Citation
Stories for summer days and winter nights  illustrated with coloured plates and wood engravings

Material Information

Title:
Stories for summer days and winter nights illustrated with coloured plates and wood engravings
Creator:
Lydon, A. F ( Alexander Francis ) ( Engraver )
Groombridge and Sons ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
London
Publisher:
Groombridge and Sons
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
1 v. (unpaged) : ill. (some col.) ; 19 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Juvenile fiction -- Norway ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1872 ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1872
Genre:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

Funding:
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026970095 ( ALEPH )
ALH8416 ( NOTIS )
25097885 ( OCLC )

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STORIES

FOR

SUMMER DAYS

AND

WINTER NIGHTS.

LUustratey
WITH COLOURED PLATES AND WOOD ENGRAVINGS.

LONDON:

GROOMBRIDGE AND SONS,
5, PATERNOSTER ROW.
1872,



CONTENTS.

OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.





THE RECOVbRY OF TILE MODEL,

OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

CHAPTER I.

THE FIELDE.

emeseel' was during the twilight of a day in the
| spring, that a middle-aged, bluff, but
good-humoured bonde, or Norwegian
farmer, seated in one of the curious little
cars of-his country, drawn by a small, rough, sturdy,
and sure-footed pony, was slowly making his way up a
steep hill on one of those high tracts of ground called
the fielde, which separate from each other the lowlands

of Old Norway. ,
It is no easy matter to conceive of the desolaticn
which reigns on those broad mountain tops. For

B





OSCAR: A TALE DF NORWAY.

miles and miles across the higher part of the fielde
scarcely any vegetation is to be seen; or where a few
hardy trees have managed to take root, they reach to
the height of but three or four feet, and show by their
crooked and knotted stems through what hardships
they have struggled, while the Bark rocks of which
the mountains are composed, stand out rugged and
bare, or are clothed only with moss, or covered with
almost perpetual snow.

For nine months in the year it is cheerless winter
on the fielde; and during the other three, fierce
storms of rain, snow, and wind are frequent. There
are, however, numerous spots on every fielde which,
for two or three months in the year, are lively with
herds of cows and horses, and flocks of sheep and
goats ; for almost every farmer in Norway, in addition
to his arable land in the valley, has a large extent of
pasture ground on the fielde, whither, in summer, he
sends his cattle, herdsmen, shepherds, and dairy-maids ;
and to which, indeed, with his whole household, he
himself sometimes migrates. These yearly trips are
holiday seasons to all concerned in them, and are an-
ticipated with great satisfaction. Sometimes pie
seaters, aS such spots are called, are near to the farm
but oftener they are at the distance of many aie
even of a long day’s journey; and, in every case, a
buildmg, more or less spacious, is attached to the
seater, and known as the seater-house or hut.

In the long fielde winters, which include both
spring and autumn, these seaters are deserted, and
travellers may pass a whole day in the bare and cheer-
less region without meeting either friend, stranger, or
enemy. At such times fieldo travelling ; 1S ae unat-
tended with danger 3 and this remark brings us back
again to the beginning of our story.



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

I have said that the farmer was middle-aged and
good-looking, but it would have been difficult at this
time to form any judgment of either of these matters,
so carefully was he wrapped up from head to foot. A
large cap of sheep-skin covered the traveller’s head,
and was tied under his chin so as to hide the whole of
his face, excepting eyes, nose, and mouth, which also
would probably have been concealed, only that it is
awkward travellmg with the eyes shut, and very
unlikely that a true Norwegian would journey any dis-






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tance without a lighted pipe in his mouth. Great
boots of fur, reaching to his thighs, were drawn over
the farmer’s ordinary dress, and a pair of long gloves
of the same material, reaching nearly to the shoulder
of each arm, were fastened by a leathern thong round
the upper part of his body; while over the shoulders
of the driver was thrown a large wolf-skin, furnished
with arm-holes, and buckled tight round the waist by
a broad leathern belt. Thus equipped, and squeezed
into the seat of his car, which did not exceed an ordi-
nary elbow-chair in size, and was so near the ground
that an overturn would not have been attended with
very alarming consequences, had an overturn taken



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

place—thus equipped and seated, the traveller bore
with great fortitude the cutting blasts which assailed
him, and the slow pace with which his little, rough,
but tough and strong-winded nag—which he now and
then addressed by the name of Gustaf, or Gustavus—
was climbing up the long ascent.

At length this arduous task was accomplished, and
the traveller and his steed had reached the highest
ground on that part of the fielde. For a minute or
two the panting Gustaf rested to recover breath, and
Gustaf’s master looked around him.

The prospect was not very enlivening: stretched
before the traveller was a wide tract of wild and
uneven ground, destitute of vegetation, and covered in
many paris with snow. Over this desolate space
wound the road, which was to be traced by tall poles
placed at certain points, intended for the guidance of
snow-bewildered travellers. On one side, the fielde
seemed as though cleft asunder by some sudden con
vulsion of nature, forming a narrow valley or chasm,
several hundreds of feet deep, along the bottom of
which ran swiftly a mountain stream, which, viewed
from above, looked like a narrow silver thread. On
the other side, at the distance of many miles, was seen
the great mountain of Sneehatten, or Snowy-hat, so
called because the snow on its summit never dis-
appears. Around the traveller and his horse not a
living thing beside themselves was visible, nor a sound
to be heard in that vast solitude, except the hard
panting breath of Gustaf, and the cheering words of
the driver.

Oscar Essmark—for that was the traveller’s name
—did not linger more than was needful on that ex-
posed spot, for the twilight was now rapidly disappear-
ing, and dark threatening clouds had gathered round. |



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

“Come Gustaf, good Gustaf,”’ he said to his pony,
“we must not loiter; old Sneehatten looks spiteful
to-night ; and we shall be fortunate if we can eet to
shelter before the storm reaches us. So, step out,
good beast, for your master’s sake and your own.”

Gustaf seemed perfectly to understand his master,
for without further urging, he proceeded on _ hig
journey with renewed vigour.

But fast as he trotted over the rough road, the
storm which Essmark had predicted gathered faster ;
and they had scarcely gone half-a-mile, before it burst
upon them with fearful violence. First came a mighty
gust of wind, which nearly lifted Gustaf off his legs,
and brought him at once to a dead standstill. The
httle car, however, stood it bravely, for it had been
built for such stormy passages as this. The driver,
too, kept his seat unconcernedly, for this was not the
first time he had passed over the fielde.

While the hurricane was yet increasing in violence,
a thick mist shut out from the traveller the sight of
even the nearest object; and then came driving across
the mountain top a fall of snow, so heavy and so fast,
as to threaten in a short time to bury car, pony, and
driver.

The extreme violence of the hurricane compelled
them to pause; and Hssmark, wrapping himself up
more closely in his wolf-skin cloak, and drawing higher
around him the apron of his car, waited with patience
the next turn of affairs. “If I can manage to reach
the next seater,” he said to himself, “the snow may
come, and welcome; and if I had a sledge instead of
a car, I would not be long in reaching home either.
But patience, good Gustaf; if it comes to the worst,
we can foot it when the storm gives over, and leave
the old car to take of itself.”



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

After a short time the first force of the hurricane
seemed expended, and though both mist and snow
were thick as ever, the traveller determimed to make
another attempt at reaching the shelter of which he
had spoken. Gustaf appeared to be of the same mind
as his master; and again needed only a gentle word
of encouragement to urge him forward. After’a few
desperate plunges, he succeeded in dragging the car
clear from the heap of snow which had accumulated
at its side, and slowly moved onwards.

In the course of half-an-hour all traces of the road
had disappeared, and neither in the sky above, nor on
the earth beneath, could a single object be. discerned
to guide the traveller in a right course; and it was
only by carefully noting the direction of the wind that
he could be sure he was not going back instead of
forward.

And, indeed, it soon became a matter of doubt with
Oscar. Essmark whether, with all the experience of
himself and Gustaf in fielde travelling, they had not
widely wandered from the road; for when, from time
to time, he looked out into the mist, not once could he
catch sight of a guide-pole, rising above the broad
surface of snow which glimmered through the dreary
foggy darkness.

“ Courage, good Gustaf,” said Hssmark, after one
such fruitless attempt; “we shall reach a shelter pre-
sently.”

But for three hours or more after the storm first
began, were the travellers—man and beast—exposed
to its fury without reaching that shelter ; and at length
poor Gustaf showed such signs of fatigue, that
Essmark, encumbered as he was with his warm but
clumsy and heavy clothing, took pity on his weary
animal, and, dismounting, led him gently forward,





OSCAR, A TALE OF NORWAY



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

sinking deeply at every step into the newly-fallen
snow.

It was well that the traveller was thus considerate,
for he had not advanced many paces before he found
himself treading on the edge of a steep bank, over
which a single false step might have hurled both him-
self and Gustaf into some unknown abyss. Carefully
picking his way, with the snow still beating in his
eyes and half blinding him, Essmark discovered what
appeared a more gentle declivity, down which he led
his beast; ‘“‘for even the shelter of a bank,” thought
he, “‘is better than none at all; but where I am now
passes my poor wit to find out.”

Very cautiously picking his way downwards, the
stout-hearted farmer at length found himself and
Gustaf again on tolerably level ground, and close by
the brink of a small mountain lake, the ice of which,
not yet completely broken up, was floating in large
masses on its surface, and covered anew with the snow
which had so recently fallen, and was still falling.
Above, to the height of thirty or forty feet, rose,
like a dark wall, the rocky bank which he had
descended.

The moment Essmark saw the lake, he uttered an
exclamation of surprise. ‘‘ Strange,” said he, “ that
I have been so misled. There will be no reaching
home before morning, that is certain ; and to think of
cur having wandered so far off the road! I gave you
credit for more sense than this, Gustaf,’ he continued,
patting his pony as he spoke. ‘But cheer up, old
friend, we will get shelter here at least;’? and again
he urged on his weary beast, which floundered at every
step, until they once more halted at the door of a
small wooden building, close under the bank, and
partly covered by an overhanging rock.



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

No signs of life were discernible; and, indeed, the
traveller knew perfectly well that the edifice, which
was a small seater-hut, was at this time uninhabited ;
but undismayed by the knowledge of this fact, he un-
harnessed Gustaf as fast as his cumbrous gloves would
allow him; then, lifting the latch of the deserted
hut, he entered, and was followed by the pony,
which, no doubt, knew that on such a night the
poorest accommodation would be better than none
at all.

It was evident, from the further proceedings of the
farmer, that he knew how to act in emergencies like
the present. In a short time, from some crypt or
corner of the hut, he had drawn forth a huge armful
of brushwood, which, dark as was the place, he con-
trived to arrange on what he seemed by instinct to
‘know was the hearth; and, in less than a minute, a
blazing fire, the first spark of which was drawn from
Essmark’s pocket tinder-box, was casting a strong
light over every part of the building.

As a temporary refuge, the hut was well enough,
for it was dry and weather-proof; but, in its present
deserted condition, it was sadly wanting in every other
comfort, excepting a heap of dry moss in one corner,
which had, no doubt, at some former time, been used
as a bed. ‘he benighted farmer, however, was by
no means particular as to accommodation, and, having
brought in from his cara small leathern sack, which
contained provisions for himself and Gustaf, he
closed the door of the hut, heaped upon the fre
several birchwood logs, of which there was a toler-
able store at hand, threw off his cap, cloak, and
Aogles, and set himself seriously to work upon his
provender.

_ First of all, he took a long draught from a wooden



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

bottle with which one of his pockets was stored; then
he placed before his companion a capful of corn and
chopped straw; after that, he himself ate heartily of
some hard coarse cakes and dried fish, which he
moistened from time to time with a more gentie appli-
cation to his bottle. Last of all, seating himself on a
stout log before the fierce fire, Kssmark lghted his
pipe, and was quite reconciled to the thought of pass-
ing the remainder of the might in that lonely mountain
hut.

But the adventures of the evening were not yet
ended; for, just as the farmer had finished his pipe,
and was about to throw himself on the bed of moss,
the distant report of a gun, and the faint barking of a
dog, aroused his attention, and caused even Gustaf to
prick up his ears.

In a moment Hssmark was outside the hut, listening
intently for a renewal of the alarm. ‘ Some traveller
more unfortunate than myself,” said he, ‘must even
now be wandering on the fielde;”’ and the thought
no sooner presented itself than he hastened back to
the hut, resumed his cap and gloves, cast another
billet on the fire and sallied forth.

A less hardy or less benevolent man would perhaps
have hesitated before leaving a warm and secure
reluge on such a night—stiff and weary, too, with
‘previous exposure and travel—to wander, it might
be for hours, on such an errand, and perhaps to
lose himself, in the hope of rescuing a fellow-creature
trom danger and death. But our Norwegian farmer
was too brave and generous to allow such selfish
considerations to weigh with him; and in less than
a minute from the time of his leaving the hut, he
was climbing the bank down which he had an hour
before descended.



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

On reaching the higher ground of the fielde,
Hssmark had the satisfaction of finding that the
snow had nearly ceased to fall, and that the mist
was rapidly clearing away; so that, moonless as
was the night, enough light was reflected from the
snowy surface of the fielde to assist him in his
search. :

CHAPTER II.

PERILS ON THE FIELDE.

Tue traveller in Norway cannot expect in every stage
of his journey to take his ease at an inn, for few inns
are to be found. But the entertainment which cannot,
as in our country, be demanded as a right, will not be
refused as a tavour. The Norwegians are hospitable
people, and a stranger and foreigner may confidently
hope to be received among them with a kind welcome.

Should the host, in such a case, be a small farmer,
cottager, or tradesman, he will not refuse remunera-
tion from his guest; but if he be of a higher class, or
rich in flocks and herds, he will esteem the pleasure of
a stranger's society a sufficient recompence for the
comfort and accommodation he has bestowed.

About the hour of noon, on the day which I have
described as having so rough a close, two gentlemen
stood on the margin of the bare and rocky fielde, some
miles from the spot where Hssmark first encountered
the storm. One of them was past middle age, and
wore a garb which showed him to be a parish priest or
rector. His companion was an Englishman, travelling



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

for health and pleasure, who had been during the last
few days a welcome guest at the Norwegian parsonage,
and was now about to proceed on his journey towards
Christiania, the capital of Norway. was; but Mr. Barclay was, or believed himself to be,
an experienced traveller, and was well prepared, as he
thought, for every triflmg mconvenience he might
meet with on his way. Having been thus far accom-
panied by his kind host, whose residence in the valley
below them he had just quitted, Mr. Barclay was
attempting, in imperfect Norsk, to express his thanks
for the hospitality he had experienced.

“No thanks, no thanks to me,” said the pastor,
waving his hand, “thanks to you rather for your
society. But are you sure, now, you will fnd your
way without a euide ?”’

“T have no fear,” replied the traveller; ‘‘ one who
has crossed the Pampas of South America without a
guide, and travelled on foot and alone through almost
every country in Europe, has no need surely of such
assistance in your country, where every person -
meets seems more like an old friend than a stranger.’

“You do my country great honour,” said, Mr.
Aabel, making a low bow to the Englishman ; “‘ but at
this time of the year you will not fall in with many >
folk on the fielde; and fielde travelling is not a matter
lightly thought of, let me tell you, even by a native of
the country. Hven now I would have you wait here
until I send you a trusty and experienced guide.”

But Mr. Barclay smiled at the solicitude of his
host: “ Only think, my dear sir, what a short dis-
tance i 1s across this part of the fielde.”

“Nearly three Norwegian miles,” said the thought-
ful rector; ‘“‘and more than twenty of your English
ones.”



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAYe

“} shall get across in less than six hours,” said the
traveller. a

“You may be stopped by a storm,” interposed
Pastor Aabel.

Mr. Barclay pointed to the bright sun and cloud-
less sky.

The clergyman shook his head doubtfully. “It is
not always that a bright noon is followed by a calm
evening,’ he said; “and over these wintry wastes,
there is the danger of a stranger’s losing his way.”

“Not with a pocket compass, a map, and such good
directions as you have been so kind as to give me,”
replied the confident stranger.

And thus, after a cordial shaking of hands, and a
hearty farewell, they parted ; the clergyman descending
the steep hill which overhung the small hamlet in
which he lived, while the Englishman, shouldering a
hight gun, and whistling to a little spaniel, his travel-
ling companion, went on his way.

For three or four hours Mr. Barclay stepped out
steadily, and felt confident of reaching before dark the
gaard, or farm, where he hoped to be accommodated
with a night’s lodging. But either the fielde was
broader than he had been given to understand, or he
had lost his road, for he looked in vain in all directions
for the way-marks he had expected long ere this to
find. While in this state of hesitation, and just as he
was consulting his map, the sky darkened, and, for the
first time, he noticed the threatening appearance of the
clouds. In a short time the storm began to beat upon
him furiously, and poor Dando, his dog, with piteous
whining and drooping tail, followed closely at his
heels. Still the traveller pushed on over the wild
waste, until he felt almost exhausted by his exertions,
and half perishing with cold. Then he stopped to



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

recover breath; but long before this the whole fielde
was thickly covered with snow, and he himself was
bewildered with the heavy black mist which surrounded
him,

Nevertheless, Mr. Barclay was stout-hearted, and
though he began seriously to reproach himself for
having refused the offered assistance of a guide, he
consulted his pocket compass as well as the darkness
would permit, and again walked forward. Vain,
however, seemed his hope of safety; and after what





































































4.
iit ip
= ST hee mW
Pe eee





appeared to him a lone night of wandering and suffer-
ing, his strength and courage gave way, and he sank
in despair upon the snow-covered fielde.

‘It is hard to lose life thus,” he said, in a drowsy
whisper; “I will make one more attempt.” But his
limbs were so stiffened he could not rise. Just then
he remembered that his gun was loaded. He raised
it and fired; and roused by the sound, Dando, who
had crept to his master’s side for shelter, started for-
ward and barked aloud.

How much longer he continued stretched on his
snow bed under that cold wintry sky Mr. Barclay knew



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

not; for his senses were bewildered with strange
fancies of home, and bright sunny spots which years
gone by he had visited; and these scenes were rapidly
fading away from his imagination when a warm hand
was placed upon him, and he heard the welcome sound
of a human voice.

““T have found you at last,” exclaimed the rough,
hearty tones of Oscar Hssmark; “I pray God it be
not too late. Rouse yourself, stranger. Help is at
hand, and a shelter near.”

lt is wonderful what renewed hope cando! Mr.
Barclay, who, some time before, had found 16 impos-
sible to raise himself upon his feet, now sprang for-
ward, and, supported by the brave farmer, struggled
through the snow until they reached the friendly hut.
When there, the first care of Essmark was to put to
the mouth of the half-frozen and exhausted traveller
the neck of his wooden bottle, which I need hardly say
contained a liquid a few degrees stronger than water ;
aud his next proceeding was to strip off the stiff and
well-soaked garments of his guest, and by rapid fric-
tion to restore the languid circulation. All this passed
without a word spoken; for a painful dizziness seized
Mr. Barclay the moment he entered the hut, which
took away all his power of speech, and the good
farmer saw that prompt action at this time was worth
more than ten thousand words.

After a while, the sufferer was so far relieved as to
le down painlessly upon the bed of moss, covered
with a gentle perspiration, which his preserver took
eare should be promoted by heaping upon him his own
dry garments; while he himself, seated by the fire,
which from time to time he replenished with fresh fuel,
relighted his pipe, and sat patiently watching over
the rescued stranger. In a short time Mr. Barclay



A TALE OF NORWAY.

e
e

OSCAR

was in a sound sleep, and Dando followed his master’s
example, by curling up before the fire between the

As to Gustaf, he had, like a

prudent animal as he was, shut his eyes as soon as his
















feet of the farmer.

eyes in

Indeed, it was

was sleeping contentedly on the

so that the only wakeful

e those of Oscar Essmark.

supper was ended ;
not long before he

the hut wer

ther
@ ree=

hard but dry floor, by Dando’s side; and no fur

alarm disturbed the farmer’s repose through th

oht.

ful ni

mainder of that event



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

CHAPTER III.
THE GAARD.

How great the difference between mountain and glen!
While snow lay deep on the fielde, and travellers across
it were wrapped im warm winter clothing, the valley,
which lay hundreds of feet below, was hot beneath the
bright sun, verdant with the fresh-sprung grass, and
busy with industry. To pass from hill to dale in those
northern regions, is to take a short step from cold to
heat, from winter to summer, from desolation to cheer-
fulness.

On the bank of a broad clear stream which, rising
in the mountains, had made for itself, centuries ago, a
glorious waterfall into the valley, and then tranquilly
flowed on for many a mile through fruitful fields, until
it emptied itself in one of the deep and winding bays,
or fiords, for which the rocky coast of Norway is so
remarkable—on the bank of one of those clear rivers,
called in Norway an Hlv, is Jutgaard, the house of
Oscar Essmark. |

It is a long two-storey dwelling, built of thick and
roughly-squared trunks of Norway pine, made weather-
tight and warm by layers of mountain moss between
them, and painted a dull red, which might look gloomy,
but for the blue slated overhanging roof, and gaily
decorated windows, which Madame Essmark takes
care shall never be disfigured with crack or stain.

Around the house are numerous buildings, strong
and spacious; for as the wood is on the farm, and any
man can do the work, the number of houses on one
steading is wonderful. ‘There is a distinct edifice for’



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

everything, so as in case of fire not to have all under
one roof. The family dwelling-house just mentioned,
consists of three rooms below, one of which is the
kitchen, and the same number above; and at the end,
with a separate entry, there is a better room, and one
above it, reserved for strangers. Opposite to this
dwelling is another, with rooms above, and kitchen
below, for the farm servants and labourers. At a
small distance from the family house, raised upon
posts to exclude rats, is the store-room and dairy,
where the provisions for the year are lodged. It is
large and airy, with windows, and two rooms for
different objects. The rest of the square, into which
the buildings are arranged for the convenience of
winter attendance upon cattle, consists of stables,
cow-houses, barns for hay and corn; under which are
the sheds for tools, carts, sledges, a cellar underground
for ale, and one of large size with double doors, like
our ice-houses, for preserving the potatoes. Every-
thing is under cover, and the spaciousness of the
buildings surprises the stranger. But the Norwegians
are a well-lodged people; and Oscar Essmark’s farm
is not in this respect distinguishable from those of his
neighbours.

Around this group of buildings, and stretching
between them and the river, is a broad meadow,
smooth and neat as an English nobleman’s lawn, and
at the time our story begins, the early spring crop had
shaded it with a bright and dazzling green. On one
side of this meadow, reaching from the river-side
to the foot of the mountain, are cultivated fields,
which, at that same time, were undergoing the neces-
sary processes of ploughing, sowing, or planting, ac-
cording to the nature of the crop intended to be
raised. On the other side, still bounded by the river,

C



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

is a long stretch of pasture land, on which were then
to be seen a full score of cows, and a large flock of
sheep. Beyond this pasture land, and high up on the
mountain side, is a dark forest of firs, birch, and elm,
through which winds the road to the fielde. Still
higher can be seen, as though reaching to the clouds—
at a vast height at least, above the secluded and fruit-
ful valley— the bare and overhanging mountain
cliffs, up the sides of which, along narrow and un-
protected shelves of but a few feet in width, the same
road is to be dimly distinguished. And fearful does it
seem to the unaccustomed eye of a stranger, when, in
one of the low cars of his country, drawn by a horse,
which at that distance from the valley looks no larger
than a mastiff, a Norwegian traveller is seen dashing
down those shelving roads, at full speed, when. one
false step must be destruction. But the native of the
country has no fear of such danger as this.

No such fear had Oscar Essmark, as late in the
day succeeding his night adventures, he euided Gustaf,
with an unerring and bold hand, along that hazardous
road.

“Father is coming—coming at last!” shouted
little Hva from the garden house—(behind the num>-
rous buildings of Jutgaard is a garden for flowers,
fruits, and vegetables, in which is a garden house,
much used in summer for tea-drinking ; and because
the best view of the fielde road was to be had
from the open windows of this garden house, there
had Hva and her brother Oscar taken their station,
almost from the earliest dawn)—“ Father is coming
—coming at last,” said she, running to her mother,
who had wondered what could have so delayed the
time of her husband’s expected return. “I know it
is father, because of Gustaf; but I cannot think



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

what poses he has got in the car. I must go and
look again.”

But when, accompanied by Madame Essmark, the
little girl again reached the garden house, the car was
hidden by a projecting rock. LHagerly did the little
group wait for its reappearance; and very loud were
the exclamations of Hva when it was again seen.
“There it is—there is Gustaf—and there is—no—not
my father! Mother, who can it be driving the car f
Tt is not half fast ences for him.” |

Quite fast enough, Roweree. would the speed of the
pony at that time have seemed to an English child,
had an English child been there. But Eva was right,
nevertheless. It was a slow pace for Gustaf, and
Gustaf’s master, both of whom delighted in a true
Norwegian gallop down the dangerous pass.

“It is not your father in the car,” said Madame
Hssmark, turning pale ; “some mischief has happened,
I fear.”

At this moment young Oscar, who had been
watching the car with a steady gaze without appearing
to heed the conversation of his mother and sister,
turned round, and looking into his mother’s face held
up two fingers, pointed to aie car, and smiled.

“So it is—so it is!”? shouted Eva, who had seen
her brother’s gesture and sign. “‘ Oscar, dear Oscar,
has good eyes, mother; there are two in the car;
father 1s standing up behind, and holding the reins
over the stranger’s head; that’s why he comes so
slowly. Who can the stranger be, I wonder!”

By this time the car was again hidden from the
little party of watchers; and when once more it
appeared to sight, it could easily be seen that Gustaf
had a double load.

“TY must hasten to the house, Eva,” said Madame



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

Essmark, “and get ready the stranger’s room. And,
Eva, run and find Gummel, and tell him that our
supper will be better for a dish of trout from the
Hlv.”

Young Oscar was now left by himself, and he con-
tinued watching the car until it was lost in the forest.
Then he departed also, and the garden house was,
for the remainder of that day, as deserted as a seater-
hut in December.

In a few minutes, however, the quick eyes of the
boy caught sight of Gummel, the houseman, crossing
the meadow, armed with a fishing-rod and_ basket.
Uttering a wild cry, which would at once have revealed
to an observant stranger that poor Oscar had neither
speech nor hearing, he ran into the house, and speedily
reappeared with another rod. In five minutes more
the man and boy were silently floating on the stream
in a small boat, busily engaged in angling.

As my readers will have guessed, Mr. Barclay was
the stranger for whom Madame Essmark was preparing
the guest-chamber, and for whose supper Gummel and
young Oscar were disturbing the river; for the hos-
pitable farmer had declared, at dawn of day, that he
would not leave the Englishman exposed to further
danger on the fielde, and plainly convinced him that
if he wished to get to Christiana he could not take a
nearer road than that which passed by Jutgaard. And,
in truth, Mr. Barclay was not sorry to be told this ;
his long exposure to the cold and storm had left him
weak and spiritless, and nothing could at that time be
more welcome to him than the hope of a better restine-
place than that of the past night before renewing his
journey. So, riding by turns in the car, and making
many a wide circuit to avoid the deeper drifts of snow
—which accounted for their late arrival—the travellers



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

at length reached the edge of the fielde, caught sight
of the smiling valley beneath, and then arranged
themselves for the last stage of their journey in the
way that had attracted Eva’s notice and wonder.

I shall pass over the meeting of the kind farmer
with his wife and daughter, and afterwards with his
poor mute boy, who soon came in with a basket of
trout; and I shall not attempt to describe the cour-
teous welcome given to the stranger, and even to
Dando, by the whole family at Jutgaard. I need say
nothing of the supper which followed, except that full
justice was done to the various dishes placed upon the
table by Madame Essmark. Nor need I say that the
English traveller was glad to retire to his neat and
comfortable bedchamber, where, under an eider-down
quilt, of surpassing warmth and lightness, we will
leave him to his-repose.

It was an hour or two after this that the light was
extinguished in the family dwelling, for, tired as
Essmark was, he had been absent many days from
Jutgaard, and had much to tell his wife now that they
were alone. In course of time, however, they retired
to rest, and all was silent in and around the farm
through the remainder of the night.



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

CHAPTER IV.
EVA.

On the following morning, Mr. Barclay was roused
from his slumbers by a hard pelting rain against his
chamber window, and starting from his comfortable
couch, he looked out upon the prospect. Very
different was its appearance from that which it had
presented on the previous day. The river had over-
flowed its banks ; the meadow, so bright and gay in
the sunshine, now looked dreary and sodden. The
distant view of the valley beyond the river was hidden
in sheets of mist and descending rain, and the sky
overhead was dark and threatening. It was evident
that the storm which had fallen upon the high fielde
was now visiting the valley ; and it was plain, also, to
the traveller, that proceeding further on his journey
was at present out of the question.

Mr. Barclay had the happy art of adapting himself
to circumstances, and, well satisfied with his present
quarters, he thought as little as might be of his dis-
appointment, and hastened, in the best possible
humour, to dress himself.

On making his appearance in the family room, he
was greeted’ by the hearty tones of his host, and by
pleasant smiles from the farmer’s wife.

“You cannot leave us to-day, sir, that ig certain,”
said Hssmark; “to-day, at least, my house must be
your prison.”

“And a very comfortable prison, too,” replied the
traveller, shaking hands with the farmer, and then



OSCAR: A TALE OF. NORWAY.

with the rest of the family, and wishing a good
morning to each, at which Eva, when it came to her
turn, smiled, for, in his ignorance of the language, Mr.
Barclay made use of words that plainly said— beautiful fine morning this, Miss Eva,” which certainly
was very far from being correct. Mr. Barclay laughed
too, when he saw his mistake, and begged the young
lady to teach him better Norsk. From that time they
became quite friendly and familiar.

Yes, a very comfortable prison it was, that family
room. A large fire was burning in the stove; the
floor had been swept clean, and was fresh and thickly
strewn with the green tops of firs, which in Norway
are gathered by poor people and sold for this purpose,
and which fill the rooms with a pleasant perfume, as
well as serve a useful purpose, and have a very pretty
eflect; and the breakfast table, loaded with good
things in the way of reindeer flesh, dried fish, fresh
fish (the remaining part of last night’s sport), hot
oaten cakes, cheese, delicious butter, an abundant
supply of new milk and thick yellow cream, with
coffee and tea. This breakfast table gave good.
promise to the traveller that hard fare was not to be
added to his enforced confinement.

here was not much ceremony observed at this
meal; each one helped himself, and ate and drank
standing or walking about the room—for-such is the
Norway custom; and when all had finished, the table
was cleared, and all proceeded to their various em-
ployments. ssmark went to his stables and barns,
to look after his men and stock; and the farmer’s wife
and her two maid-servants to their house work and
dairy work, so that presently only the traveller, Eva,
and Oscar remained.

A dull, pompous, or stupid man would have been



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

at a loss how to act in a case like this; but dull, pom-
pous, and stupid men have no business to be travellers.
As for Mr. Barclay, he lost no time in improving his
acquaintance with Eva, who had taken up some needle-
work, and her deaf and dumb brother, whose atten-
tion was occupied by a new book, with fine wood-
engravings, which his father had brought for him from
Drontheim.

“So, young lady,” he said, and of course he said
it in the best Norsk he could muster, though I shall
take the liberty of recording the conversation in fair
Hnglish—‘* So, young lady, am I to look upon you as
a fellow-prisoner, or are you my jailor ?”

“Qh, not a prisoner,” replied Eva, “and you are
not a prisoner. Would you not like, now, to be on
the fielde ?”

“Thank you, Eva; I think I am much better off
here. Though if it had not been for your father, the
fielde would have been my last bed.”

“People shouldn’t travel on the fielde without a
guide,” said Kva, smiling.

‘* But your father did, my little friend.”

‘Ah, that is a different thing. My father knows
all about the fielde, so it did not matter. And Gustaf,
too; oh, Gustaf is a clever pony.”

“But for all that,” replied Mr. Barclay, “neither
your father’s knowledge nor Gustaf’s cleverness could
keep them on the right road. They lost their way
too.”

“Yes, yes,” said Hva, archly ; “but they -knew
how to find it again.”

“Yes, and to find something else too. It was a
terrible night to me, I can tell you. Iam told that
many people have lost their way and their lives toa,
on the fielde.”



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

*¢ Yes, in winter,” replied Eva. ‘“ There were two
poor travellers from Sweden, only a httle while ago,
would go from here to Drontheim, and they would go
without a guide. Oh, sir,’—and Lva’s eyes filled
with tears—“‘it was dreadful to think! They wan-
dered and wandered nobody knows how many days,
and at last they were found starved and frozen, and
the horrid wolves had torn and mangled them. I saw
them when they were brought back, for they were
laid in father’s barn before they were buried. Oh, it
was a shocking sight!” and Eva shuddered, covering
her eyes with her hands, as if to shut out the scene.
“Tt was very wrong—it was really, sir. You must
not think of crossing the fielde again alone till summer
comes, without knowing the road.”

“I certainly will not, Eva. They say in my
country that experience makes fools wise !—but you
speak of wolves: I have seen no wolves in Norway
yet. Do they ever trouble you here ? ”

“Not very often,” Hva answered; “ they are such
sly things, and such cowards: they don’t like to come
near where there are men, unless they are very hungry
indeed. But, for all that, they are very dangerous,
especially in winter, when cold and hunger makes them
savage. ‘l'wo years ago, in one very hard frost, many
wolves came down from the fielde; and one night
they broke into the barn where the poor sheep were,
and killed so many of them; and then there was a grand
wolf hunt, and most of them were killed. Wolves’
skins make nice rugs, and cloaks, and pelisses, so that
helped to pay for the mischief they had done.”

“Very true,” said Mr. Barclay, quite pleased that
his young companion was so communicative; “and
when these rough-coated gentlemen cannot get mutton
to eat, what do they do? ”



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

Oh, there are plenty of wild deer on the fielde—
rein-deer you know. ‘They are very fond of dogs,
too: there was once a man travelling in a sledge—it
was winter then—and he had a little dog between his
legs, and would you think it, sir, a great wolf came
suddenly upon them, jumped into the sledge, and
carried off the poor dog before the man could do any-
thing. And I have heard of a boy who was riding on
a horse, with a little puppy before him on the saddle,
and a wolf sprang up and snatched off the puppy
without hurting the boy.”

“That was fortunate, certainly,” rephed Mr.
Barclay. ‘‘ Very impudent rogues these wolves must
be. Your king should do as one of the kings of my
country did many hundreds of years ago.”

“What was that, sir?” Eva asked.

“« {Te made his subjects bring him so many wolves’
heads every year, until it is said the country was clear
of them.”

“ Our king could not do that,” said Eva, drawing
herself up proudly; “ Norway is a free country, and
the king cannot command anything unless it pleases
our Storthing.”

** And what is that ??”? Mr. Barclay inquired.

“Don’t you know, sir?” retorted Eva, wonder-
ingly. “ It is the great meeting of—of our people—
that is, not all our people, you know, sir, but a certain
number of them, which are chosen by the rest. They
meet at Christiania, and make good laws, and the
king—that is, the King of Sweden and Norway—
cannot do anything without the Storthing.”

“T see,” said Mr. Barclay, amused with this des-
eription. ‘‘ We have a Storthing in England, which
we call a Parliament.” |

“T have heard of England,” said Eva. ‘ Our old



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

Norway sea-kings went to England. Is it a pleasant
country to live in, sir ?”’

“We English people think so,” replied the
traveller.

“Are there any beautiful fiords—any rivers—any
high mountains and pleasant valleys, like ours ?”

Mr. Barclay readily explamed to his young ques-
tioner all that she asked, and much that she had not
asked, about Hngland. When he had done, she said,

“T should not ike England so well as my country.”

“]T dare say not, iva,” he replied. ‘“ We all like
best the country which we call our own. Now I think
Norway a fine, grand country, with its mountains and
fielde, and fiord, and valleys—a beautiful valley this is,
Hva, in which you live, though it would be more
beautiful in the sunshine than now.”

“Tt does not always rain,” said Eva, very quickly.

“1 dare say not; well, I like Norway very much
imdeed ; and I like you kind, warm-hearted, friendly
Norwegians still better; but I like England better
than Norway, because it is my home. I was born
there, and my friends live there. But your long,
cold winters, Hva, what have you to say about
them ? ”

“Oh, winter is a very pleasant time, I can tell you,
sir. We have such pleasant parties in winter, and go
and visit our friends. Then there is sledging—oh,
that is beautiful!—and snow-skating, and skating on
the ice.”

“ What! do you skate, Eva ?

“To be sure, sir: but you should see Oscar—
poor, dear Oscar. He is two years younger than I;
but he skates so well, though he is only twelve years
old. Poor Oscar! ”

“You are very fond of Oscar, I see,” said Mr.



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

Barclay, speaking kindly and tenderly. ‘ His is a
great affliction, but he seems happy.”

All this time Oscar had been busy with his new
book, and had not paid the slightest attention to his
sister or his father’s guest; but just at this moment
he looked up, and seeing his sister’s eyes, moist with
tears, fixed upon him, he sprang from his seat, and
smiling, clasped her in his arms, and kissed her fore-
head. Mr. Barclay now looked at the deaf and dumb
boy more closely than he had ventured before to do ;
and could but admire his fine, open, intelligent face,
sparkling eyes, and, more than all, his affectionate
manners. |

“ Dear Oscar!” said Tiva, taking her brother by
the hand, and drawing him beside her. ‘ We can
talk about him, if you like, sir: he won’t hear, you
know; and I lke to talk about him: he is so good
and he does not mind being talked about. He knows’
we can’t say mischief of him.’

“Tam glad you love your poor brother.”

“Love him! Oh, yes. But do you know,” and
here Eva dropped her voice mysteriously—“ Do you
know what old Haco says of him ? ”

“No, indeed, I do not. Who is old Haco ? ”

“Oh, you don’t know old Haco—to be sure not.
How silly of me! Well, old Haco lives down the
valley. He was my father’s herdsman; but he is not
now. Heis too old. He says he is nearly a hundred
years old. Only think! Do people live so long as
that in your country ? ”

“Not often, Eva, I confess.”

“I thought so. Ah! Norway is the place for
folks to grow old in. Old Haco says so.”

‘* And he says about Oscar——”

“Yes, yes, that is what I was just going to tell



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

you,” replied the young lady, again sinking her voice.
‘“ Haco says that poor Oscar is certainly bewitched.”

“Ah! because he cannot hear and speak, I sup -
pose?”

“Yes, sir, and he says it was all because one day,
before poor Oscar was born, a I’'in woman came to sell
mittens and snow-boots, and Snorna our dairymaid
laughed at her, and turned her away from the door
with unkind words. It was very wrong of Snorna,
and so father told her; and Haco said he was sure
some misfortune would happen. And go when poor
Oscar’s affliction was known, he laid it all to Snorna
and the Fin.”

Mr. Barclay knew that the Lapland people, whose
country is north of Norway and Sweden, and who lead
a kind of gipsy life, are called Fins by the Norwegians,
and that they are generally looked upon with contempt,
while, at the same time, they are feared for their sup-
posed powers of witchcraft; and he was desirous of
learning what more Eva would say on this subject. So
he asked,

“But how could this Fin have had anything to do
with poor Oscar’s affliction ?”

“T cannot tell you, sir, and truly I do not believe a
word of it. Jather says it is all folly, and so does my
mother; and our minister preaches a good deal about
these superstitions, as he calls them; soI only tell you
what old Haco says. And he will have it that the Fin
witches can do almost anything in the way of mischief
that they please, for they have spirits underground who
must obey them for a time. He says he will never
believe that the fielde is not haunted with these spirits ;
and that the witches go to meet them, and the moun-
tain opens, and all go together into the midst of it, miles
below the mountain top ; and that that is their country.



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

He says they have churches there like our churches
here, but they do not worship God as we do, but some-
thing else, very wicked. Ah, you would like to hear
Haco talk about these things, though, to be sure, they
are very foolish.”

‘Very foolish, indeed, Eva! I am glad you do not
believe such nonsense, although you do like to listen
to it. There are young ladies in England who are a
little like you in this particular. Well, and so old
Haco thinks that your dear brother is bewitched, does
he ?”’

“Yes; and because Oscar is so clever, and can
draw and carve so beautifully—ah, you must see Oscar’s
drawings and carvings; I will ask him to show them
to you this afternoon—and because he can read, that
is can understand reading, you know, sir, and because,
indeed, everything Oscar does he does go well, he says
the mountain spirit must be at his elbow always. It is
very silly, sir, is it not?”

“] think it is, Eva. Pray how is it you can listen
to 16?”

“Qh, Haco is a great favourite with us, and he says
what he pleases; nobody cares about it, and nobody
believes it—that is,” continued Eva, correcting herself,
“my father and mother laugh at it all, and I do not
believe it. Gummel does, though, and so do a sood
many more. But it does no harm to Oscar, you know,
and so we don’t mind.”

“And Oscar can read?” said Mr. Barclay ; “ that
must be a very great pleasure and advantage to him.
How did he learn ?”

“We have a teacher, sir, every winter, to live with
us, and he takes great pains with poor Oséar.”

““{ should not wonder, then, if you also can read ?”?
said Mr. Barclay.



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

“Tt would be a wonder and a shame if I could not,
sir,” replied Eva, in a rather mortified tone. “I am
not a Fin; they cannot read, I believe, not many of
them, though some can. But I think there are not
many boys and girls in Norway who don’t know how
to read. Would you like to see our books, sir ?”

“Very much imdeed I should,” said Mr. Barclay,
who began greatly to respect his young friend, as well
as to be pleased with her conversation: “‘ very much
indeed; and I must beg you to forgive me for under-
rating your acquirements. I cannot say for my young
country folks so much as you can for yours.”

Hva made no reply to this compliment, but led the
visitor to a large cupboard, made of some dark wood,
very richly carved, with a date upon it which proved it
to be more than a hundred years old. Before Eva could
open the door, Mr. Barclay stayed her hand to admire
the carved work.

‘““ Oscar can carve better than that,” said Eva, with
sisterly pride; “though everybody says that is nicely
done.”

“Tt is indeed,” said the traveller. “I have been
told that your country-folks are very expert at carmimgy’ :

we aoe is one of our winter employments,” replied
Tiva; ‘my father’s grandfather carved that cupboard,
Shall I show you our books now ?”

“ By all means,”’ said Mr. Barclay ; and Eva opened
the folding-doors of the cupboard.

Mr. Barclay was surprised to see in a farmer’s house
in Norway, a far greater number of books than can
generally be found in a farmer’s house in Hneland ;
and he was talking to Hva about the subjects which
these books contained, when the door opened, and pre-
parations were made for dinner.

In a short time the kind host entered, and then the



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

dinner was brought in. Mr. Barclay was surprised to
find how rapidly the time had passed away, and he
informed Mr. Essmark, with great truth, that he had
spent a very pleasant morning, “and did not at all regret
the bad weather which had detained him at Jutgaard.

I shall not particularly describe the diner, which
was sufficiently good to satisfy a much more dainty
appetite than that of Mr. Barclay. To it all the family
sat down, and when the meal was over, and all rose
from the table, the first thmg done by each person was
to go round to all the rest, ‘shaking hands with each,
ad saying aloud, “Tak for mad,” or, “ Wel bekomme,”
which Myr. Barclay understood iss mean: “Thanks for
the meal,” and, “ May it do you good.”

“Tt would not be amiss,”’ thought the Englishman,
“if some of my young friends at home were to practise
this ceremony sometimes.”

After dinner Hssmark hghted his pipe, and sat
talking with his guest. Meanwhile Eva made signs to
Oscar, who left the room, and presently returned with
specimens of his drawings and carved work. And great
was the astonishment and gratification which they pro-
duced. I shall have something else to say of Oscar’s
carving in another chapter.



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY,

CHAPTER V.
DEPARTURE.

For three days the rain continued to fall in the valley,
and Mr. Barclay remained at Jutgaard. Nor was he
very impatient to be gone}; for with the lively Liva for
a companion, with Hiva’s parents for his host and
hostess, and with a warm and dry roof over his head,
he continued to pass the time not only agreeably but
protitably. Oscar, too, who from the first had excited
the traveller’s sympathy, soon won his admiration, for
Kya had not overrated her brother’s accomplishments
when she said that everything he attempted to do he
did well. He was so affectionate, too, and so docile;
who could help feeling an interest in him ?

At length, however, the weather cleared, and Mr.
Barclay spoke of continuing his journey. It was a
glorious morning. The sun had risen unclouded ; the
valley looked green and bright; and towards mid-day
Mr. Barclay, having engaged a guide to the next
station, was on the point of bidding farewell to Jut-
gaard, when an unexpected arrival once more detained
him. |

“Mr. Aabel—Mr. Aabel is here!” said Eva, as,
catching sight of the clergyman from the window, she
started to her feet and ran from the room. The next
minute she came back, holding him by the hand.

Mr. Aabel was not the minister of the parish in
which Jutgaard is to be found; he was, nevertheless,
a favourite visitor, and the whole family at Essmark’s
joined in giving him a hearty welcome. While, there-

D



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

fore, Gummel was unharnessing the reeking horse
which had brought the clergyman quickly and safely
over the Gost by this time the road was again
passable, Essmark was urging this new guest to throw
aside his superfluous erie and sharpen his appetite
for the dinner, which would soon make its appearance,
by a draught of stout ale, or a glass of the strong
home-made spirits which every Norwegian farmer
knows how to extract from potatoes.

During the first bustle of this unlooked-for arrival,
Mr. Barclay had politely withdrawn from observation.
He now came forward, and expressed his pleasure in
once more meeting his former host.

“And most delighted am I, sir,” said the clergy-
man, heartily shaking hands with the Hnglishman,
‘to find you here in such good quarters. You must
know, sir, that there were grave apprehensions at the
parsonage about your fate, and, in truth, it was partly
to satisfy myself of your escape from the storm of
that evening that I came over the fielde to-day.”

“JT was wrong to slight your advice, dear sir,”
replied Mr. Barclay ; “and Iam concerned at having
given you cause for anxiety; for truly, had it not been
for our kind friend here, it would have gone hard with
me; but I have promised my good Eva to take more
care for the future.” Mr. Barclay then, in a few
words, told the clergyman how he had been preserved
from the danger to which he was exposed.

“Tt was lke Oscar Hssmark,” said Mr. Aabel, “to
do ashe did: Indeed, shame would it have been for
any Norwegian to have done otherwise. But I see,
sir, you are equipped for travelling, and have prepared
yourself with a guide; may I ask if you are still
bound for Christiania ? ”

Mr. Barclay answered in the affirmative.



OSCAR: A, TALE, OF NORWAY,

“In. that case,’ said) Mr. Aabel, “we may be
fellow-travellers on the first. stage of the journey, if
you will place yourself under: my care. IJ am about to
proceed, not till after dinner, though, up the valley,
on a visit to a brother minister. The distance is about.
a mile—that is a Norwegian mile. I shall travel on ~
foot, and can assure you of a hearty welcome, a night’s
lodging, and a good guide for to-morrow’s journey.”

As this plan did not greatly cross Mr. Barclay’s
purposes, he speedily gave his consent to it, and dis-
missing his Jutgaard guide with a gift, he once more
deferred his journey for an hour or two.

At length the time came, and taking leave of his
kind entertainers, who refused. all remuneration from
their guest, Mr. Barclay and the clergyman departed
from Jutgaard, with Hva and Oscar, who, mounted on
ponies, of which Gustaf was one, proposed to accom-
pany them to the next village.

The road for some distance followed the windings
of the river, and under the precipitous sides of the
mountain, which, at some places, left barely space
enough on the river’s bank for a narrow path. At
other places the space again widened, as at Juigaard,
leaving room for houses and fields. In some spots,
where the mountain cliffs were particularly steep, large
blocks of stone, loosened, as Mr. Aabel informed the
traveller, by the wintry frost, had rolled down into the
valley, and thickly strewed the ground. ‘These stones
were of great size; and as Mr. Barclay cast his eye
upwards to the rocks which almost overhung the road,
he felt very far from secure against an accident which,
had it happened, would at once have finished his
wanderings.

At one spot, the party passed by a hugh mass of
snow yet unmelted, which Mr. Aabel. said was the



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

remains of an avalanche which had fallen a few weeks
earlier from the mountain-side, and beneath which
were buried a herd of wild reindeer, that at the time
were feeding on the scanty herbage of the valley, into



































































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HITTERDAL CHURCH, NORWAY.

which they had retreated from the frost and snow of
the fielde. And another spot was pointed out to the
traveller where, a few years before, a farmhouse had
been overwhelmed by a similar catastrophe.

All these matters were full of interest to the



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

Englishman, who almost regretted the approach of his
party to a rustic bridge, which enabled them to cross
to the broader stretch of valley beyond the river, and
the village where he was to part company with his
young friends.

For some little distance on the road the tall spire
of the village church * had been visible, the building
itself being concealed by a thick grove of trees by
which it was surrounded. But a turn of the road,
after crossing the bridge, placed the party in front of
the venerabie edifice; and Mr. Barclay suddenly. stood
still to examine and admire the building, while his
elderly companion spake of its history.

I am ashamed to say that the words were almost
lost upon the English traveller, who could never after-
wards call to mind, with any exactness, how many
hundreds of years the church had been built ; by whom
it was built, nor whether or not any of the old kings
of Norway were either crowned or buried within its
venerable walls. All he remembered of Mr. Aabel’s
information was, that it was the parish church of the
clergyman at whose house they expected to receive
accommodation for the night, and that the parish, as
well as the church, was very large.

But though the ears of the traveller were negligent,
his eyes were not idle: and as he looked at that
singular church, where spire rose above spire, and root
above roof, like a little town, and which was composea,
as far as could be seen, entirely of massive timbers,
slabs, and shingles, from the ground upwards, his
admiration found words too.

“ Hva,”’ said he, “if I were sure of ever visiting
Jutgaard again, I would beg a boon of Oscar.”

* Hitterdal Church. We are indebted to Forester’s Norway, for
the representation of this singular structure,



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

« And Oscar would grant it as soon as asked, I am
sure,” replied the Norwegian girl. “ What would
you have of Oscar?” she added, smiling.

‘“T would ask him to carve for me, in his best
style, a model of this church, to take home to my
country.”

Kiva shook her head gaily: “I have promised too
much,” said she; ‘Oscar could never do that, I fear:
but shall you come again ?”

“Tt is not lkely, Hva; and I did but jest about
the model. But should I never see Jutgaard again, I
shall never forget that my life was saved by its owner.
You niust come and see me in England, Eva,’ Mr.
Barclay added, playfully.

But Eva shook her head very decidedly: “I love
Norway too well,” she said; “I will never forsake old
Norway.”

“You will at least not refuse a parting keepsake,”
said Mr. Barclay, “from an unfortunate traveller who
has no better home than old England ;” and, having’
settled this matter to his satisfaction, the party sepa-
rated, and as the elder travellers turned from the
church, they heard the last sound of the hoofs of
Gustaf and his companion on the wooden bridge,

“There will be sad hearts at Jutgaard ere long,
said Mr. Aabel, with deep sigh; “ and indeed, though
my friend Essmark bears up manfully, there are sad
hearts there now, I fear, though at present these
young folks are ignorant of the distress which hangs
over their heads.”

“You surprise and grieve me,” replied Mr.
Barclay. “TI should not have judged, from the cheerful
manners and conversation of the farmer and his wife,
that care presses heavily upon them.” |

“And yet it does. My friend Essmark hag sus-



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

tained so heavy a loss by the misfortunes of a near
relative, a merchant at Drontheim, that ere long he
will be obliged to sell his farm, which has been in his
family hundreds of years, and take refuge in a cottage.
In short, in less than a year, Jutgaard will belong to
a stranger. It was this sad business which took —
Essmark across the fields to Drontheim, and from ,
which journey he was returning when he fell in with ©
you, oe



A Ane saved my life!’ exclaimed the Englishman.
«* Can you tell me, sir, the amount of his loss? ”

‘More than a thousand dollars, I fear.” |

“Less than two hundred pounds of English money,”
said Mr. Barclay to himself. “Is that all?” he added
aloud. |

“In Norway, a thousand dollars is a large sum,”
replied the rector : “we are a poor people, sir, though
perhaps none the less happy for that.”

“Let us return to Jutgaard,” said Mr. Barclay,
suddenly stopping short.

“To what purpose, sir?’ Mr. Aabel asked.

Can you ask, sir? The man who has saved my
life must not be ruined for the want of a thousand
dollars. It suits my inclination to travel on foot; but
in England my neighbours are pleased to call me a
rich man; and I trust, sir, that [ know something of
that blessed book which teaches us, in good plain
English as well as in Norsk, that we are all brethren,
and that to see a brother have need without doing all
we can to help him proves that we don’t love
God.”

“T rejoice to hear you Say so,” * replied the rector,
“and I should be sorry indeed to check your kind
feelings ; nevertheless, we must not return to Jutgaard
on such an errand. My friend Hssmark would be



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

angry with me, I fear, for troubling you with his
troubles, and you would find it impossible to prevail
on him to accept your kindly meant help.”

“You are right sir; it would be indelicate ;—let us
speak of something else.”



CHAPTER VI.
OLD HACO.

Snow is on the ground, the river is frozen over, and
the store-rooms at Jutgaard are filled with winter
provisions. Six months and more have passed since
the English traveller bade good-bye to the Norwegian
farmer and his family.

Cold, cold, very cold, had been the short day,
which at mid-winter, and in that northern district of
Norway, receives but three or four hours of sunlight
out of the twenty-four which make up day and night.
But the nights—oh, the long nights are glorious; and
on the evening of that one day in particular, where
we take up the thread of our story, the sky was so
clear, the air so still, the moon and stars so bright,
and the aurora borealis, or mysterious northern lights,
so brilliant, that the night seemed almost lighter than
the day, and the snow-covered surface of the country
glistened and glittered so sparklingly all around, that
one might almost have fancied it to be strewed with
thousands of diamonds.

The sun had long disappeared below the horizon,
but the family at Jutgaard showed no signs of drowsi-
ness. Around the glowing stove were seated Madame
Essmark, Eva, and their maid, spinning the wool
which was soon to be wrought into substantial. cloth
for household use, while their cheerful labours were



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

lightened by conversation or song. Near them sat
Essmark, smoking, and reading the paper which had
that day arrived by a post messenger from Drontheim.
At another part of the room was Oscar, and on the
table before him stood what had once been a cubic
block of wood, twelve inches or more in thickness,
but which, by this time, under his carving tools, and
the combined influences of ingenuity and patience,

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had assumed the rough outlines of the parish church,
and began to exhibit in various parts the delicate
touches of Oscar’s skilful hand. Beside the carver
were many drawings of the object, taken from different
‘points of view, with tables of dimensions and calcula-
tions of proportionate heights, lengths, and breadths.

Another person had, a short time before, been
present. This was Gummel, whose employment, what-
ever it had been, was now laid aside, and who for that
night had left the warm family room.

Instead, however, of retiring at once to his own
quarters, which formed a part of the homestead of
Jutgaard, Gummel was tempted by the beauty of the
night to extend his walk. So, wrapping around him
his thick pelisse of sheepskin, he stepped out briskly
for half a mile, stopped at the door of a small cottage



OSCAR:. A TALE OF NORWAY.

near the river-side, lifted the latch, and entered. It
was the cottage of old Haco, the former herdsman of
Jutgaard; and, passing over the mutual courtesies
which, at Gummel’s entrance, were exchanged, and
which all Norwegians, of whatever rank, scrupulously
observe in their intercourse with each other—passing
over these, we will listen to a scrap or two of their
after conversation, at which were present, besides
themselves, Harold, old Haco’s great-grandson, a boy
a year or two older than young Oscar Essmark, and
Harold’s mother.

Haco, wrapped in warm rugs, sat by the blazing
hearth in an arm-chair more aged than himself. His
sight was quite gone, his hair was thin and white, his
hands shook with palsy, and his voice was weak as
that of a child. The very picture and emblem of
extreme age was Haco.

““T always said it was so,” said Haco, in a feeble
tone; “I knew from the first that the boy was :
well, well, no matter. And so this stranger—he is
coming again, is he!”

“Yes, Haco; so they tell me; and right welcome
will he be, I guess.”

“No doubt, no doubt. And so Essmark was near
losing Jutgaard, was he ?”

‘““Ay, Haco, he was. Yes, yes, it was set up for
sale, when, just at the time, comes pastor Aabel driving
over the fielde; and though I did not see and hear it
all, I was told of it by those that did. < Kssmark,’ says
Mr. Aabel, ‘here is something that will set your mind
at rest; and with that he puts a great roll of bank-
paper into his hand.’ ‘ What is this? said my master,
in great wonder; and then the rector tells him that
the Englishman he picked up on the fielde had sent a
thousand dollars as a trifling present, as he called it,





OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

to his friends at Juteaard. Says my master, ‘Ill never
take it; it shall not be said that an Essmark sold his
kindness in that fashion.’ ‘ But,’ says Mr. Aabel, ‘ you
must, for the Englishman will never look upon the
money again ;’? and much more passed than I can call
to mind; but the end of it was, that our master took
the money, and soon paid off the debt; and so the sale
of Jutgaard was put at an end.”

Old Haco shook his head seaaeretien: “It is a sad
business,” said he. “ Hssmark had better have lost
all than have — such a gift.”

“May be so,” replied Gummel, “though Mr. Aabel
did not think so; and.he ought to know. But now,
good Haco, you nave been a long while in the world,
and know as much as any man about such matters.
Who, think you, is this stranger ?”

“Who can tell?” replied Haco, mysteriously.
** But who should he be but the ‘ Hldman of the fielde!’
Ha! many a time has he led poor travellers astray on
the fielde that have never been seen again. Often has
he appeared, as he did to Hssmark, in the form of
a perishing man, in a storm of his own raising, and
received help, and given gifts; but his gifts never
prospered—never.”’

“ But,” said Gummel, “he was a proper sort of
man, too; and if it was not for this church oo

“Ah!” said Haco, quickly, “it is easy to see
through it all, if one has but the right faith. Young
Oscar—I have nothing to say against the boy; but is
it not plain that he has always been under a spell—a
witch’s charm? Is he like any other boy you ever
knew? And who ever heard of such a thing as a
church being cut out of wood in this fashion? Only
let young Oscar finish it, and let the stranger get it
into his power, and such things will be seen as are little





OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

dreamt of. Oh, the temptations of the evil one! But
there is One above all, stronger than he!”’

Much more did old Haco say in this mysterious
fashion, by which his fearful listeners were led to
believe that on the completion of Oscar’s masterpiece,
and on its presentation to the stranger, at whose
request it had been undertaken, and whose second
visit to Jutgaard was looked for in the coming summer,
the destruction of poor young Oscar, body and spirit,
would be completed, and Jutgaard itself would become
a heap of ruins. Had the gift been anything else
besides a church, argued Haco, he would not have been
so sure; but to him it was evident that Oscar’s skill in
carving was more than mortal, and that, in fact, the
poor boy had been gifted with this power by the
Eldman of the fielde, to serve his own unhallowed
purposes. All this was very ridiculous, and my young
readers are quite at liberty to laugh at it, but super-
stitions such as this are common among the ignorant
of every country—especially mountainous countries—
and I can assure them I have heard, in England, many
legends equally foolish and superstitious with this of
old Haco’s, and have known also of their being firmly
believed.

Haco’s hearers had no doubt whatever of the cor-
rectness of his predictions; Harold and his mother
sat eagerly listening to his long stories of churches
underground—to which this model of poor Oscar’s
was hereafter to be added—where evil spirits are
worshipped, and where witches congregate; and
Gummel departed to his own home, sad at the
thought of the mischief which was hanging over
Jutgaard.



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

CHAPTER VII.
THE LAST.

Ir is summer, and Jutgaard is deserted. The entire
family, with all the sheep and cattle, are miles away,
at the seater on the fielde—the summer pasture-ground
—leaving the standing crops of-grass, corn, potatoes,
and turnips, to ripen under the summer sun ; leaving,
also, Jutgaard uninhabited, except by Harold’s mother,
who, detained in the valley by her care of old Haco,
has undertaken to see to the safety of Kssmark’s house —
and homestead. Not much care does this require;
for a Norwegian farmer, when he departs thus to his
seater, does not fear to leave his property in the valley
unprotected.

Harold, too, is left behind, to be company for
his mother and old Haco. Besides these, none of
Hssmark’s people remain. |

It was early in the morning of a bright and glow-
ing day that Harold, unperceived, slipped from the
cottage, and ran swiftly towards Jutgaard.

“They are coming back next week,” said he to
himself in a whisper, ‘‘ and this horrid Eldman that
grandfather talks so about 1s coming with them—
it was a good thing that Gummel came down from
the fielde yesterday and told us—so I must do it at
once. I shall be almost afraid to touch it though.”

It did not take long to reach Jutgaard, and reach-
ing it, Harold boldly lifted the latch (the door was not
even locked, so secure did Essmark feel that his pro-
perty was safe) and entered. In a short time he was
again outside of the house, and bearing in his arms a



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

small burden wrapped in a cloth, he hastened to the
river-side, loosened the boat from its moorings, depo-
sited his bundle in it, and handling his oars with great
experience, began rapidly to ascend the river. For
mile after mile he continued his voyage, until reaching
a spot where the forest reached to the water’s edge,
he fastened the boat to a stump, sprang on shore, laden
with the burden, and disappeared. A few minutes
passed away, and Harold was again in the boat, swiftly
rowing down the stream. His countenance was lighted
up with strange excitement, and he uttered wild excla-
mations of satisfaction. He had outwitted that horrid
Hldman; Oscar would be released from his power,
and Jutgaard saved from destruction, for who would
think of searching in that dark wood, and among those
thick brakes, for the fatal gift ?

“T won’t tell grandfather what I have done,” said
the boy, “nor mother either; and nobody shall know
it from me.”

It was as Harold had said. The following week
came down from the seater the greater part of
Essmark’s family. Only the dairy-maid and a herd-boy
were left behind, and greatly to the satisfaction of
Harold, he was ordered at once to join them. “ It
is all safe now,” said the boy, chuckling with delight,
as, toiling up the winding and steep road to the fielde,
he stopped in his progress, and looked down over the
forest top upon the bright river and green valley of
Jutgaard.

But who shall depict the consternation of poor
Oscar and Eva, when, a few hours after their return
home, they found nothing but emptiness in the chest
where the completed specimen of Oscar’s skill had
been, as they had believed, so safely placed! As hard



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY...

would it be to describe the indignation of Essmark,
and the astonishment of Madame Essmark, when,
after a vain search, and many questions put to Harold’s
mother, it was clear that some spoiler had entered their
dwelling, for nowhere could the church be found.

As to Gummel, he could with difficulty conceal his
satisfaction. The prey, in his opinion, had been
delivered from the hand of the enemy. He was
puzzled, too; for instead of the outpourimg of wrath
he had expected to witness from the mysterious
stranger—old Haco’s Hldman—on finding his plans
thus defeated, there was nothing but sympathy for the
disappointment of poor Oscar and his friends, and
_ great indifference as to his own.



Rain again—rain—and such rain! It seemed ag
though Mr. Barclay’s arrival at Jutgaard was to be the
signal for rain. Day after day, for nearly a week, did
rain incessantly fall, and again did Mr. Barclay bear
his confinement with patience and hope.

At length the sky cleared, and the sun shone out
gaily and warmly, and the valley rejoiced in its bright
beams.

It was in the long twilight of one of the summer
days that Hssmark’s fishing boat, well laden with pas-
sengers, -was floating quietly on the broad stream,
which having been swollen by the heavy rain, to the
overflow of many a meadow, was now gradually sub-
siding into its usual channel. With his hand on the
tiller sat young Oscar, and beside him at the boat’s
stern sat Eva, their parents, and Mr. Barclay, while
Gummel was lazily pulling the oars. |

Suddenly young Oscar sprang forward, clapped his -
hands, and pointed to an object on the river floating



OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

down the stream, and rapidly approaching the boat.
In a moment every eye was directed towards the same
object—it was Oscar’s masterpiece.

Uttering a cry of horror, as he recognized the very
form of the parish church floating majestically towards
him, Gummel threw up his oars, and cowered to the
bottom of the boat. Little heeding him, however,
the eager hands of Oscar, assisted by his father and
the guest, secured the prize, and with it they gladly
hastened to Jutgaard.

But how could it have found its way to the river ?
Hven Eva thought that old Haco and Gummel might,
for once, be excused for believing that there was some
witchcraft in the business.

It was many years afterwards—when Mr. Barclay

had returned to his own country, bearing with him the
specimen of Norwegian wood-carving, which now
ornaments the drawing-room of his London mansion,
—and after Gummel had, in terror, left the service of
ssmark, lest he, too, should be involved in the ruin of
his master’s house,—long, too, after old Haco had
been gathered peacefully to his ancestors in the
churchyard of the valley,—that Harold, cured by a
sound education of the superstitions in which he had
been reared, disclosed to his master the true history of
the mysterious church: how he had taken it away, and
concealed it, in mercy to Jutgaard; and how the river,
overflowing its banks, must have washed the object of
his fear from its hiding-place, and restored it to its
owner. :
Loud was the laughter of Essmark, and great the
amusement of Hssmark’s family, at hearing this con-
fession; and the story of poor Oscar’s enchanted
church is still teld in summer days on the “ seater,”
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CHAPTER I.

FINDING A HOME.

4 p> a VO children and their mother were together
ae S ail one morning in the front parlour of a small
Se) ee house in the outskirts of London. That
ES ~=6the mother was a widow could be seen by
her dress, and that she had suffered much sorrow, and
was still full of anxiety, might easily be perceived by
any one who noticed her pale and care-worn counten-
ance. The children—a boy and girl—did not show
any signs of care upon their faces, though they were
not so lively, perhaps, as they would have been, had
their mother not been so sorrowful, and had not the
remembrance of their father’s death been still fresh in
their minds. They were living too, just then, with
their mother, in lodgings, after leaving a much plea-
santer home, and their mother was full of uncertainty
as to where they might settle for life.




B



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

Lucy, the girl, who was about twelve years old,
was busied that morning about a canary bird which
hung in a little cage by the side of the window; and
while she arranged about it some groundsel, which she
had just bought at the door, and stuck a piece of sugar
between the wires, she chatted away, half to her bird
and half to her brother, hardly expecting, though,
that the latter would answer her; or even listen to her,
so absorbed was he over his favourite “Robinson
Crusoe,” which he was reading for the second or third
time.

ers now, Dickey, you look quite smart,” said
she; “just like a lady in a yellow satin dress, sitting
in a a een bower! And wasn’t it lucky, Edward, that
I heard that old man crying his water-cresses, and that
I noticed the other day that he had groundsel to sell
as well? Now really, Dickey, you must give us one
of your best songs this morning, only not too loud,
So as to make mamma’s head ache. Ah! you have
found out the sugar, have you? I know you like
sugar.” |

Suddenly Lucy lowered her voice, and said to her
brother, who was crouched down in a corner close to
the window with his book on his knees, which were
stuck up, so as to make a reading-desk, “ Edward, do
you know, I think I see the postman coming down the
street ; but don’t say anything to mamma about it, and
don’t cry out, ‘There’s the postman!’ if you hear him
knock. Mamma is always so disappointed when he
does not bring her a letter, and she is go tired of ex-
pecting one from: uncle, that I wish she would not
remember that 1t 1s post-time at all.” |

It was a kind thought of Lucy’s to try to avoid
calling her mother’s attention to the postman; but in
spite of her caution to her brother, they both started,



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

and so did their mother, when a knock louder than
usual came to the door; and, like their mother, they
could not help waiting in breathless silence a minute or
two, to see if the maid was going to bring up the letter
to their room. Her step was heard on the stairs, the
door opened, and she came in and handed their mother,
Mrs. Osborne, a letter. : Lucy saw her mother’s hand

almost tremble as she opened the letter, and she looked
- grave and eager as she began to read it. As she read,
' however, the anxious look cleared away, she almost
smiled, she looked pleased and satisfied; and letting
the letter fall upon her lap, she leant her arm upon the
table at her side, and covered her eyes with her hand
for a few minutes. Lucy did not know that, during
those few minutes, thanks from her mother’s heart
were being offered to God, who had heard her prayers
and sent her help in time of trouble. ‘‘ Lucy, my love,”
said she at length in a cheerful tone, “I have got
a letter at last from your uncle. Edward, do youhear? |
Why, where is Edward?” said she, looking round the
room.

‘Here, mother; here I am,” cried Edward, scram-
bling out of his corner with his beloved ‘ Robinson ’—
“ letter from uncle, did you say?”

“Yes; and such a pleasant letter, dear children.
You know I wrote to consult him about our going to
New Zealand, and instead of that he asks us-to go and
stay with him all the summer at least, and perhaps for
ever. But listen to what he says,” and she read aloud
as follows :—

| “THE HAVEN, NEAR P—,
Hants, April 25th.

‘Dear Sister Ossorne,—I received your letter,
dated the 5th, only this morning, having been for the
last. fortnight from home. I took a run down to Ports-



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

mouth to see an old friend, and unexpectedly went a
cruise with him up the Channel, so that I did not get
my letters till my return. I hardly know what to
advise about New Zealand, not being acquainted with
the colony, and only having touched there once or
twice for water. I am sorry to find that my late
brother’s affairs have not been arranged as favourably
as you could desire. My old housekeeper, Mrs. Brown,
died about two months back, and I can’t say I get on
very well with my household matters, so that if you
think well of it, I shall be very glad to see you here
for a month or two, and longer if we find that we suit
each other. Isuppose you must bring the children with
you. ‘There is a good school near, that the boy can go
to every day; and the girl, I suppose, can learn pud-
ding-makine and stitching at home. I don’t exactly
know how I shall like to have young folks in the house,
never having been accustomed to them, but I suppose
they know how to behave themselves. You can let
me know when you will come, a day or two before-
hand. |
Your affectionate brother-in-law,
“CHARLES OSBORNE.

“ Please to direct to Captain Osborne, R.N., The
Haven, near P + sane



“P.S.—You had better take the rail on to P——,
instead of stopping at the station near the Haven.
There are plenty of flies to be had, which will bring
you out. ‘he Haven stands about two miles N.N.W.
of the town, on the old London road.”’

“ You will go, mother, won’t you?” cried Edward ;
“Tm sure I hope you'will! I shall like going to
uncle’s almost as well as going to New Zealand. It



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

will be nearly as good as going a voyage, to hear all
uncle’s adventures at sea, won’t it, Lucy ?”

“* Much better, I should say,” said Lucy; but still
she did not look as pleased as Edward.

“And you will like to live in the country too,

Lucy, I am sure you will like it very much,” said her
mother.
— “Qh yes, mamma—but then Grace Martin! Iam
so sorry to leave Grace Martin; and at uncle’s I shall
never have a girl of my own age to play with, and
Edward will go to school.” |

“That he would do anywhere,” said her mother ;
“and you can always write to Grace Martin, as often
as you please.” —

“Yes, mamma; but do you think we shall like
Uncle Osborne? Do you know, I don’t quite think he
can be good-natured, or he would not have said that
about our behaving ourselves, or have called us ‘ the
boy,’ and ‘the girl.” ”

“Not good-natured, my dear, when he asks us all
to go to him, and invites you and your brother, who
cannot be of any use to him ?”

Lucy was too good-natured herself not to be ready
to believe that her notion might be quite unfounded,
and when she saw how pleased her mother and brother
were about going to the Haven, she set quite aside her
own little private reasons for not being so happy in
the prospect herself, and she tried not to think so much
about Grace Martin. Lucy had always known Grace
Martin, but they had latterly been living only a few
doors from where her father and mother lived, so that
Lucy and Grace had seen a geat deal of each other, and
been very happy together. After having had no one
but a brother older than herself to play with in general,
it was quite delightful to Lucy to have Grace as a



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

companion, who by no means despised many of the
plays that Edward could now never be persuaded to
play at; and besides that, was a capital hand at invent-
ing games of the quiet kind that Lucy was so
particularly fond of.

From the very morning on which the invitation
came from Captain Osborne, preparations were began
for leaving London. Mrs. Osborne wrote to accept
most gratefully the proposed shelter for herself and
children, and she undertook to do her best to make
her brother-in-law comfortable, promising also for her
children that they would behave well, and not disturb
him in any way. She ended her letter by fixing to be
at the Haven in a fortnight’s time.

That fortnight was soon over. The packing time
was one of great bustle, and the most beautiful spring
weather seemed to make a journey into the country the
pleasantest thing in the world; and even leave-taking
of old friends did not seem so painful as they had all
expected, for every one was so kind, and so glad that
the scheme of going out to New Zealand had been
given up. One pleasure, too, which Lucy enjoyed, then
occupied her thoughts for nearly a whole week, and
this was the choice of a parting keepsake for her friend
Grace Martin. Out of her own savings she bought
the prettiest of work-boxes imaginable, and with her
mother’s assistance fitted it up with all kinds of useful
little nick-nacks and materials, such as a clever little
workwoman like Grace is sure to require.

Edward enjoyed most of all the final packing up and
nailing down of boxes, and cording of trunks, for then
he could be of help, and as busy as any one. For a
whole day he went about hammer in hand, from one
room to another, and used up an innumerable quantity
of nails and tacks to his great satisfaction, and no one



HOME AT THE HAVEN,

could have managed better than he did the writing of —
directions and tying on of labels. ‘There was so much
to be done, and so much bustle at last, that Mrs.
Osborne could hardly be persuaded that something

very important had not been forgotten, when she found
herself with her children fairly seated in the railroad
carriage, which was to take them to P——; buta box
that she fancied must be left behind, proved to be
under the seat—placed there by kind Mr. Martin,
Grace’s father, who saw them off; and Edward was
found to have had all the while tight hold of the knob
of an umbrella, that, when first inquired after, he was
sure he knew nothing about! This blunder of Hdward’s
helped them all to a smile before the train had quite
got away from the station, and wiping away the tears
that had started into her eyes, Lucy was able to nod and
kiss her hand to Grace Martin, as she stood by her
father’s side on the platform. Grace’s bonnet was the
very last thing that Lucy saw as they steamed away
from under the great station roof, and then she had to
settle her pet canary, which she carried in her hand in
his cage and sling him up over head comfortably for
the journey, while she uncovered his cage and let him
see all of the world that he chose. They had no
adventures on the road during their two hours’ journey.
Edward read ‘ Robinson Cresce ” the greater part of
the way,-and their mother slept, for she was ver y tired
with all the bustle of the previous day, and several
sleepless nights, so that Lucy had no one to talk to
and was quite sorry she had not brought a book. A
silent old lady in the corner, however, who was their
only companion in the =halnowe carriage, got out at one
of the stations, and a more talkative gentleman got in.
He soon caused Edward to look up from his book, and
answer some of his questions. He asked them where



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

they were going, and what were their names. Did
they like leaving town and coming to stay in the
country ? Edward said he did very much, because he
thought he should have capital fun with his uncle, who
had been a sailor. |

“ T don’t like leaving London as well as Edward,”
said Lucy, “because of leaving Grace Martin; and
besides, I am almost afraid of Uncle Osborne, and
don’t know whether I shall like him.”

“ Hem!” said the gentleman, and he called her a
chatterbox. After that he talked more with Edward
than Lucy, and, finding out what he was reading, he
told him a good deal about the real Robinson Crusoe,
Alexander Selkirk, who was wrecked on the island of
Juan Fernandez.

‘“T wonder whether Uncle Osborne ever touched
at Juan Fernandez, in any of his voyages,” said
Hdward, “TI shall ask him when I see him.”

“ Ay, mind you don’t forget,” said the gentleman
as he got out at the last station before they came to
P——, And take care Uncle Osborne does not eat
you up,” said he to Lucy as he pulled out his great-
coat from under the seat after he was out of the
carriage.

Kdward and Lucy saw their acquaintance walking
away from the station across some fields, which seemed
to le between them and the town of P——, which
was now visible. In another ten minutes they would
be at the end of the journey, and their mother roused
herself up to see after all their packages, and to call to
mind all that were in the great luggage van at the end
of the train. Dickey was carefully covered up again,
and the bags and baskets of each collected. N othing
was left behind, and a nice little carriage was found at
the station in which they were soon: leavin g the town



HOME AT THE HAVEN,

again along a. pleasant country road. The driver knew
Captain Osborne’s house, called the Haven, quite well,
so that when he stopped before a pretty white house
standing amidst shrubberies and flower-beds, with a
smooth lawn.on one side sloping down from the sitting-
room windows, they felt delichted to think that so

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pleasant a place was to be their future home. If they
had doubted for a minute, there was the white and red
flag hoisted on a flag-staff in the middle of the lawn,
and on the top of a little summer-house was a brightly
gilt weather-cock, with the four points of the compass
shown by its letters—all which looked as if the house



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

belonged to one who had been accustomed to hoist
flags on all occasions of importance, and to think a
great deal about the direction of the wind.

Edward and Lucy, however, were almost in too
much trepidation just then to look more about them.
They were hunting out all their own possessions again,
and were preparing to get out of the carriage, when
whom should they see handing out their mother, and
welcoming her very cordially to his house, but the
gentleman who had talked to them in the train—the
sunburnt gentleman who seemed to know so much
about the sea, and who could be no one else but their
own uncle, Captain Osborne!

“Well, my young gentleman, so we are met again,
you see—only that I have got ito port a little before
you, by a nearer tack ;—yes, no mistake, my man, I
am Uncle Osborne himself, you see,” and he shook
lidward heartily by the hand. He helped Lucy out
too, but he did not take so much notice of her as of her
brother; and he really did frighten her a little, even
at this her first arrival at the Haven, by the sharp way
in which he told her to let her things alone, and leave
the servant to look after them. Only once, however, did
he allude to Lucy’s dread of him, and this was when
a large Newfoundland dog came bounding forth to meet
them, as they went up the path to the house. Lucy
shrunk back, rather m alarm, at the unceremonioug
greeting of great Rover, bat her uncle said, ‘ No fear,
Miss Lucy, even of him; for he won’t bite any more
than his master.”

Nothing, however, could be more kind or hospit-
able than the manner in which they were all received
by Captain Osborne at the Haven, while Mrs. Osborne,
after a little while, was able to remember, in her sun-
burnt and weather-beaten brother-in-law, the young



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

man that she had only known when just entering the
navy as a midshipman. He explained to her that he
had unexpectedly had some business that morning at a
town on the line of railway by which they had come,
and that after he found out who were his companions
in returning, he had tried not to disturb her nap, whilst
he amused himself with the talk of the young folk,
without letting them know who hewas. Mrs. Osborne
soon felt quite at home with him, and quickly under-
stood the mixture of roughness and kindness which
was in his manners. ‘They had, besides, many plea-
sant remembrances of old times to talk over together,
which made them famihar and friendly at once.
Kdward liked his uncle very much, and was greatly
delighted with all the charming things that were to be
found at the Haven, and Lucy’s spirits rose as she saw
how pleased and cheerful her mother seemed. She
followed close behind, as her uncle led the way, all over
the house and round the garden, and thought to her-
self how ungrateful it would be not to be pleased at the
thought of living in such a nice home. Kind prepara-
tions, too, had been made for their arrival, and the
_ prettiest of bed-rooms and sitting-rooms set apart en-
tirely for the use of her mother and herself, and even,
before they had been half-an-hour in the house, a nail
found at the side of a pleasant window where Dickey
could hang and sing as long as he hked. Luckily
Captain Osborne did not dislike pet birds; for in the
hall was a large grey parrot, on a perch, who was the
most amusing and plain-speaking talker that was ever
heard. It was enough to make them all feel at home,
if it were only to hear this parrot, whom the bustle of
their arrival had roused into a talkative fit ; for nothing
was heard all over the house but “ How d’ye do; ”
“Hope you're pretty well; 7’ “ Glad to see you ;”’ filled



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

up with the usual praises of her own beauty, which
these birds are so fond of sounding.

“Ts it not all delightful?” said Edward to Lucy,
when they were together in their mother’s room, un-
buckling straps and unlocking padlocks. ‘ Don’t you
hike uncle now, Lucy? and are you not sorry you told
him in the railroad carriage that you did not like
coming to stay with him? Don’t you think, mother,
that Lucy had better tell him she is very sorry, and did
not mean to say eo

“No, Edward, I do not,” said his mother; “ Lucy
told the truth about her feelings, and your uncle knows
that she did not intend it as any rudeness to him, be-
cause she did not know to whom she was speaking.
He willsoon think no more of it, and will like Lucy
well cnough at last, I have no doubt—and all the
more for her being plain-spoken and truthful like him-
self?’

The first evening at the Haven passed very happily,
and Lucy tried not to fancy that her uncle had taken a
dislike to her, at the same time that she was really
quite glad to see what good friends he and Edward
were going to be.



I ————————— —__— —— —-—--__ armen



HOME AT THE HAVIN

CHAPTER II,

TRYING TO PLEASE.

BaTTER acquaintance with the Haven only made
everybody like it still better, and Edward, in particular,
seemed to be happier and happier every day. No house
that he had ever lived in had in it such very interest-
ing things, and no garden had ever afforded so much
amusement to him. Before the first morning was over,
he had grown quite expert at hoisting and taking down
the flag on the flagstaff; he knew the dogs all by name,
and had fed the pigeons. He had been introduced to
his uncle’s grey mare in the stable, and had been taken
up into what was called the workshop, over the kitchen,
where were the turning-lathe and chest of carpenter’s
tools; and he had been to the very farthest end of the
orchard, and into every corner of the kitchen-garden.
But it was what his uncle called his “ state-cabin ” that






ti

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Y
t

|

—

—— ~~
ECWHIV FERS

~ eee.

pleased him most of all. This was a room indoors,
which his uncle considered particularly his own, and
did not like anybody to go into unless he was with



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

him. It was quite a museum that little room, and all
around it were curiosities, which Captain Osborne had
brought home from different parts of tke world in his
voyages. Shells, pieces of branch coral, sea-weed,
ostrich-eggs, stuffed birds, and such objects of natural
history, but also things even more interesting to Hd-
ward, such as pictures and models of celebrated ships,
telescopes, a quadrant, and a mariner’s compass, both
of which latter things he wished much to understand.
Here, too, it was that Captain Osborne kept his fishing-
tackle, and made his own flies for angling ; which was,
perhaps, the reason why he did not like people going
into his room when he was away, for fear they should
disturb the little delicate materials with which he made
them. Hdward passed several hours of each day with
his uncle in this room, when he was not at work in the
garden with him, or accompanying him in a ride in his
gig. No companion that Edward had ever had, of his
own age, was half so entertaining to him as his uncle,
and he liked to be with him too, because he was always
learning from him the kind of knowledge that was
particularly interesting tohim. His uncle, for instance,
could tell him everything about ships and navigation
that ‘he wanted to know. He learnt from him the
names of all the parts of a vessel, and the names of the
different kinds of vessels, and how to distinguish them.
He had long wished to understand rightly the difference
between a brig, a frigate, a cutter, and a schooner; to
say nothing of all the names:for the different sails and
masts, which he often found alluded to in books, with-
out exactly knowing what they meant. He was never
tired of asking questions about such matters; and it
seemed as if Uncle Osborne was never tired of giving
explanations. ‘Then what interesting stories his uncle
could tell him about his adventures at sea, and about



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

all the grand sea-fights that had taken place when he
was a little midshipman,—those especially in which
Lord Nelson had distinguished himself. Hdward was
sure he never should be tired of hearing all about Lord
Nelson, and he longed for the time when he should go
to Portsmouth to see the “ Victory,” the ship in which
~ he was killed, and which his uncle promised to show
him some day.

Lucy, meantime, went on with her mother much
as she usually did, wherever they were, with her books
and her work. She was very happy, and she. hked
the pleasant garden and the pretty country walks very
much, but she would have been glad to have had a
young companion of her own age, or to have been a
little more with Edward. It was impossible, too, for
her to take so much pleasure as Edward in her uncle’s
talk about ships, for m fact she did not half under-
stand what it was all. about, from the strange sailor’s
expressions that he made use of. Shewas a long time
before she found out that starboard and larboard meant
the right and left. sides of a.ship, fore and aft, the
front and back parts, and when her uncle talked
of “jib-booms,” and “ foretop-gallants,’ and about
“taking the sun,” and “ getting soundings,” it seemed
to be quite another language, and she despaired of
ever being able to understand it all. Regularly every
evening, when her uncle and Edward came in to tea,
when it would have been so pleasant to have heard
what they had been doing all the afternoon, they were
sure to have some long story about a shipwreck, or
about one of Nelson’s sea-fights to finish off, which,
for want of having heard the beginning, was quite un-
intelligible to her; and very often all the cups and
saucers and plates would be arranged about the table,
to show the positions of the different vessels at the



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

battle of St. Vincent, or Trafalgar; and if Lucy did
try to understand how it-was, she was sure to make a
blunder, and get confused about the English and
French ships, fancying perhaps all the time that the
sugar-basin had been on the French side, when it had
been fixed on for Nelson’s ship. All this made Lucy
much more silent at the Haven than she had ever been
before in her life, so that Uncle Osborne had no op-

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portunity of calling her a chatterbox again, as he did
in the railroad carriage. To tell the truth, her uncle
did not take much notice of Lucy in any kind of way,
unless it was to ask her every day how she got on
with her “sewing,” which he seemed to think the only
thing she had anything to do with; and when he
found out that she had never learned to mark, he used
to teaze her a little about it, always asking her when



NOME AT THE HAVEN.

she was going to begin a sampler, which Lucy did not
at all see any necessity for doing, considering how
neatly her mother marked everything with marking-
ink. Lucy took the teazing very good-temperedly,
however, we ought to observe, and was always so
obliging, that she never on any occasion omitted doing
any little thing for her uncle that she could; and her
mother had only to say, “ Lucy, your uncle’s slippers,”
or “Lucy, your uncle’s hat,’ before she was off as
quick as lightning, to fetch them. She and her brother
both tried to please their uncle, to whom they were so
much obliged; but it was in different ways—Lucy with
actions, perhaps, and Edward with words. Edward
was too anxious to please his uncle in this way, and he
was not long at the Haven before his mother began to
fear that this might have a bad effect upon his charac-
ter. This trying so much to please one person is rather
a dangerous thing at all times, and is not nearly so
safe as trying to do and say what is right. Now,
Captain Osborne could be rather sharp and severe
when things did not go on quite smoothly, or when
any one disobeyed his orders and wishes. Having
been accustomed the greater part of his life to have
the command of a large crew of sailors on board a ship,
where nothing can be done except through the most
strict obedience to the words of the captain, it was
natural that he should be vexed and displeased if any
one seemed for an instant to forget his orders. Hd-
ward was exceedingly fearful of causing his uncle to
express any such vexation; and yet at the same time
he was by no means accustomed to be very punctual
or particular, so that he very often had recourse to
excuses to prevent his uncle from being angry with
him.

“Come, come! Master Edward, I don’t like being

C



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

kept waiting,” said his uncle, one day when they were
going out for a walk.

“Yes, uncle; but my shoes were not cleaned, and
I had to wait for them, uncle,” said Edward, although,
long after he had put on his shoes, he had been seen
by his mother and Lucy playing in the yard with the
dog.

‘Edward should not have said anything about the
shoes,” said his mother, looking very grave. ‘The
very next day, Edward had been helping the gar-
dener’s boy to hoe some lettuces, and instead of put-
ting back his hoe in the tool-house, he had thrown
it down, so that his uncle had picked it up when he
went round the garden. “I like my tools put back in
their proper places,” said he to Edward.

“ Yes, uncle, | know; and I am always very par-
ticular, so | cannot help thinking that must be the hoe
that Jack used.” ‘There was something in the tone of
Hdward’s voice as he said this, which made Lucy, who
was present, feel quite uncomfortable.

“ Don’t you think you forgot to put it away ?” said
she in a low voice to him. Lucy often wished that
Edward was not so afraid of Uncle Osborne, and had
courage to tell him the exact truth about such little
matters. How different it was with herself—although
it might have been thought beforehand that she would
be likely to feel much more afraid of her uncle than
Kdward. It happened one day, when Captain Osborne
was out, that Lucy was sent by her mother to fetch a
letter which lay on the table in his room, and which
they knew he particularly wished to be sent to the
post, so that Lucy had no hesitation in going there by
herself to fetch it. She had found the letter, and was
leaving the room with it, when she felt something pull
at her elbow, and, looking round, she found that one



HOME AT THE HAVEN,

of her uncle’s fish-hooks had caught in her sleeve.

Tt had a long piece of twine fastened to it, and this
twine had fiver lt with it other pieces of horsehair
and catgut, and all sorts of bristles, and feathers, and
artificial flies, had been scattered over the floor. Lucy
was at first in terrible alarm about the mischief she
had done, but, extricating the hook from her sleeve,
she picked up the rest of the tackle, and put it back on
the table, fearing to make matters worse by attempt-
ing to replace them as they had been before. She was
very vexed about it altogether, because it was the very
first time she had ever been in that room alone; but
it. never occurred to her to try to prevent her chols
from knowing that it was she who had disturbed his
things. She even went and stood by the garden-gate,
so as to be ready to tell him directly he came in from
his walk, and she said at once that she was afraid he
would find that she had done some mischief. “I think,
too, uncle,’ added she, “I ought to tell you that I
remember I put your letter into your letter-weight,

which I need not have done, because it was very light,

and I daresay T leant my elbow on the table for a
minute, and did not see that there were any hooks
there.”

Lucy followed her uncle into the room as he went
to see what was the matter, and she begged to be
allowed to try and disentangle the twine and horsehair,
which she did very patiently, so that it ended by her
uncle saying that no great harm had been done; and
any one could see that he was pleased at Lucy’s frank-
ness and truthfulness in. telling him about the affair.
Perhaps it was about this time that their Uncle Osborne
began to see the difference between the characters of
Edward and Lucy; for a little circumstance, which
happened a day or two after, showed it very plainly.



TIOME AT THE HAVEN.

Captain Osborne and Edward were flying a kite upon
the lawn, and the latter was sent to the “‘ state cabin”
to fetch a card which was to make a messenger to be
sent up the string. When he came back, his uncle
said he hoped he had not meddled with anything, and
Iidward too readily replied, “ Oh, no, uncle, indeed!”

Presently Captain Osborne went to fetch something
which no one but himself could find, and when he
came back Hdward and Lucy saw in an instant that he
was displeased. ‘I thought, young gentleman,” said
he, ‘‘ that you said you had not meddled with any-
thing.”

“No, indeed, uncle, I did not,’’ said Edward again.

“Take care, Master Edward, what you are saying,”’
said his uncle; ‘‘for, if you did not meddle with any-
thing, how was it that I found my hour-glass running
when I went into the room ?”



THE UNION JACKE.

Edward blushed, and stopped for an instant to seek
out an excuse; “‘ You said meddled, you know, uncle,
and I did not say I had not touched anything——.,””

He was going on, but his uncle looked at him very
sternly, and said, ‘‘ People who speak the truth speak
it according to the meaning of words ;” and he would.
not have another word from Edward on the subject, nor



HOME AT THE HAVEN,

did he talk as usual with him that evening at tea, but
read the newspaper aloud to Mrs. Osborne.

All this time Mrs. Osborne had been looking out
for a school for Edward, where he could go for several
hours of the day, and where he would have more
regular occupation; and such a school being now
- found, she began to feel that they were now quite
settled at the Haven, for many months, at all events,
while Captain Osborne would sometimes talk as if
their stay was to be for ycars.





HOME AT THE HAVEN.

CHAPTER III.
HARVESTING.

Epwarp and Lucy had not long been at the -Haven
before a little acquaintanceship sprung up between
them and the children of a farmer who lived very near,
and whose farm stretched down to the roadside oppo-
‘site the Haven, through which, by pleasant pathways
over fields of wheat and barley, they went to the farm-
house. Haymaking time was scarcely over, before
the children began to look forward to the harvest,
when, for the first time in their lives, Edward and
Lucy were to be gleaners. Farmer Whicher always
had a most merry harvest-supper for his labourers ;
and this year Mrs. Whicher promised her children also
a little treat in the way of a supper, to which they
were to invite all their young friends, as well as the
children of the farm-labourers who lived in the neigh-
bouring village.

Now, Edward and Lucy were invited to this har-
vest feast, and looked forward to it with no little
pleasure—watching the weather and the ripening of
the corn almost as anxiously as Farmer Whicher
himself. When the morning came that, on looking
out of the window as she was dressing, Lucy first
descried a band of reapers, cutting away with their
bright sickles at the edge of the waving sea of wheat
which lay beyond the roadside hedge, she called out
to Edward the joyful news that the harvest was began;
and, before the day was over, the farmer’s children
came down to tell them that their little harvest-home





HOME. AT THE HAVEN.

supper was fixed for the following Thursday, when
their father expected that the greater part of his corn
would be got into his barns. The large wheat-field,
which lay between the Haven and the farm, would, at
all events, be carried that day; and it was expected
that, at about five o’clock in the afternoon, the gleaners
would be able to take possession of the field. Long
before that time, on the appointed day, Edward and
Lucy, and a group of the village children, were at the
gate of the field, ready to begin operations the very
moment that the last cart should drive out; for, as is
usually the case, Farmer Whicher did not like the
gleaners to be admitted until his crop of corn was
fairly off the field. It was very amusing at first tc
watch the men pitching up into the carts the heavy
sheaves ; but the children had not watched this long
before they began to feel impatient about the progress
of their labour, for it seemed as if the field would never
be emptied. Five o’clock had struck long ago, and it
was not very far off six, when a message came out from
the farm, to say, that as the men were likely to be
quite another hour before they had carried all the
corn, the children were to be allowed to enter, and
glean in the lower part of the field, away from the
remainder of the still standing sheaves. The children
shouted joyfully, as this permission was given, and the
gate being opened, in they rushed; and, scattering
about the field, were soon seen busy stooping and
gathering up the scattered ears of wheat which had
been left behind. Who should glean the largest
bundle was the cry—and no one was more eager than
Edward to prove a good gleaner. He was not so
steady at his work, or persevering, however, as Lucy,
who went quietly on, travelling up the furrows, and
taking care not to go to parts where others had been



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

before. Now and then all agreed to rest awhile; for
they grew hot and tired with so much stooping; and
then there were other things to look at and divert
their attention, such as the nest of a field-mouse full
of young ones, and a hedgehog, which one of the |
young Whichers turned out of the hedge, and which
rolled itself up ito a round prickly ball. Hdward
had never before seen a hedgehog, and he stayed
looking at it, and trying to make it unroll itself again,
long after the rest had returned to their gleaning.
Presently, the eldest Miss Whicher came out from the
house, to summon all the gleaners in. The tarts and
cakes were out of the oven, she said, and the fermety,
which was to be the principal dish on the supper table,
would be ready in another hour. She invited all the
gleaners to come on to the lawn, at the back of the
house, and there, in the cool arbour, they could rest
and bind up their sheaves, and then have a game of
play. ‘I'he children obeyed the summons very gladly ;
for, altogether, it was thought they must have gleaned
what, when divided amongst the village children,
would make a famous sheaf for each to carry home.
Lucy, with the rest, was leaving the field, with a
charming large bundle of wheat in her apron, when
she looked round to see after Edward. He was only
then coming away from a corner of the field where the
hedgehog had been found, and, as he came up to her, °
Lucy was quite vexed to see what a small quantity of
corn he had gleaned; really not more than he could
hold in one hand.

“Oh, Edward!” said she “how little you have
got; what have you been about?’? Edward never
hiked being behind others in what he did, so that he
was sorry, now it was too late, that he had not gleaned
more industriously. He and Lucy were passing at



IONE AT THE HAVEN.

this moment up amongst the shocks of corn which
were yet standing ; and whet was Lucy’s concern, to
see Iidward stay behind, and draw out of one of the
sheaves several fine ears of corn to add to his own
small bunch. “Oh, Edward, you must not take that
corn—you know you must not! Farmer Whicher has
trusted us to leave those sheaves alone. Oh, pray
don’t, Edward! It is really quite like stealing,”
said she, the tears coming into her eyes at the very
thought.

| “What nonsense, Lucy,—you do say such things.
Just as if the corn did not all belong to Farmer
Whicher,—and just as if it mattered to him. You see
I have not taken more than a dozen ears of corn at
the very most.” And Edward ran past her into the
house.

Lucy stood for a few minutes in painful thought,
wishing she could do anything that would make Ed-
ward bring back that corn again, and see things as
she saw them, and feel as she felt; then, suddenly a
plan occurred to her, which would make matters
better, at all events, in this case; then, taking out of
her own gleanings twelve nice full ears of corn, she
laid them at the top of the sheaf, from which Edward
. had so dishonourably helped himself. She was turn-
ing away from the sheaf, when she started to see
Harmer Whicher leaning overa gate close by, watching
the filling of the last cart. Lucy hoped he had not
seen her put back the ears of corn, or rather that he
had not seen Edward take them.

The children enjoyed themselves much in the
arbour, binding their little sheaves and portioning
them out among those whose homes would be glad-
dened by the prospect of an extra loaf or two of bread
during the coming week, and when their work was





HOME AT THE HAVEN.

done, all were ready for a game of play upon the
smooth green lawn.

Prisoner’s base was the game fixed upon, which
the girls soon learned to play at, although they had
never heard of it before, and the arbour was an ex-
cellent prison for the prisoners who were taken in the
chase. The sun was sinking behind the hills and
sending its slanting rays through the trees of Farmer
Whicher’s orchard, and the shadow of the great cedar
of Lebanon had stretched quite across the lawn, and
made the prison where Lucy was in confinement, beau-
tifully gloomy, when a voice was heard calling all the
party of runners and catchers in to supper. Such a
bustling and crowding there was into the supper-room,
the old-fashioned parlour where the large table was
laid out for the children’s harvest feast. Dishes piled
high with all manner of good things, fruit, pastry, and
a variety of choice cakes, were arranged upon the
snow-white table-cloth, and in the midst a large china
bowl full of smoking hot fermety. There were nose-
gays of flowers too upon the table, by way of ornament,
and the eldest Miss Whicher had made a most beauti-
ful garland of blue corn-flowers, which lay on the
table, ready to crown, as ghe said, the queen of the
eleaners. ‘lhe children were soon seated down each
side of the long table, and the fermety was being
Jadled out to them and the cakes handed round, when
Harmer Whicher came in, bringing with him Captain
and Mrs. Osborne, who had walked up to the farm to
fetch Kdward and Lucy—as every one said, a great
deal too soon. ‘They consented to wait, however,
until the children’s supper was quite over, and were
glad to see the pleasant sight of their happiness.
Farmer Whicher had something merry to say to each
child as he walked round the table—now patting a



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

boy on the head, and now chucking a little girl under
the chin. At last he came to Lucy— Ah, here is my
little friend, Miss Lucy,” said he, “my good little
honest friend, who would not let me -be defrauded of
any of my corn. She it is who deserves to be crowned
queen of the gleaners.” And as he spoke he took up
the garland of corn-flowers which lay upon the table,
and popped it upon Lucy’s head.

Lucy held down her head, blushing deeply.

“What is this all about?” said Captain Osborne,
whilst everybody round the table looked anxious for
an explanation. Farmer Whicher jokingly told how
Master Edward had made up for his bad gleaning by
helping himself from one of his sheaves, and how
Miss Lucy had been too honest to let him be cheated
that way. He had seen it all, he said, as he stood hid
by the hedge whilst he was looking after his men ;
they little knew that he had seen it all.

It was now Hdward’s turn to hold down his head,
and though Farmer Whicher seemed to think it a very
good joke, there were those present who could not
think it so. Mrs. Osborne looked sorry and grieved,
and Captain Osborne said in a very severe tone to
Hdward, ‘“You ought to have been ashamed to do sucha
thing. It was no better than stealing, to take the corn
in that way.’ Luckily for Edward, the noise of talk-
ing andthe rattle of plates and spoons, together with
the praises of Lucy’s honesty which were sounded
round the table, prevented these words from being heard
by the rest of the children. Lucy got rid of the crown
which made her feel so bashful, and it reached at last
the little girl who had been fixed on as a queen of the
eleaners, because she really had gleaned more than
any of them, but as Miss Whicher took the garland
from Lucy, she said, “ After all, Miss Lucy, it is a more



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

‘unfading crown than mine you know, that is reserved
for the Upright and the Just.” There was plenty of
fun and merriment to finish out the evening and pre-
vent any one saying anything more about the affair of
the stolen wheat-ears, so that even Edward had partly
succeeded in forgetting it. His mother and uncle,
however, could not forget it. When they had at last
taken leave of the farmer’s kind family and were walk-
ing home, Mrs. Osborne went on before the others with
Edward, to whom she had something to say, whilst
Uncle Osborne and Lucy walked together. It would
have been quite dark but for the very bright stars
overhead and just a faint tinge of red left in the sky
to the west. Lucy felt that her uncle was so very kind
in taking care that she did not stumble over the stiff
stubble, or slip into the furrows as they crossed the
now empty corn-field. He kept quite tight hold of her
hand, whilst he carried for her her bunch of nice long
straight straws which she was taking home to plait.
Her uncle assisted her, too, so kindly over the very
awkward stile, which had a ditch and a foot-plank on
the other side, and he talked to her so very pleasantly
all the way home. ‘They talked about the stars. Her
uncle showed Lucy which was the pole-star, by which
sailors at sea could find the north and steer by it.

‘* All over the world, can they see it?” asked Lucy.

“No, not all over the world. When ships sail in
a southerly direction and approach nearer and nearer
to the equator, the pole-star seems to sink down nearer
and nearer to the horizon, until at last it is quite lost
sight of; and when sailing in the southern hemisphere,
people see quite a different set of stars in the sky to
what we do in England—quite different groups of stars
or consteliations as they are called, and the constella-
tions have different names.” |



HOME AT THE TWAVEN,

This little lesson on the stars was just ended as they
arrived at the gate of the Haven, where Mrs. Osborne
and Edward were standing after having rung the bell.
As they got up to them, Captain Osborne and Lucy
knew quite well what Edward and his mother had been
talking about, by the last words that were spoken.

“Now, do, my dear Edward, try to be more parti-
cular in future.” ;

**T will, mother,—indeed, I will,” said Edward,
and he spoke as if he was quite in earnest as he made
the promise. |

“Yes, my boy,” said Captain Osborne, laying his
hand on HWdward’s shoulder, ‘learn to steer by the
pole-star truth and honour, and then you will never
run aground on shoals, or break on rocks.”





we

SR
SS Nee

2S 3Or an = =,
Spe =





HOME AT THE HAVEN. |

CHAPTER IV.

BOAT-BUILDING.

Arter the conversation which her uncle and Lucy had
had together about the stars, in which the latter had
shown that she liked to understand such matters, her
mother observed that Captain Osborne often stopped
in the middle of what he was relating to Edward, in
order to explain sea terms, and such sailors’ expres-
sions as he thought she might not understand; and
these explanations began to make his stories of ship-
wrecks and adventures at sea much more interesting
to her. Her mother’s prophecy that Captain Osborne
would like Lucy, when he came to know her well, had
come to pass; and whilst he liked her for being so
obliging and intelligent, he quite loved her for her
truthfulness and strict feeling of honour.

What made Lucy at this time particularly glad that
she was beginning to understand more about ships and
boats was, that her uncle and Edward had a grand
scheme for building a boat large enough to be rowed
on the pond at the bottom of the lawn. Now we must
explain that this pond, though avery pretty object to look
at from the house, with its weeping willow hanging over
it at one end, was rather an inconvenience to those who
lived at the Haven. It lay betweemthe kitchen-garden
and lawn; and in order:to get to the former, it was
necessary to go rather a long way round, through the
yard at the side of the house, and down a strip of
ground that was used for drying linen. At the time
that the strawberries were ripe, and afterwards, when
the cook was busy preserving, it was felt to be quite
tiresome to have to go such a long way round with



HOME AT TITE HAVEN.

the baskets of fruit. Edward had often asked his
uncle why he did not build a bridge over the narrow
end of the pond, but this was never thought of seri-
ously. One day, however, when Edward was at home,
on one of his half-holidays. it was raining so heavily,
that there was nothing to be done but to get up in the
workshop and do some carpentering, and then it was
that the making of a boat was first planned. When
they came in to tea that evening, Edward was full of
delight and full of talk about the real proper-shaped
and proper-sized boat they were going to build for the
pond. It was to be large enough to hold three persons, -
and Uncle Osborne thought that they might get it
finished in time for gathering of the late apples and
winter pears, so that it would be really useful to bring
the baskets over from the other side, and land them
where they would be carried up to the apple-room in
no time.

Lucy liked the idea of the boat very much, and had
no fears about its capsizing, as her uncle called it,
because the bottom of the pond could be seen so
plainly, that she was sure no one could ever be drowned
init. She listened quite patiently to the description
of how it was ali to be managed—how the frame of the
boat was to be made of five lone pieces of deal, and
how the ribs were to be of flexible ash-wood; how a
piece of zinc was to be fastened alone the keel; and
lastly, how canvas was ‘to be stretched over the out-
side, because it would be impossible for them, as
Captain Osborne said, to get planks warped into the
right curve for nailing outside, in the manner of boats
in general, and the canvas would make it light and
easy to carry. There was nothing talked of but the
boat all that evening, and when the tea-things were
removed, pen and ink and paper were brought ont to



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

make a list of all that would be wanted of nails,
screws, and tin tacks, zinc, ash-wood, and deal—all of
which things Captain Osborne was to have in readiness
to begin operations with the very next evening. So
many hours work on half-holidays, and so many half-
hours before breakfast and after tea, on ordinary days,
would, they thought, complete the boat in three weeks’
time, so that the grand day of the launch might be
fixed for Lucy’s birth-day, which was at the beginning
of September.

Everything went on very pleasantly and smoothly
with the boat-building between Hdward and his uncle,
so that Lucy and her mother were quite pleased to sce
how much more careful he had become, whilst he was
always diligent over his lessons, and punctual at school,
which his mother was very particular about. It can-
not be said that Hdward never made excuses at this
time, and did not sometimes misrepresent a little when
he was in fear of being blamed, but every one thought
he was trying to cure himself of his faults, and mado
allowance for the difficulty of breaking himself of a
sottled habit.

Lucy was very glad to be allowed by her mother to
co occasionally up to the workshop to watch Edward
and her uncle at work upon the boat. She was sur-
prised to find that it required such downright hard
work, and used to wonder that they liked to make
themselves so hot and tired with their hammering and
sawing. At first it was thought that it would not be
necessary to have a rudder to their boat, considering
what short voyages it would have to perform on the
httle pond, but Hdward maintained that it would be
quite a pity not to make it a real boat in every respect,
so that a rudder was decided on, and Captain Osborne
thought that he knew of a manin P——, who would be



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

able to furnish them with a set of rudder-irons small
enough to suit their little boat. These irons were the
sort of hinges which were to connect the rudder to the
boat, and enable it to move from side to side, at the
will of the steersman, but they were so contrived, that
the rudder could be taken off, or unshipped, as Captain
Osborne said, when it was not wanted. The rudder,
and the piece of wood which fitted on to the top of it,
called a yoke, with its two pieces of rope, which were
to be pulled first on one side and then on the other,
as they steered, was thought by Lucy to be the pret-
tiest part of the boat, although it was altogether, as
her uncle said, ‘‘ as trim a little craft as ever was built.”?
Lucy’s birthday drew near, and there was nothing
to be done but the pitching and painting of the boat
and the making of a pair of oars. A painter who was
coming to re-paint the greenhouse was to do the
former, and Uncle Osborne undertook to get the oars
finished off whilst Hdward was.at school the last three
days. Lucy thought something very terrible had hap-
pened, from Hdward’s look of consternation, as he
came in one evening to tell his mother and her quite
an unexpected difficulty about the boat. All finished
as it was, and ready for pitching and painting in the
open air, it could not be got down the crooked little
staircase that led up to the workshop! Captain
Osborne had always expected that it could be hoisted
up on end in such a manner as to come down very
easily, but it was now found that this could not be
managed, so that there was nothing left, but to take
out the window of the workshop and lower the boat
with ropes into the yard below. Jack had been sent
up to Farmer Whicher’s to borrow some ropes for this
purpose, and when they arrived Mrs. Osborne and Lucy,
and the maid-servants, went out into the yard to see
D



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

the operation of letting down the boat. It took half-
_an-hour before this was managed—the gardener and
Jack, Captain Osborne and Edward, all hard at work,
very hot and very eager. Quite safely, however, and,
without any damage to it, the little boat was lowered
to the ground, and those who had never seen it before
thought 1b most beautifully and cleverly made. Hdward
was very delighted, and very impatient to see it
launched upon the pond. He could hardly, in fact,
make up his mind to lose sight of it, when his uncle
proposed its being carried into an outhouse and left
for the night. ‘They had, however, to discuss together
the important point of what colour it was to be painted,
and the still more important point to settle of what it
was to be called. Black outside with the pitch of
course it would be, so it was thought that a bright
green inside, with lines of white, would give it a light
and pretty effect; but as to the name—that was most
difficult to settle. Uncle Osborne did not care about
the name, and said Hdward might call it what he
hked, and Mrs. Osborne could not suggest one.
Edward and Lucy tried the sound of several, when all
at once Hdward declared that he had thought of the
best name in the world, and was sure everybody would
think so too; but as Uncle Osborne had said he might
choose the name, he would not tell what he had fixed
on until the painter had painted it in white letters at
the stern. He made Lucy promise that she would ‘not
go to look at the boat again until it wag painted, and
ready for launching, because Edward was certain she
would hke the name, and wanted to surprise her ; and
Lucy never once tried to make him tell her what he
had fixed on, and never even tried to guess it. She
told her mother, in fact, the next day, that she wag
nearly sure she knew what it was to be.



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

During the pitching, and painting, and drying of
the boat, which took quite three days, Lucy was busily
employed, in her leisure time, in making a little flag
to hang at the stern of the boat. It was to be a
“ Union Jack ;” and her mother having procured her
some pieces of red, blue, and white calico, Uncle
Osborne left her a picture of the flags of different
nations to copy it from: but it was to be quite a sur-
prise to Edward, and only when his secret about the
name came out was Lucy to present her nice little

flag, which she was sure would please him greatly.

: All was ready by Lucy’s birthday ; and the painter
pronounced, that if they could only wait until the
evening, there would be no chance of the paint coming
off on Lucy’s frock during her first voyage round the
pond, after that Uncle Osborne and Hdward had made
a sort of experimental trip. The beautiful iced plum-
cake, which was to be served up at tea that evening,
made by the cook in honour of Lucy’s birthday, was
hardly thought of by any one, so full were they of the
launch of the boat.

At about five o’clock, Lucy and her mother were
out on the lawn, and were sitting on the bench under
the plane-tree, ready for the ceremony, when presently
there came quite a procession across the lawn from the
yard at the side of the house. First came the boat
itself, hoisted on the shoulders of the gardener and
Jack—then came Uncle Osborne with the pair of oars,
and lastly Hdward with the rudder and its yoke. In
a few minutes more the boat was shoved off on to
the pond at a point where the lawn sloped down very
gradually to the water, and Mrs. Osborne and Lucy
were summoned to approach. All this time Lucy had
been holding under her apron, to conceal it, the gay
little flag which was to surprise Edward so much; but



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

then waving it up in the air, she came forward to pre-
sent it, and be surprised herself about the name of
the boat. She was surprised, and, it must be con-
fessed, a little disappointed, although she could not
deny that it was an excellent name. Edward had
called his boat the “Crusoe,” and Lucy only wondered
that she had not also thought of this name, considering
that “Robinson Crusoe” was still his most favourite
book. She had been thinking of quite a different name,
and it had put “ Robinson Crusoe” out of her head.

















See : 3a
- SSS Signo! Ss

TO ee ee





— es $$

Edward was so delighted with the little Union
Jack, and with the admirable manner in which the
“ Crusoe”’ righted herself upon the water and made
the first voyage round the pond, that he never noticed
anything like disappointment in Lucy’s manner. She
was, besides, too pleased herself at the success of the
boat to feel it long, and she was not in the least afraid
when the time came for her to step into the boat and



NOME AT THE HAVEN.

go round the pond with Uncle Osborne, and, after 2
little instruction from him, he said she made a very
good steersman.

Tea had been waiting long, and the urn had ceased
to boil, so that fresh warm water was wanted, before
the party could make up their minds to moor up
the boat and return to the house. People ate Lucy’s
delicious plum-cake, talking all the time about the boat
and praising it, and planning all sorts of things which
were to be done for it, and with it, when all at once
Edward turned to Lucy and said, ‘ Now, do tell us,
Lucy, what was the name you thought of for the boat—
you have never told us yet.”

Lucy blushed very much, and she hesitated—she
could hardly make up her mind to tell them, for she
thought they would think it so silly. At last, she said
that ‘she had thought—indeed, from something Ed-
ward had said, she had almost felt sure—that he was
going to call the boat the ‘ Lucy.’”

Lucy had no sooner said this than Edward quite
wished he had thought of calling it after his sister, and
he said so—and Captain Osborne also wished that Lucy’s
name had been given to the boat; and he did not think
it at all strange or wrong that she should have expected
it. He liked too, very much, that she should have been
so frank in telling them all her thoughts, when it
would have been easy enough to have concealed them.
It was possible, even for Captain Osborne, who had
been all his life a brave sailor, to admire this kind of
courage in a very little girl; and without any one
_ knowing how it came about, Lucy was presently sitting
on her uncle’s knee, with his arm so kindly round her ;
and before the evening was over, he remembered that
upstairs he had a most beautifuily carved ivory fan,
that he had brought home from India, in one of his



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

voyages, which must have taken quite a year of a
Chinaman’s life to carve ; and he brought it down and
gave it to Lucy, as a birthday present and keepsake

from him, and in remembrance of the launch of the
** Crusoe,”

CHAPTER V.
PEACE DISTURBING AND PEACE RESTORING.

Tue “ Crusoe’? was a continual source of pleasure
to every one at the Haven, and no day passed with-
out her performing many voyages round the pond,
and passages across it. Hven Captain Osborne
seemed quite satisfied with her success, and would
stand for an hour together on the bank, giving
Hdward instructions in rowing, and telling Lucy how
to steer. ‘There were not any rocks or breakers in
their little sea, but, as it required, they always main-
tained some skilful steering, to keep clear of the old
stump of a post that stood up out of the water at one
end of the pond, and to keep away from the branches
of the willow-tree at the other end, which would have
carried off Lucy’s bonnet perhaps if they had got among
them.

Kdward became very expert in managing the
‘‘ Crusce,” and in mooring her to the stump of a laurel
at the side of the pond, which his uncle had cut down,
all but the main stem, so that she might have safe
moorage ; for, before this, the “Crusoe” got adrift
one windy night into the middle of the pond, and
it was difficult to get her back to shore the next
morning.



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

Kdward and Lucy never allowed themselves to doubt
of its being very convenient to get across to the kitchen
garden, by means of a voyage in the “ Crusoe; ” and, to
please them, the gardener, when he gathered his pears
and apples, brought them all down to the side of the
pond, to be rowed over by Edward, though he con-
fessed to others that it would have given him very
little more trouble to have taken them round by land
all the way.

Mrs. Osborne, as she sat at work at the drawing-
room window, thought she had never seen anything
prettier than that little boat, going backwards and for-
wards with its freight of rosy apples and russet-brown
pears—Hdward rowing, and Lucy steering—and the
bright-coloured little flag hanging at the stern. She
thought it look very pretty, and she rejoiced to see
her children so happy—saying to herself that she really
hoped the time had come for Edward to cure himself of
his one fault. |

Bad habits, however, such as Hdward’s, are not to
be got rid of all at once; especially, as the desire to
seem to do right leads to the repetition of the fault. It
was a great grief to everybody when Hdward again
forgot his promises of amendment, and did wrong in a
matter connected with the favourite boat, which had
given every one so much pleasure.

At the time of the building of the boat, Edward had
had a good deal to do with the purchasing of various
articles wanted for it, and when it was quite completed
he was sent into the town one day with Jack, the gar-
dener’s boy, to settle for everything that had been
ordered and left unpaid. He had besides some com-
missions for his mother to get that day, some paper and
sealing-wax, and pens, and a list of all the things to be
bought and paid for were given him, together with the





HOME AT THE HAVEN.

right sum of money that would be required. Now,
Edward and Jack had become great friends, and were
too fond, perhaps, of each other’s company. Jack was
good-natured, but very ignorant, and because Edward
could tell him such nice stories about Robinson Crusoe
and Lord Nelson, he fancied Edward a great deal wiser
than he really was, and was more ready to be guided by
him than was quite safe, considering that the greater
part of his time belonged to his master. Several times
had Jack been in disgrace for neglecting his work
because he was with Master Edward, or when sent into
the town with Edward, for staying away too long. It
happened on this day we are telling of, that both Jack
and Kdward remained away much longer than there was
any occasion for, so that every one at the Haven got
quite alarmed about their not returning, and Captain
Osborne was about preparing to set out in search of
them, when they made their appearance. It came out
that they had been tempted when in town, by the pre-
sence of a wild-beast show, in which there were lions
and tigers, and other animals that Jack had never seen.
They had both gone into the show, and had been in-
duced to stay much longer than they at first intended,
by the hope of seeing the animals fed. Jack told all
this very faithfully, and tried to take the blame on
himself, because Master Edward had, he said, been go
anxious for him to see the lions and tigers. But Cap-
tain Osborne did not excuse either Jack or Edward,
and was much displeased that they should have done
anything of the kind without permission. Jack was
ordered never on any pretence whatever to go out
again with Master Edward, and Captain Osborne said
something very angrily about not liking to have his
servants disturbed in their duty to him by his visitors.
Kiven after all this had been settled, and Edward had



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

_ been very seriously reproved by his mother, the whole
blame was not exposed of that afternoon’s visit to the
town. Edward’s mind was very uneasy about the
commissions and the money that had been given to him.
When required by his mother to give an account of the
money that he had spent in the town, he was confused
and embarrassed. It had been his own money which
had paid for the entrance of Jack and himself to the
wild-beast show, but there ought to be a shilling left
to give back to his uncle, aud he had only threepence
remaining in his purse. It was found necessary to
apply to Jack for an explanation of this; and it was
after scratching his head several times that he said.
something about “ nuts and apples that they had bought
to give to the elephant and monkeys;”’ and then
Wdward had to confess with many blushes and tears of
shame, that in this manner the missing halfpence had
been spent.

We will spare our readers the description of Captain.
Osborne’s deep displeasure at this exposure of Hdward’s
want of truth and honour; and we cowld not describe
his mother’s grief. Lucy too—she left the room to
hide her tears, and did not hear all the angry and
bitter reproaches cast upon her brother by his uncle.
There seemed no chance of Edward ever regaining the
confidence and affection which he had lost, and Mrs.
Osborne saw plainly that she and her children must
not remain to be a cause of disturbance at the Haven ;
for she called to mind that the latter had only been
invited to come, provided they could behave well.
‘Before that day was over, she had quite decided on
leaving the Haven, and had told Captain Osborne of
her intention. She told Edward and Lucy, too, that
the Haven was no longer to be their home, and that
they should return in town in another month; and she



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

did not scruple to point out to Edward that his conduct
was the cause of their giving up the pleasures and com-
forts that they were enjoying.

Lucy was quite frightened to sec how Edward was
distressed at this announcement from her mother. He
kept in his own room for the whole of that day, and he
was very miserable. It was quite as well that this time
he should make no promises for the future, but it
erieved Hdward more than anything to see that no one
asked him to do so. His mother had grown tired of
hoping that he would keep any promises of the kind,
and she knew that his uncle would place no reliance on
them. Lucy never once said ‘‘ Do promise, Edward,
that you will be more particular in future,” because she
said it only made matters worse to have these broken
promises to look back upon. At the same time Lucy
did believe that from this time forward Edward would
speak the truth on all occasions, and she told her
mother so.

“When you come to think, mamma, how very
much he will grieve to leave the Haven, and the
‘Crusoe;” and above all, to go away from Uncle
Osborne, whom he likes somuch. Oh! I do think,
mamma, that he will always be careful in future.”

From the time of this painful affair at the Haven,
all seemed changed in the once happy family party.
Edward and his uncle talked no longer together as
they were used to do, and Lucy, if she was merry for
a few minutes, was sure to see some grave look from
some one which reminded her of what had happened
and what was going to happen. Her mother now
wrote letters to town, and looked anxiously for
answers, and seemed to be arranging plans for the
future in her mind. As for Hdward, each day seemed
to imcrease his sorrow and shame, as he saw his



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

mother’s former grave and sorrowful looks quite fixed
on her countenance again, and at each little occurrence
that took place with regard to their leaving the Haven,
his own grew more sad. Preparations, too, for leaving
were made, which showed that there was no doubt
about his mother being in earnest. His schoolmaster
was told that he would leave in a month, and he knew
that Grace Martin’s father had been written to about
their having the same lodgings in town that they lived
in before they came to the Haven. And if these
tokens of leaving grieved Edward, they did not the
less disturb his uncle. He never alluded himself to
their going away, and if any one else did so, he always
looked grave, and said nothing in reply. Once, when
he was walking round the garden with Lucy, he
showed her where he always threw down crumbs for -
the robins at Christmas time, and added, “ You will
see how they will pop out of this privet-hedge, where
they have their nests, to eat their roast beef and plum-
pudding.” |

“Ah! but, uncle, I shall not be here then, you
know,” said Lucy, in a low and sorrowful tone.

Her uncle said nothing, but Lucy thought he
grasped her hand tighter than he had done before
during the rest of their walk.

As the time fixed by Mrs. Osborne for leaving
drew near, both Edward and his uncle seemed more
sorrowful about it, and the latter made several attempts
to persuade Mrs. Osborne to change her mind; and
Hdward, too, talked with his mother about it, and said
he thought that others ought not to suffer for his
fault. :

“No, my dear Edward,” said his mother; “but
unfortunately it is always the consequence of mis-
conduct that others do suffer for it. It is my duty



HOME AT TH HAVEN.

to do the best I can to make you grow up a good
and honourable man; and I think that if you were
placed at a good school, and away from all the in-
dulgences of the Haven, it would be better for you,
perhaps.”

Kdward turned these words of his mother over in
his mind, and they gave him courage for what neither
his mother nor Lucy would ever have expected of him.
They were quite taken by surprise the next day, when
sitting with Captain Osborne, to see Edward come
into the room on his return from school, and going up
to his uncle, say in quite an open and courageous
manner—

“Uncle, I really am sorry and ashamed to think:
that my behaviour is making us all go away from the
Haven. Don’t you think, uncle, that I might be sent
away to school, and that then my mother and Lucy
could stay on with you? I think it would be the
best plan in the world, if you will only persuade my
mother.”

“T do think it would be a good plan, Edward, and
the best way of all to settle the difficulty,” said his
uncle ; and he held out his hand to Edward, and added,
“Tam glad, too, to see that you are learning to speak
out and be straightforward, my boy; and I hope that
the day may come when you will see that a ship might
as well attempt to sail without either rudder or com-
pass, as for a man to go through the world without a
character for truth and honesty.”

Captain Osborne, after this, had a long consulta-
tion about Edward with his mother; and this time he
really did persuade her to stay on at the Haven. It
was decided that Edward should become a boarder at
a school which was several miles off, which they knew
had a strict but kind and just master, and where he



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

would be allowed only to come home once a month.
Mr. Martin was written to, to say they were not going
to return to London ; and preparations were now only
made for Edward’s departure, and for providing him
with all that he would require at school.

During the fortnight previous to EKdward’s leaving
the Haven, Lucy was so busy hemming pocket-hand-
kerchiefs, and stitching wristbands for him, that she
had hardly time to think about how she should feel
when he was gone; and she tried, too, to keep up
Kdward’s spirits about leaving them, and to persuade
him it would be for the best in the end.

“ After all, Edward, it is only a month before you
will see us again,” said she, as Edward stood on the
bank of the pond, looking at the “‘ Crusoe” with very
melancholy looks — “and, anyhow, uncle says the
‘Crusoe’ must be laid up for the winter, and not used
any more for some months.”

The parting with Edward, was not, however,
without tears from Lucy, though Hdward bore it
very well. The Haven seemed very dull the next
day; and perhaps it was a little sadness in Lucy’s
manner that made her uncle say, that he hoped she
did not regret that her mother had not gone back to
London.

““Oh no, uncle,” said she, I should like to stay
at the Haven all my life, for I am very happy here ;
and I never wish to go to London, except to see Grace
_ Martin; but I should like to see Grace Martin again
very panel: ?

Only a week after this, Lucy was celal one
morning when she got up and looked out of the win-
dow, to see her uncle very busy with the flag-staff.
He was hoisting the flag, which was only done when a
visitor was expected at the Haven. Who could be



HOME AT THE HAVEN.

coming there that day ? As Lucy wondered, she also
thought to herself how very pleasant the Haven would
look to any one who might see it for the first time that
day, though it was November. The sun was shining
so brightly on the many coloured leaves of the shrub-
beries, and the scarlet berries of the mountain ash
looked go brilliant among the different shades ot
yellow, gold-colour and brown, to say “nothing
of all the chrysanthemums, which were still im
flower.

Nothing was said about a visitor, however, at
breakfast, but soon after, Uncle Osborne set off in his
cio for the town.

“T do think uncle must be going to fetch some
one from the railway station,” said Lucy to her
mother.

“We shall see,” replied her mother. Lucy |
cleared out the cage of her canary, and filled his
glass with water; and she fed the chickens, and
gave some peas to the pigeons, and then sat down to
work. She had not worked long before the gate bell
rang. She looked up, and could see between the
bushes a part of the grey mare, and the corner’ of a
brown hair trunk, which projected from the splash-
board of the gig. |

“Run out and meet your smcbat said her
mother.

In the hall, the servant was bringing in a
number of parcels—but what she said in reply,
when Imcy asked who had come, was not to be
heard, for Poll was screeching her very loudest,
“How dy’e do”—‘‘ glad to see you—hope you’re
pretty well.”

Uncle Osborne was bringing some one in—
a short person—in a bonnet—a little girl—Could



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HOME At


STORIES

FOR

SUMMER DAYS

AND

WINTER NIGHTS.

LUustratey
WITH COLOURED PLATES AND WOOD ENGRAVINGS.

LONDON:

GROOMBRIDGE AND SONS,
5, PATERNOSTER ROW.
1872,
CONTENTS.

OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.


THE RECOVbRY OF TILE MODEL,

OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

CHAPTER I.

THE FIELDE.

emeseel' was during the twilight of a day in the
| spring, that a middle-aged, bluff, but
good-humoured bonde, or Norwegian
farmer, seated in one of the curious little
cars of-his country, drawn by a small, rough, sturdy,
and sure-footed pony, was slowly making his way up a
steep hill on one of those high tracts of ground called
the fielde, which separate from each other the lowlands

of Old Norway. ,
It is no easy matter to conceive of the desolaticn
which reigns on those broad mountain tops. For

B


OSCAR: A TALE DF NORWAY.

miles and miles across the higher part of the fielde
scarcely any vegetation is to be seen; or where a few
hardy trees have managed to take root, they reach to
the height of but three or four feet, and show by their
crooked and knotted stems through what hardships
they have struggled, while the Bark rocks of which
the mountains are composed, stand out rugged and
bare, or are clothed only with moss, or covered with
almost perpetual snow.

For nine months in the year it is cheerless winter
on the fielde; and during the other three, fierce
storms of rain, snow, and wind are frequent. There
are, however, numerous spots on every fielde which,
for two or three months in the year, are lively with
herds of cows and horses, and flocks of sheep and
goats ; for almost every farmer in Norway, in addition
to his arable land in the valley, has a large extent of
pasture ground on the fielde, whither, in summer, he
sends his cattle, herdsmen, shepherds, and dairy-maids ;
and to which, indeed, with his whole household, he
himself sometimes migrates. These yearly trips are
holiday seasons to all concerned in them, and are an-
ticipated with great satisfaction. Sometimes pie
seaters, aS such spots are called, are near to the farm
but oftener they are at the distance of many aie
even of a long day’s journey; and, in every case, a
buildmg, more or less spacious, is attached to the
seater, and known as the seater-house or hut.

In the long fielde winters, which include both
spring and autumn, these seaters are deserted, and
travellers may pass a whole day in the bare and cheer-
less region without meeting either friend, stranger, or
enemy. At such times fieldo travelling ; 1S ae unat-
tended with danger 3 and this remark brings us back
again to the beginning of our story.
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

I have said that the farmer was middle-aged and
good-looking, but it would have been difficult at this
time to form any judgment of either of these matters,
so carefully was he wrapped up from head to foot. A
large cap of sheep-skin covered the traveller’s head,
and was tied under his chin so as to hide the whole of
his face, excepting eyes, nose, and mouth, which also
would probably have been concealed, only that it is
awkward travellmg with the eyes shut, and very
unlikely that a true Norwegian would journey any dis-






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tance without a lighted pipe in his mouth. Great
boots of fur, reaching to his thighs, were drawn over
the farmer’s ordinary dress, and a pair of long gloves
of the same material, reaching nearly to the shoulder
of each arm, were fastened by a leathern thong round
the upper part of his body; while over the shoulders
of the driver was thrown a large wolf-skin, furnished
with arm-holes, and buckled tight round the waist by
a broad leathern belt. Thus equipped, and squeezed
into the seat of his car, which did not exceed an ordi-
nary elbow-chair in size, and was so near the ground
that an overturn would not have been attended with
very alarming consequences, had an overturn taken
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

place—thus equipped and seated, the traveller bore
with great fortitude the cutting blasts which assailed
him, and the slow pace with which his little, rough,
but tough and strong-winded nag—which he now and
then addressed by the name of Gustaf, or Gustavus—
was climbing up the long ascent.

At length this arduous task was accomplished, and
the traveller and his steed had reached the highest
ground on that part of the fielde. For a minute or
two the panting Gustaf rested to recover breath, and
Gustaf’s master looked around him.

The prospect was not very enlivening: stretched
before the traveller was a wide tract of wild and
uneven ground, destitute of vegetation, and covered in
many paris with snow. Over this desolate space
wound the road, which was to be traced by tall poles
placed at certain points, intended for the guidance of
snow-bewildered travellers. On one side, the fielde
seemed as though cleft asunder by some sudden con
vulsion of nature, forming a narrow valley or chasm,
several hundreds of feet deep, along the bottom of
which ran swiftly a mountain stream, which, viewed
from above, looked like a narrow silver thread. On
the other side, at the distance of many miles, was seen
the great mountain of Sneehatten, or Snowy-hat, so
called because the snow on its summit never dis-
appears. Around the traveller and his horse not a
living thing beside themselves was visible, nor a sound
to be heard in that vast solitude, except the hard
panting breath of Gustaf, and the cheering words of
the driver.

Oscar Essmark—for that was the traveller’s name
—did not linger more than was needful on that ex-
posed spot, for the twilight was now rapidly disappear-
ing, and dark threatening clouds had gathered round. |
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

“Come Gustaf, good Gustaf,”’ he said to his pony,
“we must not loiter; old Sneehatten looks spiteful
to-night ; and we shall be fortunate if we can eet to
shelter before the storm reaches us. So, step out,
good beast, for your master’s sake and your own.”

Gustaf seemed perfectly to understand his master,
for without further urging, he proceeded on _ hig
journey with renewed vigour.

But fast as he trotted over the rough road, the
storm which Essmark had predicted gathered faster ;
and they had scarcely gone half-a-mile, before it burst
upon them with fearful violence. First came a mighty
gust of wind, which nearly lifted Gustaf off his legs,
and brought him at once to a dead standstill. The
httle car, however, stood it bravely, for it had been
built for such stormy passages as this. The driver,
too, kept his seat unconcernedly, for this was not the
first time he had passed over the fielde.

While the hurricane was yet increasing in violence,
a thick mist shut out from the traveller the sight of
even the nearest object; and then came driving across
the mountain top a fall of snow, so heavy and so fast,
as to threaten in a short time to bury car, pony, and
driver.

The extreme violence of the hurricane compelled
them to pause; and Hssmark, wrapping himself up
more closely in his wolf-skin cloak, and drawing higher
around him the apron of his car, waited with patience
the next turn of affairs. “If I can manage to reach
the next seater,” he said to himself, “the snow may
come, and welcome; and if I had a sledge instead of
a car, I would not be long in reaching home either.
But patience, good Gustaf; if it comes to the worst,
we can foot it when the storm gives over, and leave
the old car to take of itself.”
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

After a short time the first force of the hurricane
seemed expended, and though both mist and snow
were thick as ever, the traveller determimed to make
another attempt at reaching the shelter of which he
had spoken. Gustaf appeared to be of the same mind
as his master; and again needed only a gentle word
of encouragement to urge him forward. After’a few
desperate plunges, he succeeded in dragging the car
clear from the heap of snow which had accumulated
at its side, and slowly moved onwards.

In the course of half-an-hour all traces of the road
had disappeared, and neither in the sky above, nor on
the earth beneath, could a single object be. discerned
to guide the traveller in a right course; and it was
only by carefully noting the direction of the wind that
he could be sure he was not going back instead of
forward.

And, indeed, it soon became a matter of doubt with
Oscar. Essmark whether, with all the experience of
himself and Gustaf in fielde travelling, they had not
widely wandered from the road; for when, from time
to time, he looked out into the mist, not once could he
catch sight of a guide-pole, rising above the broad
surface of snow which glimmered through the dreary
foggy darkness.

“ Courage, good Gustaf,” said Hssmark, after one
such fruitless attempt; “we shall reach a shelter pre-
sently.”

But for three hours or more after the storm first
began, were the travellers—man and beast—exposed
to its fury without reaching that shelter ; and at length
poor Gustaf showed such signs of fatigue, that
Essmark, encumbered as he was with his warm but
clumsy and heavy clothing, took pity on his weary
animal, and, dismounting, led him gently forward,


OSCAR, A TALE OF NORWAY
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

sinking deeply at every step into the newly-fallen
snow.

It was well that the traveller was thus considerate,
for he had not advanced many paces before he found
himself treading on the edge of a steep bank, over
which a single false step might have hurled both him-
self and Gustaf into some unknown abyss. Carefully
picking his way, with the snow still beating in his
eyes and half blinding him, Essmark discovered what
appeared a more gentle declivity, down which he led
his beast; ‘“‘for even the shelter of a bank,” thought
he, “‘is better than none at all; but where I am now
passes my poor wit to find out.”

Very cautiously picking his way downwards, the
stout-hearted farmer at length found himself and
Gustaf again on tolerably level ground, and close by
the brink of a small mountain lake, the ice of which,
not yet completely broken up, was floating in large
masses on its surface, and covered anew with the snow
which had so recently fallen, and was still falling.
Above, to the height of thirty or forty feet, rose,
like a dark wall, the rocky bank which he had
descended.

The moment Essmark saw the lake, he uttered an
exclamation of surprise. ‘‘ Strange,” said he, “ that
I have been so misled. There will be no reaching
home before morning, that is certain ; and to think of
cur having wandered so far off the road! I gave you
credit for more sense than this, Gustaf,’ he continued,
patting his pony as he spoke. ‘But cheer up, old
friend, we will get shelter here at least;’? and again
he urged on his weary beast, which floundered at every
step, until they once more halted at the door of a
small wooden building, close under the bank, and
partly covered by an overhanging rock.
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

No signs of life were discernible; and, indeed, the
traveller knew perfectly well that the edifice, which
was a small seater-hut, was at this time uninhabited ;
but undismayed by the knowledge of this fact, he un-
harnessed Gustaf as fast as his cumbrous gloves would
allow him; then, lifting the latch of the deserted
hut, he entered, and was followed by the pony,
which, no doubt, knew that on such a night the
poorest accommodation would be better than none
at all.

It was evident, from the further proceedings of the
farmer, that he knew how to act in emergencies like
the present. In a short time, from some crypt or
corner of the hut, he had drawn forth a huge armful
of brushwood, which, dark as was the place, he con-
trived to arrange on what he seemed by instinct to
‘know was the hearth; and, in less than a minute, a
blazing fire, the first spark of which was drawn from
Essmark’s pocket tinder-box, was casting a strong
light over every part of the building.

As a temporary refuge, the hut was well enough,
for it was dry and weather-proof; but, in its present
deserted condition, it was sadly wanting in every other
comfort, excepting a heap of dry moss in one corner,
which had, no doubt, at some former time, been used
as a bed. ‘he benighted farmer, however, was by
no means particular as to accommodation, and, having
brought in from his cara small leathern sack, which
contained provisions for himself and Gustaf, he
closed the door of the hut, heaped upon the fre
several birchwood logs, of which there was a toler-
able store at hand, threw off his cap, cloak, and
Aogles, and set himself seriously to work upon his
provender.

_ First of all, he took a long draught from a wooden
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

bottle with which one of his pockets was stored; then
he placed before his companion a capful of corn and
chopped straw; after that, he himself ate heartily of
some hard coarse cakes and dried fish, which he
moistened from time to time with a more gentie appli-
cation to his bottle. Last of all, seating himself on a
stout log before the fierce fire, Kssmark lghted his
pipe, and was quite reconciled to the thought of pass-
ing the remainder of the might in that lonely mountain
hut.

But the adventures of the evening were not yet
ended; for, just as the farmer had finished his pipe,
and was about to throw himself on the bed of moss,
the distant report of a gun, and the faint barking of a
dog, aroused his attention, and caused even Gustaf to
prick up his ears.

In a moment Hssmark was outside the hut, listening
intently for a renewal of the alarm. ‘ Some traveller
more unfortunate than myself,” said he, ‘must even
now be wandering on the fielde;”’ and the thought
no sooner presented itself than he hastened back to
the hut, resumed his cap and gloves, cast another
billet on the fire and sallied forth.

A less hardy or less benevolent man would perhaps
have hesitated before leaving a warm and secure
reluge on such a night—stiff and weary, too, with
‘previous exposure and travel—to wander, it might
be for hours, on such an errand, and perhaps to
lose himself, in the hope of rescuing a fellow-creature
trom danger and death. But our Norwegian farmer
was too brave and generous to allow such selfish
considerations to weigh with him; and in less than
a minute from the time of his leaving the hut, he
was climbing the bank down which he had an hour
before descended.
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

On reaching the higher ground of the fielde,
Hssmark had the satisfaction of finding that the
snow had nearly ceased to fall, and that the mist
was rapidly clearing away; so that, moonless as
was the night, enough light was reflected from the
snowy surface of the fielde to assist him in his
search. :

CHAPTER II.

PERILS ON THE FIELDE.

Tue traveller in Norway cannot expect in every stage
of his journey to take his ease at an inn, for few inns
are to be found. But the entertainment which cannot,
as in our country, be demanded as a right, will not be
refused as a tavour. The Norwegians are hospitable
people, and a stranger and foreigner may confidently
hope to be received among them with a kind welcome.

Should the host, in such a case, be a small farmer,
cottager, or tradesman, he will not refuse remunera-
tion from his guest; but if he be of a higher class, or
rich in flocks and herds, he will esteem the pleasure of
a stranger's society a sufficient recompence for the
comfort and accommodation he has bestowed.

About the hour of noon, on the day which I have
described as having so rough a close, two gentlemen
stood on the margin of the bare and rocky fielde, some
miles from the spot where Hssmark first encountered
the storm. One of them was past middle age, and
wore a garb which showed him to be a parish priest or
rector. His companion was an Englishman, travelling
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

for health and pleasure, who had been during the last
few days a welcome guest at the Norwegian parsonage,
and was now about to proceed on his journey towards
Christiania, the capital of Norway. was; but Mr. Barclay was, or believed himself to be,
an experienced traveller, and was well prepared, as he
thought, for every triflmg mconvenience he might
meet with on his way. Having been thus far accom-
panied by his kind host, whose residence in the valley
below them he had just quitted, Mr. Barclay was
attempting, in imperfect Norsk, to express his thanks
for the hospitality he had experienced.

“No thanks, no thanks to me,” said the pastor,
waving his hand, “thanks to you rather for your
society. But are you sure, now, you will fnd your
way without a euide ?”’

“T have no fear,” replied the traveller; ‘‘ one who
has crossed the Pampas of South America without a
guide, and travelled on foot and alone through almost
every country in Europe, has no need surely of such
assistance in your country, where every person -
meets seems more like an old friend than a stranger.’

“You do my country great honour,” said, Mr.
Aabel, making a low bow to the Englishman ; “‘ but at
this time of the year you will not fall in with many >
folk on the fielde; and fielde travelling is not a matter
lightly thought of, let me tell you, even by a native of
the country. Hven now I would have you wait here
until I send you a trusty and experienced guide.”

But Mr. Barclay smiled at the solicitude of his
host: “ Only think, my dear sir, what a short dis-
tance i 1s across this part of the fielde.”

“Nearly three Norwegian miles,” said the thought-
ful rector; ‘“‘and more than twenty of your English
ones.”
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAYe

“} shall get across in less than six hours,” said the
traveller. a

“You may be stopped by a storm,” interposed
Pastor Aabel.

Mr. Barclay pointed to the bright sun and cloud-
less sky.

The clergyman shook his head doubtfully. “It is
not always that a bright noon is followed by a calm
evening,’ he said; “and over these wintry wastes,
there is the danger of a stranger’s losing his way.”

“Not with a pocket compass, a map, and such good
directions as you have been so kind as to give me,”
replied the confident stranger.

And thus, after a cordial shaking of hands, and a
hearty farewell, they parted ; the clergyman descending
the steep hill which overhung the small hamlet in
which he lived, while the Englishman, shouldering a
hight gun, and whistling to a little spaniel, his travel-
ling companion, went on his way.

For three or four hours Mr. Barclay stepped out
steadily, and felt confident of reaching before dark the
gaard, or farm, where he hoped to be accommodated
with a night’s lodging. But either the fielde was
broader than he had been given to understand, or he
had lost his road, for he looked in vain in all directions
for the way-marks he had expected long ere this to
find. While in this state of hesitation, and just as he
was consulting his map, the sky darkened, and, for the
first time, he noticed the threatening appearance of the
clouds. In a short time the storm began to beat upon
him furiously, and poor Dando, his dog, with piteous
whining and drooping tail, followed closely at his
heels. Still the traveller pushed on over the wild
waste, until he felt almost exhausted by his exertions,
and half perishing with cold. Then he stopped to
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

recover breath; but long before this the whole fielde
was thickly covered with snow, and he himself was
bewildered with the heavy black mist which surrounded
him,

Nevertheless, Mr. Barclay was stout-hearted, and
though he began seriously to reproach himself for
having refused the offered assistance of a guide, he
consulted his pocket compass as well as the darkness
would permit, and again walked forward. Vain,
however, seemed his hope of safety; and after what





































































4.
iit ip
= ST hee mW
Pe eee





appeared to him a lone night of wandering and suffer-
ing, his strength and courage gave way, and he sank
in despair upon the snow-covered fielde.

‘It is hard to lose life thus,” he said, in a drowsy
whisper; “I will make one more attempt.” But his
limbs were so stiffened he could not rise. Just then
he remembered that his gun was loaded. He raised
it and fired; and roused by the sound, Dando, who
had crept to his master’s side for shelter, started for-
ward and barked aloud.

How much longer he continued stretched on his
snow bed under that cold wintry sky Mr. Barclay knew
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

not; for his senses were bewildered with strange
fancies of home, and bright sunny spots which years
gone by he had visited; and these scenes were rapidly
fading away from his imagination when a warm hand
was placed upon him, and he heard the welcome sound
of a human voice.

““T have found you at last,” exclaimed the rough,
hearty tones of Oscar Hssmark; “I pray God it be
not too late. Rouse yourself, stranger. Help is at
hand, and a shelter near.”

lt is wonderful what renewed hope cando! Mr.
Barclay, who, some time before, had found 16 impos-
sible to raise himself upon his feet, now sprang for-
ward, and, supported by the brave farmer, struggled
through the snow until they reached the friendly hut.
When there, the first care of Essmark was to put to
the mouth of the half-frozen and exhausted traveller
the neck of his wooden bottle, which I need hardly say
contained a liquid a few degrees stronger than water ;
aud his next proceeding was to strip off the stiff and
well-soaked garments of his guest, and by rapid fric-
tion to restore the languid circulation. All this passed
without a word spoken; for a painful dizziness seized
Mr. Barclay the moment he entered the hut, which
took away all his power of speech, and the good
farmer saw that prompt action at this time was worth
more than ten thousand words.

After a while, the sufferer was so far relieved as to
le down painlessly upon the bed of moss, covered
with a gentle perspiration, which his preserver took
eare should be promoted by heaping upon him his own
dry garments; while he himself, seated by the fire,
which from time to time he replenished with fresh fuel,
relighted his pipe, and sat patiently watching over
the rescued stranger. In a short time Mr. Barclay
A TALE OF NORWAY.

e
e

OSCAR

was in a sound sleep, and Dando followed his master’s
example, by curling up before the fire between the

As to Gustaf, he had, like a

prudent animal as he was, shut his eyes as soon as his
















feet of the farmer.

eyes in

Indeed, it was

was sleeping contentedly on the

so that the only wakeful

e those of Oscar Essmark.

supper was ended ;
not long before he

the hut wer

ther
@ ree=

hard but dry floor, by Dando’s side; and no fur

alarm disturbed the farmer’s repose through th

oht.

ful ni

mainder of that event
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

CHAPTER III.
THE GAARD.

How great the difference between mountain and glen!
While snow lay deep on the fielde, and travellers across
it were wrapped im warm winter clothing, the valley,
which lay hundreds of feet below, was hot beneath the
bright sun, verdant with the fresh-sprung grass, and
busy with industry. To pass from hill to dale in those
northern regions, is to take a short step from cold to
heat, from winter to summer, from desolation to cheer-
fulness.

On the bank of a broad clear stream which, rising
in the mountains, had made for itself, centuries ago, a
glorious waterfall into the valley, and then tranquilly
flowed on for many a mile through fruitful fields, until
it emptied itself in one of the deep and winding bays,
or fiords, for which the rocky coast of Norway is so
remarkable—on the bank of one of those clear rivers,
called in Norway an Hlv, is Jutgaard, the house of
Oscar Essmark. |

It is a long two-storey dwelling, built of thick and
roughly-squared trunks of Norway pine, made weather-
tight and warm by layers of mountain moss between
them, and painted a dull red, which might look gloomy,
but for the blue slated overhanging roof, and gaily
decorated windows, which Madame Essmark takes
care shall never be disfigured with crack or stain.

Around the house are numerous buildings, strong
and spacious; for as the wood is on the farm, and any
man can do the work, the number of houses on one
steading is wonderful. ‘There is a distinct edifice for’
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

everything, so as in case of fire not to have all under
one roof. The family dwelling-house just mentioned,
consists of three rooms below, one of which is the
kitchen, and the same number above; and at the end,
with a separate entry, there is a better room, and one
above it, reserved for strangers. Opposite to this
dwelling is another, with rooms above, and kitchen
below, for the farm servants and labourers. At a
small distance from the family house, raised upon
posts to exclude rats, is the store-room and dairy,
where the provisions for the year are lodged. It is
large and airy, with windows, and two rooms for
different objects. The rest of the square, into which
the buildings are arranged for the convenience of
winter attendance upon cattle, consists of stables,
cow-houses, barns for hay and corn; under which are
the sheds for tools, carts, sledges, a cellar underground
for ale, and one of large size with double doors, like
our ice-houses, for preserving the potatoes. Every-
thing is under cover, and the spaciousness of the
buildings surprises the stranger. But the Norwegians
are a well-lodged people; and Oscar Essmark’s farm
is not in this respect distinguishable from those of his
neighbours.

Around this group of buildings, and stretching
between them and the river, is a broad meadow,
smooth and neat as an English nobleman’s lawn, and
at the time our story begins, the early spring crop had
shaded it with a bright and dazzling green. On one
side of this meadow, reaching from the river-side
to the foot of the mountain, are cultivated fields,
which, at that same time, were undergoing the neces-
sary processes of ploughing, sowing, or planting, ac-
cording to the nature of the crop intended to be
raised. On the other side, still bounded by the river,

C
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

is a long stretch of pasture land, on which were then
to be seen a full score of cows, and a large flock of
sheep. Beyond this pasture land, and high up on the
mountain side, is a dark forest of firs, birch, and elm,
through which winds the road to the fielde. Still
higher can be seen, as though reaching to the clouds—
at a vast height at least, above the secluded and fruit-
ful valley— the bare and overhanging mountain
cliffs, up the sides of which, along narrow and un-
protected shelves of but a few feet in width, the same
road is to be dimly distinguished. And fearful does it
seem to the unaccustomed eye of a stranger, when, in
one of the low cars of his country, drawn by a horse,
which at that distance from the valley looks no larger
than a mastiff, a Norwegian traveller is seen dashing
down those shelving roads, at full speed, when. one
false step must be destruction. But the native of the
country has no fear of such danger as this.

No such fear had Oscar Essmark, as late in the
day succeeding his night adventures, he euided Gustaf,
with an unerring and bold hand, along that hazardous
road.

“Father is coming—coming at last!” shouted
little Hva from the garden house—(behind the num>-
rous buildings of Jutgaard is a garden for flowers,
fruits, and vegetables, in which is a garden house,
much used in summer for tea-drinking ; and because
the best view of the fielde road was to be had
from the open windows of this garden house, there
had Hva and her brother Oscar taken their station,
almost from the earliest dawn)—“ Father is coming
—coming at last,” said she, running to her mother,
who had wondered what could have so delayed the
time of her husband’s expected return. “I know it
is father, because of Gustaf; but I cannot think
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

what poses he has got in the car. I must go and
look again.”

But when, accompanied by Madame Essmark, the
little girl again reached the garden house, the car was
hidden by a projecting rock. LHagerly did the little
group wait for its reappearance; and very loud were
the exclamations of Hva when it was again seen.
“There it is—there is Gustaf—and there is—no—not
my father! Mother, who can it be driving the car f
Tt is not half fast ences for him.” |

Quite fast enough, Roweree. would the speed of the
pony at that time have seemed to an English child,
had an English child been there. But Eva was right,
nevertheless. It was a slow pace for Gustaf, and
Gustaf’s master, both of whom delighted in a true
Norwegian gallop down the dangerous pass.

“It is not your father in the car,” said Madame
Hssmark, turning pale ; “some mischief has happened,
I fear.”

At this moment young Oscar, who had been
watching the car with a steady gaze without appearing
to heed the conversation of his mother and sister,
turned round, and looking into his mother’s face held
up two fingers, pointed to aie car, and smiled.

“So it is—so it is!”? shouted Eva, who had seen
her brother’s gesture and sign. “‘ Oscar, dear Oscar,
has good eyes, mother; there are two in the car;
father 1s standing up behind, and holding the reins
over the stranger’s head; that’s why he comes so
slowly. Who can the stranger be, I wonder!”

By this time the car was again hidden from the
little party of watchers; and when once more it
appeared to sight, it could easily be seen that Gustaf
had a double load.

“TY must hasten to the house, Eva,” said Madame
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

Essmark, “and get ready the stranger’s room. And,
Eva, run and find Gummel, and tell him that our
supper will be better for a dish of trout from the
Hlv.”

Young Oscar was now left by himself, and he con-
tinued watching the car until it was lost in the forest.
Then he departed also, and the garden house was,
for the remainder of that day, as deserted as a seater-
hut in December.

In a few minutes, however, the quick eyes of the
boy caught sight of Gummel, the houseman, crossing
the meadow, armed with a fishing-rod and_ basket.
Uttering a wild cry, which would at once have revealed
to an observant stranger that poor Oscar had neither
speech nor hearing, he ran into the house, and speedily
reappeared with another rod. In five minutes more
the man and boy were silently floating on the stream
in a small boat, busily engaged in angling.

As my readers will have guessed, Mr. Barclay was
the stranger for whom Madame Essmark was preparing
the guest-chamber, and for whose supper Gummel and
young Oscar were disturbing the river; for the hos-
pitable farmer had declared, at dawn of day, that he
would not leave the Englishman exposed to further
danger on the fielde, and plainly convinced him that
if he wished to get to Christiana he could not take a
nearer road than that which passed by Jutgaard. And,
in truth, Mr. Barclay was not sorry to be told this ;
his long exposure to the cold and storm had left him
weak and spiritless, and nothing could at that time be
more welcome to him than the hope of a better restine-
place than that of the past night before renewing his
journey. So, riding by turns in the car, and making
many a wide circuit to avoid the deeper drifts of snow
—which accounted for their late arrival—the travellers
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

at length reached the edge of the fielde, caught sight
of the smiling valley beneath, and then arranged
themselves for the last stage of their journey in the
way that had attracted Eva’s notice and wonder.

I shall pass over the meeting of the kind farmer
with his wife and daughter, and afterwards with his
poor mute boy, who soon came in with a basket of
trout; and I shall not attempt to describe the cour-
teous welcome given to the stranger, and even to
Dando, by the whole family at Jutgaard. I need say
nothing of the supper which followed, except that full
justice was done to the various dishes placed upon the
table by Madame Essmark. Nor need I say that the
English traveller was glad to retire to his neat and
comfortable bedchamber, where, under an eider-down
quilt, of surpassing warmth and lightness, we will
leave him to his-repose.

It was an hour or two after this that the light was
extinguished in the family dwelling, for, tired as
Essmark was, he had been absent many days from
Jutgaard, and had much to tell his wife now that they
were alone. In course of time, however, they retired
to rest, and all was silent in and around the farm
through the remainder of the night.
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

CHAPTER IV.
EVA.

On the following morning, Mr. Barclay was roused
from his slumbers by a hard pelting rain against his
chamber window, and starting from his comfortable
couch, he looked out upon the prospect. Very
different was its appearance from that which it had
presented on the previous day. The river had over-
flowed its banks ; the meadow, so bright and gay in
the sunshine, now looked dreary and sodden. The
distant view of the valley beyond the river was hidden
in sheets of mist and descending rain, and the sky
overhead was dark and threatening. It was evident
that the storm which had fallen upon the high fielde
was now visiting the valley ; and it was plain, also, to
the traveller, that proceeding further on his journey
was at present out of the question.

Mr. Barclay had the happy art of adapting himself
to circumstances, and, well satisfied with his present
quarters, he thought as little as might be of his dis-
appointment, and hastened, in the best possible
humour, to dress himself.

On making his appearance in the family room, he
was greeted’ by the hearty tones of his host, and by
pleasant smiles from the farmer’s wife.

“You cannot leave us to-day, sir, that ig certain,”
said Hssmark; “to-day, at least, my house must be
your prison.”

“And a very comfortable prison, too,” replied the
traveller, shaking hands with the farmer, and then
OSCAR: A TALE OF. NORWAY.

with the rest of the family, and wishing a good
morning to each, at which Eva, when it came to her
turn, smiled, for, in his ignorance of the language, Mr.
Barclay made use of words that plainly said— beautiful fine morning this, Miss Eva,” which certainly
was very far from being correct. Mr. Barclay laughed
too, when he saw his mistake, and begged the young
lady to teach him better Norsk. From that time they
became quite friendly and familiar.

Yes, a very comfortable prison it was, that family
room. A large fire was burning in the stove; the
floor had been swept clean, and was fresh and thickly
strewn with the green tops of firs, which in Norway
are gathered by poor people and sold for this purpose,
and which fill the rooms with a pleasant perfume, as
well as serve a useful purpose, and have a very pretty
eflect; and the breakfast table, loaded with good
things in the way of reindeer flesh, dried fish, fresh
fish (the remaining part of last night’s sport), hot
oaten cakes, cheese, delicious butter, an abundant
supply of new milk and thick yellow cream, with
coffee and tea. This breakfast table gave good.
promise to the traveller that hard fare was not to be
added to his enforced confinement.

here was not much ceremony observed at this
meal; each one helped himself, and ate and drank
standing or walking about the room—for-such is the
Norway custom; and when all had finished, the table
was cleared, and all proceeded to their various em-
ployments. ssmark went to his stables and barns,
to look after his men and stock; and the farmer’s wife
and her two maid-servants to their house work and
dairy work, so that presently only the traveller, Eva,
and Oscar remained.

A dull, pompous, or stupid man would have been
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

at a loss how to act in a case like this; but dull, pom-
pous, and stupid men have no business to be travellers.
As for Mr. Barclay, he lost no time in improving his
acquaintance with Eva, who had taken up some needle-
work, and her deaf and dumb brother, whose atten-
tion was occupied by a new book, with fine wood-
engravings, which his father had brought for him from
Drontheim.

“So, young lady,” he said, and of course he said
it in the best Norsk he could muster, though I shall
take the liberty of recording the conversation in fair
Hnglish—‘* So, young lady, am I to look upon you as
a fellow-prisoner, or are you my jailor ?”

“Qh, not a prisoner,” replied Eva, “and you are
not a prisoner. Would you not like, now, to be on
the fielde ?”

“Thank you, Eva; I think I am much better off
here. Though if it had not been for your father, the
fielde would have been my last bed.”

“People shouldn’t travel on the fielde without a
guide,” said Kva, smiling.

‘* But your father did, my little friend.”

‘Ah, that is a different thing. My father knows
all about the fielde, so it did not matter. And Gustaf,
too; oh, Gustaf is a clever pony.”

“But for all that,” replied Mr. Barclay, “neither
your father’s knowledge nor Gustaf’s cleverness could
keep them on the right road. They lost their way
too.”

“Yes, yes,” said Hva, archly ; “but they -knew
how to find it again.”

“Yes, and to find something else too. It was a
terrible night to me, I can tell you. Iam told that
many people have lost their way and their lives toa,
on the fielde.”
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

*¢ Yes, in winter,” replied Eva. ‘“ There were two
poor travellers from Sweden, only a httle while ago,
would go from here to Drontheim, and they would go
without a guide. Oh, sir,’—and Lva’s eyes filled
with tears—“‘it was dreadful to think! They wan-
dered and wandered nobody knows how many days,
and at last they were found starved and frozen, and
the horrid wolves had torn and mangled them. I saw
them when they were brought back, for they were
laid in father’s barn before they were buried. Oh, it
was a shocking sight!” and Eva shuddered, covering
her eyes with her hands, as if to shut out the scene.
“Tt was very wrong—it was really, sir. You must
not think of crossing the fielde again alone till summer
comes, without knowing the road.”

“I certainly will not, Eva. They say in my
country that experience makes fools wise !—but you
speak of wolves: I have seen no wolves in Norway
yet. Do they ever trouble you here ? ”

“Not very often,” Hva answered; “ they are such
sly things, and such cowards: they don’t like to come
near where there are men, unless they are very hungry
indeed. But, for all that, they are very dangerous,
especially in winter, when cold and hunger makes them
savage. ‘l'wo years ago, in one very hard frost, many
wolves came down from the fielde; and one night
they broke into the barn where the poor sheep were,
and killed so many of them; and then there was a grand
wolf hunt, and most of them were killed. Wolves’
skins make nice rugs, and cloaks, and pelisses, so that
helped to pay for the mischief they had done.”

“Very true,” said Mr. Barclay, quite pleased that
his young companion was so communicative; “and
when these rough-coated gentlemen cannot get mutton
to eat, what do they do? ”
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

Oh, there are plenty of wild deer on the fielde—
rein-deer you know. ‘They are very fond of dogs,
too: there was once a man travelling in a sledge—it
was winter then—and he had a little dog between his
legs, and would you think it, sir, a great wolf came
suddenly upon them, jumped into the sledge, and
carried off the poor dog before the man could do any-
thing. And I have heard of a boy who was riding on
a horse, with a little puppy before him on the saddle,
and a wolf sprang up and snatched off the puppy
without hurting the boy.”

“That was fortunate, certainly,” rephed Mr.
Barclay. ‘‘ Very impudent rogues these wolves must
be. Your king should do as one of the kings of my
country did many hundreds of years ago.”

“What was that, sir?” Eva asked.

“« {Te made his subjects bring him so many wolves’
heads every year, until it is said the country was clear
of them.”

“ Our king could not do that,” said Eva, drawing
herself up proudly; “ Norway is a free country, and
the king cannot command anything unless it pleases
our Storthing.”

** And what is that ??”? Mr. Barclay inquired.

“Don’t you know, sir?” retorted Eva, wonder-
ingly. “ It is the great meeting of—of our people—
that is, not all our people, you know, sir, but a certain
number of them, which are chosen by the rest. They
meet at Christiania, and make good laws, and the
king—that is, the King of Sweden and Norway—
cannot do anything without the Storthing.”

“T see,” said Mr. Barclay, amused with this des-
eription. ‘‘ We have a Storthing in England, which
we call a Parliament.” |

“T have heard of England,” said Eva. ‘ Our old
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

Norway sea-kings went to England. Is it a pleasant
country to live in, sir ?”’

“We English people think so,” replied the
traveller.

“Are there any beautiful fiords—any rivers—any
high mountains and pleasant valleys, like ours ?”

Mr. Barclay readily explamed to his young ques-
tioner all that she asked, and much that she had not
asked, about Hngland. When he had done, she said,

“T should not ike England so well as my country.”

“]T dare say not, iva,” he replied. ‘“ We all like
best the country which we call our own. Now I think
Norway a fine, grand country, with its mountains and
fielde, and fiord, and valleys—a beautiful valley this is,
Hva, in which you live, though it would be more
beautiful in the sunshine than now.”

“Tt does not always rain,” said Eva, very quickly.

“1 dare say not; well, I like Norway very much
imdeed ; and I like you kind, warm-hearted, friendly
Norwegians still better; but I like England better
than Norway, because it is my home. I was born
there, and my friends live there. But your long,
cold winters, Hva, what have you to say about
them ? ”

“Oh, winter is a very pleasant time, I can tell you,
sir. We have such pleasant parties in winter, and go
and visit our friends. Then there is sledging—oh,
that is beautiful!—and snow-skating, and skating on
the ice.”

“ What! do you skate, Eva ?

“To be sure, sir: but you should see Oscar—
poor, dear Oscar. He is two years younger than I;
but he skates so well, though he is only twelve years
old. Poor Oscar! ”

“You are very fond of Oscar, I see,” said Mr.
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

Barclay, speaking kindly and tenderly. ‘ His is a
great affliction, but he seems happy.”

All this time Oscar had been busy with his new
book, and had not paid the slightest attention to his
sister or his father’s guest; but just at this moment
he looked up, and seeing his sister’s eyes, moist with
tears, fixed upon him, he sprang from his seat, and
smiling, clasped her in his arms, and kissed her fore-
head. Mr. Barclay now looked at the deaf and dumb
boy more closely than he had ventured before to do ;
and could but admire his fine, open, intelligent face,
sparkling eyes, and, more than all, his affectionate
manners. |

“ Dear Oscar!” said Tiva, taking her brother by
the hand, and drawing him beside her. ‘ We can
talk about him, if you like, sir: he won’t hear, you
know; and I lke to talk about him: he is so good
and he does not mind being talked about. He knows’
we can’t say mischief of him.’

“Tam glad you love your poor brother.”

“Love him! Oh, yes. But do you know,” and
here Eva dropped her voice mysteriously—“ Do you
know what old Haco says of him ? ”

“No, indeed, I do not. Who is old Haco ? ”

“Oh, you don’t know old Haco—to be sure not.
How silly of me! Well, old Haco lives down the
valley. He was my father’s herdsman; but he is not
now. Heis too old. He says he is nearly a hundred
years old. Only think! Do people live so long as
that in your country ? ”

“Not often, Eva, I confess.”

“I thought so. Ah! Norway is the place for
folks to grow old in. Old Haco says so.”

‘* And he says about Oscar——”

“Yes, yes, that is what I was just going to tell
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

you,” replied the young lady, again sinking her voice.
‘“ Haco says that poor Oscar is certainly bewitched.”

“Ah! because he cannot hear and speak, I sup -
pose?”

“Yes, sir, and he says it was all because one day,
before poor Oscar was born, a I’'in woman came to sell
mittens and snow-boots, and Snorna our dairymaid
laughed at her, and turned her away from the door
with unkind words. It was very wrong of Snorna,
and so father told her; and Haco said he was sure
some misfortune would happen. And go when poor
Oscar’s affliction was known, he laid it all to Snorna
and the Fin.”

Mr. Barclay knew that the Lapland people, whose
country is north of Norway and Sweden, and who lead
a kind of gipsy life, are called Fins by the Norwegians,
and that they are generally looked upon with contempt,
while, at the same time, they are feared for their sup-
posed powers of witchcraft; and he was desirous of
learning what more Eva would say on this subject. So
he asked,

“But how could this Fin have had anything to do
with poor Oscar’s affliction ?”

“T cannot tell you, sir, and truly I do not believe a
word of it. Jather says it is all folly, and so does my
mother; and our minister preaches a good deal about
these superstitions, as he calls them; soI only tell you
what old Haco says. And he will have it that the Fin
witches can do almost anything in the way of mischief
that they please, for they have spirits underground who
must obey them for a time. He says he will never
believe that the fielde is not haunted with these spirits ;
and that the witches go to meet them, and the moun-
tain opens, and all go together into the midst of it, miles
below the mountain top ; and that that is their country.
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

He says they have churches there like our churches
here, but they do not worship God as we do, but some-
thing else, very wicked. Ah, you would like to hear
Haco talk about these things, though, to be sure, they
are very foolish.”

‘Very foolish, indeed, Eva! I am glad you do not
believe such nonsense, although you do like to listen
to it. There are young ladies in England who are a
little like you in this particular. Well, and so old
Haco thinks that your dear brother is bewitched, does
he ?”’

“Yes; and because Oscar is so clever, and can
draw and carve so beautifully—ah, you must see Oscar’s
drawings and carvings; I will ask him to show them
to you this afternoon—and because he can read, that
is can understand reading, you know, sir, and because,
indeed, everything Oscar does he does go well, he says
the mountain spirit must be at his elbow always. It is
very silly, sir, is it not?”

“] think it is, Eva. Pray how is it you can listen
to 16?”

“Qh, Haco is a great favourite with us, and he says
what he pleases; nobody cares about it, and nobody
believes it—that is,” continued Eva, correcting herself,
“my father and mother laugh at it all, and I do not
believe it. Gummel does, though, and so do a sood
many more. But it does no harm to Oscar, you know,
and so we don’t mind.”

“And Oscar can read?” said Mr. Barclay ; “ that
must be a very great pleasure and advantage to him.
How did he learn ?”

“We have a teacher, sir, every winter, to live with
us, and he takes great pains with poor Oséar.”

““{ should not wonder, then, if you also can read ?”?
said Mr. Barclay.
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

“Tt would be a wonder and a shame if I could not,
sir,” replied Eva, in a rather mortified tone. “I am
not a Fin; they cannot read, I believe, not many of
them, though some can. But I think there are not
many boys and girls in Norway who don’t know how
to read. Would you like to see our books, sir ?”

“Very much imdeed I should,” said Mr. Barclay,
who began greatly to respect his young friend, as well
as to be pleased with her conversation: “‘ very much
indeed; and I must beg you to forgive me for under-
rating your acquirements. I cannot say for my young
country folks so much as you can for yours.”

Hva made no reply to this compliment, but led the
visitor to a large cupboard, made of some dark wood,
very richly carved, with a date upon it which proved it
to be more than a hundred years old. Before Eva could
open the door, Mr. Barclay stayed her hand to admire
the carved work.

‘““ Oscar can carve better than that,” said Eva, with
sisterly pride; “though everybody says that is nicely
done.”

“Tt is indeed,” said the traveller. “I have been
told that your country-folks are very expert at carmimgy’ :

we aoe is one of our winter employments,” replied
Tiva; ‘my father’s grandfather carved that cupboard,
Shall I show you our books now ?”

“ By all means,”’ said Mr. Barclay ; and Eva opened
the folding-doors of the cupboard.

Mr. Barclay was surprised to see in a farmer’s house
in Norway, a far greater number of books than can
generally be found in a farmer’s house in Hneland ;
and he was talking to Hva about the subjects which
these books contained, when the door opened, and pre-
parations were made for dinner.

In a short time the kind host entered, and then the
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

dinner was brought in. Mr. Barclay was surprised to
find how rapidly the time had passed away, and he
informed Mr. Essmark, with great truth, that he had
spent a very pleasant morning, “and did not at all regret
the bad weather which had detained him at Jutgaard.

I shall not particularly describe the diner, which
was sufficiently good to satisfy a much more dainty
appetite than that of Mr. Barclay. To it all the family
sat down, and when the meal was over, and all rose
from the table, the first thmg done by each person was
to go round to all the rest, ‘shaking hands with each,
ad saying aloud, “Tak for mad,” or, “ Wel bekomme,”
which Myr. Barclay understood iss mean: “Thanks for
the meal,” and, “ May it do you good.”

“Tt would not be amiss,”’ thought the Englishman,
“if some of my young friends at home were to practise
this ceremony sometimes.”

After dinner Hssmark hghted his pipe, and sat
talking with his guest. Meanwhile Eva made signs to
Oscar, who left the room, and presently returned with
specimens of his drawings and carved work. And great
was the astonishment and gratification which they pro-
duced. I shall have something else to say of Oscar’s
carving in another chapter.
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY,

CHAPTER V.
DEPARTURE.

For three days the rain continued to fall in the valley,
and Mr. Barclay remained at Jutgaard. Nor was he
very impatient to be gone}; for with the lively Liva for
a companion, with Hiva’s parents for his host and
hostess, and with a warm and dry roof over his head,
he continued to pass the time not only agreeably but
protitably. Oscar, too, who from the first had excited
the traveller’s sympathy, soon won his admiration, for
Kya had not overrated her brother’s accomplishments
when she said that everything he attempted to do he
did well. He was so affectionate, too, and so docile;
who could help feeling an interest in him ?

At length, however, the weather cleared, and Mr.
Barclay spoke of continuing his journey. It was a
glorious morning. The sun had risen unclouded ; the
valley looked green and bright; and towards mid-day
Mr. Barclay, having engaged a guide to the next
station, was on the point of bidding farewell to Jut-
gaard, when an unexpected arrival once more detained
him. |

“Mr. Aabel—Mr. Aabel is here!” said Eva, as,
catching sight of the clergyman from the window, she
started to her feet and ran from the room. The next
minute she came back, holding him by the hand.

Mr. Aabel was not the minister of the parish in
which Jutgaard is to be found; he was, nevertheless,
a favourite visitor, and the whole family at Essmark’s
joined in giving him a hearty welcome. While, there-

D
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

fore, Gummel was unharnessing the reeking horse
which had brought the clergyman quickly and safely
over the Gost by this time the road was again
passable, Essmark was urging this new guest to throw
aside his superfluous erie and sharpen his appetite
for the dinner, which would soon make its appearance,
by a draught of stout ale, or a glass of the strong
home-made spirits which every Norwegian farmer
knows how to extract from potatoes.

During the first bustle of this unlooked-for arrival,
Mr. Barclay had politely withdrawn from observation.
He now came forward, and expressed his pleasure in
once more meeting his former host.

“And most delighted am I, sir,” said the clergy-
man, heartily shaking hands with the Hnglishman,
‘to find you here in such good quarters. You must
know, sir, that there were grave apprehensions at the
parsonage about your fate, and, in truth, it was partly
to satisfy myself of your escape from the storm of
that evening that I came over the fielde to-day.”

“JT was wrong to slight your advice, dear sir,”
replied Mr. Barclay ; “and Iam concerned at having
given you cause for anxiety; for truly, had it not been
for our kind friend here, it would have gone hard with
me; but I have promised my good Eva to take more
care for the future.” Mr. Barclay then, in a few
words, told the clergyman how he had been preserved
from the danger to which he was exposed.

“Tt was lke Oscar Hssmark,” said Mr. Aabel, “to
do ashe did: Indeed, shame would it have been for
any Norwegian to have done otherwise. But I see,
sir, you are equipped for travelling, and have prepared
yourself with a guide; may I ask if you are still
bound for Christiania ? ”

Mr. Barclay answered in the affirmative.
OSCAR: A, TALE, OF NORWAY,

“In. that case,’ said) Mr. Aabel, “we may be
fellow-travellers on the first. stage of the journey, if
you will place yourself under: my care. IJ am about to
proceed, not till after dinner, though, up the valley,
on a visit to a brother minister. The distance is about.
a mile—that is a Norwegian mile. I shall travel on ~
foot, and can assure you of a hearty welcome, a night’s
lodging, and a good guide for to-morrow’s journey.”

As this plan did not greatly cross Mr. Barclay’s
purposes, he speedily gave his consent to it, and dis-
missing his Jutgaard guide with a gift, he once more
deferred his journey for an hour or two.

At length the time came, and taking leave of his
kind entertainers, who refused. all remuneration from
their guest, Mr. Barclay and the clergyman departed
from Jutgaard, with Hva and Oscar, who, mounted on
ponies, of which Gustaf was one, proposed to accom-
pany them to the next village.

The road for some distance followed the windings
of the river, and under the precipitous sides of the
mountain, which, at some places, left barely space
enough on the river’s bank for a narrow path. At
other places the space again widened, as at Juigaard,
leaving room for houses and fields. In some spots,
where the mountain cliffs were particularly steep, large
blocks of stone, loosened, as Mr. Aabel informed the
traveller, by the wintry frost, had rolled down into the
valley, and thickly strewed the ground. ‘These stones
were of great size; and as Mr. Barclay cast his eye
upwards to the rocks which almost overhung the road,
he felt very far from secure against an accident which,
had it happened, would at once have finished his
wanderings.

At one spot, the party passed by a hugh mass of
snow yet unmelted, which Mr. Aabel. said was the
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

remains of an avalanche which had fallen a few weeks
earlier from the mountain-side, and beneath which
were buried a herd of wild reindeer, that at the time
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HITTERDAL CHURCH, NORWAY.

which they had retreated from the frost and snow of
the fielde. And another spot was pointed out to the
traveller where, a few years before, a farmhouse had
been overwhelmed by a similar catastrophe.

All these matters were full of interest to the
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

Englishman, who almost regretted the approach of his
party to a rustic bridge, which enabled them to cross
to the broader stretch of valley beyond the river, and
the village where he was to part company with his
young friends.

For some little distance on the road the tall spire
of the village church * had been visible, the building
itself being concealed by a thick grove of trees by
which it was surrounded. But a turn of the road,
after crossing the bridge, placed the party in front of
the venerabie edifice; and Mr. Barclay suddenly. stood
still to examine and admire the building, while his
elderly companion spake of its history.

I am ashamed to say that the words were almost
lost upon the English traveller, who could never after-
wards call to mind, with any exactness, how many
hundreds of years the church had been built ; by whom
it was built, nor whether or not any of the old kings
of Norway were either crowned or buried within its
venerable walls. All he remembered of Mr. Aabel’s
information was, that it was the parish church of the
clergyman at whose house they expected to receive
accommodation for the night, and that the parish, as
well as the church, was very large.

But though the ears of the traveller were negligent,
his eyes were not idle: and as he looked at that
singular church, where spire rose above spire, and root
above roof, like a little town, and which was composea,
as far as could be seen, entirely of massive timbers,
slabs, and shingles, from the ground upwards, his
admiration found words too.

“ Hva,”’ said he, “if I were sure of ever visiting
Jutgaard again, I would beg a boon of Oscar.”

* Hitterdal Church. We are indebted to Forester’s Norway, for
the representation of this singular structure,
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

« And Oscar would grant it as soon as asked, I am
sure,” replied the Norwegian girl. “ What would
you have of Oscar?” she added, smiling.

‘“T would ask him to carve for me, in his best
style, a model of this church, to take home to my
country.”

Kiva shook her head gaily: “I have promised too
much,” said she; ‘Oscar could never do that, I fear:
but shall you come again ?”

“Tt is not lkely, Hva; and I did but jest about
the model. But should I never see Jutgaard again, I
shall never forget that my life was saved by its owner.
You niust come and see me in England, Eva,’ Mr.
Barclay added, playfully.

But Eva shook her head very decidedly: “I love
Norway too well,” she said; “I will never forsake old
Norway.”

“You will at least not refuse a parting keepsake,”
said Mr. Barclay, “from an unfortunate traveller who
has no better home than old England ;” and, having’
settled this matter to his satisfaction, the party sepa-
rated, and as the elder travellers turned from the
church, they heard the last sound of the hoofs of
Gustaf and his companion on the wooden bridge,

“There will be sad hearts at Jutgaard ere long,
said Mr. Aabel, with deep sigh; “ and indeed, though
my friend Essmark bears up manfully, there are sad
hearts there now, I fear, though at present these
young folks are ignorant of the distress which hangs
over their heads.”

“You surprise and grieve me,” replied Mr.
Barclay. “TI should not have judged, from the cheerful
manners and conversation of the farmer and his wife,
that care presses heavily upon them.” |

“And yet it does. My friend Essmark hag sus-
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

tained so heavy a loss by the misfortunes of a near
relative, a merchant at Drontheim, that ere long he
will be obliged to sell his farm, which has been in his
family hundreds of years, and take refuge in a cottage.
In short, in less than a year, Jutgaard will belong to
a stranger. It was this sad business which took —
Essmark across the fields to Drontheim, and from ,
which journey he was returning when he fell in with ©
you, oe



A Ane saved my life!’ exclaimed the Englishman.
«* Can you tell me, sir, the amount of his loss? ”

‘More than a thousand dollars, I fear.” |

“Less than two hundred pounds of English money,”
said Mr. Barclay to himself. “Is that all?” he added
aloud. |

“In Norway, a thousand dollars is a large sum,”
replied the rector : “we are a poor people, sir, though
perhaps none the less happy for that.”

“Let us return to Jutgaard,” said Mr. Barclay,
suddenly stopping short.

“To what purpose, sir?’ Mr. Aabel asked.

Can you ask, sir? The man who has saved my
life must not be ruined for the want of a thousand
dollars. It suits my inclination to travel on foot; but
in England my neighbours are pleased to call me a
rich man; and I trust, sir, that [ know something of
that blessed book which teaches us, in good plain
English as well as in Norsk, that we are all brethren,
and that to see a brother have need without doing all
we can to help him proves that we don’t love
God.”

“T rejoice to hear you Say so,” * replied the rector,
“and I should be sorry indeed to check your kind
feelings ; nevertheless, we must not return to Jutgaard
on such an errand. My friend Hssmark would be
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

angry with me, I fear, for troubling you with his
troubles, and you would find it impossible to prevail
on him to accept your kindly meant help.”

“You are right sir; it would be indelicate ;—let us
speak of something else.”



CHAPTER VI.
OLD HACO.

Snow is on the ground, the river is frozen over, and
the store-rooms at Jutgaard are filled with winter
provisions. Six months and more have passed since
the English traveller bade good-bye to the Norwegian
farmer and his family.

Cold, cold, very cold, had been the short day,
which at mid-winter, and in that northern district of
Norway, receives but three or four hours of sunlight
out of the twenty-four which make up day and night.
But the nights—oh, the long nights are glorious; and
on the evening of that one day in particular, where
we take up the thread of our story, the sky was so
clear, the air so still, the moon and stars so bright,
and the aurora borealis, or mysterious northern lights,
so brilliant, that the night seemed almost lighter than
the day, and the snow-covered surface of the country
glistened and glittered so sparklingly all around, that
one might almost have fancied it to be strewed with
thousands of diamonds.

The sun had long disappeared below the horizon,
but the family at Jutgaard showed no signs of drowsi-
ness. Around the glowing stove were seated Madame
Essmark, Eva, and their maid, spinning the wool
which was soon to be wrought into substantial. cloth
for household use, while their cheerful labours were
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

lightened by conversation or song. Near them sat
Essmark, smoking, and reading the paper which had
that day arrived by a post messenger from Drontheim.
At another part of the room was Oscar, and on the
table before him stood what had once been a cubic
block of wood, twelve inches or more in thickness,
but which, by this time, under his carving tools, and
the combined influences of ingenuity and patience,

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had assumed the rough outlines of the parish church,
and began to exhibit in various parts the delicate
touches of Oscar’s skilful hand. Beside the carver
were many drawings of the object, taken from different
‘points of view, with tables of dimensions and calcula-
tions of proportionate heights, lengths, and breadths.

Another person had, a short time before, been
present. This was Gummel, whose employment, what-
ever it had been, was now laid aside, and who for that
night had left the warm family room.

Instead, however, of retiring at once to his own
quarters, which formed a part of the homestead of
Jutgaard, Gummel was tempted by the beauty of the
night to extend his walk. So, wrapping around him
his thick pelisse of sheepskin, he stepped out briskly
for half a mile, stopped at the door of a small cottage
OSCAR:. A TALE OF NORWAY.

near the river-side, lifted the latch, and entered. It
was the cottage of old Haco, the former herdsman of
Jutgaard; and, passing over the mutual courtesies
which, at Gummel’s entrance, were exchanged, and
which all Norwegians, of whatever rank, scrupulously
observe in their intercourse with each other—passing
over these, we will listen to a scrap or two of their
after conversation, at which were present, besides
themselves, Harold, old Haco’s great-grandson, a boy
a year or two older than young Oscar Essmark, and
Harold’s mother.

Haco, wrapped in warm rugs, sat by the blazing
hearth in an arm-chair more aged than himself. His
sight was quite gone, his hair was thin and white, his
hands shook with palsy, and his voice was weak as
that of a child. The very picture and emblem of
extreme age was Haco.

““T always said it was so,” said Haco, in a feeble
tone; “I knew from the first that the boy was :
well, well, no matter. And so this stranger—he is
coming again, is he!”

“Yes, Haco; so they tell me; and right welcome
will he be, I guess.”

“No doubt, no doubt. And so Essmark was near
losing Jutgaard, was he ?”

‘““Ay, Haco, he was. Yes, yes, it was set up for
sale, when, just at the time, comes pastor Aabel driving
over the fielde; and though I did not see and hear it
all, I was told of it by those that did. < Kssmark,’ says
Mr. Aabel, ‘here is something that will set your mind
at rest; and with that he puts a great roll of bank-
paper into his hand.’ ‘ What is this? said my master,
in great wonder; and then the rector tells him that
the Englishman he picked up on the fielde had sent a
thousand dollars as a trifling present, as he called it,


OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

to his friends at Juteaard. Says my master, ‘Ill never
take it; it shall not be said that an Essmark sold his
kindness in that fashion.’ ‘ But,’ says Mr. Aabel, ‘ you
must, for the Englishman will never look upon the
money again ;’? and much more passed than I can call
to mind; but the end of it was, that our master took
the money, and soon paid off the debt; and so the sale
of Jutgaard was put at an end.”

Old Haco shook his head seaaeretien: “It is a sad
business,” said he. “ Hssmark had better have lost
all than have — such a gift.”

“May be so,” replied Gummel, “though Mr. Aabel
did not think so; and.he ought to know. But now,
good Haco, you nave been a long while in the world,
and know as much as any man about such matters.
Who, think you, is this stranger ?”

“Who can tell?” replied Haco, mysteriously.
** But who should he be but the ‘ Hldman of the fielde!’
Ha! many a time has he led poor travellers astray on
the fielde that have never been seen again. Often has
he appeared, as he did to Hssmark, in the form of
a perishing man, in a storm of his own raising, and
received help, and given gifts; but his gifts never
prospered—never.”’

“ But,” said Gummel, “he was a proper sort of
man, too; and if it was not for this church oo

“Ah!” said Haco, quickly, “it is easy to see
through it all, if one has but the right faith. Young
Oscar—I have nothing to say against the boy; but is
it not plain that he has always been under a spell—a
witch’s charm? Is he like any other boy you ever
knew? And who ever heard of such a thing as a
church being cut out of wood in this fashion? Only
let young Oscar finish it, and let the stranger get it
into his power, and such things will be seen as are little


OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

dreamt of. Oh, the temptations of the evil one! But
there is One above all, stronger than he!”’

Much more did old Haco say in this mysterious
fashion, by which his fearful listeners were led to
believe that on the completion of Oscar’s masterpiece,
and on its presentation to the stranger, at whose
request it had been undertaken, and whose second
visit to Jutgaard was looked for in the coming summer,
the destruction of poor young Oscar, body and spirit,
would be completed, and Jutgaard itself would become
a heap of ruins. Had the gift been anything else
besides a church, argued Haco, he would not have been
so sure; but to him it was evident that Oscar’s skill in
carving was more than mortal, and that, in fact, the
poor boy had been gifted with this power by the
Eldman of the fielde, to serve his own unhallowed
purposes. All this was very ridiculous, and my young
readers are quite at liberty to laugh at it, but super-
stitions such as this are common among the ignorant
of every country—especially mountainous countries—
and I can assure them I have heard, in England, many
legends equally foolish and superstitious with this of
old Haco’s, and have known also of their being firmly
believed.

Haco’s hearers had no doubt whatever of the cor-
rectness of his predictions; Harold and his mother
sat eagerly listening to his long stories of churches
underground—to which this model of poor Oscar’s
was hereafter to be added—where evil spirits are
worshipped, and where witches congregate; and
Gummel departed to his own home, sad at the
thought of the mischief which was hanging over
Jutgaard.
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

CHAPTER VII.
THE LAST.

Ir is summer, and Jutgaard is deserted. The entire
family, with all the sheep and cattle, are miles away,
at the seater on the fielde—the summer pasture-ground
—leaving the standing crops of-grass, corn, potatoes,
and turnips, to ripen under the summer sun ; leaving,
also, Jutgaard uninhabited, except by Harold’s mother,
who, detained in the valley by her care of old Haco,
has undertaken to see to the safety of Kssmark’s house —
and homestead. Not much care does this require;
for a Norwegian farmer, when he departs thus to his
seater, does not fear to leave his property in the valley
unprotected.

Harold, too, is left behind, to be company for
his mother and old Haco. Besides these, none of
Hssmark’s people remain. |

It was early in the morning of a bright and glow-
ing day that Harold, unperceived, slipped from the
cottage, and ran swiftly towards Jutgaard.

“They are coming back next week,” said he to
himself in a whisper, ‘‘ and this horrid Eldman that
grandfather talks so about 1s coming with them—
it was a good thing that Gummel came down from
the fielde yesterday and told us—so I must do it at
once. I shall be almost afraid to touch it though.”

It did not take long to reach Jutgaard, and reach-
ing it, Harold boldly lifted the latch (the door was not
even locked, so secure did Essmark feel that his pro-
perty was safe) and entered. In a short time he was
again outside of the house, and bearing in his arms a
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

small burden wrapped in a cloth, he hastened to the
river-side, loosened the boat from its moorings, depo-
sited his bundle in it, and handling his oars with great
experience, began rapidly to ascend the river. For
mile after mile he continued his voyage, until reaching
a spot where the forest reached to the water’s edge,
he fastened the boat to a stump, sprang on shore, laden
with the burden, and disappeared. A few minutes
passed away, and Harold was again in the boat, swiftly
rowing down the stream. His countenance was lighted
up with strange excitement, and he uttered wild excla-
mations of satisfaction. He had outwitted that horrid
Hldman; Oscar would be released from his power,
and Jutgaard saved from destruction, for who would
think of searching in that dark wood, and among those
thick brakes, for the fatal gift ?

“T won’t tell grandfather what I have done,” said
the boy, “nor mother either; and nobody shall know
it from me.”

It was as Harold had said. The following week
came down from the seater the greater part of
Essmark’s family. Only the dairy-maid and a herd-boy
were left behind, and greatly to the satisfaction of
Harold, he was ordered at once to join them. “ It
is all safe now,” said the boy, chuckling with delight,
as, toiling up the winding and steep road to the fielde,
he stopped in his progress, and looked down over the
forest top upon the bright river and green valley of
Jutgaard.

But who shall depict the consternation of poor
Oscar and Eva, when, a few hours after their return
home, they found nothing but emptiness in the chest
where the completed specimen of Oscar’s skill had
been, as they had believed, so safely placed! As hard
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY...

would it be to describe the indignation of Essmark,
and the astonishment of Madame Essmark, when,
after a vain search, and many questions put to Harold’s
mother, it was clear that some spoiler had entered their
dwelling, for nowhere could the church be found.

As to Gummel, he could with difficulty conceal his
satisfaction. The prey, in his opinion, had been
delivered from the hand of the enemy. He was
puzzled, too; for instead of the outpourimg of wrath
he had expected to witness from the mysterious
stranger—old Haco’s Hldman—on finding his plans
thus defeated, there was nothing but sympathy for the
disappointment of poor Oscar and his friends, and
_ great indifference as to his own.



Rain again—rain—and such rain! It seemed ag
though Mr. Barclay’s arrival at Jutgaard was to be the
signal for rain. Day after day, for nearly a week, did
rain incessantly fall, and again did Mr. Barclay bear
his confinement with patience and hope.

At length the sky cleared, and the sun shone out
gaily and warmly, and the valley rejoiced in its bright
beams.

It was in the long twilight of one of the summer
days that Hssmark’s fishing boat, well laden with pas-
sengers, -was floating quietly on the broad stream,
which having been swollen by the heavy rain, to the
overflow of many a meadow, was now gradually sub-
siding into its usual channel. With his hand on the
tiller sat young Oscar, and beside him at the boat’s
stern sat Eva, their parents, and Mr. Barclay, while
Gummel was lazily pulling the oars. |

Suddenly young Oscar sprang forward, clapped his -
hands, and pointed to an object on the river floating
OSCAR: A TALE OF NORWAY.

down the stream, and rapidly approaching the boat.
In a moment every eye was directed towards the same
object—it was Oscar’s masterpiece.

Uttering a cry of horror, as he recognized the very
form of the parish church floating majestically towards
him, Gummel threw up his oars, and cowered to the
bottom of the boat. Little heeding him, however,
the eager hands of Oscar, assisted by his father and
the guest, secured the prize, and with it they gladly
hastened to Jutgaard.

But how could it have found its way to the river ?
Hven Eva thought that old Haco and Gummel might,
for once, be excused for believing that there was some
witchcraft in the business.

It was many years afterwards—when Mr. Barclay

had returned to his own country, bearing with him the
specimen of Norwegian wood-carving, which now
ornaments the drawing-room of his London mansion,
—and after Gummel had, in terror, left the service of
ssmark, lest he, too, should be involved in the ruin of
his master’s house,—long, too, after old Haco had
been gathered peacefully to his ancestors in the
churchyard of the valley,—that Harold, cured by a
sound education of the superstitions in which he had
been reared, disclosed to his master the true history of
the mysterious church: how he had taken it away, and
concealed it, in mercy to Jutgaard; and how the river,
overflowing its banks, must have washed the object of
his fear from its hiding-place, and restored it to its
owner. :
Loud was the laughter of Essmark, and great the
amusement of Hssmark’s family, at hearing this con-
fession; and the story of poor Oscar’s enchanted
church is still teld in summer days on the “ seater,”
and on winter nights at the “ gaard.”?






































































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CHAPTER I.

FINDING A HOME.

4 p> a VO children and their mother were together
ae S ail one morning in the front parlour of a small
Se) ee house in the outskirts of London. That
ES ~=6the mother was a widow could be seen by
her dress, and that she had suffered much sorrow, and
was still full of anxiety, might easily be perceived by
any one who noticed her pale and care-worn counten-
ance. The children—a boy and girl—did not show
any signs of care upon their faces, though they were
not so lively, perhaps, as they would have been, had
their mother not been so sorrowful, and had not the
remembrance of their father’s death been still fresh in
their minds. They were living too, just then, with
their mother, in lodgings, after leaving a much plea-
santer home, and their mother was full of uncertainty
as to where they might settle for life.




B
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

Lucy, the girl, who was about twelve years old,
was busied that morning about a canary bird which
hung in a little cage by the side of the window; and
while she arranged about it some groundsel, which she
had just bought at the door, and stuck a piece of sugar
between the wires, she chatted away, half to her bird
and half to her brother, hardly expecting, though,
that the latter would answer her; or even listen to her,
so absorbed was he over his favourite “Robinson
Crusoe,” which he was reading for the second or third
time.

ers now, Dickey, you look quite smart,” said
she; “just like a lady in a yellow satin dress, sitting
in a a een bower! And wasn’t it lucky, Edward, that
I heard that old man crying his water-cresses, and that
I noticed the other day that he had groundsel to sell
as well? Now really, Dickey, you must give us one
of your best songs this morning, only not too loud,
So as to make mamma’s head ache. Ah! you have
found out the sugar, have you? I know you like
sugar.” |

Suddenly Lucy lowered her voice, and said to her
brother, who was crouched down in a corner close to
the window with his book on his knees, which were
stuck up, so as to make a reading-desk, “ Edward, do
you know, I think I see the postman coming down the
street ; but don’t say anything to mamma about it, and
don’t cry out, ‘There’s the postman!’ if you hear him
knock. Mamma is always so disappointed when he
does not bring her a letter, and she is go tired of ex-
pecting one from: uncle, that I wish she would not
remember that 1t 1s post-time at all.” |

It was a kind thought of Lucy’s to try to avoid
calling her mother’s attention to the postman; but in
spite of her caution to her brother, they both started,
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

and so did their mother, when a knock louder than
usual came to the door; and, like their mother, they
could not help waiting in breathless silence a minute or
two, to see if the maid was going to bring up the letter
to their room. Her step was heard on the stairs, the
door opened, and she came in and handed their mother,
Mrs. Osborne, a letter. : Lucy saw her mother’s hand

almost tremble as she opened the letter, and she looked
- grave and eager as she began to read it. As she read,
' however, the anxious look cleared away, she almost
smiled, she looked pleased and satisfied; and letting
the letter fall upon her lap, she leant her arm upon the
table at her side, and covered her eyes with her hand
for a few minutes. Lucy did not know that, during
those few minutes, thanks from her mother’s heart
were being offered to God, who had heard her prayers
and sent her help in time of trouble. ‘‘ Lucy, my love,”
said she at length in a cheerful tone, “I have got
a letter at last from your uncle. Edward, do youhear? |
Why, where is Edward?” said she, looking round the
room.

‘Here, mother; here I am,” cried Edward, scram-
bling out of his corner with his beloved ‘ Robinson ’—
“ letter from uncle, did you say?”

“Yes; and such a pleasant letter, dear children.
You know I wrote to consult him about our going to
New Zealand, and instead of that he asks us-to go and
stay with him all the summer at least, and perhaps for
ever. But listen to what he says,” and she read aloud
as follows :—

| “THE HAVEN, NEAR P—,
Hants, April 25th.

‘Dear Sister Ossorne,—I received your letter,
dated the 5th, only this morning, having been for the
last. fortnight from home. I took a run down to Ports-
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

mouth to see an old friend, and unexpectedly went a
cruise with him up the Channel, so that I did not get
my letters till my return. I hardly know what to
advise about New Zealand, not being acquainted with
the colony, and only having touched there once or
twice for water. I am sorry to find that my late
brother’s affairs have not been arranged as favourably
as you could desire. My old housekeeper, Mrs. Brown,
died about two months back, and I can’t say I get on
very well with my household matters, so that if you
think well of it, I shall be very glad to see you here
for a month or two, and longer if we find that we suit
each other. Isuppose you must bring the children with
you. ‘There is a good school near, that the boy can go
to every day; and the girl, I suppose, can learn pud-
ding-makine and stitching at home. I don’t exactly
know how I shall like to have young folks in the house,
never having been accustomed to them, but I suppose
they know how to behave themselves. You can let
me know when you will come, a day or two before-
hand. |
Your affectionate brother-in-law,
“CHARLES OSBORNE.

“ Please to direct to Captain Osborne, R.N., The
Haven, near P + sane



“P.S.—You had better take the rail on to P——,
instead of stopping at the station near the Haven.
There are plenty of flies to be had, which will bring
you out. ‘he Haven stands about two miles N.N.W.
of the town, on the old London road.”’

“ You will go, mother, won’t you?” cried Edward ;
“Tm sure I hope you'will! I shall like going to
uncle’s almost as well as going to New Zealand. It
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

will be nearly as good as going a voyage, to hear all
uncle’s adventures at sea, won’t it, Lucy ?”

“* Much better, I should say,” said Lucy; but still
she did not look as pleased as Edward.

“And you will like to live in the country too,

Lucy, I am sure you will like it very much,” said her
mother.
— “Qh yes, mamma—but then Grace Martin! Iam
so sorry to leave Grace Martin; and at uncle’s I shall
never have a girl of my own age to play with, and
Edward will go to school.” |

“That he would do anywhere,” said her mother ;
“and you can always write to Grace Martin, as often
as you please.” —

“Yes, mamma; but do you think we shall like
Uncle Osborne? Do you know, I don’t quite think he
can be good-natured, or he would not have said that
about our behaving ourselves, or have called us ‘ the
boy,’ and ‘the girl.” ”

“Not good-natured, my dear, when he asks us all
to go to him, and invites you and your brother, who
cannot be of any use to him ?”

Lucy was too good-natured herself not to be ready
to believe that her notion might be quite unfounded,
and when she saw how pleased her mother and brother
were about going to the Haven, she set quite aside her
own little private reasons for not being so happy in
the prospect herself, and she tried not to think so much
about Grace Martin. Lucy had always known Grace
Martin, but they had latterly been living only a few
doors from where her father and mother lived, so that
Lucy and Grace had seen a geat deal of each other, and
been very happy together. After having had no one
but a brother older than herself to play with in general,
it was quite delightful to Lucy to have Grace as a
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

companion, who by no means despised many of the
plays that Edward could now never be persuaded to
play at; and besides that, was a capital hand at invent-
ing games of the quiet kind that Lucy was so
particularly fond of.

From the very morning on which the invitation
came from Captain Osborne, preparations were began
for leaving London. Mrs. Osborne wrote to accept
most gratefully the proposed shelter for herself and
children, and she undertook to do her best to make
her brother-in-law comfortable, promising also for her
children that they would behave well, and not disturb
him in any way. She ended her letter by fixing to be
at the Haven in a fortnight’s time.

That fortnight was soon over. The packing time
was one of great bustle, and the most beautiful spring
weather seemed to make a journey into the country the
pleasantest thing in the world; and even leave-taking
of old friends did not seem so painful as they had all
expected, for every one was so kind, and so glad that
the scheme of going out to New Zealand had been
given up. One pleasure, too, which Lucy enjoyed, then
occupied her thoughts for nearly a whole week, and
this was the choice of a parting keepsake for her friend
Grace Martin. Out of her own savings she bought
the prettiest of work-boxes imaginable, and with her
mother’s assistance fitted it up with all kinds of useful
little nick-nacks and materials, such as a clever little
workwoman like Grace is sure to require.

Edward enjoyed most of all the final packing up and
nailing down of boxes, and cording of trunks, for then
he could be of help, and as busy as any one. For a
whole day he went about hammer in hand, from one
room to another, and used up an innumerable quantity
of nails and tacks to his great satisfaction, and no one
HOME AT THE HAVEN,

could have managed better than he did the writing of —
directions and tying on of labels. ‘There was so much
to be done, and so much bustle at last, that Mrs.
Osborne could hardly be persuaded that something

very important had not been forgotten, when she found
herself with her children fairly seated in the railroad
carriage, which was to take them to P——; buta box
that she fancied must be left behind, proved to be
under the seat—placed there by kind Mr. Martin,
Grace’s father, who saw them off; and Edward was
found to have had all the while tight hold of the knob
of an umbrella, that, when first inquired after, he was
sure he knew nothing about! This blunder of Hdward’s
helped them all to a smile before the train had quite
got away from the station, and wiping away the tears
that had started into her eyes, Lucy was able to nod and
kiss her hand to Grace Martin, as she stood by her
father’s side on the platform. Grace’s bonnet was the
very last thing that Lucy saw as they steamed away
from under the great station roof, and then she had to
settle her pet canary, which she carried in her hand in
his cage and sling him up over head comfortably for
the journey, while she uncovered his cage and let him
see all of the world that he chose. They had no
adventures on the road during their two hours’ journey.
Edward read ‘ Robinson Cresce ” the greater part of
the way,-and their mother slept, for she was ver y tired
with all the bustle of the previous day, and several
sleepless nights, so that Lucy had no one to talk to
and was quite sorry she had not brought a book. A
silent old lady in the corner, however, who was their
only companion in the =halnowe carriage, got out at one
of the stations, and a more talkative gentleman got in.
He soon caused Edward to look up from his book, and
answer some of his questions. He asked them where
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

they were going, and what were their names. Did
they like leaving town and coming to stay in the
country ? Edward said he did very much, because he
thought he should have capital fun with his uncle, who
had been a sailor. |

“ T don’t like leaving London as well as Edward,”
said Lucy, “because of leaving Grace Martin; and
besides, I am almost afraid of Uncle Osborne, and
don’t know whether I shall like him.”

“ Hem!” said the gentleman, and he called her a
chatterbox. After that he talked more with Edward
than Lucy, and, finding out what he was reading, he
told him a good deal about the real Robinson Crusoe,
Alexander Selkirk, who was wrecked on the island of
Juan Fernandez.

‘“T wonder whether Uncle Osborne ever touched
at Juan Fernandez, in any of his voyages,” said
Hdward, “TI shall ask him when I see him.”

“ Ay, mind you don’t forget,” said the gentleman
as he got out at the last station before they came to
P——, And take care Uncle Osborne does not eat
you up,” said he to Lucy as he pulled out his great-
coat from under the seat after he was out of the
carriage.

Kdward and Lucy saw their acquaintance walking
away from the station across some fields, which seemed
to le between them and the town of P——, which
was now visible. In another ten minutes they would
be at the end of the journey, and their mother roused
herself up to see after all their packages, and to call to
mind all that were in the great luggage van at the end
of the train. Dickey was carefully covered up again,
and the bags and baskets of each collected. N othing
was left behind, and a nice little carriage was found at
the station in which they were soon: leavin g the town
HOME AT THE HAVEN,

again along a. pleasant country road. The driver knew
Captain Osborne’s house, called the Haven, quite well,
so that when he stopped before a pretty white house
standing amidst shrubberies and flower-beds, with a
smooth lawn.on one side sloping down from the sitting-
room windows, they felt delichted to think that so

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pleasant a place was to be their future home. If they
had doubted for a minute, there was the white and red
flag hoisted on a flag-staff in the middle of the lawn,
and on the top of a little summer-house was a brightly
gilt weather-cock, with the four points of the compass
shown by its letters—all which looked as if the house
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

belonged to one who had been accustomed to hoist
flags on all occasions of importance, and to think a
great deal about the direction of the wind.

Edward and Lucy, however, were almost in too
much trepidation just then to look more about them.
They were hunting out all their own possessions again,
and were preparing to get out of the carriage, when
whom should they see handing out their mother, and
welcoming her very cordially to his house, but the
gentleman who had talked to them in the train—the
sunburnt gentleman who seemed to know so much
about the sea, and who could be no one else but their
own uncle, Captain Osborne!

“Well, my young gentleman, so we are met again,
you see—only that I have got ito port a little before
you, by a nearer tack ;—yes, no mistake, my man, I
am Uncle Osborne himself, you see,” and he shook
lidward heartily by the hand. He helped Lucy out
too, but he did not take so much notice of her as of her
brother; and he really did frighten her a little, even
at this her first arrival at the Haven, by the sharp way
in which he told her to let her things alone, and leave
the servant to look after them. Only once, however, did
he allude to Lucy’s dread of him, and this was when
a large Newfoundland dog came bounding forth to meet
them, as they went up the path to the house. Lucy
shrunk back, rather m alarm, at the unceremonioug
greeting of great Rover, bat her uncle said, ‘ No fear,
Miss Lucy, even of him; for he won’t bite any more
than his master.”

Nothing, however, could be more kind or hospit-
able than the manner in which they were all received
by Captain Osborne at the Haven, while Mrs. Osborne,
after a little while, was able to remember, in her sun-
burnt and weather-beaten brother-in-law, the young
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

man that she had only known when just entering the
navy as a midshipman. He explained to her that he
had unexpectedly had some business that morning at a
town on the line of railway by which they had come,
and that after he found out who were his companions
in returning, he had tried not to disturb her nap, whilst
he amused himself with the talk of the young folk,
without letting them know who hewas. Mrs. Osborne
soon felt quite at home with him, and quickly under-
stood the mixture of roughness and kindness which
was in his manners. ‘They had, besides, many plea-
sant remembrances of old times to talk over together,
which made them famihar and friendly at once.
Kdward liked his uncle very much, and was greatly
delighted with all the charming things that were to be
found at the Haven, and Lucy’s spirits rose as she saw
how pleased and cheerful her mother seemed. She
followed close behind, as her uncle led the way, all over
the house and round the garden, and thought to her-
self how ungrateful it would be not to be pleased at the
thought of living in such a nice home. Kind prepara-
tions, too, had been made for their arrival, and the
_ prettiest of bed-rooms and sitting-rooms set apart en-
tirely for the use of her mother and herself, and even,
before they had been half-an-hour in the house, a nail
found at the side of a pleasant window where Dickey
could hang and sing as long as he hked. Luckily
Captain Osborne did not dislike pet birds; for in the
hall was a large grey parrot, on a perch, who was the
most amusing and plain-speaking talker that was ever
heard. It was enough to make them all feel at home,
if it were only to hear this parrot, whom the bustle of
their arrival had roused into a talkative fit ; for nothing
was heard all over the house but “ How d’ye do; ”
“Hope you're pretty well; 7’ “ Glad to see you ;”’ filled
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

up with the usual praises of her own beauty, which
these birds are so fond of sounding.

“Ts it not all delightful?” said Edward to Lucy,
when they were together in their mother’s room, un-
buckling straps and unlocking padlocks. ‘ Don’t you
hike uncle now, Lucy? and are you not sorry you told
him in the railroad carriage that you did not like
coming to stay with him? Don’t you think, mother,
that Lucy had better tell him she is very sorry, and did
not mean to say eo

“No, Edward, I do not,” said his mother; “ Lucy
told the truth about her feelings, and your uncle knows
that she did not intend it as any rudeness to him, be-
cause she did not know to whom she was speaking.
He willsoon think no more of it, and will like Lucy
well cnough at last, I have no doubt—and all the
more for her being plain-spoken and truthful like him-
self?’

The first evening at the Haven passed very happily,
and Lucy tried not to fancy that her uncle had taken a
dislike to her, at the same time that she was really
quite glad to see what good friends he and Edward
were going to be.



I ————————— —__— —— —-—--__ armen
HOME AT THE HAVIN

CHAPTER II,

TRYING TO PLEASE.

BaTTER acquaintance with the Haven only made
everybody like it still better, and Edward, in particular,
seemed to be happier and happier every day. No house
that he had ever lived in had in it such very interest-
ing things, and no garden had ever afforded so much
amusement to him. Before the first morning was over,
he had grown quite expert at hoisting and taking down
the flag on the flagstaff; he knew the dogs all by name,
and had fed the pigeons. He had been introduced to
his uncle’s grey mare in the stable, and had been taken
up into what was called the workshop, over the kitchen,
where were the turning-lathe and chest of carpenter’s
tools; and he had been to the very farthest end of the
orchard, and into every corner of the kitchen-garden.
But it was what his uncle called his “ state-cabin ” that






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pleased him most of all. This was a room indoors,
which his uncle considered particularly his own, and
did not like anybody to go into unless he was with
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

him. It was quite a museum that little room, and all
around it were curiosities, which Captain Osborne had
brought home from different parts of tke world in his
voyages. Shells, pieces of branch coral, sea-weed,
ostrich-eggs, stuffed birds, and such objects of natural
history, but also things even more interesting to Hd-
ward, such as pictures and models of celebrated ships,
telescopes, a quadrant, and a mariner’s compass, both
of which latter things he wished much to understand.
Here, too, it was that Captain Osborne kept his fishing-
tackle, and made his own flies for angling ; which was,
perhaps, the reason why he did not like people going
into his room when he was away, for fear they should
disturb the little delicate materials with which he made
them. Hdward passed several hours of each day with
his uncle in this room, when he was not at work in the
garden with him, or accompanying him in a ride in his
gig. No companion that Edward had ever had, of his
own age, was half so entertaining to him as his uncle,
and he liked to be with him too, because he was always
learning from him the kind of knowledge that was
particularly interesting tohim. His uncle, for instance,
could tell him everything about ships and navigation
that ‘he wanted to know. He learnt from him the
names of all the parts of a vessel, and the names of the
different kinds of vessels, and how to distinguish them.
He had long wished to understand rightly the difference
between a brig, a frigate, a cutter, and a schooner; to
say nothing of all the names:for the different sails and
masts, which he often found alluded to in books, with-
out exactly knowing what they meant. He was never
tired of asking questions about such matters; and it
seemed as if Uncle Osborne was never tired of giving
explanations. ‘Then what interesting stories his uncle
could tell him about his adventures at sea, and about
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

all the grand sea-fights that had taken place when he
was a little midshipman,—those especially in which
Lord Nelson had distinguished himself. Hdward was
sure he never should be tired of hearing all about Lord
Nelson, and he longed for the time when he should go
to Portsmouth to see the “ Victory,” the ship in which
~ he was killed, and which his uncle promised to show
him some day.

Lucy, meantime, went on with her mother much
as she usually did, wherever they were, with her books
and her work. She was very happy, and she. hked
the pleasant garden and the pretty country walks very
much, but she would have been glad to have had a
young companion of her own age, or to have been a
little more with Edward. It was impossible, too, for
her to take so much pleasure as Edward in her uncle’s
talk about ships, for m fact she did not half under-
stand what it was all. about, from the strange sailor’s
expressions that he made use of. Shewas a long time
before she found out that starboard and larboard meant
the right and left. sides of a.ship, fore and aft, the
front and back parts, and when her uncle talked
of “jib-booms,” and “ foretop-gallants,’ and about
“taking the sun,” and “ getting soundings,” it seemed
to be quite another language, and she despaired of
ever being able to understand it all. Regularly every
evening, when her uncle and Edward came in to tea,
when it would have been so pleasant to have heard
what they had been doing all the afternoon, they were
sure to have some long story about a shipwreck, or
about one of Nelson’s sea-fights to finish off, which,
for want of having heard the beginning, was quite un-
intelligible to her; and very often all the cups and
saucers and plates would be arranged about the table,
to show the positions of the different vessels at the
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

battle of St. Vincent, or Trafalgar; and if Lucy did
try to understand how it-was, she was sure to make a
blunder, and get confused about the English and
French ships, fancying perhaps all the time that the
sugar-basin had been on the French side, when it had
been fixed on for Nelson’s ship. All this made Lucy
much more silent at the Haven than she had ever been
before in her life, so that Uncle Osborne had no op-

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portunity of calling her a chatterbox again, as he did
in the railroad carriage. To tell the truth, her uncle
did not take much notice of Lucy in any kind of way,
unless it was to ask her every day how she got on
with her “sewing,” which he seemed to think the only
thing she had anything to do with; and when he
found out that she had never learned to mark, he used
to teaze her a little about it, always asking her when
NOME AT THE HAVEN.

she was going to begin a sampler, which Lucy did not
at all see any necessity for doing, considering how
neatly her mother marked everything with marking-
ink. Lucy took the teazing very good-temperedly,
however, we ought to observe, and was always so
obliging, that she never on any occasion omitted doing
any little thing for her uncle that she could; and her
mother had only to say, “ Lucy, your uncle’s slippers,”
or “Lucy, your uncle’s hat,’ before she was off as
quick as lightning, to fetch them. She and her brother
both tried to please their uncle, to whom they were so
much obliged; but it was in different ways—Lucy with
actions, perhaps, and Edward with words. Edward
was too anxious to please his uncle in this way, and he
was not long at the Haven before his mother began to
fear that this might have a bad effect upon his charac-
ter. This trying so much to please one person is rather
a dangerous thing at all times, and is not nearly so
safe as trying to do and say what is right. Now,
Captain Osborne could be rather sharp and severe
when things did not go on quite smoothly, or when
any one disobeyed his orders and wishes. Having
been accustomed the greater part of his life to have
the command of a large crew of sailors on board a ship,
where nothing can be done except through the most
strict obedience to the words of the captain, it was
natural that he should be vexed and displeased if any
one seemed for an instant to forget his orders. Hd-
ward was exceedingly fearful of causing his uncle to
express any such vexation; and yet at the same time
he was by no means accustomed to be very punctual
or particular, so that he very often had recourse to
excuses to prevent his uncle from being angry with
him.

“Come, come! Master Edward, I don’t like being

C
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

kept waiting,” said his uncle, one day when they were
going out for a walk.

“Yes, uncle; but my shoes were not cleaned, and
I had to wait for them, uncle,” said Edward, although,
long after he had put on his shoes, he had been seen
by his mother and Lucy playing in the yard with the
dog.

‘Edward should not have said anything about the
shoes,” said his mother, looking very grave. ‘The
very next day, Edward had been helping the gar-
dener’s boy to hoe some lettuces, and instead of put-
ting back his hoe in the tool-house, he had thrown
it down, so that his uncle had picked it up when he
went round the garden. “I like my tools put back in
their proper places,” said he to Edward.

“ Yes, uncle, | know; and I am always very par-
ticular, so | cannot help thinking that must be the hoe
that Jack used.” ‘There was something in the tone of
Hdward’s voice as he said this, which made Lucy, who
was present, feel quite uncomfortable.

“ Don’t you think you forgot to put it away ?” said
she in a low voice to him. Lucy often wished that
Edward was not so afraid of Uncle Osborne, and had
courage to tell him the exact truth about such little
matters. How different it was with herself—although
it might have been thought beforehand that she would
be likely to feel much more afraid of her uncle than
Kdward. It happened one day, when Captain Osborne
was out, that Lucy was sent by her mother to fetch a
letter which lay on the table in his room, and which
they knew he particularly wished to be sent to the
post, so that Lucy had no hesitation in going there by
herself to fetch it. She had found the letter, and was
leaving the room with it, when she felt something pull
at her elbow, and, looking round, she found that one
HOME AT THE HAVEN,

of her uncle’s fish-hooks had caught in her sleeve.

Tt had a long piece of twine fastened to it, and this
twine had fiver lt with it other pieces of horsehair
and catgut, and all sorts of bristles, and feathers, and
artificial flies, had been scattered over the floor. Lucy
was at first in terrible alarm about the mischief she
had done, but, extricating the hook from her sleeve,
she picked up the rest of the tackle, and put it back on
the table, fearing to make matters worse by attempt-
ing to replace them as they had been before. She was
very vexed about it altogether, because it was the very
first time she had ever been in that room alone; but
it. never occurred to her to try to prevent her chols
from knowing that it was she who had disturbed his
things. She even went and stood by the garden-gate,
so as to be ready to tell him directly he came in from
his walk, and she said at once that she was afraid he
would find that she had done some mischief. “I think,
too, uncle,’ added she, “I ought to tell you that I
remember I put your letter into your letter-weight,

which I need not have done, because it was very light,

and I daresay T leant my elbow on the table for a
minute, and did not see that there were any hooks
there.”

Lucy followed her uncle into the room as he went
to see what was the matter, and she begged to be
allowed to try and disentangle the twine and horsehair,
which she did very patiently, so that it ended by her
uncle saying that no great harm had been done; and
any one could see that he was pleased at Lucy’s frank-
ness and truthfulness in. telling him about the affair.
Perhaps it was about this time that their Uncle Osborne
began to see the difference between the characters of
Edward and Lucy; for a little circumstance, which
happened a day or two after, showed it very plainly.
TIOME AT THE HAVEN.

Captain Osborne and Edward were flying a kite upon
the lawn, and the latter was sent to the “‘ state cabin”
to fetch a card which was to make a messenger to be
sent up the string. When he came back, his uncle
said he hoped he had not meddled with anything, and
Iidward too readily replied, “ Oh, no, uncle, indeed!”

Presently Captain Osborne went to fetch something
which no one but himself could find, and when he
came back Hdward and Lucy saw in an instant that he
was displeased. ‘I thought, young gentleman,” said
he, ‘‘ that you said you had not meddled with any-
thing.”

“No, indeed, uncle, I did not,’’ said Edward again.

“Take care, Master Edward, what you are saying,”’
said his uncle; ‘‘for, if you did not meddle with any-
thing, how was it that I found my hour-glass running
when I went into the room ?”



THE UNION JACKE.

Edward blushed, and stopped for an instant to seek
out an excuse; “‘ You said meddled, you know, uncle,
and I did not say I had not touched anything——.,””

He was going on, but his uncle looked at him very
sternly, and said, ‘‘ People who speak the truth speak
it according to the meaning of words ;” and he would.
not have another word from Edward on the subject, nor
HOME AT THE HAVEN,

did he talk as usual with him that evening at tea, but
read the newspaper aloud to Mrs. Osborne.

All this time Mrs. Osborne had been looking out
for a school for Edward, where he could go for several
hours of the day, and where he would have more
regular occupation; and such a school being now
- found, she began to feel that they were now quite
settled at the Haven, for many months, at all events,
while Captain Osborne would sometimes talk as if
their stay was to be for ycars.


HOME AT THE HAVEN.

CHAPTER III.
HARVESTING.

Epwarp and Lucy had not long been at the -Haven
before a little acquaintanceship sprung up between
them and the children of a farmer who lived very near,
and whose farm stretched down to the roadside oppo-
‘site the Haven, through which, by pleasant pathways
over fields of wheat and barley, they went to the farm-
house. Haymaking time was scarcely over, before
the children began to look forward to the harvest,
when, for the first time in their lives, Edward and
Lucy were to be gleaners. Farmer Whicher always
had a most merry harvest-supper for his labourers ;
and this year Mrs. Whicher promised her children also
a little treat in the way of a supper, to which they
were to invite all their young friends, as well as the
children of the farm-labourers who lived in the neigh-
bouring village.

Now, Edward and Lucy were invited to this har-
vest feast, and looked forward to it with no little
pleasure—watching the weather and the ripening of
the corn almost as anxiously as Farmer Whicher
himself. When the morning came that, on looking
out of the window as she was dressing, Lucy first
descried a band of reapers, cutting away with their
bright sickles at the edge of the waving sea of wheat
which lay beyond the roadside hedge, she called out
to Edward the joyful news that the harvest was began;
and, before the day was over, the farmer’s children
came down to tell them that their little harvest-home


HOME. AT THE HAVEN.

supper was fixed for the following Thursday, when
their father expected that the greater part of his corn
would be got into his barns. The large wheat-field,
which lay between the Haven and the farm, would, at
all events, be carried that day; and it was expected
that, at about five o’clock in the afternoon, the gleaners
would be able to take possession of the field. Long
before that time, on the appointed day, Edward and
Lucy, and a group of the village children, were at the
gate of the field, ready to begin operations the very
moment that the last cart should drive out; for, as is
usually the case, Farmer Whicher did not like the
gleaners to be admitted until his crop of corn was
fairly off the field. It was very amusing at first tc
watch the men pitching up into the carts the heavy
sheaves ; but the children had not watched this long
before they began to feel impatient about the progress
of their labour, for it seemed as if the field would never
be emptied. Five o’clock had struck long ago, and it
was not very far off six, when a message came out from
the farm, to say, that as the men were likely to be
quite another hour before they had carried all the
corn, the children were to be allowed to enter, and
glean in the lower part of the field, away from the
remainder of the still standing sheaves. The children
shouted joyfully, as this permission was given, and the
gate being opened, in they rushed; and, scattering
about the field, were soon seen busy stooping and
gathering up the scattered ears of wheat which had
been left behind. Who should glean the largest
bundle was the cry—and no one was more eager than
Edward to prove a good gleaner. He was not so
steady at his work, or persevering, however, as Lucy,
who went quietly on, travelling up the furrows, and
taking care not to go to parts where others had been
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

before. Now and then all agreed to rest awhile; for
they grew hot and tired with so much stooping; and
then there were other things to look at and divert
their attention, such as the nest of a field-mouse full
of young ones, and a hedgehog, which one of the |
young Whichers turned out of the hedge, and which
rolled itself up ito a round prickly ball. Hdward
had never before seen a hedgehog, and he stayed
looking at it, and trying to make it unroll itself again,
long after the rest had returned to their gleaning.
Presently, the eldest Miss Whicher came out from the
house, to summon all the gleaners in. The tarts and
cakes were out of the oven, she said, and the fermety,
which was to be the principal dish on the supper table,
would be ready in another hour. She invited all the
gleaners to come on to the lawn, at the back of the
house, and there, in the cool arbour, they could rest
and bind up their sheaves, and then have a game of
play. ‘I'he children obeyed the summons very gladly ;
for, altogether, it was thought they must have gleaned
what, when divided amongst the village children,
would make a famous sheaf for each to carry home.
Lucy, with the rest, was leaving the field, with a
charming large bundle of wheat in her apron, when
she looked round to see after Edward. He was only
then coming away from a corner of the field where the
hedgehog had been found, and, as he came up to her, °
Lucy was quite vexed to see what a small quantity of
corn he had gleaned; really not more than he could
hold in one hand.

“Oh, Edward!” said she “how little you have
got; what have you been about?’? Edward never
hiked being behind others in what he did, so that he
was sorry, now it was too late, that he had not gleaned
more industriously. He and Lucy were passing at
IONE AT THE HAVEN.

this moment up amongst the shocks of corn which
were yet standing ; and whet was Lucy’s concern, to
see Iidward stay behind, and draw out of one of the
sheaves several fine ears of corn to add to his own
small bunch. “Oh, Edward, you must not take that
corn—you know you must not! Farmer Whicher has
trusted us to leave those sheaves alone. Oh, pray
don’t, Edward! It is really quite like stealing,”
said she, the tears coming into her eyes at the very
thought.

| “What nonsense, Lucy,—you do say such things.
Just as if the corn did not all belong to Farmer
Whicher,—and just as if it mattered to him. You see
I have not taken more than a dozen ears of corn at
the very most.” And Edward ran past her into the
house.

Lucy stood for a few minutes in painful thought,
wishing she could do anything that would make Ed-
ward bring back that corn again, and see things as
she saw them, and feel as she felt; then, suddenly a
plan occurred to her, which would make matters
better, at all events, in this case; then, taking out of
her own gleanings twelve nice full ears of corn, she
laid them at the top of the sheaf, from which Edward
. had so dishonourably helped himself. She was turn-
ing away from the sheaf, when she started to see
Harmer Whicher leaning overa gate close by, watching
the filling of the last cart. Lucy hoped he had not
seen her put back the ears of corn, or rather that he
had not seen Edward take them.

The children enjoyed themselves much in the
arbour, binding their little sheaves and portioning
them out among those whose homes would be glad-
dened by the prospect of an extra loaf or two of bread
during the coming week, and when their work was


HOME AT THE HAVEN.

done, all were ready for a game of play upon the
smooth green lawn.

Prisoner’s base was the game fixed upon, which
the girls soon learned to play at, although they had
never heard of it before, and the arbour was an ex-
cellent prison for the prisoners who were taken in the
chase. The sun was sinking behind the hills and
sending its slanting rays through the trees of Farmer
Whicher’s orchard, and the shadow of the great cedar
of Lebanon had stretched quite across the lawn, and
made the prison where Lucy was in confinement, beau-
tifully gloomy, when a voice was heard calling all the
party of runners and catchers in to supper. Such a
bustling and crowding there was into the supper-room,
the old-fashioned parlour where the large table was
laid out for the children’s harvest feast. Dishes piled
high with all manner of good things, fruit, pastry, and
a variety of choice cakes, were arranged upon the
snow-white table-cloth, and in the midst a large china
bowl full of smoking hot fermety. There were nose-
gays of flowers too upon the table, by way of ornament,
and the eldest Miss Whicher had made a most beauti-
ful garland of blue corn-flowers, which lay on the
table, ready to crown, as ghe said, the queen of the
eleaners. ‘lhe children were soon seated down each
side of the long table, and the fermety was being
Jadled out to them and the cakes handed round, when
Harmer Whicher came in, bringing with him Captain
and Mrs. Osborne, who had walked up to the farm to
fetch Kdward and Lucy—as every one said, a great
deal too soon. ‘They consented to wait, however,
until the children’s supper was quite over, and were
glad to see the pleasant sight of their happiness.
Farmer Whicher had something merry to say to each
child as he walked round the table—now patting a
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

boy on the head, and now chucking a little girl under
the chin. At last he came to Lucy— Ah, here is my
little friend, Miss Lucy,” said he, “my good little
honest friend, who would not let me -be defrauded of
any of my corn. She it is who deserves to be crowned
queen of the gleaners.” And as he spoke he took up
the garland of corn-flowers which lay upon the table,
and popped it upon Lucy’s head.

Lucy held down her head, blushing deeply.

“What is this all about?” said Captain Osborne,
whilst everybody round the table looked anxious for
an explanation. Farmer Whicher jokingly told how
Master Edward had made up for his bad gleaning by
helping himself from one of his sheaves, and how
Miss Lucy had been too honest to let him be cheated
that way. He had seen it all, he said, as he stood hid
by the hedge whilst he was looking after his men ;
they little knew that he had seen it all.

It was now Hdward’s turn to hold down his head,
and though Farmer Whicher seemed to think it a very
good joke, there were those present who could not
think it so. Mrs. Osborne looked sorry and grieved,
and Captain Osborne said in a very severe tone to
Hdward, ‘“You ought to have been ashamed to do sucha
thing. It was no better than stealing, to take the corn
in that way.’ Luckily for Edward, the noise of talk-
ing andthe rattle of plates and spoons, together with
the praises of Lucy’s honesty which were sounded
round the table, prevented these words from being heard
by the rest of the children. Lucy got rid of the crown
which made her feel so bashful, and it reached at last
the little girl who had been fixed on as a queen of the
eleaners, because she really had gleaned more than
any of them, but as Miss Whicher took the garland
from Lucy, she said, “ After all, Miss Lucy, it is a more
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

‘unfading crown than mine you know, that is reserved
for the Upright and the Just.” There was plenty of
fun and merriment to finish out the evening and pre-
vent any one saying anything more about the affair of
the stolen wheat-ears, so that even Edward had partly
succeeded in forgetting it. His mother and uncle,
however, could not forget it. When they had at last
taken leave of the farmer’s kind family and were walk-
ing home, Mrs. Osborne went on before the others with
Edward, to whom she had something to say, whilst
Uncle Osborne and Lucy walked together. It would
have been quite dark but for the very bright stars
overhead and just a faint tinge of red left in the sky
to the west. Lucy felt that her uncle was so very kind
in taking care that she did not stumble over the stiff
stubble, or slip into the furrows as they crossed the
now empty corn-field. He kept quite tight hold of her
hand, whilst he carried for her her bunch of nice long
straight straws which she was taking home to plait.
Her uncle assisted her, too, so kindly over the very
awkward stile, which had a ditch and a foot-plank on
the other side, and he talked to her so very pleasantly
all the way home. ‘They talked about the stars. Her
uncle showed Lucy which was the pole-star, by which
sailors at sea could find the north and steer by it.

‘* All over the world, can they see it?” asked Lucy.

“No, not all over the world. When ships sail in
a southerly direction and approach nearer and nearer
to the equator, the pole-star seems to sink down nearer
and nearer to the horizon, until at last it is quite lost
sight of; and when sailing in the southern hemisphere,
people see quite a different set of stars in the sky to
what we do in England—quite different groups of stars
or consteliations as they are called, and the constella-
tions have different names.” |
HOME AT THE TWAVEN,

This little lesson on the stars was just ended as they
arrived at the gate of the Haven, where Mrs. Osborne
and Edward were standing after having rung the bell.
As they got up to them, Captain Osborne and Lucy
knew quite well what Edward and his mother had been
talking about, by the last words that were spoken.

“Now, do, my dear Edward, try to be more parti-
cular in future.” ;

**T will, mother,—indeed, I will,” said Edward,
and he spoke as if he was quite in earnest as he made
the promise. |

“Yes, my boy,” said Captain Osborne, laying his
hand on HWdward’s shoulder, ‘learn to steer by the
pole-star truth and honour, and then you will never
run aground on shoals, or break on rocks.”





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HOME AT THE HAVEN. |

CHAPTER IV.

BOAT-BUILDING.

Arter the conversation which her uncle and Lucy had
had together about the stars, in which the latter had
shown that she liked to understand such matters, her
mother observed that Captain Osborne often stopped
in the middle of what he was relating to Edward, in
order to explain sea terms, and such sailors’ expres-
sions as he thought she might not understand; and
these explanations began to make his stories of ship-
wrecks and adventures at sea much more interesting
to her. Her mother’s prophecy that Captain Osborne
would like Lucy, when he came to know her well, had
come to pass; and whilst he liked her for being so
obliging and intelligent, he quite loved her for her
truthfulness and strict feeling of honour.

What made Lucy at this time particularly glad that
she was beginning to understand more about ships and
boats was, that her uncle and Edward had a grand
scheme for building a boat large enough to be rowed
on the pond at the bottom of the lawn. Now we must
explain that this pond, though avery pretty object to look
at from the house, with its weeping willow hanging over
it at one end, was rather an inconvenience to those who
lived at the Haven. It lay betweemthe kitchen-garden
and lawn; and in order:to get to the former, it was
necessary to go rather a long way round, through the
yard at the side of the house, and down a strip of
ground that was used for drying linen. At the time
that the strawberries were ripe, and afterwards, when
the cook was busy preserving, it was felt to be quite
tiresome to have to go such a long way round with
HOME AT TITE HAVEN.

the baskets of fruit. Edward had often asked his
uncle why he did not build a bridge over the narrow
end of the pond, but this was never thought of seri-
ously. One day, however, when Edward was at home,
on one of his half-holidays. it was raining so heavily,
that there was nothing to be done but to get up in the
workshop and do some carpentering, and then it was
that the making of a boat was first planned. When
they came in to tea that evening, Edward was full of
delight and full of talk about the real proper-shaped
and proper-sized boat they were going to build for the
pond. It was to be large enough to hold three persons, -
and Uncle Osborne thought that they might get it
finished in time for gathering of the late apples and
winter pears, so that it would be really useful to bring
the baskets over from the other side, and land them
where they would be carried up to the apple-room in
no time.

Lucy liked the idea of the boat very much, and had
no fears about its capsizing, as her uncle called it,
because the bottom of the pond could be seen so
plainly, that she was sure no one could ever be drowned
init. She listened quite patiently to the description
of how it was ali to be managed—how the frame of the
boat was to be made of five lone pieces of deal, and
how the ribs were to be of flexible ash-wood; how a
piece of zinc was to be fastened alone the keel; and
lastly, how canvas was ‘to be stretched over the out-
side, because it would be impossible for them, as
Captain Osborne said, to get planks warped into the
right curve for nailing outside, in the manner of boats
in general, and the canvas would make it light and
easy to carry. There was nothing talked of but the
boat all that evening, and when the tea-things were
removed, pen and ink and paper were brought ont to
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

make a list of all that would be wanted of nails,
screws, and tin tacks, zinc, ash-wood, and deal—all of
which things Captain Osborne was to have in readiness
to begin operations with the very next evening. So
many hours work on half-holidays, and so many half-
hours before breakfast and after tea, on ordinary days,
would, they thought, complete the boat in three weeks’
time, so that the grand day of the launch might be
fixed for Lucy’s birth-day, which was at the beginning
of September.

Everything went on very pleasantly and smoothly
with the boat-building between Hdward and his uncle,
so that Lucy and her mother were quite pleased to sce
how much more careful he had become, whilst he was
always diligent over his lessons, and punctual at school,
which his mother was very particular about. It can-
not be said that Hdward never made excuses at this
time, and did not sometimes misrepresent a little when
he was in fear of being blamed, but every one thought
he was trying to cure himself of his faults, and mado
allowance for the difficulty of breaking himself of a
sottled habit.

Lucy was very glad to be allowed by her mother to
co occasionally up to the workshop to watch Edward
and her uncle at work upon the boat. She was sur-
prised to find that it required such downright hard
work, and used to wonder that they liked to make
themselves so hot and tired with their hammering and
sawing. At first it was thought that it would not be
necessary to have a rudder to their boat, considering
what short voyages it would have to perform on the
httle pond, but Hdward maintained that it would be
quite a pity not to make it a real boat in every respect,
so that a rudder was decided on, and Captain Osborne
thought that he knew of a manin P——, who would be
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

able to furnish them with a set of rudder-irons small
enough to suit their little boat. These irons were the
sort of hinges which were to connect the rudder to the
boat, and enable it to move from side to side, at the
will of the steersman, but they were so contrived, that
the rudder could be taken off, or unshipped, as Captain
Osborne said, when it was not wanted. The rudder,
and the piece of wood which fitted on to the top of it,
called a yoke, with its two pieces of rope, which were
to be pulled first on one side and then on the other,
as they steered, was thought by Lucy to be the pret-
tiest part of the boat, although it was altogether, as
her uncle said, ‘‘ as trim a little craft as ever was built.”?
Lucy’s birthday drew near, and there was nothing
to be done but the pitching and painting of the boat
and the making of a pair of oars. A painter who was
coming to re-paint the greenhouse was to do the
former, and Uncle Osborne undertook to get the oars
finished off whilst Hdward was.at school the last three
days. Lucy thought something very terrible had hap-
pened, from Hdward’s look of consternation, as he
came in one evening to tell his mother and her quite
an unexpected difficulty about the boat. All finished
as it was, and ready for pitching and painting in the
open air, it could not be got down the crooked little
staircase that led up to the workshop! Captain
Osborne had always expected that it could be hoisted
up on end in such a manner as to come down very
easily, but it was now found that this could not be
managed, so that there was nothing left, but to take
out the window of the workshop and lower the boat
with ropes into the yard below. Jack had been sent
up to Farmer Whicher’s to borrow some ropes for this
purpose, and when they arrived Mrs. Osborne and Lucy,
and the maid-servants, went out into the yard to see
D
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

the operation of letting down the boat. It took half-
_an-hour before this was managed—the gardener and
Jack, Captain Osborne and Edward, all hard at work,
very hot and very eager. Quite safely, however, and,
without any damage to it, the little boat was lowered
to the ground, and those who had never seen it before
thought 1b most beautifully and cleverly made. Hdward
was very delighted, and very impatient to see it
launched upon the pond. He could hardly, in fact,
make up his mind to lose sight of it, when his uncle
proposed its being carried into an outhouse and left
for the night. ‘They had, however, to discuss together
the important point of what colour it was to be painted,
and the still more important point to settle of what it
was to be called. Black outside with the pitch of
course it would be, so it was thought that a bright
green inside, with lines of white, would give it a light
and pretty effect; but as to the name—that was most
difficult to settle. Uncle Osborne did not care about
the name, and said Hdward might call it what he
hked, and Mrs. Osborne could not suggest one.
Edward and Lucy tried the sound of several, when all
at once Hdward declared that he had thought of the
best name in the world, and was sure everybody would
think so too; but as Uncle Osborne had said he might
choose the name, he would not tell what he had fixed
on until the painter had painted it in white letters at
the stern. He made Lucy promise that she would ‘not
go to look at the boat again until it wag painted, and
ready for launching, because Edward was certain she
would hke the name, and wanted to surprise her ; and
Lucy never once tried to make him tell her what he
had fixed on, and never even tried to guess it. She
told her mother, in fact, the next day, that she wag
nearly sure she knew what it was to be.
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

During the pitching, and painting, and drying of
the boat, which took quite three days, Lucy was busily
employed, in her leisure time, in making a little flag
to hang at the stern of the boat. It was to be a
“ Union Jack ;” and her mother having procured her
some pieces of red, blue, and white calico, Uncle
Osborne left her a picture of the flags of different
nations to copy it from: but it was to be quite a sur-
prise to Edward, and only when his secret about the
name came out was Lucy to present her nice little

flag, which she was sure would please him greatly.

: All was ready by Lucy’s birthday ; and the painter
pronounced, that if they could only wait until the
evening, there would be no chance of the paint coming
off on Lucy’s frock during her first voyage round the
pond, after that Uncle Osborne and Hdward had made
a sort of experimental trip. The beautiful iced plum-
cake, which was to be served up at tea that evening,
made by the cook in honour of Lucy’s birthday, was
hardly thought of by any one, so full were they of the
launch of the boat.

At about five o’clock, Lucy and her mother were
out on the lawn, and were sitting on the bench under
the plane-tree, ready for the ceremony, when presently
there came quite a procession across the lawn from the
yard at the side of the house. First came the boat
itself, hoisted on the shoulders of the gardener and
Jack—then came Uncle Osborne with the pair of oars,
and lastly Hdward with the rudder and its yoke. In
a few minutes more the boat was shoved off on to
the pond at a point where the lawn sloped down very
gradually to the water, and Mrs. Osborne and Lucy
were summoned to approach. All this time Lucy had
been holding under her apron, to conceal it, the gay
little flag which was to surprise Edward so much; but
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

then waving it up in the air, she came forward to pre-
sent it, and be surprised herself about the name of
the boat. She was surprised, and, it must be con-
fessed, a little disappointed, although she could not
deny that it was an excellent name. Edward had
called his boat the “Crusoe,” and Lucy only wondered
that she had not also thought of this name, considering
that “Robinson Crusoe” was still his most favourite
book. She had been thinking of quite a different name,
and it had put “ Robinson Crusoe” out of her head.

















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Edward was so delighted with the little Union
Jack, and with the admirable manner in which the
“ Crusoe”’ righted herself upon the water and made
the first voyage round the pond, that he never noticed
anything like disappointment in Lucy’s manner. She
was, besides, too pleased herself at the success of the
boat to feel it long, and she was not in the least afraid
when the time came for her to step into the boat and
NOME AT THE HAVEN.

go round the pond with Uncle Osborne, and, after 2
little instruction from him, he said she made a very
good steersman.

Tea had been waiting long, and the urn had ceased
to boil, so that fresh warm water was wanted, before
the party could make up their minds to moor up
the boat and return to the house. People ate Lucy’s
delicious plum-cake, talking all the time about the boat
and praising it, and planning all sorts of things which
were to be done for it, and with it, when all at once
Edward turned to Lucy and said, ‘ Now, do tell us,
Lucy, what was the name you thought of for the boat—
you have never told us yet.”

Lucy blushed very much, and she hesitated—she
could hardly make up her mind to tell them, for she
thought they would think it so silly. At last, she said
that ‘she had thought—indeed, from something Ed-
ward had said, she had almost felt sure—that he was
going to call the boat the ‘ Lucy.’”

Lucy had no sooner said this than Edward quite
wished he had thought of calling it after his sister, and
he said so—and Captain Osborne also wished that Lucy’s
name had been given to the boat; and he did not think
it at all strange or wrong that she should have expected
it. He liked too, very much, that she should have been
so frank in telling them all her thoughts, when it
would have been easy enough to have concealed them.
It was possible, even for Captain Osborne, who had
been all his life a brave sailor, to admire this kind of
courage in a very little girl; and without any one
_ knowing how it came about, Lucy was presently sitting
on her uncle’s knee, with his arm so kindly round her ;
and before the evening was over, he remembered that
upstairs he had a most beautifuily carved ivory fan,
that he had brought home from India, in one of his
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

voyages, which must have taken quite a year of a
Chinaman’s life to carve ; and he brought it down and
gave it to Lucy, as a birthday present and keepsake

from him, and in remembrance of the launch of the
** Crusoe,”

CHAPTER V.
PEACE DISTURBING AND PEACE RESTORING.

Tue “ Crusoe’? was a continual source of pleasure
to every one at the Haven, and no day passed with-
out her performing many voyages round the pond,
and passages across it. Hven Captain Osborne
seemed quite satisfied with her success, and would
stand for an hour together on the bank, giving
Hdward instructions in rowing, and telling Lucy how
to steer. ‘There were not any rocks or breakers in
their little sea, but, as it required, they always main-
tained some skilful steering, to keep clear of the old
stump of a post that stood up out of the water at one
end of the pond, and to keep away from the branches
of the willow-tree at the other end, which would have
carried off Lucy’s bonnet perhaps if they had got among
them.

Kdward became very expert in managing the
‘‘ Crusce,” and in mooring her to the stump of a laurel
at the side of the pond, which his uncle had cut down,
all but the main stem, so that she might have safe
moorage ; for, before this, the “Crusoe” got adrift
one windy night into the middle of the pond, and
it was difficult to get her back to shore the next
morning.
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

Kdward and Lucy never allowed themselves to doubt
of its being very convenient to get across to the kitchen
garden, by means of a voyage in the “ Crusoe; ” and, to
please them, the gardener, when he gathered his pears
and apples, brought them all down to the side of the
pond, to be rowed over by Edward, though he con-
fessed to others that it would have given him very
little more trouble to have taken them round by land
all the way.

Mrs. Osborne, as she sat at work at the drawing-
room window, thought she had never seen anything
prettier than that little boat, going backwards and for-
wards with its freight of rosy apples and russet-brown
pears—Hdward rowing, and Lucy steering—and the
bright-coloured little flag hanging at the stern. She
thought it look very pretty, and she rejoiced to see
her children so happy—saying to herself that she really
hoped the time had come for Edward to cure himself of
his one fault. |

Bad habits, however, such as Hdward’s, are not to
be got rid of all at once; especially, as the desire to
seem to do right leads to the repetition of the fault. It
was a great grief to everybody when Hdward again
forgot his promises of amendment, and did wrong in a
matter connected with the favourite boat, which had
given every one so much pleasure.

At the time of the building of the boat, Edward had
had a good deal to do with the purchasing of various
articles wanted for it, and when it was quite completed
he was sent into the town one day with Jack, the gar-
dener’s boy, to settle for everything that had been
ordered and left unpaid. He had besides some com-
missions for his mother to get that day, some paper and
sealing-wax, and pens, and a list of all the things to be
bought and paid for were given him, together with the


HOME AT THE HAVEN.

right sum of money that would be required. Now,
Edward and Jack had become great friends, and were
too fond, perhaps, of each other’s company. Jack was
good-natured, but very ignorant, and because Edward
could tell him such nice stories about Robinson Crusoe
and Lord Nelson, he fancied Edward a great deal wiser
than he really was, and was more ready to be guided by
him than was quite safe, considering that the greater
part of his time belonged to his master. Several times
had Jack been in disgrace for neglecting his work
because he was with Master Edward, or when sent into
the town with Edward, for staying away too long. It
happened on this day we are telling of, that both Jack
and Kdward remained away much longer than there was
any occasion for, so that every one at the Haven got
quite alarmed about their not returning, and Captain
Osborne was about preparing to set out in search of
them, when they made their appearance. It came out
that they had been tempted when in town, by the pre-
sence of a wild-beast show, in which there were lions
and tigers, and other animals that Jack had never seen.
They had both gone into the show, and had been in-
duced to stay much longer than they at first intended,
by the hope of seeing the animals fed. Jack told all
this very faithfully, and tried to take the blame on
himself, because Master Edward had, he said, been go
anxious for him to see the lions and tigers. But Cap-
tain Osborne did not excuse either Jack or Edward,
and was much displeased that they should have done
anything of the kind without permission. Jack was
ordered never on any pretence whatever to go out
again with Master Edward, and Captain Osborne said
something very angrily about not liking to have his
servants disturbed in their duty to him by his visitors.
Kiven after all this had been settled, and Edward had
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

_ been very seriously reproved by his mother, the whole
blame was not exposed of that afternoon’s visit to the
town. Edward’s mind was very uneasy about the
commissions and the money that had been given to him.
When required by his mother to give an account of the
money that he had spent in the town, he was confused
and embarrassed. It had been his own money which
had paid for the entrance of Jack and himself to the
wild-beast show, but there ought to be a shilling left
to give back to his uncle, aud he had only threepence
remaining in his purse. It was found necessary to
apply to Jack for an explanation of this; and it was
after scratching his head several times that he said.
something about “ nuts and apples that they had bought
to give to the elephant and monkeys;”’ and then
Wdward had to confess with many blushes and tears of
shame, that in this manner the missing halfpence had
been spent.

We will spare our readers the description of Captain.
Osborne’s deep displeasure at this exposure of Hdward’s
want of truth and honour; and we cowld not describe
his mother’s grief. Lucy too—she left the room to
hide her tears, and did not hear all the angry and
bitter reproaches cast upon her brother by his uncle.
There seemed no chance of Edward ever regaining the
confidence and affection which he had lost, and Mrs.
Osborne saw plainly that she and her children must
not remain to be a cause of disturbance at the Haven ;
for she called to mind that the latter had only been
invited to come, provided they could behave well.
‘Before that day was over, she had quite decided on
leaving the Haven, and had told Captain Osborne of
her intention. She told Edward and Lucy, too, that
the Haven was no longer to be their home, and that
they should return in town in another month; and she
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

did not scruple to point out to Edward that his conduct
was the cause of their giving up the pleasures and com-
forts that they were enjoying.

Lucy was quite frightened to sec how Edward was
distressed at this announcement from her mother. He
kept in his own room for the whole of that day, and he
was very miserable. It was quite as well that this time
he should make no promises for the future, but it
erieved Hdward more than anything to see that no one
asked him to do so. His mother had grown tired of
hoping that he would keep any promises of the kind,
and she knew that his uncle would place no reliance on
them. Lucy never once said ‘‘ Do promise, Edward,
that you will be more particular in future,” because she
said it only made matters worse to have these broken
promises to look back upon. At the same time Lucy
did believe that from this time forward Edward would
speak the truth on all occasions, and she told her
mother so.

“When you come to think, mamma, how very
much he will grieve to leave the Haven, and the
‘Crusoe;” and above all, to go away from Uncle
Osborne, whom he likes somuch. Oh! I do think,
mamma, that he will always be careful in future.”

From the time of this painful affair at the Haven,
all seemed changed in the once happy family party.
Edward and his uncle talked no longer together as
they were used to do, and Lucy, if she was merry for
a few minutes, was sure to see some grave look from
some one which reminded her of what had happened
and what was going to happen. Her mother now
wrote letters to town, and looked anxiously for
answers, and seemed to be arranging plans for the
future in her mind. As for Hdward, each day seemed
to imcrease his sorrow and shame, as he saw his
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

mother’s former grave and sorrowful looks quite fixed
on her countenance again, and at each little occurrence
that took place with regard to their leaving the Haven,
his own grew more sad. Preparations, too, for leaving
were made, which showed that there was no doubt
about his mother being in earnest. His schoolmaster
was told that he would leave in a month, and he knew
that Grace Martin’s father had been written to about
their having the same lodgings in town that they lived
in before they came to the Haven. And if these
tokens of leaving grieved Edward, they did not the
less disturb his uncle. He never alluded himself to
their going away, and if any one else did so, he always
looked grave, and said nothing in reply. Once, when
he was walking round the garden with Lucy, he
showed her where he always threw down crumbs for -
the robins at Christmas time, and added, “ You will
see how they will pop out of this privet-hedge, where
they have their nests, to eat their roast beef and plum-
pudding.” |

“Ah! but, uncle, I shall not be here then, you
know,” said Lucy, in a low and sorrowful tone.

Her uncle said nothing, but Lucy thought he
grasped her hand tighter than he had done before
during the rest of their walk.

As the time fixed by Mrs. Osborne for leaving
drew near, both Edward and his uncle seemed more
sorrowful about it, and the latter made several attempts
to persuade Mrs. Osborne to change her mind; and
Hdward, too, talked with his mother about it, and said
he thought that others ought not to suffer for his
fault. :

“No, my dear Edward,” said his mother; “but
unfortunately it is always the consequence of mis-
conduct that others do suffer for it. It is my duty
HOME AT TH HAVEN.

to do the best I can to make you grow up a good
and honourable man; and I think that if you were
placed at a good school, and away from all the in-
dulgences of the Haven, it would be better for you,
perhaps.”

Kdward turned these words of his mother over in
his mind, and they gave him courage for what neither
his mother nor Lucy would ever have expected of him.
They were quite taken by surprise the next day, when
sitting with Captain Osborne, to see Edward come
into the room on his return from school, and going up
to his uncle, say in quite an open and courageous
manner—

“Uncle, I really am sorry and ashamed to think:
that my behaviour is making us all go away from the
Haven. Don’t you think, uncle, that I might be sent
away to school, and that then my mother and Lucy
could stay on with you? I think it would be the
best plan in the world, if you will only persuade my
mother.”

“T do think it would be a good plan, Edward, and
the best way of all to settle the difficulty,” said his
uncle ; and he held out his hand to Edward, and added,
“Tam glad, too, to see that you are learning to speak
out and be straightforward, my boy; and I hope that
the day may come when you will see that a ship might
as well attempt to sail without either rudder or com-
pass, as for a man to go through the world without a
character for truth and honesty.”

Captain Osborne, after this, had a long consulta-
tion about Edward with his mother; and this time he
really did persuade her to stay on at the Haven. It
was decided that Edward should become a boarder at
a school which was several miles off, which they knew
had a strict but kind and just master, and where he
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

would be allowed only to come home once a month.
Mr. Martin was written to, to say they were not going
to return to London ; and preparations were now only
made for Edward’s departure, and for providing him
with all that he would require at school.

During the fortnight previous to EKdward’s leaving
the Haven, Lucy was so busy hemming pocket-hand-
kerchiefs, and stitching wristbands for him, that she
had hardly time to think about how she should feel
when he was gone; and she tried, too, to keep up
Kdward’s spirits about leaving them, and to persuade
him it would be for the best in the end.

“ After all, Edward, it is only a month before you
will see us again,” said she, as Edward stood on the
bank of the pond, looking at the “‘ Crusoe” with very
melancholy looks — “and, anyhow, uncle says the
‘Crusoe’ must be laid up for the winter, and not used
any more for some months.”

The parting with Edward, was not, however,
without tears from Lucy, though Hdward bore it
very well. The Haven seemed very dull the next
day; and perhaps it was a little sadness in Lucy’s
manner that made her uncle say, that he hoped she
did not regret that her mother had not gone back to
London.

““Oh no, uncle,” said she, I should like to stay
at the Haven all my life, for I am very happy here ;
and I never wish to go to London, except to see Grace
_ Martin; but I should like to see Grace Martin again
very panel: ?

Only a week after this, Lucy was celal one
morning when she got up and looked out of the win-
dow, to see her uncle very busy with the flag-staff.
He was hoisting the flag, which was only done when a
visitor was expected at the Haven. Who could be
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

coming there that day ? As Lucy wondered, she also
thought to herself how very pleasant the Haven would
look to any one who might see it for the first time that
day, though it was November. The sun was shining
so brightly on the many coloured leaves of the shrub-
beries, and the scarlet berries of the mountain ash
looked go brilliant among the different shades ot
yellow, gold-colour and brown, to say “nothing
of all the chrysanthemums, which were still im
flower.

Nothing was said about a visitor, however, at
breakfast, but soon after, Uncle Osborne set off in his
cio for the town.

“T do think uncle must be going to fetch some
one from the railway station,” said Lucy to her
mother.

“We shall see,” replied her mother. Lucy |
cleared out the cage of her canary, and filled his
glass with water; and she fed the chickens, and
gave some peas to the pigeons, and then sat down to
work. She had not worked long before the gate bell
rang. She looked up, and could see between the
bushes a part of the grey mare, and the corner’ of a
brown hair trunk, which projected from the splash-
board of the gig. |

“Run out and meet your smcbat said her
mother.

In the hall, the servant was bringing in a
number of parcels—but what she said in reply,
when Imcy asked who had come, was not to be
heard, for Poll was screeching her very loudest,
“How dy’e do”—‘‘ glad to see you—hope you’re
pretty well.”

Uncle Osborne was bringing some one in—
a short person—in a bonnet—a little girl—Could
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

ib be? Yes! It was indeed—it really was Graco
Martin !

And Grace Martin spent a most happy month at
the Haven, with Lucy, and towards the end of the
time Iidward paid his first visit home from school.
And by his account of himself, and of all that he was
doing, he made everybody feel hopeful, if not quite
sure, of his improvement.

Many things occurred during his short stay to lead
them to feel this. He spoke frankly and openly of
the little difficulties he had met with on first leaving
home, and owned to some terrible blunders that he
had made, because he was more backward than his
schoolfellows in some things. In giving an account
to his uncle, too, of an expedition which had been
made by some of his companions to the top of a hill
near the school, from which they had seen the sea, and
even, with a telescope, the ships in Portsmouth har-
bour, his uncle had inquired how it was that he had
not been of the party. “I don’t know, uncle,’ were
the words that came first to Edward’s lips, but he
stopped himself in time, and replied, “ It was because
Thad been idle, uncle, and had not got my Latin
done.” And from such tokens of newly-acquired
courage to bear the blame, did Hdward’s triends now
begin to hope that he was learning, through truth
and uprightness of conduct, to avoid all cause for
blame. —

| And our young readers will like to know that these
hopes were fulfilled. When Edward grew up, he be-
came a sailor, and, asa man, he has gone through many
of the same kinds of adventures at sea that, as a boy,
he liked so much to hear of and read about. He has
not, itis true, turned out such a distinguished com-
mander as Lord Nelson, nor has he ever been left.
HOME AT THE HAVEN.

upon a desert island, like Alexander Selkirk; but,
what is quite as good, he has proved a brave and
skilful captain, doing his duty on many trying and
difficult occasions, and earning for himself a character
for courage, integrity, and truth.

































































































































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THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

em OO £0 20-0

CHAPTER I.
A SHIPWRECK,

ea our young readers will take a map of
4| Europe, and look to the west, they will see
a broad wide sea called the Baltic, stretch-
ing northward, and separating the coun-
tries of Norway and Sweden from Russia. To the
east of this sea is a gulf, called the Gulf of Finland,
and at the extremity of that gulf, at the mouth of the
river Neva, stands the city of St. Petersburg, the

capital of Russia in Europe. |
St. Petersburg is at the present time a populous

B



THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

and beautiful city. It contains so many splendid —
buildings, that it is sometimes called a city of palaces,
but about the beginning of the eighteenth century
(which is a hundred and fifty years ago), the ground
on which it stands was an immense bog, or marsh,
surrounded by dreary forests. The only persons who
dwelt on the then desolate spot were some fishermen
who built a few little cabins near the water’s edge;
but as the river at certain seasons of the year fre-
quently overflowed its banks, and the cabins were
sometimes washed away, even these few little tene-
ments were often deserted. |
I dare say most of our young readers have heard
or read of Peter the Great, the celebrated Emperor,
or Czar of Russia. He built the city of St. Peters-
burg, and called it after his own name; but of that
we shall speak hereafter; at present we have to do
with a humble individual, named Michael Kopt, who
lived in one of the cabins we have spoken of.
Michael’s father was a Swede, and could read and
write, and was, therefore, far in advance of the igno-
rant Russian serfs, among whom he lived. Having
been carried prisoner to Russia, during one of the
numerous wars between the Russians and Swedes, he
had been compelled to obtain his living as a fisherman.
He taught his son’ Michael all that he had himself
learned, and also brought him up to his trade. When
Michael became a man, he married a young woman,
the daughter of one of the same craft ; they were very
poor, but they lived happily together, for Margaret
was thrifty and affectionate, and Michael steady, sober,
and industrious. During the fishing season, Michael
applied himself very diligently to his business, and,
with his wife’s assistance, dried and salted the greater
part of the fish which he caught ; then, when the floods
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

_ were expected, they removed to a village some miles
distant, and there lived on the produce of their joint
labour. '

One season Michael and his wife remained in the
fishing-hut, a few weeks later than usual, on account
of the fineness of the weather, and there being no
signs of the floods. However, on the day before that
fixed for their departure, a violent storm suddenly
arose, and it was evident that the cabins were in dan-
ger of being swept away, either by the strong gale
which blew from the sea, or by the water. Terrified
by the prospect, the two or three fishermen who had
been their companions hurried off, even in the midst
of the storm, hoping to reach a place of safety before
the floods overtook them ; and Michael and Margaret
were preparing to follow their example, when they were
startled by hearing the firing of guns, as from a ship
in distress. The fisherman and his wife looked at
each other in deep concern, but neither spake. What
could they do to assist the unhappy mariners, and the
delay of one hour might be death to themselves.

“Shall we go, Margaret?’”? Michael at length
broke the silence by saying. 2

“Can we help those poor creatures?” she asked.

“We cannot do anything to save the ship,” he
rephed, “but we may, perhaps, be of some service
should any of the people be thrown upon the strand.’

“Then we will stop awhile, and trust to God’s
protecting care,’ she nobly rejoined; and as she
spoke, she laid down the little bundle of clothes which
she had hastily put together, intending to carry with
‘them. |

Michael now ran to the front window of the cottage,
with the idea of getting a view of the vessel in dis-
tress, but he only reached the spot in time to see her
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

go down. The wind had driven her with violence
against a rock, which had made a large opening in
her keel, through whivh the water rushed so fast, that
all attempts to check it proved vain, and she sunk
almost instantly to the bottom.

«¢ All are lost! ” exclaimed Margaret, who had fol-
lowed her husband, and was now standing behind him
with her hands clasped together, and her eyes raised
toward heaven in an attitude of prayer.

“Nay, dear Madey, it is possible that some poor
creature may be drifted on the shore,” cried Michael ;
“T willat all events go and see.”

Margaret’s heart quailed with fear, lest her hus-
band’s life should fall a sacrifice to his humanity ; but
she could not oppose his generous resolve; so she.
‘suffered him to go without a word of remonstrance.

As soon as he left the door, she fell on her knees,
and prayed that he might be protected in his perilous
enterprise.

She arose in a more seiaesicahal state of mind, and
then sat down to await her husband’s return. Her
patience was not long tried ; he came in shortly after,
bearing in his arms a wicker basket bound up ina
sheet of oil-cloth. The poor woman’s first words were
an exclamation of thankfulness for his safe return ;
she next eagerly inquired what he had brought with
him.

“JT have brought thee a child, Madgy, what say
you to that?” cried the fisherman, looking at her with
a smile.

“A child !’”’ she repeated.

“Yes, a brave boy. I found him in one of the
holes in the rock.” ,
‘Ts he alive?” asked Margaret, drawing back the
oil-cloth, that she might get a sight of the babe.
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

** Alive, yes; the urchin seemed to be quite enjoy-
ing his new home.”

“ Don’t jest, dear Michael,” cried Margaret ; “ the
mother of this poor little creature has most likely
found a watery grave.”

“True, but you will be a mother to him, won’t
you?”

“ Ay, that I will,” responded the kind-hearted
woman, catching the child in her arms, and folding
him to her bosom. “ Ay, that I will, Michael, I’
carry him myself, if you will take the baggage. But
is this poor babe the only creature who has escaped ?”

‘“T have reason to believe so,” returned the fisher-
man; “but I could not remain longer on the shore,
the water flowed in so fast. We must haste now, dear
Madgy, or we shall be too late.”

Margaret wanted not a second bidding, but after
having hastily wrapped the babe in a bear’s skin, she
and her husband quitted the hut,
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

CHAPTER II,
A JOURNEY AND A WELCOME HOME.

Micuarn and Margaret had, as our young -readers
may suppose, a very unpleasant and perilous journey
over boggy land, in the midst of a violent storm too.
The charge of an infant of three or four months old,
of course, added to their cares and difficulties ; but
both the fisherman and his wife had stout hearts, which
would not soon sink under dangers; and the Russians
are naturally a hardy people. Their winter abode was
the cottage in which Margaret had spent her childhood
and early youth, which was still occupied by her
parents; they were, therefore, sure of a hearty and
affectionate welcome when their journey was over.
The old people had been very anxious about them,
fearing from their long stay that some evil had over-
taken them, so the present mecting was every way
delightful.

“We have brought some live stock with us,
mother,” said Michael smiling, and looking significantly
at his wife’s mother. |

“Live stock,” repeated the dame; “why, what
have you got?”

Margaret here took off the bearskin covering and
displayed her little charge to view.

What, a baby !”? cried the old woman in a tone
of amazement.

Wet and weary as the travellers were, it was not a
time to keep up a jest, otherwise Michael would have
let the old people guess for a while before he told
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

them in what way the little foundling had been thrown
upon their protection; as 1t was, he explained all in a
sentence, and then begged that they would let him
have something to eat. |

Margaret felt more disposed for taking rest than
for sbarine in the meal, so she and her mother re-
tired together into one of the sleeping-rooms, taking
the infant with them.

The storm subsided in the course of the night, but
no effort could be made to rescue the shipwrecked
people, even should any of them have drifted to the
shore, for the river had by this time so far overflowed
its banks, that the path the fisherman and his wife
had so recently trodden was not now to be seen. AS
there appeared but little probability that the child
would ever be claimed, Michael and his wife re-
solved on adopting him, and treating him in every
respect as if he were their own. The little fellow
seemed very well satisfied with his new friends.
He smiled and cooed at Margaret in return for her
caresses, and tried to imitate Michael’s loud ringing
laugh. With Margaret’s mother, too, he was an
especial favourite, and even the old man was much
pleased with this addition to their family.

The matter to be decided on next was what
name the little stranger should bear. Margaret was
reminded by his wicker-cradle and the perils of
his infancy of Moses in his ark of bulrushes on
the banks of the Hgyptian river. She could not
help thinking, she said, that a mother’s tender hand
had fastened him so securely in his little bed, and
that a mother’s prayers had saved him from a
watery grave, and she proposed that he should be
called by the name of Moses. However, when the
swaddling-clothes in which he had been found in were
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

closely examined, an almost indistinct mark was found
on one of them, which, after some little difficulty, was
discovered to be Gerald. It was, therefore, determined
to call him by that name.

CHAPTER III.
A GLANCE AT RUSSIAN HISTORY.

Tren years glided away, and very little change took
place in the fisherman’s family, excepting that the
infant foundling grew up by degrees into a fine intelli-
gent boy. In the long nights of the Russian winter,
unless there is some kind of mental employment, time
passes very wearily. Michael had so far profited by
his father’s instructions as to be able to impart the
elements of useful knowledge to Gerald, who was both
an apt and eager scholar. His natural intelligence
had thus been quickened, and his thirst for knowledge
increased by the humble but useful instructions of his
kind foster father. While they used to sit round the
large warm stove, when they had read from the Bible
or some other of the one or two books which Michael
inherited from his father, Michael would then relate
incidents in the history of Sweden, or talk about the
great Protestant reformers—or the learned men his
father had known or heard of at Upsal, his native city.
Gerald was never tired of hearing about these things,
and the thoughts that came into his mind when
Michael talked about the famous university of Upsal,
where so many people passed their time in acquiring or
imparting knowledge, were quite exciting, and he could
not help hoping that something or other might occur
e

THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

that would place him in the way of acquiring more
knowledge than he was likely to obtain in the hut of a
poor fisherman, dearly as he loved his kind benefactors.
Gerald was a good and grateful child, and desirous of
doing all he could to assist those generous friends who
had acted the part of parents to him. Hven when
quite a little boy he iried to help his father, as he
called him, in his craft. He was very fond, too, of his
good mother, as he called Margaret, and you may be
sure they loved him very dearly.

Previous to the reign of Peter the Great, the Rus-
sian Empire had been far behind the other nations
of Hurope in the progress of civilization. Hven the
highest classes amongst the people were extremely
ignorant, very few of them could even read or write,
and they spent the principal part of their time in feast-
ing and drinking. They had neither ships nor sailors,
and no manufacturing class of people, except a few of
the serfs, who worked for the sole benefit of their
masters. ‘The fine arts were unknown, and the most
useful arts were very imperfectly understood. At that
time Peter shared the throne with his elder brother,
Ivan; but Ivan, being only a little above an idiot in
mind, was a mere cipher. Peter, on the contrary, was
possessed of a powerful intellect and great sagacity,-
and he had, moreover, an enterprising spirit. One of
his early acts on ascending the throne was to send a
number of the young nobles of his court into Italy,
Germany, and Holland, to gain instruction in military
and naval affairs. He also sent to foreign countries
for shipbuilders and various artisans; but, not satis-
fied with that, he afterwards resolved on visiting some
of those countries himself, for the express purpose
of learning how his own kingdom might best be
benefited.
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

In pursuance of this plan, he, together with a tew
chosen associates, first went to Holland, at which place
he worked as a common labourer in the dockyards, no
one but those of his own party knowing who he was.
He next came to England. It was his purpose to visit
Italy likewise, but a revolt amongst his people at
home, and rumours that his sister Sophia was trying
to make herself Empress of Russia, obliged -him to
return after an absence of only two years.

Having now acquired considerable knowledge in
shipbuilding and other valuable arts, Peter began to
see the advantages which would accrue to his country
by the establishment of a port on the Baltic Sea at
the mouth of the Neva. ‘There were many difficulties
in the way of such an undertaking, and one of the
most formidable was the low marshy state of the land.
These difficulties, however, he determined upon con-
quering. Had the Czar attempted to accomplish the
same ends by justifiable means, we should admire his
forethought and genius; but as, on the contrary, he
carried them out by force and cruelty, every humane
heart must condemn the act as one of tyranny and
oppression. No seemingly desirable end can justify
us in using’ unlawful means.

To provide workmen for the undertaking, the
Emperor, in the year 1708, sent bands of soldiers
into the villages with orders to compel those men who
were capable of labour to engage in the task. Our
young friends have, no doubt, heard of the press-
ganes which were at one time allowed in England,
and of the conscription in France. Well, this was a
somewhat similar procedure, only instead of being
forced to become sailors and soldiers, as the pressed
men and conscripts were, these poor people were com-
pelled to make roads and rear a city in an immense
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

bog. The peasants, or serfs (as they are called in
Russia), were at that period in a very degraded state.
They were considered as much the property of the
nobles on whose estates they lived as any other live
stock. Their houses mostly consisted of but one room.
In the centre of this room was a large brick oven; in

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this they baked their black rye bread, and the top:
served for a bed for the whole family at night. Their
only articles of furniture were a lamp suspended from
the ceiling, and a rough bench or two fastened to the
walis. ‘They were clothed in sheepskins, and their
food was of the coarsest kind. Bad as was their lot,
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

however, very few, if any of them, were willing to
exchange it for labour on public works of any kind,
especially in such an unhealthy situation as the marshes
we have spoken of. ‘The impure air which rises from
swampy ground is almost sure to bring on fevers and
other disorders. Then no care was taken to make
them as comfortable as the circumstances would have
permitted ; no houses were provided for them‘to sleep
in, and the tools they had given them to work with
were so unsuitable and bad, that their labours were
thereby made much harder than they would otherwise
have been.

Exposed thus to hardships of every kind, the men,
as might be expected, perished by hundreds. But
these disastrous results were not allowed to interrupt
the work; for as fast as they died off, others were
pressed into the service and marched off to the place.
In Russia the Emperor has absolute power over all his
subjects: even the nobles, therefore, dared not oppose
the mandate, had they been so disposed. Among the
unhappy individuals who were chosen for the purpose
of fillmg up vacancies made by the sick and deceased
was our friend Michael Kopt. His general home being
away from any of the villages, he, for some time,
escaped observation; but when strong, healthy men
became scarce in the neighbourhood, he and some of
his companions were pressed into the service, only a
few minutes being given them for preparing, and
bidding adieu to their weeping friends.

Poor Margaret was for some time inconsolable, and
Geraid was almost in as much grief at seeing her suffer.
He tried to cheer her by every means in his power;
but finding that she was hopeless of ever having her
husband back again, he formed a resolution which our
young readers shall hear at another time.
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

CHAPTER IV.
A GENEROUS RESOLVE.

At the mouth of the river Neva were several little
islands; on one of these islanis the Emperor had a
hut built for himself, and a wooden house for his
favourite minister, Prince Mentzikoff, who was his
companion in all his enterprises. It was Peter’s fancy
to take up his abode on that wild spot and watch the
progress of the city he had planned. On another of
these little islands a fortress was reared, surrounded
by arampart of earth. This fortress was the station
of the engineer who directed the works, and the home
of a few of the soldiers. The inhabit:ats of Moscow
were at first jealous of the new city. They foresaw
that it would, in the course of time, from its very situa-
tion, be a more desirable abode for purposes of trade
than the ancient capital; and they greatly opposed
the plan, lest their dignity should decrease as well as
their interests suffer. But the Czar was not a man to
yield to any, however high their rank might be; and
he persevered with his plans without regarding the
dissatisfaction which was so generally expressed. The
houses of the new city were at first built wholly of
wood, and chiefly inhabited by foreign artisans. Peter,
seeing that the Russian nobles and wealthy merchants
would not of their own free will take houses in St.
Petersburg, published a decree obliging them to do
so. At the same time, however, he gave orders that
the houses in the best part of the city should be built
of bricks and roofed with tiles. He also made a law
(there being no stone-quarries in the neighbourhood)
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

that every large vessel which came into the port should
bring thirty stones, and every boat ten, towards the
erection of bridges and other public buildings. Lvery
peasant’s cart was likewise compelled to bring three
stones; and by these means materials were raised free
of cost for the public works.

As the place at which Michael was set to work was
not many miles distant from the abode of his family,
he had an opportunity of seeing them occasionally,
which was a pleasure denied to most of the labourers.
Margaret and Gerald often went together, and though
it was frequently the case that they were only allowed
to speak with him for a few minutes, they were glad
to undertake the journey even for that brief joy.

As Gerald was too young to carry on the fishing
craft alone, he and Margaret resided whoily with her
parents. Gerald helped the old man to make and
mend fishing-tackle, which was now their principal
means of support; and Margaret did anything she
could to earn a trifle, still their circumstances were -
very much worse than when Michael was at home
following his trade. Though Michael was naturally
strong, and had all his life been used to hardship, he
could not bear the labour to which he was set, so well
as many of his companions. ‘The air of the marshes
was very different from the sea-breezes, but the prin-
cipal cause of his sinking under his toil was, his spirit
was crushed. While a man possesses a feeling of
independence, he may meet difficulties and hardships
with a bold front; but when he feels himself to bea
slave (and these poor people were slaves though they
bore not the name), his energies are in most cases
benumbed, and his spirit is broken.

Margaret used to look very sad, and often to weep,
when she and Gerald returned from their visits to the
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

works, for with the keen eye of affection she saw what
he was suffering, though he said not a word. On the
contrary, when in her presence, he put on as cheerful
an aspect as possible. At such seasons Gerald always
tried to comfort her, “Good mother,” he said one day,
“do not, | beg of you, give way so to grief; I am sure
you will have father at home again before very long.”

‘How can that be, child?” she asked. “ You see
the Emperor does not let any of the men give up the
work until they are carried off by death. No, there is _
no hope for my poor Michael; for he will die before
this huge city is finished.”

“Oh no, he will not die, mother,” cried the boy,
“T feel sure he will not die! You know you have
yourself taught me that God takes care of good people,
and Iam sure father and you are good. You have
taught me, too, that God hears our prayers if we pray
to Him with sincerity ; and I have prayed very earnestly
and very often that He would bring dear father back.
Courage, good mother, do not weep; you will have
him with you again, and that before long.”

We must now tell our young readers that Gerald
had formed a determination to offer himself as a sub-
stitute mm Michael’s place. He made this resolution
very soon after the fisherman was taken from his
family ; but he well knew that would not be the time to
put it into practice, as he was not then eleven years of
age. He hoped, however, in about two years’ time, to

be suitable in appearance as well as strength, and
otherwise fitted to undertake the task.
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

CHAPTER V.
THE PROPOSAL.

THis one idea was so constantly in Gerald’s mind,
that it could scarcely be said to be ever absent from
his thoughts. He dwelt on it as he sat over his
work by day; he dreamed of it at mght; and he
prayed constantly for the blessmg of God upon it.
Still he said not a word to any one, being afraid that
should he do so, his plan might meet with opposition.
He feared that Margaret would say he was too young
to engage in such work.

When a little more than two years had elapsed, he
began to think that he might make known his plan
with some hope of success. He was by this time a fine
tall lad of nearly thirteen. He thought the most suitable
season for making such a proposal would be as he and
Margaret were returning from one of their visits to the
works. ‘The state of health in which they found poor
Michael, at the next visit, favoured the project. He
was evidently much worn, and Margaret was almost
broken-hearted when she parted from him, thinking it
probable that she should never see him again alive.

As they walked home, the poor woman leaned on
Gerald’s arm and wept bitterly. “‘ Now,” thought he,
“is the time for me to name my plan;” so, looking
up tenderly in her face, he said, “I have something
to say to you, dear mother, which I hope will make
you dry up your tears. I have often tried to cheer
you with the prospect of a happier time, but now I
think itis nearly come.”

“You mean,” said Margaret, sorrowfully, “that I
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

and my poor Michael shall soon be together in a
happier world.”

“No, good mother, I don’t mean that,’ Gerald
eagerly returned, “I hope you will meet together in
heaven at last; but not very soon. Oh no, I mean
that you will ere long be happy together in our own
home.”

“ Never, never, my dear boy,
afresh.

“ Don’t weep so, mother, but listen to what I am
going to say to you,” Gerald added, and a bright smile
hghted up his intelligent face. “Iam now a tali,
strong boy—almost as tall, and quite as strong, I
think, as dear father was when he was carried off; and
{I mean to take his place, and let him come home to
you.”

Margaret looked up in amazement, but she did not
speak, for her feelings were too powerful to admit of
words.

“T mean,” Gerald proceeded, “to go to the Czar,
myself. I hear that he is generally to be found, either
at his cottage on the island or else overlooking the
works. I am not afraid of the Czar, mother: the
errand on which I shall go will take away all fear. I
feel as bold as a lion—ay, and as strong too.”

“Thou art a noble boy, Gerald,” cried Margaret,
at length finding utterance. “ Go,” she added, ‘and
may God bless thee.” ~
~ “You consent then, good mother, you consent ?”
cried Gerald in an ecstasy of delight. “‘ My only fear
was lest you should oppose my plan; but if you con-
sent, it will, it shall be done.”

‘Nay, my dear child,” Margaret said, “Iam not
the only person likely to oppose your plan; the Czar
may not be willing to make the exchange.”

C

” she cried, weeping
-THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

“Surely he will,” cried the boy ; “surely this strong
liimb—holding out his right arm—can do him better
service than poor father’s now weak one can do; and
gratitude and affection for one who has done so much
for me will nerve it for its work.”

Gerald then begged Margaret not to say ss
at home concerning his design, and that she would
allow him to put it into operation immediately.

He had heard that it was the Emperor Peter’s con-
stant practice to rise at five in the morning, and he
determined on seeking him at that early hour, before
his attention was taken up with the business of the
day. ‘There were difficulties, however, in the way of
his carrying out his purpose. The little island on
which Peter made his home, was a good day’s journey
from their village, and as the only houses built upon it
were the Czar’s (which was but a mere hut), the prime
minister’s, and a sort of inn where Peter and his friends
mostly spent their Sundays, he was fearful lest he
should not be able to get any conveyance across the
water. |

Nothing daunted by these seeming obstacles, he
resolved on setting out for the place the very next day.
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

CHAPTER VI.
AN INTERVIEW WITH THE PRIME MINISTER.

Lravine it to Margaret to explaim to the old people the
reason for his absence, Gerald started the next morn-
ing soon after dawn. When she saw him ready to set
out, the good woman almost repented of having con-
‘sented to his going; still she made no attempt to
dissuade him from his purpose. She provided him,
with the best food the cottage could afford, and with °
tears in her eyes, bade him “God speed.” The day
was favourable, and he tripped along with a light heart
and a light step. No one, to see him, would have
imagined that he was seeking to be placed in circum-
stances, at the thought of which many stout-hearted
men quailed. He did not dwell, however, on the
hardships and dangers that might await him ; he only
thought of how he should gladden the spirits of those
who had so long acted the part of parents to him. He
knew that.they would be grieved to purchase their own
comfort at the sacrifice of his liberty, and it might be
of his health also; but he hoped that his youth and
good constitution would enable him to bear the toil
fora time; ‘and perhaps,” thought he, “I may find
favour in the sight of the Czar, and he may not doom
me to spend all my best days at such work.”

In his way to the island where the Emperor’s
humble Court was kept, Gerald passed the spot where
Michael’s cottage had once ‘stood, the spot where he
had been rescued by his kind guardian from a watery
grave. ‘The view of this place, and the recollections
it called forth, seemed to give him new strength and
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

spirit for his undertaking, and though wearied with
his journey, he went on even brisker than before.

Some of the fishermen’s huts were still occupied,
and Gerald stopped at one of them to inquire his way.
One of the men directed him, supposing him to be the
bearer of a message from some person in authority ; for
he took the precaution to keep his plan secret from
_verybody, lest the telling it should by any means mar

success.

It was nearly dark when he reached that part of
the river’s banks which faced the island ; but late as it
was, he resolved on trying to get over that night.
While he was standing considering what would be the
best means to adopt, three men came within sight, and
jumped into a boat which was moored hard by. Gerald
ran eagerly down to the beach, calling loudly to attract
their attention. ‘ May I ask, whither are you going,
my friends ?”

“We are servants of his Excellency, Prince Mentzi-
koff, and are going to his house,” replied one of the men.

“Will you row me over with you?” asked Gerald,
at the same time hoiding out a small coin.

“Have you any business with his Excellency ?”?
inquired one. |

“My business is with the Czar, but I should be
glad to see Prince Mentzikoff first, if I could get
admittance to him,” Gerald replied.

_ “What is your business with the Czar ?”? demanded
another.

“T have a favour to ask of him.”

“If that’s the case, you cannot do better than get
his Excellency to introduce you,” rejoined the first
speaker. ‘Come, hasten into the boat; we must not
tarry, or we shall be put into too hot an oven, and
so repent of it.”
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

This speech of the man’s had reference to the
Prime Minister’s origin. Mentzikoff was, when a
boy, in the service of a pastry-cook at Moscow, and
he first attracted the attention of the Emperor by the
humorous manner in which he sang a song extolling
his master’s pies. Peter offered him a menial office in
his household, but afterwards discovering that he had
a genius for military affairs, he placed him in his
army, where he rose rapidly. This young man was









one of- the Czar’s companions on his journey to
Holland and England.

As the men rowed the boat across the river, one
commenced a song, and the others joined in chorus.
The Russian people are noted for. their love of music,
and they generally lighten their labours by singing.

On reaching the island, they conducted our hero at
once to the house of the minister.

The house of Prince Mentzikoff was very superior to
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

the one occupied by his sovereign, for Peter took pride
in demeaning himself when he was in the mood to do
so; still it was but a rude affair, as our young readers
will no doubt think when they hear it described.

It consisted of a number of wooden beams, so pre-
pared as to fit readily into each other. Lattices and
shutters for windows were also made to fit in, and
these detached pieces could be packed up and carried
to any place that the owner chose to reside in. Most
of the houses in the towns and cities of Russia were,
at that time, so constructed ; and ready-made houses
were common articles of merchandise. in the public
markets. The furniture of these dwellings was as
rough and. portable as the outside ; afew shelves and
some wooden benches were fixed to the walls, and a
few tables were added... The benches: served for bed-
steads as well as. for seats; and whem these houses were
put up in the country, it. was:seldom that they afforded
the luxury of a bed.

Little ceremony wasiused. ati that: period, especially
in such a retired place, and. Gerald was: imtroduced at
once into the presence of the Prmce.. Mentzikoff was
seated on ome of the benches; having a table before
him, on which stood. a bottle of spirits and a large
horn cup. He had evidently been drinking rather too
freely, which bad practice, though sanctioned by the
example of the Czar, and the custom of the country,
was a new spectacle to our hero, who had always been
accustomed to see sobriety in his humble home.

“What is your business with me?” the Prince
somewhat roughly demanded as Gerald advanced.

Will your excellency do me the favour of intro-
ducing: me to the Czar before he leaves the island in
the morning ? ” Gerald said, at the same time making
a low bow.


THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

‘For what purpose do you wish to be introduced
to his Majesty ?”? Mentzikoff abruptly asked.

“Please your excellency, I have a favour to re-
quest.”

“What, boor? Dost thou think to enter the
Czar’s service? Thou art a dainty lad for thy station,
but thou’rt not quite to his mind I fancy.”

“T do wish to enter the Czar’s service,” Gerald
replied ; “my request is that he will let me labour on
the public works.” 3

The minister looked up as if doubting -whether he
heard aright :—‘‘ Art thou in earnest, boy,” he de-
manded, “ or art thou jesting with me?”

“T would not take the lberty to jest with your
excellency,” Gerald replied: “indeed, my errand is
not a matter for jest. I am in earnest. I wish to
take. the place of a man who has been more than a
father to me.”

cé Ha Le :

“ One Michael Kopt, once a fisherman on the Neva,
has been upwards of two years. upon the works, but
his strength is failing, he can now be but of little use
to his Majesty, and I have a strong arm.”

“Come hither at the dawn of day,” said the
Prince. -

Gerald again bowed, and was about to leave the
room, when Mentzikoff calling after him said, ‘ Bid
my servants find thee a lodging and a meal,” and
added, ‘‘ come hither at the dawn, I’ll take thee to the
Czar myself.” Here he turned aside to refill the horn
cup and quaff off another draught of spirits.
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK,

CHAPTER VII.
AN INTERVIEW WITH TILE CZAR.

GERALD was true to his appointment, and he found the
Prince prepared to receive him. But few words were
exchanged ; Mentzikoff beckoned him to follow, and
they proceeded together to the Czar’s hut. It is an
odd fancy for an Emperor to live in such a place when
he might live in a grand palace, thought our hero,
however, he wisely kept his thoughts to himself.

Peter had been put out of temper the night before,
by meeting with some trifling opposition to his wishes
and plans; and the minister, though a very great
favourite with his sovereign, was not quite sure that
even he could get a hearing at that time. He had
taken a fancy to Gerald, however, and he was deter-
mined to do all he could to serve him. Bidding him,
therefore, wait without till he called or sent to hin,
Mentzikoff entered the Czar’s hut alone.

Peter was up as usual and busy with his plans for
the new city. The Prince did not, therefore, at once
state the object of his early visit, but quietly listened
to all his sovereign had to say. After a while, how-
ever, he ventured to lay the business before him.

Ihe Emperor’s brow darkened and became more
and more contracted as the Prince proceeded. ‘“‘ What
were the boors made for but to serve their country in
that way ?”’ he fiercely asked.

“True, Sire,’’ returned the Prince; “ but this poor
man is, it appears, unable to serve his country by
manuai labour any longer, and as the youth is so
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

desirous of taking his place, the exchange will be for
your Majesty’s benefit.”

“Bring him hither,” was the Czar’s abrupt re-
joinder.

Gerald was the next minute ushered into the
presence of the Emperor.

“ Come here, boy,” he cried in a loud stern voice.

Gerald obeyed, but without showing any signs of
alarm.

“Thou’rt not Russian ?” the Czar added, surveying
his person with a scrutinizing glance. 7

“T know not to what country I belong, Sire,” the
youth replied ; “ I was shipwrecked on the coast hard
by, and I owe my life and everything else I possess to
Michael Kopt.”

** And who is Michael Kopt ? ”

“Sire, Michael Kopt is the man whose place in tno
public works I wish to fill.”

“Thou art of too slight a make for such work,
boy,” cried the Czar.

“Nay, I have a stronger arm than I may seem to
have, Sire; andif ane can nerve it for the work
surely er atitude will do so.’

- By what name art thou called ?”? demanded the
imperor.

“ My name is Gerald, Sire.”

“And how many years ago was it that thou wert
shipwrecked on these shores ? ””

“Tt was a little more than twelve years ago, Sire,
I was then an infant of only a few months old.”

“And you have never heard anything of your
parents or friends ?”

“Never, Sire. The river was at that time begin-
ning to overflow its banks, and I have reason to be-
lieve that I was the only person who escaped the wreck.”
THE FOUNDLING OF THE’ WRECK.

The Czar mused for a few moments, then snatching
up a piece of parchment from the table before him,
he wrote a few words upon it, and gave it into the
hand of the minister.

“Give the boy that, Mentzikoff,’” he said; “let
him present it to the master of the works, and his re-
quest will be promptly attended to.”

The Prince handed the parchment to Gerald, who
took it with a countenance radiant with delight. He
could not speak, but making a low obeisance first to
the Czar and then to the minister, he withdrew from
the royal presence.

As may be supposed, our hero lost no time in re-
turning to the cottage with.the joyful news of his
success. But much as they all loved Michael, Mar-
garet and the old people could scarcely rejoice in the
thought of his restoration to his home when his liberty
was to be purchased at such a cost. To the grateful
boy, however, every task seemed light, and even his
humiliation appeared honourable. Nor was this a de-
lusive idea, for the most laborious employment derives
dignity from a noble motive.

The different circumstances under which Michael
and Gerald commenced the same task made a wide
difference in their feelings when engaged in it. - With
the former 1b was compulsory, with the latter it was
voluntary. Michael felt himself to be the unwilling
servant of a tyrannical master. Gerald overlooked the
fact’ of working for the Emperor in the animating idea
that he was conferring a benefit on those who had
done so much for him. He had moreover the delight-
ful consciousness that his sacrifice of self met with the
smile of his Father in heaven. Nor did Geraid repent
of the noble sacrifice he had made, when the first ex-
citement was over, and he came to endure the severe,
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

and in some instances unexpected, hardships it had
brought upon him. He not only commenced his work
cheerfully, but continued to pursue it with the same.
happy spirit. His joy and thankfulness were un-
bounded when he received intelligence that Michael
was gradually recovering his health under Margaret’s
careful nursing. At length the good woman herself
came to visit him, bringing the news that her husband
was now so nearly restored that he hoped to be able
to walk as far himself ere long. Gerald thought, how-
ever, that it would not be wise for him to come, lest it
being known that he was again capable of labour, he
should be pressed a second time into the service: and
his fears were not without foundation ; for where there
is a despotic government, the humbler classes of the
people are looked upon as little better than machines,
made for the sole purpose of executing the plans of
those in power.
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

CHAPTER VIII.

A GREAT AND UNEXPECTED CHANGE— OUR HERO IN
MOSCOW.

Wuen Gerald had been about six months at his
new employment, to his great surprise he was one
morning told by an inspector of the works, that an
order had just come from the Emperor signifying that
he was to be sent immediately to Moscow.

This intelligence created a little alarm in the breast
of the youth, for he could only suppose that he was
suspected of having committed some offence. Con-
scious, however, of having discharged his appointed
duties with faithfulness, he asked the officer whether
he were sure that he was the person mentioned in the
royal letter.

“The person signified is called by the name of
Gerald Kopt. His person is described, and the de-
scription answers exactly to you.”

“Tam called by the name of Gerald Kopt,” the
youth replied, ‘and if the Czar commands me to go
of course I must obey. Indeed, I have no objection to
going. But should my mother come here and miss
me, who will let her know whither I have gone?”

“T will engage that your mother shall be told all
that we know concerning you,” replied the officer.

“Many thanks for that kindness,” cried Gerald,
looking gratefully in the man’s face ; ‘I am now ready
to attend the Czar’s orders.”

Could Gerald have divested himself of the idea
that he might be going as a culprit to be tried for an
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

unknown offence, he would have been delighted with
the journey, for he had long had a strong desire to see
more of the world.

The distance from St. Petersburg to Moscow,
which is upwards of four hundred miles, was a for-
midable journey in a country where the roads were
bad, and there were very few inns. At a subsequent
period the Emperor Peter had good roads made be-
tween the large towns, and inns and posting-houses
were built upon them. Canals were also dug to con-
nect the great rivers, and there were many improve-
ments of a similar kind; but these things were the
work of considerable time. Some of them were only
just commenced at the period of which we are now
speaking.

On their way to Moscow the party passed through
the town of Novogorod, the seat of the earliest govern-
ment, and afterwards so noted as arepublic. Gerald
was greatly pleased that he had an opportunity of
visiting this place, for Michael and his father-in-law
had told him something of its ancient history. How
about the middle of the ninth century, Rusic, a Nor-
man pirate chief, when cruising about the Baltic with
his followers, had sailed down rivers and through lakes
till they came to this city, which was then a mere
cluster of wooden huts inhabited by barbarians, and
how the Norman had made himself master of the place,
assumed the title of Grand Duke, and laid the founda-
_ tion of the present powerful and extensive empire of
Russia.* Many legendary tales were told of the ad-
ventures of these wild Normans, and most of these
adventures were associated with the city.

* Tgov, the son of Rusic, afterwards made Kirow the capital of the

country ; but Novogorod was for a considerable time a place of im-
portance, and the chief city of a Republican state.
THE FOUNDING OF THE WRECK.

On reaching Moscow our hero was so interested m
the place as to forget the painful circumstances under
which he was visiting it. The city was at that period
enclosed: with three walls; one built of brick, sur-
rounded that portion called the Kremlin, where the
Czar’s palace and the residences of the chief of the
nobility stood; another built of stone, took in a larger
extent of the city; and a third, formed of wood,
enclosed the suburbs. On the banks of the river
Moskwa, which runs through the city, were a number
of wooden huts, the public baths. These baths were
constantly frequented by the inhabitants, as bathing
was at that time a religious ceremony amongst the
Russian people. The poorest classes mever failed to
attend the baths at least once in the week.

It was Palm Sunday when Gerald and his com-
panions arrived, the place was consequently in a state
of universal excitement. ‘The bells, too, were ringing
merrily. Moscow was famous for the size and number
of its bells. ‘To present a large bell to a church was
considered by some a very pious act, therefore almost
every new sovereign had a bell cast larger than that
which had been given to the city by his pnateenison *
Palm Sunday was a day on which a very grand festival
was always held. The religion generally professed in
Russia 1s according to the Greek Church, which is very
similar to the bite Catholic religion. At that time
the church was governed by persons called Patriarchs,
who were something like the Popes. The Patriarch
lived in Moscow, in a palace adjoining that of the
Emperor, where he kept a court, and lived in as much
state as the Czar himself.

* The Empress Anne, the daughter of Ivan, who reigned soon after
Peter's death, presented a bell to the city of Moscow which weighs
432009 pounds, and is the largest bell in the world.
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK,

On the festival of Palm Sunday the Emperor always
walked to church, gorgeously arrayed in a dress made
of cloth of gold, two princes holding up his train. He
was followed by a grand foot procession consisting of
the whole court splendidly attired. Behind the nobles
were a number of the chief citizens and lawyers, each
having a branch of willow, to represent palm, in his
hand, and beyond these were the guards of the palace.
In this procession the Patriarch always rode beside the
Kmperor, who held the bridle of his horse, and he was
the only person mounted, excepting the guards.

Our hero and his companions met the procession
as 16 was just leaving the palace, and they stood for a
while to watch it pass, Gerald’s associates were de-
hehted at having arrived in time to witness it, and

Gerald was himself pleased with the sight, for he had
never seen anything of the kind before. But looking
on it as a religious festival, he could not help feeling
pained. ‘These men.he knew were about to fall before
images and offer up prayers to saints and angels, and
they would afterwards spend the sacred hours of the
Sabbath in feasting and drinking ; for no religious fes-
tivals were at that time held in Russia without feasting
and drinking to excess. Happily for our young hero
he had been taught a purer faith. The Bible, Michael’s
best inheritance from his father, had not been made
such poor use of, as to allow Gerald to imbibe the
superstitions, and practise the foolish ceremonies of
the Russians.
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

CHAPTER IX,
OUR HERO AT THE COURT OF PETER THE GREAT.

On entering the palace Gerald was at once taken to a
comfortable apartment, and supplied with refreshment.
Surely,” thought he, “the Czar has some kind
intentions respecting me, or he would not give orders
that I should be treated in this manner ;”? and he was
much relieved by this thought. Having finished his
meal, he was conducted by a domestic or slave (for all
the domestics in Russia were slaves) to one of the
baths prepared for the household, and then to a ward-
robe, from whence a handsome robe was given him to
put on in the place of his sheepskin garments. He
was further told that he would most likely be sum-
moned to attend on the Emperor in the evening.

The robe in which Gerald was arrayed was of dark
green cloth, trimmed with fur. It was loose and
flowing, only confined round the waist by a leathern
girdle, in the manner of the dresses of the Hast. This
kind of dress was in fashion in Russia at that time,
though Peter afterwards, with some difficulty, induced
the Russian nobles and citizens to give it up, and
adopt the costumes of England and France.

The change was certainly a great improvement to
our hero’s appearance ; and he began to wonder what
all this would lead to.

With evening the expected summons came, and
Gerald was conducted by a superior officer of the
household to the royal presence. The Emperor was
not now, as when our hero first saw him, seated on a
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THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

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A number of nobles and ladies, elegantly attired, stood
on either side of the throne, and the blaze of light
which was thrown upon the company by means of the
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

brilliant chandeliers, gave the whole scene a dazzling
aspect,

The Czar and his suite were greatly amused at
observing the wonder and admiration which marked
the expressive countenance of the youth, as he entered
the grand saloon. Gerald’s thoughts were not, how-
ever, long so occupied; he was too much interested in
ascertaining the object of his summons there. -

“Ha! my lad,” exclaimed the Czar, in a familiar
tone, as Gerald bowed low before the throne, “ I’ve
not forgotten you, you see. Well, how did you get on
at your new work?”

“T hope, Sire,” Gerald replied with modest
dignity, “I hope, Sire, I did my duty, and to the satis-
faction of your Majesty’s officers.”

“Pve heard nothing to the contrary, at all events,”
said the Czar; “but what say you to leaving off that
sort of work, and taking to something else? Have
you become so fond of it that you desire to end your
days at it ?”’

Gerald could not help smiling at this question.
‘* Nay, Sire,” he replied, “I did my work cheerfully,
because I felt it to be my duty to do so, and I had,
moreover, an animating motive, but I should rejoice to
be engaged in some employment better suited to my
taste.”

“What employment would be suited to your
taste?” the Emperor asked. ‘* Would you like to be
a soldier ?”

“A soldier’s profession would not be quite suited
to my taste, Sire,” Gerald replied.

“Why? itis thought to be the most honourable
calling by many of my subjects. I am a soldier,
myself, but I wish not to put a restraint on your
nclination—nay, should you prefer following some
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

useful art, I would give you all encouragement. My
nobles here know that I patronize the useful arts, and
have set them an example by working at some of them
myself,” ,

‘My inclination, Sire, has always been to pursue a
studious life,” Gerald ventured to say.

“Ha!” exclaimed the Czar, “Iam now founding
a university in Moscow, would you like to enter it?”

“That is what I desire above all things, Sire,”
Gerald replied with great earnestness.

“Your desire shall be gratified then,” cried the
_ Emperor, “I wish to serve you, but I had another
object in bringing you here. I took notice of the
account you gave me at our former meeting of your
singular deliverance from shipwreck, and I think F ©
have some clue to the discovery of your family.”

Gerald looked up more earnestly than ever. “To
enable me to discover my kindred, would indeed, Sire,
be conferring on me a favour beyond any other,” he
exclaimed with great energy.

* Can you write ?”

“Yes, Sire, I can write, though but indifferently
My good father, Michael Kopt, taught me to write to
the best of his ability.”

“ Good—make out a clear statement then of all
you know concerning your earlier history, in writing
—be very particular asto dates, and send the docu-
ment to me. You may withdraw now. My servants
will attend to your comfort and provide you with any-
thing you ask for.”

“Oh! Sire,” exclaimed the youth, bursting into a
flood of tears, “I can find no words to express my
gratitude. But my heart thanks you a thousand-
fold.” . |

Peter was naturally a stern man, and not easily
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

moved, but he could not witness the youth’s emotions
without feeling something like a response.

Gerald still lingered at the foot of the throne.
“Will your Majesty pardon me if I ask the addition
of one favour more?” he atlength said; “ itis that I
may be permitted to send a messenger to my friends
to let them know that I am here safe under your
Majesty’s gracious protection.”

“Ay, if that will afford you pleasure,” returned
the Emperor, smiling, and he waved his hand in
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THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

CHAPTER X.
A HAPPY DISCOVERY.

Tue slave who waited on Gerald told him that he nad
orders from the Czar to take him to any part of the
palace and grounds he might wish to see. He was
told, also, that if he would like to see the city, and the
public buildings, he should have an escort from the
Kmperor’s own guards.

Our hero gladly availed himself of these offers, and
thus spent several days very pleasantly. He previously,
however, complied with the Czar’s request regarding
the particulars of his early life.

Tt was but little that he knew of the matter; but
that little he stated with great clearness, both as
respected time and place. Nor did he fail to avail
himself of the licence given him by the Czar to send
to his friends. He wrote a brief account of all that
had passed since his removal, and cheered them with
hopes of ere long seeing them again under happier
circumstances than when they parted last.

Gerald had been at the palace about a week, when
he reccived a message from the Emperor, bidding him
prepare himself for an interview with a lady who, he
said, had taken a great interest in his story. The officer
who delivered the message further informed him that
the lady, whose name was Madame Koski, was the
widow of a Polish noble who had been personally
attached to the Czar; and that, having lost her pro-
perty in Poland, she was now living on a pension
which was allowed her by the Emperor.

Our hero listened to these particulars with great
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

eagerness; for he could not help thinking that this
lady was in some way connected with his family, and
that her interest for him was owing to that circum-
stance.

“Tt is possible,” he said to himself, “that I am |
of Polish origin:” his cheek grew flush and his eye
kindled at the thought. He had occasionally heard
portions of the history of that brave and interesting
people ; and from some cause, which he could not quite
account for himself, he felt deeply concerned in all that
related to them. The Emperor of Russia and the
renowned King of Sweden, Charles XII., had long
been contending for power over the Poles; and the
principal question relating to that unhappy country
seemed to be, which of the two should be their master.

At one time the Czar gained the ascendency, for
the King of Poland, Frederick Augustus, who was
also Elector of Saxony, was his friend and ally. Again
Charles XIT. became the superior in power, and I're-
derick Augustus was then obliged to abdicate the
throne of Poland and retire to Saxony, and Stanislaus
_ Leczinski was chosen in his room—a measure which
gave no satisfaction to the declining nation.

Gerald awaited the arrival of Madame Koski with
intense anxiety. At length the door of the apartment
was slowly opened, and a lady dressed in the Polish
fashion appeared, leaning on the arm of a female
domestic. She glanced hurriedly at Gerald, who
immediately rose and bowed. She then motioned
with her hand for the attendant to withdraw, and
entered the room alone.

Madame Koski was still in the meridian of life;
but ill-health and deep grief had whitened her hair
and left such marks upon her countenance that she
had the appearance of being rather advanced in years.
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

She entered the room with a trembling step, and sunk
into the seat which Gerald politely offered her.

“Your name?” she said, with great effort, looking
very earnestly in his face.

i ““My name, Madame, is Gerald,” he replied ; “ but
Iam called Gerald Kopt, from one ‘Michael Kopt, who
has been to me as a father.”

As the youth spoke, the lady became still more
agitated. “It must be so—I cannot be deceived,’
she murmured: “that brow—those eyes—the voice—
so like my own, own Gerald; you are—you must be—












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THE HAPPY DISCOVERY..

my child!” Here she threw her arms round the boys
neck, and burst into a flood of tears.

“Did I hear right? Did you say you are my
mother?” exclaimed Gerald, disengaging himself a
little from her embrace, that he might look up in her
countenance to read her answer even before her tongue
could speak it.

“Tam,” she answered in a calmer tone; “I lost
an infant on the coast of Russia at the very time stated
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

in your document; and my heart tells me you must:
be he.” :

“This is happiness beyond anything I could have
expected,” cried Gerald, warmly returning her embrace.
“YT never hoped to find a mother living.”

“And I never hoped to find my long-lost child,’”
replied the lady; ‘‘ but God is good and his ways aro’
wonderful.”

“God has, indeed, been good to me, my mother,’’
Gerald responded, now twining his arm fondly round
her neck; ‘‘He provided me with friends who have
been as parents to me, and He has, by a wonderful
providence, brought me here. But tell me, dear
lady—dear mother,” he added, his countenance light-
ing up with great animation—“ tell me, is it true that
I am by birth a Pole?”

“You are,’? Madame Koski replied; “ your father
was a Pole of noble birth.”

“‘T have learned to call those great and noble who
perform great and noble actions, dear lady,” cried
Geraid. “But I do rejoice in hearing that I belong
to that brave and patriotic land.”

“Ours is a fallen country,” said the lady, despond-
ingly. “As for myself,” she added, “I am obliged .
to live on the bounty of the man who is desirous of
holding my country in a state of thraldom; but the
circumstances which led to it. are these :—Your father
and the Czar met in early youth; and your father had
then an opportunity of rendering the Emperor an
essential service, which was repaid by an act of equal
generosity. ‘hus they were bound together by ties
of gratitude.”

“ Ah! and the ties of gratitude are strong,” Gerald
warmly interposed.

“They are, my son,”’ said the lady. ‘‘ Many years
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

after, when Peter of Russia and Charles of Sweden
first contended for mastery over our fallen country,
your father and the Czar met once more. Your father
‘was then a prisoner in Peter’s camp, and I and my
three children were without a home. Under these
circumstances, the Czar contrived to get our children
on board one of his ships, which was then about to sail
up the Baltic. I purposed joining them, but an acci-
dent preventing, the ship set sail without me; and the
children were only under the care ofa female slave
who was their nurse. The next tidings I heard was
that the vessel had been wrecked, and that every one
on board had perished.”

Madame Koski wept as she related these particu-
lars ; nor could Gerald listen to them without shedding
tears also. “Then what became of my father?’ he
asked, with breathless interest.

“The Czar generously gave him his liberty. Your
father,” she continued, “was one of those patriots
who did not take part with either the Swedes or the
Russians, but who nobly stood out for Polish mdepen- —
dence and the right of electing a king for ourselves.
This being the case, he fared ill when Charles of Swe-
den got the mastery; and he would have done the
same when Peter of Russia had the supreme power,
but for the private friendship which I told you existed
between him and the Czar. He fell at last, however,”
and as she ceased the lady buried her face in her hands
and wept afresh. |

“He fell in the defence of his country?’? asked
Gerald..

“He did, dear boy.”

“T have told the.Czar that Iam desirous of pur-
- suing a studious life, and he has offered to place me in
the University he has recently founded in this city.
TIE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK,

But your tale, dear mother,” added Gerald, “has
stirred feelings within me which I scarcely knew that
I possessed. Surely it would be ignoble for me to live
at ease in an enemy’s land, when my own requires my
services.”

“1 should have thought as you do, at one time,
my son,” replied the lady; “but now I view the
matter otherwise. Though there are many- gallant
spirits still in Poland, the power of our conquerors is
too great forus. Nothing can be done for our unhappy
country now, her freedom is entirely lost.” :

CHAPTER XI.
CONCLUSION.

Mapaus Kosxr now proceeded to question Gerald
regarding his humble friends, the fisherman and his
wife, and nothing loth was he to talk of them, and
of their kindness to him. She listened with g¢reat
interest to his account of Michael’s being carried off
to the public works, and of his interview with the
Czar, to plead for the exchange. She had heard
nothing of these particulars—she had only been told
that a youth who had been shipwrecked when an
infant, near the mouth of the Neva, was then at the
Emperor’s palace, and on her arrival, the paper which
Gerald had written out had been put into her hand.
Peter, on first seeing him, had himself been struck
with the resemblance he bore to his early friend, and
when Gerald proceeded to give the account of the
wreck, he immediately surmised that the son of the
Polish noble stood before him.

Though Peter was a man of fierce passions, and
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK,

had little feeling, he was known to attach - himself
firmly to a few individuals. Madame Koski and her
son, therefore, felt some confidence in the continuance
of his friendship and protection.

Gerald at last came to a determination to enter the
University, though his own inclination would now have
led him to go to his native land, and make a stand
with the few brave men who would have joined him in
another struggle for independence. Indeed, he did

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not wholly relinquish the idea, though he resolved at
present’on making the most of the advantages offered
him for education.

Previous to his entering, however, he and his
mother took a journey to the village in which Michael
and his wife were residing. Madame Koski was
anxious to see the worthy couple who had acted so
kindly to her son, that she might have an opportu-
nity of expressing her deep gratitude, and she and

Ti,
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

Gerald were both desirous of ascertaining whether
they could do anything to make the family more
comfortable.

The meeting was affecting, and it gave mutual
pleasure. Madame Koski was much pleased with the
fisherman’s family, especially with Margaret, towards
whom she thought she could never show sufficient
kindness in return for the motherly part -she had
acted towards her friendless infant. ‘The good woman
brought forward the clothes in which Gerald was
dressed when he was first cast upon their protecting
care. And if any further proof of his identity had
been needful, the sight of them would have quite
satisfied Madame Koski that he was indeed her child.
The view of the clothes, however, called forth many
painful recollections; for though Gerald was restored
to her, her two other children, who had been equally
dear, were lost. She was affected, too, when told of
the careful manner in which the babe’s little ark had
been enclosed, in order to shelter him from the waters.
“Poor Jaqueline,” she said, with tears in her eyes,
“vou were faithful to your charge to the very last.
Oh!” she added, turning to her son, “what a
wonderful Providence has followed thee, my child;
from the moment I parted from thee, thou hast never
wanted a mother’s tender care.”

Madame Koski was a Christian woman. She had
been taught in the rough school of adversity, and she
had learned, not only to submit with patience to the
ills of life, but to see God’s gracious and merciful
hand in all.

Madame Koski’s income was not very large, still
she insisted on sharing it with Michael and his wite,
who really stood in need of aid, though they were
unwilling to receive it from her. The good couple
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

had done all without any hope or prospect of reward ;
but they both repeatedly declared that Gerald had
already more than repaid them for the services they
had rendered him by the generous sacrifice he had
made, which had, they said, been the means of saving
Michael’s life.

Gerald returned with his mother to Moscow, and
then commenced his studies with a cheerful spirit.
He lived to be a comfort to his widowed parent, and
an ornament to society ; but he never had an opportu-
nity of serving his country beyond what he could do as
a private individual.

Within two or three years of the time when the
above-related events took place, Peter the Great once
more gained ascendency over the Poles by a victory he
won over his rival, Charles XII. In consequence of
this victory, Stanislaus was deposed and Frederick
Augustus was restored to the throne.

Most of our young readers are no doubt aware
that Poland is no longer a kingdom, but a Russian
province. Subsequently to the period of which we
have been speaking, the fall of the Polish nation
was rapid, and their final overthrow took place under
the Russian Emperor Nicholas.

It now remains for us, young readers, to inquire
what moral may be learned from the little history
before us. very book we read should do something
more than amuse the fancy and interest the feelings.
it should inform our minds and teach us some valuable
lesson for practice. We have seen that our hero’s
generous action was made in the providence of God to
lead to its own reward. Had he not sought an inter-
view with the Czar, he would not have discovered hig
mother. Again, we may observe, that circumstances
do not affect the conduct of individuals so as to
THE FOUNDLING OF THE WRECK.

prevent the possibility of their performing noble
deeds. The fisherman and his wife practised gene-
rosity and kindness of the highest order, lowly and
poor though they were; and the seemingly disadvan-
tageous situation of the boy who was cast upon
their bounty did not prevent his achieving a truly
heroic action. Think not, therefore, that your circum-
stances, whatever they may be, shut you out from the
exercise of exalted virtues; for there are no circum-
stances, however unfavourable, which exclude the per-
formance of generous and self-denying deeds.





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THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE,

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THE CHILDREN.

seme ITO has not heard of the country called Italy,

Wi) a beautiful and fertile land lying to the
south of the high mountains called the
Alps? Who has not heard of its grapes
and oranges, its groves of olive-trees and myrtles, and
its fields of rice and maize; and who has not heard
too of the grand old cities of Italy with their beautiful
buildings and fine sculpture and paintings? All these
things make it most interesting to visit and read about,
and it becomes still more so, when we remember that
in Italy much of the present civilization of the world


THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

was, as it were, begun; for not only were many arts
and sciences first practised and studied there, but also
many useful discoveries and inventions were made
there and brought to perfection, which have since been
highly useful to mankind. The great prosperity of
Italy, is, however, past and gone, and through bad
government, and what we think mistaken views of
religion, it is now very far behind many other countries
of the world, so that while grapes and oranges still
grow and ripen there, and groves of olives and myrtles
and fields of rice and maize are still to be seen, just as
they were perhaps two or three hundred years ago ;
yet in all other respects, we admire Italy for what it
was, and visit it and read about its cities in order to
find the traces of what they once were in the days of
their prosperity and greatness.

And now we are about to tell astory of some things
that happened in one of these cities of Italy, after
what may be called its best days were past. Things
which concerned one of the greatest men of the time,
whose name is well known, and which happened also
to two children whose names have certainly never been
heard before, but who might have done and said all
that is related here.

It was in a city called Pisa, about two hundred and
sixty years ago, that there lived a man named Bertano,
who was celebrated at that time as a manufacturer of
glass. He had originally come from Venice, in which
city glass was first made in Italy, and which was very
celebrated for its looking-glasses and mirrors; and
when he settled at Pisa, glass was still quite a novelty
to the people, and only the rich had glass windows to
their houses, or drinking vessels of glass for their
tables, while a looking-glass was considered one of
_ the most curious and costly of ornaments ; indeed it
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

was looked into almost with a feeling of awe, so wonder-’
ful was it thought that a person’s face could be reflected
so accurately.

_ Bertano was not only a maker of glass for windows
and mirrors, but he was also acquainted with the art
of staining glass with rich and beautiful colours, and
at the time of our story was engaged in making some
beautiful coloured glass windows for a church in Pisa,
on which different scriptural subjects were represented,
He inhabited a large old house near one of the gates
of the city, and round a court-yard at the back were
workshops and furnaces, where, assisted by workmen,
he carried on his employment very industriously, and
earned much money.

Bertano had lost his wife before he came to Pisa,
and his family consisted only of two children, a boy
and a girl, who were taken care of by an old house-
keeper or nurse, who generally went by the name of
Dame Ursula. Now, the real names of the children
were Lancilotto aud Fiammina, but as these were
rather long even for the Italians to pronounce, the usual
_ names by which they were known at home were Lotto
and Mina, and such I shall always call them. How
different were the brother and sister! At the time I
am writing about, Lotto was a lively active boy of
twelve, while Mina at ten was a poor little sickly
cripple, moving each morning with difficulty from her
bed to a chair, and in the evening from her chair back
again to her bed. Lotto was here, there, and every-
where, seeing and hearing and meddling in everything;
Mina sat the long and weary day through, in the deep
recess of a window which looked across the street only
to the opposite house, and through which little light
and little air came. This window had to be sure a
casement of glass of small diamond-shaped panes,
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

which her father had put in for her, but only a little
portion of it would open to admit the air, and it was so
high that there was little possibility of even getting a
peep from it down into the street to see the passers-
by; and only a little patch of blue sky could be seen
over the top of the opposite house, in which at night
Mina, as she lay on her bed, could sometimes see a
few stars twinkling, but never by any chance-the sun
or moon,

It would have been a weary life indeed for this
little girl, being thus shut up a prisoner in one room,
and seeing as she did only Dame Ursula at those times
when she had to be dressed or undressed, or have her
meals, and seldom secing her father more than once a
day, if it had not been for Lotto. Happily for her,
Lotto was a good kind brother, and very luckily too
for her, Lotto was a creat talker. In the midst of all
his occupations and amusements he never forgot his
sister Mina, and all he heard and saw was repeated
and described to her, so that Mina lived in the world
as 1b were through the eyes, and ears, and tongue of
Lotto, and had almost left off wishing that she could
see and hear for herself, so well did he describe and tell,

All that he could find likely to give her pleasure or
amusement would Lotto bring up to her little gloomy
room, so that Lotto’s visits often enabled her to fill up
well the time of his absence. The ripest melon to be
had in the market, or the most tempting bunch of
grapes, would be sure to find their way to her, while
the seasons were marked to her by the fresh bunches of
flowers that Lotto would gather for her in the fields
and woods around the city. Mina’s most favourite
playthings, however, were the scraps and fragments of
glass that Lotto collected for her out of his father's
‘vorkshops. Tle was a favourite with the workmen,
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE,

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DOCIOR GALILEI WATCHING TUE STARS.
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

and when not too busy they would mould him orna-
ments of glass and make him little coloured glass beads
to take to his little sick sister who lay ill up-stairs.
Mina had thus a large collection of pieces of stained
glass, with which she used to amuse herself in making
all kinds of devices and patterns on the table before
her; and of threading necklaces and rosaries of coloured
beads, she was never tired. She had, however, other
employments of a more useful kind, for she could plait
straw very neatly, of which she made baskets and
mats, and could embroider very prettily in coloured
silks and wools, so that in spite of her imprisonment
she was seldom idle, and even when Lotto was with
her, her little fingers would be busy over some little
present or other for her friends.

Mina, as we have said, was generally the listener
when they were together, for living the dull life that
she did, it was very seldom that she had anything to
tell to Lotto. It happened, however, one day, that
when Lotto had come up to bring her some particularly
bright pieces of red and yellow glass that one of the
workmen had given him, it was Mina who had a piece
of news to tell. |

“Do you know, Lotto,” said she, “that some one
has come to live in the house on the other side of the
street, and that I can see him very often at his window
teaching and studying. Dame Ursula tells me that
he is called the Doctor Galilei, and that he is a very
learned man indeed. Do you know that I almost
think he must be an astrologer, for last night after
I went to bed, I could see him out on his balcony
looking at the stars, and then poimg every now and
then back into his room to write at the table where his
lamp was burning.”

“An Astrologer! 1 should not wonder; and as-
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE,

trologers can tell the future, they say, by looking at
the stars. I should like to know whether the Doctor
Galilei could tell you, Mina, whether you would ever
get well, or tell me if I should ever go to Venice.
How I should like to ask him !”

“Well, do you know, Lotto,” said Mina with a
sigh, “that I should not at all like to ask him either
of those questions. I should be so afraid that he
might say I never should be any better; and then I
don’t much think I should lke him to say that you
would go to Venice, Lotto, for what should I do while
you were gone ?””

° Why you would have to expect me back again, to
be sure, Mina, and to think of all the pretty things I
should bring back from Venice, and all I should have
to tell you about that strange city. That would be
nice, would it not ?”

“Yes, nice when you came back again, but I
should not lke your going away, and I always hope
that something will happen to prevent 16.”

“Ah, but I must go, Mina dear, you know. father
always says [ must go to Venice to learn the last new
way of making mirrors, before I am quite a man and
begin to help him.”

“Well, that is a good way off at all events,” said
Mina, “for you are only a boy now, Lotto, that isa
comfort. Butlook! There is the Doctor Galilei out
on his balcony, Lotto! Does he not look very wise
and good? I like his looks so much.”

“Yes, but see, Mina—what can he be about? I
do think he has dropped something—yes, a piece of
' paper or parchment; and here it comes flying down
into the street.”

“Oh, run and fetch it, Lotto! Take it to him.
He would be so sorry to lose it, I dare say.”
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

Before Mina had finished speaking, Lotto was off
hike an arrow from a bow, and had sprang down the
great staircase, and was out in the street. It was
quite a long time before he came back again, and
Mina had grown quite impatient, and was almost
airaid that he had stayed to ask the Doctor about her
getting well, when Lotto burst into the room again.

“I have seen him, Mina—I have seen and talked
to Doctor Galilei, and what will you say when I tell
you that he is coming here to see you!”

“Oh, Lotto, what can he want to sec me for? You
surely have not asked him.”

“About the stars? Oh, no! and I don’t believe
he is an astrologer, Mina. Only a doctor who gives
physic to people to make them well. But let me tell
you first about the paper. I found it directly I got
into the street, for it had fallen just by our door ;
and I picked it up, and was going to rine at the great
bell of the doctor’s house, when out he came himself;
and when I gave it him, he thanked me very kindly,
and said he had thrown it down on purpose, and that
he was going to throw it down again from the bal-
cony, if I would be so good as to pick it up again and
bring 1t up to him.”

“Throw it down again! Why, Lotto, what could
that be for? How foolish of him to do that.”

“No, Mina, not at all foolish, but very wise, and
what is more | know all about it, as I will tell you.
In the first place the doctor is trying to find out some-
thing about things falling through the air, he told me;
and after letting the piece of paper fall from the bal-
cony spread open as you saw it, he went up again and
let it fall all crumpled up into a ball, and he found —
that then it fell much quicker, because it could push
its way through the air, whilst before, when the paper
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE,

was spread open, the air supported it; and this wag
what he wanted to be sure of.”

“‘ And you picked his paper ball up for him, Lotto ?””

“Yes, and [ took it up to him, and went into his
house over the way, through the great hall and stair-
case up to the room where Dr. Galilei studies. Such
a room, Mina, as you never saw. All full of books
and papers, and such queer instruments and _ tools.
And the Doctor talked to me, and I said that you,
- Mina, saw him first, and he said ‘ Who is Mina?’ and
then I told him. He said, ‘ What, the little girl with
the pale face that I see sitting at the casement?’ and
I said ‘Yes;’ and then he said ‘ Why does she always.
sit there all day long ?? and I told him how ill you
were, and how long you had been ill, and what was
the matter, and then—now don’t be frightened, Mina
— but then he said he would come to see you, for he
thought that perhaps he might be able to do you some
cood.”

But Mina was frightened, and she could not help
feeling terribly alarmed at the thought that she might
have to do something different from what she did
every day, or take some disagreeable medicine. She
had grown so accustomed to her present life that she
scarcely wished for any alteration, except that now
and then she had great pains in her legs and joints,
and this she would be very glad to lose. She had,
however, ceased to §hink it possible that any doctor
could cure her, for she had had several some years
before, and had taken much medicine; but as they
nad done her no good, she had little hope of being
cured that way, but, according to the notions of those
times, she fancied, as did Dame Ursula too, that she
would only be well when she had been taken to the
shrine of some particular saint and kissed some par-
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE,

ticular relics which were supposed to have the power
of healing, And when Dame Ursula was told that day
all about the visit that was to be expected from the
Doctor Galilei, she shook her head and said, “ Ah, all
very well, my good Lotto, all very well! The Doctor
is a8 everybody knows a very learned man, but still I
have no hope of his doing anything for our little Mina.
If your father would only let me carry her to Loretto,
to the chapel of our blessed Lady, and let her but
once kneel upon the steps of the altar, she would be
well again directly, and would be able to run about
and jump and dance as briskly as you, Lotto, can
do.””

But Loretto was a long way off, and, besides this,
Bertano, Mina’s father, had no belief that going there
would cure his little daughter ; on the contrary, he was
glad to know that Dr. Galilei would come and sce her,
and begged Dame Ursula to do all that he should
recommend for the sick child.

Two or three days passed over, however, before the
visit of the doctor was paid, and Mina had begun to
hope and Lotto to fear that his new friend had for-
gotten them, when, as he was standing out on his
balcony one morning, he all at once looked down
towards Mina’s little window, and then seeming to
recollect her all at once, he nodded and made signs to
her that he would come over.

The visit was not nearly so terrible as Mina had
expected, for the good doctor talked to her a long
time about Lotto and her father, and asked to look at
the piece of embroidery she was doing, and admired a
pretty rosary of glass beads that lay on the table, all
before he began to question Dame Ursula, or examine
her knees and ankle jomts. The medicine he recom-
mended, too, was only a drink made of a particular
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

herb which was to be found in the fields near Pisa,
and though she did not quite like the idea of having
her joints bathed so often with cold water as he
advised, yet that was better than the rubbing with
oils and salves that the other doctors had recom-
mended.

When Doctor Galilei however looked round the
little close room in which she sat, and found that only
avery small portion of the glass window was made to
open, he shook his head and said that she ought to
have more light and air.

‘‘ Have you no garden,” said he, “in which she
could sit every day in the air and sunshine? for that
would do her more good than anything”’ Dame
Ursula said there was a little terrace garden at the
side of the house, but it was never used; and she
added, that her little patient disliked being carried
about, so that they never attempted to remove her
from her room.

Doctor Galilei said no more to them at that time,
and took his leave. When he went out, he found
Lotto on the stairs, waiting to catch a glimpse of him
as he passed down them, and no doubt hoping also to
be able to have. a little talk with his new acquaintance.
To his surprise the doctor asked him to show him the
garden, which he understood was at the side of the
house. Now Lotto was accustomed sometimes to play
in this little garden, and could get into it out of the
court-yard by a steep fheht of steps, for it was a sort
of raised terrace in the manner which is common in
southern countries, and being at the side of the house
you could look from it down into the street. It was
far from being a garden, like any such as we are
familiar with, and as for plants, it was at that time
little more than a tangled mass of trailing vines, among
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

which here and there stood a pomegranate or orange-
tree, with their scarlet and white blossoms. In the
middle of it was an old stone fountain, now choked up
with grass and weeds and dead leaves, and many years
had passed since any water had flowed fromit.

“Aha!” said Doctor Galilei, when he had mounted
on to the terrace, and looked around him. “ This ig
just what I expected. Why, this garden is the very
thing for thy little sister, my young friend. This is
where she ought to be sitting these sunny days instead
of being cooped up like a little bird in a cage in that
close room. Why, my good Lotto, how is it that thou
dost not bring her out here?”

“Oh, Doctor—Doctor Galilei,’ said Lotto, “ you
don’t know Mina. Why, she would never let us bring
her up here—she would cry at the very thought of our
dragging her all down the great staircase, and through
the court-yard, and up these steep steps, all to get
here. J assure you, good Doctor, it would really hurt
her, for she is never accustomed to move.”

“Well, but that is no reason why she should not
begin to move. This little garden, too, is on a level
with her little room, and surely there must be a door
into it through which she could come. See now, my
fine fellow, what is this here behind this great myrtle
bush? What is this but a door? Why not bring thy
httle sister out this way? It cannot be half a dozen
yards from her room.”

Lotto looked surprised that the Doctor who was
such a stranger to them should find out what he had
never seen before—a door opening from the house on
to the terrace. Where could his eyes have been?
And now when he came to think about it, this very
door must be the one which he had so often seen,
‘locked and. bolted, at the end of the very gallery into
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

which Mina’s door opened. Still a look of doubt was
on his face, as he thought of how Mina always cried
when they attempted to move her, even into the next
room, and he told the Doctor of his doubts.

“Well, my boy, say nothing to thy sister at pre-
sent about this garden. Set to work, and put ita
little to rights, and contrive her a place where she
may sit sheltered from the sun at noon-day, and leave
to me the rest.” And then the Doctor and Lotto had
a talk about where the hottest sun would fall, and
where the afternoon shade would come, and how best
she could sit so as to look down over the parapet into
the street, to amuse herself by seeing the passengers
go by; anda great deal was planned and suggested
by the good doctor, which Lotto was to manage to get
done by the next week, when he promised to call again
to see his patient.

It was just as well that nothing was said to Mina
about going out into the open air, just at present, for
it happened that two or three showery days followed
after this visit of the Doctor Galilei, and 1t would have
made her shudder at the thought of going out into the
chilly damp air; and it was lucky that Lotto was too:
busy to be tempted to let out the secret of the trial
that was coming on her. Never had Lotto been so
proud in his life, as he was in having something to do
all by himself; for Doctor Galilei had said to him,
«Thou art a stout strong boy, why shouldst thou not do
all thatis needful here thyself, in weeding and pruning
these plants and in making it look nice and pleasant
for thy little sister?’ So Lotto was determined to
have very little help from any one else.

Some grand schemes too came into his head directly
about making Mina a bower at the end of the litle
terrace, and of getting the vine to trail over it, and
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

then he thought whether it would be possible to get
the old fountain to play again and send up sparkling
water, which would both look and sound so cool. In
patching together some bits of trellis which were lying
about so as to make a bower, and in clearing out the
fountain, he had some assistance from one of his father’s
workmen, but all the rest he did himself. It took no
little time and patience to get all the rank grass and
weeds uprooted that had been growing unheeded and
unchecked for many a year, and the luxuriant vines
were difficult to get into anything like order, so long had
they been accustomed to have their own way. Besides
the grape vine, one long branch of a great gourd vine,
with its wide-spreadine leaves, was coaxed, however,
over the top of the trellis which formed the arbour, and
Lotto contrived that the round green gourds or pump-
kins, should rest in places strong enough to support
them when they grew large and heavy. A bench and
table were placed in the arbour ready for Mina when-
ever she should come; and Dame Ursula promised
some old velvet cushions when they should be wanted
to make the seat easy and soft.

And how about the fountain? The more Lotto
thought about it, the more he wished that he could
only get the water to come into it again, which would
be such a charming thmg for Mina to watch as she sat
in her bower. No one could, however, tell him where
the cistern was from which the water ought to come,
and he looked in vain down the stone dolphin’s mouth,
out of which it must have gushed in former days so as
to fall again into the marble basin. He was one day
examining the fountain, and longing that he could
understand it better, when he heard some one calling
him by name. He looked around on every side, but
could see no one from whom the voice could come,
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

until at last, turning his eyes upwards, he perceived
that Dr. Galilei was in his balcony, and that he made
signs to him. Signsof what? Lotto could not under-
derstand, until as last he perceived that the Doctor
pointed to the roof of one of the buildings which stood
around the court-yard and were used as workshops.
The cistern from which the fountain was supplied must
be there—the Doctor could see it as he looked down
upon it all—and so it proved. He consulted his father,
and obtained his permissicn to have it all set to rights.
A great bird’s nest was found to have stopped the pipe
by which the cistern ought to have been filled from
the river; the water was made to flow into it, and then
through the pipes to the fountaim. It cameat last from
the dolphin’s mouth, at first only trickling slowly, and
then at last spouting freely up, fresh, bright, and clear.

“ Better, most certamly better,” was the decision of
Dr. Galilei, as he saw Mina again about ten days after
his first visit. “And now, my little maiden, I must
see thee stand.” And after much hesitation and
alarm, Mina was actually persuaded to stand, and
even, when held tightly by the Doctor and with her
nurse on the other side, to walk two or three paces
across the room. Not that day, but the next was she
to be taken out imto the garden, and partly from the
assurance of all that it was a very little way off, and -
partly mm the hope of seeing as they said all the people
coming into market with their fruit and vegetables
and flowers, she was induced to look forward to it with
something like pleasure. Dr. Galilei assured her, too,
that he should always be able.to see her from his
balcony, and that she would see him when out there
noting down the movements of the sun, which he was
accustomed to do each day, and she liked the thought

of seeing her kind new friend.
C
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

The great door at the end of the gallery had been
unbarred and unbolted, the soft cushions had been
placed ready on the seat in the arbour, and Lotto had
-at last satisfied himself that the great vases which held
the orange-trees stood in the best possible place for
Mina to see and smell the blossoms, when he went to
assist in the important operation of carrying his sister
out from her dark room on to the terrace. It was a
fine warm sunny afternoon, and overhead was the clear
_and deep blue sky for which Italy is so famous. The
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the flowers of the pomegranate shrubs and oleanders
were gay and bright, and the waters of the fountain
sparkled and shone like diamonds. No wonder that
the little sick girl’s eyes were dazzled and almost
blinded as she was all at once moved from the dark
and gloomy room amid these pleasant objects. It was
well for her, indeed, that Lotto had trained the vines
so well over the trellis that scarcely one ray of sunshine
‘could penetrate through the leaves, for when laid
quietly down on the bench, with her own little play-
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

things and work spread around her, the frightened and
startled looks of Mina changed gradually to those of
pleased surprise.

‘© Oh, Lotto, what beautiful flowers! What a beau-
tiful fountain! You never told me about the fountain.
How brightly the water sparkles and how cool it looks!
What are those red flowers called? How sweetly the
orange blossoms smell! Will there be oranges by-and-
by? And grapes too! And shall I see them ripen ?”’

_And her lhttle tongue ran on long with questions and
remarks, while Lotto was in great delight at all her
pleasure and surprise.

“JT did it all, Mina, very nearly all myself! Such
work I had with the grass and weeds, and such work
- we all had with the fountain to make it play so well.
Doctor Galilei said you ought to come out here. He
says that air and sunshine are to be your physic. Nice
physic, is it not, Mina ?”

“Oh yes; andthen the flowers and the fountain ; I
do think, Lotto, it will do me good to smell the flowers
and listen to the fountain.”

‘‘ And now that you are rested a little, Mina, only
just turn one little bit this way, and see how you can
look over this parapet here down into the street below.
And you can see all the people as they come in from
the country, and on festival days we shall have the pro-
cessions pass this way. Wiullit not be charming?”

‘And Doctor Galilei, Lotto—he said I should see
him. Where is his balcony ? ”

“Oh,up there—nowI see. And, look, he is coming
~out—he nods to us, and smiles.” |

Mina was very happy at first, but it is not to be
wondered at that the pleasure and the surprise, and
the exertion of being moved, and looking at so many
new things should soon tire her, so that Lotto was
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

almost disappointed and frightened when her spirits
began to flag, and at some little annoyance from the
flies, she began to cry, and begged to be carried back
again to her own room.

The next day, however, early in the forenoon, she was
anxious to be taken to the terrace again, and there it
was she had her little mid-day meal of broth and rice.
The trellis bower soon became a little home to ‘her, and
as the summer wore on, there were few days of which
a considerable portion would not be spent out there.
As Doctor Galilei had foreseen, she improved visibly in
health ; and before two months were over, colour had
come into her cheeks, and she could not only stand but
walk,

It needed the encouraging voice and firm manner
of Doctor Galilei, however, to induce her to attempt to
use her legs, and it was quite contrary to what she her-
self or Dame Ursula believed to be possible when,
assisted on one side by her good friend the Doctor,
and leaning on Lotto’s shoulder on the other, she
actually walked one day the whole way round the
fountain which stood in the middle of the terrace.
This first attempt proving successful, a certain amount
of walking was ordered by the Doctor for each day,
and it was not more than three months from her first
trial that she was able, with Lotto’s help only, to reach
the terrace from her own room and to return to it in
the evening back again. Nothing more was said by
Dame Ursula about the journey to Loretto; but there
were times when she threw out hints about Doctor
Galilei being something of a magician, and hoped that
she might not through his magic become just as quickly
il again. Mina and Lotto, however, were not afraid
of anything Doctor Galilei might do; on the contrary,
_they were full of gratitude to him for his kindness and
THE CHILDREN AND ‘THE SAGE.

good advice. Mina especially loved him, as she said, »
almost as well as she did Lotto or her father, and it
would have been a pleasure to her if she could have
expressed to him any part of the grateful feelings that
filled her heart. She was always so glad when she
could find anything to do for Doctor Galilei, or to give
to him, and many a time she would make Lotto take
up to their opposite neighbour some of the good things
that were brought as treats to herself, such as some
fine ripe figs, or some of Dame Ursula’s choicest cakes.

She embroidered for him the prettiest purse she had
ever made, and plaited some neat straw mats for his
table; and there was no night that she went to bed
without looking up to see if the good Doctor might
not be out on his balcony, that she might see him the
last thing before kneeling down to say her prayers, for
it seemed to her as if he ought to be thanked as well
as God for her recovery. Something of this kind she
said to him, one day when he came to see her, but he
replied, *‘ Nay, my little maid, thou must thank and
praise alone the Lord of heaven for thy health and
strength ; forif I have given thee good counsel, still
my knowledge cometh but from Him. And the virtue
that is in the herbs of the field and in the fresh air and
warm sunshine—they are but blessed gifts of his to
man, which He hath given him power to use to his own
good.”

_ Besides this feeling of thankfulness which he shared
in on his sister’s behalf, Lotto had begun to feel him-
self quite a person of importance ever since he had
taken a part in her cure, and been treated with confi-
dence by so learned a man as the Doctor Galilei, and
nothing he lked so much as having an opportunity of
paying him a visit on some pretext or other, so as to
see some of the curious things he had up in his room,
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

or get some piece of knowledge from him. He found
that the doctor had left off giving advice to sick people
in general, and spent his time principally in observing
the heavenly bodies—the sun, moon, and stars; while
he made all kinds of calculations about them, and drew
maps and plans of their situations mm the sky. His
business, too, was to teach what he learned and ob-
served to the students of the University of Pisa, and
on certain days he went into the city to give lectures.
He liked to impart to others the knowledge that he
acquired, and even to teach such a young boy as Lotto.
He taught him many things himself, and he encouraged
him to attend more regularly at school, in order to
learn to read and write, for as he said, there was much
knowledge which could be gained only by reading,
while what we got by seeing and hearing could never
be made of use to others without writing.

It was Mina’s birthday ; and this was when autumn
had quite begun, and all the Italian fruits were ripened
in the mellow sun. The grapes on the vine that hung
over the trellis of Mina’s bower were now of a deep
purple, and the gourds had swelled out so large and
heavy that they quite weighed down the branches on
which they grew, some resting on the ground, and
others lodging on the stone parapet. In the place of
the white orange blossoms that had scented the air so
sweetly when Mina first came out upon the terrace,
there were plump oranges of every shade between pale
yellow and the deepest red, and pomegranates hung’
where the scarlet flowers had been.

To celebrate the day, Mina’s father, Dame Ursula,
Lotto, and herself were all to take supper together on
the terrace, and the grapes from off the vine, and all
the ripest oranges were to be gathered on the occasion
to add to the repast that Dame Ursula had been so
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

busy cooking all the morning, in the kitchen, and
making purchases for in the market.

They were seated round the table in the bower, and
Mina’s health had been drunk by her father in some of
his best wine, and he had given her his usual birthday
present of a gold coin, when Lotto espied the Doctor
Galilei watching from his balcony as usual the setting
of the sun.

‘Qh, Lotto, do run over,”’ said Mina, “ with some
of these grapes for the good Doctor. I know he likes
grapes, and take him too this piece of purple glass that
I promised him to look at the sun through; and tell
him, Lotto, that 16 is my birthday—and don’t forget to
_ say how often I have walked round the fountain to-day
and how well I am.”

She had many more messages to send, but Lotto
was off before they were half ended, and he was soon
seen standing on the balcony by the side of Doctor
Galilei. He came back again, however, sooner than
they expected, and to the surprise and pleasure of all,
he brought back word that Doctor Galilei had invited
himself down to join the supper-party, that he might,
as he said, give Mina his good wishes with the rest.

Mina was very glad that her father should have her
kind friend and benefactor as his guest, and a chair was
brought out for him from the house, and the best silver
drinking-cup placed ready for his use. Never had the
Doctor Galilei seemed so cheerful as he did this even-
ing, for he was more often grave and thoughtful—but
now he joked and laughed with Mina and Lotto, and
had a long and interesting talk with their father, about
his methods of making glass. Bertano was pleased to
find how willing the learned doctor was to listen to all
he had to tell and describe, and he went and fetched
several things that he had been lately making of glass,
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

which he fancied his guest wouldlike to see. Amongst
these were some small mirrors, which being rounded
on the surface or convex, would reflect objects much
diminished in size, so that their supper-table, the orange-
trees, and the fountain were al} to be seen reflected on
the small surface of the mirror, as in a little picture.
Besides these mirrors, he produced some other things
which seemed to please the good doctor evén more,
and these were small rounded pieces of glass, which he
called magnifiers, because by looking at objects through
them, they seemed magnified, or two or three times the
size that they really were. Looked at through one of
these pieces of glass for instance, the wing of a butterfly
which Lotto caught, seemed as if covered with gold-
like shining feathers, and the small seeds in the figs
looked as large as orange-pips. Doctor Galilei was
never tired of looking first at one object and then at
another, through these magnifiers, and as Mina said,
he seemed quite delighted when her father begged of
lnm to take two of them away with him, and thanked
him as much as if he had received a very precious gift.
He had bid them all good night, or as the Italians say,
“a most happy night,” and said he must go back to
his books and writing, when his eye happened to rest
on one of the large round pumpkins or gourds that
grew on the vine over the arbour. As Mina observed,
he stood some time looking at it in silence, and then
turning to Lotto, he said, “ When thou seest the lamp
lighted in my room to-night, bring up to me one of the
roundest. of those gourds, and I will show thee some-
thing.”

‘What can the Doctor Galilei want with a gourd,
Lotto, do you think? Surely he does not eat them,
for they are not half so good as melons. What can he
have to show?” Lotto did not know any better than
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE, -

Mina, and he waited most impatiently until the time
came for satisfying his curiosity. Mina, who was more
than usually tired, had gone to bed, and Dame Ursula
had cleared away the remains of their little feast, and
his father had returned to his workshop, before the
gummer of the doctor’s lamp was seen at his window ;
and then Lotto, who had long before cut off a plump
round pumpkin, set off with it under his arm, across
the street, and up the doctor’s great stone staircase.
Doctor Galilei was busy as he entered, and told
Lotto he must wait until he had noted down something
which he had observed that evening in the stars, and
Lotto stood in silence out on the balcony, as the doctor
went backwards and forwards, from looking out at the
starry sky, and then to his great star-map, which lay
stretched out upon his table. By and by the star had
set which he was engaged in watching, and he then
rolled wp his maps, and put away all his books and
papers so as to leave nothing on the table but his lamp,
which he left standing in the middle. Then he desired
Lotto to bring his aes and begged him to listen
attentively to what he had to tell ion First of all, he
told him that the earth on which we live is round in
shape like the pumpkin he held in his hands; of this, he
satd there was no doubt. The great traveller, Colum-
bus, more than a hundred years before, had known this
quite well, and had boldly steered his ship to the other
side of the great globe or ball; and since Columbus,
men had sailed on and on across the seas to the west
and come back again round from the east, so that they
had been quite round the world! and Doctor Galilei
marked a line all round the gourd to show Lotto the
track in which the ships had sailed. He said that
when a boy no bigger than Lotto, he had learned all
this, but that now he was going to show something
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

which he had only lately learned about the world,
partly from the writings of Copernicus, an earlier philo-
sopher, and partly from what he had himself observed
and studied. He said to Lotto that he supposed he
knew that the sun rose in the east in the morning, and
that 1t was at noon nearly above their heads, while in
the evening it sank down or set in the west; and Lotto
said he did know all this, but that he always wondered
where the sun went to at night, soas to slip up again
each morning in the same place; but that now he
supposed it went round and round the earth in the
same way as he now moved his hand round and round
the gourd.

Doctor Galilei smiled and said, “ More people than
thou, my child, think this. But what thinkest thou
about it when I tell thee, that the sun is greatly larger
than our world, and that it is millions and millions of
miles distant from us. Dost thou think that so large
a body is likely to take this long journey every four
and twenty hours to give us a little of its ight on this
our globe? Dost thou believe this, my boy?” Lotto
knew not what to believe, but he thought it must be
so, unless there were many suns that came by turns.

“Nay, my good Lotto! Look but a little while at
this,” said Doctor Galilei, and at the same time he
trimmed his lamp till it sent out a brighter light, and
then holding the gourd before it, he said, “ the world
is like this gourd. One-half of the gourd thou seest is
lighted by my lamp; my lamp is like the sun. The
sun remains at rest, 1t does not move, but the earth
does move. The earth—the world—the great globe on
which we live, it turns round. Once in every four and
twenty hours does the earth spin round, just as I turn
this gourd. And now thou seest, my boy, that this is
the easy and simple way in which the great Creator
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

has contrived that we upon this earth should have
light and darkness, day and night. Not by the long
journey of the great sun around us, but by the spin-
ning of our globe upon its pole or axle. Wonderful
and wise contrivance! How great the effect, how
simple the cause ! ”

And as he spoke, the eyes of the good doctor
sparkled and his cheek flushed; never had Lotto seen
him look so exulting or so proud as he kept holding
the gourd by its stalk, and turning it round; and as
the light of the lamp fell always on one-half while the
other was in shade, he murmured to himself, “night
and day—day and night—it moves—yes, most surely
must it move.”

Then all at once the doctor remembered Lotto, who
sat in silence at his side, still rather puzzled, as he
thought of the rising and setting sun; and he could
not understand it all, until his teacher made on the
side of the gourd a mark which was to represent Pisa,
and then as he turned it round before the lamp, they
could see Pisa in the shade, which was night, when he
and Mina and his father were asleep, and then the
mark came to the edge of the light again, that was
sunrise,—morning at Pisa,—and when it got to where
the lamp shone straight and full upon it, that was
-noon ;—and now he understood it all.

“And the stars and moon?” said Lotto, wanting to
know still more.

“Nay, good Lotto, this is enough for thee to-night.
May be, my friend, another day I shall be able to teach
thee more—but now we will say farewell. Leave me
thy gourd, and get thee home to bed, so as to be ready
for the great sun to-morrow when he comes again ;
but that is wrong, I ought rather to say, when we are
turned towards him again.” Lotto thanked Dr. Galilei
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE. -

for his lesson, which he said he was sure he should —
remember, and he was leaving the room, when the
doctor called him back again. A. look of gravity and
even of sadness had come over his face, quite different
from the happy look he had just before had, and after
a pause, he said, “‘ Lotto my young friend, thou must
not speak of what I have shown and told thee this
night. There are those who might think it wrong in
- me to teach it thee, although it is the truth. Go thy
way. ‘Tell no one unless thy little sister, and she will
not betray me. Tell her if thou wilt, but no one else.”
And Lotto went home. For the first time in his life,



he walked down the doctor’s stairs slowly and quietly.
He crossed the street, and went up at once to his own
room, slowly and quietly too, seeing and speaking to
no one. He went to bed, silent and grave. He was
more than grave, for he was frightened. Never before
had Lotto had such a secret to keep, and at the same
time too, such a secret to tell. He longed for morning
that he might be able to go to Mina, and he longed to
see the sun again. There was something, about this
that the Doctor Galilei had taught him, which he did
not quite hke. ‘The thought of their all being so con-
stantly twirling round in the air was not pleasant, and
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE,

he wished he had only Doctor Galilei at hand before he
went to sleep, that he might ask him why they did not
all fall off the gourd, that is the earth. Then he
remembered the flies on the ceiling, and he thought
that when he tried to walk again his feet would stick
to the ground, and he tried to lift his legs and
could not, but was being whirled round faster and
faster; in fact, to tell the truth, Lotto’s thoughts grew
very indistinct and confused, for by this time he was
ceasing to think, and had begun to sleep and dream !
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

THE SAGE.

We must imagine five or six years to have passed over
before we continue our story. During that time
many changes had taken place, some of a sad and
others of a pleasant nature. Fiammina, as we may now
call her, had in those years lost all traces of the sickly
child she once had been, and was now a healthy active
young girl with blooming cheeks, able to run swittly
and dance gracefully. Dame Ursula having died, she
had become mistress over her father’s large house-
hold, which she ruled with diligence and skill. Letto,
or rather Lancilotto, had spent three years of the time
in the distant city of Venice, that curious city in the
north of Italy, which is built on small islands, and
where instead of streets, canals of water are between
the houses, on which the inhabitants go about in boats.
He had there learned several new methods and pro-
cesses connected with the making of glass, and had
acquired much knowledge about the staining and
colourmeg of it, and had learned to draw devices and
designs upon it, so that he now had become of great
assistance to his father, and was able to direct and ~
manage several departments of the manufactory. Lotto
had lost none of his former activity or liveliness, but
he turned it now to good account, and was steady and
industrious. ‘I'he brother and sister were, too, as fond
as ever of each other, and Lotto was never so proud as
when dressed in their best he attended Mina to some
erand religious ceremony in the great Cathedral, or
went with her to some of the festivals which were held
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

in the villages round Pisa, where they danced merrily
with the young peasants or joined in their sports.

Meantime, however, they had lost their kind friend
and opposite neighbour the Doctor Galilei. Some time
before Lotto went to Venice, he had left Pisa, and re-
moved to the city of Padua, and strange reports had
been spread about as to the cause of this removal. It
was whispered that he had got into disgrace, with
whom, and about what, no one seemed well to know.
Sometimes it was said that he had been teaching false
and impious things to the students of the University,
to whom it had been his duty to lecture; by others,
it was said that the Pope had been offended by one of
the books which he had written; and Lotto and Mina
would often when quite alone talk to each other about
the secret which he had told them, and wonder whether
it could have been anything to do with this, that had
caused their good friend and benefactor to leave the
city. They had kept the secret well, and yet whenever
they heard the Doctor Galilei spoken ill of, or the truth
of his teachings doubted, they always said in his de-
fence, that they were sure it must all be a great mis-
take, for that one so good, and kind and wise, could
never have done or said anything wicked or wrong,
and they nourished gratefully in their hearts the re-
membrance of the benefits which he had done them.
Mina never forgot that it was through him that she
was now so strong and well, and Lotto on his side felt
that the good advice, and kind friendship of Doctor
Galilei had prevented him from growing up a thought-
less idle youth. |

It was about five years from the time of Doctor
Galilei leaving Pisa, that one winter evening the family
of Bertano were gathered together in the great stone-
floored apartment, in which their evenings were usually
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

Spent after the business of the day was done. The fire
burned brightly on the hearth. Bertano, the father,
sat by its side drowsy from fatigue, and half lulled to
sleep by the clicking of Fiammina’s spinning wheel,
which she was bus sily turning, and Lancilotto was sit-
ting on a low stool and drawing on his knees what he
meant for a pattern round a large glass goblet, which
he was about to make. As she spun, Fiammina sung
from time to time snatches of some of the pretty Vene-
tian airs which Lotto had learned when he was away, .
and now and then his voice would join in with hers so
softly and harmoniously as not to disturb their sleeping
father. Suddenly the bell at the great street door was
heard to ring, and the dogs in the yard began to bark.
Bertano jumped up startled and surprised at this notice
of a visitor, and Lotto ran out to see who could have
come so late. Some cordial words of greeting were
heard without from Lotto, and then returning quickly,
re-ushered in the guest.

“Mina! father! a pleasure for us all. Our kind
old friend the Doctor Galilei. Him whom we scarcely
hoped to see again in Pisa?”

And warmly was he greeted by Fiammina and her
father ; Fiammina, who had, as the Doctor said, grown
quite out of knowledge, so tall and stout and rosy was
she now. Lancilotto, too, he could hardly recognize
as the slender little boy of former days,—now a tall
and manly youth.

But if the brother and sister were altered, how
changed was their good friend, over whose head, full
twice the number of years seemed to have passed. The
hair of Dr. Galilei had grown grey, and his cheeks were
sunk and hollow. He had studied much, he said, and
had much sorrow and anxiety. It was quite true, he
said, that he had been obliged to leave Pisa, and that
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

he hdd given offence by his teaching and opinions, but:
now he had left off writing or lecturing on these dis-
puted matters, and he was permitted to return.

- After that he was seated comfortably at the fire,
and that Bertano had fetched a flask of his choicest
wine, and Fiammina some cakes of her own making,
the doctor began to relate the object of his visit. Be-
sides wishing, as he said, to see his former little patient
and his pupil Lotto, he had come to solicit their assis-~
tance in a matter which just then was occupying all his
thoughts. He had but lately returned from a visit to
Venice, where he had heard much of a wonderful instru-
ment that had been invented in Holland for looking at
distant objects with; it was called a Telescope, and he
wanted if possible to construct one somewhat similar
that would enable him to observe the moon and stars.
He was convinced, he said, that in its construction must
be used some such pieces of glass, or magnifiers, as
those which Bertano had given him on Mina’s birth-
day, many years before. Some such pieces of rounded
glass, and yet at the same time different, for those
he had would only magnify objects which were near.
What he now wanted of Bertano then was his assist-
ance in discovermg the right kind of magnifiers, and
the right way of putting them together. Turning to
Lancilotto, the Doctor Galilei said, ‘‘ Perhaps thou,
my young friend, wilt assist me too in this matter, and
wilt make me a variety of these glasses, so that I may
make trial of themforthis purpose. Could I but see with
them still more plainly the surface of the moon or some
of those ‘stars which we call planets, I feel assured that
much that is new and strange would be discovered.”

Lancilotto-was only too proud to be asked such a
favour by one to whom they were all so much indebted ;
and after this evening much of his leisure time was

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THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

spent in the grinding and polishing of different kinds
of lenses—for such are called the rounded pieces of
glass with which telescopes and microscopes are made.
Many were the trials that were made before anything
hke success was gained; and the patience and per-
severance of both old and young were needed to bear
up against the many disappointments which they had
to encounter before they could succeed in a matter re-
quiring such great nicety and skill. It was necessary
that the glass should be of the greatest purity, and that
the rounding of the surface should be precisely equal :
and even. It was found, too, that two lenses must be
used of different forms ; and it was only after long and
repeated trials that Doctor Galilei found that one of
these two lenses must have a hollowed-out, or concave
surface, instead of bulging, or conver. After this, when
they had fixed these two glasses in a hollow tube, came
the discovery that much depended on the distance
which these were from one another, and that it must
vary according to the distance of the object looked at,
so that the tube had to be formed in such a manner
that it could be lengthened or shortened at ee i—
in fact, any one who has ever seen a telescope can easily
imagine that much time, and skill, and perseverance
must have been expended before such an ingenious in-
strument could be constructed; andthey will not wonder
to hear that weeks and aienthe and even years, were
passed over before all that was wanted was produced ;
and even then it was an instrument very much mero
to those in use in the present day, of which our illus-
tration represents one of the largest.

During this time, Doctor Galilei—or, as we may
now call him, Galileo (for it was by his baptismal
name* that he was afterwards known to the world)—

* His name being Galileo Galilei.
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

during all this time Galileo made much use of the ser.
vices of Lancilotto, and was very frequently at the
house of Bertano. |

Fiammina took great interest in all that was going
on between her brother and the learned Galileo, and
she was proud indeed to think that Lotto and her
father should assist him in his pursuits. As they sat
together of an evening round the supper-table in their
great sitting-room, or on a summer’s evening in the
old arbour on the terrace, making trial of all kinds
of glass lenses, and talking about their powers; she
could not understand much of what was going on, but
she was glad to think that Lotto was always learning
something or other from the doctor, and that being
so often with him during his leisure hours, prevented
him from associating with the idle and foolish youths
of the city, who spent so much of their time in rioting
and feasting.

_ It was nearly two years from the time of Galileo’s
return to Pisa that one evening, late in the autumn,
he came to tell them that he was going to make trial
that night for the first time of his telescope from the
top of the Campanile, or Leaning Tower, and that he
wanted Lotto to assist him. Now, this Leaning Tower
is still to the present day one of the most curicus
things in Pisa, and is not only visited by travellers as
a curiosity, but drawings and models of it are to be
found all over the world. The Italian word campanile,
means bell-tower, or belfry, and for this purpose it
was built many hundred years ago—at first, it is
thought, quite upright like other towers, and of many
storeys, one above another, to which you ascended by
a spiral staircase inside. Very shortly after it was
built, however, an earthquake is supposed to have
sunk the ground on one side, or raised it on the
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

other, so that the tower was made to incline in the
slanting position in which it still remains. After this,
another little storey was added to it at the top, to
contain some heavy bells, and was made to lean in a
contrary direction, so as to help to prevent the original
tower from falling.

rom the top of this tower Galileo was accustomed
to observe the heavenly bodies, and to make many
experiments about the falling of bodies to the ground.
He had now so far succeeded with his telescope, that



he wanted to try to sce with it the moon and one of
the planets; and as that evening the sky was par-
ticularly clear, and the moon at its full, he was going.
to carry up his new instrument, and would be glad of
Lancilotto’s help. They were preparing to depart,
and Lotto had already lighted the lanthorn which
would be needed to light them up the winding stair-
cies ~

THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE,

case of the tower, when Fiammina was suddenly seized
with a great desire to accompany them. She begged
to be allowed to go, and could, she said, help to carry
some of the numerous things which they had to take.

' The doctor said he should be glad of another assistant,,

if climbing the high tower would not tire her too.

much; and as Fiammina was not afraid of this, she’

wrapped herself in a cloak, and taking charge of the
book and pencil which would be wanted for noting
down the appearance of the moon and stars, she set.
off with them through the streets of Pisa, across the
great square, and past the Cathedral to the Leaning
Tower.

Tittle did the people of Pisa think, as they passed
this group, the old doctor and the youth and maiden,
that they were that evening going to see things that
since the world began, no one had ever seen before!
Little did they imagine that what was about to be
seen would be, as we shall tell hearafter, a creat and
lasting service to mankind.

The man who kept charge of the tower let them
in without any opposition, for Galileo was well known
to him, and he helped them to carry up a stool to sit
on, and a frame which had been contrived to rest the
telescope upon. It was strange work to Fiammina
the climbing up that dark and winding staircase,
slanting so uncomfortably as it did all on one side,
and, tired and giddy, she sat down on the steps, many
a time, fearing that she should never reach the top.
She did get up, however, and held by Lancilotto’s .
firm arm, it was not long before she took courage
to look around her upon the strange yet beautiful
scene below and above them. Below, the great city
=the dark and gloomy mass of building composing
the Cathedral—the lights gleaming out here and there
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE,

from among the houses from some casement, or some
torch carried along the streets—the silver line that
divided, as it were, the city into two halves, and
which they knew to be the river Arno, which flows
through it—the distant hills bounding the plain on
which the city stood—and then, more beautiful than
all, the great arch of heaven stretched wide above
their heads, spangled with twinkling stars, and in
the midst, the large round silver moon, without -a
cloud near her, sailing, as it were, in the deep blue
sea of sky !

The young people felt as if they would never be
tired of looking around them, and Lancilotto had
almost forgotten for what they came, when he was
called by his old friend, who was all this time busy
arranging his telescope upon its frame. Wiammina,
losing her giddiness, leant upon the parapet and con-
tinued looking at the beautiful view, while the other
two were long engaged in adjusting and arranging,
before anything like the right position could be ob-
tained for seeing the moon or stars with the instru-
ment. At last exclamations of surprise and delight
reached her ear from Lancilotto, and even from Galileo.
She crept round, clinging to the parapet, to the spot
where they had erected the telescope and its frame.
Almost doubting their own eyes, she was called to
look also through the glass at the moon, whose face
was to be seen so greatly magnified that they could
distinguish what Galileo felt sure must be its valleys
and mountains. The “ Man in the Moon,” as eney
had when children called the marks upon the moon’s
face or-disk, when seen through the glass, was now
like the map of some rugged piece of land; and Galileo
told them that what he now saw cérivindea him that
the moon was really a globe or ball of a nature some-
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.,

what like our earth. But interesting to him as was
this view of the moon, and satisfactory as it was to him
to find that what he had fancied about it was true, he
was even yet more anxious to look through the tele-
scope at one particular star, which that evening was
high in the sky and in a good position for his observa-
tions. This was the planet Jupiter, which Galileo
taught them to distinguish from amidst the other
stars by its bright yet steady light. He wanted much
to see this planet through the glass, because he could
not help thinking that the planets were very different
in their nature to those which are called the fixed



JUPITER AND HIS MOONS.

stars, which have always the same places in the sky
with regard to one another while the planets change
their situations among them. It was, however, very
long before Galileo could get his telescope fixed in the
right position for seeing Jupiter, and Fiammina had
almost got tired of waiting and watching, and was
beginning to think she should like to go down again
into the city, when Galileo exclaimed “Tt is so—it
must be so—there are three of them—there can- be no
doubt that they are moons ;” and wishing to have his
discovery confirmed, as he said, by their younger eyes,
he made first Lancilotto and then Fiammina look
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

through the telescope and tell him if they did not see
near the magnified planet Jupiter, which the glass
now showed quite plainly, three other smaller stars
quite near to it, hanging as 1b were about it—stars
which were quite invisible when the planet was looked
at without a glass. They did see these stars, and
afterwards they saw a fourth; but Lancilotto and
Fiammina did not understand sufficiently about the
matter to know why Galileo was so pleased, so de-
lighted at the discovery. He looked at the distant
objects again and again, and he carefully noted down
their positions, while they heard him murmuring to
himself exclamations of joy and even thankfulness.
He seemed to thank God that he had been permitted
to see this sight—that for this his life had been pro-
longed, and that such success had crowned his labours
and his studies; and then laying a hand on the
shoulder of each of his young friends, he said
solemnly as he raised his head and looked around,
“Yes, my dear children, truly has it been said that
the ‘Heavens declare the glory of God,’ and that
‘the firmament sheweth his handywork,’ for ‘day
unto day uttereth speech and night unto night
sheweth knowledge!’?”? Then after a pause during
which all were silent, the old man seemed to remember
that his companions would be tired of remaining so
long in the night-air ; and after one more look at the
moon, the telescope was put carefully up, and they
descended again the steep and winding staircase of
the tower.

Galileo did not speak again until, having crossed
the great square, he stopped and bid them affection-
ately farewell, for he now lived in the University of
Pisa, in a distant part of the city from their home ;
and those parting words were almost the last that
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

Fiammina ever heard from the lips of Galileo. After
this evening he continued to pay many visits to the
Leaning Tower, with his telescope, and was often
assisted by Lancilotto while making his observations,
as well as in continuing to improve his telescope. The
discovery of the four little stars near the planet Jupiter
was, aS we have said, a very important one, because,
after watching them very constantly, he found that
they revolved round the planet, and this led him to
think that Jupiter was perhaps a large globe like our
earth, only lighted by four moons instead of one;
while, on the other hand, if our earth was of the same
nature as the planets, he felt sure that we must be
hike them revolving round the sun. The four little
moons belonging to Jupiter became afterwards of
great use to mankind, since by observing their
position the mariner is assisted in finding his situa-
tion when far away from land, and is enabled to steer
his course upon the pathless ocean. Besides making
these discoveries, the observations which Galileo was
able to make with his telescope made him more cer-
tain than ever that what he had thought about the earth
turning on her axis and the sun standing still—the
secret which he had told to the boy Lotto—was true.
He became so sure of it indeed that he could not help
teaching it openly in the University of Pisa, and by
this means he brought himself into great trouble, and
drew upon himself the displeasure of the Inquisition.
Before we proceed any farther in our account of
Galileo, we must say a few words about the Inquisition,
for those of our readers who may not have heard of it
before. Some hundreds of years ago, a kind of society
was formed in Catholic countries (chiefly in Spain and
Italy) which professed to have for its object the up-
holding of religion and the punishment of crime. It
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

was composed principally of priests and princes,
headed by the Pope, and was called the Inquisition
' because it searched into or was inquisitive about every-
body and their affairs. Now, unfortunately for the
world at that time, this society had very strange
notions about what was the best way to promote
religion, and still stranger ones about crime. It was
thought, for instance, a crime to think for yourself
or have an opinion different from the rest, and every-
where were members of the Inquisition going about
as spies upon the words and actions of the people ;
and often when a person was merely suspected of be-
lieving something different to what was taught by the
priests, he was severely and cruelly punished. Those
whose office it was to teach the young were especially
very closely and strictly watched, for fear they should
put what were considered dangerous notions into the
minds of their pupils. No sooner then had Galileo
begun to teach again that the sun stood still, and that
day and night were caused by the earth turning on
its axis, than it was reported to the Inquisition, who
decided that he should not only be prevented from
teaching such impious things, but should be punished,
because, they said, it was contrary to what was taught
in the Holy Scriptures. In vain did Galileo maintain
that what he taught was true; and in vain did he re-
mind them that the ‘‘ Scriptures were intended to lead
men in the way to salvation, not to teach them as-
tronomy.” In the midst of all his useful studies and
discoveries he was summoned away and ordered to
appear at Rome, to answer before the Council of the
Inquisition for the crimes of which they accused
him.

Galileo went to Rome, and among others of his
friends who accompanied him, in hopes of being able
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

to defend and serve him, was the youth Lancilotto.
Old, and infirm, and sorrowiul, the wise and good
Galileo was thrown into prison, and there subjected
to many harassing and wearisome examinations. He
was even, as it is supposed, put to bodily torture to
induce him to confess that he was in the wrong, and it
was after this, and when worn-out and broken-spirited,
that they made him sign a confession, that what he
had so long and firmly believed, and what he knew to
be true—was false. In a room belonging to the
Council of the Inquisition at Rome, where all the
Inquisitors, or officers of the Inquisition, were as-
sembled, Galileo was brought forth, and the following
were the contents of the strange paper which they
forced him to sign on his knees in their presence :—

“fivst.—To say the sun is immovable, is absurd
and false.

“ Secondly.—To say the world moves with a daily
motion is absurd and false.

“With a sincere heart and unfeigned faith, I ad-
jure, curse, and detest the said errors and heresie’, and
1 swear that I will never in future say or assert any-
thing, in speech or in writing, which may give rise to
alike suspicion againstme. . ...

“ T, Galileo Galilei, have adjured as above with my
own hand.”

The old philosopher was surrounded by his enemies
and persecutors ; he had lost all courage, and he was
hopeless of convincing them; fora moment he gave
way, and yielding to their power, he signed !

Then, rising from his knees, he turned to a friend
who stood by his side, and in a low voice said, “ It
does move, though.”

Whether these words were heard, we know not;
but it is certain that Galileo was for years after con-
fined as a prisoner by the Inquisition, while his works
THE CHILDREN AND THE SaGu.

were forbidden to be published or read. He was,
however, afterwards allowed to continue his studies;
and, when nearly blind, many of his discoveries were
written down by others, and afterwards given to the
world. He lived as a prisoner near the beautiful
city of Florence—a city, it is said, of which he was
very fond; but only when dead, and when his body
was carried in to be buried, was he allowed to enter
its gates.

And thus sadly ends the history of the philosopher
Galileo, the Doctor Galilei of our tale; but in pitying
what he suffered, we will not forget that his was, after
all, a great and noble—almost a happy lot. He died
conscious that he had revealed much which, when
rightly understood, would add to the glory of God,
and be of service to mankind. And when Lancilotto
returned to Pisa, and related to Fiammina all that
had happened at the trial of Galileo im Rome, they
erieved deeply over the sorrows of their old friend,
and during his long imprisonment cast many a sad
thought after him; and of all the blessings with which
their peaceful and happy lives were favoured, there
was none for which they were more grateful to God _
than that of having known and loved the good and
kind, the great and wise Galileo.




eS et 2
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THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

In the preceding story there is so much mention
made of glass, that we think we may venture on say-
ing a few words to our readers concerning the dis-
covery and manufacture of this beautiful and useful
substance.

An old historian called Plny, who wrote about
seventy years after the birth of our Saviour, gives the
following interesting account of its accidental dis-
covery. He says that a vessel belonging to some
Phoenician merchants, which had on board a cargo
of nitrwm or soda, was compelled by stress of weather
to put in at the mouth of the river Belus, on the coast
of Syria, near Mount Carmel; and that the crew hav-
ing landed, made themselves a fire on the shore, and
took some lumps of soda to rest the pot upon in which
their food was cooked. The soda melting, or being
fused by the heat of the fire, and mixing with the sand
of the shore, pieces of the transparent substance which
we call glass were found by the sailors in the ashes of
their fire. Another account says, that the fire was
made of seaweed, which, when burned to ashes, became
what is called alkali, or soda, and, mixing with the
sand, formed glass.

Now, it is very probable that all this may have
occurred, and yet it is equally true that this was not
the first discovery of glass. It has been proved, in-
deed, that glass is a much more ancient substance
than Pliny imagined; for since his time, glass beads
have been found in Hgyptian tombs as ornaments to
mummies, and fragments of glass have been discovered
among the ruins of cities so old, that we find it musi
have been manufactured fifteen hundred years at least
before the birth of Christ. It is not unlikely, however,
that the art of making it was forgotten and lost ; and,
it may be, that the sailors who lighted the fire on the
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

sea-shore, on finding the lumps of glass among its
ashes, observed how they had been produced, and
instructed others how more of it might be obtained.
Anyhow, it is certain, that at the time of Pliny, glass
could only have been known as a very rare substance,
and it was many hundreds of years after his time
before people thought of making windows of it. ‘The
only substances that had been used for this purpose
were thin plates of a mineral called talc—a particular
kind of oyster shell, which is flat and thin—and pieces
of horn. Now, the first of these is a very rare. sub-
stance, and only found in small quantities, and the
two latter admit the light, but cannot be seen through,
therefore the great superiority of glass must have soon
becn perceived.

The story of Pliny proves, too, another interesting
fact—which is, that glass in his time was made of the
same materials as in the present day, and we may also
presume that the glass necklace of the three thousand-
year old mummy was also produced in the same man-
ner, viz., by the melting together in a hot fire or
furnace of sand and soda. Let us then consider with
thankfulness what an increase of comfort and pleasure
has been gained to mankind by means of this sub-
stance, which can be made out of two other substances
so common as sand and soda! In the first place, hght
can be let into our dwellings without at the same time
admitting wind and rain; and next comes the satisfac-
tion which we derive by means of looking-glasses, of
seeing our own faces—the reflecting power being
obtained by means of a metallic coating at the back of
the glass. Then come all the advantages derived
from the power which certain shaped pieces of glass
have of magnifying; correcting, at it were, defects in
our sight, so that the old and near-sighted can read
THE CHILDREN AND THE SAGE.

with ease and comfort; while, as our story has shown,
much knowledge has been gained to the world through
the power which glass gives us of seeing things too
small to be visible to our eyes, or too distant for us to
see distinctly and plainly. In short, there is scarcely
any possibility of enumerating all the advantages which
we obtain from this useful substance.
















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“it were a tale
Would rouse adventurous courage in a boy,
Making him long to be a mariner,
That he might rove the main, if I should tell
How pleasantly for many a summer-day,
Over the sunny sea with wind at will
Prince Madoc sailed.”

THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

wee 0.0 62 Spee

CHAPTER I.

THE EARLY LIFE OF THE SEEKER——HE LEAVES HIS COUNTRY

——-HE FORMS A BOLD PROJECT—-HE MEETS WITH SORROW
AND INJUSTICE.

Mediterranean Sea, in the North of Italy,
stands the city of Genoa. For many cen-
turies this was a very busy, populous, and
handsome city, celebrated for its commerce, its manu+
B


THE SHEKER AND THE FINDER.

factures, and its wealth. There was no place in the
world, at one time, more renowned for its traffic, and
ships from all the countries that lay round the Mediter-
ranean brought into its harbour all sorts of rich mer-
chandise and valuable productions, which, after passing
through the storehouses of its merchants, were spread
over the rest of Hurope. Even the princes of Genoa
did not disdain to engage in commerce; while its mer-
chants in their turn rose up to be nobles. They built
themselves grand and luxurious dwellings, so that it
became at last like a city of palaces ; and was called
Genoa the Proud.

Not only did Genoa, however, receive the produc-
tions of other lands, but it furnished many fine and
costly fabrics from out of its own manufactories and
workshops: rich silks and velvets, and woollen stuffs,
and many curious works in gold and ivory. If its
merchants were wealthy, its handicraftsmen and ar-
tisans were skilful and industrious; and we are about
to show how from this class it so happened that a
remarkable person arose, whose fame has been far
greater than that of its merchants or nobles,*or even
princes.

About the year 1446, was born, in the city of
Genoa, the eldest son of a humble wool-comber of the
name of Colombo, to whom was given the baptismal
name of Christoforo, which is the same as our Christo-
pher. The father, though poor, was nevertheless desi-
rous that his son should have all the advantages that
he could procure him in the way of education, and the
boy was taught at an early age reading, writing, and
the Latin tongue. Christoforo was intelligent and
active-minded ; and though he worked for some time
at his father’s trade, it was probably to gratify his
tastes and inclinations that he was afterwards per-
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

mitted to become a mariner. It is not to be wondered
at that a youth of Genoa should think that the most
charming thing in the world must be to make voyages
to distant lands, and seek adventures on the sea!
Just as young people in our days hear so much going
on around them about railways and steam-engines, and
electric telegraphs, Christoforo in his childhood heard
nothing talked of but ships and sea voyages; for at
that time it was the subject that most interested the
people of Genoa. To the north of their city was a
long line of rugged mountains, beyond which it was
not easy to penetrate, so that they seldom took
journeys by land; and as all their wealth was derived
from their intercourse by sea with other countries, it
was natural for them to feel great interest in all that
concerned it. The young Christoforo and his com-
panions would like nothing so well, in their leisure
hours, as to ramble on the quays of Genoa and look at
the vessels which lay in the harbour. Sometimes they
would find that one was about to set sail for some dis-
tant port, and they would have to watch the lading of
all the merchandise in its hold, or on its deck ; and at
another time they might be just in time to see the
coming into harbour of some barque or galley laden
with cotton, spices, dates, and cocoa-nuts trom Syria,
or one bringing ivory, gold-dust, and morocco leather
from Africa; and they would talk with the crews, and
listen eagerly to their accounts of all the strange
things to be seen in these countries, while it would
interest them more than all to hear about the storms
they encountered at sea, or the attacks made on them
by the sea-robbers or pirates who infested the Medi-
terranean at that time, who would often attempt to
board their vessels, in order to carry off their rich
cargoes.
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

It was necessary, however, before becoming a
sailor, that Christoforo should go to a college to learn
something about geography, astronomy, and naviga-
tion, in order that he might be able to know how to
steer a vessel, and one day take the command of one.
For this purpose, he was sent to the University of
Pavia, which at that time was held in high repute.

When we say that Christoforo learned geography,
we must explain that in those days very little was
known, even by the most learned people, about the
situation of other countries, or about the distribution
of land and water on the surface of the earth. They
were, in fact, acquainted only with what would seem
to us but a small patch upon a map of the world, or a
globe. ‘They knew pretty well the different countries
of Hurope, and a small portion of Asia and Africa—
just those parts which lie round the Mediterranean
Sea; but nothing more. People at that time had
indeed only just begun to make maps and charts, and
these were far from being correctly drawn.

A very ingenious instrument had however been
brought to perfection about the time of which we
speak, that was a great assistance in navigation, and of
which Christoforo had to learn the use, while at Pavia.
This was the mariner’s compass, which, by means of
a magnetic needle, that has the strange power of
pointing to the north, enables sailors at sea to find not
only the north, but all the four cardinal points, as they
are called—north, south, east, and west—as well as
many directions between these points, such as north-
west, south-east, ete. Christoforo also learnt a good
deal of geometry, and all that was then known of
astronomy ; and he came away from the University
not only ready to make use of his knowledge, but
most anxious to acquire more. He wanted especially
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

to know more about geography; and he hoped that
the day would come when he should be able to visit
some of those parts of Asia and Africa to which ships
had never yet ventured, and to find out all about their
situation, their products and inhabitants.

The first voyages, however, which were taken by
Christoforo Colombo were only trading ones to and
from the different ports of the Mediterranean ; and
afterwards he accompanied an uncle, who was a cap-
tain, in some warlike expeditions undertaken by the
Genoese against some princes of Italy, with whom
they were at war. On all occasions he distinguished
himself by great bravery and self-command. He had
grown up to be a man, when at last, to his great satis-
faction, he went on an expedition which took him
through the straits of Gibraltar and round the western
coasts of Spain and Portugal; but it was on this occa-
sion that he nearly lost his life. The vessel he was on
board was attacked by pirates, and set on fire; so that
the crew had to save themselves by jumping into the
sea. Colombo seized hold of a floating oar, and being
a good swimmer, contrived to reach the land. “ It
pleased God,” said his son, who afterwards wrote an
account of his hfe, “to give him strength, that he
might be preserved for greater things ;” and, as we
shall soon see, his arrival in this strange way on the
coast of Portugal, proved in the end to be a circum-
stance which had great influence over his future life.

After recovering from his exhaustion, Colombo, or
Columbus, as he about this time began to call himself,
proceeded to Lisbon, the capital of Portugal, where
he found many of his own countrymen; and being in-
duced to take up his residence there, it became his home
for many years. Now, Portugal was at that time
governed by a king, whose son, Prince Henry, like
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

Columbus, took great interest in geography, and
wished to become better acquainted with the countries
of the earth then known. He encouraged people to
make maps and charts, and induced his father to send
out several expeditions of discovery along the western
coast of Africa, and they had gone farther to the south
than had before been thought possible. Ships of hig
had also ventured to sail in a westerly direction upon
the Atlantic; and the Cape de Verd and Canary
Islands had been discovered, as well as the Azores,
which are still farther out in the Atlantic. It suited well
with the tastes of Columbus to be employed in some
of these expeditions ; and a great many things led him
to suspect that these discoveries were only the begin-
ning of still more important ones. The great Atlantic
ocean still stretched far to the west, beyond these
islands, like an endless waste of waters, and no ship had
yet attempted to cross its waves. People imagined,
indeed, that beyond it must be the end of the world,
and that certain destruction would await any one who
should be rash enough to venture far to the west. In
the mind of Columbus, however, sprung up the belief
that beyond this vast sea must be land; other islands,
at all events, if not a large continent. Many circum-
stances led him to believe this. He knew, for
instance, that the world was round like a ball, and it
occurred to him that, by sailing to the west, it might
be possible to reach the continent of Asia, and this he
knew would be a great advantage to the people of
Kurope. All kinds of valuable commodities were
being brought at this time from the East, and had to
be carried thousands of miles overland on the backs of
camels and dromedaries to some of the ports on the
Mediterranean or Black Seas, before they could be
brought to Europe. A Venetian traveller, call Marco
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

Polo, had penetrated far into the east—to China and
Japan; and brought home the most wonderful accounts
of the riches of those countries, and the wealth and
splendour of the courts of their kings. Nothing was
so much to be desired by the people of Europe as to
procure more easily the precious stones, the ivory, the
rare woods, gums, and aromatic spices, of India; and
Columbus became convinced in his own mind that the
continent of Asia reached round the world to the other
side of the Atlantic, and that by steering boldly to the
west, it could be met with. We know now that he was
wrong in so thinking, and can see on our globes and
maps of the world, how, not only the great continent
of America, but the vast Pacific Ocean, lie between
the Atlantic and Asia; but we know also that the
error which was mixed up with the notions of Colum-
bus led to the discovery of truth. For a long time, he
noted down all the circumstances which strengthened
his belief that there was land on the other side of the
Atlantic. A mariner who had sailed on one occasion
very far out to sea, had picked up a piece of carved
wood which seemed as if drifted from the west; and
on the western shores of the Canary Islands and Azores
had been thrown up, at different times, reeds and
trunks of pine trees unlike any which grew on those
islands ; and, more remarkable than all, there had been
cast ashore the dead bodies of two men whose features
were unlike those of any of the known inhabitants of
the earth. It is also said that in a voyage which
Columbus made at one time very far to the north, he
visited Iceland, and heard there that navigators from
Norway had found land to the westward of that island.
These and numerous other such curious facts were
treasured up in the mind of Columbus ; and he trusted
that the time might come when he should be able to
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

prove that what they led him to believe was true. He
would gladly have ventured forth upon the Atlantic
for this purpose; but he was a poor man, and had no
means of fitting out ships or hiring sailors: so that hig
only chance was to persuade some king or prince to
enter into his views, and give him the command of an
expedition.

In the meantime, Columbus had married a-lady of
Iisbon, whose father had been a navigator of con-
siderable repute. His mother-in-law gave him all the
maps and charts which her husband had left behind,
and used to talk to him of all the voyages he had made,
so that Columbus gained by this means much useful
information about newly-discovered coasts and islands.
When not at sea, too, he employed himself in making
maps and charts for sale, and, in this manner not only
earned money for the support of his family, but was
able to send some to Genoa, for the maintenance of his
aged father, and the education of his younger brothers;
for he was a most dutiful and affectionate son and
brother.

Unfortunately for Columbus, the Prince of Portugal
died before he had an opportunity of making him
acquainted with his notions about crossing the Atlantic,
and for some time there was a stop put to the expedi-
tions to explore the coast of Africa for which the
Portuguese had become so famous. By and by, how-
ever, a king came to the throne who was interested in
the discovery of new lands, and anxious to extend his
dominions, so that Columbus thought it would be a
good time to make known to him his project, and
petition for ships and men with which to undertake an
expedition to the west. When Columbus laid before the
king the chart he had made of his proposed route, and
told him that he was sure that there was land to be dis-
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

covered on the other side of the Atlantic, he was at
first treated with ridicule, and his notions were thought
nearly as extraordinary asi f now-a-days any one should
propose to make a voyage in a balloon to the moon.
By degrees, however, as Columbus related all the facts
which had led to his belief, the king began to think
that he might be right, but he did not behave honour-
ably towards him. After getting possession of all his
maps and charts, he secretly fitted out a vessel, anc
sent it off in the direction that Columbus intended to
take, so that. if it were successful he might get the
credit of it himself. Such injustice and treachery,
however, was doomed to meet with its due reward.
The ship, after steering to the westward of the Cape
de Verd islands, encountered a severe storm, and
before going far was obliged to put back. The sailors,
in fact, had no belief or confidence in the existence of
land beyond that vast trackless ocean; and, therefore,
were easily frightened and discouraged. On their
return, the ideas of Columbus were treated with more
derision than ever, while he on his side was full of
indignation at the discovery of the unfair manner in
which he had been treated. He determined to have
nothing more to do with the King of Portugal, and to
leave the country for ever. Other sorrows fell upon
Columbus too about this time. He lost his wife, whom
he loved very dearly, so that he did not feel as if Lis-
bon was any longer his home; and taking with him
his little son, he returned to his native city of Genoa,
hoping, if possible, to find some one there who would
assist him in his schemes of discovery.

But Genoa was not then so prosperous as during
the youth of Columbus, and its princes had no money
for such purposes at command, having wasted their
treasures on wars with their neighbours. After
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

visiting his aged father, and making several arrange-
ments for his comfort, Columbus determined. on
going to Spain, which was at that time a very
powerful and prosperous kingdom. It was governed
by a king Ferdinand and queen Isabella, both of
whom were remarkable for their skill in ruling
their country, and who had conferred great benefits
on their people. Still nourishing as strongly as
ever his belief that a great discovery might be
made by his means, Columbus hoped that these



‘Tb SEEKER IN DISTRESS.

monarchs might be induced to listen to his project,
and assist him to put it into execution.

Nothing could be more deplorable than the con-
dition of Columbus on returning to Spain, for he was
both friendless and poor.

At the gate of a convent, near the little sea-port of
Palos, on the south-west coast. of Spain, a traveller
stopped one evening, carrying a little child in his

‘arms, for whom he begged a little bread and water.
The prior of the convent passing by at the time, was
struck with the noble air and bearing of the poor
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

stranger; and entering into conversation with him, he
heard from him his previous history, and for what
purpose he was come to Spain. ‘The stranger was
Columbus, with his son Diego! Luckily for Columbus,
the prior was a man of considerable learning and
intelligence, and had turned his attention to geography
and the art of navigation, probably because he lived
near Palos, where many skilful navigators resided.
He was much interested in the conversation of
Columbus, and keeping him at the convent as his
guest, he sent for a learned doctor, a friend of his, to
talk to him, and to listen to his views.

Instead of meeting with ridicule and contempt,
Columbus was treated at the convent with the greatest
respect and deference; and many discussions were
held among the good monks about how he must induce
the king and queen of Spain to listen to his plans.
Fortunately the prior knew some one at court who
was in the confidence of the queen, and he furnished
Columbus with a letter of introduction to his friend,
and begged him to obtain an audience for him of the
king and queen. The kind prior, too, did more than
this; for he promised to take charge of his little son,
and educate him at the convent, while his father went
to Cordova, where the court of Spain was then
assembled.

Full of renewed hope and spirits, Columbus went
forth on his errand.
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

CHAPTER II.

THE SEEKER AT THE COURT OF SPAIN—-HIS PROJECT Is
TREATED WITH CONTEMPT-——PATIENCE AND PERSEVER-
ANCE SUCCEED AT LAST. .

Cotumsus did not arrive at Cordova at a very favour-
able moment for obtaining the attention to his schemes
that he desired. Nothing was then thought of but
war; for the sovereigns of Spain were engaged at
that time in expelling the Moors from the country,
who for many hundred years had held possession
of the southern provinces. Some great victories had
just been gained, and preparations were being made
for completing the conquest. The friend to whom
the prior’s letter had been addressed looked upon the
scheme as extravagant and impossible; and the
humble garb in which the poverty of Columbus
compelled him to appear at court, made the gay
soldiers and courtiers who surrounded the king and
queen look down upon him with contempt, and they
considered him a poor adventurer who was quite
unworthy of their notice. There was no one who
thought it right to trouble the king and queen with
listening to such a strange proposal; and Columbus
soon saw that he must wait patiently for a more
favourable moment for getting any attention to his
plans. He remained at Cordova, and supported him-
self, as he had done at Lisbon, by making maps and
charts, but he lost no opportunity for explaining his
views and endeavouring to get them laid before the
king and queen. MUis earnestness and zeal at last
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

convinced a few persons of good sense that there
must be some foundation for his notions, while his
good character and intelligence procured him some
valuable friends. They could not but admire the
determination and inexhaustible perseverance that he
displayed ; and when they came to talk with him, they
saw that his belief was founded on reagon, and not
mere idle fancies. It is related that, on one occasion,
he was seated at supper with a party of Spaniards, to
whom he was talking of his scheme for crossing the
Atlantic, when after ridiculing it asa thing that was
wholly impossible to put in practice, one of the party
took up an egg, and said it would be quite as
impossible to make that egg stand upright upon the
table, as to carry out such strange plans. “ Give me
the egg,” cried Columbus, “ and I will show you what
firmness and determination can do ;’? and as he spoke,
he took up the egg, and striking it down with force
upon the table, the end of it was crushed in, and the
ege stood upright! The company looked at each
other with surprise, and at Columbus with admiration.
Here was a man, thought they, who would not
easily be discouraged by difficulties and dangers, and
who would find a way and a means for doing that
which other people might deem impossible.

At length Columbus was so fortunate as to make
acquaintance with the preceptor of the queen’s
children, who introduced him to the Grand Cardinal
of Spain, who was a sort of prime minister to
Ferdinand and Isabella, and possessed their confi-
dence. Through this means, Columbus was at last
allowed to have an audience with the king and queen;
when, after giving all his reasons for believing that
there was land to be discovered on the other side of
the Atlantic, he petitioned for their assistance in order
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER,

that he might prove that he was right, and win these

é Columbus spoke with

lands for the crown of Spain.

SSF ee SS aE,



afterwards said, he felt himself an instrument in the

modesty, yet with firmness and courage; for, as he

FIRMNESS AND DETERMINATION CONQUER DIFFICULTIES.
hand of Heaven to accomplish its grand designs.

ively, and were

=z

oD
struck with the force of his arguments and the
grandeur of his views; but they feared to trust to

The kine and queen listened attent
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

their own judgment in so important a matter. They
commanded the grand cardinal to assemble all the
most learned men in the kingdom to look into the
matter, and decide whether the project of Columbus
could be carried out, and he was to appear there and
plead his own cause. This interesting meeting was
held at Salamanca, a town of Spain, celebrated for its
university, and all the learned professors who belonged
to 1b were summoned to the council. The learning
and wisdom of these men, however, if they had any,
was not of the kind to enable them to understand
rightly the views of Columbus; and only a few of
them would admit that there was any chance of their
being found practicable. People, in fact, had not at
that time become familiar with the idea of the earth
being round or spherical, which was the fact on which
the notions of Columbus were founded; and even
these learned professors taunted him with asserting so
absurd a notion. ‘* Could anything be more foolish,”
they said, “than to believe that there are antipodes
with their feet opposite to ours—people who walk
with their heels upwards and their heads hanging
down ?—that there is a part of the world in which all
things are topsy-turvy, where the trees grow with
their branches downwards, and where it rains, hails,
and snows upwards??? ‘They argued too that even,
supposing the earth were round, it was very certain
that only the part they inhabited was covered by the
heavens, and that the rest must be a mere gulf or
waste of water; and that, even if a ship did contrive
to get to India by sailing across the Atlantic, it would
never be able to get back again, for the rotundity of
the earth would form a kind of mountain, which it
would be impossible for it to sail up, even with the
most favourable wind !
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

With such ridiculous arguments as these, did the
learned doctors of Salamanca endeavour to combat
the reasonings of Columbus—arguments which seem
now to us more like the nonsense of ignorant chil-
dren than the opinions of grave sages. Still, it wag
easier for people in general to believe that these
learned men were right, than to take the trouble to
examine into all the facts upon which Columbus
founded his opmion. They thought he must be wrong;
and even those he was able to convince had not courage
enough to stand up in defence of what others thought
so foolish. No one advised the king and queen to
engage in a scheme which would require a great deal
of money, when it was so much wanted to carry on the
wars against the Moors; and, without paying any more
attention to Columbus and his project, Ferdinand and
Isabella turned all their thoughts to the preparations
for war.

Time rolled on, and many years passed over, during
which Columbus continued to follow the court as it
moved from one city to another, for the chance of one
day inducing the king and queen to listen to his suit.
Now and then, he would persuade some great man to
give attention to his views, who would promise to per-
-guade the king and queen to furnish him with ships
and money; and at one time, a very wealthy and
powerful nobleman was nearly induced to undertake
the expedition at his own expense ; but he grew afraid .
of spending his money, and was assured by others that
it would lead to no good results. People then began
to get tired of the very constancy with which Colum-
bus persisted in his notions. They laughed at him,
and thought him a strange and fanciful dreamer, and
scoffed at him for what they thought such useless per-
severance. It is said that even the children in the
ZHE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

streets would point to their foreheads as he passed, as
if to say, “‘ There goes the crazy man, who fancies the
earth is round like a ball, and wants to go to the
other side of it!”

At last, however, Columbus determined to obtain
a decided answer from the king and queen; and as
the war against the Moors was now coming to a close,
he determined to explain to them once more his pro-
ject, and petition for the assistance he required. It
was then that, for the first time, the sovereigns in-
quired what had been the decision of the learned
council who had met at Salamanca to discuss the
scheme of Columbus; and finding that they thought it
vain and impossible, they sent word to him that “ the
great cares and expenses of the war made it quite im-
possible for them to engage in any new enterprises, and
they must defer the consideration of his projects until
they had leisure to attend to them.”

Poor Columbus! It might have been thought
that all hope would now forsake him, and that he
would abandon his scheme for ever. But it was not
so. He felt, on the contrary, that he must make even
stronger exertions than ever to get the assistance he
required; for he was now past middle age, and he
feared lest he might die before he had carried out the
one great thought and hope of his life. “If Spain
will not be the country to have the glory of all the dis-
coveries I can make,” said he to himself, with undi-
minished confidence, “I will go to France, and persuade
the king of that country to give me the assistance I
want.” Before doimg this, however, he wished to
return to the convent where he had left his son, and
whom he had not seen for so many years; and he
thought he could seek also the advice of his kind
friend the prior, at the same time that he expressed

C
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

his gratitude to him for the care he had taken of his
child. When the good monk beheld Columbus arrive
once more at the gate of his convent after his long
absence, and saw, by the poverty of his dress and the
sorrow of his countenance, that he had met with
nothing but disappointment, he was greatly moved ;
and was even more grieved when he heard that he
was about to leave Spain.

He went again for his friend, the clever physician,
who had before listened to the plans of Columbus, and
-also sought for the advice of a very distinguished
navigator, of the name of Pinzon, who lived at Palos,
and who had himself been on many adventurous ex-
peditions, and had much experience in navigation.
This man had more of the right kind of knowledge
for understanding the views of Columbus than the
learned men at Salamanca, or the vain courtiers who
surrounded the king and queen, and he entered most
warmly into them. He gave the plan of Columbus
his decided approval; and even offered to assist him
with money, in order to make another application at
court, and said he would gladly accompany him across
the Atlantic, should he ever be able to embark on the
expedition. Pinzon, the prior, and Columbus held
council together to decide what was to be done; and
after thinking over many plans, it was decided that the
prior should write a letter to the queen to beg her to
listen once more to Columbus, and prevent him from
going to France. The letter was sent by a sailor whom
they engaged from Palos, and was carried direct to the
queen, who was then at Santa Fé, a beautiful city of
Spain, which had just been recovered from the Moors.
Now, Isabella had always been more favourably dis-
posed towards Columbus than the king; and being
remarkable for good sense and penetration, she had
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

always felt that his notions might be based on reason
and truth. She wrote back to the prior a kind and
encouraging letter, requesting to see him immediately
at the court, and sent a message to Columbus, bid-
ding him be of good cheer. No sooner did the warm-
hearted prior receive this note, than he saddled his
mule and departed privately at midnight to the court.
On his arrival, he was admitted immediately into the
presence of the queen, and he pleaded the cause of
his friend Columbus with so much earnestness and
eloquence, that the queen was much struck. Perhaps
she had never before seen the matter in the same
light as that in which the good prior placed it; for
he pointed out to her how much glory would be
gained for her reign, should Columbus really succeed
in discovering new islands and continents beyond
the Atlantic, at the same time that he suggested the
glory that would be given to God, should the inhabi-
tants of these lands be led through her means to
become Christians. Isabella was deeply impressed
with this view of the case; and being full of pious
zeal, she felt that, with such an object in view, a bless-
ing would surely attend the project. She liked, too,
all that the prior told her about Columbus, and saw
that, if such discoveries were to be made, no one
could be more suited to the undertaking than he.
She therefore requested that Columbus might again
be sent-to her, and, with kind consideration, ordered
that money might be supplied to him for his travelling
expenses, and to furnish him with decent raiment.

We can imagine the delight with which the prior
rode back again to his convent, bearing with him
such encouraging news; and, after all his disappoint-
ments, we can imagine the joy of Columbus as he
exchanged his threadbare suit for one more suited to
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

make his appearance in at Court, and once more packed
up his charts, and maps, and memorandums to lay
before the queen. His son, Diego, must have now
become old enough, too, to understand something of
that which had occupied the thoughts of his father for
so many years—which had caused him so much dis-
appointment, and now filled him with hope and joy,
and he also must have rejoiced at his success.

When Columbus arrived at Santa Fé, the most
magnificent festivities were going on to celebrate
the important victory that had just been gained over
the Moors by Ferdinand and Isabella. The Moorish
king had been taken prisoner, and obliged to surrender
up his crown, and the beautiful province of Granada
over which he had ruled. All Spain was now to be
united under the dominion of Ferdinand and Isabella,
and to become Christian, instead of remaining in the
hands of infidels or Mohammedans. Columbus was in
time to see the vanquished king depart from his splen-
did palace called the Alhambra, and deliver up the
keys of his capital. The air resounded with shouts
of joy, with songs of triumph, and hymns of thanks-
giving, while the king and queen were looked upon as
almost more than mortal, and asif sent down from
heaven for the salvation of Spain.

The wars being thus ended, Ferdinand and Isabella
felt pledged to attend to the proposals of Columbus,
and they kept their word. New difficulties arose,
however, from the jealousies of the nobles and cour-
tiers who surrounded them. They did not like to see
one whom they had formerly so despised and neglected
now treated with so much distinction and favour; and
when Columbus made certain conditions for recom-
pence and reward, in case he should succeed in his
enterprise, they tried to persuade the king and queen
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

that he was only secking his own aggrandizement and
interest. The lofty and confident tone which he
assumed in speaking of his plans they ascribed to
‘presumption and arrogance, and they tried to per-
suade the queen that to confer honours, and an im-
portant employment on such a nameless stranger would
be beneath her dignity. The conditions of Columbus
were, that he should be made admiral and governor of
all the countries he should discover, and that a tenth
part of the gains, either by trade or conquest, should
be his. So little real confidence was felt in his project,
that even his best friends at Court thought that he
asked too much, and were surprised at his boldness.
But Columbus was firm, and when at last the queen
positively refused to enter into such an engagement,
he once more determined to leave Spain, and carry his
proposals to France, or some other Court. Taking
leave of his friends, he therefore mounted his mule,
and departed for Cordova, from which place he deter-
mined to proceed to France.

When the few friends that Columbus possessed
about the Court saw his determination, they were
greatly distressed, and felt that his departure would
be a great loss to the nation. They hurried to the
queen, and employed all their eloquence to induce her
to send after Columbus. They reminded her of what
an opportunity might now be lost of extending her
power and dominion, and. what a source of shame and
sorrow it would be to her, should this enterprise be
undertaken by some other sovereigen. A lady in the
service of the queen, who had always befriended
Columbus, knelt at her feet, and urged her, with all
the eloquence she possessed, to grant the conditions
required by Columbus. The spirit of Isabella was
roused, and she declared her resolution to undertake
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

the expedition herself ; and even when the king looked
coldly on the affair, and reminded her of the expenses
which had been incurred by the late war, so that the
royal treasury was nearly empty, she was not to be
shaken from her purpose. Full of generous ardour,
she exclaimed, “I will undertake the enterprise my-
self, and I will pledge my jewels to obtain the
necessary funds.” That was, after all, the proudest
moment in the life of this great queen, and her decision
brought her more glory than even the conquest of the
Moorish king.

At the command of the queen, a messenger was
despatched on horseback, with all speed, to bring back
Columbus. He was overtaken as he rode through a
narrow mountain pass, thinking as he went along of
his last great disappointment, and turning over in his
mind fresh plans for the future. The messenger had
great difficulty in persuading him to return, and it was
only when he described the anxiety of the queen, and
repeated her positive promises that all should be as
he wished, that Columbus consented at last to retrace
his steps to the Court.







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THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

CHAPTER III.

THE SEEKER OBTAINS THE ASSISTANCE HE WANTED—HE
SETS SAIL UPON THE GREAT OCEAN-—-THE SEEKER
BECOMES A FINDER.

Tue kindness with which Columbus was received by
the queen on his return to Santa Fé, atoned to him for
all past neglect, and all sense of his late disappoint-
ments was lostin the joy of having at last to make pre-
paration for his departure. Orders were sent by the
' queen to Palos, for the preparation of two vessels such as
he would require, the crews of which were to be placed
under his command, while Columbus himself was to
prepare a third. An agreement was signed by the
king and queen, which granted to Columbus the title
and office of admiral and governor in all the lands he
might discover, and entitling him to reserve for him-
self one-tenth part of all the gold, precious stones, and
spices, etc., that they might produce, while it was
also agreed that he should contribute an eighth part of
he expense of the expedition, which he was enabled
to do through the liberality of his friends.

These matters being settled, Columbus returned to
the convent, eager to tell his good friends of his suc-
cess. The prior received him with open arms, and he
again became his guest while all the preparations were
being made at the port of Palos. Fresh difficulties,
however, awaited the now happy Columbus, upon
which he had not calculated, and which arose out of
the ignorant fears of the people. When the royal
order was read at Palos, commanding that two vessels
should be furnished by the town, and put at the dis-
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

posal of Columbus, and when it was explained for what
purpose he required them, the greatest horror and |
astonishment prevailed through the town. The people
considered that the ships and crews demanded of them
were devoted to certain destruction. The idea of sail-
ing to the westward, and attempting to cross the
Atlantic, frightened even the boldest seamen, and they
shrank from engaging in such a wild and perilous
undertaking. Hven mariners who had sailed as far as
the Azores and the Cape de Verd Islands, and had gone
far to the south along the coasts of Africa, were dis-
mayed at the idea of venturing forth upon the wide
waste of waters which lay to the west; and all the
tnghtful tales which had ever been invented by igno-
rance and superstition about the unknown parts of the
deep, were called to recollection and. related by these
foolish people, to prevent any one from entering on
such an enterprise. It was in vain that Columbus and
the prior endeavoured to quiet these fears, for not a
vessel was to be had; and it was only after a more
peremptory order was sent by the king and queen to
the magistrates of Palos, to order them to take any
vessels they pleased, and oblige the masters and crews
to sail with Columbus, that the mandate was obeyed.
Just at this time, too, Columbus received the offer of
Martin Alonzo Pinzon, and his brother, also a distin-
guished navigator of great experience, to accompany
him. ‘They were related to many of the seafaring
inhabitants of Palos, and had great influence with the
people, so that their example had great effect, and
. induced many of their relations and friends to embark,
and through their assistance the vessels required by
Columbus were soon ready for sea.

And after all the delays and difficulties that
Columbus had met with, how insignificant. was the
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

little fleet that was prepared! Three small vessels,
two of them without decks, and more like barges than
ships, called caravels, eomprised all that were fitted
out for this important expedition. On board the
largest of the vessels, named the “Santa Maria,’’ Colum-
bus hoisted his flag; the second was the ‘ Pinta,” com-
manded by Pinzon,and the third was called the “Nina.”
Lhe crews, together with a physician and surgeon,
several private persons and servants, amounted in all
to one hundred and twenty persons.

When the little squadron was ready to put out to
sea, Columbus, impressed with the solemnity of his
undertaking, and followed by his officers and crews,
went to the church of Palos, to offer up prayers for the
protection of Heaven upon their voyage. They went
on board amidst the tears and lamentations of those
they left behind, and a deep gloom seemed to hang
over the whole town of Palos, as the ships left the
harbour, carrying with them so many relations and
friends of its inhabitants, whom they scarcely ever
hoped to behold again on earth.

It was Friday, the 8th of August, 1492, that
Columbus set sail on his voyage of discovery, steering
in a south-westerly direction to the Canary Islands,
from whence he purposed to sail due west. From the
very moment of starting he began to keep a journal,
which he mtended to present on his return to the king
and queen of Spain. Columbus would have been quite
happy and full of joyful anticipation, if it had not been
that he doubted of the resolution and perseverance of
his crew. He dreaded that when he should leave
behind them all signs of land, the fears of the sailors
would revive, and that they would entreat him to
return. Symptoms of such cowardice very soon made
their appearance, and even on the third day, one of the
TITE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

vessels, the “ Pinta,” made signals of distress, owing to
her rudder being broken, which Columbus strongly
suspected to have been done on purpose by the sailors,
in order that it might be sent back. Fortunately,
Pinzon, who commanded the vessel, succeeded in se-
curing the broken rudder with cords, until they should
reach the Canary Islands, where a new one could be
obtained. When sailing among these islands, too,
they passed in sight of Teneriffe, whose lofty peak was
sending forth volumes of smoke and flame. The crew
were terrified at the sight of this eruption, never
having seen a volcano before, and they fancied that
such an appearance must betoken some dire calamity.
Columbus took great pains to dispel their fears, by ex-
plaining the natural causes of those volcanic fires, and
told them of Mount Etna in Sicily, and Mount Vesuvius
in Italy, which he had often seen in his youth, and
which, to those who sail in the Mediterranean, are
quite familiar sights. On leaving the Canary Islands,
where they took in water and provisions, they began
for the first time to sail forth into the unknown parts
of the Atlantic, where no ship had before ventured ;
and, as Columbus had too surely foreseen, the hearts of
the marmers began completely to failthem. It seemed
to them as if they were taking leave of the world!
Behind them was everything dear to their hearts, their
country, their family and friends—before them was
nothing but peril and mystery. Many of the most
rugged seamen shed tears, and some broke into loud
lamentations ; and it was only when Columbus amused
their minds by describing to them his own glorious
hopes and anticipations, that they could be soothed
and quieted. The admiral (for such we may now call
Columbus) explained to them all that he had ever
heard of the splendours of the east, and told them that
>

He promised them land and riches, and

THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.
he confidently expected to reach India by thus sailing

to the west.

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everything that could arouse their ambition; and he
did not relate these stories to deceive them, for he cer-
tainly believed that he should prove them to be real
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER,

and true. Columbus, however, did at this time have
recourse to a stratagem to allay the fears of his crew,
He contrived to keep two reckonings of their progress,
in one of which he made it appear that they were not
sailing away so far from land as was really the case,
and this one only he allowed the mariners to see, and
kept them in ignorance of the real distance they had
advanced.

A few days after sailmge from the Canaries the
ships of Columbus came within the influence of the
trade winds, and this, which should have been hailed
as a fortunate circumstance, filled the crews with alarm
The wind called the trade-wind blows steadily from
north-east to south-west across the Atlantic Occan,
from Madeira and the Canary Islands to the West
Indies. Sailors now endeavour to get into this wind
when they go to South America or the West Indies,
that they may be carried smoothly along in the direc-
tion they wish to go; but Columbus’s sailors feared it
might carry them into unknown dangers, and never
permit them to sail back again. But.no dangers came ;
and when they found that they could advance day
after day without altering a sail, their fears. abated,
and they could not but rejoice at the favourable
weather. ‘The softness and clearness of the air in
these latitudes was: likewise very remarkable to them,
as was the delicious coolness of the mornings and
evenings. It only wanted, as Columbus said, the song of
the nightingale, to lead them to fancy themselves in the
most southern parts of their own most beautiful land.

And thus they sailed on. Around them was a vast
expanse of water, which seemed at the horizon to meet
the -over-arching sky. No distant sail or rock ever
appeared in sight, and there was nothing for the tired
eye to watch, but the rising and setting sun; or ab
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

night the stars coming out, each in its place in the
deep blue sky. The mariners sought eagerly for. some |
change—some object which would betoken that they
Were approaching land, and every eye was anxiously
turned to the west. Hach day with his quadrant,
Columbus carefully measured the height of the sun at
noon, by which means, he was enabled to calculate
their distance from the equator, while the eye of the
helmsman was steadily fixed upon his compass. They
had not proceeded very far on their voyage, however,
before a circumstance occurred, which caused them all
the greatest alarm, and filled even the mind of
Columbus with perplexity. It was observed that the
needle of the magnet no longer pointed exactly to the
north, and this irregularity being then observed for the
first time, the superstitious sailors fancied that some
terrible calamity must be the consequence. People
are now aware of this variation in the compass as it is
called, and can partly account for it, but Columbus
had great difficulty in persuading his crew that it
might arise from a natural cause. Lortunately however
for him, the attention of the mariners was soon diverted
to some other circumstances, which instead of alarming
them, raised their hopes and gave them confidence in
him who was their guide and commander. ‘Tokens of
land appeared! Not the actual sight of distant land,
but small proofs of their approach to it could be ob-
served about them, which to Columbus, who reasoned
upon all that he saw, were convincing proofs that the
aim of their voyage would be soon attained. On the
14th of September, there were seen near the ships,
two birds, a heron and a water-wagtail, and Columbus
could not but consider them a proof of land being not
far off, since he knew that these birds are in the habit
of seeking their food in fresh-water streams and lakes,
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

They now began, too, to see large patches of herbs
and weeds floating on the surface of the water, all
drifting from the west, and increasing in quantity as
they advanced. Some of these weeds were such as
grow about rocks, others such as are produced in
rivers ; Some were yellow and withered, and others so
green as to appear as if only just washed from the
shore. On one of the patches was a live crab, which
Columbus carefully preserved. ‘They saw also a white
tropical bird, of a kind which never sleeps on the sea,
and tunny-fish played about the vessels. The sea
became smooth as a river, and all things led Columbus
to believe that they were near land.

The crew were in high spirits, each ship striving
to get i advance of each other, so as to be the first to
hail the sight of land. Some of the sailors fancied at
one time that they saw land to the north, and wanted
to sail in that direction; but Columbus was deter-
mined not to change his route, for he knew that clouds
often rested on the horizon, which looked like land.
Then camea day of drizzling rain, during which two
pelicans flew on board, a bird which Columbus knew
never to fly more than thirty leagues from land. He
sounded, therefore, with his lead, but could find no
bottom, and he continued still to sail on to the west-
ward. ‘The signs of land, however, having been fol-
lowed by no discovery of it, the crews began to get
impatient, and clamoured. They were frightened to
think of the immense distance which they must have
sailed since they left the coast of Spain. Then came
fresh tokens of the nearness of land, and again they
hoped. Small singing-birds visited the ships in the
morning, and flew away at evening. Their songs
cheered the disconsolate sailors’ hearts, for they said,
“such birds as these make their nests in groves and
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

orchards, and must have come from land, which is not
far off, or they would be too exhausted to sing.” A
fresh breeze sprung up, too, from the south-west,
which was a comfort to them when they thought of
their return. As they sailed on and on, the floating
weeds increased, until the sea looked like a vast green
meadow, and even Columbus was afraid they might
be entangled in it, and unable to proceed. It seemed,
too, like a sign that the sea had become more shallow,
but they sounded, and. still could not touch the bot-
tom. ‘Then the fears and discontent of the crew began
to break out into murmurs and complaints against
Columbus, and when certain that he was on the eve of
a great discovery, he had the greatest difficulty in per-
suading his companions not to turn back. The men
gathered together in twos and threes in the most re-
tired parts of the vessel, and discussed what they
called the rashness and folly of the admiral. Some of
the crew did not even scruple to hirt at the base and
wicked plan. of throwing their commander into the
sea, and then sailing back to Spain. Columbus saw
their discontent, and suspected some plot against him,
but at the same time kept a serene and steady coun-
tenance towards them, soothing them with gentle
words and encouraging promises ; while he threatened
the most refractory with signal punishment, should
they do anything to impede their progress.

One day when things were in this state, Columbus
was examining, with some of his experienced mariners,
a chart which he had made of the route to India
before he left Spain, when they were aroused by a
shout from “ The Pinta,” and, looking up, they beheld
Pinzon mounted on the stern of his vessel, who cried
with a loud voice, “ Land, land! I claim my reward !”
pointing at the same time to the south-west, where
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER,

there was indeed an appearance of land. Columbus
threw himself on his knees, and returned thanks to
God, while the crews of both vessels repeated a hymn
of praise. The seamen now mounted the mast-heads,
and climbed about the rigging, straining their eyes to
catch a view ; and their conviction that land was in that
direction was so great that Columbus, for the first time,
altered his route, and steered that night to the south.
west. Morning came at last, however, and dispelled
their hopes like a dream. The fancied land must have
been but a cloud, and had vanished in the night. They
steered again to the west, and their disappointment
was in some degree allayed by finding, as they ad-
vanced, more and more tokens of land. Now dolphins
played around the ships, and flying-fish, darting into
the air, fell upon the decks. On the 1st of October,
Columbus knew that they had gailed 707 leagues since
they left the Canary Islands; but the mariners thought
they had only come 580.

A pension of thirty crowns had been promised by
the Spanish Government to him who should first
discover land; and the sailors were now continually
giving the cry of land on the least appearance of
the kind. Frequent disappointments arising’ from
this again awakened the turbulence of the crew, and
fresh complaints and lamentations broke out among
them. The situation of Columbus was beginning to
be quite desperate, when one morning, some signs of
the nearness of land — and even inhabited land —
revived and cheered every heart. Besides a great
quantity of fresh green weeds, such as grow on rocks,
they saw floating on the waves a branch of thorn with
berries, and they picked up a reed, a small board, and,
above all, a staff artificially carved. ‘Those berries
must have grown on land,” said ‘they with delight,
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

“and the hand of man must have carved that staff.’
Gloom and discontent now vanished, and, full of san-
guine expectation, the mariners watched eagerly all
day in hopes of being the first to discover the welcome
sight. Hvening came, and when the crew had sung
as usual their vesper hymn, Columbus made them an
impressive address, and pomted out to them the
goodness of God in conducting them by such soft
and favouring breezes, and across a tranquil ocean —
to their promised land. He told them he expected
they would reach land that night, and he promised a
doublet of velvet from himself to whomsoever should
first behold it. Columbus was more anxious than he
chose to let his crew perceive ; and, as night came on,
he took his station on the high poop of his vessel, and
maintained an intense and unwearing watch. Suddenly,
about ten o’clock, he thought he beheld a light glim-
mering in the distance. It moved! and he felt sure
that it must be a torch in the hand of a fisherman, or
carried by some person walking along ashore. With
sleepless eyes and a beating heart, he waited for the
dawn of day. At two o’clock, when only the faintest
streak of light was visible in the east, a gun was fired
from the “Pinta.” It was the signal of land! A
mariner named Rodrigo, perched up high in the masts,
had seen the first glimpse of land about two leagues
distant; and the long-cherished hope and belief of
Columbus.was at last proved to be true. The great
mystery at which the sages scoffed was revealed, and
he had secured to himself a glory which will be as
lasting as the world itself!

We can only partly imagine the feelings of Colum-
bus as he waited for the coming light of day; nor can
we quite conceive the greatness of his joy, when the
sun arose, and he saw stretched out before him a level

D
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

and beautiful island, covered with fresh and luxuriant
verdure. It was inhabited, too; and issuing from the
woods were seen half-naked savages running down to
the shore to gaze on the vessels, and appearing by their
gestures to be lost in astonishment. Columbus made
signals for the ships to cast anchor, and, ordering a
boat to be lowered, he entered it, dressed in his admi-
ral’s uniform of scarlet and gold, and bearing in his
hand the standard of Spain. He landed, and throw-
ine himself on his knees, kissed the, earth, and re-
turned thanks to God with tears of joy in his eyes.
Then, planting the standard on the shore, he took
solemn possession of the island in the name of the
Spanish sovereigns, and gave it the name of San Sal-
vador.

The island discovered was one of the group which
we call the Bahama Islands, and was the first discovered
of that large archipelago of islands which we still call
the West Indies; Columbus having given it that name
in the belief that it was part of India.
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER,

CHAPTER IV.

THE FINDER PURSUES HIS DISCOVERIES—HE RETURNS HOME
TO TELL OF HIS SUCCESS—-HE RECEIVES HONOUR AND
REWARDS—-THE END OF THE FINDER OF A NEW
WORLD.

On finding themselves once more on land, the crews of
the vessels burst out into the most extravagant trans-
ports of joy. They thronged round Columbus, em-
bracing him and kissing his hands; and those who
had behaved the worst during the voyage threw them-
selves at his feet and entreated his pardon. The
natives, who at the dawn of day had seen the strange
ships near their island, and had fancied them some
strange-winged monsters which had arisen from the
deep in the might, now crowded to the beach, full
of awe and curiosity. Timidly approaching the
Spaniards, they prostrated themselves on the ground
and made signs of adoration. During the ceremony of
taking possession, they stood gazing with reverence
and admiration at the complexions, shining armour, and
splendid dresses of the strangers. They evidently
fancied that some superior beings had descended from
the skies to their island, and were ready to worship
them. The appearance of these natives was most wild
and fantastic. Their bodies were painted; and, in-
stead of the short crisp hair of the newly-discovered
African tribes, long locks of straight black hair fell
over their shoulders. They were savages, but they
looked gentle, and had fine eyes and agrecable fea-.
tures. Great was their delight when Columbus dis-
tributed among them some coloured caps, glass beads,
and small bells, which they had purposely brought
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

with them, in case they should meet with savages,
They received these gifts as if they were inestimable
treasures—hanging the beads round their necks, and
being wonderfully delighted with the finery and the
sound of the bells. It was hard to say which were
most delighted, the mariners or the natives; and the
former remained on shore all day, refreshing them-
selves after their long voyage, in wandering about the
beautiful woods of the island.

The next morning at break of day, the natives
having grown bolder, came crowding round the Spanish
vessels in their canoes formed of hollowed trees, and
guided by paddles. They came eager for more toys
and trinkets from the white men, and brought in
exchange parrots, balls of cotton-wool, and a kind of
bread prepared from the root of a plant.

After having sailed round the island, and found it
quite small, Columbus determined on setting sail in
search of the continent of India, which he thought
must be near. He soon found, however, that he
was in the midst of a cluster of the most beautiful
and fertile islands. On all of them the same kind of
natives were found as on the first, and Columbus was
most anxious not to frighten them or forfeit their good-
will. On one occasion that his sailors took a poor
Indian captive, and forced him on board against his
will, Columbus ordered him to be brought before hin.
He came trembling with fear, and humbly offering a
ball of cotton as a gift; when the admiral, to hig sur-
prise, put a coloured cap on his head, strings of beads
on his arms, bells in his ears, and, ordering him to be
put back in his canoe, dismissed him, overjoyed with
delight. His kind treatment of the natives had the
desired effect ; and wherever they went they crowded
fearlessly around him, bringing to the ship fruits, and
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

roots, and the pure water of their springs, in return for
their presents.

At whatever island they touched, the Spaniards
were taken to be superior beings come down from
heaven, and the natives did all in their power to please
them. As they passed among the beautiful islands,
the most delicious odours were wafted from them,
which made them fancy that spices such as were
brought from the Kast were growing on them; while
they were at a loss to find names for all the luscious
fruits and beautiful plants that they found.

Seeing the natives of many of the islands adorned
with ornaments of gold, Columbus began to think
that he had arrived at a kingdom famous for that
metal, which a Venetian traveller had described, in
the far-distant Hast. He made signs to some of the
Indians to inquire where this gold came from, and they
pointed to the south. ‘To the south, therefore, Colum-
bus sailed, im search of the gold-bearing country, and
discovered the large island of Cuba, which stretched
such an immense distance from east to west, that for a
long time he believed it to be a continent. In Cuba
he found lofty mountains and vast plains watered by
noble rivers. Here grew an endless variety of plants
and trees, lofty palms as well as flowering shrubs, while
the most brilliantly plumed birds swarmed about the
woods and groves. Cuba seemed to Columbus a per-
fect paradise, and in his journal, after describing its
many beauties, he said, “‘ One could live here for ever.”
In this island, he found the habitations of the natives
better built than in the islands first visited, and the
natives seemed more civilized. He felt sure that he
had at last reached India or Japan; and he sent a
party into the interior of the island to seek the court
of the king, and to ascertain whether gold was to be
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

found there, and whether it produced spices and gums
like those which came from the Hast. They found
none of these things, but thousands of new and valu-
abie productions instead, among which we may men-
tion, that in Cuba was first found the potato—a
humble root it might seem to them at that time, when
they were seeking for gold and rare spices—but we
now know how great has been the gain to the world
by even this discovery.

After spending some time at Cuba, Columbus dis-
covered next the beautiful island of Hayti, or St.
Domingo; and here he made acquaintance with a
cacique or chief, who governed a large part of the
island, and dwelt in a well-built town of huts. This
chief proved a most valuable friend to Columbus in
time of need. Owing to the negligence of one of his
sailors who should have kept watch during the night,
his vessel struck on a rock, and was wrecked. Luckily
for Columbus, one of the caravels was at hand, which,
coming to his assistance, enabled him and his crew to
escape in safety. This accident caused the benevolent
and hospitable feelmes of the natives to be shown.
‘The cacique sent all the canoes that could be mustered
to help to unload the wrecked vessel before it went to
pieces; and the property they took from it was pre-
served with the most scrupulous honesty. “ So loving, so
tractable, so peaceful are these people,” says Columbus,
in his journal, ‘that I swear to your majesties there is
not in the world a better nation nor a better land. They
love their neighbours as themselves, and their discourse
is ever sweet and gentle, accompanied with a smile.”

The good cacique, seeing the sorrow of Columbus
at the loss of his vessel, did all in his power to con-
sole him. He invited him to a feast, and he made
his people perform dances and games before him, to
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

amuse him and the sailors. Then Columbus invited
him in return, and to lead the chief to understand the
power of the Spaniards, he caused a cannon to be fired
off from the vessel, at which the poor natives fell
prostrate with fear and horror; and it was only by
Columbus promising that these dreadful instruments
should only be employed against the enemies of the
cacique that they would be appeased. On another
occasion, the cacique invited Columbus to his dwell-
ing, to introduce him to five other caciques, and, in.
token of respect, tcok off his crown of gold and placed
it upon his head; while Columbus, in return, gave
him a bundle of cloth, and glass beads to hang round
his neck. Nothing, however, delighted the natives
so much as the little bells given them by the Spaniards,
and for which they would give in exchange handfuls
of gold dust and ornaments of that metal.

Columbus having procured a sufficient quantity of
gold to satisfy him, as a proof that much more of it
was to be had, and having made a large collection of
the productions of the different islands he had visited,
he determined to return to Spain in the small vessel
called the “ Pinta,” after building a kind of fort with
the remains of his own ship. He left behind him a
party of Spaniards, and gave instructions for their con-
tinuing the search for gold during his absence, trust-
ing they would live peaceably with the gentle natives.

The voyage of Columbus back to Spain was full
of difficulties and dangers, from contrary winds and
violent storms; and his little ship was scarcely large
enough for all that were on board. On several occa-
sions, he despaired of ever reaching home to tell the
wonderful tales which he had to relate; and, in order
to provide against this misfortune, he wrote on two
pieces of parchment the history of his discovery, and
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

wrapping them in waxed cloth, placed them in barrels,
and throwing one of them into the sea, kept the
other on board his vessel, so that it might float off
in case of their being wrecked. The little ship bore up,
however, amid the storms; and after a sail of about
three weeks, the cry of land was heard. The trans-
ports of the mariners at once more gaining sight of
the Old World almost equalled their delight when they
first beheld the New; and it was indeed a joyful return.
Instead, however, of first landing on the coast of
Spain, the vessel of Columbus was driven towards the
mouth of the river Tagus; and sailing up the river,
he landed at Lisbon to tell the tale of his discovery.
The king of Portugal had the just punishment of
seeing the man whom he had before treated with
such contempt and unfairness, now returned as a
successful discoverer, while his country had lost the
advantage of so great an increase of wealth and
territory.

After repairing his vessel, Columbus sailed again
for the port of Palos, where, for many months, the
inhabitants had given up all hope of seeing him and
his companions again. When the news arrived that
one of the adventurous ships was indeed entering the
harbour, the whole community broke forth into trans-
ports of joy. Bells were rung, the shops shut, and
all was hurry and tumult. When Columbus landed,
the multitude thronged to see and welcome him, and
a grand procession was formed to the principal church
to return thanks to God for so signal a discovery made
by the people of that place. They treated Columbus
with the respect and honour usually paid to sovereigns;
and. made that return indeed a strange contrast to his
first arrival at Palos, craving bread and water for his
child at the gate of a convent!
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THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

But the honours paid him at Palos were noth
to be compared to his reception at court by the k



















































































They were then at Barcelona,

and Columbus had to travel through a considerable

and queen of Spain.

As he went along, and

part of Spain to reach them.
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

passed through towns and villages, the people crowded
to look upon him, and filled the air with their accla-
mations; while the native Indians whom he had
brought back with him were looked upon as if in-
habitants from another planet. At Barcelona, the
whole populace came forth to meet him; and as they
passed through the streets, every window and balcony,
and even the very roofs, were thronged with specta-
tors. The triumphant discoverer walked along, fol-
lowed by the native Indians, their bodies strangely
painted and adorned with ornaments of gold, feathers,
and shells; and the parrots, rare plants and fruits,
and all the coronets and bracelets of gold which had
been obtained from the different islands they had
visited, were carried in procession and displayed before
the wondering eyes of the Spaniards.

Columbus was received by the king and queen in
great state, and nothing could exceed the graciousness
and condescension that they showed him. They rose
up at his approach, and would scarcely permit him to
kneel at their feet and kiss their hands. When, too,
that Columbus related to them all that he had done—
described to them the beautiful islands he had found
—showed them the specimens he had brought of
unknown birds and animals, rare plants and drugs,
lumps of gold and gold-dust, or strangely-formed
golden ornaments—and above all, when he presented
to the king and queen the natives of these new
countries on the other side of the world, nothing
could exceed their satisfaction and delight. As he
finished his recital, the pious sovereigns sank on their
knees, and raising their clasped hands to heaven,
poured forth thanks and praises to God for so great a
providence ; and then repairing to the royal chapel, a
Le Deum, or hymn of praise, was sung by all the court.


THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

And it was not in Spain alone that joy was felt at
the great discovery made by Columbus. The news
of it spread all over Hurope, and the greatest interest
was shown about it, though no one—not even

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Columbus himself—was aware of the greatness of the
discovery. He thought that he had found out but
a part of India, and a new and nearer way of getting
to it. He little imagined then, nor did he ever know,
that he had been the Finder of a new half of the
great globe on which we live.
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

We must relate in a few words the remaining
history of the great discoverer, Columbus. After
eceiving all the rewards and honours that had been
promised him, and many other marks cf favour and
distinction, he set forth on another voyage to the
west in order to complete his discoveries. Instead
now of being afraid of venturing with him, sailors,
and even many private gentlemen, eagerly sought for
permission to accompany him, and a noble fleet of
ships was put under his command.

On his second voyage he found many other impor-
tant and valuable islands, among which was Jamaica
and the large cluster of islands called the Caribbees.

On a third voyage he found Trinidad and the
mouth of the great river Orinoco, which he felt sure
must flow from a vast continent; and on several
occasions he landed on parts of the great continent
of America, without bemg aware of what a vast
country it was a part. But the close of the life of
Columbus was not all success and triumph. He
lived to experience one of the strangest reverses that
ever befell a human being. He was in the midst of
new discoveries, when some false and malicious reports
were sent home to Spain about him, by some of the
colonists who had settled in the West Indies, and who
were jealous of his success and honour, and who >
did not like to submit to his authority. The king and j
queen were deceived by these false accounts; and
orders were given that Columbus should be sent home
to take his trial. He was placed on board a vessel,
loaded with chains; and when those who guarded him
would have taken them off, Columbus refused to have
them removed; and he persisted in appearing before
the king and queen to plead his defence—in chains!

It did not take long to convince both Ferdinand
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

and Isabella that he was innocent and wrongly
accused; but the noble spirit of Columbus never re-
covered from the pain and mortification he had felt
at being even suspected of what was base and wrong.
It is said, that he ever after kept the chains which he
had worn, hung up in his room, and desired that they
might be buried in his grave.

The fame and honours which fell upon Columbus
in consequence of his great discovery, were thus but





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of short duration, and we are told that he even died
in poverty and neglect, whilst others benefited by all
the wealth that poured into Spain, from the fertile
islands he had found. The great continent of America,
too, instead of being named after Columbus, acquired
its present name from a Portuguese mariner called
Amerigo Vespucci, who some time after landed upon
its shores, and fancied he was the first to have
discovered it.
THE SEEKER AND THE FINDER.

If, then, rewards in this life were all that make i
worth while to persevere in great and noble endea,
vours, Columbus might well have gone on trading all
his days in the Mediterranean Sea, for by this means
he might have gathered up great riches, and lived and
died perhaps in one of the grand palaces of his native
city of Genoa; but we feel sure that even when old,
poor, and forsaken, he could never have looked back
with regret on the manner in which he had spent his
past life. In his youth, he had felt that he was “an
appointed instrument of God” for making a great
and important discovery; and in old age, not all the
wealth and honours that the world could give, would
be equal to the comfort and satisfaction of knowing
that he had done well and. faithfully his appointed
task. He would rejoice, too, to think that not only
through his means was much of God’s fair and beauti-
ful creation made known to Europeans, and many
valuable productions added to the comfort of their
lives, but that in return the gospel of Christ would be
carried to the “uttermost parts of the earth,” and
spread among countless tribes of savages, to whom
the name of their great Father m heaven was yet
unknown. |

The king of Spain, at the deatlrof Columbus, seems
to have remembered all that was owing to his earnest
will and perseverance, for he caused him to be buried
with great pomp and magnificence, and had inscribed
upon his tomh: .

HERE LIES COLUMBUS,
WHO GAVE TO SPAIN —

A NEW WORLD,


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THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

0-050 0 Oe enae

CHAPTER I.



ST RmALLHN King Henry II. sailed to invade and

SIMU «conquer Ireland, there went with him to
be his standard-bearer, a gentleman from
a place called Wellesleigh, in Somerset-
shire. After the fighting was over, and the country
subjugated, this gentleman was rewarded for the
courage he had shown in the. king’s service, and large
estates were given to him in the counties of Meath and
Kildare. There he settled, and defended. himself
bravely against all comers, and his family did the

-
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

same after him for about six hundred years, keeping
firm possession of the lands. On one of the estates in
the county of Meath, there was a stronghold known
as Dangan Castle, about twenty-five miles from Dublin,
and here the descendants of the old Somersetshire
standard-bearer took up their abode when it pleased
them, until about the year 1730, when Garret Wesley,
as he was named, was the only one left.

Garret Wesley had no children, and as most people
feel pleasure in having something to love, he and his
wiie resolved to adopt a boy, who should be to them
as their own son. There was a youth named Charles
Wesley, then pursuing his «studies in Westminster
School at their expense, and Garret invited him to go
over to Ireland, and be his adopted son, and the heir
to his estates. It was a generous offer, but the youth
declined it. This young student was the brother of
the celebrated John Wesley, the founder of the sect
called Methodists; and it is probable that had he
become the owner of Dangan Castle, the career of the
two would have been very different to that which is
now recorded in the interesting’ history of their lives.

Garret Wesley then adopted a young man who was
a relative of his wife’s. Some years afterwards the
estates had passed to this young man’s son—who
became Baron Mornington. He had a family of sons
and daughters, some of whom died young, others lived
to full years, and to reach high honours. Among
them was the fourth son, Arthur, who was born at the
end of April, 1769—and it is of him that the present
storyis told. It is a fact worth remembering, that the
famous Napoleon Buonaparte was born a few months
later in-the same year, in the island of Corsica.

Childhood is an interesting period to look back
upon. It is interesting to trace the growth of mind
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

and character from small beginnings ; and sometimes.
we see glimpses of the genius, or the greatness that is
to come in after years. But we know scarcely any-.
thing of the childhood of Arthur Wesley. We are
sure that he must have had his jays and sorrows in
common with other children; that he learned to walk
and talk as others do; and that reading and spelling,.
with all their pains, pleasures, and penalties, came
afterwards, and proved to him while he was still young,
that whatever is worth having is not to be obtained
without labour and perseverance. He would know
how to enjoy his holidays, amusing himself in various
ways in the grounds around the castle, perhaps looking
up at the time-worn walls which had stood since the
days of the great Harl Strongbow, or seated on the
topmost tower, thinking on its history, and gazing
over the landscape of green fields and brown moorland,
that lay beneath, and stretched far away to the distant
hills. Perhaps he may have wondered what his future
life would be, as many a school-boy has done when —
lying on the grass on a summer’s afternoon; and no
doubt, he found as he grew up, that the reality was
very different from the fancy. But there is something
that never changes, and that is a true principle—the
desire to do always what is best, and speak only what 1s
truest, under all circumstances. Such a principle is
true and right for all time: it cannot alter; and he
who takes it up as a duty and cherishes it through life,
will find it grow with his growth, and strengthen with
his strength, and be to him a power of overcoming
difficulties. And though at the outset the path of
duty may seem dull and rugged, and wearying to walk
in; yet he who follows it without turning aside, will
find it in time leading onwards into pleasant regions,
where in his old age he may sit down in sunshiny
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

places, and enjoy the reward which singleness of pur-
pose never fails to secure.

When Arthur was twelve years old, his father, the
Earl of Mornington, died, leaving a widow and family
in not the best of circumstances. One of the wisest
things that can be done for children, is to give them a
good education; and Arthur was sent with one of bis
brothers to the famous school or college at ton,
where many of England’s greatest men have passed a
portion of their youthful days. He did not, as some
do, make a great figure in his class, or show himself
clever in his studies; neither was he particularly re-
markable for activity in the playground, being rather
slow in manner, and not much of a talker. Many
persons would have called him a dull boy, who had but
little to say for himself. Whether he had any real
capabilities in him or not we shall see as we go on.

After leaving Eton, Arthur went through a short
course of private tuition at Brighton, and from there
he was sent to a military school at Angers in France,
as he wished to be a soldier. It was common at that
time for young men to go abroad to study the art of
war, as there were no good academies for that purpose
in Kngland. Angers is a fine old town, on the road
between T'ours and Nantes; it has some connection
with English history, for its walls were built by King
John; and Shakespeare mentions it in one of his plays.
It was here that Arthur pursued his studies under Pig-
nerol, the director of the school, and one of the best
military engineers on the continent. Here, besides
getting a thorough knowledge of French, he learned
how to build fortifications, how they were to be
defended and attacked, and many other matters neces-
sary to be known to those who have to carry on a war.
They must know when to advance, and when to retreat _
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

and when to strike a blow at the enemy with the best
chances of success; and for all this, many branches of
learning have to be studied. Young Buonaparte was
at a military school at the same time in another part
of France.

At the age of eighteen, Wesley left the school
at Angers, and returned to England, if not with a
reputation for cleverness, he had at all events a mind
well stored with knowledge, and he kad proved that
he could work diligently at whatever work his duty
called him to undertake. It is a quality on which suc-
cess in life greatly depends. He at once entered the
army, and by the influence of his family connections,
obtained an ensign’s commission in the 73rd regiment,
and soon after rose to the rank of lieutenant, and from
that to captain. He no longer called himself Arthur
Wesley, but Wellesley, a name similar to that of the
old estate in Somersetshire, and by that name he will
now appear as our story goes on.

In 1790, Arthur Wellesley was called on to under-
take the duties of a legislator as well as a soldier, for
he was elected member for the town of Trim, which
is but a few miles from Dangan Castle, and he took his
seat in the parliament then sitting at Dublin. At that
time Ireland had a parliament of its own which assem-
bled until the Act of Union with England was passed in
1800. Young Wellesley was not a great or frequent
orator, but when he did speak, his remarks were full
of good sense, and to the purpose. His words had
some useful application in them, and were not mere
idle talk. In one respect, however, his actions and his
prudent councils did not correspond, for he got deeply
into debt, as almost every one else did who then lived in
Ireland. He lodged in the house of a bootmaker, who
helped him outof his difficulties, and Weilesley took
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

care that the worthy tradesman was repaid every
farthing that he had lent, and remained his friend
through life.

The time had now come when Arthur Wellesley
was to draw his sword on active service, to test his
courage and ability in actual war. England and
Hurope were then in a very different condition to what
they are now. We had but very few schools for the
people, no mechanics’ institutes, no public libraries,
no public parks or gardens for the instruction and
recreation of the lower classes, who were in a state
of brutal ignorance, and were ready to commit any
outrages, as was shown by the riotous and destructive
proceedings of the mobs in London in 1780, in what
are called the Lord George Gordon riots. Many
people then alive remembered the incursion of the
Scottish Highlanders under the young Pretender, and
their daring attempt to overturn the British Govern-
ment. ‘The long American war, which ended in the
independence of the United States, was fresh in every
body’s mind; while on the continent those outbreaks
were beginning to be felt, which ended in the terrible
French Revolution.

War was declared against France in 1795, and the
Duke of York was sent with an army of ten thousand
men to the Netherlands to oppose the French troops
who were conquering all before them. Meantime
Wellesley had risen to the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel,
and in 1794, he went over to join the British forces in
command of the 33rd regiment; he was then not
more than twenty-six years of age. The army was,
however, too weak to resist the French; the wants of
the soldiers had been shamefully neglected, they were
often without food and clothing, and could seldom get
medical attendance when they were sick, and had to
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON. .

endure severe privations, all of which was owing to the
dishonesty of the persons who had charge of the com-
missariat, as the supplying of food and other necessaries |
is called. The men had to fight hard and live hard,
and were driven from town to town by the enemy
without being able to make a successful stand. In
a retreat, the rear-guard is considered the post of
honour, and the command of this was given to Lieu-
tenant-Colonel Wellesley. He conducted the opera-
tions with care and prudence, but showed none of that
genius and skill which afterwards distinguished him.
It was in Belgium that he thus learnt his first lesson
of actual war, and it was in the same country that his
last and greatest battle was fought.

The Irench troops swept all before them; the
English retreated into Holland, and from thence into
Westphalia, where they were supported bythe Prussians.
The winter came on, and in January, 1795, while the
soldiers were on their march, the miseries they had to
endure were enough to shake the stoutest heart.
Many perished from cold and hunger, the snow was so
deep that the roads were impassable, the baggage was
abandoned, and the sick and wounded were left to
perish.

Such are the evils produced by war; it leaves dis-
tress and devastation behind it, and the peaceful have
to suffer for the faults or ambition of the turbulent.
The disastrous campaign was, however, an impressive
lesson for Wellesley ; while fulfilling his duty as com-
mander of the rear-guard, keeping the enemy in
check, he could not fail to note the faults committed
by his superiors in command, as well as the defects im
the discipline of the army, and so he gained ex-—
perience that was to be turned to good account in
after years.
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

We now see that the life before us is one altogether
of a public character; there is nothing about poverty
at home, and struggles with early difficulties in the
pursuit of knowledge, nothing about joys and sorrows
in the family circle. We have to see how a man rose
to greatness by overcoming difficulties of another
character, how his energies were devoted not merely
to the maintenance of a household, but to the defence
of a whole nation, and how, amidst his ereatest
triumphs, he was never led aside from the path of
duty.
Tiikh STORY OF WELLINGTON,

CHAPTER If.

Ir was with a regiment shattered and weakened that
Lieutenant-Colonel Wellesley returned to England in
1795; he, however, soon raised it again to its full num-
bers, and was ready for active service. He had not
long to wait, for in the autumn the 33rd had orders to
embark for the West Indies. The weather, however,
proved so stormy, that, after being six weeks at sea,
the fleet was obliged to put back to port. To this
misadventure, as it then seemed, Arthur Wellesley
doubtless owed much of his subsequent fame; for his
regiment was afterwards ordered to the East Indies,
in which country his great military talents were first
displayed. The troops sailed in April, 1796; Welles-
ley was detained by illness, but he overtook them at
the Cape of Good Hope, and landed at Calcutta in
February, 1797, with the rank of Colonel. Imme-
diately, he found employment in active duties, for
there was stirring work to be done.

At that time England had possession of but a
small part of her present vast Indian mpire. Forty
years carlier, the English had trembled in presence of
the Mogul ruler, and a number of them had perished
miserably in the Black Hole at Calcutta. Clive had,
however, made the British name feared by his famous
victory at Plassey. But, at the time of Wellesley’s
arrival, the native chiefs were plotting to drive the
English out of India; they had large and powerful
armies, and many French officers had entered their
service. Among the most deadly of our foes were the
large and warlike tribe of the Mahrattas, and Tippoo
Saib, the ruler of the Mysore district. Tho latter
was aman of the most vindictive disposition; and he
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

used to boast that he would rather live two years as a
tiger than two hundred as a sheep.

Colonel Wellesley lost no time in getting his men
into proper discipline, well equipped, and provided
with all necessaries, so as to be ready for service when-
ever called on. He gained great praise for his suc-
cessful exertions in this respect. The army consisted
of about 50,000 men, of whom only one-fourth were
British; the others were Sepoys, as the native Indian
troops are called.

General Harris had the command of the army,
wich waited for some time, watching the turn of
events, and guardmg the English territory from in-

vaders. At length, in february, 1799, an advance
was made upon the 3 Mysore, to compel Tippoo Saib to
cD the treaty which he had made two years before

Tippoo’s army numbered about 76,000 men; among
them were several troops called the tiger guards,
from their great strength and cruelty, and they be-
heved themselves Geonqae ble.

The country was so rough and wild that on some
days the army could not march more than six miles.
They struggled on, however, for three weeks, and were
within aay miles of Seringapatam, the capital of the
district, when Tippoo met them with his troops. He
directed all his strength against the European ranks,
and sent a column oF his ee guards against Colonel
Wellesley’s regiment. They came on, thinking to
sweep all before them, and gain an easy victory; but
the English stood firm, and met the foe with such a
terrible fire of musketry, that they halted, turned
round, and fled, sharply pursued by the British cavalry.
Tippoo fell back, burning the villages and destroying
the crops in his way, to deprive the pursuers of all
means of support. General Harris, however, led them
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

by a different road, where they found plenty of provi-
sions ; and on the 2nd of April they came in sight of
Seringapatam.

Lippoo had surrounded the city with such strong
ramparts, that he believed it to be impregnable. The
first work of the British, after their arrival, was to
take possession of a wood that lay between their camp
and the walls: Colonel Wellesley was appointed to
the task. He set out with his men after nightfall;
but, owing to mistakes made in the darkness, hd failed.
It was his only failure. As soon as morning came,
and the troops could see their way, he drove the enemy
from the wood, and kept possession of it. The siege
of the city was then pushed forward with vigour,
while Tippco sat smiling in his:palace, believing him-
self perfectly safe. The difficulties, however, were
great; the camp was very unhealthy, the troops suf-
fered much from sickness:and want of food, and every
day it was feared that the-rising of the river Cauvery
would flood the whole country. ‘The situation became
so serious after three weeks, that General Harris said,
“We must take the city; or perish in the attempt.”

Arrangements were therefore made to storm the
place; and, on the 4th of May, the troops advanced
from the trenches to the foot of the walls, where a
breach had been made by a heavy cannonade. LEvery
foot of the ground was hotly disputed; Tippoo’s sol-
diers fought with the greatest desperation, and a
terrific storm of balls, bullets, and stones was poured
from the top of the ramparts on the heads of the be-
siegers. Slowly, however, but resolutely, the English
climbed up the breach; they planted the British flag
on the top of the walls, cut down all before them, and
the city was won. Tippoo would not believe the
reports of his loss, and, mounting his horse, rode out’
LOM STCRY OF WELLINGTON,

to witness the strife ; when, having approached a gate-
way where the fight was still raging, the diamonds on
his turban betrayed his rank; he was struck down,
and lost his life and his kingdom together.

Colonel Wellesley was appointed to keep order in
the city—a task little less difficult than that of cap-
turing it; but he took his measures with so much
judgment and firmness, that the place was restored to
some degree of tranquillity; and the advice which he
gave on the conduct of affairs was so good, that he




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was for a time appointed Commander-in-chief of the
British forces in the Mysore, and governor of the
territory. It was a high and responsible position fora
man not more than thirty years of age; and in it we
have another illustration of the truth, that ability and
industry, combined with good sense, seldom fail to
make their way in the world.

Soon, however, he was again called to the field, to
put down a daring adventurer, named Dhoondiah. It
was no uncommon thing at that time in India, for
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

gangs of desperate men to put themselves under a
leader, who, after a while, grew strong enough, by
plunder and pillage, to attack the chief of some pro-
vince, and seize it for himself. Hyder Ali, the father
of Tippoo Saib, was one of these. He had been a
common soldier, but rose, by dint of fighting and
ferocity, to be master of a kingdom. In like manner,
Dhoondiah, who had been a freebooter for many years,
collected the stragglers of Tippoo’s army, and took
the field against the English. Colonel Wellesley was
sent in pursuit of him, and for two months was pur-
suing him through the district called the Dooab, with-
out being able to overtake his nimble adversary. At
last, on the 10th of September, 1800, he came up with
“The King of the Two Worlds,” as Dhoondiah used
to call himself. ‘ I charged them,” he wrote in his
despatches, “ with the 19th and 25th dragoons, and
the Ist and 2nd regiments of cavalry; and drove them
before me till they dispersed, and were scattered over
the face of the country. I then returned and attacked
the royal camp, and got possession of elephants, camels,
and baggage, which were still upon the ground.”
Dhoondiah himself was killed. His favourite son,
about four years old, was found among the baggage,
and, being taken care of, he grew up in the English
service. When Colonel Wellesley had lived to be a
grey-headed old man, he was one day at a Diorama in
London, where this scene was exhibited :—‘‘Oh, I
remember all about that,” he said, suddenly; “ they
ran after my horse with the child. He was brought
up in the camp, and got a commission; but he was
spout by the officers, and turned out a great vaga-
bond.”

But now the Mahrattas began to be insolent and
troublesome. It seemed of no use making treaties
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

with Asiaties, for they would never keep them; and
nothing but the strong arm weuld hold them to their
word. They were naturally jealous of the advantages
gained by the British; their army was large, com-
manded by Perron, a Frenchman, under whom they
had raised themselves to a high pitch of military disci-
pline; and they thought the time was come for a suc-
cessful outbreak. Wellesley had to give up his post
in the Mysore, where his good management for a year
and a half had gained him the respect even of the
natives; they had found more hberty and justice under
a British ruler than under their own chiefs. He was
promoted to the rank of Major-General, and ordered
to march with a body of troops against the Mahrattas,
who occupied the country between Delhi and Poonah,
in April, 1802. The expedition was successful, and
one of the chiefs, friendly to the English, was pene
to power in the latter city.

The tribes, however, continued turbulent, and were
encountered by British troops m other parts of the
Indian territory ; but, as our story relates to Welling-
ton, we shall confine ourselves to the narrative of his
operations. In June, 1803, he was empowered to
direct and control all the political and military affairs
of the British in the Mahratta States, and when it
was found that the chiefs were leagued with the French
to annoy the English, he resolved to march once more
against them. This was in August, 1803, and here
he showed that foresight and ability which afterwards
so greatly distinguished him; for he drew up instruc-
tions for the preparation of boats, bridges, and pon-
toons, for the crossing of rivers, for the transport of
baggage, and for the safety and defence of the troops.
He left nothing to chance. A good beginning is the
surest road to success. The consequence was that the
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

General advanced rapidly with his men. There were
strong forts scattered about the country ; but he would
not stop to besiege them, and had them taken by
assault with but little loss of time. This activity so
astonished one of the Mahratta chiefs, that he wrote
to his friend, “‘These English are a strange people,
and their General a wonderful man. They came in
here this morning, looked at the wall, walked over it,
killed all the garrison, and returned to breakfast.
Who can withstand them ?”

On the 23rd of September, General Wellesley came
up with the whole Mahratta army, numbering 50,000
horse and foot, with 100 pieces of cannon, posted in
a position, strongly fortified, close to the village of
Assaye. Part of his troops were marching by another
route, and all he had with him were but 4500 men,
and about a dozen small cannon; but he did not hesi-
tate to give battle, although the enemy were ten times
the number. His 1600 cavalry appeared but a hand- —
ful in comparison with the 30,000 Mahratta horsemen ;
he, however, posted his ranks skilfully, and the fight
began. The murderous artillery of the natives soon
silenced the Hnglish guns, while their squadrons of
horse, galloping over the field, rade terrible havoc of
all that opposed them. It seemed impossible to stand
against such numbers; but General Wellesley, order-
ing his troops to charge, bore down with a: steady
front on the Mahrattas. They heeded not the firing
of the hundred cannon; for, marching right up to
them with fixed bayonets, they killed or drove away
the gunners, while the Hnglish cavalry, making a
furious onset, struck such terror into the Mahrattas
that they began to waver. At that moment, a regi-
ment that had been kept in reserve was ordered up,
and their gallant charge decided the day. The mighty
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

Mahratta army ficd in all directions; the British
gained the victory, and Wellesley won his first great
battle. Two horses were killed under him, but he
escaped unhurt. |

his success, and the operations by which it was
followed, finally led to the complete subjugation of the
Mahratta territory. General Wellesley’s services were
acknowledged in many quarters. The British inha-
bitants of Calcutta voted him a sword worth a thousand
guineas; the army officers gave him a handsome ser-
vice of plate; fétes and addresses were prepared for
him in the chief cities of the Indian provinces; he was
made a Knight Companion of the Bath, and received
the thanks of King George III. and the Parliament.
However flattering these rewards and encouragements
might be, they did not make General Wellesley forget
his duties, nor that, without the brave spirit of En-
elishmen to second him, his efforts would have failed
of success.

He returned to England in September, 1805; but
he found that great changes had taken place in Europe
during his absence. Buonaparte, who was an artillery
officer of the French army when he went away, was
now Emperor of the french dominions, and master of
greater part of the Continent, and was threatening
England with invasion. His troops had proved every-
where victorious ; but his fleets had been destroyed and
captured at sea by Lord Howe, and the famous Nelson.
Science was making advances, particularly in the
branches of electricity and chemistry, aided by the
labours of Franklin and Priestley. Arkwright’s cotton-
spinning machines were coming more and more into
use. Watt was setting his steam-engines to work,
and the first steamboat had been built, and many
thoughtful minds were full of schemes of education.
THk STORY OF WELLINGTON.

In short, a new power was coming into existence—that
of Industry combined with Intelligence, which some
day will be stronger than all the armies in the world.

FOE ETD

CHAPTER ITI.

Brine a Knight of the Bath, the successful general now
took the title of Sir Arthur Wellesley. Soon after
his return from India he was elected Member of Parlia-
ment for the little borough of Rye; and laying war-
like duties aside for a time, he entered once more or
the civil service of his country. Ireland was then im
an unsettled state owing to the dissatisfaction of num-
bers of the people with the union which had taken
place with England, and Sir Arthur being considered
a fit person to keep the country in order, he was sent
to that country as Chief Secretary of the Government
in 1806. The year before he married a daughter of
the Karl of Longford, the Hon. Catherine Pakenham,
to whom he had been engaged for some years. She
had suffered from an attack of small-pox which greatly
disfigured her beauty while he was in India, and she
offered to release him from his engagement; but Sir
Arthur remained faithful to his promise, and married
the lady notwithstanding the changein her appearance.

He-had not been many months in Ireland. before he
was called on to take up the sword again. The reason
was this: Napoleon wished to weaken England, and
as he could not come over and land on our shores, he
attempted to ruin our trade; and gave orders that no
British ships should enter any of the ports of the
continent, and that no one should buy or sell British
manufactures. He was master of Europe from Hol-

C
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

land to the South of France, he had also got the Em-
peror of Russia leagued with him in the same scheme,
and he thought himself sure of success. But the
people of the continent could not do without woollen
cloths, linen, calicoes; cutlery, and other manufactures,
and soon there were thousands of smugglers at work
supplying them with everything they wanted. Napo-
leon, however, determined to gain his ends, and as
Denmark had a powerful fleet of ships, he had planned
to send that fleet against England, and force us to
submit. ‘l'o prevent thisthe British Government sent
an expedition to Copenhagen to seize and bring away
the fleet; the vessels of war were commanded by
Admiral Gambier, and a division of the troops by Sir
Arthur Wellesley. He encountered the Danish forces
near their capital, and took more than 10,000 prison-
ers; and after a short struggle the fleet was seized
and brought away, and Napoleon’s designs were
frustrated.

This scizure was a great robbery. The Danes were
not molesting us, and we had no right to go and take
thirty or more of their finest ships without being quite
sure that some other means of protecting our shores
and our commerce might not have been adopted with
equal success. ‘The thanks of Parliament were, how-
ever, voted to the army and navy in January, 1808 ;
and the Speaker, alluding to Sir Arthur Wellesley,
said that he was one “ whose genius and valour had
already extended our fame and empire; whose sword
had been the terror of our distant enemies, and would
not be drawn in vain to defend the seat of the Empire
itself, and the throne of the King.”

A short time after his return from this expedition
a young colt was presented to Sir Arthur; it was
named Copenhagen, and became in time his favourite
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

charger, and bore him through many a scene of battle
and danger.

The period of repose was but short ; Napoleon was
striving to extend his power on the continent, and as
Portugal would not agree to shut out British ships
from her ports, he issued a decree in 1807, declaring
that the “ Mouse of Braganza had ceased to reign,”
and sent Junot, one of his marshals, with an army of
70,000 men to take possession of the country. They
entered Lisbon in November, and the Portuguese
king and government took refuge on board English
ships and fled to Brazil.

Napoleon had promised to give the King of Spain
a share of Portugal if he would help him in his designs
against the British, but he soon entrapped that
monarch with his family, and kept him prisoner in
France, and took possession of Spain as he had before
of Portugal. He seized Madrid, filled the chief cities
with his troops, and made his elder brother, Joseph,
king of the country.

The Spaniards were not long in finding how shame-
fully they had been duped, they made desperate efforts
to shake off the yoke, and the French found it difficult
to withstand the enmity of a whole nation. Their
former wars had been mostly against governments,
but in Spain they first met that national resistance,
which spread from country to country, until a few
years later the power of Buonaparte was completely
broken.

On seeing these encroachments, the British
Government resolved to assist the Portuguese and
Spaniards in recovering their liberty. Accordingly an
army of 10,000 men was embarked at Cork, and Sir
Arthur Wellesley was appointed to the command. They
landed in Mondego Bay, about half way between
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

Lisbon and Oporto, at the endof July, 1808. Thirteen
thousand troops under General Spencer, arrived also
at the same time, from Cadiz. The Irench took the
alarm ; the English fell in with them on the 17th of
August, when a smart battle took place, and this was
the beginning of the famous Peninsular wars. Up
to that time it had been believed thatif the English
were invincible at sea, the French were invincible on
land.

Sir Arthur was for following up his success, when
his measures were checked by two older generals who,
unfortunately, had been sent out to take the chief
authority, and the favourable opportunity was lost.
He threw up his command in vexation; and returned
to England, and resumed his duties as Chief Secre-
tary; the events, however, which took place in the
Peninsula, made the Government determine to send
him out once more; and in April, 1809, he landed at
Lisbon, the leader of the army.

The French troops, then in different parts of Spain
and Portugal, numbered 320,000 men, commanded by
some of Napoleon’s ablest generals; the British force
was 20,000 men, with about 15,000 Portuguese.
Before a month was over, the French were driven out
of Oporto, although they had considered themselves
well protected by the broad river Douro, that flowed
between them and the English. They had broken
down all the bridges, and taken all the boats to their
side of the stream, so that when the English came up,
there appeared no means of passing the broad, deep
current. The officers, however, set to work and
searched every creek and bay for miles up and down,
and found two small skiffs that had escaped notice.
In one of these a colonel crossed over to observe the
French, and on his return, he towed two larger boats
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

with him. In these, the troops were conveyed across
a tew at a time, but with such dispatch that the
French were beaten before they well knew of the
enemy’s arrival. Only twenty-three men were lost of
the British, and Wellesley sat down to the dinner
which had been prepared for Soult, and which the
French marshal had to leave in a hurry untasted. It
proved easier to beat the French, than to make the
Portuguese and Spaniards do their fair share of the
work in bringing up supplies of provisions and other
necessaries: owing to their carelessness, the British



































































troops were at times half-starved, and without food.
Sir Arthur became indignant at this neglect, and in
one of his despatches to the Government, wrote, I
positively will not move, nay, more, I will disperse
my army, till lam supplied with provisions, and means
of transport, as I ought to be.”

The French, although commanded by Soult, one
of their famous marshals, retreated in such haste
from Oporto, that they abandoned all their sick and
wounded, their cannon and baggage. ‘The Portuguese
peasantry everywhere turned out to strike a blow at
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

the flying troops; they hated the French, and were
glad of the opportunity of helping to drive them
from their country. Many a poor fellow fell by the
knife of a peasant, who had a father and mother, and
brothers and sisters, expecting his return at some
quiet village in France. A mountain stream was
choked with the bodies of men and horses, mules, and
baggage, presenting a shocking spectacle. They had
fallen in their hasty fight, some with belts filled with
money round their bodies, or silver plate in their
boxes, all of which became the booty of the British
soldiers. |

After this repulse, the French were anxious to
recover what they had lost, and Sir Arthur was no
less desirous to follow up his advantage. He there-
fore crossed the frontier, and entered Spain where the
two armies came in sight of each other, near an old
town named Talavera. Here there was some skir-
mishing for three or four days, during one of which
Sir Arthurhad a narrow escape, a large bough having
been shivered from a tree under which he was stand-
ing, by a cannon-ball from the French batteries. The
Spanish army, about 50,000, had come up to render
assistance, but they were seldom to be depended on,
and Cuesta, their commander, was an obstinate old
man, who rode in a coach drawn by nine mules, and
was too fond of running away with his troops on the
appearance of danger. The British force was 22,000
men, and that of the French about 55,000.

The battle began on the 27th of July, and raged
furiously all the day; the French soldiers had been
so accustomed to conquer, that they were surprised
at the resistance opposed to them. ‘They seemed to
consider the Spaniards as not worth meddling with,
and directed all their strength against the HKnglish,
FHE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

whom, they were, as Napoleon had ordered, to drive
into the sea. The British troops, however, stood firm,
though charged again and again by the enemy, and
night came without either party giving way.

There was a brook running across the field of
battle, to which the soldiers on both sides resorted
to drink during a pause in the engagement, and it was
an interesting sight to see the French and English
shaking hands across the stream, exchanging caps,
lending drinking vessels to one another, and perform-
ing sundry little acts of friendship, as though there
was nothing but good-will on either side; and yet in
a short time afterwards they were again arrayed in
deadly conflict. Parties frequently met also while
going about the field in search of their wounded, but
without molesting each other.

Lhe battle was renewed on the following day.
Joseph Buonaparte led on a body of troops in person,
and Marshal Victor, the French commander, made a
desperate charge all along the British line; but in
vain. He could not break through it, and he was
obliged to withdraw his forces, leaving behind him
nearly 10,000 men, dead and wounded, and seventeen
of his guns. The slaughter on both sides was terrible:
5000 men fell on the British side, and of the Spaniards
about 2000.

The thanks of the King and Parliament were given
to the army for this success, and Sir Arthur was
created “ Baron Douro of Wellesley, and Viscount
Wellington of Talavera, and ot Wellington in the
county of Somerset;”? and it is by the name of
Wellington that we must now speak of him. Increase
of honours brought no diminution of his difficulties,
for he had still the same trouble to get sufficient
supplies of food for his army, and Napoleon was
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON,

preparing a tremendous blow which was to end the
war, and expel the British from the Peninsula. He
poured 280,000 fresh troops into Spain, under his
most brave and skilful marshals; and 80,000 of them,
led by Massena, followed Wellington, who had retired
into Portugal. Against such overwhelming numbers
he could only act on the defensive, and he slowly fell
back to a strong position, halting for a time at Busaco,
to let the French come up with him, when an engage-
ment took place, in which he proved to them that the
work of conquest would not be so easy as they had
expected. The French army, however, still pursued,
hoping to drive the inglish back to Lisbon, and there
force them to take to their ships.
| Suddenly, however, they were stopped by a line of
fortifications twenty-nine miles long, extending from
the sea, across the country to Alhandra on the Tagus,
and about thirty miles from Lisbon. Batteries crowned
all the heights, and every road and ravine was filled
with breastworks, palisades of trees, and other defences.
About eight miles within this was another line, but
much stronger; and nearer to Lisbon rose a third
barrier, intended as a defence during embarkation,
should it come to that extremity: these were the
famous lines of Torres Vedras. Ten thousand men
had been at work upon them for some months,
unknown to the French, and Lord Wellington took
up his post behind them with the army, feeling
assured that he could now make a stand against the
encmy as long as he pleased. Ships coming to the
coast brought him plentiful supphes of provisions,
while the French were exposed to great privations ;
aud in addition to their disappointment in not driving
the Hinglish into the sea, they were continually suffer-
jug from the vindictive attacks of the Portuguesa
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

peasantry. This was in October, 1810. In thé same
year, an annual pension of £2000, had been voted to
Lord. Wellington.

CHAPTER IV.

A mMontTH passed away: the British troops remained
safe within their entrenchments, while the French,
wearied with watching, were exposed to severe hard-
ships. At length Massena resolved on a stratagem,
and he withdrew to Santarem, hoping that Wellington
would follow and give him a chance of battle. The
English commander was, however, too cautious; he
despatched General Hill with a force to observe the
enemy’s movements, and for about four months the
hostile armies lay watching cach other. The sufferings
of the French increased daily; large numbers of the
army formed themselves into bands of plunderers,
ready to commit any atrocity for the sake of food and
booty. ‘The country was drained of its supplies to feed
so many men; some of the Portuguese peasantry died
of starvation, and numbers were murdered by the
French. In one house thirty women and children
were found who had perished for want of food. The
wolves devoured the flocks; the skeletons of men and
animals were found scattered about the fields and
mountains, and the whole region was fast becoming
a savage waste.

At the beginning of Parch, 1811, Massena broke
up his camp, and retreated in real earnest, leaving
Santarem in a state of desolation; streets in ruins,
foul with filth, and tenanted by wild dogs, owls, and
obscene birds. Now Lord Wellington left the lines of
Torres Vedras, and started in pursuit. The French as
LHH STORY OF WELLINGTON.

they went burnt down the towns, villages, and convents
along their route, and being obliged to abandon many
of their beasts of burden, they mutilated them before
turning them loose. In one place five hundred donkeys
were found hamstrung. It is a saying among soldiers
that every thing is fair in war, and all sorts of cruelties
are therefore committed without mercy. On the 5th
of April, Massena had again crossed the frontier, and
re-entered Spain with only 45,000 left of the 80,000
with whom he had entered Portugal six months
before.

Almeida, a strongly-fortified town within the
Spanish territory, was soon taken by the English
forces, after which an attempt was made to capture
Badajoz. The French came up to its relief, and the
two armies met at Albuera on the 16th of May; the
Spaniards gave way, and the devastation made by the
French artillery was such that the British were about
to retire, when Henry Hardinge, a young colonel, led
a body of troops against the enemy’s strongest posi-
tion, carried it, and victory declared for the English.
The loss of life was terrible; the battle had lasted
but about four hours, and yet more than 15,000 men
were killed, of whom 9000 were French. The colonel,
whose exploit turned the fortune of the day, became
afterwards Lord Hardinge, and Commander-in-chief
of the British army. After this battle the troops
again took up their quarters in Portugal.

The year 1812, found Wellington making prepara-
tions for the capture of the frontier fortresses; he
could make no permanent advance into Spain while
these remained in the hands of the enemy. The
difficulties were great, but they were all surmounted —
by skill and vigour. Heavy battering cannon were
brought by sea from Lisbon and up the river Douro,
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

which, unknown to the French, had been made navi-
gable along forty miles of its upper course where boats
could not swim before; and from thence the cannon
were dragged by 5000 oxen to the British encamp-
ment. ‘The French believed that the English had no
guns heavy enough for battering a fortress, and their
armies had retired into cantonments, when Wellington,
taking them by surprise, suddenly threw a bridge,
which he had secretly prepared, across the river
Agueda, and laid siege to the strong city of Rodrigo.
This was on the 8th of January, and though the French
defended the place with great bravery, it was taken on
the 19th. Seldom had a well-defended fortress been
captured in so short a time: the loss of life, however,
was very great. A powder magazine blew up on the
ramparts, and destroyed General Mackinnon, with
many of his troops. More than seventy officers, and
about 1000 men, were killed during the siege. As
many were slain on the side of the French; besides
which they lost nearly 2000 prisoners and 3800 pieces
of cannon.

The British flag waved in triumph on the walls of
Ciudad Rodrigo; but the British troops flushed with
success, and, maddened by drink, were enacting deeds
within the city which cannot be read of without a
shudder. On such occasions, soldiers think they have
a right to pillage and murder wherever they please, as
a reward for taking the town; and they break open
and burn houses, commit the most frightful outrages
upon the unoffending inhabitants, and behave more
like demons than men. They refuse obedience to
their officers, often quarrel among themselves, and
numbers lose their lives through their own folly and
wickedness. Verily, those who excite a people to war
have much to answer for!
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

No one laboured harder to repress these outrages
than Wellington himself; he wished, itis true, to beat
the enemy ; but he did not wish to see British soldiers
disgracing themselves by pillage and murder. His
display of ability, and skilful conduct of the war, were
rewarded by his being raised to the rank of Earl by
the English Government, and the Spaniards a a Portu-
guese awarded him similar honours.

He, still intent on his great task, had resolved
before the end of the same month, to attack Badajoz,
the only fortress that remained to be taken. Again
he made his preparations with all possible speed and
secresy, and on the loth of March, long before he
was expected, he crossed the river Guadiana, and
invested the city.

Badajoz was much stronger than Rodrigo; 5000
of the best French troops formed the garrison, com-
manded by General Philippon, who was acknowledged
to be one of Buonaparte’s best military engineers.
They had made every preparation for resistance, and
had determined not to give up the place; the British,
however, had made up their minds to take it. Then
began the digging of trenches, the raising of batteries
and redoubts; the besiegers creeping nearer and nearer
under cover of their earth-works ; the besieged grow-
ing more and more desperate. Day after day, even on
the Sabbath, the terrible work went on; cannon roar-
ing, shells and rockets flying through the air with a
furious whiz, crashing and destroying wherever they
fell, mingled with the rattle of musketry and the din
of hosts engaged in mortal combat. The uproar was
heard for miles around. |

Day after day the heavy cannon-balls crashed
avainst the ramparts, till at last the solid walls gave
way in places, and then it was resolved to storm the
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

city. Now the fighting became more terrible than
ever. The French, from the top of the walls, kept up
a blazing fire of musketry on the British troops as
they advanced, rank after rank plunged into the ditch,
and were struck down by the fast-flying bullets.
heir comrades who followed, passed over on their
dead bodies. Slowly they climbed the breach,
stumbling over beams stuck full of sharp sword-blades
and iron spikes, met by the French at every point;
hundreds fell back from the fatal wall. Blaze on blaze
—-crash on crash—roar on roar—it was as though men
had brought a volcano to help them in their carnage,
while cries of agony, yells and curses, told of the
terrible slaughter that was going on. The French at
length gave way, the British rushed over the walls in
two or three places, and Badajoz was won.

Altogether about 6000 lives were lost in this fear-
ful siege; 3000 Portuguese and British prisoners who
were in the place regained their liberty; but the
brutal crimes and excesses perpetrated at Rodrigo
were repeated here with tenfold fury and_ horror.
Many of the English had to be shot before order could
be restored. And yet all those men, the victors and
the vanquished, were once smiling infants, reposing
peacefully on their mother’s breast; and little the
parent thought that the child she had nourished, and
loved, and watched over, would one day become a
victim of war.

The French were astounded at the loss of their
stronghold; and Napoleon when ke heard of it
declared that he would have Spain even if he could not
have the Spaniards. He reproved his marshals and
sent them orders to beat the English at whatever cost.
This was a memorable year for the great French
Emperor, for it was in 1812 that he marched with a
VHE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

mighty army to Russia, and commenced that fatal
campaign in which hundreds of thousands perished.
The French had still 270,000 troops in Spain, and
they might perhaps have got the upper hand had
their oppression and cruelty not roused the Spaniards
everywhere to resistance. Whole villages, except,
perhaps, an old priest, fled at the approach of the
French; and the inhabitants, joining themselves into
small bands called guerillas, harassed the invaders in
every way they could think of, and gave intelligence
of their movements to the English. On one occasion,
Soult demanded a sum of money from the abbot of
Conto: the worthy churchman assembled his congrega-
tion, but, instead of asking them to pay, he said, ‘‘ My
children, instead of giving up to our enemies all they
ask us, I willbe your leader if you have the hearts to
refuse them, and employ the money in your own
defence.”? They all cried viva, and took up arms to
defend themselves. At Valles, too, when Marshal St.
Cyr summoned it to surrender, the peasantry replied
with mournful dignity: ‘‘ General St. Cyr and his
honourable companions may indeed obtain the poor
glory of beholding this country one heap of ruins, but
neither they nor their master shall be able to assert
that this part of it willingly bowed its neck to a yoke
indignantly spurned by the whole nation.” Such
sentiments roused the Spaniards to resistance, and
whenever the French fell into their power they
murdered them with the most frightful cruelties. It
was no uncommon sight to find men of either nation
crucified on trees by the roadside. Once the French
roasted a number of Spaniards alive in an oven; and
the Spaniards, to retaliate, seized a number of French,
buried them up to their necks in the ground, and leit
them there to perish miserably. Had the Spanish
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

Government and chief men displayed the same courage
and patriotism as the Spanish people, the French
might never have been able to set foot in their coun-
try. The nation was brave and only wanted leaders,
but those who ought to have been leaders were. base
cowards seeking only their own advantage. They
would not even bestir themselves to supply with food
the English who had come to effect their deliverance.
They had their reward, for Spain has sunk lower and
lower in the scale of nations.

Now that the fortresses were taken, Wellington
advanced against the French, and watching a favour-
able opportumity he beat them in a fierce battle at
Salamanca on the 22nd of July; forced them to
retreat, and thus opened the way to Madrid. Mule by
mile he had fonght bis way from Lisbon to the
heart of Spam, driving the foe before him; and his
success was not owmg to what is called good luck,
but to his calm judgment, forethought, perseverance,
and above all his honesty of purpose. He fought
because it was his duty to fight, because he had been
entrusted with that fearful responsibility by the
English Government—not for the sake of wealth, or
power, or his own glory. Not to despair in adversity,
not to be vain-glorious in prosperity, but to hold every
inch of ground with a firm foot, to press forward with
untiring energy, and to learn lessons of wisdom from
every circumstance, is the true way to success in any’
cailing.

Wellington entered Madrid with his troops on the
12th of August, and was received by the inhabitants
with the liveliest demonstrations of joy. Every one
hailed him as deliverer; flowers and flags adorned the
strects, the bells rang out, the houses were illuminated,
and men, women and children cried aia! till the
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

whole city echoed with their acclamations. But
Wellington retained his calmness and self-possession,
and took instant measures to rouse the authorities
to a sense of their duties, and to push on after
the enemy. It was easier to him to beat the French

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On the Ist September, the British troops left
Madrid, and for several months afterwards they were
engaged in watching the French, attacking them
when opportunity offered, and preventing them from
recovering their lost ground. Wellington was created
a Marquis, and Parliament voted him £100,000 for
the purchase of an estate, and to support his rank
and dignity. They did more—they sent him such
numerous reinforcements as raised his army to 200,000
men. With these he pressed on the French, came up
with them at Vittoria on the 21st of June, 1813,
defeated them in a tremendous battle which lasted nearly
the whole of the day. The French fled in the utmost
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

disorder, leaving behind all their cannon, ammunition,
baggage, provisions, besides the vast collection of pre-
cious objects which they had plundered from churches
and palaces all over the country. The spoil, indeed,
was enormous.

Wellington still pressed on; the French made a
stand in the passes of the Pyrenees, and at St. Sebastian
and Pampeluna; but they were driven from point to
point, until all had re-entered France, and not a
French soldier was left in the Peninsula. ‘This was
the great object of the war; but the English. still
advanced; two or three engagements were fought,
and on the 10th April, 1814, Soult was again defeated
in the memorable battle of Toulouse. This was the
finishing stroke. Napoleon’s triumphs had come to
an end, he had abdicated the throne, and was no
longer Emperor of France.
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON,

CHAPTER V.

. In the year 1812, about a month before the battle of
Salamanca was fought, Napoleon set out on his famous
campaign in Russia. The Czar Alexander was no
longer willing to shut his ports against British vessels;
the French Emperor resolved, therefore, to attempt
the conquest of Russia, so that there might be none to
dispute his will in any part of the continent of Europe.
The Russians, however, would not be beaten; they
resisted manfully, and towards the close of the year
the winter set in with such terrible severity, that more
Frenchmen perished from frost and starvation than in
actual battle. The retreat from Moscow was a dread-
ful succession of calamities ; and Napoleon returned to
Paris in the last month of the year, feeling that his
power was on the decline.

Kurope, indeed, was weary of war. Quiet people,
of whom there are a large number in every country,
were tired of endless confusion, and they wished for
nothing so much as that order should be restored, and
affairs go on once more in their regular course. They
did not see either that it was any benefit to them to be
prevented buying English manufactures ; 1t was surely
better, they thought, to buy things that had been
nade in England than to go without, and the conse-
quence was that they euen what they wanted in
spite of the Emperor’s decrees. Had Napoleon been
wise, and contented himself with the lawful territory
of France, he might have remained Emperor until the
close of his life; and had he devoted himself to the
interests of the people instead of his own ambitious”
designs, he would not have provoked the nations
of Hurope to rise in arms againsh him. While
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

he was Emperor he drew from France 2,300,000
conscripts, of whom all except 100,000 perished in his
service. |

Karly in 1818, Prussia and Sweden were ready to

join Russia against France, and strike a blow for
independence: Holland, too, threw off the French
yoke, and placed the Prince of Orange once more on
he throne. Napoleon, however, contrived to raise
another army of 350,000 men, and again he entered
Germany, thinking, as before, to subdue all that
opposed. But the national spirit was awakened;
Germany for the Germans! was the cry, and each
man fought like a hero for the freedom. of his father-
land. At first the French gained some advantages ;
but in the course of the summer news was heard of
Wellington’s victory at Vittoria, and then Austria
also declared against France, and allied herself with
the other powers. The-battles of Leipsic and Hanau
were fought, and Napoleon was driven back to France
with only 70,060 left of his great army.

His authority, however, was still so great, that he
speedily raised another army of 300,000 men, and
prepared to resist the allies, who were marching from
the north and east towards the French territory, whilo
Wellington, having passed the Pyrenecs, was pushing
his way from the south. Thus the ycar L814 opened ;
for two months Napoleon kept the field against all his
foes, and never before had his masterly genius in the
art of war showed itself so strikingly as during that
campaign—his successes at times were perfectly asto-
nishing. But the allies were too numerous; they
pressed continually forwards, and by the end of March
they had taken Paris. Napoleon had hoped that the
nation would make one desperate effort in his favour
at the last moment, but the French were exhausted
THE szOkY OF WELLINGTON.

with wars and taxes, and the Emperor abdicated on
the doth of April, just five days before Wellington
gained the battle of Toulouse.

Napoleon was sent to the small island of Elba, in
the Mediterranean, of which he was to be sovereign,
with a number of attendants, and a large yearly in-
come. louis XVIII. was restored to the throne of
France, and in June, Wellington returned to England.
He had been away five years, during which time, in
defiance of all obstacles, he had defeated again and
again the best and bravest armies of the French
Kmpire. Parliament voted to him altogether £500,000,
besides his pensions, and he was raised to the rank of
Duke, the highest title of nobility, for his many ser-
vices. He took his seat in the House of Lords, and
was there thanked in the name of the King and the
Parliament. About the same time the Emperor Alex-
ander and the King of Prussia visited England, and
great were the rejoicings at the prospects of peace.

There was much still to be done on the continent:
governments were to be settled, boundaries cstab-
lished, and means taken to repair the loss and waste
occasioned by war. The Duke of Wellington was
sent as ambassador to Paris, to assist in this desirable
work, and from thence he went to a Congress of
Kuropean powers at Vienna, where it was hoped all
these questions would be finally settled. But in March,
1815, news went abroad that startled Europe from one
end to the other. Napoleon, weary of confinement
and inaction, broke his treaty, escaped from Elba, and
landed at Cannes, in the south of France, with about
a thousand followers. Notwithstanding all that had
taken place, many of the French were still attached to
his cause, and as he advanced into the country, num-
bers of his generals and his old soldiers flocked to his
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

standard, till troop by troop, and regiment by revi-
ment, nearly the whole of the French army had joined
him. They thought the Emperor had come to lead
them once more to victory—to restore the Empire with
all its military glories. His advance at last became a.
triumphal progress, and on the 20th of March he
entered Paris ; the King fled, and Napoleon was again
ruler of France.

Now it seemed as if the havoc and suffering occa-
sioned by the previous years of war were to be re-
newed, for the Emperor made great efforts to get his
army into a fighting condition. The allies, however,
determined to oppose him; Wellington hastened from
Vienna to take command of the British forces then
quartered in Belgium in the neighbourhood of Brussels,
while a large Prussian army that lay in another part of
the same country under the renowned Marshal Blucher
made ready to assist him.

Napoleon left Paris on the 12th June, and hastened
to the Belgian frontier where his army was already
assembled. Immediately on his arrival he issued an
animating proclamation to the troops to rouse their
enthusiasm. He had 120,000 men under his com-
mand, and hoped, before many days were over, to
hear them shoutime victory! and he lost no time
in despatching troops in different directions to drive
back the enemy.

The British army numbered about 75,000; but it
was not the same that had performed such exploits in
the Peninsula, and of which the saying ran, that “it
could go anywhere, and do anything.’ Some regi-
ments had been sent to America, others to the West
Indies, and there were but few remaining in Belgium ;
the rest were Dutch, Belgians, Brunswickers, and
other Germans. Wellington, however, did not despair:
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

placing the best of the troops in the front, he took up
a position that would prevent the French from advanc-
ing on Brussels.

On the 14th and 15th, the fighting began, by the
French crossing the river Sambre and driving in the
Prussian outposts. Marshal Ney advanced with 40,000
men to take possession of Quatre Bras, or the cross
roads, a strong position which Napoleon bade him
fortify as a defence against the English. The Hmperor’s
plan was to defeat the Prussians, or to drive them to
a distance, and then fall suddenly on the British and
beat them also; and he was pressing rapidly forward
when he found, to his surprise, a large Prussian army
before him where he had expected to find a clear
country. A battle ensued, m which success favoured
frst one side, then the other, till at length the
Prussians were driven back, and the French gained
the battle of Ligny. Blucher had a narrow escape of
being made prisoner, for his horse fell with him, and
while he lay unable to stir, a regireent of French
cuirassiers galloped past but without perceiving him,
and he was finally rescued by his own troops returning
to the charge.

All this time the Duke of Wellington had re-
mained at Brussels watching the course of events,
attentive to the reports brought to him every hour
by swift-riding messengers. On the 14th, he saw that
no time was to be lost in opposing the rapid advance
of the French, and trying to effect a junction with the
Prussians. He wrote to Louis XVITI., who had taken
refuge at Ghent, recommending him to prepare to
depart hastily for Antwerp in case Napoleon should
conquer, and he issued orders for all the regiments
of the British army to march as quickly as possible
towards Quatre Bras. A grand ball was to be given
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

in Brussels the same evening, to which many of the
Inglish officers had been invited; and to prevent
alarm spreading in the city, Wellington permitted
them to attend, but they were to leave quietly before
midnight and join their respective regiments, and he
himself departed one of the last. So rapidly did the
troops advance, that the French were held in check |
for nearly a whole day, and the time thus gained was
turned to good account. The Duke’s aim was to pre-
vent Napoleon from marching on Brussels, he, there-
fore, took up a position just outside the forest of
Soignies on the top of high ground which sloped away
to the village of Waterloo, and showed a broad expanse

f fields of ripening wheat, with here and there a farm
surrounded by tall trees and hedges. Behind him the
road led through the forest, and along this he could
retreat and defend it with his cannon in case of need.
Blucher, after his repulse at Ligny, had met with
another large division of the Prussian army, and was
hastening to join the British forces in time to resist
the great attack which it was clear Napoleon intended
to make. Rain, however, fell so heavily for three
or four days, that the roads became nearly impass-
able, especially for large bodies of men and heavy
cannon.

The morning of the 18th dawned with brighter
promise ; the clouds dispersed, and the beams of the
summer sun shone on the fair face of nature, and the
hostile armies drawn up opposite each other. It was
Sunday morning, the day of rest and thanksgiving ;
but of the thousands who then saw the sun for the last
time, how few thought of anything but the coming
strife. Napoleon had pushed forward his 80,000
troops, and ranged them in order of battle in a position
facing that of the English, whom he hoped to have
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

defeated before the Prussians could come up. Well-
ington’s army numbered about 68,000, of whom not
more than 24,000 were British.

For some time the two hosts stood watching each
other; at length, about ten in the morning, Napoleon
ordered an attack to be made on the Chateau of
_ Hougomont, a strong post on high ground in the
centre of the English left wing. Possession of this
place would have rendered victory almost certain, and
Wellington was resolved not to give it up. Soon the
fire of the sharpshooters flashed thick and fast, and as
the French came up, from tree to tree, from hedge to
hedge, the Hnglish fell back; but presently with
renewed courage they drove the French down the
slope, while volleys of grape-shot from fifty pieces of
artillery, made dreadful havoc in their ranks. Seven
times did the French enter within the walls of the
court-yard, and as many times were they driven out,
and nearly 6000 men fell in the fearful struggle at this
spot. Meantime 300 cannon were belching forth their
destructive charges along the line of the two armies:
smoke darkened the air, and fire and fury covered the
field. «

Napoleon had directed a charge to be made on the
British centre, hoping to cut the army in two, and
make an easy conquest. Marshal Ney, known as the
bravest of the brave, led on this attack; his first efforts
were successful, and the Belgian troops opposed to
him fled in panic; but Wellington ordering up two
regiments of English dragoons, they charged full
speed down the hill, crushed some of Ney’s advancing
columns, and silenced his artillery. Again the French
troops came On in ever increased numbers—egradually
they forced their way up the slopes, and numbers
of peasants and camp-followers fled on the road to
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

Brussels, carrying news of defeat to the terrified
inhabitants.

Amid all these circumstances, Wellington remained
cool and collected ; his mind was made up to stay there,
till the last man had fallen, rather than give up the
position. With his troops drawn up in squares, he
resisted charge after charge of the French, who came

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THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

thundering on with their cavalry, striving in vain to
break the bristling ranks of bayonets opposed to them.
But how desperate seemed the chances of the day;
thousands of the British army lay dead, eleven gene-
rals had been carried lifeless from the field, and eight
of the Duke’s aides-de-camp were either killed or
wounded.

So the fatal day wore on, till the sun was sinking
in the west. Napoleon, viewing the battle irom an
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

eminence, alréady felt sure of victory, and was sur-
prised that the English did not retreat; he exclaimed
that they did not know when they ‘were beaten.
Wellington, however, was determined to hold. his
eround till nightfall, and as evening approached he
every moment expected the arrival of his allies. Some
hours before dark, masses of moving objects had been
seen at a distance; these came nearer and nearer, and
at last, issuing from the narrow roads in which they
had been delayed, they fell on the right wing of the
French, and began to cannonade the spot on which
Napoleon had posted himself. Ney was still pressing
on to carry the British centre by a tremendous charge,
and 10,000 French cavalry galloped down on the
British squares for a final sweep; but the ranks stood
firm, and as«the» horse retired, they opened and sent
after them. a terrific chargeof grape-shot. More than
once did the French penetrate quite to the rear of the
English, and: thought they had won: the victory; the
squares, however, kept their ground, and. the strugele
seemed endless. ‘ Stand fast! stand to the last man,
my lads!” cried the Duke. “We must not be beaten:
what would they say of usin England?” Yet had he
need. of all his hope and courage, for every nunute
hundreds were falling before his eyes under the
desperate charges of the Hrench.

At length, Napoleon believing that the moment of
victory had really come, ordered a grand onset of his
Old Guard, which had never been conquered, and of all
his serviceable troops. On they swept like a tornado,
with shouts of Vive VHmpereur! but the British squares
still stood firm as walis. of stone, and they received the
foe with such a terrible discharge of musketry and
erape-shot, that the advancing columns were shaken—
they halted—hesitated—and at last turned and fled.
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

At that moment Wellington heard the sound of the
Prussian cannon, and saw the Prussian troops issuing
on the field—then he brought up a regiment of Life
Guards that had been kept in reserve, and gave his
final order for his whole line to charge. He was
answered by a wild Hurra! and a rush that broke
through everything. ‘ All is lost!”’ cried Napoleon,
—he mounted his horse and fled, followed by all the
French army in frightful panic.

Disorder, dismay, and havoc attended their flight,
for the Prussians kept up the pursuit long after the
twilight of the Sabbath evening had fallen on the
earth. Wellington’s stubborn resistance won the
battle. The allies again marched to Paris—Napoleon
abdicated once more, and intended to escape to
America, but the shores of France were too carefully
watched by British cruisers. So, after a brief term of
power which is known as The Hundred Days, he
gave himself up to Admiral Maitland, on board the
Bellerophon, and a shert time afterwards was sent to
St. Helena, where he was strictly guarded until he
died in 1821.



CHAPTER VI.

WELLINGTON was forty-six years old, in the prime of
his manhood, when he gained the battle of Waterloo.
He had reached the highest pitch of honour at an
age when some men have scarcely begun to exhibit
their powers—a proof of the ripeness of his genius,
and a noble reward for his persevering straightfor-
wardness. Not by seeking his own aggrandisement,
or listening to the temptings of a false ambition, did
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON,

he merit and receive wealth and dignities, but by
steadily pursuing his duty wherever it led him. He
followed it through doubt, difficulty, and danger, and
reaped an ungrudged recompense.

From that time Wellington filled a position among
the foremost men of the day. He left the wild work
of war for the duties of a statesman. Having defended
his country, he assisted in governing it. The closing
years of George ITI.’s life, and the reign of his suc-
cessor George IV., were troubled by political agita-
tion; the lone war had raised the national debt to
#800,000,000, and the nation grew impatient under
the heavy burden of taxation. A large meeting held
at Manchester in 1819, to petition for reform, was
very unjustly attacked and dispersed by hussars and
yeomanry with drawn swords, and several people were
killed and numbers wounded. In the following year a
few desperate men in London, the Cato Street con-
spirators, as they were called, plotted to murder the
King’s ministers; but their secret was betrayed, and
the leaders suffered death. During these*years the
Duke of Wellington lost much of his popularity, for
many of the people believed him to be unfriendly to
their hberties. He performed various public duties in
the same period, and was sent several times to the
continent on important political missions.

After the death of the Duke of York, Wellington
was appointed Commander-in-Chief of the British
army. In 1828, he took the office of Prime Minister of
England, and in conjunction with Mr. Peel, he carried
the measure of Catholic Emancipation, whereby the
Catholics were admitted to the same civil privileges as
Protestants. In September, 1830, the Duke opened
the Liverpool and Manchester Railway, one of the
first of those iron roads which have since stretched
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

to all parts of the country. By this time the ery for
reform had everywhere become loud and urgent; the
Duke declared in the House of Lords that no reform
was needed; but he was mistaken, and he had
to resign office, and leave to others the glorious
work of leading the nation on in enlightenment and
hberty.

Ten years passed away, and in 1841 the Duke
again became a member of the Cabinet. He had
regained his popularity, and he had Jearned that the
rational advance of a great nation 1s not to be opposed
for the sake of old prejudices. He, therefore, gave
his counsel well and wisely, and when it became neces-
sary to repeal the Corn Laws in 1846, he assisted
honestly in the work. Jt was one which even the
noblest migut be proud to have promoted.

When the Great Exhibition was opened in May,
1851, the Duke of Wellington was present, and as he
gazed on the wondrous spectacle, and saw all the
nations of the earth meeting there in trust and amity,
he must have felt that Peace has its victories as well
as War, and with glories unobscured by slaughter and
suffering. He had then lived beyond the ordinary
term of existence, his hair was grey, and he tottered
as he walked, but everywhere was he looked on
with admiration and respect. The Duke of Welling-
ton was England’s hero, and all England honoured
him.

There is little more to be said. On the 14th of
September, 1852, in his 84th year, the Duke died at
Walmer Castle. The mournful news flew quickly to
all parts of the country, and awoke everywhere the
sentiment of a great national loss. Full of years and
honours the old hero had sunk to rest; and it was
resolved that his remains should be borne to the tomb
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THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.




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was astir at an early hour, and the streets along the
line of the procession were thronged by expectant

multitudes.

Every window was full, every balcony
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

crowded, every house-top covered with gazers. Hight
o’clock struck, and the stately array began its march.
Long columns of infantry led the way, pacing with
slow and measured tread; hundreds on hundreds
went by, and still it seemed that hundreds were yet
to come. As each troop moved silently onward, the
bands played mournful music, and at times, on the
mufiied drums was beat a solemn roll, as of distant
thunder. Step by step went past the chivalry of the
land—the ministers of state—the forcign ambassadors
—the Royal Prince. And drawn by twelve black
horses in costly trappings of velvet and silver, the
car followed; and so the remains of Arthur, Duke
of Wellington, were carried *to the tomb in the
najestic cathedral of St. Paul’s. High dignitaries
of the Church conducted the burial service ; the peal-
ing organ and. the voices of many choristers sent forth
strains of music and.a noise of lamentation that
echoed solemnly».and impressively in the sounding
aisles and lofty dome. The coffin was lowered into
the vault, and the -great»warrior was left lying by
the side of the hero of the sea, in the darkness of
the grave.

Such, in brief, was the life of the Duke of Welling-
ton. We have pourtrayed him only in his public
character, for it is by that he will live in history. Lor
sterling common sense—for abhorrence of hypocrisy—
for perception of duty, and the spirit and perseverance
to fulfil it in defiance of all obstacles, it will be long
before we shall look upon his equal. We have to
remember that it is to him, under Providence, we
owe our forty years of peace—that our island has
been preserved from the foot of a foreign foe—
that civilization has made unmolested advancement ;
THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

and, moreover, that in defending our country we
defend our lives, our liberties, and all that is dear
unto wus. |

‘Our Birth-land this! around her shores roll ocean’s sounding
Waves 5 ye ae |
Within her breast our fathers sleep in old heroic graves, :
Our Heritage! with all her fame, her honour, heart, and pow’rs,
God's gift to us, we love her well, she shall be ever ours.”



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