That will be quite enough." Then he turned the saddle off, and I was up
in a moment. She began at first so easily, and pricked her ears so
lovingly, and minced about as if pleased to find so light a weight upon
her, that I thought she knew I could ride a little, and feared to show
any capers. "Gee wugg, Polly!" cried I, for all the men were now looking
on, being then at the leaving-off time; "Gee wugg, Polly, and show what
thou be'est made of." With that I plugged my heels into her, and Billy
Dadds flung his hat up.
Nevertheless, she outraged not, though her eyes were frightening Annie,
and John Fry took a pick to keep him safe; but she curbed to and fro
with her strong forearms rising like springs ingathered, waiting and
quivering grievously, and beginning to sweat about it. Then her master
gave a shrill, clear whistle, when her ears were bent towards him, and
I felt her form beneath me gathering up like whalebone, and her hind
legs coming under her, and I knew that I was in for it.
First she reared upright in the air, and struck me full on the nose with
her comb, till I bled worse than Robin Snell made me; and then down with
her forefeet deep in the straw, and with her hind feet going to heaven.
Finding me stick to her still like wax, for my mettle was up as hers
was, away she flew with me swifter than ever I went before or since, I
trow.
She drove full head at the cob wall--"Oh, Jack, slip off!" screamed
Annie--then she turned like light, when I thought to crush her, and
ground my left knee against it. "Dear me!" I cried, for my breeches were
broken, and short words went the furthest--"if you kill me, you shall
die with me." Then she took the courtyard gate at a leap, knocking my
words between my teeth, and then right over a quick-set hedge, as if the
sky were a breath to her; and away for the water meadows, while I lay on
her neck like a child, and wished I had never been born.
Straight away, all in the front of the wind, and scattering clouds
around her, all I knew of the speed we made was the frightful flash of
her shoulders, and her mane like trees in a tempest. I felt the earth
under us rushing away, and the air left far behind us, and my breath
came and went, and I prayed to God, and was sorry to be so late of it.
All the long swift while, without power of thought, I clung to her crest
and shoulders, and was proud of holding on so long, though sure of being
beaten. Then in her fury at feeling me still, she rushed at another
device for it, and leaped the wide water-trough sideways across, to and
fro, till no breath was left in me. The hazel boughs took me too hard in
the face, and the tall dog-briers got hold of me, and the ache of my
back was like crimping a fish, till I longed to give it up, thoroughly
beaten, and lie there and die in the cresses.
But there came a shrill whistle from up the home hill, where the people
had hurried to watch us, and the mare stopped as if with a bullet, then
set off for home with the speed of a swallow, and going as smoothly and
silently. I never had dreamed of such delicate motion, fluent, and
graceful, and ambient, soft as the breeze flitting over the flowers, but
swift as the summer lightning.
I sat up again, but my strength was all spent, and no time left to
recover it; and though she rose at our gate like a bird, I tumbled off
into the soft mud.
"Well done, lad," Mr. Faggus said, good-naturedly; for all were now
gathered round me, as I rose from the ground, somewhat tottering, and
miry, and crest-fallen, but otherwise none the worse (having fallen upon
my head, which is of uncommon substance); "not at all bad work, my boy;
we may teach you to ride by and by, I see; I thought not to see you
stick on so long--"
"I should have stuck on much longer, sir, if her sides had not been wet.
She was so slippery--"
"Boy, thou art right. She hath given many the slip. Ha! ha! Vex not,
Jack, that I laugh at thee. She is like a sweetheart to me, and better
than any of them be. It would have gone to my heart if thou hadst
conquered. None but I can ride my Winnie mare."
R. D. BLACKMORE: "Lorna Doone."
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
GRAY
THE ARAB AND HIS STEED
My beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by,
With thy proudly arched and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye;
Fret not to roam the desert now, with all thy wingèd speed,
I may not mount on thee again--thou'rt sold, my Arab steed.
Fret not with that impatient hoof, snuff not the breezy wind,
The further that thou fliest now, so far am I behind;
The stranger hath thy bridle-rein--thy master hath his gold--
Fleet-limbed and beautiful! farewell! thou'rt sold, my steed, thou'rt sold!
Farewell! those free untired limbs full many a mile must roam,
To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the stranger's home;
Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bed prepare;
The silky mane I braided once must be another's care.
The morning sun shall dawn again, but never more with thee
Shall I gallop through the desert paths, where we were wont to be:
Evening shall darken on the earth; and o'er the sandy plain,
Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me home again.
Yes, thou must go! the wild free breeze, the brilliant sun and sky,
Thy master's home--from all of these my exiled one must fly.
Thy proud, dark eye will grow less proud, thy step become less fleet,
And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck, thy master's hand to meet.
Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye glancing bright;
Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and light;
And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or cheer thy speed,
Then must I, starting, wake to feel--thou'rt sold, my Arab steed!
Ah! rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide,
Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, along thy panting side,
And the rich blood that's in thee swells in thy indignant pain,
Till careless eyes, which rest on thee, may count each startled vein.
Will they ill-use thee? If I thought--but no, it cannot be--
Thou art so swift, yet easy curbed; so gentle, yet so free.
And yet, if haply, when thou'rt gone my lonely heart should yearn,
Can the hand which casts thee from it now, command thee to return?
Return! alas! my Arab steed! what shall thy master do,
When thou who wert his all of joy, hast vanished from his view?
When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and through the gathering tears,
Thy bright form for a moment, like the false mirage appears?
Slow and unmounted will I roam, with weary step alone,
Where with fleet step and joyous bound thou oft hast borne me on!
And sitting down by that green well, I'll pause and sadly think:
It was here he bowed his glossy neck when last I saw him drink!
When last I saw thee drink!--Away! the fevered dream is o'er;
I could not live a day, and know that we should meet no more!
They tempted me, my beautiful! for hunger's power is strong,
They tempted me, my beautiful! but I have loved too long.
Who said that I had given thee up, who said that thou wert sold?
'Tis false--'tis false, my Arab steed! I fling them back their gold.
Thus, thus I leap upon thy back, and scour the distant plains,
Away! who overtakes us now shall claim thee for his pains!
THE HONOURABLE MRS. NORTON
THE POET'S SONG
The rain had fallen, the Poet arose,
He pass'd by the town and out of the street,
A light wind blew from the gates of the sun,
And waves of shadow went over the wheat,
And he sat him down in a lonely place,
And chanted a melody loud and sweet,
That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud,
And the lark drop down at his feet.
The swallow stopt as he hunted the fly,
The snake slipt under a spray,
The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak,
And stared, with his foot on the prey,
And the nightingale thought, "I have sung many songs,
But never a one so gay,
For he sings of what the world will be
When the years have died away."
TENNYSON
Never to tire, never to grow cold; to be patient, sympathetic, tender;
to look for the budding flower, and the opening heart; to hope always,
like God, to love always--this is duty.
AMIEL
ADVENTURE WITH A WHALE
I gaily flung myself into my place in the mate's boat one morning, as we
were departing in chase of a magnificent cachalot that had been raised
just after breakfast. There were no other vessels in sight,--much to our
satisfaction,--the wind was light, with a cloudless sky, and the whale
was dead to leeward of us. We sped along at a good rate towards our
prospective victim, who was, in his leisurely enjoyment of life, calmly
lolling on the surface, occasionally lifting his enormous tail out of
water and letting it fall flat upon the surface with a boom audible for
miles.
We were, as usual, first boat; but, much to the mate's annoyance, when
we were a short half-mile from the whale our main-sheet parted. It
became immediately necessary to roll the sail up, lest its flapping
should alarm the watchful monster, and this delayed us sufficiently to
allow the other boats to shoot ahead of us. Thus the second mate got
fast some seconds before we arrived on the scene, seeing which, we
furled sail, unshipped the mast, and went in on him with the oars only.
At first the proceedings were quite of the usual character, our chief
wielding his lance in most brilliant fashion, while not being fast to
the animal allowed us much greater freedom in our evolutions; but that
fatal habit of the mate's--of allowing his boat to take care of herself
so long as he was getting in some good home-thrusts--once more asserted
itself. Although the whale was exceedingly vigorous, churning the sea
into yeasty foam over an enormous area, there we wallowed close to him,
right in the middle of the turmoil, actually courting disaster.
He had just settled down for a moment, when, glancing over the gunwale,
I saw his tail, like a vast shadow, sweeping away from us towards the
second mate, who was lying off the other side of him. Before I had time
to think, the mighty mass of gristle leaped into the sunshine, curved
back from us like a huge bow. Then with a roar it came at us, released
from its tension of Heaven knows how many tons. Full on the broadside it
struck us, sending every soul but me flying out of the wreckage as if
fired from catapults. I did not go because my foot was jammed somehow in
the well of the boat, but the wrench nearly pulled my thighbone out of
its socket. I had hardly released my foot when, towering above me, came
the colossal head of the great creature, as he ploughed through the
bundle of _débris_ that had just been a boat. There was an appalling
roar of water in my ears, and darkness that might be felt all around.
Yet, in the midst of it all, one thought predominated as clearly as if I
had been turning it over in my mind in the quiet of my bunk
aboard--"What if he should swallow me?" Nor to this day can I understand
how I escaped the portals of his gullet, which, of course, gaped wide as
a church door. But the agony of holding my breath soon overpowered every
other feeling and thought, till just as something was going to snap
inside my head, I rose to the surface. I was surrounded by a welter of
bloody froth, which, made it impossible for me to see; but oh, the air
was sweet!
I struck out blindly, instinctively, although I could feel so strong an
eddy that voluntary progress was out of the question. My hand touched
and clung to a rope, which immediately towed me in some direction--I
neither knew nor cared whither. Soon the motion ceased, and, with a
seaman's instinct, I began to haul myself along by the rope I grasped,
although no definite idea was in my mind as to where it was attached.
Presently I came butt up against something solid, the feel of which
gathered all my scattered wits into a compact knob of dread. It was the
whale! "Any port in a storm," I murmured, beginning to haul away again
on my friendly line. By dint of hard work I pulled myself right up the
sloping, slippery bank of blubber, until I reached the iron, which, as
luck would have it, was planted in that side of the carcass now
uppermost.
Carcass I said--well, certainly I had no idea of there being any life
remaining within the vast mass beneath me; yet I had hardly time to take
a couple of turns round myself with the rope (or whale-line, as I had
proved it to be), when I felt the great animal quiver all over, and
begin to forge ahead. I was now composed enough to remember that help
could not be far away, and that my rescue, providing that I could keep
above water, was but a question of a few minutes. But I was hardly
prepared for the whale's next move. Being very near his end, the boat,
or boats, had drawn off a bit, I supposed, for I could see nothing of
them. Then I remembered the flurry.
Almost at the same moment it began; and there was I, who, with fearful
admiration had so often watched the titanic convulsions of a dying
cachalot, actually involved in them. The turns were off my body, but I
was able to twist a couple of turns round my arms, which, in case of his
sounding, I could readily let go. Then all was lost in roar and rush, as
of the heart of some mighty cataract, during which I was sometimes
above, sometimes beneath, the water, but always clinging, with every
ounce of energy still left, to the line. Now, one thought was
uppermost--"What if he should breach?" I had seen them do so when in
flurry, leaping full twenty feet in the air. Then I prayed.
Quickly as all the preceding changes had passed, came perfect peace.
There I lay, still alive, but so weak that, although I could feel the
turns slipping off my arms, and knew that I should slide off the slope
of the whale's side into the sea if they did, I could make no effort to
secure myself. Everything then passed away from me, just as if I had
gone to sleep. I do not at all understand how I kept my position, nor
how long, but I awoke to the blessed sound of voices, and saw the second
mate's boat alongside.
FRANK T. BULLEN: "The Cruise of the Cachalot."
THE MAPLE
All hail to the broad-leaved Maple!
With her fair and changeful dress--
A type of our youthful country
In its pride and loveliness;
Whether in Spring or Summer,
Or in the dreary Fall,
'Mid Nature's forest children,
She's fairest of them all.
Down sunny slopes and valleys
Her graceful form is seen,
Her wide, umbrageous branches
The sunburnt reaper screen;
'Mid the dark-browed firs and cedars
Her livelier colours shine,
Like the dawn of the brighter future
On the settler's hut of pine.
She crowns the pleasant hilltop,
Whispers on breezy downs,
And casts refreshing shadows
O'er the streets of our busy towns;
She gladdens the aching eyeball,
Shelters the weary head,
And scatters her crimson glories
On the graves of the silent dead.
When winter's frosts are yielding
To the sun's returning sway,
And merry groups are speeding
To sugar-woods away;
The sweet and welling juices,
Which form their welcome spoil,
Tell of the teeming plenty,
Which here waits honest toil.
When sweet-toned Spring, soft-breathing,
Breaks Nature's icy sleep,
And the forest boughs are swaying
Like the green waves of the deep;
In her fair and budding beauty,
A fitting emblem, she,
Of this our land of promise,
Of hope, of liberty.
And when her leaves, all crimson,
Droop silently and fall,
Like drops of life-blood welling
From a warrior brave and tall;
They tell how fast and freely
Would her children's blood be shed,
Ere the soil of our faith and freedom
Should echo a foeman's tread.
Then hail to the broad-leaved Maple!
With her fair and changeful dress--
A type of our youthful country
In its pride and loveliness;
Whether in Spring or Summer,
Or in the dreary Fall,
'Mid Nature's forest children,
She's fairest of them all.
H. F. DARNELL
DAMON AND PYTHIAS
In Syracuse there was so hard a ruler that the people made a plot to
drive him out of the city. The plot was discovered, and the king
commanded that the leaders should be put to death. One of these, named
Damon, lived at some distance from Syracuse. He asked that before he was
put to death he might be allowed to go home to say good-bye to his
family, promising that he would then come back to die at the appointed
time.
The king did not believe that he would keep his word, and said: "I will
not let you go unless you find some friend who will come and stay in
your place. Then, if you are not back on the day set for execution, I
shall put your friend to death in your stead." The king thought to
himself: "Surely no one will ever take the place of a man condemned to
death."
Now, Damon had a very dear friend, named Pythias, who at once came
forward and offered to stay in prison while Damon was allowed to go
away. The king was very much surprised, but he had given his word; Damon
was therefore permitted to leave for home, while Pythias was shut up in
prison.
Many days passed, the time for the execution was close at hand, and
Damon had not come back. The king, curious to see how Pythias would
behave, now that death seemed so near, went to the prison.
"Your friend will never return," he said to Pythias.
"You are wrong," was the answer. "Damon will be here if he can possibly
come. But he has to travel by sea, and the winds have been blowing the
wrong way for several days. However, it is much better that I should die
than he. I have no wife and no children, and I love my friend so well
that it would be easier to die for him than to live without him. So I am
hoping and praying that he may be delayed until my head has fallen."
The king went away more puzzled than ever.
The fatal day arrived but Damon had not come. Pythias was brought
forward and led upon the scaffold. "My prayers are heard," he cried. "I
shall be permitted to die for my friend. But mark my words. Damon is
faithful and true; you will yet have reason to know that he has done his
utmost to be here!"
Just at this moment a man came galloping up at full speed, on a horse
covered with foam! It was Damon. In an instant he was on the scaffold,
and had Pythias in his arms. "My beloved friend," he cried, "the gods be
praised that you are safe. What agony have I suffered in the fear that
my delay was putting your life in danger!"
There was no joy in the face of Pythias, for he did not care to live if
his friend must die. But the king had heard all. At last he was forced
to believe in the unselfish friendship of these two. His hard heart
melted at the sight, and he set them both free, asking only that they
would be his friends, also.
CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
Honour and shame from no condition rise;
Act well your part, there all the honour lies.
POPE
THE WRECK OF THE ORPHEUS
All day, amid the masts and shrouds,
They hung above the wave;
The sky o'erhead was dark with clouds,
And dark beneath, their grave.
The water leaped against its prey,
Breaking with heavy crash,
And when some slack'ning hands gave way,
They fell with dull, low splash.
Captain and man ne'er thought to swerve;
The boats went to and fro;
With cheery face and tranquil nerve,
Each saw his brother go.
Each saw his brother go, and knew,
As night came swiftly on,
That less and less his own chance grew--
Night fell, and hope was gone.
The saved stood on the steamer's deck,
Straining their eyes to see
Their comrades clinging to the wreck
Upon that surging sea;
And still they gazed into the dark
Till, on their startled ears,
There came from that swift-sinking bark
A sound of gallant cheers.
Again, and yet again it rose;
Then silence round them fell--
Silence of death--and each man knows
It was a last farewell.
No cry of anguish, no wild shriek
Of men in agony--
No dropping down of watchers weak,
Weary and glad to die,
But death met with three British cheers--
Cheers of immortal fame;
For us the choking, blinding tears--
For them a glorious name.
Oh England, while thy sailor-host
Can live and die like these,
Be thy broad lands or won or lost,
Thou'rt mistress of the seas!
C. A. L.
THE TIDE RIVER
Clear and cool, clear and cool,
By laughing shallow, and dreaming pool;
Cool and clear, cool and clear,
By shining shingle, and foaming weir;
Under the crag where the ouzel sings,
And the ivied wall where the church-bell rings,
Undefiled, for the undefiled;
Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child.
Dank and foul, dank and foul,
By the smoky town in its murky cowl;
Foul and dank, foul and dank,
By wharf and sewer and slimy bank;
Darker and darker the further I go,
Baser and baser the richer I grow;
Who dare sport with the sin defiled?
Shrink from me, turn from me, mother and child.
Strong and free, strong and free,
The flood-gates are open, away to the sea;
Free and strong, free and strong,
Cleansing my streams as I hurry along
To the golden sands, and the leaping bar,
And the taintless tide that awaits me afar;
As I lose myself in the infinite main,
Like a soul that has sinned and is pardoned again.
Undefiled, for the undefiled,
Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child.
KINGSLEY
The best result of all education is the acquired power of making
yourself do what you ought to do, when you ought to do it, whether you
like it or not.
HUXLEY
[Illustration: ONTARIO AGRICULTURAL COLLEGE]
WISDOM THE SUPREME PRIZE
My son, despise not the chastening of the LORD;
Neither be weary of his reproof:
For whom the LORD loveth he reproveth;
Even as a father the son in whom he delighteth.
Happy is the man that findeth wisdom,
And the man that getteth understanding.
For the merchandise of it is better than the merchandise of silver,
And the gain thereof than fine gold.
She is more precious than rubies:
And none of the things thou canst desire are to be compared unto her.
Length of days is in her right hand;
In her left hand are riches and honour.
Her ways are ways of pleasantness,
And all her paths are peace.
She is a tree of life to them that lay hold upon her:
And happy is every one that retaineth her.
The LORD by wisdom founded the earth;
By understanding he established the heavens.
By his knowledge the depths were broken up,
And the skies drop down the dew.
PROVERBS, III.
THE ORCHARD
There's no garden like an orchard,
Nature shows no fairer thing
Than the apple trees in blossom
In these late days o' the spring.
Here the robin redbreast's nesting,
Here, from golden dawn till night,
Honey bees are gaily swimming
In a sea of pink and white.
Just a sea of fragrant blossoms,
Steeped in sunshine, drenched in dew,
Just a fragrant breath which tells you
Earth is fair again and new.
Just a breath of subtle sweetness,
Breath which holds the spice o' youth,
Holds the promise o' the summer--
Holds the best o' things, forsooth.
There's no garden like an orchard,
Nature shows no fairer thing
Than the apple trees in blossom
In these late days o' the spring.
JEAN BLEWETT
INSPIRED BY THE SNOW
The black squirrel delights in the new-fallen snow like a boy--a real
boy, with red hands as well as red cheeks, and an automatic mechanism of
bones and muscles capable of all things except rest. The first snow
sends a thrill of joy through every fibre of such a boy, and a thousand
delights crowd into his mind. The gliding, falling coasters on the
hills, the passing sleighs with niches on the runners for his feet, the
flying snowballs, the sliding-places, the broad, tempting ice, all whirl
through his mind in a delightful panorama, and he hurries out to catch
the elusive flakes in his outstretched hands and to shout aloud in the
gladness of his heart. And the black squirrel becomes a boy with the
first snow. What a pity he cannot shout! There is a superabundant joy
and life in his long, graceful bounds, when his beautiful form, in its
striking contrast with the white snow, seems magnified to twice its real
size. Perhaps there is vanity as well as joy in his lithe, bounding
motions among the naked trees, for nature seems to have done her utmost
to provide a setting that would best display his graces of form and
motion.