作者：加拿大教育部
出版社：中国城市出版社
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加拿大语文经典读本3（英文原版）试读：
LESSON 1 THE LITTLE LAND
WHEN at home alone I sit
And am very tired of it,
I have just to shut my eyes
To go sailing through the skies—
To go sailing far away
To the pleasant Land of Play;
To the fairy land afar
Where the little people are;
Where the clover-tops are trees,
And the rain-pools are the seas,
And the leaves like little ships
Sail about on tiny trips;
And above the daisy tree
Through the grasses
High o'erhead the Bumble Bee
Hums and passes.
In that forest to and fro
I can wander, I can go;
See the spider and the fly,
And the ants go marching by
Carrying parcels with their feet
Down the green and grassy street
I can in the sorrel sit
Where the ladybird alit.
I can climb the jointed grass;
And on high
See the greater swallows pass
In the sky,
And the round sun rolling by
Heeding no such things as I.
Through that forest I can pass
Till, as in a looking glass,
Humming fly and daisy tree
And my tiny self I see,
Painted very clear and neat
On the rain-pool at my feet.
Should a leaflet come to land
Drifting near to where I stand,
Straight I'll board that tiny boat
Round the rain-pool sea to float.
Little thoughtful creatures sit
On the grassy coasts of it;
Little things with lovely eyes
See me sailing with surprise.
Some are clad in armor green—
(These have sure to battle been! )
Some are pied with ev'ry hue,
Black and crimson, gold and blue;
Some have wings and swift are gone; —
But they all look kindly on.
When my eyes I once again
Open, and see all things plain:
High bare walls, great bare floor;
Great big knobs on drawer and door;
Great big people perched on chairs,
Stitching tucks and mending tears,
Each a hill that I could climb,
And talking nonsense all the time—
O dear me,
That I could be
A sailor on the rain-pool sea,
A climber in the clover-tree,
And just come back, a sleepy head,
Late at night to go to bed.—ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
LESSON 2 BLACK BEAUTY
I was sold to a corn dealer and baker whom Jerry knew, and with him he thought I should have good food and fair work. In the first he was quite right; and if my master had always been on the premises I do not think I should have been overloaded; but there was a foreman who was always hurrying and driving everyone, and frequently when I had quite a full load, he would order something else to be taken on. My carter, whose name was Jakes, often said it was more than I ought to take, but the other always overruled him:" 'Twas no use going twice when once would do, and he chose to get business forward."
Jakes, like the other carters, always had the bearing rein up, which prevented me from drawing easily, and by the time I had been there three or four months, I found the work telling very much on my strength. One day, I was loaded more than usual, and part of the road was a steep uphill; I used all my strength, but I could not get on and was obliged continually to stop. This did not please my driver, and he laid his whip on badly. "Get on, you lazy fellow," he said, "or I'll make you."
Again I started the heavy load, and struggled on a few yards; again the whip came down, and again I struggled forward. The pain of that great cartwhip was sharp, but my mind was hurt quite as much as my poor sides. To be punished and abused when I was doing my very best was so hard it took the heart out of me. A third time he was flogging me cruelly, when a lady stepped quickly up to him and said in a sweet, earnest voice: "Oh! pray do not whip your good horse any more; I am sure he is doing all he can, and the road is very steep; I am sure he is doing his best."
"If doing his best won't get this load up, he must do something more than his best; that's all I know, ma'am," said Jakes.
"But is it not a very heavy load?" she said.
"Yes, yes, too heavy," he said, "but that's not my fault; the foreman came just as we were starting and would have three hundredweight more put on to save him trouble, and I must get on with it as well as I can."
He was raising the whip again when the lady said: "Pray, stop, I think I can help you if you will let me."
The man laughed.
"You see," she said, "you do not give him a fair chance; he cannot use all his power with his head held back as it is with that bearing rein; if you would take it off I am sure he would do better. Do try it," she said persuasively; "I should be very glad if you would."
"Well, well," said Jakes with a short laugh, "anything to please a lady of course. How far would you wish it down, ma'am?"
"Quite down; give him his head altogether. '
The rein was taken off, and in a moment I put my head down to my very knees. What a comfort it was! Then I tossed it up and down several times to get the aching stiffness out of my neck.
"Poor fellow! that is what you wanted," said she, patting and stroking me with her gentle hand, "and now if you will speak kindly to him and lead him on I believe he will be able to do better."
Jakes took the rein,—"Come on, Blackie." I put down my head and threw my whole weight against the collar; I spared no strength; the load moved on, and I pulled steadily up the hill and then stopped to take breath. The lady had walked along the footpath and now came across into the road. She stroked and patted my neck as I had not been patted for many a long day.
"You see he was quite willing when you gave him the chance; I am sure he is a fine-tempered creature, and I dare say has known better days. You will not put that rein on again, will you?" for he was just going to hitch it up on the old plan.
"Well, ma'am, I can't deny that having his head has helped him up the hill, and I'll remember it another time, and thank you, ma'am; but if he went without a bearing rein I should be the laughing-stock of all the carters; it's the fashion, you see."
"Is it not better," she said, "to lead a good fashion than to follow a bad one? A great many gentlemen do not use bearing reins now; our carriage horses have not worn them for fifteen years and they work with much less fatigue than those who have them; besides," she added in a very serious voice, "we have no right to distress any of God's creatures without a very good reason. We call them dumb animals, and so they are, for they cannot tell us how they feel, but they do not suffer less because they have no words. But I must not detain you now; I thank you for trying my plan with your good horse and I am sure you will find it far better than the whip. Good day," and with another soft pat on my neck she stepped lightly across the path, and I saw her no more.
"That was a real lady, I'll be bound for it," said Jakes to himself;"she spoke just as polite as if I was a gentleman, and I'll try her plan, uphill at any rate;" and I must do him the justice to say that he let my rein out several holes, and going uphill after that he always gave me my head; but the heavy loads went on.—ANNA SEWELL————————WE all might do goodWhere we often do ill—There is always the wayIf there is but the will;Though it be but a wordKindly breathed or suppressed,It may guard off some painOr give peace to some breast.
LESSON 3 THE THREE FISHERS
THREE fishers went sailing out into the West,
Out into the West as the sun went down;
Each thought on the woman who loved him the best,
And the children stood watching them out of the town;
For men must work, and women must weep,
And there's little to earn, and many to keep,
Though the harbor bar be moaning.
Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,
And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;
They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,
And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown;
But men must work, and women must weep,
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,
And the harbor bar be moaning.
Three corpses lay out on the shining sands
In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
And the women are weeping and wringing their hands
For those who will never come home to the town;
For men must work, and women must weep,
And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep,
And good bye to the bar and its moaning.—CHARLES KINGSLEY
LESSON 4 THE STOLEN PEACHES
CHARLIE was the son of good and kind parents. It was his birthday and beautiful autumn weather. His parents loaded him with presents and permitted him to bring some of his schoolfellows to play with him.
They played about in the garden. There Charlie had a little plot of his own, rich with flowers and fruit. On the opposite wall there grew a peach-tree, which was not his but his father's, and this he had been told he must not touch.
The peaches were ripe, and a ruddy bloom blushed through their downy' skin. "What could be more delightful?" thought the boys.
"Why not just taste them?" said they to Charlie. "There's no harm in it. Besides, is this not your birthday? Surely you can do as you like once a year at least."
"No!" said Charlie; "I am forbidden to touch those peaches; that's enough for me; but take what you like from my own plot, and welcome."
Then said the eldest of the boys: "Very likely Charlie is quite right; but let us pluck the peaches, and perhaps he will help us to eat them."
So Charlie at last agreed to this, and he was by no means unwilling to share the feast.
When the peaches were all eaten, and the boys gone, Charlie began to feel he had done wrong; he stayed in the garden alone and wretched, and had never been so sad and miserable all his life long.
At last his father came into the garden, and called out, "Charlie! Charlie!"
Charlie stood at the end of the garden, a picture of misery. His father went to him, and in passing the peach-tree he saw what had been done. His face grew sad and angry.
Then said his father: "Is this your birthday, and is this the return you make us for all our care and kindness?"
Charlie was dumb.
"Henceforth the garden is locked to you," said his father. He then led Charlie into the house, and went away in displeasure.
Charlie went off to bed, but not to sleep. He turned and tossed this way and that, but the whole night long he could not sleep.
Next morning Charlie was so pale and sad that his mother had pity on him. So she said to her husband, "Charlie is sorry, but he thinks the 'locked garden' means that you have locked your heart against him."
"He is quite right," was the reply; "I have locked my heart against him."
"How sad, sighed the mother; "he has begun the new year of his life with sorrow."
"That it may be more full of joy, let us hope," said the father.
By-and-by the mother said: "I am afraid Charlie will doubt our love for him."
"I hope not," said her husband. "Although he feels he is guilty, I do not think he would wish to throw the blame on us. Till now he always had our love, and he will learn to prize it for the future by having to win it back again."
The following morning Charlie came down to breakfast calmly and cheerfully He carried a basket in his hand, full of all the toys and presents his parents had given him.
"What do you mean by this?" asked his father.
Charlie answered: "I give these back to you, for I do not deserve them." Then the father unlocked his heart, and happiness came back to them all again.—KRUMMACHER
LESSON 5 THE BETTER LAND
"I HEAR thee speak of the better land;
Thou call'st its children a happy band:
Mother! oh, where is that radiant shore?
Shall we not seek it, and weep no more?
Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
And the fire-flies glance through the myrtle boughs?"
"Not there, not there, my child!"
"Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies?
Or midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze;
And strange bright birds, on their starry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?"
"Not there, not there, my child!"
"Is it far away, in some region old,
Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold?
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand, —
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?"
"Not there, not there, my child!"
"Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy,
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy—
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair—
Sorrow and death may not enter there:
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom;
For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb—
It is there, it is there, my child!"—MRS.HEMANS
LESSON 6 ANDROCLUS AND THE LION
MANY hundred years ago there lived in the north of Africa a poor Roman slave called Androclus. His master held great power and authority in the country, but he was a hard, cruel man, and his slaves led a very unhappy life. They had little to eat, had to work hard, and were often punished and tortured if they failed to satisfy the master's caprices. For long Androclus had borne with the hardships of his life, but at last he could bear it no longer, and he made up his mind to run away He knew that it was a great risk, for he had no friends in that foreign country with whom he could seek safety and protection; and he was aware that if he was overtaken and caught he would be put to a cruel death. But even death, he thought, would not be so hard as the life he now led, and it was possible that he might escape to the sea-coast, and somehow some day get back to Rome and find a kinder master.
So he waited till the old moon had waned to a tiny gold thread in the skies, and then, one dark night, he slipped out of his master's house, and, creeping through the deserted forum and along the silent town, he passed out of the city into the vineyards and cornfields lying outside the walls. In the cool night air he walked rapidly From time to time he was startled by the sudden barking of a dog, or the sound of voices coming from some late revellers in the villas which stood beside the road along which he hurried. But as he got further into the country these sounds ceased, and there was silence and darkness all round him. When the sun rose he had already gone many miles away from the town in which he had been so miserable. But now a new terror oppressed him—the terror of great loneliness. He had got into a wild, barren country, where there was no sign of human habitation. A thick growth of low trees and thorny mimosa bushes spread out before him, and as he tried to thread his way through them he was severely scratched, and his scant garments torn by the long thorns. Besides, the sun was very hot, and the trees were not high enough to afford him any shade. He was worn out with hunger and fatigue, and he longed to lie down and rest. But to lie down in the fierce sun would have meant death, and he struggled on, hoping to find some wild berries to eat, and some water to quench his thirst. But when he came out. of the scrub-wood, he found he was as badly off as before. A long, low line of rocky cliffs rose before him, but there were no houses, and he saw no hope of finding food. He was so tired that he could not wander further, and seeing a cave which looked cool and dark in the side of the cliffs, he crept into it, and, stretching his tired limbs on the sandy floor, fell fast asleep.
Suddenly he was awakened by a noise that made his blood run cold. The roar of a wild beast sounded in his ears, and as he started trembling and in terror to his feet, he beheld a huge, tawny lion, with great glistening white teeth, standing in the entrance of the cave. It was impossible to fly, for the lion barred the way. Immovable with fear, Androclus stood rooted to the spot, waiting for the monster to spring on him and tear him limb from limb.
But the lion did not move. Making a low moan as if in great pain, it stood licking its huge paw, from which Androclus now saw that blood was flowing freely. Seeing the poor animal in such pain, and noticing how gentle it seemed, Androclus forgot his own terror and slowly approached the lion, who held up his paw as if asking the man to help it. Then Androclus saw that a huge thorn had entered the paw, making a deep cut, and causing great pain and swelling. Swiftly but firmly he drew the thorn out, and pressed the swelling to try to stop the flowing blood. Relieved of the pain, the lion quietly lay down at Androclus' feet, slowly moving his great bushy tail from side to side as a dog does when it feels happy and comfortable.
From that moment Androclus and the lion became devoted friends. After lying for a little while at his feet, licking the poor wounded paw, the lion got up and limped out of the cave. A few minutes later it returned with a little dead rabbit in its mouth, which it put down on the floor of the cave beside Androclus. The poor man, who was starving with hunger, cooked the rabbit somehow, and ate it. In the evening, led by the lion, he found a place where there was a spring, at which he quenched his dreadful thirst.
And so for three years Androclus and the lion lived together in the cave; wandering about the woods together by day, sleeping together at night. For in the summer the cave was cooler than the woods, and in the winter it was warmer.
At last the longing in Androclus' heart to live once more with his fellow-men became so great that he felt he could remain in the woods no longer, but that he must return to a town, and take his chance of being caught and killed as a runaway slave. And so one morning he left the cave, and wandered away in the direction where he thought the sea and the large towns lay. But in a few days he was captured by a band of soldiers, who were patrolling the country in search of fugitive slaves, and he was put in chains and sent as a prisoner to Rome.
Here he was cast into prison and tried for the crime of having run away from his master. He was condemned as a punishment to be torn to pieces by wild beasts on the first public holiday, in the great circus at Rome.
When the day arrived, Androclus was brought out of his prison, dressed in a simple, short tunic, and with a scarf round his right arm. He was given a lance with which to defend himself—a forlorn hope—as he knew that he had to fight with a powerful lion which had been kept without food for some days to make it more savage and bloodthirsty. As he stepped into the arena of the huge circus, above the sound of the voices of thousands on thousands of spectators, he could hear the savage roar of the wild beasts from their cages below the floor on which he stood. Suddenly the silence of expectation fell on the spectators, for a signal had been given, and the cage containing the lion with which Androclus had to fight had been shot up into the arena from the floor below. A moment later, with a fierce spring and a savage roar, the great animal had sprung out of its cage into the arena, and with a bound had rushed to the spot where Androclus stood trembling. But suddenly; as he saw Androclus, the lion stood still, wondering. Then, quickly; but quietly it approached him, and gently moved its tail and licked the man's hands, and fawned upon him like a great dog. And Androclus patted the lion's head, and gave a sob of recognition, for he knew that it was his own lion, with whom he had lived and lodged all those months and years.
And seeing this strange and wonderful meeting between the man and the wild beast, all the people marvelled, and the emperor, from his high seat above the arena, sent for Androclus, and bade him tell his story and explain this mystery And the emperor was so delighted with the story; that he said Androclus was to be released and to be made a free man from that hour. And he rewarded him with money; and ordered that the lion was to belong to him, and to accompany him wherever he went.
And when the people in Rome met Androclus walking, followed by his faithful lion, they used to point at them and say; "That is the lion, the guest of the man, and that is the man, the doctor of the lion."—ANDREW LANG
LESSON 7 A CANADIAN BOAT-SONG
FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime
Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time;
Soon as the woods on shore look dim,
We'll sing at St. Anne's our parting hymn.
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past.
Why should we yet our sail unfurl?
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl;
But when the wind blows off the shore
O sweetly we'll rest our weary oar.
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past.
Utaw' a's tide! this trembling moon
Shall see us float over thy surges soon.
Saint of this green isle! hear our prayers;
O grant us cool heavens and favoring airs.
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past.—THOMAS MOORE
LESSON 8 A VISIT FROM ST NICHOLAS
'TWAS the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas would soon be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now Dasher, now Dancer, now Prancer and Vixen,
On, Comet, on, Cupid, on, Donder and Blitzen,
To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall,
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all."
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys and St. Nicholas too.
And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot
And his clothes were all tarnished With ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes, how they twinkled, his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry,
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."—CLEMENT CLARKE MOORE
LESSON 9 THE EAGLE AND THE SWAN
I MAGINE yourself, on a day early in November, floating slowly down the Mississippi River. The near approach of winter brings millions of water-fowls on whistling wings from the countries of the north, to seek a milder climate in which to sojourn for a season.
The eagle is seen perched on the highest branch of the tallest tree by the margin of the broad stream. His glistening but pitiless eye looks over water and land, and sees objects afar off. He listens to every sound that comes to his quick ear, glancing now and then to the earth beneath, lest the light tread of the rabbit may pass unheard.
His mate is perched on the other side of the river, and now and then warns him by a cry to continue patient. At this well-known call he partly opens his broad wings and answers to her voice in tones not unlike the laugh of a madman. Ducks and many smaller waterfowl are seen passing rapidly towards the south; but the eagle heeds them not—they are for the time beneath his attention.
The next moment, however, the wild, trumpet-like sound of a distant swan is heard. The eagle suddenly shakes his body, raises his wings, and makes ready for flight. A shriek from his mate comes across the stream, for she is fully as watchful as he.
The snow-white bird is now in sight; her long neck is stretched forward; her eyes are as watchful as those of her enemy; her large wings seem with difficulty to support the weight of her body. Nearer and nearer she comes. The eagle has marked her for his prey.
As the swan is about to pass the dreaded pair, the eagle starts from his perch with an awful scream. He glides through the air like a falling star, and, like a flash of lightning, darts upon the timid bird, which now, in agony and despair, seeks to escape the grasp of his cruel talons. She would plunge into the stream did not the eagle force her to remain in the air by striking at her from beneath.
The hope of escape is soon given up by the swan. She has already become much weakened. She is about to gasp her last breath when the eagle strikes with his talons the under side of her wing, and forces the dying bird to fall in a slanting direction upon the nearest shore.
Then it is that you may see the cruel spirit of this dreaded enemy of the feathered race. He presses down his strong feet, and drives his claws deeper and deeper into the heart of the swan. He screams with delight as he watches the last feeble struggles of his prey.
The eagle's mate has watched every movement that he has made; and, if she did not assist him in capturing the swan, it was because she felt sure that his power and courage were quite sufficient for the deed. She now sails up to the spot where he is waiting for her, and both together turn the breast of the luckless swan upward and gorge themselves with gore.—J. J. AUDUBON
LESSON 10 BRUCE AND THE SPIDER
KING BRUCE of Scotland flung himself down in a lonely mood to think;
'Tis true he was monarch, and wore a crown, but his heart was beginning to sink,
For he had been trying to do a great deed to make his people glad,
He had tried and tried, but couldn't succeed, and so he became quite sad.
He flung himself down in low despair, as grieved as man could be;
And after a while as he pondered there, "I'll give it all up," said he.
Now just at the moment a spider dropped, with its silken cobweb clew,
And the king in the midst of his thinking stopped to see what the spider would do.
'Twas a long way up to the ceiling dome, and it hung by a rope so fine,
That how it would get to its cobweb home, King Bruce could not divine.
It soon began to cling and crawl straight up with strong endeavor,
But down it came, with a slipping sprawl, as near to the ground as ever.
Up, up it ran, not a second it stayed, to utter the least complaint,
Till it fell still lower, and there it lay, a little dizzy, and faint.
Its head grew steady—again it went, and travelled a half yard higher,
'Twas a delicate thread it had to tread, and a road where its feet would tire.
Again it fell and swung below, but again it quickly mounted,
Till up and down, now fast, now slow, nine brave attempts were counted.
"Sure," cried the king, "that foolish thing will strive no more to climb,
When it toils so hard to reach and cling, and tumbles every time."
But up the insect went once more, ah me, 'tis an anxious minute,
He's only a foot from his cobweb door, oh, say will he lose or win it?
Steadily, steadily, inch by inch, higher and higher he got,
And a bold little run at the very last pinch, put him into his native spot.
"Bravo, bravo!" the king cried out, "all honor to those who try;
The spider up there defied despair, he conquered, and why shouldn't I?"
And Bruce of Scotland braced his mind, and gossips tell the tale,
That he tried once more as he tried before, and that time he did not fail.
Pay goodly heed, all you who read, and beware of saying,"I can't,"
'Tis a cowardly word, and apt to lead to Idleness, Folly, and Want.
Whenever you find your heart despair of doing some goodly thing,
Con over this strain, try bravely again, and remember the Spider and King.—ELIZA COOK
LESSON 11 THE BLUE JAY
SAID Jim Baker, "There's more to a bluejay than to any other creature. He has more kinds of feeling than any other creature; and mind you, whatever a bluejay feels, he can put into words. No common words either, but out-and-out booktalk. You never see a jay at a loss for a word.
"You may call a jay a bird. Well, so he is, because he has feathers on him. Otherwise he is just as human as you are.
"Yes, sir; a jay is everything that a man is. A jay can laugh, a jay can gossip, a jay can feel ashamed, just as well as you do, may be better. And there's another thing: in good, clean, out-and-out SAMUEL L. CLEMENSscolding, a bluejay can beat anything alive.
"Seven years ago the last man about here but me moved away. There stands his house—a log house with just one big room and no more: no ceiling, nothing between the rafters and the floor.
"Well, one Sunday morning I was sitting out here in front of my cabin, with my cat, taking the sun, when a bluejay flew down on that house with an acorn in his mouth.
"'Hello,' says he, 'I reckon here's something.' When he spoke the acorn fell out of his mouth and rolled down the roof. He didn't care; his mind was on the thing he had found.
"It was a knot-hole in the roof. He cocked his head to one side, shut one eye, and put the other to the hole, like a 'possum looking down a jug.
"Then he looked up, gave a wink or two with his wings, and says, 'It looks like a hole, it's placed like a hole—and—if I don't think it is a hole!'
"Then he cocked his head down and took another look. He looked up with joy, this time winked his wings and his tail both, and says, 'If I ain't in luck! Why, it's an elegant hole!'
"So he flew down and got that acorn and dropped it in, and was tilting his head back with a smile when a queer look of surprise came over his face. Then he says, 'Why, I didn't hear it fall.'
"He cocked his eye at the hole again and took a long look; rose up and shook his head; went to the other side of the hole and took another look from that side; shook his head again. No use.
"So, after thinking awhile, he says, 'I reckon it's all I'll try it, any way.'
so he flew off and brought another acorn and dropped it in, and tried to get his eye to the hole quick enough to see what became of it. He was too late. He got another acorn and tried to see where it went, but he couldn't.
"He says, 'Well, I never saw such a hole as this before. I reckon it's a new kind.' Then he got angry and walked up and down the roof. I never saw a bird take on so.
"When he got through he looked in the hole for half a minute; then he says, 'Well, you're a long hole, and a deep hole, and a queer hole, but I have started to fill you, and I'll do it if it takes a hundred years.'
"And with that away he went. For two hours and a half you never saw a bird work so hard. He did not stop to look in any more, but just threw acorns in and went for more.
"Well, at last he could hardly flap his wings he was so tired out. So he bent down for a look. He looked up, pale with rage. He says,'I've put in enough acorns to keep the family thirty years, and I can't see a sign of them.'
"Another jay was going by and heard him. So he stopped to ask what was the matter. Our jay told him the whole story. Then he went and looked down the hole and came back and said, 'How many tons did you put in there?'
'"Not less than two,' said our jay.
"The other jay looked again, but could not make it out; so he gave a yell and three more jays came. They all talked at once for awhile, and then called in more jays.
"Pretty soon the air was blue with jays, and every jay put his eye to the hole and told what he thought. They looked the house all over, too. The door was partly open, and at last one old jay happened to look in. There lay the acorns all over the floor.
"He flapped his wings and gave a yell, 'Come here, everybody! Ha! Ha! He's been trying to fill a house with acorns.'
"As each jay took a look, the fun of the thing struck him, and how he did laugh. And for an hour after they roosted on the housetop and trees, and laughed like human beings.
"It isn't any use to tell me a blue-jay hasn't any fun in him. I know better."—SAMUEL L. CLEMENS (MARK TWAIN)
LESSON 12 THE SKYLARK
BIRD of the wilderness,
Blithesome and cumberless,
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling-place—
Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!
Wild is thy lay and loud
Far in the downy cloud;
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.
Where on thy dewy wing,
Where art thou journeying?
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.
O'er fell and fountain sheen,
O'er moor and mountain green,
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,
Over the cloudlet dim,
Over the rainbow's rim,
Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!
Then, when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather blooms,
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling-place
Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!—JAMES HOGG————————TO A SKYLARKETHEREAL Minstrel! Pilgrim of the sky!Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eyeBoth with thy nest upon the dewy ground?Thy nest, which thou canst drop into at will,Those quivering wings composed, that music still!Leave to the nightingale her shady wood:A privacy of glorious light is thine;Whence thou dost pour upon the world a floodOf harmony, with instinct more divine:Type of the wise who soar, but never roam;True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home.—WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
LESSON 13 A FAR DISTANT COUNTRY
ONE winter's evening, as Captain Compass was sitting by the fire-side with his children all around him, little Jack said to him,"Papa, pray tell us some stories about what you have seen in your voyages. I have been vastly entertained, whilst you were abroad, with Gulliver's Travels and the Adventures of Sinbad the Sailor; and, I think, as you have gone round and round the world, you must have met with things as wonderful as they did."
"No, my dear," said the Captain, "I never met with Liliputians or Brobdignagians, I assure you; nor ever saw the black loadstone mountain, or the valley of diamonds; but, to be sure, I have seen a great variety of people, and their different manners and ways of living; and if it will be any entertainment to you, I will tell you some curious particulars of what I observed."
"Pray do, Papa," cried Jack, and all his brothers and sisters; so they drew close round him, and he said as follows:
"Well, then, I was once, about this time of the year, in a country where it was very cold, and the poor inhabitants had much ado to keep themselves from starving. They were clad partly in the skins of beasts, made smooth and soft by a particular art, but chiefly in garments made from the outer covering of a middle sized quadruped, which they were so cruel as to strip off his back, while he was alive. They dwelt in habitations, part of which where sunk under ground. The materials were either stones, or earth hardened by fire, and so violent in that country, were the storms of wind and rain, that many of them covered their roofs all over with stones. The walls of their houses had holes to let in the light; but, to prevent the cold air and wet from coming in, these openings were covered with a sort of transparent stone, made artificially of melted sand or flints. As wood was rather scarce, I know not what they would have done for firing, had they not discovered in the bowels of the earth a very extraordinary kind of stone, which, when put among burning wood, caught fire and flamed like a torch."
"Dear me," said Jack, "what a wonderful stone! I suppose it was somewhat like what we call fire-stones, that shine so when we rub them together."
"I don't think fire-stones would burn," replied the Captain;"besides, the others are of a darker color. Well, but their diet too was remarkable. Some of them ate fish, that had been hung up in the smoke, till it was quite dry and hard; and along with it they ate either the roots of plants, or a sort of coarse black cake made of powdered seeds. These were the poorer class: the richer had a white kind of cake, which they were fond of daubing over with a greasy matter, that was the product of a large animal among them. This grease they used, too, in almost all their dishes, and, when fresh, it really was not unpalatable. They likewise devoured the flesh of many birds and beasts, when they could get it; and ate the leaves and other parts of a variety of vegetables growing in the country, some absolutely raw, others variously prepared by the aid of fire. Another great article of food was the curd of milk, pressed into a hard mass and salted. This had so rank a smell, that persons of weak stomachs often could not bear to come near it. For drink they made great use of water, in which certain dry leaves had been steeped. These leaves, I was told, came from a great distance. They had likewise a method of preparing a grass-like plant steeped in water, with the addition of a bitter herb, and then set to work or ferment. I was prevailed upon to taste it, and thought it at first nauseous enough, but in time I liked it pretty well. When a large quantity of the ingredients is used, it becomes perfectly intoxicating. But what astonished me most was their use of a liquor so excessively hot and pungent that it seemed like liquid fire. I once got a mouthful of it by mistake, taking it for water, which it resembles in appearance; but I thought it would instantly have taken away my breath. Indeed, people are not unfrequently killed by it; and yet many of them will swallow it greedily whenever they can get it. This, too, is said to be prepared from the seeds above mentioned, which are innocent and salutary in their natural state, though made to yield such a pernicious juice. The strangest custom which I believe prevails in any nation, I found here; which was, that some take a mighty pleasure in filling their mouths full of an abominable smoke; and others, in thrusting a nasty powder up their nostrils."
"I should think it would choke them," said Jack.
"It almost choked me," answered his father, "only to stand by while they did it; but use, it is truly said, is second nature. I was glad enough to leave this cold climate; and about half a year after, I fell in with a people enjoying a delicious temperature of air, and a country full of beauty and verdure. The trees and shrubs were furnished with a great variety of fruits, which, with other vegetable products, constituted a large part of the food of the inhabitants. I particularly relished certain berries growing in bunches, some white and some red, of a pleasant sourish taste, and so transparent that one might see the seed at their very centre. Here were whole fields full of extremely odoriferous flowers, which, they told me, were succeeded by pods bearing seeds, that afforded good nourishment to man and beast. A great variety of birds enlivened the groves and woods; among which I was entertained with one, that, without any teaching, spoke almost as articulately as a parrot, though indeed it was all the repetition of a single word. The people were tolerably gentle and civilized, and possessed many of the arts of life. Their dress was very various. Many were clad only in a thin cloth made of the long fibres of the stalks of a plant cultivated for the purpose, which they prepared by soaking in water, and then beating with large mallets. Others wore cloth woven from a sort of vegetable wool growing in pods upon bushes. But the most singular material was a fine glossy stuff, used chiefly by the richer classes, which, as I was credibly informed, is manufactured out of the webs of caterpillars; a most wonderful circumstance, if we consider the immense number of caterpillars necessary to the production of so large a quantity of stuff as I saw used. These people are very fantastic in their dress, especially the women, whose apparel consists of a great number of articles impossible to be described, and strangely disguising the natural form of the body In some instances they seem very cleanly; but in others, the Hottentots can scarce go beyond them; particularly in the management of their hair, which is all matted and stiffened with the fat of the swine and other animals, mixed up with powders of various colors and ingredients. Like most Indian nations, they use feathers in the headdress. One thing surprised me much, which was, that they bring up in their houses an animal of the tiger kind, with formidable teeth and claws, which, notwithstanding its natural ferocity, is played with and caressed by the most timid and delicate of their women."
"I am sure I would not play with it," said Jack.
"Why, you might chance to get an ugly scratch, if you did," said the Captain. "The language of this nation seems very harsh and unintelligible to a foreigner, yet they converse among one another with great ease and quickness. One of the oddest customs is that which men use on saluting each other. Let the weather be what it will, they uncover their heads, and remain uncovered for some time, if they mean to be extraordinarily respectful."
"Why, that's like pulling off our hats," said Jack.
'Ah, ha! Papa," cried Betsy, "I have found you out. You have been telling us of our own country, and what is done at home, all this while."
"But," said Jack, "we don't burn stones, or eat grease and powdered seeds, or wear skins and caterpillars' webs, or play with tigers."
"No?" said the Captain; "pray what are coals but stones; and is not butter, grease; and corn, seeds; and leather, skins; and silk, the web of a kind of caterpillar; and may we not as well call a cat an animal of the tiger-kind, as a tiger an animal of the cat-kind? So, if you recollect what I have been describing, you will find, with Betsy's help, that all the other wonderful things I have told you of are matters familiar among ourselves. But I meant to show you, that a foreigner might easily make every thing appear as strange and wonderful among us, as we could do with respect to his country; and also to make you sensible that we daily call a great many things by their names without enquiring into their nature and properties; so that, in reality, it is only the names, and not the things themselves, with which we are acquainted.—EVENINGS AT HOME
LESSON 14 WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD
WYNKEN, Blynken, and Nod, one night,
Sailed off in a wooden shoe—
Sailed on a river of misty light,
Into a river of dew:
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three;
"We have come to fish for the herring-fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we,"
Said Wynken and Blynken and Nod.
The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in a wooden shoe
And the wind that sped them all night long Ruffled the waves of dew:
The little stars were the herring-fish
That lived in that beautiful sea;
"Now cast your nets, wherever you wish—
But never afeared are we,"
So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.
All night long their nets they threw
For the fish in the twinkling foam—
And down from the sky came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home.
'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed As if it could not be,
And some folks thought 'twas a dream they dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea;
But I shall name you the fishermen three,
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.
Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoes that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle bed;
So shut your eyes while mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock on the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.—EUGENE FIELD
LESSON 15 WEATHER PROPHET PLANTS
ONCE, when I was a little girl, I ran one morning to the garden, and said to the old Scotsman who worked there, "To-day I am going up the mountain for berries."
"No, no, Missey, not to-day; he said; "it will rain."
"No, it will not rain," I said. The sun is up. The cook says it will be fair. The glass in the hall does not say rain.
"Tuts, tuts," said the old man. "I care for no suns, or cooks, or glasses. The pimpernel says it will rain, and so it will rain. Flowers, Missey; always tell the truth. When they say 'rain,' go, get your umbrella."
Sure enough, by noon the rain was pouring down. After that, I looked with great respect at the tiny flower, sometimes brickred, sometimes blue, which could tell about the weather. But the pimpernel is not the only plant that is a weather prophet.
If you go into the garden, and find the African marigold shut after seven o'clock in the morning, you may be pretty sure that there will be a rainy day.
Did you ever see near the wayside the pretty little morningglory or bind-weed, with its pink and white blossoms? Even if it is wide open, in the early day; it twists its striped cup close together, and droops its head, if a rain cloud drifts across the sky. It seems to want to shield its stamens and pistil from the wet.
There is a little single marigold which shuts up in a hurry if the sky becomes clouded. It is called the "rainy-marigold."
Most plants which we call "weather prophets" shut up for rain. But some plants open for rain. The cause of the opening and closing is probably the difference in light. Most likely these plants shut their flowers because there is too little light, not because there is too much moisture.
But you know there are some plants which shrink from a strong light, and love the shade. You will find that most shade-loving plants, as the verbenas, do not close for rain.
Lilies, tulips, and other flowers that love the sun, shut for rain. The tulip and crocus families are among our best weather prophets. Just as the gay tulip shuts at evening, when the dew begins to fall, so it shuts for a shower.
Tulips are careful not to open their cups very wide in the morning, if it is likely to rain. The roses make no change; they seem not to fear wet.
On the whole, you may be pretty sure, if you go into your garden, and find many flowers—as tulips, marigolds, morningglories, and celandine—shut, it will be a stormy day, unfit for picnics or long walks.————————IN the elder days of Art,Builders wrought with greatest careEach minute and unseen part;For the Gods see everywhere.Let us do our work as well,Both the unseen and the seen;Make the house, where Gods may dwell,Beautiful, entire, and clean;Else our lives are incomplete,Standing in these walls of Time,Broken stairways, where the feetStumble as they seek to climb.—Longfellow
LESSON 16 JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT
JACK-in-the-Pulpit Preaches to-day,
Under the green trees Just over the way
Squirrel and song-sparrow,
High on their perch,
Hear the sweet lily-bells Ringing to church.
Come, hear what his reverence Rises to say,
In his low, painted pulpit, This calm Sabbath-day.
Fair is the canopy Over him seen,
Pencilled by Nature's hand Black, brown, and green
Green is his surplice, Green are his bands;
In his queer little pulpit The little priest stands.
In black and gold velvet, So gorgeous to see,
Comes with his bass voice The chorister bee.
Green fingers playing Unseen on wind-lyres, —
Low singing bird—voices, —These are his choirs.
The violets are deacons; I know by their sign
That the cups which they carry are purple with wine.
And the columbines bravely as sentinels stand
On the look-out, with all their red trumpets in hand.
Meek-faced anemones drooping and sad;
Great yellow violets smiling out glad;
Buttercups' faces beaming and bright;
Clovers, with bonnets—some red and some white;
Daisies, their white fingers half-clasped in prayer;
Dandelions proud of the gold of their hair;
Innocents, children guileless and frail,
Meek little faces upturned and pale;
Wild-wood geraniums, all in their best,
Languidly leaning in purple gauze dressed; —
All are assembled this sweet Sabbath day
To hear what the priest in his pulpit will say.
Look! white Indian pipes on the green mosses lie!
Who has been smoking profanely so nigh?
Rebuked by the preacher the mischief is stopped,
And the sinners, in haste, have their little pipes dropped.
Let the wind, with the fragrance of fern and black-birch,
Blow the smell of the smoking clean out of the church!
So much for the preacher: the sermon comes next; —
Shall we tell how he preached it, and what was his text?
Alas! like too many grown-up folk who play
At worship in churches man-builded to-day—
We heard not the preacher expound or discuss;
But we looked at the people and they looked at us;
We saw all their dresses, their colors and shapes,
The trim of their bonnets, the cut of their capes;
We heard the wind-organ, the bee and the bird,
But of Jack-in-the-Pulpit we heard not a word!—JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
LESSON 17 TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN
THOU blossom, bright with autumn dew,
And colored with the heavens' own blue,
That openest when the quiet light
Succeeds the keen and frosty night:
Thou comest not, when violets lean
O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen,
Or columbines, in purple dressed,
Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest.
Thou waitest late and com'st alone,
When woods are bare, and birds are flown,
And frosts and shortening days portend
The aged Year is near his end;
Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye
Look through its fringes to the sky;
Blue—blue, as if that sky let fall
A flower from its cerulean wall.—WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
LESSON 18 THE IVY GREEN
OH, a dainty plant is the Ivy Green,
That creepeth o'er ruins old!
Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,
In his cell so lone and cold.
The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed,
To pleasure his dainty whim;
And the mouldering dust that years have made
Is a merry meal for him.
Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.
Fast he stealeth on though he wears no wings,
And a staunch old heart has he;
How closely he twineth, how tight he clings
To his friend, the huge Oak-tree!
And slyly he traileth along the ground,
And his leaves he gently waves,
As he joyously hugs, and crawleth around,
The rich mould of dead men's graves.
Creeping where grim death has been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.
Whole ages have fled, and their works decayed,
And nations have scattered been,
But the stout old Ivy shall never fade
From its hale and hearty green.
The brave old plant in its lonely days
Shall fatten upon the past,
For the stateliest building man can raise
Is the Ivy's food at last.
Creeping on where time has been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.—CHARLES DICKENS————————THINGS BEAUTIFULBEAUTIFUL lives are those that bless—Silent rivers of happiness,Whose hidden fountains but few may guess.Beautiful twilight at set of sun;Beautiful goal, with race well won;Beautiful rest, with work well done.Beautiful graves where grasses creep,Where brown leaves fall, where drifts lie deepOver worn-out hands—O beautiful sleep.—AMON
LESSON 19 THE LITTLE POST BOY
IN my travels about the world, I have made the acquaintance of a great many children, and I might tell you many things about their dress, their speech, and their habits of life, in the different countries I have visited. I presume, however, that you would rather hear me relate some of my adventures in which children participated, so that the story and the information shall be given together.
This one shall be the story of my adventure with a little postboy, in the northern part of Sweden. Very few foreigners travel in Sweden in the winter, on account of the intense cold.
I made my journey in the winter because I was on my way to Lapland, where it is easier to travel when the swamps and rivers are frozen, and the reindeer sleds can fly along over the smooth snow. It was very cold indeed, the greater part of the time; the days were short and dark, and if I had not found the people so kind, so cheerful, and so honest, I should have felt inclined to turn back more than once.
But I do not think there are better people in the world than those who live in Norrland, which is a Swedish province, commencing about two hundred miles north of Stockholm.
They are a tall, strong race, with yellow hair and bright blue eyes, and the handsomest teeth I ever saw. They live plainly, but very comfortably, in snug wooden houses, with double windows and doors to keep out the cold.
Here there are neither railroads nor stages, but the government has established post-stations at distances varying from ten to twenty miles. At each station number of horses are kept, but generally the traveler has his own sled, and simply hires the horses from one station to another.
I had my own little sled, filled with hay and covered with reindeer skins to keep me warm. So long as the weather was not too cold, it was very pleasant to speed along through the dark forests, over the frozen river or past farm after farm in the sheltered valleys, up hill and down, until long after the stars came out, and then a warm supper in some dark-red post cottage, while get the cheerful people sang or told stories around the fire.
At first the thermometer fell to zero; then it went down ten degrees below; then twenty, and finally thirty. being dressed in thick furs from head to foot, I did not suffer greatly; but I was very glad when the people assured me that such extreme cold never lasted more than two or three days.
Boys of twelve or fourteen very often went with me to bring back their fathers' horses, and so long as those lively, red-cheeked fellows could face the weather, it would not do for me to be afraid.
One night there was a wonderful aurora in the sky. The streamers of red and blue light darted hither and thither, chasing each other up to the zenith and down again to the northern horizon, with a rapidity and a brilliance which I had never seen before."There will be a storm soon," said my post-boy; "one always comes after these lights."
Next morning the sky was overcast, and the short day was as dark as our twilight. But it was not quite so cold, and I traveled onward as fast as possible. There was a long tract of wide and thinly settled country before me, and I wished to get through it before stopping for the night. At seven o'clock in the evening I had still one more station of three Swedish miles before reaching the village where I intended to spend the night. Now, a Swedish mile is nearly equal to seven English miles, so that this station was at least twenty miles long.
I decided to take supper while the horse was eating his feed. They had not expected any more travelers at the station and were not prepared. The keeper had gone on with two lumber merchants; but his wife—a friendly, rosy-faced woman—prepared me some excellent coffee, potatoes, and stewed reindeer meat, upon which I made a very good meal.
I did not feel inclined to go forth into the wintry storm, but, having set my mind on reaching the village that night, I was loath to turn back.
"It is a bad night," said the woman, "and my husband will certainly stay at Umea until morning. Lars will take you, and they can come back together."
"Who is Lars?" ! asked.
"My son," said she. "He is getting the horse ready. There is nobody else about the house to-night."
Just then the door opened, and in came Lars. He was about twelve years old; but his face was so rosy, his eyes so clear and round and blue, and his golden hair was blown back from his face in such silky curls, that he appeared to be even younger. I was surprised that his mother should be willing to send him twenty miles through the dark woods on such a night.
"Come here, Lars," I said. Then I took him by the hand, and asked, "Are you not afraid to go so far to-night?"
He looked at me with wondering eyes and smiled; and his mother made haste to say: "You need have no fear, sir. Lars is young; but he'll take you safe enough. If the storm don't get worse, you'll be at Umea by eleven o'clock."
While I was deliberating with myself the boy had put on his overcoat of sheepskin, tied the lappets of his fur cap under his chin, and a thick woolen scarf around his nose and mouth, so that only the round blue eyes were visible; and then his mother took down the mittens of hate's fur from the stove, where they had been hung to dry He put them on, took a short leather whip, and was ready.
I wrapped myself in my furs, and we went out together. The driving snow cut me in the face like needles, but Lars did not mind it in the least. He jumped into the sled, which he had filled with flesh, soft hay, tucked in the reindeer skins at the sides, and we cuddled together on the narrow seat, making everything close and warm before we set out. I could not see at all.
The night was dark, the snow blew incessantly, and the dark fir-trees roared all around us. Lars, however, knew the way, and somehow or other we kept the beaten track. He talked to the horse so constantly and so cheerfully that after awhile my own spirits began to rise, and the way seemed neither so long nor so disagreeable.
"Ho there, Axel!" he would say "Keep the road, —not too far to the left. Well done. Here's a level: now trot a bit."
So we went on, —sometimes up hill, sometimes down hill, for a long time, as it seemed. I began to grow chilly, and even Lars handed me the reins, while he swung and beat his arms to keep the blood in circulation. He no longer sang little songs and fragments of hymns, as when we first set out; but he was not in the least alarmed or even impatient. Whenever I asked (as I did about every five minutes), 'Are we nearly there?" he always answered, "A little farther."
Suddenly the wind seemed to increase.
"Ah," said he, "now ! know where we are: it's one mile more." But one mile, you must remember, meant seven.
Lars.checked the horse and peered anxiously from side to side in the darkness. I looked also, but could see nothing.
"What is the matter?" I finally asked.
"We have got past the hills on the left," he said. "The country is open to the wind, and here the snow drifts worse than anywhere else on the road. If there have been no ploughs out to-night we'll have trouble."
In less than a quarter of an hour we could see that the horse was sinking in the deep snow. He plunged bravely forward, but made scarcely any headway; and presently became so exhausted that he stood quite still. Lars and I arose from the seat and looked around. For my part, I saw nothing except some very indistinct shapes of trees; there was no sign of an opening through them. In a few minutes the horse started again, and with great labor carried us a few yards farther.
"Shall we get out and try to find the road?" said I.
"It's no use," Lars answered. "In these new drifts we would sink to the waist. Wait a little and we shall get through this one."
It was as he said. Another pull brought us through the deep part of the drift, and we reached a place where the snow was quite shallow. But it was not the hard, smooth surface of the road: we could feel that the ground was uneven and covered with roots and bushes.
Bidding Axel stand still, Lars jumped out of the sled and began wading around among the trees. Then I got out on the other side, but had not proceeded ten steps before I began to sink so deeply into the loose snow that I was glad to extricate myself and return. It was a desperate situation, and I wondered how we should ever get out of it.
I shouted to Lars, in order to guide him, and it was not long before he also came back to the sled. "If I knew where the road is," said he, "I could get into it again. But I don't know; and I think we must stay her all night."
"We shall freeze to death in an hour!" I cried. I was already chilled to the bone. The wind had made me very drowsy, and I knew that if I slept I should soon be frozen.
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Lars, cheerfully. "I am a Norrlander, and Norrlanders never freeze. I went with the men to the bear hunt last winter up on the mountains, and we were several nights in the snow. Besides, I know what my father did with a gentleman from Stockholm on this very road, and we'll do it to-night."
"What was it?"
"Let me take care of Axel first," said Lars. "We can spare him some hay and one reindeer skin."
It was a slow task to unharness the horse but we did it at last. Lars then led him under a fir-tree, and tied him to a branch, gave him some hay, and fastened the reindeer skin upon his back.
When this was done, Lars spread the remaining hay evenly over the bottom of the sled and covered it with the skins, which he tucked in very firmly on the side: towards the wind. Then, lifting them on the other side, he said: "Now take off your fur coat, quick, lay it over the hay and then creep under it."
I obeyed as rapidly as possible. For an instant I shuddered in the icy air; but the next moment I lay stretched in the bottom of the sled, sheltered from the storm. I held up the ends of the reindeer skins while Lars took off his coat and crept in beside me. Then we drew the skins down and pressed the hay against them.
When the wind seemed to be entirely excluded, Lars said we must pull off our boots, untie our scarfs, and so loosen our clothes that they would not feel tight upon any part of the body. When this was done, and we lay close together, warming each other, I found that the chill gradually passed out of my blood.
A delightful feeling of comfort crept over me, and I lay as snugly as in the best bed. I was surprised to find that, although my head was covered, I did not feel stifled. Enough air came in under the skins to prevent us from feeling oppressed.
There was barely room for the two of us to lie, with no chance of turning over or rolling about. In five minutes, I think, we were asleep, and I dreamed of gathering peaches on a warm August day at home. In fact, I did not wake up thoroughly during the night; neither did Lars, though it seemed to me that we both talked in our sleep.
Just as I was beginning to feel a little cramped and stiff from lying so still, I was suddenly aroused by the cold wind on my face. Lars had risen upon his elbow and was peeping out from under the skins.
"I think it must be near six o'clock," he said. "The sky is clear, and I can see the big star. We can start in another hour."
I felt so much refreshed that I was for setting out immediately; but Lars remarked very sensibly, that it was not yet possible to find the road. While we were talking Axel neighed.
"There they are!" cried Lars, and immediately began to put on his boots, his scarf and heavy coat. I did the same, and by the time we were ready we heard shouts and the crack of whips. We harnessed Axel to the sled, and proceeded slowly in the direction of the sounds, which came, as we presently saw, from a company of farmers, out thus early to plough the road.
After they had passed we sped along merrily in the cold, morning twilight, and in little more than an hour reached the posthouse.—BAYARD TAYLOR
LESSON 20 THE LAPLANDER
WITH blue cold nose, and wrinkled brow,
Traveler, whence comest thou?
From Lapland's woods, and hills of frost,
By the rapid reindeer crost;
Where tapering grows the gloomy fir,
And the stunted juniper;
Where the wild hare and the crow
Whiten in surrounding snow;
Where the shivering huntsmen tear
Their fur coats from the grim white bear;
Where the wolf and northern fox
Prowl among the lonely rocks,
And tardy suns to deserts drear,
Give days and nights of half a year;
From icy oceans, where the whales
Toss in foam their lashing tails;
Where the snorting sea-horse shows
His ivory teeth in grinning rows;
Where, tumbling in their seal-skin coat,
Fearless, the hungry fishers float,
And, from teeming seas, supply
The food their niggard plains deny.
LESSON 21 SELF-DENIAL
THE clock had just struck nine, and Harry recollected, that his mother had desired them not to sit up a moment after the clock struck. He reminded his elder brother of this order.
"Never mind," said Frank, "here is a famous fire, and I shall stay and enjoy it."
"Yes," said Harry, "here is a famous fire, and I should like to stay and enjoy it; but that would not be self-denial, would it, Frank?"
"Nonsense," said Frank, "I shall not stir yet, I promise you."
"Then, good night to you," said Harry.
Six o'clock was the time at which the brothers were expected to rise. When it struck six the next morning, Harry started up; but the air felt so frost, that he had a strong inclination to lie down again."But no," thought he, "here is a fine opportunity for self-denial;" and up he jumped without farther hesitation.
"Frank, Frank," said he to his sleeping brother, "past six o'clock, and a fine star-light morning?
"Let me alone!" cried Frank, in a cross, drowsy voice.
"Very well, then, a pleasant nap to you," said Harry, and down he ran as gay as the lark. After finishing his Latin exercise, he had time to take a pleasant walk before breakfast; so that he came in fresh and rosy, with a good appetite, and, what was still better, in a good humor. But poor Frank, who had just tumbled out of bed when the bell rang for prayer, came down looking pale and cross and cold and discontented. Harry, who had some sly drollery of his own, was just beginning to rally him on his forlorn appearance, when he recollected his resolution: "Frank does not like to be laughed at, especially when he is cross," thought he; so he suppressed his joke; and it requires some self-denial even to suppress a joke.
During breakfast his father promised that, if the weather continued fine, Harry should ride out with him before dinner on the gray pony Harry was much delighted with this proposal; and the thought of it occurred to him very often during the business of the morning. The sun shone cheerily in at the parlor windows, and seemed to promise fair for a fine day. About noon, however, it became rather cloudy, and Harry was somewhat startled to perceive a few large drops upon the flag-stones in the court. He equipped himself, nevertheless, in his great coat at the time appointed, and stood playing with his whip in the hall, waiting to see the horses led out. His mother, now passing by; said, "My dear boy; I am afraid there can be no riding this morning; do you see that the stones are quite wet?"
"Dear mother," said Harry, "you surely do not imagine that I am afraid of a few drops of rain; besides, it will be no more than a shower at any rate." Just then his father came in, who looked first at the clouds, then at the barometer, and then at Harry; and shook his head.
"You intend to go, papa, don't you?" said Harry.
"I must go, I have business to do; but I believe, Harry, it will be better for you to stay at home this morning," said the father.
"But, Sir," repeated Harry; "do you think it possible, now, that this little sprinkling of rain should do me the least harm in the world, with my great coat and all?"
"Yes, Harry;" said his father, "I do think that even this sprinkling of rain may do you harm, as you have not been quite well; I think, too, it will be more than a sprinkling. But you shall decide on this occasion for yourself; I know you have some selfcommand. I shall only tell you, that your going this morning would make your mother uneasy; and that we both think it improper; now determine." Harry again looked at the clouds, at the stones, at his boots, and last of all at his kind mother, and then he recollected himself. "This," thought he, "is the best opportunity for self-denial, that I have had to-day;" and he immediately ran to tell Roger, that he need not saddle the gray pony.
"I should like another, I think, mother," said Frank, that day at dinner, just as he had dispatched a large hemisphere of mince pie.
"Any more for you, my dear Harry?" said his mother.
"If you please; no, thank you, though," said Harry. withdrawing his plate; "for," thought he, "I have had enough, and more than enough, to satisfy my hunger; and now is the time for self-denial."
"Brother Harry," said his little sister after dinner, "when will you show me how to do that pretty puzzle you said you would show me a long time ago?"
"I am busy now, child," said Harry, "don't tease me now, there's a good girl." She said no more, but looked disappointed, and still hung upon her brother's chair.
"Come, then," said he, suddenly recollecting himself, "bring me your puzzle," and laying down his book, he very good-naturedly showed his little sister how to place it.
That night, when the two boys were going to bed, Harry called to mind with some complacency the several instances in which, in the course of the day, he had exercised self-denial, and he was on the very point of communicating them to his brother Frank. "But no," thought he, "this is another opportunity still for self-denial; I will not say a word about it; besides, to boast of it would spoil all." So Harry lay down quietly, making the following sage reflections:"This has been a pleasant day to me, although I have had one great disappointment, and done several things against my will. I find that self-denial is painful for a moment, but very agreeable in the end; and, if I proceed on this plan every day, I shall stand a good chance of leading a happy life."—JANE TAYLOR
LESSON 22 AN INCIDENT AT RATISBON
You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:
A mile or so away,
On a little mound, Napoleon
Stood on our storming day;
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,
Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow
Oppressive with its mind.
Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans
That soar, to earth may fall,
Let once my army-leader, Lannes,
Waver at yonder wall," —
Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew
A rider, bound on bound
Full galloping; nor bridle drew
Until he reached the mound.
Then off there flung in smiling joy,
And held himself erect
By just his horse's mane, a boy:
You hardly could suspect, —
(So tight he kept his lips compressed,
Scarce any blood came through, )
You looked twice ere you saw his breast
Was all but shot in two.
"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by Gods grace
We've got you Ratisbon!
The Marshal's in the market-place,
And you'll be there anon
To see your flag-bird flap his vans
Where I, to heart's desire,
Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans
Soared up again like fire.
The chief's eye flashed; but presently
Softened itself, as sheathes
A film the mother-eagle's eye
When her bruised eaglet breathes:
"You're wounded!" "Nay," his soldier's pride
Touched to the quick, he said:
"I'm killed, Sire!" And, his chief beside,
Smiling, the boy fell dead.—ROBERT BROWNING
LESSON 23 A PSALM OF LIFE
TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time:
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and ship-wrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.—HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
LESSON 24 MAKING MAPLE SUGAR
I THINK there is no part of farming which the boy enjoys more than the making of maple sugar. It is better than blackberrying, and nearly as good as fishing; and one reason why he likes this work is, that somebody else does the most of it. It is a sort of work in which he can appear to be very active, and yet not do much.
In my day, maple-sugar making used to be something between picnicking and being shipwrecked on a fertile island, where one should save from the wreck, tubs, and augers, and great kettles, and pork, and hens' eggs, and rye-and-Indian bread, and begin at once to lead the sweetest life in the world.
I am told that it is something different now-a-days, and that there is more desire to save the sap, and make good pure sugar, and sell it for a large price, than there used to be; and that the old fun and picturesqueness of the business are pretty much gone. I am told that it is the custom to carefully collect the sap and bring it to the house, where are built brick arches, over which the sap is evaporated in shallow pans; and that care is taken to keep the leaves, sticks, ashes, and coals out of it, and that the sugar is clarified; that, in short, it is a money making business, in which there is very little fun; and that the boy is not allowed to dip his paddle into the kettle of boiling sugar and lick off the delicious syrup. The prohibition may improve the sugar, but not the sport of the boy.
As I remember the farmer boy (and I am very intimate with one) he used to be on the qui vive in the spring for the sap to begin running. I think he discovered it as soon as anybody. Perhaps he knew it by a feeling of something starting in his own veins,—a sort of spring stir in his legs and arms, which tempted him to stand on his head, or throw a hand-spring, if he could find a spot of ground from which the snow had melted.
The sap stirs early in the legs of a country boy, and shows itself in uneasiness in the toes, which get tired of boots, and want to come out and touch the soil just as soon as the sun has warmed it a little. The country boy goes bare-foot just as naturally as the trees burst their buds in spring. Perhaps the boy has been out digging into the maple trees with his jack-knife; at any rate, he comes running into the house in a state of great excitement—as if he had heard a hen cackle in the barn—with, "Sap's runnin'!"
Then, indeed, the stir and excitement begin. The sap-buckets, which have been stored in the garret over the wood-house, are brought down and set out on the south side of the house and scalded. The snow is still a foot or two feet deep in the woods, and the ox-sled is taken out to make a road to the sugar—camp, and the campaign begins. The boy is everywhere present, superintending everything, asking questions, and filled with a desire to help on the excitement.
It is a great day when the sled is loaded with the buckets, and the procession starts for the woods. The sun shines almost unobstructedly into the forest, for there are only naked branches to bar it; the snow is beginning to sink down, leaving the young bushes spindling up everywhere; the snow-birds are twittering about, and the noise of shouting, and the blows of the ax, echo far and wide.
This is spring, and the boy can hardly contain his delight that his out- door life is about to begin again. In the first place, the men go about and tap the trees, drive in the spouts, and put the buckets under. The boy watches all these operations with the greatest interest. He wishes that sometimes, when a hole is bored in a tree, the sap would spout out in a stream, as it does when a cider barrel is tapped; but it never does; it only drops; sometimes almost in a stream, but, on the whole, slowly; and the boy learns that the sweet things of the world do not usually come otherwise than drop by drop.
Then the camp is to be cleared of snow. The shanty is recovered with boughs. In front of it two enormous logs are rolled nearly together, and a fire is built between them. Upright posts with crotches at the top are set, one at each end, and a long pole is laid on them, and on this are hung the great cauldron kettles. The huge hogsheads are turned right side up and cleaned out, to receive the sap that is gathered. And now, if there is a good "sap run," the establishment is under full headway.
The great fire that is kindled in the sugar-camp is not allowed to go out, night or day, so long as the sugar season lasts. Somebody is always cutting wood to feed it; somebody is busy most of the time gathering in the sap; somebody is required to fill the kettles and see that the sap does not boil over. It is not the boy, however; he is too busy with things in general to be of any use in details. He has his own little sap-yoke and small pails, with which he gathers the sweet liquid. He has a little boiling-place of his own, with small logs and a tiny kettle.
In the great kettles, the boiling goes on slowly, and the liquid, as it thickens, is dipped from one to another, until in the end-kettle it is
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