LXXXVIII. THE PEEVISH WIFE. (continued 2)

15. At length the time came when Mr. Esmond was to have done with the affairs of this life, and he laid them down as if glad to be rid of their burden. All who read and heard that discourse, wondered where Parson Broadbent of James Town found the eloquence and the Latin which adorned it. Perhaps Mr. Dempster knew, the boys' Scotch tutor, who corrected the proofs of the oration, which was printed, by the desire of his Excellency and many persons of honor, at Mr. Franklin's press in Philadelphia.

16. No such sumptuous funeral had ever bean seen in the country as that which Madam Esmond Warrington ordained for her father, who would have been the first to smile at that pompous grief.

17. The little lads of Castlewood, almost smothered in black trains and hatbands, headed the procession and were followed by my Lord Fairfax, from Greenway Court, by his Excellency the Governor of Virginia (with his coach), by the Randolphs, the Careys, the Harrisons, the Washingtons, and many others; for the whole country esteemed the departed gentleman, whose goodness, whose high talents, whose benevolence and unobtrusive urbanity, had earned for him the just respect of his neighbors. 18. When informed of the event, the family of Colonel Esmond's stepson, the Lord Castlewood of Hampshire in England, asked to be at the charges of the marble slab which recorded the names and virtues of his lordship's mother and her husband; and after due time of preparation, the monument was set up, exhibiting the arms and coronet of the Esmonds, supported by a little, chubby group of weeping cherubs, and reciting an epitaph which for once did not tell any falsehoods.

DEFINTIONS.—1. Pat-ri-mo'ni-al, inherited from ancestors. 6. Dis-af-fect'ed, discouraged. 7. Ob-se'qui-ous, compliant to excess. 12. Black'a-moor, a negro. 17. Ur-ban'i-ty, civility or courtesy of manners, refinement. 18. Ep'i-taph (pro. ep'i-taf), an inscription on a monument, in honor or in memory of the dead.

NOTES.—2. Roundhead was the epithet applied to the Puritans by the Cavaliers in the time of Charles I. It arose from the practice among the Puritans of cropping their hair peculiarly.

3. Patriarchal. 5. Feudal. The Jewish patriarch, in olden times, and the head of a noble family in Europe, during the Middle Ages, when the "Feudal System," as it is called, existed, both held almost despotic sway, the one over his great number of descendants and relations, and the other over a vast body of subjects or retainers. Both patriarch and feudal lord were less restricted than the modern king, and the feudal lord, especially, lived in a state of great magnificence.

15. Proofs. When matter is to be printed, a rough impression of it is taken as soon as the type is set up, and sent to the editor or some other authority for correction. These first sheets are called proofs.

"His Excellency" was the title applied to the governor.

CVIII. MINOT'S LEDGE.

Fitz-James O'Brien (b. 1828, d. 1862) was of Irish birth, and came to America in 1852. He has contributed a number of tales and poems to various periodicals, but his writings have never been collected in book form. Mr. O'Brien belonged to the New York Seventh Regiment, and died at Baltimore of a wound received in a cavalry skirmish.

1. Like spectral hounds across the sky, The white clouds scud before the storm; And naked in the howling night The red-eyed lighthouse lifts its form. The waves with slippery fingers clutch The massive tower, and climb and fall, And, muttering, growl with baffled rage Their curses on the sturdy wall.

2. Up in the lonely tower he sits, The keeper of the crimson light: Silent and awe-struck does he hear The imprecations of the night. The white spray beats against the panes Like some wet ghost that down the air Is hunted by a troop of fiends, And seeks a shelter anywhere.

3. He prays aloud, the lonely man, For every soul that night at sea, But more than all for that brave boy Who used to gayly climb his knee,— Young Charlie, with his chestnut hair, And hazel eyes, and laughing lip. "May Heaven look down," the old man cries. "Upon my son, and on his ship!"

4. While thus with pious heart he prays, Far in the distance sounds a boom: He pauses; and again there rings That sullen thunder through the room. A ship upon the shoals to-night! She cannot hold for one half hour; But clear the ropes and grappling hooks, And trust in the Almighty Power!

5. On the drenched gallery he stands, Striving to pierce the solid night: Across the sea the red eye throws A steady crimson wake of light; And, where it falls upon the waves, He sees a human head float by, With long drenched curls of chestnut hair, And wild but fearless hazel eye.

6. Out with the hooks! One mighty fling! Adown the wind the long rope curls. Oh! will it catch? Ah, dread suspense! While the wild ocean wilder whirls. A steady pull; it tightens now: Oh! his old heart will burst with joy, As on the slippery rocks he pulls The breathing body of his boy.

7. Still sweep the specters through the sky; Still scud the clouds before the storm; Still naked in the howling night The red-eyed lighthouse lifts its form. Without, the world is wild with rage; Unkenneled demons are abroad; But with the father and the son Within, there is the peace of God.

NOTE.—Minot's Ledge (also called the "Cohasset Rocks") is a dangerous reef in Boston Harbor, eight miles southwest of Boston Light. It has a fixed light of its own, sixty-six feet high.

CIX. HAMLET.

William Shakespeare (b. 1564, d. 1616), by many regarded as the greatest poet the world has ever produced, was born at Stratford-upon-Avon, England. He was married, when very young, to a woman eight years his senior, went to London, was joint proprietor of Blackfriar's Theater in 1589, wrote poems and plays, was an actor, accumulated some property, and retired to Stratford three or four years before his death. He was buried in Stratford church, where a monument has been erected to his memory. This is all that is known of him with any degree of certainty.

Shakespeare's works consist chiefly of plays and sonnets. They show a wonderful knowledge of human nature, expressed in language remarkable for its point and beauty.

(ACT I, SCENE II. HAMLET alone in a room, of the castle. Enter HORATIO, MARCELLUS, and BERNARDO.)

Hor. Hail, to your lordship!

Ham. I am glad to see you well: Horatio,—or I do forgot myself.

Hor. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever.

Ham. Sir, my good friend; I'll change that name with you: And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?— Macellus?

Mar. My good lord—

Ham. I am very glad to see you. [To Ber.] Good even, sir. But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

Hor. A truant disposition, good my lord.

Ham. I would not hear your enemy say so, Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, To make it truster of your own report Against yourself: I knew you are no truant. But what is your affair in Elsinore? We'll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.

Hor. My lord, I came to see your father's funeral.

Ham. I pray thee, do not mock me, follow-student; I think it was to see my mother's wedding.

Hor. Indeed, my lord, it followed hard upon.

Ham. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! the funeral baked meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio! My father!—methinks I see my father.

Hor. Where, my lord?

Ham. In my mind's eye, Horatio.

Hor. I saw him once; he was a goodly king.

Ham. He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again.

Hor. My lord, I think I saw him yesternight.

Ham. Saw? who?

Hor. My lord, the king your father.

Ham. The king my father!

Hor. Season your admiration for a while With an attent ear, till I may deliver, Upon the witness of these gentlemen, This marvel to you.

Ham. For God's love, let me hear.

Hor. Two nights together had these gentlemen, Marcellus and Bernardo, on their watch, In the dead vast and middle of the night, Been thus encounter'd. A figure like your father, Armed at point exactly, cap-a-pie. Appears before them, and with solemn march Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk'd By their oppress'd and fear-surprised eyes, Within his trucheon's length; whilst they, distill'd Almost to jelly with the act of fear, Stand dumb and speak not to him. This to me In dreadful secrecy impart they did; And I with them the third night kept the watch: Where, as they had deliver'd, both in time, Form of the thing, each word made true and good, The apparition comes: I knew your father; These hands are not more like.

Ham. But where was this?

Mar. My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd.

Ham. Did you speak to it?

Hor. My lord, I did; But answer made it none: yet once methought It lifted up its head and did address Itself to motion, like as it would speak; But even then the morning cock crew loud, And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, And vanish'd from our sight.

Ham. 'T is very strange.

Hor. As I do live, my honor'd lord, 't is true; And we did think it writ down in our duty To let you know of it.

Ham. Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me, Hold you the watch to-night?

Mar. Ber. We do, my lord.

Ham. Arm'd, say you?

Mar. Ber. Arm'd, my lord.

Ham. From top to toe?

Mar. Ber. My lord, from head to foot.

Ham. Then saw you not his face?

Hor. Oh, yes, my lord; he wore his beaver up.

Ham. What, look'd he frowningly?

Hor. A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.

Ham. Pale or red?

Hor. Nay, very pale.

Ham. And fix'd his eyes upon you?

Hor. Most constantly.

Ham. I would I had been there.

Hor. It would have much amazed you.

Ham. Very like, very like. Stay'd it long?

Hor. While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred.

Mar. Ber. Longer, longer.

Hor. Not when I saw't.

Ham. His beard was grizzled,—no?

Hor. It was, as I have seen it in his life, A sable silver'd.

Ham. I will watch to-night; Perchance 't will walk again.

Hor. I warrant it will.

Ham. If it assume my noble father's person, I'll speak to it, though hell itself should gape And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, If you have hitherto conceal'd this sight, Let it be tenable in your silence still; And whatsoever else shall hap to-night, Give it an understanding, but no tongue: I will requite your loves. So, fare you well: Upon the platform, 'twixt eleven and twelve, I'll visit you.

DEFINITIONS.—Tru'ant, wandering from business, loitering. Trust'er, a believer. At-tent', attentive, heedful. De-liv'er, to communicate, to utter. Cap-a-pie' (from the French, pro. kap-a-pee'), from head to foot. Trun'cheon (pro. trun'shun), a short staff, a baton. Bea'ver, a part of the helmet covering the face, so constructed that the wearer could raise or lower it. Ten'a-ble, capable of being held.

NOTES.—What make you from Wittenberg? i.e., what are you doing away from Wittenberg?

Wittenberg is a university town in Saxony, where Hamlet and Horatio had been schoolfellows.

Elsinore is a fortified town on one of the Danish islands, and was formerly the seat of one of the royal castles. It is the scene of Shakespeare's "Hamlet."

Hard upon; i.e., soon after.

Funeral baked meats. This has reference to the ancient custom of funeral feasts.

My dearest foe; i.e., my greatest foe. A common use of the word "dearest" in Shakespeare's time.

Or ever, i.e., before.

Season your admiration; i.e., restrain your wonder.

The dead vast; i.e., the dead void.

Armed at point; i.e., armed at all points.

Did address itself to motion; i.e., made a motion.

Give it an understanding, etc.; i.e., understand, but do not speak of it.

I will requite your loves, or, as we should say, I will repay your friendship.

CX. DISSERTATION ON ROAST PIG.

Charles Lamb (b. 1775, d. 1834) was born in London. He was educated at Christ's Hospital, where he was a schoolfellow and intimate friend of Coleridge. In 1792 he became a clerk in the India House, London, and in 1825 he retired from his clerkship on a pension of 441 Pounds. Lamb never married, but devoted his life to the care of his sister Mary, who was at times insane. He wrote "Tales founded on the Plays of Shakespeare," and several other works of rare merit; but his literary fame rests principally on the inimitable "Essays of Elia" (published originally in the "London Magazine"), from one of which the following selection is adapted.

1. Mankind, says a Chinese manuscript, which my friend M. was obliging enough to read and explain to me, for the first seventy thousand ages ate their meat raw, clawing or biting it from the living animal, just as they do in Abyssinia to this day.

2. This period is not obscurely hinted at by their great Confucius in the second chapter of his "Mundane Mutations," where he designates a kind of golden age by the term Cho-fang, literally the Cooks' Holiday. The manuscript goes on to say that the art of roasting, or rather broiling (which I take to be the elder brother), was accidentally discovered in the manner following:

3. The swineherd, Ho-ti, having gone out into the woods one morning, as his manner was, to collect mast for his hogs, left his cottage in the care of his eldest son, Bo-bo, a great lubberly boy, who, being fond of playing with fire, as younkers of his age commonly are, let some sparks escape into a bundle of straw, which, kindling quickly, spread the conflagration over every part of their poor mansion till it was reduced to ashes.

4. Together with the cottage,—a sorry, antediluvian makeshift of a building, you may think it,—what was of much more importance, a fine litter of newborn pigs, no less than nine in number, perished. China pigs have been esteemed a luxury all over the East from the remotest periods we read of.

5. Bo-bo was in the utmost consternation, as you may think, not so much for the sake of the tenement, which his father and he could easily build up again with a few dry branches, and the labor of an hour or two, at any time, as for the loss of the pigs. While he was thinking what he should say to his father, and wringing his hands over the smoking remnants of one of those untimely sufferers, an odor assailed his nostrils unlike any scent which he had before experienced.

6. What, could it proceed from? Not from the burnt cottage,—he had smelt that smell before,—indeed, this was by no means the first accident of the kind which had occurred through the negligence of this unlucky young firebrand. Much less did it resemble that of any known herb, weed, or flower. A premonitory moistening at the same time overflowed his nether lip. He knew not what to think.

7. He next stooped down to feel the pig, if there were any signs of life in it. He burnt his fingers, and to cool them he applied them in his booby fashion to his mouth. Some of the crumbs of the scorched skin had come away with his fingers, and for the first time in his life (in the world's life, indeed, for before him no man had known it) he tasted—crackling! Again he felt and fumbled at the pig. It did not burn him so much now; still he licked his fingers from a sort of habit.

8. The truth at length broke into his slow understanding that it was the pig that smelt so, and the pig that tasted so delicious; and surrendering himself up to the newborn pleasure, he fell to tearing up whole handfuls of the scorched skin with the flesh next it, and was cramming it down his throat in his beastly fashion, when his sire entered amid the smoking rafters, armed with a retributory cudgel, and, finding how affairs stood, began to rain blows upon the young rogue's shoulders as thick as hailstones, which Bo-bo heeded not any more than if they had been flies.

9. His father might lay on, but he could not beat him from his pig till he had fairly made an end of it, when, becoming a little more sensible of his situation, something like the following dialogue eusued:

"You graceless whelp, what have you got there devouring? Is it not enough that you have burnt me down three houses with your dog's tricks, and be hanged to you! but you must be eating fire, and I know not what? What have you got there, I say?"

"O father, the pig, the pig! do come and taste how nice the burnt pig eats!"

10. The ears of Ho-ti tingled with horror. He cursed his son, and he cursed himself that he should ever have a son that should eat burnt pig.

Bo-bo, whose scent was wonderfully sharpened since morning, soon raked out another pig, and, fairly rending it asunder, thrust the lesser half by main force into the fists of Ho-ti, still shouting out, "Eat, eat, eat the burnt pig, father! only taste! Oh!" with such like barbarous ejaculations, cramming all the while as if he would choke.

11. Ho-ti trembled in every joint while he grasped the abominable thing, wavering whether he should not put his son to death for an unnatural young monster, when the crackling scorching his fingers, as it had done his son's, and applying the same remedy to them, he in his turn tasted some of its flavor, which, make what sour mouths he would for a pretense, proved not altogether displeasing to him. In conclusion (for the manuscript here is a little tedious), both father and son fairly sat down to the mess, and never left off till they had dispatched all that remained of the litter.

12. Bo-bo was strictly enjoined not to let the secret escape, for the neighbors would certainly have stoned them for a couple of abominable wretches, who could think of improving upon the good meat which God had sent them. Nevertheless strange stories got about. It was observed that Ho-ti's cottage was burnt down now more frequently than ever. Nothing but fires from this time forward. Some would break out in broad day, others in the night-time; and Ho-ti himself, which was the more remarkable, instead of chastising his son, seemed to grow more indulgent to him than ever.

13. At length they were watched, the terrible mystery discovered, and father and son summoned to take their trial at Pekin, then an inconsiderable assize town. Evidence was given, the obnoxious food itself produced in court, and verdict about to be pronounced, when the foreman of the jury begged that some of the burnt pig, of which the culprits stood accused, might be handed into the box.

14. He handled it, and they all handled it; and burning their fingers, as Bo-bo and his father had done before them, and nature prompting to each of them the same remedy, against the face of all the facts, and the clearest charge which the judge had ever given,—to the surprise of the whole court, townsfolk, strangers, reporters, and all present,—without leaving the box, or any manner of consultation whatever, they brought in a simultaneous verdict of "Not Guilty."

15. The judge, who was a shrewd fellow, winked at the manifest iniquity of the decision; and when the court was dismissed, went privily, and bought up all the pigs that could be had for love or money. In a few days his lordship's townhouse was observed to be on fire.

16. The thing took wing, and now there was nothing to be seen but fire in every direction. Fuel and pigs grew enormously dear all over the district. The insurance offices one and all shut up shop. People built slighter and slighter every day, until it was feared that the very science of architecture would in no long time be lost to the world.

17. Thus this custom of firing houses continued till in process of time, says my manuscript, a sage arose, like our Locke, who made a discovery that the flesh of swine, or indeed of any other animal, might be cooked (burnt, as they called it) without the necessity of consuming a whole house to dress it.

18. Then first began the rude form of a gridiron. Roasting by the string or spit came in a century or two later; I forget in whose dynasty. By such slow degrees, concludes the manuscript, do the most useful, and seemingly the most obvious, arts make their way among mankind.

19. Without placing too implicit faith in the account above given, it must be agreed that if a worthy pretext for so dangerous an experiment as setting houses on fire (especially in these days) could be assigned in favor of any culinary object that pretext and excuse might be found in Roast Pig.

DEFINITIONS.—3. Youn'kers, young persons. 4. An-te-di-lu'-vi-an (literally, existing before the flood), very ancient. Make'shlft, that which answers a need with the best means at hand. 6. Pre-mon'i-to-ry, giving previous warning. 8. Re-trib'u-to-ry, rewarding, retaliating. 12. En-joined', ordered, commanded. l3. Ob-nox'-ious (pro. oh-nok'shus), liable to censure, offensive. 18. Dy'nas-ty, sovereignty, reign. 19. Im-plic'it, trusting without doubt. Cu'li-na-ry, relating to the kitchen.

NOTES.—1. Abyssinia is a country of eastern Africa.

2. Confucius (pro. Con-fu'she-us; the Chinese name is Kong-fu-tse', pro. Kong-foot-sa') was a celebrated Chinese philosopher (b. 551 B.C.) who did much for the moral improvement of his country.

The Golden Age was supposed to be that period in the various stages of human civilization when the greatest simplicity existed; the fruits of the earth sprang up without cultivation, and spring was the only season.

13. Pekin is the capital of China. An assize town is a town where the assizes, or periodical sittings of a court, are held.

17. Locke (b. 1632, d. 1704) was one of the most illustrious of English philosophers.

CXI. A PEN PICTURE.

William Black (b. 1841,—-) is one of the leading modern novelist of England. The scenes of his stories are for the most part laid in Scotland, and he excels in the delineation of Scotch character. But his most remarkable power is seen in those vivid, poetical descriptions of scenery, of which the following selection, adapted from "The Princess of Thule," is a good example. Mr. Black's most noted works, in addition to the one named, are: "A Daughter of Heth," "The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton," "Kilmeny," and "McLeod of Dare."

1. Lavender had already transformed Sheila into a heroine during the half hour of their stroll from the beach and around the house; and as they sat at dinner on this still, brilliant evening in summer, he clothed her in the garments of romance.

2. Her father, with his great, gray beard and heavy brow, became the King of Thule, living in this solitary house overlooking the sea, and having memories of a dear sweetheart. His daughter, the Princess, had the glamour of a thousand legends dwelling in her beautiful eyes; and when she walked by the shores of the Atlantic, that were now getting yellow under the sunset, what strange and unutterable thoughts must appear in the wonder of her face!

3. After dinner they went outside and sat down on a bench in the garden. It was a cool and pleasant evening. The sun had gone down in red fire behind the Atlantic, and there was still left a rich glow of crimson in the west, while overhead, in the pale yellow of the sky, some filmy clouds of rose color lay motionless. How calm was the sea out there, and the whiter stretch of water coming into Loch Roag! The cool air of the twilight was scented with sweetbrier. The wash of the ripples along the coast could be heard in the stillness.

4. The girl put her hand on her father's head, and reminded him that she had had her big greyhound, Bras, imprisoned all the afternoon, and that she had to go down to Borvabost with a message for some people who were leaving by the boat in the morning.

"But you can not go away down to Borvabost by yourself, Sheila," said Ingram. "It will be dark before you return."

"It will not be darker than this all the night through," said the girl.

5. "But I hope you will let us go with you," said Lavender, rather anxiously; and she assented with a gracious smile, and went to fetch the great deerhound that was her constant companion. And lo! he found himself walking with a Princess in this wonderland, through the magic twilight that prevails in northern latitudes. Mackenzie and Ingram had gone to the front. The large deerhound, after regarding him attentively, had gone to its mistress's side, and remained closely there.

6. Even Sheila, when they had reached the loftiest part of their route, and could see beneath them the island and the water surrounding it, was struck by the exceeding beauty of the twilight; and as for her companion, he remembered it many a time thereafter, as if it were a dream of the sea.

7. Before them lay the Atlantic—a pale line of blue, still, silent, and remote. Overhead the sky was of a clear, thin gold, with heavy masses of violet cloud stretched across from north to south, and thickening as they got near the horizon. Down at their feet, near the shore, a dusky line of huts and houses was scarcely visible; and over these lay a pale blue film of peat smoke that did not move in the still air.

8. Then they saw the bay into which the White Water runs, and they could trace the yellow glimmer of the river stretching into the island through a level valley of bog and morass. Far away towards the east lay the bulk of the island,—dark green undulations of moorland and pasture; and there, in the darkness, the gable of one white house had caught the clear light of the sky, and was gleaming westward like a star.

9. But all this was as nothing to the glory that began to shine in the southeast, where the sky was of a pale violet over the peaks of Mealasabhal and Suainabhal. There, into the beautiful dome, rose the golden crescent of the moon, warm in color, as though it still retained the last rays of the sunset. A line of quivering gold fell across Loch Roag, and touched the black hull and spars of the boat in which Sheila had been sailing in the morning.

10. That bay down there, with its white sands and massive rocks, its still expanse of water, and its background of mountain peaks palely covered by the yellow moonlight, seemed really a home for a magic princess who was shut off from all the world. But here, in front of them, was another sort of sea, and another sort of life,—a small fishing village hidden under a cloud of pale peat smoke, and fronting the great waters of the Atlantic itself, which lay under a gloom of violet clouds.

11. On the way home it was again Lavender's good fortune to walk with Sheila across the moorland path they had traversed some little time before. And now the moon was still higher in the heavens, and the yellow lane of light that crossed the violet waters of Loch Roag quivered in a deeper gold. The night air was scented with the Dutch clover growing down by the shore. They could hear the curlew whistling and the plover calling amid that monotonous plash of the waves that murmured all around the coast.

12. When they returned to the house, the darker waters of the Atlantic and the purple clouds of the west were shut out from sight; and before them there was only the liquid plain of Loch Roag, with its pathway of yellow fire, and far away on the other side the shoulders and peaks of the southern mountains, that had grown gray and clear and sharp in the beautiful twilight. And this was Sheila's home.

DEFINITIONS.—2. Gla'mour (pro. gla'moor), witchery, or a charm on the eyes, making them see things differently from what they really are. 3. Loch (pro. lok), a lake, a bay or arm of the sea. 7. Peat, a kind of turf used for fuel. 11. Cur'lew (pro. kur'lu), an aquatic bird which takes its name from its cry. Plov'er (pro. pluv'er), a game bird frequenting river banks and the sea-shore.

NOTES.—Of the characters mentioned in this selection, Sheila is a young Scotch girl living on the small island of Borva, which her father owns; it lies just west of Lewis, one of the Hebrides. Ingram is an old friend and frequent visitor, while Lavender, a friend of Ingram's, is on his first visit to the island.

2. Thule (pro. Thu'le) is the name given by an ancient Greek navigator, Pytheas, to the northernmost region of Europe. The exact locality of Thule is a disputed point.

3. Loch Roag (pro. Rog') is all inlet of the sea, west of Lewis, in which Borva is situated.

4. Borvabost, a little town at Borva. Bost means an inhabited place.

9. Mealasabhal and Suainabhal are mountains on the island of Lewis. Bhal is Gaelic for mountain.

CXII. THE GREAT VOICES.

Charles T. Brooks (b. 1813, d. 1833)[1] was born at Salem, Mass., and was the valedictorian of his class at Harvard College, where he graduated in 1832. He shortly afterwards entered the ministry, and had charge of a congregation at Newport, R.I. He was a great student of German literature, and began his own literary career by a translations of Schiller's "William Tell." This was followed by numerous translations from the German, mainly poetry, which have been published from time to time, in several volumes. Of these translations, Goethe's "Faust," Richter's "Titan" and "Hesperus," and a humorous poem by Dr. Karl Arnold Kortum, "The Life, Opinions, Actions, and Fate of Hieronimus Jobs, the Candidate," deserve especial mention. Mr. Brooks also published a number of original poems, addresses, etc.

[Transcriber's Note 1: The correct dates are June, 20 1813 to June 14, 1883.]

1. A voice from the sea to the mountains, From the mountains again to the sea; A call from the deep to the fountains,— "O spirit! be glad and be free."

2. A cry from the floods to the fountains; And the torrents repeat the glad song As they leap from the breast of the mountains,— "O spirit! be free and be strong."

3. The pine forests thrill with emotion Of praise, as the spirit sweeps by: With a voice like the murmur of ocean To the soul of the listener they cry.

4. Oh! sing, human heart, like the fountains, With joy reverential and free, Contented and calm as the mountains, And deep as the woods and the sea.

CXIII. A PICTURE OF HUMAN LIFE.

Samuel Johnson (b. 1709, d. 1784). This remarkable man was born in Lichfield, Staffordshire, England. He was the son of a bookseller and stationer. He entered Pembroke College, Oxford, in 1728; but his poverty compelled him to leave at the end of three years. Soon after his marriage, in 1736, he opened a private school, but obtained only three pupils, one of whom was David Garrick, afterwards a celebrated actor. In 1737, he removed to London, where he resided most of the rest of his life. The most noted of his numerous literary works are his "Dictionary," the first one of the English language worthy of mention, "The Vanity of Human Wishes," a poem, "The Rambler," "Rasselas," "The Lives of the English Poets," and his edition of Shakespeare. An annual pension of 300 pounds was granted him in 1762.

In person, Johnson was heavy and awkward; in manner, boorish and overbearing; but his learning and his great powers caused his company to be sought by many eminent men.

1. Obidah, the son of Abnesina, left the caravansary early in the morning, and pursued his journey through the plains of Hindostan. He was fresh and vigorous with rest; he was animated with hope; he was incited by desire; he walked swiftly forward over the valleys, and saw the hills gradually rising before him.

2. As he passed along, his ears were delighted with the morning song of the bird of paradise; he was fanned by the last flutters of the sinking breeze, and sprinkled with dew by groves of spices; he sometimes contemplated towering height of the oak, monarch of the hills; and sometimes caught the gentle fragrance of the primrose, eldest daughter of the spring; all his senses were gratified, and all care was banished from his heart.

3. Thus he went on, till the sun approached his meridian, and the increasing heat preyed upon his strength; he then looked round about him for some more commodious path. He saw, on his right hand, a grove that seemed to wave its shades as a sign of invitation; he entered it, and found the coolness and verdure irresistibly pleasant. He did not, however, forget whither he was traveling, but found a narrow way, bordered with flowers, which appeared to have the same direction with the main road, and was pleased, that, by this happy experiment, he had found means to unite pleasure with business, and to gain the rewards of diligence without suffering its fatigues.

4. He, therefore, still continued to walk for a time, without the least remission of his ardor, except that he was sometimes tempted to stop by the music of the birds, which the heat had assembled in the shade, and sometimes amused himself with picking the flowers that covered the banks on each side, or the fruits that hung upon the branches. At last, the green path began to decline from its first tendency, and to wind among the hills and thickets, cooled with fountains, and murmuring with waterfalls.

5. Here Obidah paused for a time, and began to consider whether it was longer safe to forsake the known and common track; but, remembering that the heat was now in its greatest violence, and that the plain was dusty and uneven, he resolved to pursue the new path, which he supposed only to make a few meanders, in compliance with the garieties of the ground, and to end at last in the common road.

6. Having thus calmed his solicitude, he renewed his pace, though he suspected he was not gaining ground. This uneasiness of his mind inclined him to lay hold on every new object, and give way to every sensation that might soothe or divert him. He listened to every echo, he mounted every hill for a fresh prospect, he turned aside to every cascade, and pleased himself with tracing the course of a gentle river that rolled among the trees, and watered a large region, with innumerable circumvolutions.

7. In these amusements, the hours passed away uncounted; his deviations had perplexed his memory, and he knew not toward what point to travel. He stood pensive and confused, afraid to go forward lest he should go wrong, yet conscious that the time of loitering was now past. While he was thus tortured with uncertainty, the sky was overspread with clouds, the day vanished from before him, and a sudden tempest gathered round his head.

8. He was now roused by his danger to a quick and painful remembrance of his folly; he now saw how happiness is lost when ease is consulted; he lamented the unmanly impatience that prompted him to seek shelter in the grove, and despised the petty curiosity that led him on from trifle to trifle. While he was thus reflecting, the air grew blacker and a clap of thunder broke his meditation.

9. He now resolved to do what remained yet in his power; to tread back the ground which he had passed, and try to find some issue where the wood might open into the plain. He prostrated himself upon the ground, and commended his life to the Lord of nature. He rose with confidence and tranquillity, and pressed on with his saber in his hand; for the beasts of the desert were in motion, and on every hand were heard the mingled howls of rage, and fear, and ravage, and expiration; all the horrors of darkness and solitude surrounded him; the winds roared in the woods, and the torrents tumbled from the hills.

10. Thus, forlorn and distressed, he wandered through the wild without knowing whither he was going or whether he was every moment drawing nearer to safety or to destruction. At length, not fear but labor began to overcome him; his breath grew short, and his knees trembled, and he was on the point of lying down, in resignation to his fate, when he beheld, through the brambles, the glimmer of a taper. He advanced toward the light, and finding that it proceeded from the cottage of a hermit, he called humbly at the door, and obtained admission. The old man set before him such provisions as he had collected for himself, on which Obidah fed with eagerness and gratitude.

11. When the repast was over, "Tell me," said the hermit, "by what chance thou hast been brought hither; I have been now twenty years an inhabitant of this wilderness, in which I never saw a man before." Obidah then related the occurrences of his journey, without any concealment or palliation.

12. "Son," said the hermit, "let the errors and follies, the dangers and escapes, of this day, sink deep into your heart. Remember, my son, that human life is the journey of a day. We rise in the morning of youth, full of vigor, and full of expectation; we set forward with spirit and hope, with gayety and with diligence, and travel on awhile in the straight road of piety toward the mansions of rest. In a short time we remit our fervor, and endeavor to find some mitigation of our duty, and some more easy means of obtaining the same end.

13. "We then relax our vigor, and resolve no longer to be terrified with crimes at a distance, but rely upon our own constancy, and venture to approach what we resolve never to touch. We thus enter the bowers of ease, and repose in the shades of security. Here the heart softens, and vigilance subsides; we are then willing to inquire whether another advance can not be made, and whether we may not at least turn our eyes upon the gardens of pleasure. We approach them with scruple and hesitation; we enter them, but enter timorous and trembling, and always hope to pass through them without losing the road of virtue, which we for a while keep in our sight, and to which we propose to return.

14. "But temptation succeeds temptation, and one compliance prepares us for another; we, in time, lose the happiness of innocence, and solace our disquiet with sensual gratifications. By degrees we let fall the remembrance of our original intention, and quit the only adequate object of rational desire. We entangle ourselves in business, immerge ourselves in luxury, and rove through the labyrinths of inconstancy till the darkness of old age begins to invade us, and disease and anxiety obstruct our way. We then look back upon our lives with horror, with sorrow, and with repentance; and wish, but too often vainly wish, that we had not forsaken the paths of virtue.

15. "Happy are they, my son, who shall learn, from thy example, not to despair, but shall remember that though the day is past, and their strength is wasted, there yet remains one effort to be made; that reformation is never hopeless, nor sincere endeavors ever unassisted; that the wanderer may at length return after all his errors; and that he who implores strength and courage from above, shall find danger and difficulty give way before him. Go now, my son, to thy repose: commit thyself to the care of Omnipotence; and when the morning calls again to toil, begin anew thy journey and thy life."

DEFINITIONS.—1. Car-a-van sa-ry, a kind of inn in the East, where caravans (or large companies of traders) rest at night. 5. Me-an'ders, windings, turnings. 6. Cir-cum-vo-lu'tions, windings or flowings around. 7. De-vi-a'tions, wanderins from one's course. 9. Ex-pi-ra'tion, death. 11. Pal-li-a'tion, concealment of the most blamable circumstances of an offence. 12. Mit-i-ga'tion, abatement, the act of rendering less severe. 14. Ad'e-quate, fully sufficient. Lab'y-rinth, a place full of winding passages.

CXIV. A SUMMER LONGING.

George Arnold (b. 1834, d. 1865) was born in New York, but removed with his parents to Illinois while yet an infant. There he passed his boyhood, being educated at home by his parents. In 1849 the family again removed to Strawberry Farms, Monmouth County, N.J. When eighteen years old he began to study painting, but soon gave up the art and devoted himself to literature. He became a journalist of New York City, and his productions include almost every variety of writings found in the literary magazines. After his death, two volumes of his poems, "Drift: a Seashore Idyl," and "Poems, Grave and Gay," were edited by Mr. William Winter.

1. I must away to the wooded hills and vales, Where broad, slow streams flow cool and silently And idle barges flap their listless sails. For me the summer sunset glows and pales, And green fields wait for me.

2. I long for shadowy founts, where the birds Twitter and chirp at noon from every tree; I long for blossomed leaves and lowing herds; And Nature's voices say in mystic words, "The green fields wait for thee."

3. I dream of uplands, where the primrose shines And waves her yellow lamps above the lea; Of tangled copses, swung with trailing vines; Of open vistas, skirted with tall pines, Where green fields wait for me.

4. I think of long, sweet afternoons, when I May lie and listen to the distant sea, Or hear the breezes in the reeds that sigh, Or insect voices chirping shrill and dry, In fields that wait for me.

5. These dreams of summer come to bid me find The forest's shade, the wild bird's melody, While summer's rosy wreaths for me are twined, While summer's fragrance lingers on the wind, And green fields wait for me.

CXV. FATE.

Francis Bret Harte (b. 1839,—) was born in Albany, N.Y. When seventeen years old he went to California, where he engaged in various employments. He was a teacher, was employed in government offices, worked in the gold mines, and learned to be a compositor in a printing office. In 1868 he started the "Overland Monthly," and his original and characteristic poems and sketches soon made it a popular magazine. Mr. Harte has been a contributor to some of the leading periodicals of the country, but principally to the "Atlantic Monthly."

1. "The sky is clouded, the rocks are bare; The spray of the tempest is white in air; The winds are out with the waves at play, And I shall not tempt the sea to-day.

2. "The trail is narrow, the wood is dim, The panther clings to the arching limb; And the lion's whelps are abroad at play, And I shall not join in the chase to-day."

3. But the ship sailed safely over the sea, And the hunters came from the chase in glee; And the town that was builded upon a rock Was swallowed up in the earthquake shock.

CXVI. THE BIBLE THE BEST OF CLASSICS.

Thomas S. Grimke (b. 1786, d. 1834). This eminent lawyer and scholar was born in Charleston, S.C. He graduated at Yale College in 1807. He gained considerable reputation as a politician, but is best known as an advocate of peace, Sunday schools, and the Bible. He was a man of deep feeling, earnest purpose, and pure life.

1. There is a classic the best the world has ever seen, the noblest that has ever honored and dignified the language of mortals. If we look into its antiquity, we discover a title to our veneration unrivaled in the history of literature. If we have respect to its evidences, they are found in the testimony of miracle and prophecy; in the ministry of man, of nature, and of angels, yea, even of "God, manifest in the flesh," of "God blessed forever."

2. If we consider its authenticity, no other pages have survived the lapse of time that can be compared with it. If we examine its authority, for it speaks as never man spake, we discover that it came from heaven in vision and prophecy under the sanction of Him who is Creator of all things, and the Giver of every good and perfect gift.

3. If we reflect on its truths, they are lovely and spotless, sublime and holy as God himself, unchangeable as his nature, durable as his righteous dominion, and versatile as the moral condition of mankind. If we regard the value of its treasures, we must estimate them, not like the relics of classic antiquity, by the perishable glory and beauty, virtue and happiness, of this world, but by the enduring perfection and supreme felicity of an eternal kingdom.

4. If we inquire who are the men that have recorded its truths, vindicated its rights, and illustrated the excellence of its scheme, from the depth of ages and from the living world, from the populous continent and the isles of the sea, comes forth the answer: "The patriarch and the prophet, the evangelist and the martyr."

5. If we look abroad through the world of men, the victims of folly or vice, the prey of cruelty, of injustice, and inquire what are its benefits, even in this temporal state, the great and the humble, the rich and the poor, the powerful and the weak, the learned and the ignorant reply, as with one voice, that humility and resignation, purity, order, and peace, faith, hope, and charity are its blessings upon earth.

6. And if, raising our eyes from time to eternity; from the world of mortals to the world of just men made perfect; from the visible creation, marvelous, beautiful, and glorious as it is, to the invisible creation of angels and seraphs; from the footstool of God to the throne of God himself, we ask, what are the blessings that flow from this single volume, let the question be answered by the pen of the evangelist, the harp of the prophet, and the records of the book of life.

7. Such is the best of classics the world has ever admired; such, the noblest that man has ever adopted as a guide.

DEFINITIONS.—1. Clas'sic, a work of acknowledged excellence and authority. 2. Au-then-tic'i-ty, of established authority for truth and correctness. Sanc'tion (pro, sank'shun), authority, support. 3. Ver'sa-tile, readily applied to various subjects. 4. Vin di-cat-ed, defended, justified. E-van'gel-ist, a writer of the history of Jesus Christ. 6. Ser'aph, an angel of the highest order.

CXVII. MY MOTHER'S BIBLE.

George P. Morris (b. 1802, d. 1864) was born in Philadelphia. In 1823 he became one of the editors of the "New York Mirror," a weekly literary paper, In 1846 Mr. Morris and N. P. Willis founded "The Home Journal." He was associate editor of this popular journal until a short time before his death.

1. This book is all that's left me now,— Tears will unbidden start,— With faltering lip and throbbing brow I press it to my heart. For many generations past Here is our family tree; My mother's hands this Bible clasped, She, dying, gave it me.

2. Ah! well do I remember those Whose names these records bear; Who round the hearthstone used to close, After the evening prayer, And speak of what these pages said In tones my heart would thrill! Though they are with the silent dead, Here are they living still!

3. My father read this holy hook To brothers, sisters, dear; How calm was my poor mother's look, Who loved God's word to hear! Her angel face,—I see it yet! What thronging memories come! Again that little group is met Within the walls of home!

4. Thou truest friend man ever knew, Thy constancy I've tried; When all were false, I found thee true, My counselor and guide. The mines of earth no treasures give That could this volume buy; In teaching me the way to live, It taught me how to die.