Took all that his mouth would hold,
Then gasped for breath, while his head turned hot
And his spine turned icy cold.
The tears on his cheeks came rolling down,
But he had no breath to swear,
So he simply clutched at the tablecloth,
And tore at his red, red hair.
Amazed and surprised, Mr. Dinny O'Doyle
Said: "Michael, me darlin' bhoy,
Phwat's troublin' yer sowl? Phwat's wrong wid ye now?
Phwat's the raison ye've tears in yer oi?"
"Oh, nothin," said Michael; "my grandfather doid
Some twenty-foive years ago,
Oi chanced to remember the fine owld man,
An' Oi couldn't help croiyin', ye know.
"But, Dinny O'Doyle, doant mind it at all;
How wake an' how choildish Oi same,"
Then he passed the horseradish and spoon and all;
"Have some of this nice oice crame!"
So Dinny dipped into the treacherous jar,
And the tears quickly sprang to his eyes,
While Michael McGlynn, who had got back his breath,
Affected a strange surprise.
"Phy, Dinny, me bhoy, ye're croiyin' yersilf,"
He said with a chuckle and grin;
"Phwat's troublin' _yer_ sowl? Phwat's wrong wid _ye_ now?
Is it wapin' ye are for a sin?"
"Is it askin' ye are, phwat's makin' me croiy?"
Said Dinny, "Oi'll spake as Oi'm bid,
Oi'm croiyin' bekase Mr. Michael McGlynn,
Didn't doi when his grandfather did."
ZENOBIA'S DEFENCE.
BY WILLIAM WARE.
[Zenobia became Queen of Palmyra A. D. 267, after the
murder of her husband, Odenatus. She was a woman of
great energy and assumed the title of Queen of the
East. She was deprived of her dominion by Aurelian A.
D. 272, and died in retirement near Rome.]
I am charged with pride and ambition. The charge is true, and I glory in
its truth. Whoever achieved anything great in letters, arts, or arms, who
was not ambitious? Caesar was not more ambitious than Cicero. It was but in
another way. All greatness is born of ambition. Let the ambition be a noble
one, and who shall blame it? I confess I did once aspire to be queen, not
only of Palmyra, but of the East. That I am. I now aspire to remain so. Is
it not an honorable ambition? Does it not become a descendant of the
Ptolemies and of Cleopatra? I am applauded by you all for what I have
already done. You would not it should have been less.
But why pause here? Is _so_ much ambition praiseworthy, and _more_
criminal? Is it fixed in nature that the limits of this empire should be
Egypt on the one hand, the Hellespont and the Euxine on the other? Were not
Suez and Armenia more natural limits? Or hath empire no natural limit, but
is broad as the genius that can devise, and the power that can win? Rome
has the West. Let Palmyra possess the East. Not that nature prescribes this
and no more. The gods prospering, I mean that the Mediterranean shall not
hem me in upon the west, or Persia on the east. Longinus is right,--I would
that the world were mine. I feel, within, the will and the power to bless
it, were it so.
Are not my people happy? I look upon the past and the present, upon my
nearer and remoter subjects, and ask, nor fear the answer, Whom have I
wronged? What province have I oppressed, what city pillaged, what region
drained with taxes? Whose life have I unjustly taken, or whose estates have
I coveted or robbed? Whose honor have I wantonly assailed? Whose rights,
though of the weakest and poorest, have I violated? I dwell, where I would
ever dwell, in the hearts of my people. It is written in your faces, that I
reign not more over you than within you. The foundation of my throne is not
more power than love.
Suppose, now, my ambition should add another province to our realm. Would
that be an evil? The kingdoms already bound to us by the joint acts of
ourselves and the late royal Odenatus, we found discordant and at war. They
are now united and at peace. One harmonious whole has grown out of hostile
and sundered parts. At my hands they receive a common justice and equal
benefits. The channels of their commerce have I opened, and dug them deep
and sure. Prosperity and plenty are in all their borders. The streets of
our capital bear testimony to the distant and various industry which here
seeks its market.
This is no vain boasting: receive it not so, good friends. It is but the
truth. He who traduces himself sins in the same way as he who traduces
another. He who is unjust to himself, or less than just, breaks a law, as
well as he who hurts his neighbor. I tell you what I am, and what I have
done, that your trust for the future may not rest upon ignorant grounds. If
I am more than just to myself, rebuke me. If I have over-stepped the
modesty that became me, I am open to your censure, and I will bear it.
But I have spoken that you may know your queen, not only by her acts, but
by her admitted principles. I tell you, then, that I am ambitious, that I
crave dominion, and while I live will reign. Sprung from a line of kings, a
throne is my natural seat. I love it. But I strive, too--you can bear me
witness that I do--that it shall be, while I sit upon it, an honored,
unpolluted seat. If I can, I will hang a yet brighter glory around it.
A SERENADE.[1]
BY THOMAS HOOD.
"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!"
Thus I heard a father cry.
"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
The brat will never shut an eye;
Hither come, some power divine!
Close his lids or open mine!
"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
What the mischief makes him cry?
Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
Still he stares--I wonder why;
Why are not the sons of earth
Blind, like puppies, from their birth?
"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!"
Thus I heard the father cry;
"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
Mary, you must come and try!
Hush, oh, hush, for mercy's sake--
The more I sing, the more you wake!
"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
Fie, you little creature, fie!
Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
Is no poppy-syrup nigh?
Give him some, or give him all,
I am nodding to his fall!
"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
Two such nights and I shall die!
Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
He'll be bruised, and so shall I--
How can I from bedposts keep,
When I'm walking in my sleep?
"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
Sleep his very looks deny;
Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
Nature soon will stupefy--
My nerves relax--my eyes grow dim--
Who's that fallen, me or him?"
FOOTNOTES:
[1] This poem can be made very effective as a humorous recitation by the
performer imitating a sleepy father vainly endeavoring to quiet a restless
child. A doll, or something to represent one, should be held in the arms.
QUEEN VASHTI.
BY T. DEWITT TALMAGE.
We stand amid the palaces of Shushan. The pinnacles are aflame with the
morning light. The columns rise festooned and wreathed, the wealth of
empires flashing from the grooves; the ceilings adorned with images of bird
and beast, and scenes of prowess and conquest. The walls are hung with
shields, and emblazoned until it seems that the whole round of splendors is
exhausted. Each arch is a mighty leap of architectural achievement,--golden
stars, shining down on glowing arabesque; hangings of embroidered work, in
which mingle the blueness of the sky, the greenness of the grass and the
whiteness of the sea foam; tapestries hung on silver rings, wedding
together the pillars of marble. Pavilions reach out in every
direction,--these for repose, filled with luxuriant couches, in which weary
limbs sink until all fatigue is submerged; these for carousal, where kings
drink down a kingdom at one swallow.
Amazing spectacle! Light of silver dripping down over stairs of ivory on
shields of gold; floors of stained marble, sunset red and night black, and
inlaid with gleaming pearl. Why, it seems as if a heavenly vision of
amethyst, and jacinth, and topaz, and chrysoprasus had descended and
alighted upon Shushan. It seems as if a billow of celestial glory had
dashed clear over heaven's battlements upon this metropolis of Persia.
In connection with this palace there is a garden, where the mighty men of
foreign lands are seated at a banquet. Under the spread of oak, and linden,
and acacia, the tables are arranged. The breath of honey-suckle and
frankincense fills the air. Fountains leap up into the light, the spray
struck through with rainbows falling in crystalline baptism upon flowering
shrubs--then rolling down through channels of marble, and widening out here
and there into pools swirling with the finny tribes of foreign aquariums,
bordered with scarlet anemones, hypericums, and many colored ranunculus;
meats of rarest bird and beast smoking up amid wreaths of aromatics; the
vases filled with apricots and almonds; the basket piled up with apricots,
and dates, and figs, and oranges, and pomegranates; melons tastefully
twined with leaves of acacia; the bright waters of Eulaeus filling the urns,
and sweating outside the rim in flashing beads amid the traceries; wine
from the royal vats of Ispahan and Shiraz, in bottles of tinged shell, and
lily-shaped cups of silver, and flagons and tankards of solid gold.
The music rises higher, and the revelry breaks out into wilder transport,
and the wine has flushed the cheek and touched the brain, and louder than
all other voices are the hiccough of the inebriates, the gabble of fools,
and the song of the drunkards.
In another part of the palace Queen Vashti is entertaining the princesses
of Persia at a banquet. Drunken Ahasuerus says to his servants: "Go out and
fetch Vashti from that banquet with the women, and bring her to this
banquet with the men, and let me display her beauty." The servants
immediately start to obey the king's command, but there was a rule in
Oriental society that no woman might appear in public without having her
face veiled. Yet here was a mandate that no one dare dispute, demanding
that Vashti come in unveiled before the multitude. However, there was in
Vashti's soul a principle more regal than Ahasuerus, more brilliant than
the gold of Shushan, of more wealth than the revenue of Persia, which
commanded her to disobey the order of the King; and so all the
righteousness and holiness and modesty of her nature rises up into one
sublime refusal. She says: "I will not go into the banquet unveiled." Of
course, Ahasuerus was infuriated; and Vashti, robbed of her position and
her estate, is driven forth in poverty and ruin to suffer the scorn of a
nation, and yet to receive the applause of after generations, who shall
rise up to admire this martyr to kingly insolence.
The last vestige of that feast is gone; the last garland has faded; the
last arch has fallen; the last tankard has been destroyed, and Shushan is a
ruin; but as long as the world stands there will be multitudes of men and
women, familiar with the Bible, who will come into this picture-gallery of
God and admire the divine portrait of Vashti, the Queen; Vashti, the
veiled; Vashti, the sacrifice; Vashti, the silent.
W'EN DE DARKY AM A-WHIS'LIN' IN DE CO'N.
BY S. Q. LAPIUS.
W'en de jewdraps 'gins to glisten,
An' de east am growin' red,
An' de catbird am a-singin' in de trees;
W'en de swallers an' de martins
Am a-quar'lin' in de shed,
An' de hollyhocks am callin' to de bees;
W'en de gray mule 'gins to whinny
An' de porker 'gins to squeal,
Den it's time to be a-wo'kin' in de mo'n,
Kase de sun am climbin' higher
An' de han's am in de field--
An' de darky am a whis'lin' in de c'on.
W'en de fog hab lef' de valley,
An' de blue am in de sky,
An' de bees am wo'kin' in de medder lot;
W'en de hollyhocks am drowsin',
An' de sun am ridin' high,
An' de dusty country road am blazin' hot;
Den de darky 'gins to listen--
As de catbird quits his song--
Fo' de soundin' ob de welcome dinner-ho'n,
Kase his knees am growin' wabbly,
An' de rows am growin' long--
An' he's hoin' an' a-whis'lin' in de co'n!
W'en de fiery sun am smilin'
An' a-sinkin' in de wes',
An' de shadders creep along de dusty road;
W'en de martins am a-chatter'n'
An' dey hurry home to res',
An' de longes' row ob all am nea'ly hoed;
W'en de bullfrog 'gins to holler,
An' de cowbell down de lane
'Gins to tinkle in a way dat's mos' fo'lo'n,
Den amid de gloomy echoes
Comes dat soul-refreshin' strain--
Ob de darky as he whis'les in de co'n!
THE PILOT.
BY JOHN B. GOUGH.
John Maynard was well known in the lake district as a God-fearing, honest,
and intelligent man. He was pilot on a steamboat from Detroit to Buffalo.
One summer afternoon--at that time those steamers seldom carried
boats--smoke was seen ascending from below; and the captain called out,
"Simpson, go below and see what the matter is down there."
Simpson came up with his face as pale as ashes, and said, "Captain, the
ship is on fire!"
Then "Fire! fire! fire!" on shipboard.
All hands were called up; buckets of water were dashed on the fire, but in
vain. There were large quantities of rosin and tar on board, and it was
found useless to attempt to save the ship. The passengers rushed forward
and inquired of the pilot, "How far are we from Buffalo?"
"Seven miles."
"How long before we can reach there?"
"Three-quarters of an hour at our present rate of steam."
"Is there any danger?"
"Danger! Here, see the smoke bursting out!--go forward, if you would save
your lives!"
Passengers and crew--men, women and children--crowded the forward part of
the ship. John Maynard stood at the helm. The flames burst forth in a sheet
of fire; clouds of smoke arose.
The captain cried out through his trumpet, "John Maynard!"
"Ay, ay, sir!"
"Are you at the helm?"
"Ay, ay, sir!"
"How does she head?"
"Southeast by east, sir."
"Head her southeast and run her on shore," said the captain. Nearer,
nearer, yet nearer she approached the shore. Again the captain cried out,
"John Maynard!"
The response came feebly this time, "Ay, ay, sir!"
"Can you hold on five minutes longer, John?" he said.
"By God's help, I will!"
The old man's hair was scorched from the scalp; one hand was disabled; his
knee upon the stanchion, his teeth set, his other hand upon the wheel, he
stood firm as a rock. He beached the ship; every man, woman, and child was
saved, as John Maynard dropped, and his spirit took its flight to God.
THE FATAL GLASS.
BY LAURA U. CASE.
He raised the cup to his pure, sweet lips--
Lips fresh from a mother's kisses;
Merry the banquet hall that night,
For youth and beauty were there, and bright
The glittering lamps shone o'er them;
And one had sung with a voice divine,
A song in praise of the ruby wine,
That graced the feast before them.
Little he dreamed as he lightly quaffed
The sparkling wine, that the first rare draught
Was a link in the chain to bind him,
And drag his soul, like a servile slave,
Down slippery steps to a shameful grave,
From a throne where love enshrined him.
She raised the cup to her tainted lips--
Lips foul with the vilest curses--
In a loathsome haunt of sin and shame,
Where Christian charity seldom came,
With its holy words to teach them
Of the pastures green and waters sweet--
Of her who wept at the Master's feet,
Whose boundless love could reach them.
Is love so dear, and life so cheap,
That one poor soul, like a wandering sheep,
Alone on the bleak, cold mountain,
Should gladly turn from a life accursed,
To drown the past and quench the thirst
In draughts from a poisonous fountain?
He raised the cup to his trembling lips--
Lips wrinkled by age and hunger;
The meagre pittance he'd begged for food,
Brightened the palm of the man who stood
At his bar with his wines around him.
He drank, and turned on tottering feet
To the bitter storm and the cold, dark street,
Where a corpse in the morn they found him.
And oh! could those speechless lips have told
Of the want and sorrow, hunger and cold
He had known, or the answer given,
When his trembling soul for entrance plead
At the crystal gates, where One has said,
"No drunkard shall enter Heaven!"
KATRINA'S VISIT TO NEW YORK.
Vell, von morning I says to Hans (Hans vos mein husband): "Hans, I tinks I
goes down to New York, und see some sights in dot village."
Und Hans he say: "Vell Katrina, you vork hard pooty mooch, I tinks it vould
petter be dot you goes und rest yourself some." So I gets meinself ready
righd avay quick und in two days I vos de shteam cars on vistling avay for
New York. Ve vent so fast I tinks mein head vould shplit sometimes. De
poles for dot delegraph vires goes by like dey vos mad und running a races
demselves mit to see vich could go de fastest mit de oder. De engine
vistled like sometimes it vos hurt bad, und screeched mit de pain, und de
horses by dem fields vould run as dey vas scared.
I vas pooty mooch as ten hours ven ve rushed into some houses so big enough
as all our village, und de cars begin to shtop vith so many leetle jerks I
dinks me I shall lose all de dinner vot I eat vile I vas coming all de vay
apoudt.
Vell, ven dem cars got shtopped, de peoples all got oudt und I picked mein
traps oup und got oudt too. I had shust shtepped de blatform on, ven so
mooch as ein hundert men, mit vips in dere hands, und dere fingers all in
de air oup, asked me all at vonce, "Vere I go?" Und every one of dem
fellers vanted me to go mit him to his hotel. But I tells em I guess not; I
vas going mit my brudder-mit-law, vot keeps ein pakeshop on de Powery, vere
it didn't cost me notings. So I got me in dot shtreet cars, und pays de man
mit brass buttons on his coat to let me oudt mit de shtreet vere dot Yawcup
Schneider leeves. Oh, my! vot lots of houses! De shtreets vos all ofer
filled mit dem. Und so many peoples I tinks me dere must be a fire, or a
barade, or some oxcitement vot gets de whole city in von blaces. It dakes
me so mooch time to look at everytings I forgot me ven to got oudt und
rides apast de blaces I vants to shtop to, und has to valk again pack mit
dree or four shquares. But I vind me dot brudder-mit-law who vos make me so
velcome as nefer vos.
Vell, dot vos Saturday mit de afternoon. I vas tired mit dot day's travel
und I goes me pooty quick to bed und ven I vakes in de morning de sun vas
high oup in de shky. But I gets me oup und puts on mein new silk vrock und
tinks me I shall go to some fine churches und hear ein grosse breacher. Der
pells vas ringing so schveet I dinks I nefer pefore hear such music. Ven I
got de shtreet on de beoples vos all going quiet und nice to dere blaces
mit worship, und I makes oup my mind to go in von of dem churches so soon
as von comes along. Pooty soon I comes to de von mit ein shteeples high oup
in de shky und I goes in mit de beoples und sits me down on ein seat all
covered mit a leetle mattress. De big organ vas blaying so soft it seemed
likes as if some angels must be dere to make dot music.
Pooty soon de breacher man shtood in de bulbit oup und read de hymn oudt,
und all de beoples sing until de churches vos filled mit de shweetness.
Den de breacher man pray, und read de Pible, und den he say dot de bulbit
would be occupied by de Rev. Villiam R. Shtover mit Leavenworth, Kansas.
Den dot man gommence to breach und he read mit his dext, "Und Simon's
vife's mudder lay sick mit a fever." He talks for so mooch as ein half hour
already ven de beoples sings again und goes homes. I tells mein
brudder-mit-law it vos so nice I tinks me I goes again mit some oder
churches. So vot you tinks? I goes mit anoder churches dot afternoon und
dot same Villiam R. Shtover vos dere und breach dot same sermon ofer again
mit dot same dext, "Und Simon's vife's mudder lay sick mit a fever." I
tinks to my ownself--dot vos too bad, und I goes home und dells Yawcup, und
he says, "Nefer mind, Katrina, to-night ve goes somevhere else to
churches." So ven de night vas come und de lamps vos all lighted mit de
shtreets, me und mein brudder-mit-law, ve goes over to dot Brooklyn town to
hear dot Heinrich Vard Peecher.
My but dot vos ein grosse church, und so many beobles vas dere, ve vas
crowded mit de vall back. Ven de singing vas all done, a man vot vos
sitting mit a leetle chair got oup und say dot de Rev. Heinrich Vard
Peecher vas to de Vhite Mountains gone mit dot hay fever, but dot de
bulbit vould be occupied on this occasion by de Rev. Villiam R. Shtover mit
Leavenworth, Kansas. Und dot Villiam R. Shtover he gots mit dot bulbit oup
und breaches dot same sermon mit dot same dext, "Und Simon's vife's mudder
lay sick mit a fever."
Dot vos too bad again und I gets mad. I vos so mad I vish dot he got dot
fever himself.
Vell, von dot man vas troo Yawcup says to me, "Come, Katrina, ve'll go down
to dot ferry und take de boat vot goes to New York!" Ven ve vas on dot boat
de fog vas so tick dot you couldn't see your hands pehind your pack. De
vistles vas plowing, und dem pells vos ringing, und von man shtepped up mit
Yawcup und say "Vot vor dem pells pe ringing so mooch?"
Und ven I looked around dere shtood dot Villiam R. Shtover mit Leavenworth,
Kansas--und I said pooty quick: "Vot vor dem pells vas ringing? Vy for
Simon's vife's mudder, vot must be died, for I hear dree times to-day
already dot she vas sick mit ein fever."
THE RABBI AND THE PRINCE.
BY JAMES CLARENCE HARVEY.
_Versified from the Talmud._
A monarch sat in serious thought, alone,
But little reck'd he of his robe and throne;
Naught valuing the glory of control,
He sought to solve the future of his soul.
"Why should I bow the proud, imperious knee,
To mighty powers no mortal eye can see?"
So mused he long and turned this question o'er,
Then, with impatient tread, he paced the floor,
Till maddened by conflicting trains of thought
And speculation vague, which came to naught,
With feverish haste he clutched a tasseled cord
As desperate hands, in battle, clutch a sword.
"Summon Jehoshua," the monarch cried.
The white-haired Rabbi soon was at his side.
*....*....*....*
"I bow no more to powers I cannot see;
Thy faith and learning shall be naught to me,
Unless, before the setting of the sun,
Mine eyes behold the uncreated one."
*....*....*....*
The Rabbi led him to the open air.
The oriental sun with furious glare
Sent down its rays, like beams of molten gold.
The aged teacher, pointing, said: "Behold."
"I cannot," said the Prince, "my dazzled eyes
Refuse their service, turned upon the skies."
*....*....*....*
"Son of the dust," the Rabbi gently said
And bowed, with reverence, his hoary head,
"This one creation, thou canst not behold,
Though by thy lofty state and pride made bold.
How canst thou then behold the God of Light,
Before whose face the sunbeams are as night?
Thine eyes before this trifling labor fall,
Canst gaze on him who hath created all?
Son of the dust, repentance can atone;
Return and worship God, who rules alone."
THE MAID OF ORLEANS.
BY J. E. SAGEBEER.
It was just at the dawn of day, when the first rays of morning were
breaking over Europe and dispelling the darkness of the Middle Ages. France
and England were engaged in a desperate struggle, the one for existence,
the other for a throne. All the western part of France had avowed the
English cause, and the English king had been proclaimed at Paris, at Rouen
and at Bordeaux, while the strongly fortified city of Orleans, the key to
the French possessions, was besieged. The thunder and lightning of the
battlefield are bad enough, but the starvation and pestilence of a besieged
city are infinitely worse. The supplies of Orleans were exhausted; the
garrison was reduced to a few desperate men, and the women and children had
been abandoned to the English. But far away on the border of Germany, in
the little village of Domremy, the Nazareth of France, God was raising up
a deliverer for Orleans, a savior for the nation.
The out-door life of a peasant girl had given to Joan of Arc a
well-developed form, while the beauties of her soul and the spiritual
tendencies of her nature must have given to her face that womanly beauty
that never fails to win respect and love. Her standard was a banner of
snowy silk; her weapon a sword, that from the day she first drew it from
its scabbard until she finally laid it down upon the grave of St. Denis,
was never stained with blood; and her inspiration was a self-sacrificing
devotion to the will of God, to the rights of France and her king. Without
a single opposing shot she passed under the very battlements of the
besieging English, and entered Orleans with soldiers for empty forts and
food for starving people.
It needed no eloquent speech to incite the men of Orleans to deeds of valor
and of vengeance. The ruins of their homes choked the streets; the
desolated city was one open sepulchre, while the cries of half-starved
children and the wails of heartbroken mothers, stirred them to such a mad
frenzy of enthusiasm, that now, since a leader had come, they would have
rushed headlong and thoughtlessly against the English forts as into a trap
of death.