FOOTNOTE:

FOOTNOTE:[2]From "David Copperfield," by Charles Dickens.

[2]From "David Copperfield," by Charles Dickens.

Expression: The two stories which you have just read were written by two of the greatest masters of fiction in English literature. Talk with your teacher about George Eliot and Charles Dickens, and learn all that you can about their works. Which of these two stories do you prefer? Why?Reread the conversation on pages14and15. Imagine yourself to be Tom or Maggie, and speak just as he or she did. Read the conversation on pages16and17in the same way. Reread other portions that you like particularly well.In what respect does the second story differ most strongly from the first? Select the most striking passage and read it with expression sad feeling.

Reread the conversation on pages14and15. Imagine yourself to be Tom or Maggie, and speak just as he or she did. Read the conversation on pages16and17in the same way. Reread other portions that you like particularly well.

In what respect does the second story differ most strongly from the first? Select the most striking passage and read it with expression sad feeling.

One sunshiny morning in June, there drove up to the great iron gate of Miss Pinkerton's Academy for young ladies, on Chiswick Mall, a large family coach, with two fat horses in blazing harness, driven by a fat coachman in a three-cornered hat and wig, at the rate of four miles an hour.

A black servant, who reposed on the box beside the fat coachman, uncurled his bandy legs as soon as the equipage drew up opposite Miss Pinkerton's shining brass plate; and as he pulled the bell, at least a score of young heads were seen peering out of the narrow windows of the stately old brick house. Nay, the acute observer might have recognized the little red nose of good-natured Miss Jemima Pinkerton herself, rising over some geranium pots in the window of that lady's own drawing room.

"It is Mrs. Sedley's coach, sister," said Miss Jemima. "Sambo, the black servant, has just rung the bell; and the coachman has a new red waistcoat."

"Have you completed all the necessary preparations incident to Miss Sedley's departure?" asked Miss Pinkerton, that majestic lady, the friend of the famous literary man, Dr. Johnson, the author of the great "Dixonary" of the English language, called commonly the great Lexicographer.

"The girls were up at four this morning, packing her trunks, sister," answered Miss Jemima. "We have made her a bowpot."

"Say a bouquet, sister Jemima; 'tis more genteel."

"Well, a booky as big almost as a haystack. I have put up two bottles of the gillyflower water for Mrs. Sedley, and the receipt for making it is in Amelia's box."

"And I trust, Miss Jemima, you have made a copy of Miss Sedley's account. That is it, is it? Very good! Ninety-three pounds, four shillings. Be kind enough to address it to John Sedley, Esquire, and to seal this billet which I have written to his lady."

In Miss Jemima's eyes an autograph letter of her sister, Miss Pinkerton, was an object of as deep veneration as would have been a letter from a sovereign. Only when her pupils quitted the establishment, or when they were about to be married, and once when poor Miss Birch died of the scarlet fever, was Miss Pinkerton known to write personally to the parents of her pupils.

In the present instance Miss Pinkerton's "billet" was to the following effect:—

The Mall, Chiswick, June 15.Madam:After her six years' residence at the Mall, I have the honor and happiness of presenting Miss Amelia Sedley to her parents, as a young lady not unworthy to occupy a fitting position in their polished and refined circle. Those virtues which characterize the young English gentlewomen; those accomplishments which become her birth and station, will not be found wanting in the amiable Miss Sedley, whose industry and obedience have endeared her to her instructors, and whose delightful sweetness of temper has charmed her aged and her youthful companions.In music, dancing, in orthography, in every variety of embroidery and needle-work she will be found to have realized her friends' fondest wishes. In geography there is still much to be desired; and a careful and undeviating use of the back-board, for four hours daily during the next three years, is recommended as necessary to the acquirement of that dignified deportment and carriage so requisite for every young lady of fashion.In the principles of religion and morality, Miss Sedley will be found worthy of an establishment which has been honored by the presence of The Great Lexicographer and the patronage of the admirable Mrs. Chapone. In leaving them all, Miss Amelia carries with her the hearts of her companions and the affectionate regards of her mistress, who has the honor to subscribe herself,Madam your most obliged humble servant,Barbara Pinkerton.P.S.—Miss Sharp accompanies Miss Sedley. It is particularly requested that Miss Sharp's stay in Russell Square may not exceed ten days. The family of distinction with whom she is engaged as governess desire to avail themselves of her services as soon as possible.

The Mall, Chiswick, June 15.

Madam:

After her six years' residence at the Mall, I have the honor and happiness of presenting Miss Amelia Sedley to her parents, as a young lady not unworthy to occupy a fitting position in their polished and refined circle. Those virtues which characterize the young English gentlewomen; those accomplishments which become her birth and station, will not be found wanting in the amiable Miss Sedley, whose industry and obedience have endeared her to her instructors, and whose delightful sweetness of temper has charmed her aged and her youthful companions.

In music, dancing, in orthography, in every variety of embroidery and needle-work she will be found to have realized her friends' fondest wishes. In geography there is still much to be desired; and a careful and undeviating use of the back-board, for four hours daily during the next three years, is recommended as necessary to the acquirement of that dignified deportment and carriage so requisite for every young lady of fashion.

In the principles of religion and morality, Miss Sedley will be found worthy of an establishment which has been honored by the presence of The Great Lexicographer and the patronage of the admirable Mrs. Chapone. In leaving them all, Miss Amelia carries with her the hearts of her companions and the affectionate regards of her mistress, who has the honor to subscribe herself,

Madam your most obliged humble servant,

Barbara Pinkerton.

P.S.—Miss Sharp accompanies Miss Sedley. It is particularly requested that Miss Sharp's stay in Russell Square may not exceed ten days. The family of distinction with whom she is engaged as governess desire to avail themselves of her services as soon as possible.

This letter completed, Miss Pinkerton proceeded to write her own name and Miss Sedley's in the flyleaf of a Johnson's Dictionary, the interesting work which she invariably presented to her scholars on their departure from the Mall. On the cover was inserted a copy of "Lines addressed to a Young Lady on quitting Miss Pinkerton's School, at the Mall; by the late revered Dr. Samuel Johnson." In fact, the Lexicographer's name was always on the lips of this majestic woman, and a visit he had paid to her was the cause of her reputation and her fortune.

Being commanded by her elder sister to get "The Dixonary" from the cupboard, Miss Jemima had extracted two copies of the book from the receptacle in question. When Miss Pinkerton had finished the inscription in the first, Jemima, with rather a dubious and timid air, handed her the second.

"For whom is this, Miss Jemima?" said Miss Pinkerton with awful coldness.

"For Becky Sharp," answered Jemima, trembling very much, and blushing over her withered face and neck, as she turned her back on her sister. "For Becky Sharp. She's going, too."

"MISS JEMIMA!" exclaimed Miss Pinkerton, in the largest capitals. "Are you in your senses? Replace the Dixonary in the closet, and never venture to take such a liberty in future."

With an unusual display of courage, Miss Jemima mildly protested: "Well, sister, it's only two and nine-pence, and poor Becky will be miserable if she doesn't get one."

"Send Miss Sedley instantly to me," was Miss Pinkerton's only answer. And, venturing not to say another word, poor Jemima trotted off, exceedingly flurried and nervous, while the two pupils, Miss Sedley and Miss Sharp, were making final preparations for their departure for Miss Sedley's home.

Well, then. The flowers, and the presents, and the trunks, and the bonnet boxes of Miss Sedley having been arranged by Mr. Sambo in the carriage, together with a very small and weather-beaten old cowskin trunk with Miss Sharp's card neatly nailed upon it, which was delivered by Sambo with a grin, and packed by the coachman with a corresponding sneer, the hour for parting came; and the grief of that moment was considerably lessened by the admirable discourse which Miss Pinkerton addressed to her pupil.

Not that the parting speech caused Amelia to philosophize, or that it armed her in any way with a calmness, the result of argument; but it was intolerably dull, and having the fear of her schoolmistress greatly before her eyes, Miss Sedley did not venture, in her presence, to give way to any ablutions of private grief. A seed cake and a bottle of wine were produced in the drawing room, as on the solemn occasions of the visits of parents; and these refreshments being partaken of, Miss Sedley was at liberty to depart.

"You'll go in and say good-by to Miss Pinkerton, Becky!" said Miss Jemima to that young lady, of whom nobody took any notice, and who was coming downstairs with her own bandbox.

"I suppose I must," said Miss Sharp calmly, and much to the wonder of Miss Jemima; and the latter having knocked at the door, and receiving permission to come in, Miss Sharp advanced in a very unconcerned manner, and said in French, and with a perfect accent, "Mademoiselle, je viens vous faire mes adieux."[4]

Miss Pinkerton did not understand French, as we know; she only directed those who did. Biting her lips and throwing up her venerable and Roman-nosed head, she said, "Miss Sharp, I wish you a good morning."

As she spoke, she waved one hand, both by way of adieu and to give Miss Sharp an opportunity of shaking one of the fingers of the hand, which was left out for that purpose. Miss Sharp only folded her own hands with a very frigid smile and bow, and quite declined to accept the proffered honor; on which Miss Pinkerton tossed up her turban more indignantly than ever. In fact, it was a little battle between the young lady and the old one, and the latter was worsted.

"Come away, Becky," said Miss Jemima, pulling the young woman away in great alarm; and the drawing room door closed upon her forever.

The Parting.The Parting.

Then came the struggle and parting below. Words refuse to tell it. All the servants were there in the hall—all the dear friends—all the young ladies—even the dancing master, who had just arrived; and there was such a scuffling and hugging, and kissing, and crying, with the hystericalyoopsof Miss Schwartz, the parlor boarder, as no pen can depict, and as the tender heart would feign pass over.

The embracing was finished; they parted—that is, Miss Sedley parted from her friends. Miss Sharp had demurely entered the carriage some minutes before. Nobody cried for leavingher.

Sambo of the bandy legs slammed the carriage door on his young weeping mistress. He sprang up behind the carriage.

"Stop!" cried Miss Jemima, rushing to the gate with a parcel.

"It's some sandwiches, my dear," she called to Amelia. "You may be hungry, you know; and, Becky—Becky Sharp—here's a book for you, that my sister—that is, I—Johnson's Dixonary, you know. You mustn't leave us without that. Good-by! Drive on, coachman!—God bless you! Good-by."

Then the kind creature retreated into the garden, overcome with emotion.

But lo! and just as the coach drove off, Miss Sharp suddenly put her pale face out of the window, and flung the book back into the garden—flung it far and fast—watching it fall at the feet of astonished Miss Jemima; then sank back in the carriage, exclaiming, "So much for the 'Dixonary'; and thank God I'm out of Chiswick!"

The shock of such an act almost caused Jemima to faint with terror.

"Well, I never—" she began. "What an audacious—" she gasped. Emotion prevented her from completing either sentence.

The carriage rolled away; the great gates were closed; the bell rang for the dancing lesson. The world is before the two young ladies; and so, farewell to Chiswick Mall!

FOOTNOTES:[3]From "Vanity Fair," by William Makepeace Thackeray.[4]"Madam, I have come to tell you good-by."

[3]From "Vanity Fair," by William Makepeace Thackeray.

[4]"Madam, I have come to tell you good-by."

Expression: By many able critics, Thackeray is regarded as a greater novelist than either Dickens or George Eliot. Compare this extract from one of his best works with the two selections which precede it. Which of the three stories is the most interesting to you? Which sounds the best when read aloud? Which is the most humorous? Which is the most pathetic?Reread the three selections very carefully. Now tell what you observe about the style of each. In what respects is the style of the third story different from that of either of the others? Reread Miss Pinkerton's letter. What peculiarities do you observe in it? Select and reread the most humorous passage in this last story.

Reread the three selections very carefully. Now tell what you observe about the style of each. In what respects is the style of the third story different from that of either of the others? Reread Miss Pinkerton's letter. What peculiarities do you observe in it? Select and reread the most humorous passage in this last story.

In the small kingdom of Bavaria, on the south bank of the Danube River, there is a famous old city called Ratisbon. It is not a very large city, but its history can be traced far back to the time when the Romans had a military camp there which they used as an outpost against the German barbarians. At one time it ranked among the most flourishing towns of Germany.

It is now of little commercial importance—a quaint and quiet old place, with a fine cathedral and many notable buildings which testify to its former greatness.

During the earlier years of the nineteenth century, Napoleon Bonaparte, emperor of the French, was engaged in bitter warfare with Austria and indeed with nearly the whole of Europe. In April, 1809, the Austrian army, under Grand Duke Charles, was intrenched in Ratisbon and the neighboring towns. There it was attacked by the French army commanded by Napoleon himself and led by the brave Marshal Lannes, Duke of Montebello.

The battle raged, first on this side of the city, then on that, and for several days no one could tell which of the combatants would be victorious. At length Napoleon decided to end the matter by storming the city and, if possible, driving the archduke from his stronghold. He, therefore, sent Marshal Lannes forward to direct the battle, while he watched the conflict and gave commands from a distance. For a long time the issue seemed doubtful, and not even Napoleon could guess what the result would be. Late in the day, however, French valor prevailed, the Austrians were routed, and Marshal Lannes forced his way into the city.

It was at this time that the incident described so touchingly in the following poem by Robert Browning is supposed to have taken place. We do not know, nor does any one know, whether the story has any foundation in fact. It illustrates, however, the spirit of bravery and self-sacrifice that prevailed among the soldiers of Napoleon; and such an incident might, indeed, have happened not only at Ratisbon, but at almost any place where the emperor's presence urged his troops to victory. For, such was Napoleon's magic influence and such was the love which he inspired among all his followers, that thousands of young men were ready cheerfully to give their lives for the promotion of his selfish ambition.

The poem, which is now regarded as one of the classics of our language, was first published in 1843, in a small volume entitled "Dramatic Lyrics." The same volume contained the well-known rime of "The Pied Piper of Hamelin." Robert Browning was at that time a young man of thirty, and most of the poems which afterwards made him famous were still unwritten.

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon:A mile or so away,On a little mound, NapoleonStood on our storming day:With neck outthrust, you fancy how,Legs wide, arms locked behind,As if to balance the prone browOppressive with its mind.Just as perhaps he mused, "My plansThat soar, to earth may fall,Let once my army leader LannesWaver at yonder wall,"—Out 'twixt the battery smokes there flewA rider, bound on boundFull galloping; nor bridle drewUntil he reached the mound.Then off there flung in smiling joy,And held himself erectBy just his horse's mane, a boy:You hardly could suspect—(So tight he kept his lips compressed,Scarce any blood came through)You looked twice ere you saw his breastWas all but shot in two.

Just as perhaps he mused, "My plansThat soar, to earth may fall,Let once my army leader LannesWaver at yonder wall,"—Out 'twixt the battery smokes there flewA rider, bound on boundFull galloping; nor bridle drewUntil he reached the mound.

Then off there flung in smiling joy,And held himself erectBy just his horse's mane, a boy:You hardly could suspect—(So tight he kept his lips compressed,Scarce any blood came through)You looked twice ere you saw his breastWas all but shot in two.

"We've got you Ratisbon!""We've got you Ratisbon!"

"Well," cried he, "Emperor by God's graceWe've got you Ratisbon!The Marshal's in the market place,And you'll be there anonTo see your flag bird flap his vansWhere I, to heart's desire,Perched him!" The chiefs eye flashed; his plansSoared up again like fire.The chief's eye flashed; but presentlySoftened itself, as sheathesA film the mother eagle's eyeWhen her bruised eaglet breathes;"You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's prideTouched to the quick, he said:"I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside,Smiling, the boy fell dead.

The chief's eye flashed; but presentlySoftened itself, as sheathesA film the mother eagle's eyeWhen her bruised eaglet breathes;"You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's prideTouched to the quick, he said:"I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside,Smiling, the boy fell dead.

Expression: This is a difficult selection to read properly and with spirit and feeling. Study each stanza until you understand it thoroughly. Practice reading the following passages, giving the proper emphasis and inflections.You know, we French stormed Ratisbon.With neck outthrust you fancy how."We've got you Ratisbon!""You're wounded!" "Nay, I'm killed, Sire!"Word Study:Napoleon,Ratisbon,Bavaria,Lannes;anon,vans,sheathes,eaglet,Sire.Explain: "To see your flag bird flap his vans." "His plans soared up again like fire."

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon.

With neck outthrust you fancy how.

"We've got you Ratisbon!"

"You're wounded!" "Nay, I'm killed, Sire!"

Word Study:Napoleon,Ratisbon,Bavaria,Lannes;anon,vans,sheathes,eaglet,Sire.

Explain: "To see your flag bird flap his vans." "His plans soared up again like fire."

A beggar childSat on a quay's edge: like a birdSang to herself at careless play,And fell into the stream. "Dismay!Help, you standers-by!" None stirred.Bystanders reason, think of wivesAnd children ere they risk their lives.Over the balustrade has bouncedA mere instinctive dog, and pouncedPlumb on the prize. "How well he dives!""Up he comes with the child, see, tightIn mouth, alive, too, clutched from quiteA depth of ten feet—twelve, I bet!Good dog! What, off again? There's yetAnother child to save? All right!""How strange we saw no other fall!It's instinct in the animal.Good dog! But he's a long time under:If he got drowned, I should not wonder—Strong current, that against the wall!"Here he comes, holds in mouth this time—What may the thing be? Well, that's prime!Now, did you ever? Reason reignsIn man alone, since all Tray's painsHave fished—the child's doll from the slime!"

A beggar childSat on a quay's edge: like a birdSang to herself at careless play,And fell into the stream. "Dismay!Help, you standers-by!" None stirred.

Bystanders reason, think of wivesAnd children ere they risk their lives.Over the balustrade has bouncedA mere instinctive dog, and pouncedPlumb on the prize. "How well he dives!"

"Up he comes with the child, see, tightIn mouth, alive, too, clutched from quiteA depth of ten feet—twelve, I bet!Good dog! What, off again? There's yetAnother child to save? All right!"

"How strange we saw no other fall!It's instinct in the animal.Good dog! But he's a long time under:If he got drowned, I should not wonder—Strong current, that against the wall!

"Here he comes, holds in mouth this time—What may the thing be? Well, that's prime!Now, did you ever? Reason reignsIn man alone, since all Tray's painsHave fished—the child's doll from the slime!"

FOOTNOTE:[5]By Robert Browning.

[5]By Robert Browning.

Expression: Read the story silently, being sure that you understand it clearly. Then read each passage aloud, giving special attention to emphasis and inflections. Answer these questions by reading from the poem:Where was the child? What did she do?What did some one cry out?Why did not the bystanders help?What did the dog do?What did one bystander say?What did another say when the dog came up?What did he say when the dog went back?Read correctly: "Well, that's prime!" "Now, did you ever?" "All right!" "If he got drowned, I should not wonder."In what respects do these two poems differ from your favorite poems by Longfellow or Tennyson? Do you think there is much music in them?

Where was the child? What did she do?

What did some one cry out?

Why did not the bystanders help?

What did the dog do?

What did one bystander say?

What did another say when the dog came up?

What did he say when the dog went back?

Read correctly: "Well, that's prime!" "Now, did you ever?" "All right!" "If he got drowned, I should not wonder."

In what respects do these two poems differ from your favorite poems by Longfellow or Tennyson? Do you think there is much music in them?

It was on Friday morning, the 12th of October, that Columbus first beheld the New World. As the day dawned he saw before him a level island, several leagues in extent, and covered with trees like a continual orchard. Though apparently uncultivated, it was populous, for the inhabitants were seen issuing from all parts of the woods and running to the shore. They stood gazing at the ships, and appeared, by their attitudes and gestures, to be lost in astonishment.

Columbus made signal for the ships to cast anchor and the boats to be manned and armed. He entered his own boat richly attired in scarlet and holding the royal standard; while Martin Alonzo Pinzon and his brother put off in company in their boats, each with a banner of the enterprise emblazoned with a green cross, having on either side the letters F and Y, the initials of the Castilian monarchs Fernando and Ysabel, surmounted by crowns.

As he approached the shore, Columbus, who was disposed for all kinds of agreeable impressions, was delighted with the purity and suavity of the atmosphere, the crystal transparency of the sea, and the extraordinary beauty of the vegetation. He beheld also fruits of an unknown kind upon the trees which overhung the shores. On landing he threw himself on his knees, kissed the earth, and returned thanks to God with tears of joy.

His example was followed by the rest, whose hearts indeed overflowed with the same feelings of gratitude. Columbus then rising drew his sword, displayed the royal standard, and, assembling round him the two captains and the rest who had landed, he took solemn possession in the name of the Castilian sovereigns, giving the island the name of San Salvador. Having complied with the requisite forms and ceremonies, he called upon all present to take the oath of obedience to him as admiral and viceroy, representing the persons of the sovereigns.

The feelings of the crew now burst forth in the most extravagant transports. They had recently considered themselves devoted men hurrying forward to destruction; they now looked upon themselves as favorites of fortune and gave themselves up to the most unbounded joy. They thronged around the admiral with overflowing zeal, some embracing him, others kissing his hands.

Those who had been most mutinous and turbulent during the voyage were now most devoted and enthusiastic. Some begged favors of him, as if he had already wealth and honors in his gift. Many abject spirits, who had outraged him by their insolence, now crouched at his feet, begging pardon for all the trouble they had caused him and promising the blindest obedience for the future.

The natives of the island, when at the dawn of day they had beheld the ships hovering on their coast, had supposed them monsters which had issued from the deep during the night. They had crowded to the beach and watched their movements with awful anxiety. Their veering about apparently without effort, and the shifting and furling of their sails, resembling huge wings, filled them with astonishment. When they beheld their boats approach the shore, and a number of strange beings clad in glittering steel, or raiment of various colors, landing upon the beach, they fled in affright to the woods.

Finding, however, that there was no attempt to pursue or molest them, they gradually recovered from their terror and approached the Spaniards with great awe, frequently prostrating themselves on the earth and making signs of adoration. During the ceremonies of taking possession, they remained gazing in timid admiration at the complexion, the beards, the shining armor and splendid dress of the Spaniards. The admiral particularly attracted their attention, from his commanding height, his air of authority, his dress of scarlet, and the deference which was paid him by his companions; all which pointed him out to be the commander.

When they had still further recovered from their fears, they approached the Spaniards, touched their beards and examined their hands and faces, admiring their whiteness. Columbus was pleased with their gentleness and confiding simplicity, and soon won them by his kindly bearing. They now supposed that the ships had sailed out of the crystal firmament which bounded their horizon, or had descended from above on their ample wings, and that these marvelous beings were inhabitants of the skies.

The natives of the island were no less objects of curiosity to the Spaniards, differing as they did from any race of men they had ever seen. Their appearance gave no promise of either wealth or civilization, for they were entirely naked and painted with a variety of colors. With some it was confined merely to a part of the face, the nose, or around the eyes; with others it extended to the whole body and gave them a wild and fantastic appearance.

Their complexion was of a tawny, or copper hue, and they were entirely destitute of beards. Their hair was not crisped, like the recently discovered tribes of the African coast, under the same latitude, but straight and coarse, partly cut short above the ears, but some locks were left long behind and falling upon their shoulders. Their features, though obscured and disfigured by paint, were agreeable; they had lofty foreheads and remarkably fine eyes. They were of moderate stature and well shaped.

As Columbus supposed himself to have landed on an island at the extremity of India, he called the natives by the general name of Indians, which was universally adopted before the true nature of his discovery was known, and has since been extended to all the aboriginals of the New World.

The islanders were friendly and gentle. Their only arms were lances, hardened at the end by fire, or pointed with a flint, or the teeth or bone of a fish. There was no iron to be seen, nor did they appear acquainted with its properties; for, when a drawn sword was presented to them, they unguardedly took it by the edge.

Columbus distributed among them colored caps, glass beads, hawks' bells and other trifles, such as the Portuguese were accustomed to trade with among the nations of the gold coast of Africa. They received them eagerly, hung the beads round their necks, and were wonderfully pleased with their finery, and with the sound of the bells. The Spaniards remained all day on shore refreshing themselves, after their anxious voyage, amid the beautiful groves of the island, and returned on board late in the evening, delighted with all they had seen.

The island where Columbus had thus, for the first time, set his foot upon the New World, was called by the natives Guanahane. It still retains the name of San Salvador, which he gave to it, though called by the English Cat Island.

FOOTNOTE:[6]From "The Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus," by Washington Irving.

[6]From "The Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus," by Washington Irving.

King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport,And one day as his lions fought, sat looking on the court;The nobles filled the benches, with the ladies in their pride,And 'mong them sat the Count de Lorge with one for whom he sighed:And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show,Valor, and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below.Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws;They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws;With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled on one another,Till all the pit with sand and mane was in a thundrous smother;The bloody foam above the bars came whisking through the air;Said Francis then, "Faith, gentlemen, we're better here than there."

Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws;They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws;With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled on one another,Till all the pit with sand and mane was in a thundrous smother;The bloody foam above the bars came whisking through the air;Said Francis then, "Faith, gentlemen, we're better here than there."

The Glove and the Lions.The Glove and the Lions.

De Lorge's love o'erheard the King,—a beauteous lively dameWith smiling lips and sharp, bright eyes, which always seemed the same:She thought, "The Count, my lover, is brave as brave can be;He surely would do wondrous things to show his love of me;King, ladies, lovers, all look on; the occasion is divine;I'll drop my glove, to prove his love; great glory will be mine."She dropped her glove, to prove his love, then looked at him and smiled;He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild:His leap was quick, return was quick, he has regained his place,Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face."Well done!" cried Francis, "bravely done!" and he rose from where he sat:"No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that."

She dropped her glove, to prove his love, then looked at him and smiled;He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild:His leap was quick, return was quick, he has regained his place,Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face."Well done!" cried Francis, "bravely done!" and he rose from where he sat:"No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that."

FOOTNOTE:[7]By Leigh Hunt, an English essayist and poet (1784-1859).

[7]By Leigh Hunt, an English essayist and poet (1784-1859).

Expression: Read this poem silently, trying to understand fully the circumstances of the story: (1) the time; (2) the place; (3) the character of the leading actors. Then read aloud each stanza with feeling and expression.

Seven hundred years ago, Francis the gentlest of the saints was born in Assisi, the quaint Umbrian town among the rocks; and for twenty years and more he cherished but one thought, and one desire, and one hope; and these were that he might lead the beautiful and holy and sorrowful life which our Master lived on earth, and that in every way he might resemble Him in the purity and loveliness of his humanity.

Not to men alone but to all living things on earth and air and water was St. Francis most gracious and loving. They were all his little brothers and sisters, and he forgot them not, still less scorned or slighted them, but spoke to them often and blessed them, and in return they showed him great love and sought to be of his fellowship. He bade his companions keep plots of ground for their little sisters the flowers, and to these lovely and speechless creatures he spoke, with no great fear that they would not understand his words. And all this was a marvelous thing in a cruel time, when human life was accounted of slight worth by fierce barons and ruffling marauders.

For the bees he set honey and wine in the winter, lest they should feel the nip of the cold too keenly; and bread for the birds, that they all, but especially "my brother Lark," should have joy of Christmastide, and at Rieti a brood of redbreasts were the guests of the house and raided the tables while the brethren were at meals; and when a youth gave St. Francis the turtledoves he had snared, the Saint had nests made for them, and there they laid their eggs and hatched them, and fed from the hands of the brethren.

Out of affection a fisherman once gave him a great tench, but he put it back into the clear water of the lake, bidding it love God; and the fish played about the boat till St. Francis blessed it and bade it go.

"Why dost thou torment my little brothers the Lambs," he asked of a shepherd, "carrying them bound thus and hanging from a staff, so that they cry piteously?" And in exchange for the lambs he gave the shepherd his cloak. And at another time seeing amid a flock of goats one white lamb feeding, he was concerned that he had nothing but his brown robe to offer for it (for it reminded him of our Lord among the Pharisees); but a merchant came up and paid for it and gave it him, and he took it with him to the city and preached about it so that the hearts of those hearing him were melted. Afterwards the lamb was left in the care of a convent of holy women, and to the Saint's great delight, these wove him a gown of the lamb's innocent wool.

Fain would I tell of the coneys that took refuge in the folds of his habit, and of the swifts which flew screaming in their glee while he was preaching; but now it is time to speak of the sermon which he preached to a great multitude of birds in a field by the roadside, when he was on his way to Bevagno. Down from the trees flew the birds to hear him, and they nestled in the grassy bosom of the field, and listened till he had done. And these were the words he spoke to them:—

"Little birds, little sisters mine, much are you holden to God your Creator; and at all times and in every place you ought to praise Him. Freedom He has given you to fly everywhere; and raiment He has given you, double and threefold. More than this, He preserved your kind in the Ark, so that your race might not come to an end. Still more do you owe Him for the element of air, which He has made your portion. Over and above, you sow not, neither do you reap; but God feeds you, and gives you streams and springs for your thirst; the mountains He gives you, and the valleys for your refuge, and the tall trees wherein to build your nests. And because you cannot sew or spin, God takes thought to clothe you, you and your little ones. It must be, then, that your Creator loves you much, since He has granted you so many benefits. Be on your guard then against the sin of ingratitude, and strive always to give God praise."

And when the Saint ceased speaking, the birds made such signs as they might, by spreading their wings and opening their beaks, to show their love and pleasure; and when he had blessed them with the sign of the cross, they sprang up, and singing songs of unspeakable sweetness, away they streamed in a great cross to the four quarters of heaven.

FOOTNOTE:[8]By William Canton, an English journalist and poet (1845- ).

[8]By William Canton, an English journalist and poet (1845- ).

Up soared the lark into the air,A shaft of song, a winged prayer,As if a soul, released from pain,Were flying back to heaven again.St. Francis heard; it was to himAn emblem of the Seraphim;The upward motion of the fire,The light, the heat, the heart's desire.Around Assisi's convent gateThe birds, God's poor who cannot wait,From moor and mere and darksome wood,Came flocking for their dole of food."O brother birds," St. Francis said,"Ye come to me and ask for bread,But not with bread alone to-dayShall ye be fed and sent away."Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds,With manna of celestial words;Not mine, though mine they seem to be,Not mine, though they be spoken through me."Oh, doubly are ye bound to praiseThe great creator in your lays;He giveth you your plumes of down,Your crimson hoods, your cloaks of brown."He giveth you your wings to flyAnd breathe a purer air on high,And careth for you everywhereWho for yourselves so little care."With flutter of swift wings and songsTogether rose the feathered throngsAnd, singing, scattered far apart;Deep peace was in St. Francis' heart.He knew not if the brotherhoodHis homily had understood;He only knew that to one earThe meaning of his words was clear.

Up soared the lark into the air,A shaft of song, a winged prayer,As if a soul, released from pain,Were flying back to heaven again.

St. Francis heard; it was to himAn emblem of the Seraphim;The upward motion of the fire,The light, the heat, the heart's desire.

Around Assisi's convent gateThe birds, God's poor who cannot wait,From moor and mere and darksome wood,Came flocking for their dole of food.

"O brother birds," St. Francis said,"Ye come to me and ask for bread,But not with bread alone to-dayShall ye be fed and sent away.

"Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds,With manna of celestial words;Not mine, though mine they seem to be,Not mine, though they be spoken through me.

"Oh, doubly are ye bound to praiseThe great creator in your lays;He giveth you your plumes of down,Your crimson hoods, your cloaks of brown.

"He giveth you your wings to flyAnd breathe a purer air on high,And careth for you everywhereWho for yourselves so little care."

With flutter of swift wings and songsTogether rose the feathered throngsAnd, singing, scattered far apart;Deep peace was in St. Francis' heart.

He knew not if the brotherhoodHis homily had understood;He only knew that to one earThe meaning of his words was clear.

FOOTNOTE:[9]By Henry W. Longfellow.

[9]By Henry W. Longfellow.

Expression: Talk with your teacher about the life, work, and influence of St. Francis. Refer to cyclopedias for information. Read aloud the prose version of his sermon to the birds; the poetical version. Compare the two versions. What is said in one that is not said in the other?

Years ago, when quite a youth, I was rambling in the woods one day with my brothers, gathering black birch and wintergreens.

As we lay upon the ground, gazing vaguely up into the trees, I caught sight of a bird, the like of which I had never before seen or heard of. It was the blue yellow-backed warbler, which I have found since; but to my young fancy it seemed like some fairy bird, so curiously marked was it, and so new and unexpected. I saw it a moment as the flickering leaves parted, noted the white spot on its wing, and it was gone.

It was a revelation. It was the first intimation I had had that the woods we knew so well held birds that we knew not at all. Were our eyes and ears so dull? Did we pass by the beautiful things in nature without seeing them? Had we been blind then? There were the robin, the bluejay, the yellowbird, and others familiar to every one; but who ever dreamed that there were still others that not even the hunters saw, and whose names few had ever heard?

The surprise that awaits every close observer of birds, the thrill of delight that accompanies it, and the feeling of fresh eager inquiry that follows can hardly be awakened by any other pursuit.

There is a fascination about it quite overpowering.

It fits so well with other things—with fishing, hunting, farming, walking, camping out—with all that takes one to the fields and the woods. One may go blackberrying and make some rare discovery; or, while driving his cow to pasture, hear a new song, or make a new observation. Secrets lurk on all sides. There is news in every bush. Expectation is ever on tiptoe. What no man ever saw may the next moment be revealed to you.

What a new interest this gives to the woods! How you long to explore every nook and corner of them! One must taste it to understand. The looker-on sees nothing to make such a fuss about. Only a little glimpse of feathers and a half-musical note or two—why all this ado? It is not the mere knowledge of birds that you get, but a new interest in the fields and woods, the air, the sunshine, the healing fragrance and coolness, and the getting away from the worry of life.

Yesterday was an October day of rare brightness and warmth. I spent the most of it in a wild, wooded gorge of Rock Creek. A tree which stood upon the bank had dropped some of its fruit in the water. As I stood there, half-leg deep, a wood duck came flying down the creek.

Presently it returned, flying up; then it came back again, and sweeping low around a bend, prepared to alight in a still, dark reach in the creek which was hidden from my view. As I passed that way about half an hour afterward, the duck started up, uttering its wild alarm note. In the stillness I could hear the whistle of its wings and the splash of the water when it took flight. Near by I saw where a raccoon had come down to the water for fresh clams, leaving its long, sharp track in the mud and sand. Before I had passed this hidden stretch of water, a pair of strange thrushes flew up from the ground and perched on a low branch.

Who can tell how much this duck, this footprint on the sand, and these strange thrushes from the far North enhanced the interest and charm of the autumn woods?

Birds cannot be learned satisfactorily from books. The satisfaction is in learning them from nature. One must have an original experience with the birds. The books are only the guide, the invitation. But let me say in the same breath that the books can by no manner of means be dispensed with.

In the beginning one finds it very difficult to identify a bird in any verbal description. First find your bird; observe its ways, its song, its calls, its flight, its haunts. Then compare with your book. In this way the feathered kingdom may soon be conquered.

Back to Index Next