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THE MOTHER, WIFE AND SON OF CORIOLANUS ENTREATING HIM TO SPARE ROME. 
 
DUTY AND GLORY: 
 
 The Xoble. The Heroic and The Inspiring 
 
 IN HUMAN CONDUCT AND CHARACTER. 
 
 ? I -..-'! MANT LaXD~ 
 
 AXD : -: ^5E CoNSEC = - - ! E DeYOTIC I 
 
 Unswerving Fidelity have made : :vo, 
 
 . E ': 
 
 NARRATED IN PROSE AND POETRY BY THE GREAT WR'TERS C- '- 
 
 Collected from the Liter.-. I Idderx Tna 
 
 wit- I :;p.v axd Biogra:- er. 
 
 / BY 
 
 R. S. HARTZELL. 
 
 WITH 
 
 AN INTRODUCTION BY REV. HERBERT W. MORRIS. D.D. 
 
 Author of the " Celestial Symbol Ixterpreted," Zt . 
 
 
 ELEGANTLY ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 We lire in deeds, not years ; in thoughts, not breaths ; 
 .-lings, not in figures on a dial. 
 
 - 
 
 PHILADELPHIA. PA.: 
 
 A. J. HOLMAN & CO.. PUBLISHERS. 
 
 1888. 
 
J* 
 
 • HS 
 
 1THE LIBRARY] 
 Or CONGREit 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 // is wise . . . to read, but for a few minutes, some book which 
 will compose and soothe the mind; which will bring us face to face 
 with the true facts of life, death and eternity ; -which will make us 
 remember that man doth not lire by bread alone ; which will give us 
 a few thoughts worthy of a Christian man with an immortal soul in 
 him. And, thank God, no one need go far to find such books. I do 
 not mean merely religious books, excellent as they are in these days. 
 I mean any books which help to make us better, and wiser, and sober, 
 and more charitable persons ; any books which will teach us to despise 
 what is vulgar and mean, foul and cruel, and to love what is noble, 
 and high-minded, pure and just. . . . In our o7on English language 
 we may read, by hundreds, books which will tell us of all virtue and 
 of all praise. The stories of good and brave men and women ; of 
 gallant and heroic actions ; of deeds which we ourselves should be 
 proud of doing; of persons 7C>hom we feel to be better, wiser, nobler, 
 than we are ourselves. — Canon Kingslev. 
 
 Copyright, i88*J by R. S. Hakizull. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 To every human heart there come periods of longing to 
 reach a higher and nobler plane of living. The moralist de- 
 sires a purer morality, the Christian yearns for a more fervent 
 piety. Even those who are fallen and degraded are sometimes 
 moved with desires to lead purer and better lives. 
 
 This feeling of unrest and dissatisfaction does not always 
 find expression in words, but it is common to humanity. " Not 
 as though I had already attained" is the sad confession of St. 
 Paul that he was falling below the standard which he ought to 
 reach, and it finds an answering chord in every thoughtful soul. 
 
 It is fortunate for individuals and for the race that this im- 
 pression so widely prevails ; for the desire to be better not 
 only makes the needed improvement possible, but, by leading 
 to the use of suitable means, renders it comparatively easy to 
 secure. 
 
 Among the means of improvement which in our own favored 
 land are open to the masses of the people, one of the most 
 efficient is found in books which hold up noble examples for 
 the imitation of their readers. There are few, if any, who can 
 read of those who have cheerfully and resolutely battled for the 
 right, of those who have come off conquerors in the conflict 
 between truth and error, or of those who have made life itself 
 
 i 
 
 \ 
 
11 PREFACE. 
 
 a willing sacrifice for country, for principle, for kindred or 
 home, without being made better thereby. 
 
 Many such examples may be found. In every age of which 
 history treats or tradition tells there have been men and women 
 on earth whose valiant deeds, heroic fortitude, pure lives, 
 supreme devotion to duty or eminent services to the race have 
 made their names 
 
 "On Fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled," 
 
 and who have thereby secured a valid claim upon the love 
 and gratitude of the universal world. 
 
 It is well for the young, who have life, with its grand and 
 glorious possibilities, before them, and who are anxious to 
 accomplish something for the good of mankind, to read of the 
 noble deeds of those whose goodness and greatness won them 
 imperishable fame. 
 
 It is also well for those in middle life, upon whom cares and 
 anxieties often rest with almost crushing weight, to view the 
 illustrious examples of those who have also carried wearisome 
 burdens, and whose patient and noble bearing of heavy crosses 
 has given them the right to be crowned as heroes on life's 
 battle field. 
 
 And the aged, whose active work has been performed and 
 whose "faces are toward the setting sun," will find their pulses 
 quickened, their intellects stirred and their hearts cheered by 
 reading of the deeds of those whose devotion to duty made 
 them great and whose greatness won them fame. 
 
 In this book there has been brought together a large num- 
 ber of sketches and ballads, in which are recorded, in a fitting 
 manner, the worthy deeds of many men and women who have 
 rendered noble service in their varied spheres. The choicest 
 
PREFACE. Ill 
 
 literature, both prose and poetical, of the past and the present 
 has been laid under tribute to enrich its pages. The work of 
 many of the ablest writers of ancient and modern times is here 
 represented, and in this collection many of their masterpieces 
 may be found. 
 
 A few sketches by authors less widely known are also given, 
 but care has been taken to select only those which are in every 
 way worthy of the noble deeds of which they tell. 
 
 In this work the optimist can find abundant means for 
 strengthening his conviction that the world is making progress, 
 and that the right will ultimately prevail. And the pessimist 
 will be compelled to take brighter views of the future by read- 
 ing of the devotion and self-sacrifice of men and women who 
 chose duty for their polar star, and who, in living for high pur- 
 poses and noble aims, did not live in vain. 
 
 It is believed that people of all classes and all ages can find 
 much in this volume by which they will be profited and 
 cheered. It can be taken up at odd moments, and will not 
 refuse pleasure and instruction to the hurried reader, while a 
 more careful perusal will be compensated in a corresponding 
 degree. 
 
 The Compiler desires to express his thanks to the following 
 Publishers and Authors for their kindness in allowing him to 
 make selections from their copyrighted works, and thereby 
 rendering him invaluable aid in his efforts to make an interesting 
 and useful volume : Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston 
 and New York, for the use of poems from the works of Long- 
 fellow, Lowell, Whittier and Holmes ; Mr. Parke Godwin, for 
 leave to quote from the poetical works of the late William 
 Cullen Bryant ; Messrs. Harper & Brothers, for the privilege 
 
iv PREFACE. 
 
 of making various selections from their periodicals, and various 
 others who have allowed the use of single selections from 
 their works. 
 
 In regard to his own part and responsibility for this work 
 the Compiler would say, in the words of Montaigne : " I have 
 here only made a nosegay of culled flowers, and have brought 
 nothing of my own but the thread that ties them together." 
 
 But to the collection of these choice flowers of the literature 
 of the ages he has given long-continued labor, wide research 
 and extended investigation. Time and toil have been freely 
 expended in order that the work might be made interesting 
 and permanently valuable. 
 
 And now the book is sent forth in hope and faith that it will 
 cheer and encourage some desponding souls ; that it will incite 
 not a few of its readers to earnest struggles for the right; 
 that it will help many of the tempted to remain steadfast in 
 the line of duty, and aid all into whose hands it may come 
 to lead pure and noble lives on earth, and at length reach the 
 goal of the immortals in a world where shadows can never fall 
 and conflicts are forever unknown. 
 
 Philadelphia, i! 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I— GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "There Shall Be No Alps." John S. C. Abbott 17 
 
 The Barons and King John. Henry Hallam 21 
 
 Triumphs of Copernicus. Edward Everett 24 
 
 Gustavus Vasa to the Delecarlians. Anonymous .. 26 
 
 Columbus. Was/iington Irving, Frederic Schiller 28 
 
 Arminius to his Soldiers. Arthur Murphy 32 
 
 Marguerite, of France. Mrs. Felicia D. Hemans 33 
 
 Queen Archidamia. Anonymous 37 
 
 The Hebrew Race. Benjamin D 1 Israeli 4° 
 
 William the Silent and Philip II. Edmondo DeAmicis 41 
 
 The Apostle of the Crusades. Sir Aubrey DeVere 44 
 
 A Valiant Swiss. James Montgomery 45 
 
 Deborah. Flavius Joseph us 47 
 
 Oliver Cromwell. T. B. Macaulay, John Milton 48 
 
 An Inspired Heroine. William Shakespeare, Frederic Schiller 5 1 
 
 John Howard, the Prison Reformer. Edmund Burke, William Lisle Botvles 58 
 "Choose Each Man What Becomes a Brave Castilian!" William H. 
 
 Prescott 62 
 
 Peter the Great. Archibald Alison, F. R. S 65 
 
 " It is Finished ; the Die is Cast ! " Thomas DeQuincey 68 
 
 "Liberty, Peace and Justice." Hon. J. B. Everhart 7° 
 
 Susanna Wesley. Nashville Christian Advocate 74 
 
 Queen Elizabeth. David Hume 76 
 
 Emancipation of the Serfs. Hezekiah Btitterworth 78 
 
 Trials and Triumphs of Genius. Horace Greeley 81 
 
 " Now I'm Made a Man for Life!" Heroes of Britain, etc 86 
 
 Alfred the Great. Charles Dickens 87 
 
 The Triumph of Greece. Robert Southey 88 
 
 PART II— HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 John Maynard. Horatio Alger, Jr 91 
 
 A Story of Struggle and Victory. John B. Gough 93 
 
 The Patriotic Courier. B. C. 490. Thomas Archer 96 
 
 V 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Blacksmith of Ragenbach. Frank Murry 97 
 
 Moliere's Last Day. Anonymous 99 
 
 The Drummer Boy. Anonymous IOO 
 
 A Model Woman. Christian at Work 102 
 
 Two Mothers. From the French of De destine 104 
 
 The Earl of Strafford and Charles I. Oliver Goldsmith 106 
 
 Pastor Dankwardt. Mrs. Annie Fields, in Harper' s Magazine 108 
 
 Mahmoud. Leigh Hunt HO 
 
 The Light Brigade at Balaclava. William H. Russell, Alfred Tennyson 1 13 
 
 Jephthah's Vow. N. P. Willis 117 
 
 The Greeks at Thermopylae. Lord Byron, George Croly 120 
 
 Regulus to the Carthaginians. Rev. Elijah Kellogg 122 
 
 A Wife's Devotion. Matilda Betham 125 
 
 The Broken Heart. Washington Lrving, Thomas Moore 126 
 
 The Roman Sentinel. Edward Bulwer Lytton 132 
 
 "The Noblest Knight of Spain." Reginald Heber 133 
 
 " Take These, for You will Want Them." Mrs. E. F. Ellet 136 
 
 Death of Gustavus Adolphus. Nineteenth Century 138 
 
 " Curfew Must Not Ring To-night. Rose Hartwick Thorpe 140 
 
 Demosthenes. E. S. Creasy 142 
 
 A Noble Example of Courage and Obedience. Mrs. F. D. Hemans 143 
 
 The Devoted Women of Weinsburg. Gottfried August Buerger 146 
 
 The Leap of Curtius. George Aspinwall 149 
 
 Heroism in Every-Day Life. Anonymous 151 
 
 Florence Nightingale. Miss J. M. S. Carter, Edwin Arnold 152 
 
 The Siege of Leyden. Chicago Standard. 155 
 
 A Valiant Suliote. Firs-Green Halleck 159 
 
 Lady Godiva. Alfred Tennyson 162 
 
 A True Hero. Dinah Muloch Craik 166 
 
 PART III— VALIANT EXPLOITS. 
 
 The Maid of Saragossa. Lord Byron 169 
 
 Heroic Americans. H F. K. 172 
 
 King's Mountain. Old Song 175 
 
 Feminine Intrepidity. William Bobbins 176 
 
 An Indian Hero. Lewistown (Afe.) Gazette 177 
 
 A Brave Girl. N. Y. Christian Advocate 178 
 
 The Glove and the Lions. Leigh Hunt 180 
 
 Mill River Ride, 1874. J. W.Donovan 181 
 
 A Wonderful Feat. Anonymous 182 
 
 The Relief of Lucknow. Robert Lowell 183 
 
 Heroism of Grace Darling. William Words7vorth : 186 
 
 The Milkmaids of Dort. Harper's Young People 189 
 
CONTENTS. vii 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Battle of Lexington. Oliver Wendell Holmes 190 
 
 John Sobieski Relieving Vienna, 1683. Copt. Charles King, U. S. A 192 
 
 "I'll Try, Sir." National Intelligencer 197 
 
 Bravery of Elizabeth Zane. Benson J. Lossing 199 
 
 A Heroine of the Revolution. Airs. E. F. Ellet 200 
 
 Sergeant Jasper. Southern Patriot 205 
 
 Miles Standish. Henry W. Longfellow 208 
 
 " We have Met the Enemy and They are Ours." J. T. Headley 212 
 
 Taylor at Buena Vista. H. W. Hilliard. 215 
 
 A Courageous Woman. Madame De Genlis 216 
 
 The Capture of Ticonderoga. George Bancroft 217 
 
 The Keeping of the Bridge. T. B. Macaulay 219 
 
 Catharine Vassent. E. Paxton Hood, D.D 223 
 
 PART IV— KNIGHTLY VIRTUES. 
 
 Flora MacDonald and the Pretender. Selected 227 
 
 Heroic Virtues of Sir Philip Sidney. Anonymous 230 
 
 "Here I Stand; I Cannot Do Otherwise; God Help Me!" Selected. 231 
 
 Tamerlane and the Dervis. Nicholas Powe 235 
 
 King Henry, IV, at Ivry. T. B. Macaulay 238 
 
 Lady Jane Grey. Wendell Phillips 240 
 
 A Humane and Honorable Englishman. Speech of William Pitt 243 
 
 Humanity of Robert Bruce. Sir Walter Scott 247 
 
 A Promise is Sacred. Edward Gibbon 248 
 
 Queen Philippa and the Burghers of Calais. John Frost 249 
 
 Volney Becker, the Hero Sailor Boy. William Chambers 254 
 
 The Connetable De Bourbon and Bayard. Archbishop Fenelon 257 
 
 George, IV, and Washington. William M. Thackeray 262 
 
 Emir Hassan. William Cullen Bryant 265 
 
 A Double Reward. Anonymous 266 
 
 PART V— PATRIOTISM. 
 
 Wat Tyler. Charles Dickens, Robert Southey 269 
 
 Germanicus to His Mutinous Troops. Tacitus 273 
 
 Degeneracy of Athens. Demosthenes 275 
 
 Defence of Pra Del Tor. /. A. Wylie 276 
 
 Henry, V, to His Soldiers at the Siege of Harfleur. William Shakespeare... 278 
 
 The Song of Marion's Men. William Cullen Bryant 279 
 
 Courage of an American Officer. Anonymous 281 
 
 Toussaint L'Ouverture. William Wordsworth, John G.Whittier 282 
 
 " Dead on the Field of Honor." From the French. 284 
 
 Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra. Edward Gibbon, William Ware 286 
 
viii CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Henry, V, and the Hermit of Dreux. Robert Southey 290 
 
 Kosciusko. Thomas Campbell, Anonymous 292 
 
 Tell On His Native Mountains. J. Sheridan Knowles 298 
 
 Against Taxing America. Edmund Burke 300 
 
 Against Bribery. Demosthenes 3 QI 
 
 Rienzi's Address. Mary Russell Mitford 3°3 
 
 Cincinnatus. Oliver Goldsmith 3°4 
 
 Fate of the Indians. Joseph Story 3°6 
 
 Irish Aliens. Richard Lalor Shiel 3°7 
 
 Spartacus to the Gladiators at Capua. Rev. Elijah Kellogg 309 
 
 Warren's Address at Buntcer Hill. John Pierpont 311 
 
 ''A Time to Pray and a Time to Fight." Life of Muhlenburg 312 
 
 Rolla's Address to the Peruvians. R. B. Sheridan 314 
 
 Paul Revere's Ride. Henry W. Longfellow 3 X 5 
 
 Tedesile, the Heroine of Nancy. Selected 3 l % 
 
 Regulus to the Roman Senate. Rev. T.Dale 323 
 
 The Young Tyrolese. Miss Agnes Strickland. 325 
 
 Impressment of Americans. Richard Rush 3 2 9 
 
 "Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death." Patrick Henry 330 
 
 A Noble Queen. Flavins Josephus 333 
 
 Verres Denounced. Cicero 335 
 
 Herve Riel. Robert Browning , 337 
 
 A Patriot's Last Appeal. Robert Emmet 34 1 
 
 Reply to M. D. Breze. Mirabeau 344 
 
 A Plea for Justice to the Cherokees. William Wirt 345 
 
 Leperdit, the Tailor. M. Betham Edwards 347 
 
 Bruce to the Scots at Bannockburn. Robert Burns 348 
 
 The Monk and the King. Eclectic Review 349 
 
 PART VI.— INTEGRITY. 
 
 Defence of Socrates. James Thomson, Socrates 353 
 
 The Prisoner of Chillon. Lord Byron 355 
 
 " These Are My Jewels." Anonymous 35& 
 
 "While I Live I Shall Despise the Peril." John P. Curran 359 
 
 A Beautiful Story. S. T Coleridge 3°o 
 
 The Incorruptible Physician. Front the German 361 
 
 The Incorruptible Patriot. Ed'cuard C. Jones 363 
 
 A Devoted Philanthropist. Hubert Howe Bancroft 364 
 
 A Noble Friend of Freedom. George Wm. Curtis, James Russell Lowell.... 368 
 
 Fabricius and King Pyrrhus. Fabricius 37° 
 
 The Early Christians. Edward Gibbon 371 
 
 Noble Peasants. The World of Anecdote 37 2 
 
 Alexander the Great and Abdolonymus. Quintus Curtius 373 
 
CONTENTS. IX 
 
 PART VII— MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Best Kind of Revenge. William Chambers 377 
 
 The Soldier's Pardon. James Smith 370 
 
 Paganini and the Street Player. The Great Violinists 381 
 
 Hadrian and the Planter. Anonymous 382 
 
 Generosity of Bermudo, I. De Liagno's Repertory 383 
 
 Nothing Comes by Chance. Anonymous , 384 
 
 The Hermit and the Minstrel. Mrs. Anna Jameson 386 
 
 The Father of His Country and the Yankee Boy. Golden Days 388 
 
 A Philanthropic. Pastor. Lije of Fliedner 392 
 
 Magnanimity of Saladin. Sir Walter Scott 304 
 
 Bravery and Magnanimity of the Spartans. Plutarch 400 
 
 After Forty Centuries. Golden Ride 401 
 
 Royal Magnanimity. Anonymous 402 
 
 Humboldt and the Young Scientist. Louis Agassiz 403 
 
 Casimir, II, and Konarski. Anonymous 404 
 
 The Man of Ross. Alexander Pope 405 
 
 Last Hours of Madame Roland. Alphonso de Lamartine 406 
 
 The Countess' Pillar. William Wordsworth 409 
 
 The King and the Miller. Examiner and Chronicle 410 
 
 PART VIII— DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 The Heroes of Berkenhead. Miss E. G. Barber. 
 
 413 
 
 "One Hand for Injuries, Another for God." N. Y. Independent 415 
 
 The Monk of Jarrow. Merriweather 's " Glimmerings in the Dark." 416 
 
 John Milton. William Wordsworth, Quarterly Review 418 
 
 The Apostle of Temperance. Alexander M. Sullivan, M. P. 419 
 
 Death of President Lincoln. Henry Ward Beecher 422 
 
 Henry Martin at Shiraz. Dean Henry Alford. 424 
 
 A True Hero. Anonymous 426 
 
 Obeying Orders. Anonymous . 428 
 
 The Key-note of a Successful Life. Rev. Daniel Wise, D. D 429 
 
 Cardinal Woolsey to Thomas Cromwell. William Shakespeare 430 
 
 Paul Before Festus and Agrippa. "The Acts." 432 
 
 The Village Preacher. Oliver Goldsmith 434 
 
 Gregory the Great. John G. Whittier 43c 
 
 A Deserved Rebuke. Anonymous .' 430 
 
 The Great Apostle of Charity. Life of Oberlin 440 
 
 "Not Weary in Well Doing." Stevenson 's " Working and Praying." 446 
 
 Wilberforce and Voltaire. William B. Sprague 447 
 
 "Prince's Blood for Oxen's Blood." Frederic Schiller 449 
 
 Indian Fortitude. Black Hawk 452 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Fortitude of the Pilgrim Fathers. Rufus Choate 454 
 
 Bourdaloue Before the King. Rev. C. M. Butler, D.D 456 
 
 A Benevolent and Wonderful Man. John Foster 458 
 
 PART IX— FIDELITY TO HOME AND KINDRED. 
 
 King Priam, of Troy, and Achilles. Homer 461 
 
 " He Lies Concealed Here." Anonymous 465 
 
 Rizpah. William Cullen Bryant 466 
 
 Veturia and Volumnia. Great Sieges of History 468 
 
 Penelope, the Faithful Wife. " Life of Man." 470 
 
 A Good Son. Thomas Campbell : 474 
 
 The Escape of Grotius. E. Paxton Hood, D. D 477 
 
 " I am Joseph ; Doth My Father Yet Live ? " Rev. James Blair, D. D 478 
 
 Bravery of General Schuyler's Little Daughter. B.J. Lossing. 481 
 
 David's Lament for Absalom. N. P. Willis 484 
 
 PART X— TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Damon and Pythias. Archbishop Fenelon 489 
 
 Pocahontas. Jar ed Sparks 493 
 
 Allucius and His Bride. Siege of Carthagena 496 
 
 A Faithful and Noble Friendship. From the German 499 
 
 The Power of Music. Anonymous 5°° 
 
 The Troubadour and Richard Cceur de Lion. Mrs. F. D. Hemans 504 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 The Mother, Wife and Son of Coriolanus Entreating Him to 
 
 Spare Rome Frontispiece 
 
 Columbus' First Sight of Land 28 
 
 Joan of Arc Wounded at Orleans 52 
 
 "Drawing his Sword, Pizarro Traced a Line with It," etc 64 
 
 The Golden Age of Greece 88 
 
 The Battle of Thermopylae 120 
 
 Death of Gustavus Adolphus at Lutzen 138 
 
 Marcus Curtius Leaping into the Chasm 149 
 
 Perry leaving the "Lawrence" to bring the "Niagara" into Action 212 
 
 Luther Burning the Pope's Bull 232 
 
 Henry IV at Ivry 238 
 
 The Dying Bayard Reproaching the Connetable de Bourbon 258 
 
 Queen Esther 334 
 
 Rizpah Protecting the Bodies of her Sons 466 
 
 The Indian Princess, Pocahontas 493 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Any attempt to do good is always worthy of commen- 
 dation ; and to impart useful knowledge, to instill sound 
 principles, and to inspire virtuous affections, and thus to 
 elevate and ennoble the character of man, must ever be 
 regarded among the most worthy and honorable efforts of 
 which we are capable. Different methods have been pursued, 
 and various means have been employed to accomplish these 
 ends. Some have done great good by wise and judicious 
 conversation, some by patient and laborious teaching, and 
 others by original productions as writers. But the author of 
 this volume has adopted a plan, which, while differing from 
 each of these ways, embraces, in a large measure, the ad- 
 vantages of them all. 
 
 Concerning the end proposed by this compilation, there can 
 be but one opinion. While men differ in their views in regard 
 to many political, philosophical and religious tenets, there are 
 certain principles of action and a certain class of practical 
 virtues, which all approve and all admire ; because, the former 
 have ever been the main-spring of all the upward progress 
 which mankind have made, and the latter have ever diffused 
 the most beneficent influence over the spirit and habits of 
 society. Any effort or means, therefore, that serves to present 
 these principles and virtues in such a clear and forcible 
 manner as to convince the mind and impress the heart with a 
 due sense of their importance, cannot well be over-estimated. 
 And I know of no means or method better calculated to 
 effect this than that presented in this work. 
 
 It is an indisputable fact that one of the most effective 
 
Xll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 means of expanding and invigorating the mind, awakening 
 generous impulses, and forming a strong and noble character, 
 is to cultivate early familiarity with great men, great deeds 
 and great events — with the brilliant achievements, the disin- 
 terested sacrifices and heroic actions of those whose exertions 
 were crowned with lasting effects, or whose purity and loftiness 
 of purpose have rendered them inspiring and immortal ex- 
 amples. Passages from standard works, in which eye witnesses, 
 faithful historians, or true poets, have described such scenes 
 and actors, address themselves directly and forcibly to the 
 mind, especially of the young, and leave impressions thereon 
 as vivid and enduring as the conceptions of a master artist 
 laid upon the canvass. The effect never dies out; but, 
 consciously or unconsciously, will have its influence upon the 
 mind and heart through life. 
 
 In the following pages the reader will find a rich and varied 
 store of such passages, both in prose and poetry, gathered 
 from wide fields of literature, ancient and modern, and which 
 have been selected and arranged with rare judgment. Indeed, 
 here is garnered no small part of the moral and intellectual 
 wealth which has been produced and accumulated by the 
 successive generations of the past, embracing a great number 
 of the choicest gems which history has preserved for us. 
 Among these are narratives of events, delineations of character 
 and descriptions of scenes, which are fraught with instruction, 
 and cannot be read but with thrilling interest. Here the 
 Parent, the Teacher and the Pastor will find some of the most 
 nutritious food for the mind that they can lay before those 
 whom they seek to instruct, and which they are sure to relish. 
 A lesson communicated by a plain statement of truth or duty 
 has its value and may do good ; but if that lesson be 
 conveyed through the example of a living man, nobly acting 
 it out, amid the discouragements, or difficulties, or dangers of 
 real life, it will not fail to awaken far deeper interest, and 
 produce a far more influential and lasting impression. 
 
 To study the character and contemplate the examples of 
 
INTRODUCTION. Xlll 
 
 men of sterling integrity, men of true courage, men of living 
 and lofty piety, in trying or extraordinary circumstances, 
 banishing all thoughts of personal loss or gain, suffering or 
 enjoyment, in their devotion to truth, right and duty — this has 
 an influence and a power to reproduce a like tone of character 
 and nobleness of soul, which no preceptive teaching can be 
 invested with. Acquaintance with such exemplars of goodness 
 and greatness imparts a sense as well as a knowledge of their 
 principles. They furnish the mind with noble images and fill 
 the heart with magnanimous impulses. They exalt the whole 
 man, and imbue him with respect for all that is great or good, 
 elevated or illustrious. And such are the fruits which the 
 attentive perusal of this Work is well calculated to produce. 
 
 The subjects, for convenience of reference, are classified 
 under ten heads. I. Grand Achievements, in the service of 
 Liberty, Science, Philanthropy, Invention, Discovery, etc. 
 
 2. Heroic Sacrifices, for Principle and Virtue, Country and 
 Kindred, Friends and Enemies, Sick and Wounded, etc. 
 
 3. Valiant Exploits, to save Cities and Homes, Armies and 
 Fleets, Rights and Honor, Life and Property, etc. 4. Knightly 
 Virtues, exhibited in defending the Friendless, sparing the 
 Vanquished, returning Good for Evil, enduring Calamities, 
 Suffering, Martyrdom, etc. 5. Patriotism, as displayed by 
 Americans, English, Scotch, Irish, Swiss, Poles, Jews, Greeks, 
 Romans, etc. 6. Integrity, superior to bribes and blandish- 
 ments, threats and tortures, in Judges, in Philosophers, in 
 Christians, in Patriots, in Soldiers, in Peasants, etc. 7. Mag- 
 nafrimity, toward Friends and Foes, toward the Undeserving 
 and Ungrateful, toward Debtors and Opposers, Accusers and 
 Persecutors, etc. 8. Devotion to Duty, amid Difficulties and 
 Discouragements, Opposition and Violence, the Perils of 
 battle and shipwreck, the Presages and Pains of death, etc. 
 9. Fidelity to Home and Kindred, displayed by Princes and 
 Peasants, Captives and Exiles, Husbands and Wives, Parents 
 and Children, etc. 10. Friendship, true and stronger than 
 death, among Ancients and Modern, Savage and Civilized, etc. 
 
XIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 In this rich and varied collection, we have illustrations of 
 all the highest virtues, active and passive, of which human 
 nature is capable. Here is a mirror reflecting in clear light 
 all that is good, or great, or God-like in man. No person to 
 good inclined can look into this mirror and not feel his soul 
 inspired to nobler deeds and a more worthy life. And no 
 person to evil bent can stand before its reflection and not be 
 made to feel the meanness and odiousness of vice in all its 
 forms, for 
 
 "A fault doth never with remorse our minds so deeply move, 
 As when another's guiltless life our error doth reprove." 
 
 In bringing together, therefore, and presenting to the public, 
 this array of bright examples, in men as well as women, in 
 the young as well as old, the Compiler of this volume has 
 done a good work, and rendered to his country a most 
 valuable service. 
 
 H. W. M. 
 
^IPART Lfc 
 
 I^Ecnrd oi Grand Achievement 
 
 c 
 
 ij . 
 
x Thrre is a tide in the affairs «fmei»,. 
 Which, tah*n at the flood, leads on to fortune. 1 * 
 
 —Shakeapemts 
 
A RECORD 
 
 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 THERE SHALL BE NO ALPS!" 
 
 — Napoleon. 
 
 N the eastern frontier of France there surge 
 up from luxuriant meadows and vine-clad 
 fields and hillsides the majestic ranges of 
 the Alps, piercing the clouds and soaring 
 with glittering pinnacles into the region of 
 perpetual ice and snow. Vast spurs of the 
 mountains extend on each side, opening 
 gloomy gorges and frightful defiles, through 
 which foaming torrents rush impetuously, walled in by almost 
 precipitous cliffs, whose summits, crowned with melancholy 
 firs, are inaccessible to the foot of man. 
 
 The principal pass over this enormous ridge was that of the 
 Great St. Bernard. The traveler, accompanied by a guide and 
 mounted on a mule, slowly and painfully ascended a steep and 
 rugged path, now crossing a narrow bridge spanning a fathom- 
 less abyss, again creeping along the edge of a precipice, where 
 the eagle soared and screamed over the fir-tops in the abyss 
 below, and where a perpendicular wall rose to giddy heights 
 in the clouds above. The path, at times, was so narrow that 
 it seemed that the mountain goat could with difficulty find » 
 2 17 
 
18 (j RAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 foothold for its slender hoof. A false step, or a slip on the icy 
 rocks, would precipitate the traveler, a mangled corpse, a thou- 
 sand feet, upon the fragments of granite in the gulf beneath. 
 As higher and higher he climbed these wild and rugged and 
 cloud-enveloped paths, borne by the unerring instinct of the 
 faithful mule, his steps were often arrested by the roar of the 
 avalanche, and he gazed, appalled, upon its resistless rush, as 
 rocks and trees, and earth, and snow and ice, swept by him 
 with awful and resistless desolation, far down into the dimly- 
 discerned torrents which rushed beneath his feet. 
 
 At God's bidding the avalanche fell. No precaution could 
 save the traveler who was in its path. He was instantly borne 
 to destruction, and buried where no voice but the archangel's 
 trump could ever reach his ears. Terrific storms of wind and 
 snow often swept through these bleak altitudes, blinding and 
 smothering the traveler. Hundreds of bodies, like pillars of 
 ice embalmed in snow, are now sepulchred in those drifts, 
 there to sleep till the fires of the last conflagration shall have 
 consumed their winding-sheets. Having toiled two days 
 through such scenes of desolation and peril, the adventurous 
 traveler stands upon the summit of the pass, eight thousand 
 feet above the level of the sea, two thousand feet higher than 
 the crest of Mount Washington, our own mountain Monarch. 
 This summit, over which the path winds, consists of a small, 
 level plain, surrounded by mountains of snow of still higher 
 elevation. 
 
 The scene here presented is inexpressibly gloomy and 
 appalling. Nature, in these wild regions, assumes her most 
 severe and sombre aspect. As one emerges, from a precipitous 
 and craggy ascent, upon this Valley of Desolation, as it is 
 emphatically called, the Convent of St. Bernard presents itself 
 to view. This cheerless abode, the highest spot of inhabited 
 ground in Europe, has been tenanted for more than a thousand 
 years by a succession of joyless and self-denying monks, who, 
 in that frigid retreat of granite and ice, endeavor to serve their 
 Maker by rescuing bewildered travelers from the destruction 
 
" THERE SHALL BE NO ALPS'". 19 
 
 in which they are ever threatened to be overwhelmed by 
 the storms which battle against them. In the middle of this 
 ice-bound valley lies a lake, clear, dark and cold, whose depths, 
 even in midsummer, reflect the eternal glaciers which soar 
 sublimely around. 
 
 The descent to the plains of Italy is even more precipitous 
 and dangerous than the ascent from the green pastures of 
 France. No vegetation adorns these dismal and storm-swept 
 cliffs of granite and of ice. Even the pinion of the eagle fails 
 in its rarefied air, and the chamois ventures not to climb its 
 steep and slippery crags. No human beings are ever to be 
 seen on these bleak summits, except the few shivering trav- 
 elers who tarry for an hour to receive the hospitalities of the 
 Convent, and the hooded monks, wrapped in thick and coarse 
 garments, with their staves and their dogs, groping through 
 the storms of sleet and snow. Even the wood which burns 
 with frugal faintness on the hearths is borne in painful bur- 
 dens up the mountain sides, upon the shoulders of the monks. 
 
 Such was the barrier which Napoleon intended to surmount, 
 that he might fall upon the rear of the Austrians, who were 
 battering down the walls of Genoa, where Massena was be- 
 sieged, and who were thundering, flushed with victory, at the 
 very gates of Nice. Over this wild mountain pass, where the 
 mule could with difficulty tread, and where no wheel had ever 
 rolled, or by any possibility could roll, Napoleon contemplated 
 transporting an army of sixty thousand men, with ponderous 
 artillery, and tons of cannon-balls and baggage, and all the 
 bulky munitions of war. England and Austria laughed the 
 idea to scorn. The achievement of such an enterprise was 
 apparently impossible. Napoleon, however, was as skillful in 
 the arrangement of the minutest details as in the conception 
 of the grandest combinations. 
 
 The appointed hour had arrived. On the 7th of May, 1800, 
 Napoleon entered his carriage at the Tuileries. At a word 
 the whole majestic army was in motion. Like a meteor he 
 swept over France. He arrived at the foot of the mountain, 
 
20 . GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 The troops and all the paraphernalia of war were on the spot 
 at the designated hour. Napoleon immediately appointed a 
 very careful inspection. Every foot-soldier and every horse- 
 man passed before his scrutinizing eye. If a shoe was ragged, 
 or a jacket torn, or a musket injured, the defect was immedi- 
 ately repaired. His glowing words inspired the troops with 
 the ardor that was burning in his bosom. Two skillful engi- 
 neers had been sent to explore the path, and to do what could 
 be done in the removal of obstructions. They returned with 
 an appalling recital of the apparently insurmountable difficul- 
 ties in the way. " Is it possible" inquired Napoleon, "to cross 
 the path " ? " Perhaps," was the hesitating reply, " it is within 
 the limits of possibility!' " Forward, then," was the energetic 
 response. 
 
 High on those craggy steeps, gleaming through the mists, 
 the glittering bands of armed men, like phantoms, appeared. 
 The eagle wheeled and screamed beneath their feet. The 
 mountain goat, affrighted by the unwonted spectacle, bounded 
 away, and paused in bold relief upon the cliff, to gaze at the 
 martial array which so suddenly had peopled the solitude. 
 When they approached any spot of very especial difficulty the 
 trumpets sounded the charge, which re-echoed, with sublime 
 reverberations, from pinnacle to pinnacle of rock and ice. 
 Animated by these bugle notes, the soldiers strained every 
 nerve, as if rushing upon the foe. 
 
 When they arrived at the summit, each soldier found, to his 
 surprise and joy, the abundant comforts which Napoleon's 
 care had provided. One would have anticipated there a scene 
 of terrible confusion. To feed an army of sixty thousand 
 hungry men is not a light undertaking. Yet everything was 
 so carefully arranged, and the influence of Napoleon so bound- 
 less, that not a soldier left the ranks. Each man received his 
 slice of bread and cheese, and quaffed his cup of wine, and 
 passed on. It was a point of honor for no one to stop. What- 
 ever obstructions were in the way were to be, at all hazards, 
 surmounted, that the long file, extending nearly twenty miles, 
 
THE BARONS AND KING JOHN. 
 
 21 
 
 might not be thrown into confusion. The descent was more 
 perilous than the ascent. But fortune seemed to smile. The 
 sky was clear, the weather delightful, and in four days the 
 army was reassembled on the plains of Italy. 
 
 Jno S. C. Abbott. 
 
 THE BARONS AND KING JOHN. 
 
 HENRY HALLAM. 
 
 N the reign of John, all the rapacious actions 
 usual to the Norman kings were not only 
 redoubled, but mingled with other outrages 
 of tyranny still more intolerable. These, too, 
 were to be endured at the hands of a prince 
 utterly contemptible for his folly and coward- 
 ice. One is surprised at the forbearance 
 displayed by the barons, till they took arms, 
 at length, in that confederacy which ended in 
 establishing the Great Charter of Liberties. As this was the 
 first effort toward a legal government, so it is beyond compari- 
 son the most important event in our history, except that 
 revolution without which its benefits would rapidly have been 
 annihilated. The constitution of England has, indeed, no single 
 date from which its duration is to be reckoned. The institutions 
 of positive law, the far more important changes which time has 
 wrought in the order of society during six hundred years sub- 
 sequent to the Great Charter, have undoubtedly lessened its 
 direct application to our present circumstances. But it is still 
 the keynote of English liberty. All that has since been ob- 
 tained is little more than as confirmation or commentary; and 
 if every subsequent law were to be swept away, there would 
 still remain the bold features that distinguish a free from a 
 despotic monarchy. It has been lately the fashion to depreciate 
 the value of Magna Charta, as if it had sprung from the private 
 ambition of a few selfish barons, and redressed only some feudal 
 
22 GRAXD ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 abuses. It is, indeed, of little importance by what motives 
 those who obtained it were guided. The real characters of men 
 most distinguished in the transactions of that time are not 
 easily determined at present. Yet if we bring these ungrateful 
 suspicions to the test, they prove destitute of all reasonable 
 foundation. An equal distribution of civil rights to all classes 
 of freemen forms the peculiar beauty of the Charter. In this 
 just solicitude for the people, and in the moderation which 
 infringed upon no essential prerogative of the monarchy, we 
 may perceive a liberality and patriotism very unlike the sel- 
 fishness which is sometimes rashly imputed to those ancient 
 barons. And as far as we are guided by historical testimony, 
 two great men, the pillars of our Church and State, may be 
 considered as entitled, beyond all the rest, to the glory of this 
 monument: Stephen Langton, Archbishop of Canterbury, and 
 William, Earl of Pembroke. To their temperate zeal for a 
 legal government England was indebted, during that critical 
 period, for the two greatest blessings that patriotic statesmen 
 could confer; the establishment of civil liberty upon an im- 
 movable basis, and the preservation of national independence 
 under the ancient line of sovereigns, which rasher men were 
 about to exchange for the dominion of France. 
 
 By the Magna Charta of John reliefs were limited to a cer- 
 tain sum, according to the rank of the tenant, the waste com- 
 mitted by guardians in chivalry restrained, the disparagement 
 in matrimony of female wards forbidden, and widows secured 
 from compulsory marriage. These regulations, extending to 
 the sub-vassals of the crown, redressed the worst grievances 
 of every military tenant in England. The franchise of the 
 city of London and of all the towns and boroughs was de- 
 clared inviolable. The freedom of commerce was guaranteed 
 to alien merchants. The Court of Common Pleas, instead of 
 following the king's person, was fixed at Westminster. The 
 tyranny exercised in the neighborhood of royal forests met 
 with some check, which was further enforced by the charter 
 of forests, under Henry III. 
 
THE BARONS AND KING JOHN. 23 
 
 But the essential clauses of Magna Charta are those which 
 protect the personal liberty and property of all freemen, by 
 giving security from arbitrary imprisonment and arbitrary 
 spoliation. " No freeman," says the twenty-ninth chapter of 
 Henry Ill's Charter, which I quote in preference to that of John, 
 the variations not being very material, " shall be taken or im- 
 prisoned, or be disseised of his freehold, or liberties or free 
 customs, or be outlawed or exiled, or any otherwise destroyed; 
 nor will we pass upon him, nor send upon him, but by lawful 
 judgment of his peers, or by the law of the land. We will 
 sell to no man, we will not deny or delay to any man, judgment 
 or right." It is obvious that these words, interpreted by any 
 honest court of law, convey an ample security for the two 
 main rights of civil society. From the era, therefore, of King 
 John's Charter, it must have been a clear principle of our con- 
 stitution, that no man can be detained in prison without trial. 
 Whether courts of justice framed the writ of habeas corpus in 
 conformity to the spirit of this clause, or found it already in 
 their register, it became from that era the right of every sub- 
 ject to demand it. That writ, rendered more actively remedial 
 by the statute of Charles II, but founded upon the broad basis 
 of Magna Charta, is the principal bulwark of English liberty; 
 and if ever temporary circumstances, or the doubtful plea of 
 political necessity, shall lead men to look on its denial with 
 apathy, the most distinguished characteristic of our constitu- 
 tion will be effaced. 
 
 As the clause recited above protects the subject from any 
 absolute spoliation of his freedom rights, so others restrain the 
 excessive amercements, which had an almost equally ruinous 
 operation. The magnitude of his offence, by Henry Ill's 
 Charter, must be the measure of his fine; and in every case 
 the contonement (a word expressive of chattels necessary to 
 each man's station — as the arms of a gentleman, the merchan- 
 dise of a trader, the plow and wagons of a peasant) was ex- 
 empted from seizure. A provision was made in the Charter 
 of John, that no aid or escuage should be imposed, except in 
 
24 
 
 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 the three feudal cases of aid, without consent of Parliament. 
 And this was extended to aids paid by the city of London. 
 But the clause was omitted in the three charters granted by 
 Hemy III, though Parliament seems to have acted upon it in 
 most part of his reign. It had, .however, no reference to 
 tollages imposed upon towns without their consent. Fourscore 
 years were yet to elapse before the great principle of parlia- 
 mentary taxation was explicitly and absolutely recognized. 
 
 A law which enacts that justice shall neither be sold, denied 
 nor delayed, stamps with infamy that government under which 
 it had become necessary. But from the time of the charter,, 
 according to Madox, the disgraceful perversions of right which 
 are upon record in the rolls of the Exchequer become less 
 frequent. 
 
 From this era a new soul was infused into the people of 
 England. Her liberties, at best long in abeyance, became a 
 tangible possession, and those indefinite aspirations for the 
 laws of Edward the Confessor were changed into a steady 
 regard for the Great Charter. 
 
 TRIUMPHS OF COPERNICUS. 
 
 EDWARD EVERETT. 
 
 OPERNICUS, after harboring in his bosom for 
 long, long years that pernicious heresy, the 
 solar system, died on the day of the appearance 
 of his book from the press. The closing scene 
 of his life, with a little help from the imagina- 
 tion, would furnish a noble subject for an artist. 
 For thirty-five years he has revolved and 
 matured in his mind his system of the heavens. A natural 
 mildness of disposition, bordering on timidity ; a reluctance 
 to encounter controversy, and a dread of persecution, have 
 led him to withhold his work from the press, and to make 
 
TRIUMPHS OF COPERNICUS. 25 
 
 known his system to but a few confidential friends and 
 disciples. 
 
 At length he draws near his end ; he is seventy-three years 
 of age, and he yields his work on "The Revolutions of the 
 Heavenly Orbs" to his friends, for publication. The day at 
 last has come on which it is to be ushered into the world. It 
 is the twenty-fourth of May, 1543. On that day — the effect, 
 no doubt, of the intense excitement of his mind operating on 
 an exhausted frame — an effusion of blood brings him to the 
 gates of the grave. His last hour is come; he lies stretched 
 upon the couch from which he will never rise, in his apartment 
 in the Canonry at Frauenberg, in East Prussia. The beams 
 of the setting sun glance through the Gothic windows of his 
 chamber; near his bedside is the armillary sphere with which 
 he has contrived to represent his theory of the heavens; his 
 picture, painted by himself, the amusement of his earlier years, 
 hangs before him; beneath it his astrolabe and other imperfect 
 astronomical instruments, and around him are gathered his 
 sorrowing disciples. The door of the apartment opens; the 
 eye of the departing sage is turned to see who enters; it is a 
 friend, who brings him the first printed copy of his immortal 
 treatise. He knows that in that book he contradicts all that 
 had ever been distinctly taught by former philosophers; he 
 knows that he has rebelled against the sway of Ptolemy, which 
 the scientific world had acknowledged for a thousand years; 
 he knows that the popular mind will be shocked by his inno- 
 vations; he knows that the attempt will be made to press even 
 religion into the service against him; but he knows that his 
 book is true. 
 
 He is dying, but he leaves a glorious truth as his dying 
 bequest to the world. He bids the friend who has brought it 
 place himself between the window and his bedside, that the 
 sun's rays may fall upon the precious volume, and he may 
 behold it once, before his eye grows dim. He looks upon it, 
 takes it in his hands, presses it to his breast, and expires. But 
 no, he is not wholly gone ! A smile lights up his dying counte- 
 
26 
 
 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 nance; a beam of returning intelligence kindles in his eye; his 
 lips move, and the friend who leans over him can hear him 
 faintly murmur the beautiful sentiments which the Christian 
 lyrist of a later age has so finely expressed in verse : — 
 
 " Ye golden lamps of Heaven, farewell, with all your feeble light! 
 Farewell, thou ever-changing moon, pale empress of the night! 
 And thou, refulgent orb of day, in brighter flames arrayed, 
 My soul, which springs beyond thy sphere, no more demands thy aid ; 
 Ye stars are but the shining dust of my divine abode, 
 The pavement of those heavenly courts, where I shall reign with God." 
 
 GUSTAVUS VASA TO THE DELECARLIANS. 
 
 HRISTIAN II, King of Denmark, having made 
 himself master of Sweden, confined Gustavus at 
 Copenhagen; but he, making his escape, con- 
 trived to reach the Delecarlian Mountains, 
 where he worked in the mines, like a common 
 slave. Having seized a favorable opportunity, 
 he declared himself to the miners and peasants, 
 whom he incited to join his cause. Fortune befriended him, 
 and in the year 1527 he gained the throne of Sweden: — 
 
 "Swedes! countrymen! behold, at last, 
 After a thousand dangers past, 
 
 Your chief, Gustavus, here ! 
 Long have I sighed 'mid foreign bands, 
 Long have I roamed in foreign lands ; — 
 At length, 'mid Swedish hearts and hands, 
 
 I grasp a Swedish spear ! 
 
 " Yet, looking forth, although I see 
 None but the fearless and the free, 
 Sad thoughts the sight inspires ; 
 For where, I think, on Swedish ground, 
 Save where these mountains frown around, 
 Can that best heritage be found — 
 The freedom of our sires ? 
 
GUSTA VUS VASA TO THE DELECARLIANS. 27 
 
 " Yes, Sweden pines beneath the yoke ; 
 The galling chain our fathers broke 
 
 Is round our country now ! 
 On perjured craft and ruthless guilt 
 His power a tyrant Dane has built, 
 And Sweden's crown, all blood-bespilt, 
 
 Rests on a foreign brow. 
 
 " On you, your country turns her eyes, 
 On you, on you, for aid relies, 
 
 Scions of noblest stem ! 
 The foremost place in rolls of fame, 
 By right your fearless fathers claim ; 
 Yours is the glory of their name, 
 
 'Tis yours to equal them. 
 
 " As rushing down, when winter reigns, 
 Resistless, to the shaking plains, 
 
 The torrent tears its way, 
 And all that bars its onward course 
 Sweeps to the sea with headlong force, 
 So swept your sires the Dane and Norse : — 
 
 Can ye do less than they ? 
 
 " Rise ! re-assert your ancient pride, 
 And down the hills a living tide 
 
 Of fiery valor pour. 
 Let but the storm ©f battle lower, 
 Back to his den the foe will cower ; — 
 Then, then, shall Freedom's glorious hour 
 
 Strike for our land once more ! 
 
 " What ! silent, motionless ye stand ? 
 Gleams not an eye ? Moves not a hand ? 
 
 Think ye to fly your fate ? 
 Or, till some better cause be given, 
 Wait ye ? Then wait ! till, banished, driven, 
 Ye fear to meet the face of Heaven ; — 
 Till ye are slaughtered, wait ! 
 
 " But no ! your kindling hearts gainsay 
 The thought. Hark ! hear that bloodhound's bay ! 
 
 Yon blazing village see ! Rise, countrymen, 
 Awake ! Defy the haughty Dane ! 
 Your battle cry be Freedom ! 
 We will do or die ! On ! 
 
 Death, or victory ! " — Anonymous. 
 
28 
 
 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 COLUMBUS. 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING. 
 
 ' Steer on, bold sailor; wit may mock thy soul, that sees the land, 
 And hopeless, at the helm, may droop the weak and weary hand; 
 Yet ever, ever to the west, for there the coast must lie, 
 And dim it dawns, and glimmery dawns, before thy reason's eye; 
 Yea, trust the guiding God, and go along the floating graves ; 
 Though hid till now, yet now behold the new world o'er the seas ! 
 With Genius, Nature stands in solemn union still, 
 And ever what the one foretells, the other shall fulfill. 
 
 Frederic Schiller, Bulwers translation. 
 
 OLUMBUS was a man of great and inventive 
 genius; the operations of his mind were ener- 
 getic, but irregular, bursting forth at times with 
 that irresistible force which characterizes intel- 
 lects of such an order. His mind had grasped 
 all kinds of knowledge connected with his pur- 
 suits ; and though his information may appear 
 limited at the present day, and some of his errors palpable, 
 it is because that knowledge in his peculiar department of 
 science was but scantily developed in his time. His own 
 discoveries enlightened the ignorance of that age, guided 
 conjecture to certainty, and dispelled numerous errors with 
 which he himself had been obliged to struggle. 
 
 His ambition was lofty and noble. He was full of high 
 thoughts, and anxious to distinguish himself by great achieve- 
 ments. It has been said that a mercenary feeling mingled 
 with his views, and that his stipulations with the Spanish Court 
 were selfish and avaricious. The charge is inconsiderate and 
 unjust. He aimed at dignity and wealth in the same lofty 
 spirit in which he sought renown ; but they were to arise from 
 the territories he should discover, and be commensurate in 
 
COLUMBUS' FIRST SIGHT OF LAND. 
 
COLUMBUS. 29 
 
 importance. No condition could be more just. He asked 
 nothing of the sovereigns but a command of the countries he 
 hoped to give them, and a share of the profits to support the 
 dignity of his command. If there should be no country dis- 
 covered, his stipulated vice-royalty would be of no avail ; and 
 if no revenues should be produced, his labors and perils 
 would produce no gain. If his command and revenues 
 ultimately proved magnificent, it was from the magnificence 
 of the regions he had attached to the Castilian crown. 
 What monarch would not rejoice to gain empire on such 
 conditions ! 
 
 His conduct as a discoverer was characterized by the 
 grandeur of his views and the magnanimity of his spirit 
 Instead of scouring the newly-found countries, like a grasping 
 adventurer eager only for immediate gain, as was too generally 
 the case with contemporary discoverers, he sought to ascertain 
 their soil and productions, their rivers and harbors. He was 
 desirous of colonizing and cultivating them, of conciliating 
 and civilizing the natives; of building cities, introducing 
 the useful arts, subjecting everything to the control of law, 
 order and religion, and thus of founding regular and pros- 
 perous empires. In this glorious plan he was constantly 
 defeated by the dissolute rabble which it was his misfortune 
 to command, with whom all law was tyranny, and all order 
 restraint. 
 
 Columbus was a man of quick sensibility, liable to great 
 excitement, to sudden and strong impressions and powerful 
 impulses. He was naturally irritable and impetuous, and 
 keenly sensible to injury or injustice ; yet the quickness of his 
 temper was counteracted by the benevolence and generosity of 
 his heart. The magnanimity of his nature shone forth through 
 all the troubles of his stormy career. Though continually 
 outraged in his dignity, and braved in the exercise of his com- 
 mand ; though foiled in his plans and endangered in his 
 person by the seditions of turbulent and worthless men, and 
 that, too, at times when suffering under anxiety of mind and 
 
30 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 anguish of body sufficient to exasperate the most patient, yet 
 he restrained his valiant and indignant spirit, and by the 
 strong power of his mind brought himself to forbear, and 
 reason, and even to supplicate ; nor should we fail to notice 
 how free he was from all feeling of revenge; how ready to 
 forgive and forget, on the least signs of repentance and atone- 
 ment. He has been extolled for his skill in controlling others, 
 but far greater praise is due to him for the firmness he dis- 
 played in governing himself. 
 
 His natural benignity made him accessible to all kinds of 
 pleasurable influences from external objects. In his letters 
 and journals, instead of detailing circumstances with the tech- 
 nical precision of a mere navigator, he notices the beauties 
 of Nature with the enthusiasm of a poet or a painter. As he 
 coasts the shores of the New World, the reader participates in 
 the enjoyment with which he describes, in his imperfect but 
 picturesque Spanish, the varied objects around him; the bland- 
 ness of the temperature, the purity of the atmosphere, the 
 fragrance of the air, " full of dew and sweetness," the verdure 
 of the forests, the magnificence of the trees, the grandeur of 
 the mountains, and the limpidity and freshness of the running 
 streams. 
 
 He was devoutly pious ; religion mingled with the whole 
 course of his thoughts and actions, and shone forth in all his 
 most private and unstudied writings. Whenever he made any 
 great discovery, he celebrated it by solemn thanks to- God. 
 The voice of prayer and the melody of praise rose from his 
 ships when they first beheld the New World, and his first 
 action on landing was to prostrate himself on the earth and 
 render up thanksgivings. Every evening the Salve Regina 
 and other vesper hymns were chanted by his crew, and masses 
 were performed in the beautiful groves that bordered the wild 
 shores of this heathen land. 
 
 The religion thus deeply seated in his soul diffused a sober 
 dignity and benign composure over his whole demeanor. His 
 language was pure and guarded, free from all imprecations, 
 
COLUMBUS. 31 
 
 oaths, and other irreverent expressions. All his great enter- 
 prises were undertaken " in the name of the Holy Trinity," 
 and he partook of the holy sacrament previous to embarka- 
 tion. He observed the festivals of the Church in the wildest 
 situations. The Sabbath was with him a day of sacred rest, 
 on which he would never set sail from a port, unless in a case 
 of extreme necessity. 
 
 He was decidedly visionary, but a visionary of an un- 
 common and successful kind. The manner in which his 
 ardent, imaginative and mercurial nature was controlled by a 
 powerful judgment, and directed by an acute sagacity, is the 
 most extraordinary feature in his character. Thus governed, 
 his imagination, instead of exhausting itself in idle flights, lent 
 aid to his judgment, and enabled him to form conclusions at 
 which common minds could never have arrived, nay, which 
 they could not perceive when pointed out. With all the 
 visionary fervor of his imagination, its fondest dreams fell 
 short of the reality. He died in ignorance of the real 
 grandeur of his discovery. Until his last breath he enter- 
 tained the idea that he had merely opened a new way to the 
 old resorts of opulent commerce, and had discovered some of 
 the wild regions of the East. He supposed Hispaniola to be 
 the ancient Ophir which had been visited by the ships of 
 Solomon, and that Cuba and terra firma were but remote 
 parts of Asia. What visions of glory would have broken 
 upon'his mind, could he have known that he had indeed dis- 
 covered a new continent, equal to the whole of the Old World 
 in magnitude, and separated by two vast oceans from all the 
 earth hitherto known by civilized man ! And how would his 
 magnanimous spirit have been consoled amid the afflictions of 
 age and the cares of penury, the neglect of a fickle public and 
 the injustice of an ungrateful king, could he have anticipated 
 the splendid empires which were to spread over the beautiful 
 world he had discovered, and the nations, and tongues, and 
 languages which were to fill its lands with his renown, and to 
 revere and bless his name to the latest posterity. 
 
32 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 ARMINIUS TO HIS SOLDIERS. 
 
 RMINIUS, called Hermann by the Germans, 
 prince of the Cherusci, a German tribe, was the 
 liberator of Germany. He was born about 16 
 B. C, and in his youth became a Roman citizen 
 of the equestrian order, and served on the 
 Danube as leader of an auxiliary body of the 
 Cherusci. On his return, finding his country 
 smarting under the oppression of the Roman 
 commander, Varus, he organized an extensive conspiracy. 
 The news having reached Rome, Varus was ordered to march 
 against him, in October, A. D. 9. 
 
 Arminius at first waged a sort of guerrilla warfare, but very 
 soon closed in on the Romans, and in a terrible three days' 
 fight utterly cut them to pieces, Varus eventually taking his 
 own life. This destruction of the Roman legions filled Rome 
 with grief and shame, and for several days Augustus would 
 only utter the words, "Varus, give me back my legions!" 
 
 In the year 1 5 A. D. the Romans sent another powerful army, 
 of over 80,000 men, under Germanicus, against him, which, 
 by a feigned retreat, he drew into a narrow pass, and then 
 turned on them with such terrible fury that they with difficulty 
 escaped annihilation. 
 
 The next Spring Germanicus again entered Germany, with 
 an army of 100,000, and this, too, was finally forced to retreat. 
 This was the last time that Roman armies invaded Germany, 
 beyond the Rhine, and Arminius is, therefore, justly called the 
 Liberator. 
 
 Soldiers and friends ! we soon shall reach the ground 
 Where your poor country waits the sacrifice, 
 The holiest offering, of her children's blood! 
 Here have we come, not for the lust of conquest, 
 Not for the booty of the lawless plunderer ; 
 No, friends, we come to tell our proud invaders 
 That we will use our strength to purchase freedom ! 
 
MARGUERITE, OF FRANCE. 33 
 
 Freedom— prime blessing of this fleeting life ! 
 Is there a man that hears thy sacred name 
 And thrills not to the sound with loftiest hope, 
 With proud disdain of tyrants' whips and chains? 
 Much injured friends, your slavish hours are past ! 
 Conquest is ours ! not that your German swords 
 Have keener edges than the Roman falchions ; 
 Not that your shields are stouter, nor your armor 
 Impervious to the swift and deadly lance ; 
 Not that your ranks are thicker than the Roman- 
 No, no ; they will outnumber you, my soldiers 
 
 But that your cause is good ! They are poor slaves 
 
 Who fight for hire and plunder— pampered ruffians, 
 
 Who have no souls for glory. We are Germans, 
 
 Who here are bound, by oaths indissoluble, 
 
 To keep our glorious birthrights or to die ! 
 
 This is a field where beardless boys might fight, 
 
 And, looking on, the angel Liberty 
 
 Might put such mettle in their tender arms 
 
 That veteran chiefs would ill ward off their blows. 
 
 I say no more, my dear and trusty friends ! 
 Your glorious rallying-cry has music in it 
 To rouse the sleepiest spirit from his trance, 
 For Freedom and Germania ! 
 
 Arthur Murphy. 
 
 MARGUERITE, OF FRANCE. 
 
 HE was the wife of Louis IX, of France, 
 known in history as Saint Louis. While 
 besieged by the Turks in Damietta, Egypt, 
 A. D. 1250, during the captivity of the King, 
 her husband, she gave birth to a son, whom 
 she named Tristan, in commemoration of 
 her misfortunes. Information being con- 
 veyed to her that the knights intrusted with 
 the defence of the city had resolved on capitulation, she had 
 them summoned to her apartment, and by her heroic words, 
 so animated their spirits that they vowed to defend her and 
 the Cross to the last extremity. 
 3 
 
34 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 The Conquest of Jerusalem, in 1 244, by the Kharesmians, 
 and the treacherous massacre of its inhabitants, so wrought 
 upon King Louis that he resolved to undertake the Seventh 
 Crusade, which had been proclaimed at the Council of Lyons, 
 A. D. 1245. 
 
 After several years of preparations, he at length set sail for 
 Egypt, landed near Damietta, captured the city, and after 
 garrisoning it strongly, took up the march toward Cairo. 
 Meanwhile, the Turks rallied in great numbers, and a bloody 
 battle was fought at Mansoora, in which the King's brother 
 was killed, and the King himself and his army of thirty thou- 
 sand compelled to surrender. The Infidels next turned their 
 attention toward recapturing Damietta. The proposal to 
 capitulate is attributed, by French historians, to the " Knights 
 
 of Pisa," Italy. Hence the Queen's allusion to 
 
 " those recreant knights from the bands of Italy." 
 
 Mrs. Felicia D. Hemans has fittingly commemorated the 
 leading incidents connected with the siege, in the following 
 graceful lines : — 
 
 The Moslem spears were gleaming 
 
 Round Damietta's towers, 
 Though a Christian banner, from her wall, 
 
 Waved free its lily flowers. 
 Aye, proudly did the banner wave, 
 
 As Queen of Earth and Air ; 
 But faint hearts throbbed beneath its folds, 
 
 In anguish and despair. 
 
 Deep, deep in Paynim dungeon, 
 
 Their kingly chieftain lay, 
 And low on many an Eastern field 
 
 Their knighthood's best array. 
 'Twas mournful, when at feasts they met, 
 
 The wine-cup round to send, 
 For each that touched it silently 
 
 Then missed a gallant friend ! 
 
 And mournful was their vigil, 
 
 On the beleaguered wall, 
 And dark their slumber, dark with dreams 
 
 Of slow defeat and fall. 
 
MARGUERITE, OF FRANCE. 35 
 
 Vet, a few hearts of chivalry- 
 Rose high to breast the storm, 
 
 And one, of all, the loftiest there, 
 Thrilled in a woman's form. 
 
 A woman, meekly bending 
 
 O'er the slumber of her child, 
 With her soft, sad eyes of weeping love, 
 
 As the Virgin Mother's mild. 
 O ! roughly cradled was thy babe, 
 
 'Midst the clash of spear and lance, 
 And a strange, wild bower, was thine, young queen, 
 
 Fair Marguerite, of France ! 
 
 A dark and vaulted chamber, 
 
 Like a scene for wizard spell, 
 Deep in the Saracenic gloom 
 
 Of the warrior citadel ; 
 And there, 'midst arms, the couch was spread, 
 
 And with banners curtained o'er, 
 For the daughter of the minstrel-land, 
 
 The gay Provencal shore ! 
 
 For the bright Queen of St. Louis, 
 
 The Star of court and hall ! 
 But the deep strength of the gentle heart 
 
 Wakes to the trumpet's call ! 
 Her lord was in the Paynim's hold, 
 
 His soul with grief oppressed, 
 Yet, calmly lay the Desolate, 
 
 With her young babe on her breast ! 
 
 There were voices in the city, 
 
 Voices of wrath and fear — 
 " The walls grow weak, the strife is vain, 
 
 We will not perish here ! 
 Yield ! yield ! and let the Crescent gleam 
 
 O'er tower and bastion high ! 
 Our distant homes are beautiful ; 
 
 We stay not here to die ! " 
 
 They bore those fearful tidings 
 
 To the sad Queen where she lay ; 
 They told a tale of wavering hearts, 
 
 Of treason and dismay : 
 
: 
 
 - . - 
 
 TV -.~;Mftdft*: -i JWMi, 
 
 . - 
 
 . - 
 1W bird of laeax . 
 
 v. 
 
 - 
 - 
 
 - 
 
 - - 
 
 I 
 
Q UE EN A R C HID A . VIA, % ~ 
 
 'ell your homes ye left one heart 
 To perish undefil*: 
 
 - ' . 
 H':.- .1 her child : " 
 
 ds they thrilled like leaves 
 When winds are in the wood ; 
 
 a deepening murmur told of n 
 Ro i led to a loi 
 
 her babe awoke to flashing sw 
 Unsheathed, in many a hand, 
 As they gathered round the helpless 
 Again a noble band ! 
 
 We are thy warriors, lady! 
 
 True to the Cross and thee! 
 The spirit of thy kindling word 
 
 On every sword shall be ! 
 Rest, with thy fair child on thy breast ; 
 
 it— we will guard thee well ; 
 St. Denis for the Lily-flower, 
 
 And the Christian citadel." 
 
 QUEEN ARCHIDAMIA. 
 
 jj^ N the year 279 B. C, Cleonymus, of the blood 
 royal of Sparta, who had been excluded from 
 the throne by the Spartan people to give place 
 to Areus, invited the powerful King Pyrrhus 
 of Epirus to aid him in recovering his pos- 
 sessions. Pyrrhus marched to Sparta, and 
 supposing that he should not meet with any 
 resistance, ordered his tents to be pitched, 
 and sat quietly down before the city. Night 
 coming on, the Spartans, in consternation, met in council, 
 and resolved to send their women to Crete, for safety. 
 Thereupon the women assembled and remonstrated against 
 it; and the Queen Archidamia, being appointed to speak 
 for the rest, went into the council hall, with a sword in her 
 hand, and boldly upbraiding the men, told them they did 
 
38 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 their wives great wrong if they thought them so faint- 
 hearted as to live after Sparta was destroyed. The women then 
 rushed to the defences of the city, and spent the night aiding 
 the men in digging trenches; and when Pyrrhus attacked 
 on the morrow, he was so severely repulsed that he soon 
 abandoned the siege and retired from Laconia. The heroism 
 and patriotic spirit of the Spartan women is fittingly depicted 
 in the following verses : — 
 
 The chiefs met in the council hall ; 
 
 Their words were sad and few ; 
 They were ready to fight, and ready to fall 
 
 As the sons of heroes do. 
 
 And moored in the harbor of Gytheum lay 
 
 The last of the Spartan fleet 
 That should bear the Spartan women away 
 
 To the sunny shores of Crete. 
 
 Their hearts went back to the days of old ; 
 
 They thought of the world-wide shock 
 When the Persian hosts like an ocean rolled 
 
 To the foot of the Grecian rock ; 
 
 And they turned their faces, eager and pale, 
 
 To the rising roar in the street, 
 As if the clank of the Spartan mail 
 
 Were the tramp of the conqueror's feet. 
 
 It was Archidamia, the Spartan queen, 
 
 Brave as her father's steel ; 
 She stood like the silence that comes between 
 
 The flash and the thunder-peal. 
 
 She looked in the eyes of the startled crowd ; 
 
 Calmly she gazed around ; 
 Her voice was neither low nor loud, 
 
 But it rang like her sword on the ground. 
 
 " Spartans ! " she said — and her woman's face 
 
 Flushed out both pride and shame — 
 " I ask, by the memory of your race, 
 
 Are ye worthy of the name ? 
 
QUEEN A R CHID A MIA. 39 
 
 " Ye have bidden us seek new hearths and graves, 
 Beyond the reach of the foe ; 
 And now, by the dash of the blue sea waves, 
 We swear that we will not go ! 
 
 " Is the name of Pyrrhus to blanch your cheeks ? 
 Shall he burn, and kill, and destroy ? 
 Are ye not sons of the deathless Greeks 
 Who fired the gates of Troy ? 
 
 " What though his feet have scathless stood 
 In the rush of the Punic foam ? 
 Though his sword be red to its hilt with the blood 
 That has beat at the heart of Rome ? 
 
 " Brothers and sons ! we have reared you men ; 
 Our walls are the ocean swell ; 
 Our winds blew keen down the rocky glen, 
 Where the staunch Three Hundred fell. 
 
 " Our hearts are drenched in the wild sea flow, 
 In the light of the hills and the sky ; 
 And the Spartan women, if need be so, 
 Will teach the men to die. 
 
 "We are brave men's mothers, and brave men's wives : . 
 We are ready to do and dare ; 
 We are ready to man your walls with our lives, 
 And string your bows with our hair. 
 
 " Let the young and the brave lie down to-night, 
 And dream of the brave old dead, 
 Their broad shields bright for to-morrow's fight, 
 Their swords beneath their head. 
 
 "Our breasts are better than bolts and bars ; 
 We neither wail nor weep ; 
 We will light our torches at the stars, 
 And work while our warriors sleep. 
 
 "We hold not the iron in our blood 
 Viler than strangers' gold ; 
 The memory of our motherhood 
 Is not to be bought and sold. 
 
42 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 having under his hand the best soldiers in Europe, the greatest 
 captains of the times, the gold of America, the industry of 
 Flanders, the science of Italy, an army of informers chosen 
 from all nations, fanatically devoted to himself, the blind 
 instruments of his will ; the most astute, the most mysterious 
 of the princes of his time; having on his side everything that 
 enchains, corrupts, terrifies, and moves the world — arms, 
 riches, glory, genius, religion. Before this formidable being, 
 around whom all creatures prostrate themselves, rises William 
 the Silent. 
 
 This man, without a kingdom and without an army, is more 
 powerful than he., Like Philip, he has been a disciple of 
 Charles V, and has learned the art of founding thrones, and 
 the art of overturning them as well. Like Philip, he is astute 
 and impenetrable ; but he sees more clearly, with the eyes of 
 his intellect, into the future. He possesses, as does his enemy, 
 the faculty of reading the souls of men ; but he has also what 
 his enemy has not, the power of gaining their hearts. He has 
 a good cause to sustain; but he knows how to make use of all 
 the arts by which bad ones are supported. Philip, who spies 
 out and reads all men, is himself spied out and read by him. 
 The designs of the great king are discovered and circumvented 
 before they are put in action ; mysterious hands search his 
 caskets and his pockets, and mysterious eyes read his secret 
 papers ; William in Holland reads the thoughts of Philip in 
 the Escorial ; foresees, unravels, overturns all his plots ; mines 
 the earth under his feet ; provokes, and flies before him, but 
 returns again perpetually, like a phantom that he sees but 
 cannot clutch, or clutching cannot destroy. And when at last 
 he dies, victory remains with him dead, and defeat with his 
 living enemy. Holland is without her head, but the Spanish 
 monarchy is shaken to its fall, and never will recover. 
 
 In this prodigious struggle,. in which the figure of the king 
 becomes smaller and smaller until it finally disappears, that of 
 the Prince of Orange grows and grows, until it becomes the 
 most glorious figure of the century. 
 
WILLIAM THE SILENT AND PHILIP II. 43 
 
 On that day when, hostage with the King of France, he 
 discovered the design of Philip to establish the Inquisition in 
 the Low Countries, he consecrated himself to the defence of 
 the liberties of his country, and never in his life did he hesitate 
 for one moment, in the path he had chosen. The advantages 
 of noble birth, a royal fortune, the peaceful and splendid exist- 
 ence that he loved by nature and habit, he sacrificed all for his 
 country ; proscribed and reduced to poverty, he constantly 
 rejected the offers of pardon and favor that were made to him 
 under a thousand forms and a thousand ways, by the enemy 
 who hated him and feared him. Surrounded by assassins, the 
 mark for the most atrocious calumnies, accused even of 
 cowardice before the enemy, and of the murder of the wife 
 whom he adored ; looked upon sometimes with suspicion by 
 the very people whom he was defending ; he bore all with 
 calmness and with silence. He went about his chosen work, 
 confronting infinite peril with tranquil courage. Never did he 
 flatter or bend before the people, never was he blinded by 
 their passion ; he was their guide, their chief, their leader 
 always ; he was the mind, the conscience, and the arm of the 
 revolution ; the beacon-fire whence irradiated the heat by 
 which his country lived. 
 
 Great in audacity as in prudence, he preserved his integrity 
 in the time of perjury and perfidy ; calm in the midst of 
 violence, he kept his hands immaculate when all the courts in 
 Europe were stained with blood. With an army gathered up 
 here and there, with allies weak and doubtful, harassed by the 
 internal discords of Lutheran and Calvinist, noble and burgher, 
 magistrate and people, with no great captains under him, he 
 had to struggle against the municipal spirit of the provinces 
 that scoffed at his authority and slipped from under his hand, 
 and he triumphed in a cause that seemed above human con- 
 trol ; he tired out the Duke of Alva, he tired out Requescens, 
 he tired out Don John of Austria, he tired out Alexander 
 Farnese ; he brought to nought the plots of foreign princes 
 who wished to succor his country in order to subjugate it; he 
 
42 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 having under his hand the best soldiers in Europe, the greatest 
 captains of the times, the gold of America, the industry of 
 Flanders, the science of Italy, an army of informers chosen 
 from all nations, fanatically devoted to himself, the blind 
 instruments of his will ; the most astute, the most mysterious 
 of the princes of his time; having on his side everything that 
 enchains, corrupts, terrifies, and moves the world — arms, 
 riches, glory, genius, religion. Before this formidable being, 
 around whom all creatures prostrate themselves, rises William 
 the Silent. 
 
 This man, without a kingdom and without an army, is more 
 powerful than he.. Like Philip, he has been a disciple of 
 Charles V, and has learned the art of founding thrones, and 
 the art of overturning them as well. Like Philip, he is astute 
 and impenetrable ; but he sees more clearly, with the eyes of 
 his intellect, into the future. He possesses, as does his enemy, 
 the faculty of reading the souls of men ; but he has also what 
 his enemy has not, the power of gaining their hearts. He has 
 a good cause to sustain; but he knows how to make use of all 
 the arts by which bad ones are supported. Philip, who spies 
 out and reads all men, is himself spied out and read by him. 
 The designs of the great king are discovered and circumvented 
 before they are put in action ; mysterious hands search his 
 caskets and his pockets, and mysterious eyes read his secret 
 papers ; William in Holland reads the thoughts of Philip in 
 the Escorial ; foresees, unravels, overturns all his plots ; mines 
 the earth under his feet; provokes, and flies before him, but 
 returns again perpetually, like a phantom that he sees but 
 cannot clutch, or clutching cannot destroy. And when at last 
 he dies, victory remains with him dead, and defeat with his 
 living enemy. Holland is without her head, but the Spanish 
 monarchy is shaken to its fall, and never will recover. 
 
 In this prodigious struggle,. in which the figure of the king 
 becomes smaller and smaller until it finally disappears, that of 
 the Prince of Orange grows and grows, until it becomes the 
 most glorious figure of the century. 
 
WILLIAM THE SILENT AND PHILIP II. 43 
 
 On that day when, hostage with the King of France, he 
 discovered the design of Philip to establish the Inquisition in 
 the Low Countries, he consecrated himself to the defence of 
 the liberties of his country, and never in his life did he hesitate 
 for one moment, in the path he had chosen. The advantages 
 of noble birth, a royal fortune, the peaceful and splendid exist- 
 ence that he loved by nature and habit, he sacrificed all for his 
 country ; proscribed and reduced to poverty, he constantly 
 rejected the offers of pardon and favor that were made to him 
 under a thousand forms and a thousand ways, by the enemy 
 who hated him and feared him. Surrounded by assassins, the 
 mark for the most atrocious calumnies, accused even of 
 cowardice before the enemy, and of the murder of the wife 
 whom he adored ; looked upon sometimes with suspicion by 
 the very people whom he was defending; he bore all with 
 calmness and with silence. He went about his chosen work, 
 confronting infinite peril with tranquil courage. Never did he 
 flatter or bend before the people, never was he blinded by 
 their passion ; he was their guide, their chief, their leader 
 always ; he was the mind, the conscience, and the arm of the 
 revolution ; the beacon-fire whence irradiated the heat by 
 which his country lived. 
 
 Great in audacity as in prudence, he preserved his integrity 
 in the time of perjury and perfidy ; calm in the midst of 
 violence, he kept his hands immaculate when all the courts in 
 Europe were stained with blood. With an army gathered up 
 here and there, with allies weak and doubtful, harassed by the 
 internal discords of Lutheran and Calvinist, noble and burgher, 
 magistrate and people, with no great captains under him, he 
 had to struggle against the municipal spirit of the provinces 
 that scoffed at his authority and slipped from under his hand, 
 and he triumphed in a cause that seemed above human con- 
 trol ; he tired out the Duke of Alva, he tired out Requescens, 
 he tired out Don John of Austria, he tired out Alexander 
 Farnese ; he brought to nought the plots of foreign princes 
 who wished to succor his country in order to subjugate it; he 
 
44 
 
 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 conquered sympathy and aid from every part of Europe ; and 
 completing one of the most splendid revolutions in history, 
 founded a free state in spite of an empire that was the terror 
 of the universe. 
 
 This man, so tremendous and grand a figure before the 
 world, was also a loving husband and father, a kind friend and 
 affable companion, fond of gayety and festivals, a magnificent 
 and polished host. He was accomplished, knowing, besides 
 the Flemish tongue, French, German, Spanish, Italian, Latin, 
 and could discourse learnedly of most things. Although sur- 
 named William the Silent, he was one of the most eloquent 
 men of his day. He was simple in his manners — plain in his 
 dress ; loved, and was beloved by the people. 
 
 He was indeed the father, rather than the son of his country. 
 The sentiments of admiration and gratitude that still live for him 
 in the hearts of the Hollanders have all the intimate and tender 
 character cf filial affection ; his venerated name may still be 
 heard in their mouths ; his greatness, despoiled of every vail or 
 ornament, remains entire, clear, firm and solid, like his work. 
 
 THE APOSTLE OF THE CRUSADES. 
 
 jETER, the Hermit, the first apostle of the Cru- 
 sades, was born of good family, in the diocese 
 of Amiens, France, about the middle of the 
 eleventh century, and died in the Monastery 
 of Huy in 1 115. 
 
 After trying several pursuits, he became a 
 hermit, and about 1 093 undertook a pil- 
 **$ grimage to Jerusalem, where the oppressions 
 
 he witnessed and experienced determined him to arouse the 
 people of Christendom to undertake a war for the liberation 
 of the holy sepulchre. The first host of crusaders was led by 
 Peter himself. Though unsuccessful as a military leader, he 
 
A VALIANT SWISS. 
 
 45 
 
 nevertheless had the satisfaction of seeing the conquest of 
 Jerusalem by a succeeding crusade, under the command of the 
 valiant Godfrey de Bouillon, who accorded to him the honor of 
 preaching a sermon to the Crusaders on the Mount of Olives. 
 His appearance at the Council of Clermont, his fiery zeal and 
 impetuosity, and the effects of his stirring appeals, are well set 
 forth in the following sonnet : — 
 
 Amid the throng the Hermit stood; so wan, 
 Careworn and travel-soiled ; with genius high 
 Throned on his brow, shrined in his spiritual eye. 
 The Hermit spoke, and through the council ran 
 A tremor, not of fear ; as in the van, 
 Chafing before embattled chivalry, 
 A proud steed listens for the clarion's cry, 
 So sprang they to their feet ; and every man, 
 Pontiff and prince, prelate and peer, caught up 
 Their sword, and kissed the crosiered hilts, and swore, 
 As though their lips the sacramental cup 
 Had touched, Christ's sepulchre to free ! The shore 
 Of Asia heard that sound, in thunder hurled, — 
 " Deus id Vult," — from Clermont through the world ! 
 
 Sir Aubrey De Vere. 
 
 A VALIANT SWISS. 
 
 \ N the battle of Sempach, in the fourteenth cen- 
 tury, the martyr-patriot, Arnold Winkelried, 
 perceiving that there was no other means of 
 breaking the heavy-armed lines of the Aus- 
 trians than by gathering as many of their 
 spears as he could grasp together, opened, by 
 this means, a passage for his fellow-combat- 
 ants, who, with hammers and with hatchets, 
 hewed down the mailed men-at-arms and 
 won the victory. The, poet, James Montgomery, has vividly 
 depicted this novel charge upon the serried lances of the 
 enemy, in the following lines :- 
 
 "Make way for liberty ! " he cried — 
 Made way for liberty, and died ! 
 
46 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 In arms the Austrian phalanx stood, 
 A living wall, a human wood; 
 Impregnable their front appears, 
 horrent with projected spears. 
 Opposed to these, a hovering band 
 Contended for their fatherland ; 
 Peasants, whose newfound strength had broke 
 From manly necks the ignoble yoke ; 
 Marshaled once more at freedom's call, 
 They came to conquer or to fall. 
 
 And now the work of life and death 
 
 Hung on the passing of a breath ; 
 
 The hre of conflict burned within ; 
 
 The battle trembled to begin : 
 
 Yet, while the Austrians held their ground, 
 
 Point for assault was nowhere found ; 
 
 Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed, 
 
 The unbroken line of lances blazed ; 
 
 That line 't were suicide to meet 
 
 And perish at their tyrants' feet. 
 
 How could they rest within their graves, 
 
 To leave their homes the haunts of slaves ? 
 
 Would they not feel their children tread, 
 
 With clanking.chains, above their head ? 
 
 It must not be : this day, this hour, 
 Annihilates the invader's power ! 
 All Switzerland is in the field — 
 She will not fly ; she cannot yield ; 
 She must not fall ; her better fate 
 Here gives her an immortal date. 
 Few were the numbers she could boast, 
 But every freeman was a host, 
 And felt as 't were a secret known 
 That one should turn the scale alone, 
 While each unto himself was he 
 On whose sole arm hung victory. 
 
 It did depend on one, indeed ; 
 Behold him — Arnold Winkelried ! 
 There sounds not to the trump of Fame 
 The echo of a nobler name. 
 Unmarked, he stood amid the throng, 
 In rumination deep and long, 
 
DEBORAH. 47 
 
 Till you might see, with sudden grace, 
 
 The very thought come o'er his face, 
 
 And, by the motion of his form, 
 
 Anticipate the bursting storm, 
 
 And, by the uplifting of his brow, 
 
 Tell where the bolt would strike, and how. 
 
 But 't were no sooner thought than done — 
 
 The field was in a moment won ! 
 " Make way for liberty ! " he cried, 
 
 Then ran, with arms extended wide, 
 
 As if his dearest friend to clasp ; 
 
 Ten spears he swept within his grasp. 
 " Make way for liberty ! " he cried ; 
 
 Their keen points crossed from side to side; 
 
 He bowed among them like a tree, 
 
 And thus made way for liberty. 
 
 Swift to the breach his comrades fly — 
 " Make way for liberty ! " they cry, 
 And through the Austrian phalanx dart, 
 As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart; 
 While, instantaneous as his fall, 
 Rout, ruin, panic seized them all. 
 An earthquake could not overthrow 
 A city with a surer blow. 
 
 Thus Switzerland again was free — 
 Thus death made way for liberty. 
 
 DEBORAH. 
 
 A prophetess and judge of Israel. She holds the first rank 
 among the illustrious women mentioned in Scripture. She 
 freed the Hebrews from the yoke of the Canaanites, and gov- 
 erned them during forty years with as much glory as wisdom. 
 
 The Bible, which has not hidden the failings of the patri- 
 archs, which has shown the mistrust of Moses and Aaron, the 
 imprudence of Joshua, the incontinence of Sampson, the fall 
 of David, and the follies of Solomon, has recorded nothing of 
 Deborah but her hymns and prophecies, her victories and her 
 laws. Josephus. 
 
48 
 
 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 OLIVER CROMWELL. 
 
 T. B. MACAULAY. 
 
 Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud 
 Not of war only, but detraction rude, 
 Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, 
 
 To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed, 
 And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud 
 
 Hast reared God's trophies, and His work pursued, 
 While Darwen's stream, with blood of Scots imbrued, 
 
 And Dunbar field, resound thy praises loud, 
 
 And Worcester's laureate wreath. Yet much remains 
 To conquer still ; peace hath her victories 
 No less renowned than war. New foes arise, 
 
 Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains : 
 Help us to save free conscience from the paw 
 Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 'LIVER Cromwell passed his youth and the 
 prime of his manhood in a civil situation. 
 He never looked on war till he was more 
 than forty years old. He had first to form 
 himself and then to form his troops. Out 
 of raw levies he created an army, the bravest 
 and best disciplined, the most orderly in 
 peace, the most terrible in war, that Europe 
 had seen. He called this body into existence. He led it to 
 conquest. He never fought a battle without gaining a victory. 
 He never gained a victory without annihilating the force opposed 
 to him. Yet his triumphs were not the highest glory of his 
 military system. The respect which his troops paid to property, 
 their attachment to the laws and religion of their country, their 
 submission to the civil power, their temperance, their intelli- 
 gence, their industry, are without parallel. It was after the 
 Restoration that the spirit which their great leader had infused 
 into them was most signally displayed. At the command 
 
OLIVER CROMWELL. 49 
 
 of the established government, a government which had no 
 means of enforcing obedience, fifty thousand soldiers, whose 
 backs no enemy had ever seen, either in domestic or Conti- 
 nental war, laid down their arms, and retired into the mass of 
 the people; thenceforward to be distinguished only by superior 
 diligence, sobriety, and regularity in the pursuits of peace, from 
 the other members of the community which they had saved. 
 
 Cromwell was emphatically a man. He possessed, in an 
 eminent degree, that masculine and full-grown robustness of 
 mind, that equally-diffused intellectual health, which, if our 
 national partiality does not mislead us, has peculiarly charac- 
 terized the great men of England. Never was any ruler so 
 conspicuously born for sovereignty. The cup which has in- 
 toxicated almost all others sobered him. His spirit, restless 
 from its buoyancy in a lower sphere, reposed in majestic 
 placidity as soon as it had reached the level congenial to it. 
 He had nothing in common with that large class of men who 
 distinguish themselves in lower posts, and whose incapacity 
 becomes obvious as soon as the public voice summons them 
 to take the lead. Rapidly as his fortunes grew, his mind 
 expanded more rapidly still. Insignificant as a private citizen, 
 he was a great general ; he was a still greater prince. The 
 manner of Napoleon was a theatrical compound, in which the 
 coarseness of a revolutionary guard-room was blended with 
 the ceremony of the old Court of Versailles. Cromwell, by the 
 confession even of his enemies, exhibited in his demeanor 
 the simple and natural nobleness of a man neither ashamed 
 of his origin nor vain of his elevation ; of a man who had 
 found his proper place in society, and who felt secure that he 
 was competent to fill it. Easy, even to familiarity, where his 
 dignity was concerned, he was punctilious only for his country. 
 His own character he left to take care of itself; he left it to 
 be defended by his victories in war and his reforms in peace. 
 But he was a jealous and implacable guardian of the public 
 honor. He suffered a crazy Quaker to insult him in the midst 
 of Whitehall, and revenged himself only by liberating him and 
 4 
 
50 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 giving him a dinner. But he was prepared to risk the chances 
 of war to avenge the blood of a private Englishman. 
 
 No sovereign ever carried to the throne so large a portion 
 of the best qualities of the middling orders, so strong a sym- 
 pathy with the feelings and interests of his people. He was 
 sometimes driven to arbitrary measures ; but he had a high, 
 stout, honest, English heart. Hence it was that he loved to 
 surround his throne with such men as Hale and Blake. Hence 
 it was that he allowed so large a share of political liberty to 
 his subjects, and that, even when an opposition, dangerous to 
 his power and to his person, almost compelled him to govern 
 by the sword, he was still anxious to leave a germ from which, 
 at a more favorable season, free institutions might spring. We 
 firmly believe that, if his first Parliament had not commenced 
 its debates by disputing his title, his government would have 
 been as mild at home as it was energetic and able abroad. He 
 was a soldier — he had risen by war. Had his ambition been 
 of an impure or selfish kind, it would have been easy for him 
 to plunge his country into Continental hostilities on a large 
 scale, and to dazzle the restless factions which he ruled, by the 
 splendor of his victories. Some of his enemies have sneeringly 
 remarked that, in the successes obtained under his administra- 
 tion he had no personal share ; as if a man who had raised 
 himself from obscurity to empire, solely by his military talents, 
 could have any unworthy reason for shrinking from military 
 enterprise. This reproach is his highest glory. In the 
 success of the English navy he could have no selfish interests. 
 Its triumphs added nothing to his fame ; its increase added 
 nothing to his means of overawing his enemies; its great 
 leader was not his friend. Yet he took a peculiar pleasure in 
 encouraging that noble service, which, of all the instruments 
 employed by an English government, is the most impotent for 
 mischief, and the most powerful for good. His administration 
 was glorious, but with no vulgar glory. It was not one of 
 those periods of overstrained and convulsive exertion which 
 necessarily produce debility and languor. Its energy was 
 
AN INSPIRED HEROINE. 51 
 
 natural, healthful, temperate. He placed England at the head 
 of the Protestant interest, and in the first ranks of Christian 
 powers. He taught every nation to value her friendship and 
 to dread her enmity. But he did not squander her resources 
 in a vain attempt to invest her with that supremacy which no 
 power, in the modern system of Europe, can safely affect or 
 can long retain. % 
 
 This noble and sober wisdom had its reward. If he did not 
 carry the banners of the Commonwealth in triumph to distant 
 capitals ; if he did not adorn Whitehall with the spoils of the 
 Stadthouse and the Louvre ; if he did not portion out Flanders 
 and Germany into principalities for his kinsmen and his 
 generals; he did not, on the other hand, see his country 
 overrun by the armies of nations which his ambition had 
 provoked. He did not drag out the last years of his life in 
 exile and a prisoner in an unhealthy climate and under 
 an ungenerous jailor, raging with the impotent desire of 
 vengeance, and brooding over visions of departed glory. He 
 went down to his grave in the fullness of power and fame, and 
 left to his son an authority which any man of ordinary firmness 
 and prudence would have retained. 
 
 AN INSPIRED HEROINE. 
 
 Dauphin ! I am, by birth, a shepherd's daughter ; 
 
 My wit untrained in any kind of art ; 
 
 Heaven and our Lady gracious has it pleased 
 
 To shine on my contemptible estate ! 
 
 Lo! while I waited on my tender lambs, 
 
 And to sun's parching heat displayed my cheeks, 
 
 God's mother deigned to appear to me; 
 
 And, in a vision full of majesty, 
 
 Will'd me to leave my base vocation, 
 
 And free my country from calamity ! 
 
 Her aid she promised, and assured success ; 
 
 In complete glory she revealed herself; 
 
 And, whereas I was black and swart before, 
 
 With those clear rays which she infused on me 
 
 That beauty am I bless'd with, which you see ! 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
52 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 The following beautiful soliloquy represents Joan of Arc in 
 the act of departing forever from the abode of her infancy to 
 take command of the disorganized and dispirited armies of 
 France, when a feeling of regret seizes her and she says : — 
 
 Farewell, ye mountains, ye beloved glades ! 
 Ye lone and peaceful valleys, fare ye well ! 
 Through you Johanna never more may stray ! 
 For aye, Johanna bids you now farewell. 
 Ye meads which I have watered, and ye trees 
 Which I have planted, still in beauty bloom ! 
 Farewell, ye grottoes, and ye crystal springs ! 
 Sweet echo, vocal spirit of the vale, 
 Who sang'st responsive to my simple strain, 
 Johanna goes, and ne'er returns again. 
 
 Ye scenes where all my tranquil joys I knew 
 Forever now I leave you far behind ! 
 Poor foldless lambs, no shepherd now have you ! 
 O'er the wide heath stray henceforth unconfined ; 
 For I to danger's field, of crimson hue, 
 Am summon'd hence, another flock to find ; 
 Such is to me the Spirit's high behest ; 
 No earthly, vain ambition fires my breast. 
 
 For who in glory did on Horeb's height 
 Descend to Moses in the bush of flame 
 And bade him go and stand in Pharaoh's sight; 
 Who once to Israel's pious shepherd came, 
 And sent him forth, his champion in the fight; 
 Who aye hath loved the lowly shepherd train ; 
 He, from those leafy boughs, thus spoke to me : 
 " Go forth ! Thou shalt on earth my witness be. 
 
 "Thou in rude armor must thy limbs invest, 
 A plate of steel upon thy bosom wear ; 
 Vain, earthly love may never stir thy breast, 
 Nor passion's sinful glow be kindled there ; 
 Ne'er with the bride wreath shall thy locks be dress'd, 
 Nor on thy bosom bloom an infant fair ; 
 But war's triumphant glory shall be thine ; 
 Thy martial fame all women's shall outshine. 
 
 " For when in fight the stoutest hearts despair, 
 When direful ruin threatens France, forlorn, 
 Then thou aloft my oriflamme shalt bear, 
 
JOAN OF ARC WOUNDED AT THE SIEGE OF ORLEANS. 
 
AN INSPIRED HEROINE. 
 
 53 
 
 And swiftly as the reaper mows the corn 
 
 Thou shalt lay low the haughty conqueror ; 
 
 His fortune's wheel thou rapidly shalt turn, 
 
 To Gaul's heroic sons deliv'rance bring, 
 
 Relieve beleaguer'd Rheims, and crown thy king." 
 
 The heavenly Spirit promised me a sign ; 
 He sends the helmet, it hath come from Him; 
 Its iron filleth me with strength divine, 
 I feel the courage of the cherubim 
 As with the rushing of a mighty wind 
 It drives me forth to join the battle's din ; 
 The clanging trumpets sound, the chargers rear, 
 And the loud war-cry thunders in mine ear. 
 
 .Frederic Schiller. 
 
 URING the reign of Charles VII, of France, 
 the English resolved to besiege the most 
 important town in France, next to Paris, 
 Orleans, on the river Loire, almost in a 
 straight line to the south of Paris. The 
 English had gathered together ten thousand 
 men, and had begun by taking all the small 
 places near Orleans, so that they might send 
 no help to the town. Then the English army drew close 
 around the town, built forts, and prevented any food from 
 going in. The people of Orleans did all they could to defend 
 themselves, and for some time they managed to prevent the 
 English from doing their city much harm ; but they soon 
 began to feel the want of food, and they sent to ask for help 
 from the chief men of France. ' But no help came to them, 
 either from the great lords, who were all busy about business 
 of their own, or from the king, Charles VII, who was a weak, 
 idle man, and did not seem to care, so long as he himself was 
 safe and comfortable, whether or not the second city of his 
 country fell into the hands of his enemy. 
 
 Help did come to Orleans at last, but in a way in which no 
 one could have expected it. In a little village in Lorraine, on 
 the east side of France, there lived a peasant girl named Jeanne 
 
54 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 d'Arc. She was brought up like other children, by her parents, 
 taking the sheep out to the meadows when she was quite 
 young, and when she grew older, sitting at home and sewing 
 with her mother, while her brothers and sisters worked in the 
 fields. She could neither read nor write, but her mother 
 taught her all that she herself knew. Jeanne was fond of 
 being alone, and used often to go to an old beech tree near 
 the village, where it was supposed that fairies danced by night. 
 Here Jeanne would sit, by herself, when she wanted to think 
 quietly. As she grew older, she began to hear a great deal of 
 the war between England and France, which brought so much 
 distress and trouble to the people of France. She knew how 
 many hundreds of Frenchmen had lost their houses, their lands, 
 their friends, all that they cared about already, and how the war 
 was not yet nearly over, but seemed likely to go on, no one could 
 tell how much longer. The king, Charles, had some good gen- 
 erals who would have fought bravely for him; but he would 
 not listen to them, and spent all his time in amusing himself. 
 
 Jeanne thought of all this, till she longed to do something 
 to help her countrymen. She began to fancy that she saw 
 visions; that is, she thought she saw people and heard voices 
 which no one else could see or hear. It seemed at times, 
 always when she was alone, that three angels appeared to her 
 in a bright light, saying, "Jeanne, go to the help of the King 
 of France, and you will win back his kingdom for him." The 
 voices also told her to go to the captain of the town near, and 
 ask him to send her to the king. 
 
 Jeanne talked about her visions to her relations, and told 
 her parents that she wished to go to court to give the king a 
 message from heaven and to help him fight his enemies. 
 They refused for some time to let her go ; but she at last 
 found an uncle who took her to the captain of the town near 
 at hand, and asked him to send her to the king. The captain 
 would not hear of it for some time; but at last some of the 
 chief people of the place saw her, and, having talked with her, 
 promised to go with her to the court. 
 
AN INSPIRED HEROINE. 55 
 
 Charles heard of her, and sent to say he would receive her; 
 the people of the town bought her a horse ; the captain gave 
 her a sword ; and so she set off, with a few soldiers to guard 
 her. When she was presented at the court, the king had 
 hidden himself among his courtiers, and put one of them, 
 richly dressed, on the throne, to see whether Jeanne would 
 know which was the real king. She went straight up to 
 Charles, and though at first he said, to try her, that he was not 
 the king, she declared that he was, and went on to tell him 
 that she was sent by God to save his country from the 
 English. At last, he was persuaded to listen to her, and even 
 to believe what she said. 
 
 The first thing she wished to do was to go to the help of 
 Orleans. The king put her at the head of a body of soldiers, 
 and sent them on their way. They marched toward Orleans, 
 all the people as they passed through the country coming out 
 to look at Jeanne in her shining armor, on her fine horse. 
 From this time she always dressed herself like a man, which 
 was more convenient for the soldier's life she had to lead. 
 
 Jeanne at this time was only seventeen ; but she had so 
 much good sense and power of understanding that the captains 
 were glad to have her help and advice, and so were all her friends 
 by the time they came to Orleans, where they made their way 
 into the town, and were welcomed with delight by the people. 
 They all looked upon Jeanne as a saint ; and the English, who 
 had heard so much of her, were frightened, and thought she 
 would be able to bewitch them, or do them harm in some 
 strange way. 
 
 The first time that they met her in battle they did not dare 
 to resist, but gave way before her. She was afraid of no one ; 
 her friends were always made braver themselves by seeing her 
 courage in battle, for she went straight on as if nothing could 
 hurt her, and both her friends and enemies believed more and 
 more that she was a special messenger sent from God to the 
 help of France. 
 
 Orleans was saved by her help. The siege had already 
 
56 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 lasted for some time, and the English were tired with the 
 efforts they had made. They saw that the people of Orleans 
 were less likely to yield now than before. The English 
 general was killed one day by a shot from the walls of the 
 town, and at last, a week after Jeanne had come into the city, 
 the English army left all the forts and towers that they had 
 built round Orleans and marched away, leaving the town free. 
 
 Jeanne had one more great wish. The king had never yet 
 been solemnly crowned. It was the custom for kings of 
 France to be crowned at a place called Rheims, and Jeanne 
 wished to take Charles to Rheims and have him crowned king. 
 Charles had been amusing himself while Jeanne was at 
 Orleans, and made no objection to anything that was pro- 
 posed. They all went together to Rheims, meeting the 
 English on the way, and defeating them in a great battle. In 
 Rheims itself there were no enemies ; the French had only to 
 march in, and they were masters. Charles was crowned king, 
 with Jeanne standing by his side, with the standard or flag in 
 her hand. 
 
 When this was over, Jeanne wished to go back to her old 
 home and live again with her parents. She had now been 
 away for nearly three months, and she had done the two great 
 things which she had wished to do for her country — saving 
 Orleans and having the king crowned. But the captains of 
 Charles begged her to stay with the army. They found that 
 the English feared her, and their own soldiers admired her so 
 much that they thought while she was with f.hem they were 
 certain to succeed. Jeanne agreed to stay, but from this time 
 she was often sad and disturbed, and was sometimes heard to 
 say, " I shall not live more than a year." 
 
 The English still held Paris, and Jeanne led an army to try 
 to make its way into that city. Here she failed for the first 
 time, and she and her men were driven back from the walls. 
 The favorites of the king were growing jealous of Jeanne; 
 they found that Charles listened more to her than he did to 
 them. They began trying to prevent her from winning any 
 
AN INSPIRED HEROINE. 57 
 
 more glory by her victories, and sometimes even refused to 
 send soldiers out with her, or to listen to her advice on ques- 
 tions about the war. At last, she one day went with a party 
 of French soldiers outside a town in which many of the French 
 soldiers were gathered together, and where she had been 
 staying. The English, with some of the French who still took 
 their part, were outside the walls, and Jeanne and her men 
 were surrounded by the enemy. Most of them made their 
 way back into the city ; but no one stayed to help Jeanne, who 
 had gone on further than the rest. She turned at last ; but, 
 when she came to the town, she could not get through the 
 gates. Some writers say that they were shut; others that the 
 people pressing in filled them up, so that she could not make 
 her way through ; but, whatever the reason, she was kept out, 
 and after trying to escape without being noticed was taken 
 prisoner by her enemies. 
 
 It was not to an Englishman, but to a subject of the Duke 
 of Burgundy, a friend of the English, that she gave herself up ; 
 and she was at first kept in a castle belonging to him, but she 
 was afterward sold to the English for a large sum of money. 
 
 It shows such ingratitude as one could hardly have thought 
 possible in the King of France and his chief lords, that no one 
 did anything to save Jeanne d'Arc. The English, as soon as 
 she was in their power, brought her up for trial, as if she had 
 been a criminal — that is, a person who has done some wrong 
 action — instead of a brave woman who had fought for her 
 country. A French bishop was her chief judge, and all her 
 judges were Frenchmen. She had no one to defend her; 
 questions of every kind were asked her about herself, about 
 her life, her religion, her visions. The English wished to 
 make her confess that she was a witch ; she was thrown into 
 prison and treated with great cruelty. It was thought very 
 wicked of her to wear men's clothes instead of women's ; and 
 her having one day put some on, because the women's clothes 
 had been taken out of her prison, was one of the excuses for 
 the horrible sentence which her judges passed on her. 
 
58 
 
 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 She was sentenced to be burned alive, and the execution 
 took place at Rouen. Crowds of people, both friends and 
 enemies, came to see her die, but no one interfered to help her. 
 She died before she was twenty-one, and is perhaps the most 
 wonderful woman of whom we read in all history. The Eng- 
 lish never settled themselves in the country again, and were 
 driven out of it altogether before the end of Charles VII's 
 reign. French History. 
 
 JOHN HOWARD, THE PRISON REFORMER. 
 
 *P» OHN Howard, the English philanthropist, was 
 born at Enfield, September, 1726. In his 
 youth he was apprenticed to a grocer in 
 London, but upon the death of his father he 
 purchased his indentures and traveled on the 
 Continent. Returning to England, he occu- 
 pied himself with medical and scientific studies 
 for some time, and in 1756, after the great 
 earthquake in Lisbon, Portugal, he embarked 
 for that port, with a view of alleviating the sufferers. On the 
 voyage he was taken prisoner by a French privateer and 
 carried into Brest, where he witnessed the inhuman treatment 
 of prisoners of war. Having procured the exchange of 
 himself and his fellow captives, he returned to England and 
 settled upon an estate which he had inherited from his father. 
 His career of active philanthropy may be said to date from 
 this time. He built schools and model cottages for the 
 peasantry, the latter the first erected in England for their 
 benefit ; and Cardington, formerly a wretched and filthy 
 village, now attracted attention by its neatness and the health- 
 ful and thrifty appearance of its inhabitants. In 1765 he 
 again traveled on the continent, and on his return he was 
 named for the office of sheriff, and in 1773 he accepted the 
 
JOHN HOWARD, THE PRISON REFORMER. 59 
 
 office, and visited, in his official capacity, the Bedford jail, in 
 which John Bunyan wrote the " Pilgrim's Progress." The 
 wretched condition of the prisoners made a deep impression 
 upon him; and the confinement of many innocent persons for 
 months, and sometimes for years, from inability to pay their 
 fees of jail delivery, so shocked him that he proposed to the 
 magistrates to pay regular salaries to the jailers, in place of the 
 fees collected from the prisoners. The magistrates, unprepared 
 for such an innovation, asked for a precedent, and, in his 
 fruitless exertions to find one, Howard visited every town in 
 England containing a prison. He collected a mass of informa- 
 tion concerning prison abuses, which he communicated in a 
 report to the House of Commons, who gave him a vote of 
 thanks, and, in 1774, passed bills "for the relief of acquitted 
 prisoners, in the matter of fees," and "for preserving the 
 health of prisoners." At his own expense he caused copies of 
 the new laws to be sent to every jailer in the kingdom. The 
 prominence thus given to his name secured his election from 
 Bedford to the House of Commons; but his sympathy with 
 the American Revolution aroused the ministry to oppose him, 
 and a parliamentary scrutiny unseated him. He never after- 
 wards participated in political life, but gave his whole time to 
 the philanthropic plans in which he had embarked. He re- 
 examined the principal penal establishments of England, and 
 visited France, Germany and the Low Countries; then made 
 a new tour through England, examining the operation of the 
 new jail act, and relieving much distress among poor debtors. 
 His report on "The State of the Prisons of England and 
 Wales, with preliminary observations, and an Account of some 
 Foreign Prisons," bore fruit in the determination of the min- 
 istry to make a trial of the discipline of hard labor in one or 
 more of the large prisons. A bill drafted by the famous Sir 
 William Blackstone was passed, providing for the erection of 
 two penitentiaries, and Howard was appointed the first super- 
 visor, but in order to avoid a controversy as to the site of the 
 buildings, he resigned his office, and between 1781 and 1784 
 
60 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 he traveled through Denmark, Sweden, Russia, Poland, Spain 
 and Portugal, and afterwards published an appendix to his 
 work. 
 
 His labors for a period of more than ten years had left him 
 with impaired pecuniary resources and shattered health; but 
 he embarked upon a second series of philanthropic researches 
 with a zeal surpassing his physical powers, volunteering to pro- 
 cure, for the British government, information relating to quar- 
 antine establishments. The French government was incensed 
 against him for having published, in 1 780, a translation of a 
 suppressed account of the interior of the Bastile, and refused 
 him a passport. He, therefore, traveled through the country 
 in various disguises, and after a series of romantic adventures 
 and several narrow escapes from the police, who were con- 
 stantly on his track, succeeded in visiting the new lazaretto at 
 Marseilles. He proceeded thence to Malta-Zanta, Smyrna and 
 Constantinople, fearlessly exposing his person in infected places. 
 That he might speak with authority on the subject of Pest- 
 Houses, he went to Smyrna, sought out a foul ship, and sailed 
 in her for Venice. After a voyage of sixty days, during which 
 he assisted the crew in beating off an attack of pirates, he 
 arrived at his destination and was subjected to a rigorous 
 confinement in the Lazaretto of Venice, under which his health 
 suffered severely. He then returned to England, in February, 
 1787, after an absence of sixteen months, and published his 
 second great work, "An Account of the Principal Lazarettos 
 of Europe, with various Papers relating to the Plague, etc.," in 
 the preface to which he announced his intention to pursue his 
 inquiries in the same direction, observing that his conduct was 
 not from rashness or enthusiasm, but a serious conviction of 
 duty. In the Summer of 1789 he started on his last Conti- 
 nental tour, meaning to pass through Russia to the East, but 
 was cut off by camp fever, January 20th, 1790, which he 
 contracted from a patient at Kherson, on the Black Sea. He 
 expended nearly the whole of his fortune in various benefac- 
 tions. The following extract from a eulogium pronounced by 
 
JOHN HOWARD, THE PRISON REFORMER. 61 
 
 one of England's greatest statesmen, Edmund Burke, is a 
 worthy and deserving tribute to his memory: — 
 
 "He has visited all Europe; not to survey the sumptuous- 
 ness of palaces, or the stateliness of temples; not to make 
 accurate measurements of the remains of ancient grandeur; 
 nor to form a scale of the curiosities of modern art; nor to 
 collect medals, or collate manuscripts ; but to dive into the 
 depths of dungeons; to plunge into the infection of hospitals; 
 to survey the mansions of sorrow and pain ; to take the gauge 
 and dimensions of misery, depression and contempt; to re- 
 member the forgotten, to attend to the neglected, to visit the 
 forsaken, and compare and collate the distress of all men in 
 all countries. His plan is original; it is as full of genius as 
 of humanity. It was a voyage of discovery; a circum- 
 navigation of Charity." 
 
 Howard ! it matters not that far away 
 From Albion's peaceful shore thy bones decay; 
 Him it might please, by whose sustaining hand 
 Thy steps were led through many a distant land, 
 Thy long and last abode should there be found, 
 Where many a savage nation prowls around ; 
 That virtue from the hallowed spot might rise, 
 And, pointing to the finished sacrifice, 
 Teach to the roving Tartar's savage clan 
 Lessons of love, and higher aims of man. 
 The hoary chieftain who thy tale shall hear, 
 Pale, on thy grave shall drop his faltering spear ; 
 The cold, unpitying Cossack thirst no more 
 To bathe his burning falchion deep in gore, 
 Relentless to the cry of carnage speed, 
 Or urge o'er gasping heaps his panting steed ! 
 
 Nor vain the thought that fairer hence may rise 
 New views of life and wider charities. 
 Far from the bleak Riphean Mountains, hoar, 
 From the cold Don, and Volga's wandering shore, 
 From many a shady forest's lengthening tract, 
 Succeeding tribes shall come, and o'er the place 
 Where sleeps the general friend of human race, 
 
62 
 
 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 Instruct their children what a debt they owe; 
 Speak of the man who trod the paths of woe ; 
 Then bid them to their native woods depart, 
 With newborn virtues stirring in their heart. 
 
 When o'er the sounding Euxine's stormy tides 
 In hostile pomp the Turk's proud navy rides, 
 Bent on the frontiers of the Imperial Czar 
 To pour the tempest of vindictive war; 
 If onward to those shores they haply steer. 
 Where, Howard, thy cold dust reposes near, 
 Whilst o'er the wave the silken pennants stream, 
 And seen far off the golden crescents gleam, 
 Amid the pomp of war, the swelling breast 
 Shall feel a still unwonted awe impressed, 
 And the relentless Pagan turn aside 
 To think — on yonder shore the Christian died. 
 
 William Lisle Bowles. 
 
 "CHOOSE EACH MAN WHAT BEST BECOMES 
 A BRAVE CASTILIAN." 
 
 WM. H. PRESCOTT. 
 
 'N the departure of his vessels, Pizarro marched 
 into the interior, in the hope of finding the 
 pleasant champaign country which had been 
 promised him by the natives. But at every 
 step the forests seemed to grow denser and 
 darker, and the trees towering to a height 
 such as he had never seen, even in these 
 fruitful regions, where nature works on so 
 gigantic a scale. As he advanced, hill continued to rise 
 above hill, rolling onward, as it were, by successive waves, 
 to join the colossal barrier of the Andes, whose frosty sides, 
 far away above the clouds, spread out like a curtain of 
 burnished silver, that seemed to connect the heavens with 
 the earth. 
 
PIZARRO'S EXPEDITION. 63 
 
 On crossing those woody eminences, the forlorn adventurers 
 would plunge into ravines of frightful depths, where the exha- 
 lations of a humid soil steamed up amid the incense of sweet- 
 scented flowers, which shone through the deep glooms in every 
 conceivable variety of color. Birds, especially of the parrot 
 kind, mocked this fantastic variety of nature with tints as bril- 
 liant as those of the vegetable world. Monkeys chattered in 
 crowds above their heads, and made grimaces like the fiendish 
 spirits of these solitudes ; while hideous reptiles, engendered 
 in the slimy depths of the pools, gathered round the footsteps 
 of the wanderers. 
 
 Here was seen the gigantic boa, coiling his unwieldy folds 
 about the trees, so as hardly to be distinguished from their 
 trunks, till he was ready to dart upon his prey; and alligators 
 lay basking on the borders of the streams, or, gliding under 
 the waters, seized their incautious victim before he was aware 
 of their approach. 
 
 Many of the Spaniards perished miserably in this way, and 
 others were waylaid by the natives, who kept a jealous eye on 
 their movements, and availed themselves of every opportunity 
 to take them at advantage. Fourteen of Pizarro's men were 
 cut off at once in a canoe which had stranded on the bank of 
 a stream. 
 
 Famine came, in addition to other troubles, and it was with 
 difficulty that they found the means of sustaining life on the 
 scanty fare of the forest — occasionally the potato, as it grew 
 without cultivation, or the wild cocoanut, or, on the shore, the 
 salt and bitter fruit of the mangrove ; though the shore was 
 less tolerable than the forest, from the swarms of mosquitoes, 
 which compelled the wretched adventurers to bury their bodies 
 up to their very faces in the sand. In this extremity of suffer- 
 ing, they thought only of return ; and all schemes of avarice 
 and ambition — except with Pizarro and a few dauntless 
 spirits — were exchanged for the one craving desire to return 
 to Panama. 
 
 A ray of hope was enough for the courageous spirit of 
 
64 GRAND ACHIEVE ME XTS. 
 
 Pizarro. It does not appear that he himself had entertained, 
 at any time, thoughts of returning. He prepared to stand the 
 fortune of the cast on which he had so desperately ventured. 
 He knew, however, that solicitations or remonstrances would 
 avail little with the companions of his enterprise ; and he 
 probably did not care to win over the more timid spirits, who, 
 by perpetually looking back, would only be a clog on his 
 future movements. He announced his own purpose, however, 
 in a laconic but decided manner, characteristic of a man more 
 accustomed to act than to talk, and well calculated to make 
 an impression on his rough followers. 
 
 Drawing his sword, he traced a line with it on the sand, from 
 east to west. Then, turning toward the south, " Friends and 
 comrades ! " he said, "on that side are toil, hunger, nakedness, 
 the drenching storm, desertion and death ; on this side, ease 
 and pleasure. There lies Peru with its riches ; here, Panama 
 and its poverty. Choose, each man, what best becomes a 
 brave Castilian. For my part, I go to the south." So saying, 
 he stepped across the line. He was followed by the brave 
 pilot, Ruiz ; next, by Pedro de Candia, a cavalier, born, as his 
 name implies, in one of the isles of Greece. Eleven others 
 successively crossed the line, thus intimating their willingness 
 to abide the fortunes of their leader, for good or for evil. 
 
 There is something striking to the imagination in the spec- 
 tacle of these few brave spirits, thus consecrating themselves 
 to a daring enterprise, which seemed as far above their strength 
 as any recorded in the fabulous annals of knight-errantry. A 
 handful of men, without food, without clothing, almost without 
 arms, without knowledge of the land to which the}- were bound, 
 without vessel to transport them, were here left on a lonely 
 rock in the ocean, with the avowed purpose of carrying on a 
 crusade against a powerful empire, staking their lives on its 
 success. What is there in the legends of chivalry that sur- 
 passes it? This was the crisis of Pizarro's fate. 
 
 There are moments in the lives o( men, which, as they are 
 seized or neglected, decide their future destiny. Had Pizarro 
 
PETER THE GREAT. 
 
 65 
 
 faltered from his strong purpose, and yielded to the occasion, 
 now so temptingly presented, for extricating himself and his 
 broken band from their desperate position, his name would 
 have been buried with his fortunes, and the conquest of Peru 
 would have been left for other and more successful adven- 
 turers. But his constancy was equal to the occasion, and his 
 conduct here proved him competent to the perilous post he 
 had assumed, and inspired others with a confidence in him 
 which was the best assurance of success. 
 
 PETER THE GREAT. 
 
 ARCHIBALD ALISON, F.R.S. 
 
 S ETER the Great was one of the most remark- 
 able men who ever appeared on the theatre of 
 public affairs. 
 
 He was nothing by halves. For good or 
 for evil he was gigantic. Vigor seems to 
 have been the great characteristic of his mind ; 
 but it was often fearfully disfigured by passion, 
 and he was not unfrequently misled by the 
 example of more advanced States. To elevate Russia to an 
 exalted place among nations, and give her the influence which 
 her vast extent and physical resources seemed to put within 
 her reach, was, throughout life, the great object of his am- 
 bition ; and he succeeded in it to an extent which naturally 
 acquired for him the unbounded admiration of mankind. His 
 overthrow of the Strelitzes, long the Praetorian guards and 
 terror of the Czars of Muscovy, was effected with a vigor and 
 stained by a cruelty similar to that with' which the Sultan 
 Mahmoud, a century after, destroyed the Janizaries at Con- 
 stantinople. 
 
 The sight of a young and despotic sovereign leaving the 
 5 
 
66 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 glittering toys and real enjoyments of royalty to labor in the 
 dock-yards of Saardem with his own hands, and instruct his 
 subjects in ship-building by first teaching himself, was too 
 striking and remarkable not to excite universal attention. And 
 when the result of this was seen — when the Czar was found 
 introducing among his subjects the military discipline, naval 
 architecture, nautical skill, as well as other arts and warlike 
 institutions of Europe, and, in consequence, long resisting, and 
 at length destroying, the mighty conqueror who had so long 
 been the terror of Northern Europe, the astonishment of men 
 knew no bounds. 
 
 He was celebrated as at once the Solon and Scipio of 
 modern times ; and literary servility, vying with great and 
 disinterested admiration, extolled him as one of the greatest 
 heroes and benefactors of his species who had ever appeared 
 among men. 
 
 But time, the great dispeller of illusions, whose mighty arm 
 no individual greatness, how great soever, can long withstand, 
 has begun to abate much of this colossal reputation. His 
 temper was violent in the extreme; frequent acts of hideous 
 cruelty, and occasional oppression, signalized his reign ; he 
 was often impelled, by ill-directed zeal for the advancement of 
 his people, into measures which, in reality and in the end, 
 retarded their improvement. More than any other man, he 
 did evil that good might come of it. He impelled his people, 
 as he thought, to civilization, though, while launching into the 
 stream, hundreds of thousands perished in the waves. 
 
 " Peter the Great," says Mackintosh, " did not civilize 
 Russia ; that undertaking was beyond his genius, great as it 
 was; he only. gave the Russians the art of civilized war." 
 
 The truth was, he attempted what was altogether impractic- 
 able. No one man can at once civilize a nation ; he can only 
 put it in the way of civilization. 
 
 To complete the fabric must be the work of continued effort 
 and sustained industry during many successive generations. 
 
 That Peter failed in raising his people to a level with the 
 
PETER THE GREAT. 67 
 
 other nations of Europe in refinement and industry, is no 
 reproach to him. It was impossible to do so in less than 
 several centuries. The real particular in which he erred was, 
 that he departed from the national spirit, that he tore up the 
 national institutions, and violated, in numerous instances, the 
 strongest national feelings. He clothed his court and capital 
 in European dresses ; but men do not put off old feelings with 
 the costume of their fathers. 
 
 Peter's civilization extended no further than the surface. He 
 succeeded in inducing an extraordinary degree of discipline in 
 his army, and the appearance of considerable refinement among 
 his courtiers.. 
 
 He effected no material ameliorations in the condition of his 
 subjects ; and by endeavoring to force them at once up to a 
 level with the States of Western Europe, he not only rendered 
 his government unpopular with the rural population, but also 
 prevented his improvements from penetrating the great body 
 of the people. It is easier to remodel an army than change a 
 nation ; and the celebrated bon-mot of Diderot, that the 
 Russians were " rotten before they were ripe " is too happy 
 an expression, indicating how much easier it is to introduce the 
 vices than the virtues of civilization among an unlettered 
 people. To this day, the civilization of Russia has never 
 descended below the higher ranks ; and the efforts of the 
 really patriotic Czars who have since wielded the Muscovite 
 sceptre, Alexander and Nicholas, have been mainly in aban- 
 doning the fictitious career into which Peter turned the people, 
 and the reviving with the old institutions the true spirit and 
 inherent aspirations of the nation. 
 
 The immense, though less obtrusive, success with which 
 their efforts have been attended, and the gradual, though still 
 slow descent of civilization and improvement through the 
 great body of the people, prove the wisdom of the principles 
 on which they have proceeded. Possibly Russia is yet 
 destined to afford another illustration of the truth of Mon- 
 tesquieu's maxim, that no nation ever yet rose to durable 
 
68 
 
 GRA ND A CHIE VEMEXTS. 
 
 greatness, but through institutions in harmony with its spirit. 
 Vet was Peter's attempt, though in many respects a mistake, 
 a great and glorious one ; it was the effort of a rude, but lofty 
 and magnanimous mind, which attributes to mankind in 
 general that vigor and ambition of which it is itself conscious. 
 And without shutting our eyes to his many and serious 
 errors, in charity let us hope that the words of Peter, on his 
 death-bed, have been realized! "I trust that, in respect of the 
 good I have striven to do my people, God will pardon my 
 sins." 
 
 "IT IS FINISHED; THE DIE IS CAST!'' 
 
 THOMAS DE OUINCEY. 
 
 T is related of Caesar, that, on the ever memor- 
 able night when he had resolved to take the 
 first step (and in such a case the first step, as 
 regarded the power of retreating, was also 
 the final step), which placed him in arms 
 against the State, it happened that his head- 
 quarters were at some distance from the little 
 river Rubicon, which formed the boundary o( 
 his province. 
 
 With his usual caution, that no news of his motions might 
 run before himself, on this night Caesar gave an entertainment 
 to his friends, in the midst of which he slipped away unob- 
 served, and with a small retinue proceeded through the woods 
 to the point of the river at which he designed to cross. The 
 night was stormy, and by the violence of the wind all the 
 torches of his escort were blown out, so that the whole party 
 lost their road, and wandered about through the whole night, 
 until the early dawn enabled them to recover their true course. 
 The light was still gray and uncertain, as Caesar and his 
 retinue rode down upon the banks of the fatal river, to cross 
 
"IT IS FINISHED; THE DIE IS CAST!" 69 
 
 which, with arms in his hands, since the further bank lay 
 within the territory of the Republic, proclaimed any Roman 
 a rebel and a traitor. No man, the firmest or the most obtuse, 
 could be otherwise than deeply agitated, when looking down 
 upon this little brook, so insignificant in itself, but invested by 
 law with sanctity so awful. The whole course of future 
 history, and the fate of every nation, would necessarily be 
 determined by the irretrievable act of the next half hour. 
 
 In these moments, and with the spectacle before him, and 
 contemplating these immeasurable consequences for the last 
 time that could allow him a retreat ; impressed, also, by the 
 solemnity and deep tranquillity of the silent dawn, whilst the 
 exhaustion of his night wanderings predisposed him to nervous 
 irritation, Caesar, we may be sure, was profoundly agitated. So 
 prepared, we need not much wonder at what followed. 
 
 Caesar was yet lingering on the hither bank, when suddenly, 
 at a point not far distant from himself, an apparition was de- 
 scried in a sitting posture, and holding in its hand what seemed 
 a flute. This phantom was of unusual size, and of beauty 
 more than human, so far as its lineaments could be traced in 
 the early dawn. What is singular, however, in the story is, 
 that others saw it as well as Caesar, both pastoral laborers 
 (who were present, probably, in the character of guides) and 
 some of the sentinels stationed at the pass of the river. These 
 men fancied, even, that a strain of music issued from the aerial 
 flute, and some, both of the shepherds and the Roman soldiers, 
 who were bolder than the rest, advanced toward the figure. 
 
 Amongst this party, it happened that there were a few 
 Roman trumpeters. From one of these the phantom, rising 
 as they advanced nearer, suddenly caught a trumpet, and 
 blowing through it a blast of superhuman strength, plunged 
 into the Rubicon, passed to the other bank, and disappeared 
 in the dusky light of the dawn. Upon which Caesar exclaimed : 
 "It is finished; the die is cast! Let us follow whither the 
 guiding portent from Heaven, and the malice of our enemy, 
 alike summon us to go ! " 
 
70 
 
 GRAXD A CI//E FEME ATS. 
 
 So saying, he crossed the river with impetuosity, and, in a 
 sudden rapture of passionate and vindictive ambition, placed 
 himself and his retinue upon the Italian soil, as if the inspira- 
 tion from Heaven, in one moment involved himself and his 
 followers in treason, raised the standard of revolt, put his foot 
 upon the neck of the invincible Republic, which had humbled 
 all the kings of the earth, and founded an Empire which was 
 to last for a thousand and a half a thousand years. 
 
 In what manner this spectral appearance was managed — 
 whether Caesar were its author or its dupe — will remain un- 
 known forever ; but, undoubtedly, this was the first time that 
 the advanced guard of a victorious army was headed by an 
 apparition, and we may conjecture that it will be the last. 
 
 LIBERTY, PEACE AND JUSTICE. 
 
 HON. J. B. EVERHART. 
 
 WO centuries have passed since Charles the 
 Second signed William Penn's patent, and 
 named the province, against his protest, 
 Pennsylvania. He invested the patentee 
 with vice-regal powers, for an annual tribute 
 of two beaver skins and one-fifth of the gold 
 and silver. 
 
 Upon this grant William Penn founded a 
 commonwealth without auguries or oracles, without an arm}', 
 without a hierarchy, without titles and without oaths. Here 
 he fostered a religion which has no image or sacrifice, no bap- 
 tism or eucharist, no organ, choir or pulpit. Amidst a wilder- 
 ness of savages, and in an age of corruption, tyranny and war, 
 he established liberty, peace and justice. He introduced new 
 methods of administration; he stripped the law of cruelty, and 
 treaties of deception; he diminished crimes by reducing pun- 
 ishment, and avoided hostilities by honest dealing. He pro- 
 
LIBER TY, PEA CE AND JUSTICE. 7 1 
 
 moted industry by honoring it, and prevented oppression by 
 equality of suffrage. When slavery was universal he strove 
 to abolish it by ordinance and example. When ignorance was 
 prevalent, he organized education. When the Sabbath was 
 ignored, he enjoined its observance. When bigotry was ram- 
 pant, he upheld the prerogative of conscience. When liquor 
 drinking was debauching the Indians, he sought to restrain its 
 traffic. When primogeniture was a cardinal canon of the law, 
 he excluded it from the right of descent. When it was com- 
 mon to invade the soil of the aborigines he acknowledged 
 their ownership and extinguished it by purchase. 
 
 He left a name amongst the lawgivers of nations. Like 
 Romulus, he granted easy conditions of sharing the benefits 
 of government, to foreigners. Like Solon, he prohibited an 
 indiscriminate infliction of penalties, and apportioned them 
 according to offences. Like Lycurgus, he provided for the 
 education of youth. Like Numa, he believed in peace. Like 
 Plato, he believed in progress. Like Moses, he believed in 
 God. He builded on a sure foundation. He made divine 
 virtue the corner-stone of institutions which we still enjoy. 
 
 How rare was his career! Born amidst all the associa- 
 tions of war, the son of a fighting admiral, he became at length 
 a votary of non-resistance. Raised amidst licentious and 
 luxurious fashions, he adopted the simple habits of an out- 
 lawed sect. Accustomed to the rites of the Church he was 
 expelled, for non-conformity, from Oxford. Traveling abroad 
 he acquired the chief continental tongues, and those unobse- 
 quious civilities which he said became a Christian. Studying 
 the Calvinistic theology at Saumur, he may have learned there 
 the representative system of his colonial polity. Visiting Ire- 
 land he gallantly assisted in quelling a mutiny at Carrickfergus. 
 Reading law at Lincoln's Inn, he obtained a knowledge of 
 the subject which served him well as prisoner and Proprietary. 
 Incarcerated, and afterward driven from his father's house for 
 acting with the Quakers, he defended his belief in public, 
 against Churchmen and Dissenters. He argued, with ultimate 
 
72 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 success, before a Parliamentary committee, against the compul- 
 sory requirements of oaths. He journeyed and preached in 
 company with George Fox, and shared his hardships. He 
 issued from the press edifying volumes on religious privilege. 
 He denied the right of the Middlesex magistrates " to prose- 
 cute any one in this world about anything belonging to the 
 next." Esteemed by princes for his sincerity, he used his favor 
 in behalf of the Scotch refugees, the banished Rhinelanders 
 of Crevelt, and the fifteen hundred Non-conformists in the 
 prisons. He prayed for the release of the bishops held in the 
 Tower for refusing to read the declaration of indulgence. He 
 begged the lives of some of those condemned by the atrocious 
 Jeffreys. He remonstrated against the despotic order to elect 
 the king's candidate president of Magdalen College. 
 
 He advocated the election of Algernon Sidney to Parlia- 
 ment, for his liberality and patriotism; he recommended an 
 earnest welcome in America to the fleeing Huguenots of 
 France ; he appealed to the ruler of Poland to indulge those 
 of different faith, and recalled his ancestor's boast that he was 
 not a king of consciences ; he impressed his religious views 
 on the accomplished Princess Palatine, Elizabeth, and on Peter 
 the Great, Czar of Muscovy; he visited the Prince of Orange, 
 to induce him to favor toleration. He suggested a universal 
 Diet of nations, to prevent war. 
 
 He directed Philadelphia to be laid out with orchards and 
 yards around the buildings, so that it might be " a green 
 country town, which could never be burned, and would always 
 be wholesome." He framed a constitution for the colonists, 
 which they could alter or subvert, which allowed all but the 
 Governor, both Council and Assembly, to be chosen by every 
 one who paid " lot or scot to the government;" which allowed 
 no tax without law, no law without the consent of the people, 
 no property restriction on voting, no class monopoly of office, 
 no trial without a jury, fines to be moderate, prisons to be 
 workhouses, children to be educated to useful trades, and 
 worship to be free. 
 
LIBERTY, PEACE AND JUSTICE. 73 
 
 He negotiated with the Indians under the elm at Shacka- 
 maxon — the place of kings — that treaty of concord " which 
 was never sworn to and never broken." He declined a large 
 sum of money for the exclusive Indian trade, lest he should 
 defile his trust. He refused the duties offered him upon cer- 
 tain imports and exports. He released certain quitrents for 
 the public good. He spared the assassin whom he disarmed 
 in the streets of Paris. He returned a soft answer to Richard 
 Baxter. His principles stood the test of trial. He was de- 
 ceived by exorbitant charges of his agents until the accumu- 
 lated sum placed the whole province under mortgage. He 
 was traduced by scheming men, called a Jesuit because he 
 asserted the right of the Papist to indulgence; called a courtier 
 because his claims for clemency were heeded in the palace ; 
 accused of treason to King William because he had been 
 grateful to King James; deprived for awhile of his govern- 
 ment; despoiled of his lawful income; reduced to a bare sub- 
 sistence; imprisoned by those he served; defeated in his suit 
 with Lord Baltimore about the boundary line, which, a century 
 later, caused the survey of Mason and Dixon's ; subjected to 
 domestic affliction and disappointment. Yet, he left a memory 
 which the criticism of the most popular historian of the age 
 has failed to injure. He left a monument more significant than 
 statue or column, pyramid or mausoleum. It is here — this 
 vast organization of wealth and privilege — this heritage of 
 liberty and law, with its prestige of past renown, and its destiny 
 of constantly unfolding grandeur. 
 
 Perm's philosophy, opinions and conduct were all con- 
 sistent. What sublimity of purpose, what simplicity of manner, 
 what energy and wisdom, what kindness of heart did he ex- 
 hibit! Studious, courageous, pious, patient under persecution, 
 meek in authority, eloquent in expression, profound in learn- 
 ing, broad in thought — preferring duty to ambition, suffering 
 to unfaithfulness, reproach to resentment — as a gentleman, 
 scholar, preacher and legislator, his character seems unsur- 
 passed. 
 
74 
 
 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 SUSANNA WESLEY. 
 
 NCOVER your heads in her presence, for 
 she is the gracious mother of us all. The 
 millions who bear the Methodist name 
 bear her impress. She moulded the man 
 who is moulding the nations. Her brain, 
 and heart, and will-power were the original 
 guiding, conserving and propelling force 
 of Methodism. 
 
 In countless homes in many lands her influence is felt at 
 this hour, ennobling manhood, making womanhood sweeter, 
 and blessing childhood with the instruction and inspiration of 
 the wisdom, the faith, the firmness and self-abnegation that 
 were exhibited in that parsonage at Epworth, where the 
 valiant, unworldly, and unthrifty Samuel Wesley made his 
 sermons and wrote his verses, and where she gave the world 
 an immortal example of what a woman can do in her home to 
 glorify God and bless mankind. With such a wife and mother 
 in every Christian home, the militant church would have 
 nothing to do but to marshal its forces and lead them at once 
 to the conquest of the world. Her family discipline typed the 
 methods of the millions whose tread is shaking the earth. 
 
 Her intellect was swift, keen and strong. She saw quicker 
 and further than ordinary persons. In the great crises in the 
 career of her illustrious son her intuition was ahead of his 
 judgment. She pointed him to the paths providentially 
 opened. It was her firm yet loving hand that held him steady 
 when, bewildered or disheartened, he might have wavered. 
 To her the student in college, the perplexed young theologue, 
 the anxious penitent, the leader in a movement not foreseen by 
 himself, nor devised by any human wisdom, turned for sym- 
 pathy, for counsel and for prayer. Her acquaintance with the 
 Scriptures enabled her always to give the word in season, 
 while her mighty faith kindled and fed the flame that burned 
 
SUSANNA WESLEY. 75 
 
 in his soul. Her responsive spirit recognized the Divine hand 
 in the strange and stirring events of that momentous time. 
 She was thoroughly educated, having a knowledge of Greek, 
 Latin and French, and being widely read in theology, polemics 
 and general literature. Her mind moved on the same plane 
 with those of her sons, and the sympathy that flowed to them 
 from her motherly heart was intelligent, and therefore helpful 
 as well as comforting. 
 
 She was beautiful in person. Physical beauty does not 
 compensate for the lack of the higher qualities that ennoble 
 and adorn womanhood, but it invests its fortunate possessoi 
 with an added charm and potency for good. The little touch 
 of imperiousness that was in her temper was condoned the 
 more readily by all concerned because it was the self-assertion 
 of a woman whose strong intellect was reinforced by the 
 magical power of a sweet voice and personal beauty. Such 
 women — the most divinely-tuned of them, at least — bloom ire 
 ever-increasing sweetness and loveliness in the atmosphere 
 they make around themselves. 
 
 There was a deeper spring of power in her life than either 
 her intellect or her beauty. It was her piety. She took an 
 hour every morning and every evening for private meditation 
 and prayer. She did not find time for this — she was the 
 mother of thirteen living children — she took time for it. And 
 herein is the secret of the power that raised her above the level 
 of her contemporaries, and gave unity, vigor and success to 
 her life. The two hours thus spent were taken from the home 
 school which she taught, from the domestic duties that waited 
 for her ready hands, and from the parochial service expected 
 from her. But it was there, in the place of secret prayer, that 
 her .soul was replenished with the spiritual life that was so 
 helpful to other lives ; it was there that she acquired the 
 patience, the self-command and the moral power that made 
 her a priestess at the home altar and qualified her to rule, 
 with wisdom, firmness and love, that sacred kingdom. The 
 light kindled within her own soul during those two hours 
 
76 
 
 GRAND A CHIE VEMENTS. 
 
 spent daily with God lighted all that were in the house. In 
 that quiet chamber at Epworth, kneeling at the feet of God, 
 the prayers of John Wesley's mother opened the channel for 
 the pentecostal floods that were to flow over the earth in these 
 latter days. 
 
 That is the picture — a gentle yet queenly presence, a face 
 delicate and classically regular in its features, an eye that had 
 the flash of fire and the tenderness of the great motherly heart, 
 the noble head gracefully posed, all suffused with the indefinable 
 influence that makes a holy woman radiant with unearthly 
 beauty — Susanna Wesley, the Mother of Methodism, who 
 will live in its heart forever. — Nashville Christian Advocate. 
 
 QUEEN ELIZABETH. 
 
 DAVID HUME. 
 
 HERE are few great personages in history 
 who have been more exposed to the cal- 
 umny of enemies and the adulation of 
 friends than Queen Elizabeth ; and yet 
 there is scarcely any whose reputation has 
 been more certainly determined by the 
 unanimous consent of posterity. The un- 
 usual length of her administration, and the 
 strong features of her character, were able to overcome all 
 prejudices; and, obliging her detractors to abate much of 
 their invectives, and her admirers somewhat of their pane- 
 gyrics, have, at last, in spite of political factions, and, what is 
 more, of religious animosities, produced a uniform judgment 
 with regard to her conduct. 
 
 Few sovereigns of England succeeded to the throne in more 
 difficult circumstances; and none ever conducted the govern- 
 ment with such uniform success and felicity. Though un- 
 acquainted with the practice of toleration — the true secret for 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH. 77 
 
 managing religious factions — she preserved her people, by her 
 superior prudence, from those confusions in which theological 
 controversy had involved all the neighboring nations ; and 
 though her enemies were the most powerful princes of 
 Europe — the most active, the most enterprising, the least 
 scrupulous — she was able, by her vigor, to make deep 
 impressions on their States. Her own greatness, meanwhile, 
 remained unimpaired. 
 
 The wise ministers and brave warriors who flourished under 
 her reign, share the praise of her success ; but, instead of 
 lessening the applause due to her, they make great addition to 
 it. They owed, all of them, their advancement to her choice; 
 they were supported by her constancy; and with all their 
 abilities they were never able to acquire any undue ascendant 
 over her. In her family, in her court, in her kingdom, she 
 remained equally mistress ; the force of the tender passions 
 was great over her, but the force of her mind was still 
 superior; and the combat which her victory visibly cost her 
 serves only to display the firmness of her resolution, and the 
 loftiness of her ambitious sentiments. 
 
 The fame of this princess, though it has surmounted the 
 prejudice both of faction and bigotry, yet lies still exposed to 
 another prejudice, which is more durable, because more 
 natural, and which, according to the different views in which 
 we survey her, is capable either of exalting her beyond 
 measure or diminishing the lustre of her character. This 
 prejudice is founded on the consideration of her sex. 
 
 When we contemplate her as a woman, we are apt to be 
 struck with the highest admiration of her great qualities and 
 extensive capacity ; but we are also apt to require some more 
 softness of disposition, some greater lenity of temper, some oi 
 those amiable weaknesses by which her sex is distinguished. 
 But the true method of estimating her merit is to lay aside all 
 these considerations, and consider her merely as a rational 
 being, placed in authority, and intrusted with the government 
 of mankind. 
 
78 GRA ND A CHIE VEMENTS. 
 
 EMANCIPATION OF THE SERFS. 
 
 LEXANDER II, the Liberator of the Serfs, son 
 of Nicholas, Czar of Russia, was born, April 
 29th, 1 818. From the cradle he was the object 
 of the most tender love of both his parents. His 
 education was exceedingly careful. His judg- 
 ment and perception were clear, and he seldom 
 showed those outbreaks of passion which had 
 always been permanent characteristics of the 
 Romanoffs. During his minority he traveled extensively in 
 Russia, after which he visited England, Germany and Italy, 
 acquainting himself, meanwhile, with the people, the laws, 
 customs and court etiquette. 
 
 Early in youth he showed an unusual love of justice and 
 forbearance, which it is fair to assume were strengthened by 
 his travels and observations in foreign lands, for soon after 
 coming to the throne, in 1 85 5 , he began to meditate on schemes 
 for the amelioration of the condition of the serfs in his own 
 dominions, who then virtually lived in abject slavery. 
 
 The great war which the Allied Powers were waging against 
 Russia when he ascended the throne, together with various 
 projects of reform which he immediately instituted, did not 
 afford him an opportunity for carrying out the great scheme of 
 his life — that of emancipating the serfs — until March 3d, 1861. 
 This latter measure is the crowning act of his life, and very 
 justly places him among the great benefactors of the world. 
 
 He met a horrible death, at the hands of the Nihilists, March 
 13th, 1 88 1, in his own capital city of St. Petersburg. While 
 driving through one of the principal thoroughfares, a dynamite 
 bomb was thrown under his carriage, which exploded with 
 terrific force, mangling his body in a frightful manner, and 
 killing him almost instantly. 
 
 He is accused by many for his severity toward conspirators 
 and disaffected persons, but when all his motives are fairly 
 
EMANCIPATION OF THE SERFS. 79 
 
 construed, we think the universal verdict must be that he 
 always had the welfare of his realm at heart. 
 
 Again, sweet bells of the Russias, 
 
 Your voice on the March air fling ! 
 Ring, bells, on the Volga and Dwina, 
 
 Ring, bells, on the Caspian, ring ! 
 O, Tzar of the North, Alexander, 
 
 Thy justice to those that were least 
 Now girds thee with strength of the victor, 
 
 And makes thee the lord of the East ! 
 
 It was midnight on the Finland, 
 
 And, o'er the wastes of snow, 
 From the crystal sky of winter 
 
 The lamps of God hung low ; , 
 A sea of ice was the Neva, 
 
 In the white light of the stars, 
 And it locked its arms in silence 
 
 Round the city of the Tzars. 
 
 The palace was mantled in shadow, 
 
 And, dark, in the star-lit space, 
 The monolith rose before it, 
 
 From its battle-trophied base ; 
 And the cross that crowned the column 
 
 Seemed reaching to the stars, 
 O'er the white streets, wrapped in silence, 
 
 Round the palace of the Tzars. 
 
 The chapel's mullioned windows 
 
 Are flushed with a sullen light ; 
 Who comes to the sacred altar 
 
 In the silence of the night ? 
 What prince, with a deep heart-burden, 
 
 Approaches the altar's stair, 
 To take the wine and the wafer, 
 
 And bow for the help of prayer ? 
 
 'Tis the Tzar, whose word, in the morning, 
 
 Shall make the Russias free, 
 From the Neva to the Ural, 
 
 From the Steppe to the Winter Sea ; 
 Who speaks, and a thousand steeples 
 
 Ring freedom to every man — 
 From the serf on the white Ladoga 
 
 To the fisher of Astrakhan. 
 
80 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 O, faith in Eternal Power ! 
 
 O, faith in Eternal Love ! 
 O, faith that looked up to heaven, 
 
 The promise of ages to prove ! 
 The cross and the crown gleam above him ; 
 
 He raises his brow from prayer, 
 The cross of humanity's martyr 
 
 Or crown of the hero to wear. 
 
 Slept the serf on the Neva and Volga, 
 
 Slept the fisher of Astrakhan, 
 Nor dreamed that the bells of the morning 
 
 Would ring in his rights as a man ; 
 He saw not night's crystal gates open 
 
 To hosts singing carols on high, 
 He knew not a Bethlehem glory 
 
 Would break with the morn in the sky ! 
 
 The morn set its jewels of rubies 
 
 In the snows of the turret and spire, 
 And shone the far sea of the Finland, 
 
 A sea of glass mingled with fire ; 
 The Old Guard encircled the palace 
 
 With questioning look on each cheek, 
 And waited the word that the ukase 
 
 To the zone-girded empire should speak. 
 
 The voice of the Russias has spoken ; 
 
 Each serf in the Russias is free ! 
 Ring, bells, on the Neva and Volga, 
 
 Ring, bells, on the Caspian Sea ! 
 O, Tzar of the North, Alexander, 
 
 Thy justice to those that were least 
 Shall gird' thee with strength of the victor. 
 
 Shall make thee the lord of the East. 
 
 Again, sweet bells of the Russias, 
 
 Your voice on the March air fling ! 
 Ring, bells, on the Volga and Dwina, 
 
 Ring, bells, on the Caspian, ring! 
 Thy triumphs of peace, Alexander, 
 
 Outshine all thy triumphs of war, 
 And thou, at God's altar, wert grander, 
 
 Than throned as the conquering Tzar 5 
 
 Hezekiah Butterworth. 
 
TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS OF GENIUS. 81 
 
 TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS OF GENIUS. 
 
 HORACE GREELEY. 
 
 LI WHITNEY, a native of Westborough, 
 Worcester County, Mass., born December 
 8th, 1765, was descended on both sides from 
 ancestors of English stock, who dated their 
 migration from the old country nearly back 
 to the memorable voyage of the Mayflower. 
 He early developed a remarkable ingenuity 
 and mechanical skill, establishing, when only 
 fifteen years of age, the manufacture, by hand, of wrought 
 nails, for which there was, in those days of our Revolutionary 
 struggle, a demand, at high prices. At nineteen, he resolved 
 to obtain a liberal education, but it was not until he had 
 reached the mature age of twenty-three that he was enabled to 
 enter college. By turns, laboring with his hands and teaching 
 school, he obtained the means of prosecuting his studies in 
 Yale, which he entered in May, 1789. 
 
 While in college, his natural superiority in mechanism, and 
 proclivity to invention were frequently manifested. On one 
 occasion, a tutor regretted to his pupils that he could not 
 exhibit a desired philosophical experiment, because the appa- 
 ratus was out of order, and could only be repaired in Europe. 
 Young Whitney thereupon proposed to undertake the repair, 
 and made it, to perfect satisfaction. 
 
 Mr. Whitney graduated in the Fall of 1792, and directly 
 engaged to proceed to Georgia as a private teacher. On his 
 way thither he had as a traveling companion Mrs. Greene, 
 widow of the eminent Revolutionary general, Nathaniel 
 Greene, who was returning with her children to Savannah, 
 after spending the Summer in the North. His health being 
 infirm on his arrival at Savannah, Mrs. Greene kindly invited 
 him to the hospitalities of her residence until he should become 
 6 
 
82 GKA.YP ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 fully restored. Short of money, and in a land of strangers, he 
 was now coolly informed by his employer that his services 
 were not required, he having employed another teacher in his 
 stead. Mrs. Greene hereupon urged him to make her house 
 his home so long as that should be desirable, and pursue, 
 under her roof, the study of the law, which he then contem- 
 plated. He gratefully accepted the offer and commenced the 
 study accordingly. 
 
 Mrs. Greene happened to be engaged in embroidering on a 
 peculiar frame known as a tambour. It was badly constructed, 
 so that it injured the fabric while it impeded its production. 
 Mr. Whitney eagerly volunteered to make her a better one, 
 and did so, on a plan wholly new, to her great delight and that 
 of her children. 
 
 A large party of Georgians, from Augusta and the planta- 
 tions above, soon after paid Mrs. Greene a visit, several of 
 them being officers who had served under her husband in the 
 Revolutionary War. Among the topics discussed by them 
 around the fireside was the depressed state of agriculture, and 
 the impossibility of profitably extending the culture of the 
 green-seed cotton, because cf the trouble and expense incurred 
 in separating the seed from the fibre. These representations 
 impelled Mrs. Greene to say : " Gentlemen, apply to my 
 young friend, Mr. Whitney, he can make anything." She then 
 introduced Mr. Whitney himself, extolling his genius, and 
 commending him to their confidence and friendship. In the 
 conversation that ensued, he observed that he had never seen 
 cotton nor cotton seed in his life. 
 
 Mr. Whitney promised nothing and gave little encourage- 
 ment, but went to work. No cotton in the seed being at hand, 
 he went to Savannah and searched there among warehouses 
 and boats until he found a small parcel. This he carried 
 home and secluded with himself in a basement room, where 
 he set himself at work to devise and construct the implement 
 required. Tools being few and rude, he was constrained to 
 make better, drawing his own wire, because none could, at 
 
TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS OF GENIUS. 83 
 
 that time, be bought in the city of Savannah. Mrs. Greene 
 and her next friend, Air. Miller, whom she soon afterwards 
 married, were the only persons beside himself who were 
 allowed the entree to his workshop — in fact, the only ones who 
 clearly knew what he was about. His mysterious hammering 
 and tinkering in that solitary cell were subjects of infinite 
 curiosity, marvel and ridicule among the younger members of 
 the family. But he did not interfere with their merriment, nor 
 allow them to interfere with his enterprises; and before the 
 close of the Winter his machine was so nearly perfected that 
 its success was no longer doubtful. 
 
 Mrs. Greene, too eager to realize and enjoy her friend's 
 triumph, in view of the existing stagnation of Georgia industry, 
 invited an assemblage at her house, of leading gentlemen from 
 various parts of the State, and on the first day of their meeting, 
 conducted them to a temporary building erected for the 
 machine,, in which they saw, with astonishment and delight, 
 that one man, with Whitney's invention, could separate more 
 cotton from the seed in a single day than he could without it 
 by the labor of months. 
 
 Mr. Miller now proposed a partnership with Mr. Whitney, 
 by which he engaged to furnish funds to perfect the invention, 
 secure the requisite patents and manufacture the needed 
 machines. Mr. Whitney, therefore, proceeded to Connecticut, 
 but his just and sanguine hopes were destined to signal and 
 bitter disappointment. His invention was too valuable to be 
 peacefully enjoyed ; or, rather, it was the seeming and urgent 
 interest of too many to rob him of the just reward of his 
 achievements. Reports of the nature and value of his inven- 
 tion were widely and rapidly circulated, creating intense 
 excitement. Multitudes hastened from all quarters to see his 
 original machine ; but no patent having yet been secured, it 
 was deemed unsafe to gratify their curiosity, so they broke 
 open the building by night and carried off the wonderful prize. 
 Before he could complete his model and secure his patent, a 
 number of imitations had been made and set to work, devi- 
 
84 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 ating in some respects from the original, in the hope of thus 
 evading all penalty. 
 
 Miller and Whitney's plan was to construct and retain the 
 ownership of all the machines that might be needed, setting 
 one up in each cotton-growing neighborhood; but no single 
 factory could turn out the gins as fast as wanted. And then 
 the manufacture of machines, to be constructed and worked by 
 the patentees alone, involved a very large outlay of money, 
 which must mainly be obtained by borrowing. Then there 
 was sickness, Mr. Whitney having a severe and tedious attack 
 in 1794; after which scarlet fever raged in New Haven, dis- 
 abling many of his workmen; and soon the lawsuits into 
 which they were driven, in defence of their patent, began to 
 devour all the money they could make or borrow. In 1795 
 Whitney had another attack of sickness, and on his return to 
 New Haven, from three weeks of suffering in New York, he 
 learned that his manufactory, with all his machines and papers, 
 had just been consumed by fire, whereby he found himself 
 suddenly reduced to utter bankruptcy. Next came a report 
 from England that the British manufacturers condemned and 
 rejected the cotton cleaned by his machines, on the ground 
 that the staple zvas greatly injured by the ginning process. And 
 now no one would touch the ginned cotton. 
 
 In the depths of their distress and insolvency, Miller wrote 
 from Georgia to Whitney, urging him to hasten to London, 
 there to counteract the stupid prejudice which had been 
 excited against ginned cotton. 
 
 At length, the ridiculous prejudice against cotton cleaned 
 by Whitney's gin gradually and slowly gave way, and the 
 value of the invention began to be perceived and acknowledged. 
 The company's first suit against infringers now came to trial 
 before a Georgia jury, and, in spite of the judge's charge 
 directly in the plaintiff's favor, a verdict was given for the de- 
 fendants — a verdict from which there was no appeal. Mean- 
 while, the South fairly swarmed with pirates on the invention, 
 of all kinds and degrees. 
 
TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS OF GENIUS. 85 
 
 Mr. Miller, the partner of Whitney, died, poor and em- 
 barrassed, on the 7th of December, 1803. At the term of the 
 United States District Court for Georgia, held at Savannah, in 
 December, 1807, Mr. Whitney obtained a verdict against the 
 pirates of his invention ; his patent now being in the last year 
 of its existence, Judge Johnson, in entering judgment for the 
 plaintiff, said : — 
 
 " With regard to the utility of this discovery, the Court 
 would deem it a waste of time to dwell long upon this topic. 
 Is there a man who hears us who has not experienced its 
 utility ? The whole interior of the Southern States was lan- 
 guishing and its inhabitants emigrating for want of some 
 object to engage their attention and employ their industry, 
 when the invention of this machine at once opened views to 
 them which set the whole country in active motion. From 
 childhood to age, it has presented to us a lucrative employ- 
 ment. Individuals who were depressed with poverty and sunk 
 in idleness, have suddenly risen to wealth and respectability. 
 Our debts have been paid off. Our capitals have increased, 
 and our lands have trebled themselves in value. 
 
 " We cannot express the weight of the obligation which the 
 country owes to this invention. The extent cannot now be 
 seen. Some faint presentiment may be formed from the reflec- 
 tion that cotton is rapidly supplanting wool, flax, silk and even 
 furs, in manufactures. Our sister States also participated in 
 the benefits of this invention ; for, besides affording the raw 
 material for their manufactures, the bulkiness and quantity of 
 the article afford a valuable employment for their shipping." 
 
 Mr. Whitney's patent expired in 1808, leaving him a poorer 
 man, doubtless, than if he had never undertaken the invention 
 of a machine by means of which the annual production of 
 cotton in the Southern States has been augmented from some 
 five or ten thousand bales in 1793, to over five millions of bales 
 in 1859. To say that this invention was worth one thousand 
 millions of dollars, to this country is to place a very moderate 
 estimate on its value. 
 
86 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 In 1798 Mr. Whitney, despairing of ever achieving a com- 
 petency from the proceeds of his cotton gin, engaged in the 
 manufacture of firearms in New Haven ; and his rare capacity 
 for this or any similar undertaking, joined with his invincible 
 perseverance and energy, was finally rewarded with success. 
 Able to make any implement or machine he required, or to 
 invent a new one when that might be needed, he ultimately 
 achieved a competency. 
 
 In September, 1822, he was attacked by a dangerous and 
 painful illness, which, with alternations of terrible suffering 
 and comparative ease, preyed upon him until January, 8th, 
 1826, when he died, not quite sixty years of age. 
 
 NOW I'M A MADE MAN FOR LIFE!" 
 
 "Now, I'm a made man for life!" said a boy of sixteen, 
 when he received an appointment to work at a pumping- 
 engine, with wages at twelve shillings a week. His had been 
 a rough, hard-working life. His father was a fireman, who 
 earned only twelve shillings a week, out of which there was a 
 wife and six children to keep. His home was a poor cottage, 
 with a clay floor and unplastered walls. He had never been 
 to school ; but as soon as ever he was old enough to do any- 
 thing, he had to contribute to the general support. At first, 
 he earned two-pence a day for looking after Widow Ainslie's 
 cows ; later on, he received two shillings a week for minding 
 horses; later on still, six shillings a week as assistant fireman 
 to his father ; and, at the age of sixteen, he was " made a man 
 for life," as he thought, by becoming a fireman with wages at 
 twelve shillings a week. That boy was George Stephenson, 
 who became one of the greatest men of his day, and who, as 
 " the father of railways," will be held in grateful admiration all 
 the world over for his mighty labors in connection with the 
 locomotive engine. — Heroes of Britain in Peace and War. 
 
ALFRED THE GREAT. 8? 
 
 ALFRED THE GREAT. 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 S great and good in peace as he was great and 
 good in war, King Alfred never rested from 
 his labors to improve his people. He made 
 just laws, that they might live more happily 
 and freely; he turned away all partial judges, 
 that no wrong might be done them; he was 
 so careful of their property, and punished 
 robbers so severely, that it was a common thing 
 to say that under the great King Alfred garlands of golden 
 chains and jewels might have hung across the streets, and no 
 man would have touched one. 
 
 He founded schools; he patiently heard cases himself in his 
 court of justice. Every day he divided into certain portions, 
 and in each portion devoted himself to a certain pursuit. 
 That he might divide his time exactly, he had wax torches or 
 candles made, which were all of the same size, were notched 
 across at regular distances, and were always kept burning. 
 Thus, as the candles burned down, he divided the day into 
 notches, almost as accurately as we now divide it into hours 
 upon the clock. He had the candles put into cases formed 
 of wood and white horn ; and these were the first lanterns 
 ever made in England. 
 
 All this time he was afflicted with a terrible, unknown dis- 
 ease, which caused him violent and frequent pain, that nothing 
 could relieve. He bore it as he had borne all the troubles of 
 his life, like a brave, good man, until he was fifty-three years 
 old ; and then, having reigned thirty years, he died. He 
 died in the year nine hundred and one ; but, long ago as 
 that is, his fame, and the love and gratitude with which his 
 subjects regarded him, are freshly remembered to the present 
 hour. 
 
88 GRAND ACHIEVEMENTS. 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GREECE. 
 
 HE final overthrow of the Persian hosts on 
 the battle-field of Plataea, B. C. 479, has 
 an importance far greater than that of 
 the deliverance of the Greeks from im- 
 mediate danger. Perhaps no other event 
 in ancient history has been so momentous 
 in its consequences ; for what would have 
 been the condition of Greece had she then 
 become a province of the Persian Empire ? The greatness 
 which she subsequently attained, and the glory and renown 
 with which she has filled the earth, would never have had 
 an existence. Little Greece sat at the gates of a continent, 
 and denied an entrance to the gorgeous barbarism of Asia. 
 She determined that Europe should not be Asiatic ; that 
 civilization should not sink into the abyss of unmitigated 
 despotism. She turned the tide of Persian encroachment 
 back across the Hellespont, and Alexander only followed the 
 refluent wave to the Indus. 
 
 ***** "The fate 
 Of unborn ages hung upon the fray ; 
 'Twas at Plataea, in that awful hour 
 When Greece united smote the Persian's power. 
 For had the Persian triumphed then, the spring 
 Of knowledge from that living source had ceased ; 
 All would have fallen before the barbarous king — 
 Art, Science, Freedom ; the despotic East, 
 Setting her mark upon the race subdued, 
 Had stamped them in the mould of sensual servitude." 
 
 Robert Southey. 
 
PART HI. 
 
 ,-i 
 
 !\ 
 
 ierniCx^acrmcGS 
 
" Then on ! then on ! where duty leads, 
 My course be onward still." 
 
 —Bishop Heber. 
 
 : Be good, sweet maid, a nd let ivho will be clever : 
 Do noble things, not dream them, all day long ; 
 A.nd so tnahe life, death, and the vast forever 
 One grand, sweet song." 
 
 — Charles Kingsley. 
 
PART II. 
 
 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 JOHN MAYNARD. 
 
 T: ? 
 
 19* 
 
 ^|»WAS on Lake Erie's broad expanse, 
 
 One bright midsummer day, 
 The gallant steamer, " Ocean Queen," 
 
 Swept proudly on her way. 
 Bright faces clustered on the deck, 
 
 Or, leaning o'er her side, 
 Watched carelessly the feathery foam 
 
 That flecked the rippling tide. 
 
 A seaman sought the captain's side 
 
 A moment, whispered low ; 
 The captain's swarthy face grew pale ; 
 
 He hurried down below. 
 Alas, too late ! Though quick, and sharp. 
 
 And clear his orders came, 
 No human efforts could avail 
 
 To quench th' insidious flame. 
 
 The bad news quickly reached the deck. 
 
 It sped from lip to lip, 
 And ghastly faces everywhere 
 Looked from the doomed ship. 
 " Is there no hope, no chance of life ?" 
 
 A hundred lips implore, 
 "But one," the captain made reply, 
 " To run the ship on shore !" 
 
 91 
 
92 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 A sailor whose heroic soul 
 
 That hour should yet reveal, 
 By name, John Maynard, Eastern-born, 
 Stood calmly at the wheel. 
 " Head her southeast !" the captain shouts, 
 
 Above the smothered roar — 
 
 " Head her southeast, without delay ! 
 
 Make for the nearest shore !" 
 
 John Maynard watched the nearing flame, 
 
 But still, with steady hand, 
 He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly 
 
 He steered the ship to land. 
 " John Maynard, can you still hold out ?" 
 
 He heard the captain cry. 
 A voice from out the stifling smoke 
 
 Faintly responds, " Ay ! Ay !" 
 
 But half a mile ! A hundred hands 
 
 Stretch eagerly to shore. 
 But half a mile ! That distance sped, 
 
 Perils shall all be o'er ! 
 But half a mile ! Yet stay ! The flames 
 
 No longer slowly creep, 
 But gather round the helmsman bold 
 
 With fierce, impetuous sweep. 
 
 "John Maynard," with an anxious voice. 
 
 The captain cries once more, 
 " Stand by the wheel five minutes yet, 
 And we will reach the shore !" 
 Through flame and smoke that dauntless hean 
 
 Responded firmly, still, 
 Unawed, though face to face with death, 
 " With God's good help, I will !" 
 
 The flames approach with giant strides, 
 
 They scorch his hands and brow ; 
 One arm disabled seeks his side ; 
 
 Ah ! he is conquered now ! 
 But no ; his teeth are firmly set, 
 
 He crushes down his pain ; 
 His knee upon the stanchion pressed, 
 
 He guides the ship again ! 
 
A STORY OF STRUGGLE AND VICTORY. 
 
 9'S 
 
 One moment yet, one moment yet ! 
 
 Brave heart, thy task is o'er ! 
 The pebbles grate beneath the keel, 
 
 The steamer touches shore ! 
 Three hundred grateful voices rise 
 
 In praise to God, that He 
 Hath saved them from the fearful fire, 
 
 And from th' ingulfing sea ! 
 
 But where is he, that helmsman bold ? 
 
 The captain saw him reel ; 
 His nerveless hands released their task, 
 
 He sank beside the wheel ! 
 The wave received his lifeless corpse, 
 
 Blackened with smoke and fire ! 
 God rest him ! Never hero had 
 
 A nobler funeral pyre ! 
 
 Horatio Alger, Jr. 
 
 A STORY OF STRUGGLE AND VICTORY. 
 
 JOHN B. GOUGH. 
 
 HE only ability I have is to tell a story. 
 From the night I signed the pledge I began 
 to tell the story. It was a story of priva- 
 tion and suffering, of struggle and victory; 
 a story of gloom and sunshine, one which 
 I felt in the deepest depths of my own soul; 
 a story of God's infinite mercy. It is a 
 simple story, and I have been telling it ever 
 since. I know I have not education and logic, but I thank 
 God I know that there are some men who, by hearing my 
 story, have been able to make their life better, nobler and 
 truer. The first words I ever uttered in a temperance meeting 
 were : " What are you laughing at over there ?" for, when the 
 chairman of the meeting gave me permission to say a few 
 words, a young man who knew me began to laugh. I held up 
 
94 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 my hand. I said: "Look there; are you laughing at that? 
 I cannot hold my hand steady. It is drink that has done it. 
 Now I am going to sign the temperance pledge." I did it, 
 and although the signature is like Stephen Hopkins' on the 
 Declaration of Independence, it was written, and although it is 
 a long time ago, that act is as fresh in my remembrance as 
 anything that occurred a week ago. I want to say a word or 
 two in reference to the intemperate. What shall we do for 
 them ? The great aim ought to be to put temptation out of 
 the way — to crush out the liquor traffic, and save them from 
 the temptations to which they are exposed at every corner. 
 You can see very readily why we should do that ; but while 
 we are doing that do not let us forget these unfortunate 
 drunkards who are going to perdition. While we are working 
 for prohibition let us labor for the restoration of the drunkard, 
 not by wishing him success, but by doing something practical 
 to help him. 
 
 There is not a temperance man or woman who is not glad 
 when men sign the pledge ; but how do many of them mani- 
 fest their gladness and encouragement? A friend of mine 
 stood by the pledge table in Exeter Hall, London, when a 
 poor, drunken, ignorant sot, a broken-down prize fighter, a 
 champion of the lightweights, thirty- two years old, signed the 
 pledge. My friend was a builder, and he employed seven or 
 eight hundred men, and he wished to help this poor drunkard. 
 Did he say : " I hope you will stick to it ; it will be a good 
 thing for you if you stick to it?" No; but he asked: " Where 
 are you going to sleep to-night?" "Where I did last night." 
 " Where was that ?" " In the street." " No, you don't; you 
 signed the pledge, you joined our society, you belong to us ; 
 you are going home with me." He told me that his wife had 
 to burn the bed clothes the next morning ; but what is a set 
 of bed clothes compared with the restoration and salvation of 
 a man ? He did not mind the burning of the bed clothes so 
 long as that man recovered sufficiently from the effects of 
 drink to go to work. He was very ignorant, and he went to 
 
A STORY OF STRUGGLE AND VICTORY. 95 
 
 Sunday school, where he learned his letters and how to put 
 them together. Two years afterwards he stood up in that 
 Sunday school and thanked God that he ever went there, and 
 to-day that man is one of the most effective city missionaries 
 in Whitechapel. That is the way to save men. These poor 
 fellows need help. Suppose one of these poor fellows signs the 
 pledge; there are a great many out-and-out temperance men 
 and women who do not understand and do not know what 
 that man has to go through. It is an easy thing to sign the 
 pledge. A poor fellow said: "I would sign that pledge in a 
 minute if anybody would take the next six weeks from me." 
 How does he feel the next morning? Why, when the man 
 rises, his mouth is dry and feverish, and one hand shakes; he 
 has no power over his nerves. He knew this would come to 
 him, but it seems to be worse than ever. There is a glass of 
 liquor, and he knows that it will steady his nerves if he drinks 
 it. He is shaking in every limb, and every nerve is twitching 
 and stinging; but the liquor will relieve him at once, and there 
 is an awful temptation to take it, and nine out of ten men can- 
 not resist that without human help. When the man feels a 
 horrible stagnation in the stomach, and when the blood won't 
 flow, and he knows that a glass of whiskey will start the blood, 
 there is a strong temptation. That man needs human help 
 then and there. I do not ask you to take him to your house, 
 but keep an eye upon him just after he signs the pledge, for 
 men who break their pledges do so before the first struggle is 
 over. These men know not what they need. In Edinburgh 
 they have a club room, where temperance men invite men to 
 come who are trying to reform. A man went in there one 
 night very drunk. Mr. Cranston said: "Do you know what 
 place this is?" "Yes, it is a teetotal club room." "Well, but 
 you are drunk." "I know I am; I never denied I was drunk, 
 did I?" "What business have you here, then?" "I am a 
 teetotaler. I know I am drunk. Did you ever see a drunk 
 teetotaler before? because, if you did not, here is one." They 
 thought he was feigning drunkenness, and said: "You had 
 
96 
 
 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 better go out." " Don't put me out, gentlemen," he said, " I 
 am a teetotaler; here is my pledge; I signed it down the 
 street, about half an hour ago, and, so help me God, I haven't 
 touched a drop since, and don't mean to. I have come here 
 for safety." That is what he wanted, and that is what every 
 poor, struggling man needs. 
 
 THE PATRIOTIC COURIER, B. C, 490. 
 
 THOMAS ARCHER. 
 
 " Rejoice ! rejoice! the victory is ours !" 
 
 T is the cry of the Greek soldier — a solitary 
 figure, who has come, with already failing 
 feet and straining eyes, up the long road that 
 leads to Athens from the level plain by the 
 sea, between the foot of Pentelicus and the 
 less prominent Mount of Hymettus — the 
 plain of Marathon. 
 
 Covered with dust and blood — the blood 
 of the enemy mingled with his own — 
 wounded, faint, and with armor and dress disordered, he has 
 strueeled onward toward the eminence where the Archons 
 were assembled in the porch of the Athenian town hall. 
 To bring the glorious news, he has left the conquering ranks 
 of Miltiades, Aristides and Themistocles, only waiting to see 
 the Persians flee to the ships that came to invade Attica, and 
 are now — such of them as are not burned by the victorious 
 Greeks before they can push off from the shore — the only 
 place of refuge for that great army which Darius had sent 
 to avenge the defiance of Athens and Sparta. The treacherous 
 Hippias, the son of Pisistratus, once the tyrant of Athens, 
 has led the invading force; but he lies undistinguished amidst 
 the heaps of slain. Six thousand Persians have fallen in this 
 
THE BLACKSMITH OF RAGENBACH. 
 
 97 
 
 desperate battle, without counting those who have found a 
 grave in the sea or have been consumed in the flames. 
 
 Seven of the ships have been taken, and the pursuing 
 hbplitcs and their commanders have sought to stay the rest by- 
 rushing waist-deep in the water and seizing the triremes. 
 Among these was Cyraegirus, brother of the poet ^Eschylus, 
 who, refusing to release his hold, and endeavoring to board 
 the vessel that he had clutched in the fury of his pursuit, had 
 his hand severed by a Median axe, and fell back into the sea 
 and was drowned. About two hundred of the victorious 
 army have fallen ; and now a single messenger, keeping his 
 latest breath to accomplish this heroic journey of thirty miles 
 from the sea border of Marathon to the city, lifts up his hands, 
 and, with one cry of "Victory!" falls upon the marble steps, 
 and is numbered with the dead. 
 
 THE BLACKSMITH OF RAGENBACH. 
 
 FRANK MURRY. 
 
 ^g|gN a little German village, 
 
 On the waters of the Rhine, 
 Gay and joyous in their pastimes, 
 
 In the pleasant vintage time, 
 Were a group of happy peasants, 
 
 For the day released from toil, 
 Thanking God for all his goodness 
 
 In the product of the soil ; 
 
 When a cry ran through the welkin, 
 
 And appeared upon the scene 
 A panting dog, with crest erect, 
 
 Foaming mouth and savage mien. 
 He is mad ! " was shrieked in chorus ; 
 
 In dismay, they all fell back — 
 All except one towering figure, 
 
 'Twas the smith of Ragenbach ! 
 
98 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 God had given this man his image; 
 
 Nature stamped him as complete ; 
 Now it was incumbent on him 
 
 To perform a greater feat 
 Than Horatius at the bridge, 
 
 When he stood on Tiber's bank ; 
 For, behind him were his townfolk, 
 
 Who, appalled with terror, shrank 
 
 From the most appalling danger — 
 
 That which makes the bravest quail ; 
 While they all were grouped together, 
 
 Shaking limbs and visage pale. 
 For a moment cowered the beast, 
 
 Snapping to the left and right, 
 While the blacksmith stood before him 
 
 In the power of his might. 
 
 One must die to save the many, 
 
 Let it then my duty be ; 
 " I' ve the power. Fear not, neighbors ' 
 
 From this peril you'll be free !" 
 As the lightning from the storm cloud 
 
 Leaps to earth with sudden crash, 
 So upon the rabid monster 
 
 Did this man and hero dash ! 
 
 In the death-grip then they struggled, 
 
 Man and dog, with scarce a sound, 
 Till from out the fearful conflict 
 
 Rose the man from off the ground, 
 Gashed and gory from the struggle ; 
 
 But the beast lay stiff and dead ! 
 There he stood, while people gathered, 
 
 And rained blessings on his head. 
 
 " Friends," he said, " from one great peri 1 ., 
 
 With God's help, I' ve set you free ; 
 But my task is not yet ended, 
 
 There is danger now in me ! 
 Yet secure from harm you shall be ; 
 
 None need fear before I die ; 
 That my sufferings may be shortened, 
 
 Ask of Him who rules on high." 
 
MOLIERE'S LAST DA V. 99 
 
 Then unto his forge he straightway 
 
 Walked erect, with rapid step, 
 While the people followed after, 
 
 Some with shouts, while others wept ; 
 And with nerve as steady as when 
 
 He had plied his trade for gain, 
 He selected, without faltering, 
 
 From his store, the heaviest chain. 
 
 To his anvil, first, he bound it, 
 
 Next his limb he shackled fast, 
 Then he said unto his townsfolk 
 " All your danger now is past ! 
 Place within my reach, I pray you, 
 
 Food and water for a time, 
 Until God shall ease my sufferings 
 
 By His gracious will divine." 
 
 Long he suffered, but at last, 
 
 Came a summons from on high ; 
 Then his soul, with angel escort, 
 
 Sought its home beyond the sky ; 
 And the people of that village, 
 
 Those whom he had died to save, 
 Still, with grateful hearts, assemble, 
 
 And with flowers bedeck his grave. 
 
 MOLIERE'S LAST DAY. 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 It is told of Moliere, that on the morning of the day on 
 which he died, his wife and friends, seeing how weak he was, 
 tried to prevent him going down to play that night, but in 
 vain. "A man," said he, " suffers long ere he dies; I feel that 
 with me the end is at hand ; but there are fifty poor working- 
 men who have only their day's wages to live on, and who is 
 to give them bread to-night if I play not?" So he went 
 down, and played his great composition, the Malade Imagi- 
 nairc — dying all the while, then went home to bed, and died. 
 
100 
 
 THE DRUMMER BOY 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 LINGRAHA1 
 
 Ye would w.-. uer lad, 
 
 t broqg 5andk 
 
 .:s. 
 - 
 5 g sleeps 
 
 - ckty, 
 
 sure true — 
 
 . 
 Wh.'.. 
 
 I j er 
 S <c in truer time than . 
 Nay, in truth - J Murray 
 
 Drummer ot our corps shall be." 
 
 I g -. e j e thanks — but Cap! i n 
 Ye 
 
 For the friendless, lonely laddie. 
 When the .k is sair : 
 
 For Sandie's aye been good and gentle, 
 id I've not ■ e. 
 
 Nothing — but the g yonder, 
 
 And the \e."' 
 
 Then, her rough hand gently b 
 
 On the curl-encircled head. 
 She blessed her boy. The tent was silent, 
 And not another word was said ; 
 
 .ham was sadly dreaming 
 ■ benison, long 
 Breathed above his head, then golden. 
 Bending now, and touched with snow. 
 
THE DRUMMER BOY. 101 
 
 "Good-bye, Sandie." " Good-bye, mother, 
 I'll come back some summer day ; 
 Don't you fear — they don't shoot drummers 
 
 Ever. Do they, Captain Gra ? 
 
 One more kiss — watch for me, mother, 
 
 You will know 'tis surely me 
 Coming home — for you will hear me 
 Playing soft the reveille." 
 
 ***** 
 
 After battle. Moonbeams ghastly 
 
 Seemed to link in strange affright, 
 As the scudding clouds before them 
 
 Shadowed faces dead and white ; 
 And the night-wind softly whispered, 
 
 When low moans its light wing bore — 
 Moans that ferried spirits over 
 
 Death's dark wave to yonder shore. 
 
 Wandering where a footstep careless 
 
 Might go splashing down in blood, 
 Or a helpless hand lie grasping 
 
 Death and daisies from the sod, 
 Captain Graham walked swift onward, 
 
 While a faintly-beaten drum 
 Quickened heart and step together: 
 
 " Sandie Murray ! See, I come ! 
 
 " Is it thus I find you, laddie ? 
 Wounded, lonely, lying here, 
 Playing thus the reveille ? 
 
 See — the morning is not near." 
 A moment paused the drummer boy, 
 And lifted up his drooping head : 
 " Oh, Captain Graham, the light is coming, 
 'Tis morning, and my prayers are said. 
 
 " Morning ! See, the plains grow brighter — 
 
 Morning — and I'm going home ; 
 That is why I play the measure, 
 
 Mother will not see me come ; 
 But you'll tell her, won't you, Captain — " 
 
 Hush, the boy has spoken true ; 
 To him the day has dawned forever, 
 
 Unbroken by the night's tattoo. — Anonymous. 
 
102 
 
 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 A MODEL WOMAN, 
 
 OW, it came to pass, in the days of Ahasuerus 
 (that is, Ahasuerus which reigned from 
 India, even unto Ethiopia, over an hundred 
 and seven and twenty provinces), that, in 
 those days, when the King Ahasuerus sat 
 on the throne of his kingdom which was 
 in Shushan, the palace, in the third year of 
 his reign he made a feast unto all his 
 princes and his servants ; the power of Persia and Media, the 
 
 nobles and princes, being before him. 
 
 ********** 
 
 " On the seventh day, when the heart of the king was merry 
 with wine, he commanded the seven chamberlains that served 
 in the presence of Ahasuerus, the king, to bring Vashti, the 
 queen, before the king, with the crown royal, to show the 
 people and the princes her beauty, for she was fair to look on. 
 But the queen, Vashti, refused to come at the king's com- 
 mandment by his chamberlains ; therefore was the king very 
 
 wroth, and his anger burned in him. 
 
 ********** 
 
 "Then the king said to the wise men which knew the times, 
 what shall we do unto the queen Vashti, according to law, 
 because she hath not performed the commandment of the king 
 Ahasuerus by the chamberlains ? 
 
 " And Memucan answered before the king and the princes; 
 if it please the king, let there go out a royal commandment from 
 him, and let it be written among the laws of the Persians and 
 Medes, that it be not altered, that Vashti come no more before 
 King Ahasuerus ; and let the king give her royal estate unto 
 another, that is better than she. 
 
 " And the saying pleased the king and the princes ; and the 
 king did according to the word of Memucan." — Esther, Chap.i. 
 
 From out an Eastern heathen empire that flourished ages 
 
A MODEL WOMAN. 103 
 
 ago there looks down upon us, a light and guide to the 
 women of the nineteenth century, a strong, womanly character, 
 Vashti, queen of Ahasuerus and of his court. The hand of 
 the historian parts the curtain and reveals to us the unequaled 
 splendors of this court of the Persian king. It is the third 
 year of his reign ; and in the flush of pride and manhood the 
 king, who ruled over a hundred and twenty-seven provinces — 
 from India even to Ethiopia — gave a feast. A hundred and 
 eighty days he showed the riches and honor of his kingdom 
 before the power of Persia and Media, the nobles and princes 
 of his provinces. There is at last the hush of revelry — the 
 banqueting of the feast is over. This is followed by a feast 
 of seven days " for all the people, great and small." The 
 splendors of the former baffled the historian's pen. It is here, 
 in this lesser feast only, that we catch the details of magnifi- 
 cent preparation. There are hangings of white, green and 
 blue; cords of fine linen and purple; silver rings and pillars 
 of marble; sofas of gold and silver on pavements of porphyry, 
 marble, alabaster and stone of blue; drinking vessels of gold; 
 wine in abundance. The drinking was regulated by law — 
 none were compelled. " It was only the court whose law was 
 not ' drink and begone.' " Beside this, Vashti, the queen, 
 made a feast for the women of the king's house. The last 
 day of the feast had come, and the king's heart was merry 
 with wine. He sought some new pleasure for the feasting 
 throng. But of all his treasures there was nothing new left 
 with which to entertain his guests save Vashti, the queen, 
 beautiful and strong. And Vashti was by the seven cham- 
 berlains of the king commanded to appear before him in royal 
 crown, decked in purple and gold and rare embroidery. 
 
 Standing in the midst of the women of the king's house, she 
 received her lord's command. The jewels that encircled 
 heavily her neck and arms and fingers flashed in the light. 
 But the virtue, the womanliness of the heathen queen, as 
 standing there she received the king's command and refused 
 to go, flashed out upon the moral world a light that has never 
 
104 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 died. One may almost see this woman dare send back this 
 answer. She looks her beauty, her womanhood, herself, and 
 she will not flaunt them before an idle throng. Her strongest 
 characteristic is her common sense ; and it was this counsellor 
 which sent back that self-protective answer and stirred the 
 wrath of a heathen despot. Then there comes the sound of 
 anger, a hasty council, the framing of a law — and the feast that 
 had magnified the kingdom ends in a public shame. The 
 brave queen from out the palace goes uncrowned, yet wearing 
 before all nations the right royal crown of a true and lofty 
 womanhood. — Christian at Work. 
 
 TWO MOTHERS. 
 
 URING the darkest period of the French 
 Revolution occurred the following incident, 
 so characteristic of the sympathy of one 
 mother for another, in whatever condition of 
 life. The grandfather of the present Marquis 
 de Custine was on trial before one of the 
 sanguinary tribunals of the day. 
 
 The father of the Marquis was absent, as 
 ambassador in Prussia ; and his mother hastened to Paris to 
 save, if possible, the life of her father-in-law. 
 
 " Every day," says the Marquis, " she was present in the 
 court, during my grandfather's trial, sitting at his feet. Mornings 
 and evenings, she visited personally the members of the revolu- 
 tionary tribunal, and the members of the committee, and so great 
 was the power of her beauty, and the interest excited by her 
 presence, that at one of the last sittings of the tribunal the women 
 of the gallery, though unused to tears, were seen to weep. The 
 marks of sympathy which these furies gave to the daughter- 
 in-law of Custine irritated the president so much that, during 
 the session, he gave secret orders that the life of my mother 
 should be secretly taken as she descended the steps of the hall. 
 
TWO MOTHERS. 105 
 
 "The accused was re-conducted to his prison. His daughter- 
 in-law, on leaving the tribunal, prepared to descend the steps 
 of the palace, to regain, alone and on foot, the carriage which 
 was waiting for her in a distant street. No one dared to ac- 
 company her, at least openly, for fear of increasing the danger. 
 Timid and shy as a hare, she had, all her life, an instinctive 
 dread of a crowd. Imagine the steps of the Palace of Justice, 
 that long flight of stairs, covered with the crowded masses of 
 an angry populace, gorged with blood, and already too much 
 accustomed to performing their horrid office to draw back 
 from one murder more. 
 
 " My mother, trembling, stopped at the head of the steps. 
 Her eyes commanded the place where Madame Lamballe had 
 been murdered some months before. A friend of my father 
 had succeeded in getting a note to her while in court, to warn 
 her to redouble her prudence ; but this advice increased the 
 danger, instead of averting it. My mother's alarm being 
 greater, she had less presence of mind; she thought herself 
 lost ; and this idea was almost fatal to her. If I tremble and 
 fall, as Madame Lamballe did, thought she, it is all over with 
 me. The furious mob thickened incessantly about her path. 
 'It is Custine, it is the daughter-in-law of the traitor! ' cried 
 they, on every side. Every outcry was seasoned with oaths 
 and atrocious imprecations. 
 
 " How should she descend — how should she pass through the 
 fiend-like crowd ? Some, with drawn swords, placed themselves 
 before her ; others, without vests, their shirt-sleeves turned up, 
 were driving away their wives. This was the precursor of an 
 execution. The danger increased. My mother thought that 
 if she exhibited the slightest weakness, she should be thrown 
 to the ground, and her fall would be the signal for her death. 
 "At last, casting her eyes around, she perceived one of the 
 fish-women, a most hideous-looking creature, advancing in the 
 middle of the crowd. This woman had a nursing infant in 
 her arms. Impelled by the God of Mothers, the daughter of 
 ' the traitor ' approached this mother — a mother is something 
 
106 
 
 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 more than a woman — and said to her, ' what a pretty child you 
 have there ! ' ' Take it,' replied the mother, who, degraded as 
 she was, understood everything, with a word — a look — ' you 
 can give it back to me at the bottom of the steps.' 
 
 " Maternal electricity had acted on the two hearts — the 
 crowd felt it. My mother took the child, embraced it, and 
 made use of it as an ^Egis against the enraged crowd. 
 
 "The man of nature resumed his rights over the man bru- 
 talized by the effects of social disease ; the barbarians calling 
 themselves civilized, were conquered by two mothers. 
 
 "Mine, rescued, descends into the court of the Palace of 
 Justice, crosses it, goes toward the square, without receiving a 
 blow, or the least injury. She reached the grating, and gave 
 back the child to the person who had lent it to her ; and, in 
 the same moment, they separated without speaking a single 
 word. The place was not favorable for thanks or explanations. 
 They said nothing to each other of their secret. They never 
 saw each other again ! The souls of these two mothers tvill 
 meet somewhere e/se." — From the French of De Custine. 
 
 THE EARL OF STRAFFORD AND CHARLES I. 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 HE Earl of Strafford defended himself against 
 the accusations of the House of Commons, 
 with all the presence of mind, judgment, 
 and sagacity, that could be expected from 
 innocence and ability. His children were 
 placed beside him, as he was thus defending 
 his life and the cause of his royal master. 
 After he had, in a long and eloquent speech, 
 delivered without premeditation, confuted all the accusations 
 of his enemies, he thus drew to a conclusion. " But, my lords, 
 I have troubled you too long : longer than I should have done, 
 but for the sake of these dear pledges, which a saint in heaven 
 
THE EARL OF STRAFFORD AND CHARLES I. 107 
 
 has left me." Upon this he paused ; dropped a tear ; looked 
 upon his children, and proceeded. " What I forfeit for myself 
 is a trifle : that my indiscretions should reach my posterity, 
 wounds me to the heart. Pardon my infirmity. Something I 
 should have added, but I am not able ; and therefore I let it 
 pass. And now, my lords, for myself. I have long been 
 taught that the afflictions of this life are overpaid by that 
 eternal weight of glory which awaits the innocent. And so, 
 my lords, even so, with the utmost tranquillity, I submit myself 
 to your judgment, whether that judgment be life or death: 
 not my will, but thine, O God, be done ! " 
 
 His eloquence and innocence induced those judges to pity 
 who were the most zealous to condemn him. The king- him- 
 self went to the House of Lords, and spoke for some time in 
 his defence; but the spirit of vengeance, which had been 
 chained for eleven years, was now roused, and nothing but his 
 blood could give the people satisfaction. He was condemned 
 by both houses of Parliament ; and nothing remained but for 
 the king to give his consent to the bill of attainder. But in 
 the present commotions, the consent of the king would very 
 easily be dispensed with ; and imminent danger might attend 
 his refusal. Charles, however, who loved Strafford tenderly, 
 hesitated, and seemed reluctant; trying every expedient to put 
 off so dreadful an office as that of signing the warrant for his 
 execution. While he continued in this agitation of mind and 
 state of suspense, his doubts were at last silenced by an act 
 of great magnanimity in the condemned lord. He received a 
 letter from that unfortunate nobleman, desiring that his* life 
 might be made a sacrifice to obtain reconciliation between the 
 king and his people ; adding, that he was prepared to die, and 
 that to a willing mind there could be no injury. This instance 
 of noble generosity was but ill-repaid by his master, who com- 
 plied with his request. He consented to sign the fatal bill by 
 commission ; and Strafford was beheaded on Tower-hill, May 
 1 2th, 1 64 1 ; behaving with all that composed dignity of reso- 
 lution which was expected from his character. 
 
108 
 
 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 PASTOR DANKWARDT. 
 
 (Pomerania, 1807.) 
 
 ANNIE FIELDS. 
 
 WAS in the Northern German land, 
 Fast by the Baltic Sea, 
 When the French Emperor sent his troops 
 To bend the people's knee, 
 
 -gp|«|- And dwell within their houses, 
 ' / "x^ Feasting on wine and corn, 
 
 tTill German hearts should learn to feel 
 The might of foreign scorn ; 
 
 They came to Bodenstede, 
 
 A hamlet green and still, 
 With fountain in the market place, 
 
 Where maids their pitchers fill ; 
 
 They overran the village street, 
 
 They overran the inn, 
 They stole the peasants' ripening crops, 
 
 And strove the maids to win ; 
 
 And up and down, throughout the night, 
 They sang their ribald song, 
 
 While hidden evils darted forth 
 To join the lawless throng. 
 
 How fair was Bodenstede ! 
 
 But deeds the Frenchmen wrought 
 Among her pleasant summer fields 
 
 No peaceful harvest brought. 
 
 The people seized the soldiers, 
 And bore them to the strand, 
 
 And shipped them to a barren shore 
 Within a hostile land, 
 
 And then returned rejoicing ; 
 
 But he, the nation's fate, 
 Quickly dispatched a mightier corps 
 
 To hold the conquered State. 
 
PASTOR DANKWARDT. 109 
 
 Alas for Bodenstede ! 
 
 How sad the sun uprose 
 That day ; the foreign flags returned 
 
 Before his golden close ! 
 
 Rode forth Commander Mortier: 
 " Seize all the men," he cried, 
 " Who rule in Bodenstede, 
 
 And place them side by side ; 
 
 "And at the signal given, 
 
 Shoot each man where he stands ; 
 They that remain shall live to see 
 Their blazing homes and lands." 
 
 Then forward stepped the pastor; 
 His eyes were bright as flame; 
 " If any man is shot, shoot me ; 
 Mine is the guilt and shame. 
 
 " I bade the people to revolt, 
 And drag the men away ; 
 I sent them to the Swedish shore ; 
 'Twas I urged on the fray. 
 
 " Hear me, O sire, how innocent 
 These people surely are ; 
 I pray thee burn my guilty roof, 
 But all the others spare." 
 
 The stern Commander, Mortier, 
 
 Heard what the pastor said, 
 One moment stood irresolute, 
 
 Then turned his horse's head, 
 
 And putting spurs to flank they rode 
 
 Out from the wondering town ; 
 And as they passed, the word was given, 
 
 " These fisher-huts burn down ! " 
 
 A few poor sheds where no man dwelt ! 
 
 No blood that day they spilled. 
 And thus Commander Mortier 
 
 The Emperor's law fulfilled. 
 
110 
 
 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 Those battle-fields are overgrown ; 
 
 Dim is their glory now ; 
 But Virtue, ever wakeful, shines; 
 
 The stars are on her brow. 
 
 The pastor, in his flowing gown, 
 
 Before the armed host, 
 Joyfully giving life and home 
 
 If he may save the lost. 
 
 Deep in the German fatherland 
 
 This rooted memory grows, 
 And safe within the children's heart 
 
 The living picture glows. 
 
 — Harpers' Magazine. 
 
 MAHMOUD. 
 
 AHMOUD, the third prince of the dynasty 
 of Ghwzni, was born in the latter part of 
 the tenth century. He was noted for his 
 strict sense of justice, as well as for his 
 martial spirit. In the course of his reign, 
 he extended his dominions from the Tigris 
 to the Ganges, and from the Oxus to the 
 Indian Ocean. He died about the year 
 1030 A. D. The following instance of his determined justice 
 is recorded by all his historians : — 
 
 A poor man had complained that a young noble of the court 
 came constantly to his house at night, turned him out of doors, 
 and committed other outrageous indignities. The monarch 
 bade him give notice the next time this occurred. He did as 
 he was directed, and Mahmoud went with him to his house. 
 When he reached it, he put out a lamp that was burning, and, 
 having found the paramour, struck off his head with one blow 
 of his cimeter. He then called for a light, and, after viewing 
 the corpse, fell upon his knees and returned thanks to heaven, 
 
MAHMOUD. Ill 
 
 after which he bade the astonished husband bring him water, 
 of which he drank an immoderate quantity. " You are sur- 
 prised at my actions," said Mahmoud, " but know that since 
 you informed me of the outrage you suffered, I have neither 
 slept, ate, nor drank. I conceived that no person, except one 
 of my sons, would dare openly to commit so great a crime ; 
 resolved to do justice, I extinguished the light, that my feel- 
 ings as a father might not prevent me from doing my duty as 
 a sovereign ; my prayers were a thanksgiving to the Almighty 
 when I saw that I had not been compelled to slay one of my 
 own offspring, and I drank, as you observed, like a man that 
 was expiring of thirst." 
 
 There came a man, making his hasty moan 
 Before the Sultan Mahmoud on his throne, 
 And crying out, " My sorrow is my right, 
 And I will see the Sultan, and to-night." 
 
 "Sorrow," said Mahmoud, " is a reverend thing : 
 I recognize its right, as king with king ; 
 Speak on." " A fiend has got into my house," 
 Exclaimed the staring man, " and tortures us : 
 One of thine officers ; he comes, the abhorred, 
 And takes possession of my house, my board, 
 My bed : I have two daughters and a wife, 
 And the wild villain comes and makes me mad with life." 
 
 " Is he there now ? " said Mahmoud. " No ; he left 
 The house when I did, of my wits bereft, 
 And laughed me down the street, because I vowed 
 I'd bring the prince himself to lay him in his shroud ; 
 I'm mad with want — I'm mad with misery, 
 And O thou Sultan Mahmoud, God cries out for thee ! " 
 
 The Sultan comforted the man, and said, 
 " Go home, and I will send thee wine and bread," 
 (For he was poor) " and other comforts. Go : 
 And should the wretch return, let Sultan Mahmoud know." 
 
 In three days' time, with haggard eyes and beard, 
 And shaken voice, the suitor re-appeared, 
 And said, "He's come." Mahmoud said not a word, 
 But rose and took four slaves, each with a sword, 
 
112 HER OIC SA CRIFICES. 
 
 And went with the vexed man. They reach the place, 
 And hear a voice, and see a woman's face, 
 That to the window fluttered in affright : 
 " Go in," said Mahmoud, " and put out the light ; 
 But tell the females first to leave the room ; 
 And when the drunkard follows them, we come." 
 
 The man went in. There was a cry, and hark ! — 
 
 A table falls, the window is struck dark : 
 
 Forth rush the breathless women ; and behind, 
 
 With curses, comes the fiend, in desperate mind. 
 
 In vain : the sabres soon cut short the strife, 
 
 And chop the shrieking wretch, and drink his bloody life. 
 
 " Now light the light," the Sultan cried aloud : 
 'Twas done : he took it in his hand and bowed 
 Over the corpse, and looked upon the face ; 
 Then turned and knelt, and to the throne of grace 
 Put up a prayer, and from his lips there crept 
 Some gentle words of pleasure, and he wept. 
 
 In reverent silence the beholders wait; 
 They bring him at his call both wine and meat; 
 And when he had refreshed his noble heart, 
 He bade his host be blest, and rose up to depart. 
 
 The man, amazed, all mildness, now in tears, 
 Fell at the Sultan's feet with many prayers, 
 And begged him to vouchsafe to tell his slave 
 The reason first of that command he gave 
 About the light ; then, when he saw the face, 
 Why he knelt down ; and, lastly, how it was 
 That fare so poor as his detained him in his place. 
 
 The Sultan said, with a benignant eye, 
 " Since first I saw thee come, and heard thy cry, 
 I could not rid me of a dread, that one 
 By whom such daring villainies were done 
 Must be some lord of mine, — ay, e'en perhaps a son. 
 For this I had the light put out ; but when 
 I saw the face, and found the stranger slain, 
 I knelt and thanked the sovereign Arbiter, 
 Whose work I had performed through pain and fear; 
 And then I rose and was refreshed with food, 
 The first time since thy voice has marred my solitude." 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALA CLA VA. 113 
 
 THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALACLAVA. 
 
 p T was on the twenty-fifth of October, 1854, 
 during the Crimean War, while the opposing 
 armies — Russian on the one side, and the 
 French and English on the other — were 
 encamped near the village of Balaclava, a 
 Russian port on the northern shore of the 
 Black Sea, that the events commemorated 
 in the following sketch and poem took place. 
 It appears that the quartermaster-general, 
 Brigadier Airey, thinking that the light cavalry had not gone far 
 enough in front when the enemy's horse had fled, gave an 
 order, in writing, to Captain Nolan, Fifteenth Hussars, to take 
 to Lord Lucan, directing his lordship "to advance" his cavalry 
 nearer to the enemy. A braver soldier than Captain Nolan 
 the army did not possess. He rode off with his orders to Lord 
 Lucan. 
 
 When Lord Lucan received the order from Captain Nolan, 
 and had read it, he asked, we are told, " Where are we to ad- 
 vance to?" Captain Nolan pointed to the line of the Russians, 
 and said, "There are the enemy, and there are the guns, sir, 
 before them; it is your duty to take them," or words to that 
 effect. Lord Lucan, with reluctance, gave the order to Lord 
 Cardigan to advance upon the guns, conceiving that his orders 
 compelled him to do so. The noble earl, though he did not 
 shrink, also saw the fearful odds against them. Don Quixote, 
 in his tilt against the windmill, was not near so rash and reck- 
 less as the gallant fellows who prepared, without a thought, to 
 rush on almost certain death. 
 
 It is a maxim of war, that "cavalry never act without a sup- 
 port;" that infantry should be close at hand when cavalry 
 carry guns, as the effect is only instantaneous, and that it is 
 necessary to have on the flank of a line of cavalry some 
 squadrons in column, the attack on the flank being most dan- 
 
. 5 . 
 
 . I . - . . . 
 
 ■ . . 
 
 - guns i 
 
 a . . . . 
 
 
 
 . 
 - . - 
 
 - . Russians 
 
 . s 
 
 . - . . 
 
 ^ - . . : senses 
 
 Sun . 
 
 - - ■ ? 
 
 - . 
 
 . - . ■ ■. .... j : .... ' > .-. .- 
 
 ckening 
 : . re as they dosed I ... 
 
 -..:.. - . . > - . . . 5 
 
 ., ' ■ : - . . . 
 
 db ■ : 
 
 - 
 : . . . . . . ' : ■ - - gaps 
 
 or : - 55 : . plain. T . E 91 is. I tts 
 
 s:^»eed an 
 - . . - : those 1 guns 
 the Russ - utmost 
 
 _„ - . . . : . . . - : 
 
 : . >-• :he batteries; but ere :'.; . . >: 
 
 . . . ■ " . - 
 
THE LIGHT BRIGADE A'/ BALACLAVA. 115 
 
 the hills on both 11 as to a direct fire of musketry. 
 
 Through the clouds of smok is flash- 
 
 in;; up to the guns and da n them, 
 
 cutting down the gvmners as they stood. 
 
 To saw them returning after breaking 
 
 through a column of Russian infantry, and scattering them 
 
 f, when the flank-fire of the battery on the hill sv. 
 them down, scattered and broken as thi Wound 
 
 men and dismounted troopers flying towards us told the sad 
 tale. D lid not have done what they had failed 
 
 At the very moment when they were about to retreat, an 
 enormous mass of lancers was hurled on their flank. Colonel 
 Shewell, of the Eighth Hussars, saw the danger, and rode his 
 few men straight at them, cutting his way through with fearful 
 loss. Th- other regiments turned, and engaged in a desperate 
 encounter. With courage too great almost for credence, they 
 were breaking their way through the columns which enveloped 
 them, when there took place an act of atrocity without parallel 
 in the modern warfare of civilized nations. 
 
 The Russian gunners, when the storm of cavalry passed, 
 returned to their guns. They saw their own cavalry mingled 
 with the troopers who had just ridden over them; and, to the 
 eternal disgrace of the Russian name, the miscreants poured 
 a murderous volley of grape and canister on the mass of 
 struggling men and horses, mingling friend and foe in one 
 common ruin! It was as much as our heavy cavalry brigade 
 could do to cover the retreat of the miserable remnants of the 
 band of heroes as they returned to the place they had so lately 
 quitted. At thirty-five minutes past eleven not a British soldier, 
 except the dead and dying, was left in front of the Russian 
 guns. W. H. Russell. 
 
 Half a league, half a league, 
 Half a league onward, 
 All in the valley of Death, 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
j j q HER OIC SA CRIFICES. 
 
 " Forward, the Light Brigade ! 
 Charge for the guns !" he said*. 
 Into the valley of Death 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 " Forward, the Light Brigade !" 
 Was there a man dismayed ? 
 Not though the soldier knew 
 Some one had blundered ; 
 Theirs not to make reply, 
 Theirs not to reason why, 
 Theirs but to do and die, 
 Into the valley of Death 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 Cannon to right of them, 
 Cannon to left of them, 
 Cannon in front of them 
 
 Volleyed and thundered ; 
 Stormed at with shot and shell, 
 Boldly they rode and well ; 
 Into the jaws of Death, 
 Into the mouth of Hell, 
 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 Flashed all their sabres bare, 
 Flashed as they turned in air, 
 Sab'ring the gunners there, 
 Charging an army, while 
 
 All the world wondered ; 
 Plunged in the battery-smoke, 
 Right through the line they broke: 
 
 Cossack and Russian 
 Reeled from the sabre-stroke, 
 
 Shattered and sundered. 
 Then they rode back, but not — 
 
 Not the six hundred. 
 
 Cannon to right of them, 
 Cannon to left of them, 
 Cannon behind them 
 
 Volleyed and thundered ; 
 Stormed at with shot and shell, 
 While horse and hero fell, 
 They that had fought so well 
 
JEPHTHAH' S VOW. \YJ 
 
 Came through the jaws of death, 
 Back from the mouth of Hell, 
 All that was left of them — 
 Left of six hundred. 
 
 When can their glory fade ? 
 Oh, the wild charge they made ! 
 
 All the world wondered. 
 Honor the charge they made ! 
 Honor the Light Brigade, 
 
 Noble six hundred. 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
 JEPHTHAH'S VOW. 
 
 N. P. WILLIS. 
 
 ND Jephthah vowed a vow unto the Lord, and 
 said : " If thou shalt, without fail, deliver the 
 children of Amnion into mine hands, then shall 
 it be that whatsoever cometh forth of the doors 
 of my house to meet me, when I return in peace 
 from the children of Ammon, shall surely be 
 the Lord's, and I will offer it up for a burnt 
 offering." 
 
 So Jephthah passed over unto the children of Ammon to 
 fight against them ; and the Lord delivered them into his 
 
 Thus the children of Ammon were subdued before the 
 children of Israel. 
 
 And Jephthah came to Mizpeh, unto his house, and, behold, 
 his daughter came out to meet him with timbrels and with 
 dances ; and she was his only child; beside her he had neither 
 son nor daughter. And it came to pass that when he saw her 
 he rent his clothes and said : " Alas, my daughter, thou hast 
 brought me very low, and thou art one of them that trouble 
 me ; for I have opened my mouth unto the Lord, and I cannot 
 
118 HER OIC SA CRIFICES. 
 
 go back." And she said unto him, " My father, if thou hast 
 opened thy mouth unto the Lord, do to me according to that 
 which hath proceeded out of thy mouth ; forasmuch as the 
 Lord hath taken vengeance for thee of thine enemies, even of 
 the children of Ammon." And she said unto her father, " Let 
 this thing be done for me." ******** 
 And it came to pass at the end of two months that she 
 returned to her father, who did with her according to his vow 
 which he had vowed. And it was a custom in Israel that the 
 daughters of Israel went yearly to lament the daughter of 
 Jephthah, the Gileadite, four days in a year. — -Judges, chap. xi. 
 
 ****** *phe wind bore on 
 
 The leaden tramp of thousands ; clarion notes 
 
 Rang sharply on the ear, at intervals ; 
 
 And the low, mingled din of mighty hosts 
 
 Returning from the battle, poured from far, 
 
 Like the deep murmur of a restless sea. 
 
 They came, as earthly conquerors always come, 
 
 With blood and splendor, revelry and woe ! 
 
 The stately horse treads proudly — he hath trod 
 
 The brow of death as well. The chariot wheels 
 
 Of warriors roll magnificently on — 
 
 Their weight hath crushed the fallen. Man is there, 
 
 Majestic, lordly man — with his sublime 
 
 And elevated brow and God-like frame, 
 
 Lifting his crest in triumph — for his heel 
 
 Hath trod the dying, like a wine press, down ! 
 
 The mighty Jephthah led his warriors on 
 
 Through Mizpeh's streets. His helm was proudly set, 
 
 And his stern lip curled slightly, as if praise 
 
 Were for the hero's scorn. His step was firm, 
 
 But free as India's Leopard ; and his mail — 
 
 Whose shekels none in Israel might bear — 
 
 Was like a cedar's tassel on his frame. 
 
 His crest was Judah's kingliest ; and the look 
 
 Of his dark, lofty eye and bended brow 
 
 Might quell the lion. He led on ; but thoughts 
 
 Seemed gathering round which troubled him. The veins 
 
 Grew visible upon his swarthy brow ; 
 
 And his proud lip was pressed as if with pain. 
 
JEPHTHAWS VOW. H9 
 
 He trod less firmly, and his restless eye 
 
 Glanced forward frequently, as if some ill 
 
 He dared not meet were there. His home was near ; 
 
 And men were thronging with that strange delight 
 
 They have in human passions, to observe 
 
 The struggle of his feelings with his pride. 
 
 He gazed intently forward. The tall firs 
 
 Before his tent were motionless. The leaves 
 
 Of the sweet aloe, and the clustering vines 
 
 Which half concealed his threshold, met his eye — 
 
 Unchanged and beautiful ; and one by one, 
 
 The balsam, with its sweet-distilling stems, 
 
 And the Circassian rose, and all the crowd 
 
 Of silent and familiar things, stole up, 
 
 Like the recovered passages of dreams. 
 
 He strode on rapidly — a moment more, 
 
 And he had reached his home ; when, lo ! there sprang 
 
 One, with a bounding footstep, and a brow 
 
 Of light, to meet him Oh, how beautiful ! 
 
 Her dark eye flashing like a sun-lit gem — 
 
 And her luxuriant hair — 'twas like the sweep 
 
 Of a swift wing in visions. He stood still, 
 
 As if the sight had withered him. She threw 
 
 Her arms about his neck — he heeded not. 
 
 She called him " Father ;" but he answered not. 
 
 She stood and gazed upon him. Was he wroth ? 
 
 There was no anger in that bloodshot eye. 
 
 Had sickness seized him ? She unclasped his helm, 
 
 And laid her white hand gently on his brow, 
 
 And the large veins felt stiff and hard, like chords ; 
 
 The touch aroused him. He raised up his hands, 
 
 And spoke the name of God, in agony. 
 
 She knew that he was stricken, then, and rushed 
 
 Again into his arms ; and with a flood 
 
 Of tears she could not bridle, sobbed a prayer 
 
 That he would tell her of his wretchedness. 
 
 He told her — and a momentary flush 
 
 Shot o'er her countenance ; and then the soul 
 
 Of Jephthah's daughter wakened ; and she stood 
 
 Calmly and nobly up, and said 'twas well — 
 
 And she would die. ****** 
 
 ******* -phe sun ^ a( j we jj n jgk set . 
 
 The fire was on the altar ; and the priest 
 
120 
 
 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 Of the high God was there. A wasted man 
 
 Was stretching out his withered hands to Heaven, 
 
 As if he would have prayed, but had no words ; 
 
 And she who was to die — the calmest one 
 
 In Israel at that hour — stood up alone, 
 
 And waited for the sun to set. Her face 
 
 Was pale, but very beautiful ; her lip 
 
 Had a more delicate outline, and the tint 
 
 Was deeper ; but her countenance was like 
 
 The majesty of angels ! 
 
 The sun set ; 
 And she was dead, but not by violence. 
 
 THE GREEKS AT THERMOPYL^. 
 
 They fell, devoted, but undying ; 
 The very gale their names seemed sighing ; 
 The waters murmured of their name ; 
 The woods were peopled with their fame ; 
 The silent pillar, lone and gray, 
 Claimed kindred with their sacred clay ; 
 Their spirits wrapped the dusky mountain, 
 Their memories sparkled o'er the fountain ; 
 The meanest rill, the mightiest river, 
 Rolled mingling with their fame forever. 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 HERMOPYLwE is a celebrated pass, or 
 defile, between Thessaly and Locris, and 
 was, in antiquity, the only passage for an 
 enemy from Northern into Central Greece. 
 It is situated between Mt. ^Etna and the 
 Maliac Gulf, and the road or passage was 
 then only wide enough for a single wagon 
 track. 
 
 When Athens and Sparta resolved to resist the invasion of 
 Xerxes, it was here that Leonidas, king of the latter country, 
 took up his position. His forces numbered about 7000; but 
 when, during the battle, he learned that one Ephialtes, a 
 
THE GREEKS AT THERMOPYLAE. 121 
 
 Thessalian, had betrayed to the Persians a circuitous pass over 
 the mountains, leading to the rear, he dismissed all but his 
 chosen band of 300 Spartans, with about 700 Thespians and 
 400 Thebans, who volunteered to share his fate. This small 
 host sallied out and fought till Leonidas and all the Spartans 
 and Thespians were killed. The fate of the Thebans is uncer- 
 tain. One Spartan, Aristodemus, who was prevented by illness 
 from partaking in the combat, returned home, and was received 
 with scorn, but in the following year he retrieved his honor 
 by a heroic death at Plataea. 
 
 It was a wild midnight — a storm was on the sky ; 
 The lightning gave it light and the thunder echoed by ; 
 The torrent swept the glen, the ocean lashed the shore ; 
 Then rose the Spartan men, to make their bed in gore ! 
 
 Swift, from the deluged ground three hundred took the shield; 
 Then, in silence, gathered round the leader of the field ! 
 All up the mountain's side, all down the woody vale, 
 All by the rolling tide waved the Persian banners pale. 
 
 And foremost from the pass, among the slumbering band, 
 Sprang King Leonidas, like the lightning's living brand; 
 Then double darkness fell, and the forest ceased its moan ; 
 But there came a clash of steel, and a distant dying groan. 
 
 Anon, a trumpet blew, and a fiery sheet burst high, 
 
 That o'er the midnight threw a blood-red canopy; 
 
 A host glared on the hill ; a host glared by the bay ; 
 
 But the Greeks rushed onward still, like leopards in their play. 
 
 The air was all a yell, the earth was all a flame, 
 Where the Spartans' bloody steel on the silken turbans came ; 
 And still the Greeks rushed on, where the fiery torrent rolled, 
 Till, like a rising sun, shone Xerxes' tent of gold. 
 
 They found a royal feast, his midnight banquet there ; 
 And the treasures of the East lay beneath the Doric spear. 
 Then sat to the repast the bravest of the brave ! 
 That feast must be their last, that spot must be their grave. 
 
N - „ \ . . - - 
 
 . v . . - . . . 
 
 - - - - 
 
 . . . . . > v. ;ak:ha:-:n:ans 
 
 — 
 a ^ 
 
 W "" l^r*^ . — . ... -..:-. .-;•.:■ .. -. 
 
 ...... ... ...--. 
 
 : ..>:... :.-::.::-.-? V . 
 
 following animated description of his arrival at Carthage 
 
 . . the sp -xoe in those b: 
 old: — 
 
 . . . ■ - . . - .; r. ..;...-.. - . - 
 
 ... - . - C : ■ : ... 
 
 - : - . - - - - - .. 
 
 proodhrat their anchors, their brazen beaks glittering in the 
 sua. their streamers dancing in the morning breeze, while 
 
 • - .:-..._ - - - -..\. - ". ■-:. 
 
 . . ' .: ::.'..>.:..-. 
 
 mnrsrar of business or of revelry arose from the 
 
; _ 
 
 The artisan had I 
 
 y; and 
 from his retirement to i 
 
 " Onward 
 
 they rushed, ft . .-r, and eager :' 
 
 Fathers wer 
 
 maidens, wh 
 
 dun me; and gray-haired mer. 
 
 the Roman sword had left ch 
 
 But when the stern features of Regulus v 
 his form, tower had 
 
 returned with him from Rome; when th . 
 lip to lip that the di irrior > far ft 
 
 nan Senate to consent to an exchar. 
 
 ;d them to pursue, with exterminating vengeance, Cartr 
 and the Carthaginians, the multit 
 
 ;-.t beneath a tern;. I 
 tuous throng vented itself in groans and curses, and 
 vengeance. But, calm, cold, and immovabl : 
 walls around him, stood the Roman ; and he stretchec 
 hand over that phrenzied cr .-res as ; 
 
 commanding as though he still stood at the head 
 gleaming cohorts of Rome. 
 
 " The tumult ceased ; the curse, half uttered, died upn 
 lip ; and so intense was the silence, that the clanking of the 
 brazen manacles upon the wrists of the captive fell sharp and 
 full upon every ear in that vast assembly, as he addre- 
 them : — 
 
 "Ye doubtless thought — for ye judge of Ron 
 your own — that I would break my plighted oath, rather i: 
 returning, brook your vengeance. I might give reasons for 
 this, in Punic comprehension, most foolish act of mine. I 
 might speak of those eternal principles which make death for 
 one's country a pleasure, not a pain. But, by great Jup:: 
 
. . - - 
 
 raeihinks I should debase nv . talk of such high th 
 
 at in womanly inventions 
 skilled to drive a treacherous trade with simple Africans for 
 ivor gold! If the br.ght blood that fill? 
 
 mitred free from godlike an. . ere like that slimy oo*e 
 
 : .-: ._ v.:..- •. '■ _ -- .- ■:.- . .» 1 ;-..-..: r.v.i :-...: ..: :.; -.:. ..::.. 
 _; :ed oath to save my life. 
 ■ I am a Roman citizen ; therefore have I returned, th;. I 
 
 . :er than the rags thi: . them. Here, in 
 
 your capital, do I - - I not conquer. 
 
 - hred your towns, and dragged your generals at 
 chariot wheels, since first my youthful arms could wield a 
 
 - - . : : . : -....- :i .-. _- r<:Vr; 
 
 2 :.-.; ..•; .- ::-.. 5-. . :. : 7::= t...-.-.^ -' "-->-"- --".- 
 rending of sinews is but pastime, compared with the mental 
 
 Th; :":■;:: ~.t« ?...:;-. y;: ■ .tr.;-i ?:.:: th: ;-;..—: . :" 
 ?..--../ . :- - :':.; r.:;t-.-.: .;;•;:. ' :-.:..-: ". - . . : 
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 .:.::. . .-: . . - : . . ; :: ±; :.:::; :;.! ;:' v.-i: r.er.-rc 
 • - " . .- . : : . — : ~ ?~; ry ::' : . ^ . r.-. h: „:s ;:.::;.: 
 
 -.:.:.:: 1 ..-.-.-...--;-. ; v. h;r. :::;. :; . r.try tihr-i 
 ~'.t :; tr.= trli t_i rutkl; .-- : . rrtr.:: -.j 
 
 har.hf .: _:...-.-■'-..: ;•:../"..-:; ~: := ...;. :.--. .-.: 
 
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 : -. ...-: ..-.-- ..-:._._;-. ::-.:..: _"..:- 
 : _ . ..:.--. :i Ser.i:; h . ; . 
 
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 . -. ;. : .--_-_ - ; : : : stir.: r ..- ::. :: 
 
 - ...."..:: ; ..;:.: 15 : ev z ..-::.... :. ;~ 
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123 
 
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 thus addressed me: * Roman, I come to bid thee erase, with 
 
 v y r - .- -. ■ .: :':_ \ :-:■: ; : y - - . -J-_--: '-."." -~ -. 
 
 . -.' . ; :. ; : ::.-■: ; - - - ; : l .-.'■--.-.-.-- : 
 tben they thought to stain my bright e st hooor. Bat for - 
 foal deed the wrath of Jove shall rest npoa them here and 
 
 h-r-riri-rr .-.- : v ;- / . lt . '. ; : 
 
 A- i r . - _- :r.r.r y; _r - \~- : ■ . — .-;. T"- : : ; : ." 
 
 - - "':':-/ ; r- :/ : y. y rtr^l— -.-,. :e .-.:/-.. 
 -.'■ -.-:-.-. : : :/ .:.-:. :y ::"'•: ir.: L"*.:" -" : i . : " 
 
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 \ - : -y- ;- y. ::" i ... ; : '- " ~ -. - _ ; . irv . - * ' 
 
 shall now in rivers. Woe to thee, Carthag : 
 
 - - . . i ::r/ cf Li . • : .: : - - - -..-' .\ .-.. i - j i: :- r ': :: 
 .:" ?.:~m B^-it; - *_iy : : : .- -:.---.- ±y s"-y -: - £irr - 
 
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 : .- ' ~ - : -y nrr.; _-.: rrt _- : yy "±: . . - . :cit: 7 : 
 
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 - ". : - :_- .1 ; . . _ -. _._ ; ; ; Lift "~y "~ -'■'"■. — .- - :; v 
 
 : .... 
 
 A v.yyi s :z 
 
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126 
 
 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING. 
 
 T is a common practice with those who have 
 outlived the susceptibility of early feeling, or 
 have been brought up in the gay heartless- 
 ness of dissipated life, to laugh at all love 
 stories, and to treat the tales of romantic 
 passion as mere fictions of novelists and 
 poets. My observations on human nature 
 have induced me to think otherwise. They 
 have convinced me that, however the surface 
 of the character may be chilled and frozen by the cares oi 
 the world, or cultivated into mere smiles by the arts of 
 society, still there are dominant fires lurking in the depths 
 of the coldest bosom, which, when once enkindled, become 
 impetuous, and are sometimes desolating in their effects. 
 Indeed, I am a true believer in the blind deity, and go to the 
 full extent of his doctrines. Shall I confess it? I believe in 
 broken hearts, and the possibility of dying of disappointed 
 love ! I do not, however, consider it a malady often fatal to 
 my own sex ; but I firmly believe that it withers down many 
 a lovely woman into an early grave. 
 
 Man is the creature of interest and of ambition. His nature 
 leads him forth into the struggle and bustle of the world. 
 Love is but the embellishment of his early life, or a song piped 
 in the intervals of the acts. He seeks for fame, for fortune, for 
 space in the world's thought and dominion over his fellow- 
 men. 
 
 But a woman's whole life is a history of the affections. The 
 heart is her world ; it is there her ambition strives for empire ; 
 it is there her avarice seeks the hidden treasures. 
 
 She sends forth her sympathies on adventure ; she embarks 
 her whole soul in the traffic of affection ; and, if shipwrecked, 
 her case is hopeless, for it is a bankruptcy of the heart. 
 
THE BR OKEK HE A RT. 127 
 
 To a man the disappointment of love, may occasion some 
 bitter pangs ; it wounds some feelings of tenderness ; it blasts 
 some prospects of felicity ; but he is an active being ; he may 
 dissipate his thoughts in the whirl of varied occupation, or may 
 plunge into the tide of pleasure ; or, if the scene of dis- 
 appointment be too full of painful associations, he can shift 
 his abode at will, and taking, as it were, the wings of the 
 morning, can " fly to the uttermost parts of the earth and be 
 at rest." 
 
 But woman's is comparatively a fixed or secluded, a medi- 
 tative life. She is more the companion of her own thoughts 
 and feelings ; and if they are turned to ministers of sorrow, 
 where shall she look for consolation ? Her lot is to be wooed 
 and won, and if unhappy in her love, her heart is like some 
 strong fortress that has been captured, and sacked, and aban- 
 doned, and left desolate. 
 
 How many bright eyes grow dim ; how many soft cheeks 
 grow pale ; how many lovely forms fade away into the 
 tomb, and none can tell the cause that blighted their love- 
 liness ! 
 
 As the dove will clasp its wings to its side, and cover and 
 conceal the arrow that is preying on its vitals, so is the nature 
 of woman to hide from the world the pangs of wounded affec- 
 tion. The love of a delicate female is always shy and silent. 
 Even when fortunate, she scarcely breathes it to herself; but 
 when otherwise, she buries it in the recesses of her bosom, and 
 there lets it cower and brood among the ruins of her peace. 
 With her the desire of her heart has failed ; the great charm 
 of existence is at an end. She neglects all the cheerful exer- 
 cises which gladden the spirits, quicken the pulses, and send 
 the tide of life in healthful currents through the veins. Her 
 rest is broken, the sweet refreshment of sleep is poisoned by 
 melancholy dreams, " dry sorrow drinks her blood" until her 
 enfeebled frame sinks under the slightest external injury. 
 Look for her after a little while and you find friendship weep- 
 ing over her untimely grave, and wondering that one who but 
 
128 HEX OIC SA CRIFICES. 
 
 lately glowed with all the radiance of health and beauty should 
 so speedily be brought down to " darkness and the worm." 
 You will be told of some wintry chill, some casual indisposi- 
 tion that laid her low ; but no one knows the mental malady 
 that previously sapped her strength, and made her so easy a 
 prey to the spoiler. 
 
 She is like some tender tree — the pride and beauty of the 
 grove; graceful in its form, bright in its foliage, but with the 
 worm preying at its heart. We find it suddenly withering 
 when it should be most fresh and luxuriant. We see it droop- 
 ing its branches to the earth and shedding leaf by leaf; until, 
 wasted and perishing away, it falls, even in the stillness of the 
 forest; and as we muse over the beautiful ruin, we strive in 
 vain to recollect the blast or thunderbolt that could have 
 smitten it with decay. 
 
 I have seen many instances of women running to waste and 
 self-neglect, and disappearing gradually from the earth, almost 
 as if they had been exhaled to heaven; and have repeatedly 
 fancied that I could trace their deaths through the various de- 
 clensions of consumption, cold, debility, languor, melancholy, 
 until I reached the first symptom of disappointed love. But 
 an instance of the kind was lately told to me; the circum- 
 stances are well-known in the country where they happened, 
 and I shall but give them in the manner in which they were 
 related. 
 
 Everyone must recollect the tragical story of young Emmet, 
 the Irish patriot; it was too touching to be soon forgotten. 
 During the troubles in Ireland he was tried, condemned and 
 executed on a charge of treason. 
 
 His fate made a deep impression on public sympathy. He 
 was so young, so intelligent, so generous, so brave, so every 
 thing that we are apt to like in a young man. His conduct 
 under trial, too, was so lofty and intrepid. 
 
 The noble indignation with which he repelled the charge of 
 treason against his country, the eloquent vindication of his 
 name, and his pathetic appeal to posterity, in the hopeless 
 
THE BR OKEN HEAR T. 1 29 
 
 hour of condemnation — all these entered deeply into every 
 generous bosom, and even his enemies lamented the stern 
 policy that directed his execution. 
 
 But there was one heart whose anguish it would be im- 
 possible to describe. In happier days and fairer fortunes he 
 had won the affections of a beautiful and interesting girl, the 
 daughter of a late celebrated Irish barrister. She loved him 
 with the disinterested fervor of a woman's first and early love. 
 
 When every worldly maxim arrayed itself against him, when 
 blasted in fortune, and disgrace and danger darkened around 
 his name, she loved him the more ardently for his sufferings. 
 If, then, his fate could awaken the sympathy, even of his foes, 
 what must have been the agony of her whose whole soul was 
 occupied by his image ? 
 
 Let those tell who have had the portals of the tomb suddenly 
 closed between them and the being they most loved on earth ; 
 — who have sat at its threshhold, as one shut out in a cold 
 and lonely world, from whence all that was most lovely and 
 loving had departed. 
 
 But then the horrors of such a grave ! so frightful, so dis- 
 honored. There was nothing for memory to dwell on that 
 could soothe the pang of separation ; none of those tender, 
 though melancholy circumstances that endear the parting 
 scene; nothing to melt the sorrow into those blessed tears 
 sent, like the dews of heaven, to revive the heart in the parting 
 hour of anguish. 
 
 To render her widowed situation more desolate, she had 
 incurred her father's displeasure by her unfortunate attach- 
 ment, and was an exile from the paternal roof. But could the 
 sympathy and kind offices of friends have reached a spirit so 
 shocked and driven in by horror she would have experienced 
 no want of consolation, for the Irish are of quick and generous 
 sensibilities. The most delicate and cherishing attentions 
 were paid her by families of wealth and distinction. 
 
 She was led into society, and they tried, by all kinds of 
 
130 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 occupation and amusement, to dissipate her grief and wean her 
 from the tragical story of her lover. But it was all in vain. 
 There are some strokes of calamity that scathe and scorch the 
 soul, that penetrate to the vital seat of happiness, and blast it, 
 never again to put forth bud or blossom. She never objected 
 to frequent the haunts of pleasure, but she was as much alone 
 there as in the depth of solitude. 
 
 She walked about in a sad reverie, apparently unconscious 
 of the world around her. She carried with her an inward woe 
 that mocked at all the blandishments of friendship, and 
 " heeded not the song of the charmer, charm he never so 
 wisely." 
 
 The person who told me her story had seen her at a 
 masquerade. There can be no exhibition of far-gone wretch- 
 edness more striking and painful than to meet it in such a 
 scene. To find it wandering like a spectre, lonely and joyless, 
 where all around is gay; to see it out in the trappings of 
 mirth, and looking so wan and woe-be-gone, as if it had tried 
 in vain to cheat the poor heart into a momentary forgetfulness 
 of sorrow. After strolling through the splendid rooms and 
 giddy crowd, with an air of utter abstraction, she sat herself 
 down on the steps of an orchestra, and looking about for some 
 time, with a vacant air, that showed her insensibility to the 
 gairish scene, she began to warble a little plaintive air. She 
 had an exquisite voice; but on this occasion it was so simple, 
 so touching, it breathed forth such a soul of wretchedness, 
 that she drew a crowd, mute and silent, around her, and melted 
 every one into tears. 
 
 The story of one so true and tender could not but excite 
 great interest in a country remarkable for enthusiasm. It 
 completely won the heart of a brave officer, who paid his 
 addresses to her, and thought that one so true to the dead 
 could not but prove affectionate to the living. She declined 
 his attentions, for her thoughts were irrecoverably engrossed 
 by the memory of her former lover. 
 
THE BROKEN HE A RT. 131 
 
 He, however, persisted in his suit. He solicited not her 
 tenderness, but her esteem. He was assisted by her convic- 
 tion of his worth, and her sense of her own destitute and 
 dependent situation, for she was existing on the kindness of 
 friends. In a word, he at length succeeded in gaining her 
 hand, though with a solemn assurance that her heart was un- 
 alterably another's. He took her with him to Sicily, hoping 
 that a change of scene might wear out the remembrance of 
 early woes. She was an amiable and exemplary wife, and 
 made an effort to be a happy one, but nothing could cure the 
 silent and devouring melancholy that had entered into her 
 very soul. She wasted away, in a slow but hopeless decline, 
 and at length sunk into the grave, the victim of a broken 
 heart. • 
 
 It was on her that Thomas Moore, the distinguished Irish 
 poet, composed the following lines: — 
 
 She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, 
 
 And lovers are round her sighing ; 
 But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, 
 
 For her heart in his grave is lying. 
 
 She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains. 
 
 Every note which he loved awaking — 
 Ah, little they think, who delight in her strains, 
 
 How the heart of the minstrel is breaking. 
 
 He had lived for his love, for his country he died, 
 They were all that to life had entwined him ; 
 
 Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, 
 Nor long will his love stay behind him ! 
 
 O ! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, 
 
 When they promise a glorious morrow ; 
 They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west, 
 
 From her own loved island of sorrow ! 
 
132 HER QIC SA CRIFICES. 
 
 THE ROMAN SENTINEL. 
 
 ||p N the excavations made by the government 
 F authorities to restore the ancient city of 
 Pompeii, the workmen discovered the bones 
 of a Roman soldier in the sentry box at one of 
 the city's gates. As rocks of shelter were near 
 at hand, and escape from the volcano's fiery 
 deluge thus rendered possible, the supposi- 
 tion is that this brave sentinel chose to meet 
 death rather than desert his post of duty. 
 In his famous work, "The Last Days of Pompeii," Edward 
 Bulwer Lytton gives a brief but vivid description of the situa- 
 tion on that awful day in the year A. D. 79 : — 
 
 " Day was turned into night, and light into darkness ; an 
 inexpressible quantity of dust and ashes was poured out, 
 deluging land and sea and air, and burying two entire cities, 
 Herculaneum and Pompeii, while the people were silting in the 
 theatre. Such is Vesuvius ! 
 
 "Amidst the other horrors, the mighty mountains cast up 
 columns of boiling water. Blent and kneaded with the half- 
 burning ashes, the streams fell like seething mud over the 
 streets, in frequent intervals. And full where the priests of 
 Isis had now cowered around the altars, on which they had 
 vainly sought to kindle fires and pour incense, one of the 
 fiercest of those deadly torrents, mingled with immense frag- 
 ments of scoria, had poured its rage. Over the bended forms 
 of the priests it dashed ; that cry had been of death — that 
 silence had been of eternity ! The ashes, the pitchy stream, 
 sprinkled the altars, covered the pavement, and half concealed 
 the quivering corpses of the priests. 
 
 " Meanwhile the streets were already thinned ; the crowd 
 had hastened to disperse itself under shelter ; the ashes began 
 to fill up the lower parts of the town ; but here and there you 
 heard the steps of fugitives craunching them wearily, or saw 
 their pale and haggard faces by the blue glare of the lightning, 
 
THE NOBLEST KNIGHT OF SPAIN: 
 
 OO 
 
 or the more unsteady glare of torches, by which they en- 
 deavored to steer their steps. But ever and anon, the boiling 
 water, or the straggling ashes, mysterious and gusty winds, 
 rising and dying in a breath, extinguished those wandering 
 lights, and with them the last living hope of those who bore 
 them. 
 
 " The air was now still for a few minutes ; the lamp from the 
 gate streamed out far and clear; the fugitives hurried on — 
 they gained the gate — they passed by the Roman sentry ; the 
 lightning flashed over his livid face and polished helmet, but 
 his stern features were composed even in their awe! He 
 remained erect and motionless at his post. That hour itself 
 had not animated the machine of the ruthless majesty of Rome 
 into the reasoning and self-acting man. There he stood amidst 
 the crashing elements ; he had not received the permission to 
 desert his station and escape." 
 
 "THE NOBLEST KNIGHT OF SPAIN." 
 
 REGINALD HEBER. 
 
 CAPTAIN of the Moorish hold, 
 
 Unbar thy gates to me ! 
 And I will give thee gems and gold 
 
 To set Fernando free. 
 For I a sacred oath have plight 
 
 A pilgrim to remain, 
 Till I return with Lara's knight, 
 
 The noblest knight of Spain." 
 
 ''Fond Christian youth," the captain said, 
 "Thy suit is soon denied ; 
 Fernando loves a Moorish maid, 
 
 And will with us abide. 
 Renounced is every Christian rite ; 
 
 The turban he hath ta'en ; 
 And Lara thus hath lost her knight, 
 The noblest knight of Spain." 
 
134 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 Pale, marble pale, the pilgrim turned, 
 
 A cold and deadly dye ; 
 Then in his cheeks the blushes burned, 
 
 And anger in his eye ; 
 From forth his cowl a ringlet bright 
 
 Fell down, of golden grain; 
 "Base Moor! to slander Lara's knight, 
 
 The boldest knight of Spain ! 
 
 "Go look on Lugo's gory field, 
 
 Go look on Tayo's tide! 
 Can ye forget the red-cross shield, 
 
 That all your host defied ? 
 Alhama's warriors turned to flight, 
 
 Granada's Sultan slain, 
 Attest the worth of Lara's knight, 
 
 The boldest knight of Spain." 
 
 "By Allah yea!" with eyes of fire, 
 
 The Lordly paynim said, 
 "Granada's Sultan was my sire, 
 Who fell by Lara's blade ; 
 And though thy gold were forty fold, 
 
 The ransom were but vain 
 To purchase back thy Christian knight, 
 The boldest knight of Spain ! " 
 
 " Ah ! Moor, the life that once is shed, 
 
 No vengeance can repay ; 
 And who can number up the dead 
 
 That fall in battle fray ? 
 Thyself in many a manly fight 
 
 Hast many a father slain ; 
 Then rage not thus 'gainst Lara's knight. 
 
 The boldest knight of Spain ! " 
 
 " And who art thou, whose pilgrim vest 
 
 Thy beauties ill may shroud — 
 Thy locks of gold, the heaving breast — 
 
 A moon beneath a cloud ? 
 Wilt thou our Moorish creed recite, 
 
 And here with me remain ? 
 He may depart, that captive knight, 
 
 The conquered knight of Spain." 
 
'THE NOBLEST KNIGHT OF SPAIN." 135 
 
 "Ah, speak not so ! " with voice of woe, 
 
 The shuddering stranger cried ; 
 "Another creed I may not know, 
 Nor live another's bride ! 
 Fernando's wife may yield her life, 
 
 But not her honor stain, 
 To loose the bands of Lara's knight, 
 The noblest knight of Spain." 
 
 "And know'st thou, then, how hard the doom 
 
 Thy husband may yet bear ? 
 The fettered limbs, the living tomb, 
 
 The damp and noisome air ? 
 In lonely cave, and void of light, 
 
 To drag a helpless chain, 
 Thy pride condemns the Christian knight, 
 
 The prop and pride of Spain." 
 
 " Oh ! that within that dungeon's gloom 
 
 His sorrows I might share, 
 And cheer him in that living tomb 
 
 With love, and hope, and prayer ! 
 But still the faith I once have plight 
 
 Unbroken must remain, 
 And plead the cause of Lara's knight, 
 
 The noblest knight of Spain." 
 
 "And deem'st thou from the Moorish hold 
 In safety to retire, 
 Whose locks outshine Arabia's gold, 
 Whose eyes the diamond's fire ! " 
 She drew a poignard, small and bright, 
 
 And spake in calm disdain — 
 'He taught me how — my Christian knight — 
 To guard the faith of Spain ! " 
 
 The drawbridge falls ! with loud alarm 
 
 The clashing portals fly ; 
 She bared her breast — she raised her arm, 
 
 And knelt, in act to die : 
 But ah ! the thrill of wild delight 
 
 That shot through every vein ! 
 He stood before her — Lara's knight — 
 
 The noblest knight of Spain ! 
 
136 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 "TAKE THESE, FOR YOU WILL WANT THEM.'' 
 
 MRS. E. F. ELLETT. 
 
 HE long, arduous and eventful retreat of 
 General Greene through the Carolinas, after 
 the battle of the Cowpens, that retreat on 
 whose issue hung the fate of the South — 
 with the eager pursuit of Cornwallis, who 
 well knew that the destruction of the army 
 would secure his conquests — is a twice-told 
 tale to every reader. 
 The line of march lay through Salisbury, North Carolina ; 
 and while the British commander was crossing the Catawba, 
 Greene was approaching this village. With the American army 
 were conveyed the prisoners taken by Morgan in the late 
 bloody and brilliant action, the intention being to convey them 
 to Virginia. Several of these were sick and wounded, and 
 among them were some British officers, unable, from loss of 
 strength, to proceed further on the route. 
 
 General Greene, aware of the objects of Cornwallis, knew 
 his design, by a hurried march to the ford, to cross the 
 Catawba before opposition could be made, and had stationed 
 a body of militiamen there to dispute the passage. Most 
 anxiously did the General await their arrival before he pursued 
 his route. The day gradually wore away, and still no signs 
 appeared of the militia ; and it was not till after midnight that 
 the news reached him of their defeat and dispersion by the 
 British troops, and the death of General Davidson who had 
 commanded them. His aids having been despatched to 
 different parts of the retreating army, he rode on, with a heavy 
 heart, to Salisbury. It had been raining during the day, and 
 his soaked and soiled garments and appearance of exhaustion, 
 as he wearily dismounted from his jaded horse at the door of 
 the principal hotel, showed that he had suffered much from 
 
"TAKE THESE, FOR YOU WILL WANT THEM." 137 
 
 exposure to the storm, sleepless fatigue, and harassing anxiety 
 of mind. Dr. Reed, who had charge of the sick and wounded 
 prisoners, while he waited for the General's arrival, was 
 engaged in writing the paroles with which it was necessary to 
 furnish such officers as could not go on. From his apartments 
 overlooking the main street, he saw his friend, unaccompanied 
 by his aids, ride up and alight, and hastened to receive him as 
 he entered the house. Seeing him without a companion, and 
 startled by his dispirited looks, the doctor could not refrain 
 from noticing them with anxious inquiries, to which the 
 wearied soldier replied : " Yes ; fatigued, hungry, alone and 
 penniless!" The melancholy reply was heard by one deter- 
 mined to prove, by the generous assistance proffered in a time 
 of need, that no reverse could dim the pure flame of disin- 
 terested patriotism. General Greene had hardly taken his seat 
 at the well-spread table, when Mrs. Steele, the landlady of the 
 hotel, entered the room and carefully closed the door behind 
 her. 
 
 Approaching the distinguished guest, she reminded him of 
 the despondent words he had uttered in her hearing, implying, 
 as she thought, a distrust of the devotion of his friends, 
 through every calamity, to the cause. Money, too, she 
 declared he should have, and drew from under her apron two 
 small bags full of specie, probably the earnings of years. 
 "Take these," she said, " for you will want them and I can do 
 without them." 
 
 Words of kindness and encouragement accompanied this 
 offering of a benevolent heart, which General Greene accepted 
 with thankfulness. 
 
 " Never," says his biographer, " did relief come at a more 
 propitious moment ; nor would it be straining conjecture to 
 suppose that he resumed his journey with his spirits cheered 
 and lightened by this touching proof of woman's devotion to 
 the cause of her country." 
 
 General Greene did not remain long in Salisbury ; but 
 before his departure from the house of Mrs. Steele, he left a 
 
8 
 
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 DEATH OF GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS. 
 
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DEATH OF GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS AT LCTZEN. 
 
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CURFE W Mi;:. T NO r RING 7 NIC /// \\\ 
 
 1 [Ve a lover in that prison, doomed this very nighl 
 At the ringing of the Curfew, and no earthly help is nigh. 
 Cromwell will not come till sunset," and her I 
 
 white, 
 As she .poke, in husky whispers, " Curfew must not ring to-night/' 
 
 ■ ." calmly spoke the sexton — e rd pierced her y- 
 
 Like a thousand gleaming arrow- — like a deadly poisoned e 
 e rung the Curfew from that gloo 
 tower ; 
 
 evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight he 
 I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right, 
 Now I'm old, I will not miss it; girl, the Curfew r jhtL" 
 
 Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thou 
 
 brow, 
 And, within her heart's deep centre, Bessie made a solemn v 
 She had listened while the jui without a tear or sigh, 
 
 ' At the ringing of the Curfew — Basil Underwood murJ die." 
 And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large and 
 
 bright- 
 One low murmur, scarcely spoken — " Curfew must not ring 
 
 She with light step, bounded forward, sprang within the old church 
 
 door, 
 Left the old man coming slowly, paths he'd trod so oft before ; 
 Not one moment paused the maiden, but, with cheek and br 
 Staggered up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and fro ; 
 Then she climbed the slimy ladder, dark, without one ray of light, 
 Upward still, her pale lips saying : " Curfew shall not ring to-night." 
 
 She has reached the topmost ladder, o'er her hangs the great dark bell, 
 And the awful gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to hell ; 
 See, the ponderous tongue is swinging, 'tis the hour of Curfew r 
 And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath, and paled 
 
 her brow. 
 Shall she let it ring? No, never ! her eyes flash with sudden light, 
 As she springs and grasps it firmly — " Curfew shall not ring to-night ! ' 
 
 Out she swung, far out, the city seemed a tiny speck below ; 
 
 There, 'twixt heaven and earth suspended, as the bell swung to and 
 
 fro; 
 And the half-deaf sexton ringing (years he had not heard the bell/, 
 And he thought the twilight Curfew rang young Basil's funeral kiell ; 
 
1 4 "J 
 
 Oiite, 
 j 
 
 eased .'. once 
 
 m» 
 Firmly on the : . ladder, whore, for hundred years before, 
 
 Hums een plant* what she this night had 
 
 years s of a tting sun 
 
 Lig' - mellow b< 3 s of white, 
 
 Tell their children why the O . not ring that one sad night. 
 
 O'ei die distant hills came Cromwt essk saw him, and her brow. 
 
 Lately whitx - glows - luty now . 
 
 At his h • - L her S - .. her hands, all bruised and torn ; 
 
 And hers - with a loot: sos worn, 
 
 Touched his heart with sudden pity — lit his eyes with misty light : 
 a lives cried Cromwell; "Curfew shall not 
 to-nieht.'* 
 
 DEMOSTHENES. 
 
 - CREASY. 
 
 , F all political characters," says the German 
 
 * historian, Heeren. " Demosthenes is the 
 most sublime ; he is the purest tragic char- 
 ts with which history is acquainted. 
 
 When, still trembling with the vehement 
 force of his language, we read his life in 
 Plutarch, when we transfer ourselves into 
 his times and his situation, we are carried 
 away by a deeper interest than can be 
 by any hero ot' the epic muse or of tragedy. From 
 
 his first appearance, till the moment when he swallowed 
 
 poison, in the temple, we see him contending against destiny. 
 
 which seems to mock him with malignant cruelty. It throws 
 
 him to the ground, but never subdues him. 
 
COURAGE AND OBEDIENCE. 143 
 
 " What a crowd of emotions must have struggled through 
 his manly breast, amid this interchange of reviving and ex- 
 piring hopes ! How natural was it that the lines of melan- 
 choly and of indignation, such as we yet behold in his bust, 
 should have been imprinted on his severe countenance ! It 
 was his high calling to be the pillar of a sinking state. Thirty 
 years he remained true to this cause, nor did he yield till he 
 was buried beneath the ruins of his country." 
 
 It was about the middle of the fourth century before our 
 era, when Demosthenes began to command attention in the 
 Athenian assemblies. His first attempt, like those of Walpole 
 and Sheridan, in the British Parliament, was a failure ; and the 
 derision which he received from the multitude would have 
 discouraged an inferior spirit forever. It only nerved Demos- 
 thenes to severer study, and to a more obstinate contest with 
 his physical disadvantages. He assiduously practiced his 
 growing powers as an advocate before the legal tribunals, 
 before he again ventured to speak on State affairs. But, at 
 length, he reappeared before the people, and the dominion of 
 his genius was supreme. 
 
 A NOBLE 
 
 EXAMPLE OF COURAGE 
 OBEDIENCE. 
 
 AND 
 
 \ HE hero of the incident so touchingly por- 
 %> trayed in the following verses by the gifted 
 Mrs. Hemans, was the ten-year old son of 
 Captain Casabianca, the commander of the 
 French Ship-of-the-line, L Orient, 120 guns. 
 This vessel belonged to the French Mediter- 
 ranean Squadron, which was attacked and 
 annihilated in Aboukir Bay, by the English 
 fleet, led by Nelson, August I, 1798. 
 
 The " Battle of the Nile," as it is now generally called, was 
 one of the most terrific combats in the history of naval war- 
 fare ; and a peculiar interest attaches itself to the fate of this 
 
144 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 youthful hero by reason of the awful calamity that resulted in 
 his death. 
 
 Fighting commenced late in the afternoon, and raged with 
 undiminished fury until nearly midnight. The Orient occupied 
 a position in the centre of the French line of battle, and there- 
 fore participated in the heaviest fighting on that memorable 
 day. 
 
 Young Casabianca had accompanied his father on this 
 cruise to Africa, and on this particular occasion was directed 
 to remain on duty at a certain place, while he — the father — 
 hurried off to another part of the vessel to give orders. He 
 promised to return, but soon after leaving his beloved boy, he 
 was disabled, and about the same time the vessel took fire near 
 the powder magazine. What next occurred, we will give in 
 the words of a recent naval historian : — 
 
 "At about ten o'clock the OricnthXew up with a tremendous 
 explosion, which served, for the time, to paralyze every one in 
 both fleets. It must have been an awful sight, of which 
 description would fall short; for certainly, no vessel of such a 
 size had blown up before, and none so large has blown up 
 since. The shock of the explosion shook the ships to their 
 very keelsons, opened their seams, and did considerable other 
 injury. 
 
 " After the explosion, it was full ten minutes until a gun 
 was fired again. On both sides there was a sort of paralysis, 
 and a waiting for what next was to occur ! " 
 
 The boy stood on the burning deck, 
 
 Whence all but he had fled ; 
 The flame that lit the battle's wreck 
 
 Shone round him o'er the dead. 
 
 Yet beautiful and bright he stood, 
 
 As born to rule the storm ; 
 A creature of heroic blood, 
 
 A proud, though childlike form. 
 
COURAGE AND OBEDIENCE. ^45 
 
 The flames rolled on— he would not go 
 
 Without his father's word ; 
 That father, faint in death below, 
 
 His voice no longer heard. 
 
 He called aloud : " Say, father! say 
 
 If yet my task is done! " 
 He knew not that the chieftain lay 
 
 Unconscious of his son. 
 
 *' Speak, father ! " once again he cried, 
 " If I may yet be gone ! " 
 And but the booming shots replied, 
 And fast the flames rolled on. 
 
 Upon his brow he felt their breath, 
 
 And in his waving hair, 
 And looked from that lone post of death, 
 
 In still, yet brave despair ; 
 
 And shouted but once more, aloud, 
 
 "My father ! must I stay ? " 
 While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud, 
 The wreathing fires made way. 
 
 They wrapped the ship in splendor wild, 
 
 They caught the flag on high, 
 And streamed above the gallant child 
 
 Like banners in the sky. 
 
 There came a burst of thunder sound ; 
 
 The boy— O, where was he ? 
 Ask of the winds that far around 
 
 With fragments strewed the sea, 
 
 With mast and helm and pennon fair, 
 
 That well had borne their part ; 
 But the noblest thing which perished there 
 
 Was that young, faithful heart ! 
 
 Mrs. Felicia D. Hemans. 
 IO 
 
THE DEVOTE? V> N OF WEINSBUKG 
 
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THE DEVOTED WOMEN OF ft VRG. 14' 
 
 But naught the little town could scare : 
 
 Then, red with indignation, 
 He bade the herald straight repair 
 Up to the gates, and thunder there 
 
 The following proclamation : — 
 
 "Rascals! when I your town do take, 
 
 No living thing shall save its neck ;*' 
 
 Now, when the herald's trumpet sent 
 
 These tidings through the city, 
 To every house a death knell went ; 
 Such murder-cries the hot air rent 
 
 Might move the stones to pity. 
 Then bread grew dear, and good advice 
 Could not be had for any price. 
 
 Then " Woe is me '." " O misery !" 
 
 What shrieks of lamentation ! 
 And " Kyrie Eleison I" cried 
 The pastors, and the flock replied, 
 " Lord, save us from starvat: 
 " O, woe is me, poor Corydon ! 
 My neck! my neck ! I'm gone ! I'm gone !" 
 
 Yet oft, when counsel, deed and prayer 
 
 Had all proved unavailing, 
 When hope hung trembling on a hair, 
 How oft has woman's wit been there ! 
 
 A refuge never failing; 
 For woman's wit and Papal fraud, 
 Of olden time, were famed abroad. 
 
 A youthful dame — praised be her name ! 
 
 Last night had seen her plighted — 
 Whether in waking hour or dream, 
 Conceived a rare and novel scheme, 
 
 Which all the town delighted ; 
 Which you, if you think otherwise, 
 Have leave to laugh at and despise. 
 
 At midnight hour, when culverin, 
 
 And gun and bomb were sleeping, 
 Before the camp, with mournful mien, 
 The loveliest embassy were seen, 
 
 All kneeling low and weeping ! 
 
148 
 
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150 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 " And if to Rome it augurs ill, then ask we, ere it be too late, 
 How we may but avert the doom, and save the sacred State ; 
 That State to every Roman dear, as dear as brother, friend or wife, 
 For which each true-born son would give, if needful, even life. 
 
 " For what, O fathers ! what were life apart from altar, hearth and home ? 
 Yea, is not all our highest good bound up with that of Rome ? 
 And now adjourn we for a space, till three full days have circled 
 
 round, 
 And on the morning of the fourth, let each one here be found." 
 
 Then got they up, and gloomily, for such short interval, did part, 
 For they were Romans, staunch and tried, and sad was every heart. 
 The fourth day dawned, and when they met, the Oracle's response was 
 
 known ; 
 Something most precious in the chasm, to close it, must be thrown. 
 
 But if »«closed it shall remain, thereon shall follow Rome's decay, 
 And all the splendor of her State shall pale and pass away ! 
 Something most precious ! What the gift that may prevent the pending 
 
 fate ? 
 What costly offering will the gods indeed propitiate ? 
 
 While this they pondered, lo ! a sound of footsteps fell on every ear, 
 And in their midst a Roman youth did suddenly appear ; 
 Apollo's brow, a mien like Mars, in Beauty's mould he seemed new- 
 made, 
 As on his golden hair the sun with dazzling radiance played. 
 
 'Tis Marcus Curtius ! Purer blood none there could boast, and none 
 
 more brave ; 
 There stands the youthful patriot, come, a Roman, Rome to save ! 
 His own young life, he offers that, yea, volunteers himself to throw 
 Within the cleft, to make it close, and stay the heavy woe ! 
 
 And now, on horseback, fully armed, behold him, for the hour hath 
 
 come ; 
 The Roman guards keep watch and ward, and beat the muffled drum ! 
 The consuls, proctors, soothsayers, within the Forum group around, 
 Young Curtius in the saddle sits, there yawns the severed ground ! 
 
 Each pulse is stayed ; he lifts his helm, and bares his forehead to the 
 
 sky, 
 And to the broad, blue heavens above upturns his flashing eye ! 
 
HEROISM IN E VER YD A Y LIFE. 
 
 151 
 
 " O, Rome! O country best beloved ! Thou land in which I first drew 
 breath ! 
 I render back the life thou gav'st, to rescue thee from death !" 
 
 Then spurring on his gallant steed, a last and brief farewell he said, 
 And leapt within the gaping gulf, which closed above his head P) 
 
 George Aspinwall. 
 
 HEROISM IN EVERY DAY LIFE. 
 
 HE world knows nothing of its greatest men," 
 is an old saying, and it comes near its realiza- 
 tion in the following mournful episode. The 
 hero of it was a young drug clerk. When 
 the yellow fever broke out, in Savannah, 
 several years ago, the whole force in the 
 drug store where he was employed de- 
 serted the post of danger and left the city. 
 His friends, who lived in Augusta, sent word to him to 
 come home, but he refused, and remained on duty until the 
 proprietor of the store ordered him to close it. He then 
 went to another apothecary shop in Savannah, and worked 
 laboriously as prescription clerk. He was kept so busily en- 
 gaged that he had little time for meals, no chance to change 
 his clothes, and no opportunity for rest or amusement. His 
 employer took the fever and died, although the boy nursed 
 him faithfully. The cook took it, and he attended to her also, 
 and she recovered. 
 
 A young comrade was then taken ill, and the steadfast drug- 
 gist nursed him and performed his duties in the store, night 
 and day. His friend regained his health slowly, and then the 
 clerk was himself seized with the fever, but as he was strong 
 and cheerful, he sent word to his relatives that he had no fears. 
 It was then his companion's turn to show the kind of stuff of 
 which he was made; and the material turned out to be pure 
 gold. He nursed his friend from day to day, keeping up con- 
 
152 
 
 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 stant communication with his home, by telegraph, as long as 
 the telegraph messengers could be persuaded to venture into 
 the infected part of the town. His last dispatches were, "I 
 will stick to him to the last," and, " I shall not sleep to-night." 
 Both of the young men died that evening. Such steadfast 
 courage and self-denial deserve more than a passing notice. 
 
 We are likely to forget such unostentatious acts, because 
 they occur in the ordinary walks of life, and yet they are no 
 less worthy of our admiration than the most valiant deed of 
 plumed knight or mailed warrior. — Anonymous. 
 
 FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 J. M. S. CARTER. 
 
 HIS lady, so famed for her labors in reforming 
 the sanitary condition of the British army, 
 is the daughter of William Shore Nightin- 
 gale, and was born at Florence, Italy, in 
 1823. Nightingale was the name of Mr. 
 Shore's grand-uncle, and had been assumed 
 by him on inheriting his estates. Florence's 
 grandfather, Hon. William Smith, was one 
 of the members who supported Wilberforce in Parliament, in 
 the abolition of West India slavery. 
 
 From her very childhood, Miss Nightingale exhibited the 
 most intense sympathy with suffering, and it is related of her, 
 that, when a little girl, she heard that the gardener was going 
 to kill a favorite dog because it had in some way hurt its leg 
 so badly that he was afraid it would never be able to use it 
 again ; and she went, with tears in her eyes, and begged him 
 not to do so; then, carrying the poor dog home in her arms, 
 she bathed and bandaged the wounded leg, so that in a few 
 days the animal was as well as ever. As she grew up to 
 womanhood, this tender sympathy for suffering humanity in- 
 
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. 153 
 
 creased, and led her, in 1844, to turn her attention to the con- 
 dition of hospitals. She visited and inspected hospitals, both 
 civil and military, all over Europe, then studied with the Sisters 
 of Charity, in Paris, the system of nursing carried on in that 
 city, and, in 1851, went into training as a nurse in the institu- 
 tion of Protestant Deaconesses at Kaiserwerth, on the Rhine. 
 On returning to England she put into complete working order 
 the Sanitarium for Governesses, in connection with the London 
 Hospital. In 1854, soon after the war with Russia broke out, 
 Miss Nightingale offered to go to Scutari and organize a train- 
 ing school for nurses. Her offer was at once accepted, and in 
 company with her nurses, she left England, in October, arriv- 
 ing at Constantinople, November 4th, on the eve of the battle 
 of Inkermann, in time to receive the pounded into wards 
 already containing two thousand three hundred patients. 
 
 She soon saw that the bad sanitary arrangements of the 
 hospitals were the main cause of the frightful mortality, and 
 all her energies were bent to the removal of these, as well as 
 the lessening of their effects. 
 
 While in the Crimea she was prostrated with a fever, the 
 result of continuous toil and anxiety, but she refused to leave 
 her post, and on her recovery remained until Turkey was 
 evacuated, in 1856. With her labors at Scutari all the world 
 is familiar; so great was her devotion, that she has stood 
 twenty hours at a stretch, in order to see that the wounded 
 were comfortably provided for. The soldiers almost wor- 
 shiped her; it is said one poor fellow kissed her shadow as it 
 fell across his pillow; and well they might, for many of them 
 owed their lives to her tender care. But the price paid was the' 
 loss of her own health ; the physical and mental strain of those 
 two years in the Crimea had been too much, and for years 
 Miss Nightingale has been an invalid; yet, in her sick room 
 she has continued — through the pen — her beneficent labors. 
 
 In 1857 sne furnished the "commissioners appointed to in- 
 quire into the regulations affecting the sanitary condition of 
 the British army," with a written evidence, expressing with 
 
55 1 sson the Crux 
 
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THE SIEGE 01 LEYl 15-J 
 
 voice I in night of fear, 
 
 As night's bird, soft to hear ; 
 
 t heart ! raised like city on a hill ; 
 
 O watcher ! worn and pale, 
 
 Good Florence Nightingale, 
 Thanks, loving thanks, for thy large work and will ! 
 
 i...^land is glad of thee — 
 
 Christ, for thy charity, 
 Take thee to joy when hand and heart are still ! 
 
 Edwin Arnold. 
 
 THE SIEGE OF LEYDEN, 
 
 LL along the track of history heroic deeds are 
 recorded which stir the soul like the blast of a 
 trumpet. Such a clarion note was sounded 
 three hundred years ago, at Leyden, and its 
 echoes have not yet died away. 
 
 Phillip II claimed the right to do the think- 
 
 <f Hk in ^ ^ or n ' s SUD J ccts » an( l brought powerful 
 
 reasons to support his propositions. The Em- 
 pire of Spain was firmly held in the monarch's grasp ; with 
 the inquisition as his weapon, and the wealth of the new 
 world, and strong armies as his allies, surely the heretics 
 would see the propriety of returning to the bosom of the 
 Holy Roman Church. If even then they failed to fall into his 
 line of thought, the whole of the Netherlands were to be laid 
 waste with fire and sword. 
 
 Philip had not counted the cost of his undertaking. True, 
 the inhabitants of these "sand banks of the North Sea" were 
 few in number and feeble in resources, compared with the 
 mighty Spanish Empire. But they had brave hearts and 
 lofty ideas of worshiping God according to conscience and the 
 Bible, instead of bowing to tradition and the voice of their 
 king. 
 
 Leyden was besieged and sent forth a cry for help to 
 William, Prince of Orange, the father of his country. From 
 
156 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 whence could he bring aid ? The treachery of France — the 
 awful massacre of Saint Bartholomew — had laid low all the 
 bright expectations in that quarter. A disastrous campaign 
 had annihilated his army ; his right-hand general and noble 
 brother, Louis of Nassau, went into the fatal battle of Mooker- 
 heyde and was seen no more. Germany failed him ; England 
 was not to be relied on. His country lay prostrate and 
 desolate at his feet. William the Silent did not despair ; his 
 hope and trust were in God. He wrote to the citizens of 
 Leyden that " the fate of their country and of unborn genera- 
 tions would, in all human probability, depend on the issues 
 about to be tried. Eternal glory would be their portion if they 
 manifested a courage worthy of their race and of the sacred 
 cause of religion and liberty." 
 
 On the 26th of May, 1574, Valdez, the Spanish commander, 
 led his thousands of soldiers before the walls of the beautiful 
 city. It was situated amid fair fields, rescued from the ocean 
 by the stern labor of Netherlanders. Leyden was not upon 
 the sea, but the Prince " could send the sea to Leyden." He 
 saw no hope for the beleaguered city except to break the 
 dykes and to besiege the besiegers with the waves of the 
 ocean. " Better a drowned land than a lost laud," exclaimed 
 the patriots, as they yielded up the treasures of their fruitful 
 fields to the incoming waves. Leyden was about fifteen miles 
 from the outer dyke. This was broken through, and a fleet 
 of war vessels, manned by a few hundred veterans, going to 
 death or victory, floated to an inner dyke, five miles from the 
 city. From thence on Leyden was defended from the ocean 
 by dyke within dyke, and one rampart after another was to be 
 broken through. 
 
 Meanwhile the long days of June, July and August had 
 worn their weary hours away. The people were starving one 
 by one, the work progressing slowly. William of Nassau, the 
 brave author of the plan, lay at Rotterdam in a fever bordering 
 on delirium. With an unfaltering trust in God and a heroic 
 spirit, still the strain on his mind was more than the body 
 
THE SIEGE OF LEYDEN. 157 
 
 could bear. Schemes for the relief of the suffering and pros- 
 trate country were the subjects of his agonizing thoughts, and 
 were the thorns in his pillow. No man to lift the burden for 
 a little time until exhausted nature might rally. From his 
 chamber, through his friends, he continued to send words of 
 courage and cheer to the perishing people. 
 
 An ancient ruined tower of unknown origin rose in the 
 centre of the city. To this elevation the starving people went, 
 seeking a glimpse of hope. A few faithless ones, who clung 
 to the royal cause, tauntingly exclaimed, " Go up to the tower, 
 ye beggars, . . and tell us if ye can see the ocean coming 
 over the dry land to your relief! " And, day after day, did 
 they go up to the ancient tower, with heavy heart and anxious 
 eye, watching, hoping, praying, fearing, and at last almost 
 despairing of relief by God or man. Other ramparts were 
 broken through, and the fleet advanced slowly toward the city 
 walls. 
 
 Pestilence and starvation, hand in hand with untold horrors, 
 marched through the doomed city ; the inhabitants fell by 
 thousands, and yet men and women heroically resisted all 
 appeals to surrender. 
 
 " As well," shouted the Spaniards in derision, " as well can 
 the Prince of Orange pluck the stars from the sky as bring 
 the ocean to the wall of Leyden for your relief." 
 
 But Leyden had reached the sublimity of despair ; rather 
 than yield to Spain, the citizens would set fire to the city and 
 all perish in the flames. 
 
 The 28th of September a carrier-dove brought the joyful 
 tidings of the situation of the fleet, and the assurance of relief 
 in a few days at most. The bells rang out the joyful news. 
 But in the morning the wind was unfavorable, and the water 
 sinking, instead of rising. The Admiral was bordering on 
 despair ; unless the spring-tide," with " a strong and favorable 
 wind," should come speedily to their aid all these labors were 
 in vain. 
 
 But the tempest did come, " a violent equinoctial gale, on 
 
158 HEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 
 the nights of the first and second of October," sent the ocean 
 waves dashing furiously " across the ruined dykes." 
 
 A fine naval battle, in the darkness of the night, followed, 
 as the fleet came sweeping over the rising waters. The routed 
 Spaniards fled to a strong fortress; there entrenched, they still 
 held the city, and the brave patriots were again on the verge 
 of despair. 
 
 A night of thick darkness, " filled with anxiety to the 
 Spaniard, to the armada, to Leyden," succeeded. At morn- 
 ing's dawn a desperate assault was to be made on the fortress. 
 In the fort all was still — had the enemy entered the city ? Was 
 relief too late ? 
 
 No, panic-stricken, the army of Spain had fled under cover 
 of the darkness. They could withstand armed foes, but the 
 terrors of the ocean, led on by the tempest, filled them with 
 dismay. 
 
 The morning of the 3d of October looked upon a delivered 
 city. The worn, emaciated people gladly welcomed friends 
 and food. 
 
 Nearly every man, woman and child joined in the grand 
 procession to the great church. The starving and heroic city, 
 which had been so firm in its resistance to an earthly king, 
 now bent itself in humble gratitude before the King of kings. 
 After prayers, the whole congregation joined in the thanks- 
 giving hymn. Thousands of voices raised the song, but few 
 were able to carry it to its conclusion, for the universal emo- 
 tion, deepened by the music, became too full for utterance. 
 The hymn was abruptly suspended, while the multitude wept 
 like children." 
 
 In this terrible siege, Philip might have seen how deep in 
 the very nature of the Netherlands lay the principle of liberty. 
 They could die, but not yield to tyranny ; yet a long and des- 
 perate struggle followed, before the king and empire learned 
 the lesson. On the fourth of October, the day after the city 
 was relieved, the wind changed, and again came the strong 
 breath of the tempest. The ocean had accomplished its mis- 
 
A VALIANT SULIOTE. 
 
 159 
 
 sion, and he who holds the waves in the hollow of his hand, 
 swept them back. Soon the land was bare, and the dykes 
 began to be repaired. 
 
 The next February, the city was radiant with flowers and 
 gladness. A joyous procession marched through its streets 
 in triumph ; with elaborate and allegorical ceremonies, the 
 University of Leyden, destined to be so famous, was then 
 founded. Thus, an institution of learning became a living 
 monument to the heroism of the citizens, in the renowned 
 siege of Leyden. — Chicago Standard. 
 
 A VALIANT SULIOTE. 
 
 [ARCO BOZZARIS was a Greek patriot, born 
 about 1790. On the night of August 19th, 
 1 823, he attacked the camp of the Pasha of 
 Scutari, who was advancing toward Misso- 
 longhi, at the head of a considerable army. 
 He fought his way, with 350 Suliote soldiers, 
 into the midst of the camp, near Carpenisi, 
 but was mortally wounded by a shot in the 
 face, while spreading carnage around him. He was borne 
 from the battle field, after the victory, on the shoulders of a 
 relative, and died soon after. His last words were : " Could 
 a Suliote leader die a nobler death ? " He was no less re- 
 markable for modesty than for patriotism and bravery. So 
 highly has the following beautiful poem, by Fitz-Greene 
 Halleck, an American, been esteemed by the Greeks, that it 
 has been translated into their language : — 
 
 At midnight, in his guarded tent, 
 
 The Turk lay, dreaming of the hour 
 When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 
 
 Should tremble at his power. 
 In dreams, through camp and court he bore 
 The trophies of a conqueror ; 
 
1 GO HER OIC SA CRIFICES. 
 
 In dreams, his song of triumph heard ; 
 Then wore his monarch's signet-ring ; 
 Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king; 
 As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 
 
 As Eden's garden bird. 
 
 At midnight, in the forest shades, 
 
 Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, 
 True as the steel of their tried blades, 
 
 Heroes in heart and hand. 
 There had the Persian's thousands stood, 
 There had the glad earth drunk their blood, 
 
 In old Plataea's day; 
 And now, there breathed that haunted air 
 The sons of sires who conquered there, 
 With arms to strike, and soul to dare, 
 
 As quick, as far as they. 
 
 An hour passed on ; the Turk awoke ; 
 
 That bright dream was his last ; 
 He woke to hear his sentries shriek, 
 " To arms ! They come — the Greek ! the Greek ! 
 He woke to die 'mid flame and smoke, 
 And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, 
 
 And death- shots falling thick and fast 
 As lightnings from the mountain-cloud, 
 And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 
 
 Bozzaris cheer his band : — 
 " Strike — till the last armed foe expires ! 
 Strike — for your altars and your fires ! 
 STRIKE — for the green graves of your sires, 
 
 God, and your native land ! " 
 
 They fought, like brave men, long and well ; 
 
 They piled the ground with Moslem slain ; 
 They conquered ; but Bozzaris fell, 
 
 Bleeding at every vein. 
 His few surviving comrades saw 
 His smile, when rang their proud hurra, 
 
 And the red field was won ; 
 Then saw, in death, his eyelids close, 
 Calmly, as to a night's repose, 
 
 Like flowers at set of sun. 
 
A VALIANT SULIOTE. \§\ 
 
 Come to the bridal chamber, Death ! 
 Come to the mother when she feels, 
 For the first time, her firstborn's breath ! 
 
 Come when the blessed seals 
 That close the pestilence are broke, 
 And crowded cities wail its stroke ! 
 Come in consumption's ghastly form, 
 The earthquake's shock, the ocean-storm ! 
 Come when the heart beats high and warm, 
 
 With banquet, song, and dance, and wine ! 
 And thou art terrible : the tear, 
 The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 
 And all we know, or dream, or fear 
 
 Of agony, are thine. 
 But to the hero, when his sword 
 
 Has won the battle for the free, 
 Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word ; 
 And in its hollow tones are heard 
 
 The thanks of millions yet to be. 
 
 Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 
 
 Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
 Rest thee ! there is no prouder grave, 
 
 Even in her own proud clime. 
 She wore no funeral weeds for thee, 
 
 Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, 
 Like torn branch from death's leafless tree, 
 In sorrow's pomp and pageantry, — 
 
 The heartless luxury of the tomb. 
 But she remembers thee as one 
 Long loved, and for a season gone ; 
 For thee her poet's lyre is wreathed, 
 Her marble wrought, her music breathed ; 
 For thee she rings the birthday bells ; 
 Of thee her babes' first lisping tells. 
 
 For thine her evening prayer is said 
 At palace couch, and cottage bed ; 
 Her soldier, closing with the foe, 
 Gives, for thy sake, a deadlier blow ; 
 His plighted maiden, when she fears 
 For him, the joy of her young years, 
 Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears. 
 II 
 
1 62 ^- ; > 
 
 And she, the mother o( thy boj s, 
 Though in her eye and faded check 
 Is read the grief she will not speak — 
 
 The memory of her buried 
 And even she who gave thee birth, 
 
 grim-circled hearth. 
 Talk ot thy doom without a sigh ; 
 
 thou art Freedom's now and F 
 One of the tew, the immortal nair.es. 
 
 That were not born to die. 
 
 LADY GODIVA. 
 
 ALFRED rENNYSON. 
 
 
 r-^-i^^TV AVE vou ever heard of Coventry, an old 
 I wn not very far from London, where some 
 
 of the streets are so narrow that no wagons 
 can pass through them, and where the 
 rid stories ot~ the quaint old mansions 
 jut over so far into the streets that they 
 almost touch each other ? 
 
 Here once lived a sweet and beautiful 
 
 at whom the people never tire of telling you. 
 
 She was the wife of an Earl who governed Coventry. He 
 
 was immensely rich, but he taxed his sub;. that petitions 
 
 came in, every day, to have them lowered. Finally, as all their 
 
 beseeching did no good, the poor people came to his wife, 
 
 Lady Godiva.to beg her to intercede for them. Her heart was 
 
 . aed, and she went to her husband, but he was angry, and 
 
 her never speak oi' it again. 
 
 ral months went by. He had been away to some wars 
 
 in the northern part of England, and, coming home, was so 
 
 delighted to meet his wife and darling little boy, that he clasped 
 
 them both to his heart, asking her if she needed anything to 
 
 complete her happiness. She had money, an elegant home, 
 
LADY GODIVA. 163 
 
 and lived like a queen, but she could not be happy. She said, 
 " While our people groan under oppression, the most luxu- 
 rious entertainment can afford me no real enjoyment." 
 
 Leofric, her husband, again became violently angry, but said, 
 since he had promised to do what she wished, he would k 
 his word, but she must ride on horseback, at noonday, from 
 one end of the city to the other, with no clothing upon her. 
 He supposed, of course, that she would never consent to this. 
 For a moment, her noble, womanly heart sank within her, and 
 then she said, " I will go." 
 
 Her mind was made up, and she ordered all the people to 
 darken the fronts of their houses, and retire to the back parts 
 of them, while she took her lonely ride. When the appointed 
 day came, the whole city was as still as death. Lady Godiva's 
 beautiful white horse was brought to the palace. With a face 
 as blanched as her charger, drawing her long dark hair like a 
 scarf about her body, she mounted, and rode in solemn silence 
 through all the principal streets. No sound was heard save 
 that of the horse's hoofs, as the grateful people waited for their 
 burdens to be lifted. 
 
 And when the ride was over, and the people opened their 
 doors and unbarred their windows, a great cry of rejoicing 
 went up from thousands, for Coventry was free. Lady Godiva, 
 after founding several churches, died, about the year 1059. 
 
 Every three or four years, in Coventry, a quaint procession 
 still takes place in honor of this noble act of devotion to her 
 people. The City Guard and High Constable lead the column. 
 Then follows a beautiful woman, clothed in a white linen dress, 
 fitted close to her body, with long hair floating about her, and 
 a large bunch of flowers in her hand, riding on a cream-colored 
 horse. On either side of her are two city officials, dressed in 
 green and scarlet. Two men come next, bearing the sword 
 and mace, emblems of the high authority of the mayor, fol- 
 lowed by the mayor himself, in his scarlet robes, trimmed with 
 fur, wearing a cocked hat, and carrying a white wand in his 
 hand. Then come the sheriffs, in their black gowns; all the 
 
L64 HER OIC SA CRIFICES. 
 
 different trades of the city, the Odd Fellows, Foresters, and 
 other benevolent societies. 
 
 The principal characters o( the show are attended by beau- 
 tiful children in costly habits, riding on horseback. These 
 children are so small that they are obliged to sit in basket- 
 work seats, which are fastened to the horses' backs. The 
 men who lead the horses walk without their coats, and are 
 decorated with a profusion o\ ribbons. — ITu/i- Awake, 
 
 Not only we, the latest seed of Time, 
 
 New men, that in the flying of .\ wheel 
 
 Cry down the past ; not only we, that prate 
 
 Of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well, 
 
 And loathed to see them overtax'd ; but she 
 
 Did more, and underwent, and overcame, 
 
 The woman of a thousand summers back, 
 
 Godiva, wife to that grim Karl, who ruled 
 
 In Coventry ; for when he laid a tax 
 
 Upon his town, and all the mothers brought 
 
 Their children clamoring. " If we pay, we starve! " 
 
 She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode 
 
 About the hall, among his dogs, alone, 
 
 His beard a foot before him, and his hair 
 
 A yard behind. She told him of their tears, 
 
 And pray'd him, " If they pay this tax, they starve." 
 
 Whereat he stared, replying, half-amazed, 
 
 " You would not let your little ringer ache 
 For such as these f " " But I would die," said she. 
 He laughed, and swore by Peter and by Paul, 
 Then hllip'd at the diamond in her ear ; 
 
 " O, ay, ay, ay, you talk ! " "Alas ! " she said, 
 
 " But prove me what it is I would not do." 
 And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand, 
 He answer'd, " Ride you, naked, thro' the town, 
 And I repeal it ;" and nodding, as in scorn, 
 He parted, with great strides, among his dogs. 
 
 So, left alone, the passions of her mind, 
 
 As winds from all the compass shift and blow, 
 
 Made war upon each other in an hour, 
 
 Till pity won. She sent a herald forth, 
 
 And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all 
 
 The hard condition ; but that she would loose 
 
LADY GODIVA. 165 
 
 The people ; therefore, as they loved her well, 
 From then, till noon, no foot should pace the street, 
 No eye look down, she passing ; but that all 
 Should keep within, door shut and window barr'd. 
 
 Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there 
 Unclasp'd the wedded eagles of her belt, 
 The grim Earl's gift ; but ever at a breath 
 She linger'd, looking like a summer moon 
 Half-dipt in cloud ; anon she shook her head, 
 And shower'd the rippled ringlets to her knee ; 
 Unclad herself in haste ; adown the stair 
 Stole on ; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid 
 From pillar unto pillar, till she reach'd 
 The gateway ; there she found her palfrey trapt 
 In purple, blazon'd with armorial gold. 
 
 Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity ; 
 The deep air listened round her as she rode, 
 And all the low wind hardly breathed, for fear 
 The little, wide-mouthed heads upon the spout 
 Had cunning eyes to see ; the barking cur 
 Made her cheek flame ; her palfrey's footfall shot 
 Like horrors through her pulses ; the blind walls 
 Were full of chinks and holes ; and overhead 
 Fantastic gables, crowding, stared ; but she 
 Not less thro' all bore up, till, last, she saw 
 The white-flower'd elder-thicket from the field 
 Gleam thro' the gothic archway in the wall. 
 
 Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity ; 
 
 And one low churl, compact of thankless earth, 
 
 The fatal byword of all years to come, 
 
 Boring a little auger-hole, in fear, 
 
 Peep'd — but his eyes, before they had their will, 
 
 Were shrivel'd into darkness in his head, 
 
 And dropt before him ; so the Powers, who wait 
 
 On noble deeds, cancel'd a sense misused ; 
 
 And she, that knew not, pass'd, and all at once, 
 
 With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon 
 
 Was clash'd and hammer'd from a hundred towers, 
 
 One after one ; but even then she gain'd 
 
 Her bower ; whence, reissuing, rob'd and crown'd, 
 
 To meet her lord, she took the tax away, 
 
 And built herself an everlasting name. 
 
160 
 
 JJEROIC SACRIFICES. 
 A TRUE HERO. 
 
 DINAH MULOCH CRAIK. 
 
 T is said that "simple duty has no place for 
 fear," and this seems to have been exempli- 
 fied in the following mournful occurrence : 
 On the 22d of June, 1861, there was a great 
 fire in London, England. James Braidwood, 
 the chief fireman, fearlessly ventured into a 
 burning warehouse to encourage his men 
 and to fight the flames to better advantage, 
 when suddenly the huge walls toppled and 
 fell, killing him instantly. Duty was more to him than life. 
 
 Not at the battle front, writ of in story, 
 Not on the blazing wreck, steering to glory, 
 Not while in mortal pangs soul and flesh sever, 
 Died he, this hero new — hero forever ! 
 
 No pomp poetic crowned, no forms enchained him ; 
 No friends, applauding, watched, no foes arraigned him ; 
 Death found him there, without grandeur or beauty — 
 Only an honest man, doing his duty ! 
 
 Just a God-fearing man, simple and lowly, 
 Constant at kirk and hearth, kindly and lowly ; 
 Death found and touched him with finger, in flying, 
 So he rose up complete — hero undying. 
 
 All now lament him — lovingly raise him 
 Up from his life obscure, chronicle, praise him ; 
 Tell his last act, done midst peril appalling, 
 And the last words of cheer from his lips falling. 
 
 So many a hero walks daily beside us, 
 Till comes the hour supreme, sent to divide us, 
 Then the Lord calls his own, like this man, even, 
 Carried Elijah-like, fire-winged, to heaven ! 
 
Pwll. 
 
 AL1ANT 
 
 E x p l 
 
 OITS. 
 
 . ,^ ,, ,,.„...,....^....^, 
 
" My hour at last is come, 
 But not inaloriously or passively 
 I die, but first will do some valiant deed 
 
 Of which mankind shall hear in after-time." 
 
 — Homer. 
 
PART III. 
 
 VALIANT EXPLOITS 
 
 THE MAID OF SARAGOSSA. 
 
 F the few cities that succeeded in holding out 
 
 against Napoleon, on the occasion of his 
 
 first attempt to seize the Spanish Crown, 
 
 Saragossa claims to hold the foremost rank. 
 
 The inhabitants, without distinction of age, 
 
 sex or calling, fought and fell in its defence, 
 
 and history has rewarded their patriotism by 
 
 chronicling deeds such as Homer sung. 
 
 Wellington had not yet quitted England for the field that 
 
 was to make him famous, and on which he was to earn some 
 
 of his proudest titles, when a French army, commanded by 
 
 Desnouettes, advanced on Saragossa. 
 
 The siege may be said to have actually commenced on the 
 14th of July, 1808, a siege deservedly more memorable than 
 others, from the fact of the city being unfortified, or nearly so, 
 a brick wall constituting its only defence. Many years pre- 
 viously, a writer, alluding to its want of fortification, observed 
 that "this defect was repaired by the bravery of its 
 inhabitants." 
 
 And they proved themselves not unworthy of encomiums 
 like this, for never was greater daring or more heroism 
 shown than by its gallant defenders. Palafox, under whose 
 orders the defence was conducted, displayed an ability unusual 
 
 169 
 
[70 VALIANT EX . 
 
 amongst the Spanish generals at that time ; and greatly con- 
 tributed, by the judiciousness oi his measures, to hold the 
 enemy in check. 
 
 An attempt was made by the French, the day following the 
 investment, to storm the city ; but they were beaten back with 
 much loss, and forced to regain their works. Allowing a few 
 - to intervene, they again advanced to the assault; but the 
 Spaniards, elated at their first success, fought with a courage and 
 tenacity that baffled every attempt o( the enemy. Desnouetl 
 mad with rage at being thus foiled, overwhelmed the place 
 with a perfect storm of shells, the havoc from which was fear- 
 ful, not a single building in the city* being bomb-proof. Then 
 was shown the heroism of the inhabitants. 
 
 Xo one thought of surrendering, but all were animated by a 
 warlike spirit. " They tore down the awnings from the win- 
 dows and formed them into sacks, which they filled with sand. 
 and piled up before the gates to serve as a battery, digging 
 round it a deep trench. They broke holes in the walls and 
 intermediate buildings for musketry, and stationed cannon 
 where the position was favorable for it. Women o( all ranks 
 assisted; they formed themselves into companies — some to 
 relieve the wounded ; some to carry water, wine and provisions 
 to those who defended the gates. 
 
 " The Countess Burita instituted a corps for this service ; she 
 was young, delicate and beautiful. In the midst of the most 
 tremendous fire of shot and shells, she was seen coolly attend- 
 ing to those occupations which had now become her duty; 
 nor throughout the whole of a two months' siege, did the 
 imminent danger to which she incessantly exposed herself 
 produce the slightest apparent effect upon her, or in the 
 slightest degree divert her from her heroic purpose. 
 
 " But great and noble as was the example set by this gently- 
 nurtured lady, still another act of devotion claims our atten- 
 tion — one that has inspired painters and been the poet's theme. 
 When the fire from the French lines was most severe, a 
 batten' that had been erected by the besieged in an exposed 
 
THE MAID OF SARAGOSSA. 171 
 
 position, suffered greatly from its effects. Nearly every man 
 that served the pieces was either killed or disabled. Suddenly 
 a woman rushed forward, over the dead and dying, snatched a 
 match from the hand of a dead artilleryman, and fired off a six- 
 and-tvventy pounder; then jumping upon the gun, made a 
 solemn vow never to quit it alive during the siege." The heroine 
 was Augustina Saragossa, a young girl belonging to a family 
 of the common people, who thus braved the fire of the enemy, 
 and rallied her countrymen by the courage she displayed. 
 
 It is said her lover was among the fallen, and that it was his 
 place she took, determined to avenge him. Throughout the 
 whole of the siege she appeared to bear a charmed life. Even 
 in the most exposed situation, she urged her companions, by 
 her example, to great deeds, and escaped unharmed, though 
 she eventually fell into the hands of the French, as a prisoner. 
 
 " Ye who shall marvel when ye hear her tale, 
 Oh ! had you known her in her softer hours, 
 
 Mark'd her black eye that mocks her coal-black veil, 
 Heard her light, lively tones in lady's bower, 
 Seen her long locks that foil the painter's power, 
 
 Her fairy form, with more than female grace, 
 Scarce would you deem that Saragossa's tower 
 
 Beheld her smile in Danger's gorgon face, 
 
 Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory's fearful chase. 
 
 " Her lover sinks — she sheds no ill-timed tear ; 
 
 Her chief is slain — she fills his fatal post ; 
 Her fellows flee — she checks their base career; 
 
 The foe retires — she heads the sallying host : 
 
 Who can appease, like her, a lover's ghost ? 
 Who can avenge, so well, a leader's fall ? 
 
 What maid retrieve when man's flushed hope is lost ? 
 Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul, 
 Foiled by a woman's hand before a battered wall ?" 
 
 Such were the exploits of the Maid of Saragossa, who, by 
 her valor, elevated herself to the highest rank of heroines. 
 When the author was at Seville, she walked daily on the 
 Prado, decorated with medals and orders by command of the 
 Junta. Lord Byron. 
 
172 PLOfTS. 
 
 HEROIC AMERICANS. 
 
 AVAL is a town on an island of the same 
 name, one of the 
 - -: of and belonging to Portugal. It 
 fine harbor, and for t" 
 much visited by ships of all 
 nations for purposes of refitting, m.. 
 rep. rs blaming watef etc 
 
 The her ; nee of the 'General 
 
 .r\g British fleet 
 
 in t ral port, dese . - :o be ranked with that of Leoni- 
 
 das and 5 .rtan band. In the account given below, no 
 
 one car. :hat unmerited praise was bestowed on the 
 
 as an Englishman, a resident of 
 
 ■aL The le:: i to the celebrated William 
 
 Cobbett, of London, England. It is dated, " Fa)-al, October 
 
 The American beer brig j neral Armstrong." of 
 
 Taptain Samuel C. Reid, of seven guns and ni: 
 men, entered here on the 26th ultimo, about noc 
 
 - from that place, for the purpose of obtaining water. The 
 captain, seeing nothing on the horizon, was induced to anchor, 
 re the lapse of mar. y His Majesfr . .ma- 
 
 came in and anchored near her. 
 
 Plantagenet," c :" 
 four guns, and the " Rota" frigate came in and anchored also. 
 The captain of the privateer and his friends consulted the first 
 authorities here about her security. They all considered her 
 perr\:: . : ure, and tha: ere too well 
 
 acquainted with the respect due to a neutral port to molest 
 die gre^.: ry one, about nine in the 
 
 evening, four boats were despatched, armed and manned, from 
 for the purpose of cutting her out It 
 being about the full of the moon, the night perfectly, clear and 
 
calm, we could see every rr_: made. The be 
 
 approached t jward her, when, it app-r captain 
 
 of the pr ailed them, and told them to kee~ 
 
 times. The}', notwithstanding, pushed on, an 3 : act 
 
 of boarding before any defence was made from the privateer, 
 arm cor. ed on b : The boat 
 
 : 
 The American, a ng on force 
 
 beir._ i the pr 
 
 alongside of 1 a half- : 
 
 moored her, head and stern, with f ; _ -nor 
 
 now -ance to Ca 
 
 genet,'' against such proceedings, and :eer 
 
 .d not be further mc teste . ting in the Dominion of 
 
 Por: the gur. tied tc 
 
 Portuguese protection. 
 
 Captain Lloyd's an ts that he was determined to 
 
 destroy the vessel, at 1 
 
 not leave a house 
 g in the village All the 
 about flie walls, c rnid- 
 
 night fourteen la aed to be coming in rota- 
 
 tion, for the purpose. V got : 
 
 tremendous and e ectua made from the 
 
 iow 
 returne d ? : : r.d r. _ 
 
 ^ i:s:r.2r^:= :: ?.~ :-.'.~ :r. :~; -- :le ::: :ht : . ,.:- :: rr. ike =rr.- 
 progress They finally s an immense loss 
 
 gerJ alongside her, and at board a: _ 
 
 cheered by the office ::" 
 
 : . : stiiKlly hear, as : .- : 
 
 : " 
 ...:.:- : 
 
 -caped death in a be .: 
 
 , : ■ . : -" - . • - 
 
 some gk be row them ; 
 
174 VALIANT EXPLOITS. 
 
 others with three or four ; the most that any one returned was 
 about ten. Several boats floated on shore full of dead bodies. 
 
 With great reluctance I state that they were manned with 
 picked men and commanded by the first, second, third and 
 fourth lieutenants of the " Plantagenet ;" first, second, third 
 and fourth ditto of the frigate, and the first officers of the brig, 
 together with a great number of midshipmen. Our whole 
 force exceeded four hundred men ; but three officers escaped, 
 two of which were wounded. This bloody and unfortunate 
 contest lasted about forty minutes. 
 
 After the boats gave out, nothing more was attempted till 
 daylight next morning, when the " Carnation" hauled alongside 
 and engaged her. The privateer still continued to make a 
 most gallant defence. These veterans reminded me of Law- 
 rence's dying words, of the " Chesapeake,"" Don't give up the 
 ship!" The "Carnation" lost one of her topmasts and her 
 yards were shot away ; she was much cut up in the rigging, 
 and received several shots in her hull. This obliged her to 
 haul off to repair and to cease firing. 
 
 The Americans, now finding their principal gun, " Long 
 Tom," and several others, dismounted, deemed it folly to think 
 of saving her against so superior a force ; they, therefore, cut 
 her masts to the deck, blew a hole through her bottom, took 
 out their small arms, clothing, etc., and went ashore. I dis- 
 covered only two shot-holes in the hull of the privateer, although 
 much cut up in the rigging. 
 
 Two boats' crews were afterwards dispatched from our ves- 
 sels, which went on board, took out some provisions, and set 
 her on fire. 
 
 For three days after we were employed in burying the dead 
 that washed ashore in the surf. The number of the British 
 killed exceeded 120, and 90 wounded. The enemy, the Ameri- 
 cans, to the surprise of mankind, lost only two killed and seven 
 wounded. We may well say, " God deliver us from our ene- 
 mies," if this is the way the Americans fight. 
 
 After burning the privateer, Captain Lloyd made a demand 
 
KINGS MOUNTAIN. 175 
 
 of the Governor to deliver up the Americans as prisoners — 
 which the Governor refused. He then sent 500 men on shore 
 to take them by force. The Americans immediately retired, 
 with their arms, to an old Gothic convent, knocked away the 
 adjoining drawbridge, and determined to defend themselves 
 to the last. The Captain, however, changing his mind, made 
 no further attempt; only demanded two men, which, he said, 
 deserted from his vessel when in America. The Governor 
 sent for the men, but found none of the description given. 
 
 Many houses received much injury on shore, from the guns 
 of the "Carnation." The American Consul here has made a 
 demand on the Portuguese government for a -hundred thou- 
 sand dollars for the privateer, which our Consul, Mr. Parkin, 
 thinks, in justice, will be paid; and that they will claim on 
 England. Mr. Parkin, Mr. Edward Bayley and another 
 English gentleman disapprove of the outrage and depredation 
 committed by our vessels on this occasion. The vessel that 
 was dispatched to England with the wounded was not per- 
 mitted to take a single letter from any person. Being an 
 eye-witness to this transaction, I have given you a correct 
 statement as it occurred. H. K. F. 
 
 KING'S MOUNTAIN. 
 
 (A Revolutionary Battle fought October 7th, 1780.) 
 
 "We marched to the Cowpens; Campbell was there, 
 
 Shelby, Cleaveland and Colonel Sevier ; 
 
 Men of renown, Sir, like lions, so bold ; 
 
 Like lions, undaunted, ne'er to be controlled. 
 
 We set out on our march that very same night; 
 
 Sometimes we were wrong, sometimes we were right. 
 
 Our hearts being run in true liberty's mold, 
 
 We valued not hunger, wet, weary or cold. 
 • On the top of King's Mountain the old rogue we found, 
 
 And, like brave heroes, his camp did surround; 
 
 Like lightning, the flashes ; like thunder, the noise ; 
 
 Our rifles struck the poor tories with sudden surprise. 
 
 Old Song. 
 
176 
 
 VALIANT EXPLOITS. 
 FEMININE INTREPIDITY. 
 
 WILLIAM ROBBINS. 
 
 N the year 1697, Mademoiselle de Vercheres, a 
 little more than fifteen years old, was walking 
 on the banks of the St. Lawrence, when she 
 heard the hissing of bullets, and beheld a 
 party of Iroquois on the point of surrounding 
 her. She fled at her best speed, and they 
 pursued her ; she threw herself into the fort, 
 shut the gates and gave the alarm. 
 
 She heard the cries of the terrified women, 
 and fearing that they would impede rather than assist the 
 defence, she shut them up in a secure place. A single soldier 
 was on duty in the fort. She flew to join him, put on a hat 
 and a uniform coat, armed herself with a musket, showed her- 
 self on the walls, and fired on the Iroquois. She then affected 
 a loud, manly voice, pretended to have a numerous troop 
 under her command, and flew from sentry box to sentry box, 
 as if to distribute the posts. Warming with her work, the 
 heroine then loaded a cannon, and discharged it by herself. 
 This spread terror among the Iroquois ; it, at the same time, 
 warned the garrisons of the neighboring forts to be on the 
 defensive, and quickly the banks of the river resounded with 
 the roar of artillery. 
 
 Thus, this young person saved the Fort of Vercheres, and 
 perhaps the whole colony. This courage, hereditary in her 
 family, seemed to be transmitted to the women, as well as to 
 the men. Her mother, two years before, had displayed the 
 same intrepidity. The place had been invested by the Iroquois 
 at a time when the garrison was absent. There were only three 
 soldiers, who were all killed. When Madam de Vercheres saw 
 the last fall, while defending himself like a brave man, in a 
 redoubt fifty paces from the fort, she armed herself in haste, 
 
AN INDIAN HERO. 
 
 177 
 
 advanced alone along the covered way, gained the redoubt 
 before the enemy could scale it, fired at them, and at every 
 shot brought down an assailant. 
 
 They were astonished and terrified, and were on the point 
 of flying before a woman, when the approach of a body of 
 French completed their dispersion. 
 
 AN INDIAN HERO. 
 
 OSEPH Dana is only an Indian, eighty years 
 old, and, like many others, he sometimes 
 imbibes the exhilarating and intoxicating 
 fluid. He stands about six feet, unshod, is 
 broad-shouldered, full-chested, carries his 
 head erect, and has a straight spinal column. 
 On November 19th, 1883, at about 4 o'clock, 
 he arrived at Lincoln, Maine, on a ride from 
 Lee, a distance of twelve miles; being thinly 
 clad, he was cold, and, being cold, and in the act of taking 
 his inner warming, the cry, "A boy in the pond! A boy 
 drowning ! The ice has broken, and lots are in the water ! " 
 sounded on his ear. Like a chieftain of old of his tribe, at 
 the sound of the war-whoop, he leaped through the door 
 with Indian stride, rushed to the scene of danger, and stayed 
 not his pace until he broke through the ice within about ten 
 feet of where four small boys were struggling for life. Then, 
 as a wild moose escaping the hounds breaks the ice with his 
 fore feet, so Dana with his fists and giant arms smashed the 
 ice between himself and the drowning boys. He reached 
 them, and with the aid of another Indian who had plunged 
 into the water three were landed. The other, a boy of about 
 six years, had risen and sunk twice, and was then beneath the 
 cold water, far from the reach of rope or pole. It was then 
 that Joseph showed himself a hero. Plunging beneath the 
 12 
 
1 7^ - - - 
 
 d to death h ed the boy, and 
 
 brought t the si ace in an ex' sfe c ndition. Lite 
 
 »h the sled rope he grasped 
 had to be cut before it could be taken from his hands, through 
 prompt and sk efforts the 1 still lives. — Lea Ate.) 
 
 
 
 A BRAVE GIRL. 
 
 ~^||Eajpp! ' KE Iov. . _ - ■;- Committee recently pre- 
 w^jjF/^ck,. sented Miss Kate Shelley, a young girl of 
 
 :h a gold medal, for braver}'. 
 At about dark, on the sixth of July, 1881 
 a storm of wind and rain of unparalleled 
 severity broke over this region. In an 
 hour's time ever/ creek was out of its banks, 
 >§r and the Des Moines River had risen six 
 
 feet. So sudden was the flood and such was the velocity 
 
 that houses -. lumber, and all portable objects 
 
 of the v.:. - ere carried away. Looking from 
 
 iay light commanded a view of the 
 
 Honey Creek railroad bridge, Kate Shelley saw, through the 
 
 ::>rm, a locomotive headlight. A second later 
 
 : and though the crash which it must have made 
 
 ts not perceptible above the roar of the wind, she knew 
 
 : the bridge had gone and that a train of cars had fallen 
 
 int There was no one at home but her mother 
 
 - brother and sister, and the girl understood that 
 
 if help was to be given to the sufferers, and the express train, 
 
 due, warned, she would have to undertake the 
 
 ng and lighting an old lantern, and wrapping 
 
 ite rproof, she sallied out in the storm. She first 
 
 made an effort to reach the water's edge, but finding that the 
 
 flood was already far above all the paths and roadways, and 
 
 _ r.^that she could do nothing in or near that mad torrent, 
 
A BRAVE GIRL. 179 
 
 cbe. dimbed painfully up the steep bluff to the track, tearing 
 hei clothing to rags on the thick undergrowth, and lacerating 
 her flesh most painfully. A part of the bridge still remained, 
 and, crawling out on this to the last tie, she swung her lantern 
 over the abyss, and called out at the top : " her voice. It was 
 pitchy dark below, but she was answered faintly by the engin- 
 eer, who had crawled up on some of the broken timbers, and, 
 though injured, was safe for the time being. From him the 
 girl learned that it was a freight train that had gone into the 
 chasm, and that he alone of that train's hands had esca: 
 He urged her, however, to proceed at once to the nearest 
 station, to secure help for him, and to warn the approaching 
 express train of the fall of the bridge. 
 
 The girl then retraced her steps, gained the track and made 
 her way, with all the speed that the gale would permit, toward 
 Moingona, a small station about one mile from Honey Creek. 
 In making this perilous journey it was necessary for her to 
 cross the high trestle bridge over the Des Moines River, about 
 five hundred feet in length. Just as she tremblingly put her 
 foot on this structure, the wind, rain, thunder and lightning 
 were so appalling that she nearly lost her balance, and in the 
 endeavor to save herself, her sole companion, the old lantern, 
 went out. She had no matches, but if she had had thousands 
 of them they would have been of no sen-ice in such a place 
 and in such a storm. Deprived of her light, she could not 
 see a foot ahead of her, save when dazzling flashes of lightning 
 revealed the grim outlines of the bridge and the seething 
 waters beneath. Knowing that she had no time to lose, the 
 brave girl threw away the useless lamp, and dropping on her 
 hands and knees, crawled from tie to tie across the high trestle. 
 Having gained the ground again, she ran the short distance 
 remaining to the station, told her story in breathless haste, and 
 fell unconscious at the feet of the gaping rustics, who, in their 
 eagerness to know her adventures, forgot the terror and sus- 
 pense which she had endured. 
 
 — Nt w York Christian Advocate. 
 
ISO VALIANT EXPLOITS. 
 
 THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS. 
 
 „t\ f j? [NG Francis was .1 hearty king, and Loved a royal sport, 
 
 a \ And one day, as his lions strove, sat Looking on the court; 
 ,tal— |S ' 
 
 «m^* The nobles rill'd the benches round, the ladies bv their 
 
 if side 
 
 Amis - UCi 
 
 ' And 'mongst them Count de Lorge, with one he hoped to 
 * V ^u make his bride ; 
 
 *fc And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show, 
 Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal 
 below. 
 
 * {■' 
 
 T Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws ; 
 They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind 
 
 went with their paws ; 
 With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled one on 
 
 another, 
 Till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a thundrous 
 
 smother ; 
 The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing through 
 
 the air ; 
 Said Francis then, "Good gentlemen, we're better here 
 
 than there ! " 
 
 De Lorge's love o'erheard the king, a beauteous, lively dame, 
 
 With smiling lips, and sharp, bright eves, which always seemed the 
 
 same : 
 She thought, "The Count, my lover, is as brave as brave can be ; 
 He surely would do desperate things to show his love of me ! 
 Kin^, ladies, lovers, all look on ; the chance is wondrous tine ; 
 I'll drop my glove to prove his love ; great glory will be mine ! " 
 
 She dropp'd her glove to prove his love ; then looked on him and 
 
 smiled ; 
 He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild : 
 The leap was quick ; return was quick ; he soon regained his place ; 
 Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face ! 
 In truth: " cried Francis, " rightly done ! " and he rose from where he 
 
 sat: 
 1 No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that:" 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
MILL RIVER RIDE. 
 MILL RIVER RIDE— 1874. 
 
 181 
 
 J. W. DONOVAN. 
 
 W 
 
 \ 
 
 VER the hills, through the valley away, 
 
 Spreading confusion and dreadful dismay, 
 Spurring his horse to his uttermost speed, 
 Halting a moment and changing his steed, 
 
 Crying aloud, in a voice of command : 
 1 Run ! run '. for your lives, high up on the land ! 
 Away, men and children ! up, quick, and begone! 
 The water's broke loose ; it is chasing me on ! " 
 
 Away down the river, like a spirit, he runs, 
 While the roar of the torrent, like the roaring of guns, 
 Wakes the air with the echo of trembling might, 
 Till the flood from the reservoir rushes in sight. 
 
 Bear away ! bear away, in confusion and haste ; 
 What of value remains will be swallowed in waste; 
 The torrent rolls onward in terrible force, 
 Dealing death and destruction to all in its course ! 
 
 But bold Collins Graves has reached Williamsburg hills, 
 Spreading terror and fright throughout all the mills ; 
 While the flood follows faster, increasing its speed, 
 New horsemen set forth on lightning-limbed steed. 
 
 In the valley of death, swept away like a flower, 
 Six scores of brave workmen destroyed in an hour ! 
 With the rough, rugged rubbish, that swept down the river, 
 'Mid groanings for help, they have perished forever ! 
 
 Oh ! God, what a sight for mortals to see ! 
 
 Whole households engulfed in the stream, like a tree ! 
 
 The day breaks in terror — in sorrow it ends, 
 
 For hundreds bewail the sad loss of their friends. 
 
 All night, through the darkness, loud groans maybe heard, 
 Yet hundreds are dumb, who can utter no word ! 
 The flood has gone down, and the ruins along 
 The course of the rapids have passed into song. 
 
182 
 
 VALIANT EXPLOITS. 
 
 Of all that gave aid, or that battled those waves, 
 
 No name will shine brighter than bold Colluis Graves. 
 
 'Twas he that first rose at the sound of alarm, 
 
 And rode through the valley, foretelling of harm ; 
 
 Forgetting his danger, in haste to do right — 
 
 Let us honor the gateman, and keep his name bright. 
 
 A WONDERFUL FEAT. 
 
 [HAT the display of knightly and chivalrous 
 deeds is not always reserved for the field of 
 battle, is abundantly demonstrated by the 
 following thrilling incident, which occurred 
 during one of the grand reviews of the Aus- 
 trian army. Not far from where 30,000 
 cavalry were in line, a little child — a girl 
 of not more than four years — standing in 
 the front row of spectators, either from fright, or some 
 other cause, rushed out into the open field just as a squadron 
 of hussars came sweeping around from the main body. They 
 made the detour for the purpose of saluting the Empress, 
 whose carriage was drawn up in that part of the parade- 
 ground. Down came the flying squadron, charging at a 
 mad gallop — down, directly upon the child. The mother 
 was paralyzed, as were others, for there could be no rescue 
 from the line of spectators. The Empress uttered a cry of 
 horror, for the child's destruction seemed inevitable, and such 
 terrible destruction — the trampling to death by a thousand 
 iron hoofs. Directly under the feet of the horse was the little 
 one — another instant must seal her doom — when a stalwart 
 hussar, who was in the front line, without slackening his speed 
 or loosening his hold, threw himself over by the side t of his 
 horse's neck, seized and lifted the child, and placed it with 
 safety on his saddle-bow, and this he did without changing his 
 pace, or breaking the correct alignment of the squadron. 
 Ten thousand voices hailed, with rapturous applause, the 
 
THE RELIEF OF LUCK NOW. 
 
 183 
 
 gallant deed, and other thousands applauded when they heard 
 it. Two women there were who could only sob forth their 
 gratitude in broken accents — the mother and the Empress. 
 A proud and happy moment it must have been to the hussar, 
 when the Emperor, taking from his own breast the richly- 
 enameled cross of the Order of Maria Theresa, hung it upon 
 the breast of his brave and gallant trooper. 
 
 — Anonymous. 
 
 THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. 
 
 N the Summer of 1857 the British garrison in 
 Lucknow, India, were reduced to perilous 
 straits. They were besieged by the native 
 rebels in a largely outnumbering force. Cruel, 
 vindictive, and remorseless, these mutineers, 
 could they enter the city, would put all the 
 men, women and children to a fearful death. 
 They had advanced their batteries and mines 
 so far that in less than an hour the city must 
 fall, unless relief should be at hand. And relief was at hand, 
 though no one was aware of it. Havelock, with 2500 men, 
 was approaching, but amid the din and smoke of the cannonade 
 nothing could be heard or seen. 
 
 On came Havelock and his men ; they hewed a passage 
 through the rebel masses up to the very walls of Lucknow, 
 and snatched their countrymen from the horrors of their 
 impending fate. 
 
 Oh, that last day in Lucknow fort ! 
 
 We knew that it was the last, 
 That the enemy's lines crept surely on, 
 
 And the end was coming fast. 
 
 To yield to that foe was worse than death, 
 
 And the men and we all worked on ; 
 It was one day more of smoke and roar, 
 
 And then it would all be done. 
 
1 84 VA LI A NT EX PL OITS. 
 
 There was one of us, a corporal's wife, 
 
 A fair, young, gentle thing, 
 Wasted with fever in the siege, 
 
 And her mind was wandering. 
 
 She lay on the ground, in her Scottish plaid, 
 And I took her head on my knee : 
 " When my father comes hame frae the pleugh," she said. 
 " Oh ! then please waken me !" 
 
 She slept like a child on her father's floor, 
 
 In the flecking of woodbine-shade, 
 When the house dog sprawls by the open door, 
 
 And the mother's wheel is staid. 
 
 It was smoke and roar and powder stench, 
 
 And hopeless waiting for death ; 
 And the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child, 
 
 Seemed scarce to draw her breath. 
 
 I sank to sleep ; and I had my dream 
 
 Of an English village lane, 
 And wall and garden — but one wild scream 
 
 Brought me back to the roar again. 
 
 There Jessie Brown stood listening, 
 
 Till a sudden gladness broke 
 All over her face, and she caught my hand 
 
 And drew me near, as she spoke : — 
 
 " The Hielanders ! Oh ! dinna ye hear 
 The slogan far awa ? 
 The McGregors ? Oh ! I ken it weel ; 
 It's the grandest o' them a' ! 
 
 " God bless the bonny Hielanders ! 
 
 We' re saved ! We' re saved !" she cried ; 
 And fell on her knees, and thanks to God 
 Flowed forth like a full flood-tide. 
 
 Along the battery line her cry 
 
 Had fallen among the men, 
 And they started back ; they were there to die ; 
 
 But was life so near them then ? 
 
THE RELIEF OF LUC KNOW. 185 
 
 They listened for life ; the rattling fire 
 
 Far off, and the far-off roar, 
 Were all ; and the colonel shook his head, 
 
 And they turned to their guns once more. 
 
 But Jessie said, "the slogan's done ; 
 
 But winna ye hear it noo, 
 The Campbell" ' s are coming ! It's nae a dream ; 
 
 Our succors hae broken through !" 
 
 We heard the roar and the rattle afar, 
 
 But the pipes we could not hear ; 
 So the men plied their work of hopeless war, 
 
 And knew that the end was near. 
 
 It was not long ere it made its way, 
 
 A shrilling, ceaseless sound : 
 It was no noise from the strife afar, 
 
 Or the sappers under ground. 
 
 It was the pipes of the Highlanders ! 
 
 And now they played Aald Lang Syne / 
 It came to our men like the voice of God, 
 
 And they shouted along the line. 
 
 And they wept and shook one another's hands, 
 And the women sobbed in a crowd ; 
 
 And every one knelt down where he stood, 
 And we all thanked God aloud. 
 
 That happy time when we welcomed them, 
 
 Our men put Jessie first ; 
 And the General gave her his hand, and cheers, 
 
 Like a storm, from the soldiers burst. 
 
 And the pipers' ribbons and tartans streamed, 
 
 Marching round and round our line ; 
 And our joyful cheers were broken with tears, 
 
 As the pipers played Aula* Lang Syne ! 
 
 Robert Lowell. 
 
1 86 VALIANT EXPL OITS. 
 
 HEROISM OF GRACE DARLING. 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 
 
 RACE DARLING was the daughter of the 
 lighthouse keeper of Longstone, on one of 
 the most exposed of the Fame Islands. She 
 was born at Bamborough, on the coast of 
 Northumberland, England, November 24th, 
 181 5, and died October 20th, 1842. 
 
 On the night of September 6th, 1838, the 
 Forfarshire steamer, proceeding from Hull 
 to Dundee, was wrecked on one of the crags of the Fame 
 group. Of fifty-three persons on board, thirty-eight perished, 
 including the captain and his wife. 
 
 On the morning of the 7th the survivors were discovered 
 by Grace, clinging to the rocks and remnants of the vessel, in 
 imminent danger of being washed off by the returning tide. 
 
 Grace, with the assistance of her parents, but against their 
 remonstrances, immediately launched a boat, and with her 
 father, succeeded in rescuing nine of them, and six escaped by 
 other means. Presents and demonstrations of admiration were 
 showered upon her from all parts of the United Kingdom, and 
 a public subscription to the amount of £700 was raised for 
 her. 
 
 Among the dwellers in the silent fields 
 
 The natural heart is touched ; and public way 
 
 And crowded street resound with ballad strains, 
 
 Inspired by one whose very name bespeaks 
 
 Favor divine, exalting human love, 
 
 Whom, since her birth on bleak Northumbria's coast, 
 
 Known unto few, but prized as far as known, 
 
 A single act endears to high and low, 
 
 Through the whole land — to manhood, moved in spite 
 
 Of the world's freezing cares — to generous youth — 
 
 To infancy, that lisps her praise — and age, 
 
 Whose eye reflects it, glistening through a tear 
 
 Of tremulous admiration. 
 
HEROISM OF GRACE DARLING. \%n 
 
 Such true fame 
 
 Awaits her now. But, verily, good deeds 
 Do no imperishable record find, 
 Save in the rolls of Heaven, where hers may live 
 A theme for angels, when they celebrate 
 The high-souled virtues which forgetful earth 
 Has witnessed. Oh ! that winds and waves could speak 
 Of things which their united power calls forth 
 From the pure depths of her humanity ! 
 
 A maiden gentle, yet at duty's call 
 
 Firm and unflinching as the lighthouse reared 
 
 On the island rock, her lonely dwelling-place, 
 
 Or like the invincible rock itself, that braves, ' 
 
 Age after age, the hostile elements, 
 
 As when it guarded holy Cuthbert's cell. 
 
 All night the storm had raged, nor ceased, nor paused 
 When, as day broke, the maid, through misty air, 
 Espies, far off, a wreck amid the surf, 
 Beating on one of those disastrous isles- 
 Half of a vessel— half, no more ; the rest 
 Had vanished, swallowed up with all that there 
 Had for the common safety striven in vain, 
 Or thither thronged for refuse. 
 
 With quick glance 
 
 Daughter and sire through optic glass discern, 
 Clinging about the remnant of this ship, 
 Creatures— how precious in the maiden's sight! 
 For whom, belike, the old man grieves still more 
 Than for their fellow-sufferers engulfed 
 Where every parting agony is hushed, 
 And hope and fear mix not in further strife. 
 "But courage father ! let us out to sea— 
 A few may yet be saved !" 
 
 The daughter's words, 
 
 Her earnest tone, and looks beaming with faith 
 
 Dispel the father's doubts ; nor do they lack 
 
 The noble-minded mother's helping hand 
 
 To launch the boat ; and with her blessing cheered 
 
 And inwardly sustained by silent prayer 
 
 Together they put forth-father and child ■ 
 
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1 90 VA LI A NT EXPL OITS. 
 
 pyramid a relievo representing a cow, and underneath, in sit- 
 ting posture, a milkmaid. They are there to commemorate 
 the following historical fact: — 
 
 When the provinces of the United Netherlands were strug- 
 gling for their liberty, two beautiful daughters of a rich farmer; 
 on their way to the town with milk, observed not far from their 
 path several Spanish soldiers concealed behind some hedges. 
 The patriotic maidens pretended not to have seen anything, 
 pursued their journey, and as soon as they arrived in the city, 
 insisted upon an admission to the burgomaster, who had not 
 yet left his bed. They were soon admitted, and related what 
 they had discovered. The news was spread about. Not a 
 moment was lost. The council was assembled; measures 
 were immediately taken; the sluices were opened, and a num- 
 ber of the enemy lost their lives in the water. Thus the in- 
 habitants were saved from an awful doom. 
 
 The magistrates in a body honored the farmer with a visit, 
 where they thanked his daughters for the act of patriotism 
 which saved the town. They afterwards indemnified him fully 
 for the loss he sustained from the inundation, and the most 
 distinguished young citizens vied with each other who should 
 be honored with the hands of the milkmaids. Then, as the 
 years went by, the fountain was erected, and the story com- 
 memorated in stone. — Harper s Young People. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON. 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 (ilfNj^LOWLY the mist o'er the meadow was creeping, 
 Bright, on the dewy buds, glistened the sun, 
 When from his couch, while his children were sleeping, 
 Rose the bold rebel, and shouldered his gun. 
 Waving her golden vail 
 Over the silent dale, 
 Blithe looked the morning on cottage and spire; 
 Hushed was his parting sigh, 
 While from his noble eye 
 Flashed the last sparkle of liberty's fire. 
 
THE BATTLE OF LEXINGTON. 191 
 
 On the smooth green, where the fresh leaf is springing, 
 
 Calmly the first-born of glory have met ; 
 Hark ! the death volley around them is ringing ! 
 Look ! with their life blood the young grass is wet I 
 Faint is the feeble breath, 
 Murmuring low in death, 
 ' Tell to our sons how their fathers have died; " 
 Nerveless the iron hand, 
 Raised for its native land, 
 Lies by the weapon that gleams at its side. 
 
 Over the hillsides the wild knell is tolling, 
 
 From their far hamlets the yeomanry come ; 
 As through the storm clouds the thunder burst rolling, 
 Circles the beat of the mustering drum, 
 
 Fast, on the soldier's path, 
 
 Darken the waves of wrath ; 
 Long have they gathered, and loud shall they fall ; 
 
 Red glares the musket's flash, 
 
 Sharp rings the rifles' crash, 
 Blazing and clanging from thicket and wall. 
 
 Gayly, the plume of the horseman was dancing, 
 
 Never to shadow his cold brow again ; 
 Proudly, at morning, the war steed was prancing, 
 Reeking and panting, he droops on the rein ; 
 
 Pale is the lip of scorn, 
 
 Voiceless the trumpet horn, 
 Torn is the silken-fringed red cross on high ; 
 
 Many a belted breast 
 
 Low on the turf shall rest, 
 Ere the dark hunters the herd have passed by. 
 
 Snow-girdled crags, where the hoarse wind is raving, 
 
 Rocks, where the weary floods murmur and wail, 
 Wilds, where the fir by the furrow is waving, 
 Reeled with the echoes that rode on the gale ; 
 
 Far as the tempest thrills 
 
 Over the darkened hills, 
 Tar as the sunshine streams over the plain, 
 
 Roused by the tyrant-band, 
 
 Woke all the mighty land, 
 Girded for battle, from mountain to main. 
 
192 
 
 VALIANT EXPLOITS. 
 
 Green be the graves where the martyrs are lying — 
 Shroudless and tombless they sunk to their rest ! 
 While, o'er their ashes, the starry fold flying 
 
 Wraps the proud eagle they roused from his nest. 
 
 Borne on her Northern pine, 
 
 Long o'er the foaming brine, 
 Spread her broad banner to storm and to sun ; 
 
 Heaven keep her ever free, 
 
 Wide as o'er land and sea, 
 Floats the fair emblem her heroes have won. 
 
 JOHN SOBIESKI RELIEVING VIENNA— 1683. 
 
 CAPT. CHARLES KING, U. S. A. 
 
 ■g^IENNA, the beautiful capital of the Empire 
 of Austria, lies on a level plain, surrounded 
 by a low circle of hills and traversed by the 
 river Danube. Its name is taken from a 
 sluggish stream, the Wien, which flows 
 under the walls into an arm of the great 
 river that separates the city from the suburb 
 of Leopoldstadt, on the northeast. From 
 its geographical position and its political 
 importance, the city has been subjected to several sieges, and 
 has been the scene of many a great conference and treaty of 
 peace between the various European powers; but, for years of 
 its early existence, it lay in the track of every horde of 
 barbaric invaders, and after the establishment of Mussulman 
 power in Eastern Europe, it was incessantly threatened by the 
 Turks. These people besieged it, in strong force, in 1529; but 
 it was gallantly defended, and they were driven back with 
 great loss. Then, during the "Thirty Years' War," the troops 
 of Sweden several times came within alarming proximity to 
 
JOHN SOBIESKI RELIEVING VIENNA. 193 
 
 its walls, but without attack. Then came a brief respite, and 
 finally, in 1683, nearly forty years after the long and dis- 
 heartening war in which the Empire had been engaged, there 
 came a siege that well-nigh wiped it out of existence. 
 
 Leopold, I, was Emperor of Austria. He had been crowned 
 King of Hungary, in 1654, but had to fight for his possessions, 
 with the Turks, in which contest his general, the same Monte- 
 cuculi who had won such distinction in the "Thirty Years' 
 War," gained a great victory over the Infidels, at St. Gothard, 
 on the Raab, and from that time the Sultan had been busily 
 preparing his revenge. 
 
 In 1683, the Grand Vizier, Kara Mustapha, marched with 
 an immense army and powerful train to lay siege to Vienna, 
 and humble it and its master in the dust. Leopold stood not 
 upon the order of his going, but, with his family, court and 
 thousands of inhabitants, he went at once. The country was 
 filled with fugitives, carts and plunder, and the Turks, falling 
 upon the hindermost, slaughtered or made captive, as they saw 
 fit. So secure did the Vizier feel against counter-attack on his 
 great army, that he disdained to fortify his camp. 
 
 Vienna, with its strong fortifications, its artillery, magazines 
 and public buildings, had been confided to the charge of Count 
 de Staremberg, a thorough theoretical soldier. He burned the 
 suburbs outside the walls, so as to clear the way for his guns, 
 and then with a garrison of perhaps 15,000 effectives, he set 
 about the task of defending the capital against probably five 
 times that many. 
 
 The Turks broke ground for their first trenches in the 
 suburbs of St. Ulric, on the fourteenth of July, about fifty 
 yards from the ditch, which, partly dry, partly flooded, extended 
 around the walls. 
 
 In his flight and refuge, Leopold had appealed for aid to the 
 only man then living who was a terror to the Tartar — John 
 Sobieski, King of Poland. Rich and powerful Austria begged 
 this little monarchy to come to the rescue of the Empire and 
 the Christian world; and at the head of 25,000 veteran troops, 
 13 
 
194 VALIANT EXPLOITS. 
 
 Sobieski started. He had to march nearly six hundred miles, 
 the winding way he came, but on the fifth of September he 
 was crossing the bridge of Tuln, fifteen miles above Vienna. 
 His cavalry were superbly mounted and equipped; his infantry 
 were in rags and tatters. The people looked aghast at their 
 poverty-stricken appearance, but Sobieski laughed it oft* 
 "Those fellows," said he, "have taken an oath to wear no 
 clothes except those of the enemy. In the last war they were 
 all dressed as Turks." And his hardy soldiers seemed to de- 
 light in the joke. On September /th, the army of Poland had 
 joined that of Germany, and the united forces were now 
 74,000 strong. 
 
 To Sobieski was accorded the command-in-chief, for he was 
 already recognized as the finest soldier then in the ranks of 
 war. He lost no time in organizing his forces, for he well 
 knew the desperate condition of affairs in Vienna, and that he 
 could not too soon appear before the walls, to the relief of the 
 suffering garrison. 
 
 From the heights of Calemburg Sobieski had carefully 
 reconnoitred the position of the Turks. " That Vizier is an 
 ignorant fellow," said he ; " we shall beat him." Close under 
 the heights the ground was cut up into vineyards, ravines and 
 ridges. The cavalry of the Turks, which had advanced with 
 great spirit, were met by fierce discharges from the guns which 
 they strove in vain to reach ; and, at length, thrown into 
 confusion by the rapid fire and the broken nature of the 
 ground, they broke and galloped back in much disorder. 
 While they were being rallied some of the Turkish generals 
 led forward the infantry to the foothills, and then began to 
 breast the heights against the slowly descending allies. All 
 at once the guns of Sobieski ceased their thunder, and with 
 one accord the bristling lines of infantry marched out beyond 
 them ; then, with mighty shouts, pikemen and musketeers 
 came charging down the slopes at the irregular masses of the 
 Turks. It was a dashing and impetuous assault ; the Moslems 
 could make no stand whatever against it. Back they went, 
 
JOHN SOBIESKI RELIEVING VIENNA. 195 
 
 through the ravines and vineyards, closely pressed by the 
 cheering allies, and at last they were forced out on to the 
 open plain. 
 
 Meantime things had gone badly with Kara Mustapha. 
 The grand assault on the walls had been repulsed with heavy 
 loss. The besieged, animated by the sight of their coming 
 comrades, fought with great valor and determination. Then, 
 he was dismayed by the ease with which his troops had been 
 whipped back from the heights by the German infantry ; and 
 now, thoroughly alarmed, as he marked the gallant and 
 spirited bearing of the Polish lancers as they rode up into 
 line, their bright banneroles waving and flashing in the 
 sunlight, he hastily sent orders to concentrate the entire 
 army on the plain, to face the allies. All the time his 
 infidel hordes were keeping up a deafening chorus of shouts 
 and yells. 
 
 On the side of the allies all was disciplined silence. In 
 perfect silence the lines were accurately dressed ; the army 
 enjoyed a brief resting spell ; then, at length, Sobieski, sabre 
 in hand, rode out to the front of the centre and gave the 
 signal. Sudden as the flash of their own guns six splendid 
 regiments of Polish cavalry leaped forward to the charge, and, 
 with bared sabres and quivering lances, bore down on the 
 very centre of the Turkish position. In vain footman, Jan- 
 nissary and Spahi braced themselves for the shock and strug- 
 gled to hold their ground against them ; these northern 
 horsemen rode through or over everything and everybody, 
 and, never drawing rein, overturned the very squadrons that 
 surrounded the Vizier himself. 
 
 By three o'clock in the afternoon the whole Mussulman 
 army, abandoning its vast encampment, was in disorderly 
 flight eastward, down the valley of the Danube, pursued and 
 sabred by the Polish cavalry. The siege of Vienna was raised 
 in good earnest. 
 
 The amount of money and valuables left behind by Kara 
 Mustapha in his panicky flight was simply incalculable. King 
 
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1 98 VALIANT EXPL OITS. 
 
 At every rod, the artillery on the height sent its messengers 
 of death through the dense column ; but still there was no 
 flinching. The voice of the noble Miller, as he waved his 
 sword before the bloody gap, was heard, uttering the short 
 and expressive order, " Steady, men — close ranks — march ! " 
 Around him the flower of the regiment fell, like the withered 
 leaves of Autumn; but he heeded not his loss; he was ordered 
 to take the battery on the hill, and he intended to do it. He 
 advanced, therefore, coolly and steadily to his object. Amidst 
 a tremendous blaze of artillery, and at the point of the 
 bayonet, he carried the height. It was a gallant deed. I 
 have never heard of its equal, except at the siege of San 
 Sebastian. 
 
 It was superior in temerity to Bonaparte's attack upon Little 
 Gibraltar, at Toulon, because Miller had no covering for his 
 troops, in case of a retreat. It was a dead march to glory ! 
 Yet, at every step, the rear rank trod upon the dead and the 
 dying; and the groans of suffering humanity mingled in with 
 the hoarse rattle of the drum. When the conqueror, with his 
 remnant of a regiment, trod upon the height of Lundy's Lane, 
 and turned the cannon upon the astonished enemy, a death 
 struggle ensued between the American and English armies. 
 "These guns will decide the battle; they must be regained, or 
 the army of Britain will be cut to pieces; and, if regained, the 
 Americans will be conquered." Such were the thoughts of 
 each general. 
 
 Now came the iron gripe of war. A terrible conflict raged 
 upon the height; and when the morning sun rose upon Bridge- 
 water, 1600 soldiers, friends and foes, lay sleeping in gory 
 death, upon the hillside in Lundy's Lane. Surely, the battle 
 of Bridgewater will never be forgotten by the patriot, the his- 
 torian, or the poet; surely, the day will never dawn when the 
 hero of Lundy's Lane shall be forgotten by an American 
 citizen. We glory in the service of the brave. May the laurel 
 circle the victor's brow in life, and at last hang upon a broken 
 column over a deathless tomb ! — National Intelligencer. 
 
BRA VER Y OF EL IZA BE TH ZANE. \ 99 
 
 BRAVERY OF ELIZABETH ZANE. 
 
 BENSON J. LOSSING. 
 
 URING an attack, by the Indians, on Fort 
 Henry, a small establishment near the 
 Wheeling Creek, now Wheeling, W. Va., in 
 the summer of 1777, the powder of the gar- 
 rison becoming exhausted, Ebenezer Zane, 
 one of the garrison, remembered that there 
 was a keg of the article in his house, sixty 
 yards away. The man who should attempt 
 to go for it would be exposed to the close and numerous shots 
 of the Indians. Only one man could be spared from the fort, 
 for the service. Colonel Shepard, the commander, was un- 
 willing to order any one to the duty; he asked for a volunteer. 
 Every man present eagerly offered to undertake the hazardous 
 duty. They contended so long for the honor, that it was 
 feared that the Indians would return to the siege before an 
 attempt to get the powder should be made. At this moment, 
 Elizabeth Zane came forward and asked permission to go for 
 the powder, giving, as a reason, that her life was less valuable 
 to the garrison than that of a man. She was a sister of 
 Ebenezer and Silas Zane — the former the future founder of 
 Zanesville, O. — and had just returned from Philadelphia, where 
 she had finished her education, and was but little accustomed 
 to the horrors of border warfare. With other females, she 
 had assisted in casting bullets, making cartridges, and loading 
 rifles. At first, she was peremptorily refused, but so earnest 
 were her solicitations that consent was reluctantly given. She 
 went out the gate and fearlessly passed the open space to her 
 brother's house. The Indians saw her, and watched her move- 
 ments. When she came out of the house, and, with the keg 
 of powder in her arms, sped with the fleetness of a fawn 
 
200 
 
 l 'A L I A XT EX PL OITS. 
 
 toward the fort, they sent a full volley of bullets after her, but 
 not a ball touched her person. 
 
 The shield of God's providence was about her, and the noble 
 girl entered the fort in safety with her valuable prize. A loud 
 shout welcomed her, and every man, inspired by her heroism, 
 resolved to repulse the foe, or die in the trench. The story 
 of Elizabeth Zane ought to be perpetuated in marble, and 
 preserved in the Valhalla of our Revolutionary heroes. 
 
 A HEROINE OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 MRS. E. F. ELLET. 
 
 jrife 
 
 'X the second day of December, 1777, late in 
 the afternoon, an officer in the British uni- 
 \^\^LM&K f° rm ascended the steps of a house in 
 Second street, Philadelphia, immediately 
 opposite the quarters occupied by General 
 Howe, who, at that time, had full possession 
 of the city. The house was plain and neat 
 in its exterior, and well known to be ten- 
 anted by William and Lydia Darrah, members of the Society 
 of Friends. It was the place chosen by the superior officers 
 of the army for private conference, whenever it was necessary 
 to hold consultations of importance ; and selected, perhaps, on 
 account of the unobtrusive character of its inmates, whose 
 religion inculcated meekness and forbearance, and forbade 
 them to practice the arts of war. 
 
 The officer, who seemed quite familiar with the mansion, 
 knocked at the door. It was opened ; and in the neatly 
 furnished parlor he met the mistress, who spoke to him, 
 calling him by name. It was the Adjutant-General; and he 
 appeared in haste to give an order. This was that the back 
 room above stairs might be prepared for the reception, that 
 
A HEROIXE OF THE REVOLUTION. 201 
 
 evening, of himself and his friends, who were to meet there and 
 remain late. " And be sure, Lydia," he concluded, " that your 
 family are all in bed at an early hour. I shall expect you to 
 attend to this request. When our guests are ready to leave 
 the house, I will, myself, give you notice, that you may let us 
 out, and extinguish the fire and candles." 
 
 Having delivered this order with an emphatic manner, which 
 showed that he relied much on the prudence and discretion of 
 the person he addressed, the Adjutant-General departed ; Lydia 
 betook herself to getting all things in readiness. But the 
 words she had heard, especially the injunction to retire early, 
 rang in her ears ; and she could not divest herself of the inde- 
 finable feeling that something of importance was in agitation. 
 While her hands were busy in the duties that devolved upon 
 her, her mind was no less actively at work. The evening 
 closed in, and the officers came to the place of meeting. Lydia 
 had ordered all the family to bed, and herself admitted the 
 guests, after which she retired to her own apartment, and 
 threw herself, without undressing, upon the bed. 
 
 But sleep refused to visit her eyelids. Her vague appre- 
 hensions gradually assumed more definite shape. She became 
 more and more uneasy, till her nervous restlessness amounted 
 to absolute horror. Unable longer to resist the impulse — not 
 of curiosity, but surely of a far higher feeling — she slid from 
 the bed, and taking off her shoes, passed noiselessly from her 
 chamber and along the entry. 
 
 Approaching cautiously the apartment in which the officers 
 were assembled, she applied her ear to the keyhole. For a 
 few moments she could distinguish but a word or two amid 
 the murmur of voices ; yet what she did hear but stimulated 
 her eager desire to learn the important secrets of the conclave. 
 
 At length was profound silence, and a voice was heard reading 
 a paper aloud. It was an order for the troops to quit the city 
 on the night of the fourth, and march out to a secret attack 
 upon the American army, then encamped at White Marsh. 
 
 Lydia had heard enough. She retreated softly to her own 
 
202 VALIANT EXPLOITS. 
 
 room, and laid herself quietly on the bed. In the deep stillness 
 that reigned through the house she could hear the beating of 
 her own heart, that heart now throbbing with emotions to 
 which no speech could give utterance. It seemed to her but 
 a few moments had elapsed when there was a knocking at her 
 door. She knew very well what that signal meant, but took 
 no heed. It was repeated, and more loudly ; still she gave no 
 answer. 
 
 Again, and yet more loudly, the knocks were repeated; and 
 then she arose quickly, and opened the door. It was the 
 Adjutant-General, who came to inform her they were ready to 
 depart. Lydia let them out, fastened the house, and extin- 
 guished the lights and fire. 
 
 Again she returned to her chamber, and to bed ; but repose 
 was a stranger for the rest of the night. Her mind was more 
 disquieted than ever. She thought of the danger that threat- 
 ened the lives of thousands of her countrymen, and of the ruin 
 that impended over the whole land. 
 
 Something must be done, and that immediately, to avert 
 this widespread destruction. Should she awaken her husband 
 and inform him ? That would be to place him in special 
 jeopardy, by rendering him a partaker of her secret; and he 
 might, too, be less prudent and wary than herself. No, come 
 what might, she would encounter the risk alone. After a 
 petition for heavenly guidance, her resolution was formed; 
 and she waited with composure, though sleep was impossible, 
 till the dawn of day. Then she waked her husband, and 
 informed him that flour was needed for the use of the house- 
 hold, and that it was necessary that she should go to Frank- 
 ford to procure it. This was no uncommon occurrence ; and 
 her declining the attendance of the maid servant excited little 
 surprise. Taking the bag with her, she walked through the 
 snow, having stopped first at headquarters, obtained access to 
 General Howe, and secured his written permission to pass the 
 British lines. 
 
 The feelings of a wife and mother, one whose religion was 
 
A HEROINE OF THE REVOLUTION. 203 
 
 that of love, and whose life was but a quiet round of domestic 
 duty, bound on an enterprise so hazardous, and uncertain 
 whether her life might not be the forfeit, may be better 
 imagined than described. Lydia reached Frankford, distant 
 four or five miles, and deposited her bag at the mill. Now com- 
 menced the dangers of her undertaking; for she pressed forward 
 with all haste toward the outposts of the American army. 
 
 Her determination was to apprise General Washington of 
 the danger. She was met on her way by an American officer 
 who had been selected by Washington to gain information re- 
 specting the movements of the enemy. According to some 
 authorities, this was Lieutenant-Colonel Craig, of the Light 
 Horse. 
 
 He immediately recognized her, and inquired whither she 
 was going. In reply she prayed him to alight and walk with 
 her; which he did, ordering his men to keep in sight. To him 
 she disclosed the secret, after having obtained from him a 
 solemn promise not to betray her individually, since the British 
 might take vengeance on her and her family. The officer 
 thanked her for her timely warning, and directed her to go to 
 a house near at hand, where she might get something to eat. 
 But Lydia preferred returning at once, and did so ; while the 
 officer made all haste to the commander-in-chief. Preparations 
 were immediately made to give the enemy a fitting reception. 
 With a heart lightened and filled with thankfulness, the in- 
 trepid woman pursued her way homeward, carrying the bag of 
 flour which had served as the ostensible object of her journey. 
 
 None suspected the grave, demure Quakeress of having 
 snatched from the English their anticipated victory. Her de- 
 meanor was, as usual, quiet, orderly, subdued, and she attended 
 to the duties of her family with her wonted composure. But 
 her heart beat, as, late on the appointed night, she watched 
 from her window the departure of the army — on what secret 
 expedition bound she knew too well! 
 
 She listened breathlessly to the sound of their footsteps and 
 the trampling of horses, till it died away in the distance, and 
 
204 VALIANT EXPLOITS. 
 
 silence reigned through the city. Time never appeared to 
 pass so slowly as during the interval which elapsed between 
 the marching out and return of the British troops. When at 
 last the distant roll of the drum proclaimed their approach; 
 when the sounds came nearer and nearer, and Lydia, who was 
 watching at the window, saw the troops pass in martial order, 
 the agony of anxiety she felt was too much for her strength, 
 and she retreated from her post, not daring to ask a question 
 or manifest the least curiosity as to the event. A sudden and 
 loud knock at her door was not calculated to lessen her appre- 
 hensions. She felt that the safety of her family depended on 
 her self-possession at this critical moment. The visitor was 
 the Adjutant-General, who summoned her to his apartment. 
 With a pale cheek, but composed — for she had placed her trust 
 in a higher power — Lydia obeyed the summons. 
 
 The officer's face was clouded and his expression stern. He 
 locked the door, with an air of mystery, when Lydia entered, 
 and motioned her to a seat. After a moment of silence, he 
 said, "Were any of your family up, Lydia, on the night when 
 I received company at this house?" "No, they all retired at 
 eight o'clock." " It is very strange," said the officer, and mused 
 a few minutes ; "you, I know, Lydia, were asleep; for I knocked 
 at your doon three times before you heard me; yet, it is cer- 
 tain that we were betrayed. I am altogether at a loss to 
 conceive who could have given the information of our intended 
 attack, to General Washington! On arriving at his encamp- 
 ment we found his cannon mounted, his troops under arms, 
 and so prepared at every point to receive us, that we have been 
 compelled to march back, like a parcel of fools, without injur- 
 ing our enemy. It is not known whether the officer ever dis- 
 covered to whom he was indebted for the disappointment. But 
 the pious Quakeress blessed God for her preservation, and 
 rejoiced that it was not necessary for her to utter an untruth 
 in her own defence. And all who admire examples of courage 
 and patriotism, especially those who enjoy the fruits of them, 
 must honor the name of Lydia Darrah. 
 
SEE GEA NT J A SEE/?. 
 SERGEANT JASPER. 
 
 205 
 
 J«p^ 
 
 ILLIAM JASPER was a martyr to free- 
 dom. The Emerald Isle, that garden spot 
 of beauty, chivalry and song, a land or- 
 dained by the Creator, in his wise benefi- 
 cence, for a higher destiny than she has 
 ever yet occupied, gave birth to this 
 youthful hero of the Revolution. The 
 annals of American history afford no 
 brighter example of heroism, and fearless devotion to our 
 sacred colonies; such boldness of execution and indomitable 
 will, as is exhibited in the temperament and character of our 
 beloved Jasper; well may we exclaim : — ■ 
 
 " He tore aside the azure robe of night, 
 And planted here the glorious star and stripe ! " 
 
 From the land of his nativity, he emigrated at an early age 
 to South Carolina, where he married and settled in one of the 
 interior districts of that State, some time previous to the bloody 
 era of the Revolution. The first well authenticated record that 
 we can trace of him, where he occupied an enviable position, 
 was at the defence of Fort Moultrie, on Sullivan's Island, near 
 Charleston, on the 28th of June, 1776. Here, where the gen- 
 erous and valiant had been gathered to seek honorable justice 
 and preserve the name of liberty, he wore proudly the laurel 
 wreath. Amid the desolation and havoc of that ever-memor- 
 able conflict, which, for a time, cast a gloomy shadow over the 
 manly heart of many a true soldier, did he portray all the 
 noble qualities which Nature had bestowed upon him. When 
 the battle appeared as one universal scene of struggle and 
 dismay, and the moment for action had arrived, a cannon ball 
 struck the flagstaff, that signal of the brave, and bore it to the 
 earth. One continued shout of victory was heard from the 
 enemy, amid the volleys of artillery and the density of smoke. 
 But Providence, that presides over the destinies of war, had 
 
206 VALIANT EXPLOITS. 
 
 decreed otherwise. At another instant, Jasper leaped the ram- 
 parts, seized the ensign already crimsoned with the blood of 
 the dying and dead, placed it on his spontoon, unfurled it to 
 the breeze, and cried aloud, when danger threatened and peril 
 was nigh, " Heaven save liberty and my country." Who can 
 recall such an achievement, and such unfading zeal, without 
 a tribute of praise ? 
 
 The brave Carolinians echoed his name far and near, with 
 gratitude and honor. His patriotism and warm benevolence 
 of heart won the lasting affection of his countrymen. He was 
 associated with all that was bright and beautiful. So con- 
 spicuous was this daring deed among all, that Governor Rut- 
 ledge visited Fort Moultrie, and generously offered him a 
 commission. "You have won a sword, sir, and you must 
 wear it," said the Governor. " Nay, sir," replied our gallant 
 hero, " I am not worthy of the trust ; adversity has been my 
 schoolmaster — liberty my only schoolmistress. I cannot 
 mingle with those who are superior to me in education and 
 manners, without exposing myself to deserved contempt. Let 
 me alone ; let me serve my country in the way that suits me 
 best, as an humble and devoted laborer in the cause of freedom." 
 After much reluctance he accepted the gift, and bore it with 
 distinguished ability. Passing over many traditionary accounts 
 of his discipline and valor, we will glance at those more promi- 
 nent in his character. 
 
 Jasper having learned that a number of American prisoners 
 were to be conveyed from Ebenezer, a British garrison a short 
 distance from Savannah, he at once determined to rescue them. 
 He and Sergeant Newton, another son of the Revolution, 
 arranged to capture them from the guard who had them in 
 charge, or die in the struggle. All their plans were, how- 
 ever, unfortunate in execution, until their arrival at a spring, 
 where the prisoners had been carried for the purpose of drink. 
 Locating themselves in thick ambush, which surrounded the 
 " Spa," they remained in silence, with a watchful eye for the 
 men, as they approached. 
 
SEP GEANT JASPER. 207 
 
 They soon arrived at the place of destination, and, having 
 placed a sentinel on guard, they prepared to fill their canteens. 
 Suddenly, Jasper and Newton sprang upon the astonished 
 enemy, grasped their muskets, which they had placed against 
 a neighboring tree, and shot the sentinel. A dreadful conflict 
 ensued between the British soldiers and the young Americans, 
 which proved victorious to the latter, the former having the 
 advantage of numbers and skill. Jasper rescued the prison- 
 ers, unchained them, crossed the river, and joined the army 
 at Purisburg. 
 
 We cannot reflect upon such a perilous adventure without 
 the highest award of merit ; had it occurred in the palmy 
 days of Napoleon, it would have gained for him imperishable 
 fame and unceasing admiration, for he lived for his country, 
 and for freedom he died. But we hasten our sketch to the 
 closing act in the drama of the life of Jasper. 
 
 On the 9th October, 1779, at the disastrous attack upon the 
 British lines at Savannah, he again attempted to struggle for 
 civil and religious liberty, and to preserve his untarnished 
 reputation; but, alas! his desires were unrealized, and he fell a 
 victim to devotion's holy cause. In a desperate action to 
 regain the colors entrusted to him by Mrs. Elliott, and which 
 had been carried bravely, in the early part of the contest, by 
 Lieutenants Bushe and Hume, he was about to seize them 
 when a ball struck him, and he fell to the earth. " Take my 
 sword to my father," said he, " and tell him it was never dis- 
 honored ; tell the poor old man that his son forgot not his 
 country nor his sire ; tell him, above all, that he died in peace 
 with all mankind, and with the darling hope of a glorious 
 resurrection. Bear my respect to the giver of this flag, and 
 tell her I did preserve it ; tell all my friends who shall re- 
 member to ask for me, that their poor friend has fought his 
 last fight, has struck his last blow, and may the blessings of 
 Providence rest upon my country and her cause." 
 
 So died lamented Jasper. Our very soil is enriched with 
 his life blood. Raise high your monuments to his virtue, and 
 
208 
 
 fALJANT EXPL OITS. 
 
 crown them with the emblems of the brave. Let his deeds be 
 inspiration for others who admire their native land. Visit in 
 your wanderings the now neglected "Spa," and there refresh 
 your sight and memory with the associations of the scene. 
 Let not time blot from your memories, fair readers, the name 
 of Sergeant Jasper, the friend of liberty — unsullied patriot — 
 and true defender of our rights. Truly, 
 
 " None knew thee but to love thee, 
 Or named thee but to praise." 
 
 — Southern Patriot. 
 
 MILES STANDISH. 
 
 ILES STANDISH was a soldier of New 
 England, born in Lancashire, England, 
 about 1584, died in Duxbury, Mass., Octo- 
 ber 3d, 1656. He had served in the Neth- 
 erlands, and on coming to Plymouth with 
 the first company, in 1620, was chosen Cap- 
 tain by the Pilgrims. He had great cour- 
 age, energy and determination, with a fiery 
 temper, and rendered important service to the early settlers. 
 He commanded frequent expeditions against the Indians 
 who annoyed the settlements, and by the boldness and skill 
 of his attacks inspired them with great awe of his military 
 prowess. During his service with the Plymouth Colony, he 
 conceived a high admiration for " Priscilla, the Puritan maiden," 
 but being "a maker of war and not a maker of phrases," he 
 delegated his young friend, John Alden, to solicit for him, in 
 marriage, the hand of Priscilla. 
 
 The fair-haired, taciturn young stripling, accordingly, pro- 
 ceeded on his errand, but he did not embellish the theme nor 
 array it in beautiful phrases, as Standish had desired. " He 
 came straight to the point and blurted it out like a school- 
 
MILES STANDISH. 209 
 
 boy," and finally received for an answer, " Why don't you 
 speak for yourself, John?" On hearing of his rejection, Miles 
 Standish resolved to devote himself, henceforth, to the defence 
 of the Colony against the Indians. 
 
 Meanwhile the stalwart Miles Standish was marching steadily north- 
 ward, 
 Winding through forest and swamp, and along the trend of the sea- 
 shore, 
 All day long, with hardly a path, the fire of his anger 
 Burning and crackling within, and the sulphurous odor of powder 
 Seeming more sweet to his nostrils than all the scents of the forest. 
 Silent and moody he went, and much he revolved his discomfort : 
 He who was used to success and to easy victories always, 
 Thus to be flouted, rejected, and laughed to scorn by a maiden ; 
 Thus to be mocked and betrayed by the friend whom most he had 
 
 trusted ! 
 Ah! 'twas too much to be borne, and he fretted and chafed in his 
 armor ! 
 " I alone am to blame," he muttered, " for mine was the folly ! 
 What has a rough old soldier, grown grim and gray in the harness, 
 Used to the camp and its ways, to do with the wooing of maidens ? 
 'T was but a dream — let it pass — let it vanish like so many others ! 
 What I thought was a flower is only a weed and is worthless ; 
 Out of my heart will I pluck it, and throw it away, and henceforward 
 Be but a fighter of battles, a lover and wooer of dangers !" 
 Thus he revolved in his mind his sorry defeat and discomfort, 
 While he was marching by day or lying at night in the forest, 
 Looking up at the trees and the constellations beyond them. 
 
 After a three days' march he came to an Indian encampment 
 Pitched on the edge of a meadow, between the sea and the forest ; 
 Women at work by the tents, and the warriors, horrid with war paint, 
 Seated about a fire, and smoking and talking together ; 
 Who, when they saw from afar the sudden approach of the white man, 
 Saw the flash of the sun on breastplate, and sabre, and musket, 
 Straightway leaped to their feet, and two, from among them, advancing, 
 Came to parley with Standish, and offer him furs as a present ; 
 Friendship was in their looks, but in their hearts there was hatred. 
 Braves of the tribe were these, and brothers gigantic in stature, 
 Huge as Goliath of Gath, or the terrible Og, King of Bashan ; 
 One was Pecksuot named, and the other was called Wattawamat. 
 
 14 
 
210 * "4 Z I A XT EX PL CITS. 
 
 Round their necks were suspended their knives, in scabbards of 
 
 wampum, 
 Two-edged, trenchant knives, with points as sharp as a needle; 
 Other arms had they none, for they were cunning and crafty. 
 
 " Welcome English," for these words they had learned from the traders 
 Touching at times on the coast, to barter and chaffer for peltries. 
 Then, in their native tongue, they began to parley with Standish, 
 Through his guide and interpreter, Hobomok, friend of the white man, 
 Begging for blankets and knives, but mostly for muskets and powder, 
 Kept by the white man, they said, concealed, with the plague, in his 
 
 cellars, 
 Ready to be let loose, and destroy his brother, the red man ! 
 But when Standish refused, and said he would give them the Bible, 
 Suddenly changing their tone, they began to boast and to bluster. 
 
 Then Wattawamat advanced with a stride in front of the other, . 
 And with a lofty demeanor, thus vauntingly spoke to the Captain : — 
 
 " Now Wattawamat can see, by the fiery eyes of the Captain, 
 Angry is he in his heart; but the heart of the brave Wattawamat 
 Is not afraid at the sight. He was not born of woman, 
 But on a mountain, at night, from an oak tree riven by lightning." 
 Forth he sprang, at a bound, with all his weapons about him, 
 Shouting, " Who is there here to fight with the brave Wattawamat ?" 
 Then he unsheathed his knife, and whetting the blade on his left hand. 
 Held it aloft and displayed a woman's face on the handle, 
 Saying with bitter expression and look of sinister meaning : 
 
 " I have another at home, with the face of a man on the handle ; 
 By and by they shall marry ; and there will be plenty of children ! " 
 
 Then stood Pecksuot forth, self-vaunting, insulting Miles Standish ; 
 While with his fingers he patted the knife that hung at his bosom, 
 Drawing it half from his sheath, and plunging it back as he muttered: 
 " By and by it shall see ; it shall eat ; ah, ah ! but shall not speak ! 
 This is the mighty Captain the white men have sent to destroy us ! 
 He is a little man ; let him go and work with the women ! " 
 
 Meanwhile Standish had noted the faces and figures of Indians 
 Peeping and creeping about from bush to tree in the forest, 
 Feigning to look for game, with arrows set in their bow-strings, 
 Drawing about him still closer and closer the net of their ambush. 
 But undaunted he stood, and dissembled and treated them smoothly ; 
 So the old chronicles say, that were writ in the days of the fathers. 
 But when he heard their defiance, the boast, the taunt, and the insult, 
 All the hot blood of his race, of Sir Hugh and of Thurston de Standish, 
 
MILES STANDISH. 2 1 1 
 
 Boiled and beat in his heart, and swelled in the veins of his temples. 
 Headlong he leaped on the boaster, and, snatching his knife from its 
 
 scabbard, 
 Plunged it into his heart, and reeling backward, the savage 
 Fell with his face to the sky, and a fiendish fierceness upon it. 
 
 Straight there arose from the forest the awful sound of the war-whoop, 
 And, like a flurry of snow on the whistling wind of December, 
 Swift and sudden and keen came a flight of feathery arrows. 
 Then came a cloud of smoke, and out of the cloud came the lightning, 
 Out of lightning, thunder; and death, unseen, ran before it. 
 Frightened, the savages fled for shelter in swamp and in thicket, 
 Hotly pursued and beset ; but their Sachem, the brave Wattawamat, 
 Fled not ; he was dead. Unswerving and swift had a bullet 
 Passed through his brain, and he fell with both hands clutching the 
 
 greensward, 
 Seeming in death to hold back from his foe the land of his fathers. 
 
 There on the flowers of the meadow the warriors lay, and above them, 
 Silent, with folded arms, stood Hobomok, friend of the white man. 
 Smiling, at length he exclaimed to the stalwart captain of Plymouth : 
 ' Pecksuot bragged very loud, of his courage, his strength and his 
 
 stature, 
 Mocked the great Captain, and called him a little man ; but I see now 
 Big enough have you been to lay him speechless before you! " 
 
 Thus the first battle was fought and won by the stalwart Miles 
 
 Standish. 
 When the tidings thereof were brought to the village of Plymouth, 
 And, as a trophy of war, the head of the brave Wattawamat 
 Scowled from the roof of the fort, which at once was a church and a 
 
 fortress, 
 All who beheld it rejoiced, and praised the Lord and took courage. 
 Only Priscilla averted her face from the spectre of terror, 
 Thanking God in her heart that she had not married Miles Standish ; 
 Shrinking, fearing almost, lest, coming home from his battles, 
 He should lay claim to her hand as the prize and reward of his valor. 
 
 Month after month passed away, and in Autumn the ships of the 
 
 merchants 
 Came with kindred and friends, with cattle and corn for the Pilgrims. 
 All in the village was peace, the men were intent on their labors, 
 Busy with hewing and building, with garden plot and with mere-stead, 
 Busy with breaking the glebe and mowing the grass in the meadows, 
 Searching the sea for its fish, and hunting the deer in the forest. 
 
212 
 
 VALIANT EXPLOITS. 
 
 All in the village was peace ; but at times the rumor of warfare 
 
 Filled the air with alarm and the apprehension of danger. 
 
 Bravely the stalwart Miles Standish was scourging the land with his 
 
 forces, 
 Waxing valiant in fight, and defeating the alien armies, 
 Till his name had become a sound of fear to the nations. 
 
 Henry W. Longfellow. 
 
 "WE HAVE MET THE ENEMY AND THEY 
 ARE OURS." 
 
 — Otiver Hazard Perry. 
 
 " September the tenth, full well, I ween, 
 In eighteen hundred and thirteen ; 
 The weather mild, the sky serene ; 
 
 Commanded by bold Perry, 
 Our saucy fleet at anchor lay 
 In safety, moored in Put-in-Bay. 
 'Twixt sunrise and the break of day 
 The British fleet 
 We chanced to meet ; 
 Our Admiral thought he would them greet 
 
 With a welcome on Lake Erie." 
 
 ERRY'S decisive victory over the English fleet 
 in the Battle of Lake Erie, during the War 
 of 1812, was of immense consequence, both 
 in its material results and in its moral effect. 
 It gave us complete command of all the 
 upper lakes, prevented any fear of invasion 
 from that quarter, increased our prestige with 
 the foe and our confidence in ourselves, and 
 ensured the conquest of Upper Canada. 
 
 Commodore Perry's name is more widely known than that 
 of any other commander of the war. The courage with which 
 his vessel, the " Lawrence," was defended has hardly ever 
 been surpassed, and may fairly be called heroic. He showed 
 indomitable pluck and readiness to adapt himself to every 
 circumstance. His energy and activity deserve all praise, not 
 
PERRY LEAVING THE "LAWRENCE" TO BRING THE "NIAGARA » INT 
 
 O ACTION. 
 
PERRY'S VICTORY. 213 
 
 only for his success in collecting sailors and vessels and 
 building brigs, but especially for the manner in which he 
 succeeded in getting them on the lake. 
 
 The following admirable word painting of the concluding 
 scenes of this memorable conflict, from the pen of that accom- 
 plished historian, J. T. Headley, will be read with interest — even 
 by those who are already familiar with its details and results: — 
 
 " As the sun went down over the still lake, his last beams 
 looked on a mournful spectacle. Those ships, stripped of 
 their spars and canvas, looked as if they had been swept by a 
 hurricane, while desolation covered their decks. At twilight, 
 the seamen who had fallen on board the American fleet were 
 committed to the deep, and the solemn burial service of the 
 Episcopal Church read over them. 
 
 The uproar of the day had ceased, and silence rested on the 
 two squadrons riding quietly at anchor, broken only by the 
 stifled groans of the wounded, that were echoed from ship to 
 ship. As Perry sat that night on the quarter-deck of the 
 " Lawrence," conversing with his few remaining officers, while 
 ever and anon the moans of his brave comrades were borne to 
 his ear, he was solemn and subdued. The exciting scene 
 through which he had safely passed, the heavy load taken 
 from his heart, the reflection that his own life had been spared, 
 and the consciousness that his little brother was slumbering 
 sweetly and unhurt in his hammock beside him, awakened 
 emotions of gratitude to God. 
 
 It had been a proud day for him ; and as he lay that night 
 and thought what a change a few hours had wrought in his 
 fortunes, feelings of exultation might swell his bosom. Such 
 unshaken composure, such gallant bearing, such stern resolu- 
 tion and steadiness and tenacity of purpose in a young man of 
 twenty-seven, in his first battle, exhibit a marvelous strength 
 of character, and one wonders more at him than at his success. 
 
 It was a great victory ; and as the news spread, bonfires, 
 illuminations, the firing of cannon and shouts of excited multi- 
 tudes announced the joy and exultation of the nation. 
 
214 VAL I A NT EX PL OITS. 
 
 The gallant bearing of Perry, his daring passage in an open 
 boat, through the enemy's fire, to the " Niagara ;" the motto on 
 his flag ; the manner in which he carried his vessel alone 
 through the enemy's line, and then closed in half-pistol shot ; 
 his laconic account of the victory in a letter to the Secretary 
 of the Navy : " We have met the enemy and they are 
 ours !" furnished endless themes for discussion and eulogy, and 
 he suddenly found himself in the front rank of heroes. 
 
 The day after the battle the funeral of the officers of the 
 two fleets took place. A little opening on the margin of 
 the bay, a wild and solitary spot, was selected as the place 
 of interment. It was a beautiful Autumn day ; not a breath of 
 air ruffled the surface of the lake or moved the still forests 
 that fringed that lovely clearing. The sun shone brightly 
 down on the new-made graves, and not a sound disturbed the 
 Sabbath stillness that rested on forest and lake. The fallen 
 officers, each in his appropriate uniform, were laid on plat- 
 forms made to receive them, and placed with their hands 
 across their breasts in the barges. As these were rowed 
 gently away, the boats fell in behind, in long procession, and 
 the whole swept slowly and sadly toward the place of burial. 
 The flags drooped mournfully in the still air ; the dirge to 
 which the oars kept time rose and fell in solemn strains over 
 the water, while minute guns from the various vessels blended 
 their impressive harmony with the scene. 
 
 The day before had been one of strife and carnage ; but 
 those who had closed in mortal hate now mourned, like a band 
 of brothers, for their fallen leaders ; and gathering together 
 round the place of burial, gazed a last farewell, and firing one 
 volley over the nameless graves, turned sadly away. There, 
 in that wild spot, with the sullen waves to sing their perpetual 
 dirge, they slept the sleep of the brave. They had fought 
 gallantly, and it mattered not to them the victory or defeat, 
 for they had gone to that still land where human sacrifices are 
 forgotten, and the clangor of battle never comes." 
 
 J. T. Headley. 
 
TAYLOR AT B UENA I 'IS TA. 215 
 
 TAYLOR AT BUENA VISTA. 
 
 H. \V. HILLIARD. 
 
 ERH APS in the history of the world the power 
 of a single will was never more triumphantly 
 exhibited than it was at Buena Vista. Taylor 
 had been advised to fall back, for safety, to 
 Monterey, stripped of some of his best troops, 
 far advanced into the enemy's country, with 
 an army numbering only about four thousand, 
 and but one-third of them regulars ; with no 
 reserved force to support him ; with the 
 intelligence brought in that Santa Anna, at the head of twenty 
 thousand men, was marching against him, he took his position 
 in a gorge of the Sierra Madre, and determined to meet the 
 shock of battle. He would neither retreat nor resign ; he 
 would fight. 
 
 There flashed forth a great spirit ! The battle came ; the 
 odds were fearful ; but who could doubt the result when 
 American troops stood in that modern Thermopylae, and in 
 the presence of such a leader ? It was in vain that Mexican 
 artillery played upon their ranks, or Mexican infantry bore 
 down with the bayonet, or Mexican lancers charged. The 
 spirit of the great leader pervaded the men who fought with 
 him, and a single glance of his eye could reanimate a wavering 
 column. 
 
 Like Napoleon at the Danube, he held his men under fire 
 because he was exposed to it himself; and like him, wherever 
 he rode along the lines, mounted on a white charger, a 
 conspicuous mark for balls, men would stand and be shot 
 down, but they would not give way. Of Taylor, on that day, 
 it may be said, as it has been said of Lannes at Montebello : 
 " He was the rock of that battle-field, around which men stood 
 
'216 
 
 VALIANT EXPLOITS. 
 
 with a tenacity which nothing could move. If he had fallen, 
 in five minutes that battle would have been a rout." That 
 battle closed General Taylor's military career; and that battle 
 alone gives him a title to immortality. 
 
 A COURAGEOUS WOMAN. 
 
 MADAME DE GENLIS. 
 
 ARC AS was the widow of Balahac, the king of 
 Carcassonne, who died during the siege of that 
 city. She was a woman of uncommon courage. 
 A representation of her is to be seen over the 
 gate of this famed old city, with the inscription: 
 " Carcassum ; " the corruption of which has 
 undoubtedly given name to the place. She 
 undertook to avenge her husband's death ; and 
 sustained the siege with so much bravery, that Charlemagne 
 left her in possession of the sovereignty and jurisdiction of 
 the city. Afterward the Saracens came, and insulted the 
 Countess of Carcassonne under her own walls ; jesting at the 
 idea of a female warrior, and recommending her to spin rather 
 than to fight. 
 
 Arming herself, therefore, with a lance, to which she affixed, 
 as to a distaff, a quantity of hemp, leaving only the point bare, 
 she set fire to it and rushed into the midst of the enemy, whom 
 she filled with terror and put to flight. Her shield and 
 victorious lance are yet shown at Carcassonne ; the govern- 
 ment of which, joined to her personal glory, induced the 
 handsomest and bravest knights of the time to solicit her hand, 
 which she eventually bestowed on a young Frenchman of the 
 name of Roger. 
 
THE CAPTURE OF TICONDEROGA. 217 
 
 THE CAPTURE OF TICONDEROGA. 
 
 GEORGE BANCROFT. 
 
 hold the city of New York, its harbor, and 
 . the river Hudson, and by means of the 
 fortresses on the lakes, to keep open a free 
 communication with Canada, was the scheme 
 by which it was hoped to insulate and re- 
 duce New England. On Saturday, the 29th 
 of April, 1775, Samuel Adams and John 
 Hancock, as they passed through Hartford, 
 had secretly met the Governor and Council of Connecticut, to 
 promote the surprise and capture of Ticonderoga, which had 
 been planned by the Green Mountain Boys. 
 
 Ethan Allen was encouraged by an express messenger to 
 hold his forces in readiness, and the necessary funds were fur- 
 nished by the treasury of Connecticut. Sixteen men of that 
 colony, leaving Salisbury, were joined in Massachusetts by 
 John Brown (who had first proposed the enterprise in a letter 
 from Montreal), by Colonel James Eaton, and by about fifty 
 volunteers from Berkshire. 
 
 At Bennington they found Ethan Allen, who was certainly 
 " the proper man to head his own people." Repairing to the 
 north, he sent the alarm through the hills of Vermont, and on 
 Sunday, the 7th of May, about one hundred Green Mountain 
 Boys, and nearly fifty soldiers from Massachusetts, under the 
 command of Eaton, rallied at Castleton. Just then arrived 
 Benedict Arnold, with only one attendant. He brought a 
 commission from the Massachusetts Committee of Safety, 
 which was disregarded, and the men unanimously elected 
 Ethan Allen as their chief. 
 
 On the 8th of May the party began the march ; late on the 
 9th they arrived at Orwell. With the utmost difficulty a few 
 boats were collected ; and eighty-three men, crossing the lake 
 
218 VALIANT EXPLOITS. 
 
 with Allen, landed near the garrison. The boats were sent 
 back to Seth Warner, and the rear guarded ; but if they were 
 to be waited for there could be no surprise. The men were, 
 therefore, at once drawn up in three ranks, and as the first 
 beams of the morning broke upon the mountain peaks, Allen 
 addressed them : " Friends and fellow-soldiers : We must, this 
 morning, quit our pretensions to valor, or possess ourselves of 
 this fortress ; and inasmuch as it is a desperate attempt, I do 
 not urge it on, contrary to your will. You that will undertake 
 voluntarily poise your firelocks." 
 
 At the word every firelock was poised. " Face to the right," 
 cried Allen, and placing himself at the centre of the file, 
 Arnold keeping emulously at his side, he marched to the gate. 
 It was shut, but the wicket was open. The sentry snapped a 
 fuse at him. The Americans rushed into the fort, darted upon 
 the guards, and raising the Indian war whoop, such as had not 
 been heard there since the days of Montcalm, formed on the 
 parade in a hollow square. 
 
 One of the sentries, after wounding an officer, and being 
 slightly wounded himself, cried out for quarter, and showed 
 the way to the commanding officer. " Come forth instantly, 
 or I will sacrifice the whole garrison!" cried Ethan Allen, as 
 he reached the door. 
 
 At this Delaplace, the commander, came out undressed, with 
 his breeches in his hand. " Deliver to me the fort instantly," 
 said Allen. " By what authority ?" asked Delaplace. " In the 
 name of the great Jehovah and the Continental Congress !" 
 answered Allen. 
 
 Delaplace began to speak again, but was peremptorily inter- 
 rupted, and at sight of Allen's drawn sword near his head, he 
 gave up the garrison, ordering his men to be paraded without 
 arms. 
 
 Thus was Ticonderoga taken, in the gray of the ioth of May. 
 What cost the British nation eight millions sterling, a succession 
 of campaigns, and many lives, was won in ten minutes by a 
 few undisciplined men, without the loss of life or limb. 
 
THE KEEPING OF THE BRIDGE. 
 
 219 
 
 The Americans gained with the fortress nearly fifty persons, 
 more than one hundred pieces of cannon, one thirteen-inch 
 mortar, and a number of swivels, stores and small arms. To a 
 detachment under Seth Warner, Crown Point, with its garrison 
 of twelve men, surrendered upon the first summons. Another 
 party succeeded in making a prisoner of Skeene, a dangerous 
 British agent, and in getting possession of Skeensborough. 
 
 Messengers carried to the Continental Congress news of the 
 great acquisition which inaugurated the day of its assembling. 
 " A war has begun," wrote Joseph Warren, from the Massa- 
 chusetts Congress, " but I hope, after a full conviction, both of 
 our ability and resolution to maintain our rights, Britain will 
 act with necessary wisdom. This I most heartily wish, as I 
 feel a warm affection for the parent State." 
 
 THE KEEPING OF THE BRIDGE. 
 
 T is recorded in the annals of ancient Rome, that 
 Horatius, assisted by Lartius and Herminius, 
 defended the Sublician bridge over the Tiber, 
 against the whole Etruscan army, under Por- 
 sena, while the Romans broke down the bridge 
 behind the " dauntless three." When the work 
 was nearly finished, Horatius sent back his 
 two companions. As soon as the bridge was 
 quite destroyed, he plunged into the stream 
 and swam across to the city in safety, amid the arrows of the 
 enemy. Janiculum, referred to below, is one of the ancient 
 hills of Rome, and is separated from the main city by the 
 river Tiber. Porsena took this stronghold, and compelled the 
 Romans to retreat over the bridge into the city. Mount Jani- 
 culum is best known in our time as being the hill on which 
 the world-famous St. Peter's Cathedral is situated. The 
 Vatican, the official residence of the Pope, is also located here, 
 and adjoins the latter. 
 
220 VALIANT EXPLOITS. 
 
 The Rhamnenses, Tatienses and Lucerenses, were the three 
 orginal tribes into which the Romans were divided by Romulus, 
 the founder of the city. The term " Fathers " was frequently 
 applied to the Roman Senators, since they were supposed to 
 exercise a fatherly care and influence over the destinies of their 
 charge. 
 
 In the Etruscan language, Lars meant " Mighty Chief," or 
 Lord. Lord Macaulay has given us such a soul-stirring poem, 
 describing this heroic event, that one is almost compelled to 
 accord him as high a rank as a poet as he occupies as a prose 
 writer : — 
 
 Out spake the Consul roundly : 
 
 " The bridge must straight go down ; 
 
 For, since Janiculum is lost, 
 Naught else can save the town." 
 
 Then out spake brave Horatius, 
 
 The captain of the gate, 
 " To every man upon this earth 
 
 Death cometh soon or late, 
 And how can man die better 
 
 Than facing fearful odds 
 For the ashes of his fathers 
 
 And the temples of his gods ? 
 Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, 
 
 With all the speed you may ; 
 I, with two more to help me, 
 
 Will hold the foe in play ; 
 In yon straight path a thousand 
 
 May well be stopped by three ; 
 Now, who will stand on either hand, 
 
 And keep the bridge with me ? " 
 
 Then out spake Spurius Lartius — 
 A Rhamnian, proud, was he — 
 " Lo ! I will stand on thy right hand 
 And keep the bridge with thee." 
 And out spoke strong Herminius — 
 Of Tatian blood was he — 
 " I will abide on thy left side, 
 
 And keep the bridge with thee." 
 
THE KEEPING OF THE BRIDGE. 221 
 
 " Horatius," quoth the Consul, 
 "As thou say'st, so let it be ;" 
 
 And straight against that great array- 
 Forth went the dauntless three ; 
 
 For Romans, in Rome's quarrel, 
 Spared neither land nor gold, 
 
 Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Tuscan army, 
 
 Right glorious to behold, 
 Came flashing back the noonday light, 
 Rank behind rank, like surges bright 
 
 Of a broad sea of gold. 
 Four hundred trumpets sounded 
 
 A peal of warlike glee, 
 As that great host, with measured tread, 
 And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, 
 Rolled slowly toward the bridge's head, 
 
 Where stood the dauntless three. 
 
 The three stood calm and silent, 
 
 And looked upon their foes, 
 And a great shout of laughter 
 
 From all the vanguard rose. 
 But soon Etruria's noblest 
 
 Felt their hearts sink, to see 
 On the earth the bloody corpses, 
 
 In the path of the dauntless three! 
 
 Meanwhile, the axe and lever 
 Have manfully been plied, 
 And now the bridge hangs tottering 
 Above the boiling tide ; 
 "Come back, come back, Horatius ! " 
 
 Loud cried the Fathers all ; 
 " Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! 
 Back, ere the ruin fall!" 
 
 Back darted Spurius Lartius ; 
 
 Herminius darted back ; 
 And, as they passed, beneath their feet 
 
 They felt the timbers crack. 
 
222 VALIANT EXPLOITS. 
 
 But when they turned their faces, 
 
 And on the further shore 
 Saw brave Horatius stand alone, 
 
 They would have crossed once more. 
 But, with a crash like thunder, 
 
 Fell every loosened beam, 
 And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 
 
 Lay right athwart the stream ; 
 And a loud shout of triumph 
 
 Rose from the walls of Rome, 
 As to the highest turret tops 
 
 Was splashed the yellow foam. 
 
 Alone stood brave Horatius, 
 
 But constant still, in mind ; 
 Thrice thirty thousand foes before, 
 And the broad flood behind. 
 " Down with him ! " cried false Sextus, 
 
 With a smile on his pale face ; 
 " Now yield thee ! " cried Lars Porsena, 
 " Now yield thee to our grace." 
 
 Round turned he, as not deigning 
 
 Those craven ranks to see ; 
 Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, 
 
 To Sextus naught spake he ; 
 But he saw on Palatinus 
 
 The white porch of his home ; 
 And he spoke to the noble river 
 
 That rolls by the towers of Rome ; 
 " O, Tiber ! Father Tiber ! 
 
 To whom the Romans pray ! 
 A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, 
 
 Take thou in charge this day ! " 
 So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed 
 
 The good sword by his side, 
 And, with his harness on his back, 
 
 Plunged headlong in the tide. 
 
 No sound of joy or sorrow 
 
 Was heard from either bank ; 
 But friends and foes, in dumb surprise, 
 With parted lips, and straining eyes, 
 Stood gazing where he sank ; 
 
CA THERINE VASSENT. 
 
 223 
 
 And when, above the surges 
 
 They saw his crest appear, 
 All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, 
 And even the ranks of Tuscany 
 
 Could scarce forbear a cheer. 
 
 1 Out on him ! " quoth false Sextus, 
 
 "Will not the villain drown ? 
 
 But for this stay, sere close of day, 
 
 We would have sacked the town ! " 
 ' Heaven help him ! " quoth Lars Porsena, 
 
 " And bring him safe to shore ; 
 For such a gallant feat of arms 
 Was never seen before." 
 
 And now the ground he touches, 
 
 Now on dry earth he stands ; 
 Now round him throng the Fathers, 
 
 To press his gory hands ; 
 And now, with shouts and clapping, 
 
 And noise of weeping loud, 
 He enters through the river-gate, 
 
 Borne by the joyous crowd. 
 
 CATHERINE VASSENT. 
 
 E. PAXTON HOOD, D. D. 
 
 ATHERINE VASSENT, the daughter of a 
 French peasant, exhibited at the age of seven- 
 teen, and in the humble capacity of a menial, a 
 proof of intrepid, persevering sympathy which 
 ranks her with the noblest of her sex. A com- 
 mon sewer, of considerable depth, having been 
 opened at Noyon, for the purpose of repairs, 
 four men passing by, late in the evening, un- 
 fortunately fell in, no precaution having been taken to prevent 
 so probable an accident. 
 
 It was almost midnight before their situation was known; 
 and besides the difficulty of procuring assistance at that un- 
 
224 VALIANT EXPLOITS. 
 
 seasonable hour, every one present was intimidated from 
 exposing himself to similar danger by attempting to rescue 
 these unfortunates, who appeared already in a state of suffoca- 
 tion from the mephitic vapor. Fearless or ignorant of danger, 
 and irresistibly impelled by the cries of their wives and chil- 
 dren, who surrounded the spot, Catherine Vassent, a servant 
 in the town, insisted on being lowered, without delay, into the 
 noxious opening, and fastened a cord, with which she had fur- 
 nished herself previous to her descent, around two of their 
 bodies. Assisted by those above, she restored them to life 
 and to their families ; but in descending a second time, her 
 breath began to fail, and after effectually securing a cord to the 
 body of a third man, she had sufficient presence of mind, 
 although in a fainting condition, to fix a rope firmly to her own 
 hair, which hung in long, luxuriant curls around a full but 
 well-formed neck. Her neighbors, who felt no inclination to 
 imitate her heroism, had willingly contributed such assistance 
 as they could afford, compatible with safety ; and pulling up, 
 as they thought, the third man's body, were equally concerned 
 and surprised to see the almost lifeless body of Catherine, sus- 
 pended by the hair, and swinging by the same cord. Fresh 
 air, with eau de vie, soon restored this excellent girl. 
 
 In consequence of the delay produced by her indisposition, 
 the fourth man was brought up a lifeless corpse. Such con- 
 duct did not pass unnoticed. A procession of the corporation, 
 and a solemn Te Dcum, were celebrated on the occasion. 
 Catherine received the public thanks of the Duke of Orleans, 
 the Bishop of Noyon, the town magistrates, and an emblem- 
 atical medal, with considerable pecuniary contributions, and a 
 civic crown. To these were added the congratulations of her 
 own heart, that estimable reward of a benevolent mind. 
 
3PART+IV 
 
 1/ 
 
 PGHTLY*- 
 
 VIRTUES 
 
'♦ Dream not of helm and harness, 
 
 The sign of valor true ; 
 Peace hath higher tests of manhood 
 
 Than battle ever knew." 
 
 — WhiUier. 
 
PART IV. 
 
 KNIGHTLY VIRTUES 
 
 FLORA MACDONALD AND THE PRETENDER. 
 
 FTER the disastrous battle of Culloden, April 
 16th, 1746, Prince Charles Edward, known as 
 the Pretender, grandson of James II, of England, 
 was compelled to flee for his life. 
 
 He quitted the large body of horsemen who 
 had accompanied him from the fatal moor, hav- 
 ing resolved to make his way, with a few of his 
 personal friends, to the West coast, in order to 
 embark for France. Riding past the ruins of Fort Augustus, 
 he halted at Invergarry, an almost deserted house of Mac- 
 Donald of Glengarry. Here he was left to pursue his course, 
 with two of his companions and a poor Highlander, Ned 
 Burke, who had been his guide from the battle-field. On the 
 second of May he was sailing in a small boat from Loch Na 
 Naugh, where, nine months before, he had landed with few 
 companions, but with the support of the most sanguine hopes. 
 These solitary lakes and islands were now unsafe. Parties of 
 soldiers penetrated into the most remote places, hunting down 
 rebels and chasing women and children from their desolate 
 homes. Soon after the wanderings of Charles Edward begun, 
 the Duke of Cumberland had fixed his headquarters at Fort 
 
 227 
 
228 KNIGHTL Y VIRTUES. 
 
 Augustus, in the very heart of the country where the young 
 prince was hiding, for whose apprehension a reward of thirty 
 thousand pounds had been offered. Five months did this ill- 
 fated adventurer lead a life of constant privation and alarm; 
 generally evading observation; sometimes known; but never 
 betrayed. When he had gained a place of shelter in the house 
 of the elder Clanranald, in the Island of South Uist, he was 
 soon disturbed by parties of militia who landed, and by vessels 
 of war cruising about the coast. Obliged to quit his hospit- 
 able abode, he wandered alone among the hills till he was 
 enabled to escape. This he effected through the compassionate 
 courage and sagacity of Flora MacDonald, a name ever to be 
 numbered in the illustrious role of heroic women. 
 
 Flora had just come from school at Edinburgh, and was 
 visiting her kinsfolk, when the extreme peril of the prince 
 became known to her and aroused her sympathies. She pro- 
 posed that he should put on the clothes of a servant woman, ' 
 and in company of a lady, as waiting maid, leave the island. 
 But who had the courage? Flora's stepfather was on the island, 
 in command of a corps of soldiers, searching for the prince. 
 
 Regardless of the certain displeasure of her stepfather, and 
 the extreme peril of the undertaking, she resolved to save 
 Charles Edward ; and that very night, in company with a 
 trusty officer, she went among the crags of Carradale, to the 
 cave where the royal fugitive was concealed. Great was the 
 astonishment and delight of the Prince when he was informed 
 of the plan for his escape. 
 
 Within a day or two Flora procured a passport from her 
 unsuspecting stepfather for herself, a young companion, a 
 boat's crew, and Betsy Bourke, an Irish woman whom Flora 
 pretended she had procured as a spinster for her mother. 
 The prince, attired as Betsy Bourke, embarked with Flora 
 and her companions, on the 28th of September, 1746, for the 
 Island of Skye. A furious tempest tossed them about all 
 night, and a band of soldiers prevented their landing in the 
 morning. They finally landed near the residence of Sir Alex- 
 
FLORA MACDONALD AND THE PRETENDER. 229 
 
 ander MacDonald, where the Prince was concealed in the 
 cavity of a rock ; for the Laird was his enemy, and his hall was 
 filled with soldiers seeking the fugitive. 
 
 Flora touched the heart of Lady MacDonald, and by her 
 aid the Prince and the maiden made a safe journey of twelve 
 miles, on foot, to Potarce. There they parted forever, the 
 Prince to escape to France, Flora to be soon afterward carried 
 a prisoner to London and cast into the Tower. The story of 
 her adventure excited the admiration of all classes; and as she 
 was not a partisan of the Pretender, nor of his religious faith, 
 the nobility interfered in her behalf. 
 
 The father of George III visited her in prison, and so much 
 was he interested in her that he procured her release. While 
 she remained in London her residence was surrounded by the 
 carriages of the nobility ; and Lady Primrose, a friend of the 
 Pretender, introduced her to Court society. 
 
 When presented to the old King, George II, he said to her: 
 " How could you dare to succor the enemy of my crown and 
 kingdom ? " Flora replied, with great simplicity : " It was no 
 more than I would have done for your Majesty, had you been 
 in like situation." A chaise-and-four were fitted up for her 
 return to Scotland, and her escort was Malcolm McLeod, who 
 often said afterward : " I went to London to be hanged, but 
 rode back in a chaise-and-four, with Flora MacDonald." Four 
 years afterward she married Allan, the son of the Laird 
 MacDonald, and became mistress of the mansion where the 
 Prince passed his first night in the Island of Skye. 
 
 In 1775 Flora and her husband, with several children, 
 emigrated to North Carolina. The American Revolution just 
 breaking out, and being in full sympathy with the mother 
 country, she found it uncongenial in her new home, and after 
 a short stay, resolved to go back again to Scotland. 
 
 On the homeward passage the vessel was attacked by a 
 French cruiser, and brave Flora, who was on deck during the 
 engagement, was severely wounded in the hand. They reached 
 their country, where she lived until the 5th of March, 1790. 
 
•230 
 
 KX1GHTL 1 " I 'IK Tl 'ES. 
 
 She was buried in the cemetery of Killmuir, in the Isle of 
 Skye; her shroud was the sheet in which the Prince slept 
 while under her guidance ; and three thousand persons stood 
 and wept as her coffin was let down into the grave. — Selected. 
 
 HEROIC VIRTUES OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. 
 fife 
 
 @ 
 
 V" 
 
 IR PHILIP SIDNEY, a distinguished author, 
 courtier and soldier, was horn at Penshurst, 
 Kent, England, November 29th, 1554. 
 :\^f/{Y<£ After having successfully discharged sev- 
 
 eral important trusts in the civil service of 
 his government, both at home and abroad, 
 he was sent to the Low Countries as General 
 of the Horse, under his uncle, the Earl of 
 Leicester, to aid the Dutch in their struggle for independence. 
 The war was altogether mismanaged. The Prince of Parma, 
 who commanded the troops of Spain, was an experienced 
 General. Leicester was always hesitating ; sometimes suc- 
 cessful, through the bravery of his captains ; but gradually 
 losing fortress after fortress, and obtaining petty advantages 
 with no permanent results. There was one in his army, how- 
 ever, who, in this disastrous campaign, closed a short career 
 of military experience, but who left a name which Englishmen 
 cherish among their most eminent examples of real greatness. 
 Few were the heroic deeds of Philip Sidney, but his heart was 
 the seat of true heroism. The rare scholar, the accomplished 
 writer, the perfect gentleman, might have been forgotten as a 
 soldier, if his night march upon Axel and its daring capture 
 had been his chief title to distinction. On September 226, 
 1586, a small detachment of English troops under his com- 
 mand unexpectedly encountered 3000 Spaniards, who were 
 marching to the relief of Zutphen, and a desperate engage- 
 ment was fought under the walls of the fortress, in which the 
 enemy were signally defeated. Sidney, seeing the Spanish 
 
MARTIN LUTHER AND CHARLES V. 231 
 
 leader going into battle lightly armed, was induced, by a 
 chivalric spirit of emulation, to imitate his example ; and after 
 a series of gallant charges, in which he had a horse killed 
 under him, he received a musket ball in his left thigh. 
 
 " While leaving the field," says Lord Brooke, " being thirsty 
 with excess of bleeding, he called for drink, which was 
 presently brought him ; but as he was putting the bottle to his 
 lips, he saw a poor soldier carried along, who had eaten his 
 last at the same feast, ghastly casting up his eyes at the same 
 bottle," which Sir Philip perceiving, took it from his head 
 before he drank,, and delivered it to the poor man with these 
 words : " Thy necessities are greater than mine." 
 
 He lingered several weeks in great agony, and met his 
 death with Christian serenity, solacing even his last hours with 
 literary composition. His body was taken to London, and 
 after lying in state, was interred in St. Paul's Cathedral, Feb- 
 ruary 15th, 1587, and a general mourning, the first on record 
 in England, was observed. — Anonymous. 
 
 " HERE I STAND ; I CANNOT DO OTHERWISE ; 
 GOD HELP ME ! " 
 
 N the early part of the sixteenth century, there 
 appeared on the stage of action, in Europe, 
 two characters whose names deserve a place 
 in history. One was a monarch, whose 
 power and influence were vastly greater than 
 those of any other living prince. He ruled, 
 with a sway almost absolute, over vast mil- 
 lions of the most industrious, enlightened and 
 opulent people of Europe. No other com- 
 mander could bring such well-trained hosts on to the battle- 
 field ; no other financier could command such untold sums of 
 treasure. And Europe alone would not have equaled one-half 
 of the extent of his territories. 
 
232 KNIGHTLY VIRTUES. 
 
 His name was pronounced with awe in all quarters of the 
 globe. The swarthy East Indian and the copper-colored 
 American, in their own distant but gorgeous homes, did 
 homage to the mighty Emperor. His tables were adorned 
 and his treasury filled with gold wrung from the unwilling but 
 feeble grasp of Inca and Aztec. The mines of Mexico and 
 Peru swelled his shining stores to an unapproachable mag- 
 nitude. 
 
 His men-of-war and merchant ships everywhere whitened 
 the sea; the former invincible to his foes, and the latter 
 groaning under their cargoes of gold. Nor had his mind been 
 left unfurnished. He had been thoroughly and carefully 
 educated in all the wisdom of his time, both scholastic and 
 practical. 
 
 He was an accomplished linguist, and possessed unrivaled 
 skill in diplomacy. And his natural abilities were such as 
 enabled him to shine in every department of kingcraft. He 
 triumphed in war over the ablest sovereigns who chose to 
 assail him, and at the council-board was none who could go 
 beyond him in meeting emergencies. 
 
 The other, as he tells us himself, was a peasant, whose 
 ancestors had always been genuine peasants before him. He 
 was an obscure subject of the great Emperor. His father 
 toiled for a scanty living in the German iron mines. His 
 mother worked in house and field through the weary hours of 
 the livelong day. He himself was reared amid the hardest 
 and sternest poverty, and when he went to school, was com- 
 pelled to subsist by begging his bread from door to door; and 
 when he became an inmate of the Augustine convent, he 
 undertook the humblest and most laborious tasks; took the 
 lowliest place among the lowly brotherhood of monks. 
 
 One day the great Emperor and the poor monk met. It 
 was a grand council, called, in part, for the trial of the monk, 
 and under the auspices of the Emperor. The latter had come 
 from a remote part of his vast dominions, with all the pomp of a 
 triumphal march. He had been greeted on his way by the 
 
"As thQii (the Fops) hast troubled the Holy Due of the Lord, may tb.B 
 tErnal firs trouble and consume thee." 
 
 Doctor Martin Cutler 
 
 toerbrannte an biefer ©telle, am 10. 25ejember 1520, 
 
 bie 
 
 ppftlidje itonnbulie. 
 
 Luther, surrounded by his students, colleagues and towns-people, committing the Papal bull of excom- 
 mication, together with the Canon law and several books of Eck and Emser, to the flames, before the 
 ster gate of Wittenberg. 
 
 The words quoted at the top of the page were addressed by Luther to the offensive document, when in 
 : act of casting it into the fire. 
 
 A tree has since been planted on the spot, and this is now surrounded by an iron railing, to protect it 
 ainst memento-hunters. On this enclosure there is a tablet bearing the foregoing German inscription. 
 
MARTIN LUTHER AND CHARLES V. 233 
 
 huzzas of millions of subjects. He sat in the Diet, surrounded 
 by a brilliant assembly of nobles, princes and kings, who all 
 acknowledged his supremacy. He was at the summit of 
 earthly grandeur. 
 
 The poor monk was arraigned for heresy and obstinacy, 
 tried and found guilty, and pronounced an outlaw under the 
 ban of the Empire. His memorable words in that great 
 assembly, when asked to retract his teaching and preaching, 
 " Here I stand ; I cannot do otherwise; God help me!" are 
 familiar to everybody. They are great in themselves, but 
 infinitely greater when considered in connection with the man 
 who used them and the occasion which called them forth. 
 
 Luther, after struggling upward toward the light, seemed 
 finally to have reached it. He at last approached it so closely 
 that he broke completely away from the Pope. The bull of 
 excommunication which had been issued against him he had 
 publicly burned. His words against it consumed even more 
 fiercely than the flames. The representatives of the Empire 
 could not help noticing conduct so daring, and he was, there- 
 fore, summoned to attend the " Diet " at Worms. He prepared 
 to go ; and when pleaded with by his friends to stay away, he 
 made the memorable reply : " Though there were as many 
 devils in Worms, as there are tiles on its houses, still would I 
 go." And he did go, and there stood in the presence of 
 electors, bishops and prelates, defending himself and his books, 
 and claiming his right to freedom of speech and conscience. 
 " Athanasius against the world " was but a trifling spectacle 
 compared with this. It was at the close of his defence that he 
 used the words, " Here I stand ; I cannot do otherwise ; God 
 help me ! " The scene, which has been called " the most 
 splendid in history," was properly closed by so sublime a 
 declaration. 
 
 We are hardly able at this day to understand the peril in 
 which he stood and the courage that was necessary to carry 
 him through so trying an ordeal. Those days, three centuries 
 and a half ago, were not such as ours. Freedom of conscience 
 
234 KNIGHTLY VIRTUES. 
 
 was not one of its prerogatives and blessings. The right to 
 think, speak, and act for himself was no man's privilege. 
 
 In all the attitudes in which he is seen during those memor- 
 able days, none is more striking than this one at Worms. He 
 is alone, or nearly so. His cause has as yet made but little 
 progress. He was in the presence of men who regarded him 
 as an apostate and enemy of God. They thirsted, many of 
 them, for his blood ; but he did not falter. He spoke warmly, 
 but collectedly. His boldness increased with his danger, until 
 he became the very impersonation of moral heroism. After 
 justifying his works and reaffirming his determination to stand 
 by the Scriptures and his conscience, he ended all with the words 
 that are so sublimely linked with the immortality of his name. 
 
 Suppose the question had been put to some prince of the 
 Empire, or some high ecclesiastical dignitary, which of the 
 two men, the convicted heretic, accursed by the Pope and 
 outlawed by the Empire, or the mighty Charles V, successor 
 of the Caesars, was most influential ? what would have been 
 the answer ? And yet, what says the world to-day ? Measure 
 the lives of the two men. Weigh their deeds, the principles 
 they advocated, and the policy inaugurated by each. 
 
 Charles lived and reigned, engaged in the intrigues and 
 diplomacy of his time ; schemed against Francis I, of France ; 
 deceived the Pope, and was deceived by the Pope ; and finally 
 died, in a self-imposed obscurity, declaring that he was weary 
 of the incessant and unmeaning contests of life. And in his 
 long reign of thirty years, what else can be said than that it 
 was not marked by a single measure of permanent utility in 
 advancing the interests of humanity. 
 
 But Luther has changed the entire face of Christendom. 
 Catholic no less than Protestant countries feel the good effects 
 of his fearless devotion to duty. His heroism has gone into 
 the very life of the race. Who can tell how much higher the 
 mass of mankind now stand for Luther's having lived ? Who, 
 then, was the man of influence, the prince or the peasant, the 
 Emperor or the monk ? What painter shall fitly portray the 
 figures at the Diet of Worms? — Selected, 
 
TAMERLANE AND THE DERVIS. 
 
 235 
 
 TAMERLANE AND THE DERVIS. 
 
 MSmiAMERLANE. 
 
 Thou bring'st me thy credentials from the 
 Highest; 
 From Allah, and our Prophet ? speak thy message, 
 It must import the best and noblest ends. 
 
 
 Tarn. 
 
 el y \s 
 
 Der. 
 
 6-Ufl 
 
 Tarn. 
 
 Der. 
 
 Tarn. 
 
 Thus speaks our holy Mahomet, who has given thee 
 
 To reign and conquer. Ill dost thou repay 
 
 The bounties of his hand; unmindful of 
 
 The fountain whence thy streams of greatness flow, 
 
 Thou hast forgot high Heaven, hast beaten down 
 
 And trampled on Religion's sanctity. 
 
 Now, as I am a soldier and a king, 
 The greatest names of honor, only show 
 The imputation true, and Tamerlane 
 Shall do thee ample justice on himself ; 
 So much the sacred name of Heaven awes me, 
 Could I suspect my soul of harboring aught 
 To its dishonor, I would search it strictly, 
 And drive the offending thought with fury forth. 
 
 Yes, thou hast hurt our holy prophet's honor, 
 
 By fostering the pernicious Christian sect ; 
 
 Those whom his sword pursued with fell destruction, 
 
 Thou tak'st into thy bosom, to thy councils ; 
 
 They are thy only friends. The true believers 
 
 Mourn to behold thee favor this Axalla. 
 
 I fear me thou exceed'st the prophet's order, 
 And bring'st his venerable name to shelter 
 A wideness ill becoming thee to use, 
 Or me to suffer. When thou nam'st my friend, 
 Thou nam'st a man beyond the least suspicion, 
 Virtuous and great, a warrior and a prince. 
 
 He's a Christian ; and our law condemns him, 
 Though he were even all thou speak'st and more. 
 
 'Tis false ; no law divine condemns the virtuous 
 For differing from the rules your schools devise ; 
 Look around, how Providence bestows alike 
 
236 KNIGHTLY VIRTUES. 
 
 Sunshine and rain, to bless the fruitful year, 
 
 On different nations, all of different faiths ; 
 
 And though by several names and titles worshiping, 
 
 Heaven takes the various tribute of their praise ; 
 
 Since all agree to own, at least, to mean, 
 
 One best, one greatest, only Lord of all ! 
 
 Thus, when he viewed the many forms of nature, 
 
 He found that all was good, and blest the fair variety. 
 
 Der. Most impious and profane ! No, frown not, prince ! 
 Full of the prophet, I despise the danger 
 Thy angry power may threaten ; I command thee 
 To hear and to obey ; since thus says Mahomet : 
 "Why have I made thee dreadful to the nations ? 
 Why have I given thee conquest, but to spread 
 My sacred law even to the utmost earth, 
 And make my holy Mecca the world's worship ? 
 Go on, and wheresoe'er thy arms shall prosper, 
 Plant there the prophet's name ; with sword and fire 
 Drive out all other faiths, and let the world 
 Confess him only." 
 
 Tarn. Had he but commanded 
 
 My sword to conquer all, to make the world 
 
 Know but one Lord, the task were not so hard ; 
 
 'Twere but to do what has been done already, 
 
 For Philip's son and Caesar did as much ; 
 
 But to subdue the unconquerable mind, 
 
 To make one reason have the same effect 
 
 Upon all apprehension, to force this 
 
 Or that man to think alike, and just as thou or it ! 
 
 Impossible ! Unless their souls were like ; 
 
 But human faces are not more unlike than these. 
 
 Der. Well might the holy cause be carried on, 
 
 'If Mussulman did not make war on Mussulman. 
 Why hold'st thou captive a believing monarch ? 
 Now, as thou hop'st to escape the prophet's curse, 
 Release the royal Bajazet and join 
 With force united to destroy the Christians ! 
 
 Tarn. 'Tiswell; I've found the cause that moved thy zeal ; 
 What — shall politicians set thee on, 
 In hopes to fright me, this way, to complaisance ? 
 
TAMERLANE AND THE DERVIS. 237 
 
 Der. Our prophet only ! 
 
 Tarn. No ; thou dost belie him, 
 
 Thou maker of new faith, that dares to build 
 Thy fond inventions on Religion's name ! 
 Religion's lustre is, by native innocence, 
 Divinely pure, and free from every art ; 
 You falsify her ! Hence, hypocrite, thou'rt unmasked ! 
 
 Der. I have but one resort. Now, aid me, prophet ! [Aside.] 
 Yet have I somewhat further to unfold : 
 Our prophet speaks to thee in thunder — thus — 
 [The Dermis draws a concealed dagger, and attempts to stab Tamer* 
 
 lane.\ 
 
 Tarn. No ; villain ! Heaven is watchful o'er her worshipers 
 [Wresting the dagger from him.] 
 And blasts the murderer's purpose. Think, thou wretch ! 
 Think on the pains that wait thy crime, and tremble 
 When I shall doom thee ! 
 
 Der. 'Tis but death at last ; 
 
 And I will suffer greatly for the cause 
 That urged me first to the bold deed. 
 
 Tarn. O impious ! 
 
 Enthusiasm thus makes villains martyrs ; [Pausing.] 
 
 It shall be so. To die 'twere a reward. 
 
 Now learn the difference 'twixt thy faith and mine ; 
 
 Thine bids thee lift thy dagger to my throat ; 
 
 Mine can forgive the wrong and bid thee live ; 
 
 Keep thine own wicked secret and be safe ! 
 
 If thou repent'st I have gained one to virtue, 
 
 And am, in that, rewarded for my mercy ! 
 
 If thou continuest still to be the same, 
 
 'Tis punishment enough to be a villain ; 
 
 Hence from my sight. It shocks my soul to think 
 
 That there is such a monster in my kind ! 
 
 Whither will man's impiety extend ? 
 
 O gracious Heaven ! dost thou withhold thy thunder 
 
 When bold assassins use thy name 
 
 And swear they are the champions of thy cause ? 
 
 Nicholas Rowe. 
 
238 KNIGHTLY VIRTUES 
 
 KING HENRY, IV, AT IVRY. 
 
 T B. MACAULAY. 
 
 HE murder of Henry, III, had given Henry 
 of Navarre the legal title to the throne 
 of France ; but his rights were denied by 
 the Roman Catholic party, who resisted 
 him in arms. In the course of the year 
 1590 the King won a splendid victory over 
 his opponents at Ivry. Ivry is near the 
 town of Dreux, where Maine and the Isle 
 of France abut upon the southeast corner of Normandy. 
 
 Now glory to the Lord of hosts, from whom all glories are ! 
 
 And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre ! 
 
 Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, 
 
 Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, O pleasant land of 
 
 France ! 
 And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, 
 Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. 
 As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy ; 
 For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy. 
 Hurrah ! Hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance of war ; 
 Hurrah ! Hurrah! for Ivry, and King Henry of Navarre. 
 
 Oh ! how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day, 
 
 We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array ; 
 
 With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, 
 
 And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears. 
 
 There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land ! 
 
 And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand ! 
 
 And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled 
 
 flood, 
 And good Coligny's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ; 
 And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, 
 To fight for His own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. 
 
 The King is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest; 
 
 And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest ; 
 
HENRY IV AT IVRV. 
 
KING HENR V IV AT IVR i '. 239 
 
 He look'd upon his people, and a tear was in his eye ; 
 
 He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high ; 
 
 Right graciously he smiled on us, as roll'd from wing to wing, 
 
 Down all our line, a deafening shout, "God save our Lord the 
 
 King! " 
 "And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may, 
 For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, 
 Press where ye see my white plume shine amidst the ranks of war, 
 And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre." 
 
 Hurrah ! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din 
 
 Of fife, and steed, and trump and drum, and roaring culverin! 
 
 The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain, 
 
 With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. 
 
 Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, 
 
 Charge — for the Golden Lilies — upon them with the lance. 
 
 A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, 
 
 A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest ; 
 
 And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, 
 
 Amidst the thickest carnage blazes the Helmet of Navarre. 
 
 Now, God be praised, the day is ours ! Mayenne hath turned his rein ; 
 
 D'Aumale hath cried for quarter ; the Flemish Count is slain ; 
 
 Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale 
 
 The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags and cloven mail. 
 
 And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, 
 'Remember Saint Bartholomew," was passed from man to man. 
 
 But out spake gentle Henry : " No Frenchman is my foe; " 
 ' Down, down, with every foreigner, but let your brethren go ! " 
 
 Oh ! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war ? 
 
 As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre? 
 
 Right well fought all the Frenchmen who fought for France to-day ; 
 
 And many a lordly banner God gave them for a prey ; 
 
 But we of the religion have borne us best in fight ; 
 
 And the good Lord of Rosny hath ta'en the cornet white — 
 
 Our own true Maximilian the cornet white hath ta'en, 
 
 The cornet white with crosses black, the flag of false Lorraine. 
 
 Up with it high ; unfurl it wide — that all the host may know 
 
 How God hath humbled the proud house which wrought his church 
 
 such woe. 
 Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their loudest point of war, 
 Fling the red shreds, a foot-cloth meet for Henry of Navarre. 
 
IGHTLY VIRTUES 
 
 Ho : maidens of Vienna ! Ho, matrons of Lucerne ! 
 Weep, weep, and rend your bair for those who never shall return. 
 Ho I Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, 
 That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearman's 
 souls ! 
 gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bri^ 
 H burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night ! 
 '- -' - hi± ::_;>. i±e:;:::.: :ur .""- : 1 ':. :.... r . ;e i the -'.:. . e 
 
 And mock'd the counsel of the wise, and the valor of the brave. 
 Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are ; 
 ----"■- r - ;•""-- :— 5; =: . ~ 1 ::i 1-1 .. ;H . .-..-_ . : Ni. ir:=. 
 
 LADY JANE GREY. 
 
 ".en: ell : :-::li:?s 
 
 ADY JANE GREY. " the mirror of her 
 
 ilustrious but unfortunate personage of 
 the blood royal of England, was the eldest 
 daughter of the Duke of Suffolk, whose 
 mother . : I iward IV. Lady 
 
 Jane, on her mother's side, was great-grand- 
 daughter of Henry VII. and second cousin 
 to Mary, Queen of Scots. She was born in 
 5 " ;.nd " was not more distinguished." says Horace Y - 
 pole, " by her descent, than by her extraordinary accom- 
 plishments, and these were adorned with such sweetness of 
 temper and innate goodness of heart, as rendered her the 
 delight and wonder of all who knew he 
 
 L'nder the tuition of Bishop Aylmer, she made surprising 
 progress in arts and sciences, and could express herself prop- 
 in the Latin and Greek tongues. \Ye are told by Ascham 
 " that she wrote Latin with great strength of sentiment ; " and 
 her contemporar S r Thomas Chaloner. she was well 
 
 td in Hebrew, Chaldee, Arabic, French and Italian. She 
 played well, wrote a curiously fine hand, was excellent at her 
 needle; yet with all these endowments, so rare in any age, and 
 
LADY JANE GREY. 241 
 
 still more remarkable in the reign of Edward VI, she was of a 
 mild, humble and modest spirit." Fuller quaintly says, " she 
 had the innocency of childhood, the beaut}' of youth, the 
 solidity of middle, the gravity of old age, and all at eighteen ; 
 the birth of a princess, the learning of a clerk, the life of a 
 saint, yet the death of a malefactor for her parent's offence* 
 Roger Ascham, Queen Elizabeth's schoolmaster, says, " Axis- 
 totle's praise of women is perfected in her. She has good 
 manners, prudence, and a love of labor. She pos- ery 
 
 talent without the least weakness of her sex. I found her in 
 her chamber, reading Plato's Phaedon in Greek with as much 
 delight as some gentlemen would read a merry tale in 
 Boccace." 
 
 Indeed, he tells us it was to read Plato she gave up a 
 hunting part}' that was at the moment sweeping through her 
 father's park. Asking her " how she could lose such 
 pastime? " she said, " I wisse (know) all the sport in the park 
 is but the shadow of what pleasure I find in this boc : 
 adding, that one of the greatest blessings God ever gave her. 
 was in sending her sharp parents and a gentle schoolmaster 
 which made her take delight in nothing so much as studies. 
 The whole conversation, as he reported it, is touching and 
 simple, and specially interesting as illustrative of the cold 
 formality of the relation of parent and child in that age and 
 rank. 
 
 Through her father's machinations Edward VI was induced 
 to set aside Henry VIII's will, disinherit his sister, afterwards 
 the bloody Mar}-, and settle the crown on Lady Jane, who 
 had just married Lord Guilford Dudley. It was on 
 I oth, 1553, that the Dukes of Northumberland and Suffolk, 
 the last her father and the first her father-in-law, repaired to 
 her residence, and explaining to her the state of affairs, kneeled 
 to her in homage as Queen of England. Astonished, but : I 
 moved or elevated bv these new dignities, she refused to : 
 a crown which of right belonged to the late king's sisters, and 
 told them " she understood the infamy of those who violated 
 16 
 
24 2 KNIGHTL Y J T IR Tl V \ 
 
 right to gain a sceptre, for it would be to mock God, and 
 deride justice, to scruple at the stealing of a shilling and not 
 at the usurpation of a crown. I am not so young, or so little 
 read in the guiles of fortune as to suffer myself to be taken by 
 them. Even if I escape death," she added, " liberty is more 
 ::ous to me than the chain you offer, with whatever gold 
 and precious stones it be adorned.'' 
 
 However, she was at last prevailed upon by the entreaties 
 of father, mother and husband, and assumed the crown. 
 
 " She lifted not up the least finger to put the diadem on 
 herself,"' says old Fuller, " but was only contented to sit still 
 whilst others endeavored to crown her ; or rather, was so far 
 from biting at the bait of sovereignty, that unwillingly she 
 opened her mouth to receive it." 
 
 She is not reckoned as having reigned in England, being so 
 soon defeated and executed for high treason by her successful 
 competitor, Mary, on the twelfth day of February, 1554. Her 
 letters to her friends and father, from prison, breathe the most 
 touching spirit of resignation. That to her father is a striking 
 picture of a strong mind struggling with the then supposed 
 duty of a child. 
 
 Her husband was executed first. As his dead body was 
 borne by her window, she wrote in her table-book three 
 sentences, one in Latin, one in Greek, and one in English. 
 The first two relate to her husband ; the third was, " If my fault 
 deserved punishment, my youth, at least, and my inexperience 
 were worth}- oi excuse. God and posterity will show me 
 favor." This book sl;e gave to the lieutenant of the Tower. 
 A: the block the executioner kneeled and asked her pardon ; 
 she answered, " Most willingly." Being blindfolded she felt 
 her way to the block, laid her head on it. murmured. " Lord, 
 into thy hand I commend my spirit ; " and then her head was 
 severed from her body by a single stroke. She was in her 
 eighteenth year. It is said that even Bloody Mary herself was 
 disposed to pardon her. Her fate was lamented throughout 
 Europe ; and Brooks relates that Morgan, the judge who 
 
A HUMANE AND HONORABLE ENGLISHMAN. 
 
 243 
 
 sentenced her, fell mad, and died crying, " Take away the 
 Lady Jane, take away the Lady Jane." 
 
 It is Fuller who calls her "the mirror of her age ; " and she 
 seems to fill among women the place given to Sir Philip 
 Sidney among men. Her letters and small pieces have been 
 published in many languages. The following lines are said to 
 have been pricked by her with a pin, possibly in prison, in 
 Latin, which have thus been translated : — 
 
 To mortal's common fate thy mind resign ; 
 My lot to-day, to-morrow may be thine ; 
 While God assists us, fruitless all our pain ; 
 After this dark I hope for light again. 
 
 A HUMANE AND HONORABLE ENGLISHMAN. 
 
 (Extract from the Speech of William Pitt, Earl of Chatham, in the House of Lords, in opposi- 
 tion to the employment of Indians against the Americans.) 
 
 HO is the man that, in addition to the dis- 
 graces and mischiefs of our army, has 
 dared to authorize and associate to our 
 arms the tomahawk and scalping knife of 
 the savage ? — to call into civilized alliance 
 the wild and inhuman savage of the 
 woods; to delegate to the merciless Indian 
 the defence of disputed rights; and to wage 
 the horrors of his barbarous war against our brethren ? My 
 Lords, these enormities cry aloud for redress and punishment; 
 but, atrocious as they are, they have found a defender in this 
 House. Tt is perfectly justifiable,' says a noble Lord, 'to use 
 all the means that God and Nature put into our hands.' I am 
 astonished, shocked, to hear such principles confessed, to 
 hear them avowed in this House, or even in this country, 
 principles equally unconstitutional, inhuman, and unchristian! 
 " My Lords, I did not intend to have trespassed again upon 
 
244 KNIGHTLY VIRTUES. 
 
 your attention ; but I cannot repress my indignation — I feel 
 myself impelled by every duty to proclaim it. As members 
 of this House, as men, as Christians, we are called upon to 
 protest against the barbarous proposition. ' That God and 
 Nature put into our hands!' What ideas that noble Lord 
 may entertain of God and Nature, I know not ; but I know 
 that such abominable principles are equally abhorrent to re- 
 ligion and to humanity. What ! attribute the sacred sanction 
 of God and Nature to the massacres of the Indian scalping- 
 knife — to the cannibal savage, torturing, murdering, devouring, 
 drinking the blood of his mangled victims ! Such horrible 
 notions shock every precept of religion, revealed or natural; 
 every sentiment of honor, every generous feeling of humanity! 
 
 "These abominable principles, and this more abominable 
 avowal of them, demand most decisive indignation ! I call 
 upon that Right Reverend Bench, those holy ministers of the 
 Gospel, and pious pastors of our Church; I conjure them to 
 join in the holy work, and to vindicate the religion of their 
 God! I appeal to the wisdom and the law of this learned 
 Bench to defend and support the justice of their country ! I 
 call upon the Bishops to interpose the unsullied sanctity of 
 their lawn; upon the judges to interpose the purity of their 
 ermine, to save us from this pollution ! I call upon the honor 
 of your Lordships, to reverence the dignity of your ancestors, 
 and to maintain your own ! I call upon the spirit and humanity 
 of my country, to vindicate the national character ! From the 
 tapestry that adorns these walls, the immortal ancestor of the 
 noble Lord frowns with indignation at the disgrace of his 
 country ! 
 
 " Turn forth into our settlements, among our ancient con- 
 nections, friends and relations, the merciless cannibal, thirsting 
 for the blood of man, woman, and child? Send forth the 
 infidel savage? Against whom? Against your brethren! 
 To lay waste their country, to desolate their dwellings, and 
 extirpate their race and name, with these horrible hounds of 
 savage war ! Spain armed herself with blood-hounds to extir- 
 
A HUMANE AND HONORABLE ENGLISHMAN. 245 
 
 pate the wretched natives of America ; and we improve on the 
 inhuman example of even Spanish cruelty ; we turn loose 
 these savages, these fiendish hounds, against our brethren and 
 countrymen in America, of the same language, laws, liberties, 
 and religion, endeared to us by every tie that should sanctify 
 humanity! 
 
 "My Lords, this awful subject, so important to our honor, 
 our Constitution, and our religion, demands the most solemn 
 and effectual inquiry. And I again call upon your Lordships, 
 and the united powers of the State, to examine into it thor- 
 oughly and decisively, and to stamp upon it an indelible 
 stigma of the public abhorrence. And I again implore those 
 holy prelates of our religion to do away with these iniquities 
 from among us. Let them perform a lustration ; let them 
 purify this House and this country from sin. My Lords, I am 
 old and weak, and at present unable to say more; but my feel- 
 ings and my indignation were too strong to have said less. I 
 could not have slept this night in my bed, or have reposed on 
 my pillow, without giving this vent to my eternal abhorrence 
 of such preposterous and enormous principles. 
 
 " This, my Lords, is a perilous and tremendous moment. It 
 is no time for adulation. The smoothness of flattery cannot 
 save us, in this rugged and awful crisis. It is now necessary 
 to instruct the Throne, in the language of Truth. We must, 
 if possible, dispel the delusion and darkness which envelop it, 
 and display, in its full danger and genuine colors, the ruin 
 which is brought to our doors. Can Ministers still presume 
 to expect support in their infatuation? Can Parliament be so 
 dead to its dignity and duty as to be thus deluded into the loss 
 of the one and the violation of the other — as to give an un- 
 limited support to measures which have heaped disgrace and 
 misfortune upon us; measures which have reduced this late 
 flourishing empire to ruin and contempt? But yesterday, and 
 England might have stood against the zvorld; now, none so poor 
 to do her reverence ! 
 
 " France, my Lords, has insulted you. She has encouraged 
 
246 KNIGHTLY VIRTUES. 
 
 and sustained America; and, whether America be wrong or 
 right, the dignity of this country ought to spurn the officious 
 insult of French interference. Can even our Ministers sustain 
 a more humiliating disgrace? Do they dare to resent it? Do 
 they presume even to hint a vindication of their honor, and 
 the dignity of the State, by requiring the dismissal of the 
 plenipotentiaries of America? The people whom they affected 
 to call contemptible rebels, but whose growing power has at 
 last obtained the name of enemies — the people with whom 
 they have engaged this country in war, and against whom 
 they now command our implicit support in every measure of 
 desperate hostility — this people, despised as rebels, or ac- 
 knowledged as enemies, are abetted against you, supplied with 
 every military store, their interests consulted, and their Am- 
 bassadors entertained, by your inveterate enemy — and our 
 Ministers dare not interpose with dignity or effect! 
 
 " My Lords, this ruinous and ignominious situation, where 
 we cannot act with success nor suffer with honor, calls upon 
 us to remonstrate in the strongest and loudest language of 
 truth, to rescue the ear of Majesty from the delusions which 
 surround it. You cannot, I venture to say it, you cannot 
 conquer America. What is your present situation there? We 
 do not know the worst ; but we know that in three campaigns 
 we have done nothing and suffered much. You may swell 
 every expense, and strain every effort, still more extravagantly; 
 accumulate every assistance you can beg or borrow ; traffic 
 and barter with every little pitiful German Prince, that sells 
 and sends his subjects to the shambles of a foreign country; 
 your efforts are forever vain and impotent — doubly so from 
 this mercenary aid on which you rely; for it irritates to an 
 incurable resentment the minds of your enemies, to overrun 
 them with the sordid sons of rapine and of plunder, devoting 
 them and their possessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty! 
 If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign 
 troop was landed in my country I never would lay down my 
 arms! — never! never! never!" 
 
HUMANITY OF ROBERT BRUCE. 247 
 
 HUMANITY OF ROBERT BRUCE. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 'NE morning the English and their Irish 
 auxiliaries were pressing hard upon King 
 Robert Bruce, who had given his army 
 orders to continue a hasty retreat ; for to 
 have risked a battle with a much more 
 numerous army, and in the midst of a 
 country which favored his enemies, would 
 have been extremely imprudent. On a 
 sudden, just as King Robert was about to mount his horse, he 
 heard a woman shrieking in despair. " What is the matter ?" 
 said the king ; and he was informed by his attendants that a 
 poor woman, a laundress or washerwoman, mother of an infant 
 who had just been born, was about to be left behind the army, 
 as being too weak to travel. 
 
 The mother was shrieking, for fear of falling into the hands 
 of the Irish, who were accounted very cruel, and there were 
 no carriages or means of sending the woman and her infant 
 on in safety. They must needs be abandoned if the army 
 retreated. King Robert was silent for a moment when he 
 heard this story, being divided betwixt the feelings of humanity, 
 occasioned by the poor woman's distress, and the danger to 
 which a halt would expose his army. At last he looked round 
 on his officers, with eyes which kindled like fire. 
 
 " Ah, gentlemen," he said, " let it never be said that a man 
 who was born of a woman, and nursed by a woman's tender- 
 ness, should leave a mother and an infant to the mercy of 
 barbarians. In the name of God, let the odds and the risk be 
 what they will, I will fight Edmund Butler rather than leave 
 these poor creatures behind me. Let the army, therefore, 
 draw up in line of battle, instead of retreating." 
 
 The story had a singular conclusion; for the English 
 
248 
 
 KNIGHTLY VIRTUES. 
 
 general, seeing that Robert the Bruce halted and offered him 
 battle, and knowing that the Scottish king was one of the best 
 generals then living, conceived that he must have received 
 some large supply of forces, and was afraid to attack him. 
 And thus Bruce had an opportunity to send off the poor 
 woman and her child, and then to retreat at his leisure, with- 
 out suffering any inconvenience from the halt. 
 
 A PROMISE IS SACRED. 
 
 EDWARD GIBBON. 
 
 SPANISH cavalier, having assassinated a Moor- 
 ish gentleman, instantly fled from justice. He 
 was vigorously pursued, but availing himself of 
 a sudden turn in the road, he leaped, unper- 
 ceived, over a garden wall. The proprietor, who 
 was also a Moor, happened to be at that time 
 walking in the garden, and the Spaniard, falling 
 upon his knees before him, acquainted him with 
 his case, and in the most pathetic manner, implored conceal- 
 ment. The Moor listened to him with compassion, and 
 generously promised his assistance. He then locked him up 
 in a summer house, and left him with the assurance that, when 
 night came, he would provide for his escape. A few hours 
 afterwards the dead body of his son was brought to him, and 
 the description of the murderer exactly agreed with the 
 appearance of the Spaniard whom he had then in custody. 
 He concealed the horror and suspicion which he felt, and 
 retiring to his chamber, he remained there until midnight. 
 Then going privately into the garden, he opened the door of 
 the summer house, and thus accosted the cavalier : " Christian, 
 the youth whom you have murdered was my only son. Your 
 crime deserves the severest punishment. But I have solemnly 
 
QUEEN PHILIPPA AT CALAIS. 
 
 249 
 
 pledged my word not to betray you, and I disdain to violate a 
 rash engagement even with a cruel enemy." 
 
 He then conducted the Spaniard to the stables, and furnish- 
 ing him with one of his swiftest mules, " flee," said he, " while 
 the darkness of night conceals you. Your hands are polluted 
 with blood; but God is just; and I humbly thank him that 
 my faith is unspotted, and that I have resigned judgment to 
 him." 
 
 QUEEN PHILIPPA AND THE BURGHERS OF 
 
 CALAIS. 
 
 JOHN FROST. 
 
 FTER the battle of Crecy, France, August 26th, 
 1346, King Edward of England laid siege to 
 Calais, and fortified his camp in so impregnable 
 a manner that all the efforts of France proved 
 ineffectual to raise the siege or throw succors 
 into the city. The citizens, under Count Vienne, 
 their gallant Governor, made an admirable de- 
 fence. France had now put her second sickle 
 into the harvest, since Edward, with his victorious army, sat 
 down before the town. The eyes of all Europe were intent 
 on the issue. At length famine did more for Edward than 
 arms. After suffering unheard of calamities, they resolved to 
 attack the enemy's camp. They boldly sallied forth ; the Eng- 
 lish joined battle ; and after a long and desperate engagement, 
 Count Vienne was taken prisoner, and the citizens who sur- 
 vived the slaughter retired within their gates. 
 
 The command devolved upon Eustace St. Pierre, a man of 
 common birth, but of exalted virtues ; he offered to capitulate 
 with Edward, provided he permitted him to depart with his 
 life and liberty. Edward, to avoid the imputation of cruelty, 
 consented to spare the bulk of the plebeians, provided they 
 
250 KNIGHTLY VIRTUES. 
 
 delivered up to him six of their principal citizens, with halters 
 about their necks, as victims of due atonement for that spirit 
 of rebellion with which they had inflamed the vulgar. When 
 his messenger, Sir Walter Mauny, delivered the terms, con- 
 sternation and pale dismay were impressed upon every coun- 
 tenance. To a long and deadly silence deep groans suc- 
 ceeded, till Eustace St. Pierre, getting up to a little eminence, 
 thus addressed the assembly : " My friends — We are brought 
 to great straits this day. We must either yield to the terms 
 of our cruel and ensnaring conqueror, or give up our tender 
 infants, our wives and daughters, to the bloody and brutal lusts 
 of the violating soldiers. Is there any expedient left whereby 
 we may avoid the guilt and infamy of delivering those who 
 have suffered every misery with you on the one hand, or the 
 desolation and horror of a sacked city on the other? There 
 is, my friends — there is one expedient left — a gracious, an 
 excellent, a God-like expedient ! Is there any one here to 
 whom virtue is dearer than life ? Let him offer himself an 
 oblation for the safety of his people ! He shall not fail of a 
 blessed approbation from that Power who offered up His only 
 Son for the salvation of mankind." 
 
 He spoke; but a universal silence ensued. Each man 
 looked around for the example of that virtue and magnanimity 
 which all wished to approve in themselves, though they wanted 
 the resolution. 
 
 At length St. Pierre resumed, " I doubt not but that many 
 here are as ready, nay, more zealous of this martyrdom, than 
 I can be ; though the station to which I am raised, by the 
 captivity of Lord Vienne, imparts a right to be the first in 
 giving my life for your sakes. I give it freely ; I give it cheer- 
 fully. Who comes next ? " 
 
 " Your son," exclaimed a son not yet come to maturity. 
 " Ah, my child," cried St. Pierre, " I am then twice sacrificed. 
 But, no ; I have rather begotten thee a second time. Thy 
 years are few, but full, my son. The victim of virtue has 
 reached the utmost purpose and goal of mortality. Who next, 
 
QUEEN PHIL IP PA AT CALAIS. 251 
 
 my friends ? This is the hour of heroes ! " " Your kinsman," 
 cried John de Aire. " Your kinsman," cried James Wissant. 
 " Your kinsman," cried Peter Wissant. 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Sir Walter Mauny, bursting into tears, 
 " Why was not I a citizen of Calais ? " 
 
 The sixth victim was still wanting, but was quickly supplied 
 by lot, from numbers who were emulous of so ennobling an 
 example. 
 
 The keys of the city were then delivered to Sir Walter. He 
 took the six prisoners into his custody ; then ordered the gates 
 to be opened, and gave charge to his attendants to conduct 
 the remaining citizens, with their families, through the camp 
 of the English. 
 
 Before they departed, however, they desired permission to 
 take their last adieux of their deliverers. What a parting ! 
 What a scene ! They crowded, with their wives and children 
 about St. Pierre and his fellow-prisoners. They embraced — 
 they clung around — they fell prostrate before them. They 
 groaned — they wept aloud — and the joint clamor of their 
 mourning passed the gates of the city, and was heard through- 
 out the English camp. The English, by this time, were 
 apprised of what passed within Calais. They heard the voice 
 of lamentation, and their souls were touched with compassion. 
 Each of the soldiers prepared a portion of his own victuals, to 
 welcome and entertain the half-famished inhabitants ; and they 
 loaded them with as much as their present weakness was able 
 to bear, in order to supply them with sustenance by the way. 
 At length St. Pierre and his fellow victims appeared under the 
 conduct of Sir Walter and a guard. All the tents of the 
 English were instantly emptied. The soldiers poured from all 
 parts, and arranged themselves on each side, to behold and 
 contemplate, to admire this little band of patriots, as they 
 passed. They bowed down to them on all sides. They mur- 
 mured their applause of that virtue which they could not but 
 revere, even in enemies ; and they regarded those ropes, which 
 
252 KNIGHTLY VIRTUES. 
 
 they had voluntarily assumed about their necks, as ensigns of 
 greater dignity than that of the British Garter. 
 
 As soon as they had reached the presence, " Mauny," says 
 the monarch, " are these the principal inhabitants of Calais ?" 
 " They are," says Mauny. " They are not only the principal 
 men of Calais, they are the principal men of France, my lord, 
 if virtue has any share in the act of ennobling." " Were they 
 delivered peaceably ?" says Edward. " Was there no commo- 
 tion among the people ?" " Not in the least, my lord ; the 
 people would all have perished, rather than have delivered the 
 least of these to your majesty. They are self-delivered, self- 
 devoted ; and come to offer up their inestimable heads as an 
 example equivalent for the ransom of thousands." Edward 
 was secretly piqued at this reply of Sir Walter ; but he knew 
 the privilege of a British subject, and suppressed his resent- 
 ment. " Experience has ever shown," says he, " that lenity 
 only serves to invite people to new crimes. Severity, at times, 
 is indispensably necessary to compel subjects to submission, 
 by punishment and example. Go," he cried to an officer, 
 " lead these men to execution." 
 
 At this instant a sound of triumph was heard throughout 
 the camp. The Queen had just arrived with powerful re- 
 inforcements of gallant troops. Sir Walter Mauny flew to 
 receive Her Majesty, and briefly informed her of the par- 
 ticulars respecting the six victims. 
 
 As soon as she had been welcomed by Edward and his 
 court, she desired a private audience. 
 
 " My lord," said she " the question I am to enter upon is 
 not touching the lives of a few mechanics — it respects the 
 honor of the English nation ; it respects the glory of my Ed- 
 ward, my husband, my king. You think you have sentenced 
 six of your enemies to death. No, my lord, they have sen- 
 tenced themselves ; and their execution would be the execu- 
 tion of their own orders, not the orders of Edward. The 
 stage upon which they would suffer would be to them a stage 
 
QUEEN PHILIP PA AT CALAIS. 253 
 
 of honor, but a stage of shame to Edward ; a reproach on his 
 conquests ; an indelible disgrace to his name. Let us rather 
 disappoint these haughty burghers, who wish to invest them- 
 selves with glory at our expense. 
 
 "We cannot wholly deprive them of the merit of a sacrifice 
 so nobly intended, but we may cut them short of their desires. 
 In the place of that death by which their glory would be con- 
 summate, let us bury them under gifts ; let us put them to 
 confusion with applauses. We shall thereby defeat them of 
 that popular opinion which never fails to attend those who 
 suffer in the cause of virtue." 
 
 " I am convinced ; you have prevailed. Be it so," replied 
 Edward. " Prevent the execution; have them instantly before 
 us." They came ; when the Queen, with an aspect and accents 
 diffusing sweetness, thus bespoke them : — 
 
 " Natives of France, and inhabitants of Calais, you have put 
 us to a vast expense of blood and treasure in the recovery of 
 our just and natural inheritance ; but you have acted up to the 
 best of your erroneous judgment; and we admire and honor 
 in you that valor and virtue by which we are so long kept out 
 of our rightful possessions. You, noble burghers ! you, 
 excellent citizens ! though you were tenfold the enemies of 
 our person and our throne, we can feel nothing, on our part, 
 but respect and affection for you. You have been sufficiently 
 tested. We loose your chains; we snatch you from the 
 scaffold ; and we thank you for that lesson of humiliation 
 which you teach us when you show us that excellence is not 
 of blood, of title or station ; that virtue gives a dignity superior 
 to that of kings ; and that those whom the Almighty in- 
 fuses with sentiments like yours, are justly and eminently 
 raised above all human distinctions. You are now free to 
 depart to your kinsfolk, your countrymen, to all those whose 
 lives and liberties you have so nobly redeemed, provided you 
 refuse not the tokens of our esteem. Yet we would rather 
 bind you to ourselves by every endearing obligation ; and for 
 this purpose we offer to you your choice of the gifts and 
 
254 
 
 KNIGHTLY VIRTUES. 
 
 honors that Edward has to bestow. Rivals for fame, but 
 always friends to virtue, we wish that England were entitled 
 to call you her sons." " Ah, my country ! " exclaimed St. 
 Pierre ; " it is now that I tremble for you. Edward only wins 
 our cities ; but Philippa conquers hearts." 
 
 VOLNEY BECKER, THE HERO SAILOR BOY. 
 
 WILLIAM CHAMBERS. 
 
 his aid. 
 
 HILE Volney was yet a mere baby, his 
 father taught him to move and guide him- 
 self in the middle of the waves, even when 
 they were most agitated. He used to 
 throw him from the stern of the boat into 
 the sea, and encourage him to sustain him- 
 self by swimming, and only when he ap- 
 peared to be sinking did he plunge in to 
 In this way, Volney Becker, from his very cradle, 
 was taught to brave the dangers of the sea, in which, in time, 
 he moved with the greatest ease and confidence. At four 
 years of age he was able to swim a distance of three or four 
 miles after his father's vessel, which he would not enter till 
 completely fatigued. He would then catch a rope which was 
 thrown to him, and clinging to it, mount safely to the deck. 
 
 When Volney was about nine years of age, he was placed 
 apprentice in a merchant ship, in which, it appears, his father 
 sometimes sailed, and in this situation he rendered himself 
 exceedingly useful. In tempestuous weather, when the wind 
 blew with violence, tore the sails, and made the timbers creak, 
 and while the rain fell in torrents, he was not the last in 
 manceuvering. The squirrel does not skip with more agility 
 over the loftiest trees than did Volney along the stays and sail- 
 yards. When he was at the top of the highest mast, even in 
 
VOLNEY BECKER, THE HERO SAILOR BOY. 255 
 
 the fiercest storm, he appeared as little agitated as a passenger 
 stretched on a hammock. 
 
 Such was the cleverness and good temper of Volney Becker 
 that, at his twelfth year, he was judged worthy of promotion 
 in the vessel, and of receiving double his former pay. The 
 Captain of the ship on board which he served cited him as a 
 model to other boys. He did not even fear to say once, in the 
 presence of the whole crew, " If this little man continues to con- 
 duct himself with so much valor and prudence, I have no doubt 
 of his obtaining a place much above that which I now occupy." 
 
 Little Volney was very sensible to the praises that he so 
 well deserved. Although deprived of the advantages of a 
 liberal education, the general instructions he had received, and 
 his own experience had opened his mind, and he aspired, by his 
 conduct, to win the esteem and affection of those about him. He 
 was always ready and willing to assist his fellow-sailors, and 
 by his extraordinary activity, saved them in many a dangerous 
 emergency. An opportunity at length arrived, in which the 
 young sailor performed one of the most gallant actions on record. 
 
 The vessel to which Volney belonged was bound to Port-au- 
 Prince, and during this voyage his father was on board. 
 Among the passengers was a little girl, daughter of a rich 
 American merchant ; she had slipped away from her nurse, 
 who was ill and taking some repose in the cabin, and ran upon 
 deck. There, while she gazed on the wide world of waters 
 around, a sudden heaving of the ship caused her to become 
 dizzy, and she fell over the side of the vessel into the sea. 
 
 The father of Volney, perceiving the accident, darted after 
 her, and in five or six strokes he caught her by the frock. 
 While he swam with one hand to regain the vessel, and with 
 the other held the child close to his breast, Becker perceived 
 at a distance a shark advancing directly toward him. He 
 called for assistance. The danger was pressing. Every one 
 ran on deck, but no one dared go further; they contented 
 themselves with firing off several muskets, with little effect ; 
 and the animal, lashing the sea with his tail, and opening his 
 
f-^hrr-' 2Trs. ■was j*st about to sesae > In this terrible 
 
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THE CONNE TABLE DE BOURBON AND BAYARD. 259 
 
 after, Bayard found himself, a few years later, opposed in 
 mortal combat to this skillful commander, who had mean- 
 while gone over to the side of Spain. A desperate engage- 
 ment took place at Sesia, Italy, in which Bayard was mortally 
 wounded by an arrow from an arquebuse. So highly was he 
 esteemed for all noble qualities, that his death was lamented, 
 not only by the French king and nation, but also by his 
 enemies. His love of virtue was so passionate, that he was 
 wont to declare that all countries and provinces where justice 
 did not rule were mere forests filled with brigands. 
 
 Connetable. Is it the Chevalier Bayard that I see, stretched 
 upon the grass, at the foot of that tree, stricken 
 with a great wound ? Yes, it is he. Alas ! I pity 
 him. Truly, two great men perished this day by our 
 hands ; Vandenesse and he. These two Frenchmen 
 were ornaments to their country by reason of their 
 bravery. I feel that my heart is touched anew for 
 his country. But let us advance and speak to him. 
 Ah ! my poor Bayard it is with sadness that I see 
 you in this condition. 
 
 Bayard. It is with sadness also that I see you. 
 
 Connetable . I comprehend very well that you are sorry to find 
 yourself a prisoner in my hands, by the fate of war; 
 but I do not wish to consider you a prisoner. I 
 wish to treat you as a good friend, and take as much 
 pains to secure your recovery as if you were my own 
 brother. Therefore, you need not be sorry to see me. 
 
 Bayard. Alas ! Think you that I am not sorry to be under 
 
 obligations to the greatest enemy of France ? It is 
 
 i neither on account of my captivity nor of my wound 
 
 that I am sad; my time is short; death will soon 
 
 deliver me out of your hands. 
 
 Connetable. No, no, my dear Bayard, I hope that by our skill 
 and attention you will soon be restored. 
 
 Bayard. It is not that, that I long for, and I am content to die. 
 
260 KNIGHTLY VIRTUES. 
 
 Connetable. What, then do you wish ? Is it, that having been 
 vanquished, and made a prisoner in the retreat from 
 Bonnivet, you cannot reconcile yourself to your fate? 
 It is not your fault ; the others are to blame. Your 
 reputation is already well established by the perform- 
 ance of many noble deeds. The Imperialists can 
 never forget your gallant defence of Mezieres. 
 
 Bayard. As for me, I can never forget that you are the Grand 
 Connetable, a prince of the most noble blood in the 
 world, and that you are laboring, with your own 
 hands, to destroy your fatherland, and the kingdom 
 of your ancestors. 
 
 Connetable. What ! Bayard ; I praise you, and you condemn 
 me ! I pity you, and you insult me ! 
 
 Bayard. If you pity me, I pity you also ; and I feel that you 
 are more to be pitied than I. I go out of this world 
 unsullied. I have sacrificed myself to duty. I die 
 for my country and my king, esteemed by the enemies 
 of France, and regretted by all good Frenchmen. 
 Truly, my lot is worthy of envy. 
 
 Connetable. And I — I am victorious over an enemy who has 
 insulted me ; I am revenged ; I have driven him from 
 the Milanese territory ; I will make him and all 
 France feel the misfortune of driving me to extremes, 
 and losing my services. Am I to be pitied on this 
 account ? 
 
 Bayard. Yes, one is always to be pitied when one acts in 
 opposition to his duty. It were better to perish in 
 fighting for the fatherland than to vanquish and 
 triumph over it. Oh ! What horrible glory — that of 
 destroying one's own country. 
 
 Connetable. But my country has been ungrateful to me, 
 although I have rendered it great service. The king 
 has done me a great injustice; he has robbed me of 
 my entire fortune ; he has even taken from me my 
 two servants. I have been compelled to flee, in 
 
THE CONNETABLE DE BOURBON AND BAYARD. 261 
 
 order to preserve my life, which was seriously threat- 
 ened. What was to be done ? 
 
 Bayard. You should rather have endured all injuries than to 
 offend against France and the greatness of your 
 house. If you were persecuted, you could have 
 retired ; it would have been better to be poor and 
 unknown than to take up arms against your country. 
 Even in poverty and in the most wretched exile, 
 your reputation would not have been lost. 
 
 Connetable. But do you not see that vengeance and ambition 
 have joined hands and forced me to this extremity. 
 I desire that the king apologize for having treated 
 me so badly. 
 
 Bayard. To bring him to repentance, a test of patience on 
 your part is necessary, which is not less a heroic 
 virtue than courage. 
 
 Connetable. The king continuing so unjust, and allowing him- 
 self to be blinded to every sense of right, does he 
 merit an avowal of so great respect from me? 
 
 Bayard. If the king does not merit it, the country, as a whole, 
 does. The dignity of the Crown, of which you are 
 the heir, deserves it. You owe it to yourself to 
 spare France, of which you may one day become king. 
 
 Connetable. Well, I am in the wrong. I admit it ; but do you 
 not know that the best of hearts finds it hard to resist 
 bearing feelings of resentment on such occasions. 
 
 Bayard. I know it well ; but true courage consists in resisting. 
 If you are conscious of your fault, hasten to atone 
 for it. As for me, I am about to die, and I find that 
 you are more deserving of pity in your prosperity 
 than I am in my sufferings. Even if the Emperor 
 would not deceive you ; even if he were to give you 
 his sister in marriage and share France with you, 
 he could not efface the stain that dishonors your life. 
 The Connetable a rebel ! Oh! what a shame ! Listen! 
 Bayard dying as he lived, and never ceasing to speak 
 the truth. — From the French of Fenelon. 
 
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264 KNIGHTLY VIRTUES. 
 
 the service to the present moment, as worthy of the favorable notice and 
 patronage of Congress. 
 
 " I consider it an indispensable duty to close this last act of my official 
 life by commending the interests of our dearest country to the protection 
 of Almighty God, and those who have the superintendence of them to His 
 holy keeping. 
 
 " Having now finished the work assigned me, I retire from the great 
 theatre of action, and bidding an affectionate farewell to this august body, 
 under whose orders I have so long acted, I here offer t my commission 
 and take my leave of all the employments of public life." 
 
 To which the President replied : — 
 
 "Sir: The United States, in Congress assembled, receive with 
 emotions too affecting for utterance the solemn resignation of the 
 authorities under which you have led their troops with success through a 
 perilous and doubtful war. Called by your country to defend its invaded 
 rights, you accepted the sacred charge before it had formed alliances, and 
 whilst it was without funds or a government to support you. You have 
 conducted the great military contest with wisdom and fortitude, invariably 
 regarding the rights of the civil power through all disasters and changes. 
 You have, by the love and confidence of your fellow-citizens, enabled 
 them to display their martial genius and transmit their fame to posterity. 
 You have persevered till these United States, aided by a magnanimous 
 king and nation, have been enabled, under a just Providence, to close 
 the war in freedom, safety and independence, on which happy event we 
 sincerely join you in congratulations. 
 
 " Having defended the standard of liberty in this new world ; having 
 taught a lesson useful to those who inflict and those who feel oppression ; 
 you retire from the great theatre of action with the blessings of your 
 fellow-citizens ; but the glory of your virtues will not terminate with your 
 military command ; it will continue to animate remotest ages. 
 
 " We feel with you our obligations to the army in general, and will 
 particularly charge ourselves with the interests of those confidential 
 officers who have attended your person to this affecting moment. 
 
 "We join you in commending the interests of our dearest country to 
 the protection of Almighty God, beseeching him to dispose the hearts 
 and minds of its citizens to improve the opportunity afforded them of 
 becoming a happy and respectable nation. And for you we address to 
 Him our earnest prayers, that a life so beloved may be fostered with all 
 His care ; that your days may be happy as they have been illustrious, 
 and that He will finally give you that reward which this world cannot 
 give." 
 
EMIR HASSAN. 265 
 
 Which was the most splendid spectacle ever witnessed, the 
 opening feast of Prince George in London, or the resignation 
 of Washington ? Which is the noble character for after ages 
 to admire, yon fribble dancing in lace and spangles, or yonder 
 hero who sheathes his sword after a life of spotless honor, a 
 purity unreproached, a courage indomitable, and a consum- 
 mate victory ? Which of these is the true gentleman ? What 
 is it to be a gentleman ? Is it to have lofty aims, to lead a 
 pure life, to keep your honor virgin ; to have the esteem of 
 your fellow-citizens, and the love of your fireside; to bear 
 good fortune meekly ; to suffer evil with constancy ; and 
 through evil or good to maintain truth always ? Show me 
 the happy man whose life exhibits these qualities, and him we 
 will salute as a gentleman, whatever his rank may be ; show 
 me the prince who possesses them, and he may be sure of our 
 love and loyalty. 
 
 EMIR HASSAN. 
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 
 "-sTrj^gpltMIR HASSAN, of the prophet's race, 
 
 1 Asked, with folded hands, the Almighty's grace; 
 Then, within the banquet hall he sat 
 At his meal, upon the embroidered mat. 
 
 There, a slave before him placed the food, 
 Spilling, from the charger, as he stood, 
 Awkwardly, upon the Emir's breast, 
 Drops that foully stained the silken vest. 
 
 To the floor, in great remorse and dread, 
 Fell the slave, and thus, beseeching, said : 
 " Master, they who hasten to restrain 
 Rising wrath, in Paradise shall reign." 
 
 Gentle was the answer Hassan gave : 
 1 I'm not angry." " Yet," pursued the slave, 
 
266 
 
 KNTGHTL Y JVATCES. 
 
 Yet doth higher recompense belong 
 To the injured who forgives a wrong." 
 
 ' I forgive." said Hassan. '•Yet we read," 
 So the prostrate slave went on to plead, 
 
 ' That a higher seat in glory still 
 Waits the man who renders good for ill." 
 
 receive thy freedom, and behold 
 In thy hand I lay a purse oi gold : 
 Let me never fail to heed, in aught, 
 What the prophet of our God hath taught.' 
 
 A DOUBLE REWARD. 
 
 HE Prince of Conti, being highly pleased with 
 the intrepid behavior of a grenadier at the 
 siege of Phillipsburg, in 1734, threw him a 
 purse, excusing the smallncss of the sum it 
 contained as being too poor a reward for 
 such courage. Next morning the grenadier 
 went to the Prince with two diamond rings 
 and other jewels of considerable value. " Sir." 
 said he, "the gold I found in your purse I suppose you in- 
 tended for me; but these I bring back to you, having no claim 
 to them." "You have doubly deserved them by your bravery 
 and by your honesty," said the Prince, " therefore you may 
 keep them." Anonymous, 
 

 
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GERMANICUS TO HIS MUTINOUS TROOr 
 
 Walworth. [Comes behind him and stabs himP± Insolent rebel, 
 Threatening the King ! 
 
 Piers. Vengeance ! Vengeance ! 
 
 Hob. Seize the King ! 
 
 King. I must be bold. [Advancing^ My friends and loving subjects, 
 I will grant you all you ask ; you shall be free ; 
 The tax shall be repealed — all, all you wish ; 
 Your leader menaced me ; he deserved his fate. 
 Quiet your angers. On my royal word, 
 Your grievances all shall be done aw. 
 Your vassalage abolished ; a free pardon 
 Allowed to all ; so, help me, God, it shall be. 
 
 Ball. Revenge, my brethren, beseems not Ch 
 
 Send us the terms, signed with the seal of State ; 
 We will await in peace. Deceive us not ; 
 j ustiy, so to excuse your late foul deed. 
 
 King. The charter shall be drawn out. On mine honor, 
 All shall be justly done. 
 
 GERMANICUS TO HIS MUTINOUS TROOPS. 
 
 v 
 
 J- Jt&l^a^ ^ ^ e >* ear 14 A. D. the Roman soldiers of the 
 L ar Rhine mutinied on receiving the news 
 of the death of the Emperor Augustus, and 
 accession of Tiberius. According to Tacitus, 
 the following speech, by Germanicus, the 
 consul, recalled the mutinous troops to their 
 duty and restored discipline. ■ 
 
 " To this audience what name shall I give? 
 Can I call you Soldiers ? Soldiers ! You 
 who have beset with arms the son of your Emperor — confined 
 him in your trenches ? Citizens, can I call you ? You who 
 have trampled under your feet the authority of the Senate ; 
 who have violated the most awful sanctities, even those which 
 18 
 
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 and - . 
 
 DEFENCE OF FRA DEL TOR. 
 
 1. .V. WYLIE. 
 
 EGOTTATl - id been opened I 
 the s and the Duke 
 
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 I i Vai - at thout sus- 
 This ment that 
 
 La ] . -. : attack them. He 
 
 •Vt-\w'-"'«~ his ti ps and an the 
 
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 : the Pta Del Toi g 1 
 
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DEF1 _"" 
 
 had just ended their un:~ .'■■"■- - '•- 
 
 usu al . which 
 
 led into the vail _ 
 
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 of LaTrii 
 the:: 
 
 Vaudois mi 
 enemy was near. Tl 
 
 kets, knelt The sec i 
 
 the heads of the firs! rd tiro and 
 
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 cam they 
 
 were shot The next 
 
 of the attacking force fell in like" i 
 
 Vaudoisinthe near. 1 .ted 
 
 ther 1 by the fades. 
 
 In a antes a little heap f lead . 
 
 ; - - 1 .; >le the advance 
 
 the en any :n the ch 
 
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 hung the gorge in which the 
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 unable to flee, from the ei -.:-...- 
 
 i crushed - - . 
 
 Panic 4 in; and panic 
 Wedged t : r... ,- a the narr 
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 They jostled ane another a I each . ler foot 
 
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 When those at the entrance of the I :hing 
 
 result saw the crystal of the . .- 
 
 I be changed into blood . ll The Pra Dd 
 
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 SONG OF MARION S MEN. 
 
 
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 r military life 
 
 than were 
 
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280 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 We know its walls of thorny vines, 
 
 Its glades of reedy grass, 
 Its safe and silent islands 
 
 Within the dark morass. 
 
 Woe to the English soldier)', 
 
 That little dread us near ! 
 On them shall light at midnight 
 
 A strange and sudden fear ; 
 When, waking to their tents on fire, 
 
 They grasp their arms in vain, 
 And they who stand to face us 
 
 Are beat to earth again ; 
 And they who fly in terror deem 
 
 A mighty host behind, 
 And hear the tramp of thousands 
 
 Upon the hollow wind. 
 
 Then sweet the hour that brings release 
 
 From danger and from toil ; 
 We talk the battle over, 
 
 And share the battle*s spoil ; 
 The woodland rings with laugh and shout. 
 
 As if a hunt were up, 
 And woodland flowers are gathered 
 
 To crown the soldier's cup ; 
 With merry songs we mock the wind 
 
 That in the pine-top grieves, 
 And slumber long and sweetly 
 
 On beds of oaken leaves. 
 
 Well knows the fair and friendly moon 
 
 The band that Marion leads — 
 The glitter of their rifles, 
 
 The scampering of their steeds. 
 'Tis life to guide the fiery barb 
 
 Across the moonlit plain ; 
 'Tis life to feel the night-wind 
 
 That lifts his tossing mane. 
 A moment in the British camp— 
 
 A moment — and away ; 
 Back to the pathless forest, 
 Before the peep of day. 
 
COURAGE OF AN AMERICAN OFFICER. 
 
 281 
 
 Grave men there are by broad Santee, 
 
 Grave men with hoary hairs ; 
 Their hearts are all with Marion, 
 
 For Marion are their prayers. 
 And lovely ladies greet our band 
 
 With kindliest welcoming, 
 With smiles like those of Summer, 
 
 And tears like those of Spring. 
 For them we wear those trusty arms, 
 
 And lay them down no more, 
 Till we have driven the Briton 
 
 Forever from our shore. 
 
 COURAGE OF AN AMERICAN OFFICER. 
 
 * N 1777, during the American war, an officer 
 in Virginia, having unintentionally offended 
 another, received a challenge to fight a duel. 
 He answered that he would not fight, for 
 three reasons; first, not having committed 
 any fault, he would not expose his life to 
 gratify the caprice of an impetuous man; 
 secondly, that he had a wife and children who 
 were dear to him, and he would not do them 
 the injustice to run the chance of plunging them into misery; 
 and thirdly, that as his life was devoted to the service of his 
 country, it would be in violation both of moral and civil duty 
 to risk it in private quarrel. 
 
 In consequence of his refusal his antagonist posted him as 
 a coward, and he had the mortification of seeing himself 
 shunned by the officers in general. 
 
 Knowing he had not merited such disgrace, he resolved to 
 put an end to it, and having furnished himself with a large 
 hand-grenade, he went to the mess room where the officers 
 were assembled. 
 
 On his entrance they looked at him with disdain, and several 
 of them said, " we don't associate with cowards." 
 
282 
 
 PATRIOTISM 
 
 " Gentlemen/ 1 replied he, " I am no more a coward than any 
 one of you. though I am not such a tool as to forget my duty 
 to my country and to my family ; as to real danger, we shall 
 soon see who tears it the least. On saying this he lighted the 
 fusee of the grenade, and threw it among them ; then, crossing 
 his arms, he prepared to await the explosion. The affrighted 
 
 icers immediately arose and ran towards the door in the 
 atest terror and confusion, tumbling over each other in their 
 hurry to get out. The moment the room was cleared, our 
 officer threw himself Oat on the floor, and the grenade ex- 
 ded, shattering the walls and ceilings, but without doing 
 him any harm. After the explosion the fugitives ventured into 
 the room, expecting to see the officer torn to pieces ; but judge 
 their surprise and shame, on being received with a hearty 
 laugh. 
 
 From that moment they ceased to shun him, and to brand 
 him with the epithet of coward. — Anonymous, 
 
 TOUSSAINT L'OUVEKTURE. 
 
 & l!^5^|||^ J OUSS A I XT L'Ouverture, the black chieftain 
 of Hayti. was a slave on the plantation 
 " de Libertas," belonging to M. Bayou, 
 '?t\^t 'fhl When the rising of the negroes took place, 
 in 1791, he refused to join them until he 
 had aided M. Bayou and his family to 
 escape to Baltimore. The white man had 
 discovered in Toussaint many noble quali- 
 ties, and had instructed him in some of the first branches of 
 education ; and the preservation of his life was owing to the 
 s gratitude for his kindness. 
 In 1707 Toussaint L'Ouverture was appointed by the French 
 Government, Commander-in-chief of the armies of St. 
 Domingo, and as such signed the Convention with Gen. 
 Maitland. for the evacuation of the island bv the British. From 
 
TOUSSAINT EOUVERTURE. 283 
 
 this period until 1801, the island, under the government of 
 Toussaint, was happy, tranquil and prosperous. The miserable 
 attempt of Napoleon to reestablish slavery in St. Domingo, 
 although it failed in its intended object, proved fatal to the 
 negro chieftain. Treacherously seized by Le Clerc, he was 
 hurried on board a vessel by night, and conveyed to France, 
 where he was confined in a cold subterranean dungeon, at 
 Besancpn, where, in April, 1803, he died. It was the remark 
 of Godwin, in his lectures, that the West India Islands, since 
 their first discovery by Columbus, could not boast of a single 
 name which deserves comparison with that of Toussaint 
 L'Ouverture. 
 
 " Toussaint ! thou most unhappy man of men ; 
 
 Whether the whistling rustic tend his plow 
 
 Within thy hearing, or thou liest now 
 Buried in some deep dungeon's earless den ; 
 Oh, miserable chieftain ! — where and when 
 
 Wilt thou find patience ? Yet. die not ; do thou 
 
 Wear rather, in thy bonds, a cheerful brow ; 
 Though fallen thyself, never to rise again, 
 
 Live and take comfort; thou hast left behind 
 Powers that will work for thee — Air, Earth and Skies ; 
 
 There's not a breathing of the common wind 
 That will forget thee ; thou hast great allies : 
 Thy friends are exultations, agonies, 
 
 And love, and man's unconquerable mind. 
 
 William Wouosworth. 
 
 Sleep calmly in thy dungeon-tomb, 
 Beneath Besancon's alien sky, 
 
 Dark Haytien ! for the time shall come- 
 Yea, even now is nigh — 
 
 When, everywhere, thy name shall be 
 Redeemed from color's infamy ; 
 
 And men shall learn to speak of thee 
 As one of earth's great spirits, 
 
 Born in servitude, and nursed in scorn, 
 Casting aside the weary weight 
 And fetters of its low estate. 
 
284 PATRIOT 
 
 In that strong majesty of soul 
 
 Which knows no color, time, or clime ; 
 Which still hath spumed the base control 
 Of tyrants through all time ! 
 
 '.-.or hands than mine may wreathe 
 The laurel round thy brow of death, 
 And speak thy praise, as one whose word 
 A thousand fiery spirits stirred ; 
 Who crushed his t'oemen as a worm ; 
 Whose steps on human hearts fell firm ; 
 Be mine the better task to rind 
 A tribute for thy lofty mind, 
 Amidst whose gloomy vengeance shone 
 
 milder virtues, all thine own ; 
 
 glea 5 of feeling, pure and warm, 
 Like sunshine on a sky of storm, 
 Proofs that the negro's heart retains 
 
 SS amidst its chains; 
 That kindness to the wronged is never 
 
 W thout its excellent reward, 
 Holy to human-kind and ever 
 Acceptable to ( 
 
 fOHN C.REENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 DEAD ON THE FIELD OF HONOR." 
 
 !§HEOPHILE-MALO Corret de Latourd'Au- 
 vergne, a brilliant linguist and a valiant 
 soldier, surnamed T>:c First ( 
 
 v, was born at Carhaix, France, No- 
 vember 23d, 1707, and met a heroic death 
 at Oberhauser, Bavaria, June 27th, 1S00. 
 
 After quitting the college at Ouimber, 
 where he already distinguished himself by 
 his philological studies and researches, he entered the Military 
 School, and was quickly admitted to the regiment oi Black- 
 Musketeers, and soon promoted to a sub-lieutenancy. Profiting 
 by a leave of absence, in 17S1, he hurried away to Spain, where 
 he did valiant service against the English. 
 
" DEAD ON THE FIELD OF HONOR." 285 
 
 When the French Revolution broke out, he remained true 
 to the national flag", and although already a captain before 
 1789, he refused all advancement. In 1792, he was with the 
 army of the Alps, and contributed powerfully to the first vic- 
 tories over the enemies of France. He was the first to enter 
 Chambery, sword in hand, at the head of his company. 
 
 The year following he was sent to the Western Pyrennees, 
 where, though nominally a captain, he found himself at the 
 head of 8000 men. His division always formed the advance 
 guard, and soon became the terror of the enemy, by whom it 
 was styled the Infernal Column. The arrival of this corps on 
 the field of battle was always the signal for victory, the im- 
 petuosity of the men, and the rapidity of their movements 
 being irresistible. 
 
 In the intervals of inactivity, during the nineteen years of 
 his military career, he returned each time to his favorite lin- 
 guistic studies, and it was then that he composed his famous 
 Polyglot Dictionary, in which the words and idioms of forty- 
 two different languages and dialects are presented. 
 
 His last term of service was in the capacity of a substitute 
 for the twenty-second and last child, a delicate son, of his 
 friend "Le Brigant. La tour went to Paris, and obtained per- 
 mission to replace the son of his friend, and immediately after- 
 ward joined the army in Zurich. Here his valiant exploits 
 again brought him so prominently into notice that Napoleon 
 sent him a sword, with the title of " The First Grenadier of 
 France." This offer of promotion was also distasteful to him, 
 and he sent word back to Bonaparte, "Among us soldiers, there 
 is neither first nor last." He begged permission to rejoin his 
 troops in his old capacity — not as the first, but as the oldest 
 grenadier of France. 
 
 The French next invaded Germany, and six days later he 
 fell, pierced to the heart by the spear of a German Uhlan. 
 His last words were: "I die satisfied; it was my desire to 
 terminate my life thus." The whole army went into mourning, 
 and each of his soldiers contributed one day's pay toward pur- 
 
286 PA TRIO TISM. 
 
 chasing a silver urn to hold his heart, which was carried at the 
 head of his company. His sword was hung in the " Invalides," 
 at Paris, and his name remained at the head of the register of 
 the forty-sixth brigade until 1814, and every day, at roll-call, 
 the oldest sergeant responded: " Dead on the Field of Honor!" 
 
 — From the French. 
 
 ZENOBIA, QUEEN OF PALMYRA. 
 
 {A. D. 273.) 
 
 jODERN Europe has produced several illus- 
 trious women who have sustained with 
 glory the weight of empire; nor is our own 
 age destitute of such distinguished charac- 
 ters. But if we except the doubtful achieve- 
 ments of Semiramis,Zenobia is, perhaps, the 
 only female whose superior genius broke 
 through the servile indolence imposed on 
 her sex by the climate and manners of Asia. She claimed 
 her descent from the Macedonian kings of Egypt, equalled in 
 beauty her ancestor, Cleopatra, and far surpassed that princess 
 in chastity and valor. Zenobia was esteemed the most lovely, 
 as well as the most heroic of her sex. She was of a dark 
 complexion. Her teeth were of a pearly whiteness, and her 
 large black eyes sparkled with uncommon fire, tempered by 
 the most attractive sweetness. Her voice was strong and har- 
 monious. Her manly understanding was strengthened and 
 adorned by study. She was not ignorant of the Latin tongue, 
 but possessed, in equal perfection, the Greek, the Syriac and 
 the Egyptian languages. She had drawn up for her own use 
 an epitome of Oriental history, and familiarly compared the 
 beauties of Homer and Plato under the tuition of the sublime 
 Longinus. 
 
 "This accomplished woman gave her hand to Odenathus, 
 who, from a private station, raised himself to the dominion of 
 
ZENOBIA, QUEEN OF PALMYRA. 287 
 
 the East. She soon became the friend and companion of a 
 hero. In the intervals of war, Odenathus passionately de- 
 lighted in the exercise of hunting; he pursued with ardor the 
 wild beasts of the desert — lions, panthers, and bears ; and the 
 ardor of Zenobia in that dangerous amusement was not in- 
 ferior to his own. She had inured her constitution to fatigue, 
 disdained the use of a covered carriage, generally appeared on 
 horseback in a military habit, and sometimes marched several 
 miles on foot at the head of the troops. 
 
 " The success of Odenathus was, in a great measure, ascribed 
 to her incomparable prudence and fortitude. Their splendid 
 victories over the great king, whom they twice pursued as far 
 as the gates of Ctesiphon, laid the foundations of their united 
 fame and power. 
 
 " Instead of the little passions which so frequently perplex a 
 female reign, the steady administration of Zenobia was guided 
 by the most judicious maxims of policy. If it was expedient 
 to pardon, she could calm her resentment ; if it was necessary 
 to punish, she could impose silence on the voice of pity. Her 
 strict economy was accused of avarice; yet on every proper 
 occasion she appeared magnificent and liberal. She blended 
 with the popular manners of Roman princes the stately pomp 
 of the courts of Asia, and exacted from her subjects the same 
 adoration that was paid to the successors of Cyrus. 
 
 "Amidst the barren deserts of Arabia a few cultivated spots 
 rise like islands out of the sandy ocean. Even the name of 
 Tadmor or Palmyra, by its significance in the Syriac as well 
 as in the Latin language, denoted the multitude of palm trees 
 which afforded shade and verdure to that temperate region. 
 The air was pure, and the soil, watered by some invaluable 
 springs, was capable of producing fruits as well as corn. A 
 place possessed of such singular advantages, and situated at a 
 convenient distance between the Gulf of Persia and the 
 Mediterranean, was soon frequented by the caravans which 
 conveyed to the nations of Europe a considerable part of the 
 rich commodities of India. Palmyra insensibly increased into 
 
288 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 an opulent and independent city, and connecting the Roman 
 and the Parthian monarchies by the mutual benefits of com- 
 merce, was suffered to observe an humble neutrality, till, at 
 length, after the victories of Trajan, the little republic sunk 
 into the bosom of Rome, and flourished more than a hundred 
 and fifty years in the subordinate though honorable rank of a 
 colony. It was during that peaceful period, if we may judge 
 from a few remaining inscriptions, that the wealthy Palmy- 
 reans constructed those temples, palaces and porticoes of 
 Grecian architecture, whose ruins, scattered over an extent of 
 several miles, have excited the curiosity of our travelers. 
 The elevation of Odenathus and Zenobia appeared to reflect 
 new splendor on their country, and Palmyra, for awhile, stood 
 forth the rival of Rome." 
 
 The foregoing outline of the life and character of Zenobia, 
 and the brief sketch of her capital city, are from the pen of the 
 stately Gibbon, the historian of the Roman Empire. 
 
 During the course of her reign, this queen of the East was 
 accused of having ambitious designs, and we bring this article 
 to an appropriate conclusion by giving her " defence," as por- 
 trayed by another gifted writer : — 
 
 " I am charged with pride and ambition. The charge is true, 
 and I glory in its truth. Who ever achieved anything great 
 in letters, arts, or arms, who was not ambitious ? Caesar was not 
 more ambitious than Cicero. It was but in another way. All 
 greatness is born of ambition. Let the ambition be a noble 
 one, and who shall blame it ? I confess I did once aspire to 
 be queen, not only of Palmyra, but of the East. That I am. 
 I now aspire to remain so. Is it not an honorable ambition? 
 Does it not become a descendant of the Ptolemies and of 
 Cleopatra ? I am applauded by you all for what I have 
 already done. You would not it should have been less. 
 
 " But why pause here ? Is so much ambition praiseworthy, 
 and more criminal ? Is it fixed in nature that the limits of 
 this Empire should be Egypt on the one hand, the Hellespont 
 and the Euxine on the other ? Were not Suez and Armenia 
 
ZENOBIA, QUEEN OF PALMYRA. 289 
 
 more natural limits ? Or hath empire no natural limit, but is 
 broad as the genius that can devise, and the power that can 
 win. Rome has the West. Let Palmyra possess the East. 
 Not that nature prescribes this and no more. The gods pros- 
 pering, I mean that the Mediterranean shall not hem me in 
 upon the west, or Persia on the east. Longinus is right. I 
 would that the world were mine. I feel, within, the will and 
 the power to bless it, were it so. 
 
 "Are not my people happy? I look upon the past and the 
 present, upon my nearer and remoter subjects, and ask — nor 
 fear the answer — Whom have I wronged ? What province 
 have I oppressed, what city pillaged, and what region drained 
 with taxes? Whose life have I unjustly taken, or whose 
 estates have I coveted or robbed? Whose honor have I 
 wantonly assailed ? Whose rights, though of the weakest 
 and poorest, have I violated ? I dwell, where I would ever 
 dwell, in the hearts of my people. It is written in your faces, 
 that I reign not more over you than within you. The founda- 
 tion of my throne is not more power than love. 
 
 " Suppose, now, my ambition should add another province to 
 our realm. Would that be an evil ? The kingdoms already 
 bound to us, by the joint acts of ourselves and the late royal 
 Odenathus, we found discordant and at war. They are now 
 united and at peace. One harmonious whole has grown out 
 of sundered and hostile parts. At my hands they receive a 
 common justice and equal benefits. The channels of their 
 commerce have I opened, and dug them deep and sure. 
 Prosperity and plenty are in all their borders. The streets of 
 our capital bear testimony to the distant and various industry, 
 which here seeks its market. 
 
 " This is no vain boasting ; receive it not so, good friends 
 It is but the truth. 
 
 " He who traduces himself sins in the same way as he who 
 
 traduces another. He who is unjust to himself, or less than 
 
 just, breaks a law, as well as he who hurts his neighbor. I 
 
 tell you what I am, and what I have done, that your trust for 
 
 19 
 
290 
 
 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 the future may not rest upon ignorant grounds. If I am more 
 than just to myself, rebuke me. If I have overstepped the 
 modesty that becomes me, I am open to your censure, and 
 will bear it. 
 
 " But I have spoken that you may know your queen, not by 
 her acts, but by her admitted principles. I tell you, then, 
 that I am ambitious, that I crave dominion ; and while I live, 
 will reign. Sprung from a line of kings, a throne is my 
 natural seat. I love it. But I strive, too — you can bear me 
 witness that I do — that it shall be, while I sit upon it, an 
 honored, unpolluted seat. If I can, I will hang yet a brighter 
 glory around it." William Ware. 
 
 HENRY, V, AND THE HERMIT OF DREUX. 
 
 ROBERT SOUTHEY. 
 
 V^%p E passed unquestioned through the camp 
 bSHI Their heads the soldiers bent 
 
 ^hhha I n silent reverence or begged 
 SJ A blessing as he went ; 
 
 \m/m/ And so the hermit passed along, 
 
 ;-i(S&^, And reached the royal tent. 
 
 King Henry sate in his tent alone ; 
 
 The map before him lay ; 
 Fresh conquests he was planning there, 
 
 To grace the future day. 
 
 King Henry lifted up his eyes 
 
 The intruder to behold ; 
 With reverence he the hermit saw, 
 
 For the holy man was old ; 
 His look was gentle as a saint's, 
 
 And yet his eye was bold. 
 
 11 Repent thee, Henry ! of the wrongs 
 
 Which thou hast done this land ; 
 O King ! repent in time, for know 
 The judgment is at hand. 
 
HENRY, V, AND THE HERMIT OF DREUX. 291 
 
 " I have passed forty years of peace 
 Beside the river Blaise ; 
 But what a weight of woe hast thou 
 Laid on my latter days ! 
 
 " I used to see along the stream 
 The white sail gliding down, 
 That wafted food, in better times, 
 To yonder peaceful town. 
 
 " Henry ! I never now behold 
 The white sail gliding down ; 
 Famine, Disease and Death, and Thou 
 Destroy that wretched town. 
 
 " I used to hear the traveler's voice 
 As here he passed along, 
 Or maiden, as she loitered home, 
 Singing her evening song. 
 
 " No traveler's voice may now be heard ; 
 I fear he hastens by ; 
 But I have heard the village maid 
 In vain for succor cry. 
 
 " I used to see the youths row down, 
 And watch the dripping oar, 
 As pleasantly their viol's tones 
 Came softened to the shore. 
 
 " King Henry, many a blackened corpse 
 I now see floating down ! 
 Thou man of blood ! repent in time, 
 And leave this leaguered town." 
 
 " I shall go on," King Henry cried, 
 " And conquer this good land ; 
 Seestthou not, hermit, that the Lord 
 Hath given it to my hand ?" 
 
 The hermit heard King Henry speak, 
 
 And angrily looked down ; 
 His face was gentle, and for that, 
 
 More solemn was his frown. 
 
292 PA TRIO TISM. 
 
 " What if no miracle from Heaven 
 The murderer's arm control ; 
 Think you, for that, the weight of blood 
 Lies lighter on his soul ? 
 
 " Thou conqueror King, repent in time, 
 Or dread the coming woe ! 
 For, Henry, thou hast heard the threat, 
 And soon shalt feel the blow ! " 
 
 King Henry forced a careless smile, 
 As the hermit went his way ; 
 
 But Henry soon remembered him, 
 Upon his dying day. 
 
 KOSCIUSKO. 
 
 O, sacred truth ! thy triumph ceased awhile, 
 And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, 
 When leagued oppression poured to northern wars 
 Her whiskered pandoors and her fierce hussars, 
 Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 
 Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet-horn 
 Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, 
 Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man ! 
 
 Warsaw's last champion from her height surveyed, 
 Wide o'er the fields, a work of ruin laid, — 
 ' O, Heaven ! " he cried, " my bleeding country save ! 
 Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? 
 Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, 
 Rise, fellow-men ! Our country yet remains ! 
 By that dread name, we wave the sword on high ! 
 And swear for her to live ! — with her to die ! " 
 
 He said, and on the rampart-height arrayed 
 His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed ; 
 Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, 
 Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; 
 Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly — 
 Revenge or death, the watchword and reply ; 
 Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm, 
 And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm ! 
 
KOSCIUSKO. 
 
 293 
 
 In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few ! 
 
 From rank to rank your volleyed thunders flew ; 
 
 O, bloodiest picture in the book of Time, 
 
 Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime : 
 
 Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, 
 
 Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe ! 
 
 Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, 
 
 Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career ; 
 
 Hope for a season bade the world farewell, 
 
 And Freedom shrieked as Kosciusko fell ! 
 
 Thomas Campbell. 
 
 HE virtuous hero of Poland, Thaddeus Kos- 
 ciusko, was born in Lithuania, and educated 
 at Warsaw. When very young he was in- 
 formed that the Americans were preparing 
 to shake off the yoke of Britain. His 
 ardent and generous mind caught with en- 
 thusiasm the opportunity thus afforded for 
 aspiring genius, and from that moment he 
 became the devoted soldier of liberty. 
 
 His rank in the American army afforded him no oppor- 
 tunity to greatly distinguish himself. But he was regarded 
 throughout his service for all the qualities which adorn the 
 human character. His heroic valor in the field could only be 
 equaled by his moderation and affability in the walks of 
 private life. He was idolized by the soldiers for his bravery, 
 and beloved and respected by the officers for the goodness of 
 his heart and the generous qualities of his mind. 
 
 Contributing greatly, by his exertions, to the establishment 
 of the independence of America, he might have remained and 
 shared the blessings which it dispensed under the protection 
 of a chief who loved and honored him, and in the bosom of a 
 people whose independence he had so bravely fought to 
 achieve ; but Kosciusko had other views ; he had drunk deep 
 of the principles of the American revolution, and he wished to 
 procure the same advantages for his native country — for 
 Poland, which had a claim to all his efforts, to all his services. 
 
294 PA TRW TISM. 
 
 That unhappy nation groaned under a complication of evils 
 which had scarcely a parallel in history. The mass of the 
 people were the abject slaves of the nobles ; the nobles, torn 
 into factions, were alternately the instruments and the victims 
 of their powerful and ambitious neighbors. By intrigues, cor- 
 ruption and force, some of its fairest provinces had been sepa- 
 rated from the republic ; and the people, like beasts, transferred 
 to foreign despots, who were again watching a favorable 
 moment for a second dismemberment. To regenerate a people 
 thus debased; to obtain for a country thus circumstanced the 
 blessings of liberty and independence, was a work of as much 
 difficulty as danger. But to a mind like Kosciusko's, the 
 difficulty and danger of an enterprise served but as a stimulant 
 to undertake it. 
 
 The annals of these times give us no detailed account of the 
 progress of Kosciusko in accomplishing his great work from 
 the period of his return from America to the adoption of the 
 new constitution in Poland in 1791. This interval, however, 
 of apparent inaction was most usefully employed to illumine 
 the mental darkness which enveloped his countrymen ; to 
 stimulate the ignorant and bigoted peasantry with the hope of 
 a future emancipation ; to teach a proud but gallant nobility 
 that true glory is only to be found in the paths of duty and 
 patriotism. Interests the most opposed, prejudices the most 
 stubborn, and habits the most inveterate, were reconciled, dis- 
 sipated and broken by the ascendancy of his virtues and 
 example. The storm which he had foreseen, and for which he 
 had been preparing, at length burst upon Poland. A feeble 
 and unpopular government bent before its fury, and submitted 
 itself to the yoke of the Russian invader. But the natives 
 disdained to follow its example ; in their extremity every eye 
 was turned on the hero who had already fought their battles ; 
 the sage who had enlightened them ; and the patriot who had 
 set the example of personal sacrifices to accomplish the eman- 
 cipation of the people. 
 
 Kosciusko made his first campaign as brigadier-general, 
 
KOSCIUSKO. 295 
 
 under orders of Prince John Poniatowski. In the second, in 
 1794, he was appointed generalissimo of Poland, with unlimited 
 powers, until the enemy should be driven from the country. 
 
 Without funds, without magazines, without fortresses, Kos- 
 ciusko maintained his army nine months against forces in- 
 finitely superior. Poland then only existed in his camp. 
 Devotedness made up for want of resources, and courage sup- 
 plied the deficiency of arms; for the general had imparted his 
 noble character to all his soldiers. Like him, they knew no 
 danger, dreaded no fatigues, when the honor and liberty of 
 Poland were pending; like him, they endeavored to lessen the 
 sacrifices which were required of the inhabitants for national 
 independence; and their obedience to their venerated chief was 
 the more praiseworthy as it was voluntary. He held his 
 authority by no other tenure than that of his virtues. Guided 
 by his talents, and led by his valor, his undisciplined and ill- 
 armed militia charged with effect the veteran Russians and 
 Prussians. The mailed cuirassiers of the Great Frederick, for 
 the first time, broke and fled before the cavalry of Poland. 
 Hope filled the breasts of the patriots. ' After a long night, the 
 dawn of an apparently glorious day broke upon Poland., But 
 to the discerning eye of Kosciusko the light which it shed was of 
 that sickly and portentous appearance which indicated a storm 
 more dreadful than that which he had resisted. He prepared 
 to meet it with firmness, but with means entirely inadequate. 
 In addition to the advantages of numbers, of tactics, of dis- 
 cipline, and inexhaustible resources, the combined despots had 
 secured a faction in the heart of Poland. The unequal strug- 
 gle could not be long maintained, and the day at length came 
 which was to decide the fate of Poland and its hero. Heaven, 
 for wise purposes, determined that it should be the last of 
 Polish liberty; it was decided, indeed, before the battle com- 
 menced. The traitor, Pinoski, who covered with a detachment 
 the advance of the Polish army, abandoned his position to the 
 enemy and retreated. 
 
 Kosciusko was astonished but not dismayed. The dispo- 
 
296 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 sition of his army would have done honor to Hannibal. The 
 succeeding conflict was terrible. When the talents of the 
 general could no longer direct the mingled mass of combatants, 
 the arm of the warrior was brought to the aid of his soldiers. 
 He performed prodigies of valor. The fabled prowess of Ajax, 
 in defending the Grecian ships, was realized by the Polish hero. 
 Nor was he badly seconded by his troops. As long as his 
 voice could guide, or his example fire their valor, they were 
 irresistible. In this unequal contest Kosciusko was long seen, 
 and finally lost to their view. He fell, covered with wounds, 
 and a Cossack was on the point of piercing one of the best 
 hearts that ever warmed a virtuous bosom, when an officer in- 
 terposed. "Suffer him to execute his purpose," said the 
 bleeding hero; "I am the devoted soldier of my country, and 
 will not survive its liberties." The name of Kosciusko struck 
 to the heart of the Tartar, like that of Marius to the Cimbrian 
 warrior. The uplifted weapon dropped from his hand. 
 
 Kosciusko was conveyed to the dungeons of St. Petersburg ; 
 and to the eternal disgrace of the Empress Catharine, she 
 made him the object of her vengeance, when he could no 
 longer be the object of her fears. But the Emperor Paul, on 
 his accession to the throne, thought he could not grant the 
 Polish nation a more acceptable favor than to restore to 
 liberty the hero whom they regretted. He himself announced 
 to General Kosciusko that his captivity was at an end. He 
 wished him to accept, moreover, a present of fifty thousand 
 ducats of Holland; but the General refused it. Kosciusko 
 preferred rather to depend for subsistence on the recompense 
 to which his services in America had entitled him. 
 
 With this humble fortune, obtained in so honorable a way, 
 he lived for awhile in the United States ; then in France, near 
 Fontainbleau, in the family of Zeltner ; and lastly, in Switzer- 
 land. From that time he refused to take any part in the 
 affairs of his country, for fear of endangering the national 
 tranquillity, the offers that were made to him being accom- 
 panied with no sufficient guarantee. 
 
KOSCIUSKO. 297 
 
 Bonaparte often endeavored to draw Kosciusko from his 
 retirement, and once issued an address to the Poles in his 
 name ; but though the virtuous general still loved his country, 
 he knew well that its emancipation could not be achieved 
 under such auspices. Though an exile from his country, the 
 Poles still considered themselves as his children, and presented, 
 with just pride, to other nations, the model of the virtues of 
 their country — that man, so pure and upright, so great at the 
 head of an army, so modest in private life, so formidable to 
 his enemies in battle, so humane and kind to the vanquished, 
 and so zealous for the glories and independence of his country. 
 
 In the invasion of France, in 1814, some Polish regiments 
 in the service of Russia passed through the village where the 
 exiled patriot then lived. Some pillaging of the inhabitants 
 brought Kosciusko from his cottage. " When I was a Polish 
 soldier," said he, addressing the plunderers, " the property of 
 the peaceful citizen was respected." " And who art thou," 
 said an officer, " who addressest us with a tone of authority ? " 
 " I am Kosciusko." There was magic in the word. It ran 
 from corps to corps. The march was suspended. They gathered 
 round him, and gazed with astonishment and awe upon the 
 mighty ruin he presented. " Could it indeed be their hero," 
 whose name was identified with that of their country ? A 
 thousand interesting reflections burst upon their minds. They 
 remembered his patriotism, his devotion to liberty, his 
 triumphs, and his glorious fall. Their iron hearts were 
 softened, and the tear of sensibility trickled down their 
 weather-beaten faces. We can easily conceive what would be 
 the feelings of the hero himself in such a scene. His great 
 heart must have heaved with emotion, to find himself once 
 more surrounded by the companions of his glory ; and that he 
 would have been on the point of saying to them — 
 
 " Behold your general, come once more 
 To lead you on to laureled victory, 
 To fame, to freedom ! " 
 
 The delusion could have lasted but for a moment. He was 
 
298 PA TRIO TISM. 
 
 himself, alas ! a miserable cripple ; and for them, they were no 
 longer the soldiers of liberty, but the instruments of ambition 
 and tyranny. Overwhelmed with grief at the reflection, he 
 would retire to his cottage to mourn afresh over the miseries 
 of his country. 
 
 Kosciusko died at Solene, on the 15th of October, 18 17. A 
 fall from his horse, by which he was dragged over a precipice, 
 not far from Vevay, was the cause of his death. A funeral 
 service, in honor of him, was celebrated in the church of St. 
 Roche, in Paris, which was honored with the most distinguished 
 personages of every nation then in the French capital. The 
 name of Kosciusko belongs to the civilized world, and his 
 virtues to humanity. Poland laments in him a patriot whose 
 life was consecrated to the cause of her liberty and independ- 
 ence. America includes him among her illustrious defenders. 
 France and Switzerland admire him as the man of beneficence 
 and virtue ; and Russia, by whom his country was conquered, 
 never beheld a man more unshaken in his principles, or firmer 
 in adversity. — Anonymous. 
 
 TELL ON HIS NATIVE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 J. SHERIDAN KNOWLES. 
 
 ^.J^fl^NCE more I breathe the mountain air ; once more 
 I tread my own free hills ! My lofty soul 
 Throws all its fetters off in its proud flight. 
 'Tis like the new-fledged eaglet, whose strong wing 
 Soars to the sun it long has gazed upon 
 With eye undazzled. O ye mighty race, 
 That stand like frowning giants fixed to guard 
 My own proud land, why did ye not hurl down 
 The thundering avalanche when at your feet 
 The base usurper stood ? 
 
 A touch, a breath, 
 Nay, even the breath of prayer, ere now, has brought 
 Destruction on the hunter's head ; and yet 
 The tyrant passed in safety. God of heaven ! 
 
 \ 
 
TELL ON HIS NATIVE MOUNTAINS. 299 
 
 Where slept thy thunderbolts ? liberty ! 
 Thou choicest gift of Heaven, and wanting which 
 Life is as nothing, hast thou then forgot 
 Thy native home ? Must feet of slaves 
 Pollute this glorious scene ? 
 
 It cannot be ! 
 Even as the smile of heaven can pierce the depths 
 Of these dark caves, and bid the wild flowers bloom 
 In spots where man has never dared to tread, 
 So thy sweet influence still is seen amid 
 These beetling cliffs. Some hearts still beat for thee, 
 And bow alive to Heaven ; thy spirit lives ; 
 Ay, and shall live when even the very name 
 Of tyrant is forgot. 
 
 Lo ! while I gaze 
 Upon the mist that wreathes yon mountain's brow, 
 The sunbeam touches it, and it becomes 
 A crown of glory on his hoary head ; 
 Oh ! is not this a presage of the dawn 
 Of freedom o'er the world ? While kneeling thus, I vow 
 To live for freedom, or with her to die ! 
 
 Oh, with what pride I used 
 To walk these hills, and look up to my God 
 And bless him that it was so ! It was free ; 
 From end to end, from cliff to lake, 'twas free; 
 FREE as our torrents are, that leap our rocks, 
 And plow our valleys without asking leave; 
 Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow 
 In very presence of the regal sun ! 
 How happy was I in it then ! I loved 
 Its very storms ! Yes ; I have sat and eyed 
 The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled 
 To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head, 
 And think I had no master save his own ! 
 
 Ye know the jutting cliff, round which a track 
 Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow 
 To such another one, with scanty room 
 For two abreast to pass ? O'ertaken there 
 By the mountain blast, I've laid me flat along, 
 And, while gust followed gust more furiously, 
 
300 
 
 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink, 
 And I have thought of other lands, where storms 
 Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just 
 Have wished me there — the thought that mine was free 
 Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head, 
 And cried in thraldom to that furious wind, 
 *' Blow on ! this is the land <?/ LIBERTY ! " 
 
 AGAINST TAXING AMERICA. 
 
 EDMUND BURKE. 
 
 OU have an act of Parliament stating that 
 it is expedient to raise a revenue in 
 America. Sir, leave America, if she has 
 taxable matter in her, to tax herself. Be 
 content to bind America by laws of 
 trade ; you have always done it. Let 
 this be your reason for binding their 
 trade. Do not burden them by taxes; 
 you were not used to do so from the beginning. Let this be 
 your reason for not taxing. These are the arguments of states 
 and kingdoms. Leave the rest to the schools ; for there only 
 may they be discussed with safety. 
 
 But if, intemperately, unwisely, fatally, you sophisticate and 
 poison the very source of government, by urging subtle 
 deductions, and consequences odious to those who govern, 
 from the unlimited and illimitable nature of supreme sove- 
 reignty, you will teach them by these means to call that 
 sovereignty itself in question. When you drive him hard, the 
 boar will surely turn upon the hunters. If that sovereignty 
 and their freedom cannot be reconciled, which will they take? 
 They will cast your sovereignty in your face. Nobody will be 
 argued into slavery. 
 
 Sir, let the gentlemen on the other side call forth all their 
 ability ; let the best of them get up and tell me what one 
 
AGAINST TAXING AMERICA. 
 
 301 
 
 character of liberty the Americans have, and what one brand 
 of slavery they are free from, if they are bound in their 
 property and industry by all the restraints you can imagine on 
 commerce, and at the same time are made pack horses of 
 every tax you choose to impose, without the least share in 
 granting them. When they bear the burdens of unlimited 
 monopoly, will you bring them to bear the burdens of 
 unlimited revenue too ? The Englishman in America will 
 feel that this is slavery ; that it is legal slavery will be no com- 
 pensation either to his feelings or his understanding. 
 
 AGAINST BRIBERY. 
 
 DEMOSTHENES. 
 
 T were better, O Athenians ! to die ten thousand 
 deaths, than to be guilty of a servile acquies- 
 cence in the usurpations of Philip. Not only 
 is he no Greek, and no way allied to Greece, 
 but he sprang from a part of the barbarian 
 world unworthy to be named — from Mace- 
 donia — where formerly we could not find a 
 slave fit to purchase ! And why is it that the 
 insolence of this man is so tamely tolerated ? 
 Surely there must be some cause why the Greeks, who were 
 once so jealous of their liberty, now show themselves so basely 
 submissive. It is this, Athenians! They were formerly im- 
 pelled by a sentiment which was more than a match for Persian 
 gold ; a sentiment which maintained the freedom of Greece, 
 and wrought her triumphs by sea and land, over all hostile 
 powers. It was no subtle or mysterious element of success. 
 It was simply this — an abhorrence of traitors ; of all who ac- 
 cepted bribes from those princes who were prompted by the 
 ambition of subduing, or the base intent of corrupting, Greece. 
 To receive bribes was accounted a crime of the blackest dye 
 
302 PA TRIO TISM. 
 
 — a crime which called for all the severity of public justice. 
 No petitioning for mercy ; no pardon was allowed. Those 
 favorable conjunctures with which fortune oftentimes assists 
 the supine against the vigilant, and renders men, even when 
 most regardless of their interests, superior to those who exert 
 their utmost efforts, could never be sold by orator or general, 
 as in these degenerate days. Our mutual confidence, our 
 settled hatred and distrust of all tyrants and barbarians, could 
 not be impaired or turned aside by the force of money. 
 
 But now, opportunity, principles, private honor and the 
 public good, are exposed to sale as in a market ; and in ex- 
 change we have that pernicious laxity which is destroying the 
 safety, the very vitals of Greece. Let a man receive a bribe, 
 he is envied ; let him confess it, he provokes laughter ; let him 
 be convicted, he is pardoned ! His very accusation only 
 awakens resentment, so thoroughly is public sentiment cor- 
 rupted ! Richer, more powerful, better prepared than ever 
 before, we lose all our advantages through these traffickers in 
 our country's welfare. 
 
 How was it formerly ? Listen to the decree which your 
 ancestors inscribed on a brazen column erected in the citadel : 
 " Let Arthmius of Zelia, the son of Pythonox, be accounted 
 infamous, and an enemy to the Athenians and their allies, both 
 he and all his race ! " Then comes the reason of his sentence: 
 " Because he brought gold from Media into Peloponnesus." 
 This is the decree. And now, in the name of all the gods, 
 think upon it ! Think what wisdom, what dignity appeared 
 in this action of our ancestors ! This receiver of bribes they 
 declare an enemy to them and their confederates, and that he 
 and his posterity shall be infamous ! And the sentence im- 
 ported something more ; for in the laws relating to capital 
 cases it is enacted that, " when the legal punishment of a 
 man's crime cannot be inflicted, he may be put to death." And 
 it was accounted meritorious to kill him ! " Let not the in- 
 famous man," says the law, " be permitted to live ; " implying 
 that the citizen is free from guilt who executes this sentence. 
 
RIENZrS ADDRESS. 
 
 303 
 
 Such was the detestation in which bribery was held by our 
 fathers ! And hence was it that the Greeks were a terror to 
 the barbarians — not the barbarians to the Greeks ! Hence 
 was it that wars were fair and open; that battles were fought, 
 not with gold, but steel; and won, if won at all, not by treachery, 
 but by force of arms. 
 
 RIENZI'S ADDRESS. 
 
 MARY RUSSELL MITFORD. 
 
 tRIENDS : I come not here to talk ! Ye know too well 
 * The story of our thraldom — we are slaves ! 
 The bright sun rises to his course, and lights 
 A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beam 
 Falls on a slave ! — not such as, swept along 
 By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads 
 To crimson glory and undying fame ; 
 But base, ignoble slaves — slaves to a horde 
 Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords, 
 Rich in some dozen paltry villages, 
 Strong in some hundred spearmen — only great 
 In that strange spell, a name ! Each hour, dark fraud, 
 Or open rapine, or protected murder, 
 Cries out against them. But this very day, 
 An honest man, my neighbor — there he stands — 
 Was struck — struck like a dog — by one who wore 
 The badge of Ursini ! because, forsooth, 
 He tossed not high his ready cap in air, 
 Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, 
 At sight of that great ruffian ! Be we men, 
 And suffer such dishonor ? Men, and wash not 
 The stain away in blood ? Such shames are common. 
 I have known deeper wrongs. I that speak to you, 
 I had a brother once, a gracious boy, 
 Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope, 
 Of sweet and quiet joy ; there was the look 
 Of Heaven upon his face, which limners give 
 To the beloved disciple. How I loved 
 That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years; 
 Brother at once and son ! He left my side. 
 
304 
 
 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile 
 
 Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour, 
 
 The pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw 
 
 The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried 
 
 For vengeance ! Rouse, ye Romans ! rouse, ye slaves ! 
 
 Have ye brave sons ? Look, in the next fierce brawl, 
 
 To see them die ! Have ye fair daughters ? Look 
 
 To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, 
 
 Dishonored ! and if ye dare call for justice, 
 
 Be answered by the lash ! Yet this is Rome, 
 
 That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne 
 
 Of beauty ruled the world ! Yet we are Romans ! 
 
 Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman 
 
 Was greater than a king ! — and once again — 
 
 Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 
 
 Of either Brutus ! — once again, I swear, 
 
 The eternal city shall be free ! Her sons 
 
 Shall walk with princes ! 
 
 CINCINNATUS. 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 N assembly was now appointed to choose another 
 Consul, when the Senate fixed upon Quintius 
 Cincinnatus. Cincinnatus had, for some time, 
 given up all views of ambition, and retired to 
 his little farm, where the deputies of the Senate 
 found him holding the plow, and dressed in the 
 mean attire of a laboring husbandman. He 
 appeared but little elevated with the addresses 
 of ceremony, and the pompous habits they brought him ; and 
 upon declaring to him the Senate's pleasure, he testified rather 
 a concern that his aid should be wanted. He naturally pre- 
 ferred the charms of country retirement to the fatiguing splen- 
 dors of office, and only said to his wife, as they were leading 
 him away, " I fear, my Attilia, that, for this year, our little 
 
CINCINNATUS. 305 
 
 fields must remain unsown." Thus, taking a tender leave, he 
 departed for the city, where both parties were strongly inflamed 
 against each other. 
 
 The new Consul, however, was resolved to side with neither ; 
 but, by a strict attention to the interests of his country, instead 
 of gaining confidence of faction, to secure the esteem of all. 
 And having at length, by his moderation, humanity, and jus- 
 tice, restored that tranquillity to the public which he so much 
 loved himself, he again gave up the splendors of ambition, to 
 enjoy his little farm with the greater relish. ' 
 
 Cincinnatus was not long retired from his office, when a 
 fresh exigency of the State again turned all eyes upon him, 
 whom they resolved to make Dictator. Cincinnatus, the 
 only person in whom Rome could now place her dependence, 
 was found, as before, by the messengers of the Senate, laboring 
 in his little field, with cheerful industry. He was at first 
 astonished at the ensigns of unbounded power with which the 
 deputies came to invest him ; but still more at the approach 
 of the principal of the Senate, who had come out to meet him 
 on his approach. A dignity so unlooked for, however, had no 
 effect upon the simplicity or integrity of his manners; and 
 being now possessed of absolute power, and called upon to 
 nominate the Master of the Horse, he chose a poor man, named 
 Tarquilius, one who, like himself, despised riches when they 
 led to dishonor. 
 
 Upon entering the city, the Dictator put on a serene look, and 
 by his prompt measures, and the confidence which he inspired, 
 effected the complete deliverance of his country from the 
 imminent peril with which it had been threatened. Having 
 rescued a Roman army from inevitable destruction ; having 
 defeated a powerful enemy ; having taken their city, and still 
 more, and having refused any part of the spoil, he resigned 
 his dictatorship, after having enjoyed it but fourteen days. 
 The Senate would have enriched him, but he declined their 
 proffers, choosing to retire once more to his farm and his 
 cottage, content with temperance and fame. 
 20 
 
306 
 
 PATRIOTISM. 
 FATE OF THE INDIANS. 
 
 JOSEPH STORY. 
 
 N the fate of the Aborigines of our country — 
 the American Indians — there is much to 
 awaken our sympathy, and much to disturb 
 the sobriety of our judgment ; much which 
 may be urged to excuse their own atroci- 
 ties ; much in their character which betrays 
 us into an involuntary admiration. If they 
 had the vices of savage life, they had the 
 virtues also. They were true to their country, 
 to their friends, and their homes. If they forgave not an injury, 
 neither did they forget kindness. If their vengeance was terrible, 
 their fidelity and generosity were unconquerable also. Their 
 love, like their hate, stopped not on this side of the grave. 
 
 But where are they ? Where are the villages, and warriors 
 and youth ? the sachems and tribes ? the hunters and their 
 families ? They have perished ! They are consumed. The 
 wasting pestilence has not alone done the mighty work. No — 
 nor famine nor war. There has been a mightier power, a 
 moral canker, which has eaten into their heart cores — a plague, 
 which the touch of the white man communicated — a poison 
 which betrayed them into a lingering ruin. The winds of the 
 Atlantic fan not a single region which they may now call their 
 own. Already the last feeble remnants of the race are pre- 
 paring for their journey beyond the Mississippi. 
 
 I see them leave their miserable homes, the aged, the help- 
 less, the women and the warriors, " few and faint, yet fearless 
 still." The ashes are cold on their native hearths. The smoke 
 no longer curls round their lowly cabins. They move on with 
 a slow, unsteady step. The white man is upon their heels, for 
 terror or dispatch, but they heed him not. They turn to take 
 a last look of their deserted villages. They cast a last glance 
 
IRISH ALIENS. 
 
 307 
 
 upon the graves of their fathers. They shed no tears ; they 
 utter no cries; they heave no groans. There is something in 
 their hearts which passes speech. There is something in their 
 looks, not of vengeance or submission, but of hard necessity, 
 which stifles both ; which chokes all utterance ; which has no 
 aim or method. It is courage absorbed in despair. They 
 linger but for a moment. Their look is onward. They have 
 passed the fatal stream. It shall never be repassed by them — 
 no, never. Yet there lies not between us and them an im- 
 passable gulf. They know and feel that there is for them still 
 one remove further, not distant, not unseen: it is to the general 
 burial-ground of the race. 
 
 IRISH ALIENS. 
 
 RICHARD LALOR SHIEL. 
 In reply to Lord Lyndhurst (1837), who had stigmatized the Irish as aliens. 
 
 IHERE is a man of great abilities — not a 
 member of this house, but whose talents 
 and boldness have placed him in the top- 
 most place in his party — who has been 
 heard to speak of the Irish as " aliens." 
 Disdaining all imposture, and abandoning 
 all reserve, he distinctly and audaciously 
 tells the Irish people that they are not 
 entitled to the same privileges as Englishmen : that they are 
 "aliens." Aliens? Good heavens! Was Arthur, Duke of 
 Wellington, in the House of Lords, and did he not start up 
 and exclaim, "Hold! I have seen the aliens do their duty f 
 The " battles, sieges, fortunes that he has passed," ought to 
 have come back upon him. He ought to have remembered 
 that, from the earliest achievement in which he displayed that 
 military genius which has placed him foremost in the annals 
 of modern warfare, down to that last and surpassing combat, 
 
308 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 which has made his name imperishable — from Assaye to 
 Waterloo — the Irish soldiers, with whom your armies are 
 filled, were the inseparable auxiliaries to the glory with which 
 his unparalleled successes have been crowned. 
 
 Whose were the arms that drove your bayonets at Vimiera 
 through the phalanxes that never reeled in the shock of war 
 before? What desperate valor climbed the steeps and filled the 
 moats of Badajos? All, all his victories should have rushed 
 and crowded back upon his memory ; Vimiera, Badajos, Sala- 
 manca, Albuera, Toulouse ; and last of all, the greatest, 
 Waterloo. Tell me, for you were there — I appeal to the gallant 
 soldier before me {Sir Henry Hardinge), who bears, I know, a 
 generous heart in an intrepid breast — tell me, for you must 
 needs remember — on that day, when the destinies of mankind 
 were trembling in the balance, while death fell in showers; 
 when the artillery of France, leveled with the precision of the 
 most deadly science, played upon them ; when her legions, 
 incited by the voice, inspired by the example of their mighty 
 leader, rushed again and again to the onset — tell me if, for an 
 instant, when to hesitate for an instant was to be lost, the 
 " aliens" blenched ! And when, at length, the moment for the 
 last decisive movement had arrived ; when the valor, so long 
 wisely checked, was at last let loose; when, with words 
 familiar but immortal, the great captain commanded the great 
 assault — tell me if Catholic Ireland, with less heroic valor than 
 the natives of your own glorious isle, precipitated herself upon 
 the foe ! The blood of England, Scotland, Ireland flowed in 
 the same stream, drenched the same field. When the chill 
 morning dawned, their dead lay cold and stark together; in 
 the same deep pit their bodies were deposited ; the green corn 
 of spring is now breaking from their commingled dust ; the 
 dew falls from heaven upon their union in the grave ! Par- 
 takers in every peril ; in the glory shall we not be allowed to 
 participate? — and shall we be told, as a requital, that we are 
 estranged from the noble country for whose salvation our life- 
 blood was poured out? 
 
SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS AT CAPUA. 309 
 SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS AT CAPUA. 
 
 REV. ELIJAH KELLOGG. 
 
 E call me chief; and ye do well to call him 
 chief who for twelve long years has met 
 upon the arena every shape of man or beast 
 the broad Empire of Rome could furnish, 
 and who never yet lowered his arm. If 
 there be one who can say that ever, in public 
 fight or private brawl, my actions did belie 
 my tongue, let him stand forth. If there 
 be three in all your company dare face me on the bloody sands, 
 let them come on. And yet I was not always thus — a hired 
 butcher, a savage chief of still more savage men. My ances- 
 tors came from old Sparta, and settled among the vine-clad 
 rocks and citron groves of Syrasella. My early life ran quiet 
 as the brooks by which I sported; and when, at noon, I 
 gathered the sheep beneath the shade, and played upon the 
 shepherd's flute, there was a friend, the son of a neighbor, to 
 join me in the pastime. We led our flocks to the same pas- 
 ture, and partook together our rustic meal. One evening, after 
 the sheep were folded, and we were all seated beneath the 
 myrtle which shaded our cottage, my grandsire, an old man, 
 was telling of Marathon and Leuctra ; and how, in ancient 
 times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile of the mountains, 
 had withstood a whole army. I did not then know what war 
 was; but my cheeks burned, I knew not why, and I clasped the 
 knees of that venerable man, until my mother, parting the hair 
 from off my forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, and bade 
 me go to rest and think no more of those old tales and 
 savage wars. That very night the Romans landed on our coast. 
 I saw the breast that had nourished me trampled by the hoof of 
 the war horse ; the bleeding body of my father flung amidst 
 the blazing rafters of our dwelling ! To-day I killed a man in 
 
310 PA TRIO TJSM. 
 
 the arena; and when I broke his helmet clasps, behold ! he was 
 my friend. He knew me, smiled faintly, gasped, and died — 
 the same sweet smile upon his lips that I had marked, when, 
 in adventurous boyhood, we scaled the lofty cliff to pluck the 
 first ripe grapes and bear them home in childish triumph ! I 
 told the praetor that the dead man had been my friend, 
 generous and brave; and I begged that I might bear away the 
 body, to burn it on a funeral pile, and mourn over its ashes. 
 Ay ! upon my knees, amid the dust and blood of the arena, I 
 begged that poor boon, while all the assembled maids and 
 matrons, and the holy virgins they call Vestals, and the rabble 
 shouted in derision, deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see 
 Rome's fiercest gladiator turn pale and tremble at sight of that 
 piece of bleeding clay ! And the praetor drew back as I were 
 pollution, and sternly said, " Let the carrion rot; there are no 
 noble men but Romans." And so, fellow-gladiators, must you, 
 and so must I, die, like dogs. O Rome ! Rome ! thou hast 
 been a tender nurse to me. Ay! thou hast given to that poor, 
 gentle, timid shepherd lad, who never knew a harsher tone 
 than a flute note, muscles of iron and a heart of flint; taught 
 him to drive the sword through plaited mail and links of 
 rugged brass, and warm it in the marrow of his foe ; to gaze 
 into the glaring eyeballs of the fierce Numidian lion, even as a 
 boy upon a laughing girl ! And he shall pay thee back, until 
 the yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest 
 ooze thy life-blood lies curdled ! 
 
 Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are ! The strength of 
 brass is in your toughened sinews; but to-morrow some Roman 
 Adonis, breathing sweet perfume from his curly locks, shall, 
 with his lily fingers, pat your red brawn, and bet his sesterces 
 upon your blood. Hark ! hear ye yon lion roaring in his den ? 
 Tis three days since he has tasted flesh ; but to-morrow he 
 shall break his fast upon yours — and a dainty meal for him ye 
 will be! If ye are beasts, then stand here like fat oxen, waiting 
 for the butcher's knife ! If ye are men, follow me ! Strike down 
 yon guard, gain the mountain passes, and there do bloody 
 
WARREN'S ADDRESS AT BUNKER HILL. 
 
 311 
 
 work, as did your sires at old Thermopylae! Is Sparta dead? 
 Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that you do 
 crouch and cower like a belabored hound beneath his master's 
 lash ? O comrades ! Warriors ! Thracians ! if we must fight, 
 let us fight for ourselves ! If we must slaughter, let us slaughter 
 our oppressors ! If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, 
 by the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle ! 
 
 WARREN'S ADDRESS AT BUNKER HILL. 
 
 JOHN PIERPONT. 
 
 i^TAND ! the ground's your own, my braves! 
 Will ye give it up to slaves ? 
 Will ye look for greener graves ? 
 
 Hope ye mercy still ? 
 What's the mercy despots feel? 
 Hear it in the battle-peal ! 
 Read it on yon bristling steel ! 
 Ask it — ye who will. 
 
 Fear ye foes who kill for hire ? 
 Will ye to your homes retire ? 
 Look behind you — they're afire ! 
 
 And, before you, see 
 Who have done it ! From the vale 
 On they come ! — and will ye quail ? 
 Leaden rain and iron hail 
 
 Let their welcome be ! 
 
 In the God of battles trust ! 
 Die we may — and die we must ; 
 But oh, where can dust to dust 
 
 Be consigned so well, 
 As where heaven its dews shall shed 
 On the martyred patriot's bed, 
 And the rocks shall raise their head, 
 
 Of his deeds to tell. 
 
312 PA TRIO TISM. 
 
 "A TIME TO PRAY AND A TIME TO FIGHT." 
 
 ETER John Gabriel Muhlenburg was born in 
 
 the village of Trappe, Montgomery County, 
 
 Pa., October ist, 1746. He was the son of 
 
 Rev. Henry Melchior Muhlenburg, d. d., the 
 
 founder of the Lutheran Church in America. 
 
 His mother was the daughter of Rev. Conrad 
 
 Weiser, a celebrated officer, Indian agent and 
 
 %~ missionary. 
 
 Young Muhlenburg was dedicated in infancy to the Church, 
 
 and he was educated for the ministry partly in this country 
 
 and partly in Europe. 
 
 In order to take charge of a church to which he was called, 
 in Virginia (this colony being then under Episcopal control), 
 he went to London, in 1772, to receive ordination from an 
 English bishop. 
 
 On his return to America, he assumed ministerial duties at 
 Woodstock, Va., where he soon became a leading spirit among 
 those who opposed British oppression. In 1774 he was chair- 
 man of the Committee of Safety in his county, and was also 
 elected a member of the House of Burgesses. At the close 
 of 1775 he was chosen colonel of a Virginia regiment, and 
 gave up his pastoral charge. His farewell sermon was on the 
 duties men owe to their country. He said that, in the lan- 
 guage of Holy Writ, "there was a time for all things ; a time 
 to preach and a time to pray, but those times had passed 
 away;" and then, in a voice that roused the congregation, he 
 said, " that there was a time to fight, and that time had now 
 come!" 
 
 Then, laying aside his sacerdotal gown, he stood before his 
 flock in the full regimental dress of a Virginia colonel. 
 
 He ordered the drums to be beaten at the church door for 
 recruits, and almost his entire male audience capable of bear- 
 ing arms joined his standard. Nearly three hundred men 
 
" A TIME TO PR A Y AND A TIME TO FIGHT." 313 
 
 enlisted under his banner that day. He was in the battle at 
 Charleston, in 1776, and served with fidelity in the southern 
 campaign that year. Congress promoted him to the rank of 
 brigadier general, in February, 1776, and he was ordered to 
 take charge of all the Continental troops of the Virginia line in 
 that State. 
 
 He joined the army under Washington at Middlebrook, in 
 May following, and was with the chief in all his movements 
 until 1779, including the battles of Brandywine and German- 
 town, the sufferings at Whitemarsh and Valley Forge, the 
 conflict on the plains of Monmouth, and the capture of Stony 
 Point. At the close of that year he was directed to take 
 command of the troops in Virginia, where he was very active 
 until the attack of Cornwallis at Yorktown. 
 
 In that battle and victory General Washington participated. 
 At the close of the war he was elevated to the rank of Major 
 General. He removed to Philadelphia, and in various civil 
 capacities served that city. He was a member of the First 
 and Third Congresses, and in 1801, was elected to the United 
 States Senate. 
 
 His death occurred at his country seat, near Philadelphia, 
 on the 1st of October (the anniversary of his birth), 1807, at 
 the age of sixty-one years. 
 
 His grave is in the burying ground of the Lutheran Church 
 at Trappe, where he was baptized, and the simple monument 
 bears this inscription: — 
 
 "Sacred to the memory of General Peter Muhlenburg, born 
 October 1st, 1746; died October 1st, 1807. He was brave in 
 the field; faithful in the cabinet; honorable in all his trans- 
 actions ; a sincere friend and an honest man." 
 
 In such high esteem is his memory held in Pennsylvania 
 that, when Congress authorized the placing of two statues of 
 illustrious men from each of the original thirteen colonies, in 
 the Capitol at Washington, this Commonwealth immediately 
 selected General Muhlenburg to be one of the representatives. 
 — Life of Muhleriburg. 
 
314 PA TRIO TISM. 
 
 ROLLA'S ADDRESS TO THE PERUVIANS. 
 
 R. B. SHERIDAN. 
 
 ,Y brave associates, partners of my toil, my 
 feelings, and my fame ! Can Rolla's words 
 add vigor to the virtuous energies which 
 inspire your hearts? No ; you have judged, 
 as I have, the foulness of the crafty plea by 
 which these bold invaders would delude 
 you. Your generous spirit has compared, 
 as mine has, the motives which, in a war 
 like this, can animate their minds and ours. 
 
 They, by a strange frenzy driven, fight for power, for plunder, 
 and extended rule ; we, for our country, our altars, and our 
 homes. They follow an adventurer whom they fear, and obey 
 a power which they hate ; we serve a monarch whom we love, 
 a God whom we adore. Whene'er they move in anger, deso- 
 lation tracks their progress ! whene'er they pause in amity, 
 affliction mourns their friendship. 
 
 They boast they come but to improve our State, enlarge our 
 thoughts, and free us from the yoke of error ! Yes, they will 
 give enlightened freedom to our minds, who are themselves 
 the slaves of passion, avarice and pride. They offer us their 
 protection. Yes, such protection as vultures give to lambs — 
 covering and devouring them. 
 
 They call on us to barter all of good we have inherited and 
 proved, for the desperate chance of something better, which 
 they promise* Be our plain answer this : The throne we 
 honor is the people's choice ; the laws we reverence are our 
 brave fathers' legacy; the faith we follow teaches us to live in 
 bonds of charity with all mankind, and die with hope of bliss 
 beyond the grave. Tell your invaders this, and tell them, too, 
 we seek no change ; and least of all, such change as they 
 would bring us. 
 
PAUL REVERE' 'S RIDE. 
 PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. 
 
 H. W. LONGFELLOW. 
 
 315 
 
 ISTEN, my children, and you shall hear 
 
 Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, 
 | On the eighteenth of April in Seventy-Five : 
 i Hardly a man is now alive 
 ) Who remembers that famous day and year. 
 
 He said to his friend—" If the British march 
 By land or sea from the town to-night, 
 Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch 
 Of the North-Church tower, as a signal-light — 
 One if by land, and two if by sea ; 
 And I on the opposite shore will be, 
 5 Ready to ride and spread the alarm 
 
 Through every Middlesex village and farm, 
 For the country-folk to be up and to arm." 
 
 Then he said good-night, and with muffled oar 
 
 Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, 
 
 Just as the moon rose over the bay, 
 
 Where swinging wide at her moorings lay 
 
 The Somerset, British man-of-war : 
 
 A phantom ship, with each mast and spar 
 
 Across the moon, like a prison-bar, 
 
 And a huge, black hulk, that was magnified 
 
 By its own reflection in the tide. 
 
 Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street 
 Wanders and watches with eager ears, 
 Till in the silence around him he hears 
 The muster of men at the barrack-door, 
 The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet. 
 And the measured tread of the grenadiers 
 Marching down to their boats on shore. 
 
 Then he climbed to the tower of the church. 
 Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, 
 To the belfry-chamber overhead, 
 And startled the pigeons from their perch 
 
3 1 G PA TRIO TISM. 
 
 On the sombre rafters, that round him made 
 Masses and moving shapes of shade — 
 Up the light ladder, slender and tall, 
 To the highest window in the wall, 
 Where he paused to listen and look down 
 A moment on the roofs of the quiet town, 
 And the moonlight flowing over all. 
 
 Beneath, in the church-yard, lay the dead 
 In their night encampment on the hill, 
 Wrapped in silence so deep and still, 
 That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, 
 The watchful night wind, as it went 
 Creeping along from tent to tent, 
 And seeming to whisper, " All is well ! " 
 A moment only he feels the spell 
 Of the place and the hour, the secret dread 
 Of the lonely belfry and the dead ; 
 For suddenly all his thoughts are bent 
 On a shadowy something far away, 
 Where the river widens to meet the bay — 
 A line of black, that bends and floats 
 On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. 
 
 Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, 
 
 Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride, 
 
 On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. 
 
 Now he patted his horse's side, 
 
 Now gazed on the landscape far and near — 
 
 A hurry of hoofs in a village street, 
 
 A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, 
 
 And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark 
 
 Struck out by a steed that flies fearless and fleet : 
 
 That was all ! And yet, through the gloom and the light, 
 
 The fate of a nation was riding that night ; 
 
 And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, 
 
 Kindling the land into flame with its heat. 
 
 It was twelve by the village clock, 
 
 When he crossed the bridge into Medford town ; 
 
 He heard the crowing of the cock, 
 
 And the barking of the farmer's dog, 
 
 And felt the damp of the river fog, 
 
 That rises when the sun goes down. 
 
PAUL REVERE' S RIDE. 317 
 
 It was one by the village clock, 
 
 When he rode into Lexington. 
 
 He saw the gilded weathercock 
 
 Swim in the moonlight as he passed, 
 
 And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, 
 
 Gaze at him with a spectral glare, 
 
 As if they already stood aghast 
 
 At the bloody work they would look upon. 
 
 It was two by the village clock 
 When he came to the bridge in Concord town. 
 He heard the bleating of the flock, 
 And the twitter of birds among the trees, 
 And felt the breath of the morning breeze 
 Blowing over the meadows brown. 
 And one was safe and asleep in his bed 
 Who at the bridge would be first to fall, 
 Who that day would be lying dead, 
 Pierced by a British musket-ball. 
 
 You know the rest. In the books you have read 
 How the British regulars fired and fled — 
 How the farmers gave them ball for ball, 
 From behind each fence and farmyard-wall, 
 Chasing the red-coats down the lane, 
 Then crossing the fields to emerge again 
 Under the trees at the turn of the road, 
 And only pausing to fire and load. 
 
 So through the night rode Paul Revere ; 
 
 And so through the night went his cry of alarm 
 
 To every Middlesex village and farm ; 
 
 A cry of defiance and not of fear ; 
 
 A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, 
 
 And a word that shall echo forevermore ! 
 
 For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, 
 
 Through all our history, to the last, 
 
 In the hour of darkness and peril and need, 
 
 The people will waken and listen to hear 
 
 The hurrying hoof-beat of that steed, 
 
 And the midnight message of Paul Revere. 
 
318 PA TRIO TISM. 
 
 TELESILE, THE HEROINE OF NANCY. 
 
 N the year 1476, Charles the Bold, Duke 
 of Burgundy, laid siege to the town of 
 Nancy, capital of the Duchy of Lorraine. 
 In the absence of the young Duke, Rene 
 II, who had gone to raise troops among the 
 enemies of Charles, the town and its little 
 garrison were left in charge of a brave and 
 patriotic Governor, who had an only daughter 
 named Telesile. It is with the noble con- 
 duct of this heroic young girl that our story has chiefly 
 to do. 
 
 Charles the Bold, who ought rather to have been called the 
 Rash, or the Furious, from his headlong and violent disposi- 
 tion, had sought to erect a kingdom within the dominions of 
 his great rival, Louis XI, of France. To extend his power, he 
 had overrun provinces which, as soon as his strong hand was 
 withdrawn, took the first opportunity to revolt against him. 
 Lorraine was one of these ; and he now appeared before the 
 walls of Nancy, resolved to punish its inhabitants, whom he 
 regarded as rebels. 
 
 But, thanks to the Governor and his heroic daughter, the 
 city held out bravely, both against the assaults of his soldiers 
 and the threats and promises with which he tried to induce a 
 surrender. While the Governor directed and encouraged the 
 defenders, Telesile inspired their wives and daughters. 
 
 " Let us do," she cried, " as did the women of Beauvais, 
 when this same cruel Charles laid siege to their town. Mothers 
 armed themselves ; young girls seized whatever weapons they 
 could find — hatchets, broken lances — which they bound to- 
 gether with their hair, and they joined their sons and brothers 
 in the fight. They drove the invader from their walls ; and so 
 we will defeat and drive him back !" 
 
 " Put no trust in the tyrant !" said the intrepid Governor, 
 
TELESILE, the heroine of nancy. 319 
 
 addressing the people. " He is as faithless as he is cruel. He 
 has promised to spare our lives and our property if we will 
 accept him as our ruler; but be not deceived. Once within 
 our walls, he will give up to massacre and pillage the city that 
 has cost him so dear. 
 
 "But if not for your own sakes," he went on, " then for the 
 love of your rightful lord, Duke Rene, let us continue the 
 glorious struggle. Already, at the head of a brave Swiss 
 army, he is hastening to our relief. He will soon be at our 
 gates. Let us hold out till then ; or, sooner than betray our 
 trust, let us fall with our defences and be buried in the ruins 
 of our beloved city '" 
 
 Thus defended, Nancy held out until Charles, maddened 
 to a fury by so unexpected and so prolonged a resistance, 
 made a final desperate attempt to carry the town. By 
 stratagem, quite as much as by force, he succeeded in gain- 
 ing an entrance within the walls, and Nancy was at his 
 mercy. 
 
 In the flush of vengeance and success, he was for putting at 
 once all the inhabitants — men, women and children — to the 
 sword. A young maiden was brought before him. 
 
 " Barbarian !" she cried, " if we are all to perish, over whom 
 are you going to reign ?" 
 
 " Who are you, bold girl, that dare to speak to me thus ?" 
 said the astonished Charles. 
 
 "Your prisoner, and one who would prevent you from 
 adding to the list of your cruelties !" 
 
 Her beauty, her courage, and the prophetic tones in which 
 she spoke, arrested Charles' fury. 
 
 " Give up to me your Governor, whom I have sworn to 
 punish," he said, " and a portion of the inhabitants shall be 
 spared." But the Governor was her own father — for the young 
 girl was no other than Telesile. Listening to the entreaties 
 of his friends, he assumed the dress of a private citizen ; and 
 all loved the good old man too well to point him out to the 
 tyrant. 
 
320 PA TRIO TISM. 
 
 When Telesile sorrowfully reported to her father, the Duke's 
 words, he smiled. " Be of good cheer, my daughter ! " he 
 said, " I will see the Duke Charles, and try what I can do to 
 persuade him." When brought before the conqueror, he said, 
 "There is but one man who can bring the Governor to you. 
 Swear on your sword to spare all the inhabitants of the town, 
 and he shall be given up." 
 
 " That will I not ! " cried the angry Duke. "They have 
 brave J my power too long; they have scorned my offers; 
 they have laughed at my threats ; now woe to the people of 
 Nancy ! " Then turning to his officers, he commanded that 
 every tenth person should be slain, and they at once gave 
 orders for the decimation. 
 
 The inhabitants, young and old, women and infants, were 
 assembled in a line which extended through the principal streets 
 of the city; while the soldiers ransacked the houses, in order 
 to drive forth or kill any that might remain concealed. It was 
 a terrible day for the doomed city. Families clung together, 
 friends embraced friends, some weeping and lamenting, some 
 trying to comfort and sustain those who were weaker than 
 they, others calmly waiting their fate. 
 
 Then, at a word from the conqueror, a herald went forth, 
 and waving his hand before the gathered multitude, began to 
 count. Each one on whom fell the fatal number ten was to be 
 given at once to the sword. But at the outset a difficulty 
 arose. 
 
 Near the head of the line Telesile and the Governor were 
 placed ; and the devoted girl, watching the movements of the 
 herald, and hearing him count aloud, saw by a rapid glance 
 that the dreaded number was about to fall on her father. 
 Quick as thought she slipped behind him and placed herself 
 at his other side. Before the old man was aware of her object, 
 the doom which should have been his had fallen upon his 
 daughter. He stood for a moment stupefied with astonish- 
 ment and grief, then called out to the herald, " Justice ! 
 justice ! " 
 
telesile, the heroine of nancy 321 
 
 " What is the matter, old man ? " demanded the herald, 
 before passing on. 
 
 " The count is wrong ! there is a mistake ! Not her ! " 
 exclaimed the father, as the executioners were laying hands 
 upon Telesile, " take me, for I was the tenth ! " 
 
 " Not so," said Telesile calmly, " You all saw that the 
 number came to me." 
 
 " She put herself in my way — she took my place — on 
 me ! let the blow fall on me ! " pleaded the old man ; while 
 she as earnestly insisted that she was the rightly chosen 
 victim. 
 
 Amazed to see two persons striving for the privilege 
 of death at their hands, the butchers dragged them before 
 Charles the Bold, that he might decide the question between 
 them. 
 
 Charles was no less surprised on beholding once more 
 the maiden and the old man who had already appeared 
 before him, and at learning the cause of their strange 
 dispute; for he knew not yet that they were parent and 
 child. 
 
 Notwithstanding his violent disposition, the conqueror had 
 a heart which pity could sometimes touch, and he was power- 
 fully moved by the sight that met his eyes. 
 
 " I pray you hear me ! " cried Telesile, throwing herself at 
 his feet ; " I am a simple maiden ; my life is of no account ; 
 then let me die, my lord Duke! but spare, Oh, spare him, the 
 best and noblest of men, whose life is useful to all our unhappy 
 people ! " 
 
 " Do not listen to her ! " exclaimed the old man, almost too 
 much affected to* speak; "or, if you do, let her own words 
 confute her argument. You behold her courage, her piety, 
 her self-sacrifice ; and I see you are touched ! You will not, 
 you cannot destroy so precious a life ! It is I who am now 
 worthless to my people. My days are almost spent. Even if 
 you spare me, I have but a little while to live." 
 
 Then Telesile, perceiving the eyes of Charles bent upon 
 21 
 
322 PATIUOTJSi 
 
 with a ai rat ion 
 
 •• Do \ : then (ul in my ^~ 
 
 ct? I do but my simpU i plead tor my fata. 
 
 •• Yes, I a n her father," s man, moved by a sud- 
 
 [ am s My lord Duke, 
 
 rhom you have sworn I 
 1 am h< the city so isl you. Now, 
 
 et m< - . 
 A: this a multitude of people bi oke I line in w 
 
 ranged, an si iding the Govei n 
 
 lughter, made a rampart s at them, 
 
 exe us die for him! We will die Eoi oui g 
 
 ■ 
 All titie - - I the ... Charles nature was roused. 
 
 lis voice was shaken by eraot 
 "N. shall die! '* he cried. "Old man! fair 
 
 I spare your Lives; for your sale th< lives of all 
 
 eople. Nay, do not thank me; tor I have gained 
 Ige wl ch I could never fa 
 tquest — that human 
 i kingly is sweeter I 
 
 Well would it ha\ .... s could he have 
 
 . r, or ha\ shaped lis uture life 
 en. Still fired by ambition and die love of p 
 he v it Duke Rene, who now . with m\ 
 
 army to his Nancy. A battle ensued, in 
 
 . . midst of ; ox- 
 alic : ring, ill Duke entered and once m 
 ssess 
 
 is he was ho shared 
 
 i him the he - "thai day — the old man -• 
 
 and the young girl 
 from ma -tenth of 
 
 — O. It ::. .:. 
 
REGULU& TO THE ROMAN SENATE. 
 REGULUS TO THE ROMAN SENATE, 
 
 32IJ 
 
 ROE me no more — your prayers are vain, 
 
 And even the tears ye shed ; 
 
 When Regulus can lead again 
 
 The bands that once he led; 
 
 When he can raise your legions, slain 
 
 On swarthy Lybia's fatal plain 
 
 To vengeance from the dead ; 
 Then will he seek once more a home, 
 And lift a freeman's voice in Rome ! 
 
 Accursed moment ! when I woke 
 From faintness all but death, 
 
 And felt the coward conqueror's yoke 
 Like venomed serpents wreathe 
 
 Round every limb ! If lip and eye 
 
 Betrayed no sign of agony, 
 Inly I cursed my breath ! 
 
 Wherefore, of all that fought, was I 
 
 The only wretch who could not die ? 
 
 To darkness and to chains consigned, 
 The captive's blighting doom, 
 
 I recked not; could they chain the viind. 
 Or plunge the soul in gloom ? 
 
 And there they left me, dark and lone, 
 
 Till darkness had familiar grown ; 
 Then from that living tomb 
 
 They led me forth — I thought to die ; 
 
 Oh ! in that thought was ecstasy. 
 
 But no — kind Heaven had yet in store 
 
 For me, a conquered slave, 
 A jov I thought to feel no more, 
 
 Or feel but in the grave. 
 They deemed perchance my haughtier mood 
 Was quelled by chains and solitude ; 
 
 That he who once was brave — 
 Was I not brave ? — had now become 
 Estranged from honor, as from Rome 
 
324 PA TRIO TISM. 
 
 They bade me to my country bear 
 The offers these have borne ; 
 
 They would have trained my lips to swear. 
 Which never yet have sworn ! 
 
 Silent their base commands I heard ; 
 
 At length, I pledged a Roman's word, 
 Unshrinking, to return. 
 
 I go, prepared to meet the worst, 
 
 But I shall gall proud Carthage first ! 
 
 They sue for peace — I bid you spurn 
 
 The gilded bait they bear ! 
 I bid you still, with aspect stern, 
 
 War, ceaseless war, declare ! 
 Fools that they were, could not mine eye, 
 Through their dissembled calmness, spy 
 
 The struggle of despair ? 
 Else had they sent this wasted frame 
 To bribe you to your country's shame ? 
 
 Your land — I must not call it mine — 
 
 No country has the slave ; 
 His father's name he must resign, 
 
 And e'en his father's grave ; 
 But this not now — beneath her lies 
 Proud Carthage and her destinies ; 
 
 Her empire o'er the wave 
 Is yours ; she knows it well — and you 
 Shall know, and make her feel it, too ! 
 
 Ay, bend your brows, ye ministers 
 Of coward hearts, on me ! 
 
 Ye know, no longer it is hers, 
 The empire of the sea ; 
 
 Ye know her fleets are far and few, 
 
 Her bands a mercenary crew ; 
 And Rome, the bold and free, 
 
 Shall trample on her prostrate towers. 
 
 Despite your weak and wasted powers. 
 
 One path alone remains for me ; 
 
 My vows were heard on high. 
 Thy triumph, Rome, / shall not see, 
 
 For I return to die. 
 
THE YOUNG TYROLESE. 
 
 325 
 
 Then tell me not of hope or life ; 
 
 I have in Rome no chaste, fond wife, 
 
 No smiling progeny. 
 One word concentres, for the slave, 
 Wife, children, country, all — The Grave. 
 
 Rev. T. Dale. 
 
 THE YOUNG TYROLESE. 
 
 MISS AGNES STRICKLAND. 
 
 MONG the gallant band of patriots that rallied so 
 bravely around the standard of Andrew Hofer, 
 there was not a more devoted champion of free- 
 dom than Gustavus Rosen. Placed by birth and 
 fortune beyond the cares incidental to poverty, 
 and blessed in the society of a beloved wife and 
 two amiable children, Rosen had passed the 
 meridian of his days in tranquil happiness; mis- 
 fortune had been a stranger to his dwelling, till the invasion 
 of the French army poured the red tide of war, with remorse- 
 less fury, into the once peaceful valleys of the Tyrol. All that 
 was dear and lovely lay crushed beneath the steps of the con- 
 queror ; the voice of woe and wailing was heard throughout 
 the land; mothers mourned for their children, children for 
 their parents. 
 
 The sound of busy, cheerful labor ceased on the plain. The 
 joyous voice of childhood was hushed. The note of the shep- 
 herd's pipe was heard no more, as he led his fleecy care from the 
 fold. The chime of Sabbath bells no longer swelled with hal- 
 lowed melody upon the breeze, summoning the inhabitants of 
 the land to meet in the house of prayer, to mingle in one gen- 
 eral chorus of praise and grateful thanksgiving to Him from 
 whose hand all blessings flow. 
 
 Those bells were now only heard pealing forth the alarm 
 that woke terror and dismay in the hearts of the feeble and 
 
326 PA TRW TISM. 
 
 the helpless, mingling, in jangling and discordant sounds, with 
 the rolling of drums, the shrill blast of the bugle or loud 
 trumpet, and the deep roar of the artillery. The tumult of 
 war had hushed all other sounds. Panic-stricken, the Tyrolese 
 at first made no effectual effort to resist the invading army ; 
 they looked to Austria for succor; but she was unable to afford 
 them any assistance, and the hapless Tyrol fell a victim to the 
 policy of its princes. 
 
 In the hour of terror and dismay, when all had forsaken 
 her, Hofer, the village innkeeper, alone stood forward as the 
 champion of his country. Fired with patriotic zeal, he planted 
 the standard of freedom once more on his native mountains, 
 exhorting his countrymen to rally around it in defence of their 
 country's rights. The fire of patriotism was kindled, and like 
 an electric shock it flew from man to man. The thrilling cry 
 of, " Hofer and liberty ! " was repeated by every tongue. We 
 will conquer, or die in the cause of freedom! " and a thousand 
 answering echoes from the hills returned, " We will die ! " 
 Even women and children seemed inspired with the same 
 patriotic zeal, and vowed to die in defence of their country. 
 Mothers were seen leading their sons, yet striplings in years, 
 to the camp, and with their own hands arming them in the 
 cause of liberty. " It is better to die than live the slaves of 
 France ! " they said. 
 
 The standard of the Tyrolese army was committed, by 
 Hofer's own hand, to the care of the young son of Gustavus 
 Rosen, a gallant boy of sixteen, with a solemn charge to de- 
 fend it with his life. " I will defend it," replied the youth, as 
 he unfolded it to the breeze, "and where this banner falls, there 
 shall the son of Gustavus Rosen be found beside it. Death 
 only shall part us." 
 
 Three times did the brave Tyrolese, led on by Hofer, beat 
 back the invader to the frontier, and victory seemed to crown 
 them with success ; but the crafty Bavarian now poured his 
 thousands into the Tyrol, overpowering, by the force of num- 
 bers, the brave men who were left to defend their country, and 
 
THE YOUNG TYROLESE. 327 
 
 effecting that which the armies of France had been unable to 
 do alone. At this juncture Austria made peace with France, 
 and the Tyrol was ceded to Bonaparte, who demanded it 
 as one of the conditions of the treaty. Unable to defend 
 the province, the emperor yielded up the Tyrol without 
 reserve. 
 
 Hopeless, dejected, and overpowered by numbers, the unfor- 
 tunate Tyrolese were obliged to relinquish the unequal strife; 
 burning with indignation, they withdrew among the inacces- 
 sible glens and fastnesses of their native mountains, resolving 
 to perish rather than yield to the usurper's power. The 
 bravest and best of that devoted band had fallen, or were 
 carried captives across the Alps. 
 
 "Scattered and sunk, the mountain band 
 Fling the loved rifle from their hand ; 
 The soul of fight is done." 
 
 During the heat of the war Gustavus Rosen had conveyed 
 his wife and his infant daughter to a safe retreat among the 
 mountains, where, under the care of an old and faithful friend, 
 who for many years had followed the adventurous life of an 
 Alpine hunter, he knew they would be safe from the horrors 
 of the war which spared not, in its fury, either the infant or the 
 gray-haired sire. " Here, my beloved Gertrude," he said, 
 addressing his weeping partner, "you and our Theresa will 
 find safety and repose ; and although Albrecht's cot be rude 
 and homely, it is better far than our camps and leagured 
 walls." 
 
 " There is no safety where you are not," exclaimed the 
 wife of Rosen, throwing herself into his arms; "if there be 
 safety in this wild retreat, stay and share it with us." The eye 
 of the patriot soldier flashed fire ; he turned and pointed sternly 
 to the wreaths of dim smoke that rolled in heavy volumes 
 across the distant plains. " A thousand helpless mothers, with 
 their orphan children, cry for vengeance against the spoiler on 
 
328 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 yonder plain ; and shall their appeal be unheard ? " he cried 
 vehemently, grasping his sword. " See, Gertrude ! even now 
 heaven blushes with the fiery glare of yon flaming hamlet ; 
 and shall I slumber here in inglorious ease, while my country 
 demands my aid ? " 
 
 Then softening the impetuosity of his manner, he strove to 
 soothe his weeping spouse ; the patriot's sternness yielded to the 
 tenderness of the husband and father, and he fondly folded the 
 beloved objects of his solicitude to his heart. Suddenly a rifle 
 was fired. " Hark ! 'tis the signal-gun," he cried. " Gertrude, 
 that shot was fired by our gallant boy." " My child ! my 
 Heinrich ! " exclaimed the distracted mother, " Stay, my 
 husband ! " But before the sound of that rifle had ceased to 
 reverberate among the rocks, Rosen was gone ; with desperate 
 haste he pursued his perilous way, leaping from crag to crag, 
 now trusting his weight to the weak sapling that overhung 
 his path, or stemming, with nervous arm, the force of the 
 mountain torrent that would have barred his path. 
 
 Old Albrecht watched his fearful progress with silent awe, 
 then turned to soothe the grief of the disconsolate Gertrude 
 and her daughter, cheering them with the hope that 
 Rosen would soon return, at the same time bidding them wel- 
 come to his lowly roof and mountain fare. " You will be as 
 safe, dear lady," he said, " as the eagle in his eyrie on the rocks 
 above you." 
 
 The first intelligence that reached the wife of Rosen was, 
 that her husband had fallen in a desperate skirmish with the 
 French. It was the last effort made by the brave Tyrolese in 
 defence of their country. 
 
 The brave Heinrich, too, was no more ; he was found 
 stretched on the bank of a little stream at the gorge of the 
 valley, wrapped in the banner which he had sworn to defend 
 with his last drop of blood. He had faithfully fulfilled his 
 word, and the standard of freedom became the winding sheet 
 of the young hero. 
 
THE IMPRESSMENT OF AMERICANS— 1812. 329 
 
 THE IMPRESSMENT OF AMERICANS— 1812. 
 
 RICHARD RUSH. 
 
 HE impressment of our seamen by Great 
 Britain is an outrage to which we never can 
 submit without national ignominy and de- 
 basement. This crime of impressment may 
 justly be considered — posterity will so con- 
 sider it — as transcending the amount of all 
 other wrongs we have received. Ships and 
 merchandise belong to individuals, and may 
 be valued ; may be embargoed as subjects of negotiation. But 
 men are the property of the nation. In every American face 
 a part of our country's sovereignty is written. It is the living 
 emblem — a thousand times more sacred than the nation's flag 
 itself — of its character, its independence and its rights. 
 
 " But," say the British, " we want not your men ; we want 
 only our ozvn. Prove that they are yours, and we will sur- 
 render them." Baser outrage ! Most insolent indignity ! That 
 a free-born American must be made to prove his nativity to 
 those who have previously violated his liberty, else he is to be 
 held forever as a slave! That before a British tribunal — a 
 British boarding officer — a free-born American must be made 
 to seal up the vouchers of his lineage — to exhibit the records 
 of his baptism and birth ; to establish the identity that binds 
 him to his parents, to his blood, to his native land, by setting 
 forth in odious detail his size, his age, the shape of his frame, 
 whether his hair is long or cropped — his marks — like an ox or 
 a horse of the manger; that all this must be done, as the con- 
 dition of his escape from the galling thraldom of a British 
 ship ! Can we hear it, can we think of it, with any other than 
 indignant feelings at our tarnished name and nation ? 
 
 When this same insatiate foe, in the days of the Revolution, 
 landed with seventeen thousand hostile troops on our shores, 
 
330 
 
 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 the Congress of 1876 declared our independence, and hurled 
 defiance at the martial array of England ! And shall we now 
 hesitate ? Shall we bow our necks in submission ? Shall we 
 make an ignominious surrender of our birthright, under the 
 plea that we are not prepared to defend it ? No, Americans ! 
 Yours has been a pacific republic, and therefore has not ex- 
 hibited military preparations; but it is a free republic, and 
 therefore will it now, as before, soon command battalions, dis- 
 cipline, courage! Could a general of old, by only stamping 
 on the earth, raise up armies ; and shall a whole nation of free 
 men, at such a time, know not where to look for them ? The 
 soldiers of Bunker Hill, the soldiers of Bennington, the soldiers 
 of the Wabash, the seamen of Tripoli, forbid it ! 
 
 GIVE ME LIBERTY, OR GIVE ME DEATH !" 
 
 PATRICK HENRY. 
 
 PATRICK Henry was born at the family seat of 
 his father, called Studley, in Hanover county, 
 Virginia, on the 29th of May, 1736. His 
 early years gave but little promise of his 
 future greatness. At the age of ten he was 
 taken from school and placed under a private 
 tutor, to study Latin, but it soon turned out 
 *5" that he was more fond of hunting, fishing, and 
 
 idling away his time, than of study. He failed in mercantile 
 pursuits, from lack of tact and energy. At eighteen he was 
 married, but he did but little to support his wife until after his 
 twenty-fourth year. As a last resort, he studied law. He 
 applied himself diligently for six weeks, when he obtained a 
 license as an attorney, but it was not until he was employed in 
 the celebrated " Parsons Case " that he showed any signs of 
 even ordinary ability. William Wirt says, " in his plea in this 
 
"GIVE ME LIBERTY, OR GIVE ME DEATH." 331 
 
 case, his wonderful oratory beamed out for the first time in 
 great splendor." From this time to the day of his death he 
 was a marked man in the Colonies. The title of the "American 
 Demosthenes " was not undeserved, when we take into con- 
 sideration his signal success in rousing the people of his native 
 State and country to take up arms against their oppressors. 
 He served his country faithfully in her darkest hours. He 
 died, universally regretted, in the year 1799. The following 
 speech was delivered in the Virginia House of Burgesses, on 
 the 23d of March, in the year 1775 : — 
 
 " Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed by a kiss. Ask your- 
 selves how this gracious reception comports with those warlike 
 preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are 
 fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconcilia- 
 tion? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled 
 that force must be called in to win us back to our love ? Let 
 us not deceive ourselves ! 
 
 "These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last 
 arguments to which kings resort. I ask, gentlemen, what 
 means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to 
 submission? Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of 
 the world, to call for all this accumulation of armies and 
 navies ? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us ; they 
 can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and 
 rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have 
 been so long forging. And what have we to oppose them ? 
 Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying argument 
 for the last ten years. We have petitioned ; we have suppli- 
 cated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and 
 have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands 
 of the ministers and Parliament. Our petitions have been 
 slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence 
 and insult ; our supplications have been disregarded ; and we 
 have been spurned with contempt from the foot of the throne. 
 In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of 
 reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. 
 
332 PA TRIO TISM. 
 
 " If we wish to be free ; if we wish to preserve inviolate those 
 inestimable privileges for which we have been so long con- 
 tending ; if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle 
 in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have 
 pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object 
 of our contest shall be obtained, we must fight! I repeat it, sir, 
 we must fight ! An appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is 
 all that is left us. 
 
 "They tell us, sir, that we are weak — unable to cope with so 
 formidable an enemy. But when shall we be stronger ? Will 
 it be next week, or next year? Will it be when we are totally 
 disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every 
 house ? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction ? 
 Shall we acquire the means of efficient resistance by lying 
 supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of 
 hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? 
 We are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which 
 the God of Nature hath placed in our power. Three millions 
 of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty — and in such a 
 country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force 
 which our enemy can send against us. 
 
 " Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is 
 a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who 
 will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, 
 sir, is not to the strong alone ; it is to the vigilant, the active, 
 the brave. 
 
 "And again, we have no election. If we were base enough 
 to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There 
 is no retreat but in submission and slavery ! Our chains are 
 forged ! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston ! 
 The war is inevitable ! And let it come ! I repeat it, sir, let 
 it come ! ! ! It is vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen 
 may cry peace, peace ; but there is no peace. The war is 
 actually begun. The next gale that sweeps from the north 
 will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our 
 brethren are already in the field ! What is it that gentlemen 
 
A NOBLE QUEEN. 
 
 333 
 
 wish ? What would they have ? Is life so dear or peace 
 so sweet as to be purchased at the price of chains and 
 slavery ? 
 
 " Forbid it, Almighty God ! I know not what course others 
 may take, but as for me, Give me Liberty, or give me 
 death." 
 
 A NOBLE QUEEN, 
 
 FLAVIUS JOSEPHUS. 
 
 J^lp. 
 
 HILE the whole nation of the Jews were in 
 captivity, far from their native country, the 
 wife of the sovereign had offended him by 
 refusing to appear before strangers at a 
 feast, when he demanded her presence; 
 and the king having once divorced her, 
 could not recall, though desirous of so 
 doing. He was counselled to assemble 
 the most beautiful women throughout his dominions, out of 
 which he might choose his future queen. He accordingly did 
 so, and fixed on Esther, an orphan, of the tribe of Benjamin, 
 who was brought up by an uncle, one of the principal men 
 among the Jews. She was exceedingly beautiful, and mes- 
 sengers were dispatched into every nation in that wide mon- 
 archy, to order a general rejoicing, while the king feasted the 
 chief persons of the Medes and Persians a whole month, on 
 account of his marriage. 
 
 Esther was brought to the royal palace, and a diadem placed 
 upon her head, without the king's knowing what country she 
 was of. Her uncle, Mordecai, with whom she had been brought 
 up, removed from Babylon to Shushan, being every day about 
 the palace, that he might behold his niece, whom he loved as 
 a daughter. 
 
334 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 An Amalekite, who, from his station, was enemy to the Jews, 
 and bore hatred to Mordecai, was in great favor with the king; 
 and by slandering that people as vile and seditious, persuaded 
 him that it would be an act of policy to extirpate them, and in 
 the end be beneficial to the State. 
 
 Accordingly, a decree was given, and a day fixed for this 
 purpose. Mordecai sent a copy of the proclamation to Esther, 
 and besought her to petition the king. She sent him word 
 that, unless her presence was demanded, it was death to pre- 
 sent herself before him, guards always standing on each side 
 of the throne, with axes, to cut down such intruders; but de- 
 sired him to gather all the Jews at Shushan together, and to 
 fast with them ; she and her maidens would do the same; and 
 th'us she would go to the king. She, accordingly, put on 
 mourning garments, cast herself upon the earth, prayed and 
 fasted three days, at the end of which she changed her habit, 
 attired herself in rich robes, and, attended by two maids, who 
 held her train, went, with fear and confusion, into the presence 
 of the king. 
 
 But, on his looking on her with some sternness and surprise, 
 she fainted ; on which he leaped from the throne and took her 
 in his arms, bidding her be of good cheer, as that law was 
 made only for subjects, and not for a queen. But her spirits 
 were too much depressed to allow her to enter on the subject 
 she intended ; and though he assured her he would grant her re- 
 quest, to the half of his kingdom, she delayed declaring herself, 
 and only asked him, together with Haman, the Amalekite, to 
 a banquet the next day. Even then she put it off, asked them 
 a second time, and then, when the king wished her to name 
 the request, she told him of the plot to destroy herself and her 
 nation, and named Haman as the author of it. The king was, 
 at first, in some disorder, on hearing his favorite accused ; but, 
 persuaded of his vileness, he commanded him to be hung upon 
 a gallows he had that day erected for Mordecai ; and, as he 
 could not revoke a decree, which, having once passed, the laws 
 of Persia rendered irrevocable, he passed another, to encourage 
 
QUEEN ESTHER. 
 
VERRES DENOUNCED. 
 
 335 
 
 the Jews to defend themselves and slay their enemies, of which 
 75,800, chiefly Amalekites, perished that day; which was 
 commemorated among the Jews by an annual feast, called 
 Purim. Mordecai became a considerable person at court, and 
 the influence of Esther considerably bettered the state of the 
 Jews. 
 
 VERRES DENOUNCED. 
 
 CICERO. 
 
 N opinion has long prevailed, Fathers, that, in 
 public prosecutions, men of wealth, however 
 clearly convicted, are always safe. This opinion, 
 so injurious to your order, so detrimental to the 
 State, it is now in your power to refute. A 
 man is on trial before you who is rich, and who 
 hopes his riches will compass his acquittal ; but 
 whose life and actions are his sufficient condem- 
 nation in the eyes of all candid men. I speak of Caius Verres, 
 who, if he now receive not the sentence his crimes deserve, it 
 shall not be through the lack of a criminal, or a prosecutor ; 
 but through the failure of the ministers of justice to do their 
 duty. Passing over the shameful irregularities of his youth, 
 what does the praetorship of Verres exhibit, but one continued 
 scene of villainies ? The public treasure squandered, a Consul 
 stripped and betrayed, an army deserted and reduced to want, 
 a province robbed, the civil and religious rights of a people 
 trampled on ! But his praetorship in Sicily has crowned his 
 career of wickedness, and completed the lasting monument of 
 his infamy. His decisions have violated all law, all precedent, 
 all right. His extortions from the industrious poor have been 
 beyond computation. Our most faithful allies have been 
 treated as enemies. Roman citizens have, like slaves, been 
 
33G PATRIOTISM. 
 
 put to death with tortures. Men the most worthy have been 
 condemned and banished without a hearing, while the most 
 atrocious criminals have, with money, purchased exemption 
 from the punishment due to their guilt. 
 
 I ask now, Verres, what have you to advance against these 
 charges ? Art thou not the tyrant praetor, who, at no greater 
 distance than Sicily, within sight of the Italian coast, dared to 
 put to an infamous death, on the cross, that ill-fated and 
 innocent citizen, Publius Gavius Cosanus ! And what was his 
 offience? He had declared his intention of appealing to the 
 justice of his country against your brutal prosecutions ! For 
 this, when about to embark for home, he was seized, brought 
 before you, charged with being a spy, scourged and tortured. 
 In vain did he exclaim, " I am a Roman citizen ! I have 
 served under Lucius Pretius, who is now at Panormus, and 
 who will attest my innocence! " Deaf to all remonstrance, 
 remorseless, thirsting for innocent blood, you ordered the 
 savage punishment to be inflicted ! While the sacred words, 
 " I am a Roman citizen," were on his lips — words which, in 
 the remotest regions, are a passport to protection — you ordered 
 him to death, to a death upon the cross. 
 
 O liberty ! O sound once delightful to every Roman ear ! 
 O sacred privilege of Roman citizenship ! once sacred, now 
 trampled on. Is it come to this ? Shall an inferior magistrate, 
 a governor, who holds his whole power of the Roman people, 
 in a Roman province, within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, 
 torture, and put to an infamous death, a Roman citizen ? Shall 
 neither the cries of innocence expiring in agony, the tears of 
 pitying spectators, the majesty of the Roman Commonwealth, 
 nor the fear of the justice of his country, restrain the merciless 
 monster, who, in the confidence of his riches, strikes at the 
 very root of liberty, and sets mankind at defiance ? And shall 
 this man escape ? Fathers, it must not be ! It must not be, 
 unless you would undermine the very foundations of social 
 safety, strangle justice, and call down anarchy, massacre and 
 ruin on the Commonwealth. 
 
HERVE KIEL. 
 HERVE RIEL. 
 
 337 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 1 cr%s^ 
 
 the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, 
 Did the English fleet fight the French — woe to France ! 
 
 And the thirty- first of May, helter skelter through the blue, 
 
 Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks 
 pursue, 
 Came crowding, ship on ship, to St. Malo on the Ranee, 
 
 With the English fleet in view. 
 
 'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full 
 
 chase, 
 First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Dam- 
 freville ; 
 Close on him fled, great and small, 
 Twenty-two good ships in all ; 
 And they signalled to the place, 
 " Help the winners of the race ! 
 Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick — or quicker 
 
 still, 
 Here's the British can and will !" 
 
 Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leaped on 
 
 board — 
 1 Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass ?" 
 
 laughed they ; 
 ' Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred 
 
 and scored, 
 Shall the ' Formidable' here, with her twelve and eighty 
 
 guns, 
 Think to make the river mouth by the single narrow way, 
 Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, 
 And with flow at fall beside ? 
 Now 'tis slackest ebb of tide. 
 Reach the mooring ! Rather say. 
 While rock stands or water runs, 
 Not a ship will leave the bay !" 
 
 22 
 
PATRIOTIS 
 
 [hen was called .a council straight ; 
 Brief and bitter the debate . 
 M Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow 
 All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, 
 For a prise to Plymouth Sound ? 
 better run the ships aground '." 
 ifreville his speech.) 
 Not a minute more to wait ! 
 Let the captains all and each 
 
 Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the % essels on the beach i 
 France must undergo her fate. 
 
 " Give the word !" But no such word 
 
 Was ever spoke or heard ; 
 For up stood, tor o for in struck, amid all these. 
 
 A captain ! a lieutenant ! a mate — first, second, thud : 
 
 No such man of mark, and meet 
 
 With his betters to compete ! 
 
 But a simple Breton sailor, pressed by Tourville for the fleet — 
 A poor, coasting pilot he, Herve Riel the Croisickese. 
 
 And " What mockery or malice have we here ?'* cries Herve Kiel . 
 *• Are you mad, you Malouins : Are you cowards, fools or rogues \ 
 
 Talk to me oi rocks and shoals, me who take the soundings, tell 
 
 On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell, 
 'Twixtthe offing here and Greve, where the river disembogues? 
 
 Are you bought by British gold ? Is it love the lying's for ? 
 
 Morn and eve. night and day. 
 
 Have 1 piloted your bay, 
 
 Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. 
 Burn the fleet and ruin France ? That were worse than fifty Hogues 
 
 Sirs, they know I speak the truth ! Sirs, believe me, there's a way ! 
 
 " Only let me lead the line, 
 
 Have the biggest ship to steer, 
 Get this • Formidable' clear, 
 Make the others follow mine, 
 
 And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well, 
 
 Right to Solidor, past Greve, 
 And there lay them safe and sound ; 
 
 And if one ship misbehave — 
 Keel so much as grate the ground — 
 Why, I've nothing but my life ; here's my head !" cries Herve Kiel. 
 
HERV& KIEL. 339 
 
 Not a minute more to wait ! 
 " Steer us in, then, small and great ! 
 
 Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron !" cried its chief, 
 " Captains, give the sailor place, 
 He is Admiral, in brief." 
 
 Still the north wind, by God's grace ; 
 
 See the noble fellow's face, 
 
 As the big ship, with a bound, 
 
 Clears the entry like a hound, 
 
 Keeps the passage, as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound ! 
 
 Safe, safe, through shoal and rock, 
 
 How they follow in a flock ! 
 
 Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, 
 
 Not a spar that comes to grief! 
 
 The peril, see, is past, 
 
 All are harbored, to the last, 
 
 And just as Herve Riel halloo's " anchor !" sure as fate, 
 
 Up the British come, too late. 
 
 So the storm subsides to calm ; 
 
 They see the green trees wave 
 
 On the heights o'erlooking Greve ; 
 Hearts that bled are staunched with balm 
 " Just our rapture to enhance, 
 Let the English rake the bay, 
 
 Gnash their teeth and glare askance 
 As they cannonade away !" 
 
 'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Ranee ! 
 
 Now hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance 1 
 
 Outburst all with one accord, 
 
 " This is Paradise for hell ! 
 Let France — let France's king, 
 Thank the man that did the thing !" 
 What a shout, and all one word, 
 
 " Herve Riel !" 
 
 As he stepped in front once more, 
 Not a symptom of surprise 
 In the frank, blue Breton eyes, 
 Just the same man as before. 
 
340 PA 1 RIO TISM. 
 
 Then said Damfreville, " My friend, 
 I must speak out at the end, 
 
 Though I find the speaking hard ; 
 Praise is deeper than the lips ; 
 You have saved the king his ships ! 
 
 You must name your own reward. 
 Faith, our sun was near eclipse ! 
 
 Demand whate'er you will, 
 
 France remains your debtor still ! 
 
 Ask to heart's content and have, or my name's not Damfreville. 
 
 Then a beam of fun outbroke 
 On the bearded mouth that spoke, 
 
 As the honest heart laughed through 
 
 Those frank eyes of Breton blue ; 
 ' Since I need must say my say, 
 
 Since on board the duty's done, 
 
 And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run ! 
 Since 'tis ask and have, I may — 
 
 Since the others go ashore — 
 Come ! A good whole holiday ! 
 
 Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!" 
 
 That he asked, and that he got — nothing more. 
 
 Name and deed alike are lost ; 
 Not a pillar or a post 
 
 In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell ; 
 Not a head in white or black 
 On a single fishing smack, 
 In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack 
 
 All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell. 
 
 Go to Paris ; rank on rank 
 
 Search the heroes flung pell-mell 
 On the Louvre, face and flank ; 
 
 You shall look long enough ere you come to Herve Riel ! 
 So, for better and for worse, 
 Herve Riel, accept my verse ! 
 
 In my verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more 
 
 Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore ! 
 
A PATRIOTS LAST APPEAL. 341 
 
 A PATRIOT'S LAST APPEAL. 
 
 OBERT Emmet, born in Cork, in 1780, an 
 ardent friend of Irish independence, at the 
 age of twenty-three placed himself at the 
 head of a party of insurgents in Dublin, 
 with a view of attacking the Castle. They 
 were, however, dispersed by the military, 
 and Emmet escaped to the Wicklow Moun- 
 tains. He might have evaded the pursuit 
 of the government officials, but an attachment for Miss Curran, 
 the daughter of the celebrated barrister, induced him to return 
 to Dublin to bid her farewell, before leaving the country. 
 
 He was apprehended, tried, and convicted of high treason. 
 The speech he delivered, in his own behalf, to the judge and 
 jury, is one of the most celebrated utterances on record. We 
 give it in full. He met his fate with courage, and won general 
 admiration for the purity and loftiness of his motives. The 
 tragic end, while still so young, of one so highly gifted and so 
 enthusiastic, has been the subject of universal regret. 
 
 " My Lords : What have I to say why sentence of death 
 should not be pronounced on me, according to law ? I have 
 nothing to say that can alter your predetermination, nor that 
 it will become me to say with any view to the mitigation of 
 that sentence which you are here to pronounce, and I must 
 abide by. But I have that to say which interests me more 
 than life, and which you have labored to destroy. I have 
 much to say why my reputation should be rescued from the 
 load of false accusation and calumny which has been heaped 
 upon it. 
 
 "Were I only to suffer death, after being adjudged guilty by 
 your tribunal, I should bow in silence, and meet the fate that 
 awaits me without a murmur ; but the sentence of law which 
 delivers my body to the executioner will, through the ministry 
 of that law, labor, in its own vindication, to consign my char- 
 
342 PA TRW TISM. 
 
 acter to obloquy ; for there must be guilt somewhere — whether 
 in the sentence of the court or in the catastrophe, posterity 
 must determine. The man dies, but his memory lives. That 
 mine may not perish — that it may live in the respect of my 
 countrymen — I seize upon this opportunity to vindicate myself 
 from some of the charges alleged against me. 
 
 "When my spirit shall be wafted to a more friendly port; 
 when my shade shall have joined the bands of those martyred 
 heroes who have shed their blood, on the scaffold and in the 
 field, in defence of my country and virtue ; this is my hope — I 
 wish that my memory and name may animate those who sur- 
 vive me, while I look down with complacency on the destruc- 
 tion of that perfidious government which upholds its domination 
 by blasphemy of the Most High, which displays its powers 
 over man as over the beasts of the forest, which sets man upon 
 his brother, and lifts his hand, in the name of God, against the 
 throat of his fellow who believes or doubts a little more, or 
 less, than the government standard — a government which is 
 steeled to barbarity by the cries of the orphans and the tears 
 of the widows which its cruelty has made. 
 
 " I swear, by the throne of Heaven, before which I must 
 shortly appear, by the blood of the murdered patriots who 
 have gone before me, that my conduct has been, through all 
 this peril and in all my purposes, governed only by the con- 
 victions which I have uttered, and no other view than that of 
 the emancipation of my country from the super-inhuman op- 
 pression under which she has so long and too impatiently 
 travailed, and that I confidently and assuredly hope, wild 
 and chimerical as it may appear, that there is still union and 
 strength in Ireland to accomplish this noble enterprise. 
 
 " My country was my idol. To it I sacrificed every selfish, 
 every endearing sentiment ; and for it I now offer up my life ! 
 I acted as an Irishman determined on delivering my country 
 from the yoke of a foreign and unrelenting tyranny, and from 
 the more galling yoke of a domestic faction, its joint partner 
 and perpetrator in the patricide, whose reward is the ignominy 
 
A PATRIOT'S LAST APPEAL. 343 
 
 of existing with an exterior of splendor and a consciousness 
 of depravity. It was the wish of my heart to extricate my 
 country from this doubly riveted despotism. I wished to place 
 her independence beyond the reach of any power on earth. I 
 wished to exalt her to that proud station in the world which 
 Providence had fitted her to fill. 
 
 "I have been charged with that importance, in the efforts to 
 emancipate my country, as to be considered the keystone of 
 the combination of Irishmen, or, as your lordship expressed 
 it, '"the life and blood of the conspiracy.' You do me honor 
 overmuch. You have given to the subaltern all the credit of 
 a superior. There are men engaged in this conspiracy 'who are 
 not only superior to me, but even to your own conceptions of 
 yourself, my Lord — men before the splendor of whose genius 
 and virtues I should bow with respectful deference, and who 
 would think themselves dishonored to be called your friends. 
 
 " Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dis- 
 honor; let no man attaint my memory by believing that I 
 could have engaged in any cause but that of my country's 
 liberty and independence, or that I could have become the 
 pliant minion of power in the oppression or the miseries of my 
 countrymen. I would not have submitted to a foreign op- 
 pressor, for the same reason that I would resist the domestic 
 tyrant; in the dignity of freedom I would have fought upon 
 the threshold of my country, and her enemies should enter 
 only by passing over my lifeless corpse. Am I, who lived but 
 for my country, and who have subjected myself to the ven- 
 geance of the jealous and wrathful oppressor, and to the 
 bondage of the grave, only to give my countrymen their rights 
 and my country her independence — am I to be loaded with 
 calumny, and not to be suffered to resent or repel it? No! 
 God forbid ! 
 
 " If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in the con- 
 cerns and cares of those who are dear to them in this transitory 
 life, O ever dear and venerated shade of my departed father, 
 look down with scrutiny on the conduct of your suffering son, 
 
Stt 
 Jflftl See tf I fcwv * mWWftHl >' 
 
 I am ww to <aflbr «y rev lifeS 
 
 <V\ > ... • - 
 
 my lamp of Kfe fc *s*r}y cxtia- 
 
 £ > . . .V s - 
 
 1 3M& «Mv> ss Vt^wa. I kawe Ka: Que re^i: 
 
 &$Mtur* fivxsft titts warM — it is die cfar : . Let 
 
 ..-:-•.' - . 
 
 . . ■ - : ■• . -■ 
 
 .fc>£>«se tkem. Lett*>«si joi s» ittv« k o6<c,:r^ ~andjv 
 
 s. .. -: - ."> . ■ 
 
 men cja «fc> ; «s6« to my character. When my csamtry sfoxll 
 ukeker place *m»g tfceKtfms oi ftf*e eartK, then, ami not 
 
 n:~ r: \ w y. ■;: y s y ; y 
 
 ^ - : v - .•.••-- ■ - "- > -'- - : : . N : 
 
 
 
 ami yaa, sir, wi» cumat be nv.^-. ^d«kfe <*§** » *c 
 
 -. ' .■.•..:..- 
 
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 ~. . . . . 
 
 yv^^vXTbepevx^as*2^ 
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a PLtA FOR JUSTICE. TO THE CUE, 
 /. PLEA OR JUV. [CC '■ 
 
 
 • 
 
 - - ' 
 
 hen 
 
 . .. 
 
 '/ ■ -.'..' ,-V '.-. - ::.-. ',.'. \' < 
 I 
 
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 ,y their martial 
 obie race that were once the 
 rVesfci. 
 
 dm people have 
 
 ?iat. 
 
 '.' '-'; r -•:".*; • - 
 
 ave 
 
 • ' - . ' - 
 
 faith and bonof :rawn into question, 
 
340 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 until now. We promised them and they trusted us. They 
 trust us still. Shall they be deceived? They would as soon 
 expect to see their rivers run upward on their sources, or the 
 sun roll back in his career, as that the United States should 
 prove false to them, and false to the word so solemnly pledged 
 by their Washington, and renewed and perpetuated by his 
 illustrious successors. 
 
 " With the existence of this people the faith of our nation, I 
 repeat it, is fatally linked. The blow which destroys them 
 quenches forever our own glory ; for, what glory can there be 
 of which a patriot can be proud, after the good name of his 
 country shall have departed ? We may gather laurels on the 
 field, and trophies on the ocean, but they will never hid- 1 this 
 foul and bloody blot upon our escutcheon. ' Remember the 
 Cherokee Nation ! ' will be answer enough to the proudest 
 boast that we can ever make — answer enough to cover with 
 confusion the face and the heart of every man among us in 
 whose bosom the last spark of grace has not been extin- 
 guished. 
 
 " I hope for better things. There is a spirit that will yet 
 save us. I trust that we shall find it here — here in this sacred 
 court; where no foul and malignant demon of party enters to 
 darken the understanding, or to deaden the heart, but where 
 all is clear, calm, pure, vital and firm. I cannot believe 
 that this honorable court, possessing the power of preser- 
 vation, will stand by and see these people stripped of their 
 property, and extirpated from the earth, while they are hold- 
 ing up to us their treaties, and claiming the fulfillment of our 
 engagements. If truth, and faith, and honor, and justice, have 
 fled from every other part of our country, we shall find 
 them here. If not, our sun has gone down in treachery, 
 blood and crime, in the face of the world ; and, instead of 
 being proud of our country, as heretofore, we may well call 
 upon the rocks and mountains to hide our shame from earth 
 and from heaven." 
 
LEPERDIT, THE TAILOR. 
 LEPERDIT, THE TAILOR. 
 
 347 
 
 M. BETHAM-EDWARDS. 
 
 EPERDIT was a poor tailor, born at Pontiby, 
 France, and raised, during the Reign of 
 Terror, to the position of Mayor of Rennes. 
 When Carrier went to Rennes, determined 
 to repeat the horrors he had just perpe- 
 trated at Nantes, he asked for a list of pro- 
 scriptions, which was drawn up and handed 
 to Leperdit to sign. " I will not sign it," 
 he said to the messenger, and immediately tore up the paper. 
 " You wish to die then ? " " It will, at least, be in the fulfill- 
 ment of my duty," he answered. He then went straight to 
 Carrier, who asked for the list. " I have torn it up," said 
 Leperdit. " Who, then, is master here — you or I ? " asked 
 Carrier, infuriated. " Neither of us : the law is master," replied 
 the tailor. " You wish me to send you to the guillotine, I 
 suppose?" "Send me!" said Leperdit. This indomitable 
 spirit staggered Carrier. Some days afterward there arrived 
 at Rennes a batch of non-juring priests. " They are beyond 
 the pale of the law," shouted Carrier. " They are not beyond 
 the pale of humanity," said Leperdit. This magnanimous 
 speech became celebrated. " I am going to Nantes," said 
 Carrier, " but I shall return." " You will find me here," the 
 tailor replied firmly. When, in 1808, Napoleon went to Nantes, 
 he was struck by the noble figure of Leperdit, and asked his 
 name. " Leperdit, the tailor." " What do the people think 
 about me ? " asked the Emperor of Leperdit. " Sire, they 
 admire you." " And what else ? " " Sire, they admire 
 you." " And after — do you mean to say they blame 
 me?" "Yes, Sire. They admire your genius and blame 
 your despotism." The Emperor tried to win him over, and 
 after an interview left him, muttering, " Iron-headed." On the 
 
348 
 
 PATRIOTISM. 
 
 second restoration, Leperdit refused to take the oath, being a 
 staunch republican. " Take care, sir," said the Prefet. " People 
 don't play with the king without paying for it." " You are 
 young, sir, to instruct me," answered Leperdit. " Will you or 
 will you not take the oath?" "Never!" "You hold your 
 head very high." " I have never done anything to make me 
 hold it down," answered the tailor. 
 
 BRUCE TO THE SCOTS, AT BANNOCKBURN. 
 
 ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 rt,^^% COTS, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
 «Jn.>§^sll=«^ Scots, wham Bruce has often led, 
 ®v\Ss-«S Welcome to your gory bed, 
 Or to glorious victory. 
 
 %m 
 
 Now's the day, and now's the hour; 
 See the front o' battle lower, 
 See approach proud Edward's power- 
 Edward ! chains and slavery ! 
 
 Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
 Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
 Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
 Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee ! 
 
 Wha for Scotland's king and law 
 Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
 Freeman stand, or freeman fa', 
 Caledonian ! on wi' me. 
 
 By oppression's woes and pains ! 
 By your sons in servile chains ! 
 We will drain our dearest veins, 
 But they shall be — shall be free ! 
 
 Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
 Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
 Liberty's in every blow ! 
 Forward ! let us do or die ! 
 
THE MONK AND THE KING. 349 
 
 THE MONK AND THE KING. 
 
 HARLES VIII marched into Florence in 1494. 
 What was to be done in the city ? It seemed to 
 be given up to the brutality and recklessness of 
 the French army. In his sermon, Savonarola 
 had said, " When you shall find yourselves in 
 these straits and tribulations, you will become 
 like drunken men, and lose all use of reason." 
 It was known that the French king was about 
 to give orders for letting loose his troops on the city ; a panic 
 naturally seized the hearts of all men, when suddenly some 
 voice cried, in the assembly of the councillors, " Go to the 
 servant of God, Fra Girolome ! Go to the servant of God, Fra 
 Girolome ! " Instantly it seemed a wonder that they had not 
 gone to him before ; a sudden change, a gleam of hope, came 
 over the minds of the council. A deputation hastened breath- 
 lessly to St. Marks ; there they found the prior with all the 
 brethren, before the altar, praying that God would avert the 
 impending calamity from the city. The mysterious prior had 
 adopted some precautions for the defence of his priory. Those 
 who sought him found him calm, clear and prepared. He 
 listened to the deputation announcing the catastrophe which 
 would that night take place. " My children," said he to his 
 brethren of the monastery, " take some refreshment ; then come 
 back to the choir, and continue in prayer till I return." He 
 took one of the brethren for a companion, and went forth to 
 the palace of De Medici, to see the king. He could not 
 enter ; the sentinel thrust him rudely back ; the barons had 
 given orders that no one should see the king. He returned to 
 his convent, and gave himself up some little time, with 
 earnestness, to prayer. Presently he said he heard a voice 
 within him saying, " Return, return ; you shall enter." He 
 spoke to his companion, the friar ; " Let us go back to the 
 palace ; I will confer with the king." The singular story tells 
 
350 PA TRIO TISAI. 
 
 us, this time he passed not only the first but a second and a 
 third sentry ; he reached the chamber of the king, who stood 
 armed, ready for the accomplishment of his nefarious design. 
 
 The undaunted friar went immediately up to the presence 
 of the king, holding up his crucifix to the king's lips. " This," 
 he said, " represents Christ, the Majesty who made Heaven 
 and earth. Do not respect me ; respect Him ! " The language 
 he then adopted, so far as it has come to us, seems not to have 
 been very humble. He reminded the king that God was the 
 God of armies, to punish and bring ruin on unjust and impious 
 kings ; reminded him that by his pride he was brought to 
 covet what was not his, and menaced him with a certain retri- 
 bution if he persisted. It seems strange to us ; the king was 
 in possession, and the city had lost its wits, but he was 
 humbled, and bowed before the voice which we have heard a 
 short time before ringing through the great dome. The friar 
 dealt with him as one prince might deal with another. He 
 took him by the hand, saying : " Know, sacred majesty, that 
 the will of God is that you depart from this city without 
 making any change in its affairs ; otherwise you and your 
 army will lose your lives here." And Charles left the city. 
 Mischief enough had been done ; but probably the mischief 
 averted was something like that which decimated Milan 
 beneath the sword of Barbarossa. 
 
 The chief nobles of Charles acknowledged that the salvation 
 of Florence was the work of Savonarola. — Eclectic Review. 
 
'* J hope Z shall altenus possess firmness and virtue enough to maintain 
 what I consider the most enviable of all titles, the character of an 'Honest 
 Man.' " 
 
 — Washington. 
 
PART VI. 
 
 INTEGRITY. 
 
 DEFENCE OF SOCRATES. 
 
 O'er all shone out the great Athenian sage, 
 
 And father of Philosophy ! 
 
 Tutor of Athens ! he, in every street, 
 
 Dealt priceless treasure ; goodness his delight, 
 
 Wisdom his wealth, and glory his reward. 
 
 Deep through the human heart, with playful art, 
 
 His simple questions stole, as into truth 
 
 And serious deeds he led the laughing race ; 
 
 Taught moral life ; and what he taught he was. 
 
 James Thomson. 
 
 TRANGE, indeed, would be my conduct, O 
 men of Athens, when, as I conceive and 
 imagine, God orders me to fulfill the philos- 
 opher's mission of searching into myself and 
 other men, I were to desert my post through 
 fear of death, or any other fear ; that would, 
 r< <*r* indeed, be strange, and I might justly be 
 
 arraigned in court for denying the existence of the gods, if 
 I obeyed the oracle because I was afraid of death ; then I 
 should be fancying I was wise, when I was not wise. For 
 this fear of death is, indeed, the pretence of wisdom, being 
 23 353 
 
354 INTEGRITY. 
 
 the appearance of knowing the unknown ; since no one knows 
 whether death, which he in his fear apprehends to be the 
 greatest evil, may not be the greatest good. Is there not 
 here conceit of knowledge which is a disgraceful sort of igno- 
 rance ? 
 
 And this is the point in which, as I think, I am superior 
 to men in general, and in which I might, perhaps, fancy 
 myself wiser than other men — that, whereas I know but 
 little of the world below, I do not suppose that I know ; 
 but I do know, that injustice and disobedience to a better, 
 whether God or man, is evil and dishonorable, and I will 
 never fear or avoid a possible good rather than a certain 
 evil. 
 
 And, therefore, should you say to me, " Socrates, this time 
 we will not mind Anytus, and will let you off, but upon one 
 condition, that you are not to inquire and speculate in this way 
 any more, and that if you are caught doing this again, you 
 shall die " — if this were the condition on which you let me go, 
 I should reply, " Men of Athens, I honor and love you ; but 
 I shall obey God rather than you, and while I have life and 
 strength I shall never cease from the practice and teaching of 
 philosophy, and exhorting, after my manner, any one whom I 
 meet. * * * * I do nothing but go about persuading 
 you all, old and young alike, not to take thought for your 
 persons or properties, but first and chiefly to take care about 
 the greatest improvement of the soul. I tell you that virtue 
 is not given by money, but that from virtue come money and 
 every other good of man, public as well as private. This is 
 my teaching ; and if this is the doctrine which corrupts the 
 youth, my influence is ruinous, indeed. But, if any one says 
 that this is not my teaching, he is speaking an untruth. Where- 
 fore, O men of Athens, I say to you, do as Anytus bids or not 
 as Anytus bids, and either acquit me or not ; but, whatever 
 you do, know that I shall never alter my ways, not even if I 
 have to die many times." 
 
 — Extract from Translation of Prof. Jowctt, of Oxford, 
 
THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 
 THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 
 
 355 
 
 " My hair is gray, but not with years, 
 Nor grew it white 
 In a single night, 
 As men's have grown from sudden fears : 
 
 My limbs are bowed, though not with toil, 
 But rusted with a vile repose, 
 
 For they have been a dungeon's spoil, 
 And mine has been the fate of those 
 
 To whom the goodly earth and air 
 
 Are bann'd, and barr'd — forbidden fare ; 
 But this was for my father's faith 
 I suffered chains and courted death ; 
 That father perished at the stake 
 For tenets he would not forsake ; 
 And for the same his lineal race 
 In darkness found a dwelling place. 
 
 ****** 
 
 There are seven pillars of Gothic mould, 
 In Chillon's dungeons deep and old; 
 
 ****** 
 
 And in each pillar there is a ring, 
 And in each ring there is a chain ; 
 
 That iron is a cankering thing, 
 
 For in these limbs its teeth remain 
 
 With marks that will not wear away." 
 
 RANCOIS de Bonnivard, " the Prisoner of 
 Chillon," son of Louis de Bonnivard, a 
 native of Seysel, and Signeur of Lunes, 
 was born in 1496; he was educated at 
 Turin. In 15 10 his uncle, Jean Reine de 
 Bonnivard, resigned to him the Priory of 
 Saint Victor, which adjoins the walls of 
 Geneva, and which was a considerable living. 
 
 This great man — Bonnivard is deserving of this title, from 
 the greatness of his soul, the uprightness of his heart, the 
 nobility of his intentions, the wisdom of his counsels, the 
 
356 INTEGRITY. 
 
 courage of his actions, the extent of his learning, and the bril- 
 liancy of his wit — this great man, who will ever excite the 
 admiration of all those whom an heroic virtue can move, will 
 always inspire the most lively gratitude in the hearts of all 
 those Genevese who love Geneva. Bonnivard was always one 
 of its firmest supporters ; to protect the liberty of the Republic, 
 he never feared to lose his own; he forgot his ease; he 
 despised his wealth ; he neglected nothing to render certain 
 the happiness of the country that he dignified by his adoption; 
 from that moment he loved it as the most zealous of its citizens, 
 he served it with the intrepidity of a hero, and he wrote its 
 history with the simplicity of a philosopher and the ardor of a 
 patriot. 
 
 While yet young, he stood boldly forward as the defender 
 of Geneva against the Duke of Savoy and the Bishop. 
 
 In 1 5 19 Bonnivard became the martyr of his country; the 
 Duke of Savoy having entered Geneva with five hundred 
 men, Bonnivard feared the resentment of the Duke ; he wished 
 to return to Flabourg to avoid the consequences ; but he was 
 betrayed by two men who accompanied him, and conducted 
 by order of the prince to Grolee, where, for two years, he 
 remained a prisoner. 
 
 Bonnivard was unfortunate in his travels. As his misfor- 
 tunes had not slackened his zeal for Geneva, he was always a 
 redoubtable enemy to those who threatened it, and accord- 
 ingly was likely to be exposed to their violence. He was met, 
 in 1530, in the Jura, by thieves, who stripped him of every- 
 thing and placed him again in the hands of the Duke of Savoy. 
 This prince caused him to be confined in the Chateau of 
 Chillon, where he remained without being submitted to any 
 interrogatory until 1536; he was then delivered by the Bernois, 
 who took possession of the Pays de Vaud. 
 
 On leaving his captivity he had the pleasure of finding 
 Geneva free and reformed. The republic hastened to testify 
 its gratitude to him, and to recompense him for the evils 
 which he had suffered. It received him as a citizen of the 
 
THE PRISONER OF CHILL ON. 357 
 
 town, in the month of June, 1536; it gave him the house for- 
 merly occupied by the Vicar-General, and assigned to him a 
 pension of two hundred gold crowns, as long as he should 
 sojourn in Geneva. He was admitted into the Council of 
 Two Hundred, in 1537. Bonnivard did not now cease to 
 be useful ; after having labored to make Geneva free, he 
 succeeded in making it tolerant. He prevailed upon the 
 Council to accord to the Calvinists and peasants a suffi- 
 cient time for examining the propositions which were made 
 to them ; he succeeded by his meekness. Christianity is 
 always preached with success when it is preached with 
 charity. 
 
 Bonnivard was learned. His manuscripts, which are in the 
 Public Library, proved that he had diligently studied the 
 Latin classics, and that he had penetrated the depths of 
 theology and history. 
 
 This great man loved the sciences, and thought they would 
 constitute the glory of Geneva; accordingly he neglected 
 nothing to establish them in this rising town. In 155 1 he 
 gave his library to the public ; it was the commencement of 
 the Public Library. And a portion of his books are those 
 rare and beautiful editions of the fifteenth century which are 
 still seen here. Finally, during the same year, this good 
 patriot appointed the republic his heir, on condition that it 
 would employ his wealth in supporting the college, the 
 foundation of which was being projected. 
 
 It appears that Bonnivard died in 1570; but this cannot be 
 certified, as an hiatus occurs in the necrology from the month 
 of July, 1570, to 1 571. 
 
 " Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place, 
 
 And thy sad floor an altar — for 'twas trod, 
 
 Until his very steps have left a trace, 
 
 Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, 
 
 By Bonnivard ! May none those marks efface ! 
 For they appeal from tyranny to God !" 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
358 IXTEGRITY. 
 
 "THESE ARE MY JEWELS." 
 
 ORNELIA, the author of the words, "These are 
 my jewels," was the youngest daughter of Scipio 
 Africanus and Amelia, his wife. 
 
 She was born, 189 b. c. No details have 
 reached us of her early life. In her twentieth 
 year she married Tiberius Gracchus. The union 
 was a happy one, and they were blessed with 
 many noble children. The public duties of Tiberius claimed 
 his time so, that the care of the household and the educa- 
 tion of the family devolved on Cornelia, and she acquitted 
 herself of the duties in a manner which has elicited the ad- 
 miration of the world. She maintained in herself, and trans- 
 mitted to her sons, the grand and severe virtues of her 
 father. 
 
 She had inherited from Scipio a love of the arts and for litera- 
 ture; and her letters, which were extant in the time of Quin- 
 tilian, two hundred years afterwards, were often cited with 
 praise by him and by Cicero. The reply of Cornelia to a 
 wealthy lady of Campania, who requested to see her jewels, is 
 the most remarkable incident in her career. Adroitly turning 
 the conversation upon subjects likely to interest and detain her 
 visitor till her boys came home from school, she said, as they 
 entered the room, " These are my jewels ! " 
 
 Probably no character was ever so clearly drawn in so few 
 words; no delineation can possibly add to it. If nothing were 
 known of Cornelia but this one speech, the historian would 
 still find a sufficient basis upon which to construct the whole 
 character. 
 
 The three obscure lines in which Valerius Maximus narrates 
 the anecdote, have probably been as often translated, as widely 
 repeated, and as deeply reflected upon, as any other three which 
 have been left us by the writers of antiquity. 
 
 — Anonymous. 
 
WHILE I LIVE, I SHALL DESPISE THE PERIL." 359 
 
 "WHILE I 
 
 LIVE, I SHALL 
 PERIL!" 
 
 DESPISE THE 
 
 iW^&QjX OHX Philpot Curran, born in 1750, died in 
 1 8i 7, was the greatest barrister of his time. 
 The following is an extract from a speech 
 made in the Irish Parliament, of which he 
 was a member, in 1790. He had overcome 
 an impediment in his speech — that of stutter- 
 ing, and had acquired a slow, distinct utter- 
 ance. His powers of mimicry, ridicule, and 
 sarcasm gave him great success in the cross- 
 examination of witnesses. In the Irish Parliament, which he 
 entered in 1783, he took the side of the opposition, which was 
 headed by the celebrated Henry Grattan. Curran was a firm 
 and steadfast friend of Ireland, and his country still re- 
 members him with grateful veneration. 
 
 " We have been told this night, in express words, that the 
 man who dares to do his duty to his country in this house may 
 expect to be attacked without these walls by the military gen- 
 tlemen of the castle. If the army had been directly or 
 indirectly mentioned in the course of the debate, this extraor- 
 dinary declaration might be attributable to the confusion of a 
 mistaken charge or an absurd vindication; but, without 
 connection with the subject, a new principle of government is 
 advanced, and that is — the bayonet. And this is stated in the 
 fullest house, and the most crowded audience I ever saw. 
 
 " We are to be silenced by corruption within, or quelled by 
 force of arms without. If the strength of numbers or corrup- 
 tion should fail against the cause of the public, it is to be 
 backed by assassination. Nor is it necessary that those avowed 
 principles of bribery and arms should come from any high 
 personal authority; they have been delivered by the known 
 retainers of the administration, in the face of that bench, and 
 heard even without a murmur of dissent or disapprobation. 
 " For my part, I do not know how it may be my destiny to 
 
3G0 INTEGRITY. 
 
 fall ; it may be by chance, or malady, 01 violence ; but, should 
 it be my fate to perish the victim of a bold and honest discharge 
 of my duty, I will not shun it. I will do that duty ; and if it 
 should expose me to sink under the blow of the assassin, and 
 become a victim to the public cause, the most sensible of my 
 regrets would be that on such an altar there should not be 
 immolated a more illustrious sacrifice. 
 
 " As to myself, while I live, I shall despise the peril. I feel 
 in my own spirit the safety of my honor ; and in my own and 
 the spirit of the people do I feel strength enough to hold that 
 administration which can give a sanction to menaces like 
 these responsible for their consequences to the nation and the 
 individual." 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL STORY. 
 
 S. T. COLERIDGE. 
 
 LEXANDER, during his march into Africa, came 
 to a people dwelling in peaceful huts, who knew 
 neither war nor conquest. Gold being offered 
 him, he refused it, saying that his sole object 
 was to learn the manners and customs of the 
 inhabitants. " Stay with us," said the Chief "as 
 long as it pleaseth thee." During this interview 
 with the African Chief, two of his subjects 
 brought a case before him for judgment. The dispute was 
 this: The one had bought a piece of ground, which, after 
 the purchase, was found to contain a treasure, for which he felt 
 himself bound to pay The other refused to receive anything, 
 stating that he had sold the ground with what it might be found 
 to contain, apparent or concealed. Said the Chief, looking 
 at the one, " You have a son ; " and to the other, 
 " You have a daughter ; let them be married, and the treasure 
 be given them as a dowry." Alexander was astonished. 
 
THE INCORRUPTIBLE PHYSICIAN. 
 
 361 
 
 " And what," said the Chief, " would have been the decision 
 of your country ? " " We should have dismissed the parties 
 and seized the treasure for the King's use." " And does the 
 sun shine in your country? " said the Chief; " does the rain 
 fall there ? Are there any cattle there which feed upon herbs 
 and green grass?";, "Certainly," said Alexander. "Ah," 
 said the Chief, " it is for the sake of the innocent cattle that the 
 Great Being permits the sun to shine, the rain to fall and the 
 grass to grow in your country." 
 
 THE INCORRUPTIBLE PHYSICIAN. 
 
 HE Caliph Mutewekel had at his court a 
 foreign physician by the name of Honain, 
 whom he respected highly on account of 
 his great accomplishments. 
 
 Certain of his courtiers wishing to arouse 
 his suspicions concerning this man, said to 
 the Caliph that he could not rely on his 
 fidelity, since he was a foreigner; where- 
 upon Mutewekel grew uneasy and resolved to ascertain 
 whether there were any reasons for doubting his integrity. 
 
 He sent and had the physician brought before him, and 
 said : " Honain, I have among my Emirs a dangerous enemy, 
 against whom it would be impolitic to use force, since he is a 
 man of unbounded popularity ; therefore, I command you to 
 prepare me an acute poison that will do its work so well that 
 no clue to it can be traced after death. To-morrow I will give 
 a dinner, to which he will be invited, and then I will rid myself 
 of him." 
 
 Honain indignantly replied : " My knowledge extends no 
 further than to the compounding of such drugs as are useful 
 in preserving life ; in the preparation of others, I am not 
 skilled. I have taken no pains to increase my knowledge 
 
362 INTEGRITY. 
 
 beyond these limits, since I believe that the Ruler of the 
 Faithful will require no such service ol me. If I have done 
 wrong in this matter, permit me to withdraw from your 
 court." 
 
 Mutewekel replied that this was an empty excuse ; that he 
 who knew the nature of the healing remedies, was also 
 acquainted with those that were poisonous. He begged, he 
 threatened, he even promised presents, if the physician would 
 comply with his commands ; but all in vain. Honain remained 
 true to his first resolution. 
 
 Finally the Caliph feigned great wrath, called the guards and 
 commanded them to lead this obstinate man to prison. He 
 was put in confinement, and with him a spy under the disguise 
 of a fellow prisoner, who was to question Honain and inform 
 the Caliph of all that the former should say. Honain, however, 
 did not reveal by a single word or sign why the Caliph was 
 angry with him ; all that he said was that he was innocent. 
 
 After several months, the Caliph had Honain brought before 
 him again. Upon a table in the room lay a heap of gold, 
 diamonds and precious stuffs ; but beside it stood the execu- 
 tioner with a scourge in his hand and a sword under his arm. 
 
 " You have already had time enough," said Mutewekel, " to 
 ponder over this matter and realize the folly of your stubborn- 
 ness ; therefore make a choice. Either take these riches and 
 comply with my demands, or prepare for a shameful death." 
 
 But Honain replied that the disgrace lay not in the sentence, 
 but in the crime ; that he would rather die than bring a stain 
 either upon his profession or his reputation ; that the Caliph 
 was the arbiter of his life, and that he was content to submit 
 to his decree. 
 
 " Leave me," said Mutewekel to his retainers, and as soon 
 as they were alone he stretched forth his hand to the conscien- 
 tious physician and said : " Honain, I am satisfied with you ; 
 you are my friend and I am yours. My courtiers tried to 
 make me suspect you, and I thought I must put a test on your 
 fidelity, to find out whether I could rely upon you unreservedly. 
 
THE INCORRUPTIBLE PATRIOT. 
 
 363 
 
 Not as a reward, but as a token of my friendship, will I send 
 you these same presents with which I was unable to corrupt 
 you." 
 
 So spake the Caliph, and commanded the gold, the precious 
 stones and the costly stuffs to be carried to Honain's house. 
 
 — From the German. 
 
 THE INCORRUPTIBLE PATRIOT. 
 
 EDWARD C. JONES. 
 
 Governor Johnstone offered Gen. Joseph Reed ,£10,000 sterling, if he would try to re-unite the 
 colonies to the mother country. Said he ; "1 am not worth purchasing ; but such as I ara. 
 the King of Great Britain is not rich enough to buy me." 
 
 TVga SPURN your gilded bait, oh King ! my faith you cannot buy ; 
 1® ]I| I Go, tamper with some craven heart, and dream of victory ; 
 
 My honor never shall be dimmed by taking such a bribe ; 
 
 The honest man can look above the mercenary tribe. 
 
 Carlisle and Eden may consort to bring about a peace ; 
 Our year of jubilee will be the year of our release ; 
 Until your fleets and armies are all remanded back, 
 Freedom's avenging angel will keep upon your track. 
 
 What said our noble Laurens ? What answer did he make ? 
 Did he accept your overtures, and thus our cause forsake ? 
 No ! as his country's mouth-piece, he spoke the burning 
 
 words, 
 ' Off with conciliation's terms — the battle is the Lord's ! " 
 
 Are ye afraid of Bourbon's house ? And do ye now despair, 
 Because to shield the perishing, the arm of France is bare? 
 That treaty of alliance, which makes a double strife, 
 Has, like the sun, but warmed afresh your viper brood 
 to life. 
 
 And art thou, Johnstone, art thou, pray, upon this mission sent, 
 To keep at distance, by thy craft, the throne's dismemberment? 
 Dismemberment! — ah, come it must, for union is a sin, 
 When parents' hands the furnace heat, and thrust the children in; 
 
364 INTEGRITY. 
 
 Why, English hearts there are at home that pulsate with our own ; 
 Voices beyond Atlantic's waves send forth a loving tone ; 
 Within the Cabinet are men who would not offer gold 
 To see our country's liberty, like chattel, bought and sold. 
 
 You say that office shall be mine if I the traitor play ; 
 
 Can office ever compensate for honesty's decay ? 
 
 Ten thousand pounds ! ten thousand pounds! Shall I an Esau 
 
 prove, 
 And for a mess of pottage sell the heritage I love ? 
 
 If you can blot out Bunker Hill, or Brandywine ignore, 
 
 Or Valley Forge annihilate, and wipe away its gore ; 
 
 If you can make the orphans' tears forget to plead with God, 
 
 Then you may find a patriot's soul that owns a monarch's nod. 
 
 The King of England cannot buy the faith which fills my heart ; 
 My truth and virtue cannot stand in traffic's servile mart ; 
 For till your fleets and armies are all remanded back, 
 Freedom's avenging angel will keep upon your track. 
 
 A DEVOTED PHILANTHROPIST. 
 
 S soon as the Spaniards had gained a firm foot- 
 hold in Mexico and Cuba, in the early part of 
 the sixteenth century, they inaugurated a series 
 of cruel and oppressive measures that threatened 
 a speedy extermination of the natives. One of 
 their most inhuman procedures was known as 
 the Rcpariimiento system, which meant en- 
 slaving the Indians and parceling them out 
 among their conquerors. So atrocious and merciless was 
 their conduct that it quickly called forth the earnest and per- 
 sistent protests of a humane and sympathetic Dominican 
 friar, Las Casas, who had come over from Spain in the train 
 of a Spanish grandee. He was so thoroughly impressed with 
 the enormity of this and other crimes committed against the 
 natives, that he at once set himself assiduously to work to 
 ameliorate their condition, and continued laboring in their 
 
A DEVOTED PHILANTHROPIST. 365 
 
 behalf for over fifty years. He crossed the ocean sixteen 
 times, to lay their grievances before the Spanish king and his 
 council, besides undergoing numberless hardships, humiliations 
 and disappointments. Las Casas also acquired great fame in 
 the domain of literature by his contributions to the history of 
 the Spanish conquests in Cuba and Mexico; but it is chiefly 
 by reason of his labors for the welfare of the poor unfortunates 
 of those countries that he is best known to the world at large. 
 
 Of an ardent and fiery temper, that could ill brook opposi- 
 tion, it is but natural that his impetuosity should sometimes 
 carry him beyond the bounds of prudence and moderation ; 
 but with all his shortcomings, he is deserving of the honorable 
 title of " The Apostle to the Indians." 
 
 A distinguished writer on Spanish-American affairs thus 
 sums up his character and work : — 
 
 " The character of Las Casas can be inferred from his 
 career. He was one of those to whose gifted minds are 
 revealed those glorious moral truths which, like the light of 
 Heaven, are fixed and the same forever, but which, though 
 now familiar, were hidden from all but a few penetrating 
 intellects by the general darkness of the time in which he 
 lived. He was a reformer, and had the virtues and errors of a 
 reformer. He was inspired by one great and glorious idea. 
 This was the key to all his thoughts, to all he said and wrote, 
 to every act of his long life. 
 
 It was this which urged him to lift the voice of rebuke in 
 the presence of princes, to brave the menaces of an infuriated 
 populace, to cross seas, to traverse mountains and deserts, to 
 incur the alienation of friends, the hostility of enemies, to en- 
 dure obloquy, insult and persecution. His views were pure 
 and elevated; but his manner of enforcing them was not 
 always so commendable. Las Casas, in short, was a man. 
 But if he had the errors of humanity, he had virtues which 
 rarely belong to it. The best commentary on his character is 
 the estimation he obtained at the court of his sovereign. A 
 liberal pension was settled on him after his last return from 
 
366 INTEGRITY. 
 
 America, which he chiefly expended on charitable objects. No 
 measure of importance relating to the Indians was taken with- 
 out his advice. He lived to see the fruits of his efforts in the 
 positive amelioration of their condition, and the popular 
 admission of those great truths which it had been the object 
 of his life to unfold. And who shall say how much of the 
 successful efforts and arguments since made in behalf of per- 
 secuted humanity* may not be traced to the example and 
 writings of this illustrious philanthropist. 
 
 From a recently published work of great historical value and 
 accuracy, by Hubert H. Bancroft, entitled " History of Central 
 America," we quote the following brief biographical sketch, 
 and an account of the condition of things at the time Las 
 Casas commenced his active ministrations : — 
 
 "A steadily growing character, impressing itself more and 
 more upon the affairs of the Indians as time went by, was that 
 of Bartolome de las Casas. Born at Seville, in 1474, he 
 conned his humanities at Salamanca, making little stir among 
 the Gamaliels there, but taking his bachelor's degree in 
 his eighteenth year. After a residence of about eight years in 
 the Indies, having come with Ovando, in 1502, he was admitted 
 to priestly orders, from which time he takes his place in 
 history. He was a man of very pronounced temperament and 
 faculties ; as much man of business as ecclesiastic, but more 
 philanthropist than either; possessed of a burning enthusiasm, 
 when once the fire of his conviction was fairly kindled, he gave 
 rest neither to himself nor his enemies, for every evil-minded 
 man who came hither was his enemy, between whom and him- 
 self was a death struggle. The Apostle of the Indies he was 
 sometimes called, and the mission he took upon himself was 
 to stand between the naked natives and their steel-clad tor- 
 mentors. In this work he was ardent, ofttimes imprudent, 
 always eloquent and truthful, and as bold as any cavalier 
 among them all. Nor was he by any means a discontented 
 man. He sought nothing for himself; he had nothing that 
 man could take from him except life, upon which he set no 
 
A DEVOTED PHILANTHROPIST. 367 
 
 value, or except some of its comforts, which were too poor at 
 best to trouble himself about. His cause, which was the right, 
 gave breadth and volume to his boldness, beside which the 
 courage of the hair-brained babbler was sounding brass. 
 
 " In the occupation of Cuba, Panfilo de Narvaez was named 
 by Velazquez his lieutenant, and sent forth to subjugate other 
 parts of the island. With Narvaez went Las Casas, who put 
 forth almost superhuman exertions, in vain, to stay the merciless 
 slaughter of the helpless and innocent. A warm friend of Las 
 Casas was Velazquez' Alcalde, Pedro de Renteria, who, in the 
 division of the spoils joined Las Casas in accepting a large 
 tract of land, and a proportionate rcpartimiento of Indians. This 
 was before Las Casas had seriously considered the matter, and 
 he was at first quite delighted with his acquisition. But the 
 enormity of the wrong coming upon him, his conversion was 
 as decisive as that of St. Paul. 
 
 " Like the Dominicans of Espanola, Las Casas began by 
 preaching against repartimientos. In 15 15 he sailed for Spain, 
 in company with Montesino, leaving his charge with certain 
 monks sent over from Espanola by the prelate Cordoba. 
 These Dominican brothers did what they could, but to such 
 straits were the savages driven, after the departure of Las 
 Casas, that to escape the bloodhounds and other evils sent 
 upon them by the Spaniards, thousands of them took refuge 
 in suicide. When Diego Colon arrived, in 1509, there were 
 left in Espanola forty thousand natives. A rcpartidor was 
 appointed, in the person of Rodrigo de Albuquerque, to re- 
 partition the Indians, but when he arrived, in 15 14, there were 
 but thirteen thousand left to divide. After proclaiming himself 
 with great pomp, Albuquerque plainly intimated that bribery 
 was in order, that he who paid the most money should have 
 the best rcpartimiento. Afterwards the Licentiate Ibarra, sent 
 to Espanola to take the residence of the Alcalde Aguilar, was 
 authorized to make a new partition. Large numbers of the 
 natives were given to the king's favorites in Spain, and the 
 evil grew apace." 
 
368 INTEGRITY. 
 
 A NOBLE FRIEND OF FREEDOM. 
 
 GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS. 
 
 He stood upon the world's broad threshold ; wide 
 
 The din of battle and of slaughter rose ; 
 He saw God stand upon the weaker side, 
 
 That sank in seeming loss before its foes. 
 Many there were who made great hasie, and sold 
 
 Unto the cunning enemy their swords. 
 He scorned their gifts of fame and power, and gold, 
 
 And underneath their soft and flowery words 
 Heard the cold serpent hiss : therefore, he went 
 
 And humbly joined him to the weaker part, 
 Fanatic named and fool, yet well content 
 
 So he could be the nearer to God's heart, 
 And feel its solemn pulses sending blood 
 Through all the widespread veins of endless good. 
 
 James Russell Lowell. 
 ^_ 
 
 O nobler friend of freedom and of man 
 than Wendell Phillips ever breathed upon 
 this continent, and no man's service to free- 
 dom surpasses his. But before the war 
 he demanded peaceful disunion ; yet it was 
 the Union in arms that saved Liberty. 
 During the war he would have superseded 
 Lincoln ; but it was Lincoln who freed the 
 the slaves. He pleaded for Ireland, tortured by centuries of 
 misrule, and while every generous heart followed with sympathy 
 the pathos and the power of his appeal, the just mind recoiled 
 from the sharp arraignment of the truest friends in England that 
 Ireland ever had. I know it all ; and I know also, and history 
 will remember, that the slave Union which he denounced is 
 dissolved ; that it was the heart and conscience of the nation, 
 exalted by his moral appeal of agitation, as well as by the 
 enthusiasm of patriotic war, which held up the hands of 
 
A NOBLE FRIEND OF FREEDOM. 369 
 
 Lincoln, and upon which Lincoln leaned in emancipating the 
 slaves ; and that only by indignant and aggressive appeals like 
 his has the heart of England ever opened to Irish wrong. 
 
 I am not here to declare that the judgment of Wendell 
 Phillips was always sound, nor his estimate of men always 
 just, nor his policy always approved by the event. He would 
 have scorned such praise. I am not here to eulogize the 
 mortal, but the immortal. He, too, was a great American 
 patriot ; and no American life, no, not one, offers to future 
 generations of his countrymen a more priceless example of 
 inflexible fidelity to conscience and to public duty; and no 
 American more truly than he purged the national name of its 
 shame, and made the American flag the flag of hope for 
 mankind. 
 
 Among her noblest children his native city will cherish him, 
 and gratefully recall the unbending Puritan soul that dwelt in 
 a form so gracious and urbane. The plain house in which he 
 lived — severely plain, because the welfare of the suffering and 
 the slave were preferred to book and picture, and every fair 
 device of art; the house to which the North Star led the 
 trembling fugitive, and which the unfortunate and the friend- 
 less knew ; the radiant figure passing swiftly through these 
 streets, plain as the house from which it came, regal with a 
 royalty beyond that of kings ; the ceaseless charity untold; 
 the strong sustaining heart of private friendship; the sacred 
 domestic affection that must not here be named ; the eloquence 
 which, like the song of Orpheus, will fade from living memory 
 into a doubtful tale ; that great scene of his youth in Faneuil 
 Hall ; the surrender of ambition ; the mighty agitation and 
 the mighty triumph with which his name is forever blended ; 
 the consecration of a life hidden with God in sympathy with 
 man; these, all these, will live among your immortal tra- 
 ditions, heroic even in your heroic story. But not yours 
 alone. As years go by, and only the large outlines of lofty 
 American characters and careers remain, the wide republic 
 will confess the benediction of a life like this, and gladly own 
 24 
 
370 
 
 ::ty. 
 
 I if, with perfect faith and hope assured, America would 
 still stand and "bid the distant generations hail," the inspira- 
 tion ot" her national lite must be the sublime moral couraj 
 the all-embracing humanity, the ss integrity, the abso- 
 
 I powers to great public ends, 
 which were the glory of Wendell Phil". - 
 
 FABRICIUS AND KING PYRRHUS. 
 
 x ..: tempted to 
 
 bribe him to his interests, by the offer 
 
 ITH regard to my poverty, the king has, 
 indeed, been justly informed. My whole 
 tte consists in a house of but mean 
 and a little spot of ground, 
 n which, by my own labor. I draw my 
 But if, by any means, thou hast 
 - ided to think that this poverty 
 renders me erf — ".sequence in my 
 own country, or in any degree unhappy, thou arl de- 
 
 ceived. Iha\ to complain of fortune; she supplies me 
 
 h all that nature requires; and if I am without superfluities, 
 I am also free from : :s of them. With these. I confess. 
 
 I should be more able to succor the necessitous, the only 
 adv. or which the i to be envied; but small 
 
 ssess as are. I can still contribute something to the 
 support £ S and the assistance of my friends. With 
 
 to honors, my country places me. poor as I am, upon 
 .el with the richest; for Rome knows no qualifications for 
 vments but virtue and ability. She appoints me 
 in the most august ceremonies of religion; she 
 intrusts me with the command of her armies ; she confides 
 my care the most important itions. My poverty - 
 
 not lessen the weight and influence of my counsels in the 
 
Tiff. EARL 
 
 
 ate. Th Roman p r - 
 
 which King Pyrrhus consider 
 
 many opportunities I have had to enrich myself, .en- 
 
 sure ; they are convinced of my disinter 
 
 Tty; and if I have anything to complain of, in 
 return they make me, it is only the excess of the - ;se. 
 
 What value, then, can I p r? What 
 
 king can add anything to my fortur. - 
 discharge the duties incumbent upon me, I h . 
 from self-reproach ; and I have an honest fame. 
 
 THE EARLY CHRISTIANS. 
 
 
 HEN theChr. tiansof] 
 
 before the tribunal of the young r ] 
 they assured the proconsul that, far 
 being engaged in any unlawf;_. racy, 
 
 were bound by a solemn c . 
 to abstain from the com.' 
 crimes which disturb the private or p . 
 peace of society, from theft, rob' 
 adultery, perjury and fraud. 
 r a century afterwards, Tertullian, with an honest pride, 
 could boast that very few (if any) Christians had by 
 
 the hand of the executioner, except on account of their r 
 gion. Their serious and sequestered life, averse to the gay 
 luxury of the age, inured them to chastity, temperance, 
 economy and all the sober, domestic virtues. As the greater 
 number were of some trade or profession, it was incumc 
 upon them, by the strictest integrity and the fairest dealing, to 
 remove the suspicions which the profane are too apt to c 
 ceive against the appearance of sanctity. The contempt of the 
 
372 
 
 INTEGRITY. 
 
 world exercises them in the habits of humility, meekness and 
 patience. The more they were persecuted, the more closely 
 they adhered to each other. Their mutual charity and un- 
 suspecting confidence has been marked by infidels, and was 
 too often abused by perfidious friends. 
 
 NOBLE PEASANTS. 
 
 MONG the Alps alone, are found men, rustic 
 without being ferocious, civilized without being 
 corrupted. The following trait is as character- 
 istic as it is singular. Frantz went one evening 
 to Gaspard, who was mowing his fijld: "My 
 friend," said he, "the time is come to get up 
 this hay ; you know there is a dispute about the 
 meadow — to whom it belongs, you or me ; to 
 decide the question, I have assembled together 
 the appointed judges, at Salenche; so, come with me, to-morrow, 
 and state your claims." "You see, Frantz," answered Gaspard, 
 "that I have cut the grass; and it is, therefore, absolutely 
 necessary that I should get it up to-morrow ; I cannot leave 
 it." "And I cannot send away the judges, who have chosen 
 the day themselves ; besides, we must know to whom the 
 meadow belongs before it can be cleared." They debated for 
 some time. At length, Gaspard said to Frantz, " Go to Sa- 
 lenche; tell the judges my reasons as well as your own, for 
 claiming the meadow, and then I need not go myself." So it 
 was agreed. Frantz pleaded both for and against himself, and 
 to the best of his power gave in his claims and those of Gas- 
 pard. When the judges had pronounced their opinion, he 
 returned to his friend, saying, "The meadow is thine; the 
 sentence is in thy favor, and I wish you joy." Frantz and 
 Gaspard ever afterward remained firm friends. 
 
 — The World of Anecdote. 
 
ALEXANDER THE GREAT AND ABDOLONYMUS. 373 
 ALEXANDERTHE GREAT AND ABDOLONYMUS. 
 
 QUINTUS CURTIUS. 
 
 HE city of Sidon having surrendered to Alex- 
 ander, 333 B. C, he ordered Hephestion to 
 bestow the crown on him whom the Sidon- 
 ians should think most worthy of that honor. 
 Hephestion being at that time resident with 
 two young men of distinction, offered them 
 the kingdom ; but they refused it, telling him 
 that it was contrary to the laws of their 
 country to admit any one to that honor who was not of the 
 royal family. He then, having expressed his admiration of 
 their disinterested spirit, desired them to name one of the royal 
 race, who might remember that he had received the crown 
 through their hands. Overlooking many who would have 
 been ambitious of this high honor, they made choice of 
 Abdolonymus, whose singular merit had rendered him con- 
 spicuous, even in the vale of obscurity. Though remotely 
 related to the royal family, a series of misfortunes had reduced 
 him to the necessity of cultivating a garden, for a small stipend, 
 in the suburbs of the city. 
 
 While Abdolonymus was busily employed in weeding his 
 garden, the two friends of Hephestion, bearing in their hands 
 the ensigns of royalty, approached him and saluted him king. 
 They informed him that Alexander had appointed him to that 
 office, and required him immediately to exchange his rustic 
 garb and utensils of husbandry for the regal robe and sceptre. 
 At the same time, they admonished him, when he should be 
 seated on the throne and have a nation in his power, not to 
 forget the humble condition from which he had been raised. 
 
 All this, at the first, appeared to Abdolonymus as an illusion 
 of the fancy, or an insult offered to his poverty. He requested 
 them not to trouble him further with their impertinent jests; 
 

 
 - - 
 
 . . . enemies 
 
 . . . . 
 
 *-. -. . . .. 
 
 • • 
 
 - V 
 

 
 h 
 
 \ 
 
 i j 
 1 
 
 ^-^^ 
 
«* With malice towards now, with charity for all, with firmness in the 
 
 right, as God gives us to see the right." 
 
 — Abraham Lincoln. 
 
PART VII. 
 
 MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 THE BEST KIND OF REVENGE. 
 
 WILLIAM CHAMBERS. 
 
 OME years ago a warehouseman in Man- 
 chester, England, published a scurrilous 
 pamphlet, in which he endeavored to hold 
 up the house of Grant Brothers to ridicule. 
 William Grant remarked upon the occur- 
 rence that the man would live to repent 
 what he had done ; and this was conveyed 
 by some tale-bearer to the libeller, who said, 
 "O, I suppose he thinks I shall some time or other be in his 
 debt; but I will take good care of that." It happens, how- 
 ever, that a man in business cannot always choose who shall 
 be his creditors. The pamphleteer became a bankrupt, and 
 the brothers held an acceptance of his which had been endorsed 
 to them by the drawer, who had also become a bankrupt. 
 
 The wantonly libelled men had thus become creditors of 
 the libeller ! They now had it in their power to make him 
 repent of his audacity. He could not obtain his certificate 
 without their signature, and without it he could not enter into 
 business again. He had obtained the number of signatures 
 
 377 
 
378 
 
 MA GNANIMITY. 
 
 required by the bankrupt law, except one. It seemed folly to 
 hope that the firm of " the brothers " would supply the 
 deficiency. What! they, who had cruelly been made the 
 laughing-stock of the public, forget the wrong, and favor the 
 wrong-doer? He despaired. But the claims of a wife and of 
 children forced him at last to make the application. Humbled 
 by misery, he presented himself at the counting-house of the 
 wronged. 
 
 Mr. William Grant was there alone, and his first words to 
 the delinquent were, " Shut the door, sir ! " sternly uttered. 
 The door was shut, and the libeller stood trembling before the 
 libelled. He told his tale, and produced his certificate, which 
 was instantly clutched by the injured merchant. " You wrote 
 a pamphlet against us once! " exclaimed Mr. Grant. The 
 supplicant expected to see his parchment thrown into the fire. 
 But th'"s was not its destination. Mr. Grant took a pen, and 
 writing something upon the document, handed it back to the 
 bankrupt. He, poor wretch, expected to see " rogue, scoundrel, 
 libeller," inscribed ; but there was, in fair, round characters, 
 the signature of the firm. 
 
 " We make it a rule," said Mr. Grant, " never to refuse 
 signing the certificate of an honest tradesman, and we have 
 never heard that you were anything else." The tears started 
 into the poor man's eyes. " Ah," said Mr. Grant, " my saying 
 was true ! I said you would live to repent writing that 
 pamphlet. I did not mean it as a threat. I only meant that 
 some day you would know us better, and be sorry you had 
 tried to injure us. I see you repent of it now." " I do, I 
 do!" said the grateful man. "I bitterly repent it." "Well, 
 my dear fellow, you know us now. How do you get on ? 
 What are you going to do ? " The poor man stated that he 
 had friends who could assist him when his certificate was 
 obtained. "But how are you off in the meantime?" His 
 answer was, that, having given up every farthing to his 
 creditors, he had been compelled to stint his family of even 
 common necessities, that he might be enabled to pay the cost 
 
THE SOLDIER'S PARDON. 
 
 379 
 
 of his certificate. " My dear fellow, this will not do ; your 
 family must not suffer. Be kind enough to take this ten-pound 
 note to your wife, from me. There, there, my dear fellow ! Nay, 
 don't cry ; it will be all well with you yet. Keep up your 
 spirits, set to work like a man, and you will raise your head 
 among us yet." The overpowered man endeavored in vain to 
 express his thanks ; the swelling in his throat forbade words. 
 He put his handkerchief to his face, and went out of the door 
 crying like a child. 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S PARDON. 
 
 JAMES SMITH. 
 ~KpjS*]PlLD blew the gale in Gibraltar one night, 
 
 As a soldier lay stretched in his cell ; 
 And anon, 'mid the darkness, the moon's silver light 
 
 On his countenance dreamily fell. 
 Nought could she reveal, but a man, true as steel, 
 
 That oft for his country had bled, 
 And the glance of his eye might the grim king defy, 
 
 For despair, fear and trembling had fled. 
 
 But in rage he had struck a well-merited blow 
 
 At a tyrant who held him in scorn ; 
 And his fate soon was sealed, for alas ! honest Joe 
 
 Was to die on the following morn. 
 Oh ! sad was the thought to a man that had fought 
 
 'Mid the ranks of the gallant and brave — 
 To be shot through the breast, at a coward's behest, 
 
 And laid low in a criminal's grave ! 
 
 The night-call had sounded, when Joe was aroused 
 
 By a step at the door of his cell ; 
 'Twas a comrade with whom he had often caroused, 
 
 That now entered, to bid him farewell. 
 " Ah, Tom ! is it you, come to bid me adieu ? 
 
 'Tis kind, my lad ! give me your hand ! 
 Nay — nay — don't get wild, man, and make me a child ! 
 
 I'll be soon in a happier land !" 
 
380 MA GNA NIMITY. 
 
 With hands clasped in silence, Tom mournfully said, 
 " Have you any request, Joe, to make ? 
 Remember, by me 'twill be fully obeyed ; 
 Can I anything do for your sake ?" 
 " When it's over, to-morrow !" he said, filled with sorrow, 
 " Send this token to her whom I've sworn 
 All my fond love to share !" — 'twas a lock of his hair, 
 And a prayer-book all faded and worn. 
 
 " Here's this watch for my mother; and when you write home, 
 
 And he dashed a bright tear from his eye — 
 " Say I died with my heart in old Devonshire, Tom, 
 Like a man and a soldier ! — Good bye !" 
 Then the sergeant on guard at the grating appeared, 
 
 And poor Tom had to leave the cold cell, 
 By the moon's waning light, with a husky " Good night ! 
 God be with you, dear comrade ! — farewell !" 
 
 Gray dawned the morn in a dull, cloudy sky, 
 
 When the blast of a bugle resounded ; 
 And Joe, ever fearless, went forward to die, 
 
 By the hearts of true heroes surrounded. 
 " Shoulder arms" was the cry, as the prisoner passed by ; 
 " To the right about — march !" was the word ; 
 And their pale faces proved how their comrade was loved, 
 
 And by all his brave regiment adored. 
 
 Right onward they marched to the dread field of doom ; 
 
 Sternly silent, they covered the ground ; 
 Then they formed into line, amid sadness and gloom, 
 
 While the prisoner looked calmly around. 
 Then soft on the air rose the accents of prayer, 
 
 And faint tolled the solemn death-bell, 
 As he knelt on the sand, and with uplifted hand, 
 
 Waved the long and the lasting farewell. 
 
 " Make ready !" exclaimed an imperious voice ; 
 
 " Present !" struck a chill on each mind ; 
 
 Ere the last word was spoke, Joe had cause to rejoice 
 
 For " Hold — hold !" cried a voice from behind. 
 Then wild was the joy of them all, man and boy, 
 
 As a horseman cried, " Mercy ! Forbear !" 
 
 With a thrilling " Hurrah ! a free pardon ! huzzah I" 
 
 And the muskets rung loud in the air. 
 
PAGANINI AND THE STREET PLAYER. 381 
 
 Soon the comrades were locked in each other's embrace ; 
 
 No more stood the brave soldiers dumb ; 
 With a loud cheer, they wheeled to the right-about face, 
 
 Then away at the sound of the drum ! 
 And a brighter day dawned in sweet Devon's fair land, 
 
 Where the lovers met, never to part ; 
 And he gave her a token — true, warm and unbroken — 
 
 The gift of his own gallant heart ! 
 
 PAGANINI AND THE STREET PLAYER. 
 
 MONG the pleasant stories told of Paganini is one 
 similar to an incident previously related of 
 Viotti. One day, as he was walking in Vienna, 
 the violinist saw a poor little Italian boy scraping 
 some Neapolitan songs before the windows of a 
 large house. A celebrated artist who accom- 
 panied Paganini remarked to him, " There is 
 one of your compatriots." Upon which the 
 maestro evinced a desire to speak to the lad, and went across 
 the street to him for that purpose. After ascertaining 
 that he was a poor beggar boy from the other side of 
 the Alps, and that he supported his sick mother, his only 
 relative, the great violinist appeared touched. He literally 
 emptied his pockets into the boy's hand, and taking the 
 violin and bow from him, began the most grotesque and 
 extraordinary performance possible. A crowd soon collected, 
 the virtuoso was at once recognized by the bystanders, and 
 when he brought the performance to an end, amid the cheers 
 and shouts of those assembled, he handed around the boy's 
 hat, and made a considerable collection of coin, in which silver 
 pieces were very conspicuous. He then handed the sum to 
 the young Italian, saying, " Take that to your mother," and 
 rejoining his companion, walked off with him, saying, "I hope 
 I've done a good turn to that little animal." 
 
 — The Great Violinists. 
 
382 MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 HADRIAN AND THE PLANTER. 
 
 HE Emperor Hadrian, passing near Tiberias, 
 in Galilee, observed an old man digging a 
 large trench, in.order to plant some fig trees. 
 " Hadst thou properly employed the morn- 
 ing of thy life," said Hadrian, " thou needest 
 not have worked so hard in the evening of 
 thy days." " I have well employed my early 
 days, nor will I neglect the evening of my 
 life, and let God do with me what he thinks best," replied the 
 old man. " How old mayest thou be, good man?" asked the 
 emperor. " A hundred years," was the reply. "What!" ex- 
 claimed Hadrian, "a hundred years old, and still planting 
 trees ? Canst thou, then, hope ever to enjoy the fruits of thy 
 labor ? " " Great king," rejoined the hoary-headed man, " yes, 
 I do hope, if God permits, that I may even eat the fruits of 
 these very trees ; if not, my children will. Have not my fore- 
 fathers planted trees for me, and shall I not do the same for 
 my children ? " Hadrian, pleased with the honest man's reply, 
 said, " Well, old man, if ever thou livest to see the fruit of 
 these trees, let me know it. Dost thou hear, good old man ? " 
 And with these words he left him. 
 
 The old man did live long enough to see the fruits of his 
 industry. The trees flourished and bore excellent fruit. As 
 soon as they were sufficiently ripe, he gathered the most 
 choice figs, put them in a basket, and marched toward the 
 emperor's residence. Hadrian happened to look out of the 
 window of his palace, and seeing a man bent with age, with a 
 basket on his shoulders, standing near the gate, he ordered 
 him to be admitted to his presence. " What is thy pleasure, 
 old man ?" demanded Hadrian. " May it please your Majesty," 
 replied the man, " to recollect seeing once a very old man 
 planting some trees, and desiring him, if ever he should gather 
 the fruit, to let you know ; I am that old man, and this is the 
 
GENEROSITY OF BERMUDO, I. 383 
 
 fruit of those very trees. May it please you graciously to 
 accept them as an humble tribute for your Majesty's great 
 condescension." Hadrian, gratified to see so extraordinary an 
 instance of longevity, accompanied by the full manly faculties 
 and honest exertion, desired the old man to be seated, and 
 ordering the basket to be emptied of the fruit and to be filled 
 with gold, gave it to him as a present. Some courtiers, who 
 witnessed this uncommon scene, exclaimed, " Is it possible 
 that our great Emperor should show so much honor to a Jew ?" 
 " Why should I not honor him whom God has honored ?" 
 replied Hadrian. " Look at his age and imitate his example." 
 
 — Anonymous. 
 
 GENEROSITY OF BERMUDO, I. 
 
 FTER the death of Mauregate, Bermudo, I, al- 
 though an ecclesiastic, was elected King of 
 Spain. His conduct presents a romantic instance 
 of magnanimity. Scarcely had he ascended the 
 throne, when he invited to his court and his 
 counsels the legitimate king, Alphonso, II ; he 
 succeeded in dissipating the prejudices enter- 
 tained against this prince by the nobles, en- 
 trusted to him the command of the army, and having accom- 
 panied Alphonso in an engagement in which the latter 
 defeated the Moors, he seized that moment to resign the 
 crown, and cause him to be elected in his stead. Alphonso, 
 worthy of the conduct of this magnanimous man, did not 
 suffer himself to be surpassed by him in generosity. He 
 would not permit Bermudo to retire to his monastic retreat; 
 he gave him an apartment in the royal palace, consulted him 
 in all State affairs, showed him the same respect and affection 
 as if Bermudo had still been king, and having no issue, 
 bequeathed the crown to Ramiro, the worthy son of Bermudo. 
 The priests who have awarded a sort of apotheosis to so many 
 
384 
 
 MAGNANIM, 
 
 demi-saints and so many impostors, have forgotten, or igno- 
 rantly passed over, the august names of Alphonso M\d Bermudo, 
 knowing no better than to attribute the magnanimity of the 
 
 latter to monastic scruples relative to the marriage which he 
 had contracted, and having taken upon himself the vow of 
 celibacy as a deacon. — Dc Liqgno's R. _\ . 
 
 NOTHING COMES BY CHANCE. 
 
 n ^r ^j^fr ^K' ,? H E R E is a beautiful storv in French. o( a 
 prisoner who became exceedingly attached 
 Bower. He was put in prison, by order 
 of Napoleon, because he was supposed to be 
 an enemy of the Government. One day. as 
 Charney (for that was his name) was walk- 
 ing in the yard adjoining his cell, he saw a 
 plant pushing up between the stones. How 
 it came there, he could not tell. Perhaps some one carelessly 
 dropped the seed, or perhaps the seed was blown over the wall 
 by the wind. He knew not what plant it was, but he felt a 
 at interest in it. Shut in within those walls, away from all 
 his friends, not permitted to interest himself with either read- 
 ing or writing, he was glad to have this little living thing to 
 watch over and love. Every day when he walked in the 
 court, he spent much time in looking at it. He soon saw some 
 buds. He watched them as they grew larger and larger, and 
 longed to see them open. And when the flowers at length 
 came out, he was filled with joy. They were very beautiful. 
 They had three colors in them — white, purple and rose color — 
 and there was a delicate silvery fringe all round the edge. 
 Their fragrance, too. was delicious. Charney examined them 
 more than he ever did flowers before, and never did flowers 
 look so beautiful to him as these. Charney guarded his plant 
 from all harm, with great care. He made a framework out of 
 
NOTHING COMES BY CHANCE. 385 
 
 such things as he could get, so that it should not be broken 
 down by some careless foot or by the wind. One day there 
 was a hail storm, and to keep his tender plant from the pelting of 
 the hail, he stood bending over it as long as the storm lasted. 
 
 The plant was something more than a pleasure and a com- 
 fort to the prisoner. It taught him some things that he had 
 never learned before, though he was a very wise man. When 
 he went into the prison he was an infidel. He did not believe 
 there was a God, and among his scribblings on the prison 
 wall, he had written, " All things come by chance." But as 
 he watched his loved flower, its opening beauties told him 
 that there was a God. He felt that none but God could make 
 that flower ; and he said that the flower had taught him more 
 than he had ever learned from the wise men of the earth. 
 
 The cherished and guarded plant proved to be of great ser- 
 vice to the prisoner. It was the means of his being set free. 
 There was another prisoner, an Italian, whose daughter came 
 to visit him. She was much interested by the tender care 
 which Charney took of his plant. At one time it seemed as 
 if it were going to die, and Charney felt very sad. He wished 
 that he could take up the stones around it, but he could not, 
 without permission. The Italian girl managed to see the Em- 
 press Josephine, and to tell her about it, and permission was 
 given to Charney to do with the plant as he desired. The 
 stones were taken up, and the earth was loosened, and the 
 flower was soon as bright as ever again. 
 
 Now Josephine thought much of flowers. It is said that 
 she admired the purple of her cactuses more than the imperial 
 purple of her robe, and that the perfume of her magnolias was 
 pleasanter to her than the flattery of her attendants. She, too, 
 had a cherished flower — the sweet jessamine — that she had 
 brought from the home of her youth, a far-off island of the 
 West Indies. This had been planted and reared by her own 
 hand; and though its simple beauty would scarcely have 
 excited the attention of a stranger, it was dearer to her than 
 all the rare and brilliant flowers that filled her hot-houses. 
 25 
 
386 MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 She thought a good deal, therefore, of the prisoner that took 
 such good care of his one flower. She inquired about him, 
 and after a little time persuaded the Emperor to give him his 
 freedom. And when Charney left the prison he took the 
 plant with him to his home, for he could not bear to part with 
 this sweet companion that had cheered him in his lonely 
 prison life, taught him such lessons of wisdom, and was at last 
 the means of setting him free. 
 
 Some perhaps would say that the seed of this flower got 
 into that prison yard and took root in the earth between the 
 stones by chance, and that this was all very lucky for the 
 prisoner. But this is not so. Nothing comes by chance. 
 God sent that seed there and made it lodge in the right place 
 to have it grow. He sent it to do great things for the poor 
 prisoner. Little did Charney think when he saw that tiny 
 plant first pushing up from between the stones, that by it God 
 would free him from prison, and what was better, deliver him 
 from infidelity. — Anonymous. 
 
 THE HERMIT AND THE MINSTREL. 
 
 MRS. ANNA JAMESON. 
 
 CERTAIN holy anchorite had passed a long life 
 in a cave of the Thebiad, remote from all com- 
 munion with men ; and eschewing, as he would 
 the gates of hell, even the very presence of a 
 woman; and he fasted and prayed, and per- 
 formed many and severe penances; and his 
 whole thought was how he should make himself 
 of account in the sight of God, that he might 
 enter into his paradise. And having lived this life three- 
 score and ten years, he was puffed up with the notion of his 
 own great virtue and sanctity, and, like to St. Anthony, he 
 besought the Lord to show him what saint he should emu- 
 late as greater than himself, thinking, perhaps, in his heart, 
 
THE HERMIT AND THE MINSTREL. 387 
 
 that the Lord would answer that none was greater or holier. 
 And the same night he had a dream, and the angel of God 
 appeared to him, and said, " If thou wouldst excel all others 
 in virtue and sanctity, thou must strive to be like a certain 
 minstrel who goes begging and singing from door to door." 
 And the holy man was in great astonishment, and he arose 
 and took his staff, and ran forth in search of this minstrel; and 
 when he had found him, he questioned him earnestly, saying, 
 "Tell me, I pray thee, good brother, what good works thou 
 hast performed in thy lifetime, and by what prayers and 
 penances thou hast made thyself acceptable to God?" And 
 the man, greatly wondering and ashamed to be questioned, 
 hung down his head, as he replied, "I beseech thee, holy 
 father, mock me not! I have performed no good works, and 
 as to praying, alas! — sinner that I am — I am not worthy to 
 pray. I do nothing but go about from door to door, amusing 
 the people with my viol and my flute." And the holy man 
 insisted, and said, "Nay, but peradventure in the midst of this 
 thy evil life, thou hast done some good works?" And the 
 minstrel replied, " I know of nothing good that I have done." 
 And the hermit, wondering more and more, said, " How hast 
 f.hou become a beggar? Hast thou spent thy substance in 
 riotous living, like most others of thy calling ? " And the man, 
 answering, said, "Nay, but there was a poor woman, whom I 
 found running hither and thither in distraction, for her husband 
 and children had been sold into slavery to pay a debt. And 
 the woman being very fair, certain sons of Belial pursued after 
 her; so I took her home to my hut, and protected her from 
 them; and I gave her all I possessed, to redeem her family, 
 and conducted her in safety to the city, where she was reunited 
 to her husband and children. But what of that, my father; is 
 there a man who would not have done the same ? " And the 
 hermit, hearing the minstrel speak these words, wept bitterly, 
 saying, " For my part, I have not done so much good in all 
 my life ; and yet they call me a man of God, and thou art only 
 a poor minstrel ! " 
 
388 MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 THE FATHER OF HIS COUNTRY AND THE 
 YANKEE BOY. 
 
 ( LD Parson Hale, whom I used to hear preach 
 when I was a little fellow, said Grandfather 
 Marvin, was never weary of telling us 
 children the incidents of a visit he and his 
 mother made to Virginia when he was a 
 lad. The long ride, by private carriage, from 
 Massachusetts Bay to the Potomac River, 
 was indeed a pleasurable and exciting jour- 
 ney, and the meeting with General Washington was the event 
 of events. 
 
 The General was at that time living in dignified re- 
 tirement, upon his large estate at Mount Vernon, which 
 consisted of ten thousand acres of land in one body. 
 Nearly a third of it formed a neck on the Potomac River, 
 with Huntington Creek Bay on the east and Donge 
 Creek. Bay on the west. There were two grist mills on 
 the estate, one driven by oxen or horses and the other 
 by water. 
 
 Parson Hale's uncle, William Barker, was, at the time of 
 his notable visit, overseer of the water-power mill, which stood 
 at the head of Donge Creek Bay. 
 
 It was quite a large mill, with a twelve-foot wheel, the water 
 coming through a sluice-way two miles long. Boats laden 
 with grain came close up to the mill door. 
 
 The estate was divided into several different farms, each 
 farm being devoted to the raising of grasses, grain and vege- 
 tables, just like any other farm, only everything was on such 
 a large scale. There were hundreds of acres of land in each 
 field, and nearly four hundred men were employed all the year 
 round. 
 
 General Washington had the personal oversight of these 
 
WASHINGTON AND THE YANKEE BOY. 389 
 
 extensive farming operations, and rode about the fields and 
 farms, on horseback, every morning, in pleasant weather. 
 
 Often gentlemen who were his visitors, and sometimes ladies, 
 accompanied him on these rides. Their horses were trained 
 for the saddle, and made nothing of leaping across the broad, 
 deep ditches which separated the large fields, instead of 
 fences. 
 
 Young Matthew Hale had been at the mill several days 
 without getting a glimpse of the great man, whom, of course, 
 he was very anxious and curious to see. So one day his uncle 
 sent him to the " Brick Barn," on a grain boat, telling him 
 that he would be sure to see the famous General in that 
 vicinity. 
 
 Matthew found the barn to be situated at a distance of 
 about three miles from Mount Vernon residence. It was a 
 huge structure, built of brick, and was considered a great 
 curiosity, being sixteen square, or double octagonal. 
 
 The lad was looking about him with the eager desire to 
 know " the why and wherefore " of everything — an impulse 
 that has always characterized the wide-awake New England 
 boy wherever he goes — when some one shouted to him that 
 the General was coming. 
 
 As young Matthew ran out of the barn, he saw, galloping 
 at a swift pace over the newly mowed and beautifully undulat- 
 ing meadow, a dozen or more gaily dressed ladies and gentle- 
 men on horseback. They were all finely mounted, and a 
 number of sleek, handsome dogs ran gracefully on either side 
 of the brilliant cavalcade. 
 
 The little Massachusetts boy was so overawed and confused 
 by the picturesqueness and grandeur of the sight and the 
 majesty of the great General's presence, that he followed his 
 first inclination, which was to run behind a corner of the 
 immense barn, near which he was standing, thinking he could 
 look out from that point of safety and see the company sweep 
 by, himself remaining unobserved. 
 
 Upon his starting to run, a fierce little dog rushed away 
 
390 MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 from the party and flew, yelping, after him. The boy ran on, 
 and the dog followed in hot pursuit. Soon, the frightened 
 boy became conscious that not only the dog, but a flying 
 horseman, was also pursuing him. 
 
 Matthew had no idea of the extent of one side of that 
 sixteen-sided barn, but it seemed a long distance for his short 
 legs to accomplish. He looked back each time he turned a 
 corner, to see the head of a white horse appearing at the corner 
 behind him. 
 
 He supposed the General considered him an intruder, and 
 was determined to take him into custody. Not knowing what 
 fearful fate awaited him, should he be caught, he exerted every 
 nerve to escape, still turning corner after corner, the dog in hot 
 pursuit, the horseman close behind. 
 
 Almost ready to drop from fatigue, shame and terror, the 
 poor lad turned another corner, only to find himself directly 
 in front of the mounted party, who were drawn up near the 
 wide-open doors, where heaps of grain were being measured 
 before it should be transferred to the boat. 
 
 Here, he was brought to a stand- still by an authoritative 
 command of " Halt ! " It was but one word, and that not 
 loudly spoken, but that there was power in the voice was 
 evident by the alacrity with which it was obeyed by both pur- 
 suer and pursued. 
 
 The dreaded horseman, whom Matthew now saw in full 
 view, was a lad not much older than himself, mounted on a 
 pretty white pony. 
 
 " What does this mean, Dandridge ? " inquired General 
 Washington, in severe tones. 
 
 " Madge always runs after anything that tries to run away 
 from her, uncle; and I only thought I would see the chase 
 out," exclaimed the boy, in a voice that quivered, and with a 
 perturbed air. 
 
 " And who are you, my lad, and what do you want here ? " 
 asked the General, in a softened tone, turning to Matthew, who 
 was trembling from head to foot. 
 
WASHINGTON AND THE YANKEE BOY. 391 
 
 " I am Matthew Hale, sir, from Massachusetts," said our 
 Yankee boy, not forgetting, in his excitement, to remove his 
 hat and to make a graceful bow. " I came on with my mother, 
 to visit my uncle Barker, who lives at the Donge Creek mill; 
 and I am here at the " Brick Barn " to see the Father of my 
 Country." 
 
 "Thank you, my boy," said the General, very kindly. "I 
 am always proud and happy to see my Massachusetts friends. 
 You must come and call at Mount Vernon to-morrow after- 
 noon. I shall be at home at two o'clock." 
 
 And, lifting his hat, the General rode away, followed by the 
 whole party. 
 
 The Old Parson used to say that the chase around that six- 
 teen sided brick barn, when he supposed General Washington, 
 mounted on his white charger, was behind him, was a terrible 
 experience. It had its abundant compensation, for he went to 
 Mount Vernon at the time appointed, when the General 
 received him very cordially, asked him a great many questions 
 about his studies and what he read, and inquired kindly and 
 particularly about his family. 
 
 Upon learning that Matthew's father had died of a wound 
 received in the Revolutionary War, Washington manifested a 
 new interest in the lad, asked to see his widowed mother 
 when next he went to the mill, and befriended them both in 
 many ways. 
 
 As soon as the lad was old enough, he was sent by the 
 General to the academy at Alexandria, where he remained for 
 several years. 
 
 General Washington paid an annuity to this institution for 
 the support of orphans for many years, during his lifetime, and 
 at his death left a fund of five thousand dollars for the same 
 purpose. 
 
 So the chase around that sixteen-sided barn resulted in the 
 Yankee lad's being educated as a clergyman — one who did 
 effective work in his own field of labor, and died greatly 
 lamented and respected. — Golden Days. 
 
3^>2 MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 A PHILANTHROPIC PASTOR. 
 
 LIFE full of interest, instruction and sweet Chris- 
 tian philanthropy is that of the renowned and 
 honored German clergyman, Theodor Fliedner. 
 He was born at Eppstein, Rhenish Prussia, 
 in the year 1800, and in the year 1822 became 
 pastor of the congregation at Kaiserwerth, to 
 which his good father had ministered until his 
 death, in 1813. Soon after his settlement, his 
 people were suddenly impoverished by the fail- 
 ure of a large manufacturing firm which had employed most 
 of them. Refusing to take another charge, he set himself to 
 the task of relieving his poverty-stricken people, and visited 
 the philanthropic institutions of other countries, to study the 
 best methods of beginning his work. After an extended tour 
 he returned to Kaiserwerth and founded an institution for the 
 relief of the poor, the sick and the fallen. Several years later 
 he founded a society for the improvement of prison discipline, 
 and, in 1833, an asylum for discharged female convicts. 
 
 This latter was on a small scale, consisting only of his sum- 
 mer house in his garden, which soon proved too small, and 
 was exchanged for a more substantial edifice. His next and 
 grandest idea was to re-establish the office of the ministry of 
 women in the Protestant Church. He found sufficient warrant 
 for this step in Romans, xvi, in the beginning of which the 
 great Apostle to the Gentiles commands " Phcebe, our sister, 
 which is a servant of the church which is at Cenchrea: That 
 ye receive her in the Lord as becometh saints, and that ye 
 assist her in whatsoever business she hath need of you ; for 
 she hath been a succorer of many, and of myself also." 
 
 The office of deaconess existed in the Eastern Church as late 
 as the eighth century, and it is quite uncertain when it entirely 
 disappeared there, although in most of the Latin churches it 
 had fallen into disuse in the fifth century. In later times its 
 place was taken by various organizations and orders in the 
 
A PHILANTHROPIC PASTOR. 393 
 
 Catholic church, whose self-denying and devoted ministrations 
 of charity, mercy and consolation have been a blessing to 
 myriads of the needy, sick and fallen. Several attempts were 
 made in the Reformed churches, as early as the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, to revive the order of deaconesses, but none of them 
 proved successful until pastor Fliedner set to work, in 1836. 
 He had given the subject some years of thought and study, 
 and he brought to the execution of his purpose not only a 
 clear perception of the work he meant to accomplish, but also 
 a firm and indomitable purpose, in which he was nobly sus*- 
 tained and assisted by his devoted wife. It is of interest to 
 recall the difficulties under which the beginnings were made. 
 His wife was seriously ill at the time. "We had no money 
 wherewith to buy the house," he writes; "but, nevertheless, 
 she laid it upon me, in the name of the Lord, to buy it, and 
 the sooner the better. I bought it, cheerfully, on the twentieth 
 of April, 1836. The money was to be paid before Martinmas 
 of the same year." The money was raised and paid before 
 that time, although the sum was large for that country and the 
 class from whom it was secured. Two friends, single women, 
 who offered themselves for nursing in the hospital, were the 
 first Kaiserwerth deaconesses. In 1838 Fliedner first sent out 
 deaconesses to work in other places, and the home institution 
 gradually enlarged its sphere and added to the original infirm- 
 ary an orphan asylum, a normal school, an insane asylum and 
 a house of refuge for dissolute women. 
 
 In 1849 he visited the United States, and founded a " Mother 
 House," at Pittsburg. His work grew and prospered in other 
 places, under the intelligent direction of those whom he had 
 trained, and although he ended his useful and laborious life in 
 1864, there were already in existence, in 1870, about four hun- 
 dred houses or stations, in different parts of the world, prominent 
 among which were Pesth, Bucharest, Constantinople, Beyrout, 
 Jerusalem, Alexandria, London and Berlin. How small the be- 
 ginning, and yet how grand the results ! Verily, it is not for men 
 to despise the day of small things ! — From Life of Fliedner. 
 
394 MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 MAGNANIMITY OF SALADIN. 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 HE effects of the climate became, as usual, 
 fatal to the soldiers from the North, and the 
 more so that the dissolute license of the 
 Crusaders, forming a singular contrast to 
 the principles and purposes of their taking 
 up arms, rendered them more easy victims 
 to the insalubrious influence of burning 
 heat and chilling dews. To these discour- 
 aging causes of loss was to be added the sword of the enemy. 
 Saladin, than whom no greater name is recorded in Eastern 
 history, had learned, by bitter experience, that his light- 
 armed followers were little able to meet in close encounter 
 with the iron-clad Franks, and had been taught, at the same 
 time, to apprehend and dread the adventurous character of his 
 antagonist Richard. But if his armies were more than once 
 routed with great slaughter, his numbers gave the Saracen the 
 advantage in those lighter skirmishes, of which many were 
 inevitable. There was a perpetual warfare of posts and 
 foragers, in which many valuable lives were lost without any 
 corresponding object being gained. The Crusaders had to 
 purchase the means of sustaining life by life itself; and water, 
 like that of the well of Bethlehem, longed for by King David, 
 one of its ancient monarchs, was then, as before, only obtained 
 by the expenditure of blood. 
 
 These evils were, in a great measure, counterbalanced by 
 the stern resolution and restless activity of King Richard, who, 
 with some of his best knights, was ever on horseback, ready 
 to repair to any point where danger occurred, and often not 
 only bringing unexpected succor to the Christians, but dis- 
 comfiting the infidels when they seemed most secure of victory. 
 But even the iron frame of Cceur de Leon could not support, 
 
MAGNANIMITY OF SALAD IN. 395 
 
 without injury, the alternations of the unwholesome climate, 
 joined to ceaseless exertions of body and mind. 
 
 He became afflicted with one of those slow and wasting 
 fevers peculiar to Asia, and, in spite of his great strength and 
 still greater courage, grew first unfit to mount on horseback, 
 and then to attend the councils of war, which were, from time 
 to time, held by the Crusaders. 
 
 Naturally rash and impetuous, the irritability of his temper 
 preyed on itself. He was dreaded by his attendants, and even 
 the medical assistants feared to assume the necessary authority 
 which a physician, to do justice to his patient, must needs 
 exercise over him. 
 
 One faithful baron, who, perhaps, from the congenial nature 
 of his disposition, was devoutly attached to the king's person, 
 dared alone to come between the dragon and his wrath, and 
 quietly but firmly maintained a control which no other dared 
 assume over the dangerous invalid, and which Thomas de 
 Multon, the Lord of Gilsland, in Cumberland, surnamed by 
 the Normans the Lord de Vaux, only exercised because he 
 esteemed his sovereign's life and honor more than he did the 
 degree of favor which he might lose, or run the risk he might 
 incur in nursing a patient so intractable and whose displeasure 
 was so perilous. 
 
 It was on the decline of a Syrian day that Richard lay on 
 his couch of sickness, loathing it as much in mind as his 
 illness made it irksome to his body. His bright blue eye, 
 which at all times shone with uncommon keenness and 
 splendor, had its vivacity augmented by fever and mental 
 impatience, and glancing from among his curled and unshorn 
 locks of yellow hair as fitfully and as vividly as the last 
 gleams of the sun shoot through the clouds of an approaching 
 thunder storm, which still, however, are gilded by its beams. 
 His manly features showed the progress of wasting illness, 
 and his beard, neglected and untrimmed, had overgrown both 
 lips and chin. 
 
396 
 
 MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 Casting himself from side to side, now clutching toward him 
 the coverings which, at the next moment, he flung as 
 impatiently from him, his tossed couch and impatient gestures 
 showed at once the energy and the reckless impatience of a 
 disposition, whose natural bent was that Of the most active 
 exertion. 
 
 "So Sir Kenneth met with a 'wandering physician at the 
 grotto of Engeddi, ha ?" said the king, after a long and per- 
 turbed silence, spent in the feverish agitation which we have 
 endeavored to describe. 
 
 " Not so, my liege ;" replied de Vaux ; " but he met, I think, 
 near that place, with a Saracen Emir, with whom he had some 
 melee in the way of proof of valor, and finding him worthy to 
 bear brave men company, they went together, as errant knights 
 are wont, to the grotto of Engeddi." 
 
 " And did they there meet the physician ?" demanded the 
 king, impatiently. 
 
 " No, my liege," replied de Vaux ; " but the Saracen, 
 learning of your Majesty's grievous illness, undertook that 
 Saladin should send his own physician to you, and with 
 many assurances of his eminent skill ; and he came to 
 the grotto accordingly, after the Scottish knight had tarried 
 a day for him and more. He is attended as if he were 
 a prince, with drums and atabals, and servants on horse 
 and foot, and brings with him letters of credence from 
 Saladin." 
 
 " Have they been examined by Giacomo Loredani ?" 
 
 " I showed them to the interpreter ere bringing them hither, 
 and behold their contents, in our language !" 
 
 Richard took a scroll on which were inscribed these 
 words : — 
 
 " The blessing of Allah and his Prophet Mohammed (' Out 
 upon the hound !' said Richard, spitting in contempt, by way 
 of interjection). Saladin, king of kings, Soldan of Egypt and 
 Syria, the light and refuge of the earth, to the great Melech 
 
MAGNANIMITY OF SALAD IN. 897 
 
 Ric, Richard, of England, greeting : Whereas, we have been 
 informed that the hand of sickness hath been heavy upon thee, 
 our royal brother, and that thou hast with thee only such 
 Nazarene and Jewish mediciners as work without the blessing 
 of Allah and our holy Prophet (' Confusion on his head !' 
 again muttered the English monarch), we have, therefore, sent, 
 to tend and wait upon thee, at this time, the physician to our 
 own person, Adoubec al Hakim, before whose face the angel 
 Azrael (the angel of Death) spreads his wings and departs from 
 the sick chamber; who knows the virtues of herbs and stones, 
 the path of the sun, moon and stars, and can save man from 
 all that is not written on his forehead. And we do this, pray- 
 ing you heartily to honor and make use of his skill ; not 
 only that we may do service to thy worth and valor, which 
 is the glory of all the nations of Frangistan, but that we 
 may bring the controversy which is at present between us 
 to an end, either by honorable agreement or by open 
 trial thereof, with our weapons, in a fair field ; seeing that 
 it neither becomes thy courage and place to die the death 
 of a slave who hath been overwrought by his taskmaster, 
 nor befits it our fame that a brave adversary be snatched 
 from our weapons by such a disease. And therefore, may 
 
 the holy 
 
 " Hold! hold !" said Richard, " I will have no more of this 
 dog of a Prophet! It makes me sick to think the valiant and 
 worthy Soldan should believe in a dead dog. Yes; I will see 
 his physician. I will put myself into the charge of this Hakim. 
 I will repay the noble Soldan his generosity. I will meet 
 Saladin in the field, as he so worthily proposes, and he shall 
 have no cause to term Richard, of England, ungrateful. I will 
 strike him to the earth with my battle-axe. I will convert him 
 to Holy Church with such blows as he has rarely endured. 
 He shall recant his errors before my good cross-handled 
 sword, and I will have him baptized in the battle-field, from 
 my own helmet, though the cleansing waters were mixed 
 
398 MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 with the blood of us both. Haste, de Vaux, why dost 
 thou delay a conclusion so pleasing ? Fetch the Hakim 
 hither." 
 
 The physician, who had already informed himself of the 
 various symptoms of the king's illness, now felt his pulse 
 for a long time, and with deep attention, while all around 
 stood silent, and in breathless expectation. The sage next 
 filled a cup with spring water, and dipped into it a small, 
 red purse, which he took from his bosom. When he seemed 
 to think it sufficiently medicated, he was about to offer it to 
 the sovereign, who prevented him, by saying, " Hold, an 
 instant — thou hast felt my pulse — let me lay my finger on 
 thine ; I, too, as becomes a good knight, know something of 
 thine art." 
 
 The Arabian yielded his hand, without hesitation, and 
 his long, slender, dark fingers were, for an instant, en- 
 closed and almost buried in the large enfoldment of King 
 Richard's hand. " His blood beats calm as an infant's," said 
 the king; so throb not theirs who poison princes. De Vaux, 
 whether we live or die, dismiss this Hakim, with honor 
 and safety. Commend us, friend, to the noble Saladin. 
 Should I die, it is without doubt of his faith ; should I 
 live, it will be to thank him, as a warrior would desire to be 
 thanked." 
 
 He then raised himself in bed, took the cup in his hands, 
 and turning to the Marquis and the others: " Mark what I 
 say, and let my royal brethren pledge me, in Cyprus wine — 
 ' To the immortal honor of the first Crusader who shall strike 
 lance or sword on the gate of Jerusalem ; and to the shame 
 and eternal infamy of whosoever shall turn back from the 
 plow on which he hath laid his hand.' " 
 
 He drained the cup to the bottom, resigned it to the Arabian, 
 and sunk back, as if exhausted, upon the cushions which were 
 arranged to receive him. The physician, then, with silent but 
 expressive signs, directed that all should leave the tent, ex- 
 
MAGNANIMITY OF SALADIN. 399 
 
 cepting himself and De Vaux, whom no remonstrance could 
 induce to withdraw. The apartment was cleared, accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 When the critical hour had arrived, at which the physician, 
 according to the rules of his art, had predicted that his royal 
 patient might be awakened, with safety, the sponge was applied 
 for that purpose ; and the leech had not made many observa- 
 tions ere he assured the Baron of Gilsland that the fever 
 had entirely left his sovereign, and that such was the happy 
 strength of his constitution, it would not be even necessary, 
 as in most cases, to give a second dose of the powerful 
 medicine. 
 
 Richard himself seemed of the same opinion, for, sitting up 
 and rubbing his eyes, he demanded of De Vaux what present 
 sum of money was in the royal coffers. The baron could not 
 exactly inform him of the amount. 
 
 " It matters not," said Richard ; " be it greater or smaller, 
 bestow it all on this learned leech, who hath, I trust, given me 
 back again to the service of the Crusade. If it be less than a. 
 thousand byzants, let him have jewels to make it up." 
 
 " I sell not the wisdom with which Allah has endowed me," 
 answered the Arabian physician, " and be it known to you, 
 great prince, that the Divine medicine of which you have 
 partaken would lose its effects in my unworthy hands, did I 
 exchange its virtues either for gold or diamonds." 
 
 " The physician refuseth a gratuity," said de Vaux. 
 
 " Thomas de Vaux," said Richard, " thou knowest no courage 
 but what belongs to the sword ; no bounty or virtue but what 
 are used in chivalry ; I tell thee that this Moor, in his in- 
 dependence, might set an example to them who account them- 
 selves the flower of knighthood." 
 
 " It is reward enough," said the Moor, folding his arms on 
 his bosom, and maintaining an attitude at once respectful and 
 dignified, "that so great a king as the *Melec Ric should 
 thus speak of his servant." 
 
 * Richard Coeur de Lion. 
 
400 
 
 MAGNANIMITY 
 
 BRAVERY AND MAGNANIMITY OF THE 
 SPARTANS. 
 
 PLUTARCH. 
 
 T no time was the discipline of the Spartans less 
 severe than when they were engaged in war. 
 Then they were permitted to have fine clothes 
 and costly armor, and to curl their hair, of 
 which they had a great quantity. They were 
 particular about this ornament, because the law- 
 giver had said that a large head of hair added 
 beauty to a good face and terror to an ugly one. 
 During their campaigns they were better fed, and forced to 
 exercise less severely than in time of peace, and their whole 
 treatment was so much more indulgent that they were never 
 better satisfied than when under military rule. They went to 
 battle, dancing and keeping step to the music without disturb- 
 ing their ranks. They were gay, cheerful, and so eager that 
 they resembled race-horses, full of fire and neighing for the 
 start. When the king advanced against the enemy, he was 
 always surrounded by those who had been crowned at the 
 public games. Spartans considered it such a favor to be so 
 placed in battle, that one of them who had gained a difficult 
 victory in an Olympian game, upon being asked what reward 
 he expected, since he would not accept money, as other com- 
 batants did, replied : " I shall have the honor to fight foremost 
 in the ranks before my prince." 
 
 When they had routed an enemy they continued in pursuit 
 until they were assured of the victory, but no longer, for they 
 deemed it unworthy of a Grecian to destroy those who did 
 not resist. This manner of dealing with their enemies was not 
 only magnanimous, but was wise, for their opponents often 
 gave up the fight and fled, knowing that their lives would be 
 spared as soon as they d\d so. 
 
A FTER FOR T Y CENTURIES. 401 
 
 AFTER FORTY CENTURIES. 
 
 f^^^^/OW beautiful, in the great, are the qualities of 
 gentleness, kindness and charity. And when 
 we read of them as practiced by those now 
 dead, how quickly do our hearts go out to 
 them. It is an epitaph of real worth. 
 
 We have just been reading of an Egyp- 
 tian of rank and wealth, in those remote and 
 wonderful times when mountains of stone 
 rose up in the desert, at sight of which men of to-day stand 
 lost in wonder and admiration. He does not glory in his 
 wealth, or in his victories. But this is the message which he 
 leaves to posterity, and which forty centuries have carefully 
 preserved for us to read and ponder over, and perhaps act on. 
 And do not these simple words touch your heart? Listen to 
 them : " Not a child did I injure. Not a widow did I oppress. 
 Not a herdsman did I ill treat. There was no beggar in my 
 days ; no one starved in my time. And when the years of 
 famine came, I plowed all the lands of the province, to its 
 northern and southern boundaries, feeding its inhabitants, and 
 providing their food. There was no starving person in it, and 
 I made the widow to be as though she possessed a husband." 
 Very little thought had he that, after so many centuries, 
 men in the far distant, then unknown, New World, speaking a 
 different tongue, with habits and customs and rites so different, 
 would read his epitaph and thank God for the record of a good 
 man. The memory of the just is blessed. Good actions are 
 the flowers of the heart. The memory of this dead man is 
 fragrant still. May it prove a voice of power from the dead to 
 the living. 
 
 If we could know that far down the ages some word or 
 
 deed of ours should spring into new life, what a restraining 
 
 force it would be to keep us from bad words and evil deeds. 
 
 But who can tell, as the wise men of those coming centuries 
 
 26 
 
402 
 
 MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 filter the refuse of these almost forgotten times, what residuum 
 may remain, what fragments of our work, which we could wish 
 utterly burned, may confront them, to settle some vexed query, 
 or point a moral to that new age. But if only good is found, 
 if those little fragments (if such there be) tell a story of good 
 and true life, full of love to God and all his creatures, how 
 grateful would we be. 
 
 We will not point the moral. You will easily see what 
 manner of life you and we ought to live, in view of this possi- 
 bility of such an earthly resurrection. And if it does not 
 come true in this world, what about the next ? Are we all 
 ready for that? — Golden Rule. 
 
 ROYAL MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 MAN named Lambrun and his wife had been many 
 years in the service of Mary Stuart, and were 
 sincerely attached to her. The tragical death 
 of that unfortunate princess had such an effect 
 on the husband that he did not long survive 
 her, and the widow, Margaret Lambrun, deter- 
 mined to revenge upon Queen Elizabeth the 
 loss of two persons so dear to her. She there- 
 fore disguised herself in man's clothes, bought two pistols and 
 went to London. Soon after, when the Queen appeared in 
 public, Margaret endeavored to make her way through the 
 crowd in order to shoot her, but one of the pistols fell, and she 
 was immediately apprehended. The Queen being informed 
 of the circumstance, ordered the man to be brought before 
 her, and said to him : " Well, sir, who are you, and why 
 do you seek to kill me ?" " Madam," replied Margaret, " I am 
 a woman ; I was a long time in the service of Mary Stuart, 
 whom you put to death unjustly ; her execution caused the 
 death of my dear husband who was sincerely attached to her; 
 
HUMBOLDT AND THE YOUNG SCIENTIST. 
 
 403 
 
 and my affection for both of them has excited me to revenge." 
 "And how do you think I ought to deal with you?" said 
 Elizabeth. " Do you speak to me as a queen or a judge ?" 
 said Margaret. " As a queen." " Then," replied she, " you 
 ought to pardon me." 
 
 " And what security can you give that you will not attempt 
 my life again ?" 
 
 " Madam, a pardon granted under such conditions ceases to 
 be a favor." " Well, then," said the Queen, " I pardon you, 
 and trust to your gratitude for my safety." — Anonymous, 
 
 HUMBOLDT AND THE YOUNG SCIENTIST. 
 
 WAS only twenty-four years of age when in 
 Paris, whither I had gone with means given 
 to me by a friend, but was at last about to 
 resign my studies, from want of ability to meet 
 my expenses. Professor Mitscherlich was 
 then on a visit in Paris, and I had seen him in 
 the morning, when he had asked me what was 
 the cause of my depressed feelings ; I told 
 him I had to go, for I had nothing left. The 
 next morning, as I was seated at breakfast, in front of the yard 
 of the hotel where I lived, I saw the servant of Humboldt ap- 
 proach. He handed me a note, saying there was no answer, 
 and disappeared. I opened the note, and I see it now before 
 me as distinctly as if I held the paper in my hand. It said : 
 " My friend : I hear that you intend leaving Paris in conse- 
 quence of some embarrassment. That shall not be. I wish 
 you to remain here as long as the object for which you came 
 is not accomplished. I enclose you a check for £^o. It is a 
 loan, which you may repay when you can." 
 
 Some years afterward, when I could have repaid him, I 
 wrote, asking for the privilege of remaining forever in his 
 
404 
 
 MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 debt, knowing that this request would be more consonant 
 with his feelings than the recovery of the money, and I am 
 now in his debt. What he had done for me I know he has 
 
 done for many others, in silence and unknown to the world. 
 
 * * * * * ********* 
 
 The influence he has exerted upon the progress of science 
 is incalculable. I need only allude to the fact that the Cosmos, 
 bringing every branch of natural science down to the compre- 
 hension of every class of students, has been translated into the 
 language of every civilized nation of the world, and gone 
 through several editions. With him ends a great period in the 
 history of science, a period to which Cuvier, Laplace, Arago, 
 Gay-Lussac, Decandolle and Robert Brown belonged. — Eu- 
 logy on Humboldt by Professor Louis Agassis. 
 
 CASIMIR, II, AND KONARSKI. 
 
 ASIMIR, II, King of Poland, received a blow 
 from a Polish gentleman named Konarski, who 
 had lost all he possessed while playing with 
 the prince. Scarcely was the blow given, 
 when, sensible of the enormity of the crime, he 
 betook himself to flight; but he was soon 
 apprehended by the king's guards, and con- 
 demned to lose his head. Casimir, who waited for him in 
 silence amid his courtiers, as soon as he saw him appear, said: 
 " I am not surprised at the conduct of this gentleman. Not 
 being able to revenge himself on Fortune, it is not to be won- 
 dered at that he has ill-treated his friend. I am the only one 
 to blame in this affair, for I ought not, by my example, to 
 encourage a pernicious practice, which may be the ruin of my 
 nobility." Then, turning to the criminal, he said: " I perceive 
 you are sorry for your fault ; that is sufficient ; take your 
 money again, and let us renounce gaming forever." 
 
 — Anonymous. 
 
THE MAN OF ROSS. 405 
 
 THE MAN OF ROSS. 
 
 ALEXANDER POPE. 
 
 pfjl^ICHER than miser o'er his countless hoards, 
 Nobler than kings or king-polluted lords, 
 Here dwelt the Man of Ross ! O traveler, hear ! 
 Departed merit claims a reverent tear. 
 Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health, 
 With generous joy he viewed his modest wealth ; 
 He heard the widow's heaven-breathed prayer of praise, 
 He marked the sheltered orphan's tearful gaze, 
 Or, where the sorrow-shriveled captive lay, 
 Poured the bright blaze of freedom's noontide ray." 
 
 John Kyrle, surnamed " The Man of Ross," was a private 
 gentleman of small fortune, born in 1664, and died in 1754, in 
 the Parish of Ross, County of Hereford, England. He was 
 distinguished for his benevolence and public spirit. During 
 his lifetime he built a church and founded a hospital in his 
 native place, and at his death he left a goodly portion of his 
 fortune to be devoted to charitable and benevolent purposes. 
 
 The foregoing tribute to his memory was penned by the 
 poet Coleridge, on the occasion of his visit to the house for- 
 merly occupied by the " Man of Ross." 
 
 But all our praises why should lords engross ? 
 Rise, honest muse ! and sing the Man of Ross ; 
 Pleased Vaga echoes through her winding bounds, 
 And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds. 
 Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow? 
 From the dry rock who bade the waters flow ? 
 Not to the sky in useless columns tossed, 
 Or in proud falls magnificently lost, 
 But clear and artless, pouring through the plain 
 Health to the sick and solace to the swain. 
 Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows ? 
 Whose seats the weary traveler repose ? 
 Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise ? 
 " The Man of Ross," each lisping babe replies. 
 Behold the market-place, with poor o'erspread ! 
 The Man of Ross divides the weekly bread ; 
 
406 
 
 MA GNANIMITW 
 
 He feeds yon almshouse — neat, but void of state, 
 
 Where age and want sit smiling at the gate ; 
 
 Him portioned maids, apprenticed orphans blest, 
 
 The young who labor and the old who rest. 
 
 Is any sick ? The Man of Ross relieves, 
 
 Prescribes, attends, the medicine makes and gives. 
 
 Is there a variance ? Enter but his door, 
 
 Balked are the courts, and contest is no more ; 
 
 Despairing quacks, with curses, fled the place, 
 
 And vile attorneys, now a useless race. 
 
 Thrice happy man ! enabled to pursue 
 
 What all so wish, but want the power to do ! 
 
 O, say, what sums that generous hand supply ? 
 
 What mines to swell that boundless charity ? 
 
 Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear, 
 
 This man possessed — five hundred pounds a year. 
 
 Blush, grandeur, blush ! proud hearts withdraw your blaze; 
 
 Ye little stars ! hide your diminished rays. 
 
 And what ? no monument, inscription, stone, 
 
 His race, his form, his name almost unknown ! 
 
 Who builds a church to God, and not to fame, 
 
 Will never mark the marble with his name. 
 
 LAST HOURS OF MADAME ROLAND. 
 
 ALPHONSE LOUIS MARIE DE LAMARTINE. 
 
 HE examination and trial of Madame Roland 
 was but a repetition of those charges 
 against the Gironde with which every 
 harangue of the Jacobin party was filled. 
 She was reproached with being the wife of 
 Roland, and the friend of his accomplices. 
 With a proud look of triumph, Madame 
 Roland admitted her guilt in both instances; 
 spoke with tenderness of her husband, with respect of her 
 friends, and with dignified modesty of herself; but borne down 
 by the clamors of the court whenever she gave vent to her 
 indignation against her persecutors, she ceased speaking, amid 
 
LAST HOURS OF MADAME ROLAND. 407 
 
 the threats and invectives of her hearers. The people were at 
 that period permitted to take a fearful and leading part in the 
 dialogue between the judges and accused ; they even permitted 
 persons on trial to address the court, or compelled their silenc t ; 
 the very verdict rested with them. 
 
 Madame Roland heard herself sentenced to death with the 
 air of one who saw in her condemnation merely her title to 
 immortality. She rose, and slightly bowing to her judges, 
 said, with a bitter and ironical smile, " I thank you for con- 
 sidering me worthy to share the fate of the good and great 
 men you have murdered !" She flew down the steps of the 
 Conciergerie with the rapid swiftness of a child about to 
 obtain some long-desired object : the end and aim of her 
 desires was death. As she passed along the corridor, where 
 all the prisoners had assembled to greet her return, she looked 
 at them smilingly, and, drawing her right hand across her 
 throat, made a sign expressive of cutting off a head. This was 
 her only farewell; it was tragic as her destiny, joyous as her 
 deliverance ; and well was it understood by those who saw it. 
 Many who were incapable of weeping for their own fate shed 
 tears of unfeigned sorrow for hers. 
 
 On that day (November ioth, 1793) a greater number than 
 usual of carts laden with victims rolled onward toward the 
 scaffold. Madame Roland was placed in the last, beside an 
 infirm old man, named Lamarche. She wore a white robe, as 
 a symbol of her innocence, of which she was anxious to con- 
 vince the people ; her magnificent hair, black and glossy as a 
 raven's wing, fell in thick masses, almost to her knees ; her 
 complexion, purified by her long captivity, and now glowing 
 under the influence of a sharp, frosty November day, bloomed 
 with all the freshness of early youth. Her eyes were full of 
 expression ; her whole countenance seemed radiant with glory, 
 while a movement between pity and contempt agitated her 
 lips. A crowd followed them, uttering the coarsest threats 
 and most revolting expressions. " To the guillotine ! to the 
 guillotine !" exclaimed the female part of the rabble. 
 
408 MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 " I am going to the guillotine," replied Madame Roland ; 
 " a few moments, and I shall be there ; but those who send me 
 thither will follow me ere long. I go innocent, but they will 
 come stained with blood, and you who applaud our execution 
 will then applaud theirs with equal zeal." Sometimes she 
 would turn away her head that she might not appear to hear the 
 insults with which she was assailed, and would lean with almost 
 filial tenderness over the aged partner of her execution. The poor 
 old man wept bitterly, and she kindly and cheeringly encour- 
 aged him to bear up with firmness and to suffer with resignation. 
 She even tried to enliven the dreary journey they were per- 
 forming together by little attempts at cheerfulness, and at 
 length succeeded in winning a smile from her fellow-sufferer. 
 
 A colossal statue of Liberty, composed of clay, like the 
 liberty of the time, then stood in the middle of the Place de la 
 Concorde, on the spot now occupied by the Obelisk ; the 
 scaffold was erected beside this statue. Upon arriving there 
 Madame Roland descended from the cart in which she had 
 been conveyed. Just as the executioner had seized her arm 
 to enable her to be the first to mount the guillotine, she dis- 
 played an instance of that noble and tender consideration for 
 others which only a woman's heart could conceive, or put into 
 practice at such a moment. "Stay!" said she, momentarily 
 resisting the man's grasp. " I have one only favor to ask, and 
 that is not for myself; I beseech you grant it me." Then, 
 turning to the old man, she said : " Do you precede me to the 
 scaffold ; to see my blood flow would be making you suffer the 
 bitterness of death twice over. I must spare you the pain of 
 witnessing my punishment." The executioner allowed this 
 arrangement to be made. 
 
 With what sensibility and firmness must the mind have been 
 imbued which could, at such a time, forget its own sufferings, 
 to think only of saving one pang to an unknown old man ! 
 and how clearly does this one little trait attest the heroic calm- 
 ness with which this celebrated woman met her death ! After 
 the execution of Lamarche, which she witnessed without chang- 
 
THE COUNTESS' PILLAR. 
 
 409 
 
 changing color, Madame Roland stepped lightly up to the 
 scaffold, and bowing before the statue of Liberty, as though to 
 do homage to a power for whom she was about to die, ex- 
 claimed, " O, Liberty ! Liberty ! how many crimes are com- 
 mitted in thy name !" She then resigned herself to the hands 
 of the executioner, and in a kw seconds her head fell into the 
 basket placed to receive it. 
 
 THE COUNTESS' PILLAR. 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 
 
 [N the roadside, between Penrith and Appleby, 
 there stands a pillar with the following in- 
 scription : — 
 
 " This pillar was erected, in the year 1656, 
 by Anne, Countess Dowager of Pembroke, 
 for a memorial of her last parting with her 
 pious mother, Margaret, Countess Dowager 
 of Cumberland, on the second of April, 
 1616; in memory whereof she hath left an 
 annuity of £4., to be distributed to the poor of the parish of 
 Brougham, every second day of April, forever, upon the stone 
 table placed hard by. Laus Deo ! " 
 
 While the poor gather round, till the end of time 
 May this bright flower of charity display 
 Its bloom, unfolding at the appointed day; 
 Flower than the loveliest of the vernal prime 
 Lovelier, transported from heaven's purest clime! 
 
 " Charity never faileth; " on that creed, 
 More than on written testament or deed, 
 The pious lady built with hope sublime. 
 Alms on this stone to be dealt out forever! 
 
 " Laus Deo." Many a stranger, passing by, 
 Has with that parting mixed a filial sigh, 
 Blest its humane memorial's fond endeavor, 
 And fastened on those lines an eye tear-glazed, 
 Has ended, though no clerk, with " God be praised ! " 
 
410 
 
 MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 THE KING AND THE MILLER. 
 
 EAR Sans Souci, the favorite residence of 
 Frederic the Great, there was a mill, which 
 much interfered with the view from the 
 palace. One day, the king sent to inquire 
 what the owner would take for the mill, and 
 the unexpected reply came that the miller 
 would not sell it for any money. The king, 
 much incensed, gave orders that the mill 
 should be pulled down. The miller made no resistance, but, 
 folding his arms, quietly remarked, "The king may do this, 
 but there are laws in Prussia." And he took legal proceedings, 
 the result of which was that the king had to rebuild the mill, 
 and to pay a good sum of money besides, in compensation. 
 
 Although his Majesty was much chagrined at this end to 
 the matter, he put the best face he could upon it, and turning 
 to his courtiers, he remarked, " I am glad to see that there are 
 just laws and upright judges in my kingdom." 
 
 A sequel to this incident occurred about forty years ago. A 
 descendant of the miller of whom we have just been talking 
 had come into possession of the mill. 
 
 After having struggled for several years against ever- 
 increasing poverty, and being at length quite unable to keep 
 on his business, he wrote to the King of Prussia, reminding 
 him of the incident we have just related, and stating that, if 
 his Majesty felt so disposed, he should be very thankful, in his 
 present difficulty, to sell the mill. The king wrote the follow- 
 ing reply with his own hand : — 
 
 " My Dear Neighbor : I cannot allow you to sell the mill. It must 
 always be in your possession as long as one member of your family ex- 
 ists, for it belongs to the history of Prussia. I regret, however, to hear 
 you are in such straightened circumstances, and therefore send you here- 
 with $6000, in the hope that it may be of some service in restoring your 
 fortunes. Consider me always your affectionate neighbor, 
 
 Frederic William. 
 — Examiner and Chronicle. 
 
PART VIII. 
 
 
 DEVOTION TO DUTY, 
 
" Every mission constitutes a pledge of duty. Every man is bound to con- 
 secrate his every faculty to its fulfillment. He will derive his rule of action 
 front the profound conviction of that duty." 
 
 — Joseph Mazzini. 
 
PART VIII. 
 
 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 THE HEROES OF BERKENHEAD. 
 
 'HE British steamer " Berkenhead" was lost on 
 the coast of Africa. She-struck on a hidden 
 rock, stove a plank at the bows, and went 
 down in half an hour's time. There was a 
 regiment of troops on board. As soon as 
 the alarm was given, and it was apparent 
 the ship's doom was sealed, the roll of the 
 drum called the soldiers to arms on the 
 upper deck. The call was promptly obeyed, though every 
 gallant heart knew that it was his death summons. The 
 women and children were placed in the boats, and nearly all 
 saved. There were no boats for the troops, but no panic, no 
 blanched, quivering lips appeared among them. Down went 
 the ship, and down went the heroic band, shoulder to shoulder, 
 firing a/<?« dej'oie, as they sank beneath the waves. 
 
 Undaunted, on the vessel's deck, 
 
 The gallant soldiers stand, 
 The stricken ship a sinking wreck, 
 
 And death on every hand ! 
 413 
 
414 
 
 DEl'OTIOX TO DUTY. 
 
 Death ! for the life-boats bear away 
 Their freight of feebler frame. 
 
 And women pale and childhood frail 
 Brave manhood's succor claim. 
 
 But who, brave hearts, shall care for you ? 
 
 So rirm in will and deed ; 
 You, still in storm and danger true ; 
 
 Ah ! none for you may plead ; 
 Shoulder to shoulder, firm ye stand, 
 
 And still on death ye ga . e. 
 Nor pallid cheek nor trembling hand 
 
 A faltering soul betrays. 
 
 Deep peals the larum of the drum, 
 
 Not to the battle field, 
 Yet gallantly the soldiers come, 
 
 Who feel their doom is sealed ! 
 Their doom is sealed, for one by one, 
 
 As moments pass, they know 
 How heave the billows for their grave 
 
 The sinking deck below ! 
 
 Shoulder to shoulder, hand to hand, 
 
 They stand to meet their fate : 
 O dauntless souls ! O gallant band ! 
 
 Who thus for death can wait ! 
 No craven there ; no bloodless cheek ; 
 
 The calm, unwavering eye 
 Tells, as no human words can speak, 
 
 How the brave heart can die ! 
 
 Hushed seem the murmurs of the wave, 
 
 And hushed the very air, 
 As in the stillness of the grave 
 
 They stand in silence there ! 
 Slow sinks the ship — a lurid glare ! 
 
 A volley, loud and deep ! 
 The smoke wreaths past, they melt away, 
 
 And on the billows sweep ! 
 Sweep on — and o'er the vanished wreck 
 
 The white wave lifts its crest, 
 Like plumes above each gallant brow, 
 
 Or wreaths upon each breast. 
 
'ONE HAND FOR INJURIES, ANOTHER FOR GOD." 415 
 
 They perish as the warrior dies, 
 
 'Mid battle's stormy breath, 
 When, through the calm, undaunted eyes, 
 
 The brave soul looks on death ! 
 O dauntless hearts ! O gallant band ! 
 
 Wear this, your glorious crown ! 
 Shoulder to shoulder, hand to hand, 
 
 'Twas thus your ship went down ! 
 
 Miss E. G. Barber. 
 
 "ONE HAND FOR INJURIES, ANOTHER FOR 
 
 GOD." 
 
 ^|^g^j( IACOOMES, the first Indian convert on 
 Martha's Vineyard, was a remarkable man. 
 He was an Indian of Great Harbor, near 
 Edgartown. The Indian sachems and other 
 of their principal men looked upon him as 
 an ordinary or mean person, on account of 
 his humble parentage, slow speech and 
 uninteresting countenance; yet there was 
 within him that which afterward appeared of 
 greater value than the endowments of those who looked upon 
 him with contempt. Living among the English, some of them 
 visited him in his wigwam, and were courteously entertained 
 by him ; and he visited them in return, evidently that he might 
 learn something that would be for his advantage. About the 
 same time he also went to the English meeting, where the 
 Rev. Thomas Mayhew, who was then minister to the few 
 English families in Edgartown, preached. Mr. Mayhew had, 
 as yet, not made any direct efforts for the conversion of the 
 Indians, but was revolving in his mind some plans whereby to 
 reach them. The coming of Hiacoomes to his meeting, the 
 disposition he manifested to hear and receive instruction, and 
 the gravity of his demeanor, induced the minister to try what 
 he could do in influencing him to become a Christian. He 
 
416 
 
 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 immediately sought an opportunity for conversation, and find- 
 ing encouragement in his interview, he invited the Indian in- 
 quirer to come to his house every Sabbath evening, that he 
 might speak to him of religion. The news soon spread among 
 the Indians, and the sachems and pawwaws were much alarmed, 
 and tried to discourage Hiacoomes from holding communica- 
 tion with the English and receiving their instructions ; but all 
 to no purpose, as he was strongly bent after still higher attain- 
 ments in the knowledge of God. This was in 1743, and in 
 two years afterward, having in the meantime been prepared 
 by Mr. Mayhew, he commenced teaching to the Indians the 
 things of Christianity. 
 
 He was not suffered to proceed without opposition from the 
 pawwaws, sachems and other Indians ; but he made this im- 
 provement on the injustice done him: " I had," he remarked, 
 "one hand for injuries and another hand for God; while I 
 received wrong with the one, I laid faster hold on God with the 
 other." These words should be written in gold. 
 
 — New York Independent. 
 
 THE MONK OF JARROW. 
 
 Y one who was well qualified to relate it, the 
 last moments of our great Saxon author have 
 been recorded with genuine pathos, and a noble 
 and touching scene was the death-bed of Bede, 
 the Monk of Jarrow. It is the most remarkable 
 and pathetic in the early history of literature, 
 and although often related, the reader will still 
 derive pleasure from its contemplation. For 
 many long days he had been employed upon the fondest of his 
 literary undertakings ; he had almost finished a translation of 
 the four gospels into the common language of the people. A 
 chapter only remained to complete the noble volume. He was 
 
THE MONK OF JAR ROW. 417 
 
 sure that such a volume would redound to the honor of the 
 dear Saviour, in whose presence he was shortly to appear. A 
 few hours, and the sand in the glass will have run its course. 
 With a prophetic sense of the approach of death, the good old 
 monk calls his scribes to draw near, and to use all diligence 
 and dispatch ; they are all well practiced in their craft, and 
 speed quickly on their holy task. But the countenance of the 
 venerable author is visibly changing; death is casting its 
 shadows over the pale features of the monk. The good work 
 is not yet finished ; the last chapter of the gospel of St. John 
 yet remaineth in the original language. The busy pens have 
 ceased, waiting for the dictation of Bede ; but beneath the 
 serene countenance of the Monk life and death are struggling 
 for the mastery; no voice is heard, and the spirit of genius 
 seems to pass quietly away. Fearful as they are of disturbieg 
 the peace of the dying saint, one of the scribes cannot refrain 
 from whispering, " Dearest master, there is still another chapter 
 wanting; will the trouble be too great to proceed? " A new 
 spirit is given to the man of letters. " Trouble ! is none," saith 
 he; "take your pen, prepare your parchment, and write fast." 
 During a short interval which occurs in these labors, he dis- 
 tributes his little wealth among his brother monks. Mark the 
 store of worldly goods accumulated by an author in the old 
 days of Saxon literature ; there is little else than some pepper, 
 a few napkins and some incense ; there is neither gold nor 
 silver found in the coffers of that lowly monk ; his treasure is 
 laid up where no thief approacheth, neither moth corrupteth. 
 The eleventh hour was long passed; a few short moments, 
 and the spirit of Bede will have left its venerable abode. The 
 holy volume is still open; the parchment is not quite filled up; 
 the love of the gospel again appears greater than the reverence 
 for the dying saint. " Dearest master," saith a youthful scribe, 
 with tears of love and respect, " there is yet one sentence un- 
 written." "Write quickly," replies the monk; and he has 
 strength to tell him what to write. The stillness of the cell is 
 broken by the scratching of their eager pens ; they cease, and 
 27 
 
41$ DEVOTION TO DUTY, 
 
 the scribe, with joyous exultation, exclaims, " Master, it is 
 finished ! " With a smile of thankfulness and peace, he answers, 
 '" It is well ; you have said truly it is finished ; hear me in your 
 arms, and set me before the place at which I have been wont 
 
 way," The monks fulfill the wishes of the holy man; a 
 few minutes, and whilst singing, " Glory to God, the Father. 
 
 the Son. and to the Holy Ghost." the soul o\ Bede, the 
 venerable, soars into the regions of the blest, and his body falls 
 lifeless on the cold stone pavement of his little cell. 
 
 — Mcrriweather's "G!i ;>:■.. fs in the Da 
 
 JOHN MILTON. 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 
 
 ^ILTON ! thou should'st be living at this hour; 
 England hath need of thee ! She is .a fen 
 Of stagnant waters. Altar, sword and pen, 
 J?& •, • s; Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, 
 
 Have forfeited their ancient English dower 
 /. _• ; « Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; 
 t .."- Oh 1 raise us up, return to us again, 
 
 And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power: 
 Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart ; 
 .*£• Thou had'st a voice whose sound was like th. 
 
 -j*- Pure as the naked heavens, ma estic, free, 
 
 So did'st thou travel on life's common way 
 1 In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart 
 
 ' The lowliest duties on herself did lay. 
 
 It is impossible to refuse to Milton the honor due to a life 
 of the sincerest piety and the most dignified virtue. Xo man 
 ever lived under a more abiding sense ot responsibility. Xo 
 man ever strove more faithfully to use time and talent " as ever 
 in the great Taskmaster's eye." Xo man so richly endowed 
 was ever less ready to trust in his own powers, or more prompt 
 to own his dependence on " that eternal and propitial throne, 
 where nothing is readier than grace and refuge to the distresses 
 of mortal suppliants." His morality was of the loftiest order. 
 
THE APOSTLE OF TEMPERANCE. 
 
 419 
 
 He possessed a self-control which, in one susceptible of such 
 vehement emotions, was marvelous. No one ever saw him 
 indulging in those propensities which overcloud the mind and 
 pollute the heart. 
 
 No youthful excesses treasured up for him a suffering and 
 remorseful old age. From his youth up he was temperate in 
 all things, as became one who had consecrated himself to a 
 life struggle against vice, and error, and darkness, in all their 
 forms. He had started with the conviction " that he who 
 would not frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in 
 laudable things, ought himself to be a true poem ; that is, a 
 composition and pattern of the best and honorablest things ;" 
 and from this he never swerved. His life was indeed a true 
 poem ; or it might be compared to an anthem on his own 
 favorite organ — high-toned, solemn and majestic. — Quarterly 
 Review. 
 
 THE APOSTLE OF TEMPERANCE. 
 
 HEOBALD Mathew, the " Apostle of Tem- 
 perance," was born at Thomastown, Tip- 
 perary County, Ireland, October ioth, 1790, 
 and died December 8th, 1856. Soon after 
 his ordination to the priesthood, he began 
 to interest himself warmly in the condition 
 of the poorer classes, and organized a society 
 for visiting the sick and the unfortunate. 
 His urbane manners and charitable disposition soon acquired 
 for him an extraordinary influence. In 1838 a Quaker first 
 directed his attention to the necessity of suppressing intoxica- 
 tion. Soon after he was invited by several total abstinence 
 men in Cork to join them in devising a public crusade against 
 drunkenness. A total abstinence society was formed, of which 
 he was unanimously chosen president. Thirty-five persons 
 took the pledge at his hands at once ; and in the following day 
 
420 DEVOTION' TO DUTY. 
 
 several hundred joined the society, and in the course of five 
 months he administered the pledge, at Cork alone, to one hun- 
 dred and fifty thousand converts. He was invited to all parts 
 of Ireland. In Limerick the crowds who came to hear him 
 from the furthest parts of Connaught were so great that, but 
 for the liberality of the citizens, there would have been a famine 
 in the place. 
 
 He now gave up everything else to devote his life to the 
 cause of temperance. At Galway he administered the pledge 
 to one hundred thousand people in two days, and after visiting 
 every large town in Ireland, visited England, where he was 
 received with the greatest enthusiasm. His benevolent labors 
 had involved him deeply in debt, and although he received 
 from the Queen a pension of £yso per year, most of it was 
 employed in paying an insurance for the benefit of his 
 creditors. Some pleasant reminiscences of this noted friar are 
 given in the following article, by a distinguished Irish barrister, 
 Hon. Alex. M. Sullivan, M. P. :— 
 
 " I was little more than twelve years of age when I first 
 heard Father Mathew, and I can still remember the impressions 
 then created. 
 
 " They were, I am confident, similar to the emotions expe- 
 rienced by most of those whose good fortune it was to have 
 listened at any time to the ' Apostle of Temperance.' 
 
 " I was moved, not so much by his moods, as by some inde- 
 scribable influence or charm which he seemed to exercise over 
 his audience. His voice was exceedingly sweet and musical 
 and capable of great inflections. 
 
 " His features were pleasing and handsome, and when he 
 smiled, sunshine diffused itself all round. There was an air of 
 dignity and tenderness indescribable about him, and the earnest- 
 ness with which he spoke, the intense feeling he displayed, 
 were irresistible. When such a man preached, among a people 
 so susceptible as the Celtic Irish, a cause so just and holy — 
 preached it out of the fullness of a heart abounding with love for 
 them, with compassion for their sorrow and solicitude for their 
 
THE APOSTLE OF TEMPERANCE. 421 
 
 happiness — who can wonder that the whole nation rose at his 
 words, as Christendom answered to the call of Peter the Hermit ? 
 
 " It was indeed a ' crusade' Father Mathew preached. Where - 
 ever he visited a town or a city, the population for a score of 
 miles all round turned out en masse. At Limerick, so vast was 
 the assemblage that a troop of dragoons passing along the 
 quay got 'jammed' in the crowd, and were literally pushed 
 into the river by the surging of the multitude. Railways were 
 at the time scarcely known in Ireland, and Father Mathew 
 traveled by the mail coach, out of which circumstance a for- 
 midable State grievance arose. If the inhabitants of a town or 
 village happened to hear that the famous Capuchin was a pas- 
 senger, they waylaid the vehicle — 'stopped her Majesty's 
 mail,' in fact — and refused to let it proceed until he had 
 administered the pledge to them. 
 
 " It was a time when political feeling ran high and strong in 
 Ireland. It was the period of O'Connell's Repeal Agitation, 
 and of all the accompanying excitement of that movement. 
 Yet, strange to say, Orange and Green alike waved a greeting 
 to Father Mathew ; Whig, Tory and Repealer sounded his 
 praise ; and nowhere in all Ireland could he have received a 
 welcome more cordial or enthusiastic than that which was ex- 
 tended to him, ' Popish friar' as he was, by the Protestants of 
 Ulster. He had been warned not to carry out his purpose of 
 visiting that province ; the Orangemen, it was declared, could 
 not stand the sight of a Catholic priest received with public 
 festive display in their midst. What really happened was that 
 the dreaded Orangemen came out in grand procession to join 
 in the ovation. 
 
 " When Father Mathew saw their flags hung out at Cootehill, 
 on church and kirk, he rightly apprehended the spirit of the 
 display, and called for ' three cheers' for them ! A Catholic 
 clergyman calling for a cordial salutation of the Orange 
 banner, and a Catholic assemblage heartily responding, was 
 something almost inconceivable. It had never occurred before 
 in Ireland ; and I am afraid it has never occurred since." 
 
422 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 DEATH OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN. 
 
 HENRY WARD BEECHER. 
 
 HO shall recount our martyr's sufferings for 
 this people since November, i860? His 
 horizon has been black with storm by day 
 and by night ; he has trod the way of danger 
 and of darkness ; on his shoulders rested a 
 government dearer to him than his own 
 life. At its integrity millions of men were 
 striking, at home, and upon this govern- 
 ment foreign eyes lowered. It stood, a lone island in a sea 
 full of storms, and every tide and wave seemed eager to devour 
 it. Upon thousands of hearts great sorrows and anxieties have 
 rested, but not on one such, or in such a measure, as upon that 
 simple, truthful, noble soul, our faithful and sainted Lincoln. 
 Never rising to the enthusiasm of more impatient natures in 
 hours of hope, and never sinking with mercurial natures, in 
 hours of defeat, to such depths of despondency, he held on 
 with immovable patience and fidelity, putting caution against 
 hope, that it might not be premature, and hope against caution, 
 that it might not yield to dread and danger. He wrestled 
 ceaselessly through four black and dreadful purgatorial years, 
 wherein God was cleansing the sin of His people as by fire. 
 
 At last the watcher beheld the gray dawn for the country ; 
 the mountains began to give their forms forth from out of 
 darkness, and the East came rushing toward us with arms full 
 of joy for all our sorrows. Then it was for him to be glad 
 exceedingly that had sorrowed immeasurably. Peace could 
 bring no heart such joy, such rest, such honor, trust and 
 gratitude. He but looked upon it, as Moses looked upon the 
 promised land, and then the wail of the nation proclaimed that 
 he had gone from among us. Not thine the sorrow, but ours, 
 sainted soul. Thou hast indeed entered the promised land, 
 
DEATH OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN. 423 
 
 while we are yet on the march. To us remains the rocking of 
 the deep and the storm upon the land, days of duty and 
 nights of watching; but thou art sphered high above all dark- 
 ness, far beyond all sorrow and weariness. Oh, weary heart ! 
 rejoice exceedingly, thou that hast enough suffered. Thou 
 hast beheld Him who, invisibly, hath led thee in this great 
 wilderness. Thou standest among the elect ; around thee are 
 the royal men that have ennobled human life in every age, and 
 the coronet of glory on thy brow, as a diadem of joy, is upon 
 thee forevermore. Over all this land, over all the little cloud 
 of years that now, from thy infinite horizon, moves back as a 
 speck, thou art lifted up as high as the star is above the cloud. 
 In the goodly company of Mount Zion thou shalt find that 
 rest which thou hast, sorrowing, sought; and thy name, an 
 everlasting name in Heaven, shall flourish in fragrance and 
 beauty as long as the sun shall last upon the earth, and hearts 
 remain to revere truth, fidelity and goodness. 
 
 He who now sleeps has, by this event, been clothed with 
 new influence. Dead, he speaks to men who now willingly 
 hear what before they refused to listen to. 
 
 Now his simple and weighty words will be gathered, like 
 those of Washington, and your children and children's children 
 shall be taught to ponder the simplicity and deep wisdom of 
 the utterances which, in time of party heat, passed as idle 
 words. The patriotism of men will receive a new impulse, and 
 men, for his sake, will love the whole country which he loved 
 so well. I swear you, on the altar of his memory, to be more 
 faithful to the country for which he has perished, by his very 
 perishing, and swear anew hatred to that slavery which made 
 him a martyr and a conqueror. 
 
 And now the martyr is moving in triumphant march, 
 mightier than when alive. The nation rises up at every stage 
 of his coming. Cities and States are his pall-bearers, and the 
 cannon speaks the hours with solemn progression. Dead ! 
 dead ! dead ! he yet speaketh ! Is Washington dead ? Is 
 Hampden dead ? Is David dead ? Is any man that ever was 
 
424 
 
 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 fit to live, dead ? Disenthralled of flesh, risen to the unob- 
 structed sphere where passion never comes, he begins his 
 illimitable work. His life is now grafted upon the infinite, and 
 will be fruitful, as no earthly life can be. Pass on, thou that 
 hast overcome ! Your sorrows, oh people, are his pseans. 
 Your bells, and bands, and muffled drums sound triumphs in 
 his ears. Wail and weep here; God makes it echo joy and 
 triumph there. Pass on! Four years ago, oh Illinois, we 
 took from thy midst an untried man, and from among thy 
 people. We return him to you a mighty conqueror. Not 
 thine any more, but the nation's ; not ours, but the world's. 
 Give him place, oh, ye prairies! In the midst of this great 
 continent his dust shall rest, a sacred treasure to myriads who 
 shall pilgrim to that shrine to kindle anew their zeal and 
 patriotism. Ye winds, that move over the mighty placers of the 
 West, chant his requiem ! Ye people, behold the martyr whose 
 blood, as so many articulate words, pleads for fidelity, for lav/, 
 for liberty ! 
 
 HENRY MARTYN AT SHIRAZ. 
 
 DEAN HENRY ALFORD. 
 
 ENRY MARTYN, a zealous and devoted 
 missionary, was born at Truro, England, in 
 1 78 1. He was educated at St. John's Col- 
 lege, Cambridge, where he obtained a fel- 
 lowship, in 1802. About this time he had 
 a deep religious experience, and resolved, 
 on entering the ministry, to devote himself 
 to the service of foreign missions. He fin- 
 ished his theological studies, in 1803, and in 1805 set sail for 
 India, under the auspices of the African and Eastern Mission- 
 ary Society. 
 
 He resided in Bengal, as chaplain, and traveled for several 
 
HENR Y MAR TYN A T SHIRAZ. 425 
 
 years in India and Persia, preaching, and studying the native 
 languages. Having a natural aptness for acquiring the latter, 
 he was chosen to superintend the translation of the New- 
 Testament, undertaken by direction of the Missionary Society, 
 into Hindostanee and Persian. He had also made considerable 
 progress on an Arabic version, when his failing health com- 
 pelled him to suspend his labors. He died, October 16th, 
 1812, at Tocat, in Asia Minor. An unhealthy climate and an 
 enthusiasm that could brook no obstacles, and which sometimes 
 led him to overtax his physical strength, cut short the career 
 of one of the noblest and most brilliant men that ever con- 
 secrated himself to the cause of the heathen. 
 
 A vision of bright Shiraz, of Persian bards the theme ; 
 The vine with branches laden hangs o'er the crystal stream ; 
 The nightingale all day her notes in rosy thickets trills, 
 And the brooding heat-mist faintly lies along the distant hills. 
 
 About the plain are scattered wide, in many a crumbling heap, 
 The fanes of other days, the tombs where Iran's poets sleep ; 
 And in the midst, like burnished gems, in noonday light repose 
 The minarets of bright Shiraz — the city of the Rose. 
 
 One group beside the river bank, in rapt discourse are seen, 
 Where hangs the golden orange on its boughs of purest green ; 
 Their words are sweet and low, and their looks are lit with joy ; 
 Some holy blessing seems to rest on them and their employ. 
 
 The pale-faced Frank among them sits ; what brought him from afar ? 
 Nor bears he bales of merchandise, nor teaches skill in war ; 
 One pearl alone he brings with him — the book of life and death — 
 One warfare only teaches he — to fight the fight of faith. 
 
 And Iran's sons are round him ; and one, with solemn tone, 
 
 Tells how the Lord of Glory was rejected by his own ; 
 
 Tells, from the wondrous Gospel, of the trial and the doom, 
 
 The words divine of love and might — the scourge, the cross, the tomb! 
 
 Far sweeter to the stranger's ear those Eastern accents sound, 
 Than music of the nightingale that fills the air around ; 
 Lovelier than balmiest odors sent from gardens of the rose, 
 The fragrance from the contrite soul and chastened lip that flows, 
 
42G 
 
 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 The nightingales have ceased to sing, the roses' leaves are shed, 
 The Frank's pale face in Tocat's field hath mouldered with the dead; 
 Alone and all unfriended, midst his Master's work he fell, 
 With none to bathe his fevered brow, with none his tale to tell. 
 
 But still those sweet and solemn tones about him sound in bliss, 
 And fragrance from those flowers of God forevermore is his ! 
 For his the meed, by grace, of those who, rich in zeal and love, 
 Turn many unto righteousness, and shine as stars above. 
 
 A TRUE HERO. 
 
 AMES Maxwell was pilot onboard a fine steam 
 vessel called the Clydesdale. The vessel was 
 appointed to sail between Clyde and the west 
 coast of Ireland. One evening, after setting 
 out on the voyage across the Channel, with 
 between seventy and eighty passengers, Max- 
 well became sensible, at intervals, of the smell 
 of fire, and went about anxiously endeavoring 
 to discover whence it originated. 
 On communicating with the master, he found that he, too, 
 had perceived it. But neither of them could form the least 
 conjecture as to where it arose. A gentleman passenger also 
 observed this alarming odor, which alternately rose and 
 passed away, leaving them in doubt of it being a reality. 
 
 About eleven o'clock at night this gentleman went to bed, 
 confident of safety; but while Maxwell was at the helm, the 
 master ceased not an instant to search from place to place, as 
 the air became more and more impregnated with the odor of 
 burning timber. At last, he sprung upon the deck, exclaim- 
 ing: " Maxwell ! the flames have burst out at the paddle-box !" 
 James calmly replied, " Then, shall I put about ?" The order 
 was to proceed. 
 
 Maxwell struck one hand upon his heart, as he flung the 
 other over his head, and with uplifted eyes, uttered : " O God 
 
A TRUE. HERO. 427 
 
 Almighty, enable me to do my duty ! and God, provide for 
 my wife, my mother and my child !" 
 
 Whether it was the thought of the dreadful nature of the 
 Galloway coast, girdled as it was with perpendicular masses 
 of rock, which influenced the master in his decision to press 
 forward, we cannot tell ; but as there was only the wide ocean 
 before and around them, the pilot did not long persist in his 
 hopeless course. He put the boat about, sternly subduing 
 every expression of emotion, and standing with his eyes fixed 
 on the point for which he wished to steer. 
 
 The fire, which the exertions of all the men could not keep 
 under, soon raged with ungovernable fury, and keeping the 
 engines in violent action, the vessel, at the time the fleetest 
 that had ever been built, flew through the water with incredible 
 speed. All the passengers were gathered to the bow, the 
 rapid flight of the vessel keeping that part clear of the flames, 
 while it carried the fire, flames and smoke backward to the 
 quarter-galley, where the self-devoted pilot stood, like a martyr 
 at the stake. 
 
 Everything possible was done by the master and crew to 
 keep the place on which he stood deluged with water ; but this 
 became, every moment, more difficult and more hopeless ; for, 
 in spite of all that could be done, the devouring fire seized the 
 cabin under him, and the spot on which he stood immovable 
 became intensely heated. 
 
 Still, still, the hero never flinched ! At intervals the motion 
 of the wind threw aside the intervening mass of flames and 
 smoke for a moment, and then might be heard exclamations 
 of hope and gratitude, as the multitude on the prow got a 
 glimpse of the brave man, standing calm and fixed on his 
 dreadful watch ! 
 
 The blazing vessel glaring through the darkness of night, 
 had been observed by the people on shore, and they had 
 assembled on the heights adjoining an opening in the rocks 
 about twelve yards wide ; and there, by waving torches and 
 other signals, did their best to direct the crew to the spot. The 
 
428 
 
 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 signals were not misunderstood by Maxwell, whose feet were 
 already roasted on the deck. 
 
 The fierce fire still kept the engine in furious action ; but this 
 could not have lasted above another minute, and during the 
 interval he ran her into the open space, and alongside a ledge 
 of rocks, upon which every creature got safe on shore 
 unscathed, except the self-devoted one to whom all owed their 
 lives. Had he flinched for a minute, they must all have 
 perished. — AuoitjtHous. 
 
 OBEYING ORDERS. 
 
 HE late Lord Derby was decorating one of 
 his country mansions, and was having the 
 
 central hall floor eitherpainted or tessellated. 
 A young man, tall and powerful, was at 
 work on one of the walls, when the Earl or- 
 dered a number of slippers to be thrown on 
 the door mat, desiring this young man to 
 order any one who came along to put on a 
 pair before crossing the passage, and added to the order — 
 
 " If anybody does not do it, you must take him by the 
 shoulders and turn him out." 
 
 Soon after, a hunting party passed, and the Duke of Wel- 
 lington, with his splashed boots, opened the door and rushed 
 along the hall. The young man immediately jumped off the 
 ladder on which he was painting, and, seizing His Grace by the 
 shoulder, fairly pushed him out of the house. The Duke's 
 eagle eye went right through him ; but, as he did not know the 
 Duke,he only kept wondering who the individual was. In the 
 course of the day, the Earl, on hearing of the circumstance, 
 summoned all the household and men at work into the study, 
 and, seating himself beside the great warrior, demanded who 
 had had the impertinence to push the Duke out of doors. The 
 painter, all of a tremble, came forward and said — 
 
THE KEY-NOTE OF A SUCCESSFUL LIFE. 
 
 429 
 
 "It was I, my lord." 
 
 "And pray," rejoined the Earl, "how came you to do it?" 
 
 " By your orders, my lord." 
 
 On this His Grace turned round to Lord Dert>y, and, smiling, 
 drew a sovereign from his purse, and giving it to the painter, 
 significantly said — 
 
 " You were right." — Anonymous. 
 
 THE KEY-NOTE OF A SUCCESSFUL LIFE. 
 
 REV. DANIEL WISE, D. D. 
 
 HEN the late learned Professor Joseph 
 Henry, of the Smithsonian Institution, was 
 a young man, he said, in a letter to a 
 friend : — 
 
 " My whole ambition is to establish for 
 myself, and to deserve, the reputation of a 
 man of science." 
 
 That italicised phrase, " and to deserve," 
 became the key-note of the then young man's life. It was a 
 renunciation of sham, shallowness, show and hollow success ; 
 a voluntary enlistment into the order of solid merit ; a deter- 
 mination not to seek the honors and pecuniary rewards of high 
 reputation as the prime end of life; a solemn purpose to win 
 reputation, not by art or trickery, but by self-development, with 
 its consequent power to do work worthy of praise and reward. 
 To this grand key-note young Henry set the music of his 
 subsequent life. It was not the fitful sound of the ^Eolian 
 harp, floating on the charmed ear for a moment, and then lost 
 in mid-air forever; but it was like an angelic voice which, 
 once heard, remains in the memory an enchanting sound and 
 a "joy forever." It made the young man a patient, persistent 
 and industrious, thorough student, to whom attainment, 
 whether recognized and rewarded or not, was solid wealth. 
 
430 
 
 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 Years after, when life was drawing to its close, and when his 
 reputation was high and honorable throughout the wide realms 
 of science, Professor Henry said, in an address to a learned 
 society, that "the various offices of honor and responsibility 
 which he then held, nine in number, had all been pressed upon 
 him ; that he never occupied a position for which he had, of 
 his own will and action, been made a candidate." 
 
 This triumphal declaration, pardonable in one whose 
 venerable brow was crowned with many laurels, was the justi- 
 fication of his youthful self-consecration to the attainment of 
 merit deserving reputation and reward. He had made it the 
 business of his life to deserve success. The scientific world 
 had discovered his merit, called him to honorable employ- 
 ments, and engrossed his name on its roll of fame as a prince 
 among scientists. 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY TO THOMAS CROMWELL. 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 AY, then, farewell ! 
 
 I have touched the highest point of all my greatness, 
 And, from that full meridian of my glory, 
 I haste now to my setting : I shall fall 
 Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 
 And no man see me more. 
 
 So, farewell to the little good you bear me. 
 Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
 This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow, blossoms, 
 And bears his blushing honors thick upon him ; 
 The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; 
 And when he thinks — good, easy man — full surely 
 His greatness is a ripening, nips his root, 
 And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, 
 Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
 These many summers, in a sea of glory ; 
 
CARDINAL WOLSEY TO THOMAS CROMWELL. 431 
 
 But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride 
 At length broke under me ; and now has left me, 
 Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
 Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. 
 
 Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ! 
 I feel my heart new opened. Oh, how wretched 
 Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors ! 
 There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, 
 That sweet aspect of princes, and his ruin, 
 More pangs and fears than wars or women have, 
 And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
 Never to hope again ! 
 
 Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
 
 In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me, 
 
 Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 
 
 Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me Cromwell ; 
 
 And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 
 
 And sleep in dull, cold marble, where no mention 
 
 Of me must more be heard of — say, then, I taught thee — 
 
 Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, 
 
 And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, 
 
 Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
 
 A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. 
 
 Mark but my fall, and that which ruined me ! 
 
 Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ! 
 
 By that sin fell the angels : how can man, then, 
 
 The image of his Maker, hope to win by't ? 
 
 Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee — 
 
 Corruption wins not more than honesty ; 
 
 Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
 
 To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. 
 
 Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 
 
 Thy God's, and truth's : then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, 
 
 Thou fall'st a blessed martyr ! Serve the king ; 
 
 And, Prithee, lead me in : 
 
 There, take an inventory of all I have, 
 
 To the last penny ; 'tis the king's ; my robe, 
 
 And my integrity to heaven, is all 
 
 I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell ! 
 
 Had I but served my God with half the zeal 
 
 I served my king, he would not, in mine age, 
 
 Have left me naked to mine enemies ! 
 
432 
 
 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 PAUL BEFORE FESTUS AND AGRIPPA. 
 
 GRIPPA said unto Paul, " thou art permitted to 
 speak for thyself." Then Paul stretched forth 
 his hand, and answered for himself: — 
 
 " I think myself happy, King Agrippa, be- 
 cause I shall answer for myself this day, before 
 thee, concerning all the things whereof I am 
 accused by the Jews ; especially, as I know thee 
 to be expert in all customs and questions which 
 are among the Jews. . Wherefore, I beseech thee to hear 
 me patiently. 
 
 " My manner of life from my youth, which was, at the first, 
 among my own nation at Jerusalem, know all the Jews ; who 
 knew me from the beginning (if they would testify), that after 
 the straitest sect of our religion, I lived a Pharisee. And now 
 I stand and am judged for the hope of the promise made by 
 God to our fathers ; to which promise, our twelve tribes, con- 
 tinually serving God day and night, hope to come ; and for 
 this hope's sake, King Agrippa, I am accused by the Jews. 
 
 ""Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you, 
 that God should raise the dead ? I verily thought with myself 
 that I ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus 
 of Nazareth; and this I did in Jerusalem. Many of the saints 
 I shut up in prison, having received authority from the chief 
 priests ; and when they were put to death, I gave my voice 
 against them. And I often punished them in every synagogue, 
 and compelled them to blaspheme ; and being exceedingly mad 
 against them, I persecuted them even unto strange cities. But 
 as I went to Damascus, with authority and commission from 
 the chief priests, at mid-day, O King ! I saw in the way a 
 light from heaven, above the brightness of the sun, shining 
 round about me and them who journeyed with me. And 
 when we were all fallen to the earth, I heard a voice speaking 
 to me and saying, in the Hebrew tongue, ' Saul, Saul, why 
 
PAUL BEFORE FESTUS AND AGRIPPA. 433 
 
 persecutest thou me ? It is hard for thee to kick against the 
 pricks.' And I said, who art thou, Lord ? And he replied, 
 ' I am Jesus whom thou persecutest. But rise, and stand upon 
 thy feet; for I have appeared to thee for this purpose, to make 
 thee a minister, and a witness both of these things which thou 
 hast seen, and of those things in which I will appear to thee ; 
 delivering thee from the people, and from the Gentiles, to 
 whom I now send thee, to open their eyes, and to turn them 
 from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God ; 
 that they may receive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance 
 amongst them who are sanctified by faith that is 'in me.' 
 
 "Whereupon, O King Agrippa ! I was not disobedient to 
 the heavenly vision ; but showed first to them of Damascus, 
 and at Jerusalem, and through all the coast of Judea, and then 
 to the Gentiles, that they should repent and turn to God, and 
 do works meet for repentance. For these causes the Jews 
 caught me in the temple, and went about to kill me. Having, 
 however, obtained help from God, I continue to this day, wit- 
 nessing, both to small and great, saying no other things than 
 those which the prophets and Moses declared should come ; 
 that Christ should suffer ; that he would be the first who should 
 rise from the dead ; and that he would show light to the people 
 and to the Gentiles." 
 
 And as he thus spoke for himself, Festus said, with a loud 
 voice, " Paul, thou art beside thyself; much learning hath 
 made thee mad." But he replied : " I am not mad, most noble 
 Festus, but speak the words of truth and soberness. For the 
 king knoweth these things, before whom I also speak freely. 
 I am persuaded that none of these things are hidden from him ; 
 for this thing was not done in a corner. King Agrippa, 
 believest thou the prophets ? I know that thou believest !" 
 Then Agrippa said unto Paul, " Almost thou persuadest me to 
 be a Christian." And Paul replied, " I would to God that not 
 only thou but also all that hear me this day, were both almost 
 and altogether such as I am, except these bonds." — Acts, 
 chapter xxvi. 
 28 
 
434 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 THE VILLAGE PREACHER. 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 A pen picture of his father, Rev. Charles Goldsmith, a Protestant clergyman in the little 
 village of Pallasmore, County Longford, Ireland, at which place the author, Oliver Gold- 
 smith, was born, November 10th, 1728. 
 
 kEAR yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, 
 And still where many a garden flower grows wild, 
 There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
 The village preacher's modest mansion rose ! 
 A man, he was, to all the country dear, 
 And passing rich with forty pounds a year. 
 
 Remote from town, he ran his goodly race, 
 
 Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place; 
 
 Unpracticed he to fawn, or seek for power, 
 
 By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; 
 
 Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, 
 
 More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. 
 
 m^^ 
 
 3& 
 
 ,S 
 
 His house was known to all the vagrant train ; 
 He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain ; 
 The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 
 Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; 
 The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
 Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed ; 
 The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 
 Sat by his fire, and talked the night away, 
 Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, 
 Shouldered his crutch and showed how fields were won. 
 
 Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, 
 
 And quite forget their vices in their woe ; 
 
 Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
 
 His pity gave ere charity began. 
 
 Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 
 
 And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side. 
 
 But, in his duty prompt at every call, 
 He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all ; 
 And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, 
 To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
 He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
 Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 
 
GREGORY, THE GREAT. 
 
 Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 
 And sorrow, guilt and pain by turns dismayed, 
 The reverend champion stood. At his control, 
 Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 
 Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 
 And his last falt'ring accents whispered praise. 
 
 At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
 
 His looks adorned the venerable place ; 
 
 Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, 
 
 And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 
 
 The service past, around the pious man, 
 
 With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 
 
 Even children followed with endearing wile, 
 
 And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile. 
 
 His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest ; 
 Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest ; 
 To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 
 But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven ; 
 As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 
 Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 
 Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 
 Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 
 
 435 
 
 GREGORY, THE GREAT. 
 
 ^I^ESf AINT GREGORY, surnamed the Great, born 
 of a noble family, in Rome, about 540 A. D., 
 died in the year 604. His parents were 
 patricians of great wealth. His father, Gar- 
 dianus, renounced his senatorial rank, to 
 become a clergyman, and when he died was 
 one of the seven rcgionarii or cardinal dea- 
 cons ; and his mother, Sylvia, devoted her- 
 self, at the same time, to an ascetic life. To a commanding 
 presence and affable manners Gregory united great learnino- 
 and executive ability. He was appointed Governor or Prefect 
 of Rome, about 573, but soon abdicated the office, withdrew 
 
436 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 from the world, and after his father's death, employed his reve- 
 nue in founding religious institutions, changing his own house 
 on the Caelian Hill into a monastery, and becoming himself a 
 monk in it. On seeing, one day, some handsome English 
 youths exposed for sale in the market place, he exclaimed, 
 "They would be angels rather than Angles, were they only 
 Christians ! " Carried away by the desire of converting Eng- 
 land, he besought the Pope to allow him to go thither ; and he 
 set out from Rome by night, but was followed and brought 
 back by the people. 
 
 Pope Pelagius, II, named him one of the seven regionary 
 deacons, and shortly afterwards sent him as legate to Constan- 
 tinople. He convinced the heretic Eutychius of his error, won 
 the good graces of the Emperor Mauricius, and was recalled 
 to Rome, about 585. During this period he wrote his Libra 
 Moralium, a commentary on Job. 
 
 In 590 the plague broke out in Rome, and Pope Pelagius 
 having died of it, Gregory was unanimously chosen to fill his 
 place. He wrote to the Emperor Mauricius, beseeching him 
 not to ratify the election ; but the letter was intercepted by the 
 Prefect of Rome, one of quite a different import despatched 
 in its stead, and the consent of the Emperor obtained, without 
 delay. Meanwhile Gregory had fled from Rome, and con- 
 cealed himself; but his retreat was discovered, and on Septem- 
 ber 3d, 590, he was consecrated in the Church of St. Peter. 
 Pestilence and famine were desolating Italy at that time, and 
 hostile armies were on the march toward Rome. He called 
 his clergy around him, labored at their head night and day to 
 stay the ravages of the plague, collected funds and purchased 
 large stores of grain in Sicily, which brought back plenty to 
 the city, and by his eloquence arrested the invasion of the ad- 
 vancing Lombards. 
 
 He bent his whole mind on reforming the abuses which had 
 crept into the clerical body, many of which had become in- 
 veterate, and sent missionaries to all parts of the known world. 
 Among them Augustin and his companions went, by his order, 
 
GREGORY, THE GREAT. 437 
 
 to England, which was soon converted to the faith. He ex- 
 tinguished Arianism in Lombardy, and combated it incessantly 
 in Spain, where he won over to orthodoxy the King Recared ; 
 in Africa he put down the Donatists, and in Constantinople 
 opposed energetically the pretensions of the patriarch, John 
 the Abstinent, to the title of oecumenical patriarch, assuming 
 as his own title that of" servant of the servants of God," which 
 was adopted by the subsequent Bishops of Rome. 
 
 Equally tolerant and zealous, while using every endeavor to 
 spread the faith, he would have no other means employed for 
 that purpose than those of an exemplary life and rational in- 
 struction. He reprimanded the Bishop of Terracina, who 
 would not permit the Jews to assemble for religious worship; 
 and he wrote in the same spirit to the Bishops of Sardinia, 
 Sicily, and Marseilles. At Cagliari a converted Jew had 
 changed a synagogue, which he owned, into a Christian 
 church ; Gregory commanded that it be restored to its former 
 use. He deplored the evils of slavery as it existed before his 
 time, and seeing it aggravated by the barbarian wars, he 
 emancipated all his own slaves, as an example. 
 
 The following beautiful poem, entitled, " The Supper of St. 
 Gregory," from the pen of the distinguished American poet, 
 John G. Whittier, is taken from a recent number of Harper's 
 Magazine : — 
 
 A tale for Roman guides to tell, 
 
 To careless, sight-worn travelers still, 
 Who pause beside the narrow cell 
 
 Of Gregory, on the Cselian Hill. 
 
 One day, before the monk's door came 
 
 A beggar, stretching empty palms, 
 Fainting and fast-sick, in the name 
 
 Of the Most Holy asking alms. 
 
 And the monk answered : " All I have 
 
 In this poor cell of mine I give, 
 The silver cup my mother gave ; 
 
 In Christ's name take thou it, and live." 
 
438 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 Years passed ; and, called at last to bear 
 The pastoral crook and keys of Rome, 
 
 The poor monk, in St. Peter's chair 
 Sat, the crowned lord of Christendom. 
 
 " Prepare a feast," St. Gregory cried, 
 "And let twelve beggars sit thereat ;" 
 The twelve came, and one beside, 
 An unknown stranger, with them sat. 
 
 " I asked thee not," the Pontiff spake, 
 " O stranger ; but if need be thine, 
 I bid thee welcome, for the sake 
 
 Of Him who is thy Lord and mine." 
 
 A grave, calm face the stranger raised, 
 Like His who on Gennesaret trod, 
 
 Or His on whom the Chaldeans gazed, 
 Whose form was as the Son of God. 
 
 " Know'st thou," he said, " thy gift of old ? " 
 And in the hand he lifted up, 
 The Pontiff marveled to behold 
 Once more his mother's silver cup. 
 
 " Thy prayers and alms have risen, and bloon. 
 Sweetly among the flowers of heaven ■ 
 I am the Wonderful, through whom 
 Whate'er thou askest shall be given." 
 
 He spoke and vanished. Gregory fell, 
 With his twelve guests, in mute accord, 
 
 Prone on their faces, knowing well 
 Their eyes of flesh had seen the Lord. 
 
 The old-time legend is not vain : 
 Nor vain thy art, Verona's Paul, 
 
 Telling it o'er and o'er again 
 On gray Vicenza's frescoed wall. 
 
 Still, wheresoever pity shares 
 
 Its bread with sorrow, want and sin, 
 
 And love the beggar's feast prepares, 
 The uninvited Guest comes in. 
 
A DESERVED REBUKE. 
 
 439 
 
 Unheard, because our ears are dull, 
 Unseen, because our eyes are dim, 
 
 He walks our earth, The Wonderful, 
 And all good deeds are done to Him. 
 
 A DESERVED REBUKE. 
 
 SOMEWHAT unusual affair occurred in Phila- 
 delphia on a recent occasion, when one woman 
 brought one hundred and fifty young men to 
 terms, at a medical clinic. Three of the fifteen 
 students at the Woman's Medical College occu- 
 pied seats in the lecture room, and while waiting 
 for the lecturer, who was belated, the class 
 indulged in some noisy demonstration, which 
 was finally directed in the way of playful banter to the women 
 present. Suddenly one of the female students, who is known 
 as an eminent missionary in China, arose, and as she began to 
 speak, the noise was changed to respectful silence. " Gentle- 
 men," she said, " I have been for eighteen years a missionary 
 in China. The Chinese have no medical science, and super- 
 stitious rites are chiefly relied on in the treatment of disease. 
 All the people are in need of medical aid, but the women are 
 the neediest. A Chinese woman would under no circum- 
 stances go to a male physician for the treatment of any disease 
 peculiar to her sex. She would be prevented by her own 
 womanly delicacy, and by all the notions of modesty held by 
 those around her. She would suffer lifelong agony rather 
 than violate her sense of propriety. Her father, her brothers 
 and her husband would even let her die rather than allow her 
 to be treated by a male physician. Full of sorrow for the 
 sufferings of these women, I have been looking to Christian 
 America to see what hope of help for them might be there. I 
 have been glad to find that, in some of our great medical 
 schools, earnest and self-sacrificing women are fitting them- 
 
440 
 
 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 selves for a work of mercy in Asia and other lands. Unless 
 such women learn to do such work well there is no physical 
 salvation for those afflicted ones. And in behalf of those 
 women, who have no medical care while they so sorely need 
 it, I ask from you the courtesy of gentlemen toward ladies 
 who are studying medicine in Philadelphia." As the speaker 
 sat down she was greeted with a cheer, and a member of the 
 class, rising, assured the ladies, in a very gallant speech, that 
 no annoyance to them was intended. The timely remarks had 
 touched the inborn courtesy of the young men, and taught 
 them a lesson they will probably never forget. — Anonymous. 
 
 THE GREAT APOSTLE OF CHARITY. 
 
 N looking back over the history of Europe 
 during the trying times in the latter part of 
 the eighteenth century, there comes into view 
 a name that shines forth with an ever- 
 increasing lustre as time rolls on — it is that 
 of Jean Frederic Oberlin, the Great Apostle 
 of Charity, of Ban de la Roche. 
 
 His character, as displayed in the uniform 
 tenor of his life, presented a remarkable com- 
 bination of varied excellencies, for whilst much exalted sanc- 
 tity and intrepid zeal were conspicuous, an unwearied ardor in 
 doing good, and an habitual willingness to renounce his own 
 interest in order to promote the well-being of his fellow- 
 creatures, were equally evident. In addition to this, his ex- 
 treme simplicity, conscientious integrity, sweetness of temper 
 and refinement of manner, caused him to be ardently loved 
 and sincerely revered; whilst his industry, his agricultural 
 skill, his knowledge of rural and domestic economy, and the 
 energy with which he carried his plans into effect the moment 
 
THE GREAT APOSTLE OF CHARITY. 441 
 
 he was convinced of their utility, rendered him not only an 
 example but a blessing to the people among whom he resided, 
 and afforded a delightful proof of the advantages that may 
 accrue from an enlightened and progressive union of secular 
 and spiritual duties. 
 
 The Ban de la Roche derives its name from a castle 
 called La Roche, round which the Ban or district extends. 
 It is a mountainous Canton in the Northeast of France, 
 between Alsace and Lorraine, forming part of the declivities 
 and western ramifications of the Haut Champ or Champ 
 de Ten, an isolated range of mountains detached by a 
 deep valley from the eastern boundary of the chain of the 
 Vosges. 
 
 The temperature varies extremely, according to the heights 
 and position of the locality. On the summits of the moun- 
 tains, for instance, the climate is as intensely cold as at 
 St. Petersburg, though in the villages it is so soft and 
 delightful as to resemble that of Geneva and parts of the 
 Jura. The winter months generally commence in Septem- 
 ber, and the snow usually remains undissolved till the fol- 
 lowing May or June, when the wind blows from the south, 
 thus leaving only a period of four or five months of summer 
 weather. 
 
 In the reign of Louis, XVI, the whole of this territory was 
 in a most desolate state ; for, having been partially the seat of 
 conflict during the " Thirty Years' War," and again, in the 
 time of Louis, XIV, it was so laid waste as to be scarcely 
 habitable, there being no road from one place to another, and 
 but little land under cultivation. About eighty or a hundred 
 families earned, indeed, a scanty subsistence on its precarious 
 soil, but, being destitute of all the comforts of civilized life, 
 they existed in a state of misery and degradation more easily 
 conceived than described. 
 
 This remote district partook, however, with the rest of 
 Alsace, in a privilege denied to the ancient French provinces. 
 When it was incorporated with France, it was stipulated in the 
 
442 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 decree that its inhabitants should continue to enjoy an entire 
 liberty of conscience, and whilst the persecuted Protestants of 
 Languedoc and other parts of France could not find a 
 sufficiently secure retreat for the celebration of their worship, 
 they were privileged to have their own sanctuaries, and no 
 restraint was laid upon their religious assemblies. 
 
 Jean Frederic Oberlin, the subject of this article, was born 
 in Strasburg, August 31st, 1740, the same year in which were 
 born his two young friends, Lavater and Yung-Stilling. His 
 father was a professor in the Gymnase, or High School of 
 Strasburg ; he had seven sons, the eldest of whom, J. J. 
 Oberlin, was the celebrated philologist and antiquarian, and 
 the editor of an edition of Tacitus. Oberlin, the father, was a 
 man of distinguished appearance, genial, enlightened, just and 
 conscientious. Madam Oberlin was a person of good judg- 
 ment and considerable cultivation. She wrote some good 
 verses, and studied and delighted in poetry. This excellent 
 couple brought up their family in correct principles, and in the 
 fear of God. 
 
 After having finished his studies in the Gymnasium, young 
 Oberlin entered the Protestant Theological Seminary, at Stras- 
 burg, which was then the most renowned in Europe. The 
 circumstances that induced him to take Orders and devote 
 himself to the gospel ministry are not definitely known ; but it 
 appears from various memoranda found among his papers 
 after his decease that he was, from his very infancy, the subject, 
 not merely of pious convictions, but of holy affections toward 
 the Heavenly Father. " During my infancy and my youth," 
 he says, " God often vouchsafed to touch my heart, and 
 draw me to himself. He bore with me in my repeated 
 backslidings with a kindness and indulgence hardly to be 
 expressed." 
 
 After concluding a brilliant course at the seminary, he re- 
 ceived the degree of Bachelor, in April, 1758, and in 1763 he 
 was created a Doctor of Philosophy. He engaged himself as 
 a tutor, for a time, in the family of a leading physician of 
 
THE GREAT APOSTLE OF CHARITY. 443 
 
 Strasburg, but the work not being in harmony with his tastes 
 he resigned the charge and devoted himself entirely to study. 
 While thus engaged he received a visit from the venerable 
 Stuber, of Ban de la Roche, who was anxiously looking 
 around for a young man fitted to be his successor. Stuber had 
 heard some report of Oberlin, and determined to judge for 
 himself. The labors that Stuber had performed for some 
 years in the sterile and poverty-stricken parish had worn him 
 out, and now he wished to find some man of real apostolic 
 zeal, devoid of all self-seeking, energetic and enlightened, to 
 continue the work of civilization and evangelization, for which 
 he himself, with great toil, had but cleared the ground. " You 
 are the man I am seeking," said Stuber, laughing. He then 
 sat down and explained to Oberlin the motive of his visit. 
 Oberlin joyfully accepted his proposal, conscientiously, how- 
 ever, insisting that each one of the other theological students 
 of the university should be asked if he did not desire the place 
 for himself; an unnecessary piece of courtesy, it seemed, for 
 no one desired a banishment among the rude mountaineers of 
 the Ban de la Roche. Having satisfied his mind on this point, 
 he went forth with Stuber to look at his future home. He was 
 touched and attracted by the primitive look of the inhabitants, 
 by the evidence of the good already done by Stuber, and still 
 more by the immense amount which remained to be done. 
 Oberlin was invested with this pastorate in April, 1767, by 
 M. de Voyer d'Argenson, the patron of the parish of Wald- 
 bach. 
 
 On entering upon his pastoral duties in this dreary and 
 inhospitable spot, the first object of his provident activity was 
 to secure good roads and to build bridges wherever needful, 
 so that his parishioners might come in contact with the 
 inhabitants of other districts more advanced in civilization, and 
 at the same time have an outlet for their productions. Having, 
 therefore, assembled the people, he proposed that they should 
 blast the rocks to widen the road, and secure material for 
 building a bridge across the Bruche at Rothen. The peasants 
 
444 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 were perfectly astonished at this proposition, and no one 
 seemed inclined to render any assistance until they saw him go 
 to work, pick in hand. 
 
 He had previously drafted his plans, and on seeing his de- 
 termination they quickly fell in, and, in due course of time, 
 good roads were laid out and a substantial bridge was built, 
 which still bears the name of Le Pont de Charitc. His next 
 care was to procure good agricultural implements, and for this 
 purpose he opened a warehouse, at Waldbach, where the 
 peasants could supply themselves gradually, as their means 
 permitted. Having now opened communication with the outer 
 world, he devoted considerable attention to the soil and the 
 raising of crops adapted to the particular locality. The culture 
 of flax and the potato were especially encouraged. Also, a 
 species of clover well suited for cattle. Besides the great 
 improvements in agriculture, and in the mechanical arts, he 
 introduced many new employments, such as cotton spinning, 
 weaving and straw plaiting. Meanwhile he was not idle in 
 other and more strictly educational and pastoral duties. He 
 built school houses and encouraged the study of the pure 
 French language. The dialect spoken on his arrival was 
 a sort of an unintelligible patois. He prepared text-books, 
 drilled teachers, preached, and performed many sorts of 
 manual labor, to show his people the best and most advan- 
 tageous methods. They were so utterly demoralized and 
 disheartened by their years of misfortune; that it seemed 
 as though they were unable to adapt themselves, with any 
 skill or facility, to the most ordinary occupations of daily 
 life. 
 
 The year following his entrance upon his pastoral duties he 
 married a most estimable young woman, Salome de Witter, 
 who proved a very valuable help-meet and assistant in his 
 future labors. When, in later years, he commenced establish- 
 ing infant schools, he was still further supplemented in his 
 labors by the assistance of the noted Louisa Schepler, who 
 was originally a servant in his family. 
 
THE GREA T APOSTLE OF CHARITY. 445 
 
 He had entered a veritable desert, and in the course of years 
 he made it blossom like the rose. The reputation of his parish 
 spread abroad, and many refugees sought a retreat here, and 
 in various ways it received accessions, and increased in popu- 
 lation and thrift. His system of agriculture, in due time, 
 attracted the attention of the French government and obtained 
 recognition and protection. Even during the stormy times of 
 the Reign of Terror this peaceful, happy and secluded spot 
 was but slightly convulsed. Men from far and near, and in 
 high places, recognized his worth, his untiring labors, his self- 
 denial, his intelligence; and these characteristics seemed to be 
 the bulwarks of his parish. The French government eventually 
 created him a " Knight of the Legion of Honor." After the 
 death of his wife, Louisa Schepler took charge of his house- 
 hold and children, and also of the mission work and infant 
 schools. For her labors in the latter field, which she con- 
 tinued after pastor Oberlin's death, and to the end of her own 
 life, with singular success and fidelity, the famous Acadcmie 
 Frangaise bestowed on her the "Prix de Vertu " of 5000 francs, 
 founded by M. de Monthoyon. 
 
 In his later years Oberlin was incapacitated from much 
 pastoral work by reason of the infirmities of old age, but he 
 had the satisfaction of seeing it progress under the care and 
 management of his devoted son-in-law, M. Graff. 
 
 Oberlin died, after a brief illness, on the thirty-first of May, 
 1826, at the ripe old age of 86 years. He was interred in the 
 church-yard at Waldbach, near his beloved wife and his son, 
 both of whom had died some years before. 
 
 The fame of this "Great Apostle of Charity" is so wide- 
 spread that the " Presbytere" or parsonage of Ban de la Roche, 
 at Waldbach, has become a sort of shrine for visitors from all 
 parts of the Christian world. His real greatness lay not en- 
 tirely in what he personally accomplished, but in the inspira- 
 tion his life and conduct afforded to stimulate others to help 
 themselves, and to labor for the benefit of helpless and down- 
 trodden humanity. — Life of Oberlin. 
 
446 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 "NOT WEARY IN WELL- DOING." 
 
 VERY one who has read the later histories of 
 reformatories must see in these words that 
 Johann Heinrich Pestalozzi (born in Zurich, 
 Switzerland, in 1748 ; died, in 1827, in Brugg) 
 had seized the right principle ; that he pos- 
 sessed also the self-sacrifice that it demanded. 
 The children got into orderly ways. They 
 learned with some rapidity; the better class 
 returned his loving care by obedience and good habits. Mean- 
 while, poor relations came clamorously round the cloister walls 
 wherein he was conducting his school ; they considered that 
 they had done the schoolmaster a compliment by letting him 
 keep the children; they insisted on being paid an equivalent 
 to what the children would have got by begging. They were 
 rude ; spoke loud ; hated the intruder ; set him down as an 
 educational speculator. So it lasted for a year, and then the 
 cloister rang with French arms, and Pestalozzi went his way. 
 "Did you see how wretched the man looked, to-day ? " said 
 one. "Ay, ay; I am sorry for the poor fool." "So am I; but 
 there is no hope for him but the grave." "True, neighbor; 
 the best we can wish him is to die." "That," says Pestalozzi, 
 "was the reward for my work at Stanz, Switzerland." Yet the 
 last glimpse we have of him is in a public reformatory. More 
 than twenty years before he went to Stanz, he might have been 
 seen daily among a crowd of beggar children in his house at 
 Neudorf. He made a few discoveries in teaching, spent his 
 little fortune, and broke up the establishment. More than 
 twenty years after the folk at Stanz had wished him in his 
 grave, he stood among a crowd of children at Beuggen, the 
 silver-haired old man who had been feted by all Europe. The 
 children welcomed him by singing ; they reached him an oaken 
 wreath. He put it gently away, saying, " Crowns are not for 
 me, but for the innocent." Then they sang him a hymn out 
 
VOLTAIRE AND WJLBERFORCE. 
 
 447 
 
 of his " Lienhard and Gertrud," till the tears stood in his eyes, 
 and with choking voice and broken words he hurried out of 
 the room. He had outlived all his projects ; but his deep 
 human love, his desire to succor the wretched, lived in him, 
 warm and impulsive as ever. It had been his wish that 
 " another generation would take up his broken strivings and 
 reach his aim, while he lay in the grave." And at Beuggen 
 he saw part of that wish accomplished, and was content. 
 
 — Stevenson's " Working and Praying:" 
 
 VOLTAIRE AND WILBERFORCE. 
 
 WILLIAM B. SPRAGUE. 
 
 ET me now, for a moment, show you what 
 the two systems — Atheism and Christianity 
 — can do, have done, for individual char- 
 acter; and I can think of no two names to 
 which I may refer with more confidence, in 
 the way of illustration, than Voltaire and 
 Wilberforce ; both of them names which 
 stand out with prominence. 
 Voltaire was, perhaps, the master-spirit in the school of 
 French Atheism ; and though he was not alive to participate 
 in the horrors of the Revolution, probably he did more, by his 
 writings, to combine the elements for that tremendous tempest, 
 than any other man. And now I undertake to say that you 
 may draw a character in which there shall be as much of the 
 blackness of moral turpitude as your imagination can supply, 
 and yet you shall not have exceeded the reality as it was found 
 in the character of this apostle of Atheism. You may throw 
 into it the darkest shades of selfishness, making the man a 
 perfect idolater of himself; you may paint the serpent in his 
 most wily form, to represent deceit and cunning ; you may let 
 
448 &EVOTI0N TO DUTY. 
 
 sensuality stand forth in all the loathsomeness of a beast in the 
 mire ; you may bring out envy and malice, and all the baser 
 and darker passions, drawing nutriment from the pit ; and when 
 you have done this, you may contemplate the character of 
 Voltaire, and exclaim, "here is the monstrous original!" 
 The fires of his genius kindled only to wither and consume. 
 He stood, for almost a century, a great tree of poison, not only 
 cumbering the ground, but infusing death into the atmosphere; 
 and though its foliage has long since dropped off, and its 
 branches have withered, and its trunk fallen, under the hand 
 of time, its deadly root still remains ; and the very earth that 
 nourishes it is cursed for its sake. 
 
 And now I will speak of Wilberforce ; and I do it with 
 gratitude and triumph — gratitude to the God who made him 
 what he was ; triumph that there is that in his very name 
 which ought to make Atheism turn pale. Wilberforce was the 
 friend of man; Wilberforce was the friend of enslaved and 
 wretched man. Wilberforce (for I love to repeat his name) 
 consecrated the energies of his whole life to one of the noblest 
 objects of benevolence; it was in the cause of injured Africa 
 that he often passed the night in intense and wakeful thought; 
 that he counseled with the wise, and reasoned with the un- 
 believing, and expostulated with the unmerciful ; that his heart 
 burst forth with all its melting tenderness, and his genius with 
 all its electric fire; that he turned the most accidental meeting 
 into a conference for the relief of human woe, and converted 
 even the Senate House into a theatre of benevolent action. 
 Though his zeal had at one time almost eaten him up, and the 
 vigor of his frame was so far gone that he stooped over and 
 looked into his own grave, yet his faith failed not ; and, blessed 
 be God, the vital spark was kindled up anew, and he kept on 
 laboring through a long succession of years; and at last, just 
 as his friends were gathering around him to receive his last 
 whisper, and the angels were waiting to receive his de- 
 parting spirit, the news, worthy to be borne by angels, was 
 brought him, that the object to which his life had been given 
 
PRINCE'S BLOOD FOR OXEN'S BLOOD. 449 
 
 was gained ; and then, Simeon-like, he clasped his hands to 
 die, and went off to heaven with the sound of deliverance to 
 the captive, vibrating sweetly upon his ear. 
 
 Both Voltaire and Wilberforce are dead ; but each of them 
 lives in the character he has left behind him. And now who 
 does not delight to honor the character of the one ? Who 
 does not shudder to contemplate the character of the other ? 
 
 "PRINCES' BLOOD FOR OXEN'S BLOOD!" 
 
 GERMAN lady, descended of a family long re- 
 nowned for valiant feats of arms, and which had 
 already given an emperor to Germany, on a 
 particular occasion made the formidable Duke 
 of Alva tremble by her bold and resolute con- 
 duct. As the Emperor Charles, V, on his return, 
 in the year 1547, from the battle of Muehlberg 
 to his camp in Swabia, passed through Thuringia, 
 Catharine, Countess Dowager of Schwartzburg, born princess 
 of Henneberg, obtained of him a letter of safeguard, that her 
 subjects might have nothing to suffer from the Spanish army 
 on its march through her territories ; in return for which she 
 bound herself to supply the Spanish troops, which were trans- 
 ferred to Rudolstadt on the Saalbruecke, with bread, beer and 
 other provisions, at a reasonable price, in that place. 
 
 At the same time she took the precaution to have the bridge, 
 which stood close to the town, demolished in all haste, and 
 reconstructed on the river at a considerable distance, that the 
 too great proximity of the city might be no temptation to her 
 rapacious guests. The inhabitants, too, of all the places 
 through which the Spanish army was to pass were informed 
 that they might send the chief of their valuables to the Castle 
 of Rudolstadt. Meantime, the Spanish General, attended by 
 Prince Henry, of Brunswick, and his sons, approached the city 
 29 
 
450 JM TY. 
 
 and invited themselves, by a messenger whom they dispatched 
 take their morning's repast with the Countess ol 
 
 Schwart/burg. So modest a request, made at the head of an 
 army, was not to be rejected ; the answer returned was that 
 they should be kindly supplied with what the house afforded : 
 that His Excellency might come and be assured of a welcome 
 : eception. 
 
 However, she did not neglect, at the same time, to remind 
 the Spanish General of the safeguard, and to urge him to a 
 conscientious observance of it. A friendly reception and a 
 well-furnished table welcomed the arrival of the Duke at the 
 Castle. He was obliged to confess that the Thuriugian ladies 
 had an excellent notion of cookery, and did honor to the laws 
 of hospitality. But scarcely had they taken their seats, when 
 a ir., ss iger, out of breath, called the Countess from the ; 
 His tidings informed her that the Spanish soldiers had used 
 violence in some villages on the way. and had driven off the 
 iging to the peasants. Catharine was a true mother 
 to her people ; whatever the poorest of her subjects suffered 
 wounded her to the very quick. 
 
 Full of indignation at this breach \ yet not forsaken 
 
 by her presence of mind, she ordered her whole retinue to ami 
 themselves immediately, in private, and to bolt and bar all the 
 s of the castle : which done, she returned to the hall and 
 I the princes, who were still at table. Here she com- 
 plained I in the most m rms, of the usage she had 
 met with, and how badly the imperial word was kept. They 
 told her, laughing, that this was the custom of war. and that 
 such trifling disorders of soldiers in marching through a place 
 were not to be minded. " That we shall presently see." replied 
 she. stoutly; " my poor subjects must have their own again; 
 or. by God! princes' blood for oxen's blood!*' With this 
 l, she quitted the room, which, in a few 
 moments, was filled with armed men, who. sword in hand, yet 
 with great reverence, planting themselves behind the chairs of 
 the princes, took the place of the waiters. On the entrance of 
 
PRINCE'S BLOOD FOR OXEN'S BLOOD. 4^1 
 
 these fierce-looking fellows, Duke Alva directly changed color, 
 and they all gazed at one another in silence and affright. 
 
 Cut off from the army, surrounded by a body of resolute- 
 men, what had they to do but to summon up their patience 
 and appease the offended lady on the best terms they could. 
 Henry, of Brunswick, was the first that collected his spirits, 
 and smothered his feelings by bursting into a loud fit of 
 laughter, thus seizing the most reasonable way of coming off 
 by turning all that had passed into a subject of mirth, con- 
 cluding with a pompous panegyric on the patriotic concern 
 and the determined intrepidity she had shown. He entreated 
 her to make herself easy, and took it upon himself to bring the 
 Duke of Alva to consent to whatever should be found reason- 
 able, which he immediately effected by inducing the latter to 
 dispatch, on the spot, an order to the army to restore the cattle, 
 without delay, to the persons from whom they had been stolen. 
 On the return of the courier, with a certificate that all damages 
 were made good, the Countess of Schwartzburg politely 
 thanked her guests for the honor they had done her castle, and 
 they, in return, very courteously took their leave. It was this 
 transaction, no doubt, that procured for Catharine, Countess of 
 Schwartzburg, the surname of Heroic. She is likewise highly 
 extolled for the active fortitude she displayed in promoting 
 the Reformation throughout her dominions, which had already 
 been introduced by her husband, Earl Henry, as well as for 
 her resolute perseverance in putting down the monks and 
 improving the instructions of the schools. Numbers of 
 Protestant preachers who had sustained persecution on account 
 of religion fled to her for protection and support, which she 
 granted them in the fullest extent. Among these was a certain 
 Casper Aguilla, a parish priest at Saalfeldt, who in his younger 
 years had attended the Emperor's army to the Netherlands, in 
 quality of chaplain, and because he there refused to baptize a 
 cannon ball, was fastened to the mouth of a mortar by the 
 licentious soldiery, to be shot into the air, a fate which he 
 happily avoided only by the accident of the powder not catch- 
 
452 
 
 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 ing fire. He was now a second time in imminent danger of 
 his life, and a price of five thousand florins was set upon his 
 head, because the Emperor was enraged against him for 
 having contumeliously attacked his " Interim" from the pulpit. 
 Catharine privately brought him to her castle, on the petition 
 of the people of Saalfeldt, where she kept him many months 
 concealed, and caused him to be attended with the greatest 
 assiduity till the storm was blown over and he could venture 
 to appear in public. She died, universally honored and 
 lamented, in the fifty-eighth year of her age and the twenty- 
 ninth of her reign. — Adapted from the German of Schiller. 
 
 INDIAN FORTITUDE. 
 
 OU have taken me prisoner, with all my 
 warriors. I am much grieved ; for I ex- 
 pected, if I did not defeat you, to hold out 
 much longer, and give you more trouble 
 before I surrendered. I tried hard to bring 
 you into ambush, but your last general 
 understood Indian fighting. I determined 
 to rush upon you, and fight you face to 
 face ; I fought hard, but your guns were well aimed. The 
 bullets flew like birds in the air, and whizzed by our ears like 
 the wind through the trees in winter. My warriors fell around 
 me ; it began to look dismal. I saw my evil day at hand. The 
 sun rose dim on us in the morning, and at night sank in a dark 
 cloud, and looked like a ball of fire. That was the last sun 
 that shone on Black Hawk. His heart is dead, and no longer 
 beats quick in his bosom. He is now a prisoner to the white 
 men ; they will do with him as they wish. But he can stand 
 torture, and is not afraid of death. He is no coward ; Black 
 Hawk is an Indian. He has done nothing for which an Indian 
 ought to be ashamed. He has fought for his countrymen 
 
INDIAN FORTITUDE. 453 
 
 against white men who came, year after year, to cheat them 
 and to take away their lands. You know the cause of our 
 making war ; it is known to all white men ; they ought to be 
 ashamed of it. 
 
 The white men despise the Indians, and drive them from 
 their homes. They smile in the face of 'the poor Indian, to 
 cheat him ; they shake him by the hand, to gain his confidence, 
 to make him drunk, to deceive him. 
 
 We told them to let us alone, and to keep away from us ; but 
 they followed on and beset our paths, and they coiled them- 
 selves among us, like the snake. They poisoned us by the 
 touch. We were not safe. We lived in danger. We looked 
 to the Great Spirit. We went to our father. We were 
 encouraged. His great council gave us fair words and big 
 promises ; but we got no satisfaction ; things were growing 
 worse. There were no deer in the forest. The opossum 
 and the beaver were fled. The springs drying up, and 
 our squaws and pappooses without victuals to keep them 
 from starving. 
 
 We called a great council, and built a large fire. The spirit 
 of our father arose, and spoke to us to avenge our wrongs, or 
 die. We set up the war-whoop and dug up the tomahawk ; 
 our knives were ready, and the heart of Black Hawk swelled 
 high in his bosom, when he led his warriors to battle. He is 
 satisfied. He will go to the world of spirits contented. He 
 has done his duty. His father will meet him there and com- 
 mend him. Black Hawk is a true Indian, and disdains to cry 
 like a woman. He feels for his wife, his children and his 
 friends ; but he does not care for himself. He cares for the 
 nation and the Indians ; they will suffer. He laments their 
 fate. Farewell, my nation ! Black Hawk tried to save you, 
 and avenge your wrongs. He drank the blood of some of the 
 whites. He has been taken prisoner, and his plans are crushed. 
 He can do no more. He is near his end. His sun is setting 
 and he will rise no more. Farewell to Black Hawk ! 
 
 — Address of Black Hawk to Gen. Street. 
 
454 
 
 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 FORTITUDE OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS OF 
 NEW ENGLAND. 
 
 RUFUS CHOATE. 
 
 N a late undesigned visit to Plymouth, I sought 
 the spot where the earlier dead of the Pil- 
 grims were buried. It was on a bank, you 
 remember, somewhat elevated, below the 
 town and between it and the water, near and 
 looking forth upon the waves, symbol of 
 what life had been to them; ascending inland, 
 behind and above the rocks, a symbol of that 
 rock of ages on which the dying had rested 
 in the final hour. As the Pilgrims found these localities, you 
 might stand on that bank and hear the restless waters chafe 
 and melt against its steadfast base: the unquiet of the world 
 composed itself at the portals of the grave. On that spot were 
 laid together — the earth carefully smoothed down, that the 
 Indians might not count the number — the true, the pious, the 
 beautiful and the brave — till the heavens be no more. There 
 certainly was buried the first governor; and there was buried 
 Rose, the wife of Miles Standish. "You will go to them," 
 wrote Robinson, "but they shall not return to you." 
 
 When this sharp calamity had abated, came famine. "I 
 have seen," said Edward Winslow, quoted by Bancroft, "Strong 
 men staggering, through faintness for want of food;" and after 
 this, and during all this, and for years, there brooded in every 
 mind not a weak fear, but an intelligent apprehension that at 
 any instant — at midnight, at noonday, at the marriage, the 
 baptism, or the burial of dead, a foe more cruel than the grave 
 might blast in an hour that which disease and want had so 
 hardly spared. 
 
 How they endured all this you have also heard. Let one 
 fact suffice. When, in April, the Mayflower sailed for Eng- 
 land, not one Pilgrim returned in her! 
 
FORTITUDE OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 455 
 
 The peculiarity which has seemed to me to distinguish these 
 trials of the Pilgrim age from the chief of those which the 
 general voice of literature has concurred to glorify, as the trials 
 of heroism; the peculiarity which gives to these and such as 
 these the attributes of a truer heroism, is this; that they had 
 to meet them on what was then an humble, obscure and 
 distant stage; with no numerous audience to look on and 
 applaud, and cast its wreaths on the fainting brow of him 
 whose life was rushing with his blood; and unsustained by 
 one of those stormier and more stimulating impulses, and aims 
 and sentiments, which carry a soldier to his grave of honor as 
 joyfully as to the bridal bed. 
 
 Where were ttte Pilgrims, while in the furnace of affliction, 
 and who saw and took note of them ? They were alone on 
 the earth! Directly and solely "in their great taskmaster's 
 eye." If every one of them had died the first winter, of lung 
 fever, or been starved to death or crushed by the tomahawk, 
 who was there to mourn for them ? A few hearts in Leyden 
 would have broken, and that had been all. Unlike the 
 martyr, even, around whose ascended chariot wheels and 
 horses of fire a congregation might come to sympathize and 
 be exalted, blasphemers to be defied and struck with unwonted 
 admiration — they were alone on the earth. Primeval forests, 
 a winter's sea, a winter's sky, circled them about, and excluded 
 every sympathizing eye. 
 
 To play the part of heroism on v its high places and its 
 theatre, is not, perhaps, so very difficult. To do it alone, as 
 seeing him who is invisible, was the stupendous trial of the 
 Pilgrim heroism. 
 
 I have said, too, that a peculiarity of their trials was, that 
 they were unsustained altogether by every one of the passions, 
 aims, stimulants and excitations; the anger, the revenge, the 
 hate, the pride, the awakened and dreadful thirst of blood, the 
 consuming love of glory, the feverish rapture of battle, that 
 burn, as on volcanic isles, in the heart of mere secularized 
 heroism. Not one of all these aids did or could come in use 
 
456 
 
 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 for them; their character and their situation both excluded 
 them. Their enemies were disease walking in darkness and 
 destroying at noonday; famine, which, more than all other 
 calamities, bows the spirit of a man, presses his radiant form 
 to the dust, and teaches him what he is; the wilderness; 
 spiritual foes on the high places of the unseen world. Even 
 when the first Indian was killed, the exclamation of Robinson 
 was, " Oh that you had converted some before you had slain 
 any!" 
 
 Now, I say, the heroism which, in a great cause, can look 
 all the more terrible ills that flesh is heir to calmly in the 
 face, and can tread them out, as sparks under its feet, without 
 these aids, is at least as lofty a quality as that which cannot. 
 
 To my eye, as I look back, it looms on the shores of the past 
 with a more towering and attractive grandeur. It seems to 
 me to speak, from our far ancestral life, a higher lesson to a 
 nobler nature. 
 
 BOURDALOUE BEFORE THE KING. 
 
 REV. C. M. BUTLER, D. D. 
 
 HEN we recollect before whom Bourdaloue 
 preached ; that he had for his auditors the 
 most luxurious court in Europe, and a 
 monarch abandoned to ambition and pleas- 
 ure, we shall find it impossible not to honor 
 the preacher for the dignified simplicity 
 with which he uniformly held up to his 
 audience the severity of the Gospel and 
 the scandal of the cross. 
 In one of the sermons which he preached before the monarch, 
 he described, with matchless eloquence, the horrors of a licen- 
 tious life, its abomination in the eye of God, its scandal to man, 
 and the public and private evils which attend it, but he managed 
 
BOURDALOUE BEFORE THE KING. 457 
 
 his discourse with so much address, that he kept the King from 
 suspecting that the thunder of the preacher was ultimately to 
 fall upon him. 
 
 In general, Bourdaloue spoke in a level tone of voice, with 
 no gesticulation, and with his eyes almost shut. On this 
 occasion, having wound up the attention of the monarch and 
 the audience to the highest pitch, he paused. The audience 
 expected something terrible, and seemed to fear the next word. 
 The pause continued for some time ; at length, the preacher, 
 fixing his eyes directly on his royal hearer, and in a tone of 
 voice equally expressive of horror and concern, said, in the 
 words of the prophet, "thou art the man!" then, leaving these 
 words to their effect, he concluded with a mild and gentle 
 prayer to heaven for the conversion of all sinners. A miser- 
 able courtier observed, in a whisper, to the monarch, that the 
 boldness of the preacher exceeded all bounds, and should be 
 checked. "No, sir," replied the monarch, " the preacher has 
 done his duty, let us do ours." When the service was con- 
 cluded, the monarch walked slowly from the church, and 
 ordered Bourdaloue into his presence. He remarked to him 
 his general protection of religion, the kindness which he had 
 ever shown to the Society of Jesus, his particular favor to 
 Bourdaloue and his friends. He then reproached him with the 
 strong language of the sermon, and asked him what could 
 be his motive for insulting him thus publicly before his 
 subjects ! 
 
 Bourdaloue fell on his knees : " God is my witness," said he, 
 "that it was not my wish to insult your Majesty; but I am a 
 minister of God, and must not disguise his truths. What I 
 said in my sermon is my morning and evening prayer : may 
 God, in His infinite mercy, grant me to see the day when the 
 greatest of kings shall be the holiest." The monarch was 
 affected, and silently dismissed the preacher; but from this 
 time the court began to observe that change which afterward, 
 and at no distant period, led Louis to a life of regularity and 
 virtue. 
 
458 DEVOTION TO DUTY. 
 
 A BENEVOLENT AND WONDERFUL MAN. 
 
 ENJAMIN Franklin's predominant passion seems 
 to have been the love of the useful. The useful 
 was to him the summum bonum, the supremely 
 fair, the sublime and beautiful, which it may not, 
 perhaps, be extravagant to believe he was in 
 quest of every week for half a century. No de- 
 partment was too plain or humble for him to 
 occupy himself in for this purpose ; and, in 
 affairs of the most unambitious order, this was still systematic- 
 ally his object. Whether in the construction of chimneys or 
 of constitutions, lecturing on the saving of candles or on the 
 economy of national revenues, he still was intent on the same 
 end ; the question always being how to obtain the most of 
 solid, tangible advantage by the plainest and easiest means. 
 
 There has rarely been a mortal of high intelligence and 
 flattering fame on whom the pomps of life were so powerless. 
 On him was completely thrown away the oratorical and poetical 
 heroics about glory, of which heroics it was enough that he easily 
 perceived the intention or effect to be to explode all sober truth 
 and substantial good, and to impel men, through some career of 
 vanity, in mad pursuit of what amounts, at last, if attained, to 
 some certain quantity of noise, and intoxicated transient elation. 
 It will not be his fault if the citizens of America shall ever 
 become so servile to European example as to think a multi- 
 tude of supernumerary places, enormous salaries and a 
 privileged order, a necessary security or decoration of that 
 political liberty which they enjoy in preeminence above every 
 other nation on earth. In the letters of their patriarch and 
 philosopher, they will be amply warned, by repeated and em- 
 phatic representations, of the desperate mischief of a political 
 system in which the public resources shall be expended in a 
 way to give the government both the interest and the means 
 to corrupt the people. John Foster. 
 
* Flesh of my flesh, 
 hone of my bone thou art, and from, thy state 
 Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe." 
 
 —Milton's "Paradise Lost." 
 
PART IX. 
 
 FIDELITY 3 HOME! KINDRED. 
 
 KING PRIAM, OF TROY, AND ACHILLES. 
 
 FTER the conflict on the Scamander, all the 
 Trojans fled behind their walls, except Hector, 
 who remained outside to do battle with Achilles, 
 by whom he was ultimately slain. 
 
 In a previous encounter, Hector had slain 
 Patroclus, the friend of Achilles, and now, in 
 order to further avenge his death, he attaches 
 Hector's dead body to his chariot and drags it 
 thrice round the walls of Troy, in sight of King Priam and 
 Hecuba, the father and mother of Hector. 
 
 Shocked at these indignities to his brave son's body, and 
 impelled by the still stronger ties of parental affection, the old 
 King resolves to visit Achilles in his camp, and attempt its 
 ransom. He sets forth in his chariot, with a wagon loaded 
 with presents, under charge of Idseus, the herald. 
 
 On reaching his pavilion, Priam finds Achilles at table, casts 
 himself at his feet, and begs for the body of his son. 
 
 Moved with compassion, Achilles grants his request, prepares 
 a feast in his honor, detains him one night in his tent, and the 
 next morning sends him home with the body. 
 
 He also grants the Trojans a truce of twelve days in which 
 
 461 
 
462 FIDELITY TO HOME AND KINDRED. 
 
 to perform appropriate funeral services, before renewing hos- 
 tilities. The opening scene represents the old King in the tent 
 of Achilles. 
 
 Priam. 
 
 Ah think ; thou favored of the powers divine ! 
 
 Think of thy father's age, and pity mine ! 
 
 In me that father's reverend image trace, 
 
 Those silver hairs, that venerable face ; 
 
 His trembling limbs, his helpless person see ! 
 
 In all my equal, but in misery ! 
 
 Yet now, perhaps, some turn of human fate 
 
 Expels him, helpless, from his peaceful state ; 
 
 Think, from some powerful foe thou see'st him fly. 
 
 And beg protection with a feeble cry. 
 
 Yet still one comfort in his soul may rise ; 
 
 He hears his son still lives to glad his eyes„ 
 
 And, hearing, still may hope a better day 
 
 May send him thee, to chase that foe away. 
 
 No comfort to my griefs, no hopes remain ; 
 The best, the bravest, of my sons is slain ! 
 Yet what a race ! Ere Greece to Ilion came, 
 The pledge of many a loved and loving dame; . 
 Nineteen one mother bore — dead, all are dead! 
 How oft, alas ! has wretched Priam bled ! 
 Still one was left their loss to recompense ; 
 His father's hope, his country's last defence. 
 Him too thy rage has slain ! beneath thy steel, 
 Unhappy, in his country's cause he fell ! 
 For him, through hostile camps I bent my way, 
 For him, thus prostrate at thy feet I lay * 
 Large gifts, proportioned to thy wrath, I bear ; 
 O hear the wretched, and the gods revere ! 
 Think of thy father, and this face behold ! 
 See him in me, as helpless and as old ! 
 Though not so wretched ; there he yields to me, 
 The first of men in sovereign misery ! 
 Thus forced to kneel, thus groveling to embrace 
 The scourge and ruin of my realm and race ; 
 Suppliant my children's murderer to implore, 
 And kiss those hands yet reeking with their gore! 
 
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KING PRIAM, OF TROY, AND ACHILLES. 
 
 463 
 
 Achilles. 
 
 Alas, what weight of anguish hast thou known, 
 Unhappy prince! thus guardless and alone 
 To pass through foes, and thus undaunted face 
 The man whose fury has destroyed thy race ! 
 Heaven sure has armed thee with a heart of steel, 
 A strength proportioned to the woes you feel. 
 Rise, then ! let reason mitigate your care ; 
 To mourn avails not : man is born to bear. 
 Such is, alas ! the gods' severe decree ; 
 They, only they are blest, and only free. 
 Two urns by Jove's high throne have ever stood, 
 The source of evil one, and one of good; 
 From thence, the cup of mortal man he fills — 
 Blessings to these, to those distributes ills ; 
 To most, he mingles both ; the wretch decreed 
 To taste the bad unmixed, is cursed indeed ; 
 Pursued by wrongs, by meagre famine driven, 
 He wanders, outcast both of earth and heaven. 
 The happiest taste not happiness sincere, 
 But find the cordial draught is dashed with care. 
 Thou too, old man, hast happier days beheld ; 
 In riches once, in children once excelled ; 
 Extended Phrygia owned thy ample reign, 
 And all fair Lesbos's blissful seats contain, 
 And all wide Hellespont's unmeasured main. 
 But since the god his hand has pleased to turn, 
 And fill thy measure from the bitter urn, 
 What sees the sun but hapless heroes' falls? 
 War, and the blood of men surround thy walls ! 
 What must be, must be. Bear thy lot, nor shed 
 These unavailing sorrows o'er the dead ; 
 Thou can'st not call him from the Stygian shore, 
 But thou, alas! may'st live to suffer more !" 
 
 Priam. 
 
 O favored of the skies ! 
 Here let me grow to earth ! since Hector lies 
 On the bare beach, deprived of obsequies ; 
 O give me Hector; to my eyes restore 
 His corse, and take the gifts ; I ask no more. 
 Thou, as thou may'st, these boundless stores enjoy; 
 Safe may'st thou sail, and turn thy wrath from Troy; 
 
464 FIDELITY TO HOME AND KINDRED. 
 
 So shall thy pity and forbearance give 
 A weak old man the light, and live ! 
 
 Achilles. 
 
 Lo ! to thy prayer, restored thy breathless son ; 
 Extended on the funeral couch he lies ; 
 And soon as morning paints the eastern skies, 
 The sight is granted to thy longing eyes; 
 But now the peaceful hours of sacred night 
 Demand reflection, and to rest invite ; 
 Nor thou, O father ! thus consumed with woe, 
 The common cares that nourish life forego. 
 {He orders a feast spread, of which Priam partakes heartily.) 
 
 Priam. 
 
 Achilles. 
 
 Priam. 
 
 Permit me now, beloved of Jove ! to steep 
 My careful temples in the dew of sleep ; 
 For, since the day that numbered with the dead 
 My hapless son, the dust has been my bed ; 
 Soft sleep a stranger to my weeping eyes ; 
 My only food my sorrows and my sighs ! 
 Till now ; encouraged by the grace you give, 
 I share thy banquet and content to live. 
 
 Now, father, sleep, but sleep not here ; 
 Consult thy safety, and forgive my fear, 
 Lest any argive, at this hour awake, 
 To ask our counsel or our order take, 
 Approaching sudden to our opened tent, 
 Perchance behold thee, and our grace prevent 
 Should such report thy honored person here 
 The king of men the ransom might defer ; 
 But say, with speed, if aught of thy desire 
 Remains unask'd ; what time the rites require 
 To inter thy Hector ? For, so long we stay 
 Our slaughtering arm, and bid the hosts obey. 
 
 If then thy will permit 
 To finish all our honors to the dead, 
 This of thy grace accord ; to thee are known 
 The fears of Ilion, closed within her town ; 
 
HE LIES CONCEALED HERE." 
 
 465 
 
 And at what distance from our walls aspire 
 
 The hills of Ide, and forests for the fire ! 
 
 Nine days to vent our sorrows I request, 
 
 The tenth shall see the funeral and the feast ; 
 
 The next, to raise his monument be given ; 
 
 The twelfth we war, if war be doomed by heaven ! 
 
 — Homer's Iliad — Alexander Pope's Translatian. 
 
 "HE LIES CONCEALED HERE." 
 
 URING the troubles in Poland which fol- 
 lowed the revolution of Thaddeus Kosci- 
 usko, many of the truest and best of the 
 sons of that ill-fated country were forced to 
 flee for their lives, forsaking home and 
 friends. Of those who had been most 
 eager for the liberty of Poland and most 
 bitter in enmity against Russia was Michael 
 Sobieski, whose ancestor had been king one hundred and fifty 
 years ago. 
 
 Sobieski had three sons in the patriotic ranks; and father 
 and sons had been of those who had persisted in what the 
 Russians had been pleased to term rebellion, and a price had 
 been set upon their heads. 
 
 The Archduke Constantine was eager to apprehend Michael 
 Sobieski, and learned that the wife of the Polish hero was at 
 home in Cracow; and he waited upon her. 
 
 "Madame," he said, speaking politely, for the lady was 
 queenly and beautiful, " I think you know where your hus- 
 band and sons are hiding?" 
 "I know, sir." 
 
 "If you will tell me where your husband is, your sons shall 
 be pardoned." 
 
 "And shall I be safe?" 
 
 " Yes, madame, I swear it. Tell me where your husband is 
 30 
 
4(jG 
 
 FIDELITY TO HOME AND KINDRED. 
 
 concealed, and both you and your sons shall be safe and 
 unharmed." 
 
 "Then, sir," said the noble woman, rising with a dignity 
 sublime, and laying her hand upon her bosom, "he lies con- 
 cealed here — in the heart of his wife — and you will have to 
 tear this heart out to find him." 
 
 Tyrant as he was, the Archduke admired the answer, and the 
 spirit which had inspired it; and, deeming the good will of 
 such a woman worth securing, he forthwith published a full 
 pardon for the father and sons. — Anonymous. 
 
 RIZPAH. 
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 
 
 ND he delivered them into the hands of the 
 Gibeonites, and they hanged them in the hill 
 before the Lord ; and they fell all seven together, 
 and were put to death in the days of harvest, in 
 the first days, in the beginning of barley-harvest. 
 And Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took sack- 
 cloth, and spread it for her upon the rock, from 
 the beginning of harvest until water dropped 
 upon them out of heaven, and suffered neither the birds of the 
 air to rest on them by day, nor the beasts of the field by 
 night. — 2 Samuel, xxi, 9, 10. 
 
 Hear what the desolate Rizpah said, 
 
 As on Gibeon's rocks she watched the dead. 
 
 The sons of Michal before her lay, 
 
 And her own fair children, dearer than they ; 
 
 By a death of shame they all had died, 
 
 And were stretched on the bare rock, by her side ; 
 
 And Rizpah, once the loveliest of all 
 
 That bloomed and smiled in the court of Saul, 
 
 All wasted with watching and famine now, 
 
 And scorched by the sun her haggard brow, 
 
RIZPAH PROTECTING THE BODIES OF HER SONS. 
 
RIZPAH. 467 
 
 Sat, mournfully guarding their corpses there, 
 And murmured a strange and solemn air ; 
 The low, heart-broken, and waiting strain 
 Of a mother that mourns her children slain. 
 
 " I have made the crags my home, and spread 
 On their desert backs my sackcloth bed ; 
 I have eaten the bitter herb of the rocks, 
 And drunk the midnight dew in my locks; 
 I have wept till I could not weep, and the pain 
 Of my burning eyeballs went to my brain. 
 Seven blackened corpses before me lie, 
 In the blaze of the sun and the winds of the sky. 
 I have watched them through the burning day, 
 And driven the vulture and raven away ; 
 And the cormorant wheeled in circles 'round, 
 Yet feared to 'light on the guarded ground. 
 And when the shadows of twilight came, 
 I have seen the hyena's eyes of flame, 
 And heard at my side his stealthy tread, 
 But aye, at my shout, the savage fled ; 
 And I threw the lighted brand, to fright 
 The jackal and wolf, that yelled in the night. 
 
 " Ye were foully murdered, my hapless sons, 
 By the hands of wicked and cruel ones ; 
 Ye fell, in your fresh and blooming prime, 
 All innocent, for your father's crime. 
 He sinned — but he paid the price of his guilt 
 When his blood by a nameless hand was spilt ; 
 When he strove with the heathen host, in vain, 
 And fell, with the flower of his people slain, 
 And the sceptre his children's hands should sway 
 From his injured lineage passed away. 
 
 "But I hoped that my cottage roof would be 
 A safe retreat for my sons and me ; 
 And while they ripened to manhood fast, 
 They would wean my thoughts from the woes of the past; 
 And my bosom swelled with a mother's pride, 
 As they stood in their beauty and strength by my side, 
 Tall, like their sire, with the princely grace 
 Of his stately form, and the bloom of his face. 
 
4GS FIDELITY TO HOME AND KIXDRED. 
 
 "O what an hour for a mother's heart, 
 When the pitiless ruffians tore us apart! 
 When I clasped their knees, and wept and prayed, 
 And struggled and shrieked to heaven for aid, 
 And clung to my sons with desperate strength, 
 Till the murderers loosed my hold at length, 
 And bore me breathless and faint aside, 
 In their iron arms, while my children died. 
 They died — and the mother that gave them birth 
 Is forbid to cover their bones with earth. 
 
 "The barley-harvest was nodding white 
 When my children died on the rocky height, 
 And the reapers were singing on hill and plain 
 When I came to my task of sorrow and pain. 
 But now the season of rain is nigh, 
 The sun is dim in the thickening sky, 
 And the clouds in sullen darkness rest 
 Where he hides his light at the doors of the west. 
 I hear the howl of the wind that brings 
 The long, drear storm on its heavy wings; 
 But the howling wind and the driving rain 
 Will beat on my houseless head in vain : 
 I shall stay, from my murdered sons to scare 
 The beasts of the desert and fowls of air." 
 
 VETURIA AND VOLUMNIA. 
 
 AIUS Marcius Coriolanus, exiled from Rome in 
 the year B. C. 488 by the seditious Tribunes and 
 by his own indomitable pride, so far forgot all 
 patriotic feelings as to engage the Volscians to 
 make war against his country. The Volscians, 
 proud of the assistance of such a distinguished 
 hero, made him their general : he took the field, 
 with vengeance in his heart. After a great 
 
 number of victories, he marched straight to Rome, for the 
 
 purpose of laying siege to it. 
 
 So bold a design threw the patricians and the people equally 
 
 into a state of the greatest alarm. Hatred gave way to fear; 
 
VETURIA AND VOLUMNIA. 469 
 
 duputies were sent to Coriolanus, who received them with all 
 the haughtiness of an enemy determined upon making his will 
 the law. The Roman generals, instead of boldly meeting him 
 in the field, exhorted him to grant them peace ; they conjured 
 him to have pity on his country, and forget the injuries offered 
 him by the populace, who were already sufficiently punished 
 by the evils he had inflicted on them But they brought back 
 nothing but the stern reply, " that they must restore to the 
 Volscians all they had taken from them, and grant them the 
 right of citizenship." Other deputies were dismissed in the 
 same manner. The courage of these Romans, so proud and 
 so intrepid, appeared to have passed with Coriolanus over to 
 the side of the Volscians. Obedience to the laws was at an 
 end ; military discipline was neglected ; they took counsel of 
 nothing but their fear. At length, after many tumultuous 
 deliberations, the ministers of religion were sent to endeavor to 
 bend the will of the angry compatriot. Priests clothed in their 
 sacred habiliments advanced with mournful steps to the camp 
 of the Volscians, and the most venerable among them implored 
 Coriolanus to give peace to his country, and, in the name of the 
 gods, to have compassion on the Romans, his fellow citizens 
 and brothers ; but they found him equally stern and inflexible. 
 When the people saw the holy priests return without success, 
 they indeed supposed the republic lost. They filled the 
 temples, they embraced the altars of the gods, and gathered in 
 clusters about the city uttering cries and lamentations ! Rome 
 presented a picture of profound grief and debasement. Veturia, 
 the mother of Coriolanus, and Volumnia, his wife, saved their 
 unhappy country. They presented themselves before him, and 
 conjured him, by all he held most sacred, to spare a city which 
 had given him birth — which still contained his mother, his 
 wife, and his children. His mother was a woman of great 
 spirit — a Roman, almost a Spartan mother ; she had, from his 
 boyhood, stimulated him to the performance of noble and 
 heroic deeds; she might be called the parent of his glory, 
 as well as of his vigorous person. Coriolanus loved his 
 
•470 FIDELITY TO HOME AND KINDRED. 
 
 mother tenderly; almost idolized her, and could not resist 
 her tears. He raised the siege, and delivered Rome from 
 the greatest alarm it had ever experienced. — Great Sieges 
 of History. 
 
 PENELOPE, THE FAITHFUL WIFE. 
 
 ENELOPE was born, 1214 B. C, and is one of 
 the most interesting of the semi-historical 
 heroines of antiquity. She was the daughter 
 of Icarius and Polycaste.and a cousin of Helen, 
 daughter of Tyndarus, King of Sparta. She 
 married Ulysses, son of Laertes, King of 
 Ithaca. The aged King resigned his crown 
 ^S^ 8 ^* to his son and retired to a life of rural solitude. 
 Ulysses and Penelope lived for a time happily in their island 
 kingdom, reigning in peace over their subjects, and rearing 
 their son Telemachus. 
 
 In the meantime Helen had married Menelaus, who, upon 
 the death of Tyndarus, succeeded to the throne of Sparta. 
 Paris, the son of Priam, King of Troy, now paid his mem- 
 orable visit to Sparta, requiting the hospitality of his host by 
 abducting his wife. Ulysses was summoned by Menelaus and 
 his brother Agamemnon, to join the forces collecting for the 
 chastisement of Paris and the destruction of Troy. Though 
 loath to leave his beloved Penelope, he accompanied the 
 Greeks to Ilium, and remained during the siege of Troy, which 
 lasted for ten years. Upon the fall of the city he was involved 
 in disasters, and for ten years more wandered from country to 
 country, exposed to constant peril and unable to regain his 
 home. It is the prudence, dignity and fidelity of Penelope, 
 during those twenty years of separation, that have made her 
 the heroine of poets, the envy of husbands, the dream and the 
 toast of bachelors. 
 
PENELOPE, THE FAITHFUL WIFE. 471 
 
 During the latter years of the absence of Ulysses, his palace 
 at Ithaca was thronged with princes and peers, importunate 
 and quarrelsome suitors for the hand of the Queen, who, they 
 maintained, had long since been made a widow, by battle or 
 shipwreck. 
 
 Her friends and family urged her to abandon the idea of her 
 husband's return, and to choose from the rival aspirants a father 
 for Telemachus and a sovereign for Ithaca. She exerted all 
 her ingenuity, and put in practice every artifice which she 
 could invent, to defer the period of her final decision. In the 
 seventeenth year of her solitude, she imagined the device 
 which is so indissolubly connected with her name, engaging 
 to make a choice when she should have completed a web which 
 she was then weaving as a funeral ornament of Laertes, Ulysses' 
 father, who was now rapidly sinking to the grave. The suitors 
 gladly accepted a proposal which seemed to promise a speedy 
 termination. But Penelope, assiduously unraveling at night 
 what she had woven during the day, protracted for three years 
 more the fatal moment. At the beginning of the fourth, a 
 female attendant disclosed the pious treachery. These in- 
 cidents are related by Homer, in a speech placed in the mouth' 
 of Antinous, the most turbulent of the suitors. Telemachus 
 had reproached them with riotous conduct, alleging that their 
 prodigality had well-nigh drained the Royal coffers. Antinous 
 thus replied : — 
 
 " O insolence of youth! whose tongue affords 
 Such railing eloquence and war of words ; 
 Studious thy country's worthies to defame, 
 Thy erring voice proclaims thy mother's shame ! 
 Elusive of the bridal day, she gives 
 Fond hope to all, and all with hope deceives ! 
 Did not the sun, through heaven's wide azure roll'd, 
 For three long years the royal fraud behold, 
 While she laborious, in delusion spread 
 The spacious loom and mixed the various thread ? 
 When, as to life the wondrous figures rise, 
 Thus spoke the inventive queen, with artful sighs : — 
 
472 FIDELITY TO HOME AND KINDRED. 
 
 " Though cold in death, Ulysses breathes no more, 
 Cease yet awhile to urge the bridal hour ; 
 Cease till to great Laertes I bequeath 
 A task of grief, his ornaments of death, 
 Lest when the fates his royal ashes claim, 
 The Grecian matrons taint my spotless fame ; 
 When he whom, living, mighty realms obeyed, 
 Shall want in death a shroud to grace his shade ! 
 Thus she : at once the generous train complies, 
 Nor fraud mistrusts in Virtue's fair disguise. 
 The work she plied, but studious of delay, 
 By night reversed the labors of the day. 
 While thrice the sun his annual journey made, 
 The conscious lamp the midnight fraud surveyed: 
 Unheard, unseen, three years her arts prevail, 
 The fourth, her maid unfolds the amazing tale : 
 We saw, as, unperceived, we took our stand, 
 The backward labors of her faithless hand ; 
 Then urged, she perfects her illustrious toils, 
 A wondrous monument of female wiles !" 
 
 In " Ovid's Epistle of the Heroines," is a letter of Penelope 
 to Ulysses, in which, ignorant of the causes of his delay, she 
 chides him for his prolonged absence, and with persuasive 
 eloquence entreats him to return : — 
 
 " Ulysses, thy Penelope sends this to thee, thus delaying. 
 But write me nothing in answer ; do thou come thyself. Troy, 
 so hateful to the Grecian fair, doubtless lies prostrate ; hardly 
 was Priam and the whole of Troy of such great importance. 
 Oh ! how I wish that, at the time he was making for Lace- 
 daemon with his fleet, the adulterer had been overwhelmed in 
 the raging waves! Then I had not lain cold in a deserted bed, 
 nor, forlorn, should I have complained that the days pass 
 slowly on. The hanging web would not have wearied my 
 widowed hands, as I seek to beguile the lingering night. 
 
 " When have I not been dreading dangers more grievous 
 than the reality ? Love is a thing replete with anxious fears. 
 Against thee did I fancy that the furious Trojans were rushing 
 on ; at the name of Hector, I was always pale. But the 
 
PENELOPE, THE FAITHFUL WIFE. 473 
 
 righteous god has a regard for my chaste passion ; Troy has 
 been reduced to ashes and my husband survives. The Argive 
 chieftains have returned ; the altars are smoking ; the spoils 
 of the barbarians are offered to the gods of our country. The 
 damsels newly married are presenting the gifts of gratitude for 
 the safe return of their husbands ; the latter are celebrating the 
 destinies of Troy overcome by their own. 
 
 " But what avails me Ilion hurled down by thy arms, and 
 that level ground which once was walls, if I remain just as I 
 remained while Troy was flourishing, and if thou, my husband, 
 art afar from me, to be lamented by me eternally ? 
 
 " Now 'tis a field of corn where once Troy stood ; and the 
 ground destined to be plied with the sickle is rich, fattened by 
 Phrygian blood. Victorious, thou are absent, and it is not 
 granted me to know what is the cause of thy delaying, or in 
 what corner of the world, in thy cruelty, thou art concealed. 
 
 "Whoever steers his stranger bark to these shores, departs 
 after having been asked by me many a question about thee; 
 and to him is entrusted the paper inscribed with my fingers for 
 him to deliver to thee, if he should only see thee anywhere. 
 
 " More to my advantage were the walls of Troy standing 
 even now. I should then know where thou art fighting, and 
 warfare alone I should dread, and with those of many others 
 would my complaints be joined. What to fear I know not; 
 still bewildered I dread everything ; and a wide field lies open 
 for my apprehensions. Whatever dangers the sea presents, 
 whatever the land, these I suspect to be the causes of a delay 
 so prolonged. While in my folly I am imagining these things, 
 such is the inconstancy of you men, that thou mayest be capti- 
 vated by some foreign beauty. Perhaps, too, thou mayest be 
 telling how homely thy wife is, who minds only the spindle 
 and the distaff. 
 
 " May I prove mistaken, and may this charge vanish into 
 unsubstantial air; and mayest thou not, if free to return, 
 still desire to be absent ! My father, Icarius, urges me to 
 leave a widowed bed, and is always chiding thy protracted 
 
74 
 
 FIDELITY TO HOME AXD A'lXDKED. 
 
 delay. Let him chide on ; thine I am ; thy Penelope must I 
 be called ; the wife o( Ulysses will I ever be. Suitors from 
 Dulyehium and Samos, and the lofty Zycanthus, a wanton 
 crew, are besetting me ; and in thy palace do they rule, with 
 no one to hinder them ; thy wealth they are dissipating; I have 
 no strength to drive the enemy from thy abode ; come 
 speed:!}- then, the refuge and sanctuary of thy family. 
 
 " Thou hast, and long mayest thou have, a son, who in his 
 tender years ought to have been trained to the virtues of his 
 father. Think of Laertes ; that thou mayest close his eyes he 
 still drags on the closing hours of his existence. I, no doubt, 
 who was but a girl when thou didst depart, shall seem to 
 have become an old woman, though thou should'st return at 
 once." 
 
 At the end of the twentieth year, Ulysses returned and Pene- 
 lope fell upon his neck and wept. — From "The Life of Man? etc. 
 
 A GOOD SON. 
 
 HILE the French troops were encamped at 
 Boulogne public attention was excited by 
 the daring attempt at escape made by an 
 English sailor. This person, having es- 
 f: Cj^^Ct 81 ca P e d from the depot, and having gained 
 the seashore, where the woods served for 
 concealing him, constructed, with no other 
 instrument than a knife, a boat, entirely of 
 When the weather was fair, he mounted a 
 tree and looked out for the English flag. And having, at last, 
 observed a British cruiser, he ran to the shore with the boat 
 on his back, and was about to trust himself in his frail vessel 
 to the waves, when he was pursued, arrested and loaded with 
 chains. Everybody in the army was anxious to see the boat, 
 and Napoleon having, at length, heard of the affair, sent for the 
 sailor and interrogated him. " You must,'" said Napoleon, 
 
 the bark of trees. 
 
A GOOD SON. Alb 
 
 " have had a great desire to see your country again, since you 
 could resolve to trust yourself on the open sea in so frail a 
 bark; I suppose you have left a sweetheart there." "No," 
 said the sailor, " but a poor and infirm mother, whom I was 
 anxious to see." " And you shall see her," said Napoleon, 
 giving, at the same time, orders to set him at liberty, and to 
 bestow upon him a considerable sum of money, observing that 
 " she must be a good mother who had so good a son." 
 
 This event has been touchingly portrayed by the poet 
 Campbell, in the following lines : — 
 
 I love contemplating, apart 
 
 From all his homicidal glory, 
 The traits that soften to our heart 
 
 Napoleon's story ! 
 
 'Twas when his banners at Boulogne 
 
 Armed on our island every freeman, 
 His navy chanced to capture one 
 
 Poor British seaman. 
 
 They suffered him — I know not how — 
 
 Imprisoned on the shore to roam ; 
 And aye was bent his longing brow 
 
 On England's home. 
 
 His eye, methinks, pursued the flight 
 
 Of birds to Britain half way over 
 With envy, they could reach the white, 
 
 Dear cliffs of Dover. 
 
 A stormy midnight watch, he thought, 
 
 Than this sojourn would have been dearer, 
 
 If but the storm his vessel brought 
 To England nearer. 
 
 At last, when care had banished sleep, 
 He saw, one morning, dreaming, doating, 
 
 An empty hogshead from the deep 
 Come shoreward floating. 
 
 He hid it in a cave, and wrought 
 
 The livelong day laborious, lurking, 
 Until he launched a tiny boat, 
 
 By mighty working. 
 
476 FIDELITY TO HOME AND KINDRED. 
 
 Heaven help us ! 'twas a thing beyond 
 Description wretched ; such a wherry 
 
 Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond 
 Or crossed a ferry. 
 
 For ploughing in a salt sea-field, 
 
 It would have made the boldest shudder; 
 
 Untarred, uncompassed and unkeeled, 
 No sail nor rudder. 
 
 From neighboring woods he interlaced 
 His sorry skiff with wattled willows ; 
 
 And thus equipped he would have passed 
 The foaming billows. 
 
 But Frenchmen caught him on the beach, 
 
 His little Argo sorely jeering ; 
 Till tidings of him chanced to reach 
 
 Napoleon's hearing. 
 
 With folded arms Napoleon stood, 
 
 Serene alike in peace and danger, 
 And in his wonted attitude, 
 
 Addressed the stranger : — 
 
 ' Rash man, that would'st yon channel pass 
 On twigs and staves so rudely fashioned, 
 Thy heart by some sweet British lass 
 Must be impassioned." 
 
 " I have no sweetheart," said the lad ; 
 " But absent long from one another, 
 Great was the longing that I had 
 To see my mother.' 
 
 "And so thou shalt," Napoleon said; 
 " Ye've both my favor fairly won ; ' 
 A noble mother must have bred 
 So brave a son." 
 
 He gave the tar a piece of gold, 
 And with a flag of truce commanded t 
 
 He should be shipped to England old, 
 And safely landed. 
 
 Our sailor oft could scantly shift 
 To find a dinner, plain and hearty ; 
 
 But never changed the coin and gift 
 Of Bonaparte. Thomas Campbell. 
 
THE ESCAPE OF GROTIUS. 47 'J 
 
 THE ESCAPE OF GROTIUS. 
 
 E. PAXTON HOOD, D. D. 
 
 FTER the learned Grotius had been confined 
 about a year in the castle of Louvenstein, Hol- 
 land, to which imprisonment he was sentenced 
 for life, his wife contrived and executed the 
 means of his deliverance. Perceiving that the 
 guards were not so strict in examining the chest 
 which was made use of to carry books and linen 
 to and from the prison, she persuaded her hus- 
 band to get into it and remain there as long as it would require 
 to go from Louvenstein to Gorcum. Finding that he could 
 endure the confinement when holes were made in the chest, to 
 breathe through, Madam Grotius determined to seize the first 
 opportunity of effecting her design. Accordingly, when the 
 governor went to Heusden to raise recruits, she waited upon 
 his lady, and told her she was anxious to send away her hus- 
 band's books ; too great an application to which, she said, 
 had already injured his health. Having thus prepared the 
 commandant's wife, and at the same time spread abroad a 
 general report that her husband was ill, on March 21st, 1621, 
 she, with the help of her servant maid, shut him up in the chest. 
 Two soldiers carried it, and one of them, finding it heavier than 
 usual, observed, " There must be an Arminian in it," to which 
 Madam Grotius coolly replied, " There are some Arminian 
 books in it." The chest was then brought down a ladder with 
 great difficulty, and the extraordinary care which was taken in 
 conveying it made one of the soldiers suspicious; he demanded 
 the key, and upon its being refused he went to the command- 
 ant's lady, who reprimanded him, saying there were only books 
 in the chest, and that they might carry it to the boat. While 
 they were carrying it along, a soldier's wife said there was 
 more than one instance of prisoners making their escape in 
 
478 
 
 FIDELITY TO HOME AND KINDRED. 
 
 boxes. However, the chest was placed in the boat, and the 
 maid accompanied it to Gorcum, where it was taken to the 
 house of M. Dazelaer, a friend of Grotius; and when everybody 
 was gone the servant unlocked the chest, and let her master 
 out, who had suffered but little inconvenience, though the 
 length was not above three and a half feet. 
 
 Being thus free, he dressed himself like a mason, with a 
 trowel and rule in his hand, and going out at Dazelaer's back 
 door, went to Valvic in Brabant, and from thence to Antwerp. 
 In the meanwhile it was believed at Louvenstein that he was 
 ill ; and to give him time to get clear off, his wife reported that 
 his disorder was dangerous ; but as soon as she learned from 
 her maid that he was safe she acknowledged the fact. The 
 commandant in a great rage put her under a rigid confinement; 
 but on presenting a petition to the States General, they were 
 ashamed of acting so severely to a woman who had conducted 
 herself with so much magnanimity, and ordered her to be set 
 at liberty. 
 
 "I AM JOSEPH ; DOTH MY FATHER YET LIVE ?" 
 
 REV. JAMES BLAIR, D. D. 
 
 O human character exhibited in the records 
 of Scripture is more remarkable and in- 
 structive than that of the patriarch Joseph. 
 He is one whom we behold tried in all the 
 vicissitudes of fortune; from the condition 
 of a slave, rising to be ruler of the land of 
 Egypt; and in every station acquiring, by 
 his virtue and wisdom, favor with God and 
 man. When overseer of Potiphar's house, his fidelity was 
 proved by strong temptations, which he honorably resisted. 
 
 When thrown into prison by the artifices of a false woman, 
 his integrity and prudence soon rendered him conspicuous, 
 
"I AM JOSEPH; DOTH MY FATHER YET LIVE?" 479 
 
 even in that dark mansion. When called into the presence of 
 Pharaoh, the wise and extensive plan which he formed for 
 saving the kingdom from the miseries of impending famine 
 justly raised him to a high station, wherein his abilities were 
 eminently displayed in the public service. But in his whole 
 history there is no circumstance so striking and interesting as 
 his behavior to his brethren who had sold him into slavery. 
 The moment in which he made himself known to them was 
 the most critical one in his life, and the most decisive of his 
 character. It is such as rarely occurs in the course of human 
 events, and is calculated to draw the highest attention of all 
 who are endowed with any degree of sensibility of heart. 
 
 From the whole tenor of the narrative, it appears that, 
 though Joseph, upon the arrival of his brethren in Egypt, 
 made himself strange to them, yet, from the beginning, he in- 
 tended to discover himself, and studied so to conduct the dis- 
 covery as might render the surprise of joy complete. For this 
 end, by affected severity, he took measures for bringing down 
 into Egypt all his father's children. 
 
 They were now arrived there, and Benjamin among the rest, 
 who was his younger brother by the same mother, and was 
 particularly beloved by Joseph. Him he threatened to detain, 
 and seemed willing to allow the rest to depart. This incident 
 renewed their distress. They all knew their father's extreme 
 anxiety about the safety of Benjamin, and with what difficulty 
 he had yielded to his undertaking this journey. Should he be 
 prevented from returning, they dreaded that grief would over- 
 power the old man's spirits, and prove fatal to his life. Judah, 
 therefore, who had particularly urged the necessity of Ben- 
 jamin's accompanying his brothers, and had solemnly pledged 
 himself to their father for his safe return, craved, upon this 
 occasion, an audience of the Governor, and gave him a full 
 account of the circumstances of Jacob's family. 
 
 Nothing can be more interesting and pathetic than the dis- 
 course of Judah. Little knowing to whom he spoke, he paints, 
 in all the colors of simple and natural eloquence, the distressed 
 situation of the aged patriarch, hastening to the close of life, 
 
480 FIDELITY TO HOME AXD KINDRED. 
 
 long afflicted for the loss of a favorite son, whom he had sup- 
 posed to have been torn in pieces by a beast of prey, laboring 
 now under anxious concern about his youngest son, the child 
 of his old age, who alone was left alive of his mother, and 
 whom nothing but the calamities of severe famine could have 
 moved a tender father to send from home, and expose to the 
 dangers of a foreign land. 
 
 " If we bring him not back with us, we shall bring down the 
 gray hairs of thy servant, our father, with sorrow to the grave; 
 I pray thee, therefore, let thy servant abide instead of the young 
 man, a bondman to our lord. For how shall I go up to my 
 father, and Benjamin not with me, lest I see the evil that shall 
 come on my father ? " 
 
 Upon this relation, Joseph could no longer restrain himself. 
 The tender ideas of his father, and his father's house, of his 
 ancient home, his country, and his kindred, of the distress of 
 his family, and his own exaltation, all rushed too strongly upon 
 his mind to bear any further concealment. He cried, " Cause 
 every man to go out from me ; " and he wept aloud. 
 
 The tears which he shed were not tears of grief. They were 
 the burst of affection. They were the effusion of a heart over- 
 flowing with all the tender sensibilities of nature. Formerly 
 he had been moved in the same manner when he first saw his 
 brethren before him. " His bowels yearned upon them ; he 
 sought for a place where to weep. He went to his chamber, 
 and there washed his face and returned to them." At that 
 period, his generous plans were not completed. But now, 
 when there was no further occasion for constraining himself, 
 he gave free vent to the strong emotions of his heart. The first 
 minister to the king of Egypt was not ashamed to show that 
 he felt as a man and a brother. " He wept aloud ; and the 
 Egyptians and the house of Pharaoh heard him." 
 
 The first words which his swelling heart allowed him to 
 pronounce are the most suitable to such an affecting situation 
 that were ever uttered : — " I am Joseph ; doth my father yet 
 live?" What could he, what ought he, in that impassioned 
 moment to have said more ! This is the voice of nature her- 
 
BRA VER Y OF GEN. SCHUYLER ' S DA UGHTER. 48 1 
 
 self speaking her own language, and it penetrates the heart; 
 no pomp of expression, no parade of kindness, but strong 
 affection hastening to utter what it strongly felt. " His brethren 
 could not answer him, for they were troubled in his presence." 
 Their silence is as expressive of those emotions of repentance 
 and shame, which on this amazing discovery filled their breasts 
 and stopped their utterance, as the few words which Joseph 
 speaks are expressive of the generous agitations which strug- 
 gled for vent in him. 
 
 No painter could seize a more striking moment for displaying 
 the characteristic features of the human heart than what is 
 here presented. Never was there a situation of more tender 
 and virtuous joy, on the one hand, nor, on the other, of more 
 overwhelming confusion and conscious guilt. In the simple 
 narration of the sacred historian, it is set before us with greater 
 energy and higher effect than if it had been wrought up with 
 all the coloring of the most admired modern eloquence. 
 
 BRAVERY OF GENERAL SCHUYLER'S LITTLE 
 DAUGHTER. 
 
 BENSON J. LOSSING. 
 
 URING the summer of 178 1, General Schuy- 
 ler was residing in the suburbs of Albany, 
 having left the army and engaged in the 
 civil service of his country. Notwithstand- 
 ing his comparatively obscure position, his 
 aid and counsel were constantly sought, in 
 both civil and military transactions, and he 
 was considered, by the enemy, one of the 
 prominent obstacles in the way of their success. He was then 
 charged by Washington with the duty of intercepting all com- 
 munications between Generals Haldimand, in Canada, and 
 Clinton, in New York. For some time the Tories in the 
 31 
 
482 FIDJSL/TY TO HOME AND KINDRED. 
 
 neighborhood of Albany had been employed in capturing 
 prominent citizens and carrying them off to Canada for the 
 purpose of exchange. 
 
 Such an attempt was made upon Colonel Gansevoort, and 
 now a bold project was conceived to carry off General 
 Schuyler. 
 
 John Watermeyer, a bold partisan and colleague of the noto- 
 rious Joe Bettys, was employed for the purpose. Accom- 
 panied by a gang of Tories, Canadians and Indians, he repaired 
 to the neighborhood of Albany, but, uncertain how well General 
 Schuyler might be guarded, he lurked among the pine shrub- 
 bery in the vicinity eight or ten days. He seized a Dutch 
 laborer, and learned from him the exact position of affairs at 
 Schuyler's house, after which he extorted an oath of secrecy 
 from the man, and let him go. The Dutchman seems to have 
 made a mental reservation, for he immediately gave informa- 
 tion of the fact to General Schuyler. A loyalist who was the 
 General's personal friend, and cognizant of Watermeyer's 
 designs, also warned him. In consequence of the recent 
 abduction, the General kept a guard of six men constantly on 
 duty, three by day and three by night, and after these warn- 
 ings they and his family were constantly on the alert. 
 
 At the close of a sultry day in August, the General and his 
 family were sitting in the front hall. The servants were dis- 
 persed about the premises. The three guards relieved for the 
 night were asleep in the basement room, and the three on 
 duty, oppressed by the heat, were lying upon the cool grass in 
 the garden. A servant announced to the General that a 
 stranger desired to speak to him at the back gate. The 
 stranger's errand was at once comprehended. The doors of 
 the house were at once shut and close barred. The family 
 were hastily collected in an upper room, and the General ran 
 to his bed-chamber for his arms. From the window he saw 
 the house surrounded by armed men. For the purpose of 
 arousing the sentinels upon the grass, and perchance to alarm 
 the town, he fired a pistol from the window. The assailants 
 
BRA VER Y OF GEN. SCHUYLER 'S DA UGHTER. 483 
 
 burst open the doors, and at that moment Mrs. Schuyler per- 
 ceived that in the confusion and alarm of the retreat from the 
 hall, her infant child, a few months old, had been left in the 
 cradle in the nursery below. 
 
 Parental love subdued all fear, and she was flying to the 
 rescue of her child, when the General interposed and prevented 
 her. 
 
 But her third daughter, Margaret (afterward the wife of the 
 venerated General Van Rensselaer, of Albany), instantly rushed 
 down the two flights of stairs, snatched the still sleeping infant 
 from the cradle, and bore it aloft safely. 
 
 One of the miscreants hurled a sharp tomahawk at her as 
 she left the room, but it effected no other harm than a slight 
 injury to her dress, within a few inches of the infant's head. 
 
 As she ascended a private staircase, she met Watermeyer, 
 who, supposing her to be a servant, exclaimed, " Wench, wench, 
 where is your master ? " 
 
 With great presence of mind, she replied, " Gone to alarm 
 the town." 
 
 The Tory followers were then in the dining-room, plundering 
 it of the plate and other valuables, and he called them together 
 for consultation. 
 
 At that moment the General threw up a window, and as if 
 speaking to numbers, called out, in a loud voice, "Come on, 
 my brave fellows, surround the house and secure the villains, 
 who are plundering." 
 
 The assailants made a precipitate retreat, carrying with them 
 the three guards that were in the house, and a large quantity 
 of silver plate. They made their way to Ballstown, by day- 
 break, where they took General Gordon a prisoner, from his 
 bed, and with their booty returned to Canada. The bursting 
 open the doors of General Schuyler's house aroused the sleep- 
 ing guards in the cellar, who rushed up the back hall, where 
 they had left their arms, but they were gone. Mrs. Church, 
 another daughter of General Schuyler, who was there at the 
 time, without the slightest suspicion that they might be wanted, 
 
484 
 
 FIDELITY TO HOME AND KINDRED. 
 
 caused the arms to be removed a short time before the attack, 
 on account of apprehended injury to her little son, whom she 
 found playing with them. 
 
 The guards had no other weapons but their brawny fists, and 
 these they used manfully, until overpowered. 
 
 They were taken to Canada, and when they were exchanged, 
 the General gave them each a farm, in Saratoga county. Their 
 names were, John Tubbs, John Corlies and John Ward. 
 
 DAVID'S LAMENT FOR ABSALOM. 
 
 2 Samuel, xviii, 33. 
 
 [jjljllfcHE waters slept. Night's silvery veil hung low- 
 On Jordan's bosom, and the eddies curl'd 
 Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still, 
 Unbroken beating of the sleeper's pulse. 
 The reeds bent down the stream; the willow-leaves, 
 With a soft cheek upon the running tide, 
 Forgot the lifting winds ; and the long stems, 
 Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse, 
 Bears on its boson, quietly gave way, 
 And lean'd, in graceful attitudes, to rest. 
 How strikingly the course of nature tells, 
 By its light heed of human suffering, 
 That it was fashion' d for a happier world ! 
 
 King David's limbs were weary. He had fled 
 From far Jerusalem ; and now he stood, 
 With his faint people, for a little rest, 
 Upon the shore of Jordan. The light wind 
 Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow 
 To its refreshing breath ; for he had worn 
 The mourner's covering, and he had not felt 
 That he could see his people until now. 
 They gather' d round him on the fresh green bank, 
 And spoke their kindly words ; and, as the sun 
 Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there, 
 And bow'd his head upon his hands to pray. 
 
 Oh ! when the heart is full, when bitter thoughts 
 Come crowding quickly up for utterance, 
 
DA VI D ' S LAMENT FOR ABSAL OM. 485 
 
 And the poor common words of courtesy 
 
 Are such a very mockery, how much 
 
 The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer ! 
 
 He pray'd for Israel; and his voice went up 
 
 Strongly and fervently. He pray'd for those 
 
 Whose love had been his shield : and his deep tones, 
 
 Grew tremulous. But, oh ! for Absalom, 
 
 For his estranged, misguided Absalom — 
 
 The proud, bright being, who had burst away, 
 
 In all his princely beauty, to defy 
 
 The heart that cherished him — for him he poured, 
 
 In agony that would not be controlled, 
 
 Strong supplication, and forgave him there, 
 
 Before his God, for his deep sinfulness. 
 
 The pall was settled. He who slept beneath 
 Was straitened for the grave ; and as the folds 
 Sunk to the still proportions, they betrayed 
 The matchless symmetry of Absalom. 
 His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls 
 Were floating round the tassels, as they swayed 
 To the admitted air, as glossy now 
 As when, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing 
 The snowy fingers of Judea's girls. 
 
 His helm was at his feet ; his banner, soiled 
 With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid, 
 Reversed, beside him ; and the jeweled hilt, 
 Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade, 
 Rested, like mockery, on his covered brow. 
 
 The soldiers of the king trod to and fro, 
 
 Clad in the garb of battle ; and their chief, 
 
 The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier, 
 
 And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly, 
 
 As if he feared the slumberer might stir. 
 
 A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade 
 
 As if a trumpet rang ; but the bent form 
 
 Of David entered, and he gave command, 
 
 In a low tone, to his few followers, 
 
 And left him with his dead. 
 
 The king stood still 
 Till the last echo died ; then, throwing off 
 The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back 
 
486 FIDELITY TO HOME AND KINDRED. 
 
 The pall from the still features of his child, 
 He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth 
 In the resistless eloquence of woe: — 
 
 "Alas, my noble boy, that thou should'st die ! 
 
 Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair ! 
 
 That death should settle in thy glorious eye, 
 
 And leave his stillness in this clustering hair! 
 How could he mark thee for the silent tomb, 
 My proud boy, Absalom ? 
 
 "Cold is thy brow, my son; and I am chill, 
 As to my bosom I have tried to press thee. 
 How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, 
 
 Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, 
 And hear thy sweet ' my father ' from these dumb 
 And cold lips, Absalom ! 
 
 "The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush 
 Of music and the voices of the young, 
 And life will pass me in the mantling blush, 
 
 And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung ; 
 But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come 
 To meet me, Absalom ! 
 
 "And, oh ! when I am stricken, and my heart, 
 Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, 
 How will its love for thee, as I depart, 
 
 Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token .' 
 It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, 
 To see thee, Absalom ! 
 
 "And now, farewell ! 'Tis hard to give thee up, 
 
 With death so like a gentle slumber on thee ; 
 
 And thy dark sin ! — Oh, I could drink the cup, 
 
 If from this woe its bitterness had won thee ! 
 
 May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home, 
 
 My erring Absalom ! " 
 
 He covered up his face, and bowed himself 
 
 A moment on his child; then, giving him 
 
 A look of melting tenderness, he clasped 
 
 His hands convulsively, as if in prayer; 
 
 And, as if strength were given him of God, 
 
 He rose up calmly, and composed the pall 
 
 Firmly and decently, and left him there, 
 
 As if his rest had been a breathing sleep. N. P. Willis. 
 
" The highest compact we can make with our fellow, is — Let there be truth 
 between us two forevermore. * * * It is sublime to feel and say of another, 
 J need never meet or speak, or write to him; we need not reinforce ourselves, 
 or send tokens of remembrance; I rely on him as on myself; if he did thus 
 or thus, I know it was right." 
 
 — Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
 
PART X. 
 
 TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 
 
 ARCHBISHOP FENELON. 
 
 AMON and Pythias were two celebrated Sy- 
 racusans, whose names are always joined as 
 the types of true and noble friendship. They 
 were both disciples of Pythagoras. Pythias 
 was condemned to death by Dionysius the 
 elder, Tyrant of Syracuse (who nourished 
 during the early part of the fourth century, 
 B. C), but requested to be temporarily re- 
 leased, in order to arrange his affairs, promising to procure a 
 friend to take his place and suffer his punishment, if he should 
 not return. Pythias was allowed to depart, and Damon gave 
 himself up as his substitute. Before the time for the execution 
 Pythias returned, and Dionysius set both of them free. In the 
 following dialogue, the events that brought about their pardon 
 are vividly described. 
 
 Dionysius. Amazing! What do I see? It is Pythias, just 
 arrived — it is, indeed, Pythias. I did not think it 
 489 
 
490 TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 possible. He is come to die and to redeem his 
 friend! 
 
 Pythias. Yes, it is Pythias. I left the place of my confine- 
 ment with no other views than to pay to heaven the 
 vows I had made ; to settle my family concerns, ac- 
 cording to the rules of justice; and to bid adieu to 
 my children, that I might die tranquil and satisfied. 
 
 Dionysius. But why dost thou return ? Hast thou no fear of 
 death ? Is it not the character of a madman to seek 
 it thus voluntarily ? 
 
 Pythias. I return to suffer, though I have not deserved death. 
 Every principle of honor and goodness forbids me 
 to allow my friend to die for me. 
 
 Dionysius. Dost thou, then, love him better than thyself? 
 
 Pythias. No ; I love him as myself. But I am persuaded 
 that I ought to suffer death, rather than my friend, 
 since it was Pythias whom thou hadst decreed to die. 
 It were not just that Damon should suffer, to deliver 
 me from the death which was designed, not for him, 
 but for me only. 
 
 Dionysius. But thou supposest that it is as unjust to inflict 
 death upon thee, as upon thy friend. 
 
 Pythias. Very true ; we are both perfectly innocent ; and it is 
 equally unjust to make either of us suffer. 
 
 Dionysius. Why dost thou then assert that it were injustice 
 to put him to death, instead of thee ? 
 
 Pythias. It is unjust, in the same degree, to inflict death either 
 on Damon or on myself; but Pythias were highly 
 culpable to let Damon suffer that death which the 
 tyrant had prepared for Pythias only. 
 
 Dionysius. Dost thou then return hither, on the day appointed, 
 with no other view than to save the life of a friend 
 by losing thy own? 
 
 Pythias. I return, in regard to thee, to suffer an act of injus- 
 tice which it is common for tyrants to inflict; and, 
 with respect to Damon, to perform my duty, by 
 
DAMON AND PYTHIAS. 491 
 
 rescuing him from the danger he incurred by his 
 generosity to me. 
 
 Dionysius. And now, Damon, let me address myself to thee. 
 Didst thou not really fear that Pythias would never 
 return ; and that thou wouldst be put to death on his 
 account? 
 
 Damon. I was but too well assured, that Pythias would punc- 
 tually return; and that he would be more solicitous 
 to keep his promise than to preserve his life. Would 
 to heaven, that his relations and friends had forcibly 
 detained him! He would then have lived for the 
 comfort and benefit of good men ; and I should have 
 the satisfaction of dying for him ! 
 
 Dionysius. What! Does life displease thee? 
 
 Damon. Yes; it displeases me when I see and feel the power 
 of a tyrant. 
 
 Dionysius. It is well! Thou shalt see him no more. I will 
 order thee to be put to death immediately. 
 
 Pythias. Pardon the feelings of a man who sympathizes with 
 his dying friend. But remember it was Pythias who 
 was devoted by thee to destruction. I come to sub- 
 mit to it, that I may redeem my friend. Do not 
 refuse me this consolation in my last hour. 
 
 Dionysius. I cannot endure men who despise death and set 
 my power at defiance. 
 
 Damon. Thou canst not, then, endure virtue. 
 
 Dionysias. No ; I cannot endure that proud, disdainful virtue 
 which contemns life; which dreads no punishment; 
 and which is insensible to the charms of riches and 
 pleasure. 
 
 Damon. Thou seest, however, that it is a virtue which is not 
 insensible to the dictates of honor, justice and friend- 
 ship. 
 
 Dionysius. Guards, take Pythias to execution. We shall see 
 whether Damon will continue to despise my au- 
 thority. 
 
492 TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Damon. Pythias, by returning to submit himself to thy plea- 
 sure, has merited his life, and deserved thy favor; 
 but I have excited thy indignation, by resigning 
 myself to thy power, in order to save him; be 
 satisfied, then, with this sacrifice, and put me to 
 death. 
 
 Pythias. Hold, Dionysius! remember, it was Pythias alone 
 who offended thee; Damon could not 
 
 Dionysius. Alas ! what do I see and hear ! where am I ? How 
 miserable; and how worthy to be so! I have hitherto 
 known nothing of true virtue. I have spent my life 
 in darkness and error. All my power and honors 
 are insufficient to produce love. I cannot boast of 
 having acquired a single friend, in the course of a 
 reign of thirty years. And yet these two persons, in 
 a private condition, love one another tenderly, unre- 
 servedly confide in each other, are mutually happy, 
 and ready to die for each other's preservation. 
 
 Pythias. How couldst thou, who hast never loved any person, 
 expect to have friends? If thou hadst loved and 
 respected men, thou wouldst have secured their love 
 and respect. Thou hast feared mankind; and they 
 fear thee; they detest thee. 
 
 Dionysius. Damon, Pythias, condescend to admit me as a 
 third friend, in a connection so perfect. I give you 
 your lives; and I will load you with riches. 
 
 Damon. We have no desire to be enriched by thee; and, in 
 regard to thy friendship, we cannot accept or enjoy 
 it, till thou become good and just. Without these 
 qualities, thou canst be connected with none but 
 trembling slaves and base flatterers. To be loved 
 and esteemed by men of free and generous minds, 
 thou must be virtuous, affectionate, disinterested, 
 beneficent; and know how to live in a sort of 
 equality with those who share and deserve thy 
 friendship. 
 
THE INDIAN PRINCESS, POCAHONTAS. 
 (See Page 493.) 
 
POCAHONTAS. 
 POCAHONTAS. 
 
 493 
 
 JARED SPARKS. 
 
 HE residence of Powhatan was situated on 
 the north side of York River, in Gloucester 
 county, Virginia, about twenty-five miles 
 below the fork of the river. It was at that 
 time Powhatan's principal place of residence, 
 though afterwards, not being pleased with 
 its proximity to the English, he removed to 
 Orapax. Upon Smith's arrival in the village, 
 he was detained until the Indian Emperor and his court could 
 make suitable preparations to receive the captain in proper 
 state. In the meanwhile, more than two hundred of his "grim 
 courtiers" came to gaze at him, as if he had been a monster. 
 
 Powhatan, who was at this time about sixty years old, is de- 
 scribed as having been, in outward appearance, "every inch a 
 king." His figure was noble, his stature majestic, and his 
 countenance full of the severity and haughtiness of a ruler, 
 whose will was supreme, and whose nod was law. He received 
 Captain Smith with imposing, though rude, ceremony. 
 
 He was seated on a kind of throne, elevated above the floor 
 of a large hut, in the midst of which was a fire. He was 
 clothed with a robe of raccoon skins. Two young women, his 
 daughters, sat, one on his right, the other on his left; and on 
 each side of the hut there were two rows of men in front, and 
 the same number of women behind. These all had their heads 
 and shoulders painted red. Many had their hair ornamented 
 with the white down of birds. Some had chains of white 
 beads around their necks, and all had more or less of ornament. 
 When Smith was brought home, they all set up a great 
 shout. Soon after his entrance, a female of rank was directed 
 to bring him water to wash his hands, and another brought 
 him a bunch of feathers, instead of a towel, to dry them with. 
 
494 TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 They then feasted him in the best manner they could, and held 
 a long and solemn consultation to determine his fate. The 
 decision was against him. 
 
 Two large stones were brought in and placed before Pow- 
 hatan, and Smith was dragged up to them, and his head was 
 placed upon them, that his brains might be beaten out with 
 clubs. The fatal weapon was already raised, and the stern 
 executioners looked for the signal which should bid them de- 
 scend upon the victim's defenceless head. But the protecting 
 shield of Divine Providence was over him, and the arm of 
 violence arrested. 
 
 Pocahontas, the King's favorite daughter — at that time a 
 child of twelve or thirteen years of age — finding that her 
 piteous entreaties to save the life of Smith were unavailing, 
 rushed forward, clasped his head in her arms, and laid her own 
 upon it, determined either to save his life or share his fate. 
 Her generous and heroic conduct touched her father's iron 
 heart, and the life of the captive was spared, to be employed 
 in making hatchets for himself, and bells and beads for his 
 daughters. 
 
 The account of this beautiful and most touching scene, 
 familiar as it is to every one, can hardly be read with un- 
 moistened eyes. The incident is so dramatic and startling, 
 that it seems to preserve the freshness of novelty amidst a 
 thousand repetitions. It could almost as reasonably be ex- 
 pected that an angel should come down from heaven and 
 rescue the captive, as that his deliverer should spring from the 
 bosom of Powhatan's family. 
 
 The universal sympathies of mankind, and the best feelings 
 of the human heart, have redeemed this scene from the ob- 
 scurity which, in the progress of time, gathers over all but the 
 most important events. It has pointed a thousand morals and 
 adorned a thousand tales. Immovable bosoms have throbbed 
 and are yet to throb, with generous admiration for this daughter 
 of a people whom we have been too ready to underrate. Did 
 we know nothing of her but what is narrated of her in this 
 
POCAHONTAS. 495 
 
 incident, she would deserve the eternal gratitude of the inhabit- 
 ants of this country ; for the fate of the colony may be said 
 to have hung upon the arms of Smith's executioners. He was 
 its life and soul, and without the magic influence of his personal 
 qualities, it would have abandoned in despair the project of 
 permanently settling the country, and sailed to England by the 
 first opportunity. 
 
 The generosity of Powhatan was not content with merely 
 sparing his prisoner's life. He detained him but two days 
 longer. At the end of that time he conducted him to a large 
 house in the woods, and there left him alone, upon a mat by 
 the fire. In a short time, from behind another mat that divided 
 the house, was made the most doleful noise he ever heard ; then 
 Powhatan, with some two hundred more as black as himself, 
 came in and told him they were now friends, and that he should 
 return to Jamestown ; and that if he would send him two pieces 
 of cannon and a grindstone, he would give him the country of 
 Capahowsic, and esteem him as his own son. He was faithful 
 to his word, and despatched him immediately, with twelve 
 guides. That night they quartered in the woods ; and during 
 the whole journey Captain Smith expected every moment to 
 be put to death, notwithstanding Powhatan's fair words. But, 
 as the narrative of his adventures has it, "Almighty God, by 
 his divine providence, had mollified the hearts of those stern 
 barbarians with compassion." 
 
 Smith reached Jamestown in safety, after an absence of 
 seven weeks, and treated his savage guides with great hospi- 
 tality and kindness. He showed them two demi-culverins and 
 a millstone, which they proposed to carry to Powhatan, but 
 found them too heavy. He ordered the culverins to be loaded 
 with stones and discharged among the boughs of a tree 
 covered with icicles, in order to magnify to them the effect of 
 these formidable engines. 
 
 When they heard the report, and saw the ice and branches 
 come rattling down, they were greatly terrified. A few trinkets 
 restored their confidence, and they were dismissed with a variety 
 
496 TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 of presents for Powhatan and his family. The generous conduct 
 of Powhatan, in restoring a prisoner who had given such fatal 
 proofs of his courage and prowess, is worthy of the highest 
 admiration. There is hardly anything in history that can 
 afford a parallel to it. 
 
 He was stimulated to take the prisoner's life, not only by 
 revenge, a passion strongest in savage breasts, but by policy, 
 and that regard to his own interest which Christian and 
 civilized monarchs feel justified in observing. He seems to 
 have acted from some religious feeling, regarding Smith either 
 as a supernatural being, or as under the special protection of a 
 higher power. How far this may have actuated him, or how 
 far he may have been actuated by affection for his daughter, it 
 is impossible to say; but, supposing both to have operated, we 
 only elevate his conduct by elevating his motives. 
 
 ALLUCIUS AND HIS BRIDE. 
 
 IHE younger Scipio, charged with the prose- 
 cution of the war in Spain, after the death of 
 his father and his uncle, 216 B. C, evinced, 
 from the early age of twenty-four, the wisdom 
 and prudence of a consummate commander. 
 Anxious to weaken Carthage, he undertook 
 the siege of Carthagena, one of its most im- 
 portant colonies. This strong city served 
 
 the Carthaginians at once as magazine, arsenal and entrepot ; 
 
 they kept within its walls the hostages which answered for the 
 
 fidelity of Spain. 
 
 Scipio made all his preparations during the Winter ; in the 
 
 Spring he blockaded Carthagena with his fleet, at the same 
 
 time that he invested it by land. On the day following, the 
 
 armies, both by land and sea, commenced hostilities. 
 
 Scipio ordered his soldiers to mount to the assault ; and 
 
 they executed his orders with ardor and celerity. Mago, the 
 
ALLUCIUS AND HIS BRIDE. 497 
 
 brother of Hannibal, who commanded in the place, had but a 
 thousand soldiers, and thought himself lost. He armed the 
 citizens, picked out two thousand of the best, and made a 
 sortie. Victory was for a long time doubtful ; but the Cartha- 
 ginians were driven back within their walls. This first defeat 
 would have produced the most complete discouragement in 
 Carthagena, if the Romans had not been forced, by the 
 height of the walls, to abandon the escalade and sound a 
 retreat. This untoward circumstance restored hopes of succor 
 to the besieged; but they were not unacquainted with the 
 activity of Scipio. 
 
 Whilst the sea was at ebb, he placed five hundred men with 
 ladders, along the lake, where the walls of Carthagena were 
 lowest; he surrounded these walls with fresh troops, and ex- 
 horted them to fight like Romans. The ladders were applied, 
 and the soldiers shortly filled the whole extent of the walls. 
 
 The besieged, although astonished, kept a good face every- 
 where, and defended themselves with courage. The sea retired 
 and left the lake everywhere fordable. This phenomena seemed 
 a marvel to the Romans ; they hastened to climb the walls of 
 Carthagena, destitute at that point of defenders, and penetrated 
 into the city without meeting an obstacle. The confused Car- 
 thaginians rushed to the citadel, and the Romans entered with 
 them. 
 
 Mago and his troops surrendered to Scipio, and the city was 
 given up to pillage. During this scene of horror, a young 
 person of exquisite beauty was brought to Scipio ; her graces 
 attracted the eyes and admiration of all who were present. 
 
 Scipio inquired what were her origin and family ; and he 
 learned that she was affianced to Allucius, prince of the Cel- 
 tiberians, who loved her exceedingly. 
 
 He immediately sent for that prince, together with the 
 parents of the young beauty. As soon as Allucius arrived 
 Scipio took him to one side, and said, " We are both young ; 
 which circumstance enables me to speak more freely to you. My 
 people who brought your affianced wife to me told me that you 
 32 
 
498 TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 loved her tenderly, and her great beauty leaves me no room to 
 doubt that you do. Thereupon, reflecting that if, like you, I 
 were about to form an engagement, and were not entirely 
 occupied with the affairs of my country, I should wish that so 
 honorable and legitimate a purpose should find favor; and I am 
 extremely happy in the present conjuncture to render you such 
 a service. She whom you are about to espouse has been 
 among us as if she had been in the house of her father and 
 mother; I have preserved her so as to make her a present 
 worthy of you and of me. The only gratitude I require for 
 this inestimable gift is, that you should become the friend of 
 the Roman people. If you deem me a man of worth, if I 
 have appeared so to the people of this province, be assured 
 that there are in Rome many far better than I, and that there 
 does not exist upon the face of the earth a nation you ought 
 more to dread as an enemy or court as a friend, than mine." 
 Allucius, permeated with joy and gratitude, kissed the hands 
 of Scipio, and implored the gods to bless him for such purity 
 and kindness. Scipio then sent for the parents of the lady, 
 who had brought a large sum of money for her ransom. When 
 they had found that he had restored her without a ransom, 
 they conjured him to accept of that sum as a present, and 
 declared that that fresh favor would heighten their joy and 
 intensify their gratitude. 
 
 Scipio could not resist their earnest entreaties ; he accepted 
 the gift, and ordered it to be laid at his feet. Then, addressing 
 Allucius, he said, " I add this sum to the dowry you are to 
 receive from your father-in-law, and beg you to accept it as a 
 nuptial present." The young prince, charmed with the virtue 
 and generosity of Scipio, published throughout his province 
 the praises of so magnanimous a conqueror. He said that a 
 young hero had come into Spain, who resembled the gods;' 
 for he subdued more by the splendor of his virtues and his 
 benefits than by the power of his arms. Having made levies 
 in the country he governed, he returned to Scipio, some days 
 after, with fourteen hundred horsemen. To render the evidence 
 
A FAITHFUL AND NOBLE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 499 
 
 of his gratitude more durable, Allucius caused the noble action 
 of Scipio to be inscribed upon a silver shield, and presented it 
 to him — a gift more glorious than any warlike triumph ! — 
 Siege of Carthagena. 
 
 A FAITHFUL AND NOBLE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 HEN Charles, V, who afterwards also be- 
 came Emperor of Germany, was traveling 
 from Holland to Spain to assume the 
 crown of that country, bequeathed to him 
 by his grandparents, Ferdinand and Isa- 
 bella, he received into his retinue a young 
 French Count named De Bossu. 
 
 The extraordinary tallness of this young 
 man, his fine physique, his splendid horsemanship, his obliging 
 readiness in service, and his many other praiseworthy qualities 
 of mind and heart, endeared him so strongly to the young 
 King that he insisted on having the Count always at his side. 
 On one occasion, when Charles had ordered a grand hunt, 
 he started a wild boar and followed him into the thick forest 
 with so much ardor that he lost his way before he realized his 
 perilous situation; and no one of the party had the courage to 
 follow him except De Bossu. 
 
 In the hurry and excitement of the pursuit, this young man 
 had the misfortune to wound himself with a poisoned dagger, 
 which it was the custom in those days for all Spanish hunters 
 to carry. 
 
 As soon as Charles saw that his favorite was losing blood, 
 he demanded to know whether the boar had injured him. De 
 Bossu thereupon related the misfortune that had befallen him, 
 and stated that he had no one. to blame for the mishap but 
 himself. 
 
 The King well knew the deadly effects of the poison if it had 
 
500 
 
 TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 once permeated the blood, and his only thought was to save 
 his favorite, unmindful of his own personal peril. He sprang 
 quickly from his horse, and requested his friend to alight and 
 submit himself entirely and unreservedly to his treatment. 
 The latter made some excuses, but the King was determined 
 to save his dear friend's life or die with him. 
 
 He immediately removed the clothing from the wound, put 
 up his lips and sucked out the blood repeatedly, and spat it 
 away; and he soon had the satisfaction of realizing that his 
 vigorous and heroic treatment was the means of saving his 
 favorite's life without endangering his own or being subject to 
 any ill effects afterward. 
 
 Who will not applaud the generous and self-sacrificing 
 friendship of the mightiest sovereign of his day ! — From the 
 German. 
 
 THE POWER OF MUSIC. 
 
 USTAVUS ADOLPHUS, Sweden's heroic 
 king, was fond of music. The sweet voice 
 of song, especially from the lips of child- 
 hood, often moved him to tears. Once 
 upon a time Gustavus Adolphus, after long 
 and severe fighting, had conquered a strong- 
 ly fortified town, in which were citizens who 
 had been born within the limits of the 
 Swedish rule, but had since found new homes. And all these 
 people were condemned to death. They were marched out 
 from the town at nightfall, to be held in camp until the follow- 
 ing morning, when they were to be shot, for treason. Several 
 of his officers interceded with the King for the lives of these 
 poor people. 
 
 But Gustavus felt that he had already granted enough. 
 First — in the ruddy heat of his passion he had consigned the 
 
THE POWER OF MUSIC. 501 
 
 whole tribe to death: but since then he had greatly modified 
 the sentence, condemning only those of the former subjects of 
 Sweden who had been taken with arms in their hands; and 
 from this no power of persuasion or argument could move 
 him. All the talk of his old chaplain, about these people hav- 
 ing only joined their fellows in protecting the homes of their 
 wives and children, moved him not an atom. " They are trai- 
 tors!" he said, "and as traitors they shall die!" 
 
 At a late hour — it was past midnight — Gustavus Adolphus 
 threw on his cloak and drew his slouched hat down over his 
 eyes, and, staff in hand, wandered forth into the darkness. 
 
 Without thinking whither he went, he slowly walked on, 
 answering the sentinels as they hailed him, until at length his 
 steps were arrested by a strain of music. 
 
 "Who is that?" he asked of a sentinel whom he chanced to 
 meet a moment later. 
 
 " It is one of the prisoners, sire. The wife and children of 
 one of their chief men have had permission to spend the night 
 with the husband and father." 
 
 The King nodded his thanks for his information, and moved 
 on. Slowly he approached the tent from which the music 
 issued, and as he drew near heard a deep, manly voice: — 
 
 "Hush! Hush! Weep not, God will provide!" 
 
 The King looked through the open seam of the cloth and 
 saw a gray-haired man, with an imposing presence — a grand 
 face and head, and a clear, flashing eye, surrounded by his wife 
 and children, who clung to him with passionate tenderness. 
 
 " Hush !" she said, " Let us not make these precious 
 moments darker than they need be." 
 
 It is but the fortune of war, my loved ones. 
 
 " Come, my Hermione — sing to me once more our dear song 
 of the Fatherland! For, though Gustavus will take my life, 
 yet I love the land that gave me birth. God bless dear 
 Sweden, now and evermore! Now Hermione, sing! Come, 
 let thy voice give my poor heart cheer, if it may be." 
 
 Presently thereafter a beautiful girl of fifteen or sixteen sum- 
 
502 TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 mers threw back the silken hood from her golden curls, and 
 began to sing. 
 
 Her song was the Swedes' oldest and most cherished piece 
 of music — the words full of love and devotion, love of home 
 and country — and the melody was peculiarly sweet and touch- 
 ing. Never had the King heard it sung so grandly. The words 
 fell upon his ear with a new meaning, and the music touched 
 his spirit with a strangely awakening power. As the charming 
 melody swelled to grander and grander tones, and the voice of 
 the singer deepened and strengthened, the listener felt his heart 
 hush with awe. And finally, when the last rich cadence died 
 away, in mellow, melting echoes upon the upper air, he pressed 
 his hands over his eyes and burst into tears. 
 
 After a time Gustavus lifted his head, and looking once more 
 through the aperture in the wall of the tent, he saw the family 
 upon their knees, and heard the voice of the old man in prayer. 
 He listened for a few seconds, and then turned and strode away 
 toward his quarters, where he found two of his attendants 
 sitting up, waiting for him, and to one of them he said : — 
 
 " Colonel, I wish you to go to the prisoners' quarters, and 
 in the large tent nearest to the river — it is at the extreme north- 
 west of the camp — you will find the family of a prisoner 
 named Hoven ; and of that family is a girl named Hermione; 
 brine her to me. Assure her that no harm shall befall 
 her." 
 
 And when the messenger had gone the King turned to his 
 table, and having found the necessary materials he went to work 
 at writing. He wrote rapidly and heavily, like one moved by 
 ponderous ideas, and had just finished his work when the 
 colonel appeared, and with him the gentle songstress in com- 
 pany. 
 
 " Fear not, my child," the King said, the maiden standing 
 trembling before him; " I have sent for you because I wish to 
 repay you for a great good you unconsciously did me this 
 night. Do you call to mind that you sang the dear old song 
 of Vasa — the hymn of the Fatherland ? " 
 
THE POWER OF MUSIC. 503 
 
 "Yes, your majesty, I sang it for my father, who is to die 
 on the morrow. Though no longer in Sweden, he dearly loves 
 the memory of the land that gave him birth." 
 
 " Well, I chanced to hear you sing ; and you shall ere long 
 know how your song affected me. Here, take this paper, and 
 go with it to the officer commanding the camp of the prisoners; 
 Colonel Forsby will go with you. And, my child, the next 
 time you sing that song, think of Gustavus Adolphus Vasa, 
 and bear witness that his heart was not all hard, nor cold." 
 
 The girl looked up into the monarch's face as he held forth 
 the paper, and when she saw the genial, kindly look that beamed 
 upon her, she obeyed the impulse of the moment, and caught 
 his hand and kissed it. 
 
 And when she went away she bore with her the royal order 
 for the free pardon and instant release of all the prisoners. The 
 old General to whom the order had been directed for promul- 
 gation and execution was one of those who had earnestly 
 pleaded in behalf of the condemned ; and we can readily im- 
 agine the joy with which he received it. He fairly caught the 
 beautiful messenger in his arms, and kissed her upon her fore- 
 head, and blessed her ; and he went with her to the tent where 
 her father was held, and followed her to publish the joyful 
 tidings. 
 
 And with the dawn of day the prisoners, to the number of 
 two hundred, were mustered into line, many of them believing 
 their hour had come, to receive the intelligence of pardon and 
 freedom. 
 
 What transpired beyond that can be imagined full as well as 
 we can tell. We only add that Gustavus Adolphus, by the act 
 of mercy, secured the friendship which was to be of incalculable 
 value to him in the coming time. 
 
 And one other thing : In less than a year from that time 
 Colonel Ulric Forsby, of the King's staff, gained for a wife the 
 beautiful singer whose sweet notes had melted the heart of 
 Gustavus Adolphus, and given life and liberty and joy to 
 suffering men. — Anonymous. 
 
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 TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Their peaks were bright with a sunny glow, 
 But the Rhine, all shadowy, rolled below; 
 In purple tints the vineyards smiled, 
 But the woods beyond waved dark and wild ; 
 Nor pastoral pipe, nor convent's bell, 
 Was heard on the sighing breeze to swell ; 
 But all was lonely, silent, rude, 
 A stern, yet glorious, solitude. 
 
 But hark! that solemn stillness breaking, 
 The Troubadour's wild song is waking; 
 Full oft that song, in days gone by, 
 Hath cheered the sons of chivalry ; 
 It hath swelled o'er Judah's mountains lone ; 
 Hermon ! thy echoes have learned its tone ; 
 On Esdraelon's plain its notes have rung, 
 The leagued Crusaders' tents among ; 
 'Tvvas loved by the Lion-heart, who won 
 The palm in the field of Ascalon ; 
 And now afar, o'er the rocks of the Rhine 
 Peals the bold strain of Palestine. 
 
 The Troubadour's Song. 
 
 " Thine hour is come, and the stake is set ! " 
 The soldan cried to the captive Knight ; 
 
 ' And the sons of the Prophet in throngs have met 
 To gaze on the fearful sight. 
 
 " But be our faith by thy lips professed — 
 The faith of Mecca's shrine — 
 Cast down the red cross that marks thy vest, 
 And life shall yet be thine." 
 
 " I have seen the flow of my bosom's blood, 
 And I gazed with undaunted eye ; 
 I have borne the bright cross through fire and flood. 
 And thinkest thou I fear to die ? 
 
 " I have stood where thousands, by Salem's towers, 
 Have fallen for the name Divine ; 
 And the faith that cheered their closing hours 
 Shall be the light of mine." 
 
THE TR UBAD OUR AND RICHA RD CCE UR DE LION. ,f)07 
 
 "Thus wilt thou die, in the pride of health, 
 And the glow of youth's fresh bloom ? 
 Thou art offered life, and pomp, and wealth, 
 Or torture and the tomb.'' 
 
 "I have been where the crown of thorns was twined 
 For a dying Saviour's brow; 
 He spurned the treasures that lured mankind, 
 And I reject them now ! " 
 
 "Art thou the son of a noble line 
 In a land that is fair and blest? 
 And doth not thy spirit, proud captain! pine, 
 Again on its shores to rest ? 
 
 "Thine own is the choice, to hail once more 
 The soil of thy father's birth, 
 Or to sleep when thy lingering pangs are o'er, 
 Forgotten in foreign earth." 
 
 "Oh ! fair are the vine-clad hills that rise 
 In the country of my love ; 
 But yet, though cloudless my native skies, 
 There's a brighter clime above ! " 
 
 The bard hath paused — for another tone 
 
 Blends with the music of his own ; 
 And his heart beats high with hope again, 
 
 As a well-known voice prolongs the strain. ") 
 
 "Are there none within thy father's hall, 
 Far o'er the wide blue main, 
 Young Christian ! left to deplore thy fall, 
 With sorrow, deep and vain ?" 
 
 "There are hearts that still, through all the past, 
 Unchanging, have loved me well; 
 There are eyes whose tears were streaming fast 
 When I bade my home farewell. 
 
 "Better they wept o'er the warrior's bier, 
 Than th' apostate's living stain ; 
 There's a land where those who loved when here 
 Shall meet to love again." 
 
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ALPHABET:. : DAUTH 
 
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510 LIST OF A UTIIORS A nd a utiiorities. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Curran, John P 359 
 
 Curtis, George William 368 
 
 Curtius, Quintus 373 
 
 D. 
 
 Dale, Rev. T 323 
 
 De Amicis Edmondo 41 
 
 De Custine 104 
 
 De Genlis, Madame 216 
 
 De Lamartine, Alphonso 406 
 
 De Liagno's Repertory 383 
 
 Demosthenes 27^5, 301 
 
 De Quincey, Thomas 68 
 
 De Vere, Sir Aubrey 44 
 
 Dickens, Charles 87, 269 
 
 D'Israeli, Benjamin 40 
 
 Donovan, J. W 181 
 
 E. 
 
 Eclectic Review 349 
 
 Edwards, M. Betham 347 
 
 Ellet, Mrs. E. F 136, 200 
 
 Emmet, Robert 341 
 
 Everhart, J. B 70 
 
 Everett, Edward 24 
 
 Examiner and Chronicle 410 
 
 F. 
 
 Fabricius 370 
 
 Famous and Decisive Battles, etc 192 
 
 Fenelon, Archbishop 257, 489 
 
 Fields, Mrs. Annie 108 
 
 Fliedner, Life of 392 
 
 Foster, John 458 
 
 French, From the 284 
 
 Frost, John ■ 249 
 
 G. 
 
 Gazette, Lewiston, Me 177 
 
 German, From the 361, 499 
 
 Gibbon, Edward 248, 286, 371 
 
 "Glimmerings in the Dark " 418 
 
 Golden Days 388 
 
 Golden Rule 401 
 
 Goldsmith, Oliver 106, 304, 434 
 
 Gough John B 93 
 
 Great Sieges of History , 468 
 
 Great Violinists, The 381 
 
 Greeley, Horace 81 
 
 H. 
 
 Hallam, Henry 21 
 
 Halleck, Fitz Greene J59 
 
 Harper's Magazine 108 
 
 " Young People 189 
 
 Headley, J. T 212 
 
 Heber, Reginald 133 
 
 Hemans, Mrs. F. D 33, 143. 5°4 
 
LIST OF A UTHOR S AND A UTHORITIES. oil 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Henry, Patrick 330 
 
 Heroes of Britain, etc 86 
 
 Hilliard, H. W 215 
 
 History, Great Sieges of 468 
 
 Holmes, Oliver Wendell 190 
 
 Hood, E. Paxton, d. d 223,477 
 
 Homer ' 461 
 
 Hume, David 76 
 
 Hunt, Leigh no, 180 
 
 I. 
 
 Independent, New York 4!5 
 
 Irving, Washington 28, 126 
 
 Jameson, Mrs. Anna 386 
 
 Jones, Edward C 363 
 
 Josephus, Flavius 47, 333 
 
 Jowett, Prof 353 
 
 K. 
 
 Kellogg, Rev. E 122, 309 
 
 King, Capt. Charles, U. S. A 192 
 
 Knowles, J. Sheridan 298 
 
 L. 
 
 Lamartine 406 
 
 Lewiston, Me., Gazette 177 
 
 "Life of Man " 470 
 
 Longfellow, Henry W 208,315 
 
 Lossing, Benson J 199, 481 
 
 Lowell, James Russell 368 
 
 Lowell, Robert 183 
 
 Lytton, Edward Bulwer 132 
 
 M. 
 
 Macaulay, T. B '. 48, 219, 238 
 
 Merriweather's " Glimmerings," etc 416 
 
 Milton, John 48 
 
 Mirabeau 344 
 
 Mitford, Mary Russell 303 
 
 Montgomery, James 45 
 
 Moore, Tom 126 
 
 Muhlenburg, Life of 312 
 
 Murphy, Arthur 32 
 
 Murry, Frank 97 
 
 N. 
 
 Nash vill e Ch ristian Advocate 74 
 
 National Intelligencer 197 
 
 New York Christian Advocate 178 
 
 Nineteenth Century 138 
 
 O. 
 
 Oberlin, Life of... 44° 
 
 Old Song 175 
 
 P. 
 
 Paul, Saint 432 
 
 Phillips, Wendell 240 
 
512 LIST OF A UTHORS AND A UTHORITIES. 
 
 PAGf 
 
 Pierpont, John 31 1 
 
 Pitt, William 243 
 
 Plutarch 400 
 
 Pope, Alexander 405 
 
 Prescott, William H 62 
 
 Q. 
 
 Quintus Curtius 373 
 
 Quarterly Review 418 
 
 R. 
 
 Repertory, De Liagno's 383 
 
 Review, Eclectic 349 
 
 Robbins, William 176 
 
 Rowe, Nicholas 235 
 
 Rush, Richard 329 
 
 Russell, William H 113 
 
 S. 
 
 Schiller, Frederic 28, 51, 449 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter 247, 394 
 
 Shakespeare, William 51, 278, 430 
 
 Sheridan, R. B 314 
 
 Shiel, Richard Lalor 307 
 
 Siege of Carthagena 496 
 
 Smith, James , 379 
 
 Socrates 353 
 
 Southern Patriot 205 
 
 Southey, Robert S8, 269, 290 
 
 Sparks, Jared 493 
 
 Sprague, W. B 447 
 
 Stevenson's " Working and Praying" 446 
 
 Story, Joseph 306 
 
 Strickland, Miss Agnes 325 
 
 Sullivan, Alex. M., M. P 419 
 
 T. 
 
 Tacitus 273 
 
 Tennyson, Alfred 113, 162 
 
 Thackeray, William M 262 
 
 Thomson, James 353 
 
 Thorpe, Rose Hartwick 140 
 
 V. 
 Vere, de, Sir Aubrey 44 
 
 W. 
 
 Ware, William 286 
 
 Whittier, John G 282, 435 
 
 Willis, N. P 117, 484 
 
 Wirt, William 345 
 
 Wise, Rev. Daniel, V. D 429 
 
 Wordsworth, William 186, 282, 409, 418 
 
 Working and Praying, etc ' 446 
 
 World of Anecdote 372 
 
 Wylie, J. A 276 
 
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'BRARY OF 
 
 CONGRESS 
 
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