Chapter 13

"Have the goodness to walk out again, then," said Schwartz. "We've quite enough water in our kitchen, without making it a drying house."

"It's a very cold day, sir, to turn an old man out in, sir; look at my gray hairs."

"Aye!" said Hans, "there are enough of them to keep you warm. Walk!"

"I'm very, very hungry, sir; couldn't you spare me a bit of bread before I go?"

"Bread, indeed!" said Schwartz; "do you suppose we've nothing to do with our bread but to give it to such fellows as you?"

"Why don't you sell your feather?" said Hans, sneeringly. "Out with you."

"A little bit," said the old gentleman.

"Be off!" said Schwartz.

"Pray, gentlemen."

"Off!" cried Hans, seizing him by the collar. But he had no sooner touched the old gentleman's collar than away he went after the rolling-pin, spinning round and round, till he fell into the corner on the top of it.

Then Schwartz was very angry, and ran at the old gentleman to turn him out. But he also had hardly touched him, when away he went after Hans and the rolling-pin, and hit his head against the wall as he tumbled into the corner. And so there they lay, all three.

Then the old gentleman spun himself round until his long cloak was all wound neatly about him, clapped his cap on his head, very much on one side, gave a twist to his corkscrew mustaches, and replied, with perfect coolness: "Gentlemen, I wish you a very good morning. At twelve o'clock to-night, I'll call again."

_John Ruskin._

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NOTE.--"The King of the Golden River," from which the selection is taken, is a charming story for children. It was written in 1841, for the amusement of a sick child. It is said to be the finest story of its kind in the language.

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elf en cir' cled jerk hur' ri cane rein'deer min' i a ture tar' nished

A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS.

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse: The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And Mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, When out on the lawn there rose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave the luster of midday to objects below; When, what to my wondering eyes should appear But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick! More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted and called them by name: "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer! now, Vixen! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, Now, dash away! dash away! dash away, all!" As dry leaves, that before the wild hurricane fly When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So, up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas, too; And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack; His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad face, and a little round belly, That shook, when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly. He was chubby and plump,--a right jolly old elf-- And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And, laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle; But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"

_Clement C. Moore._

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a chieved' es poused' thral' dom al li' ance ter rif' ic Del' a ware Com' mo dore re cip' i ents New' found land can non ad' ing par tic' i pa ted char ac ter is' tic

COMMODORE JOHN BARRY.

The story of the American Navy is a story of glorious deeds. From the early days of Barry and Jones, when it swept the decks of King George's proud ships with merciless fire, down to the glories achieved by Admirals Dewey and Schley in our war with Spain, the story of our Navy is the pride and glory of our Republic. The glowing track of its victories extends around the world.

Of the many distinguished men whose names and whose deeds adorn the pages of our country's history, there is none more deserving of our gratitude and admiration than Commodore John Barry. His name and fame will live in the naval annals of our country as long as the history of America lasts.

Commodore Barry, the founder of the American Navy, was born in County Wexford, Ireland, in the year 1745. At the age of fourteen he left home for a life on

"The sea, the sea, the open sea, The blue, the fresh, the ever free."

On board trading vessels he made several voyages to America. He spent his leisure hours in reading and study, and in this way soon acquired a general and practical education. By fidelity to duty, he advanced so rapidly in his profession that at the age of twenty-five we find him in command of the _Black Prince,_ one of the finest merchant vessels then running between Philadelphia and London.

When the Revolution broke out between the Colonies and England, our gallant Commodore gave up the command of his ship, and without delay or hesitation espoused the cause of his adopted country. Congress purchased a few vessels, had them fitted out for war, and placed the little fleet under the command of Captain Barry. His flagship was the _Lexington_, named after the first battle of the Revolution; and Congress having at this time adopted a national flag, the Star-spangled Banner, the _Lexington_ was the first to hoist this ensign of freedom.

From the time of the fitting out of the _Lexington_ down to the time of the declaration of peace, which assured the liberation of the Colonies from the thraldom of Great Britain, Commodore Barry was constantly engaged on shore and afloat. Though he actually participated in upwards of twenty sea fights, always against a force superior to his own, he never once struck his flag to the enemy. The field of his operations ranged all the way from the capes of the Delaware to the West Indies, and as far east as the coast of Maine and Newfoundland. His victories were hailed with joy throughout the country, and Barry and his men were publicly thanked by General Washington.

During the darkest days of the War, while Washington was spending the winter of 1777 in camp at Valley Forge, with our brave soldiers perishing for want of provisions, blankets, clothing and tents, an incident occurred which shows how supremely loyal and devoted Commodore Barry was to the American cause. The British troops were occupying Philadelphia. Lord Howe, their commander, offered our great sea fighter a bribe of fifty thousand guineas and the command of a ship of war, if he would abandon the American cause and enter the service of England. Barry's indignant reply should be written in letters of gold: "I have engaged in the service of my adopted country, and neither the value nor the command of the whole British fleet can seduce me from it."

General Washington had the utmost confidence in the pluck and daring and loyalty of Barry. He selected him as the best and safest man to be trusted with the important mission of carrying our commissioners to France to secure that alliance and assistance which we then so sorely needed.

On his homeward trip, it is related that being hailed by a British man-of-war with the usual questions as to the name of his ship, captain, and destination, he gave the following bold and characteristic reply: "This is the United States ship _Alliance_: Jack Barry, half Irishman and half Yankee, commander: who are you?" In the engagement that followed, Barry and his band of heroes performed such deeds of valor that after a few hours of terrific cannonading, the English ship was forced to strike its colors and surrender to the "half Irishman and half Yankee."

This illustrious man, who was the first that bore the title of Commodore in the service of our Republic, continued at the head of our infant Navy till his death, which took place in Philadelphia, on the 13th of September, 1803. During life he was generous and charitable, and at his death made the children of the Catholic Orphan Asylum of Philadelphia the chief recipients of his wealth. His remains repose in the little graveyard attached to St. Mary's Catholic church.

Through the generous patriotism of the "Friendly Sons of St. Patrick," a society of which General Washington himself was a member, a magnificent monument was erected to the memory of Commodore Barry, in Independence Square, Philadelphia, under the shadow of Independence Hall, the cradle of American liberty. Miss Elise Hazel Hepburn, a great-great-grandniece of the Commodore, had a prominent part at the ceremonies of the unveiling, which took place on Saint Patrick's Day, 1907.

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There are gallant hearts whose glory Columbia loves to name, Whose deeds shall live in story And everlasting fame. But never yet one braver Our starry banner bore Than saucy old Jack Barry, The Irish Commodore.

What is meant by the Congress of the U.S.? What two bodies compose it? What is the number of senators, and how are they chosen?

Which was the most notable sea fight of Commodore John Paul Jones?

Where did Admiral Dewey specially distinguish himself? And Admiral Schley?

What countries does the island of Great Britain comprise?

What does "never struck his flag" mean?

Name the capes of the Delaware. Locate Newfoundland.

Recite the two famous replies of Commodore Barry given in the selection.

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sau' cy ig nored' rev' eled plain' tive dis traught' wea' ri some rol' lick ing mis' chie vous frec'kle-faced

THE BOY OF THE HOUSE.

He was the boy of the house, you know, A jolly and rollicking lad; He was never tired, and never sick, And nothing could make him sad.

Did some one urge that he make less noise, He would say, with a saucy grin, "Why, one boy alone doesn't make much stir-- I'm sorry I am not a twin!"

"There are two of twins--oh, it must be fun To go double at everything: To hollo by twos, and to run by twos, To whistle by twos, and to sing!"

His laugh was something to make you glad, So brimful was it of joy; A conscience he had, perhaps, in his breast, But it never troubled the boy.

You met him out in the garden path, With the terrier at his heels; You knew by the shout he hailed you with How happy a youngster feels.

The maiden auntie was half distraught At his tricks as the days went by; "The most mischievous child in the world!" She said, with a shrug and a sigh.

His father owned that her words were true, And his mother declared each day Was putting wrinkles into her face, And was turning her brown hair gray.

But it never troubled the boy of the house; He reveled in clatter and din, And had only one regret in the world-- That he hadn't been born a twin.

* * * * *

There's nobody making a noise to-day, There's nobody stamping the floor, There's an awful silence, upstairs and down, There's crape on the wide hall door.

The terrier's whining out in the sun-- "Where's my comrade?" he seems to say; Turn your plaintive eyes away, little dog. There's no frolic for you to-day.

The freckle-faced girl from the house next door Is sobbing her young heart out; Don't cry, little girl, you'll soon forget To miss the laugh and the shout.

How strangely quiet the little form, With the hands on the bosom crossed! Not a fold, not a flower, out of place, Not a short curl rumpled and tossed!

So solemn and still the big house seems-- No laughter, no racket, no din, No starting shriek, no voice piping out, "I'm sorry I am not a twin!"

There a man and a woman, pale with grief, As the wearisome moments creep; Oh! the loneliness touches everything-- The boy of the house is asleep.

_Jean Blewett._

From the Toronto _Globe_.

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BIOGRAPHIES

COOK, ELIZA, was born in London, England, in the year 1817, and was the most popular poetess of her day. When a young girl, she gave herself so completely up to reading that her father threatened to burn her books. She began to write at an early age, and contributed poems and essays to various periodicals. She is the author of many poems that will live. She died in 1889.

COWPER, WILLIAM, is one of the most eminent and popular of all English poets. He was born in the year 1731. His mother dying when he was only six years old, the child was sent away from home to boarding school, where he suffered so much from the cruelty of a bigger boy that he was obliged to leave that school for another. At the completion of his college course he expressed regrets that his education was not received in a school where he could be taught his duty to God. "I have been graduated," he writes, "but I understand neither the law nor the gospel." His longest poem is "The Task," upon which his reputation as a poet chiefly depends. He died in the year 1800.

DICKENS, CHARLES, one of the greatest and most popular of the novelists of England, was born in 1812. By hard, persistent work he raised himself from obscurity and poverty to fame and fortune. After only two years of schooling he was obliged to go to work. His first job was pasting labels on blacking-pots, for which he received twenty-five cents a day! He next became office boy in a lawyer's office, and then reporter for a London daily paper. He learned shorthand by himself from a book he found in a public reading-room. In 1841, and again in 1867, he lectured in America. He died suddenly in 1870, and is buried in Westminster Abbey.

DONNELLY, ELEANOR CECILIA, began to write verses when she was but eight years old. Her early education was directed by her mother, a gifted and accomplished lady. Her pen has ever been devoted to the cause of Catholic truth and the elevation of Catholic literature. Besides hundreds of charming stories and essays, she has published several volumes of poems. Her writings on sacred subjects display a strong, intelligent faith, and a tender piety. She is a writer whose pathos, originality, grace of diction, sweetness of rhythm, purity of sentiment, and sublimity of thought entitle her to rank among the first of our American poets. Miss Donnelly has lived all her life in her native city of Philadelphia, where she is the center of a cultured circle of admiring friends, and where she edifies all by the practice of every Christian virtue and by a life of devotedness to the honor and glory of Almighty God.

GOULD, HANNAH F., an American poetess, has written many pleasant poems for children. "Jack Frost" and "The Winter King" have long been favorites. She was born in Vermont in the year 1789, and died in 1865.

HAWTHORNE, NATHANIEL, was born in Salem, Mass., on July 4, 1804. When still quite young he showed a great fondness for reading. At the early age of six his favorite book was Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress." At college he was a classmate of Longfellow. Among his writings are a number of stories for children: "The Tanglewood Tales," "The Snow-Image," "The Wonder Books," and some stories of American history. His volumes of short stories charm old and young alike. His Book, "The Scarlet Letter," has made him famous. It was while he lived at Lenox, Mass., among the Berkshire Hills, that he published "The House of the Seven Gables." He visited Italy in 1857, where he began "The Marble Faun," which is considered his greatest novel. He died in 1864, and is buried in Concord, Mass. Hawthorne possessed a delicate and exquisite humor, and a marvelous felicity in the use of language. His style may be said to combine almost every excellence--elegance, simplicity, grace, clearness and force.

HAYNE, PAUL HAMILTON, an American poet, was born in South Carolina in the year 1831. In 1854 he published a volume of poems. His death occurred in 1886. He was a descendant of the American patriot, Isaac Hayne, who, at the siege of Charleston in 1780, fell into the hands of the British, and was hanged by them because he refused to join their ranks and fight against his country.

HOLLAND, JOSIAH GILBERT, a popular American author who wrote under the assumed name of _Timothy Titcomb,_ was born in Massachusetts in the year 1819. He began life as a physician, but after a few years of practice gave up his profession and went to Vicksburg, Miss., as Superintendent of Schools. He wrote a number of novels and several volumes of essays. In 1870 he became editor of _Scribner's Magazine._ He died in 1881.

HUNT, LEIGH, editor, essayist, critic, and poet, and an intimate friend of Byron, Moore, Keats, and Shelley, was born near London, England, in 1784, and died in 1859.

JACKSON, HELEN HUNT, a noted American writer of prose and poetry, and known for years by her pen name of "H.H." (the initials of her name), was born in Massachusetts in the year 1831. She is the author of many charming poems, short stories, and novels. Read her "Bits of Talk" and "Bits of Travel." She lived some years in Colorado, where her life brought to her notice the wrongs done the Indians. In their defense she wrote "A Century of Dishonor," The last book she wrote is "Ramona," an Indian romance, which she hoped would do for the Indian what "Uncle Tom's Cabin" had done for the slave. Mrs. Jackson died in California in 1885.

"MERCEDES" is the pen name of an able, zealous, and devoted Sister of one of our great Teaching Communities. She has written several excellent "Plays" for use in Convent Schools which have met the test of successful production. Her "Wild Flowers from the Mountain-side" is a volume of Poems and Dramas that exhibit "the heart and soul and faith of true poetry." A competent critic calls these "Wild Flowers sweet, their hues most delicate, their fragrance most agreeable." Mercedes has also enriched the columns of _The Missionary_ and other publications with several true stories, in attractive prose, of edifying conversions resulting from the missionary zeal of priest and teacher. Her graceful pen is ever at the service of every cause tending to the glory of God and the good of souls.

MOORE, THOMAS, was born in the city of Dublin, Ireland, in the year 1779, and was educated at Trinity College. His matchless "Melodies" are the delight of all lovers of music, and are sung all over the world. Archbishop McHale of Tuam translated them into the grand old Celtic tongue. Moore is the greatest of Ireland's song-writers, and one of the world's greatest. As a poet few have equaled him in the power to write poetry which charms the ear by its delightful cadence. His lines display an exquisite harmony, and are perfectly adapted to the thoughts which they express and inspire. His grave is in England, where he spent the later years of his life, and where he died in 1852. In 1896, the Moore Memorial Committee of Dublin erected over his grave a monument consisting of a magnificent and beautiful Celtic cross.

MOORE, CLEMENT C., poet and teacher, was born in New York in 1779. In 1821 he was appointed professor in a Seminary founded by his father, who was Bishop Benjamin Moore of the Protestant Episcopal diocese of New York. He died in 1863.

MORRIS, GEORGE P., poet and journalist, wrote several popular poems, but is remembered chiefly for his songs and ballads. He was born in Philadelphia in the year 1802, and died in New York in 1864.

MCCARTHY, DENIS ALOYSIUS, poet, lecturer and journalist, was born in Carrick-on-Suir, County Tipperary, Ireland, in the year 1871, and made his elementary and intermediate studies in the Christian Brothers' School of his native town. Since his arrival in America in 1886, he has published two volumes of poems which he modestly calls "A Round of Rimes" and "Voices from Erin." "His poetry," says a distinguished critic who is neither Irish nor Catholic, "is soulful and sweet, and sings itself into the heart of anyone who has a bit of sentiment in his make-up." Mr. McCarthy is at present Associate Editor of the _Sacred Heart Review_ of Boston. He lectures on literary and Irish themes, and contributes poems, stories, essays, book reviews, etc., to various papers and magazines.

NEWMAN, CARDINAL JOHN HENRY, was born in London in 1801, and studied at Trinity College, Oxford. In 1824 he became a minister of the Church of England, and rose rapidly in his profession. In 1845 he abandoned the English ministry, renounced the errors of Protestantism, and entered the Catholic Church, of which he remained till death a most faithful, devoted, and zealous son. He was ordained priest in 1848, was made Rector of the Catholic University of Dublin in 1854, and in 1879 was raised to the rank of Cardinal by Pope Leo XIII. Cardinal Newman's writings are beyond the grasp of young minds, yet they will profit by and enjoy the perusal of his two great novels, "Loss and Gain" and "Callista." The former is the story of a convert; the latter a tale of the third century, in which the beautiful heroine and martyr, Callista, is presented with a master's art. Newman is the greatest master of English prose. In this field he holds the same rank that Shakespeare does in English poetry. To his style, Augustine Birrell, a noted English essayist, pays the following graceful and eloquent tribute: "The charm of Dr. Newman's style baffles description. As well might one seek to analyze the fragrance of a flower, or to expound in words the jumping of one's heart when a beloved friend unexpectedly enters the room." This great Prince of the Church died the death of the saints in the year 1890.