Chapter IV: Part 4

When I met a man of pleasure, sacrificing the improvement of his mind, or of his fortune, to mere bodily comfort, “Mistaken man,” said I, “you are providing pain for yourself, instead of pleasure: you give too much for your whistle.”

If I saw one fond of fine clothes, fine furniture, fine horses, all above his fortune, for which he contracted debts, and ended his career in prison, “Alas!” said I, “he has paid dear, very dear, for his whistle.”

In short, I believed that a great part of the miseries of mankind were brought upon them by the false estimates they had made of the value of things, and by their giving too much for their whistles.

L.--BUGLE SONG.

TENNYSON.

The splendor falls on castle walls,
And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying
Blow, bugle! answer, echoes,--dying, dying, dying.

O hark! O hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O sweet and far, from cliff and scar,
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow! let us hear the purple glens replying;
Blow, bugle! answer, echoes,--dying, dying, dying.

O love, they die on yon rich sky;
They faint on hill, or field, or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow forever and forever.
Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer,--dying, dying, dying.

LI.--THE INCHCAPE ROCK.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was as still as she could be;
Her sails from heaven received no motion,
Her keel was steady in the ocean.

Without either sign or sound of their shock,
The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock;
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.

The pious Abbot of Aberbrothock
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock;
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung,
And over the waves its warning rung.

When the Rock was hid by the surge’s swell,
The mariners heard the warning bell;
And then they knew the perilous Rock,
And blessed the Abbot of Aberbrothock.

The sun in heaven was shining gay;
All things were joyful on that day;
The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round,
And there was joyance in their sound.

The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen,
A darker speck on the ocean green;
Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck,
And he fixed his eye on the darker speck.

He felt the cheering power of spring;
It made him whistle, it made him sing:
His heart was mirthful to excess,
But the Rover’s mirth was wickedness.

His eye was on the Inchcape float;
Quoth he: “My men, put out the boat,
And row me to the Inchcape Rock,
And I’ll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothock.”

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape Rock they go;
Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float.

Down sank the bell, with a gurgling sound,
The bubbles rose and burst around;
Quoth Sir Ralph: “The next who comes to the Rock
Won’t bless the Abbot of Aberbrothock.”

Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away;
He scoured the seas for many a day;
And now, grown rich with plundered store,
He steers his course for Scotland’s shore.

So thick a haze o’erspreads the sky
They cannot see the sun on high;
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.

On the deck the Rover takes his stand;
So dark it is, they see no land.
Quoth Sir Ralph, “It will be lighter soon,
For there is the dawn of the rising moon.”

“Canst hear,” said one, “the breakers roar?
For methinks we should be near the shore.”
“Now where we are I cannot tell,
But I wish we could hear the Inchcape Bell.”

They hear no sound; the swell is strong;
Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along,
Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock;
Cried they: “It is the Inchcape Rock!”

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair,
He cursed himself in his despair:
The waves rush in on every side;
The ship is sinking beneath the tide.

But, even in his dying fear,
One dreadful sound could the Rover hear,--
A sound as if, with the Inchcape Bell,
The fiends below were ringing his knell.

LII.--THE FLAX.

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.

The flax was in full bloom; it had pretty little blue flowers as delicate as the wings of a moth, or even more so. The sun shone, and the showers watered it; and this was just as good for the flax as it is for little children to be washed and then kissed by their mother. They look much prettier for it, and so did the flax.

“People say that I look exceedingly well,” said the flax, “and that I am so fine and long, that I shall make a beautiful piece of linen. How fortunate I am! it makes me so happy; it is such a pleasant thing to know that something can be made of me. How the sunshine cheers me, and how sweet and refreshing is the rain! my happiness overpowers me; no one in the world can feel happier than I do.”

One day some people came, who took hold of the flax and pulled it up by the roots; this was painful. Then it was laid in water as if they intended to drown it; and, after that, placed near a fire as if it were to be roasted; all this was very shocking.

“We cannot expect to be happy always,” said the flax; “by experiencing evil as well as good we become wise.” And certainly there was plenty of evil in store for the flax. It was steeped, and roasted, and broken, and combed; indeed, it scarcely knew what was done to it.

At last it was put on the spinning-wheel. “Whirr, whirr,” went the wheel so quickly that the flax could not collect its thoughts.

“Well, I have been very happy,” he thought in the midst of his pain, “and must be contented with the past;” and contented he remained till he was put on the loom, and became a beautiful piece of white linen. All the flax, even to the last stalk, was used in making this one piece. “How wonderful it is that, after all I have suffered, I am made something of at last; I am the luckiest person in the world--so strong and fine; and how white, and what a length! This is something different from being a mere plant and bearing flowers. Then I had no attention, nor any water unless it rained. Now I am watched and taken care of. Every morning the maid turns me over, and I have a shower-bath from the watering-pot every evening. Yes, and the clergyman’s wife noticed me, and said I was the best piece of linen in the whole parish. I cannot be happier than I am now.”

After some time, the linen was taken into the house, placed under the scissors, and cut and torn into pieces, and then pricked with needles. This certainly was not pleasant; but at last it was made into garments.

“See, now, then,” said the flax, “I have become something of importance. This was my destiny; it is quite a blessing. Now I shall be of some use in the world, as every one ought to be; it is the only way to be happy.”

Years passed away; and at last the linen was so worn it could scarcely hold together.

“It must end very soon,” said the pieces to each other. “We would gladly have held together a little longer, but it is useless to expect impossibilities.”

And at length they fell into rags and tatters, and thought it was all over with them, for they were torn to shreds, and steeped in water, and made into a pulp, and dried, and they knew not what besides, till all at once they found themselves beautiful white paper.

“Well, now, this is a surprise; a glorious surprise too,” said the paper. “I am now finer than ever, and I shall be written upon, and who can tell what fine things I may have written upon me? This is wonderful luck!”

And sure enough, the most beautiful stories and poetry were written upon it, and only once was there a blot, which was very fortunate.

Then people heard the stories and poetry read, and it made them wiser and better; for all that was written had a good and sensible meaning, and a great blessing was contained in the words on the paper.

“I never imagined anything like this,” said the paper, “when I was only a little blue flower, growing in the fields. How could I fancy that I should ever be the means of bringing knowledge and joy to men? I cannot understand it myself, and yet it is really so. Heaven knows that I have done nothing myself, but what I was obliged to do with my weak powers for my own preservation; and yet I have been promoted from one joy and honor to another. Each time I think that the song is ended; and then something higher and better begins for me. I suppose now I shall be sent on my travels about the world, so that people may read me. It cannot be otherwise; indeed it is more than probable; for I have more splendid thoughts written upon me than I had pretty flowers in olden times. I am happier than ever.”

But the paper did not go on its travels. It was sent to the printer, and all the words written upon it were set up in type, to make a book, or rather hundreds of books; for so many more persons could derive pleasure and profit from a printed book than from the written paper; and if the paper had been sent about the world, it would have been worn out before it had got half through its journey.

“This is certainly the wisest plan,” said the written paper; “I really did not think of that. I shall remain at home and be held in honor, like some old grandfather, as I really am to all these new books. They will do some good. I could not have wandered about as they do. Yet he who wrote all this has looked at me as every word flowed from his pen upon my surface. I am the most honored of all.”

Then the paper was tied in a bundle with other papers, and thrown into a tub that stood in the washhouse.

“After work, it is well to rest,” said the paper, “and a very good opportunity this is to collect one’s thoughts. Now I am able, for the first time, to think of my real condition; and to know one’s self is true progress. What will be done with me now I wonder? No doubt I shall still go forward.”

Now it happened one day that all the paper in the tub was taken out, and laid on the hearth to be burnt. People said it could not be sold at the shop, to wrap up butter and sugar, because it had been written upon. The children in the house stood round the stove; for they wanted to see the paper burn, because it flamed up so prettily, and afterwards, among the ashes, so many red sparks could be seen running one after the other, here and there, as quick as the wind. They called it “seeing the children come out of school,” and the last spark was the schoolmaster. They often thought the last spark had come; and one would cry, “There goes the schoolmaster;” but the next moment another spark would appear, shining so beautifully. How they would like to know where the sparks all went to! Perhaps we shall find out some day, but we don’t know now.

The whole bundle of paper had been placed on the fire, and was soon alight. “Ugh!” cried the paper, as it burst into a bright flame; “ugh!” It was certainly not very pleasant to be burning; but when the whole was wrapped in flames, the flames mounted up into the air, higher than the flax had ever been able to raise its little blue flower; and they glistened as the white linen never could have glistened. All the written letters became quite red in a moment, and all the words and thoughts turned into fire.

“Now I am mounting straight up to the sun,” said a voice in the flames; and it was as if a thousand voices echoed the words; and the flames darted up through the chimney, and went out at the top. Then a number of tiny beings, as many in number as the flowers on the flax had been, and invisible to mortal eyes, floated above them. They were even lighter and more delicate than the flowers from which they were born; and as the flames were extinguished, and nothing remained of the paper but black ashes, these little things danced upon it; and whenever they touched it, bright red sparks appeared.

LIII.--THE FRENCH AT RATISBON.

ROBERT BROWNING.

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon;
A mile or so away,
On a little mound, Napoleon
Stood on our storming day;
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,
Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow
Oppressive with its mind.

Just as perhaps he mused, “My plans
That soar, to earth may fall,
Let once my army-leader, Lannes,
Waver at yonder wall,”--
Out ’twixt the battery-smokes there flew
A rider, bound on bound
Full galloping; nor bridle drew
Until he reached the mound.

Then off there flung in smiling joy,
And held himself erect
By just his horse’s mane, a boy:
You hardly could suspect,--
(So tight he kept his lips compressed,
Scarce any blood came through,)
You looked twice ere you saw his breast
Was all but shot in two.

“Well,” cried he, “Emperor, by God’s grace
We’ve got you Ratisbon!
The Marshal’s in the market-place,
And you’ll be there anon
To see your flag-bird flap his vans
Where I, to heart’s desire,
Perched him!” The chief’s eye flashed; his plans
Soared up again like fire.

The chief’s eye flashed; but presently
Softened itself, as sheathes
A film the mother-eagle’s eye
When her bruised eaglet breathes:
“You’re wounded!” “Nay,” his soldier’s pride
Touched to the quick, he said:
“I’m killed, Sire!” And, his chief beside,
Smiling, the boy fell dead.

LIV.--EGYPT AND ITS RUINS.

Egypt embraces that part of Africa occupied by the valley of the River Nile. For many centuries, it was a thickly populated country, and at one time possessed great influence and wealth, and had reached an advanced state of civilization.

The history of Egypt extends through a period of about six thousand years. During this time great cities were built, which flourished for hundreds of years. Owing to wars and changes of government, many of these cities were destroyed, and nothing of them now remains but massive and extensive ruins. Pyramids were built, obelisks erected, canals projected, and many other vast enterprises were carried out. Remains of these are to be seen to-day, some in ruins, some fairly preserved, and, altogether, they give the present generation an idea of the wealth and power of the different dynasties under which they were built.

Not far from Cairo, which is now the principal city of Egypt, stand the famous pyramids. These are of such immense proportions, that from a distance their tops seem to reach the clouds. They are constructed of great blocks of stone. Some of these are of great size, and how the builders put them into their places, is a question we cannot answer.

It is supposed that the construction of the largest pyramid required the labor of thousands of men, for more than twenty years. It is four hundred and sixty-one feet high, seven hundred and forty-six feet long at the base, and covers more than twelve acres of ground.

Sixty-seven of these pyramids in all have been discovered and explored. They are the tombs in which the kings of ancient Egypt and their families were buried. To contain their coffins, which were made of stone, many chambers were constructed in the interior of the pyramids. It has been calculated that one of the principal pyramids could contain three thousand seven hundred rooms of large size.

The bodies of those who were buried in the pyramids were preserved from decay by a secret process, which we call embalming, and which was known only to the priests. After the bodies were embalmed, they were wrapped in bands of fine linen, and on the inside of these was spread a peculiar kind of gum. Sometimes as many as a thousand yards of these bands were wrapped around a single body. After the bandaged body was thus prepared, a soft substance was placed around it. When this covering hardened, it kept the body in a state of complete preservation. These coverings are now called mummy-cases, and the bodies they enclose are called mummies. The bodies were finally placed in huge stone coffins, many of which were covered with curious carvings.

Some mummies have been found, that are said to be over three thousand years old. But, notwithstanding this great age, when the wrappings are removed from them, many of the bodies have been so well preserved, that the features present the appearance which they had in life. Large numbers of mummies have been carried off to other countries and placed on exhibition in museums.

The ancient Egyptians erected many obelisks in various parts of their country. These were monuments made from single pieces of hard stone, and in some cases they reached a height of more than a hundred feet. They were placed before gateways leading to the principal temples and palaces, and were covered with curious carvings, which represented the language of the people at that time. Their written language was not composed of letters and words like our own; but they used pictures of animals, including birds, and also pictures of human figures, and other devices of a similar nature, to express their thoughts and ideas. These pictures are now called hieroglyphics.

Until the year 1799, scholars of modern nations were unable to read this strange language. In that year, however, a stone tablet was discovered by a French engineer, containing an inscription written in three different characters:--namely: first, in the hieroglyphics spoken of above; second, in a running hand also used by the Egyptians; and third, in the well known letters of the Greek alphabet.

By comparing the words of these inscriptions with many others, the proper method of interpreting this peculiar language was ascertained. It was then learned that the inscriptions on these obelisks were the records of memorable events, and of the heroic deeds of ancient kings and heroes.

Many of the obelisks have been taken from their positions in Egypt and transported with great labor to other countries. Nearly two thousand years ago, the Roman Emperors began to carry them to Rome, where they were set up in the public squares. Altogether, nearly fifty of these remarkable monuments were taken away and set up in that city. They were then, and are still, regarded as evidences of the wonderful ingenuity and skill of the ancients who first made them.

In late years, obelisks have been taken to Paris and London, and more recently one has been brought to America, and set up in Central Park in New York City. This one belongs to the largest class, being nearly seventy feet high and about eight feet square at the base.

In their large cities, the Egyptians built massive temples which were dedicated to religious ceremonies. Some of them, although now in ruins, are considered to be among the most remarkable productions of the ancients. Tourists who nowadays sail up the River Nile and visit the site of the city of Thebes, the ancient capital of Egypt, are struck with amazement at the vast ruins surrounding them.

On the eastern side of the Nile lies what is left of the temple of Karnak. Imagine a long line of courts, gateways, and halls; with here and there an obelisk rising above the ruins, and shutting off the view of the forest of columns! The temple is approached on every side by avenues and gateways of colossal grandeur. It originally covered an area of two hundred and seventy acres, enclosed within a wall of brick, parts of which are still visible, while the rest lie crumbled and broken.

It is difficult to realize the grand appearance of the thirty rows of stone columns standing within the wall. Some of those that are still perfect, are capped with enormous monolith capitals, and it is said that on one of them a hundred men could stand without crowding.

The hall itself is four hundred and twenty-two feet long by one hundred and sixty-five feet broad. The stones of the ceiling are supported by one hundred and thirty-four columns. The largest measures ten feet in diameter, and more than seventy-two feet in height. They are covered with carvings and paintings whose colors are still bright, even after a lapse of forty centuries.

Gazing on what he sees around him, the traveller becomes lost in the effort to form some idea of the grandeur and vastness of the original.

_Word Exercise._

Cairo (_kī´ro_)
ob´e-lisk
căp´i-tals
cen´tu-ries
co-lŏs´sal
re-lĭg´ious (_re-lĭj´us_)
pro-pōr´tions
E´gypt
mŏn´o-lĭth
cĕr´e-mo-nies
he-rō´ic
ĕn-gi-neer (_ĕn-ji-neer´_)
dy´nas-ties (or _dyn´as-ties_)
mĕm´o-ra-ble
ăv´e-nūes
prĕs-er-vā´tion (_z_)
pyr´a-mĭd
ex-plōred´
dĕd´i-cāt-ed
hī-e-ro-glyph´ics

LV.--TO MY MOTHER.

HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

And canst thou, mother, for a moment think
That we, thy children, when old age shall shed
Its blanching honors on thy weary head,
Could from our best of duties ever shrink?
Sooner the sun from his bright sphere shall sink,
Than we ungrateful leave thee in that day
To pine in solitude thy life away;
Or shun thee tottering on the grave’s cold brink.
Banish the thought!--where’er our steps may roam,
O’er smiling plains, or wastes without a tree,
Still will fond memory point our hearts to thee,
And paint the pleasures of thy peaceful home;
While duty bids us all thy griefs assuage,
And smooth the pillow of thy sinking age.

LVI.--ZLOBANE.

MRS. GUSTAFSON.

Zlobane is the name of the mountain which was taken by storm from the Zulus by the British forces on the morning of the 28th of March, 1879. On the top of this mountain the victorious English troops, who had unsaddled their horses and cast themselves down to rest, were surprised and surrounded by the Zulus. Of the British corps only one captain and six men escaped. The young hero of the ballad was the son of Colonel Weatherly.

As swayeth in the summer wind
The close and stalwart grain,
So moved the serried Zulu shields
That day on wild Zlobane;

The white shield of the husband,
Who hath twice need of life,
The black shield of the young chief,
Who hath not yet a wife.

Unrecking harm, the British lay,
Secure as if they slept,
While close on front and either flank
The live, black crescent crept.

Then burst their wild and frightful cry
Upon the British ears,
With whirr of bullets, glare of shields,
And flash of Zulu spears.

Uprose the British; in the shock
Reeled but an instant; then,
Shoulder to shoulder, faced the foe,
And met their doom like men.

But one was there whose heart was torn,
In a more awful strife;
He had the soldier’s steady nerve,
And calm disdain of life;

Yet now, half turning from the fray,
Knee smiting against knee,
He scanned the hills, if yet were left
An open way to flee.

Not for himself. His little son,
Scarce thirteen summers born,
With hair that shone upon his brows
Like tassels of the corn,

And lips yet curled in that sweet pout
Shaped by the mother’s breast,
Stood by his side, and silently
To his brave father pressed.

The horse stood nigh; the father kissed,
And tossed the boy astride.
“Farewell!” he cried, “and for thy life,
That way, my darling, ride!”

Scarce touched the saddle ere the boy
Leaped lightly to the ground,
And smote the horse upon its flank,
That with a quivering bound

It sprang and galloped for the hills,
With one sonorous neigh;
The fire flashed where its spurning feet
Clanged o’er the stony way.

“Father, I’ll die with you!” The sire
As this he saw and heard,
Turned, and stood breathless in the joy
And pang that knows no word.

Once, each, as do long knitted friends,
Upon the other smiled,
And then--he had but time to give
A weapon to the child

Ere, leaping o’er the British dead,
The supple Zulus drew
The cruel assegais, and first
The younger hero slew.

Still grew the father’s heart, his eye
Bright with unflickering flame:
Five Zulus bit the dust in death
By his unblenching aim.

Then, covered with uncounted wounds,
He sank beside his child,
And they who found them say, in death
Each on the other smiled.

_Phrase Exercise._

1. _Stalwart_ grain.--2. _Serried_ shields.--3. Unrecking
harm.--4. The black crescent crept.--5. _Whirr_ of bullets.--6.
Reeled but an instant.--7. Met their _doom like men_.--8. Awful
strife.--9. _Calm disdain_ of life.--10. Shone like tassels
of the corn.--11. Sweet pout.--12. Quivering bound.--13.
_Spurning_ feet.--14. Unflickering flame.--15. _Unblenching_
aim.

LVII.--THE RUBY-THROATED HUMMING-BIRD.

AUDUBON.

The most common, as well as the most beautiful, species of humming-birds, is the ruby-throat, a name given to it on account of the delicate metallic feathers, which glow with ruby lustre on its throat, gleaming in the sunshine like gems of living fire. From the tip of the bill to that of the tail, it measures about three and a half inches. The upper part of the neck, the back, and the wing-coverts, are of a resplendent and varied green and gold. The breast and lower parts are white, the wings purplish brown, and the tail partly of the same color, with the two middle tail-feathers of vivid green.

In the warm climate of the Southern States, the beautiful little ruby-throat is found throughout the winter; and as the summer draws on, the heat in the Northern States and Canada suiting its delicate constitution, it migrates in large numbers, appearing in Canada towards the end of June. The long flights of these tiny creatures are performed at night, it is supposed, as they are found feeding leisurely at all times of the day. When passing through the air they move at a rapid rate, in long undulations, now rising for some distance at an angle of about forty degrees, then falling in a curve.

Small as they are, from their rapid flight and meteor-like movements, they do not fear the largest birds of prey; for even should the lordly eagle venture into their domains, the tiny creature will attack him without fear; and one has been seen perched on the head of an eagle, at which it was pecking away furiously, scattering the feathers of the huge bird, who flew screaming through the air with alarm, to rid himself of his tiny assailant.

Brave and high-spirited as is the little bird, it is easily tamed; and Mr. Webber, the naturalist, succeeded in securing several specimens. The first he caught did not flutter, or make the least attempt to escape, but remained quietly in his hand; and he saw, when he opened it, the minute creature lying on his palm, perfectly motionless, feigning most skilfully to be dead. As he watched it with breathless curiosity, he saw it slowly open its bright little eyes to see whether the way was clear, and then close them slowly as it caught his glance upon it. When a mixture of sugar, water, and honey, was brought, and a drop placed on its bill, it came very suddenly to life, and in a moment was on its legs, drinking with eager gusto of the refreshing draught from a silver teaspoon.

The nest of the ruby-throat is of a most delicate nature, the external parts being formed of bits of a little grey lichen, found on the branches of trees, glued together by the saliva of the bird. Bits of lichen are also neatly arranged round the whole of the nest, and to some distance from the spot where the nest is attached to the tree. The interior is formed of a cottony substance, and is lined with silky fibres obtained from various plants.

The difficulty of finding the little nests of the humming-birds is increased by a curious habit possessed by some of the species. When they leave or approach their home, they do so as if conscious that by the bright gleam of their plumage they may give an indication of the place of their nest. Rising perpendicularly until they are out of sight, and then flying to the point under which their nest is placed, they drop down upon it as perpendicularly as they ascended.

The eggs are only two in number, and although somewhat larger than might be imagined from the size of the bird, are very small indeed. They are of a delicate, slightly pink, semi-transparent, white color, and have been well compared to pearls.

Could you cast a momentary glance on the nest of a humming-bird, and see, as I have seen, the newly hatched pair of young, not much larger than humble-bees, naked, blind, and so feeble as scarcely to be able to raise their little bills to receive food from their parents, and could you see those parents full of anxiety and fear, passing and repassing within a few inches of your face, alighting on a twig not more than a yard from you, and waiting the result of your unwelcome visit in a state of despair--you could not fail to be interested in such a display of parental affection. Then how pleasing it is, on leaving the spot, to see the returning joy of the parents, when, after examining the nest, they find their nurslings untouched!

_Word Exercise._

meteor (_mē´te-ur_)
draught (_draft_)
feigning (_fān´ing_)
lichen (_lī´ken_, or _lĭch´en_)
coverts (_kŭv´erts_)
mī´grates
specimen (_spĕs´e-mĕn_)
in´ter-est-ed
as-sail´ant
do-mains´
un-du-lā´tion
dĕl´i-cate
re-splĕn´dent

LVIII.--TRUST IN GOD AND DO THE RIGHT.

NORMAN MACLEOD.

Courage, brother! do not stumble;
Though thy path be dark as night,
There’s a star to guide the humble:
Trust in God, and do the right.

Though the road be long and dreary,
And the goal be out of sight,
Foot it bravely, strong or weary:
Trust in God, and do the right.

Perish, policy and cunning,
Perish, all that fears the light:
Whether losing, whether winning,
Trust in God, and do the right.

Fly all forms of guilty passion;
Fiends can look like angels bright;
Heed no custom, school, or fashion:
Trust in God, and do the right.

Some will hate thee, some will love thee,
Some will flatter, some will slight;
Cease from Man, and look above thee:
Trust in God, and do the right.

Simple rule and surest guiding,
Inward peace and shining light;
Star upon our path abiding:
Trust in God, and do the right.

LIX.--SOMEBODY’S DARLING.

MARIE LACOSTE.

Into a ward of the whitewashed walls,
Where the dead and dying lay,
Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls,
Somebody’s darling was borne one day--
Somebody’s darling, so young and so brave,
Wearing yet on his pale, sweet face,
Soon to be hid by the dust of the grave,
The lingering light of his boyhood’s grace.

Matted and damp are the curls of gold,
Kissing the snow of that fair young brow;
Pale are the lips of delicate mould--
Somebody’s darling is dying now.
Back from his beautiful, blue-veined brow
Brush all the wandering waves of gold,
Cross his hands on his bosom now,
Somebody’s darling is still and cold.

Kiss him once for somebody’s sake,
Murmur a prayer soft and low;
One bright curl from its fair mates take,--
They were somebody’s pride you know.
Somebody’s hand had rested there,--
Was it a mother’s, soft and white?
And have the lips of a sister fair
Been baptized in those waves of light?

God knows best; he has somebody’s love;
Somebody’s heart enshrined him there;
Somebody wafted his name above,
Night and morn, on the wings of prayer.
Somebody wept when he marched away,
Looking so handsome, brave, and grand;
Somebody’s kiss on his forehead lay,
Somebody clung to his parting hand.

Somebody’s waiting and watching for him,
Yearning to hold him again to the heart;
And there he lies with his blue eyes dim,
And the smiling, childlike lips apart.
Tenderly bury the fair young dead,
Pausing to drop on his grave a tear;
Carve on the wooden slab at his head,--
“_Somebody’s darling slumbers here._”

LX.--SONG FROM “THE PRINCESS.”

TENNYSON.

Home they brought her warrior dead:--
She nor swooned nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
“She must weep, or she will die.”

Then they praised him, soft and low,
Called him worthy to be loved,
Truest friend and noblest foe;--
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior stept,
Took the face-cloth from the face;--
Yet she neither moved nor wept.

Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her knee;--
Like summer tempest came her tears--
“Sweet my child, I live for thee.”

LXI.--ANTS AND THEIR SLAVES.

MICHELET.

Peter Huber, the son of the celebrated observer of the manners and habits of bees, walking one day in a field near Geneva, saw on the ground a strong detachment of reddish-colored ants on the march, and bethought himself of following them. On the flanks of the column, as if to dress its ranks, a few sped to and fro in eager haste. After marching for about a quarter of an hour, they halted before an ant-hill belonging to some small black ants, and a desperate struggle took place at its gates.

A small number of blacks offered a brave resistance; but the great majority of the people thus assailed fled through the gates remotest from the scene of combat, carrying away their young. It was just these which were the cause of the strife, what the blacks most feared being the theft of their offspring. And soon the assailants, who had succeeded in penetrating into the city, might be seen emerging from it, loaded with the young black progeny.

The red ants, encumbered with their living booty, left the unfortunate city in the desolation of its great loss, and resumed the road to their own habitation, whither their astonished and almost breathless observer followed them. But how was his astonishment augmented when, at the threshold of the red ants’ community, a small population of black ants came forward to receive the plunder, welcoming with visible joy these children of their own race, which would perpetuate it in the foreign lands!

This, then, is a mixed city, where the strong warrior-ants live on a perfectly good understanding with the little blacks. But what of the latter? Huber speedily discovered that, in fact, they do everything. They alone build; they alone bring up the young red ants and the captives of their own species; they alone administer the affairs of the community, provide its supplies of food, and wait upon and feed their red masters, who, like great infant giants, indolently allow their little attendants to feed them at the mouth. No other occupations are theirs but war, theft, and kidnapping. No other movements in the intervals than to wander about lazily, and bask in the sunshine at the doors of their barracks.

Huber made an experiment. He was desirous of observing what would be the result if the great red ants found themselves without servants,--whether they would know how to supply their own wants. He put a few into a glass case, and put some honey for them in a corner, so that they had nothing to do but to take it. Miserable the degradation, cruel the punishment with which slavery afflicts the enslavers! They did not touch it; they seemed to know nothing; they had become so grossly ignorant that they could no longer feed themselves. Some of them died from starvation, with food before them!

Huber, to complete the experiment, then introduced into the case one black ant. The presence of this sagacious slave changed the face of things, and re-established life and order. He went straight to the honey, and fed the great dying simpletons.

The little blacks in many things carry a moral authority whose signs are very visible. They do not, for example, permit the great red ants to go out alone on useless expeditions, but compel them to return into the city. Nor are they even at liberty to go out in a body, if their wise little slaves do not think the weather favorable, if they fear a storm, or if the day is far advanced. When an excursion proves unsuccessful, and they return without children, the little blacks are stationed at the gates of the city to forbid their ingress, and send them back to the combat; nay more, you may see them take the cowards by the collar, and force them to retrace their route.

These are astounding facts; but they were seen, as here described, by our illustrious observer. Not being able to trust his eyes, he summoned one of the greatest naturalists of Sweden, Jurine, to his side, to make new investigations, and decide whether he had been deceived. This witness, and others who afterwards pursued the same course of experiments, found that his discoveries were entirely accurate. Yet after all these weighty testimonies, I still doubted. But on a certain occasion I saw it--with my own eyes saw it--in the park of Fontainebleau. I was accompanied by an illustrious philosopher, an excellent observer, and he too saw exactly what I saw.

It was half-past four in the afternoon of a very warm day. From a pile of stones emerged a column of from four to five hundred red or reddish ants. They marched rapidly towards a piece of turf, kept in order by their sergeants or “pivot-men,” whom we saw on the flanks, and who would not permit any one to straggle. (This is a circumstance known to everyone who has seen a file of ants on the march.)

Suddenly the mass seemed to sink and disappear. There was no sign of ant-hills in the turf; but after a while we detected an almost imperceptible orifice, through which we saw them vanish in less time than it takes me to write these words. We asked ourselves if it was an entrance to their domicile; if they had re-entered their city. In a minute at the utmost they gave us a reply, and showed us our mistake. They issued in a throng, each carrying a captive in its mandibles.

From the short time they had taken, it was evident that they had a previous knowledge of the locality, the place where the eggs were deposited, the time when they were to assemble, and the degree of resistance they had to expect. Perhaps it was not their first journey. The little blacks on whom the red ants made this raid sallied out in considerable numbers; and I truly pitied them. They did not attempt to fight. They seemed frightened and stunned. They endeavored only to delay the red ants by clinging to them. A red ant was thus stopped; but another red one, who was free, relieved him of his burden, and thereupon the black ant relaxed his grasp.

It was, in fact, a pitiful sight. The blacks offered no serious resistance. The five hundred ants succeeded in carrying off nearly three hundred children. At two or three feet from the hole, the blacks ceased to pursue them, and resigned themselves to their fate. All this did not occupy ten minutes between the departure and the return. The two parties were very unequal. It was very probably an outrage often repeated--a tyranny of the great, who levied a tribute of children from their poor little neighbors.

LXII.--THE GRAY SWAN.

ALICE CARY.

“Oh! tell me, sailor, tell me true,
Is my little lad, my Elihu,
A-sailing with your ship?”
The sailor’s eyes were dim with dew,--
“Your little lad, your Elihu?”
He said with trembling lip,--
“What little lad? What ship?”

“What little lad? as if there could be
Another such a one as he!
What little lad, do you say?
Why, Elihu, that took to sea
The moment I put him off my knee!
It was just the other day
The Gray Swan sailed away!”

“The other day?” The sailor’s eyes
Stood open with a great surprise:--
“The other day?--The Swan?”
His heart began in his throat to rise.
“Ay, ay, sir! here in the cupboard lies
The jacket he had on!”
“And so your lad is gone?”

“Gone with the Swan!”--“And did she stand
With her anchor clutching hold of the sand,
For a month and never stir?”
“Why, to be sure! I’ve seen from the land
Like a lover kissing his lady’s hand,
The wild sea kissing her,--
A sight to remember, sir!”

“But, my good mother, do you know
All this was twenty years ago?
I stood on the Gray Swan’s deck,
And to that lad I saw you throw
(Taking it off, as it might be, so)
The kerchief from your neck,”--
“Ay, and he’ll bring it back!”

“And did the little lawless lad,
That has made you sick, and made you sad,
Sail with the Gray Swan’s crew?”
“Lawless! The man is going mad!
The best boy mother ever had:--
Be sure he sailed with the crew!
What would you have him do?”

“And he has never written line,
Nor sent you word, nor made you sign,
To say he was alive?”
“Hold! if ’twas wrong, the wrong is mine;
Besides, he may be in the brine;
And could he write from the grave?
Tut, man! What would you have?”

“Gone twenty years,--a long, long cruise,
’Twas wicked thus your love to abuse!
But if the lad still live,
And come back home, think you, you can
Forgive him?”--“Miserable man!
You’re mad as the sea; you rave,--
What have I to forgive?”

The sailor twitched his shirt of blue;
And from within his bosom drew
The kerchief. She was wild.
“Oh God, my Father! is it true?
My little lad, my Elihu!
And is it--is it--is it you?
My blessed boy, my child,
My dead, my living child!”

* * * * *

_My heart leaps up when I behold_
_A rainbow in the sky:_
_So was it when my life began;_
_So is it now I am a man;_
_So be it when I shall grow old,_
_Or let me die!_
_The child is father of the man;_
_And I could wish my days to be_
_Bound each to each by natural piety._

--_Wordsworth._

LXIII.--THE CAPTURE OF A WHALE.

COOPER.

“Tom,” cried Barnstable, starting, “there is the blow of a whale!”

“Ay, ay, sir!” returned the cockswain with undisturbed composure: “here is his spout, not half a mile to seaward. The easterly gale has driven the creature to leeward; and he begins to find himself in shoal water. He’s been sleeping while he should have been working to windward.”

“The fellow takes it coolly, too. He’s in no hurry to get an offing.”

“I rather conclude, sir,” said the cockswain, rolling over his tobacco in his mouth very composedly, while his little sunken eyes began to twinkle with pleasure at the sight, “the gentleman has lost his reckoning, and doesn’t know which way to head to take himself back into blue water.”

“’Tis a fin-back!” exclaimed the lieutenant. “He will soon make headway, and be off.”

“No, sir, ’tis a right whale,” answered Tom; “I saw his spout. He threw up a pair of as pretty rainbows as one could wish to see. He’s a real oil-butt, that fellow!”

Barnstable laughed, and exclaimed in joyous tones,--“Give strong way, my hearties! There seems nothing better to be done; let us have a stroke of a harpoon at that impudent rascal.” The men shouted spontaneously; and the old cockswain suffered his solemn visage to relax into a small laugh, while the whale-boat sprang forward like a courser for the goal.

During the few minutes they were pulling toward their game, Long Tom arose from his crouching attitude in the stern-sheets, and transferred his huge frame to the bows of the boat, where he made such preparations to strike the whale as the occasion required. The tub, containing about half a whale line, was placed at the feet of Barnstable, who had been preparing an oar to steer with in place of the rudder which was unshipped, in order that, if necessary, the boat might be whirled round when not advancing.

Their approach was utterly unnoticed by the monster of the deep, who continued to amuse himself with throwing the water in two circular spouts high into the air; occasionally flourishing the broad flukes of his tail with graceful but terrific force until the hardy seamen were within a few hundred feet of him, when he suddenly cast his head downward, and without apparent effort, reared his immense body for many feet above the water, waving his tail violently, and producing a whizzing noise that sounded like the rushing of winds.

The cockswain stood erect, poising his harpoon, ready for the blow; but, when he beheld the creature assuming this formidable attitude, he waved his hand to his commander, who instantly signed to his men to cease rowing. In this situation the sportsman rested a few minutes; while the whale struck several blows on the water in rapid succession, the noise of which re-echoed along the cliffs like the hollow reports of so many cannon. After this wanton exhibition of his terrible strength, the monster sank again into his native element and slowly disappeared.

“Which way did he head, Tom?” cried Barnstable, the moment the whale was out of sight.

“Pretty much up and down, sir,” returned the cockswain, his eye brightening with the excitement of the sport. “He’ll soon run his nose against the bottom if he stands long on that course, and will be glad to get another snuff of pure air. Send her a few fathoms to starboard, sir, and I promise we shall not be out of his track.”

The conjecture of the experienced old seaman proved true; for in a few minutes the water broke near them, and another spout was cast into the air, when the huge animal rushed for half his length in the same direction, and fell on the sea with a turbulence and foam equal to that which is produced by the launching of a vessel for the first time into its proper element. After this evolution, the whale rolled heavily, and seemed to rest from further efforts.

His slightest movements were closely watched by Barnstable and his cockswain; and when he was in a state of comparative rest, the former gave the signal to his crew to ply their oars once more. A few long and vigorous strokes sent the boat directly up to the broadside of the whale, with its bows pointing towards one of the fins, which was at times, as the animal yielded sluggishly to the action of the waves, exposed to view. The cockswain poised his harpoon with much precision, and then darted it from him with a violence that buried the iron in the body of their foe. The instant the blow was made, Long Tom shouted with singular earnestness:--

“Starn, all!”

“Stern, all!” echoed Barnstable; when the obedient seamen, by united efforts, forced the boat in a backward direction, beyond the reach of any blow from their formidable antagonist. The alarmed animal, however, meditated no such resistance. Ignorant of his own power, and of the insignificance of his enemies, he sought refuge in flight. One moment of stupid surprise succeeded the entrance of the iron; then casting his huge tail into the air with a violence that threw the sea around him into increased commotion, he disappeared with the quickness of lightning amid a cloud of foam.

“Snub him!” shouted Barnstable. “Hold on, Tom! he rises already.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” replied the composed cockswain, seizing the line, which was running out of the boat with a velocity that rendered such a manœuvre rather hazardous, and causing it to yield more gradually round the large loggerhead that was placed in the bows of the boat for that purpose. Presently the line stretched forward; and, rising to the surface with tremulous vibrations, it indicated the direction in which the animal might be expected to reappear. Barnstable had cast the bows of the boat towards that point before the terrified and wounded victim rose to the surface. His time was, however, no longer wasted in his sports, but as he ploughed his way along the surface he forced the waters aside with prodigious energy. The boat was dragged violently in his wake, and it cut through the billows with a terrific rapidity, that at moments appeared to bury it in the ocean.

When Long Tom beheld his victim throwing his spouts on high again, he pointed with exultation to the jetting fluid, which was streaked with the deep red of blood, and cried,--“Ay, I’ve touched the fellow’s life! It must be more than two foot of blubber that stops my iron from reaching the life of any whale that ever sculled the ocean.”

“I believe you have saved yourself the trouble of using the bayonet you have rigged for a lance,” said his commander, who entered into the sport with all the ardor of one whose youth had been chiefly passed in such pursuits. “Feel your line, Master Coffin: can we haul alongside of our enemy? I like not the course he is steering, as he tows us from the schooner.”

“’Tis the creatur’s way, sir,” said the cockswain. “You know they need the air in their nostrils when they run, the same as a man. But lay hold, boys, and let us haul up to him.”

The seamen now seized their whale-line, and slowly drew their boat to within a few feet of the tail of the fish, whose progress became sensibly less rapid as he grew weak with the loss of blood. In a few minutes he stopped running, and appeared to roll uneasily on the water, as if suffering the agony of death.

“Shall we pull in and finish him, Tom?” cried Barnstable. “A few sets from your bayonet would do it.”

The cockswain stood examining his game with cool discretion, and replied to this interrogatory,--

“No, sir! no! He’s going into his flurry; there’s no occasion for using a soldier’s weapon in taking a whale. Starn off, sir! starn off! the creatur’s in his flurry.”

The warning of the prudent cockswain was promptly obeyed; and the boat cautiously drew off to a distance, leaving to the animal a clear space while under its dying agonies. From a state of perfect rest, the terrible monster threw its tail on high as when in sport; but its blows were trebled in rapidity and violence, till all was hid from view by a pyramid of foam that was deeply dyed with blood. The roarings of the fish were like the bellowings of a herd of bulls, and it seemed as if a thousand monsters were engaged in deadly combat behind the bloody mist that obstructed the view.

Gradually these efforts subsided; and, when the discolored water again settled down to the long and regular swell of the ocean, the fish was seen exhausted, and yielding passively to its fate. As life departed, the enormous black mass rolled to one side; and when the white and glistening skin of the belly became apparent, the seamen well knew that their victory was achieved.

_Word Exercise._

flukes
whiz´zing
un-shipped´ (_-shipt´_)
ma-nœu´vre (_mă-noo´ver or -nū-_)
ras´cal
ap-pār´ent
pois´ing (_poiz-_)
cock´swain (or _kŏk´sn_)
launch´ing (_länch-_)
ĕv-o-lū´tion
im´pu-dĕnt
tur´bu-lence
con-jĕct´ure
for´mi-da-ble

_Phrase Exercise._

1. To get an offing.--2. Has lost his reckoning.--3. _Right_
whale.--4. Shouted _spontaneously_.--5. Solemn visage.--6.
Crouching attitude.--7. Huge frame.--8. Utterly unnoticed.--9.
Terrific force.--10. _Wanton exhibition_ of his strength.--11.
Singular earnestness.--12. Formidable antagonist.--13.
Tremulous vibrations.--14. Promptly obeyed.

LXIV.--THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.

LONGFELLOW.

Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate’er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter’s voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.