his mother, and none
of their defects. It was a wheat child such as this
that Dr. Saunders wished to find;so he began
to "cross" led Fife with different -kinds of early
wheat, in the hope of finding it.
Vhen two 'arieties of wheat are crossed, there
is a large family of new plants no two of wlfieh are
72 FOURTH READER
resulted from previous "crossing," and to select
those which were best. In making this selection
he had to observe, in the case of each variety,
whether it ripened ear|y or late, whether the
stalks were short or long, whether the yield
of wheat was large or small, whether it was f'ee
from rust, whether the wheat was likely to shell
too easily, whether it produced a large percen-
tage of flour, whether the flour was white or
yellow in colour, and whether it had gluten
enough to form bread of a good quality.
One of the kinds of wheat which had been
"crossed" with Red Fife was an early-ripening
variety from India, called Hard Red Calcutta;
and it was one of the children of this family
that D,'. Charles Saunders finally selected as the
best. From the plot containing this variety the
best plant was chosen, and in the year 1904, the
best seeds from this plant, only t'elve seeds in
all, were so. Wlmn harvest time came, it was
found that the new wheat ripened nearly a week
earlier than Red Fife; and when enough of it
'as grown to test it, it proved to be even better
than Dr. Saunders had expected. It had a much
larger yield than Red Fife, and at the same
time it produced much better flour and bread.
THE EPILOGUE
At the close of a romance there is often what
is called an Epilogue--a very short chapter
which tells what happened in later years. The
Epilogue to this romance would tell of the great
wheat-fields of the West in which, before the
war, the new and better wheat known as Marquis
came to be grown. It would tell, too, of the
great slfiploads of Iarquis wheat that crossed
the ocean to feed the soldiers--the finest wheat
in the world. And for the years after the war,
it would give picture of miles upon miles of
ripening wheat, and elevators choked to over-
flo4ng with golden grain. In a single year there
have been grown in the Canadian West more than
four hundred million bushels of MarquLs wheat!
When Farmer Fife planted the seed wheat,
nearly a hundred years ago, he little dreamed
that from a single kernel there should spring
the over-flowing harvests that have helped to
fill the granaries of the world.
"Verily, verily, I say unto you, except a corn
of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth
alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much
fruit." O.J. Svso
m wo ss 75
THE MAN WHO SINGS
GE us, 0 give us, the man who sings at his
work l Be his occupation what it may, he is
equal to any of those who follow the same pur-
suit in silent sullenness. He will do more in the
same time, he will do it better, he will persevere
longer. One is scarcely sensible of fatigue whilst
he marches to music. The very stars are said
to make harmony as they revolve in their spheres.
Wondrous is the strength of cheerfulness, al-
together past calculation its powers of endurance.
Efforts, to be permanently useful, must be uni-
formiy joyous, a spirit all sunshine, graceful
from very gladness, beautiful because bright.
ToAs CA RLY'I.
MID pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home;
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us
there,
Which, seek through the world, is not met with
elsewhere;
Home[ home l sweet, sweet home I
There's no place like home.
Jom IOWRD PA
76 FOURTH READER
A LION HUNT
I" the closing years of the last century, Colonel
J. H. Patterson, an engineer in the emplosnent
of the British government, was engaged in
superintending the construction of a railway in
Uganda, on the east coast of Africa.
Uganda was in a wild and primitive state.
On each side of the new railway line stretched
vast jungles and grass plains, where lived
innumerable interesting animals--zebra, giraffe,
rhinoceros, hippopotamus, eland, and many
species of deer, as well as leopards and lions
which preyed upon them.
LION HUNT 77
Into the camps of the Hindu labourers who
were making the railway the lions stealthily
penetrated night after night, their presence
first revealed by the shrieks of the victims
whom they carried off. The coolies were terror-
ized, and in their panic, work came almost to a
standstill. Pity and interest both forced
Colonel Patterson to become a nightly lion-
hunter--the most successful, probably, on
record. In his book, The Man-Eaters of Tsavo,
he gives the following account of one of his
adventures almost in these words:
"As with my Indian gun-bearer, Mahina, I
was making my way toward our camp, I
observed something of a reddish colour moving
in a patch of long grass a good distance in front.
Before I could get my field-glasses to bear, the
animal, whatever it was, had disappeared into
the grass. I kept my eye on the spot, and we
gradually approached it. When about a hun-
dred yards off, the reddish object again appeared;
it was the shaggy head of a lion peeping over
the grass. This time Mahina also saw what it
was. I whispered to him to keep quiet whilst
we edged up toward the beast, which lay grimly
watching us. I asked Mahina in a whisper if
he felt equal to facing a charge from the lion ff
FOURTH READER
I should wound it. He answered simply that
where I went, there he would go also; and right
well he kept his word.
"It was a fascinating sight to see how the lion
would slowly raise his massive head above the
top of the grass and gaze calmly at us as we
neared him. Unfortunately, I could not distin-
guish the outline of his body, hidden as it was
in the grassy thicket. I therefore circled cau-
tiously round, in order to see if the cover was
sufficiently thin at the back to make a shoulder-
shot possible, but, as we moved, the lion also
tufted round, and so always kept his head full
on us. 'nen I had described a half-circle, I
found that the grass was no thinner and that
my chances of a shot had not improved.
"We were now within seventy yards of the
lion, which appeared to take the greater interest
in us the closer we approached. He had lost
the sleepy look with which he had at first
regarded us, and was now fully on the alert;
but still he did not give me the impression that
he meant to charge, and no doubt, if we had not
provoked him, he would have allowed us to
depart in peace.
"I, however, was bent on war, in spite of the
risk which one must always run in attacking a
80 FOURTH READER
to us, and then, to my unmeasured relief, turned
round to look for her mate, who by this time
had managed to get on his feet again. There
they both stood, growling viciotsly and lashing
their tails, for what appeared to me a succession
of ages. Then the lioness made up her mind to
go back to the lion, and they both stood broad-
side on, with their heads close together and
turned toward us, snarling in a most aggressive
manner. Had either of us moved hand or
foot, it would have at once brought on another,
and, probably, fatal charge.
"I had, of course, a great opportunity of ch'op-
ping both; but I confess I did not feel equal to
it. Just at this juncture the lion seemed to
grow suddenly weak. He staggered some ten
yards back toward his lair and fell to the
ground. The lioness followed and lay down
beside him--both still watching ts and growling
savagely. After a few seconds the lion strug-
gled to his feet again and retreated still further,
the lioness accompanying him, until he fell once
more.
"A third time the same thing took place, and
I began to breathe more freely. Accordingly, I
took a shot at the lioness, as she lay beside her
mate partially concealed in the long grass. I
ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET
do not think that I hit her, but she made off,
bounding away at a great rate on emerging into
the open. As for the wounded lion, I put a
bullet through his spine, and he never moved
after."
LIEUT.-CoL. J. II. PATTERSON:
"The Man-Eaters of Tsavo. '
(Adapted)
ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET
THE poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint witl the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown
mead ;
That is the Grasshopper's]e takos the lead
In summer ]uxuryhe has never d, me
With his delights; for when tired out with
fun
He rests a ease beneatl, some pleasan weed.
The poetry of eartl is cea:ing never:
On a lone winter evenilg, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from tlm stove there
shrills
The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half-lost,
The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.
82 :FOURTH READER
THE FALLS OF NIAGARA
ERE yet I saw the wild magnificence,
Which Nature here with peerless pomp unveils,
A solemn sound--a stern and sullen roarm
By which the earth was tremulously thrilled--
Kindled a flush of deep, expectant joy,
Quickening the pulses of my throbbing heart,
And tingling through my veins like fire. But
now,
While standing on this rocky ledge, above
The vast abyss, which yawns beneath my feet,
In silent awe and rapture, face to face
With this bright vision of unearthly glory,
Which dwarfs all human pageantry and power,
This spot to me is Nature's holiest temple.
The sordid cares, the jarring strifes, and vain
Delights of earth are stilled. The hopes and
joys
That gladden selfish hearts seem nothing here.
The massy rocks that sternly tower aloft,
And stem the fury of the wrathful tide--
The impetuous leap of the resistless flood,
An avalanche of foaming, curbless rage--
The silent hills, God's tireless sentinels--
THE CRUSADER AND THE SARACEN 83
The wild and wondrous beauty of thy face,
Which foam and spray for ever shroud, as if
Like thy Creator, God, thy glorious face
No mortal eye may see unveiled and live---
Are earthly signatures of power divine.
O ! what are grandest works of mortal art,
Column, or arch, or vast cathedral dome,
To these majestic foot-prints of our God I
EDWARD HARTLEY DE'WART
THE CRUSADER AND THE SARACEN
As the Knight of the Couchant Leopard con-
tinued to fix his eyes attentively on the yet
distant cluster of palm trees, it seemed to him as
if some object was moving among them. The
distant form separated itself from the trees,
which partly hid its motions, and advanced
towards the knight with a speed which soon
showed a mounted horseman, whom his turban,
long spear, and green caftan floating in the
wind, on his nearer approach, showed to be a
Saracen cavalier.
"In the desert," saith an Eastern proverb,
"no man meets a friend." The Crusader was
totally indifferent whether the infidel, who now
approached on his gallaat barb, as if borne on
THE CRUSADER AND THE SARACEN 85
to encounter him. But the Christian knight,
well acquainted with the customs of Easterr
warriors, did not mean to exhaust his good
horse by any unnecessary exertion; and, on
the contrary, made a dead halt, confident that,
if the enemy advanced to the actual shock, his
own weight, and that of his powerful charger,
would give him sufficient advantage, without
the additional momentum of rapid motion.
Equally sensible and apprehensive of such a
probable result, the Saracen cavalier, when he
had approached towards the Christian within
twice the length of his lance, wheeled his steed
to the left with inimitable dexterity, and rode
twice around his antagonist, who, turning with-
out quitting his ground, and presenting his
front constantly to his enemy, frustrated his
attempts to attack him on an unguarded point;
so that the Saracen, wheeling his horse, was
fain to retreat to the distance of a hundred
yards.
A second time, like a hawk attacking a
heron, the Heathen renewed the charge, and a
second time was fain to retreat without com-
ing to a close struggle. A third time he
approached in the same manner, when the
Christian knight, desirous to terminate this
86 IOURTH READER
illusory warfare, in which he might at length
have been worn out by the activity of his
foeman, suddenly seized the mace which hung
at his saddle-bow, and, with a strong hand and
tnerring aim, hurled it against the head of
the Emir, for such and not less his enemy
appeared. The Saracen was just aware of the
formidable missile in time to interpose his light
buckler betwixt the mace and his head; but
the violence of the blow forced the buckler
down on his turban, and though that defence
also contributed to deaden its violence, the
Saracen was bean from his horse. Er the
Christian could avail himself of this mishap,
his nimble foeman sprang from the ground,
and, calling on his steed, which instantly
returned to his side, he leaped into his seat
without touching the stirrup, and regained all
the advantage of which the Knight of the
Leopard hoped to deprive him. But the latter
had in the meanwhile recovered his mace, and
the Eastern cavalier, who remembered the
strength and dexterity with which his antago-
nist had aimed it, seemed to keep cautiously
out of the reach of that weapon, of which he
had so lately felt the force, while he showed
his purpose of waging a distant warfare with
THE CRUSADER AND THE SARACEN
missile weapons of his own. Planting his long
spear in the sand at a distance from the scene
of combat, he strung, with great address, a short
bow, which he carried at his back, and, i-,utting
his horse to the gallop, once more described two
or three circles of a wider exte_at than figrnaerly,
in the course of which he discharged six arrows
at the Christian with such unerring skill that
the goodness of his harness alone save,] him
from being wounded in as many places. The
seventh shaft api, arentl " fotn,l a less perfect
part of the armor, r, a,l th, ('hri.tian dropped
heavily from lis hrse. But what was the
surprise of the Saracen, when, di.mounting to
examine the condition of his prostrate enemy,
he found himself suddenly within the grasp of
the European, who ha,1 ha,l recourse to this
artifice to bring his enemy within his reach!
Even in this deadly grapple the Saracen was
saved by his agility an,l i,resence of min,l. He
unloosed the sword-belt, in which the Knight
of the Leopard had fixed his hol,l, and, thus
eluding his fatal gra,p, mounte,l lis horse,
which seeme, l to watch his motions with the
intelligence of a human being, and again rode
off. But in the last encounter the Saracen had
lost his sword and his quiver of arrows, both of
FOURTH: READER
which were attached to the girdle, which he was
obliged to abandon. He had also lost his
turban in the struggle. These disadvantages
seemed to incline the Moslem to a truce- he
approached the C hr._tmn -ith his right hand
extended, but no longer in a menacing attitude.
"There is truce betwixt our nations," he said,
in the linga .f'aca commonly used for the
purpose of communication with the Crusaders;.
"Wherefore should there be war betwixt thee
and me? Let there be peace betwixt us."
"I am well contented," answered he of the
Couchant Leopard; "but what security dost
thou offer that thou wilt observe the truce?"
"The word of a follower of the Prophet was
never broken," answered the Emir. "It is
thou, brave Nazarene, from whom I should
demand security, did I not know that treason
seldom dwells with courage."
The Crusader felt that the confidence of the
Moslem made him ashamed of his own doubts.
" By the cross of my sword," he said, laying
his hand on the weapon as he spoke, "I will be
true companion to thee, Saracen, while our
fortune wills that we remain in company
together."
THE CRUSADER AND THE SARACEN
"By Mohammed, Prophet of God, and by
Allah, God of the Prophet," replied his late
foeman, "there is not treachery in my heart
towards thee. And now wend we to yonder
fountain, for the hour of rest is at hand, and
the stream had hardly touched my lip when I
was called to battle by thy approach."
The Ifmight of the Couchant Leopard yielded
a ready and courteous assent ; and the late foes,
without an angry look or gesture of doubt, rode
side by side to the little cluster of palm trees.
COTT : ' ' The Talismam"
LOVE as brethren, be pitiftfl, be courteous: not
rendering evil for evil or railing for railing: but
contrari%e blessing.
For he that will love life, and see good days,
let him refrain his tongue from evil, and his lips
that they speak no guile:
Let him eschew evil, and do good;let him
seek peace and ensue it.
For the eyes of the Lord are over the right-
eous, and His ears are open unto their prayers:
but the face of the Lord is against them that do
evil.
And who is he that will harm you, if ye be
followers of that which is good ?
I. PETER, III.
90 FOURTI:IREADER
STORM IN THE ALPS
THE sky is changed !-- And such a change! Oh
night,
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous
strong,
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the hght
Of a dark eye in woman! Far along,
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among
Leaps the five thunder! Not from one lone
cloud,
But every mountain now hath found a tongue,
And Jura answers through her misty shroud,
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
And this is in the night :--Most glorious night!
Thou wert not sent for slumber! Let me be
A sharer in thy fieree and far delight,--
A portion of the tempest and of thee!
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea,
And the big rain eomes dancing to the earth !
And now again 'tis blaek,--and now, the glee
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth,
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's
birth.
BYRON : ' ' Childe Harold.'
WORK AND WAGES 91
THOU MUST BE TRUE THYSELF
Tou must be true thyself,
If thou the truth wouldst teach;
Thy soul must overflow, if thou
Another's soul wouldst reach!
It needs the overflow of heart
To give the lips full speech.
Think truly, and thy thoughts
Shall the world's famine feed;
Speak truly, and eaeh word of thine
Shall be a fruitful seed ;
Live truly, and thy life shall be
A great and noble creed.
IIORATIUS BONAR
WORK AND WAGES
THERE will always be a number of men who
would fain set themselves to the accumulation
of wealth as the sole object of their lives.
Necessarily, that class of men is an unedu-
cated class, inferior in intellect, and, more or
less, cowardly. It is physically impossible for
a well-educated, intellectual, or brave man to
make money the chief object of his thoughts;
just as it is for him to make his dinner the
FOURTH READER
principal object of them. All healthy people
like their dinners, but their dinner is not the
main object of their lives. So all healthily-
minded people like making money---ought to
like it, and to enjoy the sensation of winning
it: but the main object of their life is not
money; it is something better than money. A
good soldier, for instance, mainly wishes to do
his fighting well. He is glad of his pay--very
properly so, and justly grumbles when you
keep him ten years without it--still, his main
notion of life is to win battles, not to be paid
for winning them. So of clergymen. They
like pew-rents, and baptismal fees, of course;
but yet, if they are brave and well-educated,
the pew-rent is not the sole object of their lives,
and the baptismal fee is not the sole purpose of
the baptism ; the clergyman's object is essentially
to baptize and preach, not to be paid for preach-
ing. So of doctors. They like fees no doubt,--
ought to like them; yet if they are brave and
well-educated, the entire object of their lives is
not fees. They, on the whole, desire to cure the
sick; and,--if they are good doctors, and the
choice were fairly put to them--would rather
cure their patient, and lose their fee, than kill
him, and get it. And so with all other brave
94 FOURTH B.EADER
UNTRODDEN WAYS
WHERE close the curving ntountains drew
T, clasp the stream in their embrace,
With every outline, curve, and hue,
Reflected in its l,lacid face,
The i, loughman stopped his team, to watch
The train, as swift it thundered by;
Some distant glimpse of life to catch,
He strains his eager, wistful eye.
His glossy horses mildly stand
With wonder in their 1,atient eyes,
As through the tranquil mountain land
The snorting monster onward flies.
The morning freshness is on hiln,
Just wakened from his bahnv dreams;
The wayfarers, all soiled and dim,
Think longingly of mountain streams :--
O for the joyous mountain air !
The long, delightful autumn day
Among the hills !the ploughman there
Must have perpetual holiday [
THE FIRST PLOUGHING .)5
And he, as all day long he guides
His steady plough with patient hand,
Thinks of the flying train that glides
Into some fair, enchanted land;
Where day by day no plodding round
Wearies the frame and dulls the mind;
Where life thrills keen to sight and sound,
With plough and furrows left behind I
Even so to each the untrod ways
Of life are touched by fancy's glow,
That ever sheds its brightest rays
Upon the page t,e do not/'ot, !
AGNES 5[AULE [AGHAR
THE FI R.T
CALLS the crow from the pine-tree top
When the April air is still.
He calls to the farmer hitching his team
In the farmyard under the hill.
"Come up," he cries, "come out and come
up,
For the high field's ripe to till.
Don't wait for word from the dandelion
Or leave from the daffodil."
96 FOURTH :READER
Cheeps the flycatcher--" Here old earth
Warms up in the April sun;
And the first ephemera, wings yet wet,
From the mould creep one l,y one.
Under the fence wlere tlie flies frequent
Is the earliest gossamer spun.
Come up from tim damp of the valley lands,
For here the winter's done."
Whistles the liigh-hole out of the grove
His sulnmoning loud an,l clear"
"Chilly it nay l,e down your way
But the ligh south fiel,l la.s cheer.
On tle sunwar, l side of the chestnut stump
The wo,dgrubs wake and appear.
C'ome out to your ploughing, come up to
)'our ploughing,
Tle time for ploughing is here."
Then dips the coulter and drives the share,
And the furrows faintly steam.
The crow drifts furtively ,lown from the pine
To follow the clanking team.
The flycatcher tumbles, the high-hole das
In the young noon's yellow gleam;
And wholesome sweet the slnell of the sod
Upturned from its winter's dream.
CHARns G. D. ROBER
THE ARCHERY CONTEST 97
THE ARCHERY CONTEST
"TE day," said Waldemar, "is not yet very far
spent---let the archers shoot a few rounds at the
target, and the prize be adjudged."
One by one the archers, stepping forward,
delivered their shafts yeomanlike and bravely.
Of the ten shafts which hit the target, two with-
in the inner ring were shot by Hubert, a forester
in the service of Malvoisin, who was accordingly
pronounced victorious.
"Now, Locksley," said Prince John with a
bitter smile, "wilt thou try conclusions with
Hubert ?"
"Sith it be no better," said Locksley, "I am
content to try my fortune; on condition that
when I have shot two shafts at yonder mark of
Hubert's, he shall be bound to shoot one at that
which I shall propose."
"That is but fair," answered Prince John,
"and it shall not be refused thee. If thou dost
beat this braggart, Hubert, I will fill the bugle
with silver pennies for thee."
"A man can but do his best," answered
Hubert ; "but my grandsire drew a good long
bow at Hastings, and I trust not to dishonour
his memory."
98 FOURTH READER
The former target was now removed, and a
fresh one of the same size placed in its room.
Hubert took his aim with great deliberation,
long measuring the distance with his eye, while
he held in his hand his bended bow, with the
arrow placd on the string. At length he made
a step forward, and raising the bow at the full
stretch of his left arm, till the centre or grasping-
place was nigh level with his face, he drew his
bow-string to his ear. The arrow whistled
through the air, and lighted within the inner
ring of the target, but not exactly in the centre.
" You have not allowed for the wind,
Hubert," said his antagonist, bending his bow,
"or that had been a better shot."
So saying, and without showing the least
anxiety to pause upon his aim, Icksley stepped
to the appointed station, and shot his arrow as
carelessly in appearance as if he had not even
looked at the mark. He was speaking almost at
the sa.me instant that the shaft left the bow-
string, yet it alighted in the target two inches
nearer to the white spot which marked the
centre than that of Hubert.
" By the light of heaven !" said Prince John
to Hubert, "an thou suffer that runagate knave
to overcome thee, thou art worthy of the
gallows I"
THE ARCHERY COI'TEST 0O
"An your highness were to hang me," said
Hubert, "a man can but do his best. Neverthe-
less, my grandsire drew a good bow--"
"The foul fiend on thy grandsire and all his
generation !" interrupted John ; "shoot, knave,
and shoot thy best, or it shall be the worse for
thee !"
Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and
making the necessary allowance for a very light
air of wind, which had just arisen, shot so
successfully that his arrow alighted in the very
centre of the target.
"Thou canst not mend that shot, Loeksley,"
said the Prince with an insulting smile.
"I will notch his shaft for him, however,"
replied Locksley.
And letting fly his arrow with a little more
precaution than before, it lighted right upon
that of his competitor, which it split to shivers.
" And now," said Locksley, " I will crave
(* '
your _race s permission to plant such a mark as
is used in the North Country, and welcome
every brave yeoman who shall try a shot at it."
He then turned to leave the lists. "Let your
guards attend me," he said, " if you please--I
go but to cut a rod from the next willow-bush."
I00 IOURTH READER
Locksley returned almost instantly with tr
willow wand about six feet in length, perfectly
straight, and rather thicker than a man's thumb.
He began to peel this, observing that to ask a
good woodman to shoot at a target so broad as
had hitherto been used, was to put shame upon
his skill. " For my own part" he said, " and in
the land where I was bred, men would as soon
take fur their mark King Arthur's round table,
which held sixty knights around it. A child of
seven years old," he said, "might hit yonder
target with a headless shaft; but," added he,
walking deliberately to the other end of the
lists, and sticking the willow wand upright in
the ground, "he that hits that rod at five-score
yards, I call him an archer fit to bear bow and
quiver before a king."
"My grandsire," said Hubert, "drew a good
bow at the battle of Hastings, and never shot at
such a mark in his life--and neither will I. If
this yeoman can cleave that rod, I give him the
bucklers--or rather, I yield to the devil that is
in his jerkin, and not to any human skill; a
man can but do his best, and I will not shoot
where I am sure to miss. I might as well shoot
at a sunbeam, as at a twinkling white streak
which I can hardly see."
104 rOURT READER
Where now the solemn shade,
Verdure and gloom where many branches
meet :
So grateful, when the noon of summer made
The valleys sick with heat?
Let in through all the trees
Come the strange rays; the forest depths are
bright,
Their sunny-coloured foliage, in the breeze,
Twinkles, like beams of light.
The rivulet, late unseen,
Where bickering through the shrubs its
waters run
hines with the image of its golden screen
And glimmerings of the sun.
Oh, Autumn! why so soon
Depart the hues that make thy forests glad,
Thy gentle wind and thy fair sunny noon,
And leave thee wild and sad!
Ah! 'twere a lot too blest
Forever in thy coloured shades to stray;
Amid the kisses of the soft south-west
To rove and dream for aye;
"GENTLEMEN, THE KING I" 105
And leave the vain low strife
That makes men mad--the tug for wealth and
13ower,
'i'he passions and the cares that wither life,
And waste its little hour.
bRYANT
"GENTLE:MEN, THE KING !"
WHE I was a child and knelt on a big hassock
in the rectory pew of a Suffolk church, I used to
wonder, whilst flies droned against the green-
tinted, diamond-paned xx_ndows, and the crow-
ing of roosters came with the drowsy sunshine
106 FOIg-RTH READER
through the open door, whether the dear sad-
faced lady in a widow's cap, whose picture hung
in our nursery above the gray rocking-horse,
knew that my father was praying for her.
I used to wonder, too, whether she ever re-
flected how, at that particular moment, from
one end of England to the other, men were
breathing her woman's name into the hearing of
the King of Kings, Lord of Lords, the only
Ruler of princes. How wonderful for that little
lady to think of this universal supplication--
how humbling, how uplifting l Did she bow
her head very low, I wondered, as the prayer of
England rose in the hush of those Sabbath
morns from city and toun, from village and
hamlet--the voice of her great little England ap-
proaching the confidence of God on her behalf.
"Most ]eartily 'e beseech Tlee with Thy fa,our
to b.eIold our most gracious Sovereign Lady, Queen
I'ictoria, and so replenish her with the grace of
Tly Holy Spirit, that she may always incline to
Tby will, and walt in Thy way. Endue her
plenteously uth vaenly gifts; grant her in health
and wealth long to lie ; strengthen her that she may
vanquish and oercome all her enemies; and
ly, after this life, she may attain everlasting joy
and felicity."
" GENTLEMEN, THE KING " ]07
The innocent wonder of childhood lies far
behind me on the dusty road of life. He who
prayed and she for whom he prayed have both
out-soared the shadow of our night. Other
children play in that Suffolk glebe, a different
voice wakes the Sabbath echoes in that village
church, and another inhabits the majestic splen-
dour of the throne of England.
Here in Canada, far away in the West, with
the croon of the Pacific Ocean in my ears and
the scents of a deep, cool pine forest stealing
into the candles through the opening of a tent,
I find my wonderment following the ancient
trail of a far-away childhood. Does Edward
the Seventh, I asked myself, ever reflect that in
all the zones of the world, night after night,
year in, year out, at the old familiar call
"Gentlemen, the King ! "mmen of Shakespeare's
blood and Alfred's lineage spring to their feet,
as at the sound of a trumpet, and the local wel-
kin rings with the anthem of the British. Is he
conscious, wheresoever he be at this moment, of
the low, strong, rumbling Amen of our anthem,
which roils through the tent as we set do our
glasses and resume our chairs--" The King!--
God bless him!" Every night, in every quarter
of the globe, as constant as the stars, as strong
:l 0R FOURTI=[ READER
as the mountains, this pledge of loyalty, this
profession of faith by the clean-hearted British--
"The King !--God bless him I"
Presently the chairman rises to propose
another toast, but my thoughts cling to the
ancient trail. I see vision of Windsor Castle,
with the Royal Standard streaming out against
a sky of summer turquoise, exactly as it shone
for my bo)h eyes in a box of bricks. The
fragrance of England's may-breathing hedgerows
and the deep earthy scents of her glimmering
woods of oak and elm, come to me from the
fields of memory. All that makes England
demi-paradise--her rose-hung hedges, her green
woods, her creeping rivers, her April orchards,
and her March-blown hills--all this gracious
pageantry rises in green and tender mirage to
the eyes of my musing.
And as I feel the spell and magic of "this
other Eden," I feel also the pomp and splendour
of the British throne, I understand how it is
that, whithersoever I go in Canada, men stand
up like soldiers at the toast of the King, and,
though but moment before they were laughing
over a story, sing with exaltation the anthem
of the British: "The King !--God bless him !"
H-OLD BEGIIE
AFTON WATER
FIw gently, sweet Alton, among thy green
braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Alton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' the
glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny
den
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming fo;
bear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding
rills,
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys be-
low,
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses
blow ;
110 FOURTH READER
There, oft as mild ev'ning weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Affon, how lovely it glides,
And winds by tlm cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flow'rets she stems thy clear
wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green
braes,
Fl,w gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays,
My Mary's asleep 1,y tly lnurmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Bus
DAVID COPPERFIELD'S FIRST JOURNEY
ALONE
I SLEPT soundly until we got to Yarmouth and
drove to the inn yard. A lady looked out of a
bow-wind(w where solne fowls and joints of meat
were hanging up, and said-
" Is that the little gentleman from Blunder-
stone ?"
" Yes, ma'am," I said.
DAVID COPPERFIELD'S FIRST JOURNEY 11 1
The lady then rang a bell and called out;
"William I show the coffee-room!" upon which
a waiter came running out of a kitchen on the
opposite side of the yar,l to show it, and seemed
a good deal surprised when he found he was
only to show it to me.
It was a large, long room with some large
maps in it. I doubt if I could have felt much
stranger if the maps had been real foreign
countries, and I cast away in the middle of
them. I felt it was taking a liberty to sit down,
with my cap in my hand, on the corner of the
chair nearest the door; and when the waiter
laid a cloth on purpose for me, and put a set of
casters on it, I think I must have turned red all
over with modesty.
He brought me some chops, and vegetables,
and took the covers off in such a bouncing
manner that I was afraid I must have given
him some offence. But he greatly relieved my
mind by putting a chair for me at the table, and
saying, very affably: "Now, six-foot ! come oit !"
I thanked him, and took my seat at the board ;
but found it extremely difficult to handle my
knife and fork witli anything like dexterity, or
to avoid splashing myself with the gravy, while
he was standing opposite, staring so hard, and
112 FOURTH READER
making me blush in the most dreadful manner
every time I caught his eye. After watching me
into the second chop, he said:
"There's half a pint of ale for you. Will you
have it now ?"
I thanked him and said "Yes." Upon which
he poured it out of a jug into a large tumbler,
and held. it up against the light, and made it
look beautiful.
" My eye !" he said. "It seems a good deal,
don't it ?"
"It does ._,em a good deal," I answered with a
smile. For it was quit delightful to me o find
him so pleasant. He was a twinkling-eyed,
pimple-faced man, with his hair standing up-
right all over his head; and as he stood with
one arm a-kimbo, holding up the glass to the
light with the other hand, he looked quite
friendly.
"There was a gentleman here, yesterday," he
said--" a stout gentleman, by the name of Top-
sawyermperhaps you know him."
" No," I said, " I don't thinkm"
" In breeches and gaiters, broad-brimmed hat,
gray coat, speckled choker," said the waiter.
"No," I said, bashfully, "I haven't the
pleasure--"
DAVID COPPERFIELD'S FIRST JOURNEY 113
"He came in here," said the waiter, looking at
the light through the tumbler, "ordered a glass
of this ale---would order it--I told him not--
drank it, and fell dead. It was too old for him.
It oughtn't to be drawn ; that's the fact."
I 'as very much shocked to hear of this
melancholy accident, and said I thought I had
better have some water.
"Why, you see," said the waiter, still looking
at the light through the tumbler, with one of
his eyes shut up, "our people don't like things
being ordered and left.
_rll drink it, if you like.
is everything. I don't
It offends 'em. But
I'm used to it, and use
think it'll hurt me, if I
throw my head back, and take it off quck.
Shall I ?"
I replied that he would much oblige me by
drinking it, if he thought he could do it safely,
but by no means otherwise. When he did
throw his head back and take it off ctuick, I had
a horrible fear, I confess, of seeing him meet the
fate of the lamented Mr. Topsawyer, and fall life-
less on the carpet. But it didn't hurt him. On
the contrary, I thought he seemed the fresher
for it.
"\Vhat have we got here ?" he said, putting u
fork into my dish. "Not chops ?"
114 FOURTH READER
"Chops," I said.
"Bless my soul I" he exclaimed, "I didn't
know they were chops. Why, a chop's the very
thing to take off the bad effects of that beer I
Ain't it lucky ?"
So he took a chop by the bone in one hand,
and a potato in the other, and ate away with a
very good appetite, to my extreme satisfaction.
He afterwards took another chop, and another
potato; and after that another chop, and another
potato. When he had done, he brought me a
pudding, and having set it before me, seemed to
ruminate, and to become absent in his mind for
some moments.
"How's the pie ?" he said, rousing himself.
" It's a pudding," I made answer.
" Pudding!" he exclaimed. "Why, bless me,
so it is! What I" looking at it nearer. " You
don't mean to say it's a batter-pudding ?"
"Yes, it is indeed."
" Why, a batter-pudding," he said, taking up
a table-spoon, "it's my favourite pudding ! Ain't
that lucky ? Come on, little 'un, and let's see
who'll get most."
The waiter certainly got most. He entreated
me more than once to come in and win, but
what with his table-spoon to my tea-spoon, his
DAVID COPPERFIELD'S FIRST JOURNEY 11.5
despatch to my despatch, and his appetite to my
appetite, I was left far behind at the first mouth-
ful, and had no chance with him. I never saw
any one enjoy a pudding so much, I think ; and
he laughed, when it was all gone, as if his enjoy-
ment of it lasted still.
Finding him so very friendly and companion-
able, it was then that I asked for the pen and
ink and paper, to write to Peggoty. He not
only brought it immediately, but was good
enough to look over me while I wrote the letter.
When I had finished it, he asked me where I
was going to school.
I said: " Near London," which was all I knew.
"Oh! my eye !" he said, looking very low-
spirited, " I am sorry for that."
"Why ?" I asked him.
"Oh!" he said, shaking his head, "that's the
school where they broke the boy's ribs---two
ribs--a little boy he was. I should say he was
--let me see--how old are you, about ?"
I told him between eight and nine.
"That's just his age," he said. "He was eight
years and six months old when they broke his
first rib ; eight years and eight months old when
they broke his second, and did for him."
I could not disguise from myself, or from th
116 rOURT READER
waiter, that this was an uncomfortable coinci-
dence, and inquired how it was done. His
answer was not
consisted of two
ping."
cheering to my spirits, for it
dismal words, "With whop-
The blowing of the coach-horn in the yard
was a seasonable diversion, which made me get
up and hesitatingly inquire, in the mingled
pride and diffidence of having a purse (which
I took out of my pocket), if there were anything
to pay.
"There's a sheet of letter-paper," he returned.
"Did you ever buy a sheet of letter-paper?"
I could not remember that I ever had.
" It's dear," he said, "on account of the duty.
Threepence. That's the way we're taxed in this
country. There's nothing else, except the
waiter. Never mind the ink! I lose by that."
"What should you--what should I--how
much ought I to--what would it be right to
pay the waiter, if you please ?" I stammered,
blushing.
" If I hadn't a family, and that family hadn't
the cowpock," said the waiter, " I wouldn't take
a sixpence. If I didn't support a aged pairint,
and a lovely sister,"--here the waiter was
greatly agitated--" I wouldn't take a farthing.
DAVID COPPERFIELD'S FIRST JOURNEY 117
taking of it. But I
and I sleep on the
burst into tears.
If I had a good place, and was treated well here,
I should beg acceptance of a trifle, instead of
live on broken wittles--
coals"--here the waiter
I was very much concerned for his misfor-
tunes, and felt that any recognition short of
ninepence would be mere brutality and hard-
ness of heart. Therefore I gave him one of my
three bright shillings, which he received with
much humility and veneration, and sptn up
with his thumb, directly afterwards, to try the
goodness of.
It was a little disconcerting to me, to find,
when I was being helped up behind the coach,
that I was supposed to have eaten all the dinner
without any assistance. I discovered this, from
overhearing the lady in the bow-window say to
the guard: "Take care of that child, George, or
he'll burst !" and from observing that the
women-servants who were about the place came
out to look and giggle at me as a young phenom-
enon. My unfortunate friend, the waiter, who
had quite recovered his spirits, did not appear to
be disturbed by this, but joined in the general
admiration without being at all confused. If
I had any doubt of him, I suppose this half-
awakened it; but I am inclined to believe that,
with the simple confidence and natural reliance
of u child upon superior years (qualities I am
very sorry any children should prematurely
change for worldly wisdom), I had no serious
mistrust of him on the whole, even then.
DICKENS : ' 'David COpl)erfield.
LOCHINVAR
OH! young Lochinvar is come out of the
West,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the
best ;
And save his good broadsword, he weapons had
none ;
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all
alone.
faithful in love, and so dauntless in
war,
There never was -knight like the young
Lochinvar.
He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not
for stone,
He swam the Eske River where ford there was
none ;
LOCmNV. 119
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came
]ate ;
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave
Lochinvar.
So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,
Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers,
and all.
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his
sword,
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a
word,)
] 20 FOURTH READER
"Oh! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord
Lochinvar ?"
"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you
denied ;-
Love swells like t}e Solway, but ebbs like its
tide--
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of
wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely
by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young
Lochinvar."
The bride kissed the goblet : the knight took it
up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down
the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to
sigh,
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could
bar,--
"Now tread we a measure!" said young
Lochinvar.
LOCHINVAR 121
So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace:
While her mother did fret, and her father did
fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet
and plume ;
And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere
better by far,
To have matched our fair COtlsin with young
Loelfinvar."
One touch to her hand, and one word in her
ear,
When they reached the hall-door, and the
charger stood near;
So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and
scaur ;
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth
young Lochinvar.
There was mounting 'mong Gremes of the
Xetherby clan ;
Forsters, Fenwieks, and .Iusgraves, they rode
and they ran:
There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee,
122 FOURTH READER
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did
they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young
Lochinvar ?
SCOTT
COUNTRY LIFE IN CANADA IN THE
"THIRTIES ';
COUNTRY life in Western Canada in the "Thir-
ties" was very simple and uneventful. There
were no lhms of social division such as now
e.xist. All alike had to toil to win and maintain
a home; and if, as was natural, some were more
successful in the rough battle of pioneer life
than others, they did not feel, on that accotmt,
disposed to treat /heir neighbours as their
inferiors. 2NTeighbours, they well knew, were too
few and too desirable to be coldly and haughtily
treated. Had not all the members of each
community hewn their way side by side into
the fastnesses of the Canadian bush ? And what
could a little additional wealth do for them,
when the remoteness of the centres which might
supply luxuries; enforced simplicity and made
superfluities almost impossible ?
12.1 FOURTI[ READER
might be the means of starting the fire in the
m[,rning. This precaution was rarely unsuccess-
ful ; but sometimes a member of the family lad
to set out for a supply of fire from a neighbour's,
in order that breakfast might be prepared. I
remember well having to crawl out of my warm
nest and run through the keen frosty air for
half a mile or more, to fetch live coals from a
neighbour's. It was, however, my father's prac-
tice to kee l) bundles of finely split pine sticks
tipped with brimstone. With the aid of these,
the merest spark served to start the fire.
In the sl,ring , tasks of various kinds crowded
rapidly upon us. The hams and beef that had
been salted down in casks during the preceding
autunm were taken out of the brine, washed off,
and hung in the sm(,ke-house. On the earthen
floor beech or maple was burned; the oily
smoke, given off by the combustion of these
woods in a confined space, not only acted as a
preservative but also lent a special flavour to
the meat. Then ploughing, fencing, sowing,
and planting followed in quick succession. No
hands could be spared. The children must
drive the cows to and from pasture. They must
also take a hand at churning. It was a weary
task, I well remember, to stand, perhaps for an
126 FOURTH READER
heard, accompanied by the steady beat of the
girls' feet,as they walked forward and backward
drawing out and twisting the thread and run-
ning it on the spindle.
required some skill, for
evenness of tle thread
fabric largely defended.
This was work that
on the fineness and
the character of the
Finally, the yarn was
carried to the weavers to 1,e converted into cloth.
The women of the family found their hands
very full in the "Thirties." Besides the daily
round of housewifely (.ares, every season brought
its special duties. There were wild strawberries
and raspberries to l_,e picked and prepared for
daily consumption, or to be preserved for winter
use. Besides milking, there was the making
both of butter and cheese. There was no nurse
to take care of the children, no cook to prepare
the dinner. To 1,e sure, in louseholds when the
work was beyond the powers of the family, the
daughter of some neighbour might come as a
helper. Though hired, she was treated in all
respects as one of the family, and in return was
likelr to take the same sort of interest in the
work,as if the tie that bound her to the family
was (.loser than wages. In truth, such hel l) was
regarded as a favour, and not as in any way
affecting the girl's social position.
LIFE IN CANADA IN THE THIRTIES"
The girls in those days were more at
home in a kitchen than in a ch'awing-room.
They did better execution at a tub than at a
spinet, and could handle a rolling-pin more
satisfactorily than a sketch-book. At a pinch,
they could even use a rake or fork to good
purpose in field or barn. Their finishing edu-
cation was received at the country school along
with their brothers. Of fashion books and
milliners, few of them had any experiences.
Country life in Canada was plodding in the
"Thirties" and there was no varied outlook.
The girls' training for future life was mainly at
the hands of their mothers; the boys followed
in the footsteps of their fathers. Neither sex
felt that life was cramped or burdensome on
that account. They were content to live as
their parents had done. And though we can
see that, as compared with later conditions, there
may be something wanting in such an existence,
this at least we know, that, in such a school and
by such masters, the foundations of Canadian
character and prosperity were laid.
CANIFF FIAIGf/T ; "Country Life in Canada in the ' Thirties'."
(Adapted)
HE who knows most grieves most for wasted time.
AN INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP
You know, we French stormed Ratisbon"
A mile or so away
On a little mound, Napoleon
Stoo,l on our storming-day;
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,
Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow
Oppre.-:sive with its mind.
Just as perhaps he mused "My plans
That soar, to earth may fall,
Let once my army-leader Lannes
Waver at yonder wall,"
Out 'twixt tlm battery-smokes there flew
A ri,ler, ],cund on bound
Full-gallopinz; nor bridle drew
Until he reached the mound.
Then off there flung in smiling joy,
And held himself erect
By just his lmrse's mane, a boy:
You scarcely could suspect
(So tight he kept his lips compressed,
Scarce any blood came through)
You looked twice ere you saw his breast
Was all but shot in two.
AN INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP 129
"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace
We've got you Patisbon!
The Marshal's i the market-place,
And you'll be there anon
To see your flag-bird flap his vans
Where I, to heart's desire,
Perched him !" The chief's eye flashed;
his plans
Soared up again like fire.
The chieis eye flashed; but presently
Softened itself, as sheathes
A film the mother-eagle's eye
When her bruised eaglet breathes;
" You're wounded!" " Nay," the soldier's
pride
Touched to the quick, lie said:
" I'm killed, Sire!" An,1 his chief beside,
Smiling the boy fell dead.
I MADE them lay their hands in mine and swear
To reverence the King, as if he were
Their conscience, and their conscience as their
King,
To ride abroad redressing human wrongs,
To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it.
TENNYSON
]0 FOURTII IREADER
THE TWO PATHS
HEALS, 0 my son, and receive my sayings;
And the years of thy life shall be many.
I have taught thee in the way of wisdom;
I have led thee in paths of uprightness.
When thou goest, thy steps shall not
straitened ;
And if th,u runnest, thou shalt not stumble.
Take fast hold of instruction ;
Let her not go :
Keep ler;
For she is thy life.
be
Enter not into the Path ,f the Wicked,
And walk not in the way of evil men.
Avoid it,
Pass nt ,y it;
Turn fl'om it,
And pass on.
For they sleep not, except they have done mis-
chief;
And their sleep is taken away, unless they caus
some to fall.
For they eat the bread ,f wickedness,
And drink the wine of violence.
THE FIGHT WITH APOLLYON 131
But the Path of the Righteous is as the light
of dam,
That shineth more and more unto the perfect
day.
The way of the wicked s as darkness:
They lmw not at what they stumble.
PROVERBS, IV.
THE FIGHT WITH APOLLYON
THEN Apollyon straddled quite over the whole
breadth of the way, and said: "I am void of fear
in this matter, prepare thyself to die, for I swear
by my infernal den that thou shalt go no further ;
here will I spill thy soul;" and with that, he
threw a flaming dart at his breast, but Christian
132 FOURTH READER
had a shield in his hand, with which he caught
it, and so prevented the danger of that.
Then did Christian draw, for he saw 'twas
time to bestir him; and Apollyon as fast made
at him, throwing darts as thick as hail; by the
which, notwithstanding all that Christian could
do to avoid it, Apollyon wounded him in his
liead, his hand, and his foot ; this made Christian
give a little back. Apollyon, therefore, followed
his work amain; and Christian again took eour-
age, and resisted as manfully as he could. This
sore combat lasted fi)r above half a day, even till
('hristian was almost quite spent. For you must
know, tlat Christian, by reason of his wounds,
must needs grow weaker and weaker.
Then Apollyon, espying his oi,portunity , began
to gatler up close to Christian, and wrestling
with him, gave him a drea, lful fall; and with
that Christian's sword flew out of his hand.
Then said Al,ollyon: "I am sure of thee now;"
and with that, he had almost pressed him to death,
so that C]ristian began to despair of life. But as
God would have it, while Apollyon was fetching
of his last blow, thereby to make a full end of
this good man, Chri.tian niml,ly reached out his
hand for his sword, and eauglt it, saying: "Re-
joice not against me, O mine enemy! When I
THE FIGHT WITH APOLLYON 133
fall, I shall arise;" and with that, gave him a
deadly thrust, which made him give back, as one
that had reeeived his mortal wound. Christian
perceiving that, made at him again, saying:
"Nay, in all these things we are more than con-
querors through Him that loved us." And with
that \pollyon spread forth his dragon's wings,
and sped him away, that Christian saw him no
more.
In this combat no man can imagine, unless he
had seen and heard as I did, what yelling and
hideous roaring Apollyon made all the time of
the fight, and he spake like a dragon. And on
the other side, what groans and sighs burst from
Christian's heart. I never saw him all the while
give so much as one pleasant ]o,_k, till he per-
ceived he had wounded Apollyon with his two-
edged sword ; then indeed he did smile, and lo,)k
upward: but 'twas the dreadfullest sight that
ever I saw.
So when the battle was over, Christian said:
"I will here give thanks to Him that hath deliv-
ered me out of the mouth of the lion; to Him
that did help me again.t Ap,fllyon."
Then there came to him an hand, with some
of the leaves of the tree of life, the which Chris-
tian took and applied to the wounds that he
134 'O-aTa READER
had received in the battle, and was healed
immediately. He also sat down in that place to
eat bread and to drink of the bottle that was
given to him a little before; so being refreshed,
he addressed himself to his journey, with his
sword drawn in his hand, fir he said- "I know
not but some other enemy may be at hand."
]3ut he met with no other aflont from Apollyon
quite through the valley.
BUNYAN : "Pilgrim's Progress."
A VISION OF THE FUTURE
Foa I dipt into the future, far as human eye
could see,
Saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder
that would be;
Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of
magic sails,
Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down
with costly bales ;
Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there
rained a ghastly dexv
From the nations' airy navies grappling in the
central blue ;
PROVIDENCE 135
Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-
wind rushing warm,
With the standards of the peoples plunging
thro' the thunder-storm ;
Till the war-drum throbbed no longer, and the
battle-flags were furled
In the Parliament of man, the Federation of
the world.
There the common sense of most shall hold a
fretful realm in awe,
And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in
universal law.
TEz-rso
PROVIDENCE
GOD moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform ;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
lie treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sovereign will.
130 r'ourtxJa ..DErt
MOSES' BARGAINS
"' My second boy, Moses, whom I designed for buiness," says
the Vicar, "received a sort of miscellaneous education at home."
As we were now to hold up our heads a little
higher in the world, it would be proper to sell
the colt, which was grown old, at a neighbouring
fair, and buy us a horse that would carry single
02-double upon an occasion, and make a pretty
appearance at church or upon a visit. This at
first I opposed stoutly; but it was as stoutly
defended. However, as I weakened, my antago-
nists gained strength, till at last it was resolved
to part with him.
As the fair happened on the following day, I
had intentions of going myself; but my wife
persuaded me that I had got a cold, and nothing
could prevail upon her to permit me from home.
'" No, my dear," said she, " our son Moses is a
discreet boy, and can buy and sell to very good
advantage; you know all our great bargains are
of his purchasing. He always stands out and
higgles, and actually tires them till he gets a
bargain."
.ks I had some opinion of my son's prudence,
I was willing enough to intrust him with this
commission; and the next morning I i,erceived
his sisters mighty busy in fitting out Mo.ws f,r
the fair--trimming his hair, brushing his
buckles, and cocking his hat with pins.
The business of the t,,ilet l,eing over, we had
at last the satisfaeti,m of seeig lim mounte,1
upon the colt, with a deal b,. 1,efore him t,
bring home groceries in. tie lind on a e,)at
made of that clth they call thunder
lightning, wlich, tlmugh gr,wn too short, was
much too good to be tlr,wn away. tits wai.-_t-
croat was of g,-,sling green, and his sisters la,1
tied his hair with a t,r,)a,l black ril,bon. \Ve all
followed him several paces from the do,r,
bawling after him: "(;,od luck, go,)d luck["
till we could see him n,) ],nger.
.ks night came on, I 1,e.uan to wonder what
eould keep our s,m s,) long at, the fair.
"Never mind our son," erie,l my wife,
"depend upon it, he knows what he is about.
I'll warrant we'll never see him sell his hen of a
rainy day. I have seen him 1,uy such bargains
as would amaze one. I'll tell )'ou a g-,,d story
about that, that will make you split )'our sides
with laughi.ng. But, as I live, yonder e,;mes
Mo.-_'es, without a horse, and the box at his
back."
138 FOURTH READER
As she spoke, Moses came slowly on foot, and
sweating under the deal box, which he had
strapped round his shoulders like a pedlar.
"Welcome, welcome, Moses; well, my boy,
what have you brought us from the fair?"
"I have brought you myself," cried Moses,
with a sly look, and resting the box on the
dresser.
"Ah, Moses," cried my wife, "that we know,
but where is the horse ?"
"I have sold him," cried Moses, "for three
pounds, five shillings, and twopence."
"Well done, my good boy," returned she, "I
knew you would touch them off. Between
ourselves, three pounds, five shillings, and
twopence is no bad day's work. Come, let us
have it then."
"I have brought back no money," cried
Moses again. " I have laid it all out in a
bargain, and here it is," pulling out a bundle
from his breast: "here they are, a gross of
green spectacles, with silver rims and shagreen
cases.
"A gross of green spectacles !" repeated my
wife, in a faint voice. "And you have parted
with the colt and brought us back nothing but
a gross of green paltry spectacles !"
OSES' AG.: ::'S 139
" Dear mother, cried the boy, why won
you listen to reason? I had then: a dead
bargain, or I should not have bought them.
The silver rims will sell for double the money."
"A fig for the silver rims !" cried my wife,
in a passion. " I dare swear they won't sell
for above half the money at the rate of broken
silver, five shillings an ounce."
" You need be under no uneasiness," cried I,
"about selling the rims; tl)r the:}- are not w)rth
sixpence, for I perceive they are only copper
varnished over."
" What," cried my wife, " not silver, the rims
not silver !"
"No," cried I, "no more silver than your
sauce-pan."
" And so," returned she, " we have parted
with the colt, and have only got a gross of
green spectacles, with copper rim.a and shagreen
cases[ A murrain take such trumpery[ The
blockhead has been imposed upon, and should
have known his eomi,any better."
" There, my dear," cried I, "you are wrong;
he should not have known them at all."
" Marry, hang the idi)t," returned she, "to
bring me such stuff; if I had them, I would
throw them into the fire."
140 FOURTH READER
" There again you are wrong, ray dear," cried
I; " for though they be copl,er, we will keep
them by us, as copper spectacles, you know,
are better than nothing."
By this time the unfortunate Moses was unde-
ceived. He now saw that he had been imposed
upon by a prowling sharper, who, observing his
figure, had marked him for an easy prey. I
therefore asked the circumstances of his decep-
tion. He sold the horse, it seems, and walked
the fair in search of another. A reverend-
1,,oking man t,rought him to a tent, under
t,retenee of having one to se!l.
" IIere," continued Mo.es, "we met another
man, very well dressed, who desired to borrow
twenty i,ounds upon these, saying that he
wanted money and would dispose of them for
a thir,1 of the value. The first gentleman,
who pretended to be nay friend, whispered
me to buy them, and cautioned me not to
let so good an offer 1,ass. I sent for Mr.
Flaml,orough, and they talked him up as
finely as the 5, did me, and so at last we
were persuaded to buy the two gross between
US. '
GOLD.'_'T: "The Vicar of Uakefield.',
THE MAPLE 141
THE MAPLE
OR, tenderly deepen the woodland glooms,
And merrily sway the beeches;
Breathe delicately the willow blooms,
And the pines rehearse new speeches;
The elms toss high till they reach the sky,
Pale catkins the yellow birch launches,
But the tree I love all the greenwood above
Is the maple of sunny branches.
Let who will sing of the hawthorn in spring,
Or the late-leaved linden in summer;
There's a word may be for the locust tree,
That delicate, strange new-comer;
tut the maple it glows with the tint of the rose
When pale are the spring-time regions,
And its towers of flame from afar proclaim
The advance of Winter's lgions.
And a greener shade there never was made
Than its summer canopy sifted,
And many a day, as beneath it I lay,
Has my memory backward drifted
To a pleasant lane I may walk not again,
Leading over a fresh, green hill,
Where a maple stood just clear of the wood--
And oh [ to be near it still I
CaLs G. D. ROBERTS
CANADIANS---THAT'S ALL !" ]43
four miles. From St. Julien to the sector where
the Imperial British had joined the Turcos was
a distance of probably two miles.
These two miles had to be covered and covered
quickly. We had to save the British extreme
right wing, and we had to close the gap. There
was no question about it. It was our job. On
the night of April the twenty-second we com-
menced to put this into effect.
We were still holding our original position
with the handful of men who were i rserves,
all of whom had been included in tlm original
grand total of twelve thousand. We had to
spread out across the gap of two miles and link
up the British right wing. Doing this was no
ea.y task. Our company was out first, and we
were told to get into field-skirmishing order.
We lined up in the pitchy darkness at five paces
apart, but no sooner had we reached this than a
FOURTH READER
whispered order passed from man to man:
"Another pace, lads, just another pace." This
order came again and :yet again. Before we were
through and ready f,r tle command to advance,
we were at least twice five paces each man from
his nearest comrade.
Tlmn it was that our Cal,tain told us bluntly
that we were obviously outnumbered by the
(lernans, ten to one. Then he told us that,
practically Sl,eaking , we had scarcely the ghost
of a bhanee, but that a bluff might succeed.
And it. didfor by dint of yelling, hor)ting,
slouting, elanmuring, it seemed, and the enemy
believed, tlmt we were ten to their one.
At dayl,reak, when we rested, we found that
we had driven tle enemy back almost to his
original position. All nigl,t ],rag we had been
fighting with our backs to our comrades who
were in the front trenches. The enemy had got
behind us, and we had had to face about in what
served f,)r trenches. By dawn we had him back
again in his original position, and we were
facing in the old direction. By dawn we had
almost, though not quite, forced a junction with
the British right.
The night of April the twenty-second is one
that I can never forget. It was frightful, yes.
"CANADIANS--THAT'S ALL' 145
Yet there was a grandeur in the appalling inten-
sity of living, in the appalling intensity of death
as it surrounded us.
The German shells rose and burst behind us.
They made the Yser Canal a stream of molten
glory. Shells fell in the city and split the dark-
ness of the heavens in the early night hours.
Later, the moon rose in the splendour of spring-
time. Straight behind the tower of the great
cathedral it rose and shone down on a bloody
earth.
Suddenly the grand old Cloth Hall burst into
flames. The spikes of fire rose and fell and rose
again. Showers of sparks went upward. .k pall
146
FOURTH READER
of smoke would form and cloud the moon, waver,
break, and pass. There was the mutter and
rumble and roar of great guns .....
It was glorious. It was terrible. It was
inspiring. Through an inferno of destruction
and death . . . we lived because we must.
Perhaps our gTeatest reward came when on
April twenty-sixth the English troops reached
us. We had been completely cut off by the
enemy barrage from all communication with
other sectors of the line. Still, through the
wounded who had gone back, word of our stand
had drifted out. The English boys fought and
force-marched and fought again their terrible
way through the barrage to our aid, and when
they arrived, weary and worn and torn, cutting
their bloody way to us, they cheered themselves
hoarse; cheered as they marched along, cheered
and gripped our hands as they got within touch
of us. Yell after yell went upward, and stirring
words woke the echoes. The boys of the Old
Country paid their greatest tribute to us of the
New as they cried:
"Canadians--Canadians--that's all !"
I=IRoLD R. PF..iT : "Private Peat.
THE UNNAMED LAKE 147
THE UNNAMED LAKE
IT sleeps among tlm thousand hills
Where no man ever trod,
And only nature's music fills
The silences of God.
Great mountains tower above its shore,
Green rushes fringe its brim,
And o'er its breast fir evermore
The wanton breezes skim.
Dark clouds that intercept the sun
Go there in Spring to weep,
And there, when Autumn days are done,
White mists lie down to sleep.
Sunrise and sunset crowll with gold
The peaks of ageless stone,
Where winds have thul,lered from of old
And storms have set their throne.
No echoes of the world afar
Disturb it night or day,
But sun and shadow, moon and star,
Pass and repass for aye.
148 FOURTH READER
'Twas in the gray of early dawn
When first the lake we spied,
And fl'agments of a cloud were drawn
Half down the mountain side.
Alog the shore a heron flew,
And from a speck on high,
Tlmt hwrd in the deepening blue,
We heard the fish-hawk's cry.
Among the cloud<apt solitudes,
No sound the silence broke,
S when, in whispers down the woods,
:ave
The guardian mountains spoke.
Thrc, ugh tangled brush and dewy brake,
teturning whence we came,
We passed in silence, and the lake
We left withmt a name.
F. G. SCOTT
M'E are not sent into this world to do anything
into which we cannot put our hearts. We have
certain work to do for our bread, and that is
to be done strenuously; other work to do for
our delight, and that is t, be done heartily;
neither is to be done by halves or shifts, but
with a will. Rus
Thus a baron in his keep could defy, and
often did defy, the king upon his throne.
Under his roof, eating daily at his board, lived a
throng of armed retainers ; and around his castle
lay farms tilled by martial franklins, who at his
call laid aside their implements of husbandry,
took up the sword and spear, which they could
wield with equal skill, and marched beneath his
banner to the war.
The furniture of a Norman keep was not un-
like that of an English house. There was
richer ornament--more elaborate earring. A
.fal, lcstol, the original of our arm-chair, spread its
drapery and cushions for the chieftain in his
lounging moo, ls. His bed now boasted curtains
and a roof, although, like the English lord, he
still lay only upon straw. Chimneys tunnelled
the thick walls, and the cupboards glittered with
glass and silver. Ilorn lanterns and the old
spiked candle-sticks lit up his evening hours,
when the chess-board arrayed its clumsy men,
carved out of walrus-tusk, then commonly called
whale's-bone. But the baron had an unpleasant
trick of breaking the chess-board on his oppo-
nent's head, when he found himself checkmated;
which somewhat marred that player's enjoy-
ment of the game. Dice of horn and bone
LIFE IN IWORMAN ENGLAND 151
emptied many a purse in Norman England.
Draughts were also sometimes played.
Dance and music whiled away the long
winter nights; and on summer evenings the
castle courtyards resounded with the noise of
football, wrestling, boxing, leaping, and the
fierce joys of the bull-bait. But out of doors,
when no fighting was on hand, th hound, the
hawk, and the lance attracted the best energies
and skill of the Norman gentleman.
The :Normans probably dine,1 at nine in the
morning. When they ose they took a light
meal; and ate something also after their day's
work, immediately before going t,) bed. Goose
and garlic formed a favourite dish. Their cook-
ery was more elaborate, and, in comparison,
more delicate, than the preparations for an Eng-
lish feast; but the character for temperac,
which they brought with them from the conti-
nent, soon vanished.
The poorer classes hardly ever ate flesh, living
principally on bread, butter, and cheese; a fact
in social life which seems to underlie that usage
of our tongue by which the living animals in
field or stall bore English names--ox, sheep,
calf, pig, deer; while their flesh, promoted to
Norman dishes, rejoiced in names of French ori-
152 FOURTH READER
gin--beef, mutton, veal, pork, venison. Round
cakes, piously marked with a cross, piled the
tables, on which pastry of various kinds also
appeared. In good houses cups of glass held
the wine, which was borne from the cellar below
in jugs.
Stuatted around the door or on the stairs lead-
ing to the Norman dining-hall, which was often
on an upper fl,or, was a crowd of beggars or
gluttons, who grew so insolent in the days of
Rufus, that ushers, armed with rods, were posted
outsi,le to beat back the noisy throng, who
thought little of snatching the dishes as the
cooks carried them to table!
Tlie juggler, who under the Normans filled
the l,lace of/lie English gleeman, tumbled, sang,
and balanced knives in the hall; or, out in the
1,ailey of an afternoon, displayed the acquire-
ments of his trailmd monkey or bear. The fool,
too, clad in eoloured patchwork, cracked his
ribald jests and shook his cap and bells at the
elbow of roaring barons, when the board was
spread and the circling of the wine began.
Monasteries served many useful purposes at
this time. Besides their manifest value as
centres of study and literary work, they gave
alms to the poor, a supper and a bed tb travellers;
LIFE IN IN'ORMAN ENGLAXD
their tenants were better off and better treated
than the tenants of tl,e nobles ; the monks could
store grain, grow apples, and cultivate their
flower-beds with little risk of injury from war,
because they had sl,iritual penalties at their call,
which usually awed even the most reckless of
the soldier:}, into a respect for sacred l,roperty.
As schools, too, the monasteries did no trifling
service to society in the Middle Ages. In
addition to their influence as great eentres of
learning, English law had enjoine,l every mass-
priest to keep a school in his parish church
where all the young eommitte,l to his care
might be instructed. The youth of the middle
classes, destined for the el,)ister or the lnerehant's
stall, chiefly thronge, l these schools. The aris-
tocracy eared little f,)r book-learning. Very few
indeed of the barons could read ,)r write. But
all could ride, fence, tilt, play at ear,_ls, and
carve extremely well; /])r to these aeeomplM-
ments many years of pagehood and squirehood
were given.
W. F. COLLIER, (Adapted)
SELF-REVEREICE, self-knowledge, self-c,,lltrol,
These three alone lead life to overeign l,ower.
TE.X'." YSON
154 FOURT READER
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND
YE mariners of England
That guard our native seas,
Whse flag has braved, a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze !
Your gl,rious standard launch again
To match another fue"
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do },low;
While the battle rages loud and lung,
And the stormy winds do blow.
The spirits of )'our fathers
Shall start from every wave--
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave"
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.
Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep ;
Her march is o'er the mountain waves,
Her home is on the deep.
156 FOURTH READER
INSTRUCTION
HEAR, ye children, the instruction of a father,
a,l attend to know understanding. Get wis-
dm, get understanding" forget it not; neither
decline fl'om the words of my mouth. Forsake
her not, and she shall preserve thee" love her,
and she shall keep thee. Wisdom is the prin-
eilal thing; therefi)l'e get wisdoln" and with all
thy getting get understanding. Exalt her, and
she shall 1,romote thee" she shall bl-ilg thee to
honour, when thou d)st embrace her. Sheshall
give to thine head an ornament of grace" a
crown of glory shall she deliver to thee.
5Iy son, attend to my words; incline thine
ear unto my sayings. Let them not depart from
tlilm eyes; keep them in the midst of thine
heart. For they are life unto those that find
theln and lealth to all their flesh. Keep thy
leart with all diligence; for out of it are th
issues of life. Put away from thee a froward
mouth, and perverse lips put far from thee.
Let thine eyes 1,,ok riglt on, and let thine eye-
lids look straight before thee. Ponder the path
of thy feet, and let all thy ways be established.
Turn not to the right hand nor to the left"
remove thy foot fi'om evil.
Povs, IV.
HOME THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD 157
HOME THOUGHTS, FROM ABROAD
OH, to be in England
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the t,rushwood sheaf
Round the elm tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In Englandnow !
And after April, when May follows,
And the white-throat builds, an,l all the
swallows!
Hark! where my blossomel pear-tree in the
hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on tim cleaver
Blossoms and dewdrol)sat the t,ent spray's
edge
That's the wise thrush ; he sings each song
twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with haal'y dew,
All will he gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower,
--Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower !
B o w.-.c,
A.MONG THE CANADIAN MOUNTAINS 159
stones, but in the hearts of men. Make them
your examples, and, esteeming courage to be
freedom and freedom to be happiness, do not
weigh too nicely the perils of war.
From "The Funeral Oration of Pericles. '
AMONG THE CANADIAN MOUNTAINS
As far as sight could reach the wild peaks rose,
Tier after tier agairLst the limpid blue,
Titanic forms that stormed the heavens anew
At every turn, crowned with imperial snows;
And then, as day sank softly to its close,
Diaphanous, ethereal they grew,
Mere wraiths of rainbow-mist that from our
view
Dream-laden, lapsed to darkness and repose.
And suddenly I found my vision blurred,
And knew that deeper chord was touched
again
Which once in Hungary, when I had heard
A passionately wild, appealing strain
Of gypsy music, left me strangely stir'red
With incommunicable joy and pain.
HELENA COLEMAN*
160 FOURTH READER
THE VISION ()F MIRZAH
WHEX I was at Grand Cairo, I picked up
several (riental manuscripts, which I have still
by me. Among others, I met with one entitled,
" Tl, e l'isions of Mirz(th," which I have read
over with great pleasure. I intend to give it to
the public when I have no other entertainment
for them;and shall 1,egin with the first Vision,
which I have translated word for word, as
follows :
"(n the fifth day of the moon, which,
according to the custom of my forefathers, I
always keep holy, after having washed myself,
and offered up my morning devotions, I ascended
the high hills of I',agdat, in order to pass the
rest of the day in meditation and prayer. As I
was here airing myself on the tops of the
mountains, I fell into a profound contemplation
on the vanity of human life ; and passing from
one thought to another, 'Surely,' said I, 'man
is but a shadow, and life a dream.'
"W-hilst I was thus musing, I east my eyes
towards the summit of a rock that was not far
from me, where I discovered one in the habit of
a shepherd, with a little musical instrument in
THE VISION OF MIRZAH 161
his hand. As I looked upon hiln, he ai.,l,lied it
to his lips, and began to play upon it. The
sound of it was exceeding sweet, and wrought
into a variety of tunes that were inexpressil,ly
melodious, and altogether different fl'om any-
thing I had ever heard. They put me in mind
of those heavenly airs that are l,layed to the
departed souls of good men ui,on their first
arrival in paradise, to wear out the impressions
of the last agonies, and qualify them f,)r the
pleasures of that happy place. My heart melted
away in secret raptures.
" I had been often told that the rock before
me was the haunt of a genius; and that several
had been entertained with music wlo had
passed by it, but never heard that tle musician
had before lnade himself visible. When he had
raised my thoughts by those transporting airs
which he played, to taste the pleasures of his
conversation, as I 1,)oke, l upon him like one
astonished, thereupon he beckoned to me and,
by the waving of his hand, directed me to
ai,proaeh the place where lm sat.
" I drew near with that reverence which is
due to a superior nature; and as my heart was
entirely subdued by the captivating strains I had
heard, I fell down at his feet and wept. The
THE VISION OF MIRZAH 163
tide.' 'The bridge thou seest,' said he, 'is
Human Life; consider it attentively.' Upon a
more leisurely survey of it, I found that it
consisted of threescore an,1 ten entire arches,
with several broken arches, which, added to
those that were entire, made up the number
about an hundred. As I was counting the
arches, the Genius told me that this bridge had
consisted at first of a thousand arches ; but that
a great flood SWel,t away the rest, and left the
bridge in the ruinous condition I now be-
held it.
"' But tell me further,' said he, ' what thou
discoverest on it.' ' I see multitudes of leople
passing over it,' said I, 'and a black clou,l
hanging on each end of it.' As I 1,sked more
attentively, I saw several of the passengers
dropping through the bridge, into the great tide
that flowed underneath it; and, upon further
examination, perceived that there were in-
numerable trap-doors that lay concealed in the
bridge, which the passengers no sooner trod
upon, but they fell through them into the tide,
and immediately disappeared.
"These hidden pitfalls were set very thick at
the entrance of the bridge, so that the throngs of
people no sooner broke through the cloud, but
164 FOUITH :READER
many of them fell into them. They grew
thinner towards the middle, but multiplied and
lay closer together towards the end of the
arches that were entire.
"There were indeed some persons, but their
numbers were very small, that continued a kind
of hobbling march on the broken arches, but
fell through one after another, being quite tired
and spent with so long a walk.
"I passed some time in the contemplation of
this wonderful structure, and the great variety
of objects which it presented. My heart was
filled with a deep melancholy to see several drop-
ping unexpectedly in tlm midst of mirth and
jollity, and catching at. everything that stood by
them to save themselves.
",_,qome were looking up towards the heavens
in a thoughtful posture, and, in the midst of a
speculation, stuml,led and fell out of sight.
Multitudes were very busy in the pursuit oI
[rabbles that glittered in their eyes and danced
before them ; but often, when they thought them-
selves within reach of them, their footing failed
and down they sunk.
"In this confusion of objects, I observed some
with scymetars in their hands, who ran to and
fro upon the bridge,thrusting several persons on
THE VISION OF IIIRZAIt 165
trap-doors which did not seem to lie in their
way, and which they might have escaped had
they nt been thus forced upon them.
"The Genius, seeing me indulge myself on this
melancholy prospect, told me that I lm, l dwelt
long enough upon it" 'Take thine eyes off the
bridge,' said he, 'and tell me if thou yet seest
anything thou dost not comprehend.' Upon look-
ing up,' What mean,' said I, ' those great flights
of birds that are perpetually hovering about the
bridge and settling upon it from time to time?
I see vultures, harpies, ravens, cormorant.% and,
among many other feathered creatures, several
little winged boys that perch in great numbers
upon the middle arches.' 'These,' said the
Genius, 'are envy, avarice, superstition, despair,
love, with the like cares and passions that
infest human life.'
" I here fetched a deep sigh, 'Alas,' said I,
' man was made in vain [ How is he given away
to misery and mortality[ tortured in life, and
swallowed up in death.'
"The Genius, being moved with compassion
towards me, bid me quit so uncomfortable a
prospect" ' Look no more,' said he, 'on man in
the first stage of his existence, in tis setting out
for eternity; but cast thine eye on that thick
166 I'OURTH READER
mist into which the tide bears the several gener-
ations of mortals that fail into it.'
" I directed my sight as I was ordered, and
(whether or no the good Genius strengtlened it
with any supernatural force, or dissipated lart
of the mist that was before too thick for the eye
to lenetrate) I saw the valley opening at the
farther end and spreading firth into an im-
mense ocean, that had a huge rock of adamant
running through the midst of it and dividing it
int two elual parts.
"The clouds still rested on one half of it, inso-
much that I could discover nothing in it; but
the other appeared to me a vast ocean, planted
with innumerable islands that were covered with
fruits and flowers and interwoven with a thou-
sand little shining seas that ran among them.
I could see t,ersons dressed in glorious habits
with garlands upon their heads, passing among
the trees, lying down by the side of fountains, or
resting on beds of flowers ; and could hear a con-
fused harmony of singing birds, falling waters,
human voices, and musical instruments.
" Gladness grew in me upon the discovery of
so delightful a scene. I wished for the wings of
an eagle, that I might fly away to those happy
seats ; but the Genius told me there was no pas-
A FANCY FROM FONTENELLE 169
A FANCY FR03I FONTENELLE
THE Rose in the garden slipped her bud,
And she laughed in the pride of her youthful
blood,
As she thought of the Gardener standing by-
"He is old--so old! And he s,)on must die!"
The full Rose waxed in tlm warm June air,
And she spread and spread till her heart lay
bare ;
And she laughed once more as she heard his
tread--'
"He is older now! He will soon be dead!"
But the breeze of the morning blew and found
That the leaves of the blown rose strewed the
ground ;
And he came at noon, that Gardener old,
And he raked them softly under the mould.
And I wove this thig to a random rhyme,
For the Rose is Beauty, the Gardeer, Time.
.A.USTL'q Doso
THE UNITED EMPIRE LOYALISTS 171
Five vessels were procure, l and furnished to
eonvey the first colony fl'om New York. They
sailed round the coasts of Nova Scotia and New
,_t. Lawrence to Sorel,
Brunswick, and up the . '
where they arrived in October, 17,q3. Here
they wintered, having built themselves huts, or
shanties, and ill May, 1784, they eontinue, l
their voyage ill boats, an,l reached their des-
tination, Cataraqui, afterwards Kingston, in the
month of July.
Other bands of Loyalists came by land over
the military highway to Lower Canada, as far
as Plattsburg, and then northward to Corn'all
and up the St. Lawrence, along the north side
of which many of them settled.
But the most common route was by way of
the Hudson and the Mohawk River.% through
Oneida Lake and down the Oswego River to
Lake Ontario. Flat-bottome, l boats, specially
built or purchased )r the 1,urpose by the
Loyalists, were used in this journey. The por-
tages, over which the boats had to be hauled
and all their contents carried, are said to have
been thirty miles long.
On reaching Oswego, some of the Loyalists
eoasted along the eastern shore of Lake Ontario
to Kingston, and thence up the Bay of Quinte;
others went westward along the south shore of
tle lake to Niagara and Queenston. Some
conveyed their ],oats over the portage of ten or
twelve miles to Chippewa, thence up the river
and into Lake Erie, settling chiefly in what
was called " I.,,ng Point Country," now the
County of Norfi,lk.
This journey of lmrdship, I,rivation and
exposure occupied from two to three months.
The obstacles encountered may readily be
imagined in a country where the primeval
fore:t covered the earth, and where the only
path was the river or the lake. The parents
and family of tim writer of this history were
from the middle of May to the middle of July
making the journey in an open boat. Gener-
ally two or more families would unite in one
company, and thus assist each other in carrying
their boats and goods over the portages.
"These excellent men," wrote Sir Pdchard
Bonnycastle, "were willing to sacrifice life and
firtune rather than forego the enviable distinc-
tion of being British b" ., "
su _,jects. The stern
adherence of the Pilgrim Fathers to their prin-
cil,les was quite equalled by the stern adherence
of the Loyalists to their principles; but the
t, rivations and hardships experienced by many
OFT, IN THE STILLY I'IGHT 173
of the Loyalist patriots for years after the first
settlement in Canada were much more severe
than anything experienced by the Puritans
during the first years of their settlement in
Massachusetts.
Canada has, indeed, a noble parentage, the
remembrance of which its inhabitants may well
cherish with respect, affection, and pride.
EGERTON PYE1RSON-" "The Loyarmls of America and their
Times." (Adapted)
OFT, IN THE STILLY NIGHT
OFT, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Fond Memory brings the light
Of other days around me;
The smiles, the tears,
Of boyhood's years,
The words of love then spoken;
The eyes that shone,
]ow dimmed and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Sad Memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
174 FOURTH READER
When I remernber all
The friends, so linked together,
I've seen around me fall,
Like leaves in wintry weather;
I feel like one,
Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Sad Iemory brhgs the light
Of other days around me.
IOORE
LOVE CANADA
Lw each Canadian 1,)ve his country and seek its
glory as did the ancient Greeks during the era
when 1,rivate patriotism and public virtue were
inscribed upon their national escutcheon. We
have no strife of foreign war--no hostile rival-
ship of nations; our warfare is a domestic,
bloodless ortega warfare of virtue against vice,
of knowledge against ignorance, of self-depen-
CANOE 175
dence against foreign dependence, of public spirit
against personal littleness, of the love of Canada
as ourselves, instead of the love of self against
Canada.
IN A CANOE
AMOXG all the modes of progression hitherto
invented by restless man, there is not one that,
can compare in respect of comfort and luxury
with travelling in a birch-bark canoe. It is
the poetry of progression. Along the bottom
of the boat are laid blankets and bedding;
a sort of wicker-work screen is sloped against
the middle thwart, affording delicious sup-
port to the back; and indolently, in your shirt
sleeves if the day be warm, or well covered
with a blanket if it is chilly, you sit or lie on
this most luxurious of couches, and are pro-
pelled at a rapid rate over the smooth surface
of a lake or down the swift current of some
stream. If you want exercise, you can take a
paddle yourself. If you prefer to be inactive,
you can lie still and placidly survey the
scenery, rising occasionally to have a shot at
176 FOURTH: READER
a wild duck; at intervals reading, smoking, and
sleeping. Sleep, indeed, you will enjoy most
luxuriously, for the rapid bounding motion of
the canoe as it leaps forward at every impulse
of the crew, the sharp quick beat of the paddles
on the water, and the roll of their shafts against
the gunwale, with the continuous hiss and
ripple of the stream cleft by the curving prow,
combine to make a most soothing soporific.
Dreamily you lie side by side--you and 3"our
friend--lazily gazing at the pine-covered shores
and wooded islands of some unknown lake, the
open book unheeded on your knee; the half-
smoked pipe drops into your lap; 3"our head
sinks gently back ; and you wander into dream-
land, to awake presently and find yourself
sweeping round the curve of some majestic
river, whose shores are blazing with the rich
crimson, brown, and gold of the maple and
other hardwood trees in their autumn dress.
I'resently the current quickens. The best
man shifts his place from the stern to the bow,
and stands ready with his long-handled paddle
to twist the frail boat out of reach of hidden
rocks. The men's faces glow with excitement.
Quicker and quicker flows the stream, breaking
into little rapids, foaming round rocks, and
IN A CANOE 177
rising in tumbling waves over the shallows.
At a word from the bowman the crew redouble
their efforts, the 1,addle shafts crash against the
gunwale, the spray flies beneath the ])ending
blades. The canoe shakes and quivers through
all its fibres, leaping bodily at every stroke.
Before you is a seething mass of foam, its
whiteness broken by horrid black rocks, one
touch against whose jagged sides would rip the
canoe into tatters and hurl you into eternity.
Your ears are full of the roar of waters; waves
leap up in all directions, as the river, maddened
at obstruction, hurls itself through some narrow
gorge. The bowman stands erect to take one
look in silence, noting in that critical instant
the line of deepest water; then bending to his
work, with sharp, shot words of command to
the steersman, he directs the boat. The canoe
seems to pitch headlong into space. Vhackl
comes a great wave over the bow ; crash ! comes
another over the side. The bowman, ]is figure
stooped, and his knees planted firmly against
the sides, stands, with paddle poise,] in both
hands, screaming to the crew to paddle hard;
and the crew cheer and shout with excitement
in return. You, too, get wild, and feel inclined
to yell defiance to the roaring, hissing flood
178 FOURTH IEADER
that madly dashes you frolll side to side. After
the first plunge you are in a bewildering whirl
of waters. The shore seems to fly past you.
Crash l You are right on that rock, and (I
don't care who you are) you will feel your
heart jump into your mouth, and you will
catch the side with a gri I) that leaves a mark
on your fingers afterwards. No! With a
shriek of command to the steersman, and a
plunge of his paddle, the bowman wrenches the
canoe out of its course. Another stroke or
two, another plunge forward, and with a loud
exulting yell from the bowman, who flourishes
his paddle round his head, you pitch headlong
down the final leap, and with a grunt of relief
from the straining crew glide rapidly into still
water.
LORD DU'IAVEN : "The Great Divide."
With whom is no variablene, neither hadow of turning."
Iw fortifies my soul to know
That, though I perish, Truth is so:
That, howsoe'er i stray and range,
Whate'er I do, Thou dost not change,
I steadier step when I recall
That, if I slip Thou dost not fall.
CLOUGH
SCOT WHA HAE 179
SCOTS VHA HAE
SCOTS, wha hae wi' Wallace lled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victorie.
Now's the day, and now's the hour ;
See the front o' battle lour:
See approach proud Edwar, l's power--
Chains and slaverie !
Wha will be a traitor knave ?
Wha can fill a coward's grave ?
Wha sae base as be a slave ?
Let him turn and flee !
Wha for Scotland's King and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
:Free-man stand, or free-nmn fa',
Let him follow me!
By OpI)ression's woes and pains 1
By 3"our sons in servile chains,
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurpers low l
Tyrants fall in every foe !
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us do, or die l
URN
80 FOUITH READER
ST. AMBROSE CREW WIN THEIR FIRST
RACE
(The chief characters in this sketch are 5Iiller, the tyrannical
little cockswain of the crew ; ohl Jervis, the captain ; Tom Irown,
numlr two, who isrowing his first race ; IIardy, a friend of Tom's
and one of the best oars. men in the college--also Jack, the college
dog. Though there are several crews in the race the real struggle is
between the boats from St. Ambrose and Exeter Colleges. If St.
Ambro can drive the nose of its boat against the Exeter boat--
"bump it"--it wins.)
HARK !--the first gun. The report sent Tom's
heart into his mouth again. Several of the boats
pushed off at once into the stream; and the
crowds of men on the bank began to be agitated,
as it were, by the shadow of the coming excite-
ment. The t. Ambrose fingered their oars, put
a last dash of grease on their rowlocks, and
settled their feet against the stretchers.
" Shall we push her off?" asked Bow.
" No; I can give you another minute," said
Miller, who was sitting, watch in hand, in the
stern; " only be smart when I give the word."
The captain turned on his seat, and looked up
the boat. His face was quiet, but full of confi-
dence, which seemed to pass from him into the
crew. Tom felt calmer and stronger, as he met
his eye. "Now mind, boys, don't quicken," he
182 FOURTH READER
"You must back her a bit, Miller, and keep
her a little further out or our oars on stroke side
will catch the bank."
"So I see; curse the wind.
stroke all. Back her, I say!"
Back her, one
shouted Miller.
It is no easy matter to get a crew to back her
an inch just now, 1,articularly as there are in her
two roen who have never rowed a race before,
except in the torpids, and one whohas never
rowed a race in his life.
However, back she comes ;
slackens in Miller's left hand,
the starting-rope
and the stroke,
unshipping his oar, pushes the stern gently out
again.
There goes the second gun ! one short minute
more, and we are off. Short .minute, indeed!
you wouldn't say so if you were in the boat,
with your heart in your mouth and trembling
all over like a lnan with the palsy. Those sixty
seconds before the starting-gun in your first race
why, they are a little lifetime.
"By Jove, we are drifting in again," said
Miller, in horror. The captain looked grim but
said nothing; it was too late now for him to be
unshipping again. "Here, catch hold of the
long boat-hook and fend her off."
Hardy, to whom this was addressed, seized the
ST, AMBROSE CREW 183
boat-hook, and, standing with one foot in the
water, pressed the end of the boat-hook against
the gunwale, at the full stretch of his arm, and
so, by main force, kept the stern out. There
was just room for stroke oars to dip, and that was
all. The starting-rope was as taut as a harp-
string; will Miller's left hand hold out ?
It is an awful moment. But the coxswain,
though almost dragged backwards off his seat, is
equal to the occasion.
his right hand with
seconds more only.
He holds his watch in
the tiller rope. "Eight
Look out for the flash.
Remember, all eyes in the boat."
There it comes, at last---the flash of the start-
ing-gun. Long before the sound of the report
can roll up the river, the whole pent-up life and
energy which.has been held in leash, as it were,
for the last six minutes, is loose, and breaks
away with a bound and a dash which he who
has felt it will remember for his life, but the
like of which, will he ever feel again? The
starting-ropes drop from the coxswains' hands,
the oars flash into the water and gleam on the
feather, the spray flies from them, and the boats
leap forward.
The crowds on the bank scatter and rush
along, each keeping as near as may be to its own
186 FOURTH READER
him again and again, and clear as if there had
been no other sound in the air, "Steady, Two!
steady! well pulled ! steady, steady." The
voice seemed to give him strenh and kee l) him
to his work. And what work it was! he had
had many a hard pull in the last six weeks, but
never aught like this.
But it can't last forever; men's muscles are
not steel, or their lungs bulls' hide, and hearts
can't go on pumping hundred miles an hour
long, without bursting. The St. Ambrose boat
is well away from the boat behind, there is a
great gap between the accompanying crowds;
and now, as they near the Gut, she han for a
moment or two in hand, though the roar from
the bank grows louder and louder, and Tom is
already aware that the St. Ambrose crowd is
melting into the one ahead of them.
"We must be close to Exeter !" The thought
flashes into him, and, it would seem, into the
rest of the erew at the same moment ; for, all at
once, the strain seems taken off their arms
again ; there is no more drag; she springs to the
stroke as she did at the start ; and Miller's faee,
which had darkened for a few seconds, lightens
up again.
Miller's face and attitude are a study. Cuiled
T. AMBROSE CREW
up into the smallest possible space, his chin
almost resting on his knees, his hands close to
his sides, firmly but lightly feeling the rudder,
as a good horseman handles the mouth of a free-
going hunter; if a coxswain could make a bump
by his own exertion., surely he will do it. No
sudden jerks of the St. Ambrose rudder will you
see, watch as you will from the bank; the boat
never hangs through fault of his, but easily and
gracefully rounds every point. "You're gain-
ing! you're gaining!" he now and then mutters
to the captain, 'ho responds with a wink,
keeping his breath for other matters. Isn't he
grand, the captain, as he comes forward like
lightning, stroke after stroke, his back flat, his
teeth set, his whole frame working from the
hips with the regularity of a machine? As the
space still narrows, the eyes of the fiery little
coxswain flash with excitement, but he is far too
good a judge to hurry the final effort before the
victory is safe in his grasp.
The two crowds are mingled now, and no
mistake; and the shouts come all in a heap
over the water. "Now, St. Ambrose, six strokes
more." ":Now, Exeter, you're gaining ; pick
her up." "Mind the Gut, Exeter." " Bravo,
St. Ambrose!" The water rushes by, still eddy-
FOURTH READER
ing from the strokes of the btat ahead. Tom
fancies now lie can hear their oars and the
workings of their rudder, and the voice of their
coxswain. In anotlmr moment both boats are
in the Gut, and a 1,erfect storm of shouts reaches
them from tlm crow,l, as it rushes madly off to
the left t, the fixtbridge, amidst which "Oh,
well steered, well steered, St. Ambrose!" is
the 1,revailing cry. Then Miller, motionless as
a statue till n,w, lifts his right hand and
whirls the tassel roun,1 his head. "Give it
her now, boys; six strokes and we're into
them." Old Jervis lays down that great broad
back and lashes his oar through the water with
the might of a giant, tlm crew catch him up in
another stroke, tlm tight new ],oat answers to
the spurt, and T(n feels a little shock behind
him, and then a grating sound, as Miller shouts,
"Unship oars, Bow and Three!" and the nose
of the St. Ambrose boat glides quietly up
the side of the Exeter till it touches their
stroke oar.
"Take care where you're coming to." It is
the coxswain of the bumped boat who speaks.
Tom finds himself within a foot or two of
him when he looks round; and, being utterly
unable to contain his joy, and yet unwilling to
THE SONG MY PADDLE SINGS 189
exhibit it before the eyes of a gallant rival,
turns away towards the shore, and begins tele-
graphing to Hardy.
"Now, then, what are you at there in the
bows? Cast her off, quick. Come, look alive!
Push across at once out of the way of the other
boats."
"I congratulate you, Jervis," says the Exeter
stroke, as the St. Ambrose boat shoots past him.
"Do it again next race and I shan't care."
THOMAS IIuGHES : "Tom Brown at Oxford.'"
THE SONG MY PADDLE SINGS
WEST wind, blow from your prairie nest,
Blow from the mountains, blow from the west.
The sail is idle, the sailor too;
O! dnd of the west, we wait for you.
Blow, blow !
I have wooed you so,
But never a favour you bestow.
You roek your eradle the hills between,
But scorn to notiee my white lateen.
I stow the sail, unship the mast:
I wooed you long, but my wooing's past;
190 'OmT READER
Iy paddle will lull you into rest.
O! drowsy wind of the drowsy west,
Sleep. sleep.
By your mountain steep,
01" down where the prairie grasses sweep|
Now fold in slumber your laggard win,
}'or soft is the song my paddle sings.
August is laughing across the sky,
Laughing while paddle, canoe, and I,
Drift, ch'ift,
Where the hills uplift
0n either side of the current swift.
THE SONG MY PADDLE SINGS 191
The river rolls in its rocky bed;
My paddle is plying its way ahead,
Dip, dip,
While the waters flip
In foam as over their breast we slip.
And oh, the river runs swifter now
The eddies circle about my bow.
Swirl, swirl!
How the ripples curl
In many a dangerous pool awhirl
And forward far the rapids roar,
Fretting their margin for evermore.
Dash, dash,
With a mighty crash,
They seethe, and boil, and bound, and splash.
Be strong, O paddle! be brave, canoe ]
The reckless waves you must l)lunge into.
Reel, reel,
On your trembling keel,
But never a fear my craft will feel.
We've raced the rapid, we're far ahead!
The river slips through its silent bed.
Sway, sway,
As the bubbles spray
And fall in t" -inkling tunes away.
192 FOURTH READER
And up on the hills against the sky,
A fir-tree rocking its lullaby,
Swings, swings,
Its emerald wings,
Swelling the song that my paddle sings.
E. I'AULINE JOHNSON
ON THE WASHINGTON TREATY
I .xow move the first reading of this bill, and I
shall simply sum up my remarks by saying that,
with respect to the treat:}', I consider that every
portion of it is unobjectionable to the country,
unless the articles connected with the fisheries
may be considered ol,jeetionable. With respect
to those articles I ask the House fully and
ealmly to eonsider the eireumstanees; and I
believe, if they fully consider the situation, that
they will say that it is for the good of Canada
that those artieles should be ratified.
Reject the treaty, and you do not get recipro-
city. Rejeet the treaty, and you leave the fisher-
men of the Maritime Provinces at the merey of
the Americans. Reject the treaty, and you will
eut off the merchants engaged in that trade from
the Ameriean market ....
ON THE WASHINGTON TREATY 193
Reject the treaty, and you will find that the
bad feeling, which firmerly, and until lately,
existed in the United tates against England,
will be transferred to Canada. The United
States will say, and will say justly" "Here, when
two great nations like England an,l the United
States have settled all their difficulties, all their
quarrels, upon a perpetual basis, these haipy
results are to be frustrated and endangered by
the Canadian people, because they have not got
the value of their fi.h figr ten sears."
It has been said that Englan,l has sacrificed
the interests of Canada. If Englan,l has sacri-
fice,] the interests of Canada, wla sacrifice has
she not made herself in the cause of peace? tIas
she not, for the sake of peace betweea tlte.e two
great nations, rendere,l her.-:elf liable, leaving
out all indirect claims, to pay millions out of
her own treasury? Has she not made all this
sacrifice for the sake of peace? And figr whose
good has she made it? Has she not made it
principally for the sake of 'amt, la?
Let Canada be severed from Englandlet
Englan,l not be responsible to us and fi)r us--
and what coull the Unite,1 States do to England ?
England has the supremacy of tte sea. 51m is
impregnable in every poiat but one, and that
194 FOVRTH READER
point is Canada ; and if England does call upon
us to make a financial sacrifice--if she does find
it for the good of the empire, that we, England's
first colony, should sacrifice something--I say
tlmt we should be unworthy of our proud posi-
tion if we were not prepared to do so.
I hope to live to see the day, and if I do not,
that my son may be spared to see Canada the
right arm of England--to see Canada a powerful
auxiliary to the empire--not, as now, a cause of
anxiety and a source of danger; and I think
that, if we are worthy to lmld that position as
tlm right arm of England, we should not object
to a sacrifice of this kind, when so great an
ol,ject is attained, and the object is a great and
lasting one.
It is said that amities cannot be perpetual. I
say that this treaty, which has gone through so
many difficulties and dangers, if it is carried
into effect, removes almost all possibility of war.
If ever there was an irritating cause of war, it
was from the occurrences arising out of the
escape of these x-essels; and when we see the
United States Government and people forget this
irritation, forget those occurrences, and submit
such a question to arbitration--to the arbitration
of a disiaterested tribunal,I say that they have
ON THE "WASHINGTON TREATY 195
established a principle which can never be for-
gotten in this world. No future question is
likely to arise that will cause such great irrita-
tion as the escape of the Alabama, and if they
could be got to agree to leave such a matter to
the peaceful arbitrament of a friendly power,
what future cause of quarrel can, in the imagina-
tion of man, occur, that will not ber the same
pacific solution that is souglt for in this?
I believe that this treaty is an epoch in the
history of civilization ; that it will set an example
to the wide world that must be followed; and
with the growth of this great Anglo-Saxon
family, and with the development of the mighty
nation to the south of us, I believe that the
principle of arbitration will be advocated and
adopted as the sole principle of the settlement
of differences between the English-speaking
peoples, and that it will have a moral influence
in the world. And although it may be opposed
to the antecedents of other nations, that grat
moral prin/dple which has now been established
among the Anglo-Saxon family will spread itself
over all the civilized world.
SIR JOHN A. [ACDONALD
196 FOUnTH READER
THE PARTING OF MARMION AND
DOUGLAS
:NOT far advanced was morning day,
Vhen Marmion did his troop array
To Surrey's camp to ride;
He had safe-conduct for his band,
Beneath the Royal seal and hand,
And Douglas gave a guide.
The ancient Earl, with stately grace,
Would Clara on her palfrey place,
And whispered in an undertone,
E,, Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown."0
The train from out the castle drew,
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu :--
"Though something I might plain," he said,
"Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither by your King's behest,
While in Tantallon's towers [ stayed;
Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble Earl, receive my hand."
But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke:
"My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still
Be open, at my Sorereign's will,
To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.
My castles are my King's alone,
From turret to foundation-stone---
The hand of Douglas is his own;
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion elasp."
Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,
Ands" This to me !" he said,
"An 'twere not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head!
And, firsg, I tell thee, haughty Peer,
He, who does England's message here,
Although the meanesg in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate:
198 FOURTH READER
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,
(Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your swor4,)
I tell thee, thou'tic defied!
And if thou saidst, I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"
On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age :
:Fierce he broke forth : "And darest thou then
2"o beard the lion in his den,
The Douglas in his hall?
And hopest thou hence unscathed to go?--
lN'o, by Saint ]3ride of ]3othwell, no !-
Up drawbridge, grooms--what, Warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall."
Lord Marmion turned,--well was his need,
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung,
I'he ponderous grate behind him rung:
I'o pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.
MA_RMION AND DOUGLAS 199
The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Nor lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim:
And when Lord Marmion reached his band,
He halts, and turns with clenched hand,
And shout of loud defiance pours,
And shook his gauntlet at tle towers.
"Horse! h,rse!" the Douglas erie,l,
But soon lie reined his fury's pace:
"A royal messenger he came,
Though most unworthy of tlle name.--
A letter forged! Saint Jude to speed I
Did ever knight so foul a deed!
At first in heart it liked me ill,
When the King praised his clerkly skill.
Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine,
Save Jawaln, ne'er could Ien a line.
Saint Mary mend my fiery mood!
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood,
I thought to slay him where lie stood.
'Tis pity of him too," he erie,l:
"Bold Cll he speak, and fairly ride,
I warrant him a warrior tried."
With this his mandate he recalls,
And slowly seeks his castle halls.
"and chase !"
SCOTT
200 :FOURTH READER
FRORI OCEAN TO OCEAN IN CANADA
FRo, the sea pastures and coal-fields of Nova
Scotia and the forests of New Brunswick, almost
from the historic Louisbourg, u|) the St. Lawrence
to historic Quebec; through the great province
of Ontario, and on lakes that are seas; by
copper and silver mines so rich as to recall
stories of the Arabian 'ights, though only the
rim of the land has been explored; on the chain
of lakes where the Ojibway is at home in his
canoe, to the plains where the Cree is equally at
home on his horse; through the prairie province
of Mafitoba, and rolling meadows and park-
like country; along the banks of
"A full-fed river winding slow
By herds upon an endless plain"
full-fed from the exhaustless glaciers of the
Rocky :Mountains, and watering "the great lone
land ;" over illimitable coal measures and deep
woods; on to the mountabs which open their
gates, more widely than to our wealthier neigh-
bours, to lead us to the Pacific; down deep
gorges filled with mighty timber, beside rivers
CHRISTMAS I-IYMN 21)1
whose ancient deposits are gold-beds, and whose
channels are choked with fish; on to the many
harbours of mainland and island, over all this
we had travelled, and it was all our own.
"Where's the coward that would not dare
To fight for such a land."
Thank God, we have a country. It is not our
poverty of land or sea, of wood or mine, that
shall ever urge us to be traitors. But the
destiny of a country does not depend on its
natural resources. It depends on the character
of its people. Here, too, is full ground for con-
fidence.
G. M. Ga
A CHRIgTMAS HYMN, 1s37
IT was the calm and silent niglt :
Seven hun,lred years and fifty-three
Had Rome been growing up to might,
And now was Queen of land an,l sea!
No sound was heard of clashing wars;
Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain;
Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars
Held undi.:turbed their ancient reign,
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago !
202 FOURTH READER
'Twas in the calm and silent night l
The senator of haughty Rome
Impatient urged his chariot's flight,
From lordly revel rolling home!
Triumphal arches gleaming swell
His breast with thoughts of boundless sway;
What recked the Roman what befell
A paltry province far away,
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago !
Within that province far away
Went plodding home a weary boor:
A streak of light before him lay,
Fallen through a half-shut stable door
Across his path. He passedfor nought
Told what was going on within;
How keen the stars! his only thought;
The air, how calm and cold and thin,
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago !
O strange indifference !low and high
Drowsed over common joys and cares:
The earth was still--but knew not why;
The world was listeningunawares ;
How calm a moment may precede
One that shall thrill the world for ever l
A CHRISTMAS HYMN 203
To that still moment none would heed,
Man's doom was linked no more to sever
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago !
It is the calm and solemn night!
A thousand bells ring out, and throw
Their joyous peals abroad, and smite
The darkness, charmed and holy owI
The night that erst no name had worn,
To it a happy name is given;
For in that stable lay new-born
The peaceful Prince of Earth and Heaven,
In the solemn midnight
Centuries ago.
A. DOMETT
As every action is capable of a peculiar dignity
in the manner of it, so also it is capable of dig-
nity still higher in the motive of it. There is no
action so slight, nor so mean, but it may be done
to a great purpose, and ennobled therefore; nor
is any purpose so great but that slight actions
may help it, and may be so done as to help it
much, most e.pecially that chief of all 10urposes,
the pleasing of God.
RUSKL
204 FOU RT I=[ READEt,
THE COMMANDMENT AND THE
:REWARD
MY son, forget not my law ;
But let thine heart keep my commandments"
For length of days, and years of lift,
And peace, shall they add to thee.
Iet not mercy and truth forsake thee"
Bind them about thy neck;
Write them upon the table of thim lmart-
So shalt thou find favour,
And good repute in the sight of God and
llall.
Trust in the LORD with all thine heart,
And lean not upon thine ovn understanding-
In all thy ways acknowledge him,
And he shall direct thy paths.
Be not wise in thine own eyes;
Fear the LORD, and depart fl'om evil"
Honour the LORD with thy substance,
And with the first-fruits of all thine increase"
So shall thy barns be filled with plenty,
And thy vats shall overflow with new wine.
PROVERBS, III.
THE SPACIOUS FIRMAMEIT 205
THE SPACIOUS FIRMAMENT
THE spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim.
Th' unwearied Sun from day to day
Does his Creator's power display;
And publishes to every land
The work of an Almighty hand.
Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The Moon takes up the wondrous tale;
And nightly to the listening Earth
P, epeats the story of her birth :
Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What though in solemn silence all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball ;
What though no real voice nor sound
Amid their radiant orbs be found ?
In Reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
Forever singing as they shine,
"The Hand that made us is divine."
ADDISON
206 FOUT READEI.
THE BEATITUDES
BLESSED are the poor in spin'it : for theirs is the
kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are ttiey that mourn: for they shall
be comforted.
Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit
the earth.
Blessed are they whieh do hunger and thirst
after righteousness: for they 8hall be filled.
Blessed are the merciful:for they shall obtain
mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall
see Clod.
Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall
be called the children of God.
Blessed are they which are pe.eeuted for
righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom
of heaven.
Blessed are ye, when men shall revfie you, and
persecute you, and shall say all maturer of evil
against you falsely, for my sake.
Pejoiee, and be exceeding glad: for great is
your reward in heaven: for so perseeuted they
the prophets which were before you.
ST. ]LkTTttEW V, 3-12
]ZITCHENER OF KHARTOUM 207
KITCHENER OF KHARTOUM
Weep, waves of England! Nobler clay
Was ne'er to nobler grave cow,signed;
The 4_ld waves weep with us to-day
Who mourn a nation's master mind.
We hoped an honoured age for him,
And ashes laid Mth England's great;
And rapturous music, and the dim
Deep hush that veils our Tomb of State.
But this is better. Let him sleep
Where sleep the men who made us free,
For England's heart is in the deep,
And England's glory is the sea.
One only vow above his bier,
One only oath beside his bed :
We swear our flag shall shield him here
Until the sea gives up its dead!
Leap, waves of England! Boastful be,
And fling defiance in the blast,
For Earth is envious of the Sea
Wlfieh shelters England's dead at, last..
ROBERT J. C. STEXD
208 FOURTH READER
THE BATTLE WITH THE PYGMIES
O'CE upon time, according to the old myth,
there lived in the heart of Africa a race of very
little people called pygmies, who tried to fight
against the great giant Hercules. But they
were so very small that, although there were
countless hosts of them, they were unable to do
Herctfles any hazn.
]'ow although we speak of this storyas a
myth, there is at least some truth in it, for it
tells us that even the very strongest men some-
times have to fight against the very smallest
enemies. Nowadays men and women and boys
and girls are the giants, and the pygnes are
the countless hosts of tiny creatures against
which we have to carry on a constant struggle.
Among those who have to wage the most
ceaseless warfare against the pygnfics are the
men who till the soil ; for no matter how hard
they may labour, there are always myriads of
small creatm'es wMch threaten to rob them of
their harvests. For a long time the farmers
were fighting, in many cases, a losing battle
against their enemies; but now there are men
who make a special study of these different
pests, and they are finding out how to control
THE BATTLE WITH THE PYGMIES 209
them, and are learning what "poisons" to use
against them. In the following pages the story
is told of some of the most famous battles with
these pygmies and how some of the most
important "poisors" were discovered.
I
In the western part of Colorado, in u strip of
country at the foot of the Rocky Mountain.s,
there was to be found a hundred years ago a
kind of beetle which lived on the wild night-
shade and other plants that belong to the
potato family. Now it happened that about
the year 1855 farmers engaged in potato grow-
ing in that part of the country for the first time;
and the Colorado beetles, as they came to be
called, liked this new kind of food so well that
they left the nightshade and swarmed over the
potato fields.
They increased very rapidly, and soon all the
potato fielcLs in the West were covered with
them. Then they began to spread further east-
ward. In about eight years they had crossed
the Mississippi River, and within another ten
years they had reached the Atlantic coast.
They were in Ontario as early as 1870, but they
did not reach Nov Scotia until twelve years
210 FOURTH READER
later. Altogether, in their journey from Colorado
to Nova Scotia they had covered a distance
of twenty-five hundred miles and had travelled
at the rate of about one hundred miles a year.
Of course some of them got a "lift" on the way,
or they could never have travelled so fast; but,
nevertheless, it was a famous march across the
continent! erever they went they stripped
the potato fields bare, and it seemed as if it
would be useless to try to grow potatoes
because of the "bugs."
Of course the farmers tried all the old
remedies which had been used for fighting
insect pests. Since they themselves did not
like thin that had a sharp, bitter taste or a
disaeeable smell, they naturally thought that
bugs and beetles and caterpillars would not
hke them either. So they dusted the plants
with lime and sulphur and pepper and soot and
even with dus off the roads, and sprinkled them
with soapy water and tobacco juice and turpen-
tine or with tea made from strong-smelling
plants like tarsy or leeks. Some of these
remedies, such as soapy water and tobacco juice,
did help to destroy tiny sucking insects like
plant lice, but they had no effect on the potato
bug.
THE BATTLE VITH THE PYGMIES 211
But, fortunately, just when the ravages of
the potato bug were at their very worst,.somc
one, no one knows who, discovered a poison
that would kill them. At that time many new
houses were being built, and the window
shutters on these hotses were usually painted
green. In making this green paint a poisonous
powder called paris-een was used; and it
occurred to some person that, if this powder
were dusted on the plants, it might possibly -kill
the potato bugs. It was tried, and it worked
wonders. Very soon every one was using paris-
green as a potato-bug poison, and hundreds of
tons were sold every year. Before very long
fruit-growers, too, began to spray their apple
and pear-trees with it, and they found that it
destroyed a large number of the caterpillars, or
"worms," which had been ruining their fruit
crop. The use of this poison has been the
means of saving both the farmer and the fruit-
grower thousands of dollars.
II
Although paris-green is so effective in fighting
insect pests such as the potato bug, it has one
very serious drawback. It sometimes scorches
the leaves of the plant, and for this reason it
212 FOURTH READER
cannot be used in spraying plants which have
very tender leaves. Fortunately, however, some
years ago another poison was discovered, which
does not scorch the leaves and which does not
wash off so readily as paris-green. This new
poison was first used in the year 1893 in fighting
a very serious pest known as the gipsy-moth,
which destroys the leaves of both shade trees
and fruit trees.
A hundred years ago the gipsy-moth was not
found in America at all, although it was very
common in Europe. In Europe, however, it did
not often prove to be a very serious pest, be-
cause it had a number of enemies which helped
to hold it in check. In the year 1868 a French
naturalist,who lived at Medford inMassachusetts,
was experimenting with different kinds of moths,
in the hope of finding some variety that would
produce silk as silk-worms do; and, in order to
carry on his experiments, he obtained from
France a cluster of eggs of the gipsy-moth,
which he kept in a room in his house. By
and by these eggs hatched out, and as there
are about four hundred eggs in a cluster, he had
a large colony of gipsy-moth caterpillars. One
day, soon after the eggs vere hatched, he was
called out of the room in wlfich the "gipsies"
2]4 FOURTH READER
daytime. After some years, however, the people
of Medford began to notice that their shade
trees were being stripped of their leaves; and in
a few years more the caterpillars had become
such a plague that the houses and sidewalks
were black th them, and people could scarcely
walk out-of-doors without having caterpillars
swarming over them. By this time, too, they
had spread over a large part of the state, and
the people of Massachusetts saw that in order
to save their trees they must make a determined
effort to fight the caterpillars.
At first they tried spraying the trees with
paris-green; but it was found that when enough
paris-green was used to kill the full-grown cater-
pillars, it burned the leaves. As soon as it was
found that paris-green could not be safely used,
experiments were made with other poisons; and
within couple of years a new poison, called
arsenate of lead, was discovered, which would
kill the caterpillars without damaging the
leaves. From this time forward it was used in-
stead of paris-green in fighting the gipsy-moth ;
and, since it could be used on tender plants
without scorching the leaves, it soon took
the place of paris-green as a poison for other
insects. Perhaps arsenate of lead might have
216 FOURTH READER
OCEAN
RoLL on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean--roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee ill vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin,--his control
Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
When for a ln,mmnt, like a drop of rain,
lie sinks into thy depths with bubblilg
groan
Without a grave, unknelled, uneoffined, and
u n knowL
His steps are not upon thy paths,--thy fields,
Are not a spoil for him,--thou dost arise
And shake him from thee; the vile strenh
he wields
For earth's destruetion, thou dost all despise,
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,
And send'st him, shivering in thy playful
spray,
And howling to his gods, where haply lies
His petty hope in some near port or bay,
And dashest him again to earth; there let him
lay.
ocwAy 217
The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And monarchs tremble in their capitals;
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war"
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,
They melt into thy )'east of waves, which mar
Alike the Armada's pride or spoils of Trafalgar.
Thy shores are empires, changed in all save
thee--
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are
they?
Thy waters washed them 1,ower while they
were free,
And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay
Has dried up realms to deserts" not so thou ;
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play.
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow ;
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollet
IOW.
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's
form
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,
Calm or eonvulsedin breeze or gale or storm,
FORT DETROIT 219
PONTIAC'S ATTEMPT TO CAPTURE
FORT DETROIT
IN the year 1763, a celebrated chief of the
Ottawas, called Pontiac, succeede,l in forming
a confederacy of the Ottawas, Hurons, Chippe-
was, and some other tribes, with the avowed
object of expelling the British from the lake
regions of the c,untry. With the craftiness
peculiar to the Indian race, an ingenious
stratagem wa.s devised, by means of which it
was hoped that the allies would easil3 gain
possession of the forts.
For this purpose a grand Lacrosse match was
organized at each pot, and the officers of the
garrison invited to become participator in the
game.
Pontiac and his attendant chiefs had, while
the warriors and braves were engaged in the
game of Lacrosse on the common, sought an
audience of the governor of the fort. He
received them in the mess-room, apparently not
suspecting any artifice on their part.
"The pale warrior, the friend of the Ottawa
chief, is not here," said the governor, as he
glanced his eye along the semi-circle of Indians.
220 FOURTH READER
'" How is this? Is his voice still sick, that he
cannot come? or has the great chief of the
Ottawas forgotten to tell him?"
" The voice of the pale warrior is still sick,
and he cannot speak," tel,lied the Indian. " The
Ottawa chief is very s,rry ; fi)r the ttngue of his
friend, the I,ale-faee, is full of wisdom."
geareely l,a,l the last words escaped his lips
wlmn a wild, shrill cry from without the fort
rang on the ears of the assembled council, and
eau.ed a mc, mentary eolnmotion among the
officers. It arose from a single voiee, and that
voice could not be mistaken by any who lind
hear,l it once befoe. 3_ second or two, during
whieh the officers and chiefs kept their eyes
intently fixed on one another, passed anxiously
away; and then nearer t,) the gate, apparently
on the very drawl,ridge itself, was i,ealed forth
the wild an,1 deafening yell of a legion of
fiendish voices. At tlmt sound, the Ottawa and
the other chiefs sprang to their feet, and their
own fierce cry responded to that yet vibrating
on the ears of all. Already were their gleaming
tomahawks brandished wildly over their heads,
and Pontiac had even bounded a pace forward
to reach the governor with the deadly weapon,
when, at the sudden stamping of the foot of the
FORT DETROIT 221
latter upon the floor, the scarlet cloth in the
rear was thrown aside, and twenty soldiers, their
eyes glancing along the barrels ,,f their levelled
muskets, met the startled gaze of the astonished
Indians.
An instant was enough to satisfy the keen
chief of the true state of the case. The calm,
composed mien of tim officers, not one of whom
had even attempted t,) quit his seat amid the
din by which his ears were s,, alarmingly
assailed,--the triumphant, yet dignified, and
even severe expression of the governor's counte-
nance; and, above all, the unexpected presence
of the prepared soldiery,--all these at once
assured him of the discovery of his treachery,
and the danger that awaited lim. The necessity
for an immediate attempt to join his warriors
without was n,w obvious to tlm Ottawa; and
scarcely had he eoneeive,l the i,lea before he
sought to execute it. In a single spring he
gained the door of the mess-room, and, followed
eagerly and tumultuously by the other chiefs, to
whose departure no ol,position was offered, in
the next moment stood on the steps of the
piazza that ran along the front of the building
whence he had issued. The surprise of the
Indians on reaching this point was now too
222 FOURTI READER
powerful to be dissembled; and incapable either
of advancing or receding, they remained gazing
on the scene before them with an air of mingled
stupefaction, rage, and alarm. Scarcely ten
minutes had elapsed since they had proudly
strode through the naked area of the fort, and
yet even in that short space of time its al>
pearanee had been entirely changed. Not a
part was there now of the surrounding buildings
that was not replete with human life and hostile
preparation. Through every window of the
officers' low rooms was to be seen the dark and
frowning muzzle of a field-piece bearing upon
the gateway, and behind these were artillerymen
holding their lighted matches, supported again
by files of bayonets that glittered in their rear.
In the block-houses the same formidable array
of field-pieces and muskets was visible; while
from the four angles of the square as many
heavy guns, that had been artfully masked at
the entrance of the chiefs, seemed ready to
sweep away everything that should come before
them. The guard-room near the gate presented
the same hostile front. The doors of this, as well
as of the other buildings, had been firmly secured
within ; and from every window affording cover
to the troops gleamed a line of bayonets, rising
FORT DETROIT 223
above the threatening field-pieces, pointed, at a
distance of little more than twelve feet, directly
upon the gateway. In addition to his musket,
each man of the guard held a hand grenade,
provided with a short fuse that could be ignited
in a moment from the matches of the gunners,
with immediate effect. The soldiers in the
block-houses were similarly provided.
Almost magical as was the change thus
suddenly effected in the appearance of the garri-
son, it was not the most interesting feature in
the exciting scene. Choking up the gateway, in
which they were completely wedged, and crowd-
ing the drawbridge, a dense mass of "husky "
Indians were to be seen casting their fierce
glances around, yet paralyzed in their move-
ments by the unlooked-for display of resisting
force, threatening instant annihilation to those
who should attempt either to advance or recede.
Never, perhaps, were astonishment and dis-
appointment more forcibly depicted on the
human countenance, than they were now ex-
hibited by these men, who had already in
imagination secured to themselves an easy
conquest. They were the warriors who had so
recently been engaged in the manly yet innocent
exercise of the ball; but, instead of the harmless
'04 IOURTH READER
hurdle, each now carried a short gun in one
hand and a gleaming tomahawk in the other.
After the first general yelling heard in the
council-room, not a sound was uttered. Their
burst of rage and triumph had evidently been
checked by the unexpected manner of their
reception; and they now stood on the spot on
wlich the further advance of each had been
arrest;d, so silent and motionless, that, but for
the rolling of their (lark eyes, as they keenly
measured the insurmountable barriers that were
opposed to their progress, they might almost
have been taken for a wild group of statuary.
Conspicuous at the head of these was he who
wore the blanket; a tall warrior on whom
rested the startled eye of every officer and
soldier 'ho 'as so situated as to behold him.
His face was painted black as death ; and as he
stood under the arch of the gateway, with his
white turbaned head towering far above those of
his companions, this formidable and mysterious
enemy might have been likened to the spirit of
darkness presiding over his terrible legions.
In order to account for the extraordinary
appearance of the Indians, armed in every way
for death, at a moment when neither gun nor
tomahawk was apparently within miles of their
26 FO U ITH IEADEI
struggle was maintained. At his approach the
hurdles of the other players were withdrawn,
when, at a single blow from his powerful arm,
the ball was seen flying in an oblique direction
and was for a moment lost altogether to the
view. When it again met the eye, it was
descending into the very centre of the fort.
With the fleetness of thought now com-
menced a race which had ostensibly for its object
the recovery of the lo.t ball, and in which he
who had driven it with resistless force out-
stripped them all. Their course lay between the
two lines of squaws; and scarcely had the head
of the bounding Indians reached the opposite
extremity of those lines, when the women
suddenly threw back their blankets, and dis-
closed each a short gun and tomahawk. To
throw away their hurdles and seize upon these,
was the work of an instant. Already, in
imagination, was the fort their own; and, such
was the peculiar exaltation of the black and
turbaned warrior when he felt the planks of the
drawbridge bending beneath his feet, all the
ferocious joy of his soul was pealed forth in the
terrible cry vhieh, rapidly succeeded by that of
the other Indians, had resounded so fearfully
through the council-room.
MY NATIVE LAND 227
What their disappointment was, when, on
gaining the interior, they found the garris-n
prepared for their reception, has already been
shown. ]
Moa RCH,DSO
MY NATIVE LAND
BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raitures swell ;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wi.-_h can claim:
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.
$C0:: : "The Lay of the Last Minstrel."
228 FOUT IEADEI
MORNING ON THE LIEVIIE
FaR al,ove us where a jay
Screams lis atins to the day,
Capl,ed with gol,l and amethyst,
Like a 'ai,our froa the forge
Of a giant somewhere hid,
Out of learing of the clang
Of his lammer, skirts ,f mist
Slowly u 1' tl wo,,ly gorge
Lift and lalag.
Softly s a cl,m,l we go,
Sky above and sky t,elow,
Down the river; and the dip
Of the paddles scar('tly breaks,
With the little silvery drip
Of the water as it shakes
From the [,lades, the crystal deep
Of the silence ,,f the morn,
Of the f,rest yet asleep;
And the river roaches borne
In a mirror, purl)le gray,
Slicer away
T,, the misty line of light,
qere the forest and the stream
In the shadow meet and plight,
Like a dream.
MOR.NING ON THE LIEVRE 229
From amid a stretch of reeds,
Where the lazy river sucks
All the water as it bleeds
From a little curling creek,
And the muskrats peer and sneak
In around the sunken wrecks
Of a tree that swept the skies
Long ago,
On a sudden seven ducks
With a splashy rustle rise,
Stretching out their seren necks,
One before, and two behind,
And the others all arow,
And as steady as the win,1
With a swirelling whistle go,
Through the lmrple shadow led,
Till we only hear their whir
In behind a rocky spur,
Just ahead.
xRCHIBALD LAMPMAN
I CALL, therefore, a complete and generous
education, that which fits a man to perform
justly, skilfully, and magnanimously, all the
offices, both private and public, of peace and
wlr.
ILLTON : " On Education."
230 YOUH READER
EVENING
FRo. upland slopes I see the cows file by,
L,,wing, great-chested, down the hor-eward
trail,
By dusking fields and m-_adows sllining pale
With moon-tipped dandelions. Flickering
high,
A peevish night-hawk in tle western sky
Beats up into lle lucent solitu,ls,
Or drops with griding wing. Th stilly
woods
Grw ,lark and deep an,1 glo,,m mysteriously.
('ool night winds creel,, an,l whisper in mine
efll'
Tle homely cricket, gossips at my feet.
From far-off pools an,l wastes of reeds I hear,
Clear and soft-piwd , the chanting frogs break
sweet
In full Pandean chorus. (ne l,v one
Shine out the stars, and the great night
coms on.
Rt'HIBALD LAMP
FoR manners are not idle, but the fruit
Of loyal nature and of noble mind.
TE2NYON
TIlE BATTLE WITH THE PYGMIES 231
TIlE BATTLE WITH TIlE PYGMIES
(Continued)
III
While the people of Massachusetts were busy
fighting the gipsy-moth, another enemy was
destroying the orchards of California and the
Western States. In the year 187.3 the fruit-
growers in the neighbourhood of Sal Jos in
California noticed that their fruit trees were
dying, and when they examined them closely,
they found that the bark and leaves and fruit
were covered with a gray coating the colour of
ashes. This gray coating was made up of sm.ll
scales, uderneath which there were myriads of
little yellow insects which sucked the plant juices
from the tree. In this way they robbed the
tree of its food, and trees that were covered
with them did not usually live more than two
or three years.
These little irsect thieves belonged to a
family that are known as "scale" insects; and
because tlfis variety was first discovered in San
Jos in California, it came to be called the San
Jos scale. At first no one had any idea where
they came from;but many years later it was
discovered that their native home was in China
232 FOURTH READER
more than six thousand miles away, and that
they had found their way to America on some
young trees that had been brought over by a
San Jos6 fruit-grower. For two or three years
they had not been noticed, and during this time
they had spread very rapidly. Soon tho whole
district in the neighbourhood of San Jos6 was
infested 4th them; and it was not very long
before the orchards in the Eastern States and
Canada were attacked by the scale.
The rapid spread of these insects is not sur-
prising, for the young are carried from tree to
tree on the bodies of birds and beetles, and
sometimes young fruit trees which are shipped
from one part of the country to another spread
the scale. Besides, when you remember that in
one summer each insect has from one million
to three thousand million children and grand-
children you will understand how rapidly they
increase.
Vhen a new insect finds its wa, into the
country, it is difficult at first to know how to
check it; and for some time no one knew what
to do to destroy the San Jos6 scale. There was
no use in trying to poison the insects, for they
did not eat the bark and lea-es. But other
remedies were tried; and, fortunately, ono of
THE :BATTLE WITH THE PYGMIES 233
these was successful. It happened that in
Australia, when the ranchers wished to rid their
sheep of vermin, they dipped thern in a vat
containing a mixture of lime and sulphur ; an,l
it occurred to some one to try the effect of tl,is
lime-sulphur wash on the San Jos6 scale. Of all
the remedies that were tried it proved to be the
best, for it "burned" the insects that it touched,
and it formed a coating over the bark which
prevented those insects which were beneath the
waxy coating from getting out, so that tho.-:e
insects which were not "burned" were suffocated
or starved to death. Fortunately, too, the lime-
sulphur helped to destroy or ward off certain
other pests; and it is now quite commonly used
as a spray even on trees which have not been
affected with the San Jos scale.
IV
Insect pests such as the potato bug and the
gipsy-moth and the an Jos scale are not the
only kin,ls of robbers which destroy the farmers'
crops. About the same time that the farmers of
the United States and Canada were engaged in
the struggle again.t these pests, the grape-
growers in France were fighting a different sort
of enemya plant disease which is known as
234 FOURTH READER
the mildew. Now what we call "mildew" is
simply a multitude of very tiny plants, known
as fungi, hich grow on the leaves and fruit of
other plants and rob them of their food. When
the mildew attacked the grape-vines, the leaves
turned yellow and fell from the vines, so that
the gral)es did not have a chance to rilen
properly, and tle grape harvest was ruined. If
the disease had been allowed to go unchecked,
it would have been a very serious thing for the
owners of the vineyards ; but, fortunately', in the
very 3"ear when tle mildew was at its worst,
almo.t lv accident a remedy was found for it.
The district in which the city of Bordeaux
is situated is famous for its grapesthe kind of
gra[,e fr,)m w]ich Bordeaux wine is made--and
the roa,l.i,les in tle neighbourhood of Bordeaux
are bordered witlt vineyards. Did you ever
know of a b, 3" wlo did not like grapes? The
boys who lived i B,rdeaux were no exception,
ad when they saw the clusters of grapes grow-
ing b)- the roadsides, they hell,ed themselves!
Graies are growa for boys, of course[ But the
owners of the vineyards did not like to have
their'grapes stolen, and in order to prevent the
l,,-_ys from taking them, they used to sprinkle
the clusters that grew close to the roadsides with
236 FOURTH READER
SHEtlWOOD
SHERWOOD in the twilight, is Robin Hood
awake ?
Gray and ghostly shadows are gliding through
the brake,
Shadows of the dappled deer, dreaming of the
morn,
Dreaming of shadowy man that winds a
shadowy horn.
Robin Hood is here again : all his merry thieves
Hear a ghostly bugle-note shivering through the
leaves,
SHERWOOD 239
Bugles in the greenwood echo from the steep,
Sherwood in the red dawn, is Robin Hood asleep?
Where the deer are gliding doaa the shadowy
glen
All across the glades of fern he calls his merry
men--
Doublets of the Lincoln green glancing through
the May
In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break
of day--
Calls them and they answer: from agles of oak
and ash
Rings the Follow! Follow! and the boughs begin
to crash,
The ferns begin to flutter and the flowers
begin to fly,
And through the crimson daing the robber
band goes by.
Robin.t Robin! Robin! All his merry thieves
Answer as the bugle-note shivers through the
leaves,
Calling as he used to call, faint and far away,
In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break
of day.
AbED NO_
appearing, to rise and leap again. Shoal rose
beyon, l shoal, till the vhole bank of Gulliam
seemed beaten into fiam, and the low 1,oI:,pling
sounds were multiplied into a roar like that of
the wind through some tall wood. that might be
heard in the calm for miles.
And again the shoals extending around us
seemed to cover for hundred., nf square miles
the vast Moray Firth. But tlough they 1,1ayel
beside our buoys by tlousands, not a herring
swam so low as the upper bulk of our drift.
One of the fishermen, taking up a stme, flung
it right over our second buoy into tlm middle of
the shoal, and the fi.h disappeared from the
surface for several fathom. aroun,l. "Ah, there
they go," he exclaimed, "if they go but low
enough. Four years ago I startled thirty barrel.-_
of light fish into my drift, just by throwing a
stone among them."
I know not what effect the stone might lmve
had on this oeeasion; but on hauling our nets
for the third and last time, we found we had
captured about eight barrels of fish; and then,
hoisting sail--for a light breeze from the east
had sprung up---we lnade fi,r the hore with a
cargo of twenty barrels.
HUGH I[ILLER : ' ' XIy Schools and Schoolmasters."
A2 FOURTH EADER
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 gaes 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 patse in her cloud,
And the lark drop down at his feet.
The swallow stopt as he hunted the fly,
The snake slipt under a spray,
The wild hawk stood with the down on his
beak,
And stared, with Ms foot on the prey,
And the nightingale thought,
many songs,
But never a one so gay,
For he sings of what the world will be
V(hen the years have died away."
"I have sung
TF_'NYSON
:NEXER to tire, never to grow cold ; to be patient,
sympathetic, tender; to look for the budding
flower, and the opening heart; to hope always;
like God, to love alwaysthis is duty. An
CASTLES IN SPAIN 243
MY CASTLES IN SPAIN
I As the owner of great estates. Many of them
lie in the west, but the greater 1,art in Spain.
You may see my western possessions any
evening at sunset when their spires and battle-
ments flash against the horizon. But my finest
castles are in Spain. It is a country famou.-ly
romantic, and my castles are all of perfect
proportions and appropriately set in the most
picturesque situations.
I have never been in Spain myself, but I have
naturally conversed mucl witl travellers to
that country; althougl, I must allow, without
deriving fl'om them much substantial informa-
tion about my l,roperty there.
The wisest of them told me that there were
more holders of real estate in bI,ain than in any
other region he had ever heard of, and they are
all great proprietors.
Every one of them possesses a multitude of the
stateliest castles. It is remarkaMe that none of
the proprietors have ever been to Spain to take
possession and report to the rest of u.s the state
of our property there, and it is not easy for me
to say how I know so much alout my castles in
Sl3ain.
244 OUT IEADER
The sun always shines upon them. They
stand lofty and fair in a luminous, golden
atmosphere, a little hazy and dreamy, perhaps,
like the Indian summer, but in which no gales
blow and there are no tempests.
All the sublime mountains and beautiful
valleys and soft landscapes that I have not yet
seen are to be found in the grounds.
I have often wondered how I should reach my
castles. I have inquired very particularly, but
nobody seemed to know the way. It occurred
to me that Bourne, the millionaire, must have
ascertained the safest and most expeditious route
to 5pain ; so I stole a few minutes one afternoon
and went into his office.
He was sitting at his desk, writing rapidly,
and surroun,le,l by files of papers and patterns,
specimens, boxe.%---everything that covers the
tables of a great merchant.
"A moment, please, Mr. Bourne." He looked
up hastily, and wished me good-morning, which
courtesy I attributed to Spanish sympathy.
"What is it, sir ?" he asked blandly, but with
wrinkled brow.
"Mr. Bourne, have you any castles in Spain?"
said I, without preface. He looked at me for a
few moments, without speaking and without
:MY CASTLES IX* SPAIX 245
seeming to see me. His brow gradually smooth-
ed, and his eyes apparently looking into the
street were really, I have no doubt, feasting
upon the Spanish landscape.
"Too many, too many," said he, at length,
musingly, shaking his head and without ad-
dressing me.
He feared, I thought, that he had too much
impracticable property elsewhere to own so much
in Spain" so I asked :--
"Will you tell me what you consider the
shortest and safest route thither, Mr. Bourne?
for, of course, a man who drives such an immense
trade with all parts of the world will know all
that I have come to inquire."
"My dear sir," answered he, wearily, "I have
been trying all my life to discover it; but none
of my ships have ever been therenone of my
captains have any report to make.
"They bring me, as they brought my father,
gold-dust from Guinea, ivory, pearls, and
precious stones from every part of the earth;
but not a fruit, not a solitary flower, from one
of my castles in Spain.
" I have sent clerks, agents, and travellers of
all kinds, philosophers, pleasure hunters, and
invalids, in all sorts of ships, to all sorts of
PROGRESS 247
everything elegant, beautiful, and convenient
when I come into possession.
As the years go by, I am not conscious that
my interest diminishes.
Shall I tell a secret? Shall I confess that
sometimes when I have been sitting reading to
my Prue -" " -" '
"(J3mbehne, perhaps, or a 'Canter-
bury Tale," I ]mve seeme, l to see clearly before
me the broad highway t, my castles in Spain,
and, as she looked up from her work and smiled
in sympathy, I have even tncied that I was
already there
GEORGE 'ILLLM CURTIS -" ' Prue and I."
(Adapted)
PROGRESS
As we surpass our fathers' skill,
Our sons will shame our own;
A thousand things are hidden still,
And not a hundred known.
And had some Prophet spoken true
Of all we shall achieve,
The wonders were so wildly new,
That no man would believe.
248 FOURTH READER
hieanwhile, my brothers, work, and wield
The forces of to-day,
And plough the Present like a field,
And garner all you may l
You, what the cultured surface grows,
Dkspense with careful hands:
Deep under deep for ever goes,
:Heaven over heaven expands.
THE SHIPWRECK
(The following is a true tale of shipwreck and rescue. The
ldutry was a small vessel of thirty-seven tons, loaded with dried
fish and cordwood, which set out from the mouth of the La Have
:Rier for Halifax market, only fifty-four miles away and was
blown seven hundred miles out to sea.)
IN the double darkness of night and the
thick driving snow, the Industry fled back to La
Have before the north-east gale. It was still
thick weather when Captain Sponagle udged
that he was near Cross Island--the sea-mark
sentinel before Lunenburg Harbour, to which
Lunenburg sailor-men find their way back from
the ends of the four oceans. The mouth of the
La Have is just round the corner.
Now the Industry was near home and safety,
but once more her luck changed for the worse.
SHIP'WRECK
The fierce gale suddenly chopped round to the
north-west, driving the schooner back from her
desired haven and out into the furious Atlantic.
If her foresail had been intact, she might have
been hove to and so have ridden out the gale.
In attempting to do so the damaged sail was
blown to rags.
There was nothing for it but to dowse all sail
and run before the storm. For three days and
three nights the ItWlustry scudded under bare
poles straight out to sea. To take the danger-
ous weight off her the deck-load of cordwood
was started overboard. In the darkness and
250 FOURTH READER
confusion all hands must have been xvor-king
desperately to clear the deck. Along with the
deck-load went their only boat.
They were fighting for their lives, and in their
haste another accident occurred. One of the two
water-casks secured just forward of the main-
mast went overboard with the cordwood, and
the other wus so badly smashed that only two
gallons of water was saved from it. This loss
meant later intense suffering from thirst. The
two gallons from the broken cask and a kettle-
ful of melted hailstones gathered in a remnant
of the foresail was the whole water supply of
seven persons for eighteen days. They were
rationed to a wine-glass apiece once in twenty-
four hours. The last drop was finshed on
])ccember 27th.
Not counting on more than the day's run to
Halifax, the owners had not provisioned their
tittle craft for such an unforeseen emergency as
being blown out to sea. Food there was prac-
tically none. What little they had was spoiled
by the salt water. For two weeks, from the
15th to the 29th of December, those seven
persons sustained life on ten hardtack. A tiny
fraoTaent of biscuit once in the twenty-four
hours was the ration. On that, and the
THE SHIPW2ECK 251
thimbleful of water, they kept the life in their
bodies for an endless fortnight.
They dared not touch the salt fish in the
hold for fear of the thirst that would drive
them mad. With fresh water they might have
been able to cook the fish, thougt the stove was
damaged in the hurIy-burIy of the first night.
They found a few oats in a bag, and these they
managed to parch on the top of the broken
stove and eat. On Christmas Day they dis-
covered one potato in the bilge. They divided
it into seven portions, just and loyal in their
misery. "Our tongues were so swollen we
could scarcely eat it."
On Tuesday the 15th, they were able to do
something besides hold on for dear life, ns their
fra31 little fabric raced the mountainous seas.
In the tmznoil of waters they saw an American
fishing schooner, which ran down dose enough
to speak witt the helpless IMust W. The weather
was too wgld to launch a boat with food and
water, or to render any assistance whatever.
For few moments the two craft were near
enough for Captain Sponagle to shout that he
wanted his position and his course for Bermuda,
and for the American skipper to shout back the
necessary directions; then each went his way.
254 FOURTH READER
solitary raw potato divided into seven portions,
which they could scarcely eat. Christmas night
was remembered for its terrors; it was night
of despair. Work at the pumps was abandoned
as useless. There was no one at the tiller; hope
was gone. All seven were huddled together in
the inky darkness of the little cabin. Overhead
tons of 'ater crashed upon the roof, as the
unguided Indstry pitched and rolled and wal-
lowed in the giant billows. There was nothing
to do but hold on and wait for the inevitable
end. The schooner might go don at any
moment.
'hat was done in that cabin is best told in
the words of a survivor:
"We were nearly ex]austed with hunger and
exposure, and our thirst was dreadful; and,
expecting every moment to be our last, we
ufited in prayer to the Almighty and shook
hands with each other, as we thought, for the
last time. Most of the men gave way to tears,
but our only female passenger cheered us with
the hope that our prayers were answered and
we were strengthened again to pump the ship."
"For practical purposes it is at the hopeless
moment that we re, tuire the hopeful man .....
Exactly at the instant when hope ceases to
THE SHIPWRECK. 255
be reasonable it begins to be useful," says
Chesterton wisely.
These words fit the situation to a nieety. It
is no wonder that men, weakened by a fortnight
of exposure, starvation, thirst, and exhausting
labour, should shed hysterical tears; nor is it to
their shame. But the spirit of the "female
passenger" did not break nor bend. In the
blaek darkness of that little cabin, the courage
and hope of a mere -irl shone like a star.
Angeline Publieover cheered the despairing men
by her faith in the mercy of God, and they were
"strengthened" to resume their labours.
On board the Industry the last morsel of food
was eaten, the last drop of water drunk, when
rescue came. All these weary days driving
hither and thither in mi,l-Atlantie, another ves-
sel was sailing to cross her track. The lre -
destined meeting came to pass on I)eeember 29th.
The Coalfleets of Hant.port were a typical
family of Nova Scotia mariners. Once a name-
less baby drifted ashore from the wreckage of a
collier on the coast. The b,)y lired, and from
these circumstances was given the name of
Coalfleet--meet origin for a sea-faring elan.
From him was descended Hiram Coalfleet---one
of six brothers all of whom followed the sea.
256 FO:RWH READER
He was a master mariner, honourable, looked
up to, and a skilful navigator. In command of
the Nova Scotia barque Providence of four hun-
dred and eighty tons, he was now on his way
from Philadelphia to London with a cargo of
kerosene. His brother Abel sailed with him as
chief mate.
Sex en hundred miles east of Nova Scotia the
Proeidece sighted a x'essel, as the expressive
language of the sea puts it, "in distress." That
so small a craft should be so far from land
implied accident, and the wave-swept deck and
the jagged fragments of bulwarks would tell
their own tale. The Proidence bore down on
the schooner under storm canvas, lay to, and
tried to launch her longboat. It was still blow-
ing a gale, with a heavy sea running; and getting
the big, heavy }_,oat over the side into the sea
was no eas3" task. After several attempts it was
smashed and lost. The only other boat on board
was too small to live in such a sea.
But Captain Coalfleet was not at the end of
his resources. He tried another means of rescue,
which put his own ship in peril, which called
for most skilful handling of her, and which
would fail but for cool, swift, decisive action.
He manoeuvred his big barque to windward of
THE SHIPWRECK 257
the little coaster, backed his topsail, and drifted
down on the Industry broadside on. He must
have calculated his distance to a nicety, and he
must have had a well-disciplined crew; no lub-
bers or wharf-rats stood by the sheets and braces
that December day. He was risking his own
ship, with all. on board, for collision was in-
evitable; his part was to minimize the shock
of contact.
As the two vessels swung crashing together,
the mainyard of the Providence fouled the rig-
ging of the Industry. Nimble as a cat, Abel
('oalfleet ran up on the mainyard, lay out along
it, and with a line in his hand, 1)robaly the
clue-garnet, let himself down swiftly on the
tossing deck of the schooner. Any passenger on
an ocean steamer who has ever watched the
antics of the pilot's boat alongside in compar-
atively smooth water, can form some conception
of the way two vessels rolling, tossing, pitching,
grinding together, would behave in a mid-winter
Atlantic storm.
Abel Coalfleet, balancing o the yard-arm,
which pointed in the sky one moment, and the
ext almost dipped in the waves, makes the
acrobats of the circus and moving pictures look
silly. He must have been as cool-headed as he
FOURTH READER
was brave and strong and nimble. He might
have lost his hold and been flung into the sea,
or entangled in the cordage, or crushed between
the grinding hulls.
As he dropped to the reeling, wave-swept
selooner's deck, he fa.-_tened a line to the one
woman on b,)ard, wlo was speedily hauled up
the side of the Proride,ce. The six men were
also swiftly pulled on board by means of ropes
the crew flung to them, with Abel Coalfleet
always aiding, Then he slashed the stay which
held the yard-arm of tle Providence h.tt,_red, and
swarmed up the bar lUe . side like tle people he
had saved; the backed topsail swung round
promptly, and the Protidence, having sustained
"much damage," was once more put on her
course for London.
The rescue could only have taken a few
minutes; it was effected "most expeditiously,"
say the rescued, in a smart and seamanlike
manner. The collision gave the coup de grace to
the battered little coaster. Three-quarters of an
hour later she disappeared beneath the stormy
Atlantic. The Providence had come up just in
time.
Of course, saving life at sea is more or less a
habit with sailors, all in the day's work, and
BREAK, BREAK, BREAK )55
nothing to call for remark. A dr3" , matter-of-
fact entry in the log of the Providence would
close the incident. But this reseue was ex-
ceptionally hazardous and brilliant. The skill
of Captain Hiram in handling his big ship
was equalled by the way Abel seconded him.
Sponagle, with a sailor's appreciation, records
that he "gallantly hazarded his life to save
ours." Gallant is the word.
ARCtIIBALD [..CIEcHAN
BREAK. BIIEAK, BREAK
BREAK, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones. 0 Sea[
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.
O well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
0 well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay !
And the stately ships go on
To their haven trader the hill;
But 0 for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voiee that is st'lt!l !
260 FOURTH READER
Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, 0 Sea I
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.
TO 5IY MOTHER
AND canst thou, mother, for a moment think
That we, thy children, when old age shall shed
Its blanching honours on thy weary head,
Could from our best of duties ever shrink ?
Sooner the sun from his bright sphere shall sink,
Than we ungTateful leave thee in that day
To pine in solitude thy life away;
Or shun thee tottering on the grave's cold brink.
Banish the thought!--where'er our steps may
roan],
O'er smiling plains, or wastes without a tree,
Still will fond memory point our hearts to
thee,
And paint the pleasures of thy peaceful home;
While duty bids us all thy griefs assuage,
And smooth the pillow of thy sinking age.
THE SOLITARY REAPEl 261
THE SOLITARY REAPER
BEHOLD her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass l
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for the Vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No Nightingale did ever chaunt
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt
Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day ?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?
262 FOURTH READER
Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending ;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending ;--
I listened, motionless and still ;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore
Long after it was heard no more.
'ORDSWORTI=[
('LOUDS, RAIN, AND RIVERS
EVERY occurrence in Nature is preceded by
other occurrences which are its causes, and
succeeded by others which are its effects. The
hmnan min,l is n,t satisfied with observing and
studying any natural occurrence alone, but takes
pleasure in connecting every natural fact with
what has gone before it, and with what is to
come after it. Thus, when we enter upon the
study of rivers, our interest will be greatly in-
creased by taking into account, not only their
actual appearances but also their causes and
effects.
Let us trace a river to its source. Beginning
where it empties itself into the sea, and following
it backwards, we find it from time to time joined
by tributaries which swell its waters. The river,
CLOUDS, I._IIS, AlqD IIVERS 263
of course, becomes smaller as these trutaries
are passed. It shrinks first to a brook, then to
a stream; this again divides itself into , number
of smaller streamlets, ending in mere threads of
water. These constitute the source of the river,
and are usually found among hills. Thus, the
Severn has its source in the Welsh Mountains;
the Thames in the Cotswold Hills; the Rhine
and the Rhone in the A1ps; the Missouri in the
locky Mountains; and the Amazon in the
Andes of Peru.
tut it is quite plain, that we have not yet
reached the real beginning of the rivers.
Whence do the earliest streams derive their
water? A brief residence among the mountains
would prove to you that they are fed by rains.
In dry weather you would find the streams
feeble, sometimes indeed quite dried up. In
wet weather you would see them foaming
torrents. In general these streams lose them-
selves as little threads of water upon the hill-
sides; but sometimes you may trace a river to a
definite spring. You may, however, very soon
assure yourself that such springs are also fed by
rain, which has percolated through the rocks or
soil, and which, through some orifice that it has
found or formed, comes to the light of day.
264 FOURTtt I(EADER
But we cannot end here. Whence comes the
rain which forms the mountain streams ? Ob-
servation enables you to answer the question.
Rain does not come from a clear sky. It comes
from clouds, tut what are clouds? Is there
nothing you are aceluainted with, which they
resemble? You discover at once a likeness
between them and the condensed steamof a
locomotive. At every puff of the engine, a cloud
is projected into the air. Watch the cloud
sharply : you notice that it first forms at a little
distance from the top of the funnel. Give close
attention, and you will sometimes see a perfectly
clear space between the funnel and the cloud.
Through that clear space the thing which makes
the cloud must pass. What, then, is this thing
which at one moment is transparent and
invisible, and at the next moment visible as a
dense opaelue cloud ?
It is the stca;a or ,apour of water from the
boiler. Within the boiler this steam is trans-
parent and invisible ;" but to keep it in this
invisible state a heat would be required as
great as that within the boiler. When the
vapour mingles with the cold air above the hot
funnel, it ceases to be vapour. Every bit of
steam shrinks, when chilled, to a much more
CLOUDS, RAIN$AND RIYERS 265
minute particle of water. The liquid particles
thus produced form a kind of u'(,ter-dust of
exceeding fineness, which floats in the air, and
is called a clo,d.
Watch the cloud-banner from the funnel of a
running locomotive; you see it growing gradu-
ally less dense. It finally melts away alto-
gether; and if you continue your observations,
you will not fail to notice that the speed of its
disappearance depends upon the character of
the day. In humid weather the cloud hangs
long and lazily in the air ; in dry weather it is
rapidly licked up. What has become of it? It
has been reeonverted into true invisible vapour.
The drier the air, and the ]ollc_r the air, the
greater is the amount of cloud which can be
thus dissolved in it. When the cloud first
forms, its quantity is far greater than the air is
able to maintain in an invisible state. But, as
the cloud mixes gradually with a larger mass of
air, it is more and more dissolved, and finally
passes altogether from the condition of a finely-
divided liquid into that of transparent vapour
or gas.
Make the lid of a kettle air-tight, and permit
the steam to issue from the spout; a cloud is
formed in all respects similar to that issuing
FOURTH READER
from the funnel of the locomotive. To produce
the cloud, in the case of the locomotive and the
kettle, teat is necessary. By heating the water
we first convert it into steam, and then by
chilling the steam we convert it into cloud.
Is there any fire in Nature which produces the
clouds of our atmosphere? There is" the fire of
the sun.
When the sunbeams fall upon the earth, they
heat it, an,l also the water which lies on its
surface, whether it be in large bodies, such as
seas or rivers, or in the forrn of moisture. The
water being thus warmed, a part of it is given
off in the form of aqueous vapour, just as
invisible vapour passes off from a boiler when
the water in it is heated by fire. This vapour
mingles with the air in contact with the earth.
The vapour-charged air, being heated by the
warm earth, expands, becomes lighter, and rises.
It expands also, as it rises, because the pressure
of the air above it becomes less and less with the
height it attains. But an expanding body al-
ways becomes colder as the result of its expan-
sion. Thus the vapour-laden air is chilled by
its expansion. It is also chilled by coming in
contact with the colder, higher air. The conse-
quence is that the invisible vapour which it
268 FOURTH READER
There are, however, rivers which have sources
somewhat different from those just mentioned.
They do not l,egin by driblets on a hillside, nor
can the)- be traced to a spring. Go, for example,
to the mouth of the river Rhone, and trace it
backwards. You come at length to the Lake of
Geneva, from which the river rushes, and which
you might be disposed to regard as the source of
the Rhone. But go to the head of the lake, and
you find that the Rhone there enters it; that the
lake is, in fact, an exiansion of the river. Fol-
low this upwards; you find it joined by smaller
rivers from the mountains right and left. Pass
these, and push 3"our journey higher still. You
come at length to a huge mass of iee--the end of
a glacierwhieh fills the Rhone valley, and
from the bottom of the glaeier the river rushes.
In the glacier of the Rhone you thus find the
source of the river Rhone.
But whence come the glaciers? Wherever
loft)- mountains, like the Alps, rise into the high
parts of the atmosphere where the temperature
is below the freezing point, the vapour condensed
from the air falls upon them, not as rain, but as
snow. In such high mountainous regions, the
heat of the summer melts the snow from the
lower hills, but the higher parts remain cvered,
FITZ-JAMES AND RODERICK DHU
THE Chief in silence strode before,
And reached that torrent's sounding shore,
Which, daughter of three mighty lakes,
From Vennachar in silver breaks,
Sweeps through the 1,lain, and ceaseless mines
On Bochastle the mouldering lines,
Where Ilome, the Empress of the world,
Of yore her eagle wings unfurled.
And here his course the Chieftain staid,
Threw down his target and his plaid,
And to the Lowland warrior said
"Bold Saxon! to his promise just,
Vieh Alpine has discharged his trust.
This murderous Chief, this ruthless man,
Tlis lmad of a rebellious elan,
Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward,
Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard.
Now, man to man, and steel to steel,
A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel.
See here, all vantageless I stand,
Armed, like thyself, with single brand: "
For this is Coilantogle ford,
And thou must keep thee with thy sword."
FITZ-JAMES AND RODERICK DHU 27J
The Saxon paused :m,, I ne'er delayed,
When foeman bade me draw my blade;
:Nay, more, brave Chief, I vowed thy death-
Yet sure thy fair and generous faith,
And my deep debt for life preserved,
A better meed have well deserved-
Can nought but blood our fud atone?
Are there no means ? "m" No, Stranger, none;
And hear,--to fire thy flagging zeal,-
The Saxon cause rests on thy steel;
For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred
Between the living and the dead-
' Who spills the foremost fi)eman's life,
His party confluers in the strife.'"m
"Then, by my word," the Saxon sald,
"The riddle is already read.
Seek yonder brake beneath the clff,--
There lies Red Murdoch, stark an,] stiff.
Thus Fate has solved her prophecy,
Then yield to Fate, and not to me.
To James, at Stifling, let ts go,
'hen, if thou wilt be still his foe,
Or if the King shall not agree
To grant thee grace and favour free,
I plight mine honour, oath, and word,
That, to thy nativ strengths restored,
With each advantage shalt thou stand,
That aids thee now to guard thy land."
272 FOURTH READER
Dark lightning flashed from 1Roderick's eye--
"Soars thy presumption, then, so high,
Because a wretched kern ye slew,
Homage to name to Roderick Dhu?
He yields not, he, to man nor Fate!
Thou add'st but fuel to nay hate :-
My clansman's blood demands revenge.
Not yet prepared %-By heaven, I change
My thought, and hold thy valour light
As that of some vain carpet knight,
Who ill deserved my courteous care,
And whose best boast is but to wear
A braid of his fair lady's hair."--
"I thank thee, Roderick, for the word!
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword;
For I have sworn this braid to stain
]n the best blood that warms thy vein.
Now, truce, farewell! and, ruth, begonel--
Yet think not that by thee alone,
Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown;
Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn,
Start at my whistle clansmen stern,
Of this small horn one feeble blast
Would fearful odds against thee cast.
But fear notdoubt not--which thou wilt--
V'e try this qtarrel hilt to hilt."--
Then each at once his falchion drew,
FITZ-JAMES ADID RODERICK DHU 273
Each on the ground his scabbard threw,
Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain,
As what they ne'er might see again;
Then foot, and point, and eye opposed,
In dubious strife the:}" darkly closed.
Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu,
That on the field his targe he threw,
Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide
Had death so often dashed aside;
For, trained abroad his arms to wield,
Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield.
He practised every pass and ward,
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard;
While less expert, though stronger far,
The Gael maintained unequal war.
Three times in closing strife they stood,
And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood;
No stinted draught, no scanty tide,
The gushing flood the tartans dyed.
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain,
And showered his blows like wintry rain;
And, as firm rock, or-castle-roof,
Against the winter shower is proof,
The foe, invulnerable still,
Foiled his wild rage by steady skill;
Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand
Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand,
274 YOURH READER
And backward borne upon the lea,
Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee.
" Now, yield thee, or by Him who made
The world, thy heart's bh)od dyes my
t,lade !"
"Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy!
Let recreant yield, who fears to die."
Like adder darting from his coil,
Like wolf that dashes througla the toil,
Like mountain-cat wh,_ guards her .voung,
Full at Ftz-James s throat he sprung,
Received, but recked not of a wounl,
And l)cked his arms his fieman round.
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own[
No maiden's hand is round thee thrown!
That desiderate grasp thy frame might feel,
Through bars of brass and triple steel !
They tug, they strain! down, down they go:
The Gael above, Fitz-James below.
The Chieftain's gripe his throat compressed,
His knee was plated on his breast;
His clotted locks he backward threw,
Across his brow his hand he drew,
From blood and mist to clear his sight,
Then gleamed al)ft his dagger bright l-.-
But hate and fury ill supplied
The stream of life's exhausted tide,
BILLY TOPSAIL 275
And all too late the advantage came,
To turn the od,ls of deadly game;
For, while the dagger gleamed on high,
Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain an,1 eye,
Dow_ came the blow! but in the heath
The erring blade found bloodless sheath.
The struggling foe may now unclasp
The fainting Chieffs relaxing grasp;
Unwounded from the dreadful ch)se,
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.
SCOTT: "The Lady of the Lake."
BILLY TOPSAIL
05"E day in the spring of the 3"ear, when high
winds rise suddenly froIn the land, Bill)" Topsail
was fishing from the punt, the Never Give Up.
It was "fisl weather," as the Ruddy ('ore
men say--gray, cold, and misty. The harbour
entrance lay two miles to the south-west.
Thicker weather threatened, and the day was
far spent.
"It is time to be off home, boy," said Billy to
the dog. "It is getting thick in the south-west."
Skipper stretched himself and wagged his tail.
He had no word to say, but Billy, who, like all
fishermen in remote places, had formed the
276 FOURT IEADER
habit of talking to himself, supplied the answer.
"It is that, Billy, boy," said he. "The punt
is as much as one hand can manage in a fair
wind."
Then Billy said a word to himself: "We'll
put in for ballast. The punt is too light for
a gale."
He sculled the punt to a little cove and there
loaded her with rocks. By this time two other
punts were under way, and the sails of the skiff
were fluttering, as her crew prepared to be at
home for the night. The Never Give Up was
ahead of the fleet and held her lead in such fine
fashion as made Billy Topsail's heart swell with
pride.
The wind had gained in force. It was sweep-
ing down from the hills in gusts. Now it fell to
a breeze, and again it came swiftly with angry
strength. "We'll fetch the harbour on the next
tack," Billy muttered to Skipper, who was
whining in the bow.
A gust caught the sails, the ballast of the
Never Give Up shifted, and she toppled over.
Boy and dog were thrown into the sea. Billy
dived to escape entanglement with the rigng
of the boat. He had long ago learned the lesson
that presence of mind wins half the fight in
BILLY TOPSAIL 277
dangerous accidents. The coward miserably
perishes where the brave man survives.
He looked about for the punt. She had been
heavily weighted with ballast, and he feared for
her. What was he to do if she had been too
heavily weighted ? Even as he looked, she sank.
She had righted under water; the tip of the
mast was the last he saw of her.
The sea--cold, fretful, vast--lay all about him.
The coast was half a mile distant, the punts out
at sea were beating toward him and could make
no greater speed. He had to choose between the
punts and the rocks.
A whine--with a strange note in it--attracted
his attention. The big dog had caught sight of
him and was beating the water in a frantic etIbrt
to approach quickly. But the dog had never
whined like that before. "Hi, Skipper I" Billy
called. "Steady, boy I Steady !"
Billy took off his boots as fast as he could.
The dog was coming nearer, still whining
strangely and madly pawing the water. Billy
was mystified. What possessed the dog? It was
as if he had been seized with a fit of terror. Was
he afraid of drowning? His eyes were fairly
flaring. Such a light had never been in them
before.
278 FOURTH READER
It was terror he saw in them; there could be
no doubt about that. The dog was afraid for his
life. At once Billy was filled with dread. He
could not crush the feeling down. Afraid of
SkipperQthe old affectionate Skipper--his own
dog, which he had reared from a puppy! It
was absurd. But he was afraid, nevertheless--
and he was desperately afraid. "Back, boy !"
he cried. "Get back, sir!"
It chanced that Billy Topsail was a strong
swimmer. He ha,] learned to swim where the
water is coldQcold, often, as the icebergs can
make it. The water was bitter cold now, but he
did not fear it, nor did he doubt that he could
accomplish the lng swim which lay before him.
It was the strange behaviour of the dog which
disturbed him--his failure iu obedience, which
could not be explained. "Back, sir!" Billy
screamed. "Get back with you !"
Billy raised his hand as if to strike him--a
threatening gesture which had sent Skipper
h,me with his tail between his legs many a
time. But it had no effect now. "Get back!"
Billy screamed agaim It was plain that the dog
was not to b bidden. Billy threw himself on his
back, supported him.elf with his hands, and
kicked at the dog with his feet.
]ILLY TOPSAIL 279
--I
Skipper was blinded by the splashing. He
whined and held back. Then blindly he came
again. Billy moved slowly from him, head fore-
most, still churning the water with his feet.
But, swimming thus, he was no match for the
dog. Skipper forged after him. Soon he was so
close that the lad could no longer move his feet
freely. Then the dog chanced to catch one foot
with his paw and forced it under. Billy could
not beat him off.
No longer opposed, the dog crept up, paw over
paw, forcing the boy's body lower and lower.
His object was clear to Billy. Skipper, frenzied
by terror, the boy thought, would try to save
himself by climbing on his shoulders. "Skipperl"
he cried : "you'll drown me! Get back!"
280 FOURTH READER
Then there seemed to be but one thing to do.
He took a long breath and let himself sink--
down--down--as deep as he dared. Down--
down--until he retained breath sufficient but to
strike to the right and rise again.
The dog--as it was made known later--rose
as high as he could force himself and looked
about in every direction with his mouth open
and his ears cocked. He gave two sharp barks,
like sobs, and a long mournful whine. Then, as
if acting Ul)On sud,]en thought, he dived.
For a moment nothing was to be seen either
of boy or dog. There was nothing but a choppy
sea in that place. Men who were watching
thought that both had followed the Never Give
Up to the bottom.
Billy knew that his situation was desperate.
He would rise, he was sure, but only to renew
the struggle. H,w long he could keep the dog
off he could not tell. Until the punts came
down to his aid? He thought not. He came to
the surface prepared to dive again. But Skipper
had disappeared. An ejaculation of thanks-
giving was yet on the boy's lips, when the dog's
black head rose and moved swiftly toward him.
Billy had a start of ten yards--or something
more.
}ILLY TOPSAIL 281
He turned on his side and set offat top speed.
There was no better swimmer among the lads of
the harbour. Was he a match for a powerful
Newfoundland dog*. It was soon evident that
he was not. Skipper gained rapidly. Billy felt
a paw strike his foot. He put more stren.h
into his strokes. The dog was upon him now,
pawing his back. Billy could not sustain the
weight. To escape, that he might take up the
fight again in another way, he dived again.
The dog was waiting when Billy came up--
waiting eagerly, on the alert to continue the
chase. " Skipper, old fellow--good old dog!"
Billy called in a soothing voice. "Steady, sir!
Down, sir--back!" The dog was not to be
deceived. He came by turns whining and gasp-
ing. He was more excited, more determined
than ever. Billy waited for him, and when the
dog was within reach, struck him in the face.
Rage seemed suddenly to possess the dog. He
held back for a moment, growling fiercely, and
then attacked with a rush. Billy fought as best
he could, but the etlbrt was vain; in another
moment the dog had laid his heavy paws on.his
shoulders. The weight was too much for Billy.
Down he went, freed himself, and struggled to
the surface, gasping for breath. It appeared to
282 FOURTH READER
him now that he had but a moment to live. He
felt his self-possession going from him--and at
that moment his ears caught the sound of a
voice" " Put 3"our arm--"
The voice seemed to come from far away.
Before the sentence was completed, the dog's
paws were again on Billy's shoulders, and the
water stopped the boy's hearing. What were
they calling to him'! Tte thought that some
hell,ing hand was near inspired him. With this
new e,,urage to aid, he dived for the third time.
The voice was nearer---elearerwhen he came
up, and he heard every word.
"Put your arm around his neck," called the
voice.
Billy's self-possession returned. He would
follow this direction. Skipper swam anxiously
to him. It may be that he wondered what this
new attitude meant. It may be that he hoped
reason had returned to the bovthat at last he
would allow himself to be saved. Billy caught
the dog by the neck, when he was within arm's
length. Skipper wagged his tail and turned
abput.
There was a brief pause, during which the
faithful old dog determined which direction he
would take. He espied the punts, which had
BILLY TOPSAIL 283
borne down with all speed. Toward them he
swam, and there was so,nething of pride in his
whine. Billy struck out with his free hand, and
soon boy and dog were pulled over the side of
the nearest punt.
Through it all, as Billy now knew, the dog
had only wanted tb save him.
That night Billy Topsail took Skipper aside
for a long and confidential talk. "Skipper,"
said he, "I beg your pardon.
know what it was you wanted.
had a hard thought against
You see I didn't
I'm sorry I ever
you. When I
thought you only wanted to save yourself, it
was Billy Topsail you were thinking of. When
I thought you wanted to elinb on top of me,
it was my eollar you wanted to catch. When I
thought you wanted to bite me, it was a scolding
you were giving me for my foolishness. Skipper,
boy, honest, I beg your pardon. Next time I
shall know that all a Newfoundland dog wants
is half a ehanee to tow me ashore. And I will
give him a whole chance. But, Skipper, don't
you think you might have given me a chance to
do something for myself?"
At which Skipper wagged his tail.
IORMAN bUNCAN : "Adventures of Billy Topsail. '
,4 FOURTH READER
HEAT
FRo. plains that reel to southward, dim,
The road runs by me white and bare;
Up the steep hill it seems to swim
Beyond, and melt into the glare.
Upward half-way, or it may be
Nearer the summit, slowly steals
A hay-cart, moving dustily
With idly clacking wheels.
13y his cart's side the wagoner
Is slouching slowly at his ease,
Half-hidden in the windless blur
Of white dust puffing to lis knees.
This wagon on the height above,
From sky to sky on either hand,
Is tle sole thing that seems to move
In all the heat-held land.
Beyond me in the fields the sun
Soaks in the grass and hath his will;
I count the marguerites one by one;
Even the buttercups are still.
On the brook yonder not a breath
Disturbs the spider or the midge.
The water-bugs draw close beneath
The cool gloom of the bridge.
HEAT
Where the far elm-tree shadows flood
Dark patches in the burning grass,
The cows, each with her peaceful cud,
Lie waiting for the heat to pass.
From somewhere on the slope near by
Into the pale depths of the noon
A wandering thrush slides leisurely
His thin revolving tune.
In intervals of dreams I hear
The cricket from the droughty ground;
The grasshoppers spin into mine ear
A small innumerable sound.
I lift mine eyes sometimes to gaze:
The burning sky-line blinds my sight:
The woods far off are blue with haze:
The hills are drenched in light.
And yet to me not this or that
Is always sharp or always sweet;
In the sloped shadow of my hat
I lean at rest, and drain the heat;
Nay more, I think some blessSd power
tIath brought me wandering idly here:
In the full furnace of this hour
hly thoughts grow keen and clear.
28(; FOUIT READER
STORY OF ABSALOM
So the people went out into the field against
Israel: and the battle was in the wood of
Eplraim; wlere tle 1,eople of Israel were slain
before the servants ,f David, anal there was there
a great .laughter that day of twenty thousand
men. For the battle was there scattered over
the face of all the country: and the wood de-
voured nmre people tlmt day than tle sword
devourel.
And Absalom met the servants of David.
And Absalom rode ui,,_,n a lnule, aml the mule
went under tle thick 1,oughs ,f a great oak, and
his head cauglt lold of the oak, and le was
taken up between the heaven and the earth;
and the mule that was under him went away.
And a certain man saw it, and told Joab, and
said, Behold, I saw Absaloln hanged in an oak.
And .loal said unto tle man that told him,
And, 1,ehold, thou sawest hiln, and why didst
thou not smite lim there to the ground? and I
would have given thee ten shekels of silver, and
a girdle.
And the man said unto Joab, Though I should
receive a thousand shekels of silver in mine
STORY OF ABSALOM 287
hand, yet would I not put forth mine hand
against the king's son: for in our hearing the
king charged thee anal .kl,ishai and Ittai, saying,
Beware that none touch the young man
Absalom. Otherwise I should l,ave wrought
falsehood against mine own life: for there is no
matter hid from the king, and thou thyself
wouldest have set tlyself against me.
Then said Joab, I may not tarry thus with
thee. And he took three darts in his hand, and
thrust them through the heart of Absalom,
while he was yet alive in the midst of the oak.
And ten young men that bare Joab's armour
compassed about and smote Absalom, and slew
him.
And Joab blew the trumpet, and the people
returned from pursuing after Israel: for Joab
held back the people. And they took Absalom,
and cast him into a great pit in the wood, and
laid a very great heap of stones upon him: and
all Israel fled every one to his tent.
And David sat between the two gates: and
the watchman went up to the roof over the gate
unto the wall, and lifted up his eyes, and looked,
and behold a man running alone. And the
watchman cried, and told the king. And the
STORY OF ABSALOSI 289
the young man Absalom safe? And Cushi
answered, The enemies of my lord the king, and
al.1 that rise against thee to do thee hurt, be as
that young man is.
And the king was much moved, and went up
to the chamber over the gate, and wept- and as
he went, thus he said, O my son Absalom, my
son, my son Absalom! would God I had died
for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!
And the victory that day was turned into
mourning unto all the people" for the people
heard say that day how the king was grieved for
his son. And the people gat them by stealth
that day into the city, as people being ashamed
steal away when they flee in battle.
But the king eovered his face, and the king
cried with a loud voice, O my son Absalom, O
Absalom, my son, my son!
II. SACUL, XVIII-XIX.
I SLEPT, and dreamed that life was beauty;
I woke, and found that life was duty.
Was my dream, then, a shadowy lie?
Toil on, brave heart, unceasingly,
And thou shalt find thy dream to be
A noonday light and truth to thee.
HOOPER
_090 FOUtI'I'tI READER
THE BURIAL OF MO,qES
(Read DdTOXOXn', XXXII. 48-50)
]3Y Nebo's lonely mountain,
On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab,
There lies a lonely grave;
And no man knows that sepulchre,
And no man saw it e'er;
For the angels of God upturned the sod,
And laid the dead man there.
That was the grandest funeral
That ever passed on earth;
But no man heard the trampling,
Or saw the train go forth"
Noiselessly as the daylight
Comes when the night is done,
And the crimson streak on oeean's cheek
Grows into the great sun;
]'oiselessly as the spring-time
tter crown of verdure weaves,
And all the trees on all the hills
Open their thousand leaves:
So, without sound of music,
Or voice of them that wept,
Silently down from the mountain's crown
The great procession swept.
THE BURIAL OF MOSES 291
Perchance tile bald old eagle,
On gray Beth-peor's height,
Out of lis lonely eyry
Looked oll the wondrous sight;
Perchance the lion stalking
Still slus tlmt lmllowed Sl.,t ;
For beast and bird lave seen and heard
That which man knoweth ot.
But, when the warrior dietl,
His comrades in the war,
With arms reversed and muffled drums,
Follow lis funeral car;
They show the banners taken,
They tell his 1,attles won,
.knd after him lead his masterless steed,
While peals tlie minute-gun.
Ami,l the noblest of tile lan,l
We lay the sage to rest,
And give the bard an honoured place,
\Vith costly marble dresse,1,
In the great minster transept
?here lights like glories fall,
3_rid the sweet cloir sings, and the organ
rings
Along the emblazoned wall.
ODE WRITTEN IN 1746 293
0 lonely grave in Moab's land!
0 dark Beth-peor's hill!
Speak to these curious hearts of ours,
And teach tlem to be still:
God hath His mysteries of grace,
Ways that we cannot tell;
He hides them deep, like the hi,l,len sleep
Of him He loved so well.
ECIL R_tNCES .ALEXANDER
ODE WRITTEN IN 1746
How sleep the brave who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest[
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Faney's feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there!
WILLIAM COLLINS
294 IOTJRTH READER
THE WRESTLING MATCH
(The archer, a member of the White Company, which was a
troop of five hundred English soldiers of fortune in the pay of
,ne of the Fren.h barons in the Middle Ages, has just arrived
in England bearing an important letter. Incidentally he seeks
re-ruits for the White Company.)
" WHY sit ye all moping by the fireside, like
crows round a dead horse, when there is man's
work to be done within a few leagues of ye!
Out upon you all, as a set of laggards and hang-
backs! By my hilt, I believe that the men of
England are all in France already, and that
what is left behind is in sooth the women
WHE WRESTLING MATCH 295
dressed up in their paltocks and hosen."
"Archer," quoth Hordle John, "you have lied
more than once and more than twice ; for which,
and also because I see much in you to dislike, I
am sorely tempted to lay you upon your back."
"By my hilt, then, I have found a man at
last!" shouted the bowman. "And you are a
better man than I take you for if you can lay
me on my back, mon garb'on. I have won the
prize more times than there are toes to my feet,
and for seven long years I have found no man
in the Company who could make my jerkin
dusty."
"We have had enough bobance and boasting,"
said Hordle John, rising and throwing off his
doublet. "I will show you that there are better
men left in England
France."
"I' faith!" cried
than ever went thieving to
the archer, loosening his
er -kin and eyeing his foeman over 'ith the keeI1
glance of one who is a good judge of manhood.
"I have only once before seen such a body of
a man. By your leave, my red-headed friend,
I should be right sorry to exchange buffets with
you ; and I will allow that there is no man in the
Company who would pull against you on rope;
so let that be salve to your pride. On the
THE WRESTLING MATCH 297
"Then you may bid farewell to your bed,
soldier," said Hordle John.
"Nay, I shall keep the bed, and I shall have
you to France in spite of your teeth, and you
shall live to thank me for it. How shall it be
then, mort enfant ? Collar and elbow, or close-
lock, or catch how you can ?"
"To the devil wth your tricks," said John,
opening and shutting his great red hands.
"Stand forth, and let me clip thee."
"Shalt clip me as best you can, then," quoth
the archer, moving out into the open space and
keeping most wary eye upon his opponent.
He had thrown off his green jerkin, and his
chest -as covered only by a pink silk ]upon, or
undershirt, cut low in the neck and sleeveless.
Hordle John was stripped from his waist
upwards; and his huge body, with his great
muscles swelling out like the gnarled roots of
an oak, towered high above the soldier. The
other, however, though near foot shorter, was
a man of great strength, and there was a gloss
upon his white sn which was wanting in the
heavier limbs of the renegade monk. He was
quick on his feet, too, and skilled at the game;
so that it was clear, from the poise of head and
shine of eye, that he counted the chances to be
298 FOURTH READER
in his favour. It would have been hard that
night, through the whole length of England, to
set up a finer pair in faee of eaeh other.
Big John stood waiting in the eentre, with a
sullen, menacing eye and his red hair in a bristle,
while the areher paced lightly and swiftly to the
right and the left with crooked knee and hancs
advanced. Then with a sudden dash, so swift
and fierce that the eye could scarce follow it, he
flew in upon his man and locked his leg round
him. It was a grip that, between men of equal
strength, would mean a fall; but Hordle John
tore him off from him as he might a rat, and
hurled him aeross the room, so that his head
cracked up against the wooden wall.
"Ma foil" cried the boo-nan, passing his fin-
gers through his curls, "you were not far from
the feather-led then, mon garb'on. A little more
and this good hostel wotfld have a new window."
Nothing daunted, he approaehed his man once
more, but this time with more eaution than be-
fore. With a quick feint, he threw the other off
his guard, and then, bounding upon him, threw
his legs round his waist and his arms round his
bull neck, h the hope of bearing him to the
ground with the sudden shock.
With a bellow of rage, Hordle John queezed
THE WRESTLING MATCH 299
him limp in his huge arms; and then, picking
him up, cast him down upon the floor with a
force that might well have splintered a bone or
two, had not the archer, with the most perfect
coolness, clung to the other's forearms to break
his fall. As it was, he dropped upon his feet
and kept his balance, though it sent a jar
through his frame which set every joint a-creak-
ing.
He bounded back from his perilous foeman;
but the other, heated by the bout, rushed madly
after him, and so gave the practised n'estlcr the
very vantage for which he had planned. As Big
John flung himself upon him, the archer ducked
under the great red hands that clutched for him,
and catching his man round the thighs, hurled
him over his shoulderhelped as much by his
own mad rush as by the trained strength of the
heave. To Alleyne's eye, it was as if John had
taken to himself wings and flotsam. As he
hurtled through the air, with giant limbs revolv-
ing, the lad's heart was in his mouth; for surely
no man had ever yet had such a fall and came
seathless out of it. In truth, hardy as the man
was, his neck had been assuredly broken had he
not pitched head first on the very midriff of the
wandering artist, who was slumbering peacefully
300 FOURTH READER
in the corner, all unaware of these stirring
doings. The luckless limner, thus suddenly
brought out from his dreams, sat up with a
piercing yell, while Hordle John bounded back
into the circle almost as rapidly as he had left
it.
"One more fall, by all the saints!" he cried,
throwing out his arms. "Not I," quoth the
archer, pulling on his clothes. "I have come
well out of the business. I would sooner
wrestle with the great bear of Navarre."
SIR A. CONA_N DOYLE : "The White Company.'
TO THE DANDELION
DEAR common flower, that grow'st beside
the way,
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold,
First pledge of blithesome May,
hich children pluck, and, full of pride,
uphold,
High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they
An Eldorado in the grass have found,
Which not the rich earth's ample round
May match in wealth--thou art more dear to
rfle
Than all the prouder summer-blooms that be.
LOWELL
mcs n CA 301
DICKENS IN THE CAMP
ABOVE the pines the moon was slowly drifting,
The river sang below;
The dim Sierras, far beyond, uplifting
Their minarets of snow.
The roaring camp-fire, with rude humour,
painted
The ruddy tints of health
On haggard face and forra that drooled and
fainted
In the fierce race for wealth;
Till one arose, and from his pack's scant
treasure
A hoarded volume drew,
And cards were dropped from hands of
listless leisure
To hear the tale anew.
And then, while round them shadows
gathered faster,
And as the firelight fell,
He read aloud the book wherein the Master
Had writ of "Little Nell."
302 FOURTH READER
Perhaps 'twas boyish fancy,--for the reader
Was youngest of them all,-
But, as he read, from clustering pine and
cedar
A silence seemed to fall;
The fir trees, gathering closer in the shadows,
Listened in every spray,
While the whole camp, with "Nell" on
English meadows,
Wandered and lost their way.
And so in mountain solitudes---o'ertaken
As by some slell divine--
Their cares dropped from them like the
needles shaken
From out the gusty pine.
Lost is that camp and wasted all its fire"
And he who wrought that spell?--
Ah! towering i, ine and stately Kentish spire,
Ye have one tale to tell!
Lost is that camp, but let its fragrant story
Blend with the breath that thrills
With hopvines' incense all the pensive glory
That fills the Kentish hills.
THE DEATH OF NELSON 303
And on that grave where English oak, and
holly,
And laurel wreaths entwine,
Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly,-
This spray of Western pine!
BET
THE DEATH OF NELSON
IT had been part of Nelson's pra3"er , that the
British fleet might be distinguished by hulnanity
in the victory whieh he expected. Setting an
example himself, he twice gave orders to eee
firing on the Redoubtable, supposing that she
had struck, because her guns were silent; for, as
she earried no flag, there was no means of
instantly ascertaining the faet. From this slip,
which he had thus twice spared, he received his
death. A_ ball fired from her mizzen-top, which,
in the then situation of the two vessels, was
not more than fifteen yards from that part of
the deek where he was standing, struek the
epaulet on his left shoulder, about a quarter
after one, just in the heat of action. He fell
upon his faee, on the spot whieh was eovered
with his poor seeretary's blood. Hardy, who
was a few steps from him, turning round, saw
304 FOURTH READER
three men raising him up. "They have done
for me at last, Hardy," said he. "I hope not,"
cried Hardy. " Yes," he replied, "my backbone
is shot through." Yet even now, not for a
moment losing his presence of mind, he observed,
as they were carrying him down the ladder, that
the tiller ropes, which hd been shot away, were
not yet replaced, and ordered that new ones
shouM be rove immediately" then, that he might
not be seen by the crew, he took out his hand-
kerchief, and covered his face and his stars.
Had he but concealed these badges of honour
from the enemy, England, perhaps, would not
have had cause to receive with sorrow the news
of the battle of Trafalgar.
The cockpit was crowded with wounded and
dying men, over whose bodies he was with some
difficulty conveyed, and laid upon a pallet in
the mid.-:hipmen's berth. It was soon perceived,
upon examination, that the wound was mortal.
This, however, was concealed from all except
Captain Hardy, the chaplain, and the medical
attendants. He himself being certain, from the
sensation in his back and the gush of blood he
felt momently within his breast, that no human
care could avail him, insisted that the surgeon
should leave him and attend to those to whom
DEATH OF h'ELSON 305
he might be useful; "for," said he, "you can
do nothing for me." All that could be done was
to fan him with paper, and frequently to give
him lemonade to alleviate his intense thirst.
He was in great pain, and expressed much
anxiety for the event of the action, which now
began to declare itself. As often as a ship
struck, the crew of the Victory hurrahed ; and at
each hurrah, a visible expression of joy gleamed
in the eyes and marked the countenance of the
dying hero. But he became impatient to see
Hardy; and as that officer, though often sent
for, could not leave the deck, Nelson feared that
some fatal cause prevented him, and repeatedly
cried, "Will no one bring Hardy to me? He
must be killed! He is surely dead!"
An hour and ten minutes elapsed from the
time when Nelson received his wound, before
Hardy could come to him. They shook han,ls
in silence, Hardy in vain struggling to suppress
the feelings of that most painful and yet
sublime moment. " Well, Hardy," said Nelson,
"how goes the day with us?" "Very well,"
replied Hardy" "ten ships have struck, but five
of the van have tacked and show an intention
to bear down upon the Victory. ! have called
two or three of our fresh ships round, and have
30(; FOURTH READER
no doubt of giving them a drubbing." " I hope,"
said Nelson, " none of our ships have struck."
Hardy answered, "There is no fear of that."
Theli, and not till then, Nelson spoke of him-
self. " I am a dead man Ha 13, said he; I
am going fast; it will be all over with me
soon." Ilar, ly observe,l that he hoped Mr.
Beatty eoul,l yet hold out some prospect of life.
" Oh, no," he replied; " it is impossible. My
back is slmt through. Beattv will tell you
Hardy then once more slook lmnds with lfim,
and.with a heart almost bursting, hastened upon
deck.
By this time all feeling below the breast w
gone, a,l Nelson, laving made the surgeon
ascertain this, said t, him'"You know I am
gone. I knov it. I feel something rising in my
breast," putting lis lmnd on his left side,
"wlich tells me so." An,l upon Beatty's inquir-
ing whether ]is pain was very great, he replied,
it was so great that he wished he was dead.
"Yet," he added in a lower voice, " one would
like to live a little longer.to ["
('aptain Hardy, some rifty minutes after he
had left the cockpit, returned, and again taking
the hand of his dying friend and commander,
congratulated him on having gained a complele
before the possibility of their invading our shores
could again be contemplated. It was not, there-
fore, from any selfish refleetion upon the
magnitude of our loss that we mourned for him ;
the general sorrow was of a higher character.
The people of England grieved that the funeral
ceremonies, and public monuments, and posthu-
mous rewards, were all that they could now
bestow upon him whom the king, the legislature
and the nation would have alike delighted to
honour; whom every tongue would have blessed;
whose presence in every village through which
he might have passed would have awakened the
church bells, have given school-boys a holiday,
have drawn children from their sports to gaze
upon him, and "old men from the chimney-
corner" to look upon lX*elson ere they died.
The victory of Trafalgar was celebrated, indeed,
with the usual forms of rejoicing, but they were
without joy; for such already was the glory of the
British navy, through l'elson's surpassing genius,
that it scarcely seemed to receive any addition
from the most signal victory that ever was
achieved upon the seas. The
this mighty fleet, by which all
schemes of France were totally frustrated, hardly
appeared to add to our security and strength;
destruction of
the maritime
WATERLOO
WATERLOO
THERE WaS a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave
men ;
3_ thousand hearts beat happily ; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell;
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a
rising knell!
Did ye not hear it?mNo; 'twas but the wind,
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ;
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined ;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure
meet
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet.
But hark !--that heavy sound breaks in once
more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat ;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
Arm! arm! it is--it is--the cannon's opening
roar !
312 FOURTH READER
Within a windowed niche of that high hall
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear
That sound, the first amidst the festival,
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear;
And when they smiled because he deemed it
near,
His heart more truly knew that peal too well
Which stretched his father on a bloody bier,
And roused the vengeance blood alone could
quell:
He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting,
fell.
Ahl then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ;
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking
sighs
Which ne'er might be repeated: who could
guess
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn
could rise !
And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
WATERLOO 3 13
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
And the deep thunder peal on peal after;
And near, the beat of the alarming drum
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star;
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb,
Or whispering, with white lips--"The foe! They
come ! they come !"
And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering"
rose,
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon
foes :-
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills
Savage and shrill! But with the breath which
fills
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring which in.tils
The stirring memory of a thousand )'ears,
And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clans-
man's ears !
And Ardennes waves above them her green
leaves,
Dewy with Nature's tear-drops, as they pass,
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,
Over the unreturning brave,--alas !
314 FOURTH READER
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
Of living valour, rolling on the foe,
And burning with high hope, shall moulder
cold and low.
Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
Last eve in Beauty's circle 1,roudly gay,
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,
The morn the mar.-_halling in arms,--the day
]3attle's magnificently stern array [
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when
rent
The earth is covered thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and
pent,
Rider and hurse,friend, foe,in one red burial
blent!
BYROn" : "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage."
SHOW me the man you honour ; I know by that
symptom better thall by ally other, what kind
of a man you are yourself; for you show me
what 3-our ideal of manhood is, what kind of a
man you long to be.
CARLYLE
THE FOUR-HORSE RACE 315
THE FOUR-HORSE RACE
THE great event of the day, however, was to be
the four-horse race, for which three teams were
entered--one from the mines, driven by Nixon,
Craig's friend, a citizens' team, and Sandy's.
The race was really between the miners' team
and that from the woods, for the citizens' team,
though made up of speedy horses, had not been
driven much together, and knew neither their
driver nor each other. In the miners' team
were four bays, very powerful, a trifle heavy
perhaps, but well matched, perfectly trained,
316 FOURTH READER
and perfectly handled by their driver. Sandy
had his long rangy roans, and for leaders, a pair
of half-broken pinto bronchos. The pintos,
caught the summer before upon the Alberta
prairies, were fleet as deer, but wicked and
uncertain. They were Baptiste's special care
and pride. If they would only run straight,
there was little doubt that they would carry the
roans and themselves to glory; but one could
not ell the moment they might bolt or kick
things to pieces.
Being the only non-partisan in the crowd, I
was asked to referee. The race was about half
a mile and return, the first and last quarters
being upon the ice. The course, after leaving
the ice, led up from the river by long, easy
slope to the level above; and at the further end
curved somewhat sharply around the Old Fort.
The otly condition attaching to the race was,
that the teams should start from the scratch,
make the turn of the Fort, and finish at the
scratch. There were no vexing regulations as
to fouls. The man making the foul would find
it necessary to reckon with the crowd, which
was considered sufficient guarantee for a fair and
square race. Owing to the hazards of the
course the result would depend upon the skill of
THE FOUR-HORSE RACE 319
But Nixon knew what he was about and was
simply steadying his team for the turn. The
event proved his wisdom, for in the turn the
leading team left the track, lost a moment or
two in the deep snow, and before they could
regain the road, the bays had swept superbly
past, leaving their rivals to follow in the rear.
On came the pintos, stly nearing the Fort.
Surely at that pace they cannot make the turn.
But Sandy knows his leaders. They have their
eyes upon the teams in front and need no touch
of rein. Without the slightest change in speed
the nimble-footed bronchos round the turn,
hauling the big roans after them, and fall in be-
hind the citizens' team, which is regaining
steadily the ound lost in the turn.
And now the struggle is for the bridge over
the ravine. The bays in front, running with
mouths wide open, are evidently doing their best
behind them, and every moment nearing them,
but at the limit of their speed, too, come the
lighter and fleeter citizens' team; while opposite
their driver are the pintos, pulling hard, eager
and fresh. Their temper is too uncertain to
send them to the front;they run well following,
but when leading they cannot be trusted, and
besides, a broncho hates a bridge; so Sandy
FOURTH RE.DER
holds them where they are, waiting and hoping
for his chance after the bridge is crossed. Foot
by foot the citizens' team creep up upon the
flank of the bays, with the pintos in turn hug-
ging them closely, till it seems as if the three, if
none slackens, must strike the bridge together;
and this will mean destruction to one at least.
This danger Sandy perceives, but he dare not
check his leaders.
Suddenly, within a few yards of the bridge,
Baptiste throws himself upon the lines, wrenches
them out of Sandy's hands, and with a quick
swing, forces the pintos doom the steep side of
the ravine, which is almost sheer ice with a thin
coat of snow. It is a daring course to take, for
the ravine, though not deep, is full of under-
growth and is partially closed up by a brush
heap at the further end. But with a yell,
Baptiste hurls his four horses doom the slope
and into the undergrowth. "A_llons, mes enfants !
Courage ! rite ! rite!" cries their driver, and
nobly do the pintos respond. Regardless of
bushes and brush heaps, they tear their way
through; but as they emerge, the hind bob-
sleigh catches a root, and with a crash the
sleigh is hurled high into the air. Baptiste's
cries ring out high and shrill as ever, encourag-
oo
_, FOURTH READER
A SONG OF SPRING
BLESS the Lord, O my soul. O Lord my God,
thou art very great; thou art clothed with
honour and majesty.
Who coverest thyself with light as q_th a
garment" who stretchest out the heavens like a
curtain"
Who layeth the beams of his chambers in
the waters" who maketh the clouds his chariot"
who walketh upon the wings of the wind"
He sendeth the springs into the valleys,
which run among the hills.
They give drink to every beast of the field"
the wild asses quench their thirst.
Bv them shall the fowls of the heaven
have their habitation, whieh sing among the
branches.
He watereth the hills from his ehambers"
the earth is satisfied with the fruit of thy works.
He eauseth the grass to grow for the cattle,
and herb for the serviee of man" that he may
bring forth food out of the earth.
RULE, BRITANNIA 323
O Lord, how manifold are thy works! In
wisdom hast thou made them all:the earth is
full of thy riches.
PSLra CIV.
RULE, BRITANNIA
WHEN Britain first, at Heaven's command,
Arose from out the azure main,
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sung this strain"
Pule, Britannia, rule the waves!
Britons never will be slaves!
The nations not so blest as thee
Must in their turns to tyrants fall,
While thou shalt flourish great aud free
The dread and envy of them all.
Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
More dreadful from each foreign stroke;
As the loud blast that tears the skies
Serves but o root thy native oak.
Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame;
All their attempts to bend thee down
Will but arouse thy generous ttame,
But work their woe and thy renown.
324 :FOURTH READER
To thee belongs the rural reign;
Thy cities shall with commerce shine;
All thine shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles thine.
The Muses, still with Freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair;
Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crowned,
And manly hearts to guard the fair
Rule, Britannia, rule the waves!
Britons never will be slaves!
JAMES THOMSON
FUNERAL OF WELLINGTON
WHo is he that cometh, like an honour'd
guest,
With banner and with music, with soldier
and with priest,
With a nation weeping, and breaking on my
rest ?
Mighty Seaman, this is he
Was great by land as thou by sea.
Thine island loves thee well, thou famous man,
The greatest sailor since our world began.
FUI,'ERAL OF WELLINGTON 325
Now, to the roll of muffled drums,
To thee the greatest soldier comes;
For this is he
Was grat by land as thou by sea;
His flies were thine; he kept us free;
0 give him welcome, this is he
Worthy of our gorgeous rites,
And worthy to be laid by thee;
For this is England's greatest son,
He that gain'd a hundred fights,
Nor ever lst an English gun;
Remember him who led )'our hosts;
He bad you guard the sacred coasts.
Your cannons moulder on the seaward wall;
His voice is silent in your council-hall
For ever; and whatever tempests lour
For ever silent; even if they broke
In thunder, silent; yet remember all
He spoke among you, and the Man who
spoke,
Who never sold the truth to serve the hour,
Nor palter'd with Eternal God for power;
Who let the turbid streams of rumour flow
Thro' either babbling world of high and low;
Whose life was work, whose language rife
With rugged maxims hewn from life;
326 FOURT READER
Who never spoke against a foe:
Whose eighty winters freeze with one rebuke
All great self-seekers trampling on the right:
Truth-teller was our England's Alfred named;
Truth-lover was our English Duke;
Whatever record leap to life,
He never shall be shamed.
TENNYSON
IN A CAVE WITH A WHALE
JUST when the delightful days were beginning
to pall upon us, a real adventure befell us,
which, had we been attending strictly to
business, we should not have encountered. For
a week previous we had been cruising constantly
without ever seeing a spout, except those be-
longing to whales out at sea, whither we knew it
was folly to follow them. At last, one afternoon
as we were listlessly lolling (half-asleep, except
the look-out man) across the thwarts, we
suddenly came upon a gorge between two cliffs
that we must have passed before several times
unnoticed. At a certain angle it opened,
disclosing a wide sheet of water extending a
long distance ahead. I put the helm up, and
we ran through the passage, finding it about a
IN A CAVE WITt[ A WHALE 327
boat's length in width and several fathoms deep,
though overhead the cliffs nearly came together
in places. The place was new to us, and our
languor was temporarily dispelled, and we
paddled along, taking in every feature of the
shores with keen eyes that let nothing escape.
After we had gone on in this placid manner for
maybe an hour, we suddenly came to a stupen-
dous cliff--that is, for those parts--rising almost
sheer from the water for about a thousand feet.
Of itself it would not have arrested our attention,
but at its base was a semicircular opening, like the
mouth of a small tunnel. This looked alluring,
so I headed the boat for it, passing through a
deep channel between two reefs which led
straight to the opening. There was ample room
for us to enter, as we had lowered the mast; but
just as we were lassing through, a heave of the
unnoticed swell lifted us unpleasantly near the
crown of this natural arch. Beneath us, at a
great depth, the bottom could be dimly dis-
cerned, the water being of the richest blue
conceivable, which the sun, striking down
through, resolved into some most marvellous
colour-schemes in the path of its rays. A
delicious sense of coolness, after the fierce heat
outside, saluted us as we entered a vast hall,
328 FOUnTtr :RE) DER
whose roof rose to a ninimum height of fort)"
feet, bu in places could not be seen at all. A
sort of diffused light, weak, but sufficient to
reveal the general contour of the place, existed,
let in, I supposed, through some unseen crevices
in the roof or walls. At first, of course, to our
eyes, fresh from the fierce glare outside, the
place seemed wrapped in impenetrable gloom ,
and we dared not stir lest we should run into
some hidden danger. Before many minutes,
however, the gloom lightened as our pupils
enlarged, so that, although the light ras faint,
we could find our way a}out with ease. We
spoke in low tones, for the echoes were so
numerous and resonant that even a whisper
gave back from those massy walls in a series of
recurring hisses, as if a colony of snakes had
been disturbed.
We paddled on into the interior of this vast
cave, finding ever)wvhere the walls rising sheer
from the silent., dark waters, not a ledge or a
crevice where one might gain foothold. Indeed,
in some places there was a considerable over-
hang from above, as if a great dome whose top
was invisible sprang from some level below the
water. We pushed ahead unti! the tin)-semi-
circle of light through which we had entered
WITH A WHALE 329
was only faintly visible; and then, finding there
was nothing to be seen except what we were
already witnessing, unless we cared to go on
into the thick darkness, which extended
apparently into the bowels of the mountain, we
turned and started to go back. Do what we
would, we could not venture to break the
solemn hush that surrounded us, as if we were
shut within the dome of some vast cathedral in
the twilight. So we paddled noiselessly along
for the exit, till stddenly an awful, inexplicable
roar set all our hearts thumping fit to break our
bosoms. Really, the sensation was most painful,
especially as we had nt the faintest idea whence
the noise came or what had produced it. Again
it filled that immense cave with its thunderous
reverberations; but this time all the sting was
taken out of it, as we caught sight of its author.
A goodly bull-humpback had found his way in
after us, and the sound of his spout, exaggerated
a thousand times in the confinement of that
mighty cavern, had frightened us all so that we
nearly lost our breath. So far so good; but,
unlike the old negro though we were " doin'
blame well," we did not " let blame well alone."
The next spout that intruder gave, he was right
alongside of us. This was too much for the
330 FOURTH 1READER
semi-savage instincts of my gallant harpooner,
and before I had time t, shout a caution he had
plunged his weapon deep into old Blowhard's
broad back.
I should like to describe what followed, but,
in tle first place, I hardly know; and, in the
next, even had I been c,,l and collected, my
recollections would soun,l like the ravings of a
fevered dream. For of all the hideous uproars
conceivable, that was, I should think, about the
worst. The big mammal seemed to have gone
fi'antic with the pain of his wound, the surprise
of the attack, and the hampering confinement
in which he found himself. His tremendous
struggles caused such a commotion that our
position could only be compared to that of men
shooting Niagara in a cylinder at night. How
we kept afloat, I do not know. Some one had
the gumption to cut the line, so that by the
radiation of the disturbance we presently found
ourselves close to the wall, and trying to hold
the boat in to it with our finger tips. Would he
never be quiet? we thought, as the thrashing,
banging, and splashing still went on with unfail-
ing vigour. At last, in, I suppose, one supreme
effort to escape, he leaped clear of the water like
a salmon. There was a perceptible hush, during
IN A CAVE WITH A WItALE 331
which we shrank together like unfledged
chickens on a fr,sty night; then, in a never-to-
be-forgotten crash that ought to lmve brought
down the massy r)f, that mountainous carcass
fell. The consequent vi,lent Ul-,leaval ,dr the
water should have smashe, l tlm 1,,,at against the
rocky walls, but that final eatastrol,he was merei-
flfily spared us. I SUl,l,,se tle rel.,ound was
sufficient to keep us a safe distance off.
A perfect silence sueceede,1, during which we
sat speechless, awaiting a resumption of the
elamour. At last Abner broke the heavy silence
by saying: "I doan' see the do'way any too' at
all, sir." He was right. The tide had risen, an,l
that half-moon of light had disappeared, so that
we were now prisoners for many hours, it not
being at all probable that we should be able to
find our way out during the night ebb. Well,
we were not exactly children, to be afraid of the
dark, although there is considerable difference
between the velvety darkness of a dungeon an,l
the clear, fresh night of the open air. Still, as
long as that beggar of a whale would only keep
quiet or leave the premises, we should be fairly
comfortable. We waited and waited until an
hour had passed, and then came to the con-
clusion that our friend was either dead or had
gone out, as he gave no sign of his presence.
That being settled, we anchored the boat, and
lit pipes, preparatory to passing as comfortable a
night as might be under the circumstances, the
only thing troubling 1he being the anxiety of the
skipper on our behalf. Presently the blackness
beneath was lit up by a wide band of phosphoric
light, shed in the wake of no ordinary-sized fish,
probably an immense shark. Another and
another followed in rapid sueeession, until the
depths beneath were all ablaze with brilliant
foot-wide ribbons of green glare, dazzling to the
eye and bewildering to the brain. Oeeasionally
a gentle splash or ripple alongside, or a smart
tap on the bottom of the boat, warned us how
thick the concourse was that had gathered
below. Until that weariness which no terror
is proof again.-_t set in, sleep was impossible, nor
could we keep our anxious gaze from that glow-
ing inferno beneath,, where one would have
thought all the population of Tartarus were
holding ltigh revel. Mercifully, at last we sank
into a fitful slumber, though full)- aware of the
great danger of our position. One upward rush
of any of those ravening monsters, happening to
strike the frail shell of our boat, and a few fleet-
ing seconds would have sufficed for our oblitera-
tion as if we had never been.
IN A CAVE WITIt A WHALE 333
But the terrible night passed away, and once
more we saw the tender, iridescent light stream
into that abode of dread. As the day strength-
ened, we were able to see what was going ou
below, and a grim vision it presented. The
water was literally alive with sharks of enor-
mous size, tearing with never-ceasing energy at
the huge carcass of the whale lying on the
bottom, who had met his fate in a singular but
not unheard-of way. At that last titanic effort
of his he had rushed downward with such ter-
rific force that, striking his head on the bottom,
he had broken his neck. I felt very grieved
that we had lost the chance of securing him;
but it was perfectly certain that before we could
get help to raise him, all that would be left on
his skeleton would be quite valueless to us. So
with such patience as we could command, we
waited near the entrance until the receding ebb
made it possible for us to emerge once more into
the blessed light of day.
FRANK T. BULLEN " "The Cruise of the Cachalot."
FROM toil he wins his spirits light,
From busy day the I, eaeeful night,
Rich, from the very want of wealth,
In heaven's best treasures, peace and health.
(RAY
334 ou READER
THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS
K.xc Fna-cs was a hearty king, and loved
a royal sport,
And one day, as his lions strove, sat looking
on the court ;
The nobles filled the benche.s round, the
ladies by their side,
And 'mongst them Count de Lorge, with one
le hoped to make his 1,ride;
And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that
crowning show,
Valour and love, and a king al,ove, and the
royal beasts below.
Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laugh-
ing jaws;
Thev bit, they. elo'e -- ,, gave blows like beams,
a wind went with their paws.
With wallowing might and stifled roar, the3.
rolled one on auother,
Till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a
thunderous smother ;
The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing
through the air ;
Said Francis, then, "Good gentlemen, we're
better here than there!"
336 FOURTH READER
THE NAVY
(December, 1918)
OtR safety from invasion, our daily bread, every
means whereby we maintain our e.xistence as an
independent people, our unity as an Empire, or
federation of commonwealths and dependen-
cies--all these float from hour to hour upon our
naval defence.
If that defence is neglected, weakened, or
fettered, we should be in continual danger of
subjugation or starvation. We should be forced
to live in continued anxiety. If that naval
defence were ovcrthrowm or outmatched by any
other Navy or by a combination of navies, we
should hold, not merely our possessions, but
our lives and liberties only on sufferance.
ere else in the whole world can such
conditions be paralleled? We have the right to
demand from all other nations, friends and foes
alike, full recognition of these facts. We are
also entitled to point out that this naval
strength that we require, and which we are
determined to preserve, has never been used in
modern history in a selfish and aggressive man-
ner, and that it has, on four separate occasions,
in four separate centuries--against Philip the
TE NAW 337
Second of Spain, Louis the Fourteenth,
Napoleon, and the Kaisermsuccessfully
defended civilization from military tyranny,
and, particularly, preserved the independence
of the Low Countries.
In this greatest of all wars, the British Navy
shielded mighty America from all menace of
serious danger;and, when she resolved to act, it
was the British Navy that transported and
escorted the greater proportion of her armies to
the rescue and deliverance of France.
Our record in a hundred years of unquestioned
naval sway since Trafalgar, proves the sobriety
of our policy and the righteousness of our inten-
tions. Almost the only ports in the world open
freely to the commerce of all nations were those
of our Island. Its possessions and our coaling-
stations were used freely and fully by ships of all
nations. We suppressed the slave trade. We
put down piracy. We put it down again the
other day. Even our coastwise traffic, so
jealously guarded by every Power in the world,
was thrown open to all comers on even terms,
by that ancient people in whose keeping the
world has been wisely ready to intrust the
freedom of the seas.
1. Ho. Wnswor CtrRCmI
338 FOURTH READER
SHAKESPEA RE--A KING
THE folk who lived in Shakespeare's day
And saw that gentle figure pass
By London Bridge, his frequent vay---
They little knew what man he was.
The pointed beard, the courteous mien,
The equal port to high and low,
All this they saw or might have seenq
But not the light behind the brow!
The doublt' modest gray or brown,
The slender sword-hilt's plain device,
OF STUDIES 339
What sign had these for prince or clown ?
Few turned, or none, to scan him twice.
Yet 'twas the king of England's kings!
The rest with all their pomps and trains
Are mouldered, half-remembered things--
'Tis he alone that lives and reigns.
THOM_tS B_ILEY ALDRICH
OF STUDIES
STUDIES serve for delight, for ornament, and
for ability. Their chief use for delight, is in
privateness and retiring; for ornament., is in
discourse; and for ability, is in the judgment
and disposition of business. For expert men ean
execute, and perhaps judge of partieulars, one
by one; but the general eounsels, and the plots,
and marshalling of affairs, eome best from those
that are learned.
To spend too mueh time in studies, is sloth
to use them too much for ornament., is affeeta-
tion ; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is
the humour of a scholar. They perfeet nature
and are perfeeted by experienee: for natural
abilities are like natural plants, that need prun-
ing by study; and studies themselves do give
340 FOURTH READER
forth directions too much at large, except they
be bounded in by experience.
Crafty men contemn studies; simple men
admire them; and wise men use them; for they
teach not their own use; but that is a wisdom
without them, and above them, won by observa-
tion. Read not to contradict and confute; nor
to believe and take for granted ;nor to find talk
and discourse; but to weigh and consider.
Some books are to be tasted, others to be
swallowed, and some few to be chewed and
digested ; that is, some books are to be read only
in parts;others to be read, but not curiously;
and some few to be read wholly, and with
diligence and attention. Some books also may
be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by
others;but that would be only in the less im-
portant arguments and the meaner sort of
books; else distilled books are like common
distilled waters, flashy things.
Reading maketh a full man; conference a
ready man; and xiting an exact man. And,
therefore, if a man write little, he had need
have a good memory; if he confer little, he had
need have present wit;and if he read little,
he had need have much cunning, to seem to
know that he doth not. Fescs B.coN
THE NEST 341
THE NEST
Wm oaken woods with buds are pink,
And new-come birds each morning sing,
When fickle May on Summer's brink
Pauses, and knows not which to fling,
Whether fresh bud and bloom again,
Or hoar-frost silvering hill and plain,
Then from the honeysuckle gray
The oriole with experienced quest
Twitches the fibrous bark away,
The cordage of his hammock nest,
Cheering his labour with a note
Rich as the orange of his throat.
342 FOURTH READER
High o'er the loud and dusty road
The soft gray cup in safety swings,
To brim ere August with its load
Of downy breasts and throbbing wings,
O'er which the friendly elm-tree heaves
An emerald roof with sculptured eaves.
Oh, happy life, to soar and sway
Above the life by mortals led,
Singing the merry months away,
Master, not slave, of daily bread,
And, when the Autumn comes, to flee
Wherever sunshine beckons thee!
J. R. LowELl,
HOW THEY BROU(HT THE GOOD
NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX
I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;
I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all
three ;
" Good speed !" cried the watch, as the gate-
bolts undrew ;
"Speed !" echoed the wall to us galloping
through ;
Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to
rest,
And into the midnight we galloped abreast.
GOOD :NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX 343
Not a word to each other; we kept the great
pace
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never
changing our place;
I turned in my saddle and made its girths
tight,
Then shortened each stirrup, and set the
pique right,
Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker
the bit,
Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.
'Twas mvonset at starting; but while we drew
near
Lokeren, the cocks crew, and twilight dawned
clear ;
At Boom, a great yellow star came out to
see,
At Dfiffeld, 'twas morning as plain as
eould be ;
And from Meeheln church-steeple we heard
the half-chime,
So, Joris broke silence with, " Yet there is
time !"
At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And against him the cattle stood black
every one
344 FOURTH READER
To stare thro' the mist at us galloping past,
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,
With resolute shoulders, each butting away
The haze, as some bluff river headland its
spray"
And his low head and crest, just one sharp
ear bent back
For my voice, and the other pricked ou on
his track ;
And one eii, e's black intelligence--ever that
glance
O'er its white edge at me, his own master,
askance !
And the thick heavy spume-flakes which
aye an,1 anon
His fierce Zips shook upwards in galloping on.
By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris,
"Stay spur !
Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not
in her,
We'll remember at A_ix "--for one heard the
quick wheeze
Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and
staggering knees,
And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the
flank,
GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX 345
As down on her haunches she shuddered and
sank.
So w were left galloping, Joris and I,
Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in
the sky ;
The broad sun above laughe, l a pitiless
laugh,
'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright
stubble like chaff;
Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang
white,
And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in
sight!"
"How they'll greet us!"mand all in a moment
his roan
Rolled neck and croup ,ve,', lay ,lea,1 as a
stone ;
And there was my Poland t( },ear the whole
weight
Of the news, which alone could save Aix
from her fate,
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to
the brim,
And with circles of ed for his eye-sockets'
rim.
346 FOURTH READER
Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster
let fall,
Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and
all,
Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his
ear,
Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse
without peer ;
Clapped my liands, laughed and sang, any
n,is, 1,ad or good,
Till at h.ngth into Aix Roland galloped and
stoo, l '.
And all I remember isfriends flocking
rotlnd,
As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on
the ground ;
An,l no voice but was praising this Roland
of mine,
.s I 1.tared down his throat our last measure
of wine,
Which l the burgesses voted by common eon-
sent)
Was no more than his due who brought good
news fi'om Ghent.
]ROWXINO
LONDON 347
i
LONDON
THE huge city perlmi, s never impressed the
imagination more than when approaching it by
night on the top of a coach you saw its number-
less lights flaring, as Tennyson says "like a
dreary dawn." The most impressive approach
is now by the river through the infinitude of
docks, quays, and shipping. London is not a
city, but a province of brick an,l stone. Hardly
even from the top of St. I'aul's or of the hlonu-
ment can anything like a view of the city as a
whole be obtained. It is indispensable, how-
ever, to make one or the other of those ascents
when a clear day can be found, not so much
because the view is fine, as because you will
get a sensation of vastness and multitude not
easily to be forgotten. There is or was, not
long ago, a point on the ridge that connects
348 FOURTI IEkDER
ttampstead with ttigh.ate from vhich, as you
luuked over London to the Surrey IIills beyond,
the nodern Babylon presented something like
tte aspect of a city. The ancient Babylon may
trove vied with London in circumference, but
the greater part of its area was occupied by
open spaces; the modern Babylon is a dense
mass of humanity. London with its suburbs
has five millions of inhabitants, and still it
grows. It grows through the passion which
seems to be seizing mankind everywhere, on
this continent as well as in Europe, for emigra-
tion from the country into the town, not only
as the centre of wealth and employment, but as
the centre of excitement, and, as the people
ti,lly fancy, of e.joyment. The Empire and
the commercial relations of England draw rep-
resentatives of trading eommunities or subject
races from all parts of the globe, and the faces
md costumes of the Hin,lo,), the Parsi, the
Lascar, aml the ubiquitous Chinaman, mingle
in the motley crowd with the merchants of
Europe and kmeriea. The streets of London
are, in this respect, to the modern, what the
great Plaee of Tyre must have been to the
ancient world. But pile Carthage on Tyre,
Venice on Carthage, Amsterdam on Venice, and
LO'DON 349
you will not make the equal, or anything near
the equal, of London. Here is the great mart
of the world, to which the best and richest prod-
ucts are brought from every land and clime,
so that if you have put money in your purse
you may command every object of utility or
fancy which grows or is made anywhere, with-
out going beyond the circuit of the great cos-
mopolitan city. Parisian, German, Russian,
Hindoo, Japanese, Chinese industry is as much
at your service here, if you have the all-compel-
ling talisman in your pocket, as in Paris, Berlin,
St. Petersburg, ]3enares, Yokohama or Pekin.
That London is the great distributing centre cf
the world is shown by the fleets of the carrying
trade of which the countless masts rise along
her wharves and in her docks. She is also the
bank of the wcrld. But we are reminded of
the vicissitudes of enmmeree and tt,e l,recarious
tenure by which its empire is held when we
consider that the bank of the world in the
middle of the last century was Amsterdam.
The first and perhaps the greatest marvel of
London is the commissariat. How can the five
millions be regularly supplied with food, and
everything needful to life, even with such
things as milk and those kinds of fruit which
350 FOVTH s.ADER
can hardly be left beyond a day? Here again
we see reason for concluding that though there
may be fraud and scamping in the industrial
world, genuine lroduction, faithful service,
di.ciplined energy, and skill in organization
cannot wholly have departed from the earth.
Lond,)n is not only well fed, but well supplied
with water and well drained. Vastly and
densely peopled as it is, it is a healthy city.
Yet the limit of lracticable extension seems to
be nearly reached. It becomes a question how
the increasing nmltitude shall be supplied not
only with food and water but with air.
There is something very impressive in the
roar of the va.st city. It is a sound of a Niagara
cf human life. It ceases not except, during the
hour or two before dawn, when the last carriages
have rolled away from the balls and the market
(.arts have hardly begun to come in. Only in
returning froln a very late ball is the visitor
likely to have a chance of seeing what Words-
worth saw from Westminster Bridge-
" Earth has not anything to show more fair;
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty;
This ('it), now doth, like a garment, wear
LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT 351
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lio
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the open air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill ;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep I
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God!the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!"
GOLDWIN SMITH; 'A Trip to England. '
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.
352 FOURTH READER
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.
GOD IS OUR REFUGE
GOD is our refuge and strength,
A very present help in trouble.
Therefore will we not fear, though the earth
do change,
And though the mountains be moved in
the heart of the seas;
Though the waters thereof roar and be
troubled,
Though the mountains shake with the
swelling thereof.
THE LORD OF HOSTS IS WITH US;
THE GOD OF JACOB IS OUR REFUGE.
There is a river, the streams whereof make
glad the city of God,
The holy place of the tabernacles of the
Most tligh.
God is in the midst of her; she shall not be
moved :
GOD IS OUR REFUGE 353
God shall help her at the dawn of
morning.
The nations raged, the kingdoms were moved:
He uttered his voice, the earth melted.
THE LORD OF ItOSTS IS WITII US;
THE GOD OF JACOB IS OUR REFUGE.
Come, behold the vorks of the LORD,
What desolations he hath made in the
earth.
He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the
earth ;
He breaketh the bow, and eutteth the spear
in sunder ;
He burneth the chariots in the fire.
Be still, and know that I am G,)d:
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the emh.
THE LORD OF HOSTS IS WITH US;
THE GOD OF JACOB IS OUR REFUGE.
t's. XLVI.
A. GOOD man out of the good treasure of the leart
bringeth forth good things: and an evil man
out of the evil treasure bringeth fi)rth evil things.
But I say unto you that every idle word that
men shall speak, they shall give account thereof
in the day of judgment. ST. hIATTHEW, XII.
THE UNITY OF OUR :EMPIRE 355
THE UNITY OF OUR ESIPIRE
(Toronto, :fay, 1917)
I come into Canada to a great free country,
composed not only of friends, but of country-
men. We think the same thoughts, we live in
the same civilization, we belong to the same
Empire, and if anything could have cemented
more closely the bonds of Empire, if anything
could have made us feel that we were indeed of
one flesh and one blood, with one common his-
tory behind us, if anything could have cemented
these feeling, it is the consciotLness that now
for two years and a half we have been engaged
in this great struggle, in which, I thank God, all
North America is now at one. We have been
engaged in this great struggle through these two
years and a half, fighting together, when neces-
sary making all our sacrifices in common,
working together toward a common and vic-
torious end, which I doubt not will crown our
efforts.
May I, as a countryman of yours, though not
a citizen of Toronto, may I say how profoundly
the whole Empire feels the magnitude of the
356 FOURTH READER
effort you have made, and how we value it for
itself and for an example to all posterity, an
evidence to the whole world of what the British
Empire really means, not only for the whole of
that civilized body of nations of which we form
no inconsiderable part.
These are proud thoughts; they will some
day be proud memories. We are associated
together in a struggle never equalled yet in the
histo- of the world, and I rejoice to think that
in that struggle on which posterity will look
back as the greatest effort made for freedom
and civilization, the British Empire in every
one of its constituent parts, and surely not least
in ths great Dominion, in this proud Province,
and in this city not least, has shown what the
unity of the Empire really means, and how vain
were the anticipations of those who thought
that we were constituted but a fair-weather
Empire, to be dissolved into thin atoms at the
first storm that should burst upon it.
We have, on the contrary, shown that the
more storms beat on the fabric of our Empire
the more firmly it held together, and were so
far from shaking it in any-single part. Events
that have recently occurred, that are oeeurring,
and that will occur in the future, q_ll join
THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS 357
every part of it together for ever in memories
which will remain with us, the actors in this
great drama, until we die, and which we shall
be able to hand to our children and our grand-
children as long as civilization exists.
RT. tION. A. J. BAI,FOUR
THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS
LAST night among his fellows rough
He jested, quaffed, and swore :
A drunken private of the Buffs,
Who never looked before.
To-day, beneath the foeman's frown,
He stands in Elgin's place,
Ambassador from Britain's crown,
And type of all her race. .
Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught,
Bewildered and alone,
A heart, with English instinct fraught,
He yet can call his own.
Ay! tear his body limb from limb;
Bring cord, or axe, or flame !-
lie only knows that not through him
Shall England come to shame.
358 FOURTH READER
Far Kentish hopfields round him seemed
Like dreams to come and go ;
Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed
One sheet of living snow :
The smoke above his father's door
In gray, soft eddyings hung :-
Must he then watch it rise no more,
Doomed by himself, so young?
Yes, Honour calls !--with strength like steel
He i, ut the vision by"
Let dusky Indians whine and kneel;
An English lad must die!
And thus, with eyes that would not shrink,
With knee to man unbent,
Unfaltering on its dreadful brink
To his red grave he went.
Vain, mightiest fleets of iron framed;
Vain, those all-shattering guns;
Unless proud England keep, untamed,
The strong heart of her sons!
So, let his name through Europe ring
A man of mean estate
Who died, as firm as Sparta's king,
Because his soul was great.
F. H. Do
THE REVENGE 359
THE REVENGE
A Ballad o the Fleet, 1591
AT Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville
lay,
And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying
from far away :
"Spanish ships of war at seal we have sighted
fifty-three !"
Then sware Lord Thomas Howard : "'Fore God
I am no coward;
But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are
out of gear,
360 FOURTH READER
And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but
follow quick.
We are six shil,s of the line; can we fight with
fiflv-three?"
Then spake Sir Piehard Grenville" "I know
you are no coward;
You fly them fi)r a moment to fight with them
again.
But I've ninety men aim more that are lying
sick aslore.
I should count myself the coward if I left them,
my L,,rd Howard,
To tlese Inquisition dogs and the devildoms
of bpain."
o Lord Howard past away with five ships of
war that day,
Till he nelted like a cloud in tim silent sum-
met heaven ;
But Sir Pdehard bore in hand all his sick men
from the land
Very carefully and slow,
Men of Bideford in Devon,
.knd we laid them on the ballast down below;
For we brought them all aboard,
THE REVENGE 361
And they blest him in their pain, that they
were not left to Spain,
To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory
of the Lord.
He had only a hundred seamen to work th
ship and to figlt,
And he sailed away from Flores till tlm Si,aniard
came in sight,
With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the
weather bow.
"Shall we fight or shall ve fly'?
Good Sir Richard, tell us n,w,
:For to fight is but t, ,lie[
There'll be little of us left by the time this sun
be set."
And Sir Richard said again: "We. be all
English men.
Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children
of the devil,
For I never turned my back upon Don or
devil yet."
Sir Richard spoke and he laughed, and we
roared a hurrah, and so
The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart
of the foe,
362 :FOURTH READER
With her hundred fighters on deck, and her
ninety sick below ;
For half of their fleet to the right and half to
the left were seen,
And the little Revenge ran on thro' the long
" sea-lane between.
Thousands of their soldiers looked down from
their decks md laughed,
Thousands of their seamen made mock at the
mad little craft
Running on and on, till delayed
By their mountain-like San Philip tl,at, of fifteen
hundred tons,
And up-shadowing high above us with her
yawning tiers of guns,
Took the breath from our sails, and we .tayed.
And while now the great San Philip hung
above us like a cloud
Whence the thunderbolt will fall
Long. and loud,
Four galleons drew away
From the Spanish fleet that day,
And two upon the larboard and two upon the
starboard lay,
And the battle-thunder broke from them all.
363
But anon the great ,an Philip, she bethought
herself and went
Having that within her womb that had left
her ill content;
And the rest they came aboard us, and they
fought us hand to hand,
For a dozen times they came with their 1,ikes
and musqueteers,
And a dozen times we shook 'era off as a
that shakes his ears
When he leaps from the water to tle land.
And the sun went down, and the stars came out
far over the summer sea,
But never a moment ceased the fight of the me
and the fifty-three.
Ship after ship, the whole night long, their
high-built galleons came,
Ship after ship, the whole night long, with
her battle-thunder and flame;
Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew
back with her dead and her shame.
For some were sunk and many were shattered,
and so could fight us no more
God of battles, was ever a battle like this in
the world before?
364 FOURTH READER
For he said : "Fight on ! fight on !"
Tho' his vessel was all but a vreck;
And it chanced that, when half of the short
summer night was gone,
With a grisly wound to be dret lie had left
the deck,
But a bullet struck him that was dressing it
suddenly dead,
And himself he was wounded agin in the side
and the head,
And he said- "Fight on [ fight on
And the night went down, and the sun smiled
out far over the summer sea,
And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay
round us all in a ring;
But they dared not touch us again, for they
feared that we still coui,l stin-
So they watched what the end would be.
And we had not fought them in vain,
But in perilous plight were we,
Seen forty of our poor hundred were slain,
And half of the rest of us maimed for life
In the crash of the cannonades and the des-
perate strife ;
And the sick men down in the hold were most
of them stark and cold,
THE REVENGE 365
And the pikes were all broken or bent, and the
powder was all of it spent;
And the masts and the rigging were lying over
the side ;
But Sir Richard cried in his Englisl prMe:
"We have fought such a fight for a day and
a night
As may never be fought again!
We have won great gl,ry, my men I
And a day less or more
At sea or ashore,
We die--does it matter when?
Sink me the slil , Master (unnersink her,
split her in twain[
Fall into the hands of Go, l, not into the lmnds
of Spain !"
An,l the gunner said: "Ay, ay," but tlm sea-
men made reply"
"We have children, we lmve wives,
Anal the Lord hath spared our lives.
We will make the bpaniard promise, if we yield,
to let us go;
We shall live to fight again and to strike another
blow."
And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded
to the foe.
366 FORT READER
And the stately Spanish men to their flagship
bore him then,
Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir
ichard caught at last,
And they praised him to his face with their
courtly foreign grace ;
But he rose upon their decks, and he cried:
" I have fought for Queen and Faith like a
valiant man and true;
I have only done my duty as a man is bound
to do : .
With a joyful spirit I Sir lichard Grenxille
die!"
And he fell upon their decks, and he died.
And they stared at the dead that had been so
valiant and true,
An,1 had holden the power and glory of Spain
so cheap
That he dared her with one little ship and his
English few ;
Was he devil or man ? He was devil for aught
they knew,
But they sank his body with honour down
into the deep,
And they manned the Revenge with a swarthier
alien crew,
THE REVENGE 367
And away she sailed with her loss and longed
for her own;
When a wind from the lands they had ruined
awoke from sleep,
And the water began to heave and the weather
to moan,
And or ever that evening ended a great gale
blew,
And a wave like the wave that is raised by an
earthquake grew,
Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and
their masts and their flags,
And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-
shattered navy of Spain,
And the little Revee herself went down by
the island crags
To be lost evermore in the main.
TENNYSON
WHE a deed is done for Freedom, through the
broad earth's aching breast
Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on
from east to west.
LOWEL
3(;9
Now is the high-tide of the year,
And whatever of life hath ebbed away
Comes floding back with a ripply cheer,
Into every bare inlet and creek and bay ;
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,
We are happy now because God wills it;
No matter how barren the past may have been,
'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green ;
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell ;
We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help
knowing
That skies are clear and grass is growing;
The breeze comes whi.-:pering in our ear,
That dandelions are blossoming near,
That maize has sprouted, that streams are
flowing,
That the river is bluer than the sky,
That the robin is plastering his house hard by;
And if the breeze kept the good news back,
For other couriers we should not lack;
We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing.
And hark[ hov clear lold chanticler,
Warmed with the new wine of the year,
Tells all in his lusty crowing[
LOWELL
370 FOLRTH IEADER
TO ENGLISHMEN
0 EXGLISHMEN !--hl hope and creed,
In blood and tongue, our brothers!
We, too, are heirs of Rmmsmede;
And Shakespeare's fame and Cromwell's
deed
Are not alone our mother's.
"Thicker than water," in one rill
Through centuries of story--
Our Saxon blood has flowed, and still
We share with you its good and ill,
The shadow and the glory.
Joint heirs and kinsfolk, leagues of wave
_Nor length of years can part us:
Your right is ours to shrine and grave,
The common freehold of the brave,
The gift of saints and martyrs.
J. G. WmTTIER
A accurate taste in poetry and in all other arts,
as Sir Joshua Reynolds has observed, is an ac-
luired talent, which can only be produced by
thought and long-continued intercourse with the
best models of composition.
AN ELIZABETHAN EA31AN 371
AN ELIZABETHAN SEAMAN
Sost. two miles above the port of Dartmouth,
once among the most important lmrbours in
England, on a I, rojeeting angle of land which
runs out into the river at the head of one of its
most beautiful reaelies, tlere has stood for some
centuries the Manor t[ouse of Greenawav. The
water runs deep all the way to it from the sea,
and the largest vessels may ride with safety
within a stone's throw of the windows. In the
latter half of the sixteenth century there must
have met, in the hall of this mansion, a party as
remarkable as eould lmve been t)und anywlere
in England. Humfrey an,l Adrian Gilbert,
with their half-brotler, Walter Paleigh, here,
when little boys, played at sailors in the reaches
of Long Stream, in the summer evenings doubt-
less rowing down with the tide to the port, and
wondering at the quaint figure-heads and carved
prows of the ships which thronged it; or climb-
ing on board, and listening, with hearts beating,
to the mariners' tales of the new earth beyond
the sunset. And here in later life, matured
men, whose boyish dreams had become heroic
action, they used again to meet in the intervals
of quiet, and the reek is shown underneath the
AN ELIZABETHAN SEAMAN 373
of the mutineers being awed by something in
his carriage which was not like that of a com-
mon man. IIe has written the account of one
of liis northern v,yages liimself; aml there is
an imaginative l,t.auty in it, and a rich delicacy
of expression, whi(.l is called out i lim l,y tile
ill'st sight of strange lands and things and
people.
We have only sl,m.e to tell something ,,f the
eonclusion of his v,,va.e nortl In latitude
sixty-three degrees, lm fell in with a 1)artier of
ice, which he coasted f,)r thirteen days without
finding an opening. Tlm very siglt of an icy-
berg was new to all lis crew; an,t tle ropes
shrouds, though it was midsummer, becoming
eompassed witl icy,
"The people began to fall sick and faint-
heartelwhereul,,m, very orderly, and with
good discretion, tley entreate,l me to regard the
safety of mine own life, as well as tle preserva-
tion of tleirs; an,1 that I sloul,l not, tlrough
over-boldness, leave their wi,lows and fatherless
ehildren to give me 1,ittt.r curses.
Whereupon, seeking e, mnsel of God, it pleased
His Divine Majesty to move my leart to prose-
cute that which I hope shall 1,e to IIis glory and
to the contentation of every Christian mind."
374 FOURTH READER
He had two vessels--one of some burden, the
other a pinnace of thirty tons. The result of the
counsel which he had sought was, that he made
over his own large vessel to such as wished to
return, and hirself, "thinking it better to die
with honour than to return with infamy," went
on with such volunteers as would follow him, in
a poor leaky cutter, up the sea now in com-
memoration of that adventure called Davis'
Strait. He ascended four degrees north of the
furthest known point, among storms and ice-
bergs, when the long days and twilight nights
alone saved him from being destroyed, and,
coasting back along the American shore, he
discovered Hudson Strait, supposed then to be
the long desired entrance into the Pacific. This
exploit drew the attention of Walsingham, and
by him Davis was presented to Burleigh, "who
was also pleased to show him great encourage-
ment." If either these statesmen or Elizabeth
had been twenty :}'ears younger, his name would
have filled a larger space in history than a small
corner of the map of the world; but, if he was
employed at all in the last years of the century,
no vles sacer has been found to celebrate his
work, and no clew is left to guide us. He dis-
appears ; a cloud falls over him. He is known
AN ELIZABETHAN SEAMAN 3?5
to have commanded trading vessels in the
Eastern seas, and to have returned five times
from India. But the details are all lost, and
accident has only parted the clouds for a
moment to show us the mournful setting with
which he, too, went down upon the sea.
In taking out Sir Edward Michellthorne to
India, in 160, he fell in with a crew of
Japanese, whose ship had been burnt, drifting
at sea, without provisions, in a leaky junk. He
supposed them to be pirates, but he did not
choose to leave them to so wretched a death, and
took them on board; and in a few hours,
watching their opportunity, they murdered him.
As the fool dieth, so dieth the wise, and there
is no difference; it was the chance of the sea,
and the ill reward of a humane action--a
melancholy end for such a man--like the end of
a warrior, not dying Epaminondas-like on the
field of victory, but cut off in some poor brawl
or ambuscade. But so it was with all these men.
They were cut off in the flower of their days,
and few of them laid their bones in the
sepulchres of their fathers. They knew the
service which they had chosen, and they did
not ask the wages for which they had not
laboured. Life with them was no summer
376 FO:R READE
holiday, but a holy sacrifice offered up to duty,
and what their
Beautiful is old
dropping mellow
Master sent was welcome.
age---beautiful is the slow-
autumn of a rich, glorious
summer. In the old man, :Nature has fulfilled
her work; she loads him with her blessings;
she fills him with the fruits of a well-spent life ;
and, surrounded by his children and his chil-
dren's children, she rocks him softly away to a
grave, to which he is followed with blessings.
Gr,d forbid we should not call it beautiful. It is
beautiful, but not the most beautiful. There is
another life, hard, rough, and thorny, trodden
with bleeding feet and aching brow; the life of
which the cross is the symbol; a battle which
no peace fi,llows, this side the grave; which the
grave gapes to finish, before the victory is won;
andstrange that it should be so-this is the
highest life of man. Look back along the great
names of history; there is none whose life has
been other than this. They to whom it has
been given to do the really highest work in this
earthwhoever they are, Jew or Gentile, Pagan
or Christian, warriors, legislators, philosophers,
priests, poets, kings, slaves one and all, their
fate has been the same--the same bitter cup has
been given them to drink. And so it was with
THE SEA-KI2qG'S BURIAL 377
the sen'ants of England in the sixteenth
century. Their life was a long battle, either
with the elements or with men; and it was
enough for them to fulfil their work, and to [,ass
away in the hour when God had nothing more
to bid them do.
FROUDE : "Short Studies on Great 8ubject"
THE SEA-KING'S BURIAL
" MY strength is failing fast,"
Said the sea-king to his men;
" I shall never sail the seas
As a conqueror again.
But while yet a drop remains
Of the life-blood in my veins,
Raise, O raise me from the bed;
Put the crown upon my head;
Put my good sword in my hand,
And so lead me to the strand,
Where my ship at anchor rides
Steadily ;
If I cannot end my life
In the crimsoned battle-strife,
Let me die as I have lived,
On the sea."
378 'OWT nsADsR
They have raised King Balder up,
Put his crown upon his head ;
The), have sheathed his limbs in mail,
And the purple o'er him spread ;
And amid the greeting rude
Of a gathering multitude,
Borne him slowly to the shore--
All the energy of :yore
From his dim eyes flashing forth--
Old sea-lion of the north--
As he looked upon his ship
Riding free,
And on his forehead pale
Felt the cold, refreshing gale,
And heard the welcome sound
Of the sea.
They have borne him to the ship
With a slow and solemn tread ;
They have placed him on the deck
With his crown upon his head,
Where he sat as on a throne ;
And have left him there alone,
With his anchor ready weighed,
And his snowy sails displayed
To the favouring wind, once more
Blowing freshly from the shore;
THE SEA-KING'S BURIAL 379
And have bidden him farewell
Tenderly,
Saying, " King of migl, ty men,
IVe shall meet thee yet again,
In Valhalla, with the monarchs
Of the sea."
Underneath him in the hold
They have placed the lighted brand;
And the fire was burning slow
As the vessel from the land,
Like a stag-hound from the slips,
Darted forth from out the ships.
There was music in her sail
As it swelled before the gale,
And a dashing at her prow
As it cleft the waves below,
And the good ship sped along,
Scudding free;
As on many a battle morn
In her time she had been borne,
To struggle and to eonquer
On the sea.
And the king, with sudden strength,
Started up and paced the deck,
With his good sword for his staff
And his robe around his neck:
THE SEA-KINGS BURIAL 381
I am sailing to Valhalla,
O'er the sea.
"So blow, ye stormy winds--
And, ye flames, ascend on high ;--
In the easy, idle bed
Let the slave and coward die l
But give me the driving keel,
Clang of shields and flashing steel;
Happy, happy, thus I'd yield,
On the deck or in the field,
My last breath, shouting, ' On
To victory.'
But since this h,s en denied,
They shall say that I have died
Without flinching, like a monarch
Of the sea."
And Balder spoke no more,
And no sound escaped his lip ;-
Neither recked he of the roar,
The destruction of his ship,
:Nor the fleet sparks mounting high,
Nor the glare upon the sky;
Scarcely heard the billows dash,
:N'or the burning timber crash"
Scarcely felt the scorching heat
That was gathering at his feet,
FOURTH RFDER
lor the fierce flames mounting o'er
Greedily.
But the life was in him yet,
And the courage to forget
All his pain, in his triumph
On the sea.
him
Once alone a cry arose,
Half of anguish, half of pride,
As he sprang upon his feet
With the flames on every side.
'" I am coming!" said the king,
"VChere the swords and bucklers ring---
Where the warrior lives again
With the souls of mighty men--
I am coming, great All-Father,
Unto Thee !
Unto Odin, unto Thor,
And the strong, true hearts of yore--
I am coming to Valhalla,
O'er the sea."
READIIG enables us to see with the keenest eyes,
to hear with the finest ears, and listen to the
sweetest voices of all time.
384 FOURTH READER
[Enter Cromwell, and stands amazed]
Why, how now, Cromwell!
Wol.
How does your grace ?
Why, well ;
Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell.
I know myself now; and I feel within me
A peace above all earthly dignities,
A still and quiet conscience. The king has
cured me,
I humbly thank his grace; and from these
shoulders,
These ruined pillars, out of pity, taken
A load would sink a navy, too much honour :
0, 'ts a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden
Too heavy for a man that hope for heaven!
Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me,
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me,
Cromwell ;
And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no
mention
Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught thee,
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
386 FOURTH READER
HONOURABLE TOIL
Two men I honour, and no third. First, the
toilwo'n Craftsman, that, vith earth-made
Implement, laboriously conquers the Earth, and
makes her man's. Venerable to me is the hard
Hand ; crooked, coarse ; wherein, notwithstand-
ing, lies cunning virtue, indefeasibly royal, as
of the Sceptre of this Planet. Venerable, too, is
the rugged face, all weather-tanned, besoiled,
with its rude intelligence ; for it is the face of a
Man living manlike. O, but the more venerable
for thy rudeness, and even because we must pity
as -ell as love thee! Hardly-entreated Brother!
For us was thy back so bent, for us were thy
straight limbs and fingers so deformed- thou
wert our Conscript, on whom the lot fell, and
fighting our battles wert so marred. For in
thee, too, lay a god-creuted Form, but it was not
to be unfolded; encrusted must it stand with
the thick adhesions and defacements of Labour"
and thy body,, like thy soul, was not to know
freedom. Yet toil on, toil on" thou art in
duty, be out of it who may ; thou toi]est for the
altogether indispensable, for daily bread.
A second man I honour, and still more
highly: him who is seen toiling for the spirit-
ually indispensable; not daily bread, but the
bread of Life. Is not he, too, ill his duty; endea-
vouring towards inward Harmony; revealing
this, by act or by word, through all his outward
endeavours, be they high or low ? Highest of
all, when his outward and his inward endeavour
are one; when we call name him Artist; not
earthly Craftsman only, but insldred Thinker,
who 'ith heaven-made Implement conquers
Heaven for us! If the poor and humble toil
that we have Food, must not the high and
glorious toil for him in return, that he have
Light, have Guidance, Freedom, Immortality ?
--These two, in all their degrees, I honour: all
else is chaff and dust, which let the wind blow
whither it listeth.
Unspeakably touching is it, however, when I
find both dignities united; and he, that must
toil outwardly for the lowest of man's wants, is
also toiling inwardly for the highest. Sublimer
in this world know I nothing than a Peasant
Saint, could such now anywhere be met with.
Such a one will take thee back to Nazareth
itself; thou wilt see the splendour of Heaven
spring forth from the humblest depths of Earth,
like a light shining in great darkness.
CARLYLE : "Sartor Resartus."
388 FOI.rRTH READER
CROSSING THE BAR
St-SE$ and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
hen 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 I
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.
TO A WATER-FOW 389
TO A WATER-FOWL
WHITHER, midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps
of day
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou
pursue
Thy solitary way?
Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee
wrong,
As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.
Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean side ?
There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,---
The desert and illimitable air,--
Lone wandering, but not lost.
390 FOtRH IEADER
All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.
And soon that toil shall end;
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and
rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall
bend,
Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.
Thou'rt gone ; the abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my
heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.
He who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain
flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone,
Will lead my steps aright.
BRYANT
Poetry is the image of man and of nature.
DAFFODILS 391
DAFFODILS
I WANDERED lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of the bay ;
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee;
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company;
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had
brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
ENOLANI), MY ENGLAND
ENGLAND, MY ENGLAND
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England ?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
hispering terrible thin and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
Englandm
Round the world on your bugles blown I
Where shall the watchful sun,
England, nay England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own ?
Vhen shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
Englandm
Down the years on your bugles blown ?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England :-
"Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own !
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
To the stars on your bugles blown!"
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England :
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Out of heaven on your bugles blown l
W. E. HE.'LEy
VlTA" LAMPADA 395
VITA LAMPADA
(The Torch of Life)
THERE'S a breathless hush in the Close to-night
Ten to make and the match to win--
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote
" Play up ! play up I and play the game !"
The sand of the desert is sodden red,m
Red with the wreck of a square that broke ;-
The Gatling's jammed and the Colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death ha brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honour a name,
But the voice of a school-boy rallies the ranks"
" Play up! play up! and play the game I"
This is the word that year by year,
While in her place the school is set,
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling, fling to the host behindm
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
HENRY NEWBOL
THE IRREPARABLE PAST 397
think for themselves: the burden is borne by
others. They get their bread without knowing
or caring how it is paid for: they smile and
laugh without a suspicion of the anxious
thoughts of day and night which a parent bears
to enable them to smile. So to speak, they are
sleepingmand it is not a guilty sleepwhile
another watches.
My young brethrenmyouth is one of the pre-
cious opportunities of life--rich in blessing if
you choose to make it so; but having in it the
materials of undying remorse if you suffer it to
pass unimproved. Your quiet Gethsemane is
now. Do you know how you can imitate the
apostles in their fatal sleep ? You can suffer
your young days to pass idly and uselessly
away; you can live as if you had nothing to do
but to enjoy yourselves: you can let others
think for you, and not try to become thoughtful
yourselves: till the business and difficulties of
life come upon you unprepared, and you find
yourselves like men waking from sleep, hurried,
confused, scarcely able to stand, with all the
faculties bewildered, not knowing right from
wrong, led headlong to evil, just because you
have not given yourselves in time to learn what
is good. All that is sleep.
398 FOURTH IEADEI
And now let us mark it. You cannot repair
that in after-life. Oh! remember every period
of human life has its own lesson, and you can-
not learn that lesson in the next period. The
boy has one set of lessons to learn, and the
young man another, and the grown-up man
another. Let us consider one single instance.
The boy has to learn docility, gentleness of
temper, reverence, submission. All those feel-
ings which are to be transferred afterwards in
full cultivation to God, like plants nursed in a
hotbed and then planted out, are to be cultivated
first in youth. Afterwards, those habits which
have been merely habits of obedience to an
earthly parent, are to become religious submis-
sion to a heavenly parent. Our parents stand
to us in the place of God. Veneration for our
parents is intended to become afterwards adora-
tion for something higher. Take that single
instance; and now suppose that that is not
learned in boyhood. Suppose that the boy
sleeps to the duty of veneration, and learns only
flippancy, insubordination, and the habit of
deceiving his father,--can that, my young
brethren, be repaired afterwards? Humanly
speaking not. Life is like the transition from
class to class in a school. The school-boy who
THE IRREPARABLE PAST 399
has not learned arithmetic in the earlier classes,
cannot secure it when he comes to mechanics in
the higher- each section has its own sufficient
work. He may be a good philosopher or a good
historian, but a bad arithmetician he remains
for life; for he cannot lay the founda.tion at the
moment when he must be building the super-
structure. The regiment which has not per-
fected itself in its manoeuvres on the parade
ground, cannot learn them before the guns of
the enemy. And just in the same way, the
young person who has slept his youth away,
and become idle, and selfish, and hard, can-
not make up for that afterwards. He may
do something, he may be religious---yes; but he
cannot be what he might have been. There is
a part of his heart which will remain unculti-
vated to the end. The apostles could share their
Master's sufferings--they could not save him.
Youth has its irreparable past.
And therefore, my young brethren, let it
be impressed upon you,--ow is a time, infinite
in its value for eternity, which will never return
again. Sleep not; learn that there is a very
solemn work of heart which must be done while
the stillness of the garden of Gethsemane gives
you time. Now, or Never. The treasures at
400 FOURTH READER
your command are infinite. Treasures of time
--treasures of youth--treasures of opportunity
that grown-up men would sacrifice everything
they have to possess. Oh for ten years of youth
back again 4th the added experience of age!
But it cannot be: they must be content to sleep
on now and take their rest.
IEV. F. W. ]:OBERTSON -" '' Sermoas."
FAREWELL
MOZER, with unbowed head
Hear thou across the sea
The farewell of the dead
The dead who died for thee
Greet them again
rave,
For, saving thee,
save.
with tender words and
themselves they could not
To keep the house unharmed
Their fathers built so fair,
Deeming endurance armed
Better than brute despair,
They found the secret of the word that saith,
"Service is sweet, for all true life is death."
SIEGE OF ARCOT 401
So greet thou well thy dead
Across the homeless sea,
And be thou comforted
Because they died for thee.
Far off they served, but now their deed is
done
For evermore their life and thine are one.
SIR HENRY NEWBOLT
SIEGE OF ARCOT
(Sir lobert Clive in 1751 had selze,1 Arcot, the capital of the
Carnatic and the residence of the Nabob Chunda, who was in
alliance with the French General Dupleix. C"atmda was at that
time attacking Mohammed Ali in Trichinopoly. The latter was
aa ally of the British; and Clive's action at Arcot us to aid
Mohammed AlL lajah Sahib, son of Chunda, besieged Clive in
Arcot.)
RxA SAhiB proceeded to invest the fort of
Arcot, which seemed quite incapable of sustain-
ing a siege. The walls were ruinous, the ditches
dry, the ramparts too narrow to admit the guns,
the battlements too low to protect the soldiers.
The little garrison had been greatly reduced by
casualties. It now consisted of a hundred and
twenty Europeans and two hundred Sepoys.
Only four officers were left, the stock of provi-
sions was scanty; and the commander, who had
to conduct the defence under circumstances so
402 FOIYRT READER
discouraging, was a young man of five and
twenty, who had been bred a bookkeeper.
During fifty days the siege went on. During
fifty days the young captain maintained the
defence, with a firmness, vigilance, and ability
which would have done honour to the oldest
marshal in Europe.
The breach, however, increased day by day.
The garrison began to feel the pressure of hun-
ger. Under such circumstances, any troops so
scantily provided with officers might have been
expected to show signs of insubordination;
and the danger was peculiarly great in u force
composed of men differing widely from each
other in extraction, colour, language, manners,
and religion. But the devotion of the little
band to its chief surpassed anything that is
related of the Tenth Legion of Ceesar, or of the
Old Guard of Napoleon. The sepoys came to
Clive, not to complain of their scanty fare, but
to propose that all the grain should be given
to the Europeans, who required more nourish-
ment than the natives of Asia. The thin gruel,
they said, which was strained from the rice,
would suffice for themselves. History contains
no more touching instance of military fidelity
or of the influence of a commanding mind.
S.G O COT
An attempt made by the government of
Madras to relieve the place had failed. But
there was hope from another quarter. 2k body
of six thousand Mahrattas, half soldiers, half
robbers, under the command of a chief named
Morari Row, had been hired to assist Mohammed
Ali; but, thinking the French power irresistible,
and the triumph of Chunda Sahib certain, they
had hitherto remained inactive on the frontiers
of the Carnatic. The fame of the defence of
Arcog roused them from their torpor. Morari
Row declared that he had never before believed
that Englishmen could fight, but that he would
willingly help them since he saw that they had
spirit to help themselves.
Rajah Sahib learned that the Mahrattas were
in motion. It was necessary for him to be
expeditious. He first tried negotiation. He
offered large bribes to Clive, which were rejected
with scorn. He vowed that, if his proposals
were not accepted, he would instantly storm
the fort and put every man in it to the sword.
Clive told him, with characteristic haughtiness,
that his father was a usurper, that his army
was a rabble, and that he would do well to think
twice before he sent such poltroons into a breach
defended by English soldiers.
402 FOUITH READER
discouraging, was a young man of five and
twenty, who had been bred a bookkeeper.
During fifty days the siege went on. During
fifty days the young captain maintained the
defence, with a firmness, vigilance, and ability
which would have done honour to the oldest
marshal in Europe.
The breach, however, increased day by day.
The garrison began to feel the pressure of hun-
ger. Under such circumstances, any troops so
scantily provided with officers might have been
expected to show signs of insubordination;
and the danger was peculiarly great in a force
composed of men differing widely from each
other in extraction, colour, language, manners,
and religion. But the devotion of the little
band to its chief surpassed anything that is
related of the Tenth Legion of Csesar, or of the
Old Guard of Napoleon. The sepoys came to
Clive, not to complain of their scanty fare, but
to propose that all the grain should be given
to the Europeans, who required more nourish-
ment than the natives of Asia. The thin gruel,
they said, which was strained from the rice,
would suffice for themselves. History contains
no more touching instance of military fidelity
or of the influence of a commanding mind.
SIEGE OF ARCOT 403
An attempt made by the government of
Madras to relieve the place had failed. But
there was hope from another quarter. A body
of six thousand Mahrattas, half soldiers, half
robbers, under the command of a chief named
Morari Row, had been hired to assist Mohammed
All; but, thinking the French power irresistible,
and the triumph of Chunda Sahib certain, they
had hitherto remained inactive on the frontiers
of the Carnatic. The fame of the defence of
Arcof roused them from their torpor. Morari
Row declared that he had never before believed
that Englishmen could fight, but that he would
willingly help them since he saw that they had
spirit to help themselves.
Rajah Sahib learned that the Mahrattas were
in motion. It was necessary for him to be
expeditious. He first tried negotiation. He
offered large bribes to Clive, which were rejected
with scorn. He vowed that, if his proposals
were not accepted, he would instantly storm
the fort and put every man in it to the sword.
Clive told him, with characteristic haughtiness,
that his father was a usurper, that his army
was a rabble, and that he would do well to think
twice before he sent such poltroons into a breach
defended by English soldiers.
04 FOURTH READER
Rajah Sahib determined to storm the fort.
The day was well suited to a bold military
enterprise. It was the great Mohammedan
festival which is sacred to the memory of Hosein,
the son of Ali.
The history of Islam contains nothing more
touching than the event which gave rise to that
solemnity. After the lapse of nearly twelve
centuries, the recurrence of this solemn season
excites the fiercest and saddest emotions in the
bosoms of the devout Moslems of India. They
work themselves up to such agonies of rage and
lamentation that some, it is said, have given up
the ghost from the mere effect of mental excite-
ment. They believe that whoever, during tlfis
fest,ival, falls in arms agairrst the infidels, atones
by his death for all the sins of his life and passes
at once to the garden of the Houris.
It was at this time that Rajah Sahib deter-
mined to assault Arcot. Stimulating drugs were
employed to aid the effect of religious zeal, and
the besiegers, drunk with enthusiasm, drunk
with bhang, rushed furiously to the attack.
Clive had received secret intelligence of the
design, had made his arrangements, and ex-
hausted by fatigue, had thrown himself on his
bed. He was awakened by the alarm and was
SIEGE O' ARCOT 405
instantly at his post. The enemy advanced,
driving before them elephants whose foreheads
were armed with iron plates. It was expected
that the gates would yield to the shock of these
living battering-rams. But the huge beasts no
sooner felt the English muskets than they
turned round and rushed furiously away, tramp-
ling on the multitude which had urged them
forward.
A raft was launched on the water which filled
one part of the ditch, Clive, perceiving that
his gunners at that post did not understand
their business, took the management of a piece
of artillery himself and cleared the raft in a fev
minutes. Wlere the moat was dry, the assail-
ants mounted with great boldness; but they
were received with a fire so heavy and so well
directed that it soon quelled the com'age even
of fanaticism and of intoxication. The rear
ranks of the English kept. the front ranks sup-
plied with a constant succession of loaded
muskets, and every shot told on the liing
mass below. After three desperate onsets the
besiegers retired behind the ditch.
The struggle lasted about an hour. Four
hundred of the assailants fell. The garrison lost
only five or six men. The besieged passed an
406 FOURTH READER
anxious night, looking for a renewal of the at-
tack. But, when day broke, the enemy were no
more to be seen. They had retired, leaving to
the English several guns and a large quantity
of ammtmition.
IACAULAY : Ey. on Cqive."
]ECES,IONAL
(1897)
GOD of our fathers, known of old,
Lord of our far-flung battle-line,
Beneath whose awful Hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine--
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget I
The tumult and the shouting dies;
The captains and the -kings depart:
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forgetwlest we forget!
RECESSIONAL 407
Far-called our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget!
If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,
Such boasting as the Gentiles tse,
Or lesser breeds without the Law--
Lord God of tIosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget!
For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard,
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding, calls not Thee to guard,
For frantic boast and foolish word--
Thy mercy on Thy People, Lord l Amen.
]IPL1NG
