The Ontario Readers: Third Book
Chapter 1
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THE ONTARIO READERS
THIRD BOOK
AUTHORIZED BY
THE MINISTER OF EDUCATION
The price of this book to the purchaser is not the total cost. During the present period of abnormal and fluctuating trade conditions, an additional sum, which may vary from time to time, is paid to the Publisher by the Department of Education.
Entered, according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year 1909, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture by the Minister of Education for Ontario.
TORONTO: THE T. EATON Co LIMITED
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
THE MINISTER OF EDUCATION is indebted to Rudyard Kipling, Henry Newbolt, Beckles Willson, E. B. Osborn, F. T. Bullen, Flora Annie Steel; Charles G. D. Roberts, W. Wilfred Campbell, Ethelwyn Wetherald, Jean Blewett, Robert Reid, "Ralph Connor," John Waugh, S. T. Wood; Henry Van Dyke, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward, and Richard Watson Gilder for special permission to reproduce, in this Reader, selections from their writings.
He is indebted to Lord Tennyson for special permission to reproduce the poems from the works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson; to Lloyd Osbourne for permission to reproduce the selection from the works of Robert Louis Stevenson; and to J. F. Edgar for permission to reproduce one of Sir James D. Edgar's poems.
He is also indebted to Macmillan & Co., Limited, for special permission, to reproduce selections from the works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Rudyard Kipling, and Flora Annie Steel; to Smith, Elder & Co., for the extract from F. T. Bullen's "The Cruise of the Cachalot"; to Elkin Mathews for Henry Newbolt's poem from "The Island Race"; to Sampson Low, Marston & Company for the extract from R. D. Blackmore's "Lorna Doone"; to Thomas Nelson & Sons for the extract from W. F. Collier's "History of the British Empire"; to Chatto and Windus for the extract from E. B. Osborn's "Greater Canada"; to Houghton Mifflin Company for "The Chase" from Charles Dudley Warner's "A-Hunting of the Deer," "Mary Elizabeth" by Mrs. Phelps Ward, and the poems by Celia Thaxter and by Richard Watson Gilder; to The Century Company for Jacob A. Riis' "The Story of a Fire" from "_The Century Magazine_"; to The Copp Clark Co., Limited, for the selections from Charles G. D. Roberts' works; to The Westminster Co., Limited, for the extract from "Ralph Connor's" "The Man from Glengarry."
The Minister is grateful to these authors and publishers and to others, not mentioned here, through whose courtesy he has been able to include in this Reader so many copyright selections.
Toronto, May, 1909.
CONTENTS
PAGE
_To-day_ _Thomas Carlyle_ 1
Fortune and the Beggar _Ivan Kirloff_ 2
_The Lark and the Rook_ _Unknown_ 4
The Pickwick Club on the Ice _Charles Dickens_ 6
_Tubal Cain_ _Charles Mackay_ 11
Professor Frog's Lecture _M. A. L. Lane_ 14
_A Song for April_ _Charles G. D. Roberts_ 25
How the Crickets Brought Good Fortune _P. J. Stahl_ 26
_The Battle of Blenheim_ _Robert Southey_ 31
The Ride for Life _"Ralph Connor"_ 34
_Iagoo, the Boaster_ _Henry W. Longfellow_ 39
The Story of a Fire _Jacob A. Riis_ 40
_The Quest_ _Eudora S. Bumstead_ 43
The Jackal and the Partridge _Flora Annie Steel_ 44
_Hide and Seek_ _Henry Van Dyke_ 50
The Burning of the "Goliath" _Dean Stanley_ 52
_Hearts of Oak_ _David Garrick_ 55
_A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea_ _Allan Cunningham_ 56
The Talents _Bible_ 57
_A Farewell_ _Charles Kingsley_ 59
_An Apple Orchard in the Spring_ _William Martin_ 60
The Bluejay _"Mark Twain"_ 61
_A Canadian Camping Song_ _Sir James David Edgar_ 65
The Argonauts _John Waugh_ 66
_The Minstrel-Boy_ _Thomas Moore_ 71
Mary Elizabeth _Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward_ 72
_The Frost_ _Hannah Flagg Gould_ 83
_Corn-fields_ _Mary Howitt_ 84
South-West Wind, Esq. _John Ruskin_ 86
_The Meeting of the Waters_ _Thomas Moore_ 97
Love _Bible_ 98
_The Robin's Song_ _Unknown_ 99
Work or Play _"Mark Twain"_ 100
_Burial of Sir John Moore_ _Charles Wolfe_ 106
The Whistle _Benjamin Franklin_ 108
_A Canadian Boat Song_ _Thomas Moore_ 109
The Little Hero of Haarlem _Sharpe's London Magazine_ 110
_Father William_ _"Lewis Carroll"_ 115
David and Goliath _Bible_ 117
_Charge of the Light Brigade_ _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 123
Maggie Tulliver _George Eliot_ 125
_The Corn Song_ _John G. Whittier_ 134
Sports in Norman England _William Fitzstephen_ 136
_A Song of Canada_ _Robert Reid_ 140
A Mad Tea Party _"Lewis Carroll"_ 142
_The Slave's Dream_ _Henry W. Longfellow_ 149
The Chase _Charles Dudley Warner_ 152
_The Inchcape Rock_ _Robert Southey_ 158
A Rough Ride _Richard D. Blackmore_ 161
_The Arab and His Steed_ _The Honourable Mrs. Norton_ 169
_The Poet's Song_ _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 173
Adventure with a Whale _Frank T. Bullen_ 174
_The Maple_ _H. F. Darnell_ 179
Damon and Pythias _Charlotte M. Yonge_ 181
_The Wreck of the Orpheus_ _C. A. L._ 184
_The Tide River_ _Charles Kingsley_ 185
Wisdom the Supreme Prize _Bible_ 187
_The Orchard_ _Jean Blewett_ 188
Inspired by the Snow _Samuel T. Wood_ 189
_The Squirrel_ _William Cowper_ 192
_Soldier, Rest_ _Sir Walter Scott_ 192
Fishing _Thomas Hughes_ 193
_The Fountain_ _James Russell Lowell_ 199
_Break, Break, Break_ _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 201
The Bed of Procrustes _Charles Kingsley_ 202
_"Bob White"_ _George Cooper_ 208
Radisson and the Indians _Beckles Willson_ 209
_The Brook_ _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 212
"Do Seek Their Meat From God" _Charles G. D. Roberts_ 215
_A Song of the Sea_ _"Barry Cornwall"_ 222
Little Daffydowndilly _Nathaniel Hawthorne_ 223
_The Sandpiper_ _Celia Thaxter_ 234
From "The Sermon on the Mount" _Bible_ 236
_The Legend of Saint Christopher_ _Helen Hunt Jackson_ 237
William Tell and His Son _Chamber's "Tracts"_ 241
_A Midsummer Song_ _Richard Watson Gilder_ 244
The Relief of Lucknow _"Letter from an officer's wife"_ 246
_The Song in Camp_ _Bayard Taylor_ 250
_Afterglow_ _William Wilfred Campbell_ 252
King Richard and Saladin _Sir Walter Scott_ 253
_England's Dead_ _Felicia Hemans_ 258
_Hohenlinden_ _Thomas Campbell_ 260
The Dream of the Oak Tree _Hans Christian Andersen_ 262
A Prayer _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 266
_The Death of the Flowers_ _William Cullen Bryant_ 267
_'Tis the Last Rose of Summer_ _Thomas Moore_ 269
A Roman's Honour _Charlotte M. Yonge_ 270
_The Fighting Téméraire_ _Henry Newbolt_ 273
Don Quixote's Fight with the Windmills _Miguel de Cervantes_ 275
_The Romance of the Swan's Nest_ _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ 281
Moonlight Sonata _Unknown_ 285
_The Red-Winged Blackbird_ _Ethelwyn Wetherald_ 290
_To the Cuckoo_ _John Logan_ 291
The Story of a Stone _D. B._ 293
_The Snow-Storm_ _John G. Whittier_ 298
The Heroine of Verchères _Francis Parkman_ 301
_Jacques Cartier_ _Thomas D'Arcy M'Gee_ 307
Ants and Their Slaves _Jules Michelet_ 310
_Lead, Kindly Light_ _John Henry Newman_ 315
The Jolly Sandboys _Charles Dickens_ 316
_The Gladness of Nature_ _William Cullen Bryant_ 324
Old English Life _William F. Collier_ 325
_Puck's Song_ _Rudyard Kipling_ 330
The Battle of Queenston Heights _Unknown_ 332
_The Bugle Song_ _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 337
Charity _Bible_ 338
_A Christmas Carol_ _James Russell Lowell_ 339
The Barren Lands _E. B. Osborn_ 341
_A Spring Morning_ _William Wordsworth_ 345
_Crossing the Bar_ _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 346
EMPIRE DAY
I want you to remember what Empire Day means. Empire Day is the festival on which every British subject should reverently remember that the British Empire stands out before the whole world as the fearless champion of freedom, fair play and equal rights; that its watchwords are responsibility, duty, sympathy and self-sacrifice, and that a special responsibility rests with you individually to be true to the traditions and to the mission of your race.
I also want you to remember that one day Canada will become, if her people are faithful to their high British traditions, the most powerful of all the self-governing nations, not excluding the people of the United Kingdom, which make up the British Empire, and that it rests with each one of you individually to do your utmost by your own conduct and example to make Canada not only the most powerful, but the noblest of all the self-governing nations that are proud to owe allegiance to the King.
Earl Grey. Governor-General of Canada
THIRD READER
TO-DAY
So here hath been dawning Another blue day; Think, wilt thou let it Slip useless away?
Out of Eternity This new day is born; Into Eternity At night will return.
Behold it aforetime No eye ever did; So soon it forever From all eyes is hid.
Here hath been dawning Another blue day; Think, wilt thou let it Slip useless away?
CARLYLE
FORTUNE AND THE BEGGAR
One day a ragged beggar was creeping along from house to house. He carried an old wallet in his hand, and was asking at every door for a few cents to buy something to eat. As he was grumbling at his lot, he kept wondering why it was that folks who had so much money were never satisfied but were always wanting more.
"Here," said he, "is the master of this house--I know him well. He was always a good business man, and he made himself wondrously rich a long time ago. Had he been wise he would have stopped then. He would have turned over his business to some one else, and then he could have spent the rest of his life in ease. But what did he do instead? He built ships and sent them to sea to trade with foreign lands. He thought he would get mountains of gold.
"But there were great storms on the water; his ships were wrecked, and his riches were swallowed up by the waves. Now all his hopes lie at the bottom of the sea, and his great wealth has vanished.
"There are many such cases. Men seem to be never satisfied unless they gain the whole world.
"As for me, if I had only enough to eat and to wear, I would not want anything more."
Just at that moment Fortune came down the street. She saw the beggar and stopped. She said to him:
"Listen! I have long wished to help you. Hold your wallet and I will pour this gold into it, but only on this condition: all that falls into the wallet shall be pure gold; but every piece that falls upon the ground shall become dust. Do you understand?"
"Oh, yes, I understand," said the beggar.
"Then have a care," said Fortune. "Your wallet is old, so do not load it too heavily."
The beggar was so glad that he could hardly wait. He quickly opened his wallet, and a stream of yellow dollars poured into it. The wallet grew heavy.
"Is that enough?" asked Fortune.
"Not yet."
"Isn't it cracking?"
"Never fear."
The beggar's hands began to tremble. Ah, if the golden stream would only pour for ever!
"You are the richest man in the world now!"
"Just a little more, add just a handful or two."
"There, it's full. The wallet will burst."
"But it will hold a little, just a little more!"
Another piece was added, and the wallet split. The treasure fell upon the ground and was turned to dust. Fortune had vanished. The beggar had now nothing but his empty wallet, and it was torn from top to bottom. He was as poor as before.
IVAN KIRLOFF
THE LARK AND THE ROOK
"Good-night, Sir Rook!" said a little lark, "The daylight fades; it will soon be dark; I've bathed my wings in the sun's last ray; I've sung my hymn to the parting day; So now I haste to my quiet nook In yon dewy meadow--good-night, Sir Rook!"
"Good-night, poor Lark," said his titled friend With a haughty toss and a distant bend; "I also go to my rest profound, But not to sleep on the cold, damp ground. The fittest place for a bird like me Is the topmost bough of yon tall pine tree.
"I opened my eyes at peep of day And saw you taking your upward way, Dreaming your fond romantic dreams, An ugly speck in the sun's bright beams, Soaring too high to be seen or heard; And I said to myself: 'What a foolish bird!'
"I trod the park with a princely air; I filled my crop with the richest fare; I cawed all day 'mid a lordly crew, And I made more noise in the world than you! The sun shone forth on my ebon wing; I looked and wondered--good-night, poor thing!"
"Good-night, once more," said the lark's sweet voice, "I see no cause to repent my choice; You build your nest in the lofty pine, But is your slumber more sweet than mine? You make more noise in the world than I, But whose is the sweeter minstrelsy?"
UNKNOWN
What stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted? Thrice is he armed, that hath his quarrel just; And he but naked, though locked up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.
SHAKESPEARE
THE PICKWICK CLUB ON THE ICE
"You skate, of course, Winkle?" said Wardle.
"Ye-yes; oh, yes," replied Mr. Winkle. "I--I--am _rather_ out of practice."
"Oh, _do_ skate, Mr. Winkle," said Arabella. "I like to see it so much."
"Oh, it is _so_ graceful," said another young lady. A third young lady said it was elegant, and a fourth expressed her opinion that it was "swan-like."
"I should be very happy, I'm sure," said Mr. Winkle, reddening; "but I have no skates."
This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had got a couple of pair, and the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen more downstairs, whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite delight, and looked exquisitely uncomfortable.
Old Wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice; and the fat boy and Mr. Weller, having shovelled and swept away the snow which had fallen on it during the night, Mr. Bob Sawyer adjusted his skates with a dexterity which to Mr. Winkle seemed perfectly marvellous, and described circles with his left leg, and cut figures of eight, and inscribed upon the ice, without once stopping for breath, a great many other pleasant and astonishing devices, to the excessive satisfaction of Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Tupman, and the ladies; which reached a pitch of positive enthusiasm, when old Wardle and Benjamin Allen, assisted by the aforesaid Bob Sawyer, performed some mystic evolutions, which they called a reel.
All this time, Mr. Winkle, with his face and hands blue with the cold, had been forcing a gimlet into the soles of his feet, and putting his skates on with the points behind, and getting the straps into a very complicated and entangled state, with the assistance of Mr. Snodgrass, who knew rather less about skates than a Hindoo. At length, however, with the assistance of Mr. Weller, the unfortunate skates were firmly screwed and buckled on, and Mr. Winkle was raised to his feet.
"Now, then, sir," said Sam in an encouraging tone; "off vith you, and show 'em how to do it."
"Stop, Sam, stop," said Mr. Winkle, trembling violently, and clutching hold of Sam's arms with the grasp of a drowning man. "How slippery it is, Sam!"
"Not an uncommon thing upon ice, sir," replied Mr. Weller. "Hold up, sir."
This last observation of Mr. Weller's bore reference to a demonstration Mr. Winkle made at the instant, of a frantic desire to throw his feet into the air and dash the back of his head on the ice.
"These--these--are very awkward skates; ain't they, Sam?" inquired Mr. Winkle, staggering.
"I'm afeerd there's an orkard gen'lm'n in 'em, sir," replied Sam.
"Now, Winkle," cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious that there was anything the matter. "Come, the ladies are all anxiety."
"Yes, yes," replied Mr. Winkle, with a ghastly smile. "I'm coming."
"Just a goin' to begin," said Sam, endeavouring to disengage himself. "Now, sir, start off."
"Stop an instant, Sam," gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging most affectionately to Mr. Weller. "I find I've a couple of coats at home that I don't want, Sam. You may have them, Sam."
"Thank'ee, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
"Never mind touching your hat, Sam," said Mr. Winkle, hastily. "You needn't take your hand away to do that. I meant to have given you five shillings this morning for a Christmas-box, Sam. I'll give it to you this afternoon, Sam."
"You're wery good, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
"Just hold me at first, Sam; will you?" said Mr. Winkle. "There--that's right. I shall soon get into the way of it, Sam. Not too fast, Sam; not too fast."
Mr. Winkle, stooping forward with his body half doubled up, was being assisted over the ice by Mr. Weller, in a very singular and un-swan-like manner, when Mr. Pickwick most innocently shouted from the opposite bank--
"Sam!"
"Sir?" said Mr. Weller.
"Here. I want you."
"Let go, sir," said Sam. "Don't you hear the governor a-callin'? Let go, sir!"
With a violent effort, Mr. Weller disengaged himself from the grasp of the agonized Pickwickian; and, in so doing, administered a considerable impetus to the unhappy Mr. Winkle. With an accuracy which no degree of dexterity or practice could have insured, that unfortunate gentleman bore swiftly down into the centre of the reel, at the very moment when Mr. Bob Sawyer was performing a flourish of unparalleled beauty. Mr. Winkle struck wildly against him, and with a loud crash they both fell heavily down. Mr. Pickwick ran to the spot. Bob Sawyer had risen to his feet, but Mr. Winkle was far too wise to do anything of the kind in skates. He was seated on the ice making spasmodic efforts to smile; but anguish was depicted on every lineament of his countenance.
"Are you hurt?" inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, with great anxiety.
"Not much," said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back very hard.
"I wish you'd let me bleed you," said Mr. Benjamin, with great eagerness.
"No, thank you," replied Mr. Winkle hurriedly.
"I really think you had better," said Allen.
"Thank you," replied Mr. Winkle "I'd rather not."
"What do _you_ think, Mr. Pickwick?" inquired Bob Sawyer.
Mr. Pickwick was excited and indignant. He beckoned to Mr. Weller, and said in a stern voice:
"Take his skates off."
The command was not to be resisted. Mr. Winkle allowed Sam to obey it in silence.
"Lift him up," said Mr. Pickwick. Sam assisted him to rise.
Mr. Pickwick retired a few paces apart from the bystanders; and, beckoning his friend to approach, fixed a searching look upon him, and uttered in a low but distinct and emphatic tone these remarkable words:
"You're a humbug, sir."
"A what?" said Mr. Winkle, starting.
"A humbug, sir. I will speak plainer, if you wish it. An impostor, sir."
With these words, Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on his heel and rejoined his friends.
DICKENS: "The Pickwick Papers."
TUBAL CAIN
Old Tubal Cain was a man of might, In the days when earth was young; By the fierce red light of his furnace bright, The strokes of his hammer rung: And he lifted high his brawny hand On the iron glowing clear, Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers, As he fashioned the sword and spear. And he sang--"Hurrah for my handiwork! Hurrah for the spear and sword! Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well, For he shall be king and lord!"
To Tubal Cain came many a one, As he wrought by his roaring fire; And each one prayed for a strong steel blade, As the crown of his desire; And he made them weapons sharp and strong, Till they shouted loud for glee; And they gave him gifts of pearls and gold, And spoils of the forest free. And they sang--"Hurrah for Tubal Cain, Who hath given us strength anew! Hurrah for the smith, hurrah for the fire, And hurrah for the metal true!"
But a sudden change came o'er his heart, Ere the setting of the sun; And Tubal Cain was filled with pain For the evil he had done: He saw that men, with rage and hate, Made war upon their kind, That the land was red with the blood they shed, In their lust for carnage blind. And he said--"Alas! that I ever made, Or that skill of mine should plan, The spear and the sword for men whose joy Is to slay their fellow-man!"
And for many a day old Tubal Cain Sat brooding o'er his woe; And his hand forbore to smite the ore, And his furnace smouldered low. But he rose at last with a cheerful face, And a bright courageous eye, And bared his strong right arm for work, While the quick flames mounted high. And he sang--"Hurrah for my handiwork!" And the red sparks lit the air; "Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made," And he fashioned the first ploughshare.
And men, taught wisdom from the past, In friendship joined their hands; Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall, And ploughed the willing lands: And sang--"Hurrah for Tubal Cain! Our stanch good friend is he; And for the ploughshare and the plough, To him our praise shall be. But while oppression lifts its head, Or a tyrant would be lord; Though we may thank him for the plough, We'll not forget the sword!"
CHARLES MACKAY
PROFESSOR FROG'S LECTURE
Bobby was not quite sure that he was awake, but when he opened his eyes there was the blue sky, with the soft, white clouds drifting across it, the big pine waving its spicy branches over his head, and beyond, the glint of sunshine on the waters of the pond. Presently Bobby heard voices talking softly.