Chapter II: Red Ants (3)

"Go, then," said the stranger, "and plunge into the river that glides past the bottom of your garden. Take likewise a vase of the same water, and sprinkle it over any object that you may desire to change back again from gold into its former substance. If you do this in earnestness and sincerity, it may possibly repair the mischief which your avarice has occasioned."

King Midas bowed low; and when he lifted his head, the lustrous stranger had vanished.

X.

You will easily believe that Midas lost no time in snatching up a great earthen pitcher (but, alas me! it was no longer earthen after he touched it), and in hastening to the riverside. As he ran along, and forced his way through the shrubbery, it was positively marvelous to see how the foliage turned yellow behind him, as if the autumn had been there, and nowhere else. On reaching the river's brink, he plunged headlong in, without waiting so much as to pull off his shoes.

"Poof! poof! poof!" gasped King Midas, as his head emerged out of the water. "Well; this is really a refreshing bath, and I think it must have quite washed away the Golden Touch. And now for filling my pitcher!"

As he dipped the pitcher into the water, it gladdened his very heart to see it change from gold into the same good, honest, earthen vessel which it had been before he touched it. He was conscious, also, of a change within himself. A cold, hard, and heavy weight seemed to have gone out of his bosom. No doubt his heart had been gradually losing its human substance, and been changing into insensible metal, but had now been softened back again into flesh. Perceiving a violet, that grew on the bank of the river, Midas touched it with his finger, and was overjoyed to find that the delicate flower retained its purple hue, instead of undergoing a yellow blight. The curse of the Golden Touch had, therefore, really been removed from him.

XI.

King Midas hastened back to the palace; and, I suppose, the servants knew not what to make of it when they saw their royal master so carefully bringing home an earthen pitcher of water. But that water, which was to undo all the mischief that his folly had wrought, was more precious to Midas than an ocean of molten gold could have been. The first thing he did, as you need hardly be told, was to sprinkle it by handfuls over the golden figure of little Marygold.

No sooner did it fall on her than you would have laughed to see how the rosy color came back to the dear child's cheek!--and how astonished she was to find herself dripping wet, and her father still throwing more water over her!

"Pray do not, dear father!" cried she. "See how you have wet my nice frock, which I put on only this morning!"

For Marygold did not know that she had been a little golden statue; nor could she remember anything that had happened since the moment when she ran with outstretched arms to comfort her father.

Her father did not think it necessary to tell his beloved child how very foolish he had been, but contented himself with showing how much wiser he had now grown. For this purpose, he led little Marygold into the garden, where he sprinkled all the remainder of the water over the rosebushes, and with such good effect that above five thousand roses recovered their beautiful bloom. There were two circumstances, however, which, as long as he lived, used to remind King Midas of the Golden Touch. One was, that the sands of the river in which he had bathed, sparkled like gold; the other, that little Marygold's hair had now a golden tinge, which he had never observed in it before she had been changed by the effect of his kiss. This change of hue was really an improvement, and made Marygold's hair richer than in her babyhood.

When King Midas had grown quite an old man, and used to take Marygold's children on his knee, he was fond of telling them this marvelous story. And then would he stroke their glossy ringlets, and tell them that their hair, likewise, had a rich shade of gold, which they had inherited from their mother.

"And, to tell you the truth, my precious little folks," said King Midas, "ever since that morning, I have hated the very sight of all other gold, save this!"

--From "A Wonder Book for Boys and Girls."

THE BROOK.

BY ALFRED TENNISON.

I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river;
For men may come, and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles;
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret
By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river;
For men may come; and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel,
With many a silvery waterbreak
Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river;
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars,
I loiter round my cresses;

And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river;
For men may come, and men may go,
But I go on forever.

DEFINITIONS:--Coot, a kind of wild duck. Hern, a wading bird, heron. Bicker, run with a quivering, tremulous motion. Thorps, small villages. Foreland, headland. Shingly, gravelly.

THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT.

And there followed him great multitudes of people from Galilee, and from Decapolis, and from Jerusalem, and from Judea, and from beyond Jordan. And seeing the multitudes, he went up into a mountain: and when he was set, his disciples came unto him.

And he opened his mouth, and taught them, saying: Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.

Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God. Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake. Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.

Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his savor, wherewith shall it be salted? it is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men.

Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.

Think not that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets: I am not come to destroy, but to fulfill. For verily I say unto you, Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled.

Whosoever therefore shall break one of these least commandments, and shall teach men so, he shall be called the least in the kingdom of heaven: but whosoever shall do and teach them, the same shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I say unto you, That except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven.

Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, Thou shalt not kill; and whosoever shall kill shall be in danger of the judgment: but I say unto you, That whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment.... Therefore if thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother bath aught against thee; leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift....

And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell. And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell....

Again, ye have heard that it hath been said by them of old time, Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lord thine oaths: but I say unto you, Swear not at all; neither by heaven; for it is God's throne: nor by the earth; for it is his footstool: neither by Jerusalem; for it is the city of the great King. Neither shalt thou swear by thy head, because thou canst not make one hair white or black. But let your communication be, Yea, yea; Nay, nay: for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil.

Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: but I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also. And whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain. Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away.

Ye have heard that it bath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbor, and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you; that ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.

For if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not even the publicans the same? And if ye salute your brethren only, what do ye more than others? do not even the publicans so? Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.

--Matthew, Chapter V.

DEFINITIONS:--Revile, reproach, abuse. Tittle, the smallest part. Scribes, those among the Jews who read and explained the law to the people. Pharisees, a Jewish sect noted for its strict observance of the law.

EXERCISE.--Point out on the map, Galilee, Jerusalem, Judea, Jordan, Capernaum. The mountain referred to in the first paragraph was near Capernaum. Which paragraphs in this extract are called "The Beatitudes"? Why? Look in the dictionary for the meaning of the word "beatitude."

THE SONG OF STEAM.

Harness me down with your iron bands,
Be sure of your curb and rein,
For I scorn the strength of your puny hands
As a tempest scorns a chain.
How I laughed as I lay concealed from sight,
For many a countless hour,
At the childish boasts of human might,
And the pride of human power!

When I saw an army upon the land,
A navy upon the seas,
Creeping along, a snail-like band,
Or waiting the wayward breeze;
When I saw the peasant faintly reel,
With the toil which he faintly bore,
As constant he turned at the tardy wheel,
Or tugged at the weary oar;

When I measured the panting courser's speed,
The flight of the carrier dove,
As they bore a law a king decreed,
Or the lines of impatient love;
I could not but think how the world would feel,
As these were outstripped far,
When I should be bound to the rushing keel,
Or chained to the flying car.

Ha ha! ha ha! they found me at last,
They invited me forth at length;
And I rushed to my throne with a thunder-blast,
And laughed in my iron strength.
Oh then you saw a wonderous change
On earth and ocean wide,
Where now my fiery armies range,
Nor wait for wind nor tide.

Hurrah! hurrah! the waters o'er
The mountain's steep declines
Time, space, have yielded to my power,
The world, the world is mine!
The rivers the sun has earliest blessed,
And those where his beams decline,
The giant streams of the queenly West,
And the Orient floods divine.

In the darksome depths of the fathomless mine
My tireless arm doth play;
Where the rocks ne'er saw the sun's decline,
Or the dawn of the glorious day.
I bring earth's glittering jewels up
From the hidden cave below;
And I make the fountain's granite cup
With a crystal gush o'erflow.

I blow the bellows, I forge the steel,
In all the shops of trade;
I hammer the ore, and turn the wheel
Where my arms of strength are made;
I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint;
I carry, I spin, I weave;
And all my doings I put into print,
On every Saturday eve.

I've no muscle to weary, no frame to decay,
No bones to be laid on the shelf;
And soon I intend you shall go and play,
While I manage the world myself.
But harness me down with your iron bands,
Be sure of your curb and rein,
For I scorn the strength of your puny hands,
As the tempest scorns a chain.

--G. W. CUTTER

THE GENTLE HAND.

BY TIMOTHY S. ARTHUR.

When and where, it matters not now to relate--but once upon a time, as I was passing through a thinly peopled district of country, night came down upon me almost unawares. Being on foot, I could not hope to gain the village toward which my steps were directed until a late hour; and I therefore preferred seeking shelter and a night's lodging at the first humble dwelling that presented itself.

Dusky twilight was giving place to deeper shadows, when I found myself in the vicinity of a dwelling, from the small uncurtained windows of which the light shone with a pleasant promise of good cheer and comfort. The house stood within an inclosure, and a short distance from the road along which I was moving with wearied feet.

Turning aside, and passing through the ill-hung gate, I approached the dwelling. Slowly the gate swung on its wooden hinges, and the rattle of its latch, in closing, did not disturb the air until I had nearly reached the porch in front of the house, in which a slender girl, who had noticed my entrance, stood awaiting my arrival.

A deep, quick bark answered, almost like an echo, the sound of the shutting gate, and, sudden as an apparition, the form of an immense dog loomed in the doorway. At the instant when he was about to spring, a light hand was laid upon his shaggy neck, and a low word spoken.

"Go in, Tiger," said the girl, not in a voice of authority, yet in her gentle tones was the consciousness that she would be obeyed; and, as she spoke, she lightly bore upon the animal with her hand, and he turned away and disappeared within the dwelling.

"Who's that?" A rough voice asked the question; and now a heavy looking man took the dog's place in the door.

"How far is it to G----?" I asked, not deeming it best to say, in the beginning, that I sought a resting-place for the night.

"To G----!" growled the man, but not so harshly as at first. "It's good six miles from here."

"A long distance; and I'm a stranger, and on foot," said I. "If you can make room for me until morning, I will be very thankful."

I saw the girl's hand move quickly up his arm, until it rested on his shoulder, and now she leaned to him still closer.

"Come in. We'll try what can be done for you." There was a change in the man's voice that made me wonder. I entered a large room, in which blazed a brisk fire. Before the fire sat two stout lads, who turned upon me their heavy eyes, with no very welcome greeting. A middle-aged woman was standing at a table, and two children were amusing themselves with a kitten on the floor.

"A stranger, mother," said the man who had given me so rude a greeting at the door; "and he wants us to let him stay all night."

The woman looked at me doubtingly for a few moments, and then replied coldly, "We don't keep a public house."

"I'm aware of that, ma'am," said I; "but night has overtaken me, and it's a long way yet to G----."

"Too far for a tired man to go on foot," said the master of the house, kindly, "so it's no use talking about it, mother; we must give him a bed."

So unobtrusively that I scarce noticed the movement, the girl had drawn to her mother's side. What she said to her I did not hear, for the brief words were uttered in a low voice; but I noticed, as she spoke, one small; fair hand rested on the woman's hand.

Was there magic in that touch? The woman's repulsive aspect changed into one of kindly welcome, and she said: "Yes, it's a long way to G----. I guess we can find a place for him."

Many times more during that evening, did I observe the magic power of that hand and voice--the one gentle yet potent as the other. On the next morning, breakfast being over, I was preparing to take my departure when my host informed me that if I would wait for half an hour he would give me a ride in his wagon to G-- --, as business required him to go there. I was very well pleased to accept of the invitation.

In due time the farmer's wagon was driven into the road before the house, and I was invited to get in. I noticed the horse as a rough-looking Canadian pony, with a certain air of stubborn endurance. As the farmer took his seat by my side, the family came to the door to see us off.

"Dick!" said the farmer in a peremptory voice, giving the rein a quick jerk as he spoke. But Dick moved not a step. "Dick! you vagabond! get up." And the farmer's whip cracked sharply by the pony's ear.

It availed not, however, this second appeal. Dick stood firmly disobedient. Next the whip was brought down upon him with an impatient hand; but the pony only reared up a little. Fast and sharp the strokes were next dealt to the number of half a dozen. The man might as well have beaten the wagon, for all his end was gained.

A stout lad now came out into the road, and, catching Dick by the bridle, jerked him forward, using, at the same time, the customary language on such occasions, but Dick met this new ally with increased stubbornness, planting his fore feet more firmly and at a sharper angle with the ground.

The impatient boy now struck the pony on the side of the head with his clenched hand, and jerked cruelly at its bridle. It availed nothing, however; Dick was not to be wrought upon by any such arguments.

"Don't do so, John!" I turned my head as the maiden's sweet voice reached my ear. She was passing through the gate into the road, and, in the next moment, had taken hold of the lad and drawn him away from the animal. No strength was exerted in this; she took hold of his arm, and he obeyed her wish as readily as if he had no thought beyond her gratification.

And now that soft hand was laid gently on the pony's neck, and a single low word spoken. How instantly were the tense muscles relaxed--how quickly the stubborn air vanished.

"Poor Dick!" said the maiden, as she stroked his neck lightly; or softly patted it with a childlike hand. "Now, go along, you provoking fellow!" she added, in a half-chiding, yet affectionate voice, as she drew up the bridle.

The pony turned toward her, and rubbed his head against her arm for an instant or two; then, pricking up his ears, he started off at a light, cheerful trot, and went on his way as freely as if no silly crotchet had ever entered his stubborn brain.

"What a wonderful power that hand possesses!" said I, speaking to my companion, as we rode away.

He looked at me for a moment, as if my remark had occasioned surprise. Then a light came into his countenance, and he said briefly, "She's good! Everybody and everything loves her."

Was that, indeed, the secret of her power? Was the quality of her soul perceived in the impression of her hand, even by brute beasts? The father's explanation was doubtless the true one. Yet have I ever since wondered, and still do wonder, at the potency which lay in that maiden's magic touch. I have seen something of the same power, showing itself in the loving and the good, but never to the extent as instanced in her, whom, for want of a better name, I must still call "Gentle Hand."

DEFINITIONS:--Vicinity, neighborhood. Unobtrusively, not noticeably, modestly. Repulsive, repelling, forbidding. Potent, powerful, effective. Host, one from whom another receives food, lodging, or entertainment. Peremptory, commanding, decisive. Availed, was of use, had effect. Ally, a confederate, one who unites with another in some purpose. Tense, strained to stiffness, rigid. Relaxed, loosened. Chiding, scolding, rebuking. Crochet, a perverse fancy, a whim. Instanced, mentioned as an example.

SPRING.

BY HARRY TIMROD.

Spring, with that nameless pathos in the air Which dwells with all things fair-- Spring, with her golden sun and silver rain, Is with us once again!

Out in the woods the jasmine burns Its fragrant lamps, and turns Into a royal court, with green festoons, The banks of dark lagoons: In the deep heart of every forest tree The blood is all a-glee; And there's a look about the leafless bowers As if they dreamed of flowers.

Already, here and there, on frailest stems Appear some azure gems, Small as might deck, upon a gala day, The forehead of a fay. In gardens you may note amid the dearth, The crocus breaking earth, And, near the snowdrop's tender white and green, The violet in its screen.

But many gleams and shadows needs must pass Along the budding grass, And weeks go by before the enamored South Shall kiss the rose's mouth; Still there's a sense of blossoms yet unborn In the sweet air of morn: One almost to see the very street Grow purple at his feet.

At times a fragrant breeze comes floating by, And brings, you know not why, A feeling as when eager crowds await Before a palace gate Some wondrous pageant; and you scarce would start If, from a beech's heart, A blue-eyed Dryad, stepping forth, should say, "Behold me! I am May!"

MARION'S MEN.

BY WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS.

The partisan had managed admirably, but he was now compelled to fly. The advantage of the ground was no longer with him. Tarleton, with his entire force, had now passed through the avenue, and had appeared in the open court in front. The necessity of rapid flight became apparent to Singleton, and the wild, lively notes of his trumpet were accordingly heard stirring the air at not more than rifle distance from the gathering troop of Tarleton. Bitterly aroused by this seeming audacity,--an audacity to which Tarleton, waging a war hitherto of continual successes, had never been accustomed,--his ire grew into fury.

"What, men! shall these rebels carry it so?" he cried aloud.--"Advance, Captain Barsfield! Advance to the right of the fence with twenty men, and stop not to mark your steps. Advance, sir, and charge forward. You should know the ground by this time. Away!--Captain Kearney, to you wood! Sweep it, sir, with your sabers; and meet in the rear of the garden."

The officers thus commanded moved to the execution of their charges with sufficient celerity. The commands and movements of Major Singleton were much more cool, and not less prompt. He hurried along by his scattered men as they lay here and there covered by this or that bush or tree: "Carry off no bullets that you can spare them, men. Fire as soon as they reach the garden; and when your pieces are clear, take down the hill and mount."

Three minutes did not elapse before the rifles had each poured forth its treasured death; and without pausing to behold the effects of their discharge, each partisan, duly obedient, was on his way, leaping off from cover to cover through the thick woods to the hollow where their horses had been fastened.

The furious Tarleton meanwhile led the way through the garden, the palings of which were torn away to give his cavalry free passage. With a soldier's rage, he hurried forward the pursuit, in a line tolerably direct, after the flying partisans. But Singleton was too good a soldier, and too familiar with the ground, to keep his men in mass in a wild flight through woods becoming denser at every step.

When they had reached a knoll at some little distance beyond the place where his horses had been fastened, he addressed his troop as follows: "We must break here, my men. Each man will take his own path, and we will all scatter as far apart as possible. Make your way, all of you, for the swamp, however, where in a couple of hours you may all be safe.--Lance Frampton, you will ride with me."

Each trooper knew the country, and, accustomed to individual enterprise and the duties of the scout, there was no hardship to the men of Marion in such a separation. On all hands they glided off, and at a far freer pace than when they rode together in a body. A thousand tracks they found in the woods about them, in pursuing which there was now no obstruction, no jostling of brother-horsemen pressing upon the same route. Singleton and his youthful companion darted away at an easy pace into the woods, in which they had scarcely shrouded themselves before they heard the rushing and fierce cries of Tarleton's dragoons.

"Do you remember, Lance," said Singleton to the boy,--"do you remember the chase we had from the Oaks when Proctor pursued us?"

"Yes, sir; and a narrow chance it was when your horse tumbled. I thought they would have caught and killed you then, sir; but I didn't know anything of fighting in the woods then."

"Keep cool, and there's little danger anywhere," responded Singleton. "Men in a hurry are always in danger. To be safe, be steady. But hark! do you not hear them now? Some of them have got upon our track."

"I do hear a noise, sir: there was a dry bush that cracked then."

"And a voice,--that was a shout. Let us stop for a moment and reload. A shot may be wanted."

Coolly dismounting, Singleton proceeded to charge his rifle, which had been slung across his shoulder. His companion did the same. While loading, the former felt a slight pain and stiffness in his left arm: "I am hurt, Lance, I do believe. Look here at my shoulder."

"There's blood, sir; and the coat's cut with a bullet. The bullet's in your arm, sir."

"No, not now. It has been there, I believe, though the wound is slight. There! now mount; we have no time to see to it now."

"That's true, sir, for I hear the horses. And look now, major! There's two of the dragoons coming through the bush, and straight toward us."

"Two only?" said Singleton, again unslinging his rifle. The boy readily understood the movement, and proceeded to do likewise; but he was too late. The shot of Singleton was immediate, and the foremost trooper fell forward from his horse. His companion fled.

"Don't 'light, Lance: keep on. There's only one now, and he won't trouble us. Away, sir!" It was time to speed. The report of the shot and the fall of the dragoon gave a direction to the whole force of the pursuers, whose shouts and cries might now be heard ringing in all directions through the forest behind them.

"They can't reach us, Lance," said Singleton, as they hastened forward. "We shall round that bay in a few seconds, and they will be sure to boggle into it. On, boy, and waste no eyesight in looking behind you. Push on; the bay is before us."

Thus speaking, guiding and encouraging the boy, the fearless partisan kept on. In a few minutes they had rounded the thick bay, and were deeply sheltered in a dense wood well known at that period by a romantic title, which doubtless had its story. "My Lady's Fancy. We are safe now, Lance, and a little rest will do no harm."

The partisan, as he spoke, drew up his horse, threw himself from his back, fastened him to a hanging branch, and, passing down to a hollow where a little brooklet ran trickling along with a gentle murmur, drank deeply of its sweet and quiet waters, which he scooped up with a calabash that hung on a bough above.

Then, throwing himself down under the shadow of the tree, he lay as quietly as if there had been no danger tracking his footsteps, and no deadly enemy still prowling in the neighborhood and hungering for his blood.

--From "Mellichampe."

DEFINITIONS:--Partisan, any one of a body of light troops, designed to carry on a desultory warfare. Audacity, daring spirit. Knoll, a little round hill. Shrouded, hidden. Calabash, a dry gourd scooped out.

NOTES.--Marion's Men. During the Revolution, General Francis Marion was in command of a body of partisan soldiers known by the above title. They were for the most part poorly clad and equipped, but their bravery, self-denial, and patriotism enabled them to do good service in the cause of freedom. Their deeds have been commemorated in Bryant's well-known poem, the first stanza of which is as follows:--

"Our band is few, but true and tried,
Our leader frank and bold;
The British soldier trembles
When Marion's name is told."

Tarleton. Colonel Tarleton was in command of a portion of the British forces in South Carolina during the Revolution. He was an able, brave, but merciless soldier.

THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN.

A CHILD'S STORY.

BY ROBERT BROWNING.

I.

Hamelin town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side A pleasanter spot you never spied; But when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin, what a pity!

II.

Rats! They fought the dogs and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles. Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.

III.

At last the people in a body To the town hall came flocking: "'Tis clear," cried they, "our mayor's a noddy; And as for our corporation--shocking To think we buy gowns lined with ermine For dolts that can't or won't determine What's best to rid us of our vermin! Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking To find the remedy we're lacking, Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!" At this the mayor and corporation Quaked with a mighty consternation.

IV.

An hour they sat in council; At length the mayor broke silence "For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell; I wish I were a mile hence! It's easy to bid one rack one's brain-- I'm sure my poor head aches again, I've scratched it so, and all in vain. Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!" Just as he said this, what should hap At the chamber door but a gentle tap! "Bless us," cried the mayor, "what's that?" (With the corporation as he sat Looking little though wondrous fat; Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister Than a too-long-opened oyster, Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous For a plate of turtle green and glutinous), "Only a scraping of shoes on the mat Anything like the sound of a rat Slakes my heart go pit-a-pat!"

V.

"Come in!"--the mayor cried, looking bigger: And in did come the strangest figure! His queer long coat from heel to head Was half of yellow and half of red, And he himself was tall and thin, With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, But lips where smiles went out and in; There was no guessing his kith and kin: And nobody could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire. Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire, Starting up at the trump of doom's tone, Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"

VI.

He advanced to the council table: And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able, By means of a secret charm, to draw All creatures living beneath the sun, That creep or swim or fly or run, After me so as you never saw! And I chiefly use my charm On creatures that do people harm, The mole and toad and newt and viper; And people call me the Pied Piper." (And here they noticed round his neck A scarf of red and yellow stripe, To match with his coat of the selfsame check; And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying As if impatient to be playing Upon this pipe, as low it dangled Over his vesture so old-fangled.) "Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am, In Tartary I freed the Cham, Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats; I eased in Asia the Nizam Of a monstrous brood of vampire bats: And as for what your brain bewilders, If I can rid your town of rats Will you give me a thousand guilders?" "One? fifty thousand!"--was the exclamation Of the astonished mayor and corporation.

VII.

Into the street the piper stepped Smiling first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while; Then, like a musical adept, To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled; And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, You heard as if an army muttered; And the muttering grew to a grumbling; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives-- Followed the piper for their lives. From street to street he piped advancing, And step for step they followed dancing, Until they came to the river Weser, Wherein all plunged and perished! --Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar, Swam across and lived to carry To rat-land home his commentary: Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, And putting apples, wondrous ripe, Into a cider-press's gripe: And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks: And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, 'Oh rats, rejoice! The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! So munch on, crunch on, take your nunchion, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!' And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, All ready staved, like a great sun shone Glorious scarce an inch before me, Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!' --I found the Weser rolling o'er me."

VIII.

You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple. "Go, cried the mayor, "and get long poles, Poke out the nests and block up the holes! Consult with carpenters and builders, And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats!" when suddenly, up the face Of the piper perked in the market place, With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"

IX.

A thousand guilders! The mayor looked blue; So did the corporation too. To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gypsy coat of red and yellow! "Beside," quoth the mayor with a knowing wink. "Our business was done at the river's brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what's dead can't come to life, I think. So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something for drink, And a matter of money to put in your poke; But as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. Beside, our losses have made us thrifty. A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"

X.

The piper's face fell, and he cried, "No trifling! I can't wait. Beside, I've promised to visit by dinner time Bagdat, and accept the prime Of the head cook's pottage, all he's rich in, For having left, in the caliph's kitchen, Of a nest of scorpions no survivor: With him I proved no bargain driver, With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver! And folks who put me in a passion May find me pipe after another fashion."

XI.

"How?" cried the mayor, "d'ye think I brook Being worse treated than a cook? Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald? You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, Blow your pipe there till you burst!"

XII.

Once more he stepped into the street And to his lips again Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; And ere he blew three notes (such sweet Soft notes as yet musician's cunning Never gave the enraptured air) There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering Little hands clapping and little tongues chattering, And, like fowls in a farmyard when barley is scattering Out came the children running. All the little boys and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

XIII.

The mayor was dumb, and the council stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step, or cry To the children merrily skipping by, --Could only follow with the eye That joyous crowd at the piper's back. But how the mayor was on the rack, And the wretched council's bosoms beat, As the piper turned from the High Street To where the Weser rolled its waters Right in the way of their sons and daughters However he turned from South to West, And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, And after him the children pressed; Great was the joy in every breast. "He never can cross that mighty top! He's forced to let the piping drop, And we shall see our children stop!" When, lo, as they reached the mountain side, A wonderous portal opened wide, As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; And the piper advanced and the children followed, And when all were in to the very last, The door in the mountain side shut fast. Did I say, all? No! One was lame, And could not dance the whole of the way; And in after years, if you would blame His sadness, he was used to say,-- "It's dull in our town since my playmates left! I can't forget that I'm bereft Of all the pleasant sights they see, Which the piper also promised me. For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, Joining the town and just at hand, Where waters gushed and fruit trees grew, And flowers put forth a fairer hue, And everything was strange and new; The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, And their dogs outrun our fallow deer, And honeybees had lost their stings, And horses were born with eagles' wings: And just as I became assured My lame foot would be speedily cured, The music stopped and I stood still, And found myself outside the hill, Left alone against my will, To go now limping as before, And never hear of that country more!"

XIV.

Also, alas, for Hamelin! There came into many a burgher's pate A text which says that heaven's gate Opes to the rich at as easy rate As the needle's eye takes a camel in! The mayor sent East, West, North, and South, To offer the piper, by word of mouth, Whatever it was men's lot to find him, Silver and gold to his heart's content, If he'd only return the way he went, And bring the children behind him. But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor, And piper and dancers were gone forever, They made a decree that lawyers never Should think their records dated duly If, after the day of the month and year, These words did not as well appear, "And so long after what happened here On the twenty-second of July, Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:" And the better in memory to fix The place of the children's last retreat, They called it the Pied Piper's Street, Where any one playing on pipe or tabor Was sure for the future to lose his labor. Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern To shock with mirth a street so solemn; But opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column, And on the great church window painted The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away, And there it stands to this very day. And I must not omit to say That in Transylvania there's a tribe Of alien people who ascribe The outlandish ways and dress On which their neighbors lay such stress, To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of some subterranean prison Into which they were trepanned Long time ago in a mighty band Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, But how or why, they don't understand.

XV.

So, Willy, let me and you be wipers Of scores out with all men--especially pipers! And whether they pipe us FROM rats or FROM mice, If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.

DEFINITIONS:--Corporation, city government. Ermine, furs used for lining the robes of mayors and other high officials. Guilder, a silver coin worth about 40 cents. Adept, one fully skilled in anything. Nunchion, the same as luncheon. Puncheon, a cask containing 84 gallons. Poke, pocket. Caliph, a Mohammedan ruler. Stiver, a Dutch coin worth about two cents. Burgher, a citizen of the town.

EXERCISE. In your geographies find all the places named in this poem.

LIST OF AUTHORS.

Arthur, Timothy S. An American writer, born near Newburgh, New York, in 1809. Most of his life was passed in Baltimore and Philadelphia. He wrote more than a hundred volumes, nearly all of which are now forgotten. His best-known work is a temperance tale entitled "Ten Nights in a Bar-room." He died in 1885.

Browning, Robert. An English poet, born near London in 1812. He was educated at London University, and spent most of his life in Italy. He was the author of many volumes of poetry. He died at Venice in 1889.

Bryant, William Cullen. An American poet, born at Cummington, Massachusetts, in 1794; died in New York in 1878. His poems relate for the most part to subjects connected with the woods and fields and the beauties of nature. For fifty years he was the editor of the New York Evening Post.

Burroughs, John. An American writer, born at Roxbury, New York, in 1837. His writings include many delightful essays on out-door subjects. Among his best books are "Wake-Robin," Birds and Poets," "Winter Sunshine," and "Fresh Fields."

Cooke, John Esten. An American writer, born at Winchester, Virginia, in 1830. Among his works are a number of interesting stories and sketches of life in Virginia. He died in 1886.

Cutter, George W. An American writer, whose home was in Washington, D.C. His most popular work is the short poem entitled "The Song of Steam." He was born in 1801; died in 1865.

Dickens, Charles. One of the most famous of English novelists, born at Landport, near Portsmouth, England, in 1812. His greatest novel is "David Copperfield," but some of his most pleasing work is found in the "Pickwick Papers." Among his other writings are "The Old Curiosity Shop," "Dombey and Son," "Martin Chuzzlewit," and "Nicholas Nickleby." His "Christmas Carol" and other Christmas stories are delightful reading. He died at Gadshill in 1870.

Dodge, Mary Napes. An American author, born at New York in 1838. She has been the editor of St. Nicholas since its beginning in 1875, and has written several charming stories for children.

Drummond, Henry. A Scottish clergyman, author, and naturalist. His most popular work is "Tropical Africa"; but he also wrote many sermons, essays, and religious books. He died in 1897.

Elizabeth, Charlotte. An English writer, Charlotte Elizabeth Browne Tonna, born at Norwich in 1790. She wrote some novels, and several tracts on religious subjects, and was editor of the Christian Lady's Magazine, but her works are now seldom read. She died in 1846.

Emerson, Ralph Waldo. A famous American writer and philosopher, born at Boston in 1803; died in 1882. His works are included in fourteen volumes of essays, poems, and criticisms.

Everett, Edward. An American statesman and orator, born in Massachusetts in 1794; died in 1865.

Field, Eugene. A popular American journalist and poet, born in Missouri in 1850, died at Chicago in 1896. His best poems are contained in the volumes entitled "Love Songs of Childhood" and "A Little Book of Western Verse."

Fields, James T. An American publisher and author, born at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in 1817. He wrote a little poetry, and a few well-known prose works, among which his "Yesterdays with Authors" is the best. He died at Boston in 1881.

Flagg, Ellen H. An American writer of verses, whose home was in the South. Her best-known production is "The Blue and the Gray."

Froude, James Anthony. An English writer, born in Devonshire in 1818. His writings relate chiefly to historical subjects, and include a "History of England" and "Short Studies on Great Subjepts," both of which are works of the highest order. He died in 1894.

Gallagher, William D. An American journalist born in Pennsylvania in 1808. The greater part of his life was spent in Kentucky, and his best poems relate to Western and Southern subjects. He died in 1894.

Gilder, Richard Watson. An American editor and poet, born at Bordentown, New Jersey, in 1844. He was for many years the editor of Lee Century Magazine. His works are collected in a volume entitled "Five Books of Song."

Hawthorne, Nathaniel. One of the greatest of American prose writers, born at Salem, Massachusetts, in 1804. Besides writing some famous novels, he.was,the author of "The Wonder Book," "Tanglewood Tales," and "Grandfather's Chair," delightful books for children. He died at Plymouth, New Hampshire, in 1864.

Hughes, Thomas. An English writer, born near Newbury in 1823. He is well known in this country as the author of "Tom Brown's School Days at Rugby," an excellent book for boys. He died in 1896.

Key, Francis Scott. An American lawyer and author of "The Star-Spangled Banner," was born in Maryland in 1779; died in 1843.

La Coste, Marie. An American writer whose home was in the South. She is remembered for the single poem, "Somebody's Darling"

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth. One of the greatest of American poets, born at Portland, Maine, in 1807. He held for some years the professorship of Modern Languages in Bowdoin College, and later a similar professorship in Harvard College. Many of his poems are well known to all young readers. He died in Cambridge in 1882.

Mackay, Charles. A Scottish poet, born at Perth in 1814. He was editor of the Illustrated London News for several years, and wrote three or four volumes of poems. He died in London in 1889.

Macdonald, George. A Scottish writer, born at Huntly, Scotland, in 1824. He was the author of a number of popular novels, of several books for the young, and of two or three works on religious subjects.

Michelet, Jules. A famous French historian and miscellaneous writer, born in Paris in 1798. He died in 1872.

Mitford, Mary Russell. An English author, born in Hampshire in 1787. She wrote several dramas and poems besides numerous stories for children. Her most popular work is "Our Village." She died in 1855.

Musick, John R. An American writer born in Missouri in 1849; died in 1901. He was the author of several works relating to American history.

Moodie, Susanna. An English author, born in 1803. She was the sister of the noted historical writer, Agnes Strickland. Her best book is "Roughing it in the Bush," a record of experiences in the backwoods of Canada. She died in 1885.

Peck, Samuel Minturn. An American author, born at Tuskaloosa, Alabama, in 1854. He has written several popular songs and some stories.

Procter, Adelaide Anne. An English poet, daughter of Bryan Waller Procter, born in London in 1825. She wrote one volume of poems, entitled, "Legends and Lyrics." She died in 1864.

Riley, James Whitcomb. An American poet, born at Greenfield, Indiana, in 1853. Much of his poetry is In Western dialect. He was author of "Rhymes of Childhood," "Afterwhiles," "A Child World," "Neighborly Poems," and several other volumes of verses.

Sangster, Margaret E. An American author and journalist, born in New Rochelle, New York, in 1838, has written many volumes on social and religious subjects besides several books of verses.

Save, John Godfrey. An American poet, born at Highgate, Vermont, in 1816. Most of his poems are humorous, and have been very popular. He died at Albany, New York, 1887.

Simms, William Gilmore (page 248). An American writer, born at Charleston, South Carolina, in 1806. He wrote several novels, most of them relating to life in the South. He was also the author of a volume of poems, and of a history of South Carolina. He died in 1870.

Stockton, Frank R.. An American writer, born at Philadelphia in 1834. Among his books for children are "Roundabout Rambles" and "Tales out of School:" He has also written a number of novels and several volumes of shorter stories for grown-up people.

Tennyson, Alfred. One of the greatest of English poets, born in Lincolnshire in 1809. He was made poet-laureate in 1850. Many of his poems are well known to young readers' and very popular. He died in 1892.

Thaxter, Celia Leighton. An American writer, born at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in 1835. She wrote "Among the Isles of Shoals," and some other volumes of prose, but is remembered chiefly for her "Poems for Children." She died in 1894.

Timrod, Henry. An American poet, born in Charleston, South Carolina, in 1829. His poems, published in a single volume, have been much admired. He died in 1867.

Todd, John. An American clergyman and author, born at Rutland, Vermont, in 1800. He wrote "Lectures for Children" and the "Student's Manual," books once popular, but now almost. He died at Pittsfield, Massachusetts, in 1873.