The Ontario Readers Part 40

THE GLADNESS OF NATURE

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, When our mother Nature laughs around; When even the deep blue heavens look glad, And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?

There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren, And the gossip of swallows through all the sky; The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den, And the wilding bee hums merrily by.

The clouds are at play in the azure s.p.a.ce, And their shadows at play on the bright green vale, And here they stretch to the frolic chase, And there they roll on the easy gale.

There's a dance of leaves on that aspen bower, There's a t.i.tter of winds in that beechen tree, There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.

And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray, On the leaping waters and gay young isles; Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away.

BRYANT

OLD ENGLISH LIFE

When the sun rose on England of olden time, its faint red light stirred every sleeper from the sack of straw, which formed the only bed of the age. Springing from this rustling couch, where he had lain naked, and throwing off the coa.r.s.e coverlets, usually of sheepskin, the subject of King Alfred donned the day's dress. Gentlemen wore linen or woollen tunics, which reached to the knee; and, over these, long fur-lined cloaks, fastened with a brooch of ivory or gold. Strips of cloth or leather, bandaged crosswise from the ankle to the knee over red and blue stockings; and black, pointed shoes, slit along the instep almost to the toes and fastened with two thongs, completed the costume of an Anglo-Saxon gentleman. The ladies, wrapping a veil of linen or silk upon their delicate curls, laced a loose-flowing gown over a tight-sleeved bodice, and pinned the graceful folds of their mantles with golden b.u.t.terflies and other tasteful trinkets.

Breakfast consisted probably of bread, meat, and ale, but was a lighter repast than that taken when the hurry of the day lay behind. Often it was eaten in the bower or private apartment.

The central picture in Old English life--the great event of the day--was _Noon-meat_, or dinner in the great hall. A little before three, the chief and all his household, with any stray guests who might have dropped in, met in the hall, which stood in the centre of its encircling bowers--the princ.i.p.al apartment of every Old English house. Clouds of wood smoke, rolling up from a fire which blazed in the middle of the floor, blackened the carved rafters of the arched roof before they found their way out of the hole above which did duty as a chimney.

Tapestries, dyed purple, or glowing with variegated pictures of saints and heroes, hung, and if the day was stormy, flapped upon the c.h.i.n.ky walls. In palaces and in earls' mansions coloured tiles, wrought into a mosaic, formed a clean and pretty pavement; but the common flooring of the time was clay, baked dry with the heat of winter evenings and summer noons. The only articles of furniture always in the hall were wooden benches; some of which, especially the _high settle_ or seat of the chieftain, boasted cushions, or at least a rug.

While the hungry crowd, fresh from woodland and furrow, were lounging near the fire or hanging up their weapons on the pegs and hooks that jutted from the wall, a number of slaves, dragging in a long, flat, heavy board, placed it on movable legs, and spread on its upper half a handsome cloth. Then were arranged with other utensils for the meal some flattish dishes, baskets of ash-wood for holding bread, a scanty sprinkling of steel knives shaped like our modern razors, platters of wood, and bowls for the universal broth.

The ceremony of "laying the board," as the Old English phrased it, being completed, the work of demolition began. Great round cakes of bread--huge junks of boiled bacon--vast rolls of broiled eel--cups of milk--horns of ale--wedges of cheese--lumps of salt b.u.t.ter--and smoking piles of cabbages and beans, melted like magic from the board under the united attack of greasy fingers and grinding jaws. Kneeling slaves offered to the lord and his honoured guests long skewers or spits, on which steaks of beef or venison smoked and sputtered, ready for the hacking blade.

Poultry, too, and game of every variety, filled the s.p.a.ces of the upper board; but the crowd of _loaf-eaters_, as old English domestics were suggestively called, saw little of these daintier kinds of food, except the naked bones. Nor did they much care, if, to their innumerable hunches of bread, they could add enough pig to appease their hunger.

Hounds, sitting eager-eyed by their masters, snapped with sudden jaws at sc.r.a.ps of fat flung to them, or retired into private life below the board with some sweet bone that fortune sent them.

The solid part of the banquet ended with the washing of hands, performed for the honoured occupants of the high settle by officious slaves. The board was then dragged out of the hall; the loaf-eaters slunk away to have a nap in the byre, or sat drowsily in corners of the hall; and the drinking began. During the progress of the meal, Welsh ale had flowed freely in horns or vessels of twisted gla.s.s. Mead and, in very grand houses, wine now began to circle in goblets of gold and silver, or of wood inlaid with those precious metals. In humbler houses, story-telling and songs, sung to the music of the harp by each guest in turn, formed the princ.i.p.al amus.e.m.e.nt of the drinking-bout.

Meantime the music and the mead did their work in maddening brains; the revelry grew louder; riddles, which had flown thick around the board at first, gave place to banter, taunts, and fierce boasts of prowess; angry eyes gleamed defiance; and it was well if, in the morning, the household slaves had not to wash blood-stains from the pavement of the hall, or in the still night, when the drunken brawlers lay stupid on the floor, to drag a dead man from the red plash in which he lay.

From the reek and riot of the hall the ladies of the household soon withdrew to the bower, where they reigned supreme. There, in the earlier part of the day, they had arrayed themselves in their bright-coloured robes, plying tweezers and crisping-irons on their yellow hair, and often heightening the blush that Nature gave them with a shade of rouge.

There, too, they used to scold their female slaves, and beat them, with a violence which said more for their strength of lung and muscle than for the gentleness of their womanhood.

When their needles were fairly set a-going upon those pieces of delicate embroidery, known and prized over all Europe as "English work," some gentlemen dropped in, perhaps harp in hand, to chat and play for their amus.e.m.e.nt, or to engage in games of hazard and skill, which seem to have resembled modern dice and chess. When in later days supper came into fashion, the round table of the bower was usually spread for _Evening-food_, as this meal was called. And not long afterwards, those bags of straw, from which they sprang at sunrise, received for another night their human burden, worn out with the labours and the revels of the day.

W. F. COLLIER (Adapted)

PUCK'S SONG

See you the dimpled track that runs, All hollow through the wheat?

O that was where they hauled the guns That smote King Philip's fleet.

See you our little mill that clacks, So busy by the brook?

She has ground her corn and paid her tax Ever since Domesday Book.

See you our stilly woods of oak, And the dread ditch beside?

O that was where the Saxons broke, On the day that Harold died.

See you the windy levels spread About the gates of Rye?

O that was where the Northmen fled, When Alfred's ships came by.

See you our pastures wide and lone, Where the red oxen browse?

O there was a City thronged and known, Ere London boasted a house.

And see you, after rain, the trace Of mound and ditch and wall?

O that was a Legion's camping-place, When Caesar sailed from Gaul.

And see you marks that show and fade, Like shadows on the Downs?

O they are the lines the Flint Men made To guard their wondrous towns.

Trackway and Camp and City lost, Salt Marsh where now is corn; Old Wars, old Peace, old Arts that cease, And so was England born!

She is not any common Earth, Water or wood or air, But Merlin's Isle of Gramarye, Where you and I will fare.

KIPLING: "Puck of Pook's Hill."

THE BATTLE OF QUEENSTON HEIGHTS

The thirteenth of October, 1812, is a day ever to be remembered in Canada. All along the Niagara river the greatest excitement had prevailed: many of the inhabitants had removed with their portable property into the back country; small bodies of soldiers, regulars and volunteers, were posted in the towns and villages; Indians were roving in the adjacent woods; and sentinels, posted along the banks of the river, were looking eagerly for the enemy that was to come from the American sh.o.r.e and attempt the subjugation of a free, a happy, and a loyal people.

In the village of Queenston, that nestles at the foot of an eminence overlooking the mighty waters of Niagara, two companies of the Forty-ninth Regiment, or "Green Tigers," as the Americans afterwards termed them, with one hundred Canadian militia, were posted under the command of Captain Dennis.

When tattoo sounded on the night of the twelfth, the little garrison retired to rest. All was silent but the elements, which raged furiously throughout the night. Nothing was to be heard but the howling of the wind and the sound of falling rain mingled with the distant roar of the great cataract. Dripping with rain and shivering with cold, the sentries paced their weary rounds, from time to time casting a glance over the swollen tide of the river towards the American sh.o.r.e. At length, when the gray dawn of morning appeared, a wary sentinel descried a number of boats, filled with armed men, pushing off from the opposite bank below the village of Lewiston. Immediately the alarm was given. The soldiers were roused from their peaceful slumbers, and marched down to the landing-place. Meanwhile, a battery of one gun, posted on the heights, and another about a mile below, began to play on the enemy's boats, sinking some and disabling others.

Finding it impossible to effect a landing in the face of such opposition, the Americans, leaving a few of their number to occupy the attention of the troops on the bank, disembarked some distance up the river, and succeeded in gaining the summit of the height by a difficult and unprotected pathway. With loud cheers they captured the one-gun battery, and rushed down upon Captain Dennis and his command; who, finding themselves far outnumbered by the enemy, retired slowly towards the north end of the village. Here they were met by General Brock, who had set out in advance of reinforcements from the town of Niagara, accompanied only by two officers. Placing himself at the head of the little band, the gallant general cried: "Follow me!" and, amid the cheers of regulars and militia, he led his men back to the height from which they had been forced to retire. At the foot of the hill the general dismounted, under the sharp fire of the enemy's riflemen, who were posted among the trees on its summit, climbed over a high stone wall, and waving his sword, charged up the hill at the head of his soldiers. This intrepid conduct at once attracted the notice of the enemy. One of their sharp-shooters advanced a few paces, took deliberate aim, and shot the general in the breast. It was a mortal wound. Thus fell Sir Isaac Brock, the hero of Upper Canada, whose name will outlive the n.o.ble monument which a grateful country has erected to his memory.

The fall of their beloved commander infuriated his followers. With loud cheers of "Revenge the general!" they pressed forward up the hill, and drove the enemy from their position. But reinforcements were continually pouring in from the American sh.o.r.e; and after a deadly struggle, in which Colonel Macdonell, Captain Dennis, and most of the other officers fell, these brave men were again compelled to retire. They took refuge under the guns of the lower battery, there awaiting the arrival of reinforcements from Niagara. About mid-day the first of these arrived, consisting of a band of fifty Mohawks, under their chiefs, Norton and Brant. These Indian allies boldly engaged the enemy, and maintained for a short time a sharp skirmish, but finally retired on the main reinforcement. This arrived in the course of the afternoon, under the command of Major-General Sheaffe. Instead of meeting the enemy on the old ground, the officer now in command moved his whole force of one thousand men to the right of the enemy's position, and sent forward his left flank to attack the American right. This left flank was of a very varied character, consisting of one company of the Forty-first Regiment of the line, a company of coloured men, and a body of volunteer militia and Indians, united, in spite of their difference of colour and race, by loyalty to the British crown and heart-hatred of foreign aggression.

This division advanced in gallant style. After delivering a volley, the whole line of white, red, and black charged the enemy, and drove in his right wing at the point of the bayonet.

General Sheaffe now led on the main body, and forced the lately victorious Americans to retreat rapidly over the ridge. The struggle on their part was of short duration. In front was a foe thirsting for revenge; behind, the steep banks and swiftly-flowing waters of Niagara.

The "Green Tigers," the Indians, their most despised slaves, and last, but certainly not least, the gallant Canadian militia, were objects of terror to them. Some few in despair threw themselves over the precipices into the river; but the majority of the survivors surrendered themselves prisoners of war, to the number of nine hundred and fifty, among whom was their commander, General Wadsworth. The leader of the expedition, General Van Rensselaer, had retired to Lewiston--as he said, for reinforcements--in the early part of the day. The loss of the Americans in this memorable action was about five hundred killed and wounded; while that of the Canadian forces amounted to one hundred and fifty.