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THE ONTARIO READERS
FOURTH BOOK
AUTHORIZED BY THE MINISTER OF EDUCATION
Entered, according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year 1909,
in the office of the Minister of Agriculture by the Minister of
Education for Ontario
Toronto:
The T. EATON Co Limited
'14-1
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Minister of Education is indebted to Goldwin Smith, Rudyard Kipling,
Henry Newbolt, The Earl of Dunraven, Sir W. F. Butler, Frank T. Bullen,
Charles G. D. Roberts, W. Wilfred Campbell, Frederick George Scott,
Agnes Maule Machar, Agnes C. Laut, Marjorie L. C. Pickthall, and S. T.
Wood, for special permission to reproduce, in this Reader, selections
from their writings.
He is indebted to Lord Tennyson for special permission to reproduce the
poems from the works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson; to Lloyd Osbourne for
permission to reproduce the extract from Robert Louis Stevenson's
"Kidnapped"; and to C. Egerton Ryerson for permission to reproduce the
extract from Egerton Ryerson's "The Loyalists of America and their
Times."
He is also indebted to Macmillan & Co., Limited, for special permission
to reproduce selected poems from the works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson,
Rudyard Kipling, Sir F. H. Doyle, Cecil Frances Alexander; to Longmans,
Green & Co., for the selections from Froude's "Short Studies on Great
Subjects" and from his "History of England"; to Smith, Elder & Co., for
the extract from F. T. Bullen's "The Cruise of the Cachalot"; to Elkin
Mathews for Henry Newbolt's poem from "The Island Race"; to Thomas
Nelson & Sons for the extract from W. F. Collier's "History of the
British Empire"; to The Copp Clark Co., Limited, for selected poems from
the works of Charles G. D. Roberts, and of Agnes Maule Machar; to the
Hunter-Rose Company for the extract from Canniff Haight's "Country Life
in Canada"; to Morang & Company for selected poems from the works of
Archibald Lampman, and for the extract from Roberts' "History of
Canada"; and to Houghton Mifflin Company for the article from "_The
Atlantic Monthly_" on "British Colonial and Naval Power."
The Minister is grateful to these authors and publishers and to others,
not mentioned here, through whose courtesy he has been able to include
in this Reader so many copyright selections.
Toronto, May, 1909.
CONTENTS
_The Children's Song_ _Rudyard Kipling_
_Our Country_ _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
Tom Tulliver at School _George Eliot_
_Ingratitude_ _William Shakespeare_
_The Giant_ _Charles Mackay_
The Discovery of America _William Robertson_
_The First Spring Day_ _Christina G. Rossetti_
The Battle of the Pipes _Robert Louis Stevenson_
_Bega_ _Marjorie L. C. Pickthall_
_A Musical Instrument_ _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_
Wolfe and Montcalm _Francis Parkman_
_Canada_ _Charles G. D. Roberts_
Scrooge's Christmas _Charles Dickens_
_Hands All Round_ _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
Judah's Supplication to Joseph _Bible_
_Miriam's Song_ _Thomas Moore_
_The Destruction of Sennacherib_ _George Gordon, Lord Byron_
The Lark at the Diggings _Charles Reade_
_The Ancient Mariner_ _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_
At the Close of the French Period
in Canada _Charles G. D. Roberts_
_A Hymn of Empire_ _Frederick George Scott_
Story of Absalom _Bible_
_The Burial of Moses_ _Cecil Frances Alexander_
The Crusader and the Saracen _Sir Walter Scott_
_Mercy_ _William Shakespeare_
_From "An August Reverie"_ _William Wilfred Campbell_
Work and Wages _John Ruskin_
_Untrodden Ways_ _Agnes Maule Machar_
_The First Ploughing_ _Charles G. D. Roberts_
The Archery Contest _Sir Walter Scott_
_In November_ _Archibald Lampman_
_Autumn Woods_ _William Cullen Bryant_
In a Canoe _Lord Dunraven_
_Afton Water_ _Robert Burns_
David Copperfield's First
Journey Alone _Charles Dickens_
_The Barefoot Boy_ _John G. Whittier_
Country Life in Canada in
the "Thirties" _Canniff Haight_
_Heat_ _Archibald Lampman_
The Two Paths _Bible_
_Bernardo del Carpio_ _Felicia Hemans_
Moses' Bargains _Oliver Goldsmith_
_The Maple_ _Charles G. D. Roberts_
_The Greenwood Tree_ _William Shakespeare_
Lake Superior _Major W. F. Butler_
The Red River Plain _Major W. F. Butler_
_The Unnamed Lake_ _Frederick George Scott_
Life in Norman England _William F. Collier_
_Ye Mariners of England_ _Thomas Campbell_
Instruction _Bible_
_Home Thoughts From Abroad_ _Robert Browning_
_The Bells of Shandon_ _Francis Mahony_
The Vision of Mirzah _Joseph Addison_
_Forbearance_ _Ralph Waldo Emerson_
_Mercy to Animals_ _William Cowper_
The United Empire Loyalists _Egerton Ryerson_
_Oft, in the Stilly Night_ _Thomas Moore_
_The Harp That Once Through
Tara's Halls_ _Thomas Moore_
Hudson Strait _Agnes C. Laut_
_Scots, Wha Hae_ _Robert Burns_
St. Ambrose Crew Win Their
First Race _Thomas Hughes_
_Hunting Song_ _Sir Walter Scott_
_Border Ballad_ _Sir Walter Scott_
The Great Northern Diver _Samuel T. Wood_
_To the Cuckoo_ _William Wordsworth_
_On the Grasshopper and Cricket_ _John Keats_
The Great Northwest _Major W. F. Butler_
_Rule, Britannia_ _James Thomson_
The Commandment and the Reward _Bible_
_The Spacious Firmament_ _Joseph Addison_
_June_ _James Russell Lowell_
The Fifth Voyage of Sinbad the Sailor "_The Arabian Nights
Entertainments_"
_Ocean_ _George Gordon, Lord Byron_
Pontiac's Attempt to Capture Fort
Detroit _Major Richardson_
_My Native Land_ _Sir Walter Scott_
_Morning on the Lièvre_ _Archibald Lampman_
_Evening_ _Archibald Lampman_
An Elizabethan Seaman _James Anthony Froude_
_The Sea-King's Burial_ _Charles Mackay_
My Castles in Spain _George William Curtis_
_Aladdin_ _James Russell Lowell_
Drake's Voyage Round the World _James Anthony Froude_
_The Solitary Reaper_ _William Wordsworth_
Clouds, Rains, and Rivers _John Tyndall_
_Fitz-James and Roderick Dhu_ _Sir Walter Scott_
The Indignation of Nicholas Nickleby _Charles Dickens_
_Dickens in Camp_ _Bret Harte_
_Dost Thou Look Back on What
Hath Been_ _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
The Passing of Arthur _Sir Thomas Malory_
_The Armada_ _Thomas Babington, Lord Macaulay_
Departure and Death of Nelson _Robert Southey_
_Waterloo_ _George Gordon, Lord Byron_
_Ode Written in 1746_ _William Collins_
Balaklava _William Howard Russell_
_Funeral of Wellington_ _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_
In a Cave with a Whale _Frank T. Bullen_
_The Glove and the Lions_ _Leigh Hunt_
Three Scenes in the Tyrol _Richter_
_Marston Moor_ _William Mackworth Praed_
London _Goldwin Smith_
_How They Brought the Good News
from Ghent to Aix_ _Robert Browning_
_An Incident of the French Camp_ _Robert Browning_
British Colonial and Naval Power "_Atlantic Monthly_"
_England, My England_ _William Ernest Henley_
_A Good Time Going_ _Oliver Wendell Holmes_
God is Our Refuge _Bible_
_Indian Summer_ _Susanna Moodie_
_The Skylark_ _James Hogg_
What is War _John Bright_
_The Homes of England_ _Felicia Hemans_
_To a Water-Fowl_ _William Cullen Bryant_
The Fascination of Light _Samuel T. Wood_
_Daffodils_ _William Wordsworth_
_To the Dandelion_ _James Russell Lowell_
True Greatness _George Eliot_
_The Private of the Buffs_ _Sir Francis Hastings Doyle_
Honourable Toil _Thomas Carlyle_
_On his Blindness_ _John Milton_
_Mysterious Night_ _Joseph Blanco White_
_Vitaï Lampada_ _Henry Newbolt_
The Irreparable Past _Frederick W. Robertson_
_A Christmas Hymn, 1837_ _Alfred Domett_
_The Quarrel_ _William Shakespeare_
_Recessional_ _Rudyard Kipling_
The Good Land
For the Lord thy God bringeth thee into a good land, a land of brooks of
water, of fountains and depths, springing forth in valleys and hills; a
land of wheat and barley, and vines and fig trees and pomegranates; a
land of oil olives and honey; a land wherein thou shalt eat bread
without scarceness, thou shalt not lack anything in it; a land whose
stones are iron, and out of whose hills thou mayest dig brass.
And thou shalt eat and be full, and thou shalt bless the Lord thy God
for the good land which He hath given thee.
Deuteronomy. VIII.
FOURTH READER
THE CHILDREN'S SONG
Land of our Birth, we pledge to thee
Our love and toil in the years to be,
When we are grown and take our place,
As men and women with our race.
Father in Heaven who lovest all,
Oh help Thy children when they call;
That they may build from age to age,
An undefilèd heritage.
Teach us to bear the yoke in youth
With steadfastness and careful truth;
That, in our time, Thy Grace may give
The Truth whereby the Nations live.
Teach us to rule ourselves alway,
Controlled and cleanly night and day,
That we may bring, if need arise,
No maimed or worthless sacrifice.
Teach us to look in all our ends,
On Thee for judge, and not our friends;
That we, with Thee, may walk uncowed
By fear or favour of the crowd.
Teach us the Strength that cannot seek,
By deed or thought, to hurt the weak;
That, under Thee, we may possess
Man's strength to comfort man's distress.
Teach us Delight in simple things,
And Mirth that has no bitter springs,
Forgiveness free of evil done,
And Love to all men 'neath the sun!
Land of our Birth, our faith, our pride,
For whose dear sake our fathers died,
Oh Motherland, we pledge to thee,
Head, heart, and hand through years to be!
Kipling
OUR COUNTRY
Love thou thy land, with love far-brought
From out the storied Past, and used
Within the Present, but transfused
Thro' future time by power of thought.
Tennyson
TOM TULLIVER AT SCHOOL
It was Mr. Tulliver's first visit to see Tom, for the lad must learn not
to think too much about home.
"Well, my lad," he said to Tom, when Mr. Stelling had left the room to
announce the arrival to his wife, and Maggie had begun to kiss Tom
freely, "you look rarely. School agrees with you."
Tom wished he had looked rather ill.
"I don't think I _am_ well, father," said Tom; "I wish you'd ask Mr.
Stelling not to let me do Euclid--it brings on the toothache, I think."
(The toothache was the only malady to which Tom had ever been subject.)
"Euclid, my lad; why, what's that?" said Mr. Tulliver.
"Oh, I don't know. It's definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and
things. It's a book I've got to learn in; there's no sense in it."
"Go, go!" said Mr. Tulliver, reprovingly, "you mustn't say so. You must
learn what your master tells you. He knows what it's right for you to
learn."
"_I'll_ help you now, Tom," said Maggie, with a little air of
patronizing consolation. "I'm come to stay ever so long, if Mrs.
Stelling asks me. I've brought my box and my pinafores, haven't I,
father?"
"_You_ help me, you silly little thing!" said Tom, in such high spirits
at this announcement that he quite enjoyed the idea of confounding
Maggie by showing her a page of Euclid. "I should like to see you doing
one of _my_ lessons! Why, I learn Latin too! Girls never learn such
things. They're too silly."
"I know what Latin is very well," said Maggie, confidently. "Latin's a
language. There are Latin words in the Dictionary. There's 'bonus, a
gift.'"
"Now, you're just wrong there, Miss Maggie!" said Tom, secretly
astonished. "You think you're very wise. But 'bonus' means 'good,' as it
happens--'bonus, bona, bonum.'"
"Well, that's no reason why it shouldn't mean 'gift,'" said Maggie,
stoutly. "It may mean several things--almost every word does.
There's 'lawn'--it means the grass-plot, as well as the stuff
pocket-handkerchiefs are made of."
"Well done, little 'un," said Mr. Tulliver, laughing, while Tom felt
rather disgusted with Maggie's knowingness, though beyond measure
cheerful at the thought that she was going to stay with him. Her conceit
would soon be overawed by the actual inspection of his books.
Mrs. Stelling, in her pressing invitation, did not mention a longer time
than a week for Maggie's stay; but Mr. Stelling, who took her between
his knees, and asked her where she stole her dark eyes from, insisted
that she must stay a fortnight. Maggie thought Mr. Stelling was a
charming man, and Mr. Tulliver was quite proud to leave his little wench
where she would have an opportunity of showing her cleverness to
appreciating strangers. So it was agreed that she should not be fetched
home till the end of the fortnight.
"Now, then, come with me into the study, Maggie," said Tom, as their
father drove away. "What do you shake and toss your head now for, you
silly?" he continued; for, though her hair was now under a new
dispensation, and was brushed smoothly behind her ears, she seemed still
in imagination to be tossing it out of her eyes. "It makes you look as
if you were crazy."
"Oh, I can't help it," said Maggie, impatiently. "Don't tease me, Tom.
Oh, what books!" she exclaimed, as she saw the book-cases in the study.
"How I should like to have as many books as that!"
"Why, you couldn't read one of 'em," said Tom, triumphantly. "They're
all Latin."
"No, they aren't," said Maggie. "I can read the back of this ...
'History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.'"
"Well, what does that mean? _You_ don't know," said Tom, wagging his
head.
"But I could soon find out," said Maggie, scornfully.
"Why, how?"
"I should look inside, and see what it was about."
"You'd better not, Miss Maggie," said Tom, seeing her hand on the
volume. "Mr. Stelling lets nobody touch his books without leave, and I
shall catch it if you take it out."
"Oh, very well! Let me see all _your_ books, then," said Maggie, turning
to throw her arms round Tom's neck, and rub his cheek with her small,
round nose.
Tom, in the gladness of his heart at having dear old Maggie to dispute
with and crow over again, seized her round the waist, and began to jump
with her round the large library table. Away they jumped with more and
more vigour, till Maggie's hair flew from behind her ears, and twirled
about like an animated mop. But the revolutions round the table became
more and more irregular in their sweep, till at last reaching Mr.
Stelling's reading-stand, they sent it thundering down with its heavy
lexicons to the floor. Happily it was the ground-floor, and the study
was a one-storied wing to the house, so that the downfall made no
alarming resonance, though Tom stood dizzy and aghast for a few minutes,
dreading the appearance of Mr. or Mrs. Stelling.
"Oh, I say, Maggie," said Tom at last, lifting up the stand, "we must
keep quiet here, you know. If we break anything, Mrs. Stelling'll make
us cry peccavi."
"What's that?" said Maggie.
"Oh, it's the Latin for a good scolding," said Tom, not without some
pride in his knowledge.
"Is she a cross woman?" said Maggie.
"I believe you!" said Tom, with an emphatic nod.
"I think all women are crosser than men," said Maggie. "Aunt Glegg's a
great deal crosser than Uncle Glegg, and mother scolds me more than
father does."
"Well, _you'll_ be a woman some day," said Tom, "so _you_ needn't
talk."
"But I shall be a _clever_ woman," said Maggie, with a toss.
"Oh, I daresay, and a nasty, conceited thing. Everybody'll hate you."
"But you oughtn't to hate me, Tom. It'll be very wicked of you, for I
shall be your sister."
"Yes, but if you're a nasty, disagreeable thing, I _shall_ hate you."
"Oh but, Tom, you won't! I shan't be disagreeable. I shall be very good
to you, and I shall be good to everybody. You won't hate me really, will
you, Tom?"
"Oh, bother, never mind! Come, it's time for me to learn my lessons. See
here, what I've got to do," said Tom, drawing Maggie towards him and
showing her his theorem, while she pushed her hair behind her ears, and
prepared herself to prove her capability of helping him in Euclid. She
began to read with full confidence in her own powers; but presently,
becoming quite bewildered, her face flushed with irritation. It was
unavoidable: she must confess her incompetency, and she was not fond of
humiliation.
"It's nonsense!" she said, "and very ugly stuff; nobody need want to
make it out."
"Ah, there now, Miss Maggie!" said Tom, drawing the book away and
wagging his head at her; "you see you're not so clever as you thought
you were."
"Oh," said Maggie, pouting, "I daresay I could make it out if I'd
learned what goes before, as you have."
"But that's what you just couldn't, Miss Wisdom," said Tom. "For it's
all the harder when you know what goes before; for then you've got to
say what definition 3 is, and what axiom V is. But get along with you
now; I must go on with this. Here's the Latin Grammar. See what you can
make of that."
Maggie found the Latin Grammar quite soothing after her mathematical
mortification, for she delighted in new words, and quickly found that
there was an English Key at the end, which would make her very wise
about Latin, at slight expense. It was really very interesting--the
Latin Grammar that Tom had said no girls could learn, and she was proud
because she found it interesting.
"Now, then, Magsie, give us the Grammar!"
"Oh, Tom, it's such a pretty book!" she said, as she jumped out of the
large arm-chair to give it him; "it's much prettier than the Dictionary.
I could learn Latin very soon. I don't think it's at all hard."
"Oh, I know what you've been doing," said Tom; "you've been reading the
English at the end. Any donkey can do that."
Tom seized the book and opened it with a determined and business-like
air, as much as to say that he had a lesson to learn which no donkeys
would find themselves equal to. Maggie, rather piqued, turned to the
book-cases to amuse herself with puzzling out the titles.
George Eliot: "The Mill on the Floss."
INGRATITUDE
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot;
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remembered not.
Shakespeare
[Illustration: H. M. KING EDWARD VII.]
THE GIANT
There came a Giant to my door,
A Giant fierce and strong;
His step was heavy on the floor,
His arms were ten yards long.
He scowled and frowned; he shook the ground;
I trembled through and through;
At length I looked him in the face
And cried, "Who cares for you?"
The mighty Giant, as I spoke,
Grew pale, and thin, and small,
And through his body, as 'twere smoke,
I saw the sunshine fall.
His blood-red eyes turned blue as skies:--
"Is this," I cried, with growing pride,
"Is this the mighty foe?"
He sank before my earnest face,
He vanished quite away,
And left no shadow in his place
Between me and the day.
Such giants come to strike us dumb,
But, weak in every part,
They melt before the strong man's eyes,
And fly the true of heart.
Charles Mackay
THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA
Next morning, being Friday the third day of August, in the year 1492,
Columbus set sail, a little before sunrise, in presence of a vast crowd
of spectators, who sent up their supplications to Heaven for the
prosperous issue of the voyage, which they wished rather than expected.
Columbus steered directly for the Canary Islands, and arrived there
without any occurrence that would have deserved notice on any other
occasion. But, in a voyage of such expectation and importance, every
circumstance was the object of attention.
As they proceeded, the indications of approaching land seemed to be more
certain, and excited hope in proportion. The birds began to appear in
flocks, making towards the south-west. Columbus, in imitation of the
Portuguese navigators, who had been guided in several of their
discoveries by the motion of birds, altered his course from due west
towards that quarter whither they pointed their flight. But, after
holding on for several days in this new direction, without any better
success than formerly, having seen no object during thirty days but the
sea and the sky, the hopes of his companions subsided faster than they
had risen; their fears revived with additional force; impatience, rage,
and despair appeared in every countenance. All sense of subordination
was lost. The officers, who had hitherto concurred with Columbus in
opinion, and supported his authority, now took part with the private
men; they assembled tumultuously on the deck, expostulated with their
commander, mingled threats with their expostulations, and required him
instantly to tack about and return to Europe. Columbus perceived that it
would be of no avail to have recourse to any of his former arts, which,
having been tried so often, had lost their effect; and that it was
impossible to rekindle any zeal for the success of the expedition among
men in whose breasts fear had extinguished every generous sentiment. He
saw that it was no less vain to think of employing either gentle or
severe measures to quell a mutiny so general and so violent. It was
necessary, on all these accounts, to soothe passions which he could no
longer command, and to give way to a torrent too impetuous to be
checked. He promised solemnly to his men that he would comply with
their request, provided they would accompany him and obey his command
for three days longer, and if, during that time, land were not
discovered, he would then abandon the enterprise, and direct his course
towards Spain.
Enraged as the sailors were, and impatient to turn their faces again
towards their native country, this proposition did not appear to them
unreasonable; nor did Columbus hazard much in confining himself to a
term so short. The presages of discovering land were now so numerous and
promising that he deemed them infallible. For some days the
sounding-line reached the bottom, and the soil which it brought up
indicated land to be at no great distance. The flocks of birds
increased, and were composed not only of sea-fowl, but of such
land-birds as could not be supposed to fly far from the shore. The crew
of the Pinta observed a cane floating, which seemed to have been newly
cut, and likewise a piece of timber artificially carved. The sailors
aboard the Nigna took up the branch of a tree with red berries perfectly
fresh. The clouds around the setting sun assumed a new appearance; the
air was more mild and warm, and during night the wind became unequal
and variable. From all these symptoms, Columbus was so confident of
being near land, that on the evening of the eleventh of October, after
public prayers for success, he ordered the sails to be furled, and the
ships to lie to, keeping strict watch lest they should be driven ashore
in the night. During this interval of suspense and expectation, no man
shut his eyes, all kept upon deck, gazing towards that quarter where
they expected to discover the land, which had so long been the object of
their wishes.
About two hours before midnight, Columbus, standing on the forecastle,
observed a light in the distance, and privately pointed it out to Pedro
Guttierez, a page of the Queen's wardrobe. Guttierez perceived it, and
calling to Salcedo, comptroller of the fleet, all three saw it in
motion, as if it were carried from place to place. A little after
midnight, the joyful sound of "Land! Land!" was heard from the Pinta,
which kept always ahead of the other ships. But, having been so often
deceived by fallacious appearances, every man was now become slow of
belief, and waited in all the anguish of uncertainty and impatience for
the return of day. As soon as morning dawned, all doubts and fears were
dispelled. From every ship an island was seen about two leagues to the
north, whose flat and verdant fields, well stored with wood, and watered
with many rivulets, presented the aspect of a delightful country.
The crew of the Pinta instantly began the _Te Deum_, as a hymn of
thanksgiving to God, and were joined by those of the other ships with
tears of joy and transports of congratulation. This office of gratitude
to Heaven was followed by an act of justice to their commander. They
threw themselves at the feet of Columbus, with feelings of
self-condemnation, mingled with reverence. They implored him to pardon
their ignorance, incredulity, and insolence, which had created him so
much unnecessary disquiet, and had so often obstructed the prosecution
of his well-concerted plan; and passing, in the warmth of their
admiration, from one extreme to the other, they now pronounced the man
whom they had so lately reviled and threatened, to be a person inspired
by Heaven with sagacity and fortitude more than human, in order to
accomplish a design so far beyond the ideas and conceptions of all
former ages.
William Robertson: "The History of America."
THE FIRST SPRING DAY
I wonder if the sap is stirring yet,
If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate,
If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun,
And crocus fires are kindled one by one:
Sing, robin, sing!
I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.
I wonder if the spring-tide of this year
Will bring another spring both lost and dear;
If heart and spirit will find out their spring,
Or if the world alone will bud and sing:
Sing, hope, to me!
Sweet notes, my hope, sweet notes for memory.
The sap will surely quicken soon or late,
The tardiest bird will twitter to a mate;
So Spring must dawn again with warmth and bloom,
Or in this world, or in the world to come:
Sing, voice of Spring!
Till I, too, blossom and rejoice and sing.
Christina Rossetti
Be that which you would make others.
Amiel
THE BATTLE OF THE PIPES
A thing happened worth narrating at the close of a visit paid me by
Robin Oig, one of the sons of the notorious Rob Roy. As he was leaving,
just in the door, he met Alan coming in; and the two drew back and
looked at each other like strange dogs. They were neither of them big
men, but they seemed fairly to swell out with pride. Each wore a sword,
and by a movement of his haunch, thrust clear the hilt of it, so that it
might be the more readily grasped and the blade drawn.
"Mr. Stewart, I am thinking," says Robin.
"Troth, Mr. Macgregor, it's not a name to be ashamed of," answered Alan.
"I did not know ye were in my country, sir," says Robin.
"It sticks in my mind that I am in the country of my friends, the
Maclarens," says Alan.
"That's a kittle point," returned the other. "There may be two words to
say to that. But I think I will have heard that you are a man of your
sword?"
"Unless ye were born deaf, Mr. Macgregor, ye will have heard a good
deal more than that," says Alan. "I am not the only man who can draw
steel in Appin; and when my kinsman and captain, Ardshiel, had a talk
with a gentleman of your name, not so many years back, I could never
hear that the Macgregor had the best of it."
"Do you mean my father, sir?" says Robin.
"Well, I wouldnae wonder," says Alan. "The gentleman I have in my mind
had the ill-taste to clap Campbell to his name."
"My father was an old man," returned Robin. "The match was unequal. You
and me would make a better pair, sir."
"I was thinking that," said Alan.
I was half out of bed, and Duncan had been hanging at the elbow of these
fighting cocks, ready to intervene upon the least occasion. But when
that word was uttered, it was a case of now or never; and Duncan, with
something of a white face to be sure, thrust himself between.
"Gentlemen," said he, "I will have been thinking of a very different
matter. Here are my pipes, and here are you two gentlemen who are baith
acclaimed pipers. It's an auld dispute which one of ye's the best. Here
will be a braw chance to settle it."
"Why, sir," said Alan, still addressing Robin, from whom indeed he had
not so much as shifted his eyes, nor yet Robin from him, "why, sir,"
says Alan, "I think I will have heard some sough of the sort. Have ye
music, as folk say? Are ye a bit of a piper?"
"I can pipe like a Maccrimmon!" cries Robin.
"And that is a very bold word," quoth Alan.
"I have made bolder words good before now," returned Robin, "and that
against better adversaries."
"It is easy to try that," says Alan.
Duncan Dhu made haste to bring out the pair of pipes that was his
principal possession, and to set before his guests a muttonham and a
bottle of that drink which they call Athole brose. The two enemies were
still on the very breach of a quarrel; but down they sat, one upon each
side of the peat fire, with a mighty show of politeness. Maclaren
pressed them to taste his muttonham and "the wife's brose," reminding
them the wife was out of Athole and had a name far and wide for her
skill in that confection. But Robin put aside these hospitalities as bad
for the breath.
"I would have ye to remark, sir," said Alan, "that I havenae broken
bread for near upon ten hours, which will be worse for the breath than
any brose in Scotland."
"I will take no advantages, Mr. Stewart," replied Robin. "Eat and drink;
I'll follow."
Each ate a small portion of the ham and drank a glass of the brose to
Mrs. Maclaren; and then, after a great number of civilities, Robin took
the pipes and played a little spring in a very ranting manner.
"Ay, ye can blow," said Alan; and, taking the instrument from his rival,
he first played the same spring in a manner identical with Robin's; and
then wandered into variations, which, as he went on, he decorated with a
perfect flight of grace-notes, such as pipers love, and call the
"warblers."
I had been pleased with Robin's playing, Alan's ravished me.
"That's no very bad, Mr. Stewart," said the rival, "but ye show a poor
device in your warbler."
"Me!" cried Alan, the blood starting to his face. "I give ye the lie."
"Do ye own yourself beaten at the pipes, then," said Robin, "that ye
seek to change them for the sword?"
"And that's very well said, Mr. Macgregor," returned Alan; "and in the
meantime" (laying a strong accent on the word) "I take back the lie. I
appeal to Duncan."
"Indeed, ye need appeal to naebody," said Robin. "Ye're a far better
judge than any Maclaren in Balwhidder: for it's a God's truth that
you're a very creditable piper for a Stewart. Hand me the pipes."
Alan did as he asked; and Robin proceeded to imitate and correct some
part of Alan's variations, which it seemed that he remembered perfectly.
"Ay, ye have music," said Alan, gloomily.
"And now be the judge yourself, Mr. Stewart," said Robin; and taking up
the variations from the beginning, he worked them throughout to so new a
purpose, with such ingenuity and sentiment, and with so odd a fancy and
so quick a knack in the grace-notes, that I was amazed to hear him.
As for Alan his face grew dark and hot, and he sat and gnawed his
fingers, like a man under some deep affront. "Enough!" he cried. "Ye can
blow the pipes--make the most of that." And he made as if to rise.
But Robin only held out his hand as if to ask for silence, and struck
into the slow music of a pibroch. It was a fine piece of music in
itself, and nobly played; but, it seems besides, it was a piece peculiar
to the Appin Stewarts and a chief favourite with Alan. The first notes
were scarce out, before there came a change in his face; when the time
quickened, he seemed to grow restless in his seat; and long before that
piece was at an end, the last signs of his anger died from him, and he
had no thought but for the music.
"Robin Oig," he said, when it was done, "ye are a great piper. I am not
fit to blow in the same kingdom with ye. Body of me! ye have more music
in your sporran than I have in my head! And, though it still sticks in
my mind that I could show ye another of it with the cold steel, I warn
ye beforehand--it'll no be fair! It would go against my heart to haggle
a man that can blow the pipes as you can!"
Thereupon the quarrel was made up. All night long the pipes were
changing hands, and the day had come pretty bright before Robin as much
as thought upon the road.
Robert Louis Stevenson: "Kidnapped."
BEGA
From the clouded belfry calling
Hear my soft ascending swells,
Hear my notes like swallows falling:
I am Bega, least of bells.
When great Turkeful rolls and rings
All the storm-touched turret swings,
Echoing battle, loud and long.
When great Tatwin wakening roars
To the far-off shining shores,
All the seamen know his song.
I am Bega, least of bells;
In my throat my message swells.
I, with all the winds athrill,
Murmuring softly, murmuring still,
"God around me, God above me,
God to guard me, God to love me."
I am Bega, least of bells;
Weaving wonder, wind-born spells.
High above the morning mist,
Wreathed in rose and amethyst,
Still the dreams of music float
Silver from my silver throat,
Whispering beauty, whispering peace.
When great Tatwin's golden voice
Bids the listening land rejoice,
When great Turkeful rings and rolls
Thunder down to trembling souls,
Then my notes, like curlews flying,
Sinking, falling, lifting, sighing,
Softly answer, softly cease.
I, with all the airs at play,
Murmuring softly, murmuring say,
"God around me, God above me,
God to guard me, God to love me."
Marjorie L. C. Pickthall
Love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous: not rendering evil for evil
or railing for railing: but contrariwise blessing.
For he that will love life, and see good days, let him refrain his
tongue from evil, and his lips that they speak no guile:
Let him eschew evil, and do good; let him seek peace and ensue it.
For the eyes of the Lord are over the righteous, and His ears are open
unto their prayers: but the face of the Lord is against them that do
evil.
And who is he that will harm you, if ye be followers of that which is
good?
I. Peter, III.
A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT
What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
And breaking the golden lilies afloat
With the dragon-fly on the river.
He tore out a reed, the great god Pan
From the deep, cool bed of the river:
The limpid water turbidly ran,
And the broken lilies a-dying lay,
And the dragon-fly had fled away,
Ere he brought it out of the river.
High on the shore sat the great god Pan,
While turbidly flow'd the river;
And hack'd and hew'd as a great god can,
With his hard, bleak steel at the patient reed,
Till there was not a sign of a leaf, indeed,
To prove it fresh from the river.
He cut it short, did the great god Pan,
(How tall it stood in the river!)
Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man,
Steadily from the outside ring,
And notch'd the poor, dry, empty thing
In holes, as he sat by the river.
"This is the way," laugh'd the great god Pan,
(Laugh'd while he sat by the river)
"The only way, since gods began
To make sweet music, they could succeed."
Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,
He blew in power by the river.
Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!
Piercing sweet by the river!
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
The sun on the hill forgot to die,
And the lilies reviv'd, and the dragon-fly
Came back to dream on the river.
Yet, half a beast is the great god Pan,
To laugh as he sits by the river,
Making a poet out of a man:
The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,--
For the reed which grows nevermore again
As a reed with the reeds in the river.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
If little labour, little are our gains;
Man's fortunes are according to his pains.
Herrick
WOLFE AND MONTCALM
The eventful night of the twelfth was clear and calm, with no light but
that of the stars. Within two hours before daybreak thirty boats,
crowded with sixteen hundred soldiers, cast off from the vessels and
floated downward in perfect order with the current of the ebb-tide. To
the boundless joy of the army, Wolfe's malady had abated, and he was
able to command in person. His ruined health, the gloomy prospect of the
siege, and the disaster at Montmorenci, had oppressed him with the
deepest melancholy, but never impaired for a moment the promptness of
his decisions, or the impetuous energy of his action.
He sat in the stern of one of the boats, pale and weak, but borne up to
a calm height of resolution. Every order had been given, every
arrangement made, and it only remained to face the issue. The ebbing
tide sufficed to bear the boats along, and nothing broke the silence of
the night but the gurgling of the river, and the low voice of Wolfe, as
he repeated to the officers about him the stanzas of Gray's "Elegy in a
Country Churchyard," which had recently appeared, and which he had just
received from England. Perhaps as he uttered those strangely
appropriate words:--
"The paths of glory lead but to the grave," the shadows of his own
approaching fate stole with mournful prophecy across his mind.
"Gentlemen," he said, as he closed his recital, "I would rather have
written those lines than take Quebec to-morrow."
As they approached the landing-place, the boats edged closer in towards
the northern shore, and the woody precipices rose high on their left
like a wall of undistinguished blackness.
"_Qui vive?_" shouted a French sentinel from out the impervious gloom.
"_La France!_" answered a captain of Fraser's Highlanders from the
foremost boat.
As boats were frequently passing down the river with supplies for the
garrison, and as a convoy from Bougainville was expected that very
night, the sentinel was deceived and allowed the English to proceed. A
few moments later, they were challenged again, and this time they could
discern the soldier running close down to the water's edge, as if all
his suspicions were aroused; but the skilful replies of the Highlander
once more saved the party from discovery.
They reached the landing-place in safety,--an indentation in the shore
about a league above the city and now bearing the name of Wolfe's Cove.
Here a narrow path led up the face of the heights, and a French guard
was posted at the top to defend the pass. By the force of the current
the foremost boats, including that which carried Wolfe himself, were
borne a little below the spot. The general was one of the first on
shore. He looked upward at the rugged heights which towered above him in
the gloom. "You can try it," he coolly observed to an officer near him;
"but I don't think you'll get up."
At the point where the Highlanders landed, one of their captains, Donald
Macdonald, apparently the same whose presence of mind had just saved the
enterprise from ruin, was climbing in advance of his men, when he was
challenged by a sentinel. He replied in French, by declaring that he had
been sent to relieve the guard, and ordering the soldier to withdraw.
Before the latter was undeceived, a crowd of Highlanders were close at
hand, while the steeps below were thronged with eager climbers, dragging
themselves up by trees, roots, and bushes. The guard turned out and made
a brief though brave resistance. In a moment they were cut to pieces,
dispersed, or made prisoners, while men after men came swarming up the
height and quickly formed upon the plains above. Meanwhile the vessels
had dropped downward with the current and anchored opposite the
landing-place. The remaining troops disembarked, and with the dawn of
day, the whole were brought in safety to the shore.
The sun rose, and from the ramparts of Quebec the astonished people saw
the Plains of Abraham glittering with arms, and the dark-red lines of
the English forming in array of battle. Breathless messengers had borne
the evil tidings to Montcalm, and far and near his wide-extended camp
resounded with the rolling of alarm-drums and the din of startled
preparation. He, too, had had his struggles and his sorrows. The civil
power had thwarted him; famine, discontent, and disaffection were rife
among his soldiers; and no small portion of the Canadian militia had
dispersed from sheer starvation. In spite of all, he had trusted to hold
out till the winter frosts should drive the invaders from before the
town, when on that disastrous morning the news of their successful
temerity fell like a cannon-shot upon his ear. Still he assumed a tone
of confidence. "They have got to the weak side of us at last," he is
reported to have said, "and we must crush them with our numbers." With
headlong haste his troops were pouring over the bridge of St. Charles,
and gathering in heavy masses under the western ramparts of the town.
Could numbers give assurance of success, their triumph would have been
secure, for five French battalions and the armed colonial peasantry
amounted in all to more than seven thousand five hundred men. Full in
sight before stretched the long, thin lines of the British forces--the
Highlanders, the steady soldiery of England, and the hardy levies of the
provinces--less than five thousand in number, but all inured to battle,
and strong in the full assurance of success.
It was nine o'clock, and the adverse armies stood motionless, each
gazing on the other. The clouds hung low, and at intervals warm light
showers descended besprinkling both alike. The coppice and corn-fields
in front of the British troops were filled with French sharp-shooters,
who kept up a distant spattering fire. Here and there a soldier fell in
the ranks, and the gap was filled in silence.
At a little before ten the British could see that Montcalm was preparing
to advance, and in a few moments all his troops appeared in rapid
motion. They came on in three divisions, shouting after the manner of
their nation, and firing heavily as soon as they came within range. In
the British ranks not a trigger was pulled, not a soldier stirred, and
their ominous composure seemed to damp the spirits of the assailants. It
was not till the French were within forty yards that the fatal word was
given, and the British muskets blazed forth at once in one crashing
explosion. Like a ship at full career arrested with sudden ruin on a
sunken rock, the ranks of Montcalm staggered, shivered, and broke before
that wasting storm of lead. The smoke rolling along the field for a
moment shut out the view, but, when the white wreaths were scattered on
the wind, a wretched spectacle was disclosed: men and officers tumbled
in heaps, battalions resolved into a mob, order and obedience gone; and,
when the British muskets were levelled for a second volley, the masses
of the militia were seen to cower and shrink with uncontrollable panic.
For a few minutes the French regulars stood their ground, returning a
sharp and not ineffectual fire. But now, echoing cheer on cheer,
redoubling volley on volley, trampling the dying and the dead, and
driving the fugitives in crowds, the British troops advanced and swept
the field before them. The ardour of the men burst all restraint. They
broke into a run and with unsparing slaughter chased the flying
multitude to the gates of Quebec. Foremost of all, the light-footed
Highlanders dashed along in furious pursuit, hewing down the Frenchmen
with their broadswords and slaying many in the very ditch of the
fortifications. Never was victory more quick or more decisive.
In the short action and pursuit the French lost fifteen hundred men,
killed, wounded, and taken. Of the remainder some escaped within the
city, and others fled across the St. Charles to rejoin their comrades
who had been left to guard the camp. The pursuers were recalled by sound
of trumpet, the broken ranks were formed afresh, and the English troops
withdrawn beyond reach of the cannon of Quebec. Townshend and Murray,
the only general officers who remained unhurt, passed to the head of
every regiment in turn and thanked the soldiers for the bravery they had
shown; yet the triumph of the victors was mingled with sadness as
tidings went from rank to rank that Wolfe had fallen.
In the heat of the action, as he advanced at the head of the grenadiers
of Louisburg, a bullet shattered his wrist, but he wrapped his
handkerchief about the wound, and showed no sign of pain. A moment more
and a ball pierced his side. Still he pressed forward waving his sword
and cheering his soldiers to the attack, when a third shot lodged deep
within his breast. He paused, reeled, and staggering to one side, fell
to earth. Brown, a lieutenant of the grenadiers, Henderson, a volunteer,
an officer of artillery, and a private soldier, raised him together in
their arms, and bearing him to the rear laid him softly on the grass.
They asked if he would have a surgeon, but he shook his head and
answered that all was over with him. His eyes closed with the torpor of
approaching death, and those around sustained his fainting form. Yet
they could not withhold their gaze from the wild turmoil before them,
and the charging ranks of their companions rushing through fire and
smoke. "See how they run," one of the officers exclaimed, as the French
fell in confusion before the levelled bayonets. "Who run?" demanded
Wolfe, opening his eyes like a man aroused from sleep. "The enemy, sir,"
was the reply; "they give way everywhere." "Then," said the dying
general, "tell Colonel Burton to march Webb's regiment down to Charles
River, to cut off their retreat from the bridge. Now, God be praised, I
shall die in peace," he murmured; and turning on his side he calmly
breathed his last.
Almost at the same moment fell his great adversary, Montcalm, as he
strove with vain bravery to rally his shattered ranks. Struck down with
a mortal wound, he was placed upon a litter and borne to the General
Hospital on the banks of the St. Charles. The surgeons told him that he
could not recover. "I am glad of it," was his calm reply. He then asked
how long he might survive, and was told that he had not many hours
remaining. "So much the better," he said; "I am happy that I shall not
live to see the surrender of Quebec." Officers from the garrison came to
his bedside to ask his orders and instructions. "I will give no more
orders," replied the defeated soldier; "I have much business that must
be attended to, of greater moment than your ruined garrison and this
wretched country. My time is very short, therefore, pray leave me."
The victorious army encamped before Quebec and pushed their
preparations for the siege with zealous energy, but, before a single gun
was brought to bear, the white flag was hung out, and the garrison
surrendered. On the eighteenth of September, 1759, the rock-built
citadel of Canada passed for ever from the hands of its ancient masters.
Parkman: "The Conspiracy of Pontiac."
CANADA
Montcalm and Wolfe! Wolfe and Montcalm!
Quebec, thy storied citadel
Attests in burning song and psalm
How here thy heroes fell!
O thou that bor'st the battle's brunt
At Queenston and at Lundy's Lane,--
On whose scant ranks, but iron front
The battle broke in vain!--
Whose was the danger, whose the day,
From whose triumphant throats the cheers,
At Chrysler's Farm, at Chateauguay,
Storming like clarion-bursts our ears?
On soft Pacific slopes,--beside
Strange floods that northward rave and fall,--
Where chafes Acadia's chainless tide--
Thy sons await thy call.
They wait; but some in exile, some
With strangers housed, in stranger lands,--
And some Canadian lips are dumb
Beneath Egyptian sands.
O mystic Nile! Thy secret yields
Before us; thy most ancient dreams
Are mixed with far Canadian fields
And murmur of Canadian streams.
But thou, my country, dream not thou!
Wake, and behold how night is done,--
How on thy breast, and o'er thy brow,
Bursts the uprising sun!
Charles G. D. Roberts
Love your country, believe in her, honour her, work for her, live for
her, die for her. Never has any people been endowed with a nobler
birthright or blessed with prospects of a fairer future.
Lord Dufferin
SCROOGE'S CHRISTMAS