SELECTIONS 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 RIVERSIDE LITERATURE SERIES 
 
 FOR 
 
 EIGHTH GRADE READING 
 
Rnok 5>y 
 
 ,10 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 
 
SELECTIONS 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 H^tbersitie S^tterature Series 
 
 FOR EIGPITII GRADE READING 
 
 CHOSEN BY 
 
 SUPERINTENDENT PEARSE AND 
 
 THE PRINCIPALS AND TEACHERS 
 
 OF MILWAUKEE 
 
 EDITED WITH 
 
 EXPLANATIONS AND QUESTIONS 
 
 
 BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 ^I)e KiterjEiibe ptosiS Cambribfle 
 
'^' 
 
 ^^^^^ 
 
 x^\-\ 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1910 AND I914, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 The selections from Charles Dudley Warner, Henry W. IvOngfellow, 
 James Russell Lowell, and Ralph Waldo Emerson are from the authorized 
 copyrighted editions of Houghton MifHin Company. 
 
 'CI,A379071 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 It may be of interest to Grade teachers to know 
 how the present volume of readings was compiled, and 
 to be able to judge thereby whether or not the method 
 gives the compilation, as such, exceptional value as a 
 school text. 
 
 To give ample scope for individual preference and 
 at the same time to confine the choice to literature of 
 tried and acknowledged value for school reading, the 
 Riverside Literature Series was made the basis of 
 selection. A set of texts was placed in the office of 
 the Superintendent of Schools, where all principals 
 and teachers could readily examine it. Also, every 
 school was supplied with a catalogue of the Series 
 containing a list of the titles included in each number. 
 Every teacher of the Grade and every grammar school 
 principal was then requested to select from the Series 
 a body of readings adequate for the year's work, and 
 in his judgment the best that could be made. These 
 suggestions were in turn submitted to a committee of 
 five of the teachers of the Grade and a separate com- 
 mittee of five principals. When each of these com- 
 mittees had made its selection, the Superintendent had 
 for his final consideration a body of material half again 
 as large as could well be compassed in the time and 
 space allowed for this work in the Grade. It was 
 then that, by careful elimination, sifting many times 
 and each time casting aside the selections seeming 
 least desirable, the present contents was decided upon. 
 
1 PREFACE. 
 
 In this way, first by accumulating and then by 
 eliminating, we have here for this Grade a group of 
 readings that fairly represents the choice of the whole 
 Milwaukee teaching force concerned ; and this choice 
 being determined chiefly by the needs, capacity, and 
 ability of the pupils themselves, it may therefore well 
 be claimed that the present Reader offers to all children 
 of this Grade those literary classics that have proved 
 most profitable and enjoyable to other boys and girls 
 of their own age. 
 
 C. G. Pearse. 
 MiLWAUKKB, Wis., July, 1910. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Lady of the Lake Sir Walter Scott 7 
 
 A-HuNTixG OF THE Deer . Charles Dudley Warner 15 
 
 The Daffodils William Wordsworth 32 
 
 Thanatopsis William Cullen Bryant 33 
 
 To a Waterfowl William Cullen Bryant 35 
 
 Legend of Sleepy Hollow . . . Washington Irving 37 
 
 King Robert of Sicily Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 61 
 
 Those Evening Bells Thomas Moore 69 
 
 The Arrow and the Song 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 70 
 
 The Rainy Day . . . Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 71 
 
 Aladdin James Russell Lowell 72 
 
 A Christmas Carol Charles Dickens 73 
 
 Enoch Arden Alfred, Lord Tennyson 103 
 
 Crossing the Bar Alfred, Lord Tennyson 134 
 
 Poor Richard's Almanac . . . Benjamin Franklin 135 
 
 HoHENLiNDEN Thomas Campbell 148 
 
 Bruce to His Men at Banjsockburn . Robert Burns 149 
 
 Concord Hymn Ralph Waldo Emerson 151 
 
 Speech at the Dedication of the National Ceme- 
 tery at Gettysburg Abraham Lincoln 152 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 O Captain ! My Captain ! . . . . Walt Whitman 153 
 
 The Ocean Lord Byron 164 
 
 Portia's Speech on Mercy , . William Shakespeare 157 
 
 Julius Caesar William Shakespeare 158 
 
 PoLONius's Advice to Laertes William Shakespeare 256 
 
selectio:n^s foe the 
 eighth grade. 
 
 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 SiK Walter Scott. 
 CANTO FIEST (Lines 28-181). 
 
 The stag at eve had drunk his j511, 
 
 Where danced the moon on Monan's rill, 
 
 And deep his midnight lair had made 
 
 In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ; 
 
 But when the sun his beacon red 
 
 Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head, 
 
 The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay 
 
 Resounded up the rocky way, 
 
 And faint, from farther distance borne, 
 
 Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. 
 
 II. 
 
 As Chief, who hears his warder call, 
 ' To arms ! the f oemen storm the wall,' 
 The antlered monarch of the waste 
 Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. 
 But ere his fleet career he took. 
 The dew-drops from his flanks he shook; 
 Like crested leader proud and high 
 Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky ; 
 A moment gazed adown the dale, 
 A moment snuffed the tainted gale, 
 
THE LADY OF THE LAKE 
 
 A moment listened to the cry, 
 That thickened as the chase drew nigh; 
 Then, as the headmost foes appeared. 
 With one brave bound the copse he cleared, 
 And, stretching forward free and far, 
 Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. 
 
 III. 
 
 Yelled on the view the opening pack ; 
 Rock, glen, and cavern paid them back ; 
 To many a mingled sound at once 
 The awakened mountain gave response. 
 A hundred dogs bayed deep and strong, 
 Clattered a hundred steeds along. 
 Their peal the merry horns rung out, 
 A hundred voices joined the shout ; 
 With hark and whoop and wild halloo, 
 No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew. 
 Far from the tumult fled the roe. 
 Close in her covert cowered the doe. 
 The falcon, from her cairn on high. 
 Cast on the rout a wondering eye, 
 Till far beyond her piercing ken 
 The hurricane had swept the glen. 
 Faint, and more faint, its failing din 
 Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn. 
 And silence settled, wide and still. 
 On the lone wood and mighty hill. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Less loud the sounds of sylvan war 
 Disturbed the heights of Uam-Var, 
 And roused the cavern where, 't is told, 
 A giant made his den of old; 
 
THE LADY OF THE LAKE 
 
 Fov ere that steep ascent was won, 
 High in his pathway hung the sun, 
 And many a gallant, stayed perforce, 
 Was fain to breathe his faltering horse, 
 And of the trackers of the deer 
 Scarce half the lessening pack was near ; 
 So shrewdly on the mountain-side 
 Had the bold burst their mettle tried. 
 
 V. 
 
 The noble stag was pausing now 
 Upon the mountain's southern brow, 
 Where broad extended, far beneath, 
 The varied realms of fair Menteith. 
 With anxious eye he wandered o'er 
 Mountain and meadow, moss and moor, 
 And pondered refuge from his toil. 
 By far Lochard or Aberfoyle. 
 But nearer was the copsewood gray 
 That waved and wept on Loch Achray, 
 And mingled with the pine-trees blue 
 On the bold cliffs of Benvenue. 
 Fresh vigor with the hope returned, 
 With flying foot the heath he spurned. 
 Held westward with unwearied race. 
 And left behind the panting chase. 
 
 VI. 
 
 'T were long to tell what steeds gave o'er, 
 As swept the hunt through Cambusmore ; 
 
 Few were the stragglers, following far. 
 That reached the lake of Vennachar ; 
 And when the Brigg of Turk was won, 
 The headmost horseman rode alone. 
 
lU THE LADY OF THE LAKE 
 
 VII. 
 Alone, but with unbated zeal, 
 That horseman plied the scourge and steel; 
 For jaded now, and spent with toil, 
 Embossed with foam, and dark with soil, 
 While every gasp with sobs he drew. 
 The laboring stag strained full in view. 
 Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed. 
 Unmatched for courage, breath, and speed, 
 Fast on his flying traces came. 
 And all but won that desperate game ; 
 For, scarce a spear's length from his haunch, 
 Vindictive toiled the bloodhounds stanch ; 
 Nor nearer might the dogs attain. 
 Nor farther might the quarry strain. 
 Thus up the margin of the lake. 
 Between the precipice and brake, 
 O'er stock and rock their race they take. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Hunter marked that mountain high, 
 The lone lake's western boundary, 
 And deemed the stag must turn to bay. 
 Where that huge rampart barred the way ; 
 Already glorying in the prize, 
 Measured his antlers with his eyes; 
 For the death-wound and death-halloo 
 Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew : 
 But thundering as he came prepared. 
 With ready arm and weapon bared. 
 The wily quarry shunned the shock. 
 And turned him from the opposing rock ; 
 Then, dashing down a darksome glen. 
 Soon lost to hound and Hunter's ken, 
 
THE LADY OF THE LAKE 11 
 
 In the deep Trosachs' wildest nook 
 
 His solitary refuge took. 
 
 There, while close couched the thicket shed 
 
 Cold dews and wild flowers on his head, 
 
 He heard the baffled dogs in vain 
 
 Rave through the hollow pass amain, 
 
 Chiding the rocks that yelled again. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Close on the hounds the Hunter came, 
 To cheer them on the vanished game; 
 But, stumbling in the rugged dell. 
 The gallant horse exhausted fell. 
 The impatient rider strove in vain 
 To rouse him with the spur and rein. 
 For the good steed, his labors o'er. 
 Stretched his stiff limbs, to rise no more ; 
 Then, touched with pity and remorse. 
 He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse. 
 ' I little thought, when first thy rein 
 I slacked upon the banks of Seine, 
 That Highland eagle e'er should feed 
 On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed ! 
 Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, 
 That costs thy life, my gallant gray 1 ' 
 
 X. 
 
 Then through the dell his horn resounds. 
 From vain pursuit to call the hounds. 
 Back limped, with slow and crippled pace, 
 The sulky leaders of the chase ; 
 Close to their master's side they pressed, 
 With drooping tail and humbled crest ; 
 But still the dingle's hollow throat 
 
12 THE LADY OF THE LAKE 
 
 Prolonged the swelling bugle-note. 
 The owlets started from their dream, 
 The eagles answered with their scream, 
 Round and around the sounds were cast, 
 Till echo seemed an answering blast; 
 And on the Hunter hied his way, 
 To join some comrades of the day. . . . 
 
 CANTO FOURTH {Lines 712-798). 
 XXIX. 
 
 The shades of eve come slowly down, 
 
 The woods are wrapt in deeper brown. 
 
 The owl awakens from her dell, 
 
 The fox is heard upon the fell ; 
 
 Enough remains of glimmering light 
 
 To guide the wanderer's steps aright, 
 
 Yet not enough from far to show 
 
 His figure to the watchful foe. 
 
 With cautious step and ear awake. 
 
 He climbs the crag and threads the brake ; 
 
 And not the summer solstice there 
 
 Tempered the midnight mountain air. 
 
 But every breeze that swept the wold 
 
 Benumbed his drenched limbs with cold. 
 
 In dread, in danger, and alone, 
 
 Famished and chilled, through ways unknown, 
 
 Tangled and steep, he journeyed on; 
 
 Till, as a rock's huge point he turned, 
 
 A watch-fire close before him burned. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Beside its embers red and clear. 
 Basked in his plaid a mountaineer; 
 
THE LADY OF THE LAKE 13 
 
 And up he sprung with sword in hand, — 
 
 ' Thy name and purpose ! Saxon, stand ! ' 
 
 ' A stranger. ' ' What dost thou require ? ' 
 
 ' Rest and a guide, and food and fire. 
 
 My life 's beset, my path is lost, 
 
 The gale has chilled my limbs with frost.' 
 
 ' Art thou a friend to Roderick? ' ' No.' 
 
 ' Thou dar'st not call thyself a foe ? ' 
 
 ' I dare ! to him and all the band 
 
 He brings to aid his murderous hand.' 
 
 ' Bold words ! — but, though the beast of game 
 
 The privilege of chase may claim, 
 
 Though space and law the stag we lend. 
 
 Ere hound we slip or bow we bend. 
 
 Who ever recked, where, how, or when. 
 
 The prowling fox was trapped or slain ? 
 
 Thus treacherous scouts, — yet sure they lie, 
 
 Who say thou cam'st a secret spy ! ' — 
 
 ' They do, by heaven ! — come Roderick Dhu, 
 
 And of his clan the boldest two, 
 
 And let me but till morning rest, 
 
 I write the falsehood on their crest.' 
 
 ' If by the blaze I mark aright, 
 
 Tliou bear'st the belt and spur of Knight.' 
 
 'Then by these tokens mayst thou know 
 
 Each proud oppressor's mortal foe.' 
 
 ' Enough, enough ; sit down and share 
 
 A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare.' 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 He gave him of his Highland cheer, 
 The hardened flesh of mountain deer ; 
 Dry fuel on the fire he laid. 
 And bade the Saxon share his plaid. 
 
14 THE LADY OF THE LAKE 
 
 He tended him like welcome guest, 
 
 Then thus his further speech addressed : — 
 
 ' Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu 
 
 A clansman born, a kinsman true ; 
 
 Each word against his honor spoke 
 
 Demands of me avenging stroke ; 
 
 Yet more, — upon thy fate, 't is said, 
 
 A mighty augury is laid. 
 
 It rests with me to wind my horn, — 
 
 Thou art with numbers overborne ; 
 
 It rests with me, here, brand to brand, 
 
 Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand : 
 
 But, not for clan, nor kindred's cause, 
 
 Will I depart from honor's laws ; 
 
 To assail a wearied man were shame, 
 
 And stranger is a holy name ; 
 
 Guidance and rest, and food and fire, 
 
 In vain he never must require. 
 
 Then rest thee here till dawn of day ; 
 
 Myself will guide thee on the way. 
 
 O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward, 
 
 Till past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard. 
 
 As far as Coilantogle's ford ; 
 
 From thence thy warrant is thy sword.' 
 
 ' I take thy courtesy, by heaven, 
 
 As freely as 't is nobly given ! ' 
 
 ' Well, rest thee ; for the bittern's cry 
 
 Sings us the lake's wild lullaby.' 
 
 With that he shook the gathered heath, 
 
 And spread his plaid upon the wreath ; 
 
 And the brave foemen, side by side. 
 
 Lay peaceful down like brothers tried, 
 
 And slept until the dawning beam 
 
 Purpled the mountain and the stream. 
 
A-HUNTING OF THE DEER 15 
 
 A-HUNTING OF THE DEER. 
 
 Chakles Dudley Waener. 
 
 If civilization owes a debt of gratitude to the self- 
 sacrificing sportsmen who have cleared the Adiron- 
 dack regions of catamounts and savage trout, what 
 shall be said of the army which has so nobly relieved 
 them of the terror of the deer ? The deer-slayers have 
 somewhat celebrated their exploits in print ; but I 
 think that justice has never been done them. 
 
 The American deer in the wilderness, left to him- 
 self, leads a comparatively harmless but rather stujiid 
 life, with only such excitement as his own timid 
 fancy raises. It was very seldom that one of his tribe 
 was eaten by the North American tiger. For a wild 
 animal he is very domestic, simple in his tastes, reg- 
 ular in his habits, affectionate in his family. Unfor- 
 tunately for his repose, his haunch is as tender as 
 his heart. Of all wild creatures he is one of the 
 most graceful in action, and he poses with the skiU 
 of an experienced model. I have seen the goats on 
 Mount Pentelicus scatter at the approach of a stran- 
 ger, climb to the sharp points of projecting rocks, and 
 attitudinize in the most seK-conscious manner, strik- 
 ing at once those picturesque postures against the sky 
 with which Oriental pictures have made us and them 
 familiar. But the whole proceeding was theatrical, 
 Greece is the home of art, and it is rare to find any- 
 thing thero natural and unstudied. I presume that 
 
16 A~HUNT[NG OF THE DEER 
 
 these goats have no nonsense about them when they 
 are alone with the goat-herds, any more than the goat- 
 herds have, except when they come to pose in the stu- 
 dio ; but the long ages of culture, the presence always 
 to the eye of the best models and the forms of im- 
 mortal beauty, the heroic friezes of the Temple of 
 Theseus, the marble processions of sacrificial animals, 
 have had a steady moulding, educating influence 
 equal to a society of decorative art upon the people 
 and the animals who have dwelt in this artistic atmos- 
 phere. The Attic goat has become an artificially ar- 
 tistic being ; though of course he is not now what he 
 was, as a poser, in the days of Polycletus. There is 
 opportunity for a very instructive essay by Mr. E. A. 
 Freeman on the decadence of the Attic goat under 
 the influence of the Ottoman Turk. 
 
 The American deer, in the free atmosphere of our 
 country, and as yet untouched by our decorative art, 
 is without self-consciousness, and all his attitudes are 
 free and unstudied. The favorite position of the 
 deer — his fore-feet in the shallow margin of the lake, 
 among the lily-pads, his antlers thrown back and his 
 nose in the air at the moment he hears the stealthy 
 breaking of a twig in the forest — is still spirited and 
 graceful, and wholly unaffected by the pictures of him 
 which the artists have put upon canvas. 
 
 Wherever you go in the Northern forest, you will 
 find deer-paths. So plainly marked and well-trodden 
 are they, that it is easy to mistake them for trails 
 made by hunters ; but he who foUows one of them is 
 soon in difficulties. He may find himself climbing 
 through cedar-thickets an almost inaccessible cliff, or 
 immersed in the intricacies of a marsh. The "run," 
 in one direction, will lead to water ; but, in the other, 
 
A-HUNTING OF THE DEER 17 
 
 it climbs the highest hills, to which the deer retires, 
 for safety and repose, iu impeuetrable thickets. The 
 hunters, in winter, find them congregated in " yards," 
 where they can be surrounded and shot as easily as 
 our troops shoot Comanche women and children in 
 their winter villages. These little paths are full of 
 pitfalls among the roots and stones ; and, nimble as 
 the deer is, he sometimes breaks one of his slender 
 legs in them. Yet he knows how to treat himself 
 without a surgeon. I knew of a tame deer in a settle- 
 ment in the edge of the forest who had the misfortune 
 to break her leg. She immediately disappeared with 
 a delicacy rare in an invalid, and was not seen for two 
 weeks. Her friends had given her up, supposing that 
 she had dragged herself away into the depths of the 
 woods, and died of starvation ; when one day she re- 
 turned, cured of lameness, but thin as a virgin shadow. 
 She had the sense to shun the doctor ; to lie down 
 in some safe place, and patiently wait for her leg 
 to heal. I have observed in many of the more re- 
 fined animals this sort of shyness and reluctance to 
 give trouble which excite our admiration when noticed 
 in mankind. 
 
 The deer is called a timid animal, and taunted with 
 possessing courage only when he is " at bay ; " the 
 stag will fight when he can no longer flee ; and the 
 doe wiU defend her young in the face of murderous 
 enemies. The deer gets little credit for this eleventh- 
 hour bravery. But I think that in any truly Chris- 
 tian condition of society the deer would not be con- 
 spicuous for cowardice. I suppose that if the Amer- 
 ican girl, even as she is described in foreign romances, 
 were pursued by bull-dogs, and fired at from behind 
 fences every time she ventured out-doors, she would 
 
18 A-HUNTING OF THE DEER 
 
 become timid, and reluctant to go abroad. When 
 that golden era comes which the poets think is behind 
 us, and the prophets declare is about to be ushered in 
 by the opening of the " vials," and the killing of every- 
 body who does not believe as those nations believe 
 which have the most cannon ; when we all live in real 
 concord, — perhaps the gentle-hearted deer will be re- 
 spected, and will find that men are not more savage to 
 the weak than are the cougars and panthers. If the 
 little spotted fawn can think, it must seem to her a 
 queer world in which the advent of innocence is hailed 
 by the baying of fierce hounds and the "ping " of the 
 rifle. 
 
 Hunting the deer in the Adirondacks is conducted 
 in the most manly fashion. There are several meth- 
 ods, and in none of them is a fair chance to the deer 
 considered. A favorite method with the natives is 
 practised in winter, and is called by them " still hunt- 
 ing." My idea of still hunting is for one man to go 
 alone into the forest, look about for a deer, put his 
 wits fairly against the wits of the keen-scented animal, 
 and kill his deer, or get lost in the attempt. There 
 seems to be a sort of fairness about this. It is private 
 assassination, tempered with a little uncertainty about 
 finding your man. The still hunting of the natives 
 has all the romance and danger attending the slaugh- 
 ter of sheep in an abattoir. As the snow gets deep, 
 many deer congregate in the depths of the forest, and 
 keep a place trodden down, which grows larger as 
 they tramp down the snow in search of food. In time 
 this refuge becomes a sort of " yard," surrounded by 
 unbroken snow-banks. The hunters then make their 
 way to this retreat on snow-shoes, and from the top of 
 the banks pick off the deer at leisure with their rifles. 
 
A-HUNTING OF THE DEER 19 
 
 and haul them away to market, until the enclosure is 
 pretty much emptied. This is one of the surest meth- 
 ods of exterminating the deer ; it is also one of the 
 most merciful ; and, being the plan adopted by our 
 government for civilizing the Indian, it ought to be 
 popular. The only people who object to it are the 
 summer sportsmen. They naturally want some pleas- 
 ure out of the death of the deer. 
 
 Some of our best sportsmen, who desire to protract 
 the pleasure of slaying deer through as many seasons 
 as possible, object to the practice of the hunters, who 
 make it their chief business to slaughter as many deer 
 in a camping-season as they can. Their own rule, 
 they say, is to kill a deer only when they need venison 
 to eat. Their excuse is specious. What right have 
 these sophists to put themselves into a desert place, 
 out of the reach of provisions, and then ground a 
 right to slay deer on their own improvidence ? If it 
 is necessary for these people to have anything to eat, 
 which I doubt, it is not necessary that they should 
 have the luxury of venison. 
 
 One of the most picturesque methods of hunting 
 the poor deer is called " floating." The person, with 
 murder in his heart, chooses a cloudy night, seats him- 
 Belf, rifle in hand, in a canoe, which is noiselessly pad- 
 dled by the guide, and explores the shore of the lake 
 or the dark inlet. In the bow of the boat is a light 
 in a " jack," the rays of which are shielded from the 
 boat and its occupants. A deer comes down to feed 
 upon the lily-pads. The boat approaches him. He 
 looks up, and stands a moment, terrified or fascinated 
 by the bright flames. In that moment the sportsman 
 is supposed to shoot the deer. As an historical fact, 
 his hand "asually shakes, so that he misses the animalf 
 
20 A-HUNTING OF THE DEER 
 
 or only wounds him ; and the stag limps away to die 
 after days of suffering. Usually, however, the hunt- 
 ers remain out all night, get stiff from cold and the 
 cramped position in' the boat, and, when they return 
 in the morning to camp, cloud their future existence 
 by the assertion that they " heard a big buck " mov- 
 ing along the shore, but the people in camp made so 
 much noise that he was frightened off. 
 
 By all odds, the favorite and prevalent mode is 
 hunting with dogs. The dogs do the hunting, the 
 men the killing. The hounds are sent into the forest 
 to rouse the deer, and drive him from his cover. 
 They climb the mountains, strike the trails, and go 
 baying and yelping on the track of the poor beast. 
 The deer have their established run-ways, as I said ; 
 and, when they are disturbed in their retreat, they 
 are certain to attempt to escape by following one 
 which invariably leads to some lake or stream. All 
 that the hunter has to do is to seat himself by one of 
 these run-ways, or sit in a boat on the lake, and wait 
 the coming of the pursued deer. The frightened 
 beast, fleeing from the unreasoning brutality of the 
 hounds, will often seek the open country, with a mis- 
 taken confidence in the humanity of man. To kill a 
 deer when he suddenly passes one on a run-way de- 
 mands presence of mind, and quickness of aim : to 
 shoot him from the boat, after he has plunged panting 
 into the lake, requires the rare ability to hit a moving 
 object the size of a deer's head a few rods distant. 
 Either exploit is sufficient to make a hero of a com 
 mon man. To paddle up to the swimming deer, and 
 cut his throat, is a sure means of getting venison, and 
 has its charms for some. Even women, and doctors 
 of divinity, have enjoyed this exquisite pleasare. It 
 
A-HUNTING OF THE DEER 21 
 
 oannot be denied that we are so constituted by a wise 
 VJreator as to feel a delight in killing a wild animal 
 which we do not experience in killing a tame one. 
 
 The pleasurable excitement of a deer-hunt has 
 never, I believe, been regarded from the deer's point 
 of view. I happen to be in a position by reason of 
 a lucky Adirondack experience, to present it in that 
 light. I am sorry if this introduction to my little 
 story has seemed long to the reader: it is too late 
 now to skip it ; but he can recoup himself by omitting 
 the story. 
 
 Early on the morning of the 23d of August, 1877, 
 a doe was feeding on Basin Mountain. The night 
 had been warm and showery, and the morning opened 
 in an undecided way. The wind was southerly : it is 
 what the deer call a dog-wind, having come to know 
 quite well the meaning of " a southerly wind and a 
 cloudy sky." The sole companion of the doe was her 
 only child, a charming little fawn, whose brown coat 
 was just beginning to be mottled with the beautiful 
 spots which make this young creature as lovely as the 
 gazelle. The buck, its father, had been that night on 
 a long tramp across the mountain to Clear Pond, and 
 had not yet returned : he went ostensibly to feed on 
 the succulent lily-pads there. " He feedeth among the 
 lilies until the day break and the shadows flee away, 
 and he should be here by this hour ; but he cometh 
 not," she said, " leaping upon the mountains, skipping 
 upon the hills." Clear Pond was too far off for the 
 young mother to go with her fawn for a night's pleas- 
 ure. It was a fashionable watering-place at this sea- 
 son among the deer ; and the doe may have remem- 
 bered, not without uneasiness, the moonlight meetings 
 of a frivolous society there. But the buck did not 
 
22 A-HUNTING OF THE DEER 
 
 come : he was very likely sleeping under one of the 
 ledges on Tight Nippin. Was he alone ? "I charge 
 you, by the roes and by the hinds of the field, that 
 ye stir not nor awake my love till he please." 
 
 The doe was feeding, daintily cropping the tender 
 leaves of the young shoots, and turning from time to 
 time to regard her offspring. The fawn had taken his 
 morning meal, and now lay curled up on a bed of 
 moss, watching contentedly, with his large, soft brown 
 eyes, every movement of his mother. The great eyes 
 followed her with an alert entreaty; and, if the 
 mother stepped a pace or two farther away in feed- 
 ing, the fawn made a half -movement, as if to rise and 
 follow her. You see, she was his sole dependence in 
 aU. the world. But he was quickly reassured when 
 she turned her gaze on him ; and if, in alarm, he ut- 
 tered a plaintive cry, she bounded to him at once, 
 and, with every demonstration of affection, licked his 
 mottled skin till it shone again. 
 
 It was a pretty picture, — maternal love on the one 
 part, and happy trust on the other. The doe was 
 a beauty, and would have been so considered any- 
 where, as graceful and winning a creature as the sun 
 that day shone on, — slender limbs, not too heavy 
 flanks, round body, and aristocratic head, with small 
 ears, and luminous, intelligent, affectionate eyes. 
 How alert, supple, free, she was 1 What untaught 
 grace in every movement 1 What a charming pose 
 when she lifted her head, and turned it to regard her 
 child ! You would have had a companion-picture, if 
 you had seen, as I saw that morning, a baby kicking 
 about among the dry pine-needles on a ledge above 
 the Ausable, in the valley below, while its young 
 mother sat near, with an easel before her touching in 
 
A-HUNTING OF THE DEER 23 
 
 the color of a reluctant landscape, giving a quick look 
 at the sky and the outline of the Twin Mountains, 
 and bestowing every third glance upon the laughing 
 boy, — art in its infancy. 
 
 The doe lifted her head a little with a quick motion, 
 and turned her ear to the south. Had she heard 
 something ? Probably it was only the south winds in 
 the balsams. There was silence all about in the for- 
 est. If the doe had heard anything it was one of the 
 distant noises of the world. There are in the woods 
 occasional meanings, premonitions of change, which 
 are inaudible to the dull ears of men, but which, I 
 have no doubt, the forest-folk hear and understand. 
 If the doe's suspicions were excited for an instant, 
 they were gone as soon. With an affectionate glance 
 at her fawn, she continued picking up her breakfast. 
 
 But suddenly she started, head erect, eyes dilated, 
 a tremor in her limbs. She took a step ; she turned 
 her head to the south ; she listened intently. There 
 was a sound, — a distant, prolonged note, bell-toned, 
 pervading the woods, shaking the air in smooth vibra- 
 tions. It was repeated. The doe had no doubt now. 
 She shook like the sensitive mimosa when a footstep 
 approaches. It was the baying of a hound ! It was 
 far off, — at the foot of the mountain. Time enough 
 to fly ; time enough to put miles between her and the 
 hound, before he should come upon her fresh trail ; 
 time enough to escape away through the dense forest, 
 and hide in the recesses of Panther Gorge ; yes, time 
 enough. But there was the fawn. The cry of the 
 hound was repeated, more distinct this time. The 
 mother instinctively bounded away a few paces. The 
 fawn started up with an anxious bleat. The doe 
 turned ; she came back ; she could n't leave it. She 
 
24 A-HUNTING OF THE DEER 
 
 bent over it, and licked it, and seemed to say, " Come, 
 my child; we are pursued; we must go." She 
 walked away towards the west, and the little thing 
 skipped after her. It was slow going for the slender 
 legs, over the fallen logs, and through the rasping 
 bushes. The doe bounded in advance, and waited; 
 the fawn scrambled after her, slipping and tumbling 
 along, very groggy yet on its legs, and whining a. 
 good deal because its mother kept always moving 
 away from it. The fawn evidently did not hear the 
 hound ; the little innocent would even have looked 
 sweetly at the dog, and tried to make friends with it, 
 if the brute had been rushing upon him. By all the 
 means at her command the doe urged her young one 
 on ; but it was slow work. She might have been a 
 mile away while they were making a few rods. 
 Whenever the fawn caught up he was quite content 
 to frisk about. He wanted more breakfast, for one 
 thing ; and his mother would n't stand still. She 
 moved on continually ; and his weak legs were tangled 
 in the roots of the narrow deer-path. 
 
 Shortly came a sound that threw the doe into a 
 panic of terror, — a short, sharp yelp, followed by a 
 prolonged howl, caught up and re-echoed by other 
 hayings along the mountain-side. The doe knew 
 what that meant. One hound had caught her trail, 
 and the whole pack responded to the " view-halloo." 
 The danger was certain now; it was near. She 
 could not crawl on in this way ; the dogs would soon 
 be upon them. She turned again for flight : the fawn, 
 scrambling after her, tumbled over, and bleated pite- 
 ously. The baying, now emphasized by the yelp of 
 certainty, came nearer. Flight with the fawn was 
 impossible. The doe returned and stood by it, head 
 
A-HUNTING OF THE DEER 25 
 
 erect, and nostrils distended. She stood perfectly 
 still, but trembling. Perhaps she was thinking. The 
 fawn took advantage of the situation, and began to 
 draw his luncheon ration. The doe seemed to have 
 made up her mind. She let him finish. The fawn, 
 having taken all he wanted, lay down contentedly, 
 and the doe licked him for a moment. Then, with 
 the swiftness of a bird, she dashed away, and in 
 a moment was lost in the forest. She went in the 
 direction of the hounds. 
 
 According to all human calculations, she was going 
 into the jaws of death. So she was : all human calcu- 
 lations are selfish. She kept straight on, hearing the 
 baying every moment more distinctly. She descended 
 the slope of the mountain until she reached the more 
 open forest of hard-wood. It was freer going here, 
 and the cry of the pack echoed more resoundingly 
 in the great spaces. She was going due east, when 
 (judging by the sound, the hounds were not far off, 
 though they were still hidden by a ridge) she turned 
 away towards the north, and kept on at a good pace. 
 In five minutes more she heard the sharp, exultant 
 yelp of discovery, and then the deep-mouthed howl of 
 pursuit. The hoimds had struck her trail where she 
 turned, and the fawn was safe. 
 
 The doe was in good running condition, the ground 
 was not bad, and she felt the exhilaration of the 
 chase. For the moment, fear left her, and she bounded 
 on with the exaltation of triumph. For a quarter of 
 an hour she went on at a slapping pace, clearing the 
 moose-bushes with bound after bound, flying over the 
 fallen logs, pausing neither for brook or ravine. The 
 baying of the hounds grew fainter behind her. But 
 she struck a bad piece of going, a dead-wood slash. 
 
26 A-HUNTING OF THE DEER 
 
 It was marvellous to see her skim over it, leaping 
 among its intricacies, and not breaking her slender 
 legs. No other living animal could do it. But it 
 was killing work. She began to pant fearfully ; she 
 lost ground. The baying of the hounds was nearer. 
 She climbed the hard- wood hill at a slower gait : but, 
 once on more level, free ground, her breath came back 
 to her, and she stretched away with new courage, and 
 may be a sort of contempt of her heavy pursuers. 
 
 After running at a high speed perhaps half a mile 
 farther, it occurred to her that it would be safe now 
 to turn to the west, and, by a wide circuit, seek her 
 fawn. But, at the moment, she heard a sound that 
 chilled her heart. It was the cry of a hound to 
 the west of her. The crafty brute had made the cir- 
 cuit of the slash, and cut off her retreat. There was 
 nothing to do but to keep on ; and on she went, still 
 to the north, with the noise of the pack behind her. 
 In five minutes more she had passed into a hill- 
 side clearing. Cows and young steers were grazing 
 there. She heard a tinkle of bells. Below her, down 
 the mountain-slope, were other clearings, broken by 
 patches of woods. Fences intervened ; and a mile 
 or two down lay the valley, the shining Ausable, and 
 the peaceful farm-houses. That way also her hered- 
 itary enemies were. Not a merciful heart in all that 
 lovely valley. She hesitated ; it was only for an in- 
 stant. She must cross the Slidebrook Valley if possi- 
 ble, and gain the mountain opposite. She bounded 
 on ; she stopped. What was that ? From the valley 
 ahead came the cry of a searching hound. All the 
 devils were loose this morning. Every way was 
 closed but one, and that led straight down the moun- 
 tain to the cluster of houses. Conspicuous among 
 
A-HUNTTNG OF THE DEER 27 
 
 them was a slender white wooden spire. The doe did 
 not know it was the spire of a Christian chapel, but 
 perhaps she thought that human pity -dwelt there, and 
 would be more merciful than the teeth of the hounds. 
 
 " The hounds are baying on my track : 
 O white man I wUl you send me back ? " 
 
 In a panic, frightened animals will always flee to 
 human-kind from the danger of more savage foes. 
 They always make a mistake in doing so. Perhaps 
 the trait is the survival of an era of peace on earth ; 
 perhaps it is a prophecy of the golden age of the 
 future. The business of this age is murder, — the 
 slaughter of animals, the slaughter of fellow-men, by 
 the wholesale. Hilarious poets who never fired a gun 
 write hunting songs, — Ti-ra-la : and good bishops 
 write war-songs, — Ave the Czar ! 
 
 The hunted doe went down " the open," clearing 
 the fences splendidly, flying along the stony path. It 
 was a beautiful sight. But consider what a shot 
 it was ! If the deer, now, could only have been 
 caught ! No doubt there were tender-hearted people 
 in the valley who would have spared her life, shut her 
 up in a stable, and petted her. Was there one who 
 would have let her go back to her waiting fawn ? It 
 is the business of civilization to tame or kill. 
 
 The doe went on ; she left the saw-mill on John's 
 Brook to her right ; she turned into a wood-path. As 
 she approached Slide Brook, she saw a boy standing 
 by a tree with a raised rifle. The dogs were not in 
 sight, but she could hear them coming down the hill. 
 There was no time for hesitation. With a tremendous 
 burst of speed she cleared the stream, and, as she 
 touched the bank, heard the " ping " of a rifle bullet 
 in the air above her. The cruel sound gave wings to 
 
28 A-HUNTING OF THE DEER 
 
 the poor thing. In a moment more she was in the 
 opening : she leaped into the travelled road. Which 
 way ? Below her in the wood was a load of hay : a 
 man and a boy, with pitchforks in their hands, were 
 running towards her. She turned south, and flew 
 along the street. The town was up. Women and 
 children ran to the doors and windows ; men snatched 
 their rifles ; shots were fired ; at the big boarding- 
 houses, the summer boarders, who never have any- 
 thing to do, came out and cheered ; a camp-stool was 
 thrown from a veranda. Some young fellows shoot- 
 ing at a mark in the meadow saw the flying deer, and 
 popped away at her : but they were accustomed to a 
 mark that stood still. It was all so sudden ! There 
 were twenty people who were just going to shoot her ; 
 when the doe leaped the road fence, and went away 
 across a marsh towards the foot-hiUs. It was a fear- 
 ful gauntlet to run. But nobody except the deer con- 
 sidered it in that light. Everybody told what he was 
 just going to do! everybody who had seen the per- 
 formance was a kind of hero, — everybody except the 
 deer. For days and days it was the subject of con- 
 versation ; and the summer boarders kept their guns 
 at hand, expecting another deer would come to be 
 shot at. 
 
 The doe went away to the foot-hills, going now 
 slower, and evidently fatigued, if not frightened half 
 to death. Nothing is so appalling to a recluse as a 
 half a mile of summer boarders. As the deer entered 
 the thin woods she saw a rabble of people start across 
 the meadow in pursuit. By this time, the dogs, pant- 
 ing and lolling out their tongues, came swinging along, 
 keeping the trail, like stupids, and consequently los- 
 ing ground when the deer doubled. But. when the 
 
A-HUNTING OF THE DEER 29 
 
 doe had got into the timber, she heard the savage 
 brutes howling across the meadow. (It is well 
 enough, perhaps, to say that nobody offered to shoot 
 the dogs.) 
 
 The courage of the panting fugitive was not gone : 
 she was game to the tip of her high-bred ears. But 
 the fearful pace at which she had just been going told 
 on her. Her legs trembled, and her heart beat like a 
 trip-hammer. She slowed her speed perforce, but still 
 fled industriously up the right bank of the stream. 
 When she had gone a couple of miles, and the dogs 
 were evidently gaining again, she crossed the broad, 
 deep brook, climbed the steep, left bank, and fled on 
 in the direction of the Mount Marcy trail. The ford- 
 ing of the river threw the hounds off for a time. She 
 knew, by their uncertain yelping up and down the op- 
 posite bank, that she had a little respite : she used it, 
 however, to push on until the baying was faint in her 
 ears ; and then she dropped, exhausted, upon the 
 ground. 
 
 This rest, brief as it was, saved her life. Roused 
 again by the baying pack, she leaped forward with 
 better speed, though without that keen feeling of ex- 
 hilarating flight that she had in the morning. It was 
 Btill a race for life ; but the odds were in her favor, 
 she thought. She did not appreciate the dogged 
 persistence of the hounds, nor had any inspiration 
 told her that the race is not to the swift. She was a 
 little confused in her mind where to go ; but an in- 
 stinct kept her course to the left, and consequently far- 
 ther away from her fawn. Going now slower, and now 
 faster, as the pursuit seemed more distant or nearer, 
 she kept to the south-west, crossed the stream again, 
 left Panther Gorge on her right, and ran on by llay- 
 
30 A-HUNTING OF THE DEER 
 
 stack and Skylight in the direction of the Upper 
 Ausable Pond. I do not know her exact course 
 through this maze of mountains, swamps, ravines, and 
 frightful wildernesses. I only know that the poor 
 thing worked her way along painfully, with sinking 
 heart and unsteady limbs, lying down " dead-beat " at 
 intervals, and then spurred on by the cry of the re- 
 morseless dogs, until, late in the afternoon she stag- 
 gered down the shoulder of Bartlett, and stood upon 
 the shore of the lake. If she could put that piece of 
 water between her and her pursuers, she would be 
 safe. Had she strength to swim it ? 
 
 At her first step into the water she saw a sight that 
 send her back with a bound. There was a boat mid- 
 lake ; two men were in it. One was rowing : the other 
 had a gun in his hand. They were looking towards 
 her : they had seen her. (She did not know that they 
 bad heard the baying of hounds on the mountains, 
 and had been lying in wait for her an hour.) What 
 should she do ? The hounds were drawing near. 
 No escape that way, even if she could still run. 
 With only a moment's hesitation she plunged into the 
 lake, and struck obliquely across. Her tired legs 
 could not propel the tired body rapidly. She saw the 
 boat headed for her. She turned towards the centre 
 of the lake. The boat turned. She could hear the 
 rattle of the oar-locks. It was gaining on her. Then 
 there was a silence. Then there was a splash of the 
 water just ahead of her, followed by a roar round the 
 lake, the words " Confound it all ! " and a rattle of 
 the oars again. The doe saw the boat nearing her. 
 She turned irresolutely to the shore whence she came: 
 the dogs were lapping the water, and howling there. 
 She turned aarain to the centre of the lake. 
 
A-HUNTING OF THE DEER 31 
 
 The brave, pretty creature was quite exhausted now. 
 In a moment more, with a rush of water, the boat was 
 on her, and the man at the oars had leaned over and 
 caught her by the tail. 
 
 " Knock her on the head with that paddle ! " he 
 shouted to the gentleman in the stern. 
 
 The gentleman was a gentleman, with a kind, 
 smooth-shaven face, and might have been a minister 
 of some sort of everlasting gospel. He took the pad- 
 dle in his hand. Just then the doe turned her head, 
 and looked at him with her great, appealing eyes. 
 
 " I can't do it ! my soul, I can't do it ! " and he 
 dropped the paddle. " Oh, let her go ! " 
 
 " Let thunder go ! " was the only response of the 
 guide as he slung the deer round, whipped out his 
 hunting-knife, and made a pass that severed her jug- 
 ular. 
 
 And the gentleman ate that night of the venison. 
 
 The buck returned about the middle of the after- 
 noon. The fawn was bleating piteously, hungry and 
 lonesome. The buck was surprised. He looked about 
 in the forest. He took a circuit and came back. His 
 doe was nowhere to be seen. He looked down at the 
 fawn in a helpless sort of way. The fa^vn appealed 
 for his supper. The buck had nothing whatever to 
 give his child, — nothing but his sympathy. If he 
 said anything, this is what he said : " I 'm the head of 
 this family ; but, really, this is a novel case. I 've 
 nothing whatever for you. I don't know what to do. 
 I 've the feelings of a father ; but you can't live on 
 them. Let us travel." 
 
 The buck walked away : the little one toddled after 
 him. They disappeared in the forest. 
 
82 THE DAFFODILS 
 
 THE DAFFODILS. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 I WANDERED lonely as a cloud 
 That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 
 When all at once I saw a crowd, 
 A host, of golden daffodils ; 
 Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 
 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 
 
 Continuous as the stars that shine 
 And twinkle on the milky way, 
 They stretched in never-ending line 
 Along the margin of a bay : 
 Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
 Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 
 
 The waves beside them danced ; but they 
 
 Outdid the sparkling waves in glee : 
 
 A poet could not but be gay. 
 
 In such a jocund company : 
 
 I gazed, — and gazed, — but little thought 
 
 What wealth the show to me had brought c 
 
 For oft, when on my couch I lie 
 In vacant or in pensive mood. 
 They flash upon that inward eye 
 Which is the bliss of solitude ; 
 And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
 And dances with the daffodils. 
 
THANATOPSIS 33 
 
 THANATOPSIS. 
 
 William Cullen Bryant. 
 
 To him who in the love of Nature holds 
 Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
 A various language ; for his gayer hours 
 She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
 And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 
 Into his darker musings, with a mild 
 And healing sympathy, that steals away 
 Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts 
 Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
 Over thy spirit, and sad images 
 Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 
 And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
 Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ; — 
 Go forth, under the open sky, and list 
 To Nature's teachings, while from all around — 
 Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — 
 Comes a still voice — 
 
 Yet a few days, and thee 
 The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
 In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, 
 Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears. 
 Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 
 Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 
 Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again. 
 And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
 Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
 To mix forever with the elements, 
 To be a brother to the insensible rock 
 And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
 
34 THANATOPSIS 
 
 Turns with Ms share, and treads upon. The oak 
 Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 
 
 Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 
 Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish 
 Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
 With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, 
 The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, 
 Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 
 All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills 
 Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, — the vales 
 Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 
 The venerable woods — rivers that move 
 In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
 That make the meadows green ; and, poured round 
 
 all. 
 Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — 
 Are but the solemn decorations all 
 Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 
 The planets, all the infinite host of heaven. 
 Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
 Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
 The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
 That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings 
 Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness. 
 Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
 Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, 
 Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there : 
 And millions in those solitudes, since first 
 The flight of years began, have laid them down 
 In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. 
 So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw 
 In silence from the living, and no friend 
 Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 
 
TO A WATERFOWL 35 
 
 Will share thy destiny. The gay wiU laugh 
 When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
 Plod on, and each one as before will chase 
 His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
 Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 
 And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
 Of ages glides away, the sons of men, 
 The youth in life's fresh spring, and he who goes 
 In the f idl strength of years, matron and maid, 
 The speechless babe, and the gray -headed man — 
 Shall one by one be gathered to thy side. 
 By those who in their turn shall follow them. 
 
 So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
 The innumerable caravan, which moves 
 To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
 His chamber in the silent halls oi death, 
 Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 
 Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 
 By an unfaltering trust, ajjproach thy grave 
 Like one who wraps the drajier}^ of his couch 
 About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 
 
 riiis poem Bryant wrote when he was but seventeen years old. 
 The young poet had been brought up on a Massachusetts farm, 
 had studied at small schools and for seven months at Williams 
 College ; but he had read widely, and deeply, serious books. 
 The poem is one of the greatest in American Literature. 
 
 TO A WATERFOWL. 
 
 William Cullen Bkyaht. 
 
 Whither, midst falling dew. 
 While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 
 Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue 
 
 Thy solitary way ? 
 
3t) TO A WATERFOWL 
 
 Vainly the fowler's eye 
 Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 
 As, darkly seen against the crimson sky, 
 
 Thy figure floats along, 
 
 Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
 Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 
 Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 
 
 On the chafed ocean side ? 
 
 There is a Power whose care 
 Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — 
 The desert and illimitable air — 
 
 Lone wandering, but not lost. 
 
 All day thy wings have fanned, 
 At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, 
 Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, 
 
 Though the dark night is near. 
 
 And soon that toil shall end ; 
 Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest. 
 And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend, 
 
 Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. 
 
 Thou 'rt gone ! the abyss of heaven 
 Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my heart 
 Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 
 
 And shall not soon depart. 
 
 He, who, from zone to zone. 
 Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 
 In the long way that I must tread alone, 
 
 Will lead my steps aright. 
 
THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 37 
 
 THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. 
 
 FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH 
 KNICKERBOCKER. 
 
 Washington Irving. 
 {Abridged.) 
 
 In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which 
 indent the eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad 
 expansion of the river denominated by the ancient Dutch 
 navigators the Tappan Zee, and where they always 
 prudently shortened sail and implored the protection 
 of St. Nicholas when they crossed, there lies a small 
 market town or rural port, which by some is called 
 Greensburgh, but which is more generally and pro- 
 perly known by the name of Tarry Town. This name 
 was given, we are told, in former days, by the good 
 housewives of the adjacent country, from the inveter- 
 ate propensity of their husbands to linger about the 
 village tavern on market days. Be that as it may, I 
 do not vouch for the fact, but merely advert to it, for 
 the sake of being precise and authentic. Not far 
 from this village, perhaps about two miles, there is a 
 little valley or rather lap of land among high hills, 
 which is one of the quietest places in the whole world. 
 A small brook glides through it, with just murmur 
 enough to lull one to repose ; and the occasional whistle 
 of a quail or tapping of a woodpecker is almost the 
 only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform 
 tranquillity. 
 
38 THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 
 
 From the listless repose of the place, and the pe- 
 culiar character of its inhabitants, who are descend- 
 ants from the original Dutch settlers, this sequestered 
 glen has long been known by the name of Sleepy 
 Hollow, and its rustic lads are called the Sleepy 
 Hollow Boys throughout all the neighboring country. 
 A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the 
 land, and to pervade the very atmosphere. The whole 
 neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots, 
 and twilight superstitions; stars shoot and meteors 
 glare oftener across the valley than in any other part 
 of the country, and the nightmare, with her whole 
 ninefold,^ seems to make it the favorite scene of her 
 gambols. 
 
 The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this en- 
 chanted region, and seems to be commander-in-chief 
 of all the powers of the air, is the apparition of a fig- 
 ure on horseback, without a head. It is said by some 
 to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had 
 been carried away by a cannon-ball, in some nameless 
 battle during the Revolutionary War, and who is ever 
 and anon seen by the country folk hurrying along in 
 the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind. 
 His haunts are not confined to the valley, but extend 
 at times to the adjacent roads, and especially to the 
 vicinity of a church ^ at no great distance. Indeed, 
 certain of the most authentic historians of those parts, 
 who have been careful in collecting and collating the 
 floating facts concerning this spectre, allege that the 
 body of the trooper having been buried in the church- 
 yard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in 
 nightly quest of his head, and that the rushing speed 
 
 ' " He met the niglit-mare and her nine-fold." — King Lear. 
 * This little Dutch church, built in 1699, is still standing. 
 
THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 39 
 
 with which he sometimes passes along the Hollow, 
 like a midnight blast, is owing to his being belated, 
 and in a hurry to get back to the churchyard before 
 daybreak. 
 
 Such is the general purport of this legendary super- 
 stition, which has furnished materials for many a wild 
 story in that region of shadows ; and the spectre is 
 known at all the country firesides, by the name of the 
 Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. 
 
 In this by-place of nature there abode, in a remote 
 period of American history, that is to say, some thirty 
 years since, a worthy wight of the name of Ichabod 
 Crane, who sojourned, or, as he expressed it, " tar- 
 ried," in Sleepy Hollow, for the purpose of instructing 
 the children of the vicinity. He was a native of Con- 
 necticut, a State which supplies the Union with pio- 
 neers for the mind as well as for the forest, and sends 
 forth yearly its legions of frontier woodmen and coun- 
 try schoolmasters. The cognomen of Crane was not 
 inapplicable to his person. He was tall, but exceed- 
 ingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, 
 hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that 
 might have served for shovels, and his whole frame 
 most loosely hung together. His head was small, and 
 flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, 
 and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather- 
 cock perched upon his spindle neck to tell which way 
 the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile 
 of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and 
 fluttering about him, one might have mistaken him for 
 the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or 
 some scai'ecrow eloped from a cornfield. 
 
 The schoolhouse stood in a rather lonely but plea- 
 sant situation, just at the foot of a woody hill, with a 
 
40 THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 
 
 brook running close by, and a formidable birch-tree 
 growing at one end of it. From hence the low murmur 
 of his pupils' voices, conning over their lessons, might 
 be heard in a drowsy summer's day, like the hum of a 
 beehive ; interrupted now and then by the authorita- 
 tive voice of the master, in the tone of menace or com- 
 mand ; or, peradventure, by the appalling sound of the 
 birch, as he urged some tardy loiterer along the flowery 
 path of knowledge. Truth to say, he was a conscien- 
 tious man, and ever bore in mind the golden maxim, 
 " Spare the rod and spoil the child." ^ Ichabod Crane's 
 scholars certainly were not spoiled. 
 
 When school hours were over, he was even the 
 companion and playmate of the larger boys ; and on 
 holiday afternoons would convoy some of the smaller 
 ones home, who happened to have pretty sisters, or 
 good housewives for mothers, noted for the comforts 
 of the cupboard. Indeed, it behooved him to keep on 
 good terms with his pupils. The revenue arising from 
 his school was small, and would have been scarcely 
 sufficient to furnish him with daily bread, for he was 
 a huge feeder, and, though lank, had the dilating 
 powers of an anaconda ; but to help out his mainte- 
 nance, he was, according to country custom in those 
 parts, boarded and lodged at the houses of the farmers 
 whose children he instructed. With these he lived suc- 
 cessively a week at a time, thus going the rounds of 
 the neighborhood, with all his worldly effects tied up 
 in a cotton handkerchief. 
 
 That all this might not be too onerous on the purses 
 of his rustic patrons, who are apt to consider the costs 
 
 1 The thought, but not the wording, is from the Bible, as the 
 following quotation shows : — 
 
 " He that spareth his rod hatetb hia son." — Prov. xiii. 24. 
 
THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 41 
 
 of schooling a grievous burden, and schoolmasters as 
 mere drones, he had various ways of rendering him- 
 self both useful and agreeable. He assisted the farm- 
 ers occasionally in the lighter labors of their farms, 
 helped to make hay, mended the fences, took the horses 
 to water, drove the cows from pasture, and cut wood 
 for the winter fire. He laid aside, too, all the dominant 
 dignity and absolute sway with which he lorded it in 
 his little empire, the school, and became wonderfully 
 gentle and ingratiating. 
 
 From his half-itinerant life, also, he was a kind of 
 travelling gazette, carrying the whole budget of local 
 gossip from house to house, so that his appearance 
 was always greeted with satisfaction. He was, more- 
 over, esteemed by the women as a man of great erudi- 
 tion, for he had read several books quite through, and 
 was a perfect master of Cotton Mather's ^ " History of 
 New England Witchcraft," in which, by the way, he 
 most firmly and potently believed. 
 
 He was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewdness 
 and simple credulity. His appetite for the marvellous, 
 and his powers of digesting it, were equally extraor- 
 dinary ; and both had been increased by his residence 
 in this spell-bound region. No tale was too gross or 
 monstrous for his capacious swallow. It was often 
 his delight, after his school was dismissed in the 
 afternoon, to stretch himself on the rich bed of clover 
 bordering the little brook that whimpered by his school- 
 house, and there con over old Mather's direful tales, 
 until the gathering dusk of evening made the printed 
 page a mere mist before his eyes. 
 
 ^ Cotton Mather was a clergyman who lived in Boston, 166.3- 
 1728. Like most persons of his time, he believed in the existence 
 of witches, and thought he was doing God's service in hunting 
 them down. 
 
42 THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 
 
 Another of his sources of fearful pleasure was to 
 pass long winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, 
 as they sat spinning by the fire, with a row of apples 
 roasting and spluttering along the hearth, and listen 
 to their marvellous tales of ghosts and goblins, and 
 haunted fields, and haunted brooks, and haunted 
 bridges, and haunted houses, and particularly of the 
 headless horseman, or Galloping Hessian of the Hollow, 
 as they sometimes called him. 
 
 But if there was a pleasure in all this, while snugly 
 cuddling in the chimney corner of a chamber that was 
 all of a ruddy glow from the crackling wood fire, and 
 where, of course, no spectre dared to show its face, it 
 was dearly purchased by the terrors of his subsequent 
 walk homewards. What fearful shapes and shadows 
 beset his path, amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a 
 snowy night! With what wistful look did he eye 
 every trembling ray of light streaming across the waste 
 fields from some distant window ! 
 
 All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, 
 phantoms of the mind that walk in darkness; and 
 though he had seen many spectres in his time, and 
 been more than once beset by Satan ^ in divers shapes, 
 in his lonely perambulations, yet daylight put an end 
 to all these evils; and he would have passed a plea- 
 sant life of it, in despite of the Devil and all his works, 
 if his path had not been crossed by a being that 
 causes more perplexity to mortal man than ghosts, 
 goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, 
 and that was — a woman. 
 
 Among the musical disciples who assembled, one 
 evening in each week, to receive his instructions in 
 
 ' An allusion to the old and widespread belief that ghosts, 
 goblins, and witches were the obedient subjects and emissaries 
 of the Evil One. 
 
THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 43 
 
 psalmody, was Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter and 
 only child of a substantial Dutch farmer. She was a 
 blooming lass of fresh eighteen ; plump as a partridge, 
 ripe and melting and rosy-cheeked as one of her 
 father's peaches, and universally famed, not merely for 
 her beauty, but her vast expectations. She was withal 
 a little of a coquette, as might be perceived even in 
 her dress, which was a mixture of ancient and modern 
 fashions, as most suited to set off her charms. She 
 wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold, which her 
 great-great-grandmother had brought over from Saar- 
 dam ^ ; the tempting stomacher of the olden time, and 
 withal a provokingly short petticoat, to display the 
 prettiest foot and ankle in the country round. 
 
 Ichabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart towards 
 the sex; and it is not to be wondered at, that so 
 tempting a morsel soon found favor in his eyes, more 
 especially after he had visited her in her paternal 
 mansion. Old Baltus Van Tassel was a perfect pic- 
 ture of a thriving, contented, liberal-hearted farmer. 
 He seldom, it is true, sent either his eyes or his thoughts 
 beyond the boundaries of his own farm; but within 
 those everything was snug, happy and well-condi- 
 tioned. Hard by the farmhouse was a vast barn, that 
 might have served for a church; every window and 
 crevice of which seemed bursting forth with the trea- 
 sures of the farm; the flail was busily resounding 
 within it from morning to night; swallows and mar- 
 tins skimmed twittering about the eaves ; and rows of 
 pigeons, some with one eye turned up, as if watching 
 the weather, some with their heads under their wings 
 or buried in their bosoms, and others swelling, and 
 cooing, and bowing about their dames, were enjoying 
 ' Or Zaandam, a town of Holland near Amsterdam. 
 
44 THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 
 
 the sunshine on the roof. Sleek unwieldy porkers 
 were grunting in the repose and abundance of their 
 pens, from whence sallied forth, now and then, troops 
 of sucking j)igs, as if to snuff the air. A stately 
 squadron of snowy geese were riding in an adjoining 
 pond, convoying whole fleets of ducks ; regiments of 
 turkeys were gobbling through the farmyard, and 
 Guinea fowls fretting about it, like ill-tempered house- 
 wives, with their peevish, discontented cry. Before 
 the barn door strutted the gallant cock, that pattern 
 of a husband, a warrior and a fine gentleman, clap- 
 ping his burnished wings and crowing in the pride 
 and gladness of his heart, — sometimes tearing up the 
 earth with his feet, and then generously calling his 
 ever-hungry family of wives and children to enjoy the 
 rich morsel which he had discovered. 
 
 The pedagogue's mouth watered as he looked upon 
 this sumptuous promise of luxurious winter fare. 
 
 When he entered the house, the conquest of his 
 heart was complete. It was one of those spacious 
 farmhouses, with high-ridged but lowly sloping roofs, 
 built in the style handed down from the first Dutch 
 settlers ; the low projecting eaves forming a piazza 
 along the front, capable of being closed up in bad 
 weather. Under this were hung flails, harness, vari- 
 ous utensils of husbandry, and nets for fishing in the 
 neighboring river. Benches were built along the sides 
 for summer use ; and a great spinning-wheel at one 
 end, and a churn at the other, showed the various uses 
 to which this important porch might be devoted. 
 From this piazza the wondering Ichabod entered the 
 hall, which formed the centre of the mansion, and the 
 place of usual residence. Here rows of resplendent 
 pewter, ranged on a long dresser, dazzled his eyes. 
 
THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 46 
 
 In one corner stood a huge bag of wool, ready to be 
 spun ; iu another, a quantity of linsey-woolsey just 
 from the loom; ears of Indian corn, and strings of 
 dried apples and peaches, hung in gay festoons along 
 the walls, mingled with the gaud of red peppers; and 
 a door left ajar gave him a peep into the best parlor, 
 where the claw-footed chairs and dark mahogany ta- 
 bles shone like mirrors ; andirons, with their accom- 
 panying shovel and tongs, glistened from their covert 
 of asparagus tops ; mock-oranges and conch-shells dec- 
 orated themautelj)iece; strings of various-colored birds' 
 eggs were suspended above it ; a great ostrich egg was 
 hung from the centre of the room, and a corner cup- 
 board, knowingly left open, displayed immense trea- 
 sures of old silver and well-mended china. 
 
 From the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon these 
 regions of delight, the peace of his mind was at an end, 
 and his only study was how to gain the affections of 
 the peerless daughter of Van Tassel. In this enterprise, 
 however, he had more real difficulties than generally 
 fell to the lot of a knight-errant of yore, who seldom 
 had anything but giants, enchanters, fiery dragons, 
 and suchlike easily conquered adversaries, to contend 
 with, and had to make his way merely through gates 
 of iron and brass, and walls of adamant to the castle 
 keep, where the lady of his heart was confined; all 
 which he achieved as easily as a man would carve his 
 way to the centre of a Christmas pie ; and then the 
 lady gave him her hand as a matter of course. Icha- 
 bod, on the contrary, had to win his way to the heart 
 of a country coquette, beset with a labyrinth of whims 
 and caprices, which were forever presenting new diffi- 
 culties and impediments; and he had to encounter a 
 host of fearful adversaries of real flesh and blood. 
 
46 THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 
 
 Among these, the most formidable was a burly, 
 roaring, roystering blade, of the name of Abraham, 
 or, according to the Dutch abbreviation, Brom Van 
 Brunt, the hero of the country round, which rang with 
 his feats of strength and hardihood. He was broad- 
 shouldered and double-jointed, with short curly black 
 hair, and a bluff but not unpleasant countenance, hav- 
 ing a mingled air of fun and arrogance. From his Her- 
 culean frame and great powers of limb he had received 
 the nickname of Brom Bones, by which he was univer- 
 sally known. He was famed for great knowledge and 
 skill in horsemanship, being as dexterous on horseback 
 as a Tartar. He was always ready for either a fight or 
 a frolic ; but had more mischief than ill-will in his com- 
 position ; and with all his overbearing roughness, there 
 was a strong dash of waggish good humor at bottom. He 
 had three or four boon companions, who regarded him 
 as their model, and at the head of whom he scoured 
 the country, attending every scene of feud or merri- 
 ment for miles round. In cold weather he was dis- 
 tinguished by a fur cap, surmounted with a flaunting 
 fox's tail; and when the folks at a country gathering 
 descried this well-known crest at a distance, whisk- 
 ing about among a squad of hard riders, they always 
 stood by for a squall. Sometimes his crew would be 
 heard dashing along past the farmhouses at midnight, 
 with whoop and halloo, like a troop of Don Cossacks ; ^ 
 and the old dames, startled out of their sleep, would 
 
 ^ The Cossacks are restless and warlike tribes, of excellent 
 service to the Russian army as scouts, skirmishers, and irregular 
 cavalry. They are vridely distributed over the empire, and are 
 popularly known by their localities as the Cossacks of the river 
 Don, of the Danube, of the Black Sea, of the Caucasus, and so 
 
THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 47 
 
 listen for a moment till the hurry-scurry had clattered 
 by, and then exclaim, "Ay, there goes Brom Bones 
 and his gang!" The neighbors looked upon him with 
 a mixture of awe, admiration, and good-will; and, 
 when any madcap prank or rustic brawl occurred in 
 the vicinity, always shook their heads, and warranted 
 Brom Bones was at the bottom of it. 
 
 This rantipole hero had for some time singled out 
 the blooming Katrina for the object of his uncouth gal- 
 lantries, and though his amorous toyings were some- 
 thing like the gentle caresses and endearments of a 
 bear, yet it was whispered that she did not altogether 
 discourage his hopes. Certain it is, his advances were 
 signals for rival candidates to retire, who felt no in- 
 clination to cross a lion in his amours ; insomuch, 
 that when his horse was seen tied to Van Tassel's pal- 
 ing, on a Sunday night, a sure sign that his master 
 was courting, or, as it is termed, " sparking," within, 
 all other suitors passed by in despair, and carried the 
 war into other quarters. 
 
 Brom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in his 
 nature, would fain have carried matters to open war- 
 fare and have settled their pretensions to the lady, 
 according to the mode of those most concise and sim- 
 ple reasoners, the knights-errant of yore, — by single 
 combat; but Ichabod was too conscious of the supe- 
 rior might of his adversary to enter the lists against 
 him ; he had overheard a boast of Bones, that he 
 would "double the schoolmaster up, and lay him on a 
 shelf of his own schoolhouse " ; and he was too wary 
 to give him an opportunity. There was something ex- 
 tremely provoking in this obstinately pacific system; 
 it left Brom no alternative but to draw upon the 
 funds of rustic waggery in his disposition, and to play 
 
48 THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 
 
 off boorish practical jokes upon his rival. Ichabod be- 
 came the object of whimsical persecution to Bones and 
 his gang of rough riders. They harried his hitherto 
 peaceful domains, smoked out his singing-school by 
 stopping up the chimney, broke into the schoolhouse 
 at night, in spite of its formidable fastenings of withe 
 and window stakes, and turned everything topsy-turvy, 
 so that the poor schoolmaster began to think all the 
 witches in the country held their meetings there. But 
 what was still more annoying, Brom took all opportu- 
 nities of turning him into ridicule in presence of his 
 mistress, and had a scoundrel dog whom he taught to 
 whine in the most ludicrous manner, and introduced 
 as a rival of Ichabod's, to instruct her in psalmody. 
 
 In this way matters went on for some time, without 
 producing any material effect on the relative situa- 
 tions of the contending powers. On a fine autumnal 
 afternoon, Ichabod, in pensive mood, sat enthroned on 
 the lofty stool from whence he usually watched all the 
 concerns of his little literary realm. In his hand he 
 swayed a ferrule, that sceptre of despotic power; the 
 birch of justice reposed on three nails behind the 
 throne, a constant terror to evil doers ; while on the 
 desk before him might be seen sundry contraband 
 articles and prohibited weapons, detected upon the 
 persons of idle urchins, such as half-munched apples, 
 popguns, whirligigs, fly-cages, and whole legions of 
 rampant little paper game-cocks. Apparently there 
 had been some appalling act of justice recently in- 
 flicted, for his scholars were all busily intent upon 
 their books, or slyly whispering behind them with one 
 eye kept upon the master ; and a kind of buzzing still- 
 ness reigned throughout the schoolroom. It was sud- 
 denly interrupted by the appearance of a negro in 
 
THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 49 
 
 tow-cloth jacket and trowsers, a round-crowned frag- 
 ment of a bat, like the cap of Mercury, and mounted 
 on the back ol a ragged, wild, half-broken colt, which 
 he managed with a rope by way of halter. He came 
 clattering up to the school-door with an invitation to 
 Ichabod to attend a merry-making or "quilting- 
 fx'olic," to be held that evening at Mynheer Van 
 Tassel's; and having delivered his message with that 
 air of importance and effort at fine language which a 
 negro is apt to display on petty embassies of the kind, 
 he dashed over the brook, and was seen scampering 
 away up the Hollow, full of the importance and hurry 
 of his mission. 
 
 All was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet 
 schoolroom. The scholars were hurried through their 
 lessons without stopping at trifles ; those who were 
 nimble skipped over half with impunity, and those 
 who were tardy had a smart application now and then 
 in the rear, to quicken their speed or help them over 
 a tall word. Books were flung aside without being 
 put away on the shelves, inkstands were overturned, 
 benches thrown down, and the whole school was 
 turned loose an hour before the usual time, bursting 
 forth like a legion of young imps, yelping and racket- 
 ing about the green in joy at their early emancipation. 
 
 The gallant Ichabod now spent at least an extra 
 half hour at his toilet, brushing and furbishing up his 
 best, and indeed only suit of rusty black, and arrang- 
 ing his locks by a bit of broken looking-glass that 
 hung up in the schoolhouse. That he might make his 
 appearance before his mistress in the true style of a 
 cavalier, he borrowed a horse from the farmer with 
 whom he was domiciliated, a choleric old Dutchman 
 of the name of Hans Van Ripper, and, thus gallantly 
 
50 THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 
 
 mounted, issued forth like a knight-errant in quest 
 of adventures. But it is meet I should, in the true 
 spirit of romantic story, give some account of the 
 looks and equipments of my hero and his steed. The 
 animal he bestrode was a broken-down plow-horse, 
 that had outlived almost everything but its vicious- 
 ness. He was gaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck, 
 and a head like a hammer ; his rusty mane and tail 
 were tangled and knotted with burs ; one eye had lost 
 its pupil, and was glaring and spectral, but the other 
 had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still he must 
 have had fire and mettle in his day, if we may judge 
 from the name he bore of Gunpowder. He had, in 
 fact, been a favorite steed of his master's, the choleric 
 Van Ripper, who was a furious rider, and had infused, 
 very probably, some of his own spirit into the ani- 
 mal; for, old and broken-down as he looked, there 
 was more of the lurking devil in him than in any 
 young filly in the country. 
 
 Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He 
 rode with short stirrups, which brought his knees 
 nearly up to the pommel of the saddle ; his sharp 
 elbows stuck out like grasshoppers' ; he carried his 
 whip perpendicularly in his hand, like a sceptre, and 
 as his horse jogged on, the motion of his arms was not 
 unlike the flapping of a pair of wings. A small wool 
 hat rested on the top of his nose, for so his scanty 
 strip of forehead might be called, and the skirts of 
 his black coat fluttered out almost to the horse's tail. 
 Such was the appearance of Ichabod and his steed as 
 they shambled out of the gate of Hans Van Ripper, and 
 it was altogether such an apparition as is seldom to be 
 met with in broad daylight. 
 
 It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived at the 
 
THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 51 
 
 castle of the Heer Van Tassel, which he found thronged 
 with the pride and flower of the adjacent country. 
 Old farmers, a spare leathern- faced race, in homespun 
 coats and breeches, blue stockings, huge shoes, and 
 magnificent pewter buckles. Their brisk, withered 
 little dames, in close crimped caps, long-waisted short- 
 gowns, homespun petticoats, with scissors and pin-cush- 
 ions, and gay calico pockets hanging on the outside. 
 Buxom lasses, almost as antiquated as their mothers, 
 excepting where a straw hat, a fine ribbon, or perhaps 
 a white frock, gave symptoms of city innovation. The 
 sons, in short square-skirted coats, with rows of stu- 
 pendous brass buttons, and their hair generally queued 
 in the fashion of the times. 
 
 Brom Bones, however, was the hero of the scene, 
 having come to the gathering on his favorite steed 
 Daredevil, a creature like himself, full of mettle and 
 mischief, and which no one but himself could manage. 
 He was, in fact, noted for preferring vicious animals, 
 given to all kinds of tricks which kept the rider in 
 constant risk of his neck, for he held a tractable, well- 
 broken horse as unworthy of a lad of spirit. 
 
 Fain would I pause to dwell upon the world of 
 charms that burst upon the enraptured gaze of my 
 hero, as he entered the state parlor of Van Tassel's 
 mansion. Not those of the bevy of buxom lasses, with 
 their luxurious display of red and white; but the 
 ample charms of a genuine Dutch country tea-table, 
 in the sumptuous time of autumn. 
 
 I want breath and time to discuss this banquet as it 
 deserves, and am too eager to get on with my story. 
 Happily, Ichabod Crane was not in so great a hurry 
 as his historian, but did ample justice to every dainty. 
 
 Old Baltus Van Tassel moved about among hi3 
 
62 THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 
 
 guests with a face dilated with content and good- 
 humor, round and jolly as the harvest moon. His 
 hospitable attentions were brief, but expressive, being 
 confined to a shake of the hand, a slap on the shoul- 
 der, a loud laugh, and a pressing invitation to " fall 
 to, and help themselves." 
 
 And now the sound of the music from the common 
 room, or hall, summoned to the dance. 
 
 How could the flogger of urchins be otherwise than 
 animated and joyous ? the lady of his heart was his 
 partner in the dance, and smiling graciously in reply 
 to all his amorous oglings ; while Brom Bones, sorely 
 smitten with love and jealousy, sat brooding by himself 
 in one corner. 
 
 When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was at- 
 tracted to a knot of the sager folks, who, with Old 
 Van Tassel, sat smoking at one end of the piaz2?a, gos- 
 siping over former times, and drawing out long stories 
 about the war. But all these were nothing to the tales 
 of ghosts and apparitions that succeeded. 
 
 Several of the Sleepy Hollow people were present 
 at Van Tassel's, and, as usual, were doling out their 
 wild and wonderful legends. Many dismal tales were 
 told about funeral trains, and mourning cries and wail- 
 ings heard and seen about the great tree where the un- 
 fortunate Major Andr^ was taken, and which stood 
 in the neighborhood. The chief part of the stories, 
 however, turned upon the favorite spectre of Sleepy 
 Hollow, the Headless Horseman, who had been heard 
 several times of late, patrolling the country; and, it 
 was said, tethered his horse nightly among the graves 
 in the churchyard. Brom Bones affirmed that on re- 
 turning one night from the neighboring village of 
 Sing Sing, he had been overtaken by this midnight 
 
THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 53 
 
 trooper ; that be had offered to race him for a bowl of 
 punch, and should have won it too, for Daredevil beat 
 the goblin horse all hollow, but just as they came to 
 the church bridge, the Hessian bolted, and vanished 
 in a flash of fire. 
 
 All these tales, told in that drowsy undertone with 
 which men talk in the dark, the countenances of the 
 listeners only now and then receiving a casual gleam 
 from the glare of a pipe, sank deep in the mind of 
 Ichabod. 
 
 The revel now gradually broke up. The old farmers 
 gathered together their families in their wagons, and 
 were heard for some time rattling along the hollow 
 roads, and over the distant hills. Ichabod only lin- 
 gered behind, according to the custom of country lov- 
 ers, to have a tete-a-tete with the heiress; fully con- 
 vinced that he was now on the high road to success. 
 What passed at this interview I will not pretend to 
 say, for in fact I do not know. Something, however, 
 I fear me, must have gone wrong, for he certainly 
 sallied forth, after no very great interval, with an air 
 quite desolate and chapfallen. Oh, these women! these 
 women ! Could that girl have been playing off any of 
 her coquettish tricks? Was her encouragement of the 
 poor jjedagogue all a mere sham to secure her con- 
 quest of his rival? Heaven only knows, not I! Let 
 it suffice to say, Ichabod stole forth with the air of 
 one who had been sacking a henroost, rather than a 
 fair lady's heart. 
 
 It was the very witching time of night ^ that Icha- 
 bod, heavy-h' arted and crest-fallen, pursued his travels 
 homewards, along the sides of the lofty hills which 
 
 ^ " 'T is now the very witching time of night 
 When churchyards yawn." — Hamlet. 
 
64 THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 
 
 rise above Tarry Town, and which he had traversed 
 so cheerily in the afternoon. The hour was as dismal 
 as himself. 
 
 All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had 
 heard in the afternoon now came crowding upon his 
 recollection. The night grew darker and darker ; the 
 stars seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving 
 clouds occasionally hid them from his sight. He had 
 never felt so lonely and dismal. He was, moreover, 
 approaching the very place where many of the scenes 
 of the ghost stories had been laid. In the centre of 
 the road stood an enormous tulip-tree, which towered 
 like a giant above all the other trees of the neighbor- 
 hood, and formed a kind of landmark. Its limbs were 
 gnarled and fantastic, large enough to form trunks 
 for ordinary trees, twisting down almost to the, earth, 
 and rising again into the air. It was connected with 
 the tragical story of the unfortunate Andre, who had 
 been taken prisoner hard by ; and was universally 
 known by the name of Major Andre's tree. The com- 
 mon people regarded it with a mixture of respect and 
 superstition, partly out of sympathy for the fate of 
 its ill-starred namesake, and partly from the tales of 
 strange sights, and doleful lamentations, told concern- 
 ing it. 
 
 As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began 
 to whistle ; he thought his whistle was answered ; it 
 was but a blast sweeping sharply through the dry 
 branches. He passed the tree in safety, but new perils 
 lay before him. 
 
 About two hundred yards from the tree, a small 
 brook crossed the road, and ran into a marshy and 
 thickly-wooded glen, known by the name of Wiley's 
 Swamp. To pass this bridge was the severest trial. It 
 
THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 55 
 
 was at this identical spot that the unfortunate Andrd 
 was captured, and under the covert of those chestnuts 
 and vines were the sturdy yeomen concealed who sur- 
 prised him. This has ever since been considered a 
 haunted stream, and fearful are the feelings of the 
 school-boy who has to pass it alone after dark. 
 
 As he approached the stream, his heart began to 
 thump ; he summoned up, however, all his resolution, 
 gave his horse half a score of kicks in the ribs, and 
 attempted to dash briskly across the bridge ; but in- 
 stead of starting forward, the perverse old animal 
 made a lateral movement, and ran broadside against 
 the fence. The schoolmaster now bestowed both whip 
 and heel upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder, 
 who dashed forward, snuffling and snorting, but came 
 to a stand just by the bridge, with a suddenness that 
 had nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head. 
 Just at this moment a plashy tramp by the side of 
 the bridge caught the sensitive ear of Ichabod. In the 
 dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the brook, 
 he beheld something huge, misshapen, and towering. 
 It stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, 
 like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the 
 traveller. 
 
 The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his 
 head with terror. What was to be done ? To turn 
 and fly was now too late ; and besides, what chance 
 was there of escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was 
 which could ride upon the wings of the wind ? Sum- 
 moning up, therefore, a show of courage, he demanded 
 in stammering accents, " Who are you ?" He received 
 no reply. He repeated his demand in a still more agi- 
 tated voice. Still there was no answer. Once more he 
 cudgelled the sides of the inflexible Gunpowder, and 
 
56 THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 
 
 shutting his eyes, broke forth with involuntary fervor 
 into a psalm tune. Just then the shadowy object of 
 alarm put itself in motion, and with a scramble and a 
 bound stood at once in the middle of the road. Though 
 the night was dark and dismal, yet the form of the 
 unknown might now in some degree be ascertained. 
 He appeared to be a horseman of large dimensions, 
 and mounted on a black horse of powerful frame. He 
 made no oifer of molestation or sociability, but kept 
 aloof on one side of the road, jogging along on the 
 blind side of old Gunpowder, who had now got over 
 his fright and waywardness. 
 
 Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange mid- 
 night companion, and bethought himself of the adven- 
 ture of Brom Bones with the Galloping Hessian, now 
 quickened his steed in hopes of leaving him behind. 
 The stranger, however, quickened his horse to an 
 equal pace. Ichabod pulled up, and fell into a walk, 
 thinking to lag behind, — the other did the same. His 
 heart began to sink within him ; he endeavored to 
 resume his psalm tune, but his parched tongue clove 
 to the roof of his mouth, and he could not utter a 
 stave. There was something in the moody and dogged 
 silence of this pertinacious companion that was mys- 
 terious and appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted 
 for. On mounting a rising ground, which brought the 
 figure of his fellow-traveller in relief against the sky, 
 gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod 
 was horror-struck on perceiving that he was headless ! 
 but his horror was still more increased on observing 
 that the head, which should have rested on his shoul- 
 ders, was carried before him on the pommel of his 
 saddle ! His terror rose to desperation ; he rained a 
 shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, hoping 
 
THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 51 
 
 by a sudden movement to give his companion the 
 slip ; but the spectre started full jump with him. Away, 
 then, they dashed through thick and thin ; stones fly- 
 ing and sparks flashing at every bound. Ichabod's 
 flimsy garments fluttered in the air, as he stretched 
 his long lank body away over his horse's head, in the 
 eagerness o£ his flight. 
 
 They had now reached the road which turns off to 
 Sleepy Hollow ; but Gunpowder, who seemed pos- 
 sessed with a demon, instead of keeping up it, made 
 an opposite turn, and plunged headlong down hill to 
 the left. This road leads through a sandy hollow, 
 shaded by trees for about a quarter of a mile, where 
 it crosses the bridge famous in goblin story ; and just 
 beyond swells the green knoll on which stands the 
 whitewashed church. 
 
 As yet the panic of the steed had given his unskil- 
 ful rider an apparent advantage in the chase ; but 
 just as he had got half way through the hollow, the 
 girths of the saddle gave way, and he felt it slipping 
 from under him. He seized it by the pommel, and en- 
 deavored to hold it firm, but in vain; and had just 
 time to save himself by clasping old Gunpowder round 
 the neck, when the saddle fell to the earth, and he 
 heard it trampled under foot by his pursuer. For a 
 moment the terror of Hans Van Ripper's wrath passed 
 across his mind, — for it was his Sunday saddle ; but 
 this was no time for petty fears; the goblin was hard 
 on his haunches;, and (unskilful rider that he was!) 
 he had much ado to maintain his seat ; sometimes 
 slipping on one side, sometimes on another, and some- 
 times jolted on the high ridge of his horse's backbone, 
 with a violence that he verily feared would cleave 
 him asunder. 
 
58 THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 
 
 An opening in the trees now cheered him with the 
 hopes that the church bridge was at hand. The wav- 
 ering reflection of a silver star in the bosom of the 
 brook told him that he was not mistaken. He saw 
 the walls of the church dimly glaring under the trees 
 beyond. "If I can but reach that bridge," ^ thought 
 Ichabod, " I am safe." Just then he heard the black 
 steed panting and blowing close behind him ; he even 
 fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another convulsive 
 kick in the ribs, and old Gunpowder sprang upon the 
 bridge ; he thundered over the resounding planks ; he 
 gained the opposite side ; and now Ichabod cast a look 
 behind to see if his pursuer should vanish, according 
 to rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone. Just then he 
 saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very 
 act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavored 
 to dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It encoun- 
 tered his cranium with a tremendous crash, — he was 
 tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder, the 
 black steed, and the goblin rider, passed by like a 
 whirlwind. 
 
 The next morning the old horse was found without 
 his saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly 
 cropping the grass at his master's gate. Ichabod did 
 not make his appearance at breakfast ; dinner-hour 
 came, but no Ichabod. The boys assembled at the 
 schoolhouse, and strolled idly about the banks of the 
 
 ^ It was a superstitious belief that witches could not cross the 
 middle of a stream. In Burns's tale of Tarn O'Shanter the hero 
 is represented as urging his horse to gain the keystone of the 
 bridge so as to escape the hotly pursuing witches : — 
 
 " Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
 And win the keystane of the brig ; 
 There at them thou thy tail may toss, — 
 A running stream they dare not cross 1 " 
 
THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 59 
 
 brook ; but no schoolmaster. Hans Van Ripper now 
 began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor 
 Ichabod, and his saddle. An inquiry was set on foot, 
 and after diligent investigation they came upon his 
 traces. In one part of the road leading to the church 
 was found the saddle trampled in the dirt ; the tracks 
 of horses' hoofs deeply dented in the road, and evi- 
 dently at furious speed, were traced to the bridge, be- 
 yond which, on the bank of a broad part of the brook, 
 where the water ran deep and black, was found the 
 hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close beside it a 
 shattered pumpkin. 
 
 The brook was searched, but the body of the school- 
 master was not to be discovered. Hans Van R,ij)per, 
 as executor of his estate, examined the bundle which 
 contained all his worldly effects. They consisted of 
 two shirts and a half ; two stocks for the neck ; a pair 
 or two of worsted stockings ; an old pair of corduroy 
 small-clothes ; a rusty razor ; a book of psalm tunes 
 full of dog's-ears ; and a broken pitch-pipe. Whatever 
 money the schoolmaster possessed, and he had received 
 his quarter's pay but a day or two before, he must 
 have had about his person at the time of his disap- 
 pearance. 
 
 The mysterious event caused much speculation at 
 the church on the following Sunday. Knots of gazers 
 and gossips were collected in the churchyard, at the 
 bridge, and at the spot where the hat and pumpkin 
 had been found. As he was a bachelor, and in no- 
 body's debt, nobody troubled his head any more about 
 him; the school was removed to a different quarter of 
 the Hollow, and another pedagogue reigned in his 
 stead. 
 
 It is true, an old farmer, who had been down to 
 
60 THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 
 
 New York on a visit several years after, and from 
 whom this account of the ghostly adventure was re- 
 ceived, brought home the intelligence that Ichabod 
 Crane was still alive ; that he had left the neighbor- 
 hood partly through fear of the goblin and Hans Van 
 Ripper, and partly in mortification at having been sud- 
 denly dismissed by the heiress; that he had changed 
 his quarters to a distant part of the country ; had kept 
 school and studied law at the same time; had been 
 admitted to the bar ; turned politician ; electioneered ; 
 written for the newspapers ; and finally had been 
 made a justice of the ten pound court.^ Brom Bones, 
 too, who, shortly after his rival's disappearance, con- 
 ducted the blooming Katrina in triumph to the altar, 
 was observed to look exceedingly knowing whenever 
 the story of Ichabod was related, and always burst 
 into a hearty laugh at the mention of the pumpkin; 
 which led some to suspect that he knew more about 
 the matter than he chose to tell. 
 
 The old country wives, however, who are the best 
 judges of these matters, maintain to this day that 
 Ichabod was spirited away by supernatural means ; 
 and it is a favorite story often told about the neigh- 
 borhood round the winter evening fire. The school- 
 house being deserted soon fell to decay, and was re- 
 ported to be haunted by the ghost of the unfortunate 
 pedagogue ; and the plough-boy, loitering homeward 
 of a still summer evening, has often fancied his voice 
 at a distance, chanting a melancholy psalm tune 
 among the tranquil solitudes of Sleepy Hollow. 
 
 ^ A court of justice authorized to deal with cases in which the 
 amount of money involved does not exceed ten pounds. 
 
KING ROBERT OF SICILY 61 
 
 KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 
 
 (From Tales of a Wayside Inn.) 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 Longfellow had written a number of these "Tales" when he de- 
 cided to group them as stories told by different travellers stopping at 
 a wayside inn. The poems in the group were widely different: some 
 were sa^jas (heroic songs) of the Northland, some were ballads of Eng- 
 land and Germany, some were romances of Italy and Spain ; and there 
 were besides a tale of the far Orient and one of our own Revolutionary 
 days. So Longfellow laid the scene of the story-telling in an old inn 
 at Sudbury, Massachusetts, and then, in imagination, gathered there, 
 besides the Landlord of the inn, " a Student of old books and days," 
 a young Sicilian, a Spanish Jew, a Theologian, a Poet, and a Musician. 
 Before the blazing fire of the inn parlor each in turn tells a tale. It is 
 the Sicilian who gives the story of King Robert of Sicily. 
 
 The scheme of the story-telling was not a new one. The great poet 
 Chaucer, who lived in England in the thirteenth century, had used the 
 same device for his Canterbury Tales., and Chaucer had copied the plan 
 from an Italian poem, the Gesta Itomanorum (" Deeds of the Romans"). 
 Many poets since have similarly grouped into one long poem a number 
 of separate tales. 
 
 Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 
 And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,^ 
 Apparelled in magnificent attire, 
 With retinue of many a knight and squire, 
 On St, John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat 
 And heard the priest chant the Magnificat.^ 
 And as ho listened, o'er and o'er again 
 
 ^ Allemaine is Germany. The Germans living on the borders 
 of the Rhine were formerly called Alemauni by their Gallic 
 neighbors, and to-day the French name for Germany is AUe- 
 niagne. 
 
 * The Magnificat is the song of rejoicing by the Virgin Mary 
 when receiving the visit of Elizabeth. See St. Luke's Gospel, 
 chapter i. In the Roman Catholic service the Latin words of 
 the song at Its beginning are Magnijicat anima mea Dominum. 
 
62 KING ROBERT OF SICILY 
 
 Repeated, like a burden or refrain, 
 
 He caught the words, " Deposuit potentes 
 
 De sede, et exaltavit huTuiles ; " 
 
 And slowly lifting up his kingly head, 
 
 He to a learned clerk beside him said, 
 
 " What mean these words ? " The clerk made answer 
 meet, 
 
 " He has put down the mighty from their seat, 
 And has exalted them of low degree." 
 Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, 
 
 " 'T is well that such seditious words are sung 
 Only by priests and in the Latin tongue ; 
 For unto priests and people be it known. 
 There is no power can push me from my throne ! " 
 And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep, 
 Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. 
 When he awoke, it was already night ; 
 The church was empty, and there was no light. 
 Save where the lamps, that ghmmered few and 
 
 faint. 
 Lighted a little space before some saint. 
 He started from his seat and gazed around. 
 But saw no living thing and heard no sound. 
 He groped towards the door, but it was locked ; 
 He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, 
 And uttered awful threatenings and complaints. 
 And imprecations upon men and saints. 
 The sounds reechoed from the roof and walls 
 As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls. 
 
 At length the sexton, hearing from without 
 The tumult of the knocking and the shout, 
 And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer, 
 
KING ROBERT OF SICILY 63 
 
 Came with his hinteru, asking, " Who is there ? " 
 Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said, 
 " Open : 't is I, the King ! Art thou afraid ? " 
 The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse, 
 " This is some drunken vagabond, or worse ! " 
 Turned the great key and flung the portal wide ; 
 A man rushed by him at a single stride, 
 Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak, 
 Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke, 
 But leaped into the blackness of the night, 
 And vanished like a spectre from his sight. 
 
 Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 
 
 And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 
 
 Despoiled of his magnificent attire. 
 
 Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire, 
 
 With sense of wrong and outrage desperate. 
 
 Strode on and thundered at the palace gate ; 
 
 Rushed through the courtyard, thrusting in his 
 
 rage 
 To right and left each seneschal and page. 
 And hurried up the broad and sounding stair. 
 His white face ghastly in the torches' glare. 
 From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed ; 
 Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed, 
 Until at last he reached the banquet-room, 
 Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume. 
 
 There on the dais sat another king. 
 Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring, 
 King Robert's self in features, form, and height, 
 But all transfigured with angelic light ! 
 It was an Angel ; and his presence there 
 
64 KING ROBERT OF SICILY 
 
 With a divine effulgence filled the air, 
 An exaltation, piercing the disguise, 
 Though none the hidden Angel recognize. 
 
 A moment speechless, motionless, amazed. 
 
 The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed, 
 
 Who met his look of anger and surprise 
 
 With the divine compassion of his eyes ; 
 
 Then said, " Who art thou ? and why com'st thou 
 
 here ? " 
 To which King Robert answered with a sneer, 
 " I am the King, and come to claim my own 
 From an impostor, who usurps my throne ! " 
 And suddenly, at these audacious words. 
 Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords ; 
 The Angel answered, with unruffled brow, 
 " Nay, not the King, but the King's Jester,* thou 
 Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape, 
 And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape ; 
 Thou shalt obey my servants when they call, 
 And wait upon my henchmen in the hall ! " 
 
 Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers, 
 
 Tbey thrust him from the hall and down the stairs ; 
 
 A group of tittering pages ran before. 
 
 And as they opened wide the folding-door, 
 
 His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms, 
 
 ^ The king^s jester was one of the persons about the king 
 who made sport for the court. He was dressed in a motley garb, 
 which has passed down with changes to that of the modern 
 circus clown. The jester, or fool, plays a conspicuous part in 
 Shakespeare's plays. Scott describes one in the character of 
 Wamba in Ivanhoe. 
 
KING ROBERT OF SICILY 66 
 
 The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms, 
 
 And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring 
 
 With the mock plaudits of " Long live the King ! " 
 
 Next morning, waking with the day's first beam, 
 He said within himself, " It was a dream ! " 
 But the straw rustled as he turned his head ; 
 There were the cap and bells beside his bed; 
 Around him rose the bare, discolored walls ; 
 Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls, 
 And in the corner, a revolting shape. 
 Shivering and chattering sat the wretched ape. 
 It was no dream ; the world he loved so much 
 Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch ! 
 
 Days came and went ; and now returned again 
 
 To Sicily the old Saturnian reign ; ^ 
 
 Under the Angel's governance benign 
 
 The happy island danced with corn and wine, 
 
 And deep within the mountain's burning breast 
 
 Enceladus, the giant, was at rest.^ 
 
 Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate, 
 
 Sidlen and silent and disconsolate. 
 
 Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear, 
 
 With look bewildered and a vacant stare. 
 
 Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn. 
 
 By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn, 
 
 * The fabled reign of the god Saturn was often called " the 
 golden age." 
 
 ' Eticeladus waa a hundred-armed giant, who made war on 
 the gods, was killed by Zeus, and buried under Etna. An old 
 myth attributes the eruptious of Etna to his restlessness. 
 
66 KING ROBERT OF SICILY 
 
 His only friend the ape, his only food 
 
 What others left, — he still was unsubdued. 
 
 And when the Angel met him on his way. 
 
 And half in earnest, half in jest, would say. 
 
 Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel 
 
 The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel, 
 
 " Art thou the King ? " the passion of his woe 
 
 Burst from him in resistless overflow, 
 
 And, lifting high his forehead, he would fling 
 
 The haughty answer back, " I am, I am the King ! " 
 
 Almost three years were ended ; when there came 
 
 Ambassadors of great repute and name 
 
 From Valmond, Emperor of AUemaine, 
 
 Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane 
 
 By letter summoned them forthwith to come 
 
 On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. 
 
 The Angel with great joy received his guests, 
 
 And gave them presents of embroidered vests, 
 
 And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined. 
 
 And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. 
 
 Then he departed with them o'er the sea 
 
 Into the lovely land of Italy, 
 
 Whose loveliness was more resplendent made 
 
 By the mere passing of that cavalcade. 
 
 With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir 
 
 Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur. 
 
 And lo ! among the menials, in mock state, 
 
 Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait. 
 
 His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind. 
 
 The solemn ape demurely perched behind. 
 
 King Robert rode, making huge merriment 
 
 In all the country towns through which they went. 
 
KING ROBERT OF SICILY 67 
 
 The Pope received them with great pomp and blare 
 
 Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's square, 
 
 Giving his benediction and embrace, 
 
 Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. 
 
 While with congratulations and with prayers 
 
 He entertained the Angel unawares, 
 
 Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd, 
 
 Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud, 
 
 " I am the King ! Look, and behold in me 
 
 Robert, your brother, King of Sicily ! 
 
 This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes, 
 
 Is an impostor in a king's disguise. 
 
 Do you not know me ? does no voice within 
 
 Answer my cry, and say we are akin? " 
 
 The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien, 
 
 Gazed at the Angel's countenauce serene; 
 
 The Emperor, laughing, said, " It is strange sport 
 
 To keep a madman for thy Fool at court ! " 
 
 And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace 
 
 Was hustled back among the populace. 
 
 In solemn state the Holy Week went by. 
 
 And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky ; 
 
 The presence of the Angel, with its light. 
 
 Before the sun rose, made the city briglit, 
 
 And with new fervor filled the hearts of men. 
 
 Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again. 
 
 Even the Jester, on his bed of straw. 
 
 With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw, 
 
 He felt within a power unfelt before, 
 
 And, kneeling humbly on his chamber-floor. 
 
 He heard the rushing garments of the Lord 
 
 Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward. 
 
68 KING ROBERT OF SICILY 
 
 And now the visit ending, and once more 
 
 Valmond returning to the Danube's shore, 
 
 Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again 
 
 The land was made resplendent with his train, 
 
 Flashing along the towns of Italy 
 
 Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea. 
 
 And when once more within Palermo's wall, 
 
 And, seated on the throne in his great hall. 
 
 He heard the Angelus from convent towers,* 
 
 As if the better world conversed with ours, 
 
 He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher. 
 
 And with a gesture bade the rest retire ; 
 
 And when they were alone, the Angel said, 
 
 " Art thou the King ? " Then, bowing down his head. 
 
 King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast, 
 
 And meekly answered him : " Thou knowest best ! 
 
 My sins as scarlet are ; let me go hence. 
 
 And in some cloister's school of penitence. 
 
 Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven, 
 
 Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven ! " 
 
 The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face 
 A holy light illumined all the place. 
 And through the open window, loud and clear. 
 They heard the monks chant in the chapel near, 
 Above the stir and tumult of the street : 
 
 * The Angelus or Angelus Domini is a prayer to the Virgin, 
 instituted by Pope Urban II. It begins with the words Ange- 
 lus Domini nuntiavit Mariae (the angel of the Lord announced 
 to Mary). Then follows the salutation of Gabriel, Ave Maria 
 (Hail, Mary). The prayer is recited three times a day at the 
 sound of a bell, which is therefore called the Angelus bell. Note 
 line 49 of Evangeline, and recall also the well-known picture en- 
 titled The Angelus by the French painter, Jean Francois Millet. 
 
THOSE EVENING BELLS 69 
 
 " He has put down the mighty from their seat, 
 And has exalted them of low degree ! " 
 And through the chant a second melody 
 Rose like the throbbing of a single string : 
 " I am an Angel, and thou art the King ! " 
 
 King Robert, who was standing near the throne, 
 
 Lifted his eyes, and lo ! he was alone ! 
 
 But all apparelled as in days of old, 
 
 With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold ; 
 
 And when his courtiers came, they found him there 
 
 Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer. 
 
 THOSE EVENING BELLS. 
 
 Thomas Moobe. 
 
 Those evening bells ! those evening bells ! 
 How many a tale their music tells. 
 Of youth, and home, and that sweet time 
 When last I heard their soothing chime ! 
 
 Those joyous hours are passed away ; 
 And many a heart, that then was gay. 
 Within the tomb now darkly dwells. 
 And hears no more those evening bells. 
 
 And 80 't will be when I am gone ; 
 That tuneful peal will still ring on. 
 While other bards shall walk these dells, 
 And sing your praise, sweet evening bells ! 
 
70 THE ARROW AND THE SONG 
 
 THE ARROW AND THE SONG. 
 
 Henby Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 " October 16, 1845. Before church, wrote The Arrow and the Song, 
 which came into my mind as I stood with my back to the fire, and 
 glanced on to the paper with arrow's speed. Literally an improvisa- 
 tion." — Diary of H. W. Longfellow. 
 
 I SHOT an arrow into the air, 
 It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
 For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
 Could not follow it in its flight. 
 
 I breathed a song into the air, 
 It fell to earth, I knew not where , 
 For who has sight so keen and strong, 
 That it can follow the flight of song? 
 
 Long, long afterwards, in an oak 
 I found the arrow, still unbroke ; 
 And the song, from beginning to end, 
 I found again in the heart of a friendo 
 
THE RAINY DAY 71 
 
 THE RAINY DAY. 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 The day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
 It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
 The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, 
 But at every gust the dead leaves fall, 
 And the day is dark and dreary. 
 
 My life is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
 It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
 My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, 
 But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, 
 And the days are dark and dreary. 
 
 Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; 
 Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; 
 Thy fate is the common fate of all. 
 Into each life some rain must fall. 
 Some days must be dark and dreary. 
 
72 ALADDIN 
 
 ALADDIN. 
 
 James Russell Lowbli,. 
 
 When I was a beggarly boy, 
 
 And lived in a cellar damp, 
 I had not a friend nor a toy, 
 
 But I had Aladdin's lamp ; 
 When I could not sleep for the cold, 
 
 I had fire enough in my brain. 
 And builded, with roofs of gold, 
 
 My beautiful castles in Spain ! 
 
 Since then I have toiled day and night, 
 
 I have money and power good store. 
 But I 'd give all my lamps of silver bright. 
 
 For the one that is mine no more ; 
 Take, Fortune, whatever you choose, 
 
 You gave, and may snatch again ; 
 I have nothing 't would pain me to lose, 
 
 For I own no more castles in Spain I 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 73 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 Charles Dickens. 
 
 Dickens's Carol is a story of goodwill to men. The chief character 
 is old Scrooge, a miserly London raierchant — a "grasping, scraping, 
 clutching, covetous old sinner!" we are told. One Christmas Eve 
 Scrooge was warned by the ghost of his late partner, Joseph Marley, 
 that if his spirit did not go forth in life'to share in the joys and sorrows 
 of his fellowmen, it must wander lonely forever after death. On the 
 next three nights, said Marley's ghost, Scrooge should be visited in 
 turn by three Spirits — the Ghosts of Christmas Present, of Cliristmas 
 Past, and of Christmas Yet to Come. And so it happened. The first 
 spirit led him back into the scenes of his childhood, making him 
 realize the difference between the old miser and the boy he used to be. 
 The third spirit revealed the happiness in store for others and the mis- 
 erable end that might be his own fate. Needless to say, he was both 
 frightened and reformed by these visions of his dreams, and henceforth 
 astonished both his clerks and his relatives by becoming kind and 
 generous. 
 
 STAVE THREE. 
 
 THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS. 
 
 Awaking in the middle of a prodigiously tough 
 snore, and sitting up in bed to get his thoughts to- 
 gether, Scrooge had no occasion to be told that the 
 bell was again upon the stroke of One. He felt that 
 he was restored to consciousness in the right nick of 
 time, for the especial purpose of holding a conference 
 with the second messenger dispatched to him through 
 Jacob Marley's intervention. But, finding that he 
 turned uncomfortably cold when he began to wonder 
 which of his curtains this new spectre would draw 
 back, he put them every one aside with his own hands, 
 and, lying down again, established a sharp lookout all 
 
74 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 round the bed. For he wished to challenge the Spirit 
 on the moment of its appearance, and did not wish to 
 be taken by surprise, and made nervous. 
 
 Gentlemen of the free-and-easy sort, who plume 
 themselves on being acquainted with a move or two, 
 and being usually equal to the time of day, express 
 the wide range of their capacity for adventure by ob- 
 serving that they are good for anything from pitch- 
 and-toss to manslaughter; between which opposite 
 extremes, no doubt, there lies a tolerably wide and 
 comprehensive range of subjects. Without venturing 
 for Scrooge quite as hardily as this, I don't mind 
 calling on you to believe that he was ready for a good 
 broad field of strange appearances, and that nothing 
 between a baby and a rhinoceros would have aston- 
 ished him very much. 
 
 Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was 
 not by any means prepared for nothing ; and, conse- 
 quently, when the bell struck One, and no shape ap- 
 peared, he was taken with a violent fit of trembling. 
 Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went 
 by, yet nothing came. All this time he lay upon his 
 bed, the very core and centre of a blaze of ruddy light, 
 which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed 
 the hour ; and which, being only light, was more 
 alarming than a dozen ghosts, as he was powerless to 
 make out what it meant, or would be at; and was 
 sometimes apprehensive that he might be at that very 
 moment an interesting cast of spontaneous combus- 
 tion, without having the consolation of knowing it. 
 At last, however, he began to think, — as you or I 
 would have thought at first ; for it is always the per- 
 son not in the predicament who knows what ought to 
 have been done in it, and would unquestionably have 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 75 
 
 done it too, — at last, I say, he began to think that 
 the source and secret of this ghostly light might be in 
 the adjoining room, from whence, on further tracing 
 it, it seemed to shine. This idea taking full posses- 
 sion of his mind, he got up softly, and shuffled in his 
 slljipers to the door. 
 
 The moment Scrooge's hand was on the lock, a 
 strange voice called him by his name, and bade him 
 enter. He obeyed. 
 
 It was his own room. There was no doubt about 
 that. But it had undergone a surprising transforma- 
 tion. The walls and ceiling were so hung with living 
 green that it looked a perfect grove ; from every part 
 of which bright, gleaming berries glistened. The 
 crisp leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back 
 the light, as if so many little mirrors had been scat- 
 tered there ; and such a mighty blaze went roaring up 
 the chimney, as that dull petrifaction of a hearth had 
 never known in Scrooge's time, or Marley's, or for 
 many and many a winter season gone. Heaped up 
 on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, 
 geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, 
 sucking pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, 
 plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, 
 cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, 
 immense twelfth-cakes,^ and seething bowls of punch, 
 that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam. 
 
 ^ Twelfth-cakes. Twelfth Day, or the Epiphany, twelve days 
 after Christmas, was celebrated as the manifestation of Christ 
 to the Gentiles, particularly to the Three Wise Men. In its 
 more recent celebration, cakes are made with a bean inside, and 
 whoever cuts the piece containing it is called King of the Bean, 
 or of Twelfth Night. The choice of a king by beans was also 
 made by children during the Roman Saturnalia. 
 
76 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 In easy state upon this coucli, there sat a jolly Giant,^ 
 glorious to see ; who bore a glowing torch, in shape 
 not unlike Plenty's horn, and held it up, high up, to 
 shed its light on Scrooge, as he came peeping round 
 the door. 
 
 "Come in!" exclaimed the Ghost, — "come in! 
 and know me better, man ! " 
 
 Scrooge entered timidly, and hung his head before 
 this Spirit. He was not the dogged Scrooge he had 
 been ; and though the Spirit's eyes were clear and 
 kind, he did not like to meet them. 
 
 " I am the Ghost of Christmas Present," said the 
 Spirit. " Look upon me ! " 
 
 Scrooge reverently did so. It was clothed in one 
 simple, deep green robe, or mantle, bordered with 
 white fur. This garment hung so loosely on the fig- 
 ure that its capacious breast was bare, as if disdain- 
 ing to be warded or concealed by any artifice. Its 
 feet, observable beneath the ample folds of the gar- 
 ment, were also bare ; and on its head it wore no 
 other covering than a holly wreath, set here and there 
 with shining icicles. Its dark brown curls were long 
 and free ; free as its genial face, its sparkling eye, its 
 open hand, its cheery voice, its unconstrained de- 
 meanor, and its joyful air. Girded round its middle 
 was an antique scabbard ; but no sword was in it, and 
 the ancient sheath was eaten up with rust. 
 
 1 Giant. This is a description of Santa Claus, the Dutch name 
 of Saint Nicholas, the patron saint of children. The custom, 
 in some European countries and in America, of children's hang- 
 ing up their stockings for Santa Claus to fill with presents is 
 derived from a story that this saint threw into an open window, 
 on three different nights, a purse of gold as a marriage portion 
 for each of the three daughters of a poor nobleman. 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 77 
 
 " You have never seen the like of me before ! " ex- 
 claimed the Spirit. 
 
 " Never," Scrooge made answer to it. 
 
 " Have never walked forth with the younger mem- 
 bers of my family ; meaning (for I am very young) 
 my elder brothers born in these later years ? " pursued 
 the Phantom. 
 
 " I don't think I have," said Scrooge. " I am 
 afraid I have not. Have you had many brothers, 
 Spirit?" 
 
 " More than eighteen hundred," said the Ghost. 
 
 "A tremendous family to provide for," muttered 
 Scrooge. 
 
 The Ghost of Christmas Present rose. 
 
 " Spirit," said Scrooge submissively, " conduct me 
 where you will. I went forth last night on compul- 
 sion, and I learnt a lesson which is working now. 
 To-night, if you have aught to teach me, let me profit 
 by it." 
 
 " Touch my robe ! " 
 
 Scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast. 
 
 Holly, mistletoe, red berries, ivy, turkeys, geese, 
 game, poultry, brawn, meat, pigs, sausages, oysters, 
 pies, puddings, fruit, and punch, all vanished in- 
 stantly. So did the room, the fire, the ruddy glow, 
 the hour of night ; and they stood in the city streets 
 on Christmas morning, where (for the weather was 
 severe) the people made a rough but brisk and not 
 unpleasant kind of music, in scraping the snow from 
 the pavement in front of their dwellings, and from the 
 tops of their houses, whence it was mad delight to 
 the boys to see it come plumping down into the road 
 below, and splitting into artificial little snow-storms. 
 
 The house fronts looked black enough, and the win- 
 
78 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 dows blacker, contrasting with the smooth white sheet 
 of snow upon the roofs, and with the dirtier snow 
 upon the ground ; which last deposit had been 
 ploughed up in deep furrows by the heavy wheels of 
 carts and wagons ; furrows that crossed and recrossed 
 each other hundreds of times where the great streets 
 branched off ; and made intricate channels, hard to 
 trace, in the thick yellow mud and icy water. The 
 sky was gloomy, and the shortest streets were choked 
 up with a dingy mist, half thawed, half frozen, whose 
 heavier particles descended in a shower of sooty 
 atoms, as if all the chimneys in Great Britain had, 
 by one consent, caught fire, and were blazing away to 
 their dear hearts' content. There was nothing very 
 cheerful in the climate or the town, and yet was there 
 an air of cheerfulness abroad that the clearest sum- 
 mer air and brightest summer sun might have en- 
 deavored to diffuse in vain. 
 
 For the people who were shovelling away on the 
 house-tops were jovial and full of glee, calling out to 
 one another from the parapets, and now and then 
 exchanging a facetious snowball, — better-natured 
 missile far than many a wordy jest, — laughing heart- 
 ily if it went right, and not less heartily if it went 
 wrong. The poulterers' shops were still half open, 
 and the fruiterers' were radiant in their glory. There 
 were great, round, pot-bellied baskets of chestnuts, 
 shaped like the waistcoats of jolly old gentlemen, loll- 
 ing at the doors, and tumbling out into the street in 
 their apoplectic opulence. There were ruddy, brown- 
 faced, broad-girthed Spanish onions, shining in the 
 fatness of their growth like Spanish friars, and wink- 
 ing from their shelves in wanton slyness at the girls 
 as they went by, and glanced demurely at the hung-up 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 79 
 
 mistletoe. There were pears and apples, clustered high 
 in blooming pyramids ; there were bunches of grapes, 
 made, in the shopkeepers' benevolence, to dangle from 
 conspicuous hooks, that people's mouths might water 
 gratis as they passed ; there were piles of filberts, 
 mossy and brown, recalling, in their fragrance, ancient 
 walks among the woods, and pleasant shufflings ankle 
 deep through withered leaves ; there were Norfolk bif- 
 fins, squab and swarthy, setting off the yellow of the 
 oranges and lemons, and, in the great compactness of 
 their juicy persons, urgently entreating and beseeching 
 to be carried home in paper bags and eaten after din- 
 ner. The very gold and silver fish, set forth among 
 these choice fruits In a bowl, though members of a 
 dull and stagnant-blooded race, appeared to know that 
 there was something going on ; and, to a fish, went 
 gasping round and round their little world in slow and 
 passionless excitement. 
 
 The grocers' ! oh, the grocers' I nearly closed, with 
 perhaps two shutters down, or one ; but through those 
 gaps such glimpses ! It was not alone that the scales 
 descending on the counter made a merry sound, or 
 that the twine and roller parted company so briskly, 
 or that the canisters were rattled up and down like 
 juggling tricks, or even that the blended scents of tea 
 and coffee were so grateful to the nose, or even that 
 the raisins were so plentiful and rare, the almonds so 
 extremely white, the sticks of cinnamon so long and 
 straight, the other spices so delicious, the candied 
 fruits so caked and spotted with molten sugar as 
 to make the coldest lookers-on feel faint, and subse- 
 quently bilious. Nor was it that the figs were moist 
 and pulpy, or that the French plums blushed in mod- 
 est tartness from their highly decorated boxes, or 
 
80 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 that everything was good to eat and in its Christmas 
 dress ; but the customers were all so hurried and so 
 eager in the hopeful promise of the day, that they 
 tumbled up against each other at the door, crashing 
 their wicker baskets wildly, and left their purchases 
 upon the counter, and came running back to fetch 
 them, and committed hundreds of the like mistakes, 
 in the best humor possible ; while the grocer and his 
 people were so frank and fresh that the polished hearts 
 with which they fastened their aprons behind might 
 have been their own, worn outside for general inspec- 
 tion, and for Christmas daws to peck at, if they chose. 
 
 But soon the steeples called good people all to 
 church and chapel, and away they came, flocking 
 through the streets in their best clothes, and with 
 their gayest faces. And at the same time there 
 emerged from scores of by-streets, lanes, and name- 
 less turnings innumerable people, carrying their din- 
 ners to the bakers' shops. The sight of these poor 
 revellers appeared to interest the Spirit very much, 
 for he stood, with Scrooge beside him, in a baker's 
 doorway, and, taking off the covers as their bearers 
 passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from his 
 torch. And it was a very uncommon kind of torch, 
 for once or twice when there were angry words be- 
 tween some dinner-carriers who had jostled each other, 
 he shed a few drops of water on them from it, and 
 their good humor was restored directly. For they said, 
 it was a shame to quarrel upon Christmas Day. And 
 so it was ! God love it, so it was ! 
 
 In time the bells ceased, and the bakers were shut 
 up ; and yet there was a genial shadowing forth of 
 all these dinners, and the progress of their cooking, 
 in the thawed blotch of wet above each baker's oven, 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 81 
 
 where the pavement smoked as if its stones were cook- 
 ing too. 
 
 " Is there a peculiar flavor in what you sprinkle 
 from your torch ? " asked Scrooge. 
 
 " There is. My own." 
 
 " Would it apply to any kind of dinner on this 
 day? " asked Scrooge. 
 
 " To any kindly given. To a poor one most." 
 
 " Why to a poor one most ? " asked Scrooge. 
 
 " Because it needs it most." 
 
 " Spirit," said Scrooge, after a mementos thought, 
 " I wonder you, of all the beings in the many worlds 
 about us, should desire to cramp these people's oppor- 
 tunities of innocent enjoyment." 
 
 " I ! " cried the Spirit. 
 
 " You would deprive them of their means of dining 
 every seventh day, often the only day on which they 
 can be said to dine at all," said Scrooge: "would n't 
 you?" 
 
 " I ! " cried the Spirit. 
 
 "You seek to close these places on the Seventh 
 Day," said Scrooge. " And it comes to the same 
 thing." 
 
 " /seek ! " exclaimed the Spirit. 
 
 " Forgive me if I am wrong. It has been done in 
 your name, or at least in that of your family," said 
 Scrooge. 
 
 " There are some upon this earth of yours," returned 
 the Spirit, " who lay claim to know us, and who do 
 their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, 
 bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as 
 strange to us, and all our kith and kin, as if they had 
 never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings 
 on themselves, not us." 
 
82 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 Scrooge promised that lie would ; and they went 
 on, invisible, as they had been before, into the sub- 
 urbs of the town. It was a remarkable quality of the 
 Ghost (which Scrooge had observed at the baker's), 
 that notwithstanding his gigantic size, he could ac- 
 commodate himself to any place with ease ; and that 
 he stood beneath a low roof quite as gracefully, and 
 like a supernatural creature, as it was possible he could 
 have done in any lofty hall. 
 
 And perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit 
 had in showing off this power of his, or else it was 
 his own kind, generous, hearty nature, and his sym- 
 pathy with all poor men, that led him straight to 
 Scrooge's clerk's ; for there he went, and took 
 Scrooge with him, holding to his robe ; and on the 
 threshold of the door the Spirit smiled, and stopped 
 to bless Bob Cratchit's dwelling with the sprinklings 
 of his torch. Think of that ! Bob had but fifteen 
 " Bob " ^ a week himself ; he pocketed on Saturdays 
 but fifteen copies of his Christian name ; and yet the 
 Ghost of Christmas Present blessed his four-roomed 
 house ! 
 
 Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, 
 dressed out but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but 
 brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a goodly 
 show for sixpence ; and she laid the cloth, assisted by 
 Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave 
 in ribbons ; while Master Peter Cratchit plunged a 
 fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and getting the 
 corners of his monstrous shirt-collar (Bob's private 
 property, conferred upon his son and heir in honor 
 
 ^ " Bob." A cockney or slang word for a shilling. A cockney 
 is a man born in the City of London, or within the sound of Bow 
 Bells. 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 83 
 
 of the day) into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so 
 gallantly attired, and yearned to show his linen in the 
 fashionable Parks. And now two smaller Cratchits, 
 boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside 
 the baker's they had smelt the goose, and known it 
 for their own ; and, basking in luxurious thoughts of 
 sage and onion, these young Cratchits danced about 
 the table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the 
 skies, while he (not proud, although his collars nearly 
 choked him) blew the fire, until the slow potatoes, 
 bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan lid to 
 be let out and peeled. 
 
 " What has ever got your precious father, then ? " 
 said Mrs. Cratchit. " And your brother, Tiny Tim ? 
 And Martha warn't as late last Christmas Day by 
 half an hour ! " 
 
 " Here 's Martha, mother," said a girl, appearing 
 as she spoke. 
 
 " Here 's Martha, mother ! " cried the two young 
 Cratchits. " Hurrah ! There 's such a goose, Mar- 
 tha!" 
 
 " Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late 
 you are ! " said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen 
 times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet for her 
 with officious zeal. 
 
 " We 'd a deal of work to finish up last night," re- 
 plied the girl, " and had to clear away this morning, 
 mother ! " 
 
 " Well ! Never mind so long as you are come," 
 said Mrs. Cratchit. " Sit yo down before the fire, 
 my dear, and have a warm. Lord bless ye ! " 
 
 " No, no ! There 's father coming," cried the two 
 young Cratchits, who were everywhere at once. 
 " Hide, Martha, hide ! " 
 
84 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the 
 father, with at least three feet of comforter, exclu- 
 sive of the fringe, hanging down before him ; and his 
 threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to look 
 seasonable ; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas 
 for Tiny Tim, he bore a little crutch, and had his 
 limbs supported by an iron frame ! 
 
 " Why, where 's our Martha? " cried Bob Cratchit, 
 looking round. 
 
 " Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit. 
 
 " Not coming ! " said Bob, with a sudden declension 
 in his high spirits ; for he had been Tim's blood horse 
 all the way from church, and had come home ram- 
 pant. " Not coming upon Christmas Day ! " 
 
 Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it 
 were only in joke ; so she came out prematurely from 
 behind the closet door, and ran into his arms, while 
 the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore 
 him off into the wash-house, that he might hear the 
 pudding singing in the copper. 
 
 " And how did little Tim behave ? " asked Mrs. 
 Cratchit, when she had rallied Bob on his credulity, and 
 Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart's content. 
 
 " As good as gold," said Bob, " and better. Some- 
 how he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, 
 and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He 
 told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw 
 him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it 
 might be pleasant to them to remember, upon Christ- 
 mas Day, who made lame beggars walk and blind 
 men see." 
 
 Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, 
 and trembled more when he said that Tiny Tim was 
 growing strong and hearty. 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 85 
 
 His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, 
 and back came Tiny Tim before another word was 
 spoken, escorted by his brother and sister to his stool 
 beside the fire ; and while Bob, turning up his cuffs, 
 
 — as if, poor fellow, they were capable of being made 
 more shabby, — compounded some hot mixture in a 
 jug with gin and lemons, and stirred it round and 
 round, and put it on the hob to simmer. Master Peter 
 and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch 
 the goose, with which they soon returned in high pro- 
 cession. 
 
 Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought 
 a goose the rarest of all birds ; a feathered phenom- 
 enon, to which a black swan was a matter of course, 
 
 — and in truth it was something very like it in that 
 house. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready before- 
 hand in a little saucepan) hissing hot ; Master Peter 
 mashed the potatoes with incredible vigor ; Miss Be- 
 linda sweetened up the apple-sauce ; Martha dusted 
 the hot plates ; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a 
 tiny corner at the table ; the two young Cratchits set 
 chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and, 
 mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons 
 into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose 
 before their turn came to be helped. At last the 
 dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was suc- 
 ceeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, look- 
 ing slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to 
 plunge it in the breast ; but when she did, and when 
 the long-expected gush of stufSng issued forth, one 
 murmur of delight arose all round the board, and 
 even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, 
 beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and 
 feebly cried, " Hurrah I " 
 
86 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 There never was such a goose. Bob said lie did n't 
 believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its ten- 
 derness and flavor, size and cheapness, were the 
 themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple- 
 sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner 
 for the whole family ; indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said 
 with great delight (surveying one small atom of a 
 bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! 
 Yet every one had had enough, and the youngest 
 Cratchits in particular were steeped in sage and on- 
 ion to the eyebrows ! But now, the plates being 
 changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room 
 alone — too nervous to bear witnesses — to take the 
 pudding up, and bring it in. 
 
 Suppose it should not be done enough ! Suppose 
 it should break in turning out ! Suppose somebody 
 should have got over the wall of the back-yard, and 
 stolen it, while they were merry with the goose, — a 
 supposition at which the two young Cratchits became 
 livid ! All sorts of horrors were supposed. 
 
 Hallo ! A great deal of steam ! The pudding was 
 out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day! 
 That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house 
 and a pastry-cook's next door to each other, with a 
 laundress's next door to that ! That was the pud- 
 ding! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit entered — 
 flushed, but smiling proudly — with the pudding, like 
 a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in 
 half of half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight 
 with Christmas holly stuck into the top. 
 
 Oh, a wonderful pudding ! Bob Cratchit said, and 
 calmly, too, that he regarded it as the greatest suc- 
 cess achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage. 
 Mrs. Cratchit said that, now the weight was off her 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 87 
 
 mind, she would confess she had her doubts about 
 the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to 
 say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at 
 all a small pudding for a large family. It would 
 have been flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would 
 have blushed to hint at such a thing. 
 
 At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was 
 cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The 
 compound in the jug being tasted, and considered 
 perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, 
 and a shovelful of chestnuts on the fire. Then all 
 the Cratchit family drew round the hearth in what 
 Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one ; and 
 at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of 
 glass, — two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a 
 handle. 
 
 These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as 
 well as golden goblets would have done ; and Bob" 
 served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts 
 on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob 
 proposed : — 
 
 " A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God 
 bless us ! " 
 
 Which all the family reechoed. 
 
 " God bless us every one ! " said Tiny Tim, the last 
 of all. 
 
 He sat very close to his father's side, upon his little 
 stool. Bob held his withered little hand in his, as if 
 he loved the child, and wished to keep him by his side, 
 and dreaded that he might be taken from him. 
 
 " Spirit," said Scrooge, with an interest he had 
 never felt before, " tell me if Tiny Tim will live." 
 
 " I see a vacant seat," replied the Ghost, " in the 
 poor chimney-corner, and a crutch without an owner, 
 
88 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 carefully preserved'. If these shadows remain unal- 
 tered by the Future, the child will die." 
 
 " No, no," said Scrooge. " Oh, no, kind Spirit ! 
 say he will be spared." 
 
 " If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, 
 none other of my race," returned the Ghost, " will 
 find him here. What then ? If he be like to die, he 
 had better do it, and decrease the surplus population." 
 
 Scrooge hung his head to hear his own words quoted 
 by the Spirit, and was overcome with penitence and 
 grief. 
 
 " Man," said the Ghost, " if man you be in heart, 
 not adamant, forbear that wicked cant until you have 
 discovered what the surplus is, and where it is. 
 Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall 
 die ? It may be that in the sight of Heaven you are 
 more worthless and less fit to live than millions like 
 this poor man's child. O God ! to hear the insect on 
 the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his 
 hungry brothers in the dust ! " 
 
 Scrooge bent before the Ghost's rebuke, and, trem- 
 bling, cast his eyes upon the ground. But he raised 
 them speedily, on hearing his own name. 
 
 "Mr. Scrooge!" said Bob; "I'll give you Mr. 
 Scrooge, the Founder of the Feast ! " 
 
 " The Founder of the Feast, indeed ! " cried Mrs. 
 Cratchit, reddening. "I wish I had him here. I'd 
 give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I hope 
 he 'd have a good appetite for it." 
 
 " My dear," said Bob, " the children ! Christmas 
 Day." 
 
 " It should be Christmas Day, I am sure," said she, 
 " on which one drinks the health of such an odious, 
 stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge. You 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 89 
 
 know he is, Robert! Nobody knows it better than 
 you do, poor fellow ! " 
 
 " My dear," was Bob's mild answer, " Christmas 
 Day." 
 
 " I'll drink his health for your sake, and the day's," 
 said Mrs. Cratchit, " not for his. Long life to him ! 
 A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year ! He '11 
 be very merry and very happy, I have no doubt ! " 
 
 The children drank the toast after her. It was the 
 first of their proceedings which had no heartiness in 
 it. Tiny Tim drank it last of all, but he did n't care 
 twopence for it. Scrooge was the Ogre of the family. 
 The mention of his name cast a dark shadow on the 
 party, which was not dispelled for full five minutes. 
 
 After it had passed away, they were ten times mer- 
 rier than before, from the mere relief of Scrooge the 
 Baleful being done with. Bob Cratchit told them 
 how he had a situation in his eye for Master Peter, 
 which would bring in, if obtained, full five-and-six- 
 pence weekly. The two young Cratchits laughed tre- 
 mendously at the idea of Peter's being a man of busi- 
 ness ; and Peter himself looked thoughtfully at the 
 fire from between his collars, as if he were deliberat- 
 ing what particular investments he should favor when 
 he came into the receipt of that bewildering income. 
 Martha, who was a poor apprentice at a milliner's, 
 then told them what kind of work she had to do, and 
 how many hours she worked at a stretch, and how she 
 meant to lie abed to-morrow morning for a good, long 
 rest ; to-morrow being a holiday she passed at home. 
 Also how she had seen a countess and a lord some 
 days before, and how the lord " was much about as 
 tall as Peter ; " at which Peter pulled up his collars 
 so high that you could n't have seen his head if you 
 
90 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 had been there. All this time the chestnuts and the 
 jug went round and round ; and by and by they had 
 a song, about a lost child travelling in the snow, from 
 Tiny Tim, who had a plaintive little voice, and sang 
 it very well indeed. 
 
 There was nothing of high mark in this. They 
 were not a handsome family ; they were not well 
 dressed ; their shoes were far from being water-proof ; 
 their clothes were scanty ; and Peter might have 
 known, and very likely did, the inside of a pawn- 
 broker's. But they were happy, grateful, pleased 
 with one another, and contented with the time ; and 
 when they faded, and looked happier yet in the bright 
 sprinklings of the Spirit's torch at parting, Scrooge 
 had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny Tim, 
 until the last. 
 
 By this time it was getting dark, and snowing pretty 
 heavily ; and as Scrooge and the Spirit went along 
 the streets, the brightness of the roaring fires in 
 kitchens, parlors, and all sorts of rooms was wonder- 
 ful. Here, the flickering of the blaze showed pre- 
 parations for a cosey dinner, with hot plates baking 
 through and through before the fire, and deep red 
 curtains, ready to be drawn to shut out cold and dark- 
 ness. There, all the children of the house were run- 
 ning out into the snow to meet their married sisters, 
 brothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, and be the first to 
 greet them. Here, again, were shadows on the win- 
 dow blinds of guests assembling ; and there a group 
 of handsome girls, all hooded and fur-booted, and all 
 chattering at once, tripped lightly off to some near 
 neighbor's house, where, woe upon the single man who 
 saw them enter — artful witches I well they knew it 
 — in a glow. 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 91 
 
 But, if you had judged from the numbers of people 
 on their way to friendly gatherings, you might have 
 thought that no one was at home to give them wel- 
 come when they got there, instead of every house ex- 
 pecting company, and piling up its fires half -chimney 
 high. Blessings on it, how the Ghost exulted ! How 
 it bared its breadth of breast, and opened its capa- 
 cious j)alm, and floated on, outpouring, with a gener- 
 ous hand, its bright and harmless mirth on everything 
 within its reach ! The very lamplighter, who ran on 
 before, dotting the dusky street with specks of light, 
 and who was dressed to spend the evening somewhere, 
 laughed out loudly as the Spirit passed, though little 
 kenned the lamplighter that he had any company but 
 Christmas ! 
 
 And now, without a word of warning from the 
 Ghost, they stood upon a bleak and desert moor, 
 where monstrous masses of rude stone were cast 
 about, as though it were the burial- j^lace of giants ; 
 and water spread itself wheresoever it listed, or would 
 have done so, but for the frost that held it prisoner ; 
 and nothing grew but moss and furze, and coarse, 
 rank grass. Down in the west the setting sun had 
 left a streak of fiery red, which glared upon the deso- 
 lation for an instant, like a sullen eye, and, frowning 
 lower, lower, lower yet, was lost in the thick gloom 
 of darkest night. 
 
 " What place is this ?" asked Scrooge. 
 
 " A place where miners live, who labor in the bow- 
 els of the earth," returned the Spirit. " But they 
 know me. See ! " 
 
 A light shone from the window of a hut, and swiftly 
 they advanced towards it. Passing through the wall 
 of mud and stone, they found a cheerful company 
 
92 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 assembled round a glowing fire. An old, old man 
 and woman, with their children and their children's 
 children, and another generation beyond that, all 
 decked out gayly in their holiday attire. The old 
 man, in a voice that seldom rose above the howling of 
 the wind upon the barren waste, was singing them a 
 Christmas song, — it had been a very old song when 
 he was a boy, — and from time to time they all joined 
 in the chorus. So surely as they raised their voices, 
 the old man got quite blithe and loud ; and so surely 
 as they stopped, his vigor sank again. 
 
 The Spirit did not tarry here, but bade Scrooge 
 hold his robe, and, passing on above the moor, sped 
 — whither? Not to sea? To sea. To Scrooge's 
 horror, looking back, he saw the last of the land, a 
 frightful range of rocks, behind them ; and his ears 
 were deafened by the thundering of water, as it 
 rolled, and roared, and raged among the dreadful 
 caverns it had worn, and fiercely tried to undermine 
 the earth. 
 
 Built upon a dismal reef of sunken rocks, some 
 league or so from shore, on which the waters chafed 
 and dashed the wild year through, there stood a soli- 
 tary lighthouse. Great heaps of seaweed clung to its 
 base, and storm-birds — born of the wind, one might 
 suppose, as seaweed of the water — rose and fell about 
 it, like the waves they skimmed. 
 
 But even here, two men who watched the light had 
 made a fire, that through the loophole in the thick 
 stone wall shed out a ray of brightness on the awful 
 sea. Joining their horny hands over the rough table 
 at which they sat, they wished each other Merry 
 Christmas in their can of grog ; and one of them, the 
 elder, too, with his face all damaged and scarred with 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 93 
 
 hard weather, as the figure-head of an old ship might 
 be, struck up a sturdy song that was like a gale in 
 itself. 
 
 Again the Ghost sped on, above the black and heav- 
 ing sea, — on, on, — until, being far away, as he told 
 Scrooge, from any shore, they lighted on a ship. They 
 stood beside the helmsman at the wheel, the lookout 
 in tlie bow, the officers who had the watch ; dark, 
 ghostly figures in their several stations; but every 
 man among them hummed a Christmas tune, or had 
 a Christmas thought, or spoke below his breath to his 
 companion of some bygone Christmas Day, with home- 
 ward hopes belonging to it. And every man on board, 
 waking or sleeping, good or bad, had had a kinder 
 word for one another on that day than on any day in 
 the year ; and had shared to some extent in its festiv- 
 ities ; and had remembered those he cared for at a 
 distance, and had known that they delighted to remem- 
 ber him. 
 
 It was a great surprise to Scrooge, while listening 
 to the moaning of the wind, and thinking what a sol- 
 emn thing it was to move on through the lonely dark- 
 ness over an unknown abyss, whose depths were se- 
 crets as profound as death, — it was a great surprise 
 to Scrooge, while thus engaged, to hear a hearty 
 laugh. It was a much greater surprise to Scrooge to 
 recognize it as his own nephew's, and to find him- 
 self in a bright, dry, gleaming room, with the Spirit 
 standing smiling by his side, and looking at that same 
 nephew with approving affability ! 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " laughed Scrooge's nephew. " Ha, ha, 
 ha!" 
 
 If you should happen, by any unlikely chance, to 
 know a man more blest in a laugh than Scrooge's 
 
94 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 nephew, all I can say is, I should like to know him, 
 too. Introduce him to me, and I '11 cultivate his ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of 
 things, that, while there is infection in disease and 
 sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly 
 contagious as laughter and good humor. When 
 Scrooge's nephew laughed in this way, holding his 
 sides, rolling his head, and twisting his face into the 
 most extravagant contortions, Scrooge's niece, by 
 marriage, laughed as heartily as he. And their 
 assembled friends, being not a bit behindhand, roared 
 out lustily. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! Ha, ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 " He said that Christmas was a humbug, as I live ! " 
 cried Scrooge's nephew. " He believed it, too ! " 
 
 " More shame for him, Fred ! " said Scrooge's niece 
 indignantly. Bless those women ! they never do any- 
 thing by halves. They are always in earnest. 
 
 She was very pretty ; exceedingly pretty. With a 
 dimpled, surprised-looking, capital face ; a ripe little 
 mouth, that seemed made to be kissed, — as no doubt 
 it was ; all kinds of good little dots about her chin, 
 that melted into one another when she laughed ; and 
 the sunniest pair of eyes you ever saw in any little 
 creature's head. Altogether she was what you would 
 have called provoking, you know ; but satisfactory, 
 too. Oh, perfectly satisfactory! 
 
 " He 's a comical old fellow," said Scrooge's nephew, 
 "that's the truth; and not so pleasant as he might 
 be. However, his offences carry their own punishment, 
 and I have nothing to say against him." 
 
 " I 'm sure he is very rich, Fred," hinted Scrooge's 
 niece. " At least you always tell 7ne so." 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 95 
 
 " What of that, my dear?" said Scrooge's nephew. 
 *' II is wealth is of no use to him. He don't do any 
 ffood with it. He don't make himself comfortable 
 
 o 
 
 with it. He has n't the satisfaction of thinking — ha, 
 ha, ha ! — that he is ever going to benefit us with it." 
 
 " I have no patience with him," observed Scrooge's 
 niece. Scrooge's niece's sisters, and all the other 
 ladies, expressed the same opinion. 
 
 " Oh, I have ! " said Scrooge's nephew. " I am 
 sorry for him : I could n't be angry with him if I tried. 
 Who suffers by his ill whims? Himself, always. 
 Here, he takes it into his head to dislike us, and he 
 won't come and dine with us. What 's the conse- 
 quence? He don't lose much of a dinner." 
 
 " Indeed, I think he loses a very good dinner," 
 interrupted Scrooge's niece. Everybody else said the 
 same, and they must be allowed to have been compe- 
 tent judges, because they had just had dinner; and, 
 with the dessert upon the table, were clustered round 
 the fire, by lamplight. 
 
 " Well ! I am very glad to hear it," said Scrooge's 
 nephew, " because I have n't any great faith in these 
 young housekeepers. What do you say, Topper ? " 
 
 Topper had clearly got his eye upon one of Scrooge's 
 niece's sisters, for he answered that a bachelor was 
 a wretched outcast, who had no right to express an 
 opinion on the subject. Whereat Scrooge's niece's 
 sister — the plump one with the lace tucker, not the 
 one with the roses — blushed. 
 
 " Do go on, Fred," said Scrooge's niece, clapping 
 her hands. " He never finishes what he begins to say ! 
 He is such a ridiculous fellow ! " 
 
 Scrooge's nephew revelled in another laugh, and as 
 it was impossible to keep the infection off, though the 
 
96 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 plump sister tried hard to do it with aromatic vinegar, 
 his example was unanimously followed. 
 
 " I was only going to say," said Scrooge's nephew, 
 "that the consequence of his taking a dislike to us, 
 and not making merry with us, is, as I think, that he 
 loses some pleasant moments, which could do him no 
 harm. I am sure he loses pleasanter companions than 
 he can find in his own thoughts, either in his mouldy 
 old office or his dusty chambers. I mean to give him 
 ^the same chance every year, whether he likes it or not, 
 for I pity him. He may rail at Christmas till he dies, 
 but he can't help thinking better of it — I defy him 
 — if he finds me going there, in good temper, year 
 after year, and saying, ' Uncle Scrooge, how are 
 you ? ' If it only puts him in the vein to leave his poor 
 clerk fifty pounds, that 's something ; and I think I 
 shook him, yesterday." 
 
 It was their turn to laugh now, at the notion of his 
 shaking Scrooge. But being thoroughly good-natured, 
 and not much caring what they laughed at, so that 
 they laughed at any rate, he encouraged them in their 
 merriment, and passed the bottle joyously. 
 
 After tea, they had some music. For they were a 
 musical family, and knew what they were about, when 
 they sung a glee or catch, I can assure you : especially 
 Topper, who could growl away in the bass like a good 
 one, and never swell the large veins in his forehead, 
 or get red in the face over it. Scrooge's niece played 
 well upon the harp ; and played, among other tunes, a 
 simple little air (a mere nothing : you might learn to 
 whistle it in two minutes) which had been familiar 
 to the child who fetched Scrooge from the boarding- 
 school, as he had been reminded by the Ghost of 
 Christmas Past. When this strain of music sounded. 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 97 
 
 all the things that Ghost had shown him came upon 
 his mind ; he softened more and more ; and thought 
 that if he could have listened to it often, years ago, he 
 might have cultivated the kindnesses of life for his 
 own happiness with his own hands, without resorting 
 to the sexton's spade that buried Jacob Marley. 
 
 But they did n't devote the whole evening to music. 
 After a while they played at forfeits ; for it is good 
 to be children sometimes, and never better than at 
 Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child him- 
 self. Stop ! There was first a game at blindman's 
 buff. Of course there was. And I no more believe 
 Topper was really blind than I believe he had eyes 
 in his boots. My opinion is, that it was a done thing 
 between him and Scrooge's nephew ; and that the 
 Ghost of Christmas Present knew it. The way he 
 went after that plump sister in the lace tucker was an 
 outrage on the credulity of human nature. Knocking 
 down the fire-irons, tumbling over the chairs, bump- 
 ing up agaiust the piano, smothering himself amongst 
 the curtains, wherever she went, there went he ! He 
 always knew where the plump sister was. He 
 would n't catch anybody else. If you had fallen up 
 against him (as some of them did) on purpose, he 
 would have made a feint of endeavoring to seize you, 
 which would have been an affront to your understand- 
 ing, and would instantly have sidled off in the direc- 
 tion of the plump sister. She often cried out that it 
 was n't fair ; and it really was not. But when, at 
 last, he caught her ; when, in spite of all her silken 
 rustlings, and her rapid flutterings past him, he got 
 her into a corner whence there was no escape, then 
 his conduct was the most execrable. For his pretend- 
 ing not to know her ; his pretending that it was neces- 
 
98 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 sary to toucli her headdress, and further to assure 
 himself of her identity by pressing a certain ring 
 upon her finger, and a certain chain about her neck, 
 was vile, monstrous ! No doubt she told him her 
 opinion of it, when, another bli'nd man being in of- 
 fice, they Were so very confidential together, behind 
 the curtains. 
 
 Scrooge^'s niece was not one of the blindman's buff 
 party, but was made comfortable with a large chair 
 and a footstool, in a snug corner, where the Ghost 
 and Scrooge were close behind her. But she joined 
 in the forfeits, and loved her love to admiration with 
 all the letters of the alphabet. Likewise at the game 
 of How, When, and Where, she was very great, and, 
 to the secret joy of Scrooge's nephew, beat her sisters 
 hollow ; though they were sharp girls, too, as Topper 
 could have told you. There might have been twenty 
 people there, young and old, but they all played, and 
 so did Scrooge ; for, wholly forgetting, in the interest 
 he had in what was going on, that his voice made no 
 sound in their ears, he sometimes came out with his 
 guess quite loud, and very often guessed right, too ; 
 for the sharpest needle, best Whitechapel, warranted 
 not to cut in the eye, was not sharper than Scrooge ; 
 blunt as he took it in his head to be. 
 
 The Ghost was greatly pleased to find him in this 
 mood, and looked upon him with such favor, that he 
 begged like a boy to be allowed to stay until the 
 guests departed. But this the Spirit said could not 
 be done. 
 
 " Here is a new game," said Scrooge. " One half 
 hour. Spirit, only one ! " 
 
 It was a game called Yes and No, where Scrooge's 
 nephew had to think of something, and the rest must 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 99 
 
 find out what ; he only answering to their questions 
 yes or no, as the case was. The brisk fire of ques- 
 tioning to which he was exposed, elicited from him 
 that he was thinking of an animal, a live animal, 
 rather a disagreeable animal, a savage animal, an 
 animal that growled and grunted sometimes, and 
 talked sometimes, and lived in London, and walked 
 about the streets, and was n't made a show of, and 
 was n't led by anybody, and did n't live in a mena- 
 gerie, and was never killed in a market, and was not 
 a horse, or an ass, or a cow, or a bull, or a tiger, or 
 a dog, or a pig, or a cat, or a bear. At every fresh 
 question that was put to him, his nephew burst into 
 a fresh roar of laughter ; and was so inexpressibly 
 tickled, that he was obliged to get up off the sofa and 
 stamp. At last the plump sister, falling into a simi- 
 lar state, cried out : — 
 
 " I have found it out ! I know what it is, Fred ! 
 I know what it is ! " 
 
 " What is it ? " cried Fred. 
 
 " It 's your Uncle Scro-o-o-o-oge ! " 
 
 Which it certainly was. Admiration was the uni- 
 versal sentiment, though some objected that the reply 
 to " Is it a bear ? " ought to have been " Yes ; " inas- 
 much as an answer in the negative was sufficient to 
 have diverted their thoughts from Mr. Scrooge, sup- 
 posing they had ever had any tendency that way. 
 
 " He has given us plenty of merriment, I am sure," 
 said Fred, " and it would be ungrateful not to drink 
 his health. Here is a glass of mulled wine ready to 
 our hand at the moment ; and I say, ' Uncle Scrooge ! ' " 
 
 " Well ! Uncle Scrooge ! " they cried. 
 
 " A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to 
 the old man, whatever he is ! " said Scrooge's nephew. 
 
100 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 " He would n't take it from me, but may he have it, 
 nevertheless. Uncle Scrooge ! " 
 
 Uncle Scrooge had imperceptibly become so gay 
 and light of heart, that he would have pledged the 
 unconscious company in return, and thanked them in 
 an inaudible speech, if the Ghost had given him time. 
 But the whole scene passed off in the breath of the 
 last word spoken by his nephew ; and he and the 
 Spirit were again upon their travels. 
 
 Much they saw, and far they went, and many 
 homes they visited, but always with a happy end. 
 The Spirit stood beside sick-beds, and they were 
 cheerful ; on foreign lands, and they were close at 
 home ; by struggling men, and they were patient in 
 their greater hope ; by poverty, and it was rich. In 
 almshouse, hospital, and jail, in misery's every refuge, 
 where vain man in his little brief authority had not 
 made fast the door, and barred the Spirit out, he left 
 his blessing, and taught Scrooge his precepts. 
 
 It was a long night, if it were only a night ; but 
 Scrooge had his doubts of this, because the Christ- 
 mas holidays appeared to be condensed into the space 
 of time they passed together. It was strange, too, 
 that while Scrooge remained unaltered in his outward 
 form, the Ghost grew older, clearly older. Scrooge 
 had observed this change, but never spoke of it, until 
 they left a children's Twelfth Night party, when, 
 looking at the Spirit as they stood together in an 
 open place, he noticed that its hair was gray. 
 
 " Are spirits' lives so short? " asked Scrooge. 
 
 "My life upon this globe is very brief," replied the 
 Ghost. " It ends to-night." 
 
 " To-night ! " cried Scrooge. 
 
 "To-night at midnight. Hark! The time is draw- 
 ing near." 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL 101 
 
 The chimos were ringing the three quarters past 
 eleven at that moment. 
 
 " Forgive me if I am not justified in what I ask," 
 said Scrooge, looking intently at the Spirit's robe, 
 "but I see something strange, and not belonging to 
 yourseK, protruding from your skirts. Is it a foot 
 or a claw ? " 
 
 " It might be a claw, for the flesh there is upon it," 
 was the Spirit's sorrowful reply. " Look here," 
 
 From the foldings of its robe, it brought two chil- 
 dren, wretched, abject, frightful, hideous, miserable. 
 They knelt down at its feet, and clung upon the out- 
 side of its garment. 
 
 " O Man ! look here ! Look, look, down here ! " 
 exclaimed the Ghost. 
 
 They were a boy and girl. Yellow, meagre, rag- 
 ged, scowling, wolfish ; but prostrate, too, in their 
 humility. Where graceful youth should have filled 
 their features out, and touched them with its freshest 
 tints, a stale and shrivelled hand, like that of age, 
 had pinched and twisted them, and pulled them into 
 shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, 
 devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, 
 no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any 
 grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful crea- 
 tion, has monsters half so horrible and di-ead. 
 
 Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them 
 shown to him in this way, he tried to say they were 
 fine children, but the words choked themselves, rather 
 than be parties to a lie of such enormous magnitude. 
 
 " Spirit ! are they yours ? " Scrooge could say no 
 more. 
 
 " They are Man's," said the Spirit, looking down 
 upon them. " And they cling to me, appealing from 
 
102 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is 
 Want. Beware of them both, and all of their degree, 
 but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see 
 that written which is Doom, unless the writing be 
 erased. Deny it ! " cried the Spirit, stretching out its 
 hand towards the city. " Slander those who tell it 
 ye ! Admit it for your factious purposes, and make 
 it worse ! And bide the end ! " 
 
 " Have they no refuge or resource ? " cried Scrooge. 
 
 " Are there no prisons ? " said the Spirit, turning on 
 him for the last time with his own words. " Are there 
 no workhouses ? " 
 
 The bell struck Twelve. 
 
 Scrooge looked about him for the Ghost, and saw 
 it not. As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he re- 
 membered the prediction of old Jacob Marley, and, 
 lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn Phantom, draped 
 and hooded, coming, like a mist along the ground, 
 towards him. 
 
ENOCH ARDEN 103 
 
 ENOCH ARDEN. 
 
 Alfred, Lord Tennysok. 
 
 Long lines of cliff breaking have left a chasm ; 
 And in the chasm are foam and yellow sands ; 
 Beyond, red roofs about a narrow wharf 
 In cluster ; then a moulder'd church ; and higher 
 A long street climbs to one tall-tower'd mill ; 
 And high in heaven behind it a gray down 
 With Danish barrows* ; and a hazelwood, 
 By autumn nutters haunted, flourishes 
 Green in a cuplike hollow of the down. 
 
 Here on this beach a hundred years ago, 
 Three children of three houses, Annie Lee, 
 The prettiest little damsel in the port. 
 And Philip Ray, the miller's only son. 
 And Enoch Arden, a rough sailor's lad 
 Made orphan by a winter shipwreck, play'd 
 
 Enoch Arden appeared as the principal poem of the volume 
 bearing its name in 1864. It is the main product of a period 
 of reaction from the work which dealt, in the Idylls of the 
 King, with the great legends of England. As in other poems 
 of its period, Tennyson attempted to draw near to the actual 
 life of the English people. The sympathetic reader will feel 
 especially in the poem the fitness of the means to the end in 
 view ; the many metaphors of the sea, the stress that is laid 
 upon the elements of superstition and the supernatural, — ele- 
 ments well in keeping with the characters of the story. The 
 beauty of the descriptive passages needs no pointing out. 
 
 * Danish barrov^s, burial mounds supposed to date from the 
 Danish incursions into England. 
 
104 ENOCH ARDEN 
 
 Among the waste and lumber of the shore, 
 Hard coils of cordage, swarthy fishing-nets, 
 Anchors of rusty fluke, and boats updrawn ; 
 And built their castles of dissolving sand 
 To watch them overflow'd, or following up 
 And flying the white breaker, daily left 
 The little footprint daily wash'd away. 
 
 A narrow cave ran in beneath the cliff ; 
 In this the children play'd at keeping house. 
 Enoch was host one day, Philip the next, 
 While Annie still was mistress ; but at times 
 Enoch would hold possession for a week : 
 " This is my house and this my little wife." 
 " Mine too," said Philip, " turn and turn about : " 
 When, if they quarrell'd, Enoch stronger made 
 Was master : then would Philip, his blue eyes 
 All flooded with the helpless wrath of tears, 
 Shriek out, " I hate you, Enoch," and at this 
 The little wife would weep for company. 
 And pray them not to quarrel for her sake. 
 And say she would be little wife to both.* 
 
 r 
 
 But when the dawn of rosy childhood past. 
 And the new warmth of life's ascending sun 
 Was felt by either, either fixt his heart 
 On that one girl ; and Enoch spoke his love, 
 But Philip loved in silence ; and the girl 
 Seem'd kinder unto Philip than to him ; 
 But she loved Enoch : tho' she knew it not. 
 And would if ask'd deny it. Enoch set 
 A purpose evermore before his eyes, 
 
 ^ A line which skillfully foreshadows the tragedy of the 
 poem. 
 
ENOCH ARDEN. 105 
 
 To hoard all savings to the uttermost, 
 
 To purchase his own boat, and make a home 
 
 For Annie : and so prosper'd that at last 
 
 A hickiev or a bolder fisherman, 
 
 A caref uller in peril, did not breathe 
 
 For leagues along that breaker-beaten coast 
 
 Than Enoch, Likewise had he served a year 
 
 On board a merchantman, and made himself 
 
 Fidl sailor^ ; and he thrice had pluck'd a life 
 
 From the dread sweep of the down-streaming seas : 
 
 And all men look'd upon him favorably : 
 
 And ere he touch'd his one-and-twentieth May 
 
 He purchased his own boat, and made a home 
 
 For Annie, neat and nestlike, halfway up 
 
 The narrow street that clamber'd toward the mill. 
 
 Then, on a golden autumn eventide, 
 The younger people making holiday, 
 With bag and sack and basket, great and small, 
 Went nutting to the hazels. Philip stay'd 
 (His father lying sick and needing him) 
 An hour behind ', but as he climb'd the hill. 
 Just where the prone edge of the wood began 
 To feather toward the hollow,^ saw the pair, 
 Enoch and Annie, sitting hand-in-hand. 
 His large gray eyes and weather-beaten face 
 All-kindled by a still and sacred fire. 
 That burn'd as on an altar. Philip look'd, 
 And in their eyes and faces read his doom ; 
 Then, as their faces drew together, groan'd, 
 And slipt aside, and like a wounded life 
 Crept down into the hollows of the wood ; 
 
 * Full sailor may be taken as equivalent to " able seaman." 
 ' Where the woods grew thinner and lighter. 
 
106 ENOCH ARDEN 
 
 There, while the rest were loud in merrymaking, 
 Had his dark hour unseen, and rose and past 
 Bearing a lifelong hunger in his heart. 
 
 So these were wed, and merrily rang the bells, 
 And merrily ran the years, seven happy years, 
 Seven happy years of health and competence. 
 And mutual love and honorable toil ; 
 With children ; first a daughter. In him woke, 
 With his first babe's first cry, the noble wish 
 To save all earnings to the uttermost. 
 And give his child a better bringing-up 
 Than his had been, or hers ; a wish renew'd, 
 When two years after came a boy to be 
 The rosy idol of her solitudes, 
 While Enoch was abroad on wrathful seas, 
 Or often journeying landward ; for in truth 
 Enoch's white horse, and Enoch's ocean-spoil 
 In ocean-smelling osier,^ and his face, 
 Eough-redden'd with a thousand winter gales, 
 Not only to the market-cross were known,^ 
 But in the leafy lanes behind the down. 
 Far as the portal- warding lion- whelp' 
 And peacock-yewtree of the lonely Hall,* 
 Whose Friday fare was Enoch's ministering. 
 
 Then came a change, as all things human change. 
 Ten miles to northward of the narrow port 
 ' Osier basket. 
 
 ^ Many English villages have an old stone cross in the 
 market-place. 
 
 ^ The heraldic device over the portal to the hall, supposed 
 to stand as a guard (warding). 
 
 * A yew-tree cut, after the fashion of old gardening, into 
 the form of a peacock. 
 
ENOCH ARDEN 107 
 
 Open'd a larger haven : thither used 
 
 Enoch at times to go by land or sea ; 
 
 And once when there, and clambering on a mast 
 
 In harbor, by mischance he slipt and fell : 
 
 A limb was broken when they lifted him ; 
 
 And while he lay recovering there, his wife 
 
 Bore him another son, a sickly one : 
 
 Another hand crept too across his trade 
 
 Taking her bread and theirs : and on him fell, 
 
 Altho' a grave and staid God-fearing man. 
 
 Yet lying thus inactive, doubt and gloom. 
 
 He seem'd, as in a nightmare of the night, 
 
 To see his children leading evermore 
 
 Low miserable lives of hand-to-mouth. 
 
 And her he loved, a beggar : then he pray'd 
 
 " Save them from this, whatever comes to me." 
 
 And while he pray'd, the master of that ship 
 
 Enoch had served in, hearing his mischance, 
 
 Came, for he knew the man and valued him. 
 
 Reporting of his vessel China-bound, 
 
 And wanting yet a boatswain. Would he go ? 
 
 There yet were many weeks before she sail'd, 
 
 Sail'd from this port. Would Enoch have the 
 
 place ? 
 And Enoch all at once assented to it. 
 Rejoicing at that answer to his prayer. 
 
 So now that shadow of mischance appear'd 
 No graver than as when some little cloud 
 Cuts off the fiery highway of the sun. 
 And isles a light in the offing^: yet the wife — 
 When he was gone — the children — what to do ? 
 
 * At sea on half cloudy days one often notices a bit of son 
 light standing out on the water like an island. 
 
108 ENOCH ARDEN 
 
 Then Enoch lay long-pondering on his plans ; 
 To sell the boat — and yet he loved her well — 
 How many a rough sea had he weather'd in her ! 
 He knew her, as a horseman knows his horse — 
 And yet to sell her — then with what she brought 
 Buy goods and stores — set Annie forth in trade 
 With all that seamen needed or their wives — 
 So might she keep the house while he was gone. 
 Should he not trade himself out yonder ? go 
 This voyage more than once ? yea, twice or thrice — ' 
 As oft as needed — last, returning rich, 
 Become the master of a larger craft, 
 With fuller profits lead an easier life, 
 Have all his pretty young ones educated. 
 And pass his days in peace among his own. 
 
 Thus Enoch in his heart determined all : 
 Then moving homeward came on Annie pale, 
 Nursing the sickly babe, her latest-born. 
 Forward she started with a happy cry. 
 And laid the feeble infant in his arms ; 
 Whom Enoch took, and handled all his limbs, 
 Appraised his weight and fondled father-like, 
 But had no heart to break his purposes 
 To Annie, till the morrow, when he spoke. 
 
 Then first since Enoch's golden ring had girt 
 Her finger, Annie fought against his will : 
 Yet not with brawling opposition she. 
 But manifold entreaties, many a tear. 
 Many a sad kiss by day by night renew'd 
 (Sure that all evil would come out of it) 
 
 ^ Voyage must be read as a dissyllable, not too pro- 
 nouncedly. 
 
ENOCH ARDEN 109 
 
 Besought tim, supplicating, if he cared 
 For her or his dear children, not to go. 
 He not for his own seK caring but her,* 
 Her and her children, let her plead in vain ; 
 So grieving held his will, and bore it thro'. 
 
 For Enoch parted with his old sea-friend. 
 Bought Annie goods and stores, and set his hand 
 To fit their little streetward sitting-room 
 With shelf and corner for the goods and stores. 
 So all day long till Enoch's last at home, 
 Shaking their pretty cabin, hammer and axe, 
 Auger and saw, while Annie seem'd to hear 
 Her own death-scaffold raising, shrill' d and rang, 
 Till this was ended, and his careful hand, — 
 The space was narrow, — having order'd all 
 Almost as neat and close as Nature packs 
 Her blossom or her seedling, paused ; and he, 
 Who needs would work for Annie to the last, 
 Ascending tired, heavily slept till morn. 
 
 And Enoch faced this morning of farewell 
 Brightly and boldly. All his Annie's fears, 
 Save as his Annie's, were a laughter to him. 
 Yet Enoch as a brave God-fearing man 
 Bow'd himseK down, and in that mystery 
 Where God-in-man is one with man-in-God, 
 Pray'd for a blessing on his wife and babes. 
 Whatever came to him : and then he said 
 " Annie, this voyage by the grace of God 
 Will bring fair weather yet to all of us. 
 Keep a clean hearth and a clear fire for me, 
 
 * Not an easy line to read with proper stress ; self should 
 be dwelt upon, and a certain pause made after caring. 
 
110 ENOCH ARDEN 
 
 For I '11 be back, my girl, before you know it." 
 
 Then lightly rocking baby's cradle, " and he. 
 
 This pretty, puny, weakly little one, — 
 
 Nay — for I love him all the better for it — , 
 
 God bless him, he shall sit upon my knees 
 
 And I will tell him tales of foreign parts, 
 
 And make him merry, when I come home again. 
 
 Come, Annie, come, cheer up before I go." 
 
 Him running on thus hopefully she heard, 
 And almost hoped herself ; but when he turn'd 
 The current of his talk to graver things, 
 In sailor fashion roughly sermonizing 
 On providence and trust in Heaven, she heard. 
 Heard and not heard him ; as the village girl, 
 Who sets her pitcher underneath the spring, 
 Musing on him that used to fill it for her, 
 Hears and not hears, and lets it overflow. 
 
 At length she spoke, " O Enoch, you are wise ; 
 And yet for all your wisdom well know I 
 That I shall look upon your face no more." 
 
 " Well then," said Enoch, " I shall look on yours. ' 
 Annie, the ship I sail in passes here 
 (He named the day), get you a seaman's glass, 
 Spy out my face, and laugh at all your fears." 
 
 But when the last of those last moments came, 
 " Annie, my girl, cheer up, be comforted, 
 Look to the babes, and till I come again, 
 Keep everything shipshape, for I must go. 
 And fear no more for me ; or if you fear 
 
 ^ Another significant prophecy, as on page 104. 
 
ENOCH ARDEN 111 
 
 Cast all your cares on God ; that auclior holds. 
 Is He not yonder in those uttermost 
 Parts of the morning? if I flee to these 
 Can I go from him ? and the sea is His, 
 The sea is His : He made it."* 
 
 Enoch rose, 
 Cast his strong arms about his drooping wife. 
 And kiss'd his wonder-stricken little ones ; 
 But for the third, the sickly one, who slept 
 After a night of feverous wakefulness. 
 When Annie would have raised him Enoch said, 
 " Wake him not ; let him sleep ; how should the 
 
 child 
 Remember this ? " and kiss'd him in his cot. 
 But Annie from her baby's forehead dipt 
 A tiny curl, and gave it : this he kept 
 Thro' all his future ; but now hastily caught 
 His bundle, waved his hand, and went his way. 
 
 She when the day, that Enoch mention'd, came, 
 Borrow'd a glass, but all in vain : perhaps 
 She could not fix the glass to suit her eye ; 
 Perhaps her eye was dim, hand tremulous ; 
 She saw him not : and while he stood on deck 
 Waving, the moment and the vessel past. 
 
 Ev'n to the last dip of the vanishing sail 
 She watch'd it, and departed weeping for him ; 
 Then, tho' she mouru'd his absence as his grave, 
 Set her sad will no less to chime with his. 
 But throve not in her trade, not being bred 
 
 ' The use of Bible language at this moment is quite 
 in harmony with Enoch's character. 
 
112 ENOCH ARDEN 
 
 To barter, nor compensating the want 
 By shrewdness, neither capable of lies, 
 Nor asking overmuch and taking less, 
 And still foreboding " what would Enoch say?" 
 For more than once, in days of difficulty 
 And pressure, had she sold her wares for less 
 Than what she gave in buying what she sold ; 
 She fail'd and sadden'd knowing it ; and thus, 
 Expectant of that news which never came, 
 Gain'd for her own a scanty sustenance, 
 And lived a life of silent melancholy. 
 
 Now the third child was sickly-born and grew 
 Yet sicklier, tho' the mother cared for it 
 With all a mother's care : nevertheless, 
 W^hether her business often call'd her from it, 
 Or thro' the want of what it needed most. 
 Or means to pay the voice who best could tell 
 What most it needed — howsoe'er it was. 
 After a lingering, — ere she was aware, — 
 Like the caged bird escaping suddenly, 
 The little innocent soul flitted away. 
 
 In that same week when Annie buried it, 
 Philip's true heart, which hunger'd for her peace 
 (Since Enoch left he had not look'd upon her). 
 Smote him, as having kept aloof so long. 
 " Surely," said Philip, " I may see her now, 
 May be some little comfort ; " therefore went. 
 Past thro' the solitary room in front. 
 Paused for a moment at an inner door. 
 Then struck it thrice, and, no one opening, 
 Enter'd ; but Annie, seated with her grief, 
 Fresh from the burial of her little one, 
 
ENOCH ARDEN 113 
 
 Cared not to look on any human face, 
 But turn'd her own toward the wall and wept. 
 Then Philip standing up said falteringly, 
 " Annie, I came to ask a favor of you." 
 
 He spoke ; the passion in her moan'd reply, 
 " Favor from one so sad and so forlorn 
 As I am ! " half abash'd him ; yet unask'd, 
 His bashfulness and tenderness at war, 
 He set himself beside her, saying to her : 
 
 " I came to speak to you of what he wish'd, 
 Enoch, your husband : I have ever said 
 You chose the best among us — a strong man •. 
 For where he fixt his heart he set his hand 
 To do the thing he will'd, and bore it thro'. 
 And wherefore did he go this weary way, 
 And leave you lonely ? not to see the world — 
 For pleasure ? — nay, but for the wherewithal 
 To give his babes a better bringing-up 
 Than his had been, or yours : that was his wish. 
 And if he come again, vext will he be 
 To find the precious morning hours were lost. 
 And it would vex him even in his grave. 
 If he could know his babes were running wild 
 Like colts about the waste. So, Annie, now — 
 Have we not known each other all our lives ? — 
 I do beseech you by the love you bear 
 Him and his children not to say me nay — 
 For, if you will, when Enoch comes again. 
 Why then he shall repay me — if you will, 
 Annie — for I am rich and well-to-do. 
 Now let me put the boy and girl to school : 
 This is the favor that I came to ask." 
 
114 ENOCH ARDEN 
 
 Then Annie with her brows against the wall 
 Answer'd, " I cannot look you in the face ; 
 I seem so foolish and so broken down. 
 When you came in my sorrow broke me down ; 
 And now I think your kindness breaks me down ; 
 But Enoch lives ; that is borrxe in on me ; 
 He will repay you : money can be repaid ; 
 Not kindness such as .yours." 
 
 And Philip ask'd 
 " Then you will let me, Annie ? " 
 
 There she turn'd, 
 She rose, and fixt her swimming eyes upon him, 
 And dwelt a moment on his kindly face, 
 Then calling down a blessing on his head 
 Caught at his hand, and wrung it passionately, 
 And past into the little garth beyond. 
 So lifted up in spirit he moved away. 
 
 Then Philip put the boy and girl to school. 
 And bought them needful books, and every way, 
 Like one who does his duty by his own. 
 Made himself theirs ; and tho' for Annie's sake, 
 Fearing the lazy gossip of the port, 
 He oft denied his heart his dearest wish, 
 And seldom crost her threshold, yet he sent 
 Gifts by the children, garden-herbs and fruit, 
 The late and early roses from his wall, 
 Or conies from the down, and now and then. 
 With some pretext of fineness in the meal 
 To save the offence of charitable,^ flour 
 From his tall mill that whistled on the waste. 
 * To make it seem not like a gift of charity. 
 
ENOCH ARDEN 115 
 
 But Philip did not fathom Annie's mind : 
 Scarce could the woman when he came upon her, 
 Out of full heart and boundless gratitude 
 Light on a broken word to thank him with. 
 But Philip was her children's all-in-all ; 
 From distant corners of the street they ran 
 To greet his hearty welcome heartily ; 
 Lords of his house and of his mill were they , 
 Worried his passive ear with petty wi-ongs 
 Or pleasures, hung upon him, play'd with him. 
 And called him Father Philip. Philip gaiu'd 
 As Enoch lost ; for Eaoch seem'd to them 
 Uncertain as a vision or a dream, 
 Faint as a figure seen in early dawn 
 Down at the far end of an avenue, 
 Going we know not where : and so ten years, 
 Since Enoch left his hearth and native land. 
 Fled forward, and no news of Enoch came. 
 
 It chanced one evening Annie's children long'd 
 To go with others nutting to the wood, 
 And Annie would go with them ; then they begg'd 
 For Father PhilijD (as they call'd him) too : 
 Him, like the working bee in blossom-dust, 
 Blanch'd with his mill, they found ; and saying to him, 
 " Come with us, Father Philip," he denied ; 
 But when the children pluck'd at him to go, 
 He laugh'd, and yielded readily to their wish. 
 For was not Annie with them ? and they went. 
 
 But after scaling half the weary down. 
 Just where the prone edge of the wood began* 
 
 • The repetition here of the phrase (cf. p. 105) is one of 
 the instances of the device used in the poem to bind together the 
 
116 ENOCH ARDEN 
 
 To feather toward the hollow, all her force 
 Fail'd her ; and sighing, " Let me rest," she said : 
 So Philip rested with her well-content ; 
 While all the younger ones with jubilant cries 
 Broke from their elders, and tumultuously 
 Down thro' the whitening hazels made a plunge 
 To the bottom, and dispersed, and bent or broke 
 The lithe reluctant boughs to tear away 
 Their tawny clusters, crying to each other 
 And calling, here and there, about the wood. 
 
 But Philip sitting at her side forgot 
 Her presence, and remember'd one dark hour 
 Here in this wood, when like a wounded life 
 He crept into the shadow : at last he said, 
 Lifting his honest forehead, " Listen, Annie, 
 How merry they are down yonder in the wood. 
 Tired, Annie ? " for she did not speak a word. 
 " Tired ? " but her face had f all'n upon her hands ; 
 At which, as with a kind of anger in him, 
 " The ship was lost," he said, " the ship was lost ! 
 No more of that ! why should you kill yourself 
 And make them orphans quite ? " And Annie said 
 " I thought not of it : but — I know not why — 
 Their voices make me feel so solitary." 
 
 Then Philip coming somewhat closer spoke. 
 " Annie, there is a thing upon my mind, 
 And it has been upon my mind so long. 
 That tho' I know not when it first came there, 
 I know that it will out at last. Oh, Annie, 
 It is beyond all hope, against all chance, 
 
 two parts of the tragedy and make it all one. Compare lines 
 elsewhere, for a similar practice ; still others will be found. 
 
ENOCH ARDEN 117 
 
 That lie who left you ten long years ago 
 
 Should still be living ; well then — let rae speak : 
 
 I grieve to see you poor and wanting help : 
 
 I cannot help you as I wish to do 
 
 Unless — they say that women are so quick — 
 
 Perhaps you know what I would have you know — 
 
 I wish you for my wife. I fain would prove 
 
 A father to your children : I do think 
 
 They love me as a father : I am sure 
 
 That I love them as if they were mine own ; 
 
 And I believe, if you were fast my wife, 
 
 That after all these sad uncertain years, 
 
 We might be still as happy as God grants 
 
 To any of His creatures. Think upon it : 
 
 For I am well-to-do — no kin, no care, 
 
 No burthen, save my care for you and yours : 
 
 And we have known each other all our lives, 
 
 And I have loved you longer than you know." 
 
 Then answer'd Annie ; tenderly she spoke : 
 " You have been as God's good angel in our house. 
 God bless you for it, God reward you for it, 
 Philip, with something happier than myself. 
 Can one love twice ? can you be ever loved 
 As Enoch was ? what is it that you ask ? " 
 " I am content," he answer'd, " to be loved 
 A little after Enoch." " Oh," she cried, 
 Scared as it were, " dear Philip, wait a while : 
 If Enoch comes — but Enoch will not come — 
 Yet wait a year, a year is not so long : 
 Surely I shall be wiser in a year : 
 Oh, wait a little ! " Philip sadly said, 
 " Annie, as I have waited all my life 
 I well may wait a little." " Nay," she cried, 
 
118 ENOCH ARDEN 
 
 " I am bound : you have my promise — in a year ; 
 Will you not bide your year as I bide mine ? " 
 And Philip answer'd, " I will bide my year." 
 
 Here both were mute, till Philip glancing up 
 Beheld the dead flame of the fallen day 
 Pass from the Danish barrow overhead ; 
 Then, fearing night and chill for Annie, rose, 
 And sent his voice beneath him thro' the wood. 
 Up came the children laden with their spoil ; 
 Then all descended to the port, and there 
 At Annie's door he paused and gave his hand, 
 Saying gently, " Annie, when I spoke to you, 
 That was your hour of weakness. I was wrong. 
 I am always bound to you, but you are free." 
 Then Annie weeping answered, " I am bound." 
 
 She spoke ; and in one moment as it were, 
 While yet she went about her household ways, 
 Ev'n as she dwelt upon his latest words. 
 That he had loved her longer than she knew, 
 That autumn into autumn flash'd again, 
 And there he stood once more before her face, 
 Claiming her promise. " Is it a year ? " she ask'd. 
 " Yes, if the nuts," he said, " be ripe again : 
 Come out and see." But she — she put him off — 
 So much to look to — such a change — a month — 
 Give her a month — she knew that she was bound — 
 A month — no more. Then Philip with his eyes 
 Full of that lifelong hunger, and his voice 
 Shaking a little like a drunkard's hand, 
 " Take your owr time, Annie, take your own time." 
 And Annie could have wept for pity of him ; 
 And yet she held him on delayingly 
 
ENOCH ARDEN 119 
 
 With many a scarce-believable excuse, 
 Trying his truth and his long-sufferance, 
 Till half another year had slipt away. 
 
 By this the lazy gossips of the port, 
 Abhorrent of a calculation crost,^ 
 Began to chafe as at a personal wrong. 
 Some thought that Philip did but trifle with her; 
 Some that she but held off to draw him on ; 
 And others laugh'd at her and Philip too, 
 As simple folk that knew not their own minds ; 
 And one, in whom all evil fancies clung 
 Like serpent eggs together, laughingly 
 Would hint at worse in either. Her own son 
 Was silent, tho' he often look'd his wish ; 
 But evermore the daughter prest upon her 
 To wed the man so dear to all of them 
 And lift the household out of poverty ; 
 And Philip's rosy face contracting grew 
 Careworn and wan ; and all these things fell on her 
 Sharp as reproach. 
 
 At last one night it chanced 
 That Annie could not sleep, but earnestly 
 Pray'd for a sign, " my Enoch, is he gone ? " 
 Then compass'd round by the blind wall of night 
 Brook \1 not the expectant terror of her heart, 
 Started from bed, and struck herself a light, 
 Then desperately seized the holy Book,^ 
 
 * Angry that their expectations were not fulfilled. 
 
 ' From early times one form of divination has been to 
 read a personal meaning in passages selected by chance from 
 books. The .^neid of Virgil was often used, and in England 
 the Bible has been put to the same service, by persons like 
 
1-20 ENOCH ARDEN 
 
 Suddenly set it wide to find a sign, 
 
 Suddenly put her finger on the text, 
 
 " Under the palm-tree."^ That was nothing to her : 
 
 No meaning there : she closed the Book and slept : 
 
 When lo ! her Enoch sitting on a height. 
 
 Under a palm-tree, over him the Sun : 
 
 " He is gone," she thought, " he is happy, he ia 
 
 singing 
 Hosanna in the highest : yonder shines 
 The Sun of Kighteousness, and these be palms 
 Whereof the happy people strowing cried 
 ' Hosanna in the highest ! ' " Here she woke, 
 Eesolved, sent for him and said wildly to him, 
 " There is no reason why we should not wed." 
 "Then for God's sake," he answer'd, "both our 
 
 sakes. 
 So you will wed me, let it be at once." 
 
 So these were wed and merrily rang the bells, 
 Merrily rang the bells and they were wed. 
 But never merrily beat Annie's heart. 
 A footstep seem'd to fall beside her path. 
 She knew not whence ; a whisper on her ear. 
 She knew not what ; nor loved she to be left 
 Alone at home, nor ventured out alone. 
 What ail'd her then, that ere she enter'd, often, 
 Her hand dwelt lingeringiy on the latch. 
 Fearing to enter : Philip thought he knew : 
 Such doubts and fears were common to her state, 
 Annie, since the days of the Puritans. In George Eliot's 
 Adam Bede, Dinah Morris makes important use of the practice. 
 " And when I 've opened the Bible for direction," she says, 
 " I 've always lighted on some clear word to tell me where 
 my work lay." 
 
 * Judges iv. 5. 
 
ENOCH ARDEN 121 
 
 Being with cliild : but when her child was born, 
 Then her new child was as herself renew 'd, 
 Then the new mother eame about her heart, 
 Then her good Philip was her all-in-all. 
 And that mysterious instinct wholly died. 
 
 And where was Enoch ? prosperously sail'd 
 The ship Good Fortune, tho' at setthig forth 
 The Biscay, roughly ridging eastward, shook 
 And almost overwhelm'd her, yet unvext 
 She slipt across the summer of the world,* 
 Then after a long tumble about the Cape 
 And frequent interchange of foul and fair, 
 She passing thro' the summer world again, 
 The breath of heaven came continually 
 And sent her sweetly by the golden isles, 
 Till silent in her oriental haven. 
 
 There Enoch traded for himself, and bought 
 Quaint monsters for the market of those times, 
 A gilded dragon, also, for the babes. 
 
 Less lucky her home-voyage : at first indeed^ 
 Thro' many a fair sea-circle, day by day,' 
 Scarce-rocking her full-busted figure-head 
 Stared o'er the ripple feathering from her bows : 
 Then follow'd calms, and then winds variable, 
 Then baffling, a long course of them ; and last 
 Storm, such as drove her under moonless heavens 
 Till hard upon the cry of " breakers " came 
 
 * This of course refers to the region about the equator. 
 ' Voyage here is more nearly one syllable. 
 ' There is a constant impression at sea of being at the 
 centre of a vast circle. 
 
122 ENOCH ARDEN 
 
 Tlie crash of ruin, and the loss of all 
 But Enoch and two others. Half the night, 
 Buoy'd upon floating tackle and broken spars, 
 These drifted, stranding on an isle at morn 
 Rich, but the loneliest in a lonely sea. 
 
 No want was there of human sustenance, 
 Soft fruitage, mighty nuts, and nourishing roots ; 
 Nor save for pity was it hard to take 
 The helpless life so wild that it was tame. 
 There in a seaward-gazing mountain-gorge 
 They built, and thatch'd with leaves of palm, a hut, 
 Half hut, half native cavern. So the three. 
 Set in this Eden of all plenteousness, 
 Dwelt with eternal summer, ill-content. 
 
 For one, the youngest, hardly more than boy, 
 Hurt in that night of sudden ruin and wreck. 
 Lay lingering out a five-years' death-in-life. 
 They could not leave him. After he was gone, 
 The two remaining found a fallen stem* ; 
 And Enoch's comrade, careless of himself, 
 Fire-hollowing this in Indian fashion, fell 
 Sun-stricken, and that other lived alone. 
 In those two deaths he read God's warning, " Wait." 
 
 The mountain wooded to the peak, the lawns 
 And winding glades high up like ways to Heaven, 
 The slender coco's drooping crown of plumes. 
 The lightning flash of insect and of bird. 
 The lustre of the long convolvuluses 
 That coil'd around the stately stems, and ran 
 Ev'n to the limit of the land, the glows 
 
 * Stem, a tree-trunk of which they tried to make a canoe. 
 
ENOCH ARDEN 123 
 
 And glories of the broad belt of the world/ 
 
 All these he saw ; but what he fain had seen 
 
 He could not see, the kindly human face, 
 
 Nor ever hear a kindly voice, but heard 
 
 The myriad shriek of wheeling ocean-fowl, 
 
 The league-long roller thundering on the reef, 
 
 The moving whisper of huge trees that branch'd 
 
 And blossom 'd in the zenith, or the sweep 
 
 Of some precipitous rivulet to the wave. 
 
 As down the shore he ranged, or all day long 
 
 Sat often in the seaward-gazing gorge, 
 
 A shipwreck'd sailor, waiting for a sail : 
 
 No sail from day to day, but every day 
 
 The sunrise broken into scarlet shafts 
 
 Among the palms and ferns and precipices ; 
 
 The blaze upon the waters to the east : 
 
 The blaze upon his island overhead ; 
 
 The blaze upon the waters to the west ; 
 
 Then the great stars that globed themselves in 
 
 Heaven, 
 The hoUower-bellowing ocean, and again 
 The scarlet shafts of sunrise — but no sail. 
 
 There often as he watch'd or seem'd to watch. 
 So still, the golden lizard on him paused,^ 
 A phantom made of many phantoms moved 
 Before him, haunting him, or he himself 
 Moved haunting people, things and places, known 
 Far in a darker isle beyond the line ; 
 The babes, their babble, Annie, the small house, 
 The climbing street, the mill, the leafy lanes, 
 
 ^ Broad belt of the •world, the ocean ; the ancients, in- 
 deed, had such a conception of it. 
 
 ' So much was he a part of nature. 
 
124 ENOCH ARDEN 
 
 The peacock-yewtree and the lonely Hall, 
 The horse he drove, the boat he sold, the chill 
 November dawns and dewy-glooming downs, 
 The gentle shower, the smell of dying leaves, 
 And the low moan of leaden-color'd seas. 
 
 Once likewise, in the ringing of his ears, 
 Tho' faintly, merrily — far and far away — 
 He heard the pealing of his parish bells ; 
 Then, tho' he knew not wherefore, started up 
 Shuddering, and when the beauteous hateful isle 
 Return'd upon him, had not his poor heart 
 Spoken with That, which being everywhere 
 Lets none who speaks with Him seem all alone. 
 Surely the man had died of solitude. 
 
 Thus over Enoch's early-silvering head 
 The sunny and rainy seasons came and went 
 Year after year. His hopes to see his own. 
 And pace the sacred old familiar fields. 
 Not yet had perish'd, when his lonely doom 
 Came suddenly to an end. Another ship 
 (She wanted water) blown by baffling winds. 
 Like the Good Fortune, from her destined course, 
 Stay'd by this isle, not knowing where she lay : 
 For since the mate had seen at early dawn 
 Across a break on the mist-wreathen isle 
 The silent water slipping from the hills. 
 They sent a crew that landing burst away 
 In search of stream or fount, and fiU'd the shores 
 With clamor. Downward from his mountain gorge 
 Stept the long-hair'd, long-bearded solitary. 
 Brown, looking hardly human, strangely clad, 
 Muttering and mumbling, idiot-like it seem'd, 
 
ENOCH ARDEN 125 
 
 With inarticulate rage, and making signs 
 
 They knew not what : and yet he led the way 
 
 To where the rivulets of sweet water ran ; ^ 
 
 And ever as he mingled with the crew, 
 
 And heard them talking, his long-bounden tongue 
 
 Was loosen'd, till he made them understand ; 
 
 Whom, when their casks were fill'd they took 
 
 aboard 
 And there the tale he utter'd brokenly, 
 Scarce-credited at first but more and more, 
 Amazed and melted all who listen'd to it ; 
 And clothes they gave him and free passage home ; 
 But oft he work'd among the rest and shook 
 His isolation from him. None of these 
 Came from his county, or could answer him, 
 If question'd, aught of what he cared to know. 
 And dull the voyage was with long delays,^ 
 The vessel scarce sea-worthy ; but evermore 
 His fancy fled before the lazy wind 
 Returning, till beneath a clouded moon 
 He like a lover down thro' all his blood 
 Drew in the dewy meadowy morning-breath 
 Of England, blown across her ghostly wall:^ 
 And that same morning officers and men 
 Levied a kindly tax upon themselves. 
 Pitying the lonely man, and gave him it : 
 Then moving up the coast they landed him, 
 Ev'n in that harbor whence he sail'd before. 
 
 There Enoch spoke no word to any one. 
 But homeward — home — what home ? had he a 
 home ? — 
 
 * Street water, not salt. 
 
 ' Voyage, two syllablos again. 
 
 ^ Her ghostly wall, the chalk cliffa of the south coast. 
 
126 ENOCH ARDEN 
 
 His home, lie walk'd. Bright was that afternoon, 
 Sunny but chill ; till drawn thro' either chasm, 
 Where either haven open'd on the deeps,* 
 RoU'd a sea-haze and whelm'd the world in gray ; 
 Cut off the length of highway on before, 
 And left but narrow breadth to left and right 
 Of wither'd holt or tilth or pasturage. 
 On the nigh-naked tree the robin piped 
 Disconsolate, and thro' the dripping haze 
 The dead weight of the dead leaf bore it down : 
 Thicker the drizzle grew, deeper the gloom ; 
 Last, as it seem'd, a great mist-blotted light 
 Flared on him, and he came upon the place. 
 
 Then down the long street having slowly stolen, 
 His heart foreshadowing all calamity, 
 His eyes upon the stones, he reach'd the home 
 Where Annie lived and loved him, and his babes 
 In those far-off seven happy years were born ; 
 But finding neither light nor murmur there 
 (A bill of sale gleam'd thro' the drizzle) crept 
 Still downward thinking, " dead, or dead to me ! " 
 
 Down to the pool and narrow wharf he went, 
 Seeking a tavern which of old he knew, 
 A front of timber-crost antiquity,^ 
 So propt, worm-eaten, ruinously old, 
 He thought it must have gone ; but he was gone 
 Who kept it ; and his widow, Miriam Lane, 
 With daily-dwindling profits held the house ; 
 
 ^ See first line, page 107. 
 
 ^ A house of plaster crossed with timbers, " half-tim- 
 bered " as it is called ; a style of architecture made familiar by 
 the pictures of Shakespeare's birthplace. 
 
ENOCH ARDEN 127 
 
 A liaimt of brawling seamen once, but now 
 Stiller, with yet a bed for wandering men. 
 There Enoch rested silent many days. 
 
 But Miriam Lane was good and garrulous, 
 Nor let him be, but often breaking in. 
 Told him, with other annals of the port, 
 Not knowing — Enoch was so brown, so bow'd, 
 So broken — all the story of his house. 
 His baby's death, her growing poverty, 
 How Philip put her little ones to school, 
 And kept them in it, his long wooing her. 
 Her slow consent, and marriage, and the birth 
 Of Philip's child : and o'er his countenance 
 No shadow past, nor motion : any one, 
 Regarding, well had deem'd he felt the tale 
 Less than the teller ; only when she closed, 
 " Enoch, poor man, was cast away and lost," 
 He, shaking his gray head pathetically. 
 Repeated muttering, " cast away and lost ; " 
 Again in deeper inward whispers, "lost! " 
 
 But Enoch yearned to see her face again ; 
 " If I might look on her sweet face again 
 And know that she is happy." So the thought 
 Haunted and harass'd him, and drove him forth, 
 At evening when the dull November day 
 Was growing duller twilight, to the hill. 
 There he sat down gazing on all below ; 
 There did a thousand memories roll upon him. 
 Unspeakable for sadness. By and by 
 The ruddy square of comfortable light, 
 Far-blazing from the rear of Philip's house. 
 Allured him, as the beacon-blaze allures 
 
128 ENOCH ARDEN 
 
 The bird of passage, till he madly strikes 
 Against it, and beats out his weary life. 
 
 For Philip's dwelling fronted on the street, 
 The latest ^ house to landward ; but behind, 
 With one small gate that open'd on the waste, 
 Floiirish'd a little garden square and wall'd : 
 And in it throve an ancient evergreen, 
 A yewtree, and all round it ran a walk 
 Of shingle, ^ and a walk divided it : 
 But Enoch shunn'd the middle walk and stole 
 Up by the wall, behind the yew ; and thence 
 That which he better might have shunn'd, if griefs 
 Like his have worse or better, Enoch saw. 
 
 For cups and silver on the burnish'd board 
 Sparkled and shone ; so genial was the hearth : 
 And on the right hand of the hearth he saw 
 Philip, the slighted suitor of old times. 
 Stout, rosy, with his babe across his knees ; 
 And o'er her second father stoopt a girl, 
 A later but a loftier Annie Lee, 
 Fair-hair'd and tall, and from her lifted hand 
 Dangled a length of ribbon and a ring 
 To tempt the babe, who rear'd his creasy arms. 
 Caught at, and ever miss'd it, and thev laugh'd : 
 And on the left hand of the hearth he saw 
 The mother glancing often toward her babe. 
 But turning now and then to speak with him. 
 Her son, who stood beside her tall and strong. 
 And saying that which pleased him, for he smiled. 
 
 * Latest, last. 
 
 " Shingle, gravel from the seashore. 
 
ENOCH ARDEN 129 
 
 Now when the dead man come to life beheld 
 His wife his wife no more, and saw the babe 
 Hers, yet not his, upon the father's knee, 
 And all the warmth, the peace, the happiness, 
 And his own children tall and beautiful. 
 And him, that other, reigning in his place. 
 Lord of his rights and of his children's love, — 
 Then he, tho' Miriam Lane had told him all. 
 Because things seen are mightier than things heard, 
 Stagger'd and shook, holding the branch, and fear'd 
 To send abroad a shrill and terrible cry. 
 Which in one moment, like the blast of doom, 
 Would shatter all the happiness of the hearth. 
 
 He therefore turning softly like a thief. 
 Lest the harsh shingle should grate underfoot, 
 And feeling all along the garden wall, 
 Lest he should swoon and tumble and be found, 
 Crept to the gate, and open'd it, and closed, 
 As lightly as a sick man's chamber-door. 
 Behind him, and came out uj)on the waste. 
 
 And there he would have knelt, but that his knees 
 Were feeble, so that falling prone he dug 
 His fingers into the wet earth, and pray'd. 
 
 " Too hard to bear ! why did they take me thence ? 
 O God Almighty, blessed Saviour, Thou 
 That didst uphold me on my lonely isle, 
 Ui^hold me. Father, in my loneliness 
 A little longer ! aid me, give me strength 
 Not to tell her, never to let her know. 
 Help me not to break in upon her peace. 
 My childien too 1 must I not speak to these ? 
 
130 ENOCH ARDEN 
 
 They know me not. I should betray myself. 
 Never : no father's kiss for me — the girl 
 So like her mother, and the boy, my son." 
 
 There speech and thought and nature f ail'd a little 
 And he lay tranced ; but when he rose and paced 
 Back toward his solitary home again. 
 All down the long and narrow street he went 
 Beating it in upon his weary brain. 
 As tho' it were the burthen of a song, 
 " Not to tell her, never to let her know." 
 
 He was not all unhappy. His resolve 
 Upbore him, and firm faith, and evermore 
 Prayer from a living source within the will, 
 And beating up thro' all the bitter world. 
 Like fountains of sweet water in the sea,* 
 Kept him a living soul. " This miller's wife," 
 He said to Miriam, " that you spoke about, 
 Has she no fear that her first husband lives ? " 
 " Ay, ay, poor soul," said Miriam, " fear enow I 
 If you could tell her you had seen him dead. 
 Why, that would be her comfort ; " and he thought 
 " After the Lord has call'd me she shall know, 
 I wait His time ; " and Enoch set himself. 
 Scorning an alms, to work whereby to live. 
 Almost to all things could he turn his hand. 
 Cooper he was and carpenter, and wrought 
 To make the boatmen fishing-nets, or help'd 
 At lading and unlading the tall barks. 
 That brought the stinted commerce of those days ; 
 Thus earn'd a scanty living for himself : 
 Yet since he did but labor for himself, 
 * See page 125. 
 
ENOCH ARDEN 131 
 
 Work without hope, there was not life in it 
 Whereby the man could live ; and as the year 
 Roird itself round again to meet the day 
 When Enoch had return'd, a languor came 
 Upon him, gentle sickness, gradually 
 Weakening the man, till he could do no more, 
 But kept the house, his chair, and last his bed. 
 And Enoch bore his weakness cheerfully. 
 For sure no giadlier does the stranded wreck 
 See thro' the gray skirts of a lifting squall 
 The boat that bears the hope of life approach 
 To save the life despair'd of, than he saw 
 Death dawning on him, and the close of all. 
 
 For thro' that dawning gleam'd a kindlier hope 
 On Enoch thinking, " after I am gone, 
 Then may she learn I lov'd her to the last." 
 He call'd aloud for Miriam Lane and said 
 " Woman, I have a secret — only swear. 
 Before I tell you — swear upon the book 
 Not to reveal it, till you see me dead." 
 "Dead," clamor'd the good woman, " hear him talk-, 
 I warrant, man, that we shall bring you round." 
 " Swear," added Enoch sternly, " on the book." 
 And on the book, half-frighted, Miriam swore. 
 Then Enoch rolling his gray eyes upon her, 
 " Did you know Enoch Arden of this town ? " 
 " Know him? " she said, " I knew him far away. 
 Ay, ay, I mind him coming down the street ; 
 Held his head high, and cared for no man, he." 
 Slowly and sadly Enoch answer'd her : 
 "His head is low, and no man cares for him. 
 I think I have not three clays more to live ; 
 I am the man." At which the woman gave 
 
132 ENOCH ARDEN 
 
 A half-incredulous, half-hysterical cry. 
 
 " You Arden, you ! nay, — sure he was a foot 
 
 Higher than you be." Enoch said again 
 
 " My God has bow'd me down to what I am ; 
 
 My grief and solitude have broken me ; 
 
 Nevertheless, know you that I am he 
 
 Who married — but that name has twice been 
 
 changed — 
 I married her who married Philip Ray. 
 Sit, listen." Then he told her of his voyage, 
 His wreck, his lonely life, his coming back, 
 His gazing in on Annie, his resolve. 
 And how he kept it. As the woman heard, 
 Fast flow'd the current of her easy tears. 
 While in her heart she yearn'd incessantly 
 To rush abroad all round the little haven, 
 Proclaiming Enoch Arden and his woes ; 
 But awed and promise-bounden * she forbore, 
 Saying only, " See your bairns before you go! 
 Eh, let me fetch 'em, Arden," and arose 
 Eager to bring them down, for Enoch hung 
 A moment on her words, but then replied. 
 
 " Woman, disturb me not now at the last. 
 But let me hold my purpose till I die. 
 Sit down again ; mark me and understand. 
 While I have power to speak. I charge you now 
 When you shall see her, tell her that I died 
 Blessing her, praying for her, loving her ; 
 Save for the bar between us, loving her 
 As when she laid her head beside my own. 
 And tell my daughter Annie, whom I saw 
 
 * Bounden, an old form of hound) here U^ed, doubtless, 
 in large measure for the metre's sake. 
 
ENOCH ARDEN 133 
 
 So like her mother, that my latest breath 
 Was spent in blessing her and praying for her. 
 And tell my son that I died blessing him. 
 And say to Philip that I blest him too ; 
 He never meant us any thing but good. 
 But if my children care to see me dead, 
 Who hardly Icnew me living, let them come, 
 I am their father ; but she must not come, 
 For my dead face would vex her after-life. 
 And now there is but one of all my blood, 
 Who will embrace me in the world-to-be : 
 This hair is his : she cut it off and gave it. 
 And I have borne it with me all these years, 
 And thought to bear it with me to my grave ; 
 But now my mind is changed, for I shall see him, 
 My babe in bliss : wherefore when I am gone. 
 Take, give her this, for it may comfort her : 
 It will moreover be a token to her. 
 That I am he." 
 
 He ceased ; and Miriam Lane 
 Made such a voluble answer promising all. 
 That once again he roU'd his eyes upon her 
 Repeating all he wish'd, and once again 
 She promised. 
 
 Then the third night after this. 
 While Enoch slumber'd motionless and pale. 
 And Miriam watch'd and dozed at intervals. 
 There came so loud a calling of the sea, 
 That all the houses in the haven rang. 
 He woke, he rose, he spread his arms abroad. 
 Crying with a loud voice " A sail ! a sail ! 
 I am saved ; " and so fell back and spoke no more. 
 
134 CROSSING THE BAR 
 
 So past the strong heroic soul away. 
 And when they buried him the little port 
 Had seldom seen a costlier funeral. 
 
 CROSSING THE BAR. 
 
 Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 
 
 Sunset and evening star, 
 
 And one clear call for me ! 
 And may there be no moaning of the bar, 
 
 When I put out to sea, 
 
 But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 
 
 Too full for sound and foam, 
 When that which drew from out the boundless deep 
 
 Turns again home. 
 
 Twilight and evening bell, 
 
 And after that the dark ! 
 And may there be no sadness of farewell, 
 
 When I embark ; 
 
 For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place 
 
 The flood may bear me far, 
 I hope to see my Pilot face to face 
 
 When I have crost the bar. 
 
POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC 135 
 
 POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC. 
 
 Benjamin Franklin. 
 
 In Franklin's lifetime the almanac was the most popular form 
 of literature in America. A few people read newspapers, but 
 every farmer who could read at all had an almanac hanging by 
 the fireplace. Besides the monthly calendar and movements of 
 the heave^uly bodies, the almanac contained anecdotes, scraps of 
 useful information, and odds and ends of literature. Franklin 
 began the publication of such an almanac in 1732, pretending 
 that it was written by one Richard Saunders. It was pub- 
 lished annually for twenty-five years. " I endeavored," says 
 Franklin, "to make it both entertaining and useful; and it ac- 
 cordingly came to be in such demand, that I reaped considerable 
 profit from it, vending annually near ten thousand. And observ- 
 ing that it was generally read, scarce any neighborhood in the 
 province being without it, I considered it as a proper vehicle 
 for conveying instruction among the common people, who 
 bought scarcely any other books ; I therefore filled all the little 
 spaces that occurred between the remarkable days in the calendar 
 with proverbial sentences, chiefly such as inculcated industry and 
 frugality as the means of procuring wealth, and thereby securing 
 virtue ; it being more difficult for a man in want to act always 
 honestly, as, to use here one of those proverbs, ' it is hard for 
 an empty sack to stand upright.' " In the almanac Franklin in- 
 troduced his proverbs by the phrase Poor Richard says, as if he 
 were quoting from Richard Saunders, and so the almanac came 
 to be called Poor Richard's Almanac. 
 
 "These proverbs," he continues, "which contain the wisdom 
 of many ages and nations, I assembled and formed into a con- 
 nected discourse, prefixed to the almanac of 1757, as the harangue 
 of a^wise old man to the people attending an auction. The 
 bringing all these scattered counsels thus into a focus enabled 
 them to make greater impression. The piece, being universall;7 
 
136 POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC 
 
 approved, was copied in all the newspapers of the continent 
 [that is, the American continent] ; reprinted in Britain on a 
 broadside, to be stuck np in houses ; two translations were made 
 of it in French, and great numbers bought by the clergy and 
 gentry, to distribute gratis among their poor parishioners and 
 tenants. In Pennsylvania, as it discouraged useless expense in 
 foreign superfluities, some thought it had its share of influence 
 in producing that growing plenty of money which was observable 
 for several years after its publication." 
 
 Franklin's example was followed by other writers, — Noah 
 Webster, the maker of dictionaries, among them ; and one can 
 see in the popular almanacs of to-day, such as The Old Farmer's 
 Almanac, the effect of Franklin's style. When the king of France 
 gave Captain John Paul Jones a ship with which to make attacks 
 upon British merchantmen in the war for Independence, it was 
 named, out of compliment to Franklin, the Bon Homme Richard, 
 which might be translated Clever Richard. The pages which 
 follow are the connected discourse prefixed to the almanac of 
 1757. 
 
 Courteous Reader : — 
 
 I have heard that nothing gives an author so great 
 pleasure as to find his works respectfully quoted by 
 other learned authors. This pleasure I have seldom 
 enjoyed. For though I have been, i£ I may say it 
 without vanity, an eminent author of Almanacs annu- 
 ally, now for a full quarter of a century, my brother 
 authors in the same way, for what reason I know not, 
 have ever been very sparing in their applauses ; and 
 no other author has taken the least notice of me ; so 
 that did not my writings produce me some solid pud- 
 ding, the great deficiency of praise would have quite 
 discouraged me. 
 
 I concluded at length, that the people were the best 
 judges of my merit ; for they buy my works ; and 
 besides, in my rambles, where I am not personally 
 known, I have frequently heard one or other of my 
 
POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC 137 
 
 adages repented, with as Poor Richard says at the 
 end of it. This gave me some satisfaction, as it 
 showed, not only that my instructions were regarded, 
 but discovered likewise some respect for my authority ; 
 and I own, that to encourage the practice of remember- 
 ing and repeating those sentences, I have sometimes 
 quoted myself with great gravity. 
 
 Judge, then, how much I must have been gratified 
 by an incident I am going to relate to you. I stopped 
 my horse lately where a great number of people were 
 collected at a vendue of merchant's goods. The hour 
 of sale not being come, they were conversing on the 
 badness of the times ; and one of the company called 
 to a plain, clean old man with white locks, " Pray, 
 Father Abraham, what think you of the times ? Won't 
 these heavy taxes quite ruin the country ? How shall 
 we ever be able to pay them ? What would you advise 
 us to ? " Father Abraham stood up and replied : "If 
 you would have my advice, I will give it you in short ; 
 for A word to the wise is enough^ and Many loords 
 wonH fill a bushel, as Poor Richard says." They all 
 joined, desiring him to speak his mind, and gathering 
 round him, he proceeded as follows : — 
 
 Friends, says he, and neighbors, the taxes are in- 
 deed very heavy, and if those laid on by the govern- 
 ment were the only ones we had to pay, we might the 
 more easily discharge them ; but we have many others, 
 and much more grievous to some of us. We are taxed 
 twice as much by our idleness, three times as much 
 by our pride, and four times as much by our folly ; 
 and from these taxes the commissioners cannot ease 
 or deliver us, by allowing an abatement. However, let 
 us hearken to good advice, and something may be done 
 for us ; God helps them that help themselves^ as Poor 
 Richard says in his Almanac of 1733. 
 
138 POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC ■ 
 
 It would be thought a hard government that should 
 tax its people one-tenth part of their time, to be 
 employed in its service, but idleness taxes many of us 
 much more, if we reckon all that is spent in absolute 
 sloth, or doing of nothing; with that which is spent 
 in idle employments or amusements that amount to 
 nothing. Sloth, by bringing on diseases, absolutely 
 shortens life. Sloth, like rust, consumes /"aster than 
 labor wears ; while the used key is always bright, as 
 Poor Richard says. But dost thou love life ? then do 
 not squander time, for that 's the stuffs life is made of, 
 as Poor Richard says. 
 
 How much more than is necessary do we spend in 
 sleep? forgetting, that the sleeping fox catches no 
 poultry, and that there will be sleeping enough in the 
 grave, as Poor Richard says. If time be of all things 
 the most precious, wasting of time must be, as Poor 
 Richard says, the greatest prodigality; since, as he 
 elsewhere tells us, lost time is never found again; and 
 what we call time enough / always proves little enough. 
 Let us then up and be doing, and doing to the purpose ; 
 so, by diligence, shall we do more with less perplexity. 
 Sloth makes all things difficult, but industry all 
 things easy, as Poor Richard says ; and He that riseth 
 late must trot all day, and shall scarce overtake his 
 business at night; while laziness travels so slovjly 
 that Poverty soon overtakes him, as we read in Poor 
 Richard ; who adds. Drive thy business 1 let not that 
 drive thee 1 and — 
 
 Early to hed and early to rise 
 
 Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. 
 
 So what signifies wishing and hoping for better 
 times ? We may make these times better, if we bestir 
 ourselves. Industry need not wish, as Poor Richard 
 
POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC 139 
 
 says, and He that lives on hope will die fasting. 
 There are no gains loithout pains ; then help^ hands 1 
 for I have no lands ; or, if I have, they are smartly 
 taxed. And, as Poor Eichard likewise observes. He 
 that hath a trade hath an estate, and he that hath a 
 calling hath an office of profit and honor ; but then 
 the trade must be worked at, and the calling well 
 followed, or neither the estate nor the office will enable 
 us to pay our taxes. If we are industrious we shall 
 never starve ; for, as Poor Richard says. At the toorh- 
 ing-ma?i^s house hujiger looks in, hut dares not enter. 
 Nor will the bailiff or the constable enter, for Industry 
 pays debts, while despair increaseth them. 
 
 What though you have found no treasure, nor has 
 any rich relation left you a legacy, Diligence is the 
 mother of good luck, as Poor Eichard says, and God 
 gives all things to industi'y. 
 
 Then plough deep while sluggards sleep, 
 And you shall have corn to sell and to keep, 
 
 says Poor Dick. Work while it is called to-day, for 
 you know not how much you may be hindered to- 
 morrow; which makes Poor Eichard say, One to-day 
 is worth tioo to-morrotvs ; and farther. Have you some- 
 what to do to-morrow f Do it to-day I 
 
 If you were a servant, would you not be ashamed 
 that a good master should catch you idle ? Are you 
 then your own master? Be ashamed to catch yourself 
 idle, as Poor Dick says. When there is so much to 
 be done for yourself, your family, your country, and 
 your gracious king, be up by peep of day ! Let not 
 the sun look down and say, '•''Inglorious here he lies I " 
 Handle your tools without mittens! remember that 
 The cat in gloves catches no mice 1 as Poor Eichard 
 says. 
 
140 POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC 
 
 'T is true there is much to he done, and perhaps you 
 are weak-handed ; but stick to it steadily, and you will 
 see great effects ; for Constant dropping wears away 
 stones ; and By diligence and patience the mouse ate 
 in two the cable ; and Little strokes Jell great oaks ; 
 as Poor Richard says in his Almanac, the year I can- 
 not just now remember. 
 
 Methinks I hear some of you say, "Must a man 
 afford himself no leisure ? " I will tell thee, my friend, 
 what Poor Richard says. Employ thy time well, if 
 thou meanest to gain leisure ; and Since thou art not 
 sure of a minute, throw not away an hour I Leisure 
 is time for doing something useful ; this leisure the 
 diligent man will obtain, but the lazy man never ; so 
 that, as Poor Richard says, A life of leisure and a life 
 of laziness are two things. Do you imagine that sloth 
 will afford you more comfort than labor? No ! for, as 
 Poor Richard says. Trouble springs from idleness, and 
 grievous toil from needless ease. Many, without labor, 
 would live by their wits only, but they 'II break for 
 want of stock [i. e. capital] ; whereas industry gives 
 comfort, and plenty, and respect. My p)leasures, and 
 they 'II follow you. The diligent spinner has a large 
 shift; and — 
 
 Now I have a sheep and a cow, 
 Everybody bids me good morrow. 
 
 All which is well said by Poor Richard. But with 
 our industry we must likewise be steady, settled, and 
 careful, and oversee our own affairs with our own eyes, 
 and not trust too much to others ; for, as Poor Richard 
 
 says — 
 
 / never saiv an oft-removed tree 
 
 Nor yet an of t-removed family 
 
 That throije so well as those that settled be. 
 
 And again, Three removes are as bad as afire; and 
 
POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC 141 
 
 again, Keep thy slioi:).^ and thy shop will keep thee; 
 and again, If you would have your business done, go; 
 if not, send. And again — 
 
 He that by the plough loould thrive, 
 Himself must either hold oi- drive. 
 
 And again, The eye of the master will do more 
 work than both his hands; and again, Want of care 
 does us more damage than want of knowledge; and 
 again, iVoi to oversee workmen is to leave them, your 
 'purse open. 
 
 Trusting too much to others' care is the ruin of 
 many ; for, as the Almanac says. In the affairs of this 
 world men are saved, not by faith, but by the want of 
 it; but a man's own care is profitable ; for saith Poor 
 Dick, Learning is to the studious, and Riches to the 
 careful; as well as, Power to the bold, and Heaven 
 to the virtuous. And further. If you would have a 
 faithful servant, and one that you like, serve yourself. 
 
 And again, he adviseth to circumspection and care, 
 even in the smallest matters ; because sometimes, A 
 little neglect vnay breed great mischief; adding, ybr 
 want of a nail the shoe was lost ; for loant of a shoe, 
 the horse loas lost ; and for want of a horse the rider 
 was lost; being overtaken and slain by the enemy; 
 all for want of a little care about a horse-shoe nail ! 
 
 So much for industry, my friends, and attention to 
 one's own business ; but to these we must add frugality, 
 if we would make our industry more certainly success- 
 ful. A man may, if he knows not how to save as he 
 gets, keep his nose all his life to the grindstone, and 
 die not worth a groat at last. A fat kitchen makes a 
 lean will, as Poor Richard says ; and — 
 
 Many estates are spent in the getting, 
 
 Since women for tea i forsook spinning and knitting, 
 
 And men fo^' punch forsook hewing and splitting. 
 
 tTea at thiy time was a costly driak, and was regarded as a luxury. 
 
142 POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC 
 
 If you would be wealthy, says he in another Almanac, 
 
 Think of saving as well as of getting. The Indies 
 have not made Spain rich ; because her outgoes are 
 greater than her incomes. 
 
 Away, then, with your expensive follies, and you 
 will not have so much cause to complain of hard times, 
 heavy taxes, and chargeable families ; for as Poor Dick 
 says, — 
 
 Women and wine, game and deceit, 
 Make the wealth small and the wants great. 
 
 And farther, What maintains one vice would bring up 
 two children. You may think, perhaps, that a little 
 tea, or a little punch now and then ; a diet a little more 
 costly ; clothes a little finer ; and a little more enter- 
 tainment now and then, can be no great matter ; but re 
 member what Poor Richard says, Many a little makes 
 a mickle ; and further. Beware of little expenses ; A. 
 small leak will sink a great ship ; and again, — 
 
 Who dainties love, shall beggars prove ; 
 
 and moreover, Fools make feasts, and wise men eat 
 them. 
 
 Here are you all got together at this vendue of 
 fineries and knick-knacks. You call them goods ; but, 
 if you do not take care, they will prove evils to some 
 of you. You expect they will be sold cheap, and 
 perhaps they may for less than they cost ; but, if you 
 have no occasion for them, they must be dear to you. 
 Remember what Poor Richard says : Buy what thou 
 hast no need of and ere long thou shalt sell thy 
 necessaries. And again. At a great penny worth pause 
 a while. He means, that perhaps the cheapness Is 
 apparent only, and not real ; or the bargain by strait- 
 ening thee in thy business, may do thee more harm 
 than good. For in another place he says, Many ham 
 been ruined by buying good pennyworths* 
 
POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC 143 
 
 Again, Poor Richard says, ^ Tis foolish to lay out 
 money in a purchase of repentance ; and yet this folly 
 is practised every day at vendues for want of minding 
 the Almanac. 
 
 Wise men, as Poor Richard says, learn hy others' 
 harms ; Fools, scarcely hy their own ; but Felix quern 
 faciunt aliena pericula cautum.^ Many a one, for 
 the sake of finery on the back, has gone with a hungry 
 belly, and half-starved their families. Silks and 
 satins, scarlets and velvets, as Poor Richard says, j^ut 
 out the kitchen fire. These are not the necessaries of 
 life ; they can scarcely be called the conveniences ; 
 and yet, only because they look pretty, how many 
 want to have them ! The artificial wants of mankind 
 thus become more numerous than the natural ; and, as 
 Poor Dick says. For one poor person there are a hun- 
 dred indigent. 
 
 By these, and other extravagances, the genteel are 
 reduced to poverty, and forced to borrow of those 
 whom they formerly despised, but who, through indus- 
 try and frugality, have maintained their standing ; in 
 which case it appears plainly, that A ploughman on 
 his legs is higher than a gentleman on his knees, as 
 Poor Richard says. Perhaps they have had a small 
 estate left them, which they knew not the getting of ; 
 they think, ^ Tis day, and will never be night ; that a 
 little to be spent out of so much is not worth mind- 
 ing ; (y1 child and a fool, as Poor Richard says, im- 
 agine twenty shillings and twenty years can never be 
 gpent,) but Always taking out of the meal-tub, and 
 never putting in, soon comes to the bottom. Then, as 
 Poor Dick says, Tl'Tien the well 's dry, they know the 
 worth of water. But this they might have known 
 1 He 'b a lucky fellow who is made prudent by other men's perils. 
 
144 POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC 
 
 before, if they had taken his advice. If you would 
 know the value of money ^ go and try to horrow some ; 
 for He that goes a borrowing, goes a sorrowing, and 
 indeed so does he that lends to such people, when he 
 goes to get it in again. 
 
 Poor Dick further advises, and says — 
 
 Fond pride of dress is, sure, a very curse; 
 Ere fancy you consult, consult your purse. 
 
 And again, Pride is as loud a heggar as Want, and a 
 great deal more saucy. When you have bought one 
 fine thing, you must buy ten more, that your appear- 
 ance may be all of a piece ; but Poor Dick says, ' Tis 
 easier to suppress the first desire, than to satisfy all 
 that follow it. And 'tis as truly folly for the poor to 
 ape the rich, as for the frog to swell in order to equal 
 the ox. 
 
 Great estates may venture more. 
 
 But little boats should keep near shore. 
 
 'T is, however, a folly soon punished ; for, Pride 
 that dines on vanity sups on contempt, as Poor Rich- 
 ard says. And in another place, Pride breakfasted 
 with Plenty, dined with Poverty, and supped with 
 Infamy. 
 
 And after aU, of what use is this pride of appear- 
 ance, for which so much is risked, so much is suffered? 
 It cannot promote health or ease pain ; it makes no 
 increase of merit in the person ; it creates envy ; it 
 hastens misfortune. 
 
 What is a butterfly ? At best 
 He's but a caterpillar drest, 
 The gavdyfop 's his picture just, 
 
 as poor Richard says. 
 
 But what madness must it be to run into debt for 
 these superfluities ! We are offered, by the terms of 
 this vendue, six months' credit ; and that, perhaps. 
 
POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC 145 
 
 has induced some of us to attend it, because we cannot 
 spare the ready money, and hope now to be fine with- 
 out it. But, ah ! think what you do when you run in 
 debt : You give to another power over your liberty. 
 If you cannot pay at the time, you will be ashamed to 
 see your creditor ; you will be in fear when you speak 
 to him ; you will make poor, pitiful, sneaking excuses, 
 and by degrees come to lose your veracity, and sink 
 into base, downright lying ; for, as Poor Richard says, 
 The second vice is lying, the first is running into 
 debt ; and again, to the same purpose, lying i^des 
 upon debits back; whereas a free-born Englishman 
 ought not to be ashamed or afraid to see or speak to 
 any man living. But poverty often deprives a man of 
 all spirit and virtue. ^ Tis hard for an empty bag to 
 stand upright ! as Poor Richard truly says. What 
 would you think of that prince, or the government, 
 who should issue an edict forbidding you to dress like 
 a gentleman or gentlewoman, on pain of imprisonment 
 or servitude ? Would you not say that you are free, 
 have a right to dress as you please, and that such an 
 edict would be a breach of your privileges, and such a 
 government tyrannical ? And yet you are about to 
 put yourself under such tyranny, when you run in 
 debt for such dress ! Your creditor has authority, at 
 his pleasure, to deprive you of your liberty, by con- 
 fining you in jail for life, or to sell you for a servant, 
 if you should not be able to pay him.^ When you 
 have got your bargain, you may, perhaps, think little 
 of payment ; but Creditors (Poor Richard tells us) 
 have better memories than debtors ; and in another 
 place says. Creditors are a superstitious set, great ob- 
 
 1 At the time when this was written, and for many years afterward, the 
 laws against bankrupts and poor debtors were extremely severe. 
 
146 POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC 
 
 servers of set days and times. The day comes round 
 before you are aware, and tlie demand is made before 
 you are prepared to satisfy it ; or, if you bear your 
 debt in mind, the term which at first seemed so long, 
 will, as it lessens, appear extremely short. Time will 
 seem to have added wings to his heels as well as his 
 shoulders. Those have a short Lent^ saith Poor 
 Kichard, who owe money to he paid at Easter. Then 
 since, as he says, The borrower is a slave to the 
 lender, and the debtor to the creditor, disdain the 
 chain, preserve your freedom, and maintain your in- 
 dependency. Be industrious and free; be frugal 
 and free. At present, perhaps, you may think your- 
 self in thriving circumstances, and that you can bear 
 a little extravagance without injury ; but — 
 
 For age, and want, save while you may. 
 No morning sun lasts a whole day. 
 
 As Poor Richard says, gain may be temporary and 
 uncertain ; but ever, while you live, expense is con- 
 stant and certain ; and ' Tis easier to build two chimr 
 neys than to keep one in fuel, as Poor Richard says ; 
 so. Rather go to bed supperless than rise in debt. 
 
 Get what you can, and what you get hold ; 
 
 ' Tis the stone that will turn all your lead into gold,'^ 
 
 as Poor Richard says ; and, when you have got the 
 Philosopher's stone, sure, you will no longer complain 
 of bad times, or the difficulty of paying taxes. 
 
 This doctrine, my friends, is reason and wisdom; 
 but, after all, do not depend too much upon your own 
 industry and frugality and prudence, though excel- 
 lent things ; for they may all be blasted without the 
 blessing of Heaven ; and therefore, ask that blessing 
 
 1 In the Middle Ages there was a great search made for the philosopher's 
 stone, as it was called, a mineral which should have the power of turning 
 base metals into gold. 
 
POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC 147 
 
 humbly, and be uot uncharitable to those that at pres- 
 ent seem to want it, but comfort and help them. Re- 
 member Job suffered, and was afterwards prosperous. 
 And now, to conclude, Exijerlence keeps a dear 
 school, hut fools will learn in no other, and scarce in 
 that ; for it is true. We may give advice, hut we can- 
 not give conduct, as Poor Richard says. However, 
 remember this, They that toon't he counselled, can't 
 he helped, as Poor Richard says ; and fui'ther, that, 
 If you will not hear reason, she 'II surely rap your 
 knuckles. 
 
 Thus the old gentleman ended his harangue. The 
 people heard it, and approved the doctrine ; and im- 
 mediately practised the contrary, just as if it had been 
 a common sermon. For the vendue opened, and they 
 began to buy extravagantly, notwithstanding all his 
 cautions, and their own fear of taxes. I found the 
 good man had thoroughly studied my Almanacs, and 
 digested all I had dropped on those topics during the 
 course of five-and-twenty years. The frequent men- 
 tion he made of me must have tired any one else ; but 
 my vanity was wonderfully delighted with it, though 
 I was conscious that uot a tenth part of the wisdom 
 was my own which he ascribed to me, but rather the 
 gleanings that I had made of the sense of all ages and 
 nations. However, I resolved to be the better for the 
 echo of it ; and, though I had at first determined to 
 buy stuff for a new coat, I went away resolved to 
 wear my old one a little longer. Reader, if thou wilt 
 do the same, thy profit will be as great as mine. I 
 am, as ever, thine to serve thee, 
 
 RICHARD SAUNDERS. 
 
 July 7, 1757. 
 
148 HOHENLINDEN 
 
 HOHENLINDEN.i 
 
 Thomas Campbell. 
 
 On Linden, when the sun was low, 
 All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, 
 And dark as winter was the flow 
 Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 
 
 But Linden saw another sight, 
 When the drum beat, at dead of night, 
 Commanding fires of death to light 
 The darkness of her scenery. 
 
 By torch and trumpet fast array'd, 
 Each horseman drew his battle-blade, 
 And furious every charger neigh'd, 
 To join the dreadful revelry. 
 
 Then shook the hills with thunder riven, 
 Then rush'd the steed to battle driven, 
 And louder than the bolts of heaven, 
 Far flash' d the red artillery. 
 
 But redder yet that light shall glow 
 On Linden's hills of stained snow, 
 And bloodier yet the torrent flow 
 Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 
 
 'T is morn, but scarce yon level sun 
 Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, 
 
 * The battle of Hohenlinden was fought December 2, 1800 
 The Austrian troops were defeated by the French, and as a re- 
 suit the Rhine was made the border of France. 
 
BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURN 149 
 
 Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, 
 Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 
 
 The combat deepens. On, ye brave. 
 Who rush to glory, or the grave! 
 Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, 
 And charge with all thy chivalry! 
 
 Few, few, shall part where many meet I 
 The snow shall be their winding-sheet, 
 And every turf beneath their feet 
 Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 
 
 BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURN. 
 
 Robert Bukns. 
 
 Tune — Hey, tuttie taitie. 
 
 Of these stirring patriotic lines Burns wrote to a friend: 
 " Ther*^ is a tradition, which I have met with in many parts of 
 Scotland, that it [the air Hey, tuttie taitie^ was Robert Bruce's 
 march at the battle of Bannockburn. This thought, in my yes- 
 ternight's evening walk, warmed me to a pitch of enthusiasm on 
 the theme of liberty and independence, which I threw into a kind 
 of Scottish ode, fitted to the air, that one might suppose to be 
 the gallant royal Scot's address to his heroic followers on that 
 eventful morning." 
 
 Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
 Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, 
 Welcome to your gory bed. 
 Or to victory ! 
 
150 BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURN 
 
 Now 's the day, and now 's the hour j 
 See the front o' battle lour ; 
 See approach proud Edward's power — * 
 Chains and slavery ! 
 
 Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
 Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
 Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
 
 Let him turn and flee I 
 
 Wha for Scotland's king and law 
 Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
 Freeman stand, or freeman fa', 
 Let him follow me ! 
 
 By oppression's woes and pains I 
 By your sons in servile chains ! 
 We will drain our dearest veins, 
 But they shall be free I 
 
 Lay the proud usurpers low I 
 Tyrants fall in every foe I 
 Liberty 's in every blow ! — 
 Let us do or die I 
 
 ' Edward U. of England was the king against whom Brace 
 fought successfully at Bannockburu. 
 
^^,^:^/^^^ ^^^..^y^ 
 
CONCORD HYMN 151 
 
 CONCORD HYMN. 
 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
 
 SUNG AT THE COMPLETION OF THE BATTLE MONU- 
 MENT, APRIL 19, 1836. 
 
 By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
 Their flag to April's breeze unfurled. 
 
 Here once the embattled farmers stood,^ 
 And fired the shot heard round the world. 
 
 The foe long since in silence slept ; 
 
 Alike the conqueror silent sleeps ; 
 And Time the ruined bridge has swept 
 
 Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. 
 
 On the green bank, by this soft stream, 
 
 We set to-day a votive stone ; 
 That memory may their deed redeem, 
 
 When, like our sires, our sons are gone. 
 
 Spirit, that made those heroes dare 
 To die, and leave their children free, 
 
 Bid Time and Nature gently spare 
 The shaft we raise to them and thee. 
 
 ^ Does this shaft mark the spot where the farmers stood, or 
 where the British fell? Read Emerson's brief Address at the 
 Hundredth Anniversary of the Concord Fight, April 19, 1875, the 
 last piece written out with his own hand. (^Cooke, 182.) 
 
152 LINCOLN'S SPEECH AT GETTYSBURG 
 
 SPEECH AT THE DEDICATION OF THE NA- 
 TIONAL CEMETERY, GETTYSBURG, PENN- 
 SYLVANIA, NOVEMBER 19, 1863. 
 
 Abraham Lincoln. 
 
 Fourscore and seven years ago, our fathers brought 
 forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in lib- 
 erty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are 
 created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil 
 war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so con- 
 ceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met 
 on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to 
 dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place 
 for those who here gave their lives that that nation 
 might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we 
 should do this. But in a larger sense we cannot dedi- 
 cate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this 
 ground. The brave men, living and dead, who strug- 
 gled here, have consecrated it far above our poor power 
 to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long 
 remember, what we say here, but it can never forget 
 what they did here. It is for us, the living, rather to 
 be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they 
 who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It 
 is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task 
 remaining before us, — that from these honored dead 
 we take increased devotion to that cause for which 
 they gave the last full measure of devotion, — that we 
 here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died 
 in vain, — that this nation, under God, shall have a 
 new birth of freedom, — and that government of the 
 people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish 
 from the earth. 
 
O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 153 
 
 O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 
 
 Walt Whitman. 
 
 I. 
 
 O Captain ! my Captain ! our fearful trip is done ; 
 The ship has weathered every wrack, the prize we 
 
 sought is won ; 
 The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exult- 
 ing, 
 While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and 
 daring : 
 But O heart I heart ! heart ! 
 
 O the bleeding drops of red, 
 
 Where on the deck my Captain lies, 
 Fallen cold and dead. 
 
 II. 
 
 O Captain ! my Captain I rise up and hear the bells ; 
 Rise up — for you the flag is flung, for you the bugle 
 
 trills ; 
 For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths, for you the 
 
 shores a-crowding ; 
 For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces 
 turning ; 
 Here Captain ! dear father ! 
 
 This arm beneath your head ; 
 
 It is some dream that on the deck 
 You 've fallen cold and dead. 
 
154 THE OCEAN 
 
 III. 
 
 My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and 
 
 still ; 
 My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor 
 
 will ; 
 The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed 
 
 and done : 
 From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object 
 won ; 
 Exult, O shores ! and ring, O bells ! 
 But I, with mournful tread,' 
 Walk the deck my Captain lies 
 Fallen cold and dead. 
 
 THE OCEAN. 
 
 George Noel Gordon, Lord Byron. 
 
 From Childe Harold'' s Pilgrimage, Canto IV, stanzas clxxviii-clxxxiv. 
 
 Throughout Childe IIarold''s Pilgrimage the writer poses as one 
 who has "not loved the world, nor the world him." It was after the 
 publication of the first two cantos of this poem that Byron " woke one 
 morning to find himself famous." He once called himself "the grand 
 Napoleon of the realms of rhyme." 
 
 There is a pleasure in the pathless woods ; 
 There is a rapture on the lonely shore ; 
 There is society where none intrudes, 
 By the deep sea, and music in its roar: 
 I love not man the less, but nature more, 
 From these our interviews, in which I steal 
 From all I may be, or have been before, 
 To mingle with the universe, and feel 
 What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. 
 
THE OCEAN 155 
 
 Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean, roll ! 
 Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
 Man marks the earth with ruin ; his control 
 Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain 
 The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
 A shadow of man's ravage, save his own. 
 When, for a moment, like a drop of rain. 
 He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan. 
 Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown, 
 
 His steps are not upon thy paths ; thy fields 
 
 Are not a spoil for him ; thou dost arise 
 
 And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he 
 
 wields 
 For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, 
 Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies. 
 And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray. 
 And howling, to his gods, where haply lies 
 His petty hope in some near port or bay, 
 And dashest him again to earth : there let him lay.* 
 
 The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
 Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, 
 And monarchs tremble in their capitals. 
 The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
 Their clay creator the vain title take 
 Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war, — 
 
 ' "This use of lay has caused considerable comment. Byron, 
 whether carelessly or intentionally, employs lay several times in 
 his poems as an intransitive verb. He might find authority for 
 this confusion of lie and lay in writers of the middle English 
 period ; but it must be confessed that no great poet of the lan- 
 guage is so careless of his grammar as Byron." — Byron's Poerm, 
 Cambridge Edition. 
 
156 THE OCEAN 
 
 These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, 
 They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
 Alike the Armada's ^ pride or spoils of Trafalgar.^ 
 
 Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee: 
 Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? 
 Thy waters washed them power while they were 
 
 free, 
 And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey 
 The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay 
 Has dried up realms to deserts : not so thou, 
 Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play ; 
 Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow ; 
 Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 
 
 Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
 Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time. 
 Calm or convulsed ; in breeze or gale or storm, 
 Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
 Dark-heaving, boundless, endless, and sublime, — 
 The image of Eternity, the throne 
 Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime 
 The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone 
 Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 
 
 And I have loved thee. Ocean ! and my joy 
 Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
 Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy 
 
 1 wantoned with thy breakers — they to me 
 Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea 
 
 ^ Armada, the fleet of Philip II of Spain defeated by Sir 
 Francis Drake. 
 
 2 Irafalgar, the famous battle in which Lord Nelson de 
 feated Napoleon's navy. 
 
PORTIA'S SPEECH ON MERCY 157 
 
 Made them a terror — 't was a pleasing fear, 
 For I was as it were a child of thee, 
 And trusted to thy billows far and near, 
 And laid my hand upon thy mane,^ — as I do here. 
 
 PORTIA'S SPEECH ON MERCY. 
 
 From the Merchant of Venice, Act iv, Scene 1. 
 
 The quality of mercy is not strained ; 
 It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
 Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest ; 
 It blesseth him that gives and him that takes : 
 'T is mightiest in the mightiest : it becomes 
 The throned monarch better than his crown : 
 His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
 The atti'ibute to awe and majesty. 
 Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; 
 But mercy is above the sceptred sway ; 
 It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
 It is an attribute to God himself ; 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
 When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
 Though justice be thy plea, consider this, 
 That in the course of justice, none of us 
 Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ; 
 And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
 The deeds of mercy. 
 
 ' Mane, cf . Scott's lines in The Lay of the Last Minstrel : — 
 
 " Each waTe was crested with tawny foam, 
 Like the mane of a chestnut Bteed." 
 
158 
 
 JULIUS CJESAR 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONiE 
 
 JULIOS C^SAK. 
 
 OCTAVIUS CassAR, 
 Marcus Antokius, 
 M. -^MiLius Lepidus, 
 
 1 triumvirs 
 after the 
 \ death of 
 I Julius 
 J Ccesar. 
 
 A Soothsayer. 
 CiNNA, a poet. 
 
 Another Poet. 
 
 Cicero 
 
 PUBLIUS, 
 
 1 
 
 , y senators. 
 
 PopiLius Lena, J 
 
 Marcus Brutus, 
 
 Cassius, 
 
 Casca, conspirators 
 
 Trebonius, against 
 
 Ligarius, j Julius 
 
 Decius Brutus, Ccesar. 
 
 Metellus Cimber 
 
 CiNNA, 
 
 Flavius and Marullus, tribunes. 
 Artemidorus of Cnidos, a teacher 
 of Rhetoric. 
 
 . friends to Brutus 
 and Cassius. 
 
 servants to Brutus. 
 
 LuciLius, 
 
 TiTINIUS, 
 
 Messala, 
 
 Young Cato 
 
 volumnius, 
 
 Varro, 
 
 Clitus, 
 
 Claudius, 
 
 Strato, 
 
 Lucius, 
 
 Dardanius, 
 
 Pindarus, servant to Cassius. 
 
 Calpurnia, wife to Ccesar. 
 Portia, wife to Brutus. 
 
 Senators, Citizens, Guards, Atten- 
 dants, etc. 
 
 Scene : Rome ; the neighbourhood of Sardis ; the neighbourhood 
 of Philippi. 
 
 Julius Ccesar. The name of the great Roman was Caius Julius 
 CaBsar ; Julius being his tribal or family name (like Campbell or Gra- 
 ham). But in his branch of the gens the cognomen Caesar had been 
 added (for reasons unknown) to the family name some generations 
 before, so that the dictator was the eighteenth Julius Caesar in his own 
 direct line ; the others having for their first names, or prenomens, 
 Sextus, Lucius, or, like him, Caius. In Rome he would never be 
 called Julius Caesar ; but by his friends Caius, and by the public Cae- 
 sar, par excellence. [So world-wide did the name become as a syno- 
 nym for chieftainship that even the Slavic races appropriated it. The 
 Russian Czar or Tsar is the same word.] 
 
 Note : The text of the play and the notes not enclosed in brackets 
 are those of the Riverside Edition prepared by the Shakespearean 
 scholar, Mr. Richard Grant White. 
 
JULIUS CESAR 159 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Scene I. Home. A street. 
 
 Enter Flavius, Marullus, and certain Commoners. 
 
 Flav. Hence ! home, you idle creatures, get you 
 home : 
 Is this a holiday ? what ! know you not, 
 Being mechanical, you ought not walk 
 Upon a labouring day without the sign 
 Of your profession ? Speak, what trade art thou ? 
 First Com. Why, sir, a carpenter. 
 Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule ? 
 What dost thou with thy best apparel on ? 
 You, sir, what trade are you ? 9 
 
 Sec. Com. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, 
 I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. 
 
 Mar. But what trade art thou ? answer me 
 
 directly. 
 Sec. Com. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use 
 with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender 
 of bad soles. 
 
 3Iar. What trade, thou knave ? thou naughty 
 
 knave, what trade ? 
 13. [use = practise.] 
 
 IG. [knave was originally no other than " boy," the German 
 knahe, and in our common use we give the word " boy " the 
 range of two of the meanings of knave. The notion of villain 
 was a remoter third, and is not in Marullus's mind.] 
 
160 JULIUS CjESAR [Act I 
 
 Sec. Com. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out 
 with me : yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. 
 
 Mar. What mean'st thou by that ? mend me, thou 
 saucy fellow ! 20 
 
 Sec. Com. Why, sir, cobble you. 
 
 Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou ? 
 
 Sec. Com. Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the 
 awl : I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor wo- 
 men's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a sur- 
 geon to old shoes ; when they are in great danger, I 
 recover 'them. As proper men as ever trod upon 
 neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork. 
 
 Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day ? 
 Why dost thou lead these men about the streets ? 30 
 
 Sec. Com. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get 
 myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, w« make 
 holiday, to see Caesar and to rejoice in his triumph. 
 
 Mar. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings 
 he home ? 
 What tributaries follow him to Rome, 
 To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels ? 
 You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things ! 
 O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, 
 Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft 
 Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, 40 
 To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops. 
 Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
 The live-long day, with patient expectation. 
 To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome : 
 And when you saw his chariot but appear. 
 Have you not made an universal shout, 
 That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, 
 
 47. her banks. Tiber is " Father Tiber " as Thames is 
 " Father Thames " ; but both are referred to in the literature of 
 
Scene I] JULIUS C^SAR 161 
 
 To hear the replication of your sounds 
 
 Made in her concave shores ? 
 
 And do you now put on your best attire ? 60 
 
 And do you now cull out a holiday ? 
 
 And do you now strew flowers in his way 
 
 That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood? 
 
 Be gone ! 
 
 Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, 
 
 Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 
 
 That needs must light on this ingratitude. 
 
 Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this 
 fault, 
 Assemble all the poor men of your sort ; 
 Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears 60 
 Into the channel, till the lowest stream 
 Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. 
 
 \_Exeunt all the Commoners. 
 
 See, whe'er their basest metal be not mov'd ; 
 They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness. 
 Go you down that way towards the Capitol ; 
 This way will I : disrobe the images. 
 If you do find them deck'd with ceremony. 
 
 Mar. May we do so? 
 You know it is the feast of Lupercal. 
 
 Flav. It is no matter ; let no images 70 
 
 Be hung with Ctesar's trophies. I '11 about, 
 
 Shakespeare's day by " her," as well as by " his." In neither 
 case is there a personification by gender; merely a varying use 
 of the pronoun in the possessive form, consequent upon the need 
 afterward supplied by " its," which at that time made its appear- 
 ance in the language. See " Did lose his lustre," Sc. 2, 1. 124. 
 
 63. ■w^he'er ■= whether ; a contraction which occurs elsewhere. 
 
 67. [ceremony. Other texts read ceremonies, and the 
 word in either form is used for ceremonial symbols. See below, 
 Act I., Sc. 2, 1. 285.] 
 
162 JULIUS C^SAR [Act I 
 
 And drive away the vulgar from the streets : 
 
 So do you too, where you perceive them thick. 
 
 These growing feathers pluck'd from Caesar's wing 
 
 Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, 
 
 Who else would soar above the view of men 
 
 And keep us all in servile fearfulness. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. A public place. 
 
 Flourish. Enter C^sak ; Antony, for the course ; Calpuknia, Pob- 
 TiA, Deoius, Ciceko, Brutus, Cassios, and Casca ; a great crowd 
 following, among them a Soothsayer. 
 
 Gees. Calpurnia ! 
 
 Casca. Peace, ho ! Caesar speaks. 
 
 CcBs. Calpurnia \ 
 
 Cal. Here, my lord. 
 
 Cms. Stand you directly in Antonius' way, 
 When he doth run his course. Antonius ! 
 
 Ant. Caesar, my lord ? 
 
 Cces. Forget not, in your speed, Antonius, 
 To touch Calpurnia ; for our elders say. 
 The barren, touched in this holy chase, 
 Shake off their sterile curse. 
 
 Ant. I shall remember : 
 
 When, Caesar says "do this," it is perform'd. 10 
 
 Cces. Set on ; and leave no ceremony out. [Flourish. 
 
 72. [vulgar. The adjective, used here as a noun, remains in 
 use in its unobjectionable sense in the phrases the " vulgar 
 tongue," and " vulgar fractions."] 
 
 75. [pitch. Used of a falcon's flight " which flies the higher 
 pitch." King Henry VI. First Part, Act II., Sc. 4, 1. 11.] 
 
 Enter . . . Decius. This is Deeimus Junius Brutus Albanus, 
 called Decius by mistake in North's Plutarch, whence Shake- 
 speare took the name, which the rhythm of his verse forbids to 
 be changed. It was this Deeimus (Decius) Brutus, and not 
 Marcus, who was Csesar's favorite. 
 
Scene II] JULIUS C^SAR 163 
 
 Sooth. Caesar! 
 Cobs. Ha ! who calls ? 
 
 Casca. Bid every noise be still : peace yet again I 
 Cces. Who is it in the press that calls on me? 
 I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music, 
 Cry " Caesar ! " Speak ; Caesar is turn'd to hear. 
 Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 
 Cces. ' What man is that ? 
 
 £ru. A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of 
 
 March. 
 Cces. Set him before me ; let me see his face. 20 
 Cas. Fellow, come from the throng ; look upon 
 
 Caesar. 
 Cces. What say'st thou to me now? speak once 
 
 again. 
 Sooth. Beware the ides of March. 
 Cces. He is a dreamer ; let us leave him : pass. 
 
 [Sennet. Exeunt all except Brutus and Cassius. 
 
 Cas. Will you go see the order of the course ? 
 
 Bru. Not I. 
 
 Cas. I pray you, do. 
 
 Bru. I am not gamesome : I do lack some part 
 Of that quick spirit that is in Antony. 
 Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires ; 30 
 
 I '11 leave you. 
 
 Cas. Brutus, I do observe you now of late : 
 I have not from your eyes that gentleness 
 And show of love as I was wont to have : 
 You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand 
 Over your friend that loves you. 
 
 18. [ides, i. e. the fifteenth day.] 
 
 21. [Fello'w. Rarely used in contemptuous sense, and prob- 
 ably not here.] 
 
 28. [gamesome =r sportive.] 
 
 34. as I vras, etc. = that I was, etc. 
 
164 JULIUS CMSAR [Act I 
 
 Bru. Cassius, 
 
 Be not deceiv'd : if I have veil'd my look, 
 I turn the trouble of my countenance 
 Merely upon myself. Vexed I am 
 Of late with passions of some difference, 40 
 
 Conceptions only proper to myself, 
 Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviour ; 
 But let not therefore my good friends be griev'd — 
 Among which number, Cassius, be you one — 
 Nor construe any further my neglect. 
 Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, 
 Forgets the shows of love to other men. 
 
 Cas. Then, Brutus, I have much mistook j i ur 
 passion ; 
 By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried 
 Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations. bU 
 
 Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face ? 
 
 Bru. No, Cassius ; for the eye sees not itself 
 But by reflection, — by some other thing. 
 
 Cas. 'T is just : 
 And it is very much lamented, Brutus, 
 That you have no such mirrors as will turn 
 Your hidden worthiness into your eye. 
 That you might see your shadow. I have heard, 
 Where many of the best respect in Rome, 
 Except immortal Caesar, speaking of Brutus 60 
 
 And groaning underneath this age's yoke. 
 Have wish'd that noble Brutus had his eyes. 
 
 Bru. Into what dangers would you lead me, Cas- 
 sius, 
 That you would have me seek into myself 
 For that which is not in me ? 
 
 Cas. Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar'd to hear : 
 And since you know you cannot see yourself 
 
ScenkII] JULIUS CuESAR 165 
 
 So well as by reflection, I, your glass, 
 
 Will modestly discover to yourself 
 
 That of yourself which you yet know not of. 70 
 
 And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus : 
 
 Were I a common laugher, or did use 
 
 To stale with ordinary oaths my love 
 
 To every new protester ; if you know 
 
 That I do fawn on men and hug them hard 
 
 And after scandal them, or if you know 
 
 That I profess myself in banqueting 
 
 To all the rout, then hold me dangerous. 
 
 [Flourish, and shoitt. 
 
 Bru. What means this shouting? I do fear, the 
 people 
 Choose Caesar for their king. 
 
 Cas. Ay, do you fear it? 80 
 
 Then must I think you would not have it so. 
 
 Bru. I would not, Cassius ; yet I love him well. 
 But wherefore do 5'ou hold me here so long? 
 What is it that you would impart to me? 
 If it be aught toward the general good, 
 Set honour in one eye and death i' th' other, 
 And I will look on both indifferently. 
 For let the gods so speed me as I love 
 The name of honour more than I fear death. 
 
 Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 90 
 As well as I do know your outward favour. 
 
 71. jealous on me : a use of "on" for "of" hardly obsolete 
 in New England. [Jealous = suspicious. See 1. 162 below.] 
 
 88. [When we wish one " Godspeed," we wish that God favor 
 him.] 
 
 91. [When we say that a boy favors his father, we mean that 
 his face is like his father's ; and the favor given in the german 
 has its meaning also in Shakespeare's time of a token of favor. 
 The double meaning is cleverly shown in Love's Labour 's Lost, 
 Act v., Sc. 2, 1. 30-33.] 
 
166 JULIUS C^SAR [Act I 
 
 Well, honour is the subject of my story. 
 
 I cannot tell what you and other men 
 
 Think of this life; but, for my single self, 
 
 I had as lief not be as live to be 
 
 In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
 
 I was born free as Caesar ; so were you : 
 
 We both have fed as well, and we can both ^ 
 
 Endure the winter's cold as well as he : 
 
 For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 100 
 
 The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, 
 
 Caesar said to me " Dar'st thou, Cassius, now 
 
 Leap in with me into this angry flood. 
 
 And swim to yonder point?" Upon the word, 
 
 Accoutred as I was, I plunged in 
 
 And bade him follow ; so indeed he did. 
 
 The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it 
 
 With lusty sinews, throwing it aside 
 
 And stemming it with hearts of controversy ; 
 
 But ere we could arrive the point propos'd, 110 
 
 Caesar cried, " Help me, Cassius, or I sink ! " 
 
 I, as ^neas, our great ancestor. 
 
 Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 
 
 The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber 
 
 Did I the tired Caesar. And this man 
 
 Is now become a god, and Cassius is 
 
 A wretched creature and must bend his body. 
 
 If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 
 
 He had a fever when he was in Spain, 
 
 95. [Words are so alive to Shakespeare that he is forever 
 playing with them on very slight pretexts. Lief and live are 
 pronounced alike.] 
 
 109. controversy : loosely used for contention, resistance. 
 
 110. arrive the point : a use of *• arrive " without " at " fre- 
 quently found in our old writers. 
 
Scene II] JULIUS CESAR 167 
 
 And when the fit was on him, I did mark 120 
 
 How he did shake : 't is true, this god did shake : 
 
 His coward lips did from their colour fly. 
 
 And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world 
 
 Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan : 
 
 Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans 
 
 Mark him and write his speeches in their books, 
 
 Alas, it cried " Give me some drink, Titinius," 
 
 As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me 
 
 A man of such a feeble temper should 
 
 So get the start of the majestic world 130 
 
 And bear the palm alone. [^Shout. Flourish. 
 
 Bru. Another general shout ! 
 I do believe that these applauses are 
 For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar. 
 
 Cas. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world 
 Like a Colossus, and we petty men 
 Walk under his huge legs and peep about 
 To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 
 Men at some time are masters of their fates : 
 The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 140 
 
 But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
 Brutus and Caesar : what should be in that " Caesar " ? 
 Why should that name be sounded more than yours? 
 Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; 
 Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; 
 Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with 'em, 
 " Brutus " will start a spirit as soon as " Caesar." 
 Now, in the names of all the gods at once. 
 Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, 
 That he is grown so great ? Age, thou art sham'd ! 150 
 Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods ! 
 When went there by an age, since the great flood, 
 But it was fam'd with more than with one man ? 
 
168 JULIUS C^SAR [Act I 
 
 When could they say till now, that talk'd of Rome, 
 That her wide walls encompass'd but one man ? 
 Now is it Rome indeed and room enough, 
 When there is in it but one only man. 
 O, you and I have heard our fathers say. 
 There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd 
 The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome 160 
 
 As easily as a king. 
 
 Bru. That you do love me, I am nothing jealous ; 
 What you would work me to, I have some aim : 
 How I have thought of this and of these times, 
 I shall recount hereafter ; for this present, 
 I would not, so with love I might entreat you, 
 Be any further mov'd. What you have said 
 I will consider ; what you have to say 
 I will with patience hear, and find a time 
 Both meet to hear and answer such high things. 170 
 Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this : 
 Brutus had rather be a villager 
 Than to repute himself a son of Rome 
 Under these hard conditions as this time 
 Is like to lay upon us. 
 
 156. Rome . . . room : pronounced alike in Shakespeare's 
 day, and indeed very long afterwards. 
 
 159. There was a Brutus : Junius Brutus, the friend of Col- 
 latinus (see Lucrece), and first consul after the expulsion of the 
 Tarquins. [The allusion affords an extremely artful climax.] 
 
 160. The eternal devil = the devil of the next world, of 
 eternity, who attends to the eternal tormenting of the unre- 
 generate. 
 
 162. nothing jealous^ not at all suspicious, doubtful. 
 
 171. chew upon this = ruminate, think over. It is said that 
 this use of " chew " is obsolete: erroneously. Not long ago I heard 
 a man, who I am sure never saw the inside of a Shakespeare, if, 
 indeed, the outside, say, " I give [gave] him that to chaw on." 
 
 174. [these = such.] 
 
Scene II] JULIUS C^SAR 169 
 
 Cas. I am glad that my weak words 
 Have struck but thus much show of fire from Brutus. 
 
 Bru. The games are done and Caesar is returning. 
 
 Cas. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve ; 
 And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you 180 
 
 What hath proceeded worthy note to-day. 
 
 He-enter C^sar and his Train, 
 
 Bru. I will do so. But, look you, Cassius, 
 The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow, 
 And all the rest look like a chidden train : 
 Calpurnia's cheek is pale ; and Cicero 
 Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes 
 As we have seen him in the Capitol, 
 Being cross'd in conference by some senators. 
 
 Cas. Casca will tell us what the matter is. 
 
 C(BS. Antonius ! 190 
 
 Ant. Caesar? 
 
 Cces. Let me have men about me that are fat : 
 Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o' nights : 
 Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look ; 
 He thinks too much : such men are dangerous. 
 
 Ant. Fear him not, Caesar; he 's not dangerous ; 
 He is a noble Roman and well given. 
 
 Cces. Would he were fatter ! But I fear him not : 
 Yet if my name were liable to fear, 
 I do not know the man I should avoid 200 
 
 So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much ; 
 He is a great observer, and he looks 
 
 177. [thus much. It is worth while to note that Shake- 
 speare did not warrant the phrase this much which is creeping 
 into ordinary usage.] 
 
 185. Cicero. This is Shakespeare's own imagination of 
 Cicero ; there is no record of such an expression on his face. 
 
 197. Twell given = well addicted, of honest habit and manners. 
 
170 JULIUS CJESAR [Act I 
 
 Quite through the deeds of men ; he loves no plays, 
 
 As thou dost, Antony ; he hears no music ; 
 
 Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort 
 
 As if he mock'd himself and scorn'd his spirit 
 
 That could be mov'd to smile at any thing. 
 
 Such men as he be never at heart's ease 
 
 Whiles they behold a greater than themselves, 
 
 And therefore are they very dangerous. 210 
 
 I rather tell thee what is to be fear'd 
 
 Than what I fear ; for always I am Caesar. 
 
 Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf. 
 
 And tell me truly what thou think'st of him. 
 
 \_Sennet. Exeunt Ccesar and all his Train, but Casca. 
 
 Casca. You puU'd me by the cloak ; would you 
 speak with me? 
 
 Bru. Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanc'd to-day, 
 That Caesar looks so sad. 
 
 Casca. Why, you were with him, were you not ? 
 
 Bru. I should not then ask Casca what had chanc'd. 
 
 Casca. Why, there was a crown offer'd him: and 
 being offer'd him, he put it by with the back of his 
 hand, thus ; and then the people fell a-shouting. 222 
 
 Bru. What was the second noise for ? 
 
 Casca. Why, for that too. 
 
 Cas. They shouted thrice : what was the last cry 
 for ? 
 
 Casca. Why, for that too. 
 
 Bru. Was the crown offer'd him thrice ? 
 
 Casca. Ay, marry, was 't, and he put it by thrice, 
 
 221. [A truly vigorous rejecter turns the palm outward, for 
 the palm strikes. Shakespeare's conception of the character of 
 Csesar, as determining the tragedy, is presented here. Plutarch 
 says : " The chiefest cause that made him mortally hated was the 
 covetous desire he had to be called king."] 
 
Scene II] JULIUS C/ESAR 171 
 
 every time gentler than other ; and at every putting- 
 by mine honest neighbours shouted. 230 
 
 Cas. Who offer'd him the crown? 
 
 Casca. Why, Antony. 
 
 Bru. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. 
 
 Casca. I can as well be hang'd as tell the manner 
 of it : it was mere foolery ; I did not mark it. I saw 
 Mark Antony offer him a crown ; — yet 't was not a 
 crown neither, 't was one of these coronets ; — and, as 
 I told you, he put it by once : but, for all that, to my 
 thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offer'd 
 it to him again ; then he put it by again : but, to my 
 thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it. 
 And then he offer'd it the third time ; he put it the 
 third time by : and still as he ref us'd it, the rabble- 
 ment shouted and clapp'd their chapp'd hands and 
 threw up their sweaty night-caps and utter'd such a 
 deal of stinking breath because Caesar refus'd the 
 crown that it had almost choked CiBsar ; for he 
 swounded and fell down at it : and for mine own part, 
 I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips and 
 receiving the bad air. 250 
 
 Cas. But, soft, I pray you : what, did Csesar swound? 
 
 Casca. He fell down in the market-place, and 
 foam'd at mouth, and was speechless. 
 
 jB?*w. 'T is very like : he hath the falling sickness. 
 
 Cas. No, Caesar hath it not ; but you and I 
 And honest Casca, we have the falling sickness, 
 
 Casca. I know not what you mean by that; but, I 
 
 248. [s'wounded, a regular enough word, as can be seen by 
 the form three lines below; but there is often an efPort at in- 
 tensifying the action in such forms, as for example in the irregu- 
 lar "drowndcd."] 
 
 254. the falling sickness : the old English name for epi^ 
 lepsy, which had not quite passed out of use forty years ago. 
 
172 JULIUS CjESAR [Act I 
 
 am sure, Caesar fell down. If the tag-rag people did 
 not clap him and hiss him, according as he pleas'd and 
 displeas'd them, as they use to do the players in the 
 theatre, I am no true man. 261 
 
 Bru. What said he when he came unto himself ? 
 
 Casca. Marry, before he fell down, when he per- 
 ceiv'd the common herd was glad he ref us'd the crown, 
 he pluck'd me ope his doublet and offer'd them his 
 throat to cut. An I had been a man of any occupa- 
 tion, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would 
 I might go to hell among the rogues. And so he fell. 
 When he came to himself again, he said, If he had done 
 or said any thing amiss, he desir'd their worships to 
 think it was his infirmity. Three or four wenches, 
 where I stood, cried " Alas, good soul ! " and forgave 
 him with all their hearts : but there 's no heed to be 
 taken of them ; if Csesar had stabb'd their mothers, 
 they would have done no less. 275 
 
 Bru. And after that, he came, thus sad, away ? 
 
 Casca. Ay. 
 
 Cas. Did Cicero say any thing ? 
 
 Casca. Aj, he spoke Greek. 
 
 258. [tag-rag. We have a phrase which makes these words 
 even more contemptuous.] 
 
 265. pluck'd me ope. Here " me " is used in a dative sense: 
 " plucked me " meaning plucked for me, or to me ; that is, be- 
 fore me. This use is not uncommon in Shakespeare's time, and 
 later. [De Quincey comments on the Biblical passage, " Saddle 
 me the ass," by telling of the reader who mistook the italicizing 
 in the verse which followed for emphasis instead of a word 
 omitted in the original, " And they saddled him."^ 
 
 266. [a man of any occupation, i. e. a mechanic or trades- 
 man, like those of the rabble. We still ask : " What is his oc- 
 cupation ? "] 
 
 279. he spoke Greek. Greek was used by highly cultivated 
 Romans as French is used by people of the same sort to-day. 
 
Scene II] JULIUS CjESAR 173 
 
 Cas. To what effect ? 280 
 
 Casca. Nay, an I tell you that, I '11 ne'er look you 
 i' th' face again : but those that understood him smil'd 
 at one another and shook their heads ; but, for mine 
 own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more 
 news too : Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off 
 Csesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you well. 
 There was more foolery yet, if I could remember it. 
 
 Cas. Will you sup with me to-night, Casca ? 
 
 Casca. No, I am promis'd forth. 
 
 Cas. Will you dine with me to-morrow ? 290 
 
 Casca. Ay, if I be alive and your mind hold and 
 ^our dinner worth the eating. 
 
 Cas. Good : I will expect you. 
 
 Casca. Do so. Farewell, both. [Exit. 
 
 Bi'u. What a blunt fellow is this grown to be ! 
 He was quick metal when he went to school. 
 
 Cas. So is he now in execution 
 Of any bold or noble enterprise, 
 However he puts on this tardy form. 
 This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit, 300 
 
 Which gives men stomach to digest his words 
 With better appetite. 
 
 Bru. And so it is. For this time I will leave you : 
 To-morrow, if you please to speak with me, 
 I will come home to you ; or, if you will. 
 Come home to me, and I will wait for you. 
 
 Cas. I will do so ; till then, think of the world. 
 
 [Exit Brutus. 
 
 Well, Brutus, thou art noble ; yet, I see, 
 
 Thy honourable metal may be wrought 
 
 From that it is dispos'd : therefore it is meet 310 
 
 289. [forth, i. e. he was to sup abroad, as was once a commoQ 
 expression.] 
 
 295. [blunt = curt, uncer»»noiiious ; or possibly, dull.] 
 
174 JULIUS CuESAR Act I] 
 
 That noble minds keep ever with their likes ; 
 
 For who so firm that cannot be seduc'd ? 
 
 Caesar doth bear me hard ; but he loves Brutus : 
 
 If I were Brutus now and he were Cassius, 
 
 He should not humour me. I will this night, 
 
 In several hands, in at his windows throw, 
 
 As if they came from several citizens, 
 
 Writings all tending to the great opinion 
 
 That Rome holds of his name ; wherein obscurely 
 
 Csesar's ambition shall be glanced at : 320 
 
 And after this let Caesar seat him sure ; 
 
 For we will shake him, or worse days endure. [Exit. 
 
 Scene III. The same. A street. 
 
 Thunder and lightning. Enter, from opposite sides, Casca, with his 
 sword drawn, and Ciceko. 
 
 Cic. Good even, Casca : brought you Caesar home ? 
 Why are you breathless ? and why stare you so ? 
 
 Casca. Are not you mov'd, when all the sway of earth 
 Shakes like a thing unfirm ? O Cicero, 
 I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds 
 Have riv'd the knotty oaks, and I have seen 
 The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam, 
 To be exalted with the threat'ning clouds : 
 But never till to-night, never till now. 
 Did I go through a tempest dropping fire. 10 
 
 Either there is a civil strife in heaven. 
 Or else the world, too saucy with the gods. 
 Incenses them to send destruction. 
 
 322. [It has been suggested that a rhymed couplet at the end 
 of a scene denoted a special change of situation.] 
 
 1. brought you Caesar home ?= did you escort, accompany, 
 Csesar home ? 
 
 10. [The reference is not so much to lightning as to meteors. 
 See Act II,, Sc. 1, 1. 44.] 
 
Scene III] JULIUS CjESAR 175 
 
 Cic. Why, saw you any thing more wonderful ? 
 
 Casca. A common slave — you know him well by 
 sight — 
 Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn 
 Like twenty torches join'd, and yet his hand. 
 Not sensible of fire, remain'd unscorch'd. 
 Besides — I ha' not since put up my sword — 
 Against the Capitol I met a lion, 20 
 
 Who glar'd upon me, and went surly by, 
 Without annoying me : and there were drawn 
 Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women. 
 Transformed with their fear ; who swore they saw 
 Men all in fire walk up and down the streets. 
 And yesterday the bird of night did sit 
 Even at noon-day upon the market-place, 
 Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies 
 Do so conjointly meet, let not men say 
 " These are their reasons ; they are natural ; " 30 
 
 For, I believe, they are portentous things 
 Unto the climate that they point upon. 
 
 Cic. Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time : 
 But men may construe things after their fashion, 
 Clean from the purpose of the things themselves. 
 Comes Caesar to the Capitol to-morrow ? 
 
 Casca. He doth ; for he did bid Antonius 
 Send word to you he would be there to-morrow. 
 
 Cic. Good night then, Casca : this disturbed sky 39 
 Is not to walk in. 
 
 Casca. Farewell, Cicero. [Exit Cicero. 
 
 Enter Cassius. 
 
 Cas. Who 's there ? 
 Casca. A Roman. 
 
 Cas. Casca, by your voice. 
 
 32. [climate = region.] 
 
176 JULIUS CmSAR [Act I 
 
 Casca. Your ear is good. Cassius, what ' night is 
 this! 
 
 Cas. A very pleasing night to honest men. 
 
 Casca. Who ever knew the heavens menace so ? 
 
 Cas. Those that have known the earth so full of 
 faults. 
 For my part, I have walk'd about the streets, 
 Submitting me unto the perilous night, 
 And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see, 
 Have bar'd my bosom to the thunder-stone ; 
 And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open 50 
 The breast of heaven, I did present myself 
 Even in the aim and very flash of it. 
 
 Casca. But wherefore did you so much tempt the 
 heavens ? ^ 
 
 It is the part of men to fear and tremble, 
 When the most mighty gods by tokens send 
 Such dreadful heralds to astonish us. 
 
 Cas. You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of life 
 That should be in a Roman you do want. 
 Or else you use not. You look pale and gaze 
 And put on fear and case yourself in wonder, 60 
 
 To see the strange impatience of the heavens : 
 But if you would consider the true cause 
 Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts, 
 Why birds and beasts from quality and kind. 
 Why old men fool, and children calculate, 
 Why all these things change from their ordinance 
 Their natures and preformed faculties 
 
 42. what ' night = what a night. See line 137. 
 48. [unbraced = ungirt, unbuttoned.] 
 50. [cross = zigzagging, crossing back and forth.] 
 65. Why old men fool = a verbal use of " fool " not uucom- 
 mon nowadays. 
 
Scene III] JULIUS CAESAR 177 
 
 To monstrous quality, — why, you shall find 
 
 That heaven hath infus'cl them with these spirits, 
 
 To make them instruments of fear and warning 70 
 
 Unto some monstrous state. 
 
 Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man 
 
 Most like this dreadful night, 
 
 That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars 
 
 As doth the lion in the Capitol, 
 
 A man no mightier than thyself or me 
 
 In personal action, yet prodigious grown 
 
 And fearful, as these strange eruptions are. 
 
 Casca. 'T is Caesar that you mean ; is it not, 
 Cassius ? 
 
 Cas. Let it be who it is : for Romans now 80 
 
 Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors ; 
 But, woe the while ! our fathers' minds are dead, 
 And we are govern'd with our mothers' spirits ; 
 Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish. 
 
 Casca. Indeed, they say the senators to-morrow 
 Mean to establish Caesar as a king ; 
 And he shall wear his crown by sea and land, 
 In every place, save here in Italy. 
 
 Cas. I know where I will wear this dagger then ; 
 Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius : 90 
 
 Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong ; 
 Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat : 
 Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass. 
 Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron, 
 Can be retentive to the strength of spirit ; 
 But life, being weary of these worldly bars, 
 Never lacks power to dismiss itself. 
 If I know this, know all the world besides, 
 That part of tyranny that I do bear 
 I can shake off at pleasure. [Thunder still. 
 
178 JULIUS C^SAR [Act! 
 
 Casca. So can 1 : 100 
 
 So every bondman in his own hand bears 
 The power to cancel his captivity. 
 
 Cas. And why should Caesar be a tyrant then ? 
 Poor man ! I know he would not be a wolf, 
 But that he sees the Romans are but sheep : 
 He were no lion, were not Romans hinds. 
 Those that with haste will make a mighty fire 
 Begin it with weak straws : what trash is Rome, 
 What rubbish and what offal, when it serves 
 For the base matter to illuminate ilO 
 
 So vile a thing as Caesar ! But, O grief. 
 Where hast thou led me ? I perhaps speak this 
 Before a willing bondman ; then I know 
 My answer must be made. But I am arm'd, 
 And dangers are to me indifferent. 
 
 Casca, You speak to Casca, and to such a man 
 That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand : 
 Be factious for redress of all these griefs. 
 And I will set this foot of mine as far 
 As who goes farthest. 
 
 Cas. There 's a bargain made. 120 
 
 Now know you, Casca, I have mov'd already 
 Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans 
 To undergo with me an enterprise 
 Of honourable-dangerous consequence ; 
 And I do know, by this, they stay for me 
 In Pompey's porch : for now, this fearful night, 
 There is no stir or walking in the streets ; 
 And the complexion of the element 
 In favour 's like the work we have in hand. 
 Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible. 130 
 
 106. [hinds. A double sense of deer, and menial servant.] 
 125. [by this r= by this time.] 
 
Scene III] JULIUS CJESAR 179 
 
 Casca. Stand close awhile, for here comes one in 
 haste. 
 
 Gas. 'T is Cinna ; I do know him by his gait ; 
 He is a friend. 
 
 Enter Cinna. 
 Cinna, where haste you so? 
 
 Ci7i. To find out you. Who's that? Metellus 
 Cimber ? 
 
 Gas. No, it is Casca ; one incorporate 
 To our attempts. Am I not stay'd for, Cinna? 
 
 Gin. I am glad on 't. What a fearful night is this ! 
 There 's two or three of us have seen strange sights. 
 
 Gas. Am I not stay'd for ? tell me. 
 
 Gin. Yes, you are. 
 
 O Cassius, if you could 140 
 
 But win the noble Brutus to our party — 
 
 Gas. Be you content : good Cinna, take this paper, 
 And look you lay it in the praetor's chair. 
 Where Brutus may but find it ; and throw this 
 In at his window ; set this up with wax 
 Upon old Brutus' statue : all this done. 
 Repair to Pompey's porch, where you shall find us. 
 Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there ? 
 
 Gin. All but Metellus Cimber ; and he 's gone 
 To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie, 150 
 
 And so bestow these papers as you bade me. 
 
 Gas. That done, repair to Pompey's theatre. 
 
 [Exit Cinna. 
 
 Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day 
 See Brutus at his house : three parts of him 
 
 146. [See Act I., Sc. 2, 1. 159.] 
 
 148. Is Decius Brutus and, etc. Mere heedless writing ; 
 not the " grammar " of Shakespeare's time. So iu liue 154, 
 below, " three parts of him is," etc. 
 
180 JULIUS CMSAR [Act II' 
 
 Is ours already, and the man entire 
 Upon the next encounter yields him ours. 
 
 Casca. O, he sits high in all the people's hearts : 
 And that which would appear offence in us, 
 His countenance, like richest alchemy. 
 Will change to virtue and to worthiness. 160 
 
 Cas. Him and his worth and our great need of him 
 You have right well conceited. Let us go, 
 For it is after midnight ; and ere day 
 We will awake him and be sure of him. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT II 
 
 Scene I. Home. Brutus's orchard. 
 Enter Brutus. 
 
 Bru. What, Lucius, ho ! 
 I cannot by the progress of the stars, 
 Give guess how near to day. Lucius, 1 say ! 
 I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly. 
 When, Lucius, when ? awake, I say ! what, Lucius ! 
 Enter Lucius. 
 
 Ijuc. Call'd you, my lord ? 
 
 JBru. Get me a taper in my study, Lucius : 
 When it is lighted, come and call me here. 
 
 Luc. I will, my lord. [Exit. 
 
 Bru. It must be by his death : and for my part, 10 
 I know no personal cause to spurn at him. 
 But for the general. He would be crown'd : 
 
 159. [countenance = favor. Here again one may note the 
 curious interchange in meaning in all these words, " face," 
 " favor," " countenance." We use the last with similar signifi- 
 cance, both as a verb and as a noun.] 
 
 6. "When . . . ■when ? = Will you ever come ? — an ex- 
 pression of impatience. 
 
Scene I] JULIUS C^SAR 181 
 
 How that might change his nature, there 's the ques- 
 tion. 
 It is the bright day that brings forth the adder ; 
 And that craves wary walking. Crown him? — 
 
 that ; — 
 And then, I grant, we put a sting in him, 
 That at his will he may do danger with. 
 The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins 
 Remorse from power : and, to speak truth of Caesar, 
 I have not known when his affections sway'd 20 
 
 More than his reason. But 't is a common proof, 
 That lowliness is young ambition's ladder. 
 Whereto the climber upward turns his face ; 
 But when he once attains the upmost round. 
 He then unto the ladder turns his back. 
 Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees 
 By which he did ascend. So Caesar may. 
 Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel 
 Will bear no colour for the thing he is, 
 Fashion it thus ; that what he is, augmented, 30 
 
 Would run to these and these extremities : 
 And therefore think him as a serpent's egg 
 Which, hatch'd, would, as his kind, grow mischievous, 
 And kill him in the shell. 
 
 Re-enter Lucius. 
 Luc. The taper burnetii in your closet, sir. 
 Searching the window for a flint, I found 
 This paper, thus seal'd up ; and, I am sure. 
 It did not lie there when I went to bed. 
 
 [Glues him the letter. 
 
 19. [Remorse = pity.] 
 
 20. affections does not mean love, but prejudices, habits of 
 mind, taste, feeling excited by a man's surroundings; that which 
 he affects and which affects him. 
 
 21. [proof = experience.] 
 
182 JULIUS CMSAR [Act II 
 
 Bru. Get you to bed again ; it is not day. 
 Is not to-morrow, boy, the first of March ? 40 
 
 Luc. I know not, sir. 
 
 Bru. Look in the calendar, and bring me word. 
 
 Luc. I will, sir. {Exit. 
 
 Bru. The exhalations whizzing in the air 
 Give so much light that I may read by them. 
 
 [Opens the letter and reads. 
 
 " Brutus, thou sleep'st : awake, and see thyself. 
 Shall Rome, etc. Speak, strike, redress ! 
 Brutus, thou sleep'st : awake ! " 
 
 Such instigations have been often dropp'd 
 Where I have took them up. 50 
 
 " Shall Rome, etc." Thus must I piece it out : 
 Shall Rome stand under one man's awe ? What, 
 
 Rome? 
 My ancestors did from the streets of Rome 
 The Tarquin drive, when he was call'd a king. 
 " Speak, strike, redress ! " Am I entreated 
 To speak and strike ? O Rome, I make thee promise ; 
 If the redress will follow, thou receivest 
 Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus ! 
 Be-enter Lucius. 
 Luc. Sir, March is wasted fifteen days. 
 
 [Knocking within. 
 
 40. [first of March. It seems clear that the reference is to 
 the soothsayer's warning, in Act I., Sc. 2, 1. 19 : " Beware the 
 Ides of March." Theobald therefore changed " first " to " Ides," 
 and has been followed by later editors generally. The first of 
 March was the date originally fixed for the meeting of the 
 Senate. Shakespeare may have read Plutarch's statement : 
 " Cassius asked [Brutus] if he were determined to be in the 
 Senate-house the first day of the month of March, because he 
 heard say that Caesar's friends should move the council that day 
 that Caesar should be called king." j 
 
Scene I] JULIUS C/ESAR 183 
 
 Bru. 'T is good. Go to the gate ; somebody 
 
 knocks. [Exit Lucius. 
 
 Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar, 61 
 
 I have not slept. 
 
 Between the acting of a dreadful thing 
 
 And the first motion, all the interim is 
 
 Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream : 
 
 The Genius and the mortal instruments 
 
 Are then in council ; and the state of man, 
 
 Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
 
 The nature of an insurrection. 
 
 Re-enter Ltjcitts. 
 
 Luc. Sir, 't is your brother Cassius at the door, 70 
 Who doth desire to see you. 
 
 Bru. Is he alone ? 
 
 Z/UC. No, sir, there are moe with him. 
 
 Bru. Do you know them ? 
 
 Ijuc. No, sir ; their hats are pluck'd about their ears. 
 And half their faces buried in their cloaks, 
 That by no means I may discover them 
 By any mark of favour. 
 
 B7ni. Let 'em enter. [Exit Lucius. 
 
 They are the faction. O conspiracy, 
 Sham'st thou to show thy dang'rous brow by night. 
 When evils are most free ? O, then by day 
 Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough 80 
 
 To mask thy monstrous visage ? Seek none, con- 
 spiracy ; 
 
 66. The Genius, etc. = the controlling part of man, the 
 rational soul and the bodily powers which are its instrumeuts. 
 
 70. [Cassius Iiad married luuia, the sister of Brutus.] 
 
 72. moe = more. 
 
 78. their hats are pluck'd, etc. Shakespeare here gives to 
 Romans of the time of Julius Ca;sar the costume of Englishmen 
 in the reign of Elizabeth. 
 
184 JULIUS CMSAR [Act II 
 
 Hide it in smiles and affability : 
 
 For if thou path, thy native semblance on, 
 
 Not Erebus itself were dim enough 
 
 To hide thee from prevention. 
 
 Enter the conspirators, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna, Metellus 
 CiMBEB, and Trebonitjs. 
 
 Cas. I think we are too bold upon your rest : 
 Good morrow, Brutus ; do we trouble you ? 
 
 Bru. I have been up this hour, awake all night. 
 Know I these men that come along with you? 
 
 Cas. Yes, every man of them, and no man here 90 
 But honours you ; and every one doth wish 
 You had but that opinion of yourself 
 Which every noble Roman bears of you. 
 This is Trebonius. 
 
 Bru. He is welcome hither. 
 
 Cas. This, Decius Brutus. 
 
 £ru. He is welcome too. 
 
 Cas. This, Casca ; this, Cinna ; and this, Metellus 
 Cimber. 
 
 Bru. They are all welcome. 
 What watchful cares do interpose themselves 
 Betwixt your eyes and night ? 99 
 
 Cas. Shall I entreat a word ? [Brutus and Cassius whisper. 
 
 Dec. Here lies the east : doth not the day break 
 here ? 
 
 Casca. No. 
 
 Cin. O, pardon, sir, it doth ; and yon gray lines 
 That fret the clouds are messengers of day. 
 
 Casca. You shall confess that you are both deceiv'd. 
 Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises, 
 Which is a great way growing on the south, 
 
 83. [path : here used as a verb.] 
 
 89. [It will be remembered that they are all disguised.] 
 
Scene I] JULIUS CAESAR 185 
 
 Weighing the youthful season of the year. 
 Some two months hence up higher toward the north 
 He first presents his fire ; and the high east 110 
 
 Stands, as the Capitol, directly here. 
 
 Bru. Give me your hands all over, one by one. 
 
 Cas. And let us swear our resolution. 
 
 ^ru. No, not an oath : if not the face of men, 
 The sufferance of our souls, the time's abuse, — 
 If these be motives weak, break off betimes. 
 And every man hence to his idle bed ; 
 So let high-sighted tyranny range on. 
 Till each man drop by lottery. But if these. 
 As I am sure they do, bear fire enough 120 
 
 To kindle cowards and to steel with valour 
 The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen, 
 What need we any spur but our own cause. 
 To prick us to redress ? what other bond 
 Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word, 
 And will not palter? and what other oath 
 Than honesty to honesty engag'd, 
 That this shall be, or we will fall for it ? 
 Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous, 
 Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls 130 
 
 That welcome wrongs ; unto bad causes swear 
 Such creatures as men doubt ; but do not stain 
 The even virtue of our enterprise. 
 Nor th' insuppressive mettle of our spirits. 
 To think that or our cause or our performance 
 Did need an oath ; when every drop of blood 
 
 115. [sufferance =: suffering.] 
 
 118. [high-sighted = supercilious. ] 
 
 119. [lottery, i. e. drop as in some game of chance.] 
 129. cautelous = wily, crafty, exceedingly cautious. 
 
 131. That ■welcome ■wrongs = as welcome wrongs : the con- 
 verse of the use of " as " as " that." 
 
186 JULIUS CmSAR [Act II 
 
 That every Roman bears, and nobly bears, 
 
 Is guilty of a several bastardy, 
 
 If he do break the smallest particle 
 
 Of any promise that hath pass'd from him. 140 
 
 Cas. But what of Cicero? shall we sound him? 
 I think he will stand very strong with us. 
 
 Gasca. Let us not leave him out. 
 
 Cin. No, by no means. 
 
 Met. O, let us have him, for his silver hairs 
 Will purchase us a good opinion 
 And buy men's voices to commend our deeds : 
 It shall be said, his judgement rul'd our hands ; 
 Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear, 
 But all be buried in his gravity. 149 
 
 Bru. O, name him not : let us not break with him ; 
 For he will never follow any thing 
 That other men begin. 
 
 Cas. Then leave him out. 
 
 Casca. Indeed he is not fit. 
 
 Dec. Shall no man else be touch'd but only Caesar? 
 
 Cas. Decius, well urg'd : I think it is not meet 
 Mark Antony, so well belov'd of Caesar, 
 Should outlive Caesar : we shall find of him 
 A shrewd contriver ; and, you know, his means, 
 If he improve them, may well stretch so far 
 As to annoy us all : which to prevent, 160 
 
 Let Antony and Caesar fall together. 
 
 Bru. Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Caasius, 
 To cut the head off and then hack the limbs, 
 Like wrath in death and envy afterwards ; 
 
 150. break with him ::= open our secret to him ; we still say, 
 " to break bad news." 
 
 164. envy afterwards = hatred, etc. ; so below, line 178, 
 envious = malicious, vengeful. 
 
Scene I] JULIUS C^SAR 187 
 
 For Antony is but a limb of Csesar : 
 
 Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius. 
 
 We all stand up against the spirit of Caesar ; 
 
 And in the spirit of men there is no blood : 
 
 O, that we then could come by Caesar's spirit, 
 
 And not dismember Caesar ! But, alas, 170 
 
 Caesar must bleed for it ! And, gentle friends, 
 
 Let 's kill him boldly, but not wrathfuUy ; 
 
 Let 's carve him as a dish fit for the gods. 
 
 Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds : 
 
 And let our hearts, as subtle masters do, 
 
 Stir up their servants to an act of rage. 
 
 And after seem to chide 'em. This shall make 
 
 Our purpose necessary and not envious : 
 
 Which so appearing to the common eyes. 
 
 We shall be call'd purgers, not murderers. 180 
 
 And for Mark Antony, think not of him ; 
 
 For he can do no more than Cassar's arm 
 
 When Caesar's head is off. 
 
 Cas. Yet I fear him ; 
 
 For in the ingrafted love he bears to Caesar — 
 
 Bru. Alas, good Cassius, do not think of him : 
 If he love Caesar, all that he can do 
 Is to himself, take thought and die for Caesar : 
 And that were much he should ; for he is given 
 To sports, to wildness and much company. 
 
 Treh. There is no fear in him ; let him not die ; 190 
 For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter. 
 
 [Clock strikes. 
 
 Bru. Peace ! count the clock. 
 
 Cas. The clock hath stricken three. 
 
 183. [Here, as often in Shakespeare, the full measure of the 
 line is made up by a pause which precedes Cassius's speech.] 
 
 192. The clock hath stricken. A curious but unimportant 
 anachronism. 
 
188 JULIUS CJBSAR [Act II 
 
 Treh. 'T is time to part. 
 
 Cas. But it is doubtful yet, 
 
 Whether Csesar will come forth to-day, or no ; 
 For he is superstitious grown of late, 
 Quite from the main opinion he held once 
 Of fantasy, of dreams and ceremonies : 
 It may be, these apparent prodigies, 
 The unaccustom'd terror of this night, 
 And the persuasion of his augurers, 200 
 
 May hold him from the Capitol to-day. 
 
 Dec. Never fear that : if he be so resolv'd, 
 I can o'ersway him ; for he loves to hear 
 That unicorns may be betray'd with trees. 
 And bears with glasses, elephants with holes, 
 Lions with toils and men with flatterers ; 
 But when I tell him he hates flatterers. 
 He says he does, being then most flattered. 
 Let me work ; 
 
 For I can give his humour the true bent, 210 
 
 And I will bring him to the Capitol. 
 
 Cas. Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him. 
 
 Bru. By the eighth hour : is that the uttermost ? 
 
 Cin. Be that the uttermost, and fail not then. 
 
 Met. Caius Ligarius doth bear Caesar hard, 
 Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey : 
 I wonder none of you have thought of him. 
 
 Bru. Now, good Metellus, go along by him : 
 
 197. ceremonies = religious ceremonies. 
 
 204. That unicorns, etc. It was believed that unicorns were 
 captured by leading them to chase a man, who sprang behind a 
 tree when the monster was in full career, leaving the unicorn to 
 thrust his horn so far into the tree that he could neither escape 
 nor defend himself; also that bears would stand still and be shot 
 while they looked at themselves in mirrors. Elephants are taken 
 in pitfalls. 
 
 218. [go along by him = call at his house in going home. A 
 
Scene I] JULIUS C^SAR 189 
 
 He loves me well, and I have given him reasons ; 
 Send him but hither, and I '11 fashion him. 220 
 
 Cas. The morning comes upon 's : we '11 leave you, 
 Brutus. 
 And, friends, disperse yourselves ; but all remember 
 What you have said, and show yourselves true Ro- 
 mans. 
 
 Bru. Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily ; 
 Let not our looks put on our purposes. 
 But bear it as our Roman actors do, 
 With untir'd spirits and formal constancy : 
 And so good morrow to you every one. 
 
 [Exeunt all hut Brutus. 
 
 Boy ! Lucius ! Fast asleep ? It is no matter ; 
 Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber : 230 
 
 Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies. 
 Which busy care draws in the brains of men : 
 Therefore thou sleep'st so sound. 
 JEnter Portia. 
 
 JPor. Brutus, my lord ! 
 
 Bru. Portia, what mean you? wherefore rise you 
 now? 
 It is not for your health thus to commit 
 Your weak condition in the raw cold morning. 
 
 Bor. Nor for yours neither. You 've ungently, 
 Brutus, 
 Stole from my bed : and yesternight, at supper, 
 You suddenly arose, and walk'd about. 
 Musing and sighing, with your arms across, 240 
 
 somewhat similar expression may be heard in the southwest, in 
 the expression, " come by " ; that is, " come in as you go by."] 
 
 219. [I have given him reasons. Our phrase would be, " I 
 have given him reason to love me."] 
 
 226. [bear it. We come near to the use when we say " he 
 bears himself well."] 
 
 231. [figures = ideas or imaginations.] 
 
190 JULIVS C^SAR [Act II 
 
 And when I ask'd you what the matter was, 
 
 You star'd upon me with ungentle looks ; 
 
 I urg'd you f mother ; then you seratch'd your head, 
 
 And too impatiently stamp'd with your foot ; 
 
 Yet I insisted ; yet you answer'd not, 
 
 But, with an angry wafture of your hand, 
 
 Gave sign for me to leave you : so I did ; 
 
 Fearing to strengthen that impatience 
 
 Which seem'd too much enkindled, and withal 
 
 Hoping it was but an effect of humour, 250 
 
 Which sometime hath his hour with every man. 
 
 It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep, 
 
 And could it work so much upon your shape 
 
 As it hath much prevail'd on your condition, 
 
 I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord. 
 
 Make me acquainted with your cause of grief. 
 
 £ru. I am not well in health, and that is all. 
 
 I^or. Brutus is wise, and, were he not in health, 
 He would embrace the means to come by it. 
 
 Bru. Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed. 260 
 
 I*or. Is Brutus sick? and is it physical 
 To walk unbraced and suck up the humours 
 Of the dank morning ? What, is Brutus sick, 
 And will he steal out of his wholesome bed. 
 To dare the vile contagion of the night 
 And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air 
 To add unto his sickness ? No, my Brutus ; 
 You have some sick offence within your mind, 
 
 250. [humour =: caprice.] 
 
 261. physical = medicinal, remedial. 
 
 262. [humours = moisture. The old medical use of the word, 
 which regarded the body as containing four humors, whose ex- 
 cess or diminution affected both the body and the temperament, 
 passed over into common speech and gave this word wide usage 
 and considerable range.] 
 
Scene I] JULIUS CJESAR 191 
 
 Which, by the right and virtue of my place, 
 
 I ought to know of : and, upon my knees, 270 
 
 I charm you, by my once-commended beauty, 
 
 By all your vows of love and that great vow 
 
 Which did incorporate and make us one. 
 
 That you unfold to me, yourself, your half. 
 
 Why you are heavy, and what men to-night 
 
 Have had resort to you : for here have been 
 
 Some six or seven, who did hide their faces 
 
 Even from darkness. 
 
 Bru. Kneel not, gentle Portia. 
 
 Por. I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus. 
 Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus, 280 
 Is it excepted I should know no secrets 
 That appertain to you ? Am I yourself 
 But, as it were, in sort or limitation. 
 To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed. 
 And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the sub- 
 urbs 
 Of your good pleasure ? If it be no more, 
 Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife. 
 
 Bru. You are my true and honourable wife, 
 As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 
 That visit my sad heart. 290 
 
 Por. If this were true, then should I know this 
 secret. 
 I grant I am a woman ; but withal 
 A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife : 
 I grant I am a woman ; but withal 
 
 271. charm you, etc. = conjure you in the name of, etc. 
 280. [Within ^ in. Is there any clause in the bond of mar- 
 riage which makes -mi exception ?] 
 
 285. [suburbs. Sometliing more is hinted at than mere 
 distance from the city or centre, for the term was synonymous 
 with resorts for disorderly people.] 
 
192 JULIUS C^SAR [Act II 
 
 A woman well-reputed, Cato's daughter. 
 
 Think you I am no stronger than my sex, 
 
 Being so father'd and so husbanded? 
 
 Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose 'em : 
 
 I have made strong proof of my constancy, 
 
 Giving myself a voluntary wound 300 
 
 Here, in the thigh : can I bear that with patience, 
 
 And not my husband's secrets? 
 
 Bru. O ye gods. 
 
 Render me worthy of this noble wife ! [Knocking within. 
 Hark, hark ! one knocks : Portia, go in awhile ; 
 And by and by thy bosom shall partake 
 The secrets of my heart. 
 All my engagements I will construe to thee, 
 All the charactery of my sad brows : 
 Leave me with haste, [^^xit Portia.^ Lucius, who 's 
 that knocks ? 
 
 Re-enter Lucius with Ligakius. 
 
 Lug, Here is a sick man that would speak with 
 you. 310 
 
 Bru. Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of. 
 Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius ! how ? 
 
 Lig. Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue. 
 
 Bru. O, what a time have you chose out, brave 
 Caius, 
 To wear a kerchief ! Would you were not sick ! 
 
 305. [by and by. The present use o^ this phrase puts off 
 an event ; the old use made it near, for here the meaning is 
 "presently." Compare the passage in the King Tames Version 
 of the Bible, in which Herodias says : " I will that thou give 
 me, by and by, in a charger, the head of John the Baptist." 
 The Revised Version substitutes "forthwith."] 
 
 307. [engagements = enterprises, construes make clear.] 
 315. [kerchief. Compare in the matter of formation with 
 the word, curfew.'^ 
 
Scene II] JULIUS CyESAR 193 
 
 Lig, I am not sick, if Brutus have in hand 
 Any exploit worthy the name of honour. 
 
 Bru. Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, 
 Had you a healthful ear to hear of it. 
 
 Lig. By all the gods that Romans bow before, 320 
 I here discard my sickness ! Soul of Kome I 
 Brave son, deriv'd from honourable loins ! 
 Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjur'd up 
 My mortified spirit. Now bid me run, 
 And I will strive with things impossible ; 
 Yea, get the better of them. What 's to do? 
 
 Bru. A piece of work that will make sick men 
 whole. 
 
 Jjig. But are not some whole that we must make 
 sick? 
 
 Bru. That must we also. What it is, my Caius, 
 I shall unfold to thee, as we are going 330 
 
 To whom it must be done. 
 
 Big. Set on your foot, 
 
 And with a heart new-fir'd I follow you, 
 To do I know not what : but it sufficeth 
 That Brutus leads me on. 
 
 Bru. Follow me, then. [Exeunt^ 
 
 Scene II. Cesar's house. 
 
 Thunder and lightning. Enter CiESAR in his night-gown. 
 
 Cces. Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace 
 to-night : 
 Thrice hath Calpurnia in her sleep cried out, 
 
 321. [On the stage Ligarius would at this snatch off his ban- 
 dage.] 
 
 331. [Set on your foot = go forward.] 
 his night-gown = dressing-gown. 
 
194 JULIUS C^SAR [Act II 
 
 " Help I ho ! they murther Csesar I " Who 's with- 
 in? 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Serv. My lord? 
 
 CcBS. Go bid the priests do present sacrifice 
 And bring me their opinions of success. 
 
 Serv. I will, my lord. [EmM. 
 
 Enter Calpuenia. 
 
 Cal. What mean you, Caesar ? think you to walk 
 forth? 
 You shall not stir out of your house to-day. 
 
 Cobs. Caesar shall forth : the things that threatened 
 me 10 
 
 Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see 
 The face of Caesar, they are vanished. 
 
 Cal. Caesar, I never stood on ceremonies, 
 Yet now they fright me. There is one within, 
 Besides the things that we have heard and seen, 
 Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. 
 A lioness hath whelped in the streets; 
 And graves have yawn'd, and yielded up their dead ; 
 Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds, 
 In ranks and squadrons and right form of war, 20 
 Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol; 
 The noise of battle hurtled in the air, 
 Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan, 
 And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets. 
 
 3. [murther. No doubt the exchange of " th " for " d " is in 
 part due to defective vocal organisms in many, and worked 
 both ways, as when one hears " furder " for " further."] 
 
 13. [stood = insisted. Compare the Shakespearean phrase 
 to stand on ceremony, where " ceremony " = " civil etiquette."] 
 ceremonies = religious observances ; here loosely used for 
 auguries, omens. 
 
Scene II] JULIUS CJESAR 195 
 
 O Caesar ! these things are beyond all use, 
 And I do fear them. 
 
 Cces. What can be avoided 
 
 Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods ? 
 Yet Caesar shall go forth ; for these predictions 
 Are to the world in general as to Caesar. 
 
 Cal. When beggars die, there are no comets 
 seen ; 30 
 
 The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of 
 princes. 
 
 CcBS. Cowards die many times before their deaths ; 
 The valiant never taste of death but once. 
 Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, 
 It seems to me most strange that men should fear ; 
 Seeing that death, a necessary end, 
 Will come when it will come. 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 What say the augurers? 
 
 Set*v. They would not have you to stir forth to-day : 
 Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, 
 They could not find a heart within the beast. 40 
 
 Cobs. The gods do this in shame of cowardice : 
 Caesar should be a beast without a heart, 
 If he should stay at home to-day for fear. 
 No, Caesar shall not : danger knows full well 
 That Caesar is more dangerous than he : 
 We are two lions litter'd in one day. 
 And I the elder and more terrible : 
 And Caesar shall go forth. 
 
 Cal. Alas, my lord, 
 
 Your wisdom is consum'd in confidence. 
 Do not go forth to-day : call it my fear 50 
 
 That keeps you in the house, and not your own. 
 
 25. beyond all use- very uuusual, unnatural, abnormal. 
 
196 JULIUS CJESAR [Act II 
 
 We '11 send Mark Antony to the senate-house ; 
 And he shall say you are not well to-day : 
 Let me, upon my knee, prevail hi this. 
 
 Cces. Mark Antony shall say I am not well ; 
 And, for thy humour, I will stay at home. 
 
 Enter Dbcius. 
 
 Here 's Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so. 
 
 Dec. Csesar, all hail ! good morrow, worthy Csesar : 
 I come to fetch you to the senate-house. 
 
 Cces. And you are come in very happy time, 60 
 To bear my greetings to the senators 
 And tell them that I will not come to-day : 
 Cannot is false, and that I dare not, falser : 
 I will not come to-day : tell them so, Decius. 
 
 Cal. Say he is sick. 
 
 Cces. Shall Csesar send a lie ? 
 
 Have I in conquest stretch'd mine arm so far, 
 To be afeard to tell gray beards the truth ? 
 Decius, go tell them Csesar will not come. 
 
 Dec. Most mighty Csesar, let me know some cause, 
 Lest I be laugh'd at when I tell them so. 70 
 
 Cces. The cause is in my will : I will not come ; 
 That is enough to satisfy the senate. 
 But for your private satisfaction, 
 Because I love you, I will let you know : 
 Calpurnia here, my wife, stays me at home : 
 She dreamt to-night she saw my statua, 
 Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts, 
 Did run pure blood ; and many lusty Romans 
 Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it : 
 And these does she apply for warnings, and portents, 80 
 And evils imminent ; and on her knee 
 Hath begg'd that I will stay at home to-day. 
 
 80. [portents. The rhythm shows the accent.]. 
 
Scene II] JULIUS C^SAR 197 
 
 Dec. This dream is all amiss interpreted ; 
 It was a vision fair and fortunate : 
 Your statue spouting blood in many pipes, 
 In which so many smiling Romans bath'd, 
 Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck 
 Reviving blood, and that great men shall press 
 For tinctures, stains, relics and cognizance. 
 This by Calpurnia's dream is signified. 90 
 
 Cces. And this way have you well expounded it. 
 
 Dec. I have, when you have heard what I can say : 
 And know it now : the senate have concluded 
 To give this day a crown to mighty Caesar. 
 If you shall send them word you will not come. 
 Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock 
 Apt to be render'd, for some one to say 
 Break up the senate till another time. 
 When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams. 
 If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper 100 
 
 Lo, Caesar is afraid ? 
 
 Pardon me, Csesar ; for my dear dear love 
 To your proceeding bids me tell you this ; 
 And reason to my love is liable. 
 
 Cces. How foolish do your fears seem now, Calpur- 
 
 nia! 
 
 I am ashamed I did yield to them. 
 
 Give me my robe, for I will go. 
 
 Enter Pdblius, Brutus, Ligakius, Metellus, Casca, Trebontus, 
 and CiNNA. 
 
 And look where Publius is come to fetch me. 
 
 Pub. Good morrow, Caesar. 
 
 Cces. Welcome, Publius. 
 
 89. [By dipping their handkerchiefs in tlie blood, as they crowd 
 about, they will get remedial dyes, cognizance == souvenirs.] 
 
 97. [mock apt to be render'd = sneer fit to be told.] 
 
 104, [liable r= subject.] 
 
198 JULIUS CjESAR [ActII 
 
 What, Brutus, are you stirr'd so early too? 110 
 
 Good morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius, 
 
 Caesar was ne'er so much your enemy 
 
 As that same ague which hath made you lean. 
 
 What is 't o'clock? 
 
 Bru. Cjesar, 't is strucken eight. 
 
 Cces. I thank you for your pains and courtesy. 
 Enter Aktont. 
 See ! Antony, that revels long o' nights, 
 Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony. 
 
 Ant. So to most noble Caesar. 
 
 Cces. Bid them prepare within : 
 
 I am to blame to be thus waited for. 
 Now, Cinna : now, Metellus : what, Trebonius ! 120 
 I have an hour's talk in store for you ; 
 Remember that you call on me to-day : 
 Be near me, that I may remember you. 
 
 Treb. Caesar, I will : [^s^t?e] and so near will I be, 
 That your best friends shall wish I had been further. 
 
 Cces. Good friends, go in, and taste some wine with 
 me; 
 And we, like friends, will straightway go together. 
 
 Bru. [^Aside.l That every like is not the same, O 
 Caesar, 
 The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. A street near the Capitol. 
 
 Enter Artemidortjs, reading a paper. 
 
 Art. Caesar, beware of Brutus ; take heed of Cassius ; 
 
 come not near Casca ; have an eye to Cinna ; trust not 
 
 Trebonius ; mark well Metellus Cimber : Decius Brutus 
 
 128. [Csesar says " like friends," and Brutus catches up the 
 word and is distressed as he considers that, though " like " usu- 
 ally means " the same as," every " like " does not mean that.] 
 
Scene IV] JULIUS CESAR 199 
 
 loves thee not : thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius. There 
 is but one luind in all these men, and it is bent against 
 Caesar. If thou beest not immortal, look about you : se- 
 curity gives way to conspiracy. The mighty gods defend 
 thee ! Thy lover, Artemidobus. 
 
 Here will I stand till Caesar pass along, 
 
 And as a suitor will I give him this. 10 
 
 My heart laments that virtue cannot live 
 
 Out of the teeth of emulation. 
 
 If you read this, O Csesar, thou mayst live ; 
 
 If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive. [Exit. 
 
 Scene IV. Another part of the same street, before the 
 house of Brutus. 
 
 Enter Portia and Lucius. 
 
 Por. I prithee, boy, run to the senate-house ; 
 Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone : 
 Wliy dost thou stay ? 
 
 Luc. To know my errand, madam. 
 
 Por. I would have had thee there, and here again^ 
 Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there. 
 
 constancy, be strong upon my side. 
 
 Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue ! 
 
 1 have a man's mind, but a woman's might. 
 How hard it is for women to keep counsel ! 
 Art thou here yet ? 
 
 Luc. Madam, what should I do? 10 
 
 Run to the Capitol, and nothing else ? 
 And so return to you, and nothing else ? 
 
 Por. Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well. 
 For he went sickly forth : and take good note 
 What Caesar doth, what suitors press to him. 
 Hark, boy ! what noise is that ? 
 
 12. [Out of = beyond the reach of.] 
 
200 JULIUS C^SAR [Act II 
 
 Z/uc. I hear none, madam. 
 
 JPor. Pritliee, listen well; 
 
 I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray, 
 And the wind brings it from the Capitol. 
 
 Luc. Sooth, madam, I hear nothing. 20 
 
 Enter the Soothsayer. 
 
 Por. Come hither, fellow: which way hast thou 
 been? 
 
 /Sooth. At mine own house, good lady. 
 
 Por. What is 't o'clock ? 
 
 Sooth. About the ninth hour, lady. 
 
 Por. Is Ceesar yet gone to the Capitol ? 
 
 Sooth. Madam, not yet : I go to take my stand, 
 To see him pass on to the Capitol. 
 
 Por. Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not ? 
 
 Sooth. That I have, lady : if it will please Caesar 
 To be so good to Caesar as to hear me, 
 I shall beseech him to befriend himself. 30 
 
 Por. Why, know'st thou any harm 's intended to- 
 wards him ? 
 
 Sooth. None that I know will be, much that I fear 
 may chance. 
 Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow : 
 The throng that follows Caesar at the heels, 
 Of senators, of praetors, common suitors. 
 Will crowd a feeble man almost to death : 
 I '11 get me to a place more void, and there 
 Speak to great Caesar as he comes along. [Exit. 
 
 Por. 1 must go in. Ay me, how weak a thing 
 The heart of woman is ! O Brutus, 40 
 
 Enter the Soothsayer. The folio stage direction brings the 
 Soothsayer on probably by mistake. The person whom Portia 
 addresses seems to be Artemidorus, on his way from where we 
 last saw him to a more convenient place. 
 
Scene I] JULIUS CMSAR 201 
 
 The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise ! 
 
 [2b herself.^ Sure, the boy heard me : [7b Lucius] 
 
 Brutus hath a suit 
 That Caesar will not grant. O, I grow faint ! 
 Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord ; 
 Say I am merry : come to me again, 
 And bring me word what he doth say to thee. 
 
 {^Exeunt severally. 
 
 ACT III 
 
 Scene I. Rome. Before the Capitol. 
 
 A crowd of people ; among them Artemidorus and the Soothsayer 
 Flourish. Enter C-esab, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Me 
 TBLLus, Trebonius, Cinna, Antony, Lepidus, PopiLius, Pub 
 liius, and others. 
 
 Cces. [ To the Soothsayer.] The ides of March are 
 come. 
 
 Sooth. Ay, Caesar ; but not gone. 
 
 Art. Hail, Cassar ! read this schedule. 
 
 Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o'er-read, 
 At your best leisure, this his humble suit. 
 
 Art. O Caesar, read mine first ; for mine 's a suit 
 That touches Caesar nearer : read it, great Caesar. 
 
 Cces. What touches us ourself shall be last serv'd. 
 
 Art. Delay not, Caesar ; read it instantly. 
 
 Cces. What, is the fellow mad ? 
 
 Pub. - Sirrah, give place. 
 
 Cas. What, urge you your petitions in the street ? 
 Come to the Capitol. 12 
 
 Scene changes to the Senate-House, the Senate sitting. Enter C^sar 
 with his train, the conspirators, and others. 
 
 Pop. I wish your enterprise to-day may thrive. 
 
 4. [o'er-read reread over; overlook was used in the same 
 sense.] 
 
 Scene I. Scene changes, etc. In the folio there >s as usual no 
 
202 JULIUS C^SAR [Act III 
 
 Cas. What enterprise, Popilius ? 
 
 Pop. Fare you well. 
 
 l^Advances to Ccesar. 
 
 Bru. What said Popilius Lena ? 
 
 Cas. He wish'd to-day our enterprise might thrive. 
 I fear our purpose is discovered. 
 
 Bru. Look, how he makes to Csesar : mark him. 
 
 Cas. Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention. 
 Brutus, what shall be done ? If this be known, 20 
 
 Cassius or Caesar never shall turn back. 
 For I will slay myself. 
 
 Bru. Cassius, be constant : 
 
 Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes ; 
 For, look, he smiles, and Caesar doth not change. 
 
 Cas. Trebonius knows his time ; for, look you, 
 Brutus, 
 He draws Mark Antony out of the way. 
 
 [Exeunt Antony and Trebonius. 
 
 indication of the place where the action of this scene is sup- 
 posed to pass, but merely " Flourish. Enter Ccesar, Brutus," etc., 
 etc. At line 12, "Come to the Capitol," there is no stage di- 
 rection at all, but the dialogue runs straight on with Popilius's 
 remark to Cassius, This is the result of the lack of scenic appa- 
 ratus on our old stage : the audience were to imagine a change to 
 the Senate-House. After " Come to the Capitol " it has been 
 the custom to give a stage direction " Ccesar enters the Capitol" 
 or words to like eifect, always implying what it would be impos- 
 sible to represent. Plainly there should be a new scene here, as 
 Shakespeare imagined. But in deference to a long-established 
 division, and to avoid inconvenience in reference, I do not disturb 
 the old arrangement. In fact, according to Plutarch, Csesar was 
 not killed in the Capitol, but in the curia of Pompey, where the 
 Senate was assembled on the 15th (or Ides) of March. 
 
 19. prevention : an example of the use of this word both in 
 its original sense of going before and in its modern sense of hin- 
 drance. In line 35 we have " prevent " used markedljr in the 
 modern sense. 
 
Scene I] JULIUS CjESAR 203 
 
 Dec. Where is Metellus Cimber ? Let him go, 
 And presently prefer his suit to Caesar. 
 
 Bru. He is address'd : press near and second him. 
 
 Cln. Casca, you are the first that rears your hand. 
 
 Casca. Are we all ready ? 
 
 CcBS. What is now amiss 
 
 That Caesar and his senate must redress ? 32 
 
 3fet. Most high, most mighty, and most puissant 
 Caesar, 
 Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat 
 An humble heart, — [Kneeling. 
 
 Cces. I must prevent thee, Cimber. 
 
 These couchings and these lowly courtesies 
 Might fire the blood of ordinary men, 
 And turn pre-ordinance and first decree 
 Into the law of children. Be not fond. 
 To think that Caesar bears such rebel blood 40 
 
 That will be thaw'd from the true quality 
 With that which melteth fools ; I mean, sweet words, 
 Low-crooked court'sies and base spaniel-fawning. 
 Thy brother by decree is banished : 
 If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him, 
 I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. 
 Know, Cassar doth not wrong, nor without cause 
 Will he be satisfied. 
 
 3fet. Is there no voice more worthy than my own, 
 
 29. address'd =: made ready. 
 
 30. [Cinna is reminding Casca that by tlieir agreement Casca 
 is to deal the first blow.] 
 
 36. couchings = crouchings, as possibly Shakespeare wrote. 
 
 39. Into the la^v of children : that is, so excite pride and 
 ambition as to make that which was established originally for a 
 specific purpose and an individual, hereditary ; tempt to the set- 
 ting up of kingly rank and a royal family, before whom subjects 
 must bow. fond = foolish. 
 
204 JULIUS C^SAR [Act III 
 
 To sound more sweetly in great Caesar's ear 50 
 
 For the repealing of my banish'd brother ? 
 
 JBru. I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, CaBsar ; 
 Desiring thee that Publius Cimber may 
 Have an immediate freedom of repeal. 
 
 Cces. What, Brutus ! 
 
 Cas. Pardon, Caesar ; Caesar, pardon : 
 
 As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall. 
 To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber. 
 
 Cces. I could be well mov'd, if I were as you : 
 If I could pray to move, prayers would move me : 
 But I am constant as the northern star, 60 
 
 Of whose true-fix'd and resting quality 
 There is no fellow in the firmament. 
 The skies are painted with unnumber'd sparks, 
 They are all fire and every one doth shine ; 
 But there 's but one in all doth hold his place : 
 So in the world : 't is furnish'd well with men. 
 And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive ; 
 Yet in the number I do know but one 
 That unassailable holds on his rank, 
 Unshak'd of motion : and that I am he, 70 
 
 Let me a little show it, even in this ; 
 That I was constant Cimber should be banish'd, 
 And constant do remain to keep him so. 
 
 Cin. O Caesar, — 
 
 CcBS. Hence ! wilt thou lift up Olympus ? 
 
 Dec. Great Caesar, — 
 
 CcBS. Doth not Brutus bootless kneel? 
 
 Casca. Speak, hands, for me ! 
 
 [Casca and the other Conspirators stab Ccesar. 
 
 Cces. JEt tu^ Brute I Then fall, Caesar ! {Dies. 
 
 51. [repealing= recalling from exile.] 
 
 77. Et tu, Brute = And thou, Brutus ! — There is no record of 
 
Scene I] JULIUS C^SAR 205 
 
 Cin. Liberty ! Freedom I Tyranny is dead ! 
 Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets. 
 
 Csesar's having uttered these words, which have been put into 
 his mouth by we know not whom. But Suetonius tells us that 
 the dictator, who at first strove with his assassins, seeing Brutus 
 rush upon him, uttered the touching exclamation, koX ai,TeKvov = 
 And thou, my son ! and covered his face. But it seems very 
 doubtful that the murdered Caesar uttered this Greek phrase 
 with his dying lips. Thus bestead, and in that extremity, the 
 author of the Commentaries, the writer of the most idiomatic lit- 
 erary Latin that has come down to us, would surely have used, 
 intuitively and unconsciously, his mother tongue. Suetonius 
 wrote about one hundred and seventy-five years after the death 
 of Cfesar, and he records this exclamation merely upon tradi- 
 tion (" Etsi tradiderunt quidam"}; the origin of which was, it is 
 most likely, the notion that got abroad that Marcus Brutus the 
 younger was the son of Csesar by Servilia, the wife of Marcus 
 Junius Brutus the elder. But although Ctesar enjoyed the fa- 
 vors of Servilia, it must have been after the birth of Marcus 
 Brutus the younger, who was only fifteen years his jvmior. The 
 whole story probably grew out of Csesar's well-known relations 
 with Servilia, and her prayer to him to spare her only son at the 
 battle of Pharsalia, which caused Csesar to give orders before 
 the fight that no one should kill Marcus Brutus. Hence, too, 
 the mistaken notion that it was Marcus, instead of Decimus, who 
 was Csesar's favorite. This base and purely vindictive assassi- 
 nation of the greatest, noblest, largest-natured man known to 
 history has been made the subject of an ingenious investigation 
 on its physical side by a French savant, M. Dubois, who read a 
 paper upon it before the Academy of Medicine of Paris. He 
 believes that by a careful collection and comparison of all acces- 
 sible authorities, he has fixed the spots where the first four wounds 
 were inflicted and the names of the conspirators who gave them. 
 The first, by one of the Cascas, was imder the left collar-bone, and 
 sliglit ; the second, by the other Casca, pierced the chest on the 
 right ; Cassius gave the third, in the face ; Decimus Brutus the 
 fourth, in the groin. Contrary to general opinion, Marcus Bru- 
 tus did not strike. Upon these blows Csesar fainted and fell, 
 and then the conspirators hacked his body. He was borne by 
 three slaves to his house. The physician Antistius, who was 
 
206 JULIUS CJESAR [Act III 
 
 Cas. Some to the common pulpits, and cry out 80 
 " Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement ! " 
 
 Bru. People and senators, be not affrighted; 
 Fly not ; stand still : ambition's debt is paid. 
 
 Casca. Go to the pulpit, Brutus. 
 
 Dec. And Cassius too. 
 
 Bru. Where 's Publius ? 
 
 Oin. Here, quite confounded with this mutiny. 
 
 Met. Stand fast together, lest some friend of Caesar's 
 Should chance — 
 
 Bru. Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer ; 
 There is no harm intended to your person, 90 
 
 Nor to no Roman else : so tell them, Publius. 
 
 Cas. And leave us, Publius ; lest that the people, 
 Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief. 
 
 Bru. Do so : and let no man abide this deed, 
 But we the doers. 
 
 Be-enter Tbebonius. 
 
 Cas. Where is Antony ? 
 
 Treb. Fled to his house amaz'd : 
 Men, wives and children stare, cry out and run 
 As it were doomsday. 
 
 Bru. Fates, we will know your pleasures : 
 
 That we shall die, we know ; 't is but the time 
 And drawing days out, that men stand upon. 100 
 
 Cas. Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life 
 Cuts off so many years of fearing death. 
 
 Bru. Grant that, and then is death a benefit : 
 
 called, found thirty-five wounds (Suetonius says three and 
 twenty) , only one of which was surely mortal, — that of the 
 second Casca. 
 
 80. [pulpits. Here the rostra of ancient Rome, or platforms 
 for the use of public orators.] 
 
 86. [confounded = amazed.] 
 
 100, [drawing = lengthening.] 
 
Scene I] JULIUS CJESAR 207 
 
 So are we Caesar's friends, that have abridg'd 
 
 His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop, 
 
 And let us bathe our hands in Caesar's blood 
 
 Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords : 
 
 Then walk we forth, even to the market-place, 
 
 And, waving our red weapons o'er our heads, 
 
 Let 's all cry Peace, freedom and liberty ! 110 
 
 Cas. Stoop, then, and wash. How many ages hence 
 Shall this our lofty scene be acted over 
 In states unborn and accents yet unknown ! 
 
 S)'U. How many times shall Caesar bleed in sport, 
 That now on Pompey's basis lies along 
 No worthier than the dust ! 
 
 Cas. So oft as that shall be, 
 
 So often shall the knot of us be call'd 
 The men that gave their country liberty. 
 
 Dec. What, shall we forth ? 
 
 Cas. Ay, every man away ; 
 
 Brutus shall lead ; and we will grace his heels 120 
 With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Bru. Soft ! who comes here ? A friend of Antony's. 
 
 Serv. Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel ; 
 Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down ; 
 And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say : 
 Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest ; 
 Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving : 
 Say I love Brutus, and I honour him ; 
 Say I fear'd Cfesar, honour'd him and lov'd him. 
 If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony 130 
 
 May safely come to him, and be resolv'd 
 How Caesar hath deserv'd to lie in death, 
 
 119. [What is sometimes used as here, where in moderu times 
 one would use "well."] 
 
208 JULIUS CMSAR [Act III 
 
 Mark Antony shall not love Caesar dead 
 
 So well as Brutus living ; but will follow 
 
 The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus 
 
 Thorough the hazards of this untrod state 
 
 With all true faith. So says my master Antony. 
 
 Bru. Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman ; 
 I never thought him worse. 
 
 Tell him, so please him come unto this place, 140 
 
 He shall be satisfied ; and, by my honour, 
 Depart untouch'd. 
 
 Serv. I '11 fetch him presently. [Exit. 
 
 Bru. I know that we shall have him well to friend. 
 
 Cas. I wish we may : but yet have I a mind 
 That fears him much ; and my misgiving still 
 Falls shrewdly to the purpose. 
 
 Bru. But here comes Antony. 
 
 Be-enter Antony. 
 
 Welcome, Mark Antony. 
 
 Ant. O mighty Csesar ! dost thou lie so low ? 
 Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, 
 Shrunk to this little measure ? Fare thee well. 150 
 I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, 
 Who else must be let blood, who else is rank : 
 If I myself, there is no hour so fit 
 As Caesar's death hour, nor no instrument 
 Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich 
 With the most noble blood of all this world. 
 I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, 
 Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, 
 
 139. [worsen less worth.] 
 
 141. [satisfied, see resolv'd, 1. 131.] 
 
 143. to friend = for a friend ; as in " he took Sarah to wife." 
 
 146. [falls shreTvdly to the purpose ::= comes close to the 
 mark.] 
 
 152. rank = grown up too thrifty, high and strong. 
 
Scene I] JULIUS CuESAR 209 
 
 Fulfil your pleasure. Live a thousand years, 
 
 I shall not find myself so apt to die : 160 
 
 No place will please me so, no mean of death. 
 
 As here by Csesar, and by you cut off. 
 
 The choice and master spirits of this age. 
 
 Bru. O Antony, beg not your death of us. 
 Though now we must appear bloody and cruel, 
 As, by our hands and this our present act. 
 You see we do, yet see you but our hands 
 And this the bleeding business they have done : 
 Our hearts you see not ; they are pitiful ; 
 And pity to the general wrong of Rome — 170 
 
 As fire drives out fire, so pity pity — 
 Hath done this deed on Caesar. For your part, 
 To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony : 
 Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts 
 Of brothers' temper, do receive you in 
 With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence. 
 
 Cas. Your voice shall be as strong as any man's 
 In the disposing of new dignities. 
 
 Bi^. Only be patient till we have appeas'd 
 The multitude, beside themselves with fear, 180 
 
 And then we will deliver you the cause, 
 Why I, that did love Caesar when I struck him, 
 Have thus proceeded. 
 
 Ant. I doubt not of your wisdom. 
 
 Let each man render me his bloody hand : 
 First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you ; 
 Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand ; 
 
 IGO. [apt to die = ready for death.] 
 
 161. [mean ^ means.] 
 
 174. in strength of malice =: iu the intensity of hate which 
 led to this deed. But the passage is somewhat incongruous, and 
 may be corrupt. 
 
210 JULIUS C^SAR [Act in 
 
 Now, Decius Brutus, yours ; now yours, Metellus ; 
 
 Yours, Cinna ; and, my valiant Casca, yours ; 
 
 Though last, not least in love, yours, good Trebonius. 
 
 Gentlemen all, — alas, what shall I say ? 190 
 
 My credit now stands on such slippery ground, 
 
 That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, 
 
 Either a coward or a flatterer. 
 
 That I did love thee, Caesar, O, 't is true : 
 
 If then thy spirit look upon us now, 
 
 Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death, 
 
 To see thy Antony making his peace, 
 
 Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes. 
 
 Most noble ! in the presence of thy corse ? 
 
 Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, 200 
 
 Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, 
 
 It would become me better than to close 
 
 In terms of friendship with thine enemies. 
 
 Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay'd, brave 
 
 hart ; 
 Here didst thou fall ; and here thy hunters stand, 
 Sign'd in thy spoil, and crimson'd in thy lethe. 
 O world, thou wast the forest to this hart ; 
 And this, indeed, O world, the heart of thee. 
 How like a deer, strucken by many princes, 
 Dost thou here lie ! 210 
 
 Cas. Mark Antony, — 
 
 Ant. Pardon me, Caius Cassius : 
 
 The enemies of Caesar shall say this ; 
 Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty. 
 
 192. [conceit = conceive me to be.] 
 
 206. thy lethe = the stream that bears thee into the next 
 world. Shakespeare had not a very clear notion of the river 
 Lethe. [Yet some take lethe to be an obsolete word for 
 " death," and instance the derivation " lethal " in support of this.] 
 
Scene I] JULIUS CJESAR 211 
 
 Cas. I blame you not for praising Caesar so ; 
 But what compact mean you to have with us ? 
 Will you be prick' d in number of our friends ; 
 Or shall we on, and not depend on you ? 
 
 Ant. Therefore I took your hands, but was, in- 
 deed, 
 Sway'd from the point, by looking down on Caesar. 
 Friends am I with you all and love you all, 220 
 
 Upon this hope, that you shall give nie reasons 
 Why and wherein Caesar was dangerous. 
 
 Bru. Or else were this a savage spectacle : 
 Our reasons are so full of good regard 
 That were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, 
 You should be satisfied. 
 
 Ant. That 's all I seek : 
 
 And am moreover suitor that I may 
 Produce his body to the market-place ; 
 And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend, 
 Speak in the order of his funeral. 230 
 
 Bru. You shall, Mark Antony. 
 
 Cas. Brutus, a word with you. 
 
 \^Aside to Bru.'] You know not what you do: do not 
 
 consent 
 That Antony speak in his funeral : 
 Know you how much the people may be mov'd 
 By that which he will utter? 
 
 Brii. By your pardon ; 
 
 I will myself into the pulpit first. 
 And show the reason of our Caesar's death : 
 What Antony shall speak, I will protest 
 Pie speaks by leave and by permission, 
 And that we are contented Caesar shall 24u 
 
 210. prick'd = checked, marked off. 
 230. [order recourse.] 
 
212 JULIUS CmSAR [Act III 
 
 Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies. 
 It shall advantage more than do us wrong. 
 
 Cas. I know not what may fall ; I like it not. 
 
 Bru. Mark Antony, here, take you Caesar's body. 
 You shall not in your funeral speech blame us. 
 But speak all good you can devise of Csesar, 
 And say you do 't by our permission ; 
 Else shall you not have any hand at all 
 About his funeral : and you shall speak 
 In the same pulpit whereto I am going, 250 
 
 After my speech is ended. 
 
 Ant. Be it so ; 
 
 I do desire no more. 
 
 Bru. Prepare the body then, and follow us. 
 
 \^Exeunt all but Antony. 
 
 Ant. O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth. 
 That I am meek and gentle with these butchers ! 
 Thou art the ruins of the noblest man 
 That ever lived in the tide of times. 
 Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood ! 
 Over thy wounds now do I prophesy, — 
 Which, like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips, 260 
 To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue — 
 A curse shall light upon the limbs of men ; 
 Domestic fury and fierce civil strife 
 Shall cumber all the parts of Italy ; 
 Blood and destruction shall be so in use 
 And dreadful objects so familiar 
 That mothers shall but smile when they behold 
 Their infants quarter'd with the hands of war ; 
 All pity chok'd with custom of fell deeds : 
 
 262. limbs of men : an unsatisfactory passage. It has been 
 conjectured that Shakespeare wrote " the kind," " the line," 
 "the lives," "the loins," "the tombs," or "the sons" of men; 
 but the old text is probably correct. 
 
Scene I] JULIUS CJESAR 213 
 
 And Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge, 270 
 
 With Ate by his side come hot from hell, 
 Shall in these confines with a monarch's voice 
 Cry " Havoc," and let slip the dogs of war ; 
 That this foul deed shall smell above the earth 
 With carrion men, groaning for burial. 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not ? 
 
 Serv. I do, Mark Antony. 
 
 Ant. Caesar did write for him to come to Rome. 
 
 Serv. He did receive his letters, and is coming ; 
 And bid me say to you by word of mouth — 280 
 
 O Caesar ! — [Seeing the body. 
 
 Ant. Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep. 
 Passion, I see, is catching ; for mine eyes, 
 Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, 
 Began to water. Is thy master coming ? 
 
 Serv. He lies to-night within seven leas^iies of Kome. 
 
 Ant. Post back with speed, and tell him what hath 
 chanc'd : 
 Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome, 
 No Rome of safety for Octavius yet ; 
 Hie hence, and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile ; 290 
 Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corse 
 Into the market-place : there shall I try. 
 In my oration, how the people take 
 The cruel issue of these bloody men ; 
 
 271. Ate was the goddess of discord. 
 
 273. [Sir William Blackstone says that havoc was the word 
 by which, in war, declaration was made that no quarter was to 
 be given ; yet the context seems to confirm the derivation of the 
 word as a cry to hounds.] 
 
 289. No Rome of safety : a pun consequent upon the pro- 
 nunciation mom. 
 
 294. [issue = action.] 
 
214 JULIUS C^SAR [Act III 
 
 According to the which, thou shalt discourse 
 To young Octavius of the state of things. 
 
 Lend me your hand. [Exeunt with Ccesar's body. 
 
 Scene II. The Forum. 
 Enter Brutus and Cassius, and a throng of Citizens. 
 
 Citizens. We will be satisfied ; let us be satisfied. 
 
 Bra. Then follow me, and give me audience, friends. 
 Cassius, go you into the other street, 
 And part the numbers. 
 
 Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay here ; 
 Those that will follow Cassius, go with him; 
 And public reason shall be rend'red 
 Of Caesar's death. 
 
 First Cit. I will hear Brutus speak. 
 
 Sec. Vit. I will hear Cassius ; and compare their 
 reasons. 
 When severally we hear them rend'red. 10 
 
 [Exit Cassius, with some of the Citizens. Brutus goes into the pulpit. 
 
 Third Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended : silence ! 
 
 Bru. Be patient till the last. 
 Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my 
 cause, and be silent, that you may hear : believe me 
 for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, 
 that you may believe : censure me in your wisdom, 
 and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. 
 If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of 
 Caesar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love to Caesar was 
 no less than his. If then that friend demand why 
 
 1. [satisfied, see Sc. 1, 1. 141.] 
 13. lovers = friends. 
 
 15. have respect to mine honours take my honour into 
 consideration. 
 
 16. censure = judge without any adverse implication. 
 
Scene II] JULIUS C^SAR 215 
 
 Brutus rose against Csesar, this is my answer : — 
 Not that I lov'd Csesar less, but that I lov'd Rome 
 more. Had you rather Caesar were living and die all 
 slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all free men ? 
 As Caesar lov'd me, I weep for him ; as he was fortu- 
 nate, I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honour him : 
 but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears 
 for his love ; joy for his fortune ; honour for his valour ; 
 and death for his ambition. Who is here so base that 
 would be a bondman ? If any, speak ; for him have 
 I offended. Who is here so rude that would not be 
 a Roman ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. 
 Who is here so vile that will not love his country? 
 If any, speak ; for him have I offended. I pause for 
 a reply. 35 
 
 All. None, Brutus, none. 
 
 JBru. Then none have I offended. I have done no 
 more to Caesar than you shall do to Brutus. The 
 question of his death is enroU'd in the Capitol ; his 
 glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy, nor his 
 offences enforc'd, for which he suffered death. 41 
 
 Enter Antony and others, voith Cesar's body. 
 Here comes his body, mourn'd by Mark Antony : who, 
 though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the 
 benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth ; as 
 which of you shall not? With this I depart, — that, 
 as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have 
 the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my 
 country to need my death. 
 
 All. Live, Brutus ! live, live ! 
 
 First Cit. Bring him with triumph home unto his 
 house. 50 
 
 Sec. Cit. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 
 40. [extenuated = undervalued.] 
 
216 JULIUS C^SAR [Act III 
 
 Third Cit. Let him be Csesar. 
 
 Fourth Cit. Caesar's better parts 
 
 Shall be crown'd in Brutus. 
 
 First Cit. We'll bring him to his house 
 
 With shouts and clamours. 
 
 Bru. My countrymen, — 
 
 Sec. Cit. Peace, silence ! Brutus speaks. 
 
 First Cit. Peace, ho ! 
 
 Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone. 
 And, for my sake, stay here with Antony : 
 Do grace to Caesar's corpse, and grace his speech 
 Tending to Caesar's glories ; which Mark Antony, 
 By our permission, is allow'd to make. 60 
 
 I do entreat you, not a man depart. 
 Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. [Exit. 
 
 First Cit. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark An- 
 tony. 
 
 Third Cit. Let him go up into the public chair ; 
 We '11 hear him. Noble Antony, go up. 
 
 Ant. For Brutus' sake, I am beholding to you. 
 
 \_Goes into the pulpit. 
 Fourth Cit. What does he say of Brutus ? 
 Third Cit. He says, for Brutus' sake, 
 
 He finds himself beholding to us all. 
 
 Fourth Cit. 'T were best he speak no harm of 
 
 Brutus here. 
 First Cit. This Caesar was a tyrant. 
 Third Cit. Nay, that 's certain : 
 
 We are blest that Eome is rid of him. 71 
 
 62. Let him be Caesar : an anachronism. " Csesar " did not 
 become a title pertaining to place until long afterward. 
 
 62. Save I : carelessly written for " Save me." have spoke : 
 carelessly written for " has spoken." 
 
 68. beholding : properly " beholden," an intensified form of 
 «*holden"— held. 
 
Scene n] JULIUS CJESAR 217 
 
 Sec. Cit. Peace! let us hear what Antony can 
 say. 
 
 Ant. You gentle Romans, — 
 
 Citizens. Peace, ho ! let us hear him. 
 
 Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your 
 ears ; 
 I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 
 The evil that men do lives after them ; 
 The good is oft interred with their bones ; 
 So let it be with Csesar. The noble Brutus 
 Hath told you Caesar was ambitious : 
 If it were so, it was a grievous fault, 80 
 
 And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. 
 Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest — 
 For Brutus is an honourable man ; 
 So are they all, all honourable men — 
 Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
 He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 
 But Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
 And Brutus is an honourable man. 
 He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
 Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 90 
 
 Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 
 When that the poor have cri'd, Caesar hath wept : 
 Ambition should be made of sterner stuff : 
 Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
 And Brutus is an honourable man. 
 You all did see that on the Lupercal 
 I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
 Which he did thrice refuse : was this ambition ? 
 Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
 And, sure, he is an honourable man. 100 
 
 77. interred : pronounced, finely, in-ter-red. 
 
 92. cri'd : that is, for help, uttered their distress. 
 
218 JULIUS CJSSAR [Act III 
 
 1 speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 
 But here I am to speak what I do know. 
 You all did love him once, not without cause : 
 What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him? 
 
 judgement ! thou art fled to brutish beasts, 
 And men have lost their reason. Bear with me ; 
 My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 
 And I must pause till it come back to me. 
 
 First Cit. Methinks there is much reason in his 
 
 sayings. 
 Sec. Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter, 110 
 Caesar has had great wrong. 
 
 Third Cit. Has he, masters ? 
 
 1 fear there will a worse come in his place. 
 
 Fourth Cit. Mark'd ye his words ? He would not 
 take the crown ; 
 Therefore 't is certain he was not ambitious. 
 
 First Git. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 
 Sec. Cit. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with 
 
 weeping. 
 Third Cit. There 's not a nobler man in Rome than 
 
 Antony. 
 Fourth Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to 
 
 speak. 
 Ant. But yesterday the word of Caesar might 
 Have stood against the world ; now lies he there, 120 
 And none so poor to do him reverence. 
 
 masters, if I were dispos'd to stir 
 Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 
 
 1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong. 
 Who, you all know, are honourable men : 
 
 I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose 
 To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, 
 115. [That is, will answer for it at a high price.] 
 
Scene II] JULIUS C^SAR 219 
 
 Than I will wrong such honourable men. 
 
 But here 's a parchment with the seal of Caesar ; 
 
 I found it in his closet, 'tis his will: 130 
 
 Let but the commons hear this testament — 
 
 Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read — 
 
 And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds 
 
 And dip their napkins in his sacred blood, 
 
 Yea, beg a hair of him for memory. 
 
 And, dying, mention it within their wills, 
 
 Bequeathing it as a rich legacy 
 
 Unto their issue. 
 
 Fcairth Cit. We'll hear the will: read it, Mark 
 Antony. 139 
 
 All. The will, the will ! we will hear Caesar's will. 
 
 Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not 
 read it ; 
 It is not meet you know how Caesar lov'd you. 
 You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ; 
 And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, 
 It will inflame you, it will make you mad : 
 'T is good you know not that you are his heirs ; 
 For, if you should, 0, what would come of it ! 
 
 Fourth Cit. Read the will; we'll hear it, Antony; 
 You shall read us the will, Caesar's will. 149 
 
 Ant. Will you be patient ? will you stay awhile ? 
 I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it : 
 I fear I wrong the honourable men 
 Whose daggers have stabb'd Caesar ; I do fear it. 
 
 Fourth Cit. They were traitors : honourable men ! 
 
 All. The will ! the testament ! 
 
 Sec. Cit. They were villains, murderers : the will I 
 read the will. 
 
 Ant. You will compel me, then, to read the will ? 
 134. napkins =^ haudkercliief s : an anachronism. 
 
220 JULIUS C^SAR [Act III 
 
 Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar, 
 
 And let me show you him that made the will. 160 
 
 Shall I descend ? and will you give me leave ? 
 
 Several Cit. Come down. 
 
 Sec. Cit. Descend. 
 
 Third Cit. You shall have leave. {Antony comes down. 
 
 Fourth Cit. A ring ; stand round. 
 
 First Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the 
 body. 
 
 Sec. Cit. Room for Antony, most noble Antony. 
 
 Ant. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far off. 
 
 Several Cit. Stand back ; room ; bear back. 
 
 Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
 You all do know this mantle : I remember 171 
 
 The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
 'T was on a summer's evening, in his tent, 
 That day he overcame the Nervii : 
 Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger through : 
 See what a rent the envious Casca made : 
 Through, this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd ; 
 And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, 
 Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it. 
 As rushing out of doors, to be resolv'd 180 
 
 If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no ; 
 For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 
 Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov'd him : 
 
 166. [the hearse : " hearse " commonly means " bier " in 
 Shakespeare.] 
 
 174. the Nervii : a very brave and warlike tribe of the Belgse. 
 At Cfesar's decisive battle with them (one of his most important 
 in the North) they broke his ranks, which he restored by his own 
 personal conduct ; and then the Nervii died almost to a man in 
 theirs. 
 
 183. ho-w dearly Caesar lov'd him. As before remarked, it 
 was Decimus Brutus, and not Marcus, whom Csesar loved. 
 
Scene II] JULIUS C^SAR 221 
 
 This was the most unkindest cut of all ; 
 
 For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 
 
 Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 
 
 Quite vanquish'd him : then burst his mighty heart ; 
 
 And, in his mantle muffling up his face. 
 
 Even at the base of Pompey's statua. 
 
 Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 190 
 
 O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 
 
 Then I, and you, and all of us fell down. 
 
 Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. 
 
 O, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel 
 
 The dint of pity : these are gracious drojjs. 
 
 Kind souls, what, weep you when you but behold 
 
 Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here, 
 
 [Lifting Ccesar''s mantle. 
 
 Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. 
 
 First Git. O piteous spectacle ! 
 
 /Sec. Cit. O noble Caesar ! 200 
 
 Third Cit. O wof ul day ! 
 
 Fourth Cit. O traitors, villains ! 
 
 First Cit. O most bloody sight ! 
 
 Sec. Cit. We will be reveng'd. 
 
 All. Revenge! About! Seek! Burn! Fire! Kill! 
 Slay! 
 Let not a traitor live'. 
 
 Ant. Stay, countrymen. 
 
 First Cit. Peace there! hear the noble Antony. 
 
 Sec, Cit. We'll hear him, we '11 follow him, we'll 
 die with him. 
 
 Ant. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir 
 you up 210 
 
 To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
 They that have done this deed are honourable : 
 What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, 
 
222 JULIUS C^SAR [Act III 
 
 That made them do it : they are wise and honour- 
 able, 
 And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
 I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : 
 I am no orator, as Brutus is ; 
 But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man. 
 That love my friend ; and that they know full well 
 That gave me public leave to speak of him : 220 
 
 For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
 Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
 To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; 
 I tell you that which you yourselves do know; 
 Show you sweet Csesar's wounds, poor poor dumb 
 
 mouths, 
 And bid them speak for me : but were I Brutus, 
 And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
 Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue 
 In every wound of Caesar that should move 
 The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 230 
 
 AIL We '11 mutiny. 
 
 First Cit. We '11 burn the house of Brutus. 
 Third Cit. Away, then ! come, seek the conspira- 
 tors. 
 Ant. Yet hear me, countrymen ; yet hear me speak. 
 All. Peace, ho ! Hear Antony. Most noble 
 
 Antony ! 
 Ant. Why, friends, you go to do you know not 
 what: 
 Wherein hath Cassar thus deserv'd your loves ? 
 Alas, you know not : I must tell you, then : 
 You have forgot the will I told you of. 
 
 All. Most true. The will ! Let 's stay and hear 
 the will. 240 
 
 Ant. Here is the will, and under Csesar's seal 
 
Scene H] JULIUS CJESAR 223 
 
 To Qvery Roman citizen he gives, 
 
 To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. 
 
 Sec. OIL Most noble Cjesar ! We '11 revenge his 
 death. 
 
 Third Cit. O royal Caesar ! 
 
 Ant. Hear me with patience. 
 
 All. Peace, ho ! 
 
 Ant. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, 
 His private arbours and new-planted orchards, 
 On this side Tiber ; he hath left them you, 250 
 
 And to your heirs forever, common pleasures, 
 To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. 
 Here was a Csesar ! when comes such another ? 
 
 First Cit. Never, never. Come, away, away ! 
 We '11 burn his body in the holy place, 
 And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
 Take up the body. 
 
 Sec. Cit. Go fetch fire. 
 
 Third Cit. Pluck down benches. 
 
 Fourth Cit. Pluck down forms, windows, any 
 
 thing. [Exeunt Citizens with the body. 
 
 Ant. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, 261 
 Take thou what course thou wilt ! 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 How now, fellow I 
 
 Serv. Sir, Octavius is already come to Kome. 
 
 Ant. Where is he ? 
 
 Sen). He and Lej^idus are at Caesar's house. 
 
 Ant. And thither will I straight to visit him : 
 243. seventy-five drachmas. A drachma was in nominal 
 value equal to about eighteen cents, or a franc ; but the differ- 
 ence between the real value of money then and now is so great 
 that seventy-five drachmas was equal to at least two hundred 
 dollars, — an impossible sum for Csesar to have left to every 
 Koman citizen. 
 
224 JULIUS C^SAR [Act III 
 
 He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry, 
 And in this mood will give us any thing. 
 
 Serv. I heard him say, Brutus and Cassius 270 
 
 Are rid like madmen through the gates of Kome. 
 
 Ant. Belike they had some notice of the people. 
 How I had mov'd them. Bring me to Octavius. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 Scene HI. A street. 
 
 Enter CiKKA the poet. 
 
 Gin. I dreamt to-night that I did feast with Caesar, 
 And things unluckily charge my fantasy : 
 I have no will to wander forth of doors, 
 Yet something leads me forth. 
 
 Enter Citizens. 
 
 First Cit. What is your name ? 
 
 Sec. Cit. Whither are you going? 
 
 Third Cit. Where do you dwell ? 
 
 Fourth Cit. Are you a married man or a bachelor? 
 
 Sec. Cit. Answer every man directly. 
 
 First Cit. Ay, and briefly. 10 
 
 Fourth Cit. Ay, and wisely. 
 
 Third Cit. Ay, and truly, you were best. 
 
 Cin. What is my name ? Whither am I going ? 
 Where do I dwell ? Am I a married man or a bach- 
 elor ? Then, to answer every man directly and briefly, 
 wisely and truly : wisely I say, I am a bachelor. 
 
 Sec. Cit. That 's as much as to say, they are fools 
 that marry : you '11 bear me a bang for that, I fear. 
 Proceed ; directly. 
 
 Cin. Directly, I am going to Csesar's funeral. 20 
 
 First Cit. As a friend or an enemy? 
 
 Cin. As a friend. 
 
 Sec. Cit That matter is answered directly. 
 18. [That is, " you '11 wiu a blow from me." ] 
 
Scene I] JULIUS CJESAR 225 
 
 Fourth Cit. For your dwelling, — briefly. 
 
 Cin. Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol. 
 
 Third Cit. Your name, sir, truly. 
 
 Cin. Truly, my name is Cinna. 
 
 First Cit. Tear him to pieces ; he 's a conspirator. 
 
 Cin. I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet. 
 
 Fourth Cit. Tear him for his bad verses, tear him 
 for his bad verses. 31 
 
 Cin. I am not Cinna the conspirator. 
 
 Fourth Cit. It is no matter, his name 's Cinna ; 
 pluck but his name out of his heart, and turn him going. 
 
 Third Cit. Tear him, tear him ! Come, brands, ho ! 
 fire-brands : to Brutus', to Cassius' ; burn all : some 
 to Decius' house, and some to Casca's ; some to Liga- 
 rius' : away, go ! lExeunt. 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 Scene I. A house in Rome. 
 Antony, Octavius, and Lepibus, seated at a table. 
 Ant. These many, then, shall die ; their names are 
 
 prick'd. 
 Oct. Your brother too must die; consent you, 
 
 Lepidus ? 
 Lep. I do consent, — 
 
 Oct. Prick him down, Antony. 
 
 Lep. Upon condition Publius shall not live. 
 Who is your sister's son, Mark Antony. 
 
 Ant. He shaU not live ; look, with a spot I damn 
 
 him. 
 34. [turn him going = send him packing.] 
 1. prick'd = marked with a j)rick or point, checked. 
 4. PubliuB, etc. : a mistake : it was Lucius, Antony's mater- 
 nal uncle. 
 
 6. damn = condemn. 
 
226 JULIUS C^SAR [Act IV 
 
 But, Lepidus, go you to Csesar's house ; 
 Fetch the will hither, and we shall determine 
 How to cut off some charge in legacies. 
 
 Lep. What, shall I find you here ? 10 
 
 Oct. Or here, or at the Capitol. [Exit Lepidus. 
 
 Ant. This is a slight unmeritable man, 
 Meet to be sent on errands : is it fit, 
 The three-fold world divided, he should stand 
 One of the three to share it? 
 
 Oct. So you thought him ; 
 
 And took his voice who should be prick'd to die, 
 In our black sentence and proscription. 
 
 Ant. Octavius, I have seen more days than you : 
 And though we lay these honours on this man, 
 To ease ourselves of divers sland'rous loads, 20 
 
 He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold, . 
 To groan and sweat under the business, 
 Either led or driven, as we point the way ; 
 And having brought our treasure where we will, 
 Then take we down his load, and turn him off, 
 Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears. 
 And graze in commons. 
 
 Oct. You may do your will ; 
 
 But he 's a tried and valiant soldier. 
 
 Ant. So is my horse, Octavius ; and for that 
 I do appoint him store of provender: 30 
 
 It is a creature that I teach to fight. 
 To wind, to stop, to run directly on. 
 His corporal motion govern'd by my spirit. 
 And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so ; 
 He must be taught and train'd and bid go forth ; 
 A barren-spirited fellow ; one that feeds 
 
 11. [Or ... or = either ... or. A Latinized phrase, as 
 aut . . . aut.] 
 
Scene II] JULIUS C^SAR 227 
 
 On abjects, orts and imitations, 
 
 Which, out of use and stal'd by other men, 
 
 Begin his fashion : do not talk of him. 
 
 But as a proj)erty. And now, Octavius, 40 
 
 Listen great things : — Brutus and Cassius 
 
 Are levying powers : we must straight make head : 
 
 Therefore let our alliance be combin'd, 
 
 Our best friends made, our means stretch'd ; 
 
 And let us presently go sit in council, 
 
 How covert matters may be best disclos'd, 
 
 And open perils surest answered. 
 
 Oct. Let us do so : for we are at the stake, 
 And bay'd about with many enemies ; 
 And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear, 50 
 Millions of mischiefs. \_Exeunt. 
 
 Scene II. Camp near Sardis. Before Brutus' tent. 
 
 Drum. Enter Brutus, Lucirjus, Lucius, and Soldiers; Titenius 
 and PiNDAKUS meeting them. 
 
 Bru. Stand, ho ! 
 
 Lucil. Give the word, ho ! and stand. 
 
 Bru. What now, Lucilius ! is Cassius near ? 
 
 Lucil. He is at hand ; and Pindarus is come 
 To do you salutation from his master. 
 
 Bru. He greets me well. Your master, Pin- 
 darus, 
 In his own change, or by ill officers. 
 Hath given me some worthy cause to wish 
 
 37. [abjects, orts and imitations. Antony is describing a 
 man of dull imagination and no invention, who takes up with 
 what he sees only, what is thrown away by others, mere copies ; 
 these are all new to him.] 
 
 42. [levying po-wers = raising armed forces.] 
 44. Our best friends. Three syllables have been lost from 
 this line, in which there is no guide to an acceptable restoration. 
 
228 JULIUS C^SAR [Act IV 
 
 Things done, undone : but, if he be at hand, 
 I shall be satisfied. 
 
 Pin. I do not doubt ' 10 
 
 But that my noble master will appear 
 Such as he is, full of regard and honour. 
 
 JBru. He is not doubted. A word, Lucilius ; 
 How he received you, let me be resolved. 
 
 Lucil. With courtesy and with respect enough ; 
 But not with such familiar instances. 
 Nor with such free and friendly conference, 
 As he hath used of old. 
 
 Bru. Thou hast described 
 
 A hot friend cooling : ever note, Lucilius, 
 When love begins to sicken and decay, 20 
 
 It useth an enforced ceremony. 
 There are no tricks in plain and simple faith ; 
 But hollow men, like horses hot at hand. 
 Make gallant show and promise of their mettle : 
 But when they should endure the bloody spur. 
 They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades. 
 Sink in the trial. Comes his army on ? 
 
 Lucil. They mean this night in Sardis to be 
 quarter'd ; 
 The greater part, the horse in general. 
 Are come with Cassius. 
 
 Bru. Hark ! he is arriv'd. 
 
 [Low march within. 
 
 March gently on to meet him. 31 
 
 Enter Cassius and his powers. 
 
 Cas. Stand, ho ! 
 
 Bru. Stand, ho ! Speak the word along. 
 
 23. hot at hand = hot in hand. 
 
 26. [fall. This transitive use of the verb remains only in the 
 vernacular expression " to fall a tree."] 
 
Scene III] JULIUS C^SAR 229 
 
 First Sol. Stand! 
 
 Sec. Sol. Stand I 
 
 TJiird Sol. Stand! 
 
 Cas. Most noble brother, you have done me wrong. 
 
 Bru. Judge me, you gods ! wrong I mine enemies ? 
 And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother ? 
 
 Cas. Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs ; 
 And when you do them — 
 
 Bru. Cassius, be content ; 41 
 
 Speak your griefs softly : I do know you well. 
 Before the eyes of both our armies here, 
 Which should perceive nothing but love from us, 
 Let us not wrangle : bid them move away ; 
 Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs, 
 And I will give you audience. 
 
 Cas. Pindarus, 
 
 Bid our commanders lead their charges off 
 A little from this ground. 
 
 Bru. Lucilius, do you the like ; and let no man 50 
 Come to our tent till we have done our conference. 
 Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. Brutus' tent. 
 Enter Bkutus and Cassius. 
 Cas. That you have wrong'd me doth appear in this : 
 You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella 
 For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
 Wherein my letter, praying on his side. 
 Because I knew the man, was slighted off. 
 
 42. [griefs =: grievances.] 
 
 46. [enlarge = spread out. We use the word in this sense 
 only with " upon " added.] 
 
 5. [slighted off. Now we have simplified the form and got 
 rid of " o£E."] 
 
230 JULIUS C^SAR [Act IV 
 
 Sru. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a case. 
 
 Gas. In such a time as this it is not meet 
 That every nice offence should bear his comment. 
 
 Bru. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
 Are much condemn'd to have an itching palm ; 10 
 To sell and mart your of&ces for gold 
 To undeservers. 
 
 Cas. I an itching palm ! 
 
 You know that you are Brutus that speak this, 
 Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last. 
 
 JBru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption, 
 And chastisement doth therefore hide his head. 
 
 Cas. Chastisement ! 
 
 J5ru. Remember March, the ides of March remem- 
 ber : 
 Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? 
 What villain touch'd his body, that did stab, 20 
 
 And not for justice ? What, shall one of us, 
 That struck the foremost man of all this world 
 But for supporting robbers, shall we now 
 Contaminate our fingers with base bribes. 
 And sell the mighty space of our large honoifrs 
 For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? 
 I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
 Than such a Roman. 
 
 Cas. Brutus, bay not me ; 
 
 I 'U not endure it : you forget yourself, 
 To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I, 30 
 
 Older in practice, abler than yourself 
 To make conditions. 
 
 8. nice offence = petty ofEence. 
 
 28. [bay. Some editors read " bait," but it is natural that 
 Cassius should catch up Brutus.] 
 
 30. [hedge me in =: limit my authority.] 
 
Scene III] JULIUS CJESAR 231 
 
 Bru. Go to ; you are not, Cassius. 
 
 Cas. I am. 
 
 Bru. I say you are not. 
 
 Ca."?. Urge me no more, I shall forget myself ; 
 Have mind upon your health, tempt me no farther. 
 
 Bru. Away, slight man ! 
 
 Cas. Is 't possible ? 
 
 Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. 
 
 Must I give way and room to your rash choler ? 
 Shall I be frighted when a madman stares? 40 
 
 Cas. O ye gods, ye gods ! must I endure all 
 this? 
 
 Bru. All this ! ay, more : fret till your proud heart 
 break ; 
 Go show your slaves how choleric you are, 
 And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge ? 
 Must I observe you ? must I stand and crouch 
 Under your testy humour ? By the gods, 
 You shall digest the venom of your spleen. 
 Though it do split you ; for, from this day forth, 
 I '11 use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter. 
 When you are waspish. 
 
 Cas. Is it come to this ? 50 
 
 Bru. You say you are a better soldier : 
 Let it appear so ; make your vaunting true. 
 And it shall please me well : for mine own part, 
 I shall be glad to learn of noble men. 
 
 Gas. You wrong me every way ; you wrong me, 
 Brutus ; 
 I said, an elder soldier, not a better : 
 Did I say " better " ? 
 
 Bru. If you did, I care not. 
 
 Cas. When Cassar liv'd, he durst not thus have 
 mov'd me. 
 
232 JULIUS CJESAR [Act IV 
 
 Bru. Peace, peace ! you durst not so have tempted 
 him. 
 
 Cas. I durst not ! 60 
 
 Bru. No. 
 
 Cas. What, durst not tempt him ! 
 
 Bru. For your life you durst not. 
 
 Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love ; 
 I may do that I shall be sorry for. 
 
 Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. 
 There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats. 
 For I am arm'd so strong in honesty 
 That they pass by me as the idle wind, 
 Which I respect not. I did send to you 
 For certain sums of gold, which you denied me : 70 
 For I can raise no money by vile means : 
 By heaven, I had rather coin my heart, 
 And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring 
 From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash 
 By any indirection : I did send 
 To you for gold to pay my legions. 
 Which you denied me : was that done like Cassius ? 
 Should I have answer'd Caius Cassius so ? 
 When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous. 
 To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 80 
 
 Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts ; 
 Dash him to pieces ! 
 
 Cas. I denied you not. 
 
 Bru. You did. 
 
 Cas. I did not : he was but a fool that brought 
 My answer back. Brutus hath riv'd my heart : 
 A friend should bear his friend's infirmities. 
 But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. 
 
 Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. 
 
 75 [indirection = dishonest practice. See Hamlet, II, i, 66.] 
 
Scene III] JULIUS CMSAR 233 
 
 Cas. You love me not. 
 
 Bru. I do not like your faults. 
 
 Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 90 
 
 Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear 
 As huge as high Olympus. 
 
 Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come, 
 Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius, 
 For Cassius is aweary of the world ; 
 Hated by one he loves ; brav'd by his brother ; 
 Check'd like a bondman ; all his faults observ'd. 
 Set in a note-book, learn'd, and conn'd by rote, 
 To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep 
 My spirit from mine eyes ! There is my dagger, 100 
 And here my naked breast ; within, a heart 
 Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold : 
 If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth ; 
 I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart : 
 Strike, as thou didst at Caesar ; for, I know. 
 When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him 
 
 better 
 Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. 
 
 Bru. Sheathe your dagger : 
 
 Be angry when you will, it shall have scope ; 
 Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour. 
 O Cassius, you are yoked with a lamb 110 
 
 That carries anger as the flint bears fire ; 
 Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark, 
 And straight is cold again. 
 
 Cas. Hath Cassius liv'd 
 
 To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, 
 When grief, and blood ill-temper'd, vexeth him ? 
 
 109. [dishonour shall be humour, i. e. though yon do a 
 disgraceful deed, 1 '11 set it down as a mere whim, or caprice, 
 not to be taken seriously.] 
 
234 , JULIUS CjESAR [Act IV 
 
 Brti. When I spoke that, I was ill-temper'd too. 
 
 Cas. Do you confess so much ? Give me your hand. 
 
 £ru. And my heart too. 
 
 Cas. O Brutus ! 
 
 Sru. What 's the matter ? 
 
 Cas. Have not you love enough to bear with me, 
 When that rash humour which my mother gave me 120 
 Makes me forgetful ? 
 
 Bru. Yes, Cassius; and, from henceforth, 
 
 When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, 
 He '11 think your mother chides, and leave you so. 
 
 Poet. [ Within.^ Let me go in to see the generals ; 
 There is some grudge between 'em, 't is not meet 
 They be alone. 
 
 Lucil. [ Within.'] You shall not come to them. 
 
 Poet. [ Within^ Nothing but death shall stay me. 
 Enter Poet, followed hy Ltjcilius, Titinius, and Lucrus. 
 
 Cas. How now ! what 's the matter ? 
 
 Poet. For shame, you generals ! what do you mean ? 
 Love, and be friends, as two such men should be ; 131 
 For I have seen more years, I 'm sure, than ye. 
 
 Cas. Ha, ha ! how vilely doth this cynic rhyme ! 
 
 Bru. Get you hence, sirrah ; saucy fellow, hence ! 
 
 Cas. Bear with him, Brutus ; 't is his fashion. 
 
 Bru. I '11 know his humour, when he knows his time : 
 What should the wars do with these jigging fools ? 
 Companion, hence ! 
 
 Cas. Away, away, be gone ! {Exit Poet. 
 
 Bru. Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders 
 Prepare to lodge their companies to-night. 140 
 
 Cas. And come yourselves, and bring Messala with 
 you 
 Immediately to us. [Exeunt LudUus and Titinius. 
 
 138. companion = fellow. 
 
Scene III] JULIUS C/ESAR 235 
 
 Bru. Lucius, a bowl of wine ! [Exit Lucius. 
 
 Cas. I did not think you could have been so angry. 
 Bru. O Cassius, I am sick of many griefs. 
 Cas. Of your philosophy you make no use, 
 If you give place to accidental evils. 
 
 Bru. No man bears sorrow better. Portia is dead. 
 
 Cas. Hal Portia! 
 
 Bi'u. She is dead. 
 
 Cas. How 'scap'd I killing when I cross'd you so? 
 
 insupportable and touching loss I 151 
 Upon what sickness ? 
 
 Bru. Impatient of my absence, 
 
 And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony 
 Have made themselves so strong : — for with her death 
 That tidings came ; — with this she fell distract. 
 And, her attendants absent, swallow'd fire. 
 
 Cas. And died so ? 
 
 Bru. Even so. 
 
 Cas. O ye immortal gods ! 
 
 Re-enter Lucius, with ivine and taper. 
 Bru. Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of 
 wine. 
 In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius. 
 
 Cas. My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge. 160 
 Fill, Lucius, till the wine o'erswell the cup ; 
 
 1 cannot drink too much of Brutus' love. 
 
 Bru. Come in, Titinius ! [Exit Lucius. 
 
 Re-enter Titinius with Messala.. 
 
 Welcome, good Messala. 
 Now sit we close about this taper here. 
 And call in question our necessities. 
 Cas. Portia, art thou gone ? 
 
 152. Impatient, etc. In tbis speech two forms of construction 
 are confused ; but the sense is unmistakable. 
 
236 JULIUS CJESAR [Act IV 
 
 Bru. No more, I pray you. 
 
 Messala, I have here received letters, 
 That young Octavius and Mark Antony 
 Come down upoa us with a mighty power, 
 Bending their expedition toward Philippi. 170 
 
 Mes. Myself have letters of the self-same tenour. 
 
 Bru. With what addition? 
 
 Mes. That by proscription and bills of outlawry, 
 Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, 
 Have put to death an hundred senators. 
 
 Bru. Therein our letters do not well agree ; 
 Mine speak of seventy senators that died 
 By their proscriptions, Cicero being one. 
 
 Cas. Cicero one ! 
 
 Mes. Cicero is dead, 
 
 And by that order of proscription. 180 
 
 Had you your letters from your wife, my lord ? 
 
 Bru. No, Messala. 
 
 Mes. Nor nothing in your letters writ of her ? 
 
 Bru. Nothing, Messala. 
 
 Mes. That, methinks, is strange. 
 
 Bru. Why ask you ? hear you aught of her in yours ? 
 
 Mes. No, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true. 
 
 Mes. Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell: 
 For certain she is dead, and by strange manner. 189 
 
 Bru. Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala : 
 With meditating that she must die once, 
 I have the patience to endure it now. 
 
 Mes. Even so great men great losses should endure. 
 
 Cas. I have as much of this in art as you, 
 But yet my nature could not bear it so. 
 
 Bru. Well, to our work alive. What do you think 
 Of marching to Philippi presently ? 
 
Scene III] JULIUS CjESAR 237 
 
 Cas, I do not think it good. 
 
 Bru. Your reason ? 
 
 Cas. This it is : 
 
 'Tis better that the enemy seek us: 
 So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers, 200 
 Doing himself offence ; whilst we, lying still. 
 Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness. 
 
 B7nL. Good reasons must, of force, give place to 
 better. 
 The people 'twixt Philippi and this ground 
 Do stand but in a forc'd affection ; 
 For they have grudg'd us contribution : 
 The enemy, marching along by them, 
 By them shall make a fuller number up. 
 Come on refresh'd, new-added, and encourag'd ; 
 From which advantage shall we cut him off, 210 
 
 If at Philippi we do face him there, 
 These people at our back. 
 
 Cas. Hear me, good brother. 
 
 Bru. Under your pardon. You must note beside, 
 That we have tried the utmost of our friends, 
 Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe : 
 The enemy increaseth every day ; 
 We, at the height, are ready to decline. 
 There is a tide in the affairs of men. 
 Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune : 
 Omitted, all the voyage of their life 220 
 
 Is bound in shallows and in miseries. 
 On such a full sea are we now afloat ; 
 And we must take the current when it serves. 
 Or lose our ventures. 
 
 Cas. Then, with your will, go on ; 
 
 We '11 along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi. 
 201. [offence = hurt.] 
 
238 JULIUS CJESAR [Act IV 
 
 Bru. The deep of night is crept upon our talk, 
 And nature must obey necessity ; 
 Which we will niggard with a little rest. 
 There is no more to say? 
 
 Cas. No more. Good night : 
 
 Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence. 230 
 
 Bru. Lucius ! [Enter Lucius.~\ My gown. [Exit 
 Lucius.^ Farewell, good Messala : 
 Good night, Titinius. Noble, noble Cassius, 
 Good night, and good repose. 
 
 Cas. O my dear brother ! 
 
 This was an ill beginning of the night : 
 Never come such division 'tween our souls ! 
 Let it not, Brutus. 
 
 Bru. Every thing is well. 
 
 Cas. Good night, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Good night, good brother. 
 
 Tit. Mes. Good night. Lord Brutus. 
 
 Bru. Farewell, every one. 
 
 [Exeunt all hut Brutus. 
 Be-enter Luoitrs, with the gown. 
 Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument? 
 
 Lite. Here in the tent. 
 
 Bru. What, thou speak'st drowsily ? 
 
 Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o'erwatch'd. 
 Call Claudius and some other of my men ; 242 
 
 I '11 have them sleep on cushions in my tent. 
 
 Luc. Varro and Claudius I 
 
 Enter Vakeo and Claudius. 
 
 Var. Calls my lord ? 
 
 Bru. I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep j 
 
 228. [niggard = supply sparingly.] 
 
 241. Poor knave : as a man might kindly say nowadays, 
 " Poor little rogue." So afterwards, line 269, Gentle knave. 
 
Scene III] JULIUS CAESAR 239 
 
 It may be I shall raise you by and by 
 On business to my brother Cassius. 
 
 Var. So please you, we will stand and watch your 
 pleasure. 
 
 Bru. 1 will not have it so : lie down, good sirs ; 250 
 It may be I shall otherwise bethink me. 
 Look, Lucius, here 's the book I sought for so ; 
 I put it in the pocket of my gown. [Var. and Clau. lie down. 
 
 Luc. I was sure your lordship did not give it me. 
 
 Bru. Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful. 
 Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile, 
 And touch thy instrument a strain or two ? 
 
 Luc. Ay, my lord, an 't please you. 
 
 Bru. It does, my boy : 
 
 I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing. 
 
 Luc. It is my duty, sir. 260 
 
 Bru. I should not urge thy duty past thy might ; 
 I know young bloods look for a time of rest. 
 
 Luc. I have slept, my lord, already. 
 
 Bru. It was well done ; and thou shalt sleep again ; 
 I will not hold thee long : if I do live, 
 I will be good to thee. [Music, and a song. 
 
 This is a sleepy tune. O murd'rous slumber, 
 Lay'st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy, 
 That plays thee music ? Gentle knave, good night ; 
 I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee : 270 
 If thou dost nod, thou break'st thy instrument ; 
 I '11 take it from thee ; and, good boy, good night. 
 Let me see, let me see ; is not the leaf turn'd down 
 Where I left reading ? Here it is, I think. 
 
 Enter the Ghost of CiESAK. 
 
 How ill this taper burns ! Ha ! who comes here? 
 I think it is the weakness of mine eyes 
 That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
 
240 JULIUS CJESAR [Act IV 
 
 It comes upon me. Art thou any thing ? 
 Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 
 That mak'st my blood cold and my hair to stare ? 280 
 Speak to me what thou art. 
 
 Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 
 
 Bru. Why com'st thou ? 
 
 Ghost. To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi. 
 
 Bru. Well ; then I shall see thee again ? 
 
 Ghost. Ay, at Philippi. 
 
 Bru. Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then. 
 
 {Exit Ghost, 
 Now I have taken heart thou vanishest : 
 111 spirit, I would hold more talk with thee. 
 Boy, Lucius ! Varro ! Claudius ! Sirs, awake ! 290 
 Claudius ! 
 
 Luc. The strings, my lord, are false. 
 
 Bru. He thinks he still is at his instrument. 
 Lucius, awake ! 
 
 Luc. My lord ? 
 
 Bru. Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst 
 out? 
 
 Luc. My lord, I do not know that I did cry. 
 
 Bru. Yes, that thou didst ; didst thou see any thing ? 
 
 Luc. Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah Claudius! 300 
 [To Var.'\ Fellow thou, awake! 
 
 Var. My lord ? 
 
 Clau. My lord ? 
 
 Bru. Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep ? 
 
 Var. Clau. Did we, my lord? 
 
 Bru. Ay : saw you any thing ? 
 
 Var. No, my lord, I saw nothing. 
 
 Clau. Nor I, my lord. 
 
 Bru. Go and commend me to my brother Cassius ; 
 
Scene I] JULIUS CESAR 241 
 
 Bid him set on liis powers betimes before, 
 And we will follow. 
 
 Var. Clau. It shall be done, my lord. [Exeunt. 
 
 ACT V 
 
 Scene I. The plains of Philip2n. 
 Enter Octavius, Antony, and their Army. 
 
 Oct. Now, Antony, our hopes are answered : 
 You said the enemy would not come down, 
 But keep the hills and upper regions ; 
 It proves not so : their battles are at hand ; 
 They mean to warn us at Philippi Here, 
 Answering before we do demand of them. 
 
 Ant. Tut, I am in their bosoms, and I know 
 Wherefore they do it: they could be content 
 To visit other places ; and come down 
 With fearful bravery, thinking by this face 10 
 
 To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage ; 
 But 't is not so. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. Prepare you, generals : 
 
 The enemy comes on in gallant show ; 
 Their bloody sign of battle is hung out. 
 And something to be done immediately. 
 
 A?it. Octavius, lead your battle softly on, 
 Upon the left hand of the even field. 
 
 Oct. Upon the right hand I ; keep thou the left. 
 
 Ant. Why do you cross me in this exigent? 19 
 
 Oct. I do not cross you ; but I will do so. [March. 
 
 4. battles = ranks, troops. 
 
 5. [•warn = challenge. So, in the old game of football, the 
 side that opened the game called out ■* Warning ! " and the other 
 replied " Take 'em ! "] 
 
242 JULIUS C^SAR [ActV 
 
 Drum. Enter Brutus, Cassius, and their Army ; LuciLlus, TrriNius, 
 
 Mbssala, and others. 
 
 Bru. They stand, and would have parley. 
 
 Cas. Stand fast, Titinius : we must out and 
 talk. 
 
 Oct. Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle ? 
 
 Ant. No, Csesar, we will answer on their charge. 
 Make forth ; the generals would have some words. 
 
 Oct. Stir not until the signal. 
 
 Bru. Words before blows : is it so, countrymen ? 
 
 Oct. Not that we love words better, as you do. 
 
 Bru. Good words are better than bad strokes, 
 Octavius. 
 
 Ant. In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good 
 words : 30 
 
 Witness the hole you made in Caesar's heart, 
 Crying " Long live ! hail, Csesar ! " 
 
 Cas. Antony, 
 
 The posture of your blows are yet unknown ; 
 But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees, 
 And leave them honeyless. 
 
 Ant. Not stingless too. 
 
 Bru. O, yes, and soundless too ; 
 For you have stol'n their buzzing, Antony, 
 And very wisely threat before you sting. 
 
 Ant. Villains, you did not so, when your vile dag- 
 gers 
 Hack'd one another in the sides of Csesar : 40 
 
 You show'd your teeth like apes, and fawn'd like 
 
 hounds. 
 And bow'd like bondmen, kissing Csesar's feet ; 
 
 33. The posture . . . are : mere carelessness. It was not 
 " good grammar " in Shakespeare's time ; [or it may be referred 
 to a species of " attraction," as the Latin grammar would have it.] 
 
Scene I] JULIUS CJESAR 243 
 
 Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind 
 Struck Caesar on the neck. O you flatterers ! 
 
 Cas. Flatterers ! Now, Brutus, thank yourself : 
 This tongue had not oif ended so to-day, 
 If Cassius might have rul'd. 
 
 Oct, Come, come, the cause : if arguing make us 
 sweat, 
 The proof of it will turn to redder drops. 
 Look ; 50 
 
 I draw a sword against conspirators ; 
 When think you that the sword goes up again ? 
 Never, till Caesar's three and thirty wounds 
 Be well aveng'd ; or till another Caesar 
 Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors. 
 
 Bru. Caesar, thou canst not die by traitors' hands, 
 Unless thou bring'st them with thee. 
 
 Oct. So I hope ; 
 
 I was not born to die on Brutus' sword. 
 
 Bru. O, if thou wert the noblest of thy strain. 
 Young man, thou couldst not die more honourable. 60 
 
 Cas. A peevish schoolboy, worthless of such hon- 
 our, 
 Joiu'd with a masker and a reveller ! 
 
 Ant. Old Cassius still ! 
 
 Oct. Come, Antony, away ! 
 
 Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth : 
 
 53. three and thirty -wounds. Some people are aggrieved 
 at Shakespeare's great inaccuracy, as Suetonius says twenty- 
 three. But see the note Act III, Sc. 1, 1. 77. 
 
 59. strain = race, blood, family ; from the A. S. streonan=. 
 beget. 
 
 60. more honourable. In this and many similar instances 
 there may be an adjective misused as an adverb ; but I suspect 
 that in all these cases He was a syllable, and that here we merely 
 have an irregular spelling of *• honorably." 
 
244 JULIUS CMSAR [ActV 
 
 If you dare fight to-day, come to the field ; 
 If not, when you have stomachs. 
 
 [^Exeunt Octavius, Antony, and their army. 
 Cas. Why, now, blow wind, swell billow and swim 
 bark! 
 The storm is up, and all Is on the hazard. 
 Bru. Ho, Lucilius! hark, a word with you. 
 Lucil. {^Standing forth.~\ My Lord ? 
 
 [JBrutus and Lucilius converge apart. 
 
 Cas. Messala! 
 
 Mes. l_ Standing forth.'\ What says my general? 
 
 Cas. Messala, 71 
 
 This is my birth-day ; as this very day 
 Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala : 
 Be thou my witness that against my will, 
 As Pompey was, am I compell'd to set 
 Upon one battle all our liberties. 
 You know that I held Epicurus strong 
 And his opinion : now I change my mind, 
 And partly credit things that do presage. 
 Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign 80 
 
 Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perch'd. 
 Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands ; 
 Who to Philippi here consorted us : 
 This morning are they fled away and gone ; 
 And in their steads do ravens, crows and kites, 
 Fly o'er our heads and downward look on us, 
 As we were sickly prey : their shadows seem 
 A canopy most fatal, under which 
 Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost 
 
 Mes. Believe not so. 
 
 66. stomachs = appetite for fight, courage. 
 77. Epicurus . . . and his opinion. This was strongly 
 against even the evidence of the senses in things supernatural. 
 80. former =: first, going before. 
 
Scene I] JULIUS CjESAR ' 245 
 
 Cas. I but believe it partly; 
 
 For I am fresh of spirit and resolv'd 91 
 
 To meet all perils very constantly. 
 
 J^ru. Even so, Lucilius. 
 
 Cas. Now, most noble Brutus. 
 
 The gods to-day stand friendly, that we may. 
 Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age ! 
 But since the affairs of men rest still incertain, 
 Let 's reason with the worst that may befall. 
 If we do lose this battle, then is this 
 The very last time we shall speak together : 
 What are you then determined to do ? 100 
 
 Bru. Even by the rule of that philosophy 
 By which I did blame Cato for the death 
 Which he did give himself, I know not how, 
 But I do find it cowardly and vile. 
 For fear of what might fall, so to prevent 
 The time of life : arming myself with patience 
 To stay the providence of some high powers 
 That govern us below. 
 
 Cas. Then, if we lose this battle, 
 
 You are contented to be led in triumph 
 Thorough the streets of Rome ? 110 
 
 JSru. No, Cassius, no : think not, thou noble I jman, 
 That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome ; 
 He bears too great a mind. But this same day 
 Must end that work the ides of March begun ; 
 And whether we shall meet again I know not. 
 Therefore our everlasting farewell take : 
 For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius ! 
 If we do meet again, why, we shall smile ; 
 If not, why then, this parting was well made. 
 
 93. [A scrap of the unheard conversation apart, between Bru- 
 tus and Lucilius.] 
 
246 JULIUS C^SAR [ActV 
 
 Cas. For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus ! 120 
 If we do meet again, we '11 smile indeed ; 
 If not, 't is true this parting was well made. 
 
 £ru. Why, then, lead on. O, that a man might 
 know 
 The end of this day's business ere it come ! 
 But it suf&ceth that the day will end, 
 And then the end is known. Come, ho ! away ! 
 
 lExeunt. 
 
 Scene II. The same. The field of battle. 
 Alarum. Enter Brutus and Messala. 
 
 Bru. Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these 
 bills 
 Unto the legions on the other side. [Loud alarum. 
 
 Let them set on at once ; for I perceive 
 But cold demeanour in Octavius' wing, 
 And sudden push gives them the overthrow. 
 Ride, ride, Messala : let them all come down. {Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. Another part of the field. 
 
 Alarums. Enter Cassius and Titinius. 
 
 Cas. O, look, Titinius, look, the villains fly ! 
 Myself have to mine own turn'd enemy : 
 This ensign here of mine was turning back ; 
 I slew the coward, and did take it from him. 
 
 Tit. O Cassius, Brutus gave the word too early ; 
 Who, having some advantage on Octavius, 
 Took it too eagerly ; his soldiers fell to spoil, 
 Whilst we by Antony are all enclos'd. 
 Enter Pindarus. 
 
 Pin. Fly further off, my lord, fly further off ; 
 Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord : 10 
 
 Fly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off. 
 
Scene III] JULIUS CJESAR 247 
 
 Cas. This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titin- 
 ius ; 
 Are those my tents where I perceive the fire ? 
 
 Tit. They are, my lord. 
 
 Cas. Titinius, if thou lovest me, 
 
 Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurs in him, 
 Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops, 
 And here again ; that I may rest assured 
 Whether yond troops are friend or enemy. 
 
 Tit. I will be here again, even with a thought. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Cas. Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill ; 20 
 
 My sight was ever thick ; regard Titinius, 
 And tell me what thou not'st about the field. 
 
 [Pindarus ascends the hill. 
 This day I breathed first : time is come round. 
 And where I did begin, there shall I end ; 
 My life is run his compass. Sirrah, what news? 
 
 T*i7i. [-45o^;e.] O my lord ! 
 
 Cas. What news ? 
 
 JPin. [^Above.^ Titinius is enclosed round about 
 With horsemen, that make to him on the spur ; 
 Yet he spurs on. Now they are almost on him. 30 
 Now, Titinius ! Now some light. O, he lights too. 
 He's ta'en. \_Shout.^ And, hark! they shout for 
 
 joy- 
 
 Cas. Come down, behold no more. 
 O, coward that I am, to live so long, 
 To see my best friend ta'en before ray face ! 
 
 Pindarus descends. 
 Come hither, sirrah : 
 In Parthia did I take thee prisoner ; 
 And then I swore thee, saving of thy life. 
 That whatsoever I did bid thee do, 
 
248 JULIUS C^SAR [ActV 
 
 Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine 
 oath ; 40 
 
 Now be a freeman : and with this good sword 
 That ran through Caesar's bowels, search this bosom. 
 Stand not to answer : here, take thou the hilts ; 
 And, when my face is cover'd, as 't is now, 
 Guide thou the sword. \^Pindarus stabs him.^ Caesar, 
 
 thou art reveng'd. 
 Even with the sword that kill'd thee. [Dies. 
 
 Pin. So, I am free ; yet would not so have been, 
 Durst I have done my will. O Cassius, 
 Far from this country Pindarus shall run, 49 
 
 Where never Roman shall take note of him. [Exit. 
 
 Ee-enter Titinius with Messala. 
 
 Mes. It is but change, Titinius : for Octavius 
 Is overthrown by noble Brutus' power, 
 As Cassius' legions are by Antony. 
 
 Tit. These tidings will well comfort Cassius. 
 
 Mes. Where did you leave him ? 
 
 Tit. All disconsolate. 
 
 With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill. 
 
 Mes. Is not that he that lies upon the ground ? 
 
 Tit. He lies not like the living. O my heart ! 
 
 Mes. Is not that he ? 
 
 Tit. No, this was he, Messala, 
 
 But Cassius is no more. O setting sun, 60 
 
 As in thy red rays thou dost sink to-night, 
 So in his red blood Cassius' day is set ; 
 The sun of Rome is set ! Our day is gone ; 
 Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are 
 
 done! 
 Mistrust of my success hath done this deed. 
 
 43. hilts : commonly used, like " funerals," in regard to one 
 object. 
 
Scene III] JULIUS C^SAR 249 
 
 Mes. Mistrust of good success hath done this deed. 
 O hateful error, melancholy's child, 
 Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men 
 The things that are not? O ei*ror, soon conceiv'd, 
 Thou never com'st unto a happy Lirth, 70 
 
 But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee ! 
 
 Tit. What, Pindarus ! where art thou, Pindarus ? 
 
 3Ies. Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meet 
 The noble Brutus, thrusting this report 
 Into his ears ; I may say, thrusting it ; 
 For piercing steel and darts envenomed 
 Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus 
 As tidings of this sight. 
 
 Tit. Hie you, Messala, 
 
 And I will seek for Pindarus the while. [Exit Messala. 
 Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius ? 80 
 
 Did I not meet thy friends ? and did not they 
 Put on my brows this wreath of victory, 
 And bid me give it thee ? Didst thou not hear their 
 
 shouts ? 
 Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing ! 
 But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow , 
 Thy Bnatus bid me give it thee, and I 
 Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace, 
 And see how I regarded Cains Cassius. 
 By your leave, go'is : — this is a Roman's part : 
 Come, Cassius' sw. i.I, and find Titinius' heart. 90 
 
 [Kills himself. 
 Alarum. Re-enter Messala, with Brutus, young Cato, Stkato, 
 VoLUMNius, and Lucilius. 
 
 Bru. Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie ? 
 
 65, 66. success was used merely to mean consequeuce, that 
 which follows action, for a long time after Shakespeare's day. 
 
 84. [Does not Titinius in this line sum up the fatal defect in 
 Cassius's temperament?] 
 
250 JULIUS CjESAR [ActV 
 
 Mes. Lo, yonder, and Titinius mourning it. 
 
 Bru. Titinius' face is upward. 
 
 Cato. He is slain. 
 
 Bru. O Julius Caesar, thou art mighty yet ! 
 Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords 
 In our own proper entrails. [Low alarums. 
 
 Cato. Brave Titinius ! 
 
 Look, whether he have not crown'd dead Cassius ! 
 
 Bru. Are yet two Romans living such as these ? 
 The last of all the Romans, fare thee well 1 
 It is impossible that ever Rome 100 
 
 Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more tears 
 To this dead man than you shall see me pay. 
 I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time. 
 Come, therefore, and to Thasos send his body : 
 His funerals shall not be in our camp, 
 Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come ; 
 And come, young Cato ; let us to the field. 
 Labeo and Flavins, set our battles on : 
 'T is three o'clock ; and, Romans, yet ere night 109 
 We shall try fortune in a second fight. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene IV. Another part of the field. 
 
 Alarum. Enter fighting, Soldiers of both armies f^then Brutus, young 
 Cato, Lucilius and others. 
 
 Bru. Yet, countrymen, O, yet hold up your heads ! 
 
 Cato. What bastard doth not ? Who will go with 
 me? 
 I will proclaim my name about the field : 
 I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! 
 A foe to tyrants, and my country's friend ; 
 I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho ! 
 
 110. a second fight. The second fight at Philippi was not 
 until twenty days afterwards. 
 
Scene IV] JULIUS CJ^SAR 251 
 
 Bru. Aud I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I ; 
 Brutus, ray country's friend ; know me for Brutus ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Lucil. O young and noble. Cato, art thou down? 
 
 Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius ; 10 
 
 And mayst be honour'd, being Cato's son. 
 
 First Sol. Yield, or thou diest. 
 
 Lucil. Only I yield to die : 
 
 There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight ; 
 
 [^Offering money. 
 
 Kill Brutus, and be honour'd in his death. 
 
 First Sol. We must not. A noble prisoner ! 
 Sec. Sol. Room, ho ! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta'en. 
 First Sol. I '11 tell the news. Here comes the 
 
 general. 
 
 Enter Antokt. 
 
 Brutus is ta'en, Brutus is ta'en, my lord. 
 
 Ant. Where is he? 
 
 Lucil. Safe, Antony ; Brutus is safe enough : 'JO 
 I dare assure thee that no enemy 
 Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus : 
 The gods defend him from so great a shame ! 
 When you do find him, or alive or dead. 
 He will be found like Brutus, like himself. 
 
 Ant. This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure y(>;i. 
 A prize no less in worth : keep this man safe ; 
 Give him all kindness : I had rather have 
 Such men my friends than enemies. Go on, 
 
 12. Only I yield, etc. = I yield only, etc. ; this position of 
 " only " in the sentence obtained until long after Shakespeare's 
 day. 
 
 29. [Such men as will greedily sacrifice themselves for their 
 friends. It is open to conjecture that the proposition which Bru- 
 tus makes in turn to Clitus and Dardauius, he had before made 
 to Lucilius.] 
 
252 JULIUS C^SAR [ActV 
 
 And see whether Brutus be alive or dead ; 30 
 
 And bring us word unto Octavius' tent 
 
 How everything is chanced. [Exeunt. 
 
 Scene V. Another part of the field. 
 
 Enter Brutus, Dakdanius, Clitus, Stbato, and Volumnius. 
 
 Bru. Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this 
 rock. 
 
 Cli. Statilius show'd the torch-light, but, my 
 lord. 
 He came not back : he is or ta'en or slain. 
 
 JBru. Sit thee down, Clitus : slaying is the word ; 
 It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus. [Whispers. 
 
 Cli. What, I, my lord ? No, not for all the world. 
 
 Bru. Peace then ! no words. 
 
 Cli. I '11 rather kill myself. 
 
 Bru. Hark thee, Dardanius. [ Whispers. 
 
 Dar. Shall I do such a deed ? 
 
 Cli. O Dardanius ! 
 
 Dar. O Clitus ! 10 
 
 Cli. What ill request did Brutus make to thee ? 
 
 Dar. To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates. 
 
 Cli. Now is that noble vessel full of grief, 
 That it runs over even at his eyes. 
 
 Bru. Come hither, good Volumnius ; list a word. 
 
 Yol. What says my lord ? 
 
 Bru. Why, this, Volumnius : 
 
 The ghost of Caesar hath appear'd to me 
 Two several times by night ; at Sardis once, 
 And, this last night, here in Philippi fields : 
 I know my hour is come. 
 
 Vol. Not so, my lord. 20 
 
 Bru. Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius. 
 Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes ; 
 
Scene V] JULIUS C^SAR 253 
 
 Our enemies have beat us to the pit : [Low alarums. 
 
 It is more worthy to leap in ourselves, 
 Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius, 
 Thou know'st that we two went to school together : 
 Even for that our love of old, I prithee, 
 Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it. 
 Vol. That 's not an office for a friend, my lord. 
 
 [Alarum still. 
 Gli. Fly, fly, my lord ; there is no tarrying here. 30 
 Bru. Farewell to you ; and you ; and you, Volum- 
 nius. 
 Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep ; 
 Farewell to thee too, Strato. Countrymen, 
 My heart doth joy that yet in all my life 
 I found no man but he was true to me. 
 I shall have glory by this losing day 
 More than Octavius and Mark Antony 
 By this vile conquest shall attain unto. 
 So fare you well at once ; for Brutus' tongue 
 Hath almost ended his life's history : 40 
 
 Night hangs upon mine eyes ; my bones would rest. 
 That have but labour'd to attain this hour. 
 
 [Alarum. Cry within, " Fly, fly, fly ! " 
 
 Cli. Fly, my lord, fly. 
 
 Bru. Hence ! I will follow. 
 
 [Exeunt Clitus, Dardanius, and Volnmniits. 
 
 I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord : 
 Thou art a fellow of a good respect ; 
 Thy life hath had some smatch of honour In it : 
 Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face, 
 While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato ? 
 
 23. [have beat us to the pit, i. e. like beasts of the chase.] 
 
 46. smatch. We should probably read " smack," of which the 
 
 " smatch " of the folio seems to be merely an irregular spelling. 
 
^54 JULIUS CjESAR [ActV 
 
 Stra. Give me your hand first. Fare you well, my 
 
 lord. 
 Bru. Farewell, good Strato. [^Muns on his sword.li 
 
 Cffisar, now be still : 50 
 
 I kill'd not thee with half so good a will. [Dies. 
 
 Alarum. Betreat. Enter Octavius, Antony, Mbssala, Lucilius, and 
 the Army. 
 
 Oct. What man is that ? 
 
 Mes. My master's man. Strato, where is thy 
 master ? 
 
 Stra. Free from the bondage you are in, Messala : 
 The conquerors can but make a fire of him ; 
 For Brutus only overcame himself, 
 And no man else hath honour by his death. 
 
 Lucil. So Brutus should be found. I thank thee, 
 Brutus, 
 That thou hast prov'd Lucilius' saying true. 59 
 
 Oct. All that serv'd Brutus, I will entertain them. 
 Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me ? 
 
 Stra. Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you. 
 
 Oct. Do so, good Messala. 
 
 Mes. How died my master, Strato? 
 
 Stra. I held the sword, and he did run on it. 
 
 Mes. Octavius, then take him to follow thee, 
 That did the latest service to my master. 
 
 Ant. This was the noblest Roman of them all. 
 All the conspirators save only he 
 Did that they did in envy of great Caesar ; 70 
 
 He only, in a general honest thought 
 And common good to all, made one of them. 
 
 62. [prefer = commend.] 
 70. envy = hatred. 
 
 72. And common good to all. Loosely written : =• and 
 for the common good of all. 
 
ScenbV] JULIUS CjESAR 256 
 
 His life was gentle, and the elements 
 So mix'd in liim that Nature might stand up 
 And say to all the world " This was a man ! " 
 Oct. According to his virtue let us use him, 
 With all respect and rites of burial. 
 Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie, 
 Most like a soldier, order'd honourably. 
 So call the field to rest ; and let 's away SO 
 
 To part the glories of this happy day. [Exeunt. 
 
 73. the elements, etc. : a reference to the old physiological 
 notion that man was composed of the four elements, air, earth, 
 fire, and water. 
 
256 POLONIUS'S ADVICE TO LAERTES 
 POLONIUS'S ADVICE TO LAERTES. 
 
 From Hamlet, Act i, Scene 3. 
 
 Give thy thoughts no tongue, 
 Nor any unproportion'd ^ thought his act. 
 Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.* 
 Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
 Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel ; 
 But do not dull thy palm with entertainment ^ 
 Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware 
 Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in. 
 Bear 't that the opposed may beware of thee. 
 Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice ; 
 Take each man's censure,* but reserve thy judgement 
 Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy. 
 But not express'd in fancy ; rich, not gaudy ; 
 For the apparel oft proclaims the man. 
 And they in France of the best rank and station 
 Are most select and generous in that. 
 Neither a borrower nor a lender be ; 
 For loan oft loses both itself and friend, 
 And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.^ 
 This above all : to thine own self be true, 
 And it must follow, as the night the day, 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man. 
 
 1 unproportion'd =:unshaped, crude. 
 
 2 vulgar= coramon, in the way set forth in the next four 
 lines. 
 
 3 " Do not make thy palm callous by shaking every man by 
 the hand." — Dr. Johnson. 
 
 4 censure = judgment, not necessarily adverse; see the verb 
 in Julius Ccesar, Act III, sc. ii, 1. 16. 
 
 5 husbandry = thrift. 
 
STUDY HELPS 
 
 THE LADY OF THE LAEE 
 
 Setting. Bring to class whatever pictures you can find 
 to illustrate the dress, weapons, musical instruments, houses, 
 life, etc., of the 16th century in the Scottish Highlands, and 
 also views of the Highlands. Perhaps you can send to Frame's 
 Shipping and Tourist Office, 63 Princes Street, Edinburgh, for 
 " Through the Trossachs," and to John Menzies & Co., Ltd., 
 Rose Street, Edinburgh, for postal cards of " The Lady of the 
 Lake " region. 
 
 The stag hunt takes place in the Western Highlands of 
 Perthshire, a territory almost unknown until " The Lady of 
 the Lake " forced the farmers of the neighboring towns to 
 change their cottages into inns to accommodate tourists. 
 
 Study the map a little, before beginning the poem, so that 
 you feel acquainted with the region. Notice what mountains, 
 what lakes, etc., there are, and where the wild, wooded valley 
 called the Trosachs (or Trossachs) lies. The town of Aberfoyle 
 lies between the Higlilands and the Lowlands ; from that point, 
 the Forth flows with rapid current down to the sea. Loch 
 Katrine takes its name from the old secret hold on " Ellen's 
 Isle " of the caterans (freebooters). Learn to pronounce the 
 names in the list correctly and easily. 
 
 For Study: — 
 
 Monan (mo'nan). Cambusmore (kSm btis mor'). 
 
 Glenartney (glen art'nJ). Vennachar (ven' a kar). 
 
 Benvoirlich (ben voil'ik). Trosachs (tros'aks). 
 
 Uam-Var (u a var'). • Roderick Dhu (rod'erikdoo'). 
 
 Menteith (m?n teth'). Clan-Alpine (klan al'plji). 
 
 Lochard (16k iird'). Coilantogle (koil an to'g'l). 
 
 Aberfoyle (ab er foil'). lair (lar), the couch of a wild 
 Loch Achray (16k ak ra'). beast. 
 
 Benvenue (bSn ve nu')- Ben (Ben), mountain. 
 
STUDY HELPS 259 
 
 warder, a sentinel. stock, an uprooted tree-trunk, 
 
 copse (kops), a grove of small or stump. 
 
 growth. whinyard (hwin'yard), hunt- 
 cairn (karn), a heap of stones. ing knife, 
 ken (ken), view. fell, a barren, rocky hill, 
 linn (Wn), precipice. wold (wold), wood, forest, 
 fain (fan), obliged. threads, makes [his way] care- 
 Loch (16k), lake. fully, as through a narrow 
 Brigg (brig), bridge. or intricate pass, 
 embossed (gm host') , befoamed. plaid (plad) , a rectangular gar- 
 quarry, the object of the chase. ment of checkered material, 
 brake, a thicket. recked (rekt), heeded. 
 
 Canto First 
 
 Stanza 1. Monan's rill: St. Monan was an early Scottish 
 martyr, but there seems to be no knowledge of this rill. At 
 what hour is the summer sunrise in central Scotland? The 
 beacon fire was usually a signal of danger or war. Is that true 
 here of the sun's reflection? Why does Scott tell us of the pre- 
 ceding evening? What words express the contrasts in these 
 two occurrences? 
 
 St. 2. In what ways is the stag hke a Chief called to arms? 
 Why did Scott repeat a moment ? The gale: How tainted ? What 
 words picture the stag's start? 
 
 St. 3. Opening: barking on view or scent of the game; a 
 hunting term. How does Scott make you hear the quiet den 
 grow noisy? Explain roe ; doe. With what word is the descrip- 
 tion of the tumult brought to a climax? What follows this 
 climax? Why wondering eye ? 
 
 St. 4 and 5. In what condition was the hunt as the morning 
 neared to noon? 
 
 St. 6. Gave o'er: gave up. Cambusmore: an ancient estate 
 north of the Teith, through which flows the Kelty. Here 
 Scott when a young man spent several summers, from this 
 point making his first excursions into the Highlands. The 
 horseman, known in these adventures as " the Knight of 
 Snowdoun, James Fitz James," is James V of Scotland in 
 disguise. James V was king of Scotland from 1513 to 1542; he 
 was respected as an excellent executive and a protector of the 
 common people, among whom he liked to wander. 
 
260 STUDY HELPS 
 
 St. 7. St. Huberfs breed: hounds, black or spotted, with 
 large, strong bodies and short legs; descendants of a breed kept 
 by the abbots of the monastery of St. Hubert. (Hubert, a 
 bishop of the 8th century, is the traditional patron of hunters.) 
 Do we rejoice with the horseman or feel pity for the stag? 
 
 St. 8. The hunter, after the stag had turned to bay, had 
 to face and disable him. This task, always dangerous, was 
 considered especially so at certain seasons when a wound from 
 the stag's horn was deemed poisonous. 
 
 St. 9. Upon the banks of Seine: In 1536, James V had visited 
 the French Court, seeking a bride. Woe worth: woe be to, woe 
 betide. Follow the hunt on the map; to what point has it 
 brought the horseman? 
 
 St. 10. What details show the dogs ashamed of their 
 failure? What is the mood of their master as they return to 
 him? Explain the dingle's hollow throat; does it suggest deep- 
 mouthed, used before? To what, then, is the poet likening the 
 dingle? How long has the chase lasted? Imagine a painting 
 of this scene; describe it — the whole landscape . and the 
 actors in it. 
 
 Canto Fourth 
 
 St. 29. The intervening cantos tell how the Himter spends 
 the night after the chase at the island home of a famous 
 outlaw, Roderick Dhu. A young girl has heard his horn across 
 Loch Katrine and, thinking it her father's, has pulled her 
 skiff to the shore to meet him and row him to the island. The 
 girl is Ellen, daughter of a Douglas, outlawed by the king. 
 Roderick Dhu has sheltered Douglas and his daughter, in 
 return for which he expects to receive Ellen's hand. Ellen 
 has, however, a true lover, young Malcolm; and Malcolm and 
 Roderick quarrel. The Highlanders are at this time planning 
 war against the king, because he is trying to extend his hunting 
 preserves into their ancient territory; and Roderick now hur- 
 ries away to rouse Clan Alpine, of which he is chief. Ellen 
 and her father take refuge in the Goblin's Cave across the 
 lake; and on the third day the " Knight of Snowdoun " 
 appears again — this time to ask Ellen to return with him 
 to Stirling Castle to bide in safety. She refuses to go and 
 tells him of her love for Malcolmand her fears for his life; 
 
STUDY HELPS 261 
 
 whereupon the knight gives her a ring, which he says the king 
 once gave him, with promise that by it he could boldly claim 
 any favor he might ask. He counsels Ellen to flee to the king, 
 present the ring, and ask him to redeem to her this pledge. 
 On his way back through the Highlands, Fitz James meets a 
 half -crazed Lowland maid, who tells him that she was stolen 
 away on her bridal morn by Roderick Dhu. She recognizes 
 his guide as a treacherous Highlander, and warns him of this. 
 Fitz James kills the man, and vows vengeance on Roderick 
 Dhu. He hears the whistle and shout of Highland scouts 
 round about him, and resolves to wait till he can go on under 
 cover of the night. 
 
 The wanderer: Who is he.'' watchful joe: Who are meant? 
 Why are they his foes.f* summer solstice: Explain these lines. 
 
 St. 30. Saxon: The Highlanders were Gaels or Celts, and 
 spoke the Gaelic or Celtic tongue. The Anglo-Saxon race had, 
 soon after its invasion of southern England, spread north to 
 the Scottish Lowlands. Perhaps the knight's fair hair and 
 skin betrayed him, for he was of English descent; his mother 
 was Margaret, daughter of Henry VII of England. / dare, 
 etc.: \Miat do you think of Fitz James's reply? but, though 
 the beast of game . . . trapped or slain: Explain these lines; what 
 is meant by the privilege of chase ? and who is likened to the 
 stag? who, to the fox? they lie . . . spy : Roderick had been 
 told that a Lowland spy had been sent into their midst. Com£ 
 Roderick: Let Roderick Dhu come, write: will write; how? 
 // by the blaze, etc.: ^Vho is speaking? What is the knight's 
 reply? Is he speaking generally of the obligation of knight- 
 hood, or has he some particular person in mind when he says 
 oppressor? How is your interest in the meeting kept up? 
 mighty augury: A " hermit monk " of Clan Alpine, feared as 
 a soothsayer, had prophesied : 
 
 " Which spills the foremost foeman's life. 
 That party conquers in the strife." 
 
 vnnd my horn: Explain; what would happen if he did? brand 
 to brand: Give a synonymous phrase, thy warrant is thy 
 sword: What does the Highlander mean? wreath: here mean- 
 ing the mass of heather intertwined. What noble qualities 
 does each man show in this episode? If Fitz James haci 
 
262 STUDY HELPS 
 
 spoken his whole mind aloud, what would he have revealed? 
 If the Highlander had, so far as you can guess? In this meeting 
 of the two enemies, Scott has given a beautiful illustration of 
 the old Highland principle that it was the height of inhospi- 
 tality, and even dishonor, to force a stranger guest to tell his 
 name, particularly before he had taken refreshment and rest. 
 Have you not already guessed that the Highlander is Roderick 
 Dhu himself? The remainder of the poem tells what hap- 
 pened at Coilantogle's ford, and what happened at Stirling" 
 Castle when Ellen appeared before King James. Do you not 
 want to finish the poem — in fact, to read it all — yourself? 
 
 Exercises. (1) Dramatize the scene, with spirited action. 
 One pupil might recite the lines (st. 29) that give the setting; 
 but see first if you cannot suggest these effects by action alone. 
 
 (2) At the library, look up the life of Walter Scott. Ask for 
 some short biography; or consult a biographical dictionary or 
 encyclopedia, if you can find nothing better. Find out when 
 he lived; where; what sort of man he was; how he began to 
 write; what poems and stories he wrote. See what pictures 
 you can find of him and of his beautiful home at Abbotsford. 
 Then give the class a little talk, or address, on Scott, passing 
 the pictures around for them to see. 
 
 A-HUNTING OF THE DEER 
 
 For Study in connection with the text (pronunciation, 
 meaning in its use here, spelling): catamounts, attitudinize, 
 Attic, decadence, Ottoman, intricacies, Comanche, cougars, 
 abattoir, protract, specious, sophists, recoup, gazelle, osten- 
 sibly, succulent, hinds, premonitions, mimosa, groggy, moose- 
 bushes, dead-wood slash, gauntlet {gantlet), recluse, respite, 
 jugular. 
 
 Read the essay through, understanding all words and 
 phrases with the help of the notes below; then read it once 
 again to enjoy it fully, and answer the questions that follow 
 the notes. 
 
 P. 15, 1. 12. North American tiger: the panther. 1. 19. 
 Pentelicus: a mountain of Attica (Greece) famous for its 
 marble. 
 
 P. 16, 11. 6, 7. Temple of Theseus, erected in Athens, in 
 
STUDY HELPS 263 
 
 the 5th century B.C., in honor of the legendary hero and king. 
 It is one of the finest remains of Doric architecture. Explain 
 marble processions of sacrificial animals. Perhaps Warner had 
 in mind Keats's " Ode on a Grecian Urn," which you will 
 enjoy reading. 1. 13. Polycletus: A Greek sculptor of the 5th 
 century B.C. 1. 15. E. A. Freeman: An English historian. 
 The year before Warner wrote this. Freeman had written 
 (1877) " The Turk in Europe " and " The Ottoman Power m 
 Europe." 1.33. T^e "rwn": deer path or run-way. 
 
 P. 17, 1. 5. In what part of our country were the 
 Comanche Indians.'' 11. 28, 29. What particular warfare, or 
 slaughter, had Warner in mind.'' eleventh hour: Cf. Matthew 
 XX, 1-16. 11. 31, 32. American girl . . . foreign romances: 
 European authors had represented the American girl as bold, 
 hoydenish, and venturesome — a shocking contrast to the 
 carefully sheltered and chaperoned young woman of their own 
 lands. 
 
 P. 18, 1. 2. golden era: Wliat do you know of a golden 
 age in mythology? 11. 3, 4. vials: Cf. Revelation, xvi. Look- 
 ing at both Europe and America, the 19th century had shown 
 but few years of peace. What wars can you name? 
 
 P. 19, 1. 17. ground: base. 
 
 P. 20, 1. 5. How do they cloud their future existence? 
 
 P. 21, 1. 17. the meaning: What was it? 1. 25. He feedeth, 
 etc. This quotation and the two following are drawn from 
 the fourth and second chapters of the Songs of Solomon. 
 
 P. 22, 1. 33. The Ausable river rises in the Upper Ausable 
 pond, a few miles to the north broadens into the Lower 
 Ausable pond, and continues northeasterly, emptying into 
 Lake Champlain. The hunt begins along the upper course of 
 the river, circles the region, and ends in the Upper Ausable 
 pond. A large area bordering on the ponds is now protected 
 by private enterprise, under the name of the Adirondack 
 Reserve; and deer roam its forests unmolested. 
 
 P. 24, 1. 27. " view-halloo '\- ^Vhat line in "The Lady of 
 the Lake " does this recall to you? 1. 32. yelp of certainty: 
 How do the dogs know that they are nearing the game? 
 
 P. 25, 1. 2. Perhaps she was thinlcing: Do you know any 
 other instances of animal strategy? 1. 12. human calculations: 
 What does Warner imply by his emphasis on human? 
 
264 STUDY HELPS 
 
 P. 27, 11. 5, 6. What was the comparison in Warner's 
 mind? 1. 16. Ave: Latin, meaning " Hail to." 
 
 P. 28, 1. 18. Do you recall the running of the gantlet in 
 Cooper's " Last of the Mohicans ".'' Why is the use of the 
 word appropriate here? (The confusion of spelling between 
 gauntlet and gantlet is common, but not excusable. What does 
 each word mean?) 
 
 P. 29, 1. 14. Mount Marcy: the highest peak of the Adiron- 
 dacks, lying west of the Lower Ausable pond. 1. 28. the race 
 is not to the svnjt ; Cf. Ecclesiastes, ix, 11. What does the 
 Biblical verse mean? What is its application here? 
 
 P. 30, 11. 8, 9. staggered down: The Upper Ausable pond 
 lies closely shut in by mountain summits that rise, densely 
 wooded, almost vertically from the water's edge. 1. 30. What 
 had happened? 
 
 P. 31, 1. 7. What qualities, do you think, that make a real 
 gentleman, had Warner in mind? What others might be 
 added? Are you disappointed in the grenf/eman ? Why? 
 
 Oral Discussion. Why did Warner write this sketch? 
 In what mood did he begin it? Why? How much of it is 
 introductory? What is the last sentence of the introduction? 
 From whose point of view is it written? From what point of 
 view is the story itself? Is there any part of the story that 
 could not have been within the deer's knowledge or ob- 
 servation that day? From what point of view did Scott tell 
 the story of the stag hunt? What is the importance of the 
 point of view in writing? Running through the introduction, 
 write down in single sentences the gist of each paragraph in 
 turn. Select two or three of the paragraphs that you found 
 most mirthful. Most sarcastic. Most contemptuous. How 
 has Warner prepared your mind to be affected by the story he 
 is going to tell? 
 
 In the real story, why does Warner start out by talking of 
 the deer family as if they were human beings? Where again 
 does he speak of them so? Of what value to the narrative is 
 the little digression about the artist mother and child? At 
 what point does Warner's mirthful mood change? Why fit- 
 tingly so? Notice whether, from this point on, the sentences 
 are mostly long or short. What effect do they produce? 
 Does the first of the paragraphs on p. 23 whet your inter- 
 
STUDY HELPS 265 
 
 est? Wliat other effect has it? What act of the doe's draws 
 most upon your sympathy for her in her flight? What was 
 Warner's mood when he wrote that paragraph beginning, TJie 
 hunted doe went down " the open" ? In the following para- 
 graph, note how the confusion of the villagers contrasts with 
 the straight course and single purpose of the doe. This para- 
 graph is worth studying carefully for its keen observation 
 and vivid wording. Wliat is Warner making contemptuous 
 fun of? Where does he compare the intelligence of the doe 
 with the intelligence of the dogs? Select various descriptive 
 words and phrases (for instance, of the doe or the dogs at a 
 particular moment) that you think could not be bettered to 
 express the intended meaning. Is the pathos of the story 
 stronger or not because of the humor here and there? 
 
 Written Composition. (1) Tell the story of this same 
 hunt from the point of view of the gentleman, the guide, or 
 one of the hounds. Try to use whatever devices you have 
 learned from Warner (such as contrast in mood, scene, or 
 action; short sentences to express rapid motion, confusion, or 
 excitement, and so on), and remember that you must include 
 in your story nothing that could not have been known or felt 
 by the character whose point of view you choose to assume. 
 
 (2) A dialogue among the summer boarders the evening 
 after the appearance of the doe. Select your own scene and 
 characters, using the suggestions in Warner's paragraph. 
 
 Suggested Readings. Find out what you can of Charles 
 Dudley Warner. What were his particular interests? 
 
 THE DAFFODILS 
 
 William Wordsworth (1770-1850) lived among the hills in 
 the beautiful " Lake Country " of Lancashire, England. 
 
 St. 1. as a cloud . . . hills. What picture does this make 
 for you? Does it not take the poet far away from people and 
 place him alone with nature? Why are fluttering and dancing 
 well chosen to describe the daffodils here? 
 
 St. 2. What is the milky way? Is this appropriate? To 
 what has the poet already likened himself? a bay: one of the 
 inlets of the lake — UUswater. 
 
 St. 3. How did the daffodils outdo the waves? coxM not but 
 
266 STUDY HELPS 
 
 he gay: What does this imply about the poet's usual mood? 
 What is a jocund company? Does the expression make the 
 flowers seem human? Does any other in the poem? 
 
 St. 4. Give a synonymous phrase for in vacant or in 'pensive 
 mood. What would you call the inward eye? Why is it the 
 hliss of solitude? What, then, was the wealth the show had 
 brought? Are there any scenes of this sort that^as^ occasion- 
 ally upon your inward eye? Will you describe one? 
 
 Suggested Readings. Wordsworth's (1) " The Reverie 
 of Poor Susan," (2) " The Solitary Reaper," and (3) " There 
 was a Boy " through the line 
 
 " Into the bosom of the steady lake." 
 
 What thought has each of these poems in common with 
 " The Daffodils "? 
 
 THANATOPSIS 
 
 (A view, or contemplation, of death) 
 
 Bryant wrote the poem in 1811, and laid it away in the 
 drawer of an old desk. Several years afterward, while he was 
 away from home, his father, Dr. Bryant, found the verses and 
 submitted them, without the writer's name, to a Boston 
 magazine, " The North American Review." When one of the 
 editors had read them, he exclaimed, " No one on this side of 
 the Atlantic is capable of writing such verse!" At that time 
 there were very few writings by Americans, excepting political 
 documents, speeches, and sermons. 
 
 Consult books of short biography, or an encyclopedia, for 
 some account of the life of Bryant. 
 
 St. 1. What do you understand here hj holds communion? 
 visible forms? various language? darker musings? last bitter hour? 
 the narrow house? a still voice? Does the poet suggest that there 
 are any who do not hear the still voice? (Read the lines that 
 tell you.) Then does it depend upon Nature or upon you, 
 whether or not you hear it? Can you remember any time 
 when you have felt the sympathy of Nature, or her voice of 
 gladness? 
 
 St. 2. To one, then, who loves the outdoor world, and who 
 ^ijiinks, shudderingly, how short a time he shall have to enjoy 
 
STUDY HELPS 267 
 
 it, — how soon tlie darkness of death will come with gruesome 
 sadness, as lie has seen it come to others, — Nature speaks 
 these words (the remainder of the poem), (a) Does she con- 
 tradict his forebodings? She says positively, does she not, 
 that his days are numbered? Just what does she say about it? 
 What proof is there in the woods and fields that all things 
 must in time surrender up their individual being? Bryant was 
 gazing down at fallen tree trunks in a wood when these 
 thoughts impressed themselves upon him. 
 
 St. 3. (b) Now notice the first word of the third stanza. 
 Nature has no comforting contradiction for him, yet, even so, 
 there is a comforting thought — two thoughts, in fact. What 
 are they? Read this whole stanza thoughtfully. Now read 
 aloud the passages that amplify that first thought, not to 
 thine eternal resting place shall tJiou retire alone. Now read the 
 passages that amplify the second thought, nor couldst tfiou 
 wish couch more magnificent. What is the one mighty sepulchre? 
 In describing the decorations of this world-tomb, what descrip- 
 tive words does Bryant use ? Wliy did he choose such words, 
 do you think? Are they generally used of persons or of things? 
 Do they increase the sense of kinship between man and 
 Nature? Barcan: Barca is in N. E. Africa. \Miy single out 
 this place and the Oregon (or Columbia) ? Explain chase his 
 favorite phantom. 
 
 St. 4. (c) Now we come to the conclusion of all this; that 
 is, to Nature's real teaching. ^Vhat does she say? (Read the 
 fourth stanza aloud.) What word in the first line of this stanza 
 would you emphasize? Why? Wliat picture do you get from 
 innumerable caravan? In what countries were there once 
 quarry-slaves? Is it consistent, then, with the idea of caravans? 
 In what mood does the slave go to his dungeon? What is con- 
 trasted with this? an unfaltering trust: trust in what belief? 
 
 Has the still voice come from outside him who was sick at 
 heart? Or is it his own reason controlled by what he sees of 
 the broad world around him? Is it really a lesson on death or 
 a lesson on life? WTiy do you think so? ^Vl^at is the lesson? 
 Read the poem aloud many times to see how fully you can feel 
 the beauty and the largeness of it. 
 
268 STUDY HELPS 
 
 TO A WATERFOWL 
 
 " One winter evening, while ' Thanatopsis ' was biding its 
 time in the old desk, Bryant was footing it over the hills from 
 Cummington to Plainfield, to see if in Plainfield he might find 
 some opportunity to practise law. In one of his letters he says 
 that he felt ' very forlorn and desolate.' The world seemed to 
 grow bigger and darker as the road wound up; his own future 
 was very uncertain. The sun had just set, and the horizon 
 was flooded with crimson light. He turned to look at it; and 
 while he stood there, a solitary bird winged its way across 
 the ruddy glow. He watched the lone wanderer till it was lost 
 in the distance. Then he turned, and went on with firmer step 
 and courage. WTien he reached the house where he was to 
 stop for the night, he sat down and wrote the lines ' To A 
 Waterfowl.' " 
 
 Read the poem through once silently, then read it aloud; 
 then examine it carefully with the help of these notes. 
 
 St. 1. What kind of waterfowl do you think this is.? Why? 
 Do birds usually make long flights alone.'' In what direction 
 is the bird probably going? Why do you think so.? Comment 
 on the expression /aZZingr dew; what is dew.? How is day per- 
 sonified here.? Is the expression peculiarly appropriate.? Why? 
 
 St. 2. What do you understand by the first two lines? 
 Why would his eye mark it vainly? Bryant at first wrote. 
 
 As darkly painted on the crimson sky. 
 
 Which phrasing is the better? Why? 
 
 St. 3. Comment on the picture, or idea, you get from 
 plashy brink; weedy lake; chafed ocean side. Where do northern 
 waterfowl spend their winters? 
 
 St. 4. What is the pathless coast? (Note the third line.) 
 Why is the air called desert? Why illimitable? What suggested 
 to Bryant the word coast? The second line, then, pictures the 
 bird as he appeared to Bryant's eye; the third line, as he 
 really was, high above a wide landscape and not at all close 
 to a dark horizon edge. 
 
 St. 5. Comment on the poet's choice of the words fanned 
 and their. What is it that excites his wonder here? 
 
 St. 7 and 8. abyss: What does the word mean? What idea. 
 
STUDY HELPS 269 
 
 or feeling, does it emphasize here to you? What is the lesson? 
 Why did Bryant just then feel need of such assurance? Was 
 not this another time when Nature spoke to him with healing 
 sympathy ? 
 
 Memorize the poem. 
 
 Suggested Readings. (1) " The Great Tidal Waves of 
 Bird Life," by D. Lange; "Atlantic Monthly," August, 1909. 
 (2) "Honk, Honk, Honk!", in "The Fall of the Year" by 
 Dallas Lore Sharp. Both of these selections are well worth 
 your pains to find. 
 
 THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 
 
 Setting. Where is the scene of this story? Find it on a map. 
 Collect what pictures you can of it. You may find at the library 
 an illustrated edition of the " Legend " ; or T. F. Wolfe's " Lit- 
 erary Haunts and Homes of American Authors"; and, espe- 
 cially to be asked for, the book of drawings by F. O. C. Darley, 
 illustrating several of Irving's stories. 
 
 Authorship. Diedrich Knickerbocker, a deceased Anti- 
 quarian of old Dutch New York, was a creation of Irving's 
 imagination. Irving hid behind this device when he brought 
 out his first great success, a burlesque history of the old Dutch 
 city, which he called Knickerbocker's " History of New 
 York "; and again, as you may know, in writing "Rip Van 
 Winkle." Both "Rip Van Winkle" and "The Legend of 
 Sleepy Hollow " are stories in " The Sketch Book of Geoffrey 
 Crayon, Gent.," whichlrving published in installments, begin- 
 ning in 1819, while he was living in London. It was a great 
 popular success. Irving was the first of our writers to make 
 American literature respected abroad. 
 
 Study. Read the story through first for the fun of the 
 story alone. The second time — for it is worth reading many 
 times — try to put yourself in the author's place and, with 
 the help of the notes and questions that follow, examine it as 
 if you were testing something you yourself had written. 
 
 P. 37, 1. 6. St. Nicholas: the patron saint of sailors, trav- 
 elers, and merchants, as well as children. 11. 14, 15. Do you 
 think that Irving himself believed that it was being precise 
 and authentic to rely on village hearsay and tradition? Un- 
 
270 STUDY HELPS 
 
 der Knickerbocker's name, he solemnly introduced as ver- 
 itable history all the traditional gossip he could use to add 
 interest to his story, at the same time poking fun at those 
 who had attempted to write " history " based on just such 
 flimsy foundations. What are some of the means we take to 
 verify historical statements nowadays? 1. 18. Select from 
 what follows the phrases that describe this as one of the quietest 
 •places in the world. Are they well chosen? Why? 
 
 P. 38, 1. 19. Explain Hessian trooper. Most of these hired 
 soldiers came from the province of Hesse-Cassel in Germany; 
 hence the name Hessians. 1. 28. Why did Irving choose a 
 uaTneless battle ? 1. 29. Comment on floating facts and the sen- 
 tence in which it occurs. 
 
 P. 39, 1. 9. Here we finish the little introduction. What has 
 been its purpose? How far is Sleepy Hollow from Tarry 
 Town? 
 
 Study the pronunciation, meaning in the text (giving a 
 synonym, if you can find a suitable one), and spelling of these 
 words: inveterate, propensity, advert, authentic,, collating, 
 allege, belated, purport. 
 
 P. 39, 1. 10-p. 42, 1. 30. What is the topic? Give in a 
 sentence or two the gist of each paragraph. What part of it 
 reminds you of what was said in the introduction? How does 
 it prepare the way for the adventure to follow? 
 
 P. 39, 1. 11. About what year was Ichabod teaching in 
 Sleepy Hollow? 1. 13. wight: person. An old English form, 
 now obsolete except in poetical and humorous usage. 11. 15-19. 
 What schools or colleges of Connecticut existed in that day? 
 For what Western settlement did Connecticut supply the 
 pioneers? 11. 20-32. Would you call this an accurate descrip- 
 tion? Is it effective? Why? Exaggeration for effect is called 
 " hyperbole " (hy per' bo le). 
 
 P. 40, 1. 1. Yihy formidable? 11. 13-18. What character- 
 istic of Ichabod is shown up here? Where afterwards is it 
 implied again? 
 
 P. 41, 11. 15, 16. What do you think of the popularity of 
 education in that day, and of women's education, particu- 
 larly? 1. 28. whimpered: Why did n't Irving say " sang " 
 or "babbled," or "murmured," or "rippled"? Be on the 
 lookout for other words as appropriately chosen. 
 
STUDY HELPS 271 
 
 P. 42, 1. 1. How can pleasure be fearful? 1. 23. divers: 
 different, various. (An old form.) 1. 26. tJie Devil and all his 
 works: a phrase in the catechism of the Anglican chiu-ch, based 
 on 1 John, iii, 8. 
 
 In this description of Ichabod (pp. 39-42), consider the 
 pronunciation and the use and choice of the following words: 
 sojourned, cognomen, snipe, conning, convoy, onerous, ingratiat- 
 ing, itinerant, erudition (why not have used merely " learn- 
 ing "?), perambidations. 
 
 P. 42, 1. 31-p. 45, 1. 34. What is the topic of this part 
 of the story? By giving in a ^sentence or two the gist of 
 each paragraph, show how the story goes forward, a step at a 
 time. 
 
 P. 43, 1. 6. vast expectations: What were'they ? 1. 12. stom- 
 acher: an ornamental piece fasliioned to cover the front of the 
 pointed bodice; worn in the ICtli and 17th centuries. 11. 17, 18. 
 What touch of irony is here? How does this statement accord 
 with what you already know of Ichabod? 1. 25-p. 44, 1. 16. 
 What impressions of sound and motion do you get? Note the 
 words or phrases. Pick out other descriptive words that you 
 think good, and tell why. 
 
 P. 44, 1. 20-p. 45, 1. 15. What adjective best describes 
 this scene? linsey-woolsey: cloth with linen warp and woolen 
 woof, mock-oranges: syringa blossoms; so called because the 
 fragrance and appearance suggest orange blossoms. Why 
 knoioingly left open? Does the fact that the cliina was well 
 mended count for anything in this description? 1. 26. keep: 
 the central tower, the strongest and least accessible part of 
 the castle. 1. 34. fearful adversaries: Who were they? 
 
 As before, pronounce and discuss : psalvrwdy, withal, flail, 
 •pewter, pedagogue, sumptuous, gaud, knight-errant, impediments. 
 
 Pp. 46-48. We now have a description of Ichabod's rival 
 and his devotion to Katrina. With what words does the 
 account end? Describe Van Bnmt, as if you knew him now. 
 
 P. 46, 1. 2. roystering blade: blustering, rakish fellow. 
 11. 8, 9. How do you pronounce Herculean f Are you right, 
 according to the dictionary? 1. 13. Tartar: a man of Tartary, 
 an ancient country in Asia, famous for its fierce horsemen. 
 
 P. 47, 1. 8. rantipole: wild, roving. 
 
 P. 48, 11. 1-14. Do you think that these incidents aroused 
 
272 ' STUDY HELPS 
 
 Katrina's sympathy for Ichabod, or increased her admiration 
 for Bones? Why? 
 
 Pp. 48-60. By what four steps is the story now continued 
 and finished? (Give the topic of each, and the place ia the 
 story where the topic changes and the narrative steps forward.) 
 
 P. 48, 1. 17. contending powers: Is the phrase well chosen? 
 Why? Where else has Irving humorously given his subject 
 the grand treatment? Why does he do it? (Why do people 
 commonly do it in relating an anecdote or adventure?) 1. 48. 
 contraband: In using this word what playful comparison is the 
 author keeping up? 
 
 P. 49, 1. 2. Mercury in ancient myth was the messenger 
 of the gods. 1. 7. Mynheer (min har), like the German Mein 
 Herr, is a title of address a bit more formal, perhaps, than 
 our Mr. 1. 10. embassies: Why did n't Irving say " errands "? 
 
 Discuss tow-cloth, " quilting-frolic," impunity, domiciliated, 
 choleric, ewe neck, filly. 
 
 P. 50, 1. 34-p. 53, 1. 29. How far had Ichabod to ride? 
 What impression do you get of the scene and the evening as 
 a whole? 
 
 P. 51, 11. 6, 7. short gowns: over-dresses. Find pictures, if 
 you can, of the Dutch costumes of that time. 1. 23. Fain: 
 gladly. What was Ichabod's chief interest in the scene? Why 
 should we have expected to see him so engaged? 
 
 P. 52, 11. 10-12. What was Katrina's motive? Pronounce 
 oglings (consult the dictionary to verify or correct). 1. 19 and 
 ff. about the war: What war? How long before had it occurred? 
 What is the story of Major Andre? Why does Irving tell us 
 about these twilight stories? 1. 30. What does witching mean? 
 Does Ichabod's mood as he starts out make him easy prey 
 for "witches" ? Why? 
 
 P. 54, 1. 26. Why did he begin to whistle? Do you 
 think that his whistle was really answered or not? How so? 
 
 P. 56, 1. 28. How do you accoimt for the horseman's 
 gigantic height ? 
 
 P. 58, 11. 22 and ff. Notice how Irving now gathers up all 
 the loose threads of the story. Are there any characters that 
 have appeared before that do not now share in the conclusion? 
 dog^s ears (p. 59, 1. 20) : corners of the pages turned down as 
 markers, in nobody's debt (11. 29, 30) : Does this suggest a 
 
STUDY HELPS 273 
 
 cold, selfish community? Or merely one whose motto was 
 " thrift"? What must each of us be or do to have any claim 
 on the interest of others? Do you think that Ichabod realized 
 afterwards who it was who had attacked him? account was 
 received (p. 60, 1. 2): received by whom? What do you 
 think of Ichabod's later career? tlie best judges (1. 20) : How is 
 this utterance quite appropriate to the historian Diedrich 
 Knickerbocker? How is the very end of the story a fulfillment 
 of the beginning? 
 
 When Irving returned from abroad, he purchased an estate 
 at Tarrytown, close by the Hudson, which he called " Sunny- 
 side." The old Dutch house that was on the land was prob- 
 ably the original of Van Tassel's homestead. 
 
 Oral Composition. (1) Does the story lend itself to drama- 
 tizing? Why? or Why not? Consider characters, action, vary- 
 ing scene, etc., and plan your argument carefully. 
 
 (2) The growth of Dutch settlements along the Hudson. 
 
 (3) The most striking differences between the old-fashioned 
 school and the modern school. 
 
 (4) The Dutch idea of the " dignity of labor." 
 
 (5) Your idea of Irving, as formed from reading this sketch. 
 
 (6) The difference between Warner's humor and Irving's. 
 
 (7) A short account of Irving's life and work. 
 
 For Brush or Pencil. (1) A sketch of the Van Tassel 
 house, showing the front porch as here described. (Consult 
 also the pictures you have found.) 
 
 (2) A sketch of a Dutch housewife or Dutch farmer. 
 
 (3) A sketch for an appropriate cover design for " The 
 Legend of Sleepy Hollow." 
 
 KING ROBERT OF SICILY 
 
 St. 1. The characters are not accurately historical, as be- 
 fits the romantic and legendary character of the story. It is 
 enough that the setting is medieval, as we know by the cus- 
 toms of the court and the suggestions as to costume. The 
 mention of tlie fictitious Pope and the Emperor serves to im- 
 press upon us that this Rol)ert of Sicily is a member of the most 
 powerful ruling family of his time. St. Johns eve: The night 
 before St. John's day, the 24th of June. In reading the Latin 
 
274 STUDY HELPS 
 
 refrain, pronounce each e (except in ten, et, and ex) like a, 
 and divide and stress as follows : 
 
 De pos'\u it'\po ten'\tes 
 De se'\de, et ex'[al tav'\it hu'[mi les'. 
 
 How did the clerk translate it? In those days kings were 
 warriors, not scholars, and education was so rare that it was 
 a special profession, clerk: an ecclesiastic, often employed to 
 read and write by noble or wealthy men who were themselves 
 unlettered, meet: fitting, stalls: seats for the clergy ia the 
 choir within the chancel. 
 
 St. 3. Why does the poet mention this (11. 1, 2) again? 
 besprent: bespattered, besprinkled. (An old form, almost ob- 
 solete. Notice the use of be, an old Saxon prefix used with 
 verbs to signify all around, all over the surface, from side to 
 side, etc., which we still use as in the words besmear, befinger, 
 besmudge, bejumble, berate.) seneschal: steward; an officer 
 who superintended feasts and ceremonies within the palace. 
 sounding stair: built, probably of what? torches' glare: Why 
 were torches used in those days? Can you picture the great 
 marble court and stairway lighted only fitfully, here and there? 
 What were the voices and cries he heard? 
 
 St. 4. dais: The raised platform for the royal table. 
 signet-ring: seal ring; quite necessary in the days when rulers 
 could not even sign their own names. Why was a ring an 
 appropriate setting for the seal? Did the nobles at the 
 banquet perceive the angelic light around the king on the 
 dais? 
 
 St. 5. Why did the Angel choose to reduce Robert to a 
 jester, rather than to some other menial? henchmen: footmen. 
 thy counsellor: What sting of irony must the king have felt 
 when he heard these words? 
 
 St. 7. the world he loved so much: What had been his world? 
 
 St. 8. Enceladus: Longfellow's poem " Enceladus " en- 
 larges upon this same myth. 
 
 St. 9. What does the poet mean by the velvet scabbard ? By 
 the sword of steel f 
 
 St. 10. Holy Thursday: the Thursday before Easter. See 
 what pictures you can find of Italian scenes of the middle ages 
 — say, of the 13th or 14th centuries — that show the richness 
 
STUDY HELPS 275 
 
 of costume, etc., and the beauty of the old Italian cities. 
 wind (1. 29) : How will you pronounce this.'' 
 
 St. 11. Does Robert deliver his speech in haughty pride 
 or in despairing entreaty.'* What change in him have the three 
 years brought? Why has the Pope a troubled mien ? Why does 
 he gaze intently at the angel's face? How does the Jester's ap- 
 peal strike the Emperor? 
 
 St. 12 and 13. What city, do you find, was the royal seat 
 of Sicily? When was the change in King Robert completed? 
 We see that what three years of subduing could not wholly 
 accomplish, one great moment of beauty, and of wonderment 
 at a greater and beneficent power, had brought about. Is 
 that strange? Are people's hearts usually softened by oppo- 
 sition? shriven: pardoned through sacrifice. 
 
 St. 14. What special meaning, or appUcation here, has the 
 vesper chant? 
 
 Suggested Reading. Longfellow's " The Legend Beauti- 
 ful." 
 
 Oral Exercise. Tell in story form carefully prepared, as 
 effectively as you can and as if the story were original with 
 yourself and heard for the first time by your audience, either 
 " King Robert of Sicily," or " The Legend Beautiful." 
 
 THOSE EVENING BELLS 
 
 Do you know any other poem that was inspired by a keen 
 sense of the transitoriness of our life here? Do you think that 
 Moore is struck by the more lasting quality of mere metal? 
 
 What other songs of Moore's do you know? Which of them 
 have been set to music? " Tom " Moore was Irish. Find out 
 when he lived, and who were some of his literary friends. 
 
 Suggested Readings. (1) Songs from Moore's " Lalla 
 Rookh," " Irish Melodies," and " National Airs," selecting 
 one to memorize. (2) One of the following ; — 
 
 " The Bells," Edgar Allan Poe. 
 
 " In Memoriam," cvi, Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 
 
 " The Belfry of Bruges," Henry Wadsworth I^ongfellow. 
 
 *' The Bells of San Bias," Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 " Song of the Bell," Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 " Mission Bells of Monterey," Bret Harte. 
 
276 STUDY HELPS 
 
 THE ARROW AND THE SONG 
 
 How does the poet compare the flight of song with the flight 
 of the arrow? What is your interpretation of the last two lines 
 of the poem? What is the topic of the first stanza? Of the 
 second? Of the third? — and how is it divided? This poem 
 is one of the best examples in our literature of a perfectly 
 balanced comparison. 
 
 What broader thought must have flashed across the poet's 
 mind to make him choose this comparison? WTiat pleasure or 
 satisfaction does it suggest to you about your own words 
 q,nd deeds? What caution? 
 
 Memorize the poem. 
 
 THE RAINY DAY 
 
 As you read the poem through, what picture comes to your 
 mind? What season of the year is it? Where is the poet? 
 What is he looking at? What is he thinking of? How does he 
 take heart again? 
 
 The poem was written about 1842. Could that period be 
 called the autumn of Longfellow's life? Perhaps his sadness 
 was due largely to his realization that half his life had gone 
 without his having yet accomplished the hope of his youth — 
 the building of " some tower of song." Read his little poem, 
 " Mezzo Cammin," written about the same time, for expres- 
 sion of this idea. 
 
 Suppose that Longfellow had written, " The day is cold, 
 dark, dreary; It rains, the wind is never weary." How would 
 the effect have differed? What besides the use of the and gives 
 this touch of slow dreariness? Does the last stanza go more 
 quickly, cheerfully? What makes it? Test, by comparing 
 the time and stress and pitch needed to speak such syllables 
 as dreary, weary, rains, thoughts still cling, mouldering, — and 
 what others? — with Be still, sad heart. Behind the clouds, fate 
 of all, etc. What is the difference? Here we see true art in 
 expression — the making of the sound fit the sense. What do 
 we call short reflective poems that have a singing quality? 
 (Lyrics.) 
 
 Memorize the poem. 
 
STUDY HELPS 277 
 
 ALiVDDIN 
 
 Who was Aladdin? According to the tales of the " Arabian 
 Nights," he was a poor boy who came into possession of a 
 magic ring and lamp, which answered his every wish. They 
 brouglit him wealth, a beautiful wife, and a beautiful palace, 
 and finally saved his life. 
 
 St. 1. In the poem, what does the lamp represent? Is it a 
 magic power? castles in Spain: that is, castles ia the air. The 
 expression is fully seven hundred years old, datiag back to the 
 time when Spain was accounted a land of almost fabulous 
 wealth. 
 
 St. 2. Why did liis toil for wealth and power cause liim 
 to lose the lamp? According to the last two hues, what had he 
 prized most of all? 
 
 Is the poem a veritable statement of Lowell's circum- 
 stances? — was he ever a beggarly boy? Fmd out what you 
 can about his life. Is the poem true at all, do you think ? 
 
 Suggested Readings. "The Story of Aladdin; or The 
 Wonderful Lamp" in "The Arabian Nights' Entertainments." 
 
 " The Castle Builder," Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 " Castles in Spain," Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 Before commencing the reading, study, with a dictionary, 
 such of the following words or plu-ases as are not wholly 
 familiar to you in pronunciation, use, and spelling, so that you 
 may appreciate Dickens's choice of the word when you meet 
 it in the text, without spoiling the pleasure of the story by 
 having to stop to look it up, or by losing it altogether: pro- 
 digiously, intervention, spontaneous combustion, predicament, 
 petrifaction, compidsion, aught, intricate, facetious, gratis, 
 opulence, officious zeal, rallied Bob on his credidity, hob, 
 ubiquitous, livid, bedight, adamant, cant, wheresoever it listed, 
 furze, provoking, sung a glee or catch, put it on the hob to simmer, 
 execrable, elicited, protruding, abject, factious. 
 
 P. 73. 5tow; stanza. Notice how this name for each division 
 of the story is in keeping with the title. How is a carol differ- 
 ent from other songs? If you can find the whole story — there 
 
278 STUDY HELPS 
 
 can hardly be a library without it — by all means read the 
 part preceding this selection, and be prepared to tell it, or 
 read parts of it aloud, so that all the class may have the 
 benefit. 1. 8. through Jacob Marley's intervention: Marley 
 hoped that these spirit visits might serve to reform his old 
 partner and so save him from the ghostly wanderings to which 
 he himself was condemned. (See note preceding the selection.) 
 
 P. 74, 11. 4 and ff. Gentlemen of the free-and-easy sort, etc.: 
 gangsters and hoodlums, yitch-and-toss: a street gambling 
 game of pitching and tossing coins. 
 
 P. 76, 11. 9 and 14. What change had the visit of Christ- 
 mas Past already wrought.? 11. 14 and ff . What pronoun does 
 Dickens use ia speaking of the spirit.^* Why.? Why does n't 
 Dickens give us the usual picture of St. Nicholas.? 
 
 P. 77, U. 4-13. What does the Spirit mean? How is 
 Scrooge's muttered comment characteristic of him.? 
 
 P. 79, 11. 8, 9. Norfolk biffins: cooking apples — a variety 
 cultivated especially in Norfolkshire. 11. 13-18. Fish are cold- 
 blooded. How is this whole description good.? 1. 27. 'plentiful 
 and rare: Does this seem at first consistent? How do you 
 explain it? A' seeming contradiction is called a "paradox." 
 
 P. 80, II. 9-12. daws to peck at: Dickens is quoting Shake- 
 speare. 
 
 I will wear my heart upon my sleeve 
 For daws to peck at. 
 
 — Othello, Acti, Sc. 1. 
 
 P. 80, 11. 18, 19. The poor especially, who had only small 
 stoves or hearths that lacked the great built-in brick ovens, 
 or who could not afford the fuel necessary to heat them, took 
 their dinners to the bake-shops to be roasted or baked. 
 Dickens wrote chiefly about the poor, particularly the poor 
 of London, who filled streets and prisons and workhouses. 
 There were almost no laws or institutions or organizations for 
 their relief, because there was no public sentiment or sympathy 
 to consider them. Dickens did more than all the statesmen 
 of Parliament by showing up in his stories their horrible con- 
 dition, and by infusing through all his stories, and especially 
 at Christmastime, the spirit of human brotherhood. In what 
 words does he proclaim it here? 
 
STUDY HELPS 279 
 
 P. 81, 1. 21. close these 'places: Wiat pl£.ces? What is 
 Scrooge's accusation against the Spirit? 11. 25, 26. in your 
 name, etc.: \Miat does Scrooge mean? Do we have any con- 
 troversies now in our town and city governments about the 
 keeping of the seventh day? WTiat do you know about this? 
 Does Scrooge advocate here a hberal Sunday law? 
 
 P. 82. What was Bob's weekly salary in our money? 
 
 P. 86, U. 21-25. From whose point of view (or should we 
 say smell?) is tliis description? 1. 29. half-a-quartern: half of a 
 quarter of a pint, bedight: WTiat is the formation of the word? 
 What do you think of its choice for this description of an old 
 English Christmas dish? 
 
 P. 88, 11. 7, 8. If he be like to die . . . population: Scrooge's 
 own words m reply to a gentleman who had come into his 
 oflBce on Christmas Eve to solicit a subscription for the poor. 
 U. 13-20. Why did the spirit justly call Scrooge's utterance 
 canf? Explain the last three lines. 
 
 P. 89, 11. 19 and tf.five-and-sixpence: five shillings and six- 
 pence. How much? Did Martha receive pay? What word tells? 
 
 P. 90, 1. 9. Why Peter? 
 
 What makes the evening at the Cratchits' such a happy one? 
 Is the whole account humor and fun? What else? What does 
 the story gain by the quick changes from humor to pathos? 
 Pick out instances you specially like. How has the whole 
 scene affected Scrooge? Dickens himself loved the Christ- 
 mas preparations, with all their mystery and excitement; and 
 always, both in his London house and at his later home at 
 Gads Hill, near Rochester in the shire of Kent, he entertained 
 a house full of guests and planned the Christmas week himself. 
 
 P. 91, 1. 14. kenned: knew. 
 
 Pp. 91-93. Why does Dickens show these scenes just 
 here? What do you think of the way he introduces the 
 Nephew's party? 
 
 P. 93, 11. 33 and ff. Dickens himself had a hearty and 
 infectious laugh, and was high-spirited and full of fuiv in com- 
 pany. To whom is he telling this story? Where else have you 
 noticed that he addresses you directly and confidentially? 
 
 P. 94, 11. 8-10. Notice how many times Dickens describes 
 the pantomine, as it were, of his different characters. He him- 
 self was a capital amateur actor. Sometimes, in writing his 
 
280 STUDY HELPS 
 
 stories, he acted out before the mirror the part of his character, 
 rushing from the mirror back to his desk to describe the action 
 as he had just contrived and seen it. 11. 15 and ff . On Christ- 
 mas Eve Scrooge's Nephew had stopped at the miser's office 
 to wish him a Merry Christmas and invite him to his house to 
 dine on Christmas Day. Scrooge had snapped out a few short, 
 surly replies and " shown him the door," as it were. 
 
 P. 95, 1. 2. He don't: Comment on this, considering who 
 speaks it. 
 
 P. 96, 1. 32. The child who fetched Scrooge: " Little Fan," 
 Scrooge's sister, who had died long since, leaving one child, 
 Scrooge's Nephew. What is the meaning of the lines that 
 follow, to the end of the paragraph.? 
 
 P. 98, 1. 5. another blind man: the blinded boy, Cupid, is it 
 not.'' 1. 12. Referring to the old guessing game, " I love my 
 love with an a," etc. 1. 23. Whitechapel: a poor quarter of 
 London, with many small shops. 
 
 P. 100, 1. 27. Twelfth iVtVAf; the twelfth night after Christ- 
 mas, and, by old custom, the end of Christmas revelry. 
 
 P. 102, 11. 1-8. Why is ignorance most to be feared? What 
 does the Spirit mean by the closing exclamations? To whom 
 does he address them? (Notice his gesture.) 11. 10-12. Again 
 the Spirit quotes Scrooge's own words. (Cf. note on page 88, 
 1. 8.) What, do you think, were Scrooge's thoughts and feel- 
 ings when he heard them quoted back to him? 1. 17. a solemn 
 Phantom: The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. 
 
 Oral Discussion. Prepare your answers carefully : — 
 
 (1) Why is the story fitly called a Carol ? 
 
 (2) Select as many passages as you can find that express 
 the author's own opinion about something. Memorize the 
 two that you like best both for sentiment and expression. 
 
 (3) What have you learned about Dickens himself? Add 
 to your knowledge of him from this reading whatever else 
 you can find out about him. Especially, find out why he was 
 so interested in the welfare of poor children. 
 
 Written Exercises. Dramatize either of the following : — 
 
 (1) Christmas at Bob Cratchit's 
 
 (2) Christmas evening at the home of Scrooge's Nephew 
 ■ — and select for each a good play title. 
 
 Suggested Reading. The " Christmas Carol " complete. 
 
STUDY HELPS 281 
 
 ENOCH ARDEN 
 
 Who was Alfred, Lord Tennyson? 
 
 P. 103, St. 1. From what place, or point of view, are you 
 looking at this scene? On what part of the English coast are 
 these cliffs ? doivn: a rounded hill. Do you get a clear picture 
 of the scene? What would be the occupations of the people? 
 
 St. 2. In about what year did these happenings begin? 
 What were the diflFcrences in the fortunes of Philip and Enoch? 
 
 P. 104, St. 1. (From this point on, the first stanza to begin 
 on the page will be called St. 1, the next on that page St. 2, 
 and so on.) Wliy does the poet say the helpless wrath oj tears ? 
 
 P. 105. 'prone : having a downward slope. 
 
 P. 106, St. 1. Why was it a noble vrish in Enoch to desire 
 that his children have a better education than their parents 
 had had? How only can the human race as a whole grow better? 
 
 Pp. 107-08. offing: the visible sea beyond the anchormg 
 ground, that is, farther off shore. What little gleam of fortune 
 in Enoch's mind was comparable to the little island of light? 
 In each case what caused the gleam? 
 
 P. 109, St. 1. his old sea-friend: What was it? Who needs 
 would work: Suppose the Ime had read "Who needs must 
 work "; what different character would it have given to Enoch? 
 
 P. 110, St. 3. From what harbor would Enoch sail? st. 
 4. Is Enoch selfish in going? that anchor liolds: Cf. Hebrews 
 vi, 19. uttermost parts of tlie morning : Psalm xxxix, 9, 10. The 
 sea is His; He made it. Psalm xcv, 5. 
 
 P. Ill, St. 3. What line shows Annie's courage? Why 
 did n't she prosper at her trade (p. 112)? 
 
 P. 113, St. 2. WTiat do you think of Philip's way of putting 
 his request? morning liours: of day or life? There were no free 
 public schools, and no compulsory education, m those days. 
 
 P. 114, St. 3. grarf/j ; garden. St. 4. Is Zasz/ a fitting word to 
 descrWic gossip? Why? 
 
 P. 115, St. 3o Do you recognize any of the lines here? 
 Why does Tennyson repeat them? 
 
 P. 119, St. 1. Comment on the first three lines; why did 
 the gossips feel wronged ? Why did she suffer expectant terror ? 
 ^Vhat was her dream (p. 120)? Does her trouble and fitnal 
 decision remind you of Enoch's state of mind nee? How? 
 
282 STUDY HELPS 
 
 P. 120. Which lines in the last stanza do you recognize? 
 
 P. 121, St. 1. What route had the Good Fortune taken? 
 'passing through the summer world again : Where was the ship 
 then? golden isles : the East Indies. What is the figure-head 
 of a ship? Is figure-head object of rocking or subject of stared ? 
 
 P. 122, St. 2. How was the sailor making a canoe? Why 
 did n't Enoch try to finish it? St. 3. stately stems: tall palm 
 trunks. With what that he would fain have seen or heard 
 instead, are these things contrasted? Does the bellowing of 
 the ocean seem to you more hollow at night than in the day- 
 time? Would such a situation have had more variety outside 
 the tropics? Why? What is the most despairing line here? 
 
 P. 123, St. 2. a darker isle beyond the line: What isle? What 
 line ? Why is England called darker ? 
 
 P. 124, St. 1. What was it that brought to Enoch's mind 
 the soimd of parish hells? Comment on the last four lines. 
 
 P. 126. In the first line on this page we might expect a 
 dash after home, which is part of the interjected question and 
 answer, holt: shrubbery, brushwood, tilth: tilled ground. 
 
 P. 127, St. 1. As Enoch repeats lost! what does he mean? 
 
 P. 129, St. 1. Comment on the last three lines. St. 4. 
 thence: To what place does Enoch refer? 
 
 P. 130, St. 2. Here Tennyson emphasizes for us, does he 
 not, the great difference between working and working for 
 some definite object beyond ourselves. What is the difference? 
 
 P. 133, St. 1. If we think of Enoch's repetition of Miri- 
 am's lost!, what deeper meaning do his last words take? 
 
 P. 134. What do the last two lines of the poem mean? 
 
 Oral Discussion. (1) Is it unnatural that, after Enoch's 
 return, he and Philip never met? 
 
 (2) Was Annie justified in marrying Philip? 
 
 (3) What seems to you the most beautiful passage in the 
 poem, and why? (4) The most dramatic scene, and why? 
 (5) The most beautiful or impressive comparison, and why? 
 
 (6) Where has the poet best suited the sound to the sense? 
 
 (7) Select some passage and practice it to read aloud. 
 Written Composition. (1) The character of Enoch. 
 
 (2) The characters of Annie, Philip, and Miriam, as a con- 
 trasting background, or setting, for Enoch's character. 
 
 (3) Enoch's story, as he told it to Miriam. 
 
 (4) Miriam's story of Enoch, as she told it first to Annie. 
 
STUDY HELPS 283 
 
 CROSSING THE B^VR 
 
 In any complete volume of Tennyson's verse, you will find 
 this poem at the end, where the poet requested that it be 
 placed. He was eighty years old when it was first printed. 
 
 St. 1. ^Vllat time of the poet's life is it? Wliat is the call 
 that he hears? bar: the sand bar that divides the harbor from 
 the outer ocean. What does the bar signify? 
 
 St. 3 and 4. bourne (born, boundary or limit). Why is 
 Pilot capitalized? Is the poem beautiful? How? 
 
 POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC 
 
 What modem almanac do you know, and what does it con- 
 tain? Why was an almanac such a popular thing in the 
 Colonies? How did Franklin's Almanac differ from others? 
 
 Pp. 136-37. Introduction. How much is spoken by 
 Richard Saunders in his own person? What has he to say 
 about the publishers of almanacs? Here Franklin's shrewd bus- 
 iness ability shows through. He was not unwilling to give 
 himself a little advertisement. The auction was doubtless a 
 wild scene. The people usually came in crowds, sometimes 
 days ahead, and often drank freely and then bid recklessly. 
 They needed Poor Richard's advice. ^Vliy did Franklin 
 introduce the auction and Father Abraham? Of what taxes 
 were the colonists complaining in 1757? 
 
 Pp. 137-47. The harangue. Does Father Abraham answer 
 their question in the way they expect? Wliy not? ^Vliat, does 
 he say, are the three sources of grievous taxation? Now note 
 that he divides his discourse under the same three heads. 
 
 (a) pp. 138-41. Idleness and its opposite, industry. 
 What cases of idleness does the speaker specially condemn? 
 Which of the Almanac sayings that he quotes do you like 
 best? Your gracious Icing (p. 139) : What king? Had the 
 colonists begun to grumble against England then? shift (p. 
 140) : shirt. P. 141, 11. 2, 3. What, according to Longfellow, 
 did Miles Standish say, that means the same? 11. 20, 21. 
 What is our common adage to mean this? 
 
 (6 and c) pp. 142-46. Folly fostered by Pride, and leading 
 to debt and lying. \Vliat word does Father Abraham make the 
 stepping-stone from industry to expensive follies ? What such 
 
284 STUDY HELPS 
 
 follies have we to-day that are expensive to our health as well 
 as to our pockets? mickle : much, great deal (an old English 
 and Scottish word), the frog and the ox: See ^sop's fable. 
 
 P. 146, 1. 28-p. 147, 1. 11. What, in short, are the three 
 traits to be cultivated? What caution does the old man add? 
 
 P. 147, Conclusion: What was the effect of all this good 
 advice? Does Richard claim to be author of these sayings? 
 
 Written Exercises. Write one of the following dialogues, 
 planning scene, characters, action, etc. : — 
 
 (1) Among the members of a colonial household the even- 
 ing after the new almanac comes. 
 
 (2) Among several waiting for the auction to begin. 
 
 (3) Among several who have heard the harangue and have 
 taken part in the bidding. 
 
 HOHENLINDEN 
 
 Hohenlinden (ho' en lin den) : The name (" high lime 
 trees ") is that of a forest and a village about nineteen miles 
 east of Munich, ia Bavaria. At the close of 1800, the Austrians 
 were trying to recover from the French the city of Munich, 
 on the Isar. The French held the wooded plateau between the 
 Isar and the Inn rivers, and barred the way to the city. The 
 Austrians made their way through forests and ravines in a 
 blinding snowstorm. The French commander held them 
 back until one of his generals with another force could reach 
 the Austrian rear. Thus, between the two French forces, the 
 Austrians were destroyed. They lost 20,000 men, and the 
 French 5000. 
 
 St. 1. Iser (e' zer) is incorrectly given for the Isar (e' zar), 
 a small branch of which rises close by the village of Hohen- 
 linden. Munich and this plateau lie very high in the foothills 
 of the Alps, and the Isar rushes downward to the Danube. 
 
 St. 2-4. What do you understand by ^re5 of <Zeaf/j.^ To what 
 does the poet compare the red artillery ? (Does he mean that 
 there is a real thunderstorm in progress?) What are the dif- 
 ferent contrasts with the battle eve? 
 
 St. 6, 7. dun : dark. Frank and Hun : Why apply these bar- 
 baric names to the French and the Austrians? Who are first 
 addressed? Who as Munich? 
 
 Is the poem a good plea for peace ? 
 
STUDY HELPS 285 
 
 BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURN 
 
 Bannockbum {bum, brook) : a stream south of the plain of 
 Stirling in Scotland. In the early June of 1314, when Robert 
 Bruce was kuig of Scotland, the fortified town of Stirlmg was 
 the only Scottish stronghold that still remained m English 
 hands. The wars between Scotland and England had lasted 
 nearly twenty years, ever since the English king Edward I 
 had usurped the Scottish crown. His chief foe had been a 
 dauntless Scottish gentleman, William Wallace, who did win a 
 temporary freedom for Scotland. Wallace, however, was 
 betrayed to the English; and in course of time Robert Bruce, 
 whose grandfather had been a claimant for the Scottish crown 
 before Edward I seized it, took command of the Scots and was 
 crowned king (1306). When Bruce had assembled his army at 
 Bannockbum, June 24, 1314, he commanded any who did 
 not care to fight to the end to leave, and warned those who 
 remamed that they must face victory or death. 
 
 St. 2 and 3. lour: lower, threaten. Edward H was son of 
 Edward I. What does Bruce do after each question.'' 
 
 St. 5. By your sons, etc. Is this actual condition, or merely 
 a horrible possibility.'* \Miat did happen afterwards? 
 
 CONCORD HYMN 
 
 Tell about the fight at Concord. 
 
 St. 1. flood: What is meant? Wha.tflag did they unfurl? — 
 describe it. Explain embattled. ^Vhat does the famous last 
 line mean? What countries since then have won a republi- 
 can form of government? 
 
 St. 2. How long after the battle was the poet writing this? 
 ruined bridge: A bridge of concrete has replaced it. 
 
 St. 3. votive stone : Explain. 
 
 St. 4. the shaft : on the side of the bridge where the British 
 fell. \Vhere the farmers stood stands now Daniel French's 
 figure of the Minuteman. 
 
 THE GETTYSBURG SPEECH 
 
 To what does Lincoln refer in the opening sentence? It w 
 for us tJie living, etc. : The audience had come to hear a speech 
 
286 STUDY HELPS 
 
 dedicating the field ; they heard instead a speech imploring 
 them to dedicate — what? increased devotion : by the keeping 
 of three things highly resolved; what are the three things? 
 How does the last of these repeat the dedication of 1776? 
 
 Edward Everett, the chief orator of the day, who had spoken 
 for two hours, had been loudly applauded. This speech of not 
 five minutes' length was received in total silence. Lincoln 
 thought it had been a failure, even though Everett stepped up 
 and said, " Mr. President, I should be glad if I could flatter 
 myself that I came as near the central idea of the occasion 
 in two hours as you did in two minutes." Why is this speech 
 held to be the greatest piece of oratory ever uttered? 
 
 Suggested Reading. Mary Raymond Shipman An- 
 drews's story, " The Perfect Tribute." 
 
 O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 
 
 Tell in class the circumstances of Lincoln's death. Why 
 did people everywhere feel a personal love for Lincoln? 
 
 St. 1. In what other poem that you know is our Govern- 
 ment compared to a ship? (Longfellow's " Building of the 
 Ship." Repeat the lines.) What had been the fearful trip ? 
 
 St. 3. What was the object won? 
 
 Suggested Reading. Whitman's "When Lilacs last in 
 the Dooryard Bloomed " — an ode to Lincoln. 
 
 THE OCEAN 
 
 St. 1. Does the first stanza recall to you another poem you 
 have read? What meaning did Byron particularly want to 
 bring out by pathless ? intrudes ? interviews ? 
 
 St. 4. Armada : wrecked by heavy seas while rounding the 
 British Isles on the way home after the Channel fight; and 
 some of the eighteen ships which Nelson's fleet captured off 
 Trafalgar were likewise crippled or lost by ocean storm. 
 
 St. 7. How does this stanza contrast with what he has just 
 said? as I do here : Byron is recalling his boyhood in England; 
 he is on the shore of the Mediterranean when he writes this. 
 
 How do stanzas 2-6 each show differently ocean's power? 
 What connection have the first and last stanzas? 
 
 Memorize stanzas 1 and 7. 
 
STUDY HELPS 287 
 
 PORTIA'S SPEECH ON MERCY 
 
 n you do not know " The Merchant of Venice," at least 
 read the story of the play in Lamb's " Tales from Shake- 
 speare," and tell the class why Portia makes this speech. 
 What is her argument? 
 
 JULIUS C^SAR 
 
 Setting. The time of the action is the year 44 B.C. At that 
 time the Roman Republic included what is now Italy, Greece, 
 Asia Minor, Northern Africa, and France (then called Gaul). 
 The Republic was governed from Rome, not by a president, 
 but by two consuls, each elected for one year by the people's 
 assembly. The law-making body was the senate, composed 
 of six hundred of the foremost citizens. In troublous times, 
 a dictator might be appointed, whose authority would be 
 above that of consuls or senate. 
 
 Julius Caesar was, from a very young man, remarkable as a 
 soldier and a statesman. He had been consul at Rome; pro- 
 consul, or governor, of Gaul; had invaded northern Eiu"ope 
 even into England, and had subdued numerous insurrections 
 in the different provinces. His fame won him enemies among 
 other commanders of the army, especially the great general 
 Pompey, and among the statesmen at Rome. They urged 
 rebellion m the army and among the conquered tribes; but 
 Ca-sar each time overcame his enemies and restored order. 
 On his return to Rome he was accorded the special honor of a 
 " triumph " — that is, a magnificent procession in which he 
 rode in state, preceded by the captives taken in war and fol- 
 lowed by his army, while the streets were lined with images 
 of the conqueror, set up on pedestals and decorated with 
 garlands and scarfs. The year before the play opens, Caesar 
 had been elected dictator, and was therefore almost absolute 
 ruler. He had no children of his own, and had adopted his 
 grand-nephew Octavius to be his successor. But the jealousy 
 against him continued; and it is at this point, on the day of 
 his triumph, in March, 44 b. c, that the play begins. 
 
 Study. Read the play with these ends in view: (1) to get 
 the story, — that is, the plot of the play, — appreciating how 
 every incident in it contributes in some way to the cUmax and 
 
288 STUDY HELPS 
 
 the final act. (2) To understand the dififerent characters; 
 appreciating which are the principal characters and what their 
 feelings and purposes toward one another are. (3) To notice 
 how the play is divided iuto acts and scenes, and just how 
 far the plot has progressed at the end of each act. (4) To ap- 
 preciate the meaning of what each character says, and the 
 probable action with which he accompanies his words, and 
 the action that may be going on around him at the time. 
 
 Oral Discussion. (1) In what ways is the first scene nec- 
 essary to make us understand the play.f* 
 
 (2) Who are the leading conspirators against Csesar? What 
 is the efiPect upon them of all that occurs in scene ii ? 
 
 (3). What part in the plot of the play have the superstitions 
 of the Roman populace? 
 
 (4) Explain how, in Act iii, scene ii, Mark Antony changes 
 the feeling of the crowd. Just when does it begin to change? 
 
 (5) Why do Brutus and Cassius collect an army (Act iv, 
 scene i) ? 
 
 (6) In the war that follows, who are the leaders, opposed 
 to them? What cause do they represent? 
 
 (7) At what point in the play is the climax reached? From 
 that point on, we see a kind of moral justice dealt out; how? 
 
 (8) Select some speech or dialogue of not less than ten 
 lines to memorize and recite to the class. 
 
 Written Exercises. (1) Explain who is the principal 
 character of the play and how his mind and fortunes are be- 
 ing acted upon, throughout. 
 
 (2) Why the play is called " Julius Caesar." 
 
 (3) A reporter's account of the assassination of Caesar. 
 
 POLONIUS'S ADVICE TO LAERTES 
 
 Polonius gives this advice to his son Laertes, about to go 
 abroad on a diplomatic mission. What would be the result of 
 following this advice? Is there anything in it that suggests 
 risking one's own self for the good of another? Is there any 
 part of it that you would not yourself wish to follow? Any part 
 that you would wish to follow? Polonius was a shrewd, wily 
 statesman, and the advice is fitting to the character. We 
 must not think of it as Shakespeare's own ideal of action.