1. The Iron Horse.

  See him as he stands on the track, ready to begin the race!  Did any war horse ever look prouder, stand firmer, brace himself so bravely for the onset?
  He breathes short and quick, filling his lungs with air and puffing it out through his flaming nostrils.  He swallows his food at a gulp -- black stones which become red fire in his great stomach.  He drinks more water than a dozen camels making ready for a desert journey.  He is restive, and yet easy to be controlled.  He trembles with impatience.  With his fifty tons' weight he shakes the earth around him.
  See his iron sinews, how tense, how ready for action they are! and think of the wonderful power that lies dormant within them, soon to be awakened to energetic life!
  And now the master gives the word -- it is only a motion of his hand.  The steed whinnies with delight, he moves, he starts.  No spur, nor whip, nor guiding rein for him!  If he has plenty to eat and drink, he will do whatever he is bidden.
  See how steadily and with what force he moves at the beginning of the race!  His momentum becomes greater with every movement of those iron muscles; his speed increases; he neighs with delight as he master gives him the reins.
  On, on, thou swifter than the west wind!  On, thou star chaser!  The fleetest steed in the world can not overtake thee!
  Snorting, neighing, puffing, whistling, he speeds onward; he crosses rivers without slacking his pace; he rushes through villages and towns, shrieking in his pride and never pausing; he dives under mountains, and his one great eye shines like a meteor in the dark caverns through which he hastens.
  Out he leaps again, with a roar and a crash and a shrill scream which wakens all the countryside and is echoed far among the hills.  But now, at another motion of his master's hand, he slackens his speed; he curbs his wonderful power; his rattling pace becomes a smooth, gliding movement; he creeps; he stops.
  He has carried his master, his groom, and five hundred riders a distance of sixty miles in as many minutes.  Yet he is not tired.  He pants and trembles, it is true, but only because he is impatient to be going again.  The groom pats him on the back; he smooths his shining black side; he polishes the yellow stripes that girdle his body; he looks lovingly into his eye.  Everybody admires him.
  How docile is the great steed!  Although his strength is equal to that of a thousand war horses, his master can control it by the movement of a single finger.  How useful he is!  He is your best servant.  From the remotest corners of the world he brings your food and clothing; he will carry you to any place you may choose to go.
  How powerful he is!  He has made one neighborhood of our whole great continent; he has pretty well done away with distances; he has helped to civilize the world.  Who says that he is only a mass of iron and steel, of senseless wheels and lifeless levers?  In all the world there is no horse like the iron horse.


2. Horatius at the Bridge.

  King Porsenna gathered together a great army and came up against Rome.  When men heard of his coming, there was such a fear as had never been before.  Nevertheless they were steadfastly purposed to hold out.
  All that were in the country fled to the city.  Round about the city they set guards to keep it, part being defended by walls, and part, for so it seemed, being made safe by the river.
  But here a great peril had well-nigh overtaken the city.  There was a wooden bridge on the river by which the enemy could have crossed but for the courage of a certain Horatius.  There was a hill which men called Janiculum on the side of the river, and this hill King Porsenna took by a sudden attack.
  Horatius chanced to have been set to guard the bridge.  He saw how the enemy were running at full speed to the place, and how the Romans were fleeing in confusion.  He cried with a loud voice, "Men of Rome, if ye leave this bridge behind you for men to pass over, ye shall soon find that ye have more enemies in your city than in Janiculum.  Do ye therefore break it down with ax and fire as best ye can.  In the meanwhile I, so far as one man may do, will stay the enemy."
  As he spake he ran forward to the farther end of the bridge and made ready to keep the way against the enemy.  There stood two with him, Lartius and Hermirius by name, men of noble birth and of great renown in arms.  These three stayed the first onset of the enemy; and the men of Rome brake down the bridge.
  When there was but a small part remaining, and they that brake it down called to the three that they should come back, Horatius bade the farther side, crying, "Dare ye now to fight with me?  Why are ye thus come up at the bidding of your master, King Porsenna, to rob others of the freedom that ye care not to have for yourselves?"
  For a while they delayed, looking each man to his neighbor, who should first deal with this champion of the Romans.  Then for very shame they all ran forward, and raising a great shout threw their javelins at him.  These all he took upon his shield, nor stood less firmly in his place on the bridge.  Suddenly the men of Rome raised a great shout, for the bridge was now altogether broken down, and fell with a great crash into the river.
  And as the enemy stayed awhile for fear, Horatius turned to the river and said, "O Father Tiber, I beseech thee this day with all reverence that thou kindly receive this soldier and his arms."  As he spake he leapt with all his arms into the river and swam across to his own people.  Though many javelins of the enemy fell about him, he was not one whit hurt.
  Nor did such valor fail to receive honor from the city.  The citizens set up a statue of Horatius in the market place; and they gave him of the public lands so much as he could plow about in one day.  Also there was this honor paid him, that each citizen took somewhat of his own store and gave it to him, for food was scarce in the city by reason of the siege.


3. Government. -- 1.

  Let us suppose that there is a great war going o between France and Germany; a boy who is puzzled by what he sees in the newspapers, puts the question, "Why are the Germans marching to Paris?"  The answer given would be, "Because it is the capital, or seat of government;" but it is very likely that the boy would not understand it, because he might not know what was meant by government.
  Imagine now a little boy going to some great public show, in which there are fine painted scenes, often changed, and hundreds of men and women all doing different things, - all this being done exactly and to the moment; and imagine him asking, "Who manages all this, and how is it all made to come right?"
  Of course he gets answers which give him some account of what is meant by "organization" and "government."  If we could put all the answers together in one sentence, it would be something like this, - that " government" means "force used in order to make people do certain things or not do certain other things."
  Family life if our first experience of government.  One of the first things you and I said, when we were very little and not al all wise, was, "I shall," "I shan't," "I will," or I won't."  By degrees we learned two things.  First, we learned that there were certainly many matters in which our parents knew what was good for us and what would hurt us, a great deal better than we ourselves knew; and then, in the second place, we learned that probably there were other matters in which our father and mother knew best what was good for us.  In learning these lessons, we learned to obey our father and mother; we were governed by them.
  The father and mother together govern the children, and if all is well, they are of one mind as to what rules are to be made for the household.  But again, if all is well, one person in the family is stronger than all the rest, and that person, of course, is the father.  It would be the father who would do most for he help and defence of the family of the house were attached or in any great danger; and in order to do this, he would have power to do whatever he thought wise.  He is really the governor of the house.
  So, without going beyond a single home, we can find out the meaning of "government:" it is "force used for the sake of order and of defence."  How much force is necessary, how it is to be used, how wise and good or how foolish and wicked those who use this force may be, are things in which there have been great differences all over the world from the beginning until now.  One thing we all know --  that the amount of force used naturally increases in proportion to the opposition which is shown to it within the home, or in proportion to the greatness of the danger which threatens it from outside.
  So much for government as we see it in a household; now for government in a country.  Let us suppose that there were only two men living in a certain land.  A blue-eyed man and a brown-eyed man are in a land full of grapes, and when the blue-eyed man is trying to gather a bunch for himself on a hot day, the brown-eyed man says, "No, you shall not; I will be master of all the grapes."  This would be very wrong; and we cannot help believing that in this quarrel the man who was in the right would get the better of the one who was in the wrong.  If he did so, he would be exercising a kind of government over the other man.
  If you were grown up, and were the third man in the land where the brown-eyed man was robbing the blue-eyed one of his share of the grapes, you would take the side of the robbed man, and perhaps you and he would think that the robber ought to be punished in some way.  If you agreed to do so, that would be two men governing one.  But in this would there are not merely one or two, but many thousands of people who would be ready to check and punish a robber or any other wrong-doer.
  Let us next suppose that a good many people are living together --  men, women, and children --  as there are everywhere: we find there are always some people who want to do wrong, and who manage to do it in some degree, whatever care the others may take to prevent it.  But the people who try to be just and kind are always more in number than those who do not.  There is more force in the world on the side of right than on the side of wrong things.


4. Government. -- 2.

  It has come about, in one way and another, that all over the world men have gathered together in tribes or nations.  Wherever a tribe or a nation has been formed, men have said to one another, "We want to go about our business.  We want to build houses and to till the fields. What shall we do with the few bad people who like robbery and murder and other wrong things?
  "We shall choose a head man, or head men, and they will be rulers; and some of us will be rulers under them; there will be rulers everywhere.  Then the bad people will know that we are read to help the rulers; and we are more in number than all the bad people together, so they will be afraid to rob and murder.  If any of them do it, or try to do it, we shall put them in prison, or otherwise punish them. By doing this we shall be at peace, and shall be able to go about our business."
  In this way rulers are set up, and rules or laws are made for the people of a country.  The people must always submit to the public laws, or bear the penalty for not doing so; and some of these laws are quite as inconvenient to many grown people, and as much opposed to their wishes, as any rules that parents have to make for their wishes, as any rules that parents have to make for their children at home, or teachers for children at school.
  Now the more perfectly all this is carried out, the more "civilized" do we say a people is.  The word "Civilized" comes from a Latin word meaning a citizen, or dweller in a city.  It is in the cities that the greatest number of people are gathered together; and there you find most of the rulers of a country living, with the greatest amount of force at their command to put down wrong-doing.
  So much for the first purpose of government --  the preventing or punishing of wicked actions.  As people grow more and more civilized, they often agree upon rules for other purposes than the mere putting down of violence --  for example, rules for making roads, carrying letters, sending out ships, making places clean and healthy, and so forth.  They have all the same object --  namely, to make life easier and more pleasant for the people.
  In a home the father does one kind of work, the mother does a different kind, the servants another, and the children another; and so all the duties of the day are gone through in an orderly manner.  The same thing happens in a government.  Some of the rulers attend to money matters, others to police, and to roads and rivers, others to business with foreign countries, others to business with foreign countries, others to soldiers and sailors, and so on:
  The head rulers do their work in places built or chosen for that purpose, which are called Government offices.  The capital, or head city, is the centre of Government.  There you find the greatest amount of force to help the rulers in doing right, and from there go the main roads, and railways and telegraphs all over the country.
  There also, is managed most of what is done for the defence of the country --  that is, the training of soldiers and sailors, the making of arms and weapons of all kinds, and arrangements for sending ships or armies to the proper places when there is any danger of war with the people of another country.
  This is the most dreadful purpose for which government is set up --  to carry on war, if that should be necessary.  Government is more necessary when war is being waged than at any other time; without a government, it would be impossible for a country to carry on war.  To seize the capital or seat of government of a country is like disabling a man by a blow on the head.
  This is the reason why in the great war of 1870 the Germans marched on Paris, as we mentioned at the beginning.  The capture of Paris would mean the end of the war.  The French knew this, too, and tried to remove the Government offices to another town, so that France might still have a capital and rulers of its own.
  A child might well ask, looking at any great public show such as we spoke of, how it all came to be done; and when we look at what goes on in a single hour in a civilized country, we may well ask the same question.  It is done by Government organization --  that is, by work done in an orderly manner, by proper people, who are put in their places by the rulers, from the highest ruler, or prime minister, down to the lowest parish officer.


SHORTER PIECES. 1. A LETTER.

My dear Friend,
  I understand that you are in the habit of going to bed early, and that you don't get up till breakfast is ready.  Is that true?  I can hardly believe it, because I should think you know better how to employ your time.
  Man lives but as long as he is awake and does something useful.  If you snore away twelve hours out of every twenty-four, you live but one half of your life, and he who reaches the age of fifty, of which he has passed one half in bed, cannot be said to have lived more than fifteen years, because he spent the rest of his time on eating, drinking, playing, dressing, and other more or less useless things.
  What shall we be able to say in justification of such an abuse abuse of our time?
  You will find that six or seven hours out of twenty-four are quite sufficient to recover strength against the fatigues of the following day.
  The less you sleep, the longer you live, and in employing your time usefully consists the great art of  prolonging life.
  Take my advice: try to get rid of that bad habit.  It can not lead to your health or help you on in life.
  Your well-wisher,
  Fohn Bennett.  


5. Things by Their Right Names.

Charles: Father, last winter you used to tell us stories, but now you never tell us any.  Now we have all got round the fire quite ready to hear you.  Pray, dear father, let us have a very pretty one.
Father: With all my heart -- what shall it be?
C: A dreadful murder, father!
F: A dreadful murder! Well, then --  Once upon a time, some men, dressed all alike --  
C: With black crape over their faces?
F: No, they had steel caps on : having crossed a dark heath, would cautiously along the skirts of a deep forest --  
C: They were ill-looking fellows, I dare say.
F: I can not say so; on the contrary, they were as tall, good-looking men as one could see : - leaving on their right hand an old ruined tower on the hill --  
C: At midnight, just as the clock struck twelve; we it not father?
F: No, really; it was on a fine, balmy summer's morning --  and moved forward, one behind another --  
C: As still as death, creeping along under the hedges?
F: On the contrary, they walked remarkably upright; and so far from endeavouring to be hushed and still, they made a loud noise as they came along, with several sorts of instruments.
C: But, father, they would be found out immediately.
F: They did not seem to wish to conceal themselves: on the contrary, they gloried in what they were about.  They moved forward, I say, to a large plain, where stood a neat, pretty village, which they set on fire ?
C: Set a village on fire?  Wicked wretches!
F: And while it was burning, they murdered --  twenty thousand men.
C: O fie! father.  You don't intend I should believe this?  I thought all along you were making up a tale, as you often do; but you shall not catch me this time.  What! they lay still, I suppose, and let these fellows cut their throats!
F: No, truly; they resisted as long as they could.
C: How could these men kill twenty thousand, pray?
F: Why not? the murderers were thirty thousand.
C: Oh, now I have found you out!  You mean a Battle!
F: Indeed I do.  I do not know of any murders half so bloody.


6. The First Ship of Peter the Great. -- 1.

  Peter the Great of Russia, while a youth, had heard somewhere, that in foreign countries people had an instrument by which distance could be measured without moving from the spot.
  When Prince Jacob Dolgoruki was about to start on his mission to France, and came to take his leave, Peter told him of this wonderful instrument, and begged him to procure him one while abroad.
  Dolgoruki told him that he himself had once had one, which was given him as a present, but it had been stolen, and that he would certainly not forget to bring one home.
  On Dolgoruki's return in May, 1688, the first question of Peter was whether he had fulfilled his promise; and great was the excitement as the box was opened and a parcel, containing an astrolabe and a sextant, was eagerly unwrapped.
  But alas! when they were brought out, no one knew the use of them.  Dologoruki scratched his head, and said that he had brought the instruments, as directed, but it had never occurred to him to ask how they were used.
  In vain Peter sought some one who knew how to use the sextant.  At last his new doctor told him that in the German suburb he knew of a man well skilled in mechanics --  Franz Timmermann, a Dutch merchant, who had settled in Moscow, and who had a certain amount of education.
  Timmermann was brought next day.  He looked at the instrument, and, after a long inspection, finally said he could show how it was used.
  Immediately he measured the distance to a neighboring house.  A man was at once sent to pace it, and found the measurement correct.  Peter was delighted, and asked to be instructed in the use of the new instrument.
  Timmermann said: "With pleasure; but you must first learn arithmetic and geometry." Peter had once begun studying arithmetic, but was deficient in its full knowledge. He did not even know how to subtrack or divide.
  He now set to work with a will, and spent his leisure time, both day and night, over hi copy-books.  Geometry led to geography and fortification.  The old globe of his school-room was sent for repairs, and he had, besides, the one in metal repairs, and he had, besides, the one in metal presented to his father, which is still shown in the treasury at Moscow.
  From this time Timmermann became one of Peter's constant companions, for he was a man from whom something new could always be learned.  A few weeks later, in June, 1688, as Peter was wandering about one of his country estates, he pointed to an old building in the flax yard, and asked one of his attendants what it was.
  "A storehouse," replied the man, "where all the rubbish was put that was left after the death of Ivan Romanoff, who used to live here."
  With the natural curiosity of a boy, Peter had the doors opened, went in, and looked about.  There, in one corner, turned bottom upward, lay a boat, yet not in any way like those flat-bottomed, square-sterned boats which he had seen on the river Moskwa.
  "What is that?" he asked.
  "That is an English boat," said Timmermann.
  "What is it good for?  Is it better than our boats?"  asked Peter.
  "If you had sails to it, it would go not only with the wind, but against the wind," replied Timmermann.  "How against the wind?  Is it possible?  Can that be possible?"  


7. The First Ship of Peter the Great. -- 2.

  Peter wished to try it at once.  But, after Timmermann had looked at the boat on all sides, it was found to be too rotten for use; it would need to be repaired and tarred, and, besides that, a mast and sails would have to be made.
  Timmermann at last thought he could find a man capable of doing this, and sent for a certain Carsten Brandt, who had been brought from Holland about 1660 by the Czar Alexis, for the purpose of constructing vessels on the Caspian Sea.
  The old man looked over the boat, calked it, put in the mast, arranged the sail, and then launched it on the river.
  There, before Peter's eyes, he began to sail up and down the river, turning now to the right and then to the left.  Peter's excitement was intense.  He called out to him to stop, jumped in, and himself began to manage the boat under Brandt's directions.
  It was hard for the boat to turn, for the river was narrow, and the water was too shallow.  Peter eagerly asked where a broader piece of water cold be found, and was told of a small lake near by.  The boat was dragged overland to the lake.  It went better, but still not to his satisfaction.
  At last Peter found that about fifty miles away there was a good large lake, where he would have plenty of room to sail.  It was not, however, so easy for Peter to get there.  It was not customary for the Czars or members of their family to make journeys without some recognized object, and what should a boy of his age do so far away, and alone?
  An idea struck Peter.  It was then June, and there was a great festival at the Troitsa Monastery.  He asked his mother's permission to go to Troitsa to attend the festival, and as soon as the religious service was over, he drove as fast as he could to the lake.
  But he soon learned that there was no boat there, and he knew that it was too far to bring the little English boat.  Anxiously he asked Brant whether it were not possible to build some boats there.
  "Yes, sir," said Brandt, "but we shall require many things."
  "Ah, well! that is of no consequence," said Peter.  "We can have anything."
  And he hastened back to Moscow with his head full of visions of ship-building.  He scarcely knew how to manage it, because to engage in such a work at the lake would require his living there for some time, and he knew that it would be hard to bring his mother to consent to this.
  At last he extorted this consent.  He hastened off, together with Carsten Brandt and a ship-builder named Kort, an old comrade whom Brandt had succeeded in finding at Moscow.  Timmermann, probably, also accompanied him.
  Fast as Peter and his comrades worked together --  for he had remained with them in the woods --  there was so much to do in the preparation of timber, in the construction of huts to live in, and in the building of a dock from which to launch the boats, that it came time for Peter to return long before any boat was ready, and there was no sign that any could be completed before winter set in.
  Peter's mother had grown anxious about her son.  He had been away nearly a month, and political affairs were taking a serious turn.  Much to his regret, therefore, Peter went back to Moscow to celebrate his mother's name's day, on September 6th, leaving his faithful Dutchmen strict injunctions to do their utmost to have the boats ready by the following spring.
  The place chosen by Peter his ship-building, was on the east side of the lake.  The only evidences still remaining of Peter's visit are the site of a church there, dedicated to the Virgin of the Ships, and the decaying remains of some piles under water, which apparently formed the foundation of the wharf or landing place.
  The boat which Peter discovered on his estate is thought by many to have been constructed in Russia by Dutch carpenters in 1688, during the reign of the Czar Alexis.  By others it is supposed to be a boat sent by Queen Elizabeth to the Czar Ivan, the Terrible.
  Ever since Peter's time it has borne the name of the "Grandsire of the Russian Fleet," and is preserved with the greatest care in a small brick building near the Cathedral of Sts.  Peter and Paul, within the fortress at St. Petersburg.
  In 1870, on the celebration of the zooth anniversary of Peter's birth, it was one of the chief objects of interest in the great parade at St. Petersburg; and again, in 1872, it was conveyed with much pomp solemnity to Moscow, where, for a time, it formed a part of a great exhibition in that city. 


8. Dust.

  If I were to ask you whether dust is of any use, you would reply that it is of no use at all, but is only a nuisance.  The girls would tell me that dust n the home makes it very unhealthy, and that much time has to be spent every day in dusting the rooms.
  These answers would be only partly right.  Too much dust is very bad for us, and brings discomfort and disease.  Yet, after all, dust, like dirt, is only "matter in the wrong place."  You will be surprised to learn that we owe to dust the gentle rain, the soft daylight, the beauty of the blue sky, and the glory of the sunset.
  Watch a sunbeam pass into a dark room through a chink in the shutters.  How it lights up the room at once!  In the path of the beam you see hundreds of particles of dust gleaming like gold.  Without this dust the sunbeam would be quite invisible until it fell upon the floor or the wall.  The dust reflects the light and spreads it around.  It is the same out of doors.  The dust gives us our soft, pleasant daylight; without it, there would be either a strong glare of sunshine, or a black shadow in which we could see nothing.
  If I were to put a thick prism of glass in the path of the sunbeam, the white light would be split up into all  the colours of the rainbow.  When sunlight shines on a pearl shell, the fine grooves in the shell break it up into colours, and you see the shell gleaming with changing light.  Now, dust particles in the air also reflect all these colours, but they blend together again to form white light.
  The higher we go, the smaller and lighter are the particles of dust in the air.  These fine particles reflect only the blue light, and it is for this reason that the clear sky appears blue.  The coarse dust near the earth reflects a good deal of white or yellow light, and this mingles with the blue, so that the blue of the sky is not so deep or pure as it otherwise would be.
  If we go up a high mountain, most of the coarse dust is below us.  We then find that the sky is of a much deeper blue than it was when seen from the base of the mountain.  Italy is famed for its blue sky, and our own skies would be much more beautiful if our factories did not pour into the air such vast streams of dust-laden smoke.
  The lovely hues of sunrise and sunset are also due in great measure to dust.  When the sun is near the horizon, we see it through a great thickness of the lower air, with its coarse dust.  The very fine dust of the upper air reflects the blue away from us, and leaves us the yellow and red light.  That is how the sun appears so red at sunrise and sunset.  We can hardly believe that the wondrous beauty of the sunset sky is the gift of mere dust!
  Some years ago a great volcanic eruption took place in the East Indies.  Vast clouds of dust were shot forth into the sky, and were carried by air-currents all round the earth, Some months afterwards the sunsets were glorious to see.  The sky was flushed with the richest crimson night after night, not only in the East Indies, but all over the world. These specially grand sunsets were due to the dust from the volcano.
  If there were no dust in the air, our earth would not be fit for us to live upon.  Let me tell you why.  You know that without rain the earth would be a parched desert; you probably do not know that dust is necessary to give us the rain which waters the earth and makes it fit for the abode of man.
  The heat of the sun turns the water of the ocean into vapour, which rises unseen into the air.  As it rises, the cold air about it condenses it into the form of clouds.  When these clouds are further cooled by being forced to rise over a range of mountains, or when they are chilled by meeting colder currents of air, their vapour falls on the earth as rain.
  Not many years ago it was discovered that without dust in the air there could be no clouds; the cooling of the vapour would not produce clouds unless there were solid particles of matter in the air.  The vapour would remain invisible, and would float about until the whole air was full of moisture.
  On the mountain sides, however, this moisture would turn into water.  There the rain would fall in vast sheets, and would roar down the mountain slopes in fierce torrents, sweeping away every living thing.  The lowlands would be parched deserts where no creature could live.
  Now, I think you begin to understand what a great debt we owe to dust.  Who would have thought that mere scraps of dirt could do so much for mankind?  It shows that even the tiniest and most worthless thing has its part to play in the work of nature.  That which we despise is often more important in the life of the world than that which seems to us great and important.


SHORTER PIECES. 2. KEEN OBSERVATION.

  One day, when Toyotomi Hideyoshi was sitting in a room of his palace, he saw five swords lying on the table before him.  He looked narrowly at each of them, and said to one of his retainers, "I will tell you to whom each one of these belongs."
  Here he gave the names of each of owners.  When asked how he came to know them, he replied; - "There is nothing very clever about this.  Ukita Hide-ie is fond of pretty things; so that this sword here, ornamented with gold, is his.  Uesugi Kagekatsu, like his ancestors, is fond of long swords, and therefore this long one is his.  Maeda Toshi-ie, originally called Matazaemon, is a man who once was poor and unknown to the world, but who by great exploits in war, has risen to become the lord of a large territory.  But as he still desires to remember the days of his poverty, this sword, with nothing but common leather around the handle, is doubtless his.  Mori Terumoto is fond of having something different from everyone else, and therefore this sword, with the odd-looking ornaments on it, is his.  Ieyasu is a great hero; and consequently not one who depends for his success on any one sword in particular or who prides himself on his swords, and therefore this one that is mended in different places and which has no ornaments whatever on it, agrees well with the man's tastes and is doubtless his.  Am I not right?
  "You are right in them all;" replied the retainer.


9. A Sailor Prince.

  The love of the sea is in blood, and there are few British boys who have not, like Robinson Crusoe, dreamed of "running off to sea."  Many of our royal princes have been sailors, and a naval training was chosen by King Edward the Seventh for his younger son, Prince George, now Prince of Wales.  He served for some time as an officer in the navy, and after the death of his elder brother had left him heir to the throne, he made a memorable voyage round the empire.
  At the beginning of the new century, the five colonies of Australia and the island of Tasmania formed themselves into one commonwealth, with one parliament to manage the chief affairs of the great island continent.  The meeting of this parliament marked the birth of a new and loyal nation, and Queen Victoria decided to send her grandson -- then known as Duke of Cornwall and York -- to open the parliament in her name.
  Then suddenly the shadow of mourning fell upon the whole empire, through the death of its beloved Queen; but King Edward determined to fulfill his mother's wish, and the world-tour of our Sailor Prince began on March 16, 1901.  His mission was not to Australia alone; he was to carry greetings to the other great colonies of the empire as well.
  A large ocean steamship, the Ophir, was prepared for the use of the Prince and his Princess; and when this ship sailed from Southampton as a royal yacht, she had on board a company of more than five hundred souls.  The voyage before them was one of fifty thousand miles --  equal to twice the distance round the world --  and nearly eight months were to pass before their return.  It was a royal progress such as the world had never seen before.
  Visits were paid to Gibraltar and Malta, our outposts on the route to the East; and at Port Said, where Britain rules if she does not reign, the royal travelers set foot on foreign soil for the first and last time during the whole length of their tour.  After traversing the "big ditch" in the desert and enduring the sweltering heat of the Red Sea, the Prince visited another outpost of the empire -- the parched and barren Aden, green for the time with palm branches which had been brought on camels from distant valleys.
  India was passes by -- an empire too great for a mere passing visit; but a pleasant break in the voyage was made at Ceylon, the "pearl of the  Eastern seas," and another at Singapore, the great centre of Eastern trade, with a teeming population of almost every race under the sun.
  It has long been the custom among sailors when "crossing the line" that all who are doing so for the first time must pay homage to Neptune, the god of the sea, who is represented by one of the crew in some quaint disguise.  The Prince was too good a sailor to spoil the fun of his men.  He decided that all should fare alike, whether they had crossed the line before or not; and he himself was one of the first to be shaved by Neptune's barber, and ducked in his big bath -- a sail suspended by the corners and filled with sea water.  Even the Princess was "baptized" by Neptune, as a token of becoming one of his family.
  The first parliament of the Commonwealth of Australia was opened by the Prince at Melbourne on the ninth of May, in the presence of a gathering of twelve thousand people.  During the ceremony the Princess touched an electric button, which flashed to every school in Victoria a signal for hoisting the Union Jack in honour of the day.
  Three busy months were spent in Australia and New Zealand.  Special notice was taken of the school children, who were gathered at every stopping-place to see the royal visitors from the home-land of their fathers.  The Australian visit over, the Ophir shaped her course for South Africa, where the sky was still dark with the clouds of war, and a brief visit was made to Natal and to Cape Town.
  One more of the English-speaking nations that make up the British Empire still remained to be visited, and now the course was laid for Canada.  The busy cities of the eastern provinces, the rich wheat-fields to the westward, the endless leagues of prairie, the giant ridge of the Rocky Mountains, and the rich slopes of the Pacific -- all were seen by the Prince and his party, who had now exchanged the ocean steamship for the railway train as their traveling home.
  It was the twenty-fifth of October when the Prince bade farewell to Greater Britain, and went aboard the Ophir for the last time, at St. John's, the capital of Newfoundland, out oldest colony.  On the first of November the good ship was back again at Portsmouth.
  This journey of our Sailor Prince was not a mere pleasure trip, or even a mere visit of ceremony.  It sprang from the feeling of kinship between Britain and her colonies, which is now stronger than it has ever been, and which has been strengthened by the visit itself.  As men of every clime gathered to welcome the Prince who will one day be their King, they felt that ties of common race and speech and freedom are stronger to unite than leagues of distance are to separate.  To our island race the sea is not a barrier that divides, but a highway that joins together.


10. A Fine Horse.

(For Four Boys, George, Ned, Sam, and Dick.)

George: What makes you look so glum, Ned?  Did anything happen?
Ned: Of course.  Something is always happening. 
Sam: I shouldn't think you would ever be blue about anything, Ned.  Your father is rich, and you always seem to have everything you want.
Ned: Things are not what they seem.  I don't have everything I want.
Dick: What are your desires now?  Have you been asking for the moon, and your father won't get it for you?
Ned: It isn't what I can't get that troubles me.  It is what I've got.
Sam: I know you're always lucky about getting presents.  What is it now?
Ned: It isn't always so fine as you think.  Father made me a present to-day that I wouldn't give ten cents for.  He said I needed exercise, out-door exercise; and what do you suppose he has bought me?
George: A pair of dumb-bells?
Ned: No, guess again.
Sam: A baseball.
Ned: Worse than that.
Dick: A shovel.
Ned: No, worse than any of those things.  Listen now while I tell you.  A horse.
George: A horse!  I should think you would jump at the chance.
Ned: Well, I haven't.
Dick: What's the matter with your horse?  Is he vicious?
Ned: Oh, not at all!
George: Don't you like his color?
Sam: Is he lame, or blind?
Ned: No, the horse is perfect, as far as I can see.  But I don't like it.
Dick: Well, you are a hard one to please, I declare!  I only wish my father would give me a horse.  I'd be thankful for any kind of one.
Sam: So would I.
Ned: You think you would?  How much use would you find for such a horse as my father has given me?
George: Use! I'd use him every minute in the day I could spare from my studies.
Ned: I'll let you exercise with mine all you want to, if you'll come around to the house.
Dick: That's generous!
Ned: Not very.  I should be only too glad to get rid of the beast altogether, if my father would let me; but he says I need the exercise.
Sam: Some people never know when they are well off.  Will you let me take the horse occasionally?
Ned: Just as often as you want, any of you.
Sam: Come, now, Ned, you must keep your promise when we come for the horse.
Ned: Yes, indeed, I will, and you must all of you promise to come around often and exercise on it.  Will you?
George: Of course we will.
Dick: Sure.
Sam: You can count on us every time.
Ned: I shall expect you, then, two or more times a week.
George, Sam, and Dick: (Heartily.) Yes, indeed!
Ned: You seem to envy me my possession.  I don't want to be mean about it, and as you have all given me your solemn promise to come and exercise on my horse two or three times a week, you had better come around to-morrow and begin.
George: I speak for the first ride!
Dick and Sam: No, I !
Ned: You can't ride on my horse very well, but you can exercise on it.  My father bought it, as I said, because he thought I needed exercise.  It is a sawhorse.
Dick, Sam, and George: Oh!( They groan in disgust and start to go away.  Ned follows smiling.)
Ned: (Calling out.) Don't forget to keep your promise, boys!


11. A Letter to My Son.

  I write this note to-day because your going away is much upon my mind, and because I want you to have a few parting words form me, to think of now and then at quite times.
  I need not tell you that I love you dearly, and am very, very sorry in my heart to part with you.  But this life is half made up of partings, and these pains must be borne.
  It is my comfort and my sincere conviction that you are going to try the life for which you are best fitted.  I think its freedom and wildness more suited to you than any experiment in a study or office would have been; and without that training, you could have followed no other suitable occupation. 
  What you have always wanted until now has been a set, steady, constant purpose.  I therefore exhort you to persevere in a thorough determination to do whatever you have to do as well as you can do it.  I was not so old as you are now, when I first had to win my food, and to do it out of this determination; and I have never slackened in it since.
  Never take a mean advantage of any one in any transaction, and never be hard upon people who are in your power.
  Try to do to others as you would have them do to you, and do not be discouraged if they fail sometimes.  It is much better for you that they should fail in obeying the greatest rule laid down by our Saviour than that you should.
  I put a New Testament among your books for the very same reasons and with the very same hopes that made me write an easy account of it for you when you were a little child, - because it is the best book that ever was, or will be, known in the world; and because it teaches you the best lessons by which any human creature who tries to be truthful and faithful to duty can possibly be guided.
  As your brothers have gone away, one by one, I have written to each such words as I am now writing to you, and have entreated them all to guide themselves by this Book, putting aside the interpretations and inventions of man.  You will remember that you have never at home been troubled about the mere formalities of religion.
  I have always been anxious not to weary my children with such things before they are old enough to form opinions respecting them.  You will therefore understand the better that I now would most solemnly impress upon religion, as it came from Christ himself, and the impossibility of your going far wrong if you humbly but heartily respect it.
  Only one thing more on this head.  The more we are in earnest as to feeling it, the less we are disposed to hold forth about it.  Never abandon the wholesome practice of saying your own private prayers, night and morning.  I have never abandoned it myself, and I know the comfort of it.
  I hope you will always be able to say in after-life that you had a kind father.  In no other way can you show your affection for him so well, or make him so happy, as by doing your duty.  


12. The Emperor's New Clothes.

  In age long past there lived an emperor who was excessively fond of new clothes.  He spent at least half of his time in his wardrobe, looking at his costly robes, and trying on one after another, to see which best pleased his fancy.
  One day there came to his capital two clever rogues who declared that they were weavers, and able to produce a fabric surpassing every other in color and design, but that the clothes made from it had the wonderful property of becoming invisible to any one who was unfit for the office he held, or unworthy of the esteem of his fellow-men.
  "What capital clothes those would be!" thought the emperor.  "If I wore such clothes, I should be able to see what men in my empire are unfit for their posts and unworthy of my confidence.  Yes, I will have a suit of those clothes made directly."  So orders were given to the two rogues to begin at once.
  As for them, they put up a loom and pretended to be working; but in reality it was all a pretense.  They demanded the finest silk and the purest gold; these they put in their pockets, and worked at their empty loom from morning till night.
  "I should like to know how the weavers are getting on with my wonderful clothes," thought the emperor; "but I must send some one whom I know to be both able and faithful, or he will be unable to see anything."  So the emperor called his prime minister, and sent him to examine the marvelous cloth, and to bring him a faithful report.
  Now the minister knew the peculiar property of the cloth, but readily complied with his royal master's wishes, for he felt confident of his own fitness for the high office he had held so long.
  So the old minister entered the room where the two rogues sat working at the empty loom. On approaching, he opened his eyes wide, but the loom seemed to him quite empty.  "Mercy on me!  I can not see anything at all!" he whispered to himself.
  Both the rogues drew his attention to the beautiful fabric they had woven, and asked him if he did not admire the brilliant colors and chaste design.  While speaking they seemed to be handling something in the loom, and to be pointing out its beauties; but the good minister was grieved that he could see nothing.  Thinking it impolitic to let it be known that the wonderful cloth was invisible to him, he peered through his spectacles, as if he saw it, and occasionally exclaimed, "Charming!" "Delightful!"
  The minister on returning spoke of its gorgeous colors and the rare beauty of its design in the same terms that he had heard from the weavers.
  The emperor, whishing to put his officers to the test, sent them one after another to witness the weaving, and to bring back a report of the progress made by the weavers.  All of them were received courteously by the two rogues, who expatiated to their visitors on the beauty of the material they had woven, and all of them pretended to be enchanted with what they had witnessed.
  By this time all the people in the town were talking of the wonderful fabric, which was now supposed to be nearly completed.  Before it was taken from the loom the emperor wished to see it himself.  With a crowd of courtiers, including all the statesmen who had previously visited the loom, the monarch entered the hall, where the two cunning rogues were weaving with might and main without warp or woof.
  "What's this?" thought the emperor.  "Why, I can see nothing at all!  This is indeed terrible!  Am I, then, unfit to be emperor?"  But as the monarch thought it would be very unwise to confess his inability to see the wonderful cloth, he nodded his head in a contented way, and said aloud, "It is indeed magnificent!  It has our highest approval."
  The whole retinue stood round the loom with admiring looks, and re-echoed their sovereign's words.  The ministers present counseled him to wear his new clothes for the first time at the great procession that was soon to take place.
  "It is splendid -- charming!" went from mouth to mouth.  On all sides there seemed general satisfaction, and the emperor gave the rogues the title of Imperial Court Weavers on the spot.
  In the presence of the court the rogues proceeded to take the cloth from the looms.  They went through all the motions proper for the purpose, and begged to be left for two days to prepare the royal clothes, after accurately measuring his majesty's person.  Before the royal party withdrew, the rogues were busy making cuts in the air with great scissors, and sewing with needles without thread.
  On the appointed day the Imperial Court Weavers sought the emperor's dressing room with the wonderful clothes.  The emperor entered with his chief attendants, and proceeded to put on his new robes, after removing all his upper garments.  The two rogues, lifting up one arm as if they were holding something, said, "See! here is the waistcoat!  here is the coat!  here is the cloak! and so on.
  The two rogues then proceeded to put on the new clothes with the greatest care; the emperor, on receiving each garment, turned round and round before the mirror, and seemed to be highly pleased with the effect.  All the courtiers present expressed their satisfaction, and seemed to gaze on his majesty with admiration.
  The emperor, arrayed in his new robes, descended the grand staircase to mount his horse and join the procession.  The two chamberlains, whose office it was to carry the train, stooped down and pretended to be holding something in the air.  They did not dare let it be thought that they saw nothing to hold.
  So the emperor mounted his horse, and the procession moved forward.  Every eye was strained to catch a glimpse of the beautiful robes of which so much had been heard, and every one was on the tiptoe of delighted expectation.  Nor did they seem disappointed, for no one wished it to be known that he failed to see the wonderful clothes.  So on the procession moved, amid the delighted applause of the crowd.
  At last a little child cried out in a shrill voice, "How funny!  He has nothing on but his hat, shirt, and trousers!"
  That word of simple truth broke the spell, and in a moment more the emperor in his new clothes was greeted with the derisive cheers of the mob.


SHORTER PIECES. 3. TOO HASTY.

  The park policeman had not had a very busy morning, and so when he observed a small boy standing by the brink of the pond crying bitterly, he was soon on the spot.
  "What's the matter, Tommy?" he queried.
  For answer the youngster pointed to a boy's hat which was bobbing up and down in the water.
  "My bruvver's -- " he sobbed, but the brave policeman waited to hear no more.  He divested himself of his coat and waded into the ice-cold water to where the hat was, and dived fruitlessly once or twice.
  Sadly he brought the hat to the bank.  "I can't find you brother, Tommy." He said.  "Now don't cry; tell me where he was standing when he fell in."
  The boy stared in open-mouthed amazement.
  "He ain't fell in," he said; "he's over there.  I was goin' to tell you he threwed my hat in the water, but you never let me finish."


13. Malibran and the Young Musician.

  In a humble room, in one of the poorest streets of London, little Pierre, a fatherless French boy, sat humming by the bedside of his sick mother.  There was no bread in the closet, and for the whole day he had not tasted food.  Yet he sat humming to keep up his spirits.  Still at times, he thought of his loneliness and hunger, and he could scarcely keep the tears from his eyes; for he knew nothing would be so grateful to his poor, sick mother as a good, sweet orange --  and yet he had not a penny in the world.
  The little song he was singing was his own, - one he had composed with air and word; for the child was a genius.
  He went to the window, and looking out, saw a man putting up a great bill with yellow letters, announcing that Madame Malibran would sing that night in public.
  "If I could only go," thought little Pierre; and then, pausing a moment, he clasped his hands.  His eyes lighted with a new hope.  Running to the little stand, he smoothed down his yellow curls, and taking from a little box some old stained paper, gave one eager glance at his mother, who slept, and ran speedily from the horse.

  "Who did you say is waiting for me?" said the lady to her servant.  "I am already worn out with company."
  "It is only a very pretty little boy with yellow curls, who says if he can see you he is sure you will not be sorry, and he will not keep you a moment."
  "Well, let him come," said the beautiful singer, with a smile; "I can never refuse children."
  Little Pierre came in, his hat under his arm, and in his hand a little roll of paper.  With manliness unusual for a child, he walked straight to the lady, and bowing, said: "I come to see you because my mother is very sick, and we are too poor to get food and medicine.  I thought that if you would only sing my little song at some of your grand concerts, perhaps some publisher would buy it for a small sum, and so I could get food and medicine for my mother."
  The beautiful woman rose from her seat, - very tall and stately she was, - took the little roll from his hand, and lightly hummed the air.
  "Did you compose it?" she asked, - "you, a child?  And the words? --  Would you like to come to my concert?" she asked, after a few moments of thought.
  "O yes!" and the boy's eyes grew bright with happiness, - "but I couldn't leave my mother."
  "I will send somebody to take care of your mother for the evening; and here is a crown, with which you may go and get food and medicine.  Here is also one of my tickets; come to-night, that will admit you to a seat near me.
  Pierre could scarcely realize his good fortune.  He bought some oranges, and many a little luxury besides, and carried them home to the poor invalid, telling her, not without tears, of what had happened.
  When evening came, and Pierre was admitted to the concert hall, he felt that never in his life had he been in so grand a place.  The music, the myriad lights, the beauty, the flashing of diamonds and rustling of silks, bewildered his eyes and brain.
  At last she came, and the child sat with his eyes riveted upon her glorious face.  Could he believe that the grand lady, all blazing with jewels, and whom everybody seemed to worship, struck up a little plaintive melody; he knew it, and clapped his hands for joy.  And, O, how she sung it!  It was so simple, so mournful, so soul-subduing --  many a bright eye dimmed with tears; and naught could be heard but the touching words of that little son --  O, so touching!
  Pierre walked home as if he were walking on the air.  What cared he for money now?  The greatest singer in all Europe had sung his little song, and thousands had wept at his grief.
  The next day, he was frightened at a visit from Madame Malibran.  She laid her hand on his yellow curls, and turning to the sick woman, said: "Your little boy, madam, has brought you a fortune.  I was offered, this morning, by the best publisher in London, three hundred pounds for his little song; and after he has realized a certain amount from the sale, little Pierre, here, is to share the profits.  Madam, thank God that your son has a gift Heaven.
  The noble-hearted singer and the poor woman wept together.  As to Pierre --  always mindful of Him who watches over the tried and tempted --  he knelt down by his mother's bedside and uttered a simple but eloquent prayer, asking God's blessing on the kind lady who had deigned to notice their affliction.
  The memory of that prayer made the singer even more tender-hearted; and she who was the idol of England's nobility went about doing good.  And in her early, happy death, he who stood by her bed, smoothed her pillow, and lighted her last moments by his undying affection, was the little Pierre of former days, -- now, rich, accomplished.  and the most talented composer of the day.
  All honor to those great hearts, who, from their high station, send down bounty to the widow, and to the fatherless child.


14. The Soldier's Reprieve. -- 1.

  "I thought, Mr. Allen, when I gave my Bennie to his country, that not a father in all this broad land made so precious a gift, - no, not one.  The dear boy only slept a minute --  just one little minute --  at his post; I know that was all, for Bennie never dozed over a duty.  How prompt and trustworthy he was!
  "I know he fell asleep only one little second; - he was so young, and not strong, that boy of mine!  Why, he was as tall as I, and only eighteen!  And now they shoot him because he was found asleep when doing sentinel duty!  Twenty-four hours, Where is Bennie now?"
  "We will hope with his Heavenly Father," said Mr. Allen, soothingly.  "Yes, yes, let us hope; God is very merciful.
  "'I should be ashamed, father,' Bennie said, 'when I was a man, to think I never used this great right arm,' --  and he held it out so proudly before me, - 'for my country, when it needed it.  Palsy it rather than keep it at the plow.'
  "'Go, then, my boy!' I said, 'and God keep you!' God has kept him, I think, Mr. Allen;" and the farmer repeated those last words slowly, as if, in spite of his reason, his heart doubted them.
  "Like the apple of his eye, Mr. Owen, doubt it not!"
  Blossom sat near them, listening with blanched cheeks.  She had not shed a tear.  Her anxiety had been so concealed that no one had noticed it.  She had occupied herself mechanically in the household cares.  Now she answered a gentle tap at the kitchen door, opening it to receive from a neighbor's hand a letter.  "It is from him," was all she said.
  It was like a message from the dead!  Mr. Owen took the letter, but could not break the envelope on account of his trembling fingers, and held it toward Mr. Allen, with the helplessness of a child.
  The minister opened it and read as follows --  "Dear Father --  When this reaches you, I shall be in eternity.  At first, it seemed awful to me; but I have thought about it so much now that it has no terror.  They say that they will not bind me, nor blind me, but that I may meet my death like a man.
  "I thought, father, that it might have been on the battle-field, for my country, and that, when I fell, it would be fighting gloriously; but to be shot down like a dog for nearly betraying it, - to die for neglect of duty!
  "O father, I wonder the very thought does not kill me!  But I shall not disgrace you.  I am going to write you all about it; and when I am gone, you may tell my comrades; I can not now.
  "You know I promised Jemmie Carr's mother I would look after her boy; and, when he fell sick, I did all I could for him.  He was not strong when he was ordered back into the ranks, and the day before that night, I carried all his baggage, besides my own, on our march.
  "Toward night we went in on double-quick, and the baggage began to feel very heavy.  Everybody was tired; and as for Jemmie, if I had not lent him an arm now and then, he would have dropped by the way.
  "I was all tired out when we came into camp; and then it was Jemmie's turn to be sentry, and I would take his place; but I was too tired, father.  I could not have kept awake if a gun had been pointed at my head; but I did not know it until --  well, until it was too late."
  "God be thanked!" interrupted Mr. Owen, reverently.  "I knew Bennie was not the boy to sleep carelessly."
  "They tell me to-day that I have a short reprieve --  given to me by circumstances --  'time to write to you,' our good Colonel says.  Forgive him, father, he only does his duty; he would gladly save me if he could; and do not lay my death up against Jemmie.  The poor boy is broken-hearted, and does nothing but beg and entreat them to let him die in my stead.
  "I can't bear to think of mother and Blossom.  Comfort them, father!  Tell them I die as a brave boy should, and that, when the war is over, they will not be ashamed of me, as they must be now.  God help me; it is very hard to bear!  Good-by, father!
  "To-night, in the early twilight, I shall see the cows all coming home from pasture, and precious little Blossom standing on the back stoop, waiting for me, - but I shall never, never come!  God bless you all!  Forgive your poor Bennie."


15. The Soldier's Reprieve. -- 2.

  Late that night the door of the back stoop opened softly, and a little figure glided out and down the footpath to the road that led by the mill.
  She seemed rather flying than walking, turning her head neither to the right nor the left, looking only now and then to Heaven, and folding her hands, as if in prayer.
  Two hours later the same young girl stood at Mill Depot, watching the coming of the night train; and the conductor, as he reached down to lift her into the car, wondered at the tear-stained face that was upturned toward the dim lantern he held in his hand.
  A few questions and ready answers told him all; and no father could have cared more tenderly for his only child than he did for our little Blossom.
  She was on her way to Washington to ask President Lincoln for her brother's life.  She had stolen away, leaving only a note to tell her father where and why she had gone.  She had taken Bennie's letter with her.  No good, kind heart, like the President's, could refuse to be melted by it.
  The next morning they reached New York, and the conductor hurried her on to Washington.  Every minute, now, might be the means of saving her brother's life.  And so, in an incredibly short time, Blossom reached the capital, and hastened immediately to the White House.
  The President had but just seated himself at his morning's task of looking over and signing important papers, when, without one word of announcement, the door softly opened, and Blossom, with downcast eyes and folded hands, stood before him.
  "Well, my child," he said, in his pleasant, cheerful tones, "what do you want so bright and early in the morning?"
  "Bennie's life, please, sir," faltered Blossom.
  "Bennie?  Who is Bennie?"
  "My brother, sir.  They are going to shoot him for sleeping at his post."
  "O yes," and Mr. Lincoln ran his eye over the papers before him.  "I remember!  It was a fatal sleep.  You see, child, it was at a time of special danger.  Thousands of lives might have been lost through his culpable negligence.
  "So my father said," replied Blossom, gravely, "but poor Bennie was so tired, sir, and Jemmie so weak.  He did the work of two, sir, and it was Jemmie's night, not his; but Jemmie was too tired, and Bennie never thought about himself --  that he was tired too."
  "What is this you say, child?  Come here; I do not understand," and the kind man caught eagerly, as ever, at something to justify the offense.
  Blossom went to him: he put his hand tenderly on her shoulder, and turned up the pale, anxious face toward his.  How tall he seemed, and he was President of the United States too.  A dim though of this kind passed through Blossom's mind; but she told her simple and straightforward story, and handed Mr. Lincoln Bennie's letter to read.
  He read it carefully; then, taking up his pen, wrote a few hasty lines, and rang his bell.
  Blossom heard this order given; "Send this dispatch at once."
  The president then turned to the girl and said: "Go home, my child, and tell that father of yours, who could approve his country's sentence, even when it took the life of a child like that, that Abraham Lincoln thinks the life far too precious to be lost.  Go back, or --  wait until to-morrow; Bennie will need a change after he has so bravely faced death; he shall go with you."
  "God bless you, sir," said Blossom; and who shall doubt that God heard and registered the request?
  Two days after this interview, the young soldier came to the White House with his little sister.  He was called into the President's private room, and a strap fastened upon the shoulder.
  Mr. Lincoln then said: "The soldier that could carry a sick comrade's baggage, and die for the act without complaining, deserves well of his country."
  Then Bennie and Blossom took their way to their Green Mountain home.  A crowd gathered at the Mill Depot to welcome them back; and as farmer Owen's hand grasped that of his boy, tears flowed down his cheeks, and he was heard to say fervently, "The Lord be praised."


16. --  Battle of the Sea of Japan.

  It is about half-past one in the afternoon of May 27th when the Russian Fleet under Admiral Rozhdestvensky first realizes that it is in the presence of the main battle squadron of Japan.  The fog has lifted somewhat, but there is a heavy sea, which tells more against the mixed assortment of Russian ships fully laden with coal and stores and ammunition than against their trim adversaries.
  The former are steaming at about twelve knots only in two parallel columns "line ahead."  In expectation of an attack from the east or north-east, Admiral Rozhdestvensky has formed his four newest battleships into a right column, the flagship Kniaz Suvaroff leading, and the Alexander III., Borodino, and Orel following in the order named.
  The left column consists of four sections.  Of these the first, led by Rear-Admiral Folkersahm, consists of the battleships Ossliabya, Sissoi Veliky, and Navarin, and the armoured cruiser Admiral Nakimoff.
  The second, led by Real-Admiral niebogatoff, consists of the battleship Nikolai I. and the coast-defence ships Apraxin, Seniavine, and Oushakoff.
  The third, commanded by Rear-Admiral Enquist, is a protected cruiser squadron including the Oleg. Aurora, Svetlana, and Almaz, the remaining two vessels of this class, the Femchug and Izumrud, being employed between the two columns as scouts.
  The rear of the left column is brought up by a fourth section comprising the six special service steamers and one converted cruiser, which are led by the armoured cruisers Dmitri Donskoi and Vladimir Monomakh.  On the approach of the Japanese main squadron from the west, Admiral Rozhdestvensky sheers off a little to the east, as thougt to attempt a parallel course, but can only effect this to a limited extent, partly through fear of exposing his weak sections in rear, and partly because, without an immediate change of formation, the fire of his right column would soon be masked.
  Thus, before a shot has been fired in the actual battle, the unfortunate Russian Admiral's mistaken anticipation of an attack from an easterly quarter has placed him at a disadvantage.  Indeed, a Japanese officer who took part in the battle, Commander Akiyama, afterwards insists that this initial blunder of a double column line ahead formation colored the whole fight, and that, the moment they saw that it has been adopted, the Japanese regarded the victory as assured.
  Admiral Togo's arrangements for the coming conflict are simple in the extreme.  He himself, of course, leads the battleships in the Mikasa, which is followed by the Shikishima, Fuji, and Asahi, and the armoured cruisers Kasuga and Nisshin in the order named.
  Then come the six armoured cruisers -- Idzumo, Iwate, Yakumo, Adzuma, Asama, and Tokiwa; and with these twelve ships the Japanese Admiral proceeds to engage the eight battleships, three armoured cruisers, and three coast-defence ironclads of Russia's Baltic Fleet.  For his protected cruisers have already received orders to steer south in order to attack the enemy's weak rear.
  Admiral Togo, on sighting the Russian Fleet, gives the order for all his ships to go into action, and at 1-55 p.m. the following signal is run up on the Mikasa: - "The fate of the Empire depends upon this event.  Let every man do his utmost!"
  The Japanese main squadron now heads south-west, making as though it would cross the enemy's course at right angles; but at 2.5 it suddenly turns east, and, followed by the armoared cruiser squadron, the whole in single column line ahead, bears down diagonally on the head of the enemy's column.
  At 2.8 a puff of smoke breaks from the bows of the Kniaz Suvaroff.  The Russians have opened fire at about 9.000 yards, and the battle has begun.  The Japanese at first make no reply, but silently close in until the distance is lessened by a third, their ships in the meantime, painted a shade of olive green, affording no very good mark for the Russian gunners.
  Coming within 6,000 yards' range, the Japanese Fleet opens a tremendous fire on the leading ships of the two Russian bolumns, the Ossliabya and Kniaz Suvaroff bearing the blunt of this first terrible cannonade.  Subsequently the Times correspondent in forms us that at once it became apparent that the Russian gunners were completely outclassed.  "Careful observations indicated that in the opening stage of the fight the Japanese scored three hits for every one made by the enemy, and very soon the ratio reached four to one.  It was noted that the Japanese bluejackets remained perfectly cool throughout.  Scarcely any recourse was had to the buckets of drinking water placed within their reach.  Absolute confidence of victory pervaded all ranks, the fighting had become a mere pastime to these veterans, and their enthusiasm was still further roused by the splendid skill of their Admiral in carrying his squadrons over scores of miles towards an invisible enemy, so as to meet him at exactly the right spot on this waste of waters.  Only sailors could fully appreciate that feat."
  By the time the Japanese ships have crossed the Russians' bows the rain of their shells has already caused grave disaster.  The Ossliabya is leaking badly; the Kniaz Suvaroff fails to answer her helm.  Both battleships are in flames, and have to leave the line, but the Kniaz Suvaroff continues to keep up a vigorous fire.  The determination and deadly effectiveness of the Japanese attack force the Russians still more to the southeast, and the two Russian columns simultaneously change their course by degrees to the east, thus, according to Admiral Togo's official report, falling into irregular columns line ahead, and moving parallel t the Japanese.  But the superior speed of Togo's ships continues to give them the advantage, and the Imperator Alexander III., badly hit and bursting into flames, follows the Osliabya and Kniaz Suvaroff temporarily into retirement.
  Unable to shake their tormentors off, the Russians have now changed their formation into single column line ahead, and have also changed their direction from east to west.  For a short space the two fleets are steaming in opposite directions.
  Putting about and increasing his speed, Togo seeks once more to head off the Russians to the west, and, in the course of the curve taken by the long Russian line in changing direction, the whole of Rozhdestvensky's armoured vessels become exposed to a cross fire from Togo's battleships and armoured cruiser squadrons.  For the latter have fallen, according to the Times account, "into and L-shaped formation, the battleships pouring their fire on the Russians from the north, the armoured cruisers from the east."
  It is now 2.45.  Several of the Russian ships besides the three above mentioned have caught fire, and the smoke combining with the fog has so much obscured the Russian line, that for a time the main Japanese squadrons cease firing.  But, as Admiral Togo remarks in his official report, the result of the battle has been decided in the past forty minutes.  Two at least of Russia's best battleships are have been sadly knocked about.  Admiral Rozhdestvensky himself has been wounded on board the Kniaz Suvaroff, and is transferred later with his staff to the destroyer Buini.  Admiral Folkersahm has deen killed in the conning-tower of the Ossliabya.
  The Japanese have not, of course, escaped all injury.  Three of the Kasuga's guns have been put out of action, and the great armoured cruiser Asama has been struck by three shells in the stern near the water-line, her steering gear has been injured, and she is leaking so badly that she has to leave the fighting line.  But the handy and indefatigable Japanese bluejackets and engineers rapidly effect temporary repairs, and the Asama soon resumes her place.
  It is reported subsequently that during the hottest exchange of fire Admiral Togo had a narrow escape.  A shell struck the third step of the Mikasa's bridge ladder and burst.  "One of the splinters," writes Reuter's correspondent at Tokio, "struck and broke the iron cover of the compass, smashing it and sending a piece of the iron against Admiral Togo's right thigh as he was standing taking observations with his glass.  Captain Ijichi saw the fragment strike the Admiral and hastily ran toward him, but only to find him still completely absorbed in taking observations, and apparently unaware of what had occurred.  A closer examination showed that Admiral Togo was totally unhurt.  The piece of iron that hit him, which was the size of the palm of one's hand, was found near him.  Captain Ijichi carefully pocketed it and, returning to his post, went on fighting."  Japan may well count that bit of iron as one of her most honoured national relics.  In the Nisshin, again, the veteran Vice-Admiral Misu has been slightly wounded.


SHORTER PIECES. 4. TIT FOR TAT.

  There was a large menagerie in the town, and a great crowd had gone to see the animals.  Among them was a man who thought himself funny, and he tried to play a joke on the big elephant.  He would keep offering him a bun, and just as the elephant was going to take it, he would pull it away.  The elephant was much displeased, but after a time very wisely took no notice of the joker.
  Later in the day he saw his funny friend standing within easy reach of his trunk.  Quick as thought he stretched it out and took the man's straw at off.  Then he held it out to him, and every time the funny man tried to grasp it, he would jerk it away again.  Once the man thought he had it, but the elephant was too quick for him, and swallowed it; leaving him to go home bareheaded, amidst the jeers of the people who had seen both jokes --  the man's and the elephant's.  Most of the people thought that the elephant had rather the best of it.


17. -- The Imaginary Invalid. 

CHARACTERS.
George Grumbledom, imaginary invalid. 
Freda, his niece( assisting him to alight from bathchair.)
F: Carefully, Uncle Gregory.  Carefully out of the chair.
G: Chair, do you call it?  I call it a perambulator.  Where are you taking me?  I'm not going into that stuffy hotel.  I want to sit down.
F: Then let us stay outside.  What a lovely place! I think you'll enjoy sitting out here.
G: No, I shan't, I shan't enjoy anything.  I shall catch my death of cold.  But anything is better than those unwholesome rooms.  I'm feeling faint.  I could eat no breakfast, no breakfast at all.
F: Why, Uncle Gregory! You had ham and eggs, and a chop, and an omelette.
G: Well, but you know what I mean.  Of course I forced myself to eat a little food; but I didn't enjoy it a bit.
F: I certainly thought you enjoyed your breakfast, uncle.
G: I tell you I didn't.  The fact is, I'm feeling frail, very frail.
F: Oh, Uncle Gregory, don't say that.
G: Ah, my pet, you're a good child.  You will be sorry, eh? --  a little sorry when I die?  You will come here some day and strew flowers over my little grave?
F: Uncle Gregory, don't! Cheer up!  Come now, where shall we sit?
G: Yes, dear; where shall we cheer up?  We must try and find some corner where there is no draught.  This seems the best place.  
F: It's very pleasant here.
G: Pleasant!  Ugh!  Suppose it comes on to rain.
F: Oh no, it won't rain.  And if it did, we could go in.
G: In? Go in?  You want to choke me!  You grudge me Heaven's blessed breath!  Ah!  there's a draught here.  Oh I see what it is.  They've left the gate open.  I feel it distinctly.  Where's my comforter?
F: Here it is, uncle.  But I don't feel any draught.
G: No draught!  I tell you there's a hurricane.  And I believe the ground's damp too.  My feet are like stones.
F: Wait a minute, uncle.  I'll run and fetch a footstool.( exit F.)
G: I wish I hadn't come to this miserable place.  I shall never get better here.  I'll go away to-morrow.  I wonder how long that girl will be before she brings the footstool.  I feel the deadly chill creeping up my legs.  Ah, here she comes at last.  (Re-enter F.)  Freda, why do you leave me all alone?  You don't know what might happen to me.
F: I won't leave you, uncle dear.  See here's a footstool, and a rug.
G: Ah, that's better.  I begin to think this place will agree with me.  I'm afraid it will.  I feel better already.
F: Oh, I am so glad.
G: Yes, and I've got such a capital idea.  I've hit on a plan of finding out what is really the matter with me.
F: What a blessing that would be!
G: Yes!  You see Dr. James is afraid to tell me.  Of course I know what that means.  It's something very serious.
F: O uncle, I hope not.
G: Yes, it is.  He's afraid to tell me for fear of the chock, but he has written all about my case to the doctor here.  I've got the letter here in my pocket.  Here it is.
F: But you surely wouldn't open the letter?
G: In the cause of truth, my child, - in the cause of truth I might venture.
F: Oh please, don't do it.
G: Why not?  Eh?  Who not?
F: Dear Uncle Gregory, don't.
G: Ah, you fear the effect upon me.  But you don't know me.  I'll as I am, my nerves all shattered, yet I can be brave.  I will be like a soldier standing in the breach.
F: You are exciting yourself, uncle.
G: You are timid, my child.  You are frightened to death.  Take courage from me.  There!  The deed is done!  Let me see.  At last!  "Dear Sir, I send you 'a patient who is incurable' --  Oh! Oh! (drops letter.)
F: Oh Uncle Gregory, impossible! (picks up letter.)
G: Oh, I knew it.  I'm fainting.  I can't read any more.
F: Then I will.  "He is one of those men who fancy themselves ill, and conjure up in their imaginations 'every conceivable ailment.'  The simple truth is that 'he is in robust health.'
G: Robust?  I robust?  Look at me.  Am I robust?  How dare he?
F: (reads on) "If he insists on it, give him harmless 'medicines,' and keep him at Southborne as long as 'you can.'"
G: The monster!  The ignoramus!  The quack!  My blood boils!  Freda, my dear, help me into the hotel and get me a composing draught.


18. A Good Investment.

  "Will you lend me two thousand dollars to establish myself in a small retail business?"  inquired a young man not yet out of his teens, of a middle-aged gentleman, who was poring over his ledger in the counting-room of one of the largest establishments in Boston.
  The person addressed turned toward the speaker, and regarding him for a moment with a look of surprise, inquired, "What security can you give me, Mr. Strosser?"
  "Nothing but my note," replied the young man, promptly.
  "Which I fear would be below par in the market," replied the merchant, smiling.
  "Perhaps so," said the young man; "but, Mr. Barton, remember that the boy is not the man; the time may come when Hiram Strosser's note will be as readily accepted as that of any other man."
  "True, very true." Replied Mr. Barton, mildly; "but you know business men seldom lend money without adequate security; otherwise they might soon be reduced to penury."
  At this remark the young man's countenance became very pale; and, having kept silent for several moments, he inquired, in a voice whose tones indicated his deep disappointment, "Then you can not accommodate me?"
  "Call on me to-morrow, and I will give you a reply," said Mr. Barton, and the young man retired.
  Mr. Barton resumed his labors at the desk; but his mind was so much upon the boy and his singular errand that he could not pursue his task with any correctness; and, after making several sad blunders, he closed the ledger, took his hat, and went out into the street.  Arriving at the store of a wealthy merchant in Milk Street, he entered the door.
  "Good morning, Mr. Hawley," said he, approaching the proprietor of the establishment, who was seated at his desk counting over the profits of the week.
  "Good morning," replied the merchant.  "Happy to see you.  Have a seat.  Any news?  How's trade?"
  Without noticing these interrogations, Mr. Barton said, "Young Strosser is desirous of establishing himself in a small retail business in Washington Street, and called this morning to secure of me a loan of two thousand dollars for that purpose."
  "Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Hawley, evidently surprised at this; "but you do not think of lending that sum --  do you?"
  "I do not know," replied Mr. Barton.  "Mr. Strosser is a young man of business talent and strict integrity, and will be likely to succeed succeed in whatever he undertakes."
  "Perhaps so," replied Mr. Hawley, doubtfully; "but I am heartily tired of helping to establish these young aspirants for commercial honors."
  "Have you ever suffered from such a course?" inquired Mr. Barton, at the same time casting a roguish glance at Mr. Hawley.
  "No," replied the latter, "for I never felt inclined to make an investment of that kind."
  "Then here is a fine opportunity to do so.  It may prove better than stock in the bank.  As for myself, I have concluded that, if you will advance him one thousand dollars, I will contribute an equal sum."
  "Not a single penny would I advance for such a purpose; and if you make an investment of that kind I shall consider you very foolish."
  Mr. Barton was silent for several minutes and then arose to depart.  "If you do not feel disposed to share with me in the enterprise, I shall advance the whole sum myself."  Saying which, he left the store.

  Ten years have passed away since the occurrence of the conversation recorded in the preceding dialogue, and Mr. Barton, pale and agitated, is standing at the same desk at which he stood when first introduced to the reader's attention.  As page after page of his ponderous ledger is examined, his despair becomes deeper and deeper, till at last he exclaims, "I am ruined --  utterly ruined!"
  "How so!" inquired Hiram Strosser, who entered the room in time to hear Mr. Barton's remark.
  "The last European steamer brought news of the failure of the house of Perleg, Jackson & Co., London, who are indebted to me in the sum of nearly two hundred thousand dollars.  News of the failure has become general, and my creditors, panic-stricken, are pressing me for payment of their demands.  The banks refuse me credit, and I have not the means to meet my liabilities.  If I could pass this crisis, perhaps I could rally again; but it is impossible; my creditors are importunate; and I cannot much longer keep above the tide," replied Mr. Barton.
  "What is the extent of your liabilities?" inquired Strosser.
  "Seventy-five thousand dollars," replied Mr. Barton.
  "Would that sum be sufficient to relieve you?"
  "It would."
  "Then, sir, you shall have it," said Strosser, as he stepped up to the desk, and drew a check for twenty thousand dollars.  "Take this, and when you need more, do not hesitate to call upon me.  Remember that it was from you that I received money to establish myself in business.
  "But that debt was canceled several years ago," replied Mr. Barton, as a ray of hope shot across his troubled mind.
  "True," replied Strosser, "but the debt of gratitude that I owe has never been canceled; and now that the scale is turned, I deem it my duty to come to the rescue."
  At this singular turn in the tide of fortune, Mr. Barton fairly wept for joy.  Every claim against him was paid as soon as presented, and in less than a month he had passed the crisis, and stood perfectly safe and secure: his credit improved, and his business increased, while several others sunk under the blow, among whom was Mr. Hawley, alluded to at the commencement of this lesson.
  "How did you manage to keep above the tide?" inquired Mr. Hawley of Mr. Barton, one morning, several months after the events last recorded, as he met the latter in the street, on his way to his place of business.
  "Very easily indeed," replied Mr. Barton.
  "Well, do tell me how," continued Mr. Hawlay.  "I lay claim to a good degree of shrewdness, but the strongest exercise of my wits did not save me; and yet you, whose liabilities were twice as heavy as my own, have stood the shock, and have come off even bettered by the storm."
  "The truth is," replied Mr. Barton, "I cashed my paper as soon as it was sent in."
  "I suppose so," said Mr. Hawley, regarding Mr. Barton with a look of surprise, "but how did you procure the funds?  As for me, I could not obtain a dollar's credit: the banks refused to take my paper, and even my friends deserted me."
  "A little investment that I made some ten years ago," replied Mr. Barton smiling, "has recently proved exceeding profitable."
  "Investment!" echoed Mr. Hawley; "what investment?"
  "Why, do you not remember how I established young Strosser in business some ten years ago?"
  "O, yes, yes," replied Mr. Hawley, as a ray of suspicion lighted up his countenance; "but what of this?"
  "He is now one of the largest dry-goods dealers in the city, and when this calamity occurred, he came forward, and very generously advanced me seventy-five thousand dollars.  You know I told you, on the morning I called to offer you an equal share of the stock, that it might prove better than an investment in the bank."
  During this announcement Mr. Hawley's eyes were bent intently upon the ground, and drawing a deep sigh he moved on, dejected and sad, while Mr. Barton returned to his place of business with his mind cheered and animated by thoughts of his singular investment.


19. -- Three Sundays in a Week.

  "You hard-hearted, obstinate, crusty, musty, fusty old savage!" said I in fancy, one afternoon, to my granduncle Rumgudgeon, shaking my fist at him in imagination.
  Only in imagination; for what I did say, as I opened the drawing-room door and approached him, was this: "I am sure, my dear uncle, that you have no design seriously to oppose my union with Kate.  This is merely a joke of yours, I know.  Now, uncle, all that Kate and myself wish at present is that you would oblige us with your advice as -- as regards the time, you know, uncle; in short, when will it be most convenient for yourself that the wedding shall come off?"
  "Wouldn't it answer, Bob, if I were to leave it at random, some time within a year or so, for example?  Must I say precisely?"
  "If you please, uncle, precisely."
  "Well, then, Bob my boy, since you will have the exact time, I'll oblige you for once.  You shall have my consent --  let me see!  When shall it be?  To-day's Sunday, isn't it?  Well, then, you shall be married precisely --  precisely, now mind --  when three Sundays come together in a week!  But not till then, you young scapegrace, not till then if I die for it.  You know me: I'm a man of my word.  Now be off!"
  A very fine old English gentleman was my granduncle Rumgudgeion, but he had his weak points.  He was a little, pompous, passionate, semicircular somebody, witeh a long purse, and a strong sense of his own consequence.
  With the best heart in the world, he contrived to earn for himself, among those who only knew him superficially, the character of a curmudgeon.  To every request, a positive "No!" was his immediate answer; but in the end, in the long, long end, there were exceedingly few requests which he refused.
  Now, it was this peculiarity in his disposition, of which Kate's ingenuity enabled us, one fine day not long after our interview, to take a very unexpected advantage.  It happened that among the naval acquaintances of my betrothed, were two gentlemen who had just set foot upon the shores of England, after a year's absence.  In company with these gentlemen, my cousin and I paid uncle Rumgudgeon a visit on the afternoon of Sunday, October the tenth, just three weeks after the memorable decision which had so cruelly defeated our hopes.
  For about half an hour the conversation ran upon ordinary topics; but at last we contrived, quite naturally, to give it the following turn: "Well," said Captain Pratt, "I have been absent just one year to-day.  Let me see!  Yes, this is October the tenth.  You remember, Mr. Rumgudgeon, I called this day year to bid you good-by.  And, by the way, it does seem something like a coincidence, does it not, that our friend Captain Smitherton here has been absent exactly a year also, - a year to-day?"
  "Yes, just one year to a fraction," said Captain Smitherton.  "You will remember, Mr. Rumgudgeon, that I called with Captain Pratt on this very day last year, to pay my parting respects."
  "Yes, yes, yes," said uncle: "I remember it very well.  Very queer indeed!   Both of you gone just one year.  A very strange coincidence, indeed!"
  "To be sure, papa," interrupted Kate, "it is something strange; but then Captain Pratt and Captain Smitherton didn't go the same route, and that makes a difference, you know."
  "I don't know any such thing," said uncle Rumgudgeon.  "How should I?  I think it only makes the matter more remarkable."
  "Captain Pratt," said I hastily, "you must come and spend the evening with me tomorrow, you and Smitherton.  You can tell us all about your voyage, and we'll have a game of whist."
  "Whist, my dear fellow!" said Captain Pratt, "you forget.  To-morrow will be Sunday.  Some other evening."
  "O no!" said Kate, "Robert is not quite so bad as that.  To-day's Sunday."
  "To be sure, to be sure!" said uncle.
  "I beg both your pardons," said Pratt, "but I can't be so much mistaken.  I know to-morrow's Sunday."
  "What are you all thinking about?" cried Smitherton.  "Wasn' yesterday Sunday, I should like to know?"
  "Yesterday, indeed!" said all of us in chorus.  "No, no!"
  "To-day's Sunday, I say, and I ought to know," said uncle testily.
  "You are all mad, every one of you!" persisted Smitherton.  "I am as positive that yesterday was Sunday as I am that I sit here."
  "I see it all, papa," said Kate, jumping up.  "This is a judgment upon you about --  about --  you know what.  I'll explain it all in a minute.  It's a very simple thing, indeed.  Captain Smitherton says that yesterday was Sunday.  So it was : he is right Cousin Bob and you and I say that to-day is Sunday.  So it is: we are right.  Captain Pratt insists that to-morrow will be Sunday.  So it will: he is right too.  The fact is, we are all right, and thus three Sundays have come together in a week."
  "By-the-by, Pratt," said Captain Smitherton, "Kate has caught us.  What fools we two are" --  Mr. Rumgudgeon, the matter stands thus: The earth, you know, is, in round numbers, twenty-four thousand miles, in circumference.  Now, the earth turns on its own axis, spins round, these twenty-four thousand miles, going from west to east, in precisely twenty-four hours.  Well, sir, that is at the rate of one thousand miles an hour.
  "Now, suppose that I sail from this position a thousand miles east.  Of course, I anticipate the rising of the sun here at London by just one hour.  I see the sun rise one hour before you do.  Proceeding in the same direction yet another thousand miles, I anticipate the rising by two hours; another thousand, and I anticipate it by three hours; and so on, until I go entirely round the globe and back to this spot, when, having gone twenty-four thousand miles east, I anticipate the rising of the London sun by no less than twenty-four hours; that is to say, I am a day in advance of your time.  Understand?
  "But Captain Pratt, when he had sailed a thousand miles west of this position, was an hour, and when he had sailed twenty-four thousand miles was twenty-four hours, or one day, behind the time at London.  Thus, with me, yesterday was Sunday; thus, with you, to-day is Sunday; and thus, with Captain Pratt, to-morrow will be Sunday.  And what is more, Mr. Rumgudgeon, it is positively clear that we are all right."
  "Dear me! Well, well, Kate!" said uncle; "well, well, Bob! This is a judgment upon me, as you say.  But I am a man of my word, - mark that!  You shall have her, boy, when you please.  Three Sundays in a week!  Three Sundays in a week!"


20. -- A Toast at a School Festival.
(Spoken by the Leader of the Excursion.)

  Ladies and Gentlemen, -- 
  Before we leave this place where we have all spent such a delightful day, I want you to give three cheers for Mr. - , by whose courtesy and kindness we have been enabled to enjoy ourselves so much.  He is not present with us now, but I hope he will understand how fully we appreciate his kindness in permitting us to come here and picnic and run races, as we have all done to-day.  We are glad to think there has been no damage done, and that you have all, boys and girls, behaved well and had plenty of rational enjoyment.  Such good conduct will, no doubt, influence Mr. - , if we again are desirous to have an afternoon in his beautiful park.  His kindness deserves more acknowledgment than my poor word can have it, but I hope you, by a hearty cheer, will tell him how much you all value his goodness.  I won't ask you to wish him many returns of this day; still we may wish him heartily long life and every happiness.  Now, boys and girls, three cheers for Mr. - , and long life to him!
  Now there is another thing -- and I hope you are not all hoarse after those cheers, because I may want some more before I have done.  There are some ladies and gentlemen present who have, at some inconvenience, but very willingly, come down with us to-day to assist us in our sports, and to make things go smoothly.  They have also subscribed very liberally for the prizes you have won, and helped us all very materially to enjoy ourselves.  We owe them a vote of thanks, and I am sure you will all unite with me in thanking our visitors very heartily for what they have done, and for the kind way they have assisted us all day in making this little treat pass off so well.  Now then, all together --  three cheers for the Visitors!


SHORTER PIECES. 5. FREDERICK THE GREAT AND THE YOUNG GUARDMAN.

  It was customary with Fredrick the Great, whenever a new soldier appeared in his regiment of guards, to ask him three questions, which were: "how old are you?"  "How long have you been in my service?"  "Are you satisfied with your pay and treatment?" --  Now it happened one day that a young Frenchman enlisted in the Prussian service; and , as he knew scarcely any German, his captain told him of the three questions which the king was sure to ask him, and advised him to get the necessary answers by heart.  This he did overnight, and next morning took his place in the ranks.
  The king did not fail to notice the new face, and soon came up to the recruit, but , as luck would have it, changed the usual order of his questions, and began by asking him how long he had been in the service.  "Twenty-one years," said the soldier.  The king, surprised to hear such an answer from the mouth of one so young, said: " Then how old are you?"  "One year," was the prompt reply.   "One year!" cried Frederick.  "Well! surely either you or I must be mad!" The recruit, who took this remark for the third question, answered, "Both, Your Majesty."


21. "So Was Franklin."

  "Oh, you're a 'prentice!" said a little boy, the other day, tauntingly, to his companion.  The boy addressed turned proudly round, and, while the fire of injured pride and the look of pity were strangely blended in his countenance, coolly answered, "So was Franklin!"
  This dignified reply struck me forcibly, and I turned to mark the disputants more closely.  The former, I perceived by his dress, was of a higher class in society than his humble, yet more dignified companion.  The latter was a sprightly, active lad, scarce twelve years old, and coarsely, but neatly attired.  But, young as he was, their was visible in his countenance much of genius, manly dignity, and determinate resolution; while that of the former showed only fostered pride and the imagined superiority of riches.
  That little fellow, thought we, gazing at our young hero, displays already much of the man, though his calling be a humble one; and though poverty extends to him her dreary, cheerless reality, still he looks on the brightest side of the scene, and already rises in anticipation from poverty and wretchedness!  Once, "so was Franklin," and the world may one day witness in our little "prentice" as great a philosopher as they have already seen in his noble pattern!  And we passed on, buried in meditation.
  The motto of our infantile philosopher contains much, - too much to be forgotten, and should be engraven on the minds of all.  What can better cheer a man in a humble calling, than the reflection that the greatest and the best of earth --  the greatest statesmen, the brightest philosophers, and the proudest warriors --  have once graced the same profession?
  "Look at Franklin! He who 
  With the thunder talked, as friend to friend,
  And wove his garland of the lightning's wing,
  In sportive twist."
What was he?  A printer!  Poverty stared him in the face; but her blank, hollow look could nothing daunt him.  He struggled against a harder current than most are called to encounter ; but he did not yield.  He pressed manfully onward; bravely buffeted misfortune's billows, and gained the desired haven!
  Look at Cincinnatus!  At the call of his country he laid aside the plow and seized the sword.  But having wielded it with success, when his country was no longer endangered, and public affairs needed not his longer stay, "he beat his sword into a ploughshare," and returned with honest delight to his little farm.
  Look at Washington!  What was his course of life?  He was first of a farmer; next a Commander in Chief of hosts of freedom, fighting for the liberation of his country from the thralls of despotic oppression; next, called to the highest seat of government by his ransomed brethren, a President of the largest Republic on earth, and lastly, a farmer again.
  What was the famous Ben Jonson?  He was first a brick-layer, or mason!  What was he in after years?  Tis needless to answer.
  What was Burns?  An Ayrshire plowman!  What was he in after life, in the estimation of his countrymen, and the world?  Your library gives the answer!
  But shall we go on, and call up, in proud array, all the mighty host of worthies that have lived and died, who were cradled in the lap of penury, and received their first lessons in the school of affliction?  Nay; we have cited instances enough already, - yea, more than enough to prove the point in question --  namely, that there is no profession, however low in the opinion of the world, but has been honored with earth's greatest and worthiest.
  Young man!  Does the iron hand of misfortune press hard upon you, and disappointment well-nigh sink you despairing soul?  Have courage!  Mighty ones have been your predecessors, and have withstood the current of opposition that threatened to overwhelm their fragile bark.
  Do you despise your humble station, and repine that Providence has not placed you in some nobler sphere?  Murmur not against the dispensations of an All-wise Creator!  Remember that wealth is no criterion of moral rectitude or intellectual worth, - that riches dishonestly gained, are a lasting curse, - that virtue and uprightness work out a rich reward, - and that
  "An honest man's the noblest work of God."
  And when dark Disappointment comes, do not wither at her stare; but press forward, and the prize is yours!  It was thus with Franklin, - it can be thus with you.  He strove for the prize, and he won it!  So may you!  Tis well worth contending for; and may success attend you, and the "stars" grow brighter, as the "stripes" wear deeper! 


22. Rip Van Winkle. -- 1.

  Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the Kaatskill Mountains.  At the foot of these mountains, the voyager may have descried the light smoke curling up from a village, whose shingle roofs gleam among the trees.
  In that same village, in one of those very houses ( which was sadly time-worn and weather-beaten), there lived, many years since, while the country was yet a province of Great Britain, a simple, good-natured fellow, of the name of Rip Van Winkle.
  The great error in Rip's composition was an insuperable aversion to all kinds of profitable labor.  It could not be from the ant of assiduity or perseverance; for he would sit on a wet rock, with a rod as long and heavy as a Tartar's lance, and fish all day without a murmur, even though he should not be encouraged by a single nibble.
  He would carry a fowling-piece on his shoulder for hours together, trudging through woods and swamps, and up hill and down dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wild pigeons.  He would never refuse to assist a neighbor even in the roughest toil, and the women of the village, too, used to employ him to run their errands.
  In a word, Rip was ready to attend to anybody's business but his own; but as to keeping his farm in order, he found it impossible; it was the worst-conditioned one in the neighborhood.  His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they belonged to nobody.
  If left to himself, he would have whistled life away in perfect contentment, but his wife kept continually dinning in his ears about his idleness, his carelessness, and the ruin he was bringing on his family.  Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was as much henpecked as his master; for Dame Van Winkle regarded them as companions in idleness, and even looked upon Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause of his master's going so often astray.
  Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and his only alternative, to escape from the labor of the farm and the clamor of his wife, was to take gun in hand and stroll away into the woods.  Here he would sometimes seat himself at the foot of a tree, and share the contents of his wallet with Wolf, with whom he sympathized as a fellow-sufferer in persecution.  "Poor Wolf," he would say, "thy mistress leads thee a dog's life of it; but never mind, my lad, whilst I live thou shalt never want a friend to stand by thee!"
  In a long ramble of the kind, on a fine autumnal day, Rip had unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Kaatskill Mountains.  Panting and fatigued, he threw himself, late in the afternoon, on a green knoll.  From an opening between the trees he could overlook all the lower country for many a mile of rich woodland.
  For some time Rip lay musing on this scene; evening was gradually advancing; he saw that it would be dark long before he could reach the village.  As he was about to descend he perceived a strange figure slowly toiling up the rocks, and bending under the weight of something he carried on his back.
  On nearer approach, he was surprised at the singularity of the stranger's appearance.  He was a short, square-built old fellow, with thick bushy hair, and a grizzled beard.  His dress was of the antique Dutch fashion.  He bore on his shoulders a stout keg, and made signs for Rip to approach and assist him with the load.  Though rather distrustful of his new acquaintance, Rip complied.
  As they ascended Rip every now and then heard long, rolling peals, like distant thunder, that seemed to issue out of a deep ravine toward which their rugged path conducted.  Passing through the ravine, they came to a hollow, surrounded by precipices, over the brinks of which impending trees shot their branches.  During the whole time Rip and his companion had labored on in silence; for there was something strange and incomprehensible about the unknown, that checked familiarity.
  On entering the amphi-theater, new objects of wonder presented themselves.  On a level spot in the center was a company of oddlooking personages playing at ninepins.  They were dressed in a quaint, outlandish fashion.  There was one who seemed to be the commander.  He was a shout old gentleman, with a weather-beaten countenance.
  As Rip and his companion approached them, they suddenly desisted from their play, and stared at him with such fixed, statue-like gaze, and such strange, uncouth, lack-luster countenances, that his heart turned within him, and his knees smote together.  His companion now emptied the contents of the keg into large flagons, and made signs to him to wait upon the company.  He obeyed with fear and trembling; they quaffed the liquor in profound silence, and then returned to their game.
  By degrees Rip's awe and apprehension subsided.  He even ventured, when no eye was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage.  One taste provoked another, and, at length, his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, and he fell into a deep sleep.


23. Rip Van Winkle. -- 2.

  On walking, he found himself on the green knoll from whence he had first seen the old man of the glen.  He rubbed his eyes --  it was a bright sunny morning.  "Surely," thought Rip, "I have not slept here all night."  He recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep.  The strange man with a keg of liquor --  the mountain ravine --  the wild retreat among the rocks --  the woe-begone party at nine-pins --  the flagon --  "Oh! that wicked flagon!" thought Rip, -- "what excuse shall I make to Dame Van Winkle?"
  He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean, well-oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel encrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten.  He now suspected that the grave roysters of the mountain had robbed him of his gun.  Wolf, too, had disappeared.
  What was to be done?  The morning was passing away, and Rip felt famished for want of his breakfast.  He dreaded to meet his wife; but it would not do to starve among the mountains.  He shook his head, shouldered the rusty firelock, and, with a heart full of trouble and anxiety, turned his steps homeward.
  As he approached the village he met a number of people, but none whom he knew.  Their dress, too, was of a different fashion from that to which he was accustomed.  They all stared at him with surprise, and whenever they cast their eyes upon him, invariably stroked their chins.  The constant recurrence of this gesture induced Rip, involuntarily, to do the same, when, to his astonishment, he found his beard had grown a foot long!
  He had now entered the village.  There were rows of houses which he had never seen before, and those which had been his familiar haunts had disappeared.  Strange names were over the doors --  strange faces at the windows --  everything was strange.
  It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his own house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting every moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle.  He found the house gone to decay --  the roof fallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors off the hinges.
  He now hastened to his old resort, the village inn --  but it too was gone.  A large rickety wooden building stood in its place.  Instead of the great tree that used to shelter the quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared a tall pole, and from it was fluttering a flag, on which was a singular assemblage of stars and stripes.
  He recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of King George, but even this was changed for one of blue and buff, a sword was held in the hand instead of a scepter, and underneath was painted in large characters GENERAL WASHINGTON.
  There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but none that Rip recollected.  The very character of the people seemed changed.  A lean, bilious-looking fellow was haranguing vehemently about the rights of citizens --  elections --  liberty --  and other words, which were a perfect jargon to the bewildered Van Winkle.
  The appearance of Rip, with his long, grizzled beard, his rusty fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and an army of women and children at his heels, soon attracted the attention of the tavern-politicians.  They crowded round him, eyeing him from head to foot with great curiosity.
  The orator bustled up to him, and drawing him aside, inquired, "on which side he voted?"  Rip stared in vacant stupidity.  Another busy little fellow inquired in his car, "whether he was Federal or Democrat?"  Rip was equally at a loss to comprehend the question; when a self-important old gentleman made his way through the crowd, and planting himself before Van Winkle, demanded, "what brought him to the election with a gun on his shoulder, and a mob at his heels; and whether he meant to breed a riot in the village?"
  "Alas! gentlemen," cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, "I am a poor man, a native of the place, and a loyal subject of the King, God bless him!"


24. Rip Van Winkle -- 3.

  Here a general shout burst from the bystanders --  "A tory! a tory! a spy! a refugee! hustle him! away with him!"
  It was with great difficulty that the self-important man restored order; and demanded again of the unknown culprit, what he came there for, and whom he was seeking?  The poor man humbly assured him that he meant no harm, but merely came there in search of some of his neighbors who used to keep about the tavern.
  "Well- who are they? --  name them."
  Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, "Where's Nicholas Vedder?"
  There was a silence for a little while, when an old man replied, in a thin piping voice, "Nicholas Vedder? why, he is dead and gone these eighteen years!"
  "Where's Brom Dutcher?"
  "Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war, and never came back."
  "Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?"
  "He went off to the ears too, was a great militia general, and is now in Congress."  Rip's heart died away at hearing of these sad changes.  He had no courage to ask after any more friends, but cried out in despair, "Does nobody here know Rip Van Winkle?"
  "Oh, Rip Van Winkle!" exclaimed two or three, "Oh, to be sure! that's Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree."
  Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself, as he went up the mountain; apparently as lazy, and certainly as ragged.  The poor fellow was now completely confounded.
  The bystanders began to look at each other, nod, wink significantly, and tap their fingers against their foreheads.  There was a whisper, also, about securing the gun, and keeping the old fellow from doing mischief, at the very suggestion of which the self-important man retired with some precipitation.
  At this critical moment a fresh, comely woman pressed through the throng to get a peep at the gray-bearded man.  She had a chubby child in her arms, which, frightened at his looks, began to cry.  "Hush, Rip," cried she, "hush, the old man won't hurt you."  The name of the child, the air of the mother, the tone of her voice, all awakened a train of recollections in his mind.
  "What is your name, my good woman?" asked he.
  "Judith Gardenier."
  "And your father's name?"
  "Ah, poor man, Rip Van Winkle was his name, but it's twenty years since he went away from home with his gun, and never has been heard of since."
  Rip had but one question more to ask; but he put it with a faltering voice:
  "Where's your mother?"
  "Oh, she too had died, but a short time since."
  The honest man could contain himself no longer.  He caught his daughter and her child in his arms.  "I am your father!" cried he.  "Does nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle?"
  All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out from among the crowd, put her hand to her brow, and peering under it in his face for a moment, exclaimed, "Sure enough! It is Rip Van Winkle --  it is himself!  Welcome home again, old neighbor.  Why, where have you been these twenty long years?"
  Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had been to him but as one night.  The neighbors stared when they heard it; and the self-important man, who, when the alarm was over, had returned to the field, shook his head --  upon which there was a general shaking of the head throughout the assemblage.
  It was determined, however, to take the opinion of old Peter Vanderdonk, who was seen slowly advancing up the road.  He was well versed in all the traditions of the neighborhood.  He recollected Rip at once, and corroborated his story in the most satisfactory manner.
  He assured the company that the Kaatskill Mountains had always been haunted by strange beings.  Then it was affirmed that the great Hendrick Hudson, the first discover of the river and country, kept a kind of vigil there every twenty years, with his crew of the Half-moon.
  To make a long story short, the company broke up and returned to the more important concerts of the election.  Rip's daughter took him home to live with her; she had a snug, well-furnished house, whom Rip recollected for one of the urchins that used to climb upon his back.
  Rip now resumed his old walks and habits; he soon found many of his former cronies, though all rather the worse for the wear and tear of time; and preferred making friends among the rising generation, with whom he soon grew into great favor.


SHORTER PIECES. 6. BURIED ALIVE.

1.
  When the French army was retreating from Moscow, General Ornano, a Corsican, was severely wounded by the bursting of a Russian shell, which killed his horse.  He himself was seen lying on his back, to all appearance dead, and blood was flowing from his mouth.  A surgeon who happened to be passing, went up to him, felt his pulse, and declared that he was dead.  Accordingly his aide-de-camp and a few soldiers began to dig a grave; but the ground was frozen so hard that they could not dig it deep enough, and they had to cover the body partly with snow.

2.
  As soon as this was over, the aide-de-camp went to report Ornano's death to Napoleon, who was much grieved when he heard it for the young general ( he was only twenty-six) was a first-rate officer and a great favorite with the Emperor, besides being a Corsican and a distant relation.  The Emperor commanded one of his orderlies to find out all about Ornano's death and how it had happened.  The orderly, to make sure, had the body taken up again, and found to his astonishment that it was still warm, and the General alive.  He had him covered with warm rugs and taken off to headquarters.  There, after a short time, he was brought back to life, to the great joy of all his friends and acquaintances.


25. The Hand.

  Touch, as embodied in the hand, is in many respects the most wonderful of the senses.  The organs of the other senses are passive: the organ of touch alone is active.  The eye, the ear, and the nostril stand simply open; light, sound, and fragrance enter, and we are compelled to see, to hear, and to smell: but the hand selects what it shall touch, and touches what it pleases.
  It puts away from it the things which it hates, and beckons towards it the things which it desires, - unlike the eye, which must often gaze transfixed at horrible sights from which it can not turn; and the ear, which can not escape from the torture of discordant sounds; and the nostril, which can not protect itself from hateful odors.
  Moreover the hand cares not only for its own wants, but when the other organs of the senses are rendered useless, takes their duties upon it.  The hand of the blind man goes with him as an eye through the streets, and safely threads for him all the devious way; it looks for him at the faces of his friends, and tells him whose kindly features are gazing on him; it peruses books for him, and quickens the long hours by its silent readings.
  It ministers as willingly to the deaf; and when the tongue is dumb and the ear stopped, its fingers speak eloquently to the eye, and enable it to discharge the unwonted office of a listener.
  The organs of all the other senses, even in their greatest perfection, are indebted to the hand for the enhancement and the exaltation of their powers.  It constructs for the eye a copy of itself, and thus gives it a telescope with which to range among the stars; furnishes it with a microscope, and introduces it into a new world of wonders.
  It constructs for the ear the instruments by which it is educated, and sounds them in its hearing till its powers are trained to the full.  It plucks for the nostril the flower which it longs to smell, and distills for it the fragrance which it covets.  As for the tongue, if it had not the hand to serve it, it might abdicate its throne as the lord of taste.  In short, the organ of touch is the minister of its sister senses, and, without any play of words, is the hand-maid of them all.
  And if the hand thus munificently serves the body, not less amply does it give expression to the genius and the wit, the courage and the affection, the will and the power, of man.  Put a sword into it, and it will fight for him; put a plow into it, and it will till for him; put a harp into it, and it will play for him; put a pencil into it, and it will paint for him; put a pen into it, and it will speak for him, plead for him, pray for him.
  What will it not do?  What has it not done?  A steam-engine is but a larger hand, made to extend its powers by the little hand of man.  An electric telegraph is but a longer pen for that little hand to write with.  All distill covet abdicate munificently amply our huge cannon and other weapons of war with which we so effectually slay our brethren, are only Cain's hand made bigger, and stronger, and bloodier.
  What, moreover, is a ship, a railway, a lighthouse, or a palace, - what, indeed, is a whole city, a whole continent of cities, all the cities of the globe, nay, the very globe itself, in so far as man has changed it, but the work of that giant hand, with which the human race, acting as one mighty man, has executed its will!
  When I think of all that human hands have done of good and evil, I lift up my own hand, and gaze upon it with wonder and awe.  What an instrument for good it is!  what an instrument for evil!  And all the day long it never is idle.  We unwisely restrict the term handicraftsman, or handworker, to the more laborious callings.  It belongs to all honest, earnest men and women, and is a title which each should covet.
  For the carpenter's hand there is the saw, and for the smith's hand the hammer; for the farmer's hand, the plow; for the miner's hand, the spade; for the sailor's hand, the oar; for the painter's hand, the brush; for the sculptor's hand, the chisel; for the poet's hand, the pen.  For each of us there is some instrument we may learn to handle: for all there is the command.  "Whatsoever thy hand tindeth to do , do it with thy might." 


26. Camping in Siberia.

  A camp in the middle of a clear, dark winter's night presents a strange, wild appearance.  I was awakened soon after midnight by cold feet, and, raising myself upon one elbow, I pushed myself out of my frosty fur bag to see by the stars what time it was.  The fire had died away to a red heap of smoldering embers.  There was just light enough to distinguish the dark outlines of the loaded sledges, the fur-clad forms of our men, lying here and there in groups about the fire, and the frosty dogs, curled up into a hundred hairy balls upon the snow.
  Away beyond the limits of the camp stretched the desolate steppe in a series of long snowy undulations, which blended gradually into one great white frozen ocean, and were lost in the distance and darkness of night.  High overhead, in a sky which was almost black, sparkled the bright constellations of Orion and the Pleiades, - the celestial clocks which marked the long, weary hours between sunrise and sunset.  The blue, mysterious streamers of the Aurora trembled in the north, now shooting up in clear, bright lines to the zenith, then waving back and forth in great, majestic curves over the silent camp, as if warning back the adventurous traveler.
  The silence was profound, oppressive.  Nothing but the pulsating blood in my ears, and the heavy breathing of the sleeping men at my feet, broke the universal lull.  Suddenly there rose upon the still night air a long, faint, wailing cry like that of a human being in the last extremity of suffering.  Gradually it swelled and deepened until it seemed to fill the whole atmosphere with it seemed to full the whole atmosphere with its volume of mournful sound, dying away at last into a low, despairing moan.  It was the signal howl of a Siberian dog; but so wild and unearthly did it seem in the stillness of the Arctic midnight that it sent the startled blood bounding through my veins to my very finger ends.
  In a moment the cry was taken up by another dog, upon a higher key --  two or three more joined in, then ten, twenty, thirty, forty, sixty, eighty, until the whole pack of a hundred dogs howled one infernal chorus together, making the air fairly tremble with sound, as if from the heavy bass of a great organ.  For fully a minute heaven and earth seemed to be filled with yelling, shrieking fiends.
  Then one by one they began gradually to drop off, the unearthly tumult grew momentarily fainter and fainter, until at last it ended as it began, in one long, inexpressibly melancholy wail, and all was still.  One or two of our men moved restlessly in their sleep, as if the mournful howls had blended unpleasantly with their dreams; but no one awoke, and a deathlike silence again pervaded heaven and earth.
  Suddenly the Aurora shone out with increased brilliancy, and its waving swords swept back and forth in great semicircle across the dark, starry sky, and lighted up the snowy steppe with transitory flashes of heaven were opening and closing upon the dazzling brightness of the celestial city.
  Presently it faded away again to a faint, diffused glow in the north, and one pale green streamer, slender and bright as the spear of Ithuriel, pushed slowly upwards towards the zenith until it touched with its translucent point the jeweled belt of Orion; then it, too, faded and vanished, and nothing but a bank of pale white mist on the northern horizon showed the location of the celestial armory whence the Arctic spirits drew the gleaming swords and lances which they shook and brandished nightly over the lonely Siberian steppes.
  Crawling back into my bag as the Aurora disappeared, I fell asleep, and did not wake until near morning.  With the first streak of dawn the camp began to show signs of animation.  The dogs crawled out of the deep holes which their warm bodies had melted in the snow; the Cossacks poked their heads out of their frosty fur coats, and whipped off with little sticks the mass of frost which had accumulated around their breathing holes.  A fire was built, tea boiled, and we crawled out of our sleeping bags to shiver around the fire and to eat a hasty breakfast of rye bread, dried fish, and tea.
  In twenty minutes the dogs were harnessed, sledges packed, and runners covered with ice, and one after another we drove away at a brisk trot from the smoking fire, and began another day's journey across the steppe.


27. General Stoessel's Proposal and General Nogi's Reply.

(A report from the Commander of the Army investing Port Arthur, received in Tokyo on January 2, at 3 a.m.)

  About 5 p.m. on the 1st inst.  the enemy's parlementaire arrived at our first line south of Shuishiying and handed the following message to one of our officers, from whom I received at 9 a.m.: - 
    "No. 2,545.
    "Port Arthur, December, 1904.
  "Your Excellency, - Judging from the general situation within the area of fighting, I think that further resistance is needless.  In order, therefore, to avoid further loss of life, I ask you to negotiate for the term of surrender.  Should you accept my proposal, you will appoint a commissioner in order to discuss the terms and process of surrender, and fix a place of meeting between your commissioner and ours.
  "I avail myself of this opportunity to express my highest consideration.
    "General Stoessel.
    "To General Baron Nogi,
    "Commander of the Japanese Army "Investing Port Arthur."
  After due decision, I thereupon ordered our parlementaire to deliver the following reply to the enemy immediately after dawn to-day: -
    "Headquarters of the Investing 
    "Army before Port Arthur.
    "January 2, 1905.
  "Your Excellency: - I have the honour herewith to express my consent to the proposal of Your Excellency to hold negotiations on the terms and process of the surrender of the fortress.  For this purpose, I appoint Major-General Kosuke Ijichi, Chief of the Staff of the Investing Army before Port Arthur, commissioner, and attach to him a number of staff officers and civil officials.  The party will meet the commissioner of your Army at Shuishiying at noon on January 2, 1905.  The commissioners of both Armies shall be fully authorized to sign the stipulations for the surrender of the fortress, the stipulations to come into force immediately after the signing and without ratification.  The credentials shall be signed by the highest commanders of both Armies and be exchanged.
  "I avail myself of this opportunity to express my highest respects to Your Excellency.
    "General Baron Nogi,
    "Commander of the Investing
    "Army before Port Arthur."
    "To His Excellency General Stoessel,
    "Commander of Kwantung
    "Fortification District."


POEMS.

1,THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.

Half a league, half a league, 
Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of Death 
Rode the six hundred.  
"Forward, the Light Brigade! 
Charge for the guns!" he said: 
Into the valley of Death 
Rode the six hundred.  

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"  
Was there a man dismay'd?  
Not tho' the soldiers knew 
Some one had blunder'd: 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs but to do and die:  
Into the valley of Death 
Rode the six hundred.  

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon in front of them 
Volley'd and thunder'd: 
Storm'd at with shot and shell, 
Boldly they rode and well, 
Into the jaws of Death, 
Into the mouth of Hell, 
Rode the six hundred.  

Flash'd all their sabers bare, 
Flash'd as they turn'd in air 
Sabring the gunners there, 
Charging an army, while 
All the world wonder'd: 
Plunged in the battery-smoke 
Right thro' theline they broke; 
Cossack and Russian 
Reel'd from the saber-stroke 
Shatter'd and under'd 
Then they rode back, but not, 
Not the six hundred.  

Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon behind them 
Volley'd and thunder'd; 
Storm'd at with shot and shell, 
While horse and hero fell, 
They that had fought so well 
Came thro' the jaws of Death, 
Back from the mouth of Hell, 
All that was left of them, 
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?  
O the wild charge they made!  
All the world wonder'd.  
Honour the charge they made!  
Honour the Light Brigade, 
Noble six hunred!  


2. CASABIANCA.

The boy stood on the burning deck, 
Whence all but he had fled: 
The flame that lit the battle's wreck, 
Shone round him o'er the dead; 
Yet beautiful and bright he stood 
As born to rule the storm!  
A creature of heroic blood.  
A proud, though child-like form!  

The flames roll'd on --  he would not go
Without his father's word; 
That father, faint in death below, 
His voice no longer heard.  
He call'd aloud: "Say, father, say 
It yet my task is done?"  
He knew not that the chieftain lay 
Unconscious of his son. 

"Speak, father!" once again he cried, 
"If I may yet be gone!"  
And but the booming shots replied, 
And fast the flames roll'd on.  
Upon his brow he felt their breath, 
And in his waving hair: 
And look'd from that lone post of death 
In still, yet brave despair; 

And shouted but once more aloud, 
"My father! must I stay?"  
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, 
The wreathing fires made way.  
They wrapt the ship in splendour wild, 
They caught the flag on high, 
And stream'd above the gallant child 
Like banners in the sky.  

There came a burst of thunder sound!  
The boy --  O! where was he?  
Ask of the winds that far around 
With fragments strew'd the sea.  
With mast, and helm, and pennon fiar, 
That well had borne their part; 
But the noblest thing which perish'd there 
Was that young faithful heart!


3. THE MOUNTAIN THE SQUIRREL.

The mountain and the squirrel 
Had a quarrel, 
And the former called the latter "Little Prig.' 
Bom replied,  
"You are doubtless very big, 
But all sorts of things and weather 
Must be taken in together, 
To make up a space And a sphere.  
And a sphere
And I think it no disgrace 
To occupy my place.  
If I'm not so large as you, 
You are not so small as I, 
And not half so spry.  
I'll not deny you make 
A very pretty squirrel track; 
Talents differ, all is well and wisely put.  
If I cannot carry forests on my back, 
Neither can you crack a nut. 


4. TO A BUTTERFLY.

I've watched you now a full half hour, 
Self-poised upon that yellow flower; 
And, little butterfly! Indeed 
I know not if you sleep or feed.  
How motionless! --  not frozen seas 
More motionless! and then 
What joy awaits you, when the breeze 
Hath found you out among the trees, 
And calls you forth again!  

This plot of orchard-ground is ours; 
My trees they are, my sister's flowers; 
Here rest your wings when they are weary; 
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!  
Come often to us, fear no wrong; 
Sit near us, on the bough!  
We'll talk of sunshine and of song; 
And summer days when we were young; 
Sweet childish days, that were as long 
As twenty days are now. 


5. 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 
Finds 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! psalm soul returnest destined tuneral bivouae 

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 
Footsprints on the sands of time; 

Footprints, that perhaps another, 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 
A forlorn and shipwrecked 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.