Part 11

7. Some are in the churchyard laid, Some sleep beneath the sea; And none are left of our old class Excepting you and me. And when our time shall come, Tom, And we are called to go, I hope we'll meet with those we loved Some forty years ago.

XLV. MRS. CAUDLE'S LECTURE.

Douglas Jerrold (b. 1803, d. 1857) was born in London. A midshipman's appointment was obtained for him, but he quit the naval service in a few years. He was then apprenticed to a printer. By improving his leisure hours he made himself master of several languages, and formed the habit of expressing his thoughts in writing An essay on the opera of Der Freischutz was his first published literary production. Before he was twenty-one years of age, he wrote "Black-eyed Susan," one of the most popular dramas of modern times. Several other popular plays followed this. He was a regular contributor to the London "Punch," from the second number, and edited, at different times, several papers and magazines. As a humorist, he occupies the first rank. The most noted of his works are his plays, and "Mrs Caudle's Curtain Lectures," "Saint Giles and Saint James," "Bubbles of a Day," and "Chronicles of Clovernook."

1. Well, Mr. Caudle, I hope you're in a little better temper than you were this morning. There, you need n't begin to whistle: people don't come to bed to whistle. But it's like you; I can't speak that you don't try to insult me. Once, I used to say you were the best creature living: now, you get quite a fiend. Do let you rest? No, I won't let you rest. It's the only time I have to talk to you, and you shall hear me. I'm put upon all day long: it's very hard if I can't speak a word at night; besides, it is n't often I open my mouth, goodness knows!

2. Because once in your lifetime your shirt wanted a button, you must almost swear the roof off the house. You did n't swear? Ha, Mr. Caudle! you don't know what you do when you're in a passion. You were not in a passion, wer'n't you? Well, then, I don't know what a passion is; and I think I ought by this time. I've lived long enough with you, Mr. Caudle, to know that.

3. It's a pity you hav'n't something worse to complain of than a button off your shirt. If you'd some wives, you would, I know. I'm sure I'm never without a needle and thread in my hand; what with you and the children, I'm made a perfect slave of. And what's my thanks? Why, if once in your life a button's off your shirt--what do you cry "oh" at? I say once, Mr. Caudle; or twice, or three times, at most. I'm sure, Caudle, no man's buttons in the world are better looked after than yours. I only wish I'd kept the shirts you had when you were first married! I should like to know where were your buttons then?

4. Yes, it is worth talking of! But that's how you always try to put me down. You fly into a rage, and then if I only try to speak, you won't hear me. That's how you men always will have all the talk to yourselves: a poor woman is n't allowed to get a word in. A nice notion you have of a wife, to suppose she's nothing to think of but her husband's buttons. A pretty notion, indeed, you have of marriage. Ha! if poor women only knew what they had to go through!--what with buttons, and one thing and another,--they'd never tie themselves up,--no, not to the best man in the world, I'm sure. What would they do, Mr. Caudle?--Why, do much better without you, I'm certain.

5. And it's my belief, after all, that the button was n't off the shirt; it's my belief that you pulled it off that you might have something to talk about. Oh, you're aggravating enough, when you like, for anything! All I know is, it's very odd that the button should be off the shirt; for I'm sure no woman's a greater slave to her husband's buttons than I am. I only say it's very odd.

6. However, there's one comfort; it can't last long. I'm worn to death with your temper, and sha'n't trouble you a great while. Ha! you may laugh! And I dare say you would laugh! I've no doubt of it! That's your love; that's your feeling! I know that I'm sinking every day, though I say nothing about it. And when I'm gone we shall see how your second wife will look after your buttons! You'll find out the difference then. Yes, Caudle, you'll think of me then; for then, I hope, you'll never have a blessed button to your back.

7. No, I'm not a vindictive woman, Mr. Caudle: nobody ever called me that but you. What do you say? Nobody ever knew so much of me? That's nothing at all to do with it. Ha! I would n't have your aggravating temper, Caudle, for mines of gold. It's a good thing I'm not as worrying as you are, or a nice house there'd be between us. I only wish you'd had a wife that would have talked to you! Then you'd have known the difference. But you impose upon me because, like a poor fool, I say nothing. I should be ashamed of myself, Caudle.

8. And a pretty example you set as a father! You'll make your boys as bad as yourself. Talking as you did all breakfast time about your buttons! and of a Sunday morning, too! And you call yourself a Christian! I should like to know what your boys will say of you when they grow up! And all about a paltry button off one of your wristbands! A decent man would n't have mentioned it. Why don't I hold my tongue? Because I won't hold my tongue. I'm to have my peace of mind destroyed--I 'm to be worried into my grave for a miserable shirt button, and I'm to hold my tongue! Oh! but that's just like you men!

9. But I know what I'll do for the future. Every button you have may drop off, and I won't so much as put a thread to 'em. And I should like to know what you'll do then! Oh, you must get somebody else to sew 'em, must you? That's a pretty threat for a husband to hold out to his wife! And to such a wife as I've been, too: such a slave to your buttons, as I may say. Somebody else to sew 'em'! No, Caudle, no; not while I'm alive! When I'm dead--and, with what I have to bear, there's no knowing how soon that may be--when I 'm dead, I say--oh! what a brute you must be to snore so!

10. You're not snoring? Ha! that's what you always say; but that's nothing to do with it. You must get somebody else to sew 'em, must you? Ha! I should n't wonder. Oh, no! I should be surprised at nothing now! Nothing at all! It's what people have always told me it would come to; and now the buttons have opened my eyes! But the whole world shall know of your cruelty, Mr. Caudle. After the wife I've been to you. Caudle, you've a heart like a hearthstone, you have!

DEFINITIONS.--5. Ag'gra-vat-ing, provoking, irritating. 6. Sink'ing, failing in strength. 7. Vin-dic'tive, revengeful. 8. Pal'try, mean, contemptible.

XLVI. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.

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

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

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

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

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

6. It sounds to him like her mother's voice Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more, How in the grave she lies; And with his hard, rough hand he wipes A tear out of his eyes.

7. Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, Onward through life he goes; Each morning sees some task begin, Each evening sees its close; Something attempted, something done, Has earned a night's repose.

8. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought! --Longfellow.

XLVII. THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW.

[From a letter to the "London Times," by a lady, the wife of an officer at Lucknow.]

1. On every side death stared us in the face; no human skill could avert it any longer. We saw the moment approach when we must bid farewell to earth, yet without feeling that unutterable horror which must have been experienced by the unhappy victims at Cawnpore. We were resolved rather to die than to yield, and were fully persuaded that in twenty-four hours all would be over. The engineer had said so, and all knew the worst. We women strove to encourage each other, and to perform the light duties which had been assigned to us, such as conveying orders to the batteries, and supplying the men with provisions, especially cups of coffee, which we prepared day and night.

2. I had gone out to try to make myself useful, in company with Jessie Brown, the wife of a corporal in my husband's regiment. Poor Jessie had been in a state of restless excitement all through the siege, and had fallen away visibly within the last few days. A constant fever consumed her, and her mind wandered occasionally, especially that day, when the recollections of home seemed powerfully present to her. At last, overcome with fatigue, she lay down on the ground, wrapped up in her plaid. I sat beside her, promising to awaken her when, as she said, her "father should return from the plowing."

3. She fell at length into a profound slumber, motionless and apparently breathless, her head resting in my lap. I myself could no longer resist the inclination to sleep, in spite of the continual roar of the cannon. Suddenly I was aroused by a wild, unearthly scream close to my ear; my companion stood upright beside me, her arms raised, and her head bent forward in the attitude of listening.

4. A look of intense delight broke over her countenance; she grasped my hand, drew me toward her, and exclaimed: "Dinna ye hear it? dinna ye hear it? Ay. I'm no dreaming: it's the slogan o' the Highlanders! We're saved! we're saved!" Then flinging herself on her knees, she thanked God with passionate fervor. I felt utterly bewildered; my English ears heard only the roar of artillery, and I thought my poor Jessie was still raving; but she darted to the batteries, and I heard her cry incessantly to the men, "Courage! courage! Hark to the slogan--to the Macgregor, the grandest of them a'! Here's help at last!"

5. To describe the effect of these words upon the soldiers would be impossible. For a moment they ceased firing, and every soul listened with intense anxiety. Gradually, however, there arose a murmur of bitter disappointment, and the wailing of the women, who had flocked to the spot, burst out anew as the colonel shook his head. Our dull Lowland ears heard only the battle of the musketry. A few moments more of this deathlike suspense, of this agonizing hope, and Jessie, who had again sunk on the ground, sprang to her feet, and cried in a voice so clear and piercing that it was heard along the whole line, "Will ye no believe it noo? The slogan has ceased, indeed, but the Campbells are comin'! D' ye hear? d' ye hear?"

6. At that moment all seemed indeed to hear the voice of God in the distance, when the pibroch of the Highlanders brought us tidings of deliverance; for now there was no longer any doubt of the fact. That shrill, penetrating, ceaseless sound, which rose above all other sounds, could come neither from the advance of the enemy nor from the work of the sappers. No, it was indeed the blast of the Scottish bagpipes, now shrill and harsh, as threatening vengeance on the foe, then in softer tones, seeming to promise succor to their friends in need.

7. Never, surely, was there such a scene as that which followed. Not a heart in the residency of Lucknow but bowed itself before God. All, by one simultaneous impulse, fell upon their knees, and nothing was heard but bursting sobs and the murmured voice of prayer. Then all arose, and there rang out from a thousand lips a great shout of joy, which resounded far and wide, and lent new vigor to that blessed pibroch.

8. To our cheer of "God save the Queen," they replied by the well-known strain that moves every Scot to tears, "Should auld acquaintance be forgot." After that, nothing else made any impression on me. I scarcely remember what followed. Jessie was presented to the general on his entrance into the fort, and at the officers' banquet her health was drunk by all present, while the pipers marched around the table playing once more the familiar air of "Auld Lang Syne."

DEFINITIONS.--1. A-vert', to turn aside. En-gi-neer', an officer in the army, who designs and constructs defensive and offensive works. 2. Siege, the setting of an army around a fortified place to compel its surrender. 3. Pro-found', deep. 4. Slo'gan, the war cry or gather-ing word of a Highland clan in Scotland. Fer'vor, intensity of feel-ing. 6. Pi'broch, a wild, irregular species of music belonging to the Highlands of Scotland; it is performed on a bagpipe. Sap'pers, men employed in making an approach to a fortified place by digging. 7. Res'i-den-cy, the official dwelling of a government officer in India. Si-mul-ta'ne-ous, happening at the same time.

NOTES.--Lucknow, a city in the British possession of India. In 1857 there was a mutiny of the native troops, and the British garrison of 1700 men was besieged by 10,000 mutineers. After twelve weeks' siege, fresh British troops forced an entrance, and the town was held until relieved three weeks later by the arrival of Sir Colin Campbell, as above described.

1. Cawnpore, also a city of India, near Lucknow, which was besieged during the mutiny. After surrendering, the English, two thirds of whom were women and children, were treacherously massacred.

4. The inhabitants of the northern part of Scotland are called Highlanders; those of the southern part, Lowlanders. The dialect of the former is very peculiar, as shown in the language of Jessie Brown; as, dinna for did not, a' for all, no for not, noo for now, auld for old. Macgregor and Campbell are names of Highland clans or families.

Whittier's poem, "The Pipes at Lucknow," and Robert T. S. Lowell's "The Relief of Lucknow," are descriptive of this same incident.

XLVIII. THE SNOWSTORM.

James Thomson (b. 1700, d.1748) was born at Ednam, in the shire of Roxburgh, Scotland. He was educated at the University of Edinburgh, and afterwards studied for the ministry, but in a short time changed his plans and devoted himself to literature. His early poems are quite insignificant, but "The Seasons," from which the following selection is taken; and the "Castle of Indolence," are masterpieces of English poetry.

1. Through the hushed air the whitening shower descends, At first thin wavering; till at last the flakes Fall broad and wide and fast, dimming the day, With a continual flow. The cherished fields Put on their winter robe of purest white. 'T is brightness all: save where the new snow melts Along the mazy current.

2. Low the woods Bow their hoar head; and ere the languid sun Faint from the west emits its evening ray, Earth's universal face, deep-hid and chill, Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide The works of man.

3. Drooping, the laborer ox Stands covered o'er with snow, and then demands The fruit of all his toil. The fowls of heaven, Tamed by the cruel season, crowd around The winnowing store, and claim the little boon Which Providence assigns them.

4. One alone, The Redbreast, sacred to the household gods, Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky, In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man His annual visit.

5. Half-afraid, he first Against the window beats; then, brisk, alights On the warm hearth; then, hopping o'er the floor, Eyes all the smiling family askance, And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is; Till, more familiar grown, the table crumbs Attract his slender feet.

6. The foodless wilds Pour forth their brown inhabitants. The hare, Though timorous of heart, and hard beset By death in various forms, dark snares and dogs, And more unpitying men, the garden seeks, Urged on by fearless want. The bleating kind. Eye the bleak heaven, and next the glistening earth, With looks of dumb despair; then, sad dispersed, Dig for the withered herb through heaps of snow

7. Now, shepherds, to your helpless charge be kind, Baffle the raging year, and fill their pens With food at will; lodge them below the storm, And watch them strict; for from the bellowing east, In this dire season, oft the whirlwind's wing Sweeps up the burden of whole wintry plains In one wide waft, and o'er the hapless flocks, Hid in the hollow of two neighboring hills, The billowy tempest 'whelms; till, upward urged, The valley to a shining mountain swells, Tipped with a wreath high-curling in the sky

DEFINITIONS.--1. Ma'zy, winding. 2. Hoar, white or grayish white. E-mits', sends forth, throws out, 3. Win'now-ing, separat-ing chaff from grain by means of wind. Boon, a gift. 4. Em--broil'ing, throwing into disorder or contention. 5, A-skance', side-ways. 6. Wilds, woods, forests. Be-set', hemmed in on all sides so that escape is difficult. 7. Dire, dreadful, terrible. Waft, a current of wind. Whelms', covers completely.

NOTE.--4. Household gods. An allusion to the belief of the ancient Romans in the Penates--certain gods who were supposed to protect the household and all connected with it. The idea here expressed is, that the Redbreast was secure from harm.

XLIX. BEHIND TIME.

1. A railroad train was rushing along at almost lightning speed. A curve was just ahead, beyond which was a station where two trains usually met. The conductor was late,--so late that the period during which the up train was to wait had nearly elapsed; but he hoped yet to pass the curve safely. Suddenly a locomotive dashed into sight right ahead. In an instant there was a collision. A shriek, a shock, and fifty souls were in eternity; and all because an engineer had been behind time.

2. A great battle was going on. Column after column had been precipitated for eight hours on the enemy posted along the ridge of a hill. The summer sun was sinking in the west; reenforcements for the obstinate defenders were already in sight; it was necessary to carry the position with one final charge, or everything would be lost.

3. A powerful corps had been summoned from across the country, and if it came up in season all would yet be well. The great conqueror, confident in its arrival, formed his reserve into an attacking column, and ordered them to charge the enemy. The whole world knows the result. Grouchy failed to appear; the imperial guard was beaten back; and Waterloo was lost. Napoleon died a prisoner at St. Helena because one of his marshals was behind time.

4. A leading firm in commercial circles had long struggled against bankruptcy. As it had large sums of money in California, it expected remittances by a certain day, and if they arrived, its credit, its honor, and its future prosperity would be preserved. But week after week elapsed without bringing the gold. At last came the fatal day on which the firm had bills maturing to large amounts. The steamer was telegraphed at daybreak; but it was found, on inquiry, that she brought no funds, and the house failed. The next arrival brought nearly half a million to the insolvents, but it was too late; they were ruined because their agent, in remitting, had been behind time.

5. A condemned man was led, out for execution. He had taken human life, but under circumstances of the greatest provocation, and public sympathy was active in his behalf. Thousands had signed petitions for a reprieve; a favorable answer had been expected the night before, and though it had not come, even the sheriff felt confident that it would yet arrive. Thus the morning passed without the appearance of the messenger.

6. The last moment was up. The prisoner took his place, the cap was drawn over his eyes, the bolt was drawn, and a lifeless body swung revolving in the wind. Just at that moment a horseman came into sight, galloping down hill, his steed covered with foam. He carried a packet in his right hand, which he waved frantically to the crowd. He was the express rider with the reprieve; but he came too late. A comparatively innocent man had died an ignominious death because a watch had been five minutes too late, making its bearer arrive behind time.

7. It is continually so in life. The best laid plans, the most important affairs, the fortunes of individuals, the weal of nations, honor, happiness, life itself, are daily sacrificed, because somebody is "behind time." There are men who always fail in whatever they undertake, simply because they are "behind time." There are others who put off reformation year after year, till death seizes them, and they perish unrepentant, because forever "behind time."

DEFINITIONS.--1. Col-li'sion, the act of striking together violently. 2. Pre-cip'i-tat-ed, urged on violently. Re-en-force'ments, additional troops. 3. Corps (pro. kor), a body of troops. Re-serve', a select body of troops held back in case of special need for their services. 4. Bank'rupt-cy. inability to pay all debts, insolvency. Re-mit'tanc-es, mouey, drafts, etc., sent from a distance. Ma-tur'ing, approaching the time fixed for payment. 5. Prov-o-ca'tion, that which causes anger. 6. Ig-no-min'i-ous, infamous. 7. Weal, prosperity, happiness.

NOTES.--3. Emmanuel Grouchy was one of Napoleon's marshals at the battle of Waterloo, fought in 1815 between the French under Napoleon, and the English, Dutch, and German troops under Wellington.

Napoleon Bonaparte (b. 1769, d. 1821) was born on the island of Corsica. At school he was "studious, well-behaved, and distinguished in mathematical studies." In 1785 he was commissioned as a sublieutenant in the army. From this obscure position he raised himself to the head of the army, and in 1804 was elected emperor of the French. He is almost universally acknowledged to have been the greatest general the world has known.

L. THE OLD SAMPLER.