LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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 tion has been found. ^ 
 
 forwarded to Order Division JBj_ 1907 
 
 (Date) 
 
 (6. i, 1906—2,000 ) 
 
 "->\j 
 
 Class. 
 
 Book - ^t^^? 
 
PICTURES 
 
 FROM 
 
 ENGLISH LITERATURE 
 
 SARA A. HAMLIN 
 
 Teacher rf English Literature, Dean Academy, Mass. 
 
 My eyes make pictures when they're shut." 
 
 — Coleridge. 
 
 EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 BOSTON 
 New York Chicago San Francisco 
 

 LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 
 Two Copies ReceJved 
 
 MAR 22 1906 
 
 CopyrtfM Entry 
 
 CLASS KXc, NO. 
 
 COPY B. 
 
 Copyrighted 
 
 By educational PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 1906 
 
 -■^eceived from 
 ^py right Office. 
 
 r'voT 
 
u; CONT^KNXS. 
 
 Pictures. 
 
 Page 
 
 I. King Arthur and His Knights of The Round Table . 7 
 
 II. The Canterbury Pilgrims .25 
 
 III. The Red-Cross Knight and Una .... 35 
 
 IV. Two Pictures from Paradise Lost .... 49 
 V. Sir Roger de Coverley 57 
 
 VI. The Home of the Vicar of Wakefield ... 69 
 
 VI r. Loch Katrine 91 
 
 VIII. The Lady of Shalott 109 
 
 IX. A Group of Scottish Pictures . . .. . .117 
 
 X. The Castle of Chillon . . . o . . 141 
 
 XI. Eppie 155 
 
 XII. Little EUie . 179 
 
 XIII. Pippa 185 
 
 Picture-Makers. 
 
 Geoffrey Chaucer . 24 
 
 Edmund Spenser 34 
 
 John Milton 48 
 
 Joseph Addison ......... 56 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith . , .68 
 
 Walter Scott 90 
 
 Alfred Tennyson 108 
 
 Robert Burns 118 
 
 George Gordon Byron 140 
 
 George Eliot 154 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning 178 
 
 Robert Browning 184 
 
To all boys and girls who love pictures, I dedicate these 
 sketches from my mental gallery. 
 
 S. A. H. 
 
A VEI^RABLE SCHOLAR. 
 
'i^iCTURES From English Literature, 
 
 KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS, 
 
 The first picture that I want to show you was 
 not the work of a single artist. It was begun, more 
 than six hundred years ago, by a Welsh monk, called 
 Geoffrey of Monmouth. In later times, other artists 
 made many additions to it, some of which greatly 
 increased its beauty. At length, the great painter, 
 Alfred Tennyson, retouched the whole picture, giving 
 it its present rich coloring and perfect finish ; so that 
 it is numbered to-day among the most fascinating 
 paintings in the whole gallery of literature. 
 
 It represents King Arthur and his twelve brave 
 knights, seated about the famous Round Table, 
 which was built by Merlin, the wonderful magician. 
 
 Do you see the king at the head of the table? 
 There, at his right, sits the bold Sir Launcelot 
 
 7 
 
8 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 du Lac ; next to him, is the gentle Sir Perceval ; while 
 there, in the " Seat Perilous," where, until this time, 
 no man was allowed to sit, is the peerless Sir 
 Galahad. Arthur loved his noble knights, and he 
 was never so happy as when listening to the 
 recital of their valiant deeds, 
 
 Has not the king a noble face? Truly, he does 
 look as though he wore "the white flower of a 
 blameless life." 
 
 As he sits tiiere talking with Launcelot, his favorite 
 knight, can 3^0 u mark the difi'erence between the two 
 countenances? Arthur's face, calm and pale, tells of a 
 life dedicated to high thoughts and noble deeds ; while 
 that of the handsome Launcelot is seamed with lines 
 of unrest and secret trouble. 
 
 But what a grand-looking set of men they all are I 
 It would be strange indeed did they look otherwise, 
 if they have kept the vows to which they are pledged ; 
 to do no outrage or murder, never to take part in a 
 wrongful quarrel, and always to do battle for the 
 weak and oppressed. 
 
 From the eagerness depicted on their faces, I think 
 they must be talking about the search for the Holy 
 Grail. This was the cup out of which our Saviour 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 9 
 
 drank at the Last Si:q)per. He was supposed to have 
 given it into the keeping of Joseph of Arimathea, who 
 carried it to Europe. For many years it remained 
 upon the earth to bless mankind by its presence. But 
 finally, one of the holy men who had charge of it "fell 
 from grace : " the cup disappeared, and could be 
 recovered only by a knight without stain and without 
 reproach. So all the knights of the Round Table 
 vowed to seek the Holy Grail a year and a day. 
 
 As I look at their strong, earnest countenances, I 
 think of the many strange adventures, the dangers and 
 defeats, through which they had to pass : for not to 
 the courteous Sir Perceval, nor to the bold Sir Gawain, 
 nor yet to the brave Launcelot, was the blessed vision 
 granted ; but only to the stainless Galahad, the pure 
 and perfect knight, was it given to become the happy 
 possessor of the holy cup. 
 
 Do you like the picture ? If you do, I will tell you 
 a little about the history of King Arthur. 
 
 Many hundred years ago,- Britain, the country 
 which is now called England, was inhabited by a 
 people called the Celts. They were a brave, hardy 
 race ; but, for some time, they had been greatly 
 troubled by the invasions of the Picts and Scots, who 
 
10 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 were pouring down upon them from the north. 
 Unable to obtain help from any other source, they 
 invited their fierce neighbors, the Saxons, to come 
 over and help them drive out their, enemies. 
 
 This the Saxons did ; but they liked the fertile 
 land of Britain so well that, after they had conquered 
 the northern barbarians, they decided to remain there 
 permanently. So they turned their weapons upon 
 the helpless Celts, and, for more than a hundred 
 years, there was continued strife between the two 
 races ; until, at last, the Celts were driven from their 
 own country, and took refuge among the hills of 
 Wales. But, although expelled from their homes by 
 force, their brave, free spirit was unconquerable ; and 
 from this ancient stock arose an independent and 
 liberty-loving people. 
 
 In the midst of the strife, Arthur was born. 
 When he was a lad of fifteen years, he became king; 
 and it is quite interesting to know how this was 
 brought about. 
 
 At the time of the old king's death, it was not 
 known that he had left any heir to the throne, and all 
 the people were greatly troubled as to who should 
 take his place. In their anxiety, they prayed to God 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. U 
 
 • 
 
 that He would send them some sign from Heaven ; 
 
 and as an answer to their prayer, there appeared 
 before the church door a stone in which was sticking 
 a sword. So the Bishop proposed that whoever 
 could draw the sword from the stone should be 
 crowned king. 
 
 To this the people agreed, and all the tributary 
 kings and most famous knights tried to draw it out ; 
 but in vain. Not one was able to move the sword 
 ever so little, and it remained for a long time in front 
 of the church door. 
 
 Finally a great tournament ^ took place, and 
 Arthur was present, serving as squire to his foster- 
 brother, Sir Kay, who had the misfortune to break 
 his sword. The knight sent his young squire home 
 for another ; and as Arthur went by the church, he 
 saw a sword stickino^ in a stone. Thinkino^ that this 
 would be a good weapon for his brother, he easily 
 drew it out, and hastened with it to Sir Kay. 
 
 The latter immediately recognized the miraculous 
 sword, and would have claimed the throne for him- 
 self; but when, to convince the doubters, it was 
 
 1 Tournamtn' — a mock fight intended to show the address and bravery of the 
 combatants. 
 
12 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 replaced in the stone, it would yield a second time 
 only to the hand of Arthur, who was thus discovered 
 to be the lawful son and heir of the former king. So 
 at an early day, Arthur was joyfully crowned by the 
 people, and proclaimed their sovereign and chief. 
 
 One of the new king's chief advisers was Merlin, 
 a mighty enchanter, who had the power of transform- 
 ing himself into any shape that he wished. By his 
 magic arts, he became of great use to Arthur, and 
 saved his life many times in battle. It was he who 
 made the wonderful Round Table about which you 
 may have heard. 
 
 This was surrounded by thirteen seats, but twelve 
 of which could be occupied, and these only by knights 
 of the highest fame. The thirteenth was kept vacant 
 in memory of the Saviour, and was reserved for the 
 pure Sir Galahad. It was called the " Seat Perilous," 
 because if a sinful man attempted to sit in it, the earth 
 would open and swallow him. A magic power wrote 
 upon each seat the name of the knight who was 
 entitled to it, and no one could succeed to a seat 
 unless he surpassed in valor its former occupant. 
 
 When Arthur happened to break his sword in 
 a severe encounter with one of his enemies, it was 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 13 
 
 i 
 Merlin who told him how to obtain another from the 
 
 Lady of the Lake. lie directed the king to a lake 
 near by, where he would see an arm extending 
 upwards from the waves, holding in its hand a sword. 
 
 "You must row out to this spot," said Merlin, 
 ^^ and if the Lady of the Lake is willing for you to have 
 the weapon, she will allow you to take it away." 
 
 So the king did as Merlin said. He rowed out 
 into the middle of the lake, and there he saw an arm 
 reaching upward from the water, " clothed in white 
 samite,^ mystic, wonderful," and in the hand was 
 a bright and shinino: sword. As soon as Arthur 
 attempted to draw the weapon away, the hand 
 relaxed its hold and sank beneath the waves. 
 "And the king looked on the sword, and liked it 
 well." 
 
 This became the renowned Excalibur, which was 
 said to shine so bright when it w^as brandished that it 
 gave a light equal to thirty torches, and blinded the 
 eyes of all who looked upon it. 
 
 By its aid. King Arthur gained many victories 
 over the fierce Saxons, thus greatly extending his 
 kingdom, and causing his name to be feared through- 
 out the land. 
 
 2 Samite — a kind of silken stuff, adorned with gold. 
 
14 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 It is not in battle, however, that we like best to 
 think of good King Arthur ; but in his court at Came- 
 lot, where he lived with his queen, the beautiful 
 Guinevere. O what glorious times those were ! It 
 makes our pleasures seem tame, when we think of the 
 splendid jousts and tournaments that filled those 
 days. 
 
 The knights were always seeking new adventures 
 by which they might do honor to themselves and 
 their king ; and their most daring feats of arms 
 could receive no better reward than his approving 
 smile and a glance from the bright eyes of 
 Guinevere. 
 
 Yet not in selfish delights alone did Arthur allow 
 the days to pass. Wherever there was a wrong to 
 redress, wherever the strong triumphed over the 
 weak, there was found the king with his irresistible 
 sw^ord and shining armor. 
 
 But dark days came at last to Camelot. Modred, 
 a rebellious kinsman, conspired against the pure and 
 noble king. A dreadful battle took place, which 
 lasted for hours ; and when night fell, Arthur's knights, 
 whom he loved so well, lay dead upon the field. 
 Only one survived, the bold Sir Bedivere. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERTTURE. 15 
 
 So all day long the news of battle roll'd 
 Among the mountains by the winter sea ; 
 Until King Arthur's table, man by man, 
 Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their lord. 
 King Arthur : then, because his wound was deep. 
 The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him, 
 Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights, 
 And bore him to a chapel nigh the field, 
 A broken chancel with a broken cross. 
 That stood on a dark strait of barren land. 
 On one side lay the Ocean, and on one 
 Lay a great water, and the moon was full. 
 Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : ^ 
 'The sequel of to-day unsolders^ all 
 The goodliest fellowship of famous knights 
 Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep 
 They sleep — the men I loved. I think that we 
 Shall nevermore, at any future time. 
 Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds, 
 Walking about the gardens and the halls 
 Of Camelot, as in days that were. 
 I perish by this people which I made, — 
 Tho' Merlin sware that I should come again 
 To rule once more — but let what will be, be, 
 I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm 
 That without help I cannot last till morn. 
 Thou therefore take my brand Excalibur, 
 
 Unsolders — disunites. 
 
16 PICTURES EROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 Which was my pride ; for thou rememberest how 
 In those old days, one summer noon, an arm 
 Rose up from out the bosom of the lake. 
 Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. 
 Holding the sword — and how I rowed across 
 And took it, and have worn it, like a king : 
 And, wheresoever I am suns; or told 
 In aftertime, this also shall be known : 
 But now delay not : take Excalibur, 
 And fling him far into the middle of the mere ;'* 
 Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me 
 word.' 
 To him replied the bold Sir Bedivere ; 
 ^ It is not meet, Sir King, to leave thee thus. 
 Aidless, alone and smitten thro' the helm: 
 A little thing may harm a wounded man. 
 Yet I thy hest^ will all perform at full 
 Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word.'" 
 
 So saying, he stepped down from the ruined shrine, 
 and hastened to the lake to do the king's command. 
 But as he drew forth the beautiful sword, Excalibur, 
 and saw the handle all glittering with diamonds, it 
 seemed too precious to throw away. The longer he 
 looked, the more his eyes were dazzled ; and, at last, 
 
 A Mere — lake. 
 5 ^ei^— command. 
 
PICTURES EROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 17 
 
 I 
 
 he decided to leave the sword hidden there among the 
 water-fla^s. 
 
 "So strode he back slow to the wounded king, 
 Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : 
 ' Hast thou perform'd thy mission which I gave ? 
 What is it thou hast seen ? or what hast heard ? ' 
 And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
 ^ I heard the ripple washing in the reeds, 
 And the wild water lapping on the craig.' 
 
 To whom replied King Arthur, faint and pale : 
 ^Thou hast betray'd thy nature and thy name, 
 Not rendering true answer, as beseem'd 
 Thy fealty,*' nor like a noble knight : 
 For sureis sign had followed, either hand. 
 Or voice, or else a motion of the mere. 
 This is a shameful thing for men to lie. 
 . Yet now, I charge thee, quickly go again. 
 As thou art lief'^ and dear, and do the thing 
 I bade thee, watch, and lightly bring me word.'" 
 
 Then went Sir Bedivere the second time ; but as 
 he raised the sword aloft, the moon, shining upon it, 
 brought out all the wondrous beauty of the hilt; and 
 as he saw how richly and curiously it was chased, he 
 again shrank from throwing it into the lake. 
 
 6 Fealty — fidelity to one's lord. 
 
 7 Z/te/— beloved. 
 
18 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 He thought : " If I allow this splendid blade to 
 perish, what will there be left on the earth to serve as 
 a reminder of the glory of Arthur's reign? Besides, 
 the king is sick now, and knows not what he does. 
 Is it right to obey him if he demand an act unprofit- 
 able to himself? " 
 
 So, misled by his own conceit, he hid Excalibur a 
 second time, and returned to the king. 
 
 " Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily : 
 
 ^ What is it thou hast seen? or what hast heard?' 
 And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
 
 ' I heard the water lapping on the crag, 
 And the long ripple washing in the reeds.' 
 To whom replied King Arthur, in much wrath : 
 
 ^Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, 
 Unknightly, traitor-hearted ! Woe is me ! 
 Authority forgets a dying king. 
 Laid widow'd of the power in his eye 
 That bow'd the will. I see thee what thou art, 
 For thou, the latest-left of all my knights, 
 In whom should meet the ofiices of all. 
 Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt ; 
 Either from lust of gold, or like a girl 
 Valuing the giddy pleasure of the eyes. 
 Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice, 
 And the third time prosper, get thee hence ; 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 19 
 
 But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur, 
 I will arise and slay thee with my hands.' 
 Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran, 
 And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged 
 Among the bulrush-beds, and clutch'd the sword. 
 And strongly wheel'd and threw it. The great 
 
 brand 
 Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon. 
 And flashing round and round, and whirl'd in an 
 
 arch. 
 Shot like a streamer of the northern morn , 
 Seen where the moving isles of winter shock 
 By night, with noises of the northern sea. 
 So flash'd and fell the brand Excalibur ; 
 But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm 
 Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful. 
 And caught him by the hilt, and brandish'd him 
 Three times, and drew him under in the mere. 
 And lightly went the other to the King. 
 
 Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker 
 
 breath : 
 'Now see I by thine eye that this is done. 
 Speak out : what is it thou hast heard or seen ? 
 And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : 
 'Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems 
 Should blind my purpose, for I never saw, 
 Nor shall see, here or elsewhere, till I die. 
 Not tho' I live three lives of mortal men, 
 
20 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 So great a miracle as yonder hilt. 
 Then with both hands I flung him, wiieeling him ; 
 But when I looked again, behold an arm, 
 Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, 
 That cauglit him by the hilt, and brandish'd him 
 Three times, and drew him under in the mere.' 
 And answer made King Arthur, breathing 
 
 hard : 
 ^ My end draws nigh : 'tis time that I were 
 
 gone. 
 Make broad thy shoulders to receive my 
 
 weight ; 
 And bear me to the margin ; 3^et I fear 
 My Avound hath taken cold, and I shall die.' " 
 
 So Bedivere placed the dying king upon his broad 
 shoulders, and carried him to the lake, which shone 
 white and beautiful in the moonlight. And lo ! there 
 came sailing towards them a dusky barge, whose deck 
 was covered with stately figures all clothed in black, 
 while there arose a long, low cry of sorrow. 
 
 Then murmured Arthur : " Place me in the 
 barge ; " and three of the stately forms put forth their 
 hands and took the king and wept. 
 
 " Then loudly cried bold Sir Bedivere ; 
 
 ' Ah ? my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go ? 
 
HCTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 21 
 
 Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyevS ? 
 For now I see the true old times are dead, 
 When every morning brought a noble chance, 
 And every chance brought out a noble knight. 
 Such times have been not since the light that led 
 The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. 
 But now the whole round table is dissolved 
 Which was an image of the mighty world ; 
 And I, the last, go forth companionless. 
 And the days darken round me, and the years. 
 Among new men, strange faces, other minds.' 
 And slowly answered Arthur from the barge : 
 'The old order changeth, yielding place to new. 
 And God fulfils himself in many ways. 
 Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. 
 
 If thou shouldst never see my face again, 
 
 Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by 
 
 prayer 
 Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy 
 
 voice 
 Rise like a fountain for me night and day. 
 
 But now farewell. I am going a long way 
 With these thou seest — if indeed I go 
 (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) 
 To the island-valley of Avilion ; 
 Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, 
 
22 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 Nor ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies 
 Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard-lawns, 
 And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, 
 Where I w-ill heal me of my grievous wound.' 
 So said he, and the barge with oar and sail 
 Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted 
 
 swan 
 That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, 
 Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood 
 With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere 
 Revolving many memories, till the hull 
 Looked one black dot against the verge of dawn, 
 And on the mere the wailing died away." 
 
THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS, 
 
 23 
 
GEOFFREY CHAUCER, 
 
THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS. 
 
 The picture 1 want next to show you is by that 
 rare old artist, Dan Chaucer, who painted in such 
 rich and glowing colors, that his creations are as 
 fresh and attractive to-day as when they were first 
 called forth by his magic pen. 
 
 It represents a merry company that set out on 
 a journey, one bright morning in April, many years 
 ago. They called the journey a pilgrimage, because 
 they were on their way to worship at the shrine 
 of Thomas a Becket' in Canterbury. 
 
 You know what was meant by a pilgrimage ; how 
 the pilgrim, with staff and scrip, went many weary 
 miles on foot, that he might atone for his sins by 
 praying at the tomb of some well-known saint. The 
 most sacred ilgr images were made to the tomb of our 
 Saviour in the holy city of Jerusalem ; but there 
 
 \ Thomas a Becket — was Archbishop of Canterbury in the reign of Henry il, 
 After his mnrder by the servants of the king, he was regarded as a saint; and 
 pilgrimages were constantly made to his tomb in Canterbury Cathedral. 
 
 2^ 
 
26 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 were other shrines nearer home, and the tomb of 
 a Becket had long been a favorite place of worship. 
 
 These, however, were not always solemn and 
 fatiguing journeys. Oftentimes, people who were 
 going to the same shrine would form a little company ; 
 and, thinking that the Evil One was thwarted by the 
 object of their journey, they would give themselves 
 up, on the way, to mirth and jollity. 
 
 Well, these Canterbury Pilgrims were just such a 
 joyous company, when they set forth from the Tabard 
 Inn, one sunny morning so long ago. 
 
 Can you see in the picture, the beautiful bl-ue 
 sky, the green hedge, and the white May blossoms? 
 It is no wonder that, at this delightful season of 
 the year, people did 
 
 "Long to go on pilgrimages. 
 And palmers for to seek strange lands." 
 
 Would you like to know who some of these merry 
 pilgrims are? 
 
 That big man with the jolly face, who seems to be 
 the leader of the party, is Harry Bailey, the host 
 of the Tabard Inn. When he learned that they were 
 all going in the same direction, he offered to conduct 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 27 
 
 them, as he was familiar with the road ; and, in order 
 to make the thne pass pleasantly, he proposed that 
 every one should tell two stories on the way to 
 Canterbury, and two more on the way home. 
 
 He added, shrewd old fellow that he was, that they 
 all must return to the Tabard Inn ; and he who had 
 told the best story should sup at the expense of the 
 rest. This jolly Harry Bailey was very entertaining, 
 and his witty remarks added much to the general fun. 
 
 That noble-looking man riding along, dressed in a 
 complete suit of armor, is the Knight of the company. 
 
 "A knight there was, and that a worthy man. 
 Who, from the time in which he first began 
 To ride afield, loved well all chivalry. 
 Honor and frankness, truth and courtesy. 
 Most worthy was he in his master's war, 
 And thereto had he ridden, none more far, 
 As well in Christian as in heathen lands. 
 And borne with honor many high commands." 
 
 But although he was such a great soldier, he was, 
 in his manner, as gentle as a woman. 
 
 "He was a very perfect, noble knight." 
 Close beside him, is his son, a gay young Squire, 
 
28 PK)TITRES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 whose handsome face and rich dress give brightness 
 to the whole picture. 
 
 I think Chaucer must have smiled when he 
 described this young fellow. 
 
 *' His locks all curled as though laid in a press. 
 
 "Embroidered was he, as a meadow bright, 
 All full of freshest flowers, red and white ; 
 Singing he was, or flute-playing all day. 
 He was as fresh as is the month of May. 
 
 Do you see that pretty little lady riding there? 
 That is the Nun, Madame Eglantine. 
 
 Chaucer liked her, I know, even though he did 
 make fun of her in a quiet way. 
 
 "There also was a Nun, a Prioress, 
 Who of her smiling was most simple and coy ; 
 Her greatest oath was only ' By Saint Loy,' 
 And she was called Madame Eo:lantine. 
 Full well she sang the services divine 
 Entuned through her nose melodiously. 
 
 "At meal-times, she was very apt withal ; 
 No morsel from her lips did she let fall. 
 Nor in her sauce did wet her fingers deep ; 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 29 
 
 " She was so charitable and piteous 
 That she would weep did she but see a mouse 
 Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled ; 
 ^ And little dogs she had, which oft she fed 
 
 With roasted meat and milk and finest bread ; 
 But sore she wept if one of them were dead, 
 Or, haply, with a rod were smitten smart. 
 And all was conscious and tender heart ! " 
 
 She must have been an affected little body ; . and 
 yet I like to look at her, she is so dainty and sweet. 
 
 That thoughtful-looking man with his eyes bent 
 upon the ground is the Clerk of Oxford, a poor man, 
 for we are told : — 
 
 "His horse, it was as skinny as a rake ; 
 And he was not too fat, I'll undertake. 
 But had a sober, rather hollow look ; 
 And very threadbare was his outer cloak." 
 
 All the money he could get he spent on books. 
 
 "For rather would he have at his bed's head, 
 A score of books, all bound in black or red, 
 Of Aristotle and his philosophy, 
 Than rich attire, fiddle, or psaltery." ^ 
 
 2 Psaltery — a stringed musical instrument. 
 
30 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 He talked but little, yet what he did say was 
 sensible and wise. 
 
 You must take a good long look at this figure 
 of the Clerk of Oxford, for it is said to be a represen- 
 tation of Dan Chaucer himself. 
 
 Just behind him , is the richly dressed Monk upon 
 his splendid horse ; and quite near, rides the Friar, 
 to whom Chaucer gives a sly hit when he says : — 
 
 "In giving penance,^ very kind was he. 
 When people made it worth his while to be." 
 
 That man you see with his beard "as white 
 as the daisies be," is the Franklin, a great land- 
 owner. Well-to-do was he and very hospitable. In 
 his house, it seemed as though it "snowed with meat 
 and drink." 
 
 You must not pass by that middle-aged woman, 
 who wears such a broad hat ; for she is of great 
 importance in her own estimation, and would never 
 forgive you, if you did not give her more than 
 a passing glance.- 
 
 "Bold is her face, and fair and red of hue." 
 
 She is called the Wife of Bath, and is very 
 
 d Fenance — punislunent. 
 
PICTURES FROMi ENGLISH LITERATURE. 31 
 
 expert in weaving cloth. She has made a great 
 many pilgrimages to Rome and other places ; for she 
 has plenty oi' money, as one can see by her showy 
 dress. 
 
 Not far from her, is the Parson, poor in purse, but 
 rich in holy thought and work. 
 
 " Christ's and the twelve apostles' law he taught, 
 But first himself obeyed it as he ought." 
 
 These are some of the people you see in Ihe 
 picture. It would take too long to describe all 
 the members of that large and pleasant company ; 
 but you can see that they represent all classes 
 of society. If you look closely, you will see the 
 Sergeant-of-Law, a very busy man. 
 
 "Nowhere there was a busier man than he, 
 Yet busier than he was, he seemed to be." 
 
 There, too, are the Carpenter, the Doctor, the 
 Merchant ; in fact, some one from every department 
 in life. 
 
 This is the reason why the picture is such a 
 favorite ; it portrays so well the men and women 
 of the fourteenth century, that it seems as if they 
 lived and moved before us. 
 
32 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 But our wonderful artist does more ; he makes 
 them talk, and tell us just such stories as they would 
 have told in that far away time. 
 
 Don't you wish you could have been with them, 
 and have heard their delightful tales, as they wandered 
 through the lovely English country ? 
 
 There are three I should dearly like to have 
 heard ; the Knight's chivalrous story of Palamon and 
 Arcite, and their love for the fair Emelye ; the 
 pathetic story of the faithful wife, Griselda, which the 
 gentle Clerk of Oxford told ; and the Nun's Priest's 
 bri2:ht tale of Chanticleer and his charmino^ Pertilote. 
 
 What a pity that we do not know of the arrival 
 at Canterbury, the ceremonies at the Cathedral, and 
 the homeward journey ! But the pen dropped from 
 the artist's Aveary fingers before he depicted those 
 scenes for us ; and we can only guess who it was 
 that supped at Harry Bailey's inn at no cost 
 to himself. 
 
THE RED GROSS KNIGHT AND UNA, 
 
 33 
 
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 EDMUND SPENSER. 
 
THE RED CROSS KNIGHT AND UNA. 
 
 "A gentle knight was pricking ^ on the plain, 
 Yclad^ in mighty arms and silver shield, 
 Wherein old dints of deep wounds did remain, 
 The cruel marks of many a bloody field ; 
 Yet arms till that time did he never wield. 
 Full jolly knight he seeuied, and fair did sit, 
 As one for knightly jousts ^ and fierce encounters 
 fit. 
 
 "And on his breast a bloody cross he bore. 
 The dear remembrance of his dying Lord, 
 For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he 
 wore , 
 And dead as livino^ ever him adored. 
 
 " A lovely lady rode him fair beside. 
 
 Upon a lowly ass more white than snow, 
 Yet she much whiter, but the same did hide 
 Under a veil that wimpled^ was full low, 
 
 1 Pricking — riding rapidly 
 
 2 Yclad — clothed. 
 
 3 Jousts — mock encounters on horseback. 
 
 4 Wimpled — laid iii folds . 
 
 35 
 
36 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 And over all a black stole ^ she did throw. 
 
 As one that inly mourned ; so was she sad, 
 And heavy sat upon her palfty slow ; 
 
 Seem'd in heart some hidden care she had ; 
 And by her in a line a milk-white lamb she led." 
 
 It was Edmund Spenser, the poet-laureate of 
 Queen Elizabeth's reign, who gave us this beautiful 
 picture ; but it is only one of the many exquisite 
 scenes that he has portrayed in his wonderful poem, 
 "The Faery Queene." 
 
 Listen, and I will explain the picture to you. 
 
 Once upon a time, the Queen of Fairy-Land was 
 holding a festival of twelve days ; and the knight 
 who, during that time, could achieve the most 
 glorious deed, was to be rewarded by a rich and 
 beautiful prize. All the knights, far and near, 
 hastened to s^ive evidence of their skill and darins^. 
 
 On the first day of the festival, there came to 
 the court a beautiful maiden riding upon a snow- 
 white ass, and followed by a dwarf, leading a warlike 
 steed that bore a suit of armor. The young 
 girl, falling on her knees before the Fair}^ Queen, 
 
 5 Stole — a long, loose garment. 
 
PICTURES FRO^ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 37 
 
 said that her parents were besieged in their castle by 
 a fierce dragon, and begged that some one might be 
 sent to deliver them from their deadly foe. 
 
 Immediately, a tall, clownish young man came 
 forward, and asked that he might undertake this 
 adventure. The lady did not wish to accept so 
 awkw^ard an attendant ; but, as he persisted, she told 
 him that unless the armor which she brought would 
 fit him, he could not succeed in the enterprise. 
 
 Then the Queen put upon him the armor, 
 which bore upon it the sign of a red cross, and 
 placed in his hand a silver shield bearing a like 
 symbol. When thus arrayed, he seemed the 
 goodliest knight in all that company, and was well 
 liked by the fair lady. 
 
 So, mounting the steed brought by the dwarf, 
 tl^e young knight rode forth with Una, for that was 
 the maiden's name, upon his perilous errrand. 
 
 This is the yncture I want you to see, — the 
 beautiful girl and the brave knight, as they start 
 forth on their dangerous expedition. 
 
 They ride along quite pleasantly, at first, until 
 a sudden storm coming on, they seek shelter in a 
 neighboring wood. After the storm is over, they 
 
38 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 turn to leave the wood ; but cannot find the path by 
 which they entered. 
 
 Wandering along, they come to a hollow cave. 
 The dwarf warns them that this is Error's Cave, and 
 urges them to flee for their lives. But the youthful 
 knight cannot let escape this opportunity of display- 
 ing his bravery. So he attacks the ugly monster, 
 and, after a desperate struggle, kills it. They then 
 ride on, and in a short time, find their way out of the 
 grove. 
 
 Soon they meet an aged man, who, from his 
 appearance, seems to be a devout priest. He asks 
 them to spend the night with him, saying that they 
 must be in need of rest and refreshment. They grate- 
 fully accept his off"er, and accompany him to his home ; 
 
 "A little lowly hermitage it was 
 Down in a dale, hard by*^ a forest's side 
 Far from resort of people that did pass 
 In travel to and fro. 
 
 "Arrived there, the little house they fill, 
 Nor look for entertainment, where none was : 
 Eest is their feast, and all things at their will ; 
 The noblest mind the best contentment has." 
 
 6 Hard by — near by. 
 
PICTURES rRO|I ENGLISH LITERATURE. 39 
 
 The evening is spent in holy conversation, and 
 they retire to rest at an early hour. Now this old 
 man is, in reality, a wicked magician, who hates 
 everything good and pure ; and as soon as he has 
 bidden good-night to his guests, he casts about in his 
 mind for some charm to work their ruin. 
 
 He calls one of the little sprites who wait to do 
 his bidding, and commands him to go to the Palace 
 of Morpheus, and bring back a false dream. 
 
 I wish I could make you see this beautiful Palace 
 of Sleep, with its doors of silver and ivory, guarded 
 by the ever watchful dogs, "that lie in wait, to banish 
 Care, their enemy." But I can only tell you that it 
 is the most quiet, restful, delightful spot that was 
 ever created from a poet's imagination. 
 
 After a good deal of trouble, for Morpheus is not 
 easy to arouse from his happy slumbers, the little 
 sprite obtains what he seeks, and, returning through 
 the ivory door, mounts on his wings, and soon bears 
 the dream to his lord. 
 
 As soon as this is received by the wicked old 
 man, he so weaves it into the brain of the young 
 knight that he believes the fair and good Una to be 
 false to him ; and when the maiden arises early 
 
40 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 in the morning, and asks for her protector, who has 
 promised to deliver her parents from their deadly 
 peril, she finds that he, with the dwarf, has forsaken 
 her. She can hardly believe it at first ; and when she 
 is forced to realize the truth, her grief is very great. 
 But she thinks he cannot l)e far distant, and hopes 
 that, by starting forth at once, she may soon overtake 
 him. 
 
 Alas ! poor Una is to meet with many an 
 adventure before she beholds him whom she loves so 
 well ; and the knight, before he again sees his 
 dear lady, is to realize how inadequate is his 
 youthful, untried strength before the blandishments''' 
 of temptation. 
 
 I shall not take the time to tell you of all the 
 adventures that befall the Red Cross Knight. The 
 most interesting one is when he is led to the Palace 
 of Pride. 
 
 " A stately palace built of squared brick. 
 Which cunningly was without mortar laid. 
 Whose walls were hio^h, but nothinir strong^ nor 
 
 thick , 
 And golden foil all over them displayed. 
 
 7 Blandiihments — arts. 
 
PICTURES FROtr ENGLISH LITERTTURE. 41 
 
 That purest sky with brightness they dismayed : 
 High lifted up were many lofty towers, 
 And goodly galleries far overlaid, 
 Full of fair windows and delightful bowers ; 
 And on the top a dial told the timely hours." 
 
 Here upon a rich throne sits the Queen of Pride, 
 surrounded by her hateful counsellors. Idleness, 
 Gluttony, Avarice, Envy, and Wrath. 
 
 "And in her hand she held a mirror bright, 
 Wherein her face she often ftun would view. 
 And in her self-loved semblance took delis^ht. 
 
 "Rightful kingdom she had none at all, 
 Nor heritage of native sovereignty, 
 But did usurp with wrong and tyranny 
 Upon the sceptre which she now did hold." 
 
 The knight has been brought hei'e by a beautiful 
 lady, whom he believes to be as innocent as she is 
 fair. After he arrives at this place, he begins to 
 suspect her true character, and manages to escape ; 
 but he is followed by the false Duessa, who asfain 
 beguiles him. Persuaded by her to drink of an 
 enchanted spring, he loses his strength and is taken 
 captive by a mighty giant. 
 
42 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 All this time, Una has been seeking her knight, 
 whom she still so dearly loves. She meets with 
 many dangers, but her innocence and purity carry 
 her triumphant through every peril. 
 
 I want to show you one picture of her, which 
 is the most beautiful I have ever seen. 
 
 " One day nigh weary of the irksome way, 
 
 From her unhastys beast she did alight, 
 And on the grass her dainty limbs did lay 
 
 In secret shadow, far from all men's sight : 
 From her fair head, her fillet^ she undight,^^ 
 
 And laid her stole aside. Her angel's face. 
 As the great e3"e of heaven, shined bright. 
 
 And made a sunshine in the shady place ; 
 Did never mortal eye behold such heavenly grace. 
 
 "It fortuned ^1 out of the thickest wood 
 A ramping 12 lion rushed suddenly, 
 
 Hunting full greedy after savage blood ; 
 Soon as the royal virgin he did spy. 
 
 With gaping mouth at her ran greedily, 
 
 To have at once devoured her tender corse : 
 
 8 Unhasty — slow. 
 
 ^Fillet — a little band, worn about the head. 
 \QUndight — ^\\t oti. 
 
 1 Fortuned — happened. 
 
 2 Ramping — raging. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 43 
 
 But to the prey when as he drew more nigh, 
 
 His bloody rage assuaged ^^ with remorse 
 And with the sight amazed, forgot his furious force. 
 
 "Instead thereof he kissed her weary feet, 
 And licked her lily hands with fawning tongue. 
 As he her wronged innocence did weet ^^ 
 
 "The lion would not leave her desolate, 
 
 But with her went along, as a strong guard 
 Of her chaste person, and a faithful mate 
 
 Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard ; 
 Still when she slept, he kept both watch and ward, 
 
 And when she waked, he waited diligent. 
 With humble service to her will prepared ; 
 
 From her fair eyes he took commandment. 
 And ever by her looks conceived her intent. 
 
 " O how can beauty master the most strong. 
 And simple truth subdue avenging wrong ! " 
 
 Shortly after this, Una is met by the dwarf, 
 who had made his escape. He narrated to her all that 
 has happened : the treachery of Archimago, the old 
 maofician ; the snares of false Duessa ; the House of 
 
 13 Assuaged— cahned. 
 
 14 Weet— ^now. 
 
44 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 Pride and all the perils it contained ; and lastly, the 
 fatal conflict with the giant. 
 
 Una is sorely grieved to hear of the dangers 
 through which her dear knight has passed ; but it is 
 such a blessed relief to know he is still her own 
 true knight, that she almost forgets his present 
 captivity. Soon, however, she realizes his condition ; 
 and resolving to find him alive or dead, she and the 
 dwarf continue the search together. 
 
 At last, when her heart begins to grow heavy with 
 despair, she sees, riding towards her, a strange horse- 
 man, arrayed from head to foot in a magnificent suit 
 of armor. It seems to her that this can be no 
 ordinary mortal, so splendid is his dress; and she 
 knows that only one of the grand Knights of the 
 Round Table could carry such a marvelous shield or 
 sword . 
 
 As soon as he perceives the maiden's sorrowful 
 looks, he urges her to confide her trouble to him. His 
 bearing is so noble and his words so gentle, that she 
 is impelled to tell him the story of her woes. 
 
 When her sad tale is ended, he comforts her with 
 cheering words, and says he will not leave her until 
 he has freed her captive lord. 
 
PICTURES FROlft EJ^GLISH LITERATURE. 45 
 
 " So forth they go, the dwarf them guiding ever right." 
 
 They travel on until they reach the enchanted 
 castle where lies the unfortunate knight. Then there 
 follows a dreadful encounter between the giant and 
 Prince Arthur, for it is he who has come to Una's 
 relief. 
 
 It is needless to say which one is victorious ; for 
 who could withstand that shining sword and wondrous 
 diamond shield ! 
 
 The joyful meeting between the two who have so 
 long been separated, I wdll let you imagine. 
 
 Prince Arthur is obliged to leave them now, and 
 they bid him adieu with grateful thanks. Una sees 
 that her knight is feeble from his long imprisonment ; 
 and she takes him to the House of Holiness, where he 
 is strengthened and refreshed by the teachings of the 
 three daughters, Faith, Hope and Charity. Cheered 
 and encouraged by the divine help he has received, 
 he feels now that he is strong enough to encounter 
 the fierce dragon. 
 
 The struggle lasts three days ; and, in the end, 
 the Red Cross Knight comes off conqueror. 
 
 And now what great rejoicing ! All the people 
 flock out of the city to see their brave champion. 
 
46 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 The kino^ showers princely gifts upon him ; there 
 is music and feasting ; and all vie with one another 
 in doing honor to their deliverer. 
 
 But he values little the praises they heap upon 
 him, when he looks into Una's sweet face, and hears 
 her words of gratitude and love. 
 
 With this last scene, the artist closes his series 
 of pictures. He leaves it to be read between the 
 lines of the poem, that he has told us only the same 
 old story of the battle between Truth and Error, 
 which is ever beino^ washed in this world : of the 
 temptations, the struggles, the sins ; and also of 
 the glorious victory that must always come to him 
 who is strong enough to endure unto the end. 
 
TWO PICTURES FROM PARADISE 
 
 .47 
 
JOHN MILTON. 
 
TWO PICTURES FROM PARADISE LOST. 
 
 The next two pictures are by an artist whose 
 
 fame will never die, who, though old and poor 
 
 and blind, painted grander scenes than the world had 
 
 ever beheld. Of the many that he caused to glow 
 
 upon his canvas, there is not one so grand and 
 
 awful in its strength as that of Satan in sight of 
 
 Paradise. 
 
 "He 
 
 In shape and gesture proudly eminent 
 Stood like a tower ; his form had not yet lost 
 All its original brightness, nor appeared 
 Less than archangel ruined, and the excess 
 Of glory obscured." 
 
 In his countenance, envy, remorse, despair, 
 contend for mastery, as he sees Adam and Eve 
 wandering through the beautiful garden of Eden in 
 the glory of the early day. While he looks, the words 
 of their grand morning hymn are borne upon the air ; 
 and he cannot help but listen : — 
 
 "These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, 
 Almighty ! thine this universal frame, 
 
 49 
 
50 PICTUHES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 Thus wondrous fair ; thyself how wondrous then ! 
 
 Unspeakable, who sit'st above these heavens 
 
 To us invisible, or dimly seen 
 
 In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare 
 
 Thy goodness beyond thought and power divine -• 
 
 Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light. 
 
 Angels ; for ye behold him, and with songs 
 
 And choral symphonies, day without night, 
 
 Circle his throne rejoicing ; ye in Heaven : 
 
 On Earth join all ye creatures to extol' 
 
 Him first, him last, him midst, and without end." 
 
 As our first parents thus pour forth their souls in 
 prayer, Satan thinks of those happy days when his 
 voice joined in the heavenly chorus of praise to the 
 Creator ; and a great wave of remorse sweeps over 
 him, for he realizes that had it not been for the curse 
 of ambition, which had made him desire equality with 
 God, he might still enjoy his peaceful home in Heaven, 
 might still be Lucifer, the Son of the Morning, instead 
 of Satan, the Enemy of Mankind. His past life comes 
 up before him, and he recalls that dark day when 
 there was war in Heaven ; how the crystal floor opened, 
 and he and his rebel angels were cast down, down into 
 the burning lake below. 
 
 Again he feels the horrible agony that seized him 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 51 
 
 when he awoke from his long sleep, and saw, lying 
 around him, the prostrate forms of his companions. 
 
 In imagination, he sees arise from the lake the 
 splendid palace of Pandemonium, where he and his 
 friends held their hateful council. He remembers 
 their vow, "to execute fierce vengeance on God," and 
 that he has been sent there to thwart the divine will by 
 tempting Adam and Eve from the path of right. 
 
 Shall he do it ? and again he looks at the pure 
 beings before him. O that he were as innocent as they, 
 and had never rebelled against his Heavenly Father ! 
 His mind is tortured with shame and remorse. In his 
 anguish, he cries out : — 
 
 "Me miserable ! which way shall I fly 
 Infinite wrath and infinite despair ? 
 Which way I fly is Hell ; myself am Hell ; 
 And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep 
 Still threatening to devour me, opens wide, 
 To which the Hell I sufl^er seems a Heaven." 
 
 Something within him whispers: "Repent, and 
 ask forgiveness of God." But his wicked pride 
 forbids , for he dreads the contempt of " the spirits 
 beneath," whom he has seduced by promises that 
 he can subdue the Omnipotent. He knows, too, that 
 
52 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE 
 
 were he restored to his former high position among 
 the angels in Heaven, his old ambition would awaken, 
 for he is not willing to be second even when the first 
 is God. 
 
 So after a long and terrible struggle, he makes 
 his choice : — 
 
 "Farewell hope, and with hope, farewell fear; 
 Farewell remorse ! all good to me is lost ; 
 Evil, be thou my good ; by thee at least 
 Divided empire with Heaven's King I hold ; 
 As man ere long, and this new world shall 
 know . " 
 
 But the picture is too sad ; let us turn to this 
 brighter one of Adam and Eve in their " delicious 
 Paradise." 
 
 "Overhead upgrew 
 Insuperable^ height of loftiest shade. 
 Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, 
 A silvan scene ; and, as the ranks ascend 
 Shade above shade, a woody theatre 
 Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their tops 
 The verdurous ^ wall of Paradise up-sprung ; 
 
 Insuperable — not capable of being passed over. 
 
 Verdurous — covered with vegetation. * 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 53 
 
 And higher than that wall a circling row 
 Of goodliest trees, laden with fairest fruit, 
 Blossoms and fruits at once, of golden hue 
 Appeared, with gay enamelled colors mixed : 
 On which the Sun more glad impressed his beams 
 Than on fair evening cloud, or humid bow. 
 When God hath showered the earth ; so lovely 
 
 seemed 
 That landscape." 
 
 Here in this beautiful Paradise, dwelt our first 
 parents : — 
 
 "The loveliest pair 
 That ever since in love's embraces met : 
 Adam, the goodliest man of men since born 
 His sons ; the fairest of her daughters, Eve." 
 
 Their life in this delightful spot is like a beautiful 
 dream. Toil and sorrow and sin are, to them, 
 names unknown. Their labor in the garden is only 
 enouo'h to make them better enjoy the cool zephyr 
 and the taste of the delicious fruits, which they can 
 pluck from the tree as they recline on the soft, 
 downy bank " damasked ^ with flowers." 
 
 About them, played all the beasts of the earth ; for 
 
 Damasked — adorned . 
 
54 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 the time has not yet come when the lower animals 
 flee before the approach of man. They hold sweet 
 converse together, and Eve relates her first conscious- 
 ness of existence : — 
 
 " That day I oft remember, when from sleep 
 I first awaked, and found myself reposed 
 Under a shade on flowers, much wondering where 
 And what I was, whence thither brought, and how. 
 Not distant far from thence, a murmuring sound 
 Of waters issued from a cave, and spread 
 Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved, 
 Pure as the expanse of Heaven ; I thither went 
 With inexperienced thought and laid me down 
 On the green bank, to look into the clear 
 Smooth lake, that to me seemed another sky. 
 As I bent down to look,just opposite, 
 A shape within the watery gleam approached, 
 Bending to look on me ; I started back. 
 It started back : but pleased I soon returned ; 
 Pleased it returned as soon with answering looks 
 Of sympathy and love." 
 
 So the day passes in happy labor and peaceful 
 rest, until evening comes on, and Twilight gray 
 clothes all things in her sober Jivery. 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVERLET, 
 
 55 
 
JOSEPH ADDISOX. 
 
SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 
 
 The next is a picture of which I am very fond, 
 and one which has a conspicuous place in my 
 mental gallery. It is the portrait of an old man. 
 The abundant hair, which is lightly tossed back 
 from the broad forehead, is streaked with gray; 
 but the brightness of the dark eye is undimmed. 
 A genial, whimsical smile plays about the mouth ; 
 while the kindly feeling, which beams from the 
 whole countenance, indicates a warm, generous 
 heart. 
 
 The artist, Joseph Addison, loved this old man 
 dearly, and has told the world all about him, so 
 that it, too, has come to love him. 
 
 His name was Sir Roger de Coverley, and he was 
 a rich country baronet of ancient descent. Addison 
 first met him when they were both members of a 
 popular club in London, and the acquaintance thus 
 formed soon ripened into warm friendship. It was 
 not long before he was invited by Sir Roger to visit 
 him in his ancestral home, and it was at this time 
 
 67 
 
68 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 that he became so well acquainted with the old 
 knight's many virtues and his harmless little oddities. 
 
 Coverley Hall was a charming old place, not 
 far away from London ; and here Sir Roger lived, 
 respected and beloved by all the country round. 
 There had been a little romance in his early life, 
 which explains why this lovable old man had never 
 married. 
 
 When he was about twenty-two years old, he 
 met a pretty young widow, who by her artful 
 ways, completely captivated his affections. But she 
 had a female confidant, who did not look with favor 
 upon Sir Roger: and, by her mischief-making powers, 
 she prevented the young man from declaring his love 
 to the lady of his heart. This was a heavy blow to 
 Sir Roger; and, from this time can be dated many 
 of his queer little ways. 
 
 But, in spite of his disappointment, the knight had 
 lived very happily all these years in his comfortable 
 home; much more happily, I have no doubt, than 
 if the bewitching widow had been his fireside 
 companion. Indeed, it would have been hard to find 
 a more contented household than that at Coverley 
 Hall, 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 59 
 
 The old Squire was so kind to his servants 
 that they had no desire to leave him, and so had 
 grown gray in his service. Looking upon him as 
 their best friend, they gave him a willing and grateful 
 obedience. They were always eager to do him some 
 little kindness, and showed the keenest anxiety when 
 he betrayed any of the infirmities of age. A cozy, 
 happy family they were ; loving and sympathetic 
 friends, rather than master and servants. 
 
 As I was looking at the pictured face of the dear 
 old man the other evening, and thinking how much I 
 should like to have known him, I fell into a gentle 
 doze, and immediately Morpheus ^ transported me to 
 Coverley Hall. 
 
 There sat Sir Roofer in his bis: arm-chair before a 
 blazing wood fire. He gave me the heartiest of 
 welcomes, when I told him that I was well acquainted 
 with his friend, Addison; and soon we were chatting 
 away, as if we had known each other for years. 
 
 " Yes," said he, after we had talked for some time, 
 " I am a bachelor ; and it is entirely the fault of the 
 beautiful widow, whom I have known all my life. 
 If it had not been for that troublesome friend of hers, 
 
 IMorpheus — god of dreams. 
 
60 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 I should have told her of my love, and we should 
 have been happy. Ah ! she has certainly the finest 
 hand of any woman in the world." 
 
 While the knio^ht fell to tbinkins^ of his old sweet- 
 heart, I took a good look at him. There was the 
 same kind face that I had gazed upon so often ; but 
 the lines about the mouth were deeper, and the hair 
 more plentifully sprinkled with gray than in my 
 picture. I noticed that the cut of his garments 
 was old-fashioned ; and then I remembered to have 
 heard that he had not changed his style of dress, 
 since he was repulsed by the pretty widow. 
 
 Wishino^ to arouse the old knis^ht from his musinojs 
 I asked him if he had seen his friend Will Wimble, 
 lately. 
 
 "I settled a dispute between him and Tom 
 Touchy the other day," replied Sir Roger; "Tom, 
 you know, is famous for ^taking the law' of 
 everybody. 
 
 "And in whose favor did you decide?" I said. 
 
 " Oh ! I gave my usual verdict," and his eye 
 twinkled roguishly, "that much might be said on both 
 sides." 
 
 We talked a long time by the glowing fire. He 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 61 
 
 told me of his visit to London, and how much he 
 enjoyed Westminster Abbey. ''That guide," said 
 Sir Roger, "is an extraordinary fellow. Why, his 
 head is packed full of knowledge. I should like 
 to have him here to entertain me these lang winter 
 evenings. 
 
 "But didn't you go to the theatre?" I asked. 
 
 "Oh! yes," he replied," but there again I was 
 surprised. The play was not at all according to your 
 dramatic rules, as you call them. Do you think 
 that people in tragedy should try to be understood? 
 Why, there wasn't a single sentence in the whole 
 of it that I didn't know the meaning of." 
 
 Before I had time to give the old gentleman 
 any answer, he abruptly changed the subject and 
 said: "As it is Sunday evening, would you not 
 like to go with me to hear my chaplain preach ? " I 
 told him that there was nothing I should like better, 
 and soon we were on our way. 
 
 As we went through a certain pleasant walk 
 not far from the house, the old man looked around 
 him with a smile and said : " This is the place 
 wherein I used to muse upon the perverse widow ; 
 and by that custom I can never come into it, but 
 
62 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 the same tender sentiments revive in my mind, 
 as if I had actually walked with that beautiful 
 creature under these shades. 
 
 "I have been fool enough to carve her name on 
 the bark of several of these trees ; so unhappy is the 
 condition of men in love, to attempt the removing 
 of their passion by the methods which serve only 
 to imprint it deeper. She has certainly the finest 
 hand of any woman in the world." 
 
 We walked on in silence until we drew near 
 the church. Then turning to me, he said that 
 Archbishop Tillotson was to preach that evening ; 
 and when he saw my look of amazement, he laughed 
 and explained to me what he meant. 
 
 "At my chaplain's first settling with me," said 
 Sir Koger, " I made him a present of all the good 
 sermons which have been printed in English, and 
 only begged of him that every Sunday, he would 
 deliver one of them from the pulpit. Accordingly, 
 he has arranged them in such a series that they 
 follow one another naturally, and make a continued 
 system of practical divinity. So now, I am always 
 sure of hearing a good sermon every Sunday." 
 
 We entered the church ; and as I took my seat 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATtfRE. 63 
 
 and looked around, I saw many a token of Sir 
 Roger's kind liberality. 
 
 He whispered to me that when he first came to 
 his estate, he found his parishioners very irregular in 
 their attendance, and not inclined to take part in the 
 services when they did come. So he gave every 
 one of them a hassock to kneel upon and a common 
 prayer-book out of which to make the responses ; 
 and, at the same time, employed a singing master 
 to teach them the tunes of the Psalms. 
 
 The Squire could certainly find no fault with 
 them that evening, for they knelt and joined in the 
 responses with great fervor. 
 
 It was here at church that I noticed many of 
 Sir Roger's little peculiarities about which I had 
 heard so much. If he happened to be pleased with 
 a certain verse of the hymn, he would linger on it 
 half a minute after the rest had finished. 
 
 Now and then, he would take a little nap ; but if, 
 on awaking, he saw anybody else nodding, he would 
 send his servant to wake up the poor fellow ; 
 from which I judged that the Squire would allow 
 no one but himself the privilege of sleeping in 
 church. 
 
64 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE 
 
 Sometimes, when he particularly liked the 
 •prayer, he would say "x4.men" three or four times; 
 and once, when everybody else Avas kneeling, I saw 
 him stand up to count the congregation, or to see if 
 any of his tenants were missing. 
 
 When the sermon was finished, nobod}^ dared to 
 stir until Sir Koger had left the church. As he 
 walked out between a double row of his tenants, 
 who stood bowing to him on each side, he took the 
 opportunity to ask after the health of such a one's 
 father, or wife, or sister, which was always under- 
 stood to be a secret reprimand to the absent one. 
 
 This odd behavior did not seem to lessen the old 
 Squire's influence over his people, for their faces 
 beamed with reverence and affection as he passed by. 
 They loved him so well that everything he did 
 seemed perfectly right in their eyes. 
 
 As we walked homewards. Sir Eoger asked me 
 how I liked his chaplain ; and when I told him how 
 delighted I was with the sermon, and how charmed 
 with the chaplain's graceful figure and fine delivery, 
 he said : "I thought you would be pleased with him, 
 and now I must tell you how I happened to obtain 
 such a treasure. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 65 
 
 " I did not want to be insulted with Latin and 
 Greek at my own table, and so I desired a particular 
 friend of mine at the University to find me out a 
 clergyman rather of plain sense than much learning, 
 of a good aspect, a clear voice, a sociable temper, 
 and, if possible, a man that understood a little of 
 backgammon. My friend found me out this gentle- 
 man, who, besides the endowments required of him, 
 is, they tell me, a good scholar. 
 
 "I have given him the parsonage of the parish; 
 and because I know his value, I have settled upon 
 him a good annuity for life. If he outlives me, he 
 shall find that he was higher in my esteem thaii 
 perhaps he thinks he is. He has now been with me 
 thirty years ; and though he does not know I have taken 
 notice of it, he has never in all that time asked anything 
 of me for himself, though he is every day soliciting 
 me for something in behalf of one or another of my 
 tenants, who are his parishioners. 
 
 So the worthy Squire rambled on in his delightful 
 way until Coverley Hall was reached. We entered 
 its hospitable door, and sat down beside the big 
 roaring fire. I had just turned to Sir Roger with 
 a question about the gallant Will Honeycomb, when 
 
66 
 
 PICTURES PROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 a mist came before my eyes. One last glimpse of 
 the old Squire in his high-backed oaken chair ; then all 
 vanished, and I found myself sitting in the moon- 
 light in my own quiet room, gazing at the pictured 
 face of my dear old friend. 
 
THE HOME OF THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 
 
 67 
 
OLm:R GOLDSMITH, 
 
THE HOME OF THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 
 
 "At the foot of a sloping hill, and sheltered with 
 a beautiful underwood behind and a prattling river 
 before," stands a little low Eno^lish cottao^e, v^ith 
 thatched roof and vine-covered porch. Adjoining 
 the house, is. a neat garden with sweet old-fashioned 
 flowers and a long row of gooseberry bushes; and 
 near by, a rustic seat shaded by a hedge of hawthorn 
 and honeysuckle. 
 
 A simple little picture, is it not? Yet it is 
 beautiful to me because it represents the home of 
 the Vicar of Wakefield, one of the best of men that 
 I ever knew. ^ 
 
 If you are not acquainted with this good man 
 and his family, let me introduce them to you, for 
 I know that a knowledge of their simple virtues 
 cannot fail to interest you. 
 
 Dr. Primrose, the Vicar, is an unworldly, peace- 
 
 "E'en his failings lean 
 To virtue's side." 
 
 Of a generous and hospitable nature, his house 
 
 69 
 
70 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 is open to all. The blind, the halt, and the maimed 
 find there a safe asylum, and a sympathetic ear into 
 which to pour their tale of Avoe. 
 
 "The long remembered beggar is his guest, 
 Whose beard, descending, sweeps his aged breast; 
 The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud. 
 Claims kindred there, and has his claim allowed ; 
 The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay. 
 Sits by his fire, and talks the night away ; 
 Weeps o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done. 
 Shoulders his crutch, and shows how fields were won. 
 Pleased with his guests, the good man learns to glow. 
 And quite forgets their vices in their woe." 
 
 But the Vicar has one hobby ; namely, matrimony. 
 He maintains that it is unlawful for a minister of 
 the Church of England to marry the second time ; 
 or, as he expresses it, he is a monogamists He has 
 published several tracts on this important subject ; 
 and, as they have never sold very well, he has the 
 satisfaction of thinking that they are read only by 
 the "happy few." 
 
 Mrs. Primrose is a most devoted wife and 
 mother. The Vicar says that he chose her as she 
 
 IMonogamist— one who does not believe in second marriages. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 71 
 
 chose her wedding gown, "not for a fine glossy 
 surface, but for such qualities as would wear 
 well." She is certainly an excellent housewife, and 
 is specially noted for her gooseberry-wine, which 
 she most generously presses upon every chance 
 visitor. Fond of keeping up appearances, impulsive 
 and credulous, she often thwarts her husband's 
 wishes ; but he loves her too tenderly not to over- 
 look her little womanly vanities and contrivances. 
 
 Both Dr. Primrose and his wife are proud of their 
 healthy and blooming family, and believe that they 
 could have given to their country no more valuable 
 present than their six children. George, their oldest 
 son, not having won the lady of his love, has gone out 
 into the world to seek his fortune. 
 
 The two daughters, Olivia and Sophia, are the 
 pride of their mother's heart, for in them she sees a 
 second self. Her vanity and satisfaction are sometimes 
 laughable to see. "Hold up your heads, girls," she 
 will often say, "hold up your heads ! Handsome is 
 that handsome does." And indeed they are beau- 
 tiful girls, as you will find in all the country 
 round; Olivia, sprightly and commanding; and 
 Sophia, modest and gentle. 
 
72 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 The second son, Moses, is still a student at home ; 
 and, like many another boy of sixteen, he thinks that 
 no one else knows quite so much about the ancients as 
 he does. Last, but by no means least, come the 
 two little boys, Bill and Dick, who are the pets of 
 the whole family. 
 
 Now that I have described to you the different 
 members of the family, wouldn't you like to take 
 an imaginar}^ peep into the little cottage? We will 
 look only into one room, which serves for both 
 parlor and kitchen. 
 
 How snug and* cosy everything is! The clean, 
 whitewashed w^alls, the bright array of plates on the 
 shelves of the dresser, and the air of neatness all 
 around, make up for the lack of costly furniture. 
 How pretty are the plants in the window, and the 
 vines that clamber over the porch ! 
 
 There, in the warm corner of the fireside, is the 
 Yicar's arm-chair, in which he sits and talks to 
 his children as they gather around him in the 
 pleasant cA^ening time. 
 
 But wdiat is that hano-ino^ over the mantel in such 
 an elegant frame ? It reads : " Sacred to the memory 
 of Deborah Primrose, one of the best of women as 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITEllATURE. 73 
 
 well as the most prudent of housewives, and the 
 only wife of Dr. Primrose." 
 
 Ah 1 I rememl^er. The good doctor wants to 
 display his principles concerning monogamy ; and so, 
 while his wife is yet living, he has had this epitaph 
 written, and hung up over the mantel, where she can 
 see it every day. 
 
 "Here," he says, "it serves two purposes: it 
 reminds my wife of her duty to me, and my fidelity 
 to her ; while it inspires her with a passion for 
 fame, and constantly puts her in mind of her 
 end." 
 
 Do you see that large picture leaning against 
 the side of the wall? Well, there is quite an 
 amusing story connected with it, and, as the Yicar 
 has told it to me a number of times, I am going 
 to give it to you in his own words : — 
 
 "My wife and daughters, happening to return a 
 visit to neighbor Flamborough's, found that family 
 had lately got their pictures drawn by a limner 2, who 
 traveled the country, and took likenesses for fifteen 
 shillings a head. As this family and ours had long 
 a sort of rivalry in point of taste, our spirit took the 
 
 2 Limner— a portrait painter. 
 
74 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 alarm at this stolen march upon us, and notwith- 
 standing all I could say, and I said much, it was 
 resolved that we should have our pictures done too. 
 
 "Having, therefore, enga.o^ed the limner — for 
 what could I do? — our next deliberation was to show 
 the superiority of our tastes in the attitudes. As for 
 our neighbor's famil}^ there were seven of them, and 
 they were drawn with seven oranges, a thing quite 
 out of taste, no variety in life, no composition in 
 the world. We desired to have something in a 
 brighter style, and, after many debates, at length 
 came to a unanimous resolution of being drawn 
 together, in one large historical family piece. This 
 would be cheaper, since one frame would serve 
 for all, and it would be infinitely more genteel ; 
 for all families of taste were now drawn in the same 
 manner. 
 
 " As we did not immediately recollect an his- 
 torical subject to hit us, we were contented each 
 with being drawn as independent historical figures. 
 M}^ wife desired to be represented as Venus ^, and the 
 painter w^as asked not to be too frugal of his 
 diamonds in her stomacher and hair. Her two little 
 
 3 Venus — goddess of love and beauty. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 75 
 
 ones were to be as Cupids^ by her side ; while I, 
 in my gown and band, was to present her with 
 my books on the Whistonian^ controversy. 
 
 " Olivia would be drawn as an Amazon,^ sitting 
 upon a bank of flowers, dressed in a green Joseph,"'' 
 richly laced with gold, and a whip in her hand. Sophia 
 was to be a shepherdess, with as many sheep as the 
 painter could put in for nothing ; and Moses was to 
 be dressed out with a hat and white feather. 
 
 "Our taste so much pleased the Squire, that he 
 insisted on being put in as one of the family, in 
 the character of Alexander the Great at Olivia's feet. 
 This was considered by us all as an indication of his 
 desire to be introduced into the family, nor could we 
 refuse his request. The painter was therefore set 
 to work, and, as he wrought with assiduity^ and 
 expedition, in less than four days the whole was 
 completed. The piece was large, and it must be 
 owned he did not spare his colors ; for which my 
 wife gave him great praise. 
 
 "We were all perfectly satisfied with hi,^ 
 
 4 Cupid — god of love. 
 
 5 Wnistonian—Ynierrmg to William Whiston, a strong supporter of monogamy. 
 
 6 Amazon — a female wai-rior. 
 
 7 Joseph — a riding dress. 
 Bi Assiduity — diligence. 
 
7& PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 performance ; but an unfortunate circumstance, which 
 had not occurred till the picture was finished, now 
 struck us with dismay. It was so very large, that we 
 had no place in the house to fix it. How we all came 
 to disregard so material a point is inconceivable ; but 
 certain it is, we had been all greatly remiss. 
 
 " And now," said the Vicar, and here he always 
 joins with me in a hearty laugh, " the picture, instead 
 of gratifying our vanity, as we hoped, leans, in a most 
 mortifying manner, against the kitchen w^all, where 
 the canvas was stretched and painted — much too 
 large to be got through any of the doors, and the jest 
 of all our neighbors. One compares it to Robinson 
 Crusoe's long boat, too large to be removed ; another 
 thinks it more resembles a reel in a bottle ; some 
 wonder how it can be got out, but still more are amazed 
 how it ever got in." 
 
 Did you notice that the Vicar spoke of a cer- 
 tain Squire in the picture, who sat at Olivia's feet in 
 the character of Alexander the Great? He is their 
 landlord, a rich, dashing young gentleman, and a 
 frequent visitor at the cottage. I have noticed that 
 his coming brings a blush to Olivia's cheek, and 
 a sparkle to the mother's eye ; from which I judge 
 
PICTURES FROM ENCxLISH LITERATURE. 77 
 
 that he is not an unwelcome guest. The old Doctor, 
 however, glances at him uneasily. He does not like 
 the bold oflances of admiration and the low flatterino: 
 tones. 
 
 There is another visitor whom he likes much 
 better. This is a Mr. Burchell, who won the grateful 
 friendship of the family by his rescue of Sophia from 
 drowning. They know nothing of him save that he is 
 a man of intelligence and an agreeable companion. 
 An air of mystery surrounds him. Althoug ap- 
 parently a poor ■ man, he seems to have no settled 
 occupation. 
 
 He is a general favorite at the cottage, from 
 Mrs. Primrose, whose good will he won long ago 
 by his praise of her gooseberry-wine, to the two 
 little boys, who take great delight in his songs and 
 stories. If he were a man of birth and fortune, I 
 am quite sure that Mrs. Primrose would not dislike 
 him for a son-in-law. As it is, she looks quite serious 
 when she sees him walking and talking with Sophia ; 
 and even the Vicar shakes his head, when Mr. Burchell 
 brings a pretty ribbon or some little trinket to their 
 youngest daughter. 
 
 For a lono^ time, the mother's areat desire has 
 
78 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 been to give her girls a winter in town ; and just 
 now, her wish seems in a foir way to be realized. A 
 few days ago, Squire Thornhill made them acquainted 
 with two of his city friends, who, he says, are ladies 
 of rank and fortune. 
 
 They of course received a hearty welcome from 
 the f[imily ; and when it was known that they wished 
 to find two young lady companions who would return 
 with them to the city, Mrs. Primrose's delight was 
 unbounded, for she thought that here, at last, was 
 the coveted opportunity for her daughters. So she 
 hastened to make known what was in her mind. 
 
 The ladies seemed to regard the proposition 
 favorably, and the matter now rests with the Vicar. 
 To tell the truth, he does not like the idea very well. 
 He suspects that all is not so fair as it seems. The 
 manners of the two city ladies do not please him, and 
 their names are too high-sounding for his simple 
 taste. Besides J he prefers to keep his daughters 
 under his own protection. 
 
 But I am afraid that the good Doctor's objections 
 will be overruled by his wife, who is a very persistent 
 woman, and has been known to sometimes influence 
 her husband against his better judgment. She has 
 
i 
 
 PICTURES FROM EJ^GLISH LITERATURE. 79 
 
 this project very near her heart, and is encouraged in 
 it by the Squire, who never fails to improve 
 every opportunity which offers, for setting forth the 
 advantages of a winter in town. 
 
 Mr. Burchell, on the other hand, is as strongly 
 opposed to the visit. He, also, is a little suspicious 
 of Lady Blarney and Miss Carolina Wilhelmina 
 Amelia Skeggs ; and he quite offended the two great 
 ladies the other nis^ht by his " Fudo:e ! Fuds^e I " 
 when they were telling of the eminent people with 
 whom they were acquainted. Indeed, he has shown, 
 on all occasions, his distrust of them so plainly, that 
 Mrs. Primrose has become very indigmmt, and has 
 more than once broadly hinted that he might be 
 more profitably employed than in criticising his 
 betters. 
 
 The past few weeks have been one continual 
 round of gaiety for the Primroses ; but the old Doctor, 
 if I mistake not, will be glad to return to his quiet 
 life once more. As for Mrs. Primrose, she is on the 
 topmost wave of delight. Her dearest wish is to see 
 her girls well settled in life, and she fondly hopes 
 that the Squire's attentions to Olivia mean more than 
 meets the eye. 
 
80 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 It is amusing to see her artful little waj^s. "If 
 the cakes at tea are short and crisp, they are made 
 by Olivia ; if the gooseberry-wine is well-knit, the 
 gooseberries are of her gathering ; it is her fingers 
 which give the pickles their peculiar green ; and 
 in the composition of a pudding, it is her judgment 
 that mixes the ingredients. Then she will somethnes 
 tell the Squire that she thinks him and Olivia 
 just of a size, and will bid both stand up to see 
 w^hich is the taller." 
 
 These skilful little contrivances, which she deems 
 so impenetrable, but which are, in reality, so perfectly 
 transparent to everybody, call forth an indulgent 
 smile from the Vicar, but he says nothing. 
 
 A funny little incident occurred on a certain 
 Sunday not long ago. Mrs. Primrose got it into her 
 head that, as there would be a great deal of company 
 at church that day, they ought to ride instead of 
 walk, as was their custom. 
 
 " You know, Charles," she said, " that the church 
 is two miles ofi*, and I protest I don't like to see 
 ray daughters trudging up to their pew all blowzed^ 
 and red with walking, and looking for all the world 
 
 9 Blow zed — reddened by exposure to the wind. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 81 
 
 as if they had been running a race. JSTow there are 
 our two plough horses, the c(»lt that has been in 
 our family these nine years, and his companion 
 Blackberry, that has scarcely done an earthly thing 
 for this month past. They are both grown fat 
 and lazy. Why should they not do something as well 
 as we?" 
 
 In vain her husband objected, saying, that 
 walking would be twenty times more genteel, as 
 Blackberry was wall-eyed, and the colt wanted a tail ; 
 that they both had a hundred vicious tricks ; and that 
 there was but one saddle and pillion in the 'whole 
 house. Mrs. Primrose was determined, and, as usual, 
 had her way. The Vicar, knowing that it would take 
 them some time to get started, walked on in advance, 
 and they promised to follow. 
 
 He reached the church, and waited for them 
 nearly an hour ; but they did not appear. Finally, 
 he was obliged to begin the service, but not without 
 some misgivings as to the fate of his family. His 
 anxiety increased as the morning wore away, and 
 still no signs of their coming. So as soon as 
 he could, he dismissed his congregation, and hastened 
 homewards. 
 
82 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 When about half-way, he perceived the proces- 
 sion coming slowly forward; Mrs. Primrose, Moses, 
 and the two little boys on one horse, and Olivia and 
 Sophia on the other. They had a most pitiful tale to 
 relate. 
 
 It seems that, when they had attempted to start 
 away from the house, the horse refused to budge 
 an inch ; and Mr. Burchell, who was passing by, 
 was kind enough to beat them forward with his 
 cudgel for about two hundred yards. Then the straps 
 of Mrs. Primrose's pillion broke, and, of course, 
 those had to be repaired before the company could 
 advance. Next, one of the horses took it into 
 his head to stand still, and neither threats nor blows 
 could make him move on. They had just coaxed 
 him into taking a few steps forward, when the Vicar 
 met them. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Primrose ! her disappointment and 
 mortification were sad to see ; yet her husband could 
 not wholly regret the mishap, for he thought it might 
 teach her and her daughters a wholesome lesson in 
 humility. 
 
 This experience, however, did not immediately 
 have the effect that the good Yicar desired ; for only 
 
i 
 
 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 83 
 
 a few days passed before his wife proposed that now, 
 as they could afford to hold up their heads a little 
 higher in the world, they should sell the colt and buy 
 a horse that would make a better appearance. 
 
 The Vicar, as was his habit, offered numerous 
 objections, all of which were successfully met by his 
 wife ; and, at last, finding himself no match for her 
 in argument, he yielded with the best grace possible 
 under the circumstances. So it was agreed that the 
 colt should be sold next day at a neighboring fair. 
 But I will tell you the story as I heard the Vicar 
 himself relate it one night, as we sat around the fire 
 in the cozy sitting-room. 
 
 "Now that we began to hold up our heads a little 
 higher in the world, it was proposed that we sell the 
 colt, which was grown old, at a neighboring fair, and 
 buy us a horse that would make a pretty appearance 
 at church or upon a visit. This, at first, I opposed 
 stoutly; but it was stoutly defended. However, as 
 I weakened, my antagonist gained strength, till at 
 last it was resolved to part with him. 
 
 "As the fair happened on the following day, I had 
 intentions of going myself; but my wife persuaded 
 me that I had got a cold, and nothing could prevail 
 
84 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 upon her to permit me to leave home. 'No, my 
 dear,' said she, 'oar son Moses is a discreet boy, 
 and can buy and sell to very good advantage ; you 
 know all our great bargains are of his purchasing. 
 He always stands out and higgles^, and actually tires 
 them till he gets a bargain.' 
 
 "As I had some opinion of my son's prudence, I 
 was willing enough to entrust hnn with this commis- 
 sion ; and the next morning I perceived his sisters 
 mighty busy in fitting out Moses for the fair ; trim- 
 ming his hair, brushing his buckles, and cocking his 
 hat with pins. The business of the toilet being over, 
 we had at last the satisfaction of seeing^ him mounted 
 upon the colt, with a deal box before him to bring 
 home groceries in. He had on a coat made of that 
 cloth they call thunder and lightning, which, though 
 grown too short, was much too good to be thrown 
 away. His waistcoat, was of gosling green, and his 
 sisters had tied his hair with a broad, black riband. 
 We all followed him several paces from the door, 
 bawling after him, ' Good luck! good luck!' till we 
 could see him no lonoer. 
 
 "The day was spent in pleasant expectation ; and 
 
 d Higgle — to talk a good cleal. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 85 
 
 as evening approached, we began to look for our 
 son's return. My wife was the first to espy him. 
 
 "^ As I live,' said she, 'yonder comes Moses with- 
 out a horse, and the box at his back.' 
 
 ''As she spoke, Moses came slowly on foot, and 
 sweating under the deal box, which he had strapped 
 round his shoulders like a pedlar. 
 
 "'Welcome, welcome, Moses! Well, my boy, 
 what have you brought us from the fair ? ' 
 
 "'I have brought you myself,' cried Moses, with 
 a sly look, and resting the box on the dresser. ' Ay, 
 Moses,' cried my wife, 'that we know; but where is 
 the horse?' 'I have sold him,' cried INIoses, 'for 
 three pounds five shillings and twopence.' ' Well 
 done, my good boy,' returned she; 'I knew you 
 would touch them off. Between ourselves, three 
 pounds five shillings and twopence is no bad day's 
 work. Come, let us have it, then.' 'I have brought 
 back no money, 'cried Moses again. 'I have laid it 
 all out in a bargain, and here it is,' pulling out a 
 bundle from his breast ; ' here they are ; a gross of 
 green spectacles, with silver rims and shagreen ^^ 
 cases.' 'A gross of green spectacles!' repeated my 
 
 10 Shagreen — aMnd of leather. 
 
86 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 wife, in a faint voice ; 'and you have parted with the 
 colt, and brought us back nothing but a gross of 
 green, paltry spectacles ! ' ' Dear mother,' cried the 
 boy, ' why won't you listen to reason ? I had them at 
 a dead bargain, or I should not have bought them. 
 The silver rims alone will sell for double the money.' 
 
 "'A fig for the silver rims,' cried my wife in a 
 passion : 'I dare swear they won't sell for above 
 half the money at the rate of broken silver, five 
 shillings an ounce." ^ You need be under no uneasi- 
 ness,' cried I, ^ about selling the rims, for they are 
 not worth sixpence ; for I perceive they are only 
 copper varnished over.' 'What?' cried my wife, 
 'not silver! the rims not silver?' 'No,' cried I, 'no 
 more silver than your saucepan.' 
 
 "'And so,' returned she, 'we have parted with 
 the colt, and have only got a gross of green spectacles 
 with copper rims and shagreen cases ! the block- 
 head has been imposed upon, and should have known 
 his company better.' 'There, my dear,' cried I, ' you 
 are wrong : he should not have known them at all.' 
 'Hang the idiot!' returned she, 'to bring me such 
 stuflT — if 1 had them I would throw them in the fire.' 
 'There again, you are wrong, my dear,' cried I; 'for 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 87 
 
 though they be copper, we will keep them by us — 
 as copper spectacles, you know, are better than 
 nothing.' 
 
 "By this time, the unfortunate Moses was unde- 
 ceived. He now saw that he had been imposed upon 
 by a prowling sharper, who, observing his figure, had 
 marked him for an easy prey. I, therefore, asked 
 the circumstances of his deception. He sold the 
 horse, it seems, and walked the fair in search of 
 another. A reverend-looking man brought him to a 
 tent, under pretence of having one to sell. ^Here,' 
 continued Moses, ^ we met another man, very well 
 dressed, who desired to borrow twenty pounds upon 
 these, saying that he wanted money, and would 
 dispose of tbem for a third of the value. The first 
 gentleman, who pretended to be my friend, whispered 
 to me to buy them, and cautioned me not to let so 
 good an offer pass. I sent for Mr. Flamborough, oui 
 neighbor, and they talked him up as finely as they 
 did me ; and so at last we were persuaded to buy the 
 two gross between us.' " 
 
 Thus ended the story of Moses at the fair. There 
 is a sequel to it in which the laugh is at the expense 
 of Dr. Primrose, who proves himself no wiser than 
 
88 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 did his son Moses ; but I will leave that for him to 
 tell you when you become better acquainted. 
 
 And now, as we leave the little cottage, let me 
 urge you to visit it again. I have told you only a bit 
 about the delightful family w^ho inhabit it, but I hope 
 that I have said enough to induce you to follow their 
 fortunes further. 
 
 If you are sufficiently interested to wonder 
 whether or not Mrs. Primrose ever ojratified her 
 desire to see her lovely daughters make a figure in 
 the world, or whether the Vicar's life always proved 
 so quiet and uneventful as at first, — if, in short, you 
 wish to know anything more about them, I refer you 
 to that dear old story-teller, Oliver Goldsmith, who 
 has painted such humorous and pathetic pictures of 
 this admirable family, that all the world has laughed 
 and wept over them. 
 
LOCH KATRINE, 
 
 89 
 
WALTER SCOTT. 
 
LOCH KATRINE. 
 
 Another favorite of mine comes next. It is a 
 beautiful lake among the Highlands of Scotland. 
 Here and there upon its surface float little islands 
 "empurpled bright ; " and surrounding it on all sides, 
 are lofty mountains, which stand like giant sentinels 
 to guard this enchanted spot. 
 
 You are of course familiar with this picture, and 
 will recognize the famous Loch Katrine, which Sir 
 Walter Scott has painted in such a beautiful manner 
 in his " Lady of the Lake." 
 
 It is a charming scene : the lake shining in the 
 golden light of the setting sun, the glowing colors of 
 the sky, and the deep, rich hue of the mountains. 
 
 Let us see if we can point out, in the picture, 
 any of the places that we remember reading about in 
 the poem. 
 
 That small island near the outlet of the lake must 
 be "Ellen's Isle," where sweet Ellen Douglas lived. 
 Her father, you know, having been banished from the 
 court of the Scottish King, fled with his little daughter 
 
 91 
 
92 PICTURES PROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 to this wild mountain retreat, where he took refuge 
 with his kinsman, Roderick Dhu. It was in this 
 lonely spot that Ellen grew to beautiful womanhood, 
 as simple and pure as the flowers upon her beloved 
 mountains. 
 
 Right there, on the left of the picture, is the 
 '^ silver strand," where the young girl was sitting in 
 her little skiff when she saw the "Knight of Snow- 
 doun, James Fitz-James." She was somewhat 
 startled, you remember, when she first beheld the 
 huntsman standing there, dressed in his suit of Lin- 
 coln green ; but when she looked again, and saw his 
 stately form and noble face, she knew that he was to 
 be trusted. So when he told her that he had lost his 
 way, she felt that she could do no less than off*er him 
 the hospitality of her simple home. 
 
 It was fortunate for Ellen that she had already 
 given her heart into the keeping of young Malcolm 
 Graeme ; for if it had been in her possession, I fear 
 that she would have lost it to the handsome stranger, 
 as they glided over the lake that lovely evening. 
 
 Near this spot, must have been the place where 
 Ellen was wont to meet her father on his return from 
 the chase. Do you remember how she used to get 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 93 
 
 into her little boat as soon as she heard the distant 
 sound of his bugle, and hasten thither that she might 
 have the pleasure of rowing him across the lake? 
 That ^as a strong, tender love which bound the 
 father to his child. 
 
 " Some feelino^s are to mortals iriven 
 With less of earth in them than heaven : 
 And if there be a human tear 
 From passion's dross refined and clear, 
 A tear so limpid and so meek 
 It would not stain an angel's cheek, 
 'Tis that which pious fathers shed 
 Upon a duteous daughter's head ! 
 And as the Douglas to his breast 
 His darling Ellen closely pressed, 
 Such holy drops her tresses steeped. 
 Though 'twas an hero's eye that weeped." 
 
 Do you see that craggy hill rising above Loch 
 Katrine? It is called Benvehue, and it was there 
 that Douglas sought shelter for himself and Ellen. 
 You know that Eoderick Dhu loved the young 
 maiden, and wished her to be his wife ; but the 
 father could not think of giving his fair young 
 daughter to the bold outlaw, and so he took her to 
 this deserted cave upon the mountain's side. 
 
94 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 That last Avalk over these solitary heights must 
 have been a sad one for Roderick. He knew that 
 Ellen's place of refuge was somewhere among these 
 wilds ; and he had come hoping to catch one farewell 
 sound of her beloved voice. How his heart must 
 have throbbed with both joy and grief, as the words 
 of the beautiful hymn came floating to his ears ! — 
 
 " Ave Maria! maiden mild ! 
 
 Listen to a maiden's prayer ! 
 Thou canst hear though from the wild, 
 
 Thou canst save amidst despair. 
 Safe may we sleep beneath thy care. 
 
 Though banished, outcast, and reviled — 
 Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer ; 
 
 Mother, hear a suppliant child ! " 
 
 Poor Roderick ! he realized that he would never 
 hear that angel voice again ; and he was not too 
 proud to wipe away a tear. But his mood soon 
 changed, and he was once more the haughty chieftain 
 on his way to meet the brave followers assembled at 
 Lanrick mead. 
 
 It was in this wild glen, also, that a different 
 scene took place a few days later, Avhen the unknown 
 knight again appeared* Ah ! it was Ellen's bright 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 95 
 
 eyes which had lured him hither. But I never could 
 feel sorry for the visit ; for, although the gallant 
 Fitz- James carried away a disappointed heart, he left 
 behind a token which was to bring a happy fortune to 
 our dear Ellen. 
 
 I wish we could pomt out Coilantogle's Ford, 
 where Roderick I)hu and this same brave knio^ht 
 fought their famous duel ; but the picture does not 
 include that region. What a grand scene it was ! 
 Do you remember where the Chieftain was guiding 
 James Fitz- James along the mountain-path, and the 
 latter expressed a strong desire to see this bold Rod- 
 erick Dhu and all his band ? I have read the passage 
 many times, yet it still awakens the old thrill of 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " ^ Have then thy wish ! ' He whistled shrill. 
 And he was answered from the hill ; 
 Wild as the scream of the curlew. 
 From crag to crag the signal flew. 
 Instant, through copse and heath, arose 
 Bonnets and spears and bended bows ; 
 On right, on left, above, below. 
 Sprung up at once the lurking foe ; 
 From shingles^ gi^ay their lances start, 
 
 1 Shingles — gravel. 
 
96 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 The bracken bush sends forth the dart, 
 The rushes and the willow wand 
 Are bristling into axe and brand, ^ 
 And every tuft of broom gives life 
 To pi aided warrior armed for strife. 
 That whistle garrisoned the glen 
 At once with full live hundred men, 
 As if the yawning hill to heaven 
 A subterranean^ host had given. 
 
 "Watching their leader's beck and will. 
 All silent there they stood and still. 
 Like the loose crags whose threatening mass 
 Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass, 
 As if an infant's touch could urae 
 Their headlong passage down the verge. 
 With step and weapon forward flung. 
 Upon the mountain-side they hung. 
 The Mountaineer cast glance of pride 
 Along Benledi's living side. 
 Then fixed his eye and sable brow 
 Full on Fitz-James : ^ How say'st thou now ? 
 These are Clan- Alpine's warriors true ; 
 And, Saxon, I am Roderick Dhu I ' 
 
 "Fitz-James was brave : — though to his heart 
 The life-blood thrilled with sudden start, 
 
 2 Brand — sword. 
 
 % Subterranean — lying under the surface of the earth. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LTTERATURE. 97 
 
 He manned himself with dauntless air, 
 Returned the Chief his haughty stare, 
 His back against a rock he bore, 
 And firmly placed his foot before : 
 'Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly 
 From its firm base as soon as I.' 
 Sir Roderick marked, — and in his eyes 
 Respect was mingled with surprise, 
 And the stern joy which warriors feel 
 In foeman worthy of their steel. 
 Short space he stood — then waved his hand ; 
 Down sunk the disappearing band ; 
 Each warrior vanished where he stood. 
 In broom or bracken,^ heath or wood ; 
 Sunk brand and spear and bended bow, 
 In osiers pale and copses low ; 
 It seemed as if their mother Earth 
 Had swallowed up her warlike birth. 
 The wind's last breath had tossed in air 
 Pennon and plaid and plumage fair, — 
 The next but swept a lone hill-side. 
 Where heath and fern were waving wide. 
 The sun's last glance was glinted back 
 From spear and glaive,^ from targe and jack,^ 
 
 4 Bracken — fern. 
 
 5 (?/m<erf — flashed. 
 
 6 Glaive — a broadsword. 
 
 7 From targe and Jack — from shield and coat of armor. 
 
98 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 The next, all unreflectecl, shone 
 
 On bracken green and cold gray stone. 
 
 " Fitz-James looked round, — yet scarce believed 
 The witness that his siaht received ; 
 Such apparition well might seem 
 Delusion of a dreadful dream. 
 Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed, 
 And to his look the Chief replied : 
 
 'Fear naught — nay, that I need not say — 
 But — doubt not aught from mine array. 
 Thou art mine guest ; — I pledged my word 
 As far as Coilantogle Ford : 
 Nor would I call a clansman's brand 
 For aid against one valiant hand. 
 Though on our strife lay every vale 
 Rent by the Saxon^ from the Gael.^ 
 So move we on ; — I only meant 
 To show the reed on which you leant. 
 Deeming this path you might pursue 
 Without a pass from Roderick Dhu.' 
 They moved ; — I said Fitz-James was brave 
 As ever knight that belted glaive, 
 Yet dare not say that now his blood 
 Kept on its wont and tempered flood. 
 As, following Roderick's stride, he drew 
 
 8 Saxon — Lowlander. 
 
 9 Cae^— Highlander. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 99 
 
 That seeming lonesome pathway through, 
 Which yet by fearful proof was rifei^ 
 With lances, that, to take his life, 
 Waited but sional from a a'uide, 
 So late dishonored and defied. 
 Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round 
 The vanquished guardians of the ground, 
 And still from copse and heather deep 
 Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep, 
 And in the plover's'^ shrilly strain 
 The si'o^nal whistle heard aoain. 
 Nor breathed he free till far behind 
 The pass was left ; for then they wind 
 Along a wide and level green. 
 Where neither tree nor tuft was seen, 
 Is or rush nor bush of broom was near. 
 To hide a bonnet or a spear." 
 
 So they walked on together, the proud Outlaw 
 and the ofallant Saxon, until Coilantoo^le's Ford was 
 reached; and there, as you know, was fought the 
 fatal duel. 
 
 It seems hard for either of these brave men to 
 die ; but nothing else would satisfy Koderick, and so 
 he had to pay the penalty of his fool-hardiness. It 
 
 10 i22/e— abounding, 
 
 11 P/ovcr — a bird frequenting the seasliore and banks of rivers. 
 
 1.0FC 
 
100 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 must have been very humiliating to the bold Chieftain 
 to find himself in King James's palace, a prisoner and 
 mortally wounded. How pathetic a scene that was, 
 where the old minstrel, Allen- bane, sat beside the 
 couch of the dying man, and sang to him the story of 
 the fierce battle which had been raging all that day ! 
 
 " Clan-Alpine's honored Pine " was bent at last, 
 and would never again upraise its stately form. 
 
 We have now pointed out all the familiar places 
 in the picture before us ; but I have another sketch, a 
 smaller one, which I hang over this picture of Loch 
 Katrine. I know it will interest you, because it rep- 
 resents a scene in Stirling Castle ; and Sir Walter 
 describes it in such a pretty way that I want you to 
 read with me what he says : — 
 
 " Within 'twas brilliant all and light, 
 A thronoinor scene of fissures brio-ht ; 
 It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight. 
 As when the setting sun has given. 
 Ten thousand hues to summer even. 
 And from their tissue fancy frames 
 Aerial knights and fairy dames. 
 Still by Fitz-James her footing staid ; 
 A few faint steps she forward made, 
 
 ' Then slow her drooping head she raised, 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 101 
 
 And fearful round the presence^^ gazed ; 
 For him she sought who owned this state, 
 The dreaded Prince whose will was fate ! — 
 She gazed on many a princely port 
 Mio'ht well have ruled a roval court ; 
 On many a splendid garb she gazed, — 
 Then turned bewildered and amazed. 
 For all stood bare ; and in the room 
 Fitz- James alone Avore cap and plume. 
 To him each lady's look was lent. 
 On him each courtier's eye was bent ; 
 Midst furs and silks and jewels sheen. 
 He stood, in simple Lincoln green. 
 The centre of the Hitterino^ rino- — 
 And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King. 
 
 " As wreath of snow on mountain-breast 
 Slides from the rock that gave it rest, 
 Poor Ellen glided from her stay. 
 And at the Monarch's feet she lay ; 
 No word her chokino^ voice commands, — 
 She showed the ring, — she clasped her hands. 
 Oh ! not a moment could he brook. 
 The generous Prince, that suppliant look ! 
 Gently he raised her, — and, the while. 
 Checked with a glance, the circle's smile ; 
 Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed, 
 
 12 Presence— presence-chamber; the room iu which a great person receives guests, 
 
102 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 And bade her terrors be dismissed : — 
 ^Yes, fair; the wandering poor Fitz-James 
 The fealty^ ^ of Scotland chiims. 
 To him thy woes, thy wishes, bring; 
 He will redeem his si'o-net rins^. 
 Ask naught for Douglas ; — yester even. 
 His Prince and he have much forgiven ; 
 Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue, 
 I, from his rebel kinsman, wrong. 
 We would not to the vulgar crowd. 
 Yield what they craved with clamor loud ; 
 Calmly we heard and judged his cause, 
 Our council aided and our laws. 
 1 stanched thy father's death-feud stern 
 With stout De Vaux and gray Glencairn ; 
 And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own 
 The friend and bulwark of our throne. — 
 But, lovely infidel^^, how now? 
 What clouds thy misbelieving brow ? 
 Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid ; 
 Thou must confirm this doubtino- maid.' 
 
 "Then forth the noble Douglas sprung, 
 And on his neck his dauohter huns^. 
 The Monarch drank, that happy hour, 
 The sweetest, holiest draught of Power, — 
 
 13 Fealty — aaelitx. 
 
 14 Infidel — an unbeliever. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 103 
 
 When it can say with God-like voice, 
 
 Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice ! 
 
 Yet would not James the general eye 
 
 On nature's raptures long should pry ; 
 
 He stepped between — 'Nay, Douglas, nay. 
 
 Steal not my prose lyte^^ away ! 
 
 The riddle 'tis my right to read. 
 
 That brought this happy chance to speed. i^ 
 
 Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray 
 
 In life's more low but happier way, 
 
 'Tis under name which veils my power, 
 
 Nor falsely veils — for Stirling's tower 
 
 Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims. 
 
 And Normans call me James Fitz- James. 
 
 Thus watch I o'er insulted laws. 
 
 Thus learn to right the injured cause.' 
 
 Then, in a tone apart and low, — 
 
 Ah ! little traitress ! none must know 
 
 What idle dream, what lighter thought. 
 
 What vanity full dearly bought. 
 
 Joined to thine eyes' dark witchcraft, drew 
 
 My spell-bound steps to Benvenue 
 
 In dangerous hour, and all but gave 
 
 Thy Monarch's life to mountain glaive ! ' 
 
 Aloud he spoke : ' Thou still dost hold 
 
 15 Proselyte — new convert. 
 
 16 To speed— to a successful result. 
 
104 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 That little talisman^'' of gold, 
 
 Pledge of my f\iith, Fitz-James's ring, — 
 
 AYhat seeks fair Ellen of the Kino- ? ' 
 
 " Full well the conscious maiden o^aessed 
 He probed the weakness of her breast ; 
 But with that consciousness there came 
 A lightening of her fears for Graeme, 
 And more she deemed the Monarch's ire 
 Kindled 'gainst him who for her sire 
 Kebellious broadsword boldly drew : 
 And, to her generous feeling true, 
 She craved the grace of Eoderick Dhu. 
 
 ' Forbear thy suit ; — the King of kings 
 Alone can stay life's parting wings. 
 I know his heart, I know his hand. 
 Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand ;- 
 My fairest earldom would I give^ 
 To bid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live I 
 Hast thou no other boon to crave ? 
 No other captive friend to save ? ' 
 Blushing, she turned her from the King, 
 And to the Douglas o-ave the rino^, 
 As if she wished her sire to speak 
 The suit that stained^^ her glowing cheek. 
 *Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force, 
 And stubborn justice holds her course. 
 
 17. T'^Usman — something supposed to produce a magical effect in preventing evil, 
 
 18. /Stained - flushed. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 105 
 
 Malcolm, come forth ! ' — and at the word, 
 Down kneeled the Graeme to Scotland's Lord. 
 ^For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues. 
 From thee may Yengeance claim her dues. 
 Who nurtured underneath our smile. 
 Hast paid our care by treacherous wile,!^ 
 And sought amid thy faithful clan 
 A refuge for an out-lawed man. 
 Dishonoring thus thy loyal name. — 
 Fetters and warder for the Graeme ! ' 
 His chain of gold the King unstrung. 
 The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung, 
 Then gently drew the glittering band. 
 And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand." 
 
 19 Treac terous wile — a plot for the betrayal of a trust. 
 
E LADY OF SHALOTT, 
 
 107 
 
ALFRED TENNTSON-. 
 
THE LADY OF SHALOTT. 
 
 A river flows gently through fields of tall, waving 
 grain ; beside it, winds a road, leading to the many- 
 towered city which can he faintly seen in the distance. 
 In the middle of the stream, lies a little island encircled 
 by water-lilies, from which rises an old castle with its 
 massive walls. Lovely flowers cover the island, but 
 the castle glooms ^ by itself apart in silent loneliness. 
 
 Along the margin of the river, heavy barges drag 
 their slow length, and silken-sailed shallops flit merrily 
 by on their way to the city below ; but no sign of life 
 comes from the island. No knight or lady looks forth 
 from the casement or rides over the drawbridge. 
 
 " Life and thought have gone away 
 Side by side." 
 
 Do you like the picture, and do you feel the 
 mystery that pervades it? If you do, let me explain 
 to you its meaning. 
 
 The " many-towered city " of which we can just 
 catch a glimpse is the famous city of Camel ot, the 
 
 1 Glooms — looks dark. 
 
 109 
 
110 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 home of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere and all the 
 brave Knights of the Round Table ; while the silent 
 isle in its circlet of lilies, is the fairy Island of Shalott. 
 The legend runs that in the old gray castle there 
 lived a beautiful lady. She had never been seen by 
 the people as they journeyed past the island : and they 
 would not have believed in her existence, had there 
 not sometimes been heard, in the early morning or 
 evenino- a faint, sweet sons: echoino: from the river. 
 "'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott," they would 
 whisper ; and they listened eagerly lest they should 
 lose the melodious strains. They did not know that 
 the mysterious lady was compelled, by some magic 
 power, alwaj^s to remain in the castle. Year after 
 year went 1)}', but there she dwelt, always at work and 
 always j^oung and beautiful. 
 
 "There she weaves by night and day 
 
 A magic web with colors gay. 
 
 She has heard a whisper say, 
 
 A curse is on her if she stay 
 
 To look down to Camelot. 
 
 She knows not what the curse may be, 
 
 And so she weaveth steadil}^ 
 
 And little other care hath she, 
 The Lady of Shalott." 
 
I 
 
 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. HI 
 
 But the outside world was not entirely closed to 
 her view ; for, before her, hung a mirror in which were 
 reflected all the sights that moved to and fro beneath 
 her window. All day long and all night long, she 
 watched the flickering shadows as they came and went. 
 
 " Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, 
 An Abbot 2 on an ambling pad 3, 
 Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad 
 Or long-haired page ^ in crimson clad, 
 
 Goes by toward Camelot ; 
 And sometimes thro' the mirror blue, 
 The knights come riding two and two ; 
 She hath no royal knight and true, 
 
 TheLady of Shalott." 
 
 Often in the silent night, she would see a funeral 
 train with its plumes and lights and music on its way 
 to Camelot ; and sometimes at early evening, when 
 the moon casts its silver radiance all around, there 
 would 'flash into her mirror the moving forms of two 
 happy young lovers. 
 
 She was quite content as she sat there, steadily, 
 steadily weaving ; and she took great delight in 
 
 2 Abbot— the governor of a church or abbey. 
 S Ambling pad — an easy pacing horse. 
 4 Fage — an attendant on a nobleman. 
 
112 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 working into her magic web the many pictures which 
 the clear sd'dss o^ave forth. 
 
 One morning as she sat at work, a bright vision 
 passed before her. It was that of bold Sir Launcelot, 
 as he went gaily riding by. The crj^stal mirror had 
 never before reflected so dazzling a vision. His 
 jeweled armor, his graceful form, and handsome face 
 seemed more to her than a passing shadow. As she^ 
 heard his strong, clear voice ring out in a little snatch 
 of melody, she felt that she must see him again ; and 
 forgetful of the curse that hung over her, she left her 
 work, and looked out of tiie window. 
 
 "She left the web, she left the loom, 
 She made three paces thro' the room, 
 She saw the water-lily bloom, 
 She saw the helmet and the plume, 
 
 She looked down to Camelot. 
 Out flew the web and floated wide ; 
 The mirror cracked from side to side ; 
 ^The curse is come upon me,' cried 
 
 The Lady of Shalott." 
 
 Yes, the curse had fallen at last upon the beautiful 
 lady. Her work had ceased ; and her heart, once so 
 free and joyous, was now heavy and sad. Her thoughts 
 
I 
 
 PICTURES FROM E.VGLISII LITERATURE. 113 
 
 were ever with the gallant knight whose handsome 
 face had flashed into her mirror. So the weary days 
 dragged slowly by, until she felt that she could bear 
 her aimless life no lons^er. 
 
 One day, when the stormy east wind was blow- 
 ing, and the woods were showering their yellow 
 leaves, she w^ent forth from the gray old castle, down 
 to the river-side. There she found a boat, afloat 
 beneath a willow, and she wrote on its prow. The 
 Lady of Shcdott. Then casting one longing look 
 towards Came lot, she stepped into the boat. 
 
 '' And at the closing of the day. 
 She loosed the chain, and down she lay ; 
 The broad stream bore her far away, 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 "Lying robed in snowy white 
 That loosely flew to left and right — - 
 The leaves upon her falling light — 
 Thro' the noises of the night. 
 
 She floated down to Camelot ; 
 And as the boat-head wound along 
 The willowy hills and fields among, 
 They heard her singing her last song, 
 
 The Lady of Shalott, 
 
114 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 "Heard a carol, mournful, holy, 
 Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, 
 Till her blood was frozen slowly, 
 And her eyes were darkened wholly. 
 
 Turned to towered Camelot. 
 For ere she reached upon the tide 
 The first house by the water-side, 
 Singing in her song she died, 
 ^TheLady of Shalott." 
 
 So the boat went floating through the streets of 
 Camelot ; and as it passed 
 
 "Under tower and balcony. 
 By garden-wall and gallery," 
 
 all the lords and ladies came out to see the lovely 
 form lying there so still and cold. They wondered 
 who she could be, when they read the strange name 
 upon the prow ; and they looked sadly and reverently 
 upon the pure, delicate face. 
 
 " But Launcelot mused a little space ; 
 
 He said, ^ She has a lovely face ; 
 
 God in his mercy lend her grace, 
 
 The Lady of Shalott.'" 
 
 He little knew that it was his own winning face 
 and knightly form which had charmed away the heart 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 115 
 
 of the fairy lady, and that it was for love of him that 
 the beautiful eyes were now closed in death ; while of 
 all the courtly train, that followed to her last resting- 
 place, not one could ever know why the mysterious 
 lady came floating down to Gamelot. 
 
 This is only one of many pictures in my mental 
 gallery, which have been painted by that good English 
 artist, Alfred Tennyson. There is a certain group of 
 portraits which I look at very often. Elaine, "the 
 lily-maid of Astolat," is among them ; and beside her 
 hangs the strong, true Enid, that pattern of wifely 
 devotion. The bewitching face of Guinevere looks 
 out from the canvas, and next to her is Arthur, the 
 pure and noble king, whom the beautiful queen loved 
 too late for her own happiness. But above them all, 
 hangs the grand face of Sir Galahad, the perfect 
 knight ; and as I look at him, he seems to say : — 
 
 " My strength is as the strength of ten 
 Because my heart is pure." 
 
A GROUP OF SCOTTISH PICTURES, 
 
 117 
 
ROBERT BURNS. 
 
THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 
 
 The artist of the next group is one whom I have 
 known and loved for many years ; and his pictures 
 are hung in one of the choicest corners of my gallery. 
 All the scenes are taken from bonnie' Scotland, that 
 land of the moor and the mountain. 
 
 The one in the centre of the group represents a 
 family circle. It is Saturday night, and the father, 
 a hard-working peasant, has come home after his 
 week of toilsome labor. He sits beside his cozy fire, 
 his lips parted in a happy smile as he dances upon his 
 knee a prattling infant. Outside, the chill November 
 wind blows loud ; but the sound of its angry voice 
 only adds to the warmth and cheer within. 
 
 "His wee bit ingle^ blinkin' bonnilie,^ 
 His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile. 
 Do all his weary, carkings cares beguile. 
 An' make him quite forget his labor an' his toil." 
 
 1 Wee bit ingle — small fire. 
 
 2 Blmkin'' bonni'ie — hurning brightly. 
 
 3 Carking — consuming. 
 
 119 
 
120 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 Near him is the "thriftie wifie," who, never idle, 
 sits by her little table, with her needle and shears, 
 making old clothes "look amaist^ as weel's the new." 
 
 Gathered about the father and mother are the 
 children, the little ones playing about the floor, and 
 the older boys and girls talking eagefly. 
 
 These " elder bairns " are out at service among 
 the neighboring farmers, and Saturday night is the 
 only time when they all can be together. Is it any 
 wonder, then, that their tongues wag merrily, as they 
 tell of all that has happened during the past week ? 
 
 The parents cast loving glances upon them ; the 
 mother loses herself in a pleasant dream of anticipa- 
 tion, as she looks at Jenny, their eldest hope, now 
 almost woman- o^rown ; while from the father's earnest 
 gaze, I know that he is ready to give then a gentle 
 word of advice . 
 
 " Their masters' an' their mistresses' command 
 The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 
 An' mind their labors wi' an eydent^ hand. 
 
 An' ne'er, tho' out of sight, to joke or play : 
 ' An' oh ! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 
 
 4 Amaist — almost. 
 
 5 Ey dent— diligent. 
 
i 
 
 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 121 
 
 An' mind your duty, duly, morn and night ! 
 Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 
 
 Implore his counsel and assisting might : 
 
 They never sought in vain that sought the Lord 
 aright.'" 
 
 It is only a small, plain room. The bare floor 
 and meagre furniture show that Poverty has taken up 
 her abode there ; but we do not think of that. We 
 see only the sweet home-love that beams from every 
 face ; and, in its celestial light, the poor peasant's 
 cottage becomes grander tlian the palace of a king. 
 
 Shall I complete the picture by telling you how 
 this happy family are going to spend their Saturday 
 even in o' ? 
 
 o 
 
 As they sit talking, there is heard a gentle rap at 
 the door. 
 
 "Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same. 
 Tells how a neebor lad came o'er the moor, 
 To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
 The wily mother sees the conscious flame 
 
 Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; 
 Wi' heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name. 
 While Jenny hafllins« is a-fraid to speak ; 
 Weel pleased the mother hears it's nae wild, 
 worthless rake, 
 
 6 Hafflins — partly. 
 
122 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 "Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him in; 
 
 A strapping youth ; he takes' the mother's eye ; 
 Blithe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; 
 
 The father cracks'^ of horses, ploughs, and kye. 
 
 The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy, 
 But blate and laithful^, scarce can weel behave ; 
 
 The mother, wi' a woman's wiles can spy^ 
 What makes the youth sae bashful and sae grave ; 
 Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like 
 the lave." i« 
 
 Soon it is supper-time, and the mother brings 
 forth the steaming " parritch." i^ They all gather 
 around the simple board, and do ample justice to this 
 chief food of old Scotland. 
 
 As a compliment to their young guest, the dame 
 puts upon the table her " weel-hained kebbuck," ^^ 
 which she has doubtless kept for just such an occasion 
 as this. The poor lad feels that he must surely eat of 
 it ; and although its sharp, biting taste brings the 
 tears to his eyes, he dares not refuse. 
 
 "An' aft he's pressed, an' aft he calls it good. 
 
 7 Cracks — talks. 
 
 SBlate and laithful — shame-faced and bashful. 
 
 9 Spy — understand. 
 
 10 Lave — rest. 
 
 11 Parritch — porridge. 
 
 12 Weel-hained kebbuck — carefully preserved cheese. 
 
I 
 
 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 123 
 
 "The cheerful supper done, wi' serious face, 
 
 They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; 
 The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 
 
 The big ha'-Bible,'^ once his father's pride : 
 
 His bonnet reverently is laid aside. 
 His Ivart haifets ^^ wearino^ thin and bare ; 
 
 Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 
 He wales 15 a portion with judicious care. 
 And 'Let us worship God !' he says, with solemn air. 
 
 "They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 
 They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : 
 Perhaps Dundee's ^^ wild, warbling measures rise. 
 
 Or plaintive Martyrs i^, worthy of the name ; 
 
 Or noble Elgin i^ bears the heavenward flame, — 
 The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
 
 Compared with these Italian trills are tame ; 
 The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise ; 
 
 Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise." 
 
 Then the "priest-like father" reads a chapter from 
 the Bible. 
 
 13 Ha' -Bible — the great Bible kept in the hall. 
 
 14 Lyarthaffets — gray temples. 
 
 15 Wales — chooses. 
 
 IQ Dundee, Martyrs, Elgin — names of Scottish psalm tunes. 
 
124 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 '' How the royal Bard ^' did groaning lie 
 
 Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenoino- ire ; 
 Or Job's pathetic plaint and wailing cry ; 
 Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; 
 Or other holy Seers ^^ that tune the sacred lyre. 
 
 "Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King, 
 
 The saint, the father, and the husband prays : 
 Hope ' springs exulting on triumphant wing,' 
 
 That thus they all shall meet in future da3^s : 
 
 There ever bask in uncreated rays. 
 No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear. 
 
 Together hymning their Creator's praise, 
 In such society, yet still more dear ; 
 While circling Time moves round in an eternal 
 sphere." 
 
 And. now, the pleasant evening draws to a close. 
 With hearts warmed and strengthened b}^ their sincere 
 devotions, the Dlder children bid their parents a 
 loving good-night, and go their several ways, ready 
 to encounter whatever may befall them during the 
 coming week. The "youngling cottagers " are put to 
 
 17 Bard— Baxid. 
 
 18 Seers — prophets. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 125 
 
 bed ; while the fond, anxious parents linger to offer 
 up one last secret prayer : 
 
 " That He who stills the raven's clamorous nest, 
 And decks the lily fair in flowery pride. 
 Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best. 
 For them and for their little ones provide ; 
 But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine 
 preside." 
 
 When Robert Burns painted this beautiful scene, 
 he was thinking of his own dear home. Many a 
 Saturday night had he seen at his father's fireside, 
 just such a united family circle as he was putting 
 upon the canvas ; and because he dipped his brush 
 in the colors of truth and love, his picture is 
 imperishable. 
 
A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 
 
 Above the former picture, hangs a smaller one. 
 A young peasant is at work in the field. It is a day 
 in early spring, and he is ploughing. The morning 
 is beautiful ; the birds are singing ; and the fresh, 
 balmy air is a warning to Winter that he must hasten 
 his lingering footsteps. 
 
 The ploughboy has been working merrily; his 
 sleeves are turned up, his straw hat is pushed off his 
 moist forehead, and his whole appearance shows 
 that he feels in perfect accord with the air and the 
 sunshine. 
 
 In the picture, he is stooping down, looking at 
 the mischief which has been done by his plough-share. 
 A little pink *and white daisy, the only one that has 
 yet ventured to show its head above the ground, lies 
 crushed and broken. All the cold winter, it has been 
 sleeping under the earth ; but the bright spring sun 
 wakened it from its nap, and coaxed it out of its dark 
 home. And now it has perished ! 
 
 The young man thinks of all this as he holds the 
 
 126 
 
PICTURES EROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 127 
 
 little flower in his hand, and his heart overflows with 
 tenderness and sympathy. 
 
 " Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 
 Thou'st met me in an evil hour ; 
 For I maun crush amang the stoure^ 
 
 Thy slender stem : 
 To spare thee now is past my power, 
 
 Thou bonnie gem. 
 
 "Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, 
 The bonnie Lark, companion meet,^ 
 Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet,^ 
 
 Wi' speckled breast, 
 When upward-springing, blithe, to greet 
 
 The purpling east ! 
 
 " Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
 Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
 Yet cheerfully thou glinted^ forth 
 
 Amid the storm. 
 Scarce reared above the parent-earth 
 
 Thy tender form. 
 
 1 Stoure — dust. 
 
 2 Meet — suitable. 
 
 3 ^eet — wet. 
 
 4 Glinted — glanced. 
 
128 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 "The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, 
 High sheltering woods and wa's^ maun shield ; 
 But thou, beneath the random bield^ 
 
 0' clod or stane, 
 Adorns the histie"^ stibble-field, 
 
 Unseen, alane. 
 
 "There, in thy scanty mantle clad. 
 Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, 
 Thou lifts thy unassuming head 
 
 In humble guise ; 
 But now the share up-tears thy bed. 
 
 And. low thou lies I 
 
 "Even thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate, 
 That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
 Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate. 
 
 Full on thy bloom, 
 Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight 
 
 Shall be thy doom ! " 
 
 JFa's — walls. 
 Bield — shelter. 
 Histie — dry. 
 
A MOUSE'S NEST. 
 
 Beside the " Mountain Daisy " hangs a companion 
 picture. We see the same field and the same young 
 ploughman ; but the beauty and freshness of spring 
 have departed. November is abroad ; her chilly 
 winds have driven away the birds, and withered the 
 sweet flowers. Cold, gray clouds go hurrying across 
 the sky. The trees no longer spread out their leafy 
 pavilions,^ but stand straight and tall like grini 
 sentinels at their post of duty. 
 
 The peasant-boy is again looking at the mischief 
 he has unconsciously wrought. A little mouse had 
 snugly tucked himself away under a heap of dry 
 leaves, thinking that he was safely housed for the 
 winter ; but the cruel ploughshare has passed right 
 though his cozy dwelling, and left him no shelter 
 from the rough blast. 
 
 "Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie. 
 Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
 Thou need na start awa' sae hasty, 
 
 1 Pavilions — tents. 
 
 129 
 
130 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 Wi' bickering brattle ! ^ 
 I wad be laith ^ to rin an' chase thee, 
 Wi' murdering pattle I ^ 
 
 " I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
 Has broken nature's social union, 
 An' justifies that ill opinion, 
 
 Which makes thee startle 
 At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 
 An' fellow mortal ! 
 
 "I doubt na, whyles ^, but thou may thieve ; 
 What then? poor beastie, thou maun live ! 
 A daimen-icker 6 in a thrave"^ 
 
 'S a sma' request : 
 ril get a blessin' wi' the lave,® 
 
 And never miss't. 
 
 '^Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin I 
 Its silly wa's the winds are strewin' ! 
 An' naething, now, to big a new ane, 
 
 O' foo^ojao^e screen ! 
 An* bleak December's winds ensuin', 
 
 Baith snell9 and keen ! 
 
 2 Braiile —hnrTj . 
 
 3 Laiih —loth. 
 
 i Pattle — -plough statt. 
 
 5 rr^Zes — sometimes. 
 
 6 Daimen-icke) — ear of corn. 
 
 7 7%rai'e — twenty-four sheaves. 
 %Lave — TQs,t. 
 
 % Snell—hiiing, 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 131 
 
 "Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, 
 An' weary winter comin' fast, 
 An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 
 
 Thou thought to dwell, 
 Till, crash ! the cruel coulter pass'd 
 
 Out thro' thy cell. 
 
 "That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, 
 Has cost thee mony a weary nibble I 
 Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble, 
 But 10 house or hald n 
 To thole 1^ the winter's sleety dribble, 
 An' cranreuch i3 cauld ! 
 
 "But, mousie, thou art no thy lane,^^ 
 In proving foresight may be vain : 
 The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men 
 
 Gang aft a-gley ^^, 
 An' leave us nought but grief and pain 
 
 For promised joy. 
 
 "Still thou art blest, compared wi' me ! 
 The present only toucheth thee ; 
 But, och ! I backward cast my e'e 
 
 On prospects drear ! 
 An' forward, tho' I canna see, 
 
 I guess an' fear." 
 
 10 But — without. 
 
 11 Hald —hiding-place. 
 
 12 2%0/e — suffer. 
 
 13 Cranreuch — hoar-frost. 
 
 14 Thp lane — thyself alone. 
 15.4.-5' ^ey — wrong. 
 
TAM O'SHANTER. 
 
 The fourth picture in the group shows us the 
 inside of a Scottish tavern. It is market-night, and 
 the men have come in to indulge in a good laugh and 
 song before taking their long ride home across the 
 moor. Our chief interest centres in two old cronies, 
 who are sitting close beside the " ingle," and having 
 a jolly time together. 
 
 Tam o'Shanter and Souter^ Johnny have been 
 tried and true friends for many a year. 
 
 " Tam loved him like a very brither ; 
 They had been fou ^ for weeks thegither." 
 
 Outside the storm rages, the rain beats against 
 the windows, but they heed it not. 
 
 "The storm without might roar and rustle, 
 Tam did na mind the storm a whistle." 
 
 Souter Johnny's stories sound more funny, the 
 songs and laughter grow louder, and the ale tastes 
 
 1 Souter — shoemaker. 
 2 /"oM — tipsy. 
 
 132 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE, 133 
 
 sweeter and sweeter as the " wee sma' hours " draw 
 nigh. 
 
 Tarn forgets his long ride. 
 
 "He thinks na on the lang Scots miles, 
 The mosses, waters, slaps ^, and stiles. 
 That lie between him and his hame, 
 Where sits his sulky, sullen dame, 
 Gathering her brows like gathering storm, 
 Nursing her wrath to keep it warm." 
 
 Pleasure is the order of the evening, and the 
 hours fly by on golden wings. 
 
 " Kings may be blest, but Tam is glorious 
 O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. 
 
 " Care, mad to see a man sae happy 
 E'en drowns himself amang the nappy." ^ 
 
 The picture shows that they are all having a 
 rollicking good time ; but it does not tell the whole of 
 Tam o'Shanter's story. He who dances must pay the 
 piper, you know ; and it was so with our hero. 
 
 3 Slaps — gsites. 
 
 4 Nappy — ale. 
 
134 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE 
 
 "For pleasures are like poppies spread, 
 You seize the fiow'r, its bloom is shed ; 
 Or like the snow-fall in the river, 
 A moment white — then melts for ever ; 
 Or like the borealis race. 
 That flit ere you can point their place ; 
 Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
 Evanishing amid the storm." 
 
 The time draws near, at last, when Tarn must 
 start for home. The wind blows furiously, the rain 
 pours in torrents, and the tlmnder rolls loud and deep. 
 
 " That night a child might understand, 
 The Deil had business on his hand." 
 
 But Tam has drunk so much of the " nappy " that 
 he fears nothing. So he mounts his gray mare, Meg ; 
 and away he speeds through nmd and mire. The 
 wind catches his " gude blue bonnet," and almost 
 drags it from his head ; the lightnings flash across his 
 pathway ; but on he goes at break-neck speed until 
 Kirk ^- Alio way appears in sight. 
 
 Now he begins to go forward more slowly and 
 cautiously, lest he is taken unawares by some wander- 
 ing "bogle 6." It is the hour of midnight, "that hour 
 
 5 Kirk — church. 
 
 6 Bogle — ghost. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 135 
 
 of night's black arch the key-stane," just the time for 
 ghosts and witches to hold their revels ; and he knows 
 that this region has long been famous as one of their 
 favorite resorts. 
 
 And lo I what strange sight does he behold 
 through the trees? Kirk-AUoway is all ablaze with 
 light ; and what is more wonderful still, he hears the 
 sound of mirth and dancing. 
 
 At any other time, Tam would have hurried on 
 as fast as he could ; for, in his sober senses, he would 
 not care to encounter any mysterious band of ghosts 
 at their midnight carousals ; but under the influence 
 of "inspiring, bold John Barleycorn," "^ fear is to him a 
 thing unknown. So he pushes Meg up to the old 
 church, and looks in. 
 
 " And, vow ! Tam saw an unco ^ sight ; 
 Warlocks ^ and watches in a dance ! 
 
 " There sat auld Nick, in shape of beast ; 
 He screwed the pipes and made them skirl, ^^ 
 Till roof and rafters a' did dirl." n 
 
 7 John Barleycorn — a personification of any malt-liquor ; as beer, ale, etc. 
 
 8 Unco — strange. 
 
 9 Warlocks — wizards. 
 
 10 <SfAtrZ — shriek. 
 
 11 iMW— vibrate. 
 
136 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 "As Tarn looked round, amazed and curious, 
 The mirth and fun grew fiist and furious. 
 The piper loud and louder blew ; 
 The dancers quick and quicker flew." 
 
 They whirl, they caper about, and indulge in all 
 kinds of queer antics. Faster and faster they dance ; 
 and wilder and wilder grows the music. Tarn almost 
 stares the eyes out of his head, so interested does he 
 become. 
 
 There is one spry little witch, who has so fasci- 
 nated the poor fellow that he entirely forgets who 
 and where he is. He keeps silent as long as he can, 
 tin Nannie, by her charms and agility, makes him 
 lose his reason altogether ; and, after one of her most 
 extraordinary capers, he roars out, " Weel done, 
 Nannie ! " 
 
 " And in an instant all was dark : 
 And scarcely had he Maggie rallied. 
 When out the hellish legion sallied. 
 
 " As bees buzz out wi' angry fyke ^^ 
 When plundering herds assail their byke i3 ; 
 
 12Fi/ke—tuss. 
 13 Bj/ke — hive. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 137 
 
 As eager runs the market-crowd, 
 When ^ Catch the thief I ' resounds aloud ; 
 So Maggie runs, the witches follow 
 Wi' many a frightful screech and hollo. 
 
 "Ah, Tarn ! ah, Tarn ! thou'U get thy fairin ! i^ 
 In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin ! 
 In vain thy Kate awaits thy coming ! 
 Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 
 Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
 And win the key-stane of the brig : 
 There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
 A running stream they darena cross. 
 But ere the key-stane she could make, 
 Nae tail, indeed, had she to shake ! 
 For Nannie, far before the rest, 
 Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
 And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle ; i^ 
 But little wist she Maggie's mettle. 
 
 Ae spring brought off her master hale, 
 But left behind her ain gray tail : 
 The carlin i^ claught her by the rump, 
 And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 
 
 14 Fairin — reward . 
 
 15 ^^«e — design. 
 
 16 Carlin — old witch. 
 
138 
 
 PICTURES EROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 "Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
 Ilki" man and mothers son, take heed 
 Whene'er to drink j^ou are inclin'd, 
 Or stolen joys run in your mind, 
 Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
 Remember Tam o'Shanter's mare." 
 
 17 Ilk — every. 
 
THE GASTLE OF GHILLON 
 
 139 
 
GEORGE GORDOX BYRON. 
 
THE CASTLE OF CHILLON. 
 
 A beautiful lake comes next, whose pure waters 
 are as blue as the sky which bends above them. 
 Lofty, snow-covered mountains encircle it, and 
 scattered along its sides are picturesque little villages. 
 
 There are many delightful associations connected 
 with lovely Lake Geneva. Upon its borders dwelt 
 that noted French writer, Madame de Stael, and her 
 friend, the beautiful Madame Recamier. Here, also, 
 lived and wrote the two famous French skeptics, 
 Voltaire and Rousseau. 
 
 But it is Lord Byron, who has thrown a halo 
 of romance around this enchanted lake, and it is of 
 him we think as we gaze upon its smooth surface. 
 On all sides are the scenes which he has immortalized 
 in his poems. The Jura Mountains still guard the 
 lake on one side ; while on the other, are the Bernese 
 Alps with "their thousand years of snow." The lake 
 is as clear as when Byron glided over it, and its 
 murmur as gentle as when he compared it to the 
 sweet sound of a sister's voice. Yonder is the town 
 
 141 
 
142 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 of Clarens, "Sweet Clarens, birthplace of deep love ; " 
 and there at the extremity of the lake is the Castle 
 of Chillon. 
 
 It is to this old castle, this "mass of towers upon 
 a mass of rocks," to which I wish to call your attention, 
 for it is the most attractive feature in all this magni- 
 ficent landscape ; and the reason is because Lord 
 Byron has thrown around it the magic of his genius. 
 
 Thousands of people come here every year in 
 order to visit the gloomy apartment in which the 
 " Prisoner of Chillon " was confined for six long 
 years. These pilgrims cross the drawbridge under 
 which the water has long since dried away, and enter 
 the cell that has been made so famous. They see the 
 pillar to which Bonnivard was chained, examine the 
 groove in the floor made by the pacing of his restless 
 feet, and climb to the barred window to look down 
 upon the blue waters which gladdened the eyes of 
 the unhappy prisoner. 
 
 "Lake Leman ^ lies by Chillon's walls ; 
 A thousand feet in depth below 
 Its massy waters meet and flow ; 
 Thus much the fathom-line was sent 
 
 1 Lake Leman — another name for Lake Geneva. 
 
I 
 
 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 143 
 
 From Chillon's snow-white battlement, 
 
 Which round al)oat the wave inthrals : 
 
 A double dungeon wall and w^ave 
 
 Have made — and like a living grave. 
 
 Below the surface of the lake 
 
 The dark vault lies wherein we lay : 
 
 We heard it ripple night and day, 
 
 Sounding o'er our heads it knocked ; 
 
 And I have felt the winter's spray 
 
 Wash throuo^h the bars when winds were his^h. 
 
 And wanton in the happy sky ; 
 
 And then the very rock hath rocked, 
 
 And I have felt it shake, unshocked. 
 
 Because I could have smiled to see 
 
 The death that would have set me free." 
 
 When Byron visited Chillon, he knew nothing of 
 Bonnivard's history save his imprisonment in the 
 castle ; but the account which he gives, though not 
 according to fact, is so beautifully told that every- 
 body prefers it to the real story of Bonnivard's life. 
 
 The poet says that Bonnivard and his two 
 brothers were thrown into prison because they 
 would not forsake the religion of their Withers. 
 There were six brothers in all. Three of them had 
 already sealed their faith with their blood, and now 
 
144 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERAtlJR:^. 
 
 the remaining three were cast into the dungeon to 
 wear their lives away. 
 
 "They chained us each to a column stone, 
 
 And we were three — yet each alone ;. 
 
 We could not move a single pace, 
 
 We could not see each other's face. 
 
 But with that pale and livid light 
 
 That made us strangers in our sight : 
 
 And thus together — yet apart, 
 
 Fettered in hand, but joined in heart ; — 
 
 'Twas still some solace, in the dearth 
 
 Of the pure elements of earth. 
 
 To hearken to each other's speech. 
 
 And each turn comforter to each. 
 
 With some new hope or legend old 
 
 Or song heroically bold : 
 
 But even these at length grew cold. 
 
 Our voices took a dreary tone, 
 
 An echo of the dungeon's stone, 
 
 A o:ratino^ sound — not full and free 
 As they of yore were wont to be : 
 It might be fancy — but to me 
 
 They never sounded like our own. 
 
 "I was the eldest of the three. 
 And to uphold and cheer the rest 
 I ought to do — and did my best — 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 145 
 
 And each did well in his degree. 
 The youngest, whom my father loved, 
 Because our mother's brow was given 
 To him with eyes as blue as heaven, 
 For him my soul was sorely moved : 
 And truly might it be distressed 
 To see such bird in such a nest : 
 For he was beautiful as day — 
 
 (When d;iy was beautiful to me 
 
 As to young eagles, being free) — 
 A polar day, which will not see 
 A sunset till its summer's gone. 
 Its sleepless summer of long light. 
 The snow-clad offspring of the sun : 
 And thus he was as pure and bright, 
 And in his natural spirit gay, 
 With tears for nought but others' ills 
 And then they flowed like mountain rills, 
 Unless he could assuage the woe 
 Which he abhorred to view below. 
 
 'The other was as pure of mind. 
 But formed to combat with his kind : 
 Strong in his frame, and of a mood 
 Which 'gainst the world in war had stood, 
 And perished in the foremost rank 
 With joy : — but not in chains to pine : 
 His spirit withered with their clank. 
 
146 PICTURES FROM EXGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 I saw it silently decline — 
 
 And so perchance in sooth did mine ; 
 
 But yet I forced it on to cheer 
 
 Those relics of a home so dear. 
 
 He was a hunter of the hills, 
 
 Had followed there the deer and wolf : 
 
 To him the dungeon was a gulf, 
 
 And fettered feet the worst of ills." 
 
 The hunter-brother was the first to feel the 
 eifects of the dreary prison life. He pined for the 
 sunlight and the fresh air. His free spirit, which 
 would have scorned a palace had liberty been denied, 
 could not exist within the narrow confines of a 
 dungeon. 
 
 " He died — and they unlocked his chain 
 And scooped for him a shallow grave 
 Even from the cold earth of our cave." 
 
 Bonnivard begged that his brothers body might 
 be buried outside the prison, under the blue sky, 
 where the sun might shine upon his grave ; but 
 the keepers only laughed. 
 
 " And laid him there, 
 
 The flat and turfless earth above 
 The being we so much did love ; 
 
PICTURES rRf)M ENGLISH LITERATURE. 147 
 
 His empty chain above it leant, 
 Such murder's fitting monument." 
 
 His youngest and favorite brother was the next 
 to go. Day after day he slowly faded, but not a 
 murmur came from his lips. 
 
 "A little talk of better days, 
 A little hope my own to raise. 
 For I was sunk in silence — lost 
 In this last loss, of all the most : 
 And then the sighs he would suppress 
 Of fainting nature's feebleness, 
 More slowly drawn, grew less and less. 
 
 The end came, and one dim morning as Bonni- 
 vard listened to catch the sound of his brother's faint 
 breathing, there was a silence. 
 
 "I listened, but I could not hear — 
 I called, for I was wild with fear ; 
 I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread 
 Would not be thus admonished ; 
 I called, and thought I heard a sound — 
 I burst my chain with one strong bound, 
 And rushed to him ; I found him not, 
 I only -stirred in this black spot, 
 I only lived — I only drew 
 
148 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 The accursed breath of dungeon-dew : 
 
 The last — the sole — the dearest link 
 
 Between me and the eternal brink, 
 
 Which bound me to my failing race, 
 
 Was broken in this fatal place. 
 
 One on the earth and one beneath — 
 
 My brothers — both had ceased to breathe." 
 
 After the death of his brothers, Bonnivard was 
 very unhappy. His misery was so great that he lost 
 all consciousness of his surroundings. Day and night 
 were alike to him, and he lay upon his dungeon floor 
 blind and deaf in his anguish. 
 
 "A light broke in upon my brain, — 
 It was the carol of a bird ; 
 It ceased, and then it came again. 
 The sweetest song ear ever heard. 
 And mine was thankful till my eyes 
 Ran over with the glad surprise. 
 And they that moment could not see 
 I was the mate of misery ; 
 But then by dull degrees came back 
 My senses to their wonted track ; 
 I saw the dungeon wslWs and floor 
 Close slowly round me as before, 
 I saw the glimmer of the sun 
 Creeping as it before had done, 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 149 
 
 But through the crevice where it came 
 
 That bird was perched, as fond and tame, 
 
 And tamer than upon the tree ; 
 
 A lovely bird, with azure wings. 
 
 And song that said a thousand things, 
 
 And seemed to say them all for me ! 
 
 I never saw its like before, 
 
 I ne'er shall see its likeness more : 
 
 It seemed like me to want a mate, 
 
 But was not half so desolate, 
 
 And it was come to love me when 
 
 None lived to love me so again, 
 
 And cheering from my dungeon's brink. 
 
 Had brought me back to feel and think. 
 
 I know not if it late were free, 
 
 Or broke its cage to perch on mine. 
 
 But knowing well captivity. 
 
 Sweet bird ! I could not wish for thine ; 
 
 Or if it were, in winged guise 
 
 A visitant from Paradise ; 
 
 For — Heaven forsjive that thoutrht ! the while 
 
 Which made me both to weep and smile ; 
 
 I sometimes deemed that it might be 
 
 My brother's soul come down to me ; 
 
 But then at last away it flew, 
 
 And then 'twas mortal — well I knew. 
 
 For he would never thus have flown 
 
 And left me twice so doubly lone." 
 
150 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 His keepers now grew more kind. The broken 
 chain remained with its links unfastened, and Bonni- 
 vard was allowed the freedom of his cell. One day he 
 made a footing in the wall that he might climb to the 
 barred window, and look out once more upon his 
 beloved mountains. 
 
 "I saw them — and they were the same. 
 They were not changed like me in frame ; 
 I saw their thousand years of snow 
 On high — their wide long lake below, 
 And the blue Rhone in fullest flow." 
 
 But this beautiful landscape made him sad. 
 When he saw the fishes swimming so joyously by 
 the castle wall, and the eagle soaring aloft through 
 the free air, tears filled his eyes. The contrast was 
 too great ; and when he descended to his cell again, 
 its darkness seemed to close over him like that of a 
 new-dug grave. 
 
 Months and years of this death-in-life passed 
 away ; but at last the prison door was opened and 
 Bonnivard, a bent, gray-haired man, went forth to 
 liberty. 
 
 " At last men came to set me free , 
 I asked not why, and recked not where, 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 151 
 
 It was at length the same to me 
 Fettered or fetterless to be, 
 I learned to love despair. 
 And thus when they appeared at last, 
 And all my bonds aside were cast, 
 These heavy walls to me had grown 
 A hermitage — and all my own ! 
 And half I felt as they were come 
 To tear me from a second home ; 
 With spiders I had friendship made, 
 And watched them in their sullen trade. 
 Had seen the mice by moonlight play. 
 And why should I feel less than they? 
 We were all inmates of one place, 
 And I, the monarch of each race. 
 Had power to kill — yet, strange to tell ! 
 In quiet we had learned to dwell — 
 My very chains and I grew friends. 
 So much a long communion tends 
 To make us what we are : — even I 
 Eegained my freedom with a sigh ! " 
 
EPPIE, 
 
 153 
 
GEOKGE EL-IOT. 
 
EPPIE. 
 
 The next picture represents the interior of a small 
 stone cottage, situated among the nutty hedgerows 
 of a pretty English village. It is New Year's Eve. 
 Through the windows we can see that the ground is 
 covered with freshly fallen snow, but the stars which 
 are struggling through the clouds show that the storm 
 has ceased. The door of the cottage is wide open, 
 and the bright fire burning upon the hearth lights up 
 every corner of the room — the bed, the loom, the 
 three chairs and the table. It is evidently a weaver's 
 cottage, and inhabited by a solitary man, for there are 
 no marks of a woman's presence in the arrangement 
 of the meagre furniture. 
 
 There is something bright shining on an old coat 
 which has been spread out before the warm fire to 
 dry ; and as we look more closely, we see that this 
 spot of brightness is made by the golden curls of a 
 little girl, who is lying asleep in front of the blazing 
 logs. She must have walked in through the open 
 door, for an old gray shawl is wrapped around her 
 small body, and a queer little bonnet is dangling at 
 
 155 
 
156 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 her back, while her tiny boots bear the marks of 
 the snow. 
 
 It is a charming New Year's picture, this golden- 
 haired child asleep in the firelight. Her dingy clothes 
 and bare surroundings only serve as a setting to bring 
 out more clearly her sweet loveliness. 
 
 There is a beautiful story connected with this 
 little girl. 
 
 Fifteen years before, there had come to live in 
 Raveloe a young man from the northern part of 
 England. His name was Silas Marner, and there 
 was "nothing peculiar about his appearance save his 
 large, near-sighted brown eyes, which protruded in a 
 startling manner from his pale face. He was a linen- 
 weaver by trade, and he soon settled down to his life 
 in the cottage by the deserted stone-pits. 
 
 And a singular life it was ! He made no friends 
 and desired none ; he never went to church ; he never 
 drank a glass at the " Rainbow," nor joined in the good- 
 natured gossip of the men who liked to congregate 
 there. Week after week, and month after month, 
 he sat at his loom steadily weaving, knowing nothing 
 of the world outside, and having no thought save to 
 reach the end of his web. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 157 
 
 The people of the village were very curious 
 about this queer, silent man, and many foolish stories 
 were told about his past life. Silas Marner had a 
 history, it is true, but there was nothing strange or 
 mysterious in it. It was the old story of a loving 
 heart betrayed. He had suffered great injustice 
 through one whom he deemed his best friend ; and 
 the woman who had promised to be his wife proved 
 unfaithful. 
 
 When he came to Raveloe, his heart was almost 
 broken with grief, and he shunned all companionship. 
 But that was not all. His nature, once so simple and 
 trusting, had now become hard and bitter, and he 
 no longer believed in God's goodness and man's 
 integrity. 
 
 But strange are the workings of the human 
 heart ! It must have something to care for ; and 
 so it was that Silas's heart, having nothing else to 
 love, fastened itself upon the golden coins which he 
 received for his work. As they grew in number, so 
 his love gained strength, until at last it became a 
 supreme delight for him to count the shining 
 guineas. 
 
 As time went on and his hoard increased, he 
 
158 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 concealed it in a hiding-place, made by removing two 
 loose bricks in the floor under his loom. His only 
 object in life Avas to see his pile of guineas and 
 crowns s^row bio^e^er. How he loved them I He 
 would take them out of the bag, and spread them on 
 the table before him ; he would make them up into 
 little heaps and fondle them as if they could feel his 
 loving touch. All day as he sat at his loom, his 
 thoughts were with them ; and when he walked 
 through the quiet lanes to carry home his work, 
 his mind w^ould turn to the happy evening-time when 
 he should sit before the bright fire, and caress his 
 golden children. 
 
 This was Silas Marner's life for fifteen years after 
 he came to Raveloe, but a change was approaching 
 which would again leave his heart bruised and 
 bleeding. 
 
 One evening, on returning from an errand 
 to the village, he went, as usual, to look at his 
 precious treasure ; but on removing the bricks, he 
 found that the hiding-place was empty. He could 
 not believe the evidence of his own eyes. With 
 trembling hands, he felt all over the place where he 
 had put his gold ; then, holding a candle in the hole, 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 159 
 
 he looked carefully around, his heart all the while 
 beating wildly. At last, the dreadful truth burst 
 upon him — some one had entered the cottage in his 
 absence, and had stolen his money, every shining 
 guinea. 
 
 Beside himself with grief, poor Silas's first 
 thought was to try to catch the thief who had taken 
 his gold, so he rushed out into the night to seek his 
 neighbors, and tell them of his loss. They came 
 promptly to his aid, and search was made far and 
 near. But alas I it was all in vain, and Silas, for the 
 second time, crushed and heart-broken, returned to 
 his desolate home. 
 
 Now followed a dreary time for the poor weaver. 
 The one joy of his life had been taken away. His 
 days were no longer brightened by thoughts of the 
 pleasant evening; and when at night, he sat by his 
 deserted fireside, he could only moan with anguish as 
 memory recalled his beautiful guineas. Often he 
 would open his door, and look out from time to time, 
 hoping, in some dim way, that his gold might be 
 coming back to him. 
 
 One night — it was New Year's Eve — he had 
 opened wide his door, as was his custom, and had 
 
160 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 stepped outside. The silence and the solitude wrung 
 his heart, and he sent out into the darkness a 
 voiceless cry for help. When he went in, "turning 
 toward the hearth, where the two logs had fallen 
 apart, and sent forth only a red uncertain glimmer, 
 he seated himself in his fireside chair, and was 
 stooping to push his logs together, when, to his 
 blurred vision, it seem to him as if there were gold 
 on the floor in front of his hearth. Gold ! — his own 
 gold — brought back to him as mysteriously as it had 
 been taken away. He felt his heart throb violently, 
 and, for a few moments, he was unable to stretch out 
 his hand and grasp the restored treasure. The heap 
 of iJ^old seemed to s^low and o^et laro^er beneath his 
 asfitated o^aze. 
 
 "He leaned forward at last, and stretched forth 
 his hand ; but instead of the hard coin, his fingers 
 encounted soft, warm curls. In utter amazement, 
 Silas fell on his knees and bent his head low, to 
 examine the marvel : it was a sleeping child — a 
 round, fair thing, with soft, yellow rings all over its 
 head. Could this be his little sister come back to 
 him in a dream — his little sister whom he had 
 carried about in his arms for a year before she died, 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 161 
 
 when he was a small boy without shoes or stockings? 
 That was the first thouglit that darted across Silas's 
 blank wonderment. Was it a dream? He rose to 
 his feet again, pushed his logs together, and throwing 
 on some dried leaves and sticks, raised a tlame ; but 
 the vision remained. The flame only lit up more 
 distinctly the little round form of the child and its 
 shabby clothing. It was very much like his little sister. 
 
 "He had a dreamy feelmg that this child was 
 somehow a messao:e come to him from that far-off* life ; 
 it stirred fibres that had never been moved in Raveloe 
 — quiverings of tenderness — old impressions of awe 
 at the presentiment of some Power presiding over 
 his life. 
 
 " But there was a cry on the hearth ; the child 
 had awakened, and Marner stooped to lift it on his 
 knee. It clung round his neck, and burst into loud 
 cries of ^ Mammy, mammy ! ' Silas pressed it to him, 
 and almost unconsciously uttered sounds of soothing 
 tenderness, while he bethought himself that some of 
 his porridge, which had got cool by the dying fire, 
 would do to feed the child with if it were only 
 warmed up a little. 
 
 " He had plenty to do through the next hour. 
 
 / 
 
162 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE 
 
 The porridge, sweetened with some dry brown sugar 
 which he had refrained from using for himself, stopped 
 the cries of the little one, and made her lift her blue 
 eyes with a wide quiet gaze at Silas, as he put the 
 spoon into her mouth. 
 
 " Presently," she slipped from his knee and began 
 to toddle about, but with a pretty stagger that made 
 Silas jump up and follow her lest she should fall 
 against anything that would hurt her. But she only 
 fell in a sitting posture on the ground and began 
 to pull at her boots, looking up at him with a crying 
 face, as if the boots hurt her. He took her on his 
 knee again, but it was some time before it occurred 
 to Silas's dull bachelor mind that the wet boots were 
 the grievance, pressing on her warm ankles. He 
 got them off with difficulty, and baby was at once 
 happily occupied with the primary mystery of her 
 own toes, inviting Silas, with much chuckling, to 
 consider the mystery too. 
 
 "But the wet boots had at last sus^ofested to Silas 
 that the child had been walking on the snow ; and 
 under the prompting of this new idea, he raised the 
 child in his arms and went to the door. As soon as 
 he had opened it, there was the cry of 'mammy' 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 163 
 
 again, which Silas had not heard since the child's 
 first hungry cry. 
 
 "Bending forward, he could just see the marks 
 made by ^the little feet on the virgin snow, and he 
 followed their track to the furze-bushes. 'Mammy!' 
 the little one cried again and again, stretching itself 
 forward so as to almost escape from Silas's arms, 
 before he himself was aware that there was something 
 more than the bush before him — that there was a 
 human body, with the head sunk low in the furze and 
 half-covered with the shaken snow." 
 
 This was the little child's mother, a poor 
 creature, who had been overtaken by the storm, 
 and had fallen unconscious within a few feet of Silas 
 Marner's cottage. The little one had slipped from 
 her arms, and guided by the bright light which shone 
 through the open door, had made her way towards the 
 warm fire, where she had soon fallen asleep, to awake 
 to new love and care ; while the mother lying outside 
 in the snow, passed into that long sleep, from which 
 she would awake in the land where there is no more 
 cold or weariness. 
 
 To the surprise of every one, Silas decided to 
 keep the child. 
 
164 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 "The mother's dead, and I reckon it's got no 
 father," he said. "It's a lone thing, and I'm a lone 
 thing. My money's gone, I don't know where, and 
 this is come from I don't know where." 
 
 The baby clung to him ; and as there was nobody 
 to dispute his claim, it was decided that he should 
 keep her. The villagers thought it odd that he 
 should desire to be burdened with the wants of a 
 little girl. They did not understand what the coming 
 of this sweet child was to the lonely man. It seemed 
 to him a miracle ; as if the God whom he had 
 worshipped in his early manhood had suddenly 
 remembered him, and had sent him something to 
 fill his empty heart. 
 
 Unlike his gold which had separated him from 
 his neighbors, and condemned him to selfish solitude, 
 little Eppie, as he called her, became a living link 
 between him and the men and women he had fomerly 
 shunned. 
 
 " The ofold had asked that he should sit weavino^ 
 longer and longer, deafened and blinded more and 
 more to all things except the monotony of his loom 
 and the repetition of his web ; but Eppie called him 
 away from his weaving, and made him think all its 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 165 
 
 pauses a holiday, re-awakening his senses with her 
 fresh life. 
 
 " When the sunshine grew strong and lasting, so 
 that the buttercups were thick in the meadows, Silas 
 might be seen in the sunny mid-day, or in the late 
 afternoon,' strolling out with uncovered head to carry 
 Eppie beyond the Stone-pits to where the flowers 
 grew, till they reached some favorite bank where he 
 could sit down, while Eppie toddled to pluck the 
 flowers, and make remarks to the winged things 
 that murmured happily about the bright petals, 
 calling 'Dad-dad's' attention continually by bringing 
 him the flowers. 
 
 "Sitting on the banks in this way, Silas began 
 to look for the once familiar herbs again ; but as the 
 leaves, with their unchanged outline, lay on his palm, 
 there was a sense of crowding remembrances from 
 which he turned away timidly, taking refuge in 
 Eppie's little world, that lay lightly on his enfeebled 
 spirit. 
 
 "As the child's mind was o^rowino^ into knowledo^e, 
 his mind was growing into memory : as her life 
 unfolded, his soul was unfolding too, and trembling 
 gradually into full consciousness. 
 
166 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 "By the time Eppie was three years old, she 
 developed a fine capacity for mischief, and for 
 devising ingenious ways of being troublesome, which 
 found much exercise, not only for Silas's patience, but 
 for his watchfulness and penetration." So one day 
 when she had run away, and caused him a great deal 
 of anxiety, he resolved to take the advice of a good 
 neighbor of his, and punish her a little, just enough 
 "to make her remember." 
 
 " The idea that she mio^ht come to harm orave him 
 unusaal resolution, and he determined to try the 
 coal-hole, a small closet near the hearth." 
 
 "'Naughty, naughty Eppie,' he began, holding 
 her on his knee, and pointing to her muddy feet and 
 clothes, 'naughty to run away. Eppie must go into 
 the coal-hole for being naughty. Daddy must put 
 her in the coal-hole.' 
 
 "He half expected that this would be shock 
 enough, and that Eppie would begin to cry. But 
 instead of that, she began to shake herself on his 
 knee, as if the proposition opened a pleasing novelty. 
 Seeing that he must proceed to extremities, he put 
 her into the coal-hole, and held the door closed, with 
 a tremblino^ sense that he was usins^ a stronsj measure. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 167 
 
 For a moment there was silence, but then came a 
 little cry, ^Opy, opy ! ' and Silas let her out again, 
 saying, ^Now Eppie 'uU never be naughty again, else 
 she must go in the coal-hole — a black, naughty 
 place.' 
 
 '^The weaving must stand still a long while this 
 morning, for now Eppie must be washed, and have 
 clean clothes on ; but it was to be hoped that this 
 punishment would have a lasting effect, and save 
 time in future — though, perhaps, it would have been 
 better if Eppie had cried more. 
 
 "In half an hour she was clean again, and 
 Silas turned his back for a moment, with the pleasant 
 reflection that Eppie would be good for the rest of 
 the morning. He turned around again, and was 
 going to place her in her little chair near the loom, 
 when she peeped out at him with black face and 
 hands again, and said, 'Eppie in de toal-hole.' 
 
 "This total failure of the coal-hole discipline 
 shook Silas's belief in the efficacy of punishment. 
 ^ She'd take it all for fun,' he used to sa}^ ' if I didn't 
 hurt her, and that I can't do. If she makes me a bit 
 of trouble, I can bear it. And she's got no tricks but 
 what she'll grow out of.' 
 
168 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERA.TURE. 
 
 " So Eppie was reared without punishment, the 
 burden of her misdeeds being borne by father Silas. 
 The stone hut was made a soft nest for her, lined 
 with downy patience ; and also in the world that 
 lay beyond the stone hut she knew nothing of frowns 
 and denials. 
 
 "In old days there were angels who came and 
 took men by the hand and led them away from the 
 city of destruction. We see no white-winged angels 
 now. But yet men are led away from threatening 
 destruction : a hand is put into theirs which leads 
 them forth gently toward a calm and bright land, 
 so that they look no more backward ; and the hand 
 may be a little child's." 
 
 "It was a bright autumn Sunday, sixteen j-ears 
 after Silas Marner had found his new treasure on 
 the hearth. The bells of the old Raveloe church were 
 ringing the cheerful peal which told that the morning 
 service was ended, and out of the arched doorway, 
 came slowly the parishioners. 
 
 " It is impossible to mistake Silas Marner. His 
 large brown eyes seem to have gathered a longer 
 vision, as is the way with eyes that have been short- 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 169 
 
 sighted in early life ; but in everything else one sees 
 signs of a frame much enfeebled by the lapse of 
 the sixteen years. The weaver's bent shoulders and 
 white hair give him almost the look of advanced age, 
 though he is not more than five and fifty. 
 
 "There is the freshest blossom of youth close by 
 his side — a blonde dimpled girl of eighteen, who has 
 vainly tried to chastise her curly auburn hair into 
 smoothness under her brown bonnet : the hair ripples 
 as obstinately as a brooklet under the March breeze, 
 and the little ringlets burst away from the restraining 
 comb behind, and show themselves below the bonnet- 
 crown. Eppie cannot help being rather vexed about 
 her hair, for there is no other girl in Raveloe who has 
 hair at all like it, and she thinks hair ought to be 
 smooth. She doesn't like to be blameworthy even 
 in small things ; you see how neatly her prayer-book 
 is folded in her spotted hankerchief. 
 
 "That good-looking young fellow, in a new 
 fustian suit, who walks behind her, is not quite 
 sure upon the question of hair in the abstract, when 
 Eppie puts it to him, and thinks that perhaps straight 
 hair is the best in general, but he doesn't want 
 Eppie's hair to be difierent. She surely guesses 
 
170 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 that there is some one behind her who is thinking 
 about her very particularly, and mustering courage 
 to come to her side as soon as they are out in the 
 lane, else why should she look rather shy, and talS 
 care not to turn her head away from her father Silas, 
 to whom she keeps murmuring little sentences as to 
 who was at church, and who w^as not at church, and 
 how pi-etty the red mountain-ash is over the Rectory 
 wall." 
 
 On Sunday afternoons, it was the custom for 
 Silas and Eppie to take a walk in the sunshine ; 
 and so, after they had eaten their dinner, and Eppie 
 had made the house tid}^ they went out-of-doors, and 
 sat down on the bank near the Stone-pits. 
 
 "^Father,' said Eppie, very gently, after they 
 had been sitting in silence a little while, 'if I was 
 to be married, ought I to be married with my 
 mother's ring?' 
 
 " Silas gave* an almost imperceptible start, and 
 then said, in a subdued tone, 'Why, Eppie, have 
 you been a-thinking on it ? ' 
 
 "'Only this last week,' said Eppie ingenuously, 
 'since Aaron talked to me about it.' 
 
 "'And what did he say?' said Silas, still in the 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 171 
 
 same subdued way, as if he were anxious lest he 
 should fall into the slightest tone that was not for 
 Eppie's good. 
 
 - " ' He said he should like to be married, because 
 he was a going on four-and-twenty, and had got a 
 deal of gardening work this autumn.' 
 
 "'And who is it as he's wanting to marry?' 
 said Silas with rather a sad smile. 
 
 "'Why, me, to be sure, daddy,' said Eppie, 
 with dimpling laughter, kissing her father's cheek ; 
 ' as if he'd want to marry anybody else ! ' 
 
 "'And you mean to have him, do you?' said 
 Silas. 
 
 "'Yes, sometime,' said Eppie, 'I don't know 
 when. Everybody's married sometime, Aaron says. 
 But I told him that wasn't true ; for, I said, look 
 at father, he's never been married.' 
 
 "'No, child,' said Silas, 'your father was a lone 
 man till you was sent to him.' 
 
 "'But you'll never be lone again, father,' said 
 Eppie tenderly. 'That was what Aaron said — "I 
 could never think o' taking you away from Master 
 Marner, Eppie." And I said, " It 'ud be no use if you 
 did, Aaron." And he wants us all to live tos^ether, so 
 
172 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 as you needn't work a bit, father, only what's for 
 your own pleasure ; and he'd be as good as a son 
 to you — that w^as what he said.' 
 
 "'And should you like that, Eppie?' said Silas, 
 looking at her. 
 
 "'I shouldn't mind it, father,' said Eppie, quite 
 simply. ' And I should like things to be so you 
 needn't work much. But if it wasn't for that, I'd 
 sooner things didn't change. I'm very happy. I 
 like Aaron to be fond of me, and come and see us 
 often, and behave pretty to you — he always does 
 behave pretty to you, doesn't he, father?' 
 
 "'Yes, child, nobody could behave better,' said 
 Silas emphatically. 'He's his mothers lad.' 
 
 "'But I don't want any change,' said Eppie, 'I 
 should like to go on a long, long while, just as we 
 are. Only Aaron does want a change ; and he made 
 me cry a bit — only a bit — because he said I didn't 
 care for him, forif I cared for him I should want us 
 to be married, as he did.' 
 
 "'My blessed child,' said Silas, 'you're young 
 to be married. We'll ask Aaron's mother what she 
 thinks; if there's a rio^ht thins^ to do, she'll come at 
 it. But there's this to be thought on, Eppie, things 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 173 
 
 will change, whether we like it or no. I shall get 
 older and helplesser, and be a burden to you, belike, 
 if I don't go away from you altogether. Not as I 
 mean that you'd think me a burden — I know you 
 wouldn't — but it 'ud be hard upon you; and when 
 I look for'ard to that, I like to think as you'd have 
 somebody else besides me — somebody young and 
 strong, as'U outlast your own life, and take care on 
 you to the end.' Silas paused, and resting his 
 wrists on his knees, lifted his hands up and down 
 meditatively as he looked on the ground. 
 
 "^Then, would you like me to be married, 
 father?' said Eppie, with a little trembling in her 
 voice. 
 
 "^ril not be the man to say no, Eppie,' said 
 Silas, emphatically ; ^ but we'll ask your godmother. 
 She'll wish the right thing by you and her son, too.' 
 
 "'There they come, then,' said Eppie. 'Let 
 us go and meet them.'" 
 
 " There was one time of the year which was held 
 in Eaveloe to be especially suitable for a -wedding. 
 It was when the great lilacs and laburnums in the 
 old-fashioned gardens showed their golden and purple 
 
174 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE 
 
 wealth above the lichen-tinted walls, and when there 
 were calves still young enough to want bucketfuls of 
 fragrant milk. People were not so busy then as they 
 must become when the full cheese-making and the 
 mowing had set in ; and besides it was a time when 
 a light bridal dress could be worn with comfort and 
 seen to advantage. 
 
 "Happily the sunshine fell more warmly than 
 usual on the lilac tufts the morning that Eppie was 
 married, for her dress was a very light one. She 
 had often thought, though with a feeling of renuncia- 
 tion, that the perfection of a wedding-dress would be 
 a white cotton, with the tiniest pink sprig at wide 
 intervals ; so when Mrs. Godfrey Cass begged to 
 provide one, and asked Eppie to choose what it 
 should be, previous meditation had enabled her to 
 give a decided answer at once. 
 
 "Seen at a little distance as she walked across 
 the church-yard and down the village, she seemed to 
 be attired in pure white, and her hair looked like 
 the dash of gold on a lily. One hand was on her 
 husband's arm, and with the other she clasped the 
 hand of her father Silas. 
 
 "'You won't be giving me away, father,' she had 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 175 
 
 said before they went to church ; ' you'll only be 
 taking Aaron to be a son to you.'" 
 
 Aaron's father and mother walked behind, " and 
 there ended the little bridal procession." 
 
 After the ceremony was over, they all returned 
 to the Stone-pits, for Silas and Eppie had decided 
 that they would rather stay there than go to any 
 new home. "The garden was fenced with stones 
 on two sides, but in front there was an open fence, 
 through which the flowers shone with answering 
 gladness, as the happy party came within sight of 
 them." 
 
 "'Oh, father,' said Eppie, 'what a pretty home 
 ours is ! I think nobody could be happier than 
 we are.'" 
 
LITTLE ELLIE, 
 
 177 
 
ELIZABETH BAKRETT BROWNING. 
 
LITTLE ELLIE. 
 
 "Little Ellie sits alone 
 'Mid the beeches of a meadow, 
 
 By a stream-side on the grass ; 
 
 And the trees are showering down 
 •Doubles of their leaves in shadow, 
 
 On her shining hair and face. 
 
 " She has thrown her bonnet by : 
 And her feet she has been dipping 
 In the shallow water's flow — 
 Now she holds them nakedly 
 In her hands, all sleek and dripping, 
 While she rocketh to and fro." 
 
 The little maiden is lost in a day-dream, and her 
 happy smile tells that she is planning the sweetest 
 pleasures for her future. Yondel* is a swan's nest 
 that she has discovered, and her smile grows wider 
 as she thinks of the one to whom she will show that 
 precious nest among the reeds. 
 
 "Little Ellie in her smile 
 Chooseth . . . ' I will have a lover, 
 
 Kiding on a steed of steeds ! 
 
 179 
 
180 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 He shall love me without guile ; 
 And to him I will discover — 
 
 That swan's nest among the reeds. 
 
 " ' And the steed shall be red-roan 
 And the lover shall be noble, 
 
 With an eye that takes the breath. 
 
 And the lute he plays upon, 
 Shall strike ladies into trouble. 
 
 As his sword strikes men to death. 
 
 "^ And the steed it shall be shod 
 All in silver, housed with azure, 
 And its mane shall swim the wind : 
 And the hoofs along the sod 
 Shall flash onward and keep measure, 
 Till the shepherds look behind. 
 
 " ' But my lover will not prize 
 All the glory that he rides in 
 When he gazes in my face, 
 He will say, ^O Love, thine eyes 
 Build the shrine my soul abides in ; 
 And I kneel here for thy grace.'" 
 
 But little Ellie resolves that she will not be 
 won too lightly. Although her heart may say "yes" 
 to her lover's tender pleading, she will not yield it 
 to his keeping until his courage and constancy have 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 181 
 
 been proved. Then her smile becomes proud and 
 triumphant as she thinks : '' I will send him out into 
 the great world, there to battle for the right, to make 
 straight the crooked places, and to defeat the plans 
 of wicked men ; and then when he returns to lay his 
 laurels at my feet, I will crown him with my love.'' 
 
 " Three times shall a young foot-page 
 Swim the stream and climb the mountain 
 And kneel down beside my feet — 
 'Lo, my master sends this gage,^ 
 Lady, for thy pity's counting 1 
 What wilt thou exchange for it?' 
 
 "And the first time, I will send 
 A white rosebud for a guerdon, ^ — 
 
 And the second time, a glove ; 
 
 But the third tune I may bend 
 From my pride, and answer — ^Pnrdon, 
 
 If he comes to take my love.' 
 
 "Then the young, foot-page will run— =^ 
 Then my lover will ride faster, 
 Till he kneeleth at my knee : 
 * I am a duke's eldest son ! 
 Thousand serfs do call me master, — 
 But, O Love, I love but ilieer 
 
 1 Gage — a pledge. 
 
 2 Guerdon — a reward. 
 
182 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 " He will kiss me on the mouth 
 Then, and lead me as a lover 
 Through the crowds that praise his deeds : 
 And, when soul-tied by one troth, 
 Unto him I will discover 
 
 That swan's nest among the reeds." 
 
 Dear little Ellie ! After she has built her 
 charming air-castle, she rises gaily, with the smile 
 yet upon her lips, "ties the bonnet, dons the shoe," 
 and goes homeward. But she must not omit her 
 daily look at the beloved swan's nest. So pushing 
 her way through the woods along the winding river, 
 she joyfully hastens to her treasure. She parts the 
 boughs and looks in, hoping to see that more eggs 
 are with the two. 
 
 " She stoops — and stops ! 
 Lo ! the wild swan had deserted — 
 And a rat had gnawed the reeds. 
 
 "Ellie went home sad and slow. 
 If she found the lover ever. 
 
 With his red-roan steed of steeds, 
 Sooth I know not ! but I know 
 She could never show him — never 
 That swan's nest among the reeds ! 
 
PIPPA. 
 
 183 
 
ROBERT BROWlSriNG. 
 
PIPPA. 
 
 The last picture I am going to show you is also the 
 portrait of a little girl. Her name is Pippa, and she 
 lives in the beautiful land of Italy. It is to the 
 sunbeams of that delightful clime that she owes the 
 peach-like bloom of her cheeks, the glow in her deep 
 eyes, and the glitter of her rich brown hair. 
 
 She looks very happy in the picture ; her pretty 
 face is all dimpled with smiles. Her hat has fallen on 
 her shoulders, and her apron is filled with wild 
 flowers which she has gathered in her rambles. The 
 large dark eyes look as if they had a story to tell ; 
 and if they could speak, I know that this is what 
 they would say : — 
 
 ''I am only Pippa, singing Pippa, a poor little 
 silk-winding girl of Asolo.i But I am very liappy 
 to-day, for this is my holiday, the only one I have 
 during the whole year. All through the dreary 
 weeks and months, I am hard at work in the mills ; 
 and then, just as I begin to feel that I shall die if I 
 
 1 Asolo — a town in Northern Italy. 
 
 185 
 
186 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 cannot get out into the warm sunshine, and wander 
 through the green fields, God sends me this one long 
 beautiful day, in which I can do exactly as I please. 
 
 ^Oh, Day, if I squander a wavelet of thee, 
 A mite of my twelve hours' treasure. 
 The least of thy gazes or glances. 
 One of thy choices, or one of thy chances, — 
 My Day, if I squander such labor or leisure. 
 Then shame fall on Asolo, mischief on me ! 
 
 'Thy long, blue, solemn hours serenely flowing, 
 All shall be mine ! But thou must treat me not 
 As the prosperous are treated, those who live 
 At hand here, and enjoy the higher lot. 
 In readiness to take what thou wilt give, 
 And free to let alone what thou refusest ; 
 For, Day, my holiday, if thou ill-usest 
 Me, who am only Pippa — old-year's sorrow. 
 Cast off last niofht, will come as^ain tomorrow — 
 Whereas, if thou prove gentle, I shall borrow 
 SuflScient strength of thee for new-year's sorrow. 
 All other men and women that this earth 
 Belongs to, who all days alike possess. 
 Make general plenty cure particular dearth, 
 Get more joy, one way, if another, less : 
 Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven 
 
PICTURES J^ROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 187 
 
 What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven; 
 Sole light that helps me through the year, thy sun's ! 
 
 'Try, now ! Take Asolo's Four Happiest Ones 
 And let thy morning rain on that superb 
 Great haughty Ottima ; can rain disturb 
 Her Sebald's homage ? All the while thy rain 
 Beats fiercest on her shrub-house window-pane, 
 He will but press the closer, breathe more warm 
 Against her cheek ; how should she mind the storm ? 
 And, morning past, if mid-day shed a gloom 
 O'er Jules and Phene, — what care bride and groom 
 Save for their dear selves ? 'Tis their marriage-day ; 
 And while they leave church, and go home their way 
 Hand clasping hand, — within each breast would be 
 Sunbeams and pleasant weather spite of thee ! 
 
 * Then, for another trial, obscure thy eve 
 With mist, — will Luigi and his mother grieve — 
 The Lady and her child, unmatched, forsooth, 
 She in her age, as Luigi in his youth, 
 For true content? The cheerful town, warm, close, 
 And safe, the sooner that thou art morose 
 Receives them ! And yet once again, outbreak 
 In storm at night on Monsignor, they make 
 Such stir about, — whom they expect from Rome 
 To visit Asolo, his brother's home, 
 And say here masses proper to release 
 
188 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 A soul from pain, — what storm dares hurt his peace ? 
 Calm would he pray, with his ow^n thoughts to ward 
 Thy thunder off, nor want the angels' guard ! 
 
 'But Pippa — just one such mischance would spoil 
 Her day that lightens the next twelvemonth's toil 
 At wearisome silk-winding, coil on coil 1' 
 
 " Now what shall I do to celebrate my holiday ? 
 To-morrow, I must be Pippa, who winds silk the 
 whole year round, just to earn her bread and milk ; 
 but to-day, I can indulge my fancy to the utmost. 
 
 " Oh ! I know. I will make believe that I am, 
 in tarn, the four happiest people in Asolo ; I will 
 imagine that I am called by their names, and can 
 enjoy their pleasures. 
 
 "First, I will be haughty Ottima. ' The gardens, 
 the great stone house above, and the other house for 
 shrubs, all glass in front,' shall be mine. My lover, 
 Sebald, shall come and whisper in my ear that I am 
 dearer to him than all the world beside. How sweet 
 it will be to know that there is one heart which holds 
 me first and best ! 
 
 " But the people of the town say that theirs is a 
 guilty love. They point at Ottima as she passes by, 
 and tell strans^e tales of her and old Luca, her fond 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 189 
 
 and doting husband. So that is not the love I want. 
 There is a better kind, I know. This foolish love was 
 only the first I happened to think of. 
 
 "There is Phene, I will pretend that I am she. 
 I saw her when she arrived last night, and I caught 
 one glimpse of her snow-pure face and black, bright 
 tresses. Ah ! Jules, you must be careful of your 
 delicate bride, lest she wither like a flower in your 
 grasp. How happy they will be in their new-found 
 bliss ! 
 
 "And yet, is this the kind of love I would 
 choose? Should I not be afraid of losing it after 
 once it was mine? Men sometimes grow cold to their 
 wives, and even hate them. I will choose a love that 
 knows no change ; I will be Luigi. Every evening I 
 see him and his mother direct their steps toward our 
 ruined turret, where they talk and talk, ^calmer than 
 lovers, yet more kind than friends.' I have marked 
 the mother-love in her eyes when she looks upon her 
 boy. Yes, I will be Luigi. Only a parent's love 
 can last through our whole life, and keep us safe 
 from harm. O that I knew my mother's or my 
 father's face ! 
 
 "But if I wish to be preserved from all harm, 
 
190 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 .whose love can I trust so well as God's? Would it 
 not be better to be Monsignor, who will come to 
 Asolo to-night to bless the home of his dead brother? 
 Surely God's blessing will fall upon him in his pious 
 work. Then, for this night, I will be that holy and 
 beloved priest. Let me see. What was that New- 
 year's hymn that I was singing yesterday? — 
 
 'All service ranks the same with God — 
 With God, whose puppets, best and worst, 
 Are we ; there is no last nor first.' 
 
 " ^ There is no first nor last ! ' How silly I have 
 been to pretend that I will be these great people so 
 far out of my reach. I will make believe no more ; I 
 will be humble Pippa. Doubtless, God cares for me 
 as well as for them. So I will go forth and enjoy my 
 day ; and if I pass by these four happy ones, I will 
 feel no envy of them in my heart. The sun shines ; 
 what can I ask for more?" 
 
 This is what Pippa tells us in the picture. I 
 like to look at her, for I remember her unconscious 
 influence over the people whom she deems the four 
 happiest ones in Asolo. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 191 
 
 That same day, which was so bright and beautiful 
 to the young girl, was a day of fate to them. 
 
 In the early morning, in the great house on the 
 hill, a tragedy was being enacted. ^ The beams of the 
 sun penetrating the closed lattice, fell across the 
 body of the murdered Luca ; while yonder in the 
 shrub-house, the two lovers, Ottima and Sebald, were 
 gloating over their unnatural crime. Poor, doting 
 husband ! He would never trouble them more , In 
 the midst of their sinful rejoicings, the sweet voice of 
 Pippa rang out upon the air. 
 
 "The year's at the spring, 
 And day's at the morn ; 
 Morning's at seven ; 
 The hill-side's dew-pearled ; 
 The lai'k's on the wing ; 
 The snail's on the thorn ; 
 God's in his heaven — 
 All's ri^ht with the world ! " 
 
 " God's in his heaven ! " They had not thought 
 of that. Now, their wicked deed confronts them in 
 all its naked ugliness. The scales drop from their 
 eyes ;_ and, for the first time, they see the depths of 
 
 2 Enacted — performed. 
 
192 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 degradation into which they have fallen. Horror fills 
 their hearts. 
 
 Sebald starts away from his once grand and 
 beautiful Ottima with fear and disgust ; and as, 
 through the still morning air, they hear the sound of 
 God's accusing voice, they, yield up to Him their 
 miserable lives in partial atonement for what they 
 have done. 
 
 At noontime of the same day, Jules, the sculptor, 
 is taking home his bride. As he leads her over the 
 threshold into the pretty room, he casts upon her 
 pale, inquiring looks. Too late he finds that he has 
 been deceived. Instead of a noble, high-born lady, 
 he has married a poor, ignorant girl, an artist's 
 model, one that he can hire by the hour. 
 
 She confesses to him what his companions have 
 done, and how she has been compelled to be the 
 victim of their so-called joke. How beautiful she is, 
 and how 3^oung ! Surely that is love-light in those 
 frightened eyes. But to be so duped by those 
 pretended friends. Xo, he cannot endure it; he 
 must send her away. Suddenly a fragment of song 
 comes floating on the air. 
 
PICTURES EROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 193 
 
 "Is she wronged? To the rescue of her honor, 
 My heart ! 
 Is she poor ? What costs it to be styled a donor ? " 
 
 And little Pippa passes beneath the window. 
 
 Jules looks again at the shrinking Phene. She 
 must be innocent and good, he thinks. What if she 
 be poor and low-born? That sweet face cannot fail 
 to be the index of a pure heart ; no evil can hide 
 behind that broad white brow. He loves her, he 
 knows; and, as he clasps his bride in his arms, he 
 feels that love atones for all. 
 
 Inside the turret, in the early evening, stand 
 Luigi and his mother. He is only a boy, fifteen a 
 while ago ; but already he believes that his country 
 calls him to deliver her from the tyrant. What matter 
 if he commit a crime, if he but save his country? 
 What matter if he die, if she be free? In vain, his 
 mother tries to prove to him that his zeal arises from 
 a mistaken sense of duty. With the confidence of 
 youth, he persists in his design. As a last resource, 
 she tempts him by recalling sweet memories of the 
 maiden he loves. 
 
194 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 For the first tirae, Luigi's resolution wavers. He 
 thinks : "Is it worth while to sacrifice life and all that 
 life holds dear on the cold altar of Duty ? " 
 
 As the mother pleads, a voice is heard singing : — 
 
 "A king lived long ago, 
 In the morning of the world, 
 When earth was nigher heaven than now : 
 And the king's locks curled 
 Disparting o'er a forehead full 
 As the milk-white space 'twixt horn and horn 
 Of some sacrificial bull 
 Only calm as a babe new-born : 
 For he was got to a sleepy mood, 
 So safe from all decrepitude. 
 From age with its bane, so sure gone by, 
 (The gods so loved him while he dreamed,) 
 That, having lived thus long, there seemed 
 No need the king should ever die. 
 
 "Among the rocks his city was : 
 Before his palace, in the sun. 
 He sate to see his people pass. 
 And judge them every one 
 From its threshold of smooth stone. 
 They haled ^ him many a valley-thief, 
 Caught in the sheep-pens — robber-chief, 
 
 3 Haled — brought by force. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 195 
 
 . Swarthy and shameless — beggar-cheat — 
 Spy-prowler — or rough pirate found 
 On the sea-sand left aground — 
 And these, all and every one, 
 The king judged, sitting in the sun. 
 
 "His councillors, on left and right. 
 Looked anxious up, — but no surprise 
 Disturbed the king's old smiling eyes, 
 Where the very blue had turned to white. 
 'Tis said, a Python scared one day 
 The breathless city, till he came. 
 With forky tongue and eyes on flame, 
 Where the old king sate to judge alway ; 
 But when he saw the sweepy hair, 
 Girt with a crown of berries rare 
 Which the God will hardly give to wear 
 To the maiden who singeth, daficing bare 
 In the altar-smoke by the pine-torch lights, 
 At his wondrous forest rites, — 
 Beholding this, he did not dare. 
 Approach that threshold in the sun, 
 Assault the old king smiling there. 
 Such grace had kings when the world begun ! '* 
 
 And pretty Pippa passes by. 
 
 "And such grace have they, now that the world 
 ends ! (exclaims Luigi) 
 
196 PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 The Python at the city, on the throne, 
 And brave men, God would crown for slaying him, 
 Lurk in by-corners lest they fall his prey. 
 Are crowns yet to be won in this late time, 
 Which weakness makes me hesitate to reach ? 
 'Tis God's voice calls : how could I stay ? 
 Farewell!" . 
 
 That night in the palace by the great cathedral, 
 Monsignor, the Priest, is plotting with one of his 
 servants. His brother's little daughter stands in his 
 way, and already he has made plans to sweep her 
 from his path. 
 
 "'Tis but little dark-eyed, pretty singing Pippa, 
 a silk-winding girl," says the servant; "I have kept 
 her out of harm's way up to the present time, for I 
 always intended to make your life a plague to you 
 through her. 'Tis as well settled once and forever. 
 I can easily dispose of the little thing." 
 
 While the Priest lends an attentive ear to these 
 wicked suo:orestions, there cornea from the street below 
 the sound of a clear voice : — 
 
 " Overhead the tree-tops meet — 
 Flowers and grass spring 'neath one's feet — 
 There was nouo^ht above me and nouo^ht below, 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 197 
 
 My childhood had not learned to know ! 
 
 For, what are the voices of birds 
 
 — Ay, and of beasts, — but words — our words, 
 
 Only so much more sweet ? 
 
 The knowledge of that with my life begun ! 
 
 But I had so near made out the sun, 
 
 And counted your stars, the Seven and one. 
 
 Like the fingers of my hand : 
 
 Nay, I could all but understand 
 
 Wherefore through heaven the white moon ranges ; 
 
 And just when out of her soft fifty changes 
 
 No unf[imiliar face might overlook me — 
 
 Suddenly God took me 1 " 
 
 And Pippa passes by. 
 
 The Priest springs up and calls : — 
 
 "My people — one and all — all — within there! 
 Gaof this villain — tie him hard and foot ! He dares 
 — I know not half he dares — but remove him — 
 quick ! quick, I say ! " 
 
 God has spoken also to Monsignor. 
 
 As Pippa sat that night in her poor little room, 
 at the close of her precious day, her thoughts of the 
 morning returned ; and, unconscious of how God had 
 led her through all the hours, she wondered how near 
 she would ever approach those four happy people 
 of Asolo. 
 
PICTURES FROM ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 "Now, one thing I should really like to know : 
 How near I ever might approach all these 
 I only fancied being, this long day — 
 — Approach, I mean, so as to touch them — so 
 As to . . in some way . . move them — if you 
 
 please, 
 Do good or evil to them some slight way. 
 For instance, if I wind 
 Silk to-morrow, my silk may bind 
 And broider Ottima's cloak's hem — 
 Ah me ! and my important part with them, 
 This morning's hymn half promised when I rose ! 
 True in some sense or other, I suppose. 
 Though I passed by them all, and felt no sign. 
 
 "God bless me ! I can pray no more to-night. 
 No doubt, some way or other, hymns say right. 
 All service is the same tvith God — 
 With God, whose pujtpets, best and tvorst, 
 Are we: there is no last nor first — " 
 
 These are only a few of my mind-pictures ; and I 
 fear that, after all, I liave given you but a faint idea 
 of their real beauty. If, however, you have experi- 
 enced half the pleasure in looking at them, that I 
 have felt in showing them to you, I shall be satisfied, 
 and will promise to give you another peep some day 
 into my mental gallery. 
 
HISTORY. 
 
 (jrd Grade^ 
 
 Stories of the Red Children. 
 
 By Dorothy Brooks. Large type. Illus. 
 
 Price, Boards, 30 cents; Cloth, 40 cents. 
 
 It is both natural and fitting that the boys and girls of 
 America should be interested and familiar with the legends 
 that have woven so much of poetry and romance about the 
 life of the Red men. And when these fanciful tales are 
 presented as a part of the life-history of the little Red chil- 
 dren they touch the kindred love of the marvelous in the 
 civilized children of to-day with a peculiar closeness. All 
 barriers of race and centuries of time fade away and the red 
 and white children clasp hands In joy and delight in their 
 mutual love of Nature's wonder-tales. The author's well- 
 known charm in story telling has never shown better than 
 in this little book. The style is smooth, flowing and beauti- 
 ful. Wind, stars, rain, snow, rainbows and the whole phe- 
 nomena of nature are woven into charming stories which 
 will feed the imagination without injuring the children. 
 The book is illustrated by twenty-three striking pictures 
 vivid with Indian life and activities. 
 
HISTORY. 
 
 (^2nd Grade^ 
 
 Stories of the 
 
 United States. 
 
 By Anna Chase Davis. 
 
 Large type edition. lUus. 
 
 Price, Boards, 30 cents; 
 
 Cloth, 40 cents. 
 The supply of supplemen- 
 tary reading for a grade or 
 two in advance of this has 
 been abundant. But Miss 
 Davis is one of the few who 
 have succeeded in writing to 
 the children interesting matter. 
 
 Chas. W. Deane, Supt. Schools, Bridgeport, Ct. 
 
 NA CHAS6 DAVIS 
 
 When a practical teacher undertakes to prepare history 
 stories for the youngest children it is pretty safe to conclude 
 that she will make them usable from the standpoint of other 
 teachers. The author has begun at the Indian period, and the 
 second year children who, already familiar with Hiawatha, will 
 be ready and anxious to know more of Indian hfe in the early 
 days. Then follows the story of the Norsemen, making ready 
 for the coming of Columbus and the later discoverers. Inter- 
 esting events connected with colonial times follow each other 
 till the war cf 1812. The closing chapter is the story of 
 Lincoln, If any unfortunate children are compelled to leave 
 school after the two or three first years, they will have acquired 
 enough knowledge of their own history to enable them to 
 take it up intelligently in after life. Large, clear type, simple 
 sentences, sho.t paragraphs and abundant full-page illustra- 
 tior s, with numberless smaller ones of Indian life will ensure 
 it a welcome among all Primary teachers. 
 
 — Primary Education, 
 
S^Ait; 22 UJ6