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The Baldwin Library
SCHOOL READING BY GRADES
NEW YORK-:* CINCINNATI .: CHICAGO
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 189T, BY
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY.
BOH. READ. BIXTH YEAR.
W. P. 14
THE pupil who is in his sixth year at senool should be able to read
quite well. He should be able to pronounce at sight and without hesita-
tion all new or unusual words; and when reading aloud, his tones should
be so clear, his enunciation so faultless, and his manner so agreeable
that his hearers shall listen with pleasure and shall have a ready under-
standing of whatever is being read. He is now prepared to devote more
and more attention to literary criticism-that is, to the study of the
peculiarities of style which distinguish any selection, the passages which
are remarkable for their beauty, their truth, or their adaptation to the
particular purpose for which they were written. The habit should be
cultivated of looking for and enjoying the admirable qualities of any
literary production, and particularly of such productions as are generally
recognized as the classics of our language. While learning to distinguish
between good literature and that sort of writing which, properly speaking,
is not literature at all, the pupil's acquaintance with books is enlarged
and extended. He learns to know what are the best books and why
they are so considered; and he acquires some knowledge of the lives of
the best authors and of the circumstances under which certain of their
works were produced.
The present volume is designed to aid the learner in the acquisition of
all these ends. The selections are of a highly interesting character, and
illustrate almost every variety of English composition. To assist in their
comprehension, many of the selections are introduced or followed by
brief historical or bibliographical notes. Hints also are given as to col-
lateral, or supplementary readings on a variety of subjects. To assist the
pupil still further to enlarge. his acquaintance with books and authors,
additional notes, literary and biographical, are given in the appendix;
here also may be found several pages of brief notes explanatory of diffi-
cult passages, unusual expressions, and historical references, such as
might otherwise be stumbling stones in the way of the learner. The
numerous portraits of authors is another important feature designed to
add to the interest and beauty of the book, and to assist the pupil to a
more intimate acquaintance with the makers of our literature. Most of
the full-page pictures are reproductions of famous paintings, and these,
while serving as illustrations of the text which they accompany, are
designed to introduce the learner to some of the masters of art also, and
perform the more important office of cultivating and enlarging his aesthetic
tastes and sympathies..
Two Ways of Telling a Story
The Death of the Flowers .
The Great Volcanic Eruption .
The Return of Columbus .
What the Sunbeams do .
Horatius at the Bridge . .
How Sir Francis Drake sailed round
the World . .
A Brave Rescue and a Rough Ride.
The Glory of God . .
The Battle of Bannockburn .
The Soldier's Dream ..
Lord Ullin's Daughter . .
Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata .
The Story of Tempe Wick .
Life in Norman England .
The Romance of the Swan's Nest
A Patriarch of the Olden Time .
How Cortds entered the City of
Mexico . .
The Skylark . .
The Mystery of the Tadpole .
The Glove and the Lions .
True Growth . .
The Shipwreck . .
The Happy Valley . .
The Pass of Killiecrankie .
Summer Rai . .
Life in the Backwoods . .
How they besieged the Town .
Jean Ingelow . .
William Cullen -Bryant .
J. T. Van Gestel ....
Washington Irving ..
Arabella B. Buckley
Thomas Babington Macaulay
James A. Froude ..
Richard D. Blackmore.
From the Psalms of David
Sir Walter Scott ....
Thomas Campbell ..
Thomas Campbell .
. . .
Frank R. Stockton ..
W. F. Collier .. ...
Elizabeth Barrett Browning .
From the "Book of Job "
William IH. Prescott
James Hogg ..
George Henry Lewes
Leigh Hunt ...
Ben Jonson ...
Charles Dickens .. ..
Dr. Samuel Johnson .
IV. E. Ayton ...
Henry Ward Beecher .
William Dean Howells
Charles Reade ..
Lochinvar . . .
On a Tropical River . .
The Flag of Our Country .
The High Tide on the Coast of Lin-
colnshire, 1571 . .
The Story of Thomas Becket.
1. His Life . .
II. His Death . .
The Pilgrims (1620). . .
The Landing of the Pilgrims .
Patriotism . . .
The Robin . . .
Motions of Birds . .
Origin of Rivers . .
Address at the Dedication of Get-
tysburg Cemetery . .
The American Flag . .
The Last Fight in the Coliseum,
A.D. 404 . .
The Passing of Arthur . .
THE PRINCIPLES OF GOOD READING
AUTHORS AND BOOKS ...
EXPLANATORY NOTES ...
Sir Walter Scott . 163
Charles Kingsley .. 165
Robert C. Winthrop 173
Jean Ingelow . 175
Anonymous . .. 181
Arthur Penrhyn Stanley 185
Edward Everett ... 192
Felicia Hemans ... .195
William Cozwper ... 196
Charles Conrad Abbott 197
Gilbert White. . 200
John Tyndall . .. 202
Abraham Lincoln. ... .205
Joseph Rodman Drake. 206
Charlotte i. Yonge . 208
Alfred Tennyson ... 216
Columbus at Barcelona .
The Defense of the Bridge .
Ruins of a Norman Castle'. .
The Lions . . .
The Shipwreck . .
Canterbury Cathedral . .
The Departure of the Mayflower
The Last Prayer- Christian Mar-
tyrs in the Coliseum .
R. Balaca ..
A. L Keller .
From a photograph .
Rosa Bonheur .
A. Marlon ..
From a photograph .
A. W. Bayes .. ....
J. L. Gerome ..
PORTRAITS OF AUTHORS.
Washington Irving .
Thomas Babington Macaulay
James Anthony Froude .
Thomas Campbell .
Frank R. Stockton .
Elizabeth Barrett Browning .
William H. Prescott .
George Henry Lewes .
Leigh Hunt .
Charles Dickens .. ..
Dr. Samuel Johnson .
Henry Ward Beecher .
William Dean Howells .
Charles Reade ..
Charles Kingsley .. ..
Jean Ingelow .....
Arthur Penrhyn Stanley .
Edward Everett .. ..
John Tyndall .. ...
Abraham Lincoln .
Joseph Rodman Drake .
Charlotte M. Yonge. ..
Acknowledgments are due to the following persons for their courteous per-
mission to use valuable selections from their works: Dr. Charles C. Abbott
for the essay on "The Robin "; Mr. William Dean Howells for his sketch of
"Life in the Backwoods "; The J. B. Lippincott Company for the selections
from Prescott's "Conquest of Mexico" and Abbott's "Birdland Echoes";
and Mr. Frank R. Stockton for The Story of Tempe Wicke."
TWO WAYS OF TELLING A STORY.
Who is this ? A careless little midshipman, idling
about in a great city, with his pockets full of money.
He is waiting for the coach : it comes up presently,
and he gets on the top of it, and looks about him.
5 They soon leave the chimney pots behind them ; his
eyes wander with delight over the harvest fields, he
smells the honeysuckle in the hedgerow, and he wishes
he was down among the hazel bushes, that he might
strip them of the milky nuts; then he sees a great wain
to piled up with barley, and he wishes he was seated on the
top of it; then they go through a little wood, and he
likes to see the checkered shadows of the trees lying
across the white road; and then a squirrel runs up a
bough, and he can not forbear to whoop and halloo,
1i though he can not chase it to its nest.
The other passengers are delighted with his simplicity
and childlike glee; and they encourage him to talk to
them about the sea and ships, especially Her Majesty's
ship The Asp," wherein he has the honor to sail. In the
jargon of the sea, he describes her many perfections, and
enlarges on her peculiar advantages ; he then confides to
them how a certain middy, having been ordered to the
masthead as a punishment, had seen, while sitting on the
topmast crosstrees, something uncommonly like the sea 5
serpent but, finding this hint received with incredulous
smiles, he begins to tell them how he hopes that, some
day, he shall be promoted to have charge of the poop.
The passengers hope he will have that honor ; they have
no doubt he deserves it. His cheeks flush with pleasure to
to hear them say so, and lie little thinks that they have
no notion in what that honor may happen to consist.
The coach stops: the little midshipman, with his
hands in his pockets, sits rattling his money, and sing-
ing. There is a poor woman standing by the door of 15
the village inn; she looks careworn, and well she may,
for, in the spring, her husband went up to the city to
seek for work. He got work, and she was expecting
soon to join him there, when alas a fellow-workman
wrote her word how he had met with an accident, how 20
he was very ill and wanted his wife to come and nurse
him. But she has two young children, and is destitute ;
she must walk up all the way, and she is sick at heart
when she thinks that perhaps he may die among stran-
gers before she can reach him. 2.
She does not think of begging, but seeing the boy's
eyes attracted to her, she makes him a courtesy, and he
withdraws his hand and throws her down a sovereign.
She looks at it with incredulous joy, and then she looks
at him. on
"It's all right," he says, and the coach starts again,
while, full of gratitude, she hires a cart to take her across
the country to the railway, that the next night she may
sit by the bedside of her sick husband.
5 The midshipman knows nothing about that; and he
never will know.
The passengers go on talking the little midshipman
has told them who he is, and where he is going; but
there is one man who has never joined in the conversa-
10 tion; he is dark-looking and restless; he sits apart; he
has -seen the glitter of the falling coin, and now he
watches the boy more narrowly than before.
He is a strong man, resolute and determined; the boy
with the pockets full of money will be no match for him.
15 The midshipman has told the other passengers that his
father's house is the parsonage at Y- ; the coach goes
within five miles of it, and he means to get down at the
nearest point, and walk, or rather run over to his home,
through the great wood.
20 The man decides to get down too, and go through the
wood; he will rob the little midshipman; perhaps, if he
cries out or struggles, he will do worse. The boy, he
thinks, will have no chance against him; it is quite im-
possible that he can escape; the way is lonely, and the
25 sun will be down.
No. There seems indeed little chance of escape; the
half-fledged bird just fluttering down from its nest has no
more chance against the keen-eyed hawk, than the little
light-hearted sailor boy will have against him -at least
30 so thinks the man as he makes his plans.
The coach reaches the village where the boy is to alight.
He wishes the other passengers "good evening," and runs
lightly down between the scattered houses. The man has
got down also, and is following.
The path lies through the village churchyard; there is 5
evening service, and the door is wide open, for it is warm.
The little midshipman stops by the door, looks in, and
listens. The clergyman has just risen, and is giving out
his text. Thirteen months have past since the boy was
within a house of prayer; and a feeling of pleasure and 10
awe induces him to stand still and listen.
"Are not two sparrows [he hears] sold for a farthing ?
: _and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your
Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered.
Fear ye not, therefore, ye are of more value than many 15
He hears the opening sentences of the sermon; and
then he remembers his home, and comes softly out of the
porch, full of a calm and serious pleasure. The clergy-
man has reminded him of his father, and his careless heart 20
is now filled with the echoes of his voice and of his pray-
ers. He thinks on what the clergyman said, of the care
of our heavenly Father for us; he remembers how, when
he left home, his father prayed that he might be preserved
through every danger; he does not remember any particu- 25
lar danger that he has been exposed to, excepting in the
great storm; but he is grateful that he has come home in
safety, and he hopes whenever he shall be in danger, which
he supposes he shall be some day he hopes, that then the
providence of God will watch over him, and protect him.
And so he presses onward to the entrance of the wood.
The man is there before him. He has pushed himself
5 into the thicket, and cut a heavy club; he suffers the boy
to go on before, and then he comes out and follows him.
It is too light at present for his deed of darkness and
too near the entrance of the wood, but he knows that
shortly the path will branch off into two, and the right
10 one for the boy to take will be dark and lonely.
But what prompts the little midshipman, when not fifty
yards from the branching of the path, to break into a
sudden run ? It is not fear, for he never dreams of dan-
ger. Some sudden impulse, or some wild wish for home,
15 makes him dash off suddenly, with a whoop and a bound..
On he goes, as if running a race; the path bends, and the
man loses sight of him. "But I shall have him yet," he
thinks ; "he can not keep this pace up long."
The boy has nearly reached the place where the path
20 divides, when he startles a young white owl that can
scarcely fly, and it goes whirring along, close to the
ground, before him. He gains upon it; another moment,
and it will be his. Now it gets the start again; they
come to the branching of the paths, and the bird goes
25 down the wrong one. The temptation to follow is too
strong to be resisted; he knows that somewhere, deep in
the wood, there is a cross track by which he can get into
the path he has left; if only he runs a little faster, he
shall be at home nearly as soon.
30 On he rushes; the path takes a bend, and he is just out
of sight when his pursuer comes where the paths divide.
The boy has turned to the right; the man takes the left,
and the faster they both run the farther they are asunder.
The white owl still leads him on; the path gets darker
and narrower; at last he finds that he has missed it alto- 6
gether, and his feet are on the soft ground. He flounders
about among the trees, vexed with himself, and panting
after his race. At last he finds another track, and pushes
on as fast as he can. He has lost his way but he keeps
bearing to the left; and, though it is now dark, he thinks 10
that he must reach the main path sooner or later.
He does not know this part of the wood, but he runs on.
0, little midshipman why did you chase that owl ? If
you had kept in the path with the dark man behind you,
there was a chance that you might have outrun him ; or, 15
if he had overtaken you, some passing wayfarer might
have heard your cries, and come to save you. Now you
are running on straight to your death, for the forest water
is deep and black at the bottom of this hill. O, that the
moon might come out and show it to you 20
The moon is under a thick canopy of heavy black clouds ;
and there is not a star to glitter on the water and make
it visible. The fern is soft under his feet as he runs and
slips down the sloping hill. At last he strikes his foot
against a stone, stumbles, and falls. Two minutes more 25
and he will roll into the black water.
"Heyday cries the boy, "what's this ? Oh, how it
tears my hands Oh, this thorn bush Oh, my arms !
I can't get free He struggles and pants. "All this
comes of leaving the path," he says; I shouldn't have 30
cared for rolling down if it hadn't been for this bush.
The fern was soft enough. I'll never stray in a wood
at night again. There, free at last! And my jacket
nearly torn off my back "
5 With a good deal of patience, and a great many
scratches, he gets free of the thorn which had arrested
his progress, when his feet were within a yard of the
water, manages to scramble up the bank, and makes
the best of his way through the wood.
o1 And now, as the clouds move slowly onward, the moon
shows her face on the black surface of the water; and
the little white owl comes and hoots, and flutters over
it like a wandering snowdrift. But the boy is deep in
the wood again, and knows nothing of the danger from
15 which he has escaped.
All this time the dark passenger follows the main
track, and believes that his prey is before him. At
last he hears a crashing of dead boughs, and presently
the little midshipman's voice not fifty yards before him.
20 Yes, it is too true; the boy is in the cross track. He
will pass the cottage in the wood directly, and after that
his pursuer will come upon him.
The boy bounds into the path; but, as he passes the
cottage, he is so thirsty that he thinks he must ask the
25 people if they will sell him a cup of tea.
He enters without ceremony. Tea ? says the wood-
man, who is sitting at his supper. "No, we have no
tea; but perhaps my wife can give thee a drink of
milk. Come in." So he comes in, and shuts the door;
and, while he sits waiting for the milk, footsteps pass.
They are the footsteps of his pursuer, who goes on
with the club in his hand, and is angry and impatient
that he has not yet come up with him.
The woman goes to her little dairy for the milk, and 5
the boy thinks she is a long time. He drinks it, thanks
her, and takes his leave.
Fast and fast the man runs on, and, as fast as he can,
the boy runs after him. It is very dark, but there is a
yellow streak in the sky, where the moon is plowing 1o
up a furrowed mass of gray cloud, and one or two
stars are blinking through the branches of the trees.
Fast the boy follows, and fast the man runs on, with
his weapon in his hand. Suddenly he hears the joyish
whoop not before, but behind him. He stops and i1
listens breathlessly. Yes, it is so. He pushes himself
into the thicket, and raises his club to strike when the
boy shall pass.
On he comes, running lightly, with his hands in his
pockets. A sound strikes at the same instant on the 20
ears of both; and the boy turns back from the very
jaws of death to listen. It is the sound of wheels, and
it draws rapidly nearer. A man comes up, driving a
"Halloa ?" he says, in a loud, cheerful voice. "What! 25
benighted, youngster ?"
"Oh, is it you, Mr. Davis?" says the boy; "no, I am
not benighted; or, at any rate, I know my way out of
The man draws farther back among the shrubs. 30
"Why, bless the boy," he hears the farmer say, "to
think of our meeting in this way. The parson told
me he was in hopes of seeing thee some day this week.
I'll give thee a lift. This is a lonely place to be in this
5 time o' night."
Lonely says the boy, laughing. "I don't mind
that; and if you know the way, it's as safe as the quarter-
So he gets into the farmer's gig, and is once more out
10 of reach of the pursuer. But the man knows that the
farmer's house is a quarter of a mile nearer than the par-
sonage, and in that quarter of a mile there is still a chance
of committing the robbery. He determines still to make
the attempt, and cuts across the wood with such rapid
15 strides that he reaches the farmer's gate just as the gig
drives up to it.
"Well, thank you, farmer," says the midshipman, as he
prepares to get down.
"I wish you good night, gentlemen," says the man,
20 when he passes.
Good night, friend," the farmer replies. "I say, my
boy, it's a dark night enough; but I have a mind to
drive you on to the parsonage, and hear the rest of this
long tale of yours about the sea serpent."
25 The little wheels go on again. They pass the- man;
and he stands still in the road to listen till the sound dies
away. Then he flings his club into the hedge, and goes
back. His evil purposes have all been frustrated-the
thoughtless boy, without knowing anything about it, has
3o baffled him at every turn.
And now the little midshipman is at home the joy-
ful meeting has taken place; and when they have all
admired his growth, and measured his height on the win-
dow frame, and seen him eat his supper, they begin to
question him about his adventures, more for the pleasure 5
of hearing him talk than any curiosity.
Adventures says the boy, seated between his father
and mother on a sofa. "Why, mother, I wrote you an
account of the voyage, and there's nothing else to tell.
Nothing happened to-day at least nothing particular." to
Did you come by the coach we told you of?" asks
"Oh, yes, papa; and when we had got about twenty
miles, there came up a beggar, while we changed horses,
and I threw down, as I thought, a shilling, but, as it fell, s1
I saw it was a sovereign. She was very honest, and
showed me what it was, but I didn't take it back, for you
know, it's a long time since I gave anything to anybody."
"Very true, my boy," his mother answers; "but you
should not be careless with your money. 20
"I suppose you got down at the crossroads ?" says his
"Yes, and went through the wood. I should have
been here sooner if I hadn't lost my way there."
Lost your way says his mother, alarmed. My 25
dear boy, you should not have left the path at dusk."
"Oh, mother," says the little midshipman, with a smile,
"you're always thinking we're in danger. If you could
see me sometimes sitting at the jib-boom end, or across
the main topmast crosstrees, you would be frightened.
But what danger can there be in a wood ?"
Well, my boy," she answers, "I don't wish to be over-
anxious, and to make my children uncomfortable by my
5 fears. What did you stray from the path for ?"
"Only to chase a little owl, mother; but I didn't
catch her after all. I got a roll down a bank, and caught
my jacket against a thorn bush, which was rather unlucky.
Ah three large holes I see in my sleeve. And so I
3o scrambled up again, and got into the path, and stopped at
the cottage for some milk. What a time the woman kept
me, to be sure But very soon Mr. Davis drove up in
his gig, and he brought me on to the gate."
"And so this story being brought to a close," his father
15 says, we find that you had no adventures at all "
No, papa, nothing happened; nothing particular, I
Nothing particular If they could have known, they
would have thought lightly in comparison of the dangers
20 of "the jib-boom end, and the main topmast crosstrees."
But they did not know, any more than we do, of the
dangers that hourly beset us. Some few dangers we are
aware of, and we do what we can to provide against
them; but, for the greater portion, "our eyes are held
25 that we can not see." We walk securely under His
guidance, without whom "not a sparrow falleth to the
ground and when we have had escapes that the angels
have wondered at, we come home and say, perhaps, that
"nothing has happened; at least nothing particular."
SCH. READ. vi.-2
THE, DEATH OF THE FLOWERS.
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs
And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the
Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately
sprang and stood
In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sister-
Alas!- they all are in their graves; the gentle race of
Are lying in their lowly beds, with the fair and good of
The rain is falling where they lie, but the cold November
Calls not from out the gloomy earth the lovely ones
The windflower and the violet, they perished long
And the brier rose and the orchis died amid the summer
But on the hill the goldenrod, and the aster in the wood,
And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty
Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the
plague on men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland,
glade, and glen.
And now, when comes the calm, mild day, as still such
days will come,
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all
the trees are still,
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill,
The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance
late he bore,
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream
And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty
The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my
In the cold, moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so
Yet not unmeet it was that one like that young friend of
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.
THE GREAT VOLCANIC ERUPTION.
In 1883 the most destructive volcanic eruption ever
known occurred in the Straits of Sunda and the neighbor-
ing islands. The trouble began on Sunday morning,
the 13th of May. Java, Sumatra, and Borneo were
convulsed by earthquakes. The surface of the earth 5
rocked, houses tumbled down, and big trees were shaken
to the ground. Earthquakes are no rarity in those
islands, but this earthquake showed no signs of ceasing.
The earth quivered constantly, and from its depths there
seemed to rise strange sounds and hollow explosions. 10
On Thursday there came a telegram from Anjer, ninety
miles away, on the northwest coast of Java, intimating
that a volcano had broken out at Krakatoa island, about
thirty miles west of Anjer, in Sunda Strait. I was
requested by the Dutch government to go to the scene 15
of action and take scientific observations, and by four
o'clock that afternoon I started with a party on board a
special steamer from Batavia.
As we rounded the northern extremity of Java, we saw
ascending from Krakatoa, still fifty miles away, an im- 20
mense column of smoke. Its appearance changed as we
approached. First it looked like flame, then it appeared
to be steam, and finally it had the appearance of a pillar
of fire inside one of white fleecy wool. The diameter of
this pillar of fire and smoke was, I should think, at least 25
one and a half miles. All the while we heard that sullen,
thunderous roar which had been a feature of this disturb-
ance ever since Sunday, and was now becoming louder.
We remained on deck all night and watched. The din
increased till we could with difficulty hear one another's
voices. Dawn approached, and when the rays of the sun
fell on the shores of Krakatoa, we saw them reflected from
5 what we thought was a river, and we resolved to steam
into its mouth and disembark.
When we came to within three quarters of a mile of the
shore, we discovered that what we supposed to be a river
was a torrent of molten sulphur. The smell almost over-
10 powered us. We steamed away to the windward, and
made for the other side of the island.
This island, though volcanic, had up till now been quiet
for at least a century. It was eight or ten miles long and
four wide, and was covered with forests of fine mahogany
15 and rosewood trees. It was inhabited by a few fishermen,
but we found no signs of these people. The land, down
to the water's edge, was covered with powdered pumice
stone, which rained down from the clouds around the
great column of fire. Everything with life had already
20 disappeared from the landscape, which was covered with
a steaming mass of stones and ashes.
Several of us landed and began walking towards the
volcano. We sank deep in the soft pumice, which blis-
tered our feet with its lheat. I climbed painfully upwards
25 toward the crater, in order to measure it with my sex-
tant ; but in a short time the heat melted the mercury off
the mirror of the instrument. I was then half a mile
from the crater.
As I was returning to the shore, I saw the bottom of
30 each footstep I had made on my way up glowing red
with the heat from beneath. We photographed the scene
from the deck of the steamer, where the fire hose was kept
playing constantly, wetting the rigging and everything
about the ship to prevent her from taking fire.
The steamer then returned to Batavia, and I went to 5
reside at Anjer. From my villa on the hillside a mile
inland, I could see Krakatoa, thirty miles away, belching
out its never-ending eruption. We supposed that it
would go on till it burned itself out, and that then it
would become quiet again. But in this we were mis- o
On Sunday morning, the 12th of August, nearly
three months later, I was sitting on the veranda of my
house taking my morning cup of tea. I saw the fishing
boats lying at anchor in the bay, the fishermen themselves 15
being on shore at rest. As my gaze rested on the boats,
I suddenly became aware that they were all beginning to
move rapidly in one direction. Then in an instant, to
my intense surprise, they all disappeared.
I ran farther up the hillside to get a better view, and 20
looked far out to sea. Instantly a great glare of fire
right in the midst of the sea caught my eye. All the
way across the bay and the strait, in a line of flame
reaching to Krakatoa itself, the bottom of the sea seemed
to have cracked open so that the subterraneous fires were 25
belching forth. On either side the waters were pouring
into this gulf with a tremendous noise, but the fire was
The hissing roar brought out the people of Anjer in
excited crowds. My eyes were turned away for a mo- 30
ment as I beckoned to some one, and during that moment
came a terrible, deafening explosion. It stunned me;
and when I was able again to turn my eyes toward the
bay, I could see nothing. The whole scene was shrouded
5 in darkness, from amid which came cries and groans, the
creaking of breaking beams in the houses, and, above all,
the roar of the breakers on the shore. The city of Anjer,
with its sixty thousand people, had been engulfed !
I afterwards found that the water was one hundred feet
10 deep where the city of Anjer had been, and that the coast
line had moved one and a half miles inland. A big island
in the strait had been split in two, with a wide passage
between its parts. An island to the northwest of Kra-
katoa had wholly disappeared. The air was filled with
15 minute particles of dust, which after some weeks spread
even to Europe and America. What the causes of such
a tremendous convulsion may have been, it is quite impos-
sible accurately to say.
The foregoing narrative was written by J. T. Van Ges-
20 tel, who was at the time residing in the island of Java.
Compare his description of this event with those of the
eruption of Vesuvius and the destruction of Pompeii,
given in "School Reading by Grades-Fifth Year."
Read also the younger Pliny's description of the eruption
25 of Vesuvius. It may be found in Church and Brodribb's
translation of selections from Pliny's Letters. Other
interesting readings about volcanoes may be found in
"Volcanoes, Past and Present," by Edward Hull, and in
"Volcanoes and Earthquakes," by Dr. George Hartwig.
Oolnmbus at Barcelona.
rom the Painting by R. Balaca.
THE RETURN OF COLUMBUS.
The fame of the discovery made by Columbus had
resounded throughout the nation, and, as his route lay
through several of the finest and most populous prov-
inces of Spain, his journey appeared like the progress
5 of a sovereign. Wherever he passed, the country poured
forth its inhabitants, who lined the road and thronged
the villages. The streets, windows, and balconies of
the towns were filled with eager spectators, who rent'
the air with acclamations. His journey was continu-
10 ally impeded by the multitude pressing to gain a sight
of him and of the Indians, who were regarded with
as much astonishment as if they had been natives of
another planet. It was impossible to satisfy the crav-
ing curiosity which assailed himself and his attendants
i5 at every stage with innumerable questions; popular
rumor, as usual, had exaggerated the truth, and had
filled the newly found country with all kinds of won-
About the middle of April Columbus arrived at Bar-
20 celona, where every preparation had been made to give
him a solemn and magnificent reception. The beauty and
serenity of the Weather in that genial season and favored
climate contributed to give splendor to this memorable
ceremony. As he drew near the place, many of the more
25 youthful courtiers and hidalgos, together with a vast con-
course of the populace, came forth to meet and welcome
him. His entrance into this noble city has been compared
to one of those triumphs which the Romans were accus-
tomed to decree to conquerors. First were paraded the
Indians, painted according to their savage fashion, and
decorated with their national ornaments of gold; after
these were borne various kinds of live parrots, together
with stuffed birds and animals of unknown species, and 5
rare plants supposed to be of precious qualities; while
great care was taken to make a conspicuous display of
Indian coronets, bracelets, and other decorations of gold,
which might give an idea of the wealth of the newly dis-
'covered regions. After this followed Columbus on horse- to
back, surrounded by a brilliant cavalcade of Spanish
chivalry. The streets were almost impassable from the
countless multitude; the windows and balconies were
crowded with the fair; the very roofs were covered with
spectators. It seemed as if the public eye could not be 15
sated with gazing on these trophies of an unknown world,
or on the remarkable man by whom it had been discov-
ered. There was a sublimity in this event that mingled
a solemn feeling with the public joy. It was looked upon
as a vast and signal dispensation of Providence in reward 20
for the piety of the monarchs; and the majestic and
venerable appearance of the discoverer, -so different from
the youth and buoyancy generally expected from roving
enterprise, seemed in harmony with the grandeur and
dignity of his achievement. 25
To receive him with suitable pomp and distinction,
the sovereigns had ordered their throne to be placed in
public, under a rich canopy of brocade of gold, in a vast
and splendid saloon. Here the king and queen awaited
his arrival, seated in state, with the Prince Juan beside so
them, and attended by the dignitaries of their court, and
the principal nobility of Castile, Valencia, Catalonia, and
Aragon, all impatient to behold the man who had con-
ferred so incalculable a benefit upon the nation. At
5 length Columbus entered the hall, surrounded by a bril-
liant crowd of cavaliers, among whom, says Las Casas, he
was conspicuous for his stately and commanding person,
which, with his countenance rendered venerable by his
gray hairs, gave him the august appearance of a senator
10 of Rome. A modest smile lighted up his features, show-
ing that he enjoyed the state and glory in which he came;
and certainly nothing could be more deeply moving to a
mind inflamed by noble ambition, and conscious of having
greatly deserved, than these testimonials of the admira-
15 tion and gratitude of a nation, or rather of a world. As
Columbus approached, the sovereigns rose, as if receiving
a person of the highest rank. Bending his knees, he
offered to kiss their hands ; but there was some hesitation
on their part to permit this act of homage. Raising him
20 in the most gracious manner, they ordered him to seat
himself in their presence; a rare honor in this proud and
At their request, he now gave an account of the most
striking events of his voyage, and a description of the
25 islands discovered. He displayed specimens of unknown
birds and other animals; of rare plants of medicinal and
aromatic virtues; of native gold in dust, in crude masses,
or labored into barbaric ornaments; and, above all, the
natives of these countries, who were objects of intense
30 and inexhaustible interest. All these he pronounced mere
harbingers of greater discoveries yet to be made, which
would add realms of incalculable wealth to the dominions
of their majesties, and whole nations of proselytes to the
When he had finished, the sovereigns sank on their 5
knees, and, raising their clasped hands to heaven, their
eyes filled with tears of joy and gratitude, poured forth
thanks and praises to God for so great a providence; all
present followed their example; a deep and solemn en-
thusiasm pervaded that splendid assembly, and prevented 1o
all common acclamations of triumph. The anthem Te
Deum laudamus, chanted by the choir of the royal chapel,
with the accompaniment of instruments, rose in full body
of sacred harmony, bearing up as it were the feelings and
thoughts of the auditors to heaven, "so that" says the 1
venerable Las Casas, it seemed as if in .that hour they
communicated with celestial delights." Such was the
solemn and pious manner in which the brilliant court of
Spain celebrated this sublime event; offering up a grate-
ful tribute of melody and praise, and giving glory to God 20
for the discovery of another world.
This description of the reception of the great discoverer
after his return from his first voyage, is from Washington
Irving's famous book entitled The Life and Voyages of
Columbus." Other readings on the same subject are to be 25
found in Prescott's "Ferdinand and Isabella," Kingston's
"Notable Voyagers," Mrs. Bolton's "Famous Voyagers,"
Saunders' "Story of the Discovery of the New World,"
and McMaster's School History of the United States."
WHAT THE SUNBEAMS DO.
What work do the sunbeams do for us? They do two
things, they give us light and heat. It is by means of
them alone that we see anything.
When the room was dark you could not distinguish the
5 table, the chairs, or even the walls of the room. Why?
Because they had no light waves to send to your eye.
But as the sunbeams began to pour in at the window, the
waves played upon the things in the.room; and when
they hit them they bounded off them back to your eye,
10 as a wave of the sea bounds back from a rock, and strikes
against a passing boat. Then, when they fell upon your
eye, they entered it, and excited the retina and the
nerves; and the image of the chair or the table was
carried to your brain.
15 Some substances send back hardly any waves of light,
but let them all pass through them. A pane of clear
glass, for instance, lets nearly all the light waves pass
through it; and therefore you often can not see the glass,
because no light messengers come back to you from it.
2o Thus people have sometimes walked up against a glass
door, and broken it, not seeing it was there.
Those substances are transparent, which, for some rea-
son unknown to us, allow the ether waves to pass through
them. In clear glass, all the light waves pass through;
25 while in a white wall the larger part of the rays are
reflected back to the eye. Into polished shining metal
the waves hardly enter at all, but are thrown back from
the surface; and so a steel knife or a silver spoon is
very bright, and is clearly seen. Quicksilver is put
at the back of looking-glasses because it reflects so many
The reflected. light waves not only make us see things,
but they make us see them in different colors. Imagine 5
a sunbeam playing on a leaf: part of its waves bound
straight back from it to our eye, and make us see the
surface of the leaf; but the rest go right into the leaf
itself, and there some of them are used up and kept
prisoners. The red, orange, yellow, blue, indigo, and 10
violet waves are all useful to the leaf, and it does not let
them go again. But it can not absorb the green waves,
and so it throws them back; and they travel to your eye,
and make you see a green color. So, when you say a leaf
is green, you mean that the leaf does not want the green 15
waves of the sunbeam, but sends them back to you. In
the same way the scarlet geranium rejects the red waves;
a white tablecloth sends back nearly the whole of the
waves, and a black coat scarcely any.
Is it not strange that there is really no such thing as 20
color in the leaf, the table, the coat, or the geranium;
that we see them of different colors because they send
back only certain-colored waves to our eye?
So far we have spoken only of light; but hold your
hand in the sun, and feel the heat of the sunbeams, and 25
then consider if the waves of heat do not do work also.
There are many waves in a sunbeam which 'move too
slowly to make us see light when they hit our eye; but
we can feel them as heat, though we cannot see them as
The simplest way of feeling heat waves is to hold a
warm flatiron near your face. You know that no light
comes from it, yet you can feel the heat waves beating
violently against your face.
5 Now, there are many of these dark heat rays in a sun-
beam, and it is they that do most of the work in the
world. It is the heat waves that make the air hot and
light, and so cause it to rise, and make winds and air
currents; and these again give rise to ocean currents.
10 It is these dark rays, again, that strike upon the land,
and give it the warmth which enables plants to grow. It
is they also that keep up the warmth in our own bodies,
both by coming to us directly from the sun, and also in a
very roundabout way through plants.
15 Coal is made of plants, and the heat it gives out is the
heat these plants once took in. Think how much work
is done by burning coal. Not only are our houses warmed
by coal fires and lighted by coal gas, but our steam
engines work entirely by water which has been turned
20 into steam by the heat of coal fires; and our steamboats
travel all over the world by means of the same power.
In the same way the oil of our lamps comes either from
olives, which grow on trees, or from coal and the remains
of plants in the earth. Even our tallow candles are made
25 of mutton fat, and sheep eat grass; and so, turn which
way we will, we find that the light and heat on our earth,
whether it comes from fires, or candles, or lamps, or gas,
is equally the work of those waves of ether coming from
the sun, which make what we call a sunbeam.
-From The Fairy Land of Science," by Arabella B. Buckley.
HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE.
Tarquin the Proud was the seventh and last king of
Rome. S'uh were his acts of tyranny, and such the
crimes of his son, "the false Sextus," that the people
rose in rebellion, and, in the year 509 B.c., drove him
and his family away from Rome and de- 5
Sciaid that they would have no more
S kings. The Tarquins took refuge
dl mnong the Etruscans, whose country
bIordered Rome on the north. They
made a treaty of friendship with lo
Porsena, the king of Clusium,
.\ and induced him to raise a
S- 'large army for the purpose of
'forcing the Romans to allow
them to return to power. A 15
Thomas Babington alay. battle was fought, and the Rom-
Thomas Babington Maoaulay.
ans being defeated were obliged
to flee across the wooden bridge which spanned the Tiber
at Rome. To prevent Porsena from entering the city, the
Roman Consul ordered that the bridge should be destroyed. 20
The story of the manner in which this was done is told
by Lord Macaulay in his "Lays of Ancient Rome," a col-
lection of heroic ballads relating to the times of the kings
and the early consuls. The author speaks, not in his own
person, but in the person of an ancient minstrel who is 25
supposed to have lived about one hundred years after the
event, and who therefore knew only what a Roman citizen
of that time could have known.
But the Consul's brow was sad,
And the Consul's speech was low,
And darkly looked he at the wall,
And darkly at the foe.
"Their van will be upon us
Before the bridge goes down;
And if they once may win the bridge,
What hope to save the town?"
Then out spake brave Horatius,
The captain of the gate:
"To every man upon this Earth
Death cometh soon or late;
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his gods?
"Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,
With all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me,
Will hold the foe in play.
In yon strait path a thousand
May well be stopped by three;
Now, who will stand on either hand,
And keep the bridge with me ?"
Then out spake Spurius Lartius,--
A Ramnian proud was he:
"Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
And keep the bridge with thee."
SCH. READ. VI. --3
And out spake strong Herminius,-
Of Titian blood was he:
"I will abide on thy left side,
And keep the bridge with thee."
"Iloratius," quoth the Consul,
"As thou say'st, so let it be."
And straight against that great array
Forth went the dauntless Three.
Meanwhile the Tuscan army,
Right glorious to behold,
Came flashing back the noonday light,
Rank behind rank, like surges bright
Of a broad sea of gold.
Four hundred trumpets sounded
A peal of warlike glee,
As that great host, with measured tread,
And spears advanced, and ensigns spread,
Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head,
Where stood the dauntless Three.
The Three stood calm and silent,
And looked upon the foes,
And a great shout of laughter
From all the vanguard rose.
And forth three chiefs came spurring
Before that deep array;
To earth they sprang, their swords they drew
And lifted high their shield, and flew
To win the narrow way.
Annus from green Tifernum,
Lord of the Hill of Vines;
And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves
Sicken in Ilva's mines;
And Picus, long to Clusium
Vassal in peace and war,
Who led to fight his Umbrian powers
From that gray crag where, girt with towers,
The fortress of Nequinum lowers
O'er the pale waves of Nar.
Stout Lartius hurled down Annus
Into the stream beneath:
Herminius struck at Seius,
And clove him to the teeth:
At Picus brave Horatius
Darted one fiery thrust;
And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms
Clashed in the bloody dust.
And now no sound of laughter
Was heard among the foes.
A wild and wrathful clamor
From all the vanguard rose.
:Six spears' length from the entrance
Halted that mighty mass,
And for a space no man came forth
To win the narrow pass.
But hark! the cry is Astur:
And lo! the ranks divide;
And the great Lord of Luna
Comes with his stately stride.
Upon his ample shoulders
Clangs loud the fourfold shield,
And in his hand he shakes the brand
Which none but he can wield.
He smiled on those bold Romans
A smile serene and high;
He eyed the flinching Tuscans,
And scorn was in his eye.
Quoth he, "The she-wolf's litter
Stand savagely at bay:
But will ye dare to follow,
If Astur clears the way?"
Then whirling up his broadsword
With both hands to the height,
He rushed against Horatius,
And smote with all his might.
With shield and blade Horatius
Right deftly turned the blow.
The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh;
It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh:
The Tuscans raised a joyful cry
To see the red blood flow.
Engraved by Robert Varley.
The Defense of the Bridge.
YIew. UI .. anuar i
He reeled, and on Herminius
He leaned one breathing space;
Then, like a wild cat mad with wounds,
Sprang right at Astur's face.
Through teeth and skull and helmet,
So fierce a thrust he sped,
The good sword stood a handbreadth out
Behind the Tuscan's head!
And the great Lord of Luna
Fell at that deadly stroke,
As falls on Mount Alvernus
A thunder-smitten oak.
Far o'er the crashing forest
The giant arms lie spread;
And the pale augurs, muttering low,
Gaze on the blasted head.
Then all Etruria's noblest
Felt their hearts sink to see
On the earth the bloody corpses,
In the path the dauntless Three:
And, from the ghastly entrance
Where those bold Romans stood,
All shrank, like boys who unaware,
Ranging the woods to start a hare,
Come to the mouth of the dark lair,
Where, growling low, a fierce old bear
Lies amidst bones and blood.
Yet one man for one moment
Stood out before the crowd;
Well known was he to all the Three,
And they gave him greeting loud:
"Now welcome, welcome, Sextus
Now welcome to thy home!
Why dost thou stay and turn away?
Here lies the road to Rome."
Thrice looked he at the city;
Thrice looked he at the dead;
And thrice came on in fury,
And thrice turned back in dread:
And, white with fear and hatred,
Scowled at the narrow way
Where, wallowing in a pool of blood,
The bravest Tuscans lay.
But meanwhile ax and lever
Have manfully been plied,
And now the bridge hangs tottering
Above the boiling tide.
"Come back, come back, Horatius! "
Loud cried the Fathers all.
"Back, Lartius! Back, Herminius
Back, ere the ruin fall! "
Back darted Spurius Lartius;
Herminius darted back;
And, as they passed, beneath their feet
They felt the timbers crack.
But when they turned their faces,
And on the farther shore
Saw brave Horatius stand alone,
They would have crossed once more.
But with a crash like thunder
Fell every loosened beam,
And, like a dam, the mighty wreck
Lay right athwart the stream:
And a long shout of triumph
Rose from the walls of Rome,
As to the highest turret tops
Was splashed the yellow-foam.
Alone stood brave Horatius,
But constant still in mind;
Thrice thirty thousand foes before,
And the broad flood behind.
"Down with him! cried false Sextus,
With a smile on his pale face.
"Now, yield thee!" cried Lars Porsena,
"Now yield thee to our grace."
Round turned he, as not deigning
Those craven ranks to see;
Naught spake he to Lars Porsena,
To Sextus naught spake he;
But he saw on Palatinus
The white porch of his home;
And he spake to the noble river
That rolls by the tower of Rome:
"O, Tiber! Father TiberI
To whom the Romans pray,
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms,
Take thou in charge this day! "
So he spake, and speaking sheathed
The good sword by his side,
And with his harness on his back,
Plunged headlong in the tide.
No sound of joy or sorrow
Was heard from either bank;
But friends and foes, in dumb surprise,
With parted lips and straining eyes,
Stood gazing where he sank:
And when above the surges
They saw his crest appear,
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry,
And even the ranks of Tuscany
Could scarce forbear to cheer.
But fiercely ran the current,
Swollen high by months of rain:
And fast his blood was flowing;
And he was sore in pain,
And heavy with his armor,
And spent with changing blows:
And oft they thought him sinking,
But still again he rose.
"Curse on him! quoth false Sextus,
"Will not the villain drown?
But for this stay, ere close of day
We should have sacked the town! "-
"Heaven help him! quoth Lars Porsena,
"And bring him safe to shore;
For such a gallant feat of arms
Was never seen before."
And now he feels the bottom;
Now on dry earth he stands;
Now round him throng the Fathers,
To press his gory hands;
And now with shouts and clapping,
And noise of weeping loud,
He enters through the River Gate,
Borne by the joyous crowd.
They gave him of the corn land,
That was of public right,
As much as two strong oxen
Could plow from morn till night;
And they made a molten image,
And set it up on high,
And there it stands unto this day
To witness if I lie.
And still his name sounds stirring
Unto the men of Rome,
As the trumpet-blast that cries to them
To charge the Volscians home.
And mothers pray to Juno
For boys with hearts as bold
As his who kept the bridge so well
In the brave days of old.
And in the nights of winter
When the cold north winds blow,
And the long howling of the wolves
Is heard amidst the snow;
When round the lonely cottage
Roars loud the tempest's din,
And the good logs of Algidus
Roar louder yet within;
When the oldest cask is opened,
And the largest lamp is lit;
When the chestnuts glow in the embers,
And the kid turns on the spit;
When young and old in circle
Around the firebrands close;
When the girls are weaving baskets,
And the lads are shaping bows;
When the goodman mends his armor,
And trims his helmet's plume;
When the goodwife's shuttle merrily
Goes flashing through the loom;
With weeping and with laughter
Still is the story told,
How well Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.
HOW SIR FRANCIS DRAKE SAILED ROUND
The ships which the Spaniards used on the Pacific
were usually built on the spot. But Magellan was
known to have gone by the Horn, and where a Portu-
guese could go an Englishman could go.
Drake proposed to try. The vessels in 5
\ lIi.1t he was preparing to tempt for-
tlue seem preposterously small. The
"Pelican," or Golden Hind,"
which belonged to Drake him-
self, was but 120 tons, at best 10
no larger than a modern rac-
ing yawl, though perhaps no
racing yawl was ever better
:.equipped for the work which
she had to do. The next, 15
Sir Franois Drake. the "Elizabeth" of London,
was said to be eighty tons; a small pinnace of twelve
tons, in which we should hardly risk a summer cruise
round the Land's End, with two sloops or frigates of fifty
and thirty tons, made the rest. The "Elizabeth" was 20
commanded by Captain Winter, a queen's officer, and
perhaps a son of the old admiral.
We may credit Drake with knowing what he was
about. He and his comrades were.carrying their lives
in their hands. If they were taken they would be in- 25
evitably hanged. Their safety depended on speed of
sailing, and specially on the power of working fast to
windward, which the heavy square-rigged ships could
not do. The crews all told were one hundred and sixty
men and boys.
On November 15th, 1577, the "Pelican" and her consorts
5 sailed out of Plymouth Sound. The elements frowned
on their start. On the second day they were caught in
a winter gale. The "Pelicah" sprung her mainmast,
and they put back to refit and repair. Before the middle
of December all was again in order. The weather
10 mended, and with a fair wind and smooth water they
made a fast run down the coast to the Cape de Verde
Islands. There taking up the northeast Trades, they
struck across the Atlantic. They passed the mouth of
the Plate River, finding to their astonishment fresh water
15 at the ship's side in fifty-four fathoms. On June 20th
they reached Port St. Julian on the coast of Patagonia.
It was now midwinter, the stormiest season of the
year, and they remained for six weeks in Port St. Julian.
They burnt the twelve-ton pinnace, as too small for the
20 work they had now before them, and there remained only
the "Pelican," the "Elizabeth," and the "Marigold." In
cold, wild weather they weighed at last, and on August
20th made the opening of Magellan's Straits. The pas-
sage is seventy miles long, tortuous and dangerous.
25 They had no charts. Icy mountains overhung them on
either side; heavy snow fell below. They brought up
occasionally at an island to rest the men, and let them
kill a few seals and penguins to give them fresh food.
Everything they saw was new, wild, and wonderful.
so Having to feel their way, they were three weeks in
getting through. They had counted on reaching the
Pacific that the worst of their work was over, and that
they could run north at once into warmer and calmer
latitudes. The peaceful ocean, when they entered it,
proved the stormiest they had ever sailed on. A fierce 5
westerly gale drove them six hundred miles to the south-
east outside the Horn. Th'e Marigold went down in the
tremendous encounter. Captain Winter in the "Eliza-
beth" made his way back into Magellan's Straits. There
he lay for three weeks, lighting fires nightly to show 1o
Drake where he was; but no Drake appeared. They had
agreed, if separated, to meet on the coast in the latitude
of Valparaiso; but Winter was chicken-hearted, and sore,
we are told, against the mariners' will," when the three
weeks were out, he sailed away for England, where he 15
reported that all the ships were lost but the Pelican,"
and that the "Pelican was probably lost too.
Drake had believed better of Winter, and had not
expected to be so deserted. He had himself taken refuge
among the islands which form the Cape, waiting for the 20
spring and milder weather. He used the time in making
surveys, and observing the habits of the native Patagoni-
ans. The days lengthened, and the sea smoothed at last.
He then sailed for Valparaiso, hoping to meet Winter
there, as he had arranged. At Valparaiso there was no 25
Winter, but there was in the port instead a great galleon
just come in from Peru. The galleon's crew took him
for a Spaniard, hoisted their colors, and beat their drums.
The Pelican" shot alongside. The English sailors
in high spirits leaped on board. No life was taken; 30
Drake never hurt man if he could help it. The crew
jumped overboard, and swam ashore. The prize was
examined. Four hundred pounds' weight of gold was
found in her, besides other plunder.
S Drake went on next to Tarapaca, where silver from the
Andes mines was shipped for Panama. At Tarapaca
there was the same unconsciousness of danger. The
silver bars lay piled on the quay, the muleteers who had
brought them were sleeping peacefully in the sunshine at
10 their side. The muleteers were left to their slumbers.
The bars were lifted into the English boats. A train of
mules or llamas came in at that moment with a second
load as rich as the first. This, too, went into the "Peli-
can's" hold. The bullion taken at Tarapaca was worth
15 nearly half a million ducats.
Still there was no news of Winter. Drake began to
realize that he was now entirely alone, and had only him-
self and his own crew to depend on. There was nothing
to do but to go through with it, danger adding to the
20 interest. Arica was the next point visited. Half a
hundred blocks of silver were picked up at Arica. After
Arica came Lima, the chief depot of all, where the grand-
est haul was looked for. At Lima, alas they were just
too late. Twelve great hulks lay anchored there. The
25 sails were unbent, the men were ashore. They contained
nothing but some chests of reels and a few bales of silk
and linen. But a thirteenth, called the Cacafuego," had
sailed a few days before for the Isthmus with the whole
produce of the Lima mines for the season. Her ballast
30 was silver, her cargo gold and emeralds and rubies.
Drake deliberately cut the cables of the ships in the
roads, that they might drive ashore and be unable to
follow him. The Pelican spread her wings, and sped
away in pursuit. He would know the "Cacafuego," so
he learned at Lima, by the peculiar cut of her sails. The 5
first man who caught sight of her was promised a gold
chain for his reward. A sail was seen on the second
day. It was not the chase, but it was worth stopping
for. Eighty pounds' weight of gold was found, and a
great gold crucifix, set with emeralds said to be as large o1
as pigeons' eggs.
We learn from the Spanish accounts that the Viceroy
of Lima, as soon as he recovered from his astonishment,
dispatched ships in pursuit. They came up with the
last plundered vessel, heard terrible tales of the rovers' 15
strength, and went back for a larger force. The "Pelican"
meanwhile went along upon her course for eight hundred
miles. At length, off Quito, and close under the shore,
the Cacafuego's" peculiar sails were sighted, and the gold
chain was claimed. There she was, going lazily along a 20
few miles ahead. Care was needed in approaching her.
If she guessed the "Pelican's" character she would run
in upon the land, and they would lose her. It was
afternoon. The sun was still above the horizon, and
Drake meant to wait till night, when the breeze would be 25
off the shore, as in the tropics it always is.
The "Pelican" sailed two feet to the "Cacafuego's" one.
Drake filled his empty wine skins with water and trailed
them astern to stop his way. The chase supposed that
she was followed by some heavily-loaded trader, and, so
wishing for company on a lonely voyage, she slackened
sail, and waited for him to come up. At length the sun
went down into the ocean, the rosy light faded from off
the snows of the Andes; and when both ships had be-
5 come invisible from the shore, the skins were hauled in,
the night wind rose, and the water began to ripple under
the "Pelican's" bows. The "Cacafuego" was swifty over-
taken, and when within a cable's length a voice hailed her
to put her head into the wind. The Spanish commander,
to not understanding so strange an order, held on his course.
A broadside brought down his mainyard, and a flight of
arrows rattled on his deck. He was himself wounded.
In a few minutes he was a prisoner, and the ship and her
precious freight were in the corsair's power. The wreck
15 was cut away; the ship was cleared; a prize crew was
put on board. Both vessels turned their heads to the
sea. At daybreak no land was to be seen, and the exam-
ination of the prize began. The full value was never
acknowledged. The invoice, if there was one, was de-
20 stroyed. The accurate figures were known only to Drake
and Queen Elizabeth. A published schedule acknowl-
edged to twenty tons of silver bullion, thirteen chests of
silver coins, and a hundredweight of gold, but there were
gold nuggets beside in indefinite quantity, and "a great
25 store" of pearls, emeralds, and diamonds.
Drake, we are told, was greatly satisfied. He thought
it prudent to stay in the neighborhood no longer than
necessary. He went north with all sail set, taking his
prize along with him. The master, San Juan de Anton, was
3o removed on board the Pelican," to have his wound at-
SCr. READ. VI. -4
tended to. He remained as Drake's guest for a week,
and sent in a report of what he observed to the Spanish
government. One at least of Drake's party spoke excel-
lent Spanish. This person took San Juan over the ship.
She showed signs, San Juan said, of rough service, but 5
was still in fine condition, with ample arms, spare rope,
mattocks, carpenters' tools of all descriptions. There
were eighty-five men on board all told, fifty of them men
of war, the rest young fellows, ship boys, and the like.
Drake himself was treated with great reverence ; a senti- 10
nel stood always at his cabin door. He dined alone with
The "Pelican met with many other adventures, and at
last sailed for home. Sweeping in fine
i lear weather round the Cape of Good 15
i Hope, she touched once for water
at Sierra Leone, and finally sailed
S5i' in triumph into Plymouth
English sympathy with an 20
extraordinary exploit is al-
ways irresistible. Shouts of
applause rang through the
country; and Elizabeth, every
Js A y F bit of her an English-woman, 25
James Anthony Froude.
felt with her subjects. She
sent for Drake to London, made him tell his story over
and over again, and was never weary of listening to him.
-From "English Seamen in the Sixteenth Century,"
by James Anthony Froude.
A BRAVE RESCUE AND A ROUGH RIDE.
It happened upon a November evening (when I was
about fifteen years old, and outgrowing my strength very
rapidly, my sister Annie being turned thirteen, and a deal
of rain having fallen, and all the troughs in the yard
5 being flooded, and the bark from the wood ricks washed
down the gutter, and even our watershoot growing
brown) that the ducks in the barnyard made a terrible
quacking, instead of marching off to their pen, one behind
another. Thereupon Annie and I ran out to see what
o1 might be the sense of it. There were thirteen ducks, and
ten lily-white (as the fashion of ducks then was), not, I
mean, twenty-three in all, but ten white and three brown-
striped ones; and without being nice about their color,
they all quacked very movingly. They pushed their
15 gold-colored bills here and there (yet dirty, as gold is apt
to be), and they jumped on the triangles of their feet,
and sounded out of their nostrils; and some of the over-
excited ones ran along low on the ground, quacking
grievously, with their bills snapping and bending, and the
to roof of their mouths;xhibited.
Annie began to cry dillyy, dilly, einy, einy, ducksey,"
according to the burden of a tune they seem to have ac-
cepted as the national ducks' anthem; but instead of being
soothed by it, they only quacked three times as hard, and
25 ran round till we were giddy. And then they shook their
tails all together, and looked grave, and went round and
Now, I am uncommonly fond of ducks, whether royster-
ing, roosting, or roasted; and it is a fine sight to behold
them walk, paddling one after another, with their toes
out, like soldiers drilling, and their little eyes cocked all
ways at once, and the way that they dib with their bills,
and dabble, and throw up their heads and enjoy some- 5
thing, and then tell the others about it. Therefore, I
knew at once, by the way they were carrying on, that
there must be something or other gone wholly amiss in
the duck world. Sister Annie perceived it, too, but with
a greater quickness; for she counted them like a good 10
duck wife, and could only tell thirteen of them, when she
knew there ought to be fourteen.
And so we began to search about, and the ducks ran to
lead us aright, having come that far to fetch us; and
when we got down to the foot of the courtyard where is
the two great ash trees stand by the side of the little
water, we found good reason for the urgence and melan-
choly of the duck birds. Lo! the old white drake, the
father of all, a bird of high manners and chivalry, always
the last to help himself from the pan of barley meal, and 20
the first to show fight to a dog or cock intruding upon his
family, this fine fellow, and a pillar of the state, was now
in a sad predicament, yet quacking very stoutly.
For the brook, wherewith he had been familiar from his
callow childhood, and wherein he was wont to quest for 25
water newts, and tadpoles, and caddice worms, and other
game, this brook, which afforded him very often scanty
space to dabble in, and sometimes starved the cresses, was
now coming down in a great brown flood, as if the banks
never belonged to it. The foaming of it, and the noise, 30
and the cresting of the corners, and the up and down, like
the wave of the sea, were enough to frighten any duck,
though bred upon stormy waters, which our ducks never
5 There is always a hurdle six feet long and four and a
half in depth, swung by a chain at either end from an oak
laid across the channel. And the use of this hurdle is to
keep our kine at milking time from straying away there
drinking (for in truth they are very dainty) and to fence
io strange cattle, or Farmer Snowe's horses, from coming
along the bed of the brook unknown, to steal our sub-
But now this hurdle, which hung in the summer a foot
above the trickle, would have been dipped more than two
15 feet deep but for the power against it. For the torrent
came down so vehemently that the chains in full stretch
were creaking, and the hurdle buffeted almost flat, and
thatched (so to say), with the drift stuff, was going see-
saw with a sulky splash on the dirty red comb of the
But saddest to see was between two bars, where a fog was
of rushes, and flood wood, and wild celery, and dead crow's-
foot. For there was our venerable mallard jammed in by
the joint of his shoulder, speaking aloud as he rose and
25 fell, with his topknot full of water, unable to comprehend
it, with his tail washed far away from him, but often com-
pelled to be silent, being ducked very harshly against his
will by the choking fall to of the hurdle.
For a moment I could not help laughing; because, being
so borne high up and dry by a tumult of the torrent, he gave
me a look from his one little eye (having lost one in fight
with a turkey cock), a gaze of appealing sorrow, and then
a loud quack to second it. But the quack came out of
time, I suppose, for his throat got filled with water, as
the hurdle carried him back again. And then there was s
scarcely the screw of his tail to be seen until he swung
up again, and left small doubt, by the way he spluttered,
and failed to quack, and hung down his poor crest, but
what he must drown in another minute, and frogs triumph
over his body. 10
Annie was crying and wringing her hands, and I was
about to rush into the water, although I liked not the look
of it, but hoped to hold on by the hurdle, when a man on
horseback came suddenly round the corner of the great
ash hedge on the other side of the stream, and his horse's 15
feet were in the water.
"Ho, there," he cried, "get thee back, boy! The flood
will carry thee down like a straw. I will do it for thee,
and no trouble."
With that he leaned forward, and spoke to his mare 20
she was just of the tint of a strawberry, a young thing,
very beautiful-and she arched up her neck, as mislik-
ing the job; yet, trusting him, would attempt it. She
entered the flood, with her dainty fore legs sloped further
and further in front of her, and her delicate ears pricked 25
forward, and the size of her great eyes increasing ; but he
kept her straight in the turbid rush, by the pressure of his
knee on her.
Then she looked back, and wondered at him, as the force
of the torrent grew stronger, but he bade her go on; and 30
on she went, and it foamed up over her shoulders; and
she tossed up her lip and scorned it, for now her courage
Then, as the rush of it swept her away, and she struck
5 with her forefeet down the stream, he leaned from his
saddle in a manner which I never could have thought
possible, and caught up old Tom with his left hand, and
set him between his hostlers, and smiled at his faint quack
of gratitude. In a moment all three were carried down
10 stream, and the rider lay flat on his horse, and tossed the
hurdle clear from him, and made for the bend of smooth
They landed some thirty or forty yards lower, in the
midst of our kitchen garden, where the winter cabbage
15 was; but though Annie and I crept in through the hedge,
and were full of our thanks and admiring him, he would
answer us never a word until he had spoken in full to the
mare, as if explaining the whole to her.
"Sweetheart, I know thou couldst have leaped it," he
20 said, as he patted her cheek, being on the ground by this
time, and she was nudging up to him, with the water
pattering off from her; "but I had good reason, Winnie
dear, for making thee go through it."
She answered him kindly with her soft eyes, and sniffed
25 at him very lovingly, and they understood one another.
Then he took from his waistcoat two peppercorns, and
made the old drake swallow them, and tried him softly on
his legs, where the leading gap in the hedge was.
Old Tom stood up quite bravely, and clapped his wings,
30 and shook off the wet from his tail feathers; and then away
into the courtyard, and his family gathered around him,
and they all made a noise in their throats, and stood up,
and put their bills together, to thank God for his great
Having taken all this trouble, and watched the end of 5
that adventure, the gentleman turned round to us with a
pleasant smile on his face, as if he were lightly amused
with himself ; and we came up and looked at him. He was
rather short, about John Fry's height, or maybe a little
taller, but very strongly built and springy, as his gait at 10
every step showed plainly, although his legs were bowed
with much riding, and he looked as if he lived on horse-
To a boy like me he seemed very old, being over
twenty, and well found in beard; but he was not more 15
than four and twenty, fresh and ruddy looking, with a
short nose and keen blue eyes, and a merry, waggish jerk
about him, as if the world were not in earnest. Yet he
had a sharp, stern way, like the crack of a pistol, if any-
thing misliked him; and we knew (for children see such 20
things) that it was safer to tickle than buffet him.
Well, young ones, what be gaping at?" He gave
pretty Annie a chuck on the chin, and took me all in
"Your mare," said '1, standing stoutly up, being a tall 25
boy now; "I never saw such a beauty, sir. Will you let
me have a ride on her? "
"Think thou couldst ride her, lad? She will have no
burden but mine. Thou couldst never ride her Tut!
I would be loath to kill thee." 30
Ride her I I cried, with the bravest scorn, for she
looked so kind and gentle; "there never was horse upon
Exmoor but I could tackle in half an hour. Only I
never ride upon saddle. Take those leathers off of her."
5 He looked at me with a dry little whistle, and thrust
his hands into his pockets, and so grinned that I could not
stand it. And Annie laid hold of me in such a way that
I was almost mad with her. And he laughed, and approved
her for doing so. And the worst of all was-he said
"Get away, Annie. Do you think I'm a fool, good sir ?
Only trust me with her, and I will not override her."
"For that I will go bail, my son. She is liker to over-
ride thee. But the ground is soft to fall upon, after all
15 this rain. Now come out into the yard, young man, for
the sake of your mother's cabbages. And the mellow
straw bed will be softer for thee, since pride must have
its fall. I am thy mother's cousin, boy, and I'm going
up to the house. Tom Faggus is my name, as everybody
20 knows, and this is my young mare, Winnie."
What a fool I must have been not to know it at once !
Tom Faggus, the great highwayman, and his young
blood mare, the strawberry. Already her fame was
noised abroad, nearly as much as her master's, and my
25 longing to ride her grew tenfold, but fear came at the
back of it. Not that I had the smallest fear of what the
mare could do to me, by fair play and horse trickery, but
that the glory of sitting upon her seemed to be too great
for me; especially as there were rumors abroad that she
30 was not a mare, after all, but a witch.
However, she looked like a filly all over, and wonder-
fully beautiful with her supple stride, and soft slope of
shoulder, and glossy coat beaded with water, and promi-
nent eyes full of docile fire. Whether this came from
her Eastern blood of the Arabs newly imported, and 5
whether the cream color, mixed with our bay, led to
that bright strawberry tint, is certainly more than I
can decide, being chiefly acquaint with farm horses.
And these are of any color and form; you never can
count what they will be, and are lucky to get four legs to
Mr. Faggus gave his mare a wink, and she walked
demurely after him, a bright young thing, flowing over
with life, yet dropping her soul to a higher one, and led
by love to anything, as the manner is of such creatures, 15
when they know what is the best for them. Then Winnie
trod lightly upon the straw, because it had soft muck
under it, and her delicate feet came back again.
"Up for it still, boy, be ye ?" Tom Faggus stopped,
and the mare stopped there; and they looked at me 20
"Is she able to leap, sir? There is good take-off on
this side of the brook."
Mr. Faggus laughed very quietly, turning round to
Winnie so that she might enter into it. And she, for her 25
part, seemed to know exactly where the fun lay.
"Good tumble off, you mean, my boy. Well, there
can be small harm to thee. I am akin to thy family, and
know the substance of their skulls."
"Let me get up," said I, waxing wroth, for reasons I 30
can not tell you, because they are too manifold; "take off
your saddlebag things. I will try not to squeeze her
ribs in, unless she plays nonsense with me."
Then Mr. Faggus was up on his mettle at this proud
5 speech of mine, and John Fry was running up all the
while, and Bill Dadds, and half a dozen others. Tom
Faggus gave one glance around, and then dropped all
regard for me. The high repute of his mare was at stake,
and what was my life compared to it? Through my
to defiance, and stupid ways, here was I in a duello, and
my legs not come to their strength yet, and my arms
as limp as herring.
Something of this occurred to him, even in his wrath
with me, for he spoke very softly to the filly, who now
15 could scarce subdue herself; but she drew in her nos-
trils, and breathed to his breath, and did all she could
to answer him.
"Not too hard, my dear," he said; "let him gently
down on the mixen. That will be quite enough." Then
20 he turned the saddle off, and I was up in a moment.
She began at first so easily, and pricked her ears so lov-
ingly, and minced about as if pleased to find so light a
weight upon her, that I thought she knew I could ride
a little, and feared to show any capers. "Gee wugg,
25 Polly!" cried I, for all the men were now looking on,
being then at the leaving-off time; "gee wugg, Polly,
and show what thou be'est made of." With that I
plugged my heels into her, and Billy Dadds flung his
so Nevertheless, she outraged not, though her eyes were
frightening Annie, and John Fry took a pick to keep
him safe ; but she curbed to and fro with her strong fore-
arms rising like springs ingathered, waiting and quiver-
ing grievously, and beginning to sweat about it. Then
her master gave a shrill, clear whistle, when her ears 5
were bent toward him, and I felt her form beneath me
gathering up like whalebone, and her hind legs coming
under her, and I knew that I was in for it.
First she reared upright in the air, and struck me full
on the nose with her comb, till I bled worse than Robin to
Snell made me; and then down with her fore feet deep
in the straw, and with her hiid feet going to heaven.
Finding me stick to her still like wax, for my mettle was
up as hers was, away she flew with me swifter than ever
I went before, or since, I trow. 15
She drove full head at the cob wall -" Oh, Jack, slip
off! screamed Annie then she turned like light, when
I thought to crush her, and ground my left knee against
it. "Dear me I cried, for my breeches were broken,
and short words went the farthest if you kill me, you 20
shall die with me." Then she took the courtyard gate
at a leap, knocking my words between my teeth, and
then right over a quickset hedge, as if the sky were a
breath to her; and away for the water meadows, while I
lay on her neck like a child and wished I had never been 25
Straight away, all in the front of the wind, and scatter-
ing clouds around her, all I know of the speed we made
was the frightful flash of her shoulders, and her mane
like trees in a tempest. I felt the earth under us rush- 30
ing away, and the air left far behind us, and my breath
came and went, and I prayed to God, and was sorry to
be so late of it.
All the long swift while, without power of thought, I
5 clung to her crest and shoulders, and was proud of hold-
ing on so long, though sure of being beaten. Then in
her fury at feeling me still, she rushed at another device
for it, and leaped the wide water-trough sideways across,
to and fro, till no breath was left in me. The hazel
10 boughs took me too hard in the face, and the tall dog-
briers got hold of me, and the ache of my back was like
crimping a fish, till I longed to give it up, thoroughly
beaten, and lie there and die in the cresses.
But there came a shrill whistle from up the home hill,
15 where the people had hurried to watch us, and the mare
stopped as if with a bullet, then set off for home with
the speed of a swallow, and going as smoothly and si-
lently. I never had dreamed of such delicate motion,
fluent, and graceful, and ambient, soft as the breeze flit-
20 ting over the flowers, but swift as the summer lightning.
I sat up again, but my strength was all spent, and no
time left to recover it; and though she rose at our gate
like a bird, I tumbled off into the soft mud.
"Well done, lad," Mr. Faggus said, good-naturedly;
25 for all were now gathered round me, as I rose from the
ground, somewhat tottering, and miry, and crest-fallen,
but otherwise none the worse (having fallen upon my
head, which is of uncommon substance) ; "not at all bad
work, my boy; we may teach you to ride by and by, I
s0 see; I thought not to see you stick on so long "
"I should have stuck on much longer, sir, if her sides
had not been wet. She was so slippery-"
"Boy, thou art right. She hath given many the slip.
Ha! ha! Vex not, Jack, that I laugh at thee. She is
like a sweetheart to me, and better than any of them be. 5
It would have gone to my heart if thou hadst conquered.
None but I can ride my Winnie mare."
Foul shame to thee, then, Tom Faggus," cried mother,
coming up suddenly, and speaking so that all were amazed,
having never seen her wrathful, "to put my boy, my boy, to
across her, as if his life were no more than thine! A
man would have taken thy mad horse and thee, and flung
them both into a horse pond- ay, and what's more, I'll
have it done now, if a hair of his head is injured. Oh,
my boy, my boy Put up the other arm, Johnny." All 15
the time mother was scolding so, she was feeling me and
wiping me; while Faggus tried to look greatly ashamed,
having sense of the ways of women.
Only look at his jacket, mother cried Annie; "and
a shilling's worth gone from his smallclothes !" 20
"What care I for his clothes, thou goose ? Take that,
and heed thine own a bit." And mother gave Annie a
slap which sent her swinging up against Mr. Faggus, and
he caught her, and kissed and protected her; and she
looked at him very nicely, with great tears in her soft 25
"Oh, fie upon thee, fie upon thee," cried mother (being
yet more vexed with him, because she had beaten Annie);
" after all we have done for thee, and saved thy worthless
neck -and to try to kill my son for me Never more so
shall horse of thine enter stable here, since these be thy
returns to me. Small thanks to you, John Fry, I say;
much you care for your master's son "
"Well, missus, what could us do ?" began John; "Jan
5 wudd goo, now wudd't her, Jem? And how was us-"
"Jan, indeed Master John, if you please, to a lad of
his years and stature. And now, Tom Faggus, be off, if
you please, and think yourself lucky to go so."
Everybody looked at mother, to hear her talk like that,
10 knowing how quiet she was day by day, and how pleasant
to be cheated. And the men began to shoulder their
shovels, both so as to be away from her, and to go and
tell their wives of it. Winnie, too, was looking at her,
being pointed at so much, and wondering if she had done
l amiss. And then she came to me, and trembled, and
stooped her head, and asked my pardon, if she had been
too proud with me.
"Winnie shall stop here to-night," said I, for Tom
Faggus still said never a word all the while, but began
2o to buckle his things on. "Mother, I tell you Winnie
shall stop; else I will go away with her. I never knew
what it was, till now, to ride a horse worth riding."
Young man," said Tom Faggus, still preparing sternly
to depart, "you know more about a horse than any man
25 on Exmoor. Your mother may well be proud of you, but
she need have had no fear. As if I, Tom Faggus, your
father's cousin -and the only thing I am proud of -
would ever have let you mount my mare, which dukes
and princes have vainly sought, except for the courage
so in your eyes, and the look of your father about you. I
knew you could ride when I saw you, and rarely you
have conquered. But women don't understand us."
With that he fetched a heavy sigh, and feebly got upon
Winnie's back, and she came to say farewell to me. He
lifted his hat to my mother with a glance of sorrow, but 5
never a word, and to me he said: Open the gate, Cousin
John, if you please. You have beaten her so, that she
cannot leap it, poor thing."
But, before he was truly gone out of our yard, my
mother came softly after him, with her afternoon apron to
across her eyes, and one hand ready to offer him. Never-
theless, he made as if he had not seen her, though he
let his horse go slowly. Stop, Cousin Tom," my mother
said, "a word with you before you go."
Lorna Doone," by Richard Blackmore, from which this 15
extract is taken, is justly regarded as one of the few really
great romances.written in the latter part of the nineteenth
century. It is a story of the times of Charles II., and
culminates about the time of the rebellion of Monmouth
in 1685. The narrative is supposed to be related by a 20
sturdy farmer of Exmoor, named John Ridd, who is the
hero of the tale. The main part of the action centers
round the deeds of a band of outlaws called the Doones,
who had established themselves in a narrow valley of
Exmoor, from whence they levied tribute upon their 25
neighbors and bade defiance to the officers of the law.
The quaint and homely style in which the story is written
wins the admiration of all readers, and gives to the work
an indefinable charm.
THE GLORY OF GOD.
The heavens declare the glory of God;
And the firmament sheweth his handywork.
Day unto day uttereth speech,
And night unto night sheweth knowledge,
5 There is no speech nor language,
Where their voice is not heard.
Their line is gone out through all the earth,
And their words to the end of the world.
In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun,
10 Which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber,
And rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race.
His going forth is from the end of the heaven,
And his circuit unto the ends of it:
And there is nothing hid from the heat thereof.
15 Tie law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul;
The testimony of the Lord is sure, making wise the
The statutes of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart;
The commandment of the Lord is pure, enlightening the
The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring forever;
20 The judgments of the Lord are true and righteous alto-
More to be desired are they than gold; yea than much
Sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb.
Moreover by them is thy servant warned;
And in keeping of them there is great reward.
SCH. READ. VI.--
Who can understand his errors?
Cleanse thou me from secret faults.
Keep back thy servant also from presumptuous sins;
Let them not have dominion over me:
Then shall I be upright, and I shall be
Innocent from the great transgression.
Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my
Be acceptable in thy sight,
O Lord, my strength, and my redeemer.
From the Psalms of David
THE BATTLE OF BANNOCKBURN.
The Battle of Bannockburn, in Scotland, was one of lo
the most famous in history. It was fought June 24th,
1314, between Robert Bruce of Scotland and Edward II.
of England. The army of Bruce consisted of 30,000
men; that of Edward of 100,000, of whom 52,000 were
archers. The story of the battle is thus described by Sir 15
Walter Scott in his "Tales of a Grandfather ":
Now when Sir Philip Mowbray, the governor of Stir-
ling, came to London, to tell the King, that Stirling, the
last Scottish town of importance which remained in pos-
session of the English, was to be surrendered if it were 20
not relieved by force of arms before midsummer, then all
the English nobles called out, it would be a sin and shame
to permit the fair conquest which Edward the First had
made, to be forfeited to the Scots for want of fighting.
It was, therefore, resolved, that the King should go him-
self to Scotland, with as great forces as he could possibly
King Edward the Second, therefore, assembled one of
the greatest armies which a King of England ever com-
manded. There were troops brought from all his domin-
ions. Many brave soldiers from the French provinces
1o which the King of England possessed in France, many
Irish, many Welsh, and all the great English nobles and
barons, vith their followers, were assembled in one great
King Robert the Bruce summoned all his nobles and
15 barons to join him, when he heard of the great prepara-
tions which the King of England was making. They
were not so numerous as the English by many thousand
men. In fact, his whole army did not very much exceed
thirty thousand, and they were much worse armed than
20 the wealthy Englishmen; but then, Robert, who was
at their head, was one of the most expert generals of
the time; and the officers he had under him, were his
brother Edward, his nephew Randolph, his faithful fol-
lower the Douglas, and other brave and experienced lead-
25 ers, who commanded the same men that had been
accustomed to fight and gain victories under every dis-
advantage of situation and numbers.
The King, on his part, studied how he might supply,
by address and stratagem, what he wanted in numbers
30 and strength. He knew the superiority of the English,
both in their heavy-armed cavalry, which were much
better mounted and armed than that of the Scots, and in
their archers, who were better trained than any others in
the world. Both these advantages he resolved to provide
against. With this purpose, he led his army down into a 5
plain near Stirling, called the Park, near which, and be-
neath it, the English army must needs pass through a
boggy country, broken with water courses, while the Scots
occupied hard dry ground. He then caused all the
ground upon the front of his line of battle, where cavalry to
were likely to act, to be dug full of holes, about as deep
as a man's knee. They were filled with light brushwood,
and the turf was laid on the top, so that it appeared a
plain field, while in reality it was all full of these pits as
a honeycomb is of holes. He also, it is said, caused steel la
spikes, called calthrops, to be scattered up and down in
the plain, where the English cavalry were most likely
to advance, trusting in that manner to lame and destroy
When the Scottish army was drawn up, the line stretched 20
north and south. On the south, it was terminated by
the banks of the brook called Bannockburn, which are so
rocky, that no troops could attack them there. On the
left, the Scottish line extended'near to the town of Stir-
ling. Bruce reviewed his troops very carefully ; all the 25
useless servants, drivers of carts, and such like, of whom
There were very many, he ordered to go behind a height,
afterwards, in memory of the event, called the Gillies'
hill, that is, the Servants' hill. He then spoke to the
soldiers, and expressed his determination to gain the 30
victory, or to lose his life on the field of battle. He
desired that all those who did not propose to fight to the
last, should leave the field before the battle began, and
that none should remain except those who were deter-
5 mined to take the issue of victory or death, as God should
When the main body of his army was thus placed in
order, the King posted Randolph, with a body of horse,
near to the Church of St. Ninian's, commanding him to
10 use the utmost diligence to prevent any succors from
being thrown into Stirling Castle. He then dispatched
James of Douglas, and Sir Robert Keith, the Mareschal of
the Scottish army, in order that they might survey, as
nearly as they could, the English force, which was now
15 approaching from Falkirk. They returned with informa-
tion, that the approach of that vast host was one of the
most beautiful and terrible sights which could be seen,
-that the whole country seemed covered with men at
arms on horse and foot, -that the number of standards,
20 banners, and pennons (all flags of different kinds) made so
gallant a show, that the bravest and most numerous host
in Christendom might be alarmed to see King Edward
moving against them.
It was upon the twenty-third of June (1314) the King
25 of Scotland heard the news, that the English army were
approaching Stirling. He drew out his army, therefore, in
the order which he had before resolved on. After a short
time, Bruce, who was looking out anxiously for the enemy,
saw a body of English cavalry trying to get into Stirling
30 from the eastward. This was the Lord Clifford, who,
with a chosen body of eight hundred horse had been
detached to relieve the castle.
"See, Randolph," said the King to his nephew, "there
is a rose fallen from your chaplet." By this he meant
that Randolph had lost some honor, by suffering the 5
enemy to pass where he had been stationed to hinder
them. Randolph made no reply, but rushed against Clif-
ford with little more than half his number. The Scots
were on foot. The English turned to charge them with
their lances, and Randolph drew up his men in close order 10
to receive the onset. He seemed to be in so much danger,
that Douglas asked leave of the King to go and assist
him. The King refused him permission.
"Let Randolph," he said, "redeem his own fault; I
can not break the order of battle for his sake." Still the 15
danger appeared greater, and the English horse seemed
entirely to encompass the small handful of Scottish infan-
try. So please you," said Douglas to the King, "my
heart will not suffer me to stand idle and see Randolph
perish -I must go to his assistance." He rode off ac- 20
cordingly; but long before they had reached the place of
combat, they saw the English horses galloping off, many
with empty saddles.
"Halt!" said Douglas to his men, "Randolph has
gained the day; since we were not soon enough to help 25
him in the battle, do not let us lessen his glory by ap-
proaching the field." Now, that was nobly done; espe-
cially as Douglas and Randolph were always contending
which should rise highest in the good opinion of the King
and the nation. 30
The van of the English army now came in sight, and a
number of their bravest knights drew near to see what
the Scots were doing. They saw King Robert dressed in
his armor, and distinguished by a gold crown, which he
5 wore over his helmet. He was not mounted on his great
war horse, because he did not expect to fight that even-
ing. But he rode on a little pony up and down the ranks
of his army, putting his men in order, and carried in his
hand a short battle ax made of steel. When the King
to saw the English horsemen draw near, he advanced a little
before his own men, that he might look at them more
There was a knight among the English, called Sir
Henry de Bohun, who thought this would be a good op-
15 portunity to gain great fame to himself, and put an end
to the war, by killing King Robert. The King being
poorly mounted, and having no lance, Bohun galloped on
him suddenly and furiously, thinking, with his long spear,
and his tall powerful horse, easily to bear him down to
20 the ground. King Robert saw him, and permitted him
to come very near, then suddenly turned his pony a little
to one side, so that Sir Henry missed him with the lance
point, and was in the act of being carried past him by the
career of his horse. But as he passed, King Robert rose
25 up in his stirrups, and struck Sir Henry on the head with
his battle ax so terrible a blow, that it broke to pieces
his iron helmet as if it had been a nutshell, and hurled
him from his saddle. He was dead before he reached the
ground. This gallant action was blamed by the Scottish
30 leaders, who thought Bruce ought not to have exposed
himself to so much danger, when the safety of the whole
army depended on him. The King only kept looking at
his weapon, which was injured by the force of the blow,
and said, "I have broken my good battle ax."
The next morning, being the twenty-fourth of June, at 5
break of day, the battle began in terrible earnest. The
English as they advanced saw the Scots getting into line.
The Abbot of Inchaffray walked through their ranks
barefooted, and exhorted them to fight for their freedom.
They kneeled down as he passed, and prayed to heaven 10
for victory. King Edward, who saw this, called out,
"They kneel down-they are asking forgiveness."
"Yes," said a celebrated English baron, called Ingelram
de Umphraville, "but they ask it from God, not from us
- these men will conquer, or die upon the field." 15
The English King ordered his men to begin the battle.
The archers then bent their bows, and began to shoot so
closely together, that the arrows fell like flakes of snow
on a Christmas day. But Bruce, as I told you before, was
prepared for them. He had in readiness a body of men at 20
arms well mounted, who rode at full gallop among the
archers, and as they had no weapons save their bows and
arrows, which they could not use when they were attacked
hand to hand, they were cut down in great numbers, and
thrown into total confusion. 25
The fine English cavalry then advanced to support
their archers, and to attack the Scottish line. But com-
ing over the ground, which was dug full of pits, the
horses fell into these holes, and the riders lay tumbling
about, without any means of defense, and unable to rise, so
from the weight of their armor. The Englishmen began
to fall into general disorder; and the Scottish King,
bringing up more of his forces, attacked and pressed
them still more closely.
5 On a sudden, while the battle was obstinately main-
tained on both sides, an event happened which decided
the victory. The servants and attendants on the Scot-
tish camp had, as I told you, been sent behind the army
to a place afterwards called the Gillies' hill. But when
10 they saw that their masters were likely to gain the day,
they rushed from their place of concealment with such
weapons as they could get, that they might have their
share in the victory and in the spoil. The English, see-
ing them come suddenly over the hill, mistook this dis-
15 orderly rabble for a new army coming up to sustain the
Scots, and, losing all heart, began to shift every man for
himself. Edward himself left the field as fast as he could
ride. A valiant knight, Sir Giles de Argentine, attended
the King till he got him out of the press of the combat.
20 But he would retreat no farther. "It is not my custom,"
he said, to fly." With that he took leave of the King, set
spurs to horse, and calling out his war cry of Argentine!
Argentine he rushed into the thickest of the Scottish
ranks, and was killed.
25 Edward first fled to Stirling Castle, and entreated admit-
fance; but Sir Philip Mowbray, the governor, reminded
the fugitive sovereign that he was obliged to surren-
der the castle next day, so Edward was fain to fly through
the Torwood, closely pursued by Douglas with a body of
so cavalry. An odd circumstance happened during the
chase, which showed how loosely some of the Scottish
barons of that day held their political opinions: As
Douglas was riding furiously after Edward, he met a
Scottish knight, Sir Laurence Abernethy, with twenty
horse. Sir Laurence had hitherto owned the English in- 5
terest, and was bringing this band of followers to serve
King Edward's army. But learning from Douglas that
the English King was entirely defeated, he changed sides
on the spot, and was easily prevailed upon to join Douglas
in pursuing the unfortunate Edward, with the very fol- lo
lowers whom he had been leading to join his standard.
Douglas and Abernethy followed King Edward as far
as Dunbar, where the English had still a friend, in the
governor, Patrick, Earl of March. The Earl received
Edward in his forlorn condition, and furnished him with a 15
fishing skiff, or small ship, in which he escaped to England,
having entirely lost his fine army, and a great number of
his bravest nobles.
The English never before or afterwards, whether in
France or Scotland, lost so dreadful a battle as that of 20
Bannockburn, nor did the Scots ever gain one of the same
Such is the story that is told by Sir Walter Scott in his
"Tales of a Grandfather." It will be interesting now to
read Burns's poem beginning, "Scots wha hae wi' Wal- 25
lace bled," which we can easily imagine to be Bruce's
address to his men at the beginning of the great fight.
Read also Sir Walter Scott's metrical description of the
battle, in the long poem entitled "The Lord of the Isles."
THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.
Our bugles sang truce; for the night cloud had lowered,
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered -
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.
When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,
By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain,
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamed it again.
Methought from the battlefield's dreadful array,
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track;
'Twas autumn and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.
I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft
In life's morning march, when my bosom was young;
I heard my own mountain goats bleating aloft,
And knew the sweet strain that the corn reapers sung.
Then pledged we the wine cup, and fondly I swore
From my home and my weeping friends never to part;
My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er,
And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart.
"Stay, stay with us! -rest; thou art weary and worn! "
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay;
But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away !
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.
A chieftain, to the Highlands bound.
(Cries, Boatman, do not tarry !
And. I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry."
"Now who be ye, would cross
This dark and stormy
"Oh, I'm the chief oi
And this Lord Ullin's
Thomas Campbell. daughter.
"And fast before her father's men
Three days we've fled together;
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.
"His horsemen hard behind us ride:
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover? "
Out spoke the hardy Highland wight:
"I'll go, my chief : I'm ready
It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady;
"And, by my word, the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry;
So, though the waves are raging white,
I'll row you o'er the ferry."
By this the storm grew loud apace;
The water wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.
But still, as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men;
Their trampling sounded nearer.
" Oh haste thee, haste," the lady cries,
"Though tempests round us gather,
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father."
The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,
When, oh, too strong for human hand,
The tempest gathered o'er her.
And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing.
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore:
His wrath was changed to wailing;
For, sore dismayed, through storm and shade,
His child he did discover:
One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,
And one was round her lover.
"Come back come back he cried in grief,
"Across this stormy water;
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter oh, my daughter !"
'Twas vain The loud waves lashed the shore,
Return or aid preventing:
The waters wild went o'er his child,
And he was left lamenting.
BEETHOVEN'S MOONLIGHT SONATA.
Among the great musical composers of modern times
there have been few who rank with Ludwig van Bee-
thoven. This famous man was born in Bonn, Germany,
in 1770; he died at Vienna in 1827. It may be truthfully
said that the works of Beethoven created a new epoch in 5
the history and development of music, and his composi-
tions lose none of their popularity as the years go by.
Beethoven's life was a sad one. He was alone in the
world, deaf, and the object of unkind treatment by those
who should have been his friends. How nobly he rose above 1
all petty annoyances, we can readily understand when we
listen to the grand and solemn strains of his immortal
music. The following story illustrates the kindliness
of his nature and shows how some of his works seemed
to be almost the result of inspiration.
It happened at Bonn. One moonlight winter's even-
5 ing I called upon Beethoven; for I wished him to take
a walk, and afterwards sup with me. In passing through
a dark, narrow street, he suddenly paused.
"Hush! he said, "what sound is that? It
is from my Sonata in F. Hark! how well
10 it is played! "
It was a little, mean dwelling, and
we paused outside and listened. The
player went on; but, in the midst of
the finale, there was a sudden break; '. H
15 then the voice of sobbing. "I can-
not play any more. It is so beautiful;
it is utterly beyond my power to do it
justice. Oh, what would I not give Ludwig van Beethoven.
Ludwig van Beethoven.
to go to the concert at Cologne I"
20 "Ah! my sister," said her companion; "why create
regrets when there is no remedy? We can scarcely pay
"You are right, and yet I wish for once in my life to
hear some really good music. But it is of no use."
2 Beethoven looked at me. "Let us go in," he said.
"Go in!" I exclaimed. "What can we go in for?"
"I will play to her," he said, in an excited tone.
"Here is feeling -genius- understanding I will play
to her, and she will understand it."
And, before I could prevent him, his hand was upon
the door. It opened, and we entered.
A pale young man was sitting by the table, making
shoes; and near him, leaning sorrowfully upon an old-
fashioned piano, sat a young girl, with a profusion of 5
light hair falling over her face.
"Pardon me," said Beethoven, "but I heard music
and was tempted to enter. I am a musician."
The girl blushed, and the young man looked grave
and somewhat annoyed. 10
"I-I also overheard something of what you said,"
continued my friend. "You wish to hear -that is, you
would like that is shall I play for you ?"
There was something so odd in the whole affair, and
something so comical and pleasant in the manner of the 15
speaker, that the spell was broken in a moment.
"Thank you," said the shoemaker; "but our piano is
so wretched, and we have no music."
"No music!" echoed my friend; "how, then, does the
young lady -" He paused, and colored; for, as he 20
looked in the girl's face, he saw that she was blind.
"I.- I entreat your pardon," he stammered. "I had not
perceived before. Then you play by ear? But where
do you hear the music, since you frequent no concerts ?"
"We lived at Bruhl for two years, and while there, 25
I used to hear a lady practicing near us. During the
summer evenings her windows were generally open, and
I walked to and fro outside to listen to her."
She seemed so shy that Beethoven said no more, but
seated himself quietly before the piano and began to 3o
play. He had no sooner struck the first chord than I
knew what would follow. Never, during all the years
I knew him, did I hear him play as he then played to
that blind girl and her brother. He seemed to be in-
5 spired; and, from the instant that his fingers began to
wander along the keys, the very tone of the instrument
seemed to grow sweeter and more equal.
The brother and sister were silent with wonder and
rapture. The former laid aside his work; the latter,
to with her head bent slightly forward, and her hands
pressed tightly over her breast, crouched down near the
end of the piano, as if fearful lest even the beating of
her heart should break the flow of those magical sounds.
Suddenly the flame of the single candle wavered, sank,
15 flickered, and went out. Beethoven paused, and I threw
open the shutters, admitting a flood of brilliant moon-
light. The room was almost as light as before, the
moon's rays falling strongest upon the piano and player.
His head dropped upon his breast; his hands rested
20 upon his knees; he seemed absorbed in deep thought.
He remained thus for some time. At length the young
shoemaker rose and approached him eagerly.
"Wonderful man!" he said, in a low tone. "Who
and what are you?"
25 "Listen!" said Beethoven, and he played the opening
bars of the Sonata in F. A cry of recognition burst from
them both, and exclaiming, "Then you are Beethoven!'
they covered his hands with tears and kisses.
He rose to go, but we held him back with entreaties.
30 "Play to us once more-only once more!"
SCH. READ. VI. -6
He suffered himself to be led back to the instrument.
The moon shone brightly in through the window, and
lighted up his glorious, rugged head and massive figure.
"I will improvise a Sonata to the Moonlight! said he,
looking up thoughtfully to the sky and stars. Then his a
hands dropped on the keys, and he began playing a sad
and infinitely lovely movement, which crept gently over
the instrument, like the calm flow of moonlight over the
dark earth. This was followed by a wild, elfin passage
in triple time-a sort of grotesque interlude, like the 10
dance of sprites upon the lawn. Then came a swift
agitato finale -a breathless, hurrying, trembling move-
ment, descriptive of flight, and uncertainty, and vague
impulsive terror, which carried us away on its rustling
wings, and left us all in emotion and wonder. 15
"Farewell to you! said Beethoven, pushing back his
chair, and turning toward the door "farewell to you!"
You will come again?" asked they, in one breath.
He paused and looked compassionately, almost ten-
derly, at the face of the blind girl. 20
"Yes, yes," he said hurriedly, "I will come again, and
give the young lady some lessons Farewell! I will
come again I"
Their looks followed us in silence more eloquent than
words till we were out of sight. 25
"Let us make haste back," said Beethoven, "that I
may write out that Sonata while I can yet remember it."
We did so, and he sat over it until long past day dawn.
And this was the origin of that Moonlight Sonata with
which we are all so fondly acquainted. 30
THE STORY OF TEMPE WICK.
There are so many curious and unexpected things
which may happen in time of war, especially to people
who live in parts of a country where the enemy may
be expected to come, or where the
a friendly army is already encamped.
that it is impossible to guard agaiiht
unpleasant occurrences; and it of te-n
happens that the only thing to 1.-
depended upon when an emergeni iv
to arises, is presence of mind, and
quickness of wit.
In these qualities, New Jer-
sey girls have never shown
themselves behind their sisters
15 of other parts of the country,
and a very good proof of Frank B. Stockton,
this is shown by an incident
which took place near Morristown during the time that
the American army was quartered in that neighborhood.
2o Not far from the town was a farm then known as
Wick's farm, situated in a beautiful wooded country.
The daughter of Mr. Wick, named Tempe (probably
short for Temperance), was the owner of a very fine
horse, and on this beautiful animal it was her delight
25 to ride over the roads and through the woods of the
surrounding country. She had been accustomed to
horses since she was a child, and was not afraid to ride
anywhere by herself.
When she first began to canter over these hills and
dales, it had been in times of peace, when there was
nothing in this quiet country of which any one might
be afraid; and now, although these were days of war,
she felt no fear. There were soldiers not far away, but s
these she looked upon as her friends and protectors;
for Washington and his army had encamped in that
region to defend the country against the approach of
the enemy. If any straggling Redcoats should feel a
desire to come along the hills, they would be very apt 10
to restrain their inclinations so long as they knew that
that brave American army was encamped near by.
So Miss Tempe Wick, fearing nothing, rode far and
wide, as she had been in the habit of doing, and every
day she and her good steed became better and better 15
acquainted with each other.
One fine afternoon, as Tempe was slowly riding home-
ward, within a mile of her house, she met half a dozen
soldiers in Continental uniform, and two of them, step-
ping in front of her, called upon her to stop. When she 20
had done so, one of them seized her bridle. She did
not know the men; but still, as they belonged to Wash-
ington's army, who were her countrymen and friends,
she saw no reason to be afraid, and asked them what
they wanted. 25
At first she received no answer, for they were very
busily occupied in looking at her horse and expressing
their satisfaction at the fine points of the animal. Tempe
had had her horse praised before; but these men were
looking at him, and talking about him, very much as if so
he were for sale and they were thinking of buying.
Presently one of the men said to her that this was a very
excellent horse that she was riding, and they wanted it.
To this Tempe exclaimed, in great amazement, that it
5 was her own horse, that she wanted him herself, and had
no wish to dispose of him. Some of the soldiers laughed,
and one of them told her that the troops were about to
move, and that good horses were greatly needed, and that
they had orders to levy upon the surrounding country
to and take horses wherever they could find them.
Now was Tempe astonished beyond measure. If half
a dozen British soldiers had surrounded her, and had de-
clared that they intended to rob her of her horse, she
would not have wondered at it, for they would have taken
15 it as the property of an enemy. But that the soldiers of
her own country, the men on whom she and all her friends
and neighbors depended for protection and safety, should
turn on her and rob her, as if they had been a set
of marauding Hessians, was something she could scarcely
20 comprehend. But it did not take her long to under-
stand, that no matter who they were or what they were,
whether they thought they had a right to do what
they threatened, or whether they had no regard for right
and justice, -they were in earnest, and intended to take
25 her horse. When this conviction flashed into the mind
of Tempe Wick, there also flashed into it a determination
to show these men that a Jersey girl had a will of her
own, and that if they wanted her property, they would
have to do a great deal more than simply to come to her
30 and ask her to hand it over to them.
After a little parley, during which the man who held
her bridle let go of it, supposing she was about to dis-
mount, she suddenly gave her spirited horse a sharp cut
with the whip, dashed between two of the soldiers, and
before they could comprehend what had happened she 5
was off and away.
As fast as they could run, the soldiers followed her,
one or two of them firing their guns in the air, thinking
to frighten her and make her stop; but, as though she
had been a deer and her pursuers ordinary hunters, she 10
swiftly sped away from them.
But they did not give up the chase. Some of them
knew where this girl lived, and were confident that when
they reached her house, they would have the horse. If
they had known it was such a fine animal, they would 15
have come after it before. According to their belief,
good horses should go into the army, and people who
staid at home, and expected other people to fight for
them, ought to be willing to do what they could to help
in the good cause, and at least give their horses to the 20
As Tempe sat upon her bounding steed, she knew very
well that the soldiers could never catch her ; but her
heart sank within her as she thought of what would hap-
pen when they came to the farm and demanded her horse. 25
Running away from them was only postponing her trouble
for a little while, for there was no one about the place
who could prevent those men from going to the barn and
taking away the animal.
It would be of no use to pass her house and ride on and 30
on. Where should she go? She must come back some-
time, and all the soldiers would have to do would be to
halt at the farm, and wait until she returned. And even
if she should take her horse into the wood and tie him to
5 a tree, they would know by her coming back on foot that
she had left him at no great distance, and they would be
sure to follow his tracks and find him.
As Tempe rode swiftly on, her thoughts galloped as
fast as her horse, and before she reached the house she had
to come to a conclusion as to the best thing to be done. She
did not ride toward the barn, but dashed through the
gateway of the large yard, and sprang from her steed.
As she turned in, she looked down the road; but the
men were not in sight. What she was going to do was
15 something which people never did, but it was the only
thing she could think of, and she was a girl whose actions
were as quick as her ideas were original. Without stop-
ping an instant, she took her horse to the back door, and
led him boldly into the house.
20 This was not the sort of stable to which Tempe's horse
or any other American horse was accustomed; but this
animal knew his mistress, and where she led, he was will-
ing to follow. If one of the farm hands had attempted
to take the creature into the house, there would probably
25 have been some rearing and plunging; but nothing of
this kind happened as our Jersey girl, with her hand on
her horse's bridle, led him quickly inside and closed the
door behind him. As the story goes, she took him
through the kitchen, and then into the parlor, without
3o the slightest regard to the injury his shoes might do to
the well-kept floor; and from the parlor she led him into
a bedroom on the lower floor, which was usually used as a
guest chamber, but which never before had such a guest
This room had but a single window, the shutters of 5
which were kept closed when it was not in use, and there
was no entrance to it except through the door which
opened from the parlor. The door was quickly closed,
and Tempe stood with her horse in the darkness.
When the soldiers reached the farm they went to the 10
barn. They examined the outhouses, visited the pasture
fields, and made a thorough search, high and low, near
and far; but no sign of a horse could they find. Of
course, the notion that the animal was concealed in the
house did not enter their minds, and the only way in 15
which they could account for the total disappearance of
the horse was, that Tempe had ridden off with him-
where they knew not. We do not know how long they
waited for the sight of a hungry horse coming home to
his supper, but we do know that while there was the 20
slightest danger of her dear horse being taken away
from her, that animal remained a carefully attended guest
in the spare room of the Wick house; and the tradition
is, that he staid there three weeks. There Tempe waited
on him as if he had been a visitor of high degree; and if 25
she was afraid to go to the barn to bring him hay and
oats, she doubtless gave him biscuit and soft bread, -
dainties of which a horse is very fond, especially when
they are brought to him by such a kind mistress as
When the cavalry moved away from their camp near
Morristown, no one of them rode on that fine horse on
which they had seen a girl gayly cantering, and which,
when they had been about to put their hands upon it, had
5 flown away, like a butterfly from under the straw hat of a
schoolboy. When the troops were gone, the horse came
out of the guest chamber and went back to his stall in the
stable ; and that room in which he passed so many quiet
days, and the door through which the horse timidly
10 stepped under the shadow of that hospitable roof, are still
to be seen at the old Wick house, which stands now, as it
stood then, with its shaded yard and the great willow tree
behind it, on the pleasant country road by which we may
drive from Morristown to Mendham by the way of
to Washington Corner.
From Stories of New Jersey," by Frank R. Stockton.
LIFE IN NORMAN ENGLAND.
The tall frowning keep and solid walls of the great
stone castles, in which the Norman barons lived, be-
tokened an age of violence and suspicion. Beauty gave
way to the needs of safety. Girdled with its green and
20 slimy ditch, round the inner edge of which ran a para-
peted wall pierced along the top with shot holes, stood
the buildings, spreading often over many acres.
If an enemy managed to cross the moat and force the
gateway, in spite of a portcullis crashing from above, and
Ruins of a Norman Oastle.
melted lead pouring in burning streams from the perfo-
rated top of the rounded arch, but little of his work was
yet done; for the keep lifted its huge angular block of
masonry within the inner bailey or courtyard, and from
3 the narrow chinks in its ten-foot wall rained a sharp in-
cessant shower of arrows, sweeping all approaches to the
high and narrow stair, by which alone access could be
had to its interior.
These loopholes were the only windows, except in the
10 topmost story, where the chieftain, like a vulture in his
rocky nest, watched all the surrounding country. The
day of splendid oriels had not yet come in castle archi-
Thus a baron in his keep could defy, and often did
15 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 frank-
lins, who at his call laid aside their implements of hus-
bandry, took up the sword and spear, which they could
20 wield with equal skill, and marched beneath his banner to
With robe ungirt and head uncovered each tenant had
done homage and sworn an oath of fealty, placing his
joined hands between those of the sitting baron, and
25 humbly saying as he knelt, "I become your man from
this day forward, of life and limb and of earthly worship;
and unto you I shall be true and faithful, and bear to you
faith for the tenements that I claim to hold of you, saving
the faith that I owe unto our sovereign lord the king."
30 A kiss from the baron completed the ceremony.
The furniture of a Norman keep was not unlike that
of an English house. There was richer ornament- more
elaborate carving. A faldestol, the original of our arm-
chair, spread its drapery and cushions for the chieftain in
his lounging moods. His bed now boasted curtains and 5
a roof, although, like the English lord, he still lay only
upon straw. Chimneys tunneled the thick walls, and
the cupboards glittered with glass and silver. Horn
lanterns and the old spiked candlesticks lit up
Iis evening hours, when the chessboard arrayed 10
S its clumsy men, carved out of walrus tusk,
then commonly called whale's-bone. But
i the baron had an unpleasant trick of break-
ing the chessboard on his opponent's head,
when he found himself checkmated; which 15
somewhat marred said opponent's enjoyment
-"- of the game. Dice of horn and bone emptied
Horn Lantern, many a purse in Norman England.
Dances and music whiled away the long winter
nights; and on summer evenings the castle courtyards 20
resounded with the noise of football, kayles (a sort
of ninepins), wrestling, boxing, leaping, and the fierce
joys of the bull bait. But out of doors, when no fight-
ing was on hand, the hound, the hawk, and the lance
attracted the best energies and skill of the Norman 25
Rousing the forest game with dogs, they shot at it
with barbed and feathered arrows. A field of ripening
corn never turned the chase aside : it was one privilege of
a feudal baron to ride as he pleased over his tenants' 30
crops, and another to quarter his insolent hunting train
in the farmhouses which pleased him best The elabo-
rate details of woodcraft became an important part of a
noble boy's education; for the numerous bugle calls and
5 scientific dissection of a dead stag took many seasons to
After the Conquest, to kill a deer or own a hawk came
more than ever to be regarded as the special privilege of
the aristocracy. The hawk, daintily dressed, as befitted
10 the companion of nobility, with his head wrapped
in an embroidered hood, and a peal of silver bells
tinkling from his rough legs, sat in state, bound
with leather jesses to the wrist, which was pro-
tected by a thick glove. The ladies and the clergy
15 loved him. By many a mere the abbots ambled
on their ponies over the swampy soil, and sweet
shrill voices cheered the long-winged hawk, as he
darted off in pursuit of the soaring quarry.
The author of "Ivanhoe" has made the tourna- The Hawk,
20ment a picture familiar to all readers of romance. It
therefore needs no long description here. It was held
in honor of some great event--a coronation, wedding,
or victory. Having practiced well during squirehood
at the quintain, the knight, clad in full armor, with
25 visor barred and the colors of his lady on crest and
scarf, rode into the lists, for which some level green was
chosen and surrounded with a palisade.
For days before, his shield had been hanging in a neigh-
boring church, as a sign of his intention to compete in
o0 this great game of chivalry. If any stain lay on his
knighthood, a lady, by touching the suspended shield
with a wand, could debar him from a share in the joust-
ing. And if, when he had entered the lists he was rude
to a lady, or broke in any way the etiquette of the tilt
yard, he was beaten from the lists with the ashwood 5
lances of the knights.
i The simple joust was the shock
of two knights, who galloped with
leveled spears at each other, aim-
ing at breast or head, with the 10o
object either of unhorsing the an-
Stagonist, or, if he sat his charger
: well, of splintering the lance upgn
his helmet or his shield. The
mellay hurled together, at the 15
f dropping of the prince's baton,
S.ll two parties of knights, who
hacked away at each other with
ax and mace and sword, often
gashing limbs and breaking bones 20
in the wild excitement of the
The Knight, fray. Bright eyes glanced from
the surrounding galleries upon the brutal sport; and
when the victor, with broken plume, and battered armor,
dragged his weary limbs to the footstool of the beauty 25
who presided as Queen over the festival, her white hands
decorated him with the meed of his achievements.
The Normans probably dined at nine in the morning.
When they rose they took a light meal; and ate some-
thing also after their day's work, immediately before going so
to bed. Goose and garlic formed a favorite dish. Their
cookery was more elaborate, and, in comparison, more
delicate, than the preparations for an English feed; but
the character for temperance, which they brought with
5 them from the Continent, soon vanished.
The poorer classes hardly ever ate flesh, living princi-
pally on bread, butter, and cheese, a social fact which
seems to underlie that usage of our tongue by which the
living animals in field or stall bore English names--ox,
to sheep, calf, pig, deer ; while their flesh, promoted to Nor-
man dishes, rejoiced in names of French origin-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
15 glass held the wine, which was borne from the cellar
below in jugs.
Squatted around the door or on the stair leading to
the Norman dining hall, was a crowd of beggars or
lickers, who grew so insolent in the days of Rufus, that
20 ushers, armed with rods, were posted outside to beat back
the noisy throng, who thought little of snatching the
dishes as the cooks carried them to table !
The juggler, who under the Normans filled the place
of the English gleeman, tumbled, sang, and balanced
25 knives in the hall; or out in the bailey of an afternoon
displayed the acquirements of his trained monkey or bear.
The fool, too, clad in colored patchwork, cracked his
ribald jokes and shook his cap and bells at the elbow of
roaring barons, when the board was spread and the circles
30 of the wine began.
While knights hunted in the greenwood or tilted in the
lists, and jugglers tumbled in the noisy hall, the monk in
the quiet scriptorium compiled chronicles of passing
events, copied valuable manuscripts, and painted rich
borders and brilliant initials on every page. These illu-
minations form a valuable set of materials for our pictures
of life in the Middle Ages.
Monasteries served many useful purposes at the time of
which I write. Besides their manifest value as centers of
study and literary work, they gave alms to the poor, a to
supper and a bed to travelers; their tenants were better
off and better treated than the tenants of the nobles ; the
monks could store grain, grow apples, and cultivate their
flower beds with little risk of injury from war, because
they had spiritual thunders at their call, which awed even 15
the most reckless of the soldiery into a respect for sacred
Splendid structures those monasteries generally were,
since that vivid taste for architecture which the Norman
possessed in a high degree, and which could not find room 20
for its display in the naked strength of the solid keep,
lavished its entire energy and grace upon buildings lying
in the safe shadow of the Cross. Nor was architectural
taste the only reason for their magnificence. Since they
were nearly all erected as offerings to Heaven, the religion 25
of the age impelled the pious builders to spare no cost in
decorating the exterior with fretwork and sculpture of
Caen stone, the interior with gilded cornices and windows
of painted glass.
As schools, too, the monasteries did no trifling service 30
to society in the Middle Ages. In addition to their influ-
ence as great centers of learning, English law had enjoined
every mass priest to keep a school in his parish church,
where all the young committed to his care might be in-
5 structed. This custom continued long after the Norman
Conquest. In the Trinity College Psalter we have a pic-
ture of a Norman school, where the pupils sit in a circular
row around the master as he lectures to them from a long
roll of manuscript. Two writers sit by the desk, busy
1o with copies resembling that which the teacher holds.
The youth of the middle classes, destined for the cloister
or the merchant's stall, chiefly thronged these schools.
The aristocracy cared little for book-learning. Very few
indeed of the barons could read or write. But all could
15 ride, fence, tilt, play, and carve extremely well; for to
these accomplishments many years of pagehood and
squirehood were given.
The foregoing description of manners and customs
during the age of feudalism has been adapted from
20 a popular History of England," by W. F. Collier. A
much fuller description may be found in Knight's "His-
tory of England," and in Green's Short History of the
English People." The period described was in many
respects the most romantic in the history of the world,
25 and many delightful and instructive books have been
written concerning it. Read Scott's "Ivanhoe" and
"The Talisman." Reference may also be had to Pauli's
"Pictures of Old England," and Jusserand's "English
Wayfaring Life in the Middle Ages."
SCH. READ. VI. -7
THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST.
"So the dreams depart,
So the fading phantoms flee,
And t he sharp realityow
o h Now must act its part."
-Westwood's Beadsfrom a Rosary."
On her shining hair and face.
Little Etie sits aloneon
'Mid the beeches of a meadow,
By a stream side on the
AndAnd the trees are showering
Elizabeth Barrett Browning. down
Doubles of their leaves in shadow,
On her shining hair and face.
She has thrown her bonnet by,
And her feet she has been dipping
In the shallow water's flow;
Now she holds them nakedly
In her hands, all sleek and dripping,
While she rocketh to and fro.
Little Ellie sits alone,
And the smile she softly uses
Fills the silence like a speech,