........... ... ..... .... ...
. . .
. . .
. . .
......... ... .. ......
ii !iil gl;i
..::,tg ;R N".M.
a Tq z its
Iia L. ill- RU. I' M.R
. .. ........
. ... ......
as V3, Rel
R in 'if 'T
R- Vim o-i 7
iiK*'-;Ii---a:.= :' ";5 v 1, -, .. --.;. ;!.- .. ; .. 4. '2225 -t
wk- 'r., "i
jF N; 5 'N;M 2.
Rl . . .
.......... ...... .. .... ........................... .... .
. .. .... .
The Bald%%i Librar)
JXJUL ) Flor'
SCHOOL READING BY GRADES
NEW YORK .:- CINCINNATI :- CHICAGO
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY.
BOH. READ. SEVENTH YEAR
W. P. II
THIS volume, like its predecessors, is designed t6 assist in the accom-
plishment of several purposes, the chief of which is to improve the
learner's ability to give correct oral expression to the printed or written
word, or, more briefly stated, to become an intelligent reader. In his
seventh year at school the pupil is supposed to be able to read, with ease
and some degree of fluency, anything in the English language that may
come to his hand ; but, that he may read always with the understanding
and in a manner pleasing to his hearers and satisfactory to himself, he
must still have daily systematic practice in the rendering of selections not
too difficult for comprehension and yet embracing various styles of
literary workmanship and illustrating all the different forms of English
composition. The contents of this volume have been chosen and arranged
to supply-or, where not supplying, to suggest-the materials for this
kind of practice. Care has been taken to place before the young reader
such selections as will be interesting to him and will inspire him with a
desire to read still more upon the same subjects or from the same authors;
for it is only by loving books and learning to know them that any one can
become a really good reader. Many of the selections are introduced or
followed by historical or bibliographical notes designed to assist the
learner's understanding, to broaden his knowledge of good books, or to
suggest suitable supplementary reading on various topics of interest. The
notes on "Authors and Books" near the end of the volume carry out
this idea still more fully.
In the supplementary notes beginning on page 225, several brief sug-
gestions are presented with reference to the critical study of the selec-
tions in this volume. A few pages also are devoted to definitions and a
discussion of the principles of good reading, reference being had to
various illustrative passages in the body of the book. The teacher is
advised to read these pages at the very start, and to require the class to
make constant practical reference to them while preparing for each
The numerous portraits of authors is an interesting feature, valuable
in connection with the biographical notes, because of the closer acquaint-
ance which the learner gains through them with the makers of our litera-
ture. The full-page illustrations are reproductions of famous paintings
by eminent modern artists; aside from their purpose as illustrations,
they have a distinct educative and esthetic value which will be readily
On Reading . .
Fortune's Favorite . .
Queen Elizabeth and Walter
Raleigh . .
Autumn A Dirge . .
To a Waterfowl . .
The King of Glory . .
Life in Old New York . .
A Walk on a Winter Day .
Socrates . . .
The Death of Socrates . .
The Banishment of the Acadians .
Evangeline in Acadia . .
The Boyhood of Gavin Dishart
Character of a Happy Life .
Gradatim ... .
Speech of Patrick Henry ..
Extracts from Farewell Address .
The Haunted Palace . .
The Great Fight at Aldreth .
Charles and Mary Lamb .
Childhood . .
A Dissertation upon Roast Pig
The Spy's Escape . .
The Pyramids . .
Old Ironsides . .
Oliver Goldsmith. . .
From the Vicar of Wakefield .
The Deserted Village .. ..
The Gray Champion .. ..
Supposed Speech of John Adams .
To the Ocean . .
A Village Wedding in Sweden .
Sir John Lubbock . .
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sir Walter Scott
Percy Bysshe Shelley .
William Cullen Bryant .
From the Psalms of David.
Washington Irving ....
Mary Bussell Mitford .
From Plato's Phcedo ..
George Bancroft ..
Henry IV. Longfellow ..
J. M. Barrie .. ...
Henry Wotton ...
Josiah Gilbert Holland .
George Washington ..
Edgar Allan Poe .. ..
Bobert Collyer .. ..
Charles Lamb ...
Charles Lamb ...
James Fenimore Cooper. .
Arthur Penrhyn Stanley .
Oliver Wendell Holmes .
Washington Irving .. ...
Oliver Goldsmith ..
Oliver Goldsmith ...
Nathaniel Hawthorne .
Daniel Webster .. ..
Lord Byron .. ...
Henry W. Longfellow..
The Execution of Montrose .
The Relief of Leyden . .
On the Restoration of the Union .
The Bells of Shandon . .
Cloudland- A Sonnet .
Samuel Johnson . .
The Journey of a Day .. .
Nausicaa's Washing Day .
Elegy Written in a Country
Churchyard . .
How the Declaration was Signed .
The Declaration of Independence.
Two Laborers . .
Over the Hill . .
The Roman's Bedtime . .
Duties of American Citizens .
The Red Cross Knight and the
Saracen . .
Early Highways of Travel in the
United States . .
Alexander's Feast . .
Ode on St. Cecilia's Day .
SUGGESTIONS .. ... ..
AUTHORS AND BOOKS . .
EXPLANATORY NOTES .. ..
William Edmonstoune Aytoun 136
John Lothrop Motley 141
Alexander H. Stephens 148
Francis Mahony . 148
Samuel Taylor Coleridge 150
Thomas Babington lilacaulay 151
Dr. Samuel Johnson . 160
From Homner's Odyssey 165
Thomas Gray . .170
Robert C. Winthrop . 175
. . 178
Thomas Carlyle . 185
George Macdonald . 187
Thomas De Qincey 188
Daniel Webster. .. ..... .191
Sir Walter Scott. .... .. .194
John Bach McMaster 203
John Dryden . .. .212
Alexander Pope. . .219
. . . 225
. . 230
. . 237
Fortune's Favorite . .. L. Alma Tadema .. 12
Socrates teaching Young Alci-
blades . .. H. F. Schopin . 34
Evangeline .. .. .... Edwin Douglass.. . 46
Napoleon before the Sphinx J. L. GrSnme . .105
Greek Girls playing Ball . Sir Frederick Leighton 169
The Gleaners . ... Jean Francois Millet . 184
A Sheik of the Desert-Present
Day . ..... .Adolph Schreyer ... .202
St. Cecilia ...... Ad. La Lyre . 218
PORTRAITS OF AUTHORS.
Sir Walter Scott . .. .. ..... Title-page
Sir John Lubbock ................ 7
Percy Bysshe Shelley ...... . . .21
Washington Irving.. ............... .. 24
Mary Russell Mitford ...... . . 28
Professor Benjamin Jowett .. . ... 40
Henry W. Longfellow.. ..... . 47
Josiah Gilbert Holland ... ..... ... .63
Patrick Henry. ....... . . 65
George Washington. ............... 69
Edgar Allan Poe ...... . . 72
Charles Lamb ...... . . .... 82
Robert Collyer . ....... .. ... 89
James Fenimore Cooper .... . . 96
Oliver Wendell Holmes .. .. .. ... .107
Oliver Goldsmith. ...... . 109
Nathaniel Hawthorne . . . 121
John Adams .. .............. .... 128
Lord Byron ........... ........... 131
John Lothrop Motley .. . . 141
Alexander H. Stephens ... ... ..... 146
Thomas Gray ...... ............. .170
Daniel Webster ....... . . .191
Sir Walter Scott. ....... . . .194
John Dryden . . .. . 212
Alexander Pope .... . . . 219
Acknowledgments are due to the following persons for permission to use
in this volume the selections here named: Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co.,
publishers of the works of Longfellow and Hawthorne, for Evangeline in
Acadia" and "The Gray Champion"; American Publishers' Corporation,
publishers of "The Little Minister," for "The Boyhood of Gavin Dishart ";
Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons, publishers of the works of J. G. Holland,
for the poem entitled Gradatim"; Dr. Robert Collyer, for his essay on
"Charles and Mary Lamb"; Mr. J. Lewis Stackpole, executor of the estate
of J. Lothrop Motley, for the sketch entitled "The Relief of Leyden "; Pro-
fessor John Bach McMaster, author of School History of the United States,"
for the selection "Early Highways of Travel in the United States."
Of all the privileges we enjoy in this nineteenth cen-
tury there is none, perhaps, for which we6 ought to be
more thankful than for the easier access
5 The debt we owe to books was w ell
expressed by Richard de Bury.
Bishop of Durham, author of
"Philobiblon," written as long .
ago as 1344, and the earliest K.
o1 English treatise on the de-
lights of literature : "These,"
he says, "are the masters who
instruct us without rods and
ferules, without hard words
Sir John Lubbock,
15 and anger, without clothes or
money. If you approach them, they are not asleep; if
investigating you interrogate them, they conceal nothing;
if you mistake them, they never grumble; if you are
ignorant, they can not laugh at you. The library, there-
20 fore, of wisdom is more precious than all riches, and
nothing that can be wished for is worthy to be compared
with it. Whosoever, therefore, acknowledges himself to
be a zealous follower of truth, of happiness, of wisdom, of
science, or even of the faith, must of necessity make him-
self a lover of books." But if the debt were great then, 5
how much more now.
"He that loveth a book," says Isaac Barrow, "will
never want a faithful friend, a wholesome counselor, a
cheerful companion, an effectual comforter. By study,
by reading, by thinking, one may innocently divert and 1o
pleasantly entertain himself, as in all weathers, so in all
Macaulay had all that wealth and fame, rank and tal-
ents could give, yet, we are told, he derived his greatest
happiness from books. Sir G. Trevelyan, in his charming 15
biography, says that, of all the feelings which Macau-
lay entertained towards the great minds of bygone ages
it is not for any one except himself to speak. He has
told us how his debt to them was incalculable; how they
guided him to truth; how they filled his mind with noble 20
and graceful images; how they stood by him in all vicissi-
tudes comforters in sorrow, nurses in sickness, com-
panions in solitude, the old friends who are never seen
with new faces; who are the same in wealth and in pov-
erty, in glory and in obscurity. Great as were the honors 25
and possessions which Macaulay acquired by his pen, all
who knew him were well aware that the titles and re-
wards which he gained by his own works were as nothing
in the balance compared with the pleasure he derived
from the works of others." 30
There was no society in London so agreeable that
Macaulay would have preferred it at breakfast or at din-
ner "to the company of Sterne or Fielding, Horace Wal-
pole or Boswell." The love of reading which Gibbon
5 declared he would not exchange for all the treasures of
India was, in fact, with Macaulay, "a main element of
happiness in one of the happiest lives that it has ever
fallen to the lot of the biographer to record."
In old days books were rare and dear. Now, on the
1o contrary, it may be said with greater truth than ever that
Words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling like dew upon a thought, produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think."
Our ancestors had a difficulty in procuring them. Our
difficulty now is what to select. We must be careful
what we read, and not, like the sailors of Ulysses, take
bags of wind for sacks of treasure--not only lest we
15 should even now fall into the error of the Greeks, and
suppose that language and definitions can be instruments
of investigation as well as of thought, but lest, as too
often happens, we should waste time over trash.
I am sometimes disposed to think that the great readers
20 of the next generation will be, not our lawyers and doc-
tors, shopkeepers and manufacturers, but the laborers and
mechanics. Does not this seem natural? The former
work mainly with their heads; when their daily duties
are over, the brain is often exhausted, and of their leisure
25 time much must be devoted to air and exercise. The
laborer and mechanic, on the contrary, besides working
often for much shorter hours, have in their work time
taken sufficient bodily exercise, and can therefore give
any leisure they may have to reading and study.
"If," says Sir John Herschel, "I were to pray for a 5
taste which should stand me in stead under every variety
of circumstances, and be a source of happiness and cheer-
fulness to me through life, and a shield against its ills,
however things might go amiss and the world frown upon
me, it would be a taste for reading. I speak of it of 1o
course only as a worldly advantage, and not in the slight-
est degree as superseding or derogating from the higher
office and surer and stronger panoply of religious prin-
ciples-but as a taste, an instrument, and a mode of
pleasurable gratification. Give a man this taste, and the 15
means of gratifying it, and you can hardly fail of making
a happy man."
Comfort and consolation, refreshment and happiness,
may indeed be found in his library by any one who shall
bring the golden key that unlocks its silent door." A 20
library is a true fairyland, a very palace of delight, a
haven of repose from the storms and troubles of the
world. Rich and poor can enjoy it equally, for here, at
least, wealth gives no advantage. We may make a
library, if we do but rightly use it, a true paradise on 25
earth, a garden of Eden without its one drawback; for
all is open to us, including, and especially, the fruit of
the Tree of Knowledge, for which we are told that our
first mother sacrificed all the Pleasures of Paradise.
-From The Pleasures of Life," by Sir John Lubbock.
There's a lady, an earl's daughter; she is proud and she
And she treads the crimson carpet, and she breathes the
And a kingly blood sends glances up her princely eye to
And the shadow of a monarch's crown is softened in her
She has halls among the woodlands, she has castles by the
She has farms and she has manors, she can threaten and
And the palpitating engines snort in steam across her acres,
As they mark upon the blasted heaven the measure of her
Many vassals bow before her as her carriage sweeps their
She has blessed their little children, as a priest or
queen were she.
Far too tender, or too cruel far, her smile upon the poor
For I thought it was the same smile which she used to
smile on me.
Oh, she walked so high above me, she appeared to my
In her lovely silken murmur, like an angel clad in wings.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning.
P..m the P~flng by L. Alm.a T~d-t~ Copyright, 1895, by Photwgr~phiuehe OeseulbebL Eegr-re by Peter Aitker.
QUEEN ELIZABETH AND WALTER RALEIGH.
Walter Raleigh and his friends, Blount and Tracy,
were floating on the princely bosom of the broad Thames,
upon which the sun shone forth with all its splendor.
There are two things scarce matched in the universe,"
5 said Walter to Blount -" the sun in heaven and the
Thames on earth."
"The one will light us
to Greenwich well enough,"
said Blount, "and the other
10 would take us there a little
faster, if it were ebb tide."
"And this is all thou think-
est all thou carest -all
thou deem'st to be the use of
15 the king of elements, and the
king of rivers -to guide
three such poor caitiffs as
thyself, and me, and Tracy,
upon an idle journey of Sir Walter Raleigh,
20 courtly ceremony "
"It is no errand of my seeking," replied Blount, "and
I could excuse both the sun and the Thames the trouble
of carrying me where I have no great mind to go, and
where I expect but dog's wages for my trouble; and by
25 my honor," he added, looking out from the head of the
boat, "it seems to me as if our message were a sort of
labor in vain; for see, the queen's barge lies at the stairs,
as if Her Majesty were about to take to the water."
It was even so. The royal barge, manned by the
queen's watermen, richly attired in the regal liveries,
and having the banner of England displayed, did indeed
lie at the great stairs which ascended from the river, and
along with it two or three other boats for transporting 5
such part of her retinue as were not in immediate attend-
ance upon the royal person.
The yeomen of the guard, the tallest and handsomest
men whom England could produce, guarded with their
halberds the passage from the palace gate to the river- 10
side, and all seemed in readiness for the queen's coming
forth, although the day was yet so early.
"By my faith, this bodes us no good," said Blount;
"it must be some perilous cause puts her grace in motion
at this time. We had best put back again, and tell the i5
earl what we have seen."
"Tell the earl what we have seen!" said Walter;
" why, what have we seen but a boat, and men with scar-
let jerkins, and halberds in their hands ? Let us do his
errand, and tell him what the queen says in reply." 20
So saying he caused the boat to be pulled toward a
landing place at some distance from the principal one,
which it would not, at that moment, have been thought
respectful to approach, and jumped on shore, followed,
though with reluctance, by his cautious and timid' con- 25
panions. As they approached the gate of the palace, one
of the porters told them that they could not at present
enter, as Her Majesty was in the act of coming forth.
The gentlemen used the name of the Earl of Sussex, but
it proved no charm to the. officer who alleged, in reply, so
that it was as much as his .post was worth to disobey the
commands which he had received.
"Nay, I told you as much before," said Blount; "do, I
pray you, my dear Walter, let us take the boat and return."
5 "Not till I see the queen come forth," returned the
At this moment the gates opened, and the ushers began
to issue forth in array, preceded and flanked by the band
of gentlemen pensioners. After this, amid a crowd of
10 lords and ladies, yet so disposed around her that she could
see and be seen on all sides, came Elizabeth herself, then
in the full glow of what in a sovereign was called beauty,
and who would in the lowest walk of life have been truly
judged to possess a noble figure, joined to a striking and
15 commanding countenance. She leaned on the arm of Lord
Hunsdon, whose relation to her by her mother's side often
procured him such distinguished marks of Elizabeth's
The young cavalier Raleigh had probably never yet
20 approached so near the person of his sovereign, and he
pressed forward as far as the line of warders permitted,
in order to avail himself of the present opportunity.
His companion, on the contrary, kept pulling him back-
ward, till Walter shook him off impatiently, letting his
25 rich cloak drop carelessly from one shoulder, -a natural
action, which served, however, to display to the best ad-
vantage his well-proportioned person.
Unbonneting at the same time, he fixed his eager gaze
on the queen's approach, with a mixture of respectful
30 curiosity and modest yet ardent admiration, which
suited so well with his fine features, that the warders,
struck with his rich attire and noble countenance, suf-
fered him to approach the ground over which the queen
was to pass, somewhat closer than was permitted to ordi-
nary spectators. Thus the adventurous youth stood full .
in Elizabeth's eye. She fixed her keen glance upon him
as she approached the place where he stood, with a look
in which surprise at his boldness seemed to be unmixed
with resentment, while a trifling accident happened which
attracted her attention toward him yet more strongly. 10
The night had been rainy, and just where the young gen-
tleman stood a small quantity of mud interrupted the
As she hesitated to pass on, the gallant, throwing his
cloak from his shoulders, laid it on the miry spot, so as to in
ensure her passing over it dryshod. Elizabeth looked at the
young man, who accompanied this act of devoted courtesy
with a profound reverence and a blush that overspread
his whole countenance. The queen was confused, blushed
in her turn, nodded her head, hastily passed on, and em- 20
barked in her barge without saying a word.
"Come along, Sir Coxcomb," said Blount, "your gay
mantle will need the brush to-day, I wot."
"This cloak," said the youth, taking it up and folding
it, "shall never be brushed while in my possession." 25
"And that will not be long, if you learn not a little
Their discourse was here interrupted by one of the
band of pensioners.
"I was sent," said he, after looking at them attentively, 30
"to a gentleman who hath no cloak, or a muddy one.
You, sir, I think," addressing the younger cavalier, "are
the man ; you will please to follow me."
"He is in attendance on me," said Blount, on me,
s the noble Earl of Sussex's Master of Horse."
"I have nothing to say to that," answered the messen-
ger; "my orders are directly from Her Majesty, and con-
cern this gentleman only."
So saying, he walked away, followed by Walter, leav-
10 ing the others behind, Blount's eyes almost starting from
his head with the excess of his astonishment. At length
he gave vent to it in an exclamation, Who in the world
would have thought'this ? And shaking his head with
a mysterious air, he walked to his own boat, embarked,
15 and returned to Deptford.
The young cavalier was, in the meanwhile, guided to
the water side by the pensioner, who showed him consid-
erable respect; a circumstance which, to persons in his
situation, may be considered as an augury of no small
20 consequence. He ushered him into one of the wherries
which lay ready to attend the queen's barge, which was
already proceeding up the river, with the advantage of
that flood tide of which, in the course of their descent,
Blount had complained to his companions.
25 The two rowers used their oars with such expedition at
the signal of the gentleman pensioner that they very soon
brought their little skiff under the stern of the queen's
boat, where she sat beneath an awning, attended by two
or three ladies, and the nobles of her household. She
3o looked more than once at the wherry in which the young
SCH. READ. VII.--2
adventurer was seated, spoke to those around her, and
seemed to laugh.
At length one of the attendants, by the queen's order
apparently, made a sign for the wherry to come alongside,
and the young man was desired to step from his own skiff 5
into the queen's barge, which he performed with graceful
agility at the fore part of the boat, and was brought aft
to the queen's presence, the wherry at the same time
dropping to the rear. The muddied cloak still hung
upon his arm, and formed the natural topic with which to
the queen introduced the conversation.
You have this day spoiled a gay mantle in our service,
young man. We thank you for your service, though the
manner of offering it was unusual and something bold."
In a sovereign's need," answered the youth, "it is ni
each liegeman's duty to be bold."
"That was well said, my lord," said the queen, turning
to a grave person who sat by her, and answered with a
grave inclination of the head and something of a mum-
bled assent. "Well, young man, your gallantry shall 20
not go unrewarded. Go to the wardrobe keeper, and he
shall have orders to supply the suit which you have cast
away in our service. Thou shalt have a suit, and that of
the newest cut, I promise thee, on the word of a princess."
May it please your grace," said Walter, hesitating, "it 25
is not for so humble a servant of your majesty to measure
out your bounties; but if it became me to choose -"
"Thou wouldst have gold, I warrant me," said the
queen, interrupting him; "fie, young man I take
shame to say that in our capital, such and so various are 30
the means of thriftless folly, that to give gold to youth is
giving fuel to fire, and furnishing them with the means
for self-destruction. If I live and reign, these means of
unchristian excess shall be abridged."
5 Walter waited patiently until the queen had done, and
then modestly assured her, that gold was still less in his
wish than the raiment her majesty had before offered.
"How, boy," said the queen, "neither gold
nor garment! What is it thou a.il.,t-1
10 have of me, then? "
"Only permission, madam- if
it is not asking too high an honor -.
-permission to wear the
cloak which did you this tri-
15 fling service." '.
"Permission to wear thine
own cloak, thou silly boy! ,
said the queen. -:
"It is no longer mine,"
20 said Walter. When your
majesty's foot touched it, it
became a fit mantle for a prin.e, -
but far too rich a one for its former Eliz
25 "Heard you ever the like, my lords? The youth's
head is turned with reading romances I must know
something of him, that I may send him safe to his friends.
What is thy name and birth? "
Raleigh is my name, most gracious queen, the young-
30 est son of a large but honorable family in Devonshire."
"Raleigh?" said Elizabeth, after a moment's recollec-
tion; "have we not heard of your service in Ireland?"
"I have been so fortunate as to do some service there,
madam," replied Raleigh, "scarce, however, of con-
sequence sufficient to reach your grace's ears." 5
They hear further than you think for," said the
queen graciously; "and have heard of a youth who
defended a ford in Shannon against a whole band of
rebels, until the stream ran purple with their blood
and his own." 10
Some blood I may have lost," said the youth, looking
down; but it was where my best is due, and that is in
your majesty's service."
The queen paused, and then said hastily: "You are
very young to have fought so well and to speak so well. 15
But you must not escape your penance for turning back
Masters -the poor man hath caught cold on the river -
for our order reached him when he had just returned
from certain visits to London, and he held it a matter
of loyalty and conscience instantly to set forth again. 20
So hark ye, Master Raleigh, see thou fail not to wear
thy muddy cloak, in token of penitence, till our pleasure
be further known. And here," she added, giving him a
jewel of gold in the form of a chessman, "I give thee
this to wear at the collar." 25
Raleigh, to whom nature had taught those courtly
arts which manj scarce acquire from long experience,
knelt, and as he took from her hand the jewel, kissed
the fingers which gave it.
From Kenilworth," by Sir Walter Scott.
The warm sun is failing, the ble;k :
wind is wailing,
The bare boughs are sighing, the p ,l,
flowers are dying,
And the year"
On the earth her deathbed, in a
shroud of leaves dead,
Come, Months, come away,
From November to May,
In your saddest array;
Follow the bier Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Of the dead cold Year,
And like dim shadows watch by her sepulcher.
The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling,
The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling
For the Year;
The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone
To his dwelling.
Come, Months, come away;
Put on white, black, and gray;
Let your light sisters play-
Ye, follow the bier
Of the dead cold Year,
And make her grave green with tear on tear.
Tercy Bysshe Shelley.
TO A WATERFOWL.
Whither, midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way?
Vainly the fowler's eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.
Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean side?
There is a Power whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast -
The desert and illimitable air -
Lone wandering, but not lost.
All day thy wings have fanned,
At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.
And soon that toil shall end;
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend,
Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.
Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my heart
Deeply has sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.
He who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone,
Will lead my steps aright.
William Cullen Bryant.
THE KING OF GLORY.
Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord ?
And who shall stand in his holy place ?
He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart;
Who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn
He shall receive the blessing from the Lord,
And righteousness from the God of his salvation.
This is the generation of them that seek him,
That seek thy face, 0 God of Jacob.
Lift up your heads, O ye gates ;
And be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors;
And the King of glory shall come in.
Who is this King of glory ?
The Lord, strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle.
Lift up your heads, 0 ye gates;
Even lift them up, ye everlasting doors;
And the King of glory shall come in.
From the Psalms of David.
LIFE IN OLD NEW YORK.
In those good old days of simplicity and sunshine, a
passion for cleanliness was the leading principle in domes-
tic economy, and the universal test of an
lhe- front door was never opened, ex- 5
,t for marriages, funerals, New Year's
SDay, the festival of St. Nicholas, or
some such great occasion. It
was ornamented with a gorgeous
brass knocker, which was curi- 10
ously wrought, sometimes in
the device of a dog, and some-
times in that of a lion's head,
and daily burnished with such
religious zeal that it was often 13
Washington Irving, worn out by the very precautions
taken for its preservation.
The whole house was constantly in a state of inundation,
under the discipline of mops and brooms and scrubbing
brushes; and the good housewives of those days were a 20
kind of amphibious animal, delighting exceedingly to be
dabbling in water, insomuch that an historian of the
day gravely tells us that many of his townswomen grew
to have webbed fingers, like unto ducks."
The grand parlor was the sanctum sanctorum, where the 25
passion for cleaning was indulged without control. No
one was permitted to enter this sacred apartment, except
the mistress and her confidential maid, who visited it once
a week for the purpose of giving it a thorough cleaning.
On these occasions they always took the precaution of
leaving their shoes at the door, and entering devoutly in
their stocking feet.
5 After scrubbing the floor, sprinkling it with fine white
sand, which was curiously stroked with a broom into
angles and curves and rhomboids, after washing the
windows, rubbing and polishing the furniture, and putting
a new branch of evergreens in the fireplace, the windows
to were again closed to keep out the flies, and the room was
kept carefully locked, until the revolution of time brought
round the weekly cleaning day.
As to the family, they always entered in at the gate, and
generally lived in the kitchen. To have seen a numerous
15 household assembled round the fire, one would have
imagined that he was transported to those happy days of
primeval simplicity which float before our imaginations
like golden visions.
The fireplaces were of a truly patriarchal magnitude,
20 where the whole family, old and young, master and ser-
vant, black and white, nay, even the very cat and dog,
--enjoyed a community of privilege, and had each a
right to a corner. Here the old burgher would sit in
perfect silence, puffing his pipe, looking in the fire with
25 half-shut eyes, and thinking of nothing, for hours to-
gether ; the good wife, on the opposite side, would
employ herself diligently in spinning yarn or knitting
The young folks would crowd around the hearth, lis-
30 tening with breathless attention to some old crone of a
negro, who was the oracle of the family, and who,
perched like a raven in a corner of the chimney, would
croak forth, for a long winter afternoon, a string of
incredible stories about New England witches, grisly
ghosts, and bloody encounters among Indians. 5
In these happy days, fashionable parties were generally
confined to the higher classes, or noblesse; that is to say,
such as kept their own cows, and drove their own wagons.
The company usually assembled at three o'clock, and
went away about six, unless it was in winter time, when to
the fashionable hours were a little earlier, that the ladies
might reach home before dark.
The tea table was crowned with a huge earthen dish,
well stored with slices of fat pork, fried brown, cut up
into morsels, and swimming in gravy. The company 15
seated round the genial board, evinced their dexterity in
launching their forks at the fattest pieces in this mighty
dish, -in much the same manner that sailors harpoon
porpoises at sea, or our Indians spear salmon in the lakes.
Sometimes the table was graced with immense apple 20
pies, or saucers full of preserved peaches and pears ; but
it was always sure to boast an enormous dish of balls of
sweetened dough, fried in hog's fat and called doughnuts
or olykoeks, a delicious kind of cake, at present little
known in this city, except in genuine Dutch families. 25
The tea was served out of a majestic Delft teapot,
ornamented with paintings of fat little Dutch shepherds
and shepherdesses tending pigs, -with boats sailing in
the air, and houses built in the clouds, and sundry other
ingenious Dutch fancies. The beaux distinguished them- 30
selves by their adroitness in replenishing this pot from a
huge copper teakettle. To sweeten the beverage, a lump
of sugar was laid beside each cup, and the company alter-
nately nibbled and sipped with great decorum; until an
5 improvement was introduced by a shrewd and economic
old lady, which was to suspend, by a string from the ceil-
ing, a large lump directly over the tea table, so that it
could be swung from mouth to mouth.
At these primitive tea parties, the utmost propriety and
io dignity prevailed,- no flirting nor coquetting ; no romp-
ing of young ladies ; no self-satisfied struttings of wealthy
gentlemen, with their brains in their pockets, nor amus-
ing conceits and monkey divertisements of smart young
gentlemen, with no brains at all.
15 On the contrary, the young ladies seated themselves
demurely in their rush-bottomed chairs, and knit their
own woolen stockings ; nor ever opened their lips, except-
ing to say yah, Mynheer, or yah, yah, Vrouw, to any ques-
tion that was asked them; behaving in all things like
20 decent, well-educated damsels. As to the gentlemen,
each of them tranquilly smoked his pipe, and seemed
lost in contemplation of the blue and white tiles with
which the fireplaces were decorated; wherein sundry
passages of Scripture were piously portrayed. Tobit
25 and his dog figured to great advantage; Haman swung
conspicuously on his gibbet; and Jonah appeared most
manfully leaping from the whale's mouth, like Harlequin
through a barrel of fire.
-From "History of New York, by Diedrich Knickerbocker,"
by Washington Irving.
A WALK ON A WINTER DAY.
At noon to-day, I and my white greyhound, Mayflower,
set out for a walk into a very beautiful world a sort of
silent fairyland --a creation of that matchless magician,
hoar frost. There had been just snow enough to cover
the earth and all its colors with one 5
'heet of pure and uniform white,
and just time enough since the
snow had fallen to allow the
hedges to be freed of their fleecy
-.; J load, and clothed with a deli- 10
cate coating of rime. The at-
mosphere was deliciously calm,
--, and, in spite of the thermoine-
Ster, was soft, and even mild.
No air was perceptible. The still- 15
Mary Russell Mitford. ness could almost be felt. The sky,
rather gray than blue, threw out in
bold relief the snow-covered roofs of our village, and the
rimy trees that rise above them; and the sun, shining dimly
as through a veil, gave a fair, pale light, like the moon, as 20
we stood at our little gate looking up the quiet street.
There was a Sabbath-like pause of work and play, rare
on a working day ; nothing was audible but the pleasant
hum of frost, that low, monotonous sound which is per-
haps the nearest approach that life and nature can make 25
to absolute silence. The very wagons, as they come
down the hill along the beaten track of crisp, yellowish
frost dust, glide along like shadows ; even May's bound-
ing footsteps, at her height of glee and speed, fall like
snow upon snow.
And now comes the delightful sound of childish voices,
ringing with glee and merriment almost from beneath
a our feet. They are shouting from that deep, irregular
pond, all glass now, where, on two long slides, half a
dozen urchins are slipping along in tottering triumph. ,
The road is gay now ; carts and post chaises, and girls
in red cloaks, and afar off, looking almost like a toy, the
10 coach. It meets us fast and soon. How much happier
the walkers look than the riders !
Now we have reached the trees the beautiful trees!
never so beautiful as to-day. Imagine the effect of a
straight and regular double avenue of oaks, nearly a mile
s5 long, arching overhead, and closing into perspective like
the roof and columns of a cathedral, every tree and
branch encrusted with the bright and delicate tissues of
frost, white and pure as snow, delicate as carved ivory.
The poor birds, how tame they are -how sadly tame i
20 There is the beautiful and rare crested wren, perched in
the middle of the hedge, nestling as it were amongst the
cold, bare boughs, seeking poor, pretty thing for the
warmth it will not find. And there farther on, just un-
der the bank, by the slender rivulet, which still trickles
25 between its transparent margins of thin ice, as if it were
a thing of life -there, with a, swift, scudding motion, flits,
in short low flights, the gorgeous kingfisher, his plumage
of scarlet and blue flashing in the sun, like the glories of
some tropical bird. He is come for water to this little
so spring by the hillside water which even his long bill
and slender head can hardly reach, so nearly do the icy
margins meet over the tiny stream beneath.
We used, before we lived in a street, to fix a little
board outside the parlor window, and cover it with bread
crumbs in the hard weather. It was quite delightful to 5
see the pretty things come and feed, to conquer their shy-
ness, and do away with their mistrust. First came the
more social tribes, the robin redbreast and the wren, pick-
ing up a crumb on the wing, with the little keen bright
eye fixed on the window ; then they would stop for two o1
pecks, then stay till they were satisfied. The shy birds
came next; and at last came one saucy fellow of a black-
bird a sad glutton who would clear the board in two
minutes and tap his yellow bill against the window for
more. How we loved the fearless confidence of that fine, 15
frank-hearted creature And surely he loved us.
May, May, naughty May She has frightened away
the kingfisher; and now she is covering me with snow.
"Come, pretty May, it is time to go home "
This selection is from Our Village," a series of rural 20
sketches written by Mary Russell Mitford and first pub-
lished in 1819. In reading such a piece it is good exer-
cise to take note of all the passages which recall mental
pictures of sights and scenes already familiar to us, and
to note the skillful, delicate manner in which these scenes 25
are described. Several of our later American writers
have excelled in descriptions of this sort. For collateral
reading, many charming selections may be made from the
works of John Burroughs and of Henry D. Thoreau.
Socrates was born B.c. 470. His father was by trade
a maker of statues, poor and of little reputation in his art.
We know almost nothing about the youth of Socrates;
but we must suppose that, notwithstand-
5 ing the poverty of his father, he re-
ceived a good education according
to the notions of his age and people.
When about thirty years old,
he made up his mind to devote
o1 his life to the pursuit of knowl-
edge and to the service of his I
fellow-men. He was so poor
that he had nothing with which
to buy the conveniences of life;
15 and so he often went upon the
street dressed in mean attire Socrates.
and sometimes without shoes
upon his feet. His friends would have helped him, but he
would take no gifts from them; he did not wish to feel
20 under obligations to any one.
He believed himself to be the messenger of the Deity to
the people of Athens. Hence, every day from dawn till sun-
set, he was busy seeking out persons to whom he might do
good. He went through the most crowded streets; he
25 entered the workshops of mechanics and artists; and with
all who would listen, he talked on subjects of every kind -
on their religious and moral duties, on their social and
political relations, and on their daily occupations.
In the market place and at home, among the people and
in the society of those who loved truth and virtue, he was
always the same. He was particularly interested in lead-
ing young men to the formation of good habits and to a
love of knowledge. He was always attended by a circle 5
of learners, who caught from him the spirit of inquiry and
who were animated with his zeal for the service of reli-
gion, truth, and virtue. To make his instructions attrac-
tive, they were delivered, not in long lectures, but in free
conversation, made interesting by question and answer. 10
Socrates was fully convinced of the existence of an
overruling, almighty, wise and good, but invisible Being.
To the good providence of this Being he traced all human
blessings ; and he held it to be the sacred duty of mankind
to worship him with all their powers, and to strive to do 15
his will in all things. Man, he said, could not purchase the
favor of God, but must merit it; and this could be done
only by leading a blameless life which is the truest and
best service of the Deity. Prayer he regarded as a neces-
sary part of a good life; and he therefore taught his dis- 20
ciples to pray in this manner : Our Father, give us all
good, whether we ask it or not; and turn us from all evil,
even when we neglect to pray thee so to do. Bless all
our good actions, and reward them with success and
During the latter part of the life of Socrates, the govern-
ment of Athens was unsettled and corrupt; and some of
the popular leaders were offended at the fearless freedom
with which he spoke of their unjust measures. His blame-
less life was a constant rebuke to their wickedness, and 3o
they feared his influence with the people. They therefore
charged him with teaching the existence of new gods and
with corrupting the young men of the city. Socrates, con-
scious of the falsehood of these charges, disdained to make
5 a formal defense of himself. He felt that his long life,
spent under the eye of his judges and the people, was the
strongest proof of his innocence. In a few words, and
with noble dignity, he showed the false purposes of his
accusers and the blamelessness of his own deeds and in-
10 tentions. But this gave only offense to his judges, and
they at once declared him to be guilty.
When he was asked what manner of punishment he
would choose, he answered that, instead of being pun-
ished, he ought to be rewarded as a public benefactor.
15 This so enraged the judges that they at once condemned
him to die by drinking poison. Socrates did not lose
his self-command. He consoled his friends, and reminded
them that death was the lot of all living things.
His punishment was delayed thirty days to await the
20 return of the sacred galley from Delos; for, according to
the laws of Athens, no one could be put to death during
the absence of that vessel. Every morning his friends
came to visit him in prison, and he conversed with them
in the same manner as he had done when at liberty.
25 They urged him to save his life by escaping from his
jailers, which he might have done with no great diffi-
culty. But he thanked them for this proof of their
affection, and declared that flight at this time would be
inconsistent with the principles which he had always
so taught and with the life which he had hitherto led.
SCH. READ. VII.--3
Soorates Teaching Young Aloibiades.
THE DEATH OF SOCRATES.
The story of the last hours of Socrates has been told,
as follows, by Plato, the greatest of his disciples.
When Socrates had done speaking, Crito said: "And
have you any commands for us,
5 Socrates anything to say about
your children, or any other matter
in which we can serve you?"
"Nothing particular," he
said; "only I have always
10 told you, I would have you .
look to yourselves; that is a .;
service which you may always
be doing to me and mine as
well as to yourselves. And
15 you need not make profes-
sions; for if you take no Plato.
thought for yourselves, and
walk not according to the precepts which I have given
you, not now for the first time, the warmth of your pro-
2o fessions will be of no avail."
"We will do our best," said Crito. "But in what way
would you have us bury you? "
In any way that you like; only you must get hold
of me, and take care that I do not walk away from
Then he turned to us, and added with a smile: "I
can not make Orito believe that I am the same Socrates
who has been talking and conducting the argument; he
fancies that I am the other Socrates whom he will soon
see, a dead body and he asks how shall he bury me ?
And though I have spoken many words in the endeavor
to show that when I have drunk the poison I shall leave
you to go to the joys of the blessed, -these words of 5
mine, with which I comforted you and myself, have had,
as I perceive, no effect upon Crito. And therefore I
want you to be surety for me now, as he was surety for
me at the trial: but let the promise be of another sort;
for he was my surety to the judges that I would remain, 10
and you must be my surety to him that I shall not re-
main, but go away and depart; and then he will suffer
less at my death, and not be grieved when he sees my
body being burned or buried. I would not have him
sorrow at my hard lot, or say at the burial Thus we lay 15
out Socrates,' or, 'Thus we follow him to the grave or
bury him;' for false words are not only evil in them-
selves, but they infect the soul with evil. Be of good
cheer then, my dear Crito, and say that you are burning
my body only, and do with that as is usual, and as you 20
When he had spoken these words, he arose and told us
to wait while he went into the bath chamber with Crito;
and we waited, talking and thinking of the subject of dis-
course, and also of the greatness of our sorrow; he was 25
like a father of whom we were being bereaved, and we
were about to pass the rest of our lives as orphans.
When he had taken the bath, his children were brought
to him (he had two young sons and an elder one);
and the women of his family also came, and he talked to 30
them and gave them a few directions in the presence of
Crito; and he then dismissed them and returned to us.
Now the hour of sunset was near, for a good deal of
time had passed while he was within. When he came
5 out, he sat down again with us after his bath, but not
much was said. Soon the jailer entered and stood by
him, saying: To you, Socrates, whom I know to be the
noblest and gentlest and best of all who ever came to this
place, I will not impute the angry feelings of other men,
10 who rage and swear at me, when, in obedience to the
authorities, I bid them drink the poison ; indeed, I am
sure that you will not be angry with me ; for others, as
you are aware, and not I, are the guilty cause. And so
fare you well, and try to bear lightly what must needs be.
15 You know my errand."
Then bursting into tears he turned away and went out.
Socrates looked at him and said, I return your good
wishes, and will do as you bid." Then turning to us he
said: How charming the man is Since I have been in
20 prison he has always been coming to see me, and at times
he would talk to me, and was as good as could be, and
now see how generously he sorrows for me. But we must
do as he says, Crito; let the cup be brought, if the poison
is prepared: if not, let the attendant prepare some."
25 Yet," said Crito, the sun is still upon the hilltops,
and I know that many a one has taken the draught late,
and after the announcement has been made to him, he has
eaten and drunk, and enjoyed the society of his beloved;
do ndt hasten then; there is still time! "
30 Socrates said: "Yes, Crito, and they of whom you
speak are right in doing this, for they think that they will
gain by the delay; but I am right in not doing thus, for
I do not think that I should gain anything by drinking
the poison a little later; I should be sparing and saving a
life which is already gone, and could only despise myself 5
for this. Please then to do as I say, and not to refuse
Crito made a sign to the servant who was standing by,
and he went out, and having been absent for some time
returned with the jailer carrying the cup of poison. 10
Socrates said: "You, my good friend, who are expe-
rienced in these matters, shall give me directions how I am
The man answered: "You have only to walk about
until your legs are heavy, and then to lie down, and the 15
poison will act."
At the same time he handed the cup to Socrates, who
in the easiest and gentlest manner, without the least fear
or change of color or feature, looking at the man with all
his eyes, as his manner was, took the cup and said : 20
"What do you say about making a libation out of this
cup to any god ? May I, or not ?"
The man answered : "We only prepare, Socrates, just
so much as we deem enough."
S'I understand," he said; "but I may and must ask 25
the gods to prosper my journey from this to that other
world even so and so be it according to my prayer."
Then holding the cup to his lips, quite readily and cheer-
fully he drank off the poison.
And hitherto most of us had been able to control our 30
sorrow; but now when we saw him drinking, and saw
too that he had finished the draught, we could no longer
forbear, and in spite of myself my own tears were flowing
fast; so that I covered my face and wept over myself,
5 for certainly I was not weeping over him, but at the
thought of my own calamity in having lost such a friend.
Nor was I the first, for Crito, when he found himself
unable to restrain his tears, had got up and moved away,
and I followed; and at that .moment Apollodorus, who
10 had been weeping all the time, broke out in a loud and
passionate cry which made cowards of us all.
Socrates alone retained his calmness. What is this
strange outcry?" he said. "I sent away the women
mainly in order that they might not offend in this way,
15 for I have heard that a man should die in peace. Be
quiet then, and have patience."
When we heard that, we were ashamed, and refrained
our tears ; and he walked about until, as he said, his legs
began to fail, and then he lay on his back, according to
20 the directions, and the man who gave him the poison now
and then looked at his feet and legs ; and after awhile he
pressed his foot hard, and asked him if he could feel ; and
he said, "No; and then his leg, and so upwards and up-
wards, and showed us that he was cold and stiff. And
25 he felt them himself, and said, "When the poison reaches
the heart, that will be the end." He was beginning to
grow cold, when he uncovered his face for he had cov-
ered himself up and said (they were his last words) -
he said: "Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius; will you
30 remember to pay the debt ?"
"The debt shall be paid," said Crito; "is there any-
thing else ?"
There was no answer to this question; but in a minute
or two a movement was heard, and the attendant un-
covered him; his eyes were set, and 5
.f. I 'l ito closed his eyes and mouth.
.. Such was the end of our friend,
whom I may truly call the
". ..' wisest, and justest, and best
of all the men whom I have o1
The history of the life and
teachings of Socrates is quite
fully narrated in the dia-
logues of Plato. These dialogues, 15
Professor Benjamin Jowett, taken collectively, are among the
most important contributions to
the literature of the world, and portray the highest
intellectual life of Greece in the time of Plato. The
three which possess the greatest interest to us are the 20
"Apology," which shows us Socrates face to face with
his accusers; the "Crito," which gives an impressive
picture of him as a loyal and law-abiding citizen of
Athens; and the "Phedo," which narrates the circum-
stances of his imprisonment and death, and records his 25
last and most impressive teachings. The best English
translation of these dialogues is that made by Professor
Jowett, the famous Master of Balliol" at Oxford, Eng-
land. It is from his translation of the Phedo" that
the above extract has been taken. If further selections
are desirable, they may be found in "The Wisdom of
Plato," a small volume compiled by C. A. H. Bulkey;
also in "The Trial and Death of Socrates," by F. J.
5 Church, and "A Day in Athens with Socrates."
THE BANISHMENT OF THE ACADIANS.
The Chief Justice, on whose opinion hung the fate of
so many hundreds of innocent families, insisted that the
French inhabitants of Acadia were to be looked upon as
confirmed "rebels"; who had now collectively and with-
o1 out exception become recusantss." Besides: they still
counted in the villages "eight thousand" souls, and the
English not more than three thousand ; they stood in
the way of the progress of the settlement" ; "by their
non-compliance with the conditions of the treaty of
15 Utrecht, they had forfeited their possessions to the
crown"; after the departure of the fleet and troops,
"the province would not be in a condition to drive
them out." So he advised against "receiving any
of the French inhabitants to take the oath," and for the
o2 removal of all of them from the province.
That the cruelty might have no palliation, letters
arrived, leaving no doubt, that the shores of the Bay of
Fundy were entirely in the possession of the British; and
yet a council, at which Vice Admiral Boscawen and the
25 Rear Admiral Mostyn were present by invitation, it was
unanimously determined to send the French inhabitants
out of the province; and after mature consideration it
was further unanimously agreed that, to prevent their
attempting to return and molest the settlers that may
be set down on their lands, it would be most proper to 5
distribute them amongst the several colonies on the con-
To hunt them into the net was impracticable; artifice
was therefore resorted to. By a general proclamation, on
one and the same day, the scarcely conscious victims, 10
"both old men and young men, as well as all the lads of
ten years of age," were peremptorily ordered to assemble
at their respective posts. On the appointed fifth of Sep-
tember, 1755, they obeyed. At Grand Pre, for example,
four hundred and eighteen unarmed men came together. 15
They were marched into the church, and its avenues were
closed, when Winslow, the American commander, placed
himself in their center, and spoke : -
"You are convened together to manifest to you His
Majesty's final resolution to the French inhabitants of this 20
his province. Your lands and tenements, cattle of all
kinds, and live stock of all sorts, are forfeited to the
crown, and you yourselves are to be removed from this
his province. I am, through His Majesty's goodness,
directed to allow you liberty to carry off your money and 25
household goods, as many as you can, without discommod-
ing the vessels you go in." And he then declared them
the king's prisoners. Their wives and families shared
their lot ; their sons, five hundred ard twenty-seven in
number, their daughters, five hundred and seventy-six; 30
in the whole, women and babes and old men and children
all included, nineteen hundred and twenty-three souls.
The blow was sudden; they had left home but for the
morning, and they never were to return. Their cattle
5 were to stay unfed in the stalls, their fires to die out on
their hearths. They had for the first day even no food
for themselves or their children, and were compelled to
beg for bread.
The tenth of September was the day for the embar-
10 kation of a part of the exiles. They were drawn up six
deep, and the young men, one hundred and sixty-one in
number, were ordered to march first on board the vessel.
They could leave their farms and cottages, the shady rocks
on which they had reclined, their herds and their garners;
15 but nature yearned within them, and they would not be
separated from their parents. Yet of what avail was the
frenzied despair of the unarmed youth? They had not
one weapon ; the bayonet drove them to obey; and they
marched slowly and heavily from the chapel to the
20 shore, between women and children, who, kneeling,
prayed for blessings on their heads, they themselves weep-
ing and praying, and singing hymns. The seniors went
next; the wives and children must wait till other trans-
port vessels arrive.
25 The delay had its horrors. The wretched people left
behind were kept together near the sea, without proper
food, or raiment, or shelter, till other ships came to take
them away; and December, with its appalling cold, had
struck the shivering, half-clad, broken-hearted sufferers,
30 before the last of them were removed. The embar-
kation of the inhabitants goes on but slowly," wrote
Monckton, from Fort Cumberland, near which he had
burned three hamlets; "the most part of the wives of the
men we have prisoners are gone off with their children, in
hopes I would not send off their husbands without them." 5
Their hope was vain. Near Annapolis, a hundred heads
of families fled to the woods, and a party was detached on
the hunt to bring them in. "Our soldiers hate them,"
wrote an officer on this occasion, "and if they can but
find a pretext to kill them, they will." Did a prisoner to
seek to escape ? He was shot down by the sentinel.
Yet some fled to Quebec; more than three thousand
had withdrawn to Miramichi, and the region south of
the Ristigouche; some found rest on the banks of the
St. John's and its branches; some found a lair in their 15
native forests; some were charitably sheltered from the
English in the wigwams of the savages. But seven
thousand of these banished people were driven on board
ships, and scattered among the English colonies, from
New Hampshire to Georgia; one thousand and twenty 20
to South Carolina alone.
They were cast ashore without resources; hating the
poorhouse as a shelter for their offspring, and abhorring
the thought of selling themselves as laborers. House-
holds, too, were separated: the colonial newspapers con- 25
trained advertisements of members of families seeking
their companions, of sons anxious to reach and relieve
their parents, of mothers mourning for their children.
The wanderers sighed for their native country; but, to
prevent their return, their villages, from Annapolis to the 30
isthmus, were laid waste. Their old homes were but
ruins. In the district of Minas, for instance, two hundred
and fifty of their houses, and more than as many barns,
were consumed. The live stock which belonged to them,
5 consisting of great numbers of horned cattle, hogs, sheep,
and horses, were seized as spoils and disposed of by the
English officials. A beautiful and fertile tract of country
was reduced to a solitude. There was none left round
the ashes of the cottages of the Acadians but the faith-
o0 ful watchdog, vainly seeking the hands that fed him.
Thickets of forest trees choked their orchards ; the ocean
broke over their neglected dikes, and desolated their
No doubt existed of the king's approbation. The Lords
15 of Trade, more merciless than the savages, and than the
wilderness in winter, wished very much that every one of
the Acadians should be driven out; and when it seemed
that the work was done, congratulated the king that "the
zealous endeavors of Lawrence had been crowned with an
20 entire success."
I know not if the annals of the human race keep the
record of sorrows so wantonly inflicted, so bitter and so
perennial, as fell upon the French inhabitants of Acadia.
We have been true," they said of themselves, "to our
25 religion, and true to ourselves; yet nature appears to
consider us only as the objects of public vengeance."
The hand of the English official seemed under a spell
with regard to them ; and was never uplifted but to curse
From "History of the United States," by George Bancroft.
Engrn-l by Hnry W. Peckeell.
From the Painting by Edwin Douglass.
EVANGELINE IN ACADIA.
The story of the exiles of Acadia has been told many
times and in many ways, but never more beautifully or
more pathetically than by Longfellow i1 -
his noble poem "Evangeline." ThI-
5 quaint descriptions of the home-life ,.
of the Acadians, the graphic pic-
tures of natural scenery, the'
faithful delineations of character ,
and passion which distinguish
10 this poem lend to it an interest
and a charm which few other pro-
ductions of its class possess. Read
with care, and observe the beauties
which characterize the following ex- W. Lo
Henry W. Longfellow,
15 tract from the first canto: -
In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand PrB
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without
20 Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and'
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the
Sea fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty 5
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer windows ; and 1o
Over the basement below protected and shaded the door-
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly
Lighted the village street and gilded the vanes on the
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the 15
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within
Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels and the
songs of the maidens.
Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, and the
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless
SReverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons
Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate
Then came the laborers home from the field, and serenely
the sun sank
Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the
Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the
to Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense
Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and
Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian
Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they
Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of
i1 Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to their
SCH. READ. VII. --4
But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of
There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in
Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the Basin
Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand
Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, directing his 5
Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of the
Stalworth and stately in form was the man of seventy
Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with
White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as
brown as the oak leaves.
Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen summers. 10
Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the thorn
by the wayside,
Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the brown
shade of her tresses !
Sweet was her breath as the breath of the kine that feed
in the meadows,
When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at
Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah fair in sooth was the 15
Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the bell from
Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest with
Sprinkles the congregation and scatters blessings upon
Down the long street she passed with her chaplets of
beads and her missal,
5 Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue and the
Brought in the olden time from France, and since, as an
Handed down from mother to child, through long gener-
But a celestial brightness a -more ethereal beauty -
Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, after
10 Homeward serenely she walked with God's benediction
When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of
Firmly built with rafters of oak, the house of the
Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea; and a
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing
15 Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath; and a
Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the
Under the sycamore tree were hives overhung by a pent-
Such as the traveler sees in regions remote by the road-
Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of
Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well with a
Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the
Shielding the house from storms, on the north were barns
and the farmyard,
There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique
plows and the harrows;
There were the folds for the sheep; and there, in his
Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the no
Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent
Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village.
In each one
Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch ; and a stair-
Under the sheltering eves, led up to the odorous corn-
There too the dovecot stood, with its meek and innocent 1s
Murmuring ever of love; while above in the variant breezes
Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mu-
Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of
Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his
5 Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened his
Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his deepest devotion;
Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of
Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness be-
And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her
10 Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker
Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village,
Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he
Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music.
But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was wel-
1i Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith,
Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of all
For, since the birth of time, throughout all ages and
Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the
Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from earliest
Grew up together as brother and sister; and Father
Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught
them their letters
Out of the self-same book, with the hymns of the church 5
and the plain song.
But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson com-
Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the black-
There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to
Take in his leather lap the hoof of the horse as a play-
Nailing the shoe in its place ; while near him the tire of 10
the cart wheel
Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cin-
Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering
Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every
cranny and crevice,
Warmed by the forge within they watched the laboring
And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the s1
Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into
Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the
Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er the
Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on
5 Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the
Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of
Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the
Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were
He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of the
10 Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought
She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a
"Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" was she called; for that
was the sunshine
Which, as the farmers believed, would load their orchards
She, too, would bring to her husband's house delight and
15 Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children.
THE BOYHOOD OF GAVIN DISHART.
On the east coast of Scotland, hidden as if in a quarry
at the foot of cliffs that may one day fall forward, is a
village called Harvie. So has it shrunk since the day
when I skulked from it that I hear of a traveler's asking
lately at one of its doors, how far he was from a village. 5
Yet Harvie throve once, and was celebrated even in dis-
tant Thrums for its fish. Most of our weavers would
have thought it as unnatural not to buy harvies in the
square on Muckle Friday, as to let Saturday night pass
without laying in a sufficient stock of half-pennies to go 10
round the family twice.
Gavin was born in Harvie, but left it at such an early
age that he could only recall thatched houses with nets
drying on the roofs, and a sandy shore in which coarse
grass grew. In the picture he could not pick out the 15
house of his birth, though he might have been able to go
to it had he ever returned to the village. Soon he learned
that his mother did not care to speak of Harvie, and per-
haps he thought that she had forgotten it too, all save one
scene to which his memory still guided him. When his 20
mind wandered to Harvie, Gavin saw the door of his
home open and a fisherman enter, who scratched his head,
and then said, "Your man's drowned, missis." Gavin
seemed to see many women crying, and his mother star-
ing at them with a face suddenly painted white, and next 25
to hear a voice that was his own saying, "Never mind,
mother; I'll be a man to you now."
Adam was drowned on Gavin's fourth birthday. He
was Dlown off his smack in a storm, and could not reach
the rope his partner flung him. "It's no go, lad," he
shouted ; "so long, Jim," and sank.
A month afterwards Margaret sold her share in the
5 smack, which was all Adam left her, and the furniture of
the house was rouped. She took Gavin to Glasgow,
where her only brother needed a housekeeper, and there
mother and son remained until Gavin got his call to
10 According to Margaret, Gavin's genius showed itself
while he was still a child. He was born with a brow
whose nobility impressed her from the first. It was a
minister's brow, and though Margaret was herself no
scholar being as slow to read as she was quick at turn-
15 ing bannocks on the griddle she decided, when his age
was still counted by months, that the ministry had need
of him. In those days the first question asked of a child
was not "Tell me your name," but "What are you to
be? and one child in every family replied, "A min-
20 ister." He was set apart for the Church as doggedly as
the shilling a week for the rent, and the rule held good
though the family consisted of only one boy. From his
earliest days Gavin thought he had been fashioned for
the ministry as certainly as a spade for digging, and
25 Margaret rejoiced and marveled threat.
At six Gavin hit another boy hard for belonging to
the Established Church, from which the stern Auld
Lichts were the original seceders. At seven he could
not lose himself in the Shorter Catechism. His mother
so expounded the Scriptures to him till he was eight, when
he began to expound them to her. By this time he was
studying the practical work of the pulpit as enthusias-
tically as ever medical student cut off a leg. From a
front pew in the gallery Gavin watched the minister's
every movement, noting that the first thing to do on 5
ascending the pulpit is to cover your face with your
hands, as if the exalted position affected you like a
strong light, and the second to move the big Bible
slightly, to show that the kirk officer, not having had
a university education, cannot be expected to know the lo
very spot on which it ought to lie. Gavin saw that
the minister joined in the singing more like one counte-
nancing a seemly thing than because he needed it him-
self, and that he only sang a mouthful now and then
after the congregation was in full pursuit of the pre- ia
center. It was noteworthy that the first prayer lasted
longer than all the others, and that to read the intima-
tions about the Bible class and the collection elsewhere
than immediately before the last Psalm would have been
as sacrilegious as to insert the dedication to King James 20
at the end of Revelation. Sitting under a minister justly
honored in his day, the boy was often some words in
advance of him, not vainglorious of his memory, but
fervent, eager, and regarding the preacher as hardly less
sacred than the Book. Gavin was encouraged by his 25
frightened yet admiring mother to saw the air from their
pew as the minister sawed it in the pulpit, and two
benedictions were pronounced twice a Sabbath in that
church, in the same words, the same manner, and simul-
When Gavin was twelve he went to the university,
and also got a place in a shop as errand boy. He used
to run through the streets between his work and his
classes. Potatoes and saltfish which could be got at two-
5 pence the pound if bought by the half hundredweight
were his food. There was not always a good meal for
two, yet when Gavin reached home at night there was
generally something ready for him, and Margaret had
supped "hours ago." Gavin's hunger urged him to fall
o0 to, but his love for his mother made him watchful.
"What did you have, yourself, mother?" he would
"Oh, I had a fine supper, I assure you."
What had you?"
15 "I had potatoes for one thing."
And dripping ? "
"You may be sure."
"Mother, you're cheating me. The dripping hasn't
been touched since yesterday."
20 "I don't don't care for dripping not much."
Then would Gavin stride the room fiercely, a queer
"Do you think I'll stand this, mother? Will I let
myself be pampered with dripping and every delicacy
25 when you starve ?"
"Gavin, I really do not care for dripping."
"Then, I'll give up my classes, and we can have
"I assure you I'm not hungry. It's different with a
30 growing laddie."
"I'm not a growing laddie," Gavin would say, bitterly;
"but, mother, I warn you that not another bite passes my
throat till I see you eating too."
So Margaret had to take her seat at the table, and
when she said, "I can eat no more," Gavin retorted
sternly, "Nor will I, for I understand you."
To Margaret it was happiness to sit through the long
evenings sewing, and look over her work at Gavin as
he read or wrote or recited to himself the learning of
the schools. But she coughed every time the weather to
changed, and then Gavin would start.
You must get to your bed, mother," he would say,
tearing himself from his books; or he would sit beside
her and talk of the dream that was common to both;
a dream of a manse where Margaret was mistress and 15
Gavin was called the minister. Every night Gavin was
at his mother's bedside to wind her shawl round her
feet, and while he did it Margaret smiled.
"Mother, this is the chaff pillow you've taken out of my
bed ; and you've given me your feather one." 20
Gavin, you needn't change them. I will not have the
"Do you dare to think I'll let you sleep on chaff?
Put up your head. Now, is that soft?"
It's fine. I can not deny but what I sleep better on 25
So the years passed, and soon Gavin would be a minis-
ter. He had now sermons to prepare, and every one of
them was first preached to Margaret. How solemn his
voice, how his eyes flashed, how stern were his admonitions! 30
"Gavin, such a sermon I never heard. The spirit of
God is on you. I'm ashamed you should have me for a
"God grant, mother, that you may never be ashamed to
5 have me for a son."
"The Lord has you by the hand, Gavin: and mind I
do not say that because you're my laddie."
"Yes, you do, mother, and well I know it, and yet it
does me good to hear you." .
o1 Busy days followed the call to Thrums, and Gavin had
difficulty in forcing himself to his sermons when there was
always something more to tell his mother about the weav-
ing town they were going to, or about the manse or the
furniture that had been transferred to him by the retiring
t minister. The little room which had become so familiar
that it seemed to be one of a family party of three had to
be stripped, and many of its contents were sold.
"Gavin, Gavin," Margaret said many times in those
last days at Glasgow, to think it has all come true "
0o Let the last word you say in the house be a prayer of
thankfulness," she whispered to him when they were tak-
ing a final glance at the old home.
In the bare room they called the house, the little
minister and his mother went on their knees, but, as it
,5 chanced, their last word there was not addressed to God.
"Gavin," Margaret whispered as he took her arm, "do
you think this bonnet is becoming to me ? "
From The Little Minister," by J. M. Barrie, by permission of
American Publishers' Corporation.
CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.
How happy is he born and taught,
That serveth not another's will;
Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill!
Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Untied unto the worldly care
Of public fame, or private breath;
Who envies none that chance doth raise,
Or vice ; who never understood
How deepest wounds are given by praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good:
Who hath his life from rumors freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;
Who God doth late and early pray,
More of his grace than gifts to lend;
And entertains the harmless day
With a religious book or friend;
This man is freed from servile bands,
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.
Heaven is not reached at a single bound,
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the
And we mount to its summit
round by round.
I count this thing to be greatly
That a noble deed is a step
toward God, /
Lifting the soul from the
To a purer air and a fairer /
view. J. G. Holland.
We rise by the things that are under our feet,
By what we have mastered of good or gain;
By the pride deposed or the passion slain,
And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.
We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust,
When the morning calls to life and light;
But our hearts grow weary, and ere the night
Our lives are trailing the sordid dust.
We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray;
And we think that we mount the air on wings
Beyond the recall of earthly things,
While our feet still cling to the heavy clay.
Wings are for angels, but feet for men!
We may borrow the wings to find the way;
We may hope and resolve and aspire and pray,
But our feet must rise or we fall again.
Only in dreams is a ladder thrown
From the weary earth to the sapphire walls;
But the dreams depart and the ladder falls,
And the sleeper wakes on his pillar of stone.
Heaven is not reached at a single bound,
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its siummit round by round.
Josah Gilbert Holland.
----- ]9 .--
SPEECH OF PATRICK HENRY
IN THE VIRGINIA CONVENTION, MARCH 25, 1775.
MR. PRESIDENT, No man thinks more highly than I
do of the patriotism, as well as the abilities, of the very
worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the House.
But different men often see the same subject in different
lights; and, therefore, I hope it will not be thought dis- 5
respectful to those gentlemen if, entertaining, as I do,
opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I shall
speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve.
This is no time for ceremony. The question before the
House is one of awful moment to this country. For my 10
own part, I consider it as nothing less than.a question
of freedom or slavery; and in proportion to the magni-
tude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate.
It is only in this way that we can hope
5 to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great
responsibility which we hold to Godi:1
and our country. Should I keep
back my opinions at such a /
time, through fear of giving
o1 offense, I should consider my-
self as guilty of treason to-
wards my country, and of an
act of disloyalty towards the
Majesty of Heaven, which I
15 revere above all earthly kings.
Mr. President, it is natural Patrick Henry.
to man to indulge in the illu-
sions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against
a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren
20 till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of
wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for
liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those
who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not,
the things which so nearly concern their temporal salva-
25 tion? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may
cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the
worst, and to provide for it.
I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided;
and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way
30 of judging of the future but by the past. And judging
SCH. READ. VII. -5
by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the
conduct of the British Ministry for the last ten years
to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been
pleased to solace themselves and the House. Is it that
insidious smile with which our petition has been lately 5
received? Trust it not, sir ; it will prove a snare to
your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a
kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of
our petition comports with those warlike preparations
which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets to
and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation?
Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled
that force must be called in to win back our love? Let
us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements
of war and subjugation -the last arguments to which 15
kings resort. I ask; sir, what means this martial array,
if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can
gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has
Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to
call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, 20
sir, she has none. They are meant for us; they can be
meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and
rivet upon us those chains which the British Ministry
have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose
to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been 25
trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything
new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held
the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but
it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and
humble supplication? What terms shall we find, which 3o
have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech
you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done
everything that could be done to avert the storm which
is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have re-
5 monstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated
ourselves before, the throne, and have implored its inter-
position to arrest the tyrannical hands of the Ministry and
Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our re-
monstrances have produced additional violence and in-
lo suit; our supplications have been disregarded; and we
have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the
In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond
hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any
5a room for hope. If we wish to be free -if we mean to
preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges' for which
we have been so long contending -if we mean not basely
to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been
so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves
o2 never to abandon, until the glorious object of our contest
shall be obtained we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we
must fight An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts
is all that is left us!
They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope
25 with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be
stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year?
Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a
British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall
we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we
30 acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely
on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope
until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot?
Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those
means which the God of nature hath placed in our power.
Three millions of people, armed in the' holy cause of lib- 5
erty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are
invincible by any force which our enemy can send against
us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone.
There is a just God who presides over the destinies of
nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles io
for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone ; it is
to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we
have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it
is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no
retreat but in submission and slavery Our chains are o1
forged Their clanking may be heard on the plains of
Boston The war is inevitable -and let it come! I
repeat it, sir, let it come !
It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen
may cry, Peace, peace but there is no peace. The 20
war is actually begun The next gale that sweeps from
the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding
arms! Our brethren are already in the field Why
stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish?
What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so 25
sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and
slavery? Forbid it, almighty God! I know not what
course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or
give me death!
FROM WASHINGTON'S FAREWELL ADDRESS TO THE PEOPLE OF
THE UNITED STATES, SEPTEMBER 17, 1796.
Interwoven as is the love of liberty with every ligament
of your hearts, no recommendation of mine is necessary
to fortify or confirm the attachment. The
unity of government which constitutes
a you one people, is also now dear to
you. It is justly so, for it is a main
pillar in the edifice of your real inde- -
pendence, the support of your tran-
quillity at home, your peace abroad;
10 of your safety, of your pros-
perity, of that very liberty
which you so highly prize.
But as it is easy to foresee
that, from different causes and George Washington.
i from different quarters, much
pains will be taken, many artifices employed, to weaken in
your minds the conviction of this truth, as this is the point
in your political fortress against which the batteries of
internal and external enemies will be most constantly and
20 actively (though often covertly and insidiously) directed,
it is of infinite moment that you should properly estimate
the immense value of your national union to your collec-
tive and individual happiness; that you should cherish a
cordial, habitual, and immovable attachment to it, accus-
2S toming yourselves to think and speak of it as of the
palladium of your political safety and prosperity, watch-
ing for its preservation with jealous anxiety, discounte-
nancing whatever may suggest even a suspicion that it
can in any event be abandoned, and indignantly frowning
upon the first dawning of every attempt to alienate any
ftortion of our country from the rest, or to enfeeble the s
sacred ties which now link together the, various parts.
With slight shades of difference, you have the same
religion, manners, habits, and political principles. You
have in a common cause fought and triumphed together;
the independence and liberty you possess are the work of 10
joint counsels and joint efforts, of common dangers, suffer-
ings, and successes. But these considerations, however
powerfully they address themselves to your sensibility, are
greatly outweighed by those which apply more immedi-
ately to your interest. Here every portion of our country 15
finds the most commanding motives for carefully guarding
and preserving the union of the whole.
The North, in an unrestrained intercourse with the
South, protected by the equal laws of a common govern-
ment, finds in the productions of the latter, great addi- 20
tional resources of maritime and commercial enterprise,
and precious materials of manufacturing industry. The
South, in the same intercourse, benefiting by the agency
of the North, sees its agriculture grow, and its commerce
expand. Turning partly into its own channels the sea- 25
men of the North, it finds its particular navigation in-
vigorated; and, while it contributes, in different ways,
to nourish and increase the general mass of the national
navigation, it looks forward to the protection of a mari-
time strength, to which itself is unequally adapted. The so
East, in a like intercourse with the West, already finds,
and, in the progressive improvement of interior commu-
nications by land and water, will more and more find, a
valuable vent for the commodities which it brings from
5 abroad or manufactures at home. The West derives
from the East supplies requisite to its growth and com-
fort, and, what is perhaps of still greater consequence, it
must of necessity owe the secure enjoyment of indis-
pensable outlets for its own productions to the weight,
10 influence, and the future maritime strength of the Atlan-
tic side of the Union, directed by an indissoluble com-
munity of interest as one nation .
Of all the dispositions and habits which lead to polit-
ical prosperity, religion and morality are indispensable
15 supports. In vain would that man claim the tribute of
patriotism who should labor to subvert these great pillars
of human happiness, these firmest props of the duties of
men and citizens. The mere politician, equally with the
pious man, ought to respect and to cherish them. A vol-
20 ume could not trace all their connections with private and
public felicity. Let it simply be asked, Where is the
security for property, for reputation, for life, if the sense
of religious obligation desert the oaths, which are the in-
struments of investigation in courts of justice ? And let
25 us with caution indulge the supposition that morality can
be maintained without religion. Whatever may be con-
ceded to the influence of refined education on minds of
peculiar structure, reason and experience both forbid us to
expect that national morality can prevail in exclusion of
30 religious principle.
Promote, then, as an object of primary importance,
institutions for the general diffusion of knowledge. In
proportion as the structure of a government gives force to
public opinion, it is essential that public opinion should be
THE HAUNTED PALACE.
In the greenest of our valleys,
By good angels tenanted,
Oni: a fair and stately palace
( Radiant palace) reared its head.
Ili the monarch Thought's dominion
It stood there 1
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair.
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
S On its roof did float and flow
(This, all this, was in the olden
Time long ago);
And every gentle air that dallied
Edgar Allan Poe.
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.
Wanderers in that happy valley
Through two luminous windows saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute's well. tuned law,
Round about a throne, where, sitting
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing.
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
But evil'things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate
(Ah let us mourn, for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate);
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
And travelers now within that valley
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a ghastly, rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever,
And laugh but smile no more.
THE GREAT FIGHT AT ALDRETH.
When William heard that the Danes were gone, he
marched on Ely, as on an easy prey.
With him was a great army of mercenaries, ruffians
from all France and Flanders, hired to fight for a certain
term, on the chance of plunder or of fiefs in land. Their 5
brains were all aflame with the tales of inestimable riches
hidden in Ely. There were there the jewels of all the
monasteries around ; there were the treasures of all the
fugitive English nobles; there were there -what was
there not? And they grumbled when William halted 10
them and hutted them at Cambridge, and began to feel
cautiously the strength of the place which must be
strong, or Hereward and the English would not have
made it their camp of refuge.
Perhaps he rode up to Madingley windmill, and saw 15
fifteen miles away, clear against the sky, the long line of
what seemed naught but a low upland park, with the
minster tower among the trees; and between him and
them a rich champaign of grass, over which it was easy
enough to march all the armies of Europe, and thought 20
Ely an easy place to take. But men told him that be-
tween him and those trees lay a black abyss of mud and
peat and reeds, Haddenham fen and Smithy fen, with the
deep sullen West water, or "Ald-reche," of the Ouse
winding through them. The old Roman road was sunk 25
and gone long since, under the bog, whether by English
neglect, or whether (as some think) by actual and bodily
sinking of the whole land. The narrowest space between
dry land and dry land was a full half mile; and how to
cross that half mile no man knew.
What were the approaches on the west? There were
none. Beyond Earith, where now run the great washes
5 of the Bedford Level, was a howling wilderness of meres,
seas, reed ronds, and floating alder beds, through which
only the fen men wandered, with leaping pole and log
What in the east? The dry land neared the island
10 on that side. And it may be that William rowed round
by Burwell to Fordham and Soham, and thought of at-
tempting the island by way of Barraway, and saw beneath
him a labyrinth of islands, meres, fens, with the Ouse,
lying deep and broad between Barraway and Thetford-in-
15 the-Isle; and saw, too, that a disaster in that labyrinth
might be a destruction.
So he determined on the near and straight path through
Long Stratton and Willingham, down the old bridle way
from Willingham plowed field every village there,
20 and in the isle likewise, had and has still its "field," or
ancient clearing of plowed land --and then to try that
terrible half mile, with the courage and wit of a general
to whom human lives were as those of the gnats under
25 So all his host camped themselves in Willingham field,
by the old earthwork which men now call Belsar's Hills;
and down the bridle way poured countless men, bearing
timber and fagots cut from all the hills, that they might
bridge the black half mile.
3o They made a narrow, firm path through the reeds, and
down to the brink of the Ouse, if brink it could be called,
where the water, rising and falling a foot or two each
tide, covered the floating peat for many yards before it
sunk into a brown depth of bottomless slime. They
would make a bottom for themselves by driving piles.
The piles would not hold; and they began to make
a floating bridge with long beams, and blown-up cattle
hides to float them. Soon they made a floating sow,'
and thrust it on before them as they worked across
the stream.; for they were getting under shot from the jo
Meanwhile the besieged had not been idle. They had
thrown up a turf rampart on the island shore, and over-
hanging hoardingss," or scaffolds, through the floor of
which they could shower down missiles. And so they 13
awaited the attack, contenting themselves with gliding
in and out of the reeds in their canoes, and annoying the
builders with arrows and crossbow bolts.
At last the bridge was finished, and the sow safe across
the West water, and thrust in, as far as it would float, 20
among the reeds on the high tide. They in the fort
could touch it with a pole.
The English would have destroyed it if they could.
But Hereward badethem leave it alone. He had watched
all their work, and made up his mind to the event. 25
"The rats have set a trap for themselves," he said to
his men, and we shall be fools to break it up till the
rats are safe inside."
So there the huge sow lay, black and silent, showing
1 For this and other unusual words, see the Notes.
nothing to the enemy but a side of strong plank, covered
with hide to prevent its being burned. It lay there for
three hours, and Hereward let it lie.
He had never been so cheerful, so confident. "Play
Sthe man this day, every one of you, and ere nightfall you
will have taught the Norman once more the lesson of
York. He seems to have forgotten that. It is for me to
remind him of it."
And he looked to his bow and to his arrows, and pre-
10 pared to play the man himself -as was the fashion in
those old days, when a general proved his worth by hit-
ting harder and more surely than any of his men.
At last the army was in motion, and Willingham field
opposite was like a crawling ants' nest. Brigade after
s1 brigade moved down to the reed beds, and the assault
And now advanced along the causeway and along the
bridge a dark column of men, surmounted by glittering
steel; knights in complete mail, footmen in leather coats;
20 at first orderly enough, each under the banner of his lord;
but more and more mingled and crowded as they hurried
forward, each eager for his selfish share of the inestimable
treasures of Ely. They pushed along the bridge. The
mass became more and more crowded; men stumbled
25 over each other, and fell off into the mire and the water,
calling vainly for help, while their comrades hurried on,
unheeding, in the mad thirst for spoil. On they came in
thousands; and fresh thousands streamed out of the fields,
as if the whole army intended to pour itself into the isle
so at once.
They are numberless," said Torfrida, in a serious and
astonished voice, as she stood by Hereward's side.
"Would they were said Hereward. "The more
their numbers, the fatter will the fish below be before
to-morrow morning. Look there, already "
And already the bridge was swaying, and sinking be-
neath their weight. The men in places were ankle deep
in water. They rushed on all the more eagerly, and filled
the sow and swarmed up to its roof.
Then, what with its own weight, what with the weight to
of the laden bridge, which dragged upon it from behind,
the huge sow began to tilt backward, and slide down the
slimy bank. The, men on the top tried vainly to keep
their footing, to hurl grapnels into the rampart, to shoot
off their quarrels and arrows. 15
You must be quick, Frenchmen," shouted Hereward,
in derision, "if you mean to come on board here."
The Normans knew that well; and as Hereward spoke,
two panels in the front of the sow creaked on their hinges,
and dropped landward, forming two drawbridges, over 20
which reeled to the attack a close body of knights, mingled
with soldiers bearing scaling ladders.
They recoiled. Between the ends of the drawbridges
and the foot of the rampart was some two fathoms' depth
of black ooze. The catastrophe was come, and a shout of 25
derision arose from the defenders above.
"Come on leap it like men Send back for your
horses, knights, and ride them at it like bold huntsmen "
The front rank could not but rush on ; for the pressure
1 Torfrida was the wife of Hereward.
behind forced them forward, whether they would or not.
In a moment they were wallowing waist deep, trampled
on, and disappearing under their struggling comrades,
who disappeared in their turn.
5 1" Look, Torfrida If they plant their scaling ladders,
it will be on a foundation of their comrades' corpses."
Torfrida gave one glance through the openings of the
hoarding upon the writhing mass below, and turned away
in horror. The men were not so merciful. Down be-
10 tween the hoarding beams rained stones, javelins, arrows,
increasing the agony and death. The scaling ladders
would not stand in the mire. If they had stood a moment,
the struggles of the dying would have thrown them down;
and still fresh victims pressed on from behind, shouting,
l "God, help On to the gold of Ely And still the
sow, under the weight, slipped farther and farther back
into the stream, and the foul gulf widened between be-
siegers and besieged.
At last one scaling ladder was planted upon the bodies
20 of the dead, and hooked firmly on the gunwale of the
hoarding. Ere it could be hurled off again by the English,
it was so crowded with men that even Hereward's strength
was insufficient to lift it off. He stood at the top, ready
to hew down the first comer ; and he hewed him down.
25 But the Normans were not to be daunted. Man after
man dropped dead from the ladder top man after man
took his place sometimes two at a time ; sometimes
scrambling over each other's backs.
The English cheered them with honest admiration.
30 "You are fellows worth fighting, you French."
"So we are," shouted a knight, the first and last who
crossed that parapet; for, thrusting Hereward back with
a blow of his sword hilt, he staggered past him over the
hoarding, and fell on his knees. A dozen men were upon
him ; but he was up again and shouting : E
"To me, men at arms A Dade a Dade But no
"Yield quoth Hereward.
Sir Dade answered by a blow on Hereward's helmet,
which felled the chief to his knees, and broke the sword o1
into twenty splinters.
"Well hit," said Hereward, as he rose. "Don't touch
him, men this is my quarrel now. Yield, sir you have
done enough for -your honor. It is madness to throw
away your life." :
The knight looked round on the fierce ring of faces, in
the midst of which he stood alone.
"To none but Hereward."
Hereward am I."
"Ah," said the knight, "had I but hit a little harder !" 20
You would have broken your sword into more splin-
ters; my armor is enchanted; -so yield like a reasonable
and valiant man."
What care I ?" said the knight, stepping onto the
earthwork, and sitting down quietly. "I vowed to St. 25
Mary and King William that into Ely I would get this
day, and in Ely I am; so I have done my work."
"And now you shall taste- as such a gallant knight
deserves the hospitality of Ely."
It was Torfrida who spoke. 30
My husband's prisoners are mine; and I, when I
find them such valiant men, as you are, have no lighter
chains for them than that which a lady's bower can
5 Sir Dade was going to make an equally courteous
answer, when over and above the shouts and curses of
the combatants rose a yell so keen, so dreadful, as made
all hurry forward to the rampart.
That which Hereward had foreseen was come at last.
to The bridge, strained more and more by its living burden
and by the falling tide, had parted not at the Ely end,
where the sliding of the sow took off the pressure, but
at the end nearest the camp. One sideway roll it gave,
and then, turning over, ingulfed in that foul stream the
!5 flower of Norman chivalry, leaving a line, a full quarter
of a mile in length, of wretches drowning in the dark
water, or, more hideous still, in the bottomless slime of
peat and mud.
Thousands are said to have perished. Their armor
20 and weapons were found at times, by delivers and dikers,
for centuries after ; are found at times unto this day, be-
neath the rich drained cornfields which now fill up that
black half mile, or in the bed of the narrow brook to
which the West water, robbed of its streams by the Bed-
25 ford Level, has dwindled down at last.
William, they say, struck his tents and departed forth-
with, groaning from deep grief of heart; and so ended
the first battle of Aldreth.
From "Hereward, the Last of the English," by Charles Kingsley.
SCH. READ. VII.--6
CHARLES AND MARY LAMB.
Charles Lamb died in 1834, as the year was closing, at
Edmonton by London, a place known to you and me
through the diverting history of John
Gilpin. And, if we could have gone
there in the fall of that year, the 5
chances are we should have seen
Mr. Lamb, as the neighbors
Called him, wandering along
the lanes while the leaves
-- were turning brown on the 1o
i trees, and the mists were fall-
ing far and wide; for the
splendid pillars of golden fire
Charles Lamb. which our maples rear against
the azure here are not seen in 15
the mother land, and if you had the maples there you
would not have the azure in which ours are framed.
A short and slender person you would have seen in
those lanes, with what Thomas Hood called a pair of
immaterial legs; a head of wonderful beauty, if you 20
could see it bare, well set on the bent shoulders, with
black curly hair in plenty, threaded through with gray ;
eyes of soft brown, like that you see in some gentle
animals, but not quite of the same color--odd eyes, you
would call them ; and a face of the finest Hebrew type 2z
rather than the Saxon. But who shall describe his
face," an old friend says, or catch its quivering sweet-
ness? Deep thought, shot through with humor, and
lines of suffering wreathed with mirth." He would be
dressed in black, also, of an old fashion, though the time
was when he favored a decent gray; and when a friend
asked him once why he wore such queer old clothes, he
5 answered, very simply, Because they are all I have, my
He would have a dog with him, also; a creature which
answered, or rather did not answer, to the name of Dash,
and would rush away wherever his wayward fancy led
10 him, while he who should have been his master would
stand still in deep dismay, calling to him, fearing he
would get lost, and resolving to teach him better man-
ners ; only when the rogue did return in an hour or so,
his victim would be so glad he could not bear even to
15 scold him, and so he had to send him away at last in
sheer despair. So the gentle old man would walk about
the lanes in those days, with Dash to torment him ; turn
in, perhaps, to the Bell, where John Gilpin should have
dined, for a glass of ale ; and then go home to the lodg-
20 ings where he lived with his sister.
This sister depended on her brother so that he said very
tenderly to her one day when he came home, "You must
die first, Mary"; and she answered, with a cheerful little
laugh, "Yes, Charles, I must 'die first." But on a day not
25 long after, as I make out, he fell, as he was walking alone,
and was much bruised and shaken. He had said in a
letter not long before, God help me when I come to put
off these snug relations, and get abroad in the world to
come." And long before, "A new state of things stag-
30 gers me. Sun, sky, and breeze, solitary walks, the sum-
mer holidays, the greenness of fields, and the delicious
juices of meats and fishes, society and its good cheer,
candlelight and fireside conversations, and innocent vani-
ties and jests, and irony itself- do we lose these with
life? Can a ghost laugh, or shake his gaunt sides ? And 5
you, my folios, must I part with you ? Must knowledge
come to me, if it comes at all, by some awkward turn of
intuition, and no longer by this familiar process of read-
ing ? Shall I enjoy friendship there, wanting the smiles
and the faces I know, and the sweet assurance of a 10
look ? "
So he lived, this gentle and most sensitive spirit, all
his life subject to bondage and the fear of death, as we
have known others live of his noble and delicate mold.
But after he got his hurt he did not know what had 1l
befallen him, and was only dreaming pleasant dreams
of old friends and of some little festival he had in his
mind; and so he passed away and did not see death, for
God took him, while the sister who was to have gone
first survived him almost twelve years. 20
He was born in London, as your fathers were blowing
at the fires which flamed up at Lexington and Bunker
His father was a lawyer's clerk in the Temple, where
the boy passed the first seven years of his life close to 25
the great tides that set in, as he tells us, from the east
and west, in the very heart of the great city he came to
love so well that he told Wordsworth once his mountains
and lakes might hang for all lie cared, and, when at last he
went to look at them, found he was composing his mind 3o
and staying his heart, not all on their glory and beauty, but
on a famous ham and beef shop he knew of in the Strand.
He has drawn a portrait of his father as a man of "an
incorruptible and losing honesty," and not only clerk to
5 the old lawyer, but his good servant, dresser, friend,
guide, stop watch, and treasurer. The liveliest little fel-
low breathing, he says, with a face as gay as Garrick's;
a man Izaak Walton would have loved to go with a-fish-
ing, and clever with his hands though he was small. For
to once when he saw a man of quality, so called, insulting
a woman, and came to her rescue, and the brute drew his
sword on him, the little fellow wrenched the sword out
of his hand, and mauled him soundly with the hilt.
They were very poor, these Lambs; and the under-
15 current of rumor, which may go for what it is worth, is
that the children were neglected. But no word of this
comes from Lamb, like those we have from another hu-
morist, who shames himself and his genius by telling the
story of his own hard lot as a child, and then draws
20 the portrait of his father in Micawber very much after
the manner of one in the Scriptures who mocked at his
father's weakness and shame. He went to a sort of
charity school for his education, Christ's Hospital, so
called, a place in those days, of the old brutal British
25 type, where they never spared the rod to spoil the child;
staid there seven years, learning what they used to call
the humanities. .
When Lamb was about fourteen, they could afford to
keep him at school no longer; so he had to turn out, and
30 help make the living, for the years had brought no re-
lease from the bitter pinch of poverty. There was a
brother much older than Charles, who was doing well
in the world and had only himself to care for ; but he
only cared for himself, being a man of fine tastes, and
left the family to its doom. So the boy of fourteen 5
found work to do and became presently the head of the
household and its staff and stay. Then in the course of
time he saw the maid he could dream of as his wife, and
worship from afar until it should please God to open the
way to his, great desire. And then when he was just 10
coming of age, a great tragedy opened, and changed the
whole plan and purpose of his life.
They were living in a poor little place to which they
had moved for poverty's sake-the old father who was
passing into his second childhood, the mother who was 15
an invalid and helpless also, and the sister Mary, who
was ten years older than Charles. Mary was so bur-
dened with the care and sorrow of it all that one day,
in a sudden fit of insanity, she clutched a knife, and
before the brother could reach her stabbed her mother 20
to the heart, wounded the poor old father also, and then
was secured at a great risk of the brother's own life. It
was insanity, the jury said at once at the inquest; and
the family knew this better than the jury, for Lamb
himself had been touched by it not long before, and shut 25
up in an asylum. So Mary was sent there for her life,
if it must be so, but it was found presently that these
fits were fitful, coming and going with a certain premo-
nition; and so she need not stay there, if those to whom
she belonged would take her home and take care of her. 30
The elder brother, who was thirty or so then, and well to
do, with no one to care for still but himself, stood aloof.
The youth rising towards twenty
one, and earning about a hundred
5 pounds a year, stepped quietly A
to the front, and said: "I will
take care of my sister. Let
me have her home." And she C
came home; and the boy turned
10 away from the shy, sweet dream
of Alice, which had nestled in
his heart, and took up the bur-
den he was to bear for thirty-eight
years to come, and wrote presently
15 to a friend: "If Mary and the rest Mary Lamb.
of us cannot live on what we have, we deserve to burn at
a slow fire; and I almost would sooner do that than let
her go back to the asylum.". .
And twenty years after this, he says, speaking of
20 Mary and himself : We two house together, old bachelor
and old maid, in a sort of double singleness; while I,
for one, find no disposition to go out upon the moun-
tains with the King's rash offspring, to bewail my celi-
bacy. And we agree very well, too; but once when I
25 spoke to her in a kinder voice than usual, she burst
into tears, and said I was much altered (for the worse).
I read my Old Burton, and she reads stories with plenty
of life in them, good and bad. She hath also been
much cast among freethinkers; but that which was good
30 and venerable to her in her childhood she loves still,
and will play no tricks with her understanding or her
So it came to pass, when the old father and Hester,
the servant, were dead, and they were left alone, that
the cross would change now and then into a crown, and s
joy take the place of the deep sorrow, which indeed was
hidden away by those who knew of it and loved them,
and was never mentioned again until they were both
dead. Mary Lamb, also, was a woman of rare and beau-
tiful gifts.. Hazlitt says she was the only woman he 10
ever met who knew how to reason; but Hazlitt's experi-
ence of women was not fortunate. Wordsworth, with a
finer ear, says, "I dwell not only on her genius, but on
her rare delicacy and refinement."
One who was Lamb's friend and is ours, sings: 1I
"There is no music in the life,
That sounds with empty laughter wholly;
There's not a string attunedto mirth,
But has its chord in melancholy."
Well, this is the secret of the humor which scalds like 20
tears. The wind was tempered to the shorn Lambs, but
now and then it smote them very sore. Mary was never
cured from that awful threat of insanity which went and
came, while the shadow staid always on their house and
their life. So he could not leave her when he would take 25
a holiday; it was so shameful, he said, to leave her, and
go off and enjoy himself alone. So Mary would pack her
trunk, and go with him, and always packed her strait-
waistcoat to be ready for what might happen. And if
they were at home they knew when the shadows began
to deepen ; and, like those children in the story we have
all wept over in our day, it would befall that
When they saw the darksome night,
5 They sat them down and cried."
Then the brother would busk himself up bravely in
his best, put on airs as of one who was on pleasure bent,
and ask for a holiday; and I think they were delicate
with him, and wise, and asked no questions. Then he
to would go home to Mary, and friends say they have met
them stealing along bypaths towards the asylum, hand in
hand, and weeping both of them, while Charles would he
carrying the strait-jacket, and so:r t in,; ...-.
Mary would urge him to a rui ,--n I:.
15 those small immaterial legs, for- l,'
was aware that it might be mid-
night madness in a few mo-
ments, and so they would
come to the doors quite
20 out of breath. Then Mary
would get well again, come
home, and begin her house-
keeping as if nothing had be-
fallen. And in the Temple once,
25 when they had taken rooms there, Robert Collyer
they lighted on a bit of rare good fortune Lamb would
enjoy above all men. It was a small place and cheap;
and mousing round, they found a blind door locked fast,
managed to open the door, and then found some rooms
beyond which nobody had ever heard of or suspected,
took possession of these also, and so lived in great state,
and were never able to pay any rent-for them because
they could not find any landlord to take it.
This is the story of Charles and Mary Lamb, until at 5
last on a day we see the old man in the lanes of Edmon-
ton with his dog Dash as grand and touching a,
story not as I tell it, but as the brother and sister lived
it as was ever written with a pen; the story of the boy
and man 10
"Whom neither shape of danger could dismay,
Nor dream of tender happiness betray;
Who, doomed to walk in company with pain,
Turned the necessity to glorious gain."
In my poor mind it is most sweet to muse
Upon the days gone by; to act in thought
Past seasons o'er, and be again a child;
To sit in fancy on the turf-clad slope,
Down which the child would roll; to pluck gay flowers,
Make posies in the sun, which the child's hand
(Childhood offended soon, soon reconciled),
Would throw away, and straight take up again,
Then fling them to the winds, and o'er the lawn
Bound with so playful and so light a foot,
That the pressed daisy scarce declined her head.
A DISSERTATION UPON ROAST PIG.
Mankind, says a Chinese manuscript, which my friend
M. was obliging enough to read and explain to me, for
the first seventy thousand ages ate their meat raw, claw-
ing it or biting it from the living animal, just as they do
5 in Abyssinia to this day. This period is not obscurely
hinted at by their great Confucius in the second chapter
of his Mundane Mutations, where he designates a kind
of golden age by the term Cho-fang, literally the Cooks'
10 The manuscript goes on to say, that the art of roasting,
or rather broiling (which I take to be the elder brother)
was accidentally discovered in the manner following.
The swineherd, Ho-ti, having gone out into the woods
one morning, as his manner was, to collect mast for his
15 hogs, left his cottage in the care of his eldest son Bo-bo, a
great lubberly boy, who being fond of playing with fire,
as younkers of his age commonly are, let some sparks
escape into a bundle of straw, which kindling quickly,
spread the conflagration over every part of their poor
so mansion, till it was reduced to ashes. Together with the
cottage (a sorry antediluvian makeshift of a building,
you may think it), what was of much more importance, a
fine litter of young pigs, no less than nine in number,
perished. China pigs have been esteemed a luxury all
25 over the East from the remotest periods that-we read of.
Bo-bo was in the utmost consternation, as you may
think, not so much for the sake of the tenement, which
his father and he could easily build up again with a few
dry branches, and the labor of an hour or two, at any
time, as for the loss of the pigs. While he was thinking
what he should say to his father, and wringing his hands
over the smoking remnants of one of those untimely suf-
ferers, an odor assailed his nostrils, unlike any scent 5
which he had before experienced.
What could it proceed from ? -not from the burnt
cottage he had smelled that smell before indeed this
was by no means the first accident of the kind which had
occurred through the negligence of this unlucky young 10
firebrand. Much less did it resemble that of any known
herb, weed, or flower. A premonitory moistening at the
same time overflowed his nether lip. He knew not what
He next stooped down to feel the pig, if there were any 15
signs of life in it. He burned his fingers, and to cool them
he applied them in his booby fashion to his mouth. Some
of the crumbs of the scorched skin had come away with
his fingers, and for the first time in his life (in the world's
life indeed, for before him no man had known it) he 20
tasted railing! Again he felt and fumbled at the
pig. It did not burn him so much now, still he licked
his fingers from a sort of habit.
The truth at length broke into his slow understanding,
that it was the pig that smelt so, and the pig that tasted 25
so delicious; and, surrendering himself to the newborn
pleasure, he fell to tearing whole handfuls of the scorched
skin with the flesh next it, and was cramming it down his
throat in his beastly fashion, when his sire entered amid
the smoking rafters, armed with retributory cudgel, and so
finding how affairs stood, began to rain blows upon the
young rogue's shoulders, as thick as hailstones, which
Bo-bo heeded not any more than if they had been flies.
The tickling pleasure which he experienced in his lower
5 regions, had rendered him quite callous to any inconven-
iences he might feel in those remote quarters.
His father might lay on, but he could not beat him
from his pig, till he had fairly made an end of it, when,
becoming a little more sensible of his situation, some-
10 thing like the following dialogue ensued: -
"You graceless fellow, what have you got there de-
vouring? Is it not enough that you have burned down
three houses with your dog's tricks, but you must be
eating fire and I know not what-what have you got
15 there, I say ? "
"O father, the pig, the pig, do come and taste how
nice the burnt pig eats."
The ears of Ho-ti tingled with horror. He cursed his
son, and he cursed himself that ever he should have a son
20 that should eat burnt pig.
Bo-bo, whose scent was wonderfully sharpened since
morning, soon raked out another pig, and fairly rending
it asunder, thrust the lesser half by main force into the
fists ofoHo-ti, still shouting out, Eat, eat, eat the burnt
25 pig, father, only taste," -with such like ejaculations,
cramming all the while as if he would choke.
Ho-ti trembled in every joint while he grasped the abom-
inable thing, wavering whether he should not put his son
to death for an unnatural young monster, when the crack-
so ling scorching his fingers, as it had done his son's, and
applying the same remedy to them, he in his turn tasted
some of its flavor, which, make what sour mouths
he would for a pretense, proved not altogether displeas-
ing to him. In conclusion (for the manuscript here is a
little tedious) both father and son fairly sat down to the
mess, and never left off till they had dispatched all that
remained of the litter.
Bo-bo was strictly enjoined not to let the secret escape,
for the neighbors would certainly have stoned them for
a couple of abominable wretches, who could think of 1o
improving upon the good meat which God had sent them.
Nevertheless, strange stories got about. It was observed
that Ho-ti's cottage was burned down now more fre-
quently than ever.
Nothing but fires from this time forward. Some would 15
break out in broad day, others in the night-time. And
Ho-ti himself, which was the more remarkable, instead
of chastising his son, seemed to grow more indulgent to
him than ever.
At length they were watched, the terrible mystery dis- 20
covered, and father and son summoned to take their trial
at Pekin, then an inconsiderable assize town. Evidence
was given, the obnoxious food itself produced in court,
and verdict about to be pronounced, when the foreman of
the jury begged that some of the burnt pig, of which the 25
culprits stood accused, might be handed into the box.
He handled it, and they all handled it, and burning
their fingers, as Bo-bo and his father had done before
them, and nature 'prompting to each of them the same
remedy, against the face of all the facts, and the clearest 30
charge which the judge had ever given, to the surprise
of the whole court, townsfolk, strangers, reporters, and all
present -without leaving the box, or any manner of con-
sultation whatever, they brought in a simultaneous ver-
5 diet of Not Guilty.
The judge, who was a shrewd fellow, winked at the
manifest iniquity of the decision; and, when the court
was dismissed, went privily, and bought up all the pigs
that could be had for love or money. In a few days his
10 Lordship's town house was observed to be on fire. The
thing took wing, and now there was nothing to be seen
but fires in every direction. Fuel and pigs grew enor-
mously dear all over the district. The insurance offices
one and all shut up shop. People built slighter and
15 slighter every day, until it was feared that the very
science of architecture would in no long time be lost to
Thus this custom of firing houses continued, till in
process of time, says my manuscript, a sage arose, like
20 our Locke, who made a discovery, that the flesh of swine,
or indeed of any other animal, might be cooked (burnt, as
they called it) without the necessity of consuming a whole
house to dress it. Then first began the rude form of a
25 Roasting by the string, or spit, came in a century or
two later, I forget in whose dynasty. By such slow
degrees, concludes the manuscript, do the most useful,
and seemingly the most obvious arts, make their way
From "Essays of Elia," by Charles Lamb.
THE SPY'S ESCAPE.
"The Spy," by James Fenimore Cooper, was written
in 1821, and was the first work which gave distinction to
its author. It is a tale of the times of
S tl,_ Revolution, and its hero, Harvey
Birch, is a revolutionary patriot, who 5
i was willing to risk his life and to
subject his character to tempo-
rary suspicion for the service
of his country." The rugged,
homely worth of Harvey Birch, 10
the many stirring adventures
? which are narrated, and the
truthful home scenes described,
James Fenimore Cooper. place this story in the foremost
rank of American fiction. The 15
following extract is a fair illustration of the style which
characterizes not only The Spy but all of Cooper's works.
The gathering mists of the evening had begun to
darken the valley, as the detachment of Lawton made
its reappearance at its southern extremity. The march 20
of the troops was slow, and their line extended, for the
benefit of ease. In the front rode the Captain, side by
side with his senior subaltern, apparently engaged in
close conference, while the rear was brought up by a
young cornet, humming an air, and thinking of the 25
sweets of a straw bed after the fatigues of a hard
Stretching forward his body in the direction he was
gazing, as if to aid him in distinguishing objects through
the darkness, the Captain asked, What animal is'moving
through the field on our right? "
5 "'Tis a man," said Mason, looking intently at the
By his hump 'tis a dromedary added the Captain,
eyeing it keenly. Wheeling his horse suddenly from the
highway, he exclaimed Harvey Birch! take him,
10 dead or alive "
Mason and a few of the leading dragoons only under-
stood the sudden cry, but it was heard throughout the
line. A dozen of the men, with the Lieutenant at their
head, followed the impetuous Lawton, and their speed
15 threatened the pursued with a sudden termination of
Birch prudently kept his position on the rock until
evening had begun to shroud the surrounding objects
in darkness. From this height he had seen all the
20 events of the day as they occurred.
He had watched, with a beating heart, the departure
of the troops under Dunwoodie, and with difficulty had
curbed his impatience until the obscurity of night should
render his moving free from danger. He had not, how-
a2 ever, completed a fourth of his way to his own residence,
when his quick ear distinguished the tread of the ap-
Trusting to the increasing darkness, he determined to
persevere. By crouching and moving quickly along the
3o surface of the ground, he hoped yet to escape unseen.
SCH. READ. VII. -7
Captain Lawton was too much engrossed in conversation
to suffer his eyes to indulge in their usual wandering;
and the peddler, perceiving by the voices that the enemy
he most feared had passed, yielded to his impatience, and
stood erect, in order to make greater progress. The 5
moment his body arose above the shadow of the ground,
it was seen, and the chase commenced.
For a single instant Birch was helpless, his blood cur-
dling in his veins at the imminence of the danger. But it
was only for a moment. Casting his pack where he stood, 10
and instinctively tightening the belt he wore, the peddler
betook himself to flight. He knew that by bringing him-
self in a line with his pursuers and a wood, his form
would be lost to sight. This he soon effected, and he
was straining every nerve to gain the wood itself, when 15
several horsemen rode by him but a short distance on his
left, and cut him off from this place of refuge.
The peddler threw himself on the ground as they came
near him, and was passed unseen. But delay, now, became
too dangerous for him to remain in that position. He ac- 20
cordingly arose, and, still keeping in the shadow of the
wood, along the skirts of which he heard voices crying
to each other to be -watchful, he ran with incredible speed
in a parallel line, but in an opposite direction, to the march
of the dragoons. 25
The confusion of the chase had been heard by the whole
of the men, though none distinctly understood the order
of Lawton but those who followed. The remainder were
lost in doubt as to the duty that was required of them;
and the aforesaid cornet was making eager inquiries of 3o