That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose--
What made you so awfully clever?"
"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said his father; "don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you down-stairs!"
"That is not said right," said the Caterpillar.
"Not _quite_ right, I'm afraid," said Alice timidly; "some of the words
have got altered."
"It is wrong from beginning to end," said the Caterpillar decidedly, and
there was silence for some minutes.
LEWIS CARROLL: "The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland."
DAVID AND GOLIATH
Now the Philistines gathered together their armies to battle, and Saul
and the men of Israel were gathered together, and pitched by the valley
of Elah, and set the battle in array against the Philistines. And the
Philistines stood on a mountain on the one side, and Israel stood on a
mountain on the other side: and there was a valley between them.
And there went out a champion out of the camp of the Philistines, named
Goliath, of Gath, whose height was six cubits and a span. And he had an
helmet of brass upon his head, and he was armed with a coat of mail; and
the weight of the coat was five thousand shekels of brass. And he had
greaves of brass upon his legs, and a target of brass between his
shoulders. And the staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam; and his
spear's head weighed six hundred shekels of iron: and one bearing a
shield went before him.
And he stood and cried unto the armies of Israel, and said unto them,
Why are ye come out to set your battle in array? Am not I a Philistine,
and ye servants to Saul? Choose you a man for you, and let him come down
to me. If he be able to fight with me, and to kill me, then will we be
your servants: but if I prevail against him, and kill him, then shall ye
be our servants, and serve us. And the Philistine said, I defy the
armies of Israel this day; give me a man, that we may fight together.
When Saul and all Israel heard those words of the Philistine, they were
dismayed, and greatly afraid.
And David rose up early in the morning, and left the sheep with a
keeper, and took, and went, as Jesse had commanded him; and he came to
the trench, as the host was going forth to the fight, and shouted for
the battle. For Israel and the Philistines had put the battle in array,
army against army. And David left his carriage in the hand of the keeper
of the carriage, and ran into the army, and came and saluted his
brethren. And as he talked with them, behold, there came up the
champion, the Philistine of Gath, Goliath by name, out of the armies of
the Philistines, and spake according to the same words: and David heard
them. And all the men of Israel, when they saw the man, fled from him,
and were sore afraid. And the men of Israel said, Have ye seen this man
that is come up? surely to defy Israel is he come up: and it shall be,
that the man who killeth him, the king will enrich him with great
riches, and will give him his daughter, and make his father's house free
in Israel. And David spake to the men that stood by him, saying, What
shall be done to the man that killeth this Philistine, and taketh away
the reproach from Israel? For who is this Philistine, that he should
defy the armies of the living God? And the people answered him after
this manner, saying, So shall it be done to the man that killeth him.
And when the words were heard which David spake, they rehearsed them
before Saul: and he sent for him.
And David said to Saul, Let no man's heart fail because of him; thy
servant will go and fight with this Philistine. And Saul said to David,
Thou art not able to go against this Philistine to fight with him: for
thou art but a youth, and he a man of war from his youth. And David said
unto Saul, Thy servant kept his father's sheep, and there came a lion,
and a bear, and took a lamb out of the flock: And I went out after him,
and smote him, and delivered it out of his mouth: and when he arose
against me, I caught him by his beard, and smote him, and slew him. Thy
servant slew both the lion and the bear: and this Philistine shall be as
one of them, seeing he hath defied the armies of the living God. David
said moreover, The Lord that delivered me out of the paw of the lion,
and out of the paw of the bear, he will deliver me out of the hand of
this Philistine. And Saul said unto David, Go, and the Lord be with
thee.
And Saul armed David with his armour, and he put a helmet of brass upon
his head; also he armed him with a coat of mail. And David girded his
sword upon his armour, and he assayed to go; for he had not proved it.
And David said unto Saul, I cannot go with these; for I have not proved
them. And David put them off him. And he took his staff in his hand, and
chose him five smooth stones out of the brook, and put them in a
shepherd's bag which he had, even in a scrip; and his sling was in his
hand: and he drew near to the Philistine.
And the Philistine came on and drew near unto David; and the man that
bare the shield went before him. And when the Philistine looked about,
and saw David, he disdained him: for he was but a youth, and ruddy, and
of a fair countenance. And the Philistine said unto David, Am I a dog,
that thou comest to me with staves? And the Philistine cursed David by
his gods.
And the Philistine said to David, Come to me, and I will give thy flesh
unto the fowls of the air, and to the beasts of the field.
Then said David to the Philistine, Thou comest to me with a sword, and
with a spear, and with a shield: but I come to thee in the name of the
Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied.
This day will the Lord deliver thee into mine hand; and I will smite
thee, and take thine head from thee; and I will give the carcases of the
host of the Philistines this day unto the fowls of the air, and to the
wild beasts of the earth; that all the earth may know that there is a
God in Israel. And all this assembly shall know that the Lord saveth not
with sword and spear: for the battle is the Lord's, and he will give you
into our hands.
And it came to pass, when the Philistine arose, and came and drew nigh
to meet David, that David hasted, and ran toward the army to meet the
Philistine. And David put his hand in his bag, and took thence a stone,
and slang it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead, that the stone
sunk into his forehead; and he fell upon his face to the earth. So David
prevailed over the Philistine with a sling and with a stone, and smote
the Philistine, and slew him; but there was no sword in the hand of
David. Therefore David ran, and stood upon the Philistine, and took his
sword, and drew it out of the sheath thereof, and slew him, and cut off
his head therewith. And when the Philistines saw their champion was
dead, they fled.
I. SAMUEL, XVII.
[Illustration: AT THE END OF THE MEAL]
THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Their's not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
TENNYSON
MAGGIE TULLIVER
Maggie and Tom came in from the garden with their father and their Uncle
Glegg. Maggie had thrown her bonnet off very carelessly, and, coming in
with her hair rough as well as out of curl, rushed at once to Lucy. The
contrast between the two cousins was like the contrast between a rough,
dark, overgrown puppy and a white kitten. Lucy put up the neatest little
rosebud mouth to be kissed: everything about her was neat.
"Heyday!" said Aunt Glegg, with loud emphasis. "Do little boys and girls
come into a room without taking notice of their uncles and aunts? That
wasn't the way when I was a little girl."
"Go and speak to your aunts and uncles, my dears," said Mrs. Tulliver.
She wanted to whisper to Maggie a command to go and have her hair
brushed.
"Well, and how do you do? And I hope you're good children, are you?"
said Aunt Glegg, in the same loud, emphatic way. "Look up, Tom, look up.
Look at me now. Put your hair behind your ears, Maggie, and keep your
frock on your shoulder."
Aunt Glegg always spoke to them in this loud, emphatic way, as if she
considered them deaf.
"Well, my dears," said Aunt Pullet, "you grow wonderfully fast,--I doubt
they'll outgrow their strength. I think the girl has too much hair. I'd
have it thinned and cut shorter, sister, if I were you; it isn't good
for her health. It's that makes her skin so brown,--don't you think so,
sister Deane?"
"I can't say, I'm sure, sister," said Mrs. Deane, shutting her lips
close and looking at Maggie.
"No, no," said Mr. Tulliver, "the child's healthy enough: there's
nothing ails her. There's red wheat as well as white, for that matter,
and some like the dark grain best. But it would be as well if Bessie
would have the child's hair cut so it would lie smooth."
"Maggie," said Mrs. Tulliver, beckoning Maggie to her, and whispering in
her ear, "go and get your hair brushed,--do, for shame! I told you not
to come in without going to Martha first; you know I did."
"Tom, come out with me," whispered Maggie, pulling his sleeve as she
passed him; and Tom followed willingly enough.
"Come upstairs with me, Tom," she whispered, when they were outside the
door. "There's something I want to do before dinner."
"There's no time to play at anything before dinner," said Tom.
"Oh, yes, there is time for this--_do_ come, Tom."
Tom followed Maggie upstairs into her mother's room, and saw her go at
once to a drawer from which she took out a large pair of scissors.
"What are they for, Maggie?" said Tom, feeling his curiosity awakened.
Maggie answered by seizing her front locks and cutting them straight
across the middle of her forehead.
"Oh, my buttons, Maggie, you'll catch it!" exclaimed Tom; "you'd better
not cut any more off."
Snip! went the great scissors again while Tom was speaking; and he could
hardly help feeling it was rather good fun--Maggie looking so queer.
"Here, Tom, cut it behind for me," said Maggie, excited by her own
daring, and anxious to finish the deed.
"You'll catch it, you know," said Tom, hesitating a little as he took
the scissors.
"Never mind--make haste!" said Maggie, giving a little stamp with her
foot. Her cheeks were quite flushed.
The black locks were so thick,--nothing could be more tempting to a lad
who had already tasted the forbidden pleasure of cutting the pony's
mane. One delicious grinding snip, and then another and another, and the
hinder locks fell heavily on the floor. Maggie stood cropped in a
jagged, uneven manner, but with a sense of clearness and freedom, as if
she had emerged from a wood into the open plain.
"Oh, Maggie," said Tom, jumping round her and slapping his knees as he
laughed; "oh, my buttons, what a queer thing you look! Look at yourself
in the glass."
Maggie felt an unexpected pang. She had thought beforehand chiefly of
her own deliverance from her teasing hair and teasing remarks about it,
and something also of the triumph she should have over her mother and
her aunts by this very decided course of action. She didn't want her
hair to look pretty--that was out of the question--she only wanted
people to think her a clever little girl and not to find fault with her.
But now, when Tom began to laugh at her, the affair had quite a new
aspect. She looked in the glass, and still Tom laughed and clapped his
hands, and Maggie's flushed cheeks began to pale, and her lips to
tremble a little.
"Oh, Maggie, you'll have to go down to dinner directly," said Tom. "Oh,
my!"
"Don't laugh at me, Tom," said Maggie, in a passionate tone, and with an
outburst of angry tears, stamping, and giving him a push.
"Now, then, spitfire!" said Tom. "What did you cut it off for, then? I
shall go down: I can smell the dinner going in."
Tom hurried down-stairs and left poor Maggie. As she stood crying before
the glass, she felt it impossible that she should go down to dinner and
endure the severe eyes and severe words of her aunts, while Tom, and
Lucy, and Martha, who waited at table, and perhaps her father and her
uncles, would laugh at her. If Tom had laughed at her, of course every
one else would; and, if she had only let her hair alone, she could have
sat with Tom and Lucy, and had the apricot pudding and the custard! What
could she do but sob?
"Miss Maggie, you're to come down this minute," said Kezia, entering the
room hurriedly. "What have you been a-doing? I never saw such a fright!"
"Don't, Kezia," said Maggie, angrily. "Go away!"
"But I tell you, you're to come down, Miss, this minute: your mother
says so," said Kezia, going up to Maggie and taking her by the hand to
raise her from the floor.
"Get away, Kezia; I don't want any dinner," said Maggie, resisting
Kezia's arm. "I shan't come."
"Oh, well, I can't stay. I've got to wait at dinner," said Kezia, going
out again.
"Maggie, you little silly," said Tom, peeping into the room ten minutes
after, "why don't you come and have your dinner? There's lots o'
goodies, and mother says you're to come. What are you crying for?"
Oh, it was dreadful! Tom was so hard and unconcerned; if _he_ had been
crying on the floor, Maggie would have cried, too. And there was the
dinner, so nice; and she was _so_ hungry. It was very bitter.
But Tom was not altogether hard. He went and put his head near her, and
said, in a lower, comforting tone: "Won't you come, then, Maggie? Shall
I bring you a bit of pudding when I've had mine--and a custard and
things?"
"Ye-e-es," said Maggie, beginning to feel life a little more tolerable.
"Very well," said Tom, going away. But he turned again at the door and
said: "But you'd better come, you know. There's the dessert, you know."
Maggie's tears had ceased, and she looked reflective as Tom left her.
His good nature had taken off the keenest edge of her suffering.
Slowly she rose from among her scattered locks, and slowly she made her
way down-stairs. Then she stood leaning with one shoulder against the
frame of the dining-parlour door, peeping in when it was ajar. She saw
Tom and Lucy with an empty chair between them, and there were the
custards on a side-table--it was too much. She slipped in and went
towards the empty chair. But she had no sooner sat down than she
repented, and wished herself back again.
Mrs. Tulliver gave a little scream as she saw her, and dropped the large
gravy-spoon into the dish with the most serious results to the
tablecloth.
Mrs. Tulliver's scream made all eyes turn towards the same point as her
own, and Maggie's cheeks and ears began to burn, while Uncle Glegg, a
kind-looking, white-haired old gentleman, said: "Heyday! what little
girl's this? Why, I don't know her. Is it some little girl you've picked
up in the road, Kezia?"
"Why, she's gone and cut her hair herself," said Mr. Tulliver in an
undertone to Mr. Deane, laughing with much enjoyment.
"Why, little Miss, you've made yourself look very funny," said Uncle
Pullet.
"Fie, for shame!" said Aunt Glegg, in her severest tone of reproof.
"Little girls that cut their own hair should be whipped and fed on bread
and water, not come and sit down with their aunts and uncles."
"Aye, aye," said Uncle Glegg, meaning to give a playful turn, "she must
be sent to jail, I think, and they'll cut the rest of her hair off
there, and make it all even."
"She's more like a gypsy than ever," said Aunt Pullet in a pitying tone.
"She's a naughty child, that'll break her mother's heart," said Mrs.
Tulliver, with the tears in her eyes.
Maggie seemed to be listening to a chorus of reproach and derision. Her
first flush came from anger. Tom thought she was braving it out,
supported by the recent appearance of the pudding and custard.
He whispered: "Oh, my! Maggie, I told you you'd catch it." He meant to
be friendly, but Maggie felt convinced that Tom was rejoicing in her
ignominy.
Her feeble power of defiance left her in an instant, her heart swelled,
and, getting up from her chair, she ran to her father, hid her face on
his shoulder, and burst out into loud sobbing. "Come, come," said her
father, soothingly, putting his arm round her, "never mind; give over
crying: father'll take your part."
Delicious words of tenderness! Maggie never forgot any of these moments
when her father "took her part"; she kept them in her heart, and thought
of them long years after, when every one else said that her father had
done very ill by his children.
GEORGE ELIOT: "The Mill on the Floss."
(Adapted)
THE CORN SONG
Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard!
Heap high the golden corn!
No richer gift has Autumn poured
From out her lavish horn!
Let other lands, exulting, glean
The apple from the pine,
The orange from its glossy green,
The cluster from the vine;
We better love the hardy gift
Our rugged vales bestow,
To cheer us when the storm shall drift
Our harvest-fields with snow.
Through vales of grass and meads of flowers,
Our ploughs their furrows made,
While on the hills the sun and showers
Of changeful April played.
We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain,
Beneath the sun of May,
And frightened from our sprouting grain
The robber crows away.
All through the long, bright days of June
Its leaves grew green and fair,
And waved in hot midsummer's noon
Its soft and yellow hair.
And now, with autumn's moon-lit eves,
Its harvest-time has come,
We pluck away the frosted leaves,
And bear the treasure home.
There, richer than the fabled gift
Apollo showered of old,
Fair hands the broken grain shall sift,
And knead its meal of gold.
Let vapid idlers loll in silk
Around their costly board;
Give us the bowl of samp and milk,
By homespun beauty poured!
Where'er the wide old kitchen hearth
Sends up its smoky curls,
Who will not thank the kindly earth,
And bless our farmer girls!
WHITTIER
SPORTS IN NORMAN ENGLAND
After dinner all the youth of the city go into the field of the suburbs,
and address themselves to the famous game of football. The scholars of
each school have their peculiar ball; and the particular trades have,
most of them, theirs. The elders of the city, the fathers of the
parties, and the rich and wealthy, come to the field on horseback, in
order to behold the exercises of the youth, and in appearance are
themselves as youthful as the youngest; seeming to be revived at the
sight of so much agility, and in a participation of the diversion of
their festive sons.
At Easter the diversion is prosecuted on the water; a target is strongly
fastened to a trunk or mast fixed in the middle of the river, and a
youngster standing upright in the stern of a boat, made to move as fast
as the oars and current can carry it, is to strike the target with his
lance; and if, in hitting it, he breaks his lance and keeps his place in
the boat, he gains his point and triumphs; but if it happens the lance
is not shivered by the force of the blow, he is, of course, tumbled into
the water, and away goes his vessel without him.
However, a couple of boats full of young men are placed one on each side
of the target, so as to be ready to take up the unsuccessful adventurer
the moment he emerges from the stream and comes fairly to the surface.
The bridge and the balconies on the banks are filled with spectators,
whose business is to laugh. On holidays, in summer, the pastime of the
youth is to exercise themselves in archery, in running, leaping,
wrestling, casting of stones, and flinging to certain distances, and,
lastly, with bucklers.
In the winter holidays when that vast lake which waters the walls of the
City towards the north is hard frozen, the youth, in great numbers, go
to divert themselves on the ice. Some, taking a small run, place their
feet at the proper distance, and are carried, sliding sideways, a great
way; others will make a large cake of ice, and seating one of their
companions upon it, they take hold of one another's hands, and draw him
along: when it sometimes happens that, moving so swiftly on so slippery
a plain, they all fall down headlong.
Others there are who are still more expert in these amusements on the
ice; they place certain bones, the leg bones of some animal, under the
soles of their feet by tying them round their ankles, and, then, taking
a pole shod with iron into their hands, they push themselves forward by
striking it against the ice, and are carried along with a velocity equal
to the flight of a bird, or a bolt discharged from a cross-bow.
Sometimes two of them thus furnished agree to start opposite one to
another, at a great distance; they meet, elevate their poles, attack and
strike each other, when one or both of them fall, and not without some
bodily hurt; and even after their fall they shall be carried a good
distance from each other by the rapidity of the motion. Very often the
leg or the arm of the party that falls, if he chances to light upon
them, is broken; but youth is an age ambitious of glory, fond and
covetous of victory, and that in future time it may acquit itself boldly
and valiantly in real engagements, it will run these hazards in sham
ones.
Hawking and hunting were sports only for persons of quality, and woe be
to the unhappy man of the lower orders who indulged in either of these
sports. If caught he would be severely punished and might have his eyes
put out.
[Illustration: IN THE HIGHLANDS OF ONTARIO]
After breakfast, knights with their ladies ride out, each bearing upon
his wrist a falcon with scarlet hood and collar of gold. As they near
the river a heron, who had been fishing for his breakfast among the
reeds near the bank, hears them and spreading his wings flies upward. A
knight slips the hood from the falcon's head and next instant he sees
the heron. Away he darts, while knights and ladies rein in their horses
and watch. Up, and up, he goes until he passes the heron and still he
flies higher. Next instant he turns and, with a terrible swoop
downwards, pounces upon the heron and kills it.
The knight sounds his whistle and instantly the falcon turns and darts
back to him for the dainty food which is given as a reward for his good
hunting. Then he is chained and hooded again till another bird rises. So
the morning passes, and many a bird do the falcons bring down before the
knights and ladies return to the castle for "noon-meat."
WILLIAM FITZSTEPHEN
(Adapted)
And He that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age!
SHAKESPEARE
A SONG OF CANADA
Sing me a song of the great Dominion!
Soul-felt words for a patriot's ear!
Ring out boldly the well-turned measure,
Voicing your notes that the world may hear;
Here is no starveling--Heaven-forsaken--
Shrinking aside where the Nations throng;
Proud as the proudest moves she among them--
Worthy is she of a noble song!
Sing me the might of her giant mountains,
Baring their brows in the dazzling blue;
Changeless alone, where all else changes,
Emblems of all that is grand and true:
Free, as the eagles around them soaring;
Fair, as they rose from their Maker's hand:
Shout, till the snow-caps catch the chorus--
The white-topp'd peaks of our mountain land.