THOMSON.

[Notes: James Thomson, born 1700, died 1748. He was educated for the Scotch ministry, but came to London, and commenced his career as a poet by the series of poems called the 'Seasons,' descriptive of scenes in nature.

The Muses, i.e., the Sciences and Arts, which flourish best where there are free institutions.]



* * * * *



WATERLOO.

There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her Beauty and her Chivalry; and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage-bell;— But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Did ye not hear it?—No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street: On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet— But hark!—That heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! arm! it is—it is—the cannon's opening roar!

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness: And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise?

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning-star; While throng'd the citizens, with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips,—"The foe! they come! they come!"

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave,—alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass, Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure; when this fiery mass Of living valour, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low!

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms,—the day Battle's magnificently stern array! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is cover'd thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover—heap'd and pent, Rider and horse,—friend, foe,—in one red burial blent!

BYRON.



[Notes:Waterloo. Fought, 1815, between Napoleon on one side, and Wellington and Blucher (the Prussian General) on the other. Its result was the defeat of Napoleon, and his imprisonment by the Allies in St. Helena. The festivities held at Brussels, the headquarters of the British Army, on the eve of the battle, were rudely disturbed by the news that the action had already begun.

Ardennes. A district on the frontier of France, bordering on Belgium.

Ivry. The battle in which Henry IV., in the struggle for the crown of France, completely routed the forces of the Catholic League (1590).

My white plume shine. The white plume was the distinctive mark of the House of Bourbon.

Oriflamme, or Auriflamme (lit. Flame of Gold), originally the banner of the Abbey of St. Denis, afterwards appropriated by the crown of France. "Let the helmet of Navarre (Henry's own country) be to-day the Royal Standard of France."

Culverin. A piece of artillery of long range.

The fiery Duke (of Mayenne).

Pricking fast. Cf. "a gentle knight was pricking o'er the plain" (Spencer).

With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. The allies of the League. Almayne or Almen, a district in the Netherlands.



* * * * *



IVRY.

The King is come to marshal us, in all his armour drest, And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. He look'd upon his people, and a tear was in his eye: He look'd upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high, Right graciously he smiled on us, as roll'd from wing to wing, Down all our line a deafening shout, "God save our Lord the King!" "And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may, For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war, And be your Oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre."

Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin! The fiery Duke is pricking fast across St. Andre's plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. Now by the lips of those we love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the Golden Lilies,—upon them with the lance! A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest; And in they burst, and on they rush'd, while, like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.

Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein. D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish Count is slain. Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale. The field is heap'd with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, "Remember St. Bartholomew!" was pass'd from man to man: But out spake gentle Henry, "No Frenchman is my foe; Down, down, with every foreigner! but let your brethren go." Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, As our Sovereign Lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre!

Ho! maidens of Vienna; ho! matrons of Lucerne; Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return. Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls. Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright: Ho! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and ward to- night, For our God hath crush'd the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, And mock'd the counsel of the wise, and the valour of the brave. Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are; And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry of Navarre!

MACAULAY.



[Notes: D'Aumale, The Duke of; another leader of the League.

The Flemish Court. Count Egmont, the son of the Count Egmont, whose death on the scaffold in 1568, in consequence of the resistance he offered to the tyranny of Philip II. of Spain, has made the name famous. The son, on the other hand, was the attached servant of Philip II.; and was unnatural enough to say, when reminded of his father, "Talk not of him, he deserved his death."

Remember St. Bartholomew, i.e., the massacre of the Protestants on St. Bartholomew's day, 1572.

Maidens of Vienna: matrons of Lucerne. In reference to the Austrian and Swiss Allies of the League.

Thy Mexican pistoles. Alluding to the riches gained by the Spanish monarchy from her American colonies.

Ho! burghers of St. Genevieve = citizens of Paris, of which St. Genevieve was held to be the patron saint.]



* * * * *



NECESSITY THE MOTHER OF INVENTION.

And now I began to apply myself to make such necessary things as I found I most wanted, as particularly a chair or a table; for without these I was not able to enjoy the few comforts I had in the world; I could not write or eat, or do several things with so much pleasure without a table.

So I went to work; and here I must needs observe that, as reason is the substance and original of the mathematics, so by stating and squaring everything by reason, and by making the most rational judgment of things, every man may be in time master of every mechanic art. I had never handled a tool in my life, and yet in time, by labour, application, and contrivance, I found at last that I wanted nothing but I could have made it, especially if I had had tools; however, I made abundance of things, even without tools, and some with no more tools than an adze and a hatchet, which perhaps were never made that way before, and that with infinite labour; for example, if I wanted a board, I had no other way but to cut down a tree, set it on an edge before me, and hew it flat on either side with my axe, till I had brought it to be as thin as a plank, and then dubb it smooth with my adze. It is true, by this method, I could make but one board out of a whole tree, but this I had no remedy for but patience, any more than I had for the prodigious deal of time and labour which it took me up to make a plank or board; but my time or labour was little worth, and so it was as well employed one way as another.

However, I made me a table and a chair, as I observed above, in the first place, and this I did out of the short pieces of boards that I brought on my raft from the ship: but when I had wrought out some boards, as above, I made large shelves of the breadth of a foot and a half one over another, all along one side of my cave, to lay all my tools, nails, and iron-work, and in a word, to separate everything at large in their places, that I might come easily at them; I knocked pieces into the wall of the rock to hang my guns and all things that would hang up. So that had my cave been to be seen, it looked like a general magazine of all necessary things, and I had everything so ready at my hand, that it was a great pleasure to me to see all my goods in such order, and especially to find my stock of all necessaries so great.

DEFOE'S Robinson Crusoe.



[Notes: Reason is the substance and original of the mathematics. Original here = origin or foundation.]

The most rational judgment = the judgment most in accordance with reason.]



* * * * *



ANCIENT GREECE.

Clime of the unforgotten brave! Whose land from plain to mountain-cave Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave! Shrine of the mighty! can it be That this is all remains of thee? Approach, thou craven crouching slave: Say, is not this Thermopylae? These waters blue that round you lave,— Oh servile offspring of the free!— Pronounce what sea, what shore is this? The gulf, the rock of Salamis! These scenes, their story not unknown, Arise, and make again your own; Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires; And he who in the strife expires Will add to theirs a name of fear That Tyranny shall quake to hear, And leave his sons a hope, a fame, They too will rather die than shame: For Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed by bleeding Sire to Son, Though baffled oft is ever won. Bear witness, Greece, thy living page! Attest it many a deathless age! While kings, in dusty darkness hid, Have left a nameless pyramid, Thy heroes, though the general doom Hath swept the column from their tomb, A mightier monument command, The mountains of their native land! There points thy Muse to stranger's eye The graves of those that cannot die! 'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace, Each step from splendour to disgrace, Enough—no foreign foe could quell Thy soul, till from itself it fell; Yes! Self-abasement paved the way To villain-bonds and despot sway.



BYRON.



[Notes: Lord Byron, born 1788, died 1824. The most powerful English poet of the early part of this century.

Thermapylae. The pass at which Leonidas and his Spartans resisted the approach of the Persians (B.C. 480).

Salamis. Where the Athenians fought the great naval battle which destroyed the Persian fleet, and secured the liberties of Greece.]



* * * * *



THE TEMPLE OF FAME.

The Temple shakes, the sounding gates unfold, Wide vaults appear, and roofs of fretted gold, Raised on a thousand pillars wreathed around With laurel-foliage and with eagles crowned; Of bright transparent beryl were the walls, The friezes gold, and gold the capitals: As heaven with stars, the roof with jewels glows, And ever-living lamps depend in rows. Full in the passage of each spacious gate The sage historians in white garments wait: Graved o'er their seats, the form of Time was found, His scythe reversed, and both his pinions bound. Within stood heroes, who through loud alarms In bloody fields pursued renown in arms. High on a throne, with trophies charged, I viewed The youth that all things but himself subdued; His feet on sceptres and tiaras trode, And his horned head belied the Libyan god. There Caesar, graced with both Minervas, shone; Caesar, the world's great master, and his own; Unmoved, superior still in every state, And scarce detested in his country's fate. But chief were those, who not for empire fought, But with their toils their people's safety bought: High o'er the rest Epaminondas stood: Timoleon, glorious in his brother's blood: Bold Scipio, saviour of the Roman state, Great in his triumphs, in retirement great; And wise Aurelius, in whose well-taught mind With boundless power unbounded virtue joined, His own strict judge, and patron of mankind. Much-suffering heroes next their honours claim, Those of less noisy and less guilty fame, Fair Virtue's silent train: supreme of these Here ever shines the godlike Socrates; He whom ungrateful Athens could expel, At all times just but when he signed the shell: Here his abode the martyred Phocion claims, With Agis, not the last of Spartan names: Unconquered Cato shows the wound he tore, And Brutus his ill Genius meets no more. But in the centre of the hallowed choir, Six pompous columns o'er the rest aspire; Around the shrine itself of Fame they stand, Hold the chief honours, and the Fane command. High on the first the mighty Homer shone; Eternal adamant composed his throne; Father of verse! in holy fillets drest, His silver beard waved gently o'er his breast: Though blind, a boldness in his looks appears; In years he seemed, but not impaired by years. The wars of Troy were round the pillar seen: Here fierce Tydides wounds the Cyprian Queen; Here Hector glorious from Patroclus' fall, Here dragged in triumph round the Trojan wall. Motion and life did every part inspire, Bold was the work, and proved the master's fire. A strong expression most he seemed t' affect, And here and there disclosed a brave neglect. A golden column next in rank appeared, On which a shrine of purest gold was reared; Finished the whole, and laboured every part, With patient touches of unwearied art; The Mantuan there in sober triumph sate, Composed his posture, and his look sedate: On Homer still he fixed a reverent eye, Great without pride, in modest majesty, In living sculpture on the sides were spread The Latian wars, and haughty Turnus dead: Eliza stretched upon the funeral pyre, Aeneas bending with his aged sire: Troy flamed in burning gold, and o'er the throne Arms and the Man in golden ciphers shone. Four swans sustain a car of silver bright, With heads advanced, and pinions stretched for flight, Here, like some furious prophet, Pindar rode, And seemed to labour with the inspiring God. Across the harp a careless hand he flings, And boldly sinks into the sounding strings. The figured games of Greece the column grace, Neptune and Jove survey the rapid race. The youths hang o'er their chariots as they run; The fiery steeds seem starting from the stone: The champions in distorted postures threat; And all appeared irregularly great. Here happy Horace tuned th' Ausonian lyre To sweeter sounds, and tempered Pindar's fire; Pleased with Alcaeus' manly rage t' infuse The softer spirit of the Sapphic Muse. The polished pillar different sculptures grace; A work outlasting monumental brass. Here smiling Loves and Bacchanals appear, The Julian star, and great Augustus here: The Doves, that round the infant Poet spread Myrtles and bays, hang hov'ring o'er his head. Here, in a shrine that cast a dazzling light, Sate, fixed in thought, the mighty Stagyrite: His sacred head a radiant zodiac crowned, And various animals his sides surround: His piercing eyes, erect, appear to view Superior worlds, and look all Nature through. With equal rays immortal Tully shone; The Roman rostra decked the Consul's throne: Gathering his flowing robe, he seemed to stand In act to speak, and graceful stretched his hand. Behind, Rome's Genius waits with civic crowns, And the great Father of his country owns. These massy columns in a circle rise, O'er which a pompous dome invades the skies: Scarce to the top I stretched my aching sight, So large it spread, and swelled to such a height. Full in the midst proud Fame's imperial seat With jewels blazed magnificently great: The vivid emeralds there revive the eye, The flaming rubies show their sanguine dye, Bright azure rays from lively sapphires stream, And lucid amber casts a golden gleam, With various coloured light the pavement shone, And all on fire appeared the glowing throne; The dome's high arch reflects the mingled blaze, And forms a rainbow of alternate rays. When on the Goddess first I cast my sight, Scarce seemed her stature of a cubit's height; But swelled to larger size the more I gazed, Till to the roof her towering front she raised; With her the Temple every moment grew, And ampler vistas opened to my view: Upward the columns shoot, the roofs ascend, And arches widen, and long aisles extend, Such was her form, as ancient Bards have told, Wings raise her arms, and wings her feet infold; A thousand busy tongues the Goddess bears, A thousand open eyes, a thousand listening ears. Beneath, in order ranged, the tuneful Nine (Her virgin handmaids) still attend the shrine: With eyes on Fame for ever fixed, they sing; For Fame they raise the voice, and tune the string: With Time's first birth began the heavenly lays, And last eternal through the length of days. Around these wonders, as I cast a look, The trumpet sounded, and the temple shook, And all the nations, summoned at the call, From diff'rent quarters, fill the crowded hall: Of various tongues the mingled sounds were heard; In various garbs promiscuous throngs appeared; Thick as the bees that with the spring renew Their flow'ry toils, and sip the fragrant dew, When the winged colonies first tempt the sky, O'er dusky fields and shaded waters fly; Or, settling, seize the sweets the blossoms yield, And a low murmur runs along the field. Millions of suppliant crowds the shrine attend, And all degrees before the Goddess bend; The poor, the rich, the valiant, and the sage, And boasting youth, and narrative old age. Their pleas were diff'rent, their request the same: For good and bad alike are fond of Fame. Some she disgraced, and some with honours crowned; Unlike successes equal merits found. Thus her blind sister, fickle Fortune, reigns, And, undiscerning, scatters crowns and chains. First at the shrine the Learned world appear, And to the Goddess thus prefer their pray'r: "Long have we sought t' instruct and please mankind, With studies pale, with midnight vigils blind; But thanked by few, rewarded yet by none. We here appeal to thy superior throne: On wit and learning the just prize bestow, For fame is all we must expect below." The Goddess heard, and bade the Muses raise The golden Trumpet of eternal Praise: From pole to pole the winds diffuse the sound That fills the circuit of the world around. Not all at once, as thunder breaks the cloud: The notes, at first, were rather sweet than loud. By just degrees they ev'ry moment rise, Fill the wide earth, and gain upon the skies. At ev'ry breath were balmy odours shed, Which still grew sweeter as they wider spread; Less fragrant scents th' unfolding rose exhales, Or spices breathing in Arabian gales. Next these, the good and just, an awful train, Thus, on their knees, address the sacred fane: "Since living virtue is with envy cursed, And the best men are treated like the worst, Do thou, just Goddess, call our merits forth, And give each deed th' exact intrinsic worth." "Not with bare justice shall your act be crowned," (Said Fame,) "but high above desert renowned: Let fuller notes th' applauding world amaze, And the loud clarion labour in your praise." This band dismissed, behold another crowd Preferred the same request, and lowly bowed; The constant tenour of whose well-spent days No less deserved a just return of praise. But straight the direful Trump of Slander sounds; Through the big dome the doubling thunder bounds; Loud as the burst of cannon rends the skies, The dire report through ev'ry region flies; In ev'ry ear incessant rumours rung, And gath'ring scandals grew on ev'ry tongue. From the black trumpet's rusty concave broke Sulphureous flames, and clouds of rolling smoke; The pois'nous vapour blots the purple skies, And withers all before it as it flies. A troop came next, who crowns and armour wore, And proud defiance in their looks they bore: "For thee" (they cried), "amidst alarms and strife, We sailed in tempests down the stream of life; For thee whole nations filled with flames and blood, And swam to empire through the purple flood. Those ills we dared, thy inspiration own; What virtue seemed was done for thee alone." "Ambitious fools!" (the Queen replied, and frowned): "Be all your acts in dark oblivion drowned; There sleep forgot, with mighty tyrants gone, Your statues mouldered, and your names unknown!" A sudden cloud straight snatched them from my sight, And each majestic phantom sunk in night. Then came the smallest tribe I yet had seen; Plain was their dress, and modest was their mien. "Great idol of mankind! we neither claim The praise of merit, nor aspire to fame! But safe, in deserts, from the applause of men, Would die unheard-of, as we lived unseen. 'Tis all we beg thee, to conceal from sight Those acts of goodness, which themselves requite. O let us still the secret joy partake, To follow virtue ev'n for virtue's sake." "And live there men who slight immortal fame? Who, then, with incense shall adore our name? But, mortals! know, 'tis still our greatest pride To blaze those virtues which the good would hide. Rise! Muses, rise! add all your tuneful breath; These must not sleep in darkness and in death," She said: in air the trembling music floats, And on the winds triumphant swell the notes: So soft, though high; so loud, and yet so clear; Ev'n list'ning angels leaned from heaven to hear: To farthest shores th' ambrosial spirit flies, Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies.



Pope.



[Notes: Alexander Pope. (See previous note on Pope.) The hint of this poem is taken from one by Chaucer, called 'The House of Fame.'

Depend in rows. Depend in its proper and literal meaning, "hang down."

The youth that all things but himself subdued = Alexander the Great (356-323 B.C.).

His feet on sceptres and tiaras trod. Tiaras, in reference to his conquests over the Asiatic monarchies.

His horned head belied the Libyan god. "The desire to be thought the son of Jupiter Ammon caused him to wear the horns of that god, and to represent the same upon his coins." (Pope's note.) Libyan = African.

Caesar graced with both Minervas, i.e., by warlike and literary genius; as the conqueror of Gaul and the writer of the 'Commentaries.'

Scarce detested in his country's fate. Whom even the enslaving of his country scarce makes us detest.

Epaminondas (died 362 B.C.), the maintainer of Theban independence.

Timoleon, of Corinth, who slew his brother when he found him aspiring to be tyrant in the state (died 337 B.C.).

Scipio. The conqueror of Carthage, which was long the rival of Rome.

Aurelius, i.e., Marcus Aurelius Antoninus (121-180 A.D.), Emperor of Rome; one of the brightest characters in Roman history.

Socrates. The great Greek philosopher, who, in maintaining truth, incurred the charge of infecting the young men of Athens with impiety, and was put to death by being made to drink hemlock. His life and teaching are known to us through the writings of his disciple, Plato.

He whom ungrateful Athens, &c., i.e., Aristides (see page 171), distinguished by the surname of The Just. He was unjust, Pope means, only when he signed the shell for his own condemnation.

Phocion. An Athenian general and statesman (402-318 B.C.), put to death by Polysperchon. He injured rather than helped the liberties of Athens.

Agis, "King of Sparta, who endeavoured to restore his state to greatness by a radical agrarian reform, was after a mock trial murdered in prison, B.C. 241." Ward.

Cato, who, to escape disgrace amid the evils which befell his country, stabbed himself in 46 B.C.

Brutus his ill Genius meets no more. See the account of the Eve of Philippi in Book IV.

The wars of Troy. Described by Homer in his Iliad.

Tydides (Diomede) wounds the Cyprian Queen (Venus). A scene described in the Iliad.

Hector. Slew Patroclus, the friend of Achilles, and in revenge was dragged by him round the walls of Troy.

The Mantuan, i.e., the Roman poet Virgil, author of the Aeneid, born at Mantua (70-19 B.C.)

Eliza = Elissa, or Dido, whose misfortunes are described in the Aeneid.

Aeneas bending with his aged sire. Aeneas carried his father, Anchises, from the flames of Troy on his shoulders.

Arms and the Man. The opening words of the Aeneid.

Pindar. Of Thebes, who holds the first place among the lyric poets of Greece. The character and subjects of his poetry, of which the portions remaining to us are the Triumphal Odes, celebrating victories gained in the great games of Greece, are indicated by the lines that follow.

Happy Horace (65-8 B.C.). The epithet is used to describe the lightsome and genial tone of Horace's poetry. Ausonian lyre = Italian song. Ausonia is a poetical name for Italy.

Alcoeus and Sappho. Two of the early lyric poets of Greece.

A work outlasting monumental brass. This line is suggested by one of Horace, when he describes his work as "a monument more lasting than brass."

The Julian star, and great Augustus here. Referring to the Imperial house and its representative, Augustus, Horace's chief patron.

Stagyrite. Aristotle, the great philosopher of Greece (384-322 B.C.), born at Stagira. Pope here shortens the second syllable by a poetical licence.

Tully. Marcus Tullius Cicero, the great orator, statesman, and writer of Rome. For saving the city from the conspiracy of Catiline, he was honoured with the title of "Father of his country."

Narrative old age. Talkative old age.

Unlike successes equal merits found = The same desert found now success, now failure.]



* * * * *



LABRADOR.

The following narrative is from the periodical account of the Moravian Missions. It contains some of the most impressive descriptions I ever remember to have read.

Brother Samuel Liebiseh was at the time of this occurrence entrusted with the general care of the brethren's missions on the coast of Labrador. The duties of his office required a visit to Okkak, the most northern of our settlements, and about one hundred and fifty English miles distant from Nain, the place where he resided. Brother William Turner being appointed to accompany him, they left Nain together on March the 11th, 1782, early in the morning, with very clear weather, the stars shining with uncommon lustre. The sledge was driven by the baptised Esquimaux Mark, and another sledge with Esquimaux joined company.

An Esquimaux sledge is drawn by a species of dogs, not unlike a wolf in shape. Like them, they never bark, but howl disagreeably. They are kept by the Esquimaux in greater or larger packs or teams, in proportion to the affluence of the master. They quietly submit to be harnessed for their work, and are treated with little mercy by the heathen Esquimaux, who make them do hard duty for the small quantity of food they allow them. This consists chiefly in offal, old skins, entrails, such parts of whale-flesh as are unfit for other use, rotten whale-fins, &c.; and if they are not provided with this kind of dog's meat, they leave them to go and seek dead fish or muscles upon the beach.

When pinched with hunger they will swallow almost anything, and on a journey it is necessary to secure the harness within the snow-house over night, lest, by devouring it, they should render it impossible to proceed in the morning. When the travellers arrive at their night quarters, and the dogs are unharnessed, they are left to burrow on the snow, where they please, and in the morning are sure to come at their driver's call, when they receive some food. Their strength and speed; even with a hungry stomach, is astonishing. In fastening them to the sledge, care is taken not to let them go abreast. They are tied by separate thongs, of unequal lengths, to a horizontal bar in the fore part of the sledge; an old knowing one leads the way, running ten or twenty paces ahead, directed by the driver's whip, which is of great length, and can be well managed only by an Esquimaux. The other dogs follow like a flock of sheep. If one of them receives a lash, he generally bites his neighbour, and the bite goes round.

To return to our travellers. The sledge contained five men, one woman, and a child. All were in good spirits, and appearances being much in their favour, they hoped to reach Okkak in safety in two or three days. The track over the frozen sea was in the best possible order, and they went with ease at the rate of six or seven miles an hour. After they had passed the islands in the bay of Nain, they kept at a considerable distance from the coast, both to gain the smoothest part of the ice, and to weather the high rocky promontory of Kiglapeit. About eight o'clock they met a sledge with Esquimaux turning in from the sea. After the usual salutation, the Esquimaux, alighting, held some conversation, as is their general practice, the result of which was, that some hints were thrown out by the strange Esquimaux that it might be better to return. However, as the missionaries saw no reason whatever for it, and only suspected that the Esquimaux wished to enjoy the company of their friends a little longer, they proceeded. After some time, their own Esquimaux hinted that there was a ground swell under the ice. It was then hardly perceptible, except on lying down and applying the ear close to the ice, when a hollow, disagreeably grating and roaring noise was heard, as if ascending from the abyss. The weather remained clear, except towards the east, where a bank of light clouds appeared, interspersed with some dark streaks. But the wind being strong from the north-west, nothing less than a sudden change of weather was expected. The sun had now reached its height, and there was as yet little or no alteration in the appearance of the sky. But the motion of the sea under the ice had grown more perceptible, so as rather to alarm the travellers, and they began to think it prudent to keep closer to the shore. The ice had cracks and large fissures in many places, some of which formed chasms of one or two feet wide; but as they are not uncommon even in its best state, and the dogs easily leap over them, the sledge following without danger, they are only terrible to new comers.

As soon as the sun declined towards the west, the wind increased and rose to a storm, the bank of clouds from the east began to ascend, and the dark streaks to put themselves in motion against the wind. The snow was violently driven about by partial whirlwinds, both on the ice, and from off the peaks of the high mountains, and filled the air. At the same time the ground-swell had increased so much that its effect upon the ice became very extraordinary and alarming. The sledges, instead of gliding along smoothly upon an even surface, sometimes ran with violence after the dogs, and shortly after seemed with difficulty to ascend the rising hill; for the elasticity of so vast a body of ice, of many leagues square, supported by a troubled sea, though in some places three or four yards in thickness, would, in some degree, occasion an undulatory motion not unlike that of a sheet of paper accommodating itself to the surface of a rippling stream. Noises were now likewise distinctly heard in many directions, like the report of cannon, owing to the bursting of the ice at some distance.

The Esquimaux, therefore, drove with all haste towards the shore, intending to take up their night-quarters on the south side of the Nivak. But as it plainly appeared that the ice would break and disperse in the open sea, Mark advised to push forward to the north of the Nivak, from whence he hoped the track to Okkak might still remain entire. To this proposal the company agreed; but when the sledges approached the coast, the prospect before them was truly terrific. The ice having broken loose from the rocks, was forced up and down, grinding and breaking into a thousand pieces against the precipices, with a tremendous noise, which, added to the raging of the wind, and the snow driving about in the air, deprived the travellers almost of the power of hearing and seeing anything distinctly.

To make the land at any risk was now the only hope left, but it was with the utmost difficulty the frighted dogs could be forced forward, the whole body of ice sinking frequently below the surface of the rocks, then rising above it. As the only moment to land was when it gained the level of the coast, the attempt was extremely nice and hazardous. However, by God's mercy, it succeeded; both sledges gained the shore, and were drawn up the beach with much difficulty.

The travellers had hardly time to reflect with gratitude to God on their safety, when that part of the ice from which they had just now made good their landing burst asunder, and the water, forcing itself from below, covered and precipitated it into the sea. In an instant, as if by a signal given, the whole mass of ice, extending for several miles from the coast, and as far as the eye could reach, began to burst and be overwhelmed by the immense waves. The sight was tremendous and awfully grand: the large fields of ice, raising themselves out of the water, striking against each other and plunging into the deep with a violence not to be described, and a noise like the discharge of innumerable batteries of heavy guns. The darkness of the night, the roaring of the wind and sea, and the dashing of the waves and ice against the rocks, filled the travellers with sensations of awe and horror, so as almost to deprive them of the power of utterance. They stood overwhelmed with astonishment at their miraculous escape, and even the heathen Esquimaux expressed gratitude to God for their deliverance.



[Note: But high above desert renowned = Let it be renowned high above desert.]



* * * * *



A HAPPY LIFE.

How happy is he born or taught, That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his highest skill.

Whose passions not his masters are; Whose soul is still prepared for death; Not tied unto the world with care Of prince's ear, or vulgar breath.

Who hath his life from rumours freed; Whose conscience is his strong retreat: Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great.

Who envies none whom chance doth raise, Or vice: who never understood How deepest wounds are given with praise; Nor rules of state, but rules of good.

Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend.

This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands; And having nothing, yet hath all.

SIR HENRY WOTTON.



[Notes: Sir Henry Wotton (1568-1639). A poet, ambassador, and miscellaneous writer, in the reign of James I.

Born or taught = whether from natural character or by training.

Nor ruin make oppressors great = nor his ruin, &c.

How deepest wounds are given with praise. How praise may only cover some concealed injury.]



* * * * *



MAN'S SERVANTS.

For us the winds do blow; The earth doth rest, heaven move, and fountains flow. Nothing we see but means our good, As our delight, or as our treasure: The whole is either cupboard of our food, Or cabinet of pleasure.

The stars have us to bed; Night draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws; Music and light attend our head; All things unto our flesh are kind In their descent and being; to our mind In their ascent and cause.

More servants wait on Man Than he'll take notice of. In every path He treads down that which doth befriend him, When sickness makes him pale and wan. O mighty love! Man is one world, and hath Another to attend him.

Since, then, My God, Thou hast So brave a palace built, O dwell in it, That it may dwell with Thee at last! Till then afford us so much wit That, as the world serves us, we may serve Thee, And both thy servants be.

GEORGE HERBERT.

[Notes: George Herbert (1593-1632). A clergyman of the Church of England, the author of many religious works in prose and poetry. His poetry is overfull of conceits, but in spite of these is eminently graceful and rich with fancy.

The stars have its to led, i.e., conduct, or show us to bed.

All things unto our flesh are kind, &c., i.e., as they minister to the needs of our body here below, so they minister to the mind by leading us to think of the Higher Cause that brings them into being. The words descent and accent are not to be pressed; they are rather balanced one against the other, according to the fashion of the day.]



* * * * *



VIRTUE.

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die.

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives.

GEORGE HERBERT.



[Note:——The bridal of the earth and sky, i.e., in which all the beauties of sky and earth are united.]



* * * * *



DEATH THE CONQUEROR.

The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate: Death lays his icy hand on kings: Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill; But their strong nerves at last must yield, They tame but one another still. Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds; All heads must come To the cold tomb, Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust.

JAMES SHIRLEY.



[Notes: James Shirley (1594-1666). A dramatic poet.

And plant fresh laurels when they kill = even by the death they spread around them in war, they may win new laurel-wreaths by victory.

Purple. As stained with blood.]



* * * * *



GROWTH OF EUROPEAN CIVILIZATION IN THE TWELFTH CENTURY.

Various improvements in the system of jurisprudence, and administration of justice, occasioned a change in manners, of great importance and of extensive effect. They gave rise to a distinction of professions; they obliged men to cultivate different talents, and to aim at different accomplishments, in order to qualify themselves for the various departments and functions which became necessary in society. Among uncivilized nations there is but one profession honourable, that of arms. All the ingenuity and vigour of the human mind are exerted in acquiring military skill or address. The functions of peace are few and simple, and require no particular course of education or of study as a preparation for discharging them. This was the state of Europe during several centuries. Every gentleman, born a soldier, scorned any other occupation; he was taught no science but that of war; even his exercises and pastimes were feats of martial prowess. Nor did the judicial character, which persons of noble birth were alone entitled to assume, demand any degree of knowledge beyond that which such untutored soldiers possessed. To recollect a few traditionary customs which time had confirmed, and rendered respectable; to mark out the lists of battle with due formality; to observe the issue of the combat; and to pronounce whether it had been conducted according to the laws of arms, included everything that a baron, who acted as a judge, found it necessary to understand.

But when the forms of legal proceedings were fixed, when the rules of decision were committed to writing, and collected into a body, law became a science, the knowledge of which required a regular course of study, together with long attention to the practice of courts. Martial and illiterate nobles had neither leisure nor inclination to undertake a task so laborious, as well as so foreign from all the occupations which they deemed entertaining, or suitable to their rank. They gradually relinquished their places in courts of justice, where their ignorance exposed them to contempt. They became, weary of attending to the discussion of cases, which grew too intricate for them to comprehend. Not only the judicial determination of points which were the subject of controversy, but the conduct of all legal business and transactions, was committed to persons trained by previous study and application to the knowledge of law. An order of men, to whom their fellow-citizens had daily recourse for advice, and to whom they looked up for decision in their most important concerns, naturally acquired consideration and influence in society. They were advanced to honours which had been considered hitherto as the peculiar rewards of military virtue. They were entrusted with offices of the highest dignity and most extensive power. Thus, another profession than that of arms came to be introduced among the laity, and was reputed honourable. The functions of civil life were attended to. The talents requisite for discharging them were cultivated. A new road was opened to wealth and eminence. The arts and virtues of peace were placed in their proper rank, and received their due recompense.

While improvements, so important with respect to the state of society and the administration of justice, gradually made progress in Europe, sentiments more liberal and generous had begun to animate the nobles. These were inspired by the spirit of chivalry, which, though considered, commonly, as a wild institution, the effect of caprice, and the source of extravagance, arose naturally from the state of society at that period, and had a very serious influence in refining the manners of the European nations. The feudal state was a state of almost perpetual war, rapine, and anarchy, during which the weak and unarmed were exposed to insults or injuries. The power of the sovereign was too limited to prevent these wrongs; and the administration of justice too feeble to redress them. The most effectual protection against violence and oppression was often found to be that which the valour and generosity of private persons afforded. The same spirit of enterprise which had prompted so many gentlemen to take arms in defence of the oppressed pilgrims in Palestine, incited others to declare themselves the patrons and avengers of injured innocence at home. When the final reduction of the Holy Land under the dominion of infidels put an end to these foreign expeditions, the latter was the only employment left for the activity and courage of adventurers. To check the insolence of overgrown oppressors; to rescue the helpless from captivity; to protect or to avenge women, orphans, and ecclesiastics, who could not bear arms in their own defence; to redress wrongs, and to remove grievances, were deemed acts of the highest prowess and merit. Valour, humanity, courtesy, justice, honour, were the characteristic qualities of chivalry. To these was added religion, which mingled itself with every passion and institution during the Middle Ages, and, by infusing a large proportion of enthusiastic zeal, gave them such force as carried them to romantic excess. Men were trained to knighthood by a long previous discipline; they were admitted into the order by solemnities no less devout than pompous; every person of noble birth courted that honour; it was deemed a distinction superior to royalty; and monarchs were proud to receive it from the hands of private gentlemen.

This singular institution, in which valour, gallantry, and religion, were so strangely blended, was wonderfully adapted to the taste and genius of martial nobles; and its effects were soon visible in their manners. War was carried on with less ferocity, when humanity came to be deemed the ornament of knighthood no less than courage. More gentle and polished manners were introduced, when courtesy was recommended as the most amiable of knightly virtues. Violence and oppression decreased, when it was reckoned meritorious to check and to punish them. A scrupulous adherence to truth, with the most religious attention to fulfil every engagement, became the distinguishing characteristic of a gentleman, because chivalry was regarded as the school of honour, and inculcated the most delicate sensibility with respect to those points. The admiration of these qualities, together with the high distinctions and prerogatives conferred on knighthood in every part of Europe, inspired persons of noble birth on some occasions with a species of military fanaticism, and led them to extravagant enterprises. But they deeply imprinted on their minds the principles of generosity and honour. These were strengthened by everything that can affect the senses or touch the heart. The wild exploits of those romantic knights who sallied forth in quest of adventures are well known, and have been treated with proper ridicule. The political and permanent effects of the spirit of chivalry have been less observed. Perhaps the humanity which accompanies all the operations of war, the refinements of gallantry, and the point of honour, the three chief circumstances which distinguished modern from ancient manners, may be ascribed in a great measure to this institution, which has appeared whimsical to superficial observers, but by its effects has proved of great benefit to mankind. The sentiments which chivalry inspired had a wonderful influence on manners and conduct during the twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries. They were so deeply rooted, that they continued to operate after the vigour and reputation of the institution itself began to decline. Some considerable transactions recorded in the following history resemble the adventurous exploits of chivalry, rather than the well-regulated operations of sound policy. Some of the most eminent personages, whose characters will be delineated, were strongly tinctured with this romantic spirit. Francis I. was ambitious to distinguish himself by all the qualities of an accomplished knight, and endeavoured to imitate the enterprising genius of chivalry in war, as well as its pomp and courtesy during peace. The fame which the French monarch acquired by these splendid actions, so far dazzled his more temperate rival, that he departed on some occasions from his usual prudence and moderation, and emulated Francis in deeds of prowess or of gallantry.

The progress of science and the cultivation of literature had considerable effect in changing the manners of the European nations, and introducing that civility and refinement by which they are now distinguished. At the time when their empire was overturned, the Romans, though they had lost that correct taste which has rendered the productions of their ancestors standards of excellence, and models of imitation for succeeding ages, still preserved their love of letters, and cultivated the arts with great ardour. But rude barbarians were so far from being struck with any admiration of these unknown accomplishments, that they despised them. They were not arrived at that state of society, when those faculties of the human mind which have beauty and elegance for their objects begin to unfold themselves. They were strangers to most of those wants and desires which are the parents of ingenious invention; and as they did not comprehend either the merit or utility of the Roman arts, they destroyed the monuments of them, with an industry not inferior to that with which their posterity have since studied to preserve or to recover them. The convulsions occasioned by the settlement of so many unpolished tribes in the empire; the frequent as well as violent revolutions in every kingdom which they established; together with the interior defects in the form of government which they introduced, banished security and leisure. They prevented the growth of taste, or the culture of science, and kept Europe, during several centuries, in that state of ignorance which has been already described. But the events and institutions which I have enumerated produced great alterations in society. As soon as their operation, in restoring liberty and independence to one part of the community, began to be felt; as soon as they began to communicate to all the members of society some taste of the advantages arising from commerce, from public order, and from personal security, the human mind became conscious of powers which it did not formerly perceive, and fond of occupations or pursuits of which it was formerly incapable. Towards the beginning of the twelfth century, we discern the first symptoms of its awakening from that lethargy in which it had been long sunk, and observe it turning with curiosity and attention towards new objects.

ROBERTSON.

[Notes: Francis I. (1494-1547). King of France; the contemporary of Henry VIII. and of Charles V., Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire. The constant rivalry and ever recurring wars between Francis and the latter, occupy a great part of European history during the first half of the 16th century.

His more temperate rival, i.e., Charles V.

At the time when their empire was overturned, the Romans, &c. In 410 A.D., by the incursions of the Goths.]



* * * * *



THE PASSIONS.

(AN ODE FOR MUSIC.)

When Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Thronged around her magic cell, Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, Possessed beyond the Muse's painting: By turns they felt the glowing mind Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined,— Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, Filled with fury, rapt, inspired, From the supporting myrtles round They snatched her instruments of sound; And, as they oft had heard, apart, Sweet lessons of her forceful art, Each, for Madness ruled the hour, Would prove his own expressive power.

First Fear his hand, its skill to try, Amid the chords bewildered laid, And back recoiled, he knew not why, E'en at the sound himself had made.

Next Anger rushed: his eyes on fire, In lightnings owned his secret stings; In one rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept with hurried hand the strings.

With woful measures, wan Despair— Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled: A solemn, strange, and mingled air, 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure? Still it whispered promised pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail; Still would her touch the scene prolong; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She called on Echo still through all the song; And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair;—

And longer had she sung:—but, with a frown, Revenge impatient rose: He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down, And, with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! And ever and anon he beat The doubling drum with furious heat:

And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien, While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head.

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fixed; Sad proof of thy distressful state! Of differing themes the veering song was mixed; And now it courted Love, now raving called on Hate.

With eyes upraised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sat retired; And from her wild sequestered seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul; And dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels joined the sound: Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, Round a holy calm diffusing, Love of peace and lonely musing,— In hollow murmurs died away.

But oh, how altered was its sprightlier tone! When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known! The oak-crowned Sisters and their chaste-eyed Queen, Satyrs and Sylvan boys, were seen Peeping from forth their alleys green. Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear, And Sport leaped up, and seized his beechen spear.

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial; He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addressed; But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best: They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids, Amidst the festal-sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing; While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings, Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round; Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; And he, amidst his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

O Music! sphere-descended maid, Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid! Why, goddess, why, to us denied, Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside? As in that loved, Athenian bower You learned an all-commanding power. Thy mimic soul; O nymph endeared! Can well recall what then it heard. Where is thy native simple heart Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art? Arise, as in that elder time, Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime! Thy wonders in that god-like age, Fill thy recording Sister's page;— 'Tis said, and I believe the tale, Thy humblest reed could more prevail, Had more of strength, diviner rage, Than all which charms this laggard age, E'en all at once together found Cecilia's mingled world of sound;— O bid our vain endeavours cease: Revive the just designs of Greece: Return in all thy simple state! Confirm the tales her sons relate!

COLLINS.



[Notes: William Collins (1720-1756). A poet, who throughout life struggled with adversity, and who, though he produced little, refined everything he wrote with a most fastidious taste and with elaborate care.

Shell, according to a fashion common with the poets of the first half of the 18th century, stands for lyre. The Latin word testudo, a shell is often so used.

Possessed beyond the Muse's painting = enthralled beyond what poetry can describe.

His own expressive power, i.e., his power to express his own feelings.

In lightnings owned his secret stings = in lightning-like touches confessed the hidden fury which inspired him.

Veering song. The ever-changeful song.

Her wild sequestered seat. Sequestered properly is used of something which, being in dispute, is deposited in a third person's hands: hence of something set apart or in retirement.

Round a holy calm diffusing = diffusing around a holy calm.

Buskin. A boot reaching above the ankle. Gemmed = sparkling as with gems.

Faun and Dryad_. Creatures with whom ancient mythology peopled the woods.

Their chaste-eyed Queen = Diana.

Brown exercise. Exercise is here personified and represented as brown and sunburnt.

Viol. A stringed musical instrument.

In Tempe's vale. In Thessaly, especially connected with the worship of Apollo, the god of poetry and music.

Sphere-descended maid. A metaphor common with the poets, and taken from a Greek fancy most elaborately described in Plato's 'Republic,' where the system of the universe is pictured as a series of whorls linked in harmony.

Thy mimic soul. Thy soul apt to imitate.

Devote = devoted. A form more close to that of the Latin participle, from which it is derived.

Thy recording Sister = the Muse of History.

Cecilia's mingled world of sound = the organ. So St. Cecilia is called in Dryden's Ode, "Inventress of the vocal frame."

The just designs = the well-conceived, artistic designs.]



* * * * *



"A WHALE HUNT."

A tide of unusual height had carried the whale over a large bar of sand, into the voe or creek in which he was now lying. So soon as he found the water ebbing, he became sensible of his danger, and had made desperate efforts to get over the shallow water, where the waves broke on the bar but hitherto he had rather injured than mended his condition, having got himself partly aground, and lying therefore particularly exposed to the meditated attack. At this moment the enemy came down upon him. The front ranks consisted of the young and hardy, armed in the miscellaneous manner we have described; while, to witness and animate their efforts, the young women, and the elderly persons of both sexes, took their place among the rocks, which overhung the scene of action.

As the boats had to double a little headland, ere they opened the mouth of the voe, those who came by land to the shores of the inlet had time to make the necessary reconnaissances upon the force and situation of the enemy, on whom they were about to commence a simultaneous attack by land and sea.

This duty, the stout-hearted and experienced general—for so the Udaller might be termed—would entrust to no eyes but his own; and, indeed, his external appearance, and his sage conduct, rendered him alike qualified for the command which he enjoyed. His gold-laced hat was exchanged for a bearskin cap, his suit of blue broadcloth, with its scarlet lining, and loops, and frogs of bullion, had given place to a red flannel jacket, with buttons of black horn, over which he wore a seal-skin shirt curiously seamed and plaited on the bosom, such as are used by the Esquimaux, and sometimes by the Greenland whale-fishers. Sea-boots of a formidable size completed his dress, and in his hand he held a large whaling-knife, which he brandished, as if impatient to employ it in the operation of flinching the huge animal which lay before them,—that is, the act of separating its flesh from its bones. Upon closer examination, however, he was obliged to confess that the sport to which he had conducted his friends, however much it corresponded with the magnificent scale of his hospitality, was likely to be attended with its own peculiar dangers and difficulties.

The animal, upwards of sixty feet in length, was lying perfectly still, in a deep part of the voe into which it had weltered, and where it seemed to await the return of tide, of which it was probably assured by instinct. A council of experienced harpooners was instantly called, and it was agreed that an effort should be made to noose the tail of this torpid leviathan, by casting a cable around it, to be made fast by anchors to the shore, and thus to secure against his escape, in case the tide should make before they were able to dispatch him. Three boats were destined to this delicate piece of service, one of which the Udaller himself proposed to command, while Cleveland and Mertoun were to direct the two others. This being decided, they sat down on the strand, waiting with impatience until the naval part of the force should arrive in the voe. It was during this interval, that Triptolemus Yellowley, after measuring with his eyes the extraordinary size of the whale, observed, that in his poor mind, "A wain[1] with six owsen,[2] or with sixty owsen either, if they were the owsen of the country, could not drag siccan[3] a huge creature from the water, where it was now lying, to the sea-beach."

Trifling as this remark may seem to the reader, it was connected with a subject which always fired the blood of the old Udaller, who, glancing upon Triptolemus a quick and stern look, asked him what it signified, supposing a hundred oxen could not drag the whale upon the beach? Mr. Yellowley, though not much liking the tone with which the question was put, felt that his dignity and his profit compelled him to answer as follows:—"Nay, sir; you know yourself, Master Magnus Troil, and every one knows that knows anything, that whales of siccan size as may not be masterfully dragged on shore by the instrumentality of one wain with six owsen, are the right and property of the Admiral, who is at this time the same noble lord who is, moreover, Chamberlain of these isles."

"And I tell you, Mr. Triptolemus Yellowley," said the Udaller, "as I would tell your master if he were here, that every man who risks his life to bring that fish ashore, shall have an equal and partition, according to our ancient and lovable Norse custom and wont; nay, if there is so much as a woman looking on, that will but touch the cable, she will be partner with us. All shall share that lend a hand, and never a one else. So you, Master Factor, shall be busy as well as other folk, and think yourself lucky to share like other folk. Jump into that boat" (for the boats had by this time pulled round the headland), "and you, my lads, make way for the factor in the stern-sheets—he shall be the first man this day that shall strike the fish."

The three boats destined for this perilous service now approached the dark mass, which lay like an islet in the deepest part of the voe, and suffered them to approach without showing any sign of animation. Silently, and with such precaution as the extreme delicacy of the operation required, the intrepid adventurers, after the failure of their first attempt, and the expenditure of considerable time, succeeded in casting a cable around the body of the torpid monster, and in carrying the ends of it ashore, when a hundred hands were instantly employed in securing them. But ere this was accomplished, the tide began to make fast, and the Udaller informed his assistants that either the fish must be killed or at least greatly wounded ere the depth of water on the bar was sufficient to float him; or that he was not unlikely to escape from their joint prowess.

"Wherefore," said he, "we must set to work, and the factor shall have the honour to make the first throw."

The valiant Triptolemus caught the word; and it is necessary to say that the patience of the whale, in suffering himself to be noosed without resistance, had abated his terrors, and very much lowered the creature in his opinion. He protested the fish had no more wit, and scarcely more activity, than a black snail; and, influenced by this undue contempt of the adversary, he waited neither for a farther signal, nor a better weapon, nor a more suitable position, but, rising in his energy, hurled his graip with all his force against the unfortunate monster. The boats had not yet retreated from him to the distance necessary to ensure safety, when this injudicious commencement of the war took place.

Magnus Troil, who had only jested with the factor, and had reserved the launching the first spear against the whale to some much more skilful hand, had just time to exclaim, "Mind yourselves, lads, or we are all stamped!" when the monster, roused at once from inactivity by the blow of the factor's missile, blew, with a noise resembling the explosion of a steam-engine, a huge shower of water into the air, and at the same time began to lash the waves with its tail in every direction. The boat in which Magnus presided received the shower of brine which the animal spouted aloft; and the adventurous Triptolemus, who had a full share of the immersion, was so much astonished and terrified by the consequences of his own valorous deed, that he tumbled backwards amongst the feet of the people, who, too busy to attend to him, were actively engaged in getting the boat into shoal water, out of the whale's reach. Here he lay for some minutes, trampled on by the feet of the boatmen, until they lay on their oars to bale, when the Udaller ordered them to pull to shore, and land this spare hand, who had commenced the fishing so inauspiciously.

While this was doing, the other boats had also pulled off to safer distance, and now, from these as well as from the shore, the unfortunate native of the deep was overwhelmed by all kinds of missiles—harpoons and spears flew against him on all sides—guns were fired, and each various means of annoyance plied which could excite him to exhaust his strength in useless rage. When the animal found that he was locked in by shallows on all sides, and became sensible, at the same time, of the strain of the cable on his body, the convulsive efforts which he made to escape, accompanied with sounds resembling deep and loud groans, would have moved the compassion of all but a practised whale-fisher. The repeated showers which he spouted into the air began now to be mingled with blood, and the waves which surrounded him assumed the same crimson appearance. Meantime the attempts of the assailants were redoubled; but Mordaunt Mertoun and Cleveland, in particular, exerted themselves to the uttermost, contending who should display most courage in approaching the monster, so tremendous in its agonies, and should inflict the most deep and deadly wounds upon its huge bulk.

The contest seemed at last pretty well over; for although the animal continued from time to time to make frantic exertions for liberty, yet its strength appeared so much exhausted, that, even with the assistance of the tide, which had now risen considerably, it was thought it could scarcely extricate itself.

Magnus gave the signal to venture nearer to the whale, calling out at the same time, "Close in, lads, she is not half so mad now—the Factor may look for a winter's oil for the two lamps at Harfra—pull close in, lads."

Ere his orders could be obeyed, the other two boats had anticipated his purpose; and Mordaunt Mertoun, eager to distinguish himself above Cleveland, had with the whole strength he possessed, plunged a half-pike into the body of the animal. But the leviathan, like a nation whose resources appear totally exhausted by previous losses and calamities, collected his whole remaining force for an effort, which proved at once desperate and successful. The wound, last received had probably reached through his external defences of blubber, and attained some very sensitive part of the system; for he roared loud, as he sent to the sky a mingled sheet of brine and blood, and snapping the strong cable like a twig, overset Mertoun's boat with a blow of his tail, shot himself, by a mighty effort, over the bar, upon which the tide had now risen considerably, and made out to sea, carrying with him a whole grove of the implements which had been planted in his body, and leaving behind him, on the waters, a dark red trace of his course.

SCOTT.



[Notes: [1] Waggon.

[2] Oxen.

[3] Such.]



* * * * *



VISION OF BELSHAZZAR.

The King was on his throne. The Satraps throng'd the hall: A thousand bright lamps shone O'er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold, In Judah deem'd divine— Jehovah's vessels hold The godless heathen's wine!

In that same hour and hall, The fingers of a hand Came forth against the wall. And wrote as if on sand: The fingers of a man;— A solitary hand Along the letters ran, And traced them like a wand.

The monarch saw, and shook, And bade no more rejoice; All bloodless wax'd his look, And tremulous his voice. "Let the men of lore appear, The wisest of the earth, And expound the words of fear, Which mar our royal mirth."

Chaldea's seers are good, But here they have no skill; And the unknown letters stood Untold and awful still. And Babel's men of age Are wise and deep in lore; But now they were not sage, They saw—but knew no more.

A captive in the land, A stranger and a youth, He heard the king's command, He saw that writing's truth. The lamps around were bright, The prophecy in view; He read it on that night,— The morrow proved it true.

"Belshazzar's grave is made, His kingdom pass'd away, He, in the balance weigh'd, Is light and worthless clay; The shroud his robe of state, His canopy the stone; The Mede is at his gate! The Persian on his throne!"

BYRON.



[Notes: Belshazzar, the last king of Babylon, lived probably in the 6th century B.C. He was defeated by the Medes and Persians combined.

Satraps. The governors or magistrates of provinces.

A thousand cups of gold, &c. Taken in the captivity of Judah.

A captive in the land = the Prophet Daniel.]



* * * * *



YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

Ye mariners of England, That guard our native seas, Whose flag has braved a thousand years The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again, To match another foe! And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; And the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirit of your fathers Shall start from every wave!— For the deck it was their field of fame, And ocean was their grave; Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, Your manly hearts shall glow,

As ye sweep through the deep While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below, As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow. While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn; Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean warriors! Your song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow.

CAMPBELL.

[Notes: Blake. Robert Blake (1598-1657), an English admiral under Cromwell, chiefly distinguished for his victories over the Dutch.]



* * * * *



A SHIPWRECK.

One morning I can remember well, how we watched from the Hartland Cliffs a great barque, which came drifting and rolling in before the western gale, while we followed her up the coast, parsons and sportsmen, farmers and Preventive men, with the Manby's mortar lumbering behind us in a cart, through stone gaps and track-ways, from headland to headland. The maddening excitement of expectation as she ran wildly towards the cliffs at our feet, and then sheered off again inexplicably;—her foremast and bowsprit, I recollect, were gone short off by the deck; a few rags of sail fluttered from her main and mizen. But with all straining of eyes and glasses, we could discern no sign of man on board. Well I recollect the mingled disappointment and admiration of the Preventive men, as a fresh set of salvors appeared in view, in the form of a boat's crew of Clovelly fishermen; how we watched breathlessly the little black speck crawling and struggling up in the teeth of the gale, under the shelter of the land, till, when the ship had rounded a point into smoother water, she seized on her like some tiny spider on a huge unwieldy fly; and then how one still smaller black speck showed aloft on the main-yard, and another—and then the desperate efforts to get the topsail set—and how we saw it tear out of their hands again, and again, and again, and almost fancied we could hear the thunder of its flappings above the roar of the gale, and the mountains of surf which made the rocks ring beneath our feet;—and how we stood silent, shuddering, expecting every moment to see whirled into the sea from the plunging yards one of those same tiny black specks, in each one of which was a living human soul, with sad women praying for him at home! And then how they tried to get her head round to the wind, and disappeared instantly in a cloud of white spray—and let her head fall back again—and jammed it round again, and disappeared again—and at last let her drive helplessly up the bay, while we kept pace with her along the cliffs; and how at last, when she had been mastered and fairly taken in tow, and was within two miles of the pier, and all hearts were merry with the hopes of a prize which would make them rich, perhaps, for years to come—one-third, I suppose, of the whole value of her cargo—how she broke loose from them at the last moment, and rushed frantically in upon those huge rocks below us, leaping great banks of slate at the blow of each breaker, tearing off masses of ironstone which lie there to this day to tell the tale, till she drove up high and dry against the cliff, and lay, like an enormous stranded whale, grinding and crashing herself to pieces against the walls of her adamantine cage. And well I recollect the sad records of the log-book which was left on board the deserted ship; how she had been waterlogged for weeks and weeks, buoyed up by her timber cargo, the crew clinging in the tops, and crawling down, when they dared, for putrid biscuit-dust and drops of water, till the water was washed overboard and gone; and then notice after notice, "On this day such an one died," "On this day such an one was washed away"—the log kept up to the last, even when there was only that to tell, by the stern business-like merchant skipper, whoever he was; and how at last, when there was neither food nor water, the strong man's heart seemed to have quailed, or perhaps risen, into a prayer, jotted down in the log—"The Lord have mercy on us!"—and then a blank of several pages, and, scribbled with a famine-shaken hand, "Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth;"—and so the log and the ship were left to the rats, which covered the deck when our men boarded her. And well I remember the last act of that tragedy; for a ship has really, as sailors feel, a personality, almost a life and soul of her own; and as long as her timbers hold together, all is not over. You can hardly call her a corpse, though the human beings who inhabited her, and were her soul, may have fled into the far eternities; and so we felt that night, as we came down along the woodland road, with the north-west wind hurling dead branches and showers of crisp oak-leaves about our heads; till suddenly, as we staggered out of the wood, we came upon such a picture as it would have baffled Correggio, or Rembrandt himself, to imitate. Under a wall was a long tent of sails and spars, filled with Preventive men, fishermen, Lloyd's underwriters, lying about in every variety of strange attitude and costume; while candles, stuck in bayonet-handles in the wall, poured out a wild glare over shaggy faces and glittering weapons, and piles of timber, and rusty iron cable, that glowed red-hot in the light, and then streamed up the glen towards us through the salt misty air in long fans of light, sending fiery bars over the brown transparent oak foliage and the sad beds of withered autumn flowers, and glorifying the wild flakes of foam, as they rushed across the light-stream, into troops of tiny silver angels, that vanished into the night and hid themselves among the woods from the fierce spirit of the storm. And then, just where the glare of the lights and watch-fires was most brilliant, there too the black shadows of the cliff had placed the point of intensest darkness, lightening gradually upwards right and left, between the two great jaws of the glen, into a chaos of grey mist, where the eye could discern no form of sea or cloud, but a perpetual shifting and quivering as if the whole atmosphere was writhing with agony in the clutches of the wind.

The ship was breaking up; and we sat by her like hopeless physicians by a deathbed-side, to watch the last struggle,—and "the effects of the deceased." I recollect our literally warping ourselves down to the beach, holding on by rocks and posts. There was a saddened awe-struck silence, even upon the gentleman from Lloyd's with the pen behind his ear. A sudden turn of the clouds let in a wild gleam of moonshine upon the white leaping heads of the breakers, and on the pyramid of the Black-church Rock, which stands in summer in such calm grandeur gazing down on the smiling bay, with the white sand of Braunton and the red cliffs of Portledge shining through its two vast arches; and against a slab of rock on the right, for years afterwards discoloured with her paint, lay the ship, rising slowly on every surge, to drop again with a piteous crash as the wave fell back from the cliff, and dragged the roaring pebbles back with it under the coming wall of foam. You have heard of ships at the last moment crying aloud like living things in agony? I heard it then, as the stumps of her masts rocked and reeled in her, and every plank and joint strained and screamed with the dreadful tension.

A horrible image—a human being shrieking on the rack; rose up before me at those strange semi-human cries, and would not be put away—and I tried to turn, and yet my eyes were riveted on the black mass, which seemed vainly to implore the help of man against the stern ministers of the Omnipotent.

Still she seemed to linger in the death-struggle, and we turned at last away; when, lo! a wave, huger than all before it, rushed up the boulders towards us. We had just time to save ourselves. A dull, thunderous groan, as if a mountain had collapsed, rose above the roar of the tempest; and we all turned with an instinctive knowledge of what had happened, just in time to see the huge mass melt away into the boiling white, and vanish for evermore. And then the very raving of the wind seemed hushed with awe; the very breakers plunged more silently towards the shore, with something of a sullen compunction; and as we stood and strained our eyes into the gloom, one black plank after another crawled up out of the darkness upon the head of the coming surge, and threw itself at our feet like the corpse of a drowning man, too spent to struggle more.

CHARLES KINGSLEY.



* * * * *



A SHIPWRECK.

Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell,— Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave,— Then some leaped overboard with dreadful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave; And the sea yawned around her like a hell, And down she sucked with her the whirling wave, Like one who grapples with his enemy, And strives to strangle him before he die.

And first one universal shriek there rushed, Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash Of echoing thunder; and then all was hushed, Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash Of billows; but at intervals there gushed, Accompanied with a convulsive splash, A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony.

BYRON.



* * * * *



THE HAPPY WARRIOR.

Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he That every man in arms should wish to be? —It is the generous Spirit, who when brought Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought Upon the plan that pleased his boyish thought: Whose high endeavours are an inward light That makes the path before him always bright: Who, with a natural instinct to discern What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn: Abides by this resolve, and stops not there, But makes his moral being his prime care; Who, doomed to go in company with Pain, And Fear, and Bloodshed, miserable train! Turns his necessity to glorious gain; In face of these doth exercise a power Which is our human nature's highest dower; Controls them and subdues, transmutes, bereaves Of their bad influence, and their good receives: By objects, which might force the soul to abate Her feeling, rendered more compassionate; Is placable—because occasions rise So often that demand such sacrifice; More skilful in self knowledge, even more pure, As tempted more; more able to endure, As more exposed to suffering and distress; Thence, also, more alive to tenderness. —Tis he whose law is reason; who depends Upon that law as on the best of friends; Whence, in a state where men are tempted still To evil for a guard against worse ill, And what in quality or act is best Doth seldom on a right foundation rest, He labours good on good to fix, and owes To virtue every triumph that he knows: —Who, if he rise to station of command, Rises by open means; and there will stand On honourable terms, or else retire, And in himself possess his own desire; Who comprehends his trust, and to the same Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim; And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state: Whom they must follow; on whose head must fall, Like showers of manna, if they come at all; Whose powers shed round him in the common strife, Or mild concerns of ordinary life, A constant influence, a peculiar grace; But who, if he be called upon to face Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined Great issues, good or bad for human kind, Is happy as a Lover; and attired With sudden brightness, like a Man inspired; And, through the heat of conflict, keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw: Or if an unexpected call succeed, Come when it will, is equal to the need: —He who, though thus endued as with a sense And faculty for storm and turbulence, Is yet a Soul whose master-bias leans To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes; Sweet images! which, wheresoe'er he be, Are at his heart; and such fidelity It is his darling passion to approve; More brave for this, that he hath much to love:— 'Tis, finally, the Man, who, lifted, high, Conspicuous object in a Nation's eye, Or left unthought of in obscurity,— Who, with a toward or untoward lot, Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not— Plays, in the many games of life, that one Where what he most doth value must be won: Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray; Who not content that former worth stand fast, Looks forward, persevering to the last, From well to better, daily self-surpassed: Who, whether praise of him must walk the earth For ever, and to noble deeds give birth, Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame, And leave a dead unprofitable name— Finds comfort in himself and in his cause; And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause: This is the happy Warrior; this is he That every Man in arms should wish to be.

Wordsworth.



[Notes: Turns his necessity to glorious gain. Turns the necessity which lies on him of fellowship with pain, and fear, and bloodshed, into glorious gain.

More skilful in self knowledge, even more pure, as tempted more. "His self-knowledge and his purity are all the greater because of the temptations he has had to withstand."

Whose law is reason = whose every action is obedient to reason.

In himself possess his own desire. According to Aristotle, virtuous activity is the highest reward the good man can attain; virtue has no end beyond action; according to the modern proverb, "Virtue is its own reward."

More brave for this, that he hath much to love. Here also Wordsworth follows Aristotle in his description of the virtue of manliness. The good man, according to Aristotle, is most brave of all in encountering "the awful moment of great issues," in that he has the most to lose by death.

Not content that former worth stand fast. Not content to rest on the foundation of accomplished good and worthy deeds, solid though it be.

Finds comfort in himself. Compare: "In himself possess his own desire."]



* * * * *



THE BLACK PRINCE.

He was the first great English captain, who showed what English soldiers were, and what they could do against Frenchmen, and against all the world. He was the first English Prince who showed what it was to be a true gentleman. He was the first, but he was not the last. We have seen how, when he died, Englishmen thought that all their hopes had died with him. But we know that it was not so; we know that the life of a great nation is not bound up in the life of a single man; we know that the valour and the courtesy and the chivalry of England are not buried in the grave of the Plantagenet Prince. It needs only a glance round the country, to see that the high character of an English gentleman, of which the Black Prince was the noble pattern, is still to be found everywhere; and has since his time been spreading itself more and more through classes, which in his time seemed incapable of reaching it. It needs only a glance down the names of our own Cathedral (of Canterbury); and the tablets on the walls, with their tattered flags, will tell you in a moment that he, as he lies up there aloft, with his head resting on his helmet, and his spurs on his feet, is but the first of a long line of English heroes—that the brave men who fought at Sobraon and Feroozeshah are the true descendants of those who fought at Cressy and Poitiers.

And not to soldiers only, but to all who are engaged in the long warfare of life, is his conduct an example. To unite in our lives the two qualities expressed in his motto, "High spirit" and "reverent service," is to be, indeed, not only a true gentleman and a true soldier, but a true Christian also. To show to all who differ from us, not only in war but in peace, that delicate forbearance, that fear of hurting another's feelings, that happy art of saying the right thing to the right person, which he showed to the captive king, would indeed add a grace and a charm to the whole course of this troublesome world, such as none can afford to lose, whether high or low. Happy are they, who having this gift by birth and station, use it for its highest purposes; still more happy are they, who having it not by birth and station, have acquired it, as it may be acquired, by Christian gentleness and Christian charity.

And, lastly, to act in all the various difficulties of our every-day life, with that coolness, and calmness, and faith in a higher power than his own, which he showed when the appalling danger of his situation burst upon him at Poitiers, would smooth a hundred difficulties, and ensure a hundred victories. We often think that we have no power in ourselves, no advantages of position, to help us against our many temptations, to overcome the many obstacles we encounter. Let us take our stand by the Black Prince's tomb, and go back once more in thought to the distant fields of France. A slight rise in the wild upland plain, a steep lane through vineyards and underwood, this was all that he had, humanly speaking, on his side; but he turned it to the utmost use of which it could be made, and won the most glorious of battles. So, in like manner, our advantages may be slight—hardly perceptible to any but ourselves—let us turn them to account, and the results will be a hundredfold; we have only to adopt the Black Prince's bold and cheering words, when first he saw his enemies, "God is my help. I must fight them as best I can;" adding that lofty, yet resigned and humble prayer, which he uttered when the battle was announced to be inevitable, and which has since become a proverb, "God defend the right."

DEAN STANLEY'S Memorials of Canterbury.



[Notes: The Black Prince. Edward, the son of Edward III, and father of Richard II. He not only won for the English the renown of conquest, but befriended the early efforts after liberty. His untimely death plunged England into the evils of a long minority under his son. The one stain on his name is his massacre of the townsfolk of Limoges.

"Reverent service," or "I serve" (Ich dien), the motto adopted by the Black Prince from the King of Bohemia, his defeated foe.

Poitiers. His victory won over the French king, John, whom he took prisoner (1356).]



* * * * *



THE ASSEMBLY OF URI.

Let me ask you to follow me in spirit to the very home and birth-place of freedom, to the land where we need not myth or fable to add aught to the fresh and gladdening feeling with which we for the first time tread the soil and drink the air of the immemorial democracy of Uri. It is one of the opening days of May: it is the morning of Sunday; for men then deem that the better the day the better the deed; they deem that the Creator cannot be more truly honoured than in using, in His fear and in His presence, the highest of the gifts which He has bestowed on man. But deem not that, because the day of Christian worship is chosen for the great yearly assembly of a Christian commonwealth, the more direct sacred duties of the day are forgotten. Before we, in our luxurious island, have lifted ourselves from our beds, the men of the mountains, Catholic and Protestant alike, have already paid the morning's worship in God's temple. They have heard the mass of the priest, or they have listened to the sermon of the pastor, before some of us have awakened to the fact that the morn of the holy day has come. And when I saw men thronging the crowded church, or kneeling, for want of space within, on the bare ground beside the open door, and when I saw them marching thence to do the highest duties of men and citizens, I could hardly forbear thinking of the saying of Holy Writ, that "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty." From the market-place of Altdorf, the little capital of the Canton, the procession makes its way to the place of meeting at Bozlingen. First marches the little army of the Canton, an army whose weapons can never be used save to drive back an invader from their land. Over their heads floats the banner, the bull's head of Uri, the ensign which led men to victory on the fields of Sempach and Morgarten. And before them all, on the shoulders of men clad in a garb of ages past, are borne the famous horns, the spoils of the wild bull of ancient days, the very horns whose blast struck such dread into the fearless heart of Charles of Burgundy. Then, with their lictors before them, come the magistrates of the commonwealth on horseback, the chief magistrate, the Landammann, with his sword by his side. The people follow the chiefs whom they have chosen to the place of meeting, a circle in a green meadow with a pine forest rising above their heads and a mighty spur of the mountain range facing them on the other side of the valley. The multitude of the freemen take their seats around the chief ruler of the commonwealth, whose term of office comes that day to an end. The Assembly opens; a short space is first given to prayer, silent prayer offered up by each man in the temple of God's own rearing. Then comes the business of the day. If changes in the law are demanded, they are then laid before the vote of the Assembly, in which each citizen of full age has an equal vote and an equal right of speech. The yearly magistrates have now discharged all their duties; their term of office is at an end, the trust which has been placed in their hands falls back into the hands of those by whom it was given, into the hands of the sovereign people. The chief of the commonwealth, now such no longer, leaves his seat of office, and takes his place as a simple citizen in the ranks of his fellows. It rests with the freewill of the Assembly to call him back to his chair of office, or to set another there in his stead. Men who have neither looked into the history of the past, nor yet troubled themselves to learn what happens year by year in their own age, are fond of declaiming against the caprice and ingratitude of the people, and of telling us that under a democratic government neither men nor measures can remain for an hour unchanged. The witness alike of the present and of the past is an answer to baseless theories like these. The spirit which made democratic Athens year by year bestow her highest offices on the patrician Perikles and the reactionary Phokion, still lives in the democracies of Switzerland. The ministers of kings, whether despotic or constitutional, may vainly envy the sure tenure of office which falls to the lot of those who are chosen to rule by the voice of the people. Alike in the whole Confederation and in the single Canton, re-election is the rule; the rejection of the outgoing magistrate is the rare exception. The Landammann of Uri, whom his countrymen have raised to the seat of honour, and who has done nothing to lose their confidence, need not fear that when he has gone to the place of meeting in the pomp of office, his place in the march homeward will be transferred to another against his will.

E. A. FREEMAN.



[Notes: Uri. A Swiss canton which, early in the 14th century, united with Unterwalden and Schwytz to form the Swiss Confederation.

Sempach (1386) and Morgarten (1315), both great victories won by the Swiss over the Austrians.

——Charles the Bold of Burgundy was defeated by the Swiss in 1476 at Morat.

Perikles. A great orator and statesman, who, in the middle of the 5th century, B.C., guided the policy of Athens, and made her the centre of literature, philosophy, and art.

Phokion . An Athenian statesman of the 4th century B.C., who opposed Demosthenes in his efforts to resist Philip of Macedon. His reactionary policy was atoned for by the uprightness of his character.]