place and the weakness of its citizens. Perhaps it was not the reds'
first attack on this city of the little blacks. These swarmed out in
great numbers; and, truly, I pitied them. They did not attempt to fight.
They seemed terror-stricken, and made no attempt to oppose the warrior
ants, except by clinging to them. One of the marauders was stopped thus,
but a comrade that was free relieved him of his burden, and thereupon
the black ant let go his grasp.
"It was in fact a painful sight. The soldiers succeeded in carrying off
nearly five hundred children. About three feet from the entrance to the
ant-hill the plundered black parents ceased to follow the red robbers,
and resigned themselves to the loss of their young. The whole raid did
not occupy more than ten minutes.
"The parties were, as we have seen, very unequal in strength, and the
attack was clearly an outrage--an outrage no doubt often repeated. The
big red ants, knowing their power, played the part of tyrants; and,
whenever they wanted more slaves, despoiled the small weak blacks of
their greatest treasures--their children."
MICHELET
LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT
Lead, kindly Light, amid th' encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on;
The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead Thou me on.
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.
I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou
Shouldst lead me on;
I loved to choose and see my path; but now
Lead Thou me on.
I loved the garish day; and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will: remember not past years.
So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone,
And with the morn those angel faces smile,
Which I have loved long since, and lost a while.
NEWMAN
THE JOLLY SANDBOYS
The Jolly Sandboys was a small road-side inn with a sign, representing
three Sandboys, creaking and swinging on its post on the opposite side
of the road. As the travellers had observed many indications of their
drawing nearer to the race town, such as gypsy camps, showmen of various
kinds, and beggars and trampers of every degree, Mr. Codlin was fearful
of finding the accommodation forestalled; but had the gratification of
finding that his fears were without foundation, for the landlord was
leaning against the door-post, looking lazily at the rain which had
begun to descend heavily.
"Make haste in out of the wet, Tom," said the landlord; "when it came on
to rain I told 'em to make the fire up, and there's a glorious blaze in
the kitchen, I can tell you."
Mr. Codlin followed with a willing mind. A mighty fire was blazing on
the hearth and roaring up the wide chimney with a cheerful sound, which
a large iron cauldron, bubbling and simmering in the heat, lent its
pleasant aid to swell. There was a deep red ruddy blush upon the room,
and when the landlord stirred the fire, sending the flame skipping and
leaping up--when he took off the lid of the iron pot and there rushed
out a savoury smell, while the bubbling sound grew deeper and more rich,
and an unctuous steam came floating out, hanging in a delicious mist
above their heads--when he did this, Mr. Codlin's heart was touched.
He sat down in the chimney-corner and smiled.
Mr. Codlin sat smiling in the chimney-corner, eyeing the landlord as
with a roguish look he held the cover in his hand, and feigning that his
doing so was needful to the welfare of the cookery, suffered the
delightful steam to tickle the nostrils of his guest. The glow of the
fire was upon the landlord's bald head, and upon his twinkling eye, and
upon his watering mouth, and upon his pimpled face, and upon his round
fat figure. Mr. Codlin drew his sleeve across his lips, and said in a
murmuring voice: "What is it?"
"It's a stew of tripe," said the landlord, smacking his lips, "and
cow-heel," smacking them again, "and bacon," smacking them once more,
"and steak," smacking them for the fourth time, "and peas, cauliflowers,
new potatoes, and sparrow-grass, all working up together in one
delicious gravy." Having come to the climax, he smacked his lips a great
many times, and taking a long, hearty sniff of the fragrance that was
hovering about, put on the cover again with the air of one whose toils
on earth were over.
"At what time will it be ready?" asked Mr. Codlin, faintly.
"It'll be done to a turn," said the landlord looking up to the
clock--and the very clock had a colour in its fat white face, and looked
a clock for Jolly Sandboys to consult--"it'll be done to a turn at
twenty-two minutes before eleven."
Mr. Codlin now bethought him of his companions, and acquainted mine host
of the Sandboys that his partner Short, Nell and her grandfather might
shortly be looked for. At length they arrived drenched with rain and
presenting a most miserable appearance. But their steps were no sooner
heard upon the road than the landlord, who had been at the outer door
anxiously watching for their coming, rushed into the kitchen and took
the cover off. The effect was electrical. They all came in with smiling
faces though the wet was dripping from their clothes upon the floor, and
Short's first remark was: "What a delicious smell!"
It is not very difficult to forget rain and mud by the side of a
cheerful fire, and in a bright room. They were furnished with slippers
and such dry garments as the house or their own bundles afforded, and
seating themselves, as Mr. Codlin had already done, in the warm
chimney-corner, soon forgot their late troubles or only remembered them
as enhancing the delights of the present time.
Strange footsteps were now heard without, and fresh company entered.
These were no other than four very dismal dogs, who came pattering in
one after the other, headed by an old bandy dog of particularly mournful
aspect, who, stopping when the last of his followers had got as far as
the door, erected himself upon his hind legs and looked round at his
companions, who immediately stood upon their hind legs, in a grave and
melancholy row. Nor was this the only remarkable circumstance about
these dogs, for each of them wore a kind of little coat of some gaudy
colour trimmed with tarnished spangles, and one of them had a cap upon
his head, tied very carefully under his chin, which had fallen down upon
his nose and completely obscured one eye; add to this, that the gaudy
coats were all wet through and discoloured with rain, and that the
wearers were splashed and dirty, and some idea may be formed of the
unusual appearance of these new visitors to the Jolly Sandboys.
Neither Short nor the landlord nor Thomas Codlin, however, was in the
least surprised, merely remarking that these were Jerry's dogs, and that
Jerry could not be far behind. So there the dogs stood, patiently
winking and gaping and looking extremely hard at the boiling pot, until
Jerry himself appeared, when they all dropped down at once, and walked
about the room in their natural manner. This posture, it must be
confessed, did not much improve their appearance, as their own personal
tails and their coat tails--both capital things in their way--did not
agree together.
Jerry, the manager of these dancing dogs, was a tall black-whiskered man
in a velveteen coat, who seemed well known to the landlord and his
guests and accosted them with great cordiality. Disencumbering himself
of a barrel organ which he placed upon a chair, and retaining in his
hand a small whip wherewith to awe his company of comedians, he came up
to the fire to dry himself, and entered into conversation.
"Your people don't usually travel in character, do they?" said Short,
pointing to the dresses of the dogs. "It must come expensive, if they
do."
"No," replied Jerry, "no, it's not the custom with us. But we've been
playing a little on the road to-day, and we come out with a new wardrobe
at the races, so I didn't think it worth while to stop to undress. Down,
Pedro!"
This was addressed to the dog with the cap on, who, being a new member
of the company, and not quite certain of his duty, kept his unobscured
eye anxiously on his master, and was perpetually starting up on his hind
legs when there was no occasion, and falling down again.
The landlord now busied himself in laying the cloth, in which process
Mr. Codlin obligingly assisted by setting forth his own knife and fork
in the most convenient place and establishing himself behind them. When
everything was ready, the landlord took off the cover for the last time,
and then, indeed, there burst forth such a goodly promise of supper,
that if he had offered to put it on again or had hinted at postponement,
he would certainly have been sacrificed on his own hearth.
However, he did nothing of the kind, but instead assisted a stout
servant girl in turning the contents of the cauldron into a large
tureen; a proceeding which the dogs, proof against various hot splashes
which fell upon their noses, watched with terrible eagerness. At length
the dish was lifted on the table, and mugs of ale having been previously
set round, little Nell ventured to say grace, and supper began.
At this juncture the poor dogs were standing on their hind legs quite
surprisingly; the child, having pity on them, was about to cast some
morsels of food to them before she tasted it herself, hungry though she
was, when their master interposed.
"No, my dear, no, not an atom from anybody's hand but mine if you
please. That dog," said Jerry, pointing out the old leader of the troop,
and speaking in a terrible voice, "lost a halfpenny to-day. _He_ goes
without his supper."
The unfortunate creature dropped upon his forelegs directly, wagged his
tail, and looked imploringly at his master.
"You must be more careful, sir," said Jerry, walking coolly to the chair
where he had placed the organ, and setting the stop. "Come here. Now,
sir, you play away at that, while we have supper, and leave off if you
dare."
The dog immediately began to grind most mournful music. His master,
having shown him the whip, resumed his seat and called up the others,
who, at his directions, formed in a row, standing upright as a file of
soldiers.
"Now, gentlemen," said Jerry, looking at them attentively: "The dog
whose name's called, eats. The dogs whose names an't called, keep quiet.
Carlo."
The lucky individual whose name was called, snapped up the morsel thrown
towards him, but none of the others moved a muscle. In this manner they
were fed at the discretion of their master. Meanwhile the dog in
disgrace ground hard at the organ, sometimes in quick time, sometimes in
slow, but never leaving off for an instant. When the knives and forks
rattled very much, or any of his fellows got an unusually large piece of
fat, he accompanied the music with a short howl, but he immediately
checked it on his master looking round, and applied himself with
increased diligence to the Old Hundredth.
DICKENS: "Old Curiosity Shop."
So, when a great man dies,
For years beyond our ken,
The light he leaves behind him lies
Upon the paths of men.
LONGFELLOW
THE GLADNESS OF NATURE
Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,
When our mother Nature laughs around;
When even the deep blue heavens look glad,
And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?
There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,
And the gossip of swallows through all the sky;
The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den,
And the wilding bee hums merrily by.
The clouds are at play in the azure space,
And their shadows at play on the bright green vale,
And here they stretch to the frolic chase,
And there they roll on the easy gale.
There's a dance of leaves on that aspen bower,
There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree,
There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower,
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.
And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles
On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray,
On the leaping waters and gay young isles;
Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away.
BRYANT
OLD ENGLISH LIFE
When the sun rose on England of olden time, its faint red light stirred
every sleeper from the sack of straw, which formed the only bed of the
age. Springing from this rustling couch, where he had lain naked, and
throwing off the coarse coverlets, usually of sheepskin, the subject of
King Alfred donned the day's dress. Gentlemen wore linen or woollen
tunics, which reached to the knee; and, over these, long fur-lined
cloaks, fastened with a brooch of ivory or gold. Strips of cloth or
leather, bandaged crosswise from the ankle to the knee over red and blue
stockings; and black, pointed shoes, slit along the instep almost to the
toes and fastened with two thongs, completed the costume of an
Anglo-Saxon gentleman. The ladies, wrapping a veil of linen or silk upon
their delicate curls, laced a loose-flowing gown over a tight-sleeved
bodice, and pinned the graceful folds of their mantles with golden
butterflies and other tasteful trinkets.
Breakfast consisted probably of bread, meat, and ale, but was a lighter
repast than that taken when the hurry of the day lay behind. Often it
was eaten in the bower or private apartment.
The central picture in Old English life--the great event of the day--was
_Noon-meat_, or dinner in the great hall. A little before three, the
chief and all his household, with any stray guests who might have
dropped in, met in the hall, which stood in the centre of its encircling
bowers--the principal apartment of every Old English house. Clouds of
wood smoke, rolling up from a fire which blazed in the middle of the
floor, blackened the carved rafters of the arched roof before they found
their way out of the hole above which did duty as a chimney.
Tapestries, dyed purple, or glowing with variegated pictures of saints
and heroes, hung, and if the day was stormy, flapped upon the chinky
walls. In palaces and in earls' mansions coloured tiles, wrought into a
mosaic, formed a clean and pretty pavement; but the common flooring of
the time was clay, baked dry with the heat of winter evenings and summer
noons. The only articles of furniture always in the hall were wooden
benches; some of which, especially the _high settle_ or seat of the
chieftain, boasted cushions, or at least a rug.
While the hungry crowd, fresh from woodland and furrow, were lounging
near the fire or hanging up their weapons on the pegs and hooks that
jutted from the wall, a number of slaves, dragging in a long, flat,
heavy board, placed it on movable legs, and spread on its upper half a
handsome cloth. Then were arranged with other utensils for the meal some
flattish dishes, baskets of ash-wood for holding bread, a scanty
sprinkling of steel knives shaped like our modern razors, platters of
wood, and bowls for the universal broth.
The ceremony of "laying the board," as the Old English phrased it, being
completed, the work of demolition began. Great round cakes of
bread--huge junks of boiled bacon--vast rolls of broiled eel--cups of
milk--horns of ale--wedges of cheese--lumps of salt butter--and smoking
piles of cabbages and beans, melted like magic from the board under the
united attack of greasy fingers and grinding jaws. Kneeling slaves
offered to the lord and his honoured guests long skewers or spits, on
which steaks of beef or venison smoked and sputtered, ready for the
hacking blade.
Poultry, too, and game of every variety, filled the spaces of the upper
board; but the crowd of _loaf-eaters_, as old English domestics were
suggestively called, saw little of these daintier kinds of food, except
the naked bones. Nor did they much care, if, to their innumerable
hunches of bread, they could add enough pig to appease their hunger.
Hounds, sitting eager-eyed by their masters, snapped with sudden jaws at
scraps of fat flung to them, or retired into private life below the
board with some sweet bone that fortune sent them.
The solid part of the banquet ended with the washing of hands, performed
for the honoured occupants of the high settle by officious slaves. The
board was then dragged out of the hall; the loaf-eaters slunk away to
have a nap in the byre, or sat drowsily in corners of the hall; and the
drinking began. During the progress of the meal, Welsh ale had flowed
freely in horns or vessels of twisted glass. Mead and, in very grand
houses, wine now began to circle in goblets of gold and silver, or of
wood inlaid with those precious metals. In humbler houses, story-telling
and songs, sung to the music of the harp by each guest in turn, formed
the principal amusement of the drinking-bout.
Meantime the music and the mead did their work in maddening brains; the
revelry grew louder; riddles, which had flown thick around the board at
first, gave place to banter, taunts, and fierce boasts of prowess; angry
eyes gleamed defiance; and it was well if, in the morning, the household
slaves had not to wash blood-stains from the pavement of the hall, or in
the still night, when the drunken brawlers lay stupid on the floor, to
drag a dead man from the red plash in which he lay.
From the reek and riot of the hall the ladies of the household soon
withdrew to the bower, where they reigned supreme. There, in the earlier
part of the day, they had arrayed themselves in their bright-coloured
robes, plying tweezers and crisping-irons on their yellow hair, and
often heightening the blush that Nature gave them with a shade of rouge.
There, too, they used to scold their female slaves, and beat them, with
a violence which said more for their strength of lung and muscle than
for the gentleness of their womanhood.
When their needles were fairly set a-going upon those pieces of delicate
embroidery, known and prized over all Europe as "English work," some
gentlemen dropped in, perhaps harp in hand, to chat and play for their
amusement, or to engage in games of hazard and skill, which seem to have
resembled modern dice and chess. When in later days supper came into
fashion, the round table of the bower was usually spread for
_Evening-food_, as this meal was called. And not long afterwards, those
bags of straw, from which they sprang at sunrise, received for another
night their human burden, worn out with the labours and the revels of
the day.
W. F. COLLIER
(Adapted)
PUCK'S SONG
See you the dimpled track that runs,
All hollow through the wheat?
O that was where they hauled the guns
That smote King Philip's fleet.
See you our little mill that clacks,
So busy by the brook?
She has ground her corn and paid her tax
Ever since Domesday Book.
See you our stilly woods of oak,
And the dread ditch beside?
O that was where the Saxons broke,
On the day that Harold died.
See you the windy levels spread
About the gates of Rye?
O that was where the Northmen fled,
When Alfred's ships came by.
See you our pastures wide and lone,
Where the red oxen browse?
O there was a City thronged and known,
Ere London boasted a house.
And see you, after rain, the trace
Of mound and ditch and wall?
O that was a Legion's camping-place,
When Caesar sailed from Gaul.
And see you marks that show and fade,
Like shadows on the Downs?
O they are the lines the Flint Men made
To guard their wondrous towns.
Trackway and Camp and City lost,
Salt Marsh where now is corn;
Old Wars, old Peace, old Arts that cease,
And so was England born!
She is not any common Earth,
Water or wood or air,
But Merlin's Isle of Gramarye,
Where you and I will fare.
KIPLING: "Puck of Pook's Hill."
THE BATTLE OF QUEENSTON HEIGHTS
The thirteenth of October, 1812, is a day ever to be remembered in
Canada. All along the Niagara river the greatest excitement had
prevailed: many of the inhabitants had removed with their portable
property into the back country; small bodies of soldiers, regulars and
volunteers, were posted in the towns and villages; Indians were roving
in the adjacent woods; and sentinels, posted along the banks of the
river, were looking eagerly for the enemy that was to come from the
American shore and attempt the subjugation of a free, a happy, and a
loyal people.
In the village of Queenston, that nestles at the foot of an eminence
overlooking the mighty waters of Niagara, two companies of the
Forty-ninth Regiment, or "Green Tigers," as the Americans afterwards
termed them, with one hundred Canadian militia, were posted under the
command of Captain Dennis.
When tattoo sounded on the night of the twelfth, the little garrison
retired to rest. All was silent but the elements, which raged furiously
throughout the night. Nothing was to be heard but the howling of the
wind and the sound of falling rain mingled with the distant roar of the
great cataract. Dripping with rain and shivering with cold, the sentries
paced their weary rounds, from time to time casting a glance over the
swollen tide of the river towards the American shore. At length, when
the gray dawn of morning appeared, a wary sentinel descried a number of
boats, filled with armed men, pushing off from the opposite bank below
the village of Lewiston. Immediately the alarm was given. The soldiers
were roused from their peaceful slumbers, and marched down to the
landing-place. Meanwhile, a battery of one gun, posted on the heights,
and another about a mile below, began to play on the enemy's boats,
sinking some and disabling others.
Finding it impossible to effect a landing in the face of such
opposition, the Americans, leaving a few of their number to occupy the
attention of the troops on the bank, disembarked some distance up the
river, and succeeded in gaining the summit of the height by a difficult
and unprotected pathway. With loud cheers they captured the one-gun
battery, and rushed down upon Captain Dennis and his command; who,
finding themselves far outnumbered by the enemy, retired slowly towards
the north end of the village. Here they were met by General Brock, who
had set out in advance of reinforcements from the town of Niagara,
accompanied only by two officers. Placing himself at the head of the
little band, the gallant general cried: "Follow me!" and, amid the
cheers of regulars and militia, he led his men back to the height from
which they had been forced to retire. At the foot of the hill the
general dismounted, under the sharp fire of the enemy's riflemen, who
were posted among the trees on its summit, climbed over a high stone
wall, and waving his sword, charged up the hill at the head of his
soldiers. This intrepid conduct at once attracted the notice of the
enemy. One of their sharp-shooters advanced a few paces, took deliberate
aim, and shot the general in the breast. It was a mortal wound. Thus
fell Sir Isaac Brock, the hero of Upper Canada, whose name will outlive
the noble monument which a grateful country has erected to his memory.
The fall of their beloved commander infuriated his followers. With loud
cheers of "Revenge the general!" they pressed forward up the hill, and
drove the enemy from their position. But reinforcements were continually
pouring in from the American shore; and after a deadly struggle, in
which Colonel Macdonell, Captain Dennis, and most of the other officers
fell, these brave men were again compelled to retire. They took refuge
under the guns of the lower battery, there awaiting the arrival of
reinforcements from Niagara. About mid-day the first of these arrived,
consisting of a band of fifty Mohawks, under their chiefs, Norton and
Brant. These Indian allies boldly engaged the enemy, and maintained for
a short time a sharp skirmish, but finally retired on the main
reinforcement. This arrived in the course of the afternoon, under the
command of Major-General Sheaffe. Instead of meeting the enemy on the
old ground, the officer now in command moved his whole force of one
thousand men to the right of the enemy's position, and sent forward his
left flank to attack the American right. This left flank was of a very
varied character, consisting of one company of the Forty-first Regiment
of the line, a company of coloured men, and a body of volunteer militia
and Indians, united, in spite of their difference of colour and race, by
loyalty to the British crown and heart-hatred of foreign aggression.
This division advanced in gallant style. After delivering a volley, the
whole line of white, red, and black charged the enemy, and drove in his
right wing at the point of the bayonet.