Part 3
Out spoke the hardy Highland wight "I'll go, my chief--I'm ready: It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady:
"And, by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry; So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry."
By this, the storm grew loud apace, The water wraith was shrieking; And, in the scowl of heaven, each face Grew dark as they were speaking.
But still, as wilder grew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men, Their trampling sounded nearer.
"Oh I haste thee, haste!" the lady cries "Though tempest round us gather, I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father."
The boat has left the stormy land, A stormy sea before her; When, oh I too strong for human hand, The tempest gathered o'er her.
And still they rowed, amid the roar Of waters fast prevailing; Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore, His wrath was changed to wailing.
For sore dismay through storm and shade His child he did discover; One lovely hand she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover.
"Come back! come back!" he cried, in grief, "Across this stormy water; And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter! O, my daughter!"
'T was vain: the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing; The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting.
--Thomas Campbell
ALPHABETICAL LIST OF AUTHORS.
Name. Name. 1. ALCOTT, LOUISA M. 45. LAMB, CHARLES 2. ALLEN, Mrs. E. A. 46. LONDON TIMES 3. ALLINGHAM, W. 47. LONGFELLOW 4. ARNOLD, GEORGE 48. LOWELL 5. ARTHUR, T. S. 49. MARTINEAU, HARRIET 6. AUDUBON 50. MITCHELL, DONALD G. 7. BANCROFT 51. MONTGOMERY, JAMES 8. BIBLE, THE 52. MOORE 9. BLACK, WILLIAM 53. MORRIS. G. P. 10. BRIGGS, C. F. 54. NOBLE, L. L. 11. BROOKS, C. T. 55. NORTON, MRS. C. E. S. 12. BRYANT 56. O'BRIEN, FITZ-JAMES 13. BUCKINGHAM, J. T. 57. PIATT, J. J. 14. BURRITT, ELIHU 58. PIATT, MRS. S. M. B. 15. CAMPBELL, THOMAS 59. PROCTER, ADELAIDE ANNE 16. CHANNING, WILLIAM ELLERY 60. READ, T. B. 17. COLLINS, WILLIAM 61. RUSSELL, JOHN 18. COOK, ELIZA 62. SANGSTER, MRS. M. E. 19. COOPER, JAMES FENIMORE 63. SAXE, J. G. 20. COWPER 64. SHAKESPEARE 21. DICKENS 65. SHEPHERD 22. DIMOND, WILLIAM 66. SOUTHEY, MRS. C. A. 23. EASTMAN, C. G. 67. SOUTHEY, ROBERT 24. EDGEWORTH, MARIA 68. SPRAGUE, CHARLES 25. FINCH, F. M. 69. STODDARD. R. H. 26. FOLLEN, MRS. E. L. 70. TAYLOR, B. F. 27. GOLDSMITH. 71. TAYLOR, JANE 28. GOODRICH, S. G. 72. TENNYSON 29. GRIMKE', THOMAS S. 73. THACKERAY 30. HALE, Mrs. S. J, 74. THACKER, CELIA 31. HARTE. FRANCIS BRET 75. THOMPSON, D. P. 32. HAWES, W. P. 76. THOMSON, JAMES 33. HAWTHORNE 77. THOREAU, H. D. 34. HELPS, ARTHUR 78. TOOD, JOHN 35. HEMANS, FELICIA D. 79. WARNER, CHARLES DUDLEY 36. HOOD, THOMAS 80. "CAPITAL" (WASHINGTON) 37. HUNT, LEIGH 81. WEBSTER 38. INGELOW, JEAN 82. WEEMS, MASON L. 39. IRVING 83. WHITTIER 40. JERROLD, DOUGLAS 84. WILSON, JOHN 41. JOHNSON, SAMUEL 85. WIRT, WILLIAM 42. KEBLE, JOHN 86. WOLFE, CHARLES 43. KINGSLEY, CHARLES 87. WOTTON, SIR HENRY 44. KNOWLES, SHERIDAN
McGuffey's Fifth Reader
1. THE GOOD READER.
1. It is told of Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, that, as he was seated one day in his private room, a written petition was brought to him with the request that it should be immediately read. The King had just returned from hunting, and the glare of the sun, or some other cause, had so dazzled his eyes that he found it difficult to make out a single word of the writing.
2. His private secretary happened to be absent; and the soldier who brought the petition could not read. There was a page, or favorite boy servant, waiting in the hall, and upon him the King called. The page was a son of one of the noblemen of the court, but proved to be a very poor reader.
3. In the first place, he did not articulate distinctly. He huddled his words together in the utterance, as if they were syllables of one long word, which he must get through with as speedily as possible. His pronunciation was bad, and he did not modulate his voice so as to bring out the meaning of what he read. Every sentence was uttered with a dismal monotony of voice, as if it did not differ in any respect from that which preceded it.
4. "Stop!" said the King, impatiently. "Is it an auctioneer's list of goods to be sold that you are hurrying over? Send your companion to me." Another page who stood at the door now entered, and to him the King gave the petition. The second page began by hemming and clearing his throat in such an affected manner that the King jokingly asked him whether he had not slept in the public garden, with the gate open, the night before.
5. The second page had a good share of self-conceit, however, and so was not greatly confused by the King's jest. He determined that he would avoid the mistake which his comrade had made. So he commenced reading the petition slowly and with great formality, emphasizing every word, and prolonging the articulation of every syllable. But his manner was so tedious that the King cried out, "Stop! are you reciting a lesson in the elementary sounds? Out of the room! But no: stay! Send me that little girl who is sitting there by the fountain."
6. The girl thus pointed out by the King was a daughter of one of the laborers employed by the royal gardener; and she had come to help her father weed the flower beds. It chanced that, like many of the poor people in Prussia, she had received a good education. She was somewhat alarmed when she found herself in the King's presence, but took courage when the King told her that he only wanted her to read for him, as his eyes were weak.
7. Now, Ernestine (for this was the name of the little girl) was fond of reading aloud, and often many of the neighbors would assemble at her father's house to hear her; those who could not read themselves would come to her, also, with their letters from distant friends or children, and she thus formed the habit of reading various sorts of handwriting promptly and well.
8. The King gave her the petition, and she rapidly glanced through the opening lines to get some idea of what it was about. As she read, her eyes began to glisten, and her breast to heave. "What is the matter?" asked the King; "don't you know how to read?" "Oh, yes! sire," she replied, addressing him with the title usually applied to him: "I will now read it, if you please."
9. The two pages wore about to leave the room. "Remain," said the King. The little girl began to read the petition. It was from a poor widow, whose only son had been drafted to serve in the army, although his health was delicate and his pursuits had been such as to unfit him for military life. His father had been killed in battle, and the son had a strong desire to become a portrait painter.
10. The writer told her story in a simple, concise manner, that carried to the heart a belief of its truth; and Ernestine read it with so much feeling, and with an articulation so just, in tones so pure and distinct, that when she had finished, the King, into whose eyes the tears had started, exclaimed, "Oh! now I understand what it is all about; but I might never have known, certainly I never should have felt, its meaning had I trusted to these young gentlemen, whom I now dismiss from my service for one year, advising them to occupy their time in learning to read."
11. "As for you, my young lady," continued the King, "I know you will ask no better reward for your trouble than the pleasure of carrying to this poor widow my order for her son's immediate discharge. Let me see whether you can write as well as you can read. Take this pen, and write as I dictate." He then dictated an order, which Ernestine wrote, and he signed. Calling one of his guards, he bade him go with the girl and see that the order was obeyed.
12. How much happiness was Ernestine the means of bestowing through her good elocution, united to the happy circumstance that brought it to the knowledge of the King! First, there were her poor neighbors, to whom she could give instruction and entertainment. Then, there was the poor widow who sent the petition, and who not only regained her son, but received through Ernestine an order for him to paint the King's likeness; so that the poor boy soon rose to great distinction, and had more orders than he could attend to. Words could not express his gratitude, and that of his mother, to the little girl.
13. And Ernestine had, moreover, the satisfaction of aiding her father to rise in the world, so that he became the King's chief gardener. The King did not forget her, but had her well educated at his own expense. As for the two pages, she was indirectly the means of doing them good, also; for, ashamed of their bad reading, they commenced studying in earnest, till they overcame the faults that had offended the King. Both finally rose to distinction, one as a lawyer, and the other as a statesman; and they owed their advancement in life chiefly to their good elocution.
DEFINITIONS.--1. Pe-ti'tion, a formal request. 3. Ar-tic'u-late, to utter the elementary sounds. Mod'u-late, to vary or inflect. Mo-not'o-ny, lack of variety. 4. Af-fect'ed, unnatural and silly. 9. Draft'ed, selected by lot. 10. Con-cise', brief and full of meaning. 11. Dis-charge', release. Dic'tate, to utter so that another may write it down. 12. Dis-tinc'tion, honorable and notable position. Ex-press', to make known the feelings of.
NOTES.--Frederick II. of Prussia (b. 1712, d. 1788), or Frederick the Great, as he was called, was one of the greatest of German rulers. He was distinguished for his military exploits, for his wise and just government, and for his literary attainments. He wrote many able works in the French language. Many pleasant anecdotes are told of this king, of which the one given in the lesson is a fair sample.
II. THE BLUEBELL.
1. There is a story I have heard-- A poet learned it of a bird, And kept its music every word--
2. A story of a dim ravine, O'er which the towering tree tops lean, With one blue rift of sky between;
3. And there, two thousand years ago, A little flower as white as snow Swayed in the silence to and fro.
4. Day after day, with longing eye, The floweret watched the narrow sky, And fleecy clouds that floated by.
5. And through the darkness, night by night, One gleaming star would climb the height, And cheer the lonely floweret's sight.
6. Thus, watching the blue heavens afar, And the rising of its favorite star, A slow change came--but not to mar;
7. For softly o'er its petals white There crept a blueness, like the light Of skies upon a summer night;
8. And in its chalice, I am told, The bonny bell was formed to hold A tiny star that gleamed like gold.
9. Now, little people, sweet and true, I find a lesson here for you Writ in the floweret's hell of blue:
10. The patient child whose watchful eye Strives after all things pure and high, Shall take their image by and by.
DEFINITIONS.--2. Rift, a narrow opening, a cleft. 3. Swayed, swung. 5. Height (pro. hite), an elevated place. 7. Pet'als, the colored leaves of a flower. 8. Chal'ice, a cup or bowl. Bon'ny, beautiful.
III. THE GENTLE HAND.
Timothy S. Arthur (b. 1809, d. 1885) was born near Newburgh, N.Y., but passed most of his life at Baltimore and Philadelphia. His opportunities for good schooling were quite limited, and he may be considered a self-educated man. He was the author of more than a hundred volumes, principally novels of a domestic and moral tone, and of many shorter tales--magazine articles, etc. "Ten Nights in a Barroom," and "Three Years in a Mantrap," are among his best known works.
1. When and where it matters not now to relate--but once upon a time, as I was passing through a thinly peopled district of country, night came down upon me almost unawares. Being on foot, I could not hope to gain the village toward which my steps were directed, until a late hour; and I therefore preferred seeking shelter and a night's lodging at the first humble dwelling that presented itself.
2. Dusky twilight was giving place to deeper shadows, when I found myself in the vicinity of a dwelling, from the small uncurtained windows of which the light shone with a pleasant promise of good cheer and comfort. The house stood within an inclosure, and a short distance from the road along which I was moving with wearied feet.
3. Turning aside, and passing through the ill-hung gate, I approached the dwelling. Slowly the gate swung on its wooden hinges, and the rattle of its latch, in closing, did not disturb the air until I had nearly reached the porch in front of the house, in which a slender girl, who had noticed my entrance, stood awaiting my arrival.
4. A deep, quick bark answered, almost like an echo, the sound of the shutting gate, and, sudden as an apparition, the form of an immense dog loomed in the doorway. At the instant when he was about to spring, a light hand was laid upon his shaggy neck, and a low word spoken.
5. "Go in, Tiger," said the girl, not in a voice of authority, yet in her gentle tones was the consciousness that she would be obeyed; and, as she spoke, she lightly bore upon the animal with her hand, and he turned away and disappeared within the dwelling.
6. "Who's that?" A rough voice asked the question; and now a heavy-looking man took the dog's place in the door.
7. "How far is it to G--?" I asked, not deeming it best to say, in the beginning, that I sought a resting place for the night.
8. "To G--!" growled the man, but not so harshly as at first. "It's good six miles from here."
9. "A long distance; and I'm a stranger and on foot," said I. "If you can make room for me until morning, I will be very thankful."
10. I saw the girl's hand move quickly up his arm, until it rested on his shoulder, and now she leaned to him still closer.
11. "Come in. We'll try what can be done for you." There was a change in the man's voice that made me wonder. I entered a large room, in which blazed a brisk fire. Before the fire sat two stout lads, who turned upon me their heavy eyes, with no very welcome greeting. A middle-aged woman was standing at a table, and two children were amusing themselves with a kitten on the floor.
12. "A stranger, mother," said the man who had given me so rude a greeting at the door; "and he wants us to let him stay all night."
13. The woman looked at me doubtingly for a few moments, and then replied coldly, "We don't keep a public house."
14. "I'm aware of that, ma'am," said I; "but night has overtaken me, and it's a long way yet to G--."
15. "Too far for a tired man to go on foot," said the master of the house, kindly, "so it's no use talking about it, mother; we must give him a bed."
16. So unobtrusively that I scarce noticed the movement, the girl had drawn to her mother's side. What she said to her I did not hear, for the brief words were uttered in a low voice; but I noticed, as she spoke, one small, fair hand rested on the woman's hand.
17. Was there magic in that touch? The woman's repulsive aspect changed into one of kindly welcome, and she said, "Yes, it's a long way to G--. I guess we can find a place for him."
18. Many times more during that evening, did I observe the magic power of that hand and voice--the one gentle yet potent as the other. On the next morning, breakfast being over, I was preparing to take my departure when my host informed me that if I would wait for half an hour he would give me a ride in his wagon to G--, as business required him to go there. I was very well pleased to accept of the invitation.
19. In due time, the farmer's wagon was driven into the road before the house, and I was invited to get in. I noticed the horse as a rough-looking Canadian pony, with a certain air of stubborn endurance. As the farmer took his seat by my side, the family came to the door to see us off.
20. "Dick!" said the farmer in a peremptory voice, giving the rein a quick jerk as he spoke. But Dick moved not a step. "Dick! you vagabond! get up." And the farmer's whip cracked sharply by the pony's ear.
21. It availed not, however, this second appeal. Dick stood firmly disobedient. Next the whip was brought down upon him with an impatient hand; but the pony only reared up a little. Fast and sharp the strokes were next dealt to the number of half a dozen. The man might as well have beaten the wagon, for all his end was gained.
22. A stout lad now came out into the road, and, catching Dick by the bridle, jerked him forward, using, at the same time, the customary language on such occasions, but Dick met this new ally with increased stubbornness, planting his fore feet more firmly and at a sharper angle with the ground.
23. The impatient boy now struck the pony on the side of the head with his clinched hand, and jerked cruelly at his bridle. It availed nothing, however; Dick was not to be wrought upon by any such arguments.
24. "Don't do so, John!" I turned my head as the maiden's sweet voice reached my ear. She was passing through the gate into the road, and in the next moment had taken hold of the lad and drawn him away from the animal. No strength was exerted in this; she took hold of his arm, and he obeyed her wish as readily as if he had no thought beyond her gratification.
25. And now that soft hand was laid gently on the pony's neck, and a single low word spoken. How instantly were the tense muscles relaxed--how quickly the stubborn air vanished!
26. "Poor Dick!" said the maiden, as she stroked his neck lightly, or softly patted it with a childlike hand. "Now, go along, you provoking fellow!" she added, in a half-chiding, yet affectionate voice, as she drew up the bridle.
27. The pony turned toward her, and rubbed his head against her arm for an instant or two; then, pricking up his ears, he started off at a light, cheerful trot, and went on his way as freely as if no silly crotchet had ever entered his stubborn brain.
28. "What a wonderful power that hand possesses!" said I, speaking to my companion, as we rode away.
29. He looked at me for a moment, as if my remark had occasioned surprise. Then a light came into his countenance, and he said briefly, "She's good! Everybody and everything loves her."
30. Was that, indeed, the secret of her power? Was the quality of her soul perceived in the impression of her hand, even by brute beasts! The father's explanation was doubtless the true one. Yet have I ever since wondered, and still do wonder, at the potency which lay in that maiden's magic touch. I have seen something of the same power, showing itself in the loving and the good, but never to the extent as instanced in her, whom, for want of a better name, I must still call "Gentle Hand."
DEFINITIONS.--2. Vi-cin'i-ty, neighborhood. 16. Un-ob-tru'-sive-ly, not noticeably, modestly. 17. Re-pul'sive, repelling, forbid-ding. 18. Po'tent, powerful, effective. Host, one from whom another receives food, lodging, or entertainment. 20. Per'emp-to-ry, commanding, decisive. 21. A-vailed', was of use, had effect. 22. Al-ly', a confederate, one who unites with another in some purpose. 25. Tense, strained to stiffness, rigid. Re-laxed', loosened. 20. Chid'ing, scolding, rebuking. 27. Crotch'et, a perverse fancy, a whim. 30. In'stanced, mentioned as an example.
IV. THE GRANDFATHER.
Charles G. Eastman (b. 1816, d.1861) was born in Maine, but removed at an early age to Vermont, where he was connected with the press at Burlington, Woodstock, and Montpelier. He published a volume of poems in 1848, written in a happy lyric and ballad style, and faithfully portraying rural life in New England.
1. The farmer sat in his easy-chair Smoking his pipe of clay, While his hale old wife with busy care, Was clearing the dinner away; A sweet little girl with fine blue eyes, On her grandfather's knee, was catching flies.
2. The old man laid his hand on her head, With a tear on his wrinkled face, He thought how often her mother, dead, Had sat in the selfsame place; As the tear stole down from his half-shut eye, "Don't smoke!" said the child, "how it makes you cry!"
3. The house dog lay stretched out on the floor, Where the shade, afternoons, used to steal; The busy old wife by the open door Was turning the spinning wheel, And the old brass clock on the manteltree Had plodded along to almost three.
4. Still the farmer sat in his easy-chair, While close to his heaving breast The moistened brow and the cheek so fair Of his sweet grandchild were pressed; His head bent down, all her soft hair lay; Fast asleep were they both on that summer day.
DEFINITIONS.--1. Hale, healthy. 3. Man'tel-tree, shelf over a fireplace. Plod'ded, went slowly. 4. Heaving, rising and falling.
V. A BOY ON A FARM.
Charles Dudley Warner (b. 1829,--) was born at Plainfield, Mass. In 1851 he graduated at Hamilton College, and in 1856 was admitted to the bar at Philadelphia, but moved to Chicago to practice his profession. There he remained until 1860, when he became connected with the press at Hartford, Conn., and has ever since devoted himself to literature. "My Summer in a Garden," "Saunterings," and "Backlog Studies" are his best known works. The following extract is from "Being a Boy."
1. Say what you will about the general usefulness of boys, it is my impression that a farm without a boy would very soon come to grief. What the boy does is the life of the farm. He is the factotum, always in demand, always expected to do the thousand indispensable things that nobody else will do. Upon him fall all the odds and ends, the most difficult things.
2. After everybody else is through, he has to finish up. His work is like a woman's,--perpetually waiting on others. Everybody knows how much easier it is to eat a good dinner than it is to wash the dishes afterwards. Consider what a boy on a farm is required to do,--things that must be done, or life would actually stop.