Part 10

And now, having come so far, my master went on to break me to harness; there were more new things to wear. First, a stiff, heavy collar just on my neck, and a bridle with great side pieces against my eyes, called blinkers; and blinkers indeed they were, for I could not see on either side, but only straight in front of me. Next, there was a small saddle with an ugly, stiff strap that went right under my tail; that was the crupper. I hated the crupper; to have my long tail doubled up and poked through that strap was almost as bad as the bit. I never felt more like kicking; but of course I could not kick such a good master. And so in time I became used to everything, and could do my work as well as my mother.

I must not forget to mention one part of my training, which I have always considered a very great advantage. My master sent me for a fortnight to a neighboring farmer’s, who had a meadow which was skirted on one side by the railway. Here were some sheep and cows, and I was turned in amongst them. I shall never forget the first train that ran by. I was feeding quietly near the fence which separated the meadow from the railway, when I heard a strange sound at a distance. And before I knew whence it came, with a rush and a clatter, and a puffing out of smoke, a long black train of something flew by, and was gone almost before I could draw my breath. I turned, and galloped to the other side of the meadow as fast as I could go, and there I stood snorting with astonishment and fear.

In the course of the day many other trains went by, some more slowly; these drew up at the station close by, and sometimes made an awful whistle and groan before they stopped. I thought it very dreadful; but the cows went on eating very quietly, and hardly raised their heads as the black, dreadful thing came puffing and groaning past.

For the first few days I could not feed in peace; but as I found that this terrible creature never came into the field, or did me any harm, I began to disregard it, and very soon I cared as little about the passing of a train as the cows and sheep did. Since then, I have seen many horses much alarmed and restive at the sight or sound of a steam-engine; but, thanks to my good master’s care, I am as fearless at railway stations as in my own stable.

Now, if any one wants to break in a young horse well, that is the way.

My master often drove me in double harness with my mother, because she was steady, and could teach me how to go better than a strange horse. She told me that the better I behaved, the better I should be treated, and that it was wisest always to do my best to please my master.

“But,” said she, “there are a great many kinds of men. There are good, thoughtful men, like our master, that any horse may be proud to serve; but there are bad, cruel men, who never ought to have a horse or dog to call their own. Besides, there are a great many foolish men, vain, ignorant, and careless, who never trouble themselves to think. These spoil more horses than all, just for want of sense; they do not mean it, but they do it for all that. I hope you will fall into good hands; but a horse never knows who may buy him, or who may drive him: it is all a chance for us; but still I say, do your best wherever it is, and keep up your good name.”--ANNA SEWELL.

_From “Black Beauty,” by permission of Jarrold & Sons._

THE DOOR OF SPRING

How shall we open the door of Spring That Winter is holding wearily shut? Though winds are calling and waters brawling, And snow decaying and light delaying, Yet will it not move in its yielding rut And back on its flowery hinges swing, Till wings are flapping And woodpeckers tapping With sharp, clear rapping At the door of Spring.

How shall we fasten the door of Spring Wide, so wide that it cannot close? Though buds are filling and frogs are trilling, And violets breaking and grass awaking, Yet doubtfully back and forth it blows Till come the birds, and the woodlands ring With sharp beak stammer-- The sudden clamor Of the woodpecker’s hammer At the door of Spring.

--ETHELWYN WETHERALD.

_From “The Last Robin,” by permission._

* * * * *

I live for those who love me, For those who know me true, For the heaven that smiles above me, And awaits my spirit, too; For the cause that needs assistance, For the wrong that needs resistance; For the future in the distance, For the good that I can do.

THE CROCUS’S SONG

Down in my solitude under the snow, Where nothing cheering can reach me; Here, without light to see how to grow, I’ll trust to nature to teach me.

I will not despair, nor be idle, nor frown, Locked in so gloomy a dwelling; My leaves shall run up, and my roots shall run down, While the bud in my bosom is swelling.

Soon as the frost will get out of my bed, From this cold dungeon to free me, I will peer up with my little bright head-- All will be joyful to see me.

Then from my heart will young petals diverge As rays of the sun from their focus; I from the darkness of earth will emerge, A happy and beautiful Crocus!

Many, perhaps, from so simple a flower This little lesson may borrow,-- Patient to-day, through its gloomiest hour, We come out the brighter to-morrow.

--HANNAH FLAGG GOULD.

A SOUND OPINION

One day a farmer, named Bernard, having finished his business at the market town, found that he had a few hours at his disposal before returning home. He had often heard people speaking about a certain Mr. Wiseman, a lawyer, whose reputation was so great that even the judges did not like to decide contrary to his opinion. Bernard thought he might spend some of his time in getting an opinion from so learned and clever a lawyer.

When he arrived at Mr. Wiseman’s office, he had to wait a long time, but at last his turn came and he was shown into the room. Mr. Wiseman asked him to sit down, and after taking a good look at him through his spectacles, asked him to state his business.

“Upon my word, Mr. Lawyer,” said the farmer, twisting his hat in his hand, “I can’t say I have any particular business with you; but as I happened to be in town, to-day, I thought I should be losing an opportunity if I did not get an opinion from you.”

“I thank you for your confidence in me,” replied the lawyer. “You have, I suppose, some law-suit going on?”

“A law-suit?” said the farmer; “I should rather think not! There is nothing I hate so much, and I have never had a quarrel with any one in my life.”

“Then, I suppose, you want some family property fairly and justly divided?”

“I beg your pardon, sir; my family lives with me in peace, and we have no need to think of dividing our property.”

“Perhaps, then, you want some agreement drawn up about the sale or purchase of something?”

“Not at all! I am not rich enough to be purchasing property, and not poor enough to wish to sell any.”

“Then what on earth do you want me to do, my friend?” said the astonished lawyer.

“Well, Mr. Wiseman, I thought I had already told you that,” replied Bernard, with a sheepish laugh; “what I want is an opinion. I am ready to pay for it. You see, here I am in town, and it would be a great pity if I were to lose the opportunity.”

The lawyer looked at him and smiled; then taking up his pen, he asked the farmer what his name was. “Peter Bernard,” said he, quite pleased that the lawyer at last understood what he wanted.

“Your age?”

“Forty years, or somewhere about that.”

“Your profession?”

“My profession! Ah, yes! you mean what do I do? I am a farmer.”

The lawyer, still smiling, wrote two lines on a piece of paper, folded it up, and gave it to his strange client.

“Is that all,” cried Bernard; “well, well! so much the better. I daresay you are too busy to write much. Now, how much does that cost, Mr. Lawyer?”

“Half-a-crown.”

Bernard paid the money, made his bow, and went away delighted that he had got an opinion.

When he reached home it was four in the afternoon; he was tired with his journey, and made up his mind to have a good rest. It happened, however, that his hay had been cut for some days, and was now completely dry; and one of his men came to ask if it should be carried in and housed that night.

“This night!” said the farmer’s wife. “Who ever heard of such a thing? Your master is tired, and the hay can just as well be got in to-morrow.” The man said it was no business of his, but the weather might change, and the horses and carts were ready, and the farm hands had nothing to do. To this the angry wife replied that the wind was in a favorable quarter, and that they could not any way get the work done before nightfall.

Bernard, having listened to both sides of the question, hesitated to decide, when suddenly he remembered the paper the lawyer had given him. “Stop a minute!” cried he, “I have an opinion--a famous opinion--an opinion that cost me half-a-crown. That’s the thing to put us straight. You are a grand scholar, my dear; tell us what it says.” His wife took the paper, and with some little difficulty, read out these two lines:--

_Peter Bernard: Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day._

“There’s the very thing!” cried the farmer. “Quick! out with the men and the carts, and we’ll have the hay in at once!”

His wife still grumbled, but it was of no use. Bernard was obstinate. He declared that he was not going to pay half-a-crown for nothing, and that, as he had an opinion from his lawyer, he would follow it whatever happened. In fact, he set the example himself, and urging his men to the greatest speed, did not return to his home till all the hay was safely housed.

During the night the weather suddenly changed. An unforeseen storm burst over the valley. In the morning a stream flowed through the meadows carrying in its current the newly cut hay of all the neighbors. Bernard alone saved his.

From that day forward he followed the lawyer’s advice, and in course of time became one of the richest farmers in the district. Nor did he forget that he owed his success to the lawyer, to whom he carried every year a couple of fat fowls.--SELECTED.

* * * * *

Anger and haste hinder good counsel.

THE SOLDIER’S DREAM

Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered-- The weary to sleep and the wounded to die.

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.

Methought from the battle-field’s dreadful array, Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track; ’Twas autumn--and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life’s morning march when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o’er, And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart.

“Stay, stay with us!--rest; thou art weary and worn!” And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay; But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away!

--THOMAS CAMPBELL.

MARCH OF THE MEN OF HARLECH

Men of Harlech! in the hollow, Do you hear, like rushing billow, Wave on wave that surging follow Battle’s distant sound? ’Tis the tramp of Saxon foemen, Saxon spearmen, Saxon bowmen,-- Be they knights or hinds or yeomen, They shall bite the ground! Loose the folds asunder, Flag we conquer under! The placid sky, now bright on high, Shall launch its bolts in thunder. Onwards! ’tis our country needs us. He is bravest, he who leads us! Honor’s self now proudly heads us! Cambria, God, and Right! Rocky steeps and passes narrow Flash with spear and flight of arrow. Who would think of death or sorrow? Death is glory now! Hurl the reeling horsemen over! Let the earth dead foemen cover! Fate of friend, of wife, of lover, Trembles on a blow! Strands of life are riven; Blow for blow is given In deadly lock or battle shock, And mercy shrieks to Heaven! Men of Harlech! young or hoary, Would you win a name in story? Strike for home, for life, for glory! Cambria, God, and Right!

--WILLIAM DUTHIE.

HUGH JOHN SMITH BECOMES A SOLDIER

It was on the day before a great review of soldiers at the nearest town that Hugh John Smith first became a soldier and a general. His father’s house was connected by a short driveway with a great main road along which king and beggar had for more than a thousand years gone to and from the town.

Hugh John loved the wide road, and every day he ran down the driveway and looked through the bars of the gate to see who was passing. It was a large white gate of strong wood, lovely to swing on, if by chance it was left unfastened. It would shut of itself, and you had only to push it open, jump on, and ride all the way back, while the gate swung into place.

On the great day when Hugh John became a soldier, he had been digging all the morning in the sand hole. He had on his red coat, which was his pride, and he was taking a fort protected by high walls of sand. He shouted “Boom!” when he fired off his cannon, and “Bang, whack!” when he knocked down the walls that he had so carefully patted into shape.

Suddenly there came a sound which always made the heart of Hugh John beat fast. It was the sound of the drum. He had only time to make a dash for his soldier’s cap, gird on his sword with the gold hilt, and fly. As he ran down the driveway, the sound of the fifes grew louder and louder. It was at this point that Hugh John had a great struggle with himself. His brother and sister were playing under an elm tree on the front lawn. He could not bear that they should miss the soldiers. But then, if he went back, the troops might be past before he reached the gate.

“I must see the soldiers. I must--I must!” he cried.

But in his heart a little voice kept saying, “It is mean to go off without telling your brother and sister.”

“I can’t be mean! I won’t be mean!” thought Hugh John. And so he ran back with all his might, and with a warning cry called the younger children to follow. Then with legs that passed each other so quickly that they could hardly be seen, Hugh John fairly flung himself towards the white gate. The gate was open, and with a wild cry he sprang through and stood on the roadside just as the troops came into view.

The first who passed were soldiers in a dark uniform. No one cast a glance at Hugh John. He stood with his drawn sword, giving the salute as each company went by. Then came red coats and brass bands. Hugh John saluted them all. No one paid the least attention to him. He did not, indeed, expect any one to notice him. He was only a small dusty boy with a sword too big for him, standing under the shadow of the elms. But he saluted every one of them as they swung past, dust-choked and thirsty.

At last came the Scottish bagpipes. Hugh John crossed the road, and then he was nearer to the soldiers. Swinging step, waving plumes, all in review order, came on the famous regiment. They passed by, and the sound of the pipes soon grew faint in the distance. Then came more companies of soldiers and more and more. And ever the sword of Hugh John flashed to the salute, and his small arm grew weary as it rose and fell.

Then happened the most astonishing thing in the world. It was the greatest event in Hugh John’s life. There came to his ear a new sound, the clatter of horses’ hoofs. A bugle rang out, and Hugh John’s eyes watched the noble grey horses come tramping along as if proud of their riders. He stood more erect than ever.

On they came, a fine young officer at their head. He sat erect on a noble horse, leading one of the finest troops of horsemen in the world. He saw the small dusty boy in his red coat standing by the roadside, and he marked his pale face and his erect bearing. Hugh John had seen soldiers before, but never any so fine as these. He could hardly lift his sword, but his hand was steady and he went through the beautiful movements of the military salute with order and precision.

The young officer smiled and raised his own sword in response, as if Hugh John had been one of his own troopers. The boy’s heart stood still. Could this thing be? A real soldier had saluted him. But there was something more wonderful yet to come. The officer turned in his saddle.

“Attention, men. Draw swords!” he cried, and his voice rang like a trumpet.

There came a glitter of steel as the swords flashed into line. The horses tossed their heads at the stirring sound. “Eyes right! Carry swords!” came again the sharp command. And every blade made a circle of glittering light as it rose to the salute. Tears welled up in Hugh John’s eyes as he stood there in the pride of the honor done to him. He had been treated as a real soldier by the greatest soldier there. He was no longer a little dusty boy. Now he was a soldier indeed.

“Eyes front! Slope swords!” rang the words once more. The regiment passed by, and only the far drum beats came back as Hugh John stood silent under the elm tree. When his father rode up on his way home, he asked the boy what he was doing there.

Hugh John wanted to laugh, but the tears ran down his cheeks. “I’m not hurt, father,” he said, “I’m not crying. It was only that the Scots Greys saluted me. But I’m not crying, I’m not indeed!” Then the stern man gathered the great soldier up and set him across his saddle. He was alone, for the other children had gone to their play. And thus rode our hero home--Hugh John Smith no more, General Napoleon he called himself now.

Late that night Hugh John stole down the hushed driveway, his bare feet pattering through the dust which the dew was making cool. He stood again by the roadside where he had seen the troops march by. Then clasping his hands he made a solemn vow.

“The Scots Greys saluted me. Never, never, so long as I live, will I be mean again!”--SAMUEL R. CROCKETT.

_From “Sir Toady Lion,” by special permission of the Author._

ENGLAND’S DEAD

Sons of the ocean isle! Where sleep your mighty dead? Show me what high and stately pile Is reared o’er Glory’s bed. Go, stranger! track the deep, Free, free, the white sail spread! Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep, Where rest not England’s dead.

On Egypt’s burning plains, By the pyramid o’erswayed, With fearful power the noon-day reigns, And the palm-trees yield no shade. But let the angry sun From Heaven look fiercely red, Unfelt by those whose task is done! There slumber England’s dead.

The hurricane hath might Along the Indian shore, And far, by Ganges’ banks at night, Is heard the tiger’s roar. But let the sound roll on! It hath no tone of dread, For those that from their toils are gone; There slumber England’s dead.

Loud rush the torrent-floods The western wilds among, And free, in green Columbia’s woods, The hunter’s bow is strung. But let the floods rush on! Let the arrow’s flight be sped! Why should they reck whose task is done? There slumber England’s dead.

The mountain-storms rise high In the snowy Pyrenees, And toss the pine-boughs through the sky, Like rose-leaves on the breeze. But let the storm rage on! Let the forest-wreaths be shed! For the Roncesvalles’ field is won; There slumber England’s dead.

On the frozen deep’s repose ’Tis a dark and dreadful hour, When round the ship the ice-fields close, To chain her with their power. But let the ice drift on! Let the cold-blue desert spread! Their course with mast and flag is done; There slumber England’s dead.

The warlike of the isles, The men of field and wave, Are not the rocks their funeral piles, The seas and shores their grave? Go, stranger! track the deep, Free, free, the white sail spread! Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep, Where rest not England’s dead.

--FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS.

A CHILD’S DREAM OF A STAR

There was once a child, and he strolled about a good deal, and thought of a number of things. He had a sister, who was a child too, and his constant companion. These two used to wonder all day long. They wondered at the beauty of the flowers; they wondered at the height and blueness of the sky; they wondered at the goodness and the power of God, who made the lovely world.

They used to say to one another sometimes, “Supposing all the children upon earth were to die, would the flowers, and the water, and the sky be sorry?” They believed they would be sorry. “For,” said they, “the buds are the children of the flowers, and the little playful streams that gambol down the hillsides are the children of the water; and the smallest bright specks, playing at hide-and-seek in the sky all night, must surely be the children of the stars; and they would always be grieved to see their playmates, the children of men, no more.”

There was one clear-shining star that used to come out in the sky before the rest, near the church spire, above the graves. It was larger and more beautiful, they thought, than all the others, and every night they watched for it, standing hand-in-hand at a window. Whoever saw it first cried out, “I see the star!” And often they cried out both together, knowing so well when it would rise, and where. So they grew to be such friends with it, that before lying down on their beds, they always looked out once again, to bid it good-night; and when they were turning round to sleep they used to say, “God bless the star!”

But while she was still very young,--oh, very, very young,--the sister drooped, and came to be so weak, that she could no longer stand at the window at night; and then the child looked sadly out by himself, and when he saw the star, turned round and said to the patient, pale face on the bed, “I see the star!” and then a smile would come upon the face, and a little, weak voice used to say, “God bless my brother and the star!”

And so the time came, all too soon! when the child looked out alone, and when there was no face on the bed; and when there was a little grave among the graves, not there before; and when the star made long rays down towards him, as he saw it through his tears.

Now, these rays were so bright, and they seemed to make such a shining way from earth to heaven, that when the child went to his solitary bed, he dreamed about the star; and dreamed that, lying where he was, he saw a train of people taken up that sparkling road by angels. And the star, opening, showed him a great world of light, where many more such angels waited to receive him.

All these angels, who were waiting, turned their beaming eyes upon the people who were carried up into the star; and some came out from the long rows in which they stood, and fell upon the people’s necks, and kissed them tenderly, and went away with them down avenues of light, and were so happy in their company, that, lying in his bed, he wept for joy.