English Reader: Ein Lesebuch für Anfänger mit Fragen und Wörterverzeichnis [Reprint 2020 ed.] 9783112345764, 9783112345757

Table of contents :
Vorwort
Inhaltsverzeiclmis
1. The Twig Kate had. (From the German)
2. Harvest Mice
3. The Wonder Working Box. I Part (From the German)
4. The Wonder Working Box. II Part
5 A. The Bull and the Fly
5 B. Hercules and the Waggoner
6. I must not lie. (From the German)
7. Love Truth. (Thomas Cooper)
8. Hymn for Bed-time. (Bishop Heber)
9. Spring. (Wordsworth)
10. Hark! Hark! (Shakspere)
11. Song of the Sailor's Wife. (Tennyson)
12. Night Song. (Brooks)
13. A Les80ll. (Norman Macleod)
14. An Incident. (Norman Macleod)
15. The Bread. (From the German)
16. The Faithful Poodle. (From the German)
17. A Manly Boy. (Percy Anecdotes)
18. Nelly and Mary Grey. (From the German)
19. Casabianca.* (Mrs. Hemans)
20. Ballad of the Tempest. (Fields)
21. The Child's First Grief. (Mrs. Eemans)
22. The Dawning Day. (Thomas Carlyle)
23. Birds in Summer. (Mary Howitt)
24. The Mother and her Child. (Mrs. Wells)
25. Rabbits
26. The Pox in the Well. (Aesop)
27. The A8S and the Flute. (From the German)
28. Rabbi Meir and his Wife. (From the Talmud)
29. The Three Friends. (From the German [Herder.])
30. The Prairie Dog. (Major Bell)
31. Early Rising. (Lady Flora Hastings)
32. A Father's Advice to his Children. (Anonymous)
33. The Little Girl's Address to the River. (Songs for the Little Ones)
34. Lillie. (Songs for the Little Ones)
35. Iron
36. Evening Hymn. (Thomas Ken)
37. We are Seven. (Wordsworth)
38. A Field Flower. (Montgomery on finding one in bloom on Christmas Day)
39. The Skylark. (Hogg)
40. Moses
41. Marriage of Isaac
42. The Leaves of the Trees. (Dr. w. Hooker)
43. A Lump Of Coal. (Anonymous)
44. Think of Others first. (Anonymous)
45. the Brave Burgher of Flensborg. (Mies Yonge)
46. Volcanoes. (Charles Kingsley). Part I
47. Volcanoes. Part II
48. The Blind Man. (Public school series)
49. The Voice of the Grass. (Sarah Roberts)
50. The Three Fishers. (Charles Kingsley)
51. Those Evening Bells. (Thomas Moore)
52. Remembrances. (Thomas Hood)
53. A Good Name. (Anonymous)
54. The Little Word "Only". (From the German)
55. The Little Word "Only". (From the German)
56. England, under the Good Saxon, Alfred. Part II
57. The Young Shepherd. Part I
58. The Young Shepherd. Part II
59. The Ravens in the Famine.
60. The Children of Langdale Pikes. Part I
61. The Children of Langdale Pikes. Part II
62. The Man in the Dungeon. Part I
63. The Man in ihe Dungeon. Part II
64. The Prince and the Judge
65. The Duke and the Cow-boy
66. Who lighted the Lamps?
67. Ready Wit
68. Turning the Grindstone. (Benjamin Franklin)
69. The Traveller's Return. (Robert Southey)
70. A Farewell. (Robert Burns)
71. The Village Blacksmith. (Henry Longfellow)
72. An Old English Song. (John Heywood)
73. Words to think about every Day
74. Some murmur. (Archbishop Trench)
75. Lines from Thomas Moore
76. Home, Sweet Home. (Payne)
77. The Linnet Choir. (Capern)
78. In the Stage Coach. (From the Sketch Book .of Washington Irving)
79. The Battle Of Hastings. (Charles Dickens). Part I
80. The Battle of Hastings. Part. II
81. The Battle of Hastings. Part III
82. The Spanish Armada. Part I
83. The Spanish Armada. Part II
84. Primeval Man. (Charles Kingeley)
85. Dickens's Boyhood. (Charles Dickens)
86. The Brave Citizens
87. Home for the Holidays. (Eliza Cook)
88. The Thrush's Nest. (John Clare)
89. The Sower's Song. (Thomas Carlyle)
90. Written on the Loss of a Child. (John Whittier)
91. The Brook. (Alfred Tennyson)
92. The Burial of Sir John Moore. (Charles Wolfe)
93. The Homes of England. (Mrs. Hemans)
94. The Light of other Days. (Thomas Moore)
95. Wild Flowers. (Robert Nicoll)
Wörterverzeichnis zu 1—53.
Alphabetisches Wörterverzeichnis.
Druckfehler

Citation preview

ENGLISH READER. Ein Lesebuch für Anfänger mit Fragen und Wörterverzeichnis

von

Marie Klostermann, Vorsteherin einer hohem Mädchenschule In Kreuznach.

Bonn, Eduard Weber's V e r l a g . (Julias FUttner.)

1883.

Vorwort.

In vorliegendem Büchlein biete ich den Kindern ein Lehrmittel, das ihnen die ersten Studien in der englischen Sprache erleichtern soll. Zu diesem Zwecke habe ich eine Auswahl von kleinen Lesestücken zusammengestellt, welche gewissermassen als Vorstufe für die bewährten, in gediegener Auswahl vorhandenen, englischen Lesebücher zu betrachten ist. Bei der Wahl der Stücke bin ich nach dem Grundsatz: „Vom Leichten zum Schweren" sorgfältig zu Werke gegangen. Die erste Erzählung besteht z. B. nur aus einsilbigen Wörtern. Dann folgen, langsam fortschreitend, Lesestücke, die auch durch ihren Inhalt das Interesse der Kinder fesseln sollen. Es sind deshalb auch einige Stücke deutschen Ursprungs aus den „Public School Series" aufgenommen. Um endlich den Lesestoff auch als Sprechübung zu verwerten, sind den einzelnen Erzählungen Fragen angehängt, welche von den Schülern mündlich beantwortet werden sollen. Die Prosastücke sind nach der vorgeschriebenen Reihenfolge durchzunehmen, die Gedichte hingegen mögen nach beliebiger Auswahl gelesen und besprochen werden. Das Wörterverzeichnis nach Nummern soll den jüngeren Kindern das zeitraubende Nachschlagen im alphabetischen Register ersparen. Dasselbe ist nur bis Nr. 53 der Lese-

stücke fortgeführt, während alsdann das alphabetische Verzeichnis eintritt. Als bekannt vorausgesetzt sind die in den Grammatiken von P l a t e , G e s e n i u s und andern im Anfang vorkommenden Wörter. Von einer anfangs beabsichtigten Einteilung des Buches in gesonderte Abschnitte ist Abstand genommen, da ich zunächst nur mit einem Teil des verarbeiteten Materials an die Oeffentlichkeit zu treten wage. Möge das Büchlein eine wohlwollende Aufnahme finden.

Inhaltsverzeiclmis. Selte. 1. The Twig Kate bad. (From the German) 1 2. Harvest Mice 1 8. The Wonder Working Box. I Part. (From the German). . . 2 4. The Wonder Working Box. II Part 2 6A. The Bull and the Fly 3 6B. Hercules and the Waggoner 3 6. I must not lie. (From the German) 4 7. Love Truth. (Thomas Cooper) 4 8. Hymn for Bed-time. (Bishop Heber) 6 9. Spring. (Wordsworth) 5 10. Hark! Hark I (Shakspere) 6 11. Song of the Sailor's Wife. (Tennyson) 6 12. Night Song. (Brooks) 7 13. A Lesson. (Norman Macleod) 7 14. An Incident. (Norman Macleod) 8 16. The Bread. (From the German) 9 16. The Faithful Poodle. (From the German) 9 17. A Manly Boy. (Percy Anecdotes) 10 18. Nelly and Mary Grey. (From the German) .11 19. Casabianca. (Mrs. Hemans) 12 20. Ballad of the Tempest. (Fields) 13 21. The Child's First Grief. (Mrs. Hemans) U 22. The Dawning Day. (Thomas Carlyle) 16 23. Birds in Summer. (Mary Howitt) 15 24. The Mother and her Child. (Mrs. Wells) 16 25. Babbits 16 26. The Fox in the Well. (Aesop) 17 27. The Ass and the Flute. (From the German) 18 28. Rabbi Meir and his Wife. (From the Talmud) 18 29. The Three Friends. (From the German [Herder.]) . . . . 19 30. The Prairie Dog. (Major Bell) 20 31. Early Rising. (Lady Flora Hastings) 21 32. A Father's Advice to his Children. (Anonymous) 22 33. The Little Girl's Address to the River. (Songs for the Little Ones). 22 34. Lillie. (Songs for the Little Ones) 23 36. Iron 24 36. Evening Hymn. (Thomas Ken) 26 37. We are Seven. (Wordsworth) 26 38. A Field Flower. (Montgomery on finding one in bloom on Christmas Day) 27 39. The Skylark. (Hogg) 27 40. Moses 28 41. Marriage of Isaac 29 42. The Leaves of the Trees. (Dr. W. Hooker) 30 43. A Lump of Coal. (Anonymous) 88 44. Think of Others first. (Anonymous) 36

Inhaltsverzeichnis. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 60. 61. 52. 53. 64. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94. 95.

Seite.

The Brave Burgher of Flensborg. (Miss Yonge) 37 Volcanoes. (Charles Kingsley). Fart 1 37 Volcanoes. Part II 39 The Blind Man. (Public School Series) 41 The Voice of the Grass. (Sarah Roberts) 41 The Three Fishers. (Charles Kingsley) 42 Those Evening Bells. (Thomas Moore) 43 Remembrances. (Thomas Hood) 43 A Good Name. (Anonymous) 44 The Little Word "Only". (From the German) 44 England,under the Good Saxon, Alfred. (Charles Dickens). Parti. 46 England, under the Good Saxon, Alfred. Part II . . . . 48 The Young Shepherd. Part I .50 The Young Shepherd. Part II 52 The Ravens in the Famine 53 The Children of Langdale Pikes. Part 1 55 The Children of Langdale Pikes. Part II 57 The Man in the Dungeon. Part 1 59 The Man in the Dungeon. Part II 01 The Prince and the Judge 62 The Duke and the Cow-boy 64 Who lighted the Lamps? 66 Ready Wit 67 Turning the Grindstone. (Benjamin Franklin) 68 The Traveller's Return. (Robert Southey) 69 A Farewell. (Robert Burns) 70 The Village Blacksmith. (Henry Longfellow) 70 An Old English Song. (John Heywood) 72 Words to think about every Day 72 Some murmur. (Archbishop Trench) . 72 Lines from Thomas Moore 73 73 Home, Sweet Home. (Payne) The Linnet Choir. (Capern) 74 In the Stage Coach. (From theSketchBookofWashingtonlrving). 74 The Battle of Hastings. (Charles Dickens). Part 1 76 The Battle of Hastings. Part. II 78 The Battle of Hastings. Part III 80 The Spanish Armada. Part 1 81 The Spanish Armada. Part II 83 Primeval Man. (Chartas Kingsley) 85 Dickens's Boyhood. (Charles Dickens) 89 The Brave Citizens 91 Home for the Holidays. (Eliza Cook) 93 The Thrush's Nest. (John Clare) 94 The Sower's Song. (Thomas Carlyle) 95 Written on the Loss of a Child. (John Whittier) 96 The Brook. (Alfred Tennyson) 96 -The Burial of Sir John Moore. (Charles Wolfe). . . . . . 97 The Homes of England. (Mrs. Hemans) 98 The Light of other Days. (Thomas Moore) 99 Wild Flowers. (Robert Nicoll) 100 Wörterverzeichnis zu 1—53 101 Alphabetisches Wörterverzeichnis 113

OnlTenlt&U-Bachdruckerel TOD Carl Georgi io Bonn.

I. The Twig Kate had.

(From the German).

Two maids, Jane and Kate, were on their way to town, each with a great load of frait on her head. Jane gave a sigh and fretted all the time, bat Kate had a laugh and a joke at each step. "How can you laugh so?" said Jane. "Your load is as great as mine, and I am as strong as you are." Said Kate, "I have laid a twig on my load that makes it light. Do you the same." "What?" said Jane. "That must be a fine twig to have. It might make my load light too, if I had some of it; tell me, what do they call it?" "It is a twig from a plant that makes all loads light — Good Will." — Questions. Who went to town ? — What did Jane and Kate carry on their heads? — Who fretted and sighed all the time? — Did Kate also fret? — What did Jane ask her? — Can you tell me, what Kate said? — Did not Jane wish to have some of the twig? — What is the twig that makes all loads light? 2. Harvest Mice. These are the smallest four-footed creatures we have. It takes about six of them to weigh an ounce. They build their nests on the stalks of thistles or of the corn, but never on the ground. Their nest is a little round ball, made of the blades of grass and wheat. It is about the size of a cricket ball, and you may roll it over the table without its breaking. The door is so well closed that you cannot tell where it is. One that had eight little blind and naked mice in it was rolled thus, without doing them any barm. Perhaps the mother nibbles a hole in the nest when she goes to give them a drink, and builds it up again, after. In winter they burrow deep in the ground, and make nice, warm beds of grass. They never come into houses. Klostermann, Engl. Reader.

1

2

The Wonder Working Box.

Questions. What are the smallest four-footed creatures we have? — Where do they build their nests? — What is the nest like? — Can the little ones get in and out? — How many were once in a nest? — What was done to the nest? — Where do they live in winter? — Do they ever come into houses? 3. The Wonder Working Box. I Part.

(From the German).

A woman once went to an old hermit, and told him that the house went all wrong, and that she did not know how it was, but she was poorer each year. The hermit, a cheerful old man, told her to wait a minute, and then brought her a little box, sealed np, and said, "You must take this little box, and carry it three times every day, and three times every night, for a year, into the kitchen, the cellar, the stable, and to every corner of the house, and then bring it back to me when the year is over." The good woman had great faith in the box, and carried it about just as she had been told. 'When she went next day into the cellar a servant was taking out beer without her leave. Questions. Who went to an old hermit? — What did she tell him? — Was the hermit ready to help her? — What did he say, when he gave her the box? — When was she to take it back to him? — Had the good woman any faith in the box? — Did she do with it, as she was bid? — Who was in the cellar taking out beer without her leave? 4. The Wonder Working Box. I I Part. When she came to the kitchen late at night the maid was making a grand supper for herself, with pancakes and what not. When she went to the stables, Bhe found the cows standing deep in dirt, and the horses had only hay instead of clover, and had not been curried. Every day she found out something wrong. After the year was passed she took back the box to the hermit, and said to him: "Everything is better now. Let me have the box another year, will you? It does wonders."

The Bull and the Fly. Hercules and the Waggoner.

9

But the hermit laughed, and said, "I cannot let you have the box; but I shall give you the charm that is in it, that does all the good." Then he opened the box, and lo! there was nothing in it but a slip of paper, with these words on it. — "If you want things to go well with you, you must look after them yourself." Questions. When did the good woman go to the kitchen? — What was the maid doing there? — Was everything in order when she went to the stables? — What did she do, when the year was passed? — What did she say to the hermit? — Did the hermit give her the charm of the box? — What was it? 5 A. The Bull and the Fly. A fly once sat on a bull's horn. The bull just then gave a deep low. "Am I too heavy for you?" said the fly. "I did not know you were there till you told me," answered the bull. Take care that you don't, like the fly, think too much of yourself. SB.

Hercules and the Waggoner.

As a great strong fellow was driving his waggon along a deep miry lane, the wheels sank on one side into a deep rut, so that the horses could not pull them out, do as they would. The waggoner whipped them and scolded, but it was of no use. On this he gave up in despair, and fell on his face crying to Hercules, the god of strength, to come and help him out of his trouble. But Hercules did not at all like this lazy way of doing, so he came, and instead of at once lifting the waggon out of the rut, as he could easily have done, he asked the waggoner what he did lying there bawling for help, without doing anything. "Put your own shoulder to the wheel, and do your best," said he, "and then call on me; if I see that you need my help after that, I will give it you. I only help those who help themselves." Questions. A. Where was once a fly? — What did the bull do just

I must not lie.

4

Love Truth.

then? — What did the fly ask? — Do you know what the bnll answered? — What shonld you learn from this ? B. What happened to the waggon ? — What did the waggoner do? — Who appeared? — What did he say? 6.

I m u s t n o t lie.

(From the German).

A little boy had a small axe given him to play with, and very proud he was of it. He chopped everything he met, and often did mischief. In the garden was a very fine cherry-tree, of which his father was very fond. "I will be a great woodman," said the little fellow; "I will cut down this cherry-tree." So he hacked it all round, and spoiled the tree for ever after. The next day, his father came into the garden, and was very angry when he saw his lovely tree cut and hacked in such a way. "Whoever has done this shall pay for it." said he. But no one knew who had done it except one, who was on the other side of the hedge just then, and heard all his father said, and how angry he was. "It is a bad affair," said he, "but if I deny it, that will be a lie, and I must not lie." So he came at once to his father and said, "Father, I cut the tree; it was wicked of me." Then his father looked down at the boy, and his face was stern, but he was no longer angry. The little boy's name was George Washington, a brave man, and one whose name will never die. Questions. What was once given to a little boy? — What did he do with it? — What did the little fellow say he would be? — What did he do to the cherry-tree? — When his father saw it, what did he say? — Did the boy tell the truth? — Was his father very angry with him? — Who was the little boy? — Do you know who George Washington was? 7.

Love Truth. (Thomas Cooper).

Love truth, dear child, love truth! 'Twill gladden thy morn of youth; And, in the noon of life,

Hymn for Bed-time.

Spring.

Though it cost thee pain and strife To keep the truth in its brightness — Still cleave to thy uprightness. Yea, the truth to own, Dear child, be brave — In spite of the frown Of the bigot and knave; Ay, in spite of the proud, Dare to speak it aloud! Thus live, and when conieth life's farewell day, Thou wilt be able to smile and say — "Welcome life, or welcome death! I have loved the truth, and to yield my breath I feel no fear: Truth gladdened my life, — and the gloom of death Its glorious light shall cheer" 1 8.

Hymn f o r Bed-time. (Bishop Heber).

God that madest earth and heaven, Darkness and light; Who the day for toil hast given, For rest the night May thine angel-guards defend us, Slumber sweet thy mercy send us, Holy dreams and hopes attend us, This live-long night. Guard ns waking, guard us sleeping; And when we die, May we in thy mighty keeping, All peaceful lie. When the last dread call shall wake us, Do not thou, our God, forsake us, But to reign in glory take us, With thee, on high. 9.

Spring. (Wordsworth).

The cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter,

5

6

Hark! Hark!

Song of the Sailor's Wife.

The lake doth glitter, The green fields sleep in the san; The oldest and youngest Are at work with the strongest; The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising; There are forty feeding like one. Like an army defeated, The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill; The plough-boy is whooping anon, anon. There's joy in the mountains; There's life in the fountains; Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing; The rain is over and gone! 10. Hark! Hark! (Shakspere). Hark, harkl the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes; With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise Arise, arise! II. Song of the Sailor's Wife. (Tennyson). Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Night Song. A Leseon.

7

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon; Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. 12. Night Song. (Brooks). From the German of Claudius.

The moon is up, in splendour, And golden stars attend her; The heavens are calm and bright; Trees cast a deepening shadow, And slowly off the meadow A mist is rising, silver-white. Night's curtains now are closing Round half a world, reposing In calm and holy trust; All seems one vast still chamber, Where weary hearts remember No more the sorrows of the dust. 13. A Les80ll. (Norman Macleod).

I lately heard a story about a poor fakeer, which I will tell you. A fakeer is a Hindoo devotee, who, covered with dust and ashes, visits the villages and cities of India, and is looked upon by the natives as a holy man. At the time of the mutiny, the fakeer found a European baby, which had been hid by its nurse during the massacre; its parents having been able to escape. The poor man, with great difficulty and suffering, carried off the child, and took it with him in his wanderings. Being looked upon as a holy man, he was the better able to get protection and nourishment for his charge. He at last discovered the parents, and presented to them their lost child whom they had given up as dead. Overwhelmed with joy and gratitude, they asked the fakeer what they

8

An Incident.

could do for him, at the same time offering him a large reward. "Nothing will I receive from your hands," he replied; "but if you think me worthy of any recompense, this I ask you for ray sake to do: dig a well for the thirsty traveller, and call it by my name!" Questions. What is a fakeer? — How is be looked upon by the natives? — What did he find? — Did he take care of it? — Did lie find the parents at last? — What reward alone would he accept? 14.

An Incident.

(Norman Macleod).

A friend told me this incident the other day. Coming down a high mountain in Grecce, very wearied and very thirsty, he met a shepherd who had been down in the valley, filling his jar with water. This supply was to last him twenty-four hours, as his hut was near the summit of the mountain. He was a wild-looking fellow, more like a robber than a person from whom one would expect to receive any kindness. My friend asked for a drink. "I have journeyed a long way for this," said the shepherd, "and cannot return for more, and the day is so hot too—but—yes—drink!" and he held the jar to the stranger's lips, who could not resist quaffing long and eagerly of the spring water. He felt so grateful that he offered the poor shepherd money. But the shepherd replied, "No, no, sir; not a farthing. I to take money for giving you a little of that which is the bountiful gift of God! You are welcome to it!" and smiling he passed on his way. Questions. On coming down a high mountain in Greece how did the traveller feel? — Whom did he meet? — What had the shepherd been doing? — Where was his hut? — Did he look like a person from whom one would like to ask a kindness? — Did the stranger ask for a drink ? — What was the shepherd's answer? — Did he do it, to receive some money for his kindness?

Tho Broad. 15.

The Faithful Poodle.

T h e Bread.

9

(From the German).

In a time when bread was very scarce and very dear, a rich man told the poorest children of the town to come to his house, and said to them, "There is a basket of bread. Each of you may take a piece, and you may come back every day till God send us better times." The children at once fell on the basket, fonght and strove for the bread, each one trying to get the nicest and largest piece, and at last they went away without ever thanking the kind giver. Only Mary, a poor but neatly dressed little girl, stood at a distance till the others got their portions, then took the smallest that remained in the basket, kissed her hand in thanks to the giver, and went quietly and gravely home again. On the next day the children were just as rough, and poor Mary got a bit of bread hardly half as large as the other pieccs. But when she got home, and her sick mother cut the bread, out fell a number of silver coins. Her mother was frightened, and told her to take back the money at once, as it must have got into the bread by mistake. So she carried it back again. But the gentleman bade her not fear, for it was no mistake. "I made them put the money in the smallest piece to reward you, good child, for being so modest. Be always so peace-loving and contented. Whoever chooses the small piece rather than strive about a larger one, always brings a blessing to their house, even if no money were ever baked in their portion." Questions. What did a rich man do in a time, when bread was very scarce? — How did the children behave? — Who stood at a distance till the others got their portions? — What happened the next day? — What did the gentleman say, when little Mary took back the money? 16. The Faithful Poodle.

(From the German).

The town gate was just opened, when up rode a traveller on a white horse, with a coal-black poodle bounding and barking before him in its joy and fulness of life. The rider was a merchant. The roads he travelled were not al-

10

A Manly Boy.

ways safe, so he carried a pair of pistols in his holsters, and always took his faithful dog with him, at once to protect him and for the pleasure his gambols afforded him, and he would rather have lost a good many pounds than have lost it. Yet by a sad mistake he came to be its murderer. In the middle of a wood which ran alongside the road the dog suddenly began to bark and look up steadily at its master. He turned the horse round, but saw nothing. The dog kept on barking, and at last threw itself before the horse, barking louder, and making a more violent to-do than ever; so that its- master came at last to think that the poor creature had gone mad. In his fear, and with the greatest sorrow, he took out one of his pistols, and fired it at the dog. It fell, and its master rode sadly on. In the next village, when he stopped to feed his horse, he noticed suddenly that he had lost his bag. The thought at once 6truck him that the dog had acted so strangely to let him know that it had dropped. Without any delay he mounted again and rode back. He found the place where the poor creature had been shot, but it was no longer there; only a great stain of blood on the road showed where it had been wounded, and drops of blood marked the road back from the place. Following this sad guide, he soon found his bag, and beside it the dying dog. The faithful animal knew its master, crawled to his feet and died. If the merchant had known the real signs of a dog being mad he would not have made the mistake by which he came to be his poodle's murderer. Questions. What had the traveller with him? — Why did he always take the poodle with him? — What did the merchant carry in his holsters? — When in the wood, what did the dog begin to do? — What did his master think? — What did he do after that? — What did he find at the next village, he had lost? — When he rode back what happened? — What lesson should this teach us? 17.

A Manly Boy.

(Percy Anecdotes).

A French frigate was wrecked off Halifax in 1798, and every one on board perished, except four men, who got to

Nelly and Mary Grey.

11

shore in the jollyboat, and eight others, who clung to the rigging. The people of the place came down in the night so near the wreck as to be able to speak with the poor men; but none of them would venture out among the rocks to save them. A brave boy of thirteen was the first to start to their rescue. At eleven the next morning he ventured out in a skiff by himself, and by great efforts he backed in his little boat so near as to take off two of the men, who were all his frail vessel could carry. He rowed them in himself to the shore, where they were kindly treated, and soon got well. But this was not all the good his brave conduct did; for the people were so ashamed to let a boy do what they had been afraid of, that they launched a boat, and got off the other six men in safety. Questions. Where was the French frigate wrecked? — When? — How many got safe to shore in the jollyboat? — How many clung to the rigging? — How did the people of the place behave? — Who was the first to start to their rescue? — What did he do? — What good did his brave conduct do? 18.

Nelly and Mary Grey.

(From the German).

Nelly and Mary Grey went on a winter day to a village not far off, where their aunt lived. When it was time to go back, they set out to get home again. But a heavy snowstorm came on just as they were going through a fir wood, and the air got so full of the flakes that they could not see their way, and did not know where they were, or what road to take. Close by they saw a hollow in the bank at the side of their path, and crept into it, but, before they did so they had the sense to tie their red handkerchief to a big bush that leaned over the hollow. Now came the dark night, and the tempest grew harder and harder, and soon blew so much snow against the mouth of the hollow that it was closed up, and they could only hear the owl hooting and the wind howling outside. Oh how these poor children cried! They thought they must surely stay there till they died of hunger. But God took care of them, as you will see. When their father and mother saw that they did not come home, you may be sure they were in great trouble.

12

Casabianca.

The father set off to the aunt, to see if they were still with her, and when ho found they had left for home, all the neighbours were told what had happened, and came out to the woods with shovels, to seek the children, and dig them out, if they found where they were. After a long time, one man saw a bit of red cloth sticking up above the snow, and when they came near it was seen to be the handkerchief of one of the girls. So they set to work and dug away at the snow, and the poor girls inside heard them, and callcd out that they were alive, and to dig on fast. In a little while they got the mouth of the hollow opened, and there were the two safe. The bush above the hole had kept the snow from driving over them and choking them. And every one was very, very glad. Questions. Who went to a village on a winter day? — As they were returning home again what came on? — What did they creep into? — Who went out to seek them? — What did one of the neighbours see in the snow ? — Were the little girls saved? — Was not every one very glad? 19. Casabianca.* (Mrs. Hemans). The boy stood on the burning deck Whence all but he had fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreck Shone round him o'er the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood, As born to rule the storm — A creature of heroic blood, A proud, though child-like form. The flames roll'd on — he would not go Without his father's word; That father, faint in death below, His voice no longer heard. * Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the Admiral of the Orient, remained at his post (in the battle of the Nile) after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been abandoned; and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the powder.

Ballad of the Tempest.

He call'd aloud: — "Say, father! say If yet my task is done!" He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son. "Speak, father!" once again he cried, "If I may yet be gone!" And but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames roll'd on. Upon his brow he felt their breath, And in his waving hair, And look'd from that lone post of death In still yet brave despair; And shouted but once more aloud, "My father! must I stay?" While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way. They wrapt the ship in splendour wild, They canght the flag on high, And stream'd above the gallant child Like banners in the sky. There came a burst of thunder-sound — The boy — oh! where was he? Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strew'd the sea. — With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, That well had borne their part; But the noblest thing which perish'd there Was that young and faithful heart! 20.

Ballad of the Tempest. (Fields).

We were crowded in the cabin, Not a soul would dare to sleep, — It was midnight on the waters, And a storm was on the deep. So we shuddered there in silence, — For the stoutest held his breath;

IS

14

The Child's Fiwt Grief.

While the hungry sea was roaring, And the breakers talked with death. As thus we sat in darkness, Each one busy in his prayers, "We are lost!" the captain shouted As he staggered down the stairs. But his little daughter whispered, As she took his icy hand — "Isn't God upon the ocean, Just the same as on the land ?" Then we kissed the little maiden, And we spoke in better cheer, And we anchored safe in harbour When the morn was shining clear. 21. The Child's First Grief. (Mrs. Eemans). "Oh, call my brother back to me! I cannot play alone: The summer comes with flower and bee; Where is my brother gone? "The butterfly is glancing bright Across the sunbeam's track; I care not now to chase its flight: Oh, call my brother back! "The flowers run wild — the flowers we sowed Around our garden-tree; Our vine is drooping with its load: Oh, call him back to me!" He could not hear thy voice, fair child; He may not come to thee; The face, that once like spring-time smiled, On earth no more thou'lt see. "And has he left his birds and flowers? And must I call in vain? And through the long, long summer hours, Will he not come again?

The Dawning Day.

Birds in Summer.

"And by the brook, and in the glade, Are all our wanderings o'er? Oh, while my brother with me played, Would I had loved him more!" 22.

The Dawning Day.

(Thomas Carlyle).

So here hath been dawning Another blue day: Think, wilt thou let it Slip useless away? Out of Eternity This new day is born; Into Eternity At night doth return. Behold it aforetime No eyes ever did: So soon it for ever From all eyes is hid. Here hath been dawning Another blue day: Think, wilt thou let it Slip useless away? 23.

Birds in Summer. (Mary Howitt).

How pleasant the life of a bird must be, Flitting about on each leafy tree; In the leafy trees, so broad and tall, Like a green and beautiful palace-hall, With its airy chambers, light and boon, That open to sun, and stars, and moon, That open out to the bright blue sky, And the frolicsome winds that wander by. They have left their nests in the forest-bough, Those homes of delight they need not now; And the young and the old they wander out, And traverse the green world round about;

15

16

The Mother and her Child. Rabbits.

And hark! at the top of this leafy hall, How, one to the other, they lovingly call, "Come up, come up! they seem to say, Where the topmost twigs in the breezes sway." "Come up, come up, for the world is fair Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air." And the birds below give back the cry, "We come, we come, to the branches high." How pleasant the life of a bird must be, Flitting about in the leafy tree; And away through the air what joy to go, And to look on the bright green earth below. 24.

The Mother and her Child. (Mrs. Wells).

Behold a little baby boy, A happy babe is h e ; His face how bright, His heart how light, His throne his mother's knee. His lips are red, his teeth are pearls; The rogue, he has but two; His golden hair, How soft and fair, His eyes, how bright and blue! His tiny hands are white and plump; And waking or asleep, Beneath his clothes His little toes, How cunningly they peep. 25.

Rabbits.

Babbits are merry little creatures and it is an amusing sight to watch them running over the green turf about their warren, when they are free. The native country of the rabbit is Spain. In the Orkney Islands, where there are great numbers of rabbits, the wild ones are of a grey colour, and in winter almost white-

The Fox in the Well.

17

The fur of the rabbit is much used for making hats. Rabbits are good for food also, and gelatine is made from their skin. There is a great variety of tame rabbits, the Angora, which has long, fine, white hair, and red eyes, is thought one of the best kinds. The wild rabbit makes a nest for its young ones, lining a round hole in her burrow with grass and covering it with down torn from her own fnr. The mother carefully closes the entrance to this nursery every time she comes to feed her little ones. In twenty days they can take care of themselves, but they do not separate. They make a burrow for themselves and live together. Questions. Which is the native country of rabbits ? — Where else are great numbers of rabbits to be found? — What colour are the wild ones? — And in winter? — Is the fur of the rabbit used? — What is made of their skin? — Are they good for food? — Which is one of the best kinds? — W h y ? — How do the wild ones make their nest? — When can the little ones take care of themselves? — Do they separate? 26. The Pox in the Well.

(Aesop).

A fox having fallen into a well, .made shift, by sticking his toes into the side, to keep his head above water. Soon after, a wolf came and peeped over the edge. "Do help me," cried the fox; "you and I are near of kin. Get a rope, or anything to let me catch hold of." The wolf, moved with pity, could not keep from saying how very much he felt for the poor fox, but he did nothing to help him. "Ah, poor fox," said he, "I'm so sorry for you. How could you have got into this trouble?" — "Don't stand pitying me" answered the fox, "if you wish me well; but go and do something to get me out." Pity without help, when it might be given, is poor comfort. Questions. What had happened to a fox? — What did he do, to keep above water? — Who peeped over the edge? — What Klostennami, Engl. Reader.

2

18

The Abs and the Flute.

Rabbi Meir and his Wife.

did the fox ask him to d o ? — Did the wolf help him? — How did he show his pity? — Was the fox pleased with his fine speeches? — What is poor comfort, when one is in trouble? 27. The A8S and the Flute.

(From the German).

Some one had once left his flute behind him, by chance, on a seat in a field, where he had been playing. It happened that a donkey was feeding near, and that as he wandered about nibbling the grass, he came near the seat. Of course he must needs smell all over it to find out what it was, and he poked his nose here and there to discover. So it was, however, that as he examined the flute, wondering how men could get such music out of it, he gave a great sigh, some of the wind of which blew into the hole in the flute and made it sound. "Dear me, dear me," cried the donkey, "1 never thought I could play, but you see I can. I would like to know who will say after this thait I am not a flnte-player?" He not been skill, nor that you

never would have thought himself one if he had a donkey for it is not a chance hit that show8 does the making a single sound on a flute prove can play it.

Questions. W h a t had some one left on a seat in the field? — Who was feeding near? — Did the donkey examine the flute? — What happened? — W h a t did the donkey fancy? 28. Rabbi Meir and his Wife. (From the Talmud). Rabbi Meir, the great teacher, sat, on the Sabbath day, in the school of the law, and taught the people. Meantime both his sons died, both already grown to manhood, and well instructed in the law. His wife took them and bore them to an upper chamber, laid them on her bed and spread a white sheet over their bodies. In the evening Rabbi Meir came home. "Where are my sons," asked he, "that I may give them my blessing?" "They are gone into the school of the law," was her answer. "I looked round me," replied he, "and I did not see them." She set before him a cup, — he praised the Lord for the close of the Sabbath, — drank, and

The Three Friends.

19

then asked again, "Where are my sons, that they also may drink of the wine of blessing?" "They cannot be far off," said she, and set before him to eat. When he had given thanks after the meal, she said: "Rabbi, allow me a question." "Say on," answered he, "my love." "Some time ago," said she, one gave me jewels to keep for him, and now he asks them back again. Shall I give him them?" "My wife should not need to ask such a question," said Rabbi Meir. "Would you hesitate to give any one back his own?" "Oh, no," replied she, "but I did not like to give them back without your knowledge beforehand." Soon after, she led him to the upper chamber, stepped in, and took the covering off the bodies. "Oh, my sons," sobbed the father, "my sons!" She turned herself away and wept. At last she took him by the hand and said, "Rabbi, have you not taught me that we must not refuse to give back what was intrusted us to keep? See, the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away, — the name of the Lord be blessed;" and Rabbi Meir repeated the words, and said, "Amen." Questions. Who was Rabbi Meir? — What happened to his sons? — What did his wife do with her dead sons? — What did their father ask when he came home? — What answers did his wife give? — What question did she ask? — What did his wife say when they went up to the room where their sons lay? 29. The Three Friends. (From the German [Herder.])

Trust no friend till you have proved him: there are many more at the table of feasting than at the door of a prison. A man had three friends. Two of them he loved very much, but he cared very little about the third, though he was really the truest of them all. So it was that, after a time, this man was summoned before the king, to give an account of a trust that bad been committed to him. Then he asked his friends — "Who among you will go with me and bear witness for me, for I am hard accused, and the king is angry?"

20

The Prairie Dog.

The first of bis friends excused himself at once, saying, "that he could not go with him on account of other business." The second went with him to the door of the judgment ball, but then turned back, for fear of the angry judge. But the third, on whom he had built least hopes, not only went with him, but went in and spoke for him before the judge, and bore such witness in bis favour, that the judge not only acquitted him, but gave him rich gifts. Man has three friends in this world: how do they bear themselves in that hour when God calls him to judgment ? Money, his best friend, leaves him first and will not go with him. His relations and friends, who arc the second in his regard, go with him to the doors of. the grave, and then turn back to their homes. The third, whom, in life, he well-nigh overlooked, are his good deeds. They, alone, accompany hinf to the throne of the judge; they go before him, and speak for him and are beard with favour and love. Questions. What advice does the first paragraph give? — What happened to the man with three friends? — What did lie ask them to do? — What did the first say? — What did the second do? — What were the names of the three friends? 30.

The Prairie Dog. (Major Bell).

What most delights all travellers on the plains at first are the prairie dogs. These little rodents are the size of a rabbit, the colour of a hare, have the hair of a rat, and the face of a squirrel; but their tails are original, they stand up straight over their back, and do a most enormous amount of wagging. They are the most sociable little fellows in the world; by nature they live in colonies, called by the ranchmen * ''prairie-dog towns," where they often cover many acres of land with their little mounds. Each mound has a hole in the top, leading to the family apartments. They appear to take a most lively interest in the "advance of empire," for wherever there is a road, there they congregate in unusual numbers. In the centre of the main street at Salina three of these little fellows had * "ranchman" Landmann in Mexico.

Early Rising.

21

established themselves; they seemed to enjoy the bustle of that place, and were the great delight of the children, who used to feed them with nuts, and get them to sit upon their haunches and eat with their claws. To frighten or kill one would have brought down the just indignation of the whole neighbourhood. As our line of waggons moved along the road and approached a "dog town," the little fellows who were above ground, cropping the grass and playing about, would immediately rush each to his "look-out station" on the top of his mound, while lots of little heads would suddenly appear as those from below came up to see the fun, and join in the chorus of sharp barks with which they were wont to greet intruders. They would shake their sides with barking, and at every bark the tails would wag until, worked up to a climax of fear and delight, they would rush into the earth with a volley of half-uttered barks, and a last defiant wag of the little tail. No sooner had we passed than they would appear again, and keep up a chorus of adieus until we were out of hearing. Questions. What is the prairie dog like? — Where do they live? — Do they live apart or how? — On what do children feed them? — When the waggons passed, what did the prairie dogs do? 31. Early Rising. (Lady Flora Hastings).

Get up, little sister, the morning is bright, And the birds are all singing to welcome the light; The buds are all opening; the dew's on the flower: If you shake but a branch see there falls quite a shower. By the side of their mothers, look, under the trees, How the young lambs are skipping about as they please; And by all those rings on the water, I know, The fishes are merrily swimming below. The bee, I dare say, has been long on the wing To get honey from every flower of the spring; For the bee never idles, but labours all day, And thinks, wise little insect, work better than play.

22

A Father's Advioc. The Little Girl's Address.

The lark's singing gaily; it loves the bright sun, And rejoices that now the gay spring is begun; For the spring is so cheerful, I think 'twould be wrong If we did not feel happy to hear the lark's song. Get up; for when all things are merry and glad, Good children should never be lazy and sad; For God gives us daylight, dear sister, that we May rejoice like the lark, and may work like the bee. 32.

A Father's Advice to his Children. (Anonymous).

Oh! learn to be loving, And kindly agree, At home all happy, As brothers should be, Ere distance may part you, Or death may divide, And leave you to sigh o'er A lone fireside. But oh! if divided By distance or death, How sore would it grieve you. Till life's latest breath That anger or discord Should ever have been, Or aught but affection Two brothers between! 33. The Little Girl's Address to the River. (Songs for the Little Ones).

Gentle river, gentle river! Tell us, whither do you glide, Through the green and sunny meadows, With your sweetly murmuring tide? Tell us, if you can remember Where your happy life began; When at first, from some high mountain, Like a silver thread you ran.

Lillie.

Say how many little streamlets Gave their mite your depth to swell; Coming each from different sources, Had they each a tale to tell? When a playful brook you gambolled, And the sunshine o'er you smiled, On your banks did children loiter, Looking for the spring-flowers wild? Gentle river, gentle river! Though you stop not to reply, Yet you seem to smile upon us As you quickly pass us by. Soon will come the lovely twilight, Lingering brightly in the west; And each little bird, for shelter, Soon will seek its shady nest. And the stars will rise above you, Shining all the live-long night; Yet you ask not rest nor slumber, Singing still with free delight. Year by year, the same sweet story, You to other years will tell: Now we leave you, yet we love you: Gentle river, fare ye well. 34.

Lillie.

(Songs for the Little Ones).

" I have been to school, father, and tried to be good; And when I came home, as I walked through the wood, I saw on the tree a most beautiful bird, And his song was the sweetest that ever I heard. And, father, the air was so fresh and so sweet, The green grass and moss so soft to my feet, And the ground was so bright with the beautiful flowers, That I wanted to stay there a great many hours. But I thought it was wrong any longer to stay, For you told me never to stop by the way;

23

21

Iron.

So I came straight home, and brother and I Have been to the fields to make his kite fly." "I am glad, little Lillie," the father replied, As he kissed his dear girl, "I am glad you have tried To be a good child; so now come with me, And sit by my side or climb on my knee; And I'll tell you why all looked so happy and gay, As you walked home from school through the greenwood to-day; And why the glad song of that beautiful bird Seemed sweeter than any you ever have heard. The Lord keeps around us, by day and by night, Kind angels to guard us, and lead us aright: When you try to be useful and pleasant and mild, I know that the angels are leading my child. For the good thoughts and feelings which they will impart, When you try to do right, will gladden your heart; And this is why all looked so happy and gay, As you walked home from school through the greenwood to-day." 35. Iron. Hid from our eyes, deep in the ground, Great stores of gems, and gold are found, Rich mines of lead, and tin so fine; But more than these I prize the mine Of rough, tough iron. We make of gold bright seals and rings, Fine chains, and other glittering things; But spades and shovels, rakes and hoes, Saws, axes, chisels, scythes, and ploughs, Are rough, tough iron. We make of silver, glittering white, Bright ornaments to please the sight; But bolts and bars to guard at night, And swords and guns our foes to fight, Are rough, tough iron.

Evening Hymn. We are Seven.

Then let me try to .judge aright: Oft useful things don't please the sight, Things good for use oft are not fair — I'll prize the things that useful are, Like rough, tough iron. 36. Evening Hymn. (Thomas Ken). All praise to thee, my God, this night, For all the blessings of the light; Keep me, oh, keep me, King of Kings, Beneath thy own almighty wings! Forgive me, Lord, for thy dear Son, The ill that I this day have done; That with the world, myself, and thee, I, ere I sleep, at peace may be. Tcach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed; To die, that this poor body may Rise glorious at the judgment-day. Oh! may my soul on thee repose, And may sweet sleep mine eyelids close Sleep, that may me more vig'rous make To serve my God when I awake. 37. We are Seven. (Wordsworth). I met a little cottage girl; She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. "Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me. "And where are they. I pray you tell ?" She answered, "Seven are we; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea.

25

26

We are Seven.

"Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother; And in the churchyard cottage, I Dwell near them with my mother." "You run about my little maid, Your limbs they are alive; If two are in the churchyard laid, Then you are only five." "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied, "Twelve steps or more from mother's door; And they are side by side. My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit, — I sit and sing to them. The first that died was littlo Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain, And then she went away. And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide, My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side." "How many are you then," said I, "If they two are in heaven ?" The little maiden did reply, " 0 master, we are seven." "But they arc dead; these two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven!" Twas throwing words away; for still The little maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven."

A Field Flower. The Skylark.

38. A Field Flower. (Montgomery on finding one in bloom on Christmas Day).

There is a flower, a little flower, With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky. The prouder beauties of the field In gay but quick succession shine; Race after race their honours yield, They flourish and decline. But this small flower to nature dear, While moons and stars their courses run Wreathes the whole circle of the year, Companion of the sun. It smiles upon the lap of May, To sultry August spreads its charms, Lights pale October on its way, And twines December's arms. Yea, this bold floweret climbs the hill, Hides in the forest, haunts the glen, Plays on the margin of the rill, Peeps round the fox's den. The lambkin crops its crimson gem, The wild bee murmurs on its breast, The blue fly bends its pensile stem Light o'er the skylark's nest. On waste and woodland, rock and plain, Its humble buds unheeded rise; The rose has but a summer reign, The daisy never dies. 39.

The Skylark. (Hogg).

Bird of the wilderness, Blithesome and cumberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!

27

28

Moses.

Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place — Oh to abide in the desert with thee! Wild is thy lay, and loud, Far in the downy cloud; Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. Where, on thy dewy wing, Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the cloudlet dim, Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! Then, when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place — Oh to abide in the desert with thee! 4 0 . Moses. The book of Exodus is so called, because it tells as of the departure of the Israelites from Egypt. It begins with a sad story of cruelty and distress. Joseph had died; and his brethren, and all that generation. Another Pharaoh, who knew nothing of Joseph, was now king. The Israelites had greatly increased in number, and the Egyptians became afraid of them; and made them work dreadfully hard, as slaves; and then ordered all their new-born sons to be drowned. Many loving mothers no doubt saved their children, at the risk of their own lives. One is especially mentioned, who put her beautiful boy into an ark, or basket, made of bulrushes and clay, covered with pitch, and laid the ark among the flags growing by the river side. She hid him three months before he was found out; and this she did in faith; and her faith

Marriage of Isaac.

29

saved her child. Her faith was a simple trust in God, that He was caring for her, and would keep His word. The babe's little sister watched him as he lay; while its father and mother no doubt made many a prayer to God, to keep and bless their child. At last Pharaoh's daughter saw the ark, when she came to bathe; and sent her maid to fetch it. She had pity upon the little Hebrew babe, as he cried; and let his sister go and fetch a nurse. She fetchcd his own mother, who was near; and Pharaoh's daughter, who wished the child to be brought up for her own, gave him into her charge. So wonderful is the working of the good providence of God! Little did Pharaoh think that he was nourishing at his court, as the boy advanced in years, the future deliverer of the Hebrew race. Moses (for that, from his having been drawn out of the water, was his name) had to fly from Egypt, when he was about forty years old. He had left the king's court some time before; preferring to suffer affliction with the people of God, and to have a heavenly reward, instead of enjoying the pleasures of sin for a season. In taking the part of one of liis Hebrew brethren, who was being cruelly used, he killed an Egyptian. For this, Pharaoh sought to kill Moses, and he had to take refuge in the land of Midian, where he remained many years. Here he learnt the needful lesson, that the Israelites were not to be delivered yet but that he was to wait for God's good time. Questions. Why is the book of Exodus so called? — Does it not begin with a sad story? — What cruel order did the new king give who knew nothing of Joseph? — How was one child saved? — Who had pity upon the little Hebrew babe? — Why was he called Moses? — Why did Pharaoh seek to kill Moses? — To what country did he flee? 41. Marriage of Isaac. As time rolled on, Sarah, Abraham's beloved wife died, and Abraham came to mourn for her, and to weep. She died at Hebron, in Canaan, where Abraham, the future heir, had yet no land of his own. So he bought for a burying-place

30

The Leaves of the Trees.

the cave of Machpelah, from Ephron the Hittite and there he buried her. Abraham, being anxious that Isaac should not take a wife from among the Canaanites among whom he dwelt, sent his faithful steward, Eliezer, to Padan-aram, to obtain one amongst his own relations. When he arrived at a well, near the city of Nahor, Abraham's brother, he prayed to God for a blessing upon his errand, and that the damsel who should give his camels water from the well, should be the one whom God had chosen. Before he bad done speaking, Rebekah, a granddaughter of Nahor, came out and gave his camels drink. And Eliezer, being satisfied that his prayer was heard, made her some costly presents, and returned thanks to God. Rebekah went back to her mother, to tell her what had passed; and Laban, Rebekah's brother, brought Eliezer into the house to lodge. But, like a faithful servant, he would not eat until he had told his master's errand. Rebekah's father and brother saw that it was the will of God, and consented that she should go. Eliezer again thanked God; and when, on the next day, they wanted to keep Rebekah a while, he, wishing to despatch quickly his master's business, begged not to be detained; as the Lord had*prospered his way. Rebekah consented to go; and left her home, with Deborah, her nurse, and with much blessing. When near their journey's end Isaac met them, as he went out at eventide to meditate and pray. Rebekah alighted from her camel, and put on her veil; and Isaac brought her to his mother's tent, her new abode. Questions. Where did Sarah die? — Where was she buried? — Why did Abraham send his steward to Padan-aram? — When Eliezer arrived at a well near that city what did he pray for? — Who gave his camels to drink? — To whom did Rebekah tell what had passed? — Did her parents allow her to go with Eliezer? — Who met them at their journey's end? 42.

The Leaves of the Trees. (Dr. w . Hooker).

Can yon tell me the use of the leaves on the trees? Let me try to tell you. If you put flowers in water you notice that there is less water next morning. That is because

The Leaves of the Trees.

31

the flowers have drunk up what they needed, through little pipes in their stalks. The reason why the earth in a flowerpot gets so soon dry is mostly that the roots of the plants have sucked in the moisture. You have noticed, have you not, that Avhen you put cold water into a tumbler, the outside of the tumbler is covered with drops of water. That water was in the air, and gathers on the glass because the water inside has made the tumbler so cold. But there would not have been nearly so much moisture in the air but for the leaves of the trees and plants all round us. They breathe out the water their roots have drunk in, all the time, and it is this which makes the air so soft and pleasant to breathe. If it were dry it would be very painful for us, and very hurtful. Just think how many leaves there are, and you will easily sec that they must give off a great deal of water, altogether. Then, the leaves are very beautiful and cheering. In winter, when all the trees and hedges are stripped and bare, how dreary the country looks, and, when spring is returning, how we rejoice to watch the bursting of the buds. The fresh green is a delight to the eye and to the heart. God has clothed the earth with the verdure of summer, that we may rejoice in the loveliness He has made. A third use of leaves is to give shade. How refreshing it is to get under a tree in the hot days of July or August. After walking through stony streets, it is delightful to come on a square or park in which leafy shadows offer us protection from the sun. How pleased the cows and sheep look under the trees, in the meadow, at mid-day, chewing the cud. The very fruit needs the shade of the leaves, in some degree. It would be withered if it were not hidden in part from too much bright sunshine. But the great use of leaves is to keep plants and trees alive, and to make them grow. If you were to strip off all the leaves from a plant as fast as they came out, you would kill it, after a while. Sometimes worms eat up the leaves on trees, and if this is done year after year the tree dies. Leaves are the same things to plants as lungs are to us or to animals. We draw the air into our lungs by breathing, and, just in the same way, the leaves draw the air

32

The Leaves of the Trees.

into the tree or plant. You may see from this how much good watering a plant whose leaves are dusty must do. It lets the little mouths that are all over the leaf breathe freely. One very curious thing I must tell you. You know that if we breathe the air of a room too long without letting in fresh air, it grows bad. You have felt this, I'm sure, at some party, or at a meeting where many people were together. Now, what becomes of this bad air which we breathe out of our lungs? Listen. The plants take it all away, for it is the very thing they need. It makes them grow. They draw in the bad air we breathe out, and they breathe out the good air we need. So the leaves of all trees and plants, and the lungs of men and of all living creatures, are making an exchange all the time; the one living on what would kill the other. But perhaps some thoughtful boy or girl will ask me how it is in winter-time, when all the leaves arc gone while the lungs still remain? I shall tell you. There are always' plenty of leaves in the south, even in winter, and then the summer of the other side of the world comcs just when our winter comes to us, and the plants in all these regions work for us when there are no leaves in our own country. The bad air is carried away all through the sky, and the leaves find it out and draw it in whenever it touches them as it passes, and in the same way the good air which the plants breathe out is blown everywhere, and reaches our lips, and is our life. Is it not wonderful how God has made all things so wisely? Just one thought more to keep in your minds and think about. You can see that if plants and living creatures help each other in this amazing way, and work for each other, there must never be too many of the plants, or too many of the living creatures, else there would be too much bad air, or too much good air, for the one or the other. Yet so wondrous is the power and wisdom of God that the balance is always kept, and there are always just the lungs and just the leaves all over the world that are needed for each other. Questions. What do the leaves of the trees breathe out? —

33

A Lamp of Coal.

— What is the first use of the leaves on the trees? — Are not the green leaves beautiful and cheering? May we not call the leaves useful, because they delight our eyes and hearts? — But do you know what is the greatest use of leaves? — What does much good to a plant whose leaves are dusty? — What curious thing have you been told o f ? — What kind of air do plants give out? — What kind do they need? — How do the plants keep the air right in winter?

4 3 . A Lump Of Coal. (Anonymous).

In winter time, when you gather round the fire, to listen to stories from your mother or father as they sit beside you, did you ever think where the coal came from? It is dug up out of mines, in this and other countries, for, coal is found in nearly every part of the world. Far away iu the icy north, where winter now reigns throughout the far greater part of the year, coal is found cropping out of the river banks; stores of it are laid up in countries as yet without people, for the use of long future ages. You think that coal is a kind of stone that burns. Well, it looks like a stone, but what will you say when I tell you that it is made of the leaves and trunks and stems of trees and mosses, crushcd into a hard mass by the awful weight of the rocks that gradually gathered over them. There is often earth among these remains of plants and trees, as you may see from the brown ashes, left after bad coal has been burned. They are just so much of the earth in which the trees or plants grew. All the coal you now burn once grew as great woods, of strange trees, or still stranger mosses, which must have been as high as trees. Altogether, between three and four hundred kinds of plants have been found in the coal of England alone. They are mostly ferns and pine-trees, or trees something like these, and a kind of reed like the horsetail you find growing in wet places. But everything grew very thick and high when the coal was being made, and thus, though our horsetails are very small plants, these old ones had stems fourteen or fifteen inches round, and grew to a Klostermann, Engl. Reader.

3

34

A Lump of Coal.

height of thirty or forty feet. T h e ferns of those days were very plentiful, and rose to be trees, instead of being the humble plants our ferns are. There were very few living creatures in the woods of these ages, and the woods themselves were a dark green, cheerless, wilderness of rank growths. Frogs, serpents, and crocodiles glided among the fern swamps, but there were no men then, for all this took place long before man was made: indeed, man could not have lived on the earth in those days, for it was not yet ready for him. But how is it that the coal burns as it does? Let me tell you a great wonder. The coal is just a great prison of sunbeams, and when you set fire to it, the sunbeams are set free, and you get the light of days that shone ages on ages ago, to cheer and warm you now! Plants drink in the light and grow by its help. It takes all the sunshine of a long summer to make the leaves and blossoms you see in a year, and to add one thin ring of wood to the trunk and branches of a tree; and you may think how many years it must have taken to grow flowers and leaves and trees enough to make all the coal there is, after they had been squeezed so small and close, and bow much light of the old sunshine of the days when they were growing must be shut up in the black lumps we burn. A coal fire is just so much sunshine kindled again into brightness, after lying hid in the coal, far down in the earth, for ages and ages. But this is not all the wonder in a piece of coal. Where are all the colours of the flowers and leaves, if the coal be made of them? Just look into the fire. Do you see these red and yellow flames? They arc the very colours of the old flowers that helped to make the coal. Look at the bright green and blue, and mauve and magenta, and rose and yellow ribbons, on the ladies or on the girls around you. Where do you think most of these colours come from? T h e y are got from the tar that oozes out of coal when it is heated, and they are nothing but the bright lovely colours of the old old flowers and leaves. But how did the leaves and flowers get these lovely colours? T h e y drank in the colours of the old old sunshine, which was just the same then as it is now, and you see in the rainbow what that is; and all these co-

Think of Others first.

35

lours are just the rainbow colours of the light that made the summers when these flowers and leaves were growing. But where is the sweet smell of these old old flowers ? Why you can buy it at the shops, if you like; for some of the sweetest perfumes that we have are made from coal, and are just the perfume of the buds and blossoms that waved in the summer light ages of ages of ages ago. If you think on all this it will be well. Questions. Where is coal found ? — Of what is it made ? — How many plants are found in coal? — Of what kinds are they chiefly? — What plants are they like, of those we know? — What creatures lived when coal was made? — What are the colours of the flames? — What are the beautiful dyes made of, we see on ladies and girls? — Is the smell of these old old flowers to be had? — Where does it come from? — Is it not well, to think about all this? 44. Think of Others first. (Anonymous). Nothing is harder, and nothing is more noble, than to think of others rather than of ourselves. Even in trifles we are apt to think of our own pleasure rather than that of others, and the difficulty of being unselfish increases with the value of the sacrifice required. Instances are not wanting however, of noble self-denial, even in the most extreme cases, as, for instance, where personal suffering, or even the demands of life, seemed to excuse indulgence. No agony, it is said, is greater than that of excessive thirst, and yet some have been known who have handed to others, in their own direst extremity, the cup of cold water which they might themselves have drunk. Nor has it been only the common pangs of thirst that have thus been endured; some have even resisted the aggravations added by fever, wounds, or the deadly faintness of approaching death. Thus it is related of Alexander the Great that when he was marching back his army from the Indus, after having conquered Asia, the route taken led them through a terrible desert called Gedrosia, on the shores of the Persian Gulf.

36

Think of Others first.

I hope you will look in the map to see Exactly where these places are. On the left was the salt sea, under their feet an endless waste of sand and gravel, and on their right towered ranges of mountains of bare red stone. Over all a cloudless sky oppressed them with sweltering heat, from which there was no escape. Nothing could saye the whole force from destruction but the greatest exertion, that they might get through this fearful region before they sank under its horrors. Alexander shared all the hardships and privations of the march, and was greatly exhausted by them. One day when, like the whole army, he was ready to sink with heat and deadly faintness, a little water was brought him in a soldier's helmet. It had been got with great difficulty, and was tempting beyond measure. But he declared that it was too precious for him to drink it, and that his doing so would only make the thirst of bis soldiers the greater, by their seeing him take it, and he therefore poured it out on the ground as an offering to the gods, to win their favour for the whole host. Who can doubt but that such generous regard for others gained him the love of all his men. The case of Sir Philip Sidney was still more striking. He had been mortally wounded at the battle of Zutphen, in Holland, and was being taken to the rear to let the surgeons try if anything could be done for him. Being faint with loss of blood — for his thigh was broken — he asked for a drink of water which was at once brought him; but as he was putting the bottle to his lips a poor wounded soldier just then being carried past chanced to look at it with wistful eyes. The gallant Sidney, seeing this, in a moment stretched out the bottle to the poor man, without himself taking any of it, saying "Your need is greater than mine." Even in his agony he thought of the poor common soldier rather than himself. Questions. What is hardest and most noble for us to do? — Where was Alexander's army? — What kind of place was it? — What continent had he conquered? — What happened to him? — What did he do with the water? — At what battle was Sir Philip Sidney wounded? — How was he wounded? — When they gave him water, what did he do?

The Brave Burgher of Flensborg.

Volcanoes.

37

45. the Brave Burgher of Flensborg. (Mies Yonge). It was during the wars that raged from 1652 to 1660, between Frederick III. of Denmark and Charles Gustavus of Sweden, that, after a battle, in which the victory had remained with the Danes, a stout burgher of Flensborg was about to refresh himself, ere retiring to have his wounds dressed, with a draught of beer from a wooden bottle, when an imploring cry from a wounded Swede, lying on the field, made him turn, and, with the very words of Sidney, "Thy need is greater than mine," he knelt down by the fallen enemy, to pour the liquor into his mouth. His requital was a pistolshot in the shoulder from the treacherous Swede. "Rascal," lie cried, "I would have befriended you, and you would murder me in return. Now will I punish you. I would have given you the whole bottle; but now you shall have only half." And drinking off half himself, lie gave the rest to the Swede. The king, hearing the story, sent for the burgher, and asked him how he came to spare the life of such a rascal. "Sire," said the honest burgher, "I could never kill a wounded enemy." "Thou meritest to be a noble," the king said, and created him one immediately, giving him as armorial bearings a wooden bottle pierced with an arrow! The family only lately became extinct in the person of an old maiden lady. Questions. At what time was Frederick III. of Denmark at war against the king of Sweden? — What was a burgher of Flensborg about to do after the battle ? — Was he wounded ? — What did he h e a r ? — Did he give his enemy anything to d r i n k ? — What did the treacherous Swede do? — How was he punished by the brave burgher? — Did the king hear of it? — What did he a s k ? — How did he reward him? — Is the family still existing? 46.

Volcanoes.

(Charles Kingsley).

Part I. Nearly 1800 years ago, in the old Roman times, for ages and ages, Mount Vesuvius had been lying qniet, like

38

Volcanoes.

any other hill. Beautiful cities were built at its foot, filled with people who were as handsome aud as comfortable, and (I am afraid) as wicked, as people ever were on earth. Failgardens, vineyards, oliveyards, covcrcd the mountain slopes. It was held to be one of the Paradises of the world. As for the mountain's being a burning mountain, who ever thought of that? To be sure, on the top of it was a great round crater, or cup, a mile or more across, and a few hundred yards deep. But that was all overgrown with bushes and wild vines, full of boars and deer. What sign of fire was there in that? To be sure, also, there was an ugly place below by the seashore, called the Phlegraean field, where smoke and brimstone came out of the ground, and a lake called Avernus, over which poisonous gases hung, and which (old stories told) was one of the mouths of the Nether Pit. But what of that? It had never harmed any one, and how could it harm them? So they all lived on, merrily and happily enough, till, in the year A. D. 70 (that was nine years, you know, after the Emperor Titus destroyed Jerusalem), there was stationed in the Bay of Naples a Roman admiral, called Pliny, who was also a very studious and learned man, and author of a famous old book on natural history. He was staying on shore with his sister; and as he sat in his study she called him out to sec a strange cloud which had been hanging for some time over the top of Mount Vesuvius. It was in shape just like a pine-tree; not, of course, like one of our branching firs here, but like an Italian stone-pine, with a long straight stem, and a flat parasol-shaped top. Sometimes it was blackish, sometimes spotted: aud the good Admiral Pliny, who was always curious about natural science, ordered his cutter and went away across the bay to see what it could be. Earthquake shocks had been very common for the last few days: but I do not suppose that Pliny had any notion that the earthquakes and the cloud had aught to do with each other. However, he soon found out that they had, and to his cost. When he got near the opposite shore some of the sailors met him and entreated him to turn back. Cinders and pumice-stones were falling down from the sky, and flames breaking out of the mountain above. But Pliny would

39

Volcanoes.

go on; he said that if people were in danger it was his duty to help them; and that he must see this strange clond, and note down the different shapes into which it changed. But the hot ashes fell faster and faster; the sea ebbed out suddenly, and left them nearly dry, and Pliny turned away to a place called Stabiac, to the house of a friend, who was just going to escape in a boat. Q u e s tion s. What cities lay round Vesuvius long ago? — What kind of people lived in these beautiful cities? — What is a volcano? — Were the people not afraid to live near a burning mountain? — When was the first known eruption? — What had happened nine years before? — What man of science was stationed in the Bay of Naples? — With whom was he staying on shore? — What did he observe? — Had Pliny any notion that the earthquakes and the cloud had aught to do with each other? What did he do? — Where did he go? — What was his friend just going to do ? 47. Volcanoes.

Part II.

Pliny told him not to be afraid; ordered his bath like a true Roman gentleman; and then went in to dinner with a cheerful face. Flames came down from the mountain, nearer and nearer as the night drew on: but Pliny persuaded his friend that they were only fires in some villages from which the peasants had lied; and then went to bed and slept soundly. However, in the middle of the night they found the courtyard being fast filled with cinders, and, if they had not woke up the Admiral in time, he would never have been able to get out of the house. The earthquake shocks grew stronger and fiercer, till the house was ready to fall; and Pliny and his friend, and the sailors and the slaves all fled into the open fields, amid a shower of stones and cinders, tying pillows over their heads to prevent their being beaten down. The day had come by this time: but not the dawn; for it was still pitch dark as night. They went down to their boats upon the shore: but the sea raged so horribly, that there was no getting on board of them. Then Pliny grew tired, and made his men spread a sail for him, and lay down on

40

Volcanoes.

it. But there came down npon them a rush of flames, and a horrible smell of sulphur, and all ran for their lives. Some of the slaves tried to help the Admiral upon his legs: but he sank down again overpowered with the brimstone fumes, and so was left behind. When they came back again, there he lay dead: but with his clothes in order, and his facc as quiet as if he had been only sleeping. And that was the end of a brave and learned man; a martyr to duty and to the love of science. But what was going on in the meantime ? Under clouds of ashes, cinders, mud, lava, three of those happy cities were buried at once — Ilerculancnm, Pompeii, Stabiac. They were buried just as the people had fled from them, leaving the furniture and the earthenware, eveu often jewels and gold, behind, and here and there among them a human being who had not had time to escape from the dreadful deluge of dust. The ruins of Herculaneum, and Pompeii have been dug into since; and the paintings, especially in Pompeii, are found upon the walls still fresh, preserved from the air by the ashes which have covered them in. And what had become of Vesuvius, the treacherous mountain? Half or more than half of the side of the old crater had been blown away; and what was left, which is now called the Monte Somma, stands in a half circle round the new cone and new crater which is burning at this very day. True, after that eruption which killed Pliny, Vesuvius fell asleep again, and did not wake for 134 years, and then again for 269 years; but it has been growing more and more restless as the ages have passed on, and now hardly a year passes without its sending out smoke and stones from its crater, and streams of lava from its sides. Questions. How did Pliny lose his life? — Can you tell the story? — What happened to those beautiful cities round Vesuvius? — Have the ruins been dug into since? — What is found especially at Pompeii? — What had become of the treacherous mountain? — Have there been any earthquakes since? —

The Blind Man.

48.

The Voicc of the Grass.

T h e Blind Man. (Public school series).

The blind man sits in the cheerful sun, And his heart sings psalms to God: He is smelling the sweet flowers, one by one, Cut fresh from the bright green sod; And his pale lips quiver with solemn joy, For he thinks of the meadow he loved as a boy. How he wandered among the dewy flowers, In the beautiful Time of old; How he toyed with the new-mown hay for hours, Or lolled on the sheep-shearer's fold, While the sun went down in golden light, And the stars lighted up the dark blue night. 49.

The Voice of the Grass.

(Sarah Roberts).

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; By the dusty roadside, On the sunny hillside, Close by the noisy brook, In every shady nook, I come creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, smiling everywhere; All round the open door, Where sit the aged poor, Here, where the children play, In the light and merry May, I come creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere, In the noisy city street My pleasant face you'll meet, Cheering the sick at heart, Toiling his busy part — Silently creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; You cannot see me coming, Nor hear my low sweet humming;

41

42

The Three Fishers.

For in the starry night, And the glad morning light, I come quietly, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; When you're numbered with the dead In your still and narrow bed, In the happy spring I'll come And deck your silent home — Creeping, silently creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; My bumble song of praise Most joyfully I raise To Him at whose command I beautify the land — Creeping, silently creeping everywhere. 50.

The Three Fishers. (Charles Kingsley).

T h r e e fishers went sailing away to the West, Away to the West as the snn went down; Each thought on the woman who loved him the best, And the children stood watching them out of the town; For men must work, and women must weep, And there's little to cam, and many to k e e p ; Though the harbour bar be moaning. Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower, And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down: They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, And the night-rack came rolling up, ragged and brown. But men must work, and women must weep, Though storms arc sudden, and waters deep, And the harbour bar be moaning. Three corpses lay out on the shining sands In the morning gleam as the tide went down, And the women are weeping and wringing their hands For those who will never come home to the t o w n ; For men must work, and women must weep, And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep; And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.

Those Evening Bells.

51.

Remembrances.

Those Evening Bells. (Thomas Moore).

Those evening bells! those evening bells! How many «a talc their music tells, Of youth, and home, and that sweet time When last I heard their soothing chime! Those joyous hours arc passed away! And many a heart that then was gay, Within the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells! And so 'twill be when I am gone! T h a t tuneful peal will still ring on, While other bards shall walk these dells, And sing your praise, sweet evening bells! 52.

Remembrances. (Thomas Hood).

I remember, 1 remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a d a y ; — But now I often wish the night, Had borne my breath a w a y ! I remember, I remember, The roses red and white, The violets and the lily-cups — Those flowers made of light The lilacs where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburnum on his birth-day — The tree is living yet! I remember, I remember, Where I was used to swing, And thought the air would rush as fresh As swallows on the wing;

43

A Good Name. The Little Word "Only".

41

My spirit flew in feathers, then, That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow! I remember, I remember, The fir trees dark and high; I used to think their slender spires Where close against the sky! It was a childish ignorancc, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm further off from heaven, Than when I was a boy. 53.

A Good Name.

(Anonymous).

Children choose it, Don't refuse it, 'Tis a precious diadem; Highly prize it, Don't despise it, You will need it when you're men. Love and chcrish, Weep and nourish 'Tis more prccious far than gold; Watch and guard it, Don't discard it, You will need it when you're old. 54.

The Little Word "Only".

(From the German).

Mrs. George. What brings you so early, neighbour? Mrs. Dash. I have a favour to ask of you, neighbour. Mrs. George. A favour! If it is in my power to oblige you, I am sure I shall do it. Mrs. Dash. It's only a trifle I have to ask — that you will be so kind as to lend me a sovereign. Mrs. George. Only a sovereign! Mrs. Dash. Only a sovereign. I've seen a chintz in the town — such a darling chintz! — lilac, with white flowers. To be sure, I can't say I need it; but it is such a beautiful

The Little Word "Only".

45

chintz! — such a beauty 1 And it is so very cheap! Think, neighbour; it costs only four and sixpence! Mrs. George. Only four and sixpence? Mrs. Dash. Only four and sixpence. Perhaps I may even get something off t h a t ; but I must have it. Mrs. George. Indeed? Mrs. Dash. I am sorry that I have to trouble you; but the times are so hard, one can hardly get the few sorry shillings together one needs for clothes, living, and expenses. But I expect the money from my legacy to-morrow, and then I shall repay you with thanks. Mrs. George. Then you got something left you by your father? Mrs. Dash. Yes, I did; but it was so small it is not worth mentioning. Mrs. George. How much was it, then? Mrs. Dash. Only 25 pounds. Mrs. George. Only 25 pounds? Mrs. Dash. No more, neighbour. Mrs. George. Now I shall willingly lend you the money; but I must ask you to hear a story which may bring you a legacy of 25 pounds a year if you think over it well. Mrs. Dash. Indeed? Pray let me hear it. Sirs. George. Did you know the goldsmith's widow that lived over in the corner yonder? Mrs. Dash. That I did. She has just died in the workhouse. Mrs. George. And she once had a deal of money, neighbour; but a little word brought her to be a beggar. Mrs. Dash. A word! How can that be? Mrs. George. Yes, a word — a single word; a very little word. Mrs. Dash. W h a t could it be? Mrs. George. I shall tell you. In the first place, she always thought everything very cheap. If she came home in the forenoon from market, she was always in high spirits; for she had got everything for next to nothing. The chickens cost only two shillings — the butter only the same. She was in high glee when she had thus spent only ten or twelve shillings. How much does the chintz cost, neighbour?

40

England, under the Good Saxon, Alfred.

Mrs. Dash. The chintz? The chintz? They ask four and sixpence for it. Mrs. George. Yes, that's it. My memory fails me at times. The good woman had, besides, the weakness of thinking any money she might get only a trifle. She sold her garden for only a hundred pounds, her wine brought her only eighty pounds, and her house only a thousand pounds. She was glad when she had got rid of it. But you know neighbour, that she soon had nothing left. That awful word only\ Yes, that only\ Mrs. Dash. That only. I see what you mean. Mrs. George. How much shall I lend you, neighbour? Mrs. Dash. Ah, dear neighbour, I shall let the chintz go. The story about the widow is very sail. Good day, neighbour. Don't take it ill of me. Mrs. George. Certainly not. If I can at any time help you 1 shall be glad. Good day. Questions. What did Mrs. Dash wish to borrow from her neighbour? — What did she want to buy? — Was the chintz very expensive? — Had Mrs. Dash no money of her own? — What story did her neighbour tell her? — Did Mrs. Dash understand the meaning of it and did she profit by it? 55. England, under the Good Saxon, Alfred. (Charles Dickens). Part I. Alfred the Great was a young man, three-and-twenty years of age, when he became king. Twice in his childhood, he had been taken to Rome, where the Saxon nobles were in the babit of going on journeys which they supposed to be religious; and, once, he had stayed for some time in Paris. Learning, however, was so little cared for, then, that at twelve years old he had not been taught to read; although, of the four sons of King Ethelwulf, he, the youngest, was the favourite. But he had an excellent mother, whose name was Osburgha. One day, this lady happened, as she was sitting among her sons, to read a book of Saxon poetry. The art of printing was not known until long and long after that period, and the book, which was written, was what is

England, under the Good Saxon, Alfred.

47

called "illuminated," with beautiful bright letters, richly painted. The brothers admiring it very much, their mother said: "I will give it to that one of you four princes who first learns to read." Alfred sought out a tutor that very day, applied himself to learn with great diligence, and soon won the book. He was proud of it all his life. This great king, in the first year of his reign, fought nine battles with the Danes. He made some treaties with them too, by which the false Danes swore that they would quit the country. They pretended to consider that they had taken a very solemn oath, in swearing this upon the holy bracelets that they wore, and wJiich were always buried with them when they died; but they cared little for it, and as soon as it suited their purpose, they came back again to fight, plunder, and burn, as usual. They spread themselves in great numbers over the whole of England; and so dispersed and routed the king's soldiers that the king was left alone, and was obliged to disguise himself as a common peasant, and to take refuge in the cottage of one of his cowherds who did Dot know his facc. Here, King Alfred, while the Danes sought him far and wide, was left alone, one day, by the cowherd's wife, to watch some cakes which she put to bake upon the hearth. But, being at work upon his bow and arrows, with which he hoped to punish the false Danes when a brighter time should come, and thinking deeply of his poor unhappy subjects whom they chased through the land, his noble mind forgot the cakes, and they were burnt. "What!" said the cowherds wife, who scolded him well when she came back, and little thought she was scolding the king, "you will be ready enough to eat them b y - a n d - b y , and yet you cannot watch them, idle dog?" Questions. How old was Alfred when he became king? — Where had he been in his childhood? — What was his excellent mother's name? — What book was she reading one day? — Did the brothers admire the book? — What did their mother say? — Who got the beautiful book? — How many battles had king Alfred to fight with the Danes in the first year of his reign? — Did he not make some

48

England, under the Good Saxon, Alfred.

treaties with them? — Did the Danes keep them? — What was the king forced to do? — Did the cowherd know him? — What did the cowherd's wife one day ask him to do? — What happened to the cakcs? Did the cowherd's wife know that she was scolding the king? 56. England, under the Good Saxon, Alfred.

Part II. At length, the Devonshire men made head against a new host of Danes who landed on their coast; killed their chief, and captured their flag; on which was represented the likeness of a Raven. The loss of their standard troubled the Danes greatly, for they believed it to be enchanted and had a story among themselves that when they were victorious in battle, the Raven stretched his wings and seemed to fly; and that when they were defeated, he would droop. He had good reason to droop, now, for, King Alfred joined the Devonshire men; made a camp with them in Somersetshire; and prepared for a great attempt for vengeance on the Danes, and the deliverance of his oppressed people. But, first, as it was important to know how numerous these Danes were, and how they were fortified, king Alfred, being a good musician, disguised himself as a minstrel, and went, with his harp, to the Danish camp. He played and sang in the very tent of Guthrum the Danish leader, and entertained the Danes as they caroused. While he seemed to think of nothing but his music, he was watchful of their tents, their arms, their discipline, everything that he desired to know. And right soon did this great King entertain them to a different tune; for, summoning all his true followers to meet him at an appointed place, where they received him with joyful shouts and tears, as the monarch whom many of them had given up for lost or dead, he put himself at their head, marched on the Danish camp, defeated the Danes with great slaughter, and besieged them for fourteen days to prevent their escape. But, being as merciful as he was good and brave, he then, instead of killing them, proposed peace: on condition that they should altogether depart from that Western part of England, and settle in the East; and that Guthrum should become a Christian in remembrance of the

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Divine religion which now taught his conqueror, the noble Alfred, to forgive the enemy who had so often injured him. As great and good in peace, as he was great and good in war, King Alfred never rested from his labors to improve his people. He loved to talk with clever men, and with travellers from foreign countries, and to write down what they told him, for his people to read. He had studied Latin after learning to read English, and now another of his labors was, to translate Latin books into the English-Saxon tongue, that his people might be interested, and improved by their contents. He made just laws, that they might live more happily and freely; he turned away all partial judges, that no wrong might be done them; he was so careful of their property, and punished robbers so severely, that it was a common thing to say that under the great King Alfred, garlands of golden chains and jewels might have hung across the streets, and no man would have touched one. He founded schools; he patiently heard causes himself in his court of Justice; the great desires of his heart were, to do right to all his subjects, and to leave England better, wiser, happier in all ways, than he found it. His industry in these efforts was quite astonishing. Every day he divided into certain portions, and in each portion devoted himself to a certain pursuit. That he might divide his time exactly, he had wax torches or candles made, which were all of the same size, were notched across at regular distances, and were always kept burning. Thus, as the candles burnt down, he divided the day into notches, almost as accurately as we now divide it into hours upon the clock. All this time, he was afflicted with a terrible disease, which caused him violent and frequent pain that nothing could relieve. He bore it, as he had borne all the troubles of his life, like a brave good man, until he was fifty-three years old; and then, having reigned thirty years, he died. He died in the year nine hundred and one; but, long ago as that is, his fame, and the love and gratitude with which his subjects regarded him, are freshly remembered to the present hour. Klontercnann, Engl. Reader.

4

50

The Young Shepherd.

Questions. Who, at length, made head against the Danes? — Who joined them, and where did they make their camp? — What did Alfred do in order to get acquainted with the enemy's number and strength? — Of what was he watchful while he seemed to think of nothing but his music? — What did he do now? — How did his followers receive him? — How did they attack the Danes? — What did King Alfred do after the victory? - Where did he allow the Danes to settle? — Did Guthrum their leader become a Christian? — Was Alfred only g r e a t in w a r ? — With whom did he love to talk? — Why did he study Latin? — Did he make just laws? — Were not robbers severely punished? — What was a common saying under him? — What were the great desires of his heart? — How did he divide every day? — How did he manage to divide the time exactly? — W h e n did he die? 57.

The Young Shepherd.

Part I. In a large upper room, just under the flat roof of the house, sat a family at breakfast. They were round a rude wooden table, and they lay along on benches which were placed round its sides. A fine family they were to look on, that old venerable man and his eight sons. The three who were the nearest to their father looked like soldiers. They belonged to the king's own guard, and proud enough they were that they did so. There were no finer men in all the camp of Saul than these, when they went out after him in their shining armour, treading strongly on the ground, and making it rattle and shake under their brazen greaves. Now they sat unarmed like the rest round the table, eating the loaves and parched corn, and cheese and butter which their father had brought out of his stores, and the fresh honey in the honey-comb which their youngest brother had found in the wood. T h e old man looked happily round upon his sons, and perhaps his eye rested with an especial love upon his youngest ; for he was still a lad, not come to the height or strength of his brothers, and his long hair curled over his ruddy

The Young Shepherd.

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countenance, which looked fresh and clear as the dewy morning. A stranger would not much have noticed him amongst these strong fine men, his elder brothers; and they all despised him for his youth, and left him to take charge of their father's sheep. But there was One who did not despise him. There was One who looked on him with far more favour than on those proud and haughty soldiers, and that One was God. For this young lad had sought and found the God of his fathers. He was a holy youth — he loved to hear of God — he knew all the wonderful histories of his people of old, how God had chosen Abraham, and blessed Isaac, and preserved Jacob. He loved to hear of the time when in the far wilderness, Jacob had laid his head upon a stone to sleep, and God had sent him the beautiful visions of his holy angels coming up and down as on a ladder from the earth to heaven; on all these things he would think and ponder as he sat watching the sheep in the waste, and sometimes you might see his hands clasped together in earnest prayer to this great God of Abraham. Sometimes his eyes would fill with tears, which would run all down his cheeks as he thought of these deep things, and longed to know God more himself, and to see some of these wonderful and great sights which holy men before now had seen. Sometimes you might hear him playing on a little harp, which he loved so well that he seldom went to the far folds without it; and then he would sing to its music, and pour out the most holy and heavenly praises and psalms. God was teaching this shepherd all these holy songs, in which his full pure heart ran over when he praised and gave thanks unto his name. Questions. How many sons had the venerable old man who sat at the breakfast-table? — To whose guard did the elder three belong? — Why did the father's eye rest with especial love upon his youngest son? — What had he to take care of? — Did he know any of the wonderful histories of his people? — When would he think and ponder on all these things? — Why did his eyes sometimes fill with tears? — On what did he like to play?

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The Young Shepherd.

58.

The Young Shepherd.

Part II. Once when he was thus praising and thanking his God, he did find in a wonderful way that God was near unto him. It was the winter time, the snow lay upon the high grounds, and the wind roared and howled through the woods, making the tops of the cedar-trees bow and murmur like the waves of the sea, or the whispering of some great army in a place of many echoes. He had pent up his flock in a sheltered place, under the lee of a high wood, and as he sat watching them, and listening to the tossing trees, it seemed to him as if the voice of the wind and the murmur of the forest was a song of praise to the God of all. " I will not be silent," he said within himself, "whilst all things are praising the L o r d ; " so he took up his harp, and began to sing to the wild notes which it flung forth as his hand swept over it. Perhaps he sung as he once did, "Praise the Lord upon earth; ye dragons and all deeps; fire and hail, snow and vapour, wind and storms, fulfilling his word: mountains and all hills; fruitful trees and all cedars; beasts and all cattle . . . young men and maidens; old men and children; praise the name of the Lord, for his name only is excellent, and his praise above heaven and earth." (Ps. CXLVIII. 7—12.) Hardly had he finished the last words when he thought that he heard a roaring louder and nearer than that of the forest behind him, and looking up, he saw that a great lion and a savage bear, whom cold and hunger had brought from the mountain woods into the plain, were coming near the fold that he was keeping. It was a fearful sight to see those savage beasts drawing near to him. The lion crouching along the ground, its long tail stretched straight out behind it, its eyes fixed, and looking r e a d y ' t o spring upon him in a moment; the bear, too, with its heavy awkward trot, fierce red eyes, and shaggy head — this was a fearful sight to a lonely shepherd boy on a far hill-side. He might call as loud as he would, and no man would hear him or help him. But was he frightened? These thoughts you may be sure came fast into his mind as he looked at the fierce and evil beasts; but be was not frightened, for other thoughts came

The Ravens in the Famine.

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with them. It came into his mind, as if God had sent the thought, that though no man was there, yet that he was not alone; that God was very nigh to him, and that never was he so little alone as when all men were afar off, and God was near him. So he lifted up his heart to God and said, " 0 Lord God of Abraham, be nigh unto thy servant that prayeth," and then with a great shout he rushed upon the beasts with no more than his shepherd's staff. And God was with him of a truth, and so mightily was he strengthened, that he seized the beasts by the beard, and slew them in the strength of the God of all. Then he blessed and praised the Lord. But he made no vaunt of what he had done; only he stored the thought of it up in his heart; and many times afterward, when danger threatened him, he said within himself, "The Lord which delivered me out of the paw of the lion, and out of the paw of the bear, He will deliver me." Qu e s t i o n s . Where did he once take his flock for shelter in the winter? — What did he sing to his harp? — When he had finished singing what did he see, on looking up? — Why was he not afraid? — AVhat did he pray to God? — Did he slay the beasts? — Afterwards when danger threatened him, what did he say within himself? 59. The Ravens in the Famine.

The spring time was come, and the birds had all built their nests, and sat upon their smooth round eggs till they had hatched them; and now they were busy flying here and there, and running along the ground, some picking up seeds, and some catching flies, and some seizing every worm which put his head above the damp ground; and all carrying them off as fast as possible to feed their young-ones, as they were taught to do by the instinct which God Almighty had given them. It was a busy, happy scene. Cheerful too it was to the ear as well as to the eye; for sometimes they stopped from their labour to sing a song of praise to the good God who has made this happy world.

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The Ravens iu the Famine.

Amongst these birds were two great black ones called Ravens. These flew to a town a long way off, and there they lighted by a great shop, where a man was busy selling bread and meat to the people who came to buy. The man threw them each a lump of bread and a piece of meat for the sport of the people round, and the birds took them in their strong beaks, and flew straight away with them; and the people clapped their hands and shouted. But they were all surprised when just at night the same birds camc again to the same place and seemed to ask for more, and then flew away with what was given them, just as they had done in the morning. The next day they came again as soon as the shop was open, and when they had got what they wanted, away they flew with it, and were seen no more till night, and then again they only stayed till some bread and meat was given them, and then nobody saw more of them. Many persons tried to watch them; they must have, it was thought, some great nest near, and they took all this with them to feed their nestlings. But where do you think the Ravens were flying to? They flew over all the land till they came to a cave in the side of a high sandy hill, and if you could have looked into that cave you would have seen, not a nest of young Ravens, but one man sitting, or standing, or kneeling by the side of a little brook that rose high up in the cave, and sunk just below in the thirsty land, so that no one else knew of it. Perhaps you might have seen this good man kneeling down and lifting up his hands towards the sky, and saying, " 0 Lord God, who hath kept mo hitherto, and ordered the wild Ravens to feed me, take Thou care of me this day, for Thou art my God, and I am thy servant". And then the mouth of the cave was darkened for a moment; it was by the wings of the great Ravens, as they flew in and laid down the meat and the bread before the good man's feet; and he would rise and gather a few dry sticks to dress the meat at the cave's mouth and drink some of the clear spring water, and then kneel down again to thank his God who had taught the Ravens to fly all over a country where everything was dry and burnt up for want of rain, and bring it to him in this lonely cave.

The Children of Langdale Pikes.

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It was the prophet Elijah who was thus fed by RavenB near the brook Gherith. God thus took care of him, because he was his faithful servant. Questions. What pleasant time of year had come? — Why did the birds sometimes stop from their labour? — Where did two large Ravens fly to? — Did the man give them any bread and meat? — Where did they fly to with the bread and meat? — If you could have looked into that cave, would you have seen a nest of young ltavens? — Who was the man thus fed by Ravens? — Why did God thus take care of him? 60.

The Children of Langdale Pikes. P a r t I.

In one of the little valleys which run, here and there, among the hills in the north of England, called Langdale Pikes, near the English Lakes, which you will see far up on the map, there stood a cottage which used to be the home of an honest old soldier, called George Green, who had taken the mountain farm round it. His wife was a busy, neathanded woman, who kept the cottage nicely clean, and in the best order, and sent her children, tidily dressed, down the long wild mountain paths to school at Grasmere, which lay at the foot of the hills, as regularly as the weather allowed. In the winter of 1807, there was to be a sale of furniture at a farm-house at Langdale Head, which lay about six miles from the cottage, and was reached by a dangerous winding path over the high mountains that rose on every side. Sales are times of great interest to the simple people of these hills, and are attended by all who can get to them, even from a good many miles distance. Old friends meet at them who scarcely ever see each other except at such gatherings; neighbours settle their business with each other; and a great deal of kindly feeling is drawn out between all the country side. To this sale George and Sarah Green set out early on a clear winter day, leaving their cottage and their five little children in charge of the eldest girl, named Agnes, who was about nine years old. There were none but the

56

The Children of Langdale Pikes.

six young creatures in the house, and no neighbour nearer than at Grasmere, far away at the foot of the hills. Agnes was, however, a womanly little girl, and took her mother's place with wonderful sedateness and thoughtful care. The day was very fine, but, as often happens in the hills," it grew stormy towards night. The mist came down on the mountains, and the air moaned and sobbed with a gathering storm. The children every now and then wondered when their father and mother would be back, but they could not see far, for the mist grew thicker, and snow began to fall as it grew dark. Agnes gave the others their humble supper of oatmeal porridge and milk, and they stayed waiting and watching, and thinking every sound was the voice or the footstep of their father or mother. But one hour passed after another, and they did not come. The snow meanwhile kept falling, and began to drive up against the doors and windows so as to hinder them from going or looking out. The little ones began to be very much afraid, but Agnes cheered them as well as she could. Still they fretted all the time, and crept close to the fire of peat on the hearth. After a time she put the two youngest who were twins, in their cradle, and sat up with the others, two boys, and a sister, till twelve o'clock — then heard them, one by one, say their prayers, and after saying her own, she and they lay down to sleep. Morning came, but no father or mother, and the snow was falling faster than ever, so that they were almost shut in. Still Agnes did not lose hope. She fancied her father and mother might have taken shelter through the night in some sheep-fold, or that they might never have set out for home, when they saw the snow falling. She made all the children say their prayers, and gave them their breakfast, thinking as she did so that her mother must know how little was in the house, and that she would be sure to come home with more, as soon as she could. She wanted to go down to Grasmere to ask if anything had been heard there, but the snow had swollen the brook so that she could not cross it, and it ran too fast for her to wade it. She said, afterwards, that the loneliness and the wild winter outside frightened her, but that, yet, she

The Children of Langdale Pikes.

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thought that if she could not get out, so no one could get to her or the children to do them any harm, and she set herself to do what she could for her little household. Questions. Who lived in a cottage at Langdale Pikes? — Who kept the cottage nice and clean and sent the children to school at Grasmere?— In the winter of 1807 what was there to be? — Did George and Sarah Green go to the sale? — Whom did they leave at home? — Towards night what came on? — When their parents did not return what did Agnes do? — Were the little ones afraid ? — Who cheered them ? — How long did she sit up with her brothers and sister? — Did their father and mother come in the morning? 61. The Children of Langdale Pikes. Part II. First she wound up the clock, for she liked to hear it, and wanted to keep everything right, by knowing the time; then she took what milk was in the house and scalded it, to prevent its turning sour; then she made porridge for breakfast, but there was so little meal that she had to give less than their usual share to all except the twin babies, and to keep the others quiet she had to make cakes, on the hearth, of a little flour she found. The snow was falling all this time, and lay so deep that she began to fear they would soon not be able to get to the peat stack; so she next got as much pulled out and brought in, with the help of the two boys, as would serve a week. She only took enough potatoes into the house, however, as would do for a single meal, for fear the heat of the cottage would spoil them. After this, she milked the cow, which was half starved, and needed more hay. She and the boys set to work therefore to throw down enough out of the loft to give her her supper; but it was hard work for such little creatures, and it grew dark before they had got as much as the cow needed. It was now time for supper — then the twins had to be sung to sleep; then she and the other three sat down by the fire, to listen, for a second night, if they could not hear the dear ones coming. At midnight, no father and mother had come, and again she went to bed, to wake amidst still falling snow.

53

The Children of Langdale Pikes.

It seemed hard to hope any longer, for if they were living, surely one or the other would have come to their children by this time. The third day passed in weary slowness, lightened by Agnes making the little ones say their prayers aloud, by turns. By the following morning the snow was over, and the wind was changed. The little boys set out with Agnes and went as far as the ridge of the hill; but the way was long and unsafe for small children, and Agnes sent them back, while she made her way alone to the house nearest in Grasmere. She knocked at the door and was made kindly welcome, but no sooner did she ask for her father and mother than smiles turned to looks of pity and dismay. In half an hour the news that George and Sarah Green were missing had spread through the valley, and sixty strong men had met at the hamlet to seek for them. The last that was known of them was, that after the sale some of their friends had advised them not to try the dangerous path so late; but when they had gone no one knew. Day after day the search was continued. But for three, or, some say, five days, no sign of the lost ones was found. At last dogs were used, and they led the seekers far away from the path, until a loud shout from the top of a steep precipice told that the missing ones were discovered. There lay Sarah Green, wrapped in her husband's greatcoat, of course, quite dead, and at the foot of the rock his body was found, in a posture that seemed to show that he had been killed by the fall. The neighbours thought that the mist and snow must have bewildered them till they had wandered thus far in the darkness, and that George had been making a few steps forward to make out the road when the fall took place, but that his wife, perhaps unconscious of his fall, stood still where he had left her, uttering those sad cries that had been so little regarded at Langdale, until she was unable to move and was benumbed by the cold, and had sunk down to die. The two were buried in St. Osward's churchyard at Kirktown. — The brave little girl, keeping her patient watch and guard over the five younger ones, and setting out on her lonely way through the snow, told the history of thig calm, resolute, trustful waiting time to Dorothy Wordsworth,

The Man in the Dungeon.

5»

the sister of the poet, and simple as it is, we think our readers will own it as truly worthy to be counted among "Golden Deeds." Even to this day her brave conduct is spoken of among the hills. Questions. What did Agnes give the children to keep them quiet? — Was the snow still falling? — Did the father and mother return on the second or third d a y ? — When the storm was over where did Agnes go? — Who set out to seek the missing ones? — Where were they discovered? — To whom did Agnes tell the history of this resolute waiting time? — Is her brave conduct still spoken of? 62.

The Man in the Dungeon.

Part I. There was a deep dungeon — its walls were all green and stained with the damp which had long hung on them; its floor was made of cold rough stones. It had one small window, across which were thick iron bars, and it was so narrow and so high up, that hardly any light came from it to the floor. It was night, and all was quite still and silent there: even in the day, no cheerful sound came into that sad place; not even a bird's song was ever heard there; scarcely even a fly could ever be seen in it; but now it was night, and dark, and silent, except when now and then the moving of chains was heard on that dungeon's floor. For a man was lying there chained, by chains which went round his wrists. But his chains made no noise now, for he was lying still: he was asleep; sleeping as quietly, and breathing as gently as if he were a child. How could he be sleeping so gently? Did he know where he was? Yes, he well knew; and he knew too, that when the sun rose the next morning, and woke so many persons all around him to their daily work, or to their daily pleasures, that it would see him led out of that prison to be put to a cruel death; for that the very next morning he was to be killed. Then surely he must have been some very wicked man; for why else should he be in that dungeon, and why else should .he be about to be killed? You would the more have thought

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The Man in the Dungeon.

so if you could have seen all; for you would have seen that he was chained to two soldiers, who lay on each side of him, with their weapons ready to slay him if he were to move. Fierce, evil-looking men they were, of dark and savage faces; they were asleep, but even in their sleep they looked angry and cruel. The gate of the dungeon too was barred and locked, and there were four other soldiers asleep outside it; and beyond them again was a great iron gate fast closed, so that surely he must be a very wicked and desperate man, whom they are guarding with this strength and care. And yet, if you could look into his face, you would see him sleeping quietly and calmly. A little child upon the knees of his mother could hardly sleep more gently. And could he sleep so if he were indeed a wicked man? Could his conscience be asleep when he was thus deep in the dungeon, and death coming so near to him? No donbt he could not; no doubt that his sleep could not have been what it was, nnless God had been with him there; for he was a holy man, one who did indeed love God, one who had followed Jesus Christ when He lived upon this earth, and whom with eleven others Jesus Christ had trusted to govern his church, now that He had ascended into heaven. He had been thrown into that dungeon, because he loved Jesus Christ, and believed in Him, and would speak about Him among people who hated Him; and so their wicked king had laid hold on him, and cast him into this dungeon, and was about to put him to death the very next day. He seemed now given over, for no one else was to be seen in that dungeon, but the poor man in chains, and the fierce soldiers to whom he was bound. But there was another there; there was one who watched over him; who kept him from all harm; who gave him that sweet sleep; who heard when he prayed, and was ever ready to help him — Jesus Christ was there. Questions. Describe the place of which our story speaks? — Who was lying in that deep dungeon? — Did he know where he was? — What did he know besides? — To whom was he chained? — Was he sleeping quietly? — Why had he been thrown into the dungeon? — Who gave him that sweet sleep? —

The Man in the Dungeon.

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63. The Man in ihe Dungeon. Part II. There was in that town another room, not a very large one, and yet there were many persons in it. It was now late at night, but still they stayed there. There were some men and some women — what are they doing? They were praying to God, calling on the name of Jesus Christ, begging Him to save His servant Peter, and not to let him, like St. James, be put to death by Herod. They prayed very earnestly, and no doubt their prayers were heard. Perhaps it is as an answer to their prayers, that the chained prisoner sleeps so peacefully; for he looks as if some happy vision or dream came to him as he slept. Perhaps he is dreaming of the time when he was a boy, and went with his father upon the lake of Genneseret as a fisherman. Perhaps he dreams of the first time he went: how pleased he was to go, how the bright moon shone, and the little waves rippled round the boat, as it shot with its dark shadow through the moonlight, and left a troubled path on the waters where it passed. Is that his father's voice calling him? Is that the moonlight round him? Sec, he starts in his sleep and opens his eyes; he looks like a man who hardly knows whether he is well awake, or still in a dream. What is the light around him? There was never moonlight in the dungeon, and he is there and not by the sea of Galilee. And what is this light, brighter, and yet softer far than any moonlight? It is so clear, that he can see every corner of the dungeon, and yet so mild that it does not dazzle his eyes, which had been so long in the darkness. And what is that voice which says to him, "Arise up, quickly", as kind as his father's in his dream, and yet a real sounding voice? The soldiers too beside him, why do they sleep on? He looks up, and he sees a form he knows not. Is it one of God's angels? the light seems to beam from him: either he must be a holy angel, or all this is a beautiful dream. But he does as the voice bids him; he rises up, and the chains fall off from his hands; they clanked and rung as they fell upon the ground, but the soldiers did not stir: the hand of one of them was upon the hilt of his sword; in a moment surely it would be drawn, and Peter slain: but no, the fierce man slept on,

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The Prince p.nd the Judge.

and Peter bound on his sandals, and followed the angel. He passed the first gate, for it opened for them; the keepers lay around it, but no man stirred, and it shut again behind them. They came to the second; it too is left behind. Surely it must be a dream. But now they stand before the iron gate; its heavy weight hangs always stiffly on its rusty hinges, and many men can only just slowly and scarcely force it open with a great creaking and noise. It too opens of its own accord, and they pass through into the open air. It was a very pleasant feeling; that first breath of the open summer night-breeze upon Peter's forehead, which had grown damp and cold in the dark wet dungeon. Surely it must be more than a dream. He looked round for the angel who brought him forth, but he was gone. Gone as he came, unseen and unknown by man, save when God would have him seen. Perhaps he stood near him still, though he could be seen no longer. Peter stands doubtful for a moment. Then all the truth comes surely on his mind, and he knew that "the Lord had sent His angel, and delivered him out of the hands of Herod, and from all the expectation of the people of the Jews." And he went to that room where the servants of the Lord were together praying, and they would scarcely believe when they heard that Peter was there. But he went in and told them what great things the Lord had done for him; and he and they feared the Lord together, «and trusted in Him more and more. Questions. What were some men and women doing in another room in the same town? — How did the prisoner look as he slept? — Of what happy time was he perhaps dreaming? — When he opened his eyes what did he see? — Did he obey the voice that bade him rise up? — Did the soldiers wake? — Was the angel still there when Peter had left the prison? — To whom did he go, and what did he tell them? 64. The Prince and the Judge. Henry V. was as brave a king as ever sat on the English throne, and gained one of the greatest victories* ever won by English soldiers. * Agincourt 1415.

The Prince and the Jndge.

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But when he was Prince of Wales, he was a very wild and riotous youth. He mixed with low companions, who led him to do many base and foolish acts, quite unworthy of a Prince. On one occasion, one of his friends was tried for some offence before the Lord Chief Justice. He was found guilty, and was ordered to be sent to prison. When the Prince, who was in the court, heard the sentence, he fell into a great rage. He spoke very rudely to the Judge, and commanded him to let his friend off. "Prison," he said, "is no place for a Prince's friend. I am Prince of Wales, and I forbid you to send this man to prison, like a common thief." "Prince or no Prince," replied the Judge, "you have no right to speak thus to the King's Judge. I have sworn to do justice; and justice I shall do." The Prince, getting more enraged, then tried to set the prisoner free himself. But the Judge told him it was none of his business, and ordered him to cease from such riot in court. The calmness with which the Judge spoke made the Prince still more angry; and he rushed up to the bench, and struck the Judge a severe blow on the facel For this, the Judge ordered the officers of the court to seize the Prince and take him to prison with his friend. "I do this," he said, "not because he has done me harm, but because he has insulted the honour of the law." Turning again to the Prince, he added, "Young man, you will one day be King. How can you expect your subjects to obey you then, if you yourself thus disobey the King's laws now?" On hearing this, the Prince was very much ashamed of himself. He had not a word to say; but, laying down his sword, he bowed to the Judge, and walked quietly off to prison. When the King (Henry IV) heard of this incident, he said, "Happy is the King that has a Judge, who so fearlessly enforces the laws, and a son, who knows how to submit to them." Shortly after this Prince had been crowned King, many

64

The Duke and the Cow-boy.

of his people came to pay their respects to him. Some of those who knew how wild he had been as a young man, were anxious to know how he would act as King. Among the rest came some of his former riotous companions, expecting no doubt, to be made at once the King's chief favourites. But they were mistaken. The KiDg told them that he had given up his foolish ways, and advised them to do the same. Nor would he let them come about his person, until they had shown that they had learned better manners. The Judge also came, not knowing how he would be received. He feared that he might lose his office; but he did not care, as he had only done his duty. He also was mistaken. The King received him very kindly, and thanked him for the sharp lesson he had given him. He told him still to keep the office which he had so worthily filled. "If ever," said the King, "I have a son who shall behave as I did to you, may I have a Judge as bold and faithful as you to correct him." Questions. What sort of youth was Henry V when he was Prince of Wales? — What sort of companions did he mix with? — What did the Prince say when one of them was sent to prison? — What did the Judge reply? — What did the Prince then try to do? — When the Judge told him, it was none of his business, what did he do to him? — What did the Judge then order? — How did the Prince then behave? — What did the King say, when he heard of this? — How did the Prince treat his former companions when he became King? — How did he treat the Judge? 65.

The Duke and the Cow-boy,

A Scotch nobleman, who was very fond of farming, had bought a cow from a gentleman who lived near him. The cow was to be sent home next morning. Early in the morning, as the duke was taking a walk, he saw a boy trying in vain to drive the cow to his house. The cow was very unruly, and the poor boy could not manage her at all.

65

The Duke and the Cow-boy.

The boy, not knowing the duke, bawled out to him, "Hallo, man! come here and help me with this beast." The duke walked slowly on, not seeming to notice the boy, who still kept calling for his help. At last, finding that he could not get on with the cow, he cried out in distress, "Come here, man, and help me, and I'll give you half of whatever I get." The duke went, and lent a helping hand. "And now," said the duke, as they trudged along after the cow, "how much do you think you will get for the job?" "I don't know," said the boy; "but I am sure of something, for the folk up at the big house are good to everybody." On coming to a lane near the house, the duke slipped away from the boy, and reached home, by a different road. Calling a servant, he put a sovereign* into his hand, saying, "Give that to the boy who brought the cow." He then returned to the end of the lane, where he had parted from the boy, so as to meet him on his way back. "Well, how much did you get?" asked the duke. "A shilling," said the boy; "and here's half of it for you." "But surely you got more than a shilling?" said the duke. "No," said the boy, "that is all I got; and I think it quite enough." "I do not," said the duke; "there must be something wrong; and as I am a friend of the duke, if you return, I think I'll see that you get more." They went back. The duke rang the bell, and ordered all the servants to be assembled. "Now," said the duke to the boy, "point me out the person who gave you the shilling." "It was that man there," said he, pointing to the butler. The butler fell on his knees, confessed his fault, and begged to be forgiven; but the duke ordered him to give the boy the sovereign, and quit his service at once. "You have lost," said the duke, "both your place and your character, by your deceit. Learn for the future that honesty is the best policy." The boy now found out who it was that had helped him to drive the cow; and the duke was so pleased with * "sovereign" a gold coin worth 20 shillings.

Klostermann, Engl. Reader.

5

66

Who lighted the Lamps?

the manliness and honesty of the boy, that he sent him to school, and paid for him out of his own pocket. Questions. What did a Scotch nobleman buy? — Who tried in vain to drive the cow? — Who was looking on? — What did the boy ask of him? — What did he promise him? — Did he help him? — How much did the boy give him afterwards? — Who had cheated the boy? — How was he punished? — How was the boy treated? 66. Who lighted the Lamps? Upon the rocky coast of Cornwall there stood some years ago a light-house. It was of great use to sailors in guiding them in dark and stormy nights, and saved many a ship from being dashed to pieces on the rocks. The light-house was kept by a man and his little girl, and was so placed upon the rocks, that at low water, you could walk from it to the shore; but at high water no one could get to it, as no ship could ride in safety among the breakers and the rocks. One day the good man had gone on shore, leaving his little girl alone in the light-house, when some bad men, called wreckers, seized him, and kept him from going back to light his lamps, in the hope that some ships might be driven upon the rocks, when they would reap the spoil. They kept him till long after the tide came in. At last they let him go, and he stood upon the shore very sad. The night was very dark and stormy, and the waves lashed in fury around the light-house, but the lantern at its top was yet dark. When the little girl saw that her father did not return, she was very sad. She looked over the dark and stormy sea, and saw some ships in the distance. She knew that unless the lamps were lighted, the ships would most likely be wrecked. In her distress she knelt down and prayed to God to help her in her trouble. She then walked up into the lantern at the top of the light-house, and tried to light the lamps, but she was far too little to reach them. Down stairs she went, and with great toil took up a table, on which she stood; but still she could not reach the

Ready Wit.

67

lamps. Looking about for something else to stand on, her eye fell on her mother's large Bible. She took it up, and placed it on the table. She did not like to stand upon the Bible, but nothing else could be found, so she mounted upon the Book, and standing tip-toe on it, she found she could just reach the lamps. In a minute all the lamps were lighted, and their bright rays shot far across the dark and stormy sea, to the joy of the sailors, the surprise of her father, and the shame and grief of the wreckers. At the same time her father cried out, "Who lighted the lamps?" Questions. Where did alight-house stand? — To whom was it of great use? — By whom was it kept? — What happened one day to the good man? — Why did the wreckers keep him from going back to light the lamps? — What did the little girl do when she saw that her father could not return? — Could she reach the lamps? — What did she do next? — What book did she place on the table? — Who was surprised to see the bright rays of the lamps? 67. Ready Wit. After hard toil for many weeks, the tall chimney of a new factory was built up. The men put the last stroke to their work, and came down as fast as they could. In his haste, the last but one drew the rope out of the pulley. They saw one man left at the top, with no means of coming down. What could be done? There was no scaffold, and no ladder would reach half the height. They all stood in silence to look up at their lonely friend on the top. Just then his wife came by, and, with quick thought and good sense, she was able to save her husband. "John," she called out with all her strength, "rove your stocking: begin at the toe." He knew at once what she meant, and drawing off his stocking —• no doubt knit by his wife — cut off the end and soon set free the thread. He roved a long piece, and to this he tied a little bit of brick, and gently let it down for eager hands, to reach.

68

TumiDg the Grindstone.

Meantime his wife had brought a ball of small twine, which was made fast to the worsted. With a shout, they told John to pull up again. He did so, and they heard the words, "I have it." The pulley rope was then made fast to the twine. — With a glad heart John drew it up, put it over the pulley; then taking up the rest of the stocking, which was to him a keep-sake for life, he let himself down as the other men had done, till he reached the ground in safety. Questions. What was built up? — When did the men come down? — Who drew the rope out of the pulley? — Who was able to save the poor man? — What did she call out? — What was made fast to the worsted? — And what to the twine? — Did he take up the rest of the stocking? — Did he reach the ground in safety? 68. Turning the Grindstone.

(Benjamin Franklin).

When I was a little boy, I remember one cold winter's morning I was accosted by a smiling man with an axe on his shoulder. "My pretty boy," said he, "has your father a grindstone?" "Yes, sir," said I. "You are a fine little fellow," said he; "will you let me grind my axe on it?" Pleased with this compliment of "fine little fellow." "Oh, yes, sir," I answered, "it is down in the shop." "And will you, my man," said he, patting me on the head, "get a little hot water?" How could I refuse? I ran and soon brought a kettleful. "How old are you, and what's your name?" continued he, without waiting for a reply. "I am sure you are one of the finest lads that I have ever seen. Will you just turn a few minutes for me?" Tickled with the flattery, like a fool I went to work, and bitterly did I rue the day. It was a new axe, and I toiled and tugged till I was almost tired to death. The school-bell rang, and I could not get away; my hands were blistered, and it was not half ground. At length, however, the axe was sharpened, and the man turned to me with, "Now you little rascal, you've played the truant; scud to school, or you'll rue it." Alas! thought I, it was hard enough to turn a grindstone this cold

The Traveller's Refurn.

69

day, but now to be called a little rascal was too much. It sank deep in my mind, and often have I thought of it since. When I see a merchant over polite to his customers — begging them to take a little brandy, and throwing his goods on the counter — I think, that man has an axe to grind. When I see a man flattering the people, — making great professions of attachment to liberty, who is in private life a tyrant — methinks, look out, good people; that fellow would set you turning grindstones. When I see a man hoisted into office by party spirit — without a single qualification to render him cither respectable or useful — alas! methinks, deluded people, you are doomed for a season to turn the grindstone-for a booby. Questions. Who accosted Benjamin Franklin when he was a little boy? — What did the stranger say?— What did he wish to grind? — Who was to help himV —Did the boy like to do so? — Why not? — What did the man say when his axe was sharpened? — What sank deep into the boy's mind? — When would he think of it afterwards? 69.

The Traveller's Return.

(Robert Southey).

Sweet to the morning traveller The song amid the sky, Where, twinkling in the dewy light, The skylark soars on high. And cheering to the traveller The gales that round him play, When faint and heavily he drags Along his noontide way. And when beneath the unclouded sun Full wearily toils he, The flowing water makes to him A soothing melody. And when the evening light decays, And all is calm around,

70

A Farewell. The Village Blacksmith.

There is sweet music to his ear In the distant sheep-bell's soand. Bat 0 ! of all delightful sounds Of evening or of morn, The sweetest is the voice of love That welcomes his return.

70.

A Farewell.

(Robert Burns),

Go fetch to me a pint o' 1 wine, An' 8 fill it in a silver tassie"; That I may drink before I go A service * to my bonnie lassie: The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, Fu 1 6 loud the wind blaws * f r a e 7 the Ferry, The ship rides by the Berwick-law, And I maun 8 lea'e* my bonnie Mary. The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The glittering spears are ranked ready; The shouts o1 war are heard afar, The battle closes thick and bloody: But it's not the roar o' sea or shore Wad 1 0 make me langer 1 1 wish to tarry; Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar — It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.

71. The Village Blacksmith.

(Henry Longfellow).

Under a spreading chestnut tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large aud sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. 1

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10

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health longer.

4

full

• blows

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The Village Blacksmith.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long, His face is like the tan; His brow is wet with honest sweat, He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man. Week in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, With measured beat and slow, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, When the evening sun is low. And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor. He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys; He hears the parson pray and preach, He hears his daughter's voice Singing in the village choir, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes. Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose,

71

72 An Old English Song. Words to think about every Day. Somo murmur.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought! 72.

An Old English Song. (John Heywood).

Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day, With night we banish sorrow; Sweet air, blow soft, mount, lark, aloft, To give my love good-morrow! Wings from the wind to please her mind, Notes from the lark I'll borrow; Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale, sing, To give my love good-morrow! To give my love good-morrow Notes from them both I'll borrow. Wake from thy nest, robin-redbreast, Sing, birds, in every furrow; And from each hill let music shrill Give my fair love good-morrow! Blackbird and thrush in every bush, Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow! You pretty elves, amongst yourselves, Sing my fair love good-morrow! Sing, birds, in every furrow! 73. Words to think about every Day. Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it be right. A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches. 74. Some murmur. (Archbishop Trench). Some murmur, when their sky is clear, And wholly bright to view, If one small speck of dark appear In their great heaven of blue;

Lines from Thomas Moore. Home, Sweet Home.

73

And some with thankful love are filled If but one streak of light, One ray of God's good mercy, gild The darkness of their night. In palaces are hearts that ask, In discontent and pride, Why life is such a dreary task, And all good things denied? And hearts in poorest huts admire How love has in their aid (Love that not ever seems to tire) Such rich provision made. 75. Lines from Thomas Moore. Sunshine broken in the rill, Though turned aside, is sunshine still. Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot lical. 76.

Home, Sweet Home.

(Payne).

'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home! A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, sought through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere Home! home! sweet home! There's no place like home! I gaze on the moon as I trace the drear wild, And I feel that my parents now think of their child. They look on that moon from their own cottage door, Through woodbines whose fragrance will charm mc no more. Home! home! sweet home! There's no place like home! An exile from home, splendour dazzles in vain: Oh, give me my lowly-thatched cottage again; The bird singing gaily that came at my call, Give me these, and the peace of mind dearer than all. Home! sweet, sweet home! There's no place like home!

74

The Linnet Choir. In tlie Stage Coach.

77. The Linnet Choir.

(Capern).

A linnet choir sang in a chestnut crown, A hundred, perhaps, or more, — Till the stream of their song ran warbling down And entered a cottage door; And this was the burden of their lay, As they piped in the yellow tree: — "I love my sweet little lady-bird, And I know that she loves me: Chip, chip, cherry chip, cherry, cherry, cherry chip! We linnets are a merry band, A happy company." It chanced a poet passed that way, With a quick and merry thought, And, listening to the roundelay, His ear their language caught: Quoth he, as he heard the minstrels sing, "What heavenly harmony! I shall steal that song and carry it home To my dear family — Chip, chip, cherry chip, cherry, cherry, cherry chip!" And that song they sing now every eve, His children, their mother and he. 78.

In the Stage Coach.

(From the Sketch Book .of W a s h i n g t o n I r v i n g ) .

In the course of a December tour in Yorkshire, I rode for a long distance in one of the public coaches, on the day preceding Christmas. The coach was crowded, both inside and out, with passengers, who, by their talk, seemed principally bound for the mansions of relations or friends, to eat the Christmas dinner. It was loaded also with hampers of game, and baskets and boxes of delicacies; and bares hung dangling their long ears about the coachman's box, — presents from distant friends for the impending feast. I had three fine rosy-cheeked schoolboys for. my fellow-passengers inside, full of the buxom health and manly spirit which I

In the Stage Coach.

75

have observed in the children of this country. They were returning home for the holidays in high glee, and promising themselves a world of enjoyment. It was delightful to hear the gigantic plans of pleasure of the little rogues, and the impracticable feats they were to perform during their six weeks' emancipation from the thraldom of book and birch. They were full of anticipations of the meeting with the family and household, down to the very cat and dog; and of the joy they were to give their little sisters by the presents with which their pockets were crammed; but the meeting to which they seemed to look forward with the greatest impatience was with Bantam, which I found to be a pony, and, according to their talk, possessed of more virtues than any steed since the days of Bucephalus. How he could trot! how he could run! and then such leaps as he would take — there was not a hedge in the whole country that he conld not clear. They were under the particular guardianship of the coachman, to whom, whenever an opportunity presented, they addressed a host of questions, and pronounced him one of the best fellows in the whole world. Indeed, I coiild not but notice the more than ordinary air of bustle and importance of the coachman, who wore his hat a little on one side, and had a large bunch of Christmas greens stuck in the buttonhole of his coat. He is always a personage full of mighty care and business, but he is particularly so during this season, having so many commissions to execute in consequence of the great interchange of presents. My little travelling companions had been looking out of the coach windows for the last few miles, recognising every tree and cottage as they approached home, and now there was a general burst of joy — "There's John! and there's old Carlo; and there's Bantam!" cried the happy little rogues, clapping their hands. At the end of a lane there was an old sober-looking servant in livery waiting for them: lie was accompanied by a superannuated pointer, and by.the redoutable Bantam, a little old rat of a pony, with a shaggy mane and long rusty tail, who stood .dozing quietly by the road-side, little dreaming of the bustling times that awaited him.

76

The Battle of Hastings.

I was pleased to see the fondness with which the little fellows leaped about the steady old footman, and hugged the pointer, who wriggled his whole body for joy. But Bantam was the great object of interest; all wanted to mount at once; and it was with some difficulty that John arranged that they should ride by turns, and the eldest should ride first. Off they set at last; one on the pony, with the dog bounding and barking before him, and the others holding John's hands; both talking at once, and overpowering him with questions about home, and with school anecdotes. I looked after them with a feeling in which I do not know whether pleasure or melancholy predominated: for I was reminded of those days when, like them, I had neither known care nor sorrow, and a holiday was the summit of earthly felicity. We stopped a few moments afterwards to water the horses, and on resuming our route, a turn of the road brought us in sight of a neat country-seat. I could just distinguish the forms of a lady and two young girls in the portico, and I saw my little comrades with Bantam, Carlo, and old John, trooping along the carriage-road. I leaned out of the coachwindow, in hopes of witnessing the happy meeting, but a grove of trees shut it from my sight. Questions. When did Washington Irving ride for a long distance in a public coach? — Who were his three fellow-passengers? — What meeting were they looking forward to with great pleasure? — What were their pockets crammed with ? — W h o stood waiting for them at the end of a lane? — What was the name of their favourite pony? — H o w did they go home? — Where did Washington Irving see a lady and two little girls standing? 79.

The Battle Of Hastings. (Charles Dickens). Part I.

Harold was crowned king of England on the very day of Edward the Confessor's funeral. When the news reached Norman William, hunting in his park at Rouen, he dropped his bow, returned to his palace, called« his nobles to council, and presently sent ambassadors to Harold, calling on him to

The Sattle of Hastingst

77

keep liis oath, and resign the crown. Harold would do no such thing. The barons of France leagued together round Duke William for the invasion of England. Duke William promised freely to distribute English wealth and English lands among them. The Pope sent to Normandy a consecrated banner, and a ring containing a hair which he warranted to have grown on the head of St. Peter! He blessed the enterprise, and cursed Harold, and requested that the Normans would pay "Peter's pence" — or a tax to himself of a penny a year on every house — a little more regularly in future, if they could make it convenient. King Harold had a rebel brother in Flanders, who was a vassal of Harold Hardrada, King of Norway. This brother and the Norwegian king, joining their forces against England, with Duke William's help won a fight, in which the English were commanded by two nobles, and then besieged York. Harold, who was waiting for the Normans on the coast of Hastings, with his army, marched to Stamford Bridge, upon the river Derwent, to give his brother and the Norwegians instant battle. He found them drawn up in a hollow circle, marked out by their shining spears. Riding round this circle at a distance, to survey it, he saw a brave figure on horseback, in a blue mantle and a bright helmet, whose horse suddenly stumbled and threw him. "Who is that man who has fallen?" Harold asked of one of his captains. "The king of Norway," he replied. "He is- a tall and stately king," said Harold, "but his end is near." He added, in a little while — "Go yonder to my brother, and tell him if he withdraw his troops he shall be Earl of Northumberland, and rich and powerful in England." The captain rode away and gave the message. "What will he give to my friend the King of Norway?" asked the brother. "Seven feet of earth for a grave," replied the captain. "No more?" replied the brother, with a smile. "The king of Norway being a tall man, perhaps a little more," replied the captain.

78

The Battle of Hastings.

"Ride back," said the brother, "and tell King Harold to make ready for fhe fight!" He did so very soon. And such a fight King Harold led against that force, that his brother, the Norwegian king, and every chief of note in all their host, except the Norwegian king's son, Olave, to whom he gave honourable dismissal, were left dead upon the field. The victorious army marched to York. As King Harold sat there at the feast, in the midst of all his company, a stir was heard at the doors, and messengers, all covered with mire from riding far and fast through broken ground, came hurrying in to report that the Normans had landed in England. Questions. When was king Harold crowned? — Where was Norman William when this news reached him? — Did Harold resign the crown, when desired to do so by the ambassadors sent by William? — What did William promise to the barons of France? — What is Peter's pence? — What passed between Harold and the king of Norway? — Who won the battle? — Where did the victorious army march to?

80. The Battle of Hastings. Part. II. The intelligence was true. They had been tossed about by contrary winds, and some of their ships had been wrecked. A part of their own shore, to which they had been driven back, was strewn with Norman bodies. But they had once more made sail, led by the Duke's own galley, a present from his wife, upon the prow whereof the figure of a golden boy stood pointing towards England. By day, the banner of the three lions of Normandy, the diverse coloured sails, the gilded vanes, the many decorations of this gorgeous ship, had glittered in the sun and sunny water; by night, a light had sparkled like a star at her mast head: and now, encamped near Hastings, with their leader lying in the old Roman castle of Pevensey, the English retiring in all directions, the land for miles around scorched and smoking, fired and pillaged, was the whole Nonnan power, hopeful and strong, on English ground. Harold broke up the feast, and hurried to London.

The Battle of Hastings.

79

Within a week his array was ready. He sent out spies to ascertain the Norman strength. William took them, caused them to be led through his whole camp, and then dismissed. "The Normans," said these spies to Harold, "are not bearded on the upper lip as wc English are, but are shorn. They are priests." "My men," replied Harold, with a laugh, "will find those priests good soldiers." "The Saxons," reported Duke William's outposts of Norman soldiers, who were instructed to retire as King Harold's army advanced, "rush on us through their pillaged country with the fury of madmen." "Let them come, and come soon," said Duke William. Some proposals for a reconciliation were made, but were soon abandoned. In the middle of the month of October, in the year 1066, the Normans and the English came front to front. All night the armies lay encamped before each other, in a part of the country then called Senlac, now called (in remembrance of them) Battle. With the first dawn of day they arose. There, in the faint light, were the English on a hill; a wood behind them; in their midst the royal banner, representing a fighting warrior, woven in gold thread adorned with precious stones; beneath the banner, as it rustled in the wind, stood King Harold on foot, with two of his remaining brothers by his side; around them, still and silefnt as the dead, clustered the whole English army — every soldier covered by his shield, and bearing in his hand his dreaded English battle-axe. On an opposite hill, in three lines — archers, foot-soldiers, horsemen — was the Norman force. Of a sudden, a great battle-cry burst from the Norman lines. The English answered with their own battle-cry. The Normans then came sweeping down the hill to attack the English. Questions. Was this intelligence true? — Why had they been so long on their way to England? — What had happened to some of their ships? — Did they make sail again? — By whom were they led? — The galley was a present from whom ? — When at last landed, where did they encamp? — Had not the land for miles around to suffer from these invasions? — What did Harold do? — What happened to the

do

The Battle of Haatrogs.

spies, sent by Harold ? — What account did they give when brought before Harold? — Was Duke William ready for the fight? — When did they meet? — How were they placed? 81. The Battle of Hastings. Part III. There was one tall Norman knight who rode before the Norman army on a prancing horse, throwing up his heavy sword and catching it, and singing of the bravery of his countrymen. An English knight who rode out from the English force to meet him, fell by this knight's hand. Another English knight rode out, and he fell too. But then a third rode out, and killed the Norman. This was in the beginning of the fight. It soon raged everywhere. The English, keeping side by side in a great mass, cared no more for the showers of Norman arrows than if they had been showers of Norman rain. When the Norman horsemen rode against them, with their battle-axes they cut men and horses down. The Normans gave way. The English pressed forward. A cry went forth among the Norman troops that Duke William was killed. Duke William took off his helmet, in order that his face might be distinctly seen, and rode along the line before his men. This gave them courage. As they turned again to face the English, some of the Norman horse divided the pursuing body of the English from the rest, and thus all the foremost portion of the English fell, fighting bravely. The main body still remaining firm, heedless of the Norman arrows, and with their battle-axes cutting down the crowds of horsemen when they rode up, like forests of young trees, Duke William pretended to retreat. The eager English followed. The Norman army closed again, and fell upon them with great slaughter. "Still," said Duke William, "there are thousands of the English, firm as rocks around their king. Shoot upward, Norman archers, that your arrows may fall down upon their faces." The sun rose high, and sank, and the battle still raged. Through all that wild October day the clash and din resounded in the air. In the red sunset, and in the white

The Spanish Armada.

81

moonlight, heaps upon heaps of dead men lay strewn, a dreadful spectacle, all over the ground. King Harold, wounded with an arrow in the eye, was nearly blind. His brothers were already killed. Twenty Norman knights, whose battered armour had flashed fiery and golden in the sunshine all day long, and now looked silvery in the moonlight, dashed forward to seize the royal banner, from the English knights and soldiers, still faithfully collected round their blinded king. The king received a mortal wound, and dropped. The English broke and fled. The Normans rallied and the day was lost. Oh I what a sight beneath the moon and stars, when lights were shining in the tent of the victorious Duke William, which was pitched near the spot where Harold fell — and he and his knights were carousing within — and soldiers with torches going slowly to and fro without, sought for the corpsc of Harold among piles of dead — and the warrior, worked in golden thread and precious stones, lay low, all torn and soiled with blood — and the three Norinan lions kept watch over the field! Questions. Who rode before the Norman army on a prancing horse? — Who fell by this knight's hand? — Who killed the Norman? — Why did Duke William take off his helmet? — What gave them courage? — What happened when the Normans pretended to retreat? — Who won at last? — What became of Harold? — Where did Duke William pitch his tent?

82. The Spanish Armada. Part I. In the year 1588, England was threatened by a great danger; but it was a danger which turned to safety and honour. The King of Spain, Philip II, bad long been at enmity with the English, both on account of the assistance which they afforded to his insurgent subjects in the Netherlands, and the damage done to the Spanish colonies in the West Indies by the brave sailors, Sir Francis Drake and Sir John Hawkins, who attacked and plundered several of the Elostermami, Engl. Reader.

£

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The Spanish Armada.

settlements, and frequently captured the treasure ships returning to Spain. The news of the death of Mary of Scotland still further increased his indignation; and considering himself as the champion of the Roman Catholic Church, he resolved to take vengeance on the whole nation. He was the most powerful prince in Europe, possessing not only the united kingdoms of Castile and Arragon, but also Portugal, the two Sicilies, great part of Northern Italy, and the Netherlands, besides settlements in America, whence he was supplied with immense quantities of gold and silver. His soldiers were considered the best in the world, trained as they had been in the long wars with the Frcncli in Italy, and with the Protestants in the Netherlands — wars in which they showed relentless cruelty, as well as undaunted courage. It might well seem to him impossible that a woman, sovereign of part of one small island, should make head against such mighty forces; and in the height of his confidence he named the fleet which he had fitted out, "the Invincible Armada." It was at first intended that it should sail in 1587, but on the first intelligence of the design, Sir Francis Drake set sail with thirty ships, entered Cadiz Bay, where he took, sunk, or burnt, thirty of the vessels collected for the purpose, destroyed a hundred more between Cadiz and Cape St. Vincent, on their way to Lisbon, the appointed place of meeting, then entering the Tagus, captured the St. Philip, a ship ot the largest size, loaded with treasure, and challenged the Spanish admiral, the Marquis of Santa Cruz, to an engagement. The King's express orders prevented the marquis from accepting the challenge; and his death, which took place immediately after, is said to have been occasioned by his grief. Sir Francis meantime returned to England, saying merrily that "he had singed the king of Spain's whiskers." The Duke of Medina Sidonia, who succeeded to the command of the Armada was far inferior in abilities to Santa Cruz, but still the Spaniards had no doubt of success, and set sail in full confidence early in the summer of 1588. True and fearless hearts were preparing to meet the danger; and now indeed did Elisabeth prove herself what she loved to be called, the Mother of her People. She ordered that prayers should be put up for the safety of the

The Spanish Armada.

country in all the churches, and called upon her subjects to do their utmost in defence of their Church, their Queen, their homes, and their laws. Her own royal fleet was collected at Plymouth, and placed under command of the High Admiral, Lord Howard of Effingham, and under him were Drake and Hawkins. Great numbers of vessels were fitted out by merchants and nobles at their own expense; and the whole nation nobly answered her summons. A considerable army was collected at Tilbury Fort, near the mouth of the Thames, in case the enemy should attempt to land there; and Queen Elisabeth herself reviewed them, mounted on a white charger, and wearing a steel breast-plate, and made them a speech, in which she declared that though she had the body of a weak woman, she had the courage of a man, and was ready herself to lead them to battle. She then gave the command to the Earl of Leicester; a choice rather owing to her blind affection than to his fitness, and it was happy that his abilities were never put to the test. Questions. In what year was England threatened by a great danger? — W h y was Philip I I King of Spain at enmity with the English? — What increased his indignation? — H o w did he intend to punish England? — What did he call the fleet which he had fitted out? — What brave sailor destroyed a number of the Spanish ships? — What did Elisabeth prove herself to be? — W h e r e was a considerable army collected? •— W h o reviewed it?

83. The Spanish Armada. Part I I . It was on the evening of the 19th of July, 1588, while Sir Francis Drake and some of the other captains were playing at bowls on the Hoe of Plymouth, that a Scottish vessel sailed into the harbour, bringing tidings that the Spanish fleet was off the Lizard. The captains began to crowd down to the beach, and call for the boats; but Drake, saying that there was no need of haste, made them wait till he had finished the game, and thus probably did much to keep up the spirits of those who were anxiously awaiting the issue of the combat. T h e next day the •Armada came bearing

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The Spanish Armada.

down the Channel, the one hundred and thirty large vessels of which it consisted ranged in the form of a crescent; and now the English sailed out and attacked them. Every day the combat was kept up; and always with success to the English and loss to the Spanish, whose huge unwieldy vessels, though looking very formidable, were far more difficult to manage than the small light English ships. Their guns were so high that the shot flew over the heads of the English, while the English shot told with deadly effect on their crowded decks. The Duke of Medina Sidonia, too, showed great want of skill. He had received orders to sail into the mouth of the Thames, and begin his invasion by an attack upon London, and he therefore hurried on as fast as he could up the Channel, regardless of the ships cither injured in the encounter, or unable to sail quickly, all of which were thus left to fall into the hands of the English. His numbers were thus greatly diminished when he passed the Straits of Dover, and here several attacks were made upon him by Lord Howard and his captains, who took and sunk such a number of his ships that he gave up all intention of landing, and only thought how to return to Spain, which as the English fleet occupied the Channel, could only be done by sailing round Scotland. Scarcely had this resolution been taken before violent storms arose, and completed the discomfiture of the Armada, dashing the ships against each other, wrecking them on the coasts, and so completely ruining it, that scarcely any escaped to bear the tidings home; and there were few families in Spain who had not to mourn for some one or more of their relations. Medina Sidonia himself was cast on Fair Island, between the Orkneys and Shetlands, where he spent some weeks in a wretched hut, until he was fetched away by a vessel from his own country. The English did not know how great reason they had for being thankful for their deliverance, until they examined the ships which they had captured, where they found many of the horrible instruments of torture used by the Spaniards for the punishment of heretics. The prisoners, too, confessed that there was a design of slaughtering the whole nation, Roman Catholics as well as Protestant^; and though this

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might be an exaggeration, yet the dark and cruel temper of Philip and his advisers, makes it probable that they would have inflicted dreadful sufferings on the country had they been permitted to subdue it. A general thanksgiving was ordered throughout England, and the gallant sailors were liberally rewarded. Questions. Who brought tidings that the Spanish fleet was near? — What were Sir Francis Drake and some of the other captains doing when they heard the tidings? — Did not the English attack the Spanish ships before they reached the Straits of Dover? — What orders had the Duke of Medina Sidonia received? — As he could not land what did he resolve to do? — How was the destruction of the Armada completed? — What became of Medina Sidonia? — When the English examined the ships they had captured, what did they discover? 84. Primeval Man.

(Charles Kingeley).

Once upon a time, so long ago that no man can tell when, the land was so much higher, that between England and Ireland, and, what is more, between England and Norway, was firm dry land. The country, then, must have looked — at least we know it looked so in Norfolk — very like what our moors look like here. There were forests of Scotch fir, and of spruce too, which is not wild in England now, though you may see plenty in every plantation. There were oaks and alders, yews and sloes, just as there are in our woods now. There was buck-bean in the bogs, as there is in Larmer's and Heath pond; and white and yellow waterlilies, horn-wort, and pond-weeds, just as there are now in our ponds. There were wild horses, wild deer, and wild oxen, those last of an enormous size. There were little yellow roedeer, which will not surprise you, for there are hundreds and thousands in Scotland to this day; and, as you know, they will thrive well enough in our woods now. There were beavers too; but that must not surprise you, for there were beavers in South Wales long after the Norman conquest, and there are beavers still in the mountain glens of the south-

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Primeval Man.

east of France. There were honest little water-rats too, who I dare say sat upon their hind-legs like monkeys, nibbling the water-lily pods, thousands of years ago, as they do in our ponds now. Well, so far, we have come to nothing strange: but now begins the fairy tale. Mixed with all these animals, there wandered about great herds of elephants and rhinoceroses; not smooth-skined, mind, but covered with hair and wool, like those which are still found sticking out of the everlasting ice-cliffs, at the mouth of the Lena and other Siberian rivers, with the flesh, and skin, and hair so fresh upon them, that the wild wolves tear it off, and snarl and growl over the carcases of monsters who were frozen up thousands of years ago. And with them, stranger still, were great hippopotamuses, who came, perhaps, northward, in summer time, along the sea-shore and down the rivers, having spread hither all the way from Africa; for in those days, you must understand, Sicily, and Italy, and Malta — look at your map — were joined to the coast of Africa: and so it may be was the rock of Gibraltar itself; and over the sea where the Straits of Gibraltar now flow was firm dry land, over which hyamas and leopards, elephants and rhinoceroses ranged into Spain, for their bones are found at this day in the Gibraltar caves. And this is the first chapter of my fairy tale. Now while all this was going on, and perhaps before this began, the climate was getting colder and colder year by year — we do not know how; and what is more, the land was sinking; and it sank so deep that at last nothing was left out of the water but the tops of the mountains in Ireland, and Scotland, and Wales. It sank so deep that it left beds of shells belonging to the Arctic regions nearly two thousand feet high upon the mountain side. And so "It grew wondrous cold, And ice mast-high came floating by, As green as emerald." * But there were no masts then to measure the icebergs by, nor any ship nor human being there. All we know is that the icebergs brought with them vast quantities of mud, * From "The Ancient mariner'* by Coleridge.

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which sank to the bottom, and covercd up that pleasant old forest-land in what is called boulder clay; clay full of bits of broken rock, and of blocks of stone so enormous, that nothing but an iceberg could have carried them. S o all the animals were drowned or driven away, and nothing was left alive, perhaps, except a few little hardy plants which clung about cracks and gallics in the mountain tops; and whose descendants live there still. That was a dreadful time; the worst, perhaps, of all the age of I c e : and so ends the second chapter of my fairy tale. Now for my third chapter. "When things come to the worst," says the proverb, "they commonly mend;" and so did this poor frozen and drowned land of England and France and Germany, though it mended very slowly. The land began to rise out of the sea once more, and rose till it was perhaps as high as it had been at first, and hundreds of feet higher than it is now; but still it was very cold, covercd, in Scotland at least, with one great sea of ice and glaciers descending down into the sea. But as the land rose, and grew warmer, too, while it rose, the wild beasts which had been driven out by the great drowning came gradually back again. As the bottom of the old icy sea turned into dry land, and got covered with grasses, and weeds, and shrubs once more, elephants, rhinoceroses, hippopotamuses, oxen, sometimes the same species, sometimes slightly different ones returned to France, and then to England (for there was no British Channel then to stop them); and with them came other strange animals, the great Irish elk, as he is called, as large as the largest horse, with horns sometimes fifteen feet across. Enormous bears came too, and hyajnas, and a tiger or lion (I cannot say which), as large as the largest Bengal tiger now to be seen in India. And in those days — we cannot, of course, exactly say when — there came — first I suppose into the south and east of France, and then gradually onward into England and Scotland and Ireland — creatures without any hair to keep them warm, or scales to defend them, without horns or tusks to fight with, or teeth to worry and bite; the weakest you would have thought of all the beasts, and yet stronger than all the animals, because they were Men, with

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Primeval Man.

reasonable souls. Whence they came we cannot tell, nor why; perhaps from mere hunting after food, and love of wandering and of being independent and alone. Perhaps they came into that icy land for fear of stronger and cleverer people than themselves; for we have no proof, none at all, that they were the first men that trod this earth. But be that as it may, they came; and so cunning were these savage men, and so brave likewise, though they had no iron among them, only flint and sharpened bones, that they contrived to kill and eat the mammoths, and the giant oxfen, and the wild horses, and the reindeer, and to hold their own against the hysenas, and tigers, and bears, simply bccause they had wits, and the dumb animals had none. You may find the flint weapons which these old savages used, buried in many a gravel-pit up and down France and the sonth of England. Most of their remains arc found in caves which water has eaten out of the limestone rocks, like that famous cave of Kent's Hole at Torquay. In it, and in many another cave, lie the bones of animals which the savages ate, and cracked to get the marrow out of them, mixed up with their flint weapons and bone harpoons, and sometimes with burnt ashes and with round stones, used perhaps to heat water, as savages do now, all baked together into a hard paste by the lime. These are in the water, and are often covered with a floor of stalagmite which has dripped from the roof above and hardened into stone. In these caves, no doubt, the savages lived; for not only have weapons been found in them, but actually drawings scratched (I suppose with flint) on bone or mammoth ivory, drawings of elk, and bull, and horse, and ibex; and one, which was found in France, of the great mammoth himself, the woolly elephant, with a mane on his Bhoulders like a lion's mane. So you see that one of the earliest fancies of this strange creature called man was to draw, as you and your schoolfellows love to draw, and copy what you see, you know not why. Remember that. You like to draw; but why you like it neither you nor any man can tell. It is one of the mysteries of human nature; and that poor savage clothed in skins, dirty it may be, and more ignorant than you can conceive, when he sat scratching on ivory in the cave the

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figures of the animals he hunted, was proving thereby that he had the same wonderful and mysterious human nature as you; that he was the kinsman of every painter and sculptor who ever felt it a delight and duty to copy the beautiful works of God. Sometimes, again, especially in Denmark, these savages have left behind upon the shore mounds of dirt, which are called there, "kjokken-moddings"*), "kitchen dirt-heaps," as we should say here; and a very good name for them that is. For they are made up of the shells of oysters, cockles, mussels, and periwinkles,, and other shore-shells beside, on which these poor creatures f e d ; and mingled with them are broken bones of beasts, and fishes, and birds, and flint knives, and axes, and sling-stones; and here and there hearths, on which they have cooked their meals in some rough way; and that is nearly all we know about them: but this we know from the size of certain of the shells, and from other reasons which you would not understand, that these mounds were made an enormous time ago, when the water of the Baltic Sea was far more salt than it is now.

85. Dickens's Boyhood.

(Charles Dickens).

Notioe: "Charles Dickens, the most popular novelist of our day, was born at Portsmouth in 1813. His boyhood was passed in such straightened circumstances that ho was sent at one time to a relative, a blacking maker, to tie up and label blacking bottles, as his trade. — He died June 8th. 1870, aged 58 universally regretted. Buried in Westminster Abbey.

The blacking warehouse was the last house on the lefthand side of the way, at old Hungerford-stairs. It was a crazy, tumble-down old house, abutting of course on the river, and literally overrun with rats. Its wainscoted rooms, and its rotten floors and staircase, and the old grey rats swarming down in the cellars, and the sound of their squeaking and scuffling coming up the stairs at all times, and the dirt and decay of the place, rise up visibly before me, as if I were there again. The counting-house was on the first-floor, looking over the coal-barges and the river. There was a *) Pronounce "kookin middenc".

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Dickens'» Boyhood.

recess in it, in which I was to sit and work. My work was to cover the pots of paste-blacking; first with a piece of oil-paper, and then with a piece of blue paper; to tie them round with a string; and then to clip the paper close and neat, ail round, until it looked as smart as a pot of ointment from an apothecary's shop. When a certain number of grosses of pots had attained this pitch of perfection, I was to paste on each a printed label; and then go on again with more pots. Two or three other boys were kept at similar duty downstairs on similar wages. One of them came up, in a ragged apron and paper cap,, on the first Monday morning, to show me the trick of using the string and tying the knot. His name was Bob Fagin; and I took the liberty of using his name, long afterwards, in "Oliver Twist." Our relative had kindly arranged to teach me something in the dinner-hour; from twelve to one, I think it was; every day. But an arrangement so incompatible with countinghouse business soon died away, from no fault of his or mine; and for the same reason, my small work-table, and my grosses of pots, my papers, string, scissors, paste-pot, and labels, by little and little, vanished out of the recess in the countinghouse, and kept company with the other small work-tables, grosses of pots, papers, string, scissors, and paste-pots, down-stairs. It was not long, before Bob Fagin and I, and another boy whose name was Paul Green, but who was currently believed to have been christened Poll, worked generally side by side. Bob Fagin was an orphan, and lived with his brother-in-law, a waterman, Poll Green's fatherhad the additional distinction of being a fireman, and was employed at Drury Lane theatre; where another relation of Poll's, I think his little sister, did imps in the pantomimes. No words can express the secret agony of my soul as I sank into this companionship; compared these every-day associates with those of my happier childhood; and felt my early hopes of growing up to be a learned and distinguished man, crushed in my breast. The deep remembrance of the sense I had of being utterly neglected and hopeless; of the shame I felt in my position; of the misery it was to my young heart to believe that, day by day, what I had learned, and thought, and delighted in, and raised my fancy and my

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emulation up by, was passing away from me, never to be brought back any more; cannot be written. My whole nature was so penetrated with the grief and humiliation of such considerations, that even now, famous and caressed and happy, I often forget in my dreams that I have a dear wife and children; even that I am a man; and wander desolately back to that time of my life. My mother and my brothers and sisters (excepting Fanny in the Royal Academy of Music) were still encamped, with a young servant girl from Chatham workhouse, in the two parlours in the emptied house in Gower Street North. It was a long way to go and return within the dinner-hour, and, usually, I cither carried my dinner with me, or went and bought it at some neighbouring shop. In the latter case, it was commonly a saveloy and a penny loaf; sometimes, a fourpenny plate of beef from a cook's shop; sometimes, a plate of bread and cheese, and a glass of beer, from a miserable old public-house over the way; the Swan, if I remember right, or the Swan and something else that I have forgotten. Once, I remember tucking my own bread (which I had brought from home in the morning) under my arm, wrapped up in a piece of paper like a book, and going into the best dining-room in Johnson's alamodc beef-house in Charles Court, Drury Lane, and magnificently ordering a small plate of alamode beef to eat with it. What the waiter thought of such a strange little apparition, coming in all alone, I don't know; but I can see him now, staring at me as I ate my dinner, and bringing up the other waiter to look. I gavo him a halfpenny, and I wish, now, that he hadn't taken it.

86. The Brave Citizens. About five hundred and fifty years ago, Edward III, the king of England, was at war with the king of France, and in the course of this war laid siege to the town of Calais. The town had strong walls, and the people inside were brave soldiers, and King Edward, though he had a strong army, found that he could do nothing but starve them until they should open their gates to him. So he drew his army

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The Brave Citizens.

round the city on the three sides which were open to the land, and his ships kept watch on the side on which the sea was. For months this went on; the king and his queen lived in a sort of wooden palace in their camp, and kept their Christmas festival in it, whilst the poor citizens of Calais had lean cheeks and scanty fare. You might wonder how they were able to hold out so long; but the truth was that two French sailors, who knew the coast thoroughly, would sail round in the dark winter nights, and cleverly run a little fleet of boats, laden with bread and meat, into the city. At last King Edward found out how they contrived, and from that time the two good sailors were prevented from coming any more. Then the poor townsmen were reduced to the most dreadful distress. For a whole year they had held out; but now, as none came to succour them, they saw that they must either yield or die. So they sent to King Edward to propose that they should give up the city to him, on condition that the people might depart in safety. But Edward answered, "I have had a vast deal of trouble from you; you have cost me many ships and much money, and now I will punish you. You must give yourselves up entirely to me, and I will only spare whom I choose. Those that I think proper, I will hang." Then they answered, "We will not yield up the city for that. All have fared alike with us, and we will not give up any one; we will all die together, sooner than that." King Edward was besought by his own soldiers, and at last he said, "I will spare the town on condition that six of the principal people come out to me with halters round their necks, and bare feet and heads. These I will hang, and the rest shall be spared. Further than this I will not go for any man, and no one shall ask me any more." The chief man of the town then called the citizens together by ringing a great bell, and told them of the king's hard terms; and, as you may suppose, bitter was the weeping. Then a voice was heard, — it was that of the richest man in the town, — "I will go and die for my townsmen; I will be the first of the six." Many of the people, with tears and groans, fell down and kissed his feet as he spoke. And in as short a time as it takes me to tell it, the number

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was made up, and the six went forth to meet their death, followed by the blessings of the people whose lives they had saved. Many a man in the English camp was filled with pity as he saw the resigned countenances, pale and thin with hunger. But there was no pity in the King's breast. "Take them away, and hang them at once,'' he said. But his queen happened to be there; and now, her eyes streaming with tears, she threw herself on her knees among the captives. "Ah, my lord," she cried, "I have crossed the sea with much danger to see you. I have never asked you a favour. Grant me as a boon, for the love you bear me, the lives of these men." The king looked at her for a long time in silence; then he said at last, "Dame, dame, I wish you had been anywhere else; but I cannot refuse you." The queen raised them joyfully, gave them a good dinner and rich presents, and sent them back to the city, with the news that the king had spared the city for their sakes. 87.

Home for the Holidays.

(Eliza Cook).

Home for the holidays, here we go; Bless me! the train is exceedingly slow! Pray, Mr. Engineer, get up your steam, And let us be off with a puff and a scream! We have two long hours to travel, you say; Come, Mr. Engineer, gallop away. Two hours more! why, the sun will be down. Before we reach dear old London town! And then what a number of fathers and mothers, And uncles, and aunts, and sisters, and brothers, Will be there to meet us — oh! do make haste, For I'm sure, Mr. Guard, we have no time to waste. Thank goodness, we shan't have to study and stammer Over Latin, and sums, and that nasty French Grammar; Lectures and classes and lessons are done, And now we'll have nothing but frolic and fun. Home for the holidays, here we go! But this Fast Train is really exceedingly slow.

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The Thrush's Nest.

We shall have sport when Christmas comes, When "snap d r a g o n s b u r n our fingers and thumbs. We shall have games at "blind man's-buff 2 ," And noise and laughter and romping enough. We'll crown the plum-pudding with bunches of bay, And roast all the chestnuts that come in our way; And when Twelfth's Night s falls, we'll have such a cake That as we stand round it the table shall quake. We'll draw "King and Queen 4 " and be happy together, And dance old "Sir Roger 5 " with hearts like a feather. Home for the holidays, here we go! But this Fast Train is really exceedingly slowl Home for the holidays, here we go! But really this train is exceedingly slow; Yet, stay! I declare here is London at last; The Park is right over the tunnel just passed. Huzza! huzza! I can see my Papa! I can see George's uncle and Edward's mama! And Fred there's your brother! look! look! there he stands! They see us! they see us! they're waving their hands! Why don't the train stop? what are they about? Now, now it is steady-oh! pray, let us out! A cheer for old. London, a kiss for mama, We're home for the holidays. Now, huzza!

88. The Thrush's Nest.

(John Clare).

Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush, That overhung a mole-hill large and round, I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush Sing hymns of rapture, while I drank the sound With joy; and oft, an unintruding guest, 1

A game. To catch the raisins out of a dish with burning: spirits, without hurting your fingers. 2 Blindekuh. ' Heilg. drei Könige. 4 Schwarzer Peter spielen. 1 Englischer National-Tanz.

The Sower's Song.

I watched her secret toils from day to day, How true she warp'd the moss to form her nest, And modell'd it within with wool and clay. And by-and-by, like heath-bells gilt with dew, There lay her shining eggs as bright as flowers, Ink-spotted oyer, shells of green and blue; And there I witnessed, in the summer hours, A brood of nature's minstrels chirp and fly, Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky. 89.

The Sower's Song.

(Thomas Carlyle).

Now hands to seed-sheet, boys, We step and we cast; old Time's on wing; And would ye partake of Harvest's joys, The corn must be sown in Spring. Fall gently and still, good corn, Lie warm in thy earthy bed; And stand so yellow some morn, For beast and man must be fed. Old Earth is a pleasure to see In sunshiny cloak of red and green; The furrow lies fresh; this year will be As years that are past have been. Fall gently and still etc. . . . Old Mother, receive this corn, The son of six thousand golden sires, All these on thy kindly breast were born, One more thy poor child requires. Fall gently and still etc. . . . Now steady and sure again, And measure of stroke and step we keep; Thus up and thus down we cast our grain: Sow well, and you gladly reap. Fall gently and still good corn, Lie warm in thy earthy bed; And stand so yellow some morn, For beast and man must be fed.

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Written on the Loss of a Child. — The Brook.

Written on the Loss of a Child. (John Whittier). Fold her, 0 Father, in thine arms, And let her henceforth be A messenger of love between Our human hearts and Thee. 91.

The Brook.

(Alfred Tennyson).

I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. By thirty hills I hurry down, Or slip between the ridges; By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges. Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come, and men may go, But I go on for ever. I chatter over stony ways, In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays, I babble on the pebbles. With many a curve my bank I fret By many a field and fallow, And many a fairy foreland set With willow-weed and (mallow. I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come, and men may go, But I go on for ever. I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling And here and there a foamy flake Upon me as I travel, With many a silvery waterbreak

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The Burial of Sir John Moore.

Above the golden gravel, And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come, and men may go, But I go on for ever. I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I slide by hazel covers, I move the sweet forget-me-nots, That grow for happy lovers. I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows; I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows. I murmur under moon and stars In brambly wildernesses; I linger by my shingly bars; I loiter round my cresses; And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming river, For men may come, and men may go, But I go on for ever. 92. The Burial of Sir John Moore. (Charles Wolfe). Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As bis corpse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning, By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; Klostermann, Engl. Header.

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The Homes of England.

But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead; And we bitterly thought of the morrow. We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow. Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him; But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on, In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done, When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone — But we left him alone with his glory. 93. The Homes of England. (Mrs. Hemans). The stately Homes of England! How beautiful they stand, Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land! The deer across their greensward bound, Through shade and sunny gleam, And the swan glides past them with thesound Of some rejoicing stream. The merry Homes of England! Around their hearths by night, What gladsome looks of household love Meet in the ruddy light! There woman's voice flows forth in song, Or childhood's tale is told, Or lips move tunefully along Some glorious page of old.

The Light of other Days.

The blessed Homes of England! How softly on their bowers Is laid the holy quietness That breathes from Sabbath hours! Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime Floats through their woods at morn; All other sounds, in that still time, Of breeze and leaf are born. The cottage Homes of England! By thousands on her plains, They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, And round the hamlet-fanes. Through glowing orchards forth they peep, Each from its nook of leaves; And fearless there the lowly sleep, As the bird beneath their eaves. The free, fair Homes of England! Long, long, in hut and hall, May hearts of native proof be rear'd To guard each hallow'd wall! And green for ever be the groves, And bright the flowery sod, Where first the child's glad spirit loves Its country and its God! 94. The Light of other Days. (Thomas Moore). Oft, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me: The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, Now dimm'd and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken. Thus, in the stilly night

99

100

Wild Flowers.

Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. When I remember all The friends, so linked together, I've seen around me fall Like leaves in wintry weather; I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed! Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. 95. Wild Flowers. (Robert Nicoll). Beautiful children of the woods and fields! That bloom by mountain streamlets, 'mid the heather, Or into clusters, 'neath the hazel gather, Or where by hoary rocks you make your bields, And sweetly flourish on through summer weather — I love ye all! Beautiful things ye are, where'er ye grow! The wild red-rose — the speedwell's peeping eyes — Our own blue-bell — the daisy that doth rise Wherever sunbeams fall or winds do blow; And thousands more, of blessed forms and dyes, I love ye all! Beautiful nurslings of the early dew, Fanned in your loveliness by every breeze, And shaded o'er by green and arching trees; I often wished that I were one of you, Dwelling afar upon the grassy leas — I love ye all!

Wörterverzeichnis zu 1—53. I. The Twig Kate had.

Twig 3h>eig town oij|auer to cut down abfjauen to hack §acfen to spoil toerberbert angry jornig except ausgenommen hedge $ecfe affair Angelegenheit to deny leugnen wicked unartig, b5fe stern ernft to die, died fterben

7 . ' Love Truth.

Truth SBafjrfjcit to gladden frof) madden strife ©treit brightness ftlarljeit to cleave to fcft an etroaä galten uprightness Slufricljtigteit to own gefte^en frown Stirnrunjcin bigot Eiferer knave SBcfrügct to yield aufgeben gloom ®un!el 8.

Hymn for Bed •time.

Darkness tJinfterniö toil SIrbeit angel-guard Sdjufcenget to defend befdjüfceu mercy ©nabe dream S r a u m to attend begleiten mighty madEjtig keeping ©etDQ^rfam dread gefürd&tet call 9iuf to forsake, forsook, forsaken berlaffen to reign thronen glory #errlidjfeit 9. Spring.

Stream S t r o m to flow fliefjen to twitter jtoitfdjern lake ber S e e cattle ffiiel) to graze toeiben, grafen to raise aufgeben to defeat tternidjten to retreat fidfj juriicfjiefjett to fare ill fdjledjjt ergeben bare faf)t plough-boy junget pflüget to whoop jaudEjjen, fd^reien anon fogleidj

ms zu 1—53. anon anon immerfort to prevail borljerrfdjeit 10. Hark I Hark! 'Gins arise (begins to rise) gcfyt auf steed 9tofj chaliced mit Seldj Oerfefycit to wink blinjeln II. Song of the Sailor's Wife. To breathe tocljen sail ©egel to blow, blew, blown, Dlafen

tuefjen,

12. Night Song. Splendour calm ftill -to cast toerfen meadow SBiefe mist 9lc6cl curtain ffiorfjang to repose rufyeit trust Dbljut vast ungef|euer grog dust ©taub, Srbenftaub 13, A Lesson. Story ©rja^iung fakeer gafir, ®ermifcfj devotee frommer SMann ashes 3lfdje native (Singeboriter holy Ijeilig mutiny SKeuterei, 9lufftanb hide, hid, hidden berbergen nurse Sinbermagb massacre ©emefcet, 3J?orb to escape entfommcn difficulty ©djtoierigfeit suffering Seiben wandering SBanbermtg protection ©djujf nourishment Slaljrung charge SPflegting

103

to discover entbeden to present übergeben overwhelmed erfüllt gratitude ®an!borfeit reward SBetofjrtuiig worthy wert, roürbig for — sake um — tpiHcu to dig graben well Brunnen 14. An Incident. Incident Segebenljcit the other day neulidj weary mübe, erfdjöpft shepherd £ i r t e j a r Srug supply ffiorrat to last baueru hut $ütte summit ©tpfel robber fltäuber kindness ©efalligfeit to journey toanbern lip Sippe to resist imberfteljeit to quaff fdjlürfen eagerly begierig spring water Dueflttaffer grateful banfbar farthing ( l /< penny) Sreujer, pfennig bountiful reicfjtidj, im Ueberflufe gift ©abe 15. The Bread. Scarce rar basket Äorb to fight, fought fampfett, janfen to strive, strove, striven ftreiten to try, tried öerfudjcn neatly fauber distance Entfernung portion S e i l to remain bleiben thanks ® a n ! quietly ruljig

104

Wörterverzeichnis zu 1—53.

gravely ernft, gemeffen rough raulj bit ©tücf hardly fount sick Iran! to cat fdjneiben out f)crau§ coin SRiinje to frighten erfc|recfcn mistake S r r t u m to bid, bade, bidden Ijeijjen peace-loving friebltebenb to choose, chose, chosen loatylen rather lieber 16.

The Faithful Poodle.

To ride, rode reiten to bound fjiipfen to bark bellen fulness Sülle holster ©atteltafdje to protect befdjiifcen gambol S p r u n g to afford gemäßen pound Sßfitnb (engi. ©elb = 2 0 9J?arf) sad traurig murderer SJlörber wood ©el)ölj alongside entlang suddenly plöfclidj steadily ftanbfjaft to throw, threw, thrown Werfen mad toff sorrow Summer to fire abfeuern to notice bemerfen bag Seiltet to strike, struck einfallen strangely fonberbar to mount aufftgen stain of blood Stutiadje to crawl frieden 17.

A Manly Boy.

F r i g a t e Fregatte to wreck ©djifförud} leiben to perish umfommen

j o l l y b o a t ¡gotfc, Heine? S o o t to cling to, clung fief) anfiammern rigging i a f e l r o e r ! to venture out fidj IjinauS wagen rescue Diettung skiff iJtadjen to back riicfroarts rubern frail fdjtoad) to launch Bout ©tape! iaffen 18. Nelly and Mary Grey. Snowstorm ©djneefturnt flake ©djneeflocle hollow $iif)le sense SSerftanb to tie, tied binben tempest S t u r m owl S u l e to hoot freifd§en (t). Gulen) to howl fjenlen shovel ©cfyaufcl to choke erftiifeu 19.

Casabianca.

Deck SBerbecf battle ©djiauugcr§iiot famous berühmt to fan fäcfjcln to fancy fief) einbilben fancy (linbilbung, Siebljaberei to fare crgeljeu fare Soft farm $ad)tgut farming Sanbttnrtfdjaft farthing Siupfevmiinje (SBcrt 2 i)3f.) fast fcfjnett fate ©djicffal fault getter to favour begiinftigen favour ©unft favourite ©unfiling, Siebting fawn SReijfatb to fear fürchten fearless furrf)tio§ feast geft feasting Qfcftgelage feat $etbent£|at feather Seber feeling ©efiilji to feign Oorgebcn felicity ©tiicf, ©liicEfeligfeit fell S3(ad)felb fellow SSurfdje fellowman jRitmenfdj fern g a r n f r a u t ferocious grimmig fervent ittnig festival 5eft feud getybe fickle toanfelntiitig fidelity Srcuc fiend geinb fierce Ijeftig fiery feurig, Ijifcig to fight, (fought) festen, fämpfeu

fight ©efeefit to filch cntroenöcii filings geilfpäne to fill füllen to find out, (found) auSfiitbig maiden fir l i e f e r to fire abfeuern fire-fly fauerfließc fireman gcucrroejjrmamt fist gfauft to fit out auSriiftcn fitness ijüdjtigfeit to flag abnehmen flag ©djtoertlilie, gafjne, ftiaggc flake ©c^neeflode flame giamtnc to flash bitten flat fladj to flatter fdjmeiijcln flattery ©djmeidjelei flaw SBinbftojj fleet glotte to fling f o r t h , (flung) Ijcrau3= ftrömen laffen flint geuerftein to flit pattern to float fdjlueben, fdjh)immcit to flock juftrömeu floor ain to grow, (grew grown) toadifen hazel §afetftanbe to heal Ijeilen to growl fnurren heap Raufen growth SBadj§tum hearth §erb grumbler ffllurrenbe to heat erljifcen to guard bemalen heath-bell ©laugloddjen guardianship ©djufc heather §eibefraut guest ©aft to heave Ijeben to guide führen, leiten hedge $ede guileless argto§ heedless unac^tfam guilty fdjulbig heel gerfe gully SRinnfal height $öt|e to gush ftürjen gusset Stoidel, Sldjfelftüd heighty-tighty ©djuid=@djnad gust S8inbfto& heir (Srbe helm ©teuer helmet §elm

Alphabetisches Wörterverzeichnis.

to hem faumen henceforth »cm nun an to herald oetfiiubiflen heretic (giferer hermit (Sinfiebier hern SReiher to hesitate gbgern to hew, (hewed, hewn) Jjauen to hide, (hid, hidden) berbergen high water glut hilt £eft, ©riff hinge Singel hint SQtnE to hire berbingen hit Sreffer hither f)icrljer hitherto 6iSf)er hoarse heifer hoe ^at!e to hoist iiufricE)teit, cr^oficu to hold, (held) fjotten to hold one's own against fid} beljauptcu gcgen hole Sodj holidays gerien hollow §B^iung, fjofji holster (Sattettafdje holy ^eilig honesty ©IjrUdjfeit honey Sponig honour Sljre to hoot freifchcit (0. (Men) horn-wort £>ornblatt horrified entfefct horror (Sntfe&eit horse-tail 6c|Qftf)alnt host £>ccrfc$ar hot heifi to howl Ijenieit howl ©eheul hue ffat6c to hug nmarmen huge fehr grog, getoattig humble bemiitig humility Skmut humming Summen to hunt jagen hunter Sfifltt

125

hurricane Sturm to hurry eilen hurtful fdjäblidj, OcrberbÎicC) husband ©atte husbandman Canbmann hut §üttc I. ibex ©tein&ocf icicle (Siêjapfen icy eifig ignorance Untoiffeuljeit ill iranf, S3öfe, Unrest to illuminate bemalen illustrious berühmt imagination (SiiiOiibnng to imitate nadjafjmeit immediate unmittcibar immense ungeheuer imp to impair fcÇâbigeii to impart mitteilen, einflößen impartial unparteilich to impend beüoifteijen to implore bitten to import einführen importance SBidjtigfeit important Itiic^tig to impose auferlegen impracticable unausführbar impressive mit Stadjbrucf to improve oerbeffevn incapable unfähig inch incident Segebenljeit incompatible uuüereinOar to increase june^men indépendant unabhängig indigence SDiirftigïeit indignation ßorn, Untuitte indolence Trägheit indulgence Serjartclung, Jladfj* ficht industry Sleifj inferior geringer to be inferior to nachftehen to inflict on »erhängen über influence @influ|

126

Alphabetisches Wörterverzeichnis.

to injure fdjaben inmate Ginroo§iter to inquire fragen inquiry Stadjfragc, goifdjung inside briiuien instance SBeifpiel to instil einflößen to insult beleibigen insult Söclcibigung insurgent 9lufrüf)rer intelligence 3tad)ri