McGuffey's Fifth Eclectic Reader Part 43

DEFINTIONS.--1. Re-served', kept back, retained. 2. Lick'er. ish, eager or greedy to swallow. Aft, toward the stern of a vessel. Pro-spec'tive, relating to the future. Force'meat, meat chopped fine and highly seasoned.

Unc'tu-ous, fat. 5. Glaz'ing, gla.s.s or gla.s.s-like substance. Bin'na-cle, a box containing the compa.s.s of a ship. 6. Gal'ley, the kitchen of a ship.

7. Tu-reen', a large deep vessel for holding soup. Gang'way, a pa.s.sageway.

Lee, pertaining to the side opposite that against which the wind blows.

Scup'pers, channels cut through the side of a ship for carrying off water from the deck. Cop'pers, large copper boilers.

NOTE.--6. Four bells; i.e., two o'clock.

Lx.x.xV. THE BEST KIND OF REVENGE.

1. Some years ago a warehouseman in Manchester, England, published a scurrilous pamphlet, in which he endeavored to hold up the house of Grant Brothers to ridicule. William Grant remarked upon the occurrence that the man would live to repent of what he had done; and this was conveyed by some talebearer to the libeler, who said, "Oh, I suppose he thinks I shall some time or other be in his debt; but I will take good care of that." It happens, however, that a man in business can not always choose who shall be his creditors. The pamphleteer became a bankrupt, and the brothers held an acceptance of his which had been indorsed to them by the drawer, who had also become a bankrupt.

2. The wantonly libeled men had thus become creditors of the libeler! They now had it in their power to make him repent of his audacity. He could not obtain his certificate without their signature, and without it he could not enter into business again. He had obtained the number of signatures required by the bankrupt law except one. It seemed folly to hope that the firm of "the brothers" would supply the deficiency. What! they who had cruelly been made the laughingstock of the public, forget the wrong and favor the wrongdoer? He despaired. But the claims of a wife and children forced him at last to make the application. Humbled by misery, he presented himself at the countinghouse of the wronged.

3. Mr. William Grant was there alone, and his first words to the delinquent were, "Shut the door, sir!" sternly uttered. The door was shut, and the libeler stood trembling before the libeled. He told his tale and produced his certificate, which was instantly clutched by the injured merchant. "You wrote a pamphlet against us once!" exclaimed Mr. Grant. The suppliant expected to see his parchment thrown into the fire. But this was not its destination. Mr. Grant took a pen, and writing something upon the doc.u.ment, handed it back to the bankrupt. He, poor wretch, expected to see "rogue, scoundrel, libeler," inscribed; but there was, in fair round characters, the signature of the firm.

4. "We make it a rule," said Mr. Grant, "never to refuse signing the certificate of an honest tradesman, and we have never heard that you were anything else." The tears started into the poor man's eyes. "Ah," said Mr.

Grant, "my saying was true! I said you would live to repent writing that pamphlet. I did not mean it as a threat. I only meant that some day you would know us better, and be sorry you had tried to injure us. I see you repent of it now." "I do, I do!" said the grateful man; "I bitterly repent it." "Well, well, my dear fellow, you know us now. How do you get on? What are you going to do?" The poor man stated he had friends who could a.s.sist him when his certificate was obtained. "But how are you off in the meantime?"

5. And the answer was, that, having given up every farthing to his creditors, he had been compelled to stint his family of even common necessaries, that he might be enabled to pay the cost of his certificate.

"My dear fellow, this will not do; your family must not suffer. Be kind enough to take this ten-pound note to your wife from me. There, there, my dear fellow! Nay, do not cry; it will all be well with you yet. Keep up your spirits, set to work like a man, and you will raise your head among us yet." The overpowered man endeavored in vain to express his thanks; the swelling in his throat forbade words. He put his handkerchief to his face and went out of the door, crying like a child.

DEFINITIONS.--1. Ware'house-man (English usage), one who keeps a wholesale store for woolen goods. Scur'ril-ous, low, mean. Li'bel-er, one who defames another maliciously by a writing, etc 2. Au-dac'i-ty, bold impudence. Sig'na-ture, the name of a person written with his own hand, the name of a firm signed officially. De--fi'cien-cy, want. 3.

De-lin'quent, an offender. Parch'ment, sheep or goat skin prepared for writing upon. 5. Stint, to limit.

NOTE.--l. Acceptance. When a person upon whom a draft has been made, writes his name across the face of it, the draft then becomes "an acceptance." The person who makes the draft is called "the drawer;" the person to whom the money is ordered paid writes his name on the back of the draft and is called "an indorser." Paper of this kind frequently pa.s.ses from hand to hand, so that there are several indorsers.

Lx.x.xVI. THE SOLDIER OF THE RHINE.

Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton (b. 1808, d. 1877) was the grand-daughter of Richard Brinsley Sheridan. She wrote verses and plays at a very early age. "The Sorrows of Rosalie," published in 1829, was written before she was seventeen years old. In 1827 she was married to the Hon. George Chapple Norton. The marriage was an unhappy one, and they were divorced in 1836. Her princ.i.p.al works are "The Undying One," "The Dream, and Other Poems," "The Child of the Islands," "Stuart of Dunleith, a Romance," and "English Laws for English Women of the 19th Century." She contributed extensively to the magazines and other periodicals.

1.

A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears; But a comrade stood beside him, while his lifeblood ebbed away, And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say.

The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand, And he said: "I nevermore shall see my own, my native land; Take a message and a token to some distant friends of mine, For I was born at Bingen,--at Bingen on the Rhine.

2.

"Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around To hear my mournful story in the pleasant vineyard ground, That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done, Full many a corse lay ghastly pale beneath the setting sun; And, 'mid the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars,-- The death wound on their gallant b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the last of many scars; But some were young, and suddenly beheld life's morn decline,-- And one had come from Bingen,--fair Bingen on the Rhine.

3.

"Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, For I was aye a truant bird, that thought his home a cage.

For my father was a soldier, and, even when a child, My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild; And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty h.o.a.rd, I let them take whate'er they would, but kept my father's sword; And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine, On the cottage wall at Bingen,--calm Bingen on the Rhine.

4.

"Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, When the troops come marching home again, with glad and gallant tread, But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, For her brother was a soldier, too, and not afraid to die; And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame, And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword and mine), For the honor of old Bingen,--dear Bingen on the Rhine.

5.

"There's another,--not a sister; in the happy days gone by, You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye; Too innocent for coquetry,--too fond for idle scorning,-- O friend! I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning!

Tell her the last night of my life--(for, ere the moon be risen, My body will be out of pain, my soul be out of prison), I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine On the vine-clad hills of Bingen,--fair Bingen on the Rhine.

6.

"I saw the blue Rhine sweep along: I heard, or seemed to hear, The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear; And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill, The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still; And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we pa.s.sed, with friendly talk, Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remembered walk; And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine,-- But we'll meet no more at Bingen,--loved Bingen all the Rhine."

7.

His trembling voice grew faint and hoa.r.s.e; his grasp was childish weak, His eyes put on a dying look,--he sighed and ceased to speak.

His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled,-- The soldier of the Legion in a foreign land was dead!

And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down On the red sand of the battlefield, with b.l.o.o.d.y corses strewn; Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene, her pale light seemed to shine, As it shone on distant Bingen,--fair Bingen on the Rhine.

DEFINITIONS.--1. Le'gion (pro. le'jun), division of an army. Dearth (pro.

derth), scarcity. Ebbed, flowed out. 2. Corse, a dead body. 4. Stead'fast, firm, resolute. 5. Co-quet'ry, trifling in love. 6. Cho'rus, music in which all join. Yore, old times.

NOTE.--l. Bingen is p.r.o.nounced Bing'en, not Bin'gen, nor Bin'jen.

Lx.x.xVII. THE WINGED WORSHIPERS.

Charles Sprague (b. 1791, d. 1875) was born in Boston, Ma.s.s. He engaged in mercantile business when quite young, leaving school for that purpose. In 1825, he was elected cashier of the Globe Bank of Boston, which position he held until 1864. Mr. Sprague has not been a prolific writer; but his poems, though few in number, are deservedly cla.s.sed among the best productions of American poets. His chief poem is ent.i.tled "Curiosity."

1. Gay, guiltless pair, What seek ye from the fields of heaven?

Ye have no need of prayer, Ye have no sins to be forgiven.

272 ECLECTIC SERIES.

2. Why perch ye here, Where mortals to their Maker bend?

Can your pure spirits fear The G.o.d ye never could offend?

3. Ye never knew The crimes for which we come to weep; Penance is not for you, Blessed wanderers of the upper deep.

4. To you 't is given To wake sweet Nature's untaught lays; Beneath the arch of heaven To chirp away a life of praise.

5. Then spread each wing, Far, far above, o'er lakes and lands, And join the choirs that sing In yon blue dome not reared with hands.

6. Or, if ye stay To note the consecrated hour, Teach me the airy way, And let me try your envied power.

7. Above the crowd, On upward wings could I but fly, I'd bathe in yon bright cloud, And seek the stars that gem the sky.

8. 'T were Heaven indeed, Through fields of trackless light to soar, On Nature's charms to feed, And Nature's own great G.o.d adore.