{"1": {"fulltext": "UBLIC\\n:W-rrr\u00c2\u00bb\\nAR LOR READINGS\\nMo^oe", "height": "3688", "width": "2416", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "w\\ns\\ni\\no 0\\noS\\n.Oo,\\nv. i\\n8 l I", "height": "3432", "width": "2266", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "X K\\nOv\\nS. Til\\no\\noo v\\nW", "height": "3481", "width": "2157", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3458", "width": "2167", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3431", "width": "2266", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3432", "width": "2266", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS:\\nPROSE AND POETRY\\nFOR THE USE OF\\nBEADING CLUBS\\nAND FOR\\nPUBLIC AND SOCIAL ENTERTAINMENT.\\nMISCELLANEOUS.\\nEDITED I^JP\\nLEWIS B; MONROE,\\nBOSTON:\\nLEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.", "height": "3605", "width": "2311", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "TWO COPIES RICSIVED,\\ntftrary of Co\u00c2\u00ab\u00c2\u00ab Mfc\\nSECOND COPY, Of\u00c2\u00abc. f\\nW4V8 J9\u00c2\u00abo\\n.61448 N\\nEntered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872,\\nBy LEWIS B. MONROE,\\nIn the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.\\nCopyright, 1900, by Adeline F. Monroe.\\nAll Rights Reserved.\\nMiscellaneous Readings.\\nNorfoontJ $kbb\\nBerwick Smith, Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.", "height": "3432", "width": "2396", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "PREFACE.\\nIN my position as teacher of elocution, I have been\\nthe recipient of numerous letters from amateur\\nKeaders, members of literary clubs, and others, asking\\nme to name some piece appropriate to a given occa-\\nsion. Teachers have desired choice readings for school\\nexhibitions. My own public entertainments have been\\nfollowed by verbal or written requests for copies of\\nselections which excited the interest of hearers. Such\\nappeals were usually for pieces which were not com-\\nmon or familiar, and of which I possessed perhaps but\\na manuscript copy. I was therefore put to the task\\nof transcribing the desired pieces over and over again,\\nor forced to the ungracious duty of denying the very\\nproper request, for want of time to comply with it.\\nThese solicitations were very frequently accompanied by\\noffers of compensation but manifestly no price could be\\nset on what though costing much time and trouble\\nwhen so multiplied was in any individual case a mere\\ncourtesy. I was led, therefore, to think that a book made\\nup in the main of selections which had proved entertain-\\ning to- public audiences, or literary or social circles, might\\nbe acceptable to the public at large.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "IV PREFACE.\\nThe unexpectedly cordial welcome extended to my first\\nvolume Humorous Eeadings encourages me to fol-\\nlow out my intentions by adding the present one. The\\nselections herein are mostly of a serious character,\\npatriotic, pathetic, tragic, with now and then the\\ncontrast of a lively narrative or choice bit of humor.\\nWhile a few established favorites are included in this\\ncollection, by far the largest part is made up of pieces\\nnot to be found in any other compilation. My object\\nhas been, not to furnish a volume of familiar elegant\\nextracts for the student, or rhetorical compositions for\\ndeclaimers, but to bring together mostly fresh and rare\\nproductions which afford gratification when read or\\nrecited aloud. I trust that the volume may prove\\nserviceable in promoting intelligent recreation in the\\nsocial and public assembly.\\nIn compliance with many requests it is my purpose,\\nin completing the series, to prepare a volume of fresh\\nand sparkling dialogues and brief dramas.\\nI thankfully acknowledge the courtesy of the distin-\\nguished authors and publishers, by whose consent copy-\\nright selections have been used in these pages. I am\\nparticularly indebted to Messrs. J. E. Osgood Co. for\\npermission to use extracts from their editions of the\\nworks of leading American authors.\\nL. B. M.", "height": "3459", "width": "2320", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS\\nPaob\\nThe Poor Fisher Folk Victor Hugo 1\\nA Young Desperado T. B. Aldrich 7\\nCharlie Machree William J. Hoppin 14\\nOur Folks Ethel Lynn 17\\nWhat will become of the Children? Jennie June 19\\nThe Starling Robert Buchanan 21\\nThe Relief of Lucknow Robert Lowell 23\\nThe Bells of Shandon Rev. Francis Mahony 26\\nThe Lark in the Gold-Fields. I. Charles Reade 28\\nThe Lark in the Gold-Fields. II. Charles Reade 34\\nThe Face against the Pane T. B. Aldrich 38\\nThe Lover and Birds William Allinghatn 41\\nThe High Tide Jean Ingelow 42\\nSandalphon, the Angel of Prayer H. W. Longfellow 46\\nBiah Cathcart s Proposal H. W. Beecher*- 48\\nLangley Lane Robert Buchanan 50\\nAt the Grindstone or, A Home View of\\nthe Battle-Field Robert Buchanan 53\\nThe Pilot J. B. Gough 55\\nWainamoinen s Sowing John A. Porter, M. D. 56\\nThe Witch s Daughter J. G. Whittier 60\\nThe Horseback Ride Grace Greenwood 65\\nThe Veiled Picture 66\\nThe Shd? on Fire Henry Bateman 67\\nSong of the River 72\\nThe Fate of Macgregor James Hogg 73", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "VI\\nCONTENTS.\\nScene in an Irish School Gerald Griffin\\nShips at Sea Barry Gray.\\nOld Chums Alice Cary\\nThe Old Man s Prayer Jean Ingelow\\nWar s End A. Melville Bell\\nThe Pilgrims J. G. Whittier\\nKnocked about Daniel Connolly\\nThe Laborer William, D. Gallagher\\nThe Gray Forest Eagle A. B. Street\\nWhen Mary was a Lassie\\nThe Piano Mania Jennie June\\nFontenoy Thomas Davis\\nBeautiful Snow J. W. Watson\\nLove lightens Labor\\nThe Ring G. E. Lessing\\nThe Merry Soap- Boiler\\nDeath of Poor Jo Dickens\\nAddress of Leonddas Richard Glover\\nAnnabel Lee Edgar A. Poe\\nBoy Lost\\nBorrioboola Gha 0. Goodrich\\nThe Old Apple- Woman\\nThe Vagabonds J. T. Trowbridge\\nOutward Bound William Allingham\\nDigging for Hidden Treasure Charles Reade\\nThe Old Sergeant Forceythe Willson\\nLittle Goldenhair\\nHow s my Boy? S. Dobell\\nJohn Valjohn and the Savoyard Victor Hugo\\nShamus O Brien J. S. Le Fanu\\nCome up from the Fields, Father! Walt Whitman\\nJupiter and Ten J. T. Fields\\nJeanie Deans and Queen Caroline Walter Scott\\nOur Sister Household Words\\n76\\n83\\n85\\n86\\n89\\n91\\n93\\n94\\n96\\n98\\n9\\n101\\n104\\n106\\n10\\n110\\n113\\n116\\n117\\n119\\n121\\n123\\n125\\n128\\n129\\n132\\n138\\n139\\n141\\n145\\n151\\n153\\n155\\n158", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS. VU\\nThe Battle Schiller 159\\nThe Young Gray Head Blackwood s Magazine 161\\nBob Cratchit s Dinner Dickens 170\\nThe Little Boy that Died J. D. Robinson 174\\nKing Canute and his Nobles Dr. Wolcott 176\\nHannah Binding Shoes Lucy Larcom 177\\nThe Regiment s Return E.J. Cutler 179\\nEnlisting as Army Nurse Louisa M. Alcott 180\\nMother and Poet Mrs. Browning 183\\nFetching Water from the Well 186\\nThe Pumpkin J. G. Whittier 188\\nCivil War C. D. Shanley. 189\\nPatient Joe 190\\nThe Canal-Boat Harriet Beecher Stoxoe 193\\nThe Loss of the Hornet 200\\nWounded J. W. Watson 202\\nHow Kaiser Wilhelm s Sister was won 204\\nA Legend of Bregenz Adelaide Procter 211\\nThe Voices at the Throne T. Westwood 216\\nAbou El Mahr and his Horse Alger s Oriental Poetry 218\\nUnder the Snow 223\\nHats Oliver Wendell Holmes 224\\nAn Order for a Picture Alice Cary 226\\nBarbara Alexander Smith 229\\nThe Boat of Grass Miss Kemble Butler 231\\nThe Idiot Boy Southey 235\\nThe Mad Engineer 237\\nRock me to sleep Mrs. Akers 244\\nThe Bridge of Sighs Hood 245\\nMona s Waters 249\\nHigher Views of the Union Wendell Phillips 252\\nThe Bells Edgar A. Poe 254\\nThe Drum-Call in 1861 E.J. Cutler 257\\nThe Galley-Slave Henry Abbey 259", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "VU1 CONTENTS.\\nThe Diver Schiller 261\\nDeath of Leonidas Croly 266\\nMy Experience in Elocution John Neal 268\\nThe Kingdom Lizzie Doten 271\\nThe Song of the Cossack to his Horse. Beranger 274\\nDorothy in the Garret J. T. Trowbridge 276\\nRavenswood and Lucy Ashton Scott 280\\nThe Silent Tower of Bottreaux 287\\nThe Hireling Swiss Regiment Victor Hugo 289\\nThe Avenging Childe Lockhart 291\\nFair Sufferers 293\\nAppledore in a Storm J. R. LoweU 295\\nI Hold Still Julius Sturm 297\\nA Thanksgiving Dinner Mrs. Ann S. Stephens 298\\nThe Wolves J. T. Trowbridge 304\\nThe Banner of the Covenanters C. E. Norton 306\\nHerve Riel Robert Browning 308\\nThe Besieged Castle Scott 313\\nA Vision of Battle S. Dobell 323\\nHarmosan Dean Trench. 327\\nOur Country Saved J. R. LoweU 329\\nThe Blue and the Gray F. M. Finch. 330\\nThe Sentry on the Tower Sacristan s Household 332\\nBetsy and I are out Will M. Cdrleton 340\\nThe Volunteer s Wife M. A. Dennison 343\\nThe Robber 344\\nKit Carson s Ride. Joaquin Miller 347\\nThe Voice Forceythe Willson 351", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nTHE POOR FISHER FOLK. Victor Hugo.\\nTranslated by Rev. H. W. Alexander.\\nHPI IS night within the close-shut cabin-door\\n-L The room is wrapped in shade, save where there fall\\nSome twilight rays that creep along the floor,\\nAnd show the fisher s nets upon the wall.\\nIn the dim corner, from the oaken chest\\nA few white dishes glimmer through the shade\\nStands a tall bed with dusky curtains dressed,\\nAnd a rough mattress at its side is laid.\\nFive children on the long low mattress lie,\\nA nest of little souls, it heaves with dreams\\nIn the high chimney the last embers die,\\nAnd redden the dark roof with crimson gleams.\\nThe mother kneels and thinks, and, pale with fear,\\nShe prays alone, hearing the billows shout\\nWhile to wild winds, to rocks, to midnight drear,\\nThe ominous old ocean sobs without.\\nPoor wives of fishers Ah, t is sad to say,\\nOur sons, our husbands, all that we love best,\\nOur hearts, our souls, are on those waves away,\\nThose ravening wolves that know nor ruth nor rest.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "2 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThink how they sport with those beloved forms,\\nAnd how the clarion-blowing wind unties\\nAbove their heads the tresses of the storms\\nPerchance even now the child, the husband dies\\nFor we can never tell where they may be\\nWho, to make head against the tide and gale,\\nBetween them and the starless, soundless sea,\\nHave but one bit of plank, with one poor sail.\\nTerrible fear We seek the pebbly shore,\\nCry to the rising billows, Bring them home.\\nAlas what answer gives their troubled roar\\nTo the dark thought that haunts us as we roam 1\\nJanet is sad her husband is alone,\\nWrapped in the black shroud of this bitter night\\nHis children are so little, there is none\\nTo give him aid. Were they but old, they might.\\nAh, mother, when they too are on the main,\\nHow wilt thou weep, Would they were young again n\\nShe takes her lantern, t is his hour at last\\nShe will go forth, and see if the day breaks,\\nAnd if his signal-fire be at the mast\\nAh no, not yet I no breath of morning wake\\nNo line of light o er the dark waters lies\\nIt rains, it rains, how black is rain at morn\\nThe day comes trembling, and the young dawn cries,\\nCries like a baby fearing to be born.\\nSudden her human eyes, that peer and watch\\nThrough the deep shade, a mouldering dwelling find.\\nNo light within, the thin door shakes, the thatch\\nO er the green walls is twisted of the wind,", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "THE POOR FISHER FOLK.\\nYellow and dirty as a swollen rill.\\nu Ah me, she saith, here doth that widow dwell;\\nFew days ago my good man left her iU\\nI will go in and see if all be well.\\nShe strikes the door, she listens none replies,\\nAnd Janet shudders. Husbandless, alone,\\nAnd with two children, they have scant supplies,\\nGood neighbor She sleeps heavy as a stone.\\nShe calls again, she knocks t is silence still,\\nNo sound, no answer suddenly the door,\\nAs if the senseless creature felt some thrill\\nOf pity, turned, and open lay before.\\nShe entered, and her lantern lighted all\\nThe house so still, but for the rude waves din.\\nThrough the thin roof the plashing rain-drops fall,\\nBut something terrible is couched within.\\nHalf clothed, dark-featured, motionless lay she,\\nThe once strong mother, now devoid of life\\nDishevelled spectre of dead misery,\\nAll that the poor leaves after his long strife.\\nThe cold and livid arm, already stiff,\\nHung o er the soaked straw of her wretched bed.\\nThe mouth lay open horribly, as if\\nThe parting soul with a great cry had fled,\\nThat cry of death which startles the dim ear\\nOf vast eternity. And all the while\\nTwo little children, in one cradle near,\\nSlept face to face, on each sweet face a smile.\\nThe dying mother o er them, as they lay,\\nHad cast her gown, and wrapped her mantle s fold", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nFeeling chill death creep up, she willed that thej\\nShould yet be warm while she was lying cold*\\nRocked by their own weight, sweetly sleep the twain,\\nWith even breath, and foreheads calm and clear\\nSo sound that the last trump might call in vain,\\nFor, being innocent, they have no fear.\\nStill howls the wind, and ever a drop slides\\nThrough the old rafters, where the thatch is weak.\\nOn the dead woman s face it falls, and glides\\nLike living tears along her hollow cheek.\\nAnd the dull wave sounds ever like a bell.\\nThe dead lies still, and listens to the strain\\nFor when the radiant spirit leaves its shell,\\nThe poor corpse seems to call it back again.\\nIt seeks the soul through the air s dim expanse,\\nAnd the pale lip saith to the sunken eye,\\nWhere is the beauty of thy kindling glance 1\\nAnd where thy balmy breath 1 it makes reply.\\nAlas live, love, find primroses in spring,\\nFate hath one end for festival and tear.\\nBid your hearts vibrate, let your glasses ring\\nBut as dark ocean drinks each streamlet clear,\\nSo for the kisses that delight the flesh,\\nFor mother s worship, and for children s bloom,\\nFor song, for smile, for love so fair and fresh,\\nFor laugh, for dance, there is one goal, the tomb.\\nAnd why does Janet pass so fast away 1\\nWhat hath she done within that house of dread\\nWhat foldeth she beneath her mantle gray\\nAnd hurries home, and hides it in her bed 1\\nWith half-averted face, and nervous tread,\\nWhat hath she stolen from the awful dead 1", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "THE POOR FISHER FOLK. 5\\nThe dawn was whitening over the sea s verge\\nAs she sat pensive, touching broken chords\\nOf half-remorseful thought, while the hoarse surge\\nHowled a sad concert to her broken words.\\nAh, my poor husband we had five before\\nAlready so much care, so much to find,\\nFor he must work for all. I give him more.\\nWhat was that noise 1 His step 1 Ah no, the wind.\\nThat I should be afraid of him I love\\nI have done ill. If he should beat me now,\\nI would not blame him. Did not the door move 1\\nNot yet, poor man. She sits with careful brow,\\nWrapped in her inward grief; nor hears the roar\\nOf winds and waves that dash against his prow,\\nNor the black cormorant shrieking on the shore.\\nSudden the door flies open wide, and lets\\nNoisily in the dawn-light scarcely clear,\\nAnd the good fisher dragging his damp nets\\nStands on the threshold with a joyous cheer.\\nT is thou she cries, and eager as a lover\\nLeaps up, and holds her husband to her breast\\nHer greeting kisses all his vesture cover.\\nT is I, good wife and his broad face expressed\\nHow gay his heart that Janet s love made light.\\nWhat weather was it V 1 Hard. Your fishing V Bad.\\nThe sea was like a nest of thieves to-night\\nBut I embrace thee, and my heart is glad.\\nThere was a devil in the wind that blew\\nI tore my net, caught nothing, broke my line,\\nAnd once I thought the bark was broken too\\nWhat did you all the night long, Janet mine 1", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "PUBLIC AND PARLOE READINGS.\\nShe, trembling in the darkness, answered, I\\n0, naught I sewed, I watched, I was afraid\\nThe waves were loud as thunders from the sky\\nBut it is over. Shyly then she said\\nOur neighbor died last night it must have been\\nWhen you were gone. She left two little ones,\\nSo small, so frail, William and Madeline\\nThe one just lisps, the other scarcely runs.\\nThe man looked grave, and in the corner cast\\nHis old fur bonnet, wet with rain and sea\\nMuttered awhile, and scratched his head, at last,\\nWe have five children, this makes seven, said he.\\nAlready in bad weather we must sleep\\nSometimes without our supper. Now Ah, well,\\nT is not my fault. These accidents are deep\\nIt was the good God s will. I cannot tell.\\nWhy did he take the mother from those scraps,\\nNo bigger than my fist 1 T is hard to read\\nA learned man might understand perhaps,\\nSo little, they can neither work nor need.\\nGo fetch them, wife they will be frightened sore,\\nIf with the dead alone they waken thus\\nThat was the mother knocking at our door,\\nAnd we must take the children home to us.\\nBrother and sister shall they be to ours,\\nAnd they shall learn to climb my knee at even.\\nW T hen He shall see these strangers in our bowers,\\nMore fish, more food will give the God of heaven.\\nI will work harder I will drink no wine\\nGo fetch them. Wherefore dost thou linger, dear 1\\nNot thus were wont to move those feet of thine.\\nShe drew the curtain, saying, They are here.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "A YOUNG DESPERADO.\\nA YOUNG DESPERADO. T. B. Aldrich.\\nWHEN Johnny is all snugly curled up in bed, with his\\nrosy cheek resting on one of his scratched and grimy\\nlittle hands, forming altogether a perfect picture of peace\\nand innocence, it seems hard to realize what a busy, restive,\\npugnacious, badly ingenious little wretch he is There is\\nsomething so comical in those funny little shoes and stockings\\nsprawling on the floor, they look as if they could jump\\nup and run off, if they wanted to, there is something so\\nlaughable about those little trousers, which appear to be\\nmaking vain attempts to climb up into the easy-chair, the\\nsaid trousers still retaining the shape of Johnny s little legs,\\nand refusing -to go to sleep, there is something, I say,\\nabout these things, and about Johnny himself, which makes\\nit difficult for me to remember that, when Johnny is awake,\\nhe not unfrequently displays traits of character not to be\\ncompared with anything but the cunning of an Indian war-\\nrior, combined with the combative qualities of a trained prize-\\nfighter.\\nI m sure I don t know how he came by such unpleasant\\npropensities. I am myself the meekest of men. Of course,\\nI don t mean to imply that Johnny inherited his warlike dis-\\nposition from his mother. She is the gentlest of women.\\nBut when you come to Johnny he s the terror of the whole\\nneighborhood.\\nHe was meek enough at first, that is to say, for the\\nfirst six or seven days of his existence. But I verily believe\\nthat he was n t more than eleven days old when he showed\\na degree of temper that shocked me, shocked me in\\none so young. On that occasion he turned very red in\\nthe face, he was quite red before, doubled up his ri-\\ndiculous hands in the most threatening manner, and final-\\nly, in the impotency of rage, punched himself in the eye.\\nWhen I think of the life he led his mother and Su-\\nsan during the first eighteen months after his arrival;", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "8 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nI shrink from the responsibility of allowing Johnny to call\\nme father.\\nJohnny s aggressive disposition was not more early devel-\\noped than his duplicity. By the time he was two years of\\nage I had got the following maxim by heart Whenever J.\\nis particularly quiet, look out for squalls. He was sure to be\\nin some mischief. And I must say there was a novelty, an\\nunexpectedness, an ingenuity, in his badness that constantly\\nastonished me. The crimes he committed could be arranged\\nalphabetically. He never repeated himself. His evil re-\\nsources were inexhaustible. He never did the thing I ex-\\npected he would. He never failed to do the thing I was\\nunprepared for. I am not thinking so much of the time\\nwhen he painted my writing-desk with raspberry jam, as of\\nthe occasion when he perpetrated an act of original cruelty\\non Mopsey, a favorite kitten in the household. We were\\nsitting in the library. Johnny was playing in the front hall.\\nIn view of the supernatural stillness that reigned, I re-\\nmarked, suspiciously, Johnny is very quiet, my dear. At\\nthat moment a series of pathetic mews was heard in the\\nentry, followed by a violent scratching on the oil-cloth. Then\\nMopsey bounded into the room with three empty spools\\nstrung upon her tail. The spools were removed with great\\ndifficulty, especially the last one, which fitted remarkably\\ntight. After that, Mopsey never saw a work-basket without\\narching her tortoise-shell back, and distending her tail to\\nthree times its natural thickness. Another child would have\\nsqueezed the kitten, or stuck a pin in it, or twisted her tail\\nbut it was reserved for the superior genius of Johnny to\\nstring rather small spools upon it. He never did the obvious\\nthing.\\nIt was this fertility and happiness, if I may say so, of in-\\nvention, that prevented me from being entirely dejected over\\nmy son s behavior at this period. Sometimes the temptation\\nto seize him and shake him was too strong for poor human\\nnature. But I always regretted it afterwards. When I saw\\nhim asleep in his tiny bed, with one tear dried on his plump", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "A YOUNG DESPERADO. 9\\nvelvety cheek and two little mice-teeth visible through the\\nparted lips, I could n t help thinking what a little bit of a\\nfellow he was, with his funny little fingers and his funny\\nlittle nails and it did n t seem to me that he was the sort\\nof person to be pitched into by a great strong man like me.\\nWhen Johnny grows older, I used to say to his mother,\\nI 11 reason with him.\\nNow I don t know when Johnny will grow old enough to\\nbe reasoned with. When I reflect how hard it is to reason\\nwith wise grown-up people, if they happen to be unwilling to\\naccept your view of matters, I am inclined to be very patient\\nwith Johnny, whose experience is rather limited, after all,\\nthough he is six years and a half old, and naturally wants to\\nknow why and wherefore. Somebody says something about\\nthe duty of blind obedience. I can t expect Johnny to\\nhave more wisdom than Solomon, and to be more philosophic\\nthan the philosophers.\\nAt times, indeed, I have been led to expect this from him.\\nHe has shown a depth of mind that warranted me in looking\\nfor anything. At times he seems as if he were a hundred\\nyears old. He has a quaint, bird-like way of cocking his\\nhead on one side, and asking a question that appears to be\\nthe result of years of study. If I could answer some of those\\nquestions, I should solve the darkest mysteries of life and\\ndeath. His inquiries, however, generally have a grotesque\\nflavor. One night, when the mosquitoes were making lively\\nraids on his person, he appealed to me, suddenly How does\\nthe moon feel when a skeeter bites it 1 To his meditative\\nmind, the broad, smooth surface of the moon presented a\\ntemptation not to be resisted by any stray skeeter.\\nI freely confess that Johnny is now and then too much for\\nme. I wish I could read him as cleverly as he reads me.\\nHe knows all my weak points he sees right through me, and\\nmakes me feel that I am a helpless infant in his adroit hands.\\nHe has an argumentative, oracular air, when things have gone\\nwrong, which always upsets my dignity. Yet how cunningly\\nhe uses his power It is only in the last extremity that", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "10 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nhe crosses his legs, puts his hands into his trousers -pockets,\\nand argues the case with me. One day last week he was very\\nnear coming to grief. By my directions, kindling-wood and\\ncoal are placed every morning in the library grate, in order\\nthat I may have a fire the moment I return at night.\\nMaster Johnny must needs apply a lighted match to this\\narrangement early in the forenoon. The fire was not dis-\\ncovered until the blower was one mass of red-hot iron,\\nand the wooden mantel-piece was smoking with the in-\\ntense heat.\\nWhen I came home, Johnny was led from the store-room,\\nwhere he had been imprisoned from an early period, and\\nwhere he had employed himself in eating about two dollars\\nworth of preserved pears.\\nJohnny, said I, in as severe a tone as one could use in\\naddressing a person whose forehead glistened with syrup,\\nJohnny, don t you remember that I have always told you\\nnever to meddle with matches 1\\nIt was something delicious to see Johnny trying to remem-\\nber. He cast one eye meditatively up to the ceiling, then\\nhe fixed it abstractedly on the canary-bird, then he rubbed\\nhis ruffled brows with a sticky hand but really, for the\\nlife of him, he could n t recall any injunctions concerning\\nmatches.\\nI can t, papa, truly, truly, said Johnny at length. I\\nguess I must have forgot it.\\nWell, Johnny, in order that you may not forget it in\\nfuture\\nHere Johnny was seized with an idea. He interrupted\\nme.\\n1 11 tell you what you do, papa, you just put it down in\\nwritin\\\\\\nWith the air of a man who has settled a question definitely,\\nbut at the same time is willing to listen politely to any crude\\nsuggestions that you may have to throw out, Johnny crossed\\nhis legs, and thrust his hands into those wonderful trousers-\\npockets. I turned my face aside, for I felt a certain weakness", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "A YOUNG DESPERADO. 11\\ncreeping into the corners of my mouth. I was lost. In an\\ninstant the little head, covered all over with yellow curls, was\\nlaid upon my knee, and Johnny was crying, I m so very,\\nvery sorry\\nI have said that Johnny is the terror of the neighborhood.\\nI think I have not done the young gentleman an injustice.\\nIf there is a window broken within the radius of two miles\\nfrom our house, Johnny s ball, or a stone known to come from\\nhis dexterous hand, is almost certain to be found in the bat-\\ntered premises. I never hear the musical jingling of splin-\\ntered glass, but my porte-monnaie gives a convulsive throb in\\nmy breast-pocket. There is not a doorstep in our street that\\nhas n t borne evidences in red chalk of his artistic ability j\\nthere is n t a bell that he has n t rung and run away from\\nat least three hundred times. Scarcely a day passes but he\\nfalls out of something, or over something, or into something.\\nA ladder running up to the dizzy roof of an unfinished build-\\ning is no more to be resisted by him than the back platform\\nof a horse-car, when the conductor is collecting his fare in\\nfront.\\nI should not like to enumerate the battles that Johnny has\\nfought during the past eight months. It is a physical impos-\\nsibility, I should judge, for him to refuse a challenge. He\\npicks his enemies out of all ranks of society. He has fought\\nthe ash-man s boy, the grocer s boy, the rich boys over the\\nway, and any number of miscellaneous boys who chanced to\\nstray into our street.\\nI can t say that this young desperado is always victorious.\\nI have known the tip of his nose to be in a state of unpleas-\\nant redness for weeks together. I have known him to come\\nhome frequently with no brim to his hat once he presented\\nhimself with only one shoe, on which occasion his jacket was\\nsplit up the back in a manner that gave him the appearance\\nof an over-ripe chestnut bursting out of its bur. How\\nhe will fight But this I can say, if Johnny is as cruel\\nas Caligula, he is every bit as brave as Agamemnon. I\\nnever knew him to strike a boy smaller than himself. I", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "12 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nnever knew him to tell a lie when a lie would save him from\\ndisaster.\\nAt present the General, as I sometimes call him, is in hos-\\npital. He was seriously wounded at the battle of The Little\\nGo-Cart, on the 9th instant. On returning from my office\\n3 T esterday evening, I found that scarred veteran stretched\\nupon a sofa in the sitting-room, with a patch of brown paper\\nstuck over his left eye, and a convicting smell of vinegar\\nabout him.\\nYes, said his mother, dolefully, Johnny s been fighting\\nagain. That horrid Barnabee boy (who is eight years old, if\\nhe is a day) won t let the child alone.\\nWell, said I, I hope Johnny gave that Barnabee boy a\\nthrashing.\\nDid n t I, though 1 cries Johnny, from the sofa, /bet!\\nJohnny says his mother.\\nNow, several days previous to this, I had addressed the\\nGeneral in the following terms\\nJohnny, if I ever catch you in another fight of your own\\nseeking, I shall cane you.\\nIn consequence of this declaration, it became my duty to\\nlook into the circumstances of the present affair, which will\\nbe known in history as the battle of The Little Go-Cart.\\nAfter going over the ground very carefully, I found the fol-\\nlowing to be the state of the case.\\nIt seems that the Barnabee Boy I speak of him as if he\\nw T ere the Benicia Boy is the oldest pupil in the Primary\\nMilitary School (I think it must be a military school) of which\\nJohnny is a recent member. This Barnabee, having whipped\\nevery one of his companions, was sighing for new boys to\\nconquer, when Johnny joined the institution. He at once\\nmade friendly overtures of battle to Johnny, who, oddly\\nenough, seemed indisposed to encourage his advances. Then\\nBarnabee began a series of petty persecutions, which had\\ncontinued up to the day of the fight.\\nOn the morning of that eventful day the Barnabee Boy ap-\\npeared in the school-yard with a small go-cart. After running", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "A YOUNG DESPERADO.\\n13\\ndown on Johnny several times with this useful vehicle, he\\ncaptured Johnny s cap, filled it with sand, and dragged it up\\nand down the yard triumphantly in the go-cart. This made\\nthe General very angry, of course, and he took an early op-\\nportunity of kicking over the triumphal car, in doing which\\nhe kicked one of the wheels so far into space that it has not\\nbeen seen since.\\nThis brought matters to a crisis. The battle would have\\ntaken place then and there but at that moment the school-\\nbell rang, and the gladiators were obliged to give their atten-\\ntion to Smith s Speller. But a gloom hung over the morn-\\ning s exercises, a gloom that was not dispelled in the back\\nrow, when the Barnabee Boy stealthily held up to Johnny s\\nvision a slate, whereon was inscribed this fearful message\\nJohnny got it put down in writin this time\\nAfter a hasty glance at the slate, the General went on with\\nhis studies composedly enough. Eleven o clock came, and\\nwith it came recess, and with recess the inevitable battle.\\nNow I do not intend to describe the details of this brilliant\\naction, for the sufficient reason that, though there were seven\\nyoung gentlemen (connected with the Primary School) on the\\nfield as war correspondents, their accounts of the engagement\\nare so contradictory as to be utterly worthless. On one point\\nthey all agree, that the contest was sharp, short, and de-\\ncisive. The truth is, the General is a quick, wiry, experienced\\nold hero and it did n t take him long to rout the Barnabee", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "14 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nBoy, who was in reality a coward, as all bullies and tyrants\\never have been, and always will be.\\nI don t approve of boys fighting I don t defend Johnny\\nbut if the General wants an extra ration or two of preserved\\npear, he shall have it\\nI am well aware that, socially speaking, Johnny is a Black\\nSheep. I know that I have brought him up badly, and that\\nthere is not an unmarried man or woman in the United States\\nwho would n t have brought him up very differently. It s a\\ngreat pity that the only people who know how to manage\\nchildren never have any At the same time, Johnny is not\\na black sheep all over. He has some white spots. His sins\\nif wiser folks had no greater are the result of too much\\nanimal life. They belong to his evanescent youth, and will\\npass away but his honesty, his generosity, his bravery,\\nbelong to his character, and are enduring qualities. The\\nquickly crowding years will tame him. A good large pane\\nof glass, or a seductive bell-knob, ceases in time to have\\nattractions for the most reckless spirit. And I am quite con-\\nfident that Johnny will be a great statesman, or a valorous\\nsoldier, or, at all events, a good citizen, after he has got over\\nbeing A Young Desperado.\\nCHARLIE MACHREE.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 William J. Hoppin.\\nA BALLAD.\\nCOME over, come over\\nThe river to me,\\nIf ye are my laddie,\\nBold Charlie Machree.\\nHere s Mary McPherson\\nAnd Susy O Linn,\\nWho say, ye re faint-hearted,\\nAnd darena plunge in.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "CHARLIE MACHREE. 15\\nBut the dark rolling water,\\nThough deep as the sea,\\nI know willna seare ye,\\nNor keep ye frae me\\nFor stout is yer back,\\nAnd strong is yer arm,\\nAnd the heart in yer bosom\\nIs faithful and warm.\\nCome over, come over\\nThe river to me,\\nIf ye are my laddie,\\nBold Charlie Machree J\\nI see him, I see him.\\nHe s plunged in the tide,\\nHis strong arms are dashing\\nThe big waves aside.\\nthe dark rolling water\\nShoots swift as the sea,\\nBut blithe is the glance\\nOf his bonny blue e e\\nAnd his cheeks are like roses,\\nTwa buds on a bough\\nWho says ye re faint-hearted.\\nMy brave Charlie, now\\nHo, ho, foaming river,\\nYe may roar as ye go,\\nBut ye canna bear Charlie\\nTo the dark loch below\\nCome over, come over\\nThe river to me,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "16 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS\\nMy true-hearted laddie,\\nMy Charlie Machree\\nHe s sinking, he s sinking;\\n0, what shall I do\\nStrike out, Charlie, boldly,\\nTen strokes and ye re thro\\nHe s sinking, Heaven\\nNe er fear, man, ne er fear\\nI ve a kiss for ye, Charlie,\\nAs soon as ye re here\\nHe rises, I see him,\\nFive strokes, Charlie, mair,\\nHe s shaking the wet\\nFrom his bonny brown hair j\\nHe conquers the current,\\nHe gains on the sea,\\nHo, where is the swimmer\\nLike Charlie Machree\\nCome over the river,\\nBut once come to me,\\nAnd I 11 love ye forever,\\nDear Charlie Machree.\\nHe s sinking, he s gone,\\nGod, it is I,\\nIt is I, who have killed him\\nHelp, help he must die.\\nHelp, help ah, he rises,\\nStrike out and ye re free.\\nHo, bravely done, Charlie,\\nOnce more now, for me", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "OUR FOLKS. 17\\nNow cling to the rock,\\nNow gie us yer hand,\\nYe re safe, dearest Charlie,\\nYe re safe on the land\\nCome rest in my bosom,\\nIf there ye can sleep\\nI canna speak to ye,\\nI only can weep.\\nYe ve crossed the wild river,\\nYe ve risked all for me,\\nAnd I 11 part frae ye never,\\nDear Charlie Machree\\nOUR FOLKS. Ethel Lynn.\\nTJI I Harry Holly Halt, and tell\\nJ L A fellow just a thing or two\\nYou ve had a furlough, been to see\\nHow all the folks in Jersey do.\\nIt s months ago since I was there,\\nI, and a bullet from Fair Oaks.\\nWhen you were home, old comrade, say,\\nDid you see any of our folks 1\\n11 You did 1 Shake hands, 0, ain t I glad\\nFor if I do look grim and rough,\\nI ve got some feelin\\nPeople think\\nA soldier s heart is mighty tough\\nBut, Harry, when the bullets fly,\\nAnd hot saltpetre flames and smokes,\\nWhile whole battalions lie afield,\\nOne s apt to think about his folks.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "18 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\n11 And so you saw them when and where 1\\nThe old man is he hearty yet 1\\nAnd mother does she fade at all]\\nOr does she seem to pine and fret\\nFor me 1 And Sis 1 has she grown tall\\nAnd did you see her friend you know\\nThat Annie Moss\\n(How this pipe chokes\\nWhere did you see her tell me, Hal,\\nA lot of news about our folks.\\nu You saw them in the church yet say\\nIt s likely, for they re always there.\\nNot Sunday] no] A funeral] Who]\\nWho, Harry 1 how you shake and stare\\nAll well, you say, and all were out.\\nW T hat ails you, Hal 1 Is this a hoax\\nWhy don t you tell me, like a man,\\nWhat is the matter with our folks\\nI said all well, old comrade, true\\nI say all well, for He knows best\\nWho takes the young ones in his arms,\\nBefore the sun goes to the west.\\nThe axe-man Death deals right and left,\\nAnd flowers fall as well as oaks\\nAnd so\\nFair Annie blooms no more\\nAnd that s the matter with your folks.\\nSee, this long curl was kept for you\\nAnd this white blossom from her breast\\nAnd here your sister Bessie wrote\\nA letter, telling all the rest.\\nBear up, old friend.\\nNobody speaks", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "WHAT WILL BECOME OF THE CHILDREN? 19\\nOnly the old camp-raven croaks,\\nAnd soldiers whisper\\nBoys, be still\\nThere s some bad news from Grainger s folks.\\nHe turns his back the only foe\\nThat ever saw it on this grief,\\nAnd, as men will, keeps down the tears\\nKind Nature sends to Woe s relief.\\nThen answers he\\nAh, Hal, I ll try;\\nBut in my throat there s something chokes,\\nBecause, you see, I ve thought so long\\nTo count her in among our folks.\\nI s pose she must be happy now,\\nBut still I will keep thinking too,\\nI could have kept all trouble off,\\nBy being tender, kind, and true.\\nBut maybe not.\\nShe s safe up there,\\nAnd when the Hand deals other strokes,\\nShe 11 stand by Heaven s gate, I know,\\nAnd wait to welcome in our folks.\\nWHAT WILL BECOME OF THE CHILDREN?\\nJennie June.\\nIV /4TRS. NIPKIN, West Twenty-Fifth Street, has\\nJA-L rooms on the third story, which she is desirous of\\nletting, with board, for the winter, or permanently, to fami-\\nlies without children. References exchanged.\\nWhat a delightful woman this Mrs. Nipkin must be\\nWonder if she ever had any children of her own, or felt her\\nheart beat a single throb quicker at hearing tiny lips lisp", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "20 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nMother. Only families without children can enjoy the\\npleasure of her society, or the luxury of her third-story\\nfront, families which consist of Mr. So-and-so and lady,\\nor Mr. So-and-so, lady, and servant as if there could be\\na family without children as if children did not consti-\\ntute the very life and hope and joy of a family circle as if\\nthe pain and sorrow which they bring had not its sacred use\\nin rooting out hard, vile, selfish, and worldly passions as if\\nthe love they providentially bring with them, as safeguard\\nand protection, did not, in its pure devotion and holy disin-\\nterestedness, link us to the divine more nearly than any\\nother inspiration or instinct of which human nature is sus-\\nceptible.\\nFamilies without children. Do you know, Mrs. Nipkin,\\nhow harshly that would grate on the ears of the lately be-\\nreaved mother, how coldly and selfishly on the ears of the\\nnewly made father? Is it conceivable that you were ever\\na child yourself, or, if you were, that you were other than a\\nsnarling, passionate little vixen, who had managed to daguerre-\\notype the horror with which she inspired others upon her\\nown heart and brain, and in later years exhibited the de-\\nformed and misshapen product to the world in the form of a\\nstupid, unwomanly advertisement.\\nAnd yet it cannot be that yours is a family without chil-\\ndren, Mrs. Nipkin, or you would know the aching void,\\nthe desolation of heart, the dreary loneliness of life, the\\nvacant spot in the soul, which only the sweet smiles and\\nmerry laughter of a child can fill and you would pine for\\nthe presence of so pure and innocent a spirit, in order that\\nit might serve as a link between your selfish worldli-\\nness and the holy, spotless character and attributes of your\\nMaker.\\nIt would be interesting to know where you desire to go\\nwhen you die, Mrs. Nipkin; not certainly to the kingdom\\nover which Christ reigns, for he called little children to him\\nand blessed them, and said of such is the kingdom of heaven\\nso it is evident you could not make your living there, Mrs.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "THE STARLING. 21\\nNipkin, by furnishing rooms and board to families without\\nchildren.\\nWe pity you, poor Mrs. Nipkin. You do not know the\\nsweet pleasure of pressing a soft, tiny face against your own,\\nof watching its cunning looks and pretty ways, of hearing its\\nfirst effort to pronounce your name, of guiding its trembling\\nlittle feet in their essay to preserve the giddy balance on the\\nuncertain floor, of listening to the first lisped prayer to God\\nto bess fader, moder, ittle boder, and sister, and all lations,\\nand fens, and all the world, even Mrs. Nipkin, who would\\nnot admit a little child in the dismal precincts of her third\\nstory.\\nGood by, Mrs. Nipkin we have no ill-feeling against you\\nwe only hope Heaven will send you a dear little baby to\\nsoften your heart, and show you the difference between fami-\\nlies with and families without children.\\nTHE STARLING. Robert Buchanan.\\nTHE little lame tailor sat stitching and snarling,\\nWho in the world was the tailor s darling 1\\nTo none of his kind\\nWas he well inclined,\\nBut he doted on Jack the starling.\\nFor the bird had a tongue, and of words a store,\\nAnd his cage was hung just over the door,\\nAnd he saw the people and heard the roar,\\nFolk coming and going evermore,\\nAnd he looked at the tailor, and swore.\\nFrom a country lad the tailor bought him,\\nHis training was bad, for tramps had taught him\\nOn alehouse benches his cage had been,\\nWhile louts and wenches made jests obscene,\\ni", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "22 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nBut he learned, no doubt, his oaths from fellows\\nWho travel about with kettle and bellows,\\nAnd three or four, the roundest by far\\nThat ever he swore, were taught by a tar.\\nAnd the tailor heard. We 11 be friends said he,\\nYou re a clever bird, and our tastes agree,\\nWe both are old, and esteem life base,\\nThe whole world cold, things out of place,\\nAnd we re lonely too, and full of care,\\nSo what can we do but swear?\\nThe devil take you, how you mutter\\nYet there s much to make you swear and flutter.\\nYou want the fresh air and the sunlight, lad,\\nAnd your prison there feels dreary and sad,\\nAnd here I frown in a prison dreary,\\nHating the town, and feeling weary\\nWe re too confined, Jack, and we want to fly,\\nAnd you blame mankind, Jack, and so do I\\nAnd then, again, by chance as it were,\\nWe learned from men how to grumble and swear\\nYou let your throat by the scamps be guided,\\nAnd swore by rote, all just as I did\\nAnd without beseeching, relief is brought us,\\nFor we re turning the teaching on those who taught us\\nA haggard and ruffled old fellow was Jack,\\nWith a grim face muffled in ragged black,\\nAnd his coat was rusty and never neat,\\nAnd his wings were dusty from the dismal street,\\nAnd he sidelong peered, with eyes of soot too,\\nAnd scowled and sneered, and was lame of a foot too\\nAnd he longed to go from whence he came\\nAnd the tailor, you know, was just the same.\\nAll kinds of weather they felt confined,\\nAnd swore together at all mankind", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. 23\\nFor their mirth was done, and they felt like brothers,\\nAnd the swearing of one meant no more than the other s\\nT was just a way they had learned, yon see,\\nEach wanted to say only this, Woe s me\\nI m a poor old fellow,\\nAnd I in prisoned so,\\nWhile the sun shines mellow,\\nAnd the corn waves yellow,\\nAnd the fresh winds blow,\\nAnd the folk don t care if I live or die,\\nBut I long for air, and I wish to fly\\nYet unable to utter it, and too wild to bear,\\nThey could only mutter it, and swear.\\nMany a year they dwelt in the city,\\nIn their prisons drear, and none felt pity,\\nAnd few were sparing of censure and coldness,\\nTo hear them swearing with such plain boldness\\nBut at last, by the Lord their noise was stopt,\\nFor down on his board the tailor dropt,\\nAnd they found him dead, and done with snarling,\\nAnd over his head still grumbled the starling\\nBut when an old Jew claimed the goods of the tailor,\\nAnd with eye askew eyed the feathery railer,\\nAnd, with a frown at the dirt and rust,\\nTook the old cage down, in a shower of dust,\\nJack, with heart aching, felt life past bearing,\\nAnd, shivering, quaking, all hope forsaking, died swearing.\\nTHE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. Robert Lowell.\\nOTHAT last day in Lucknow fort\\nWe knew that it was the last,\\nThat the enemy s mines had crept surely in,-\\nAnd the end was coming fast.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "24 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nTo yield to that foe meant worse than death,\\nAnd the men and we all worked on\\nIt was one day more of smoke and roar,\\nAnd then it would all be done.\\nThere was one of us, a corporal s wife,\\nA fair, young, gentle thing,\\nWasted with fever and with siege,\\nAnd her mind was wandering.\\nShe lay on the ground, in her Scottish plaid,\\nAnd I took her head on my knee\\nWhen my father comes home frae the pleugh, she said,\\n0, please then waken me\\nShe slept like a child on her father s floor,\\nIn the flecking of woodbine shade,\\nWhen the house-dog sprawls by the half-open dooi;\\nAnd the mother s wheel is stayed.\\nIt was smoke and roar, and powder stench,\\nAnd hopeless waiting for death\\nBut the soldier s wife, like a full-tired child,\\nSeemed scarce to draw her breath.\\nI sank to sleep, and I had my dream\\nOf an English village lane,\\nAnd wall and garden till a sudden scream\\nBrought me back to the rear again.\\nThere Jessie Brown stood listening,\\nAnd then a broad gladness broke\\nAll over her face, and she tooE. my hand,\\nAnd drew me near and spoke\\nThe Highlanders 0, dinna ye hear\\nThe slogan far awa", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. 25\\nThe McGregors 1 Ah I ken it weel\\nIt is the grandest of them a\\nGod bless the bonny Highlanders\\nWe re saved we re saved she cried\\nAnd fell on her knees, and thanks to God\\nPoured forth, like a full flood-tide.\\nAlong the battery line her cry\\nHad fallen among the men\\nAnd they started, for they were to die\\nWas life so near them, then 1\\nThey listened, for life and the rattling fire\\nFar off, and the far-off roar\\nWere all, and the Colonel shook his head,\\nAnd they turned to their guns once more.\\nThen Jessie said, The slogan s dune,\\nBut can ye no hear them noo 1\\nThe Campbells are comin It s nae a dream\\nOur succors hae broken through\\nWe heard the roar and the rattle afar,\\nBut the pipers we could not hear\\nSo the men plied their work of hopeless war,\\nAnd knew that the end was near.\\nIt was not long ere it must be heard,\\nA shrilling, ceaseless sound\\nIt was no noise of the strife afar,\\nOr the sappers underground.\\nIt was the pipe of the Highlanders,\\nAnd now they played Auld Lang Syne\\nIt came to our men like the voice of God,\\nAnd they shouted along the line.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "26 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nAnd they wept and shook each other s hands,\\nAnd the women sobbed in a crowd;\\nAnd every one knelt down where we stood,\\nAnd we all thanked God aloud.\\nThat happy day, when we welcomed them in,\\nOur men put Jessie first\\nAnd the General took her hand, and cheers\\nFrom the men like a volley burst.\\nAnd the pipers ribbons and tartan streamed,\\nMarching round and round our line\\nAnd our joyful cheers were broken with tears,\\nAnd the pipers played Auld Lang Syne.\\nTHE BELLS OF SHANDON. Rev. Francis Mahony\u00e2\u0080\u009e\\nSabata pango\\nFunera plango\\nSolemnia clango.\\nInscription on an old Bell.\\nWITH deep affection\\nAnd recollection,\\nI often think of\\nThose Shandon Bells,\\nWhose sounds so wild would,\\nIn the days of childhood,\\nFling round my cradle\\nTheir magic spell.\\nOn this I ponder\\nWhere er I wander,\\nAnd thus grow fonder,\\nSweet Cork, of thee,\\nWith thy bells of Shandon\\nThat sound so grand on", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "THE BELLS OF SIIANDON. 27\\nThe pleasant waters\\nOf the river Lee.\\nI ve heard bells chiming\\nFull many a clime in,\\nTolling sublime in\\nCathedral shrine,\\nWhile at a glib rate\\nBrass tongues would vibrate\\nBut all their music\\nSpoke naught like thine.\\nFor memory, dwelling\\nOn each proud swelling\\nOf thy belfry, knelling\\nIts bold notes free,\\nMade the bells of Shandon\\nSound far more grand on\\nThe pleasant waters\\nOf the river Lee.\\nI ve heard bells tolling\\nOld Adrian s Mole in,\\nTheir thunder rolling\\nFrom the Vatican,\\nAnd cymbals glorious\\nSwinging uproarious\\nIn the gorgeous turrets\\nOf Notre Dame.\\nBut thy sounds were sweeter\\nThan the dome of Peter\\nFlings on the Tiber,\\nPealing solemnly.\\nthe bells of Shandon\\nSound far more grand on\\nThe pleasant waters\\nOf the river Lee", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "28 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThere s a bell in Moscow\\nWhile on tower and kiosko\\nIn Saint Sophia\\nThe Turkman gets,\\nAnd loud in air\\nCalls men to prayer\\nFrom the tapering summit\\nOf tall minarets.\\nSuch empty phantom\\nI freely grant them\\nBut there s an anthem\\nMore dear to me\\nT is the bells of Shandon,\\nThat sound so grand on\\nThe pleasant waters\\nOf the river Lee.\\nTHE LARK IN THE GOLD-FIELDS. Charles Reade.\\nPAKT FIRST. THE LARK.\\nrpOM, I invite you to a walk.\\n-L Well, George! a walk is a great temptation this\\nbeautiful day.\\nIt was the month of January, in Australia a blazing-hot\\nday was beginning to glow through the freshness of morning\\nthe sky was one cope of pure blue, and the southern air crept\\nslowly up, its wings clogged with fragrance, and just tuned\\nthe trembling leaves, no more.\\nIs not this pleasant, Tom, is n t it sweet 1\\nI believe you, George and what a shame to run down\\nsuch a country as this There they come home, and tell you\\nthe flowers have no smell but they keep dark about the trees\\nand bushes being haystacks of flowers. Snuff the air as we\\ngo it is a thousand English gardens in one. Look at all", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "THE LARK IN THE GOLD-FIELDS. 29\\nthose tea-scrubs, each with a thousand blossoms on it as sweet\\nas honey and the golden wattles on the other side, and all\\nsmelling like seven o clock.\\nAy, lad it is very refreshing j and it is Sunday, and we\\nhave got away from the wicked for an hour or two. But in\\nEngland there would be a little white church out yonder, and\\na spire like an angel s forefinger pointing from the grass to\\nheaven, and the lads in their clean frocks like snow, and the\\nlasses in their white stockings and new shawls, and the old\\nwomen in their scarlet cloaks and black bonnets, all going\\none road, and a tinkle-tinkle from the belfry, that would\\nJurn all these other sounds and colors and sweet smells\\nholy as well as fair on the Sabbath morn. Ah, England\\nAh\\nYou will see her again, no need to sigh. Prejudice be\\nhanged, this is a lovely land.\\nSo t is, Tom, so t is. But I 11 tell you what puts me\\nout a little bit nothing is what it sets up for here. If\\nyou see a ripe pear and go to eat it, it is a lump of hard\\nwood. Next comes a thing the very sight of which turns\\nyour stomach, and that is delicious, a loquot, for instance.\\nThere, now, look at that magpie well, it is Australia, so that\\nmagpie is a crow and not a magpie at all. Everything pre-\\ntends to be some old friend or other of mine, and turns out\\na stranger. Here is nothing but surprises and deceptions.\\nThe flowers make a point of not smelling, and the bushes,\\nthat nobody expects to smell or wants to smell, they smell\\nlovely.\\nWhat does it matter where the smell comes from, so\\nthat you get it 1\\nWhy, Tom, replied George, opening his eyes, it makes\\nall the difference. I like to smell a flower, a flower is not\\ncomplete without smell but I don t care if I never smell a\\nbush till I die. Then the birds, they laugh and talk like\\nChristians they make me split my sides, bless their little\\nhearts but they won t chirrup. It is Australia where every-\\nthing is inside-out and topsy-turvy. The animals have four", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nlegs, so they jump on two. Ten foot square of rock lets for\\na pound a month ten acres of grass for a shilling a yean\\nRoasted at Christmas, shiver o cold on midsummer-day.\\nThe lakes are grass, and the rivers turn their backs on the\\nsea and run into the heart of the land and the men would\\nstand on their heads, but I have taken a thought, and I ve\\nfound out why they don t.\\nWhy?\\nBecause, if they did, their heads would point the same\\nway a man s head points in England.\\nTom Robinson laughed, and told George he admired the\\ncountry for these very traits. Novelty for me against the\\nworld. Who d come twelve thousand miles to see nothing\\nwe could n t see at home 1 One does not want the same story\\nalways. Where are we going, George 1\\n0, not much farther, only about twelve miles from\\nthe camp.\\nWhere to 1\\nTo a farmer I know. I am going to show you a lark,\\nTom, said George, and his eyes beamed benevolence on his\\ncomrade.\\nRobinson stopped dead short. George, said he, no!\\ndon t let us. I would rather stay at home and read my book.\\nYou can go into temptation and come out pure I can t. I\\nam one of those that if I go into a puddle up to my shoe, I\\nmust splash up to my middle.\\nWhat has that to do with it\\nYou re proposing to me to go for a lark on the Sabbath\\nday.\\nWhy, Tom, am I the man to tempt you to do evil\\nasked George, hurt.\\nWhy, no but you proposed a lark.\\nAy, but an innocent one, one more likely to lift your\\nheart on high than to give you ill thoughts.\\nWell, this is a riddle and Robinson was intensely\\npuzzled.\\nCarlo cried George, suddenly, come here I will not", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "THE LARK IN THE GOLD-FIELDS. 31\\nhave you hunting and tormenting those Kangaroo rats to-day.\\nLet us all be at peace, if you please. Come, to heel.\\nThe friends strode briskly on, and a little after eleven\\no clock they came upon a small squatter s house and prem-\\nises. Here we are, said George, and his eyes glittered with\\ninnocent delight.\\nThe house was thatched and whitewashed, and English was\\nwritten on it and on every foot of ground around it. A furze-\\nbush had been planted by the door. Vertical oak palings\\nwere the fence, with a five-barred gate in the middle of them.\\nFrom the little plantation all the magnificent trees and shrubs\\nof Australia had been excluded with amazing resolution and\\nconsistency, and oak and ash reigned, safe from over-towering\\nrivals. They passed to the back of the house, and there\\nGeorge s countenance fell a little, for on the oval grass-plot\\nand gravel-walk he found from thirty to forty rough fellows\\nmost of them diggers.\\nAh, well, said he, on reflection, we could not expect\\nto have it all to ourselves, and, indeed, it would be a sin to\\nwish it, you know. Now, Tom, come this way here it is,\\nhere it is, there. Tom looked up, and in a gigantic cage\\nwas a light-brown bird.\\nHe was utterly confounded. What is it this we came\\ntwelve miles to see 1\\nAy and twice twelve would n t have been much to\\nme.\\nWell, and now where is the lark you talked of?\\nThis is it.\\nThis 1 This is a bird.\\nWell, and is n t a lark a bird\\nOh ah, I see Ha, ha ha, ha\\nRobinson s merriment was interrupted by a harsh remon-\\nstrance from several of the diggers, who were all from the\\nother end of the camp.\\nHold your cackle cried one he is going to sing.\\nAnd the whole party had then- eyes turned with expectation\\ntowards the bird.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "32 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nLike most singers, he kept them waiting a bit. But at\\nlast, just at noon, when the mistress of the house had war-\\nranted him to sing, the little feathered exile began as it were\\nto tune his pipes. The savage men gathered round the cage\\nthat moment, and amidst a dead stillness the bird uttered\\nsome very uncertain chirps but after a while he seemed to\\nrevive his memories, and call his ancient cadences back to\\nhim one by one, and string them sotto voce.\\nAnd then the same sun that had warmed his little heart\\nat home came glowing down on him here, and he gave\\nmusic back for it more and more, till at last, amidst\\nbreathless silence and glistening eyes of the rough diggers\\nhanging on his voice, outburst in that distant land his\\nEnglish song.\\nIt swelled his little throat, and gushed from him with\\nthrilling force and plenty; and every time he checked his\\nsong to think of its theme, the green meadows, the quiet-\\nstealing streams, the clover he first soared from, and the\\nspring he loved so well, a loud sigh from many a rough\\nbosom, many a wild and wicked heart, told how tight the lis j\\nteners had held their breath to hear him. And when he\\nswelled with song again, and poured with all his soul the\\ngreen meadows, the quiet brooks, the honey-clover, and the\\nEnglish spring, the rugged mouths opened and so stayed,\\nand the shaggy lips trembled, and more than one tear trickled\\nfrom fierce, unbridled hearts down bronzed and rugged\\ncheeks.\\nSweet home\\nAnd these shaggy men, full of oaths and strife and cupidity,\\nhad once been white-headed boys, and most of them had\\nstrolled about the English fields with little sisters and little\\nbrothers, and seen the lark rise and heard him sing this very\\nsong. The little playmates lay in the churchyard, and they\\nwere full of oaths and drink, and lusts and remorses, but no\\nnote was changed in this immortal song.\\nAnd so, for a moment or two, years of vice rolled away\\nlike a dark cloud from the memory, and the past shone out", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "THE LARK IN THE GOLD-FIELDS. 33\\nin the song-shine they came back bright as the immortal\\nnotes that lighted them, those faded pictures and those\\nfleeted days the cottage, the old mother s when he left her\\nwithout one grain of sorrow, the village church and its simple\\nchimes, ding-dong-bell, ding-dong-bell, ding-dong-bell; the\\nclover-field hard by, in which he lay and gambolled while the\\nlark praised God overhead the chubby playmates that never\\ngrew to be w T icked the sweet, sweet hours of youth, inno-\\ncence, and home.\\nGeorge stayed till the lark gave up singing altogether, and\\nthen he said, Now I am off. I don t want to hear bad lan-\\nguage after that let us take the lark s chirp home to bed\\nwith us and they made off. And true it was, the pure\\nstrains dwelt upon their spirits, and refreshed and purified\\nthese sojourners in a godless place. Meeting these two figures\\non Sunday afternoon, armed each with a double-barrelled gun\\nand a revolver, you would never have guessed what gentle\\nthoughts possessed them wholly. They talked less than they\\ndid coming, but they felt so quiet and happy.\\nThe pretty bird, purred George (seeing him by the ear),\\nI feel after him there as if I had just come out o\\nchurch.\\nSo do I, George and I think his song must be a psalm,\\nif we knew all.\\nThat it is, for Heaven taught it him. VVe must try and\\nkeep all this in our hearts when we get among the broken\\nbottles and foul language and gold, says George. How\\nsweet it smells, sweeter than before\\nThat is because it is afternoon.\\nYes or along of the music that tune was a breath\\nfrom home that makes everything please me now. This is\\nthe first Sunday that has looked and smelled and sounded\\nlike Sunday.\\nGeorge, it is hard to believe the world is wicked every-\\nthing seems good and gentle, and at peace with heaven and\\nearth.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "34 PUBLIC ASD PARLOR READINGS.\\nTHE LARK IN THE GOLD-FIELDS.\\nPART SECOND. CARLO.\\nA JET of smoke issued from the bush, followed by the\\nreport of a guu, and Carlo, who had taken advantage\\nof George s re very to slip on ahead, gave a sharp howl, and\\nspun round upon all fours.\\nThe scoundrels shrieked Robinson. And in a moment\\nhis gun was at his shoulder, and he fired both barrels slap\\ninto the spot whence the smoke had issued.\\nBoth the men dashed up and sprang into the bush, revolver\\nin hand, but ere they could reach it the dastard had run;\\nand the scrub was so thick, pursuit was hopeless. The men\\nreturned, full of anxiety for Carlo.\\nThe dog met them, his tail between his legs but at sight\\nof George he wagged his tail, and came to him and licked\\nGeorge s hand, and walked on with them, licking George s\\nhand every now and then.\\nLook, Tom he is as sensible as a Christian. He knows\\nthe shot was meant for him, though they did n t hit him.\\nBy this time the men had got out of the wood and pursued\\ntheir road, but not with tranquil hearts. Sunday ended with\\nthe noise of that coward s gun. They walked on hastily,\\nguns ready, fingers on the trigger at w r ar. Suddenly Robin-\\nson looked back and stopped, and drew George s attention to\\nCarlo. He was standing with all his four legs wide apart,\\nlike a statue. Geoi-ge called him he came directly and was\\nfor licking George s hand, but George pulled him about and\\nexamined him all over.\\nI wish they may not have hurt him, after all, the butch-\\ners they have, too See here, Tom here is one streak\\nof blood on his belly nothing to hurt, though, I do hope.\\nNever mind, Carlo cried George it is only a single shot,\\nby what I can see. T is n t like when Will put the whole\\ncharge into you, rabbit-shooting, is it, Carlo 1 No, says he\\nwe don t care for this, do we, Carlo cried George, rather\\nboisterously.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "THE LABK IN THE GOLD-FIELDS. 35\\nMake him go into that pool there, said Robinson then\\nhe won t have a fever.\\nI will. Here, cess! cess! He threw a stone into\\nthe pool of water that lay a little off the road, and Carlo\\nwent in after it without hesitation, though not with his usual\\nalacrity. After an unsuccessful attempt to recover tiie stone,\\nhe swam out lower down, and came back to the men, and\\nwagged his tail slowly and walked behind George.\\nThey went on.\\nTom, said George, after a pause, I don t like it.\\nDon t like what 1\\nHe never so much as shook himself.\\nWhat of that He did shake himself, I should say.\\nNot as should be. Who ever saw a dog come out of the\\nwater and not shake himself 1 Carlo hie, Carlo and\\nGeorge threw a stone along the ground. Carlo trotted after\\nit, but his limbs seemed to work stiffly the stone spun round\\na sharp corner in the road, the dog followed it.\\nHe will do now, said Robinson.\\nThey walked briskly on. On turning the corner they found\\nCarlo sitting up and shivering, with the stone between his\\npaws.\\nWe must not let him sit, said Tom; keep his blood\\nwarm. I don t think we ought to have sent him into the\\nwater.\\nI don t know, muttered George, gloomily. Carlo\\ncried he, cheerfully, don t you be down-hearted; there is\\nnothing so bad as faint-heartedness for man or beast. Come,\\nup and away ye go, and shake it off like a man\\nCarlo got up and wagged his tail in answer, but he evi-\\ndently was in no mood for running he followed languidly\\nbehind.\\nLet us get home, said Robinson there is an old pal of\\nmine that is clever about dogs he will cut the shot out, if\\nthere is one in him, and give him some physic.\\nThe men strode on, and each, to hide his own uneasiness,\\nchatted about other matters but, all of a sudden, Robinson", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "36 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\ncried out, Why, where is the dog? They looked backj\\nand there was Carlo some sixty yards in the rear, but he waa\\nuot sitting this time, he was lying on his belly.\\n0, this is a bad job cried George. The men ran up, in\\nreal alarm Carlo wagged his tail as soon as they came near\\nhim, but he did not get up.\\nCarlo cried George, despairingly, you would n t do it,\\nyou could n t think to do it my dear Carlo it is\\nonly making up your mind to live keep up your heart, old\\nfellow. don t go to leave us alone among these villains.\\nMy poor, dear, darling dog no he won t live, he\\ncan t live See how dull his poor, dear eye is getting.\\nCarlo, Carlo\\nAt the sound of his master s voice in such distress, Carlo\\nwhimpered, and then he began to stretch his limbs out. At\\nthe sight of this, Robinson cried hastily,\\nRub him, George We did wrong to send him into the\\nwater.\\nGeorge rubbed him all over. After rubbing him awhile, he\\nsaid,\\nTom, I seem to feel him turning to dead under my\\nhand.\\nGeorge s hand, in rubbing Carlo, came round to the dog s\\nshoulder then Carlo turned his head, and for the third time\\nbegan to lick George s hand. George let him lick his hand\\nand gave up rubbing, for where was the use 1 Carlo never\\nleft off licking his hand, but feebly, very feebly, more and\\nmore feebly.\\nPresently, even while he was licking his hand, the poor\\nthing s teeth closed slowly on his loving tongue, and then he\\ncould lick the beloved hand no more. Breath fluttered about\\nhis body a little while longer but in truth he had ceased to\\nlive when he could no longer kiss his master s hand.\\nThe poor single-hearted soul was gone.\\nGeorge took it up tenderly in his arms. Robinson made\\nan effort to console him.\\nDon t speak to me, Tom, if you please, said George,", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "THE LARK IN THE GOLD-FIELDS. 37\\ngently but quickly. He carried it home silently, and laid it\\nsilently down in a corner of the tent.\\nRobinson made a fire and put some steaks on, and made\\nGeorge slice some potatoes, to keep him from looking always\\nat what so little while since was Carlo. Then they sat down\\nsilently and gloomily to dinner j it was long past their usual\\nhour, and they were working men. Until we die we dine,\\ncome what may. The first part of the meal passed in deep\\nsilence. Then Robinson said sadly,\\nWe will go home, George. I fall into your wishes now.\\nGold can t pay for what we go through in this hellish place.\\nNot it, replied George, quietly.\\nWe are surrounded by enemies.\\nSeems so, was the reply, in a very languid tone.\\nLabor by day and danger by night.\\nAy but in a most indifferent tone.\\nAnd no Sabbath for us two.\\nNo.\\nI 11 do my best for you, and when we have five hundred\\npounds, you shall go home.\\nThank you. He was a good friend to us that lies there\\nunder my coat; he used to lie over it, and then who dare\\ntouch it 1\\nNo but don t give way to that, George do eat a bit,\\nit will do you good.\\nI will, Tom, I will. Thank you kindly. Ah now I\\nsee why he came to me and kept licking my hand so the\\nmoment he got the hurt. He had more sense than we had,\\nhe knew he and I were to part that hour and I tormented\\nhis last minutes sending him into the water and after stones,\\nwhen the poor thing wanted to be bidding me good by all the\\nwhile. dear dear and George pushed his scarce-\\ntasted dinner from him, and left the tent hurriedly, his eyes\\nthick with tears.\\nThus ended this human day so happily begun and thus\\nthe poor dog paid the price of fidelity this Sunday afternoon.\\nSiste viator iter and part with poor Carlo, for whom there", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "38 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nare now no more little passing troubles, no more little simple\\njoys. His duty is performed, his race is run peace be to\\nhim, and to all simple and devoted hearts Ah me how\\nrare they are among men\\nTHE FACE AGAINST THE PANE.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 T. B. Aldrich.\\nMABEL, little Mabel,\\nWith face against the pane,\\nLooks out across the night\\nAnd sees the Beacon Light\\nA-trembling in the rain.\\nShe hears the sea-birds screech,\\nAnd the breakers on the beach\\nMaking moan, making moan.\\nAnd the wind about the eaves\\nOf the cottage sobs and grieves\\nAnd the willow-tree is blown\\nTo and fro, to and fro,\\nTill it seems like some old crone\\nStanding out there all alone,\\nWith her woe\\nWringing, as she stands,\\nHer gaunt and palsied hands,\\nWhile Mabel, timid Mabel,\\nWith face against the pane,\\nLooks out across the night,\\nAnd sees the Beacon Light\\nA-trembling in the rain.\\nSet the table, maiden Mabel,\\nAnd make the cabin warm\\nYour little fisher-lover\\nIs out there in the storm,\\nAnd your father you are weeping", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "llli: FACE AGAINST THE PANE. 39\\nO Mabel, timid Mabel,\\nGo, spread the supper-table,\\nAnd set the tea a steeping.\\nYour lovers heart is brave,\\nHis boat is staunch and tight\\nAnd your father knows the perilous reef\\nThat makes the water white.\\nBut Mabel, Mabel darling,\\nWith face against the pane,\\nLooks out across the night\\nAt the Beacon in the rain.\\nThe heavens are veined with fire\\nAnd the thunder, how it rolls\\nIn the killings of the storm\\nThe solemn church-bell tolls\\nFor lost souls\\nBut no sexton sounds the knell\\nIn that belfry old and high\\nUnseen fingers sway the bell\\nAs the wind goes tearing by\\nHow it tolls for the souls\\nOf the sailors on the sea\\nGod pity them, God pity them,\\nWherever they may be\\nGod pity wives and sweethearts\\nWho wait and wait in vain\\nAnd pity little Mabel,\\nWith face against the pane.\\nA boom the Lighthouse gun\\n(How its echo rolls and rolls\\nT is to warn the home-bound ships\\nOff the shoals\\nSee a rocket cleaves the sky\\nFrom the Fort, a shaft of light\\nSee it fades, and, fading, leaves", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "40 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nGolden furrows on the night\\nWhat made Mabel s cheek so pale 1\\nWhat made Mabel s lips so white 1\\nDid she see the helpless sail\\nThat, tossing here and there,\\nLike a -feather in the air,\\nWent down and out of sight 1\\nDown, down, and out of sight\\n0, watch no more, no more,\\nWith face against the pane\\nYou cannot see the men that drown\\nBy the Beacon in the rain\\nFrom a shoal of richest rubies\\nBreaks the morning clear and cold.\\nAnd the angel on the village spire,\\nFrost-touched, is bright as gold.\\nFour ancient fishermen,\\nIn the pleasant autumn air,\\nCome toiling up the sands,\\nWith something in their hands,\\nTwo bodies stark and white,\\nAh, so ghastly in the light,\\nWith sea-weed in their hair\\nancient fishermen,\\nGo up to yonder cot\\nYou 11 find a little child,\\nWith face against the pane,\\nWho looks toward the beach,\\nAnd, looking, sees it not.\\nShe will never watch again\\nNever watch and weep at sight I\\nFor those pretty, saintly eyes\\nLook beyond the stormy skies,\\nAnd they see the Beacon Light.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "THE LOVER AND BIRDS. 41\\nTHE LOVER AND BIRDS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Wm. Allingham.\\nWITHIN a budding grove,\\nIn April s ear sang every bird his best\\nBut not a song to pleasure my unrest,\\nOr touch the tears unwept of bitter love.\\nSome spake, methought, with pity some as if in jest.\\nTo every word\\nOf every bird\\nI listened, and replied as it behove.\\nScreamed Chaffinch, Sweet, sweet, sweet!\\n0, bring my pretty love to meet me here\\nChaffinch, quoth I, be dumb awhile, in fear\\nThy darling prove no better than a cheat\\nAnd never come, or fly when wintry days appear.\\nYet from a twig,\\nWith voice so big,\\nThe little fowl his utterance did repeat.\\nThen I The man forlorn\\nHears earth send up a foolish noise aloft.\\nAnd what 11 he do what 11 he do scoffed\\nThe Blackbird, standing in an ancient thorn,\\nThen spread his sooty wings and flitted to the croft,\\nWith cackling laugh\\nWhom I, being half\\nEnraged, called after, giving back his scorn.\\nWorse mocked the Thrush Die die\\n0, could he do it 1 could he do it Nay\\nBe quick be quick Here, here, here went his lay.\\nTake heed! take heed! Then, Why? why why?\\nwhy why\\nSee-ee now see-ee now he drawled. Back back back\\nR-r-r-run away", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "42 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThrush, be still\\nOr, at thy will,\\nSeek some less sad interpreter than I\\nAir, air blue air and white\\nWhither I flee, whither, whither, whither I flee\\nThus the Lark hurried, mounting from the lea.\\nHills, countries, many waters glittering bright,\\nWhither I see, whither T see deeper, deeper, deeper whither\\nI see, see, see\\nGay Lark, I said,\\nThe song that s bred\\nIn happy nest may well to heaven make flight.\\nThere s something, something sad,\\nI half remember, piped a broken strain.\\nWell sung, sweet Robin Robin sung again\\nSpring s opening cheerily, cheerily be we glad\\nWhich moved, I w^st not why, me melancholy mad,\\nTill now, grown meek,\\nWith wetted cheek,\\nMost comforting and gentle thoughts I had.\\nTHE HIGH TIDE.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Jean Lngelow.\\nTHE old mayor climbed the belfry tower,\\nThe ringers ran by two, by three\\nPull, if ye never pulled before,\\nGood ringers pull your best, quoth he.\\nPlay uppe, play uppe, Boston bells\\nPly all your changes, all your swells,\\nPlay uppe The Brides of Enderby\\nI sat and spun within the doore\\nMy thread brake off, I raised myne eyes", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "THE niGH TrDE. 43\\nThe level sun, like ruddy ore,\\nLay sinking in the barren skies\\nAnd dark against day s golden death\\nShe moved where Lindis wandereth,\\nMy Sonne s faire wife, Elizabeth.\\nCusha! Cusha! Cusha calling\\nEre the early dews were falling,\\nFarre away I heard her song.\\nCusha Cusha all along\\nWhere the reedy Lindis floweth,\\nFloweth, floweth\\nFrom the meads where melick groweth,\\nFaintly came her milking-song.\\nCusha Cusha Cusha calling,\\nFor the dews will soone be falling\\nLeave your meadow grasses mellow,\\nMellow, mellow\\nQuit your cowslips, cowslips yellow\\nCome uppe, Whitefoot come uppe, Lightfoot\\nQuit the stalks of parsley hollow,\\nHollow, hollow\\nCome uppe, Jetty, rise and follow,\\nFrom the clovers lift your head\\nCome uppe, Whitefoot come uppe, Lightfoot\\nCome uppe, Jetty, rise and follow,\\nJetty, to the milking shed.\\nAlle fresh the level pasture lay,\\nAnd not a shadowe mote be seene,\\nSave where, full fyve good miles away,\\nThe steeple towered from out the greene\\nAnd lo the great bell farre and wide\\nWas heard in all the country-side,\\nThat Saturday at eventide.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "44 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nI looked without, and lo my sonne\\nCame riding downe with might and main\\nHe raised a shout as he drew on,\\nTill all the welkin rang again,\\nElizabeth! Elizabeth!\\n(A sweeter woman ne er drew breath\\nThan my Sonne s wife, Elizabeth.)\\nThe olde sea-wall (he cried) is downe\\nThe rising tide comes on apace,\\nAnd boats adrift in yonder towne\\nGo sailing uppe the market-place.\\nHe shook as one that looks on death\\nGod save you, mother straight he saith j\\nWhere is my wife, Elizabeth\\nGood sonne, where Lindis winds away,\\nWith her two bairns I marked her long\\nAnd ere yon bells beganne to play,\\nAfar I heard her milking-song.\\nHe looked across the grassy lea,\\nTo right, to left, Ho, Enderby\\nThey rang The Brides of Enderby\\nWith that he cried and beat his breast\\nFor lo along the river s bed\\nA mighty eygre reared his crest,\\nAnd uppe the Lindis raging sped.\\nIt swept with thunderous noises loud,\\nShaped like a curling snow-white cloud,\\nOr like a demon in a shroud.\\nSo farre, so fast the eygre drave,\\nThe heart had hardly time to beat\\nBefore a shallow, seething wave\\nSobbed in the grasses at our feet\\nThe feet had hardly time to flee", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "THE HIGH TIDE. 45\\nBefore it brake against the knee,\\nAnd all the world was in the sea.\\nUpon the roofe we sate that night,\\nThe noise of bells went sweeping by\\nI marked the lofty beacon-light\\nStream from the church-tower, red and high,\\nA lurid mark and dread to see\\nAnd awesome bells they were to mee,\\nThat in the dark rang Enderby.\\nThey rang the sailor lads to guide\\nFrom roofe to roofe who fearless rowed\\nAnd I my sonne was at my side,\\nAnd yet the ruddy beacon glowed\\nAnd yet he moaned beneath his breath,\\n0, come in life, or come in death\\n0, lost my love, Elizabeth\\nAnd didst thou visit him no more 1\\nThou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare\\nThe waters laid thee at his doore,\\nEre yet the early dawn was clear.\\nThy pretty bairns in fast embrace,\\nThe lifted sun shone on thy face,\\nDowne drifted to thy dwelling-place.\\nThat flow strewed wrecks about the grass,\\nThat ebbe swept out the flocks to sea\\nA fatal ebbe and flow, alas\\nTo many more than myne and me\\nBut each will mourn his own (she saith),\\nAnd sweeter woman ne er drew breath\\nThan my Sonne s wife, Elizabeth.\\nI shall never hear her more\\nBy the reedy Lindis shore,\\nCusha Cusha Cusha calling,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "46 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nEre the early dews be falling\\nI shall never hear her song,\\nCusha Cnsha all along\\nWhere the sunny Lindis floweth,\\nGoeth, floweth\\nFrom the meads where melick groweth,\\nWhere the water, winding down,\\nOnward floweth to the town.\\nI shall never see her more\\nWhere the reeds and rushes quiver,\\nShiver, quiver;\\nStand beside the sobbing river,\\nSobbing, throbbing, in its falling\\nTo the sandy, lonesome shore.\\nAbridged.\\nSANDALPHON, THE ANGEL OF PRAYER.\\nH. W. Longfellow.\\nHAVE you read in the Talmud of old,\\nIn the legends the Rabbins have told,\\nOf the limitless realms of the air 1\\nHave you read it, the marvellous story\\nOf Sandalphon, the Angel of Glory,\\nSandalphon, the Angel of Prayer 1\\nHow, erect at the outermost gates\\nOf the City Celestial he waits,\\nWith his feet on the ladder of light,\\nThat, crowded with angels unnumbered,\\nBy Jacob was seen, as he slumbered,\\nAlone in the desert at night 1\\nThe Angels of Wind and of Fire\\nChant only one hymn, and expire", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "SANDALPHON, THE ANGEL OF PRAYER. 47\\nWith the song s irresistible stress,\\nExpire in their rapture and wonder,\\nAs harp-strings are broken asunder,\\nBy the music they throb to express.\\nBut serene in the rapturous throng,\\nUnmoved by the rush of the song,\\nWith eyes uu impassioned and slow,\\nAmong the dead angels, the deathless\\nSandalphon stands listening, breathless,\\nTo sounds that aseend from below,\\nFrom the spirits on earth that adore,\\nFrom the souls that entreat and implore,\\nIn the frenzy and passion of prayer,\\nFrom the hearts that are broken with losses,\\nAnd weary with dragging the crosses\\nToo heavy for mortals to bear.\\nAnd he gathers the prayers as he stands,\\nAnd they change into flowers in his hands,\\nInto garlands of purple and red\\nAnd beneath the great arch of the portal,\\nThrough the streets of the City Immortal,\\nIs wafted the fragrance they shed.\\nIt is but a legend, I know,\\nA fable, a phantom, a show\\nOf the ancient Rabbinical lore\\nYet the old mediaeval tradition,\\nThe beautiful strange superstition,\\nBut haunts me and holds me the more.\\nWhen I look from my window at night,\\nAnd the welkin above is all white,\\nAll throbbing and panting with stars\\nAmong them majestic is standing", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "48 TUBL1C AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nSandalphon the angel, expanding\\nHis pinions in nebulous bars.\\nAnd the legend, I feel, is a part\\nOf the hunger and thirst of the heart,\\nThe frenzy and fire of the brain,\\nThat grasps at the fruitage forbidden,\\nThe golden pomegranates of Eden,\\nTo quiet its fever and pain.\\nBIAH CATHCART S PROPOSAL. H. W. Beecher.\\nTHEY were walking silently and gravely home one Sunday\\nafternoon, under the tall elms that lined the street for\\nhalf a mile. Neither had spoken. There had been some little\\nparish quarrel, and on that afternoon the text was, A new\\ncommandment I write unto you, that ye love one another.\\nBut after the sermon was done the text was the best part of\\nit. Some one said that Parson Marsh s sermons were like the\\nmeeting-house, the steeple was the only thing that folks\\ncould see after they got home.\\nThey walked slowly, without a word. Once or twice Biah\\nessayed to speak, but was still silent. He plucked a flower\\nfrom between the pickets of the fence, and unconsciously\\npulled it to pieces, as, with a troubled face, he glanced at\\nRachel, and then, as fearing she would catch his eye, he\\nlooked at the trees, at the clouds, at the grass, at everything,\\nand saw nothing, nothing but Rachel. The most solemn\\nhour of human experience is not that of Death, but* of Life,\\nwhen the heart is born again, and from a natural heart be-\\ncomes a heart of Love What wonder that it is a silent hour\\nand perplexed 1\\nIs the soul confused 1 Why not, when the divine Spirit,\\nrolling clear across the aerial ocean, breaks upon the heart s\\nshore with all the mystery of heaven 1 Is it strange that", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "\u00e2\u0080\u00a2BIAH CATHCABT S PROPOSAL. 49\\nuncertain lights dim the eye, if above the head of him that\\ntruly loves hover clouds of saintly spirits? Why should not\\nthe tongue stammer and refuse its accustomed offices, when\\nall the world skies, trees, plains, hills, atmosphere, and the\\nsolid earth springs forth in new colors, with strange mean-\\nings, and seems to chant for the soul the glory of that mystic\\nLaw with which God has hound to himself his infinite realm,\\nthe law of Love] Then, for the first time, when one so\\nloves that love is sacrifice, death to self, resurrection, and\\nglory, is man brought into harmony with the whole universe\\nand, like him who beheld the seventh heaven, hears things\\nunlawful to be uttered.\\nThe great elm-trees sighed as the fitful breeze swept\\ntheir tops. The soft shadows flitted back and forth beneath\\nthe walker s feet, fell upon them in light and dark, ran over\\nthe ground, quivered and shook, until sober Cathcart thought\\nthat his heart was throwing its shifting network of hope and\\nfear along the ground before him\\nHow strangely his voice sounded to him, as, at length, all\\nhis emotions could only say, Kachel, how did you like the\\nsermon 1\\nQuietly she answered,\\nI liked the text.\\nA new commandment I write unto you, that ye love one\\nanother. Rachel, will you help me keep it 1\\nAt first she looked down and lost a little color then, rais j\\ning her face, she turned upon him her large eyes, with a look\\nboth clear and tender. It was as if some painful restraint\\nhad given way, and her eyes blossomed into full beauty.\\nNot another word was spoken. They walked home hand\\nin hand. He neither smiled nor exulted. He saw neither the\\ntrees, nor the long level ra} T s of sunlight that were slanting\\nacross the fields. His soul was overshadowed with a cloud as\\nif God were drawing near. He had never felt so solemn.\\nThis woman s life had been intrusted to him\\nLong years, the w T hole length of life, the eternal years\\nbeyond, seemed in an indistinct way to rise up in his imagi-", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "50 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nnation. All that he could say, as he left her at the door,\\nwas,\\nRachel, this is forever forever.\\nShe again said nothing, but turned to him with a clear and\\nopen face, in which joy and trust wrought beauty. It seemed\\nto him as if a light fell upon him from her eyes. There was\\na look that descended and covered him as with an atmosphere\\nand all the way home he was as one walking in a luminous\\ncloud. He had never felt such personal dignity as now. He\\nthat wins such love is crowned, and may call himself king.\\nHe did not feel the earth under his feet. As he drew near his\\nlodgings, the sun went down. The children began to pour\\nforth, no longer restrained. Abiah turned to hi-s evening\\nchores. No animal that night but had reason to bless him.\\nThe children found him unusually good and tender. And\\nAunt Keziah said to her sister,\\nAbiah s been goin to meetin very regular for some weeks,\\nand I should n t wonder, by the way he looks, if he had got a\\nhope. I trust he ain t deceivin himself.\\nHe had a hope, and he was not deceived for in a few\\nmonths, at the close of the service one Sunday morning, the\\nminister read from the pulpit Marriage is intended between\\nAbiah Cathcart and Rachel Liscomb, both of this town, and\\nthis is the first publishing of the banns.\\nLANGLEY LANK\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Robert Buchanan.\\nIN all the land, range up, range down,\\nIs there ever a place so pleasant and sweet\\nAs Langley Lane in London town,\\nJust out of the bustle of square and street\\nLittle white cottages all in a row,\\nGardens where bachelor s-buttons grow,\\nSwallows -nests in roof and wall,\\nAnd up above the still blue sky", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "LANGLEY LANE. 51\\nWhere the woolly white clouds go sailing by,\\nI seem to be able to see it all\\nFor now, in summer, I take my chair,\\nAnd sit outside in the sun, and hear\\nThe distant murmur of street and square,\\nAnd the swallows and sparrows chirping near\\nAnd Fanny, who lives just over the way,\\nComes running many a time each day,\\nWith her little hand s touch so warm and kind,\\nAnd I smile and talk, with the sun on my cheek,\\nAnd the little live hand seems to stir and speak,\\nFor Fanny is dumb and I am blind.\\nFanny is sweet thirteen, and she\\nHas fine black ringlets and dark eyes clear,\\nAnd I am older by summers three,\\nWhy should we hold one another so dear 1\\nBecause she cannot utter a word,\\nNor hear the music of bee or bird,\\nThe water-cart s splash or the milkman s call\\nBecause I have never seen the sky,\\nNor the little singers that hum and fly,\\nYet know she is gazing upon them all\\nFor the sun is shining, the swallows fly,\\nThe bees and the blue-flies murmur low,\\nAnd I hear the water-cart go .by,\\nWith its cool splash-splash down the dusty row\\nAnd the little one close at my side perceives\\nMine eyes upraised to the cottage eaves,\\nWhere birds are chirping in summer shine,\\nAnd I hear, though I cannot look, and she,\\nThough she cannot hear, can the singers see,\\nAnd the little soft fingers flutter in mine\\nHath not the dear little hand a tongue,\\nWhen it stirs on my palm for the love of me 1", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "52 PUBLIC AND FARLOR READINGS.\\nDo I not know she is pretty and young 1\\nHath not my soul an eye to see\\nT is pleasure to make one s bosom stir,\\nTo wonder how things appear to her,\\nThat I only hear as they pass around\\nAnd as long as we sit in the music and light,\\nShe is happy to keep God s sight,\\nAnd am happy to keep God s sound.\\nWhy, I know her face, though I am blind,\\nI made it of music long ago,\\nStrange large eyes and dark hair twined\\nRound the pensive light of a brow of snow\\nAnd when I sit by my little one,\\nAnd hold her hand and talk in the sun,\\nAnd hear the music that haunts the place,\\nI know she is raising her eyes to me,\\nAnd guessing how gentle my voice must be,\\nAnd seeing the music upon my face.\\nThough, if ever the Lord should grant me a prayer\\n(I know the fancy is only vain,)\\nI should pray just once, when the weather is fair,\\nTo see little Fanny and Langley Lane\\nThough Fanny, perhaps, would pray to hear\\nThe voice of the friend that she holds so dear,\\nThe song of the birds, the hum of the street.\\nIt is better to be as we have been,\\nEach keeping up something, unheard, unseen,\\nTo make God s heaven more strange and sweet\\nAh, life is pleasant in Langley Lane\\nThere is always something sweet to hear\\nChirping of birds or patter of rain\\nAnd Fanny, my little one, always near\\nAnd though I am weakly and can t live long,\\nAnd Fanny my darling is far from strong,", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "AT THE GRINDSTONE. 53\\nAnd though we can never married be,\\nWhat then, since we hold one another so dear,\\nFor the sake of the pleasure one cannot hear,\\nAnd the pleasure that only one can see 1\\nAT THE GRINDSTONE OR, A HOME VIEW OF THE\\nBATTLE-FIELD. Robert Buchanan.\\nGRIND, Billie, grind And so the war s begun 1\\nFlash, bayonets cannons, call dash down their prido\\nIf 1 was younger, I would grip a gun,\\nAnd die a-field, as better men have died\\nI d face three Frenchmen, lad, and feel no fear,\\nWith this old knife that we are grinding here\\nWhy, I m a kind of radical, and saw\\nSome fighting in the riots long ago\\nBut, Lord, am I the sort of chap to draw\\nA sword against old Mother England 1 No\\nEngland for me, with all her errors, still,\\nI hate them foreigners and always will\\nThere was our Johnnie, now as kind a lad\\nAs ever grew in England fresh and fair\\nTo see him in his regimentals clad,\\nWith honest, rosy cheeks and yellow hair,\\nWas something, Billy, worthy to be seen\\nBut Johnnie s gone, murdered at seventeen.\\nNone of your fighting sort, but mild and shy,\\nSoft-hearted, full of wench-like tenderness,\\nWithout the heart, indeed, to hurt a fly,\\nBut fond, you see, of music and of dress\\nWe could not hold him in, dear lad, and so\\nHe heard the fife, and would a-soldiering go.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "54 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nAnd it was pleasant for a time to see\\nJohnnie, onr little drummer, go and come,\\nHolding his head np, proudly, merrily,\\nHappy with coat o red, and hat, and drum.\\nThat was in peace but war broke out one day,\\nAnd Johnnie s regiment was called away.\\nHe went he went he could not choose but go\\nAnd me and my old woman wearied here\\nWe knew that men must fall and blood must flow,\\nBut still had many a thought to lighten fear\\nThose Russian men could never be so bad\\nAs kill or harm so very small a lad,\\nA lad that should have been at school or play\\nA little baby in a coat o red\\nWhat touch our Johnnie No, not they\\nWhy, they had little ones themselves, we said.\\nBillie, the little lad we loved so well\\nWas slain among the very first that fell\\nMark that A bullet from a murderous gun\\nSingled him out, and struck him to the brain;\\nHe fell, our boy, our joy, onr little one,\\nHis bright hair dark with many a stain,\\nHis clammy hands clenched tight, his eyes o brow.\\nLooking through smoke and fire to Stamford town.\\nWhat call that war to slay a helpless child\\nWho never, never hurt a living thing!\\nButchered, for what we know, too, while he smiled\\nOn the strange light all round him, wondering\\nGrind, Billie, grind call, cannons bayonets thrust 1\\nWould we were grinding all our foes to dust\\nBah Frenchman, Turk, or Russian, all alike!\\nAll eaten up with slaughter, sin, and slavery", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "THE PILOT. 55\\nLittle care they what harmless hearts they strike,\\nThey murder little lads, and call it bravery\\nDown with them when they cross our path, 1 say;\\nGive me old England s manhood and fair play\\nTHE PILOT.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J. B. Gough.\\nJOHN MAYNARD was well known in the lake district as\\na God-fearing, honest, and intelligent man. He was\\npilot on a steamboat from Detroit to Buffalo. One summer\\nafternoon at that time those steamers seldom carried boats\\nsmoke was seen ascending from below, and the captain\\ncalled out, Simpson, go below and see what the matter is\\ndown there.\\nSimpson came up with his face pale as ashes, and said,\\nCaptain, the ship is on fire.\\nThen Fire fire fire on shipboard.\\nAll hands were called up, buckets of water were dashed\\non the fire, but in vain. There were large quantities of rosin\\nand tar on board, and it was found useless to attempt to\\nsave the ship. The passengers rushed forward and inquired\\nof the pilot, How far are we from Buffalo\\nSeven miles.\\nHow long before we can reach there 1\\nThree quarters of an hour, at our present rate of steam.\\nIs there any danger 1\\nDanger Here, see the smoke bursting out, go forward\\nif you would save your lives.\\nPassengers and crew men, women, and children\\ncrowded the forward part of the ship. John Maynard stood\\nat the helm. The flames burst forth in a sheet of fire\\nclouds of smoke arose.\\nThe captain cried out through his trumpet, John May-\\nnard\\nAy, ay, sir", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "56 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\n11 Are you at the helm 1\\nAy, ay, sir\\nHow does she head?\\nSoutheast by east, sir.\\nHead her southeast, and run her on shore, said the\\ncaptain. Nearer, nearer, yet nearer, she approached the\\nshore. Again the captain cried out, John Maynard\\nThe response came feebly this time, Ay, ay, sir\\nCan you hold on five minutes longer, John 1 he said.\\nBy God s help, I will.\\nThe old man s hair was scorched from the scalp, one hand\\ndisabled; his knee upon the stanchion, and his teeth\\nset, with his other hand upon the wheel, he stood firm as a\\nrock. He beached the ship every man, woman, and child\\nwas saved, as John Maynard dropped, and his spirit took its\\nflight to God.\\nWAINAMOINEN S SOWING. Fkom the Finnish.\\nTRANSLATED BY JOHN A. PORTER, M. D.\\nALL the ocean isles and islets\\nHad been duly made and fashioned\\nAll the ocean reefs and ledges\\nHad been duly wrought and founded\\nAll the shining silver pillars\\nOf the firmament uplifted,\\nAnd the hills with crystals sprinkled,\\nAnd the highlands water-channelled\\nAll the prairies had been levelled,\\nAnd the meadows wide unfolded.\\nThen at last in lapse of ages,\\nBy the will of mighty Ukko,\\nUkko, mighty Lord above us,\\nTo the world was born a minstrel,", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "WAINAMOINEN S SOWING. 57\\nFinland s mighty sage and singer,\\nWise and prudent Wainamoinen,\\nOf a goddess fair descended,\\nDaughter of the air and ocean.\\nFull of glory grew the forest,\\nLeaf and branch in beauty nourished,\\nAll the race of trees and grasses,\\nAll the tribe of reeds and sedges.\\nBirds sang sweetly in the tree-tops,\\nMaking music all the day long\\nCheerily chirped the noisy throstle,\\nSweetly sang the low-voiced cuckoo.\\nBerries grew upon the mountains,\\nGolden flowers adorned the meadows\\nLeaf and fruit of every flavor,\\nBush and herb of every fashion\\nAll things fair and lovely flourished,\\nAll things save the one most precious\\nFruit of fruits, the golden barley.\\nThen one morning Wainamoinen.\\nTaking from his pouch of leather\\nSix small seeds of golden barley,\\nSallied forth the seed to scatter.\\nSix small seeds of golden barley,\\nHe had found upon the sea-shore,\\nOn the mighty water s edges,\\nAnd with loose and sandy pebbles\\nHad concealed them in his skin-pouch,\\nIn his pouch of squirrel-leather.\\nAs he sowed he chanted ever,\\nBlessing to the seed I scatter,\\nFor it falls upon the meadow,\\nBy the grace of Ukko mighty.\\n3*", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "58 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThrough the open finger-spaces\\nOf the hand that all things fashioned,\\nFalls to rise again in beauty,\\nEvermore to spring and nourish.\\nRise, Earth from out thy slumbers,\\nBid the soil unlock her treasures,\\nBid the blade arise in beauty,\\nBid the stalk grow strong and stately\\nOn a thousand stems uplifted\\nLet the yellow harvest ripen,\\nLet it cover all my cornfields\\nHundred-fold for seed I planted.\\n11 Ukko mighty God above us,\\nGracious Ukko Father in Heaven,\\nThou who all the sky commandest,\\nFor the fleecy clouds appointing\\nEvery morn their course and pathway,\\nIn thine airy realm consulting,\\nIn thy kingdom taking counsel,\\nSend us clouds from east and northeast,\\nFrom the south and from the sunset\\nLet them scatter drops refreshing\\nBid them all their sweetness sprinkle,\\nThat the ear may lift its treasure\\nAnd the corn make haste to ripen.\\nGracious Ukko, Father in Heaven,\\nHeard the prayer the minstrel lifted,\\nFrom the south a cloud commanded,\\nFrom the west despatched its fellow,\\nBid one gather in the northwest,\\nAnd from .out the east another\\nClosing then their swarthy borders,\\nCrowding all in haste together,\\nBade them all their sweetness sprinkle,", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "WAINAMOINEN S SOWING. 59\\nScatter wide their drops refreshing,\\nThat the ear might rise in beauty\\nAnd the corn make haste to ripen.\\nSoon from out the earth and darkness,\\nLo, the tender blade uplifted,\\nAnd anon the ears unfolded,\\nThrough the care of Wainamoinen.\\nSummer days had sped and vanished,\\nDays and nights a goodly number,\\nWhen the ancient Wainamoinen\\nSought the field to see, if might be,\\nHow his ploughing and his sowing\\nAnd his praying had been prospered.\\nVerily the corn had thriven\\nWholly to the bard s contentment\\nLo, the ears, in six rows seeded,\\nWaved o er all the callow cornfield,\\nAnd the straw, in three joints builded,\\nCovered all the teeming acres.\\nGlancing then a moment round him,\\nNear him, lo a little cuckoo.\\nAnd the birdling sang unto him,\\nLong the birch-tree first surveying\\nWhy, when all the wood has fallen,\\nStandeth there the slender birch-tree\\nSpake in answer Wainamoinen\\n11 Therefore is the birch left standing,\\nThat its summit, soaring skyward,\\nMake for thee, my pretty birdling,\\nStation for thy cheerful singing.\\nWarble here, my pretty birdling,\\nSilken throat and breast attuning,\\nWarble forth thy sweetest carol\\nDulcet as a bell of silver.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "60 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nSing at morn and sing at evening,\\nSing when sunny noon is highest,\\nBlessing to these chosen places,\\nGrowth and greenness to our forests,\\nWealth along our ocean borders\\nFor our garner s rich abundance.\\nTHE WITCH S DAUGHTER. J. G.Whittier.\\nIT was the pleasant harvest-time,\\nWhen cellar-bins are closely stowed,\\nAnd garrets bend beneath their load,\\nAnd the old swallow-haunted barns\\nBrown-gabled, long, and full of seams\\nThrough which the moted sunlight streams\\nAre filled with summer s ripened stores,\\nIts odorous grass and barley sheaves,\\nFrom their low scaffolds to their eaves.\\nOn Esek Harden s oaken floor,\\nWith many an autumn threshing worn,\\nLay the heaped ears of unhusked corn.\\nAnd thither came young men and maids,\\nBeneath a moon that, large and low,\\nLit that sweet eve of long ago.\\nThey took their places some by chance,\\nAnd others by a merry voice\\nOr sweet smile guided to their choice.\\nHow pleasantly the rising moon,\\nBetween the shadow of the mows,\\nLooked on them through the great elm-boughs\\nOn sturdy boyhood, sun-embrowned,\\nOn girlhood with its solid curves\\nOf healthful strength and painless nerves J!", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "THE WITCH S DAUGHTER. 61\\nAnd jests went round, and laughs that made\\nThe house-dog answer with his howl,\\nAnd kept astir the barn-yard fowl.\\nBut still the sweetest voice was mute\\nThat river-valley ever heard\\nFrom lip of maid or throat of bird\\nFor Mabel Martin sat apart,\\nAnd let the hay-mow s shadow fall\\nUpon the loveliest face of all.\\nShe sat apart, as one forbid,\\nWho knew that none would condescend\\nTo own the Witch-wife s child a friend.\\nThe seasons scarce had gone their round,\\nSince curious thousands thronged to see\\nHer mother on the gallows-tree.\\nFew questioned of the sorrowing child,\\nOr, when they saw the mother die,\\nDreamed of the daughter s agony.\\nPoor Mabel from her mother s grave\\nCrept to her desolate hearth-stone,\\nAnd wrestled with her fate alone.\\nSore tried and pained, the poor girl kept\\nHer faith, and trusted that her way,\\nSo dark, would somewhere meet the day.\\nAnd still her weary wheel went round,\\nDay after day, with no relief\\nSmall leisure have the poor for grief.\\nSo in the shadow Mabel sits\\nUntouched by mirth she sees and hears,\\nHer smile is sadder than her tears.\\nBut cruel eyes have found her out,\\nAnd cruel lips repeat her name,\\nAnd taunt her with her mother s shame.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "62 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nShe answered not with railing words,\\nBut drew her apron o er her face,\\nAnd, sobbing, glided from the place.\\nAnd only pausing at the door,\\nHer sad eyes met the troubled gaze\\nOf one who, in her better days,\\nHad been her warm and steady friend,\\nEre yet her mother s doom had made\\nEven Esek Harden half afraid.\\nHe felt that mute appeal of tears,\\nAnd, starting, with an angry frown\\nHushed all the wicked murmurs down.\\nGood neighbors mine, he sternly said,\\nThis passes harmless mirth or jest\\nI brook no insult to my guest.\\nShe is indeed her mother s child\\nBut God s sweet pity ministers\\nUnto no whiter soul than hers.\\nLet Goody Martin rest in peace\\nI never knew her harm a fly,\\nAnd witch or not, God knows, not I.\\nI know who swore her life away\\nAnd, as God lives, I d not condemn\\nAn Indian dog on word of them.\\nThe broadest lands in all the town,\\nThe skill to guide, the power to awe,\\nWere Harden s and his word was law.\\nNone dared withstand him to his face,\\nBut one sly maiden spake aside\\nThe little witch is evil-eyed\\nHer mother only killed a cow,\\nOr witched a churn or dairy-pan\\nBut she, forsooth, must charm a man", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "THE WITCH S DAUGHTER. 63\\nPoor Mabel, in her lonely home,\\nSat by the window s narrow pane,\\nWhite in the moonlight s silver rain.\\nShe strove to drown her sense of wrong,\\nAnd, in her old and simple way,\\nTo teach her bitter heart to pray.\\nPoor child the prayer, begun in faith,\\nGrew to a low, despairing cry\\nOf utter misery Let me die\\nOh take me from the scornful eyes,\\nAnd hide me where the cruel speech\\nAnd mocking finger may not reach\\n11 1 dare not breathe my mother s name\\nA daughter s right I dare not crave\\nTo weep above her unblest grave\\nLet me not live until my heart,\\nWith few to pity, and with none\\nTo love me, hardens into stone.\\nGod have mercy on thy child,\\nWhose faith in thee grows weak and small,\\nAnd take me ere I lose it alL\\nA shadow on the moonlight fell,\\nAnd murmuring wind and wave became\\nA voice whose burden was her name.\\nHad then God heard her 1 Had he sent\\nHis angel down 1 In flesh and blood,\\nBefore her Esek Harden stood\\nHe laid his hand upon her arm\\nDear Mabel, this no more shall be\\nWho scoffs at you, must scoff at me.\\nYou know rough Esek Harden well\\nAnd if he seems no suitor gay,\\nAnd if his hair is mixed with gray,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "64 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThe maiden grown shall never find\\nHis heart less warm than when she smiled\\nUpon his knees, a little child\\nHer tears of grief were tears of joy,\\nAs folded in his strong embrace,\\nShe looked in Esek Harden s face.\\ntruest friend of all she said,\\nGod bless you for your kindly thought,\\nAnd make me worthy of my lot\\nHe led her through his dewy fields,\\nTo where the swinging lanterns glowed,\\nAnd through the doors the huskers showed.\\nGood friends and neighbors Esek said,\\nI m weary of this lonely life\\nIn Mabel see my chosen wife\\nShe greets you kindly, one and all\\nThe past is past, and all offence\\nFalls harmless from her innocence.\\nHenceforth she stands no more alone j\\nYou know what Esek Harden is\\nHe brooks no wrong to him or his.\\nNow let the merriest tales be told,\\nAnd let the sweetest songs be sung,\\nThat ever made the old heart young\\nFor now the lost has found a home\\nAnd a lone hearth shall brighter burn,\\nAs all the household joys return\\n0, pleasantly the harvest moon,\\nBetween the shadow of the mows,\\nLooked on them through the great elm-boughs J\\nOn Mabel s curls of golden hair,\\nOn Esek s shaggy strength, it fell\\nAnd the wind whispered, It is well\\nAbridged.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "THE HORSEBACK RIDE. 65\\nTHE HORSEBACK RIDE. Grace Greenwood.\\nWHEN troubled in spirit, when weary of life,\\nWhen I faint neath its burdens, and shrink from its\\nstrife\\nWhen its fruits, turned to ashes, are mocking my taste,\\nAnd its fairest scenes seem but a desolate waste,\\nThen come ye not near me, my sad heart to cheer,\\nWith friendship s soft accents, or sympathy s tear,\\nNo pity I ask, and no counsel I need.\\nBut bring me, bring me, my gallant young steed,\\nWith his high-arched neck, and his nostrils spread wide,\\nHis eyes full of fire, and his step full of pride\\nAs I spring to his back, as I seize the strong rein,\\nThe strength of my spirit returneth again\\nThe bonds are all broken that fettered my mind,\\nAnd my cares borne away on the wings of the wind\\nMy pride lifts its head, for a moment bowed down,\\nAnd the queen in my nature now puts on her crown\\nNow we re off, like the winds to the plains whence they came,\\nAnd the rapture of motion is thrilling my frame\\nOn, on speeds my courser, scarce printing the sod,\\nScarce crushing a daisy to mark where he trod\\nOn, on like a deer, when the hound s early bay\\nAwakes the wild echoes, away and away\\nStill faster, still farther, he leaps at my cheer,\\nTill the rush of the startled air whirs in my ear\\nNow long a clear rivulet lieth his track,\\nSee his glancing hoofs tossing the white pebbles back\\nNow a glen, dark as midnight, what matter we 11 down,\\nThough shadows are round us, and rocks o er us frown\\nThe thick branches shake as we re hurrying through,\\nAnd deck us with spangles of silvery dew\\nWhat a wild thought of triumph, that this girlish hand\\nSuch a steed in the might of his strength may command J", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "66 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nWhat a glorious creature Ah glance at him now,\\nAs I check him awhile on this green hillock s brow\\nHow he tosses his mane, with a shrill, joyous neigh,\\nAnd paws the firm earth in his proud, stately play\\nHurrah off again, dashing on as in ire,\\nTill the long, flinty pathway is flashing with fire\\nHo a ditch Shall we pause 1 No the bold leap we dare,\\nLike a swift-winged arrow we rush through the air\\n0, not all the pleasures that poets may praise,\\nNot the wildering waltz in the ball-room s blaze,\\nNor the chivalrous joust, nor the daring race,\\nNor the swift regatta, nor merry chase,\\nNor the sail high heaving the waters o er,\\nNor the rural dance on the moonlight shore,\\nCan the wild and thrilling joy exceed\\nOf a fearless leap on a fiery steed.\\nTHE VEILED PICTURE.\\nTWO artist lovers sought the hand of a noted painter s\\ndaughter. The question which of the two should possess\\nhimself of the prize so earnestly coveted by both having\\ncome, finally, to the father, he promised to give his child to\\nthe one that could paint best. So each strove for the maiden\\nwith the highest skill his genius could command.\\nOne painted a picture of fruit, and displayed it to the\\nfather s inspection in a beautiful grove, where gay birds sang\\nsweetly among the foliage, and all nature rejoiced in the\\nluxuriance of bountiful life. Presently the birds came down\\nto the canvas of the young painter, and attempted to eat the\\nfruit he had pictured there. In his surprise and joy at the\\nyoung artist s skill, the father declared that no one could\\ntriumph over that.\\nSoon, however, the second lover came with his picture,\\nand it was veiled. Take the veil from your painting, said", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "THE SHIP ON FIRE. 67\\nthe old man. I leave that to you, said the young artist,\\nwith simple modesty. The father of the young and lovely\\nmaiden then approached the veiled picture and attempted to\\nuncover it. But imagine his astonishment when, as he at-\\ntempted to take off the veil, he found the veil itself to be a\\npicture We need not say who was the lucky lover for, if\\nthe artist who deceived the birds by skill in fruit manifested\\ngreat powers of art, he who could so veil his canvas with the\\npencil as to deceive a skilful master was surely the greater\\nartist.\\nTHE SHIP ON FIRE. Henry Bateman.\\nMORNING all speedeth well the bright sun\\nLights up the deep blue wave, and favoring breeze\\nFills the white sails, while o er that Southern sea\\nThe ship, with all the busy life within,\\nHolds on her ocean course, alone, but glad\\nFor all is yet, as all has been the while\\nSince the white cliffs were left, without or fear\\nOr danger to those hundreds grouping now\\nUpon the sunny deck.\\nFire Fire Fire Fire\\nScorching smoke in many a wreath,\\nSulphurous blast of heated air,\\nGrim presentment of quick death,\\nCrouching fear and stern despair,\\nHist, to what the Master saith,\\nSteady, steersman, steady there Ay ay\\nTo the deck the women led,\\nChildren helped by stalwart men,\\nCalmly, firmly mustered\\nAll the crew assemble then,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "68 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nAnd to orders briefly said,\\nComes the sharp response again, Ay ay\\nTo the mast-head it is done,\\nLook to leeward, scores obey,\\n11 And to windward, many a one\\nTurns, and never turns away\\nSteadfast is the word and tone,\\nMan the boats, and clear away Ay ay\\nHotter hotter heave and strain\\nIn the hollow, on the wave,\\nPump and flood the deck again,\\nWork no danger daunts the brave,\\nHope and trust are not in vain,\\nGod looks on, and he can save. Ay ay\\nDesolate all desolate\\nNothing, nothing to be seen,\\nWait and watch, and hope and wait,\\nHope has never hopeless been,\\nMen, ye know that God is great,\\nWould he he can intervene. Ay ay\\nWhat above 1 n nor sail, nor sound,\\nLeeward 1 nothing, far or near,\\nWhat to windward to the bound\\nOf the horizon all is clear\\nYet again the words go round,\\nWork, men, work; we dare not fear Ay ay\\nFrom a heavy lurch abeam,\\nStruggling, shivering, reeling back,\\nCrash with rush and shout and scream\\nComes the foreyard, with its wrack\\nCrushing hope as it might seem,\\nSteady keep the sun-line track Ay ay", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "THE SHIP ON FIRE. J\\nAll is order ready all\\nWatching in appointed place\\nUnderneath the smoky pall,\\nFirm of foot, with tranquil face,\\nResolute, whatever befall,\\nHolds the Captain s measured pace. Ay ay I\\nHotter hotter hotter still\\nBackward driven every one\\nAll in vain the various skill,\\nAll that man may do is done\\nBrave hearts strive yet with a will,\\nNever deem that hope is gone Ay ay\\nHist as if a sudden thought\\nDare not utter what it knew,\\nFalls a trembling whisper, fraught\\nAs of hope, to frightened few\\nWith a doubting heart-ache caught,\\nAnd a choking Is it true 1 Ay ay\\nThen it comes, A sail a sail\\nUp from prostrate misery,\\nUp from heart-break woe and wail,\\nUp to shuddering ecstasy\\nCan so strange a promise fail 1\\nCall the Master, let him see Ay ay 1\\nSilence Silence Silence Pray\\nEvery moment is an hour,\\nMinutes long as weary years,\\nWhile with concentrated power,\\nThrough the haze that clear eye peers,\\nNo, Yes, No, \u00e2\u0080\u0094the strong men cower,\\nTill he sighs, faith conquering fears, Ay 1 ay", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "70 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nRiseth now the throbbing cry,\\nBorn of hope and hopelessness\\nIron men weep bitterly,\\nUnused hands and cheeks caress,\\nFeeling s wild variety\\nStrange and heartless were it less. Ay ay\\nThrough the sunlight s glittering gleam\\nOn old Ocean s rugged breast,\\nAs a fantasy in dream,\\nYet beyond all doubt confest,\\nComes the ship, God s gift, they deem,\\nAh, He overrule th best Ay ay\\nComing Come that foremost man\\nShouts as only true heart may,\\nShip on fire You will You can\\nNear us, for the rescue, stay\\nAlmost as the words began,\\nAnswering words are on their way, Ay ay\\nAy ay words of little worth\\nBut as imaging the soul\\nSee, the boats are struggling forth,\\nMarvel how they pitch and roll\\nOn the dark wave, through the froth,\\nGod can bring them safe and whole. Ay! ay\\nHave a care, men have a care\\nSteady, steady, to the stern,\\nt Now, my brave hearts, handy there,\\nSee, the deck begins to burn\\nChild and woman, soft and fair,\\nGo, thank God, be quick, return. Ay ay\\nBlistering smoke all dim and red,\\nWrithing flakes of lurid flame,", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "THE SHIP ON FIRE.\\nDecks that scorch the hasty tread,\\nShuddering sounds, as if they came\\nWailing from a tortured bed,\\n11 Boatswain, call each man by name Ay ay\\nStrong, sad now, one by one,\\nAt the voice which all obey,\\nSilently, till all are gone,\\nFill the boats, and pass away,\\nAnd the Captain stands alone\\nHas he not done well the day 1 Ay ay\\nthat boat-load anxious eyes,\\nHearts, where painful throbbings swell,\\nWatch and wait, with sympathies\\nFar too deep for tongue to tell\\nAll suppressed are words and cries,\\nSurely it will all go well Ay ay\\nAll is well that man so true\\nStands upon the stranger s deck,\\nAnd a thrilling pulse runs through\\nThose glad hearts, which none may check,\\nListen to the wild halloo\\nRainbow joy, in fortune s wreck Ay ay I\\nPah a rush of smothered light\\nBursts the staggering ship asunder,\\nLightning flashes, fierce and bright,\\nBlasting sounds, as if of thunder,\\nDread destruction wins the fight\\nRound about, above, and under. Ay ay I\\nCome away we may not stay\\nAll is done that man can do\\nLet us take our onward way,\\nLife has claims and duties new", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "72 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nGod is a strong help and stay,\\nHe can guide all sorrow through Ay ay I\\nThanks unceasing thanks and praise\\nFor his great deliverance shown,\\nLfi-: the remnant of our days\\nTestify what he has done\\nMarvellous his loving ways\\nMerciful, as we have known Ay ay\\nAnd so the good ship Merchantman sailed on,\\nWith double freight of life, and God s kind care,\\nTill at the Cape, the rescued voyagers left\\nTo other kindness of the dwellers there,\\nShe spread her sails again, and went her way.\\nSONG OF THE RIVER.\\nCLEAR and cool, clear and cool,\\nBy laughing shadow and dreaming pool\\nCool and clear, cool and clear,\\nBy shining shingle and foaming weir;\\nUnder the crag where the ouzel sings,\\nAnd the ivied wall where the church-bell rings\\nUndefiled for the undefiled,\\nPlay by me, bathe in me, mother and child.\\nDank and foul, dank and foul,\\nBy the smoke-grimed town in its murky cowl\\nFoul and dank, foul and dank,\\nBy wharf, and sewer, and slimy bank\\nDarker and darker the farther 1 go,\\nBaser and baser the richer I grow\\nWho dare sport with the sin-defiled\\nShrink from me, turn from me, mother and child.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "THE FATE OF MACGREGOR. 73\\nStrong and free, strong and free,\\nThe flood-gates are open away to the sea\\nFree and strong, free and strong,\\nCleansing my stream as I hurry along,\\nTo the golden sands and the leaping bar,\\nAnd the taintless tide that awaits me afar,\\nAs I lose myself in the infinite main,\\nLike a soul that has sinned and is pardoned again.\\nUndefiled for the undefiled,\\nPlay by me, bathe in me, mother and child.\\nTHE FATE OF MACGREGOR. James Hogg.\\n/TACGREGOR, Macgregor, remember our foeman\\n_1_VJL The moon rises broad from the brow of Ben-Lomond\\nThe clans are impatient, and chide thy delay\\nArise let us bound to Glen-Lyon away.\\nStern scowled the Macgregor then, silent and sullen,\\nHe turned his red eye to the braes of Strathfillan\\nGo, Malcolm, to sleep, let the clans be dismissed\\nThe Campbells this night for Macgregor must rest.\\nMacgregor, Macgregor, our scouts have been flying\\nThree days round the hills of M Nab and Glen-Lyon\\nOf riding and running such tidings they bear,\\nWe must meet them at home, else they 11 quickly be here.\\nThe Campbell may come, as his promises bind him,\\nAnd haughty M Nab, with his giants behind him\\nThis night I am bound to relinquish the fray,\\nAnd do what it freezes my vitals to say.\\nForgive me, dear brother, this horror of mind\\nThou knowest in the strife I was never behind,\\nNor ever receded a foot from the van,\\nOr blenched at the ire or the prowess of man", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "74 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nBut I ve sworn, by the cross, by my God, and my all\\nAn oath which I cannot, and dare not recall,\\nEre the shadows of midnight fall east from the pile,\\nTo meet with a spirit this night in Glen-Gyle.\\nLast night, in my chamber, all thoughtful and lone,\\nI called to remembrance some deeds I had done,\\nWhen entered a lady, with visage so wan,\\nAnd looks such as never were fastened on man.\\nI knew her, brother I knew her too well\\nOf that once fair dame such a tale I could tell\\nAs would thrill thy bold heart but how long she remained,\\nSo racked was my spirit, my bosom so pained,\\nI knew not, but ages seemed short to the while,\\nThough, proffer the Highlands, nay, all the green isle,\\nWith length of existence no man can enjoy,\\nThe same to endure, the dread proffer I d fly\\nThe thrice-threatened pangs of last night to forego,\\nMacgregor would dive to the mansions below.\\nDespairing and mad, to futurity blind,\\nThe present to shim, and some respite to find,\\nI swore, ere the shadow fell east from the pile,\\nTo meet her alone by the brook of Glen-Gyle.\\nShe told me, and turned my chilled heart to a stone,\\nThe glory and name of Macgregor were gone\\nThat the pine which for ages had shed a bright halo\\nAfar on the mountains of Highland Glen-Falo,\\nShould wither and fall ere the turn of yon moon\\nSmit through by the canker of hated Colquhoun\\nThat a feast on Macgregors each day should be common,\\nFor years, to the eagles of Lennox and Lomond.\\nA parting embrace in one moment she gave\\nHer breath was a furnace, her bosom the grave.\\nThen flitting illusive, she said, with a frown,\\n4 The mighty Macgregor shall yet be my own J", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "THE FATE OF MACGKEGOR. 75\\nMacgregor, thy fancies are wild as the wind\\nThe dreams of the night tave disordered thy mind,\\nCome, buckle thy panoply, march to the field,\\nSee, brother, how hacked are thy helmet and shield\\nAy, that was M Nab, in the height of his pride,\\nWhen the lions of Dochart stood firm by his side.\\nThis night the proud chief his presumption shall rue\\nRise, brother, these chinks in his heart-blood will glue\\nThy fantasies frightful shall flit on the wing,\\nWhen loud with thy bugle Glen-Lyon shall ring.\\nLike glimpse of the moon through the storm of the night,\\nMacgregor s red eye shed one sparkle of light\\nIt faded, it darkened, he shuddered, he sighed,\\nNo not for the universe low he replied.\\nAway went Macgregor, but went not alone\\nTo watch the dread rendezvous, Malcolm has gone.\\nThey oared the broad Lomond, so still and serene,\\nAnd deep in her bosom, how awful the scene\\nO er mountains inverted the blue waters curled,\\nAnd rocked them on skies of a far nether world.\\nAll silent they went, for the time was approaching\\nThe moon the blue zenith already was touching\\nNo foot was abroad on the forest or hill,\\nNo sound but the lullaby sung by the rill\\nYoung Malcolm, at distance crouched, trembling the while,\\nMacgregor stood lone by the brook of Glen-Gyle.\\nFew minutes had passed, ere they spied on the stream\\nA skiff sailing light, where a lady did seem\\nHer sail was the web of the gossamer s loom\\nThe glow-worm her wake-light, the rainbow her boom\\nA dim rayless beam was her prow and her mast,\\nLike wold-fire at midnight, that glares on the waste.\\nThough rough was the river with rock and cascade,\\nNo torrent, no rock, her velocity stayed", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "76 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nShe wimpled the water to weather and lee,\\nAnd heaved as if borne on the waves of the sea.\\nMute Nature was roused in the bounds of the glen\\nThe wild deer of Gairtney abandoned his den,\\nFled panting away, over river and isle,\\nNor once turned his eye to the brook of Glen-Gyle.\\nThe fox fled in terror the eagle awoke\\nAs slumbering he dozed on the shelve of the rock\\nAstonished, to hide in the moonbeam he flew,\\nAnd screwed the night-heaven till lost in the blue.\\nYoung Malcolm beheld the pale lady approach,\\nThe chieftain salute her, and shrink from her touch.\\nHe saw the Macgregor kneel down on the plain,\\nAs begging for something he could not obtain\\nShe raised him indignant, derided his stay,\\nThen bore him on board, set her sail and away.\\nThough fast the red bark down the river did glide,\\nYet faster ran Malcolm adown by its side\\nMacgregor Macgregor he bitterly cried\\nMacgregor Macgregor the echoes replied.\\nHe struck at the lady, but, strange though it seem,\\nHis sword only fell on the rocks and the stream\\nBut the groans from the boat, that ascended amain,\\nWere groans from a bosom in horror and pain.\\nThey reached the dark lake, and bore lightly away,\\nMacgregor is vanished forever and aye\\nSCENE IN AN IRISH SCHOOL. Gerald Griffin.\\nTHE school-house at Glendalough was situated near the\\nromantic river which flows between the wild scenery of\\nDrumgoff and the Seven Church. It was a low stone build-\\ning, indifferently thatched the whole interior consisting\\nof one oblong room, floored with clay, and lighted by two or", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "SCENE IN AN IRISH SCHOOL. 77\\nthree windows, the panes of which were patched with old\\ncopy-books, or altogether supplanted by school slates. The\\nwalls had once been plastered and whitewashed, but now\\npartook of that appearance of dilapidation which character-\\nized the whole building. Along each wall was placed a row\\nof large stones, the one intended for the boys, the other for\\nthe girls the decorum of Mr. Lenigan s establishment requir-\\ning that they should be kept apart on ordinary occasions, for\\nMr. Lenigan, it should be understood, had not been furnished\\nwith any Pestalozzian light. The only chair in the whole\\nestablishment was that which was usually occupied by Mr.\\nLenigan himself; and a table appeared to be a luxury of\\nwhich they were either ignorant or wholly regardless.\\nOne morning Mr. Lenigan was rather later than his usual\\nhour in taking possession of the chair above alluded to.\\nThe sun was mounting swiftly up the heavens. The row\\nof stones before described were already occupied, and the\\nbabble of a hundred voices like the sound of a beehive filled\\nthe house. Now and then a school-boy in frieze coat and\\ncorduroy trousers, with an ink-bottle dangling at his breast,\\ncopy-book, slate, Voster, and reading-book under one arm,\\nand a turf under the other, dropped in and took his place on\\nthe next unoccupied stone. A great boy, with a huge slate in\\nhis arms, stood in the centre of the apartment, making a list\\nof all those who were guilty of any indecorum in the absence\\nof the Masther. Near the door was a blazing turf fire,\\nwhich the sharp autumnal winds already rendered agreeable.\\nIn a corner behind the door lay a heap of fuel formed by the\\ncontributions of all the scholars each being obliged to bring\\none sod of turf every day, and each having the privilege of\\nsitting by the fire while his own sod was burning. Those who\\nfailed to pay their tribute of fuel sat cold and shivering the\\nwhole day long at the farther end of the room, huddling to-\\ngether their bare and frost-bitten toes, and casting a longing,\\nenvious eye toward the peristyle of well-marbled shins that\\nsurrounded the fire.\\nFull in the influence of the cherishing flame was placed the", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "78 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nhay-bottoined chair that supported the person of Mr. Henry\\nLenigan, when that great man presided in person in his rural\\nacademy. On his right lay a close bush of hazel of astound-\\ning size, the emblem of his authority and the implement of\\ncastigation. Near this was a wooden sthroker, that is to say,\\na large rule of smooth and polished deal, used for sthroking\\nlines in the copy-book, and also for sthroking the palms of\\nrefractory pupils. On the other side lay a lofty heap of copy-\\nbooks, which were left by the boys and girls for the purpose\\nof having their copies sot by the Masther\\nAbout noon a sudden hush was produced by the appearance\\nat the open door of a young man, dressed in rusty black, and\\nwith something clerical in his costume and demeanor. This\\nwas Mr. Lenigan s classical assistant for to himself the vol-\\numes of ancient literature were a fountain sealed. Five or six\\nstout young men, all of whom were intended for learned pro-\\nfessions, were the only portion of Mr. Lenigan s scholars that\\naspired to those lofty sources of information. At the sound\\nof the word Virgil from the lips of the assistant the\\nwhole class started from their seats, and crowded around him,\\neach brandishing a smoky volume of the great Augustan\\npoet, who, could he have looked into this Irish academy from\\nthat part of the infernal regions in which he had been placed\\nby his pupil Dante, might have been tempted to exclaim, in\\nthe pathetic words of his hero\\nSunt hie etiara sua pr emia laudi,\\nSunt lachryma rerum et mentem niortalia tangunt.\\nWho s head was the first question proposed by the\\nassistant, after he had thrown open the volume at that part\\nmarked as the day s lesson.\\nJim Naughtin, sir.\\nWell, Naughtin, begin. Consther,* consther now, an be\\nquick\\nAt puer Ascanius mediis in vallibus acri\\nGaudet equo jamque hos cursu, jam praeterit illos\\nSpumantemque dari\\nConsther, translate.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "SCENE IN AN IRISH SCHOOL. 79\\nGo on, sir. Why don t you consther 1\\nAt puer Ascanius the person so addressed began, but\\nthe boy Ascanius medlis in vallibus, in the middle of the\\nvalley gaudet, rejoices.\\nExults, aragal, exults is a better word.\\nGaudet, exults acri equo, upon his bitther horse.\\n0, murther alive his bitther horse, inagh 1 Erra, what\\nwould make a horse be bitther, Jim 1 Sure, t is not of sour\\nbeer he s talking Rejoicin upon a bitther horse Dear\\nknows what a show he was, what raison he had for it Acri\\nequo, upon his mettlesome steed that s the construction.\\nJim proceeded\\nAcri equo, upon his mettlesome steed jamque, and now\\nprceterit, he goes beyond\\nOutstrips, achree\\nPrceterit, he outstrips kos, these jamque illos, and now\\nthose cursu, in his course que, and optat, he longs\\nVery good, Jim longs is a very good word there I\\nthought you were going to say wishes. Did anybody tell\\nyou that 1\\nDickens a one, sir\\nThat s a good boy. Well 1\\nOptat, he longs spumantem aprum, that a foaming boar\\ndari, shall be given votis, to his desires aut fulvum leonum,\\nor that a tawny lion\\nThat s a good word again. Tawny s a good word ;T)et-\\nther than yellow.\\n11 Descender e, shall descend; monte, from the mountain.\\nNow, boys, observe the beauty of the poet. There s\\ngreat nature in the picture of the boy Ascanius. Just the\\nsame way as we see young Misther Keiley of the Grove, at\\nthe fox-chase the other day, leadin the whole of em right\\nand left, jamque kos, jamque illos, an now Misther Cleary, an\\nnow Captain Davis, he outsthripped in his course. A beau-\\ntiful picture, boys, there is in them four lines, of a fine high-\\nblooded youth. Yes, people are always the same times\\nan manners change, but the heart o man is the same now as", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "80 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nit was in the days of Augustus. But consther your task,\\nJim, an then I 11 give you an the boys a little commentary\\nupon its beauties.\\nThe boy obeyed, and read as far as proetexit nomine culpam,\\nafter which the assistant proceeded to pronounce his little\\ncommentary\\nNow, boys, for what I told ye. Them seventeen lines\\nthat Jim Naughtin consthered this minute contains as much\\nas fifty in a modern book. I pointed out to ye before the\\npicture of Ascanius, an I 11 back it again the world for na-\\nture. Then there s the incipient storm,\\nInterea magno inisceri nmrmure ccelum\\nIncipit.\\nErra don t be talkin but listen to that There s a rum-\\nbling in the language like the sound of comin thundher,\\ninsequitur commixta grandine nimbus.\\nD ye hear the change 1 D ye hear all the s s 1 D ye hear em\\nwhistlin 1 D ye hear the black squall comin up the hill-\\nside, brushin up the dust and dry leaves off the road, and\\nhissin through the threes and bushes 1 An d ye hear the\\nhail dhriven afther, an spattherin the laves, and whitenin the\\nface o the counthry 1 Commixta grandine nimbus 1 That I\\nmight n t sin, but when I read them words, I gather my head\\ndown between my shouldhers, as if it was hailin atop o me.\\nAn then the sighth of all the huntin party Dido, an the\\nThrojans, an all the great court ladies and the Tyrian com-\\npanions scatthered like cracked people about the place, look-\\nin for sh either, and peltin about right and left, hether and\\nthether in all directions for the bare life, an the floods swell-\\nin an coming, an thundherin down in rivers from the moun-\\ntains, an all in three lines\\nEt Tyrii comites passim, et Trojana juventus\\nDardaniusque nepos Veneris, diversa per agros\\nTecta metu petiere ruunt de montibus amnes.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "SCENE IN AN IRISH SCHOOL. 81\\nAn see the beauty of the poet, followin up the character of\\nAscanius he makes him the last to quit the field. First the\\nTyrian comrades, an effeminate race, that ran at the eighth\\nof a shower, as if they were made o salt, that they d melt\\nunder it and then the Throjan youth, lads that were used\\nto it in the first book and last of all the spirited boy Asca-\\nnius himself. (Silence near the doore 1\\nSpeluncam Dido, dux et Trojanus eandem,\\nDeveniunt.\\nObserve, boys, he no longer, as of old, calls him the pius\\niEneas, only Dux Trojanus, the Throjan laidher, an t is he\\nthat was the laidher and the lad see the taste of the poet\\nnot to call him the pious ^Eneas now, nor even mention his\\nname, as if he were half ashamed of him, knowin well what\\na lad he had to dale with. There s where Virgil took the\\ncrust out o Homer s mouth in the nateness of his language,\\nthat you d gather a part o the feelin from the very shape o the\\nline an turn o the prosidy. As formerly, when Dido was\\naskin iEneas concernin where he come from, an where he\\nwas born, he makes answ r er\\nEst locus Hesperiam Graii cogn online dicunt,\\nTerra antiqua, potens armis atque ubere glebae.\\nHue cursus fuit.\\nAn there the line stops short, as much as to say, just as I\\ncut this line short in spakin to you, just so our coorse was\\ncut in going to Italy. The same way, when Juno is vexed in\\ntalkin o the Throjans, he makes her spake bad Latin to show\\nhow mad she is (Silence\\nMene incepto desistere victam\\nNee posse Italia Teucrorum avertere regera?\\nQuippe vetor fatis Pallasne exurere classem\\nArgivum, atque ipsos potuit submergere ponto.\\nSo he laves you to guess what a passion she is in, when he\\nmakes her lave an infinitive mood without anything to govern\\nit. You can t attribute it ignorance, for it would be a dhroli\\n4* F", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "82 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nthing in airnest, if Juno, the queen of all the gods, did n t\\nknow a common rule in syntax, so that you have nothing for\\nit but to say that she must be the very moral of a jury.\\nSuch, boys, is the art o poets an the janius o languages.\\nBut I kept ye long enough. Go along to yer Greek now,\\nas fast as ye can, an reharse. An as for ye, continued the\\nlearned commentator, turning to the mass of English scholars,\\nI see one comin over the river that 11 taich ye how to be-\\nhave yerselves, as it is a thing ye won t do for me. Put up\\nyer Virgils now, boys, an out with the Greek, an remember\\nthe beauties I pointed out to ye, for they re things that few\\ncan explain to ye, if ye have n t the luck to think of em yer-\\nselves.\\nThe class* separated, and a hundred anxious eyes were\\ndirected toward the open door. It afforded a glimpse of a\\nsunny green, and a bubbling river, over which Mr. Lenigan,\\nfollowed by his brother David, was now observed in the act\\nof picking his cautious way. At this apparition a sudden\\nchange took place in the entire condition of the school.\\nStragglers flew to their places the impatient burst of laugh-\\nter was cut short the growing bit of rage was quelled the\\nuplifted hand dropped harmless by the side of its owner\\nmerry faces grew serious, and angry ones peaceable the eyes\\nof all seemed poring on their books and the extravagant up-\\nroar of the last half-hour was hushed on a sudden into a dili-\\ngent murmur. Those who were most proficient in the study\\nof the Masther s physiognomy detected in the expression\\nof his eyes, as he entered and greeted his assistant, something\\nof a troubled and uneasy character. He took the list with a\\nsevere countenance from the hands of the boy above-men-\\ntioned, sent all those whose names he found upon the fatal\\nrecord to kneel down in a corner until he should find leisure\\nto haire them, and then prepared to enter upon his daily\\nfunctions.\\nFor the present, however, the delinquents are saved by the\\nentrance of a fresh character upon the scene.\\nThe new-comer was a handsome young woman, who carried", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "SHIPS AT SEA. 83\\na pet child in her arms and held another Iry the hand. The\\nsensation of pleasure which ran among the young culprits at\\nher appearance showed her to be their great Captain s Cap-\\ntain, the beloved and loving helpmate of Mr. Lenigan.\\nCasting, nnperceived by her lord, an encouraging smile toward\\nthe kneeling culprits, she took an opportunity while engaged in\\na wheedling conversation with her husband, to purloin his deal\\nrule and to blot out the list of the proscribed from the slate,\\nafter which she stole out, calling David to dig the potatoes\\nfor dinner.\\nAnd so we, too, will leave the school.\\nSHIPS AT SEA.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Barry Gray.\\nI HAVE ships that went to sea\\nMore than fifty years ago\\nNone have yet come home to me,\\nBut are sailing to and fro.\\nI have seen them in my sleep,\\nPlunging through the shoreless deep,\\nWith tattered sails, and battered hulls,\\nWhile around them screamed the gulls,\\nFlying low, flying low.\\nI have wondered why they stayed\\nFrom me, sailing round the world\\nAnd I ve said, I m half afraid\\nThat their sails will ne er be furled.\\nGreat the treasure that they hold,\\nSilks, and plumes, and bars of gold\\nW T hile the spices that they bear\\nFill with fragrance all the air,\\nAs they sail, as they sail.\\nAh each sailor in the port\\nKnows that I have ships at sea,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "84 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nOf the waves and winds the sport\\nAnd the sailors pity me.\\nOft they come and with me walk,\\nCheering me with hopeful talk,\\nTill I put my fears aside,\\nAnd, contented, watch the tide\\nRise and fall, rise and fall.\\nI have waited on the piers,\\nGazing for them down the bay,\\nDays and nights, for many years,\\nTill I ve turned, heart-sick, away.\\nBut the pilots, when they land,\\nStop and take me by the hand,\\nSaying you will like to see\\nYour proud ships come home from sea,\\nOne and all, one and all.\\nSo I never quite despair,\\nNor let hope nor courage fail\\nAnd some day, when skies are fair,\\nUp the bay my ships will sail.\\nI shall buy then all I need,\\nPrints to look at, books to read,\\nHorses, wines, and works of art,\\nEverything, except a heart.\\nThat is lost, that is lost\\nOnce when I was pure and young,\\nKicher too than I am now,\\nEre a cloud was o er me flung,\\nOr a wrinkle crossed my brow,\\nThere was one whose heart was mine\\nBut she s something now divine,\\nAnd though come my ships from sea,\\nThey can bring no heart to me\\nevermore.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "OLD CHUMS. 85\\nOLD. CHUMS. Alice Cart.\\nIS it you, Jack 1 Old boy, is it really you 1\\nI should n t have known you but that I was told\\nYou might be expected j pray, how do you do 1\\nBut what, under heaven, has made you so old 1\\nYour hair why, you ve only a little gray fuzz\\nAnd your beard s white but that can be beautifully dyed;\\nAnd your legs are n t but just half as long as they was\\nAnd then stars and garters your vest is so wide\\nIs this your hand 1 Lord, how I envied you that\\nIn the time of our courting, so soft, and so small,\\nAnd now it is callous inside, and so fat,\\nWell, you beat the very old deuce, that is all.\\nTurn round let me look at you is n t it odd\\nHow strange in a few years a fellow s chum grows\\nYour eye is shrunk up like a bean in a pod,\\nAnd what are these lines branching out from your nose\\nYour back has gone up and your shoulders gone down,\\nAnd all the old roses are under the plough\\nWhy, Jack, if we d happened to meet about town,\\nI would n t have known you from Adam, I vow\\nYou ve had trouble, have you 1 I m sorry but, John,\\nAll trouble sits lightly at your time of life.\\nHow s Billy, my namesake 1 You don t say he s gone\\nTo the war, John, and that you have buried your wife 1\\nPoor Katherine so she has left you, ah me\\nI thought she would live to be fifty, or more.\\nWhat is it you tell me 1 She was fifty-three\\nno, Jack she was n t so much by a score I", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "86 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nWell, there s little Katy, was that her name, John\\nShe 11 rule your house one of these days like a queen.\\nThat baby good Lord is she married and gone 1\\nWith a Jack ten years old and a Katy fourteen\\nThen I give it up Why, you re younger than I\\nBy ten or twelve years, and to think you ve come back\\nA sober old gray beard, just ready to die\\nI don t understand how it is, do you, Jack 1\\nI ve got all my faculties yet, sound and bright\\nSlight failure my eyes are beginning to hint\\nBut still, with my spectacles on, and a light\\nTwixt them and the page, I can read any print.\\nMy hearing is dull, and my leg is more spare,\\nPerhaps, than it was when I beat you at ball\\nMy breath gives out, too, if I go up a stair,\\nBut nothing worth mentioning, nothing at all\\nMy hair is just turning a little, you see,\\nAnd lately I ve put on a broader-brimmed hat\\nThan I wore at your wedding, but you will agree,\\nOld fellow, I look all the better for that.\\nI m sometimes a little rheumatic, t is true,\\nAnd my nose is n t quite on a straight line, they say\\nFor all that, I don t think I ve changed much, do you 1\\nAnd I don t feel a day older, Jack, not a day.\\nTHE OLD MAN S PRAYER.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Jean Lngelow.\\nTHERE was a poor old man\\nWho sat and listened to the raging sea,\\nAnd heard it thunder, lunging at the cliifs\\nAs like to tear them down. He lay at night\\nAnd Lord have mercy on the lads, said he,", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "THE OLD MAN S PRAYER. 87\\nThat sailed at noon, though they be none of mine\\nFor when the gale gets up, and when the wind\\nFlings at the window, when it beats the roof,\\nAnd lulls and stops and rouses up again,\\nAnd cuts the crest clean off the plunging wave,\\nAnd scatters it like feathers up the field,\\nWhy then I think of my two lads, my lads\\nThat would have worked and never let me want,\\nAnd never let me take the parish pay.\\nNo, none of mine my lads were drowned at sea\\nMy two before the most of these were born.\\nI know how sharp that cuts, since my poor wife\\nWalked up and down, and still walked up and down,\\nAnd I walked after, and one could not hear\\nA word the other said, for wind and sea\\nThat raged and beat and thundered in the night,\\nThe awfullest, the longest, lightest night\\nThat ever parents had to spend, a moon\\nThat shone like daylight on the breaking wave.\\nAh me and other men have lost their lads,\\nAnd other women wiped their poor dead mouths,\\nAnd got them home and dried them in the house,\\nAnd seen the drift-wood lie along the coast,\\nThat was a tidy boat but one day back,\\nAnd seen next tide the neighbors gather it\\nTo lay it on their fires.\\nAy, I was strong\\nAnd able-bodied, loved my work but now\\nI am a useless hull t is time I sunk\\nI am in all men s way I trouble them\\nI am a trouble to myself but yet\\nI feel for mariners of storary nights,\\nAnd feel for wives that watch ashore. Ay, ay\\nIf I had learning I would pray the Lord\\nTo bring them in but I in no scholar, no\\nBook-learning is a world too hard for me\\nBut I make bold to say, Lord, good Lord,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "88\\nPUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nI am a broken-down poor man, a fool\\nTo speak to thee but in the Book t is writ,\\nAs I hear from others that can read,\\nHow, when thou earnest, thou didst love the sea,\\nAnd live with fisherfolk, whereby t is sure\\nThou knowest all the peril they go through,\\nAnd all their trouble.\\nAs for me, good Lord,\\nI have no boat I am too old, too old,\\nMy lads are drowned I buried my poor wife\\nMy little lassies died so long ago\\nThat mostly I forget what they were like.\\nThou knowest, Lord they were such little ones\\nI know they went to thee, but I forget\\nTheir faces, though I missed them sore.\\nOLord,\\nI was a strong man I have drawn good food\\nAnd made good money out of thy great sea\\nBut yet I cried for them at nights and now,\\nAlthough I be so old, I miss my lads,\\nAnd there be many folk this stormy night\\nHeavy with fear for theirs. Merciful Lord,\\nComfort them save their honest boys, their pride,\\nAnd let them hear next ebb the blessedest,\\nBest sound, their boat-keels grating on the sand.\\nI cannot pray with finer words I know\\nNothing I have no learning, cannot learn,\\nToo old, too old. They say I want for naught,\\nI have the parish pay but I am dull\\nOf hearing, and the fire scarce warms me through.\\nGod save me, I have been a sinful man,\\nAnd save the lives of them that still can work,\\nFor they are good to me ay, good to me.\\nBut, Lord, I am a trouble and I sit,\\nAnd I am lonesome, and the nights are few\\nThat any think to come and draw a chair,", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "WAR S END. 89\\nAnd sit in my poor place and talk awhile.\\nWhy should they come, forsooth 1 Only the wind\\nKnocks at my door, O, long and loud it knocks,\\nThe only thing God made that has a mind\\nTo enter in.\\nYea, thus the old man spake\\nThese were the last words of his aged mouth,\\nBut One did knock. One came to sup with him,\\nThat humble, weak old man j knocked at his door,\\nIn the rough pauses of the laboring wind.\\nI tell you that One knocked while it was dark,\\nSave where their foaming passion had made white\\nThose livid seething billows. What he said\\nIn that poor place where he did talk awhile,\\nI cannot tell but this I am assured,\\nThat when the neighbors came the morrow morn,\\nWhat time the wind had bated, and the sun\\nShone on the old man s floor, they saw the smile\\nHe passed away in, and they said, He looks\\nAs he had woke and seen the face of Christ,\\nAnd with that rapturous smile held out his arms\\nTo come to Him\\nWAR S END. A. Melville Bell.\\nAH what inventive skill has man displayed,\\nTo maim and slay his brother of the sod,\\nSlaughter his pastime, horrid War a trade\\nYet mark how, ordered by a righteous God,\\nHis skill becomes at once his chastisement and healing rod\\nA steel-tipped dart drawn back\\nAnd released with a spring,\\nAnd you trace its fluttering track\\nLike a bird on the wing\\nWhizz", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "90 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nHow it staggers when its targe is won\\nWhizz whizz\\nFeathered mischief that it is.\\nA curling puff of smoke,\\nAnd a quick little flash,\\nThen the viewless bullet spoke\\nIts message with a rash\\nPing!\\nAnd the vicious thing its work has done.\\nPing ping\\nCruel little leaden thing.\\nA rolling coil of smoke\\nAnd scathing gush of fire,\\nThen the cannon s roar outbroke\\nIn a howl of death-desire\\nBang\\nAnd the bloody cleaving ball speeds on.\\nBang bang\\nHow the mowing iron sang\\nA shrouding pall of smoke,\\nA winding-sheet of flame,\\nThen the splitting thunder-stroke\\nThat stops the deadly game\\nBoom\\nAnd the thing what e er opposed is gone.\\nGranite, iron ramparts, all,\\nSwept as cobwebs from the wall\\nDefence s utmost strength\\nO ermatched by Power at length,\\nEven War has met its doom,\\nIn that Boom\\nWhizz Ping Bang Boom\\nFirst units fall, then sheaves, then all s a tomb.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "THE PILGRIMS. 91\\nThanks for that tomb, for from it shall arise\\nThe spirit of a Universal Peace\\nTo bid just Reason her true place assume,\\nRight from brute Might s supremacy release,\\nAnd by the deadliness of war, make war itself to cease\\nTHE PILGRIMS. J. G. Whittier.\\nA WORTHY New England deacon once described a brother\\nin the church as a very good man Godward, but rather\\nhard manward. It cannot be denied that some very satisfac-\\ntory steps have been taken in the latter direction, at least,\\nsince the days of the Pilgrims. Our age is tolerant of creed\\nand dogma, broader in its sympathies, more keenly sensitive\\nto temporal need, and practically recognizing the brotherhood\\nof the race wherever a cry of suffering is heard, its response\\nis quick and generous. It has abolished slavery, and is lift-\\ning woman from world-old degradation to equality with man\\nbefore the law. Our criminal codes no longer embody the\\nmaxim of barbarism, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a\\ntooth, but have regard not only for the safety of the com-\\nmunity, but to the reform and well-being of the criminal.\\nAll the more, however, for this amiable tenderness do we\\nneed the counterpoise of a strong sense of justice. With our\\nsympathy for the wrong-doer we need the old Puritan and\\nQuaker hatred of wrong-doing with our just tolerance of\\nmen and opinions a righteous abhorrence of sin. All the\\nmore for the sweet humanities and Christian liberalism which,\\nin drawing men nearer to each other, are increasing the sum\\nof social influences for good or evil, we need the bracing at-\\nmosphere, healthful, if austere, of the old moralities. Indi-\\nvidual and social duties are quite as imperative now as when\\nthey were minutely specified in statute-books and enforced\\nby penalties no longer admissible. It is well that stocks,\\nwhipping-post, and ducking-stool are now only matters of tra-\\ndition; but the honest reprobation of vice and crime which", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "92 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nthey symbolized should by no means perish with them. The\\ntrue life of a nation is in its personal morality, and no excel-\\nlence of constitution and laws can avail much if the people\\nlack purity and integrity. Culture, art, refinement, care for\\nour own comfort and that of others, are all well but truth,\\nhonor, reverence, and fidelity to duty are indispensable.\\nThe Pilgrims were right in affirming the paramount author-\\nity of the law of God. If they erred in seeking that au-\\nthoritative law, and passed over the Sermon on the Mount for\\nthe stern Hebraisms of Moses if they hesitated in view of\\nthe largeness of Christian liberty if they seemed unwilling\\nto accept the sweetness and light of the good tidings, let us\\nnot forget that it was the mistake of men who feared more\\nthan they dared to hope, whose estimate of the exceeding\\nawfulness of sin caused them to dwell upon God s vengeance\\nrather than his compassion and whose dread of evil was so\\ngreat that, in shutting their hearts against it, they sometimes\\nshut out the good. It is well for us if we have learned to\\nlisten to the sweet persuasion of the Beatitudes but there\\nare crises in all lives which require also the emphatic Thou\\nshalt not of the Decalogue which the founders wrote on the\\ngate-posts of their commonwealth.\\nLet us, then, be thankful for the assurances which the last\\nfew years have afforded us that\\nThe Pilgrim spirit is not dead,\\nBut walks in noon s broad light.\\nWe have seen it in the faith and trust which no circumstances\\ncould shake, in heroic self-sacrifice, in entire consecration to\\nduty. The fathers have lived in their sons. Have we not\\nall known the Winthrops and Brewsters, the Saltonstalls and\\nSewalls, of old times, in gubernatorial chairs, in legislative\\nhalls, around winter camp-fires, in the slow martyrdoms of\\nprison and hospital 1 The great struggle through which we\\nhave passed has taught us how much we owe to the men and\\nwomen of the Plymouth Colony, the noblest ancestry that\\never a people looked back to with love and reverence. Honor,\\nthen, to the Pilgrims Let their memory be green forever", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "KNOCKED ABOUT. 93\\nKNOCKED ABOUT. Daniel Connolly.\\nWHY don t I work 1 Well, sir, will you,\\nRight here on the spot, give me suthin to do 1\\nWork Why, sir, I don t want no more\\nN a chance in any man s shop or store\\nThat s what I m lookin for every day,\\nBut thar ain t no jobs well, what d ye say\\nHain t got nothin at present Just so\\nThat s how it always is, I know\\nFellers like me ain t wanted much\\nFolks are gen rally jealous of such\\nThinks tl^ey ain t the right sort o stuff,\\nBlessed if it is n t a kind o rough\\nOn a man to have folks hintin belief\\nThat he ain t to be trusted more n a thief,\\nWhen p r aps his fingers are cleaner far\\nN them o chaps that talk so are\\nGot a look o the sea 1 Well, I xpect that s so\\nHad a hankerin that way some years ago,\\nAnd run off I shipped in a whaler fust,\\nAnd got cast away but that warn t the wust\\nTook fire, sir, next time, we did, and well,\\nWe blazed up till everything standin fell,\\nAnd then me and Tom my mate and some murts,\\nGot off, with a notion of goin ashore.\\nBut thar warn t no shore to see round that-,\\nSo we drifted and drifted everywhar\\nFor a week, and then all but Tom and me\\nWas food for the sharks or down in the sea.\\nBut we prayed me and Tom the best we could,\\nFor a sail. It come, nnd at last we stood\\nOn old arth once more, and the captain told\\nUs we was ashore in the land o gold.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "94 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nGold We did n t get much. But we struck\\nFor the mines, of course, and tried our luck.\\nT warn t bad at the start, but things went wrong\\nPooty soon, for one night thar come along,\\nWhile we was asleep, some redskin chaps,\\nAnd they made things lively round thar perhaps\\nAnyhow we left mighty quick Tom and me,\\nAnd we did n t go back, kind o risky, yer see\\nBy m-by, sir, the war come on, and then\\nWe listed. Poor Tom I was nigh him when\\nIt all happened. He looked up and sez, sez he,\\nBill, it s come to partin twixt you and me,\\nOld chap. I hain t much to leave here, this knife\\nStand to your colors, Bill, while you have life\\nThat was all. Yes, got wounded myself, sir, here,\\nAnd I m pensioned on water and air a year\\nIt ain t much to thank for that I m alive,\\nKnockin about like this What, a five\\nThat s suthin han some, now, that is. I m blest\\nIf things don t quite frequent turn out for the best\\nArter all A V Hi Luck It s far more\\nMister, I kind o liked the looks o your store.\\nYou re a trump, sir, a reg Eh 0, all right\\nI m off, but you are, sir, a trump, honor bright\\nTHE LABORER. William D. Gallagher.\\nSTAND up erect Thou hast the form\\nAnd likeness of thy God who more 1\\nA soul as dauntless mid the storm\\nOf daily life, a heart as warm\\nAnd pure, as breast e er wore.\\nWhat then 1 Thou art as true a man\\nAs moves the human mass among", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "THE LABORER. 95\\nAs much a part of the great plan\\nThat with Creation s dawn began,\\nAs any of the throng.\\nWho is thine enemy 1 the high\\nIn station, or in wealth the chief 1\\nThe great, who coldly, pass thee by,\\nWith proud step and averted eye\\nNay Nurse not such belief.\\nIf true unto thyself thou wast,\\nWhat were the proud one s scorn to theel\\nA feather, which thou mightest cast\\nAside, as idly as the blast\\nThe light leaf from the tree.\\nNo uncurbed passions, low desires,\\nAbsence of noble self-respect,\\nDeath, in the breast s consuming fires\\nTo that high nature which aspires\\nForever, till thus checked,\\nThese are thy enemies, thy worst\\nThey chain thee to thy lowly lot,\\nThy labor and thy life accursed\\n0, stand erect and from them burst,\\nAnd longer suffer not\\nThou art thyself thine enemy\\nThe great what better they than thou\\nAs theirs is not thy will as free\\nHas God with equal favors thee\\nNeglected to endow 1\\nTrue, wealth thou hast not, t is but dust\\nNor place, uncertain as the wind\\nBut that thou hast which, with thy crust", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "96 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nAnd water, may despise the lust\\nOf both, a noble mind.\\nWith this, and passions under ban,\\nTrue faith, and holy trust in God,\\nThou art the peer of any man.\\nLook up, then that thy little span\\nOf life may well be trod.\\nTHE GRAY FOREST EAGLE.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 A. B. Street.\\nWITH storm-daring pinion, and sun-gazing eye,\\nThe Gray Forest Eagle is King of the sky\\n0, little he loves the green valley of flowers,\\nWhere sunshine and song cheer the bright summer hours,\\nBut the dark, gloomy gorge, where down plunges the foam\\nOf the fierce, rocky torrent, he claims as his home\\nThere he blends his keen shriek with the roar of the flood,\\nAnd the many-voiced sounds of the blast-smitten wood.\\nA fitful red glaring, a low, rumbling jar,\\nProclaim the Storm-Demon, yet raging afar\\nThe black cloud strides upward, the lightning more red,\\nAnd the roll of the thunder, more deep and more dread\\nThe Gray Forest Eagle, where, where has he sped 1\\nDoes he shrink to his eyry, and shiver with dread 1\\nDoes the glare blind his eyes 1 Has the terrible blast\\nOn the wing of the Sky-King a fear-fetter cast\\nno, the brave Eagle he thinks not of fright\\nThe wrath of the tempest but rouses delight\\nTo the flash of the lightning his eye casts a gleam,\\nTo the shriek of the wild blast he echoes his scream,\\nAnd with front like a warrior that speeds to the fray,\\nAnd a clapping of pinions, he s up and away\\nAway, away, soars the fearless and free", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "THE GRAY FOREST EAGLE. 97\\nWhat recks he the sky s strife 1 its monarch is he\\nThe lightning darts round him, undaunted his sight\\nThe blast sweeps against him, unwavered his flight\\nHigh upward, still upward he wheels, till his form\\nIs lost in the dark scowling gloom of the storm.\\nThe tempest glides o er with its terrible train,\\nAnd the splendor of sunshine is glowing again\\nAnd full on the form of the tempest in flight,\\nThe rainbow s magnificence gladdens the sight\\nThe Gray Forest Eagle 0, where is he now,\\nWhile the sky wears the smile of its God on its brow 1\\nThere s a dark floating spot by yon cloud s pearly wreath^\\nWith the speed of the arrow t is shooting beneath\\nDown, nearer and nearer, it draws to .the gaze,\\nNow over the rainbow, now blent with its blaze\\nT is the Eagle, the Gray Forest Eagle once more\\nHe sweeps to his eyry, his journey is o er\\nTime whirls round his circle, his years roll away,\\nBut the Gray Forest Eagle minds little his sway\\nThe child spurns its buds for youth s thorn-hidden bloom\\nSeeks manhood s bright phantoms, finds age and a tomb\\nBut the Eagle s eye dims not, his wing is unbowed,\\nStill drinks he the sunshine, still scales he the cloud.\\nAn emblem of Freedom, stern, haughty, and high,\\nIs the Gray Forest Eagle, that King of the sky\\nWhen his shadows steal black o er the empires of kings,\\nDeep terror, deep heart-shaking terror, he brings\\nWhere wicked oppression is armed for the weak,\\nThere rustles his pinion, there echoes his shriek\\nHis eye flames with vengeance, he sweeps on his way,\\nAnd his talons are bathed in the blood of his prey.\\nthat Eagle of Freedom when cloud upon cloud\\nSwathed the sky of my own native land with a shroud,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "98 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nWhen lightnings gleamed fiercely, and thunderbolts rung,\\nHow proud to the tempest those pinions were flung\\nThough the wild blast of battle rushed fierce through the air\\nWith darkness and dread, still the Eagle was there\\nUnquailing, still speeding, his swift flight was on,\\nTill the rainbow of Peace crowned the victory won.\\n0, that Eagle of Freedom age dims not his eye,\\nHe has seen earth s mortality spring, bloom, and die\\nHe has seen the strong nations rise, flourish, and fall\\nHe mocks at time s changes, he triumphs o er all\\nHe has seen our own land with wild forests o erspread,\\nHe sees it with sunshine and joy on its head\\nAnd his presence will bless this his own chosen clime,\\nTill the Archangel s fiat is set upon Time.\\nWHEN MARY WAS A LASSIE.\\nTHE maple-trees are tinged with red,\\nThe birch with golden yellow\\nAnd high above the orchard wall\\nHang apples, rich and mellow\\nAnd that s the way, through yonder lane\\nThat looks so still and grassy,\\nThe way I took one Sunday eve,\\nWhen Mary was a lassie.\\nYou d hardly think that patient face,\\nThat looks so thin and faded,\\nWas once the very sweetest one\\nThat ever bonnet shaded\\nBut when I went through yonder lane,\\nThat looks so still and grassy,\\nThose eyes were bright, those cheeks were fair,\\nWhen Mary was a lassie.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "THE PIANO MANIA. 99\\nBut many a tender sorrow,\\nAnd many a patient care,\\nHave made those furrows on the face\\nThat used to be so fair.\\nFour times to yonder churchyard,\\nThrough the lane, so still and grassy,\\nWe ve borne and laid away our dead,\\nSince Mary was a lassie.\\nAnd, as you see, I Ve grown to love\\nThe wrinkles more than roses\\nEarth s winter flowers are sweeter far\\nThan all spring s dewy posies\\nThey 11 carry us through yonder lane\\nThat looks so still and grassy,\\nAdown the lane I used to go\\nWhen Mary was a lassie.\\nTHE PIANO MANIA. Jennie June.\\nTHERE is no social disease so widespread, so virulent, and\\nso fatal in its attack as the piano mania. Before a girl\\nis born, nowadays, she is predestined to sit and exact dreadful\\nscreechings and wailings from some unhappy instrument for\\nat least ten years of her natural life. No question as to\\nwhether she possesses an ear, and no consideration for the ears\\nof other people, is permitted to interfere with the decree,\\nwhich is irrevocable as the laws of the Medes and Persians,\\nthat Katy or Lucindy, as the case may be, must play\\nthe piano. The poor thing may be a natural-born house-\\nkeeper, with a genius for sweeping and dusting, washing and\\nbaking, but with no more perception of chords and cadences\\nthan of the music of the spheres. Still she will not be per-\\nmitted to follow her natural bent because it is so horribly vul-\\ngar. She will be wept over, scolded, and fretted at, and any\\nL**a", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "100 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nlazy, fine lady, sister, or cousin held up as an example of gen-\\ntility.\\nTo be able to play the piano in company is the sine qua non of\\nmany foolish, fond mothers hopes, who look back with regret\\non their own limited chances for education, and are therefore\\napt sadly to overrate the value of what are called accom-\\nplishments. Playing the piano is undoubtedly a very good\\nthing when it is well done, and by a person who possesses musi-\\ncal taste but otherwise it is only a torture for a sensitive\\near to listen to it. Jingle, jingle, jingle thump, thump,\\nthump Who has not shivered and winced, and tried to ap-\\npear amiable through the interminable hours of a small even-\\ning-party, while some youthful tormentor, harassed into the\\ndisplay by stupid friends, was vigorously pounding out a\\nmiscellaneous assortment of battles and marches, songs and\\nquadrilles, waltzes and opera, without the slightest notion con-\\ncerning them, except that certain keys in the piano corre-\\nspond to certain notes in the book.\\nExcepting for evening parlor dances, the piano should never\\nbe played without accompaniment of a voice, unless by a\\nThalberg, and even then only a few will be found to care en-\\nthusiastically for the mere science or grace of execution and\\nif this is true of the professor in the art, how much pleasure\\nis it supposed can be obtained from hearing the monotonous or\\nspasmodic thrumming of a girl, whose entire capacity for\\nmusic has been scolded or cajoled into her, and who would\\nmuch rather be employed in doing something else, even\\nthough it were sweeping or washing dishes\\nIf the knowledge of the piano were easily acquired and re-\\ntained, the objections against this universal passion would lose\\nmuch of their force but the truth is, that it wastes so much\\nof the valuable time in many young girls lives that could be\\nturned to good account, that it becomes absolute sin and\\nwhat real use do they make of it after all How many\\nyoung women who were supposed to possess musical talents\\nhave made the remark, 0, I have never touched the piano\\nsince I was married an exaggerated statement, which soon\\nbecomes a literal truth.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "FONTENOY. 101\\nThe truth is, that playing the piano don t pay, unless a\\ncertain amount of musical genius is developed, and a voice.\\nAny quantity of girls could perfect themselves in other and\\nquite as attractive branches of a polite education for\\nwhich they have a taste, and prepare to become good wives\\nand mothers in the time which is uselessly spent in endeavor-\\ning to make them play the piano.\\nBut there is little hope that it will be so. Fathers will\\ncontinue to gratify their pride and vanity by buying second-\\nhand pianos instead of sewing-machines, and mothers will\\nurge slipshod daughters to sit down to them, instead of teach-\\ning them to mend stockings. The signor s bill will be pre-\\nferred to the grocer s, because the girls must have the advan-\\ntage of the best, that is to say, the most expensive masters,\\nand so they are taught lessons in music, extravagance, dis-\\nhonesty, and personal neglect, all at the same time. Surely\\na cheap way of acquiring so much that is made available in\\nafter life, besides learning to play on the piano.\\nFONTENOY. Thomas Davis.\\nTHRICE, at the huts of Fontenoy, the English column\\nfailed,\\nAnd twice the lines of St. Antoine the Dutch in vain assailed\\nFor town and slope were filled with fort and flanking battery,\\nAnd well they swept the English ranks, and Dutch auxiliary.\\nAs, vainly, through De Barri s wood the British soldiers\\nburst,\\nThe French artillery drove them back, diminished and dis-\\npersed.\\nThe bloody Duke of Cumberland beheld with anxious eye,\\nAnd ordered up his last reserve his latest chance to try.\\nOn Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, how fast his generals ride,\\nAnd mustering come his chosen troops, like clouds at even\\ntide.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "102 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nSix thousand English veterans in stately column tread,\\nTheir cannon blaze in front and flank, Lord Hay is at their\\nhead\\nSteady they step adown the slope, steady they climb the\\nhill;\\nSteady they load, steady they fire, moving right onward\\nstill,\\nBetwixt the wood and Fontenoy, as through a furnace blast,\\nThrough rampart, trench, and palisade, and bullets showering\\nfast\\nAnd on the open plain above they rose, and kept their course,\\nWith ready fire and grim resolve, that mocked at hostile\\nforce\\nPast Fontenoy, past Fontenoy, while thinner grow their ranks,\\nThey break, as broke the Zuyder Zee through Holland s ocean\\nbanks.\\nMore idly than the summer flies, French tirailleurs rush\\nround\\nAs stubble to the lava tide, French squadrons strew the\\nground\\nBomb-shell, and grape, and round-shot tore, still on they\\nmarched and fired,\\nFast from each volley grenadier and voltigeur retired.\\nPush on, my household cavalry King Louis madly cried\\nTo death they rush, but rude their shock, not unavenged\\nthey died.\\nOn through the camp the column trod, King Louis turns\\nhis rein\\nNot yet, my liege, Saxe interposed, the Irish troops re-\\nmain\\nAnd Fontenoy, famed Fontenoy, had been a Waterloo,\\nWere not these exiles ready then, fresh, vehement, and true.\\nLord Clare, he says, you have your wish, there are your\\nSaxon foes\\nThe Marshal almost smiles to see how furiously he goes", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "FONTENOY. 103\\nHow fierce the look those exiles wear, who re won t to be so\\nThe treasured wrongs of fifty years are in their hearts to-\\nday,\\nThe treaty broken, ere the ink wherewith twas writ could\\ndry,\\nTheir plundered homes, their ruined shrines, their women s\\nparting cry,\\nTheir priesthood hunted down like wolves, their country over-\\nthrown,\\nEach looks as if revenge for all were staked on him alone.\\nOn Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, nor ever yet elsewhere,\\nRushed on to fight a nobler band than these proud exiles\\nwere.\\nO Brien s voice is hoarse with joy, as, halting, he commands,\\nFix bayonets charge Like mountain storm rush on\\nthese fiery bands.\\nThin is the English column now, and faint their volleys grow,\\nYet, mustering all the strength they have, they make a gal-\\nlant show.\\nThey dress their ranks upon the hill to face that battle-wind,\\nTheir bayonets the breaker s foam like rocks, the men be-\\nhind\\nOne volley crashes from their line, when, through the surging\\nsmoke,\\nWith empty guns clutched in their hands, the headlong Irish\\nbroke.\\nOn Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, hark to that fierce huzza\\nRevenge remember Limerick dash down the Sacsanach\\nLike lions leaping at a fold, when mad with hunger s pang,\\nRight up against the English line the Irish exiles sprang\\nBright was their steel, t is bloody now, their guns are filled\\nwith gore\\nThrough shattered ranks, and severed files, and trampled flags\\nthey tore", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "104 PUBLIC AND- PARLOR READINGS.\\nThe English strove with desperate strength, paused, rallied,\\nstaggered, fled\\nThe green hillside is matted close with dying and with dead.\\nAcross the plain and far away passed on that hideous wrack,\\nWhile cavalier and fantassin dash in upon their track.\\nOn Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, like eagles in the sun,\\nWith bloody plumes the Irish stand, the field is fought and\\nwon\\nBEAUTIFUL SNOW.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J. W. Watson.\\nOTHE snow, the beautiful snow,\\nFilling the sky and earth below\\nOver the house-tops, over the street,\\nOver the heads of the people you meet,\\nDancing,\\nFlirting,\\nSkimming along\\nBeautiful snow it can do no wrong.\\nFlying to kiss a fair lady s cheek\\nClinging to lips in a frolicsome freak.\\nBeautiful snow from the heavens above,\\nPure as an angel, gentle as love\\nthe snow, the beautiful snow\\nHow the flakes gather and laugh as they go\\nWhirling about in the maddening fun,\\nIt plays in its glee with every one.\\nChasing,\\nLaughing,\\nHurrying by\\nIt lights on the face and it sparkles the eye I\\nAnd even the dogs, with a bark and a bound,\\nSnap at the crystals that eddy around.\\nThe town is alive, and its heart in a glow,\\nTo welcome the coming of beautiful snow", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "THE SNOW. 105\\nHow the wild crowd goes swaying along,\\nHailing each other with humor and song\\nHow the gay sledges, like meteors, flash by,\\nBright for the moment, then lost to the eye.\\nRinging,\\nSwinging,\\nDashing they go,\\nOver the crust of the beautiful snow\\nSnow so pure when it falls from the sky,\\nTo be trampled in mud by the crowd rushing by,\\nTo be trampled and tracked by the thousands of feet,\\nTill it blends with the horrible filth in the street.\\nOnce I was pure as the snow but I fell\\nFell like the snow-flakes from heaven to hell\\nFell to be trampled as filth of the street\\nFell to be scoffed, to be spit on and beat.\\nPleading,\\nCursing,\\nDreading to die,\\nSelling my soul to whoever would buy,\\nDealing in shame for a morsel of bread,\\nHating the living and fearing the dead.\\nMerciful God have I fallen so low 1\\nAnd yet I was once like the beautiful snow.\\nOnce I was fair as the beautiful snow,\\nWith an eye like its crystal, a heart like its glow\\nOnce I was loved for my innocent grace,\\nFlattered and sought for the charms of my face\\nFather,\\nMother,\\nSisters all,\\nGod, and myself, I have lost by my fall.\\nThe veriest wretch that goes shivering by\\nWill take a wide sweep lest I wander too nigh\\nFor of all that is on or about me, I know\\nThere is nothing that s pure but the beautiful snow.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "106 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nHow strange it should be that this beautiful snow\\nShould fall on a sinner with nowhere to go\\nHow strange it would be, when the night comes again,\\nIf the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain\\nFainting,\\nFreezing,\\nDying alone,\\nToo wicked for a prayer, too weak for a moan,\\nTo be heard in the crash of the crazy town,\\nGone mad in its joy at the snow s coming down,\\nTo lie, and so die in my terrible woe,\\nWith a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow.\\nLOVE LIGHTENS LABOR.\\nA GOOD wife rose from her bed one morn,\\nAnd thought with a nervous dread\\nOf the piles of clothes to be washed, and more\\nThan a dozen mouths to be fed.\\nThere s the meals to get for the men in the field,\\nAnd the children to fix away\\nTo school, and the milk to be skimmed and churned;\\nAnd all to be done this day.\\nIt had rained in the night, and all the wood\\nWas wet as it could be\\nThere were puddings and pies to bake, besides\\nA loaf of cake for tea.\\nAnd the day was hot, and her aching head\\nThrobbed wearily as she said\\nIf maidens but knew what good wives know,\\nThey would be in no haste to wed i\\nJennie, what do you think I told Ben Brown 1\\nCalled the farmer from the well", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "THE RING. 107\\nAnd a flush crept up to his bronzed brow,\\nAnd his eyes half bashfully fell.\\nIt was this, he said, and, coming near,\\nHe smiled, and, stooping down,\\nKissed her cheek. T was this that you were the best\\nAnd the dearest wife in town\\nThe farmer went back to the field, and the wife,\\nIn a smiling and absent way,\\nSang snatches of tender little songs\\nShe d not sung for many a day.\\nAnd the pain in her head was gone, and the clothes\\nWere white as the foam of the sea\\nHer bread was light, and her butter was sweet\\nAnd as golden as it could be.\\nJust think, the children all called in a breath,\\nTom Wood has run off to sea\\nHe would n t, I know, if he only had\\nAs happy a home as we.\\nThe night came down, and the good wife smiled\\nTo herself, as she softly said\\nT is so sweet to labor for those we love,\\nIt s not strange that maids will wed\\nTHE RING. G. E. Lessing.\\nTranslated by Miss Frothtngham.\\nIN gray antiquity there lived a man\\nIn Eastern lands, who had received a ring\\nOf priceless worth from a beloved hand.\\nIts stone, an opal, flashed a hundred colors,\\nAnd had the secret power of giving favor,\\nIn sight of God and man, to him who wore it\\nWith a believing heart. What wonder, then,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "108 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThis Eastern man would never put the ring\\nFrom off his finger, and should so provide\\nThat to his house it be preserved forever 1\\nSuch was the case. Unto the best-beloved\\nAmong his sons he left the ring, enjoining\\nThat he in turn bequeath it to the son\\nWho should be dearest and the dearest ever,\\nIn virtue of the ring, without regard\\nTo birth, be of the house the prince and head.\\nFrom son to son the ring, descending, came\\nTo one, the sire of three of whom all three\\nWere equally obedient whom all three\\nHe therefore must with equal love regard.\\nAnd yet, from time to time, now this, now that,\\nAnd now the third, as each alone was by,\\nThe others not dividing his fond heart,\\nAppeared to him the worthiest of the ring\\nWhich then, with loving weakness, he would promise\\nTo each in turn. Thus it continued long.\\nBut he must die and then the loving father\\nWas sore perplexed. It grieved him thus to wound\\nTwo faithful sons who trusted in his word\\nBut what to do 1 In secrecy he calls\\nAn artist to him, and commands of him\\nTwo other rings, the pattern of his own\\nAnd bids him neither cost nor pains to spare\\nTo make them like, precisely like to that.\\nThe artist s skill succeeds. He brings the rings,\\nAnd e en the father cannot tell his own.\\nRelieved and joyful summons he his sons,\\nEach by himself; to each one by himself\\nHe gives his blessing, and his ring, and dies.\\nBut bring your story to an end. T is ended,\\nFor what remains would tell itself. The father\\nWas scarcely dead, when each brings forth his ring,\\nAnd claims the headship. Questioning ensues,", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "THE RING. 109\\nStrife, and appeal to law but all in vain.\\nThe genuine ring was not to be distinguished,\\nAs undistinguishable as with us\\nThe true religion.\\nAs I have said\\nThe sons appealed to law, and each took oath\\nBefore the judge, that from his father s hand\\nHe had the ring, as was indeed the truth,\\nAnd had received his promise long before,\\nOne day the ring, with all its privileges,\\nShould be his own, as was not less the truth.\\nThe father could not have been false to him,\\nEoi/h one maintained and rather than allow\\nUpon the memory of so dear a father\\nSuch stain to rest, he must against his brothers,\\nThough gladly he would nothing but the best\\nBelieve of them, bring charge of treachery\\nMeans would he find the traitors to expose,\\nAnd be revenged on them.\\nThus spoke the judge Produce your father\\nAt once before me, else from my tribunal\\nDo I dismiss you. Think you I am here\\nTo guess your riddles 1 Either would you wait\\nUntil the genuine ring shall speak 1 But hold\\nA magic power in the true ring resides,\\nAs I am told, to make its wearer loved,\\nPleasing to God and man. Let that decide,\\nFor in the false can no such virtue lie.\\nWhich one among you, then, do two love best 1\\nSpeak Are you silent 1 Work the rings but backward,\\nNot outward 1 Loves each one himself the best 1\\nThen cheated cheats are all of you The rings,\\nAll three, are false. The genuine ring was lost;\\nAnd to conceal, supply the loss, the father\\nMade three in place of one.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "110 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nGo, therefore, said the judge, unless my counsel\\nYou d have in place of sentence. It were this\\nAccept the case exactly as it stands.\\nHad each his ring directly from his father,\\nLet each believe his own is genuine.\\nT is possible your father would no longer\\nHis house to one ring s tyranny subject\\nAnd certain that all three of you he loved,\\nLoved equally, since two he would not humble\\nThat one might be exalted. Let each one\\nTo his unbought, impartial love aspire\\nEach with the others vie to bring to light\\nThe virtue of the stone within his ring\\nLet gentleness, a hearty love of peace,\\nBeneficence, and perfect trust in God,\\nCome to its help. Then, if the jewel s power\\nAmong your children s children be revealed,\\nI bid you, in a thousand thousand years,\\nAgain before this bar. A wiser man\\nThan I shall occupy this seat, and speak.\\nGo Thus the modest judge dismissed them.\\nTHE MERRY SOAP-BOILER.\\nA STEADY and a skilful toiler,\\nJohn got his bread as a soap-boiler\\nEarned all he wished, his heart was light,\\nHe worked and sang from morn till night.\\nE en during meals his notes were heard,\\nAnd to his beer were oft preferred\\nAt breakfast, and at supper too,\\nHis throat had double work to do.\\nHe oftener sang than said his prayers,\\nAnd dropped asleep while humming airs\\nUntil his every next-door neighbor", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "THE MERRY SOAP-BOILER. Ill\\nHad learned the tunes that cheered his labor,\\nAnd every passer-by could tell\\nWhere merry John was wont to dwell.\\nAt reading he was rather slack,\\nStudied at most the almanac,\\nTo know when holidays were nigh,\\nAnd put his little savings by\\nBut sang the more on vacant days,\\nTo waste the less his means and ways.\\nT is always well to live and learn.\\nThe owner of the soap concern\\nA fat and wealthy burgomaster,\\nWho drank his hock and smoked his knaster,\\nAt marketing was always apter\\nThan any prelate in the chapter,\\nAnd thought a pheasant in sour-krout\\nSuperior to a turkey-poult\\nBut woke at times before daybreak\\nWith heartburn, gout, or liver-ache\\nOft heard our skylark of the garret\\nSing to his slumber, but to mar it.\\nHe sent for John one day, and said,\\nWhat s your year s income from your trade\\nMaster, I never thought of counting\\nTo what my earnings are amounting\\nAt the year s end if every Monday\\nI ve paid my meat and drink for Sunday,\\nAnd something in the box unspent\\nRemains for fuel, clothes, and rent,\\nI ve husbanded the needful scot,\\nAnd feel quite easy with my lot.\\nThe maker of the almanac\\nMust, like your lordship, know no lack,\\nElse a red-letter, earnless day\\nWould oftener be struck away.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "112 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nJohn, you ve been long a faithful fellow,\\nThough always merry, seldom mellow.\\nTake this rouleau of fifty dollars,\\nMy purses glibly slip their collars,\\nBut before breakfast let this singing\\nNo longer in my ears be ringing\\nWhen once your lips and eyes unclose,\\nI must forego my morning doze.\\nJohn blushes, bows, and stammers thanks,\\nAnd steals away on bended shanks,\\nHiding and hugging his new treasure,\\nAs had it been a stolen seizure.\\nAt home he bolts his chamber-door,\\nViews, counts, and weighs his tinkling store,\\nNor trusts it to the savings-box\\nTill he has screwed on double locks.\\nHis dog and he play tricks no more,\\nThey re rival watchmen of the door.\\nSmall wish has he to sing a word,\\nLest thieves should climb his stair unheard.\\nAt length he finds, the more he saves,\\nThe more he frets, the more he craves\\nThat his old freedom was a blessing\\n111 sold for all he s now possessing.\\nOne day, he to his master went\\nAnd carried back his hoard unspent.\\nMaster, says he, I ve heard of old,\\nDnblest is he who watches gold.\\nTake back your present, and restore\\nThe cheerfulness I knew before.\\nI 11 take a room not quite so near,\\nOut of your worship s reach of ear,\\nSing at my pleasure, laugh at sorrow,\\nEnjoy to-day, nor dread to-morrow,\\nBe still the steady, honest toiler,\\nThe merry John, the old soap-boiler.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "DEATH OF POOR JO. 113\\nDEATH OF POOR JO. Dickens.\\nJO is very glad to see his old friend, and says, when they\\nare left alone, that he takes it uncommon kind as Mr.\\nSangsby should come so far out of his way on accounts of sich\\nas him. Mr. Snagsby, touched by the spectacle before him,\\nimmediately lays upon the table half a crown, that magic\\nbalm of his for all kinds of wounds.\\nAnd how do you find yourself, my poor lad 1 inquires the\\nstationer, with his cough of sympathy.\\nI am in luck, Mr. Sangsby, I am, returns Jo, and don t\\nwant for nothink. I m more cumf bier nor you can t think.\\nMr. Sangsby I m wery sorry that I done it, but I did n t\\ngo fur to do it, sir.\\nThe stationer softly lays down another half-crown, and asks\\nhim what it is that he is so sorry for having done.\\n11 Mr. Sangsby, says Jo, I w T ent and give a illness to the\\nlady as wos and yit as warn t the t other lady, and none of em\\nnever says nothink to me for having done it, on accounts of\\ntheir being ser good and my having been s unfortnet. The\\nlady come herself and see me yesday, and she ses, Ah, Jo\\nshe ses. 4 We thought we d lost you, Jo she ses. And she\\nsits down a smilin so quiet, and don t pass a word nor yit a\\nlook upon me for having done it, she don t, and I turns agin\\nthe wall, I doos, Mr. Sangsby. And Mr. Jarnders, I see him\\nforced to turn away his own self. And Mr. Woodcot, he come\\nfur to giv me somethink for to ease me, wot he s alius a doin\\non day and night, and wen he come a bendin over me and a\\nspeakin up so bold, I see his tears a fallin Mr. Sangsby.\\nThe softened stationer deposits another half-crown on the\\ntable. Nothing less than a repetition of that infallible remedy\\nwill relieve his feelings.\\nWot I wos a thinkin on, Mr. Sangsby, proceeds Jo, wos,\\nas you wos able to write wery large, p r aps\\nYes, Jo, please God, returns the stationer.\\nUncommon precious large, p r aps 1 says Jo, with eager-\\nness.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "114 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nu Yes, my poor boy.\\nJo laughs with pleasure. Wot I was thinkin on then, Mr.\\nSangsby, wos, that wen I was moved on as fur as ever I could\\ngo and could n t be moved no furder, whether you might be\\nso good, p r aps, as to write out, wery large so that any one\\ncould see it anywheres, as that I wos wery truly hearty sorry\\nthat I done it and that I never went fur to do it and that\\nthough I did n t know nothink at all, I knowd as Mr. Wood-\\ncot once cried over it and wos alius grieved over it, and that\\nI hoped as he d be able to forgiv me in his mind. If the\\nwritin could be made to say it wery large, he might.\\nIt shall say it, Jo. Very large.\\nJo laughs again. Thank ee, Mr. Sangsby. It s wery kind\\nof you, sir, and it makes me more cumf bier nor I was afore.\\nThe meek little stationer, with a broken and unfinished\\ncough, slips down his fourth half-crown, he has never been\\nso close to a case requiring so many, and is fain to depart.\\nAnd Jo and he upon this little earth shall meet no more.\\nNo more.\\nFor the cart, so hard to draw, is near its journey s end, and\\ndrags over stony ground. All round the clock, it labors up\\nthe broken steeps, shattered and worn. Not many times can\\nthe sun rise, and behold it still upon its weary road.\\nJo is in a sleep or stupor to-day, and Allan Woodcourt,\\nnewly arrived, stands by him, looking down upon his wasted\\nform. After a while, he softly seats himself upon the bedside\\nwith his face toward him, and touches his chest and heart.\\nThe cart had very nearly given up, but labors on a little\\nmore.\\nWell, Jo What is the matter Don t be frightened.\\nI thought, says Jo, who has started, and is looking\\nround, I thought I was in Tom-all-Alone s agin. An t\\nthere nobody here but you, Mr. Woodcot?\\nNobody.\\nAnd I an t took back to Tom-all-Alone s. Am I, sir 1\\nNo. Jo closes his eyes, muttering, I m wery thankful.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "DEATH OF POOR JO. 115\\nAfter watching him closely a little while, Allan puts his\\nmouth very near his ear, and says to him in a low, distinct\\nvoice,\\nJo Did you ever know a prayer 1\\nNever knowd nothink, sir.\\nNot so much as one short prayer\\nNo, sir. Nothink at all. Mr. Chadbands he wos a prayin\\nwunst at Mr. Sangsby s, and I heerd him, but he sounded as\\nif he wos speakin to hisself, and not to me. He prayed a\\nlot, but could n t make out nothink on it. Different times\\nthere wos other genlmen come down Tom-all- Alone s a prayin\\nbut they all mostly sed as the t other wuns prayed wrong, and\\nall mostly sounded to be a talking to theirselves, or a passing\\nblame on the t others, and not a talkin to us. We never\\nknowd nothink. never knowd what it wos all about.\\nIt takes him a long time to say this and few but an\\nexperienced and attentive listener could hear, or, hearing,\\nunderstand him. After a short relapse into sleep or stupor,\\nhe makes, of a sudden, a strong effort to get out of bed.\\nStay, Jo, stay What now 1\\nIt s time for me to go to that there berryin-ground, sir,\\nhe returns, with a wild look.\\nLie down, and tell me. What burying-ground, Jo 1\\nWhere they laid him as wos wery good to me wery good\\nto me indeed, he wos. It s time fur me to go down to that\\nthere berryin-ground, sir, and ask to be put along with him.\\nI wants to go there and be berried. He used fur to say to\\nme, I am as poor as you to-day, Jo, he ses. I wants to tell\\nhim that I am as poor as him now, and have come there to\\nbe laid along with him.\\nBy and by, Jo. By and by.\\nAh P r aps they would n t do it if I wos to go myself.\\nBut will you promise to have me took there, sir, and have me\\nlaid along with him 1\\nI will, indeed.\\nThank ee, sir Thank ee, sir They 11 have to get the key\\nof the gate afore they can take m 2 in, for it s alius locked.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "116 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nAnd there s a step there, as I used fur to clean with my\\nbroom. It s turned wery dark, sir. Is there any light\\na comin 1\\nIt is coming fast, Jo.\\nFast. The cart is shaken all to pieces, and the rugged\\nroad is very near its end.\\nJo, my poor fellow\\nI hear you, sir, in the dark, but I m a gropin a gropin\\nlet me catch hold of your hand.\\nJo, can you say what I say 1\\nI 11 say anythink as you say, sir, for I knows it s good.\\nOur Father.\\nOur Father yes, that s wery good, sir.\\nWhich art in Heaven.\\nArt in Heaven is the light a comin sir 1\\nIt is close at hand. Hallowed be thy name\\nHallowed be thy name\\nThe light is come upon the dark benighted war. Dead\\nDead, your Majesty. Dead, my lords and gentlemen. Dead,\\nRight Reverends and Wrong Reverends of every orde*\\\\ Dead,\\nmen and women, born with heavenly compassion m your\\nhearts. And dying thus around us every day\\nADDRESS OF LEONID AS. Richard Glover.\\nHE alone\\nRemains unshaken. Rising, he displays\\nHis godlike presence. Dignity and grace\\nAdorn his frame, and manly beauty, joined\\nWith strength herculean. On his aspect shines\\nSublimest virtue and desire of fame,\\nWhere justice gives the laurel in his eye\\nThe inextinguishable spark, which fires\\nThe souls of patriots while his brow supports\\nUndaunted valor and contempt of death.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "ANNABEL LEE. 117\\nSerene he rose, and thus addressed the throng\\nM Why this astonishment on every face,\\nYe men of Sparta 1 Does the name of death\\nCreate this fear and wonder 1 my friends\\nWhy do we labor through the arduous paths\\nWhich lead to virtue 1 Fruitless were the toil,\\nAbove the reach of human feet were placed\\nThe distant summit, if the fear of death\\nCould intercept our passage. Bat in vain\\nHis blackest frowns and terrors he assumes\\nTo shake the firmness of the mind which knows\\nThat, wanting virtue, life is pain and woe\\nThat, wanting liberty, even virtue mourns,\\nAnd looks around for happiness in vain.\\nThen speak, Sparta and demand my life\\nMy heart, exulting, answers to thy call,\\nAnd smiles on glorious fate. To live with fame\\nThe gods allow to many but to die\\nWith equal lustre is a blessing Heaven\\nSelects from all the choicest boons of fate,\\nAnd with a sparing hand on few bestows.\\nSalvation thus to Sparta he proclaimed.\\nJoy, wrapped awhile in admiration, paused\\nSuspending praise nor praise at last resounds\\nIn high acclaim to rend the arch of Heaven\\nA reverential murmur breathes applause.\\nANNABEL LEE. Edgar A. Poe.\\nIT was many and many a year ago,\\nIn a kingdom by the sea,\\nThat a maiden there lived whom you may know\\nBy the name of Annabel Lee.\\nAnd this maiden she lived with no other thought\\nThan to love and be loved by me.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "118 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nI was a child and she was a child,\\nIn this kingdom by the sea\\nBut we loved with a love that was more than love,\\nI and my Annabel Lee\\nWith a love that the winged seraphs of heaven\\nCoveted her and me.\\nAnd this was the reason that, long ago,\\nIn this kingdom by the sea,\\nA wind blew out of a cloud, chilling\\nMy beautiful Annabel Lee\\nSo that her high-born kinsmen came\\nAnd bore her away from me,\\nTo shut her up in a sepulchre\\nIn this kingdom by the sea.\\nOur love it was stronger by far than the love\\nOf those who were older than we,\\nOf many far wiser than we\\nAnd neither the angels in heaven above,\\nNor the demons down under the sea,\\nCan ever dissever my soul from the soul\\nOf the beautiful Annabel Lee.\\nFor the moon never beams without bringing me dreams\\nOf this beautiful Annabel Lee\\nAnd the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes\\nOf the beautiful Annabel Lee\\nAnd so all the night-tide I lie down by the side\\nOf my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,\\nIn the sepulchre there by the sea,\\nIn her tomb by the sounding sea.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "BOY LOST. 119\\nBOY LOST.\\nHE had black eyes, with long lashes, red cheeks, and hair\\nalmost black and almost curly. He wore a crimson\\nplaid jacket, with full trousers buttoned on had a habit of\\nwhistling, and liked to ask questions was accompanied by a\\nsmall black dog. It is a long while now since he disappeared.\\nI have a very pleasant house and much company. My guests\\nsay, Ah it is pleasant here Everything has such an\\norderly, put-away look, nothing about under foot, no\\ndirt\\nBut my eyes are aching for the sight of whittlings and cut\\npaper upon the floor, of tumble-down card-houses, of wooden\\nsheep and cattle, of pop-guns, bows and arrows, whips, tops,\\ngo-carts, blocks, and trumpery. I want to see boats a-rigging,\\nand kites a-making, crumbles on the carpet, and paste spilt on\\nthe kitchen-table. I want to see the chairs and tables turned\\nthe wrong way about. I want to see candy-making and corn-\\npopping, and to find jack-knives and fish-hooks among my\\nmuslins. Yet these things used to fret me once.\\nThey say, How quiet you are here Ah one here may\\nsettle his brains and be at peace. But my ears are aching\\nfor the pattering of little feet, for a hearty shout, a shrill\\nwhistle, a gay tra-la-la, for the crack of little whips, for the\\nnoise of drums, fifes, and tin trumpets yet these things made\\nme nervous once.\\nThey say, Ah! you have leisure, nothing to disturb\\nyou what heaps of sewing you have time for But I long\\nto be asked for a bit of string or an old newspaper, for a cent\\nto buy a slate-pencil or peanuts. I want to be coaxed for a\\npiece of new cloth for jibs or main-sails, and then to hem the\\nsame. I want to make little flags, and bags to hold marbles.\\nI want to be followed by little feet all over the house, teasing\\nfor a bit of dough, for a little cake, or to bake a pie in a sau-\\ncer. Yet these things used to fidget me once.\\nThey say, Ah you are not tied at home How delight-", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "120 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nful to be always at liberty to go to concerts, lectures, and\\nparties No confinement for you.\\nBut I want confinement. I want to listen for the school-\\nbell mornings, to give the last hasty wash and brush, and\\nthen to watch from the window nimble feet bounding to\\nschool. I want frequent rents to mend, and to replace\\nlost buttons. I want to obliterate mud-stains, fruit-stains,\\nmolasses-stains, and paints of all colors. I want to be sitting\\nby a little crib of evenings, when weary feet are at rest, and\\nprattling voices are hushed that mothers may sing their lulla-\\nbys, and tell over the oft-repeated stories. They don t know\\ntheir happiness then, those mothers. I did n t. All these\\nthings I called confinement once.\\nA manly figure stands before me now. He is taller than\\nI, has thick black whiskers, and wears a frock-coat, bosomed\\nshirt, and cravat. He has just come from college. He brings\\nLatin and Greek in his countenance, and busts of the old\\nphilosophers for the sitting-room. He calls me mother, but\\nI am rather unwilling to own him.\\nHe stoutly declares that he is my boy, and says that he\\nwill prove it. He brings me a small pair of white trousers,\\nwith gay stripes at the sides, and asks if I did n t make\\nthem for him when he joined the boys militia. He says he\\nis the very boy, too, that made the bonfire near the barn, so\\nthat we came very near having a fire in earnest. I see it all.\\nMy little boy is lost. 0, I wish he were a little tired boy,\\nin a long white nightgown, lying in his crib, with me sitting\\nby, holding his hand in mine, pushing the curls back from his\\nforehead, watching his eyelids droop, and listening to his deep\\nbreathing\\nIf I only had my little boy again, how patient I would be\\nHow much I would bear, and how little I would fret and\\nscold I can never have him back again but there are still\\nmany mothers who have n t yet lost their little boys. I won-\\nder if they know they are living their very best days that\\nnow is the time to really enjoy their children.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "BORRIOBOOLA GHA. 121\\nBORRIOBOOLA GHA. 0. Goodrich.\\nA STRANGER preached last Sunday,\\nAnd crowds of people came\\nTo hear a two hours sermon\\nOn a theme I scarce can name\\nT was all about some heathen,\\nThousands of miles afar,\\nWho live in a land of darkness,\\nCalled Borrioboola Gha.\\nSo well their wants he pictured,\\nThat when the box was passed,\\nEach listener felt his pocket,\\nAnd goodly sums were cast\\nFor all must lend a shoulder\\nTo push the rolling car\\nThat carries light and comfort\\nTo Borrioboola Gha.\\nThat night their wants and sorrows\\nLay heavy on my soul,\\nAnd deep in meditation,\\nI took my morning stroll,\\nWhen something caught my mantle\\nWith eager grasp and wild\\nAnd, looking down in wonder,\\nI saw a little child,\\nA pale and puny creature,\\nIn rags and dirt forlorn\\nWhat do you want 1 I asked her,\\nImpatient to be gone\\nWith trembling voice she answered,\\nWe live just down the street,\\nAnd mamma, she s a-dying,\\nAnd we ve nothing left to eat.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "122 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nDown in a dark, damp cellar,\\nWith mould o er all the walls,\\nThrough whose half-buried windows\\nGod s sunlight never falls\\nWhere cold and want and hunger\\nCrouched near her as she lay,\\nI found that poor child s mother,\\nGasping her life away.\\nA chair, a broken table,\\nA bed of mouldy straw,\\nA hearth all dark and firelesa\\nBut these I scarcely saw,\\nFor the mournful sight before me,\\nSo sad and sickening, 0,\\nI had never, never pictured\\nA scene so full of woe\\nThe famished and the naked,\\nThe babe that pined for bread,\\nThe squalid group that huddled\\nAround that dying bed\\nAll this distress and sorrow\\nShould be in lands afar\\nWas I suddenly transported\\nTo Borrioboola Gha 1\\nAh no the poor and wretched\\nWere close beside my door,\\nAnd I had passed them heedless\\nA thousand times before\\nAlas, for the cold and hungry\\nThat met me every day,\\nWhile all my tears were given\\nTo the suffering far away\\nThere s work enough for Christians,\\nIn distant lands, we know,", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "THE OLD APPLE-WOMAN. 123\\nOur Lord commands his servants\\nThrough all the world to go,\\nNot only to the heathen j\\nThis was his command to them\\nGo, preach the Word, beginning\\nHere, at Jerusalem.\\nChristian, God has promised\\nWhoe er to such has given\\nA cup of pure, cold water\\nShall find reward in heaven.\\nWould you secure this blessing 1\\nYou need not seek it far\\nGo find in yonder hovel\\nA Borrioboola Gha.\\nTHE OLD APPLE-WOMAN.\\nONCE she was fair as thou\\nHad ringlets on her brow\\nDo not despise her now,\\nNot now.\\nShe sitteth in the cold\\nShe seemeth very old\\nBe not to her too bold,\\nToo bold.\\nShe sitteth in the heat\\nIn the hot and jostling street\\nShe never seems to eat,\\nTo eat.\\nFrom earliest morning light\\nTo the dim shades of the night,\\nA patient, weary sight,\\nWeary sight.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "124 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nNo one e er comes to greet,\\nAs she sits on the street\\nSits ever o er her feet,\\nHer feet.\\nYet all do pass that way,\\nThe young, old, grave, and gay\\nYet no one goes to say\\nGood day.\\nShe looketh on her stand\\nShe wipes it with her hand,\\nWipes apples, dust, and sand\\nWith her hand.\\nYou stop and ask the way\\nOne cent, you hear her say\\nNaught else she saith all day,\\nAll day.\\nThe crowd it ebbs and flows,\\nEach season comes and goes\\nThe only change she knows,\\nOne cent.\\nNo one e er calls the name\\nOf that aged, crooning dame\\nNone knoweth whence she came,\\nShe came.\\nYet she hath been a bride\\nStood by a mother s side\\nWas once a husband s pride,\\nHis pride.\\nShe had a home as thou\\nGone are both fruit and bough", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "THE VAGABONDS. 125\\nDeal gently with her now,\\nGently now.\\nOne home ye both shall have\\nOne hope beyond the grave\\nOne faith ye both shall save,\\nShall save.\\nTHE VAGABONDS. J. T. Trowbridge.\\nWE are two travellers, Roger and I.\\nRoger s my dog. Come here, you scamp\\nJump for the gentlemen, mind your eye I\\nOver the table, look out for the lamp\\nThe rogue is growing a little old\\nFive years we ve tramped through wind and weather,\\nAnd slept out doors when nights were cold,\\nAnd ate and drank and starved together.\\nWe ve learned what comfort is, I tell you\\nA bed on the floor, a bit of rosin,\\nA fire to thaw our thumbs, (poor fellow\\nThe paw he holds up there s been frozen,)\\nPlenty of catgut for my fiddle,\\n(This out-door business is bad for strings,)\\nThen a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle,\\nAnd Roger and I set up for kings\\nNo, thank ye, sir, I never drink\\nRoger and I are exceedingly moral,\\nAre n t we, Roger 1 See him wink\\nWell, something hot, then, we won t quarrel.\\nHe s thirsty, too, see him nod his head\\nWhat a pity, sir, that dogs can t talk\\nHe understands every word that s said,\\nAnd he knows good milk from water-and-chalk.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "126 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThe truth is, sir, now T reflect,\\nI ve been so sadly given to grog,\\nI wonder I ve not lost the respect\\n(Here s to you, sir even of my dog.\\nBut he sticks by, through thick and thin\\nAnd this old coat, with its empty pockets,\\nAnd rags that smell of tobacco and gin,\\nHe 11 follow while he has eyes in his sockets.\\nThere is n t another creature living\\nWould do it, and prove, through every disaster,\\nSo fond, so faithful, and so forgiving,\\nTo such a miserable thankless master\\nNo, sir see him wag his tail and grin\\nBy George it makes my old eyes water\\nThat is, there s something in this gin\\nThat chokes a fellow. But no matter\\nWe 11 have some music, if you re willing,\\nAnd Roger (hem what a plague a cough is, sir\\nShall march a little. Start, you villain\\nStand straight J Bout face Salute your officer 1\\nPut up that paw Dress Take your rifle\\n(Some dogs have arms, you see Now hold your\\nCap while the gentleman gives a trifle,\\nTo aid a poor old patriot soldier\\nMarch Halt Now show how the rebel shakes,\\nWhen he stands up to hear his sentence.\\nNow tell us how many drams it takes\\nTo honor a jolly new acquaintance.\\nFive yelps, that s five he s mighty knowing I\\nThe night s before us, fill the glasses\\nQuick, sir I m ill, my brain is going\\nSome brandy, thank you, there it passes\\nWhy not reform 1 That s easily said\\nBut I ve gone through such wretched treatment,", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "THE VAGABONDS. 127\\nSometimes forgetting the taste of bread,\\nAnd scarce remembering what meat meant,\\nThat my poor stomach s past reform\\nAnd there are times when, mad with thinking,\\nI d sell out heaven for something warm\\nTo prop a horrible inward sinking.\\nIs there a way to forget to think 1\\nAt your age, sir, home, fortune, friends,\\nA dear girl s love, but I took to drink\\nThe same old story you know how it enda.\\nIf you could have seen these classic features,\\nYou need n t laugh, sir they were not thea\\nSuch a burning libel on God s creatures\\nI was one of your handsome men\\nIf you had seen her, so fair and young,\\nWhose head was happy on this breast\\nIf you could have heard the songs I sung\\nWhen the wine went round, you would n t have guessed\\nThat ever I, sir, should be straying\\nFrom door to door, with fiddle and dog,\\nKagged and penniless, and playing\\nTo you to-night for a glass of grog\\nShe s married since, a parson s wife\\nT was better for her that we should part,\\nBetter the soberest, prosiest life\\nThan a blasted home and a broken heart.\\nI have seen her 1 Once I was weak and spent\\nOn the dusty road a carriage stopped\\nBut little she dreamed, as on she went,\\nWho kissed the coin that her fingers dropped I\\nYou ve set me talking, sir I m sorry\\nIt makes me wild to think of the change\\nWhat do you care for a beggar s story\\nIs it amusing 1 you find it strange 1", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "128\\nPUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nI had a mother so proud of me\\nT was well she died before Do you know\\nIf the happy spirits in heaven can see\\nThe ruin and wretchedness here below 1\\nAnother glass, and strong, to deaden\\nThis pain then Roger and I will start.\\nI wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden,\\nAching thing, in place of a heart\\nHe is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could,\\nNo doubt, remembering things that were,\\nA virtuous kennel, with plenty of food,\\nAnd himself a sober, respectable cur.\\nI m better now that glass was warming.\\nYou rascal limber your lazy feet\\nWe must be fiddling and performing\\nFor supper and bed, or starve in the street.\\nNot a very gay life to lead, you think 1\\nBut soon we shall go where lodgings are free,\\nAnd the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink\\nThe sooner, the better for Roger and me\\nOUTWARD BOUND.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 William Allingham.\\nCLINK clink clink goes our windlass.\\nAhoy Haul in Let go\\nYards braced and sails set,\\nFlags uncurl and flow.\\nSome eyes that watch from shore are wet,\\n(How bright their welcome shone\\nWhile, bending softly to the breeze,\\nAnd rushiug through the parted seas,\\nOur gallant ship glides on.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "DIGGING FOR HIDDEN TREASURE. 129\\nThough one has left a sweetheart,\\nAnd one has left a wife,\\nT will never do to mope and fret,\\nOr curse a sailors life.\\nSee, far away they signal yet,\\nThey dwindle, fade, they re gone\\nFor, dashing outwards, bold and brave,\\nAnd springing light from wave to wave,\\nOur merry ship flies on.\\nGay spreads the sparkling ocean\\nBut many a gloomy night\\nAnd stormy morrow must be met\\nEre next we heave in sight.\\nThe parting look we 11 ne er forget,\\nThe kiss, the benison,\\nAs round the rolling world we go.\\nGod bless you all Blow, breezes, blow\\nSail on, good ship, sail on\\nDIGGING FOR HIDDEN TREASURE.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Chakles Reade.\\nTV yT~Y lad, I should like to tell you a story, but I suppose\\n-i-VJ_ I shall make a bungle of it sha n t cut the furrow\\nclean, I m doubtful.\\nNever mind try\\nWell then. Once upon a time there was an old chap\\nthat had heard or read about treasures being found in odd\\nplaces, a pot full of guineas, or something, and it took\\nroot in his heart, till nothing would serve him but he must\\nfind a pot of guineas too. He used to poke about all the old\\nruins, grubbing away, and would have taken up the floor\\nof the church, but the church-wardens would not have it.\\nOne morning he comes down and says to his wife, It is all\\nright, old woman I ve found the treasure.\\n6* i", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "130 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nw No have you though says she.\\nYes says he leastways it is as good as found it is\\nonly waiting till I ve had my breakfast, and then I 11 go out\\nand fetch it in.\\nLa, John, but how did you find it\\nIt was revealed to me in a dream, says he, as grave as a\\njudge.\\nAnd where is it 7 asks the old woman.\\nUnder a tree in our own orchard, no farther, says he.\\nJohn how long you are at breakfast to-day\\nUp they both got, and into the orchard.\\nNow, which tree is it under 1\\nJohn, he scratches his head. Blest if I know/\\nWhy, you old ninny, says the mistress, did n t you\\ntake the trouble to notice 1\\nThat I did, said he 1 saw plain enough which tree it\\nwas in my dream, but now they muddle it all, there are so\\nmany of em.\\nDrat your stupid old head says she why did n t\\nyou put a nick on the right one at the time\\nWell, says he, I must dig till I find the right one.\\nThe wife she loses heart at this for there were eighty\\napple-trees and a score of cherry-trees. Mind you don t cut\\nthe roots, says she, and she heaves a sigh.\\nJohn, he gives them bad language, root and branch.\\n1 What signifies cut or not cut the old fagots, they don t\\nbear me a bushel of fruit, the whole lot. They used to\\nbear two sacks apiece in father s time. Drat em\\nWell, John, says the old woman, smoothing him down,\\nfather used to give them a deal of attention.\\nl T ain t that t ain t that says he, quick and spite-\\nful-like they have got old like ourselves, and good for fire\\nwood.\\nOut pickaxe and spade, and digs three feet deep round\\none, and, finding nothing but mould, goes at another, makes\\na little mound all round him too, no guinea-pot.\\nWell, the village let him dig three or four quiet enough", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "DIGGING FOR HIDDEN TREASURE* 131\\nbut after that curiosity was awakened^ and while John was\\ndigging, and that was all day, there was mostly seven or\\neight watching through the fence and passing their jests.\\nAfter a bit, a fashion came up of flinging a stone or two at\\nJohn then John, he brought out his gun loaded with dust-\\nshot along with his pick and spade, and the first stone\\ncame he fired sharp in that direction, and then loaded again.\\nSo they took that hint, and John dug on in peace till about\\nthe fourth Sunday, and then the parson had a slap at him\\nin church. Folks were not to heap up to themselves\\ntreasures on earth, was all his discourse.\\nBut it seemed he was only heaping up mould for when\\nhe had dug the five-score holes, no pot of gold came to light.\\nThen the neighbors called the orchard Jacobs s Folly his\\nname was Jacobs, John Jacobs.\\nNow then, wife, says he, suppose you and I look\\nout for another village to live in, for their gibes are more\\nthan I can bear.\\nOld woman begins to cry. Been here so long, brought\\nme home here, John, when we were first married, John, and\\nI wa? a comely lass, and you the smartest young man I ever\\nsaw, to my fancy anyway could n t sleep or eat my victuals\\nin any house but this. 1\\nOh could n t ye Well, then, we must stay perhaps\\nit will blow over.\\nLike everything else, John; but, dear John, do ye fill\\nin those holes the young folk come far and wide on Sundays\\nto see them.\\nWife, I have n t the heart, says he. You see, when\\nI was digging for the treasure I was always a going to find,\\nit kept my heart up but take out a shovel and fill them in,\\nI d as lief dine off white of egg on a Sunday.\\nSo for six blessed months the heaps were out in the heat\\nand frost till the end of February, and then when the weather\\nbroke, the old man takes heart and fills them in, and the\\nvillage soon forgot Jacobs s Folly because it was out of\\nsight.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "132 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nComes April, and out burst the trees. Wife, says he,\\nour bloom is richer than I ve known it this many a year\\nit is richer than our neighbors Bloom dies, and then\\nout come about a million little green things quite hard.\\nMichaelmas Day the old trees were staggering, and\\nthe branches down to the ground with the crop; thirty\\nshillings on every tree one with another and so on for the\\nnext year, and the next; sometimes more, sometimes less,\\naccording to the year. Trees were old and wanted a change.\\nHis letting in the air to them and turning the subsoil up\\nto the frost and sun had renewed their youth. So by that\\nhe learned that tillage is the way to get treasure from\\nthe earth. Men are ungrateful at times, but the soil is\\nnever ungrateful it always makes a return for the pains\\nwe give it.\\nTHE OLD SERGEANT. Forcetthe Willson.\\nJanuary 1, 1863.\\nTHE carrier cannot sing to-day the ballads\\nWith which he used to go,\\nRhyming the glad rounds of the happy New Years\\nThat are now beneath the snow.\\nFor the same awful and portentous shadow\\nThat overcast the earth,\\nAnd smote the land last year with desolation,\\nStill darkens every hearth.\\nAnd the carrier hears Beethoven s mighty death-march\\nCome up from every mart\\nAnd he hears and feels it breathing in his bosom,\\nAnd beating in his heart.\\nAnd to-day, a scarred and weather-beaten veteran,\\nAgain he comes along,", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "THE OLD SERGEANT. 133\\nTo tell the story of the Old Year s struggles\\nIn another New Year s song.\\nAnd the song is his, but not so with the story,\\nFor the story, you must know,\\nWas told in prose to Assistant Surgeon Austin,\\nBy a soldier of Shiloh.\\nBy Robert Burton, who was brought up on the Adams,\\nWith his death-wound in his side\\nAnd who told the story to the assistant surgeon\\nOn the same night that he died.\\nBut the singer feels it will better suit the ballad,\\nIf all should deem it right,\\nTo tell the story as if what it speaks of\\nHad happened but last night.\\nCome a little nearer, doctor, thank you, let me take\\nthe cup\\nDraw your chair up, draw it closer, just another little\\nsup!\\nMaybe you may think I m better but I m pretty well\\nused up,\\nDoctor, you ve done all you could do, but I m just a going up\\nFeel my pulse, sir, if you want to, but it ain t much use to\\ntry\\nNever say that, said the surgeon, as he smothered down a\\ny\\nIt will never do, old comrade, for a soldier to say die\\nWhat you say will make no difference, doctor, when you\\ncome to die.\\nDoctor, what has been the matter 1 You were very\\nfaint, they say\\nYou must try to get some sleep now. Doctor, have I\\nbeen away 1", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "134 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nNot that anybody knows of Doctor, doctor, please\\nto stay\\nThere is something I must tell you, and you won t have long\\nto stay\\nI have got my marching orders, and I m ready now to go\\nDoctor, did you say I fainted 1 but it could n t ha been\\nso,\\nFor as sure asl ma sergeant, and was wounded at Shiloh,\\nI ve this very night been back there, on the old field of\\nShiloh\\nThis is all that I remember The last time the lighter\\ncame,\\nAnd the lights had all been lowered, and the noises much the\\nsame,\\nHe had not been gone five minutes before something called\\nmy name\\n1 Orderly Sergeant Robert Burton just that way it\\ncalled my name.\\nAnd I wondered who could call me so distinctly and so\\nslow,\\nKnew it could n t be the lighter, he could not have spoken\\nso,\\nAnd I tried to answer, Here, sir but I could n t make it go\\nFor I could n t move a muscle, and I could n t make it go\\nThen I thought It s all a nightmare, all a humbug and\\na bore\\nJust another foolish grape-vine, and it won t come any\\nmore\\nBut it came, sir, notwithstanding, just the same way as\\nbefore\\nOrderly Sergeant Robert Burton even plainer than\\nbefore.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "THE OLD SERGEANT. 135\\nu That is all that I remember, till a sudden burst of light,\\nAnd I stood beside the river, where we stood that Sunday\\nnight,\\nWaiting to be ferried over to the dark bluffs opposite,\\nWhen the river was perdition and all hell was opposite J\\nAnd the same old palpitation came again in all its power,\\nAnd I heard a bugle sounding, as from some celestial tower\\nAnd the same mysterious voice said It is the eleventh\\nhour\\nOrderly Sergeant Robert Burton, it is the eleventh\\nhour\\nDoctor Austin what day is this 1 It is Wednesday\\nnight, you know.\\nYes, to-morrow will be New Year s, and a right good\\ntime below\\nWhat time is it, Doctor Austin 1 Nearly twelve. Then\\ndon t you go\\nCan it be that all this happened all this not an hour\\nago?\\nThere was where the gunboats opened on the dark rebel-\\nlious host\\nAnd where Webster semicircled his last guns upon the coast\\nThere were still the two log-houses, just the same, or else\\ntheir ghost,\\nAud the same old transport came and took me over, or its\\nghost\\nAnd the old field lay before me all deserted far and wide\\nThere was where they fell on Prentiss, there McClernand\\nmet the tide\\nThere was where stern Sherman rallied, and where Hurlbut s\\nheroes died,\\nLower down where Wallace charged them, and kept charging\\ntill he died.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "136 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThere was where Lew Wallace showed them he was of the\\ncanny kin,\\nThere was where old Nelson thundered, and where Rousseau\\nwaded in\\nThere McCook sent em. to breakfast, and we all began to win,\\nThere was where the grape-shot took me, just as we began to\\nwin.\\nNow a shroud of snow and silence over everything was\\nspread\\nAnd but for this old blue mantle and the old hat on my head,\\nI should not have even doubted, to this moment, I was dead,\\nFor my footsteps were as silent as the snow upon the dead\\nDeath and silence death and silence all around me as\\nI sped\\nAnd behold a mighty tower, as if builded to the dead,\\nTo the heaven of the heavens, lifted up its mighty head,\\nTill the stars and stripes of heaven all seemed waving from\\nits head\\nRound and mighty-based it towered, up into the infi-\\nnite,\\nAnd I knew no mortal mason could have built a shaft so\\nbright\\nFor it shone like solid sunshine and a winding stair of\\nlight\\nWound around it and around it till it wound clear out of\\nsight\\nAnd, behold, as I approached it, with a rapt and dazzled\\nstare,\\nThinking that I saw old comrades just ascending the great\\nstair,\\nSuddenly the solemn challenge broke of Halt, and who\\ngoes there 1\\nI ma friend, I said, if you are. Then advance, sir, to\\nthe stair", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "THE OLD SERGEANT. 137\\nI advanced! That sentry, doctor, was Elijah Ballan-\\ntyne\\nFirst of all to fall on Monday, after we had formed the\\nline\\nWelcome, my old sergeant, welcome Welcome by that\\ncountersign\\nAnd he pointed to the scar there, under this old cloak of\\nmine\\nAs he grasped my hand, I shuddered, thinking only of the\\ngrave;\\nBut he smiled and pointed upward with a bright and blood-\\nless glaive\\nThat s the way, sir, to head-quarters. What head-quar-\\nters V Of the brave.\\n4 But the great tower 1 That, he answered, is the way,\\nsir, of the brave\\nThen a sudden shame came o er me at his uniform of light\\nAt my own so old and tattered, and at his so new and bright.\\nAh said he, you have forgotten the new uniform to-\\nnight,\\nHurry back, for you must be here at just twelve o clock to-\\nnight\\nAnd the next thing I remember, you were sitting there,\\nand I\\nDoctor, did you hear a footstep] Hark God bless you\\naU Good by\\nDoctor, please to give my musket and my knapsack, when I\\ndie,\\nTo my son my son that s coming, he won t get here till\\nI die\\nTell him his old father blessed him as he never did\\nbefore,\\nAnd to carry that old musket Hark a knock is at the\\ndoor", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "138 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nTill the Union See it opens Father Father\\nspeak once more\\nBless you gasped the old gray sergeant, and he lay and\\nsaid no more\\nLITTLE GOLDENHAIR.\\naOLDENHAIR climbed up on grandpapa s knee\\nDear little Goldenhair, tired was she,\\nAll the day busy as busy could be.\\nUp in the morning as soon as t was light,\\nOut with the birds and butterflies bright,\\nSkipping about till the coming of night.\\nGrandpapa toyed with the curls on her head.\\nWhat has my darling been doing, he said,\\nSince she rose with the sun from her bed\\nPitty much, answered the sweet little one.\\nI cannot tell so much things I have done,\\nPlayed with my dolly and feeded my bun.\\nAnd then I jumped with my little jump-rope,\\nAnd I made out of some water and soap\\nBootiful worlds, mamma s castles of hope.\\nThen I have readed in my picture-book,\\nAnd Bella and I, we went to look\\nFor the smooth little stones by the side of the brook.\\nAnd then I corned home and eated my tea,\\nAnd I climbed up on grandpapas knee,\\nAnd I jes as tired as tired can be.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "HOW S MY BOY 139\\nLower and lower the little head pressed,\\nUntil it had dropped upon grandpapa s breast\\nDear little Goldenhair, sweet be thy rest\\nWe are but children things that we do\\nAre as sports of a babe to the Infinite view,\\nThat marks all our weakness, and pities it too.\\nGod grant that when night overshadows our way,\\nAnd we shall be called to account for our day,\\nHe shall find us as guileless as Goldenhair s lay.\\nAnd 0, when aweary, may we be so blest,\\nAnd sink like the innocent child to our rest,\\nAnd feel ourselves clasped to the Infinite breast I\\nHOW S MY BOY] S. Dobell.\\nHO, sailor of the sea\\nHow s my boy my boy 1\\nWhat s your boy s name, good wife,\\nAnd in what good ship sailed he 1\\nMy boy John,\\nHe that went to sea,\\nWhat care I for the ship, sailor 3\\nMy boy s my boy to me.\\nYou come back from sea,\\nAnd not know my John 1\\nI might as well have asked some landsman\\nYonder down in the town.\\nThere s not a dolt in all the parish\\nBut he knows my John.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "140 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nHow s my boy my boy\\nAnd unless you let me know,\\nI 11 swear you are no sailor,\\nBlue jacket or no,\\nBrass button or no, sailor,\\nAnchor and crown or no\\nSure his ship was the Jolly Briton\\nSpeak low, woman, speak low\\nAnd why should I speak low, sailor,\\nAbout my own boy John 1\\nIf I was loud as I am proud\\nI d sing him over the town\\nWhy should I speak low, sailor,\\nThat good ship went down.\\nHow s my boy my boy\\nWhat care I for the ship, sailor,\\nI never was aboard her.\\nBe she afloat, or be she aground,\\nSinking or swimming, I 11 be bound\\nHer owners can afford her\\nI say how s my John\\nEvery man on board went down,\\nEvery man aboard her.\\nHow s my boy my boy 1\\nWhat care I for the men, sailor\\nI m not their mother,\\nHow s my boy my boy 1\\nTell me of him and no other\\nHow s my boy my boy 1", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "JOHN VALJOHN AND THE SAVOYARD. 141\\nJOHN VALJOHN AND THE SAVOYARD.\\nVictor Hugo.\\nAS the sun was sinking towards the horizon, John Val-\\njohn, a convict lately released from the galleys, was\\nseated behind a thicket in a large barren plain. There was\\nno horizon but the Alps. Not even the steeple of a village\\nchurch. It might have been three leagues from the city. A\\nby-path, which crossed the plain, passed a few steps from the\\nthicket.\\nIn the midst of his meditation, which would have height-\\nened not a little the frightful effect of his rags to any one\\nwho might have met him, he heard a joyous sound. He\\nturned his head, and saw coming along the path a little\\nSavoyard, a dozen years old, singing, with his hurdy-gurdy at\\nhis side, and his marmot on his back one of those pleasant\\nand gay youngsters who go from place to place, with their\\nknees sticking through their trousers.\\nAlways singing, the boy stopped from time to time, and\\nplayed at tossing up some pieces of money that he had\\nin his hand, probably his whole fortune. Among them there\\nwas one forty-sous piece.\\nThe boy stopped by the side of the thicket without seeing\\nJohn Valjohn, and tossed up his handful of sous. Until this\\ntime he had skilfully caught the whole of them upon the back\\nof his hand. This time the forty-sous piece escaped him, and\\nrolled towards the thicket near John Valjohn.\\nJohn Valjohn put his foot upon it.\\nThe boy, however, had followed the piece with his eye^\\nand had seen where it went. He was not frightened, and\\nwalked straight to the man.\\nIt was an entirely solitary place. Far as the eye could\\nreach, there was no one on the plain or in the path. Noth-\\ning could be heard but the faint cries of a flock of birds\\nof passage, that were flying across the sky at an immense\\nheight. The child turned his back to the sun, which mad\u00c2\u00a9", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "142 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nhis hair like threads of gold, and flushed the savage face of\\nJohn Valjohn with a lurid glow.\\nMister, said the little Savoyard, with that childish con-\\nfidence which is made up of ignorance and innocence, my\\npiece 1\\nWhat is your name said John Valjohn.\\nLittle Gervais, mister.\\nGet out said John Valjohn.\\nMister, continued the boy, give me my piece.\\nJohn Valjohn dropped his head and did not answer.\\nThe child began again My piece, mister\\nJohn Valjohn s eye remained fixed on the ground.\\nMy piece! exclaimed the boy, my white piece! my\\nsilver\\nJohn Valjohn did not appear to understand. The boy\\ntook him by the collar of his blouse and shook him. And at\\nthe same time he made an effort to move the big, iron-soled\\nshoe which was placed upon his treasure.\\nI want my piece my forty-sous piece\\nThe child began to cry. John Valjohn raised his head.\\nHe still kept his seat. His look was troubled. He looked\\nupon the boy with an air of wonder, then reached out his\\nhand towards his stick, and exclaimed in a terrible voice,\\nWho is there?\\nMe, mister, answered the boy. Little Gervais me\\nme give me my forty-sous, if you please Take away your\\nfoot, mister, if you please Then becoming angry, small as\\nhe was, and almost threatening,\\nCome, now, will you take away your foot 1 Why don t\\nyou take away your foot\\nAh you here yet said John Valjohn and, rising\\nhastily to his feet, without releasing the piece .of money, he\\nadded, You d better take care of yourself\\nThe boy looked at him in terror, then began to tremble\\nfrom head to foot, and after a few seconds of stupor, took to\\nflight and ran with all his might, without daring to turn his\\nhead, or to utter a cry.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "JOHN VALJOHN AND THE SAVOYAKD. 143\\nAt A little distance, however, he stopped fbr want of breath,\\nand John Valjohn, in his revery, heard him sobbing.\\nIn a few minutes the boy was gone.\\nThe sun had gone down.\\nThe shadows were deepening around John Valjohn. He\\nhad not eaten during the day probably he had some fever.\\nHe had remained standing, and had not changed his attlL\\ntude since the child fled. His breathing was at long and\\nunequal intervals. His eyes were fixed on a spot ten or\\ntwelve steps before him, and seemed to be studying with\\nprofound attention the form of an old piece of blue crockery\\nthat was lying in the grass. All at once he shivered he\\nbegan to feel the cold night air.\\nHe pulled his cap down over his forehead, sought mechani-\\ncally to fold and button his blouse around him, stepped for-\\nward and stooped to pick up his stick.\\nAt that instant he perceived the forty-sous piece which\\nhis foot had half buried in the ground, and which glistened\\namong the pebbles. It was like an electric shock. What\\nis that 1 said he, between his teeth. He drew back a step\\nor two, then stopped, without the power to withdraw his gaze\\nfrom this point which bis foot had covered the instant before,\\nas if the thing that glistened there in the obscurity had been\\nan open eye fixed upon him.\\nAfter a few minutes he sprang convulsively towards the\\npiece of money, seized it, and, rising, looked away over the\\nplain, straining his eyes towards all points of the horizon,\\nstanding and trembling like a frightened deer which is\\nseeking a place of refuge.\\nHe saw nothing. Night was falling, the plain was cold and\\nbare, thick purple mists were rising in the glimmering twilight.\\nHe said, Oh and began to walk rapidly in the direc-\\ntion in which the child had gone. After some thirty steps\\nhe stopped, looked about, and saw nothing.\\nThen he called with all his might, Little Gervais Little\\nGervais He listened. There was no answer.\\nThe country was desolate and gloomy. On all sides was", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "144 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS\\nspace. There was nothing about him but a shadow in which\\nhis gaze was lost, and a silence in which his voice was lost.\\nA biting norther was blowing, which gave a kind of dismal\\nlife to everything about him. The bushes shook their little\\nthin arms with an incredible fury. One would have said that\\nthey were threatening and pursuing somebody.\\nHe began to walk again, then quickened his pace to a run,\\nand from time to time stopped and called out in that soli-\\ntude, in a most desolate and terrible voice Little Gervais\\nLittle Gervais\\nSurely, if the child had heard him, he would have been\\nfrightened, and would have hid himself. But doubtless the\\nboy was already far away.\\nHe met a priest on horseback. He went up to him and\\nsaid Mr. Curate, have you seen a child go by\\nNo, said the priest.\\nLittle Gervais was his name 1\\nI have seen nobody.\\nHe took two five-franc pieces from his bag and gave them\\nto the priest.\\nMr. Curate, this is for your poor. Mr. Curate, he is a\\nlittle fellow, about ten years old, with a marmot, I think, and\\na hurdy-gurdy. He went this way. One of these Savoyards,\\nyou know 1\\nI have not seen him.\\nLittle Gervais 1 Is his village near here 1 Can you tell\\nme?\\nIf it be as you say, my friend, the little fellow is a\\nforeigner. They roam about this country. Nobody knows\\nthem.\\nJohn Valjohn hastily took out two more five-franc pieces,\\nand gave them to the priest. For your poor, said he.\\nThen he added wildly Mr. Abbe, have me arrested I\\nam a robber.\\nThe priest put spurs to his horse, and fled in great fear.\\nJohn Valjohn began to run again in the direction which he\\nhad first taken.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "SHAMUS O BRIEN. 145\\nHe went on in this wise for a considerable distance, looking\\naround, calling and shouting, but met nobody else. Two or\\nthree times he left the path to look at what seemed to be\\nsomebody lying down or crouching it was only low bushes\\nor rocks.\\nFinally, at a place where three paths met, he stopped.\\nThe moon had risen. He strained his eyes in the dis-\\ntance, and called out once more, Little Gervais Little\\nGervais Little Gervais His cries died away into the\\nmist, without even awakening an echo. Again he mur-\\nmured, Little Gervais but with a feeble and almost\\ninarticulate voice.\\nThat was his last effort his knees suddenly bent under\\nhim, as if an invisible power overwhelmed him at a blow,\\nwith the weight of his conscience. He fell exhausted upon a\\ngreat stone, his hands clenched in his hair, and his face on\\nhis knees, and exclaimed, What a wretch I am!\\nThen his heart swelled, and he burst into tears. It was\\nthe first time he had wept for nineteen years.\\nHow long did he weep thus 1 What did he do after weep-\\ning? Where did he go 1 Nobody ever knew. It is known\\nsimply that, on that very night, the stage-driver who drove\\nat that time on the Grenoble route, and arrived at the city\\nabout three o clock in the morning, saw, as he passed through\\na certain street, a man in the attitude of prayer, kneeling\\nupon the pavement in the shadow, before the door of the\\nBishop s residence.\\nSHAMUS O BRIEN. J. S. Le Fanu.\\nJ 1ST afther the war, in the year 98,\\nAs soon as the boys wor all scattered and bate,\\nT was the custom, whenever a pisant was got,\\nTo hang him by thrial barrin sich as was shot.\\nThere was trial by jury goin on by daylight,\\nAnd the martial-law hangin the lavins by night.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "146 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nIt s them was hard times for an honest gossoon\\nIf he missed in the judges he d meet a dragoon\\nAn whether the sodgers or judges gev sentence,\\nThe divil a much time they allowed for repentance.\\nAn it s many s the fine boy was then on his keepin\\nWid small share iv restin or atin or sleepin\\nAn because they loved Erin, an scorned to sell it,\\nA prey for the bloodhound, a mark for the bullet,\\nUnsheltered by night, and unrested by day,\\nWith the heath for their barrack, revenge for their pay\\nAn the bravest an hardiest boy iv them all\\nWas Shamus O Brien, from the town iv Glingall.\\nHis limbs were well set, an his body was light,\\nAn the keen-fanged hound had not teeth half so white\\nBut his face was as pale as the face of the dead,\\nAnd his cheek never warmed with the blush of the red\\nAn for all that he was n t an ugly young bye,\\nFor the divil himself could n t blaze with his eye,\\nSo droll an so wicked, so dark and so bright,\\nLike a fire-flash that crosses the depth of the night\\nAn he was the best mower that ever has been,\\nAn the illigantest hurler that ever was seen.\\nAn his dancin was sich that the men used to stare,\\nAn the women turn crazy, he done it so quare\\nAn by gorra, the whole world gev it into him there.\\nAn it s he was the boy that was hard to be caught,\\nAn it s often he run, an it s often he fought,\\nAn it s many the one can remember right well\\nThe quare things he done an it s often I heerd tell\\nHow he lathered the yeomen, himself agin four,\\nAn stretched the two strongest on old Galtimore.\\nBut the fox must sleep sometimes, the wild deer must rest,\\nAn treachery prey on the blood iv the best\\nAfther many a brave action of power and pride,\\nAn many a hard night on the mountain s bleak side.\\nAn a thousand great dangers and toils overpast,\\nIn the darkness of night he was taken at last.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0160.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "SHAMUS O BRIEN. 147\\nNow, Shamus, look back on the beautiful moon,\\nFor the door of the prison must close on you soon,\\nAn take your last look at her dim lovely light,\\nThat falls on the mountain and valley this night\\nOne look at the village, one look at the flood,\\nAn one at the shelthering, far-distant wood\\nFarewell to the forest, farewell to the hill,\\nAn farewell to the friends that will think of you still\\nFarewell to the pathern, the hurlin an wake,\\nAnd farewell to the girl that would die for your sake.\\nAn twelve sodgers brought him to Maryborough jail,\\nAn the turnkey resaved him, refusin all bail\\nThe fleet limbs wor chained, an the sthrong hands wor bound,\\nAn he laid down his length on the cowld prison ground,\\nAn the dreams of his childhood kem over him there\\nAs gentle an soft as the sweet summer air\\nAn happy remembrances crowding on ever,\\nAs fast as the foam-flakes dhrift down on the river,\\nBringing fresh to his heart merry days long gone by,\\nTill the tears gathered heavy and thick in his eye.\\nBut the tears did n t fall, for the pride of his heart\\nWould not suffer one drop down his pale cheek to start\\nAn he sprang to his feet in the dark prison cave,\\nAn he swore with the fierceness that misery gave,\\nBy the hopes of the good, an the cause of the brave,\\nThat when he was mouldering in the cold grave\\nHis enemies never should have it to boast\\nHis scorn of their vengeance one moment was lost\\nHis bosom might bleed, but his cheek should be dhry,\\nFor undaunted he lived, and undaunted he d die.\\nWell, as soon as a few weeks was over and gone,\\nThe terrible day iv the thrial kem on\\nThere was slch a crowd there was scarce room to stand,\\nAn sodgers on guard, an dhragoons sword in hand\\nAn the court-house so full that the people were bothered,\\nAn attorneys an criers on the point iv bein smothered j", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0161.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "148 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nAn counsellors almost gev over for dead,\\nAn the jury sittin up in their box overhead\\nAn the judge settled out so detarmined an big,\\nWith his gown on his back, and an illegant new wig\\nAn silence was called, an the minute it was said\\nThe court was as still as the heart of the dead,\\nAn they heard but the openin of one prison lock,\\nAn Shamus O Brien kem into the dock.\\nFor one minute he turned his eye round on the throng,\\nAn he looked at the bars, so firm and so strong,\\nAn he saw that he had not a hope nor a friend,\\nA chance to escape, nor a word to defend\\nAn he folded his arms as he stood there alone,\\nAs calm and as cold as a statue of stone\\nAnd they read a big writin a yard long at laste,\\nAn Jim did n t understand it, nor mind it a taste\\nAn the judge took a big pinch iv snuff, and he says,\\nAre you guilty or not, Jim O Brien, av you plase 1\\nAn all held their breath in the silence of dhread,\\nAn Shamus O Brien made answer and said\\nMy lord, if you ask me, if in my life-time\\nI thought any treason, or did any crime\\nThat should call to my cheek, as I stand alone here,\\nThe hot blush of shame, or the coldness of fear,\\nThough I stood by the grave to receive my death-blow,\\nBefore God and the world I would answer you, no\\nBut if you would ask me, as I think it like,\\nIf in the rebellion I carried a pike,\\nAn fought for ould Ireland from the first to the close,\\nAn shed the heart s blood of her bitterest foes,\\nI answer you, yes and I tell you again,\\nThough I stand here to perish, it s my glory that then\\nIn her cause I was willing my veins should run dhry,\\nAn that now for her sake I am ready to die.\\nThen the silence was great, and the jury smiled bright,\\nAn the judge was n t sorry the job was made light", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0162.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "SHAMUS O BRIEN 149\\nBy my sowl, it s himself was the crabbed ould chap J\\nIn a twinklin he pulled on his ugly black cap,\\nThen Shamus mother in the crowd standin by,\\nCalled out to the judge with a pitiful cry\\njudge darlin don t, 0, don t say the word\\nThe crathur is young, have mercy, my lord\\nHe was foolish, he did n t know what he was doin\\nYou don t know him, my lord, 0, don t give him to ruin\\nHe s the kindliest crathur, the tendherest-hearted\\nDon t part us forever, we that s so long parted.\\nJudge, mavourneen, forgive him, forgive him, my lord,\\nAn God will forgive you 0, don t say the word\\nThat was the first minute that O Brien was shaken,\\nWhen he saw that he was not quite forgot or forsaken\\nAn down his pale cheeks, at the word of his mother,\\nThe big tears wor runnin fast, one afther th other\\nAn two or three times he endeavored to spake,\\nBut the sthrong, manly voice used to falther and break\\nBut at last, by the strength of his high-mounting pride,\\nHe conquered and masthered his griefs swelling tide,\\nAn says he, mother, darlin don t break your poor heart\\nFor, sooner or later, the dearest must part\\nAnd God knows it s betther than wandering in fear\\nOn the bleak, trackless mountain, among the wild deer,\\nTo lie in the grave, where the head, heart, and breast,\\nFrom thought, labor, and sorrow forever shall rest.\\nThen, mother, my darlin don t cry any more,\\nDon t make me seem broken, in this, my last hour\\nFor I wish, when my head s lyin undher the raven,\\nNo thrue man can say that I died like a craven\\nThen towards the judge Shamus bent down his head,\\nAn that minute the solemn death-sentince was said.\\nThe mornin was bright, an the mists rose on high,\\nAn the lark whistled merrily in the clear sky\\nBut why are the men standin idle so late 1\\nAn why do the crowds gather fast in the street 1", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0163.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "150 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nWhat come they to talk of 1 what come they to see 1\\nAn why does the long rope hang from the cross-tree\\nShamus O Brien pray fervent and fast,\\nMay the saints take your soul, for this day is your last\\nPray fast an pray sthrong, for the moment is nigh,\\nWhen, sthrong, proud, an great as you are, you must die.\\nAn fasther an fasther the crowd gathered there,\\nBoys, horses, and gingerbread, just like a fair;\\nAn whiskey was sellin an cussamuck too,\\nAn ould men and young women enjoying the view.\\nAn ould Tim Mulvany, he med the remark,\\nThere was n t sich a sight since the time of Noah s ark,\\nAn be gorry, t was thrue for him, for divil sich a scruge,\\nSich divarshin and crowds, was known since the deluge,\\nFor thousands were gathered there, if there was one,\\nWaitin till such time as the hangin id come on.\\nAt last they threw open the big prison gate,\\nAn out came the sheriffs and sodgers in state,\\nAn a cart in the middle, an Shamus was in it,\\nNot paler, but prouder than ever, that minute.\\nAn as soon as the people saw Shamus O Brien,\\nWid prayin and blessin and all the girls cryin\\nA wild wailin sound kem on by degrees,\\nLike the sound of the lonesome wind blowin through trees.\\nOn, on to the gallows the sheriffs are gone,\\nAn the cart an the sodgers go steadily on\\nAn at every side swellin around of the cart,\\nA wild, sorrowful sound, that id open your heart.\\nNow under the gallows the cart takes its stand,\\nAn the hangman gets up with the rope in his hand\\nAn the priest, havin blest him, goes down on the ground,\\nAn Shamus O Brien throws one last look round.\\nThen the hangman dhrew near, an the people grew still,\\nYoung faces turned sickly, and warm hearts turned chill\\nAn the rope bein ready, his neck was made bare,\\nFor the gripe iv the life-strangling cord to prepare", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0164.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "COME UP FROM THE FIELDS, FATHER 151\\nAn the good priest has left him, havin said his last prayer.\\nBut the good priest done more, for his hands he unbound,\\nAnd with one daring spring Jim has leaped on the ground\\nBang bang goes the carbines, and clash goes the sabres\\nHe s not down he s alive still now stand to him, neighbors 1\\nThrough the smoke and the horses he s into the crowd,\\nBy the heavens, he s free than thunder more loud,\\nBy one shout from the people the heavens were shaken,\\nOne shout that the dead of the world might awaken.\\nThe sodgers ran this way, the sheriffs ran that,\\nAn Father Malone lost his new Sunday hat\\nTo-night he 11 be sleepin in Aherloe Glin,\\nAn the divil s in the dice if you catch him ag in.\\nYour swords they may glitter, your carbines go bang,\\nBut if you want hangin it s yourself you must hang.\\nHe has mounted his horse, and soon he will be\\nIn America, darlint, the land of the free.\\nCOME UP FROM THE FIELDS, FATHER!\\nWalt Whitman.\\nCOME up from the fields, father here s a letter from\\nour Pete,\\nAnd come to the front door, mother here s a letter from thy\\ndear son.\\nLo, t is autumn\\nLo, where the fields, deeper green, yellower and redder,\\nCool and sweeten Ohio s villages, with leaves fluttering in the\\nmoderate wind\\nWhere apples ripe in the orchards hang, and grapes on the\\ntrellised vines.\\n(Smell you the smell of the grapes on the vines 1\\nSmell you the buckwheat, where the bees were lately\\nbuzzing 1)", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0165.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "152 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nAbove all, lo the sky so calm, so transparent after the rain,\\nand with wondrous clouds\\nBelow, too, all calm, all vital and beautiful, and the farm\\nprospers well.\\nDown in the fields all prospers well\\nBut now from the fields come, father, come at the daughter s\\ncall\\nAnd come to the entry, mother, to the front door come,\\nright away.\\nFast as she can she hurries, something ominous, her steps\\ntrembling\\nShe does not tarry to smooth her white hair, nor adjust her\\ncap.\\nOpen the envelope quickly\\n0, this is not our son s writing, yet his name is signed\\n0, a strange hand writes for our dear son stricken\\nmother s soul\\nAll swims before her eyes, flashes with black, she catches\\nthe main words only\\nSentences broken, gunshot wound in the breast cavalry\\nskirmish, taken to hospital,\\nAt present low, but will soon be better.\\nAh now the single figure to me\\nAmid all teeming and wealthy Ohio, with all its cities and\\nfarms,\\nSickly white in the face and dull in the head, very faint,\\nBy the jamb of a door leans.\\nGrieve not so, dear mother (the just grown daughter speaks\\nthrough her sobs\\nThe little sisters huddle around, speechless and dismayed).\\nSee, dearest mother, the letter says Pete will soon be better.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0166.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "JUPITER AND TEN. 153\\nAlas, poor boy he will never be better (nor, maybe, needs to\\nbe better, that brave and simple soul).\\nWhile they stand at home at the door he is dead already,\\nThe only son is dead.\\nBut the mother needs to be better\\nShe, with thin form, presently dressed in black\\nBy day her meals untouched, then at night fitfully sleep\\ning, often waking,\\nIn the midnight waking, weeping, longing with one deep long-\\ning,\\nthat she might withdraw unnoticed, silent from life, escape\\nand withdraw,\\nTo follow, to seek, to be with her dear dead son I\\nJUPITER AND TEN.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J. T. Fields.\\nMRS. CHUB was rich and portly,\\nMrs. Chub was very grand,\\nMrs. Chub was always reckoned\\nA lady in the land.\\nYou shall see her marble mansion\\nIn a very stately square,\\nMr. C. knows what it cost him,\\nBut that s neither here nor there.\\nMrs. Chub was so sagacious,\\nSuch a patron of the arts,\\nAnd she gave such foreign orders,\\nThat she won all foreign hearts.\\nMrs. Chub was always talking,\\nWhen she went away from home,\\n7*", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0167.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "154 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nOf a most prodigious painting\\nWhich had just arrived from Rome.\\nSuch a treasure, she insisted,\\nOne might never see again\\nWhat s the subject 1 we inquired.\\nIt is Jupiter and Ten I\\nu Ten what we blandly asked her,\\nFor the knowledge we did lack.\\nAh that I cannot tell you,\\nBut the name is on the back.\\nThere it stands in printed letters,\\nCome to-morrow, gentlemen,\\nCome and see our splendid painting,\\nOur fine Jupiter and Ten.\\nWhen Mrs. Chub departed,\\nOur brains began to rack,\\nShe could not be mistaken,\\nFor the name was on the back.\\nSo we begged a great Professor\\nTo lay aside his pen,\\nAnd give some information\\nTouching Jupiter and Ten.\\nAnd we pondered well the subject,\\nAnd our Lempriere we turned,\\nTo find out who the Ten were\\nBut we Could not, though we burned\\nBut when we saw the picture,\\nO Mrs. Chub 0, fie\\nWe perused the printed label,\\nAnd t was Jupiter and Io", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0168.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "JEANIE DEANS AND QUEEN CAROLINE. 155\\nJEANIE DEANS AND QUEEN CAROLINE.\\nWalter Scott.\\nTHE Duke of Argyle made a signal for Jeanie to advance\\nfrom the spot where she had hitherto remained, watch-\\ning countenances which were too long accustomed to suppress\\nall apparent signs of emotion to convey to her any interest-\\ning intelligence. Her Majesty could not help smiling at the\\nawe-struck manner in which the quiet, demure figure of the\\nlittle Scotchwoman advanced towards her, and yet more at\\nthe first sound of her broad Northern accent. But Jeanie\\nhad a voice low and sweetly toned, an admirable thing in\\nwoman, and she besought her leddyship to have pity on a\\npoor, misguided young creature, in tones so affecting that,\\nlike the notes of some of her native songs, provincial vulgarity\\nw r as lost in pathos.\\nThe queen asked Jeanie how she travelled up from Scotland.\\nOn foot mostly, madam, was the reply.\\nWhat all that immense way on foot How far can you\\nwalk in a day 1\\nFive-and-twenty miles, and a bittock.\\nAnd a what said the queen, looking towards the Duke\\nof Argyle.\\nAnd about five miles more, replied the duke.\\nI thought I was a good walker, said the queen but\\nthis shames me sadly.\\nMay your leddyship never hae sae weary a heart that ye\\ncanna be sensible of the weariness of the limbs said Jeanie.\\nAnd I didna, just a thegether, walk the hail way neither;\\nfor I had whiles the cast of a cart, and I had the cast of a\\nhorse from Ferrybridge, and divers other easements, said\\nJeanie, cutting short her story for she observed the duke\\nmade the sign he had fixed upon.\\nWith all these accommodations, answered the queen, you\\nmust have had a very fatiguing journey, and I fear to little\\npurpose since, if the king were to pardon your sister, in all", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0169.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "156 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nprobability it would do her little good for I suppose your\\npeople of Edinburgh would hang her out of spite.\\nShe will sink herself now outright, thought the duke.\\nBut he was wrong. This rock was above water, and she\\navoided it.\\nShe was confident, she said, that baith town and\\ncountry wad rejoice to see his Majesty taking compassion on a\\npoor unfriended creature.\\nHis Majesty has not found it so in a late instance, said\\nthe queen but I suppose my lord duke would advise him\\nto be guided by the votes of the rabble themselves, who\\nshould be hanged and who spared.\\nNo, madam, said the duke but I would advise his\\nMajesty to be guided by his own feelings and those of his\\nroyal consort; and then I am sure punishment will only\\nattach itself to guilt, and even then with cautious reluctance.\\nWell, my lord, said her Majesty, all these fine speeches\\ndo not convince me of the propriety of so soon showing favor\\nto your I suppose I must not say rebellious but, at least,\\nyour very disaffected and intractable metropolis. Why, the\\nwhole nation is in a league to screen the savage and abomi-\\nnable murderers of that unhappy man otherwise, how is it\\npossible but that, of so many perpetrators, and engaged in so\\npublic an action for such a length of time, one, at least, must\\nhave been recognized Even this wench, for aught I can tell,\\nmay be a depositary of the secret. Hark ye, young woman,\\nhad you any friends engaged in the Porteous mob\\nNo, madam, answered Jeanie happy that the question\\nwas so framed that she could, with a good conscience, answer\\nit in the negative.\\nBut I suppose, continued the queen, if you were pos-\\nsessed of such a secret, you would hold it matter of con-\\nscience to keep it to yourself.\\nI would pray to be directed and guided in the line of\\nduty, madam, answered Jeanie.\\nYes, and take that which suited your own inclinations,\\nreplied her Majesty.", "height": "3545", "width": "2387", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0170.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "JEANIE DEANS AND QUEEN CAROLINE. 157\\nIf it like you, madam, said Jeanie, I would hae gaen\\nto the end o the earth to save the life of John Porteous, or of\\nany other unhappy man in his condition but I might law-\\nfully doubt how far I am called upon to be the avenger of\\nhis blood, though it may become the civil magistrate to do\\nso. He is dead and gane to his place and they that have\\nslain him must answer for their ain act. But my sister\\nmy puir sister, Effie still lives, though her days and hours\\nare numbered. She still lives, and a word of the king s\\nmouth might restore her to a broken-hearted auld man, that\\nnever, in his daily and nightly exercise, forgot to pray that\\nhis Majesty might be blessed with a long and a prosperous\\nreign and that his throne, and the throne of his posterity,\\nmight be established in righteousness. madam, if ever ye\\nkenned what it was to sorrow for and with a sinning and suf-\\nfering creature, whose mind is sae tossed that she can be\\nneither ca d fit to live or die, have some compassion on\\nour misery Save an honest house from dishonor, and an\\nunhappy girl, not eighteen years of age, from an early and\\ndreadful death. Alas it is not when we sleep soft, and\\nwake merrily ourselves, that we think on other people s suf-\\nferings. Our hearts are waxed light within us then and we\\nare for righting our ain wrongs, and fighting our ain battles.\\nBut when the hour of trouble comes to the mind, or to the\\nbody, and seldom may it visit your leddyship, and when\\nthe hour of death comes, that comes to high and low, long\\nand late may it be yours, my leddy, then, it is na what\\nwe have dune for oursels, but what we have dune for others,\\nthat we think on maist pleasantly. And the thoughts, that\\nye hae intervened to spare the puir thing s life will be sweeter\\nin that hour, come when it may, than if a word of your\\nmouth could hang the hail Porteous mob at the tail of ae\\ntow.\\nTear followed tear down Jeanie s cheek, as, with features\\nglowing and quivering with emotion, she pleaded her sister s\\ncause, with a pathos which was at once simple and solemn.\\nThis is eloquence, said her Majesty to the Duke of", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0171.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "158 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nArgyle. Young woman, she continued, addressing her-\\nself to Jeanie, I cannot grant a pardon to your sister, but\\nyou shall not want my warm intercession with his Majesty.\\nTake this housewife case, she continued, putting a small\\nembroidered needle-case into Jeanie s hands; do not open\\nit now, but at your leisure you will find something in it\\nwhich will remind you that you have had an interview with\\nQueen Caroline.\\nJeanie, having her suspicions thus confirmed, dropped on\\nher knees, and would have expanded herself in gratitude\\nbut the duke, who was upon thorns lest she should say more\\nor less than just enough, touched his chin once more.\\nOur business is, I think, ended for the present, my lord\\nduke, said the queen, and, I trust, to your satisfaction.\\nHereafter I hope to see your Grace more frequently, both at\\nRichmond and St. James s. Come, Lady Suffolk, we must\\nwish his Grace good morning.\\nThey exchanged their parting reverences, and the duke, so\\nsoon as the ladies had turned their backs, assisted Jeanie to\\nrise from the ground, and conducted her back through the\\navenue, which she trod with the feeling of one who walks\\nin her sleep.\\nOUR SISTER.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Household Words.\\nTTP many flights of crazy stairs,\\nvJ Where oft one s head knocks unawares\\nWith a rickety table and without chairs,\\nAnd only a stool to kneel to prayers,\\nDwells our sister.\\nThere is no carpet upon the floor,\\nThe wind whistles in through the cracks of the door\\nOne might reckon her miseries now by the score,\\nBut who feels interest in one so poor\\nYet she is our sister S", "height": "3538", "width": "2479", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0172.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "THE BATTLE. 159\\nShe once was blooming and young and fair,\\nWith bright blue eyes and auburn hair\\nNow the rose is eaten with cankered care,\\nAnd her poor face is marked with a grim despair,\\nOur poor sister.\\nWhen at early morning, to rest her head,\\nShe throws herself on her weary bed,\\nLonging to sleep the sleep of the dead,\\nSince youth and health and love are fled,\\nPity our sister.\\nBut the bright sun shines on her and me,\\nAnd on mine and hers, as on thine and thee,\\nAnd whatever our lot in life may be,\\nWhether of low or high degree,\\nStill she s our sister always our sister\\nPity her, succor her, pray for our sister I\\nTHE BATTLE. Schiller.\\nTranslated by Bulwer Lytton.\\nHEAVY and solemn,\\nA cloudy column,\\nThrough the green plain they marching come\\nMeasureless spread like a table dread,\\nFor the wild grim dice of the iron game.\\nLooks are bent on the shaking ground,\\nHearts beat loud with a knelling sound\\nSwift by the breasts that must bear the brunt,\\nGallops the Major along the front\\nHalt!\\nAnd fettered they stand at the stark command,\\nAnd the warriors, silent, halt\\nProud in the blush of morning glowing,\\nWhat on the hill-top shines in flowing\\nSee you the foemen s banners waving 1", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0173.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "160 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nWe see the foeman s banners waving\\nGod be with ye, children and wife\\nHark to the music, the trump and the fife,\\nHow they ring through the ranks, which they rouse to the strife\\nThrilling they sound, with their glorious tone,\\nThrilling they go through the marrow and bone\\nBrothers, God grant, when this life is o er,\\nIn the life to come that we meet once more\\nSee the smoke how the lightning is cleaving asunder\\nHark the guns, peal on peal, how they boom in their thunder I\\nFrom host to host, with kindling sound,\\nThe shouted signal circles round\\nAy, shout it forth to life or death,\\nFreer already breathes the breath\\nThe w T ar is waging, slaughter raging,\\nAnd heavy through the reeking pall\\nThe iron death-dice fall\\nNearer they close, foes upon foes,\\nReady 1 from square to square it goes.\\nThey kneel as one man from flank to flank,\\nThe fire comes sharp from the foremost rank,\\nMany a soldier to the earth is sent,\\nMany a gap by balls is rent\\nO er the corpse before springs the hinder man.\\nThat the line may not fail to the fearless van.\\nTo the right, to the left, and around and around,\\nDeath whirls in its dance on the bloody ground.\\nGod s sunlight is quenched in the fiery fight,\\nOver the hosts falls a brooding night\\nBrothers, God grant, when this life is o er,\\nIn the life to come that we meet once more\\nThe dead men lie bathed in the weltering blood,\\nAnd the living are blent in the slippery flood,\\nAnd the feet, as they reeling and sliding go,\\nStumble still on the corses that sleep below,\\nWhat Francis Give Charlotte my last farewell.", "height": "3538", "width": "2479", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0174.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "THE YOUNG GRAY HEAD. 161\\nAs the dying man murmurs the thunders swell,\\nI 11 give God are their guns so near\\nHo comrades yon volley look sharp to the 2-ear\\nI 11 give to thy Charlotte thy last farewell\\nSleep soft where death thickest descendeth in rain,\\nThe friend thou forsakest thy side may regain\\nHitherward, thitherward reels the fight\\nDark and more darkly day glooms into night.\\nBrothers, God grant, when this life is o er,\\nIn the life to come that we meet once more\\nHark to the hoofs that galloping go\\nThe adjutants flying,\\nThe horsemen press hard on the panting foe,\\nTheir thunder booms in dying,\\nVictory\\nTerror has seized on the dastards all,\\nAnd their colors fall\\nVictory I\\nClosed is the brunt of the glorious fight\\nAnd the day, like a conqueror, bursts on the night\\nTrumpet and fife swelling choral along,\\nThe triumph already sweeps marching in song.\\nFarewell, fallen brothers though this life be o er,\\nThere s another, hi Trb-ich we shall meet you once more\\nTHE YOUNG GRAY HEAD. Blackwood s Magazine.\\n1\\\\ /T 0THER l uoth Ambrose to his thrifty dame,\\n_1_VJL So oft our peasant s use his wife to name,\\nFather, and Master, to himself applied,\\nAs life s grave duties matronize the bride,\\nMother, quoth Ambrose, as he faced the north,\\nWith hard-set teeth, before he issued forth\\nVo his day labor, from the cottage door,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0175.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "162 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nI m thinking that, to-night, if not before,\\nThere 11 be wild work. Dost hear Old Chewton* roar 1\\nIt s brewing up down westward and look there,\\nOne of those sea-gulls ay, there goes a pair\\nAnd such a sudden thaw If rain comes on,\\nAs threats, the waters will be out anon.\\nThat path by th ford s a nasty bit of way,\\nBest let the young ones bide from school to-day.\\nDo, mother, do the quick-eared urchins cried,\\nTwo little lasses to the father s side\\nClose clinging as they looked from him, to spy\\nThe answering language of the mother s eye.\\nThere was denial, and she shook her head.\\nNay, nay, no harm will come to them, she said,\\nThe mistress lets them off these short dark days\\nAn hour the earlier and our Liz, she says,\\nMay quite be trusted and I know t is true\\nTo take care of herself and Jenny too.\\nAnd so she ought, she s seven come first of May,\\nTwo years the oldest and they give away\\nThe Christmas bounty at the school to-day.\\nThe mother s will was law, (alas for her\\nThat hapless day, poor soul She could not err,\\nThought Ambrose and his little fair-haired Jane\\n(Her namesake) to his heart he hugged again,\\nWhen each had had her turn she clinging so\\nAs if that day she could not let him go.\\nBut Labor s sons must snatch a hasty bliss\\nIn nature s tenderest mood. One last fond kiss,\\nGod bless my little maids the father said,\\nAnd cheerly went his way to win their bread.\\nSo to the mother s charge, with thoughtful brow,\\nThe docile Lizzy stood attentive now\\nA fresh- water spring rushing into the sea, called Chewton Bunny.", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0176.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "THE YOUNG GRAY HEAD. 163\\nProud of her years and of imputed sense,\\nAnd prudence justifying confidence.\\nAnd little Jenny, more demurely still,\\nBeside her waited the maternal will.\\nSo standing hand in hand, a lovelier twain\\nGainsborough ne er painted no, nor he of Spain,\\nGlorious Murillo and by contrast shown\\nMore beautiful, the younger little one,\\nWith large blue eyes, and silken ringlets fair,\\nBy nut-brown Lizzy, with smooth parted hair\\nSable and glossy as the raven s wing,\\nAnd lustrous eyes as dark\\nNow mind and bring\\nJenny safe home, the mother said don t stay\\nTo pull a bough or berry by the way\\nAnd when you come to cross the ford, hold fast\\nYour little sister s hand, till you re quite past,\\nThat plank s so crazy, and so slippery\\n(If not o erflowed) .the stepping-stones will be.\\nBut you re good children, steady as old folk,\\nI d trust ye anywhere. Then Lizzy s cloak,\\nA good gray duffle, lovingly she tied,\\nAnd amply little Jenny s lack supplied\\nWith her own warmest shawl. Be sure, said she,\\nTo wrap it round and knot it carefully\\n(Like this) when you come home just leaving free\\nOne hand to hold by. Now, make haste away,\\nGood will to school, and then good right to play.\\nWas there no sinking at the mother s heart,\\nWhen all equipt, they turned them to depart 1\\nWhen down the lane, she watched them as they went\\nTill out of sight, was no foreboding sent\\nOf coming ill 1 In truth I cannot tell\\nSuch warnings have been sent, we know full well,\\nAnd must believe believing that they are", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0177.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "164 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nIn mercy then, to ronse restrain prepare.\\nAnd, now I mind me, something of the kind\\nDid surely haunt that day the mother s mind,\\nMaking it irksome to bide all alone\\nBy her own quiet hearth. Though never known\\nFor idle gossipry was Jenny Gray,\\nYet so it was, that morn she could not stay\\nAt home with her own thoughts, but took her way\\nTo her next neighbor s, half a loaf to borrow,\\nYet might her store have lasted out the morrow,\\nAnd with the loan obtained, she lingered still.\\nSaid she My master, if he d had his will,\\nWould have kept back our little ones from school\\nThis dreadful morning and I m such a fool,\\nSince they ve been gone, I ve wished them back. But then\\nIt won t do in such things to humor men,\\nOur Ambrose specially. If let alone,\\nHe d spoil those children. But it s coming on,\\nThat storm he said was brewing, sure enough\\nWell what of that 1 To think what idle stuff\\nWill come into one s head and here with you\\nI stop, as if I d nothing else to do.\\nAnd they 11 come home drowned rats. I must be gone\\nTo get dry things, and set the kettle on.\\nHis day s work done, three mortal miles and more\\nLay between Ambrose and his cottage door.\\nA weary way, God wot for weary wight\\nBut yet far off, the curling smoke in sight\\nFrom his own chimney, and his heart felt light.\\nWith what a thankful gladness in his face,\\n(Silent heart-homage, plant of special grace\\nAt the lane s entrance, slackening oft his pace,\\nWould Ambrose send a loving look before\\nConceiting the caged blackbird at the door,\\nThe very blackbird strained its little throat", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0178.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "THE YOUNG GRAY HEAD. 165\\nIn welcome, with a more rejoicing note\\nAnd honest Tinker dog of doubtful breed,\\nAll bristle, back, and tail, but good at need,\\nPleasant his greeting to the accustomed ear\\nBut of all welcomes pleasantest, most dear,\\nThe ringing voices, like sweet silver bells,\\nOf his two little ones. How fondly swells\\nThe father s heart, as, dancing up the lane,\\nEach clasps a hand in her small hand again\\nAnd each must tell her tale, and say her say,\\nImpeding as she leads, with sweet delay,\\n(Childhood s blest thoughtlessness his onward way.\\nSuch was the hour hour sacred and apart\\nWarmed in expectancy the poor man s heart.\\nSummer and winter, as his toil he plied,\\nTo him and his the literal doom applied,\\nPronounced on Adam. But the bread was sweet\\nSo earned, for such dear mouths. The weary feet,\\nHope-shod, stept lightly on the homeward way\\nSo specially it fared with Ambrose Gray\\nThat time I tell of. He had worked all day\\nAt a great clearing vigorous stroke on stroke\\nStriking, till, when he stopt, his back seemed broke\\nAnd the strong arm dropt nerveless. What of that?\\nThere was a treasure hidden in his hat,\\nA plaything for the young ones. He had found\\nA dormouse-nest the living ball coiled round\\nFor its long winter sleep and all his thought,\\nAs he trudged stoutly homeward, was of naught\\nBut the glad wonderment in Jenny s eyes,\\nAnd graver Lizzy s quieter surprise\\nWhen he should yield, by guess and kiss and prayer,\\nHard won, the frozen captive to their care.\\nT was a wild evening, wild and rough. I knew,\\nThought Ambrose, those unlucky gulls spoke true,\u00e2\u0080\u0094-", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0179.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "166 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nAnd Gaffer Chewton never growls for naught,\\nI should be mortal mazed now, if I thought\\nMy little maids were not safe housed before\\nThat blinding hail-storm, ay, this hour and more,\\nUnless by that old crazy bit of board,\\nThey ve not passed dry-foot over Shallow Ford,\\nThat I 11 be bound for, swollen as it must be\\nWell if my mistress had been ruled by me\\nBut, checking the half-thought as heresy,\\nHe looked out for the Home-Star. There it shone,\\nAnd with a gladdened heart he hastened on.\\nHe s in the lane again, and there below,\\nStreams from the door-way that red glow,\\nWhich warms him but to look at. For his prize\\nCautious he feels, all safe and snug it lies,\\nDown, Tinker down, old boy not quite so free,\\nThe thing thou sniffest is no game for thee.\\nBut what s the meaning 1 no look-out to-night\\nNo living soul astir Pray God, all s right\\nWho s flittering round the peat-stack in such weather\\nMother You might have felled him with a feather\\nWhen the short answer to his loud Hillo\\nAnd the hurried question, Are they cornel was No!\\nTo throw his tools down, hastily unhook\\nThe old cracked lantern from its dusty nook,\\nAnd while he lit it, speak a cheering word,\\nThat almost choked him, and was scarcely heard,\\nWas but a moment s act, and he was gone\\nTo where a fearful foresight led him on.\\nPassing a neighbor s cottage in his way,\\nMark Fenton s, him he took with short delay\\nTo bear him company, for who could say\\nWhat need might be 1 They struck into the track\\nThe children should have taken coming back\\nFrom school that day and many a call and shout", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0180.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "THE YOUNG GRAY HEAD. 167\\nInto the pitchy darkness they sent out,\\nAnd, by the lantern light, peered all about,\\nIn every roadside thicket, hole, and nook,\\nTill suddenly as nearing now the brook\\nSomething brushed past them. That was Tinker s bark\\nUnheeded, he had followed in the dark,\\nClose at his master s heels, but, swift as light,\\nDarted before them now. Be sure he s right,\\nHe s on the track, cried Ambrose. Hold the light\\nLow down, he s making for the water. Hark\\nI know that whine, the old dog s found them, Mark.\\nSo speaking, breathlessly he hurried on\\nToward the old crazy foot-bridge. It was gone\\nAnd all his dull, contracted light could show\\nWas the black void and dark swollen stream below.\\nYet there s life somewhere, more than Tinker s whine,\\nThat s sure, said Mark. So let the lantern shine\\nDown yonder. There s the dog, and, hark 0 dear\\nAnd a low sob came faintly on the ear,\\nMocked by the sobbing gust. Down, quick as thought,\\nInto the stream leapt Ambrose, where he caught\\nFast hold of something, a dark huddled heap,\\nHalf in the water, where t was scarce knee-deep,\\nFor a tall man and half above it, propped\\nBy some old ragged side-piles, that had stopt\\nEndways the broken plank, when it gave way\\nWith the two little ones that luckless day\\nMy babes my lambkins was the father s cry.\\nOne little voice made answer, Here am I\\nT was Lizzy s. There she crouched, with face as white,\\nMore ghastly, by the nickering lantern light,\\nThan sheeted corpse. The pale blue lips, drawn tight,\\nWide parted, showing all the pearly teeth,\\nAnd eyes on some dark object underneath,\\nWashed by the turbid water, fixed like stone,\\nOne arm and hand stretched out, and rigid grown,\\nGrasping, as in the death-gripe, Jenny s frock.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0181.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "168 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThere she lay drowned. Could he sustain that shock,\\nThe doating father 1 Where s the unriven rock\\nCan bide such blasting in its flintiest part\\nAs that soft sentient thing, the human heart 1\\nThey lifted her from out her watery bed,\\nIts covering gone, the lonely little head\\nHung like a broken snow-drop all aside,\\nAnd one small hand. The mother s shawl was tied,\\nLeaving that free, about the child s small form,\\nAs was her last injunction, fast and warm,\\nToo well obeyed, too fast A fatal hold\\nAffording to the scrag by a thick fold\\nThat caught and pinned her in the river s bed,\\nWhile through the reckless water overhead\\nHer life-breath bubbled up.\\nShe might have lived\\nStruggling like Lizzie, was the thought that rived\\nThe wretched mother s heart when she knew all.\\nBut for my foolishness about that shawl,\\nAnd Master would have kept them back the day\\nBut I was wilful, driving them away\\nIn such wild weather\\nThus the tortured heart\\nUnnaturally against itself takes part,\\nDriving the sharp edge deeper of a woe\\nToo deep already. They had raised her now,\\nAnd, parting the wet ringlets from her brow,\\nTo that, and the cold cheek, and lips as cold,\\nThe father glued his warm ones, ere they rolled\\nOnce more the fatal shawl her winding-sheet\\nAbout the precious clay. One heart still beat,\\nWarmed by his heart s blood. To his only child\\nHe turned him, but her piteous moaning mild\\nPierced him afresh, and now she knew him not.\\nMother she murmured, who says I forgot 1\\nMother indeed, indeed, I kept fast hold,\\nAnd tied the shawl quite close, she can t be cold,", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0182.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "THE YOUNG GRAY HEAD. 169\\nBut she won t move, we slipt, I don t know how,\\nBut I held on, and I m so weary now,\\nAnd it s so dark and cold dear dear\\nAnd she won t move, if daddy was but here\\nPoor lamb, she wandered in her mind, t was clear\\nBut soon the piteous murmur died away,\\nAnd quiet in her father s arms she lay,\\nThey their dead burden had resigned, to take\\nThe living so near lost. For her dear sake,\\nAnd one at home, he armed himself to bear\\nHis misery like a man, with tender care,\\nDoffing his coat her shivering form to fold,\\n(His neighbor bearing that which felt no cold,)\\nHe clasped her close and so, with little said,\\nHomeward they bore the living and the dead.\\nFrom Ambrose Gray s poor cottage, all that night,\\nShone fitfully a little shifting light,\\nAbove, below, for all were watchers there\\nSave one sound sleeper. Her, parental care,\\nParental watchfulness, availed not now.\\nBut in the young survivor s throbbing brow,\\nAnd wandering eyes, delirious fever burned\\nAnd all night long from side to side she turned,\\nPiteously plaining like a wounded dove,\\nWith now and then a murmur, She won t move,\\nAnd lo when morning, as in mockery, bright\\nShone on that pillow, passing strange the sight,\\nThat young head s raven hair was streaked with white\\nNo idle fiction this. Such things have been,\\nWe know. And now I tell what I have seen.\\nLife struggled long with death in that small frame,\\nBut it was strong, and conquered. All became\\nAs it had been with the poor family,\\nAll, saving that which nevermore might be,\\nThere was an empty place, they were but three.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0183.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "170 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nBOB CRATCHIT S DINNER. Dickens.\\nBUT soon the steeples called good people all to church\\nand chapel, and away they came, nocking through the\\nstreets in their best clothes, and with their gayest faces.\\nAnd at the same time there emerged from scores of by\\nstreets, lanes, and nameless turnings innumerable people\\ncarrying their dinners to the bakers shops.\\nUp then rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit s wife, dressed out\\nbut poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons,\\nwhich are cheap and make a goodly show for sixpence and\\nshe laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of\\nher daughters, also brave in ribbons; while Master Peter\\nCratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and,\\ngetting the corners of his monstrous shirt-collar (Bob s pri-\\nvate property, conferred upon his son and heir in honor of\\nthe day) into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly\\nattired, and yearned to show his linen in the fashionable\\nParks. And now two smaller Cratchit s, boy and girl, came\\ntearing in, screaming that outside the baker s they had smelt\\nthe goose, and known it for their own and, basking in luxu-\\nrious thoughts of sage and onion, these young Cratchits\\ndanced about the table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to\\nthe skies, while he (not proud, although his collars nearly\\nchoked him) blew the fire, until the slow potatoes, bubbling\\nup, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid to be let out and\\npeeled.\\nWhat has ever got your precious father then 1 said\\nMrs. Cratchit. And your brother Tiny Tim and Martha\\nwarn t as late last Christmas day by half an hour\\nHere s Martha, mother said a girl, appearing as she\\nspoke.\\nHere s Martha, mother cried the two young Cratchits.\\nHurrah There s such a goose, Martha\\nWhy, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are\\nsaid Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off\\nher shawl and bonnet for her.", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0184.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "BOB CRATCHIT S DINNER. 171\\nWe d a deal of work to finish up last night, replied the\\ngirl, and had to clear away this morning, mother\\nWell Never mind so long as you are come, said Mrs.\\nCratchit. Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a\\nwarm, Lord bless ye\\nNo, no There s father coming, cried the two young\\nCratchits, who were everywhere at once. Hide, Martha,\\nhide!\\nSo Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father,\\nwith at least three feet of comforter, exclusive of the fringe,\\nhanging down before him and his threadbare clothes darned\\nup and brushed, to look seasonable and Tiny Tim upon his\\nshoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little crutch, and had\\nhis limbs supported by an iron frame\\nWhy, where s our Martha 1 cried Bob Cratchit, looking\\nround.\\nNot coming, said Mrs. Cratchit.\\nNot coming said Bob, with a sudden declension in his\\nhigh spirits for he had been Tim s blood-horse all the way\\nfrom church, and had come home rampant, not coming\\nupon Christmas day\\nMartha did n t like to see him disappointed, if it were\\nonly in joke so she came out prematurely from behind the\\ncloset door, and ran into his arms, while the two young\\nCratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off into the\\nwash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the\\ncopper.\\nAnd how did little Tim behave 1 asked Mrs. Cratchit,\\nwhen she had rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had\\nhugged his daughter to his heart s content.\\nAs good as gold, said Bob, and better. Somehow he\\ngets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the\\nstrangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home,\\nthat he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he\\nwas a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember,\\nupon Christmas day, who made lame beggars walk and blind\\nmen see.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0185.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "172 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nBob s voice was tremulous when he told them this, and\\ntrembled more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing\\nstrong and hearty.\\nHis active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back\\ncame Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by\\nhis brother and sister, to his stool beside the fire and while\\nBob, turning up his cuffs, as if, poor fellow, they were\\ncapable of being made more shabby, compounded some hot\\nmixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and stirred it round\\nand round and put it on the hob to simmer, Master Peter and\\nthe two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose,\\nwith which they soon returned in high procession.\\nMrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little\\nsaucepan) hissing hot Master Peter mashed the potatoes\\nwith incredible vigor j Miss Belinda sweetened up the aj ple-\\nsauce Martha dusted the hot plates Bob took Tiny Tim\\nbeside him in a tiny corner at the table the two young\\nCratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves,\\nand, mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into\\ntheir mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their\\nturn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and\\ngrace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as\\nMrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, pre-\\npared to plunge it in the breast but when she did, and\\nwhen the long-expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one\\nmurmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny\\nTim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table\\nwith the handle of his knife, and feebly cried, Hurrah\\nThere never was such a goose. Bob said he did n t believe\\nthere ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and\\nflavor, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal\\nadmiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes,\\nit was a sufficient dinner for the whole family indeed, as\\nMrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small\\natom of a bone upon the dish), they had n t ate it all at last\\nYet every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits\\nin particular were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0186.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "BOB CRATCHIT S DINNER. 173\\nBut now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs.\\nCratchit left the room alone, too nervous to bear wit-\\nnesses to take the pudding up, and bring it in.\\nSuppose it should not be done enough Suppose it should\\nbreak in turning out Suppose somebody should have got\\nover the wall of the back yard, and stolen it, while they\\nwere merry with the goose, a supposition at which the two\\nyoung Cratchits became livid All sorts of horrors were\\nsupposed.\\nHallo A great deal of steam The pudding was out of\\nthe copper. A smell like a washing-day That was the\\ncloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastry-cook s next\\ndoor to each other, with a laundress s next door to that\\nThat was the pudding In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit\\nentered flushed, but smiling proudly with the pudding,\\nlike a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half\\nof half a quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with\\nChristmas holly stuck into the top.\\n0, a wonderful pudding Bob Cratchit said, and calmly\\ntoo, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by\\nMrs. Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that\\nnow the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had\\nhad her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had\\nsomething to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was\\nat all a small pudding for a large family. Any Cratchit\\nwould have blushed to hint at such a thing.\\nAt last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the\\nhearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the\\njug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges\\nwere put upon the table, and a shovelful of chestnuts on., the\\nfire.\\nThen all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in\\nwhat Bob Cratchit called a circle, and at Bob Cratchit s elbow\\nstood the family display of glass, two tumblers, and a\\ncustard-cup without a handle.\\nThese held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as\\ngolden goblets would have done and Bob served it out with", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0187.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "174 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nbeaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and\\ncrackled noisily. Then Bob proposed\\n11 A merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us\\nWhich all the family re-echoed.\\nGod bless us every one said Tiny Tim, the last of all.\\nTHE LITTLE BOY THAT DIED.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J. D. Robinson.\\nI AM all alone in my chamber now,\\nAnd the midnight hour is near,\\nAnd the fagot s crack and the clock s dull tick\\nAre the only sounds I hear\\nAnd over my soul, in its solitude,\\nSweet feelings of sadness glide\\nFor my heart and my eyes are full, when I think\\nOf the little boy that died.\\nI went one night to my father s house,\\nWent home to the dear ones all,\\nAnd softly I opened the garden gate,\\nAnd softly the door of the hall\\nMy mother came out to meet her son,\\nShe kissed me, and then she sighed,\\nAnd her head fell on my neck, and she wept\\nFor the little boy that died.\\nAnd when I gazed on his innocent face,\\nAs still and cold he lay,\\nAnd thought what a lovely child he had been,\\nAnd how soon he must decay,\\ndeath, thou lovest the beautiful,\\nIn the woe of my spirit I cried\\nFor sparkled the eyes, and the forehead was fair,\\nOf the little boy that died", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0188.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "THE LITTLE BOY THAT DIED. 175\\nAgain I will go to my father s house,\\nGo home to the dear ones all,\\nAnd sadly I 11 open the garden gate,\\nAnd sadly the door of the hall\\nI shall meet my mother, but nevermore\\nWith her darling by her side,\\nBut she 11 kiss me and sigh and weep again\\nFor the little boy that died.\\nI shall miss him when the flowers come\\nIn the garden where he played\\nI shall miss him more by the fireside,\\nWhen the flowers have all decayed\\nI shall see his toys and his empty chair,\\nAnd the horse he used to ride\\nAnd they will speak, with a silent speech,\\nOf the little boy that died.\\nI shall see his little sister again\\nWith her playmates about the door,\\nAnd I 11 watch the children in their sports,\\nAs I never did before\\nAnd if in the group I see a child\\nThat s dimpled and laughing-eyed,\\nI 11 look to see if it may not be\\nThe little boy that died.\\nWe shall all go home to our Father s house,\\nTo our Father s house in the skies,\\nWhere the hope of our souls shall have no blight,\\nAnd our love no broken ties\\nWe shall roam on the banks of the River of Peace,\\nAnd bathe in its blissful tide\\nAnd one of the joys of our heaven shall be\\nThe little boy that died", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0189.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "176 PUBLIC AND PAELOR READINGS.\\nKING CANUTE AND HIS NOBLES.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Dr. Wolcott.\\nCANUTE was by his nobles taught to fancy\\nThat, by a kind of royal necromancy,\\nHe had the power Old Ocean to control.\\nDown rushed the royal Dane upon the strand,\\nAnd issued, like a Solomon, command, poor soul\\nGo back, ye waves, you blustering rogues, quoth he\\nTouch not your lord and master, Sea\\nFor by my power almighty, if you do\\nThen, staring vengeance, out he held a stick,\\nVowing to drive Old Ocean to Old Nick,\\nShould he even wet the latchet of his shoe.\\nThe sea retired, the monarch fierce rushed on,\\nAnd looked as if he d drive him from the land\\nBut Sea, not caring to be put upon,\\nMade for a moment a bold stand.\\nNot only made a stand did Mr. Ocean,\\nBut to his waves he made a motion,\\nAnd bid them give the king a hearty trimming.\\nThe order seemed a deal the waves to tickle,\\nFor soon they put his Majesty in pickle,\\nAnd set his royalties, like geese, a swimming.\\nAll hands aloft, with one tremendous roar,\\nSound did they make him wish himself on shore\\nHis head and ears most handsomely they doused,\\nJust like a porpoise, with one general shout,\\nThe waves so tumbled the poor king about,\\nNo anabaptist e er was half so soused.\\nAt length to land he crawled, a half-drowned thing,\\nIndeed more like a crab than like a king,\\nAnd found his courtiers making rueful faces", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0190.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "HANNAH BINDING SHOES. 177\\nBut what said Canute to the lords and gentry,\\nWho hailed him from the water, on his entry,\\nAll trembling for their lives or places\\nu My lords and gentlemen, by your advice,\\nI ve had with Mr. Sea a pretty bustle\\nMy treatment from my foe, not over nice,\\nJust made a jest for every shrimp and mussel.\\nA pretty trick for one of my dominion\\nMy lords, I thank you for your great opinion.\\nYou 11 tell me, p r aps, I ve only lost one game,\\nAnd bid me try another, for the rubber\\nPermit me to inform you all, with shame,\\nThat you re a set of knaves and I m a lubber/\\nHANNAH BINDING SHOES. Lucy Larcom.\\nPOOR lone Hannah,\\nSitting at the window binding shoes.\\nFaded, wrinkled,\\nSitting stitching in a mournful muse.\\nBright-eyed beauty once was she,\\nWhen the bloom was on the tree\\nSpring and winter\\nHannah s at the window binding shoes.\\nNot a neighbor\\nPassing nod or answer will refuse,\\nTo her whisper,\\nIs there from the fishers any news 1\\n0, her heart s adrift with one\\nOn an endless voyage gone\\nNight and morning\\nHannah s at the window binding shoes.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0191.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "178 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nFair young Hannah\\nBen, the sunburnt fisher, gayly woos\\nHale and clever,\\nFor a willing heart and hand he sues.\\nMay-day skies are all aglow,\\nAnd the waves are laughing so 1\\nFor her wedding\\nHannah leaves her window and her shoes.\\nMay is passing\\nMid the apple-boughs a pigeon coos.\\nHannah shudders,\\nFor the mild southwester mischief brews.\\nRound the rocks of Marblehead,\\nOutward bound, a schooner sped\\nSilent, lonesome,\\nHannah s at the window binding shoes.\\nT is November\\nNow no tear her wasted cheek bedews.\\nFrom Newfoundland,\\nNot a sail returning will she lose,\\nWhispering hoarsely, Fishermen,\\nHave you, have you heard of Ben\\nOld with watching,\\nHannah s at the window binding shoes.\\nTwenty winters\\nBleach and tear the ragged shore she views j\\nTwenty seasons,\\nNever one has brought her any news.\\nStill her dim eyes silently\\nChase the white sails o er the sea\\nHopeless, faithful,\\nHannah s at the window binding shoes.", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0192.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "THE REGIMENTS RETURN. 179\\nTHE REGIMENT S RETURN. E. J. Cutler.\\nI.\\nHE is coming, he is coming, my true love comes horn\u00c2\u00a9\\nto-day!\\nAll the city throngs to meet him, as he lingers by the way.\\nHe is coming from the battle with his knapsack and his gun,\\nHe, a hundred times my darling, for the dangers he hath run\\nTwice they said that he was dead, but I would not believe the\\nlie;\\nWhile my faithful heart kept loving him, I knew he could not\\ndie.\\nAll in white will I array me, with a rose-bud in my hair,\\nAnd his ring upon my finger, he shall see it shining there\\nHe will kiss me, he will kiss me, with the kiss of long ago\\nHe will fold his arms around me close, and I shall cry, I\\nknow.\\nthe years that I have waited, rather lives they seemed to be,\\nFor the dawning of the happy day that brings him back to me\\nBut the worthy cause has triumphed, joy the war is over\\nHe is coming, he is coming, my gallant soldier lover\\nII.\\nMen are shouting all around me, women weep and laugh for\\njoy,\\nWives behold again their husbands, and the mother clasps\\nher boy\\nAll the city throbs with passion t is a day of jubilee\\nBut the happiness of thousands brings not happiness to me.\\nI remember, I remember, when the soldiers went away,\\nThere was one among the noblest who is not returned to-day.\\n0, I loved him, how I loved him and I never can forget\\nThat he kissed me as we parted, for the kiss is burning yet", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0193.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "180 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nT is his picture in my bosom, where his head will never lie\\nVT is his ring upon my finger, I will wear it till I die.\\n0, his comrades say that, dying, he looked up and breathed\\nmy name\\nThey have come to those that loved them, but my darling\\nnever came.\\n0, they say he died a hero, but I knew how that would be,\\nAnd they say the cause has triumphed Will that bring him\\nback to me\\nENLISTING AS ARMY NURSE.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Louisa M. Alcott.\\nt WANT something to do. This remark being ad-\\n-L dressed to the world in general, no one in particular\\nfelt it his duty to reply so I repeated it to the smaller world\\nabout me, received the following suggestions, and settled the\\nmatter by answering my own inquiry, as people are apt to do\\nwhen very much in earnest.\\nWrite a book, quoth my father.\\nDon t know enough, sir. First live, then write.\\nTry teaching again, suggested my mother.\\nNo, thank you, ma am ten years of that is enough.\\nTake a husband like my Darby, and fulfil your mission,\\nsaid Sister Jane, home on a visit.\\nCan t afford expensive luxuries, Mrs. Coobiddy.\\nTurn actress, and immortalize your name, said Sister\\nVashti, striking an attitude.\\nI won t.\\nGo nurse the soldiers, said my young neighbor, Tom,\\npanting for the tented field.\\nI will\\nArriving at this satisfactory conclusion, the meeting ad-\\njourned and the fact that Miss Tribulation was available as\\narmy nurse went abroad on the wings of the wind.\\nIn a few days a townswoman heard of my desire, approved\\nof it, and brought about an interview with one of the sister-", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0194.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "ENLISTING AS ARMY NURSE. 181\\nhood I wished to join, who was at home on a furlough, and\\nable and willing to satisfy inquiries.\\nA morning chat with Miss General S. we hear no eud of\\nMrs. Generals, why not a Miss 1 produced three results I\\nfelt that I could do the work, was offered a place, and ac-\\ncepted it, promising not to desert, but to stand ready to\\nmarch on Washington at an hour s notice.\\nA few days were necessary for the letter containing my\\nrequest and recommendation to reach head-quarters, and\\nanother, containing my commission, to return therefore no\\ntime was to be lost and, heartily thanking my pair of\\nfriends, I hurried home through the December slush, as if\\nthe Rebels were after me, and, like many another recruit,\\nburst in upon my family with the announcement, I ve\\nenlisted\\nAn impressive silence followed. Tom, the irrepressible,\\nbroke it with a slap on the shoulder and the grateful compli-\\nment, Old Trib, you re a trump\\nThank you; then I ll take something, which I did,\\nin the shape of dinner, reeling off my news at the rate of\\nthree dozen words to a mouthful and as every one else\\ntalked equally fast, and all together, the scene was most in-\\nspiring.\\nAs boys going to sea immediately become nautical in\\nspeech, walk as if they already had their sea-legs on, and\\nshiver their timbers on all possible occasions, so I turned\\nmilitary at once, called my dinner my rations, saluted all\\nnew-comers, and ordered a dress-parade that very afternoon.\\nHaving reviewed every rag I possessed, I detailed some\\npieces for picket duty while airing on the fence some to the\\nsanitary influences of the wash-tub others to mount guard\\nin the trunk while the weak and wounded went to the\\nWork-basket Hospital, to be made ready for active service\\nagain.\\nTo this squad I devoted myself for a week but all was\\ndone, and I had time to get powerfully impatient before the\\nletter came. It did arrive, however, and brought a disap-", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0195.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "182 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\npointment along with its good-will and friendliness for it\\ntold me that the place in the Armory Hospital that I sup-\\nposed I was to take was already filled, and a much less\\ndesirable one at Hurly-burly House was offered instead.\\n11 That s just your luck, Trib. I 11 take your trunk up\\ngarret for you again; for of course you won t go, Tom\\nremarked, with the disdainful pity which small boys affect\\nwhen they get into their teens.\\nI was wavering in my secret soul but that remark settled\\nthe matter, and I crushed him on the spot with martial brev-\\nity, It is now one I shall march at six.\\nI have a confused recollection of spending the afternoon in\\npervading the house like an executive whirlwind, with my\\nfamily swarming after me, all working, talking, prophesy-\\ning, and lamenting, while I packed such of my things as I\\nwas to take with me, tumbled the rest into two big boxes,\\ndanced on the lids till they shut, and gave them in charge,\\nwith the direction, If I never come back, make a bonfire\\nof them.\\nThen I choked down a cup of tea, generously salted instead\\nof sugared by some agitated relative, shouldered my knap-\\nsack, it was only a travelling-bag, but do let me preserve\\nthe unities, hugged my family three times all round with-\\nout a vestige of unmanly emotion, till a certain dear old lady\\nbroke down upon my neck, with a despairing sort of wail,\\nmy dear, my dear how can I let you go 1\\nI 11 stay, if you say so, mother.\\nBut I don t; go, and the Lord will take care of you.\\nMuch of the Roman matron s courage had gone into the\\nYankee matron s composition, and, in spite of her tears, she\\nwould have sent ten sons to the war, had she possessed them,\\nas freely as she sent one daughter, smiling and flapping on\\nthe door-step till I vanished, though the eyes that followed\\nme were very dim, and the handkerchief she waved was very\\nwet.\\nMy transit from The Gables to the village depot was a\\nfunny mixture of good wishes and good-bys, mud-puddles and", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0196.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "MOTHER AND POET. 183\\nshopping. A December twilight is not the most cheering\\ntime to enter upon a somewhat perilous enterprise but I d\\nno thought of giving out, bless you, no\\nWhen the engine screeched Here we are I clutched\\nmy escort in a fervent embrace, and skipped into the car with\\nas blithe a farewell as if going on a bridal tour, though I\\nbelieve brides don t usually wear cavernous black bonnets and\\nfuzzy brown coats, with a hair-brush, a pair of rubbers, two\\nbooks, and a bag of gingerbread distorting the pockets.\\nIf I thought that people would believe it, T d boldly state\\nthat I slept from C. to B., which would simplify matters im-\\nmensely but as I know they would n t, I 11 confess that the\\nhead under the funereal coal-hod fermented with all manner\\nof high thoughts and heroic purposes to do or die, per-\\nhaps both and the heart under the fuzzy brown coat felt\\nvery tender with the memory of the dear old lady, probably\\nsobbing over her army socks and the loss of her topsy-turvy\\nTrib.\\nAt this juncture I took the veil, and what I did behind it\\nis nobody s business; but I maintain that the soldier who\\ncries when his mother says Good by is the boy to fight\\nbest, and die bravest, when the time comes, or go back to her\\nbetter than he went.\\nMOTHER AND POET. Mrs. Browning.\\nDEAD one of them shot by the sea in the east,\\nAnd one of them shot in the west by the sea.\\nDead both my boys when you sit at the feast,\\nAnd are wanting a great song for Italy free,\\nLet none look at me\\nYet I was a poetess only last year,\\nAnd good at my art, for a woman, men said\\nBut this woman, this, who is agonized here,\\nThe east sea and west sea rhyme on in her head\\nForever, instead", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0197.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "184 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nWhat s art for a woman 1 To hold on her knees\\nBoth darlings to feel all their arms round her throat\\nCling, strangle a little to sew by degrees,\\nAnd broider the long clothes and neat little coat\\nTo dream and to dote.\\nTo teach them It stings there made them, indeed,\\nSpeak plain the word country, /taught them, no doubt,\\nThat a country s a thing men should die for at need.\\nprated of liberty, rights, and about\\nThe tyrant cast out.\\nAnd when their eyes flashed my beautiful eyes\\nexulted Nay, let them go forth at the wheels\\nOf the guns, and denied not. But then the surprise\\nWhen one sits quite alone Then one weeps, then one kneels\\nGod how the house feels\\nAt first happy news came, in gay letters moiled\\nWith my kisses, of camp life and glory, and how\\nThey both loved me, and soon, coming home to be spoiled,\\nIn return would fan off every fly from my brow\\nWith their green laurel-bough.\\nThen was triumph at Turin Ancona was free\\nAnd some one came out of the cheers in the street,\\nWith a face pale as stone, to say something to me.\\nMy Guido was dead I fell down at his feet\\nWhile they cheered in the street.\\nI bore it friends soothed me my grief looked sublime\\nAs the ransom of Italy. One boy remained\\nTo be leant on, and walked with, recalling the time\\nWhen the first grew immortal, while both of us strained\\nTo the height he had gained.\\nAnd letters still came, shorter, sadder, more strong,\\nWrit now but in one hand I was not to faint.", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0198.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "MOTHER AND POET. 185\\nOne loved me for two would be with me erelong\\nAnd Viva 1 Italia he died for, our saint,\\nWho forbids our complaint.\\nMy Nanni would add he was safe, and aware\\nOf a presence that turned off the balls, was imprest\\nIt was Guido himself who knew what I could bear,\\nAnd how t was impossible, quite dispossessed,\\nTo live on for the rest.\\nOn which, without pause, up the telegraph line\\nSwept smoothly the next news from Gaeta\\nShot. Tell his mother. Ah ah his, their mother\\nnot mine.\\nNo voice says my mother again to me. What\\nYou think Guido forgot 1\\nAre souls straight so happy that, dizzy with heaven,\\nThey drop earth s affections, conceive not of woe 1\\nI think not. Themselves were too lately forgiven\\nThrough That Love and that Sorrow which reconcile so\\nThe Above and Below.\\nChrist of the seven wounds, who look dst through the dark\\nTo the face of Thy mother consider, I pray,\\nHow we common mothers stand desolate mark,\\nWhose sons, not being Christs, die with eyes turned away,\\nAnd no last word to say\\nBoth boys dead but that s out of nature. We all\\nHave been patriots, yet each house must always keep one\\nT were imbecile hewing out roads to a wall.\\nAnd, when Italy s made, for what end is it done,\\nIf we have not a son 1\\nAh ah ah when Gaeta s taken, what then 1\\nWhen the fair wicked queen sits no more at her sport", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0199.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "186 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nOf the fire-balls of death, crashing souls out of men 1\\nWhen the guns of Cavalli, with final retort,\\nHave cut the game short 1\\nWhen Venice and Rome keep their new jubilee,\\nWhen your flag takes all heaven for its white, green, and red,\\nWhen you have your country, from mountain to sea,\\nWhen King Victor has Italy s crown on his head,\\n(And have my dead)\\nWhat then 1 Do not mock me. Ah, ring your bells low\\nAnd burn your lights faintly My country is there,\\nAbove the star pricked by the last peak of snow\\nMy Italy s there, with my brave civic Pair,\\nTo disfranchise despair\\nDead one of them shot by the sea in the east,\\nAnd one of them shot in the west by the sea.\\nBoth both my boys If in keeping the feast,\\nYou want a great song for Italy free,\\nLet none look at me.\\nFETCHING WATER FROM THE WELL.\\nEARLY on a sunny morning, while the lark was singing\\nsweet,\\nCame, beyond the ancient farm-house, sounds of lightly trip-\\nping feet.\\nT was a lowly cottage maiden going, why, let young hearts\\ntell,\\nWith her homely pitcher laden, fetching water from the well.\\nShadows lay athwart the pathway, all along the quiet\\nlane,\\nAnd the breezes of the morning moved them to and fro\\nagain.", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0200.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "FETCHING WATER FROM THE WELL. 187\\nO er the sunshine, o er the shadow, passed the maiden of the\\nfarm,\\nWith a charmed heart within her, thinking of no ill nor harm.\\nPleasant, surely, were her musings, for the nodding leaves\\nin vain\\nSought to press their brightening image on her ever-busy\\nbrain.\\nLeaves and joyous birds went by her, like a dim, half- waking\\ndream\\nAnd her soul was only conscious of life s gladdest summer\\ngleam.\\nAt the old lane s shady turning lay a well of water bright,\\nSinging soft its hallelujah to the gracious morning light.\\nFern-leaves, broad and green, bent o er it where its silvery\\ndroplets fell,\\nAnd the fairies dwelt beside it, in the spotted foxglove bell.\\nBack she bent the shading fern-leaves, dipt the pitcher in\\nthe tide,\\nDrew it, with the dripping waters flowing o er its glazed side.\\nBut before her arm could place it on her shiny, wavy hair,\\nBy her side a youth was standing Love rejoiced to see the\\npair\\nTones of tremulous emotion trailed upon the morning\\nbreeze,\\nGentle words of heart-devotion whispered neath the ancient\\ntrees.\\nBut the holy, blessed secrets it becomes me not to tell\\nLife had met another meaning, fetching water from the well.\\nDown the rural lane they sauntered. He the burden-\\npitcher bore\\nShe, with dewy eyes down looking, grew more beauteous than\\nbefore", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0201.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "188 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nWhen they neared the silent homestead, up he raised the\\npitcher light\\nLike a fitting crown he placed it on her hair of wavelets\\nbright\\nEmblems of the coming burdens that for love of him she d\\nbear,\\nCalling every burden blessed, if his love but lighted there.\\nThen, still waving benedictions, further, further off he drew,\\nWhile his shadow seemed a glory that across the pathway\\ngrew.\\nNow about her household duties silently the maiden went,\\nAnd an ever-radiant halo o er her daily life was blent.\\nLittle knew the aged matron, as her feet like music fell,\\nWhat abundant treasure found she, fetching water from the\\nwell!\\nTHE PUMPKIN.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J. G. Whittier.\\nON the banks of the Xenil a dark Spanish maiden\\nComes up with the fruit of the tangled vine laden\\nAnd the Creole of Cuba laughs out to behold\\nThrough orange-leaves shining the broad spheres of gold\\nYet with dearer delight from his home in the North,\\nOn the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forth,\\nWhere crook-necks are coiling and yellow fruit shines,\\nAnd the sun of September melts down on his vines.\\nAh on Thanksgiving Day, when from East and from West,\\nFrom North and from South come the pilgrim and guest,\\nWhen the gray-haired New-Englander sees round his board\\nThe old broken links of affection restored,\\nWhen the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more,\\nAnd the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before,\\nWhat moistens the lip, and what brightens the eye\\nWhat calls back the past like the rich pumpkin-pie", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0202.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "CIVIL WAR. 189\\n0, fruit loved of boyhood the old clays recalling,\\nWhen wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling\\nWhen wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin,\\nGlaring out through the dark with a candle within\\nWhen we laughed round the corn-heap, with hearts all in\\ntune,\\nOur chair a broad pumpkin, our lantern the moon,\\nTelling tales of the fairy who travelled like steam\\nIn a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats for her team\\nThen thanks for thy present none sweeter or better\\nE er smoked from an oven or circled a platter\\nFairer hands never wrought at a pastry more fine,\\nBrighter eyes never watched o er its baking, than thine\\nAnd the prayer, which my mouth is too full to express,\\nSwells my heart that thy shadow may never be less,\\nThat the days of thy lot may be lengthened below,\\nAnd the fame of thy worth like a pumpkin-vine grow,\\nAnd thy life be as sweet, and its last sunset sky\\nGolden-tinted and fair as thy own pumpkin-pie\\nCIVIL WAR. Charles D. Shanley.\\nO IFLEMAN, shoot me a fancy shot\\n_LY Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette\\nRing me a ball in the glittering spot\\nThat shines on his breast like an amulet\\nAh, captain here goes for a fine-drawn bead\\nThere s music around when my barrel s in tune\\nCrack went the rifle, the messenger sped,\\nAnd dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon.\\nNow, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatch\\nFrom your victim some trinket to handsel first blood", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0203.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": "190 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nA button, a loop, or that luminous patch\\nThat gleams in the moon like a diamond stud\\ncaptain I staggered, and sunk on my track,\\nWhen I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette,\\nFor he looked so like you, as he lay on his back,\\nThat my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet.\\nBut I snatched off the trinket, this locket of gold\\nAn inch from the centre my lead broke its way,\\nScarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold,\\nOf a beautiful lady in bridal array.\\nHa rifleman, fling me the locket t is she,\\nMy brother s young bride, and the fallen dragoon\\nWas her husband Hush soldier, t was Heaven s decree\\nWe must bury him there, by the light of the moon\\nBut, hark the far bugles their warnings unite\\nWar is a virtue, weakness, a sin\\nThere s a lurking and loping around us to-night\\nLoad again, rifleman, keep your hand in\\nPATIENT JOE.\\nHAVE you heard of a collier, of honest renown,\\nWho dwelt on the borders of Newcastle Town\\nHis name it was Joseph, you better may know\\nIf I tell you he always was called Patient Joe.\\nWhatever betided, he thought it was right,\\nAnd Providence still he kept ever in sight\\nTo those who love God, let things turn as they would,\\nHe was certain that all worked together for good.", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0204.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "PATIENT JOE. 1H\\nHe praised his Creator, whatever befell\\nHow thankful was Joseph when matters went well\\nHow sincere were his carols of praise for good health,\\nAnd how grateful for any increase in his wealth\\nIn trouble he bowed him to God s holy will\\nHow contented was Joseph when matters went ill\\nWhen rich and when poor, he alike understood\\nThat all things together were working for good.\\nIf the land was afflicted with war, he declared\\nT was a needful correction for sins, which he shared\\nAnd when merciful Heaven bid slaughter to cease,\\nHow thankful was Joe for the blessings of peace\\nWhen taxes ran high and provisions were dear,\\nStill Joseph declared he had nothing to fear\\nIt was but a trial, he well understood,\\nFrom Him who made all work together for good.\\nThough his wife was but sickly, his gettings but small,\\nA mind so submissive prepared him for all\\nHe lived on his gains, were they greater or less,\\nAnd the Giver he ceased not each moment to bless.\\nIt was Joseph s ill fortune to work in a pit\\nWith some who believed that profaneness was wit\\nWhen disasters befell him, much pleasure they showed,\\nAnd laughed and said, Joseph, will this work for good 1\\nBut ever when these would profanely advance\\nThat this happened by luck, and that happened by chance,\\nStill Joseph insisted no chance could be found,\\nNot a sparrow by accident falls to the ground.\\nAmong his companions who worked in the pit,\\nAnd made him the butt of their profligate wit,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0205.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "192 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nWas idle Tim Jenkins, who drank and who gamed,\\nWho mocked at his Bible and was not ashamed.\\nOne day at the pit his old comrades he found,\\n^.nd they chatted, preparing to go under ground\\nTim Jenkins, as usual, was turning to jest\\nJoe s notion that all things which happened were best.\\nAs Joe on the ground had unthinkingly laid\\nHis provision for dinner of bacon and bread,\\nA dog, on the watch, seized the bread and the meat,\\nAnd off with his prey ran with footsteps so fleet.\\nNow to see the delight that Tim Jenkins expressed\\nIs the loss of thy dinner too, Joe, for the best 1\\nNo doubt on t, said Joe, but as I must eat,\\nT is my duty to try to recover my meat.\\nSo saying, he followed the dog a long round,\\nWhile Tim, laughing and swearing, went down under ground\\nPoor Joe soon returned, though his bacon was lost,\\nFor the dog a good dinner had made at his cost.\\nW^en Joseph came back, he expected a sneer\\nBut the face of each collier spoke horror and fear.\\nWhat a narrow escape hast thou had they all said\\nThe pit has fallen in, and Tim Jenkins is dead.\\nHow sincere was the gratitude Joseph expressed\\nHow warm the compassion which glowed in his breast\\nThus events, great and small, if aright understood,\\nWill be found to be working together for good.\\nWhen my meat, Joseph cried, was just now stolen away,\\nAnd I had no prospect of eating to-day,\\nHow could it appear to a short-sighted sinner\\nThat my life would be saved by the loss of my dinner", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0206.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "THE CANAL-BOAT. 193\\nTHE CANAL-BOAT. Harriet Beecher Stowe.\\nOF all the ways of travelling which obtain among our\\nlocomotive nation, this said vehicle, the canal-boat, is\\nthe most absolutely prosaic and inglorious. There is some-\\nthing picturesque, nay, almost sublime, in the lordly march\\nof your well-built, high-bred steamboat. Go, take your stand\\non some overhanging bluff, where the Ohio winds its thread\\nof silver, or the sturdy Mississippi tears its path through un~\\nbroken forests, and it will do your heart good to see the gal-\\nlant boat walking the waters with powerful tread and, like\\nsome fabled monster of the wave, breathing fire, and making\\nthe shores resound with its deep respirations. Then there is\\nsomething mysterious, even awful, in the power of steam.\\nBut in a canal-boat there is no power, no mystery, no dan-\\nger one cannot blow up, one cannot be drowned, unless by\\nsome special effort. One sees all there is in the case,\\na horse, a rope, and a muddy strip of water, and that is\\nall.\\nDid you ever try it 1 If not, take an imaginary trip with\\nus, just for experiment.\\nThere s the boat exclaims a passenger in the omnibus,\\nas we are rolling down from the Pittsburg Mansion House to\\nthe canal.\\nWhere? exclaim a dozen voices, and forthwith a dozen\\nheads go out of the window.\\nWhy, down there, under that bridge don t you see those\\nlights V\\nWhat, that little thing! exclaims an inexperienced\\ntraveller dear me we can t half of us get into it\\nWe! indeed, says some old hand in the business,\\nI think you 11 find it will hold us and a dozen loads like\\nus.\\nImpossible say some.\\nYou 11 see, say the initiated and, as soon as you get\\nout, you do see, and hear too, what seems like a general", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0207.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "194 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nbreaking loose from the Tower of Babel, amid a perfect\\nhailstorm of trunks, boxes, valises, carpet-bags, and every de-\\nscribable and indescribable form of what a Westerner calls\\nplunder.\\nThat s my trunk barks out a big round man.\\nThat s my bandbox screams a heart-stricken old lady,\\nin terror for her immaculate Sunday caps.\\nWhere s my little red box] I had two carpet-bags and\\na My trunk had a scarle Halloo where are you going\\nwith that portmanteau 1 Husband husband do see after\\nthe large basket and the little hair trunk 0, and the\\nbaby s little chair\\nGo below, for mercy s sake, my dear I 11 see to the\\nAt last, the feminine part of creation, perceiving that, in\\nthis particular instance, they gain nothing by public speak-\\ning, are content to be led quietly under the hatches and\\namusing is the look of dismay which each new-comer gives to\\nthe confined quarters that present themselves. Those who\\nwere so ignorant of the power of compression as to suppose\\nthe boat scarce large enough to contain them and theirs find,\\nwith dismay, a respectable colony of old ladies, babies, moth-\\ners, big baskets, and carpet-bags already established.\\nMercy on us says one, after surveying the little room,\\nabout ten feet long and six high, where are we all to sleep\\nto-night\\n0 me what a sight of children says a young lady in\\na despairing tone.\\nPoh says an initiated traveller children scarce any\\nhere. Let s see one the woman in the corner, two that\\nchild with the bread-and-butter, three and then there s\\nthat other woman with two. Really it s quite moderate\\nfor a canal-boat. However, we can t tell till they have all\\ncome.\\nAll for mercy s sake, you don t say there are any more\\ncoming exclaim two or three in a breath they can t\\ncome there is not room I", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0208.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "THE CANAL-BOAT. 195\\nNotwithstanding the impressive utterance of this sentence,\\nthe contrary is immediately demonstrated by the appearance\\nof a very corpulent elderly lady, with three well-grown\\ndaughters, who come down looking about them most compla-\\ncently, entirely regardless of the unchristian looks of the\\ncompany. What a mercy it is that fat people are always\\ngood-natured\\nAfter this follows an indiscriminate raining down of all\\nshapes, sizes, sexes, and ages, men, women, children, ba-\\nbies, and nurses. The state of feeling becomes perfectly des-\\nperate. Darkness gathers on all faces.\\nWe shall be smothered we shall be crowded to death\\nwe canH stay here are heard faintly from one and another\\nand yet, though the boat grows no wider, the walls no higher,\\nthey do live, and do stay there, in spite of repeated protesta-\\ntions to the contrary. Truly, as Sam Slick says, there s a\\nsight of wear in human natur\\nBut, meanwhile, the children grow sleepy, and divers inter-\\nesting little duets and trios arise from one part or another of\\nthe cabin.\\nHush, Johnny be a good boy, says a pale, nursing\\nmamma to a great, bristling, white-headed phenomenon, who\\nis kicking very much at large in her lap.\\nI won t be a good boy, neither, responds Johnny, with\\ninteresting explicitness I want to go to bed, and so-o-o-o\\nand Johnny makes up a mouth as big as a teacup, and roars\\nwith good courage, and his mamma asks him if he ever saw\\npa do so, and tells him that he is mamma s dear, good\\nlittle boy, and must not make a noise, with various observa-\\ntions of the kind, which are so strikingly efficacious in such\\ncases. Meanwhile, the domestic concert in other quarters\\nproceeds with vigor.\\nMamma, I m tired bawls a child.\\nWhere s the baby s nightgown 1 calls a nurse.\\nDo take Peter up in your lap, and keep him still.\\nPray get some biscuits and stop their mouths.\\nMeanwhile sundry babies strike in con spirito, as the", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0209.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "196 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nmusic-books have it, and execute various flourishes the dis-\\nconsolate mothers sigh, and look as if all was over with\\nthem and the young ladies appear extremely disgusted, and\\nwonder what business women have to be travelling round\\nwith babies.\\nTo these troubles succeeds the turning-out scene, when the\\nwhole caravan is ejected into the gentlemen s cabin, that the\\nbeds may be made. The red curtains are put down, and in\\nsolemn silence all the last mysterious preparations begin.\\nAt length it is announced that all is ready. Forthwith the\\nwhole company rush back, and find the walls embellished by\\na series of little shelves, about a foot wide, each furnished\\nwith a mattress and bedding, and hooked to the ceiling by a\\nvery suspiciously slender cord. Direful are the ruminations\\nand exclamations of inexperienced travellers, particularly young\\nones, as they eye these very equivocal accommodations.\\nWhat, sleep up there won t sleep on one of those top\\nshelves, /know. The cords will certainly break.\\nThe chambermaid here takes up the conversation, and sol-\\nemnly assures them that such an accident is not to be\\nthought of at all, that it is a natural impossibility, a\\nthing that could not happen without an actual miracle and\\nsince it becomes increasingly evident that thirty ladies cannot\\nall sleep on the lowest shelf, there is some effort made to ex-\\nercise faith in this doctrine nevertheless, all look on their\\nneighbors with fear and trembling, and when the stout lady\\ntalks of taking a shelf, she is most urgently pressed to change\\nplaces with her alarmed neighbor below. Points of location\\nbeing after a while adjusted, comes the last struggle. Every-\\nbody wants to take off a bonnet, or look for a shawl, to find\\na cloak or get a carpet-bag, and all set about it with such zeal\\nthat nothing can be done.\\nMa am, you re on my foot says one.\\nWill you please to move, ma am 1 says somebody who is\\ngasping and struggling behind you.\\nMove you echo. Indeed, I should be very glad to,\\nbut I don t see much prospect of it.", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0210.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "THE CANAL-BOAT. 107\\nChambermaid calls a lady, who is struggling among a\\nheap of carpet-bags and children at one end of the cabin.\\nMa am echoes the poor chambermaid, who is wedged\\nfast, in a similar situation, at the other.\\nWhere s my cloak, chambermaid 1\\nI d find it, ma am, if I could move.\\nChambermaid, my basket\\nChambermaid, my parasol\\nChambermaid, my carpet-bag\\n11 Mamma, they push me so\\nHush, child crawl under there, and lie still till I can\\nundress you.\\nAt last, however, the various distresses are over, the babies\\nsink to sleep, and even that much-enduring being, the cham-\\nbermaid, seeks out some corner for repose.- Tired and\\ndrowsy, you are just sinking into a doze, when bang goes\\nthe boat against the sides of a lock ropes scrape, men run\\nand shout, and up fly the heads of all the top shelfites, who\\nare generally the more juvenile and airy part of the com-\\npany.\\nWhat s that what s that flies from mouth to mouth\\nand forthwith they proceed to awaken their respective rela-\\ntions. Mother Aunt Hannah do wake up what is this\\nawful noise I\\n0, only a lock Pray be still groan out the sleepy\\nmembers from below.\\nA lock exclaim the vivacious creatures, ever on the\\nalert for information and what is a lock, pray 1\\nDon t you know what a lock is, you silly creatures 1 Do\\nlie down and go to sleep.\\nBut say, there ain t any danger in a lock, is there 1 re-\\nspond the querists.\\nDanger exclaims a deaf old lady, poking up her head.\\nWhat s the matter 1 There hain t nothin burst, has\\nthere V\\nNo, no, no exclaim the provoked and despairing oppo-\\nsition party, who find that there is no such thing as going to", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0211.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "198 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nsleep till they have made the old lady below and the young\\nladies above understand exactly the philosophy of the lock.\\nAfter a while the conversation again subsides; again all is\\nstill you hear only the trampling of horses and the rippling\\nof the rope in the water, and sleep again is stealing over you.\\nYou doze, you dream, and all of a sudden you are started by\\na cry,\\nChambermaid wake up the lady that wants to be set\\nashore.\\nUp jumps chambermaid, and up jump the lady and two\\nchildren, and forthwith form a committee of inquiry as to\\nways and means.\\nWhere s my bonnet 1 says the lady, half awake, and\\nfumbling among the various articles of that name. I\\nthought I hung it up behind the door.\\nCan t you find it 1 says poor chambermaid, yawning and\\nrubbing her eyes.\\nyes, here it is, says the lady and then the cloak, the\\nshawl, the gloves, the shoes, receive each a separate discussion.\\nAt last all seems ready, and they begin to move off, when, lo\\nPeter s cap is missing. Now, where can it be 1 soliloqui-\\nzes the lady. I put it right here by the table leg maybe\\nit got into some of the berths.\\nAt this suggestion the chambermaid takes the candle, and\\ngoes round deliberately to every berth, poking the light\\ndirectly in the face of every sleeper. Here it is, she ex-\\nclaims, pulling at something black under one pillow.\\nNo, indeed, those are my shoes, says the vexed sleeper.\\nMaybe it s here, she resumes, darting upon something\\ndark mi another berth.\\nNo, that s my bag, responds the occupant.\\nThe chambermaid then proceeds to turn over all the chil-\\ndren on the floor, to see if it is not under them. In the\\ncourse of which process they are most agreeably waked up\\nand enlivened and when everybody is broad awake, and most\\nuncharitably wishing the cap, and Peter too, at the bottom\\nof the canal, the good lady exclaims, Well, if this isn t", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0212.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "THE CANAL-BOAT. 199\\nlucky here I had it safe in my basket all the time And\\nshe departs aiilid the -what shall I say? execrations\\nof the whole company, ladies though they be.\\nWell, after this follows a hushing up and wiping up among\\nthe juvenile population and a series of remarks commences\\nfrom the various shelves, of a very edifying and instructive\\ntendency. One says that the woman did not seem to know\\nwhere anything was another says that she has waked up all\\nthe children, too and the elderly ladies make moral reflec-\\ntions on the importance of putting things where yov. can find\\nthem, being always ready which observations, being deliv-\\nered in an exceedingly doleful and drowsy tone, form a sort\\nof sub-bass to the lively chattering of the upper shelfites,\\nwho declare that they feel quite wide awake, that they\\ndon t think they shall go to sleep again to-night, and dis-\\ncourse over everything in creation, until you heartily wish\\nyou were enough related to them to give them a scold-\\ning.\\nAt last, however, voice after voice drops off you fall into\\na most refreshing slumber it seems to you that you sleep\\nabout a quarter of an hour, when the chambermaid pulls you\\nby the sleeve Will you please to get up, ma am We\\nwant to make the beds.\\nYou start and stare. Sure enough the night is gone. So\\nmuch for sleeping on board canal-boats.\\nLet us not enumerate the manifold perplexities of the\\nmorning toilet in a place where every lady realizes most for-\\ncibly the condition of the old lady w T ho lived under a broom\\nAll she wanted was elbow room. Let us not tell how one\\nglass is made to answer for thirty fair faces, one ew r er and\\nvase for thirty lavations, and tell it not in Gath one\\ntowel for a company Let us not intimate how ladies shoes*\\nhave, in a night, clandestinely slid into the gentlemen s cabin,\\nand gentlemen s boots elbowed or, rather, toed their way\\namong ladies gear, nor recite the exclamations after runaway\\nproperty that are heard.\\nI can t find nothin of Johnny s shoe", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0213.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "200 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nHere s a shoe in the water-pitcher, is this it 1\\nMy side-combs are gone exclaims a nymph with di-\\nshevelled curls.\\nMassy do look at my bonnet exclaims an old lady,\\nelevating an article crushed into as many angles as there are\\npieces in a mince-pie.\\nI never did sleep so much together in my life, echoes a\\npoor little French lady, whom despair has driven into talking\\nEnglish.\\nBut we must not prolong our catalogue of distresses be-\\nyond reasonable bounds, and therefore we will close with\\nadvising all our friends, who intend to try this way of travel-\\nling for pleasure, to take a good stock both of patience and\\nclean towels with them, for we think they will find abundant\\nneed for both.\\nTHE LOSS OF THE HORNET.\\nCALL the watch call the watch\\nHo the starboard watch ahoy Have you heard\\nHow a noble ship so trim, like our own, my hearties, here,\\nAll scudding fore the gale, disappeared,\\nWhere yon southern billows roll o er their bed so green and\\nclear\\nHold the reel keep her full hold the reel\\nHow she flew athwart the spray, as, shipmates, we do now,\\nTill her twice a hundred fearless hearts of steel\\nFelt the whirlwind lift its waters aft, acd plunge her down-\\nward bow\\nBear a hand\\nStrike topgallants mind your helm jump aloft\\nT was such a night as this, my lads, a rakish bark was\\ndrowned,\\nWhen demons foul, that whisper seamen oft,", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0214.jp2"}, "215": {"fulltext": "THE LOSS OF THE HORNET. 201\\nScooped a tomb amid the flashing surge that never shall be\\nfound.\\nSquare the yards a double reef Hark the blast\\nO, fiercely has it fallen on the war-ship of the brave,\\nWhen its tempest fury stretched the stately mast\\nAll along her foamy sides, as they shouted on the wave,\\nBear a hand n\\nCall the watch call the watch\\nHo the larboard watch, ahoy Have you heard\\nHow a vessel, gay and taut, on the mountains of the sea,\\nWent below, with all her warlike crew on board,\\nThey who battled for the happy, boys, and perished for the\\nfree?\\nClew, clew up, fore and aft keep away\\nHow the vulture bird of death, in its black and viewless\\nform,\\nHovered sure o er the clamors of his prey,\\nWhile through all their dripping shrouds yelled the spirit of\\nthe storm\\nBear a hand\\nNow out reefs brace the yards lively there\\n0, no more to homeward breeze shall her swelling bosom\\nspread,\\nBut love s expectant eye bid Despair\\nSet her raven watch eternal o er the wreck in ocean s bed.\\nBoard your tacks cheerly, boys But for them,\\nTheir last evening gun is fired, their gales are overblown\\nO er their smoking deck no starry flag shall stream\\nThey 11 sail no more, they 11 fight no more, for their gallant\\nship s gone down.\\nJBear a hand", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0215.jp2"}, "216": {"fulltext": "202 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nWOUNDED. J. W. Watson.\\nSTEADY, boys, steady\\nKeep your arms ready,\\nGod only knows whom we may meet here.\\nDon t let me be taken j\\nI d rather awaken,\\nTo-morrow, in no matter where,\\nThan lie in that foul prison-hole over there.\\nStep slowly\\nSpeak lowly\\nThese rocks may have life.\\nLay me down in this hollow\\nWe are out of the strife.\\nBy heavens the foemen may track me in blood,\\nFor this hole in my breast is outpouring a flood.\\nNo no surgeon for me he can give me no aid\\nThe surgeon I want is pickaxe and spade.\\nWhat, Morris, a tear Why, shame on ye, man\\nI thought you a hero but since you began\\nTo whimper a cry like a girl in her teens,\\nBy George I don t know what the devil it means\\nWell well I am rough t is a very rough school,\\nThis life of a trooper, but yet I m no fool\\nI know a brave man, and a friend from a foe\\nAnd, boys, that you love me I certainly know\\nBut was n t it grand\\nWhen they came down the hill over sloughing and sand\\nBut we stood did we not 1 like immovable rock,\\nUnheeding their balls and repelling their shock.\\nDid you mind the loud cry\\nWhen, as turning to fly,\\nOur men sprang upon them, determined to die 1\\n0, was n t it grand", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0216.jp2"}, "217": {"fulltext": "WOUNDED. 203\\nGod help the poor wretches that fell in that fight\\nNo time was there given for prayer or for flight\\nThey fell by the score, in the crash, hand to hand,\\nAnd they mingled their blood with the sloughing and sand.\\nHuzza\\nGreat Heavens this bullet-hole gapes like a grave\\nA cnrse on the aim of the traitorous knave\\nIs there never a one of ye knows how to pray,\\nOr speak for a man as his life ebbs away 1\\nPray!\\nPray\\nOur Father our Father why don t ye proceed 1\\nCan t you see I am dying 1 Great God, how I bleed\\nEbbing away\\nEbbing away\\nThe light of the day\\nIs turning to gray.\\nPray!\\nPray\\nOur Father in Heaven boys, tell me the rest,\\nWhile I stanch the hot blood from this hole in my breast.\\nThere s something about a forgiveness of sin.\\nPut that in put that in and then\\nI 11 follow your words and say an amen.\\nHere, Morris, old fellow, get hold of my hand\\nAnd, Wilson, my comrade 0, was n t it grand\\nWhen they came down the hill like a thunder-charged\\ncloud\\nWhere s Wilson, my comrade 1 Here, stoop down your\\nhead\\nCan t you say a short prayer for the dying and dead 1\\nChrist God, who died for sinners all,\\nHear thou this suppliant wanderer s cry\\nLet not e en this poor sparrow fall\\nUnheeded by thy gracious eye.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0217.jp2"}, "218": {"fulltext": "204 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThrow wide thy gates to let him in,\\nAnd take him, pleading, to thine arms\\nForgive, Lord his life-long sin,\\nAnd quiet all his fierce alarms.\\nGod bless you, my comrade, for singing that hymn\\nIt is light to my path when my eye has grown dim.\\nI am dying bend down till I touch you once more\\nDon t forget me, old fellow, God prosper this war\\nConfusion to enemies keep hold of my hand\\nAnd float our dear flag o er a prosperous land\\nHOW KAISER WILHELM S SISTER WAS WON.\\nTHE betrothal and marriage of the Princess Charlotte of\\nPrussia with Nicholas, who was then only a grand duke,\\nbut became afterward Emperor of Russia, forms one of the\\nsweetest and most romantic love-episodes in the world of\\nEuropean courts, which is usually so devoid of love and\\nromance, and would, on that account alone, deserve being\\nremembered, quite regardless of the historical interest which\\nwill henceforth adhere to all the members of the family of\\nthe conqueror of France.\\nPrincess Charlotte was born in the year 1798, and was the\\neldest daughter of King Frederick William the Third of\\nPrussia, and his beautiful and accomplished wife, Queen\\nLouisa. Her early childhood elapsed amidst scenes of terror\\nand humiliation for the royal family of Prussia, and nobody\\nwould at that time have ventured to predict for her the bril-\\nliant career which Providence kept in store for this child,\\nborn and brought up under such fatal auspices. We might,\\nindeed, make an exception in favor of her mother, who, with\\nthat prophetic intuition which seems to have been the distin-\\nguishing feature of that high-minded woman, wrote one day\\nto her father, the Duke of Mecklenburg, the following lines\\nabout her daughter", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0218.jp2"}, "219": {"fulltext": "HOW KA1SEB WILHELM S SISTER WAS WON. 205\\nM Charlotte is given to silence and reserve, but under her\\napparent coldness she conceals a warm and loving heart.\\nHer indifference and pride are but the dull outside of a dia-\\nmond of the purest water, which some day will shine forth\\nin its brilliant lustre. Her bearing and manners are noble\\nand dignified. She has but few friends, but these few are\\nwarmly attached to her. I know her value, and predict for\\nher a brilliant future, if she lives long enough.\\nThe young princess was, indeed, a very frail and delicate\\ncreature, one of those tender flowers which seem to wait\\nfor the kind hand of the gardener to transplant them into a\\nwarmer clime. She was charming and handsome but her\\nbeauty was rather that of a pale lily than that of a blooming\\nrose.\\nCharlotte was just sixteen wdien, in the year 1814, the\\nGrand Duke Nicholas, on his way to the camp of the allied\\narmies in France, passed through Berlin, and was warmly\\nwelcomed as an honored guest at the royal palace.\\nThe description which those who saw and knew the grand\\nduke at that time have given of the incomparable graces of\\nhis person and mind makes it easy for us to imagine that the\\nheart of a young girl just budding into womanhood was cap-\\ntivated and charmed by him almost at first sight. Well he\\nmight have said, like Caesar, I came, I saw, I conquered.\\nThe princess fell in love with him, and fortunately for her\\nthe young grand duke returned her love fully as passionately.\\nThe Grand Duke Nicholas had the reputation of being one\\nof the handsomest, if not the very handsomest man of his\\ntimes and his majestic and stately form, which measured no\\nless than six feet and two inches, was considered unequalled\\nin beauty, not only in Russia, but in all Europe. He was\\nvigorous, strong, full of life and health, with broad shoulders\\nand chest, while his small hands and feet were of the most\\naristocratic elegance his whole figure realized the perfect\\nmodel of manly and commanding beaut} 7 which the divine\\nart of a sculptor of antiquity has immortalized under the fea-\\ntures of the Apollo Belvedere. His features were of the", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0219.jp2"}, "220": {"fulltext": "206 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nGrecian cast, forehead and nose formed a straight line,\\nand his large blue, sincere eyes showed a singular combina-\\ntion of composure, sternness, self-reliance, and pride, among\\nwhich it would have been difficult for the observer to name\\nthe predominant expression. Those who would have looked\\nclosely and attentively into those remarkable eyes would have\\neasily believed that their threatening glances would suffice to\\nsuppress a rebellion, to terrify and disarm a murderer, or to\\nfrighten away a supplicant but there would have been but\\nfew to believe that the sternness of these eyes could be so\\nentirely softened as to beam forth nothing but love and kind-\\nness. Among these few was, however, the young Prussian\\nprincess, who had drunk deep in their intoxicating fervor.\\nIt is true that she was the only person in the world in whose\\npresence the Olympian gravity of his features gave way to a\\nradiant cheerfulness, which made his manly beauty perfectly\\nirresistible.\\nIn such moments his magnificent brow, always the seat of\\nmeditation and thought, exhibited the serene beauty and\\nAttic grace of a young Athenian the serious Pericles\\nseemed, by the invisible wand of a magician, to have been\\ntransformed into the youthful Alcibiades.\\nSuch is the nattering picture which his contemporaries have\\ndrawn of the personal appearance of the Grand Duke Nicholas\\nat the time of his arrival at Berlin.\\nAt that time, however, the matchless personal charms of\\nthe grand duke were not enhanced by political prospects of\\nthe most exalted character. He was not even eventually\\nconsidered an heir to the imperial crown of Russia. It is\\ntrue, Alexander the First, his brother, had no children, but\\nin the case of his death, which could not be expected soon,\\nthe Grand Duke Constantine was to inherit the throne of\\nPeter the Great, and leave to Nicholas at best but the posi-\\ntion of a prince of the first blood. Nevertheless, Frederick\\nWilliam, charmed alike by the beauty and intellect of his\\nguest, and by the hope of uniting the sovereign houses of\\nPrussia and Russia by the close ties of a family union.", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0220.jp2"}, "221": {"fulltext": "HOW KAISER WILHELM S SISTER WAS WON. 207\\ngreeted the prospect of a marriage between the grand duke\\nand his daughter with enthusiasm, especially when he dis-\\ncovered that the young folks themselves were very fond of\\neach other.\\nThe king then delicately insinuated to his daughter that if\\nshe had taken a liking to the grand duke, and had reason to\\nbelieve that the prince entertained similar feelings toward\\nher, their marriage would meet with no objection on his\\npart.\\nBut the young princess, although secretly delighting in a\\nhope which so fully responded to the secret wishes of her\\nheart, was either too proud or too bashful to confess to her\\nfather her love for the grand duke, who had not yet made\\nany declaration to her.\\nIn this manner the day approached on which the grand\\nduke was to leave Berlin. On the eve of his departure a\\ngrand gala supper was given in his honor at the royal palace,\\nand, by way of accident or policy, the young Princess Char-\\nlotte was seated by the side of her distinguished admirer.\\nThe grand duke was uncommonly taciturn during the even-\\ning. His high forehead was clouded, and his gloomy eyes\\nseemed to follow in the space vague phantoms flitting before\\nhis imagination. Repeatedly he neglected to reply to ques-\\ntions addressed to him, and when he was asked to respond to\\na toast which one of the royal princes had proposed in his\\nhonor, he seemed to awake from a profound dream which had\\nentirely withdrawn him from his surroundings.\\nSuddenly, as if by a mighty effort of his will, he turned to\\nhis fair neighbor, and whispered so as only to be understood\\nby her,\\nSo I shall leave Berlin to-morrow\\nHe paused abruptly, and looked at the princess as if he\\nwas waiting for an answer which expressed sorrow and grief\\non her part. But the princess was fully as proud as the\\ngrand duke, and, overcoming the violent throbbing of her\\nheart, she said politely to him,\\nWe are all very sorry to see your Imperial Highness leave", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0221.jp2"}, "222": {"fulltext": "208 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nus so soon. Would it not have been possible for you to defer\\nyour departure\\nYou will all be very sorry muttered the grand duke,\\nnot entirely satisfied with the vagueness of sorrow\\nthese words of the princess implied. But you in particular,\\nmadame he added, after some hesitation. For it will\\ndepend on you alone whether I shall stay here or depart.\\nAh replied Charlotte, with her sweetest smile, and\\nwhat have I to do to keep your Imperial Highness here 1\\nYou must permit me to address my admiration and hom-\\nage to you.\\nIs that all]\\nAnd you must encourage me to please you.\\nThat is much more difficult/ said the princess, with a\\ndeep blush, but at the same time her eyes beamed forth so\\nmuch affection and delight that the prince could see at a\\nglance that his fondest hopes had been realized beforehand.\\nDuring my short stay at Berlin, the grand duke con-\\ntinued, in the same tone of voice, I have taken pains to\\nstudy your character and your affections, and this study has\\nsatisfied me that you would render me very happy, while on\\nthe other hand I have some qualities which would secure\\nyour own happinev\\nThe princess was overcome by emotion, and in her con-\\nfusion did not know what to answer. At last she said, But\\nhere, in the presence of the whole court, at the public table,\\nyou put such a question to me n\\n0, replied the prince, you need not make any verbal\\nreply. It will be sufficient for you to give me some pledge\\nof your affection. I see there on your hand a small ring\\nwhose possession would make me very happy. Give it to\\nme.\\nWhat do you think of? Here in the presence of a hun-\\ndred spectator\\nAh, it can be easily done without being seen by anybody.\\nNow we are chatting so quietly with each other that there is\\nnot one among the guests who suspects in the least what we", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0222.jp2"}, "223": {"fulltext": "HOW KAISER WILHELM S SISTER WAS WON. 209\\naie speaking about. Press the ring into a morsel of bread\\nand leave it on the table I will take the talisman, and\\nnobody will notice it.\\nThis ring is really a talisman.\\nI expected so. May I hope to hear its history\\nWhy not 1 My first governess was a Swiss lady by the\\nname of Wildermatt. Once she went to Switzerland in order\\nto enter upon an inheritance which had been bequeathed to\\nher by a distant relative. When she came back to Berlin, a\\nfew weeks afterward, she showed me quite a collection of\\npretty and costly jewelry, which formed part of the inheri-\\ntance. This is a curious old ring, said I to her, as I put\\nthis little old-fashioned ring on my finger. Does it not\\nlook queer and cunning 1 Perhaps it is an old relic or talis-\\nman, and may have been worn centuries ago by a pious lady\\nwho had received it from her knight, starting for the Holy\\nLand. I tried to take the ring from my finger again, but\\nI could not get it off; for I was a little fleshier then than\\nnow, said Charlotte, smilingly. My governess insisted on\\nmy keeping the ring as a souvenir. I accepted her present,\\nand the ring has been on my finger ever since. Some time\\nafterward, when I was contemplating its strange workman-\\nship, I succeeded in pulling it from my finger, and was much\\nsurprised at seeing engraved on the inside some words which,\\nthough nearly rubbed out by the wear of time, were still legi-\\nble. Now, your Imperial Highness, what do you think were\\nthe words engraved upon it 1 I think when you hear them\\nyou will take some interest in the ring.\\nAh and pray what were they 1\\nThe words engraved upon the inside were, Empress of\\nRussia. This ring had undoubtedly been presented by an\\nEmpress of Russia to the relative of Mrs. Wildermatt, for I\\nwas told that both this lady and her mother had formerly\\nbelonged to the household of the czarina, your august grand-\\nmother.\\nThis is really remarkable, said the grand duke, thought-\\nfully. I am quite superstitious, and I am really inclined", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0223.jp2"}, "224": {"fulltext": "210 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nto regard this ring, if I should be happy enough to receive\\nit from you as a pledge of your love, as an omen of very au-\\nspicious significance.\\nIn answer to this second and even more direct appeal to\\nher heart, the princess took a small piece of bread, played\\ncarelessly with it, and managed to press the ring into the\\nsoft crumbs. Then she dropped it playfully on the table\\nquite close to the plate of her neighbor. And after this\\nadroit exhibition of her skill as an actress she continued to\\neat as unconcernedly as if she had performed the most insig-\\nnificant action of her life.\\nWith the same apparent coolness and indifference the grand\\nduke picked up the bread enclosing the ring, took the latter\\nout of its ingenious envelope, and concealed it in his breast,\\nfor it was too small to fit any of his fingers. It was this ring\\nboth the pledge of Charlotte s love and the auspicious omen\\nof his own elevation to the imperial dignity which Nich-\\nolas wore on a golden chain around his neck to the very last\\nday of his life, and which, if we are not mistaken, has even\\ndescended with him into the vault of his ancestors.\\nThree years after, in 181 7, Princess Charlotte, then only nine-\\nteen years of age, and in the full splendor of beauty and hap-\\npiness, made her entry into St. Petersburg by the side of her\\nhusband, whose eye had never looked prouder, and whose\\nOlympian brow had never been more serene than at this\\nhappiest moment of his life. As he looked down upon the\\nvast multitude who had flocked together from all parts of\\nthe vast empire to greet the young princess with shouts and\\nrejoicings, and then again upon his fair young bride, perhaps\\nthe inscription of the ring recurred to his mind for, bending\\nhis head quite close to the ear of Charlotte, he whispered,\\nNow empress of the hearts, and some day, perhaps, empress\\nof the realm.\\nAt this moment the procession reached the main entrance\\nof the Winter Palace, where Alexander the First, the Emperor,\\nsurrounded by a brilliant suit of generals and courtiers, came\\nto meet his beautiful sister-in-law, and conducted her into the", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0224.jp2"}, "225": {"fulltext": "A LEGEND OF BREGENZ. 21 X\\nsumptuous drawing-rooms of the magnificent palace of the\\nczars. Who would believe that eight short years afterward\\nthe brilliant young emperor had breathed his last, and that\\nNicholas and Charlotte would succeed him on the throne of\\nRussia 1 Truly the inscription of the engagement-ring had\\nproven prophetic\\nA LEGEND OF BREGENZ. Adelaide Proctee.\\nGIRT round with rugged mountains\\nThe fair Lake Constance lies\\nIn her blue heart reflected,\\nShine back the starry skies\\nAnd watching each white cloudlet\\nFloat silently and slow,\\nYou think a piece of heaven\\nLies on our earth below\\nMidnight is there and silence,\\nEnthroned in heaven, looks down\\nUpon her own calm mirror,\\nUpon a sleeping town\\nFor Bregenz, that quaint city\\nUpon the Tyrol shore,\\nHas stood above Lake Constance\\nA thousand years and more.\\nHer battlements and towers\\nUpon their rocky steep\\nHave cast their trembling shadow\\nFor ages on the deep\\nMountain and lake and valley\\nA sacred legend know,\\nOf how the town was saved one night,\\nThree hundred years ago.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0225.jp2"}, "226": {"fulltext": "212 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nFar from her home and kindred\\nA Tyrol maid had fled,\\nTo serve in the Swiss valleys,\\nAnd toil for daily bread\\nAnd every year that fleeted\\nSo silently and fast\\nSeemed to bear farther from her\\nThe memory of the past.\\nShe served kind gentle masters,\\nNor asked for rest or change\\nHer friends seemed no more new ones,\\nTheir speech seemed no more strange\\nAnd when she led her cattle\\nTo pasture every day,\\nShe ceased to look and wonder\\nOn which side Bregenz lay.\\nShe spoke no more of Bregenz\\nWith longing and with tears\\nHer Tyrol home seemed faded\\nIn a deep mist of years.\\nShe heeded not the rumors\\nOf Austrian war and strife\\nEach day she rose contented,\\nTo the calm toils of life.\\nYet, when her master s children\\nWould clustering round her stand,\\nShe sang them the old ballads\\nOf her own native land\\nAnd when at morn and evening\\nShe knelt before God s throne,\\nThe accents of her childhood\\nRose to her lips alone.\\nAnd so she dwelt the valley\\nMore peaceful year by year", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0226.jp2"}, "227": {"fulltext": "A LEGEND OF BREGENZ. 213\\nWhen suddenly strange portents\\nOf some great deed seemed near.\\nThe golden corn was bending\\nUpon its fragile stalk,\\nWhile farmers, heedless of their fields,\\nPaced up and down in talk.\\nThe men seemed stern and altered,\\nWith looks cast on the ground\\nWith anxious faces, one by one,\\nThe women gathered round\\nAll talk of flax or spinning,\\nOr work, was put away\\nThe very children seemed afraid\\nTo go alone to play.\\nOne day, out in the meadow,\\nWith strangers from the town,\\nSome secret plan discussing,\\nThe men talked up and down\\nYet now and then seemed watching\\nA strange uncertain gleam,\\nThat looked like lances mid the trees*\\nThat stood below the stream.\\nAt eve they all assembled,\\nAll care and doubt were fled\\nWith jovial laugh they feasted,\\nThe board was nobly spread.\\nThe elder of the village\\nRose up, his glass in hand,\\nAnd cried, We drink the downfall\\nOf an accursed land\\nThe night is growing darker,\\nEre one more day is flown,\\nBregenz, our foeman s stronghold,\\nBregenz shall be our own", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0227.jp2"}, "228": {"fulltext": "214 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThe women shrank in terror,\\n(Yet pride, too, had her part,)\\nBut one poor Tyrol maiden\\nFelt death within her heart.\\nBefore her stood fair Bregenz,\\nOnce more her towers arose\\nWhat were the friends beside her 1\\nOnly her country s foes\\nThe faces of her kinsfolk,\\nThe days of childhood flown,\\nThe echoes of her mountains,\\nKeclaimed her as their own.\\nNothing she heard around her\\n(Though shouts rang forth again),\\nGone were the green Swiss valleys,\\nThe pasture and the plain\\nBefore her eyes one vision,\\nAnd in her heart one cry,\\nThat said, Go forth, save Bregenz,\\nAnd then, if need be, die\\nWith trembling haste and breathless,\\nWith noiseless step she sped j\\nHorses and weary cattle\\nWere standing in the shed\\nShe loosed the strong white charger,\\nThat fed from out her hand\\nShe mounted, and she turned his head\\nTowards her native land.\\nOut out into the darkness,\\nFaster, and still more fast\\nThe smooth grass flies behind her,\\nThe chestnut wood is past\\nShe looks up j clouds are heavy\\nWhy is her steed so slow 1", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0228.jp2"}, "229": {"fulltext": "A LEGEND OF BREGENZ. 215\\nScarcely the wind beside them\\nCan pass them as they go.\\nFaster she cries, 0, faster\\nEleven the church-bells chime\\nGod, she cries, help Bregenz,\\nAnd bring me there in time\\nBut louder than bells ringing,\\nOr lowing of the kine,\\nGrows nearer in the midnight\\nThe rushing of the Rhine.\\nShall not the roaring waters\\nTheir headlong gallop check\\nThe steed draws back in terror,\\nShe leans above his neck\\nTo watch the flowing darkness,\\nThe bank is high and steep,\\nOne pause he staggers forward\\nAnd plunges in the deep.\\nShe strives to pierce the blackness,\\nAnd looser throws the rein\\nHer steed must breast the waters\\nThat dash above his mane.\\nHow gallantly, how nobly,\\nHe struggles through the foam\\nAnd see in the far distance\\nShine out the lights of home\\nUp the steep bank he bears her,\\nAnd now they rush again\\nTowards the heights of Bregenz,\\nThat tower above the plain.\\nThey reach the gate of Bregenz\\nJust as the midnight rings,\\nAnd out come serf and soldier,\\nTo meet the news she brings.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0229.jp2"}, "230": {"fulltext": "216 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nBregenz is saved ere daylight\\nHer battlements are manned\\nDefiance greets the army\\nThat marches on the land.\\nAnd if to deeds heroic\\nShould endless fame be paid,\\nBregenz does well to honor\\nThe noble Tyrol maid.\\nThree hundred years are vanished,\\nAnd yet upon the hill\\nAn old stone gateway rises,\\nTo do her honor still.\\nAnd there, when Bregenz women\\nSit spinning in the shade,\\nThey see in quaint old carving\\nThe Charger and the Maid.\\nAnd when, to guard old Bregenz,\\nBy gateway, street, and tower,\\nThe warder paces all night long,\\nAnd calls each passing hour\\nNine, ten, eleven, he cries aloud,\\nAnd then (0 crown of Fame\\nWhen midnight pauses in the skies,\\nHe calls the maiden s name\\nTHE VOICES AT THE THRONE. 7 Westwood.\\nA LITTLE child,\\nA little meek-faced, quiet village child,\\nSat singing by her cottage door at eve\\nA low, sweet sabbath song. No human ear\\nCaught the faint melody, no human eye\\nBeheld the upturned aspect, or the smile\\nThat wreathed her innocent lips while they breathed", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0230.jp2"}, "231": {"fulltext": "THE VOICES AT THE THRONE. 217\\nThe oft-repeated burden of the hymn,\\nPraise God Praise God\\nA seraph by the throne\\nIn full glory stood. With eager hand\\nHe smote the golden harp-string, till a flood\\nOf harmony on the celestial air\\nWelled forth, unceasing. There with a great voice,\\nHe sang the Holy, holy evermore,\\nLord God Almighty and the eternal courts\\nThrilled with the rapture, and the hierarchies,\\nAngel, and rapt archangel, throbbed and burned\\nWith vehement adoration.\\nHigher yet\\nRose the majestic anthem, without pause,\\nHigher, with rich magnificence of sound,\\nTo its full strength and still the infinite heavens\\nRang with the Holy, holy evermore\\nTill, trembling with excessive awe and love,\\nEach sceptred spirit sank before the Throne\\nWith a mute hallelujah.\\nBut even then,\\nWhile the ecstatic song was at its height,\\nStole in an alien voice, a voice that seemed\\nTo float, float upward from some world afar,\\nA meek and childlike voice, faint, but how sweet\\nThat blended with the spirits rushing strain,\\nEven as a fountain s music, with the roll\\nOf the reverberate thunder.\\nLoving smiles\\nLit up the beauty of each angel s face\\nAt that new utterance, smiles of joy that grew\\nMore joyous yet, as ever and anon\\nWas heard the simple burden of the hymn,\\nPraise God praise God\\nAnd when the seraph s song\\nHad reached its close, and o er the golden lyre\\nSilence hung brooding, when the eternal courts", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0231.jp2"}, "232": {"fulltext": "218 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nRang with the echoes of his chant sublime,\\nStill through the abysmal space that wandering voice\\nCame floating upward from its world afar,\\nStill murmured sweet on the celestial air,\\nPraise God praise God\\nABOU EL MAHR AND HIS HORSE.\\nAlger s Oriental Poetry.\\nIT is Abou el Mahr, the gallant Sheik of Al Azeed\\nHow fondly he is stroking Lahla, his unrivalled steed\\nAmong the hills of Schem the tents of Al Azeed are pitched,\\nAnd close by every warrior s door the favorite horse is hitched.\\nFor valor none can stand the men of Al Azeed beside\\nAnd Houri only with their maids comparison can bide.\\nThis tribe the unchallenged banner, too, throughout Arabia\\nbears,\\nFor the wondrous strength and beauty of their stallions and\\ntheir mares.\\nBut first among their warriors stands the Sheik, Abou el Mahr,\\nAnd conscious Lahla shines, among their steeds, the peerless\\nstar.\\nWhen clasps Abou proud Lahla s neck to kiss his veined cheek,\\nThe courser looks his love as plainly as if he could speak.\\nAbou caresses him before the people gathered there,\\nWho gaze with wonder at his loving and his haughty air.\\nAnd Leila, Selim, Zar the wife and children of the Sheik\\nWill pat and kiss him, and his hoof within their bosoms take.", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0232.jp2"}, "233": {"fulltext": "ABOU EL MAHR AND HIS HORSE. 219\\nAnd twenty chiefs press near, their servants ranged in ordered\\nbands,\\nThe privilege to claim that he shall eat from out their hands.\\nFor Lahla is of Al Azeed the crowning joy and pride\\nThe envy and despair of all the Arab tribes beside.\\nAnother horse so celebrated never spurned the earth\\nThrough white Koureen, the mare of Solomon, he draws his\\nbirth;\\nAnd traces back, in straight, untainted rill, his royal blood\\nTo thrice illustrious Hufafa, great Abraham s sable stud.\\nHang o er his spotless forehead, which is white as whitest milk,\\nSoft tufts of handsome hair as glossy as the finest silk.\\nThose tufts compose a veil which every breeze in openwork\\nhems,\\nAnd underneath it glimpse his rapid eyes, two burning gems.\\nHis neck and chest the graces of a swan s in nothing lack\\nA gorgeous mantle, woven of silk and gold, beclothes his back.\\nHis pedigree, two hundred high descents, his bosom wears\\nIn bag of musk, wherewith two precious amulets he wears.\\nHis limbs and sockets so elastic, all his motions are\\nSo swift and smooth, the rider scarcely feels a start or jar.\\nAbou el Mahr would on his back, in rapid gallop still,\\nA brimming cup of sherbet quaff, and not a droplet spill.\\nIndeed, a bard so mounted might receive the fancy bold,\\nHis courser was a bird whose wings an unseen movement hold.\\nNo price or bribe could cause the Sheik, nor any desperate need,\\nTo part with his redoubtable and idolized steed.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0233.jp2"}, "234": {"fulltext": "220 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nIt is Abou el Mahr, with twelve choice men of Al Azeed\\nAnd they to seize the hostile Bagdad caravan proceed.\\nSoon through the Synor pass into the open plain they wind,\\nAnd shake their spears, and shout, their blue caftans stream\\nwide behind.\\nAbou, his Lahla s sinews strung with fire, is far before,\\nAs on the undefended, scattering caravan they pour.\\nTo guard their goods two merchants of Damascus bravely stand,\\nBut in an instant both are stretched in death upon the sand.\\nThe Sheik and his good men of Al Azeed pile all the spoil\\nUpon the camels, and their homeward way begin to toil.\\nAt noon they halt to rest awhile beside a desert spring\\nAh who can tell what utter ruin one thoughtless hour may\\nbring 1\\nTheir foe, the fierce Pacha of Acre, leads his horsemen there.\\nCries, Strike and I command you, save Abou, not one to\\nspare\\nSo all are slain. The Sheik, in his right arm a fearful wound,\\nHis darling Lahla led before, is on a camel bound.\\nThey journey on until they reach the mountains of Saphad,\\nJust as the sun drops out of sight, and night falls dark and sad.\\nThe old Pacha commands each soldier there to pitch his tent,\\nAnd takes good care the escape of horse or camel to prevent.\\nThe keeper of the Sheik has tied him fast both hand and foot,\\nAnd fallen asleep, and dreams of fighting, routing, and pursuit.\\nBut the poor captive, restless with his torturing wound, still\\nwakes,\\nAnd Lahla s low, disconsolate neigh his anguish sharper makes.", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0234.jp2"}, "235": {"fulltext": "ABOU EL MAHR AND HIS HORSE. 221\\nBound as he is, be rolls and crawls one last caress to give\\nThe steed from whom he had not thought to part while he\\nshould live.\\nLahla sighs Abou, no more shall I rejoice with thee\\nTo skim the waste, the wild Simoom not prouder or more free\\nNo more with thee the Jordan swim, whose spurned water\\ndrips\\nFrom off thy side, as white and pure as foam from off thy lips.\\nA bitter fate consigns me to my unrelenting foe\\nBut thou, bright gem of Al Azeed, in liberty shalt go.\\nWhat wouldst thou do, poor friend, shut in the close and\\nwretched khan\\nOf some Turk huckster not deserving to be called a man 1\\nNo, whether fortune dooms me for a slave or here to die,\\nThou shalt, jewel of a thousand hearts, in freedom fly.\\nGo to the tents thou knowest so well, amid the hills of Schem,\\nAnd say, Abou el Mahr will nevermore return to them.\\nThy head put through the door where my dear wife and chil-\\ndren are,\\nAnd lick the hands of Leila, Selim, and sweet little Zar.\\nLahla, Lahla must I now from thee forever part 1\\nFarewell, farewell, beloved comrade of my life and heart\\nSo saying, with his teeth laboriously he gnawed apart\\nThe tethering cord that went around the stake, and bade him\\nstart\\nBut the sagacious soul bounds not away. The bonds he smells\\nThat bind his master s limbs. Eack fact to him its secret tells.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0235.jp2"}, "236": {"fulltext": "222 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nWith tenderness he licks the blood upon the shattered arm,\\nGives forth a low and painful whine, but raises no alarm.\\nHis teeth the girdle seize he lifts Abou, so spare and tall\\nNow, foolish guards, now, old Pacha, defiance to you all\\nGreat Lahla proves himself a steed of living steel and fire\\nTo reach him vain are all the struggles of their mad desire.\\nFor the hills of Schem he aims his way through the open, lus-\\ntrous night,\\nStraight as an arrow goes, swift as the lightning in its flight.\\nThe stars one after one go down behind the desert s rim,\\nBut the pale and eager moon rushes in even pace with him.\\nThe palm-clumps on oases lift their heads of yellow green\\nAbove the downs of endless sand, and vanish soon as seen.\\nThe lagging sun comes up twelve weary, mighty leagues are\\npassed\\nThe lovely haunts and tents of Al Azeed appear at last.\\nThe anxious tribe, whose thirteen best are out, is all astir\\nThe mother deems it time her sons should have returned to her.\\nHa what upon the far horizon moves 1 A single steed 1\\nIs this what we looked for with such intensity of greed 1\\nNearer can it be Lahla 1 In his mouth a bundle 1 No,\\nThe matchless Lahla never from adventure came so slow.\\nThe godlike steed, with staggering steps, faint pantings, almost\\nspent,\\nThe girdle bites, reels up, and lays Abou before his tent.\\nOne instant stands he, looking round, as if reward to reap\\nFrom those who, thrilled with grateful love and wonder, gaze\\nand weep.", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0236.jp2"}, "237": {"fulltext": "UNDER THE SNOW. 223\\nThen, while the congregated tribe break forth in piercing cries,\\nThe noble creature, gasping, falls, all blood and foam, and dies.\\nThabet Ben Ali, poet of the tribe, leaps through the crowd,\\nWith soul on fire, and sings the feat in panegyric proud.\\nTo thrilling tones of love and pride he smites his burning lyre\\nWith raining eyes and heaving bosoms all as one respire.\\nNo man, he says, not even Hatim Tai, could have done\\nA nobler deed, a more impassioned gratitude have won.\\nLong as the Horse shall be the friend and servant of our race,\\nThe glorious fame of Lahla shall resound through time and\\nspace.\\nFull many a day has passed since Ali sang his touching song,\\nAnd from the vale the tents of Al Azeed have vanished long\\nBut in the night of Arab lore still shineth, like a star,\\nThe story of the peerless Lahla and Abou el Mahr.\\nUNDER THE SNOW.\\nf TNDEB, the snow our baby lies,\\ny~J The fringed lids dropped o er her eyes\\nThe tiny hands upon her breast,\\nLike twin-born lilies taking rest\\nW T hile o er her grave the rough winds blow\\nUnder the snow, under the snow.\\nUnder the snow our baby lies,\\nWhile we sit at home and list for her cries;\\nAnd her mother asks (she is very lone),\\nWhy has my little baby gone 1", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0237.jp2"}, "238": {"fulltext": "224 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nAh happy, she feeleth not our woe\\nUnder the snow, under the snow.\\nUnder the snow our baby lies,\\nAs pure as the clouds far up the skies,\\nThose delicate banners of vapor, furled\\nBeyond the breath of this noisome world.\\nT is the blood of Christ hath made her so\\nUnder the snow, under the snow.\\nAbove the snow our baby dwells,\\nWhere never the solemn death-bell knells\\nWhere Sin and Death are never known,\\nNor dark-browed Pain with her voice of moan\\nWhere the angels move on wings that glow.\\nAbove the snow, above the snow.\\nAbove the snow our baby dwells,\\nAnd we dry our tears when we think she swells\\nThe song of the angels and just men there,\\nWith a voice so sweet and a face so fair.\\nAnd we re glad we ve sent them a voice from below\\nAbove the snow, above the snow.\\nHATS. Oliver Wendell Holmes.\\nTHE old gentleman who sits opposite, finding that spring\\nhad fairly come, mounted a white hat one day, and\\nwalked into the street. It seems to have been a premature\\nor otherwise exceptionable exhibition. When the old gentle-\\nman came home, he looked very red in the face, and com-\\nplained that he had been made sport of. By sympathizing\\nquestions, I learned from him that a boy had called him old\\ndaddy, and asked him when he had his hat whitewashed.\\nThis incident led me to make some observations at table", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0238.jp2"}, "239": {"fulltext": "HATS. 225\\nthe next morning, which I here repeat for the benefit of the\\nreaders of this record. The hat is the vulnerable point in\\nthe artificial integument. I learned this in early boyhood.\\nI was once equipped in a hat of Leghorn straw, having a brim\\nof much wider dimensions than were usual at that time, and\\nsent to school in that portion of my native town which lies\\nnearest to this metropolis. On my way I was met by a\\nPort-chuck, as we used to call the young gentlemen of that\\nlocality, and the following dialogue ensued\\nThe Port Chuck. Hullo, you-sir, joo know th wuz gon-to\\nbe a race to-morrah 1\\nMyself. No. Who s gon-to run, n wher s t gon-to be 1\\nThe Port Chuck. Squire Mico n Doctor Williams, round\\nthe brim o your hat.\\nThese two much-respected gentlemen being the oldest in-\\nhabitants at that time, and the alleged race-course being out\\nof the question, the Port-chuck also winking and thrusting his\\ntongue into his cheek, I perceived that I had been trifled with,\\nand the effect has been to make me sensitive and observant\\nrespecting this article of dress ever since. Here is an axiom\\nor two relating to it.\\nA hat which has been popped, or exploded by being sat\\ndown upon, is never itself again afterwards.\\nIt is a favorite illusion of sanguine natures to believe the\\ncontrary.\\nShabby gentility has nothing so characteristic as its hat.\\nThere is always an unnatural calmness about its nap, and an\\nunwholesome gloss, suggestive of a wet brush. The last effort\\nof decayed fortune is expended in smoothing its dilapidated\\ncastor. The hat is the ultimum moriens of respectability.\\nThe old gentleman took all these remarks and maxims very\\npleasantly, saying, however, that he had forgotten most of his\\nFrench except the word for potatoes, pummies de tare. Ul-\\ntimum moriens, I told him, is old Italian, and signifies last\\nthing to die. With this explanation he was well contented,\\nand looked quite calm when I saw him afterwards in the entry\\nwith a black hat on His head and the white one in his hand.\\n10* o", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0239.jp2"}, "240": {"fulltext": "226 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nAN ORDER FOR A PICTURE. Alice Cabt.\\nOGOOD painter, tell me true,\\nHas your hand the cunning to draw\\nShapes of things that you never saw 1\\nAy 1 Well, here is an order for you.\\nWoods and cornfields, a little brown,\\nThe picture must not be over-bright,\\nYet all in the golden and gracious light\\nOf a cloud, when the summer sun is down.\\nAlway and alway, night and morn,\\nWoods upon woods, with fields of corn\\nLying between them, not quite sere,\\nAnd not in the full, thick, leafy bloom,\\nWhen the wind can hardly find breathing-room\\nUnder their tassels, cattle near,\\nBiting shorter the short green grass,\\nAnd a hedge of sumach and sassafras,\\nWith bluebirds twittering all around,\\n(Ah, good painter, you can t paint sound\\nThese, and the house where I was born,\\nLow and little, and black and old,\\nWith children, many as it can hold,\\nAll at the windows, open wide,\\nHeads and shoulders clear outside,\\nAnd fair young faces all ablush\\nPerhaps you may have seen, some day,\\nRoses crowding the selfsame way,\\nOut of a wilding, wayside bush.\\nListen closer. When you have done\\nWith woods and cornfields and grazing herds,\\nA lady, the loveliest ever the sun\\nLooked down upon, you must paint for me\\n0, if I only could make you see", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0240.jp2"}, "241": {"fulltext": "AN ORDER FOR A PICTURE. 227\\nThe clear blue eyes, the tender smile,\\nThe sovereign sweetness, the gentle grace,\\nThe woman s soul, and the angel s face\\nThat are beaming on me all the while\\nI need not speak these foolish words\\nYet one word tells you all I would say,\\nShe is my mother you will agree\\nThat all the rest may be thrown away.\\nTwo little urchins at her knee\\nYou must paint, sir one like me,\\nThe other with a clearer brow,\\nAnd the light of his adventurous eyes\\nFlashing with boldest enterprise\\nAt ten years old he went to sea,\\nGod knoweth if he be living now,\\nHe sailed in the good ship Commodore,\\nNobody ever crossed her track\\nTo bring us news, and she never came back.\\nAh, t is twenty long years and more\\nSince that old ship went out of the bay\\nWith my great-hearted brother on her deck\\nI watched him till he shrank to a speck,\\nAnd his face was toward me all the way.\\nBright his hair was, a golden brown,\\nThe time we stood at our mother s knee\\nThat beauteous head, if it did go down,\\nCarried sunshine into the sea\\nOut in the fields one summer night\\nWe were together, half afraid\\nOf the corn-leaves rustling, and of the shade\\nOf the high hills, stretching so still and far,\\nLoitering till after the low little light\\nOf the candle shone through the open door,\\nAnd over the haystack s pointed top,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0241.jp2"}, "242": {"fulltext": "228 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nAll of a tremble, and ready to drop,\\nThe first half-hour, the great yellow star,\\nThat we, with staring, ignorant eyes,\\nHad ofteu and often watched to see\\nPropped and held in its place in the skies\\nBy the fork of a tall red mulberry-tree,\\nWhich close in the edge of our flax-field grew,\\nDead at the top, just one branch full\\nOf leaveu, notched round, and lined with wool,\\nFrom which it tenderly shook the dew\\nOver our heads, when we came to play\\nIn its handbreadth of shadow, day after day\\nAfraid to go home, sir for one of us bore\\nA nest full of speckled and thin-shelled eggs,\\nThe other, a bird, held fast by the legs,\\nNot so big as a straw of wheat\\nThe berries we gave her she would n t eat,\\nBut cried and cried, till we held her bill,\\nSo slim and shining, to keep her still.\\nAt last we s,tood at our mother s knee.\\nDo you think, sir, if you try,\\nYou can paint the look of a lie 1\\nIf you can, pray have the grace\\nTo put it solely in the face\\nOf the urchin that is likest me\\nI think t was solely mine, indeed\\nBut that s no matter, paint it so\\nThe eyes of our mother (take good heed)\\nLooking not on the nestful of eggs,\\nNor the fluttering bird, held so fast by the legs,\\nBut straight through our faces down to our lies,\\nAnd 0, with such injured, reproachful surprise\\nI felt my heart bleed where that glance went, as though\\nA sharp blade struck through it.\\nYou, sir, know,\\nThat you on the canvas are to repeat", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0242.jp2"}, "243": {"fulltext": "BARBARA. 229\\nThings that are fairest, things most sweet,\\nWoods and cornfields and mulberry-tree,\\nThe mother, the lads, with their bird, at her knee\\nBut, 0, that look of reproachful woe\\nHigh as the heavens your name I 11 shout,\\nIf you paint me the picture, and leave that out.\\nBARBARA. Alexander Smith.\\nON the Sabbath day,\\nThrough the churchyard old and gray,\\nOver the crisp and yellow leaves, I help my rustling way\\nAnd amid the words of mercy, falling on the soul like balms\\nMong the gorgeous storms of music in the mellow organ-calms;\\nMong the upward-streaming prayers, and the rich and solemn\\npsalms,\\nI stood heedless, Barbara\\nMy heart was otherwhere,\\nWhile the organ filled the air,\\nAnd the priest with outspread hands blessed the people with\\na prayer.\\nBut when rising to go homeward, with a mild and saintlike shine\\nGleamed a face of airy beauty with its heavenly eyes on mine,\\nGleamed and vanished in a moment. the face was like to\\nthine,\\nEre you perished, Barbara\\nthat pallid face\\nThose sweet, earnest eyes of grace\\nWhen last I saw them, dearest, it was in another place\\nYou came running forth to meet me with my love-gift on your\\nwrist,\\nAnd a cursed river killed thee, aided by a murderous mist.\\n0, a purple mark of agony was on the mouth I kissed,\\nWhen last I saw thee, Barbara", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0243.jp2"}, "244": {"fulltext": "230 PUBLIC AND PAELOR READINGS.\\nThose dreary years, eleven,\\nHave you pined within your heaven,\\nAnd is this the only glimpse of earth that in that time was\\ngiven?\\nAnd have you passed unheeded all the fortunes of your race\\nYour father s grave, your sister s child, your mother s quiet\\nface\\nTo gaze on one who worshipped not within a kneeling place\\nAre you happy, Barbara 1\\nMong angels do you think\\nOf the precious golden link\\nI bound around your happy arm while sitting on yon brink 1\\nOr when that night of wit and wine, of laughter and guitars,\\nWas emptied of its music, and we watched through lattice-bars\\nThe silent midnight heaven moving o er us with its stars,\\nTill the morn broke, Barbara 1\\nIn the years I ve changed,\\nWild and far my heart has ranged,\\nAnd many sins and errors deep have been on me avenged\\nBut to you I have been faithful, whatsoever good I ve lacked\\nI loved you, and above my life still hangs that love intact,\\nLike a mild, consoling rainbow o er a savage cataract.\\nLove has saved me, Barbara\\nLove I am unblest,\\nWith monstrous doubts opprest\\nOf much that s dark and nether, much that s holiest and best.\\nCould I but win you for an hour from off that starry shore,\\nThe hunger of my soul were stilled for Death has told you more\\nThan the melancholy world doth know, things deeper than\\nall lore.\\nWill you teach me, Barbara 1\\nIn vain, in vain, in vain\\nYou will never come again", "height": "3599", "width": "2372", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0244.jp2"}, "245": {"fulltext": "THE BOAT OF GRASS. 231\\nThere droops upon the dreary hills a mournful fringe of rain,\\nThe gloaming closes slowly round, unblest winds are in the tree,\\nRound selfish shores forever moans the hurt and wounded sea\\nThere is no rest upon the earth, peace is with Death and thee,\\nI am weary, Barbara\\nTHE BOAT OF GRASS. Miss Kemble Butler.\\nFOR years the slave endured his yoke,\\nDown-trodden, wronged, misused, opprest;\\nYet life-long serfdom could not choke\\nThe seeds of freedom in his breast.\\nAt length, upon the north-wind came\\nA whisper stealing through the land\\nIt spread from hut to hut like flame,\\nTake heart the hour is near at hand.\\nThe whisper spread, and lo on high\\nThe dawn of an unhoped-for day\\nBe glad the Northern troops are nigh,\\nThe fleet is in Port-Royal Bay\\nResponsive to the words of cheer,\\nAn inner voice said, Rise and flee\\nBe strong, and cast away all fear\\nThou art a man, and thou art free\\nAnd full of new-born hope and might,\\nHe started up, and seaward fled\\nBy day he turned aside, by night\\nHe followed where the North Star led.\\nThrough miles of barren pine and waste,\\nAnd endless breadth of swamp and sedge,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0245.jp2"}, "246": {"fulltext": "232 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nBy streams, whose tortuous path is traced\\nIu tangled growth along their edge,\\nTwo nights he fled, \u00e2\u0080\u0094no sound was heard,\\nHe met no creature on his way\\nTwo days crouched in the bush; the third\\nHe hears the bloodhounds distant bay.\\nThey drag him back to stripes and shame,\\nAnd bitter, unrequited toil\\nWith red-hot gyves his feet they maim,\\nAll future thought of flight to foil.\\nWe, shuddering, turn from such a cup,\\nNor dare to look on his despair\\nFor them, 0, let us offer up\\nThe Saviour s sacrificial prayer\\nBut the celestial voice, that spake\\nErst in his soul, might not be hushed\\nThe sense of birthright, once awake,\\nCould never, nevermore be crushed.\\nAnd, brave of heart and strong of will,\\nHe kept his purpose, laid his plan\\nThough crippled, chained and captive still,\\nA slave no longer, but a man.\\nEleven months his soul he steeled\\nTo toil and wait in silent pain,\\nBut in the twelfth his wounds were healed,\\nHe burst his bonds, and fled again.\\nA weary winding stream he sought,\\nAnd crossed its waters to and fro,\\nAn Indian wile, to set at naught\\nThe bloody instinct of his foe.-", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0246.jp2"}, "247": {"fulltext": "THE BOAT OF GRASS- 233\\nThe waters widen to a fen,\\nAnd, while he hid him, breathless, there,\\nWith brutal cries of dogs and men,\\nThe hunt went round and round his lair.\\nThe baffled hounds had lost the track\\nWith many a curse and many a cry,\\nThe angry owners called them back\\nAnd so the wild pursuit went by.\\nThe deadly peril seemed to pass\\nAnd then he dared to raise his head\\nAbove the waving marish grass,\\nThat mantled o er the river-bed.\\nThose long broad leaves that round him grew\\nHe had been wont to bind and plait\\nAnd well, with simple skill, he knew\\nTo shape the basket and the mat.\\nNow, in their tresses sad and dull\\nHe saw the hope of his escape,\\nAnd patiently began to cull,\\nAnd weave them in canoe-like shape.\\nTo give the reedy fabrics light\\nAn armor gainst the soaking brine,\\nWith painful care he sought by night\\nThe amber weepings of the pine.\\nAnd since on the Egyptian wave,\\nThe Hebrew launched her little ark,\\nFaith never to God s keeping gave\\nSo great a hope, so frail a bark.\\nsilent river of the South,\\nWhose lonely stream ne er felt the oar", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0247.jp2"}, "248": {"fulltext": "234 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nIn all its course, from rise to mouth,\\nWhat precious freight was that you bore\\nThe grizzled oak and tall dark pine\\nStretch out their boughs, from either bank,\\nAcross the stream, and many a vine\\nFestoons them with luxuriance rank.\\nThe yellow jasmine fills the shade\\nWith golden light, and downward shed,\\nFrom slender wreaths that lightly swayed,\\nHer fragrant stars upon his head.\\nBut still the boat, from dawn to dark,\\nNeath overhanging shrubs was drawn\\nAnd, loosed at eve, the little bark\\nSafe floated on from dark to dawn.\\nAt length, in that mysterious hour\\nThat comes before the break of day,\\nThe current gained a swifter power,\\nThe boat began to rock and sway.\\nHe felt the wave beneath him swell,\\nHis nostrils drank a fresh salt breath,\\nThe boat of rushes rose and fell\\nLord is it life or is it death 1\\nHe saw the eastern heaven spanned\\nWith a slow-spreading belt of gray\\nTents glimmered, ghost-like, on the sand\\nAnd phantom ships before him lay.\\nThe sky grew bright, the day awoke,\\nThe sun flashed up above the sea,\\nFrom countless drum and bugle broke\\nThe joyous Northern reveille.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0248.jp2"}, "249": {"fulltext": "THE IDIOT BOY. 235\\nwhite-winged warriors of the deep\\nNo heart e er hailed you so before\\nNo castaway on desert steep,\\nNor banished man, his exile o er,\\nNor drowning wretch lashed to a spar,\\nSo blessed your rescuing sails as he\\nWho on them first beheld from far\\nThe morning light of Liberty\\nTHE IDIOT BOY. Southey.\\nIT had pleased God to form poor Ned\\nA thing of idiot mind,\\nYet to the poor, unreasoning boy\\nGod had not been unkind.\\nOld Sarah loved her helpless child,\\nWhom helplessness made dear,\\nAnd life was everything to him\\nWho knew no hope or fear.\\nShe knew his wants, she understood,\\nEach half-artic late call,\\nFor he was everything to her,\\nAnd she to him was all.\\nAnd so for many a year they lived,\\nNor knew a wish beside\\nBut age at length on Sarah came,\\nAnd she fell sick and died.\\nHe tried in vain to waken her,\\nHe called her o er and o er", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0249.jp2"}, "250": {"fulltext": "236 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThey told him she was dead, the word\\nTo him no import bore.\\nThey closed her eyes and shrouded her,\\nWhilst he stood wondering by,\\nAnd when they bore her to the grave\\nHe followed silently.\\nThey laid her in the narrow house,\\nAnd sung the funeral stave,\\nAnd when the mournful train dispersed\\nHe loitered by the grave.\\nThe rabble boys that used to jeer\\nWhene er they saw poor Ned,\\nNow stood and watched him at the grave,\\nAnd not a word was said.\\nThey came and went and came again,\\nAnd night at last drew on\\nYet still he lingered at the place\\nTill every one had gone.\\nAnd when he found himself alone\\nHe quick removed the clay,\\nAnd raised the coffin in his arms\\nAnd bore it quick away.\\nStraight went he to his mother s cot\\nAnd laid it on the floor,\\nAnd with the eagerness of joy\\nHe barred the cottage door.\\nAt once he placed his mother s corpse\\nUpright within her chair,\\nAnd then he heaped the hearth and blew\\nThe kindling fire with care.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0250.jp2"}, "251": {"fulltext": "THE MAD ENGINEER. 237\\nShe was now in her wonted chair,\\nIt was her wonted place,\\nAnd bright the fire blazed and flashed,\\nReflected from her face.\\nThen, bending down, he d feel her hands,\\nAnon her face behold\\nWhy, mother, do you look so pale,\\nAnd why are you so cold\\nAnd when the neighbors on next morn\\nHad forced the cottage door,\\nOld Sarah s corpse was in the chair,\\nAnd Ned s was on the floor.\\nIt had pleased God from this poor boy\\nHis only friend to call\\nYet God was not unkind to him,\\nFor death restored him all.\\nTHE MAD ENGINEER.\\nTHIS thrilling story is furnished by a Prussian railroad\\nconductor.\\nMy train left Dantzic in the morning generally about eight\\no clock but once a week we had to wait for the arrival of the\\nsteamer from Stockholm. It was the morning of the steam-\\ner s arrival that I came down from the hotel and found that\\nmy engineer had been so seriously injured that he could not\\nperform his work. A railway-carriage had run over him, and\\nbroken one of his legs. I went immediately to the engine-\\nhouse to procure another engineer, for I knew there were three\\nor four in reserve there, but I was disappointed. I inquired\\nfor Westphal, but was informed that he had gone to Sreegen\\nto see his mother. Gondolpho had been sent to Konigsberg,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0251.jp2"}, "252": {"fulltext": "238 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\non the road. But where was Mayne He had leave of absence\\nfor two days, and had gone no one knew whither.\\nHere was a fix. I heard the puffing of the steamer, and\\nthe passengers would be on hand in fifteen minutes. I ran\\nto the guards and asked them if they knew where there was\\nan engineer, but they did not. I then went to the firemen\\nand asked them if any one of them felt competent to run the\\nengine to Bromberg. No one dared to attempt it. The dis-\\ntance was nearly one hundred miles. What was to be done 1\\nThe steamer stopped at the wharf, and those who were going\\non by rail came flocking to the station. They had eaten\\nbreakfast on board the boat, and were all ready for a fresh\\nstart. The baggage was checked and registered, the tickets\\nbought, the different carriages assigned to the various classes\\nof passengers, and the passengers themselves seated. The\\ntrain was in readiness in the long station-house, and the\\nengine was steaming and puffing away impatiently in the\\ndistant firing-house.\\nIt was past nine o clock.\\nCome, why don t we start 1 growled an old fat Swede,\\nwho had been watching me narrowly for the last fifteen\\nminutes.\\nAnd upon this there was a general chorus of anxious\\ninquiry, which soon settled to downright murmuring. At\\nthis juncture some one touched me on the elbow. I turned\\nand saw a stranger by my side. I expected that he was\\ngoing to remonstrate with me for my backwardness. In\\nfact, I began to have strong temptations to pull off my\\nuniform, for every anxious eye was fixed upon the glaring\\nbadges which marked me as the chief officer of the train.\\nHowever, this stranger was a middle-aged man, tall and\\nstout, with a face of great energy and intelligence. His eye\\nwas black and brilliant, so brilliant that I could not for the\\nlife of me gaze steadily into it and his lips, which were very\\nthin, seemed more like polished marble than human flesh.\\nHis dress was black throughout, and not only set w r ith exact\\nnicety, but was scrupulously clean and neat.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0252.jp2"}, "253": {"fulltext": "THE MAD ENGINEER. 239\\nYou want an engineer, I understand, he said, in a low,\\ncautious tone, at the same time gazing quietly about him, as\\nthough he wanted no one to hear what he said.\\nI do, I replied. My train is all ready, and we have no\\nengineer within twenty miles of this place.\\nWell, sir, I am going to Bromberg I must go, and I will\\nrun the engine for you\\nHa I uttered, are you an engineer\\nI am, sir, one of the oldest in the country, and am\\nnow on my way to make arrangements for a great improve-\\nment I have iu vented for the application of steam to a locomo-\\ntive. My name is Martin Kroller. If you wish, I will run\\nas far as Bromberg; and I will show you running that is\\nrunning.\\nWas I not fortunate 1 I determined to accept the man s\\noffer at once, and so I told him. He received my answer with\\na nod and a smile. I went with him to the house, where we\\nfound the iron-horse in charge of the fireman, and all ready\\nfor a start. Kroller got upon the platform, and I followed\\nhim. I had never seen a man betray such peculiar aptness\\namid machinery as he did. He let on the steam in an instant,\\nbut yet with care and judgment, and he backed up to the bag-\\ngage-carriage with the most exact nicety. I had seen enough\\nto assure me that he was thoroughly acquainted with the\\nbusiness, and I felt composed once more. I gave my engine\\nup to the new man, and then hastened away to the office.\\nWord was passed for all the passengers to take their seats,\\nand soon afterward I waved my hand to the engineer. There\\nwas a puff, a groaning of the heavy axletrees, a trembling\\nof the building, and the train was in motion. I leaped upon\\nthe platform of the guard-carriage, and in a few minutes more\\nthe station-house was far behind us.\\nIn less than an hour we reached Dirsham, where we took\\nup the passengers that had come on the Konigsberg railway.\\nHere I went forward and asked Kroller how he liked the\\nengine. He replied that he liked it very much.\\nBut, he added, with a strange sparkling of the eye, wait", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0253.jp2"}, "254": {"fulltext": "240 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nuntil T get my improvement, and then you will see travelling.\\nBy the soul of the Virgin Mother, sir, I could run an engine\\nof my construction to the moon in four-and-twenty hours\\nI smiled at what I thought his enthusiasm, and then went\\nback to my station. As soon as the Konigsberg passengers\\nwere all on board, and their baggage-carriage attached, we\\nstarted on again. Soon after, I went into the guard-carriage,\\nand sat down. An early train from Konigsberg had been\\nthrough two hours before reaching Bromberg, and that was\\nat Little Oscue, where we took on board the Western mail.\\nHow we go uttered one of the guard, some fifteen\\nminutes after we had left Dirsham.\\nThe new engineer is trying the speed, I replied, not yet\\nhaving any fear.\\nBut erelong I began to apprehend he was running a little\\ntoo fast. The carriages began to sway to and fro, and I could\\nhear exclamations of fright from the passengers.\\nGood heavens cried one of the guard, coming in at\\nthat moment, what is that fellow doing 1 Look, sir, and\\nsee how we are going.\\nI looked at the window, and found that we were dashing\\nalong at a speed never before travelled on that road. Posts,\\nfences, rocks, and trees flew by in one undistinguished mass,\\nand the carriages now swayed fearfully. I started to my feet,\\nand met a passenger on the platform. He was one of the\\nchief owners of our road, and was just on his way to Berlin.\\nHe was pale and excited.\\nSir, he gasped, is Martin Kroller on the engine\\nYes, I told him.\\nHoly Virgin did n t you know him 1\\nKnow] I repeated, somewhat puzzled; what do you\\nmean He told me his name was Kroller, and that he was\\nan engineer. We had no one to run the engine, and\\nYou took him interrupted the man. Good heavens,\\nsir, he is as crazy as a man can be He turned his brain\\nover a new plan for applying steam power. I saw him at the\\nstation, but did not fully recognize him, as I was in a hurry.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0254.jp2"}, "255": {"fulltext": "THE MAD ENGINEER. 241\\nJust now one of your passengers told me that your engineers\\nwere all gone this morning, and that you found one that was\\na stranger to you. Then I knew that the man whom I had\\nseen was Martin Kroller. He had escaped from the hospital\\nat Stettin. You must get him off somehow.\\nThe whole fearful truth was now open to me. The speed\\nof the train was increasing every moment, and I knew that a\\nfew more miles per hour would launch us all into destruction.\\nI called to the guard, and then made my way forward as quick\\nas possible. I reached the after platform of the after tender,\\nand there stood Kroller upon the engine-board, his hat and\\ncoat off, his long black hair floating wildly in the wind,\\nhis shirt unbuttoned at the front, his sleeves rolled up, with\\na pistol in his teeth, and thus glaring upon the fireman, who\\nlay motionless upon the fuel. The furnace was stuffed till\\nthe very latch of the door was red hot, and the whole engine\\nwas quivering and swaying as though it would shiver to pieces.\\n11 Kroller Kroller I cried at the top of my voice.\\nThe crazy engineer started and caught the pistol in his\\nAand. 0, how those great black eyes glared, and how ghastly\\nand frightful the face looked\\nHa ha ha he yelled demoniacally, glaring upon me\\nJike a roused lion.\\nThey swore that I could not make it But see see\\nSee my new power See my new engine I made it, and\\nthey are jealous of me I made it, and when it was\\ndone, they stole it from me. But I have found it For\\nyears I have been wandering in search of my great en-\\ngine, and they swore it was not made. But I have found\\nit I knew it r-his morning when I saw it at Dantzic, and I\\nwas determined to have it. And I ve got it Ho ho ho\\nwe re on the way to the moon, I say By the Virgin Mother,\\nwe 11 be in the moon in four-and-twenty hours. Down,\\ndown, villain If you move, I 11 shoot you.\\nThis was spoken to the poor fireman, who at that moment\\nattempted to rise, and the frightened man sank back again.\\nHere s Little Oscue just before us cried out one of the", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0255.jp2"}, "256": {"fulltext": "242 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nguard. But even as he spoke the buildings were at hand.\\nA sickening sensation settled upon my heart, for I supposed\\nthat we were now gone. The houses flew by like lightning.\\nI knew if the officers here had turned the switch as usual, we\\nshould be hurled into eternity in one fearful crash. I saw a\\nflash, it was another engine, I closed my eyes but still\\nwe thundered on The officers had seen our speed, and,\\nknowing that we would not head up in that distance,\\nthey had changed the switch, so that we went forward.\\nBut there was sure death ahead, if we did not stop. Only\\nfifteen miles from us was the town of Schwartz, on the Vis-\\ntula and at the rate we were going we should be there in a\\nfew minutes, for each minute carried us over a mile. The\\nshrieks of the passengers now rose above the crash of the\\nrails, and more terrific than all else arose the demoniac yells\\nof the mad engineer.\\nMerciful heavens gasped the guardsman, there s not\\na moment to lose; Schwartz is close. But hold, he added;\\nlet s shoot him.\\nAt that moment a tall, stout German student came over\\nthe platform where we stood, and we saw that the madman\\nhad his heavy pistol aimed at us. He grasped a huge stick\\nof wood, and, with a steadiness of nerve which I could not have\\ncommanded, he hurled it with such force and precision that he\\nknocked the pistol from the maniac s hand. I saw the move-\\nment, and on the instant that the pistol fell I sprang forward,\\nand the German followed me. I grasped the man by the arm\\nbut I should have been nothing in his mad power, had I been\\nalone. He would have hurled me from the platform, had not\\nthe student at that moment struck him upon the head with a\\nstick of w T ood which he caught as he came over the tender.\\nKroller settled down like a dead man, and on the next\\ninstant I shut off the steam and opened the valve. As the\\nfreed steam shrieked and howled in its escape, the speed\\nbegan to decrease, and in a few minutes more the danger\\nwas passed. As I settled back, entirely overcome by the wild\\nemotions that had raged within me, we began to turn the", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0256.jp2"}, "257": {"fulltext": "THE MAD ENGINEER. 243\\nriver; and before I was fairly recovered, the fireman had\\nstopped the train in the station-house at Schwartz.\\nMartin Kroller, still insensible, was taken from the plat-\\nform j and, as we carried him to the guard-room, one of the\\nguard recognized him, and told us that he had been there\\nabout two weeks before.\\nHe came, said the guard, and swore that an engine\\nwhich stood near by was his. He said it was one he had made\\nto go to the moon in, and that it had been stolen from him.\\nWe sent for more help to arrest him, and he fled.\\nWell, I replied with a shudder, I wish he had ap-\\nproached me in the same way but he was more cautious at\\nDantzic.\\nAt Schwartz we found an engineer to run the engine to\\nBromberg and having taken out the Western mail for the\\nnext Northern mail to carry along, we saw that Kroller would\\nbe properly attended to, and then started on.\\nThe rest of the trip we ran in safety, though I could see\\nthe passengers were not wholly at ease, and w T ould not be until\\nthey were entirely clear of the railway. A heavy purse was\\nmade up by them for the German student, and he accepted it\\nwith much gratitude, and I was glad of it for the current\\nof gratitude to him may have prevented a far different cur-\\nrent of feeling which might have poured upon my head for\\nhaving engaged a madman to run a railroad train.\\nBut this is not the end. Martin Kroller remained insen-\\nsible from the effects of the blow nearly two weeks and\\nwhen he recovered from that, he was sound again, his\\ninsanity was all gone. I saw him about three weeks after-\\nward, but he had no recollection of me. He remembered\\nnothing of the past year, not even his mad freak on my\\nengine.\\nBut I remembered it, and I remember it still and the peo-\\nple need never fear that I shall be imposed upon again by a\\ncrazy engineer.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0257.jp2"}, "258": {"fulltext": "244\\nPUBLIC AND PARLOE READINGS.\\nROCK ME TO SLEEP.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Mrs. Akers.\\nBACKWARD, turn backward, Time, in your flight*\\nMake me a child again, just for to-night\\nMother, come back from the echoless shore,\\nTake me again to your heart as of yore,\\nKiss from my forehead the furrows of care,\\nSmooth the few silver threads out of my hair,\\nOver my slumbers your loviug watch keep,\\nRock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep\\nBackward, flow backward, tide of the years\\nI am so weary of toil and of tears,\\nToil without recompense, tears all in vain\\nTake them and gi\\\\e me my childhood again\\nI have grown weary of dust and decay,\\nWeary of flinging my soul-wealth away,\\nWeary of sowing for others to reap\\nRock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep\\nTired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,\\nMother, mother, my heart calls for you\\nMany a summer the grass has grown green,\\nBlossomed and faded our faces between\\nYet with strong yearning and passionate pain,\\nLong I to-night for your presence again\\nCome from the silence so long and so deep,\\nRock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep\\nOver my heart in the days that are flown\\nNo love like mother-love ever has shone,\\nNo other worship abides and endures,\\nFaithful, unselfish, and patient like yours,\\nNone like a mother can charm away pain\\nFrom the sick soul and world-weary brain\\nSlumber s soft calm o er my heavy lids creep,\\nRock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0258.jp2"}, "259": {"fulltext": "THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 245\\nCome, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,\\nFall on your shoulders again as of old,\\nLet it drop over my forehead to-night,\\nShading my faint eyes away from the light\\nFor, with its sunny-edged shadows once more,\\nHaply will throng the visions of yore,\\nLovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep,\\nRock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep\\nMother, dear mother the years have been long\\nSince last I listened your lullaby song.\\nSing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem\\nWomanhood s years have been only a dream\\nClasped to your heart in a loving embrace,\\nWith your light lashes just sweeping my face,\\nNever hereafter to wake or to weep,\\nRock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep\\nTHE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. Hood.\\nDrowned drowned Hamlet.\\nONE more unfortunate,\\nWeary of breath,\\nRashly importunate,\\nGone to her death\\nTake her up tenderly,\\nLift her with care\\nFashioned so slenderly,\\nYoung, and so fair\\nLook at her garments\\nClinging like cerements,\\nWhilst the wave constantly\\nDrips from her clothing", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0259.jp2"}, "260": {"fulltext": "246 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nTake her up instantly,\\nLoving, not loathing.\\nTouch her not scornfully\\nThink of her mournfully,\\nGently and humanly,\\nNot of the stains of her\\nAll that remains of her\\nNow is pure womanly.\\nMake no deep scrutiny\\nInto her mutiny,\\nRash and undutiful\\nPast all dishonor,\\nDeath has left on her\\nOnly the beautiful.\\nStill, for all slips of hers,\\nOne of Eve s family,\\nWipe those poor lips of hers\\nOozing so clammily.\\nLoop up her tresses\\nEscaped from the comb,\\nHer fair auburn tresses,\\nWhilst wonderment guesses\\nWhere was her home\\nWho was her father\\nWho was her mother\\nHad she a sister?\\nHad she a brother 1\\nOr was there a dearer one\\nStill, and a nearer one\\nYet, than all other 1\\nAlas for the rarity\\nOf Christian charity", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0260.jp2"}, "261": {"fulltext": "THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 247\\nUnder the sun\\nOh, it was pitiful\\nNear a whole city full,\\nHome she had none.\\nSisterly, brotherly,\\nFatherly, motherly\\nFeelings had changed\\nLove, by harsh evidence,\\nThrown from its eminence\\nEven God s providence\\nSeeming estranged.\\nWhere the lamps quiver\\nSo far in the river,\\nWith many a light\\nFrom window and casement,\\nFrom garret to basement,\\nShe stood with amazement,\\nHouseless by night.\\nThe bleak winds of March\\nMade her tremble and shiver\\nBut not the dark arch,\\nOr the black flowing river\\nMad from life s history,\\nGlad to death s mystery,\\nSwift to be hurled\\nAnywhere, anywhere\\nOut of the world\\nIn she plunged boldly,\\nNo matter how coldly\\nThe rough river ran,\\nPicture it, think of it,\\nDissolute man", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0261.jp2"}, "262": {"fulltext": "248 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nLave in it, drink of it,\\nThen, if you can.\\nTake her up tenderly,\\nLift her with care\\nFashioned so slenderly,\\nYoung, and so fair\\nEre her limbs frigidly\\nStiffen too rigidly,\\nDecently, kindly,\\nSmooth and compose them\\nAnd her eyes, close them,\\nStaring so blindly\\nDreadfully staring,\\nThrough muddy impurity r\\nAs when with the daring\\nLast look of despairing\\nFixed on futurity\\nPerishing gloomily,\\nSpurred by contumely,\\nCold inhumanity,\\nBurning insanity,\\nInto her rest\\nCross her hands humbly,\\nAs if praying dumbly,\\nOver her breast\\nOwning her weakness,\\nHer evil behavior,\\nAnd leaving, with meekness,\\nHer sins to her Saviour", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0262.jp2"}, "263": {"fulltext": "MONA S WATERS. 249\\nMONA S WATERS.\\nO MONA S waters are blue and bright\\nWhen the sun shines out like a gay young lover\\nBut Mona s waves are dark as night\\nWhen the face of heaven is clouded over.\\nThe wild wind drives the crested foam\\nFar up the steep and rocky mountain,\\nAnd booming echoes drown the voice,\\nThe silvery voice, of Mona s fountain.\\nWild, wild, against that mountain s side\\nThe wrathful waves were up and beating,\\nWhen stern Glenvarloch s chieftain came\\nWith anxious brow, and hurried greeting,\\nHe bade the widowed mother send,\\n(While loud the tempest s voice was raging,)\\nHer fair young son across the flood,\\nWhere winds and waves their strife were waging.\\nAnd still that fearful mother prayed,\\nyet delay, delay till morning,\\nFor weak the hand that guides our bark,\\nThough brave his heart, all danger scorning.\\nLittle did stern Glenvarloch heed\\nThe safety of my fortress tower\\nDepends on tidings he must bring\\nFrom Fairlee bank, within the hour.\\nSee st thou, across the sullen wave,\\nA blood-red banner, wildly streaming\\nThat flag a message brings to me\\nOf which my foes are little dreaming.\\nThe boy must put his boat across\\n(Gold shall repay his hour of danger),\\nAnd bring me back, with care and speed,\\nThree letters from the light-browed stranger.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0263.jp2"}, "264": {"fulltext": "250 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThe orphan boy leaped lightly in\\nBold was his eye and brow of beauty,\\nAnd bright his smile as thus he spoke\\nI do but pay a vassal s duty\\nFear not for me, mother dear\\nSee how the boat the tide is spurning\\nThe storm will cease, the sky will clear,\\nAnd thou wilt watch me safe returning.\\nHis bark shot on, now up, now down,\\nOver the waves, the snowy-crested\\nNow like a dart it sped along,\\nNow like a white-winged sea-bird rested\\nAnd ever when the wind sank low,\\nSmote on the ear that woman s wailing,\\nAs long she watched, with streaming eyes,\\nThat fragile bark s uncertain sailing.\\nHe reached the shore, the letters claimed\\nTriumphant, heard the stranger s wonder\\nThat one so young should brave alone\\nThe heaving lake, the rolling thunder.\\nAnd once again his snowy sail\\nWas seen by her, that mourning mother\\nAnd once she heard his shouting voice,\\nThat voice *the waves were soon to smother.\\nWild burst the wind, wide napped the sail,\\nA crashing peal of thunder followed\\nThe gust swept o er the water s face,\\nAnd caverns in the deep lake hollowed.\\nThe gust swept past, the waves grew calm,\\nThe thunder died along the mountain\\nBut where was he who used to play,\\nOn sunny days, by Mona s fountain\\nHis cold corpse floated to the shore\\nWhere knelt his lone and shrieking mother", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0264.jp2"}, "265": {"fulltext": "MONA S WATERS. 251\\nAnd bitterly she wept for him,\\nThe widow s son, wjio had no brother\\nShe raised his arm, the hand was closed\\nWith pain his stiffened fingers parted,\\nAnd on the sand three letters dropped\\nHis last dim thought, the faithful-hearted.\\nGlenvarloch gazed, and on his brow\\nRemorse with pain and grief seemed blending\\nA purse of gold he flung beside\\nThat mother, o er her dead child bending.\\n0, wildly laughed that woman then,\\nGlenvarloch would. ye dare to measure\\nThe holy life that God has given\\nAgainst a heap of golden treasure 1\\nYe spurned my prayer, for we were poor\\nBut know, proud man, that God hath power\\nTo smite the king on Scotland s throne,\\nThe chieftain in his fortress tower.\\nFrown on frown on I fear ye not\\nWe ve done the last of chieftain s bidding,\\nAnd cold he lies, for whose young sake\\nI used to bear your wrathful chiding.\\nWill gold bring back his cheerful voice\\nThat used to win my heart from sorrow 1\\nWill silver warm the frozen blood,\\nOr make my heart less lone to-morrow 1\\nGo back and seek your mountain home,\\nAnd when ye kiss your fair-haired daughter\\nRemember him who died to-night\\nBeneath the waves of Mona s water.\\nOld years rolled on, and new ones came,\\nFoes dare not brave Glenvarloch s tower\\nBut naught could bar the sickness out\\nThat stole within fair Annie s bower.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0265.jp2"}, "266": {"fulltext": "252 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThe o erblown floweret in the sun\\nSinks languid down, and withers daily,\\nAnd so she sank, her voice grew faint,\\nHer laugh no longer sounded gayly.\\nHer step fell on the old oak floor\\nAs noiseless as the snow-shower s drifting\\nAnd from her sweet and serious eyes\\nThey seldom saw the dark lid lifting.\\nBring aid bring aid the father cries\\nBring aid each vassal s voice is crying\\nThe fair-haired beauty of the isles,\\nHer pulse is faint, her life is flying\\nHe called in vain her dim eyes turned\\nAnd met his own with parting sorrow,\\nFor well she knew, that fading girl,\\nThat he must weep and wail the morrow.\\nHer faint breath ceased the father bent\\nAnd gazed upon his fair-haired daughter.\\nWhat thought he on 1 The widow s son,\\nAnd the stormy night by Mona s water.\\nHIGHER VIEWS OF THE UNION. Wendell Phillips.\\nI CONFESS the pictures of the mere industrial value of the\\nUnion make me profoundly sad. I look, as beneath the\\nskilful pencil trait after trait leaps to glowing life, and ask at\\nlast, Is this all 1 Where are the nobler elements of national\\npurpose and life 1 Is this the whole fruit of ages of toil, sac-\\nrifice, and thought, those cunning fingers, the overflowing lap,\\nlabor vocal on every hillside, and commerce whitening every\\nsea] All the dower of one haughty, overbearing race, the\\nzeal of the Puritan, the faith of the Quaker, a century of\\ncolonial health, and then this large civilization, does it result", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0266.jp2"}, "267": {"fulltext": "HIGHER VIEWS OF THE UNION. 253\\nonly in a workshop, fops melted in baths and perfumed,\\nand men grimed with toil Raze out, then, the Eagle from\\nour banner, and paint instead Niagara used as a cotton-\\nmill!\\nno not such the picture my glad heart sees when I look\\nforward. Once plant deep in the national heart the love of\\nright, let there grow out of it the firm purpose of duty, and\\nthen from the higher plane of Christian manhood we can put\\naside, on the right hand and the left, these narrow, childish,\\nand mercenary considerations.\\nLeave to the soft Campanian\\nHis baths and his perfumes\\nLeave to the sordid race of Tyre\\nTheir dyeing vats and looms\\nLeave to the sons of Carthage\\nThe rudder and the oar,\\nLeave to the Greek his marble nymph\\nAnd scrolls of wordy lore\\nbut for us, the children of a purer civilization, the pioneers\\nof a Christian future, it is for us to found a Capitol whose\\ncorner-stone is Justice, and whose top-stone is Liberty with-\\nin the sacred precinct of whose Holy of Holies dwelleth One\\nwho is no respecter of persons, but hath made of one blood\\nall nations of the earth to serve him.\\nCrowding to the shelter of its stately arches, I see old and\\nyoung, learned and ignorant, rich and poor, native and for-\\neign, Pagan, Christian, and Jew, black and white, in one glad,\\nharmonious, triumphant procession\\nBlest and thrice blest the Roman\\nWho sees Rome s brightest day\\nWho sees that long victorious pomp\\nWind down the sacred way,\\nAnd through the bellowing Forum,\\nAnd round the suppliant s Grove,\\nUp to the everlasting gates\\nOf Capitolian Jove", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0267.jp2"}, "268": {"fulltext": "254 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nTHE BELLS. Edgab A. Poe.\\nHEAR the sledges with the bells,\\nSilver bells\\nWhat a world of merriment their melody foretells\\nHow they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,\\nIn the icy air of night\\nWhile the stars that oversprinkle\\nAll the heavens seem to twinkle\\nWith a crystalline delight\\nKeeping time, time, time,\\nIn a sort of Runic rhyme,\\nTo the tintinabulation that so musically wells\\nFrom the bells, bells, bells, bells,\\nBells, bells, bells,\\nFrom the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.\\nHear the mellow wedding bells,\\nGolden bells\\nWhat a world of happiness their harmony foretells\\nThrough the balmy air of night\\nHow they ring out their delight\\nFrom the molten-golden notes,\\nAnd all in tune,\\nWhat a liquid ditty floats\\nTo the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats\\nOn the moon\\n0, from out the sounding cells,\\nWhat a gush of euphony voluminously wells\\nHow it swells\\nHow it dwells\\nOn the Future how it tells\\nOf the rapture that impels\\nTo the swinging and the ringing\\nOf the bells, bells, bells,\\nOf the bells, bells, bells, bells,", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0268.jp2"}, "269": {"fulltext": "THE BELLS. 255\\nBells, bells, bells,\\nTo the rhyming and the chiming of the bells\\nHear the loud alarum bells,\\nBrazen bells\\nWhat a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells\\nIn the startled ear of night\\nHow they scream out their affright\\nToo much horrified to speak,\\nThey can only shriek, shriek,\\nOut of tune,\\nIn a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,\\nIn a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,\\nLeaping higher, higher, higher,\\nWith a desperate desire,\\nAnd a resolute endeavor\\nNow now to sit or never,\\nBy the side of the pale-faced moon.\\nthe bells, bells, bells,\\nWhat a tale their terror tells,\\nOf Despair\\nHow they clang and clash and roar\\nWhat a horror they outpour\\nOn the bosom of the palpitating air\\nYet the ear it fully knows,\\nBy the twanging,\\nAnd the clanging,\\nHow the danger ebbs and flows\\nYet the ear distinctly tells,\\nIn the jangling,\\nAnd the wrangling,\\nHow the danger sinks and swells,\\nfey the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells,\\nOf the bells,\\nOf the bells, bells, bells, bells,\\nBells, bells, bells,\\nIn the clamor and the clangor of the bells", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0269.jp2"}, "270": {"fulltext": "256 PUBLIC AND PAKLOR READINGS.\\nHear the tolling of the bells,\\nIron bells\\nWhat a world of solemn thought their monody compels\\nIn the silence of the night,\\nHow we shiver with affright\\nAt the melancholy menace of their tone\\nFor every sound that floats\\nFrom the rust within their throats\\nIs a groan.\\nAnd the people ah, the people\\nThey that dwell up in the steeple,\\nAll alone,\\nAnd who tolling, tolling, tolling,\\nIn that muffled monotone,\\nFeel a glory in so rolling\\nOn the human heart a stone,\\nThey are neither man nor woman,\\nThey are neither brute nor human,\\nThey are Ghouls\\nAnd their king it is who tolls\\nAnd he rolls, rolls, rolls,\\nRolls,\\nA psean from the bells,\\nAnd his merry bosom swells\\nWith the psean of the bells\\nAnd he dances and he yells\\nKeeping time, time, time,\\nIn a sort of Runic rhyme,\\nTo the psean of the bells,\\nOf the bells\\nKeeping time, time, time,\\nIn a sort of Runic rhyme,\\nTo the throbbing of the bells,\\nOf the bells, bells, bells,\\nTo the sobbing of the bells\\nKeeping time, time, time,\\nAs he knells, knells, knells,", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0270.jp2"}, "271": {"fulltext": "THE DRUM-CALL IN 18C1. 257\\nIn a happy Runic rhyme,\\nTo the rolling of the bells,\\nOf the bells, bells, bells,\\nTo the tolling of the bells,\\nOf the bells, bells, bells, bells,\\nBells, bells, bells,\\nTo the moaning and the groaning of the bells*\\nTHE DRUM-CALL IN 1861. E. J. Cutler.\\nTHE drum s wild roll awakes the land; the fife is calling\\nshrill;\\nTen thousand starry banners blaze on town and bay and hill\\nThe thunders of the rising war drown Labor s peaceful hum,\\nAnd heavy to the ground the first dark drops of battle come.\\nWake, sons of heroes, wake The age of heroes dawns again\\nTruth takes in hand her ancient sword, and calls her loyal men.\\nLo brightly o er the breaking day shines Freedom s holy\\nstar;\\nPeace cannot cure the sickly time. All hail the healer,\\nWar!\\nThat voice the Empire City heard t was heard in Boston Bay;\\nThen to the lumber-camps of Maine sped on its eager way.\\nOver the breezy prairie lands, by bluff and lake it went,\\nTo where the Mississippi shapes the plastic continent\\nThen on, by cabin and by fort, by stony wastes and sands,\\nIt rang exultant down the sea where the Golden City stands.\\nAnd wheresoe er the summons came, there rose an angry din,\\nAs when upon a rocky coast a stormy tide sets in.\\nSweet is the praise of harvest-home, of sylvan haunts and\\nbrooks,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0271.jp2"}, "272": {"fulltext": "258 PUBLIC AND PAKLOR READINGS.\\nOf red swords into ploughshares beat, of spears to pruning-\\nhooks,\\nOf the long splendor of the Arts the fervid years disclose\\nBut mid the victories of Peace, the heart a-straying goes.\\nBut sweeter than the song of Peace, the ringing battle-shout,\\nWhen Error s thistle-calyx bursts, Truth s purple blossoms\\nout;\\nAnd lovelier than the waving grain, the battle-flag unfurled\\nAmid the din of trump and drum to lead the onward world\\nThen mothers, sisters, daughters spare the tears you fain\\nwould shed.\\nWho seem to die in such a cause, you cannot call them dead\\n0, length of days is not a boon the brave man prayeth for\\nThere are a thousand evils worse than death or any war\\nOppression, with his iron strength fed on the souls of men\\nAnd License, with the hungry brood that kennel in his den.\\nBut Law, the form of Liberty God s light is on thy brow\\nAnd Liberty, the soul of Law God s very self art thou.\\nDivine ideas we write your names across our banner s fold\\nFor you the sluggard s brain is fire, for you the coward bold.\\nFair daughter of the bleeding Past Bright hope the Prophets\\nsaw\\nGod give us Law in Liberty, and Liberty in Law\\nHurrah the drums are beating the fife is calling shrill\\nTen thousand starry banners flame on town and bay and\\nhill;\\nThe thunders of the rising war hush Labor s drowsy hum\\nThank God that we have lived to see the saffron morning\\ncome\\nThe morning of the battle-call, to every soldier dear.\\njoy the cry is Forward joy the foe is near\\nFor all the crafty men of peace have failed to purge the land.\\nHurrah the ranks of battle close God takes his cause in\\nhand!", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0272.jp2"}, "273": {"fulltext": "THE GALLEY-SLAVE. 259\\nTHE GALLEY-SLAVE. Henry Abbey.\\nTHERE lived in France, in days not long now dead,\\nA farmer s sons, twin brothers, like in face\\nAnd one was taken in the other s stead\\nFor a small theft, and sentenced in disgrace\\nTo serve for years a hated galley-slave,\\nYet said no word his prized good name to save.\\nTrusting remoter days would be more blessed,\\nHe set his will to wear the verdict out,\\nAnd knew most men are prisoners at best\\nWho some strong habit ever drag about,\\nLike chain and ball then meekly prayed that he\\nRather the prisoner he was should be.\\nBut best resolves are of such feeble thread,\\nThey may be broken in Temptation s hands.\\nAfter long toil the guiltless prisoner said\\nWhy should I thus, and feel life s precious sands\\nThe narrow of my glass, the present, run,\\nFor a poor crime that I have never done 1\\nSuch questions are like cups, and hold reply\\nFor when the chance swung wide the prisoner fled,\\nAnd gained the country road, and hastened by\\nBrown furrowed fields and skipping brooklets fed\\nBy shepherd clouds, and felt neath sapful trees\\nThe soft hand of the mesmerizing breeze.\\nThen, all that long day having eaten naught,\\nHe at a cottage stopped, and of the wife\\nA brimming bowl of fragrant milk besought.\\nShe gave it him but as he quaffed the life,\\nDown her kind face he saw a single tear\\nPursue its wet and sorrowful career.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0273.jp2"}, "274": {"fulltext": "260 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nWithin the cot he now beheld a man\\nAnd maiden also weeping. Speak, said he,\\nAnd tell me of your grief for if I can,\\nI will disroot the sad tear-fruited tree.\\nThe cotter answered In default of rent\\nWe shall to-morrow from this roof be sent.\\nThen said the galley-slave Whoso returns\\nA prisoner escaped may feel the spur\\nTo a right action, and deserves and earns\\nProffered reward. I am a prisoner\\nBind these my arms, and drive me back my way,\\nThat your reward the price of home may pay.\\nAgainst his wish the cotter gave consent,\\nAnd at the prison-gate received his fee,\\nThough some made it a thing for wonderment\\nThat one so sickly and infirm as he,\\nWhen stronger would have dared not to attack,\\nCould capture this bold youth and bring him back.\\nStraightway the cotter to the mayor hied\\nAnd told him all the story, and that lord\\nWas much affected, dropping gold beside\\nThe pursed sufficient silver of reward\\nThen wrote his letter in authority,\\nAsking to set the noble prisoner free.\\nThere is no nobler, better life on earth\\nThan that of conscious, meek self-sacrifice.\\nSuch life our Saviour, in his lowly birth\\nAnd holy work, made his sublime disguise,\\nTeaching this truth, still rarely understood\\nT is sweet to suffer for another s good.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0274.jp2"}, "275": {"fulltext": "THE DIVER. 261\\nTHE DIVER. Schiller.\\nWHERE is the knight or the squire so bold\\nV_y As to dive to the howling charybdis below 1\\nI east into the whirlpool a goblet of gold,\\nAnd o er it already the dark waters flow\\nWhoever to me may the goblet bring\\nShall have for his guerdon that gift of his king.\\nHe spoke, and the cup from the terrible steep\\nThat, rugged and hoary, hung over the verge\\nOf the endless and measureless world of the deep,\\nSwirled into the maelstrom that maddened the surge.\\nII And where is the diver so stout to go\\nI ask ye again to the deep below 1\\nAnd the knights and the squires that gathered around\\nStood silent, and fixed on the ocean their eyes\\nThey looked on the dismal and savage profound,\\nAnd the peril chilled back every thought of the prize.\\nAnd thrice spoke the monarch, The cup to win,\\nIs there never a wight w T ho will venture in 1\\nAnd all as before heard in silence the king,\\nTill a youth with an aspect unfearing but gentle,\\nMid the tremulous squires, stept out from the ring,\\nUnbuckling his girdle, and doffing his mantle\\nAnd the murmuring crowd, as they parted asunder,\\nOn the stately boy cast their looks of wonder.\\nAs he strode to the marge of the summit, and gav^\\nOne glance on the gulf of that merciless main\\nLo the wave that forever devours the wave\\nCasts roaringly up the charybdis again\\nAnd, as with the swell of the far thunder-boom,\\nRushes foamingly forth from the heart of the gloom.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0275.jp2"}, "276": {"fulltext": "262 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nAnd it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars,\\nAs when fire is with water commixed and contending;\\nAnd the spray of its wrath to the welkin up-soars,\\nAnd flood upon flood hurries on, never ending.\\nAnd it never will rest, nor from travail be free,\\nLike a sea that is laboring the birth of a sea.\\nAnd at last there lay open the desolate realm\\nThrough the breakers that whitened the waste of the swell,\\nDark, dark yawned a cleft in the midst of the whelm,\\nThe path to the heart of that fathomless hell.\\nRound and round whirled the waves deep and deeper still\\ndriven,\\nLike a gorge through the moimtainous main thunder-riven.\\nThe youth gave his trust to his Maker Before\\nThat path through the riven abyss closed again\\nHark a shriek from the crowd rang aloft from the shore,\\nAnd, behold he is whirled in the grasp of the main\\nAnd o er him the breakers mysteriously rolled,\\nAnd the giant-mouth closed on the swimmer so bold.\\nO er the surface grim silence lay dark and profound,\\nBut the deep from below murmured hollow and fell\\nAnd the crowd, as it shuddered, lamented aloud,\\nGallant youth, noble heart, fare thee well, fare thee\\nwell\\nAnd still ever deepening that wail as of woe,\\nMore hollow the gulf sent its howl from below.\\nIf thou shouldst in those waters thy diadem fling,\\nAnd cry, Who may find it shall win it, and wear,\\nGods wot, though the prize were the crown of a king,\\nA crown at such hazard were valued too dear.\\nFor never did lips of the living reveal\\nWhat the deeps that howl yonder in terror conceal.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0276.jp2"}, "277": {"fulltext": "THE DIVER. 263\\nmany a ship, to that breast grappled fast,\\nHas gone down to the fearful and fathomless grave\\nAgain, crashed together, the keel and the mast\\nTo be seen, tossed aloft in the glee of the wave.\\nLike the growth of a storm ever louder and clearer,\\nGrows the roar of the gulf rising nearer and nearer.\\nAnd it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars,\\nAs when fire is with water commixed and contending\\nAnd the spray of its wrath to the welkin up-soars,\\nAnd flood upon flood hurries on, never ending\\nAnd, as with the swell of the far thunder-boom,\\nRushes roaringly forth from the heart of the gloom.\\nAnd lo from the heart of that far-floating gloom\\nWhat gleams on the darkness so swanlike and white 1\\nLo an arm and a neck, glancing up from the tomb\\nThey battle, the Man s with the Element s might.\\nIt is he it is he in his left hand behold,\\nAs a sign, as a joy, shines the goblet of gold\\nAnd he breathed deep, and he breathed long,\\nAnd he greeted the heavenly delight of the day.\\nThey gaze on each other they shout as they throng,\\nHe lives, lo, the ocean has rendered its prey\\nAnd out of the grave where the Hell began,\\nHis valor has rescued the living man\\nAnd he comes with the crowd in their clamor and glee,\\nAnd the goblet his daring has won from the water\\nHe lifts to the king as he sinks on his knee\\nAnd the king from her maidens has beckoned his daughter,\\nAnd he bade her the wine to his cup-bearer bring,\\nAnd thus spake the Diver, Long life to the king\\nHappy they whom the rose-hues of daylight rejoice,\\nThe air and the sky that to mortals are given", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0277.jp2"}, "278": {"fulltext": "264 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nMay the horror below nevermore find a voice,\\nNor man stretch too far the wide mercy of Heaven\\nNevermore, nevermore may he lift from the mirror\\nThe veil which is woven with Night and with Terror\\nQuick brightening like lightning, it tore me along,\\nDown, down, till the gush of a torrent at play\\nIn the rocks of its wilderness caught me, and strong\\nAs the wings of an eagle, it whirled me away.\\nVain, vain were my struggles the circle had won me\\nRound and round in its dance the wild element spun me.\\nAnd I called on my God, and my God heard my prayer,\\nIn the strength of my need, in the gasp of my breath,\\nAnd showed me a crag that rose up from the lair,\\nAnd I clung to it, trembling, and baffled the death.\\nAnd, safe in the perils around me, behold,\\nOn the spikes of the coral, the goblet of gold\\nBelow, at the foot of that precipice drear,\\nSpread the gloomy and purple and pathless obscure,\\nA silence of horror that slept on the ear,\\nThat the eye more appalled might the horror endure\\nSalamander, snake, dragon, vast reptiles that dwell\\nIn the deep, coiled about the grim jaws of their hell.\\nDark crawled, glided dark the unspeakable swarms,\\nLike masses unshapen, made life hideously.\\nHere clung and here bristled the fashionless forms\\nHere the hammer-fish darkened the dark of the sea\\nAnd with teeth grinning white, and a menacing motion,\\nWent the terrible shark, the hyena of ocean.\\nThere I hung, and the awe gathered icily o er me,\\nSo far from the earth where man s help there was none\\nThe one human thing, with the goblins before me,\\nAlone, in a loneness so ghastly, Alone", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0278.jp2"}, "279": {"fulltext": "THE DIVER. 265\\nFathom-deep from man s eye in the speechless profound,\\nWith the death of the main and the monsters around.\\nMethought, as I gazed through the darkness, that now\\nA hundred-limbed creature caught sight of its prey,\\nAnd darted God from the far-flaming bough\\nOf the coral, I swept on the horrible way\\nAnd it seized me, the wave with its wrath and its roar,\\nIt seized me to save, King, the danger is o er\\nOn the youth gazed the monarch, and marvelled quoth he,\\nBold diver, the goblet I promised is thine\\nAnd this ring will I give, a fresh guerdon to thee,\\nNever jewels more precious shone up from the mine,\\nIf thou It bring me fresh tidings, and venture again\\nTo say what lies hid in the innermost main\\nThen outspake the daughter in tender emotion,\\nAh father, my father, what more can there rest 1\\nEnough of this sport with the pitiless ocean\\nHe has served thee as none would, thyself has confest.\\nIf nothing can slake thy wild thirst of desire,\\nBe your knights not, at least, put to shame by the squire\\nThe king seized the goblet he swung it on high,\\nAnd, whirling, it fell in the roar of the tide\\nBut bring back that goblet again to my eye,\\nAnd I 11 hold thee the dearest that rides by my side\\nAnd thine arms shall embrace as thy bride, I decree,\\nThe maiden whose pity now pleadeth for thee.\\nIn his heart, as he listened, there leapt the wild joy,\\nAnd the hope and the love through his eyes spoke in fire.\\nOn that bloom, on that blush, gazed, delighted, the boy\\nThe maiden she faints at the feet of her sire.\\nHere the guerdon divine, there the danger beneath\\nHe resolves To the strife with the life and the death", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0279.jp2"}, "280": {"fulltext": "266 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThey hear the loud surges sweep back in their swell\\nTheir coming the thunder-sound heralds along\\nFoud eyes yet are tracking the spot where he fell\\nThey come, the wild waters in tumult and throng,\\nRearing up to the cliff, roaring back as before\\nBut no wave ever brought the lost youth to the shore.\\nDEATH OF LEONLDAS. Croly.\\nIT was the wild midnight, a storm was in the sky,\\nThe lightning gave its light, and the thunder echoed by\\nThe torrent swept the glen, the ocean lashed the shore,\\nThen rose the Spartan men, to make their bed in gore\\nSwift from the deluged ground three hundred took the shield\\nThen, silent, gathered round the leader of the field.\\nHe spoke no warrior-word, he bade no trumpet blow\\nBut the signal thunder roared, and they rushed upon the foe.\\nThe fiery element showed, with one mighty gleam,\\nRampart and flag and tent, like the spectres of a dream;\\nAll up the mountain side, all down the woody vale,\\nAll by the rolling tide, waved the Persian banners pale.\\nAnd King Leonidas, among the slumbering band,\\nSprang foremost from the pass, like the lightning s living brand;\\nThen double darkness fell, and the forest ceased to moan,\\nBut there came a clash of steel, and a distant dying groan.\\nAnon, a trumpet blew, and a fiery sheet burst high,\\nThat o er the midnight threw a blood-red canopy\\nA host glared on the hill, a host glared by the bay\\nBut the Greeks rushed onward still, like leopards in their play.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0280.jp2"}, "281": {"fulltext": "DEATH OF LEONID AS. 267\\nThe air was all a yell, and the earth was all a flame,\\nWhere the Spartan s bloody steel on the silken turbans came\\nAnd still the Greeks rushed on, beneath the fiery fold,\\nTill, like a rising sun, shone Xerxes tent of gold.\\nThey found a royal feast, his midnight banquet, there\\nAnd the treasures of the East lay beneath the Doric spear\\nThen sat to the repast the bravest of the brave,\\nThat feast must be their last, that spot must be their grave\\nThey pledged old Sparta s name in cups of Syrian wine,\\nAnd the warrior s deathless fame was sung in strains divine\\nThey took the rose-wreathed lyres from eunuch and from\\nslave,\\nAnd taught the languid wires the sounds that Freedom gave.\\nBut now the morning star crowned (Eta s twilight brow,\\nAnd the Persian horn of war from the hill began to blow\\nUp rose the glorious rank, to Greece one cup poured high,\\nThen, hand in hand, they drank, To Immortality\\nFear on King Xerxes fell, when, like spirits from the tomb,\\nWith shout and trumpet-knell, he saw the warriors come\\nBut down swept all his power, with chariot and with charge,\\nDown poured the arrowy shower, till sank the Dorian targe.\\nThey marched within the tent, with all their strength unstrung;\\nTo Greece one look they sent, then on high their torches flung\\nTo heaven the blaze uprolled, like a mighty altar-fire,\\nAnd the Persians gems and gold were the Grecians funeral\\npyre.\\nTheir king sat on his throne, his captains by his side,\\nWhile the flame rushed roaring on, and their paean loud replied\\nThus fought the Greek of old Thus will he fight again\\nShall not the selfsame mould bring forth the selfsame men", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0281.jp2"}, "282": {"fulltext": "268 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nMY EXPERIENCE IN ELOCUTION. John Neal.\\nIN the academy I attended, elocution was taught in a way\\nI never shall forget, never! We had a yearly exhibi-\\ntion, and the favorites of the preceptor were allowed to speak\\na piece and a pretty time they had of it. Somehow, I was\\nnever a favorite with any of my teachers after the first\\ntwo or three days and, as I went barefooted, I dare say it\\nwas thought unseemly, or perhaps cruel, to expose me upon\\nthe platform. And then, as I had no particular aptitude for\\npublic speaking, and no relish for what was called oratory, it\\nwas never my luck to be called up.\\nAmong my schoolmates, however, was one, a very amia-\\nble, shy boy, to whom was assigned, at the last exhibition\\nI attended, that passage in Pope s Homer beginning with\\nAurora, now fair daughter of the dawn. This the poor\\nboy gave with so much emphasis and discretion that, to me,\\nit sounded like roarer and I was wicked enough, out\\nof sheer envy I dare say, to call him roarer a nick-\\nname which clung to him for a long while, though no human\\nbeing ever deserved it less for in speech and action both, he\\nwas quiet, reserved, and sensitive.\\nMy next experience in elocution was still more dishearten-\\ning, so that I never had a chance of showing what I was\\ncapable of in that way, till I set up for myself. Master\\nMoody, my next instructor, was thought to have uncommon\\nqualifications for teaching oratory. He was a large, hand-\\nsome, heavy man, over six feet high and having understood\\nthat the first, second, and third prerequisite in oratory was\\naction, the boys he put in training were encouraged to most\\nvehement and obstreperous manifestations. Let me give an\\nexample, and one that weighed heavily on my conscience for\\nmany years after the poor man passed away.\\nAmong his pupils were two boys, brothers, who were\\nthought highly gifted in elocution. The master, who was\\nevidently of that opinion, had a habit of parading them on", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0282.jp2"}, "283": {"fulltext": "MY EXPEKIENCB IN ELOCUTION. 269\\nall occasions before visitors and strangers; though one had\\nlost his upper front teeth and lisped badly, and the other had\\nthe voice of a penny-trumpet. Week after week, these bo3 s\\nwent through the quarrel of Brutus and Cassius, for the ben-\\nefit of myself and others, to see if their example would not\\nprovoke us to a generous competition for all the honors.\\nHow it operated on the other boys in after life I cannot\\nsay but the effect on me was decidedly unwholesome dis-\\ncouraging, indeed until I was old enough to judge for my-\\nself, and to carry into operation a system of my own believ-\\ning that men should always talk I do not say they should\\ntalk always on paper and off, on the platform and at the\\nbar, in the senate-chamber and at the dinner-table, if they\\nwould not forego all the advantages of experience in private\\nlife, when they launch into public life.\\nOn coming to the passage, Be ready, gods, with all your\\nthunderbolts, dash him in pieces the elder of the two\\ngave it after the following fashion Be ready, godths, with\\nall your thunderbolths, dath him in pietheth bringing\\nhis right fist down into his left palm with all his strength,\\nand his lifted foot upon the platform, which was built like a\\nsounding-board, so that the master himself, who had sug-\\ngested the action, and obliged the poor boy to rehearse it\\nover and over again, appeared to be utterly carried away by\\nthe magnificent demonstration while to me so deficient\\nwas I in rhetorical taste it sounded like the crash of broken\\ncrockery, intermingled with chicken-peeps.\\nI never got over it and to this day, cannot endure stamp-\\ning, nor even tapping with the foot, nor clapping the hands\\ntogether, nor thumping the table for illustration having an\\nidea that such noises are not oratory, and that untranslatable\\nsounds are not language.\\nMy next essay was of a somewhat different kind. I took\\nthe field in person, being in my nineteenth year, well propor-\\ntioned, and already beginning to have a sincere relish for\\npoetry, if not for declamation. I had always been a great\\nreader and in the course of my foraging depredations I had", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0283.jp2"}, "284": {"fulltext": "270 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nmet with The Sailor-Boy s Dream, and The Lake of the\\nDismal Swamp, both of which I had committed to memory\\nbefore I knew it.\\nAnd one day, happening to be alone with my sister, and\\nnewly rigged out in a student s gown, such as the lads at\\nBrunswick sported when they came to show off among\\ntheir old companions, I proposed to astonish her by rehears-\\ning these two poems in appropriate costume. Being very\\nproud of her brother, and very obliging, she consented at\\nonce, upon the condition, however, that our dear mother,\\nwho had never seen anything of the sort, should be invited\\nto make one of the audience.\\nOn the whole, I rather think that I succeeded in astonish-\\ning both. I well remember their looks of amazement for\\nthey had never seen anything better or worse in all\\ntheir lives, and were no judges of acting as I swept to and\\nfro in that magnificent robe, with outstretched arms and up-\\nlifted eyes, when I came to passages like the following, where\\nan apostrophe was called for\\nAnd near him the she-wolf stirred the brake,\\nAnd the copper-snake breathed in his ear,\\nTill, starting, he cried, from his dream awake,\\n1 0, when shall I see the dusky lake,\\nAnd the white canoe of my dear\\nOr like this\\nsailor-boy sailor-boy peace to thy shade\\nAround thy white bones the red coral shall grow,\\nOf thy fair yellow hair threads of amber be made,\\nAnd every part suit to thy mansion below\\nthrowing up my arms, and throwing them out in every pos-\\nsible direction as the spirit moved me, or the sentiment\\nprompted for I always encouraged my limbs and features to\\nthink for themselves, and to act for themselves, and never\\npredetermined never forethought a gesture nor an intona-\\ntion in all my life and should as soon think of counterfeiting\\nanother s look or step or voice, or of modulating my own by", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0284.jp2"}, "285": {"fulltext": "THE KINGDOM. 271\\na pitch-pipe, as the ancient orators did, with whom oratory-\\nwas acting-elocution, a branch of the dramatic art, as of\\nadopting or imitating the gestures or tones of the most cele-\\nbrated rhetorician I ever saw.\\nThe result was quite encouraging. My mother and sister\\nwere both satisfied. At any rate, they said nothing to the\\ncontrary. Being only in my nineteenth year, what might I\\nnot be able to accomplish after a little more experience .1\\nH \\\\w little did I think, while rehearsing before my mother\\nand sister, that anything serious would ever come of it, or\\nthat I was laying the foundations of character for life, or that\\nI was beginning what I should not be able to finish within\\nthe next forty or fifty years following. Yet so it was. I had\\nbroken the ice without knowing it. These things were but\\nthe foreshadowing of what happened long afterward.\\nTHE KINGDOM. Lizzie Doten.\\nr I 1 WAS the ominous month of October,\\nJL How the memories rise in my soul,\\nHow they swell like a sea in my soul\\nWhen a spirit, sad, silent, and sober,\\nWTiose glance was a word of control,\\nDrew me down to the black Lake Avernus,\\nIn the desolate kingdom of Death,\\nTo the mist-covered Lake of Avernus,\\nIn the ghoul-haunted kingdom of Death.\\nAnd there, while I shivered and waited,\\nI talked with the souls of the dead\\nThe lawless, the lone, and the hated,\\nWho broke from their bondage and fled.\\nEach word was a burning eruption,\\nThat leaped from a crater of flame,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0285.jp2"}, "286": {"fulltext": "272 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nA red lava-tide of corruption,\\nThat out of life s sediment came\\nFrom the scoriae natures God gave them,\\nCompounded of glory and shame.\\nAboard cried our pilot and leader\\nThen wildly we rushed to embark,\\nAnd forth, in our ghostly Edida,\\nWe swept in the silence and dark.\\nGod on that black Lake Avernus,\\nWhere vampires drink even the breath,\\nOn that terrible Lake of Avernus,\\nLeading down to the whirlpool of death\\nIt was there the Eumenides found us,\\nIn sight of no shelter or shore,\\nThey lashed up the white waves around us,\\nWe sank in the waters wild roar.\\nBut not to the regions infernal,\\nThrough billows of sulphurous flame,\\nBut unto the city eternal,\\nThe home of the blest, we came.\\nTo the gate of the beautiful city,\\nAll fainting and weary, we pressed\\nHeart of the Holy, take pity,\\nAnd welcome us home to our rest\\nPursued by the Fates and the Furies,\\nIn danger and darkness we fled\\nFrom the pitiless Fates and the Furies,\\nThrough the desolate realms of the dead.\\nLike the song of a bird that yet lingers,\\nLike the wind-harp by ^Eolus blown,\\nAs if touched by the lightest of fingers,\\nWide open the portals were thrown.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0286.jp2"}, "287": {"fulltext": "THE KINGDOM. 273\\nAnd there, in a mystical splendor,\\nStood a golden-haired, azure-eyed, child\\nWith a look that was touching and tender\\nShe stretched forth her white hand and smiled.\\nAy, welcome thrice welcome, poor mortals 1\\n0, why do you linger and wait 1\\nCome fearlessly in at these portals,\\nNo warder keeps watch at the gate.\\nGloria Deo Te Deum laudamus I\\nExclaimed a proud prelate, I m safe into heaven\\nBy the blood of the Lamb, and the martyrs who claim us,\\nMy soul has been purchased, my sins are forgiven\\nI tread where the saints and the martyrs have trod,\\nLead on, thou fair child, to the temple of God\\nThe child stood in silence and wondered,\\nAnd bowed down her beautiful head,\\nAnd even as fragrance is shed\\nBy the lily the waves have swept under,\\nShe meekly and tenderly said\\nIn vain do you seek to behold Him\\nHe dwells in no temple apart\\nThe height of the heavens cannot hold him,\\nAnd yet he is here in my heart,\\nHe is here, and he will not depart.\\nThen forth from the mystical splendor,\\nThe scintillant, crystalline light,\\nGleamed faces more touching and tender\\nThan ever had greeted our sight.\\nAnd they sang, Welcome home to this kingdom,\\nYe earth-born and serpent-beguiled\\nThe Lord is the light of this kingdom,\\nAnd his temple the heart of a child\\n12*", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0287.jp2"}, "288": {"fulltext": "274 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nTHE SONG OF THE COSSACK TO HIS HOUSE.\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nBeranger.\\nTranslated by Father Prout (Rev. Francis Mahony).\\nGOME, arouse thee up, my gallant horse, and bear thy\\nrider on\\nThe comrade thou, and the friend, I trow, of the dweller on\\nthe Don.\\nPillage and Death have spread their wings t is the hour to\\nhie thee forth,\\nAnd with thy hoofs an echo wake to the trumpets of the\\nNorth\\nNor gems nor gold do men behold upon thy saddle-tree\\nBut earth affords the wealth of lords for thy master and for\\nthee.\\nThen fiercely neigh, my charger gray thy chest is proud\\nand ample\\nThy hoofs shall prance o er the fields of France, and the pride\\nof her heroes trample\\nEurope is weak, she hath grown old, her bulwarks are\\nlaid low\\nShe is loath to hear the blast of war, she shrinketh from a\\nfoe I\\nCome, in our turn, let us sojourn in her goodly haunts of\\nj\u00c2\u00b0y\\nIn the pillared porch to wave the torch, and her palaces\\ndestroy I\\nProud as when first thou slakedst thy thirst in the flow of\\nconquered Seine,\\nAye, shalt thou lave, within that wave, thy blood-red flanks\\nagain.\\nThen fiercely neigh, my gallant gray thy chest is strong\\nand ample\\nThy hoofs shall prance o er the fields of France, and the pride\\nof her heroes trample", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0288.jp2"}, "289": {"fulltext": "THE SONG OF THE COSSACK TO HIS HORSE. 275\\nKings are beleaguered on their thrones by their own vassal\\ncrew\\nAnd in their den quake noblemen, and priests are bearded too\\nAnd loud they yelp for the Cossacks help to keep their bonds-\\nmen down,\\nAnd they think it meet, while they kiss our feet, to wear a\\ntyrant s crown\\nThe sceptre now to my lance shall bow, and the crosier and\\nthe cross\\nShall bend alike, when I lift my pike, and aloft that sceptre\\ntoss\\nThen proudly neigh, my gallant gray thy chest is broad\\nand ample\\nThy hoofs shall prance o er the fields of France, and the pride\\nof her heroes trample\\nIn a night of storm I have seen a form and the figure was\\na GIANT,\\nAnd his eye was bent on the Cossack s tent, and his look was\\nall defiant\\nKingly his crest, and towards the West with his battle-axe\\nhe pointed\\nAnd the form I saw was Attila of this earth the scourge\\nanointed.\\nFrom the Cossacks camp let the horseman s tramp the coming\\ncrash announce;\\nLet the vulture whet his beak sharp set, on the carrion field\\nto pounce\\nAnd proudly neigh, my charger gray 0, thy chest is\\nbroad and ample\\nThy hoofs shall prance o er the fields of France, and the pride\\nof her heroes trample\\nWhat boots old Europe s boasted fame, on which she builds\\nreliance,\\nWhen the North shall launch its avalanche on her works of\\nart and science", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0289.jp2"}, "290": {"fulltext": "276 PUBLIC AND PAKLOR READINGS.\\nHath she not wept her cities swept by our hordes of tramp-\\nling stallions,\\nAnd tower and arch crushed in the march of our barbarous\\nbattalions\\nCan we not wield our fathers shield 1 the same war-hatchet\\nhandle 1\\nDo our blades want length, or the reapers strength, for the\\nharvest of the Vandal 1\\nThen proudly neigh, my gallant gray, for thy chest is strong\\nand ample\\nAnd thy hoofs shall prance o er the fields of France, and the\\npride of her heroes trample\\nDOROTHY IN THE GARRET.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J. T. Teowbridgb.\\nIN the low-raftered garret, stooping\\nCarefully over the creaking boards,\\nOld Maid Dorothy goes a-groping\\nAmong its dusty and cobwebbed hoards\\nSeeking some bundle of patches, hid\\nFar under the eaves, or bunch of sage,\\nOr satchel hung on its nail, amid\\nThe heirlooms of a bygone age.\\nThere is the ancient family chest,\\nThere the ancestral cards and hatchel\\nDorothy, sighing, sinks down to rest,\\nForgetful of patches, sage, and satchel\\nGhosts of faces peer from the gloom\\nOf the chimney, where, with swifts and reel,\\nAnd the long-disused, dismantled loom,\\nStands the old-fashioned spinning-wheel.\\nShe sees it back in the clean-swept kitchen,\\nA part of her girlhood s little world", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0290.jp2"}, "291": {"fulltext": "DOROTHY IN THE GARRET. 277\\nHer mother is there by the window, stitching\\nSpindle buzzes, and reel is whirled\\nWith many a click on her little stool\\nShe sits, a child, by the open door,\\nWatching, and dabbling her feet in the pool\\nOf sunshine spilled on the gilded floor.\\nHer sisters are spinning all day long\\nTo her wakening sense the first sweet warning\\nOf daylight come is the cheerful song\\nTo the hum of the wheel in the early morning.\\nBenjie, the gentle, red-cheeked boy,\\nOn his way to school, peeps in at the gate\\nIn neat white pinafore, pleased and coy,\\nShe reaches a hand to her bashful mate\\nAnd under the elms, a prattling pair,\\nTogether they go, through glimmer and gloom\\nIt all comes back to her, dreaming there\\nIn the low-raftered garret-room\\nThe hum of the wheel, and the summer weather,\\nThe heart s first trouble, and love s beginning,\\nAre all in her memory linked together\\nAnd now it is she herself that is spinning.\\nWith the bloom of youth on cheek and lip,\\nTurning the spokes with the flashing pin,\\nTwisting the thread from the spindle-tip,\\nStretching it out and winding it in,\\nTo and fro, with a blithesome tread,\\nSinging she goes, and her heart is full,\\nAnd many a long-drawn golden thread\\nOf fancy is spun with the shining wool.\\nHer father sits in his favorite place,\\nPuffing his pipe by the chimney-side\\nThrough curling clouds his kindly face\\nGlows upon her with love and pride.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0291.jp2"}, "292": {"fulltext": "278 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nLulled by the wheel, in the old arm-chair\\nHer mother is musing, cat in lap,\\nWith beautiful drooping head, and hair\\nWhitening under her snow-white cap.\\nOne by one, to the grave, to the bridal,\\nThey have followed her sisters from the door\\nNow they are old, and she is their idol\\nIt all comes back on her heart once more.\\nIn the autumn dusk the hearth gleams brightly,\\nThe wheel is set by the shadowy wall,\\nA hand at the latch, t is lifted lightly,\\nAnd in walks Benjie, manly and tall.\\nHis chair is placed the old man tips\\nThe pitcher, and brings his choicest fruit\\nBenjie basks in the blaze, and sips,\\nAnd tells his story, and joints his flute\\n0, sweet the tunes, the talk, the laughter\\nThey fill the hour with a glowing tide\\nBut sweeter the still, deep moments after,\\nWhen she is alone by Benjie s side.\\nBut once with angry words they part\\n0, then the weary, weary days\\nEver with restless, wretched heart,\\nPlying her task, she turns to gaze\\nFar up the road and early and late\\nShe harks for a footstep at the door,\\nAnd starts at the gust that swings the gate,\\nAnd prays for Benjie, who comes no more.\\nHer fault 1 Benjie, and could you steel\\nYour thoughts toward one who loved you so 1\\nSolace she seeks in the whirling wheel,\\nIn duty and love that lighten woe\\nStriving with labor, not in vain,\\nTo drive away the dull day s dreariness,", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0292.jp2"}, "293": {"fulltext": "DOROTHY IN THE GARRET. 279\\nBlessing the toil that blunts the pain\\nOf a deeper grief in the body s weariness.\\nProud and petted and spoiled was she\\nA word, and all her life is changed\\nHis wavering love too easily\\nIn the great, gay city grows estranged\\nOne year she sits in the old church pew\\nA rustle, a murmur, Dorothy hide\\nYour face and shut from your soul the view\\nT is Benjie leading a white-veiled bride\\nNow father and mother have long been dead,\\nAnd the bride sleeps under a churchyard stone,\\nAnd a bent old man with grizzled head\\nWalks up the long dim aisle alone.\\nYears blur to a mist and Dorothy\\nSits doubting betwixt the ghost she seems\\nAnd the phantom of youth, more real than she,\\nThat meets her there in that haunt of dreams.\\nBright young Dorothy, idolized daughter,\\nSought by many a youthful adorer,\\nLife, like a new risen-dawn on the water,\\nShining an endless vista before her\\nOld Maid Dorothy, wrinkled and gray,\\nGroping under the farm-house eaves,\\nAnd life is a brief November day\\nThat sets on a world of withered leaves\\nYet faithfulness in the humblest part\\nIs better at last than proud success,\\nAnd patience and love in a chastened heart-\\nAre pearls more precious than happiness\\nAnd in that morning when she shall wake\\nTo the spring-time freshness of youth again,\\nAll trouble will seem but a flying flake,\\nAnd life-long sorrow a breath on the pane.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0293.jp2"}, "294": {"fulltext": "280 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nRAVENSWOOD AND LUCY ASHTON. Scott.\\nLucy Ashton has solemnly plighted her faith to Ravenswood, a poor\\nbut high-spirited nobleman and as a mutual pledge they have broken\\na piece of gold together. Lucy s mother, finding a rich suitor for her\\ndaughter, urges her to write a letter of dismissal to Ravenswood, and\\nconsent to a union with Bucklaw. Lucy, driven to despair, at length\\nyields to the will of her imperious mother, after many threats and en-\\ntreaties. The marriage day has come. The marriage contract is to be\\nsigned. Bucklaw, the bridegroom, Craigengelt, his parasite, Bide-the-\\nbent, the clergyman, Lucy s parents and brother are present.\\nTHE business of the day now went forward Sir William\\nAshton signed the contract with legal solemnity and\\nprecision his son, with military nonchalance and Bucklaw,\\nhaving subscribed as rapidly as Craigengelt could manage to\\nturn the leaves, concluded by wiping his pen on that worthy s\\nnew laced cravat.\\nIt was now Miss Ashton s turn to sign the writings, and she\\nwas guided by her watchful mother to the table for that pur-\\npose. At her first attempt, she began to write with a dry\\npen, and when the circumstance was pointed out, seemed\\nunable, after several attempts, to dip it in the massive silver\\nink-standish, which stood full before her. Lady Ashton s\\nvigilance hastened to supply the deficiency. I have myself\\nseen the fatal deed, and in the distinct characters in wliich\\nthe name of Lucy Ashton is traced on each page, there is\\nonly a very slight tremulous irregularity, indicative of her\\nstate of mind at the time of the subscription. But the last\\nsignature is incomplete, defaced, and blotted for, while her\\nhand was employed in tracing it, a hasty tramp of a horse\\nwas heard at the gate, succeeded by a step in the outer gal-\\nlery, and a voice, which, in a commanding tone, bore down\\nthe opposition of the menials. The pen dropped from Lucy s\\nfingers, as she exclaimed with a faint shriek, He is come,\\nhe is come\\nHardly had Miss Ashton dropped the pen, when the door\\nof the apartment flew open, and the Master of Ravenswood\\nentered the apartment.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0294.jp2"}, "295": {"fulltext": "RAVENSWOOD AND LUCY ASHTON. 281\\nLockhard and another domestic, who had in vain attempted\\nto oppose his passage through the gallery, or antechamber,\\nwere seen standing on the threshold transfixed with surprise,\\nwhich was instantly communicated to the whole party in the\\nstate-room. That of Colonel Douglas Ashton was mingled\\nwith resentment that of Bucklaw, with haughty and affected\\nindifference the rest, even Lady Ashton herself, showed\\nsigns of fear, and Lucy seemed stiffened to stone by this\\nunexpected apparition. Apparition it might well be termed,\\nfor Ravenswood had more the appearance of one returned\\nfrom the dead than of a living visitor.\\nHe planted himself full in the middle of the apartment,\\nopposite to the table at which Lucy was seated, on whom, as\\nif she had been alone in the chamber, he bent his eyes with\\na mingled expression of deep grief and deliberate indignation.\\nHis dark-colored riding-cloak, displaced from one shoulder,\\nhung around one side of his person in the ample folds of the\\nSpanish mantle. The rest of his rich dress was travel-soiled,\\nand deranged by hard riding. He had a sword by his side,\\nand pistols in his belt. His slouched hat, which he had not\\nremoved at entrance, gave an additional gloom to his dark\\nfeatures, which, wasted by sorrow, and marked by the ghastly\\nlook communicated by long illness, added to a countenance\\nnaturally somewhat stern and wild a fierce and even savage\\nexpression. The matted and dishevelled locks of hair which\\nescaped from under his hat, together with his fixed and\\nunmoved posture, made his head more resemble that of a\\nmarble bust than that of a living man. He said not a single\\nword, and there was a deep silence in the company for more\\nthan two minutes.\\nIt was broken by Lady Ashton, who in that space partly\\nrecovered her natural audacity. She demanded to know the\\ncause of this unauthorized intrusion.\\nu That is a question, madam, said her son, which I have\\nthe best right to ask, and I must request of the Master\\nof Ravenswood to follow me, where he can answer it at leir", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0295.jp2"}, "296": {"fulltext": "282 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nBucklaw interposed, saying, No man on earth should\\nusurp his previous right in demanding an explanation from\\nthe Master. Craigengelt, he added, in an undertone, why-\\ndo you stand staring as if you saw a ghost 1 fetch me my\\nsword from the gallery.\\nI will relinquish to none, said Colonel Ashton, my right\\nof calling to account the man who has offered this unpar-\\nalleled affront to my family.\\nSilence exclaimed Ravens wood, let him who really\\nseeks danger take the fitting time when it is to be found\\nmy mission here will be shortly accomplished. Is that\\nyour handwriting, madam he added in a softer tone,\\nextending towards Miss Ashton her last letter.\\nA faltering Yes, seemed rather to escape from her lips,\\nthan to be uttered as a voluntary answer.\\nAnd is this also your handwriting 1 extending towards\\nher the mutual engagement.\\nLucy remained silent. Terror, and a yet stronger and\\nmore confused feeling, so utterly disturbed her understanding,\\nthat she probably scarcely comprehended the question that\\nwas put to her.\\nIf you design, said Sir William Ashton, to found any\\nlegal claim on that paper, sir, do not expect to receive any\\nanswer to an extrajudicial question.\\nSir William Ashton, said Ravenswood, I pray you, and\\nall who hear me, that you will not mistake my purpose. If\\nthis young lady, of her own free will, desires the restoration\\nof this contract, as her letter would seem to imply, there\\nis not a withered leaf which this autumn wind strews on the\\nheath, that is more valueless in my eyes. But I must and\\nwill hear the truth from her own mouth, without this satis-\\nfaction I will not leave this spot. Murder me by numbers\\nyou possibly may but I am an armed man, I am a desper-\\nate man, and I will not die without ample vengeance.\\nThis is my resolution, take it as you may. I will hear her\\ndetermination from her own mouth from her own mouth,\\nalone, and without witnesses, will I hear it. Now, choose,", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0296.jp2"}, "297": {"fulltext": "RAVENSWOOD AND LUCY ASHTON. 283\\nhe said, drawing his sword with the right hand, and with the\\nleft, by the same motion, taking a pistol from his belt and\\ncocking it, but turning the point of one weapon and the\\nmuzzle of the other to the ground, choose if you will\\nhave this hall floated with blood, or if you will grant me the\\ndecisive interview with my affianced bride which the laws of\\nGod and the country alike entitle me to demand.\\nAll recoiled at the sound of his voice, and the determined\\naction by which it was accompanied for the ecstasy of real\\ndesperation seldom fails to overpower the less energetic pas-\\nsions by which it may be opposed. The clergyman was the\\nfirst to speak. In the name of God, he said, receive an\\noverture of peace from the meanest of his servants. What\\nthis honorable person demands, albeit it is urged with over-\\nviolence, hath yet in it something of reason. Let him hear\\nfrom Miss Lucy s own lips that she hath dutifully acceded to\\nthe will of her parents, and repenteth her of her covenant\\nwith him and when he is assured of this, he will depart in\\npeace unto his own dwelling, and cumber us no more. Alas\\nthe workings of the ancient Adam are strong even in the\\nregenerate, surely we should have long-suffering with\\nthose who, being yet in the gall of bitterness and bond of\\niniquity, are swept forward by the uncontrollable current of\\nworldly passion. Let, then, the Master of Ravenswood have\\nthe interview on which he insisteth it can but be as a pass-\\ning pang to this honorable maiden, since her faith is now irrev-\\nocably pledged to the choice of her parents. Let it, I say,\\nbe thus it belongeth to my functions to entreat your honor s\\ncompliance with this healing overture.\\nNever, answered Lady Ashton, whose rage had now over-\\ncome her first surprise and terror, never shall this man\\nspeak in private with my daughter, the affianced bride of\\nanother Pass from this room who will, I remain here. I\\nfear neither his violence nor his weapons, though some, she\\nsaid, glancing a look towards Colonel Ashton, who bear my\\nname, appear more moved by them.\\nFor God s sake, madam, answered the worthy divine,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0297.jp2"}, "298": {"fulltext": "284 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nadd not fuel to firebrands. The Master of Ravenswood\\ncannot, I am sure, object to your presence, the young lady s\\nstate of health being considered, and your maternal duty. I\\nmyself will also tarry perad venture my gray hairs may turn\\naway wrath.\\nYou are welcome to do so, sir/ said Ravenswood, and\\nLady Ashton is also welcome to remain, if she shall think\\nproper but let all others depart.\\nRavenswood sheathed his sword, uncocked and returned\\nhis pistol to his belt, walked deliberately to the door of\\nthe apartment, which he bolted, returned, raised his hat from\\nhis forehead, and, gazing upon Lucy with eyes in which an\\nexpression of sorrow overcame their late fierceness, spread his\\ndishevelled locks back from his face, and said, Do you know\\nme, Miss Ashton 1 I am still Edgar Ravenswood. She\\nwas silent, and he went on with increasing vehemence, I\\nam still that Edgar Ravenswood, who, for your affection,\\nrenounced the dear ties by which injured honor bound him to\\nseek vengeance. I am that Ravenswood, who, for your sake,\\nforgave, nay, clasped hands in friendship with the oppressor\\nand pillager of his house, the traducer and murderer of his\\nfather.\\nMy daughter, answered Lady Ashton, interrupting him,\\nhas no occasion to dispute the identity of your person the\\nvenom of your present language is sufficient to remind her\\nthat she speaks with the mortal enemy of her father.\\nI pray you to be patient, madam, answered Ravenswood\\nmy answer must come from her own lips. Once more,\\nMiss Lucy Ashton, I am that Ravenswood to whom you\\ngranted the solemn engagement, which you now desire to\\nretract and cancel.\\nLucy s bloodless lips could only falter out the words, It\\nwas my mother.\\nShe speaks truly, said Lady Ashton it was I, who,\\nauthorized alike by the laws of God and man, advised her,\\nand concurred with her, to set aside an unhappy and precipi-\\ntate engagement, and to annul it by the authority of Scripture\\nitself.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0298.jp2"}, "299": {"fulltext": "RAVENSWOOD AND LUCY ASHTON. 285\\nAnd is this alH said Ravenswood, looking at Lucy;\\nu are you willing to barter sworn faith, the exercise of free-\\nwill, and the feelings of mutual affection, to this wretched\\nhypocritical sophistry 1\\nHear him said Lady Ashton, looking at the clergy-\\nman, hear the blasphemer\\nMay God forgive him, said Bide-the-bent, and enlighten\\nhis ignorance\\nHear what I have sacrificed for you, said Ravenswood,\\nstill addressing Lucy, ere you sanction what has been done\\nin your name. The honor of an ancient family, the urgent\\nadvice of my best friends, have been in vain used to sway my\\nresolution neither the arguments of reason nor the portents\\nof superstition have shaken my fidelity. The very dead\\nhave arisen to warn me, and their warning has been despised.\\nAre you prepared to pierce my heart for its fidelity with the\\nvery weapon which my rash confidence intrusted to your\\ngrasp 1\\nMaster of Ravenswood, said Lady Ashton, you have\\nasked what questions you thought fit. You see the total\\nincapacity of my daughter to answer you. But I will reply\\nfor her, and in a manner which you cannot dispute. You\\ndesire to know whether Lucy Ashton, of her own free will,\\ndesires to annul the engagement into which she has been\\ntrepanned. You have her letter under her own hand, de-\\nmanding the surrender of it and, in yet more full evidence\\nof her purpose, here is the contract which she has this\\nmorning subscribed, in presence of this reverend gentleman,\\nwith Mr. Hayston of Bucklaw.\\nRavenswood gazed upon the deed, as if petrified. And it\\nwas without fraud or compulsion, said he, looking towards\\nthe clergyman, that Miss Ashton subscribed this parch-\\nment 1\\nI vouch it upon my sacred character.\\nThis is indeed, madam, an undeniable piece of evidence,\\nsaid Ravenswood, sternly and it will be equally unneces-\\nsary and dishonorable to waste another word in useless", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0299.jp2"}, "300": {"fulltext": "286 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nremonstrance or reproach. There, madam, he said, laying\\ndown before Lucy the signed paper and the broken piece of\\ngold, there are the evidences of your first engagement;\\nmay you be more faithful to that which you have just\\nformed I will trouble you to return the corresponding\\ntokens of my ill-placed confidence, I ought rather to say,\\nof my egregious folly.\\nLucy returned the scornful glance of her lover with a gaze\\nfrom which perception seemed to have been banished; yet\\nshe seemed partly to have understood his meaning, for she\\nraised her hands as if to undo a blue ribbon which she wore\\naround her neck. She was unable to accomplish her purpose,\\nbut Lady Ashton cut the ribbon asunder, and detached the\\nbroken piece of gold which Miss Ashton had till then worn\\nconcealed in her bosom; the written counterpart of the\\nlovers engagement she for some time had had in her own\\npossession. With a haughty courtesy, she delivered both to\\nRavenswood, who was much softened when he took the piece\\nof gold.\\nAnd she could wear it thus, he said, speaking to him-\\nself, could wear it in her very bosom, could wear it\\nnext to her heart even when But complaint avails not,\\nhe said, dashing from his eye the tear which had gathered in\\nit, and resuming the stern composure of his manner. He\\nstrode to the chimney, and threw into the fire the paper and\\npiece of gold, stamping upon the coals with the heel of his\\nboot, as if to insure their destruction. I will be no longer,\\nhe then said, an intruder here. Your evil wishes, and\\nyour worse offices, Lady Ashton, I will only return, by hoping\\nthese will be your last machinations against your daughter s\\nhonor and happiness. And to you, madam, be said, address-\\ning Lucy, I have nothing further to say, except to pray to\\nGod that you may not become a world s wonder for this act\\nof wilful and deliberate perjury. Having uttered these\\nwords, he turned on his heel, and left the apartment.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0300.jp2"}, "301": {"fulltext": "THE SILENT TOWER OF BOTTREAUX. 287\\nTHE SILENT TOWER OF BOTTREAUX.\\nBottreaux is the old name for Boscastle. The church at Bottreaux,\\nin Cornwall, has no bells, while the neighboring tower of Tintagel con-\\ntains a fine peal of six. It is said that a peal of bells for Bottreaux was\\nonce cast at a foundry on the Continent, and that the vessel which was\\nbringing them went down within sight of the church-tower.\\nTINTAGEL bells ring o er the tide,\\nThe boy leans on his vessel s side,\\nHe hears that sound, while dreams of home\\nSoothe the wild orphan of the foam.\\nCome to thy God in time,\\nThus said their pealing chime\\nYouth, manhood, old age past,\\nCome to thy God at last.\\nBut why are Bottreaux s echoes still\\nHer tower stands proudly on the hill,\\nYet the strange chough that home hath found,\\nThe lamb lies sleeping on the ground.\\nCome to thy God in time,\\nShould be her answering chime\\nCome to thy God at last,\\nShould echo on the blast.\\nThe ship rode down with courses free,\\nThe daughter of a distant sea,\\nHer sheet was loose, her anchor stored,\\nThe merry Bottreaux bells on board.\\nCome to thy God in time,\\nRung out Tintagel chime j\\nYouth, manhood, old age past,\\nCome to thy God at last.\\nThe pilot heard his native bells\\nHang on the breeze in fitful spells.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0301.jp2"}, "302": {"fulltext": "288 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThank God, with reverent brow, he cried,\\nWe make the shore with evening s tide.\\nCome to thy God in time,\\nIt was his marriage chime\\nYouth, manhood, old age past,\\nCome to thy God at last.\\nM Thank God, thou whining knave, on land,\\nBut thank at sea the steersman s hand\\nThe captain s voice rose o er the gale,\\nThank the good ship and ready sail.\\nCome to thy God in time,\\nSad grew the boding chime\\nCome to thy God at last,\\nBoomed heavy on the blast.\\nUprose that sea as if it heard\\nThe mighty Master s signal word.\\nWhat thrills the captain s whitening lip 1\\nThe death groans of his sinking ship.\\nCome to thy God in time,\\nSwung deep the funeral chime\\nGrace, mercy, kindness past,\\nCome to thy God at last.\\nLong did the rescued pilot tell,\\nWhen gray hairs o er his forehead fell,\\nWhile those around would hear and weep,\\nThat fearful judgment of the deep.\\nCome to thy God in time,\\nHe read his native chime\\nYouth, manhood, old age past,\\nCome to thy God at last.\\nStill, when the storm of Bottreaux s waves\\nIs waking in his weedy caves,", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0302.jp2"}, "303": {"fulltext": "THE HIRELING SWISS REGIMENT. 289\\nThose bells, that sullen surges hide,\\nPeal their deep tones beneath the tide.\\nCome to thy God in time,\\nThus saith the ocean chime\\nStorm, whirlwind, billows past,\\nCome to thy God at last.\\nTHE HIRELING SWISS REGIMENT. Victor Hugo.\\nWHEN the regiment of the Halberdiers is proudly march-\\ning by,\\nThe eagle of the mountains screams from out his stormy sky\\nWho speaketh to the precipice, and to the chasm sheer\\nWho hovers o er the throne of kings, and bids the caitiffs\\nfear.\\nKing of the peak and glacier king of the cold, white scalps,\\nHe lifts his head, at that close tread, the eagle of the Alps.\\nshame, those men that march below ignominy dire\\nAre the sons of my free mountains sold for imperial hire 1\\nAh, the vilest in the dungeon Ah, the slave upon the\\nIs great, is pure, is glorious, is grand compared with these,\\nWho, born amid my holy rocks, in solemn places high,\\nWhere the tall pines bend like rushes when the storm goes\\nsweeping by,\\nYet give the strength of foot they learned by perilous path\\nand flood,\\nAnd from their blue-eyed mothers won, the old, mysterious\\nblood\\nThe dariug that the good south-wind into their nostrils\\nblew,\\nAnd the proud swelling of the heart with each pure breath\\nthey drew", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0303.jp2"}, "304": {"fulltext": "290 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThe graces of the mountain glens, with flowers in summer\\ngay;\\nAnd all the glory of the hills, to earn a lackey s pay.\\nTheir country free and joyous, she of the rugged sides,\\nShe of the rough peaks arrogant, whereon the tempest rides\\nMother of the unconquered thought and of the savage form,\\nWho brings out of her sturdy heart the hero and the storm\\nWho giveth freedom unto man, and life unto the beast\\nWho hears her silver torrents ring like joy-bells at a feast\\nWho hath her caves for palaces, and where her chalets\\nstand,\\nThe proud old archer of Altorf, with his good bow in his\\nband;\\nIs she to suckle jailers shall shame and glory rest,\\nAmid her lakes and mountains, like twins upon her breast\\nShall the two-headed eagle, marked with her double blow,\\nDrink of her milk through all those hearts whose blood he\\nbids to flow 1\\nSay was it pomp ye needed, and all the proud array\\nOf courtliness and high parade upon a gala day 1\\nLook up have not my valleys, their torrents white with\\nfoam,\\nTheir lines of silver bullion on the blue hills of home 1\\nDoth not sweet May embroider my rocks with pearls and\\nflowers\\nHer fingers trace a richer lace than yours in all my bowers,\\nAre not my old peaks gilded when the sun rises proud,\\nAnd each one shakes a white mist plume out of the thunder-\\ncloud 1\\nneighbors of the golden sky, sons of the mountain\\nsod,\\nWhy wear a base king s colors for the livery of God\\nshame despair to see my Alps their giant shadows fling\\nInto the very waiting-room of tyrant and of king", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0304.jp2"}, "305": {"fulltext": "THE AVENGING CHILDE. 291\\nthou deep heaven, unsullied yet, into thy, gulfs sublime,\\nUp azure tracts of flaming light, let my free pinion climb\\nTill from my sight, in that clear light, earth and her crimes\\nbe gone,\\nThe men who act the evil deeds, the caitiffs who look on\\nFar, far into that space immense, beyond the vast white veil,\\nWhere distant stars come out and shine, and the great sun\\ngrows pale.\\nTHE AVENGING CHILDE. Lockhart.\\nHURRAH hurrah! avoid the way of the Avenging\\nChilde\\nHis horse is swift as sands that drift, an Arab of the wild\\nHis gown is twisted round his arm, a ghastly cheek he\\nwears\\nAnd in his hand, for deadly harm, a hunting-knife he bears.\\nAvoid that knife in battle strife, that weapon short and thin\\nThe dragon s gore hath bathed it o er, seven times t was\\nsteeped therein\\nSeven times the smith hath proved its pith, it cuts a\\ncoulter through\\nIn France the blade was fashioned, from Spain the shaft it\\ndrew.\\nHe sharpens it, as he doth ride, upon his saddle-bow\\nHe sharpens it on either side, he makes the steel to glow.\\nHe rides to find Don Quadros, that false and faitour knight\\nHis glance of ire is hot as fire, although his cheek be white.\\nHe found hire standing by the king, within the judgment-\\nhall;\\nHe rushed within the barons ring, he stood before them all\\nVagabond.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0305.jp2"}, "306": {"fulltext": "292 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nSeven times he gazed and pondered if he the deed should do\\nEight times distraught he looked and thought, then out his\\ndagger flew.\\nHe stabbed therewith at Quadros, the king did step be-\\ntween\\nIt pierced his royal garment of purple wove with green.\\nHe fell beneath the canopy, upon the tiles he lay.\\nThou traitor keen, what dost thou mean, thy king why\\nwouldst thou slay?\\nNow, pardon, pardon, cried the Childe I stabbed not,\\nking, at thee,\\nBut him, that caitiff, blood-defiled, who stood beside thy\\nknee\\nEight brothers were we, in the land might none more\\nloving be,\\nThey all are slain by Quadros hand, they all are dead but\\nme.\\nGood king, I fain would wash the stain, for vengeance is\\nmy cry\\nThis murderer with sword and spear to battle I defy.\\nBut all took part with Quadros, except one lovely May,\\nExcept the king s fair daughter, none word for him would\\nsay.\\nShe took their hands, she led them forth into the court\\nbelow\\nShe bade the ring be guarded, she bade the trumpet blow\\nFrom lofty place, for that stem race, the signal she did\\nthrow,\\nWith truth and right the Lord will fight; together let\\nthem go.\\nThe one is up, the other down, the hunter s knife is bare\\nIt cuts the lace beneath the face, it cuts through beard and\\nhair;", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0306.jp2"}, "307": {"fulltext": "FAIR SUFFERERS. 293\\nRight soon that knife hath quenched his life, the head is\\nsundered sheer;\\nThen gladsome smiled the Avenging Childe, and fixed it on\\nhis spear.\\nBut when the king beholds him bring that token of his\\ntruth,\\nNor scorn nor wrath his bosom hath, Kneel down, thou\\nnoble youth\\nKneel down, kneel down, and kiss my crown, I am no more\\nthy foe\\nMy daughter now may pay the vow she plighted long ago.\\nFAIR SUFFERERS.\\nBY fair sufferers we mean about ninety-nine out of every\\nhundred of those poor dear young ladies, condemned,\\nthrough the accident of their birth, to languish in silk and\\nsatin, beneath the load of a fashionable existence.\\nAh little think the gay licentious paupers, who have no\\nplays, operas, and evening parties to be forced to go to, and\\nno carriages to be obliged to ride about in, of the miseries\\nwhich are endured by the daughters of affluence\\nIt is a well-known fact, that scarcely one of those tender\\ncreatures can be in a theatre or a concert-room ten minutes\\nwithout being seized with a violent headache, which, more\\nfrequently than not, obliges her to leave before the perform-\\nance is over, and drag a brother, husband, lover, or attentive\\nyoung man away with her. If spared the headache, how\\noften is she threatened with a fainting fit, nay, now and\\nthen seized with it, to the alarm and disturbance of her\\ncompany Not happening to feel faint exactly, still there is\\na sensation, a something, as she describes it, she does n t\\nknow what, which she is almost sure to be troubled with.\\nUnvisited by these afflictions, nevertheless, either the cold, or", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0307.jp2"}, "308": {"fulltext": "294 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nthe heat, or the glare of the gas, or some other source of\\npain, oppresses or excruciates her susceptible nerves. And\\nwhen we take one such young lady, and put together all the\\npublic amusements which she must either go to or die\\nin the course of a season and when we add up all the head-\\naches and swoons and the somethings-she-does-n t-know-\\nwhat, the shiverings, burnings, and other agonizing sensa-\\ntions which she has undergone by the end of it, the result is\\nan aggregate of torture truly frightful to contemplate.\\nSuppose she is obliged to walk, this is sometimes actually\\nthe case happy is she if she can go twenty yards without\\nsome pain or other, in the side, the back, the shoulder, the\\ngreat toe. Thus the pleasure of shopping, promenading, or a\\npicnic is imbittered.\\nIf she reads a chapter in a novel, the chances are that her\\ntemples throb for it. She tries to embroider a corsair\\ndoing more than an arm of him at a time strains her eyes.\\nEmploy herself in what way she will, she feels fatigued\\nafterwards, and may think herself well off if she is not\\nworse.\\nWithout a care to vex her, save, perhaps, some slight mis-\\ngivings respecting the captain, she is unable to rest, though\\non a couch of down. Exercise would procure her slumber\\nbut 0, she cannot take it\\nWhether a little less confinement of the waist, earlier\\nhours, plainer luncheons, more frequent airings in the green\\nfields, and mental and bodily exertion, generally, than what,\\nin these respects, is the fashionable usage, would in any way\\nalleviate the miseries of our fair sufferers, may be ques-\\ntioned. It may also be inquired how far such miseries are\\nimaginary, and to what extent a trifling exercise of resolution\\nwould tend to mitigate them. Otherwise supposing them to\\nbe ills that woman is necessarily heiress to, unavoidable,\\nirremediable, what torments, what anguish, must fish wo-\\nmen, washerwomen, charwomen, and haymakers, to say\\nnothing of servants of all work, and even ladies maids, en-\\ndure every day of their lives", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0308.jp2"}, "309": {"fulltext": "APPLEDORE IN A STORM. 295\\nAPPLEDORE IN A STORM. J. R. Lowell.\\nHOW looks Appledore in a storm 1\\nI have seen it when its crags seemed frantic,\\nButting against the mad Atlantic,\\nWhen surge on surge would heap enorme,\\nCliffs of emerald topped with snow,\\nThat lifted and lifted, and then let go\\nA great white avalanche of thunder,\\nA grinding, blinding, deafening ire\\nMonadnock might have trembled under\\nAnd the island, whose rock-roots pierce below\\nTo where they are warmed with the central fire,\\nYcu could feel its granite fibres racked,\\nAs it seemed to plunge with a shudder and thrill\\nRight at the breast of the swooping hill,\\nAnd to rise again snorting a cataract\\nOf rage-froth from every cranny and ledge,\\nWhile the sea drew its breath in hoarse and deep,\\nAnd the next vast breaker curled its edge,\\nGathering itself for a mightier leap.\\nNorth, east, and south there are reefs and breakers\\nYou would never dream of in smooth weather,\\nThat toss and gore the sea for acres,\\nBellowing and gnashing and snarling together\\nLook northward, where Duck Island lies,\\nAnd over its crown you will see arise,\\nAgainst a background of slaty skies,\\nA row of pillars still and white,\\nThat glimmer, and then are out of sight,\\nAs if the moon should suddenly kiss,\\nWhile you crossed the gusty desert by night,\\nThe long colonnades of Persepolis\\nLook southward for White Island light,\\nThe lantern stands ninety feet o er the tide", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0309.jp2"}, "310": {"fulltext": "296\\nPUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThere is first a half-mile of tumult and fight,\\nOf dash and roar and tumble and fright,\\nAnd surging bewilderment wild and wide,\\nWhere the breakers struggle left and right,\\nThen a mile or more of rushing sea,\\nAnd then the lighthouse slim and lone\\nAnd wherever the weight of the ocean is thrown\\nFull and fair on White Island head,\\nA great mist-jotun you will see\\nLifting himself up silently\\nHigh and huge o er the lighthouse top,\\nWith hands of wavering spray outspread,\\nGroping after the little tower,\\nThat seems to shrink and shorten and cower,\\nTill the monster s arms of a sudden drop,\\nAnd silently and fruitlessly\\nHe sinks again into the sea.\\nYou, meanwhile, where drenched you stand,\\nAwaken once more to the rush and roar,\\nAnd on the rock-point tighten your hand,\\nAs you turn and see a valley deep,\\nThat was not there a moment before,\\nSuck rattling down between you and a heap\\nOf toppling billow, whose instant fall\\nMust sink the whole island once for all\\nOr watch the silenter, stealthier seas\\nFeeling their way to you more and more\\nIf they once should clutch you high as the knees,\\nThey would whirl you down like a sprig of kelp,\\nBeyond all reach of hope or help\\nAnd such in a storm is Appledore.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0310.jp2"}, "311": {"fulltext": "1 HOLD STILL. 29?\\nI HOLD STILL. Julius Sturm.\\nPAIN S furnace-heat within me quivers,\\nGod s breath upon the flame doth blow,\\nAnd all my heart in anguish shivbrs,\\nAnd trembles at the fiery glow\\nAnd yet I whisper, As God will\\nAnd in his hottest fire hold still.\\nHe comes and lays my heart, all heated,\\nOn the hard anvil, minded so\\nInto his own fair shape to beat it\\nWith his great hammer, blow on blow\\nAnd yet I whisper, As God will\\nAnd at his heaviest blows hold still.\\nHe takes my softened heart and beats it,\\nThe sparks fly off at every blow\\nHe turns it o er and o er and heats it,\\nAnd lets it cool and makes it glow\\nAnd yet I whisper, As God will\\nAnd in his mighty hand hold stilL\\nWhy should I murmur 1 for the sorrow\\nThus only longer lived would be\\nIts end may come, and will, to-morrow,\\nWhen God has done his work in me;\\nSo I say, trusting, As God will\\nAnd, trusting to the end, hold stilL\\nHe kindles for my profit purely\\nAffliction s glowing fiery brand,\\nAnd all his heaviest blows are surely\\nInflicted by a master hand\\nSo I say, praying, As God will\\nAnd hope in him, and suffer still.\\n13*", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0311.jp2"}, "312": {"fulltext": "298 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nA THANKSGIVING DINNER.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Mes. Ann S. Stephens.\\n0, I love an old-fashioned thanksgiving,\\nWhen the crops are all safe in the barn\\nWhen the chickens are plump with good living,\\nAnd the wool is all spun into yarn.\\nIt is pleasant to draw round the table,\\nWhen uncles and cousins are there,\\nAnd grandpa, who scarcely is able,\\nSits down in his old oaken chair.\\nIt is pleasant to wait for the blessing,\\nWith a heart free from malice and strife,\\nWhile a turkey that s portly with dressing\\nLies meekly awaiting the knife.\\nCHRISTMAS, New Year, the Fourth of July, in short, all\\nthe holidays of the year, were crowded into one by Mrs.\\nGray. During the whole twelve months she commemorated\\nThanksgiving only. You should have seen the old lady as\\nThanksgiving week drew near.\\nYou should have seen her surrounded by raisins, black\\ncurrants, pumpkin sauce, peeled apples, sugar-boxes, and\\nplates of golden butter, her plump hand pearly with flour-\\ndust, the whole kitchen redolent with ginger, allspice, and\\ncloves You should have seen her grating orange-peel and\\nnutmegs, the border of her snow-white cap rising and falling\\nto the motion of her hands, and the soft gray hair under-\\nneath tucked hurriedly back of the ear on one side, where it\\nhad threatened to be in the way.\\nYou should have seen her in that large, splint-bottomed\\nrocking-chair, with a wooden bowl in her capacious lap, and a\\nsharp chopping-knife in her right hand with what a soft, easy\\nmotion the chopping-knife fell with what a quiet and smiling\\nair the dear old lady would take up a quantity of the pow-\\ndered beef on the flat of her knife, and observe, as it show-\\nered softly down to the tray again, that meat chopped too\\nfine for mince-pies was sure poison.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0312.jp2"}, "313": {"fulltext": "A THANKSGIVING DINNER. 299\\nYes, you should have seen Mrs. Gray at this very time, in\\norder to appreciate fully the perfections of an old-fashioned\\nNew England housewife. They are departing from the land.\\nRailroads and steamboats are sweeping them away. In a\\nlittle time this very description will have the dignity of an\\nantique subject. Women who cook their own dinners and\\ntake care of the work-hands are getting to be legendary even\\nnow.\\nThe day came at last, bland as the smile of a warm heart\\na breath of summer seemed whispering with the over-ripe\\nleaves. The sunshine was of that warm, golden yellow which\\nbelongs to the autumn. A few hardy flowers glowed in the\\nfront yard, richly tinted dahlias, marigolds, chrysanthemums,\\nand China-asters, with the most velvety amaranths, still kept\\ntheir bloom, for those huge old maples sheltered them like\\na tent, and flowers always blossomed later in that house than\\nelsewhere. No wonder Inside and out, all was pleasant and\\ngenial. The fall flowers seemed to thrive upon Mrs. Gray s\\nsmiles. Her rosy countenance, as she overlooked them, seemed\\nto warm up their leaves like a sunbeam. Everything grew\\nand brightened about her. Everything combined to make\\nthis particular Thanksgiving one to be remembered.\\nMrs. Gray had done wonders that morning. The dinner\\nwas in a most hopeful state of preparation. The great red-\\ncrested, imperious-looking turkey, that had strutted away his\\nbrief life in the barn-yard, was now snugly bestowed in the\\noven, Mrs. Gray had not yet degenerated down to a cook-\\ning-stove, his heavy coat of feathers was scattered to the\\nwind. His head that arrogant crimson head, that had so\\noften awed the whole poultry-yard lay all unheeded in the\\ndust, close by the horse-block. There he sat, the poor de-\\nnuded monarch, turned up in a dripping-pan, simmering\\nhimself down in the kitchen oven. Never, in all his pomp,\\nhad that bosom been so warm and distended, yet the huge\\nturkey had been a sad gourmand in his time. A rich thymy\\nodor broke through every pore of his body drops of luscious\\ngravy dripped down his sides, filling the oven with an unctuous", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0313.jp2"}, "314": {"fulltext": "300 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nsteam that penetrated a crevice in the door, and made the\\npoor Irish girl cross herself devoutly. She felt her spirit so\\nyearning after the good things of earth, and, never having seen\\nThanksgiving set down in the calendar, was shy of surrender-\\ning her heart to a holiday that had uo saint to patronize it.\\nNo wonder the odor that stole so insidiously to her nos-\\ntrils was appetizing, for the turkey had plenty of companion-\\nship in the oven. A noble chicken-pie flanked his dripping-\\npan on the right a delicate sucking-pig was drawn up to the\\nleft wing in the rear towered a mountain of roast beef, while\\nthe mouth of the oven was choked up with a generous In-\\ndian pudding. It was an ovenful worthy of New England,\\nworthy of the day.\\nThe hours came creeping on when guests might be expected.\\nMrs. Gray was ready for company, and tried her best to\\nremain with proper dignity in the great rocking-chair that she\\nhad drawn to a window commanding a long stretch of the\\nroad but every few moments she would start up, bustle\\nacross the room, and charge Kitty, the Irish girl, to be care-\\nful and watch the oven, to keep a sharp eye on the sauce-\\npans in the fireplace, and, above all, to have the mince-pies\\nwithin range of the fire, that they might receive a gradual\\nand gentle warmth by the time they were wanted. Then she\\nwould return to the room, arrange the branches of asparagus\\nthat hung laden with red berries over the looking-glass, or\\ndust the spotless table with her handkerchief, just to keep\\nherself busy, as she said.\\nAt last she heard the distant sound of a wagon, turning\\ndown the cross-road toward the house. She knew the tramp\\nof her own market horse even at that distance, and seated\\nherself by the window, ready to receive her expected guests\\nwith becoming dignity.\\nThe little one-horse wagon came down the road with a sort\\nof dash quite honorable to the occasion. Mrs. Gray s hired\\nman was beginning to enter into the spirit of a holiday and\\nthe old horse himself made everything rattle again, he was so\\neager to reach home the moment it hove in sight.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0314.jp2"}, "315": {"fulltext": "A THANKSGIVING DINNER. 301\\nThe wagon drew up to the door-yard gate with a nourish\\nworthy of the Third Avenue. The hired man sprang out, and,\\nwith some show of awkward gallantry, lifted a young girl in\\na pretty pink calico dress and a cottage bonnet down from the\\nfront seat. Mrs. Gray could maintain her position no longer\\nfor the young girl glanced that way with a look so eloquent, a\\nsmile so bright, that it warmed the dear old lady s heart like\\na flash of fire in the winter time. She started up, hastily\\nshook loose the folds of her dress, and went out, rustling all\\nthe way like a tree in autumn.\\nYou are welcome, dear, welcome as green peas in June,\\nor radishes in March, she cried, seizing the little hand held\\ntoward her, and kissing the heavenly young face.\\nThe girl turned with a bright look, and, making a graceful\\nlittle wave of the hand toward an aged man who was tenderly\\nhelping a female from the wagon, seemed about to speak.\\nI understand, dear, I know all about it the good old\\npeople, grandpa and grandma, of course. How could I\\nhelp knowing them 1 Mrs. Gray went up to the old people\\nas she spoke, with a bland welcome in every feature of her\\nface.\\nKnow them, of course I do she said, enfolding the old\\ngentleman s hand with her plump fingers. I I gracious\\ngoodness, now, it really does seem as if I had seen that face\\nsomewhere she added, hesitating, and with her eyes fixed\\ndoubtingly on the stranger, as if she were calling up some\\nvague remembrance, strange, now is n t it but he looks\\nnatural as life.\\nThe old man turned a warming glance toward his wife, and\\nthen answered, with a grave smile, that, at any rate, Mrs.\\nGray could never be a stranger to them, she who had done\\nso much\\nShe interrupted him with one of her mellow laughs. Thanks\\nfor a kind act always made the good woman feel awkward, and\\nshe blushed like a girl.\\nAll truly benevolent persons shrink from spoken thanks.\\nThe gratitude expressed by looks and actions may give pleas-", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0315.jp2"}, "316": {"fulltext": "302 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nure, but there is something too material in words, they de-\\nstroy all the refinement of a generous action. Good Mrs.\\nGray felt this the more sensitively, because her own words\\nhad seemed to challenge the thanks of her guest. The color\\ncame into her smooth cheek, and she began to arrange the\\nfolds of her dress with both hands, exhibiting a degree of\\nawkwardness quite unusual to her. When she lifted her eyes\\nagain, they fell upon a young man coming down the cross-\\nroad on foot, with an eager and buoyant step.\\nThere he comes I thought he would not be long on the\\nway, she cried, while a flash of gladness radiated her face.\\nIt s my nephew; you see him there, Mrs. Warren, no,\\nthe maple branch is in the way Here he is again, now\\nlook a noble fellow, is n t he 1\\nMrs. Warren looked, and was indeed struck by the free air\\nand superior appearance of the youth. He had evidently\\nwalked some distance, for a light over-sack hung across his\\narm, and his face was flushed with exercise. Seeing his aunt,\\nthe boy waved his hand his lips parted in a joyous smile,\\nand he hastened his pace almost to a run.\\nMrs. Gray s little brown eyes glistened; she could not turn\\nthem from the youth even while addressing her guest.\\nIs n t he handsome and good, you have no idea,\\nma am, how good he is There, that is just like him, the\\nwild creature she continued, as the youth laid one hand\\nupon the door-yard fence, and vaulted over, right into\\nmy flower-beds, trampling over the grass there, did you\\never\\nCould n t help it, Aunt Sarah, shouted the youth, with a\\ncareless laugh, I m in a hurry to get home, and the gate is\\ntoo far off. Three kisses for every flower I tramp down,\\nwill that do Ha what little lady is this 1\\nThe last exclamation was drawn forth by Julia Warren,\\nwho had seated herself at the foot of the largest maple, and\\nwith her lap full of flowers, was arranging them into bouquets.\\nOn hearing Robert s voice she looked up with a glance of\\npleasant surprise, and a smile broke over her lips. There", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0316.jp2"}, "317": {"fulltext": "A THANKSGIVING DINNER. 303\\nwas something so rosy and joyous in his face, and in the\\ntones of his voice, that it rippled through her heart as if a\\nbird overhead had just broken into song. The youth looked\\nupon her for a moment with his bright, gleeful eyes, then,\\nthrowing off his hat and sweeping back the damp chestnut\\ncurls from his forehead, he sat down by her side, and cast a\\nglance of laughing defiance at his relative.\\nCome out here and get the kisses, Aunt Sarah. I have\\nmade up my mind to stay among the flowers\\nMrs. Gray laughed at the young rogue s impudence, as she\\ncalled it, and came out to meet him.\\nAt that moment the Irish girl came through the front door\\nwith an expression of solemn import in her face. She whis-\\npered in a flustered manner to her mistress, and the words\\nspoilt entirely reached Robert s ear.\\nAway went the aunt, all in a state of excitement, to the\\nkitchen.\\nWhatever mischief had happened in the kitchen, the dinner\\nturned out magnificently. The turkey came upon the table\\na perfect miracle of cookery. The pig absolutely looked more\\nbeautiful than life, crouching in his bed of parsley, with his\\nhead up, and holding a lemon daintily between his jaws. The\\nchicken-pie, pinched around the edge into a perfect embroidery\\nby the two plump thumbs of Mrs. Gray, and then finished off\\nby an elaborate border done in key work, would have charmed\\nthe most fastidious artist.\\nYou have no idea how beautiful colors may be blended on\\na dinner-table, unless you have seen just the kind of feast to\\nwhich Mrs. Gray invited her guests. The rich brown of the\\nmeats, the snow-white bread, the fresh, golden butter, the\\ncranberry sauce, with its bright, ruby tinge, were daintily\\nmingled with plates of pies, arranged after a most tempting\\nfashion. Golden custard, the deep red tart, the brown mince,\\nand tawny orange color of the pumpkin, were placed in alter-\\nnate wedges, and, radiating from the centre of each plate like\\na star, stood at equal distances round the table. Water\\nsparkling from the well, currant wine brilliantly red, con-", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0317.jp2"}, "318": {"fulltext": "304 PUBLIC AND PAKLOR READINGS.\\ntrasted with the sheeted snow of the tablecloth and the\\ngleam of crystal then that old arm-chair at the head of the\\ntable, with its soft crimson cushions. I tell you again, reader,\\nit was a Thanksgiving dinner worthy to be remembered.\\nThat poor family from the miserable basement in New York\\ndid remember it for many a weary day after. Mrs. Gray re-\\nmembered it, for she had given delicious pleasure to those old\\npeople. She had, for that one day at least, lifted them from\\ntheir toil and depression.\\nTHE WOLVES.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 J. T. Trowbridge.\\nTE that listen to stories told,\\nWhen hearths are cheery and nights are cold,\\nOf the lone woodside, and the hungry pack\\nThat howls on the fainting traveller s track,\\nThe flame-red eyeballs that waylay,\\nBy the wintry moon, the belated sleigh\\nThe lost child sought in the dismal wood,\\nThe little shoes, and the stains of blood\\nOn the trampled snow, ye that hear\\nWith thrills of pity, or chills of fear,\\nWishing some kind angel had been sent\\nTo shield the hapless innocent,\\nKnow ye the fiend that is crueller far\\nThan the gaunt, gray herds of the forest are 1\\nSwiftly vanish the wild fleet tracks\\nBefore the rifle and the woodman s axe.\\nBut hark to the coming of unseen feet,\\nPattering by night through the city street.\\nEach wolf that dies in the woodland brown\\nLives a spectre, and haunts the town\\nBy square and market they slink and prowl,\\nIn lane and alley they leap and howl\\nAll night long they snuff and snarl before", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0318.jp2"}, "319": {"fulltext": "TSE WOLVES. 305\\nThe patched window and the broken door.\\nThey paw the clapboards, and claw the latch\\nAt every crevice they whine and scratch.\\nChildren, crouched in corners cold,\\nShiver, with tattered garments old\\nThey start from sleep with bitter pangs\\nAt the touch of the phantom s viewless fangs.\\nWeary the mother, and worn with strife,\\nStill she watches, and fights for life\\nBut her hand is feeble, and her weapon small,\\nOne little needle, against them all.\\nIn evil hour the daughter fled\\nFrom her poor shelter and wretched bed,\\nThrough the city s pitiless solitude\\nTo the door of sin, the wolves pursued\\nFierce the father, and grim with want,\\nHis heart was gnawed by the spectres gaunt.\\nFrenzied, stealing forth by night,\\nWith whetted knife for the desperate fight,\\nHe thought to strike the spectres dead,\\nBut killed his brother man instead.\\nye that listen to stories told\\nWhen hearths are cheery and nights are cold,\\nWeep no more at the tales you hear,\\nThe danger is close, and the wolves are near J\\nShudder not at the murderer s name,\\nMarvel not at the maiden s shame\\nPass not by, with averted eye,\\nThe door where the stricken children cry.\\nBut when the beat of the unseen feet\\nSound by night through the city street,\\nFollow thou, where the spectres glide\\nAnd stand, like hope, at the mother s side\\nAnd be thyself the angel sent\\nTo shield the hapless innocent.\\nHe gives but little who gives his tears,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0319.jp2"}, "320": {"fulltext": "306 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nHe gives best who aids and cheers.\\nHe does well in the forest wild\\nWho slays the monster and saves the child\\nHe does better, and merits more,\\nWho drives the wolf from the poor man s door.\\nTHE BANNER OF THE COVENANTERS.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 C. E. Norton.\\n[One of the banners formerly belonging to the Covenanters is pre-\\nserved among other curiosities at Mareschal College, Aberdeen. It is\\nof white silk, with the motto Spe Expecto in red letters.]\\nWAKE wave aloft, thou Banner let every snowy fold\\nFloat on our wild, unconquered hills, as in the days\\nof old\\nHang out, and give again to death a glory and a charm,\\nWhere heaven s pure dew may freshen thee, and heaven s pure\\nsunshine warm.\\nWake wave aloft I hear the silk low rustling on the\\nbreeze\\nWhich whistles through the lofty fir, and bends the birchen\\ntrees.\\nI hear the tread of warriors armed to conquer or to die\\nTheir bed or bier the heathery hill, their canopy the sky.\\nWhat, what is life or death to them 1 They only feel and know\\nFreedom is to be struggled for, with an unworthy foe,\\nTheir homes, their hearths, the all for which their fathers,\\ntoo, have fought,\\nAnd liberty to breathe the prayers their cradled lips were\\ntaught.\\nOn, on they rush, like mountain streams resistlessly they\\nsweep,\\nOn those who live are heroes now, and martyrs those who\\nsleep", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0320.jp2"}, "321": {"fulltext": "THE BANNER OF THE COVENANTERS. 307\\nWhile still the snow-white Banner waves above the field of\\nstrife,\\nWith a proud triumph, as it were a thing of soul and life.\\nThey stand, they bleed, they fall they make one brief\\nand breathless pause,\\nAnd gaze with fading eyes upon the standard of their\\ncause\\nAgain they brave the strife of death, again each weary limb\\nFaintly obeys the warrior soul, though earth s best hopes grow\\ndim\\nThe mountain rills are red with blood the pure and quiet sky\\nKings with the shouts of those who win, the groans of those\\nwho die\\nTaken, retaken, raised again, but soiled with clay and\\ngore,\\nHeavily, on the wild free breeze, that Banner floats once\\nmore.\\nHeaven s dew hath drunk the crimson drops which on the\\nheather lay,\\nThe rills that were so red with gore go sparkling on their\\nway;\\nThe limbs that fought, the hearts that swelled, are crumbled\\ninto dust\\nThe souls which strove are gone to meet the spirits of the\\njust\\nBut that frail silken flag for which, and under which, they\\nfought\\n(And which e en now retains its power upon the soul of\\nthought)\\nSurvives, a tattered, senseless thing, to meet the curious\\neye,\\nAnd wake a momentary dream of hopes and days gone by.\\nA momentary dream 0, not for one poor transient hour,\\nNot for a brief and hurried day that flag exerts its power", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0321.jp2"}, "322": {"fulltext": "308 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nFull flashing on our dormant souls the firm conviction comes,\\nThat what our fathers did for theirs, we too could for our\\nhomes.\\nWe, too, could brave the giant arm that seeks to chain each\\nword,\\nAnd rule what form of prayer alone shall by our God be heard\\nWe, too, in triumph or defeat, could drain our heart s best\\nveins,\\nWhile the good old cause of Liberty for Church and State\\nremains\\nHERVE KIEL. Robert Browning.\\nON the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two,\\nDid the English fight the French, woe to France\\nAnd, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue,\\nLike a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue,\\nCame crowding ship on ship to St. Malo on the Ranee,\\nWith the English fleet in view.\\nT was the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full\\nchase,\\nFirst and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfre-\\nville\\nClose on him fled, great and small,\\nTwenty-two good ships in all\\nAnd they signalled to the place,\\nHelp the winners of a race\\nGet us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick, or,\\nquicker still,\\nHere s the English can and will\\nThen the pilots of the place put out brisk and leaped on\\nboard.\\nWhy, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass\\nlaughed they", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0322.jp2"}, "323": {"fulltext": "HERVE RIEL. 309\\nRocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred\\nand scored,\\nShall the Formidable here, with her twelve and eighty guns,\\nThink to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way.\\nTrust to enter where t is ticklish for a craft of twenty tons,\\nAnd witli flow at full beside 1\\nNow t is slackest ebb of tide.\\nReach the mooring 1 Rather say f\\nWhile rock stands or water runs,\\nNot a ship will leave the bay\\nThen was called a council straight\\nBrief and bitter the debate\\nHere s the English at our heels would you have them\\ntake in tow\\nAll that s left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow,\\nFor a prize to Plymouth Sound 1\\nBetter run the ships aground\\n(Ended Damfreville his speech.)\\nNot a minute more to wait\\nLet the captains all and each\\nShove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach\\nFrance must undergo her fate.\\nGive the word But no such word\\nWas ever spoke or heard\\nFor up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these,\\nA captain 1 A lieutenant 1 A mate, first, second, third 1\\nNo such man of mark, and meet\\nWith his betters to compete\\nBut a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the\\nfleet,\\nA poor coasting-pilot he, Herve* Riel the Croisickese.\\nAnd What mockery or malice have we here 1 cries Herve\\nRiel;\\nAre you mad, you Malouins 1 Are you cowards, fools, or\\nrogues 1", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0323.jp2"}, "324": {"fulltext": "310 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nTalk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings,\\ntell\\nOn my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell\\nTwixt the offing here and Greve, where the river disem-\\nbogues 1\\nAre you bought by English gold 1 Is it love the lying s for 1\\nMorn and eve, night and day,\\nHave I piloted your bay,\\nEntered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor.\\nBurn the fleet, and ruin France That were worse than\\nfifty Hogues\\nSirs, tbey know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me,\\nthere s a way\\nOnly let me lead the line,\\nHave the biggest ship to steer,\\nGet this Formidable clear,\\nMake the others follow mine,\\nAnd I lead them most and least by a passage I know well,\\nRight to Solidor, past Greve,\\nAnd there lay them safe and sound\\nAnd if one ship misbehave,\\nKeel so much as grate the ground,\\nWhy, I ve nothing but my life here s my head cries\\nHerve Kiel.\\nNot a minute more to wait.\\nSteer us in, then, small and great\\nTake the helm, lead the line, save the squadron cried its\\nchief.\\nCaptains, give the sailor place\\nHe is admiral, in brief.\\nStill the north-wind, by God s grace.\\nSee the noble fellow s face\\nAs the big ship, with a bound,\\nClears the entry like a hound,\\nKeeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea a\\nprofound", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0324.jp2"}, "325": {"fulltext": "HERVE KIEL 311\\nSee, safe through shoal and rock,\\nHow they follow in a flock.\\nNot a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the\\nground,\\nNot a spar that comes to grief\\nThe peril, see, is past,\\nAll are harbored to the last\\nAnd just as Herve Riel hollas Anchor sure as fate,\\nUp the English come, too late.\\nSo the storm subsides to calm\\nThey see the green trees wave\\nOn the heights o erlooking Greve\\nHearts that bled are stanched with balm.\\nJust our rapture to enhance,\\nLet the English rake the bay,\\nGnash their teeth and glare askance\\nAs they cannonade away\\nNeath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Ranee\\nHow hope succeeds despair on each captain s countenance I\\nOutburst all with one accord,\\nThis is Paradise for Hell\\nLet France, let France s King\\nThank the man that did the thing\\nWhat a shout, and all one word,\\nHerve Riel,\\nAs he stepped in front once more,\\nNot a symptom of surprise\\nIn the frank blue Breton eyes,\\nJust the same man as before.\\nThen said Damfreville, My friend,\\nI must speak out at the end,\\nThough I find the speaking hard\\nPraise is deeper than the lips\\nYou have saved the king his ships,\\nYou must name your own reward.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0325.jp2"}, "326": {"fulltext": "312 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nFaith, our sun was near eclipse\\nDemand whate er you will,\\nFrance remains your debtor still.\\nAsk to heart s content, and have or my name s not Damfre-\\nville.\\nThen a beam of fun outbroke\\nOn the bearded mouth that spoke,\\nAs the honest heart laughed through\\nThose frank eyes of Breton blue\\nSince I needs must say my say,\\nSince on board the duty s done,\\nAnd from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a\\nrun?\\nSince *t is ask and have I may,\\nSince the others go ashore,\\nCome A good whole holiday\\nLeave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle\\nAurore\\nThat he asked, and that he got, nothing more.\\nName and deed alike are lost\\nNot a pillar nor a post\\nIn his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell\\nNot a head in white and black\\nOn a single fishing-smack,\\nIn memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack\\nAll that France saved from the fight whence England bore\\nthe bell.\\nGo to Paris rank on rank\\nSearch the heroes flung pell-mell\\nOn the Louvre, face and flank\\nYou shall look long enough ere you come to Herv6 Riel.\\nSo, for better and for worse,\\nHerve Riel, accept my verse\\nIn my verse, Herve* Riel, do thou once more\\nSave the squadron, honor France, love thy wife the Bell\u00c2\u00a9\\nAurore", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0326.jp2"}, "327": {"fulltext": "THE BESIEGED CASTLE. 313\\nTHE BESIEGED CASTLE. Scott.\\n[Ivanhoe, an English knight, has been taken prisoner by the Nor-\\nmans, and is lying wounded and helpless in a chamber of the castle,\\nunder the care of Rebecca, the Jewess, who is also a prisoner.]\\nIN finding herself once more by the side of Ivanhoe, Re-\\nbecca was astonished at the keen sensation of pleasure\\nwhich she experienced, even at a time when all around them\\nboth was danger, if not despair. As she felt his pulse, and\\ninquired after his health, there was a softness in her touch\\nand in her accents, implying a kinder interest than she would\\nherself have been pleased to have voluntarily expressed. Her\\nvoice faltered and her hand trembled, and it was only the cold\\nquestion of Ivanhoe, Is it you, gentle maiden which re-\\ncalled her to herself, and reminded her the sensations which\\nshe felt were not and could not be mutual. A sigh escaped,\\nbut it w r as scarce audible and the questions which she asked\\nthe knight concerning his state of health were put in the tone\\nof calm friendship. Ivanhoe answered her hastily that he was,\\nin point of health, as well and better than he could have\\nexpected, thanks, he said, dear Rebecca, to thy help-\\nful skill.\\nHe calls me dear Rebecca, said the maiden to herself,\\nbut it is in the cold and careless tone which ill suits the\\nword. His war-horse, his hunting hound, are dearer to him\\nthan the despised Jewess\\nMy mind, gentle maiden, continued Ivanhoe, is more\\ndisturbed by anxiety than my body with pain. From the\\nspeeches of these men who were my warders just now, I learn\\nthat I am a prisoner, and, if I judge aright of the loud hoarse\\nvoice which even now despatched them hence on some mili-\\ntary duty, I am in the castle of Front-de-Boeuf. If so, how\\nwill this end, or how can I protect Rowena and my father\\nHe names not the Jew or Jewess, said Rebecca, internal-\\nly j yet what is our portion in him, and how justly am I\\npunished by Heaven for letting my thoughts dwell upon.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0327.jp2"}, "328": {"fulltext": "314 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nhim She hastened, after this brief self-accusation, to give\\nIvanhoe what information she could but it amounted only\\nto this, that the Templar Bois-Guilbert and the Baron Front-\\nde-Boeuf were commanders within the castle that it was\\nbeleaguered from without, but by whom she knew not.\\nThe voices of the knights were heard, animating their fol-\\nlowers, or directing means of defence, while their commands\\nwere often drowned in the clashing of armor, or the clamor-\\nous shouts of those whom they addressed. Tremendous as\\nthese sounds were, and yet more terrible from the awful event\\nwhich they presaged, there was a sublimity mixed with them,\\nwhich Rebecca s high-toned mind could feel even in that mo-\\nment of terror. Her eye kindled, although the blood fled\\nfrom her cheeks and there was a strong mixture of fear and\\nof a thrilling sense of the sublime, as she repeated, half whis-\\npering to herself, half speaking to her companion, the sacred\\ntext, The quiver rattleth, the glittering spear and the\\nshield, the noise of the captains and the shouting\\nBut Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime pas-\\nsage, glowing with impatience at his inactivity, and with his\\nardent desire to mingle in the affray of which these sounds\\nwere the introduction. If I could but drag myself, he\\nsaid, to yonder window, that I might see how this brave\\ngame is like to go, if I had but a bow to shoot a shaft, c r\\nbattle-axe to strike were it but a single blow for our deliver-\\nance It is vain, it is vain, I am alike nerveless and\\nweaponless\\nFret not thyself, noble knight, answered Rebecca the\\nsounds have ceased of a sudden, it may be they join not\\nbattle.\\nThou knowest naught of it, said Ivanhoe, impatiently\\nthis dead pause only shows that the men are at their posts\\non the walls, and expecting an instant attack what we have\\nheard was but the distant muttering of the storm, it will\\nburst anon in all its fury. Could I but reach yonder win-\\ndow\\nThou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt, noble", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0328.jp2"}, "329": {"fulltext": "THE BESIEGED CASTLE. 315\\nknight, replied his attendant. Observing his extreme solici-\\ntude, she firmly added, I myself will stand at the lattice,\\nand describe to you as I can what passes without.\\nYou must not, you shall not! exclaimed Ivanhoe;\\neach lattice, each aperture, will be soon a mark for the\\narchers some random shaft\\nIt shall be welcome J murmured Rebecca, as with firm\\npace she ascended two or three steps, which led to the win-\\ndow of which they spoke.\\nRebecca, dear Rebecca exclaimed Ivanhoe, this is no\\nmaiden s pastime, do not expose thyself to wounds and\\ndeath, and render me forever miserable for having given the\\noccasion; at least, cover thyself with yonder ancient buck-\\nler, and show as little of your person at the lattice as may\\nbe.\\nFollowing with wonderful promptitude the directions of\\nIvanhoe, and availing herself of the protection of the large\\nancient shield, which she placed against the lower part of the\\nwindow, Rebecca, with tolerable security to herself, could\\nwitness part of what was passing without the castle, and re-\\nport to Ivanhoe the preparations which the assailants were\\nmaking for the storm. She could observe, from the number\\nof men placed for the defence of this post, that the besieged\\nentertained apprehensions for its safety and from the mus-\\ntering of the assailants in a direction nearly opposite to the\\noutwork, it seemed no less plain that it had been selected as\\na vulnerable point of attack.\\nThese appearances she hastily communicated to Ivanhoe,\\nand added, The skirts of the wood seem lined with archers,\\nalthough only a few are advanced from its dark shadow.\\nUnder what banner 1 asked Ivanhoe.\\nUnder no ensign of war which I can observe, answered\\nRebecca.\\nA singular novelty, muttered the knight, to advance to\\nstorm such a castle without pennon or banner displayed\\nSeest thou who they be that act as leaders\\nA knight, clad in sable armor, is the most conspicuous,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0329.jp2"}, "330": {"fulltext": "316 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nsaid the Jewess he alone is armed from head to heel, and\\nseems to assume the direction of all around him.\\nWhat device does he bear on his shield replied Ivan-\\nhoe.\\nSomething resembling a bar of iron, and a padlock painted\\nblue on the black shield\\nA fetterlock and shacklebolt azure, said Ivanhoe j I\\nknow not who may bear the device, but well I ween it might\\nnow be mine own. Canst thou not see the motto 1\\nScarce the device itself at this distance, replied Rebecca\\nbut when the sun glances fair upon his shield, it shows as I\\ntell you.\\nSeem there no other leaders 1 exclaimed the anxious in-\\nquirer.\\nNone of mark and distinction that I can behold from this\\nstation, said Rebecca; but, doubtless, the other side of the\\ncastle is also assailed. They appear even now preparing to\\nadvance. God of Zion, protect us What a dreadful sight\\nThose who advance first bear huge shields, and defences made\\nof plank the others follow, bending their bows as they come\\non. They raise their bows God of Moses, forgive the crea-\\ntures thou hast made\\nHer description was here suddenly interrupted by the sig\\nnal for assault, which was given by the blast of a shrill bugle,\\nand at once answered by a flourish of the Norman trumpets\\nfrom the battlements, which, mingled with the deep and hol-\\nlow clang of the kettle-drums, retorted in notes of defiance\\nthe challenge of the enemy. The shouts of both parties aug-\\nmented the fearful din, the assailants crying, Saint George\\nfor merry England and the Normans answering them with\\ncries of En avant De Bracy Beau-seant Beau-seant\\nFront-de-Boeuf a la rescousse according to the war-cries of\\ntheir different commanders.\\nAnd I must lie here like a bedridden monk, exclaimed\\nIvanhoe, while the game that gives me freedom or death is\\nplayed out by the hand of others Look from the window\\nonce again, kind maiden, but beware that you are not marked", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0330.jp2"}, "331": {"fulltext": "THE BESIEGED CASTLE. 317\\nby the archers beneath. Look out once more, and tell me if\\nthey yet advance to the storm.\\nWith patient courage, strengthened by the interval which\\nshe had employed in mental devotion, Rebecca again took post\\nat the lattice, sheltering herself, however, so as not to be visi-\\nble from beneath.\\nWhat dost thou see, Rebecca 1 again demanded the\\nwounded knight.\\nNothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to\\ndazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot them.\\nThat cannot endure, said Ivanhoe if they press not\\nright on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery\\nmay avail but little against stone walls and bulwarks. Look\\nfor the Knight of the Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how\\nhe bears himself; for as the leader is, so will his followers\\nbe.\\nI see him not, said Rebecca.\\nFoul craven exclaimed Ivanhoe does he blench from\\nthe helm when the wind blows highest 1\\nHe blenches not he blenches not said Rebecca. I see\\nhim now he heads a body of men close under the outer bar-\\nrier of the barbican. They pull down the piles and palisades\\nthey hew down the barriers with axes. His high black plume\\nfloats abroad over the throng, like a raven over the field of\\nthe slain. They have made a breach in the barriers, they\\nrush in, they are thrust back Front-de-Bceuf heads the\\ndefenders; I see his gigantic form above the press. They\\nthrong again to the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to\\nhand, and man to man. God of Jacob it is the meeting of\\ntwo fierce tides, the conflict of two oceans moved by adverse\\nwinds\\nShe turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer to\\nendure a sight so terrible.\\nLook forth again, Rebecca, said Ivanhoe, mistaking the\\ncause of her retiring the archery must in some degree have\\nceased, since they are now fighting hand to hand. Look again,\\nthere is now less danger.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0331.jp2"}, "332": {"fulltext": "318 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nRebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately ex-\\nclaimed, Holy prophets of the law Front-de-Bceuf and the\\nBlack Knight fight hand to hand on the breach, amid the\\nroar of their followers, who watch the progress of the strife.\\nHeaven strike with the canse of the oppressed and of the\\ncaptive She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed,\\nHe is down he is down\\nWho is down 1 cried Ivanhoe for our dear Lady s\\nsake, tell me which has fallen 1\\nThe Black Knight, answered Rebecca, faintly then in-\\nstantly again shouted with joyful eagerness, But no, but\\nno the name of the Lord of Hosts be blessed he is on\\nfoot again, and fights as if there were twenty men s strength\\nin his single arm. His sword is broken, he snatches an axe\\nfrom a yeoman, he presses Front-de-Boeuf with blow on\\nblow. The giant stoops and totters like an oak under the\\nsteel of the woodman, he falls, he falls\\nFront-de-Bceuf exclaimed Ivanhoe.\\nFront-de-Boeuf answered the Jewess his men rush to\\nthe rescue, headed by the haughty Templar, their united\\nforce compels the champion to pause, they drag Front-de-\\nBceuf within the walls.\\nThe assailants have won the barriers, have they not 1 said\\nIvanhoe.\\nThey have, they have exclaimed Rebecca, and they\\npress the besieged hard upon the outer wall some plant lad-\\nders, some swarm like bees, and endeavor to ascend upon the\\nshoulders of each other, down go stones, beams, and trunks\\nof trees upon their heads, and as fast as they bear the\\nwounded to the rear, fresh men supply their places in the\\nassault. Great God hast thou given men thine own image,\\nthat it should be thus cruelly defaced by the hands of their\\nbrethren 1\\nThink not of that, said Ivanhoe this is no time for\\nsuch thoughts. Who yield 1 who push their way 1\\nThe ladders are thrown down, replied Rebecca, shudder-\\ning the soldiers lie grovelling under them like crushed\\nreptiles. The besieged have the better.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0332.jp2"}, "333": {"fulltext": "THE BESIEGED CASTLE. 319\\nu Saint George strike for us exclaimed the knight do\\nthe false yeomen give way 1\\nNo exclaimed Rebecca, they bear themselves right\\nyeomanly. The Black Knight approaches the postern with\\nhis huge axe, the thundering blows which he deals, you\\nmay hear them above all the din and shouts of the battle.\\nStones and beams are hailed down on the bold champion,\\nhe regards them no more than if they were thistle-down or\\nfeathers\\nBy Saint John of Acre, said Ivanhoe, raising himself\\njoyfully on his couch, methought there was but one man in\\nEngland that might do such a deed\\nThe postern-gate shakes, continued Rebecca it crashes,\\nit is splintered by his blows, they rush in, the out-\\nwork is won, God they hurl the defenders from the\\nbattlements, they throw them into the moat. men, if\\nye be indeed men, spare them that can resist no longer\\nThe bridge, the bridge which communicates with the\\ncastle, have they won that pass 1 exclaimed Ivanhoe.\\nNo, replied Rebecca, the Templar has destroyed the\\nplank on which they crossed, few of the defenders escaped\\nwith him into the castle, the shrieks and cries which you\\nhear tell the fate of the others, alas I see it is still more\\ndifficult to look upon victory than upon battle.\\nWhat do they now, maiden 1 said Ivanhoe look forth\\nyet again, this is no time to faint at bloodshed.\\nIt is over for the time, answered Rebecca our friends\\nstrengthen themselves within the outwork which they have\\nmastered and it affords them so good a shelter from the\\nfoemen s shot, that the garrison only bestow a few bolts on\\nit from interval to interval, as if rather to disquiet than\\neffectually to injure them.\\nOur friends, said Ivanhoe, will surely not abandon an\\nenterprise so gloriously begun and so happily attained.\\nno I will put my faith in the good knight whose axe hath\\nrent heart-of-oak and bars of iron. Seest thou naught else,\\nRebecca, by which the Black Knight may be distinguished 1", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0333.jp2"}, "334": {"fulltext": "320 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nNothing, said the Jewess all about him is black as\\nthe wing of the night raven. Nothing can I spy that can\\nmark him further, but having once seen him put forth his\\nstrength in battle, methinks I could know him again among a\\nthousand warriors. He rushes to the fray as if he were sum-\\nmoned to a banquet. There is more than mere strength\\nthere seems as if the whole soul and spirit of the champion\\nwere given to every blow which he deals upon his enemies. It\\nis fearful, yet magnificent, to behold how the arm and heart\\nof one man can triumph over hundreds.\\nRebecca, said Ivanhoe, thou hast painted a hero\\nsurely they rest but to refresh their force, or to provide the\\nmeans of crossing the moat. Under such a leader as thou\\nhast spoken this knight to be, there are no craven fears, no\\ncold-blooded delays, no yielding up a gallant emprise since\\nthe difficulties which render it arduous render it also glorious.\\nI swear by the honor of my house, I vow by the name of\\nmy bright lady-love, would endure ten years captivity to\\nfight one day by that good knight s side in such a quarrel as\\nthis\\nAlas said Rebecca, leaving her station at the window,\\nand approaching the couch of the wounded knight, this im-\\npatient yearning after action, this struggling with and re-\\npining at your present weakness, will not fail to injure your\\nreturning health. How couldst thou hope to inflict wounds\\non others ere that be healed which thou thyself hast re-\\nceived\\nRebecca, he replied, thou knowest not how impossible\\nit is for one trained to actions of chivalry to remain passive\\nas a priest or a woman, when they are acting deeds of honor\\naround him. The love of battle is the food upon which we\\nJive, the dust of the melee is the breath of our nostrils\\nWe live not, we wish not to live longer than while we are\\nvictorious and renowned. Such, maiden, are the laws of\\nchivalry to which we are sworn, and to which we offer all that\\nwe hold dear.\\nThou art no Christian, Rebecca; and to thee are un-", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0334.jp2"}, "335": {"fulltext": "THE BESIEGED CASTLE. 321\\nknown those high feelings which swell the bosom of a noble\\nmaiden when her lover hath done some deed of emprise\\nwhich sanctions his flame. Chivalry why, maiden, she\\nis the nurse of pure and high affection, the stay of the\\noppressed, the redresser of grievances, the curb of the power\\nof the tyrant. Nobility were but an empty name without\\nher, and liberty finds the best protection in her lance and\\nher sword.\\nHow little he knows this bosom, she said, to imagine\\nthat cowardice or meanness of soul must needs be its guests,\\nbecause I have censured the fantastic chivalry of the Naza-\\nrenes! Would to Heaven that the shedding of mine own\\nblood, drop by drop, could redeem the captivity of Judah\\nNay, would to God it could avail to set free my father, and\\nthis his benefactor, from the chains of the oppressor The\\nproud Christian should then see whether the daughter of\\nGod s chosen people dared not to die as bravely as the vainest\\nNazarene maiden, that boasts her descent from some petty\\nchieftain of the rude and frozen North\\nShe then looked toward the couch of the wounded knight.\\nHe sleeps, she said nature exhausted by sufferance\\nand the waste of spirits, his wearied frame embraces the first\\nmoment of temporary relaxation to sink into slumber. Alas\\nis it a crime that I should look upon him, when it may be\\nfor the last time 1 When yet but a short space, and those fair\\nfeatures will be no longer animated by the bold and buoyant\\nspirit which forsakes them not even in sleep But I will tear\\nthis folly from my heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend it\\naway\\nShe wrapped herself closely in her veil, and sat down at a\\ndistance from the couch of the wounded knight, with her\\nback turned towards it, fortifying, or endeavoring to fortify\\nher mind, not only against the impending evils from without,\\nbut also against those treacherous feelings which assailed her\\nfrom within.\\nIvanhoe was awakened from his brief slumber by the noise\\nof the battle and his attendant, who had, at his anxious de-\\n14* u", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0335.jp2"}, "336": {"fulltext": "322 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nsire, again placed herself at the window to watch and report\\nto him the fate of the attack, was for some time prevented\\nfrom observing either, by the increase of the smouldering and\\nstifling vapor. At length the volumes of smoke which rolled\\ninto the apartment, the cries for water, which were heard\\neven above the din of the battle, made them sensible of the\\nprogress of this new danger.\\nThe castle burns, said Rebecca; it burns What can\\nwe do to save ourselves 1\\nFly, Rebecca, and save thine own life, said Ivanhoe, for\\nno human aid can avail me.\\nI will not fly, answered Rebecca we will be saved or\\nperish together\\nAt this moment the door of the apartment flew open, and\\nthe Templar presented himself, a ghastly figure, for his\\ngilded armor was broken and bloody, and the plume was part-\\nly shorn away, partly burnt from his casque. I have found\\nthee, said he to Rebecca. There is but one path to safety\\nI have cut my way through fifty dangers to point it to thee,\\nup, and instantly follow me.\\nAlone, answered Rebecca, I will not follow thee. If\\nthou hast but a touch of human charity in thee, if thy\\nheart be not as hard as thy breastplate, save this wounded\\nknight\\nA knight, answered the Templar, with his characteristic\\ncalmness, a knight, Rebecca, must encounter his fate,\\nwhether it meet him in the shape of sword or flame.\\nSo saying, he seized on the terrified maiden.\\nAt that instant the Black Knight entered the apart-\\nment.\\nIf thou be st true knight, said Ivanhoe, think not of\\nme, save the Lady Rowena, look to the noble Cedric\\nIn their turn, answered he of the fetterlock but thine\\nis first.\\nAnd, seizing upon Ivanhoe, he bore him off with as much\\nease as the Templar had carried off Rebecca, rushed with him\\nto the pDstern, and having there delivered his burden to the", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0336.jp2"}, "337": {"fulltext": "A VISION OF BATTLE. 323\\ncare of two yeomen, he again entered the castle to assist in\\nthe rescue of the other prisoners.\\nOne turret was now in bright flames, which flashed out\\nfuriously from window and shot-hole.\\nThe towering flames had soon surmounted every obstruc-\\ntion, and rose to the evening skies one huge and burning bea-\\ncon, seen far and wide through the adjacent country. Tower\\nafter tower crashed down, with blazing roof and rafter and\\nthe combatants were driven from the court-yard. The van-\\nquished, of whom very few remained, scattered and escaped\\ninto the neighboring wood. The victors, assembling in large\\nbands, gazed with wonder, not unmixed with fear, upon the\\nflames, in which their own ranks and arms glanced dusky red.\\nAt length, with a terrific crash, the whole turret gave way.\\nThe voice of Locksley was then heard, Shout, yeomen\\nthe den of tyrants is no more\\nA VISION OF BATTLE. S. Dobell.\\nHIST I see the stir of glamour far upon the twilight\\nwold.\\nHist I see the vision rising List and as I speak behold\\nThese dull mists are mists of morning, and behind yon east-\\nern hill\\nThe hot sun abides my bidding he shall melt them when I\\nwill.\\nAll the night that now is past, the foe hath labored for the day,\\nCreeping through the stealthy dark, like a tiger to his prey.\\nThrow this window wider Strain thine eyes along the dusky\\nvale\\nArt thou cold with horror 1 Has thy bearded cheek grown\\npale?\\nT is the total Eussian host, flooding up the solemn plain\\nSecret as a silent sea, mighty as a moving main", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0337.jp2"}, "338": {"fulltext": "324 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nmy country is there none to rouse thee to the rolling\\nsight i\\nthou gallant sentinel who hast watched so oft, so well, must\\nthou sleep this only night\\nSo hath the shepherd lain on a rock above a plain,\\nNor beheld the flood that swelled from some embowelled\\nmount of woe,\\nWaveless, foamless, sure, and slow,\\nSilent o er the vale below,\\nTill nigher still and nigher comes the seethe of fields on fire,\\nAnd the thrash of falling trees, and the steam of rivers dry,\\nAnd before the burning flood the wild things of the wood\\nSkulk and scream and fight and fall and flee and fly.\\nA gun and then a gun I the far and early sun\\nDost thou see by yonder tree a fleeting redness rise,\\nAs if, one after one, ten poppies red had blown,\\nAnd shed in a blinking of the eyes 1\\nThey have started from their rest with a bayonet at eacb\\nbreast,\\nThose watchers of the west who shall never watch again\\nT is naught to die, but 0, God s pity on the woe\\nOf dying hearts that know they die in vain\\nBeyond yon backward height that meets their dying sight,\\nA thousand tents are white, and a slumbering army lies.\\nBrown Bess, the sergeant cries, as he loads her while he\\ndies,\\nLet this devil s deluge reach them, and the good old cause\\nis lost.\\nHe dies upon the word, but his signal gun is heard,\\nYon ambush green is stirred, yon laboring leaves are tost,\\nAnd a sudden sabre waves, and like dead from opened graves,\\nA hundred men stand up to meet a host.\\nDumb as death, with bated breath,\\nCalm upstand that fearless band,\\nAnd the dear old native land, like a dream of sudden", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0338.jp2"}, "339": {"fulltext": "A VISION OF BATTLE. 325\\nPasses by each manly eye that is fixed so stern and dry\\nOn the tide of battle rolling up the steep.\\nThey hold their silent ground, I can hear each fatal sound\\nUpon that summer mound which the morning sunshine\\nwarms,\\nThe word so brief and shrill that rules them like a will,\\nThe sough of moving limbs, and the clank and ring of\\narms.\\nFire and round that green knoll the sudden war-clouds\\nroll,\\nAnd from the tyrant s ranks so fierce an answering blast\\nOf whirling death came back that the green trees turned to\\nblack,\\nAnd dropped their leaves in winter as it passed.\\nA moment on each side the surging smoke is wide,\\nBetween the fields are green, and around the hills are\\nloud,\\nBut a shout breaks out, and lo they have rushed upon the\\nfoe,\\nAs the living lightning leaps from cloud to cloud.\\nFire and flash, smoke and crash,\\nThe fogs of battle close o er friends and foes, and they are\\ngone\\nAlas, thou bright-eyed boy alas, thou mother s joy\\nWith thy long hair so fair, that didst so bravely lead them\\non\\nI faint with pain and fear. Ah, Heaven what do I hear?\\nA trumpet-note so near 1\\nWhat are these that race like hunters at a chase 1\\nWho are these that run a thousand men as one 1\\nWhat are these that crash the trees far in the waving rear 1\\nFight on, thou young hero there s help upon the way\\nThe light horse are coming, the great guns are coming,\\nThe Highlanders are coming; good God, give us the day", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0339.jp2"}, "340": {"fulltext": "326 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nHurrah for the brave and the leal Hurrah for the strong\\nand the true\\nHurrah for the helmets of steel Hurrah for the bonnets o\\nblue\\nA run and a cheer, the Highlanders are here a gallop and a\\ncheer, the light horse are here\\nA rattle and a cheer, the great guns are here\\nWith a cheer they wheel round and face the foe\\nAs the troopers wheel about, their long swords are out,\\nWith a trumpet and a shout, in they go\\nLike a yawning ocean green, the huge host gulfs them in,\\nBut high o er the rolling of the flood,\\nTheir sabres you may see like lights upon the sea\\nWhen the red sun is going down in blood.\\nAs on some Scottish shore, with mountains frowning o er,\\nThe sudden tempests roar from the glen,\\nAnd roll the tumbling sea in billows to the lee,\\nCame the charge of the gallant Highlandmen\\nAnd as one beholds the sea, though the wind he cannot see,\\nBut by the waves that flee knows its might,\\nSo I tracked the Highland blast by the sudden tide that past\\nO er the wild and rolling vast of the fight.\\nYes, glory be to God they have stemmed the foremost flood\\nI lay me on the sod and breathe again\\nIn the precious moments won, the bugle-call has gone\\nTo the tents where it never rang in vain,\\nAnd lo, the landscape wide is red from side to side,\\nAnd all the might of England loads the plain\\nLike a hot and bloody dawn, across the horizon drawn,\\nWhile the host of darkness holds the misty vale,\\nAs glowing and as grand our bannered legions stand,\\nAnd England s flag unfolds upon the gale I\\nAt that great sign unfurled, as morn moves o er the world\\nWhen God lifts his standard of light,", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0340.jp2"}, "341": {"fulltext": "HARMOSAN. 327\\nWith a tumult and a voice, and a rushing mighty noise,\\nOur long line moves forward to the fight.\\nClarion and clarion defying,\\nSounding, resounding, replying,\\nTrumpets braying, pipers playing, chargers neighing,\\nNear and far\\nThe to-and-fro storm of the never-done hurrahing,\\nThrough the bright weather-banner and feather rising and\\nfalling, bugle and life\\nCalling, recalling, for death or for life,\\nOur host moved on to the war,\\nWhile England, England, England, England, England\\nWas blown from line to line near and far,\\nAnd like the morning sea, our bayonets you might see,\\nCome beaming, gleaming, streaming,\\nStreaming, gleaming, beaming,\\nBeaming, gleaming, streaming, to the war.\\nClarion and clarion defying,\\nSounding, resounding, replying,\\nTrumpets braying, pipers playing, chargers neighing,\\nNear and far\\nThe to-and-fro storm of the never-done hurrahing,\\nThrough the bright weather, banner and feather rising and\\nfalling, bugle and fife\\nCalling, recalling, for death or for life,\\nOur long line moved forward to the war.\\nHARMOSAN. Dean Trench.\\nVTOW the third and fatal conflict for the Persian throne\\nX-y was done,\\nAnd the Moslem s fiery valor had the crowning victory won.\\nHarmosan, the last and boldest the invader to defy,\\nCaptive, overborne by numbers, they were bringing forth to die", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0341.jp2"}, "342": {"fulltext": "328 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nThen exclaimed that noble captive, Lo, I perish in my thirst\\nGive me but one drink of water, and let then arrive the\\nworst\\nIn his hand he took the goblet but awhile the draught for-\\nbore,\\nSeeming doubtfully the purpose of the foeman to explore.\\nWell might then have paused the bravest, for around him\\nangry foes,\\nWith a hedge of naked weapons, did that lonely man enclose.\\nBut what fearest thou cried the caliph. Is it, friend, a\\nsecret blow 1\\nFear it not our gallant Moslems no such treacherous dealing\\nknow.\\nThou mayst quench thy thirst securely, for thou shalt not\\ndie before\\nThou hast drunk that cup of water, this reprieve is thine,\\nno more\\nQuick the satrap dashed the goblet down to earth with ready\\nhand,\\nAnd the liquid sank forever, lost amid the burning sand.\\nThou hast said that mine my life is, till the water of that\\ncup\\nI have drained then bid thy servants that spilled water\\ngather up\\niFor a moment stood the caliph as by doubtful passions\\nstirred,\\nThen exclaimed, Forever sacred must remain a monarch s\\nword.\\nBring another cup, and straightway to the noble Persian\\ngive;\\nDrink, I said before, and perish, now I bid thee drink and\\nlive", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0342.jp2"}, "343": {"fulltext": "OUR COUNTRY SAVED. 329\\nOUR COUNTRY SAVED. J. R. Lowell.\\nBOOM, cannon, boom to all the winds and waves\\nClash out, glad bells, from every rocking steeple\\nBanners, advance with triumph, bend your staves\\nAnd from every mountain-peak\\nLet beacon-fire to answering beacon speak,\\nKatahdin tell Monadnock, Whiteface he,\\nAnd so leap on in light from sea to sea,\\nTill the glad news be sent\\nAcross a kindling continent,\\nMaking earth feel more firm and air breathe braver\\nBe proud for she is saved, and all have helped to save her\\nShe that lifts up the manhood of the poor,\\nShe of the open soul and open door,\\nWith room about her hearth for all mankind\\nThe fire is dreadful in her eyes no more\\nFrom her bold front the helm she doth unbind,\\nSends all her handmaid armies back to spin,\\nAnd bids her navies, that so lately hurled\\nTheir crashing battle, to hold their thunders in,\\nSwimming like birds of calm along the unharmful shore.\\nNo challenge sends she to the elder world,\\nThat looked askance and hated a light scorn\\nPlays o er her mouth, as round her mighty knees\\nShe calls her children back, and waits the morn\\nOf nobler day, enthroned between her subject seas.\\nBow down, dear land, for thou hast found release\\nThy God, in these distempered days,\\nHath taught thee the sure wisdom of His ways,\\nAnd through thine enemies hath wrought thee peace\\nBow down in prayer and praise\\nNo poorest in thy borders but may now\\nLift to the juster skies a man s enfranchised brow.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0343.jp2"}, "344": {"fulltext": "330 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nBeautiful my Country ours once more\\nSmoothing thy gold of war-dishevelled hair\\nO er such sweet brows as never other wore,\\nAnd letting thy set lips\\nFreed from wrath s pale eclipse,\\nThe rosy edges of their smile lay bare,\\nWhat words divine of lover or of poet\\nCould tell our love and make thee know it,\\nAmong the nations bright beyond compare 1\\nWhat were our lives without thee 1\\nWhat all our lives to save thee 1\\nWe reck not what we gave the\u00c2\u00a9\\nWe will not dare to doubt thee,\\nBut ask whatever else, and we will dare\\nTHE BLUE AND THE GRAY.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 F. M. Finch.\\n[The women of Columbus, Mississippi, animated by nobler sentiments\\nthan are many of their sisters, have shown themselves impartial in their\\nofferings made to the memory of the dead. They strewed flowers alike\\non the graves of the Confederate and of the National soldiers.]\\nBY the flow of the inland river,\\nWhence the fleets of iron have fled,\\nWhere the blades of the grave-grass quiver,\\nAsleep are the ranks of the dead\\nUnder the sod and the dew,\\nWaiting the judgment day\\nUnder the one, the Blue\\nUnder the other, the Gray.\\nThese in the robings of glory,\\nThose in the gloom of defeat,\\nAll with the battle-blood gory,\\nIn the dusk of eternity meet\\nUnder the sod and the dew,\\nWaiting the judgment day", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0344.jp2"}, "345": {"fulltext": "THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 331\\nUnder the laurel, the Blue\\nUnder the willow, the Gray.\\nFrom the silence of sorrowful hours\\nThe desolate mourners go,\\nLovingly laden with flowers\\nAlike for the friend and the foe\\nUnder the sod and the dew,\\nWaiting the judgment day\\nUnder the roses, the Blue\\nUnder the lilies, the Gray.\\nSo with an equal splendor\\nThe morning sun-rays fall,\\nWith a touch, impartially tender,\\nOn the blossoms blooming for all\\nUnder the sod and the dew,\\nWaiting the judgment day\\nBroidered with gold, the Blue\\nMellowed with gold, the Gray.\\nSo, when the summer calleth,\\nOn forest and field of grain\\nWith an equal murmur falleth\\nThe cooling drip of the rain\\nUnder the sod and the dew,\\nWaiting the judgment day\\nWet with the rain, the Blue\\nWet with the rain, the Gray.\\nSadly, but not with upbraiding,\\nThe generous deed was done\\nIn the storm of the years that are fading,\\nNo braver battle was won\\nUnder the sod and the dew,\\nWaiting the judgment day\\nUnder the blossoms, the Blue\\nUnder the garlands, the Gray.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0345.jp2"}, "346": {"fulltext": "332 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nNo more shall the war-cry sever,\\nOr the winding rivers be red\\nThey banish our anger forever\\nWhen they laurel the graves of our dead\\nUnder the sod and the dew,\\nWaiting the judgment day\\nLove and tears for the Blue,\\nTears and love for the Gray.\\nTHE SENTRY ON THE TO WER. Sacristan s Household.\\n[This incident really occurred in the German war of 1866.]\\nMIDNIGHT sounded with a thin, jangling voice from the\\nbelfry of the old tower of the church at Goldenau as\\nOtto Hemmerich, having toiled up the winding, narrow stone\\nstaircase, stepped out upon the roof, prepared to watch through\\nhis term of sentinel duty in the dark solitude. Under his feet\\nwas the leaden roof, weather-scarred and stained. The plat-\\nform whereon he could pace was rectangular and very limited.\\nIt was bounded on the outer side by a low parapet, scarcely\\nreaching to his knee as he stood.\\nFrom the centre of the square tower sprang a tapering\\nspire, which rose to no great height, and was surmounted by\\na creaking weathercock of gilded copper. Thus, whoso ven-\\ntured to climb the steep, winding stair, and issue forth on the\\nroof of the belfry by a low, straight doorway, found himself\\non the narrow strip of leaden roofing which surrounded the\\nspire. To the summit of the spire itself there was no in-\\nterior way of arriving.\\nOne, two, three, and so on up to twelve, sounded the bell\\nbelow. The bell, which was the clock s voice, hung nearly ten\\nfeet lower than the summit of the tower. Its tone was, as I\\nhave said, thin and jangling yet more thin and jangling were\\nthe bells which chimed the quarters, ting tang, ting tang,\\nting tang, ting tang, like the querulous voice of an old", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0346.jp2"}, "347": {"fulltext": "THE SENTRY ON THE TOWER. 333\\nman. Thus they sounded to one listening down in the vil-\\nlage. Heard nearer, in the belfry itself, they had more\\nresonance and there remained, after the clappers had ceased\\nto swing, a loug, quivering vibration, which seemed to pulse\\nin the very core of the ancient stone-work, and the mouldering\\nbeams, and the dry, cracked tiling.\\nOtto stood by the parapet looking to the southeast as\\nthe last hum of the twelfth stroke died away in his ear.\\nThe night was dark and moonless too dark for it to be\\npossible to see the landscape stretching far below. It was\\nwarm, too, as it had been all day although at that height,\\nand in the neighborhood of the mountain range, there was not\\nwanting a certain freshness in the air.\\nLooking downward, all dark, all blank. Only straining his\\neyes as they grew used to the dimness, Otto could discern a\\nfaint, steely gleam from the river, looking as though some\\nsoldier had dropped his bright bayonet upon the peaceful\\nmeadows. Here and there a blacker spot gloomed mys-\\nteriously and that he knew was thick tufty woodland. Xot\\na light shone from the village not a footstep sounded in its\\nstraggling street.\\nOtto commenced to pace up and down with solitary regu-\\nlarity. One o clock j half past one two. Well, it was lonely\\nup there, after all. Ting tang, ting tang, ting tang. A quar-\\nter to three. Swoop came a sudden gust of wind, and wailed\\nfor a minute or two through the loop-holes and crannies of\\nthe spire, and the weathercock creaked up aloft complaining-\\nly. Then the atmosphere grew dead calm. It was darker\\nthan ever. The sun would rise at about a quarter of four.\\nOtto knew that. He knew also that, according to the saying,\\nit is always darkest the hour before day. In a little more\\nthan an hour would come daylight and his release together.\\nHark What was that sound, rising upward from the vil-\\nlage That was surely the roll of a drum A single horse\\nclattered up the street. Then there was a bugle-call, dis-\\ntinctly audible in the motionless air. Lights twinkled in\\nmore than one casement. What was going on 1 The idea of", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0347.jp2"}, "348": {"fulltext": "334 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\na sudden night-attack by the enemy came into the head of the\\nsolitary sentinel watching from the tower but after a while\\nhe dismissed it. There was no sharp crack of a rifle-volley,\\nno crashing of a body of cavalry, no heavy rumbling artillery\\nover the roads. Neither were any voices to be heard, such\\nas would have arisen from the terrified villagers under such\\ncircumstances as their home being suddenly turned into a\\nbattle-ground.\\nOtto knelt down, and, leaning his chin on the parapet, lis-\\ntened intently. Surely men were gathering on the open space\\naround the tower. Yes more and more distinctly he could\\nhear the sound of footsteps. Then another sharp, sudden\\nroll of drums, startling the echoes far and wide. Again a\\nmomentary silence. A loud, clear voice giving out the word\\nof command, March the measured tramp of feet, grow-\\ning fainter as it receded from the village doors and casements\\nclosed with a rattling noise then again profound, and, thence-\\nforward, unbroken silence.\\nStrange thought Otto, as he rose from his knees, after\\nsome time. They must be sending a detachment on toward\\nthe frontier. And yet we were so few here, I wonder that\\nthey thought it well to divide so small a body. As he turned\\nto resume his march, the first streaks of dawn broke through\\nthe darkness in the east, and some birds began to stir in their\\nnests amidst the stone-work of the steeple.\\nTing tang, ting tang, ting tang, ting tang. Four o clock in\\nthe morning Cocks were crowing lustily down below. The\\nswallows were all alive, and darted hither and thither through\\nthe fast brightening sky. The chattering of garrulous daws\\ngrew more and more voluble, as they flew with busy, flapping\\nwing in and out of their haunts on the spire.\\nSilver-gray rose-color glowing purple and crimson bright,\\ngorgeous, dazzling gold There was the sun at last, burnish-\\ning the old copper weathercock into temporary brilliancy,\\nand making the river steely pale erewhile flash and flow\\nlike molten silver. Why, in Heaven s name, did they not\\ncome to relieve the guard 1 There was Otto, however, and", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0348.jp2"}, "349": {"fulltext": "THE SENTRY ON THE TOWER. 335\\nthere it behooved him to remain. His duty was clear and a\\nduty that was clear he had never flinched from.\\nIt was full, broad day. The old clock reported the hour to\\nbe half past six. The good people of Goldenau were stirring\\nabout their daily employments. A great portion of the high-\\nway to the village could be seen from the belfry. But neither\\nin the near streets and lanes, nor on the distant road, could\\nOtto discern a glimpse of a soldier s uniform. Not a dark\\nblue coat was to be seen anywhere. What did it mean?\\nWhat could have become of all his comrades?\\nOn the other hand, there was an unusual gathering of the\\ncitizens on the public square around the tower. Otto s keen\\neyes could plainly see the gestures and the expression of their\\nfaces, and he observed that he himself was obviously the sub-\\nject of some discussion among them for every now and then\\nan old, stout, stolid-looking man, whom he (Otto) recognized\\nas the burgomaster of the place, raised his arm and pointed\\nupward to where the Prussian sentry s form was sharply re-\\nlieved against the sky on the summit of the belfry-tower.\\nA faint suspicion of the truth began to dawn in Otto s\\nmind. He examined his cartridge-box, and made sure that\\nhis rifle was in good working order. Then he stood quite still\\nat attention, waiting for what should come next.\\nWhat did come next was that the burgomaster advanced\\nsingly from the little crowd of men, on whose skirts a num-\\nber of women and children were by this time hovering, and,\\nputting his hollowed hands to his mouth, bellowed out a long\\nspeech, addressed to Otto upon the tower. The long speech\\nhad the effect of making the stout burgomaster very red in the\\nface, and of exciting very evident approbation among his fel-\\nlow-citizens but, further than that, it produced no result\\nwhatever.\\nOtto shook his head and touched his ears, to signify that he\\ncould not hear, and then stood still again. Upon this the\\nburgomaster, after giving an angry shrug at the deplorable\\nwaste of his eloquence, beckoned, and waved his arms with an\\nimperious gesture of command, importing that the sentry was", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0349.jp2"}, "350": {"fulltext": "336 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nat once to descend from the altitude of the tower, and appear\\nin his, the great man s presence on terra firma. To this Otto\\nvouchsafed no kind of reply, but shouldered his rifle, and\\ncoolly resumed his march up and down on the leaden roof.\\nCoolly in appearance, that is to say for, as may be imagined,\\nhis position was not a pleasant one, and he had shrewd mis-\\ngivings that it would rapidly become decidedly unpleasant.\\nTwo things v/ere clear to him. Firstly, that the detach-\\nment of Prussians to which he belonged had left Goldenau\\nand, secondly, that the inhabitants of the place did not ex-\\npect them to return. Otherwise, the burgomaster s swelling\\nport would undoubtedly have been modified. How or why\\nhis comrades had gone whether they had remembered the\\nsentinel on the belfry, and purposely left him there, intending\\nto return or whether, in the hurry of a night-alarm, they\\nhad forgotten his existence, and were now in the thick of some\\nhot skirmish with the foe, he could not tell.\\nIt was well that his course appeared clear in the matter,\\nand that he needed no long time to decide upon what he should\\ndo, for this is what happened as soon as the burgomaster and\\nthe assembled crowd on the square clearly perceived, by the\\nsentry s resumption of his march up and down, that he in-\\ntended to pay no attention to their summons. First the great\\nman drew back a little from the foot of the tower, and there\\ngathered around him a group of the chief inhabitants of the\\nplace, who forthwith entered into an animated discussion, as\\nfar as could be gathered by their gestures. Then the burgo-\\nmaster, being apparently urged into the van by those behind\\nhim, advanced with stately, although rather slow footsteps to\\nthe postern-door, which gave access to the winding staircase\\nof the tower.\\nOtto peeped over the parapet, and saw the burgomaster\\nenter, followed by four or five other men. He was quite un-\\ncertain what would be the nature of the colloquy he was now\\nto hold with the authorities of Goldenau, but he opined that\\nit would probably not be a pacific one. But he would defend\\nhimself to the uttermost, and had no more idea of abandon-", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0350.jp2"}, "351": {"fulltext": "THE SENTRY ON THE TOWER. 337\\nmg his post on the belfry without due authority from his\\nsuperiors, than a brave sea-commander has of deserting the\\ndeck of his vessel. So he fixed his bayonet firmly, looked to\\nthe priming of his piece, and set himself with his back to the\\nsteeple, and exactly facing the low doorway which gave access\\nto the roof of the tower.\\nThere s no hurry, he told himself, for the burgomaster\\nis in the van, and it will take him some time to climb all\\nthose steps, even if he does not stick by the way in the nar-\\nrow staircase.\\nIn a few minutes he could hear the panting and puffing of\\nthe stout burgomaster, and the sound of his footsteps scrap-\\ning heavy and springless on the stone steps. Quick as light-\\nning Otto sprang to the doorway pulled open the heavy\\noaken door, which opened outward and remained with fixed\\nbayonet directed toward the winding staircase.\\nYield, Prussian cried the burgomaster, huskily. He\\nwas not yet in sight, being hidden by a turn of the stairs.\\nWho goes there? answered Otto. Speak, or I fire\\nFor Heaven s sake, don t fire don t fire\\nThere was a hustling noise on the steps, and a thud, as of\\nsome heavy body coming violently in contact with the wall.\\nOh! exclaimed the voice of one in acute pain. You\\nhave crushed my foot, Mr. Burgomaster Let me go on if\\nyou re afraid. I 11 tackle him\\nThereupon the head and shoulders of the miller of Golde-\\nnau appeared in the open doorway.\\nGo back there, unless you want my bayonet in your body.\\nBack, I say\\nOtto made so threatening and resolute an advance that the\\nmiller withdrew in his turn, though much less precipitately\\nthan his predecessor, and remained on a lower step, so that\\nnis flour-dusted head alone was visible from the door on the\\ni-oof.\\nCome, sentry, said the miller, don t be a fool We\\nhave something to say to you. You can t refuse to listen.\\nI don t know that. You have no business to talk to a", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0351.jp2"}, "352": {"fulltext": "338 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nsentry on guard. And for that matter, you have no business\\nhere at all.\\nPerhaps you are not aware of one circumstance, said\\nthe miller, with something like a sneer namely, that your\\nfriends have abandoned you here altogether. They are on\\ntheir march into Bohemia.\\nEnough talk I have nothing to say to you.\\nIndeed But I have something to say to you. You are\\nour prisoner\\nPooh!\\nThe burgomaster s voice was heard from the lower steps,\\ncoming muffled by the thick wall. Hallo, there Is that\\nPrussian rascal to keep us here all day Why don t you\\nbring him down 1\\nHe won t come\\nWon t come 1 Nonsense Drag him down\\nWould you like to try it, Mr. Burgomaster?\\nThe first man who advances within three steps of the\\ndoorway I will send my bayonet into, said Otto.\\nThe miller redescended to his friends. The position was\\nrather difficult. The staircase wound like a corkscrew, and\\nwas very narrow withal so that it was impossible to advance\\nup it otherwise than in single file. Now, although en masse\\nthe Goldenauers were exceedingly anxious to perform the\\nglorious exploit of taking a prisoner of war, no man was to\\nbe found willing to risk his individual life in the attempt.\\nIt would be useless for a broad-built man like myself to\\nventure into the clutches of the rascal, said the burgomas-\\nter, looking wistfully at the spare figure of a man in the rear\\nbut if any light, slim, agile person were to make one spring,\\none sudden spring, so as to take the Prussian off his guard,\\nI have no doubt the fellow would be captured easily, quite\\neasily.\\nThere was a dead pause. All at once the tavern-keeper\\nmade a brilliant suggestion. Why should they not reduce\\nthe enemy by famine 1 The idea was received with enthu-\\nsiasm. It was resolved that the contumacious sentry should be", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0352.jp2"}, "353": {"fulltext": "THE SENTRY ON THE TOWER. 339\\ninformed that he would remain aloft there without a bit or\\ndrop until such time as he chose to submit himself to the\\ncivic authorities, and deliver up his needle-gun into their\\nhands.\\nOtto listened with grave attention to the decision of the\\ncouncil of war. Then, after a short pause of deliberation, he\\nmade answer thus\\nI am right sorry to find the Goldenauers showing such a\\nbad spirit, and being so blind to which is the good side for\\nthe cause of Fatherland. Also I think it my duty to warn\\nyou that this trick of yours may have unpleasant consequen-\\nces to yourselves when my comrades come to relieve me, as\\nof course they will. But as to your threat of starving me\\nout, that s all nonsense. I have a good supply of cartridges\\nI am a good shot this tower commands the square, and all\\nthe little lanes leading to it and unless I am fed, and well\\nfed, I swear to you solemnly that I will pick off every hu-\\nman being who approaches within a hundred yards of the\\nwell yonder to draw water. There deliver that message as\\nmy answer to the burgomaster, and try to persuade him that\\nI mean what I say.\\nWith ludicrously chapfallen aspect the miller carried these\\nbold, resolute words to his companions. Deliberations fol-\\nlowed, hastened by the shrill importunities of all the women\\nof Goldenau, who had somehow got wind of the matter, and\\nwho would rather, so they said, feed twenty Prussians than\\nexpose the lives of their husbands and children, not to men-\\ntion their own. The result was, that Otto was left to sustain\\na siege on the top of the belfry, a siege with- the unusual\\ncircumstance that the besiegers were supplying the garrison\\nwith victuals.\\nFor two days this singular state of things lasted the sen-\\ntinel being formally called upon, morning and evening, to yield\\nhimself up prisoner, and the citizens being as formally warned\\nthat on any failure in the supply of food, the deadly needle-\\ngun should do terrible execution on them and theirs. On the\\nthird day the regiment returned, and the guard was relieved.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0353.jp2"}, "354": {"fulltext": "340 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nWhen Otto descended from his airy station and appeared\\non the square, his comrades there assembled greeted him with\\na hearty ringing Hurrah And his captain said a few kind\\nwords, applauding his fidelity and endurance. That was all.\\nThe explanation of his having been abandoned was simply\\nthat in the hurry of an unexpected summons he had been\\nforgotten. An outpost had received warning of an intended\\nattack by a party of Austrian cavalry. Their commander\\nhad sent for assistance to the nearest Prussian detachment.\\nThe contemplated attack had not taken place, however, and\\nOtto s regiment was now in full march to join the main army.\\nBETSY AND I ARE OUT.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Will M. Carleton.\\nDRAW up the papers, lawyer, and make em good and stout\\nThings at home are cross-ways, and Betsy and I are out.\\nWe who have worked together so long as man and wife\\nMust pull in single harness the rest of our nat ral life.\\nWhat is the matter 1 say you. I swan it s hard to tell\\nMost of the years behind us we ve passed by very well.\\nI have no other woman, she has no other man\\nOnly we ve lived together as long as we ever can.\\nSo I have talked with Betsy, and Betsy has talked with me\\nSo we ve agreed together that we can t never agree.\\nNot that we ve catched each other in any terrible crime\\nWe ve been a gatherin this for years, a little at a time.\\nThere was a stock of temper we both had, for a start,\\nThough we ne er suspected t would take us two apart.\\nI had my various failings, bred in flesh and bone\\nAnd Betsy, like all good women, had a temper of her own.\\nFirst thing I remember whereon we disagreed\\nWas somethin concernin heaven, a difference in our creed.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0354.jp2"}, "355": {"fulltext": "BETSY AND I ARE OUT. 341\\nWe arg ed the thing at breakfast, we arg ed the thing at tea;\\nAnd the more we arg ed the question, the more we did n t agree.\\nAnd the next that I remember was when we lost a cow\\nShe had kicked the bucket for certain, the question was\\nonly how 1\\nI held my own opinion, and Betsy another had\\nAnd when we were done a talkin we both of us was mad.\\nAnd the next that I remember, it started in a joke\\nBut full for a week it lasted, and neither of us spoke.\\nAnd the next was when I scolded because she broke a bowl\\nAnd she said I was mean and stingy, and had n t any soul.\\nAnd so that bowl kept pourin dissensions in our cup\\nAnd so that blamed old cow was always a comin up\\nAnd so that heaven we arg ed no nearer to us got,\\nBut it gives us a taste of somethin a thousand times as hot.\\nAnd so the thing kept workin and all the selfsame way\\nAlways somethin to arg e, and somethin sharp to say.\\nAnd down on us come the neighbors, a couple dozen strong,\\nAnd lent their kindest sarvice to help the thing along.\\nAnd there has been days together and many a weary week\\nWe was both of us cross and spunky, and both too proud to\\nAnd I have been thinkin and thinkin the whole of the win-\\nter and fall,\\nIf I can t live kind with a woman, why then I won t at all.\\nAnd so I have talked with Betsy, and Betsy has talked with\\nme\\nAnd we have agreed together that we can t never agree\\nAnd what is hers shall be hers, and what is mine shall be\\nmine,\\nAnd I 11 put it in the agreement, and take it to her to sign.", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0355.jp2"}, "356": {"fulltext": "342 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nWrite on the paper, lawyer, the very first paragraph,\\nOf all the farm and live stock, that she shall have her half\\nFor she has helped to earn it, through many a weary day,\\nAnd it s nothin more than justice that Betsy has her\\npay.\\nGive her the house and homestead a man can thrive and\\nroam,\\nBut women are skeery critters, unless they have a home.\\nAnd I have always determined, and never failed to say,\\nThat Betsy never should want a home, if I was taken away.\\nThere is a little hard cash, that s drawin tol rable pay,\\nCouple of hundred dollars, laid by for a rainy day,\\nSafe in the hands of good men, and easy to get at\\nPut in another clause, there, and give her half of that.\\nYes, I see you smile, sir, at my givin her so much\\nYes, divorces is cheap, sir, but I take no stock in such.\\nTrue and fair I married her, when she was blithe and young\\nAnd Betsy was al ays good to me, exceptin with her tongue.\\nOnce, when I was young as you, and not so smart, perhaps,\\nFor me she mittened a lawyer, and several other chaps\\nAnd all of em was flustered, and fairly taken down,\\nAnd I for a time was counted the luckiest man in town.\\nOnce, when I had a fever, I won t forget it soon,\\nI was hot as a basted turkey, and crazy as a loon,\\nNever an hour went by me, when she was out of sight\\nShe nursed me true and tender, and stuck to me day and\\nnight.\\nAnd if ever a house was tidy, and ever a kitchen clean,\\nHer house and kitchen was tidy, as any I ever seen,\\nAnd I don t complain of Betsy, or any of her acts,\\nExceptin when we ve quarrelled, and told each other facts.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0356.jp2"}, "357": {"fulltext": "THE VOLUNTEER S WIFE. 343\\nSo draw up the paper, lawyer and I 11 go home to-night,\\nAnd read the agreement to her, and see if it s all right\\nAnd then in the mornin I 11 sell to a tradin man I know,\\nAnd kiss the child that was left to us, and out in the world\\nI ll go.\\nAnd one thing put in the paper, that first to me did n t occur\\nThat when I am dead at last, she bring me back to her,\\nAnd lay me under the maples I planted years ago,\\nWhen she and I was happy, before we quarrelled so.\\nAnd when she dies, I wish that she would be laid by me\\nAnd, lyin together in silence, perhaps we will agree.\\nAnd if ever we meet in heaven, I would n t think it queer,\\nIf we loved each other better for what we have quarrelled\\nhere.\\nTHE VOLUNTEER S WIFE.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 M. A. Dennison.\\nAN sure I was tould to come to your Honor,\\n-xTA_ To see if ye d write a few words to me Pat.\\nHe s gone for a soldier, is Misther O Connor,\\nWid a sthripe on his arm and a band on his hat.\\n11 An what 11 ye tell him 1 It ought to be asy\\nFor sich as yer Honor to spake wid the pen,\\nJist say I m all right, and that Mavoorneen Daisy\\n(The baby, yer Honor) is betther again.\\nFor when he went off it s so sick was the childer\\nShe niver held up her blue eyes to his face\\nAnd when I d be cryin he d look but the wilder,\\nAn say, Would you wish for the counthry s disgrace 1\\nSo he left her in danger, and me sorely gratin\\nTo follow the flag wid an Irishman s joy", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0357.jp2"}, "358": {"fulltext": "344 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\n0, it s often I drame of the big drums a bat in\\nAd a bullet gone straight to the heart of me boy.\\nAn say will he send me a bit of his money,\\nFor the rint an the docther s bill due in a wake\\nWell, surely, there s tears on yer eyelashes, honey\\nAh, faith, I ve no right with such freedom to spake.\\nYou ve overmuch trifling, I 11 not give ye trouble,\\nI 11 find some one willin 0, what can it be 1\\nWhat s that in the newspaper folded up double 1\\nYer Honor, don t hide it, but rade it to me.\\nWhat, Patrick O Connor No, no t is some other\\nDead dead no, not him T is a wake scarce gone by\\nDead dead why the kiss on the cheek of his mother,\\nIt has n t had time yet, yer Honor, to dry.\\nDon t tell me It s not him God, am I crazy 1\\nShot dead for love of sweet Heaven, say no\\n0, what 11 I do in the world wid poor Daisy\\n0, how will I live, an 0, where will I go\\nThe room is so dark I m not seem yer Honor,\\nI think I 11 go home And a sob thick and dry\\nCame sharp from the bosom of Mary O Connor,\\nBut never a tear-drop welled up to her eye.\\nTHE ROBBER.\\nON the lone deserted cross-road,\\nUnder the high crucifix,\\nStood the robber, slyly lurking\\nIn his hand his naked sabre\\nAnd his rifle, heavy loaded.\\nFor the merchant would he plunder,\\nWho, with his full weight of money,", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0358.jp2"}, "359": {"fulltext": "THE ROBBER. 345\\nWith his garments, and his rare wines,\\nCame to-day home from the market.\\nDown already had the sun sunk,\\nAnd the moon peers through the cloudlets,\\nAnd the robber stands awaiting\\nUnder the high crucifix.\\nHark a sound like angel voices,\\nSoft, low sighing deep entreaty,\\nComing clear as evening bells\\nBorne through the still atmosphere\\nSweet with unaccustomed accent\\nSteals a prayer upon his ear,\\nAnd he stands and listens anxious,\\nthou Guide of the deserted I\\nthou Guardian of the lost ones\\nBend, bend thy heavenly face,\\nClear as sunlight, softly smiling,\\nDown on us, four little ones\\nFold, fold thy arms of mercy,\\nWhich were on the cross extended,\\nLike two wings around our father,\\nThat no storm destroy his pathway,\\nThat his good steed may not stumble,\\nThat the robber, still and lurking\\nIn the forest, may not harm him.\\nO Protector of the abandoned,\\nthou Guide of the deserted,\\nSend us home our own dear father n\\nAnd the robber heard it all\\nUnder the high crucifix.\\nThen the youngest crossing himself,\\nFolding his soft hands demurely,\\nthou dear Christ, lisps he, childlike,\\nu 0, I know thou art almighty,\\nSitting on the throne of heaven,\\n15*", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0359.jp2"}, "360": {"fulltext": "346 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nWith the stars all glittering golden,\\nAs the nurse has told me often,\\n0, be gracious, thou dear Christ\\nGive the robbers, the rapacious,\\nGive them bread, and bread in plenty,\\nThat they may not need to plunder\\nOr to murder our good father\\nDid I know where lived a robber,\\nI would give this little chainlet,\\nGive to him this cross and girdle,\\nSaying, thou dear, dear robber,\\nTake this chain, this cross, and girdle,\\nThat you may not need to plunder\\nOr to murder our dear father\\nAnd the robber hears it all\\nUnder the high crucifix.\\nFrom afar he hears approaching\\nSnorting steeds and wheels swift rolling.\\nSlowly then he takes his rifle,\\nSlowly does he seize his sabre,\\nAnd he stands there deeply thinking,\\nUnder the high crucifix.\\nAnd the children still are kneeling,\\nthou Guide of the deserted,\\nthou Guardian of the wanderer,\\nSend us home our own dear father w\\nAnd the father came home riding\\nAll in safety, unendangered\\nClasps his children to his bosom,\\nHappy stammerings, kisses sweet.\\nOnly the bare sabre found they\\nFound the rifle heavy loaded\\nBoth had fallen from his hand\\nUnder the high crucifix.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0360.jp2"}, "361": {"fulltext": "KIT CARSON S RIDE. 347\\nKIT CARSON S RIDE. Joaquin Miller.\\nKUN 1 Now you bet you I rather guess so.\\nBat he s blind as a badger. Whoa, Pach6, boy, whoa.\\nNo, you would n t think so to look at his eyes,\\nBut he is badger blind, and it happened this wise\\nWe lay low in the grass on the broad plain levels,\\nOld Revels and I, and my stolen brown bride.\\nForty full miles if a foot to ride,\\nForty full miles if a foot, and the devils\\nOf red Camanches are hot on the track\\nWhen once they strike it. Let the sun go down\\nSoon, very soon, muttered bearded old Revels\\nAs he peered at the sun, lying low on his back,\\nHolding fast to his lasso then he jerked at his steed,\\nAnd sprang to his feet, and glanced swiftly around,\\nAnd then dropped, as if shot, with his ear to the ground,\\nThen again to his feet and to me, to my bride,\\nWhile his eyes were like fire, his face like a shroud,\\nHis form like a king, and his beard like a cloud,\\nAnd his voice loud and shrill, as if blown from a reed,\\nPull, pull in your lassos, and bridle to steed,\\nAnd speed, if ever for life you would speed\\nAnd ride for your lives, for your lives you must ride,\\nFor the plain is aflame, the prairie on fire,\\nAnd feet of wild horses hard flying before\\nI hear like a sea breaking high on the shore\\nWhile the buffalo come like the surge of the sea,\\nDriven far by the flame, driving fast on us three\\nAs a hurricane comes, crushing palms in his ire.\\nWe drew in the lassos, seized saddle and rein,\\nThrew them on, sinched them on, sinched them over again,\\nAnd again drew the girth, cast aside the macheer,\\nCut away tapidaros, loosed the sash from its fold,\\nCast aside the catenas red and spangled with gold,\\nAnd gold-mounted Colt s,*true companions for years,", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0361.jp2"}, "362": {"fulltext": "348 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nCast the red silk serapes to the wind in a breath,\\nAnd so bared to the skin sprang all haste to the horse,\\nAs bare as when born, as when new from the hand\\nOf God, without word, or one word of command,\\nTurned head to the Brazos in a red race with death,\\nTurned head to the Brazos with a breath in the hair\\nBlowing hot from a king leaving death in his course\\nTurned head to the Brazos with a sound in the air\\nLike the rush of an army, and a flash in the eye\\nOf a red wall of fire reaching up to the sky,\\nStretching fierce in pursuit of a black rolling sea,\\nBushing fast upon us as the wind sweeping free\\nAnd afar from the desert, bearing death and despair.\\nNot a word, not a wail from a lip was let fall,\\nNot a kiss from my bride, not a look or low call\\nOf love-note or courage, but on o er the plain\\nSo steady and still, leaning low to the mane,\\nWith the heel to the flank and the hand to the rein,\\nRode we on, rode we three, rode we gray nose and nose,\\nBeaching long, breathing loud, like a creviced wind blows,\\nYet we broke not a -whisper, we breathed not a prayer,\\nThere was work to be done, there was death in the air.\\nAnd the chance was as one to a thousand for all\\nGray nose to gray nose and each steady mustang\\nStretched neck and stretched nerve till the hollow earth rang\\nAnd the foam from the flank and the croup and the neck\\nFlew around like the spray on a storm-driven deck.\\nTwenty miles thirty miles a dim distant speck\\nThen a long reaching line and the Brazos in sight,\\nAnd I rose in my seat with a shout of delight.\\nI stood in my stirrup and looked to my right,\\nBut Bevels was gone I glanced by my shoulder\\nAnd saw his horse stagger I saw his head drooping\\nHard on his breast, and his naked breast stooping\\nLow down to the mane as so swifter and bolder\\nKan reaching out for us the red-footed fire.", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0362.jp2"}, "363": {"fulltext": "KIT CARSON S RIDE. 349\\nTo right and to left the black buffalo came,\\nIn miles and in millions, rolling on in despair,\\nWith their beards to the dust and black tails in the air.\\nAs a terrible surf on a red sea of flame\\nRushing on in the rear, reaching high, reaching higher,\\nAnd he rode neck to neck to a buffalo bull,\\nThe monarch of millions, with shaggy mane full\\nOf smoke and of dust, and it shook with desire\\nOf battle, with rage and with bello wings loud\\nAnd unearthly, and up through its lowering cloud\\nCame the flash of his eyes like a half-hidden fire,\\nWhile his keen crooked horns through the storm of his mane\\nLike black lances lifted and lifted again\\nAnd I looked but this once, for the fire licked through,\\nAnd he fell and was lost, as we rode two and two.\\nI looked to my left then, and nose, neck, and shoulder\\nSank slowly, sank surely, till back to my thighs\\nAnd up through the black blowing veil of her hair\\nDid beam full in mine her two marvellous eyes\\nWith a longing and love, yet a look of despair,\\nAnd a pity for me, as she felt the smoke fold her,\\nAnd flames reaching far for her glorious hair.\\nHer sinking steed faltered, his eager ears fell\\nTo and fro and unsteady, and all the neck s swell\\nDid subside and recede and the nerves fall as dead.\\nThen she saw that my own steed still lorded his head\\nWith a look of delight, for this Pache, you see,\\nWas her father s, and once at the South Santafee\\nHad won a whole herd, sweeping everything down\\nIn a race where the world came to run for the crown\\nAnd so when I won the true heart of my bride,\\nMy neighbor s and deadliest enemy s child,\\nAnd child of the kingly war-chief of his tribe,\\nShe brought me this steed to the border the night\\nShe met Revels and me in her perilous flight\\nFrom the lodge of the chief to the north Brazos side", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0363.jp2"}, "364": {"fulltext": "350 PUBLIC AND PARLOR READINGS.\\nAnd said, so half guessing of ill as she smiled,\\nAs if jesting, that I, and I only, should ride\\nThe fleet-footed Pache, so if kin should pursue\\nI should surely escape without other ado\\nThan to ride, without blood, to the north Brazos side,\\nAnd await her, and wait till the next hollow moon\\nHung her horn in the palms, when surely and soon\\nAnd swift she would join me, and all would be well\\nWithout bloodshed or word. And now as she fell\\nFrom the front, and went down in the ocean of fire,\\nThe last that I saw was a look of delight\\nThat I should escape, a love, a desire,\\nYet never a word, not a look of appeal,\\nLest I should reach hand, should stay hand or stay heel\\nOne instant for her in my terrible flight.\\nThen the rushing of fire rose around me and under,\\nAnd the howling of beasts like the sound of thunder,\\nBeasts burning and blind and forced onward and over,\\nAs the passionate flame reached around them and wove her\\nHands in their hair, and kissed hot till they died,\\nTill they died with a wild and a desolate moan,\\nAs a sea heart-broken on the hard brown stone.\\nAnd into the Brazos I rode all alone,\\nAll alone, save only a horse long-limbed,\\nAnd blind and bare and burnt to the skin.\\nThen just as the terrible sea came in\\nAnd tumbled its thousands hot into the tide,\\nTill the tide blocked up and the swift stream brimmed\\nIn eddies, we struck on the opposite side.\\nSell Pache, blind Pache 1 Now, mister, look here,\\nYou have slept in my tent and partook of my cheer\\nMany days, many days, on this rugged frontier,\\nFor the ways they were rough and Camanches were near 5\\nBut you d better pack up Curse your dirty skin\\nI could n t have thought you so niggardly small.\\nDo you men that make boots think an old mountaineer", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0364.jp2"}, "365": {"fulltext": "THE VOICE. 351\\nOn the rough border born has no tum-tum at all\\nSell Pache You buy him A bag full of gold\\nYou show him Tell of him the tale I have told\\nWhy he bore me through fire, and is blind, and is old\\nNow pack up your papers and get up and spin,\\nAnd never look back. Blast you and your tin\\nTHE VOICE. FORCEYTHE WlLLSON.\\nA SAINTLY Voice fell on my ear\\nOut of the dewy atmosphere\\nK hush, dear Bird of Night, be mute\\nBe still, throbbing heart and lute\\nThe Night-Bird shook the sparkling dew\\nUpon me as he ruffed and flew\\nMy heart was still almost as soon,\\nMy lute as silent as the moon\\nI hushed my heart and held my breath,\\nAnd would have died the death of death\\nTo hear, but just once more, to hear\\nThat Voice within the atmosphere.\\nAgain the Voice fell on my ear\\nOut of the dewy atmosphere.\\nThe same words, but half heard at first,\\nI listened with a quenchless thirst,\\nAnd drank as of that heavenly balm,\\nThe Silence that succeeds a psalm\\nMy soul to ecstasy was stirred,\\nIt was a voice that I had heard\\nA thousand blissful times before,\\nBut deemed that I should hear no more\\nTill I should have a Spirit s ear\\nAnd breathe another Atmosphere.\\nThen there was Silence in my ear,\\nAnd Silence in the atmosphere", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0365.jp2"}, "366": {"fulltext": "352 PUBLIC AND PAKLOR READINGS.\\nAnd silent moonshine on the mart,\\nAnd peace and silence in my heart;\\nBut suddenly a dark Doubt said,\\nThe fancy of a fevered head\\nA wild, quick whirlwind of desire\\nThen wrapt me as in folds of fire\\nI ran the strange words o er and o er,\\nAnd listened breathlessly once more\\nAnd lo, the third time, I did hear\\nThe same words in the atmosphere\\nThey fell and died upon my ear\\nAs dew dies on the atmosphere\\nAnd then an intense yearning thrilled\\nMy Soul, that all might be fulfilled\\nWhere art thou, Blessed Spirit, where t\\nWhose Voice is dew upon the air\\nI looked, around me, and above,\\nAnd cried aloud, Where art thou, Love\\n0, let me see thy living eye,\\nAnd clasp thy living hand, or die\\nAgain, upon the atmosphere,\\nThe selfsame words fell, Am Here\\nHere 1 Thou art here, Love Am Here 1\\nThe echo died upon my ear\\nI looked around me, everywhere\\nBut, ah there was no mortal there\\nThe moonlight was upon the mart,\\nAnd Awe and Wonder in my heart\\nI saw no form I only felt\\nHeaven s Peace upon me as I knelt\\nAnd knew a Soul Beatified\\nWas at that moment by my side\\nAnd there was Silence in my ear,\\nAnd Silence in the atmosphere", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0366.jp2"}, "367": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0367.jp2"}, "368": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0368.jp2"}, "369": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0369.jp2"}, "370": {"fulltext": "Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process.\\nNeutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide\\nTreatment Date: Nov. 2007\\nPreservationTechnologies\\nA WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION\\n111 Thomson Park Drive\\nCranberry Township, PA 16066\\n(724) 779-2111", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0370.jp2"}, "371": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3621", "width": "2342", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0371.jp2"}, "372": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3599", "width": "2433", "jp2-path": "publicparlorre00monr_0372.jp2"}}